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After the death of the second Robin, almost every member of the Justice League who worked with a young sidekicked benched them indefinitely. It was a reality check for them all; no matter what they wanted to tell themselves, the people who they fought wouldn’t spare a second thought about killing a child, and enjoying it even, in some cases. The vigilantes knew that when they were older, many might continue the work they had started, but for a few more years, they would do what they could to keep their children safe. If that meant preventing them from seeing the field and suffering the anger directed their way, so be it.
“Having a Robin was a bad idea,” Bruce would say. And Clark wanted to comfort him for the loss he suffered, but he also knew that he couldn’t contradict Bruce by disagreeing. If he were to tell the man it wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t sure if it would be a lie or not. So, he would say nothing and put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder as the only means of support. “Never again,” Bruce would repeat sternly, “never again.”
And yet, a few months later, he caught word of a new caped teenager in Gotham with the same yellow cape. The same stupid R was branded onto the same stupid red vest.
The bastard had gone back on his word, and Clark would not forgive himself if he did nothing and another child died in this endless crusade.
When Clark entered the cave, he was surprised to see Dick practicing on one of the training mats. The young man had been very vocal about his anger towards Bruce in the aftermath of what had happened.
“Dick, what are you doing here?” he asked, alerting him of his presence.
“Clark! I could say the same to you.” Dick gave a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m in Gotham visiting Babs, but have some business to deal with here.”
Clark frowned, remembering that she also didn’t get away unscathed. “Is Bruce around? I need to talk to him.”
A scowl flashed across Dick’s face, before his expression returned neutral. “He’s out. Should be back soon.”
“How are you holding up?”
Dick’s breath hitched. “I—” I don’t know , he almost said, before he caught himself. “Not well. I wish we would talk about it for once.”
“Dick…” Clark wrapped an arm around the boy—that’s what he was, a boy suffering the loss of his brother.
“The only time we ‘talk’ about it is when we argue, and then it just turns into us blaming each other,” he whispered.
“It wasn’t your fault, Dick. Don’t ever blame yourself.”
“But if I had just been there for him. I could have been such a better brother, but I let my attachment to some silly costume get in the way.”
“You were a child, it wasn’t your responsibility. And it wasn’t silly, you got Robin from your parents. Bruce should’ve—”
“Bruce should’ve done a lot of things,” Dick cut in.
“He tries.” Clark may not have agreed with a lot of the ways Bruce raised his children, but he wasn’t about to make his and his eldest’s relationship any more strained than it already was. That was not the purpose for his visit.
They sat in silence for a while, until finally, they heard the Batmobile enter the cave. Clark was upset—but not surprised—when two figures exited the car. He stepped away from Dick and towards Bruce. “We need to talk.”
“You could have let me know you were coming. I’m busy, make it quick.”
“Why do you have another kid traipsing around with you?” He glanced at Tim, who was still in disbelief over the fact that Superman was in the cave.
Bruce huffed.
“I’m serious, Bruce. You said you’d never do this, this thing of yours where you take in a kid and make him Robin, and you know, I actually believed you.”
Dick looked between the two men, who both clenched their fists and were growing red, before ushering Tim out of the cave. With another awed glance back at Superman, he followed up the stairs and into the manor.
“I didn’t make him Robin. He chose it on his own and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“ He’s a child, Bruce . And you trained him anyway.”
“I can’t make him stay home! If he’s going to follow me regardless, at least I can make sure he knows how to protect himself!”
Clark scoffed. “You can’t just give in, Bruce! It’s the same mistake you made with Dick and Jason, and you’d think you’d have learned.”
“I tried, Clark. I tried. And every damn time, he’d cuss me out and say it wasn’t fair that I never benched Dick as much. They’re both so damn stubborn, and—” Bruce sighed. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
“Are you saying it’s better that these kids get their way than stay safe?”
“You’re twisting my words.”
“Am I? That doesn’t change the fact that if it wasn’t for your inability to say no, Jason may still be here.”
Bruce seethed. “ You think I killed my son? ”
Clark sighed. “I think you played a hand in it, and I won’t let the same happen to another boy.”
“Get out! Get the fuck out!” Bruce slammed his fists against the wall. “You have no right! I loved that boy! He was my son and I fucking love him.”
“I know that Bruce, but—”
“No, Clark, you really don’t.” Bruce chuckled. “After all the time you spent running away from the fact that Conner was your kid, I don’t believe it for a second that you understand how much I care about my boys.”
“You put them in harm's way, Bruce.”
“I’m there to keep them safe.”
“You can’t always be there.” Clark glanced at the display case containing Jason’s old costume. “I thought you had learned that, but then again I thought you had learned a lot of things.”
Clark waited for a retort, another shout or curse—anything would have been better than hearing Bruce’s tears fall to the ground as he stared at the usually stoic man hunched over.
“Goodbye, Bruce.”