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The photo Selina posted went viral within hours. By itself, this was an unremarkable occurrence given Selina’s status in Gotham high society. Everything she posted was bound to go viral one way or another. This particular photo however, offered a brief look into her and Bruce’s private life.
Bruce had been—as he often was with Selina—unprepared for it. He’d been sitting in one of the armchairs in his study with a novel, hair slightly mussed, in a soft rust-coloured t-shirt with Pumpkin curled into her usual loaf configuration on his lap.
As was commonplace with Selina, he had no input on what she did with the photo. She’d posted it on Instagram, captioned simply with an emoji of an orange cat.
Bruce’s phone had exploded with messages.
From Hal: HAHAHAHA OH MY GOD
From Barry: This is the best thing I’ve ever seen
From Tim: I can’t believe you let her post this.
As if Bruce had the authority to let her do anything.
From Jason, surprisingly: Cute cat. Still think you’re an asshole.
From Steph: OMG Pumpkin is so chonky I love her
From Cass: 😻
Bruce knew full well the heart eyes were directed at Pumpkin and not him.
Even Diana sent a message: A good look for you, Bruce. Contentment suits you.
The only person who didn’t comment was Clark.
The Justice League meeting at the Watchtower was routine—mission updates, resource allocation, the usual.
Bruce was giving his report on Gotham gang activity when Hal interrupted.
“Hold on, is it true you have cats now?”
Bruce’s jaw tightened as he lowered the pointer he had been gesturing with. “That’s not relevant to—”
“Tim posted pictures. You’re like, cuddling with them.” Hal was grinning. “Batman has cats.”
“They’re Selina’s cats—”
“That show up at your house,” Barry added, also grinning. “Dude, you’re basically married.”
“We’re not—”
“You have joint custody of pets,” Hal said. “That’s basically marriage.”
Across the room, several League members were smiling.
Even Diana was smiling. “It’s quite sweet, actually. Domestic life suits you, Bruce.”
Bruce wanted to argue, to redirect the conversation back to actual League business, but everyone seemed determined to discuss his personal life.
“The cats are fine,” he said flatly. “Can we please return to—”
“Do they sleep in your room?” Hal asked.
Bruce could feel his frustration mounting. “That’s none of your—"
“They totally do,” Barry said, his voice vibrating with glee. “Oh my God, Batman is a cat dad.”
“I am not a cat dad—”
“You literally have photos of them in your wallet!”
Tim had apparently been sharing more than just photos. Bruce made a mental note to have a very stern conversation with Tim when he got back to the Manor.
“It’s good that you can take care of cats,” Clark said suddenly, his voice cutting through the laughter.
Everyone turned to look at him. There was something off about the quality of his voice.
Clark’s expression was cold. It was not an expression the Man of Steel could often manage. “It’s nice that you can be gentle with animals. Interesting that you can manage that but couldn’t manage it with your own son.”
The room went silent.
The words hit Bruce like a blow to the gut.
“What?” Clark’s voice rang sharp in the silence. “Are we pretending that’s not true? Bruce can pet cats without hurting them, but Dick—” He stopped, his jaw clenching. “Never mind. Continue your report.”
He looked away, arms crossed, radiating hostility.
Bruce stared at him, completely blindsided.
Where had that come from? They’d been civil—distant but civil—for months now. They’d even had that brief conversation at a fundraising gala. It had been awkward but not hostile.
This was hostile.
This was—
Bruce’s mind caught up. The gala. Where Bruce had asked about Dick. Where Clark had told him to stop obsessing over the son he’d destroyed.
Bruce had been doing better. With Tim. With Selina. With life.
And Clark saw that. Saw Bruce capable of gentleness, of domesticity, of caring for living creatures. And it had stoked his rage over the injustice his son had faced at Bruce’s hands.
His son. Clark’s son.
“Clark,” Bruce began quietly. “I haven’t forgotten what I did. No one’s forgotten.”
That seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, for the tight lid Clark had been bottling his emotions under blew immediately.
"Forgotten?” Clark’s voice thundered. “I'm not asking you to remember it, Bruce. I'm watching Dick live it. Everyday."
Diana put a placating hand on Clark’s shoulder that got shrugged off immediately. The surprise on her face would have been funny had the situation been less dire.
Barry had gone still. Hal stared at his gloved hands on the table. J’onn was carefully watching the space between Bruce and Clark.
It was a widely known fact that Bruce Wayne did not have a way with words. “What do you mean?”
He’d understood his mistake the minute he’d said the words.
Clark didn’t seem to need any other excuse. He sprang to his feet, his chair toppling behind him. “What do I mean?” His face had taken on the slightest hint of red. “I watch your son live your damage every single day!”
Clark Kent was shouting. Clark Kent did not shout.
“He came to my door at three in the morning because he dreamed you sent him away again!”
Bruce swallowed.
"He flinches when I raise my voice!” Clark threw up his hands in outrage. “My son flinches and then he apologises for flinching!"
Hal flinched back at the volume.
"He spent three weeks embarrassed—embarrassed, Bruce—for needing to be held like a person! He is twenty-nine years old and he is learning his mother's language for the first time because you let Gotham take it from him!"
Clark slammed his fists down on the conference table, drained.
“He is in constant low-level pain from the time you slammed him through Jason’s memorial case.” Clark’s face was pained. “There are still microscopic pieces of glass embedded in his back.”
Bruce’s limbs went cold. He hadn’t known.
“The scars on my body?” Clark went on undeterred. “They’re from supervillains, monsters, interdimensional beings. The scars on Dick’s body? They’re from his father!”
Clark stood there, chest heaving, bent over the conference table, his eyes glinting with the burden and heartbreak of having to witness his son’s pain every single day. His voice broke when he spoke again.
“And despite everything, part of him still loves you.”
Clark righted his toppled chair and sat down heavily, dabbing at the corners of his eyes.
Bruce gripped the back of his own chair, reeling.