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The knocks were loud. Frantic. Desperate.
Thudthudthudthud! Thudthudthudthud THUD-THUD-THUD.
Clark tried to yawn. Tried to blink the sleep from his eyes as he swayed down the stairs. He registered light, so it was morning. But barely. Still more night than day.
The knocking never stopped. If anything, they got louder. More urgent.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD. THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD!
“Coming!” Clark grumbled, feeling annoyance pang in his head as he stomped towards the door. He could see shapes through its window, multiple, so…multiple people? This early? “I’m…!” He threw the front door open. Blinked a few more times. “…coming?”
To say he was surprised, was an understatement.
Because he didn’t know what he expected, really, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t five children, the tallest holding a toddler in his arms, and a little boy holding a little girl’s hand. It wasn’t a man holding the fifth, another small boy, looking terrified and wild.
But not just any man. Oh no, Clark knew him. Clark was kind of falling in love with him. Clark might’ve already fallen, and fallen hard.
He blinked again. Turned his head to the side. “…Bruce?”
Bruce smiled weakly, exhaustedly, like he’d been up all night. Clark paused to think about it, glanced behind the family on his porch, at a car. Still cooling, and old-looking. Not like one of Bruce’s normal, fancy rides. It was also dust-covered, like it’d just taken an incredibly long journey. Like Bruce had just driven here all the way from Gotham.
“I need a favor.”
And it should have been concerning, how quickly Clark said: “Anything.”
“I need you to take them.” Bruce hissed quickly. “I need you to take the children, and…and hide them.”
“…What?” Clark slurred slowly, watching as the toddler suddenly fussed, and the preteen holding him – Dick – gently shushed him. “Bruce, what’s going-”
“There’s no time, and you’re the safest place I can think of.” Bruce explained sadly, suddenly leaning forward, shifting to hand off the sleeping boy in his arms – Tim. “I have to go.”
“Go?” Clark demanded, taking Tim anyway, moving to the side to let little Jason and little Cassandra into the house. “Go where? Bruce, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know where I’m going, and even if I did, I couldn’t tell you.” Bruce rambled. “But protect them, Clark. Please. Protect…” He glanced down, first at Jason and Cassandra, who were yawning and wiping at their eyes, then at Tim, trying to nuzzle against Clark’s neck. “…Protect my babies. Keep them safe, with everything you have.”
“Bru-”
“If I take them with me, they’ll be used as bait. Targeted. Killed, to get at me. And I can’t. I won’t, I-” Bruce’s breath hitched and his eyes practically bulged out of his head. Clark had never seen him so upset. So…so scared. “Promise me, Clark. Promise me you will. Please. I have no one else, I-!”
“Of course.” He shifted Tim on his hip. “Bruce, you know I love them like my own, I’ll do anything for your kids, but what’s-”
He didn’t get the question out, before Bruce surged forward, grabbed the back of his neck and captured Clark’s lips for his own. Kissed him just as desperately as he had knocked on the door, but mixed with a tinge of some sort of relief. But Clark was still tired, still stunned, and it was over before he could enjoy it. Before he could even truly comprehend.
“Just until I get back.” Bruce whispered into the skin of his jaw, like a promise. “Please, just protect my kids until I get back.”
He suddenly backed away from Clark. Smiled, sadly, again. The saddest Clark had ever seen him, as he cupped the back of Tim’s head and kissed his cheek. As he moved away and kissed Dick’s temple, and whispered something into his eldest’s ear, before gently, but forcefully, pushing him into Clark’s house. As soon as Dick and the baby were across the threshold, Bruce looked back at Clark. Kept that sad grin.
“Thank you.” He breathed, already moving down the stairs. “I shouldn’t be long. A few weeks. Maybe a month or two.”
Clark felt something shift beside him, a hand tugging at his shirt. He looked down to see Jason and Cassandra, staring at Bruce with tear-filled eyes.
And Bruce smiled at them, as he continued to back away, continued back towards his car. “I shouldn’t be long.” He promised again, to the children, as he opened the car door. “…I love you.”
Cassandra sniffed, and Jason just nodded bravely.
Bruce chuckled, but Clark could see the tears in his eyes too. “I’ll see you soon.”
And then he ducked into the car, the door was shut, and he was gone.
Soon came, and soon went.
And Bruce didn’t come back.
~~~
“Okay.” Clark called loudly, over the laughter and the whining, “Conner – Kon, you’ve gotta stop.” Kon didn’t and Clark felt guilty, feeling himself laugh a little bit, too. “Kon, come on, kiddo. Leave Dames alone. Remember what happened last time.”
Tim let out his own snort, but gently took hold of Damian’s hand, before it could punch the ten-year-old in his own jaw again. Kon relented, and dropped his powers, flopping down onto the sofa, trapping Damian between he and Tim, and smashing both of his brothers in an embrace, and pressing obnoxious kisses to Damian’s face.
“Get off!” Damian groaned, shoving uselessly at Kon’s chest. “Connor, I said get off!”
“Alright, alright.” Clark chuckled, even as Kon did. “Come on, Damian, shower. Kon, Timbo, it’s your turn to do dishes.”
The elder two groaned, as Damian scurried away like an annoyed cat. He jogged over to the stairs, made it halfway up before leaning over the banister and sticking his tongue out at Conner.
“Watch it, pipsqueak.” Kon called playfully, even as he slowly moved towards the kitchen. “Remember, I’m faster than you and Jon isn’t here to save your sorry butt.”
“Stoooop.” Clark drawled, picking up empty glasses from the coffee table and shoving them into Conner’s arms. He whirled around almost instantly. “Don’t respond, Damian. Go take that shower.”
Damian pursed his lips, and stomped up the rest of the stairs.
“And don’t call Jon!” Clark called after him. “He’s at his mother’s for the week, and he’s supposed to stay there!”
Damian didn’t respond, and Clark could only sigh after he heard the bathroom door close.
“We weren’t fighting.” Kon called from the kitchen. Clark turned and glanced at him and Tim through the little window into the kitchen.
“I know.” Clark smiled. “But you know how he gets.” He paused. “Thank you for stopping before he tried to punch you.”
“You know he wouldn’t’ve hurt me.” Kon smiled knowingly, even as Tim rolled his eyes next to him, and slammed a wet plate into his chest to dry.
“Apologize before he goes to bed anyway?” Clark asked. Kon nodded, and turned back to the sink, looking at Tim with his own quick glance to the heavens. “I’m going to go get the clothes off the line. Jon and Cassie…or, wait. It might have been Dick. …One of them said they might video call tonight, so just come get me if they do.”
Both teenagers nodded, and immediately fell into one of their easy conversations, as they always did. Clark smiled, left them to it, and walked out the back door.
As the old screen slammed shut behind him, he stopped there, on the porch. Listened to the clatter of dishes and the hum of the water pump, as Damian turned the faucet on. Heard the dogs bark happily in the front yard, playing while their humans cleaned up after dinner. He inhaled slowly, stared across the farm grounds, towards the deep colors of the budding night sky.
This was his life.
He exhaled and hopped down the steps, unable to keep that content little grin from his face.
It was kind of silly, how much he enjoyed the chores that he had to do alone. Mowing the lawn, getting the clothes after they were done drying, and folding them, vacuuming, sometimes, when the kids were at school. Those moments where he wasn’t dad. He wasn’t Superman. He was just Clark, and he was just existing.
He doesn’t know how long he was out there. He heard the drone of the television, meaning Tim and Conner were done with the dishes. He heard the water shut off, meaning Damian was done with his shower. The colors of the sky even bled from purples and reds to blues and greens, he noticed that much. But otherwise, if he’d been asked, it was anywhere between twenty minutes and twelve hours. That tended to be how this alone time went.
But the moment was broken by the sudden buzzing of a cell phone in his back pocket.
He quickly finished folding the shirt in his hands, dropping it into the laundry basket before reaching back and pulling out the phone.
Maybe I was wrong, he wondered as he did. Maybe it wasn’t a video call. Maybe it was Jason, doing an actual phone call.
He glanced at the number, but a name didn’t come with it. It was just a number, with an area code Clark couldn’t name off the top of his head. Not a problem, though, and not the first time. It could be a source for a story, it could still be any one of the older children, it could be Lois, even.
So he hit the button and answered the call. “This is Kent.”
“…Clark?”
The voice was quiet, and gravelly. Aged and thoughtful, but oh, oh, Clark would know that voice anywhere.
Even if he hasn’t heard it in almost eleven years.
He felt his eyes widen, and his own voice catch in his throat. His mind went blank, and it was like he forgot how to speak.
Because it’d been almost eleven years, and he – and the children – had resigned himself to never hearing that voice again ages ago.
He suddenly heard the screen door creak open, and his body involuntarily turned towards the sound. Kon was stepping out onto the porch, Damian hanging off his back, Tim a step behind them. And of course, Kon probably heard the change in his heart rate, wondered what was causing it, if his dad needed help.
“Father…?” Damian’s voice was soft.
And Clark could only stare at them. Their dark hair and blue eyes. They could all be brothers, real brothers, biological brothers. Hell, half the world already thought that so-
“Clark?” Kon asked gently, and Clark saw his grip on the youngest of them tighten, as if he was preparing to run. As if he needed to suddenly be in defense mode.
“…Clark?” The voice on the phone repeated. Clark blinked, and turned away from the boys.
“…Is it.” He inhaled, felt the lump in his throat. “Is it really you?”
The voice chuckled, low and sweet, and all those emotions from ten and a half years ago came rushing back.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” The voice promised, and Clark closed his eyes, put his hand over his mouth. Because this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be. Bruce was dead, Bruce was gone, that’s what they decided, that’s what they told themselves, because he never came back-
“Dad?” Tim this time, and Clark exhaled shakily, turned to look at his boys again. “Is everything okay?”
And Clark couldn’t honestly answer that question right now.
“It’s me, Clark.” Bruce whispered, and Clark felt his body practically deflate, staring at his sons, feeling almost…sad. “It’s me.”
Because everything was going to change now.
“I came back.”