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The Kent farmhouse was like a lone torch shining against the night, the lights bright and warm as if to stave off the shadows.
Bruce sat at the porch, looking out at fields and fields of corn that faded into the distant darkness.
A round of applause started from inside the house, a lively beat as people started whooping and cheering. Voices blended together, a melody of joy in the murmurs and laughter of everyone inside.
The door cracked open, and the wooden floor creaked as Clark took a seat next to him.
“Hey, B,” he smiled, looking just as bright and warm as the home he had welcomed Bruce to.
Bruce shifted slightly to make way for him, the warmth of Clark’s thigh settling comfortably beside him. They settled into a snug silence, enjoying each other’s presence and the pleasant thrum of background noises.
Bruce took a deep breath, letting the chilly September air settle deep into his skin. Finally, he spoke. “What’s everyone doing?”
Clark grinned. “They’re playing superhero charades. Jason got ‘secret base’ at one point and did a very, er, inspired reenactment of you and Dick naming the cave. It was very cute.”
Bruce snorted. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He might just get out the kryptonite ring.”
Clark’s shoulders shook as he laughed and wrapped an arm around Bruce. “I’ll have to trust your secrecy, then.”
“I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll use it to keep my morning privileges the next time you try to get me up at nine in the morning.”
Clark rolled his eyes and pulled him into an embrace. Bruce let himself be held, leaning back to rest his head on Clark’s broad shoulders.
He would never admit it out loud, but it was nice in his arms, cozy and safe like the hearth of the manor. Still. Didn’t mean he wasn’t a cheeky bastard, though.
“Oh!” Clark suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up like fireworks on the fourth of July. “I saw a shooting star.”
Bruce craned his neck and squinted, trying to make out movement in the sky. “You do know that shooting stars aren’t even stars, right? It's a misnomer. The things we call “shooting stars” are comets or meteors. They’re pieces of space rock and dust.”
Clark looked down and gave him a look of exasperated disbelief, shaking his head at his response.
“Really, you…” He caught himself before continuing.
“... You look adorable when you scrunch up your nose like that– Ow, ow, stop!” Clark yelped as Bruce began elbowing his stomach.
“Not adorable– handsome, very, very handsome. And murderous. But mostly handsome.”
Bruce glared at him as he tried to smile, raising his arms in a placating gesture. Bruce growled at the loss and pushed his full weight against Clark. It wouldn’t do anything, technically, but the shift would indicate his annoyance with him.
Clark, self-proclaimed Batspeak-interpreter, immediately understood and wrapped his arms back around him.
“You know,” Clark started, his voice distantly wistful even as Bruce tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, “The stars are really pretty from a bit higher up.” He looked sheepishly down at his partner.
“Would you like to see it?”
Bruce looked into Clark’s eyes, strikingly large and imploringly blue. Like a puppy, he thought grudgingly.
If Clark had any other superpowers, this would be it. But it was also cold, and Bruce didn’t want to go back inside to get his jacket.
“How about a compromise,” he suggested. “Where did you go stargazing, before you gained your powers of flight?”
Clark beamed, as if Bruce had just told him he hung the sun and moon. “Let me show you.”
Clark picked him up so quickly and easily he had to swallow back an undignified yelp. Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark’s neck as he bent his knees slightly, and jumped.
Bruce tried not to shut his eyes as wind battered his face, rushing past him as they ascended into the sky.
The farmhouse grew smaller beneath them, the shine of the stars growing brighter beyond the clouds. Bruce could even see the distant lights of the city skyline, far off in the distance.
For a brief moment, they hung weightless in the air, the cold air still and silent in the moment of peace.
Then they began to descend rapidly, gravity wrapping its long fingers around them and dragging them back down into the earth.
The wind rushed furiously in his ears, and he reflexively hung tighter to Clark. He was reminded, once again, of Clark’s nasty streak, and the very human possibility of becoming a splat on the ground.
Clark trying to play him was a very different thing from being in control of his altitude and landing method.
At the last moment, Clark slowed, floating into a stop before tapping down lightly in the middle of the cornfield.
Bruce let out a sigh. “Show off,” he muttered, stepping away and shooting the alien a vicious glare.
Clark laughed. “Only for you, dear.”
Then he lay down on the grass and patted the ground next to him.
“Come on, B.”
Bruce considered him for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of refusing out of spite.
Fine, he thought. He could enact his vengeance later.
Bruce joined him on the ground, crossing his arms behind his head. The high stalks of corn waved in the breeze, framing the distant sky. He was small, here, against the broad galaxy. The thought of it was surprisingly comforting.
“You used to stargaze here?” Bruce asked, turning his head to look at Clark.
Bright blue eyes met his. “Yeah. Once Ma and Pa figured out my trick to use the barn roof, I started coming out here more often. It’s far enough away from the house, while having a wonderful view of the stars.”
Clark tended to smile with his eyes, laying his emotions out for the world to see. It was endearing, if not a little frustrating when Bruce didn’t know how to respond in kind.
“I see.” He paused for a moment. “How did your parents find out?”
Clark launched into a story of his childhood, little bottled pieces of time. Bruce closed his eyes, letting Clark’s warm voice wash over him. Clark seemed content to ramble, interjecting between his own anecdotes to point out the constellations he used to look for in his youth.
Bruce would answer with his own knowledge on the stars, updating him on the most recent star system information he’d gotten out of the Lantern Corps.
The moon was on its descending arc, shining like a beacon in the sky, when Clark stopped in the middle of a story about trying to run after a shooting star with Lana and Pete. He cocked his head to the side, and Bruce strained to hear what he was listening for. It took a few moments before the sound reached his ears.
“Clark! Bruce! We’re going to cut the pie now!” Martha Kent called out into the field. “If you don’t hurry up, the kids will eat your slices!”
Several other voices joined hers, a cacophony all yelling at them to hurry up. Clark smiled, standing up and reaching out a hand to Bruce.
A few years ago, Bruce might have ignored that helping hand. He might have smacked it to the side and condemn the very idea being offered to him.
Right now, though, Bruce took the hand and let Clark haul him to his feet. “You’ll have to continue that story another time,” he murmured, and Clark grinned.
“Of course!” Clark intertwined their fingers together, and they walked back hand-in-hand, the figures of their friends and families outlined by the lights of the Kent house.
Like coming home to a fireplace after a cold winter.
Tim suddenly shrieked and pointed at the sky, and Bruce turned his gaze upwards. A shooting star fell through the night, a cut of light in the darkness; then another, and another.
“The Epsilon-Perseids,” Bruce marveled.
Clark squeezed his hand and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Make a wish, B.”
Bruce didn’t believe in things like magic. Gotham won’t fix itself; villains will continue to be born; happiness will never be constant. But he also knows that it's worth the pain.
Bruce turned and kissed Clark on the lips, soft and welcoming in his mouth.
“I don’t need a wish,” Bruce smiled. “I’m already happy.”