Chapter Text
It’s supposed to be a simple mission.
“A recon mission,” Bruce says in his gravelly Batman voice, the one that does all sorts of things to Clark’s stomach.
“Okay, we can handle that,” Clark decides, giving Bruce and Diana a big, happy smile.
“It shall be easy,” Diana agrees, and they’re off within the hour.
Bruce insists they take a JL-supplied jet, forcing Diana and Clark to buckle their seatbelts and sit in the back even though they can, you know, fly. The back of the jet is dim and dusty. If Clark was human, he would be sneezing from all the dust. But he’s not, so he sits there patiently as Bruce pilots the jet above the clouds.
They don’t talk much as they fly, instead staying in a comfortable silence. Diana sits calmly beside Clark. Clark fidgets with his seatbelt and tries to brainstorm new ideas for his next project at work. Bruce sits in the front, silent as ever, guiding the jet through the skies.
It’s not really boring, but it isn’t fun either. Clark could be enjoying a day off from work, but instead he’s here. And don’t get him wrong – it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy helping the people, but he’s never been particularly good at recon missions. Especially not when it’s so… covert.
They land smoothly. Clark rolls his eyes fondly as Bruce touches the jet’s wheels down to the ground. Of course Bruce would be a good pilot. He’s amazing at everything. It would be exasperating if it wasn’t so attractive.
No. Clark shakes his head, trying to bat away the invasive thoughts. He can’t risk thinking about Bruce like that. Not only is Bruce his teammate, he’s also his friend. And Clark can’t afford to muck that up.
“What are you waiting for?” Bruce’s voice brings Clark back to the present.
Bruce and Diana have already got out of the jet. They’re watching Clark, who’s sitting dumbly in his seat, too absorbed by his thoughts and feelings. Feelings for his best friend, no less.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” Clark mumbles, hastily unfastening his seatbelt and stepping off the jet.
Bruce stares at him, eyes narrowed, but he says nothing, so Clark assumes he’s at least half safe and moves on.
“It’s supposed to be abandoned, is it not?” Diana muses, kneeling down to admire a blooming flower bed.
“Yes,” Bruce answers.
The villain lair is big and ominous. Clark doesn’t fancy going inside, but he supposes he’ll have to. According to eye witnesses, no one’s entered or left the place for at least a few months.
“Strange,” Diana says. “I’m not a botanist, but I’d say these plants have been watered recently.”
Bruce makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a grunt and pulls a sunflower down to inspect it.
“Hm,” he notes, “They’re well cared for.”
“Indeed.”
Diana and Bruce share a pensive look.
Clark slips past them and risks a knock on the door. It’s old and wooden and seems to be rotting from within. A few woodlice are disturbed by his knuckles rapping against the soft wood, crawling out from their crevices to scurry away.
“Careful, Kal.” Bruce warns.
A minute or so passes and no one comes to the door.
“Anyone home?” Clark says, raising his voice loud enough that he can hear it echo through the front yard and into the house’s semi-ajar windows.
Again, there’s no reply, so Clark tunes his hearing in. He can hear creaking wood, the soft gust of the wind, but no heartbeats inside.
“There’s no one there,” he reports.
The place looks deserted. It’s as if no one’s stepped a foot in the building or its surrounding land for at least a year, maybe more. The shrubbage is overgrown, the front yard is spilling out onto the road, there are bugs everywhere, and Clark can’t hear a single soul.
“Odd,” Bruce says, stepping past Clark to examine the front door. “The door’s unlocked.”
Bruce pushes it open, and the three of them peer inside. The hallway is a mess. Shoes are strewn across the floor, coats have fallen off their hangers, and there’s mud creating a trail through the house.
Clark glances at Bruce. He can’t know for sure, but he’s fairly certain that Bruce is frowning beneath his cowl. The down tick of his mouth is enough evidence for Clark.
“We’ll go inside,” Bruce decides. “But someone should do a lap of the exterior.”
“I can,” Diana offers.
Bruce nods, and they’re off. While Diana searches the exterior, Bruce and Clark venture further inside.
There are a few things that come to mind as Clark explores the building.
It’s been left in a hurry. There’s food left out with mold growing on it, a game of chess that was seemingly abandoned mid-game… it’s strange.
But aside from that, it isn’t the typical villain’s lair. Clark was expecting at least something illegal. But so far, there’s nothing. Some cash has been left on the counter, but it’s only a couple of five dollar bills, and there’s nothing overly suspicious about that.
Bruce has already taken plenty of samples, so if anyone really was here, then they’re going to find out who.
“Superman,” Bruce says.
Clark looks over his shoulder to find Bruce by the staircase, watching him expectantly.
“I’m going upstairs. Are you staying down here?”
Clark follows Bruce upstairs. The stairs creak under their weight, complaining from years of constant use.
The first floor is eerily silent. Clark frowns, trying to listen to whatever he can, but it’s strangely… echoey. He can hear some stuff, but it feels like there’s a firm wall blocking his hearing somewhere along the corridor.
He tugs on Bruce’s cape, holding him back.
“There’s something blocking my senses,” Clark reports.
“What about your x-ray vision?” Bruce asks.
Clark frowns, looking through the walls of the house. There’s a massive empty spot where there should be a room. It’s as if… it’s almost as if someone’s lined the room with lead, but surely that couldn’t be possible.
“Who did you say these villains were, exactly?” Clark asks, turning to Bruce.
“Low-life thugs,” Bruce answers. “There aren’t really villains. Just criminals.”
“…Right,” Clark says, because that’s not at all comforting. “Er… that room down there–” he gestures to the end of the corridor, where there’s a door that looks slightly thicker than normal to any average person’s eyes– “– is lined with lead. I can’t see inside.”
Bruce hums, pressing his gloved palms against the wood.
Clark can’t help but feel a massive storm of dread seep into his bones. This all feels wrong. He shouldn’t be here, but at the same time, he can’t possibly leave. Something is going on, and he needs to be here, but he wants desperately to leave. He wants to run in the opposite direction.
Bruce steps back. Clark can’t see his face, but he knows his friend is scowling.
“The door is locked,” Bruce says.
Clark blinks. Strangely enough, he wasn’t expecting that. So far, the entire house has been left open for anyone to walk in. The front door was unlocked, half the doors have been left ajar… the only locked door in the entire house is this one.
Clark takes a moment to look at the door. It’s plain, with a layer of wood in front of the heavy lead hiding beneath. There isn’t much to describe. The white paint is flaky and there’s a small wooden sign hanging from the door handle, but there’s nothing on the sign to signal what’s inside.
Bruce knocks on the door, and then his body goes stiff.
“Hello?” he calls, sounding uncertain, which is odd in itself, because Bruce is never uncertain. “Is anyone there?”
Bruce pulls out a fancy device and places it above the keyhole. Clark hears clicking and shifting of gears, and then the door opens.
Of all the senses that slam into Clark’s body, the first is the smell. It stinks. The rest of the house wasn’t too bad. Musty, for sure, but not… like this. Inside this room, Clark can smell the distinct stench of feces.
He glances at Bruce, who strides right in without another word. Which is understandable, considering the next sense that Clark reclaims.
A piercing, tinny cry hits his ears. He winces, then does a double take. That’s the cry of a baby. A child, left in this… frankly disgusting room for what might’ve been days.
The room itself is bland and boring. Someone’s attempted to make it look nice, and it’s clear that it’s supposed to be a nursery, but the ceiling is leaking and there’s mold climbing up the walls. There’s a single bassinet shoved in the corner, and a changing table under a window that’s been boarded up.
As Clark looks around, Bruce has already made his way over to the bassinet.
Bruce scoops a baby up from the bassinet, tucking it into a comfortable hold and gently supporting its head. He hushes it quietly, trying to soothe it back into a lulled sleep, but the baby cries insistently. Clark can hear Bruce muttering under his breath as he does a quick scan of the baby.
“Male, newborn, no signs of injuries…” Bruce sighs and holds the baby tighter as it continues to cry out. “Kal. Come here.”
Clark looks up from where he’d been inspecting the rest of the nursery. It looks half-abandoned, like no one’s been in the room for at least a day or two. Why’s a baby even here, of all places? Babies should be at home, with their parents, not in a semi-abandoned villain’s lair in a rotting room that stinks.
And over by the bassinet, Bruce points to a series of sun lamps that have been set up around the bassinet. Red sun lamps.