Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Truth be told, all in all it was a bit embarrassing no-one noticed before they had evidence pushed into their faces. Bruce, Alfred and, of course, Clark perhaps most of all.

Looking at the mounting evidence at least explained how it had gone by unnoticed for so long: it had happened really, really slowly. 

Clark still hadn't been able to push away the rolling waves of embarrassment crashing in his stomach, however.

Of course, there was more than one reason for him to be embarrassed.

When they did notice, it happened like this:

It was a normal day – for whatever value of normal they could claim. Bruce had gone out for lunch with Tim and Kon, meanwhile Clark had managed to land a highly sought after interview in the morning and had been planning on dedicating the afternoon to finishing jotting down his initial impressions and then… aliens invaded.

Or, well. Eventually they'd learn said aliens had done something closer to get lost and pull up at the first gas station for directions, but it sure hadn't looked like that when thousands of inquisitive, knee-high purple insectoids materialized all over Scotland.

Batman and Superman had been among the first to arrive at the epicenter of the apparent invasion - near an old standing rock formation, for the joy of the conspiracy lovers out there - and thankfully it hadn't taken them long to come to the conclusion that the creatures were not aggressive.

Bruce later would say his mistake had been letting his guard down.

Clark would say the one at fault had been the overly friendly insectoid alien (whose species turned out to be called something close to X'ezb, the individual specifically named Loknn), for assuming.

It turned out the X’ezb showed friendliness and affection by roughhousing, and Clark, for once, had been delighted to realize he didn’t need to hold back much with the little purple fellows, who were much more resistant than they looked. And fast , too. He was having quite the time tossing one after the other into the air.

But then, the overexcited critter, Loknn, had turned to do the same with Batman.

Using its full strength. And far too quickly for anyone to stop him.

Before Clark realized what had happened, Bruce had been tossed back and up into the air a good few meters, and despite Clark hurrying over to catch him, B's bad knee made a clear snapping noise as his feet bumped against the floor at a bad angle.

Clark had heard noises like that before. He was – or, truthfully, wasn't, but would have been had it been anyone else – surprised to not hear Bruce screaming at whatever had just happened inside his knee. Hopefully everything was still inside. Clark was a bit afraid to look.

It had sounded really bad. And that specific knee had been a source of pain and annoyance for Bruce for years, Clark had heard about it enough. 

(Mostly from Alfred and the kids, as Bruce was stubborn as he was brave, but Clark also learned to read the signs.)

"Fuck," Bruce had muttered between clenched teeth as Clark took his partner in his arms. Upon hearing it, he took a moment to prod the bond to feel around Bruce’s injury. Cursing on the field was not something Bruce did , and Clark could get why when he felt the secondhand pulsing of nausea and pain Bruce was feeling. Things were apparently as bad as they had seemed.

It was with great relief Clark noticed the arrival of a handful of Green Lanterns, and he was quick to nod at them, considering the whole situation officially handed over, before he rushed a grumbling Bruce to the cave, using his comms to warn Alfred of their impending arrival and also of Bruce's status.

Carrying anyone who was injured while flying was always a complicated affair. Clark always had to take human frailty into account when he carried someone - he could hardly fly at full speed with a human passenger - but an injury meant he had to adjust his hold and reduce jostling to a minimum.

And when the passenger was Bruce, it meant he had to deal with twice as much grumpiness over being carried as usual.

Thankfully, it was a short flight back to the nearest Zeta tube and then to the ‘Cave, and Alfred was already waiting for them when they arrived, ready to take over for Clark.

It was not without relief that Clark lay Bruce down on the medical cot and stepped back to let Alfred Alfred tsk and tut at Bruce while also removing the complicated armor gently, careful not to jostle Bruce's leg overmuch. Once Alfred had released the armored plates and cut through the under armor material of Bruce’s leg, Clark was able to reassure himself that there were truly no bits sticking that should not have been, at the very least. 

“Now, Master Bruce, before we take this scan, would you care to wager just how many ligaments you have managed to tear this time?”

Bruce grumbled unintelligibly in response, and Clark held back a snort of amusement. Laughter wasn’t being well tolerated by Bruce at the moment. Alfred had shown remarkable restraint in not letting a shred of amusement at how Bruce had become injured show, but Dick hadn’t managed a similar feat and had been thus banned from medical and tasked with picking Damian up from his painting class. 

But even the older man clearly wasn’t immune to taking some amusement at his son’s misfortune. Bruce’s obvious sulking didn’t help manners any.

Bruce really made it too easy to laugh at him sometimes.

“Well, Master Kent, if you will help me wheel our patient towards the MRI machine, we’ll have a look at that knee in no time.” Clark did as he was bid, and helped Bruce down into a waiting wheelchair, then pushed him towards the machine indicated by Alfred.

The machine was incredibly loud but also surprisingly quick, by an MRI’s usual standards - Bat-enhanced Wayne Tech, no doubt - which was lucky, as upon seeing the results they had to do it over.

And over.

And over.

But no matter how many times they re-did the exam, it showed the same thing.

Bruce had indeed torn a ligament, which would be an annoying recovery to undergo, especially for someone like Bruce who struggled to sit still and simply didn’t idle well.

But other than the fresh lesion? The rest of Bruce's knee? 

Looked perfect. No wear and tear. No scar tissue. His knee looked like that of a 20-year-old who took a bad tumble while skateboarding, not the knee of a middle-aged vigilante with low self-preservation instincts and a tendency to push himself too far.

“I don’t understand,” Alfred said, nonplussed, as he observed the scans up on the screen of the BatComputer. Besides the ones they had just taken were images of a past exam, done nearly a year before.

The difference was striking. The fact that it was the same knee was unrecognizable, at least to Clark’s layman’s eye.

“Alfred, pull up the last images of my left shoulder blade,” Bruce commanded, his own eyes fixed on the images on the screen before him. 

“One moment, sir,” Alfred said, before pulling up the required image.

“Clark, could you?” Bruce asked, sparing Clark a glance, and he quickly understood what his mate wanted.

Bruce’s left shoulder blade had been torn in a nasty encounter with Killer Croc in the past, and had never quite looked the same since. Clark was used to seeing the signs of the former injury when he scanned Bruce for injuries.

Only it wasn’t there, anymore.

“Nothing,” Clark murmured, shocked. “It is like it was never injured at all.”

And it wasn’t the only other case, either. With Bruce's tight-lipped ascent, Clark was cleared to use his enhanced vision to sweep Bruce’s whole body - something he had agreed to never do without permission - only to be shocked by what he saw, despite knowing what to expect.

Superficial scars were still there - mostly, and some did seem surprisingly faded now Clark paid close attention, and how hadn’t he noticed that before? - but inside?

Bruce was looking healthier than most other humans Clark had met; the difference from the way he had looked before was absurd. Everywhere, signs of past injuries that Clark had grown to know so well were gone, replaced with youthful and unharmed flesh and bone.

“How?” Clark asked, flabbergasted. He hadn’t exactly liked seeing the damage Bruce had accumulated in his body over the years, but it was part of Bruce, part of what made him who he was. Seeing the signs all the years of crime fighting had left on Bruce was bittersweet, but not seeing it felt downright bizarre. “Didn’t you notice this happen?” Clark asked, surprised. Bruce had total control and dominion over his body. It wasn’t like him to let something like this pass him by.

“I’ve been feeling.. different,” Bruce admitted, making brief eye contact with Clark. Embarrassed , the bond supplied. “Better, less pain, more well rested. But I attributed it to a, hm, better emotional standing.”

“Ah,” Clark said, unable to hide the smile nor the blush that took over his face at Bruce’s words. “You have been sleeping and eating better.”

“And we are all thankful for it. If only sleep and food could reverse aging and gross negligence,” Alfred sniffed, reminding the other two of his briefly forgotten presence. 

“And while there are substances capable of bringing forth such change in the world,” Bruce spoke, ignoring the jab with the mastery of experience. “I haven’t knowingly come into contact with any of them, much less recently.”

“If we go through image exams taken over the last few months, we might be able to track when these changes began, as it appears this occurred at some point of the last year, given the date on those knee scans,” Alfred suggested. 

For once, Bruce’s tendency to injure himself more than was healthy to the heart of his loved ones would be useful. 

The sheer amount of data Bruce had collected on his own health - much of it automatized through systems in the batsuit - meant recruiting help was necessary to deal with it all. Soon the children were all filling in the ‘Cave with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Dick and Damian got assigned bones and tendons and were sitting in the floor surrounded by folders and laptops showing everything from x-rays to MRIs; Tim, as the better one at handling big data, was in charge of overall performance and had made his station at the BatComputer, while Cass and Steph were comparing blood-work cross several tablets. All looking for a point when things could have started to change.

Jason, somewhat surprisingly, had appeared to help but, upon hearing what had happened, had gone pale and anxious. 

“Shit, B, this stuff, it sounds like-” he broke off, but Bruce seemed to understand what he was talking about.

“I know,” Bruce replied, taking a hand to Jason’s elbow - he could hardly reach the man’s shoulder from his wheelchair. “But I highly doubt Ra’s decided to waste his most precious resource on me, especially without getting anything out of it, much less recognition.”

Jason nodded, stiffly, before Bruce continued.

“Why don’t you head up with Clark and help Alfred? We are likely to be here a while, and it is nearly dinnertime.” 

“I was just about to go up,” Clark fibbed. He wasn’t sure what the tension around Jason’s shoulders and jaw was about, but he had an idea, and it was no wonder the boy wouldn’t want to be around the ‘Cave while they researched what was happening to Bruce - not if it looked so familiar.

Jason nodded once more, less stiff this time, and Clark motioned Jason to walk with him as he made his way towards the ‘Cave’s exit into the library. 

“It should be a good thing,” Jason said after they arrived at said library, breaking the silence. “That his injuries are gone and shit.”

“It can still be,” Clark said, forcing hope he didn’t necessarily feel. It should be so cut and dry - Bruce’s body healing and rejuvenating should be a simple thing to judge.

But in their lives so much came with hidden caveats and stipulations. Being a superhero was knowing very well just how many thorns a rose could have, just how many blessings could carry curses along with them.

“Yeah, right,” Jason said, though there was no bite to his voice. He sounded exhausted, not unlike Clark himself.

“He’s going to be alright, Jason,” Clark murmured, and Jason nodded.

“Yeah, ok,” he said, and took a deep breath. “Let’s see what Alfred has cooking, huh? Maybe I can convince him to let me make some brownies for dessert.”

It was Clark’s turn to nod in assent and follow the youth the rest of the way towards the kitchens. 

All the while, Clark kept repeating to himself what he’d told Jason.

Bruce would be fine .

Chapter Text

After hours of the kids crossing data and Bruce doing new exams to compare to old ones, of checking, rechecking and conferencing between the bats, a conclusion was reached.

A very clear, unequivocal conclusion.

Clark had been called not back down to the ‘Cave, as Clark had expected, but to one of the sitting rooms with a large television, upon which graphics and charts were displayed, showing all sorts of data from bone density to concentration of inflammatory cytokines in his blood over time. 

With the exception of Jason - who hadn’t felt up to seeing effects so similar to those of the Lazarus Pit up close, and had seemed to be begrudgingly thankful for Clark’s company as they stayed upstairs -  the rest of Bruce’s kids were all standing around near the screen, ready to present what had been discovered. Bruce himself was sitting to the side with the look of someone who was a million miles away in thought.

Clark had found the whole thing surprisingly charitable of them - the Bats were notoriously bad about sharing information, always assuming another person would pass whatever information it was on - until Clark realized the reason, once presented with their findings.

It was him, the obvious and unequivocal solution to their puzzle.

Apparently things had started when Bruce first helped Clark through his heat - and knowing all the kids now knew that date was something Clark was trying very hard not to think about - and slowly developed until they had bonded; once they had, it appeared things had sped up considerably. It made sense why they hadn’t caught it before - it was the first major injury Bruce had suffered since then. 

Which, Clark realized, should’ve probably been a sign. 

He’d been amused by Bruce thinking getting together with Clark had eased his physical pains, but he hadn’t questioned how Bruce seemed to be getting by with much less damage during patrols and missions. 

Quite the pair they made.

The whole family had been tense and silent once their findings had been presented, all waiting for - something. A reaction, someone to speak first and break the silence. Clark, meanwhile, nudged Bruce across the bond, uncertain of how this new knowledge had been received by his mate, only to have a warm nudge in response, flooding him with relief.

It was amidst that comfort that Clark noticed Damian had broken away from the rest of the group where he’d been as they explained things to Clark, coming to a stop a few feet from Clark, clearly seizing the older man up.

Clark could feel the tension in the room like a tangible thing as the youngest of the brood crossed his arms and tut’d.

“You have finally proved your worth, Kent. Well done,” he said, with an emphatic nod.

Clark felt his jaw drop.

It was possibly the first time Damian had called him his name. Well, his surname, but still. 

A very undignified snort broke the tension - Steph, of course, who was shaking in quiet laughter near a fond looking Cassandra.

“I am glad to be of help?” Clark finally offered back, to which get of a nod of acknowledgement before Damian turned his back on him and moved on to leave the room, apparently taking matters for settled.

And Damian wasn’t the only one - Dick, Cass, Steph and Jason similarly devolved into chatter and goodbyes, seeming to have decided to go back about their days now that the mystery had been solved.

Bruce and Tim, meanwhile, were engrossed in conversation as Clark approached, but Tim cut himself off when he noticed him.

“Relieved?” Tim asked Clark, who blushed but stepped up against Bruce’s side anyway, visibly attempting to snuggle up under his arm, the need to feel his mate an absolute priority. Bruce, for his part, accepted Clark with a literal open arm, pulling Clark tighter into his side once he was within reach. “I still think we need to look more into this, but all signs point to it being a completely benign change.”

Bruce hummed noncommittally, and Clark could feel through the bond he wasn’t satisfied yet, which he couldn’t blame him for. Clark himself was still hesitant about the situation - part of him wanted and did rejoice, but he was still waiting for the other metaphorical shoe to drop.

What if there was something they hadn't caught? Clark was no biologist nor medical doctor but he knew there was a fine line between accelerated healing and out-of-control cell growth, tumors and worse. 

What if this whole thing turned out to give Bruce some sort of… kryptonian cancer?

It was then that it hit him.

“The ship,” Clark said, with sudden insight. “Jor-El might know something about this. If it has to do with us mating, he is our best bet.”

Bruce agreed.

And that’s how Bruce and Clark found themselves, several days later, on their way to the arctic.

(Tim had tried to beg to be allowed to come along, but Bruce had been quick to nix the idea, to Clark’s embarrassing relief. He liked Tim quite a bit, but he had a feeling the conversation he would be having with Jor-El was better had in private. 

They had settled on promising to tell Tim what they found. Clark had also extended Tim - and Kon - an invitation to visit the ship at another time to talk to Jor-El. If there was a chance those two ended up mated - and each day Clark thought that chance increased - they were allowed to know what would happen if they did.)

Bruce had wanted to go to the ship right away - a big part of Clark had too, come to it - but had been convinced to wait until his knee had been seen to and stable enough to travel. It had seemed, at first, that he might need surgery but it soon became apparent Bruce’s healing was now improved in such a manner that it would be sufficient to clear the injury without aid. 

Which turned out to be a double boon, as Bruce became so enthralled in tracking his own healing and searching for mechanisms that might explain his altered metabolism that it was over a week before he started to show signs of his patented inability to sit still.

He had, in that time, isolated a handful of proteins that seemed to mediate the healing and hadn’t been present in his blood before, but were similar to the ones seen in Clark’s blood, further confirming the source of Bruce’s newly improved healing factor. 

When Bruce came to a halt in his research, having gotten as far as he could, he’d been determined. First, blood samples had been sent to some of their more trustworthy colleagues, such as J’onn, for analysis and their opinions.

Then, Bruce told Clark they would be going to the ship the next day.

Clark had merely complied.

As Bruce was still in a wheelchair, his knee held immoble by a sturdy brace, they (Bruce) had opted to take the jet instead of flying with Clark.    

The flight was still several hours long despite all of Bruce’s technology, and Clark decided it was more than time to have a conversation he had been putting off for days now.

The jet had the benefit of having nowhere Bruce could run to.

“B?” Clark asked, stepping up to the front of the plane where Bruce was keeping an eye on the controls. “Do you have a minute?”

Instead of whatever Clark had expected Bruce to do, the man released a sigh - a relieved one - and murmured, with a faint smile, “Finally,” before - Clark assumed, from the electronic confirmation - turning on the autopilot for the jet.

Clark’s eyebrows met in confusion. Bruce noticed, and turned around in his seat to explain.

“There’s been something bothering you for days, now. It feels like an itch in the back of my head at times. I imagine whatever it is, it's what you want to talk about?”

It was easy to forget, Clark thought, that as well as Clark could read Bruce these days, Bruce could also read him right back. Clark let out a small laugh and scratched the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Clark sat besides Bruce in what he presumed was the co-pilot chair. “It is just - I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to you about all of this. To ask how you’re, you know, feeling about it all.” 

Bruce hummed and settled back into the chair, watching the instruments as the jet flew itself.

“It is all… unexpected,” Bruce finally said, after several moments of silence. “For the last few years I have been preparing myself, making my peace with stepping down from the cape.”

Clark was stunned speechless. Though he had seen Bruce do so - seen him prepare his kids to protect Gotham in his place, had seen how, little by little, Bruce had been pulling back from patrolling and street work.

But he had never expected Bruce to be so, so… clear headed about it. There’d been some conversations between Clark and Dick about when Bruce would stop and put down the cowl, Clark was only slightly embarrassed to say, and they had always agreed there would probably need to be some sort of intervention when the time came.

“I suppose, now, however, the timeline has been pushed further back.”

It was well hidden, true, but Clark was able to hear the hint of uncertainty in Bruce’s voice clearly.

  Clark took a moment to observe Bruce’s profile, the subtle signs that his nose had been broken and reset by specialists more than once, the white peppered into his black hair and three day beard, the way his light blue eyes seemed far off as they watched the clouds drift past outside the jet.

“You are allowed to be tired, Bruce,” Clark said, softly, cautious of a stillness he didn’t want to break. “Just because you technically can physically keep going, doesn’t mean you have to.

“You’re allowed to stop.”

Bruce hummed noncommittally, but Clark could see a minute amount of tension leave his shoulders.

“Not yet,” Bruce said, eventually. “One day, perhaps. But… not yet.”

Clark stretched his hand and took Bruce’s in his, giving it a squeeze. 

Warmth bloomed in his chest when Bruce squeezed back.

Once they landed the Jet - with Clark assistance, as the wind was brutal - as close as they dared to the ship, it was a matter of moments before Clark had carried Bruce and his wheelchair to the entrance, where they were met by rapidly heating air - sometimes Clark loved kryptonian technology - and the Jor-El AI.

“Greetings, Kal-El,” Jor-El said as the entrance closed behind them, blocking the loud wind. “And his mate, I see.”

Bruce grunted and tipped his head, the discomfort he was showing curiously similar to the first time Clark had taken him back to the farm since they had gotten together, he noticed.

Though Clark couldn’t really blame Bruce for being awkward around parents.

“Now, I imagine you are here because of the kryptonian energy bursts that have been happening around the planet for the past few days?”

The room was suddenly and absolutely silent.

Clark worked his jaw, mouth open, but before he could put a sentence together, Bruce’s voice broke the stillness.

“ How many days? And where? ” Bruce - or rather, the Bat, because that was who he was now - was already rolling his wheelchair towards the control center of the ship, where, no doubt, he would enter a complex discussion with the AI about what exactly he had detected - and, more importantly, why he had waited to tell them.

Never a dull moment, Clark thought, with a sigh.

Chapter Text

Acquiring the necessary information from the AI was a straightforward process; Jor-El could be infuriating at times, but at least he didn’t test Bruce’s patience at that moment.

There had been a series of energy surges caught and registered by the ship over the last 26 days. Energy surges compatible with kryptonian technology - more specifically, the same kind given off by the sort of dimensional rift used to create and access what was called the Phantom Zone, a transdimensional jail that housed the worst enemies of Krypton.

Which appeared to be trying to get to Earth. Probably to get at Clark, if history was anything to go by.

It was completely unacceptable . 

(There was something red hot snarling inside of him at the idea of Clark being in danger again, at the idea that anyone would dare target his mate. Bruce did his best to ignore it. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last.

And yet, something felt different about it, this time.)

The Bat had been drawing a plan in the back of his mind ever since the words kryptonian energy surges had been uttered. He’d need to build equipment that could read that particular wave of energy, which would be much easier than it would have been since the Jor-El AI had given him the specs to do just that, along with other relevant information, all inside a kryptonian memory crystal.

Then he’d need to triangulate the location and duration of each surge, see if there was a pattern he could trace, a possible direction where it might happen next. Clearly someone - or someones - were trying to cross over into their dimension and failing, and he would make sure things stayed that way. 

But before he could do any of that, he'd need to warn the Justice League - but first, he had to inform the operatives in Gotham. Bruce was the one who had brought Clark into the city, after all. He was responsible for any associated treats.

“Bruce - wait!” came Clark's voice from behind him - the Bat had assumed Clark had followed when he turned his wheelchair around to leave after getting all the necessary information out of Jor-El, but he had clearly assumed wrong.

“We need to leave,” the Bat said, in a monotone. “This takes priority.”

Clark stared at him for a moment, jaw slack, before snapping into a look of determination.

“Please Bruce - I'm worried there could be something wrong. And it will be quick!”

The edge of fear in Clark’s voice drew the Bat into a stop.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

This was Clark, Kal, his mate , his partner. And he could feel, in that place Clark had lived ever since they’d mated, that he was nervous. Afraid.

Bruce let the air out, slowly.

“Where?”

Relief clear in his face and through the bond, Clark led the way towards what passed for a med-bay in the alien ship.

Getting Bruce inside the scanner was some work, as he had to exit the wheelchair, but he’d thankfully brought a cane with the help of which he could stand for a short period without endangering his still healing knee.

(Bruce wasn’t concerned. From what he had observed, his projections were that he should be healed enough within the next three days to go patrolling.

Not that Alfred would agree. Nor Leslie. Nor Clark.

But Bruce would deal with that when the time came.)

The kryptonian bioscan worked fast, Bruce knew from witnessing Clark use it more than once, but this time it had to be adjusted to human parameters - information Jor-El possessed already, thankfully. Clark had mentioned something about the AI studying human physiology; not for the first time, Bruce thought he should probably investigate further into that.

Before Bruce could formulate a question, however, the fine light that had been coming from the scanner and covering his body was turned off, and Jor-El looked satisfied.

“So, is everything alright with him? No… alien cancer?”

“It is as I had hoped, Kal-El. The fusion between his and your genetic code is stable, with no negative impact I could find. His body is producing a low dose of alpha-typical hormones - there is a chance he could go into a light rut presentation eventually, by the appearance of his new scent glands.”

Bruce didn’t let the news faze him - nor did he have time to.

Besides him, Clark’s face and body posture had not changed as the AI spoke. In fact, he looked completely frozen in place.

The bond, however, showed him differently.

Bruce felt his own breath catch at the sudden, pinpointed rage he could feel come from Clark.

“There was a chance this didn’t go well?” Clark asked, voice quiet but irate. “And you knew ?”

Bruce’s eyes flicked towards the AI in time to catch the moment it realized it had made a mistake.

“I had my full faith this would be the case. But statistically speaking, there was a chance his body would reject the bonding. There was no way of truly knowing until it was done.”

There was a nearly visible aura of power around Clark, as if his rage was being made physical - if asked, Bruce would swear he could almost see it. A consequence of the bond, perhaps.

There was no time for this, however. Clark’s fear had been abated - Bruce was fine. They needed to return to the ‘Cave, so Bruce could investigate the mysterious energy surges and whoever was behind them.

He limped towards Clark, until he could take the other man’s elbow in hand.

“Let it go,” Bruce murmured at his mate, his thumb rubbing into Clark’s biceps. All at once, Clark deflated. His anger was still there, Bruce knew it, could feel it, but it was down to a simmer. “You have your answers. Now, we have other priorities.”

“We aren't done,” Clark said, almost threatening, to the AI, eyes flashing red for a moment.

Then he turned around to help Bruce back onto the wheelchair and pushed his mate away, not looking back once at the silent AI.

Bruce decided it was time to test a theory he'd been nursing for the past few weeks.

Taking advantage of the fact that Clark was pushing him along, Bruce let his eyes drop and his mind clear. He focused inwards, into feeling calm and in control, peaceful and warm.

And then he pushed the feeling towards the spot where Clark lived inside him.

“ Oh ,” Clark said, and faltered, stopping for a moment before he resumed pushing Bruce. The bright spot that was Clark definitely felt less… sore. 

Bruce reached behind himself to cover one of Clark’s hands with his own, where it held the handle of the chair. Clark, without hesitation, leaned down to plant a kiss on Bruce's head.

“Thank you,” Clark murmured, and Bruce nodded in response.

Silently, they climbed back inside the jet and set their destination back to Gotham.

Bruce frowned at the information displayed on the Batcomputer’s screen as if it would change if he looked hard enough. And yet it remained stubbornly the same, showing the coordinates to a series of places that would perhaps look random to a naive observer, but that contained a clear pattern to Bruce.

Smallville, Kansas. Several surges had been located within a few miles of the Kent Farm, getting closer and closer to it with each surge.

The second cluster of surges had been around Metropolis, hitting a series of locations, including the Daily Planet building and the apartment Lois and Clark had briefly shared when they were together.

And that morning, while they had been on their way to the Fortress, there had been a surge in Gotham.

Whoever was behind the strange energy was clearly looking for something, something to do with Clark. Because they knew Clark, knew his history.

And now they were trying to come to Gotham.

Bruce had already put out a warning for the Justice League, and the other members had agreed to keep an eye on Gotham - which definitely made something inside Bruce snarl, but he simply pushed it down with a thought. Gotham operatives were also already warned, and Dick, Jason and Tim were upstairs patrolling the manor and grounds, Damian had been sent to his room which meant he was probably out with his brothers, and the others were taking care of patrolling the streets.

And Kal was in the ‘Cave with Bruce, pacing and wearing a path into the floor of the cave with nerves. Ever since Bruce had shared his findings with Clark he had been like that.

Though Bruce didn't exactly understand why , he knew Clark was ambivalent about the idea of meeting other Kryptonians, something that drew him in as much as it repelled him. And Bruce's theory that the surges had been coming from the Phantom Zone - meaning very little chance of a friendly - didn't help matters, he was sure.

Bruce had turned around to speak to Kal - though he had no idea what to say, at least not yet - when an alarm sounded around the ‘Cave, causing both mates to startle and a large group of bats to take flight somewhere in the back of the ‘Cave.

When he turned back to the screen of the computer, it was taken over by energy readings. Another surge was starting.

Right inside the ‘Cave.

A strong yellow light began to coalesce between Bruce and Clark, quickly gaining in brightness and size, spinning around itself in a way that brought a black hole to Bruce’s mind.

Suddenly, Clark was between Bruce and the light, shielding the man with his body, protecting his mate.

“Clark, NO ,” Bruce tried to shout, pulling Clark back, but it was as if the strange light had swallowed up all sound. He pulled on Kal’s arm once more and Kal turned around to take Bruce into his arms, turning his back on the light that was almost too bright to look at.

And suddenly the light was taking over the usually dark ‘Cave, shining into corners never before seen, blinding even to Kal, who bowed his head as he brought Bruce’s to his shoulder. Sound had been replaced with pressure, and Bruce felt his ears pop as if he had thrown himself from up top a high building or taken flight alongside Kal.

And then, just as it began, it was done.

Bruce gingerly opened his eyes, taking a few moments to grow used again to the usual darkness. Clark, who had no such problem, was staring, frozen, at what Bruce could only make out as a short, colorful shape.

Before Bruce’s eyes could settle, the shape spoke.

“Dad?” the kid - because that voice could only belong to a kid, but it was certainly not one of Bruce’s - asked.

Slowly, the shape came into focus and realization settled into Bruce’s bones. The child probably wasn't much younger than Damian, but Bruce couldn't remember seeing Damian look quite so scared. He wore a red and blue jacket with ripped jeans, and overall looked somewhat unkempt.

And above very familiar blue eyes, fell a mess of curls, looking like a wild version of the famous black spit curl.

“Where’s mom?” the kid asked, looking more and more confused by the second, eyes searching Clark’s shocked face.

Chapter Text

Jon.

The kid's name was Jon.

Short for Jonathan, like Clark’s father.

In full, the kid had easily answered when Bruce prodded, Jonathan Lane-Kent. The kid had been shaken and disoriented at first, but under Bruce's skilled coaxing he'd calmed down considerably and easily.

Clark, meanwhile, still hadn't been able to say anything to the kid - to Jon.

It wasn't the first time a fully formed child with Clark’s face had appeared before him, and Clark was dismayed in himself to realize his first urge was still the same.

To turn his back and run, pretend it wasn't happening.

“I’m going to call Lois,” Bruce softly informed both Kents. He had slipped into his Batman-dealing-with-traumatized-children mode, and Clark had seldom been so jealous of his mate.

It came so easy to him.

Sparing Clark a meaningful glace, Bruce rolled his chair to another corner of the ‘Cave to call Lois, giving Jon and Clark a semblance of privacy.

Clark wished fervently that he hadn't.

“Hello, Jon,” Clark tried, feebly.

“Hi,” the kid answered, examining Clark with a curious look on his face. “You aren't my dad here, are you?”

“Fuck,” Clark let out, without meaning too, and then he flinched. Jon was far too young for that language, surely? “Sorry. No, I’m not.”

The kid's whole self visibly deflated. In the back, Clark heard Lois pick up the call, greeting Bruce with curiosity.

“What happened to you?” Clark asked, helplessly. “Why are you here? Not- not that I'm not happy to meet you,” he tackled on, clumsily, when the kid looked about to shrink in himself.

“It's a long story,” Jon said, sounding defeated, and despite his misgivings, Clark’s heart hurt for the kid. “I think it's better if we wait until Mr Wayne is back to hear it too.”

Clark chanced a glance at where Bruce was explaining-without-explaining what had happened to Lois, and that she needed to come over to the Manor as soon as possible.

“You know a Bruce?” Clark asked, despite himself. One would think Clark would be used to multiverse shenanigans at that point, but it was always extremely weird to him, the concept that other Clarks existed, and that they had taken completely different courses in their lives.

“Oh, yeah. He’s dad’s best friend and Tim’s dad.”

It landed like lead in Clark’s stomach. So in that universe, Bruce and him had never gotten together. Instead, Clark had apparently stayed with Lois and had a kid.

Clark tried to smile at Jon, while his chest felt like he couldn't breathe, which was ridiculous, because technically Clark didn't need to breathe all that much.

“Lois is on her way,” Bruce said when he finally returned, all soft smiles at Jon, who seemed to perk up at the information.

“Can you explain now, then, Jon?” Clark asked, going for nurturing and landing on awkward.

Jon nodded, looking resolute.

It was the sort of story they saw everywhere around the galaxy. Only this time, the story had happened on Earth. Not theirs, but close enough.

A key fact of it all seemed to be that Clark - Jon’s Clark, that is, his father - had lost his powers at some point before Jon was even born. He’d retired and moved back to Smallville with Lois to raise a family. And the world had gone on.

Until Darkseid had come.

They had tried to resist - Earth had tried to resist. But, as Jon soberly told them, one by one they fell.

Jon’s parents had been among the casualties. Tim had taken him in, any other family the kid had known long gone by that point. As far as Clark could tell, Jon’s world hadn't had a Kon, and his grandparents had died even before Darkseid.

“It was Tim's idea,” Jon went on explaining, and the matter-of-fact way he spoke, hardly shaken by the horrible story, didn't settle well with Clark. “I think he found out he was sick, or something? He didn't look very good by the time he sent me here. And he was determined to find someone to take care of me.”

“Why here?” Bruce asked, and Clark was thankful for his mate’s reassuring presence.

“It seemed like a good one?” Jon said without much conviction, shrugging his shoulders. “Tim said it was close enough to work the jump, and that things seemed calm here. And we needed a version of dad - uh, Clark - to use as a target for the portal. Tim also said he tried to find a world that didn't have a me already, but I had sort of hoped he'd been wrong about that.”

“Sorry,” Clark said, reflexively.

“Why?” Bruce asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

Jon shrugged again.

“I figured it would be easier to explain, well, me, if there was already one. But Tim thought it would cause ‘unnecessary strife’,” Jon went on to explain, rolling his eyes at the words. Then he seemed to deflate again, probably thinking of how probably never see his Tim again.

Because what Clark was hearing was that Jon had nothing to go back to and nowhere else to go. 

The kid had come to stay.

Keeping a clearly traumatized - if resilient - kid confined to the ‘Cave wasn't the kindest approach, and Jon clearly already knew all of their secret identities, so they had taken him up to the Manor after Bruce determined it seemed safe enough.

They’d introduced Jon to Alfred, Dick, Jason, Tim - who’d evoked quite the shocked response; apparently Jon’s Tim was much older - and Damian, with whom Jon seemed to, surprisingly, get along immediately. They were currently playing one of Tim’s video games. Damian had never shown an interest in them before, but apparently being challenged by Jon had been enough incentive to overcome his prejudice against what he called “childish, idiot making games”.

Bruce had, in the meantime, made a call to J’onn, asking him to come to the Manor at his earliest convenience. Jon’s heart had been steady when he spoke, not a lie Clark could hear, but they knew there were subtle ways of tampering with the mind that would leave the person completely unaware. And Bruce was nothing if not thorough, especially when it came to treats to his family.

Lois still hadn't arrived - understandable, as she had to cross Metropolis and Gotham during rush hour without the aid of flight or superspeed - and Clark was dreading her arrival. On one hand he had no doubt Lois would know what to do with the kid, she was competent like that, but on the other, the idea of explaining it all to her made Clark feel like he'd just eaten a chunk of kryptonite.

Sensing Clark’s distress, Bruce placed a comforting hand on Clark's shoulder. Clark turned to send his mate a strained smile.

There had been an unspoken agreement to keep the PDA low around Jon; the kid seemed surprisingly OK with his situation, but there was no reason to add strain to his small shoulders by revealing Bruce and Clark were more than friends in this universe. Jon had already been curious about why Clark hadn't been in any of the other places they had tried to portal to - the tech the other world’s Tim had developed using Kryptonian transdimensional travel needed a location and a genetic lock to work, but didn't allow them to locate Clark’s exact position. Which explained why they had been trying Clark's usual haunts, hoping they were the same as their own world’s. Trying for Gotham and the Manor had been a last ditch effort before they moved on to another target dimension, Jon had explained.

And Clark, damn him, had found himself wishing he hadn't been at the Manor when they tried, that it had failed and that Jon had been some other dimension’s Clark problem.

With a sigh, Clark rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

What the hell was he going to do?

He couldn't just turn his back on the kid. Jon was only twelve and Clark had learned his lesson from Kon, knew he hadn't been fair to the teen and that his initial reaction had almost destroyed any chance of a relationship between them, not to mention the lingering hurt Kon most likely still felt to this day at having been rejected by Clark. He wasn't about to commit the same mistake again. Much less with someone so young.

And yet, the more he looked at Jon and saw himself there, mixed with little bits of Lois, the sicker he felt.

When he could hear the sound of Lois’s car driving over the entryway gravel, Clark jumped to his feet, and after communicating with a look at Bruce, went for the door.

He didn't let himself speed, and arrived to open the door just as Lois was about to ring the bell.

“Oh, Lois, thank god you're here,” Clark said in a jumbled, going for a slightly desperate hug. Bruce was an unshakable rock, steady and calming by Clark’s side since Jon had materialized in the ‘Cave, but, well. The kid wasn't part Bruce. There was some of this that only him and Lois could share.

“Hey, Clark,” Lois said, patting him on the back awkwardly. She took a step back and he let her go, somewhat regretfully. “What's going on? Your loverboy said he couldn't explain everything over the phone but it sounded serious.”

“It is,” Clark agreed, rubbing at his own forehead, where a psychological headache was starting to build. “We had a visitor today - or, well, not a visitor, I suppose, since he seems to be here to stay.”

“Go on,” Lois said, stealing a glance behind Clark as if she could see this mysterious person through the crack on the door.

“Either way, his name is Jon, he’s twelve,” Clark went on, feeling like he was blabbering. “And in the universe he came from, we are his parents.”

“You’re shitting me,” was Lois’s immediate response, though Clark could see she believed him. Cursing was just how she processed. “What happened to his, you know, actual parents?” Clark made a face like he’d bitten into uranium.

“Darkseid. Both dead, as are most of the people in his dimension, from what I am given to understand.”

“Oh, shit, that's not good.”

“Yeah. His universe's Tim sent him here to save him. Jon seems to think he was also on his last legs.”

Lois was silent for a few moments, digesting everything Clark was telling her.

“Does he, you know,” and she made an imitation of Superman's classical flying pose, “take after dad?”

It was then that struck Clark. He had no idea. He hadn't even considered it.

“I don't know,” he admitted to Lois, “I didn't ask. But he might be too young to know. I didn't fully come into my powers until I was an adult.”

Lois nodded, somberly.

“And you, Smallville - how are you doing?” Lois seemed so earnest - she would remember what a shitshow it had been when Kon had showed up.

“I,” Clark began, and then realized he had no idea how to answer the question.

So he said that.

“That well, huh?” Lois said, and gave his shoulder a companionable punch, though there was sadness in her eyes. Clark wished he knew what it meant.

“Well, shall we, then?” she asked, motioning to the half-opened door and Clark felt a wave of shame at forcing Lois to have this conversation without even welcoming her inside first. 

He’d just wanted the illusion of privacy while they talked.

Getting back into the living room where all bats - and Jon.. and apparently Kon? Fuck, Clark should have called him, how had he forgotten - were was like entering another dimension. 

For once, it looked like a small cyclone had made its way through the large room - Clark noticed the mess seemed to concentrate around Damian and Jon, who were now drawing while bickering, side by side. Dick and Jason were standing in a corner, having an enthusiastic whispered conversation which Clark made a point not to listen in on, while Tim and Kon were sitting side by side on a loveseat, identical looks of concerned concentration on their faces as they watched Damian and Jon, like the two were a particularly curious and yet deadly pair of rare bugs. 

Clark wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Bruce, meanwhile, was also watching the kids, but with a much mellower look on his face. Contrary to Clark’s own inner turmoil, the place where Bruce lived inside of him felt calm and at ease. Clark couldn’t tell if it was the product of Bruce’s many relaxation techniques or if the situation simply didn’t faze the older man much. Bruce did have a considerable amount of children and was expecting a full on kryptonian attack on Earth - maybe a kid that was part his mate showing up was just par for the course for him. 

Lois, meanwhile, had stepped out from behind Clark and entered the room, and Jon noticed it immediately, dropping his drawing implements and super speeding towards Lois to hug her.

(Clark supposed that was that question answered. He tried not to think too hard of how he hadn’t even considered hugging Jon until that moment.)

“Nice to meet you, squirt,” Lois said, patting Jon’s head, when the kid, red cheeked and looking embarrassed, released her from his hug.

“Sorry, I know you aren’t my mom. You just look so much like her,” Jon explained, looking down at his feet.

“It’s alright,” Lois said, with a smile Clark recognized - once upon a time, she had smiled at him like that. “Now, Clark told me how you got here - more or less - but what I really want is to get to know you. Why don’t you tell us a little about you?” As she spoke, she guided the two of them towards the empty couch, making them sit with Jon in the middle, and Lois and Clark on either side. Jon’s smile was bright enough to light a stadium.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Bruce said, after clearing his throat, and a moment later the bats were filling out the room, leaving them to it. Clark noticed Kon hesitating on whether to follow Tim out, and, making a quick decision, beckoned him over to join them. Kon was part of the family, after all.

Kon smiled in relief and hurried over, sitting on a chair situated perpendicular to the couch Lois, Clark and Jon were occupying.

“Hey there, I’m Kon!” Kon greeted Jon with enthusiasm, which was returned. 

“Hi! You’re also Clark’s son?” Jon asked innocently, unaware of the hornets nest he was poking. Clark didn’t flinch, but it was only due to decades of perfecting his self control. Kon didn’t even hesitate, however.

“Not exactly, but I’ll tell you what? You can call me big bro if you want.”

And why did that surprise Clark so much? It made sense that Kon would latch on at an opportunity of family, and he would understand the situation Jon was in better than anyone else - of course Kon would do what he wished people had done when it was him and welcome Jon with open arms.

The real question was - why couldn’t Clark? Why did the sight of that kid fill him with more fear than most of the villains he fought on a regular basis?

What, Clark asked himself as he watched the other three talk animatedly among themselves, was wrong with him?

Chapter Text

They - that being Clark and the boys, Jon and Kon, and Lois - stayed up late talking, though Clark’s contributions were mostly limited to nodding and smiling awkwardly and listening attentively. 

Jon turned out to be quite the bright, cheerful kid despite the hellish conditions he had grown up in, running and hiding from Darkseid’s forces. Kon and Lois were positively enamored with the kid, doing their very best to make him feel welcome into the family.

Because that was what they were, Clark realized with unease. A family.

And then Jon had yawned for the third time in as many minutes and Lois had declared it was bedtime. By unspoken agreement they would all be staying in the Manor that night. It was far too late for Lois to drive back, not that she seemed in a hurry to be separate from Jon, and Kon already stayed over often enough he had his own guest bedroom.

(Not that he slept in that room all that often. Kon and Tim thought they were so sneaky.)

When it was time to say goodnight, Clark led the other three through the Manor’s silent corridors to the guest rooms.

Kon waved them off with a yawn of his own and floated off to his room, while Lois gave Jon a long hug, ruffling his hair and reminding him she would be only a door down.

“What about you?” Jon then asked, shily, turning to Clark. “Are you staying with Lois?”

He should have anticipated that question, Clark thought, frozen for a moment.

“Uh, no, I’m staying in my own room.”

Jon looked surprised at that. 

“So, which of the guest rooms is yours?”

“Honey, Clark isn't staying in the guest wing. He has his own room in the manor - he lives here,” Lois explained, when Clark just stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

A plane? A bird? No, just a superpowered almost-thirty-year-old afraid of a preteen. 

Some Superman he was, Clark thought, tasting bile in back of his throat.

“Oh,” Jon said, and he looked confused when he turned to Lois. “And you don't.”

“No, I don't,” Lois said with finality but not unkindly. Jon seemed to get the implications of what she said, adding a layer of sadness to the confusion.

Clark fought the urge to apologize. He wasn't sure what he would be apologizing for , but the urge was there.

“Actually,” Jon said. “Dami asked if I wanted to sleep in his room tonight. You think he’s still up?”

Clark blinked at the change of subject - and at the word Dami - and then glanced at his watch. It was late, but all the inhabitants of the house were notoriously nocturnal. He had no doubt Damian was awake.

“Probably,” Clark replied. “I can show you to his room, it is not far from mine.”

The two bid their goodnights to Lois and make their way towards the resident wing in silence. Jon didn't seem to mind it, too busy in his own head if the way he looked was anything to go by. It was the same face Clark wore when he was trying to puzzle out a particular difficult story.

True to expectation, Damian not only was up when they reached his room, but Dick was also there, having a conversation Clark refused to listen in on.

“Hey, Dami. Is the offer of a sleep over still up?” Jon asked, and there was something about his voice Clark couldn’t quite parse, but made Damian glance at Clark with a frown.

Though Damian was often frowning around Clark, if he was honest.

“Of course,” Damian sniffed haughtily, “Grayson, aid us! We must procure a sleeping bag for Kent.”

“I think Tim has one you can borrow,” Dick responded with the typical fondness he always showed for Damian.

“You may go,” Damian added, shooting a murderous look at Clark, which, yeah, maybe he was above-average angry at Clark at the moment.

And Clark couldn’t even blame him.

So Clark bid his good nights and quickly made his way to the master bedroom, which wasn’t hard, as it was quite close to Damian’s own room.

There, Clark was surprised to find Bruce up (or, well, sitting on the bed, if he was precise), waiting for him.

Not that it was surprising Bruce would wait up after a day such as that had been; it was just that the situation was so often reversed it felt strange to change places.

“Clark,” Bruce said, concern in his voice, and it was enough for Clark to finally crack.

“Bruce,” Clark breathed out, feeling so, so tired. He floated over to the bed, settling himself against Bruce’s body, face on his chest. “What am I going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bruce replied, running his fingers through Clark’s hair in a soothing motion. 

“How is this so easy for you?” Clark mumbled, bitterly. Bruce’s hand hesitated for a moment, before resuming the motion.

“Practice,” Bruce said, flat, and Clark couldn’t quite tell if he was being serious or not. “Clark, can you… explain?”

And Bruce didn’t need to specify for Clark to know what he meant.

Explain how he was feeling, what was going on in his head. For once the mating bond wouldn’t help Bruce to understand - not when not even Clark knew exactly what he was feeling.

Clark took a moment to think, to figure out he could explain.

“I had a reason, with Kon,” he began.

Bruce tilted his head in question.

“When Kon showed up, and I was - angry, and afraid, and concerned. I wasn’t right, it wasn’t right of me, but I… I had a reason. Luthor was a real risk, even if his involvement made me a little… myopic about the whole thing.”

“But there’s no Luthor this time,” Bruce supplied, Clark nodded, his face twisted with self-loathing.

“There’s no Luthor. There’s just a small kid that needs me, and I don't have a reason, with Jon.” Clark took a deep breath and looked away, embarrassed of what he was about to admit. “And I still feel the same way.”

Bruce didn’t respond, at first. Clark tried not to despair - he could tell through the bond that Bruce wasn’t horrified at Clark, was just processing what he had been told, considering it from a multitude of angles and implications.

It was just what Bruce did with important information.

“Do my kids ever make you feel this way?” Bruce finally asked, at the end of several long minutes, and Clark wanted to punch himself for making Bruce think that.

“NO!” Clark shouted, and, then, composed himself and repeated at a more sedate volume, “no, never. It’s - I think the reason is that they are, ultimately, your kids? I could never take your place.”

Bruce nodded, like what Clark said had made sense. Bless him.

“So there is no pressure on you. They are safe.”

Yeah, that one stung.

“I suppose,” Clark allowed.  

Both were silent for several long moments.

“You are not a monster, Clark,” Bruce suddenly spoke into the side of Clark’s head. “This is a difficult situation. You are allowed to feel as you feel. All that matters are the choices that you make going forward.”

And Clark understood how Bruce had meant it to be comforting, he really did.

But instead, guilt settled like kryptonite in his insides.

Clark slept fitfully that night, and once he heard Alfred puttering down in the kitchen he gave up and decided to get up, leaving Bruce still sound asleep in bed.

Sleep wasn't necessary for kryptonian life, as in Clark didn't die without it, but there was a certain mental weight that tended to accumulate when he didn't sleep. It felt not unlike what Clark had seen a hangover be described as.

By the time he made his way down, Alfred already had tea ready, and was patiently kneading bread for breakfast later.

“Good morning, Mister Kent,” Alfred said, with a nod and a sniff.

Ouch, tell me how you really feel, Alfred.

Clark poured himself a cup of tea, and then prepared one for Alfred, which he shily pushed in the direction of the older gentleman as a silent apology.

After a particularly pointed shove on the dough, Alfred covered and pushed the bowl asside, moving to then wash his hands and, finally, take the cup Clark had poured.

“I trust you are feeling more yourself today, sir?” The question was asked after Alfred took a sip of his cup, but getting his tea correct apparently wasn't enough to dull Alfred's ire.

“Yes, Alfred,” Clark answered dutifully, even though it sounded hollow to his own ears.

“If I may,” Alfred said, and then continuing, not waiting to know if he may, “if a lifetime of work to the Waynes has taught me anything, is that children can land in your lap in all sorts of circumstances. And what matters is what you do with them, not how they came about.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Now, if only Clark could tell his gut that.

“Anytime, sir.”

For the next couple hours, Clark worked silently along Alfred, trying to let the repetitive work clear his mind and calm his emotions.

He was quite surprised to have Lois be the first one to come to the kitchens that morning - but then again, for all Lois loved sleeping in, she never felt quite comfortable sleeping in other people's homes, Clark remembered that much.

“Morning, Lo,” Clark offered her, doing his best to smile. He wasn't sure how successful he was, however.

“Hey there Smallville,” Lois answered, punching his lightly on the shoulder. “How are you doing today?”

“Better,” Clark said, for lack of anything else to say. For what was worth, at least he didn't feel any worse.

“Hmm, yeah right,” Lois mumbled at him as she took a sip of her black coffee. “Listen, I had a talk with Jon before coming down.”

“Oh?” Clark had been ignoring all sounds from the upper floors of the Manor deliberately, as was his habit. He had some semblance of respect for other people's privacy.

“I’m bringing him to Metropolis with me today.”

Clark’s heart beat so hard his hands shook and spilled his third cup of tea.

“Lois-”

“No, listen, Clark,” Lois cut him off, looking apologetic. “I know this is hard for you - but you need to get yourself righted out.”

“I know,” Clark murmured, deflating.

“And I am very thankful to Bruce, but this place is a bit overwhelming. And Jon needs to be introduced to our world. I think it will be good for all of us.” Clark couldn't refute her - not when she was right.

“What do I do, Lo?” Clark asked with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

“You take a day and do whatever you need to get your head on right. And then you come over to visit and we'll work out how to do this.”

“I don't deserve you,” Clark said, and meant it. If he had to suddenly share progeny with someone, he could do much worse than Lois.

“Nobody does,” Lois joked, before pulling Clark into a hug. He went easily.

“It will be OK, Clark. You aren't alone in this.”

No , Clark thought, with some relief for the first time since he’d lain eyes on Jon. He really wasn't alone, was he?

Chapter Text

Breakfast, once Jon and Damian were down - he didn't have much hope of any of the others coming down at anything close to breakfast time, all things considered, so they went ahead and ate - was an awkward affair.

Damian had clearly imprinted on Jon and decided it was his job to protect the younger kid by all means necessary.

And, at that moment, Clark was The Enemy. Capital letters and all. Apparently all good will Clark had earned for being responsible for Bruce's better health was out the window.

“You are, of course, coming to visit soon,” Damian was saying, reassuring Jon. “I’ll make sure any undesirable elements will be absent.”

Clark was saved from having to respond to the rather pointed look Damian threw his way by a ruffled looking Kon coming into the kitchen, notably absent of a Tim by his side.

Clark frowned. Kon always said he got enough of waking up early at the farm, so he always took advantage of his boyfriend's horrible schedule to sleep in.

“Morning,” Kon yawned, stopping to ruffle Jon’s hair before taking a seat next to Clark.

“Surprised to see you up,” Clark couldn't help but mention once Kon had filled his plate and settled down to eat, though he did make an effort to smile to soften it.

“About that,” Kon said, before he yawned again, holding a fork with a speared sausage halfway to his mouth. “I wanted to make sure I caught you. There's something I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh,” Clark said, surprised. “Sure. After breakfast?”

“Sweet,” Kon agreed, before diving in on his mountain of breakfast. Clark always felt some extra sympathy for his mother and Clark’s teenage years when he watched Kon eat.

It wasn’t long before everyone was done, and Lois and Jon were making their farewells. 

“Are you sure you’ll be OK?” Clark asked Lois as he hugged her goodbye. Despite the relief at having some room to think, Clark couldn’t help but feel guilty he was leaving Lois fully responsible for Jon.

“Nope!” Lois responded cheerfully. “But I guess that is par for the course when you first go home with a kid.” She smiled benignly at Clark. “Jokes aside, we’ll be fine, Clark. And I won’t hesitate to holler if it turns out I do need help.”

Considering Lois’s personality, Clark had no doubt she would. The thought was somewhat calming.

And then he had to turn to Jon and bid him goodbye.

“Be good for Lois,” was all Clark could think to say, remembering his father telling him the same thing when he went out and left Clark and Ma by themselves in the house.

Surprisingly, Jon smiled widely at him in response. Perhaps his own father had used to tell him the same thing?

“I will,” Jon nodded, enthusiastically. Somewhere to the side, Damian huffed in irritation.

Once Lois's car had cleared the front gates, Clark sighed.

“What did you want to talk about?” Clark then asked Kon, who had lingered outside with him.

“Can we go somewhere private, first?” Kon asked awkwardly, and Clark’s brows dipped. 

“Clouds?” he asked in return. It looked like rain, as it usually did in Gotham, but they could pierce them and hover above, out in the sun. If Kon didn’t mind getting a little wet, that is.

Instead of replying, Kon shot straight up, not looking back. Clark followed him.

He let himself clear his mind and enjoy the feeling of freezing water and lightning bolts on his skin as he flew through the thick layers of clouds covering Gotham.

When he surfaced over the clouds, sun greeting his skin with a pleasant kiss, Kon was already waiting for him, legs crossed like he was sitting mid air and looking anxious.

“Listen. You can't do what you did to me to Jon.”

Clark… hadn’t been expecting that.

It stung all the more because Kon was right.

“I know. I’m trying.” It sounded weak even to Clark’s own ears.

“Yeah, well, try harder,” Kon almost bit out, surprising Clark with his anger. “What even is your deal, Clark?”

And wouldn’t it be great if Clark actually knew that? He didn’t have an answer for Kon.

Instead, there's things that'd been on his mind over the last couple of days, repeating and replaying.

“Did I ever tell you about how my human father died?”

Kon seemed shocked by the change of subject, enough that his rage seemed to dispel for a moment.

“Ma said it was in a tornado.”

“Yeah,” Clark said, with a mirthless laugh, almost an exhale of air. “I was there. I watched it. He told me not to save him, wanted to protect me.” Clark closed his eyes, pained. “I told him he wasn’t my father a couple of hours before that. It wasn’t even the only time. Not that I was an easy kid even before that, with my powers.”

When he opened his eyes, Kon was looking at him with pity.

“I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Clark bit the inside of his cheek, hard, looking away.

His father’s death wasn’t the only thing that had been in his mind. There was an assortment of them, all linked in a way he couldn’t quite articulate but that were connected to the anxious feeling in his stomach when he thought of Jon, when he had first thought of Kon.

“And you know what happened when I went looking for my - our - kind.”

“Zod.”

Clark nodded.

“And I don't have to get into how many times Ma or Lois were in danger because of me. You know how that goes.”

Kon, looking progressively more concerned, nodded.

“I guess what I am saying,” Clark said, as he himself realized it, one of the sources of his distress. “I’m no good to be around. It is dangerous for anyone… vulnerable.” Was that why he had been so attracted to competent people, why Bruce was so right? Because the extremely capable man seemed invulnerable to Clark’s eyes?

(He couldn't deny he saw Bruce as larger than life at times. For all Clark frequently worried for his well being, deep down he saw Bruce as untouchable, unbreakable. Eternal.)

Kon seemed to be shocked into silence for several moments. Clark avoided looking at him, letting his realization settle into his bones.

“My therapist would say you're just afraid of losing people,” Kon finally broke the silence, hesitantly. “Because being invulnerable doesn't make you impervious to emotions ,” Kon said, with the air of someone who was quoting an authority.

“You go to a therapist?” Clark asked, because he honestly hadn't known, nor had he expected such a mature decision from Kon. To show him what he knew.

“It was the only way I could get Tim to go, by agreeing to do it too. But I ended up sort of liking it?” Kon shrugged, unbothered, while Clark stared at him like he had grown a second head. Tim went to therapy? “Anyway. The point is that trying to keep yourself from getting hurt by keeping people away isn't healthy.”

Clark sighed deeply, rubbing at his eyes. It wasn't like Kon wasn't right. It just didn't feel right, for Clark’s case in particular.

“Besides, if you ask anyone they'll say knowing you is worth the risk,” Kon added, trying for a smile.

Clark didn't quite manage to smile back. Kon looked at him with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Clark, you get no one is asking you to, like, be responsible for them, right?”

“But I am ,” Clark replied reflexively, voice low. He was . Not only for his loved ones, but for humanity in general, to protect and save them to the extent of his ability.

“No, dude - like, sure, Jon’s a kid and he's gonna need a lot of help, but the rest of us can take care of ourselves and make our own decisions. That’s not what people want from you. And, besides, you have people to help you, you know.”

“I-”

“No, shut up. It's true, you have me, and you have Lois, and god knows you have all the bats on your side too, they come along as a whole terrifying package. And that's not to mention the rest of the superhero community.”

Clark looked at Kon, helpless. There was logic in what Kon was saying - it was the same thing Lois had said that morning. And yet.

Kon shot him an equally powerless look in return. How the fuck could he get Clark to understand all that? 

“I want to try,” Clark finally said, because he did. “I just don't know how.”

And then Kon suddenly cheered up, looking like he'd just had an idea.

“You know, I think I know something that could help all of us. A formal pack bonding night!”

“Pack… bonding?” Clark asked, feeling whiplash from the change of subject.

“Well, kryptonians have bonds, right? To their mates and to their, well, packs . Families and other people that are really close to them. What we are. But we never, like, did the equivalent of shaking on it.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe it will help your instincts or something. If we feel less… foreign.” Kon smiled, seeming excited at his own idea. “And maybe if we make it a pack thing it will get the pressure off you and Jon?”

Clark considered it. His instincts had led him to Bruce in the past - had been strong enough to overrule Clark’s fear and misgivings at revealing his feelings for Bruce. Maybe he could use them to his advantage again.

There, and then, Clark made a decision. A decision to stop running and to face his fears head on.

And he knew where to start.

“Can I scent you, Kon?”

Kon looked startled at the request, but also hopeful in such a vulnerable way that it made Clark feel like a cad. He thought he’d made up for his earlier treatment of Kon, but now it seemed he’d been still dropping the ball on that. 

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Kon finally said, nervously. Clark was cautious and deliberate in approaching Kon. He had only really done this with Bruce under a much different context, but still there was something inside him that felt right as he touched his cheek to Kon’s. Their skin had already dried from the wind and sun, but Clark would still smell the water and smog on Kon’s skin.

He was, however, taken aback by Kon’s strong scent, in a way so much more pungent than Bruce’s own budding alpha musk. To his surprise, Clark realized he could tell Kon smelled like unpresented , infant despite the intensity of his scent.

Clark tried to project family as he rubbed his skin against Kon’s, his own scent adjusting in a way that he hadn’t experienced before but that felt warm and welcoming. Kon’s own pheromones seemed to respond, resonating Clark’s.

Inside his chest, next to where Bruce lived, Clark felt a small, warm vibration awake, not quite as defined but still undeniably there .

Was this what he had been denying Kon by keeping his distance? The thought hurt Clark as much as Kon’s presence soothed him.

“It’s OK,” Kon murmured, probably understanding what Clark was feeling through the nascent bond. 

“I never properly said I was sorry, for the way I treated you,” Clark said, “but I really am.”

“I know,” Kon responded, easily, hugging Clark closer - he wasn’t sure when they’d embraced, but Clark was glad for it.

Clark wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually their embrace dissolved leaving behind something that had started to heal between them, and Clark with a plan.

Chapter Text

By the time Clark and Kon were back at the Manor, most of its previous inhabitants were gone or about to be. Despite it being the weekend, meaning most of the children didn’t have work or school to get to, they were also vigilantes with very busy schedules. They might usually take the opportunity of being in the Manor over the weekend to sleep in late, but after they were up, it was business hours as usual.

It was the weekend, but Clark had work to make up for, and, in truth, he welcomed the chance to clear his mind of his own problems to dive deep into the problems of Metropolis. Once the visitors and children had all bid their farewells and Bruce had disappeared away to do his own obligations, Clark allowed his work to consume him - though he did, as usual, keep an ear out for people in need of help.

Clark took his lunch in the office he'd commandeered as his own months before, and stopped work twice for superhero related reasons - namely a fire and a trainwreck - but beyond that, Clark only closed his laptop once the sun had set.

His internal clock had long lined up with the particular rhythm of the Manor, and it told him it was a time where he could catch Bruce after office work but before patrol.

Some days, it was the only time they found to see each other, even living in the same place.

Clark fought the urge to hover his way to the ‘Cave - the Manor was a no powers zone, but he was feeling lighter than he had in what felt like weeks - and instead walked there, following both the tug in his chest and the heartbeat he’d focused on.

Unsurprisingly, Bruce was sitting in front of the ‘Computer when Clark entered the ‘Cave. Surprisingly, he seemed to have been waiting for Clark to arrive.

“Clark,” he said, evenly, observing Clark steadily as he made his way closer and closer to Bruce, until he could land a soft peck on his dutifully upturned lips.

“Bruce,” Clark hummed, a little pur slipping into his voice. Coming back to Bruce always felt close to a religious experience, home in so many ways Clark couldn’t even begin to explain. “What’s up?”

“I have something I must discuss with you,” Bruce said, turning to wake the screen of the ‘Computer. 

“Last night. After we welcomed our newest visitor, it occurred to me to check something.” Bruce produced a series of medical imagery on the screen of the ‘Computer. It took Clark a moment to place what he was seeing. “And I was right. My vasectomy is well on the way to reversal.”

Clark was speechless. But of course. A vasectomy was a man-induced injury - or at least that’s how Bruce’s newly souped up immune system would see it, anyway.

The idea that it could have gone by unnoticed and the consequences it could have had, in the wake of Johnathan’s arrival left Clark hot and cold.

Bruce and him had been talking about having kids together, it was true. And yet…

Before Clark could articulate his thoughts, Bruce continued on.

“I wanted to discuss this with you, but realized-” he stopped himself and took a deep breath, looking frustrated. After a few moments, he tried again. “I’ve already scheduled the insertion of a vas deferens device that should be longer lived. And also fully reversible, for when the time is right.”

“Oh.”

That solved matters, Clark thought, a strange buzzing silence occupying his ears.

“I’m sorry, Clark,” Bruce said, taking Clark’s hand in his. “You understand, however, don’t you?” Clark swallowed dry, and it was his turn to take a deep breath.

“Yeah, Bruce. You are right.” Clark leaned forward, resting his forehead against Bruce’s. Inside his chest, the place where Bruce lived felt - sore. Sensitive, but resilient. “ I’m sorry,”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Clark,” Bruce replied, voice a hoarse murmur that was nevertheless more than enough for Clark. The implication of someone who Clark did owe apologies to hung heavily in the air between them even as Bruce softly nuzzled Clark, lazily scenting him to calm and reassure his mate.

Eventually, Clark broke the silence, his eyes opening from the quiet, comfortable, dark moment he spent with Bruce.

“I had a talk with Kon today.” Clark smiled sadly. “He read me the riot act for how I treated Jon. Not that I didn’t deserve it,” he added, with a self conscious smile. “But afterwards… it was good?”

“Good how?”

“I think he understands a bit better, now. Might be on the way to forgiving me one day.” Bruce squeezed Clark’s hand in reassurance. “He suggested we do a - pack bonding thing. To see if it settles my instincts.” Clark rubbed his forehead wearily, “I think he could be onto something.” Bruce nodded, showing he was listening.

“Do you want us to participate?” he asked quietly after a few moments. “Me and the kids, that is.”

“Please,” Clark asked, his voice breaking. But he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Not when Bruce could feel the turmoil inside him. “I always want you there, Bruce. And I think it would be good - important - to take this step with the kids, too. To stop living in a… safe zone.” 

Clark moved back so he could look at Bruce, just in time to catch one of his rare smiles - not the camera friendly one, or the sexy one, but the small upturn of lips that indicated Bruce was truly pleased.

And right then, Clark realized he had the strength to do what he needed to do - would always manage it with Bruce by his side.

Once Bruce finally shooed him away from the ‘Cave in order to go to patrol - Clark felt bad he had caused Bruce to forgo his usual nap, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it, and knew Bruce didn’t either; he’d just have to keep a closer ear on Batman that night to make sure his lack of rest didn’t cause any problems - Clark made his way to his office once more and called someone he really needed to talk to.

Lois.

After a few rings, she picked up.

“Well, this is sooner than I expected, Smallville.”

“I live to break expectations.”

“I’ll say. So, to what do I owe this call?”

“Want to know how you are doing.” Clark hesitated, in for a penny, in for a pound. “The two of you, that is.” 

“Well, Jon seems well, as well as you can expect, really. We went shopping to make the spare bedroom more like ‘him’ and he looked like he’d never seen a mall before - which I guess he hadn’t. And he kept thanking me, like it was something incredible,” she said, disbelief tinting her voice.

“ You are incredible, Lo,” Clark said, fondly. “Thank you for doing that, by the way.”

“No need to thank me, I had a blast. And now the room doesn’t look like Martha Stewart is haunting it, anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s still alive,” Clark said, laughter in his voice. Lois really was a miracle worker.

“Anyway, you Kent boys need to stop thanking me for doing what I want.”

“God, I need to tell Ma, don’t I?” Clark realized, as he spoke. Somehow the thought hadn’t occurred to him yet.

“I think ‘kid from another universe’ will be easier for Ma to take than Kon’s story, for what is worth.”

“Yeah,” Clark agreed. The lack of Lex Luthor involvement at the very least ought to make things easier. “Now stop dodging the question - how are you doing?”

“You know how I told you I was thinking of adopting but wasn’t sure?” Clark would have felt dread at the words, but Lois sounded so - happy.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure,” she said, a smile clear in her voice.

Clark couldn’t help but smile back.

The next morning found Clark standing outside of Lois’s apartment door - with permission! - holding a gift in hand, nerves eating at him even as he felt deep in his bones that he was doing the right thing.

“Right on time, Smallville,” Lois greeted him when she finally opened the door, Jon standing close behind her, halfway hiding behind her leg.

For the first time, Clark allowed himself to feel fondness for the kid, and found it - easier than he’d expected.

Jon was a really cute kid, after all.

“Good morning you two,” Clark said cheerfully, and didn’t miss the way Jon looked surprised, his dark eyebrows climbing high on his forehead. He had clearly inherited his lack of poker face from Clark. It had been a long process to get him to the point where he could keep his secret identity, after all.

Lois motioned Clark inside, stepping aside to let him in.

“Why don’t you show Clark your room, Jon?” Lois prompted sweetly, and Jon looked hesitantly hopeful at Clark, who cleared his throat and extended his hand. With a sudden smile, Jon took Clark’s hand in his, and began pulling him towards the room that had been usually reserved for Lois’s sister when she came to visit.

“It’s over here,” Jon explained, probably unaware that Clark had been plenty of times in Lois’s apartment, but he didn’t mind it. 

The changes were immediately evident, even if Clark had not had an eidetic memory to aid him.

Gone was the bland pastel bedding in favor of a brightly coloured, space themed eiderdown. On the ceiling and walls, several little shine-in-the-dark stars had been stuck. Apparently Jon was in a space phase. On the table was a brand new tablet, along with the box and case. All over the room, Clark could see little things that had been changed, made cozier.

“Isn't it great?” Jon asked, with a wide smile, and Clark couldn't help but smile back.

“It is,” he agreed, before taking out the box in his pocket. “Here, I have something for you.”

Jon came closer, a hopeful confusion on his face.

“I should be able to always hear you if you call me, no matter where you are,” Clark began, going over the words he had rehearsed in his head earlier. “But if something ever happens and I don't, I want you to have this. Someone will always answer.”

Jon took the small container and opened it to reveal a League communicator, similar to Clark's own, but tuned into the emergency frequency.

“Wow,” Jon said, looking the communicator over. “This looks like the sort of gadget my world’s Tim would have.” He sounded wistful for a moment, before shaking it off. The kid really had a nearly worrisome amount of resilience.

“This world’s Bruce created it.” At the mention of Bruce, Jon turned shy.

“So, you and Mr Wayne…”

“We are together,” Clark replied, trying to sound kind but firm.

“I know. Damian confirmed it when I asked.”

“I bet he had a lot to say on the subject,” Clark said, going for self effacing.  

“A bit,” Jon nodded, quickly smiling up at Clark. Clark smiled back ruefully. “Oh, let me show you!”

Clark let himself be dragged into a lengthy explanation about other things Lois had gotten Jon. All the while, the kid sounded frankly amazed at how kind Lois was being to him, and Clark felt himself melt a bit further. Anyone who recognised Lois’s awesomeness was off to a good start in Clark’s books.

It wasn't long before Lois was calling them back over to the living room to have breakfast - Clark knew for a fact she hadn't cooked, so she had probably ordered out something for the three of them.

He let Jon lead the way, taken despite himself with the kid's excitability. Despite having lived in a literal apocalyptic parallel universe, he got excited so easily.

They all sat to eat, complimenting the smell and looks of the pancakes, eggs and bacon plated liberally. It was the first time in a while that Clark felt truly hungry.

When there was a natural lull in the conversation as they all tucked in, Clark set his cutlery down and cleared his throat.

“Kon had an idea that we should have a - uh, the expression he used was a pack bonding night.”

“ Pack - does that have anything to do with the whole kryptonian gender reproduction thing?”

“You're a poet, Lois,” Clark said with a laugh. “And, yeah, I guess. We have these bonds within a family unit? And he thought it would be good to, uh, reinforce them, I guess.” It was about then that it occurred to him, and Clark turned to Jon, who looked strange, to ask. “That reminds me, Jon - was your father an alpha or an omega?”

Instead of happily replying, however, Jon frowned and scratched his head.

“I have no idea what you're talking about?”

Despite himself, Clark let out a breath in amusement. There was always something new to investigate. Jor-El would be thrilled.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, explaining alphas, betas and omegas to Jon was a bit of an exercise in awkwardness and Clark’s shortcomings. He didn’t have much experience with children of Jon’s age - excluding rescues and Damian, who was his own kind of particular beast - and it showed. He managed to figure out neither Jon’s parents nor his universe’s Tim had ever mentioned kryptonian genders to him, if they had even known about them. But when it came to telling Jon about alphas and omegas, Clark… stumbled.

Luckily, Lois was there to roll her eyes at Clark and be much more direct than he felt comfortable.

“Well, you see, ancient Kryptonians, they, uh-” Clark was saying, when Lois interrupted him.

“Did anyone ever give you the talk about human reproduction, Jon?” she asked, without preamble, clearing Jon’s expression of confusion and mild concern and replacing it with one of understanding.

“Oh, yeah! Tim gave me a presentation on sex when I was nine,” he announced with much less embarrassment than Clark’s own sensibilities allowed him. At least they wouldn’t have to teach Jon about the birds and the bees. 

Clark ignored Lois' smug look at him.

“That simplifies things, I guess,” Clark said, after clearing his throat. He tried to channel Bruce’s steady teaching mode - he’d seen the man discuss things that turned Clark’s eartips red without even hesitating many times. “Usually, with humans, you need a male and a female to create offspring, right? Kryptonians were a little more complex. If two Kryptonians were compatible, they would present - one as an omega and the other as an alpha - and become fertile. Unpresented Kryptonians were called betas and were much less likely to have kids.” Jon nodded and Clark, not for the first time, was surprised by the kid’s ability to take things in stride.

“And which one are you?” he asked, which Clark should have expected, but didn’t.

“I’m omega,” Clark said, not without some pride. “Omegas are the ones who bear children.”

“Does that mean Mr. Wayne is your alpha?” Jon asked, tilting his head in consideration. Clark smiled despite himself and nodded. Jon hummed in consideration.

“Well, I’ve seen pictures of Mom pregnant with me, so I don’t think Dad was an omega too,” he said, after a few moments, and Clark was surprised to find himself a little proud of the kid’s quick mind. Instead of squashing the feeling, as was his knee jerk reaction, he tried to nurture it, allowing it to make his chest warm.

“Maybe your dad never presented,” Clark considered. “I only learned of these Kryptonian gender dynamics recently, I think I would have never known if I hadn’t presented.”

“It could also be a difference between dimensions,” Lois guessed, always one for trying to figure out a puzzle or mystery. “Maybe Kryptonians in that universe didn’t have the same gender dynamics.”

Clark considered it - it would explain how Jon’s father had been able to sire him without presenting. But, then again, it was possible he was a lucky beta or even an alpha who had just never mentioned it to Jon. From what Clark had gleaned, without asking directly, Jon’s parents had died when he was pretty young. Perhaps there just hadn’t been the time. And, in a world where Bruce wasn’t Clark’s mate and Kon didn’t exist, there would be no reason for Tim knowing anything about kryptonian genders.

“We can do as Kon did,” Clark said after a moment of consideration, “go to the Fortress and have Jor-El check him for the, uh, necessary parts.” Jon perked up - which led to a considerable level of perkiness - and went wide-eyed. “If Jon wants to, that is.”

“You have a fortress ?” Jon asked, clear awe in his voice. Clark couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Maybe things would be easier than he had expected.

Mounting an excursion to the fortress took a bit more planning than Clark had anticipated. Bruce had bid out of the excursion, which Clark didn’t resent - Bruce was an extremely busy man, after all, and the trip wasn’t exactly short - but  meanwhile Kon and Tim had asked to go along. Apparently Tim had Questions™  (Clark could hear the capital letter in the boy’s voice) and Clark had seen no reason to refuse. In fact, part of him had become gleeful at the idea of siccing Tim on Jor-El, if he was quite honest.

Besides, Clark hadn’t acted like it, but he knew the ship wasn’t his - it belonged to all Kryptonians on Earth. Kon had as much right to it as he did, and it was more than time to make that clear.

And the same went for Jon.

Taking Jon and Tim along, however, did mean they needed to take the ‘jet, which took considerably more time than Clark would take by himself, and was far more complicated overall.

But, eventually, things were in place and the four of them made their way to the Arctic. 

The trip itself was… quite the experience.

Apparently Tim and Kon were amidst a very important ongoing discussion, with no agreement to be found.

Namely, whether Kon would present Omega or Alpha, when the time came.

(Clark, quietly, hoped that the time was still very far away.)

Jon, despite not knowing the two boys - or, at least, this dimension’s versions of them - that well, nor that much about the concept of alphas and omegas, had nonetheless enthusiastically joined the discussion. From what Clark could tell, Jon seemed to be on the side of chaos.

Clark, for his part, was trying to stay out of it and erase half of what he had heard so far. There really was such a thing as knowing too much about people, especially when people were, in Clark’s eyes, still just kids.

“I just don't think my body is that sexist, dude,” Kon was saying from where he was leaning against the back of the pilot chair, where, in turn, Tim sat. Jon meanwhile had been allowed to sit on the copilot's chair, to his great honor and enthusiasm.

“It is not sexist , I'm just saying that biologically- ”

Clark tuned out of the conversation again. He certainly didn't want to hear more about Tim’s and Kon's relative testosterone levels, about how culture interacted with innate traits nor the words ‘ hot lil’ alpha ’ ever again.

By the time they arrived at their destination, both Clark and Jon were asleep, side by side, in the very back of the ‘jet. The discussion had turned heated in the bizarrest way Clark had ever seen, with Tim and Kon tossing what basically amounted to weird compliments at each other like curses, each trying to prove the other wrong by pointing out things about the other that fit this or that alpha or omega archetype.

Strange as it had been, it had apparently indeed been a fight, and so Jon and Clark had traded looks and simultaneously decided to give the couple some space. Clark had made use of the cleverly hidden sound system Bruce had installed in the ‘jet after adopting Cass to dampen the sounds of the argument, and Chopin along with the repetitive sight of clouds had easily lulled them both to sleep.  

Things seemed currently back to rights, however, Clark noticed as he stretched the sleep off his muscles, seeing Kon smile besottedly at Tim while he landed the ‘jet.

He shook his head. Clark was committed to being more present in Kon’s life, but that certainly didn’t mean he was about to stick his nose into the couple’s business uninvited. It just wasn’t any of his business.

Kon and Clark helped Tim and Jon, respectively, get into thick cold weather jackets, and once that was done all that was left was exiting the Jet.

Jon’s hand felt very small in Clark’s when he took it, Clark noticed in the back of his head.

And to the ship they went.

There were some benefits to having a superpowered AI modeled after one’s father, Clark thought wryly, as he set up the replicator.

Upon arrival, Jon had been considerably impressed in turn by all the snow, the ship, and the aforementioned AI, which definitely had eased the way with everything. Clark found himself mellowing further towards the kid - it was hard not to, after seeing Jon get so star-eyed and awed.

He was a really cute kid.

A really cute kid who took the - admittedly non-intrusive and quick - exam like a champ, seemingly used to bioscans or some other similar technology. Clark made a quick mental note to mention it to Bruce later; he might be interested in the types of technology the Other Tim had at his disposal. 

(At the same time, Clark also took a moment to check on his bond, nudging it with a bit of affectionmissyouokay? . On the other end, he could feel concentration and concern at an usual level for Batman, layered over the minor discomfort that Clark was learning meant Bruce was neglecting his basic needs and then- a wash of lovelovelovealpha came over him like an embrace, warm and protective and so Bruce Clark could swear he could smell him in the air.) 

Once the exam was done, and after Jor-El informed them that apparently genetic inheritance is dominant for the Kryptonian reproductive system in a - somewhat disturbingly - excited tone, going on to explain that Jon (and Kon) had both fully developed like a Kryptonian would in that regard, despite there being other systems where that had not been the case. As it were, it seemed that splicing human and kryptonian genes together through different means had resulted in very different genetic make-ups for either of them.

So far he’d been behaving exemplary, but Clark noticed how, at that, Tim’s eyes had grown three sizes and he seemed to start vibrating with barely contained questions. 

Which was when the whole AI thing came in hand. Tim and Kon had their Questions™ for Jor-El, most of which were undoubtedly of a nature that required the moderate amount of privacy a separate room would provide (for Clark’s own mental health, if not for theirs), and it hadn’t been hard to make the executive decision that Jon had no business listening in on them, either. Which was when it turned out that Jon had his own Questions for Jor-El that demanded Privacy.

Hence, an AI that could be in two - more? - places at once? Very handy.

Especially when Clark had his very own Task that required Privacy to do.

Smuggling in what he needed unnoticed had been quite easy. Jon was too awe-stuck and Tim and Kon too, well, too much of a pair of teenagers deep into their own thing to notice the unobtrusive backpack Clark had on when they left the ship. And getting some time alone had worked itself out surprisingly neatly - his own plan had been to take Jon along and ask him very nicely not to peek, because it was a surprise. Which. Wasn’t the most elaborate, but would have probably worked. Jon seemed to just be sweet like that.

No, the hard part was adjusting the settings on the replicator to do exactly what he needed. 

Maybe Clark wasn’t exactly the most fluent in Kryptonian programming, was all.

(That was probably Bruce. Tim was… a bit scary when he was obsessed with something and could potentially have reached his mentor by  that point, Clark wasn’t absolutely sure.)

And Clark certainly didn’t want to have to ask for help and discover if the Jor-El AI could be in more than two places at once. His anger might have cooled down some since the last time he had been in the ship, and he grudgingly understood the importance of Jor-El as his and the kids’ last link to Krypton, but Clark absolutely hadn’t forgotten the way the AI had systematically withheld vital information from him, nor would he anytime soon.

Clark made another mental note, this time to gently inform the kids of this aspect of Jor-El’s programming on their way back to Gotham. 

With a whoop! of success, Clark finished messing with the settings of the replicator, which came to life with a faint sound. Checking in that the kids were still busy was a matter of stretching his hearing for a moment, and it told him both Jon and Tim were currently talking a mile a minute at Jor-El. 

Perfect.

While the replicator worked in the background, Clark cleared the terminal he’d been using to program the machine and entered the ship’s database’s search function. He had a few things he needed to look up before they were back in Gotham.

Chapter Text

Clark surveyed the room, a furl of worry between his eyebrows as his eyes flitted from the precisely placed piles of pillows, to the carefully stocked fireplace, to the many baskets filled with blankets strewn all over the room, and back again.

The room had been left mostly unused before Clark had laid claim to it back when he first started spending more time at the Manor. The main feature that had drawn Clark to this room had been the sunken pit around the fireplace, three steps down from the rest of the floor.

Over time, Clark had filled the room with an assortment of items, from blankets, to rugs and throw pillows. Everything was thoroughly scented by Clark. It was a bigger version of the nests Bruce built him - what he thought of as a family nest. Before his heats, Clark had felt compelled to corral as many people as he could into the room, only settling when he could see them all, knowing they were fine, warm, comfortable and all accounted for. 

(This had not happened without protest from many of the family members. Mainly from Damian and sometimes Jason. Cass and Dick tended to go along with big smiles on their faces, while Bruce and Tim tended to look upon it with ill concealed benevolent confusion, unless they were in the middle of a case. In which case Clark would just drag them over, chair and all, oftentimes literally kicking and screaming. Never let it be said a highly hormonal Clark was not determined.)

His behavior now, as he arranged and rearranged the room, wasn't that different from how he behaved before a heat, except that before a heat things were so instinctual Clark didn’t even notice what he was doing most of the time. And while there was still some indistinct instinct guiding him, there was a definite level of intention to his actions that hadn’t been there before.

If he was completely honest, Clark would be forced to admit he'd had a brief moment of desperation during which he considered setting off one of his heats in order to get his nesting instincts going. But he knew it would be the last thing he needed at the moment. Especially after Bruce had said pregnancy was out of their cards for now. It would look like Clark was trying to trap Bruce before he had time to get his vas deferens device installed.

No, Clark would have to get the room sorted out and through the whole pack-bonding thing without the help of the hyper-instinctual state of pre-heat. Shouldn’t be too hard.

…if only he managed to get the darn room right .

With an angry huff, Clark set about reorganizing the pillows around the sunken fireplace.

Once he was finally done with the room - meaning once he managed to step away from shuffling the same two blankets he’d been fiddling with for the past 20 minutes - Clark made his way to the kitchen.

Apparently food was a big part of a traditional kryptonian pack bonding event, no matter at which point in kryptonian history he looked. A lot of food. So Alfred had been tasked with the rich people sort of finger foods the Waynes were used to while Clark had set about making some Kent family staples, like Ma’s ubiquitous apple pie, some chili and cinnamon buns like Pa liked, and, of course, his own favorite, cornbread waffles. There was also tea of the hot and cold varieties and an assortment of juices and flavored waters.

Between the two of them, Clark and Alfred made sure any and all dietary needs of those present would be met.

Kon arrived just as Clark took the pie out of the oven, to Clark’s relief. He had been making every task last, afraid of being left to wait without anything to do.

“Hey. That smells good,” Kon, always the food blackhole, said. Clark turned to give him a one armed hug, pie still in hand. “Are you planning on feeding an army?”

“Close enough, I suppose,” Clark snarked back, feeling some of the tension melt from his shoulders. He could also feel Bruce getting closer - he’d probably be arriving within the next 30 minutes, if nothing held him up - which helped too.

“Having second thoughts?” Kon then asked, apparently having caught onto Clark’s nerves.

“No,” Clark hurried to reply, moving his arms in an X motion to emphasize it. “It is just nerves. I want this to go well.”

“It will,” Kon replied with a reassuring smile. Clark smiled back, a more real smile this time. “C’mon, let’s take these wherever it is you’re planning on doing this. Unless we are staying in the kitchen?”

“I set up a room,” Clark replied, picking up as many trays of food as he could carry, which Kon mimicked. “Follow me.”

When they arrived at the room, Kon whistled loudly. Clark’s ears went red. He had hoped how much effort he had put into the room wouldn’t be so immediately noticeable, but that hope was apparently shot.

“Looks good, Clark,” Kon said in a slightly awed voice. “Like the ‘omega dens’ the kryptonian culture volumes talk about.”

“Yeah?” Clark asked, feeling oddly vulnerable but also starting to, well, preen a bit at the compliments.

“Seriously. Looks super cozy.”

“Thanks,” Clark said, relief palpable in his voice. That was one approval down, he only had a dozen or so left to get.

By the time Bruce made it into the manor, the food had been all set by Clark and Kon, who was now having an animated conversation with Dick and Tim, who had since also arrived. Alfred had left with Damian to pick up Lois and Jon a while back, and Cass, Clark had a suspicion, had gone to drag Jason over. At least that’s what the string of emojis he’d gotten from her had seemed to imply, at least.

“Hey,” Bruce said, quietly, as he leaned in to leave a kiss on Clark’s cheek. “How are things?”

“Better now you’re here,” Clark answered, truthfully, not caring if he sounded corny as hell. “But, honestly it’s all good, mostly. Everything is already set up. Now I’m just waiting for everyone to arrive.”

“Want to go for a walk in the gardens while we wait?”

Clark didn’t exactly want to leave his nest, but the idea of turning everything off for a few minutes was extremely tempting.

“Sure,” he said, finally, with a relieved nod. Clark chatted away about everything he and Alfred had cooked, with Bruce humming in the right moments. Just silly small talk, but just the simple act of talking to Bruce made him feel more… normal.

By the time they had reached the garden, Clark had finished his retelling and they had fallen into companionable silence. Clark didn’t mind it - he could tell Bruce had something to say, and Clark would let him take his own time.They walked for a few moments before anyone made to break the silence. Bruce’s voice was quiet as a murmur when he finally did.

“I know you prefer to look at my parenting with favorable eyes, but not even you can say I haven’t made mistakes with my children.

“Things aren’t always clear cut. Often, I haven’t known what the right thing to do was, or if there even was a correct answer. But, in the end, I learned that what matters isn’t that you get everything right at first. The most important thing is to just keep trying to get it right. Getting better. Keep trying to fix things. Showing that you care.” Bruce sighed, but it was a sad or resigned sigh. It sounded almost - fond. “And it is never too late to start.”

Clark hadn’t expected anything like it from Bruce, not at that moment. Speechless, he merely nodded.

“Which is all to say - I am seeing you, Clark. Making an effort. You’re doing good.”

“Thanks, B,” Clark said, with a small but earnest smile, before moving to kiss Bruce. After a few moments of it, however, Clark had to break the kiss to comment on something that was driving him nuts now that his more pressing anxieties had been calmed.

“Do you know, I think I developed a new instinct. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Almost like a… compulsion.”

Bruce raised a single eyebrow.

“Do tell.”

“It is, ah, a bit of a weird one.”

“More than the thing we did last month?”

“Not that kind of weird.”

“Hn.”

“I really want to lick. Behind people’s ears. Well. Some people’s ears.”

“Mine included?”

“Very much so.” 

Bruce shot him a look that Clark knew very, very well.

They didn’t really talk all that much for a while after that.

Chapter Text

By the time they managed to pull apart from each other, Clark had a brand new appreciation for the garden and the beautiful landscaping that allowed for several hidden nooks that couldn’t be seen from the house. His satisfaction might have had something to do with the way Bruce had graciously allowed his ears to be thoroughly licked and gently coated in a strange tasting saliva Clark had never noticed producing before. Luckily, the taste didn’t seem to displease Bruce, what with the way he devoured Clark through kisses afterwards.

The walk back to Clark’s den was done in silence, quiet contentment flowing through their bond in a feedback loop. The anxiety that had plagued Clark wasn’t gone , not completely, but it had certainly simmered down to something more akin to excited nerves.

Bruce encouragingly squeezed Clark’s hand in his, and Clark took a deep breath before entering the room. 

Only to them feel himself melt at the sight.

Everybody had made it, and the room was filled with the warmth of the lit fireplace and excited conversation. To Alfred’s visible chagrin the kids hadn’t stood on ceremony and had already made a visible dent on the mountain of food provided - not that Clark minded. Quite on the contrary. The sight warmed him from the inside, feeling right . All of the people that they loved together in one place, safe and sound and taken care of, provided for. 

Clark only realised that the strange, low rumbling sound that had been gently tugging at his awareness was him, purring , when Bruce’s fondness and amusement made itself known through the bond. Clark blushed in slight embarrassment, but it wasn’t enough to interrupt his purring, especially not when Bruce proceeded to place a gentle kiss upon his brow. 

The purring might have gotten even more intense, in fact.

With a brilliant smile towards his mate, Clark pulled him inside the room to join the others.

Clark surveyed the room, taking in the lazy smiles and satisfied faces with pleasure and something akin to awe. Jason and Lois were in an enthusiastic discussion about her latest feature, and Cassandra was spectating; Jon and Damian were glued together in a way Clark was growing used to seeing, playing a board game against Tim and Kon which Dick seemed to be arbitrating 

Clark himself was sitting together with Bruce, his mate’s arm around his shoulders, a low purr rumbling in his chest - he’d been purring so much that the novelty had seemed to fade for the others, but every once in a while he caught an amused glance. 

Clark felt like he was about to burst with contentment.

There was no single moment of realisation, no eureka, no magical and sudden sliding in place of a missing piece. No, it was a slow certainty that filled Clark as the evening progressed, a knot that unravelled inside him and finally settled , in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while.

Maybe it was as Kon had said, and Clark’s instincts had been missing something all this time, something only the traditions of Krypton could provide. Or perhaps it was seeing all of them there, gathered, ultimately, for Clark’s benefit, that had made him realise some things.

(Maybe it had been finally getting to lick behind Bruce’s ears.) 

Regardless, it made Clark finally feel something he had been told and told again ever since Jon had shown up.

He wasn’t alone in this. Not because of beautiful and empty words, but because the connections they had formed meant these people were there for him and Bruce, to aid and support not only when the world needed them, but when they, as people, did.

Their family.

Because that is what it was - not Bruce’s family that Clark had intruded on, always an interloper and never truly part of it. Nor was Clark separate from the part kryptonian kids that had life had presented to him. No, they were all their family, Bruce’s and his, the family they had chosen, put together from mismatched and broken pieces but theirs , strange and unconventional as it might be. There had been growing pains, sure, and Clark knew his struggles regarding family weren’t simply gone overnight, but he did, with all his heart, want to be a part of it.

Which brought him to the part of the evening he had been most anxious about.

“If I could have y’all’s attention, please,” Clark called out, feeling awkward especially as silence fell over the room and all eyes turned on him. “Can everybody come over here?” Clark gestured to the sunken seats around the fireplace and, with a murmur of ascent, everybody moved and made themselves comfortable. Thankfully, there was enough room, if only just. 

Channeling all his experience with public talking, Clark took a deep breath and then smiled honestly at all those around him.

“Y’all know I invited you here today to take part in a Kryptonian tradition called pack bonding,” he began, trying not to be enerved by being the center of attention of so many bat-level attentive stares. “Pack, in Krypton, meant more than family. It is the family you choose, and the family who chose you. And to me, that’s all of you. I wanted to honor that, the kryptonian way.” Clark reached for the basket that had been stashed beside him for just this moment. “Another tradition is to formalize such bonds, in a few ways.”

Nervously, Clark produced a pile of folded red fabric from the basket. He passed one to Bruce, another to Jon, who looked confused, and, lastly, one to Kon, who was wide eyed and Tim on his side as he received it. Once the fabric was shaken open, it revealed the crest of the house of El in golden yellow.

“These are traditional cloths of the House of El - my kryptonian family line. And yours. If you will accept it.” There, he turned to Bruce, who was looking at the folded cloth on his lap a contemplative look. “It is like adoption, or - or marriage of two Houses together.” Clark looked meaningfully at all of Bruce’s children. “You asked me the human way - this is me asking the kryptonian way.”

The flood of emotion over their bond was enough of an answer for Clark, but the passionate kiss Bruce landed on him was also a nice confirmation.

The heckling from the kids - and, well, Lois was perhaps the loudest of them all - didn’t faze him, rather Clark found himself smiling into the kiss until two bodies slammed excitedly into Clark. He opened his eyes to see Jon and Kon.

“We accept being part of your pack,” Kon said, sounding strangely formal, but overjoyed all the same, if his wild grin was anything to go by.

“I am glad.”

“So do we,” Dick piped up from his place, followed by a string of agreements from his brothers. Even Jason grumbled a ‘here, here’.

Clark didn’t even want to know what his face was doing. Probably smiling like a maniac.

“I made them from the one my kryptonian parents left with me,” Clark went on to explain. Bruce, who had gone back to looking at the fabric in his lap and was running his thumb over it in appreciation, hummed to let Clark know he was listening. “It was hard to get the replicator to do it - fabric isn’t its strong suit, apparently - but eventually it worked.”

“It is softer than I would expect,” Bruce said.

“Isn’t it?” Clark agreed with pride. “It is woven in a special way. I also took the liberty of scenting them.” At that moment he didn’t manage to suppress the blush that took over his face. It had felt presumptuous, in a way, but also right , to scent them each with the scent of family .

“Oh yeah,” Kon said, excited. “We could do scenting, too?”

“What is scenting?” Cass piped up, never one afraid to ask when she didn’t know something.

“Kryptonians produce very refined pheromones,” Tim immediately started explaining. Bless the kid, his tendency to infodump was useful sometimes. “And they use those pheromones for a lot of things, but one of them is marking members of the pack. Like getting their scent on them to mark them as theirs.”

…though did Tim have to make Clark sound like a dog peeing on a tree.

“You can do it by rubbing cheeks together or, like, trading clothes is also traditional.”

What followed was a mess of scenting, and Clark had to admit he felt nearly euphoric. He first rubbed his cheek against Bruce’s, something they did everyday but that sometimes felt like never enough. He was then surprised to see Bruce go up to Jason and offer his suit jacket for Jason’s leather one. Followed by a cautious cheek rub.

Jason, of course, made a face throughout the whole proceedings, but he couldn’t deny his cheeks were red afterwards, a smile trying to make way on his face.

And it progressed like that. Kon and Tim rubbed cheeks and traded shoes. Cassandra had given Lois her beanie and received a scarf in return. Damian and Jon were already sporting traded sweaters when Clark’s eyes found him. Alfred and Bruce seemed to be trading neckties.

And then Dick stepped up to him.

“Always loved your flannel,” he said, with a cheeky grin, offering his gloves in return. Clark was glad to take them and to scent Dick with the same type of familiar pheromones that he then spread against Kon’s neck when the teen showed up. And then Jon.

Soon, Clark had scented most of the room - Damian and Jason had sat out of the tradition, which Clark couldn’t be mad at them about. He was only glad they had come to pack bonding and engaged in Clark’s traditions at all.

When the scenting and trading of clothes was done, everyone looking a little more vulnerable but pleased for it, Clark was too full of feelings to really speak.

Thankfully, there was always someone ready to fill the silence.

“How about a movie?” Dick asked, looking extremely pleased to be swimming inside Clark’s plaid.

Chaos broke out as the children all screamed suggestions and immediate vetoes at each other. Bruce’s hand reached for Clark’s. He returned the grip and smiled fondly at Bruce.

Later, that night, they will end up in a pile as they watch a movie - Bruce’s choice, which had surprised everyone, since he didn’t usually give his opinion on movie night - eating popcorn and snuggling together. Most will fall asleep before the film is over - not a demerit on the movie, but a sign of their busy lives with too much action and not enough downtime.

Clark will help the children to bed along with Bruce, Lois and Jon having left before the movie. 

Afterwards, Clark and Bruce will go to their own bedroom, where Bruce will kiss Clark slowly and with intention, pushing through the bond all of the emotions he can’t quite voice. They’ll make love without words, immersed in their bond and their shared sensations.

And that night, before falling asleep, Clark will think:

Their pack. Their family . Together, they would be able to do this, to have this. There would always be someone there to pick them up if they faltered. A security net stronger than any kryptonian skin.

And he will sleep, truly peacefully, for the first time in weeks.