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“Batman, you need to get out of there! There are too many of them and you’re already injured!”
J’onn could hear the snarl in Bruce’s voice when he responded.
“Why the hell are you in my ear right now, J’onn?” He gripped and twisted one of the masked criminals’ arms as he lunged toward him, unphased by the cracking of bones beneath his fingers. “The satellites are programmed to stay away from Gotham. The League should not be able to access my location.”
Bruce spun around rapidly, digging his heel into someone’s collarbone and smashing another’s nose with his elbow.
“Take it up with Superman,’ J’onn responded. “He reprogrammed them shortly after the incident with Bane.”
Bruce began to snarl again, but was cut off by heavy arms wrapping tightly around his neck. The weight of the man hanging off of him dragged him backwards and he toppled, smacking his head roughly off of the concrete.
“Batman! You must get out of there!” J’onn yelled this time. Bruce did not respond, focusing his efforts on not only remaining fully conscious, but also on putting up at least somewhat of a fight against the remaining men.
He forced the concrete back into focus, rising to his feet and throwing several punches. He even managed at first to deflect a few sent his way, but a particularly nasty swing from a particularly large groupie found its target. Bruce felt the whiplash of the punch as he fell backward again, pulled roughly down and shoved into the ground, this time lacking a cushion entirely.
He heard the crack of the cowl’s protective lining before he felt the trickle of blood down the back of his neck. He’d need stitches, and was almost certain he now had a concussion.
His opponents showed no mercy.
It didn’t matter how many successful hits Bruce got on them, he was inarguably outnumbered, especially given that every man he sent to the ground was seemingly replaced by two more.
He had known that Falcone had a lot of men working for him, and that he would have most if not all of them monitoring the shipment this evening. He hadn’t anticipated that the numbers would be large enough for it to be an issue--there were upwards of 50 men now though, and Bruce was distracted.
“I’ll call Nightwing,” he growled into the commlink. “If that will make you leave me alone.”
“I’m sending Wonder Woman,” J’onn replied. “You need additional back up, even if Nightwing is able to make it to Gotham, which I highly doubt given that he is presently battling Roland Desmond in his own city.”
Bruce sent two more men to the ground, one with a severely bloodied nose, and one completely unconscious. The largest took a swing at him head on, which he dodged, but he felt a pull against the fabric on his back.
“J’onn, don’t send her. Don’t send anyone from the league,” Bruce growled again, trying desperately to pry the hands now scrabbling at his cape, cowl, and costume away from him.
“Batman, you need back up and you need it now! Wonder Woman is right here. I...Batman!!”
Trying to balance his conversation with J’onn while holding off all of Falcone’s men proved to be too much. A pair of solid hands managed to grip the fabric of the cowl near Bruce’s face, pulling back aggressively and tearing it away from him. Moments later he felt the searing pain of slash wounds as several pocket knives dug through his suit and into his flesh. There were tearing noises as Falcone’s groupies overwhelmed him and stripped him of pieces of his costume.
“Wonder Woman is-”
“No! Not her,” Bruce yelled, clawing at his belt for his ventilator with one hand, and throwing continuous punches with the other. Thick green smog was erupting from a vent just below his neck; a fail-safe he had installed since the very beginning. “If you send someone, send Superman. It has to be Superman!”
Without his ventilator, though, the smog was affecting him as well. He immediately held his breath, which sustained him long enough to watch as the men around him succumbed to the gas and fell to the ground unconscious. He raised his hands to his face, conscious of his identity being exposed not only to any potential remaining groupies, but also to J’onn, and any other league members who may have been watching.
“It has to be Superman,” he said. “Nobody else can see me like this.”
He parted his fingers and looked down at his suit; or what was left of it. His right hip was exposed down past his knee, the fabric completely stripped away from his lower right side. The bat symbol had been hastily torn from his chest as well, leaving his left pec completely uncovered and highlighting a gold chain that dangled just over a large slash that had been left in his skin. The tear in his chestplate extended down over his stomach, revealing his abdominal muscles and the littering of scars they boasted. His belt was secure, albeit slightly askew, but the metal ribbing had held it together. Unfortunately, in the effort to wrench it off of him, one of the men had managed to slash a deep cut into Bruce’s waistline. This wound and the gash on his shoulder were the most pressing, and would likely need immediate medical attention.
Whoever showed up would have to strip him down even further, if they were going to stop the bleeding.
And someone needed to stop the bleeding.
As the edges of his vision began to blur, Bruce realized that he was definitely too late to save himself from collapsing, and from his wounds. One of his teammates would have to rescue him; and in the process see him injured, vulnerable, and without the cowl. He did not hesitate as he took a breath and spoke into the commlink once more.
“Send...Superman...only,” he stuttered. “Nobody else, J’onn. Or I’m done.” Then he, too, dropped to the ground.
-----
Clark was floating just above the clouds over Metropolis when his commlink sounded in his ear. It had been a relatively peaceful evening in his own city; seemingly, no particularly villainous schemes were being carried out, and Superman had done very little to help anyone, save for boosting some vlogger’s follow count.
He had been periodically checking in on other leaguers who were out and about that evening, except for Bruce of course. Batman had made it very clear since the beginning that he was not to be listened to. That was a boundary Bruce had set, and that Clark did not cross, despite the fact that he wanted to so very much .
Instead, Clark had opted to secretly add Gotham to the satellite’s monitor log. Since Bane, Superman was unwilling to allow Batman to fight without someone knowing what he was doing; and since he himself was not allowed to tune in, J’onn’s surveillance seemed like the next best option.
Clark wasn’t sure Bruce would agree, but he didn’t really care. Absentmindedly, he touched his chest, fiddling with a chain underneath. It was almost as if he knew the call was coming.
“Superman,” J’onn spoke into the commlink. “Batman needs your help, and quickly. He is at the docks, and has been nearly stripped and badly injured. I offered to send Wonder Woman, but he refused and insisted it be you.”
Clark didn’t respond until he was in the air and on his way across the harbor.
“On my way,” he said. He was impressed at the steadiness in his voice. Even though he was fully aware of the dangers Batman faced on a daily basis, he constantly worried about him.
As evidenced by his insistence on proper security for Bruce, he guessed, and justified by the trust the two heroes had in each other.
And who was Clark kidding? Though the Justice League wasn’t aware of it, the nature of Bruce and his relationship went far beyond trust, and had for a very long time.
Clark attributed the gut wrenching nausea he felt when he saw Bruce’s limp and exposed body to this, subconsciously pressing his right hand back flat against his own collarbone as he stepped toward him.
“Batman?” he tried, honing in on Bruce’s heartbeat which, though weak, was definitely audible. Clark surveyed the area, trying to find the mask that had been discarded so that he could safely turn Bruce onto his back.
He was unsuccessful, and so retrieved the respirator from the belt instead, securing it firmly against the unconscious man’s mouth as he pulled Bruce’s body towards his chest.
“Cut the visual feed, J’onn,” Clark spoke. “I need to remove more of this fabric to cauterize a few of his wounds.”
“Done,” J’onn noted.
Clark stepped back and stared down at Bruce’s body, examining his injuries with his x-ray vision. Two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a hairline fracture in his skull; on top of several deep lacerations that were gushing crimson blood.
He tore gently at the rest of the suit, removing the belt from around Bruce’s waist and discarding the shredded fabric. His movements were tender and slightly hesitant, but he needed to hastily fix Bruce’s wounds.
When he was completely naked save for his boxers, Clark whispered an apology to Bruce. Then, he focused on the cut on his waist and sealed it with his heat vision.
Naturally, the pain of the heat brought Bruce sputtering out of his unconscious state. He snarled and yelled in pain, only calmed when Clark pressed a comforting hand to his shoulder.
“Superman?” J’onn asked over the commlink. “What’s happening?”
“I have to cauterize the wounds,” Clark responded, half talking to the martian, but also explaining the situation to Bruce. “Three of them are far too deep to leave any longer. I will fly Batman to someone who will be able to treat them properly as soon as they’re under control.”
“Wonder Woman can-”
“No, J’onn,” Clark responded sharply. “Batman’s identity is exposed at the moment, as is much of his body. I will handle this.”
Clark traced a vein on Bruce’s arm as he moved from his shoulder to his right hand, clasping them together. Without another word, he focused on the slash in Bruce’s arm and began to seal it.
He barely felt Bruce’s hand squeeze his own, but he didn’t need to to know that Bruce was in immense pain. Bruce’s consciousness allowed him to maintain more control of his response to the pain, but Clark knew Bruce. He could tell that he wanted to yell, and probably would have had the commlink not been open.
Clark felt crushed as he stepped back from Batman’s side. He reached up and unhooked the cape from his shoulders, draping it delicately over Bruce’s exposed skin. Cautious of his wounds, Clark gently raised Bruce into his arms, balancing him and folding the cape under him in a sort of makeshift swaddle.
He was certain that, if it weren’t for the immense pain, Bruce would have been absolutely livid that Clark was carrying him like a baby, but Clark really didn’t care. When he was satisfied that Bruce’s identity and pride were adequately concealed, he spoke into the commlink again.
“Batman still desperately needs medical attention,” he said. “I know where to take him, but I need some assistance on scene to clean up these criminals.”
There was no response, but Wonder Woman and Flash appeared moments later. Clark adjusted Bruce’s body so that his face was tilted even more so toward his own chest.
“He gassed them,” Clark nodded toward the bodies around them. “They’re temporarily unconscious, and so was Batman. They stripped him of his cowl and most of his costume.”
“Why did he insist on you?” Flash questioned, zipping around to check pulses and tourniquet severe injuries. “Diana could have gotten there way faster.”
“I could have,” Wonder Woman said. “And I am perfectly capable of transporting Batman to medical care. Calling you, Superman, was completely unnecessary, and totally irresponsible given what was at stake. Why didn’t you just-”
“Stop interrogating him,” Bruce interrupted, impatiently. He was barely audible through the fabric of Clark’s suit, but the bite in his voice was evident. “Clean up, and call GCPD to get them on scene. Superman is going to take me to the cave.”
Clark stepped backwards, and shot off into the sky. He heard a very quiet groan and glanced down at Bruce’s face. Noticing his extremely pallid complexion, Clark held his body a little tighter to his chest.
“Hang on, B,” he said. “I’ve got you now.”
-----
Alfred made quick work of Bruce’s smaller wounds, stitching and bandaging them neatly. Tim and Damian had both come into the cave shortly after Clark had, and were both settled just outside the room, eyes filled with concern.
“I wanted to go with him,” Damian said. “But you know Father; he insisted he go alone.”
Clark stepped up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault Damian,” he said. “You’re right. Of course he insisted he go alone, just like he insisted he have no satellite security focused on him.”
“But you have it anyway, Master Clark,” Alfred interjected, stepping out of the room and removing his gloves. “And very fortunate that you do. Tonight could have been much worse, but you delivered him to me in record time.”
“The gas wears off relatively quickly,” Tim said as they stood and followed Alfred to Bruce’s bedside. “It renders anyone who tries to remove the cowl unconscious, and also causes temporary amnesia.”
“Of course it does,” Clark said, shaking his head. “That’s such a Batman thing to have installed in the suit; even unconscious, his identity can’t be stolen from him. Unfortunately, he was shaken out of it when I cauterized his wounds anyway.”
“It wasn’t really that bad,” Bruce said, inhaling sharply and croaking slightly at the pain. “Broken ribs?”
“And a fractured skull,” Clark said, walking around to the vacant side of the cot. His right hand once again moved to his chest, while his left wrapped gently around Bruce’s upper arm.
“J’onn said you put the watchtower satellites on Gotham,” Bruce frowned, reaching slowly and wrapping his hand around Clark’s wrist. “I said I didn’t want them.”
“I know you did, but you should also know that I don’t always listen.”
Clark sighed.
“Especially when it comes to your safety, Bruce. You could have been killed tonight. There were way too many of them.”
“I could have helped, Father,” Damian stepped in. “The impostor could have too.”
Tim rolled his eyes.
“Damian, Tim,” Bruce said. “Go and get my other suit, from the training room.”
“Please,” Clark added, glaring down at Bruce. “Just because you’re hurt doesn’t mean you get to snap at them and make demands. Besides what the hell do you want the suit for?”
When the boys had left, Bruce pulled on Clark’s wrist until he was in a sitting position.
“We need to go to the watchtower and explain what the hell just happened.”
“What do you mean?” Clark asked. “What’s there to explain? You were in over your head and I came to help you.”
“Do you think they didn’t notice that I asked for you the moment I was slightly vulnerable? When Diana is much more nurturing and could have arrived much faster? What about the fact that you knew where to take me when I was badly injured, and more importantly that you knew how to get there ?” Bruce swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Is there any point in telling me that you should be resting?” Clark asked, shaking his head and pressing a hand to Bruce's chest.
“No,” Bruce said. “At least you're learning, I guess, if we’ve advanced to you asking me before just saying it.”
Clark nodded slowly.
“Telling them all of that means telling them...well, everything, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Or are we going to keep lying?”
“I don’t want to keep lying, Clark,” Bruce said, rising to his feet. “Our identities...they could stay a secret...but the rest...it would fill in some gaps.”
Clark nodded, and held out his arm for Bruce to hold.
“And besides,” Bruce continued. “I think J’onn may have seen this.”
He took the gold chain between his fingers. It was still wrapped around his neck.
“I see,” Clark said. “I was playing with mine when he called. I wanted so badly to check on you, and J’onn didn’t call me right away. Telling them… that would fix that, right? But are you sure you’re ready?”
Bruce shook his head.
“No, but I’ve made my mind up anyway.”
-----
They arrived in the watchtower about an hour later.
Bruce’s condition made it very difficult for Batman to shower and suit up again, but he slowly managed with a lot of help from Clark and Alfred. Before he pulled the cowl over his face, Bruce pulled the chain from around his neck and tucked it into a compartment on the belt.
“I have to be able to access it without taking the cowl off,” he said, rolling his eyes when Clark looked concerned. “Don’t worry, I still love you.”
Clark laughed and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s temple.
“I know you do,” he said.
They were greeted by the entire league when they exited the zeta-tube.
“How are you?” J’onn asked, patiently, watching as Bruce expertly walked through the pain he was inevitably in.
“What the hell was that,” Diana asked, flatly. “You really don’t trust me that much? You’re really willing to put your life on the line even more, just because you don’t want to show me who you really are?”
“Superman arrived promptly,” Batman said calmly. Clark looked over to him, and noticed just how uneasy he seemed on his feet. “The situation was resolved. There was no need for anyone else to step in.”
“Can we discuss this in the hall?” he asked quickly. He reached out an arm to Bruce, more habitually than anything, and was surprised when Bruce leaned into the touch.
Clark took some weight off of Bruce while he walked to their meeting room. They all filed in and took their seats; Clark felt a mixture of concern and relief when he realized just how much better Bruce was doing when he was sitting down. It made sense of course, but he hated how much Batman insisted on pushing himself.
“So what do you have to say then?” Hawkgirl asked once they were settled. Clark was surprised to see that she, Flash, and Lantern were all focusing on him. Bruce was staring at the table, and Diana and J’onn were staring at him.
“I didn’t know that Batman was in trouble,” he said, honestly. “I was over Metropolis on patrol when J’onn called, and I went as soon as possible. I-”
“Superman was not the one who insisted he respond to my situation,” Bruce said, clenching his fists against the table. “In fact, I don’t doubt that he would have preferred that I allow someone to come to me earlier. But, that was not an option.”
“And why the hell not, Batman?” Diana snapped. “You constantly lecture us on teamwork, and trust, and cooperation, and prompt response, and a bunch of other bullshit...then we actually have a chance to respond in a situation where it’s necessary, and you tell us that only Superman can come?”
“What gives?” Flash chimed in. Bruce sighed audibly, and turned to Clark.
“Superman asked J’onn to cut the visual feed because I was stripped almost completely naked,” Bruce said. “That’s why I was wrapped in Superman’s cape when you arrived.”
“So?” Diana said. “After all these years, you don’t trust me with your secret identity? What exactly about Superman makes you think he’s more trustworthy than me with your secret?”
Bruce opened his mouth, but Clark cut him off.
“Because I’ve known his identity for years , Diana.”
As soon as he said it, he realized that he had probably only made things worse.
“ What?!” She said, angrily. “What happened to the Trinity? What happened to-”
“I only told Superman mine because he told me his,” Bruce said, sighing again and frowning at Diana. “Can you just calm the fuck down so that we can just get this over with?”
Bruce reached for the pocket of his belt, and made eye contact with Clark. Clark nodded, and reached under the neck of his suit to remove the chain that had been nestled securely and invisibly under the crest of El.
They both held up the chains for a moment, watching as the matching gold rings swung side by side. Then they set them on the table, almost simultaneously.
“What…” Diana started. “What are those?”
Clark wasn’t sure if Bruce was planning on answering or if he was expecting him to do the talking. He glanced over at him, but Bruce jumped in.
“They’re wedding rings,” he said matter of factly.
“Whose…?” she continued. Bruce cut her off immediately.
“Mine, and Superman’s.”
Everyone was quiet for a minute, until Flash spoke.
“But they match.”
Clark nodded.
“They tend to do so, although Batman didn’t really care what they looked like.”
Everyone went quiet again.
“So…” It was Lantern who stepped in this time. “You’re married to…”
“Each other,” Bruce nodded. “8 years now.”
Diana’s jaw visibly dropped, and Flash’s face went extremely pale under his mask.
“I knew it!” Hawkgirl gasped suddenly. She turned and punched Lantern playfully on the arm. “I fucking told you! You owe me dinner now.”
Lantern rolled his eyes, then smiled brightly at Batman and Superman.
“Well, congrats, I guess,” he said. “Apparently Hawkgirl was right.”
“How did I not see this?” Diana whispered, clearly very surprised. “Thinking back on it, it’s kind of obvious.”
Clark and Bruce shared a glance, then J’onn answered their confusion.
“You keep extra watch out for each other, I think without even knowing it,” he said. “I, too, suspected something might be going on behind closed doors, but I did not feel it was my place to pry.”
“I asked J’onn to call Superman instead because not only did he already know who I am, but he knew where to take me as well, no questions asked. Plus, he’s seen me without clothes before so I-”
Flash gagged across the room, his pallid complexion turning a vibrant red instead.
“We get it,” he said. “No more detail required.”
“We wanted to tell you, to assure you that it’s no personal vendetta against you that encourages us to call on each other. We’ve been partners for a very long time, both in and out of the capes.”
Clark was smiling as he spoke. Bruce even cracked a smile at the last line; just a very small one.
Unfortunately, Flash noticed.
“What the hell was that, now?” he said, sort of alarmed while also laughing. “Bats and Supes are married; and Bats actually smiles? This day could not get any more strange.”
Clark smiled again, and turned and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s cheek.
Flash went red again.
Apparently it could.