Chapter Text
Clark parted ways with Lois in amicable terms. They seemed like the perfect match, but in the end, being friends that worked together seemed better in the long run for both. They both wanted different things. Clark wanted Lois and… Lois wanted someone who wouldn’t ditch 9 out of 10 dates, dates that were already difficult to schedule between both of their busy reporting jobs. Clark didn’t blame her. She deserved something like that, and he would still be there to catch her every time she jumped from a great height for the case she was investigating.
And in the end, this wasn’t a big deal, right? He had been the one to bring it up, knowing Lois wouldn’t like to hurt his feelings by asking for something that he couldn’t give. He made it easier for both so they could continue with their lives like nothing happened. It’s not like Clark thought he was going to marry her and they’d live in a nice house with a garden where they’d plant carrots and have a tall apple tree with a makeshift swing for the kids. The kids…
Of course Clark wasn’t thinking that. It would’ve been stupid. They hadn’t even been dating for that long, right? 9 months were barely anything. Not even a year. He could move on with his life. He had to. Besides, nothing changed much. They still shared morning coffees and covered for each other when Lois had her wild story-chasing escapades, or when Clark had to save people from a burning building in the middle of his office time.
But then, this unfortunate event became the first one of a series.
Lex Luthor soon proceeded to buy the Daily Planet. Clark could fathom a few reasons why, but his favorite one was that Luthor just needed a large platform with credibility to spread his ideas and whims. Wouldn’t be the first billionaire to do so, wouldn’t be the last.
And so, Lois left. It was logical, after all. She would not twist her stories to fit any Luthor narrative, she would rather quit and go chase stories in another paper. She didn’t lack offers. Everyone knew that Lois Lane, ferocious as she was, would give them the best articles.
Clark, on the other hand, didn’t have that much attention. He submitted his curriculum to other places, but none of them called him back. Yeah, he was Lois Lane’s companion, but his stories weren’t as impressive. His most outstanding works were the investigation of the presence of lead pipes in Metropolis’ infrastructure. He had been recognized for his social contributions, but they were not the most interesting pieces, you know?
So he made the sensible choice to also quit and move back to his parents’ house. He hadn't lasted long in Metropolis. He could hear the neighbors gossiping about his return since the first day he started moving his things back.
“Clark is coming back? That's delightful. It’s a shame the big city didn’t work out, after how they bragged about Clark’s college and journalist job.”
It left a bitter taste in Clark’s mouth, but he knew he couldn’t help the things people said, he could only show them wrong through his actions. Yeah, maybe it didn’t work out in Metropolis, but his life wasn’t over.
He would start by helping out with his parents’ farm. That was not difficult at all. The silence of the countryside was better. Sure, he could still hear most of the sounds of the world, but at least he didn’t have constant flows of cars and people around him in anymore. He was enjoying the casual tasks, though it was clear that Ma and Pa already had their own routine.
The tractor broke down, that old thing, but pa refused to get a new one, so, like always, Clark went to his aid. His task ever since he developed super strength was to carry the tractor to Pa’s workshop so he could do all sorts of mechanical Frankenstein experiments trying to revive the old machine. He lifted it over his shoulders, with Pa still on the seat. The sun was setting in the horizon, painting the sky with orange and purple hues, just like the day Lois had visited for his mother’s birthday. Months had passed since then. The plain fields they saw in November were now covered with young corn plants.
Lois. Would she have liked to keep the farm? Would’ve Clark liked that? Even since before he quitted, his life path was undefined. He liked farm life, and at some point, he’d have to choose what to do with the land. He couldn't really imagine Lois living the slow life, though.
He didn’t like thinking about it, and he didn’t like thinking about what Lois would tell him. They were not together anymore anyway. It would make no difference.
The tractor slipped from his hands.
For a man with super speed and super processing, he realized he was dropping it half a second too late. He caught Pa as the man slipped off his seat from the sudden rustling. The tractor fell with a clank of parts being crushed together against the ground.
“Woops!” Jonathan gasped, holding his hat to keep it from flying away. “What happened there? Are you okay, son?”
His concern was understandable. Clark didn’t have the habit of dropping things.
“Sorry,” Clark said, looking at the wreck of the tractor with a grimace. The poor baby corn underneath was probably dead. “I was just… a little distracted.”
He placed Pa on the ground, and the older man placed his hand on Clark’s shoulder. He could sense his son was filled with a turmoil he couldn’t do much to fix, but he could help.
“It’s fine,” Jonathan told him. “It was already broken anyway.”
Neither of them moved for a moment, giving the emotions a little time to settle down before Pa pulled them both to the side of the road, leaving the tractor behind momentarily.
The two sat. Their jeans were already dirty, so it didn’t matter if they got some more dirt on them by sitting on the ground. Jonathan looked away from Clark to smile a little. He knew his son was deep in sadness, but it reminded him of when Clark was sixteen and he asked him for advice to solve a problem he was having with Lana Lang. He was going to do the same thing he did then: listen.
Clark stared at the ground, watching a worm dig its way underneath the dirt with his X-ray vision.
“Sorry,” Clark said once more. “I know I haven’t been doing much around the farm. I guess I’m… really distracted.”
Jonathan nodded, giving his son time to articulate his words and let it all out at his own rhythm.
“I keep thinking about Lois, and my job, and everything,” Clark continued with a heavy sigh. “I’m trying to do what you told me. I’m trying to choose my battles and give myself time to think, but right now, it feels more draining than just… not thinking.”
Jonathan knew that feeling, and he knew it particularly well in his son. He had raised Clark to have a big heart of gold and he regretted it just a little bit, only because Clark hurt as deeply as he loved.
Clark pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Right now, there’s a robbery happening in a Seven Eleven at some point on the 115th, but the police are already handling the situation remarkably well. Still, I’m itching to go and do something, anything, while I know I should probably tackle more important problems, and at the same time, I am just one man. I can't be everywhere. Despite how long I've been doing this… It doesn’t feel like it gets easier.”
Jonathan placed an understanding hand on Clark’s shoulder.
“You are different, Clark,” he told him. “When you choose your battles, it means you have to choose between saving a building on fire or a sinking ship, all while juggling your daily life. It’s not easy, especially now.”
Jonathan didn’t mention the breakup or the job loss, but it was not necessary.
“My point is…” He continued. “You deserve some rest, too. I cannot ask you to not save people. It was Ma and I who raised you to help whenever you can. The blame for that is on us. But I believe you should do something fun. You don’t need to get back on your feet right away, especially when you have us to fall back on.”
Clark smiled, despite his sadness, and looked at his Pa. “The blame? You raised me well.”
Clark might not know many things, but he knew he had good parents. His existence had always been a lonely one: the last one of a dead planet, essentially different from those around him as he grew up, and the feeling of solitude got to him sometimes. Sometimes he lost sight of the people who were always there when he needed a safe net to fall back on.
“Thank you. I suppose you're right,” Clark said with a small shrug. “I should do something to feel better, give my mind a break, right?”
“Right,” Jonathan confirmed. “Remember, even Superman deserves fun."
The two stayed silent one more time, thinking of possible activities, something that wouldn’t give Clark any more anxiety about his usefulness or current unemployed status.
“How about the fair?” Jonathan said. “It has grown since we last went, you know? You and Lois didn’t go last time you came around. For a while now they’ve been having some kind of monthly show. Traveling performers stop by and they do all kinds of things.”
Clark considered it. It definitely sounded interesting. It wouldn’t be the same, and it sounded entertaining. If Pa said he would like it, he probably would.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Clark said with a nod. He was feeling little better and not as guilty for dropping the tractor.
“That's great. You could go later today. They have a lot of activities even after sunset.”
“That’s nice, thank you. I love you, Pa.”
“I love you, too, son. Now help me get old Betty back to the workshop, alright?”
[...]
The day was far from done for Bruce, even when the sun had already set. Ever since he joined the traveling company, he felt more and more ridiculous with every task he was assigned.
Currently, he was handing out balloon animals to the kids at the fair with a dumb buffon hat and clown nose on. At least, he could keep a close eye on his charge, who was currently doing acrobatic tricks with some ballerinas on a makeshift stage.
It had been two weeks since they joined in after the last stop pretending to be a humble father and child with nowhere to go. Truthfully, he didn’t think he could’ve sneaked in if it wasn’t for Dick Grayson and his talent. He was supposed to be his versatile guardian, someone to do chores, without any special ability. He didn’t have an act and he was grateful for it. Handing out balloons was better than playing clown.
Still, he hadn’t seen anything that could classify as proof of the crime.
There had been a series of museum robberies in Gotham and nearby cities. The stolen objects ranged from expensive pieces of art to historical artifacts, irreplaceable and invaluable. At first, Bruce had tried to investigate within the high society, find the people who were buying these things, but he had no success.
Then, he monitored the sea and air transportation, looking for suspicious activity. Cargo like that had to be transported carefully, at risk of damaging the piece. And they weren’t all small pieces either. They couldn’t be transported discreetly.
How he ended up in the company, he was not so sure. His sleep deprivation, paired up with Dick’s influence, brought him to suspect it was involved somehow. Its stays were brief in each place, which didn’t make much sense for that kind of business. It didn’t often get many attendants in their shows, so the fact that they were still afloat was suspicious, and the most convincing evidence he had is that the robberies happened in the time period close to their stops on each place, stops that were not at, but close enough to the cities that were robbed. After meticulous analysis, he decided that infiltrating the company was the best choice.
He’d usually be wary of leaving Gotham at all, especially for such long periods of time, but with the dangerous people locked in Arkham and some deals with the rest, then he could say the situation was under control.
Besides, Dick had begged him.
It had been a while since Bruce took him in and since Dick started being Robin, but it was clear that no amount of crime fighting could replace the feeling of giving a show. Flying across the night sky with grapple lines was not the same as catching the trapeze with the spotlight on you. Dick missed being part of that. Bruce didn’t have the heart to deny him that.
So there he was. He told the school they’d be going on some kind of vacation in the middle of the school year to ski in Switzerland. He was Bruce Wayne, so the school couldn’t really tell him 'no'. Any questions or complaints would be promptly redirected to Alfred, who would promptly ignore them.
And there they were. They had been in Smallville for a week now. Bruce was starting to think this was a waste of time. No robberies had happened to any nearby cities yet, and he couldn’t really find anything suspicious in the group’s belongings so far. He hadn’t had the time to check everything just yet, and the members of the company didn't trust him enough to share information with him. He had to hurry, but working to keep their cover was taking too much precious time. For all he knew, he was wasting time and the robbers were already channeling the illicit money into an account overseas.
The balloon dog popped in his hand. He had squeezed it too hard, scaring the little kid he was going to give it to. He couldn’t do anything right, huh?
“Please, please, don’t cry,” he said with a sigh. “Here, have a lollipop.”
He handed the boy a big lollipop from his belt. That habit was not broken. He smiled at the boy’s wide eyes, and while the kid was busy unwrapping the candy, he made a brand new balloon dog for him.
“There you go. Everything’s fine.” Bruce gave the child a smile, flashing his perfect pearly whites. Even the boy seemed impressed enough to forget about crying.
After the boy finally went along his way, Bruce sighed with relief. He didn’t want to hear another scolding for accidentally making a child cry, with the one he received on his first day was enough. He lifted his gaze just to see the most handsome man he’d ever seen walk by the popcorn stall. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack (just a little bit. He’d deny it later).
Suddenly, he was very aware of what he was wearing. He felt his cheeks heating up from embarrassment. It wasn’t his best look at all. Why did this have to happen to him? Why did he always have to get embarrassed in front of the cute people?
He cleared his throat and tried to avoid the man, looking away and looking for another kid to give a balloon to, but he should’ve known better than to trust fate to be on his side.
A sudden gust of wind sent his hat flying. Damn the plains and their strong winds. His reflexes acted fast, but not enough. When he tried to catch it, the wind just sent it even further away.
He chased after it, but before he could catch it, a strong hand reached for it and caught it for him.
Bruce’s eyes followed the path down that hand, over the muscular forearm and biceps, to the defined trapeze muscle barely hidden by a red flannel shirt, and finally the handsome face of the owner.
“Is this yours?” The stranger asked, looking at Bruce with a kind smile.
“Yes,” Bruce replied, taking back his hat. He considered not putting it back on, but then he imagined how messy his hair would be from the wind, and suddenly he preferred to wear it than to let the pretty stranger see the bird nest on his head. “Sorry. I should’ve been paying more attention.”
“No worries at all,” the man replied. For some reason, that smile reassured Bruce to his core.
There was definitely something off about that.
Before Bruce could thank him and walk away, the stranger spoke again.
“I assume you work here?” He asked.
“Yes, I’m part of Fun Shows,” he said. Every word coming out of his mouth made him more embarrassed than before. The guy probably thought Bruce was a fool.
“Ah, I see. You’re not from here. That explains why I hadn’t seen you before,” the handsome guy said as he nodded. His curly hair was gracefully tousled by the wind, making it look like an angel’s halo around his head. Was this guy even real? Unlike Bruce, he looked like he fitted perfectly in the place.
Bruce’s attention snapped back when the guy spoke again.
“Uhh, I was wondering when the next show is,” he told Bruce. “I heard there are new things often and I’m looking for a distraction, but I can’t seem to find a schedule anywhere.”
Oh, Bruce could give him a distraction alright.
“Right,” Bruce responded, trying to remember the schedule for the day. “Yeah, actually the last show begins in fifteen minutes in the large tent over there.” He gestured vaguely to the place he was referring to. “It’s a choir that’s going to be singing… uhm… some songs.”
Duh. That’s what choirs do.
“That sounds nice,” the man said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Bruce replied absentmindedly. He was a little lost in the guy’s strong jawline. He was pretty sure he could cut steel with that thing.
The guy was about to walk away, but Bruce couldn’t let him go.
“Wait!” He said, a little louder than he’d intended. “Uhm, today, we are handing out courtesies for visitors, so.. if you’d like, you could exchange this for a tray of churros in that stall over there…”
He held out the coupon for the guy to take. The truth was that those coupons were given to employees only, but Bruce wasn’t going to use it anyway, he didn’t like churros, but normal people liked churros, so this guy surely would like it, and it was the only believable excuse he could make up on the spot to keep talking to the man, even if just a couple minutes more.
“Wow, thank you, ahm…” The guy beamed at Bruce and then made a little pause to signal Bruce to tell him his name.
“Eric,” Bruce replied. That was his undercover name, after all.
“I’m Clark,” the man replied.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Eric." Clark waved goodbye to him as he walked away. Churros were exactly what he needed. What a nice guy.