Chapter Text
“Superman.”
Instantly awake, Clark’s head lifted.
He knew that voice. It was softer than usual, quieter, but Clark would recognize that crazy, through-the-roof heartbeat anywhere.
It was Batman.
“Superman, I need your help.”
Clark shot up in bed and stumbled to the ground in his hurry.
“Clark?” his ma mumbled from a few doors down, half-awake.
“SuperherothingI’llexplainlater!” was all Clark got out before pulling a new record for how fast he could get his suit on.
If Batman was calling for help, this was an apocalypse-level emergency.
Clark had always known Batman was a worrier, if the beating of his heart was anything to go by, but not once had Batman shown it on his face, in his actions.
Until now.
Batman was typing on his computer so quickly that it made Clark wonder if he had superspeed, pulling up screens and notes and going faster than any normal person could keep up with.
(Clark was not a normal person. He caught court and rumor and a few latitude points before focusing on Batman.)
“They took my son,” Batman said.
“Who did?” Clark said, brushing right past Batman has a son (he was a reporter, he’d heard about the Robin rumors).
Batman’s fingers paused on the keyboard, and for the first time Clark had seen, emotion flitted past his face–grief. Panic. Batman was scared.
“The Court of Owls,” Batman said.
Clark had heard of them, too. (A long time ago, Perry had wanted him to do a column on Gotham legends, such as Batman and the Court of Owls. Go figure, both of them were real.)
“What should I do?” Clark asked.
“Listen,” Batman said. “Robin should be saying Uncle Clark.”
That was enough to throw Clark for a second. “I– what?”
“It’s a code,” Batman said through gritted teeth. “When he’s in danger and knows I can’t find him, he calls for you. Superman is too obvious, Clark is too vague, and Robin’s idolized you for ages, so–” Batman shrugged. “Uncle Clark.”
“You know my secret identity?” Clark said. “I mean, I don’t have a secret identity.”
Batman leveled him with a flat, impatient stare.
“Shutting up now,” Clark said weakly.
“Listen for him,” Batman said, fingers gripping the edge of his chair. “Please.”
Clark had never heard Batman say that word in his life.
He listened.
With all the billions of people in the world, there were tens of thousands of Clarks, thousands of Uncle Clarks, and several of people saying uncle Clark at the time.
Within seconds, one caught his attention.
“Uncle Clark,” a boy was whispering, almost whimpering. “Uncle Clark, Uncle Clark, please– B– Batman, I don’t– they’re gonna hurt me– it’s so cold –”
There was a bang and a snarled shut up, and the whisper died for a second.
And then picked up.
“Uncle– Uncle Clark–” the boy began.
There was a bang, a child crying out, and silence.
Clark stopped listening. “I found him.”
“Take me,” Batman said.
Clark had never seen Batman fight with so much fury. He took down the attackers with ease and brute strength, not even noticing the cuts and punches laid on him. For Clark, flicking away projectiles and knocking out anyone who came his way, it was all a blur.
“That room,” Clark said, pointing, because he could still hear the boy’s panicked whimpers from inside. “He’s in there. Go. I’ll watch your back.”
Batman nodded and broke the door down without looking back. Clark felt strangely honored by the trust. Seeing and hearing no attackers (had they really taken them all out that quickly?), he followed– and froze.
There were rows of tanks, sitting upright. With people in them.
Stock still, eyes closed, almost peaceful–
Except for one.
A little, black-haired boy was shaking in his restraints, eyes closed, face pinched up in fear or pain, tears leaking down his face–
Batman ripped the covering off it’s hinges. The boy’s eyes snapped open.
“Bruce,” he cried, and started sobbing, pulling against the restraints. “Bruce– help me– get it off– ”
Batman was already sawing through the cuffs at his feet, and quickly moved on to his wrists, and soon the boy was collapsing into Batman’s arms, shaking with tears or cold or shock or all three, Clark wasn’t sure.
Wait.
Hold on.
Bruce?
“I was so cold,” Robin whispered against Batman’s shoulder. “It–I–they hurt me, and I don’t–I asked them to stop and they didn’t –”
“Shh,” Batman hushed, unclipping his cape and wrapping it around the tiny boy.
“They were– they were going to change me,” Robin whispered, pressing against Bruce as if he could meld them together with enough force and practically disappearing into his cape. “I don’t– I don’t want– ”
“You’re safe now,” Batman whispered gently, and at this point Clark wasn’t even surprised at how tenderly Batman could speak when he wanted to. “We’re going to get you home.”
“All the agents are knocked out,” Clark said, choosing this moment to report. “What now?”
For a second, Batman looked lost. That shook Clark. Batman had only been part of the justice league for a few months, but he always –from alien invasions to mind control– knew what to do.
“Should we– are they even human anymore?” Clark asked. He felt sick for asking, sick for even thinking of it, but– maybe killing would be a mercy.
Batman shifted, as if, for a second, he might agree.
“Superman?” whispered the bundle of fabric in Batman’s arms.
“Batman, your cape’s talking,” Clark said instinctively, because he could be good with kids, sometimes.
The bundle of fabric let out a wet giggle, and a head poked out, eyes wide and teary but curious. “Superman? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Clark said, at their side in an instant.
“I wasn’t– I wasn’t sure,” Robin began, faltering. “They made me stop– stop talking, and I wasn’t sure–”
“He heard you. You did well, chum,” Batman said. Robin hummed and nestled into him closer, and Batman held the bundle of fabric like it was his whole world.
Which. At this point, Clark could clearly see it was.
“We’re taking them to Arkham,” Batman said suddenly. “All the Talons. We’ll make them better. Or at least, we’ll try.”
“Martian Manhunter could help,” Clark offered, and Batman nodded.
“Good idea. I’ll ask. But we will help them,” Batman said fiercely, as if daring Clark to disagree.
Looking at Robin’s little head, resting on Batman’s shoulders, Clark knew that he would never.
After a few harried calls, Superman flew Bruce and Dick back to the batcave. A tray of three hot chocolates and a large bundle of blankets was waiting in the cave, and before Dick knew it he was swaddled like a baby, tucked into Bruce’s lap, hot chocolate in his hands. The hot chocolate was so warm that he almost dropped it in surprise, but Bruce caught it.
“Thanks,” Dick whispered, ashamed with himself that he couldn’t even carry a cup. “I can– I can hold it–”
“Your hands are shaking,” Bruce said, letting Dick wrap his hands around the mug but cupping his own large (warm) hands over Dick’s.
“M’cold,” Dick said quietly, because he was, despite the blankets, the hot chocolate, the cuddling, everything.
“I’ll keep you warm,” Bruce promised.
Dick hummed sleepily. He was really tired.
And then his eyes shot open.
He’d almost forgotten about Superman.
“Is he still here?” Dick asked, sitting up a little.
“To your left, chum,” Bruce said, knowing what he was asking.
Dick whipped his head around, and Superman was there, looking awkward.
“Hi, Un– Su– Mr. Clark,” Dick said.
“Hi, Dickie,” Superman said with a half-wave.
Dick twisted around to look at Bruce in surprise. “You told him our secret identities?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Superman said.
“Oh, right. Reporter.”
Dick kicked his feet in delight at the thought of it all– not only did he know Superman’s identity, but now Superman knew his. Superman was going to be such a good hugger, he just knew it.
“Um, I hope you don’t mind, um, me calling you ‘Uncle Clark,’” Dick whispered. “I just– it was easier to recognize than just Clark so I thought it would work well for the code–”
“It’s fine. I like it,” said Sup– said uncle Clark.
Dick dug his face against Bruce’s arm, suddenly a little shy. Superman liked it. Superman liked it.
“You should get to bed,” Bruce said, and when Dick craned his neck up, Bruce’s cowl had come off. When had the cowl come off? “You’re sleepy.”
“M’ not seepy,” Dick protested.
“You’re not seepy,” Bruce agreed, mock-serious. And then Dick was being picked up, blankets and all, and carried upstairs. He snuggled against Bruce contentedly.
Bruce glanced back at Clark, and gestured for him to follow.
“Thank you,” Bruce said outside Dick’s door, once the kid was fully asleep. He was still in his suit, sans cowl and cape, but he looked tired, suddenly. Human. “Thank you so much. I–” Bruce inhaled carefully. “Thank you. If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask me. I owe you– I owe you everything.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Clark said with a smile. “This is what friends are for.”
(Helping an urban legend break his foster son out of the evil lair of another urban legend– yeah, Clark was pretty sure that’s how friendship worked on earth.)
Bruce smiled too, softly. It wasn’t like the smile he had on T.V. as Brucie Wayne, or the flat mouth he had when he was trying not to laugh at the Watchtower.
It was the kind of smile he gave to Dick, or to the nice old man who had gathered up the hot chocolate and offered Clark a refill.
Clark thought–well, he hoped –that it was a smile Bruce gave to people he trusted.
And after tonight? Clark would fight for that trust with all his life.
“Will you be okay?” Clark asked, eyeing the many cuts and bruises Bruce had.
“Hn? Oh.” Bruce looked surprised, like he hadn’t even noticed. “It’s nothing. I’ll recover.”
“I think Dick’s having a nightmare,” Clark said, when it became clear Bruce wouldn’t continue. “His heartbeat’s increasing.”
Bruce nodded and headed for the door. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I’ll head out.”
“Goodbye, Clark.”
Clark watched Bruce hesitate at the doorway for only a moment before stepping in. “Goodbye, Bruce.”
That night, Bruce nestled into his bed, Dick tucked safely in his arms. After Dick had woken up sobbing at the thought of being taken again, neither could bear to sleep without the other.
Bruce wrapped his arms around Dick tighter, and Dick’s tears slowly stilled.
Bruce could have lost this.
After some light hacking, Bruce found the number.
Bruce: this is Bruce. If you ever need help with anything –world-threatening or otherwise– call me.