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It’s a quiet night, by Gotham standards.
By which Bruce means that no major criminals have appeared, nothing has exploded, and no one has threatened any elected officials or celebrities.
A low bar, but one Gotham regularly fails to clear.
Still, Bruce is glad for it. Work has been stressful, between debates over project approvals with the board at Wayne Enterprises and the upcoming launch of the low-income mental health access he’s been working on for the past few months. Not only that, but Dick has been moody— apparently he and Barbara got in a fight, though he’s refusing to elaborate on what the fight was about. Tim has also started pushing back at nearly every single rule he comes into contact with, which his therapist thinks is probably developmentally normal, but something to keep an eye on. Conner has started trying to pull himself up on furniture, which is something that Bruce is… less emotionally prepared for than he thought. And Clark…
Bruce bites back a sigh as he leaps between rooftops.
Clark has been doing better since the guilty verdict, that’s true. For a good week or so, he was immediately less anxious, less worried about the future now that Luthor was almost certainly going to be going to jail for a long, long time.
(Though he still flinches away any time there’s a discussion of Luthor.)
But then the thinkpieces started rolling out. Opinion columns across the nation questioning if it was safe for someone like Superman to have children, podcasters debating if even just one child would fulfill the desires of his biological parents, and Bruce can’t even count how many times he’s caught Clark doomscrolling on various social media platforms.
And he understands why Clark is worried. The last time social media became so negative towards him, a federal judge set the precedent that aliens have no legal rights. That’s not the problem.
The problem is that Clark keeps seeking it out. Bruce is perhaps not one to talk, and he can’t necessarily blame him for trying to find this information, but at some point it gets unhealthy. Even Superman can’t thrive surrounded by negativity, and—
Bruce hears glass breaking down below. He peers over to see a crew breaking into a closed jewelry through a now-broken window. A quick scan shows that the alarm was disabled remotely. He pushes his concerns about his family (minus Jason, who aside from some issues in math is doing well, and Alfred, who is aside from his usual gripes about his knee and Bruce hurtling himself into danger is also doing well) aside, creeping down the side of the building opposite the theft.
“... c’mon, man, hurry up! You wanna get caught by the cops? Or worse?” Bruce hears as he slips across the street.
“Don’t fuckin’ rush me you dick! Besides, what’s the likelihood that out of all the places in all the neighborhoods in this giant fuckin’ city, the Bat would be here—”
Bruce tosses a batarang through the window. It embeds itself in the wall next to one of the thieves’ heads.
“... shit.”
“Get him!”
A number of the thieves try to rush him. The first one is easy to take care of, likely because he has little actual combat experience or training— he tucked his thumb into his fist for god’s sake. He throws him to the side easily. The second one is a little better, and nearly manages to get a hit on him before Bruce slams his knee into his gut and lets him fall to the side. The third grabs him by the arm, and gets a punch in the face for his trouble.
The fourth, seemingly a bit smarter than the others, comes at him with a crowbar. Unfortunately for him, Bruce easily dodges, and with a palmstrike and a knee to the gut the thief goes down.
When they’re all in various heaps on the floor, Bruce exhales, then notifies the police. Once they’re all secured, he slips out of the building, slinking into the shadowy alley across the street. From there, he waits, watching as the police arrive.
To his surprise, Gordon is among them. He makes his way over to the mouth of the alley, turning and watching the arrests happen.
“You gonna keep standing there or what?” He asks.
Slowly, Bruce slinks forward.
“Not usually the kind of call you show up to,” he comments.
“Normally wouldn’t, but I needed to talk to you and this is a lot less flashy than using a giant spotlight.”
Bruce grunts.
“What is it?”
“I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the apartment building in the Narrows.”
Bruce frowns.
“The Narrows?”
“The kidnapping you busted up. Kidnapper’s face was practically rearranged. You were…” Gordon glances over at him, concern evident in his eyes. “You haven’t been that vicious in years. Not since the flood, and then the kid. You good, or…?”
“I wasn’t in the Narrows tonight,” Bruce tells him.
Gordon’s eyebrows rise.
“You weren’t?”
“I’ve been patrolling this area for hours. Whatever happened at the apartment building wasn’t my doing.”
“... huh,” Gordon says, brow notched in concern. “And I’m guessing you’re not letting Robin run around on his own.”
“Not at his age.”
“Fair. But then who… you don’t suppose we have a rogue vigilante on our hands?”
“I don’t know yet,” Bruce says, turning towards his bike, “but I’m going to find out.”
Gordon sighs.
“I’ll get the paperwork ready,” he mutters.
The area around the building is cordoned off, as expected. Gordon’s already got the message to whoever’s in charge of the crime scene, so all Bruce has to do is duck under the police tape. His eyes zero in on a bench just outside the building, where Officer Montoya is sitting with a small, blonde girl. He doesn’t plan to go over there, at least not yet, but then the girl looks up.
There, in purple pajamas with characters on the shirt that Bruce vaguely recognizes as being from some movie on Netflix Jason not-so-secretly loves, is Stephanie Brown.
Bruce’s stomach sinks. He’s been keeping an eye on her the past few months, but she’d seemed to be in an alright position.
Or so he thought. Clearly, he’d missed something.
That doesn’t seem to matter to Stephanie, however. Her eyes light up, and she scrambles off the bench.
“Wait—” Montoya calls, but Stephanie resolutely ignores her as she runs straight up to Bruce.
“Batman!” She calls, running up to him. “Batman, hi!”
“Hello,” he responds. “You shouldn’t run away from Officer Montoya like that.”
Stephanie wrinkles her nose.
“Why?”
“Because it’s rude.”
“Oh.” She turns towards Montoya. “Sorry!”
Montoya just sighs, then looks at Bruce expectantly.
“You should go back,” Bruce instructs.
“Nah-uh.”
“No? Why not?”
“Daddy said we shouldn’t talk to cops before he left,” Stephanie replies. “I already telled the lady that.”
Ah. So that’s what Crystal told her.
“Officer Montoya is trustworthy,” he tells her. “You should answer her questions.”
Stephanie makes a face.
“But I don’t wanna,” she complains.
Bruce thins his lips, then kneels down in front of Stephanie.
“What if you talked to me? Would that be better?”
Stephanie gasps again, her face lighting up.
“Yeah!” She cheers, bouncing up and down on her toes.
“Alright. But you should sit down while we talk.”
“Okay!” She agrees before grabbing Bruce’s hand and trying to drag him back toward the bench Montoya is sitting on. “I wanna talk to Batman!”
Montoya frowns, eyeing Bruce for a moment before looking back at Stephanie.
“Okay, you can talk to him while I’m here.”
“No! No cops!”
Bruce forces his face to remain neutral, somewhat displeased by the reminder that even after Tim reaches his third birthday, he’ll likely still be obstinate.
“I’ll take her statement,” he says instead.
“You’re not a cop,” she reminds him.
“Seems like that would work out in our favor,” he reminds her.
After a moment, Montoya sighs.
“Fine. Just tell me what she tells you when you’re done.”
Montoya walks away to confer with one of the CS techs. Bruce looks down at Stephanie, who smiles at him.
“What’s your name?” He asks— he knows, of course, but she doesn’t know that.
“Stephanie!” She replies, holding up three fingers. “I’m three, almost four. Can I have fruit snacks? I heard you give kids fruit snacks.”
“It’s too late for fruit snacks,” he replies.
Stephanie pouts. Bruce remains unmoved.
Stephanie narrows her eyes, then takes a huge breath, puffing out her cheeks.
“That’s not going to work,” he tells her.
She glares at him, cheeks still puffed.
Bruce stares back.
Stephanie’s face starts to turn red.
Bruce keeps staring.
Finally, right when Bruce thinks she’s about to start turning purple, she lets go, gasping for breath.
“You’re… mean,” she accuses.
“No, I have rules. And one of those is no fruit snacks after eleven PM.”
“I bet Robin doesn’t have to follow that rule,” Stephanie mutters.
“In fact he does,” Bruce replies. “But that’s not relevant.”
Stephanie frowns, but nods.
“... re-le-vant means im-por-tant, right?” She asks, sounding out the larger words.
“It does.” Bruce turns his body towards her, keeping his body relaxed so as to not stress her unnecessarily. “Stephanie, can you tell me what happened tonight?”
“I was sleepin’ at home. Mrs. Berkowitz the neighbor lady was watchin’ me while Mommy was at work. I got wokeded up by a loud scream and a big bang noise, and then this guy in a mask came in and grabbed me and took me out of my room. I was crying really hard, and he said something about Daddy owing a bird guy money.”
Bruce frowns.
“What kind of bird?”
“Ummmmm… oh! A penguin!”
Bruce resists the urge to sigh. Of course Brown got in deep with Penguin.
“What happened next?”
“The bad man took me downstairs, and then right when we were leaving this shadow came out of nowhere and kicked him in the face and grabbed me and put me down on the sidewalk!”
Bruce blinks.
“A… shadow?”
“Uh-huh. It was real dark, so I couldn’t see too good.”
“Hm. Did you notice anything at all about the shadow? What they were wearing, how tall they were?”
“Um… they were wearing a hoodie, and…” Stephanie hops off the bench, then gets on her tiptoes and stretches her arms as far up as they’ll go. “This tall!”
Bruce grunts.
“Alright. What happened after the shadow put you down?”
“Well, the guy tried to get back up, so they ran up to him and started beating him up on the stairs.” Stephanie wrinkles her nose as she sits back down. “They beated him up for a long time. He made weird noises.”
Bruce purses his lips, but nods.
“What happened next?”
“A lady on the first floor opened her window and yelled that she was calling the cops, so the figure ran away. I waited til they got here, and then the cop lady tried to talk to me, and then you got here, and now we’re done!” She finishes with a smile.
“Did you recognize the man who tried to take you?”
Stephanie shakes her head.
“Mommy made Daddy stop bringing his friends over a loooooong time ago,” she says. “Then Daddy moved out and I didn’t get to see him no more.”
Bruce tries not to wince, guilt bubbling up in his throat.
It was for the best, he reminds himself. Brown chose his anger over being a parent. She’s better off without him.
“Alright, Stephanie. Do you know if your mom is coming home soon?”
“Um… she was workin’ at the hop-pital, so I dunno—”
“Stephanie!”
Stephanie’s eyes light up. She immediately hops off the bench, running across the courtyard and towards Crystal.
“Mommy!” She cries, practically launching herself at her. Crystal holds her tight, shoulders shaking slightly.
Bruce glances over at Montoya, who looks back at him and nods before they both approach.
“Ms. Brown,” Montoya starts, “I’m sure you’re in a lot of shock right now.”
“Why would someone do this?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, ma’am.”
“Stephanie told me that the man who kidnapped her was connected to the Penguin,” Bruce states. Crystal startles a little, apparently not having noticed him.
“I… why would the Penguin come after us?”
“Your ex-husband’s debts. Have you received any odd communications recently?”
“I… there’ve been some letters.”
“How many?”
“Five. I… I didn’t think they were serious. I thought it was a teenager messing around. I didn’t… I can’t pay anything.”
“You won’t have to,” Montoya reassures her. “We’re gonna help you, okay? I’m gonna call for back-up and get you back to the station.”
“I’ll verify the officers sent,” Bruce adds before looking over at Montoya. “Take them yourself when you follow the usual protocol after questioning.”
“What protocol?” Crystal asks. “What are you going to do?”
“You’ll be taken to a shelter I’ve personally vetted. Plain vehicle, nothing to indicate police presence.”
Crystal looks tense, but nods. Montoya makes the call, and they’re gone about ten minutes later, the other detective on the scene taking over.
Bruce exhales, then turns, heading for the stairs. The CS techs appear to be about done documenting it, and so have no objections to Bruce doing a scan.
The amount of blood coating the stairs is… unsettling. The scan confirms that it’s less than a lethal amount of blood loss, but still enough that anyone who lost that much would need to be hospitalized.
Gordon had called the incident vicious, and from where Bruce is standing, he can’t say that he was wrong.
Whoever did this did it angry.
Bruce hears a rustle. He looks up to see a shadowy figure retreat behind the building.
He frowns, then, taking a step back as not to knock anything over, follows the figure.
They’re fast. Bruce has to walk quickly to keep up, only able to track them because of his contacts. Finally, though, he finds himself in an alley with a wooden fence in the back.
There’s nothing else here. For a moment, he thinks the figure escaped, until…
Bruce pauses, thinning his lips.
He learned more things than he can count when he was training with the League. How to fight, how to survive, how to infiltrate places without being noticed.
How to tell when he’s being watched.
It’s a feeling, creeping down the back of his neck. An itch, unignorable and persistent. His instincts scream for him to protect himself against whatever potential threat is there.
He moves his head slightly, angling it towards a shadowy corner and letting the scanner get to work.
His contacts illuminate a figure in the dark. Taller than Stephanie, as she reported, but only about a foot or so. Thin. Utterly still, but not in a way that suggests fear.
Rather, it suggests training. Training he’s all too familiar with.
“I know you’re there,” he says.
The figure doesn’t move.
“I can see you,” he says, turning towards them. “If you come into the light, I won’t fight you.”
The figure remains still.
Fine, then. He gave them the opportunity to move on their own. He takes a few steps towards the dark, never taking his eyes off the figure as he gets close to enough to make out their facial features—
They drop down, sweeping his legs out from under him. He manages to catch himself with a roll, then grab their leg as they try to escape. They stumble forward, losing their balance just long enough for Bruce to pop up and grab their arm.
“Stop—”
The figure tries to roundhouse kick him in the face. Bruce catches it.
“Stop that—”
The figure punches him in the mouth. Bruce recoils, the taste of blood landing on his tongue as his grip loosens. Within seconds, the figure has run off, dashing down the alley, clambering over a fence, and running into the night.
Bruce grimaces, wiping his mouth. There’s a slight ache, and he feels something near his lip; when he spits it out, he sees something small and white amongst the blood.
He turns, glaring at the alley.
Whoever it was, they’re good enough to get the drop on him. That alone makes them dangerous.
Clark is waiting for him when he gets back to the cave. Bruce winces, and not just from the pain— much as he occasionally enjoys Clark fussing over him, now isn’t one of those times. With a slight sigh, he parks the car, then gets out.
Clark looks up from his phone (Bruce resists the urge to sigh again), smiling up at him.
“Hey, darlin’, how was— oh, geez, what happened?”
“Got punched in the mouth,” Bruce replies. “Think they chipped a tooth—”
Clark is by his side in a flash, gently tugging him towards the stool in front of his computer.
“Here, let me see.”
“Clark—”
“Let me see,” Clark insists as he sits him down.
Bruce huffs.
“You realize that this is not the first time I’ve had dental issues from being Batman.”
“Yes, which is why I’d really, really love it if you wore a mouthguard, but I also realize I’m not going to win that argument. Now open your mouth, please.”
Bruce briefly wishes he was hearing that under more pleasant circumstances, but acquiesces. Clark winces.
“Bottom left canine. How bad is the pain?”
“Dull. Manageable.”
“Okay, well, I’d schedule a dental appointment as soon as possible just in case. Don’t wanna risk an infection or anything.”
“Mm. I’ll do that right away,” Bruce says. “In the meantime—”
He hears a woosh, then looks down to see two Tylenol tablets and a bottle of water on his desk.
“In the meantime you should take this,” Clark urges gently.
“Clark, I’ve endured worse than a chipped tooth.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Clark argues.
Bruce sighs, then picks up the Tylenol and swallows it dry.
“Hey, come on, I gave you water,” Clark complains.
Bruce simply shrugs. Clark sighs.
He looks… tired.
“Are you alright?”
Clark blinks.
“I— of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Bruce sighs.
“I saw you on your phone again.”
Clark flinches.
“I wasn’t on Twitter. Or Instagram, or anything like that,” he says. Clark has never been the best at lying to him, so Bruce is fairly certain he’s telling the truth there.
“Then what were you doing?”
“I was reading an article.” Again, the truth.
“About what?”
Clark looks away.
“... Wayne Enterprises’ projected earnings for the upcoming fiscal quarter?” Clark tries.
“Clark.”
Clark winces.
“... it was about me,” he admits. “Or, Superman, rather.”
Bruce gives him a look.
“Clark.”
“I-It wasn’t bad!” Clark tries to argue. “And I can’t just ignore criticism—”
“Clark, you’re a journalist. You know there’s a line between criticism and outright bashing.” Bruce sighs. “I don’t understand why you keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“You keep looking up articles and social media posts about you, even when you know they’re going to be negative, and then getting upset.”
“I don’t purposely seek it out, there’s just… there’s a lot of negative stuff out there about Superman right now.”
“And you know that going in.”
“How do you know I’m not trying to find positive stories and just stumbling on the negative ones? It’s not like there’s a— a filter or something.”
Bruce grimaces.
“I suppose I can’t know your exact intentions,” he concedes, “but the end result is the same. You’re just hurting your own feelings at this point.”
Clark clenches his jaw.
“I can handle criticism, Bruce. I’m not a little kid.”
“I didn’t say you were. But you’re still hurt by it.”
Clark folds his arms across his chest, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Clark—”
“Bruce, just… just leave it alone, okay?”
Bruce presses his lips together, then sighs and turns towards his computer.
“Fine.”
Neither of them speak for a long moment as Bruce slides off the cowl and takes out his contacts. It’s only when they’ve started transferring the data that Clark speaks up again.
“I… actually came down here to talk to you about something.”
Bruce bites back a snarky comment about how it apparently wasn’t his doomscrolling; that would be unhelpful.
“Do you still want to talk about it?” He asks, typing in a few notes.
“I… yeah, I do.”
“Alright. Go ahead.”
He hears Clark take a breath behind him.
“I think maybe we should think about giving the Kryptonite to someone else.”
Bruce’s fingers freeze against the keyboard. Slowly, he turns towards Clark.
“What are you talking about?” He asks slowly, as measured as he possibly can be.
“I just— I’ve been thinking about it, and things are a lot different than when we agreed that you’d be the one to take me down if…” Clark swallows. “If it came to that. We weren’t together then.”
Bruce narrows his eyes.
“You think I’ll hesitate because we’re together?”
Clark sighs.
“Bruce, we love each other. More than that, we have kids together. It would be entirely understandable if you were to hesitate now.”
“I was in love with you when I made that promise, Clark.”
“Yeah, but we weren’t together. You can’t say that doesn’t make things different than just being in love with me.”
“It doesn’t. I wouldn’t have hesitated then, I won’t hesitate now.”
“You don’t know that,” Clark argues. “You can’t know how you’ll feel until it happens, and—”
“I do know,” Bruce interrupts. “I love you, Clark, but if it comes down to it I know what choice I’ll make.”
“Again, you don’t know that—”
“Would you?”
Clark frowns.
“Would I what?”
“If it were me. If I needed to be taken down, would you do it?”
Clark purses his lips, then glances away.
“... I don’t know,” he admits.
“You don’t know?”
“I mean, I— I might hesitate, but… look, I’m not the only person on the planet capable of taking you down. It’s different.”
“So your solution is to make someone else the only person on the planet who can take you down?”
“It’d be someone who isn’t in love with me,” Clark insists, “someone who I don’t share a life with, who’s more…”
“... more what?” Bruce demands, eyes narrowed.
“... objective.”
Bruce glares at him.
“You think I can’t be objective?”
Clark sighs.
“Bruce, c’mon. Be honest.”
“I am being honest. Nothing that’s happened between us will change the reality of what will need to be done if— if— you need to be taken out. Just because you can’t be objective and are projecting that onto me—”
“I’m not projecting.”
“You are, and I don’t appreciate it. There’s no need to make this unnecessarily complicated.”
“Okay, one, that’s rich coming from you, and two, it wouldn’t be unnecessarily complicated, it would just be giving it to someone else.”
“And trusting that they, if compromised, wouldn’t take advantage of having Kryptonite to take you out.”
Clark falters a bit.
“... okay, yeah, that… that could be an issue,” he admits.
Bruce scoffs, then turns back to his computer.
“Bruce, we’re not done with the conversation.”
“I am. Your proposal is flawed, and you admitted to that. We keep the plan we have now, end of discussion.”
“It is absolutely not the end of this discussion. The old plan is flawed too.”
“It’s not.”
“It is. What if, I don’t know, somebody kidnaps Dick and threatens you into using it against me? Or one of our other kids?”
“That was always a possibility, and I’d do what I would have done before: find a way out of it. Be honest with yourself, Clark, there’s nothing wrong with the plan we have now. I don’t understand why you’re so insistent that it won’t—”
“Because I’m worried that you won’t be able to handle it after!”
Bruce freezes as the cave goes absolutely silent. Not even the bats make a sound.
Neither of them speak for a very long minute.
Finally, Bruce takes a breath.
“I will do what needs to be done, regardless of how it would affect me after. If you don’t know that, Clark, then I question how well you know me at all.”
“Bruce… Bruce, I’m—”
“Enough, Clark. It’s late, and I have work to do.”
“You can’t just—”
“Enough. Please.”
“... okay,” he hears Clark murmur. Seconds later, he hears footsteps, then the elevator doors open and close.
Bruce lets out a long, deep sigh, leaning forward and running his hand over his face.
His chipped tooth aches a bit, which is just the icing on the cake of a rather awful night.
Bruce works late into the night, though he’s only mildly surprised when his phone goes off with a reminder to take a shower before his dental appointment.
It’s obvious that his bed hasn’t been slept in. Bruce’s stomach twists, but he ignores it, showering quickly before heading to the elevator.
His stomach growls, and he sighs before pressing the button for the main residential floor.
The ride down is quiet at least. Though when it ends, he braces himself for the oncoming chaos.
“NO!”
Right on time, he thinks as he steps out of the elevator. He walks up to the kitchen table to find Alfred with a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in his hands, standing on one side of Tim with Clark on the other. Tim has his arms folded across his chest, a stubborn expression on his face, while Jason looks mildly annoyed over his own half-eaten breakfast.
Conner, for his part, is eating mango chunks, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil at the rest of the table.
“Master Timothy, please. You need to eat breakfast.”
“No! No like eggs!”
“You had an omelette yesterday,” an exasperated Clark reminds him. “You loved it.”
“Omelette yucky! Eggs yucky! No!”
“Then just eat the bacon and toast or something,” Jason grouses, “and stop complaining so I can eat in peace.”
“Noooooo, yucky!”
Bruce resists the urge to sigh, walking around to look at the plate. He then frowns.
“Tim,” he starts, “is the problem with the bacon and toast that they’re touching the eggs?”
Tim lights up a bit.
“Yeah! Yucky!”
Alfred blinks, then sags ever so slightly in clear relief.
“That is an issue I can resolve.”
He turns to take the plate back to the counter, though he stops after a moment.
“I assume you would like the eggs gone, Master Timothy?”
“Yes!”
A thought occurs to Bruce, and he hums.
“I suppose that’s alright. It’s too bad, though.”
“Why?” Tim asks.
“Well, I’ve heard Batman likes scrambled eggs, that’s all.”
Tim’s eyes go wide.
“Keep eggs!” He yells. “Please!”
Bruce holds back a smirk as Alfred nods.
“Very well. I will simply separate the foods and return in a moment.”
“Thank you!” Tim chirps before kicking his legs in excitement.
Next to him, Clark lets out a long sigh. Bruce glances over at him.
“... morning,” he offers.
Clark glances up at him. The smile he gives him doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Morning. You, uh, you schedule that dental appointment?”
“Mm. Going to eat quickly, head back up to brush my teeth, then head out. Should be back by noon.”
“That’s good.”
Neither of them speak for a moment before Bruce clears his throat.
“Did Dick come down already?”
“No, he’s still asleep in his room,” Clark replies.
“Hm. I’ll ask Alfred to make sure he’s up by noon, then.” He looks down at his watch. “I need to get moving.”
“Right…”
Bruce hesitates for a second.
“We can… talk later?” He suggests.
Clark looks up at him, searching. Bruce gives him a small smile, hoping it’s reassuring.
This time, Clark’s smile is smaller, but not quite as forced.
“Yeah. I think we should.”
Bruce nods just as Alfred sets Tim’s plate in front of him, then walks over to the fridge, grabbing a spoon and a greek yogurt. He eats in silence, then cleans up after himself before passing by the kitchen table again to kiss the top of Conner’s head. Conner giggles, and Bruce smiles before his eyes catch on Jason, who now has his head propped up with his hand as he pushes food around on his plate.
“Everything alright?” He asks.
“Huh? Oh, uh…” Jason takes a bite of his eggs, then swallows. “M’fine. Just… tired.”
Bruce frowns, but before he can say anything his phone beeps, telling him he’s got thirty minutes to get to his appointment.
“If you say so,” he says before heading out of the kitchen.
He glances at Clark once more as he turns the corner, pushing down the anxiety in his gut.
The appointment goes well. The damage was less than Bruce thought, and the dentist is able to fix it within an hour. By the time Bruce manages to get back to Wayne Tower an hour after that, the local anesthetic has mostly worn off.
The first thing he does when he gets home is head up to Conner’s room to check on him while he naps. He’s sound asleep, of course, and perfectly well.
The bed— the actual bed that was put in here when this room was still only a guest room— is made, but not in Alfred or Dory’s picture-perfect style. Bruce’s heart squeezes, and he swallows, glancing at Conner once more before leaving the room. As soon as he closes the door behind him, however, his phone begins to ring in his pocket. Pulling it out reveals that Alfred is calling him.
“Alfred?”
“Bruce.” Alfred sounds as exasperated as he did this morning. “I don’t imagine you’re at home, are you?”
“Got back about fifteen minutes ago. Was just checking on Conner. Why?”
“Another one of your sons is being rather obstinate.”
Bruce resists the urge to sigh.
“What happened with Tim now?”
“Actually, he’s been behaving quite well since this morning. It’s Dick, he’s shut himself in his room. I’m not sure he’s eaten anything yet today.”
Bruce frowns.
“Alright, I’ll head down to his floor and see if he’s alright.”
“Very well, sir. Hopefully you’ll have better luck than I did.”
Bruce huffs, then hangs up, making his way over to the elevator. A few minutes later, he’s knocking on Dick’s door.
“Dick? Dick, it’s me. Alfred said you’ve been in here all day, are you alright?”
No response. He knocks again.
“Dick, I’m going to get worried if you don’t answer me.”
“Ugh, I’m fine,” Dick calls after a minute.
“Glad to hear that. May I come in?”
“No.”
Bruce shrugs.
“Alright.”
He folds his arms across his chest, waiting.
“... that means leave, Bruce,” Dick complains.
“Sorry, but I can’t do that. Something’s clearly up with you.”
“Did you ever think I don’t want to share that?”
“That’s fine, but you still need to leave your room and eat something. You do that, we’ll call it even.”
A beat, and then Dick lets out a long, aggravated groan. Bruce hears his feet thumping against the ground, and then he opens the door, still in pajamas and looking a bit worse for wear.
“You alright?” Bruce asks.
“Fine. I’ll go eat something,” he mutters, scooting past Bruce. Bruce hums, then follows him to the elevator. “Seriously?”
“I haven’t eaten much today either,” he tells him. “Had to get a chipped tooth repaired.”
Dick rolls his eyes as he gets into the elevator.
“Fine. Whatever.”
He doesn’t say anything else on the ride down. Bruce decides not to make him— Dick is stubborn when he wants to be.
They split some leftover squash soup. Tim is sitting at the kitchen table scribbling on a piece of paper, a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich next to him.
“Tim, you should finish your sandwich,” Bruce reminds him.
“No!” Tim replies, not even looking up from his drawing.
Bruce sighs.
“Batman would finish his sandwich.”
Tim stops drawing, then drops his crayon and picks up the sandwich.
Bruce sighs, then glances over at Dick, who is staring at him incredulously.
“... why didn’t you do that like a week ago?”
“Because I didn’t think of it until this morning,” he replies. “Now eat your soup.”
Dick rolls his eyes again, but does as directed.
Things are quiet for a few minutes. Tim finishes his sandwich and starts drawing again. Bruce finishes his soup, though when he glances over at Dick he sees that he’s pushing around the dregs of his.
He clears his throat.
“Tim, would you mind giving us a little privacy?”
Tim squints at him.
“... Batman give pri’cy?”
“Yes.”
“Mmmm… otay!” Tim gets up, taking his crayons and paper and wandering off toward the living room.
Once they’re alone, Bruce takes a breath.
“I meant it when you said that you didn’t have to tell me,” he starts, “but if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”
Dick doesn’t say anything for a minute, before letting out a long sigh.
“I had a fight with Barbara.”
Bruce blinks.
“An… actual fight, or just a long argument?”
“Actual fight. We yelled at each other.”
Bruce hums.
“You two don’t fight for real very often. What happened?”
“She said that she thought I was avoiding her.”
Bruce frowns.
“Are you?”
Dick doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
“Why are you avoiding Barbara?”
Dick makes a face, then sighs again.
“Barbara’s… been talking about this guy,” Dick starts quietly. “Sam. He’s doing her coding day camp with her, and she keeps talking about how smart and well-spoken he is and…”
He huffs bitterly.
“She talks about him all the time. It’s really annoying.”
“Why is it annoying?”
“Cause I don’t wanna talk about some guy all the time! It’s like it’s the only thing she ever talks about!”
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
“Yeah, well…” Dick shifts in his chair. “I’m pretty sure she likes him, so…”
“Ah, I see. And you’re jealous.”
Dick scoffs.
“No, I just don’t see what’s so great about that guy.”
“Have you ever even met him?”
“... no,” he admits. “But it feels like he’s all she’s interested in now.”
“You’ve had a crush before, Dick— remember Ashley?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me, that was embarrassing. And anyway, Ashley wasn’t the only thing I ever talked about.”
Bruce purses his lips.
“It wasn’t!” Dick insists.
“Sure. But either way, she’ll eventually get over him.”
Dick shifts in his chair again.
“... what if he likes her back?” He asks quietly. “And they start going out, and…”
“And what?”
“... and he doesn’t want her to be my friend anymore.”
“Ah.” Bruce clears his throat. “Well, I think Barbara would have the self-respect to dump a guy like that, but that’s still something you should talk to her about.”
“... what if she thinks it’s stupid?”
“I don’t think she will. But do you actually think she’ll think that?”
Dick shrugs. Bruce sighs.
“Well, either way, it’s probably moot.”
“Why?”
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Dick, you and Barbara are thirteen. You’re too young to date anyone.”
“What? No way, lots of kids my age date!”
“Yes, but not all of them have Chief Gordon as a father.”
Dick opens his mouth, then closes it.
“Oh yeah…” Dick shuffles again. “... I should probably apologize to her for the fight.”
“Mm, probably.” Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. “But I’m sure things will be alright, Dick. You and Barbara have a very strong friendship. It can outlast a crush.”
“... right,” Dick mumbles quietly. Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Is there something else you want to talk about?”
“No, no, I’m—” Dick gets up from his chair, “I’m good. I’m… gonna go call her, it’s not a camp day.”
“Alright,” Bruce says slowly.
Dick starts to walk away, then stops in the doorway.
“Thanks,” he says, “for the advice.”
He’s gone before Bruce can say “you’re welcome,” leaving him a bit confused.
Dick will tell him when he’s ready, he decides while gathering up the bowls. No point in pushing him too hard.
Bruce mostly works in his home office the rest of the day. True, he could easily just go downstairs to his actual office, but if he did that he wouldn’t be able to have Conner in his playpen, and Tim wouldn’t be able to come in and show him his drawings every once in a while. Even still, he gets more work done this way, but even if he didn’t he’d take the tradeoff in a heartbeat.
The one issue is that he can’t do much looking into the shadowy figure. The attempted kidnapping has been reported on, with the Browns’ names redacted of course, but the news hasn’t uncovered anything Bruce didn’t already know. Before last night the only known vigilante activity in Gotham was Batman and Robin, with occasional help from the others.
If he could, he’d go out looking, but somehow he doesn’t think he’d be all that successful. He doubts the figure will return to that alley.
So instead, he does his actual job, taking breaks to tend to Conner when needed.
It’s around five that he gets a knock on the door. This is unusual, as Tim doesn’t knock and Dick doesn’t typically come into his office without texting first.
“Come in,” he calls. The door opens, and Jason pokes his head in. Conner babbles happily, which knocks the worried look off his face, though only for a moment.
“Hello, Jason,” Bruce greets. “Did you need something?”
Jason doesn’t reply, instead closing the door behind him and walking over to the desk. He looks pensive, wringing his hands a bit.
Bruce frowns.
“Is something wrong?”
“... are you and Clark breaking up?”
Bruce blinks, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.
“What?”
“Are you guys gonna break up? Cause— cause you were being all weird this morning, and you said you were gonna talk later, and, and you didn’t kiss him goodbye, and,” Jason’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears now, “please tell me you’re not gonna break up, cause I really like having him around and I don’t wanna lose—”
“Jason,” Bruce interrupts, getting up from the desk and walking around to him, “Jason, breathe.”
Jason takes several short, quick breaths.
“Slower, you’ll make yourself hyperventilate.” Bruce demonstrates for him, and Jason slowly calms down a bit. “Okay. Jason, Clark and I had an argument.”
Pure fear flashes over Jason’s face.
“No, listen. We had an argument, but we’re not going to break up over it. It was just an argument.”
An admittedly rather bad argument, but Jason doesn’t need to know that right now.
“But— but what if—” Jason takes another breath. “What if he just— just leaves?”
“Jason, do you honestly think he’s the type of man who would do that?”
“... no,” Jason admits, “but… I didn’t think my dad would either.”
Bruce’s heart sinks, and he sighs.
“Clark isn’t the same kind of person as your father,” Bruce tells him. “He’s loyal. Stubborn to a fault. He won’t leave.”
“... are you sure?”
“I spent most of our early acquaintance trying— and failing— to get him to go away. I’m sure.”
Jason lets out a small laugh, though he’s still teary-eyed. He sniffs a little.
“I just… I don’t wanna lose this,” he says quietly. “I feel like I just got a family, and— and I’m scared that… that I’ll lose it again.”
Bruce’s heart aches for him, and he sighs, reaching up to brush some hair behind Jason’s ear.
“No matter what happens, you will always have a home here,” Bruce promises.
Jason’s lower lip wobbles, and he sniffs again before diving to hug Bruce. Bruce holds him tight, hushing him gently.
When he opens his eyes, he sees Clark standing in the doorway, still in his suit and glasses from work. He looks completely forlorn, and Bruce knows he heard every word of that conversation.
“Jason,” Clark says quietly after a moment. Jason all but tears himself away from Bruce, eyes wide.
“Clark!” He shouts, running over to him. Clark kneels down just in time to catch him, picking him up and holding him close.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry we scared you.”
Jason doesn’t answer, just burrows further into Clark’s arms.
Bruce slowly rises to his feet, but before he can say anything, there’s a loud thump, followed by a whine. Bruce turns to see that Conner has thrown one of his toys against the wall, seemingly displeased with something. Bruce sighs, then walks over to the playpen and pulls him out.
He and Clark exchange a silent look, one saying that they need to talk, but that they can handle this together.
At least, that’s what Bruce hopes it says.
Eventually, Jason calms down, seeming a bit embarrassed about his behavior in spite of both Clark and Bruce telling him it’s fine. Alfred comes to usher both him and Conner to dinner, much to the latter’s displeasure.
Bruce closes the door behind them, sighing again.
“Rough day?”
“Mm. Hate going to the dentist. And Dick and Barbara had a fight— apparently he’s been distant because she’s been talking nonstop about a boy she likes, and he was worried it would affect their friendship.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“To talk to her about it. And that Barbara was very unlikely to let a boy tell her what to do, no matter how much she may like him.”
Clark snorts.
“True enough. How was Tim?”
“Fine. Telling him Batman would do something seems to be convincing.”
Clark groans.
“Really wish we’d thought of that a week ago.”
“At least we know now,” Bruce replies. “Handy to have if we need it.”
Clark chuckles, then looks up at him with a smile. After a moment, the smile slips away, and he sighs.
“Bruce, I… I’m sorry.” He leans back against the desk, taking off his glasses. “I didn’t… you were right, my plan has as many flaws as the old one. Maybe more.”
Bruce hums.
“Do you really think I can’t handle taking you down, Clark?” He takes a step closer. “Because I won’t lie and say the thought isn’t painful, but I made a promise. If it comes down to it, I’ll keep it.”
Clark exhales.
“No,” he admits, “I know you could handle it, I just…”
“You just…”
“... I don’t want you to have to go through that.” Clark looks up at him, eyes a little shiny. “I don’t want you to have to be the one to make that call. The idea of putting you through all of that just…”
Bruce feels something in him soften a bit. He walks across the office, stopping right in front of Clark and cupping his cheek.
“It’s not something I ever want to do,” Bruce tells him. “I hope it’ll never come to that, that we’ll find some other way, but… I’m willing to do it if there’s no other solution. If it’s between you and the world…”
Clark smiles a little sadly.
“I know,” he says quietly. “And I wouldn’t want you to do anything else.”
Bruce looks at him for a minute, then sighs.
“We could possibly discuss other methods to take you down with the others. Zatanna and Constantine—”
Clark makes a face.
“Clark.”
“Sorry. Instincts.”
“We can ask them if they’d be willing to use magic on you. It might not be able to neutralize you entirely, but it would slow you down.”
Clark nods.
“Okay. That… that would make me feel a little better,” he says.
Bruce nods, then runs his thumb over his cheek.
“I accept your apology,” he murmurs, “but can you tell me what got you thinking about this?”
Clark winces, looking away.
“... an article I read,” he admits. “It was kind of rehashing talking points from last year, but… I realized that now that we’re together, things… felt different. There’s a lot more at stake for you personally now.”
“There was always something at stake for me personally.”
“Yeah, but now we have the boys, and… I dunno, things feel so much more complicated than it did when we agreed to the plan. And if you couldn’t do it, then… then there wasn’t anyone else that could. I’d just be unstoppable, and I don’t— I don’t want to—”
Clark is shaking a little now.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Bruce, I don’t— I don’t want people to be afraid of me, or— or of Conner—”
Bruce hushes Clark, pulling him into his arms. He rubs his back gently, letting him calm down.
He looks like a mess when he pulls back, and Bruce sighs.
“I think… I think some people are always going to be afraid of you.”
Clark winces.
“No, listen. No matter how much good you do, how much of yourself you give, there will always be someone somewhere who doesn’t trust you. Who won’t ever like you, and will always seek to tear you down. You can’t change everyone’s mind. I know that all too well.”
He cups his cheek again.
“And focusing on the people who don’t like you is hurting you. You’ve done it for years, but it’s gotten much worse recently, and I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on it.”
Clark glances away.
“... I keep thinking that… that if I don’t keep an eye on it, it’ll get worse,” he admits. “It’ll get to the point it did last year, and people will think I’m some monster all over again. And I— I know a lot of that was stirred up by… by Luthor, but I… if it happens again, this time without him, then how am I supposed to fix it?”
“You keep being yourself,” Bruce says. “You keep doing what’s right, and you keep getting back up.”
Clark exhales, running a hand through his hair.
“I’m just so tired,” he says quietly. “I’m tired of people thinking I could snap at any minute, and I’m tired of…”
“Tired of what?”
“... tired of thinking about Luthor.” He swallows. “I know he was found guilty, I know he’s in jail, but I keep thinking that something will happen, and…”
Clark trembles a little.
“I keep thinking about the way he talked about me, like I was some… animal. How he talked about the clones— Conner. And I…” He takes a breath. “I think maybe I was looking for something else to spiral about. Something that didn’t feel so… violating.”
Bruce stays quiet for a moment.
“... Clark, I really think…” He takes a breath. “I think you need to talk to someone. A professional.”
Clark makes a face.
“Bruce, I told you, there’s no one out there equipped to handle what I’ve been through.”
“Then we find someone close. I’ll clear them myself, and we can swear them to secrecy. But you can’t let this keep eating you, Clark. Any of it.”
Clark swallows, then nods.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll try.”
Bruce exhales, then presses his forehead to Clark’s.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you too,” Clark replies before tilting his head to lean in for a kiss.
“I’m sorry too,” Bruce says when they part.
“For what?”
“The fight. I… didn’t handle that as well as I could have.”
Clark huffs out a laugh.
“Well, only one of us had just gotten punched in the mouth, and it wasn’t me.”
Bruce rolls his eyes, and Clark grins before a curious look crosses his face.
“How did you get punched in the mouth by the way? You’re usually better at dodging.”
“They managed to be faster than me,” Bruce answers. “Wasn’t able to block it.”
Clark whistles lowly.
“Must be a heck of a fighter to have gotten the drop on you.”
“Mm. Won’t happen again.”
“I dunno, Bruce, if they managed to get you once—”
“It won’t happen again,” Bruce insists.
Clark shrugs.
“Alright, I believe you.” He tilts Bruce’s chin up. “But, if you’re willing to put that aside, I have a few ideas on how I can make things up to you.”
Bruce frowns.
“You already apologized—”
“Bruce.”
“... ah. Go ahead.”
“Well… that new desk you just bought looks awfully sturdy…”
Bruce’s cheeks flush a bit, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Is that so?” He presses up against Clark. “I suppose we’ll just have to test that—”
A series of less-than-rhythmic knocks pierces the air.
“Alfred says we eat now!” Tim yells from behind the door.
Clark snorts as Bruce huffs.
“We’ll be right there!” Clark calls.
“Otay!”
A second later, Clark exhales.
“He’s back in the kitchen,” Clark says. “Which means—”
“Which means that we should go eat.”
Clark pouts.
“Spoilsport.”
Bruce smirks.
“Oh, I plan to take full advantage later,” he says, “when there are far fewer children awake to interrupt us.”
Clark grins wolfishly, then leans down for a kiss.
“Can’t wait.” He takes Bruce’s hand. “In the meantime, I’m ready to eat.”
Bruce snorts, but squeezes his hand, letting Clark lead him out of the office.