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Of course the phone would start ringing just as Bruce finally managed to doze off.
It takes considerable willpower for the Dark Knight to not just throw the shrieking thing out the window and half way across the Manor grounds.
Then he sees the Caller ID.
Clark?
At three in the morning? After all the lectures (combined with Alfred, the traitor) on maintaining a proper sleep schedule? (Says the guy who literally, physically, don’t need to sleep at all…)
Irritation transitions to alarm fast as the flick of a switch.
Bruce may not have thought processes that function at super speed, but he has still gone through way too many disaster scenarios in the seconds it takes to press the phone to his ear. (No JLA alert, Clark would have used the communicator, unless he is unable to somehow, trapped in civilian disguise, kidnapped, Luthor, amnesiac, body swap -)
“Report” Bruce barks out, all trace of sleep gone from his voice.
“Um” slight hesitation on the other side.
Confusion at the Batman tone from Brucie’s number, or plain difficulty in putting into words whatever is the current lunacy they are about to get plunged into.
“Well, Bruce…” Clark sounds…slightly off, somehow.
First names. Civilian names. So wherever Clark is, the area is secure from being overheard. Or Clark is somehow compromised enough that he has forgotten he need to use code names in the field. Situation needs assessment, and fast.
“Is this a K situation?”
“What? No, no, it’s…” another hesitation.
Bruce can hear raised voices in the background. Being without super senses, he cannot make out the words. However, the tone of indignant and shrill argument is unmistakeable. One of the voices at least sounds very young.
“Um, Bruce, it’s Damian.”
Bruce is out of the bed and halfway down to the cave before he registers what he is doing. “What happened? Is it Talia? Is the Court of Owls involved? Do you have confirmation-“
“Bruce, Bruce, it’s okay! He’s okay, calm down!”
“He’s… Are you sure? He tries to hide injuries, downplay them-“
“Wonder where he could possibly have learned that behaviour from”
Okay, if Clark is snarking at him that probably means Damian is still okay… Which could mean, given this is Damian they are talking about, someone else – possibly many someones – may not be okay at all.
“Calm down. He’s fine, he’s right next to me. I checked, okay? No injuries.”
“Then why the hell are you calling me at three in the morning?”
Deep sigh from the other end of the call. “Because your son is currently at the North Pole trying to liberate Santa’s reindeer, and Santa called me in to negotiate.”
What.
“…Clark?”
“Yes?”
“Is there…anything a bit, uh, shiny and silvery around?”
Deep breathe.
“I’m not high on silver kryptonite!”
“Of course you aren’t, but maybe we could check-“
“Bruce, I may write for a living, but my imagination is not crazy enough to dream this up, silver kryptonite or not.”
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “So…”
“Do you want me to put Damian on the call?”
Actually, the shrill voice yelling in the background is now starting to sound a bit too familiar.
“No, no, not right now.”
Face to face conversations with his youngest are hard enough to prevent misunderstandings (intentional or not) in, he really doesn’t want to do this over the phone.
“Give me a minute. I’ll get to the Watch Tower, Zeta from there. Just, just send the coordinates.”
……………………………………………….
“Damian…”
“He has enslaved the reindeer!”
“I’m sure-“
“You don’t even have effective contingency plans against him! I checked! He is capable of superspeed travel, spies on the entire world and might possibly be a trafficker in addition to wanton cruelty to animals!”
He really really needs to have a talk with Dick. Introducing a supposed-to-be-mythological being who “sees when you are sleeping, sees when you are awake” to a nine year old raised by the League of Assassins was an extremely questionable decision, regardless of his attempts to provide a ‘normal childhood’.
The object of this tirade, Santa Claus himself (God, when exactly has he reached the point of his career where he can actually say that sentence with a straight face), is standing at the other side of the room with a way too amused Superman.
“To begin with, how exactly did you locate Santa’s Workshop in the first place? Or, wait, let’s begin simpler than that. How exactly did you reach North Pole, of all places?”
Damian gives him the kind of exasperated glare he usually reserves for Tim. “That is for me to know and you to attempt finding out.”
“Damian…”
“Perhaps you could help convince the child that I am not enslaving my reindeer?” Santa puts in.
The old guy is clearly struggling to hold in laughter, which is really not improving Bruce’s mood.
“They have to traverse the entire globe!” Damian yells, whirling on Santa again. Yet another sword has materialized in his hand despite the three Bruce and Clark have already confiscated.
Clark patiently plucks the new sword out of reach as well. “Damian, they are-“
“A reindeer is not built to give sustained effort over that long a period of time, regardless of the speed! And the speed that would be required to-“
“Dami, they are magic-“
“You stay out of this, alien!”
“Little Warrior, I can assure you my reindeers are-“
“Brainwashed to serve you! You can keep the elves, but I am not going back without rescuing the caribous!”
Bruce seriously considers simply picking him up by the scruff of his cloak and carrying him off like a misbehaving cat. Unfortunately, the consequences of such stopgap measures have been made very clear last time Dick made the mistake of attempting it.
“Okay” Bruce sighs “What if we can get you proof that the reindeer are not abused?”
He exchanges a hasty glance with Clark trying to telegraph ‘They aren’t, right?’
Damian glares at all the adults in the room. “I will require evidence that he cannot have potentially tampered with.”
“Okay, how about going over and inspecting the reindeers? I mean, we could see whether they are well cared for and-“
“He uses magic! He can potentially heal their injuries, but that does not mean sustaining them would not cause pain!”
“We could interrogate the elves?”
“They are his servants, they might be bound to obey him! Besides, they are part of the animal abuse, they will not testify against it."
The negotiation goes on for entirely too long before Clark steps in. “Hey, how about we ask the reindeer?”
Both Damian and Bruce look at him in unison, a clear question about his sanity evident.
Clark shrugs. “I mean, J’onn can talk to animals. Telepathy and all.”
“Oh. Okay…”
Damian hesitates. “What if he has them too intimidated to tell the truth? What if he has them brainwashed?”
“Easy. We’ll call Diana too.”
…………………………………….
Which is how half of the Justice League ends up in a stable interviewing a group of puzzled caribou.
The caribou, for their part, are clearly more amused than anything else towards the rapid fire questions. One tries to eat the lasso, Diana rescuing it only at the last minute. (She had been laughing too hard at Bruce’s expression to pay attention to what was going on).
“They are happy here” Diana sums up the translation, finally taking back the lasso wrapped around the caribou’s horns. “The ride is not too taxing, and it is a mutually beneficial arrangement”
Bruce can see it’s taking everything she’s got to keep a straight face.
“I hope you are convinced of my…intentions, Little Warrior” Santa smiles.
Fortunately he does not make the mistake of ruffling Damian’s hair, settling for petting the caribou’s head. The caribou in question is preoccupied licking Damian’s hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that too much.
“Satisfied?” Bruce turns to his youngest.
Damian frowns. “Not…quite. But I am willing to agree to a ceasefire for the moment. I might need…further research.”
“You are welcome to come pet the reindeer anytime” Santa smiles.
“Just, uh, tell me or Bruce first, okay?” Clark puts in.
They are still not sure on how exactly the baby bat managed to get all the way to freaking North Pole without anyone noticing, and no one is entirely sure they want to know.
Damian and the lead caribou have already locked eyes, and his assenting nod is more than a little distracted.
“So… Are we going to find a bat-caribou in the cave soon?”
“Clark…”
“Just asking.”