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Chapter Text

Clark awoke to the sound of his balcony door sliding open. Confused, he looked through his bedroom wall to see a child, probably no more than ten, standing in his living room in a leotard. He threw off his comforter and ran out in his pajamas, flipping on the lights. 

“What the heck? Where are your parents, kid?”

“Are you Superman?”

Quickly shaking off any remaining sleepiness, he asked the boy to repeat himself. “What did you just say?”

“I thought you had super hearing. I asked if you’re Superman! Is this the right apartment?” 

“How the—“ Clark looked at the child. His black mask with white lenses obscured his eyes, and his red, green, and yellow costume didn’t look familiar to him. He had jet black hair that was slicked back with product. As Clark stood there, befuddled, the boy tilted his head to one side, waiting for him to finish his thought, apparently. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Robin!” He leaned forward to stage whisper, “That’s not really my name but that’s what you can call me for now. Are you Superman?”

“I— how did you get this address?” 

“Batman gave it to me. He said to come here in case something happened to him and if Alf— Agent A couldn’t help.”

Well that explained it. To some extent. He wasn’t sure how the masked vigilante from Gotham found his home address, to say nothing of his civilian identity. Clark slapped a hand to his face, and pulled it down slowly, before realizing what the boy was implying. 

“Wait, Batman is in trouble?”

“Duh, why else would I be here?” Robin replied, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in incredulous defeat. Though he then started shifting his weight side to side and looking down at his feet. “I can’t get in contact with him and neither can Agent A. I’m… well, I’m a little worried. This hasn’t happened before.” 

Clark nodded, scrutinizing the boy standing in his living room. “You work with him?” 

Robin looked up excitedly, bringing his feet together with a clack and standing up straight as an arrow. “Yes! I’m his new sidekick! Though, not sure how good of one I am if I can’t even help him out of whatever jam he’s in now…”

Clark would have to corner Batman to discuss the reasoning behind having a grade schooler help fight violent and dangerous criminals. He didn’t know much about the Dark Knight, despite being tentatively cordial with the man for just over a year now. Batman clearly felt secure enough in their relationship to send his… sidekick here in case of emergency. That communicated more of his thoughts than any conversation they’d ever had. Clark was touched, and deeply disturbed. 

The Kryptonian sighed. “Okay, yes. I’m Superman.” Robin snapped his head up. “Tell me what you know so far.”

“Okay! So Batman was out solo tonight, since I’m still in training I only patrol with him a few nights a week. But on solo nights I usually wake up at 2 to make sure he got home okay. But tonight he wasn’t back yet.” No child this boy’s age should be up at 2am, but Clark continued listening to the rambling debrief. “So I went to call Agent A in the cave, and he hadn’t been able to contact or track him, so—“

“Why didn’t Agent A come here instead? Young men like you need their sleep.” 

“He’s… out of the country…” Robin said sheepishly. 

“Batman left a kid home alone?!”

“I can handle myself!” 

“How old are you?!”

“Nine!” 

Holy shit okay. Clark definitely needed to talk to Batman about proper childcare. He also had many more questions about this whole situation, but had to reign in his focus. 

“Okay,” Clark steepled his hands in front of his face, “Let’s go find Batman.”

He quickly changed into his suit, beckoning Robin out onto his small balcony and closing the door behind them. “Hop on, kid.” Clark squatted so Robin could hop onto his back. 

“Oh my gosh, I get to fly with you?” He chirped as he climbed aboard. 

“Do you know where he might be?” Clark gripped the backs of the boy’s knees as he took off toward Gotham. 

“This is so cool!” Instead of holding onto his neck or answering his question like Clark had possibly envisioned, Robin had both hands up in the air, fingers spread wide, taking in the sights of Metropolis at night. “I’ve always wanted to fly for real!”

“Robin, focus. Where was Batman patrolling tonight?” 

“Oh, sorry Superman. Uh,” the boy cleared his throat, and began speaking in a deeper, “more serious” tone. “He said there was some suspicious activity he had been tracking at the docks. Not sure who is involved but our guess was Penguin.” 

Superman scanned the eastern side of the city as they approached, seeing rows upon rows of shipping containers, dozens of boats moored for the night. On the north side of the shipyard, he finally spotted their missing cloaked figure, slumped and tied to a chair in a warehouse. Unconscious, but alive. And sure enough, Penguin and his goons were sifting through crates, obviously looking for something. 

“I’ve got him,” Clark said, speeding up toward their destination. 

Robin sighed, finally holding tighter around his neck. “Phew! Thanks, Superman.” 

They made their descent toward the side door of the warehouse, Clark landing quietly on the crumbling concrete. He turned to head inside, opening the door as he instructed, “Robin, stay right here.” 

“What? No way, I’m coming in too.” Before he could do anything, Robin had squeezed under his arm and through the small opening. He made a beeline for Batman, pulling a switchblade from his utility belt to cut the rope, leaving Clark dumbstruck in the doorway. 

“Hey!” Penguin’s nasally voice snapped as he noticed the boy. But Superman was in his face before he could do anything. With one swift move, he knocked Penguin under his chin, sending him flying backwards into a stack of crates and two of his men. The Kryptonian made quick work of the remaining grunts, tying them together to two support beams in the middle of the warehouse. 

By the time he was finished with the criminals, he turned back to Batman and Robin just as the boy was attempting to haul the grown man out of the folding chair. In his first unsuccessful attempt, he sent the metal chair skittering across the concrete floor, nearly collapsing under the weight of a fully unconscious Batman. 

“Here,” Clark sped over to the two Gothamites, “let me handle that.” 

“Thanks again, Superman. Guess I still have to get a lot stronger,” the boy rubbed the back of his neck as he let Clark hoist Batman off of him, shoulders and knees in each arm.

“It’ll probably be a few years before you can carry him,” Clark chuckled. “But you can always call me if you need help.” 

Robin nodded emphatically, giving him a mock salute. 

“Now, you’ll have to tell me where to take him.” 

“You don’t know how to get to the cave? Huh.” It might take Kryptonite to pierce his skin, but that comment sure got under it. Was he supposed to? Not like Batman would ever tell him. “Let’s go…” Robin seemed to be lost in thought, “I think the best way is through Koreatown.” 

Clark allowed Robin to cling once again to his back, and give him directions to wherever they were headed. Once they reached the end of an alley in Koreatown, Robin reached over Clark’s shoulder to press down on the center of Batman’s suit. But nothing happened. 

“Man, that must be why we couldn’t track him. His suit’s Batwave is busted! I don’t think mine works with the entrances yet… One sec, Superman.”

He hovered awkwardly, looking around for any prying eyes as he heard a dial tone through Robin’s earpiece. He couldn’t help but hear both ends of the conversation. 

“Hey Agent A, we got Batman."

“Oh good. You were supposed to call me right away though,” Agent A spoke in his distinguished accent. 

“Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot. But could you let us into the cave? We’re at K-town #4.” 

“Right away, sir.” Not a second later, and the supposed “end” of the alleyway slid open, down into the ground, revealing a tunnel sloping downward into the underground. 

“Thanks Agent A!”

“Have him call me tomorrow when he wakes up, Robin.” 

“Will do!” Robin hung up the call. “You can go in, Superman.” 

Clark nodded wordlessly, heading into the mysterious tunnel. Once he was in, the door slid closed behind him. The tunnel must’ve been lead-lined since he couldn’t see out of it once they were in, and he slowed his hovering pace. 

Batman had covered his underground passage network with lead? It could’ve only been for him, what other purpose would it serve? He had taken every precaution to prevent exposing his identity to Clark, but yet he knew Clark’s civilian identity and his address? 

“You can just follow this to the cave, there’s a small infirmary there,” Robin said, stifling a yawn as he rested his head against the back of Clark’s neck. 

Clark sighed heavily, letting the events of the last hour replay in his head, his earlier questions bubbling to the forefront. “Robin, how on Earth did you get to Metropolis earlier tonight?” 

“My bike!” The boy answered, sounding more like he had just remembered its existence and not like he meant to answer Clark’s question. “I left it in the north alley! Dang it…”

He couldn’t help but laugh lightly at Robin’s disheartened response. The fact that this kid rode a motorbike several miles to the next city over was probably not the most dangerous thing he’d been made aware of tonight. 

“I’ll bring it by tomorrow,” Clark smiled in spite of himself. “How long have you been working with Batman?”

“Hmm, 73 days. Well, I didn’t know he was Batman until then. I’ve known him for 98 days.” Robin let out a full yawn this time. 

This gave Clark something to ponder. He had definitely seen Batman since then. Was bringing on a new sidekick, a child , not relevant information? And also, Robin knows who Batman is beneath the mask. And knew him as his true self first. Very interesting. The investigator in him itched to ask more questions, but they soon reached what was apparently the end of the tunnel.  

Upon exiting, Clark found himself in a huge cave, the tunnel leading to a bridge across a deep pit. Looking down he saw a stalagmites, but looking ahead he saw all sorts of electronics and gadgets spread across the false bottom of the cave, built from concrete and chain link. Robin backflipped off of his back, running ahead to lead him to the infirmary. 

Behind a door and a shoddy partition was a small cot next to shelves filled with all sorts of books, bottles, and beakers. Clark laid Batman on the cot as gently as he could, staring curiously at the cowl and what little of his face it didn’t cover. His lips were parted slightly, letting out gentle breaths. He knew a bit of what the man was like from working a few cases with him, of course, but he had always been curious. Professionalism and a healthy fear had kept him from prying too deeply before. This was the closest they’d been without Batman turning away with a huff. Though Clark was sure if he could have, he would’ve done so by now. 

“He’ll be okay.” Robin’s voice startled him as he pulled an IV stand toward the other side of the bed, small wheels rattling against the uneven floor. 

Clark shook his head. “What’re you doing?” 

“This’ll help him wake up sooner,” Robin explained simply, prying a gauntlet off to clean the back of Batman’s hand with an alcohol wipe. 

“How do you know how to do this?” 

“Br—Batman says you have to know these things when you’re a hero. Though I suppose you don’t. You’re Superman!” Clark watched Robin insert the needle and start the flow of the IV. The boy’s eyes stayed trained on the IV bag pensively. 

The two stood silently on either side of the cot for a few minutes. 

“What’s he like? Under the mask, I mean.”

“Hmm,” Robin looked up at Clark blearily, then back to Batman. “He’s not much different in or out of the suit. He’s serious, and tired all the time.” The boy started to yawn, but kept talking through it. “Alfred says he’s too young to be so tired, but I think he’s old enough for it.”

That slip up told Clark the boy was tired enough to let potential secrets out, and though Lois might be one to hunt down juicy details no matter what, Clark felt this was crossing a line somehow. He looked at the analog clock on the wall, which read five to five. 

“You should get some sleep, Robin. I’ll stay here until he wakes up.” 

Robin didn’t say anything in response, but rather stood up to leave the room. The kid looked like a zombie. “Yeah. G’night Superman. Thanks again for your help tonight.” He rounded the cot and patted Clark’s arm with a world-weariness of someone much older. In turn, Clark reached over to ruffle his hair, the product making it stick out in all directions. He watched as Robin climbed the stairs to the next platform, and called the elevator. After two floors, Clark couldn’t see where it went. 

He turned to the man on the cot, and shook his head exasperatedly as he pulled up the one chair in the room to sit beside the bed. Much too cautious if you asked him. 

Batman remained unconscious, and all the while Clark thought about what he knew about him. Batman is just, gruff but kind. He cares more about Gotham than probably anyone, and puts his fragile human life on the line every day for her. Alfred—Agent A— is his right hand man. Though clearly more important to him than just an employee or teammate. He’s lived in Gotham his whole life, and his birthday is in February. But that was it, really. And finding out the birthday thing had been a fluke. 

Clark couldn’t remember what all he’d revealed of himself to the man, but he guessed by this point that it didn’t matter. Batman seemed to know everything about him. If he knew where to send Robin to find him in the middle of the night, it was clear he had the means to find out anything he wished. 

It made Clark feel…exposed. It would be so easy to pull back the cowl now, and reveal the identity of the Bat in turn. But again, Clark didn’t want to cross this line. He’d come to respect him. He wanted to get to know him more, in the real, honest way he’s slowly been doing. Even if it was excruciatingly, painfully slow. Every bit of information he knew felt like a prize he’d won, and he was proud of it. Well, again, except the birthday thing. 

Eventually, Batman began to stir, grumbling and groaning at first before sitting up with a start. 

“Batman,” Clark said quietly. His gentle tone didn’t prevent Batman from snapping his head to look at him, white shielded eyes going wide beneath the mask. One hand flew to his face, shoulders falling a bit upon realizing the cowl was still on.

“Superman? Where am I?” 

“You’re in the Batcave. You’re safe.” 

“Where’s Robin?”

Clark smirked at the frantic concern in his voice. “He’s gone to bed. It’s much too late for a boy of his age to be up.” 

Batman let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a pained groan. “What the hell happened?” He put both hands behind himself on the cot, leaning back and looking up at the chittering bats on the ceiling of the cave. 

“Well, I can’t say much for how it ended up this way but…” Clark recounted the events of the night to Batman, enjoying seeing him flustered and exasperated for once. 

“Superman, I’m—“

“You may as well call me Clark,” he said dryly. 

“I—shit. I’m sorry about all this. I didn’t think he’d have to use that information so soon.” 

Clark could tell he didn’t really feel bad about snooping on all his info, but more so didn’t like that Clark found out like this.  

“You left a nine year old boy home alone? To go fight crime? Batman, I don’t normally question other people’s parenting but I am deeply concerned.” 

Batman huffed, suddenly finding the bookshelf to be quite captivating. “He can handle himself.” 

“He’s a child! He shouldn’t have to!” 

Batman turned to look Clark in the eyes, the white lenses making his gaze unreadable, but the way his mouth opened, then pursed closed in a frustrated scowl said all he needed to know. 

The masked man let his gaze fall to his lap. “I may be in over my head with him.”

Clark paused, letting the silence fill the infirmary like ooze. “He said he’s known you for 98 days, but only known you as Batman for 73. How…” 

Batman was quiet at first, drumming his fingers on the cot. “His parents were killed in front of him. And in front of me. I… saw myself in him, and he had no where else to go. I wanted to help him to heal in a way I never could. We tracked down his parents’ killer as Batman and Robin, and I took him in as…my civilian identity afterwards. But he didn’t know until he found his way to the cave one night that we were the same person. But I can’t be a normal parent to him…” 

Clark thought back with a bittersweet fondness to the exuberant boy with whom he’d spent the last few hours. To have already gone through so much… “So… letting him fight crime in Gotham with you was your next best option?” He winced, the question coming out judgier than he anticipated. 

Batman turned to scowl at him, not deigning to respond.  But then, his expression softened, and he lifted a hand to the base of the cowl. Clark quickly reached out his hand. 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“I know.” In one swift motion, he lifted the mask. 

Clark was left staring at the face of Bruce Wayne, his mouth agape. When Bruce finally opened his eyes to look into Clark’s, he saw the icy blue irises of a man he’d seen in pap photos a thousand times. But it felt like he was looking at a different person. The Bruce Wayne of the civilian world was rakish, ravishing, confident. The Bruce Wayne sitting before him now, here, in the Batcave, was intense, serious, and— he had to agree with Alfred— too tired for a young man of 24. 

The two men were silent, Clark floundering at the revelation. After a moment, Bruce smirked, as close as he’d ever seen him come to laughing. “Never thought I’d see you speechless.” 

“I— you’re Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Bruce bit through clenched jaws as he yanked the IV drip out of the back of his hand. 

“I’m sorry, I’m a little star-struck I suppose. I feel like—“

“Don’t say anything. Just,” he paused, letting his eyelids flutter closed. “I can put the mask back on if you’d like.”

“No!” Clark surprised himself with how quickly the response came. “I mean, no. Please. I… thank you. For sharing.” He looked up back into the eyes of his ally, a man he tentatively considered his friend. Bruce Wayne was his…friend? 

He gave Clark a tired, tight-lipped smile in response, letting silence once again fill the space between them, more like a sponge this time, slowly expanding. It made Clark squirm. “I suppose I should let your rest, then.” He stood, a little too quickly, nearly toppling the old wooden chair, but turned just as quickly to grab it and save it from falling completely. 

“It has been quite the exhausting evening,” Bruce’s tired smile remained as he swung his legs to the side and stood up from the cot, keeping his hands on the frame of the bed for balance. 

“Do you… do you need anything?” Clark backed into the door frame. 

“No. You’ve done more than enough for us tonight.” 

“If you need, you can call me any time, you know.” 

“I suppose I should extend the same offer,” Bruce nodded once curtly, reaching for his phone. 

“It’s dead,” Clark started, and Bruce’s hands stilled under the cloak. “But what I meant was, you can call for me, provided you’re not knocked out. I can hear you from anywhere.” 

Bruce looked up at him eyebrows raising and eyes narrowing. “Interesting.” 

The Batman’s unfettered gaze pierced Clark’s soul. He wished he could read his mind, to be able to see the gears and cogs turning a mile a minute, to know what he thought of Clark, really. 

“Still, you should have a way to contact me as well. Do you have a phone on you?”

Clark patted his thighs, and huffed. “It’s at home.” Bruce’s careful face faltered just slightly before regaining its tired stony look. 

“But,” Clark shuffled slowly backwards, “I told Robin I’d bring his bike back tomorrow. Is 10 o’clock too early?” 

“No, we’ll be up.” 

“Perfect, I’ll be back then.” 

“You can come to the front door.” 

It took Clark half a second longer to realize what he meant by that. “Oh, you got it.” He turned awkwardly to finally make his exit, intending to head back out the way he came in. 

“I’ll see you then. Have a good night, and…” Clark stopped and looked over his shoulder in response to the pause, “Thank you, Clark.” He thought he caught the faintest uptick at the corner of Bruce’s lips. 

Clark smiled as genuinely as he always did. “Anytime, Bruce.”

Chapter Text

Clark made sure to set Robin’s motorbike, which thankfully also had a full helmet with it, on his balcony when he returned to Metropolis. After ensuring that Penguin and his goons had been picked up by Gotham’s finest, Clark threw himself onto his ratty, age-washed-blue sofa, gazing out his living room window, letting his eyes fall shut and his mind finally still for the night. 

Feeling frankly not all that refreshed after his nap, Clark stiffly stood up from the sofa, stretching tall. For the first few seconds it felt like any other morning after a late night out working. But it didn’t take long for the whirlwind fiasco of last night to begin playing in his mind. 

Batman, his ally and occasional partner over the last year, is Bruce Wayne . Gotham’s golden child, billionaire playboy and—if Clark is remembering correctly from the one time he witnessed Lois interview him—a positively daft airhead. Bruce Wayne’s public persona did not fit at all with his image of Batman, and Clark had so many questions. 

The obvious answer to most of them was that Bruce was only pretending to be an idiot. There was no way he could be as brilliant as he is as Batman otherwise. But why pretend? Why not show the world how creative and thoughtful and dedicated and— Okay enough, Clark. But why hide all that from the world? Why feed the press and his detractors all of this terrible nonsense to bash him with? 

Looking at the clock, it was just past 9. He should leave now if he wanted to get to the manor on time as Clark Kent. He went back to his room to put on his best flannel, a navy and red one Pa had gifted him, and favorite blue jeans. Gathering the bike from the porch, he locked up and headed down the hall to the elevator. He held it vertically, close to his chest, with the helmet tucked in the crook of his elbow. Finally getting a good look at the motorbike, it looked like a children’s dirt bike, outfitted with what was clearly Batman’s tech. Clark made sure to keep one hand covering the insignia and screens on the handlebars as other folks entered the elevator, mind again latching onto the revealed pieces of the mystery, as well as the ones still missing. 

There was the question of how long had Bruce known his identity. Had he interacted with Clark Kent knowing he and Superman were one and the same? Probably. That sly bastard. Clark smiled to himself at the thought. Once on the first floor, he exited his building and came to the subway station, heading down the stairs and swiping his pass on the turnstile, which let him through with a familiar beep.

The next train pulled into the station just as he reached the platform, perfectly timed for him to step on and take an empty seat in the corner. Lazily he peered up through the concrete towards the manor. Bruce would be displeased to know Clark was watching him, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. He was at the coffee maker, fumbling with the buttons. Despite his mechanical genius, it was clear Alfred usually made their morning cups. Clark felt himself grin blithely at the simple mundanity, the novelty, of Batman struggling to figure out the coffee maker. 

Eventually, the percolator gurgled to life, just as the train pulled out, and Bruce settled himself on a cushy barstool at the large granite island, daily paper in hand, while Clark sat stiffly in the plastic chair, small bike on his lap. 

He figured the billionaire status made sense, how else could he afford to get all of his high-tech gear? And to replace the Batmobile? He knew Bruce Wayne had inherited his wealth from his parents, who… 

Oh . 

Fluorescent tunnel lights flashed by quickly, blinking by to show the name of the next station tiled into the wall. The wheels of the train rattled rhythmically against the metal tracks. 

Bruce Wayne’s parents were killed in front of him when he was eight years old. Batman’s parents were killed in front of him when he was eight years old. 

Clark felt his own heart skip a beat, a weight settling in his chest as the train rumbled out of Metropolis. The world around him kept going, but he felt like everything had just stopped, falling out of time and space into an empty nothingness. This man he considered a friend had been through an unimaginable tragedy. And he had no idea. It wasn’t like Batman—Bruce— to talk about things like that with him when they were on missions, despite Clark’s valiant efforts to get to know him at least a little bit. But still, he felt like he should’ve known. He wanted to do something for him, but… that was almost 17 years ago now. Bringing it up would probably cause more harm than good.

His previous giddiness at trying to bring the pieces of Bruce and Batman together into the same person in his mind had instantly faded at the realization of the tragedies befallen his friend. Instead, Clark now felt melancholy, strangely guilty, and concerned, leaning heavily into the worn plastic subway seat. Releasing a weary sigh on Bruce’s behalf, he let his head fall back against the subway window, feeling the vibrations of the train in his skull. He could at least use his remaining transit time to think of what to say. Hey, so sorry about your parents being murdered in front of you. Also how long have you known me to be Clark Kent? Also also, what the heck is wrong with you?

With his nightly activities and his day job put together, Clark did not like the math of how many hours of possible sleep the man got, either. He suddenly wished he could text Bruce and let him know he could come over later, that they should all sleep in. Not that it would benefit him at all, since he was already up and drinking his morning cup of coffee. 

Clark palmed over the textured rubber on the handles of the bike in his lap. He couldn’t come up with anything that felt right to possibly say to Batman upon seeing him. He’d never wanted to bail on something so badly, but more time to think wouldn’t give him what he felt like he needed here. What he needed was needed to go back in time, for Batman to have told him long ago. 

His stop was still about five or six away. Cynically, he wondered if anyone visiting the illustrious Wayne Manor had ever taken the lowly subway to get there. Clark didn’t bother to keep looking at Bruce, instead choosing to let the subway overtake his senses. It was nice every so often to let himself be present, and he found it helped to ground him a little. His entire body still felt uneasy after piecing together Bruce’s identities, coupled with the dilemma of what to say to him once he arrives. 

When he finally got to Gotham’s Arlington station, Clark stood and casually left the train, ascending to the ground floor and scanning his pass to exit. Gotham was only a little cloudy today, and the yellow sunlight peeking between clouds invigorated him as it hit his skin. Energy flowed through him now like he’d never felt in the city before. And he was grateful for the chance; he’d not seen Gotham during the day yet. The Arlington neighborhood was greener than the places he’d seen before too. Less dense, with more huge, old houses and parks than crumbling apartments and industrial sites. Eventually, he found the driveway he was looking for. 

The walk towards the large wrought-iron gate made Clark’s insides squirm. Would he be invited in? He is, in theory, strictly here to drop off the bike and exchange phone numbers. Should he ring the gate bell, or just fly over? He knew it was fairly secluded here, but... Would Batman expect him to just fly up to the front door? Or would Bruce expect him to be polite and wait at the gate? Bruce probably would’ve expected him to drive, too, but since moving to Metropolis, Clark hadn’t bothered with a car. 

The gates were nearly 10 feet tall, with ornate designs woven around the top. The brick columns caging the iron bars were patterned elegantly, feeling more like a mosaic than masonry. Beyond them, he could see shrubbery pristinely maintained, with roses lining the beds. He suddenly felt sheepish, as he approached the call button on one of the brick columns. He was a country boy, and interacting with wealth of this degree was out of his depth. 

Clark could feel his heart hammering. This was just Batman, he had no reason to be this nervous about seeing him. He breathed deeply to himself, trying to ease the anxiety in his chest. Eventually, he settled on ringing the call button on the gate, listening to the incessant noise until it picked up. 

“Clark? Come on up, I’ll meet you at the door,” a deep voice rattled out as the gates slid open. It felt strange hearing his name in Batman’s voice outside of the liminal moment last night in the cave, and it made his insides warm. His host didn’t seem confused by his presence at the gate, thankfully, so Clark walked up the brick driveway. There was a fountain in the center of the turn-around, because of course there was. He stopped before heading up the last couple steps to the front door, craning his neck to look up at the sumptuous building. 

The Kryptonian was staring straight up at the front of the house with his mouth slightly open in awe when Bruce opened the door. 

“If you think the outside is interesting, wait until you see the interior.”

Clark looked back to meet Bruce’s eyes, though his glasses had slid part way down his nose so he angled his chin slightly upwards. Habit to maintain the facade that he needed them. Looking at Bruce, he saw what felt like an entirely new person. Not Brucie Wayne, not Batman, just Bruce. In sweats and a bathrobe. An open bathrobe. With no shirt. “Oh, sorry Ba—Br—“ Using his name for some reason suddenly felt too… intimate. Like he hadn’t really earned it yet. But “Batman” obviously didn’t fit the sight in front of him either.  “Sorry, B.”

“B?” It was still strange to be able to see his eyes, and it unnerved Clark as much as it intrigued him. Though his mouth was as tight as ever, a hint of an amused smile shone in Bruce’s gaze. He wondered how many times those eyes had smiled at him from under the mask. 

Clark shrugged sheepishly, stepping up to the door and into the foyer. 

“You can leave the bike here, Dick is still asleep. Would you like coffee? I apologize, I don’t have much to offer for breakfast. I’m a lousy cook.”

Bruce turned to walk deeper into the mansion, expecting Clark to follow apparently. This was the most he’d ever heard Batman say without being prompted, and it threw him off. He set the bike and helmet down clumsily, making sure the kickstand was up before hurriedly following Bruce down the hall.

“Ah, I don’t need anything, thank you.” 

“Do you even drink coffee? Does caffeine affect you?” 

He tried not to let the lavishness of the interior of the mansion distract him from following and listening to Bruce. But he also wanted to take in all the details. The lower half of the walls in the foyer and hallway were a solid beige, separated by moulding from an elegant maroon wallpaper with intricate cream designs. Paintings hung on the walls, vases displayed on pedestals. 

“I drink it, but not for the caffeine. I enjoy the taste, plus my parents drink a lot of it so it was more or less thrust on me.”

Bruce flashed a knowing look at Clark over his shoulder as they entered the kitchen, heading to the coffee maker and pouring a cup. The man before him felt like a complete stranger, somehow. Batman never inquired about his… well, his anything. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, standing awkwardly in the double wide entryway to the largest kitchen he’d ever seen. It had everything you’d expect: stunning  marble countertops, rich mahogany cabinetry, stainless steel appliances, intricate tiled backsplash. 

“Cream or sugar?”

“Splash of cream, please. Thank you.”

“So,” Bruce turned and gestured to the island, “have a seat.” 

Clark did as requested, sitting on a leather barstool next to the one he had seen Bruce sit in earlier. When Bruce slid his cup in front of him and sat down heavily next to him, Clark felt the need to say something to fill the silence. 

“Uh, thank you for inviting me in.”

“Of course, Clark. I was anticipating this kind of reaction.” 

Clark felt his eyes go wide, cheeks flushing at the call out. He was not expecting Batman to address his obvious discomfort. “I’ve never met someone so… well-off.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Bruce chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’d never seen those eyes look like that at him. The thought that he could see that look more often thrilled him. 

Though, the billionaire’s smile then turned mischievous. “I’d imagine you have some more questions for me this morning.” It sounded like Bruce expected this to be fun, but Clark didn’t feel the same. 

“I…” he looked down at the coffee mug clutched in both hands, thinking of where to start. In all his musings in the apartment and on the way here, he still hadn’t decided what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to mention Thomas and Martha Wayne, but he wanted Bruce to know how he felt, that he knew and understood. He kept his eyes trained on the still surface of the coffee in the mug. 

“Are you okay?”

Bruce’s eyebrows were furrowed in slight concern. “Of course, I’m fine. I’ve been through much worse than Penguin’s pathetic goons.”

“No, I meant…” Bruce was going to make him say it, damn it. “With… everything you’ve been through.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

All of the concern Clark had pieced together this morning showed plainly in his tight set jaw, wide eyes, and pinched eyebrows. 

“Ah.” The amusement left Bruce’s features quickly, apparently now understanding what Clark was asking. “Well, let’s keep it to work-related questions.” 

“That is a work-related question, in a way.” 

Bruce huffed rigidly and ran a hand through his hair, musing it up even more than it already was, grumbling. 

“Okay next one, then.” 

Clark laughed once dryly. “Fine.” Clearly the identity reveal had meant very little, he was never going to get to know the man under the mask. Bruce was still wearing it, still Batman, here in his own kitchen. “How long have you known me to be Clark Kent?” 

“I found out about a month after you first came to Gotham.”

He snapped his head to the side, looking exasperatedly at the billionaire. “ What? Wait, how?”

“Instances of objects traveling faster than the speed of sound, frequently around the Daily Planet building. Following that pattern led to your apartment building. Cross-referencing tenants in your building and employees at the Planet narrowed it down enough.”

Clark sputtered a few almost-words before landing on a full sentence. “But that’s been basically the whole time! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Batman shrugged simply. “I had to be sure I could trust you, and revealing that I knew who you were would jeopardize that objective. I needed to know who you were as both Superman and Clark Kent to know the real you, and I couldn’t risk you acting differently as either because of my knowledge.” 

“The ‘real me,’ what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re Superman. You’re you.”

Definitely a Batman answer, said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

“So when were you ‘sure you could trust me’ then?” 

At that, Batman looked down at his own coffee cup instead of responding. Clark put his head in his hands, mumbling dejectedly through his fingers, “You still don’t?” 

“No, Clark, I trust you,” he swallowed thickly, Clark could hear it clear as day. “I… I knew I could trust you pretty early on, too. But…I still didn’t say anything.” 

“You went through the trouble of lining the cave with lead!”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, that had nothing to do with you.”

Clark looked up from his hands, puzzled. But then he heard Robin—Dick, presumably—rousing to come downstairs, and sighed. “I don’t get you one bit, B.”

“Hey, my bike! Bruce, my bike is—“ Dick came sliding into the kitchen in his pajamas, pausing upon seeing Clark at the island. “—here. Oh, hi Superman!” 

“Hey kid,” Clark tried and failed to keep from sounding exhausted.

“Thanks for bringing my bike back! Sorry about all that.” The boy began digging through the pantry, finally pulling out some s’mores flavored Poptarts. Before he could tear open the package, Clark spoke up. 

“Oh come on, you have got to have something more nutritious for breakfast than Poptarts in this house.”

Dick smirked, looking between the two young men. “Bruce couldn’t cook himself out of a wet paper bag.”

Clark could see eggs and bacon in the fridge, begging to be fried up for a Saturday morning breakfast. “Why don’t I make something?” He was already standing to move toward the fridge. 

“Don’t be silly,” Bruce got up, pulling Clark’s arm. “You do not need to make breakfast for him.” 

“Wait, you’re gonna turn down homemade breakfast!?” Dick was incredulous, giving away Bruce’s cold facade. 

“I‘ll make you some as well,” Clark smiled sincerely, shaking off Bruce’s grip.

“That’s even more unnecessary,” Bruce said, but he sat back down on the stool, defeated.

“I think Alfred would beg to differ. Did you ever call him, by the way?” 

He let the reminder sit like the threat it was, not needing to look back at Bruce to know that he understood. 

“Dick, scrambled or over-easy?” He was already getting the eggs out of the fridge, grabbing a pan from the rack that hung above the island. 

“Scrambled please!” 

Clark smiled smugly back at Bruce and felt the comfortable teasing from their hero work together fall back into place. “Well, Mr. Wayne?” 

Bruce mumbled into his hand, seemingly forgetting Clark could hear him.

“That’s an awfully rude thing to say.” 

Bruce snapped his head up, eyes wide for just a split second before narrowing in an icy stare. Clark felt like he had won.

“Fine! Scrambled too… please.”

Clark smiled at the stove, grateful for a chance to occupy himself for a few minutes with something other than stilted conversation with Bruce. He let the other two catch up on last night, letting himself fall into the background as he so often did. In no time, he had prepared enough food for the three of them, plating it up and having a seat so that Bruce was sandwiched between himself and Dick.

“Wow, he’s Superman and he can cook? What can’t he do!” Dick said around a mouthful of egg. 

“Don’t talk with your mouthful,” Bruce chastised, pointedly ignoring the comment itself. 

“Glad you like it.” His nerves had largely dissipated in the few minutes he spent cooking. He felt less like a prey animal and more like a guest visiting his friend. The silence that comes from enjoying a meal wafted over the room as he dug into his own plate. 

Dick swallowed pointedly. 

“This is almost as good as Alfred’s.” 

Bruce’s raised eyebrow clearly implied his disagreement. Clark felt like disappearing. 

“That’s high praise, Clark.” 

“Oh no doubt. I’m honored, genuinely,” he leaned forward to smile at Dick from around Bruce, but then turned his attention to his friend. “And what about you?” Clark chanced a glance at the man next to him. He had already taken another bite of bacon. 

“Mmh,” Bruce nodded curtly. He’ll take it. 

Dick finished first, taking his plate to the sink. “Superman wha—“

“Clark is fine, bud.” 

“Clark, then.” He smiled brightly. “What’re you doing today?”

“I’m sure he’s busy. We must let him get back to Metropolis.” 

“C’mon Bruce,” he gestured animatedly with both hands at Clark, “Superman is here, in your kitchen!” 

“I’ve been working with him for over a year,” Bruce rolled his eyes, shoving another forkful of eggs into his mouth. “This is nothing new to me.” 

Of course Batman wouldn’t be fazed at having a superpowered alien in his kitchen. It made Clark feel out of place. He wasn’t uncomfortable at being the alien in question, moreso being in Bruce Wayne’s kitchen. That was the stark difference between the two of them: Batman was completely calm in this objectively unusual situation, yet Clark was uneasy simply sitting next to his friend. He shoved his thumb through the gap between the two buttons on his flannel cuff.

“But you’ve never hung out!” 

Bruce spoke, with his own mouth full this time, “I don’t ’hang out’ with people, Dick.” 

The boy scoffed in disbelief. 

“Clark, I’ll hang out with you. I’ll give you a tour! If you’re not busy, that is.” 

Clark laughed heartily despite himself. “I’m not busy at all. Let me wash up, and I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.”

“ Warsh up?”

Clark turned to Bruce, who was still sitting at the island with one eyebrow raised. “What?” 

“You really are from Kansas, huh?” 

Clark felt his cheeks flush. Since moving to the east coast, he had tried to keep his midwesternisms in check. Sometimes things just slipped. 

“Thought you knew that already,” he grumbled, busying himself with washing the dishes. 

“No, I know. But it is still amusing to hear it slip out.” 

“I’ll go change!” Dick called as he ran out of the kitchen and back upstairs. 

As Clark cleaned the pans, plates and utensils silently, Bruce came to add his dishes to the mix. 

“You didn’t have to do this. You don’t have to.”

Clark shrugged, taking the plate from Bruce. “I want to.”

“Why?” Clark stopped, turning to look at his friend. For the first time that morning, it felt like he was interacting with the man he’d known this whole time. Without any masks. It was as if being a detective was his default, his easiest and truest self. His light blue eyes flicked back and forth between Clark’s, desperately searching for something. 

“Is it too much to want to cook for a friend?” 

“I don’t need your pity.” Bruce held his gaze, but took a half step backward, lifting his chin just slightly. Clark only then noticed he was a little taller than the billionaire. Was it that way in the suit? He didn’t think so, but it was close enough he’d never thought anything of it. 

“It’s not pity, B. I just…” His hands stilled in the sink. He cared for the man, always had ever since they started working together. He knew Bruce fought hard for Gotham as Batman every night, and he already admired him for that. Knowing he fights just as hard for Gotham as Bruce Wayne every day only cemented the respect he had for him. 

“Truthfully?” He paused again, turning to look Bruce in the eyes. He needed the man to know he was serious. 

“I admire you. This was just my way of showing you that.” 

“Huh.” 

Bruce held his gaze for an extra second before leaving Clark to finish cleaning up so he could sit back down. It irked Clark to no end the way he would always leave statements like that unanswered. Definitely a Batman behavior, but something about the fuzzy bathrobe made it difficult for Clark to feel like this was the broody man he’s known this whole time. 

“You’re really not busy today?”

“It’s one of my days off from the Planet , provided no emergencies arise.” 

“No fun plans for your day off, then?” 

He shrugged again. “Our line of work doesn’t exactly leave much time for leisure. I tend not to make casual plans unless Lois drags me out somewhere. What, do you have some big to-do today?” 

“As a matter of fact, Bruce Wayne is attending a fundraiser tonight.” 

Clark’s mind immediately registered two things: “Bruce Wayne” is attending, not “I’m” attending. And the second…

“What will Dick be doing?” Clark turned back to his host. His face paled, and Clark could hear his heartbeat quicken. 

“I— well, he…” 

In a show of his disapproval, Clark bent forward to bang his head gently on the edge of the sink. 

“You were going to leave him here alone again ?” 

“Wha—? No I… well. We did only have this conversation last night. I haven’t had a chance to… implement any feedback.” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, pulling down to one side. 

Clark busied himself with the dishes once more. “Oh my gosh, you’re impossible. I can watch him—and don’t say I don’t have to, I know I don’t have to.” 

“That’s ridiculous, he doesn’t need to be watched.” There was a sternness in his voice that wasn’t present before, and Clark feared briefly he had crossed a line. 

“He’s still only nine, he should have someone around if only just to keep him company. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.” If Clark was thinking of a nine-year-old Bruce, he’d never tell.

“Now you’re being dramatic. It’ll only be for a few hours, Clark.”

“What’s for a few hours?” Dick had returned to the kitchen, wearing khaki shorts and a green T-shirt with a logo Clark didn’t recognize. 

“Me hanging out with you tonight while Bruce is at his fundraiser,” Clark smiled as he responded immediately to the boy, leaving no room for Bruce to come up with a different answer. The man’s face turned sour as he glared at Clark. 

Dick jumped up and did the splits in the air, clearly excited by the prospect. “You can totally hang out with me tonight!” 

“How ‘bout that then?” Clark asked, turning to Bruce, who was still glowering at him. “I can come back tonight before you’re supposed to leave. Dick, we can do the tour then, if that’s okay? That way I can get out of your hair this morning.” 

“But you’re not—“

“That would be fine, Clark. Thank you.” Bruce answered tersely. 

He tried not to be offended at the hurried way Bruce agreed to the proposition of him leaving. It was clear he was reaching his limit on having a guest over. Or maybe just reaching his limit with Clark.

“Of course,” he smiled sagely, drying off his hands and replacing the towel. 

Dick tried valiantly to push Bruce out of the way, coming between the two men as he defended Clark. “He can stay! You can stay!”

“That’s enough , Richard.” 

Oof, full name . “It’s okay, bud.” He didn’t want Dick to be in trouble on his behalf. Clark took a step forward to extend his hand to the boy. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

Dick brushed past the outstretched hand, hugging Clark around the waist instead. After a moment of surprise, the Kyrptonian returned the hug, resting one hand on top of his head. When he looked up again, Bruce was looking at Dick. He seemed like he was thinking, and not about something pleasant. Clark wanted to ask about it, but refrained. There wasn’t anything good that could come of it right now, especially not in front of the kid. 

“Okay Dick, I should go,” he said as he ruffled the short black locks. “But I’ll be back at…” Clark flicked his eyes to Bruce tentatively.

“7 o’clock.”

“7 o’clock, okay?” 

Dick sighed and released his hold on Clark. “Okay. I’m gonna set up some games, and clean my room, and you’re gonna be so impressed with my tour-giving skills. Bye Clark! Thanks for bringing back my bike!” He called as he ran back upstairs, leaving the two heroes alone once more. 

This time, Clark waited for Bruce to speak first. But it was naive of him to hope he’d say something to address the building tension from the last three minutes. Instead, Bruce began walking back to the foyer. 

“I have to be at the venue by 7:45, so please be here on time,” he said without facing Clark. 

“Got it.” He showed himself to the door, pausing with his hand on the brass knob. He wanted so badly to apologize, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d be doing it for. “Thank you for having me.” Clark was afraid of what he’d see if he turned around, but did so anyway. 

“Mmh.” Bruce’s arms were crossed over his chest. His sharp brows were pinched together, not an intense scowl but a scowl nonetheless. 

“I…” 

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” 

“You know what.”

How did—

“You’re still Superman, even in blue jeans. Just go.” 

“But you—“

“Leave, Clark,” he said it gently, tiredly. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“I—Okay. See you tonight.” Clark gave a meek wave to the billionaire as he closed the door behind himself. Bruce didn’t seem mad at him, but it was still hard for him to tell. With the click of the door shut, he sighed. 

Oh well. This was… at least a start.

Chapter Text

The hours between leaving and returning to Wayne Manor were not kind to Clark. He had spent nearly all of those seven hours recounting every moment, and had not come to a conclusive reason for anything Bruce said to him. It seemed like he might have been angry, but Lois would tell him he’s probably overthinking it. 

Knowing he was overthinking didn’t necessarily stop him from doing so, but he tried to at least distract himself before returning to Gotham. The sense of déjà vu walking back up to the front door wasn’t any less strange when Clark was expecting it. 

Bruce opened the door this time with little fanfare, ushering him inside wordlessly. Meanwhile, Clark couldn’t manage to say or do anything but stare at the man before him. The tuxedo he wore was perfectly tailored to him, highlighting all of the best parts of his physique. It made Clark’s mouth dry for some reason. Which meant there was an awkward silence as he waited for Bruce to say something first. 

“You look awful, what happened?” 

“Huh?” Nothing had happened, per se. At least, nothing that would make him look “awful.” Yikes. 

Bruce’s usual scowl grew deeper. “You look… distressed. Is something wrong?” 

Clark huffed a humorless laugh. Sunlight couldn’t erase whatever he was feeling, apparently. “You tell me. Am I overstepping? I…” he decided to leave out the extent of his worrying. Bruce didn’t need to know. “I was thinking I offended you earlier by doing this. We don’t really— I mean I don’t—“

“Clark—

“—really know you like this and if you want I can just—“

“Clark, shut up. ”

Clark shut up. 

“It’s fine. Dick is excited for this and that’s all I really care about. That, and I guess knowing he’s as safe as anyone in the city could be.”

After Clark had successfully managed to stop talking, he for some reason couldn’t figure out how to start again. And having to look at Bruce in that damn tux wasn’t helping. 

“I—well I’m just… uh. Yeah. That’s probably true.” 

“Relax, Clark. It’s fine.”

It took a considerable effort not to snap at Bruce for telling him to relax. “Look, this might be simple for you but it really hasn’t been for me. You’re… I want… gah!” Clark ruffled his hair with both hands frustratedly. Bruce’s nonchalance really rubbed him the wrong way. “I just don’t want to ruin our…” Relationship felt like too strong a word for whatever they had going on. For a writer, he was having trouble with words today. “I like working with you, and I don’t want to lose that.” 

“I told you you had nothing to apologize for.” Bruce sounded… disappointed? His sharp gaze flickered to the ground just for a split second. 

“But you’re clearly upset.” 

“I was. But not with you. And I’m not anymore. We can…” Bruce’s eyes softened as he looked at Clark in a way he’d never expected to see, and he couldn’t look away if he tried. “Talk. When I get back. If you’d like.” Some of the wound tension in his body unfurled at hearing those words. It all seemed so simple when Bruce put it that way. The thought that he wasn’t upset with Clark specifically had never crossed his mind. And Bruce wanting to iron out the misunderstanding also made him feel more secure. 

“But I’d like to get you situated with Dick before my car arrives.” 

That’s right, he was here to watch Dick for the night. The Kyrptonian let out a quick sigh to reset himself. Things were okay. For now. He had to work on being in a better mood for the kid’s sake. Following Bruce, they ascended together to the second floor. The billionaire gestured in passing to the first door. “I’d tell you what’s here, but he’s excited to give the tour,” Bruce said over his shoulder with a fond smile. 

They finally stopped near the end of the hall. The mahogany door was closed, but there was a sheet of construction paper taped to the door with “Dick’s Room!!!” written on it with cheap markers. Just something as simple as that made Clark smirk. 

Bruce knocked twice perfectly centered between the panels. “Dick? Clark is here.” 

There was some fumbling from the room, which sounded like closet doors and dresser drawers closing, before Dick opened the door wide, standing breathless in the threshold. He had on a new shirt, both new from this morning and new in general, Clark could tell. It had the recently redesigned Gotham Knights logo on it. 

“Clark!” He beamed, “Ready for the best tour ever?” 

“Sure am!” Dick’s energy was contagious, he couldn’t help but return the smile, feeling his mood lighten tenfold. The boy made being in a good mood very easy. 

“Okay, well glad that’s settled. My car should be here shortly. There’s more lasagna in the fridge if you get hungry. Dick, you’d better be asleep before I get home.” Bruce reached out one arm hesitantly. It looked like he was going to pat his head, but instead settled for pointing accusingly.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll be asleep!” Dick stuck his tongue out, which Bruce ignored.

Instead of reacting, he turned to Clark and asked for his phone, calmly—finally—putting his phone number in the contacts. “Call me if you need anything.” Bruce looked up at Clark with an unreadable expression, blue eyes standing out starkly from his monochromatic attire. All Clark could do was swallow and nod stiffly. Bruce took off back down the hallway without turning around. 

Clark watched the man all the way down the hall, down the stairs, towards the front door before two small hands grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room. He let Dick lead him inside, right to the center. A lavish double bed sat against the large, pane-glass window, a simple red duvet atop it. One stuffed animal, an elephant, was placed purposefully on top of the pillow. The nightstand had a small desk lamp, an alarm clock, and a framed photo of Dick with presumably his parents. They were in their circus leotards, smiling and waving to the crowd. There was a full bookshelf and a dresser topped with various knickknacks. Yet, the lofty ceilings of the room itself made it feel as if it wasn’t filled quite enough yet. 

“Finally! Welcome to my room! Best room in the house. The Batcave doesn’t count, but it might even be better than that anyway,” the boy exclaimed, voice echoing a little in the spacious room. 

Dick stretched his arms out wide, spinning around the room. There was an antique-looking red velvet chair in one of the corners, and Clark meandered to it as Dick told him everything about everything. 

Clark listened intently to his ward for the evening as he pointed out various things. A Lego set he’d built by himself. A more complicated one he built with “only a little” of Bruce’s help. A signed baseball from a Gotham Knights game they went to together shortly after he first came to live here. Apparently Bruce had filled the bookshelf for him, hundreds of the most popular children’s and YA books of the past 30 years. 

All of that seemed to indicate Dick was adjusting as well as anyone could hope. 

“What’s your elephant’s name?” He asked after the “presentation” ended. 

“Sitka. She’s the elephant in our circus. Bruce promised to take me whenever they’re in town. If I want, I guess. I don’t know if I’ll want to or not…” Dick plopped onto the bed, pulling the fluffy elephant into a tight squeeze. He seemed to hold on an extra second, taking a deep breath in and out before placing the toy back on her pillow throne. Then, he suddenly bounded up toward the door, beckoning Clark to do the same. 

“Well that’s pretty much it for my room, follow me!”

Dick led him back down the hall. Each room they went in, Clark listened and nodded along as Dick guided them through sitting rooms, libraries, studies, and guest rooms. One of the rooms was in the process of being set up to be a game and toy room for Dick, and he was extra excited to tell Clark about the flashy toys that would be coming. 

The Kyrptonian thought Dick seemed comfortable here. But he also knew kids were very resilient, he may not be showing his true feelings to a stranger right now. Still, for some reason, Clark wanted to protect him, too. To make sure he really was okay. 

“You like it here with Bruce?”

“Hmm, yeah. It’s pretty good. He has way more money than I thought.” 

Clark chuckled. “Yeah, he does.” 

“Like, I knew he was rich but sheesh! And he’s… a lot different than my dad. I like Bruce, but I still miss them a lot.”

He knew Dick’s story, and he knew Bruce’s. Their tragedies were so similar. It broke his heart that something like this could happen even just twice, and it’s probably happening in dozens of places all over the world right now. His reality of being Superman, but still only being able to be one place at a time had proven to be a challenging dynamic to balance. He couldn’t let his guilt consume him, and he’s gotten better at it over the last few years. Yet now, even more than usual, his shoulders slumped and his chest tightened under the weight of all he could not do. Still, he needed to keep trying to be present with Dick. That is what would help the most right now. 

“That’s perfectly alright, buddy. There’s no right or wrong way to feel.”

Dick looked back at him curiously, lightly, a crinkle of a smile in his eyes. “I know. Gosh, you sound like my counselor.” 

Clark could laugh off the insult; at least the kid has someone to talk to. 

Upon reaching the other end of the hall, the two stood in front of an elegant set of double doors near a spiral staircase to the third floor. This was the first door Dick did not open. 

“This was Bruce’s parents room. He doesn’t go in there, just Alfred usually to clean. But we can go upstairs next.”

He didn’t know if it would be appropriate to outright interview the kid about what he knows about Bruce, and, more critically, what happened to the former masters of the house. He’d have to find a normal, tactful way to suss out the information. 

“Does Bruce… has he told you anything about them?” 

The answer came immediately. “No, not at all.” 

Well, so much for sussing out information tactfully. It would be impolite to pry with the follow-up questions that popped into his mind. Did Bruce ever even tell Dick why he took him in? The real reason? Clark looked down at the boy, who stood barely past his own hips. His eyes weren’t much like Bruce’s, more green and angular. They looked up at him with awe and excitement, but tinged with a hint of caution, uncertainty. 

“You should… ask him to tell you about them sometime.” 

Dick squinted at him suspiciously at that, before turning and heading up the stairs, expecting he would follow. He couldn’t help but notice the similar attitude between Dick and Bruce in the moment. 

“Are you alright Clark?” He asked as they ascended. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry kid, it’s just been a weird… last day or so.” 

“I get that. The Bruce Wayne thing is weird.”

“It’s not—! Well it is a little strange but it’s not that so much as…” 

Clark froze at the top of the staircase, letting Dick get a few paces ahead. What was it, exactly, that had him so on edge? Batman’s secret identity being the untouchable billionaire socialite Bruce Wayne wasn’t really what he was worried about. It was more so trying to understand where they stood now, and what had changed as a result of the reveal. Because despite Bruce knowing Clark and Superman for nearly the same amount of time, knowing Bruce is completely new for him. 

Except… that wasn’t really true, was it? It’s still the same man. Instead, it was like he wanted to make a good impression on Bruce all over again, but he only just now realized it was a moot point.

It was probably going to take a while for him to really internalize that one. His interactions with Batman over the last year had been infrequent and impersonal enough that their professional relationship still felt new, and Clark still kind of felt like he was in a trial run, audition, and interview all at once whenever they were together as heroes. He clearly still felt like he hadn’t made a good impression on Batman yet, and this whole identity reveal made him feel like he had to work twice as hard to earn his favor.

But thinking logically about their interactions and what Bruce said about not being upset with Clark imposing his babysitting services… maybe Bruce’s understanding of their personal closeness was much different from his own. 

He eventually shook himself out of his stupor and caught up to Robin as they entered another entertainment room. 

“I think I’m being a worry wart. I just need some time to get used to it, is all.” 

This was the first space so far besides Dick’s bedroom that seemed lived-in. A huge retro stereo system was the focal point of the room, and Clark could see multiple different PlayStations hooked up to the large TV in the entertainment stand. Every generation of the console was present on the shelves. 

“That’s what I mean! It took me forever to not act any differently around him.” Dick started to pace back and forth in front of the TV, gesticulating as he went. Clark sat down on the couch to observe. “Because at the beginning, I was a lot sillier around Batman than I felt I could be around Bruce, y’know? Bruce is fancy and serious. Coming to the manor felt like I was staying at someone else’s house, so I had to be polite and proper and stuff. But Batman likes when I do tricks and make jokes. He doesn’t say so, but he doesn’t stop me either, and that’s how I know he likes it. I realized Bruce is like that too, and ever since then it’s felt a lot more like home here. I can mostly be myself, and he likes that.” 

Clark stared with fond awe at Dick as he walked and talked until he finished, eventually turning back to see his “babysitter” watching him bemusedly. 

Squinting suspiciously at Clark, he asked, “What?” 

“From the mouth of babes.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“You’re a smart kid, that’s all.”

Just be himself. Bruce likes that. Huh. Sure. 

Clark tried quickly to move on, not wanting to have to explain further. “Do you have a favorite game to play up here?”

Dick perked up, excitedly turning to the cabinet with the games lined up on the shelf, thumbing over the options. “I like a lot of the games, but Bruce only plays Street Fighter and Tekken. Do you wanna play…Super Monkey Ball with me?”

He had never once in his life picked up a video game. Learning now was probably a good way to take his mind off the whole Batman dilemma, at least. 

“Sure. I’m not very good at video games though.”

“That’s okay, I’ll teach you!” 

Dick handed a controller to Clark, pointing out all of the buttons and telling him which ones did what in the game. Dick would race his character down the track, and Clark would follow behind, hindered by falling off the course a few times. He tried to explain the strategy of the game to Clark, but it seemed the kid thought this kind of thing was more intuitive than it really was. 

Eventually, they settled for Dick playing while Clark watched, which was just as satisfying for them both. In a moment of comfortable silence as Dick selected a new map, he asked a question Clark was not ready for. 

“Do you still have parents?” 

Uh… 

“Oh. Um…yes…” His parents lived in Kansas. And they were his real parents, they raised him, and he loved them more than anything. But his birth parents were long gone. His entire home planet was violently destroyed and despite living his whole life on Earth, he still felt a deep hole in his soul for his people. He frequently thought of what his life could have been like on Krypton, but he really loves the life he’s had on Earth, too. “Well, yes and no.” 

Dick gave him a critical side eye, only taking his eye off the game for a second. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know I’m… not really human, right?” Dick nodded casually without looking away from the TV. Just an alien, nothing special, I guess.  

“My birth parents, along with my entire planet, were destroyed shortly after I was born. My Kryptonian parents sent me to Earth, and my human parents found me when I landed in Kansas. They took me in, and I had a loving, normal childhood with them out there.” 

Dick finished his course, and let the game sit on the menu screen while he turned sideways on the couch to face Clark with wide eyes. 

“So, you’re kinda like me too then.”

“Yeah, a little bit. I never knew my birth parents, so the way I miss them is different from how you and Bruce miss your parents.” The circumstances of their deaths were also very different, but that was not the point. “I didn’t know I wasn’t human until I was a little older than you are now. But I am adopted like you are, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Yeah,” Dick nodded calmly once, and Clark could tell he was thinking about a lot of things. So he waited patiently for him to say something else. 

“Do you think…” the boy trailed off, and Clark didn’t push. “Do you think Bruce… will love me like your parents love you?”

And there it was. A question not completely out of pocket, but difficult enough to answer. And one he was in no way qualified to adequately respond to. He had to tread very carefully here, but couldn’t wait too long to reply either. 

He didn’t want to put words in Bruce’s mouth but… well. There was no need to lie by omission about last night, and simply making an observation and hypothesis couldn’t be wrong, right? 

“No two parents will show their love in the same way. But even if he hasn’t said so, I know he loves you already. You know how I know?”

He shook his head once, and the way he looked at Clark nearly broke his heart right then and there. Eyes wide, waiting so hopefully for a response to quell some of the unease and uncertainty that was undoubtedly gnawing at his insides.

“Last night when I was waiting for him to wake up, you know the first thing he asked me?” 

Dick predictably shook his head no again. 

“He asked me, ‘Where’s Robin?’” And while it, technically, wasn’t the first thing, it was the second. Plus, with that very atypically frantic way Bruce had asked, it still proved the same point. 

The boy’s brows rose a fraction, and he quickly turned back to the TV, moving the selection from map to map for several seconds before stilling again. Clark leaned forward to try and look into those green eyes, but Dick turned away again.  

“Thanks, Clark…” He couldn’t hide the thickness in his voice that comes from nearly crying. Clark smiled softly. 

“Anytime, bud.” 

An indignant “hmph” was all he got in response to that, as Dick finally selected another map. Clark supposed that was about as good as that whole thing could have gone, and slid back into the couch, pleased. 

It was getting to be much later now, nearly ten o’clock. Suddenly Clark realized that he never explicitly got Dick’s typical “bedtime” from Bruce before he left, at least not anything more than “before he gets back.”

He decided to take a quick peek over to the banquet hall to assess if Bruce was close to returning, focusing his energy and vision to look through as many buildings as it took to see the man across town. He looked to be busy talking with a group of seemingly rich guests. The laughter and smiles coming from Bruce were completely foreign now knowing the identity of his alter ego. But as strange as it was to see “Batman” laughing, seeing a smile on his face—even if it was fake—still brought one to Clark’s as well. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Huh?” Clark had to take a second to refocus his eyes to the room around him. Dick had finished his level and turned off the PlayStation, and now was pinning Clark with a quizzical gaze. 

“Your eyes were like, really weird just now.” 

“Oh, just checking to see if Bruce was on his way back. I wouldn’t want either of us to be in trouble because you’re not asleep when he gets back.”

This made Dick giggle. “Why would you be in trouble?”

“I—“ Wait. Why would he be in trouble? He’s a grown-ass man. Superman, nonetheless! “I guess… I just don’t want to get on his bad side. He tasked me with keeping an eye on you, so I should make sure you’re in bed at a reasonable time. I spent most of today thinking he was upset with me, but he said tonight he wasn’t upset with me so… he just makes me nervous, I guess, because it seems very easy to get on his bad side.” 

“If talking to Bruce makes you nervous maybe you should imagine him in his underwear when you talk to him next. My teacher says that can help when you’re scared about talking to people.” 

Clark flushed, unable to stop the image of Bruce in his underwear from filling his mind's eye. He immediately wished he had shut up long ago. “Uh, for some reason I don’t think that will help here.”

“Oh well, I tried.” Dick shrugged initially, but began to smile devilishly. “Wait, do you like Bruce? Like, like like?” 

“What!? That’s—no, I—no. No way. I just— I like working with him. And I don’t want to jeopardize that, that’s all.” 

The smug look on Dick’s face indicated he didn’t really believe Clark’s bumbling denial. But it was the truth! He was just caught off guard. He had to pivot here, and quickly. 

“So do you know… why does he pretend to be so…” Clark gestured vaguely with both hands, trying to come up with a word slightly less offensive than “stupid,” or “clueless.” 

“Dumb?” 

Not really any less offensive, but Dick said it, not him. 

“Ah, yeah. That.” 

“It’s to make sure no one ever figures out he’s Batman. No one would believe a guy like that can do what Batman does.”

Which made complete sense. It did completely throw Clark off when he was starting thinking about it. But…

“Doesn’t all the stuff the papers say upset him?” 

Dick shrugged. “Nah, he doesn’t really listen to that. He does what he needs to so the papers say stuff about him, and draw attention away from Batman.”

Well now Clark felt like the clumsy idiot. It was all a ploy, a strategy. Everything he did was completely on purpose and with purpose. As Bruce, as Batman, all of it. 

“That sounds… tiring.” 

“Well you do it too, kinda.” 

Clark turned so his shoulders were facing more to the boy, tilting his head slightly in genuine confusion. “What do you mean by that?” 

“When you’re Superman, you seem like… really confident and strong. But right now you’re… just you, I guess.” 

Ever since finding out about his powers, Clark had tried really hard not to draw attention to himself. But when he decided to become Superman, it wasn’t just about using his powers to help people. He became a symbol. So he tried to be that symbol as much as he could. Proud, strong, reliable. But being the center of attention still wasn’t something that came naturally to him. So when he was the center of attention, all of the posturing made it feel like it wasn’t him everyone was looking at, it was Superman. 

“I’m still me all the time, though. Whatever changes you can sense in me, it’s nothing like what Bat-Br— he is doing. I… don’t know how to describe what I mean.” 

He did, really. But describing what he meant would admit to feeling inadequate. And he couldn’t admit that to a kid who looks up to Superman, no matter how highly he may think of Clark. 

Dick tried and failed to stifle a yawn, leaning up against Clark’s side and letting his eyes fall shut. “That’s okay. When you think of it, you can tell me. Alfred says I’m a good listener.” 

Oh, he was an adorable kid. If he wasn’t already taken with the boy, he surely would be now. Clark lifted his arm to give him a side hug in thanks. 

“Well, good listener, I think it’s time for bed. I’ll keep an eye out for Bruce, so no waking up in the middle of the night tonight, okay?”

Dick nodded sleepily, getting up and leading the way back downstairs. Once teeth were brushed and pajamas were on, Clark followed him to the doorway of his room, not sure what to do. He stood stiffly in the threshold and watched as the kid climbed into bed, peeling back the duvet and pulling Sitka into his chest. The image of this sweet boy going to sleep all alone last night in this big empty house made Clark’s heart clench. 

“Do you…need anything else, then?” He asked, one hand hovering over the light switch. 

“No, thanks. It was fun hanging out with you.” 

“I had fun with you too, bud.” Clark smiled genuinely, as he flipped the lights out. “As my Ma always says, good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite!” 

He pulled the door shut with him as he retreated back into the hallway, but just before the door could click closed, he heard a faint voice call for him. 

Quickly, he poked his head back into the room, letting the light from the hallway flood around him, casting his shadow onto the bed. 

“Yeah?” 

“… could… could I have a hug?” 

Before his heart could break into a million tiny pieces, Clark was at the bed, sitting down on the edge and pulling the half-sitting-up boy into his arms. Just as quickly, he felt small arms wrap as much as they could around his chest. 

They stayed like that for what felt like a long time. He didn’t want to disrupt, so he stayed silent as long as he could. But he was only a man, so to speak. 

“You alright, bud?” 

Silence. 

“Dick…?” 

More silence. And then, muffled into his flannel, “You give good hugs.” 

“Thanks, kiddo,” he chuckled. “So do you.” 

Dick kept his face tucked into Clark’s chest. “You should tell Bruce I give good hugs. He doesn’t really like it.”

That was… has Bruce not hugged this poor sweet kid?

“I’ll be sure to tell him what he’s missing out on.” Clark tried not to get frustrated. It was admittedly hard to imagine Batman hugging anyone, and just because Clark self-identified as a hugger didn’t mean everyone had to. But if there was anybody in the world who deserved a Batman hug, it was Dick Grayson. “In the meantime, if you ever want a hug you can ask me, anytime. I’ll hear you even from Metropolis.” 

The boy nodded, rubbing his face against the pocket on his shirt, before jerking out of Clark’s hold and turning away, tucking his stuffed elephant under his chin. 

“Okay, thanks Clark. Goodnight.”

He couldn’t help the heavy sigh he let out as he lifted himself slowly off the edge of the bed. 

“Goodnight, Dick.”