Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What am I to you?” Bruce asked on a quiet rooftop one night, watching intently as Clark stitched the hole in his bright red cape.

Clark paused at the question, looking at Bruce with a perplexed expression. “You’re my…” a warm smile split on his face, “my partner.”

The silence that followed allowed his reply to settle like a boulder thrown in a riverbed. A drop in Bruce’s gut.

Partner. A word with many, many meanings. Had Clark used it on purpose to confuse Bruce? Although, what exactly was he looking for when he’d asked that question?

They were partners. Superman and Batman, Protectors of Metropolis and Gotham, World’s Finest, Founders of the Justice League, and other countless superhero aliases.

Stripped of their secret identities, they were just Clark and Bruce. Bumbling Daily Planet reporter and billionaire playboy prince of Gotham.

They rarely interacted publicly as Clark and Bruce; it’d raise suspicion as to why Bruce would ever interact with a Metropolis reporter for anything other than an interview. Which made Bruce wonder.

Did Clark see him as Batman or Bruce Wayne?

Batman, the cold, poker-faced dark knight that could hide his pain from everyone but Clark. Or Bruce Wayne, the flirty, airhead billionaire CEO of Wayne Enterprises who played dumb during interviews to keep up an image.

Clark treated him the same, no matter which puppet he was playing, with respect and a more than not endearing tone of voice that made Bruce’s stomach coil.

Partner. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, even after Clark had told him what he truly felt.

He’d been in a rough fight, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. 

Bruce staggered into the Batcave, bleeding from his side and limping from a nasty fall he’d taken. Again, nothing he couldn’t handle; he’d stitched himself up more times than he could count. 

Suddenly, a loud smash! could be heard. Bruce whipped around, ready for another round, only to see a bright blob of red and blue.

“Superman? I thought I told you to stay out of Gotham—“

“Bruce!” the Kryptonian rushed to his side, clearly activating his x-ray vision to check on Bruce’s injuries, “I came as soon as possible, let me—“

“I told you to stay out of Gotham.” Bruce deadpanned, Clark looked to him like a lost puppy.

“You did, but I heard your heartbeat quicken and—“

“You what?”

Clark went silent, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks. “I came to help.”

Bruce pinched his nose with his free hand, the other occupied, putting pressure on his actively bleeding wound. “Get out. I can handle this myself.”

The blush on Clark’s cheeks faded as his brows furrowed in annoyance, “Why do you never let me help you? Is it something you have against me?”

Because I don’t like depending on people, it went unsaid. But Bruce was sure Clark knew exactly why. “Just go. You don’t have to pretend like you care all the time,” he snapped. Maybe unnecessarily, but the pain was throbbing, and the longer they bickered, the more blood Bruce lost.

Still not an excuse to say something he didn’t truly

mean, Bruce knew that.

Clark’s annoyance turned into anger, “Pretend? You think I pretend to care about you?!”

“Of course I do. Superman, Man of Tomorrow, always wants to play the hero. Why even bother with me?” He was making it worse.

“Goddamnit, it’s ‘cause I’m in love with you!” Clark had shouted, anger clearly boiling beneath his impenetrable skin. He’d shouted it so loudly that his words bounced off the walls of the Batcave in an echo.

That made it so, so much worse than Bruce could’ve ever imagined.

His heart was pounding in his ears, so loud that Bruce was sure Clark could hear it even without super hearing. He was too stunned to speak. Clutching the wound at his side, he felt like a deer in headlights, faced with a superhuman alien seething with rightly placed rage.

Aside from the slight fear he felt, there was annoyance, too. “No, you don’t,” Bruce replied almost under his breath, heart still thumping away as if about to burst a vessel. He turned away to hide how he winced at the ripples of pain in his side.

“Yes, I do,” Clark replied firmly, all the previous rage replaced with that affection again. “Wish all you want, Bruce, but you don’t get to tell me what I feel.”

He took a step closer, taking Bruce by the wrist and slinging his arm over his shoulder. “Let’s dress your wound, shall we?”

Bruce allowed himself to be led, played rag doll when Clark lifted him with ease onto the gurney. “Seriously, Clark, I can do this myself.” Bruce’s snappy tone had turned into one of exhaustion, perhaps from the blood loss?

“But I want to take care of you.” Clark’s cheeky smile brought a warmth to Bruce, one he quite enjoyed.

Why? Bruce wanted to ask, but he opted to stay silent. Whether for his own sake or Clark’s, he couldn’t say.

Clark stitched up Bruce splendidly, without anesthesia due to the severity and urgency of the wound, but Clark’s nimble hands saved Bruce a lot of pain. He finished it off by wrapping the area in gauze, and Bruce was relieved that he was finally done. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand being so near Clark.

“There, see? Wasn’t so hard to accept my help now, was it?” Clark’s dimples were showing, Bruce remarked.

“Thanks,” he said half heartedly, “now leave Gotham this instant.”

Clark comically put his hands up and backed away, a smile still on his face despite Bruce’s cold tone. He always saw through it.

“Sir, yes, sir!" Clark said in a military tone of voice. "Oh, but before I go,” he came close and pushed back Bruce’s bangs, planting a quick kiss on his forehead.

For the second time, Bruce was stunned; meanwhile, Clark was beaming with happiness. “Okay, goodbye!” Bruce only saw a streak of red and blue before he was gone.

Bruce touched his forehead, the specific spot Clark had kissed, and felt his face burn up.

Love, Clark had said. To be exact, “Goddamnit, it’s ‘cause I’m in love with you!” He’d said. And didn’t mention ever again, not while stitching his wound, wrapping it in gauze, not even on the way out. Clark acted like he’d never even said it.

Was Bruce supposed to forget? How? And what on earth did that forehead kiss mean?

Clark didn’t kiss people, or not Bruce at least. He kissed children on the cheeks and forehead as a sign of playful affection. Bruce had seen it countless times in the newspapers.

As far as he knew, Clark didn’t kiss Justice League members either.

But a kiss could mean anything. A greeting or a goodbye, a sign of affection, platonic love, romantic—

Bruce let out an audible sigh, carefully hopping off the gurney and exiting the Batcave to take a shower. He felt disgusting, inside and out. A shower was in order for sure.

Love, Bruce thought to himself, lying awake staring at the ceiling in his empty California king bed. Clark is in love with me.

His brows furrowed, or he says he is.

Does Bruce believe him? Not in the slightest.

People say all kinds of things in the moment, and that was one of them. Clark’s strategy to get Bruce to shut up and accept his help, and it worked, unfortunately.

Clark didn’t love Bruce. He said it once and would say it again, “No, you don’t.”

Batman, stone-cold emotionless killer of the night. Bruce Wayne, fuckboy asshole who’s stupid to top it all off.

Both personas aren’t truly Bruce, yet they are all that Bruce has. Two pairs of shoes that he slips into depending on which is more convenient. Both are just as unlovable as the other.

What does Clark have to love? Perhaps it’s Batman’s unwavering bravery and perseverance to win no matter what. Bruce Wayne’s charming persona and cunning people skills.

But Clark hasn’t seen Bruce for what he truly is. The broken boy who lost both his parents in an alley one night and came out changed. The orphan boy who’s never felt what love is, nor learnt how to give it. The pathetic, reclusive, neglectful boy who didn’t deserve love in his own eyes.

For all that Clark is, he deserves better. Someone who can love like he does, care like he does, someone like Lois Lane. Bruce’s heart ached at the thought, but it was the truth. Cookie-cutter perfect, witty, beautiful, normal.

They’d get back together sooner or later, Bruce knows it. Then Clark will forget all about Bruce, forget what he said one night in the Batcave, forget the sound of Bruce’s heartbeat over Lois’s.

And Bruce will be okay with that. Happy, even. Although the polarizing feeling in his chest said otherwise, it didn’t matter how he felt.

Clark deserved better. He didn’t deserve a broken toy that couldn’t be fixed. Clark was everything Bruce wanted to be, and Bruce was everything Clark didn’t deserve.

For the first time in a long time, Bruce closed his eyes and drifted off almost immediately. No dreams, no waking up sweating in the middle of the night, just peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.

Bruce slept well that night.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed, and things returned to normal. At least for Superman, they did. Bruce was a different story. Clark never brought that night up again, except for asking how his wound was healing.

“All right,” Bruce had said. Then Clark smiled, his row of perfect white teeth showing.

“Good! Hope my stitching wasn’t sloppy.”

“Not at all.”

They left it at that, though Bruce wanted to say more. To ask why Clark did what he did. Said what he’d said.

That single night has haunted Bruce ever since. Clark’s words, “Goddamnit, it’s ‘cause I’m in love with you!” kept him lying awake at night. It was unhealthy how much Bruce thought about it, but he couldn’t help it.

For his own peace of mind, he ought to ask Clark one of these days. To know what he meant by it, what that kiss meant, and if he really listened to Bruce’s heartbeat all the time.

He was probably being presumptuous, Clark would probably look at him funny and call him crazy, but he needed an explanation. Even a disgusted look would do the trick. Actually, a disgusted look would be the best-case scenario.

“I meant what I said, B.” Clark smiled at him with such warmth that it nearly made him sick. “I love you.”

I love you.

Three words. Clark had said them so easily, like it carried no weight at all, yet he was sincere. Had the expression that he meant every syllable without any hesitation whatsoever.

Bruce’s heartbeat spiked; he was sure Clark heard it, but he kept it under control as best he could. “You don’t.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel, Bruce,” Clark said firmly. “I love you, and have for a long time.”

“As a friend…?” Foolish, Bruce knows.

Clark shook his head, lips pressed together in the earnest smile Superman always wore. But with Clark’s dimples, the dorky reporter was shining through.

Bruce averted his gaze, thoughts all over the place, trying to word what he wanted to say. That Clark shouldn’t. That he doesn’t deserve it. That it’ll pass.

That Bruce loves him too.

He said none of the above; his voice wouldn’t allow it. Instead, “Why?”

Clark raised a brow, a smirk clearly asking Do I really have to say why? But Bruce’s serious expression gave him his answer.

He gave it some thought, brows furrowing and mouth moving to try and find the words.”I just do,” Clark settled on, “is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied, maybe too quickly, “it is.” He added quietly.

Silence fell upon them both; only the sound of their capes whooshing in the wind filled the air. Suddenly, Bruce’s suit felt too tight, too stuffy, the cowl making him hyper aware of the loose strands of hair pressed to his forehead.

“You don’t even know me,” Bruce murmured, looking away to avoid Clark’s piercing gaze that could see straight through him.

“But I do, B.” Clark breathed, “I know that you care even if you don’t show it, I know that you don’t like it when people mess with your hair, I know you never drink the champagne at social events not because you don’t like it but because you're afraid it might be poisoned, and I know how much you care about Gotham and its citizens..”

Bruce looked, he wished he didn’t, and he was met with Clark’s piercing blue eyes staring into his own. Sitting by the ledge of the rooftop, Clark was looking up at him through his thick eyelashes, yet Bruce could still see that glint in his eyes. He looked away once more.

“It’s amazing, you know,” Clark just wouldn’t stop. “No matter how many times Gotham spits you out, you just keep coming back for more.”

“Just doing my job.”

“It’s more than a job, B, and you know that.”

Bruce hated that he did.

Another beat of silence followed, and it settled in Bruce’s gut like a weighted balloon. He had the urge to grapple his way out and crash in the Batcave for the next forty-eight hours, coating himself in kryptonite solely to keep Clark away.

But Bruce knew he’d find a way, even if it meant making himself defenseless.

“I don’t know when it started,” Clark broke the silence once more. “I don’t know when I started listening out for your heartbeat, waiting for your calls, hoping something would go down in Gotham so I could see you.”

So he could see me, Clark’s words warmed Bruce’s heart, threatening to burst with how fast it raced. He was embarrassed that Clark could hear exactly how he felt; meanwhile, Bruce couldn’t do the same.

Clark suddenly stood from the rooftop ledge, faced Bruce, and grabbed the bat’s hand to place it against his chest. Under the palm of his hand, he could feel Clark’s heart pounding against his chest. Probably just as loudly as Bruce’s was.

Bruce laughed, “Is there a Kryptonian trait that you haven’t told me about that lets you read minds?”

“No…? None that I know of anyway,” Bruce could practically hear his smile. He looked up to meet Clark’s earnest gaze, and a shiver ran through his body. Clark noticed.

He always did.

Clark smiled, dimpled and all, before pulling Bruce into a hug. The Kryptonian nuzzled his face in the crevice where Bruce’s neck and shoulders met. “I love you, Bruce.”

Chest to chest, Bruce could feel the other man’s heart still pounding like his own. He felt the strong arms wrapped around him, holding onto him like a promise, and his head fell against Superman’s shoulder.

His face was as hot as coals, his heart as loud as drums, palms as sweaty as a hot summer day, but he smiled despite it all. They both stood there, Clark’s arms and body acting as Bruce’s crutches that kept him from absolutely keeling over.

Ridiculous how Batman, the Dark Knight, got so easily defeated by three simple words. And from Superman of all people.

But his heart felt warm against Clark’s. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, maybe he wasn’t the best choice for Clark, but Clark chose him. As Batman and as Bruce Wayne.

“I love you too.”