Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“-not even capable of checking on his own damn safe-house, has to ask me to do his dirty work, like always. ‘Oh but Jason, there’s an important mission that needs to be taken care of, could you please take the one day of the year where you don’t have anything to do and nobody’s supposed to be whining your ears off to go check out the family’s newest safe-house?’.” 

Jason threw a dirty look at the sidewalk in front of him. It was clean, cleaner than a sidewalk had any right to be in such a big city.

“Oh for sure Bruce, like I ain’t got anything better to do on a Saturday morning. Always a pleasure to spend the day in Metropolis of all places.”

He stopped, hands shoved deep in his pants front pockets and glared at the building in front of him.

“‘ Oh but Jason, you need to get out of the city more often! Metropolis will be great for you! You need more sunlight. ’ Well, fuck you too, Bruce. Do you know what I could be doing right now? Do you? HUH?”

As he approached the apartment complex, an old lady walked up to the door of the building. She unlocked it with a relatively old set of keys and turned to him with a kind smile, “Do you need to get in, dear?”.

Jason stared at her. Blinked. Scowled and squinted at her suspiciously. The old lady’s smile grew as she opened the door wider. Jason slowly moved towards the door, carefully in case she decided to reveal her true colors and attack him, as elders do. ‘You never know who’s armed, better safe than sorry.’ Shut up, Bruce. 

He watched as the elderly went towards the elevator and held the automatic doors open for him, silently asking if he was going to get in with a tilt of her head. He slowly shook his head. No way I’m getting into an enclosed space with an unknown. Especially when I don’t know what she wants from me. The old lady shrugged and sent him a friendly wave through the elevator’s closing doors, leaving him alone in the entrance. His brows furrowed more than they already were. He stomped to the staircase, all the while muttering angrily, “And what the fuck is up with the people? Why are they all like this? Who does things like these? What does she want from me? Does she think she can bribe me? For what?”.

Floor 5. His final destination. He slammed the staircase door open with a huff. It bounced on the wall and came back towards him at full speed, almost nailing him in the gut.

“Fuck you too. This day keeps getting better. It's the gift that keeps on giving, isn’t it? Should’ve known not to trust any building of Bruce’s choosing.”

He went up to the safe-house’s door. Apartment 505.

Palindromic. How auspicious. 

666 would have been a better representation of what I feel about this whole situation. 

Jason started the key pat-down. Front pants pocket? No. Rear? No.  Wouldn’t do anyways, wouldn’t wanna get robbed.  Jacket pockets? No. Inside?  A-ha! Found you. Inside, third pocket on the right. 

The man inserted the key in the keyhole, turned.  Nothing.  Other side.  Nothing. 

He let himself sag lightly against the door, thumping his head against it repeatedly.  Great. More problems to deal with. 

He breathed out.

Okay. We’re civilized. Let’s try that again. 

He turned the key in the keyhole.

After five minutes of intense battle, Jason was about to call it quits and break the door down when a deep and quite fast-paced voice interrupted him.

“Hey! Jason, you finally arrived! Here, let me give you a hand, these doors are a bit tricky to get working,” the man gently took the keys out of Jason’s surprised slack grip, “Look, you have to pull on the handle while you turn the key, otherwise the mechanism isn’t in the right starting position and you can’t open the door.” He laughed and opened the door, cheerfully entering the apartment.

Jason could not believe the audacity.

He lifted his head, irate, teeth bared, ready to rain thinly veiled insults onto the stranger but stopped short when he saw the man’s face.

This face.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d get here so soon. Imagine my surprise when I heard you in the building! I would have thought that you’d arrive very late, just to spite-”

This face .

“-can’t help but notice that you don’t have a set of the second entrance’s keys yet, you should ask for one for emergencies. Give me your hand?,” the man dropped the keys back into the palm Jason had instinctively given, “Thanks. Anyways, it’s almost midday isn’t it? You’re probably hungry. You’re in luck because I made a bunch of food-”

This very damn familiar face! That was now doubling back past him in the apartment’s entrance and going back towards the door!

“- go fetch them! I’ll be right back!”, the door closed with a soft click.

Silence.

Jason slowly took out his phone to scroll through his list of contacts, tapped the right one and let his phone ring once, twice, a third time in the stillness of the apartment. A bip, and the call was finally answered. Jason spoke, “Tim.”

Immediately, the voice shot back, sounding more awake than it usually was, “Are you actively dying on me right now?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes, “Clark Kent is Superman.”

A beat.

Then frantic scuffling on the other side of the call. Running, the distinct sound of bare feet slamming down a flight of stairs, a hand reaching out with a loud slap to grab a doorway and cut a corner, a loud “Shit!”, panicked flaying, things being knocked over… finally, the sound of someone bodily jumping on a swiveling chair and rapid-fire keyboard noises. Tim had reached the computer.

After a minute of sharp clicking sounds, slowly, Tim breathed out. He answered, “Yes. Clark Kent is Superman. The clues were there, how did I not see it-”

Jason let out a long whistle, “Well damn. Does Bruce know?”

More clicking noises. Finally, “I very much doubt so. It’d definitely be on the computer if he knew, he treats it like a hardcore diary and I can crack all his codes.”

On the other side of the call, cackling could be heard. Jason frowned, “When did purple get there?”

Stephanie stopped chortling to deadpan, “Tim just made the maddest dash ever to be dashed to the cave and you’re asking me why I’m here?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have moved this fast for an emergency.”

“I smelled drama.”

The man rolled his eyes, “That explains it.”

She continued with a vicious sort of glee, “So, I heard what you were talking about with our dear Tim here-”

“Do not drag me in this, Steph.”

“-and I think we’re all thinking the same thing-”

Jason scoffed, “We couldn’t be less alike if we tried, blondie…”

“-they obviously belong with each other!”

“She has a point, you’d have to be deaf and blind not to notice.”

“So,” continued Stephanie with a grin, like she had never been interrupted, “I have devised a plan.”

“Oh boy…”

“Spare us.”

On the other side of the phone call, inside of the Batcave, Stephanie stepped onto a spinning chair, the momentum making the chair spin lightly, “I haven’t been part of the fam for as long as Jason or Dick, but I think I speak for all of us when I say that Superman is like this family’s our second parent.”

“There’s only three of us right now and you’re not even part of it.”

“Wow, you would hurt me so?” she paused dramatically to let her false shock sink in, “Anyways, it’s in our best interest as Batlings-”

“What kind of shit nickname-”

“-that both of your parents are united and happily together. It’s about,” she tried to stop the chair from spinning by giving little hip twisting motions in the opposite direction, “family.” Another hip move. “Union.” It wasn’t working. “The children’s stable development.” Jason scoffed and muttered, “Bit too late for that.”

Stephanie gave up and started talking passionately to the wall. “I believe! I know that we are able to unite! To grow! To overcome!”, she grabbed the back of the chair with both hands and dramatically turned her upper body towards Tim and phone Jason, “But this will only be possible if we work together and push the brooding Batman and the friendly Superman-”

“Andddd this became a sales pitch.”

“-to acknowledge each other as more than mere partners, but what could very well be true lovers.”

A blank.

“Because they could be false lovers?”

Stephanie glared at Tim, “Shut up. I’ve done my part, now you do yours.”

He raised an eyebrow, “My part?”

Jason scoffed over the phone, “Well obviously, Replacement. The plan .”

“Yeah Tim! You’re the brains of this entire operation! Our success lies solely in your hands.” Or our failure was left unsaid.

“Since-uh when?”

“Since now.”

“Yep.”

“You automatically accepted by being part of this train-wreck of a family.”

“We volunteered you as tribute.”

“Or,” Stephanie continued, “you could refuse. But then, we’d just have to watch Daddy 1 and Daddy 2-”

“Ew.”

“-moon over each other for the rest of their poor, empty and miserable lives, staying unloved, unmoored, unlovable, Tim fucking accept because I’m running out of un-ended words, unreachable, unsalvageable, unsatisfactory, un-”

Tim interrupted her, deadpan, “You just don’t want to come up with a plan because you want to criticize mine. Also, ‘unsatisfactory’ doesn’t work in this context.”

The blonde grinned, sharkly, full of teeth, “You know me so well, Timmy. And fuck all the way off rich boy, DC stands for Disregard Context.”

“How’s that have to do with anything..”

“Exactly, now you get it.”

As soon as their gaze crossed, they devolved into heaps of laughter and graceless snorts. Jason cleared his throat.

“Well, I see that I’m not needed. Good luck on your quest, I’ll be watching from far, far away. So long, losers.” He hung up.

In an eerily coordinated move, Stephanie and Tim twisted their heads towards the phone, eyes locked onto it. “We’re adding him to the group-chat.”

“Well duh, did you think we were gonna let the one who came to us-”

“He asked me , you’re just a tagalong.”

“Wow, rude. Anyways, he’s not going to escape this. He’s even right next to the objective! Of course we’re gonna use him, what was he expecting.”

Tim cracked his knuckles and grabbed the desk in front of the Batcomputer to roll closer. “So, how do you suggest we go about this?”

Stephanie rested her weight on her hip, pensive, “Do you think Kent’s ever been to one of Bruce’s galas?”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow, “How can you be so sure?”

“I know the name of every person who has been to our galas since Bruce was born. I’m working on the ones before then, but the records aren’t as well kept.”

“...that’s freaky Tim, who does that. Except you, apparently. You need a hobby.”

“I have a hobby!”

“Dressing up and fighting bad guys in a costume isn’t what people call a hobby, Tim.”

“I wasn’t gonna mention that..."

“Weren’t you?”

Tim crossed his arms, “Totally.”

“Of course, I believe you.” She rolled her eyes and jumped off the spinning chair, sending it rolling towards a table, “So, where do we start?”

“Give me an hour.”

Stephanie sauntered towards the stairs of the Batcave, “Great! So glad to be doing business with you.”

Tim let out a puff of air as the door slid shut behind the girl, “Yeah right.” He refocused on the computer in front of him, “Now, where were we...”

________________

Back in Metropolis, Jason was just hanging the phone when he heard a knock on the door followed by an overenthusiastic deep voice, “Jason! It’s me! Clark! I’m back, I brought you something. Or, well, somethings .”

The vigilante went towards the door. He expected to see Sup-  Clark  with a bit of the food he said he was bringing. Evidently, he wasn’t ready for the  mountain  of dishes that greeted him as he pulled the front door open.  Heaps  .  Mounds. Enough to fill canyons. Tantalus wouldn’t go hungry with this by his side. 

He stepped aside to make way for the feast he didn’t know he signed up for when he went to Gotham’s sunny sister city at 9am on a Saturday. The other hero placed his cargo on the lonely dinner table at the center of the open kitchen.

Wait a damn minute. 

“Hey...Clark. How do you know my name again?”

Clark looked confused for a second, head tilted to the right, before lighting up. He exaggeratedly looked around like he was going to tell Jason a secret, leaned towards him and winked before answering, “Your landlord ,” his smile grew if that was even possible, “told me!”

…  Right. I get that he’s an alien, but he could try to make an effort to blend in, he sounds like he arrived on Earth yesterday. We have the exact same landlord, Bruce in disguise. He has a weird way to say things. 

“… Of course. My landlord.”

S- Clark nodded and drew himself up again like what they were saying just made sense and was of the greatest importance.

“Great!”, he turned to the table where the food was laid, “I brought you food to welcome you!”

“I hadn’t noticed,” deadpanned Jason with a flat stare.

The super laughed heartily, “Anyways! I’ll leave you to your unpacking. It was very good to finally meet you Jason! I hope we’ll see each other more often.” He made a move to leave but stopped short with a start, “Oh! By the way, if you need anything I live on the 7th floor in 702! You can come at anytime”

With that, the other left, leaving Jason in the middle of the living room.

I knew Superman was different, but he’s on a whole other level of joyfulness. It’s insane to willingly live in a city like this, with this kind of people. Bruce has the weirdest taste. From Metropolis, really? 

Jason turned his gaze to the table where Clark had placed the pile of food.

...At least it looks like he knows how to cook.

Chapter Text

Three hours later, Jason was still trying to figure out what to do with the food Clark had brought. He had finished unpacking (if it could even be called unpacking with how little he had brought) and had checked the entire apartment for eventual defects (none), weapons (nothing), leaks (nada), broken furniture and walls (niet) or hidden cameras and mics (nihil).

(He had taken the time to scoff, “Gotham would never.”)

After searching for a whole load of absolutely nothing, the vigilante had found himself back in front of the table which held the meals Superman’s conspicuous cover had unloaded on him.

“What am I gonna do with all that…,” he lifted his arms to the ceiling (which he didn’t hit with his hands, Gotham would never ), “also, how does he haul around this large of a quantity without anyone figuring it out? Everyone’s seen Superman! I can’t be the only one who’s seen both Clark and Superman! He befriended Batman, it’s not possible for him to not have other friends!”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Jason twisted sharply to face it head on and pulled out his gun from its holster. Slowly, he inched forward, around the food-filled table and crouched low on the ground, hiding behind furniture to progress towards the door.

Knocking on the door, “Jason move your ass and open this door!”

Are you serious?

Jason shot up and opened the door with a scowl.

Stephanie looked back at him with a bright smile.

He deadpanned, “Metropolis is rubbing off on you.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “As if, this bad stuff,” she patted her own shoulder, “is all natural. Metropolis wishes it could be like me.”

Another person spoke up, “I highly doubt that anyone could wish such a thing.”

Jason looked down to see Damian marching towards him, closely followed by Cass, Dick and Duke who looked like he didn’t know what he was doing here.

The vigilante looked back at the blonde girl, “Did you really have to bring them here?”

“Yup!”

He squinted, “...were all of you little fucks free from the start and just pushed Bruce to ask me to check out this safe-house?”

“We would never,” she replied, still as bright as before.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You’ve believed a lot of things before, what’s one more to you?”

“I would have been sleeping until noon! You didn’t even go out last night! You could have been here, and I could have been in bed-”

“Well!” Dick interrupted while slipping past Jason and into the apartment, the others trickling in after him, “Now that we’re here and all is lovely and goooooo-” he stopped short, “What in the world… Jason, did you plan to feed an army with that?

“Fuck off. Why are all of you here? Where’s the Replacement?”

“He’s pretending to listen to a meeting at WE, he’ll be here in an hour tops,” Steph stepped in.

“If he could just stay away, that would be nice.”

“Jason!” Dick exclaimed.

“Oh shut up. I was doing fine on my own here before you people decided that this should become a housewarming party.”

Damian interrupted, “If Brown would care to tell us what we are doing,” he rumpled his nose, “in this place we could all be on our way.”

Stephanie turned to face him, “Like you were difficult to convince!

“Extortion."

“Me? I would never .”

Damian huffed, “How peculiar that is, since you clearly decided to kidnap Alfred .”

“I didn’t.”

“… you didn’t.”

“Kidnap your cat, that is.”

“How dare you trick-”

Cass and Duke slipped right next to Jason. The boy looked up to Jason and whispered, “Steph told us there would be drama.” Cass nodded gravely.

Jason’s head turned around so fast his neck cracked, “Ohhhhh no! You are not doing this here Blondie!”

Duke leaned towards Cass and stage whispered, “So he does know what’s going on.”

The tall vigilante caught Stephanie by the scruff and lifted her up so that her eyes were leveled with his, “I’ve told you that I was not going to be roped into your dumbass plan!”

The girl threw her legs around his neck in a choke-hold, “You cannot stop fate!”

Jason let her go and put his forearm between her legs and his neck so that she couldn’t finish the technique, “You don’t get to decide fate!”

Damian kicked his right leg, “I wasn’t done with her! Unhand this liar at once!”

“Listen here you little shit-”

Steph took advantage of his distraction to land a hit of both his head and Damian’s. The youngest let out a wordless howl of rage and proceeded to climb on Jason to try to nail the girl with the knife he pulled out of thin air.

“You will pay for this!”

The tallest of the three used his other hand to try and keep child and the knife far away from his face, where coincidentally Stephanie laid, still trying to choke him, “Both of you fuck off!”

Duke leaned towards Cass again, “This is a form of drama I guess.”

Dick trotted up to the fighting trio and grabbed Damian, trying to peel him off of Jason. “Guys! If we could stop fighting and keep it down a little so the neighbors don’t come and snoop on the first day we’re in the safe-house…”

“Unhand me Grayson! This is demeaning!”

He quickly took off one of his hands when Damian tried to stab it, “Hey! Stop this! We’re going to blow our cover!”

“Get your siblings off me Dickwing!”

“They’re your siblings too!”

Sharp knocking interrupted their squabbling, and as one they turned their heads to look at the entrance.

Dick whispered furiously towards Jason, Steph and Damian, “Look at what you did!”

“I didn’t do shit! Your crazy siblings were the ones-”

Knocking could be heard again, followed by a deep voice, “Jason! I hope I’m not interrupting!”

They all scrambled to look more or less presentable, pushing and pulling to inconvenience the other as much as they could while Duke went to open the apartment's door.

“Duke!” all the others whispered-yelled.

The daylight hero turned towards them, holding the door wide open to reveal a smiling Clark, “What?”

“Don’t open the door like that! It could have been anyone!”

“We’re in Metropolis,” he answered, deadpan.

“Still!”

Clark let out a little laugh and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, “I am interrupting, aren’t I?”

While Steph walked up to him, still trying to wrangle her hair back in place, almost all the others had a slight movement of recoil as they finally took in their visitor, “Not at all! We were waiting for yo-” Jason dug his elbows in her rib (or he would have had Stephanie been taller, as it was he just awkwardly knocked her neck).

“You’re good. We’re still waiting for their little brother since they,” he sent a sharp look towards the blond next to him, “decided to gather at my apartment like a bunch of homeless weirdos.”

There wasn’t a single sound of protest from the others. Jason glanced back at them to check if they didn’t magically disappear or surreptitiously jump out of the window while he wasn’t looking, but no. They just looked like their entire worldview was being tilted on its axis, with Dick being particularly gobsmacked (understandable, he was the one who had known Superman for the longest and technically was the closest to the alien) and Duke being particularly confused by the lack of reactions to the slight insult. Cass looked as neutral as ever. She probably found out ages ago.

“Oh that’s nice of them! I wish my family could come visit my apartment like that, but they’re very busy at the farm…”

That threw the group for a loop.

…  Aren’t your parents dead? Like, ‘planet went boom’ dead? 

“Your…parents own a farm?” Damian asked.

“Sure do! Right in Kansas, Smallville. Sweetest place on Earth if you ask me.”

Damian leaned forward a little, “Does your farm have animals?”

“We’ve got a dozen cattle, a few pigs, a good amount of sheep and tons of chickens. We’ve also got our old mare and a dog! We mostly grow crops though, maize.”

Clark noticed the way Damian’s eye shone at the mention of animals and smiled.

“Would you like to see them?”

The youngest hero slowly approached Clark, “I would not mind such a thing.”

“Great!” The man pulled out his phone and lowered it to show the screen to Damian, “so here’s our old girl Shelly.”

“Shelly?”, Duke repeated, surprised, while placing himself on Clark’s other side.

“I named her when I was young! I’d just heard of the sea, and it seemed like a good fit. Would you want to see the cows?”

_______________

Forty minutes later, the man was still holding court in the middle of the huddled group, gushing on the farm animals, when he started.

“I almost forgot the time! I’ve got to go, I have to make a call soon.”

The heroes (minus Damian) righted themselves from the weird back bending slouch they were in when looking at the animals on Clark’s phone and stretched.

The broad man walked towards the door, but turned around with his hand on the handle which kept it ajar to squint at them, “I’m going to go grocery shopping afterwards. Do you kids want anything?"

Duke waved him off, “Nah man, we’re good. Come back whenever?”

Clark smiled gently, “I will.”

He slipped out with a friendly salute and the door closed with a soft click.

Cass spoke up, “He is still nice.”

Damian nodded solemnly and butted in as well, “His family takes care of animals. He seems to be genuine in his approach. However, I have to seriously doubt his intelligence if he believes such” he furrowed his brows, “disguise hides his identity in any meaningful way.”

Duke raised his eyebrow and muttered, “His identity?”

Steph brightly added, “That’s why I brought all of you here today!”

Duke mumbled under his breath, “Because of his identity? What identity?”

Jason huffed, “Not this again, I got front seats to the whole spiel this morning, Blondie.”

She ignored him, “We all know how they are. They should finally get together.”

Damian lifted a dubitative eyebrow, “Because they aren’t in a committed relationship already?”

Duke frowned, repeating, “’in a relationship’?” he turned towards Cass, “Hey, who’s in a relationship?”

“That’s what I said when I learned it too! But apparently not. My plan was to get them together,” exclaimed Stephanie.

Duke asked, “Who?”

Damian tsk derisively, “’Your plan’? More like Drake’s plan, you aren’t capable of coming up with any sort of plan on your own.”

“Guys, who are we talking about?”

“I will choose to not take that personally.”

“Guys!”

“You truly should consider doing just that-”

“GUYS!”

Everyone turned to look at Duke.

“Who in the fresh hell are you all going on about?”

Dick’s eyes widened and he spoke up, “Sometimes I forget you don’t really see him that often. He does tend to match with B’s timetable more than B matches his.”

The daylight hero looked confused, “Who?”

“Well, Superman.”

A beat.

“THAT WAS SUPE-”, he doubled over when Damian kicked him right in the stomach, air pushed out of his lungs.

“If he can hear you even when you’re not crying out like a dying swan, imagine when you are,” the youngest bit out with vitriol.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I just thought someone would tell me if I was in a room with fucking Superm -”

“Are you just naturally talented or do you have to practice to be this slow? I just informed you that he could hear what you said.”

Dick intervened before the argument could devolve into petty squabbles again, “Let’s not start this again toda-”

Rhythmic knocking interrupted him.

He went to open the door, “I still don’t know when that code is ever going to come in handy, Tim, you didn’t even reach the first quarter of it and I’ve already opened the door for you.”

The newcomer raised his pointer finger in the oldest’s direction, “The day will come…”

Steph dived at him like a hawk, “ He just left!”

His eyes widened, “He was here? I missed it?!”

“Yeah. He’s going to make a call, then to buy groceries!” she flipped her head around to enclose all the others, “We need your game plan like, yesterday!”

Duke lifted an eyebrow, “For?”

“Well, Superbat!”

“What?”

The blonde girl rolled her eyes, muttering something about cluelessness and born yesterday. Tim took over, “Basically, the plan is to make B and Supes fall in love in their civies, because we all know they’re already down bad for each other.”

Dick sucked in a breath, “You want them to get to know each other outside of heroics.”

“Exactly.”

“That seems…ambitious?”

Cass signed, “I’m in” .

Bludhaven’s vigilante’s eyebrows lifted up to his hairline, “Cass?”

She shrugged and smiled slightly in response.

Duke hopped in, “If Cass thinks it’ll work, I’m in too. She’s usually right with human relations stuff.”

Dick nodded, “Alright. I’m in too.”

“Tttt,” Damian clicked his tongue, “Father could have chosen a worse suitor. The alien, at least, has the decency to like and raise animals.”

“Don’t say alien like that.”

“He is one, is he not?” Damian sniffed.

Dick sighed, “Still.”

“Anyways”, Stephanie sing-songed, “Jasonnn…”

All the batkids turned to look at the tall man.

He backed up, “Oh no, Blondie. I said I didn’t want anything to do with this bullshit. Leave me out of it.”

“Jasonnnnnnnn…”

“No.”

“Jasonnnnnnnnnnnnnn…”

He narrowed his eyes. Stephanie’s smile only grew, “I’ll pay you.”

“I’m richer than you,” he deadpanned.

“I’ll help you prank Bruce.”

“I can do it alone.”

“I have direct access to him, Jason. I live in his house half of the time. You only drop by occasionally, it’ll be suspicious if something happens right after you leave.”

He stilled and leaned forward, “…you’ll take the blame if he ever finds out."

Her smile sharpened, “Of course.”

He straightened up, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Always.”

Tim clapped his hands, “Well, now that that’s out of the way. Steph, what were you saying about groceries?”

“Oh yeah, Clark said he was going to shop for some things.”

He reached for his bag to take out his laptop, “Let’s find out where he’s going.”

________________

Tim strolled casually through the aisle, looking up idly at the laundry detergent.

Natural, natural, you need to look natural. You’re relaxed, you’re calm. You haven’t been trained by your parents and Bruce to fumble now in front of Superman of all people! Who is also your kind of second dad. 

…

This is stressful.

Thankfully, despite his internal freakout, Tim was still a good actor and didn’t show any outward signs of stress.

Now to find him. 

The superhero was definitely in this specific store since Tim had spied his entrance through the security cameras (that he hacked). However, right now Tim didn’t have access to his computer, nor to his siblings through an earpiece because Superman would be able to hear their voices. He felt weirdly exposed without his usual chatty backup, his vigilante getup, and his trusty technology.

Where could he be? Food aisle? He did just cook a mountain of food to welcome Jason.

Tim walked to the end of his laundry detergent aisle and walked perpendicularly to all the other aisles to peek at the people in the rest of the store as he went, searching for the food section of the supermarket.

Right as he was about to sidestep a huge cardboard print of his dad in nothing but a pair of boxers ( which, ew, by the way ), he felt like he had run full speed into one of these highly secured metal bank safe walls ( very similar to the real deal, can confirm from experience ), the air inside his lungs got punched out of him. He let out a pathetic little wheeze as he bounced away from the very solid obstacle that had spawned out of nowhere. Suddenly, something clasped his wrist in a strong but gentle hold. His momentum stopped.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim lifted his head to see none other than the man of the hour, Clark Kent in the flesh, with a very abashed expression.

Of course I had to find him this way. Just end me.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there!” as he was talking, the other hero righted Tim back on his feet and swatted at his shoulders to sweep off any imaginary lint of dirt, “This huge cardboard piece-,” the man’s voice stopped, mouth still hanging slightly opened, when he turned to take a look at the object responsible for blocking the way and hiding incomers. His half-naked dad.

Yuck.

If Tim didn’t already know Superman had it bad for his dad, he would have known for sure after this. Clark was still looking starstruck at the cardboard cutout. Double yuck.

Tim decided to break the silence for his own sanity and peace of mind, “Um, sir? Are you alright?”

Please stop looking at my half-naked dad like this, please. I’m ready to pay you. Keep that stuff to yourselves, I want to stay un-traumatized.

Nothing.

Oh hell nah.

He decided to bring out the big guns.

He very obnoxiously wobbled right in front of Clark, between the man and cardboard-dad, and proceeded to let himself fall backwards, “Oh,” he tried not to deadpan, “I feel faint.” He failed not to deadpan, but it seemed to do the trick because Superdad snapped out of it and scrambled to catch him (once again).

“Ooops, dear Lord, I got a bit distracted there-,”

I didn’t notice. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yup! Of course!”

Clark paused as his eyes roved over his face for the first time during their whole conversation, and his face lit up, “Oh! Timothy Drake-Wayne! I didn’t recognize you at first.”

I’m sure you recognized the other Wayne’s abs, if only in cardboard, though. 

“You’re based in Gotham aren’t you? What are you doing in Metropolis?”

Oh shit. 

All thoughts flew from Tim’s mind. He had forgotten his alibi when judging Clark for falling short right in front of the cutout of Bruce.

What do I say, what do I say, what do I say- 

“Coffee!”

The other man titled his head to the left inquisitively, “Coffee? At a supermarket in Metropolis?”

Fuck, I’m never admitting that coffee wasn’t the answer to everything to Dick… He’ll never shut up about it ever again. 

Suddenly, Tim was glad for his lack of earpiece. It would have given a front row seat to his siblings to hear his blunder.

“Yeah, I wanted to try the differences between the one they sell here and the one they sell in Gotham!”

Clark looked at him dubiously, eyebrows raised slightly.

I would have looked at myself like that too if I were him. This is so not believable. 

Being in front of an un-heroed Superdad was very weird.

“But I’m mostly here for business.”

Intrigued, Clark asked, “Really? What kind of business if you don’t mind me asking?”

Tim panicked again. What kind of business?! 

The broad man mistook his panicked pause for suspicion, “Oh, I’m so sorry for asking like that,” he scratched his nape awkwardly, “I’m a journalist you see. Might have come off too inquisitive without meaning to.”

“Oh no don’t worry, I’m actually here for a partnership with Metropolis city-”

Why do you keep running your mouth? Shut up! Shut!

“-for a joint energy program.”

Oh god, I’m gonna have to create a whole joint energy program proposition for this…

His interlocutor lit up, “Oh! That’s amazing! I’ve been working on energies for the past few months to publish a report on the current state of things-”

Bravo Tim, you really chose the only field he would know everything there is to know about. 

“-since I haven’t heard about this initiative before, I’m guessing it’s relatively new?”

“Yeah, I was in the city to present the idea to our business partners.”

Wait, that’s actually a great opportunity to get closer to him! He’s a journalist isn’t he? 

“Hey, you’re the journalist Clark Kent aren’t you? I’ve read some of your works before. Would you like to have the exclusive on this?”

Surprised, Clark inquired, “Are you sure you’d be open for a few interviews with me? Wouldn’t you prefer a Gotham based journalist? I’d be very glad to take you up on that, but are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable since you don’t know me.”

You’re so sweet, all caring, but accept my damn offer.

“Oh it’s fine! Gothamite interviewers have seen enough of me!”

… and they’re fucking sharks, all of them. They don’t need more scoops from me.

“If you’re sure… I’d be happy to accept! When do you want the interview to take place?”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure for now, but would tomorrow afternoon work for you?”

“I’m free for an interview after 11am, so it’s perfect!”

“Great!,” Tim took out one of his fancy business cards and presented it to Clark, “Stay in contact.”

The other man took it, “I’ll make sure I do. Where would we meet up?”

“Would it bother you to come to Gotham for the interview? At WE?”

Clark smiled, “Not at all, I’d love to! It’s been a while since I’ve last been anyways,” he laughed and winked at Tim.

Huh? Is there a joke I missed?

He continued, “I’ve taken enough of your alone time, I know how much you like your coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow for the interview in Gotham. Have a great day!”

Clark walked away with a wave. How much I ‘like my coffee’? It’s not a big secret, but that’s a weird thing to know about someone? Meh. Superman does have an amazing memory, maybe he heard it once and couldn't forget.

Chapter Text

After Clark leaves the safe-house

Clark closed apartment 505’s door behind him and started making his way towards his apartment on the 7th floor, distractedly humming along with some pop song a driver in Croatia was blasting in their car. He pushed the door to the stairs and happily trotted up, speeding to get to a secluded place in order to make his call.

As he pushed his door, Clark felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. The hero quickly took it out, checked the caller ID with a glance and answered with a delighted smile, “Hey, darling.”

“Good morning, Clark,” a deep voice rumbled through the speaker, “How has your day been thus far?”

As he closed the door behind him, mirth sparkled in the superhuman’s eyes, “Not as good as it would have been if you were here with me, dear.”

A low chuckle, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Leaning against the wall in the entrance, Clark’s eyes scrunched up in joy as he replied, “On the contrary, I’ve found it to be quite effective. Especially with someone that you and I both know of…”

“I wonder who you could be talking about. I, for one, am a man of integrity.”

He confirmed softly, “That you are, love.”

The other seemed to grow embarrassed, “You’re not supposed to agree, you’re supposed to protest.”

Clark laid his head back on the wall, eyes closed and smiling, “I think we’re long past doing things because we’re supposed to do them, honey.”

“Clark…,” his interlocutor playfully threatened.

“Bruce…,” he teasingly replied.

“Tone down your farm boy charm.”

“What charm ‘r you talkin’ ‘bout? I say nothin’ but the god honest truth.”

A slight shuffling sound could be heard on the other side of the line, “Clark…”

The man perked up, “Are you blushing? Did I make you blush?”

“No, Clark don’t you dare-”

The super twisted his head towards the real source of the voice, through walls and greenery, straight into Wayne Manor where Bruce was attempting to hide his face behind one of his hands.

“Aww, sweetheart, don’t try to hide. ‘m only ever teasing.”

Bruce dropped the hand that was holding the phone to his side and glared, still slightly red in the face, towards Clark.

“’t’s impressive that you’re able to pinpoint where I am, darlin’, ‘specially ‘cause I’m the one with laser vision here. Did ya learn to do it just to glare at me?”

Bruce frowned at his phone and lifted it up to his ear again.

“What did you say?”

Clark smiled, still looking at his lover’s face, “Nah, don’ worry your pretty head, sweetheart.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow with a neutral, “hm”, in his direction, prompting a laugh from the other hero.

“I promise, dear, ‘t’s nothing. How’s your day been?”

Bruce huffed and mumbled a quiet but sarcastic, “nothing, as if ”, before clearing his throat and saying, “ Nothing much on my end. But I know you’ve received a newcomer today?”

“Oh, Jason? Yeah, he came in at 9am and we talked for a bit. We never really got to hang out. Out of the suits, I mean.”

A hum answered him.

“I gave him a bit of food-”, an amused “a bit?” interrupted him, but he carried on like Bruce hadn’t said anything, “-and welcomed him to the building. If he ever needs a hand, he knows my apartment number.” A pause. “Oh! And by the way, I just came back from his place and all your kids are having a meeting there.”

“What?” asked the other hero, confused.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up either, but they’re all here except Tim. Though I’m guessing it won’t be long until he arrives. D’you know what they’re planning?”

His lover let out a thoughtful hum.

“Yeah, I didn’t try to find out. Figured it’d be weird for me to ask, as an adult.”

“Never get involved in their plans,” replied his lover with a deadpan voice.

“I got you: no getting between the kids and whatever they’re planning.”

“Except if it’s dangerous.”

“Except if it’s dangerous,” Clark agreed, nodding.

“As in, potentially deadly.”

“Potentially deadl- Maybe a bit sooner than that?! No?”

“They can deal with the other situations on their own…”

Clark let his incredulous silence set in. “Darling, no.”

“…they’re independent, it’s okay.”

“Dear…”

The other sucked in a breath and proceeded to ignore Clark’s very valid concerns, “Anyways, you said the kids are here?”

“I see what you’re doing Bruce. But yes, your kids are all in Metropolis.”

“They’re probably checking out the safe-house. Or bothering Jay-bird.”

“Why not both?”

“Probably both.”

Clark was moving towards his kitchen to get a grocery bag when he had a thought, “Love, did you buy the building?”

A beat.

Then, “...it’s safer that way.{"

“Bruce! Just because I told you that you shouldn’t buy it for me doesn’t mean that you have to buy it for a safe-house!”

A mumbled, “…you don’t have to pay your rent anymore.”

“Bruce!”

“It’s safer this way!”

“It’s suspicious, that’s what it is. Imagine Bruce Wayne buys a building, a resident moves in for the first time in literal years, and days later a Bat is seen coming out of it?”

“Everyone knows ‘Brucie’ knows Batman, I openly fund the Justice League and I already own your workplace. What’s one more thing?”

“Dear, this is not as good of an argument as you think it is. Trust me, I’ve done journalism as my major.”

“…I also have a cover story for it.”

Clark rolled his eyes, but grinned fondly, “Let’s hear it.”

“I can feel you mocking me and my plans, but we both know the League would have fallen long ago without us.”

“Of course, honey.”

The other grunted but let the sarcastic reply slide, “I maintain that buying your building was a perfectly good move on my part.”

Clark grinned toothily with an amused snort but didn’t interrupt.

“I bought other buildings all over Metropolis over the past few years, so yours isn’t an outlier. I actually bought it three years ago but purposely let it lie and be rented out so as to not raise suspicion."

The farmboy hummed, strolling lazily through his apartment to get what he would need for his shopping trip.

“In the meantime, I was planting fake complaints from residents to add to the real ones about energy consumption and isolation-”

Going from trying to get a property forgotten to falsifying documents? Typical Bruce , thought Clark fondly.

“-I needed to compile a solid enough folder over a long period of time, in this case a few years, in a regular enough pattern, and in enough different locations to justify bringing it up to Metropolis’ mayor-"

Of course: to hide suspicious vigilante activity, attract the mayor’s attention.

“-basically, I’ll petition her for a better energy system, which your city needs in some place by the way, thought you should know-”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“-and I couldn’t be the one to come visit because one, I’ve never visited any of the ‘lesser’ apartments in Metropolis, and two, having Brucie come down to visit himself would be quite out of character. So I sent Jason.”

Clark’s eyes shone with mirth, lips stretched over a slight smirk, “He looks rough enough to live here, you think?”

“…as much as I love Jaylad, he looks like an Alley kid through and through.”

“You do realize that I live nowhere near the Alley? Love, very few neighborhoods can compete with Crime Alley in regards to lack of safety. The worst of Metropolis doesn’t stand strong in front of Gotham’s best alleys. It pains me to tell you this, dear, but Gotham is a city only a mother could love.”

“I would agree, but then we would both be wrong.”

“I’m sure. So, pressuring my mayor is your plan? Poor lady, I thought she was a nice one.”

“I’m not going to traumatize her. I’m just…going to be insistent.”

The Kryptonian threw his head back and laughed, tearing up.

“Yeah, laugh all you want…”

“I will,” the other wheezed out.

“If you’re going to be like this, I better leave you to laugh alone in your corner.”

“Nooooo, honey,” the other choked out, “don’t go! I promise I’m not mocking you.”

“Uh-huh,” Bruce let out, disbelieving, “Don’t you have to go shopping? I’ll leave you to this delightful activity.”

“Alright, love, alright. I get it, you need me away from the phone to create your evil plans.”

“You would hear me anyways.”

“I would,” Clark said, lovingly.

“Talk to you tomorrow, Clark.”

“Of course. I love you, dear.”

“Love you too.”

He hung up.

Clark righted himself up, still snickering at the thought of his lover’s plans.

________________

On his way to the closest grocery store from his building, Clark was still thinking about the lovely kitten he had rescued from a tree and given back to the sweet grandmother who lived in the same building as him. She had offered a batch of her nutmeg cookies, truly delicious and of which the recipe was unfortunately a closely guarded secret, for him to go fetch later that day

He was still lost in thought as he reached his destination which was why it didn’t come as a surprise when he bumped into somebody and had to catch them so they didn’t fall flat on their face.

It wasn’t even awkward to find out that the one he had knocked over was the last missing sibling, Timothy Drake-Wayne. What was, admittedly, embarrassing was the way he kept getting side-tracked by the cardboard cut-out of Bruce clad in nothing but a pair of enticingly form-fitting boxers in front of the man’s child . He didn’t even have an excuse! He had super vision! He could see better than just about anyone else on this planet! He had access to the real deal! So why, why , did the sight catch his attention so much?

…

Witchcraft, I say.

At the end of their unexpected encounter, Clark had managed to secure an interview on one of his subjects of choice, bonding time with the step-son, and a slight hunch on the exact intentions of the kid. 

But Tim was such a sweet kid. There’s no reason to doubt that everything will go smoothly tomorrow during the interview or that he has hidden motives.

… 

Actually, now that I think about it, that kid is also Red Robin. I should absolutely be aware that he can’t have anything but hidden motives and plans.

Chapter Text

Only now standing in front of the Wayne Enterprise headquarters, was Clark starting to doubt himself.

We never actually specified a time for the interview. I know I said after 11am but I thought he’d contact me by message to tell me all the details. I guess he just assumed I would just know? He definitely gets that whole assuming thing from Bruce: they both tend to overestimate people’s knowledge of certain situations.

He fiddled with his shirt’s sleeve.

The hero had arrived in Gotham at 2pm and had been standing in front of the building’s revolving doors for the past 10 minutes. He had meant to arrive later in the day because he knew that Tim, like Bruce, probably hadn’t slept long or well enough to wake up before noon. But instead of arriving around 4pm, his ferry ticket had gotten swapped for an earlier ride and he’d ended up in front of his destination way too early.

Suddenly, his phone whistled a familiar tune. Automatically, a smile rose on his face and he perked up like a flower after the rain.

Bruce!

While walking towards a more secluded space – namely, not in front of the Wayne Enterprise headquarters – he giddily took out his phone to answer the ever well-received call.

“Kent,” echoed the beloved voice both from the speakers and from miles away, still affected by sleep. There was a rush of something warm that went from his stomach through his heart and went to make itself at home right in his throat, lovingly wrapped around his vocal chords to color each of his words in devotion. Heady, dizzying, invigorating; he took a short and involuntary intake of breath and let the sensation take hold.

“Hey, lover,” he answered, affection dripping from his every word.

“What are you doing in Gotham?”

The abrupt question brought a soft smile on Clark’s face as he leaned against the wall of the alley he had elected to hole up in, “Did your fancy systems inform you of an alien life form in your city?”

“They informed me of your presence.”

“Because they recognized me?"

“Always. You are one of a kind.”

He let out an amused snort, eye crinkling, “Of course.”

“Don’t doubt it,” came Bruce’s reply, sharp.

Clark straightened against the wall to protest, “I’m not!”

“...hm.”

“I’m really not!” he protested again.

His partner hummed again but changed the subject, “So, what brings you to Gotham? In front of my building no less?”

“You have more than this building to your name, darling. As for your question, your son asked if I’d like to interview him.”

Bruce’s pause was long enough to be noticeable and denote a significant amount of surprise, “… interview him.”

“Yeah, I was as surprised as you are,” he shrugged, “We bumped into each other in Metropolis yesterday and he asked me to. Apparently, he was there for a joint project with my city and WE? Something about the energy project you mentioned from what I gathered. Since he knew I had an interest in the subject, he suggested that I take the exclusivity on the project,” Clark’s voice became louder in his excitement, “I didn’t know your kids followed my work! They’re really sweet.”

A Gothamite walked in front of the mouth of the alley and glanced at him, suspicious. He threw a big smile their way and received a glare in return.

“…I highly doubt it was done in good faith.”

“Knowing you, probably not. But your kids are great company in and out of uniform, still!”

“Knowing me? I take great offense."

“Cry me a river, dear, you know yourself as much as I know you.”

Bruce huffed, half out of amusement and half out of playful indignation.

“Betrayed. By my love...”

“Oh, honey, how will you ever recover?”

“I won’t,” came the flatly delivered answer, “the wound is far greater than what my body can heal from.”

They both held out a few seconds in silence before surrendering and devolving into a mess of giggles. Hunched over and leaning on the wall, Clark closed his eyes and let the sound of his lover’s joyful playfulness wash over him. Gradually, their laughter died out and they stayed in comfortable silence, each tuned onto the other’s soft breathing.

Bruce’s low voice broke their peace, “You know, I didn’t think Tim would know about this project.”

Clark’s eyebrows rose, “What do you mean?”

“Well, we had the idea a couple of years ago but never had any real plans. It’s been sitting in some folders for a while now. I wanted to use it to justify buying apartments and buildings in Metropolis. I’m surprised Tim found it and took the time to come up with a plan on his own, especially without telling me anything about it. We sometimes talk about WE, I thought he would bring it up if he judged it important enough to do it himself.”

The journalist hummed, “Hasn’t Poison Ivy been more active lately? Maybe he was searching for a way to calm her down and stumbled on this. He’d make it work, he’s a great kid.”

Bruce scoffed, “Of course he is. And maybe.”

Clark snorted, “Such a proud father,” he tilted his head, “But you don’t sound too convinced.”

“That might be because I am not.”

“…what do you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll need to check some information and come back to you.”

“Detective much?,” Clark teased.

“You know I am,” the other hero answered gruffly. “So, you’re in Gotham right now?” he continued.

Clark’s eyebrow slowly rose and he shot back his lover’s earlier words at him, “You know I am.”

Bruce harrumphed but continued, “How would you feel about a date?”

A curl of contentment settled deep in the journalist’s gut as he answered softly, “I would love to go on a date with you. What were you planning for us in that beautiful mind of yours, darling? I’ll be in Gotham until tomorrow evening.”

“Meet me at that coffee shop in the middle Upper East Side, right next to Robinson Park? At 9am?”

“Sweetheart, I know you: there’s no way you’ll be awake at that time. We’ll meet at 11:30 there and then go on to find a place to eat. Don’t think I didn’t hear about the raid you’re planning for tonight.”

Clark could feel the suspicion radiating from the other end of the line, “…who told you.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“My kids snitched, didn't they,” he mumbled, voice flat, “Was it Stephanie?”

The hero fake gasped and held a hand to his heart to clutch at his pearls, “I’m shocked that you would suspect your daughter immediately like this. I’m sure she’d be truly crushed to hear of this.”

“Stephanie isn’t my daughter-”

“-on paper-”

“And she is well aware of what she’s done. I gather she wasn’t the one who told you?”

Clark stopped faking shock and righted himself up, “Surprisingly no.”

“See, you agree with me. She knows what she’s done.”

The journalist steamrolled over his partner’s interruption, “It was your son.”

A pause.

Then slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable, “…which one.”

Amusement colored Clark’s voice, “Your youngest bird.”

“Damian?!” Bruce yelled, uncharacteristically.

“I know I was surprised too. I was so scared of breaking the moment that I almost didn’t speak a word. I think that I’ve never spoken less in a conversation before in my life.”

“Why would Damian even reveal this kind of information to you? He’s usually very secretive.”

“He learned from the best.”

“Clark…”

The hero twisted his head to stick his phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder and crossed his arms, still smiling. “I’m just teasing you, don’t pay attention to me.”

“I always pay attention to you.”

Clark could feel his cheeks heat. He turned his back to the entrance of the alley to continue their conversation with a greater illusion of privacy and elected to ignore his lover’s comment. “Anyways, about the date.”

Gotham’s hero huffed, “Yes, 11:30am at the coffee shop.”

“Perfect, dear. I should probably go into your building for the interview now.”

“Of course. Stay safe.”

“When am I not? You stay safe with your hero-ing in the night.”

“Don’t speak where someone could hear you.”

“Honey: super-hearing. No one is in hearing range right now, I can guarantee.”

“You can never know for sure.”

Clark rolled his eyes playfully, “Yes sweetheart. Love you, see you tomorrow and don’t come if you get hurt. I will know.”

“I’ll wear lead.”

“I’ll ask Alfred.”

“…touché, you win. See you tomorrow, love you too.”

“Bye,” they hung up.

Clark put his phone back into his front pocket – because he’d been almost robbed too many times in Gotham (thank God for super-hearing) to put it anywhere else – and looked down at his wrist to read the time.

3:15pm? No time like the present I guess. Let’s hope Tim’s awake.

The journalist went out of the alley and walked towards the building. This time, he didn’t wait in front of the door and went in directly. Inside, he made way towards the receptionist who was eyeing him with slightly narrowed eyes.

Great, another Gothamite is suspicious of me. What’s new?

The more he approached the desk, the more apparent his stature became.

“Sir, can I help you?” she said as her hand went under her desk to what was probably a panic button to call security. He sent a big smile her way, hoping to calm her down enough for her to take her hand away from the button. She only squinted harder and one of her fingers came to hover over it.

“Yes, hello! My name is Clark Kent and I am a journalist for the Daily Planet in Metropolis! I have an interview with mister Timothy Drake today?”

The receptionist spoke up, “Sir, mister Drake didn’t inform us of your…interview and he doesn’t have any prior engagements today. Or tomorrow. Or this week really, it’s common knowledge that the Waynes are away on a trip. Maybe you should come back when you actually have an interview.”

Clark didn’t let his eyebrows rise.

Ah. They probably made up the excuse to further plan for and execute tonight’s raid and he forgot to tell them that he ‘came back earlier’ from his ‘trip’ for our interview.

The journalist scratched at his nape, “Ah, that’s problematic. I met with him yesterday and we agreed to talk today at the Tower. Maybe he forgot to mention it?”

She pressed down on the panic button

Shit.

As she put her hand back on the desk, the lady said, firmly, “Sir, as we cannot be sure that what you said is true, I’m going to have to ask you to leave this building and come back when your meeting has been officially confirmed. You should receive an email when this happens. Please accept Wayne Enterprise’s excuses if your time has been wasted. See you again, eventually.”

But this is really all a misunderstanding!

Clark took a step towards her desk.

She straightened and looked ready to bolt. From the corner of his eye, the hero could see a team from security approaching and caging him in.

He hunched down even more than usual and fixed his glasses on his nose, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, “Um, Ma’am? Would it be possible to contact mister Drake to confirm? Please?”

She frowned, “Sir, I believe I asked you to leave.”

A member of security tapped his shoulder. Clark turned around and had to look down to meet his eyes. The man – of more than an average height – took a step back with his hand on his weapon. His eyebrows were drawn and he straightened his spine to make himself seem taller in an obvious sign of either discomfort or bruised ego, “Sir, you’ve been asked multiple times to leave now.”

I look way too threatening to have this job in this city… No wonder the journalists in Gotham all look quite frail.

He decided to cut his losses to stop the situation from worsening and ending up with anyone hurt – as the commotion had attracted a lot of attention from everyone present in the hall – and his cover blown when security eventually decided to start shooting.

In a close space, really? Who taught this team? Do they want to deafen everyone?

Clark raised his open palm in sign of surrender, “Of course, sir.” He turned slightly to look at the receptionist over his shoulder, “But would it be possible to check with mister Drake, please?”

The hold the security guard put him in would have hurt anyone without unbreakable skin, “Hey! Cut it out!”.

He maneuvered Clark – Clark let himself be maneuvered – towards the exit. In the middle of the hall, Clark stumbled on the carpet when he tried to not step on the man’s shoes and lost his glasses, which the security team didn’t notice as they were too busy overreacting and panicking about their dangerous charge attacking them and everyone else in the building to pay any attention to what was really happening. They all took out their weapons – various guns, tasers, batons and crowd control devices – and circled him. The guard who had manhandled him barked out an aggressive, “Drop you weapons! Hands where I can see them” and pointed a gun at Clark who did everything in his power to not sigh out loud.

This would be the dumbest way for my identity to be revealed. My parents would never let me live it down. Bruce would never let me live it down. Oh god, his kids would never let me live it down. This is going to come back and haunt me forever.

Clark slowly raised his hands over his head. As he lowered himself to the ground on his knees, he said, as meekly as a 6’3” and 225lbs of muscle man could, “I’m not armed. This is all really a big misunderstanding. Would it be possible for all of us to calm down and not point any weapon anywhere? Yes?”

Another guard yelled and waved his gun in front of him, “Hands in your back, head down! On the ground!”

Clark sighed as he moved closer to the ground and mumbled, “Well, I guess not.”

Someone ran up behind him and clawed at his arms to tighten handcuffs on his wrists.

“Um, sir? Or ma’am? These are slightly tight…”

I really don’t want to break them if I move too much…

“Shut up!”

So I guess we’re not calming down? No? No one? Why do I even try, really.

Faintly, at his right, he could hear the phone ring and the receptionist answering while he was angrily manhandled in an upright position.

The lady’s voice asked, “Mister Wayne?”

Bruce? Do you see this bullshit? Tell me you do not see this bullshit because I just know you won’t let it lie later. Well, tomorrow. On our date.

Bruce’s fake cheer voice, “Yes, hello Celine-”

Clark knew for a fact the receptionist’s name was Syvlia, as her name-tag suggested.

“-my son, Tim, you know? He’s such a great kid, did you know he made a real rocket last year for his school’s science fair? How he has time for this on top of manning the business, I don’t know-”

Clark was starting to get half-pushed half-dragged towards what was probably the security team’s quarters. He was not willing to help their effort and decided to be petty for once. He went limp and moaned and weak, “Urg, I think I hurt my ankle when I tripped on the carpet.” Someone hit him in the ribs and yelled. Rude. Doesn’t hurt, but rude.

“-and we were supposed to be on vacation, you know? But my son, Tim, he’s such a workaholic that one, I don’t know where he gets it from. Couldn’t be me! Haha!”

Get on with it, love.

“-has an interview with my really good friend, Clark! Clark Kent, yes, amazing journalist from the Daily Planet, built like he could bench press a bus – between us, it’s not the only thing he bench presses, haha! –”

Clark ducked his head bashfully – to be fair, he was helped by a guard who kept trying to hold his head down while his friends dragged the journalist’s unwilling self –cheeks red. Oh my god, Bruce.

“-I hope you’ve been treating him well! He comes all the way from Metropolis, you see? He was on a mission in Gabon for 2 weeks before this, so it’s really amazing that he’s willing to clear a time slot for my son! And for me after that! I shouldn’t tell you and you shouldn’t tell anyone by the way, he’s very secretive, but we’ve been together for a while now-”

Bruce, what the hell.

Clark spied a look at the receptionist and had to hold back a snicker at the sight of the off-white, vaguely green face she was sporting. She was trying to make hand signals at the distracted guards to stop them from dragging Clark anywhere.

I shouldn’t laugh but this is really funny and I have the right to be slightly petty in this situation. How hilarious would it be if Tim arrived right now?

As if his thoughts had been heard by a higher being, Timothy Drake-Wayne himself came into the reception hall from the revolving doors. He stopped short, eyebrows lost somewhere near his hairline. His shocked exclamation resonated in the now silent hall.

“Clark?! What happened?!” He sped to the man’s side and ordered the guards: “Let him go!”

The journalist turned to the first guard’s and tried to stay serious faced with the man’s utterly astonished expression.

“See? All a really big misunderstanding,” he turned to face Tim and rose up, shaking off the security guards’ slack grips, “Hey Tim! I came a bit early, but we didn’t specify a time? I was hoping to catch you when you were awake though.”

________________

As Tim and Clark stepped into the elevator to go to Tim’s office, none of the security team’s members or the receptionist met his gaze as the journalist tried to mouth a quiet ‘Sorry for the interruption’ their way over Wayne Enterprise’s teenage CEO’s head.

Said CEO eyed him from the side. “You don’t have to be so nice to them, you know. They tried to arrest you, I think you’re owed a bit of pettiness.”

Clark’s smile gained a sharper bite and he leaned closer to Tim, “I never hurt myself while tripping on the carpet. But they don’t know that, and I’m faking the limp.”

Tim snorted without any grace and they turned to face the elevator doors as they closed. All the hall’s occupants, except the aforementioned security and receptionist, were looking at them with varying degrees of subtlety, some outright staring while others tried to spy at them with the surrounding mirrors.

“Sorry for not telling them that we had an interview today,” Tim said with a bashful expression on his face, “It would have spared you all the… dramatics. And the arrest. And the handcuffs.”

“And the rudeness,” Clark added mischievously.

Tim guffawed, “I’m afraid that’s inherent to Gotham, can’t do anything about that.”

“It’s part of the charm, I presume?” the journalist teased, half-laughing, half-serious.

“It is,” Tim gave him a considering look, “People usually don’t give Gotham and its inhabitants enough of a chance to truly open up for them to enjoy.”

“The reward is worth the wait and the effort.”

The metal doors opened with a sharp ding.

“Always,” Tim scrutinized him more, then he stepped out of the elevator.

With flourish, the young man half-turned to look at Clark as he made a wide sweeping motion with his right arm, gesturing at the entirety of the floor, “Welcome to my humble workplace!”

The journalist chuckled.

Tim started making his way to the kitchen area where he beelined for the coffee machine and continued, “Can I offer you anything to drink? I have coffee, tea, various juices, water… oh, and milk.”

“Milk?” asked Clark, surprised.

“Yeah, some of my siblings like it with their coffee,” the other answered.

The journalist snickered, “Well, Tim. I’ll always let myself be tempted by a glass of milk.”

Tim shrugged, “Suit yourself,” and poured a glass of milk next to his impressively sized coffee mug where the words ‘ Most Successful Coffee Addict  ’ were written in bright and eye-searingly bold neon colors. He held it out for Clark to take. 

Over the buzzing of the coffee machine, the young CEO motioned for his guest to take a seat in the sitting area of the floor, next to his office and the window. As they reclined on their seats, Clark took out his recording device and lifted it so it was in their field of vision, “Would you like us to start the interview? I’ll be recording it if it doesn’t bother you?”

The other flapped his hand around, “No, no, don’t worry. Go ahead.”

The journalist shuffled to the edge of the couch, spread his legs to place his elbows on his knees and rested his head over his crossed hands. He gave the teenager a grin before pressing a button to start the recording.

“So, Tim, thank you for inviting me inside of Wayne Tower and into your office. We bumped into each other recently and you mentioned a project where both Metropolis and Gotham would be involved that caught my interest, on energies? Could you please elaborate?”

And Tim, who had spent the better part of the night, between the raid and patrol, planning and crafting the Gotham-Metropolis energy proposal – using what he discovered while in the company’s servers when he was searching for information – leaned back in his armchair.

“Well you see, it all started because of Poison Ivy…” 

“Poison Ivy?”

“Yeah, she’s what some would call very environmentally active…”

“You could put it that way,” the other snorted.

“It’s not false! But anyways, it all started because we wanted to find a way to support the Bats and to stop Poison Ivy from destroying Gotham in her environmental justice pursuits…”

________________

“…and we’re hoping to bring this project to both Gotham and Metropolis’ mayors when we get the chance!” Less than an hour later, Tim’s long-winded rants on the energy project and Clark’s no less contained interjections finally came to a stop.

“Well! Thank you Tim, I hope you do get to meet with our mayor to present Wayne Enterprise’s project. This interview has been truly informative for me.” In front of him, Clark stopped the recording.

“It was my pleasure, you’re a great conversationalist and interviewer. Have you ever considered being a talkshow host?”

The journalist looked taken aback, eyebrows climbing high on his forehead, “I can’t say I have!”

“You should. I’ve been on many shows by virtue of being… who I am. Few hosts have made me feel as relaxed as you have during this interview, you know?” Tim cringed internally at his awkward mix of casual and vaguely flourished way of speaking.

I’m trying to make friends with my dad’s boyfriend-but-not-boyfriend in civvies! He’s very nice but it’s weird, so cut me some slack! I’m used to Superman, not Clark Kent!

“I’m flattered, truly. I’m afraid journalism is a vocation and has had my heart in a chokehold for many,  many  years,” answered the older hero, eyes crinkling in mirth. 

We’re trying to make it so journalism isn’t the only thing that has your heart in a chokehold…  

Tim could feel the start of a headache blooming in the back of his head at the same time as a stroke of genius struck him.

“If you want to know more, we’ll be uncovering the project to a wider audience to receive donations at the Wayne gala, this year. You’ve never been to one, right? I don’t remember ever seeing you there –” he chuckled “–Well, to be fair, you could have attended before my birth and I wouldn’t have known.”

The journalist shook his head, “Oh no, I’ve never been to a Wayne gala. My colleagues are usually sent to cover it. Jimmy Olsen and Cat Grant if you’ve heard of them?

Clark, I don’t know how to tell you that me and my entire family have already stalked your life to hell and back. I do know who Jimmy Olsen and Cat Grant are and I would have known regardless of your relationship because they’ve been to a gala and everyone is screened there.

Outwardly, feigned deep though, “Oh, Jimmy Olsen? I think I remember him. He’s a photographer, correct?”

The other beamed, “He is!”

Tim almost squinted.

Too bright! Bruce what even the hell is your taste.

“And Cat Grant? She’s…one very persistent person.”

Clark winced. “She is… Sorry if she got you in any trouble: she’s passionate.”

Tim continued, “Since you already know about the project, would you be interested in coming to the Wayne gala this week? I imagine you’re going to publish an article on it, but could you wait until after the event? You’d still get the exclusivity since I won’t be revealing as much information to the wider public as I’ve told you.”

Clark’s eyes glinted, “Only if I keep the exclusivity afterwards.”

The teenager grinned and put forward his open hand. “Deal.”

The journalist met his handshake and they sealed the deal. 

As Clark said his goodbyes and pushed the button to call the elevator, Tim spoke up, “Oh! By the way, I have to give you this.”

The other paused, “You have something to give me?”

The teenager walked up to the office area and took an envelope from his desk, “Here, it’s an official invite to the gala. You’ll need it if you want to get in. That way, you don’t have to go through the gala’s administration…”

The journalist laughed heartily, “Oh yeah, thanks! It’ll sure make things way easier for me.”

The elevator let out a sharp ping.

“Well,” Clark said as he placed the envelope in his shirt’s in-pocket, “I’ll be going then. See you at the gala!”

Tim waved at him with a smile until the doors closed.

So. Nobody tell him, but I slipped Bruce’s business card along with the invite...

Chapter Text

Bruce—like many times before when faced with his children—was perplexed.

He was also—wisely—suspicious.

What could they possibly have done between now and the last time I saw them all and checked up on them? When was it… Thursday night? What could these kids have done in this time?

He let out an almost imperceptible breath of air and went to rub the bridge of his nose in the safety of the empty Batcave. His figure cut a dark shape in front of the alight screens, one whose shadows continued and sprawled lazily, almost languidly, on the ground, relaxed for now but able to wake and attack at any moment.

Why am I even asking? They would find a way to set fire to Atlantis if left unsupervised and together for even a single minute.With a couple of hours to spare before the raid he had to lead, Bruce decided to check the records of the credit cards the kids used because they thought he never checked them—which he did, religiously—to try and find out what they did behind his back this time.

Transactions, transactions… 6 thousand dollars, probably a lease…

Nothing of interest. He changed cards.

Online purchase, 4 thousand dollars… 800 dollars… 38.2 dollars from Jason’s Saturday morning trip to Metropolis…

He changed cards again.

Added 35 thousands… retrieved 4 thousands… transferred 23 thousand… transaction… 38.2 dollars…

…

38.2 dollars.

Huh.

Well if that isn’t the train ticket between Metropolis and Gotham’s price…

He searched further down, past a few other payments and transfers.

60.8 dollars… two times! Both in the same hour.

Bruce checked the manor’s cameras that surrounded the credit cards. Sure enough, on Saturday at 12:57, Steph entered the room, in her pajamas, with dark bags under her eyes and covering a yawn as she snooped around the desk searching for his card, all the while pretending that she wasn’t going to do anything when she was right next to the drawer where it was stored, going from fake falling to flailing around and disappearing under the desk dramatically for at least 5 good minutes before getting back up by leaning heavily on the opened drawer and unsubtly dropping the card back in it, far away from its original spot. She went out of frame, but with the sudden ruffle of the documents that were on the desk, Bruce guessed that she left through the window. On the 5th floor.

He squinted.

Is she even trying…? I feel like she’s mocking me. I’ve seen her do way better than this pathetic attempt at stealth and thievery.

He switched to the camera under the desk, and there she was in all her glory, copying the card’s number and PIN to make a payment to what seemed to be Metropolis’ train department— because you could never mistrust Gotham’s enough.

On the other hand, at 13:36, there was Duke. He didn’t even attempt to be subtle. He just walked up to the desk, flashed a grin and a peace sign at the camera, opened the drawer, grabbed the card, made his payment, put the card back in place—the wrong one—, threw another peace sign at the camera and left through the door.

Bruce could feel the familiar curl of a hunch settle deep in his stomach.

What was Tim doing at the same time?

He switched his screen from the camera in his office to the Wayne Enterprise building’s surveillance cameras. He didn’t have an in on Tim’s office—because the teen kept sabotaging his precious equipment—but he could see the rest of the floors and open spaces. At 13:04, he watched as Tim entered a conference room looking half dead on his feet and clutching a mug of coffee like some would desperately clutch at their last thread of sanity.

Bruce had to wait until 14:02 for Tim to go out of the conference room and speed to exit the Tower. The hero followed his son’s chauffeur through the city’s cameras until Gotham Harbor. At 14:13, Tim got out of the car, waved the driver goodbye and went to the kiosk to buy a ticket, to Metropolis presumably.

Bruce hummed and leaned forward

Fast-forward an hour, he saw his son walk away from the ferry and wave a cab over to set off towards Metropolis’ city center’s outskirts. Unimpressed, he saw Tim get out in front of the apartment he had sent Jason to on Saturday morning. An apartment that also housed his lover, Clark, by pure coincidence.

When he used the same camera to go back to Saturday morning, he had the privilege of seeing Jason muttering angrily to himself —he snorted perhaps a bit too loudly at that— but also, interestingly, Stephanie, Duke, Damian and Dick entering through the front door —and Cass discreetly scaling the wall— later in the day.

A quick search through the Batcave’s vehicle log revealed that Damian had taken the liberty to pick up his older brother, Dick, thanks to the Batplane—in stealth mode, he hadn’t raised complete heathens—and to fly all the way to Metropolis and to the apartment.

Children, really.

Bruce reclined on his seat.

Didn’t Clark tell me that he met them all on Saturday? He did, didn’t he? It should have occurred to me earlier, nothing good comes from these kids when they’re grouped together.

Bruce stood up in his chair.

But what could they be doing?

He was still trying to pin-point his children’s exact motives when he saw the image of an accelerated Tim on the recording go back out of the building, alone, and walk towards what was decidedly not the harbor which meant that he was either not coming back or decided to steal the Batplane and fly it back to the cave, leaving his siblings stranded in Metropolis —which he had done before and was probably the reason why neither Damian or Dick would have taken the risk of telling anyone in the family that they had taken the Batplane out for a spin.

Nevertheless, Bruce followed his son thanks to the cameras—which delivered in both quantity of points of view and quality of image—in the streets and into a medium-sized shop.What in the…

The hero decided to slip into the store’s security cameras. Inside, he watched with growing but concealed incredulity as his son lingered between the aisle with no apparent goal in mind.

That was until on-screen Tim bumped into Clark.

It was like a lightbulb lit up inside of Bruce’s mind, exploded, and violently set fire to all the little pieces of dry firewood that were hanging out near the forest, along with a few explosives and fireworks.

They found out that we’re together? We never actually told them… Do they wish to make Clark pass some kind of… test?

Bruce would have scoffed at the idea, but it was the type of thing he would have done, and he had—at least partially—raised all these kids and by extension couldn’t trust them to not do what he would have done in their place.

They’re so nosy… for no reason. They’ve known Superman for almost their entire lives at least as a hero if not as a person, they should know by now that Clark is most probably good.

He rolled his eyes.

Or they could trust my judgment, for once.

Luckily for him, some of the security cameras could record sound as well as image.

Ah, so that’s why Tim wanted to invite Clark to Gotham for an interview.

Bruce let out a low chuckle and glanced at the clock.

Well, no time for this kind of thing. I have to get ready for the raid tonight.

He turned to another screen and went over the plans he had made.

It never hurts to be more ready.

________________

The next morning saw Bruce blinking blearily at his ceiling as his alarm screeched. Disgrunted, he went about his morning routine like some kind of grumpy ghost. It wasn’t until he had taken his fifth sip of coffee as he stared deep into the brown liquid like it held the secrets of Gotham villains’ minds that it occurred to him that today, particularly this morning, time wasn’t an abstract constraint that ruled other people—who were they even?—but a real and concrete thing. Because he had a date. With Clark. At 11:30. Today. This morning.

Shit.

He slammed—delicately—his mug on the counter. It hadn't even finished its dangerous spin when Bruce had started running.Shit. Shit. Shit.

Running where? Very few knew. Bruce wasn’t one of those in the know.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

In his haste to get to who knows where, his socked feet slipped on the kitchen tile and he almost kissed the floor. Violently. With his entire body. It was only thanks to him being The Batman, and hours upon hours of training, that he didn’t actually get down and dirty with the ground – but still, it was a mortifyingly close call.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

He continued his race against an unknown time – and various household obstacles, insignificant things such as chairs, floors, walls…

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit—

As he was sprinting, he saw a clock in an office from the corner of his eye. Light-headed from relief, he used both of his hands to grab the door jamb, jerked his entire self into a 180° turn, and leaned to brace both hands on the door-frame, disheveled and panting, a wild look on his face, to stare intensely at the old grandfather clock. That wasn’t moving. Because it wasn’t really a clock but the entrance to the Batcave how did you forget that Bruce!

Fuck!

As he pushed himself away from the door to break into a dead sprint yet again—why weren‘t there any clocks in this god-forsaken manor?—a glint of light from the big and imposing wooden desk caught his eye. There, almost taunting, laid a watch.

Bruce for once in his life didn’t think.

He ran and leaped over the desk, grabbing the oh-so desired object, and landed into a vaguely gremlin-like crouch on the other side of the room facing the window, all of his attention directed at the delicate piece of machinery cradled in his hands.

10:07.

Bruce’s sigh of relief was so deep that he fell onto the ground, ass first. At least he wouldn’t be late to his date with Clark!

He heaved another sigh and got up to get ready.

________________

Bruce, unlike many times before when operating under this particular moniker—even if arguably, Bruce and Brucie weren’t the same person—wasn’t late. He even had 10 minutes to kill before the date was set to start which, of course, meant that when he tried to get out of his most inconspicuous car, right in front of the cafe where the date would take place, Bruce got tackled back inside of it.

As his back hit the driver’s seat, he had to sprawl to accommodate the sheer weight of his opponent. Bruce tried to tense up to deliver his own special brand of retaliation, but his muscles were unusually lax and slow to respond to his orders. The man felt his teeth clench.

Body. We are under attack. Move.

He seized the wannabe kidnapper’s right wrist with his left hand and quickly brought his whole body weight up thanks to his legs which he had looped and locked around the attacker’s waist for support and to stop him from escaping. He was going to finish his kimura when he caught a whiff of the other man’s scent: ozone, sunlight, and a touch of dry wheat in the middle of summer.

Oh.

He let go of the man’s wrist and went in for a hug instead of the jiu jitsu technique aiming to dislocate the opponent’s shoulder he was originally aiming for. As he buried his nose in the dip between the shoulder and the neck, Bruce took deep and slow breaths to catch the more elusive traces of the other’s natural scent. Milk, honey, mint toothpaste, cotton from his shirt, and Gotham’s elusive but persistent fragrance. He held the air in to keep the scents deep within himself for just a precious second longer, unconsciously tightening his embrace.

It was only when the other man murmured into his ear that Bruce let his breath of air go.

“Darling…” The slight smirk the man was sporting manifested in both his voice and in the way Bruce could feel the other’s lips stretch where they were pressed in an almost kiss on the skin of his neck. A certain feeling of restlessness he couldn’t quite perceive before quietened, deep in his core, like a lake after the storm. Never mind the way the armrests dug into his back was starting to get really quite annoying. It didn’t matter that they were in public. He couldn’t care less about the fact that they could be causing a scene—even if they had chosen this neighborhood for its inhabitants’ ability to mind their own business; even then: how could love not be a scene? A sight to behold? In fact, nothing mattered more than the weight on top of his own.

In a low voice, only for his partner to hear, he put into words what his instincts had been telling him since the start of the interaction, “Clark…”

No wonder he had to sprawl on the driver’s seat to accommodate his overeager boyfriend’s non-negligible frame.

The other sagged further into his hold. “Hey lover—” He rolled his head slightly, just enough to peek at Bruce’s face. “I missed you.”

They didn’t need to tell that to each other, because I missed you was inscribed into their each and every move. In the way Clark’s hold made Bruce breathless. In the way Bruce’s hold would bruise any other man. Nevertheless, in the relative peace and privacy of the car, Gotham’s hero muttered a reply: “I missed you too.”

It was then that Bruce got to witness a frequent phenomenon, the only one rendered more precious by its sheer abundance: Clark’s smile. It always felt like the other hero was able to channel the energy of the sun that fed him into his very being to broadcast it to those who were watching him.

The journalist let out a peaceful exhale, “You arrived early.”

“I did. I wanted to see you.”

Clark pushed himself to rest on his forearms, hovering over his partner who let him break their embrace reluctantly. Bruce lifted his right hand to cup his lover’s face. Clark snuggled into it with a slight and lingering kiss while keeping eye contact as he said, “That’s very sweet of you, love.”

“I can be sweet. Occasionally.”

Clark snorted, “If you could see through my eyes, you’d know you’re always sweet.”

“Isn’t love is blind?”

“As a mole. But I’d make you feel it.” Clark ducked away from Bruce’s palm and smacked a kiss on his forehead, “Ready to get out of here?”

“Never,” Bruce put a palm on the back of Clark’s head as he used his core to lift them both upright in the driver’s seat to prevent a percussive meeting between his lover and the car’s door, “but needs must.”

The farmboy took advantage of the closeness Bruce’s shifting position had left them in to steal a kiss before slinking away and out of the car. He was closely followed by his lover.

Bruce brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder then offered an elbow to Clark, “If I may be so bold?”

The journalist giggled and placed his arm in the crook of his partner’s arm, “What a gentleman, Alfred would be proud. I can do you one better though.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, “You dare to go against Alfred’s upbringing?”

“I could never, honey, but I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Yes.”

“For me?"

His lover rolled his eyes, “Yes, who else?”

From who-knows-where, Clark materialized a bouquet of artfully organized flowers. Majorly in the blue tones, Bruce could also spy very dark almost black toned flowers and a few deep greens to harmonize the arrangement.

He raised an eyebrow, “Flowers?”

The journalist huffed playfully, “Hold them, Mister Unimpressed. They’re not the only gift.”

As the Gothamite hero obligingly took the offered flowers, Clark rummaged in his pockets. With a quiet ‘a-ha!’, he finally exhumed his second offering

Bruce lifted his second eyebrow, “Two rocks?”

Clark raised himself to his full height in outrage, “Rocks?!”

The man amended his earlier statement, “Two gemstones, then.”

The day-time hero grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘see if I ever give you ‘rocks’ again’ but still held out his hand for Bruce to take the minerals. He did.

“Want to tell me why you suddenly give me… gemstones?”

“Don’t say it like that, you’re disrespecting them.”

“They’re rocks.”

“Excuse you!”

“They’re gemstones.”

“Your tone is deeply disrespectful, darling.”

“They’re not alive, Clark.”

“Says YOU!”

Bruce held his hands up, rocks and all, in mock surrender, “Okay, okay, they’re very special and I won’t disrespect them.”

Clark grunted, “You better.”

“Now, what makes,” the hero looked down at his hand, “a peridot and a… labradorite? So special.”

“They’re from the moon.”

Bruce lifted his gaze from the gemstones and said, flatly, “They are what.”

Clark grinned, “If you wear them at night you can finally be the moon-clad hero.”

“Clark what the actual—”

“I went there yesterday and I wanted to get something for you! Because I love you! But if you don’t like them I can take them back…”

Bruce put himself between Clark and the gemstones, “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re clearly not going to love them as they deserve to be loved,” he sighed, “I never thought I’d say this, but maybe they’re better in somebody else’s hands—”

“Clark. I will keep the stones.”

“—if it’s such a burden for you, I understand-”

“Clark—”

“I just didn’t think you would give them up like that. Look! The peridot is sad now!”

“I just said I was keepi—”

“—dark green, Bruce! You made it dark green! It used to be so much clearer… Look at what you did to it.”

Bruce took Clark’s face and smushed it between the flowers and the closed hand that held the stone, “I am keeping them, stop acting like I betrayed your entire family.”

“They were so sad, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure they were,” he righted himself up, “Now get into this coffee shop, we have a date to get to.”

“So demanding… Are you going to treat them like this too?”

“Clark…”

They went towards the coffee shop and Bruce delicately placed the gemstones in his coat’s pocket.

As they walked, the nighttime hero linked their arms together.

“Do you wish to know what new hell my kids invented?”

The journalist raised his eyebrows.

Bruce chuckled, “There’s a high probability that my kids have discovered that we’re in a relationship.”

Clark stopped, startled, “You hadn’t told them?”

“What, did you think I did?”

“Yes…?” he paused. “That might explain some of the reactions I got after mentioning things I shouldn’t have known about them as their…co-worker.”

“Hm,” the Dark Knight grunted. “They know we’re friends, it wouldn’t be surprising that I mentioned to you some of their habits, even just in passing. And, you have been working with me, and to a lesser extent also them, for around a decade. It would be more surprising if you didn’t know.”

The other hero shrugged and resumed his walk, “Fair enough. What were you going to say?”

“Ah, yes. Well I think they’re trying to test you.”

“As in, I have to prove my worth as your partner?”

Bruce nodded.

Clark got a faraway look in his eyes, “Dear Lord, I might have messed it up.”

The CEO snorted, “Nonsense. I know you, I highly doubt it. They have no grounds to question you. Besides, as I said before, they have been working with you for years on the field: they know you already.”The other didn’t look convinced.

Bruce rolled his eyes and surged up slightly to press his lips against his lover’s, “Relax.”

When they separated, Clark sported a little dopey smile.

With the lazy sort of gait one gained upon deep seated habit, both men walked towards a small table in the back corner, the most hidden from both outside and other people’s gazes, next to the emergency exit and facing the entrance. Bruce slid into the couch seat to have a view of the whole room. He was so focused on the other customers that he was startled when he felt Clark shuffle right next to him. He turned his head to face his lover and snorted, “I don’t know why you insist on sitting next to me instead of in front of me,” he gestured at the couch in front of him on the other side of the table, “Right there. Like everyone else does.”

Clark smiled cheekily, “Well, darling, We’ve had this talk before.”

“Have we?” pondered the other man, the picture of truth and innocence, “It seems that I have forgotten. Care to jog my memory?”

The journalist huffed but entered the game, “If I were to recount our dialogue, I’d tell you something like ‘I would but we both know you love to people-watch because you’re paranoid and you wouldn’t be able to see everyone if I sat in front of you’.” And, he leaned into Bruce’s space. “I wouldn’t be able to distract you as effectively if I sat in front of you across the table from you during our dates.”

The CEO batted his eyes with a naive air that couldn’t smother the sharp glint of intelligence and anticipation behind his irises, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well… I could tell you, but it’s supposed to be secret.”

The nighttime hero shuffled closer, mirroring his lover’s earlier movement, his naive facade slowly fading away, “I’m all ears.”

The daytime hero stopped his own performance altogether to playfully snark, “I was hoping you’d involve more than your ears in this, sweetheart.”

Bruce rolled his eyes but tenderly cradled his lover’s face between his two large and battle-hardened hands. In what seemed like decades but could have been seconds, their gaze met and opened in the purest form of expression. Their lips met next, searching still, like this was their first kiss. Like this was first forage in an uncharted but priceless yet cruelly delicate territory. Half-lidded, hooded, their eyes fluttered but never fully shut for none of them would have lost the deep connection they could awaken with only just a glance.

Perhaps it also had to do with the fact that they were the sort of weird people to keep their eyes open during a kiss.

________________

Jason was minding his own business.

Which, as it often was, happened to be just the kind of moment fate always waited for to start minding his business as well.

He had high hopes too… Out in Gotham during the day —if it’s not during patrol and you’re still breathing, it ain’t my problem— walking about with no clear goal in mind —no plan, no destruction of said plan— encountering Cass and having her tag along —nothing could go wrong with her here…

Even then, with all these incredibly positive factors playing in his favor, devastation had to swoop down and sucker punch him in the gut.

He had been walking—strolling really—in a normal neighborhood with Cass in tow, relaxed for once, calm and settled, absentedmindly humming along with the unrelenting pop songs that came from the surrounding shops. It was even almost sunny - surprising for Gotham, the cradle of eternal gloom. There was the constant bustle of people, uniquely quiet background noises, the occasional passerby who stopped to stare incredulously at the sky for a few seconds - never more though, this was still Gotham and having your nose up in the sky for too long was just waiting for pick-pockets to take care of you and all your earthly possessions.

Jason was enjoying a rare inner peace under the weak glow of the sun, upper body half turned towards Cass to sign the entire reenactment of Brown’s reaction to the Clark-is-Superman revelation when his gaze came upon a coffee shop over his conversation partner’s shoulder. His hands faltered and she threw him a slightly worried look before turning around to follow his line of sight.

Behind the glass? Bruce’s resolutely not disguised face. Out in the open. Like he wasn’t the most well known person in Gotham and the most likely to get kidnapped on a whim.

Maybe he’s a look-alike?

Jason turned to look at the cars in front of the shop. One of Bruce’s cars was innocuously parked.

Not look-alike. This was in fact Bruce. A Bruce who had, the evening before, scheduled a 5 hours long ‘important meeting and training session with Justice League member’ in his precious timetable on the Batcomputer - and no, knowing that wasn’t stalking because it was literally there for everyone who had access to the Cave to see!

The crime lord narrowed his eyes. You little liar. Meeting and training with a Justice League member my ass.

Then, the vigilante noticed the man he had completely overlooked, surprised as he was to have found Bruce in Gotham in the middle of the day and not on the Watchtower like he should have been. Sitting right next to Bruce, was a head of dark hair and a pair of broad shoulders partially hidden by a loose flannel shirt.

Who is he meeting with?

Unbestknown to him, Cass had taken a quick glance at the scene in front of them and immediately locked her eyes on Jason, waiting for his reaction. With the slow and careful movements she was famous for, Cassandra took out her phone and started recording.

The crime lord focused on what he could see of the stranger’s face, hunched as the man was trying to face the eldest Wayne. Why would Bruce lie about meeting with an informant? He could have just put ‘mission sensitive information gathering‘ like he usually does and be done with it. Why lie? Does he have something to hide? Is the informant in danger? Threatened by someone who has the means to hack the Batcomputer and override Oracle’s system?

He frowned. Who could that be?

The vigilante was still searching for an answer when the stranger and the Dark Knight leaned closer to each other, visibly smiling.

What are they doing? That’s a new way of gathering intel. Why are they leaning closer?

Bruce rested the stranger’s face in the palm of his cupped hands.

Why are they touching?

It was only when the two men inside of the coffee shop bowed against each other and their lips met that the crime lord recognized the stranger. His jaw slackened.

Fucking Clark Kent?!

Baffled, Jason watched as the one who had been his father figure for the longest time —and still was most of the time— bent closer to Clark-Kent-from-the-Daily-Planet-and-the-building-where-the-safe-house-was who was also known as Superman and started sucking face right in the middle of a Gothamite coffee shop.

Oh. They’re together together.

Numb, he slowly turned to try and share with his eyes some of the utter horror he was feeling with Cass, which shifted into a deeply betrayed look when this had the unfortunate consequence of making him stare directly into the camera like he was in the Office and had fully accepted that the fourth wall and audience was a character he could be interact with. The video footage started to shake under the woman’s silent laughter. She panned to the coffee shop and slowly zoomed on the two heroes who were still kissing with their eyes open and back to Jason’s gutted face.

Between the drowning feeling of betrayal and the shock of seeing his almost-father have a romantic moment with another being, Jason had a floating afterthought.

Fuck, Stephanie can’t know. She’ll be beyond annoying if she finds out.

Almost like she was reading his mind, Cass lowered the phone and put a finger in front of her mouth in the universal sign for ‘keep this secret’.

And, by virtue of being a vigilante and, as such, adaptable, Jason let go of his shock to nod gravely at Cassandra.

The others had to find out on their own. The hard way. They had to suffer too.

And, I found out before Brown.

He smirked and resolutely did not think about the fact that he would never have known if he hadn’t been strolling in Gotham at this particular moment in this specific place.

Chapter Text

Bruce was trying to wrangle his children in place.

It was working as much as it usually did. That is to say: it wasn’t working at all and his efforts were in vain.

…

He should have gone to Clark’s.

Damian was engaged in a passive aggressive battle with his tie. Stephanie was coming in and out of Bruce’s room to showcase increasingly hideous dresses and eye-searing jewelry. Cass, as always, was already ready for the gala, and followed Stephanie around and –he was sure– worked as an enabler and crime-against-fashion advisor. Duke was at a club and would arrive later. Jason was present for some unknown reason. When questioned, he had muttered something about ‘it’ happening.

Dick, despite being seemingly too old for it, was yet again hanging from the big chandelier in Wayne manor’s ball hall and scurrying on the ceiling’s ornate wooden beams like an overgrown squirrel, overlooking the fact that civilians were in the room to prepare everything for the reception. He wore half of his formalwear and would probably have to change it at some point when the fragile material finally broke.

Wisely, Bruce decided to leave this particular child for Alfred to deal with when he would finally disturb the preparations too much for the butler’s liking.

Tim was nowhere to be found.

(He was probably either at the Batcave in front of the computer or trying to swindle a poor barista of all their available espresso shots. The former was likely. The latter was certain.)

________________

Clark was staring deep into his suits’ souls.

Some people were frustrated when presented with too little choice. Others, paralyzed by too much choice. He was just trying to choose a suit that didn’t fit him too well but also didn’t make him look like he dumpster dived for his formalwear.

The need to look like Clark Kent, fought the need to impress the step-kids –and the dad– as much as possible. How to conciliate these two requirements, that is the question.Lost in thought, he startled when he heard his front door slam open against the wall.

________________

From the open doorway, Stephanie’s voice rang out once again, “Bruce! What do you think of this one?”

Bruce sighed and clasped his final cufflink in place.

________________

A rush of feet in his hallway.

“CLARK!”

More steps straight towards his bedroom.

“SMALLVILLE!”

Lois appeared in the doorway, barely hanging on to the opening, slightly ruffled.

“KENT!”

He raised incredulous eyebrows, “Lois?”

She held up a finger, panting.

He fell silent.

She gulped and finally straightened back up, “Smallville. I sensed that you were going to make a mistake.”

Clark slowly retracted his hand from where it hovered over one of the suits laying on his bed.

“What..?”

“I have the bullshit meter included in the package, Kent. You can’t fool me with those wide eyes.”

“I’m not trying to fool—”

She made quick crossing motions with her arms, “Nope! I know you! You were going to go to the Wayne Gala dressed like a trash bag and a mangy piece of fur had an offspring.”

Clark frowned, “I would hardly call my suits—”

“Well I would. Now,” she took off a backpack he hadn’t seen until then, “I have brought you your uniform.”

“Ooooh no—”

Lois sent him a sharp smile, “Courtesy of Perry.”

The farmboy narrowed his eyes at her, “You devious woman.”

The other journalist blew a kiss at him “Anything for you, Kent.” She threw the bag at him, “Now try this on and go get your man, you slut!”

“Lois!” he choked out, almost scandalized but definitely bright glowing red.

She pulled at his shirt, “Get naked boy! Put the suit on, I’m watching you and you can’t escape.”

Clark covered his chest with the bag and angled backwards like it would protect him and his virtue from her gaze.

She guff-hawked. “Clark. This won’t be anything I haven’t seen before. Stop the act and put the suit on.”

He super-sped out of the room and into the bathroom.

Seconds later, a booming “Coward!” echoed in his apartment. Clark heard his favorite intruder trudge from the bedroom to the living and fall back on the couch like she owned the place.

He huffed fondly.

________________

From downstairs, as Bruce was trying on different watches to see if they matched with his suit, Alfred’s voice shot out calmly but with an undertone of warning.

“Master Richard, I would suggest descending from the chandelier and getting ready for the gala.”

________________

Clark chanced a step outside of the bathroom. Immediately, Lois rushed to meet him in the hallway. She twirled an imperious finger around and made him slowly circle on himself so she could admire her helpful intervention.

The journalist nodded to herserf, “Crisis averted.”

Clark looked pained, “Lois, I can’t wear this at the gala.”

She whipped her head up to meet his gaze, “Why not?”

“I’m going as Clark Kent.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ohhh, come off it! Everyone with a working pair of eyes can tell that under the wrinkled and too big shirt is a brick shit-house hunk of a man. Absolute unit.”

He blushed, “Lois!”

“What! I’m only stating facts. One doesn’t have to touch to know that with you. One can feel it.”

He sighed in his palm.

She playfully hit his arm, “Relax! I’m just joking.”

Clark let out a miserable sound.

“Dramatic. How do you like the suit?”

“It’s,” he seemed reluctant to say it out loud, “…nice.”

“See?”

“But I still can’t wear it to the gala.”

Lois looked righteously enraged. She let her expression do all the work for her.

“I can’t!”

An eyebrow raised.

“The secret depends on it!”

Lois’ gaze flattened. “If someone was to find out, they already would have by now. Your disguise only works because very few people know Superman and the real Clark Kent at the same time.”

Clark looked ready to protest but Lois raised her eyebrow again. He settled back.

She sighed and stepped closer to him, gaze low fixed on her clasped hands.

“Clark, I never really told you, have I?”

The man tilted his head to the right in confusion.

Lois raised her head and met his eyes: “I’m proud of you.” Upon seeing the hero’s face, she snorted, “No really! I am!”

Clark went to talk but she shushed him.

“Let me finish.”

He paused butnodded, scrutinizing her carefully.

“I’m proud of you because you changed, you bettered yourself. The both of us, we worked out in the start when we got together. That’s not to say that we don’t work well together now,” she added cheekily, “we still make a killer team! But I changed when you weren’t ready yet, because I’m the kind of person who changes frequently and quickly while you’re the kind of person who changes slowly and steadily. It forced us out of what used to be a great relationship for both of us, and it’s fine because that’s life.”

Lois fussed with his collar and brushed imaginary lint off of his shoulder.

“I’m proud because you were struggling to, well, live really, after our break-up and I knew I had to give you space because I wasn’t willing to hurt us both while you adjusted to being something other than the great Lois Lane’s boyfriend,” she smiled a little.

Clark was getting slightly misty-eyed.

“So. I left for a bit and you had to slowly, gradually, realize that I wasn’t the only tether you had on Earth,” she stepped back to take him in fully.

“But now I think— I know that you’re with someone who matches your pace. So yes, Clark, I am proud of you because you found the person to pace yourself and you outgrew the person I was with back then.”

At his questioning look, she added, “You can talk now.”

Despite looking like he wanted to talk, Clark just folded his big frame over her and engulfed Lois in a tight bear hug that lifted her off the ground.

“Alright, big guy. I know I’m amazing but you’ve gotta leave some for the others,” she wheezed.

He delicately placed her on the ground, eyes shining. “Thank you, Lois.”

“No problem, Smallville.” She grinned, “Soooooo, are you going to wear it? Outgrow your fear of getting outed as the journalist who’s been interviewing Superman for years?”

Clark mock-glared at her, “Don’t sour your speech’s memory.”

She huffed, “As if. Why were you getting ready already anyways? Did you want to pay a visit to the boy-toy?”

“Not really, we’ll see each other at the Manor.” He added, lower, “And, if anything, I’m the boy-toy…”

She smirked at him and took a breath to speak.

He glared straight at her, “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything!” she waved her hand dismissively, “Anyways, you didn’t answer my question. Why were you getting ready so early if it wasn’t to go visit the boyfriend before the gala?”

“…”

“…don’t tell me you’re anxious.”

“…”

“Smallville. We cover these kinds of events on the regular. You cannot tell me you’re stressed.”

“…I’m not stressed.”

She deadpanned, “Real convincing.”

“It’s my first Wayne gala though! And there will be his kids… Apparently, they’re trying to test my ability to be a good partner to Bruce now that they know we’re together.”

Lois lifted her arms with a shrug, “Relaaaaaax. It’s not like they don’t know you from… other activities.”

Clark narrowed his eyes, “Bruce said that too.”

“Bruce is very smart, you should listen to him. And me.”

“Hm.”

“Well,” she clapped her hands once, “I have to go.”

“Already?”

She angled towards the door, “Yeah, I have intel in Brazil and my flight leaves in 5 hours.”

“Good luck.”

“Won’t need it! It’s pure skill!” She closed the door. From behind it, Lois yelled, “Wear the suit, Clark!”

The hero huffed but didn’t make a move to take said suit off.

________________

Clark arrived at the gala only a few hours after Lois left his apartment. He’s early, but early is what wins the game in the field as a journalist. The early journalist gets the scoop, as they say.

Bruce isn’t present yet, and he won’t be for a couple of hours still because he wants to keep up the Brucie act—which Clark thinks is overkill because the reception is at the man’s house so he could reasonably be present on time despite his ditsy persona.

The journalist sighs, thumbs his camera absentmindedly, and goes to get a quote from the organizers. He hopes—prays—for Alfred to take pity on him and hand him a brownie like he did last time when Clark had to leave the manor in the early morning.

________________

Upstairs, in another wing of the Manor, Bruce was still trying to wrangle his kids into place. He was still failing.

But! On the flip side, Tim had finally made an appearance! With a tall paper cup of coffee in tow, eye-bags that should be paying rent, and a manic grin probably born from the caffeine.

You win some, you lose some.

Bruce heaved a world heavy exhale and corralled Tim into his room so he could start getting ready.

(He made sure to narrow his eyes at Stephanie so she didn’t get any funny ideas. He didn’t need her to start another makeover when he just got her to stop pulling on horrendous dresses.)

He glanced at the clock.

30 minutes remaining.

He closed his eyes, praying for patience to any gods who cared to listen at the moment.

They were going to be late. Again.

________________

Two hours later, Clark was feeling his usually bright smile wane and tighten in the face of frankly boring conversationalists. His only saving grace was Bruce’s steady heartbeat pounding from his room in the Manor.

Oh, he had found the occasional interesting fellow—and subsequently interviewed them thoroughly—but they were the kind of people that didn’t seek journalists on their own. And for every interesting conversation, a soul-sucking one was just waiting for Clark. He was sure they had intelligent things to say! Just not the kind of riveting things that interested him.

Just as he was starting to lose hope in humanity as a whole, a hush fell over the ball hall.

He cheered internally.

Bruce! Finally! Please, save me from this awkward conversation with this old man that needs to be introduced to breath mints and compelling hobbies!

As he turned, he was greeted by a sight. Bruce followed by his gaggle of children, all dressed like they were gunning for the red carpet, suits, dresses, glinting and shimmering, all smiles for the blinding cameras. The CEO’s lazy smirk turned towards him. A glint of appraisal entered his gaze like he was trying to communicate a wordless, ‘You clean up nice.’

His heart skipped a beat.

Oh no, the weaponized hotness. Lord have mercy.

A man approached Bruce to talk to him, breaking their intense eye contact.

He breathed out.

I’ll never get over Bruce in a suit.

Right behind Bruce, unseen by either men, stood Tim and Jason, both sporting slightly disgusted expressions.

________________

From there, it was a flurry of lingering glances and heated looks. Clark would be talking to a CEO about their companies’ energy uses and Bruce would mutter under his breath in his deep and husky voice, “You should wear a fitted suit more often, Clark. It suits you. It suits you incredibly well” or “Nice shoulders, Clark” or “Dashing belt” or–

That is to say, it was very distracting and Clark was now periodically glowing pink for seemingly no reason.

(That’s not to say that he wasn’t doing anything in return, no. He had sent a few very heavy once-overs at Bruce when the other man was looking his way.)

So when Bruce excused himself from a conversation and motioned for Clark to come over, hiding a grin behind the rim of his champagne flute, the journalist moved.

“Kent, was it? The famous journalist. We’ve met before, you interviewed me. My son invited you tonight?”

Clark played along, “He did. He has a very clear vision and objectives.” He batted his lashes playfully, “I gather he gets it from you?”

Bruce laughed airily. “If only! No, it’s all from him. Tim’s a natural at this.”

“You know, you raised him. It would be a good thing if he resembled you, Mister Wayne.”

Bruce clasped his hands and placed a hand on the small of Clark’s back. “Say, would you like to talk in a more private setting? To talk about energies, fossils, all that good stuff of course.”

From under a lock of hair, Clark rolled his eyes at the CEO who let out a slight puff of air, amused. “If it’s no trouble, Mister Wayne.”

The other threw both arms in the air and boomed, “None at all! Let’s get moving, Kent.”

________________

Stephanie had been eyeing Bruce and Superman—alright, Clark, if you insist—since their entrances. Smolders, glances, bitten lips… She wasn’t surprised when Bruce finally made a move to lead the Super in a more private area of the Manor.

She wasn’t surprised, but she was curious, she was nosey, she wanted— no, she needed to know.

She made to follow them.

A harsh whisper interrupted her, “What are you doing?!”

She turned around. Tim stood right behind her.

“I’m following them! I want to know what they’re going to do! I want my ship to sail, Tim. They’ve known each other for 15 years, it’s starting to get real old. Damian is younger than their,” she made air quotes, “‘friendship’."

Tim caught her wrist, “Don’t go! What if they’re doing something?”

She scoffed, “Scaredy cat. Didn’t you say they weren’t together yet?”

He looked reluctant, “You said that! And: still.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Pussy.”

“Asshole.”

Stephanie was going to respond in kind, but was interrupted by an energetic, “Who’s an asshole?”

She turned, “He is!”

Dick stood there with an easy-going smile, “Unclench peeps, we’re amongst vicious sharks.”

They threw a look around them.

The eldest continued, “Anyways, what’s the hold up?”

“Bruce and Clark went further in the Manor. Alone.”

His eyes widened, “Ohhhh, juicy. Where’d they go?”

Tim pointed his chin at the offending door, “There— What are you doing?!”

Dick was dragging them forward by the wrist. “Following them!”

“No!”

“What, are you scared?”

“I don’t wanna know what they’re doing over there—”

Stephanie leaned in, “He’s aaaafraiiid.”

He glared at her, “Shut up.”

Dick was already motioning at the other members of the family.

Tim hit his arm. “Stop that! Who’s going to hold the reception if all the Waynes are gone from the room?”

“You volunteering yourself as a sacrifice to the sharks? They’re circling.”

“…”

“Thought so.”

One by one, the others joined their little party in front of the door.

“What is the meaning of this,” sneered Damian.

Jason motioned in his direction, “What he said.”

“Bruce and Clark went through here alone.”

There was a collective ‘ohhh’ of understanding.

“So, we’re going in?”

“I don’t want to go first, you go!”

“Steph—”

“Ain’t no way. You see this dress? Bright purple? Not discreet, I tell you.”

“We all know you made it work wearing flashier clothes before-”

Cass shook her head and opened the door. They all quietened and trickled down into the hallway, following her lead.

As they creeped along the hallway, Stephanie spoke up, “Cass? Do you know where they are?”

The other woman nodded and pointed to a closed door. She then brought a finger to her lips to ask for silence.

They all gathered around the closed door to listen. Dick climbed on Jason’s shoulders to hear from the crack on top of the door. Stephanie tried to look through the keyhole. Damian acted unaffected but his eyes were trained on the door as if he could magically see through it. Duke was pushing Steph’s face out of the way to get a glimpse too. Cass rested her ear on the door.

They stopped shuffling.

From the other side of the door? Nothing but imperceptible murmurs.

“Damn,” cursed Stephanie through clenched teeth.

They all shushed her.

In the silence, a low voice rang out next to their ears, on their side of the door, “Masters. Do I want to know why we are gathering here?”

A collective shout, a few loud “Shit!”, a shriek, someone jumped and fell.

They turned.

Alfred was leaning forward and looking at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Alfred!”

“We were just—”

“—because the room—”

“Tension, you know?”

“—leaving the room—”

“—scandalously—”

“—and Father chose to—”

He raised an imperious hand at the exact same time the door opened under a very surprised Clark’s touch.

“What in the world is happening here?”

From behind him, Bruce approached. As the man leaned on the journalist’s steady form and rested his head on his shoulder. Jason smirked and whipped his head around to watch as understanding dawned on Tim.

The young CEO raised an imperious finger and pointed right between Clark’s eyes, very close. The Super went a little cross-eyed trying to focus on it.

“YOU! Both of you! You’re together!”

The children gasped.

Bruce tilted his head back up in confusion, “Yes…? Didn’t you already know that?”

A collective ‘NO!”

He frowned, “Then why were you following Clark around?”

Tim gasped “You knew—”

Steph pushes his head down and made Bruce focus on her, “We were trying to get the both of you to interact! As civilians!”

“Civilians?”

“Yes! Because he’s Superman!”

Clark raised an eyebrow, “Well, yes. You knew that already.”

“What? No! Wait, Bruce, you knew?”

Bruce recoiled, “What— Of course I knew!”

“How?”

He shook his head around, “Let me get this straight. You thought Clark and I didn’t know of each other’s alter egos? And that we weren’t together?”

“Yes.”

“And you wanted us to interact as civilians. Why?”

Stephanie started, “Well, you’ve been circling around each other for years as heroes, right? We thought—”

Jason grunted, “Don’t drag me into this—”

She continued, “We thought that the problem was that you thought you couldn’t be together because you didn’t truly know and trust each other.”

Bruce deadpanned, “What.”

“So we were planning to make you meet and hit off as just Bruce and Clark! Not Batman and Superman.”

Clark turned to Bruce, “So they weren’t testing me…?”

Duke looked baffled, “Testing you? For what?”

The journalist rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, “To prove my worth as a partner…?”

Duke frowned, “That’s the dumbest—”

Cass smiled sharply, “Still on the table.”

“—shit I’ve ever— Wait what?”

Dick nodded, “It’s still on the table.”

The Super shot him a betrayed look, “Dick?!”

The vigilante smirked, “All’s fair pops.”

Alfred cleared his throat, “I trust that… nothing has happened in this room?”

Clark let out a pitiful sound as the others jeered at him.

Secretly, Bruce smiled in the crook of Clark’s neck.

All was well, with everyone safe in the same house.