Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I know I agreed to this, but seriously - can't Batman just get up and take a vacation?" Clark asks, flips the cowl around to look at it. Seriously. Holy shit did Batman just like to wear uncomfortable things? Bruce looks at him with a dark scowl, and he holds his hands up, cowl dangling loosely from a hand. "I'm just saying."

"And I'm just saying," Bruce says dryly from where he's tapping rapidly against the computer, "Three days without a patrol, and I promise you that you will never see Gotham again."

"It can't be that bad," Clark mutters, but sighs and puts on the cowl. He's actually a little impressed when it's on his head - the inside is soft and silky, and the visor over his eyes was - wow, that explained how he was able to talk to so many people, this had it's own HUD? "Wish my glasses could do this," Clark says, and Batman tosses him a slightly smug look from where he's typing.

"Whiner," he mocks lightly, which from anyone else would have pissed off Clark. But given he'd accidentally let B get shot helping in Metropolis, he lets it slide. "So, where's the kid?" He asks, and Bruce looks at him in mild amusement.

"That eager to meet your biggest fan?" He asks, and Clark shivers.

"God no," he says, and Bruce actually laughs at him. "What excuse did you give your little gremlin?" He's only seen Robin at a distance, and that distance was enough. Bruce laughs harder at him.

"He's got some after-school activities this week, so I pulled him off of patrol. As far as Dick knows, I'm still going out on patrol." Here, Bruce's eyes sparkle. "Which means you have approximately a week before he figures it out."

"You say that like I'll let him," Clark says primly, and Bruce gives him an arch look. To ignore him, Clark turns away and walks to the Batmobile. "... Why is everything bat-themed, anyways?" Clark asks, curious.

"Blame my gremlin," Bruce says with an amused smile. Clark can't help the way the smile makes the usually stern-faced adult look almost... approachable. "He insisted on the theme. He said to commit or perish." Clark snorts. Okay, now he'd admit the kid sounded fun to hang around.

"Good to know that your bat kink isn't actually a thing," Clark says dryly.

"Don't make me set off the auto-destruct in the Batmobile, Clark. It'll hurt," Bruce warns, and Clark pulls a face. As if he'd have the balls. He does climb into the car regardless, and drives off.

Honestly, it's actually kind of nice, this car. Clark didn't really use cars that much - who needed to when Metropolis's metro system was so good anyways? - but he could see the appeal, especially in the quiet purr of this one, the silky feel of it under his palms soothing as he drove through the usual patrol route helpfully outlined on the display in his cowl.

"If you're lucky," Bruce's voice comes in over the comm unit, "It'll be a slow night. If not, then you'll see the skylight show up with my symbol." Clark snorts.

As it turns out, it's not a quiet night.

Now. Clark is a pacifist. He's an absolute pacifist when he can get away with it. One thing he and Bruce have always agreed on was their shared no-kill rule.

After going up against Penguin (jackass), Riddler (what the fuck, Bruce), and the Joker (clown was almost an insult to the profession), Clark is three seconds away from homicide.

"You seem annoyed," Bruce notes, a sly smirk tugging his lips.

Clark throws the cowl at him. "Fuck your city."

"It's a bit late for that," Bruce has the gall to look amused at his irritation. "I'd say this city was pretty much fucked at the beginning."

"I'm going home." He says, irritable.

"See you tomorrow," Bruce says, grinning. "I'll help you into the suit next time."

Clark does not throw the cloak on the ground.

But GOD is he tempted.

Of course, his luck runs out at the end of the week.

"Hey, B, I have -" The high pitched squeak that leaves the boy's throat makes Clark freeze. His deer in the headlights expression makes Bruce splutter around the rim of his coffee cup, and he turns them on the man helplessly.

Help. As Bruce predicted, the Boy Wonder himself had arrived.

"H-hey," Clark turns and waves a little at the starry-eyed boy and swallows.

"You're Superman," the kid breathes, visibly awed. Clark cringes a little. "I can't believe THE SUPERMAN filled in!" And then he was roped into a conversation that was full of one cartwheeling little thirteen-year-old boy who could not stop bouncing around.

Help, he mouths, but Bruce - fucking traitor - simply laughs at him over the rim of his coffee cup.

Clark will never, ever fill for him again.

Famous last words.

The next time he’s on call, it’s after Dick has left for Blüdhaven, and a new Robin has taken his place. He only agrees because he’s curious - and because Batman promised him some fancy new glasses to make up for the whole mess.

The first thing he thinks when he sees the newer Robin is curls. His hair makes Clark’s look tame in comparison when he’s in his civvies, the boy valiantly fighting against them with a wet brush and losing, Bruce smiling even despite his broken leg.

“Ouch. What caused that?” He asks, nodding towards the injury.

“Bad landing,” Bruce says honestly, eyes crinkling up into a smile. “Jaylad, c’mere,” he says, and the curly-haired boy looks at Bruce in defeat, obediently wanders over to him, and the CEO takes the brush to carefully help it lay flatter, before drying his hair off.

The curls come back, but much less rebelliously, and Jaylad beams up at Bruce.

“Thanks B!” He chirps, before hopping to his feet. He looks at Clark next, and then sticks his hand out in greeting.

“Hi, I’m Jason!” He says, and Clark smiles indulgently at the boy, shakes his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” He says warmly. “You’re my patrol partner today, right?” He asks, and the boy beams.

“Yep! B said you would need another pair of hands for this patrol,” he says cheerfully, and Clark resists the urge to pinch Jason’s - Robin’s - cheek. This kid was leagues different to Nightwing, that was for sure.

“Thanks for the help then. Let me go get changed,” he says, and Jason takes the hint, scampering off to let them talk. “So?” He says pointedly, looking at Jason. “I thought Nightwing was the first and last Robin,” he pitches his voice low, quiet without the attention-grabbing rasp of a whisper, and Bruce doesn’t - quite - wince.

“I’m good, but I can’t handle this whole city on my own,” he admits. “I didn’t intentionally adopt him for that, though.” Clark gives him an amused look, accepting Bruce’s offer of clothes to go and get changed, the two walking side by side.

“Oh? Then why?” He wonders.

“Would you believe the kid tried to steal the tires off of my Batmobile last Christmas?” Bruce says, grinning, and Clark chokes on a laugh.

“Why am I hearing about this now?” he complains with a snicker, and Bruce grins back, eyes dancing.

“Oh, I wanted you to know sooner, but Jason’s been… well, not difficult, but different.” Bruce’s smile softens; a father with a son, not an exasperated older brother. “I wanted him to settle in without having to worry about putting on a good face for everyone.” Clark hums, understanding how that went, especially after having met Dick without the hero-worship. Entering the changing room, he gets undressed and quickly puts everything on.

“Did you change the belt design?” Clark says, a little distracted. He could feel it under his fingers, a fine grit, the shape of a hook attachment underneath the belt loop.

“Oh, is that noticeable?”

“For me, yeah.” Clark says cheekily. “What’s it for?” Bruce sighs, sounds exasperated.

“It’s a belt link for Robin, in case you both need to get up somewhere quick. I thought it was faster and cheaper than just going through the trouble of making us both go through getting a grappling hook latched on.”

“Huh - makes sense,” Clark murmurs in understanding, and quickly settles the belt around his hips. After donning the shirt, Clark was good to go, stepping out and accepting the cowl Bruce offers, the cloak settling over his shoulders.

It’s ironic, that somehow, the Batman suit makes him feel… comfortable? Despite how starkly their morals and goals differed, he couldn’t dispute the fact that being Batman was actually nice. It eased old hurts, going to ground, doing the work on a more even keel than just as he did now.

“Wow!” Jason sounds impressed when he looks Clark up and down, before circling around him with amusement, Bruce following behind on his crutches with an amused look. “Maybe Batman gives you magic too,” he says interestedly to Clark, who bites back a choked laugh.

“What?” he says, bewildered, and Jason gives him a cheeky little grin.

“Y’know, like how Robin gives me magic?”

Oh my god.

“You’re so damn cute,” is what Clark says, and Jason blushes; preens adorably under Clark’s amused gaze. If Clark had a kid half as cute as Jason when he’s married, he’s done everything right. It’s an easy night, but Bruce was right - the city had grown up some, with a lot more floors in the central metropolitan area, though it wasn’t quite as high over the skyline as Metropolis, of course.

Simply beautiful skyline shots , though. Once he and Jason are back, Clark gives the kid a ruffle of his hair, the curls going haywire to the boy’s distressed whine. When Jason is well and truly gone, Bruce raises a brow.

“I’ll fill in as often as you want if he’s patrolling with me,” is all Clark says, and Bruce snorts violently, hands him his glasses case.

“I’ll pass that along to Nightwing.” Clark shudders, and Bruce laughs to see it. “As promised, one upgraded set of glasses, with optional features. I’ll send the packet to your personal email.”

“Much obliged,” Clark says, and escapes to get changed while Bruce was still laughing at him.

Jason’s dead.

Superman’s cape flutters as he lands near him, straining his ears to hear any hint of Jason’s heartbeat, of his breathing, his body moving, his smile -

Nothing. Bruce skids in behind him, cowl ripped, cloak torn, his heart beating erratically.

“Ja…son?” Bruce looks at him, at his son, and his expression - already upset, already angry - twists. “He called you, didn’t he?”

“He called us both,” Clark says quietly. “I tried, I swear B, I fucking tried-”

“I know.” There’s a dull flatness to the affirmation, a darkness lurking there that hadn’t been before. Grief. But Bruce walks closer, kneels down to pick up his son, body trembling with incandescent rage. Clark watches how Bruce fixes Jason’s crooked domino, thumb rubbing against Jason’s temple. “I fired him.” The words are a whisper. “I wanted him to take time off, spend it with you, calm down, and then he could be Robin again. I knew how much it meant to him.” Clark walks closer and kneels next to him, a hand coming up to rest on Jason’s curly hair. They’d tamed in recent years, and Clark remembers the days he’d helped before patrol to smooth them down, how brilliant his smile was every time.

Superman did not hate.

Clark Kent… on the other hand…

“Let’s get him home,” Clark says quietly. “Let’s get him home and call Nightwing. And then we can deal with that fucking clown.” Bruce looks up, startled, but whatever he sees in Clark’s eyes soothes some of his anger, and he looks back at his son.

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

Clark is the one to veto the case, the immortalization of his son. Jason is as much his Robin as Bruce’s, the man says, and it’s telling that Bruce doesn’t argue, instead carefully folding the spare uniform and placing it in a sealed frame. They wouldn’t hang it, however. Clark had won that argument thoroughly. It goes into a drawer, as does Jason’s favorite weapons, and a spare copy of his favorite book, also carefully sealed.

Clark fills in for Bruce for three weeks after that.

They argue about it intensely for hours. They argue so much that Alfred actually gets Dick involved, who thankfully takes his side.

Bruce is benched. He needs to come to terms with his grief, and Dick agrees to stay, though the way his fingers twitch on his upper arms makes it clear that in uniform or not, Joker would be meeting Nightwing too.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Dick says evenly, his eyes firm on Bruce. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a good row anyways. I’ll let Alfred know so he can get some groceries when we’re arguing.”

Clark smiles tightly, and leaves after that, knowing he has to be at work on time.

Later that day, Arkham Asylum finds itself visited by Superman, the caped crusader smiling and waving as he comes for a courtesy check of Joker’s cell.

(Superman doesn’t say please, and everyone is too terrified of the way he smiles to turn him away.)

Joker looks surprised to see him, and then a grin crosses his face.

“Aw, did I make the big blue man mad?” Joker mocks, smirking at him. Superman doesn’t look away from his face, doesn’t smile. He simply stares. The silence stretches, and stretches, and stretches, until Joker’s smile begins to fade, and he begins to squirm.

“My people do not believe in rehabilitating creatures like you. It is fortunate that Krypton’s laws do not apply in Gotham.” Here, he smiles. “But if you step out of this city, I will know. And I will find you. I am not Batman. I have no patience for creatures like you.” Joker’s face is going paler, the stark white losing what little color it had as Superman leans over the table, hands pressed flat and the table bending under his strength, heat glowing and making the metal under his palms red. “I do not kill because I am nigh-unstoppable to anyone who isn’t another Kryptonian.” His smile shows just a faint line of white when he speaks his next words. “For you, I will make an exception. And I will invite Batman to watch.” He pulls back, and notes his hands had left visible imprints on the table, the metal forever a reminder of his anger. “If I were you,” Clark says with a smirk, “I’d stay in my cell.” Turning on his heel, Superman leaves.

And Joker stares, hands shaking at the very close call that he’d just seen.

Clark comes back to the sound of a camera, the shutter-snap audible in the relative stillness of this part of Gotham.

The shutterbug. Jason had pointed him out, giggling about how Bruce hadn’t known, and the memory tugs at his heart, the ache of losing his Robin as much of a reminder of how he’d lost his Pa.

Can’t save everyone, Super-kid, he chides himself, and once he’s out of the little boy’s line of sight, he flies over and lands silently behind the kid, who is frowning over the top of his camera.

“It’s late,” Clark says in his Batman Voice, and the kid jumps so hard he almost drops the camera. Clark’s hand flashes out and catches the kid, and he raises a brow.

“M’sorry Mr. Su- Batman!” the boy cuts himself off, flushing in mortification as he hides behind his camera. Clark allows his brow to rise, and he kneels. So the kid knew he wasn’t Bruce, huh?

“What’s a kid like you doing out without a parent?” He wonders, and the boy flushes behind his camera.

“I’m fine!” The kid protests, and Clark gives the kid a flat look. Too small, too thin, likely underfed and exhausted from no routine. Did the kid even attend school?

“You are not. And shutterbug, now is not a time to be on the streets.” The kid stares at him.

“Is this because Robin’s dead?” The boy whispers, and Clark gives him a slightly sad look.

“Yes. Please go home. I don’t need to see another child die tonight.” The boy fiddles with his camera, but nods.

“Okay Mr. - Erm. Batman.” The kid cannot fucking lie, and Clark notes it down to talk to Bruce about the kid.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Tim Drake,” the kid mumbles, and Clark bites back a smirk. Hopping off the guard rail, he lets himself float in the air for a moment, the boy’s jaw dropping before he allows himself to land.

“See you around, kid.” He says nonchalantly, walks away.

Bruce is less than amused, but Clark talks him down into just meeting the kid, and Bruce’s lips thin in the way he gets when he feels stubborn.

“I don’t need another son,” Bruce says, and Clark softens, pulls Bruce closer from where he’s leaning against the desk. Startled, Bruce’s hands settled against his shoulders.

“Do you think I’m trying to replace Jason? Me?” He asks, and Bruce looks away, a flush of shame on his face. “Look at me, Bruce. I mean it.” The two of them look at each other properly, and Clark doesn’t let him squirm away when he’s done that. “Jason was as much my Robin as he was yours. He’s been my kid since we went on patrol together three years ago, do you understand?” Bruce softens, his hands lowering down to Clark’s hips.

“Yeah. I got it.” Bruce says with a faint - but there - smile. “I’ll at least speak to the kid, since you seem so insistent on it.” Clark smiles at him, steps back, and then claps a hand to Bruce’s shoulder.

“Good. I’ll take care of things on my end. You take care of that kid for me.” Here he leans in. “Jason liked him.” Bruce’s hands clench slightly, and he gives him an annoyed look.

“Low blow, Metropolis,” he grumbles. Clark shrugs, not bothered.

“You boys made Gotham my city,” he quips, and Bruce sighs. There's a slightly playful glint to those eyes, and Clark likes that.

“Does that make Metropolis mine too?” He asks archly back. Clark grins at his teasing.

“Sounds like you’re warming to the idea, Gotham,” he jokes, and Bruce smiles, a thin, brittle thing.

“Jason would have loved it.” Bruce says, slumping against his desk. “Fuck… I miss him,” Bruce admits, voice cracking.

Finally. Clark had been trying to get him to cry properly for weeks.

“C’mere, Bruce,” Clark pulls him tight against his chest, and Bruce begins to cry against his shoulder in earnest.

Clark visits Jason’s grave weekly. It’s a habit, to keep an ear out for it, to look after him after failing him the first time.

“Hey, Jason,” Clark greets the headstone. The headstone was classier. Smaller, not a grand thing. Clark smiles at it, wonders what Jason would think. “Turns out your little shutterbug’s been… hmm. Neglected is a good word for it. His parents got a huge earful from Bruce about it, you know?” He softens. “He’s staying with us for now.” He fills the air with chatter, quietly greeting the boy, filling him in on all the little things. He’s recording it, like he does every time, and when he’s done, he touches the grave.

“Bruce sends his love, kiddo. He’s visiting tomorrow. He doesn’t have much to tell you outside of Wayne Enterprises. I’ve been taking over his evening calls, and so has Dick. I’ll pull him off being benched soon though, and he’ll have more to say.” He pats the dirt gently. “I’ll see you again, kiddo. Love you.” He toggles the recording off, and quietly walks off. The snap of a camera, and he turns to face it, raises a brow.

“Kid, you are cute, but that’s a little disturbing,” he says. Little Tim stops hiding behind Martha Wayne’s grave, looks sheepish.

“I like to give him photos,” the kid mumbles sheepishly, and Clark hums, hands in his pockets.

“You got any of B here?” The boy nods, looking down at his camera. “Dick?”

“Yeah…” Clark hums.

“I’ll let you keep the photos if I can get copies. And if you tell me why you’re here instead of at B’s.”

“Mom and Dad came to yell at B. I didn’t want -” the boy winced. “It got loud.”

Ouch.

Clark reaches for Tim’s hand, and the boy accepts it trustingly.

“You know what?” He says, cheerful. “Have you ever been to Metropolis?”

“... No,” Tim says, looking at him curiously.

“You want to go?”

Tim’s eyes light up, just as he thought the kid would. Jason’s shutterbug would be okay.

Hurts! Jason coughs at the feeling of stale air, his hands reaching up and pressing against the wood. It feels old, and slightly smooth, but that doesn’t really calm him down.

He can remember the blistering heat, the last moments of his mother, the desperate way he’d cried for Bruce, for Clark - His hands map out the shape, and his breath quickens.

A coffin. He was in a coffin. A coffin, no, no, no please not this please don’t tell him B buried him alive -

“Superman,” he wheezes, a desperate, last ditch attempt, his hands banging against the wood, coughing and shaking as the coffin rattles, splintering. “Superman! Clark! Clark! Please god, help me-”

The earth roars, and Jason finds himself shaking in the warm arms of a familiar face, wide blue eyes looking down at him, stunned and tearful all at the same time.

“Jason,” Superman breathes, and he coughs, clings to him and cries. Everything hurts, so much of him hurts.

“Clark,” He sputters, gasping. “Clark, what happened.”

“You died, Jason. You died.”

Jason stares at him, and then he laughs. He laughs until he cries, and he cries harder when all Clark does is hold him tighter.

He comes back to an empty house, Clark lowering him down and patting him all over.

“You’re going to need a shower - and I’ll need to look at your injuries,” Clark tells him, and Jason’s breath hitches as he stumbles next to Clark.

“I wanna see my room.”

“After,” Clark says, worried.

“Now. Please.” He says, and Clark sighs, but carries him up. The room is clean. Tim’s photos are hanging carefully from his pegboard, and Clark - and Bruce’s - recordings are lined up on a shelf. Jason grabs one and presses play before he can stop him.

“Jason, hey. Bruce hasn’t been on patrol lately - Dick’s been sitting on him, and I’ve been taking his patrols when Dick can’t. It’s been - fuck, too long - since… since April.” Clark’s voice drifts up, and Jason listens, trembling. “Joker’s still in Arkham - I think my threat might have scared him into staying put, but I think he’s going to try something.” Jason pauses the recording.

“Joker’s still alive?” Jason says, horribly still.

“Diplomatic immunity.” Clark grits out, still pissed about it. The look Jason gives him would be comical in literally any other context.

“What.”

“Don’t ask. The League’s working on it,” Clark says with a rub of his fingers to his nose. “Jaylad… please. Let me deal with your injuries.” Jason is ignoring him again, staring at the photos.

“What happened to the kid?” He asks. Clark, seeing that he wasn’t going to move, sighs and reaches out for a different recording.

“Hey Jason. Turns out your little shutterbug’s been… hmm. Neglected is a good word for it. His parents got a huge earful from Bruce about it, you know?” Clark’s voice is a little tinny. “He’s staying with us for now, and we’re hoping one of his parents will listen to reason. But we’re not holding out any hope. The Drakes are stubborn folks -” Jason’s hand presses pause on the recording.

“B took another Robin?” He asks, voice tight. Angry.

“No. He couldn’t. Didn’t. Drake’s been trying to convince Nightwing to come back for a while, but things are… tense. Jason, please, again, let me -” The boy sways on his feet, and Jason doesn’t fight this time, when Clark holds him against his chest.

“Clark… Clark I -”

“I’ll call them. You know they’ll drop everything to come see you.” Jason doesn’t answer, and he can see how pale Jason looks, his pulse weak and fluttering.

Dammit.

“Go to sleep. Things will be better when you wake up.” Jason slips into unconsciousness, and Clark is left to wonder - what now?

Jason’s been asleep for two weeks. Coma, the doctors say. Necessary, given the hell he’d been put through.

Bruce has to spin the story to the media somehow, and while they wait, things are notably tense. Dick, especially, is hovering over Jason’s bedside, a constant, worried presence in his uniform.

Things get worse when Clark finds out he somehow - suddenly - has a kid. With Lois.

His boss.

Now, don’t get him wrong, he likes Lois. She’s plenty nice. But the most they’ve ever done together was maybe a kiss, and don’t get him wrong, it was a nice kiss. But that was not how babies got made.

He sat through enough embarrassing school-lessons to know that.

Bruce is amused by the whole thing, when he brings Jon over to meet Bruce, the kid crawling over Jason’s chest with happy little babbles.

“So, a secret lovechild?” Bruce says, horribly amused, and Clark hits him with a pillow. There’s bags under Bruce’s eyes that look like Gucci, they’ve been around so long. “Sorry, sorry. I thought if anyone was going to have that issue, it’d be me,” he says, carefully pulling Jon away from Jason’s IV and settling him on his lap with a quick pat to the baby’s hair. Jon whines; predictably, but is soon happy enough to chew on Bruce’s tie, drooling all over it.

Bruce lets Jon do so, smiling fondly down at the kid.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it,” Clark admits. “First we get someone punching reality out in another dimension, Jason comes back to life, and the inexplicable babies? Let me tell you, explaining this to the boss at work as Superman was fucking fun.”

Bruce snorts. “I’ll take your word for it.” He bounces the baby on his knee gently, and Jon squeals.

“How old is he?” Bruce asks, and Clark shrugs.

“So far as Jordan and Allen can tell, he’s maybe 14 months old. Maybe. It’s kind of hard to tell his development when we don’t exactly have a baseline for half-kryptonians.” Bruce hums.

“You grew up relatively close to humans though. But I guess hybrids are a whole separate thing.” Bruce smiles at Jon again, and Clark points a finger at him.

“Don’t you even think of buying a hospital.”

“Too late,” Bruce says mildly, and Clark groans. Dammit. At this rate, Diana’s sugar daddy jokes were looking more legitimate by the day.

“Fuck. Why.”

“Allen can’t go to a doctor, Jordan’s got distinctly non-human brain capacity, Diana’s a demigod, God forbid anyone explain Arthur…” he trails off leadingly, and Clark’s shoulders slump, conceding the point. “It’s in Metropolis,” he adds softer. “It’s being acquired in part of my partnership with the Justice League, but regular civilians can still access and use it. Should be a good cover for any metahumans who don’t want Walker and her ilk chasing them with explosives. I’ll be transferring Jason too, since I don’t trust the doctors here.” Bruce lifts the baby up, and Jon babbles excitedly, little arms flailing happily, before he lowers the boy back into his lap.

“So… Jason his godfather?” Bruce asks, and Clark gives a relieved grin.

“You’re not mad?”

“Are you kidding?” Bruce shoots him an amused look, and Clark shrugs. “I can have the next one.”

“What makes you think another one’s going to pop -” Clark stops cold.

Thinks about it.

“Okay, fuck.” He admits, and Bruce laughs at him. “I hate you. You’ve given me serial child-adoption tendencies.”

Bruce muffles his snickers with a hand, little Jon giggling and clapping his hands at Clark’s smile, reluctant as it was.

“... B?” The voice is hoarse and weak, and Clark takes Jon back into his arms so Bruce can scramble to his feet and hit the button, his other hand going to Jason’s.

“Jaylad - I’m here, I swear, I’m right here,” Bruce says, clings to Jason’s hand as though he was a lifeline. Jason blinks slowly, his eyes cracking open.

“I’m so tired, B…” He whispers gently, and Bruce leans in, presses a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I know, Jaylad, I know.” His blue eyes were so sad, and Clark wished he could step out, give them their privacy. But then Jason’s eyes land on Jon, and he blinks.

“Are you also randomly adopting blue-eyed orphans now?” Jason says a bit dazedly, and Bruce’s forehead hits his son’s shoulder as he fights a wheeze.

Clark heaves a sigh, stepping to the side as he lets the nurses pass him. Jon gives a cute little coo of interest, waving at one of the nurses.

Why the fuck did I ever get involved with these idiots…

“Shutterbug,” Jason greets, sees the small boy who is half-hidden behind Clark’s leg. Tim - his sneaky cameraman/paparazzo extraordinaire - lights up at his greeting and ducks under Bruce’s arm to take the best seat near him. It’s the one with the Metropolis skyline, so Jason thinks it’s pretty sick, even if he does miss the constant cloud cover.

“Hi, Jason,” he says shyly. A life on the streets has taught Jason everything he needed to know about how badly a kid was treated, and from what Clark had filled him in on, what he could see - and the recordings, which he’d been slowly listening to - Drake’s parents were lucky that Clark and Bruce had forgone revenge in favor of taking the shutterbug in instead.

Hell, he might still jack their tires in revenge. The dicks would deserve it.

“Psh, kid, get on the bed,” he says instead of saying any of the complicated feelings in his throat. Tim grins and does exactly that, carefully putting his camera on Jason’s chest before joining him, Jason snorting at how carefully he was treating him. “There better be some classy photos on there, squirt.”

And Tim’s off. He can see Clark and B just hanging back, amused but also relieved, as though they’d been worried about how he was going to treat Shutterbug.

Well, the kid was shaping up to be the next Robin, and at the same time, after seeing some of the footage of how fucking brutal Clark and B had been in the cowl lately was a humbling reminder. B had benched him for some of the moves Batman had been pulling recently, and he can understand better why Clark had been so blunt about Drake trying to convince someone to retake the Robin mantle.

It was weird how being dead had changed things.

“And I was thinking I could make an album -” Tim is still prattling on, and he reaches out, taps the top of the boy’s head twice. Tim shuts up, blinking at him owlishly.

“Did B give you the job offer yet?” He asks bluntly, and Tim’s camera drops out of his hands.

“What?” He says, staring in bewilderment. Behind him, Bruce is also looking nonplussed.

“You know, for being Robin?” He adds, and Tim’s head swivels in question towards Bruce. Clark, next to him, has a slight cat with the cream smile on his lips. He’d clearly seen this coming. Tim looks back at him, and Jason gestures towards himself.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere, Timbo?” He asks, and Tim sheepishly shakes his head. “I’ve got at least a few months of recovery before I’m leaving this place - you might as well get a head start.” Here he gives Bruce a look. “You aren’t exactly going to find another black-haired, blue-eyed genius with daddy issues that fast, B.”

Snrk.

Clark isn’t even pretending he’s not laughing at this point. Bruce shoots Clark a slightly murderous look for it, but he softens at Jason’s amused grin. Tim is giggling too, amused but hopeful.

“You really think I can do it?” Tim asks him, and Jason raises a brow.

“Like hell you aren’t going to. Timbo, you were able to follow behind B, me, and Clark. I only knew about you because Dick noticed you once, Clark noticed because, y’know, Superman, and B noticed last. You’ve got this, okay?” Jason says, and the boy flushes shyly at the praise.

“I guess the new Robin’s decided for you,” Clark says once he’s recovered, eyes dancing with wicked amusement. Bruce elbows Clark, but true to form, the man doesn’t even budge.

“I’ll get the training program started,” Bruce says with a tired little sigh, and Jason smirks.

Sucker. Tim launches into an excited retelling of his day, and Jason smiles down at the young teen, the two of them getting a chance to catch up.

The last visitor is Dick, and by the reddened flesh around his knuckles, Jason knows something’s up. Clark had left him with Jonathan and gone off in a hurry, and now Dick was here?

“Luthor,” Dick says without explaining, and Jason’s eyebrow rises.

“Did you punch him or something?” He asks, looking a little bewilderedly at his hands. Dick gives a harsh grin that looks out of place on his normally easy-going face.

“Or something,” He agrees, before taking a seat and offering to take bitty Jon off of his hands. He allows the adult to do so, and wonders what, if anything, Dick is going to say.

“I quit the GCPD today,” He says abruptly, and Jason blinks, startled.

“W-what?” Jason says, alarmed. Dick loved working on the GCPD, even if his shifts with Nightwing made the job a fucking hell on his sleep schedule. Wait, no, wrong question. “Why?” He asks in concern. Jason watches as Dick’s lips twitch slightly at his honest shock.

“Luthor showed up and started talking shit about you. The commissioner tried to stop him - I’ll give him that,” Dick says with a shrug. “But then he started talking about you, and I lost it. Broke his nose, maybe his arm, and I think I got a pretty good kick to the balls before the other officers pulled me off. Quit on the spot to keep Gordon from having to take the badge off of me first.”

Jason’s mouth hangs open slightly.

“But… I’m fine?” He says awkwardly. Dick levels him with a flat look even as he bounces Jonathan on his knee.

“Jay. I spent almost half a year thinking you were dead because B and I were too stupid to realize you’d still try to protect people, even out of uniform.” Dick’s voice is a little blunter than normal, and Jason cringes, before Dick reaches out and cups his cheek. “I fucking love you, Little Wing, do you understand that? And Luthor spouted off about how all the security in the world didn’t save you just… I wanted to do so much fucking worse to him. How can I be a cop if I want to do… that?” Jason can see the clear anguish on his face, the distress, and carefully, he picks up baby Jonathan, sets him on the foot of the bed, and then drags Dick into a hug.

“It’s okay, Dick,” he says reassuringly, squeezing him tight. “You’re okay.” Dick’s head hits his shoulder, and the man sniffles wetly.

“Unca!” Jonathan says, crawling over to pat his older brother’s face. Dick and Jason part with a laugh, and Jonathan pats his face again, confused. “Unca!” Dick wipes his tears and lifts Jonathan to his chest, the little boy giving a happy squeal when his head is kissed.

“Yeah, I’m your Uncle,” He manages with a wet little grin. “Your favorite, right?” He’s obviously joking, but Jonathan looks at him, and then turns to Jason.

“Unca!” He says, pointing at Jason.

Both boys laugh at that. “The kid has spoken. You’re his favorite.” Jason puffs up playfully.

“Course I am,” He grins. “I’m the godfather, after all.” Dick pulls a face at him.

“We are not watching The Godfather with him when he gets older.”

“... Spoilsport.”

When Clark comes in to patrol, he finds Tim bent over the Batcomputer, tiny fingers typing away on the keyboard.

“What are you doing?” He asks, watching Tim as the boy stares at a line of code.

“Ruining Luthor’s life,” the boy says, and Clark raises a brow.

“You know, as Superman, I’m supposed to disapprove,” Clark says dryly.

Predictably, Tim ignores him. “Well, good thing you’re acting as Batman tonight. Besides, after the mean things he said about Jason, he deserves it.”

“What did he say?” Clark says, derailed from his planned lecture. Judging by the sly grin on Tim’s face, that had been intentional. What a menace, Clark thinks affectionately, leaning over to ruffle his hair fondly. In answer, Tim clicks on a video and pulls it up. He recognizes the headquarters of the GCPD, and from the view, he can see how Dick is bent over a desk, the officer recognizable by the cheerful Superman mug he has on his desk.

Awww. That was cute.

“And this is where most of our officers and detectives congregate when they’re handling the paperwork in between patrols.” Commissioner Gordon’s voice rings from the speakers, and he raises a brow as Luthor follows behind him, his expression blank but polite. The expression twists just the tiniest bit at the sight of Nightwing, and he scowls at the sight himself. “And of course, our finest officer here is Mr. Grayson.” Dick looks up, smiling, and he can see how it turns the slightest bit plastic-looking at the sight of Luthor.

He knows the feeling.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Luthor. I hadn’t realized we were having such a high profile guest, or I would have finished my paperwork by now,” Dick has a pleasant customer service face, Clark thinks, amused as he picks Tim up to steal the seat, the thirteen-year-old squirming when he’s set on Clark’s knee. “What can I do for you?”

“Don’t worry Grayson, I’m not here long. I merely wanted to check and see how you were doing, now that your brother has returned from the dead.” As one, every single officer in the bullpen tenses. “Given the track record of your security, are you sure he’s safe?” An implicit threat. Dick stands up, hands pressed flat against his desk.

“I don’t mean to misunderstand, Mr. Luthor. What are you saying?” Dick’s voice is even. But there’s a dark tenor thrumming through his sweet-natured tone.

“I’m not saying anything you aren’t already thinking. Are you sure the security around your brother is tight enough? He was killed once al-” Luthor is cut off by a fist to his nose, Dick flexibly leaping over the table to smash his fists into the man’s face. Half the GCPD surged up only to stop at Gordon’s mild hand raise, and the rest are intently cheering Dick on as he proceeds to beat the stuffing out of Luthor. Gordon lowers his hand after Luthor’s arm is twisted out of his socket, and ouch. That kick to the balls was going to fucking last. The officers wrestle the pair apart, and Dick is panting, his hair plastered to his face, a hard glare in his eyes.

“Let me go.” Oop. That was Nightwing in his voice. An icy steel that had half the officers jumping off of him. “Let me save you the trouble, Commissioner. I fucking quit. I hope you choke on your own teeth, sir.” He slaps his badge on the desk. “Keep an eye out in Gotham, Mr. Luthor. Since you seem to be convinced the security here is so lousy.”

Dick storms out, and Luthor climbs painfully to his feet while Gordon stares disapprovingly.

“Come with me, Mr. Luthor.” The man brushes his suit out, the man leaving in a huff. Gordon waits until he’s gone to look directly at the bugged camera lens.

“Which one of you wants to inform Grayson he’s only suspended, and not fired? I’m not losing one of our finest for that.” he asks, and Clark grins at the sight as several officers cheer at the announcement.

“I’ll tell Dick later,” Clark says. “Maybe I’ll do it as Superman.” Tim grins broadly at that.

“Gotcha, gotcha,” Tim says. Clark looks at the screen, and then raises a brow.

“So, what trouble are you making for Luthor?” Clark asks, and Tim gives him a wicked little grin.

“I hacked his investors to have them sell off a share or two at a penny every other hour on his birthday next week.”

Oh my god.

“You’re terrifying and amazing and you might just be my favorite Robin already,” Is what Clark says. Tim snickers, hands coming up to his mouth. “C’mon. Let’s suit up.”

It’s a quiet evening still, so Clark isn’t expecting much in the way of problems, checking the fit on Tim as he adjusts the boy’s outfit and tugs the red shorts with a grin.

“Red shorts and black leggings?” He teases, and Tim puffs his cheeks out while Clark chuckles, making sure the boy’s domino is secured to his face.

“I don’t have the legs to pull off the speedo,” Tim deadpanned, and Clark laughed brightly, amused. Patrol is quiet, Tim getting a feel for the city as he runs, his cape flapping. Tim stops after a while, panting. Clark waits for him as the kid makes his way to his side, face pressing against the cape when he gets there.

“Holy Batman,” the boy complains to Clark’s snort. “No wonder everyone is so fit!” He says, lifting his arms up for Clark to carry him. Clark does so without complaint, smiling down at the boy.

“Another Robin, Batman?” Selina Kyle’s voice says. He turns, and yep, that’s her. Catwoman in all her glory. He and Bruce had a running joke going on about her finding out when she’d realize there was more than one Batman, but so far, she’d long since blown past their estimations. Or she was fucking with them. “Aren’t you worried about the Joker?” She says, and he smiles at her wryly.

“The boys know to call for Superman, and he’s agreed to keep an ear out for my boys specifically.” There’s something hilarious about referring to himself in the third person, and he watches as Catwoman’s expression turns odd.

“When did you get so friendly with him?” She wonders, and Clark has to bite back a smirk. Tim starts to giggle, face pressing against his chest.

“Oh, ages ago,” he says breezily. “But more recently, he was able to rescue my Robin. We’ve… sorted out our differences.” Catwoman stares at him.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she mutters, still looking bewildered. “Just keep your Robin close, Batman,” she warns, and he watches her leave with amusement. When she’s well and truly gone, he indulges in a snicker.

“She still doesn’t know?” Tim asks, and Clark grins.

“Not that I know of,” he says, smirking. “C’mon, Robin. Let’s finish patrol and go home.”

Lois finally confronts Clark when they’re alone, her hands on her hips as she shoves the paper at him. “Explain this to me,” she says, tone short. Ah fuck. He opens the newspaper, and sees little Jon in the photo while he’s entertaining Jason and Bruce Wayne.

“What about it?” He asks evenly, hands her back the paper.

“The media knows that’s Superman’s kid. Why the hell is he with you?” She says, and he raises a brow at her, waiting for her to soften her tone.

“Do you expect Superman to take a kid around all the time when he’s on the other side of the globe?” He asks her, and she flushes slightly. “You were at work all day, and I had the time off.”

“But - Bruce Wayne? Our boss’s boss?” She says incredulously. “You I get, but Brucie Wayne?” She splutters.

Ah.

“What’s wrong with him?” He wonders. Lois shoots him a look.

“He gets kidnapped nearly as often as I get attacked,” she says dryly, and Clark concedes the point. “I’d understand if it was Officer Grayson, but Bruce Wayne’s another thing entirely.” Mmm. Well, time to come clean, he supposed.

(Not for the first time, Clark wonders what his other reality self was thinking, ending up with Lois.)

“Follow me,” he sighs, and she quirks a brow, follows him. They enter an unused office room, and he closes the door. Dialing, he waits for Bruce to pick up.

“Clark?” Bruce’s confused voice comes from the phone. “Is something wrong? Did something happen at work?”

Lois stares at his phone, mouthing the words incredulously while he smiles slightly.

“Not quite. I have Lois here, at the moment. The papers published Jonathan being with you and Jay.”

“Ah.” Master of understatement. “Alright, tell her what you want - I have an investment meeting in ten minutes.” Bruce hangs up, and Clark gives her a look.

“What am I supposed to know?” Lois squeaks, voice high.

Clark gives a sheepish grin.

The whole office, as one, stares curiously at the closed door the two had gone through.

“Are they finally going to get together?” Someone wonders.

“No way. Lois has her thing with Supes, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, no kidding. I wasn’t surprised about the kid for that reason.” After another moment of observation, they all turn back to their desks.

“WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK, CLARK!?”

The whole office jumps.

“What was that about?”

“Do any of us really want to know?” Someone mutters.

Chapter Text

It’s a thing. Lois insists on meeting everyone, but Clark isn’t feeling too generous after that, so he lets her stumble blind through it, giving her little half-glares in between when she gives him her own glare.

“Did you tell her about being -”

“No.”

“Wow. Mean much, Metropolis?” He teases, and Clark shoots him a dirty look.

“I have a migraine right now because she yelled loudly enough for the entirety of the Daily fucking Planet to hear her.” Bruce grimaces in sympathy, pats his shoulder.

“Do I need to start writing up non-disclosure agreements?” Bruce asks, and Clark gives a slight smile.

“With the amount of telepaths out there? You can’t make a magically binding NDA, Bruce. Last I checked those were illegal.” He points out, and Clark raises a brow as Bruce grins.

“Now I know you missed the last League meeting.”

Oh no.

“What the fuck did you do.” His slightly raised voice makes Lois look over, as well as Jason.

“I’ve taught you bad habits,” Bruce says with an amused grin, and he glares harder. “I was able to get some legislation pushed through in regards to NDAs regarding the secret identity of any Leaguers who don’t have another means of explaining their constant absences. You know that Allen has trouble with that, and Jordan had to give up his job as a test pilot because he couldn’t explain his absences to the military well enough. Don’t get me started on you - if I hadn’t employed you to do traveling journalism for the Daily Planet, your secret would be well and truly ruined.” Here Bruce shrugs, and Clark buries his head in his hands.

“This is the reason everyone keeps joking that you’re my sugar daddy, Wayne,” he bemoans, and Bruce props his elbows up on the railing, eyes following Lois as she talks to Jason, the boy fiddling with his IV restlessly.

“Ha ha Kent,” he answers dryly. “It’s not my fault you’re working on a reporter’s salary.”

“Not everyone is born a billionaire, Wayne.” Clark says wryly. “Some of us work for a living.”

“Do you think I spend so much money just for fun?” Bruce wonders, amused. “I have obscene amounts of cash - I might as well do the good thing and make sure the folks with powers who can’t afford otherwise get the gear and support they need,” he points out. “Before you open your mouth, it’s not charity. Unless you think patrolling for me comes free.”

Clark’s mouth opens. Oh. Oh shit.

Closes.

He flushes a hot pink, and Bruce snorts at him.

“Clark, let me be honest with you. You have been acting as Batman for me on and off in an increasing capacity for eight years,” Bruce stresses the last two words and he blushes a bit at the tone. “You’ve helped me with Jaylad and Dickie, rescued my son from a coffin, worked seventy-two hour days, kept me from killing the Joker, and you’ve kept to my code.” Clark can’t help the heat that’s steadily crawling up his neck at Bruce’s soft smile. “You convinced me to give Tim a better home, let me hold your son, and now, I have…” he gestures to the rest of the room, where Lois is laughing at something Jason has told her, his eyes dancing. “You’re the reason I have this. Right now, I could be mourning my son, and I would never know what happened to him. What if he had come out, what if he’d survived?” Bruce looks at him fondly, and Clark has to look away, ears burning bright.

“B…” Clark isn’t sure how to take this, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Don’t tell me I can’t do things for you, Clark. We are long, long past that, do you understand?” Bruce murmurs. The room is too warm, too small, his body prickling with something - nerves? Excitement? - and the look in Bruce’s eyes is intense.

“I… Yeah. I get it…”

“Hey!” Jason’s voice breaks whatever spell they’re under, and the men jerk away from each other guiltily. “Less flirting and more introductions!”

… Meep.

He can’t look Lois in the eyes for the rest of the visit. When they enter the elevator, Lois bounces Jon on her hip and arches an expressive brow at him. He reddens further.

“So… you and Bruce?” She asks.

“Yes - no - I don’t know!” He wails, throwing his hands up. Jon giggles at him, clapping his hands together. “Sometimes he just - does things! I can’t tell if he likes me or if we’re just really close friends or if he’s just - why are you laughing?” He complains to Lois, who is laughing at him.

“I can’t believe you’re Superman,” She says, snickering. “Just ask him out, Smallville.” What was it with people and calling him by the cities he lived in?

“I…” he feels very small. “I don’t want to ruin what we’ve got,” he mumbles, voice small. Lois has stopped laughing, and she’s now peering at him, a smile on her face.

“Oh Clark. Whatever you two have going on would require a colossal fuck up of epic proportions to ruin, dear,” she tells him, and he looks at her.

“Really?” He says, a little hopeful.

“Clark, you have the keys to his house. He keeps covering for you at work by giving you really big assignments people never thought you could handle. Hell, he even tries to keep your identity private by offering to put out a magical NDA. He likes you.”

“Oh.” His voice is small, but warming to the idea.

“You disaster.” Is all Lois has to say on the subject. Jon giggles, and Clark thinks that’s - yeah. That’s justified. The whole rest of the week, Clark feels like he’s in a daze, wondering who he should talk about it to, and backing out before he can broach the subject with Dick or Jason.

In the end, he waits until he’s out on patrol with Tim to ask the question.

Tim surprises him by tripping, and for a second, they’re in a mad scramble to keep Tim from ending up roadkill without Clark giving his powers away.

“I thought you two were dating already!” are his first words when they enter the Batmobile. Clark turns a very violent shade of red at that one.

“Oh my god.” He says faintly. Tim looks up at him, confused.

“Is that not a good thing?” Tim says, bemused.

“I don’t… I didn’t even think he liked me like that until recently,” Clark confesses, his voice so faint that Tim has to reach out to pat his arm.

“There there?” he offers, and Clark groans, head in his hands.

“I am a major disaster.”

Now Tim just looks amused.

“Does this mean I call you Dad too?”

Clark’s dead.

“Dick, this really is a bit -”

“Zip it, old man.” Dick says flatly, dragging him up to the stairs. “I have been putting up with this shit for eight years. Eight. Years. Do you know how much one-sided pining a man can stand? Not this much.” Bruce reddens at the sharpness of Dick’s tone, clutching the gift the boy had insisted he make like it was a lifeline. “And besides, you saw how flustered he was! He’s head over heels for you and I’m sick and tired of seeing you think he doesn’t like you and then he’s openly lusting after you like fuck’s sake.” A smack to the back of a shoulder. “I hope you fucking know, you two are the reason I date so much. Because I don’t want to be an emotionally repressed piece of fuck like you two!”

Bruce blushes a violent cherry red.

“We’re not that bad,” he tries weakly.

“Eight years, B.” He shoves Bruce in front of the door, and points a finger at his nose. “Ask the idiot out, and don’t come home until you do. I absolutely, categorically refuse to let you back in the house, the Cave, or Wayne Enterprises until you do. Alfred agreed to help me. Go get that super ass, and leave the rest of us out of it.” Turning on his heel, Dick storms off down the stairs, a flustered Bruce still clutching the box.

The door opens before he can knock on it, revealing an embarrassed - but smiling - Clark.

“Oh no,” Bruce says very faintly, and Clark laughs a bit, but lets him in anyway. His hand is warm on Bruce’s shoulder, his touch sparking electric lights over his skin.

“So I’ve been made aware we’re idiots,” Is Clark’s first words, and Bruce chokes on a laugh himself.

“Who said that?”

“Lois,” Clark admits. “You?”

“Dick,” Bruce admits blushingly. Clark laughs, a warm sound. He leans in to take the gift, and Bruce lets him.

“Another thing for me?” Clark asks, and Bruce flushes darker.

“I’ve never given you something like this,” he mumbles, and Clark laughs, the man hefting Bruce up into his lap, the vigilante yelping as he’s made to straddle the younger man.

“I’m starting to understand why the Robins think we’re married,” he says with dancing eyes. “Let me just -” Clark peels the gift open painstakingly, the man taking care of the wrapper and setting it aside, before popping open the box and looking at the gift inside. His brow rises.

It’s nice. He’d bet Clark expected a watch, or a phone, not… This. It’s a slim bit of leather, hand-tooled to look braided and silk lining the inside for a soft feel that he’d once jealously commented on during a visit.

“I know that you don’t really like the idea of wearing rings, but…” Bruce reddens more. “I thought this might be nice? Something we can wear together in civilian gear and -” Bruce stops at the feel of warm, chapped lips as they press against his own. Clark’s hand cups the back of his neck, the box dropped to the side and almost forgotten as Clark pulls back, Bruce whining as they part.

Clark’s eyes are extremely blue, pupils dilated and a smirk on his lips as he caresses Bruce’s skin. His thumb slips under Bruce’s shirt, and all of Bruce’s brain focuses on that touch.

“I’m going to curse both of us out later,” Clark murmurs huskily, and Bruce blinks, startled.

“Why?” He asks, feels a little dumb when Clark grins, a sharp thing.

“Because I’m about to take you to bed, and I’m regretting that I’ve missed out on that for eight years,” Clark tells him.

Bruce reddens straight to his fingertips.

Jason gives Bruce a grin when he arrives the next day, face blushing bright red and a hickey on his neck.

“I’m happy for you,” is all Jason says, and Bruce’s head slams against his thigh (gently, though).

“You’re my favorite son right now,” Bruce says, and Jason laughs at his father.

“What did Dick do? And really, even over Tim?” He asks, grinning. He can’t even imagine what shutterbug had done.

“Tim took detailed photos in case I ever got amnesia, and Dick laughed at me when I got home. For an hour.” Bruce groans. Jason muffles a fond laugh at his dad, watching him with a grin.

“B, I love you, but what makes you think I’m not going to tease you too?” He asks. Bruce then proceeds to give him the most pathetic wet-kitten eyes he’s ever had the misfortune of seeing. Ever. “Oh my god. Are you seriously turning those eyes on me specifically so I don’t tease you? B!” The stare continues, and finally, Jason flings his hands up. “Fuck’s sake B, take all the fun out of being your kid, why don’t you?” He complains good-naturedly, and Bruce sighs in relief, keeping himself where he is.

“I knew you loved me,” Bruce says happily, and Jason snorts.

“I hope you love me enough to get me something other than the goddamn hospital food too,” Jason snarks back, and Bruce sits up to open his phone and check the messages.

“Clark’s bringing some of those chili dogs you like so much from Batburger,” he says, after checking his phone. Jason perks up, as expected.

“All of the fixings?” He says, eyes bright.

“Every single one of them,” Bruce confirms, and Jason perks up more.

“Yum!” He beams brightly, the young man fiddling with his bedsheets. He then settles, leans back against the bed. “So… am I benched forever?” He asks, and Bruce sighs, looks up at him.

“I was going to send you with Clark,” He admits. “I didn’t know how to help, Jaylad.” Bruce looks so sad, and Jason can’t help but feel a little guilty. “You were just so angry all of the time, and I’d spent years learning how to control my temper in a way that I couldn’t even relate to you. I always channeled my rage to control, to subtle things, but your anger was making you reckless. You almost got yourself killed, and I had to stop you, I -” Bruce chokes on his words, and Jason’s heart breaks a little.

“I’m sorry B,” He says, and he means it, reaches out to set a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “I don’t really remember the last couple of weeks that well,” he admits. It’s all fuzzy. The chances of him ever recovering that kind of info is slim to none, the doctors tell him, but he’s fine with that. He recalls enough to know that he’d… he’d needed help. He needed so much fucking help back then, and well… B had been trying. “I think I’d like that,” Jason says instead, leaning against his bed. “Be nice to get an internship though. You know, make it official.” Bruce chuckles slightly, sits up from his spot, and looks at him with obvious affection.

“Good. The doctors say you still have some physical therapy, but I’ve got a nice assignment for Clark that’s going over to England for some nice PR for some vigilantes there. Unless Clark thinks they aren’t quite as honest as they should be about their behavior as protectors.” Here his lips twitch. “If you’re good, I’m sure he can be convinced to take you to see where Jane Austen wrote her novels.”

Jason gapes at him, and then snatches a pillow off the bed and begins to beat him with it.

“You did not tell Clark I liked Austen!” He wails, and Bruce laughs. “You know how he feels about that kind of -”

“Book?” Clark says, coming in with three triple-decker chili dogs, the man grinning. “I’m simply saying that for the context it could have been better,” Clark teases, and Jason gapes at them both.

“I changed my mind, B. Let me go with Diana - she appreciates real literature.”

Clark busts out laughing.

And then there’s Ma and Pa… who need to be told things.

“I can invite them over,” Bruce had offered, smiling. “They’d get along great with Alfred, I bet.” Clark shook his head, a tense smile on his lips.

“No. I want to tell them myself. And they’ll want to meet Jon.” The toddler had immediately looked up, clapped his hands, and giggled.

“Alright, do what you’d like. But the Thanksgiving offer is open, though I’ll be celebrating Hanukkah this year instead of Christmas.”

Oh man.

Oh shit.

Clutching little Jonathan to his chest, Clark bounces his baby gently, the boy having fallen asleep on the flight over to Kansas. He lifts a hand to knock, and the door opens at the sight of his Ma and Pa, both of them smiling.

“Hey,” He says, a bit nervously. “Can I come in?” Both of his parents look at him in bewilderment, before they look at him in concern.

“Clark, honey, what’s wrong?” Ma asks, and he smiles uncomfortably.

“I uh. I have some news.”

Now they both look alarmed. He allows Ma to take Jon, the little boy giving a delighted squeal when his hands find her curly hair, giggles leaving his throat. Pa escorts him in, and he hangs up the cloak, disappearing upstairs to put on his regular clothes. The flannel feels good. Normal. His jeans are the same texture as he remembers, and nervously, he presses against the door.

God. This was more terrifying than the time he’d been force-fed Kryptonite in water and Bruce had to help him vomit it up.

Almost immediately, Clark’s phone buzzes from his suit, and he practically dives to reach it, before pressing back-first against the door.

“Thank god for your timing,” He blurts out quietly, and Bruce laughs at him.

“You’re freaking out so hard that I can tell here in Gotham, you know,” he teases very affectionately. Clark relaxes at his warm laughter. “Clark, your parents aren’t going to draw the line because you’re gay. They’re more likely to object to Jon constantly moving around because of your job. If you want to settle them down, ask them if they want to take him in the summer after he turns six.”

“I’m terrified of your ability to predict things,” he says, whisper-soft, as he watches his parents through the floor, the two of them cooing over an excited Jon, who was clapping his hands and giggling the whole time.

“Oh hush, you love it in this regard. Now go get your parents, charm them, and I’ll come by whenever and charm the pants off of them.”

“Not one hint of Brucie Wayne or I’ll run you over with a tractor,” Clark warns breathlessly.

“Ouch. That’s worse than my batmobile threat eight years ago,” Bruce chuckles indulgently, and he blushes deeper. “I got it, babe. Now go. Okay?”

“God I love you,” he mumbles, and Bruce laughs.

“Go get ‘em, babe. I love you.”

Clark makes an embarrassed, choked noise as Bruce shamelessly admits that and hangs up immediately after.

That wasn’t fucking fair!

On the bright side…He definitely wasn’t nervous about dinner anymore.

“Not a chance in hell,” Is the first thing Clark hears when he comes to report his successful visit with his parents.

That’s ominous.

“Little Wing, I love you, but I’m siding with B on this one. What in the fuck.”

Well… “Knock knock?” Clark asks a bit nervously, and Bruce lights up at the sight of him, the man gesturing for him to come closer. Clark does so easily enough and leans down to press a lingering kiss to his boyfriend's mouth. That done, he hugs Jason - finally out of the hospital - and Dick.

“Jon?” Bruce asks, and Clark smiles softly, unimaginably pleased at how quickly Bruce looked out for his baby boy.

“Ma and Pa are keeping him for a few days while Lois and I sort out some stuff here. Where’s Tim?” He asks, seeing that the third of Bruce’s Robins was absent.

“He’s at school,” Jason says, checking his watch. “Though I’m about to head out and get him, the way the argument is going.” Clark doesn’t let him get up, gently pushes him back into his seat.

“How about you tell me what the argument is about first. Alfred can get him if we run late.” His tone brooks no room for argument, and Jason sighs.

“I want to go by Red Hood, when I come back on the field.” Clark raises a brow. That wasn’t bird themed in the slightest.

“I don’t understand the significance.” Jason lifts a hand and points it at Clark, looking thoroughly vindicated.

“See! This is my point! See! He doesn’t get it, and he’s the most likely to have read the paper when it happened!” He points out, and Clark ruffles the boy’s curly hair.

“What does it mean?” He asks, and Dick, glaring at Jason, answers him.

“It’s the name Joker was going by the night he fell into the chemical vat.” Clark’s brow inches up higher, and he looks down at Jason, who is still looking unimpressed.

“Jason. Baby boy, my Robin, know I love you,” Clark says, and Bruce stifles a laugh behind a hand, while Jason gives him a betrayed look. “Why are you insisting on pissing off the Joker?” Because Clark knew Joker well enough after being Batman to know Jason was doing this on purpose. He also knew that Jason knew he was onto him, by the boy’s slump.

“Because… I don’t want him going after Tim. I know you’re training him, and that B isn’t letting him go when it’s just him on patrol, but…” Jason deflates like a balloon with the air let out. Dick and Bruce, both of whom were defensive, bristling, angry… they settle down, a horde of angry birds tucking their wings in.

Clark smirks slightly at the comparison. He loved his angry birds, seriously.

“Alright. You two are going to be pissed at me, but I’m going to side with Jason.” Everyone’s heads snap up, and he gets three incredulous stares.

“Bwuh?” is Jason’s answer - he’d clearly expected a fight.

“On one condition.” Clark says with a smile. Jason, Dick, and Bruce all stare at him suspiciously.

“This better be good,” Bruce mutters, looking stung at the fact he’d sided with Jason.

“You have to tell Tim, in full detail, why you’re choosing the name Red Hood, and let him know exactly what kind of risk you’re going to put yourself in for him. Not me. Not Dick. Not Alfred. Definitely not Bruce. You. You own up to what danger you’re going to take on his behalf. And he has to agree to it. Because if he finds out later, he’s going to hate all of us.”

Jason’s face blanches.

“Can I-”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“Clark’s got the right of it,” Bruce says, a bit smug now that Clark’s plan was out in the open. Jason looks at all three of them, then buries his head in his hands.

“Argh.” Is all Jason can say to that. Dick snorts at him, as does Bruce.

“C’mon Little Wing. Why don’t we go pick Timmy up? I’ll let you sit in the back with him so you can tell him allll about it.” Dick says, grinning wickedly.

“Argh.”

Both men watch the two leave, and Bruce looks up at him.

“So you think it’s a good idea?”

“Fuck no, I think it’s terrible,” Clark admits. “But the only person with a real chance of convincing him is Tim. I’ll set him up for training with Diana, and maybe see if Jordan is willing to run him through some drills. Before you even twitch, Jordan was in the Air Force. He might be a flyboy, but he’s got the discipline.” Bruce grumbles, and Clark laughs softly.

“You’re the only alien I want near my boys,” he complains, and Clark snorts.

“Didn’t take you for that kind of guy, Gotham,” Clark says, leans down to kiss Bruce. Bruce relaxes at the kiss, the two of them holding it for a moment while the billionaire relaxes.

“Mmm. Did you know that Dick wanted to be an astronaut when he was little?” Bruce murmurs. “And then he found out aliens were real, and I’ve been terrified of them convincing my baby boy to join one of their organizations since.” Clark laughs sweetly at that.

“And it doesn’t help that Dick’s a handsome young man either, does it?” He wonders, a warm tease in his voice. Bruce groans.

“Don’t remind me. I still think of him in his gremlin phase, you know,” Clark laughs at the grumbled whine, and he leans in to kiss Bruce again, thumbs stroking down Bruce’s throat affectionately. The man gives a pleased noise, before Clark pulls back, smirking at him slyly.

“I love you,” Clark murmurs into his ear. “And I’m still mad at you for saying that right before my dinner with Ma and Pa.” Bruce grins sheepishly at him.

“I’ve been trying to screw up the courage to tell you for weeks,” Bruce admits, and Clark groans, leaning in to kiss him again.

He’d tell him about the visit later.

“How did it go?” Tim is the one to open the topic at dinner, everyone digging into the homestyle meal that Clark had insisted on making.

(Thick cut fries, perfectly grilled beef, and a giant pile of veggies. Dick was in love with the recipe. He’d have to take it back to Titans Tower.)

“Ma and Pa are happy,” He says, smiling slightly. “A little sad that I thought they’d reject me over the whole liking a man thing, but they’re happy for us.” Here Clark smiles more. “They’ve asked to take care of Jon for a few days while Lois and I get our lives in order.”

“Does this mean that you’re going public?” Tim wonders, and Clark raises a brow. “With being Superman,” the boy clarifies. “I think the whole relationship thing is nobody’s business.”

“Plenty of people will make it their business just to piss us off,” Bruce mutters, and Dick snorts. Wasn’t that the truth.

“I don’t intend on it. Blowing my secret open will also ruin yours as well. Enough people know how close Bruce and I are, and Batman and Superman being close isn’t exactly a secret.” Dick nods in agreement, and Jason hums around his fries. He finishes his bite, and wipes his fingers on a napkin before speaking.

“What’s Lois doing? Please tell me she’s getting a more secure apartment, at least. Now that she’s got a kid with you, Luthor’s going to try and make her life hell.”

“I have a plan for Luthor, don’t worry too much about him,” Clark says with a placid-seeming smile, but a shiver runs down Dick’s spine at the way he smiles. It reminds him of the day he’d threatened Joker.

“That’s not ominous at all,” Dick quips, and Bruce snorts into his drink. “What’s next?” Dick wonders. “Jaybird’s got a few weeks of hard PT, Tim’s benched because Clark’s going to be doing his thing as Superman, and Batgirl’s got her thing going on. Who’s going to be covering Gotham? Aside from me. Roy and Kori refuse to.” There’s an indecipherable look between Bruce and Clark, before Clark says, with a faint smile,

“Funny you say that. Diana agreed to a few days of working here in Gotham.”

Jason stares, and Dick stifles a grin at the starry-eyed way Jay looks at them.

“Wonder Woman is going to be covering?” He says a little breathlessly, and Dick muffles his laughter with a piece of broccoli. Clark and Bruce share another look, this one obviously amused.

“Rein in that hero worship, Jaybird,” Dick says, grinning. Jason points his fork at Dick, scowling.

“Fuck you, I remember the stories Clark told of how you first met him.”

Clark chokes on a fry, and Bruce almost spits his drink back out. Tim looks between them, bewildered.

“What story?” He wonders, and Jason’s grin gains teeth. Dick, panicking, tries to cut him off, and things proceed to get loud, as Jason ducks under the table to grab Tim and run, the thirteen-year-old giggling on his big brother’s shoulder.

“That’s not fair, dammit Jay don’t ruin my cool older brother rep-” Dick jumps over the table, and Clark laughs at him, the two watching as all three boys flee the table, Jason laughing as he tells a giggling Tim allll about it.

Fuck.

It was good to be home.

“The name is stupid,” Tim tells Clark first thing in the morning while he’s pulling out weeds, and Clark raises an eyebrow, dusting his hands off.

“I do hope you’re not actually arguing that fact with me,” he wonders, and Tim tugs at his pant leg.

As he usually does, he picks the boy up.

“I don’t know what to do to convince him, though,” Tim grumbles, and Clark laughs fondly at his second Robin, bouncing the boy up and down in his arms as he cuddles Tim close to his chest. Tim looks up at him in distress, and he ducks his head to kiss the top of his fluffy hair fondly.

“Ack!” Tim complains, squirms like a fish until Clark lets him down, the boy pouting. “We agreed you’d stop that.”

“No, you said, I refused to agree to such unfair terms,” Clark corrects cheerily, and Tim glares, cheeks puffing like a chipmunk. Smiling, Clark squishes his face, and the air is let go dramatically, Tim pouting at him the whole time. “Now, what’s the problem?” He asks mildly.

“I can’t find a name Jason likes,” he grumbles, and Clark gives a sage nod.

“He’s denied the bird tradition?” Clark asks, and Tim nods against his thigh.

“Doesn’t like any of them. Says they’re lame.” Tim pouts, and Clark laughs again, takes a seat

“Raptor?” He guesses.

“Also a no, but nice try, Clark,” Jason says, leaning out of the window. He glances up at his Robin, the boy leaning over the window. “And I’m not doing Red Robin. The restaurant jokes would never stop with Dick, and you know how he likes his puns.” Clark concedes the point.

“He’s got a point,” Clark agrees, and hefts his little bird back up to his hip. “How about we go wash up and then we can brainstorm over some of Alfred’s tea?” He asks, calling up to Jason, who rolls his eyes.

“The chances of me changing my mind are dropping dramatically,” He says back, but heads in to meet them at the washroom anyways.

Once all three were settled with tea and a very nice set of edible flower scones that Alfred had provided him after a friendly nod of his head, Clark raises a brow.

“Alright. Outside of protecting the baby bird here,” Clark watches Tim turn to frown at him and ruffles his hair, “Why else are you picking this name?”

Jason fiddles with his tea cup, and Clark gives him a look. If he dropped it, Alfred would never let them live it down. Jason sees his stern glance and sets the cup down.

“I don’t want a bird themed name,” Jason says finally. “I mean, I get that you want people to know it’s me, and I’m glad you guys love me so much. But…” Here he swallows. “I died in Robin’s uniform, Clark. I died. And sometimes it feels like the only one who remembers that is me.”

Clark’s stomach drops. Oh. Oh his brave boy. Clark shifts Tim, and opens his other arm, Jason climbing into his grasp and burying his head into a shoulder.

“Oh Jaybird,” Clark murmurs, the dark-haired teen beginning to sob, Clark’s free hand burying in fluffy curls while Tim plasters himself to his big brother’s side. “God, I had no idea, you should have said something.” Clark kisses the top of his head, and Jason sniffles wetly. Tim’s hand is pressed against his brother’s cheek, gentle and soft, and it’s obvious Tim is worried about him.

His too-brave Robin, too self-reliant by half. How long has he been holding this?

“Do I need to stop calling you Robin?” He asks, and Jason shakes his head from where it’s settled against his shoulder.

“No… I just don’t want to be something bird-themed. At least,” Jason sniffs a little as he pulls back and tries to pretend he hasn’t just been crying like a child on Clark’s T-shirt. “Not that obviously. I like Red Hood. It’s… It’s anonymous. I don’t… I just don’t want to pretend nothing ever happened, you know? I died. I actually died being Robin, and if pissing off Joker and keeping other people nervous about my origins is enough to keep them off Tim’s back, even if it’s -” Jason chokes on his words, and Tim wraps his arms around him in a hug. He’s quiet for a moment. “I get why you guys didn’t kill Joker, but I still hate you guys a little for it.”

Clark’s heart breaks.

This was what he’d expected. Jason… Of course.

“C’mere, Jaybird. I mean it, please.” Jason obediently goes, leans against Clark’s chest with a wet sigh. “You know I don’t kill,” Clark says quietly. “But if you really want… B and I will. He’ll be our exception.”

Jason’s eyes go wide.

“But… your code,” Jason says weakly, and Clark rubs his thumb against a cheek.

“You’re my Robin. Fuck anyone who says otherwise.”

“Our Robin,” Bruce corrected softly from the door. Jason looks up, startled, and Bruce comes closer, his eyes set on his son with a worried gleam in them. “My son,” Bruce sighs, plucking Jason out of Clark and Tim’s grasp. Jason gives a terrific sounding yelp, before clinging to his father desperately, arms winding around Bruce’s neck as he balances himself.

“B!” Jason yelps, and Clark chuckles slightly as Bruce ignores him and hugs the boy breathless.

“I love you,” Bruce says finally when they part. “And if you asked, I would kill Joker for you. But I didn’t, not just because of diplomatic immunity - which I fully agree is bullshit, don’t even start.” Bruce says dryly, to Jason’s wet chuckle. “I know myself,” Bruce says, much softer. “I don’t kill not because I can’t, but because I can. It’s easy for me to just put people in little boxes, to pack them away and not care once I’ve done what I had to. But if I had, I would have become a worse monster than the Joker. Could you imagine?”

Clark bites his lip and pulls Tim close, the little boy hiding his face in Clark’s neck.

Clark could. He could so easily not just because he knew Bruce, but because Clark had almost walked that path himself.

He remembered how he had warped the metal of the table, the way heat had been emitting from his hands, the desire to kill him anyways -

Clark was no stranger to his darker nature. But never had he felt it overwhelm him like that.

Jason is staring at Bruce like he’d never seen him before, the boy’s mouth opening and closing in disbelief, and Clark feels a faint warmth at the fact that Jason had thought them both too good to even contemplate killing the Joker. Clark knows they both would have done it, they wouldn’t have batted an eye, and then.

Well.

Clark was no stranger to being called a monster.

The nickname stays. It’s agreed that Jason would be Red Hood, his identity kept separate from the Robins, Nightwing, and Batgirl.

And speaking of Batgirl…

“You’re telling me I’ve patrolled with you at least a hundred times and I didn’t notice?” Barbara Gordon says incredulously from her side of the table. Clark gives a sheepish grin. Bruce is smiling slightly in the way that makes it clear when she’s gone he’s going to kiss him, so he indulges in being smug for a bit.

“I had the pleasure of being Batman long before you chose to step into the mantle of Batgirl,” Clark says reasonably. “By the time you were established, Bruce and I had already managed to make the two-for-one persona work.”

“And we’d had a chance to learn how to mimic each other. I don’t advertise it,” Bruce says mildly over his cup of tea, “But I have substituted for Clark before when he needed it. Luthor’s tried bugging the Daily Planet with Kryptonite often enough that we’ve made contingencies for if I need to swap, and the city is covered in Kryptonite detectors.” Barbara’s head swings between both of them, and she mouths the words incredulously to herself.

“Right. I’m just… I’m going to still sit in my corner of shame, because I seriously should have at least gotten a clue, but I’ll take it.”

“If it helps,” Clark says dryly, “Even people like Ivy and Cheetah haven’t noticed, and if any of the Rogues should have, they would be the first.”

Barbara opens her mouth, a finger held up, and then she slumps.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair.” She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose, turning to look at Tim, who is laughing with Jason while they come up with new gear for Red Hood. “Is this wise?” She asks, quieter. “I know you guys already tried changing his mind, but -”

“We’re not making him do it,” Bruce says reasonably. “None of us have to be happy with the reason, but as long as Jason is absolutely sure, we can’t override him. We’ve already made enough choices for him.” He tilts his head towards the rubble of Jason’s headstone, where Jason had spent a half-hour before Barbara’s arrival smashing it with a sledgehammer. Barbara looks at the smashed stone and grimaces in response.

“Fair enough.” The redhead looks at him. “So, do I call you Superman or Batman if I’m in danger?” She asks Clark, who snorts.

“Superman if I’m not the one in the Batman uniform,” Clark clarifies. “We can notify you a bit more subtly over comms, but we wanted you to be aware that Joker is likely to break out of Arkham Asylum when Red Hood hits the streets. I don’t want you caught off guard and him doing the same to you.”

“What, do you want me to move?” She asks, and Clark gives her a look that Bruce recognizes intimately. It was Clark’s I love you, you idiot, you’re adopted no you cannot escape look.

“I’d prefer it if you were somewhere a little more secure. I’m sure the commissioner would buy it if you relocated due to being a high-profile target, after all.” Clark’s voice is silk-smooth, a buttery persuasion that he had honed on years of investigative journalism, three Robins, and the original Batman.

Barbara glares at him, and then turns her glare on Bruce, who snorts a laugh.

“Don’t look at me. I’m of the same mind. You’ve done well for yourself so far, Barb,” Bruce says with a warm smile, “But you’re a high profile target, just as Clark’s said. Gordon’s been getting twitchy about your safety the longer Joker stays in Arkham.” Here, Bruce glances at his boyfriend. Clark maintains an innocent smile, but Bruce can see the edge of mischief in it. “And I don’t even know what Clark did to convince him to stay in prison.”

“Oh, that’s just for me to know,” Clark says a bit breezily. “Have fun trying to figure it out, though.”

“Jeeze,” Barbara says, her lips twitching wildly. “You two really are married.”

Bruce doesn’t have to look at Clark to know he’s got the same shit-eating grin on his face that Bruce does.

“We’re thinking of a winter wedding. New Years, maybe,” Clark says smoothly, and Barbara drops what she’s holding right onto her foot.

“DAMMIT -”

When Tim sees Clark next, the boy throws a pillow at his face. Clark catches it with a grin, raises a brow at him.

“What’s that for, little bird?” Clark asks, amused. Tim pouts at being foiled, and says, with a little stomp,

“That’s for ruining Luthor’s day and not telling me first!” Tim says, and Clark laughs, walks over to the Batcomputer, where Tim had set the news to replay.

“Thankfully, it appears nobody was harmed, though there is a concerning amount of radiation.” The newscaster says. Clark can see himself in the frame, looking mildly disapproving at the rubble. “Superman - I just want to ask, why didn’t you come to the aid of Lexcorp? Surely you knew about this happening?” Her tone was accusatory, but Superman doesn’t even flinch.

Batman was cool, but Superman when he was doing his whole disapproval thing was cooler, in Tim’s very humble opinion.

“I hear thousands of disasters happening every day, Ms. Lacey,” Superman’s cool, disdainful voice fills the speakers, and Tim climbs into the chair, crosses his legs while Clark laughs at his scowl. “As Lexcorp employees are contractually obligated to not request my aid or help me in any way, I cannot tell the difference between a normal disaster and an engineered one.” The woman stares at him.

“Contractually obligated?” The woman’s voice sounds gleeful, and Superman shrugs on the screen.

“Yes miss, contractually obligated. I’ve never seen the contract myself, but as it’s designed to threaten legal action should I touch a Lexcorp employee, I’ve been made quite aware that I’m not allowed to provide any form of contact with his employees.” A bland smile. “As Superman, the only person I can truly help are those who ask for it.”

Tim pauses it. “If you’d warned me,” the little boy grumbles, “I could have dropped his stock by a third!” Tim shakes his little fist at Clark, and Clark laughs, hefts the boy up and takes a seat.

“You saw my favorite part?” Clark asks, and Tim looks at him suspiciously.

“There’s more?” Tim says incredulously, and Clark grins, all sharp edges, and presses play.

“Are you worried about Lexcorp retaliating?” Lacey asks, and Tim rolls his eyes. Worried? No. But he could pretend, obviously.

“Not me, no. But my son? Yes. Several attempts have already been made against Ms. Lane and my son Jon, you see.” Lacey’s face lights up, and Tim rolls his eyes. He can tell she’s looking for a big score and just nailed it. Clark’s smile is a little sharper, so he looks at it again.

“So is it true that you and Ms. Lane are together?” She asks, and Clark smiles sweetly.

“We are not. Jon is an unexpected surprise to us, given the circumstances of how he arrived to us both,” Superman says mildly. “Of course, not everyone believes my son is technically from another dimension, despite Lexcorp’s forays into tampering with the phenomenon known as Speed Force.”

“Oh my god,” Tim says, mouth dropping open. “You didn’t.” Clark looks smug.

“I did.”

“Luthor’s rep is wrecked!” Tim says, giggling, hands over his mouth.

“It’s certainly something,” Bruce’s wickedly amused voice says, the man walking over and leaning over the back of the chair. Tim looks away when they kiss because ew, but when they’re done, Bruce ruffles his hair. “By the way, Allen called. When he wasn’t fucking howling with laughter, he was telling me that I had to congratulate you, because he’s delighted that he gave you permission.” Clark smirks, and Tim snickers.

“You’re evil,” he says admiringly. Clark looks innocently at Tim, and he pokes Clark’s side.

“I am not,” he says virtuously, and Tim giggles harder. “Superman’s a nice guy.”

“Clark Kent, on the other hand, is a vindictive man,” Bruce says, smirking. Tim snorts.

“You know, this is why everyone thought you all were dating,” he says seriously, and both men flush slightly.

“Yes. You all have made us very aware of that fact,” Clark says, cheeks a faint pink. Tim hums happily, pokes Clark again.

“Good,” he says, and Clark smiles fondly down at Tim.

Score for him!

Time passes peacefully, after that. After a few weeks in the Kansas sun, Jon is back in his care, notably tanned and happy, the boy well on his way to being a solid two and a half years old.

“Come back any time, dear,” Martha says fondly at him, and Clark smiles softly at his mother, leans over to press a little kiss to her cheek. “You know we adored having Jon.”

“Thank you, Ma,” he says quietly. “I miss you when I’m not here, but…” He trails off, and Ma cups his face with her palms.

“Oh hon,” she says, familiar fondness. “I know how you feel. You travel the world, you see the stars, but something just keeps pulling you home. It’s just that home, for you hon, is that little place in Gotham now, isn’t it?” She says the words with full understanding, and he blushes hotly.

“Yeah… It’s there, Ma.” He can’t help but feel a little ashamed. “I mean, I love Metropolis, but… Bruce is just… he’s everything I coulda asked for.” Ma pulls him down, and he lets her kiss his brow.

“Don’t you worry that sweet head of yours about it, Clark honey,” she says warmly. “You follow where that heart of yours leads, and it’ll never steer you wrong.” Jonathan, as though agreeing, coos happily at his father, and Clark smiles down at the kid.

His son… his most precious gift the other world had given him so far. He waves a goodbye, and quietly departs, waving a goodbye to Pa as he passes.

The return home is quiet, his sweet boy falling asleep in Clark’s arms as he returns to Gotham. Halfway there, Clark’s communications unit buzzes.

“Clark, babe, you online?” Bruce’s voice is a warm, welcome sound, and he floats in place, smiling.

“Yeah, I’m here, B. What’s up?” He asks, and Bruce gives a worried little hrn. “B?”

“Can you drop by Star City and take the Watchtower teleport service home? Luthor’s done something to the air in Metropolis, and I’m not sure if it’s spread to Gotham yet.”

Dread swoops in his stomach. “Is Lois -”

“I’m here!” Lois’s voice is a warm, welcome sound, and he slumps in relief, turns to head towards Star City. “The Kryptonite meters at the Daily Planet were losing their minds, so right now, the building’s on lockdown. Bruce made sure we were all evacuated so everyone’s at a shelter in Gotham right now, waiting on some news. The guys at the Planet say hi, by the way, and suggested you might want to write an article.”

“Do they know about my identity?”

“No, not yet,” Lois says cheerfully. “Bruce said you were out on assignment looking into some stuff in Star City, so nobody’s too surprised about you being out of town.”

“Good, good. Thanks, Lois. I’m going to pass by Ma and Pa, give them a heads up,” Clark says, and Bruce hums.

“No need. I sent Alfred to pick them up once the alarms started. He’s going to get them somewhere secure once we’re sure your identity isn’t compromised.” Bruce says - always efficient, his man. Clark nods to himself.

“Thanks, B. Do I need to talk to anyone in Star City?”

“Black Canary and Green Arrow are both in town. I’m sure they’d appreciate some notice.” Nodding, Clark allows himself to calm down.

“Okay. Thanks for the heads up, I’ll take care of myself and Jon.”

“Daddy!” Jon says happily, and he can hear Bruce’s soft laughter mingle with Lois’s.

“I guess we woke him up,” Lois says understandingly, and Clark holds his baby closer, flies a little faster. “Momma says hi, sweetie!”

“Mom!” Jon squeals, pats Clark’s face, and he hears the warm laughter of both Lois and Bruce on the other end.

“That’s right. We’re going to go see her soon,” He promises, zooming through the sky, Jon making little excited noises as they fly together. “Oof, you’ve gotten so strong,” he teases his son when Jon tugs on his cape, the man hearing Bruce muffle some laughter. Lois isn’t even bothering, and somehow, he can’t help the warmth that is spreading, the knowledge. He could see why the other Clark loved Lois now. So easily.

Landing in Star City sees him greeted with Oliver and Dinah, the two waving at him with grins on their faces.

“Oh? Is this your baby?” Dinah coos. “Can I cuddle him?” She asks, and Clark smiles, allowing her to take Jon off of his hands for a few moments, Jon cooing at his appreciative audience happily. What a cutie, his son.

“Superman! Get off the roof, now!” Tim’s voice suddenly appearing in his ear jolts him out of his reverie, and he obediently shoots up to the sky, aiming for the nearest strip of unoccupied beach.

Whatever hits him hits hard -  Clark slams into the sand somewhere between Mach 1 and Mach 2, bouncing off of the surface. He has to dig his heels in, looking up where he’d been hit from.

His eyes go wide.

Fourteen, maybe fifteen. A riot of curly black hair, a thick studded leather jacket, and a familiar suit. The teenager is glaring at him, blue eyes glowing a malicious blackish red.

“Fucking finally,” the teen spits, landing on the sand. “It took me long enough to find you, pretender.”

“Who are you?” Clark asks, bewildered, and the boy’s teeth bare in a vicious grin.

“Why should I tell you that?” The boy says, smile sharp. “Shit like that doesn’t matter to a dead man.” Something green glitters in the boy’s hand, and he swallows in horrified shock at the sight of it. Kryptonite. It’s not anywhere near as pure as he’s used to from folks like Lex, but the fact that this obviously Kryptonian boy was holding it so casually -

Oh no.

“Look… I really don’t know who you are, but please… We don’t need to fight. If I intruded on your area of protection, I’m sorry.” The boy’s head tilts in confused surprise, and the anger in those glowing eyes seems to settle some, before it returns, glowing a little brighter.

“Oh, you’re good,” the boy says, chuckling. “I was almost convinced. No no, Superman. I’m not falling for your good boy act again.” The kid’s smile widens. “I’ll enjoy this.”

And then the boy advances.

Chapter Text

An explosion rocks the beach, sudden ribbons of glass crystalizing and shattering as Superman plays a game of keep-away with the other Kryptonian, blasts of heat and the occasional sonic boom that makes the windows of Star City shake like an earthquake.

“You know,” Oliver grumbles to Dinah as they draw nearer to the destruction, “When I said I wanted the city to be able to withstand Richter-8 quakes, everyone but Batman laughed at me.”

“I will never laugh again,” Dinah says solemnly, lifts a hand even, while little Jon Kent fusses in her arms, tiny little arms waving in concern for his papa. Oliver takes Jon off of her hands so she can climb up the last building closest to the beach, bouncing him gently while Jon whines.

“It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay. Your papa is going to be alright,” he says, and Jon whines at him. Yeah, he knew it sounded like bullshit, but he had to keep up appearances for the kid. A rope construct drops, and he settles the two-and-a-half-year old boy into it. Jon whines; but chews on his fingers despondently as Dinah lifts him up into her arms, the Archer following behind quickly.

“Whoa!” He says, alarmed when the first thing that greets him is a plume of sand, rising into the air with the heat. Black (what the fuck? Black?) and red light hits the sand, and the sand begins to shape into thousands of glass shards, one of them glittering a pale green.

Oh shit.

Oliver taps his comm rapidly. “Dammit Batman connect me to Supes right now!” He doesn’t wait, just blurts it out, “Kryptonite in the glass shards, move your ass!”

The glass rains down, but when he dares peek, there’s no sign of Clark.

Whew.

“Fucking Kryptonians,” Dinah mutters.

“Thanks for the save,” Clark murmurs back over comms. “I know you guys mean well, but he’s only focused on me - please don’t try to help too much, I don’t want you or Jon in the line of fire.”

There’s a staticky roar of sound - the sound of the air splitting apart from the heat, and Oliver can see an explosion over the beachfront, near some of the dunes.

“Aw, trying to make them think you’re a good guy? Ha! I know better, you fake-ass piece of shit!” The boy’s voice is angry, as though Clark had personally offended him somehow. Oliver can’t even imagine how he did so, but apparently, he did.

Dinah swallows her nerves, and starts walking.

“Whoa! Wait wait wait wait!” Oliver puts his hand on her shoulder, and she glances at him archly. “I know Jon’s a Kryptonian, but you can’t just take him down there!” Dinah frowns at him, before glancing back at the fight.

“Can you just… just trust me on this? I have a hunch.”

“And if it doesn’t pan out?”

“The odds on that are small,” she says, confidently. Then, a moment later, “Well. Small-ish.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Oliver mutters. Tapping his unit, he sighs. “Batman, any chance I can get an idea of if Dinah’s plan is going to pan out?”

“Put her on.”

Oliver watches as Dinah grimaces.

“From what I can hear and see… I think that kid might be from another reality.” Batman releases an explosive sigh.

“Fuck’s sake. Evil Clark?”

“Or he's a Kent, just younger,” Dinah says quietly. There’s a rapid tap of keys, and then a younger voice comes on the line.

“I think you might be half-right. Lexcorp has some notes here about some weird anomaly they covered up from the League. Timestamp is within the last three weeks.”

“Christ, does everything have to do with that guy?” Oliver mutters.

“He really, really doesn’t like Clark, so maybe?” The boyish voice says. “No blood tests, but they said Kryptonite doesn’t work on him, which was proven after Lexcorp’s Kryptonite went kablooey.” Wow. Another Robin? Sheeeeeesh Batman.

“Fucking hell.” Jon looks at them, claps his hands.

“Papa?” He says hopefully, and Dinah bounces him on her hip.

“Soon, baby,” she tells him, and the boy pouts against her side, seemingly immune to the danger. They duck behind the rooftop door access, and keep talking. “I’m thinking that the same thing that made Jon come here might have pulled this kid into our world.”

“But we would have noticed by now if Clark had a mini-me out for revenge, so there’s no way the two are connected directly, right?” Oliver feels like he has to state that bit. Dinah scowls.

“Hmmm…” the boyish voice is consumed by the sudden clicking of keys, and then comes back on the line. “I don’t know… the reading for where he arrived is the same as the one that Wonder Woman investigated and found Jon at. But the dates of their arrival don’t match up. Mmm… decay rates, conversion of energy, Kryptonite markers… Bingo.”

“What did he find?” Oliver mutters, and another explosion makes the building jump.

“I know already, zip it,” Dinah hisses before he can give her a smug smirk.

“I think the Kryptonite did something to his arrival time. It extended his arrival and because the world was still turning, he ended up landing basically in Lexcorp’s lap. I’d say that the travel with the Kryptonite is what probably made him so immune. He must have developed a defense after spending however long they spent in close quarters during the transit.”

“Think the Kryptonite fucked with his head?”

“It might have made him more malleable to suggestion,” the boy offers. “If you want my two cents, I don’t think that anything Black Canary does will hurt their chances. If he was supposed to arrive with Jon, then the chances are pretty high he was bringing him here to keep him safe.”

“All I need. Thanks, kiddo.”

“It’s Robin the third,” the kid says jokingly, before signing off. “Good luck!”

And then the line is dead.

“If we put his kid in danger and he gets hurt, I’m blaming you,” Oliver tells Dinah sourly. Dinah blows him a kiss and smirks.

“Please. I have no bad plans.”

“Last week says otherwise.”

“Where is he?” The boy asks him with a snarl, and Clark yelps, darting to one side as the same sickly-glowing green light slams forward, the glass-encased Kryptonite vibrating violently. The world speeds up around him, just enough for the boy to grab the fabric of his shirt and nail him in the face with a punch. Dazed, Clark puts his hands up, fending off each blow.

Telekinesis, some form of aerokinesis, immunity to Kryptonite… if Lex had something to do with this Clark was going to give him hell with Tim later.

“Who are you asking about!?” Clark manages to get the boy’s hands off of his uniform, and wraps his hands around both wrists, twisting him over and into the dirt. The boy struggles violently, but Clark has him practically pinned, his strength enough to hold the boy.

“Get off of me you murderer!” The boy yells, kicking and flailing wildly. The Kryptonite glass sails towards them again, and Clark ducks; but his grip weakens just enough for the boy to kick him off, Clark landing with a hard oof. Worn hands clutch at his throat, fingers going tight as he squeezes hard on the skin, and Clark can feel how the boy’s power closes his throat, blocks him off, and for a moment - actual, hard panic sets in.

“Papa!” The cry of his two-year-old makes air rush back into his lungs, and he coughs and splutters, the boy letting him go in shock. The Kryptonite glass has frozen, inching away from little Jon as the boy stumbles over his little feet.

“Jonathan,” the boy breathes, and his son - his son - looks at the dangerous boy adoringly.

“Kon!” The boy squeals, running over to him. He impacts the jacket-clad teenager’s leg, and carefully, Kon strokes the little boy’s hair with obvious love, the kryptonite-laced spear crunching slowly out of existence as he kneels down.

“Are you okay baby?” Kon asks softly, his thumbs stroking the little boy’s cheeks, Clark coughing as he sits up, but doesn’t dare to move closer.

“Yeah! I spent time with Ganma and Ganpa -” Jon babbles happily about it all, the video calls, Lois, and Kon is watching Jon with a soft smile, his eyes no longer that terrifyingly dark violet, but a warmer hue of blue. When he’s done, the little boy grabs Kon’s hand and drags him over - despite his reluctance - to Clark, who has stayed still the whole time. “And this is Papa! He bakes the best beef pies,” The boy says conspiratorially, and Kon raises a skeptical brow.

“Pie?” He asks, and Clark flushes.

“He won’t eat anything if it isn’t in pie form,” Clark says a little defensively. Kon’s brow inches higher, before he reaches out, a fingertip-soft brush making sand cascade from his skin. It doesn’t hurt. The boy watches him, and then blows out a sigh.

“Figures,” Kon says at last. “The one world my baby brother ends up in and it’s the one Clark I am suspicious of that’s decent.”

“Better that than the other way around?” Clark offers, and Kon looks at him; snorts.

“C’mon. I know Lois is going to chew my ear off.” Here the boy grimaces “If Ollie doesn’t first.”

“You seem to know a lot about us,” Clark says casually, and Kon shoots him a look.

Deflates when Jon tugs at his leg in a bid for upsies. He scoops the toddler into his arms and presses kisses to the boy’s cheeks, much to Jon’s delighted squeals.

Clark rubs a hand against his face, smiling despite himself.

He’d get an earful for this later, but the sight was cute.

“How about you fix up this beach with me, and uh…” Clark looks around for the Kryptonite.

“The Kryptonite is gone,” the boy says matter-of-factly.

“Batman is going to have a field day with you,” Clark says, amused. Kon grimaces, bouncing Jon on his hip to the boy’s delighted squeals.

“Can I get out of that?” He asks, and Clark snorts a laugh.

“He’s my boyfriend, so no.”

Kon damn near drops Jon.

“He’s what-”

Oh yeah. Revenge.

What? Clark wasn’t above being a little petty.

It’s telling that Kon cringes when he sees Lois, clearly expecting a scolding.. Lois pulls up short when she sees that, and then she straightens her back and walks closer, plucking his glasses off of his face. Kon yelps a little, but Lois peers at him, frowning, and he holds still like a soldier in front of a drill sergeant.

It was kind of funny.

“You really need a nap,” she decides on telling the bewildered teenager, Kon clutching Jon like a shield. Clark’s lips twitch slightly at her sudden fussing. “So c’mon. Let’s get some food and hot tea into you - Alfred’s got a bunch ready -” Lois keeps chattering away as she draws a clearly nervous Kon into the manor proper. Once Kon’s out of immediate detection, Bruce walks up.

“So. Evil clone?” Bruce muses lightly. Clark snorts.

“Less evil, more… at odds, I think. With me and you specifically.” Bruce hums agreement, leans against him like a particularly pushy cat until Clark gives in and kisses Bruce.

“Okay, kids are still here!” Tim complains. The two part, and Clark sighs.

“You’re the one who insisted on adopting him,” Bruce murmurs against his lips, and Clark wrinkles his nose.

“He’s our bat-brat,” Clark agrees, and Bruce laughs, pulls back to look at a disgruntled Tim. As is habit, Clark picks the boy up to kiss his forehead, the boy squeaking like a distressed mouse until Clark puts him down again. “Thanks for the heads up,” Clark tells him, and the boy grins shyly.

“Happy to help,” Tim says sincerely, getting over his offense of being picked up. “So, Lois ran him over?”

“And how,” Jason’s wickedly amused voice says as he walks down the stairs. “She’s already stuffing Alfred’s baking down his throat, guys. If you want any of his cookies you better move.” Tim looks wide-eyed, and immediately bolts upstairs, the boy stopping on a dime to get an affectionate hair ruffle from Jason before running up the stairs.

“Jason?” Bruce asks, worried. Jason loved Alfred’s baking - if he was down here, he was not handling something well.

“He’s rattled. Hiding it pretty well, but the look on his face is telling. He reminds me of the street kids that are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’s used to being beaten when his guard is down, when the other shoe drops.” Blue eyes stare at Clark. “You’re going to have to run serious damage control. Diana and her Lasso might be necessary, because I don’t think he’ll trust any of us without that at some point.”

“And that’s only if the Lasso hasn’t been subverted in another universe,” Clark says, annoyed. Not at Kon, no - after the fight, the kid looked one stiff breeze away from passing out, he was sure, if Jason’s able to pick up on that.

“Worth a try,” Bruce says with a shrug. “I’ll call Diana. You go deal with my godson,” Bruce says, and Clark scowls at him.

“My chances of adopting him are slim,” He says dryly.

“Great. Tell your parents that I’m still godfather. They’ll adopt him.”

“I hate you,” Clark sighs, and Jason laughs at him. “Alright, fine, let’s go - where are my folks, anyways?” Clark wonders.

“Dick took them to go see the Gotham observatory - for once, the sky’s actually fairly clear, and they were eager to see it for themselves,” Bruce says warmly, understanding his anxiety without words. “I’ll have them back here in an hour if you want.”

“No… No, let them have their fun. It’s been ages since they got to do something for themselves,” Clark says. “Jason, if you want to, I have a bike for you to tinker with - it should still be in the hangar bay, if you’re looking for a distraction.” Jason’s smile is brief, but brilliant.

“Who and where is it going?”

“Green Arrow, and he says it’s for his protégé, Arsenal.” Jason nods easily, taking the offered distraction and wrapping an arm around his waist in a brief, grateful hug, before disappearing down to the hangar bay.

With a sigh, Clark moves to go upstairs.

Kon isn’t sure how to feel about these people. After so many worlds gone wrong, after chasing after Jon and trying to keep him safe after every single version of Clark tried to mold him into their weapon… He listens to Lois with half an ear, and listens to Clark and Bruce with the other.

Godson. Bruce had sounded so affectionate, so warm towards him, and the man barely knew him. It was a far cry from the Batman who had locked him up in a Kryptonite cell to contain him, and the Batman who had tried to kill him for Superman, deeming him an anomaly.

This one felt… human. Tuning back in, he watches as this world’s Tim Drake trots in, grabbing up a plate and stealing half the cookies from the plate.

His lips quirk up into a half-hearted smile. God. Timmy was kind of precious-looking right now, all chubby cheeks and soft hair. Intelligent blue looks at him, and he smiles awkwardly at Tim.

God, his eyes were still as blue as sapphires… Flushing, he looks down at Jon, who is happily eating his cookie.

“Slow down, Jon baby,” Kon says chidingly, and Jon looks up at him, his crumb-crusted face puffed in a pout. Kon’s not having that, so he pokes the boy on his nose, the kid letting the air blow out like a balloon.

“You’re no fun,” Jon mumbles, and Kon snorts.

“What’s fun about having cookies everywhere but in your mouth?” He wonders, and Clark, entering, chuckles agreement.

“No fun at all,” Clark agrees. “May I?” He looks at Jon in his lap, before reluctantly lifting Jon up and allowing him to climb happily into the other Kryptonian’s arms. “Actually… Now that we have you here,” Clark’s voice turns thoughtful, and Kon internally cringes. “Do you know how old Jon should be?” He asks.

… That’s a new one.

“How old do you have him listed as?” Kon asks, finally taking a cookie for himself. Lois had stuffed a good dozen in his mouth, but he felt better this way, eating them on his own

“Mmm. He’s about…” Clark had to think about it, going so far as to count on his fingers. “I think two years and almost six months old now? When he ended up here with us, Bart and Hal both guessed he was about fourteen months, give or take a few days?” Kon bites his lower lip.

“Jon was born on June nineteenth, and no matter what reality we move to, calendar days remain the same.” Here he grimaces. “Or it did until I got thrown through reality.”

“What about you?” Lois asks him warmly. “What’s your birthday?” He gives Clark an awkward glance, before swallowing his bite of cookie.

“Um. I mean, I was cloned… so I don’t really have a birthday? From all the notes that Batman - original Batman,” Kon adds hastily, “Got after he helped Superman rescue me from Luther’s cloning bunker, I was originally decanted on March 10th.”

The noise level drops so fast Kon can hear Jason cursing downstairs. (Also, friendly Jason? So, so weird.) Lois is vibrating in fury, and he tentatively offers a hand out. She lets him touch his shoulder, before a thin smile curls her lips.

“Uh… Lois?”

“Homicide,” She says flatly. “Superman and Batman might not kill but I certainly don’t have that restriction.”

“Erk?” Kon says, and he finds Jon back in his arms, the little boy staring up at him in confusion.

“Momma?” The boy says, confused.

“Not now, sweetie. Momma has a bald head to slap,” Lois says with forced cheer, standing up. Clark pushes her gently back into her seat. “Clark!” She says, obviously displeased.

“Lois,” Clark says evenly. “Right now, unless Lex has his hands in business in Star City, he doesn’t even know we have Kon. Unless there’s a tracker on you?” Clark asks, and Kon shakes his head.

“Crushed them before I left to… deal with Superman?” He says even more meekly. He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his head. “Luthor’s a bit of a pain in the ass in just about every universe, but most of the time he tries to get me on his side. He’s uh.” Kon swallows.

“Uh?” Clark says, looking amused but also worried.

“Erm.” Oh god. Why was he so awkward about this? “Well, he’s the other half of my cloned genetics?” He says, a bit quieter.

If it had been quiet before, it was dead quiet now. Chancing a glance, he can see how Clark’s eyes flicker violet, before the man visibly calms himself.

“Tim? Remember when I told you you weren’t allowed to drive Luthor crazy?” Tim perks up from where he’s sitting, and Kon can’t help his sidelong glance at the boy.

God dammit. Kon, stop staring, you idiot.

“Is that a yes so I can make Luthor miserable?” Tim says enthusiastically.

“That’s a fuck yes, Bruce can take it up with me if he objects,” Clark says, and Tim grins broadly. Kon flushes at the sight, and looks down at Jon. He can feel how Clark’s eyes settle on him, clearly bemused, but he doesn’t push.

“For now, since Clark isn’t letting me have my villain origin story,” Lois says, audibly disappointed, “Why don’t we catch Kon here up to what’s going on?” Kon smiles awkwardly.

“I’d like that.” Everyone takes turns filling him in, but halfway through, Kon stops.

“Wait. Um.” He shoots Clark a bewildered look. “You part time as Batman?” Kon says, his voice reaching an embarrassingly high pitch.

There was no way. He was not…

“Oh my god,” Kon says, faintly. Clark just looked horribly amused.

“Bruce can part-time as me,” Clark says, grinning wickedly, and Kon stares. “It’s helpful for work.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

“I… What?”

“And now you know why they’re dating,” Lois says dryly. “I swear, Clark has been a menace since he and Bruce started working together.”

“I am not -”

“You are!” Everyone else choruses, even little Jon, and Kon can’t help his startled laugh.

Somehow… Somehow this was okay? He liked this. He gets through the rest of the short meal, and after handing off a sleepy Jon to a smiling Tim, escapes to a balcony to feel less trapped.

“It can be a bit much, sometimes,” Clark’s voice follows him out, and he flinches in spite of himself. Clark’s head pokes out, and the unnecessarily human gesture softens something in him. “Mind if I join you?”

“Uh. No - I mean yeah! Yeah. You can join me. Thanks for asking.” Clark gives him a soft smile, and it reminds him so much of the original Clark that his heart cracks a little. The Kryptonian settles down next to him, a few inches left wide open so he can relax, feel safe and secure.

“It must be hard, thinking you know us in one world, and ending up somewhere so different.” Clark’s soft voice makes him curl up, arms wrapping around his knees, swallowing nervously.

“It’s… It’s tough, yeah.” Clark looks at him even more softly.

“You were close with Tim, weren’t you?” Clark says, and he winces.

“That obvious?” He mumbles, miserable.

“I know what I look like when I’m looking at Bruce,” Clark says dryly. “And the way you look at him isn’t far away from that.” Kon flushes slightly, head tilting to a side.

“I… I loved him.” Kon murmurs against his knees. “I loved him and I would hold up the stars for him and he. He died. He died saving me.” Clark looks at him, sad and quiet.

“Do you want a hug?” He asks, and Kon quivers.

None of the Clarks before this had asked. None of them - not even his real Clark - had ever offered him a hug of his own free will. He nods, and Clark gently bundles him up into a hug.

That done, Kon finally begins to cry, soft, hiccuped sobs shaking his shoulders as Clark holds him tight.

Goodbye, Tim…

“Do I want to know?” Bruce asks, when Clark appears, expression dark.

“I’ve got half a mind to go back to Kon’s original universe and deck Superman.”

Ouch. Bruce ducks under Clark’s outstretched arm and pulls him in for a chaste little kiss, something fleeting and soft, just enough for Clark to relax against him, hand pressing against the small of Bruce’s back and drawing him closer.

“Shh. Just kiss me,” Bruce murmurs when Clark parts from him. “Hold on to me and kiss me. You’re not going out there in a temper. I’m not letting you.” Clark glares at Bruce, but Bruce is not deterred, the man’s arms looping around his neck and pulling him in. “Kiss me, Clark. Before I decide to drive you crazy the old-fashioned way.” Clark looks down at him, brow rising.

“And what’s that?”

Bruce grins evilly. “It’s A Small World. On loop.”

Clark stares at him. “You would not.” He says, horrified.

“I have veto rights, babe. I will override the Batmobile and I’ll let the boys know exactly who to blame. So either you kiss me until that temper of yours settles, or I just drive you up a wall.” How Bruce could be so sexy despite being so evil was a superpower. Clark was sure of it.

“Sacrificing the boys to terrible music?” Clark tries. Bruce’s smug expression doesn’t change.

“It’s a great sacrifice, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Bruce says, grinning. Clark snorts a little, but obediently dips his head down.

“I need it to be known I’m doing this under protest,” Clark murmurs against Bruce’s lips.

“Sure, sure,” Bruce says, pressing their lips together in a heated caress. “Now zip it, you big baby. We can plan out the demise of every jackass Superman when you’ve got a cooler head.” Clark would complain, but he’s a bit busy kissing Bruce, his hands settling on his favorite hips.

“Fuck,” Clark murmurs against Bruce’s lips. “I love you.” Bruce laughs at him, breathlessly amused.

“Love you too, Clark,” Bruce grins. “Now shut up and kiss me.” The next few minutes pass in a happy daze, before a faint fuck’s sake graces Clark’s hearing. Pulling back, Clark grins at Bruce.

“We’re scandalizing the kids,” Clark says, and Bruce snorts.

“Oh, if I wanted to scandalize them, I’d pull out Brucie Wayne and really get risque with you.”

“Please god, don’t.” Dick’s voice is pained, and both of them share a look, grin, and then laugh together.

“Alright, alright, fine.” Clark says, feeling much better. “But only because you asked, oh punny one.” Clark watches as Nightwing - ah, he’s already suited up - gives him a pained look.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, gremlin,” Clark says, parting from his boyfriend at last to ruffle dark hair. “What’s up?” He asks, and Nightwing’s lips go thin.

“Red Hood is hitting the streets tonight.”

“It’s too early,” Bruce objects, which is about what Clark expected. Hell, he’s in agreement.

“Joker’s planning a breakout,” Jason says, and both of them look at Jason. He’s already dressed, a slightly mulish scowl on his lips. “Look, I know you two aren’t happy-”

“Understatement,” Bruce growls. Jason ignores them both.

“- But Jordan cleared me. Hell, Diana cleared me. You know they wouldn’t if they didn’t think I could handle it.” Bruce scowls, and Clark looks a little distressed at him. They both knew Jordan wouldn’t have cleared him if he hadn’t approved of his skill, to say nothing of Diana. If he’d earned their stamps of approval, he’d damn well done it honestly.

“Not alone,” Bruce says at last. “At least let Batgirl join you. She owes me enough of a favor for that to be feasible.” Jason gives him an unamused look, but at Bruce’s visible distress, the boy folds gracefully.

“Fine, fine, B. But only because I love you,” the boy grouses.

“What are you using?” Clark asks prudently, and Jason glances sidelong.

“Jordan offered me a gun -”

“Oh hell no -” Bruce claps a hand over his mouth, and Jason looks sympathetically at his father.

“I couldn’t turn him down, he insisted I learn as a last resort,” Jason’s voice drops, and Bruce sags, head pressing against Jason’s shoulder. Clark steps up, hand running down Bruce’s spine. “B, I know you’ve got a no guns rule, but after what happened-”

“I know.” Bruce grits. “I know, please just. Please.” Jason cups the back of Bruce’s neck, makes his father look up at him. A few tight breaths, and Bruce buries his head into Jason’s neck.

“B?” He asks awkwardly, and Clark raises a brow.

“No guns when I’m on patrol with you. And if you use anything fatal I’m going to strangle you myself,” Bruce says, every word sounding as though it was dragged out from the depths of hell. “Go find Alfred. I know he’s hiding guns somewhere in my manor.”

Jason’s mouth drops open.

Quite honestly, so did Clark’s.

“Please don’t ask me to say it again,” Bruce grits, and Jason looks at him in bewilderment. A moment later, Jason wraps his father in a tight hug and darts off, presumably to find Alfred.

“Bruce?” Clark asks softly.

“I swear to god, Clark,” Bruce says angrily, looking up at him. “If anything happens - if Joker gets his hands on any of my boys, I’m not going to wait. I’m going to kill him and set his corpse on fire, do you understand me?” There’s an alarming glint of madness in his eyes, reminding Clark distinctly of when he’d approached Joker as Kal-El, rather than just Superman.

“Bruce,” He softly pleads, and Bruce’s eyes glitter briefly with their madness, before they soften.

Nightwing is conspicuously absent, the man poking at Jason’s half-fixed bike, his whistling doing plenty to drown out the noise. Clark pulls him closer.

“It’s okay. Our boy’s okay. Don’t let Joker get you to that place,” Clark murmurs. “You know I won’t let Joker touch our boys again, right?” Bruce’s grip is punishingly tight on Clark’s arm, enough that he can actually feel something. Bruce’s fingers would be purple if he didn’t loosen his grip, and Clark eases his fingers off, holding his hand. He presses a kiss to Bruce’s palm, and the man blushes, startled.

“Clark!” He says, embarrassed, and Clark smiles.

“Trust me. Eyes on me.” he breathes, and Bruce begins to flush darker. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not with that grin on your face,” Bruce manages, flushing hotly. Clark smirks.

“Maybe if you’re good to me, I’ll let you undress me after.” Bruce’s blush brightens violently. Clark presses a kiss to his nose, gentle. “Wait for me,” Clark murmurs huskily. “Spend some time with Kon, okay baby?”

“M’not a baby,” Bruce grumbles.

“You’re my baby,” Clark teases, kissing up under an ear. The sound of footsteps, and then a disgusted noise sounds.

“Hey!” Tim complains, and both of them laugh.

“Aren’t you staying behind?” Clark asks Tim, who is looking disgruntled at him, Lois watching them all with amusement..

“Of course I am,” Tim says, unimpressed. “Miss Lois was interested in helping out.” Both men look at her with identical raised eyebrows. Lois, who is standing behind Tim, gives a sheepish grin. The boy grins up at her before going off to the Batcomputer.

“It seems tough enough as it is to keep track of everyone. If Metropolis is going to be evacuating the Daily Planet to Gotham any time the Kryptonite meters so much as squeak funny. And you guys might joke, but after-hours crime is picking up in Metropolis.” Lois shrugs her shoulders. “Research and dispatch is nothing new to me, so if I can work in Metropolis and provide that kind of assistance, I can ask Perry to move my shifts to afternoon. I’m not a newscaster, so there’s no penalty, and nobody at the Daily Planet keeps normal hours anyways.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asks, distracted. “I know that Luthor is out to get you.”

“And he’s going to be less out to get me if I don’t do this?” She points out. “I’m in danger just because I’m Jon’s mother. If you guys are going to have me live somewhere secure, then why not go all in? I can seriously just do my work from home, provide evening backup, and we don’t have the issues that would come from just having one person here in Gotham.”

“... I suppose I’ll have to buy out an entire apartment complex. I can afford to rig it with all of the tricks, and offer everyone at the Planet a discount for living there,” Bruce says, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Sugar daddy,” Lois grins. Clark rolls his eyes and Bruce just heaves a deep, defeated sigh.

“I can’t even argue at this rate,” Bruce says, amused. His fingers touch Clark’s cheek, and Clark flushes slightly at the grin on Bruce’s face. “When we get married,” Bruce pitches his voice low, though Clark’s face is rapidly heating, “You’ll have to help me with all the things I want to spoil you with.”

“Bruce!” He hisses, furious pink. Lois looks between them, an amused grin tugging her lips up.

“What did I miss?” She wonders, and he flushes a brighter shade of pink.

“Nothing. Bruce is just a terrible, horrible, no good boyfriend trying to kill me before patrol,” Clark says, and both Lois and Bruce laugh at him fondly.

He bet other Clarks never had to deal with this, the man bemoans, head in his hands.

Kon is clutching at his mug when Bruce enters, having been booted out of the Batcave before Jason could return. He’s still trembling - even with Lois and Clark’s friendly teasing, the thought of a gun in his son’s hands - Bruce bites his lower lip.

“Hey. Room for one more?” He asks, and the boy lifts his head; seeing the dark bags under the boy’s eyes is painful.

“Yeah. I - Yeah. Thanks for asking,” Kon says, flustered. Bruce finds himself a cup of tea and sits next to him.

“So,” Bruce says, mild as butter. “Have you given any thought as to where you’re going to stay?” Kon’s thumbs tap against his mug in a nervous tic, before he manages a weak smile.

“Uh, not yet. The last couple of hours have been pretty intense.” Kon says finally. Bruce nods, taking a sip of his tea.

“Do you want to stay here?” He asks, and Kon swallows. “Not necessarily in the manor,” Bruce says, evenly. “But just… here. In Gotham. I know that you might want some space for yourself.”

“... I uh… um.” Kon worries his lower lip. “Can… Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Bruce says, taking another sip of tea.

“Why do you care? I mean, I almost tried to kill Clark.”

“For Jon.” Bruce feels compelled to point out. Kon blinks.

“I still tried to kill him.”

“The intent matters more to me than the result to me, at this moment. If you’d actually killed Clark, then I’d definitely have words with you. But right now, you’re just a kid. I have four boys already. I’m not above adopting another one - especially if it means you’re looking for somewhere to stay.” Bruce is a little nonplussed. Kon’s fingers tighten slightly on the mug.

“That never mattered to other versions of Batman,” Kon says, tone slightly bitter. Bruce reaches a hand out and lightly knocks his knuckles against the boy’s skull.

“That’s your problem. I’m not Batman right now. I’m not them either.” Bruce watches as Kon rubs against his skull, frowning at him slightly, and the boy looks at his long cold mug. “Heat that up - tea never tastes good cold.” The boy glances at it, and a beam of violet light hits it briefly, bringing it back to steaming. Bruce takes another sip of his drink. “I’m starting to think,” he muses, “That in whatever worlds you’ve been too, the Bruce Waynes in them were less people and more Batmen, yes?” Kon’s fingers still.

“... What?” He asks, bewildered.

“They put Batman first, didn’t they? Above their children.” Kon swallows nervously.

“...”

“It’s okay. I know he did. You don’t have to try and defend them.” Bruce hums. “I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn’t like the person I turned into. Especially if Jason still died.”

“... He came back.” A sidelong glance. “And you beat him.”

Bruce’s heart cracks open.

“How did you -”

“A couple of years after Jason came back, he returned and staged a coup using Penguin. He ran the Iceberg Lounge, and you… He used a blank. Shot Penguin in the eye. You lost it.” Kon is shrinking into himself, and Bruce has a feeling his expression is definitely frozen. “You… you beat him.”

What… in the fuck was wrong with him??? Bruce sets his mug aside, and after a little bit of coaxing, he pulls Kon into his arms, the smaller teenager quivering anxiously in Bruce’s hold.

“I am so sorry,” Bruce whispers into dark hair, Kon’s face buried in his shoulder. “I’m sorry, god, Kon…” No wonder this boy was so scared of him. Kon hiccups slightly, shaking as he clutches Bruce’s shirt.

“I’m scared.” Kon whispers. “I’m scared that all this is just a dream, and that I’m not safe, that Jon and I are still stuck in that last dimension, but -” Bruce hugs him tightly, rocking the boy back and forth as he cries - again - on Bruce’s shoulder, the man running a hand through curly hair, reassuring the boy without words as he sobs against Bruce. “Why did I have to -” the boy hiccups, and Bruce keeps the boy’s head firmly pressed against his shoulder.

“Shh. Just let it out. Nobody’s taking you away again. We’ll fight to keep you.”

Kon’s tears drip down his shoulder, and Bruce keeps him closer than ever.

Dammit, Bruce thinks. Clark’s going to be even more upset when he realizes Kon’s been through worse than he admitted to.

“Just hold on to me,” Bruce says gently. “Just hold on, Kon. You’re not going anywhere.”

Kon holds on to him until their tea goes cold.

“Batman let you -” Batgirl cuts herself off when she sees Jason, the boy’s mask and domino covering his face effectively enough to keep his identity anonymous. The gun in his hands is sleek - a neat .45 that could deal some serious damage.

“I argued my case,” Red Hood’s voice is lightly modulated - if she didn’t know that he had been a Robin, she’d probably have been fooled by it. “I keep it off low-risk patrols, and he’ll look the other way.” Batgirl looks away, takes a deep breath to calm down.

She wasn’t Batman - guns weren’t her favorite but she wouldn’t say anything about it if B had already agreed to it.

“If you say so,” Batgirl says grimly. “Let’s move.” They move with purpose, Red Hood giving her a cordial nod as she climbs up higher, maintaining her distance.

The plan is simple - she’s to stay out of sight, tail Red Hood and let him keep an anonymous profile. Jason was willing to confront Joker - she was only supposed to offer backup if he got in over his head.

Red Hood tugs the hoodie over his head, leaving only his eyes visible in the shadow of the hood, his gun tucked securely on his thigh holster.

And then they patrol. Red Hood takes great pains to stay away from Batman and them, fighting in back alleys and near mob borders, rather than solidly on one group or another’s territory. It would give him an unpredictable element to his patrol route, and Batgirl approves.

Finally, Red Hood stops at Crime Alley. His old stomping grounds. There’s less cover here, and Batgirl drops down, watching as Red Hood neatly loads his gun, the man stalking through the empty alleys and past the few druggies that were staring at him blankly. He stops at the corner between the drug store and the bakery, head tilting to a side.

“I know you’re there,” the modulated voice sounds… blank. Empty, even. “You might as well come out.” Batgirl freezes, wondering if it’s her he’s talking to, before she hears the clap of hands.

“Hahaha! You use my name, you walk my streets, and yet here you are?” Joker melts out of the shadows near the bakery, a maniacal grin on his face, and she freezes. Toggling her comm unit, she presses a second button - Joker sighting, she thinks it’s called. “You’re bold, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean Joker’s already out?” Batman’s growl is dark and ominous, and Batgirl swallows.

“It’s either Joker or a really good illusion,” she says quietly, sneaking closer. “We’re at Crime Alley, near the bakery.”

“Hold position. We’ll engage if needed, but Red Hood has already stated he doesn’t want us interfering.” Batman sounds unhappier than her about that, but she crouches down and watches all the same.

“You’ve got some nerve, using my name, you little brat.” Joker says, hands in his pockets as he draws closer.

Red Hood hums, twirls the gun in a hand and aims it at Joker. Joker stops mid-step, backs up a little.

“Aww. Not a chatty one, are you?” He asks. Red Hood simply watches.

“No interest in you,” He says. “Heard Superman’s got a bounty on your head. I’m not getting tangled in that.” The words are stiff. Stilted. Every word sounds as though it was dragged from a belt sander, and Batgirl wonders what Red Hood’s game is.

“Awww, c’mon! Can’t a clown ask what you’re up to?” The man asks, and Red Hood watches him, keeping his gun level.

“No.” Joker’s expression twists, something ugly and corrupt under the expression, before his face evens out.

“It’s your funeral!” Joker cackles, his hands whipping out of a pocket to -

Bang.

The gun flies out of Joker’s hand to clatter against the ground. Damn. Talk about marksmanship

“No.” Red Hood advances, and Batgirl is suddenly reminded of how tall Jason was. He’d always been a lanky boy, but recent months had seen him filling out to his height, making him almost intimidatingly tall. In the light of the street, the shadow he casts is long. “Not interested.” Red Hood’s gun presses against Joker’s forehead, a cold, almost brutally rude act. “Now get lost. Or I shoot.” Joker glares defiantly back.

“First you, now Supes! All you upstarts trying to take my -” The pistol hits hard, knocking Joker off of his feet, before another bullet whizzes by and cracks against the ground by his head.

“I don’t care to hear you.” The same toneless rasp is stronger now, and Joker is forced to stand under the weight of the gun and Red Hood’s gaze. “Get lost.” It’s almost anticlimactic, Batgirl realizes. He’s alone. He’s rarely alone. Where is his back-up? Looking around, Batgirl still sees nothing, darting from rooftop to rooftop just to check. Below them, Joker snorts.

“... Tch.” Joker’s smile twists into an ugly grin. “Fine. Fine. I got what I wanted done anyways. Superman wants to try and control Batsy and I’s city? He can have it with all the pizzaz he’s going to get!” Ice slides down her spine, but Red Hood doesn’t twitch.

“Oh. I see.” Red Hood nods. “That was stupid.”

… What? Red Hood grabs the gun on the floor and dismantles it, before dropping the gun to the floor. A strong stomp of his foot, and the thing’s useless.

“What makes ya say that?” Joker sneers.

“Because Luthor stabs people in the back.” Red Hood gestures around with his free hand. “No backup. No extra weapons. And you said Supes’ name. He heard everything.” Joker blanches. Red Hood nods to himself. “Stupid of you.” Turning, Red Hood walks into the alleyway he just left. “Enjoy Batman’s hello.”

On cue, lights gleam from the end of the street, the familiar light of the Batmobile turning the dim street into a floodlight. Batgirl watches the car as it roars, barely processing how Batman climbs out to stalk towards Joker with barely chained fury, before she chases after Red Hood.

She finds him six blocks away - and damn, he was fast - throwing up in a trash can. His breathing was shallow, his skin was clammy, and she sidles up to his side and rubs his back.

“Hey,” She murmurs, and Jason makes a muted noise of hello. “You were terrifying,” She decides to say, and he chokes on a strangled laugh once the last of the bile was out of his mouth. Barbara looks left, then right.

“Tim here. I’ve got an eye on the cameras.” The line goes dead as soon as the boy is finished speaking, and she sighs, pushes her mask up so she can comfort him, her hand rubbing up and down his side soothingly.

“I kind of wish I stayed home,” Is Jason’s wrecked voice, and she turns him around to hug him, mindful of the way the boy gingerly wraps his arms around her waist.

“It’s okay,” She murmurs. “I’m right here. You weren’t alone this time, you had back-up.” Jason laughs wetly, cheeks damp, eyes hidden by his domino.

“Thank you… Thank you so much, Batgirl.” Barb hugs him tighter, and he squeezes her close, sniffling wetly.

“You’re family, Hood,” she promises him. “We’ll raise hell for you.”

Jason sniffles against her shoulder. “Lov’ya,” he manages, and Barb squeezes him tighter.

“It’s been a long time,” Batman says, a darkening smile on his lips. Clark can feel the vindictive purr in his bones as he looks down at the figure of Joker, the man looking up at him with a sneer.

“I knew you missed me, Batsy,” the man sneers, and Clark rolls his eyes.

“Can’t miss what you don’t notice,” He says blithely. Joker’s expression twists in the ugliest of ways, and Clark smirks at the look on his face.

“You’re nothing without me, Bats, and you know it -” Joker is cut off by a sharp kick to the side, and he curls up, wheezing.

“Nothing? Are you sure about that? Are you sure that I’m not better without you?” He says, cocky smirk firmly in place. Joker laughs at him, an ugly sound.

“If it wasn’t for me, you would have killed that bastard, all those years ago - I made you, Batsy!” The man spits.

Clark raises a brow. He’d heard about the war of Jokes and Riddles from Bruce back when they’d started working together, but he hadn’t known the details. He’d have to ask.

“What makes you think I remember that?” He wonders, and Joker’s expression is disbelieving. Then, it turns uglier than before, the man lunging for him. Disgust flashes through Clark, and he kicks the man back down, Joker wheezing from the force. “Tch. That’s pathetic of you - you’re so fixated on me you can’t even see how much we’re using you.” Joker stares at him, and Clark grins, vicious and fierce, knows Bruce will chew him out for it later. “It’ll be fun to watch that house of cards fall.” He strikes a kick out, booted foot pressing against Joker’s throat when the man falls to. “I owe you, for killing my Robin,” Clark purrs, and Joker makes a strangled noise. After a long moment, he pulls back, smiling slightly as Joker chokes on his own air.

“You’re not Batsy,” Joker wheezes, and Clark laughs, a sharp thing.

“You killed someone I love. What made you think things wouldn’t change?” Batman snarls. “Be lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.” Another swift, bruising kick, and Clark turns away, an ear kept out and ready for any attempts at retaliation.

He expects something. Lex working with him meant something unpredictable, and when he scans the car, he doesn’t see anything. Once inside, Clark strains his ears to make sure nobody is in the car with him, before buckling up and turning the lights off, the car purring quietly as he puts it into stealth mode.

The hands that reach for him are not unexpected, and Clark doesn’t stop driving, the attacker makes their move.

It’s a surprise, Clark thinks, knowing this woman was in the car with him, but he is able to catch her, fingers wrapping gently around hers and dragging her into his lap.

He expects it to be Talia, or Lady Shiva, or someone closer to them in skill.

He does not expect a slim teenage girl barely a year older than Jason, if that. His eyes flicker, and he scowls darkly, holding her firmly by her wrists. The girl struggles hard, but Clarks’ Superman - now that he can hear her heartbeat, he can keep her in his range. As she struggles, he races for an idea of how to stop her without killing her.

Finally, he grimaces slightly. He wasn’t going to be able to stop her at this rate.

“Kon El,” he murmurs under his breath, hoping Kon can hear him and will answer.

“Superman?” Kon’s voice is a little wet, but mostly surprised, as he’d expected.

“Sorry to surprise you like this,” he murmurs. “Do you happen to know why there’s a teenage girl trying to kill me?”

“Wait - Lex sent Cassandra Cain after you?” Kon’s voice is surprised, and the teenager makes a little tsk noise. “Okay - fuck. Are you somewhere I can get to you? She’s an assassin, a good one. She’ll keep trying to escape if you don’t keep her secure.”

“I’m about to head back to the cave. I’m sure Lex sent someone after my civilian identity, though I don’t know where he’d be going.” Clark admits, as the girl tries to dislocate her own hands to get out of his grasp. Sheesh, he’s really having a hard time holding onto her.

“On my way,” the boy says, though it’s obvious that something happened, the boy was willing to drop everything and come help him.

Once he’s in the tunnel system below the city, Kon is there, the boy landing lightly and reaching out for Cassandra. A spark of ultraviolet purple, and the girl is frozen. Clark raises a brow, surprised and impressed.

“Tactile Telekinesis,” Kon says sheepishly. “My most powerful attribute.” Clark hums in impressed surprise, before offering him a spot in the car. Kon gives a grateful smile, gently nudging the girl into a seat. “Sorry, sorry,” he says gently to Cassandra, the woman unmoving and still. “I’m not actually sure how the others convinced her otherwise that she could stay with us. I wasn’t too heavily involved with you guys at that time.” Clark hums again, and the two return to the cave, where a worried Lois and Tim are waiting.

“Kon!” Tim yelps, the small teen bolting from his spot to skid to a stop in front of him. Kon flushes at being the focus of Tim’s attention, and Clark wonders if it would be mean to let Tim fuss over him like a worried lover, before he ruffles little Tim’s hair. Tim stops, looks up at him while a flustered Kon goes to secure Cassandra somewhere out of hearing range.

“Can you get Bruce?” He asks softly. “I need to know where Superman is on public record.”

“Uh… good question…” Tim says, scrambling over to the computer, the thirteen-year old looking bewilderedly at the screen.

“Watchtower,” Lois says easily. “Bruce made sure to mention that you’d left Earth via the Daily Planet News on Twitter. It’s not impossible for someone to get to Watchtower, but it’ll definitely be uncomfortable. Diana is there, as is Arthur. He’ll have quite the fight to find out where Superman was dispatched.”

“It won’t matter, one way or another. If he tries to teleport out, it’ll bump him straight to a holding cell. I made sure to put that in just in case someone like Deathstroke got in,” Bruce says mildly, as he comes down the stairs. “Batman, you should get changed.”

That was as oblique as it would get, and he escapes to do exactly that, Bruce tagging along with him with a fond, long-suffering look.

Bruce squeezes into the changing room with him, and he’s surprised when his boyfriend presses a kiss against his mouth, not even waiting for him to do more than turn the comm unit off.

“I heard everything you said to Joker,” Bruce says, breathlessly. Clark flushes at his heady expression, the clear desire in those dark blue eyes, Bruce’s mouth catching his again. “You’re very sexy when you’re angry,” Bruce grins, and Clark groans at the feel of wandering hands.

“Bruce… We can’t do this now,” he whispers, mindful of how close Lois and Tim were. “You’re not quiet.” Bruce pouts against his mouth, and Clark wishes he was a more shameless man.

“Tch,” Bruce mutters, offended. “Later, then. I’ll get you alone down here.” Bruce’s grin is filthy, and Clark reddens more.

“Get out so I can get changed,” He says, flustered, and laughing, Bruce does.

The world is quiet. The boy who had taken her reeks of worry-tired-concern for her. All of the people around her were worried-concern-love, some of which was directed at her.

She didn’t understand why. She was but a weapon - sent to fulfill her mission. Could they not recognize the threat she posed?

… Then again, she could not even move until the boy who carried her - not target, friendly, worry-tired-concern - released her in a room that seemed - at first - ordinary and easily escapable. And then, sparks of a purple-like color danced over the whole room, the strange boy standing there with a reluctant smile.

“Sorry Cassandra,” he says, body twisting in worry-safe-protect. “Please stay here. We’ll try to let you out soon, okay?” He says softly, and she just watches him. Strange boy.

Why was he so gentle to her, why did he call her Cassandra? The door closes, and the same purple sparks dance over it. Heaving a deep sigh, she walks around the room, hands pressing against the walls and trying to find a weak point. The air vent is promising, but when she reaches for it, the same sparks of purple push back against her hands, gently nudging her back into the room.

No… She couldn’t escape that way and complete her mission. She paces back and forth, eyes scanning over every inch, only for all escape routes to be blocked by the same omnipotent power that had denied her escape when the boy touched her.

Finally, she curls up on the bed.

Her punishment for failure would be severe… she curls even tighter, afraid.

Kon sighs, leaning comfortably against Bruce when the man sits next to him, Bruce unconsciously slinging an arm over his shoulder to provide some measure of comfort.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Kon smiles drowsily.

“Mmhm. Just tired. Gotham’s sun situation sucks,” he mumbles, and Bruce huffs a laugh.

“I’ve got a nice sunlamp if you want to take a nap under it.” Kon mumbles a sleepy agreement, and Bruce gestures with his free hand. “Clark?” He asks softly. The rustle of fabric, the warm touch of Clark’s hand to his head, and Kon found himself bathing in artificial sunlight, a sleepy Jon deposited into his lap by a smiling Lois.

“He missed you,” Lois says when he blinks open his eyes blearily, fighting to stay awake. Jon whines against Kon’s stomach, the child wiggling in his lap to sit up and press his face against Kon’s shirt.

“Kon!” Jon giggles, and Kon smiles down at him with a fond smile.

“Yeah, it’s me, baby boy,” he says fondly. “Man, it’s been a day, hasn’t it?” he says to the tired two-and-a-half year old child. Jon sticks his tongue out at him. “Yeah, I feel like that too,” he agrees. Next to him, he can hear a faint pfft leave Bruce’s mouth, the man’s shoulders quivering in amusement.

Across from him, Tim is looking at him in curiosity, and the fifteen-year-old blushes slightly at the amused way Tim looked at him. God, everyone was so different in this world. Clark, Bruce, Jason… Hell, even Lois. Everyone was so different.

Around him, voices murmur - making a game plan, he thinks. He distantly feels the touch of Jason when the young adult returns, a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“Hi…” he mumbles tiredly, and Jason returns, ruffling his hair.

“Ayo,” Jason says, a smile in his voice. “You’re bushed?” He asks softly, and Kon nods.

“Yeah, I’m bushed,” he admits, and Jason hums, ruffles his hair again.

“We’ll wrap this up quickly and let you get some sleep. Can the girl who can kill us all with a paperclip keep until breakfast?”

“Yeah, I can hold her. ‘S nowhere near as hard as blocking Kryptonite radiation,” Kon mumbles sleepily. Bruce’s thumb gently rubs against his shoulder, and he gives a happy little noise. Jon, in his lap, squeaks too, and he can’t help the pleased smile on his lips as his baby brother burrows closer. Or was it nephew? Or son? His life has been weird lately.

“I have so many questions,” Tim says, and Kon lets his smile soften.

“Mmm. Lemme sleep a few days and then I’ll answer ‘em,” he promises. There’s a bit of his Smallville drawl in there, something that his old Tim used to tease him about, but he can’t help it - Tim’s been his best friend since forever, stood up to Superman for him, decked Batman when people thought he was working for Waller…

It’s not fair to this Tim, Kon thinks, but he’s too tired - this new world was too fresh, everyone too nice, a week’s worth of new surprises compressed into a single twenty-four hour timespan that honestly left him reeling. He just wanted to curl up and take a goddamn nap.

“Rest, Kon,” Bruce says, his heartbeat a gentle, constant reassurance. Kon doesn’t remember when he fell asleep, between Clark joining them to talk strategy and Tim putting a blanket on him and Jon, he was gone.

Waking, Kon finds himself laid out on the warm duvet of what he was pretty sure was Clark’s room in this place. The room is floor to ceiling windows, facing the sunrise, and Kon aborts his move to sit up when Jon whines sleepily on his chest.

“Hey cutie,” he greets the little boy, and Jon yawns at him.

Awww. cutest baby bro on this side of the universe.

“Knock knock?” Tim’s voice makes him blink, twitching slightly in surprise. “Hey - Ma and Pa Kent made breakfast and asked if I could run some breakfast up to you.” Kon’s mild irritation immediately brightens.

“I’d appreciate that. Sure Jon’ll stop eatin’ my arm now too,” he jokes, the little boy chewing down on his arm with a determined glower. Tim’s voice is bubbling with laughter as he walks in, balancing the tray on his hands with a familiar crinkle in his eyes that takes Kon’s breath away. Tim presses the door shut with a foot, the boy settling the tray on the bed close enough to grab, but easy enough to keep Jon from lunging towards. Tim is watching him with a sort of fascination, a curiosity that makes him flush slightly as he settles Jon in his lap and brings a bowl of oatmeal closer for his baby bro to eat.

“We were friends, weren’t we?” He asks, and Kon freezes.

“Uh.” His face must look exceptionally funny, because Tim’s lips are twitching slightly.

“It’s okay, you know. I’m just asking because sometimes you look at me, and you get this really bittersweet look on your face,” He tells Kon, who swallows nervously.

“... Yeah. We knew each other,” Kon says weakly, and Kon expects Tim to ask more questions - his Tim would have, nosy brat.

This one simply nods.

“Okay. Maybe we can talk more about it later?” He asks, and Kon manages a nod. “But Kon…” The boy reaches out to tuck a strand of black behind his ear. “I know I’m not him, but I’d like to be your friend. If you’d let me.”

Kon’s throat closes up at the sincerity dripping from his lips. His cheeks heat slightly.

“Yeah… Yeah. I’m - I’d love that.” Tim gives him a warm smile, and for a second, everything is okay, everything will be okay.

Tim’s never been wrong.

Jason is a puddle in the middle of Bruce’s bed, which normally Bruce does not mind, but his son hasn’t moved for forty minutes.

“Is he okay?” Bruce asks, taking a seat near the edge of the bed, Clark’s hand resting on top of the teen’s head.

“Slowly recovering,” Clark tells him with a fond smile. “He was a bit of a wreck last night, according to Barb, but the shock is good for him.”

For the time being, Bruce really couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t stop the girl who had tried to kill his lover, he couldn’t even for the life of him find out where David Cain - his mentor - was until he gave himself away. That man deserved a fucking punch to the nose for it.

“I don’t feel it,” Bruce hears Jason grumble, and he laughs a bit, leans over to press a kiss to the top of his blanketed son, can feel Jason shift under them and whine at being babied. He stays there for a minute, before pulling back and giving Clark a kiss.

“Stay with him?” He asks, and Clark’s mouth quirks into a smile.

“Sure. Is this about the thing you refuse to tell me about?” Clark teases, and Bruce grins wryly.

“Yeah. If we’re lucky I’ll be able to deal with this in full before Christmas.” Bruce straightens his jacket, pats the top of Jason’s head, and then gets ready to go.

Dick catches him at the bottom of the stairs, mouth pressed in a thin line, but he softens when Bruce kisses his forehead.

“Are you sure everything’s good for you to leave?” Dick asks, and Bruce smiles.

“Even if it wasn’t, I have an incredibly important meeting I can’t afford to miss. I need you to trust me when I say that, Dickie.” Dick’s expression is weirdly twisted, but the boy definitely backs off, only gives him a hug and lets him go. Alfred is waiting for him, a large case in his hands.

“Master Bruce.” Well. That answers if Alfred looked. The man looked slightly weirded out, even with his typical poker face, and Bruce smiled grimly.

“Trust me when I say that there’s a reason for this… unusual package. I promise I’m not dealing in anything illegal.” The fact that he’d lined it with lead was a bit worrying, but there was some things Bruce had to do, and while he loved Clark, this was one responsibility that was his alone. He’d already promised to tell Clark about it after… if it all worked. Taking a deep breath, Bruce accepts the heavy package and gets inside the limo.

It’s a bit nerve-wracking, but he merely keeps his nerves limited to the tap of his fingers on the large case.

“Good morning,” he greets, and the doorman smiles and tips his cap in greeting. “Has my guest arrived already?”

“Yes sir. Mr. Constantine and his companion are both waiting for you in the office.” Bruce smiles at him, the CEO entering the elevator to his floor without further ado.

The rise up is silent, Bruce humming to himself as he waits. The door opens with a cheerful little ding!

“Mr. Wayne.” Constantine is a bristling, worried presence, but all he does is offer a bland smile to the man.

“Constantine. Thank you for escorting my guest here, it’s much appreciated.”

“Wayne,” Constantine tries desperately, but Bruce shakes his head.

“I know you want to say no, but I really must insist. This is very important to me.” The strange man’s mouth twitches at that.

“Few people say that an appointment with me is that important,” the man says, eyes crinkling. Bruce smiles tightly back.

“I really do have to insist on this.” Constantine twitches again, but sighs.

“Your funeral,” he mumbles, and that handled, Bruce politely opens the door to his office.

“After you, Mr. Morningstar.” The black-haired man grins, hands spread open.

“Are you this generous with every guest?” He asks, his British accent stronger now with his amusement.

“Only the important ones,” Bruce says, and Lucifer laughs, striding in.

“I rather like this,” he agrees, entering and plopping himself into the seat opposite of Bruce’s desk. “I feel quite like a star.” Bruce firmly closes the door behind himself, and Constantine is left in the lobby, looking bewildered and frankly worried. He makes sure to shoot the man a reassuring smile, and Constantine merely twitches. “So, what can a mere nightclub owner do for you, Mr. Wayne?” He asks, and Bruce sets the case down, turning it to face him.

“Let’s dispense with the bullshit, Mr. Lucifer. I’m here for other business.” He gestures to the case. “I am asking a favor in return for giving what is yours back.” The man’s brow rises, and there’s a flicker of darkness in his eyes, before he reaches out. A snap, and the man’s brow shoots to his hairline.

Sitting pretty on the cushions was a pair of bright white wings.

Chapter Text

“How -” Lucifer’s mouth opens and then closes. A look of stunned disbelief is on his face, and Bruce swallows.

“I’m asking for a favor I know that is very difficult to pull off,” Bruce says, as if he wasn’t giving the Devil his wings back.

“I’m listening.”

“On April 28th, my son Jason was killed by the Joker.” Bruce forces himself to look up. “It was… the second time I have ever contemplated murder as a solution, to kill him in anger.” A careful swallow. “I chose to take the slower route. Next month, on December 1st, the International Court of Justice will be trying the Joker - Jeremiah Valdeska - for bioterrorism, crimes against humanity, and for the subversion of justice.”

“Well… That’s certainly a tall order, but I don’t understand what you want me to do.” The man was fishing. Bruce had expected it. Another deep breath, and Bruce swallows.

“I’m asking for you to take Joker - body and all - if he’s found guilty. I never want even a shadow of a chance for him to come back. I promised my son justice,” Bruce’s hands tremble on the desk. “And I like to think I’m a man of my word.”

Lucifer considers him; and then the case.

“That’s it?” He asks, and Bruce nods tightly.

“Please get rid of this temptation, I’ve had it for almost two weeks and I just -” Bruce clenches his hands into fists. “I promised my boys I wouldn’t take revenge without cause.” Bruce’s lips tighten slightly. “Please.”

Lucifer takes the case, buckles it closed, and gives him a smile.

“I see.” The man digs into his pocket, pulling out four business cards and offering them out. “Here you are, Mr. Wayne. My number is on these cards,” the man explains with a broad grin. “Let me know when the trial starts - I’d hate to miss what would be the trial of the century,” Lucifer says, grinning. He takes the cards, though he frowns at them, a little bewildered.

“Much obliged, Mr. Morningstar,” Bruce says, frowning at the cards a little. “Not to be rude, but why the extra cards? Wouldn’t one be enough?”

“I’ve been hunting my wings down for centuries,” Lucifer explains, cheerful. “Call the extra cards… favors.” Bruce’s expression twists, and he grimaces, to the man’s amusement. “Thank you kindly - I’ll be getting out of your hair now,” he says, standing with the briefcase and making his merry way out.

“Fuck me,” Bruce says to the empty air of the office.

He was not keeping these extra cards on his person. Anywhere.

… Time to tell Clark, he supposes.

“You met with -” Clark is staring at his boyfriend, mouth slightly slack.

Diana has abandoned all dignity to howl with laughter, her hands pushing her pillow to her face, hiccuping with her amusement after a long moment.

“It was the only way I could think of for us,” Bruce says quietly. “I want Joker dead, Kal. Dead. I promised myself I wouldn’t kill him if Robindidn’t ask, but I know it’ll wreck me, and you, to do it.” Clark’s eyes soften, the man pulling closer and pressing a kiss up under Bruce’s chin, knows that Bruce is quivering with his anxiety as he waits for Clark to answer him.

Clark wasn’t happy that Bruce hadn’t told him, but he remembers the long nights, the endless hours he’d spent pouring over old books, reading the scripture. He’d been rather bewildered - Bruce might celebrate Christmas for his boys (and to make the media happy), but he was as Jewish as they came, and the many times he’d helped Bruce light a menorah, or cook a feast (under Alfred’s disapproving eye), or meditate quietly during Yom Kippur with his sons while reflecting on the last year were fond, prominent memories.

Clark had been raised by strongly Christian parents, but he liked the quiet of how he and Bruce worked together in those moments, the soft serenity of their lives together and how gentle his worship was.

It felt very much like a home, and less like an obligation.

Diana had quieted, watching them both with shrewd eyes, and he gave her a shy smile over Bruce’s shoulder, cheeks flush.

“So why are we here?” She asks when Clark parts from his lover. Bruce grimaces.

“He gave me three additional favors. None of which I want to keep on me. I wanted to give you and Clark one each… but I didn’t know who to give the last one to.”

“I vote for Flash.” Clark mumbles against his neck, pressing a little kiss to Bruce’s neck. Diana opens her mouth, finger raised, before lowering it.

“I was going to recommend Lantern, but after a moment of consideration… He is a bit too self-aggrandizing for the role,” Diana says reasonably. “Would you like me to call him?” She asks, and Clark can feel how Bruce’s pulse quivers gratefully.

“Please. We rarely call him except for emergencies.” Diana nods with a smile and steps away, dialing a number with an amused smile.

It doesn’t take long for Barry to appear and catch up with what’s going on, his mouth opening comically when the truth comes out.

“You scare me, but if you guys want me to hold onto it in case of an emergency I mean - uh. Um.” Barry was always adorable, but now he just looked precious. (Look Clark was aware that Barry was only three years younger, but still.) “Sure? To be honest, the idea of having a favor from the Devil is terrifying so I’ll probably lock it up in a safe deep, deep in the lab and never use it, but. Yeah. Uh.”

Clark laughs against Bruce’s throat, and Bruce’s mouth is twitching. Mercifully, neither of the trio tease him.

Clark stays with Bruce until the other two are gone, kissing up his neck and humming.

“Now what?” Clark asks, and Bruce sighs, tilts his head further to one side. “You’re patrolling tonight, right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Bruce groans in pleasure as Clark’s fingers skim up his side. “You’re shameless,” Bruce says weakly, and Clark grins against his throat.

“So are you, Batman.” Bruce’s pulse jumps at that, and Clark indulges himself, nibbling at Bruce’s throat. Much quieter, Clark asks, “What, exactly, are we doing?”

Bruce merely tilts his head to the side, sighing in pleasure. His lips were much more obscured, his hand lifting up to cradle the back of Clark’s head.

“Cain’s here. Probably has been for a while now.” Bruce’s voice is a bare whisper. His mouth curls into a smirk, and Clark can feel how Bruce calms his heartbeat. Clark hmmms, and pulls Bruce closer, smirking.

“I see.” He murmurs softly, the touch of his lips tugging at an ear while Bruce relaxes against him. “Now what should I do with you until then?” He wonders at a more normal volume.

It’s a whisper. Soft enough that had he not been waiting with Bruce, if he hadn’t been on high alert, he would not have known. He and Bruce part, his beautiful vigilante fluidly bursting into motion, a scything kick sent out to aim for the man’s throat, and Clark’s hand flashing out to knock the glittering green stone away. He’s slightly weaker than he’d like, but it barely matters; Bruce is on the man in seconds, his beautifully brutal efficiency a sight to see as Bruce pins Cain down.

The Kryptonite is too close for Clark’s taste, but it’s fine. He’s been in closer proximity to Kryptonite and been fine for a few minutes. It’s for the best if he ignores it, and doesn't allow weakness to be seen. Cain struggles under Bruce’s hands, the man kicking and flailing. But Bruce is no longer the same twenty-five year old man that Clark had met, who would still lose his grip occasionally to a stronger opponent. Now, at a delicious thirty-three years old, Bruce was much stronger than most people would even dream, and he had the scars and muscle to prove it.

Clark snaps out of it quickly, but Bruce is smirking, clearly aware of his distraction, and Clark focuses on the assassin to hide his slight flush.

“Mr. Cain. We’ve been expecting you,” Clark’s tone is politely even, just a hint of disdain in his words. “I see you put your faith in Luthor’s intel.” Almost casually, Clark cups the man’s chin in a hand, fingers digging in as he makes Cain look at him. “I shouldn’t be surprised - after your daughter went after Batman, we’ve been waiting for you.”

Cain twitches.

The girl meant something to him, Clark realizes, hears the elevated heartbeat. It should have been quiet. His heartbeat was quiet - slower, and softer - compared to Bruce, but it still beat and Clark would use it.

“Tell me about your daughter,” Clark says mildly. Cain wriggles in Bruce’s grasp, and he digs his fingers into the man’s jaw. “If you struggle, I will end up breaking this,” he warns cordially. “And I will be less than amused.”

Bruce’s eyes are dark when their gazes meet. Anger. He knows that Bruce was not pleased by the state of the young woman sent to kill him, his generous heart yearning to take her into his arms and keep her safe the way he would his sons.

“I am hired to kill you,” Cain rasps. “Nothing else.” Clark hums, thumb sliding up the man’s jaw just so.

“I see. Then perhaps you will enjoy the hospitality of the Lasso of Truth, if we cannot get our answers from you the normal way,” Superman says, a calm, sharp tone entering his voice. He was not Clark Kent, at this moment. He would have to pull on the Kryptonian, the alien, the conqueror.

It was not his favorite feeling.

“Can you hold him?” Batman’s low rasp makes him smile.

“Forever, if needed.” Batman nods at his answer, stripping Cain of all his weapons and then handing him over, Clark’s hand closing around the man’s throat and holding him off the ground. A quick scan showed no other weapons, and Bruce made sure to take the Kryptonite with him. The moment Batman is gone, he turns unyielding eyes on Cain. “I am normally a patient being,” Superman says evenly. Icily. “But attempting to kill what is mine is a step in the wrong direction. You will talk. One way, or another.”

Cain quivers in his hold, and Clark smiles.

It’s a rare day that Clark uses what he’s learned as the second Batman against others as Superman. And rarer still that he will enjoy what’s to come.

(In a room down in Gotham, a weapon sits, curled up and waiting for a judgment that will never come.)

Clark is pensive, after. Bruce knows that he’s troubled, by the faint furrow of his brow, the way he emulated Bruce at his most emotionally overwhelmed best.

(He knew his kids joked he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, okay? So sue him, he’s trying, at least. Sheeeesh.)

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks softly, kissing up under his jaw. Clark makes a little noise of discontent, but allows Bruce to bully him into accepting the slightly shorter man into his lap once they’re alone.

“No,” Clark says, after a moment. He’s back in his flannels, his honestly-worn jeans, his eyes the epitome of tiredness. “Sometimes, I see how you do this, how you deal with all of this - this ugliness - without flinching, and wonder how you just fucking…” Clark’s head hits his shoulder. “I know I’m not in Kon’s unenviable -” Clark squeaks when Bruce risks a bruised finger to flick his nose.

“No.” Bruce points a finger at his nose, a sharp glare on his face. “We are not playing that game today. You and Kon are going to get sunlight. Now. Today. You’re getting mopey.”

Somewhere in the manor, he can hear Kon splutter a laugh, and he flushes, realizing that Kon had probably started listening the moment his name was said.

“I do not -”

“You do. You sulk. You mope. You learned it from me, and I know you learned it from me because you never did it before you started filling in as me!” Bruce says firmly. Clark reddens violently.

“I hate you,” Clark mumbles, and Bruce grins.

“As if, Kansas,” Bruce teases, kissing his mouth quickly. “Go get Kon and Jon, and then frolic in the sun somewhere like the lambs you are.”

“We are not-” Clark splutters as Bruce wiggles free, his boyfriend grinning, hands planted on his hips.

“Sun. Now. It’s actually sunny in Gotham - half the town probably hates it and the other half is basking.” Clark watches his boyfriend leave; grumbles under his breath. He takes a minute to make sure he has his backpack ready, and wonders if he should ask Tim if the boy wanted to take some photos while he stuffs his laptop in. He actually had to catch up - the Planet would need his article about the attack on Star City come Monday…

He’s brought out of his plans by Kon, the boy looking at him with an amused grin. He knocks on the door before entering - unnecessarily, but reassuring all the same.

“I gotta say, you two are better than reality TV,” Kon says with a smirk, and Clark gives him a flustered glare, the teen hefting little Jon up higher. He’s already changed into something different - one of Jason’s older leather jackets that the young man had outgrown paired with torn red jeans and a black shirt with Batman’s symbol on it. Clark raises a brow, and Kon shrugs.

“Luthor already knows what I look like,” Kon points out. “And besides. You’re dating Batman. I can enjoy my irony.” Clark snorts aloud.

“You’re adorable,” Clark says dryly, and Kon grins widely. It’s obvious the boy’s tense, though, and he lets it slide, the three heading downstairs to be generously supplied with a giant hamper from Alfred.

“If I may, sirs. The Gotham Public park is rather crowded, but there is a smaller, lesser-known park not more than a mile from here. It would be well within Mr. Kon’s range to hold our wayward guest.”

Cassandra. Clark can feel a jolt of guilt, but when he looks at Kon, he’s surprised that the boy isn’t particularly concerned. At Clark’s worried look, the teen explains dryly.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve had an insane amount of time to practice. A couple of miles is nothing. The other side of the country… might be a problem.” Clark’s brow shoots up, impressed.

“Do I want to know?”

“Let’s just say not every Kryptonian was the friendly kind.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Clark mutters slightly, and Kon snorts at him.

“Neither is the number I’ve had to take Jon and run from. I’m actually hopeful this is the last one, you know.” The frankness of his words, the crisp inflection of his voice… Clark leans in to hug the boy around the shoulders, and Kon eases a little, smiles a bit weakly. Jon fusses at him, whines when neither pays him immediate attention, and Kon hefts the boy up to press a kiss against his cheek. They chat idly as they walk down the steps, both of them just trying to unwind from the insanity of the last few days.

“Ma and Pa are staying until Thanksgiving,” Kon tells him, kicking a rock. “I’m not sure if I want to go with them or stay here,” he admits, and Clark ruffles his hair gently.

“Jon’ll be spending summers with them after he turns six,” Clark says mildly. “If you want to attend school here - even if it’s just online - and then spend the summers there with Jon and Ma and them, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re not going to tell me I gotta?” Kon asks, hops over an overgrown tree root, Jon squealing cutely at the hop.

“ That’s not my call,” Clark says. “I can say Jon needs to stay with me because he’s not old enough at the moment to make those kinds of decisions, but you… you’re used to being on your own. Even if I would rather you be a normal kid and listen to me about stuff like that, I don’t think we were close enough for that.” Kon doesn’t wince.

“He tried. My old Clark. He just had no idea what to do with me.”

“Listening would have been a good fucking start,” Clark grumbles, and Jon squeaks, lifting his hands up for Clark, who hefts the hamper to a side and allows Jon to occupy one hip, the boy clinging to his shirt while Kon swaps for the hamper. There’s an odd look on Kon’s face.

“He listened plenty, though.”

“I bet he was the definition of in one ear, out the other,” Clark says flatly. Kon’s nose wrinkles, as the two keep walking, and Clark recognizes it as something Luthor did, to avoid laughing out loud. “Do… Do you mind telling me about your relationship with Luthor?” He asks, and Kon looks surprised.

“What do you want to know?” Wariness. Clark hefts Jon higher.

“Was he the same as ours? Did he treat you at least a little better?” Clark says. “I mean, yeah, you sound mad at Lex, half the time, but the other half, you kind of sound… wistful?” Kon’s expression plays through a few different reactions, before he settles on wryly amused.

“You’re really going all in on this big brother thing, aren’t you?” Kon says, but there’s just this tiny flicker of want - of longing.

“Do you not want me to?” Clark says, a little awkwardly, and Kon’s mouth purses in a reluctant smile.

“You’re something else, Clark,” Kon says, eyes soft as cornflowers in the sun. In the light, there was this relaxing, slightly purple hue, and Clark realizes with a jolt that this boy actually wanted a family. “Yeah. I guess you can be my big brother. I’d like that.”

Clark can’t help himself - he reaches out and ruffles black hair, Kon giving a startled laugh.

“Great!” Clark says, chipper. “Let’s go to the park, and then I’ll do my best to get to know alll about you.” Kon’s laughter is warm, the three of them just basking in the rare sunny day together.

Jason finds Bruce in the kitchen, the man brewing a cup of coffee for himself. There’s still a tenseness to his frame, an exhaustion around the edges that makes him feel a little guilty. He knew Bruce was still anxious about the whole… guns, thing.

“Heya, B.” Bruce looks over at him, smiles warmly, and sets his mug aside to pull him in for a hug. “Can we talk?”

“Sure. You want some coffee? Or do you still like Irish Breakfast in the morning?” He asks, and Jason gives a crooked smile.

“I don’t have classes. Irish Breakfast is fine.” The two of them take a seat, Bruce fiddling with the teapot and setting it to boil. After tea is served and both of them have a warm drink, Jason takes a sip. He wonders if Bruce will broach the topic first, or if he’ll make Jason do it.

“Everyone knows my parents were shot in a dark alleyway, heading home after watching a movie.” Bruce’s voice is distant, faded, even. Jason stops sipping his tea and straightens. “My parents were fond of thriller movies. Jacob’s Ladder, I think was the one we watched that night. I haven’t been able to rewatch the film - the last time I tried I was maybe fifteen - I don’t even remember what happened, but the look on Alfred’s face was enough to tell me it wasn’t pretty.” Jason swallows. “Something people didn’t know about me back then either… I was a fan of guns.” Jason nearly drops his cup, the tea sloshing in the mug.

“You were what?” Jason says incredulously. Bruce smiles, it’s bitter enough to tan hide.

“I had never seen any other gun but the one Jarvis carried, at that time in my life. Only photos, distant shots and western films. I loved them. My father thought I was being silly, my mother laughed that boys my age often found themselves with that sort of fascination.” Bruce sighs softly. “Jarvis used to chuckle and ruffle my hair, before he’d tell me to get ready for school, or whatever event at the time my parents were hosting.”

Bruce’s thumb rubs over the edge of his cup. “I think I liked the film,” Bruce says, lost in memories. Jason cautiously reaches out, hand touching the back of Bruce’s, and his father flips his hand, palm up so he can hold Jason’s secure. “I can’t really remember. All I do remember is that when I saw Joe Chill, he was standing over Jarvis’s body. Holding his gun.” Bruce swallows. “I’d held that same gun, I’d watched Jarvis clean it, maintain it.” His fingers tighten around Jason’s.

“I watched the weapon that Jarvis had bought to protect my parents kill them, and I’ve never seen a gun the same way since.”

Oh.

He’d just thought it was a fear of guns. That Bruce was afraid of them, the same way Jason felt when the scrape of steel on steel could be heard. Tiny feet sound, and he watches a tearful Timmy climb into Bruce’s lap, the quiet shadow of Dick as his older brother enters the kitchen, both of them giving up the pretense of not being nearby.

Tim wiggles into Bruce’s lap, and the man allows him to, Dick moving to touch Bruce too. Jason lets them get their affection first, before he stands up to come brace his family, the boys all sharing a close moment with their father.

“We love you, B,” Dick says softly. “I’m sorry.” Their eldest bows his head, mouth pressing against the top of his head in a kiss. “I wish I’d known sooner.” Bruce sighs and presses his face against Dick’s chest, the boys smothering him firmly.

“It’s okay,” Bruce murmurs, and all of them stay there until the drinks are long cold.

Ma and Pa are waiting for all of them, and Jon squeals excitedly, lifting his arms out for them.

“Ganma!” He demands with an obvious pout, Ma Kent laughing and scooping him up into her arms. “Hi Ganma!” He squeals with a pat to her face, and Ma laughs, kissing the boy’s cheeks before looking at Kon fondly.

“Hello son,” She greets, and Kon smiles shyly at her.

“Hiya Ma,” he says, allows her to scoop him into a hug. It’s nice - reminds him of his Ma and Pa from the original world. They part, and Ma’s eyes crinkle at him.

“So I have a new son, eh?” Her eyes are dancing, and he flushes. “Tell me you know how to farm, honey.” Kon allows his offense to show on his face. What kinda Kent would he be if he didn’t know how to farm?

“You trained me,” he says, offended. “I better!” The words make Pa Kent laugh, the burly older man ruffling his hair.

“Good, good. Maybe we can steal you and Clark during harvest season next year then,” the woman says, jokingly. Kon smiles fondly at her.

“Always, Ma.” He says without question, amused that she thought she had to ask. “I’m always available to help with the harvest.” Her eyes crinkle, and her heart beats fondly for him.

“Aren’t you precious,” she says, pinching his cheek with a smile.

“Always for you, Ma,” he confirms, and Ma moves off with Jon, Pa chuckling at him before he too leaves.

“Helped with harvest?” Clark asks, amused, and Kon shrugs.

“After I was… decanted, there was some argument about where I should stay. Other Clark offered his apartment, but I’d spent a while tryin’ ta kill him, so he offered to ask Ma an’ Pa if I wanted to spend some time in Smallville.” His accent twangs audibly with his distress, and Clark reaches out, hugs him close and presses a kiss to his temple. It’s gentle, and Kon’s glad - the old Clark woulda stopped short of touching him, like he was some diseased rat.

“Here I thought I was special,” Clark drawls, and Kon flushes, mortified but also amused that Clark was willing to joke about that. “Do you try to kill every Clark, or just the ones you like?” Kon laughs at that, leans against Clark’s chest.

“You’re the one I like most,” he assures the older man, and Clark huffs.

“Course I am. I’m tha’ fun one.” Clark says haughtily, and Kon laughs; a free little thing. They fill the hall with quiet chatter, heading towards the Cave where Cassandra was. They quiet down a little once they’re in the elevator, but Clark’s arm doesn’t leave his shoulder. “I havta know - what do you know about Ms. Cain?” He asks, and Kon leans against Clark as he thinks.

“Not much. She originally joined as Batgirl - the one y’all got workin’ now had to work as Oracle for a while because Joker paralyzed her from the waist down a few years before Jason became Robin.” Kon can feel how Clark’s heart jumps a little, worry and anger before it’s softened to a gentle concern. “Cass later gave up the Mantle and started working as Black Bat, but she was also working as Orphan.” Kon taps his fingers against his thigh. “From what little I knew of her, she doesn’t speak. She understands words, but she was never taught to speak, instead learning body language as her first and only language of choice. I don’t even know if she knows sign language.”

“Damn,” Clark mutters, and bites his lower lip. “We’ll have to try something. I’ll get my gear as Superman and look into helping her.” A faint smile, and Clark kisses Kon’s temple again, the teen relaxing as Clark offers him another ruffle of his curly hair. They part after a moment, and Kon wanders towards the door, sees that it’s closed.

“Has she eaten?” Kon asks Bruce, who is standing nearby in uniform and frowning.

“Not recently. Her plates come back clean, but…” Kon nods, and quickly glances at the cell with his X-ray vision. No food hiding anywhere. No weapons either.

“Her cell’s clean. She’s eating,” he confirms, and Bruce nods, distracted. “What’s bothering you?” he asks, tries to offer some assistance, weak as it is.

“I worked with her father for a time. He was my mentor.” There’s grief in his voice. “I didn’t know him that well, but I never thought he would have been so cruel as to do something like this to his daughter.” Bruce’s mouth trembles in a thin line.

“Her mother was Lady Shiva. I don’t think her childhood would have been much better either way,” Kon offers reluctantly, and Bruce’s hands grip the back of the chair.

“How do you know that?” Bruce asks him, and Kon grimaces.

“Uh… how mad do you want to get at yourself?” Kon asks.

“Oh god,” Bruce says faintly. “Who, why, and how badly am I going to strangle anyone?”

“Uh… Tim ended up training under Shiva. So did Jason when he was uh… legally dead.”

Bruce gives up, and takes a seat; the better to bang his head against the table, Kon soon learns.

“I am a shit father in so many realities. Why. What the fuck. How in the fuck - no, don’t comfort me.” Bruce says flatly in between banging his head on the table. Kon touches Bruce’s back and immobilizes him - not long - just long enough for him to relax and grumble against the table. Clark enters and raises a brow at Kon, before looking at Bruce in confusion.

“Uh… More alternate reality stuff,” Kon says, and Clark gives a little ah. Clark moves in, fingers stroking back Bruce’s messy hair before he leans in to press a kiss to the nape of his neck. A tiny jolt, and Bruce grumbles softly.

“I am the universe’s worst father,” Bruce informs Clark, who chuckles slightly.

“You have four boys who’d say otherwise,” Clark says dryly.

“Five, including me,” Kon says bravely, and Bruce looks at him, startled. The corner of Bruce’s eyes crinkle, his heartbeat slowing to something more soothing. Happiness. Kon did that. Kon did that.

“Thank you,” Bruce says softly, and Kon smiles sheepishly.

“I’m glad,” Kon says awkwardly, and Bruce chuckles slightly, tone fond. He straightens, and Kon says, without thinking, “I hope you guys can match body language. Cass’ll know if something’s up, and if she’s loyal to her father that’ll be a problem.” Bruce and Clark blink.

“Are you any good at identifying it?” Clark asks, tone curious.

“I never did a sit-down and compared it, but I can try if you want.”

“Just enough to pass is fine,” Bruce assures him, and he nods, watching them both stand.

“Clark, can you uh…” Clark smiles at him, and shifts his stance. It’s - whoa. Every inch of Clark’s body changes; the most minute of details, from heartbeat, to breath, to the way he bares his neck, shift to match what Kon would think of as Batman’s stance. Bruce had assumed the same stance, and after a long moment, Kon snorted.

“And you guys seriously wondered why people thought you two were already dating?” He questions rhetorically, both men immediately turning flustered at his joke. “You should pass,” he assures. “I can’t claim anything for if you guys decided to move, but on the surface level, you two definitely work as it is.” Clark relaxes back into his usual stance, floating back an inch or so off the floor.

“You know,” Bruce says, as he flicks the ears of the cowl. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

Clark snorts. “Serial adoption tendencies,” Clark mumbles under his breath, and Kon bites back another laugh.

Don’t worry Cass. You’re safe here. If not… well. I’ll take you with me when I run.

She looks up when the door opens. It’s them. The girl stares at them, evaluates them. Superman is a strong, imposing presence, floating in and leaning against a wall as he evaluates her, expression polite but unyielding. Batman strides in after, and the same strange boy that had immobilized her enters last.

She will have to take the boy who immobilized her out first.

“Cassandra Cain,” Batman’s voice is a firm rasp, and she twitches in spite of herself. He did not sound angry. He only sounded sad, upset, even, as though Cassandra was but an errant child, chasing after her father for approval. His body - once so neutral - slips into emotion, a softness of worry, concern, and why-suffer-let-help that is echoed - almost uncannily - by the second target.

The Batman is much too soft, she thinks, and when they are all within the room, she lunges. The boy who she would need to handle in order to escape doesn’t flinch, long, lean fingers catching hers with an impossible gentleness.

She had not even seen him move. His eyes are the softness of the Shanghai sky at dawn, just a hint of purple in his eyes, and she squirms in his grasp. The boy is very calm, gentle, and kind to her, but all attempts to move are denied. Even her attempt to stop her heart - her best ploy at scaring them - does nothing.

“Sorry,” the boy says, and she realizes then, that what he had done was control her heart. She couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t fight him at all.

Her heart trembles, and his expression - a soft, sad thing - grows even sadder. His expression is mourning-sorry-no-hurt just like Batman. Just like Superman. He visibly mourns her situation. That - that angers her.

She tries to twist out of his grasp, but it is useless. She’s nothing more than a puppet on a string for him to tease.

“Any remorse?” Batman questions, and she glowers at him. Her mission failed because of him. She felt no remorse for him.

“None,” the boy murmurs. “Man, this is going to be way tougher than I thought,” the boy mumbles sadly, and her expression darkens at his pitying tone. A test, and the binds prove to be as unmoving as ever. Superman and Batman look at one another - words pass in silence, too fast for her to read but short snippets.

Help-her-daughter?

Needs-care-and-love!

So-young-why-did-he-hurt-her-so

Worry. Concern. Love.

Why did they love a weapon? She had done nothing to them but try to harm? Why would they -

“Guys. Can you give me ten minutes? I want to try something.” The boy is frowning, his expression tight.

“You can’t hold this and do your other trick, can you?” Superman asks, and he gives a tired smile.

“No. Trying to make sure you guys are safe will be tough with what I want to try. This is a skill that suffered because I went all in on TTK, so I don’t even know if it’ll work.” Superman looks at him, then at Batman.

“Your call, Batman. She tried to kill you.” Batman’s mouth is pressed into a slight frown, the man’s body shifting.

“It won’t hurt her?”

“Unless she breaks her hand on my nose, no,” the boy says. Batman heaves a sigh.

“Don’t let her do that, but we’ll trust you. Be careful,” Batman says admonishingly. The two leave, and the boy waits until the door closes to touch her temples.

“Please don’t fight me, Cass. Please.” the look in his eyes was so sad, so sympathetic, but her anger will not be stopped. She would complete her mission -

His hands gently close upon her temples, and her world blurs to nothing.

“Cass!” She stops, turning to look at Kon as the teenager stumbles to a stop in front of her. He is tired-goddammit-stupid-tim and she pats his shoulder.

“How?” Her voice is stilted.

“Stupid as ever,” Kon complains. “But alive.” Her mouth quirks up into a smile, and she pats his shoulder again.

“Got you.”

“By the short and curlies, you mean,” Kon mutters, and she snorts, ruffles his curly hair and tugs a lock. It springs back, and she wiggles her eyebrows.

“Fun way?”

“I wish.” Kon’s body echos his words, and the teenager flops to the ground. “How was the family reunion?”

Cass does not wince. “Terrible.” When Kon flips over to look at her, she adds, much more amusedly, “Jason snuck Batcow.”

Kon laughs - and then laughs harder when she tries to glare at him.

“I love you,” he says, sprawled on the rooftop, grinning. “Not as much as Tim, mind you, but enough.”

Cass smiles, kneels down to pat the top of his curly hair.

Cass-good-friend-love-love-love-big-sis-best radiates from him, and she cannot help her grin.

The world blurs again.

There are many memories. Some are fun. Some are gentler and kinder. Some are bloody - she watches those she loves in a world not her own suffer. She listens to her father destroy her family. She watches as they die in fire and blood.

She watches as Kon-El; Tim’s dearly beloved, his best friend, his most cherished - refuse to leave, trying to save Tim.

She watches Tim kiss him goodbye and shove him into the void, to rescue him before he could succumb to the illness killing all they loved.

She watched him die.

She watched him almost die.

She witnessed death, in all of its ugly glory. Her memories - scattered fragments. Cassandra pieced together who she was from the empty spaces the memories left behind.

For her, she read their bodies, the betraying twitches of a person.

For Kon-El, Conner Kent, Superboy, the boy who would lift the skies for a love lost;

He had snippets of memory. Dreams, what ifs, could have beens.

He was drowning in them, trying to give her something of herself to hold to and she reaches out and -

They wake at the same time. Kon-El jerks back as though set ablaze, his cheeks flush, his mouth parted in an aborted cry for help, his body shuddering weakly from pain.

“Cass?” He says, weakly, and Cassandra Cain -

Batgirl, the woman of a thousand deaths, Orphan, Black Bat, the girl whose first language was touch -

Flings herself into his arms.

“Kon. Kon.” She says, hugging him, squeezing him as tight as her strength allowed. “Kon. Konner,” She says, tears dripping down her cheeks.

He always looked sad.

Now she knew.

Mourn-lost-displaced-scared-to-love scared-to-lose.

Cassandra squeezes him tighter.

“Memories?” She asks when they part, and his cheeks flush.

“TTK treats memoires as uh… physical entities, sometimes,” he explains blushingly. “I can’t do more than hold onto them, but uh…”

She punches his arm gently. “Silly. Family?” She says. His expression brightens. Love-love-family-please-stay radiates off of him, and she leans against him. “Little brother?” She asks.

“I…” Kon falls quiet. Want-Clark-father-but-too-old vibrates anxiously in his body, and she reaches out to kiss his forehead.

“He wants. Give him.”

A knock.

“Can we come in?” Bruce asks, and she lifts her head.

“Bruce.” She says. “Please.” The door cracks open, and Bruce looks between them - his eyes go soft. It is nothing like the Bruce Wayne of other memories. He is soft and gentle and sad for Kon, love-love-son-mine-love-you in his bones.

Cassandra thinks that perhaps Kon has nothing to fear.

He is in full uniform, but he is gentle when he kneels down, smiling at her in an awkward, hopeful way.

She sees other versions of him - self-assured, arrogant, disdainful. Anger and hate and all of the rage he’d hidden.

Bruce Wayne of here - of Kon’s hopes - is love.

He desires to care for his beloved children, has a heart so full of love and so open for every child that may be his that she wonders how any version of Bruce Wayne could be anything less than this.

“Son needs Clark. Comfort,” she says, and Clark pokes his head in, bewildered. In answer, she lifts Kon a little. “Son needs you.” A complex weave of expressions dances over his face.

Son! Thinks-as-father-as-caretaker-precious-son? Clark’s expression is pure yearning, a want strong enough to hold up the sky. Cass lifts him again, and Clark swoops in, pulling Kon to his chest. The tenseness eases into soft pleasure, Kon hanging in his father’s arms and staying snuggled close.

Cass clambers to her feet, and offers a small, shaky smile at Bruce.

“I am… I am Cassandra.” She says at last. “I hope that you-” His hand covers her mouth gently, and she blinks at him.

“Daughter?” He asks. “Or just a ward?” He offers.

Cassandra’s eyes water at the offer, and she steps easily into his arms.

“Family is good. Family is…” Bruce squeezes her tight, and she sighs, happy.

“Do you ever think that things are just… going too smoothly?” Bruce wonders over dinner - a very nice pasta dish made by Jason. It’s just Bruce and him - the boys had bowed out with evil grins; Lois, Ma, and Pa had all skedaddled to argue menus with Alfred for Thanksgiving, giving them horribly unsubtle winks in the process.

“Yes. Often,” Clark admits. “But I mean, that’s kind of the point of… you know, communicating issues rather than just pretending everything’s hunky-dory.” Clark can feel his accent slipping, but Bruce merely smiles at his slightly mortified blush. “I really need to ask for Jordan and Allen to come by and get Kon checked out. The whole… tactile telekinesis is enough - but telepathy? Last I checked, Kryptonians were only supposed to be able to communicate with others of the same species.”

“He is absurdly powerful for a boy his age, even among what little we’ve been able to glean from the records you have hidden in your Fortress,” Bruce agrees. “I know he’s half-human, just like Jon, but if this is what we can expect from Jon as well, we should make sure that his childhood is as… fluid and accepting of what might happen as what might not.”

“I think the boys are probably despairing at us. Jay cooked us this delicious meal, and here we are, talking work shit.” Clark says, amused. Bruce snorts.

“Tell Kon to stop listening in so I can flirt with you then.”

“Tch, you can do it yourself,” he says, amused. “Kon - tell the boys to knock it off and spend time with their new sister if they want to do something fun.” A muffled yelp, and Kon’s laughter could be heard, even by an amused Bruce. “Mmm. Now what do we do about the other four busy-bodies who think they’re being subtle in the kitchen?” Clark wonders. Alfred pokes his head out, and Clark gives the butler a look.

“I beg your pardon?” Alfred says with a sniff. “We are not busybodies, Master Clark.”

“I mean, you are in the kitchen, pretending to argue over a Thanksgiving meal that I know for a fact you’ve already planned to the gills, waiting for me and Bruce to do something. That qualifies as busybodies. I’m not going to be going through a romantic dinner just to scar my parents for life talking to my boyfriend about all the things I want to do to him. Shoo.” Clark lifts a hand to flap at Alfred, and Alfred looks horribly, horribly entertained.

“You two are a perfect match,” the man tells him, and Clark flushes slightly as Alfred ducks away. Looking back, he can see Bruce’s shoulders quivering.

“I love you,” Bruce manages around snickers. “I mean it, I fucking love you.”

“Enough to go public?” Clark asks, and then flushes a hot pink. Bruce is staring at him, cheeks flushing slowly as he stares.

They’d not talked about their public lives. It was… well, it was more out of necessity than convenience that they’d kept their lives so separate. Privately, Clark was just Bruce’s boyfriend. In public, Brucie Wayne, darling of Gotham, called Clark Kent his favorite reporter, but was just as much of a flirt as ever.

But Clark had been wanting more, lately. He wanted to be able to have Bruce on his arm. He wanted to kiss Bruce in public, take him out on dates, to make him show up after meetings disheveled and looking flustered.

He wanted to love his boyfriend publicly.

Bruce’s mouth is still a little open, his cheeks a bit flush, his fingers twitching slightly.

“Clark,” Bruce manages weakly.

“Y-yes?” He squeaks.

“You want to go public?” He asks.

“... Very.” Clark says, blushing harder. Clark squeaks when Bruce abandons his dinner, the man standing up to plop into his lap, lips pressing against his and practically stealing all of the air in his lungs. Even being mortified to death, Clark was happy to cuddle Bruce, arms winding around his waist and chest heaving up and down heavily as the two made out like a pair of teenagers.

“Fuck’s sake,” Bruce whispers against his mouth. “I want to eat you alive so fucking badly right now, Clark.”

Clark blushes pink. “I love you too?”

“No, I’m going to fucking devour you,” Bruce murmurs against his lips. “I’m taking you to bed, and we’re not leaving until you and I have broken the bed or everyone’s minds.”

Clark’s brain goes straight to dial tone.

“I am the luckiest man on the planet,” Clark mumbles. “God, I love you.” Bruce laughs against his mouth.

“C’mon, boyfriend,” Bruce murmurs against his lips. “Take me to bed, and you can write up an article about us coming out for Monday's paper at the Planet.” Clark laughs against his lips breathlessly.

“Maybe I should write the first draft on you.” Bruce’s eyes gleam at him.

“Is that a promise?”

Suffice to say, they definitely did not finish dinner.

(Clark was very glad he had a camera, too, that he could use. Some of these photos would never see daylight.)

“Did you know?” Is Perry’s first words when Lois enters his office on Monday morning, just ahead of the new print run.

“Er…” She looks bewildered, and in response, Perry offers her the morning’s proof.

“Page sixteen,” Perry says blandly. She opens it and - holy shit.

“Bruce really did a number on Clark’s shamelessness,” she says, blushing. It’s a good photo - Clark’s always had an eye for it - of Bruce wrapped up in sheets, the words Property of Clark Kent daisy-chained all over his chest and shoulders and back like a tattoo. Perry’s brow twitches.

“Clark’s done a large number of superhero articles. I need to know how long they’ve been dating, Lois, because the last thing I want is for someone -”

“- You can say Luthor -”

“To destabilize the reputation of the newspaper,” Perry says. Okay. Fair.

“I… Hmm. Eight years? Give or take a few months?” Lois says, and Perry stares.

“What.” Lois shrugs sheepishly at his blank what.

“They’ve been together for ages.”

“I’m going to strangle Clark.”

“Please don’t.” Clark’s voice says, the man entering the office with three cups of coffee. “Sorry… Bruce and I have been keeping it fairly low-key,” he explains awkwardly. “But it’s getting harder to keep it quiet because my folks found my half-brother in an orphanage, and Bruce is dead set on adopting him..” Perry, in the middle of lifting the coffee to his lips, pauses.

“Kent. What in the fuck is your life,” Perry says weakly, and Clark shrugs very sheepishly.

“I’ve been asking myself that for nearly eight years,” he admits. “Sorry, sir.”

Perry’s head hits the table. “I’ll run the print. But Kent.”

“I know. Vicki Vale’ll be sniffing around, and you’ll want me to sit down and rendezvous. Bruce said he’d be stopping by today to address the issue of Lexcorp and what’ll be going forward.”

“...” Perry pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re lucky that those articles you write are as good as they are, Kent. Get out, and let me enjoy the last ten minutes of peace I’ll have all month.”

“Sorry sir,” Clark says blushingly, and ducks away. Perry stares at Clark in consternation, but waits until the door’s closed.

“How long have you known?” Perry asks, and Lois takes a seat.

“Around the same time I saw that photo of Clark and Bruce with my son.”

“Which makes an absurd amount of sense now,” Perry sighs. “If he’s been with Wayne, then it’s no surprise Superman trusted him enough to give him that first interview. And it explains why he’s been watching the man’s son.” A frustrated sigh. “Dammit Kent. If I didn’t know that boy probably was just shy, I’d wring his neck for not disclosing this sooner. Go back to your desk, Lane. I’ll draft up an article for Kent and Wayne to proofread about their relationship.”

Exiting, Lois gives Clark a look.

The man doesn’t look even slightly chagrined.

“Bruce’s idea,” he says mildly.

“You went along with it.”

“Well, he does have a fantastic mouth…” Clark sighs dramatically, and Lois’s mouth drops open.

“No!” She gasps, lifting his notebook to smack him in the arm. “You jerk! Don’t tease!”

Clark’s eyes are dancing, and he grins widely at her.

“Not my fault that my boyfriend is hot,” he says, grinning, and Lois smacks him some more.

“You say to the dateless woman,” she says, pouting fiercely at him while Clark snickers.

What a jerk, Lois thinks with a huff, though she smiles at his dancing eyes. God. What a time to have a family, she thinks, ruffling his hair and watching him squeak.

“So anyways I ran the overall analysis-” Barry reminds him of Bart, Kon thinks, the man zipping around and chattering a mile a minute while an amused Hal Jordan rolls his eyes from next to Barry.

“Sorry about this,” Hal says dryly. “He’s been dying to be able to talk to a Kryptonian about some of the stuff he’s seen in the scans, and your abilities are just delighting him.” Kon laughs a bit weakly.

“I’m fine with the idea. It’s actually pretty nice, having someone care about me enough to send me with an armed contingent of guards.”

The guards being Jason, Dick, and Tim, who was playing with a fussing Jon, the little boy constantly looking at Kon and whining. Tim lifts the boy up, kisses his cheek, and Jon stops fussing.

Kon knows from experience that’ll only stop him for ten minutes before he’s back to whining and pouting and demanding kisses from Kon, but he wiggles his fingers in a little hello for Jon, who squeaks happily at him and waves.

“You two are rather close for siblings,” Jordan notes.

“Yeah… About that.” Kon says, bites his lip. “Can that ring of yours make even Kryptonian hearing obsolete?” Jordan’s brow shoots up to his hairline, but the man nods.

“If I work at it. Jon’ll be too young to overhear, but better safe than sorry.” A little wave, and Barry is swept in before a bright beehive of green surrounds them. “Alright. Shoot.”

How in the fuck did Kon do this?

“Jon’s… um. Technically older than me?” Kon admits sheepishly. “When we originally traveled here from another reality, Jon was about ten years old.”

Hal stares. Barry stares even more.

“I’m sorry. Say that again, but slower.” Barry says, mouth open and a little disbelieving.

“Jon’s been ten. And seventeen, and twenty - it just… depends on the reality we’re in at the time?” He winces harder when both of them look at each other incredulously. “I mean, I’m a clone, but Jon’s always had this absurd affinity to time and time travel, but he can’t actually do anything about it and -”

“Kon!” Jon’s distressed voice makes his head shoot up, the little boy having abandoned Tim to plaster himself against the transparent green barrier, quivering in distress. “Kon!” he paws at the barrier, and Kon doesn’t even think - he moves, kneeling down to gently press his hand against the barrier. It thins, and the material turns flexible for him to feel Jon’s warmth against his palm.

“It’s okay baby. I’m okay. Shh. I’m right here, okay? It’s just some medical stuff, cutie,” he reassures the crying toddler.

“Koooooon,” Jon wails miserably, and his heartstrings tug at the distress in his little brother’s voice. Tim is gentle when he reaches out, ruffling thick curls and sending them everywhere, the boy pulling away and moping against the bottom of the beehive barrier.

“C’mere sweetie,” Tim coos, the boy miserably whining the whole way back into Tim’s arms. “Is everything okay?” Tim asks awkwardly, looking at Kon in concern.

Kon flushes violently.

“It’s uh… weird ass Kryptonian/human hybrid shit,” Kon offers, and Tim hums; bouncing Jon in his arms as the little boy whines loudly for his big brother.

“Sounds like you need ice cream.” Tim decides. Jon’s whine quiets immediately, the little boy wiggling eagerly.

“Ice cream!” Jon squeaks happily, and Jason laughs, hefting the little boy up in his arms to carry him off.

“Sounds like we know what we’re doing. Dick, you good?” Jason asks, and Dick smiles, shakes his head.

“Bring me back whatever fruit-monstrosity they’ve got. I’ll stay here with Kon,” Dick says, his eyes not leaving Kon’s face. The other three troop out, and Dick waits until the door is closed. “Kon, do you need an adult to talk this with?” He asks, and Kon almost chokes on his gratefulness.

He still remembered, vividly, those days of nearly falling apart, of collapsing after his genetics had degraded so far, and the idea that Jon could have that happen - that Jon could quite literally accelerate himself out of time itself -

“Please,” Kon manages, and Dick walks up to the barrier. Jordan, without question, has it fill the whole room instead, now that they’re alone, the green thickening until he can’t see through it. Dick hops up into a seat next to him, runs his fingers through dark hair.

“Let’s start easy,” Dick says softly. “Tell me - from the beginning, what’s going on.” Kon licks his lips, mouth pressing into a small line.

“All Kryptonians have some kind of affinity that determines their Caste later in life…”

Chapter Text

Of the five boys (and one girl) that now lived in the manor, Nightwing was the one who rarely ever caused trouble. It was a far cry from the nightmare Bruce had once described Dick to be in his early years, the violent, temperamental Robin who had to be bribed with ice cream and often physically worn out before he would listen to anyone.

Clark had often thought Bruce had been joking.

But seeing Nightwing brutally tearing apart training hologram after hologram was horribly worrying.

“Nightwing?” He asks softly. The dummy shatters under his fist. A deep sigh, and Nightwing stretches around to see him. He sheds the persona like water, shaking his head before meeting Clark’s eyes.

“Clark.” Dick acknowledges tightly.

“I could use a hug,” Clark says tentatively. Dick glares at him, but when he sees Clark’s worried expression, the boy deflates.

“Fucking Kents,” Dick complains, the young adult going easily into his arms. He nuzzles against Clark’s chest like a kitten, and Clark kisses his forehead gently.

“What do you need, Dick?” He asks, and Dick whines unhappily.

“I want to punch Kon’s original Superman. In the balls.”

“Oh, that’s a sentiment I agree with,” Clark sighs. “What now?” he complains, and Dick chokes on a weak laugh.

“You have a list?” Dick giggles helplessly.

“It’s me, Dick,” Clark says dryly. “The moment Kon landed in this world that bastard’s days were limited.” Dick laughs wetly, the man burying his head into Clark’s neck as he shudders and complains wordlessly.

“God I love this family,” Dick sighs, before pulling back with a sheepish little grin.

“I love you too. What’s up?” Clark asks, head tilting to a side. “Alfred insisted I bring down some chocolate chip cookies - said you would need them nearly as much as a hug.” Dick snorts, slumps against his second father.

“Did Kon tell you about the problems of being cloned?” At the thought of his son being in more danger, Clark’s hackles rise. (Son. He’d not thought that Kon would give him that, but the shy admission had left Clark practically flying on the high since Saturday.) His son! Goddammit, what was it with Kents and bad luck? He bemoans for several moments, the man reaching out to cuddle Dick tighter, the boy in his arms wheezing.

“Ribs…” Dick wheezes, and he lets go, panicking a little. Dick rubs his ribs, chuckling slightly. “Ugh. I bet you give the best hugs when you’re not worried,” Dick jokes. Clark smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Gosh - you must have had hell at school.” Clark laughs sheepishly, shakes his head. “Thanks for being patient with me,” Dick sighs. “Let’s go grab Kon - you really should be aware of what’s going to happen, since they’ll need your input.” Clark’s stomach twists awkwardly.

“Oh no,” he says. Dick grins mirthlessly.

“We’re going to the Cave. B’s been freaking out about it.”

Oh no.

Kon is down there, Jon in his arms and whining sleepily at his brother. He’s back in his usual clothes, a dark leather jacket, torn jeans, and his favorite sunglasses. Jon is drooling on Kon’s shoulder, the boy watching his son with fondness.

Clark allows himself to bask in the sight of his sons both together, a smile blooming over his lips as he watches his boys.

“I know that look,” Dick says fondly from next to him, smiling despite his tense expression. “You had that expression with Jaybird when you decided he was your favorite Robin.” Dick gives a dramatic little sniffle, leaning on his shoulder. “You broke my heart that day, you know. Your greatest fan, not your Robin?” Dick pouts at him, and he chuckles.

“You were a super-fan, not a son,” he says gently. “Though you ended up my son anyways.” A little kiss to Dick’s temple, and the former Robin pouts at him. “Maybe we should look into getting the boys some Robin gear when they’re old enough.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Tim’s voice surprises Clark, the boy scowling. “I’m already on it,” the boy huffs.

“I can’t outfit my future Robins?” He teases, and Tim puffs his cheeks out.

“You were born in the seventies. The only person with a more questionable fashion choice is Dick, and he was born in the eighties.”

Dick chokes violently on his laughter, and Clark reddens.

“You are a mean boy,” Clark mutters, Dick wheezing on his shoulder violently.

“You aren’t allowed,” he says flatly. “End of discussion.”

“All my Robins are so mean to me,” Clark pouts slightly, and Kon looks up, a faint smile on his face.

“Is that a Robin only privilege?” He asks mildly, bouncing Jon when the boy lifts his head to blearily stare at his papa. Clark rubs his fingers over Jon’s nose playfully, the boy squeaking at him tiredly.

“Does that mean I don’t get sass from you?” Clark asks half-heartedly, and Kon chuckles, sneaking a kiss against Jon’s temple. Jon squeals cutely at him, before squeaking and hiding his face in Kon’s neck.

“No.”

“Damn. I guess it’s a sons’ only privilege,” Clark says, smiling down at the boy. Kon’s shoulders relax immediately, the boy looking like a pile of jello.

Looking around, Clark’s surprised to see everyone - or nearly everyone - is downstairs. The dread in his stomach thickens.

“Is it that bad?” Clark asks, and Kon’s smile is very brittle. Lois is the last to arrive, the redheaded woman looking a little winded.

“Oh shit. What’s going on?” Lois says wisely, and everyone looks at one another.

A cough brings Clark’s gaze to an obviously nervous-looking Barry.

“You’ll want to sit.”

Oh no.

Things Hal Jordan wasn’t sure he’d ever see again in his lifetime: One Bruce Wayne - aka Batman, aka major pain in the ass - flitting around Clark worriedly with a needle.

“So our bitty super is going to age?” Jason says, brow furrowed at the sight.

“And how, ” Hal says, mouth pressed into a slightly thin line. “Barry checked and confirmed it - he’s practically dripping with side effects from some kind of Chronokinesis, to say nothing to his issues of aging asynchronously. The blood transfusion should help - Clark’s pure Kryptonian, but the transfusion on a minor scale worked for both boys to help shore them up, so Kon and Jon will need them at least monthly for the rest of the year and probably into April of the next one.”

“I can produce blood fairly quickly, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” Clark says immediately, the man looking at his sons with obvious worry. “Can we even store them here?” Clark asks that to Bruce, who gives his boyfriend a smile, fingers skimming through Clark’s hair gently.

(He’d seen the news article, and hoo fucking boy. He’d laughed so hard he’d nearly keeled over. The Boy Scout himself with the most famous playboy of his generation? He’d hardly believed it.)

“I have a blood bank here,” Bruce confirms easily. “With the boys all being vigilantes, I just have them donate blood when they can and keep it safe. I’ll have to update it to keep yours and the boys’ as secure, but it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“You don’t drink it?” Hal mutters under his breath. Jason elbows him, smirking, and the look Bruce and Clark send him is not amused.

“I’m not a goddamn vampire,” Bruce says, irritated.

“You certainly don’t sparkle like one.” Hal quips, and has the amusement of seeing everyone shudder violently.

“Ugh.”

“You read that disaster?” Jason asks, and Hal shrugs.

“I have a nephew. He complains about it. Constantly.”

“Good for him,” Dick says dryly, and Hal snorts. “Kori’s been gushing about it and ugh. I wish I was deaf.”

“Poor baby,” Kon says dryly. “The sequels are worse.”

“There’s more?” Dick says, horrified.

“Uh… yeah. The second one came out in August this year.”

“Fuck me. Nobody tells Kori or I’ll borrow Harley’s mallet.” Dick says with feeling, and Hal snorts at them.

“Not that this isn’t funny, but can we move on to the important part? The boys need their blood infused monthly for the next year, but how are you going to explain however Jon ages?”

“Speed Force,” Tim says absent-mindedly, the little boy curled up near Kon’s legs. Kon was stiff and still as a statue, clearly terrified of moving. God, his crush was so funny. Jon is snoring on his big brother’s shoulder, and Kon jiggles Jon gently, the boy quieting as his body is moved just enough to be comfy. “LexCorp is already publicly known to have messed with it, and Jon being here is linked to them tampering with Kryptonite and various other ill-meaning abilities. Legally, pinning the blame on LexCorp is impossible, but some public mudslinging on something they can’t prove wasn’t their fault should work.”

… Damn. The fuck did Bruce find his Robins?

Clark gives a low whistle. “Have you been doing this on purpose?” Clark asks, and that grin would have been evil even without the glare of the light from his computer screen.

“You gave me permission to ruin Luthor’s life,” the boy says matter-of-factly. “Between Luthor’s ill-advised decision to scatter kryptonite all over Metropolis, and the fact that Jon’s listed as living with Auntie Lois, he kinda set himself up for disaster. But I’ll have to get a solid grasp on how old Jon was before we can really make the guy miserable.”

“Jon was about ten when we first jumped realities,” Kon says quietly down to Tim, who taps rapidly away. “I think we spent about two years jumping from reality to reality, before he ended up here.”

“He’s definitely not going to be twelve,” Tim says, frowning. “The way Speed Force is affecting him, some of those years are completely lost - otherwise he’d be older than you right now.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “He’d probably be older than Clark.”

“Geh.” Kon says.

“Your kids terrify me,” Hal tells Bruce, and the man looks terribly amused.

“Welcome to Gotham.”

Hal wonders if he can punch Bruce and get away with it.

“Mr. Kent.” The silky voice of Vicki Vale is barely little more than a purr, the woman having swooped in the moment the two had arrived, Bruce on Clark’s arm. He’s in full Brucie regalia tonight, the man leaning back against Clark and socializing flirtatiously, though Clark hasn’t really tried to curb his enthusiastic waves hello nor his more chaste flirtations.

“Ms. Vale,” He says evenly, plucking the champagne out of Bruce’s fingers. He knows how much Bruce dislikes champagne. “You promised me no alcohol tonight,” Clark reminds Brucie evenly, and the man pouts.

“Please, Clark?” Brucie turns those doe eyes on him, and if he didn’t know Bruce as well as he did, he’d assume that the man actually wanted the champagne.

“No, babe. Get a nice semillon instead. It’ll be winter soon, and you hate missing out on that one.” Clark chides, and Brucie pouts, but stretches up to kiss his cheek.

“Cheater,” he accuses teasingly into Clark’s ear, before the man turns away and flags down a waiter. Clark sets the champagne on the tray with an awkwardly polite smile, before returning his attention to the woman in front of him.

Rather than offended, the woman actually seemed… delighted? Well. She was something.

“My,” she says, a hand fanning herself. “You two certainly seem to be enjoying yourselves,” she twitters, her eyes sharp on the way Clark held his boyfriend to his side.

“Mm. Parties aren’t my thing, but Bruce likes them, so it’s only fair to attend a few for him.” The woman’s eyes gleam as she pounces.

“Not much of a party man, mm? Then why go out with Brucie? Everyone knows he loves a good party, after all.” Next to him, Brucie accepts his wine and offers him a sip. Obligingly, Clark allows Brucie to feed him some, the man’s thumb rubbing against his lower lip lightly.

Cameras flash everywhere, and Clark internally rolls his eyes.

Out loud, he says, “Not bad. Make sure to get some of those pears, though,” he suggests, and Brucie grins at him, all wickedness.

“Sure, baby,” Brucie purrs, a waiter swanning in quickly as a thought to offer him a bowl of sliced pears. Idly, Clark accepts it without question, and smiles lightly at Brucie, holding it for him.

“Aren’t you two worried?” Vicki pounces. “Being openly gay isn’t exactly accepted everywhere.”

“Mmm. No. This is Gotham,” Brucie says cheerfully, taking a bite of a pear. Vicki waits impatiently. “You’ve met our villains, right? They’d be more likely to throw me a party than kill me for it.”

“... Fair,” Vicki admits, shrugging at the valid point. Clark smiles slightly into Brucie’s hair, the man blinking up at him, and then grinning. “What about you, Mr. Clark? Anything to say about how you two got together?” She rakes her eyes over him appreciatively. “I mean, Brucie’s never been shy about his preferences, but you’re different to the usual.”

Immediately, the mischievous part of him immediately ignites, and Clark slides Bruce closer.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he says with a slight smirk. “But Bruce likes his men different to the way he likes his women.” Vicki’s eyes gleam, and Brucie pauses, knowing Clark’s going to unleash some kind of hell.

“And what would that be?” The woman leans in, eyes gleaming predatorily.

“Wha’ was it, darling?” Clark allows his country drawl through, and knows Bruce is going to kill him later. “You said you liked it when your man could fold you in half, ain’t that it?” Watching Vicki Vale drop her microphone was nothing compared to the sudden bright pink blush that crosses Brucie’s cheeks, the man coughing on his wine. Clark ducks his head while Vicki is distracted, and murmurs, “If you keep flirting, I’m going to say much raunchier things on live tv, you got that? Now that we’ve gone public, you should know I’m the jealous type.”

Brucie’s breath hitches.

“I hate you,” Bruce tells him the moment they’re alone in the limo. “Honest to god, hate you right now, Clark Kent.” Clark’s eyes are dancing wickedly, the man’s fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he whistles cheerfully.

“What about this time?” He asks innocently. Bruce makes a strangled noise, fingers yanking off the tie as he glares at his favorite Kansas boy.

“You know exactly fucking why!” Bruce whines, but he obediently buckles in. “You son of a bitch,” Bruce mutters, curling up slightly with a petulant pout. “I’ve cultivated my image and his preferred type carefully, Clark. And you blew it to smithereens!”

“Good. Means nobody’ll think they’ve got a chance with you if I have you,” Clark says simply. Bruce gapes.

“My god,” Bruce says, when his brain reboots. “You’re one possessive monster,” he complains, and Bruce can hear the husky way Clark laughs.

“If I count the years you and I have been close like this, Bruce, then we’ve been dating for eight years. Eight goddamn years of watching you flirt, watching you let other people touch you…” Bright blue eyes glance at him. They’re darkly possessive, and Bruce flushes. “I’m man enough to know where my jealousy lies, baby.” Clark turns down to the next street. “So if wrecking that pretty Brucie Wayne persona and making everyone think of me when they say your name is a problem, you’re going to have to be brutally blunt about it.”

Oh.

Oh god.

Bright pink covers Bruce’s cheeks as he buries his head in his hands and muffles a scream in it.

“I hate you,” he wails into his hands, Clark laughing sweetly at him like the terrible, no good, awful boyfriend he is. “I hate that I actually like this,” Bruce grumbles quieter. Clark’s fingers leave the steering wheel, and he lightly rubs his thumb against the back of Bruce’s neck, squeezes his neck gently.

Bruce loves how gentle Clark is with him, even though the man could crack him in half. Clark’s fingers stay lovingly on his nape, and he practically purrs when Clark’s fingers stroke the back of his neck.

“You’re mine, Gotham,” Clark says lightly, bright baby blue looking at him slyly. “Don’t think you’re getting out of me making you cry for me.”

Bruce’s face flushes a hot pink, and the man looks away, a flustered half-whine leaving his throat.

So much for being the most stubborn man in the world…

“How was the party?” Jason ambushes his dad when Bruce is alone, the man nursing a glass of whiskey with ice.

“... Do we have to?” Bruce grumbles into his drink. Jason plops himself into a seat, smirking.

“Hey, I was merciful when you and Clark finally got together. Let me have my fun,” Jason says, amused.

“Fuck’s sake.” Bruce mutters, indignant. Jason ignores him, stealing his plate of cheese and crackers. “Hey!”

“Today is my day to menace you, B,” Jason says, grinning, the boy squeezing in to sit next to his father. Bruce sighs deeply, but lifts his arm and hugs his second eldest son.

“I love you too,” Bruce grumbles half-heartedly. Jason grins at his father, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tease you too much. I just want to know - did Clark finally reveal his possessive side?” Jason asks. “Twitter broke like… five minutes in.” The look on Bruce’s face was fucking hilarious.

“We broke Twitter?” Bruce’s voice cracks embarrassingly, and Jason grins.

“Oh yeah. Dick was laughing about it like mad earlier tonight,” Jason says, smirk widening. “Don’t worry. We kept Kon and younger from watching, but they definitely know you guys broke Twitter.”

“... I’m a terrible influence.”

“The worst,” Jason agrees happily, kicking his feet up on the foot rest. “Alfie was looking amused, by the way, and the Kents are between beating their son with a pillow and laughing at you.”

“Noooooo,” Bruce moans into his hands, and Jason lets him suffer for a few minutes. When he’s done bemoaning his life, Jason hugs him.

“More seriously - B. I’m happy for you.” Jason’s blue eyes are bright with amusement. “And I mean it for more reasons than just teasing the hell out of you,” he says sincerely. Bruce leans against him. “I was seriously worried about you, you know,” Jason continues. “I mean, yeah, you had Clark, and Alfie, and even Dick - but you always had someone on your arm as Brucie, and I thought you were seriously looking for someone.” Bruce pulls a face, and the teenager laughs.

“Not someone that airheaded.”

“That I was never in doubt of. I was actually pretty relieved when I saw you and Selina had that thing until Clark coming ‘round scared her off.”

“Yes. Superman being able to find her identity was a real downer,” Bruce deadpanned. Jason snorts, pokes his side.

“Oi. No out-snarking me,” he warns wryly, and Bruce smiles softly at his son. “But seriously, B. I’m happy that you’ve found someone.”

“Thanks.” Bruce leans against him like a pleased cat, and Jason grins sheepishly. “I’ve been meaning to ask, too. I’m going to be leaving after Thanksgiving to go to the Netherlands. Would you be up to going with me?” He asks, and Jason blinks.

“Me? I have classes,” Jason says, only a half-hearted protest.

“I know you’re already in your next semester, Jason. Take the classes and come with me.” Bruce’s eyes were gray in this lighting, a startling hue when they were usually a much brighter shade.

“Ugh…” Jason pretends to think about it. “Where in the Netherlands?”

“The Hague, thereabouts. But our hotel will be in Rotterdam.” Jason’s eyes light up, and he knows Bruce can see his delight.

“Can we -”

“If you like it enough, I’ll buy out one of the little cube houses.” Jason flushes at being predictable, but rather than being upset, he just grins happily, burying his head into Bruce’s neck.

“Okay B. You’ve convinced me. I’ll pack for cold weather,” Jason says, grinning. “What’s the reason?”

Bruce hemms a little, before smiling wryly at Jason.

“Let’s call it a belated birthday gift. Since you weren’t available at the time.” Jason’s mouth opens slightly, and then he closes it.

“Big gift,” Jason says after a long moment, and Bruce smiles slightly at his son.

“Consider it an ‘I’m happy you’re not dead’ present.” The joke is tentative, but Jason grins widely, visibly pleased.

“Are you going to make dead jokes with me?” Jason teases, delighted. Bruce hums again.

“I’ll leave them to you. But if you do something stupid, I’m within my rights to make all the bird hitting a window jokes I can fit into a single conversation,” Bruce decides, and Jason cracks up immediately.

“You’re terrible, B,” Jason wheezes, and Bruce grins wickedly back.

“That’s what you get for being my Robin, Jaylad.” Jason preens a little under the hair ruffle, and after a minute, he relaxes.

“So. B.” Bruce eyes him slightly, amused. “Any chance we can visit Amsterdam? I want to bring Dick weird shit from the museum there.”

Bruce snorts violently.

“I want pictures of his face.”

“Deal.”

“So… what’s the details on the whole Netherlands thing?” Dick wonders, the man sitting cross-legged and looking attentively at Bruce. Kon and Jon are next to him, Kon nodding off slightly with Jon on his chest, while Tim is sitting cross-legged on the floor, laptop on the table while he makes Luthor’s life miserable with prejudice. Clark had taken Jason out to pack for his trip, so everyone else was in here, even Alfred. Only Cass was out, still trying to adjust, not used to her newfound freedom.

“You have to promise not to tell Jason,” Bruce says evenly. “It’s something that I’m responsible for telling him, and I will do so tomorrow - I just want you all to understand what’s going to happen next month, since Jason and I will be missing part of Hanukkah for this.” Everyone shares a look.

Bruce might not have made a big deal of it, Dick knew, but he was often very devoted to his holidays, more so since Bruce and Clark had started working together. Missing this year’s celebration was a big deal.

“Who will be lighting the menorah if you’re not doing it, B?” Dick asks prudently. Even after Clark joined, that’d always been Bruce’s responsibility, and he’d never let anyone else do it. Bruce winces at the reminder.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to ask you to do it, Martha.” Bruce sounds sheepish as he asks her, and the woman has a good five seconds of stunned surprise. “My mother used to be the one to light it, and while you’re not her…” He trails off, a little embarrassed with everyone staring at him.

“No, no, I’d be honored - but son, you know I’m born and raised a daughter of Christ.” Bruce’s eyes crinkle slightly.

“I get that, Ma,” Bruce says softly. “But Hanukkah isn’t exclusionary. Please take care of my family in my stead. I know you planned to head back to the farm after Thanksgiving, but I would really appreciate this.” Dick has to bite back a smile at the flustered look Martha was giving an earnest-looking Bruce, who didn’t seem to realize or appreciate how badly he flustered her. Lois is trembling in amusement, and Pa Kent’s mouth is twitching.

“I… Oh, fine,” she huffs, visibly flustered. “You’re a very earnest Jewish boy,” the woman tells him wryly, before smiling more sincerely. “You’re good for my Clark.” Bruce beams shyly at her, before sobering.

“So, what’s the reason for the visit?” Lois prompts curiously. Bruce gives them all a wry smile.

“Starting November 30th, the Joker’s status of diplomatic immunity will be stripped, and he will be brought to the International Court of Justice to be tried for bioterrorism, crimes against humanity, and for the subversion of justice.”

Dick’s mouth drops open.

As does everyone else’s.

“What.”

“You’re… you’re serious,” Dick breathed, eyes wide. Bruce gives him a slight smile.

“I’ve been looking into Joker’s real identity for years,” Bruce admits quietly. “But Jason’s death abroad was the final straw. Before then I…” he swallows. “I thought he could be helped. But the fact that he was able to get diplomatic immunity to a country hostile to the US was bad enough. After enough evidence, the government was finally pushed to admit that Joker was not the same person as the man who applied, and with judicious use of Diana’s Lasso, we were also able to get any chance of an insanity plea thrown out too.”

“R-really?” Dick’s voice is a bit wobbly, and he looks at everyone else. They’re all shocked. Joker… Joker was seriously going to go on trial?

“Really. He would have been required to be mentally sound to be even considered for any diplomatic position, and while there were a fair number of threats involved with the Joker’s appointment, including some Joker venom to the children of someone in the embassy who was willing to talk. Everyone who Joker’s threatened is now safely secured, and the government of Iran has agreed to relinquish diplomatic immunity.” Bruce’s fingers lace together.

“I’ve been… I’ve been very patient, but Clark has shown me that I am a bit too forgiving for some people.” His smile is thin. “Joker will be the first, but after this, there are a few others who will start feeling the same legal wrath that’s available to us.” Bruce smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”

“Oh honey…” Martha looks teary, the woman swooping in to hug him, Bruce making a startled noise. “You’ve been a good kid, you know,” she says gently, squeezing him tight. “Tryin’ to take care of this big city the kind way. But not every’n can be saved, honey. You did what you could.” Bruce hugs her tightly, and for a moment, nobody says anything.

Dick has mixed feelings. But he keeps them off his face until they’re alone, and Bruce is wringing his hands.

“I kind of hate you right now,” Dick says bluntly.

“Yeah… bit more of a hypocrite than I used to be, right?” Bruce’s blunt agreement sends the wind right out his sails. Dick glares at him for that.

“Couldn’t you let me get my angry rant in?” Dick asks, annoyed, but Bruce just smiles up at him tiredly.

“No. Not really.” Bruce opens his arms, and Dick goes into his father’s hug, arms wrapping tight around Bruce’s neck. “I’m sorry,” Bruce murmurs into his hair. “I’ve just… I was so worried about you, about Jay, and now we have Tim…” Dick shivers, eyes closing.

“Robin was just too much,” Dick says after a long silence. “Too heavy a legacy for anyone else to hold.”

“I’m sorry Dick,” Bruce cradles him. “I’ve gotten so much more selfish than I used to be.”

“That’s not bad…” Dick says, squeezing him tight. “I love you, B. Even if you are a douche, don’t let me get mad at you, and keep adopting more little siblings for me to stress out over.”

Bruce laughs at the last one.

“I think we’ll keep adopting,” Bruce says, and Dick groans.

“I want another sister.”

“No promises,” Bruce says, amused.

Clark is the first one to see Jason, immediately after. He’s curled up tight next to Bruce, quivering slightly as blue eyes water and overflow with tears, the boy having called for him a little pathetically after hearing the news.

“Did you know?” Jason sniffs, and Clark sits next to him, pressing a kiss against his temple. Bruce is on his other side, looking a little lost and worried.

“No. Bruce planned and executed this solo,” Clark says matter-of-factly. “I found out when he had to call a favor with someone.”

“Dare I ask who?” Jason sniffs.

“Best if you don’t know,” Bruce says softly, hand running through their Robin’s hair. Jason was squashed between them, and the boy was slowly melting into their touch. “I know you want him dead. I want him dead. But… You know just as well as I do that I have limits, and that Joker has already broken the majority of them.” Bruce’s fingers softly skim against a cheek, and Jason, sniffling, leans into it.

“Joker will be dead by the new year,” Clark says evenly. “The ICJ and the ICC cannot impose a death penalty, but he was acting as a diplomat since well before you were killed. Every crime he has committed will be put on blast. Once he’s convicted, he’ll be gone. We’ve made sure of that. If he wiggles free, I’ll hunt him down like the diseased rat he is.”

Jason sniffs again, curls up into them.

“I love you,” he mumbles wetly.

“I love you too, Jaylad,” Bruce murmurs, Clark echoing the sentiment. After a few minutes, Clark peels away, kissing them both on the head.

“Do you need me?” He asks, and Jason snuggles closer to Bruce, shaking his head in a small movement. “Okay. Call, if anything. You know I’ll move the sun for you.” Jason’s mouth curls into an amused smile, the boy reaching out to hug him, an act Clark accepts happily.

“I know. Go fuss over Jon and Kon. They probably want comfort,” Jason says tiredly, the boy pressing against his father with a sigh. Clark ruffles his hair, and upon exiting, can see Tim with his hands planted on his hips.

“Are we allowed to cuddle him yet?” Tim asks shrewdly, and Clark chuckles.

“Go ahead.” The tiny boy nods firmly, and marches into the room. He can see Cassandra after a moment of looking, the girl sitting up high on one of the pretty railings and he smiles and waves at her.

Cassandra nods a hello, smiles at him shyly, and ducks her head behind a book. She was clearly watching out for them.

Moving on, Clark finds himself in front of Kon’s bedroom, the door half-open as he chatters enthusiastically away to a giggling Jon, the two hanging out on Kon’s couch. The boy’s face was much rounder, and he looked less skinny than even a day and a half ago. Kon too, looked healthier, but the violet color he’d noticed previously in Kon’s eyes was much more vivid.

He lightly knocks on the door, and both boys look at him. Kon, who is upside down, head hanging off of the edge, squints at him.

“Hey, Clark.” He says with a slight smile. “What’s up?”

“Hi papa!” Jon waves from Kon’s lower stomach, the boy sitting and kicking his feet on either side of his brother’s ribs. “I grew three inches,” the boy says, and Clark’s brow rises.

“Jason found out. Now, c’mere,” he tells Jon, the boy obediently flinging himself into Clark’s arms without even thinking. Sparks of violet follow, and he knows Kon was keeping his little brother safe even through that. He gives Kon a fond smile, the boy grinning back at him lazily. Clark sits next to his older son, ruffling dark hair lightly. Kon scrunches his nose, but allows it. “How are you boys?”

“Good!” Jon giggles happily, curls up in Clark’s arms. “Less tired, but I want more sun,” the boy complains.

“I’ll see if Momma Lois will take you for the weekend,” Clark says warmly, hefting Jon up to kiss his cheek, to the boy’s excited squeals. “What about you, Kon?”

“Tim’s taking me out to go shopping. He says I shouldn’t be wearing Jason’s old clothes forever,” he says shyly. Clark hums agreement.

“That’s true. You deserve your own clothes. I’ll take it leather and jeans are your defaults out of uniform?” He asks with a smile, and Kon shrugs a little sheepishly.

“I like my punk rock,” he says defensively.

“As long as the spikes don’t prevent hugs, I’m fine with your fashion choices,” Clark assures him. Kon snorts, but smiles tentatively at him for the light joke

“‘Kay then.” Kon says, pleased. “How did your date go? Didja break Bruce like you were joking about?” He wonders, and Clark snorts.

“You all make me sound mean,” He teases, reaching a hand out to tickle Kon’s side, the teen squirming away with an alarmed yelp.

“Hey!” He whines, but Clark is undeterred, skillful fingers digging in as the boy yelps and wiggles violently on the chair. “Clark dammit stop you jerk -” Only when Kon was on the floor did Clark stop, gently depositing his violently giggling son on the boy’s stomach. “... I hate you right now. Using Jon to stop my revenge?” He grumbles, and Clark chuckles.

“It’s a father’s pleasure,” Clark teases fondly. Kon beams, unsubtle in his joy.

“I’m still gonna complain,” Kon informs him, but he lets his baby brother settle on his stomach, Jon still grinning at Kon. Clark waits for the boy to sit properly on the couch before quietly tilting his head towards the door.

Kon flicks his fingers out, purple sparks dancing over the wood and closing the door with a sharp snap.

“Are you okay with being so close to Tim?” Clark asks bluntly, and Kon’s eyes widen. A dark flush creeps over his cheeks, and Kon looks down at Jon. The fourteen - almost fifteen, Clark reminds himself - boy is startled by his worry, and it shows on his face.

“... Kind of. It aches… a little. In a good way, though,” The boy hurries to assure Clark, who gives him a worried little stare.

“Still… I know that this world is still strange and new…” Clark says, and Kon smiles, looking like a pleased cat. “I don’t want you thinking we’re forcing you to do something you’re not actually comfortable with, Kon.”

“Conner,” he mumbles. Clark’s brow shoots up. “I uh… Other Clark gave me that name. Conner Kent.” Clark’s fingers run through Kon’s hair, and the boy flushes as Clark looks intently down at his young - too young, too young for this - son.

“Do you like being called Conner?” He asks. Kon looks stressed at the question, and Clark pulls him in for a hug, bundling both boys into his lap.

God, he was so used to Gotham tiny kids. Kon was fairly well-built for a boy of his age, but he was bulkier than Jason - or even Dick - at almost fifteen, all lean muscle and sharp angles.

It was obvious, with the way he was designed, to tell his son had been a clone, and Clark curls the boy tighter into his grasp. Jon squeaks, as does Kon, both of his sons looking up at him in startled surprise. They looked like small puppies, and it was rather cute. A slight grin, and the little puppies in his lap both wrinkle their noses at him, offended. He lays his head on top of Kon’s, sighing softly.

“... No.” Kon whispers softly, after a very long silence. “I didn’t. Nobody really cared about what I wanted, back then, though. Not you. Not Lois. Nobody.” Clark’s heart, not for the first time, cracks open like a gaping gorge.

“It’s okay. You’re here, you’re my son now. And anyone who wants to fight me for that will lose.” Kon shivers in the smallest way - a bare shift of his body so microscopic, Clark only knew because of their nature.

“Kon, then?” He offers gently. “Just Kon.” Kon sighs softly, relaxing into Clark’s arms.

“Are you sure? I wasn’t exactly the most subtle of superboys. You actually skipped me in a few universes for Jon.” There’s a faint vibration of annoyance in his soft tone, old pain. Clark hums.

“If you want it, Superman will be yours. You’re as much of my son as Jon.”

“Even if half of me belongs to Luthor?” He says, quiet. Small.

… I have never hated another version of myself more than I have at this moment. Clark thinks, his fury flashing through his skin with unbridled rage.

“Luthor can go fuck himself with a Kryptonite sword. You’re mine.” Clark says flatly. He curls Kon closer. “Let me make this unequivocally clear. You’re my son. You are my son. Mine. I will adopt you, if you want. I’ll happily drag the whole family to the Fortress specifically to use the pods to make you mine and Bruce’s. All the accepted laws of reality will burn if I have to, but you are my son. Do you understand?”

Kon’s mouth drops open.

“I… Really?” He squeaks. Clark curls his son even closer.

“Really. If you want, I will take care of you, Kon.” Clark leans in.

“Can I be Kon Wayne, then?” He says, small. Jon, between them, looks up at them solemnly, squeezing himself closer. 

“Whatever you want, Kon,” He murmurs. “Whatever you want.” The boy’s tears well up, and he curls into Clark’s chest to cry, clinging to Jon and Clark in equal measure, his TTK wrapping tight around them as though he never wanted to let them go.

Hal looks ready to punch him.

To be fair, Clark looks ready to punch back.

“Can we not?” Barry says, a little awkwardly. Both men glare at him. “Look, I haven’t even tried to see if it’s viable -”

“Because it’s dangerous -” Hal spits indignantly, and Barry, finally fed up, slaps Hal on the chest.

“How about you let me determine that?” Barry says, tone sharp. “I know more about biochemistry than both of you, right now.” Hal flinches. He knows that tone. Clark just raises a brow.

“I need this done,” Clark says, firm and unyielding. “Kon’s terrified that he’ll never be accepted. My son thinks that as long as part of him is Lex Luthor’s son, he will never be worth loving.” Barry flinched, and Hal grimaced.

“Look, I’m sorry for the kid, I am, but don’t you think he’s a little overdramatic?” Hal holds his hands up and Clark’s eyes narrow in a sharper glare. “I’m just saying -” Hal says defensively.

“You. Zip it.” Barry says, exasperated. Hal does so, but he’s sure it’s just because Clark’s glaring at him. “Clark, you have to understand this might not work.” Beseeching blue looks at him.

“But it might?” He pleads.

“Yes, but he might take this as a rejection of half of him.”

“Do you think I’m Bruce? I talk about my feelings,” Clark says dryly. Hal chokes on a wheeze, and Barry can’t help his grin. “And I didn’t bring it up at first. Being Luthor’s son is something he’s afraid of, and I hate the idea that he thinks that means something to me.”

“Don’t you hate Luthor?” Hal says, expression bewildered. Clark gives him a sardonic look.

“The man’s an idiot. He keeps going up against me and losing.” Clark deadpans. “I’ve got him handled. But I want my son to stop worrying that my love for him is in any way shape, or form conditional. If I have to move heaven and earth to try just so he feels better, then that’s what I’m going to fucking do. Trying isn’t the issue. Failing isn’t the issue. Him thinking I won’t try is.”

Hal blows a breath out. “Fuck me.” Hal mutters. “You’re not using that pod that your fortress has. That thing’s out of date as it is.” Hal glares at him. “No. If - and this is a big fucking if - I can get the Corps to agree, I’ll see if we can get one of the few Kryptonian pods Tomar has. Those were made more recently from before the planet fell. But -” Hal levels a finger at Clark. “You’ll owe me.”

“What would I owe you?” Clark asks helplessly. Hal levels him with a look.

“Three hours at the Corps, pointing out the security flaws. Six, max. They’re not listening to me when I tell them that they’re just leaving everything open for attack.”

“Don’t they have an open floor plan?” Barry says, confused.

“Wayne Manor’s lakehouse has an open floor plan. I’d still not step foot in it without armor,” Hal says dryly, and Clark snorts.

“Yeah, basically,” He agrees. Barry gives him a slightly worried look, but sighs.

“Fine. I’ll look into the viability of it being possible, but for now, blood transfusions will do the job,” Barry says evenly. “And Clark… You might have to force Luthor to give up some donated blood. Kon might need blood from both his original donors to be stable for a while until I figure out a solution.” Clark’s teeth grit.

“I’ll work on it,” Clark says, tone bitter. Hal glances at Barry, and Barry gives him a pleading look.

“I’ll come with you,” Hal sighs. “Between the two of us, we should be able to make him fold.” Clark’s eyes gleam viciously, and both men shudder a little.

He was so glad that it wasn’t him joining Clark on this one.

It’s early when Lex steps into his office. So early, in fact, the night crew wasn’t due to be removed from shift for another five hours. Ever since his attempt to trap Superman with his own son had failed, Lex had been trying to put out fires and handle emergency internal company matters as employees tried to flee. Only a reminder of their contracts stayed their hand, and Lex was reasonably sure that buffoon Wayne was covering those who chose to break the contract with his own money.

Tch.

The adult glares slightly at the piles of paperwork.

“Perhaps you should slow down on trying to kill me, Lex.” Superman’s voice is mildly disdainful, and his head shoots up, hand going to the spare Kryptonite he always kept -

Gone.

“What do you want. Superman?” Lex bites out irritably. The man is staring at him with full disdain, his clear blue eyes cold as he regards him.

“You have one chance, Lex, to avoid the lawsuit of a lifetime,” Superman says evenly. Lex grimaces internally, but doesn’t let his expression shift in the slightest.

“And why would that be?” He wonders, tone sharp. Superman doesn’t look impressed.

“Clones, Lex. You should know better than anyone how dangerous those are.” The man says bitingly, and Luthor gives him a disbelieving look. He was many things, but an idiot was not among them.

“I’ve never worked with clones, Superman,” he spits, and the man raises a single cold brow.

“Are you sure?” He asks the words with a dry smirk, and alarm bells ring in his head. Superman watches his reactions, looks fascinated, even, by it.

“While I’m normally all for our witty repartee - I’m absolutely unsure of what you mean, and I can assure you I have never done anything with clones, thank you,” Lex says, mildly annoyed now. Superman chuckles.

“Then this will be simple.” Superman strode closer, handing him a sheaf of papers. He’d noticed them when he’d caught sight of the Man of Steel, but it had been a lesser concern to the man himself. Reluctantly, he accepts the papers, reading them.

By the fourth paragraph, Lex knows his expression is probably something particularly violent.

A clone? Of him? He’d laugh if the paperwork didn’t prove the boy was his and Superman’s.

“What do you want?” He says, expression tight.

“A monthly blood donation,” Superman says firmly. “And none of this ends up in the papers.”

Lex grits his teeth.

Cloning was an idle thought, the man would admit. A fantasy. To find out that he had a clone, that had come from that incident -

Someone, somewhere, was out there plotting to ruin his life.

“And if I fought for custody?” Lex wonders. Superman’s smile sharpens violently.

“Your funeral.” There was a clear, vindictive pleasure in his smile, and he could tell that whatever ace he might have to win custody, Superman clearly had his own. Lex blows a breath out.

“Do I even get to meet the boy?” He wonders.

“Do I seem that merciful?” Superman wonders, and Lex scowls. “No, Lex. I think I’ll keep my sons away from you.”

“I don’t harm children,” Lex feels it’s something he needs to point out, but Superman’s smile grows colder.

“Oh no, you don’t. You just don’t care if they become collateral. My son was almost in Metropolis with his mother when you unleashed that Kryptonite dust, Lex,” Superman bites out, and a little bit of dread swoops in his stomach. “You want me to trust your word? Quit making my child your collateral.”

Lex stares at the angry expression on Superman’s face.

“I want it in writing that you won’t use it for any magical means that isn’t for his health, and I’ll make an appointment at that Justice League Clinic of yours.” Superman backs off, his anger banked.

“The contract will be sent to your office. I’ll accept three revisions with your legal team, so make sure to cover everything,” Superman says, generous in victory.

He’s gone in the next moment, and Lex can breathe again.

And then:

Who the fuck cloned me?

Hal was waiting for him in plainclothes, a brow raised when he sees Clark back in his civilian wear, the man fiddling with his glasses awkwardly.

“You think the shock is genuine?” Hal wonders, and Clark scowls slightly.

“I think he’s too much of an egoist to let anything of his blood get even a thought of escape,” Clark scoffs. “If he’s surprised, then the egotistic son of a bitch didn’t know,” Clark’s opinion of Lex is… wow. Then again the man did tend to try and kill Clark.

“I’m glad my problems usually stay in outer space,” Hal jokes, and Clark rolls his eyes so hard that Hal actually blinks. “You looked just like Bruce right there,” He says, and Clark snorts.

“I’ve lived with him for eight-ish years,” Clark says dryly. “What did you expect?”

“Less sarcasm,” Hal mutters, and Clark swats his arm.

“Don’t be an ass. C’mon. Burgers, my treat,” he says. Hal scowls at him.

“Not Batburger.”

“Fucking hell. What are you, Diana?” Clark says, offended.

“Now I know you’re a Gothamite, Kent,” Hal jokes. “Let’s do pizza. I know a good place in Gotham that serves a killer pizza.” Clark huffs at him, before scowling and crossing his arms.

“It better be the best damn pizza for this Batburger slander,” Clark tells him flatly, but he allows Hal to drive him anyway. Now that they are alone in the car, Hal can indulge in his curiosity.

“So… You and Bruce really jive well,” Hal says thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Clark shoots him a suspicious look. “No teasing, Scout’s honor,” Hal says, lifting a hand up and making Clark snort.

“You never would have made it as a scout,” Clark chuckles, but relaxes.

“Oh, I see, it’s pick on your Lantern Day, I gotcha,” Hal jokes, before continuing, much more softly, “Are you doin’ alright?”

Clark pauses.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks, tone stiff.

“I’m just saying, last week’s shit was enough to qualify as a whole ass tv series,” Hal says reasonably. “I thought you might want to talk to someone who isn’t all up in that shit.” Clark looks at him sideways, before swallowing slightly.

“I didn’t take you for a therapist, Jordan.”

“I’ve seen enough to know that you need to talk to someone,” he says firmly. “And I’m just tryin’ to offer some help.” Clark doesn’t quite scrunch himself up, but he does prop his foot up to his car seat, looking slightly anxious.

“Just between us?” Clark says hesitantly.

Damn.

“Nothing you say will be getting out of this car,” he promises, slipping the comm units into a small box he kept for that reason. Clark does the same, and Hal slips his ring on, pressing it against the keyhole. A spark, and the whole thing’s secure. He turns the car on the normal way and starts driving.

“I really want to punch the other versions of Superman that Kon met in the face, I’m terrified for my boys, and -” Clark blows a breath out. “I have never questioned my no kill rule nearly as much as I have now in the last two months.” Hal’s fingers don’t quite freeze on the steering wheel, but they’re close.

“What stopped you?” He asks. Clark blows a breath out.

“The boys. God I love them, but… I can’t do that to them,” he admits quietly. “The last thing they need is either Bruce or I going hard on revenge. Bruce knows what will happen to him if he does… I’m afraid what will happen if I do.” Hal slows down at a stop light, looking at Clark out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey. If you want my opinion, I honestly doubt you could really give up your no kill rule. I think - and this is just me - you really aren’t the kind of guy to feel revenge after a few minutes. If someone gets to you longer than that, it’s a one-off, not a recurring problem.” Hal reaches out; squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “And besides - feeling angry is human, Clark. You’re valid to have these emotions, and anyone who says otherwise can fuck off.” Clark sighs - some of the weight untenses from his shoulders.

“You’re not half bad at this,” Clark says jokingly, and Hal grins sheepishly.

“The sad fact of my life is that to my great, horrible misfortune, I have become a recreational therapist.” Hal says dryly. Clark laughs, a little breathless.

“Pursue it - your life’s calling is waiting,” Clark says dryly, and Hal chokes on a wheeze.

“I’ll admit, you and Bruce? Serious upgrade to your sense of humor,” Hal chuckles as the light turns green and they move on. Clark grins wryly.

“Better than yours,” He grins, and Hal laughs.

“Ouch, man.”

Kon feels… at peace. He’s meditating, legs crossed, deep breaths taken with every gentle heave of his lungs. He’d planned on going out today, but with his Dad (his Dad. God, Kon was so fucking lucky right now) and Bruce out, Kon didn’t want to leave Jon without protection. He was cross-legged on a small hill, floating an inch or so off of the ground to avoid any bugs trying to break their pincers on his skin.

First… close his eyes. Blocking out sight, Kon lets his senses stretch over the city, listening intently. When he determined nothing was of importance, Kon deepens his breath, and slowly pulls his hearing in, tightens it until it weaves a soundless net, the world blocked out.

Then, he let his TTK loose. Sparks of energy bloom from below him, filling every inch of the air with his power, seeking the edge of his range. Crawling inch by inch, Kon painstakingly maps out the lay of the land. There’s a certain pride he feels in being able to cover every molecule of the estate, feel every atom as it passes through his field of range.

This isolated, he can feel how the world trembles at the edges, the distinct signature of every person as he ‘taps’ against their energy. He can feel Cass twitch, aware of him, before she relaxed, book curled in her small hands.

He can feel how Tim’s head shoots up, curiosity and surprise, before the boy waves, sensing something, but unsure of exactly what he was sensing. He smiles slightly and moves on.

Jason, meanwhile, is cursing fluidly, clearly hyper aware and not amused, and he gives a gentle little pat to Jason’s back, keeping the hand familiar. He pats Jason until the teenager is relaxed, glaring sourly at the empty air. Kon bites back a grin.

Dick is bemused, poking his nose around trying to figure out what was going on before shaking his head and moving on with his day, returning to work after several weeks on paid leave. (Seriously, this version of Gordon was awesome. Kon had seen the video.)

Jon is napping on Ma and Pa, the boy a tiny lump of fluffy hair and a mess of elbows and knees. He twitches slightly, but is otherwise unbothered. Alfred is dusting, and just for a spot of mischief, Kon crushes all of the dust out of existence, leaving the man with spotless, sparkling chandeliers. He steadies Alfred when the man startles slightly, and waits until he’s on the ground to let go of him with TTK.

That accounts for all of the family.

A rustle, and Kon hums deeper, feeling the few small animals skittering away as they feel his touch. He holds the world carefully - not disturbing, just holding it. Inch by inch, Kon learns his new home, relaxing as the feel of nature dances on every edge of his awareness.

It’s exactly why he can feel something, creeping along the grass, coming for him.

It’s not even a thought - Kon’s eyes snap open, the boy moving to his feet and crushing the intruder under as much force as he dares. The flailing body twitches and seizes, Kon’s expression chills violently. He didn’t know them. He didn’t trust them.

Reaching out, Kon’s fingertips pass through the distance of TTK’s range, skimming over Dick’s shoulder. Dick jumps, and in any other time, Kon would be amused. He grasps Dick’s wrist, and gently tugs him to join Kon, the man looking slightly disheveled and alarmed.

“Intruder through the forest,” Kon tells him, and Dick’s expression sharpens.

“Where?” He asks, the man tucking his shirttails into his slacks. Kon doesn’t need to think.

“About ten minutes, northeast.” Dick nods, mouth pursed into a frown.

“Go inside,” He tells him, and Kon looks up, alarmed. Dick smiles down at him softly. “Don’t fuss. It’s not like you aren’t going to be there, now aren’t you?” He asks. Kon flushes shyly.

“R-right.” He mumbles, embarrassed. Kon obediently ducks inside. Despite everything in him that demands he narrows his focus, he keeps it spread, to better prepare for what was coming.

He’d bet that they thought his focus would be scattered.

They were going to regret that.

Chapter Text

Dick keeps his gun in his holster as he calmly stalks closer, keeping to the shadows of the trees. For Kon to so blatantly use his power to drag Dick around, despite knowing how much that would unsettle one of Bruce’s boys.

A few more steps, and Dick could see the target, pressed flat against the ground. He doesn’t recognize the face, so he toggles open the pretty cell phone that Bruce had given him to use and takes a quick photo.

Access? The image shows the Nightwing Logo, and he bites back a grin, pressing his thumb against the screen. Seriously. B had the best toys.

A text comes through after a moment.

Lady Shiva.

Dick’s eyes widened. He’s good, but not that good, and the only person who might be able to handle her was Bruce and Cass. But given that Cass was Shiva’s daughter, that might have been who she was after. A few steps back into deeper tree cover, and Dick presses his lips together.

“Kon?” he whispers, and the world shivers around him. The air darkens, and then shimmers slightly, letting him know Kon was listening. “We’ve got an issue. Can you dampen the intruder’s hearing and come see me?”

An invisible hand presses against his back, tapping a quick little yes in Morse code, before it’s gone. The sound of renewed struggling, and he can see a bubble of violent purple lightning dancing over her skin.

Kon appears next to him in the next moment, worried blue-violet eyes scanning him from head to toe. Once the boy was assured he was safe, he turns angry eyes towards the woman trapped in his power.

“What do you know about Lady Shiva?” Dick asks, and Kon’s mouth purses into a scowl.

“Grade-A Bitch, Cass’s mother, trained Jason and Tim, I think, constantly tries to make Cass come back…” Kon trails off at the look on Dick’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I want to commit murder, but I’m fine.” Kon darts in for a quick hug, and Dick grins. “Is this your answer to homicidal impulses?” Dick teases, and Kon grins up at him shyly.

“Is it working?” He asks, and Dick laughs.

“Cheeky brat,” Dick teases. “Yes. I am in fact not immune to you being a cute kid. C’mere and lemme hug you, brat.” Kon squeezes Dick affectionately around the middle, and he huffs an amused laugh, ruffling the curly mess of his hair.

“What do you want to do?” Kon asks, and Dick hums.

“How long could you hold her?” He wonders.

“Barring someone using magic? Probably for a few months, give or take a day.” Kon shrugs at his blink. “One person who isn’t even as strong as Cass isn’t very hard to handle. I could even take her over if I wanted and have her walk blind until we hit the cave,” he offers.

“Let me call B and see what plan of action he wants. She’s good enough that even blind and touch-muted, she might recognize the floor plan.”

“Kay,” the boy says, flopping down into cros-legged next to him, leaning against Dick’s legs.

First thing he does is call the PD.

“Paul Endriqe, Gotham PD.”

“Hey - can someone let the boss know I might be late? Some idiot tried to do a home invasion on our house, so I’m dealing with that. Shouldn’t be more than an hour, two max.”

“I feel pity for your home invader,” Paul jokes, and Dick laughs.

“Me too. Batman’s security ain’t cheap, but it’s good. Thanks, Paul.” Hanging up, he reaches down to ruffle Kon’s hair, before moving on. “Hey. B. You got time?”

“Investment meeting. Give me a moment.” He could hear the scrape of a chair, and Bruce - in his politest tone - tell them, “Sorry, my son needs me.” the snick of a door, and Bruce continues, more evenly, “What’s wrong, Dick? Is it something at work?”

“Lady Shiva’s here. Kon’s got her pinned, but neither of us know what to do with her.”

Silence.

“Take her to the cave. Be as violent about it as you please. I’ll be there within the hour. Call Clark.” The line goes dead after, Bruce clearly seething.

“Dad’s on his way,” Kon reports, lifting up his phone so Dick could see. “He’s eating pizza with Hal at Lizzy’s, and heard Bruce.” Leaning down, Dick obediently reads it.

“Oooh. Lizzy’s pizza is great. Hope he’s bringing us some.”

A ding, and the message pops up.

Any requests?

Dick grins - Clark having super-hearing was so cool sometimes.

“Yeah. Triple meat for Jason and Tim, Alfred likes their white pizza, and B is fond of their deep dish. I’ll take my normal, and I think Kon likes Hawaiian.” Kon looks startled at his name, and looks up.

“I do, actually,” the boy says, blinking, and Dick pumps his fist.

“Boo-yah, got it right!” Dick cheers. Another ding.

I’ll get them then. And a mini calzone for Jon, if Lois hasn’t picked him up yet.

“He’s still here, yeah.” One more ding, and Dick peers at the words.

Gotcha. Love ya. I’ll get your favorite too, Mr. Veggies and half anchovy.

Kon wrinkles his nose. “Anchovies?”

“Pan-fried and toasted are delicious,” he defends.

Kon wrinkles his nose more.

“Try one,” Dick says. “Promise they’re not terrible.”

“... Fine.” Kon huffs. “In the meantime, let’s get this woman downstairs.”

“Can you direct people away from looking at her?”

“I can,” Kon says, his fingers digging into the woman’s back and overwriting her with flickers of lightning purple. “Lemme guess, Cass?” He guesses, and Dick grins wryly.

“Yeah, actually. Can you uh…”

“Don’t worry,” Kon assures him. “The other Tim had me do this a lot when we wanted to talk to someone but not hurt them, just inconvenience them a bit.” He eyes Lady Shiva suspiciously. “Might have to do something a little wacky to knock off her internal compass though.” Kon reaches out, and carefully taps the back of her head. Shiva’s eyes roll up and she crumples soundlessly against the ground. Kon is looking at her with a scowl. “I’ll scramble her brain a little. Just enough to mess with her sense of direction.” The gleam of his eye was not reassuring, however.

Dick shoots him a sharp look. “Kon.” He lets the slightest hint of warning in his tone.

“Don’t. I hate this woman. She deserves it.” Dick looks at him, firm, and the boy wilts just a little. “She hurt Tim. She used him. Sure, she saw his potential, but she drove a wedge between my old Tim and Bruce, and she kept hunting down Cass.” Dick stands firm, but he notes the emotional manipulation for later. He definitely had something going on with Tim in that other world.

“Don’t hurt her. But if you make her a little dizzy, I won’t argue.” Kon’s smile is malicious when he reaches out, and Dick shivers at the sight of it, but it was still okay.

Kon was a good kid. He’d be careful.

Bruce walks into the Batcave to the sight of Lady Shiva pacing the length of the isolation room on screen, Kon scowling fiercely at her. Clark is ruffling his hair, which is keeping the boy’s temper down to a dull roar.

“I don’t know if she knows where she is,” Kon reports the moment he sees Bruce. “I scrambled her sense of direction and sight, but she’s Cass’s mom - she’s probably good enough to handle what little I did to her.” Kon huffs. “Dick vetoed anything else.” Kon glares at Dick, who looks unimpressed, especially when Clark ruffles his hair gently again and sends curls flying.

“Not sorry Kon. I’m gonna go, before the boss starts asking questions,” Dick says, grumbling at his tie but giving Kon a parting smile..

“C’mere,” Bruce says softly, and Dick obeys him, the man fixing his son’s tie. “A couple weeks without a tie, and you’re suffering.” Dick rolls his eyes dramatically, but allows Bruce to gently fuss over him. Bruce smiles at his son gratefully, and Dick bears with it gracefully, Bruce sliding the collar down and hugging him tight.

“Love you too, B,” Dick murmurs, before he parts from Bruce and the rest, waving a goodbye. That done, Bruce beelines to his son, hefting Kon up to the boy’s startled squeak. Kon’s eyes are round as coins, the boy’s breath hitching adorably as he hooks his arms around his papa’s neck. Like this, it’s easy to forget that his son is a super-powered maniac, the same as Clark, with the vulnerable way the boy curls up in his grasp.

“One day,” Bruce sighs into his hair. “One day out of trouble, Kon. Please try that, or I’m going to get you scanned for a trouble magnet.” Clark stifles a snort as a sneeze, but both men level unimpressed looks at him

“No promises,” the boy says frankly, and Bruce gives a beleaguered sigh, resting his head on top of Kon’s fondly.

“My little trouble-maker,” Bruce says, affectionate. Once Kon has calmed down to something more acceptable for a young man of his age, he continues. “When you and Tim start running together as Robin, I’m going to give you a challenge.” At the mention of a challenge, Kon perks up.

“Really?” He says, looking eager. Bruce’s lips curl into a smile as he sets the boy down, kisses the top of his wildly curly hair.

“Really. Never let anyone know that you’re a Kryptonian.” Kon opens his mouth, and then shuts it, looking pensive.

“No TTK?” He asks tentatively.

“If it can’t be disguised, no. Consider it good practice,” Bruce suggests, dips his head down to kiss the top of his head. Clark looks amused and pleased at them both, the man drawing him into a quick kiss after Kon frowns over the idea.

“Pizza’s on the table for you,” Clark says when they part, and Bruce gives a soft, tiny pleased sigh against Clark’s shoulder, Bruce ruffling their son’s curly hair one more time.

“Thank you. Kon, don’t hurt her. I don’t like her much for allowing Cain her daughter, but I want answers from her that she cannot give me if she’s too compromised.” Kon, who had started looking mulish, quietly and quickly relaxes at Bruce’s calm, rational explanation, and he files that away for future reference. So his son didn’t like the emotional or moral argument.

Given what he’d likely run from, morals were probably low on his list of priorities. He shoots Clark a look, and his boyfriend recognizes that there’s something he wants to discuss, nodding with a faint smile as he joins Kon to tease his son a little.

“After this, you and Tim will go shopping with Jason, okay?” He asks, and Bruce smiles when Kon leans against his papa, the boy radiating contentment like a sleepy cat.

“Okay,” He promises, and Bruce happily digs into his pizza with his knife and fork. It was no BatBurger, but Bruce knew good pizza when he ate it. Kon is watching him, a look of bemusement on his face.

“Oh. Okay. Wow. I just thought Tim was weird with his manners, but that’s a thing,” The boy says, nicely distracted and escaping his father’s affectionate grasp to wander over.

“Good to know that I and Alfred need to rehearse your manners,” Bruce says, teasing. He bumps that up immediately into a yes, will do when the boy’s expression turns horrified. “What a good son I have,” He teases, and some of that indignance melts into shy appreciation of being called Bruce’s son before becoming indignant once more. “Don’t worry. Jon and Clark can join you.”

“What?” Clark says, blinking owlishly.

“See? He agrees.” Clark’s expression quickly runs through half-a-dozen expressions, not a single one being agreeing in the slightest.

And then Kon turns big, round eyes on him. Despite his physical build, Kon really did have quite the impressive wet-Robin eyes. (Bruce was sure he was ripping off Tim’s signature wobbly lip too.) Clark is hit face-first with the whole thing, and immediately deflates.

“... Urgh… I guess we can all join in on a few sessions before Thanksgiving,” Clark grumbles, deflating like a balloon.

Kon beams, as unsubtle as Robin’s uniform.

“Kay! Love you,” Kon says happily, and Bruce bites back a grin. His boyfriend was such a puppy for his children.

That’s when he gets an idea.

“Clark. How do you feel about some mischief?”

Both Kents look at him, and when he explains his plan, both of them have to bite back a laugh.

The lair of Batman. She knew of him, of Bruce Wayne being Batman. However, she had been ruthlessly crushed, her sight and balance and hearing stolen until she could no longer move, despite her skill and stealth. How could she have been so easily caught? A scowl paints her lips, and she looks around the room in which she had been entrapped. Whoever had caught her had been brutally efficient. Beyond the snap of a camera from hours ago, she had heard and seen nothing else.

And then the door snicks open. Both Batman and Bruce Wayne enter, the latter clearly more amused than the former.

… What?

How on earth did he - Her eyes narrow as she takes in their stances, their gaits. They are nearly identical in stature and size, with Batman’s imposing figure half-hidden by the thick cloak he always wore. Bruce Wayne was dressed impeccably, as he typically was, blue eyes having taken a distinctly gray hue she did not recall of the man having when he trained with Cain in the past. Batman’s eyes were still their gleaming, piercing blue, boring directly into hers with a moue of disapproval on his lips.

“Bruce.” Batman’s voice is a heavy, low growl of annoyance, and Bruce shrugs.

“Hey! You said to call if your alarm went off - it’s not my fault that your old buddies decided to come after me!” he protests, arms crossed in mild annoyance. He even goes so far as to tap a foot against the ground, the epitome of pure relaxation.

Shiva scowls, and upon seeing his relaxation, lunges.

Or at least, she tries to. An invisible series of hands pin her down by her knees, her wrists, and her shoulders, despite her best attempts to defy the omnipresent touch of the strange force holding her down.

“You’re an idiot,” Batman says, unimpressed. Bruce Wayne, in turn, pouts at him.

“You’re no fun,” he complains, body slumping pathetically into a chair, all but ignoring her lunge. “I’m offended, offended, I tell you!”

Batman rolls his eyes in a way that makes it quite clear if they were alone, he’d strangle the rich CEO with his bare hands. Now that she’s looking, she can see quite clearly that Batman was a few inches above the hapless-looking CEO.

“Shiva,” Batman acknowledges with a sigh. She glares at him.

“I never took you for one to bow like a dog, Batman,” She spits, and Bruce Wayne heaves himself up on his seat to look indignant.

“Hey!” The billionaire looked more offended than the Bat, eyes narrowed. Batman merely pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Bruce,” He sighs, sounding less offended and more tired. “By god, for the love of all that’s holy, kindly do be quiet.” The billionaire pouts, looking for all the world like a bratty younger sibling. Batman rolls his shoulders, hands grasping his cloak and pulling it off in a single fluid movement. He sets it on the only unoccupied chair, before he kneels down and offers her a hand. “Do not misbehave,” Batman tells her sharply. “I was very thorough with my benefactor’s security, and you will not like what happens if you test yourself against it.”

“Any security can be broken,” She spits, but accepts the hand that lifts her up, as well as the hand that guides her to the bed to sit.

“How’s that working for you?” Bruce Wayne grins, only to pout when Batman shoots him an unimpressed look. “What?” He complains. “You’ve been bitching to me for weeks about not being able to stress-test your system and now that it’s here I can’t be a little smug that it works?”

“What are you, married?” Shiva cannot help but mutter, and both men pull disgusted faces.

“Please don’t even go there,” Bruce says flatly. Shiva raises a brow, before looking them both over. “So? Why are you here?” Shiva stares at him, her gaze piercing as she evaluates the billionaire with a critical eye. Batman is leaning against the door, watching her, a perfect in-between.

“I am here to collect my daughter.”

“You are here to do no such thing,” Batman says mildly. It’s the calmest she’s heard him, and her expression narrows into a glare.

“She is -”

“A free agent,” Batman says mildly. “And she’s expressed her desire to stay with us here. There will be no collecting of a child.” Shiva’s expression turns colder.

“You cannot keep me from my daughter.”

“What is her name?” Bruce asks, and Shiva looks at him, thrown. She blinks.

“What?”

“You’re her mother. Don’t you know her name?” The question is simple, and her lips thin slightly. What kind of idiot did this man take her for?

“Obviously,” she grits. “Cassandra Cain.”

“What about her favorite food?”

“... What.”

Batman is looking between them with a tired gaze, but he’d clearly decided letting Bruce have his way was less headache-inducing than going through the trouble of stopping him.

“Answer my questions.” Bruce says, voice unyielding. It’s the closest that he gets to sounding like Batman, and something niggles in the back of her head.

“Tch. Scallion and custard bao with fried shrimp, but she’s not vocal about it.”

“Preferred weapon?”

“Her hands.”

“Favorite form of art?”

“Ballet, obviously.”

“Favorite language?”

“...” Shiva couldn’t answer that one. “I don’t know.” Bruce Wayne nods, claps his hands together.

“So you’re a shitty mother, but at least you care enough to know about her,” He says bluntly. She bristles, but he answers, kicking her sails apart. “Her favorite language is gymnastics, by the way. She likes the way it speaks their intentions in a fluid and dynamic manner.”

Shiva stares between them, looking at both men back and forth, before she heaves an annoyed sigh. An attempt to stand is not discouraged, but even the slightest flick of her wrist is held still.

“What do you want?” She snaps, finally fed up.

“What do you want?” He asks back. “And don’t tell me that you want to collect your daughter. I’d sooner hold a gun and shoot you before I allowed that,” Bruce says matter-of-factly. “What do you actually want?”

“...” Shiva’s mouth is pressed into a tight line. Looking at both men gives nothing away, and her eyes narrow slightly. “I don’t know,” she says finally. Bruce watches her, before looking at Batman.

“Your call,” he says, shrugging. “We already know she’ll try again later.”

“Ten minutes. And if Cassandra calls it quits, then you have to live with that,” Batman says, unhappy, but unwilling to argue with Bruce.

Shiva stares at them both slowly, before her eyes lift to Bruce Wayne, the man grinning at her in his most disarming way.

Their eyes meet, and Bruce Wayne winks.

… Ugh.

Kon is giggling violently next to her. Cassandra’s head is tilted to a side, the dark haired girl blinking bemusedly at the visage of her mother.

For Bruce - a man who knew her less than a week and a half - to already know so much about her was startling. They left her be for the most part, but her new phone always received small text messages to invite her to lunch, to dinner, and she’d been invited to get new clothes with Kon.

All sent by Bruce or Clark, an open gesture of affection, a want to include her

Her eyes read the last text message, sent before their meeting with Lady Shiva, asking her if she wanted to spend time with her mother.

She’d agreed. Bruce is the first to skip out, the man scooping her into a hug.

“Sweetie!” He says cheerfully, squeezing her around her middle. Cass squeaks, bewildered, but lets him do as he pleases, before he sets her down. “Pretend Batman isn’t me,” He mutters into her ear, and she nods along, smiling slightly as understanding dawns.

This would be fun. Bruce slings his arm over her shoulder, steering her into the room with a grin, the young woman entering to the sight of her mother and Batman staring each other off. It’s startling - she’d only ever seen Bruce actively moving in the uniform so far in her limited experience, but the seamlessness between Bruce’s language and Clark’s was a stunning cascade of perfect mimicry.

Even knowing them as well as she did now, she was hard-pressed to believe that one was not the other.

“Ten minutes,” Bruce says warningly, before hugging her again and walking out, tugging a reluctant Batman with him.

Her mother is silent when the door closes behind them. She has so much she wants to ask. Curiosity about her, roused by Bruce’s questions. Irritation at Kon’s grip, holding her perfectly still before she can move in any way considered threatening. And most importantly - elation. Elation that her daughter had become strong enough for herself.

Cassandra awkwardly clears her throat.

“Hello, Mother.”

“I think Jon’s getting memories beyond his age range,” Bruce tells Clark after the two of them are alone in the menswear shop, the tailors getting the next outfit set up.

Isabelle’s was an elegant option for new socialites, the crème de la crème of Gotham’s elite flitting jealously around the edges, aware that a suit - even one - would be well out of their budget, not to say anything of the six that Bruce was outfitting Clark in.

“Is he?” Clark says, lifts his arms obligingly when the CEO lovingly caresses his shoulders, admiring the fit of the silky suit. Clark would admit, it felt amazing. The thick, silk-cashmere blend lining the inner jacket of the wool and cashmere outer layer. The adult half-sighs when Bruce smoothes the fabric over his chest, the feel of it as luxurious as the cotton of home, the hand-weaved fabric an endless luxury.

“Yes,” Bruce says, his eyes fixed on Clark’s chest. Smirking, Clark tilts Bruce’s head up and steals a quick little kiss, the man melting happily into his touch.

“Focus, Bruce. We can come up with our wedding suits later,” Clark teases, and Bruce’s face flushes hotly at his teasing.

“R-right,” Bruce mumbles, flustered, and his heartbeat flutters like a hummingbird’s. A little helplessly, Bruce leans in for another kiss, and Clark gives it to him, smirking. “I hate you,” he mumbles, but Clark grins down at him from his pedestal.

“You know I love to tease,” Clark chuckles, stroking his fingertips through Bruce’s carefully-groomed, slicked back hair. Under his fingers, Bruce’s composed exterior cracks with a startled blush. “It’s nice to pull you apart.” Bruce turns red at his teasing, the man blushing hotly at his grin. “Now, c’mon love. Tell me what you need.” Bruce’s flustered face is so good, especially with his mouth hidden so nobody can attempt to read his lips.

“Jackass,” Bruce mutters without heat, before continuing. “Something I said made him react - and he refused to buy clothes his size - always two or three sizes too big.”

“I’m guessing our baby boy had more reasons than financial security in mind,” Clark says, and Bruce tugs lightly on his lapels, Clark bending easily to his boyfriend’s whims.

“If I remember what the boys said about the other Clark, he probably didn’t have much money, even if he and Lois were living together. Add that with the expense of living a double life, and his original father may not have had much money left over. Hand-me-downs and oversized clothing may have been all Clark had to give,” Bruce says softly. “I might have money, but for nearly a decade, I was far away from home, with no access to my family’s money. I knew how a shoestring budget works. And I know you remember those days too. Don’t think I forgot your confession of not eating when the budget was too tight to keep groceries going.” Bruce steps back, and reluctantly, Clark lets him, the man admiring Clark with a slightly sappy smile.

“Mmm. Thinking of what you’d look like in white,” Bruce says dreamily, more for the audience that was staring at them outside of the store than for Clark, who blushes a bright cherry red.

“I hate you sometimes,” Clark says, and Bruce grins back at him.

“Consider this revenge for you being so mean to me when you had your first interview with Vicki,” Bruce says, admiring the suit. Another tug, and he nods decisively. “I should get you a more durable one for your journalism,” Bruce says, fingering the soft material. “As much as I like seeing you in these kinds of suits, it might make you seem out of touch if you’re pounding the pavement with your usual stories.”

“I’d hate to ruin this,” Clark admits, and when Bruce is done fussing, he steps down, allowing the tailors to take the clothing away for the final fitting. “So? The boys?” He asks, trying to ignore the crush of cameras and paparazzi on the other side of the door, cameras flashing. Another tailor approaches, looking amused at the flash of cameras.

(He’s unbearably glad that he’d left the uniform at home, and wore just a pair of dark underpants because this was mortifying beyond compare.)

“I think Jon’s remembering those days. Kon didn’t say anything, but he gave me a pretty significant look. You’ll want to talk to your munchkin and make sure he understands that he’s allowed to buy things that fit.”

“I agree, but I don’t want to make our boys think money grows on trees, either,” Clark says, allowing another tailor to help him into a charcoal-gray suit. “No purple please,” he asks politely when they approach with the vest. The woman frowns at him for a moment. He smiles awkwardly, gestures towards his eyes, and she lifts it up, before nodding.

“I think a brighter color might work,” the woman offers. “This is a bit more on the red side - really washes out your eyes,” she says, and he smiles sheepishly.

“If you insist, miss,” he tells her, and she grins, darts off. The older female tailor clears her throat, and both of them look at her.

“Can an old lady offer her advice?” She asks, and Clark gives her a grateful smile.

“Could you? I’m new to the whole parenting thing,” he admits shyly, and the woman’s eyes crinkle with a motherly-seeming fondness.

“The boys are already responsible enough. Having them manage pocket money might be a good step for them to understand fiscal responsibility. My granddaughter used to fuss about money all of the time, but after she learned how to manage her own, it helped some of her worries.” She says.

“That sounds incredible,” Clark says, relieved. And then he blinks. “Wait. You have a granddaughter?” The woman blushes at his surprise, and Bruce’s lips twitch cutely.

“You flatterer,” the woman says, blushing. “I like this one,” she tells Bruce, and Bruce grins.

“This one’s getting a ring,” he confirms, and Clark flushes happily at his boyfriend’s words. The tailor winks at them and walks away, clearly amused. “You’re a natural,” Bruce teases. “Flattering the owner without even so much as a by your leave,” he chuckles. Clark flushes cutely.

“She doesn’t look like she has grandkids,” Clark says, genuinely bewildered, and Bruce sniggers at him.

“You’re adorable, fiancé mine,” Bruce says fondly.

That gets him the pleasure of watching Clark blush right to his fingertips.

“This better be damn good, Luthor,” Lois says flatly, the woman’s arms crossed as she scowls at him. “I’m missing out on being near my son because of you.” She’d not even been able to tell Clark, though she’d discreetly toggled on one of Tim’s miniature recording devices to the Batcave once she’d gotten the call from an unhappy Perry.

Luthor, as was his usual, looks utterly unruffled, his suit jacket neatly buttoned and his expression carved from the stone his heart was made of.

“I have some questions for you.” Luthor says evenly, and Lois sighs.

“Well, make them quick,” she snaps, and Luthor doesn’t quite flinch at her curt tone. The man folds his hands together.

“Do you think your son is a threat?” The question is blank, toneless. Lois bristles.

“Excuse me?” She snaps, already half-standing. Luthor lifts a hand, and she trembles, hand wrapped around the strap of her laptop bag to avoid slapping him into next week.

“That came out wrong.” Luthor says, frowning. “More accurately… Do you think him learning how to use his powers is a threat?” Lois looks at him, scowl painted on her lips, but Luthor looks like the proverbial snowball in winter, serene, calm, composed. As always. She wishes she could smack him one.

“Why, so you can hurt my son more?” She says, irritated.

“I don’t like Superman because as far as anyone in this world is concerned, he came from nowhere, an alien who says he will do no harm to this world and yet we don’t even know where he’s from,” Luthor says coldly. “Your son is not Superman. He is half yours, half human. We know where he is from. As far as I am concerned, he is separate from his father.” Lois scowls at him, but she sits down.

“Tch,” she grumbles. “Fine, I’ll humor you,” she says, unimpressed. Glancing up, she notices that the camera in the corner is blinking repeatedly. Once she is looking at it, the camera gives a little wiggle. She’s not alone, then, and that’s a relief.

“Again. Do you think your son learning to use his powers is a threat?”

“Not to anything here on Earth,” she answers frankly. “Watchtower exists.” Luthor’s fingers tap lightly against one another, deep contemplation.

“This is not just a mother’s love, is it?”

“No. If Superman was here and able to control himself until he became an adult, then so can my son.”

“The son Bruce Wayne and your fellow journalist are taking care of.” A mild note.

“Two of the Justice League’s most well-known civilian contacts.” She snips back. Luthor hemms.

“And you trust them to know if your son goes awry?”

“Say what you want, but Wayne grew up in Gotham. He knows corruption when he sees it.” Luthor tilts his head.

“And your… fellow journalist?”

“Kansas born and bred,” she says dryly. “A good old boy, in layman’s terms.” Luthor’s frown deepens, a miniscule, minute change.

“And you’re sure that Clark’s… rural upbringing will not introduce biases a small-town outlook often provides?” That one stings, but she bites back the annoyed snap that she wants to make.

“I’m sure. He’s very open-minded.” A tap of fingers, and Luthor relaxes, untensing slightly.

“I see.” Luthor takes a long moment. “Well. I appreciate your candor.” Finally, Lois gives in to her curiosity.

“Why the sudden questions? Jon’s been here for months.” The woman says, confused. Luthor’s fingers tap lightly against one another.

“I have been made aware… that my plans have put him at risk, at times.” Luthor’s fingers tighten minutely. “While I am many things, I do not intend to harm children, and many of my men are aware of that.” He straightens, and then crosses one leg over another. Nerves, Lois thinks. “I allowed an oversight on my end, when I did not think of him as a child. Superman has made it… brutally clear that I was incorrect.”

A tight smile. “Please extend my apologies to your son.” Lois knows a dismissal when she hears it; stands up.

“I hope we don’t have another unpleasant encounter,” Lois says, but politely extends a hand. Luthor shakes hers firmly.

“Not in regards to your son. Have a good afternoon, Ms. Lane.” She nods and walks out, hand lifting up her purse to her shoulder.

She expects her phone to ring the moment she’s out of his office, but Bruce actually shows restraint, calls her once she’s in her car.

“Are you okay?” It’s - surprisingly - Kon, not Bruce, or Clark, the boy’s voice full of affectionate worry.

“I’m fine, dear,” she says warmly, smiling. “Who’s with you?”

“Uh, Jon. Tim. Jason’s pretending he’s being sneaky somewhere. Papa and Dad just got in and they’re hovering like bats.” Lois laughs at his joke.

“Excuse me,” Bruce sounds mildly amused. “Only I’m a Bat, thank you. Clark can be a bird. Or a plane.”

Kon gives an ugly snort of laughter, and Lois can hear a smattering of giggles.

“Will anyone let me live that down?”

“It’s not our fault that half of Metropolis is blind,” Lois sniggers. “I should be okay. Did you guys hear everything?”

“Not all of it. But I do have a copy for Papa and Dad to watch.” Kon’s words are a soft, shy drawl, but by the sounds of affection on the other end, Clark and Bruce clearly didn’t mind. Kon was a lucky kid, having Bruce and Clark as his fathers.

“I love you all. Listen to the conversation, and when I get back, we can discuss it.”

“Yes dear.” Clark says dryly. “Swing by Batburger? I placed an order for you with all the fixin’s. Should be done when you get there.” Lois’s lips twitch up into a grin.

“Bruce, if you don’t put a ring on your man I’m gonna!” She laughs, and Bruce scoffs.

“Not a chance. Go get your food and quit eyeing my fiancé.”

Fiancé ? Since when? No way Lois wasn't gonna bug them now.

“When did you two get engaged?” Jason sputters when the phone call ends, and in answer, Clark lifts his wrist up. The braided and detailed leather bracelet glimmers at them.

“After Bruce made me the bracelet, I decided to return the favor,” Clark says with an easy grin, mouth pressing against Bruce’s cheek. Bruce lifts his wrist up, and unbuttons the cuff, offering his hand to Jason. It’s a beautiful thing, carefully hand stitched, burnished edges, the embossed symbols unfamiliar.

“What’s the script?” Jason asks, admiring it.

“The Kryptonian equivalent of Bruce’s name,” Clark says shyly. “I had to check it twice, but I think it’s right.” Kon allows his curiosity to take over, popping up underneath Jason’s arm and looking.

“I think it’s right,” Kon says after a long silence. “But any Kryptonian who sees that? Totally not subtle, dad,” the boy says, amused. Jason looks down at him.

“What does it say?” Jason looks up to see a flush on Clark’s face, a curious Bruce also looking at his flustered husband-to-be.

“He who embodies Rao,” Kon quotes with a wicked grin. “Aka, the god of Krypton’s sun.” Kon wiggles his eyebrows at a rapidly reddening Clark. “Super romantic, comparing your hubby-to-be to a god, Dad.” Jason watches Bruce’s mouth curl into a fond smile, and he lets his father turn to press a kiss up under Clark’s jaw.

Jason was so, so happy for them. To let them have a moment, Jason pulls Kon - who goes willingly - back over to Tim, the younger of the two rapidly typing away as he follows up on leads and paperwork from Luthor’s sudden change of heart.

“I hope you aren’t using the nuclear option yet, squirt,” Jason says, picking a surprised Kon up and setting him right behind Tim. The sight of them both reddening and looking flustered makes him grin, and just to help them out, he does the same with Jon, the little boy squeaking happily and burrowing into Tim’s chest, a small hand grasping Kon’s shirtsleeve. Tim shoots him a murderous look, but Kon looks happy enough, a half-smile on his still red face. Tim reluctantly leans back, and Kon’s expression turns even more flustered, though he settles down like a cat quickly enough.

Man. Jason couldn’t wait for the boys to finally stop dancing around each other. He’d dealt with Dick being a flirt, and seriously, the lack of flirting?

Worse.

He escapes after a moment, sidling his way over to Dick, who is fresh off his shift.

“You’re home early,” Jason notes.

“I’m officially here to question our intruder, my lovely little brother,” Dick says, hand up to his forehead. “Unofficially, I know Shiva got thrown out by a grumpy Kon after exactly ten minutes of chatting with her daughter, so I’m just going to say it was an old conquest of Bruce’s that tried to reclaim his affections.” The man shrugs, hands going up with a little smirk.

“Gordon bought that pack of lies?” Jason says incredulously.

“Well, his mustache kinda twitched when I told him that, not gonna lie,” Dick says, grinning. “But he likes me, so he let it slide.”

“You mean, after looking like he wanted to kill you.”

“Psh, as if. He likes me because I don’t argue about patrolling in Bludhaven.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Jason says dryly. “Super important detail there, Mr. Dropped outta business school to be a Bludhaven Cop,” he raises a brow at Dick, who looks unabashed.

“Business just wasn’t for me,” he shrugs, and Jason punches his arm. “Hey!”

“I am going to get a degree out of you,” the boy grumbles angrily. “If you can learn an alien language, you can get a degree, you douchewaffle.”

Dick snorts in alarmed amusement.

“Douchewaffle?” He sniggers. “Is Garfield coming by and teaching you weird words again?”

“It’s the only thing that fits you,” Jason says defensively. Dick laughs harder at him, amused. “I’m serious! Do something, or I’ll be disappointed in you.”

“Oh no, not that…” Dick faux-bemoans, hand to his chest. Jason glares harder.

“Dick…” he says warningly, and Dick sighs.

“I don’t even know what to do,” he complains. Jason looks at him consideringly.

“I dunno. If you’re gonna keep being some kind of space ambassador, you could probably pull off Political Science or something.” Jason tells his big brother with agrin. Dick scowls at him fondly, but shakes his head.

“Menace,” he accuses fondly, and Jason shrugs again.

“My new middle name, then,” Jason says with an amused smirk. In response, Dick pinches his cheek.

“Wha- OW!”

Big brothers were the worst.

Chapter Text

Cass’s hair is fanned out on the ground, the young woman staring blankly up at the ceiling. Her chest heaves up and down, breath short, a dazed smile on her face. It had been so long since she’d had a good challenge, and next to her, Kon is laying face-first on the floor, his breath equally short. Exhausted-happy-spending-time-with-favorite-sister.

“Fun,” Cass informs him, and he rolls to the side to grin at her. The pitter patter of teeny-tiny feet, and Jon appears, brandishing cold towels and toasty drinks. Kon accepts both, and drops the towel on his face while Jon gives her both of hers.

“Very,” Kon agrees, staying where he is. Jon looks between them, visibly torn, and Cass opens her arms. Want! The boy’s body trembles.

“Hug please,” she informs him, and the little boy goes willingly, head resting on her shoulder. “Very good hug,” she informs the giggling little boy. “Five stars.” Kon gives a sleepy snort from where he is laying down, clearly amused. Jon gasps. Joy-joy-rated-well-Kon-look!

“Kon! Kon! I just got my hug rated!” The boy squeaks happily, and Cass pats the top of his head.

“Yeah, I heard, squirt. Congrats, you’ve made it to the big leagues,” Kon moves his hand out, and Jon stretches to high five him - floor five? Words were so hard - his big brother. Love-ya-silly-boy radiates from Kon.

“Yeah!” Jon squeaks again, happily snuggling against Cass. Big sis! Big sis! Love-love-love!

These boys were great for her serotonin levels.

See that, Steph? Cass’s eyes fly open, and she jolts into alertness.

“Steph. Stephanie.” How could she have forgotten? How could she have forgotten Stephanie? Her head whips around to see Kon, equally startled, but less urgent about it.

“I didn’t know her that well, Cass. Is it urgent?”

“Mom overdosed,” Cass says, and Kon’s brows shoot up. Worry-concern-friend?

“Oh. Shit.” The boy sits up. “When?”

“Another year, I think.” Cass says simply. Hurry, hurry, protect friend drips from Kon. “You and Steph… friends?”

“No, but Tim loves - well, loved her.” He reaches out, and Jon immediately flies into Kon’s arms, the boy standing. “He told me once, that if she’d kept her baby, he would have married her.”

Baby? Steph had a baby?

“Please tell me I didn’t get this girl pregnant at sixteen.” Tim says faintly. Jason’s shoulders are quivering slightly, and Dick knows that the teenager is trying so hard not to bust out laughing at poor Tim.

Dick’s also trying. And failing, but hey, you win some, and you lose some.

“No, you didn’t.” Kon assures him hastily. Immediately, Tim slides out of his seat and hits the ground.

“Thank god.”

That does it. Jason loses it, wheezing helplessly as he lets himself crack up at long last. Kon isn’t the only one who gives him an unimpressed look.

“Dick, you owe me fifty bucks,” Jason wheezes violently, and Dick is immediately pinned by the force of their youngest’s hard, rude glare.

“Woah, hey, we never made any bets about shit like getting a girl pregnant,” Dick deflects, and Jason wheezes harder.

“Not that!” He laughs a little more, before finally rubbing his eyes dry. “Oh god, Tim, you poor thing. Remember? I bet that one of us would take up B’s serial adoption tendencies before our eighteenth birthday. Tim just hit that.”

“In another reality!” Tim and Dick protest as one.

“Kon’s from that reality, which means it still counts,” Jason protests back, and Kon bites his lower lip, quivering with amusement.

Behind them, the adults are watching with varying degrees of amusement - and in Bruce’s case, horror - while Jason tries to wheedle money out of his best big brother.

“Guys? Help?” Dick looks pleadingly at them, and Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Not my problem,” Bruce sighs through gritted teeth. “Not my reality, not my problem.” That’s a wash. Clark is too busy laughing at him, and Alfred is raising a brow at him expectantly.

“Ugh, fine, you win, Jaybird,” Dick groans, and Jason pumps his fist, looking enthused by the answer. “Here, your fifty dollars.” Before Jason can take it, Tim snatches it out of the air.

“Don’t you dare,” Tim tells a staring Jason. “That’s payback.” That does it for Kon, the boy muffling his giggles into a pillow as he loses it. Jason pouts.

“Jerks,” he complains, and the rest of them snort. That humor caught up with, Dick zeros in on Kon’s sheepish smile.

“Anyways, you were saying?” Dick asks warmly, and the Kryptonian subsides in his giggles, looking at them with a shy smile, pillow still near his face.

“Um… I think she’s the daughter of Cluemaster?”

“That son of a - of course she’d be,” Bruce groans. “That idiot.” Dick isn’t the only one who raises an eye. “He was an old game show host. An absolute dumbass - he blew up at one of Gotham’s social darlings and got himself fired. I tried looking for him - he had a temper, but he wasn’t a stupid man, and he would have been ideal if he’d agreed to work with us at Wayne Enterprises, but by that point, he’d disappeared. His daughter…” Bruce shakes his head. “It happened while you were dead,” Bruce tells Jason, and Dick’s smile drops.

“Where was I?”

“Space, if I recall the timeline correctly,” Bruce says with a sigh. “Clark was busy too, and it was a little before Tim’s parents caved and let him stay with us. I was going to drag him off to Gordon but -”

“Can’t have the Bat snatching up parents and leaving them without anyone to look out for them,” Jason says dryly. “Can’t say I relate, what with Willis.”

Bruce shoots his second eldest a look that Dick echoes. “Regardless… I didn’t take him in, and he tried to use that for a second coup d'etat that Clark handled. Last I heard, he was in Arkham.”

Oh. Oh no. By the looks on everyone’s faces, they knew that would be trouble.

Tim is curled up on the couch, his fingers flying over his laptop - and seriously, did Tim just have one glued to his side like… all the time? What the fuck - as he scans through various websites. Kon is watching him with a curious violet gaze, leaning over Tim’s shoulder, and watching.

“What was Steph like?” Dick wonders.

“She liked to roast everyone’s life choices, stubborn enough to rival Tim, but we didn’t really get along. We talked to each other and we could work together, but the only connection she and I ever had was Tim. I think she and Cass were good friends in the other world though.”

“Best friends,” Cass says softly, the first thing she’s said the entire time. “Sisters.” By Jason’s wry look his way, he knew Jason bought that bit of sisters as well as Dick did. But the whole family seemed to run off suppressed emotions so hey! One thing at a time.

“Are we going to have to deal with a teenage supervillain?” Clark wonders, mouth twitching slightly. Bruce pulls a face.

“I’ll have to ask Harley or Ivy - if any girl has gone into the villainess business, they’d be the ones to know.”

“They are among the most sympathetic to children,” Clark notes with an amused smile. “Now, we can keep looking for Ms. Brown, but right now, everyone, we have something else we need to discuss.” Everyone falls quiet. Clark gives them all a slight smirk.

“How does everyone feel about planning an illegal gay wedding?”

Half the room chokes.

“What do you mean illegal?” Is Lois’s first words when she comes back with Jon later that evening.

“New Jersey hasn’t considered same-sex marriage as valid yet,” Clark tells her, the man accepting their baby boy with a winning smile. She’s not buying that. “And neither of us are traveling to Massachusetts just to get married.” Lois whistles.

“Dayum, Smallville,” she whistles, Jon cracking open a sleepy eye to squint at her. “Ever thought of going small?” He lets her into his part of the suite, and then raises a brow at her.

“I joined the Daily Planet and then almost immediately became Superman, Lois,” Clark points out dryly. Lois’s mouth twitches.

“Fair enough, sunshine,” she concedes, Clark bouncing Jon when the boy whines. “You know, our boy is going to be so spoiled,” she teases. “Can’t let him down even if we wanted to.” Clark glances archly at her, and then smiles softly.

“He is my treasure,” Clark agrees softly, a sappy grin crossing his face as he adoringly looks at the boy resting his small head on Clark’s shoulder. “But in my defense, I was left unattended with Bruce.”

Lois sniggers at him. “Well, I’ll consider it true,” she admits. “You guys really do have quite the habit of adopting cute boys that look like you.” Clark shrugs sheepishly.

“Can’t help it if I adore cute kids, Lois.” He kisses Jon’s temple, and Jon whines at him softly. “Shh, baby, go to sleep, I’ll be right here,” he murmurs, and Jon yawns at him. Kon is there, nodding off slowly into the couch he liked to steal when Clark was busy.

(What? If Jon was her kid, then she could steal his other son too.)

“Ayoo,” she reaches out and ruffles Kon’s hair, the teenager jolting sleepily awake and giving her a tired smile.

“Hiya, Auntie,” the boy says, flops sideways and stretches his legs out. “Here to start your superhero dispatch training?” He asks, and she snorts.

“You make it sound like I’m working at a mechanic’s,” Lois says affectionately.

“Well, we fix shit, don’t we?”

“Language,” both of them say, and Kon rolls his eyes. There’s nothing but affection in his gaze, so Lois ruffles his hair, watches it fluff.

“Sheesh. Nags.” But he smiles warmly up at them anyways , eyes crinkling at the corners. “Love you though.”

“Love you too,” she tells him, before bending over and kissing his forehead. “Gonna sleep early, or are you going to practice your Robin skills before Jason and Bruce leave for the Netherlands?”

“Mmm. Maybe,” the boy says, stretching. “I kinda just wanted a quiet night in to spend with Jon,” he says, and Lois grins.

“How about a less quiet night with you, me, and Jon all working downstairs?” She wiggles her eyebrows, and Kon laughs, a soft thing.

“Sure, auntie,” he says indulgently. “If you say so.” She snorts, but when Clark hands a sleepy Jon off to Kon, the boy immediately curls around his little brother, planting a kiss on his forehead. Jon, as usual, whines at the affection, before settling down and falling asleep in seconds.

Gosh, she was so jealous that he was able to do that without needing to fight with her baby boy. Kon sits up, rubs his eyes, and Lois heads down, her trio of supers following after. Kon immediately homes in on the couch cushions next to Tim, and she bites back a grin at Tim’s blush as the Robin is besieged by the two boys. Tim’s face flames red, the teenager vigorously tapping away at his keyboard with sheer embarrassment. The boy doesn’t move away from Kon and Jon, the two of them making themselves comfortable with him. His cheeks are bright pink, and Lois coos a little at the sight.

Kids. She looks at Clark, who is amused and affectionate at the sight of them all.

“Don’t forget boys, Robin needs to patrol with me tonight, so don’t fall asleep on the poor thing.” Clark says, already moving on to get changed.

“Mmh!” Jon says.

“Gotcha, Dad,” Kon says, already yawning around his fist, cheeks puffing as he tries to hold it back. Kon’s half-asleep already, but he scoots back enough to curl up next to Tim rather than just bury him.

At the Batcomputer, Batgirl is looking horrifically amused when she approaches.

“Your boys are so damn cute,” she tells Lois. The fellow redhead grins back.

“It’s the Kansas corn-fed attitude,” the woman says matter-of-factly, and Batgirl snickers. “You my new boss for the night?”

“Until you learn the ropes, yeah. For now, I’m going to run you through how to run the system, and then from there, we’ll work on your response times to emergencies, what is and is not a serious issue, and then.” Here she leans in. Lois leans back.

“Then?” She asks tentatively.

“What to do if the bat signal goes off.” At Batgirl’s grin, a shiver goes down her spine.

Oh man.

Kon cracks a sleepy eye open when Tim leaves his side, and the littlest Robin gives him a smile.

“Goin’ already?” Kon yawns, rubs his eyes, and Tim flushes a bit.

“Yeah. Sorry,” He mumbles, and Kon reaches out, fingers tangling with his as the boy’s violet gaze softens with warmth.

“Hey. Don’t apologize for being good at what you do,” Kon says through a yawn. “Go get’em,” He says with a warm smile, and Tim blushes a bit harder, squeezes Kon’s fingers tight before letting go and scampering towards an amused Clark. He has the helmet on one hip, talking to Bruce, who is looking at him in the way that he does when he wants to kiss Clark.

He looks away when they kiss because ew, and then Bruce ruffles his hair. His fingers are warm on top of his head, and he looks up.

“You be careful, do you hear? Joker’s still on the streets because of his immunity, so you stick close and let Nightwing or Red Hood deal with him, understood?” Bruce says to him, tone firm. “Kate is out tonight, so make sure she comes home with you lot. I haven’t had much chance to brief her on what’s happened, and if I delay any longer she’s going to hunt me down across Europe if I don’t warn her.”

“She scares you?”

“I didn’t give her the mantle of Batwoman just because she was amusing,” Bruce says mildly, dry as dust. He kisses Clark’s cheek, and the Kryptonian gives him a fond look, leans in.

“Ahem.” Tim says sternly, and Clark’s expression cracks along with Bruce’s into unbridled amusement. “Children are present,” he scolds them, and neither of them even look slightly remorseful, but they pull away from each other obediently enough, Tim scampering off towards the Batmobile.

“So, have you finished up your designs for the other two Robins yet?” Clark asks, slipping the cowl on and adjusting it to fit with the casual grace he’d had since they first started patrolling together.

(It’s only been a month and some weeks. Wild.)

“Not yet,” Tim says. “I’m having a hard time finding them stuff that stretches that is durable and isn’t going to restrict their movements,” Tim explains seriously. “Stuff like that is tough.” Clark laughs softly at him, ruffles his hair.

“You’re precious. If you behave yourself, maybe I’ll be nice and take you over to the fortress with the boys as a late present.” Tim’s eyes light up.

“Can we do it on Dick’s birthday?” Tim asks, expression delighted at the idea, and Clark’s mouth twitches.

“With him?”

“... can I be mean and say no?” Tim asks hopefully, and Clark snorts, amused. “I know, I know, I’m mean,” the boy sighs despondently, and Clark sniggers at him.

“My evil little mastermind. We’ll go with him, but if you want… Gordon does owe my civilian identity a favor. I’m sure I can have him working the day before his birthday.” Tim’s mouth hangs open.

“And I thought I was the mean one,” Tim giggles. “Okay, please? I want to sneak in his birthday presents.”

Clark looks around, grins, and then taps the comms. “Oracle?”

“Oracle, present!” Lois sounds chipper for a woman about to stay up until four AM, Tim thinks, curling up a little in his seat. Clark, without looking, tugs Tim’s legs off, and he puffs his cheeks out; pouts. Clark obviously thinks he’s adorable by the way his nose wrinkles. “What can I do for you boys this fine evening?” Oracle asks them chipperly, and Tim giggles.

“I wanna surprise Nightwing on his birthday,” the boy says, mindful of comms.

“Oooh, sounds evil. I like it.” Oracle snickers. “Alright boys, I’ll get comms muted.” A click, and Oracle’s voice comes on through the speakers. “You boys have thirty minutes until you head to Gordon. Get your birthday plans ready.”

Tim grins wider, and Clark snorts, amused.

“I’ve unleashed a monster,” Clark chuckles, and Tim grins brighter.

“Only a little one.”

Here Clark really laughs.

Gordon looks at the two as they approach. The newest Robin was… small. God, they’d all been so small. But this one’s not as flighty, the boy’s fingers buried in Batman’s cape and clinging restlessly, eyes darting around quickly before settling on Gordon. The boy lifts a hand up, waves, and then ducks under Batman’s cape.

Cute.

“Who’s the new Robin?” Gordon asks. Batman looks amused by him, the man’s mouth twitching slightly.

“You know I won’t answer that.” Batman’s cape drapes over the small child, but he peeks out, shyly waves hello. Gordon cannot help the way his heart melts at the sight of the child. “This is the third Robin. His partner isn’t yet ready to start working yet, but he will, soon.” That makes Gordon’s eyes lift up, eyebrows raised up high.

“Partner?” He asks, just to clarify. Robin pokes his head out.

“Batman doesn’t want me to be doing anything alone,” the boy says seriously. “My best friend just started training, so we can work together on smaller cases.” The head ducks back in. Gordon arches his best skeptical brow at Batman, and the vigilante shrugs.

“They’d do this on their own,” Batman says frankly. “Better they have someone keeping an eye on them rather than do it solo and get killed.”

… Fair enough. He kneels down, and clears his throat. Robin pokes his head out, his hair fluffy and messy as he blinks at Gordon.

“C’mere.” The boy scurries over to him, fluffy hair floating around his head, and Gordon politely helps his hair lay flat. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay?” He says, mindful of how Batman looms silently near them. After a moment, Robin nods. “What is your job?”

“Provide emotional support for frightened civilians, emergency evacuation, administer first aid…” the boy dutifully lists off the basics of an EMT, and Gordon nods along. The boy is small, and frail, and so, so heartbreakingly adorable.

After hearing about what happened with the last Robin - a Robin that was older and stronger and much more dangerous than this little slip - Gordon did not want to see another one suffer. After a few questions, Gordon lets the little boy go back to Batman, the child slipping underneath Batman’s cloak.

“I’m not happy about this,” Gordon says, and Batman’s mouth twitches.

“It’s a failure of us,” Batman agrees dryly, “That we require children to help fight our battles.”

That Gordon can agree with. The two of them wait for a moment, and then -

A tug shows on Batman’s cloak, and both of them look down as a coal-colored head pops out. Cute.

“Can I work with Mr. Commissioner?” The boy says, sounds as innocent as a spring sky.

Gordon doesn’t trust that kid’s sweetness for a minute. Neither does Batman, who arches an expressive brow at the child. Innocently, the boy’s eyes looked up to him, waiting silently for his answer.

“I suppose I can indulge you,” Gordon sighs, and the boy beams.

“Thank you!” The boy says happily, hugging Batman’s leg before scurrying over to Gordon.

… Damn, was the kid really only thirteen? He looked way smaller. Batman looks between the two of them, snorts, and goes on his way, leaving them together. The boy’s hand tugs at his sleeve, and he looks down, arches an expressive brow.

“Sorry Mr. Commissioner,” The boy says, looking down as Batman moves to talk to the officers. “I know Batman said I’d be okay, but today’s really crazy.” Gordon looks down, and feeling a little sympathetic, he pats the boy’s hair, ruffling it.

“You can stay with me at my office, if you would like, son,” he says, and the boy’s entire expression brightens.

“Can I?” He says, beaming, and Gordon feels a suspicious shudder run down his spine.

“Yes, of course.” The boy’s smile grows even brighter.

“Thank you, Mr. Commissioner!” He chirps, and now he feels there’s definitely something up.

He hopes he won’t regret this…

“Spill, you little menace,” Clark says amusedly to Tim, and the boy blinks innocently up at him.

“You’re mean today, Dad,” Tim pouts, and Clark wonders if he can be forgiven for melting a little inside at the affectionate nickname.

“Don’t change the subject,” he scolds, the two of them on the way back. Lois had been a little stressed at first, but she’d gotten the hang of it by the end, which was promising. Having Batgirl for backup was probably a good part of the reason why, though. Tim pouts at him harder, the little boy’s cheeks puffing dramatically.

“But Daaaaaaad,” Tim whines. Clark lifts a hand from the steering wheel and pokes his cheek, the boy letting the air go dramatically.

“No. Tell me, or I get Jason involved.” The boy gasps, horrified. And then he wilts.

“Fine…” He mumbles miserably. “Meanie.” Clark gives him an unimpressed look, and the boy elaborates. “I… miiight have hacked into the GCPD?” Clark’s jaw drops open.

“Tim!”

“It’s only a little!” Tim yelps defensively, and Clark groans, smacking one hand to his face and groaning.

“Timothy, you and I are going to have a talk regarding boundaries if you don’t have a good reason,” Clark says, tone stern, and the boy’s face puffs out into a pout. “You have ten seconds to tell me why.” Tim whines more, before pouting at his seat.

“It’s for Kon,” Tim mumbles miserably, the words mashed up together. “You guys weren’t letting me be evil to Luthor because you needed him to shove his foot down his throat, but he still needs documentation.” Clark pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Baby boy, know I love you, but what the fuck.” Clark says faintly. “You do realize B and I are working on it, right?” He says, and Tim looks mulish. “Robin, my cutest little brat in the whole, wide world. You do know neither of us are Janet or Jack Drake, right?”

The guilty flick of blue eyes down, and Clark knows he’s hit his target. “Oh precious boy,” Clark sighs softly, lifts his arm up. Tim scrambles into his lap, pushes his small face against Clark’s chest, and he decides to let the boy cling the whole rest of the ride. “Precious, precious darling, I love you, and you know I love my boys too, right?” Tim flushes darker, and clings to him. “Trust us, baby boy. We know what we’re doing, even if we don’t look like it.”

Tim can’t help his reluctant little giggle. The boy is curled up tight, his head ducked down, and he’s - awwwww. He’s snuggling. Clark wants to coo at him.

“... Sorry,” Tim mumbles. “I just… I don…” The boy shivers.

Clark thinks, then, very vividly, of the last day Tim had spent in Drake Manor before he picked his son up, of the too-large, too-empty home, with the fridge and pantry and larder bare of even crumbs, the boy having subsisted on pocket money, tight management, and the parties his parents would take him to when they felt like showing off how perfect their family was.

Clark Kent bites his lower lip, takes a moment, and promises to himself that he will put the Drake’s reputation into a fucking shredder.

Superman is supposed to be a good person, a good man.

But Clark Kent is only human, and he’s been Batman long enough to know who and when the corrupt need taking down.

Fuck the agreement. Clark was going to ruin them.

“Give me a few days. I’ll ruin your parents’ lives, okay?” He says the words with a smile.

“But… the agreement…” Tim mumbles.

“They signed that with Bruce. Not with me, and after the shit they put you through, I’m about to ruin their whole fucking careers.”

Tim looks up admiringly, and ducks his head, cuddling closer to Clark.

“Mmhkay,” the boy says, sleepy but content. They arrive at the Batcave to Kon, the boy quivering slightly with distress, Jon in his mother’s arms and whining for Tim.

“Heard that all, huh?” Clark says, low enough that Tim couldn’t hear, and his eldest nods, mouth set in a stubborn line, so he hands the half-asleep Robin over to Kon, knowing the boy will take care of Tim.

“Stupid Tim,” Kon says, but the words are fond as a summer sky at daybreak. “It’s a good thing I like him, or I’d strangle him by now.” Clark chuckles fondly, and Kon takes the boy off to the changing rooms. Bruce is waiting for him there too, eyes glittering with unshed tears as he strides forward, practically tackles Clark and winds his arms around his lover’s chest.

“No revenge on Thanksgiving night,” Bruce mumbles against his chest, and Clark chuckles, running his fingers through thick hair. “But Black Friday is a free-for-all,” he informs him, and Clark’s grin turns wolfish.

“As you command,” Clark purrs, curls his fingers under Bruce’s chin to kiss his nose. “Now, we’ve done our patrolling for the night, and everyone’s going to be home for Thanksgiving. Get to bed, before I drag you there.” Bruce’s eyes are a bright, bright blue, and his lips curl into a sly smirk.

“As you wish, fiancé,” Bruce murmurs huskily, leaving Clark behind and slightly flustered.

God dammit Bruce…

Alfred arrives at his kitchen to see it already well in use, a furious Young Master Jason chopping vegetables and scrubbing potatoes with a glower on his face.

“Good morning, Young Master Jason,” Alfred says amiably, and the boy looks up. Ah. Furious tears are dripping from his cheeks, something that he can easily hide, here in the kitchen.

“... Mornin, Alfie,” Jason says finally, hands trembling around his potatoes.

“I don’t think I need to ask if you were debriefed in regards to Young Master Tim.”

“I hate his parents,” Jason says, tone harsh like the way it was back before he’d died, the rage and anger he’d been learning to come to grips with growing more painfully evident in the protective state he’s in. “I hate them, and I swear to god if B hadn’t fucking told me not to use anything fatal I - ” he makes a strangled noise, and carefully, Alfred removes his grip upon the potatoes and the scrubber. Jason does so sourly, before looking up at him.

“Perhaps a hug is in order?” Alfred says lightly, and the boy obeys, folding around him and squeezing tightly until Alfred’s ribs feel tender.

“G’morning y’all - oh! Is this a mornin’ tradition?” Pa Kent sounds amused by the whole thing, while Ma Kent is looking at them both, an embarrassed Jason rubbing his eyes as he pulls away. “You alright there son?” Pa asks, and Jason sniffs a little.

“No.” Ma Kent immediately snaps him up into a hug, and the boy squeaks; flails in her grasp before giving in to her demands.

“Aw, darlin, is this about that Tim boy Kon’s all sweet on?” Ma Kent says, squeezing him, and he flushes slightly.

“Don’t tell them that,” Jason wheezes a little around the hug. “They’re still in denial.” Pa chuckles richly, and Alfred’s mouth twitches as he watches his second grandson accept their affection without a second flinch.

It was a far cry from the boy who had always loathed to be touched by others, who loathed not being able to see behind himself. The boy had flinched, had ducked, evaded.

Now, even if it was graceless, he was there, able to be hugged.

A gift Alfred would never take for granted again. Alfred had many, many things to be thankful for.

Pa plucks Jason out of Ma’s hold before the boy can escape, and he lets them bury his grandson in as many hugs as he can get away with.

It was times like this that Alfred was so heartbreakingly glad that Bruce had let go of his usual hostility of superpowered beings to bend the rules, all those years ago.

Tim doesn’t want to leave his room. Blankets are draped over his shoulders, a pillow over his head, and he hates himself so damn badly right now. He wants to die.

He was fine. He was okay. Kon had the world’s two best dads looking out for him.

He was everything Tim wasn’t. Smart, cool… Tim curls up. He didn’t need Tim looking out for him.

A knock, and Tim just curls tighter. He hopes they go away. The knocking starts up again, gentle and insistent.

“Tim?” Kon’s voice is a warm weight, and Tim hates that Kon sounds so nice. “Tim, please don’t make me quote pop culture references that don’t even exist yet, I am this close.” Tim bites back a giggle, because Kon was really good at being funny, and was so nice and gentle sounding. Tim wanted to let him in but…

The door clicks open, and Tim squeaks as Kon enters, the cheater homing in on his curled form.

“Tim…” Kon sounds warm and inviting, and slowly, he peeks his head out from under the pillow.

He doesn’t have his glasses on. It’s a silly thing, but without it, Kon looks closer to Tim’s age. His hair is getting a bit fluffy on the sides, and the pretty violet hue of his gaze is sympathetic and affectionate. He’s in a pair of comfortable sweats and a tank top under an old flannel shirt of Clark’s, and Tim blushes a bit, ducks his head under the pillow again.

“Hi Kon.” His voice is muffled; mortified.

“Can I join you?” He asks, and Tim’s fingers curl around the blankets weakly.

“Okay…” He mumbles, sheepish. Kon picks up the edge of the blankets, and Tim squeaks when Kon slips under, the boy’s arm sliding under his waist and reeling Tim in.

“I know Dad and Papa probably told you not to do it again without backup,” Kon tells him, once the two of them are close together. His smile is teasing, and Tim flushes a furious red. “But just between us… I really, really like that you were willing to do this for me.” Kon pulls him even closer, lets Tim hide his face in the soft, comfy flannel of Kon’s.

“I’m glad,” he mumbles sheepishly, and Kon tilts his head up with his other hand.

Tim is vividly reminded of how Clark does this with Bruce, with a long-suffering affection that he could see reflected in Kon’s eyes.

“Thank you, Tim,” Kon says, and Tim’s cheeks burn red, the boy ducking his head and cuddling up closer.

“You’re welcome, Kon,” The boy sighs, and the two of them stay that way, Kon’s hand running up and down his back soothingly.

“You’re the best, Tim,” Kon says, softer, gentler. “I’m so happy that I have you.”

Tim’s blush goes straight to his fingertips.

Clark bites back a grin, looking away from the two once he’s sure they’re done talking, and undeniably glad that his son had taken the next step to get closer with Tim.

“Jason’s going to be so annoyed. He wanted to be the one to nudge them together.” Clark snickers into Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce, cuddling Jon, looks up with a smirk.

“Poor baby,” Bruce chuckles. Jon grumbles against his chest, and he scoots the boy up to press a kiss against a nose. Jon beams happily, and goes right back to laying on his papa, content. “And since I have you all trussed up like our future Thanksgiving turkey, we can have a nice adult conversation.” Jon looks up, cute fluffy hair going out like antennae.

“Papa?” He asks, pulls out the wet-Robin eyes and wobbles his lower lip.

“You’re wearing clothes much too big for you, baby,” Bruce says to his - no, their - son, the child’s eyes growing wet and shiny in an attempt to distract them.

“I can grow into ‘em,” Jon sniffs, and Clark reaches out to run a finger over a cheek.

“You don’t have to,” Clark says gently. “This isn’t the same world you were born in, munchkin,” Clark tells him, and Jon shrinks further. “C’mere, look at Papa and Daddy, okay?” Bruce’s heart skips a beat, a flush covering his cheeks at the affectionate term of address, and Clark shoots him an amused look for it.

Don’t you dare, Bruce’s embarrassed glare says. Jon’s mouth is quivering still, and Bruce, after recovering, tilts the little boy’s head up.

“Hey,” Bruce scolds gently, gets Jon to look at him at long last. “You know we love you, don’t you, baby boy?”

“I know papa,” Jon mumbles.

“And you know that I love to be able to spoil you all, even if it’s for something as essential as clothes, right, munchkin?” Jon squirms guiltily.

“Yes papa…” He mumbles again.

“So then you’ll let the papa that you love so very much spoil you right?” Bruce croons, and Clark can feel a little part of him fall even deeper in love at the way he kisses Jon’s chubby cheeks. Jon scrunches his little nose, the boy’s tears receding.

“But I won’t always have money…” the boy whimpers, and Bruce and Clark share a look together, the two of them sharing a look of deep understanding.

“Oh, baby,” Bruce kisses the little boy’s face, the boy squeaking at every little kiss, before giggling as his face is peppered with Bruce’s affection. “How about we get you a little pocket money? You, the boys, all of you can start doing some little chores with Alfred, set up your own bank accounts.” Jon gasps at the idea, his mulish pout turning to wide-eyed surprise.

“I… I can do that?” The boy asks sweetly, and Clark tilts his son’s head up.

“Of course you can, cutie pie. Help out Papa and Daddy and Grandpa Alfie, and we can set you up with an itty-bitty bank account, okay?” Clark brushes a kiss over his baby’s forehead, big blue eyes wobbling with tears. Bruce’s heart is beating strong and hopeful for him, a soft affection, a warm love that just about drowned Clark with its intensity.

“God, I love you,” Clark murmurs softly. “My beautiful baby boy, my son.” That does it. Jon begins to hiccup and cry, sobbing softly against Bruce’s chest as he curls against them.

Their adorable son tires himself out after a few good minutes, and Clark leans down to kiss the top of his son’s fluffy hair, moves over to kiss Bruce. His mouth tastes faintly of minty toothpaste and a light roast coffee.

“Daddy, huh?” Clark teases, and Bruce shoots him a murderous look over Jon’s sleepy head. “That’s fine. I think he still likes to call you papa better though.” A kiss, and Bruce sighs, allows Clark his moment of evil.

“Lucky I love you, you giant prick,” Bruce mutters, and Clark gives him a reproachful look.

“Manners, future husband.” Bruce’s breath hitches adorably again, and Clark grins, pleased.

He liked that. Liked how much Bruce loved his teasing.

Dick is the only one of them who is not cooking, cuddling, or otherwise occupied, when Cass arrives.

Tired. So tired as though he will never have enough sleep, the weight of a legacy so ingrained in the city that his mere absence was worse than any shackle -

Nightwing of this world is not like the Nightwing of old. He smiles more, laughs more, is a warm, grounding, brotherly presence. He does not reject what he loves, he does not sleep in beds not his own, chasing after a love he will never find in a stranger’s arms. His mouth presses lightly against her cheek in greeting, the young man holding a glass of scotch.

His tired is merely tired. Not exhausted. Not a bone deep weariness. Not a world-ending, blood-boiling set of rage that had burned into cinders, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Hi princess,” Dick says fondly, and she pushes her head up until he kisses the top of it. “Looking for Stephanie?” Cass shakes her head.

“Not stalker,” she informs him, and he vibrates with cute-cute-precious-babygirl that makes her grin shyly. “Left it for Tim.” Pffft. Is the next word that leaves Dick, both in form and word.

“Cutie,” he announces to the world at large. She grins up at him. She knew him, she trusted him. The memories she had been gifted by Kon were her most precious gift. Knowing how different this world was to the one Kon had come from was a precious gift she would not look down upon. Her mouth presses against his cheek, and Dick allows her to with a fondness in his eyes.

Precious little sister mine, his eyes say. Cass curls up closer, and he kisses the top of her head again.

“Wanna join for dinner,” she says shyly, and Dick grins down at her.

“Oh-ho? What do you want to do then? Do you want me to make you a plate? B refurbished the chandelier when I started carrying blankets up there - we can set you up a cute little roost if you want, princess.”

The thought of her and Dick eating on a chandelier makes her giggle, and her head ducks down, the adult grinning at her.

“Sounds fun. Wanna join in for dessert.” Dick’s eyes light up.

“I’ll save you three of Alfred’s cookies,” Dick promises gleefully, and she giggles a little at his excitement.

This was going to be fun.

“No teasing your brother,” Clark mutters to Jason when Tim and Kon wander in, hand-in-hand, both of them dressed up in their nice suits. Kon’s made an effort to dress up his hair, the obvious attention of a wet brush and some soft fingers having tamed his wild curls beautifully, and Tim’s smiling happily away, his own fluffy hair tamed down, though not nearly as precisely as Kon’s.

Jason glares at him. “I will tease my brother and he will put up with it,” Jason snaps - his temper’s a sharp thing, and Clark raises a brow at him; taps his foot. Jason doesn’t back down, and he sighs.

“Your suit gets ruined, you help Alfred fix it,” Clark says, and Jason takes that as agreement, swooping in to squish them both in a hug. Tim squeaks - a high-pitched sound that would have dogs running for cover, and Kon just laughs.

“Hey! Don’t mess with the hair!” He complains, and Jason’s eyes turn evil. Tim, in response, stomps on his big brother’s foot.

“Wha - ow!” Jason yelps, forced to let go and hop on one foot. “The hell are you wearing - steel boots?” Jason complains, and Tim sticks his nose up in the air.

“Yes.”

“Mother of god, that hurts.” Jason grumbles, before pouncing and picking Tim up. Tim squeaks again, and is forced to - gracelessly - endure Jason’s clinginess, but when Tim looks at him desperately for help, he gestures lightly, a wiggle of his fingers reminding the boy of earlier. Tim pouts at them all, but especially at Kon when the boy laughs, his eyes a bright violet - brighter, even, than they had been this morning, when Clark had nudged his eldest son by blood to go and speak to his best friend.

Another thing to have Hal look into.

The room fills up, Lois having returned from wherever she’d scooted her pretty self off to, dressed nicely in a fine evening gown, a shy-looking Cass having gotten her hair curled and wearing a cute black dress with a pair of combat boots.

(Politely, he pretends not to see Jason and Dick fistbump her)

Bruce looks divine as always, his suit more of a charcoal gray than a straight black that he wore to most event functions. Blue-gray eyes home in on his boys all rough-housing, and a smile curls his lips up as he does so, before looking happily at the Kents and Alfred as they enter.

Ma and Pa enter with Alfred, the trio chatting amiably. Alfred is in his usual suit, but Pa’s been dressed up, and Ma’s pulled out her favorite pastel dress. Bruce’s breath hitches a little when his eyes land on Pa, and Clark knows that sound. He steps up, dips his head down to brush the shell of Bruce’s ear.

“What’s wrong, Bruce?” he asks.

“My father wore that suit once.” His breath is a soft stutter, and Clark’s heart bursts in fond sympathy, the man pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m… I’m happy. So happy.” Clark doesn’t say anything, but instead cradles him, presses a kiss to the back of Bruce’s neck.

“C’mon, future husband,” Clark murmurs, is gratified to hear Bruce’s heart skip a beat. “Let’s sit down.”

The table is a feast. While it was not as big of a spread for a social party like he knew Bruce went to in previous years, it was - in the way it deserved to be - charming. Plates full of bread, both whole and sliced, select cuts of meat (with a small plate of pork reserved for Ma, Pa and Lois, if they wanted) and everyone’s favorites.

Clark is about to sit on Bruce’s right side when he finds himself stopped, a hand on his chest.

He gives Bruce a quizzical expression, and in return, his lover smiles slyly.

“I’ve sat at the head of this table for eight years, Clark. I think it’s your turn. You do remember how to say Birkat Hamazon, yes?” Clark’s face flushes, and his eyes go a little wide.

“I - uh. Um.” He smiles sheepishly. “I don’t have it all memorized,” he says, sheepish. Bruce laughs, a warm thing.

“That’s fine, baby. Just the first part is fine. Dick knows the rest.” Clark glances to the left side, where Dick is sitting, chatting with a shyly giggling Cass, and his mouth curls up into a sweeter smile.

“Okay,” Clark says, bending down to press his forehead against Bruce’s own. “I’ll sit at the head of the table.”

Bruce’s smile was like the sun.

Morning dawns wet, chilly, and to Bruce’s mouth pressed against the hollow of Clark’s throat. Clark sighs happily, pulling Bruce closer so he can snuggle with his fiancé.

“You left the bed a few hours ago,” Bruce murmurs, lips caressing his throat. “Where did you go?” He asks, and Clark smiles softly.

“You said I could get revenge for Tim on Black Friday. Well, morning has dawned and Black Friday is in full swing, so revenge it was.” Bruce laughs, a soft, tired thing, and he tips Clark’s head down to kiss him, a tiny, sweet thing.

“The boys?”

“Plotting mischief with Lois.” Bruce laughs again, warm amusement. “Please don’t tell me I can’t be petty.”

“Mm? Would I?” Bruce slides a foot up the back of Clark’s calves, and he laughs at the light, almost tickling sensation he got from that teasing touch.

“Sometimes.”

“Leave something left for me to destroy,” Bruce murmurs. “Plus, with the way Kon and Tim are going, he’ll want to make sure that he and his boyfriend don’t share the same name.” Clark huffs a laugh.

“Is everyone assuming this is a foregone conclusion?” Clark asks, chuckling, and Bruce hums happily.

“What can I say? You Kents know who you want and don’t stop until you get it.” A soft, pleased chuckle. “As last night proved quite nicely.”

Clark’s cheeks redden, and he ducks his head, nuzzling Bruce’s throat. “I hate you,” he complains fondly,

“Psh. As if. I make you feel alive, Kent.” Bruce teases, and Clark growls threateningly against his skin, nips at it.

“Oh, there’s plenty of me that’s alive when it comes to you -”

“Wha- hey! Clark!”

Jason’s arms are crossed, a mulish scowl on his face as he grumbles.

“I still think I could have beaten them up with a crowbar,” Jason mutters. Dick flicks the shell of his ear.

“No crowbars,” Dick says sternly.

“Or explosions,” Tim adds, tone reproachful. “We’re already framing my parents for working with Penguin - which I think is overkill.” Kon, who is flipped upside down and chewing on the cord of a hoodie he’d decided to steal from Dick - as his big bro deserved - merely smirks.

“I could frame them for having kryptonite, you know,” Kon says innocently. “Nobody would believe a Kryptonian is immune or that I’d deliver it.” Jason’s jaw drops.

Damn. Ride or die was the norm for these Kryptonian bastards, wasn’t it?

“No, absolutely not!” Tim snaps, smacks his stomach. Kon sighs dramatically, the teenager woefully sliding to the floor. “Kryptonite is worse than just framing them for being involved with Penguin,” he says, annoyed. A little sniff. “How are we spinning that monster of an idea anyways?”

“Your parents do a lot of artifact digging,” Dick says with a smug smirk. “And Penguin has a… taste for items of indeterminable value. Several of which have found their ways into that fat bastard’s greedy mitts.”

Tim eyes Dick.

“How long have you been planning this?” the boy questions. Before a wickedly grinning Dick can answer, the door to the library slams open, a teeny-tiny Jon trotting in and pouting the whole while. He stops in front of Tim and lifts his arms up. Tim’s mouth parts in a soft smile, the teenager hefting the little boy into his lap.

“I’ve been ousted from the favorite brother position,” Jason whispers with a pout, and Kon chuckled, amused. Jon, happily in Tim’s lap, hisses at him like a grumpy kitten. Tim’s biting his lower lip and grinning, so he’s no help either.

“You’re still the godfather, so suck it up,” Tim says without sympathy, cuddling a happy Jon and planting a soft kiss to the top of Jon’s fluffy hair. Jason pouts deeper. “And Dick, don’t think I didn’t notice you refusing to answer the question.” Dick clicks his tongue, looks disappointed.

“Aw, Timmy, don’t you love me?”

“Yes. That’s why you’ll answer,” Tim says flatly. “Now talk, Dick.” Dick rolls his eyes.

“Sheesh. Bossy. Fiiiine, fine. Probably about two days before you got officially taken in as a ward, I guess? I was already looking into Penguin since he’d been doing shit in Blüdhaven, so I just added on the correlation.” Dick’s smile is vindictive. “It's not my fault I’m good at detective work.” He laughs at them, and Jason eyes him.

“Are you seriously using your detective powers for evil?”

“Psh, as if,” Dick teases back, ruffling Jason’s hair. “But it’s not illegal if Blüdhaven’s favorite vigilante drops off tidbits of paperwork where Gordon can get them, now is it?” here Dick grins and wrinkles his nose when Jason pouts right back at him.

“Evil mastermind,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms. Dick laughs.

“The coolest, right?”

“After Discowing, you’re never allowed to be cool.” Tim declares, and Kon’s expression is an agreeing grin. Dick’s own grin slips in response.

“HEY!”

“The boys are evil little masterminds when they feel up to it,” Clark says in good-natured amusement. Bruce smiles weakly back.

“They need to get their fun where they can - my boys have had too little of it since they each took up their Robin mantles, and Tim’s really among the worst.” Bruce’s smile slips slightly. “Please tell me Tim is done designing a Robin outfit for Kon - I’m really starting to worry about him being out after hours without Kon being there.” Clark leans in, brushing his nose up against his lover’s.

“It’ll be done before you and Jason fly out on Monday. He’s been fabricating the material and I agreed to help him stitch it up with Kryptonian strength in mind.”A little kiss to his nose, and Clark pulls back, thumbs soothing the fabric of his shirt collar down. Bruce sighs weakly, leaning against Clark.

“I cannot fucking wait to see Joker gone,” Bruce sighs . “I’m getting fucking tired of him ruining the peace this family has.” Clark nuzzles against a soft throat, and Bruce’s pleasure is soft, boneless. Clark kisses under his chin, nuzzles Bruce again, and his lover lets him offer that comfort with a gentle little kiss to a nose.

“The offer’s still open,” Clark says, his eyes opening and the faintest haze of red glittering in his eyes. “Say the word, and he’s dead the moment that immunity is revoked.” Bruce looks at him, looks at the bright red irises, and rather than the fear he would have felt eight years ago, Bruce feels a sudden swelling of affection in his heart, the man reaching out to kiss and caress his love’s face.

“I shouldn’t be so in love with you when you’re ready to murder someone, and yet here I am,”  Bruce sighs, Clark’s gaze flickering back to blue with a startled chuckle. “Kal-El.” Clark’s cheeks redden at the casual use of his birth name as it falls so sweetly from Bruce’s lips. “I don’t want that for you. I won’t make you kill my enemies, and you won’t make me kill yours, do you understand?” Bruce hums lovingly. Clark shivers against Bruce’s chest, the man’s hands sliding down to Bruce’s hips. “Do you want to come with me to the charity gala?” He asks, a sweet smile on his lips.

Clark huffs slightly - a no, Bruce had found that he could often turn into a yes if he kissed just right. So he does, the man moving to press his lips right under Clark’s strong jawline, a sensitive spot that would make Clark fold nearly every time, as he does this time, his body shuddering as he slumps slightly over, eyes closing in bliss.

“Fine, fine,” Clark murmurs - gentle complaint. “But only because I love you, and no other reason,” Clark says, slightly grumpy.

“Kon’s coming with us too, you know. He’s got a name all picked out,” Bruce teases, knowing Clark will be curious now. As expected, Clark perks up.

“Really?” He asks, all murderous tendencies sent to the wayside at the idea of finding out his son’s name with amused excitement. Clark watches Bruce laugh at him, and the anger in his gaze softens to something warm, gentle.

“Really. I think it’s a fitting name, if you must know,” Bruce teases. “Now come on. Let’s go. I want to make sure that Kon’s feeling okay for his first public appearance. He’s been rather nervous about it.”

“I’ll love any name he’s chosen,” Clark reassures. Then he pauses. “Except maybe Constantine.”

Bruce snorts at him. “You sound like me.”

“Well, my husband-to-be does have excellent taste,” Clark says, and Bruce’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red.

Tim is fussing with his hair. Kon stays perfectly still, knows it’s just how Tim worries about him.

Vividly, he remembers how the other Tim had always liked to style his hair, using a finger to curl the ends just so, to brush stray strands away.

“Tim, I’ll be fine,” he soothes, but the fussing doesn’t let up, the deep blue of Tim’s gaze far away - lost in his head, Kon would bet. He turns around, and Tim blinks at him in bewilderment.

“Huh?” Tim asks, and Kon gives him a fond expression that makes him blush a pretty pink. Kon can’t help the little bubble of excitement in him. Making Tim blush, making him flustered was a rare treat in the old timeline. Now, all he had to do was touch -

Tim’s blush scorches his face charmingly, and he smiles at him, a warm thing.

“Hey.” Kon gentles his voice for Tim, keeps his fingers lovingly caressing a soft, round cheek until Tim blushes even harder at his teasing. “Hey. Look at me, okay? I’ll be fine, I’ve got you there.” Here he grins a bit, pleased by the way that Tim’s smile reappears on his face. “And B, and Clark, but mostly you.” The flustered happiness on his face was enough, but the way his heart went wild when he affirmed it was something else, something… charming.

Kon could get used to this, Tim’s heart beating a drum and a symphony all for him. God help him, but he was so freaking cute, and he loved watching how strongly Tim felt his emotions in this new world.

He hoped that Tim never felt that he had to hide in this one, and if making Tim blush and get all flustered was the way he had to do it to make Tim never hide his feelings again. Once Tim is done, he looks in the mirror, blinks.

His hair has never been quite so straight in his life, though the ends are still curled slightly, framing the left side of his face and highlighting his eyes. Tim had even gone the extra mile to bully him into makeup, and he was kind of glad he’d let Tim do it.

He looked -

He looked his age. Fourteen. Young. Human. This was the first time he looked human, even with the bright violet of his eyes. No bags under his eyes, no weariness around his smile. He looked happy.

Almost embarrassingly, he can feel his eyes well up with tears.

God, Tim must think he was such a fucking piece of work. He turns around to hug him, and Tim - though startled - immediately hugs him back.

“I-is it okay?” He asks awkwardly, and Kon carefully sniffles, using his heat vision to vaporize the tears before it can ruin Tim’s hard work.

“I love it. Thank you, Tim. You’re fantastic.” Kon tells him, a wide, wobbly grin on his face. “I mean it - you’re the best.”

Tim’s heart speeds up, pleasure and embarrassment. Kon swallows nervously, the teenager bravely pressing a kiss to Tim’s temple.

Kon’s fairly sure Tim’s stopped breathing.

Oops. How did one explain to their dads that they broke their future boyfriend? He wasn’t blind, after all, and Thanksgiving day was more than enough to show him that whatever he and Tim had, it was more than just platonic.

Not that he minded, at this point. He smiles shyly at Tim, and Tim, almost instantly, smiles back.

“You’re amazing, Tim. I really can’t ask for someone better than you.” Kon says, earnestly.

“Yeah?” Tim asks, a shy insecurity that Kon desperately wished to wipe away.

“Yeah. You’re going to be great.” Here, he smiles, softer. “We’re going to be great.” A little kiss at Tim's temple, and Kon is rewarded with Tim’s small, brilliant joy.

Though he still looks like a tomato.

Though, Kon would admit, he didn’t mind that nearly as much as he thought he would.

Jason is tempted to get a bottle of scotch off of the gossiping men in the corner, but he resists - rather heroically, he thinks, while he waits to see Kon and Tim’s entrance. Next to him, Cass is using him as a human shield, which is totally an awww worthy moment , the cutest baby sis this side of the universe. He lifts an arm, and she immediately snuggles in, a meek smile on her face.

“You can hide behind me, if you want,” Jason teases, and Cass smiles shyly, doing exactly that to his amusement. Everyone’s abuzz - Clark had teased that there was a surprise himself, rather than letting Bruce do it, so his entrance on the social scene left many people rampant and eager to see what he and Bruce would be doing as their second public appearance as a couple.

Lois is floating around with Jon, the little boy giggling happily as he waves at people, those aware of his status as Superman’s son waving back with indulgent smiles.

Jason gives up  on discretion when Dick arrives, dressed in a -

“Dick,” Jason says, annoyed when his brother winks at him, dressed fine in a pink suit.

“What? Just because you can only pull off basic bitch black doesn’t mean I’m that restricted,” Dick teases, and Jason’s fingers twitch.

I’m totally going to strangle him.

Cass is looking at him, and with a little hip wiggle, Dick spins on one foot, grinning. “So? Do I look good babes?” He teases, and Jason sniffs.

“You look like Wanda,” Jason says flatly, and Dick gasps, offended.

“Oh, the slander, little brother. The slander.” Dick isn’t nearly as offended as his tone implies, and he perks up, grins and winks fondly at him. Jason rolls his eyes, and takes a glass of sweet cider. Nearby, Bruce catches his eye and gives him a warm, sympathetic little grin, wiggles his glass in hello. Jason grins back sheepishly, wiggles his glass back. Clark looks over, and seeing them, his lips twitch at Dick’s fashion choice. Clark looks fine as hell, dressed in a classy dark gray suit, a dark purple shirt underneath and bold purple cufflinks winking in the light.

“Clark looks good, right?” Jason says rhetorically, and Cass nods against his side. Clark flashes him a crooked grin, winks at him, and Jason grins back. He really did look nice, a set of new glasses and their engagement bracelets glittering prettily in the light. Bruce is laughing, wearing his Brucie persona and his body pressed tightly against Clark’s, the reporter refusing to let Brucie off of his leash, a hand hooked possessively around his waist.

Any further down that thought will be an ew, so he goes and looks at the door.

“Any sign of Tim?” Jason wonders, and Clark’s mouth twitches. Clark knew where his baby bro was? Harrumph! Clark tips him a wink, and he pouts at his second father, before turning his huffy attention to the door.

The doorman is talking to someone, looking a bit bewildered, but smiling at them. Half the room has shut up, curiously peering over, before the man stands to the side, revealing -

Damn.

Both boys were wearing black, but they’d coordinated quite obviously - Kon was wearing a bright red shirt under a silver vest, and Tim had the opposite, making everyone look at them as a pair - just like Clark and Bruce, who are watching their boys with fond amusement.

“Presenting Timothy Drake and Elyan Wayne!”

Elyan?

That jerk said he didn’t read Arthurian legends, dammit.

Chapter Text

“Hellion?” Lois blinks from where she’s standing next to Clark, and Clark snickers.

“Elyan,” Bruce says, mouth twitching fondly. “A second, or a moment in time. A nice Welsh name from my father’s side of the family. He spent all of this last week panicking over a name with me and Tim.”

“So it’s official?” Lois asks, and Bruce smiles wickedly.

“Yes. Elyan is mine and Clark’s as of this afternoon. The legal teams had a field day with his genetics, but we’ve got him covered, and once Hal’s finished with his work for new year’s, Elyan will officially be ours.” Lois smiles at him.

“I’m so glad he found something he liked,” Lois says with a smile, Jon squeaking happily and tugging eagerly towards his big brothers. Lois lets him, smiling indulgently as he runs to Elyan’s leg and tugs at it happily.

“Up!” Jon declares, and Elyan kneels down obediently, standing up with Jon in his arms.

“Hi Jonner,” he teases softly, kissing the boy’s brow. Jon squeaks happily, and he turns his smile upon Lois. “Hi Auntie Lo,” he greets, and she ruffles his hair.

“Hey there, Hellion,” she teases, a smile on her lips, and Elyan snickers gleefully at her.

“Is that my new official nickname?” He asks, and Lois grins.

“Hellion is a pretty apt name for you, but I think I’ll stick to troublemaker instead,” she says with a fond smile. She looks over, and sees Jason homing in on them with murder in his eyes, and grins. “Oh no, angry big brother incoming.” Kon turns and looks at the same time as Tim, but their squeaks are equally terrified.

“You told me you didn’t read the Arthurian legends,” Jason tells Kon, eyeing his hair. Tim glares at him, and he sighs.

“I didn’t. It’s the name of one of B’s great… uh - how many?”

“Twelfth-times great grandpappy,” Tim recites dutifully. “We picked over B’s family tree to find something together,” Tim says with a shy grin. Jason pouts at them.

“Tch. No culture whatsoever. You’re both reading Arthurian legends even if I’m going to be in the Netherlands.” Kon’s expression is skeptical, but at the mention of Joker’s trial, he does soften.

“Fine, I’ll read some of them. But only the ones involved with Elyan.” Jason’s expression lightens, and a smile curls his lips.

“Good. Now, you owe me, you two.” Jason’s grin would be evil regardless of the context. “When didja start officially dating?”

Watching both boys turn red was great entertainment for both Lois and Jason. Veeery therapeutic.

Tim is a flustered mess, because dammit Jason! But he can’t help his smile when he sees how happy Jason really is for him, and he sighs and smacks Jason’s arm affectionately.

“I hate you,” he grumbles, but Jason just grins like the jerk he is.

“Love you too, Timmers,” Jason teases, looking ready to ruffle Tim’s hair. Tim’s eyes narrow murderously, and Jason snorts, letting him go. Elyan takes his hand, and Tim allows himself to settle down, scoots closer to his best friend (maybe boyfriend) to the crowd’s hushed whispers. “Now spill. Was it today?” He asks. Tim huffs, but Elyan (so weird to call him that when he’s so used to calling him Kon instead) merely smirks, uses the hand he’d taken to pull Tim closer, his hand wrapping around Tim’s waist.

The crowd around them explodes in whispers.

“It’s been a long time coming, Jason. You should know that,” he says, smiling slyly. “Haven’t you been practically begging us to get together?” Jason’s expression turns to surprise, before amusement colors his face.

“Troublemakers,” Jason chuckles; shakes his head. “Have fun with the vultures, boys.” Jason leaves them with a grin and wink, while Lois offers Jon over to Tim, the boy happily accepting the little boy in his arms. Elyan leans against him slyly, the teen grinning at Tim.

“Aren’t we domestic?” Elyan drawls in his full Smallville accent, and the approaching socialites are checked, stopping at his lazy amusement. There’s just the faintest hint of shy trepidation, a worried glint of blueberry eyes, and a hopeful expression.

Tim grins shyly, hefting Jon up higher. “Much more domestic than I’d care to admit,” Tim says, looking up at Elyan through his lashes, mouth curling into a shy grin. “Does this mean I get to call you honey?”

Elyan’s eyes go wide, and for the first time, Tim gets the pleasure of watching him blush first.

Around them, Gotham’s social scene bursts into frenzied whispers, Tim grinning shyly when he realizes that the headlines tomorrow are going to enrage his parents.

Jon squeaks up at him, and he looks down to smile at the little boy, Jon happily patting his face when he does so.

“C’mon Jon,” he says, mindful of their audience. “Let’s make the rounds, okay?” He lets Jon give a big, gap-toothed grin, and Elyan quickly sweeps them off to do another meet and greet. Elyan is… he’s charming. He knows what to say, how to say it, and combined with his bright cornflower-colored eyes, he can wrap half the twittering group of Gotham socialites around his fingers like a pretty den of snakes.

And then Vicki arrived.

“So, Elyan. Everyone’s asking about you,” Vicki says, eyes calculating as she observes him. “Could you tell us about yourself?” Elyan tilts his head to a side, blinks innocently up at her.

“What’s to learn?” He asks, sweet as sugar. “Papa and Daddy-O found me after Papa visited his family in Smallville.” Here, Elyan’s grin gains vicious teeth, though only Tim and his family knew he was giving his favorite predator’s smile. “After Missus Waller gave the cloning job up as botched work, she dumped me in an orphanage for Papa to find me. Guess I shoulda counted myself lucky that she cloned Papa and Daddy-O and not Papa and that Lex fella.”

Vicki drops her microphone.

“Oh that terrible, evil, no good son of ours,” Clark murmurs into Bruce’s hair. He’s back to his happy little Brucie persona, leaning up against Clark and giggling into his wine while Kon makes that cheerful little announcement. They can watch how it ripples out in gasps and whispers of really, and how terrible!

“It’s so cute, when he decides to be as evil as we can get in the socialite world,” Brucie giggles, pressing a kiss to Clark’s cheek, watching as Elyan - Their beautiful boy - tugs the strings of every reporter and socialite in Gotham. “I can tell that his Ms. Waller is throwing fits right now with that cute little bombshell,” Brucie snickers gleefully, before pressing a little kiss under his jawline.

“That’s her problem,” Clark says with a faint smirk, watching as Elyan uses himself and Tim’s shy, adorable flusteredness as a weapon to the sudden swarming of socialites as they surround the pair. On cue, they’re gasping in mock outrage as they listen to Elyan, his tone sweet and sugary as he consolingly comforts them, his hand possessively resting around Tim’s waist. Their closeness would set the whole city abuzz for at least a month, Clark knows, grins wickedly at his son’s forethought.

“He’s gotten wicked with that cleverness,” Brucie teases, and Clark grins when Bruce uses the distraction to plant a hand on his chest, fingers trailing flirtatiously up. “I wonder who he got that from.”

“Tim, probably,” Clark says, grinning. “You know he’s been getting Elyan all primed and ready to tackle high society Gotham.” Brucie grins, and the pleasure in his eyes is all Bruce, the two of them watching their boys wrap Gotham’s socialites around them like butterflies to a flower.

“The boys are quite eager,” Clark says slyly into Brucie’s ear, “to wrap Gotham around their fingers.” Brucie gives a breathless little laugh, the man twisting around in his grasp so he can kiss the corner of his mouth, eyes dancing as half the cameras swing in their direction.

“I wonder where they got that idea from,” Brucie teases, and Clark laughs. “Surely they got that from you, since you’re the politically minded one,” Brucie says with a breathless laugh. “I’m hardly able to keep up with you boys, you’re all so smart,” He pouts; and cameras go off around them. Clark snorts, pulling Brucie closer and kissing his cheek.

“Are you telling me you don’t understand half of what I say, baby?” He teases, and Brucie pouts deeply at him.

“Usually,” he says with a cute grin, wriggles against Clark’s chest temptingly. “But you’ve got such a good reward system baby, I’ve had to pay extra attention to you.” Clark refuses to let himself blush, allows a smirk on his lips as he dips his head.

“You’re having too much fun scandalizing the children,” Clark chuckles, eyes dancing at his boldness. Brucie grins.

“And who’s watching me when you showed the world our new darling and heir?” Brucie croons playfully. Clark raises a brow, though he can feel a possessive pleasure filling his veins at Brucie’s words.

“I’m watching you,” Clark grumbles. “And you, future husband, are behaving far too temptingly in public.” Brucie’s lips twitch slightly, though his breath hitches as always.

“Stop me then,” Brucie challenges, bold in a way he would never be if they were alone and at home. Clark’s lips curl up slightly.

“Oh, I’m not getting us arrested until our wedding day,” Clark purrs, and Brucie flushes in a way that can’t entirely be hidden by wine. “Now, future husband, behave yourself, or I’m going to make sure you and I will be on the news. Elyan will be most put out if he and his boyfriend don’t get their screen time,” Clark murmurs lovingly into his ear. “Now stop scandalizing our boys, and let me play nice, because you know our boys will get horrifically annoyed with the both of us, baby.”

Brucie pouts, but at least, he stops trying to make front page news by molesting Clark.

The news the next morning is nothing short of hilarious. Tim is a bright red face buried in the pillows as he muffles his mortified little noises, Elyan laughing as he reads it aloud.

“And is it any wonder, that despite such unscrupulous methods, the product of this illegal subsect of the US government would turn out to be so handsome?” Elyan questions, smirking. “It’s no wonder that the darling of the Drake family, the ever prim and proper Timothy Drake, would have his eyes on what is likely to be the hottest heir to ever grace Gotham’s social scene.” Elyan grins wider as Tim groans.

“Kill me now,” Tim grumbles. Elyan doesn’t, instead running his hands through short, messy black hair.

“They’re right though. I am pretty damn hot, don’t you agree?” He asks, and Tim lifts his head from the pillows to glare at him.

“Arrogance isn’t attractive,” Tim tells him primly, and Elyan pouts at Tim. At his pout, Tim’s expression does soften just a little. “Buuut,” Tim says, tone light and teasing, the way he remembered it. “You do kinda make up for it by being photogenic as hell, though.” Elyan’s face practically bursts into flames of embarrassment, the teenager gaping at Tim as he splutters. Tim grins evilly. “Ain’t revenge a bitch?” Tim teases, and Elyan gasps dramatically, slumping against Tim’s shoulder.

“You’re lucky you and I are dating,” Elyan huffs, and he smiles at the hot blush that colors his sort-of boyfriend’s cheeks. Tim flops back into bed, and Elyan pulls him in for a quick cuddle. “Hey. Tim.” He waits until Tim’s eyes are riveted on him, and gently, he says, “I hope you know, I really, really like you.” Tim’s cheeks redden slightly. “And not because you’re like my old Tim.” Tim’s eyes look down shyly, and Elyan reaches out, looking at how sheepish Tim is. “I like you. I like how you talk to me, and how you hug me, the fact that at the word go, you immediately took one look at my situation and started trying to make sure I was safe.” Elyan waits until Tim’s blush recedes, and he tugs him closer, the two of them pressed together in a seamless line.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Tim mumbles shyly, and Elyan can feel how much his heart wants to burst with fondness for Tim - for this Tim. His best friend, and his maybe-something-more. Someone he really, really liked.

“I don’t know. You barely know me.”

“It feels like we’ve known each other forever,” Tim mumbles, pulling himself closer and burying his head against Elyan’s shoulder. His mouth presses against his shoulder, the boy blushing furiously. “Feels like I’ve known you all my life and everything I could have ever dreamed of started with you.”

Elyan’s breath leaves him in a rush, a hot blush coloring his face as Tim confesses that, and he whines, low in his throat.

“That - you -” he mumbles into dark hair, and Tim quivers a little with embarrassed laughter. “You’re a menace. But you’re my menace,” Elyan tells him fiercely. “Now shut up and let me cuddle you for the morning. We can wait until Papa and Dad come get us.”

Tim seems more than happy to go into his arms and stay there.

“So, big costume reveal before we leave, huh?” Jason asks dryly, and Clark snorts at his tone.

“That’s what it looks like. I helped with the material manufacturing, but Tim did the bulk of the design, construction, and assembly.”

Tim pokes his head out. It’s been a few days since anyone had seen Tim and Elyan, the boys having hidden together since their little party announcement.

“It’s ready!” Tim says cheerfully, and Jason raises a brow.

“Before I get my hug, squirt?” Jason says, sounding vaguely amused. Tim perks up, and immediately scuttles over for the hug, squeezing him until he laughs. “Getting stronger, Timbo!” He compliments, and Tim grins at him shyly.

“Thanks, Jay.” Tim’s voice is pleased and delicate, the teen grinning shyly up at him. “C’moooon Elyan!” Tim says, darting back to the door. “You gotta get B and Jay’s approval!” A sheepish silence from behind the door, and finally, Elyan steps out into view.

Jason whistles in spite of himself.

He looks good. He’d forgone the cloak in favor of a thick hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head and a nice slate gray on the outside, the inner lining a vivid red that turns the black of his curly hair towards more of a scarlet. The black jeans (which Jason would bet were actually that kevlar blend Timbo had been panicking about ages ago) are torn in places, showcasing the familiar green of his namesake design. When Jason looks under the hoodie, he can’t see much more than an opaque cloud of black and the gleam of amber. When a sheepish Elyan lifts his head, there’s a pretty gleam of a gold domino.

Rounding out the outfit was a pair of black boots buckled with (probably) sandblasted brass buckles. Of course, the standard utility belt was there, as well as a black pair of gloves. Everything is crisp, clean. He looks like he could have walked out of Bruce’s cloak in that gear.

“Where’s your Robin symbol?” Jason asks, impressed. Next time he needed to change his gear, he was totally asking shutterbug to design it.

“M’not a Robin,” Elyan mumbles, but turns around. TTK is cleanly stitched on the back, a hallmark of his most unique aspect as a Kryptonian. Classy.

“And what’s that stand for?” Jason teases.

“Tickell's Thrush.” Elyan says with a sheepish smile. Dick is next to Jason, still critically looking him over, and Elyan shifts his feet, awkward.

“The blue’s not a normal color, but I’ll let it slide,” Dick announces after a moment. “The House of El has blue in its symbol, so it’s appropriate.” Elyan slumps in relief, heaving a breath to Dick’s amusement. “B? Clark? Either of you got any gripes?”

“I don’t see some of the standard gear for Robins. A grapple gun, the like?” Bruce says, smiling at Elyan. “And nicely done. It suits you, Thrush.” Elyan - now newly codenamed Thrush - blushes a bit, fingers coming up to tug down his hood.

“He’s not using it,” Tim says, helpfully. “He’s got a grappling rope. And before you ask, he’s got some modified batarangs.”

Clark raises a brow. “Modified?” Elyan takes one out of his utility belt strapped to his arms - damn, boy - and shows it off. It looked like a feather. A twirl, a flick, and the feather-shaped projectile soars like a dart to hit Bruce’s dartboard.

“It’s official,” Jason decides. “Tim’s our fashion consultant from now on.”

That makes everyone laugh.

“Welcome to Batman Incorporated, Thrush,” Bruce says, warm as sugar. “Take good care of your Robin.”

Thrush smiles, slow and pleased. “Without question,” the boy promises.

That gets Jason the pleasure of watching Tim turn as red as a fourth of July sky.

“Room for one more?” Jason looks up from where he’s sitting in the audience, among those waiting to watch what was probably the trial of the century. The speaker is a dark-haired British man with a well-trimmed beard and a distinctly mischievous twinkle in his eyes that reminds Jason a little of Dick at his pranking best.

“Oh - uh, sure.” Jason moves his bag away from his side, the well-suited man settling in with a pleased-sounding sigh. “I’m Jason,” he greets, offering a hand. The gentleman accepts, smiling.

“Lucifer Morningstar,” the man says, lips twitching slightly. “The pleasure is all mine.” Jason’s brow had inched up slightly. Someone had a grudge against their parents with a name like that, he thinks, but makes room regardless. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing at this fascinating trial?” He asks, and Jason smiles awkwardly.

“I... I was one of the people who came back from the terrorist explosion Joker was responsible for,” He admits quietly, and Lucifier nods, looking mildly surprised, before his expression turns sympathetic.

“My goodness.” Lucifer looks sympathetic, claps a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that - such things are traumatic, but you’ve got quite a spine of steel, lad.” Jason smiles weakly at the praise.

“Hardly steel, but thank you,” he manages with a thin, trembling smile. Lucifer sits next to him, but he takes the cue and doesn’t state anything further, much to Jason’s relief. B appears then, carrying two cups of coffee, and pauses.

“Mr. Morningstar.” Bruce knew him? The man smiles; tips a smile at B. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon in the trial.” Lucifer smiles cheerfully enough, despite B’s wariness.

“Oh, I had some other business here to handle - I’ve been looking into opening a nightclub here as well, and since I was in the area, I thought I’d watch the trial.” Bruce hums, a slightly tentative thing, which makes Jason tense just a little. But the moment passes, and Bruce hands him his latte.

“Well then. It’s good to see you,” Bruce says amiably, all danger passed. “I’d offer you my coffee, but my boys keep telling me that what I drink does not qualify as coffee.”

“Because it doesn’t,” Jason mutters, and Lucifer’s mouth twitches slightly.

“I’m more of a tea man, myself. Though I appreciate your offer, Mr. Wayne.” Here, Lucifer tucks his feet in to let Bruce slide past him, his smile warm and surprisingly inviting. The three of them settle together, and Jason takes the time to take a sip of his latte, glad that B had found the drink for him.

There’s at least half an hour before the first part of the trial will begin, so Jason pulls out his book of choice. The Island of Doctor Moreau had been a recommendation from Clark when he’d seen Jason reading the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and so far, Clark had not disappointed. Teasing about Austen aside, Clark’s suggestions were almost always worth the read. Lucifer seems content to be quiet, a balm to Jason’s nerves, the three of them sharing the quiet as the room fills with people.

“I never did think to ask, Mr. Morningstar,” Bruce says the words casually, but Jason’s ears perk up even as he indulges in his book, “But since I rarely visit LA, I didn’t think to ask what kind of nightclub you run.” Lucifer hums on the other side.

“It’s more of a jazz club than a proper nightclub,” Lucifer says thoughtfully. “Nightclubs can get a bit rowdy for my tastes, and there’s something about modern jazz that I find… delightful.” Delightful? Jason wasn’t sure what time period this man was in with a turn of phrase like that. He rolls his eyes at the way Bruce perked up, smiling.

“Jazz, hm? Might have to bring my son around to visit,” Bruce hems, and Lucifer smiles, a cheerful thing that Jason in no way bought. But hey. Not his problem.

So, so not his problem. The teenager goes back to his book, listening to Bruce and Lucifier have a conversation around him.

Huh. Maybe he should look into getting Red Hood a club or something - Penguin had his Lounge, but that wasn’t exactly Bats friendly. Of course, Jason might also be able to sneak in - as far as chatter went, Jason was pretty sure that he wasn’t yet made as a Bat sympathizer. Something to ping Clark about - or maybe ask Oracle. She’d probably appreciate the pet project. Jason makes a mental note, listening absently. He looks at Bruce pointedly when Lucifer excuses himself to grab a cup of coffee five minutes before the time.

“Lucifer?” He says, raising a brow incredulously. Bruce shrugs.

“I met him a while ago,” Bruce answers the unasked question, reaching an arm out to throw over his shoulders affectionately. “He helped me out a few weeks ago with an issue I was having in regards to some of my investments on the west coast.” Now Jason’s brow goes higher.

“Oh really, ” the teenager drawls dryly in response to Bruce. He knew bullshit when he heard it, but Bruce’s smile curls up mischievously, eyes dancing.

“Really,” Bruce assures him, but he simply sighs and rolls his eyes. If Bruce is willing to tease him about it this clearly, then of course, the man would not actually tell him what was going on, so he takes B at his word and goes back to his book.

“I still think you’re lying, but only because I love you, I’m going to let it slide, you understand?” Jason says sternly, and B chuckles at him, full of his fondness that makes Jason flush slightly.

“I know, Jason,” He says, pure indulgence that makes him pout a little at Bruce’s teasing.

Initially, Lucifer had no intentions of making his presence known to anyone, let alone the very same boy that Bruce Wayne had… retrieved his wings for. But he’d been a beacon - a beautiful, bright light that had been divinely blessed by some greater being to come back to life. His soul was incandescent among the little flames that made up humanity, and Lucifer wonders if Bruce knew who had rescued his son, or if the man remained unaware.

The chances were quite high that he didn’t, as while he was also marked by the same being, it was much more subtle.

How charming, Lucifer thinks, straightening his jacket and coming back with a set of pastries and coffee both, settling back next to the two. Wayne’s fingers twitch slightly, but the man himself doesn’t do more, clearly wary, but used to beings of a greater power taking an interest in his affairs and his people. Hmm. Well, this man was used to the Justice League, so it was of no surprise that he was aware of such high powered folks taking inappropriate interest in the lives of the people he lived around.

Including that Batman fellow. Lucifer offers them both a muffin each.

He doesn’t take it personally that only Jason accepts.

“Thanks,” Jason says with a charming smile, and his eyes are dancing. “So, are you a history buff? Or is legal avenues more your speed?” He asks, and Lucifer smiles.

“I’m a consultant with the LAPD, actually,” Lucifer says cheerfully. Jason and Bruce give him surprised looks. “Detective Decker was likewise bemused by this, but she asked me to keep her in the loop. She thinks such a case might be helpful in determining how later cases involving insanity pleas going forward might be affected by this… Joker’s trial.” Bruce hems slightly, but Jason’s expression has cleared, a slight smile curling his lips.

“She sounds sharp,” Jason says admiringly, and Lucifer puffs up slightly - pride, he knows, that the good detective would scowl at him for.

“Detective Decker is among the best officers I’ve had the pleasure to meet. You could say she’s heaven-sent, even.” Here, Lucifer chuckles at his private joke. Bruce’s brow bounces up, but Jason is clearly clueless.

My my - it seemed this boy was oblivious to Lucifer’s true nature. Of course, that was understandable, given the fact that Mr. Wayne was clearly protective of his son. After all, nobody would call in a favor from the devil for something so damning.

He relaxes into his seat and looks over at the court.

“Good Morning,” The voice is clear and precise, and Lucifer looks at the court curiously. “Thank you all, for assembling. We are here today to watch the proceedings of the trial for Jerimah Valdeska, best known by his alias the Joker. To protect our witnesses, all of them have agreed to remote testimony, as well as identity protection. Mr. Valdeska will be restrained, and a member of the Justice League has generously agreed to spend their time providing us a measure of security.” As the judge finishes speaking, the doors open to reveal Wonder Woman, the fabled Amazon leading Valdeska along with the Lasso of Truth around his wrists.

“Before we start, I must start by informing all in attendance that we are aware of Mr. Valdeska’s status as a diplomat to Iran. After much review, the country of Iran has revoked diplomatic immunity after the revelation that he was not the man he stated he was. Additionally, Mr. Valdeska has been gagged to prevent any attempts at fear mongering, as we have been informed he is quite familiar with scare tactics.” The judge pauses, and everyone watches with bated breath.

“The date is December 1st, 2006, and we stand today to witness the trial of Jerimah Valdeska, who stands trial for war crimes not limited to, but including, bioterrorism, attempted genoicde, and crimes against humanity, as well as misuse of a public office,” The judge states. “As you have proclaimed yourself guilty of those crimes under the Lasso of Truth, we are here now to review your crimes before imposing the penalty. There must be no thought of guilt, and you will be an example for those who dare try to use the status of diplomatic immunity to hide behind their crimes.”

Everyone is quiet; hushed, and Lucifer gives a sharp smile.

Oh was this list of sins hefty. He would be looking forward to how this trial was run.

The thing about not being Bruce was… well. He didn’t know how to ask Harley and Ivy about a potential villainess, not without seeming too… invested. Instead, he arches a brow at the boys. Robin is curled up on Thrush’s lap, the bright, gleaming gold of Thrush’s domino glittering beautifully in the light.

“The Batmobile isn’t built for three,” Robin says guilelessly, and Clark snorts. He knows they’re using that as the excuse to get snuggly, but he’s amused enough by their antics to let them. Of course, he reaches his hand out to ruffle their hair fondly, a smile on his lips. Thrush flushes happily, and Robin squeaks at him, indignant.

“You boys are precious,” Clark chuckles. Thrush preens under the attention, as does Robin, the two of them grinning shyly at him.

“Thanks B,” they chime, and chuckling, Clark pulls on the cowl. Batman wakes up in the small corner of his mind that he uses, shares space with the part of him he’s a little ashamed to admit exists, and steps out, the boys trailing behind him like ducklings.

“Stay close by,” he rumbles darkly, and both boys obey, fingers clutching at his cloak. He waits patiently as the boys stay hustled around him. “Harley, I know you’re here.” A heavy thunk, the drop of a ladder, and Harley Quinn in all her glory drops to the ground, scowling at him.

“Whaddya want, Batsy?” She says, scowling at him, and he raises a single brow at her, waiting for her to stop obfuscating.

“Harley.” He keeps his tone flatly disapproving. Harley scowls at him.

“Don’t Harley me,” she sniffs. “You’ve got some nerve, showin’ up after you got my Puddin’ arrested.”

“You mean, after he murdered Robin,” Clark says, even more flatly. Harley scowls harder.

“You don’ -”

“I don’t know that? Tell me I don’t know that after he confessed to my face. Tell me that I don’t know after he begged Superman to get him away from the bomb Joker used to kill him.” Clark snarls flatly, not in the mood to put up with her childish petulance. Harley sucks in a breath, and more quietly, he continues. “I carried my son’s corpse back home. Don’t tell me I don’t know what Joker did, Harley. I carried him home, and I buried him.” Harley’s mouth clicks shut so fast he can hear her teeth rattle.

“Wha’ do ya want?” she says, mouth pressed into a thin line. He looks her over.

“I need to know if you’ve seen this girl around.” He hands her a photo, and Clark watches her intently. Her heartbeat picks up - not a good sign. She knew the girl. But her body reeks of disgust, clearly untrusting.

“Nev’a seen this gal.” Harley lies, and Clark scowls deeper. Both his birds twitch, drawing Harley’s eyes to them.

“Tch. Two Robins? So much for caring about -” A feather flies past Harley’s face, burying into the brick.

“Thrush,” Clark censures, but Thrush’s expression is unyielding.

“No. She doesn’t get to insult the old Robin,” Thrush snaps irritably. “She doesn’t get to act all high and mighty over -”

“Thrush.” The boy quiets, glaring at her fiercely, the gold gleam of his domino sharp in the harsh lights of the streetlamps. He looks at her in disgusted disapproval. “Harley. I would have hoped that time away from Jerimiah would have helped you see his flaws. But you still think he’s worth redeeming.” A crass click of his tongue. “I’ve never been so disappointed in you, Harley.”

She flinches as though slapped.

“Can we go?” Robin murmurs softly. “I don’t want to be near here anymore.” Thrush too, is scowling, unlike his well-behaved little Robin.

“Go, boys. Get in the batmobile.” The boys obediently do so, scrambling inside without a word of complaint. Harley at least has the grace to look chagrined when he looks at her. “Harley. You have twenty seconds to be honest with me.” Harley’s mouth turns stubborn.

“Or what, Batsy?” She says, scowling.

“Or whatever friendship we had is over, Harley. If this girl gets on her father’s radar, he will not hesitate to use her as a weapon.” Harley scowls, spits on the ground.

“Tch. Some random kid is worth that, Batsy?”

“Any child is worth that.” Harley is quiet. The scuff of a boot, the fiddle of fingers in a ponytail.

“Girlie’s got a grudge. Selina’s got her,” Harley says sourly. Clark allows himself to soften, reaches out and ruffles her hair. He didn’t understand the friendship Bruce had with Harley, but it’d been something he’d long gotten used to. Harley presses up into his hand like a needy cat, and he gives her a smile. “Harley,” he says the words softly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Harley bristles, but mutters an affirmative.

“Trust me when I say that she needs to be careful.” One last pat, and Clark pulls away. “Be careful Harley. And you know where you can find me.” Harley’s cheeks puff.

“Tell your birdies I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “Mistah J and I… We’ve not been good, but I hate knowin’ that I fell in love with a child-killa.” Clark doesn’t smile, but bites back his reluctant amusement.

Ah. That was why Bruce liked Harley. She always got there in the end.

“Don’t get into too much trouble,” He chides gently, letting her go. “And grab that feather. Might come in handy.” Harley does, snorts a laugh.

“Youse alright, Batsy.” She says, smiling, and then she’s gone.

Thrush is lounging on the passenger seat of the batmobile with a mulish scowl, while Robin is pouting grumpily next to him. The only thing stopping Thrush from any real harm is Robin’s adorable pout, the teenager too entertained by his boyfriend to complain.

“You’re cute, Robin.”

“I am not cute, I’m annoyed,” Robin protests, but it’s half-hearted at best. Clark closes the door, and he starts driving, chuckling.

“Boys,” he censures, all affection. “Harley says Stephanie is with Selina, with a grudge.” Here Clark gives them both a sideways glance. “Now. Ground rules.” Both boys look at him attentively. “Surveillance only on Harley, and especially on Selina.” Thrush looks at the ground rebelliously, but Robin nods. He reaches out for Thrush, runs his thumb over the boy’s lower lip, his son’s cheeks puffing into his own pout. He even ruffles the curly hair under the hoodie until his son squeaks, chuckles slightly. “We both know that Harley will beeline her happy self over to Selina and admit everything. Which means you two need to plan. I want you two to let her come to us. Now that we know with who and where she is, having her come to us gives us a chance to assess her skills. Set up surveillance, if you want.”

Both boys brighten at that - Robin for the chance to put his long-term planning into use, and Thrush for giving him a tangible reason.

Cold hard logic, huh? Clark thinks. His eldest really is like Bruce. Smiling, he settles in for a good, long night of patrol. The boys are due to meet up with Gordon again, and he smiles slyly. He knows that Gordon had an inkling that Bruce was possibly Batman, so he was going to enjoy throwing him for a loop.

Pulling up, Clark enjoys how the commissioner does a double-take, and again when Robin waves a shy hello and then pulls a grumpy-looking Thrush out.

Compared to the bright color that was Robin, Thrush stood out like a sore thumb - dark, sober, and serious. Robin peers at Gordon, and Thrush’s expression is a dark glower. Noticing, Robin pokes Thrush, startling his fellow bird boy into softening, a small smile quirking his lips up warmly.

“Yeah, Rob?” Thrush asks, stepping possessively closer. Gordon’s brow shoots right to his hairline.

“This is the Commissioner!” He happily tugs and tugs until Thrush is standing in front of them. A doe-eyed blink, and Clark watches Gordon melt like ice-cream in Metropolis summer. God, those boys were dangerous to everyone’s hearts, aren’t they? He wonders what they’ll be like when they’re older, and shudders internally.

These boys were going to be heartbreakers. Thank god his boys were already together. Clark allows the boys to be their protective selves before stepping closer, drawing Gordon’s eyes up to his.

“Batman,” Gordon acknowledges, visibly surprised. “I’m surprised that you aren’t in the Netherlands.” Clark shrugs, doesn’t allow himself to smile - that’s too much of a giveaway, the boys would pout.

“I don’t need to be there.” Batman speaks through him like always, and he tilts his head to a side consideringly. “Between half the Justice League there, and with Joker out of town, anyone who has half the brains to consider a takeover would do it now.” Gordon concedes the point.

“Fair enough. I take it these two will be assisting you?”

“For now, yes. Nightwing’s been an exceptionally patient partner, but he has Blüdhaven to mind.” Batman shrugs a little, his eyes flicking down to his little flock. The boys are quietly talking amongst themselves, Thrush’s mouth trembling slightly with amusement.

“I… I guess I see,” Gordon mutters, clearly confused. Of course, Gordon probably thought he was Bruce, so the sudden arrival of Thrush - plus his double appearance in the Netherlands and Gotham was probably throwing him.

“Don’t worry about it, Commissioner. We’ll be careful. The boys will be paired off together, and they’ve agreed to keep trackers when they’re on duty.”

“That’s… a relief,” Gordon says, after a moment. Here, Clark hands him a small datapad. He looks at it consideringly, but accepts. “I assume this’ll keep me up to date?”

“Of course,” Batman says, smiling wryly. “The boys have hammered home that this isn’t a one-man job often enough, I think.”

Gordon surprises them both by snorting.

Clark Kent is reviewing paperwork the next morning when Jon wanders in, clutching his favorite toy, a giant plush bat, the wings wrapped around his waist. According to Dick, it’d been his toy, but he’d not minded sharing in return for all the photos.

Clark didn’t argue with that, given how cute his son looked right now.

“Heya Jon,” He greets with a soft smile, and the boy beams up at him sleepily, climbing into his lap.

“Hiya Papa,” The boy plants his face against Clark’s chest, grumbling sleepily as he settles. “I like Momma’s apartment,” the boy tells him, before snuggling closer. “But Papa gives better hugs.” Clark’s expression brightens at his son’s ploy, though he knows Jon is gearing towards something.

“What’s on your mind, baby bat?” He asks, and the little boy yawns, rubs his eyes.

“I wanna be a Robin too,” the boy says, and Clark chuckles.

“You will be, when you get older,” he promises, and Jon pouts mightily, hugging his stuffed toy tighter. He bounces the little boy on his knee, before picking up the next sheaf of papers. Perry had been vindictive, piling extra assignments on him to ‘keep him out of trouble’ and out of Perry’s hair.

“I wanna be a Robin nooooow,” Jon whines, and Clark chuckles, lifts up his youngest to press a kiss to fluffy hair. Jon grumbles and whines into his favorite stuffed bat, and Clark, amused, resumes his work.

Letters for him, full of angry Gothamites, some appreciative teasing, and a few curious inquiries - after all, their relationship had been very slow-going until recently.

He picks a handful of letters to answer, including one of the angry Gothamites, if only to be well-rounded and avoid accusations of bias.

“Master Clark?” Alfred’s voice is a surprise, and he turns, Jon grumbling against his chest. “Hello, Young Master Jonathan,” Alfred greets, the little boy pulling away from his papa to wave at Alfred.

“Morning, Alfred,” Clark greets amiably. “Did you need me? Bruce asked me to fill in for him at Wayne Enterprises.” Clark says, smiling. Alfred gives an apologetic smile as he brings out a truly absurd stack of papers. “Oh shit.” Clark says, surprised, and Alfred’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“It’s… hefty, Master Clark,” Alfred agrees, and Clark winces slightly.

“This isn’t hefty, this is a bludgeon,” He grumbles, but accepts the stack of paper with as much grace as he was willing to accept.

Which was not much. Revenge will be his, Bruce, Clark thinks, allowing Jon to grumble against his chest as he grumpily allows himself to fill out the paperwork. It’s surprisingly interesting, but by god, was the paperwork excessive. Even so he allows himself to sigh, and shake his head.

“Bruce owes me a massage,” Clark grumbles, and as though agreeing, Jon squeaks cutely at him. Alfred’s eyes crinkle at him fondly in response.

“I’ll put it on his schedule, Master Clark.”

Clark can’t help his laugh.

Dick sighs as he leans against the back of his chair, groaning. He’d only been back for about a week, but damn, did Blüdhaven make him wanna quit again dammit. Sighing, he looks at the paperwork, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Why was he thinking so hard about this? When Jason had insisted that he could do this, that he could get a degree, he’d laughed. But now, it wouldn’t leave his brain, the stern look on Jason’s face as he glared at his big brother.

Well. Detective wasn’t a degree, but it came with more benefits, at least. He’d have greater free time, and he could submit his working hours as Nightwing without anyone being the wiser. A benefit he hadn’t considered prior to Jason’s little impassioned rant.

Dick swallows. Wrapping up the last of his paperwork, Dick dials.

“Commissioner Jim Gordon.” His boss sounds tired - and Dick doesn’t blame him. He’d heard last night was a trip, with everyone trying to become the next Joker.

“Hey, Commissioner,” Dick says quietly. “About that Detective promotion… You still got a space for me?”

On the other end, there’s a slight laugh. “About damn time, son.” The commissioner says, amused. “I’ll drop by in an hour, so meet me at that cafe we’ve been to before.”

“Yessir,” Dick says dutifull, looking at his phone in disbelief. He hangs up, and at forty-five minutes to the time, Dick excuses himself for lunch, wandering outside to walk towards Brenda’s cafe. He’d found the place a while back, and he’d really enjoyed the tea - he kept planning to bring Alfred here. Maybe with Cass? She’d looked like she could use a little place for herself, and he could probably float Cass and his apartments on a detective’s salary if he made it.

Gordon is outside, hands in his pockets as his eyes crinkle into a smile at the sight of Dick.

“Don’t worry,” Gordon assures him when they step inside. “It’ll be my treat.” Dick’s brow jumps up in surprise, but he accepts it anyways, the two greeting Brenda before finding a seat. She knew Dick’s order like the back of her hand, and Dick had texted her an order for Gordon before.

The two sit in comfortable silence, waiting for the other to speak first. Brenda appears beside them, setting down Dick’s favorite strawberry pastry and a double espresso-latte combo, along with Gordon’s grilled BLT with lemonade.

“What prompted the change?” Gordon asks finally, and Dick gives a sheepish smile.

“Would you believe that it’s Jason who convinced me?”

“Yes, actually,” Gordon says, amused. Dick grins sheepishly at that, before chuckling a bit. “Your brother always has had quite a bit more faith in your skill than you have, especially in recent years.” Here he winces a little, because yeah… yeah that was definitely true.

“Fair enough,” Dick sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve just… Something he said got me thinking.” Dick sighs and props his head up in a hand. “He feels like I’m wasting my potential.”

“You are.” The blunt agreement makes Dick wince. “I’m not going to ask, but son. You have a bright mind. You’re among one of the smartest patrol officers we have, and honestly, I’ve been looking for a Blüdhaven detective. I only have a few people who are capable, and none of them want the baggage of Blüdhaven’s rocky social situation.” Dick grins sheepishly. It’s not like he could get away from it, being Nightwing and all.

“I don’t mind,” he admits, sighing. “Thanks, Commissioner.” Gordon chuckles at him, before clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t you worry son,” Gordon says assuringly. “You’re a fine officer, and I have no doubt you’ll be better with time.”

Dick couldn’t help the blush as it crawled up to heat his ears.

It’s weird to suddenly have nothing to do, Cassandra thinks to herself. She has been left alone, for the most part, and she wonders what she should do with herself. She’d never had such freedom.

Wandering the house, she finds Tim and Elyan - what a nice name - sitting together, planning out various contingencies.

“Hi Cass,” Both boys chorus together, and her mouth twitches slightly. They were as in sync as Bruce and Clark, sometimes, and she knew both boys had no idea 

“Hello,” she says fondly. “Free?” She asks, and Elyan immediately begins to put things down. Tim, like always, is too much of a workaholic to even consider stopping. Elyan shares an exasperated look with her, before plucking the laptop out of Tim’s hands. Wait-no-hey! vibrates indignantly from Tim.

“H-hey!” the teenager yelps, Elyan leaning in to tap Tim’s nose. “Elyan, c’mon -”

“Nope. Our favorite big sis wants family time,” Elyan says sternly, and Tim immediately deflates, allowing his boyfriend to divest him of his gear and pouting a little. Cass smiles at the boys, immediately scoops them into a hug, to which both boys gamely accept, though Tim squeaks like a kitten being squeezed a little too tight, and Elyan laughs. Cool-big-sis-gotcha! radiates from Elyan like a particularly warm hug.

“What do you want to do?” Tim says, once he’s gotten over his grumpiness. Cass’s eyes crinkle, and she offers him a quick kiss to the top of his head. Tim squeaks, but he simply grumbles at her rather than squirm away.

“Lunch,” she announces. “Then… costume. Want to protect you.” Elyan’s mouth softens from the sharp grin to a warmer expression, and Tim’s eyes are understanding.

“Okay,” Tim says happily, his body relaxing and love, love, big-sis-best-sis pouring off of him. Cass grins at them both, undeniably pleased by their whole demeanor.

She remembered, back when Kon and Tim had been wary of her, each one individually difficult to learn how to take care of. She had learned how to take care of them during her brief stint as one of Young Justice’s teammates under Tim’s control. But now?

She wouldn’t let what happened during the earthquake happen to everyone here.

Not now, when the family was so much more whole and well-put-together. She would fight to keep this family, as close and as lovely as she had come to cherish. The boys squirm in her hold, but when she sets them down, they don’t immediately bolt away.

“How does a reuben sound?” Elyan asks her, vibrating hopefully. Want-want-share-with-big-sis radiates from him in the shy lines of his body, the way he sheepishly rubs the back of his head.

“Oooh, reubens are great with chips, and we still have pastrami!” Tim says, delighted. “Alfred might know where the sauerkraut is too…” both boys turn their wet-Robin eyes on her, and she giggles.

“Reuben,” she agrees. She couldn’t recall if they’d ever had a reuben in the past, but she appreciated the fact that both boys were so eager about it.

She remembered vividly the days when Tim would go days and weeks without a proper meal, the vivid recollection as he bitterly mocked himself for something as precious and essential as sleep. Not in this reality. She presses a little kiss to the tops of their heads.

“Can either of you cook?” She tries, and Tim looks a little offended. As does Elyan.

“I used to cook for myself all the time,” Tim says, and Cass can feel her brow twitch as she shares a glance with Elyan. “Besides, the hardest part is cutting the pastrami, and that I’d only trust Alfred to do.”

“You called, young masters?” Alfred’s voice is not a surprise, but the arrival of Elyan’s grandparents is.

“We were planning on making reubens for lunch with the leftover pastrami from Thanksgiving,” Tim tells him, and Alfred chuckles.

“Oh? I see. That sounds like an excellent idea,” Alfred says, amused. Pa Kent chuckles next to him.

“Mind if I help? I think proper Kansas onion rings sound like just the right thing to go with a good reuben.”

“Psh, fries are better!” Ma Kent says, amused. Silly husband, Ma Kent says with her fond expression and body language. “What do you think, boys?”

“Fries,” Tim says thoughtfully. “They soak up the sauce from reubens way better.”

“No way,” Elyan says immediately. “Onion rings have more flavor!” Cass bites her lower lip, fights a grin. They’re both teasing the other, from their language, gleeful amusement.

“Tiebreaker. I’ll judge.” She announces. Alfred gives her an amused look. “Help cook?” He narrows his eyes at her. Suspicious. Alfred’s language exudes this, and she smiles sheepishly. “Please?”

“Aw, let the lads and lass cook, ‘fred,” Pa Kent teases, amused. “Cooking’s an essential life skill!” She beams at Pa Kent, who winks at her.

Alfred scowls slightly at him, but gives in, a small smile twitching at his lips. Success for Cassandra!

Samuel keeps an eye on Elyan, his newest grandson, as the boy carefully peels the bad onionskin off, putting it in the compost bin before washing his hand-picked onions.

“Big onion rings, eh?” He teases, and Elyan grins at him, a beautiful thing.

“The bigger onions are sweeter!” He protests, and Samuel laughs.

“Right you are, kiddo!” Samuel grins, ruffles dark hair. “Big enough to put on a burger,” he jokes, and Elyan looks shy. Oh?

“There was a universe I went to,” he says shyly, “Where you and Ma moved to Metropolis and opened a burger joint.” Samuel’s brow jumps up, curious.

“Oh?” He says, keeping his voice inviting. Elyan takes a knife and carefully cuts down the center. “What was on the menu?” He asks, and Elyan seems to consider that, the faint lines of pain relaxing.

“Made the best burgers on the east coast. Batburger didn’t exist then, it was… I think it was called Ultraburger? Clark was known as Ultraman.” Here Elyan pulls a face. “He was a dick.” Samuel gives the boy a dry look, and Elyan wrinkles his nose up at his grandfather. Sam’s mouth twitches into a smile. “He was!” The teenager complains. “I don’t understand how any version of Clark raised by you two was capable of that much douchery,” the boy mutters, offended on their behalf. Samuel chuckles fondly, fetching a bowl and filling it with water for Elyan.

“Are we always good people in those other worlds, son?” He wonders, and the look Elyan gives him as he washes the onions makes him choke back a laugh.

“Are you - sweet Rao,” Elyan says faintly. “I love you, Pa, but for Rao's sake, can you even imagine being anything other than -” Sam laughs harder as the boy gestures at him.

“You’re precious, son,” Sam informs him, and Elyan’s offended look persists. “I think it’s possible. I was a soldier. It’s not unreasonable to expect that there are worlds where I’m not quite all there after the war.” His mouth twitches fondly when Elyan gives him an aghast look. “I’m flattered, son,” Samuel tells the boy, and Elyan grumbles into his waterlogged onions. They pull the onions out of their bath and dry them, before Elyan darts off to steal flour from an indignant Tim.

These boys… Samuel hides his amused expression when Elyan returns, brandishing his prize with a grin.

Only to lose his grin when Tim steals his eggs.

“H-hey!” Elyan complains. Samuel gives the boy his best chiding look, but Tim looks boyishly innocent. Oh, who taught this kid to do this? Poor Elyan. If Martha had pulled that look on him when they were young and married, he’d have done anything for her.

“Alfred wants to make homemade thousand island dressing,” the boy says guilelessly, and Samuel chuckles.

“Leave us four eggs then, son,” he suggests, and Tim pouts, but obeys, pressing a shy kiss to Elyan’s cheek.

Samuel bites back a grin at the way Elyan’s face lights up like a firework, the boy looking thoroughly flustered just by the gentle affection.

He waits until Tim’s gone to note, amused, “He really likes you, huh?” Elyan makes a slightly high-pitched squeak in response.

“Rao I hope so,” he says, his eyes staring dreamily at Tim as he does. “Otherwise I’m gonna have to really go for wooing him the old fashioned way.” Samuel bites his lip as he fights a grin.

This was entertainment of the highest order. He’d have to convince Martha to move here. He’d missed out on Clark’s starry-eyed in love phase.

He was going to get a camera and take all the photos.

It was, of course, a grandfather’s duty.

And his pleasure, obviously.

Purple gleams menacingly at Clark when he enters the kitchen with a whiny Jon in tow. He’d heard Elyan call for him half an hour ago, but he’d only just wrapped up and handed off his stack of paperwork to Lucius Fox.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Clark says to his oldest blood son, and Elyan immediately deflates.

“You’re no fun. I was gonna complain at you,” Elyan tells him, and Cass snickers from where her half-eaten sandwich - oh, was that a reuben? - laid. “We made reubens for lunch with fries and onion rings.” Clark’s brow rises. The fries are Ma’s double-battered, deep-fried and then baked for extra crisp, and Pa’s onion - oh.

“Who made the onion rings?” He asks, stacking two plates up with food for himself and his son. Jon peers at it, before making a little glek. “I promise you’ll love ‘em, baby boy,” he promises, and Jon makes another glek at him, but grumpily obeys, accepting his plate and escaping towards an amused Tim.

“Elyan made them, this time,” Pa says, amused. “They’re actually pretty good, for baked onion rings.” He even sniffs at the end, much to Clark’s amusement.

“Ah. That’s even better. You know you shouldn’t be eating too much cholesterol, Pa.” Clark says, tone soft and his father scowls at him fondly.

“My sons are conspiring,” he complains to an amused Alfred, and Elyan rolls his eyes hard next to Pa.

“Less fat, more veggies,” Elyan says sternly, and Alfred’s perfectly calm expression cracks just a little at the scolding. “And quit trying to convince me that deep-frying onion rings is the superior option, Pa. We’ve had this argument in literally every universe. Spoilers: you also lose it literally every time.” Ma snorts her drink right out of her nose, and half the room chokes on laughter.

Clark looks at Pa, and if that isn’t Pa’s indignant expression layered over his about to crack up expression, Clark would eat his plate. Chuckling, he takes an appreciative bite of the onion ring and hums, pleased.

“With an onion ring like this, you’re definitely losing the argument,” Clark tells a pouting Pa, much to Ma’s amusement. “They’re fantastic, Elyan. You’ll have to teach me the recipe, okay?” Elyan brightens at his affection, and he keeps a smile on his face despite the anger that sparks deep in his heart.

Even now, nearly a month after he’d gotten his precious son, it still caught him off guard to see how strongly he reacted to even simple praise like this? He allows himself to relax after a second, digging into his lunch with gusto.

“That reminds me,” Clark says thoughtfully. “Tim. Didn’t you have classes today?” He asks, and Tim smiles sheepishly. Oh no. Danger.

“I might have asked to skip today…” Tim says, rubbing the back of his head.

“Tim, baby boy,” Clark sighs, and Tim flushes under the force of his exasperated affection. “Know I love you,” he says, dryly. “But what the fuck, baby boy.” Tim blushes, while an amused Elyan snickers.

“This sounds like a trend,” Elyan chuckles, and Clark sighs. Around them, everyone else watches, rapt.

“Increasingly so, lately.” Clark says, tiredly amused. “You better have a good reason.”

“I…” Tim looks sheepishly shy. “Classes are boring,” Tim admits at last. “And with everything going on, I’ve not really had the concentration to pay much attention in class,” Tim says miserably. Clark bites his lower lip, before making a decision.

“Tim, come with me.” Clark says gently. The boy flinches, and he gentles his voice further. “I promise, you’re not in trouble. But we do need to talk about this.” He stands up, and Jon, vibrating, plants himself on Tim like a shield.

Cute. Clark kneels down, running his thumbs lightly over the boy’s chubby, round cheeks.

“It’s okay baby,” he says soothingly. “Papa isn’t going to hurt Tim. Okay?” He coos at Jon until the boy pouts, but reluctantly allows Tim to be taken away, whining unhappily into an amused Elyan’s chest. Elyan gives him a warning glance, and he smiles, winks at Elyan. Elyan relaxes, and they’re left to their own devices. Rather than going to his office, he takes Tim out to the back, the two of them admiring the flowers in peaceful silence.

“Are you feeling unchallenged at school, Tim?” Clark asks mildly. Tim shrinks a little on himself.

“Uh… kinda, I guess. But I have a friend there I like…” Tim chews on his thumbnail, and gently, Clark tugs it free.

“If you keep up that habit, you might one day bite through your thumb, and trust me when I say that’s as painful as it sounds.” Tim squeaks, yanks his hand away. “C’mere. Lemme cuddle you, munchkin.” Tim goes willingly enough, and after a little bit of elbows, knees, and one unintentional headbutt, Tim was safely secured in his hug.

“Do you want to keep going to school? Tutors? Homeschooling might be tricky…” Clark says, and Tim curls tighter.

“I like it here,” Tim mumbles. “But really, I’m not uh. I’m not used to this. I’ve been alone so often I really um…”

Clark internally groans. Fuck. There it was. He should have seen this coming, really. Tim’s ease with wandering Gotham at night armed with nothing but a camera, his brutal money-management that often skimped on the little things because of his parent’s neglect, the fierce, vindictive way he refused to let what he cared about be handled by anyone else but him.

(Ruining Luthor’s life, hacking into the GCPD for Kon, convincing Dick to step in temporarily as Nightwing…)

“Oh my son,” Clark sighs fondly. “Jack and Janet Drake are going to regret meeting me.”

Tim flushes right to his ears.

Bruce enters to find Jason face-first on the bed, and he snorts.

“Long day?” Bruce says sympathetically, and Jason makes a noise that if Bruce didn’t value his ability to speak, he would have dared to call a verbal whine.

Bruce values his vocal cords, so he doesn’t, instead kicking off his shoes and joining his son on the bed. He wraps his arms around Jason in a hug, and his son, rather than turning away, curls tighter into his grasp.

“I thought I knew what kind of monster Joker was,” Jason mumbles quietly into his chest, and Bruce presses a kiss against Jason’s temple. “But it feels like every day of this trial was just another lesson in how depraved he is,” Jason says, and Bruce hugs him closer.

“We don’t have to be here for all of them,” Bruce tries, as he has for the last sixteen days. Jason’s head shakes against his chest, his son refusing as he always does.

“Thanks, but no thanks, B,” Jason says. “I’m one of the only victims he left alive. I have to be here for this.” A little shiver, and Bruce holds his son tighter, runs his fingers through the dark, curly hair of his most beloved child, the one he’d thought forever lost.

“I understand,” Bruce says, and perhaps, he wasn’t the only one.

Bruce remembers all too well what it was like to be a hollow-eyed, broken-dreams child, fingers too-thin from explosive self-neglect, with hands that shook from caffeine (sometimes Thomas’s expensive whiskey) or a concussion.

He remembers seeing how Dick had come to him, angry and with his fists wrapped up, his eyes burning with a hatred for a man too much of a coward to confess to what he did. The nights when Dick would climb up to the chandelier, and the two of them would talk until one of them snapped, screaming words they didn’t really mean, but said anyway knowing it would hurt the other.

He remembers how furious Dick had been about him passing over the mantle of Robin without his consent until he’d met Jason, and begrudgingly admitted B had picked a good one.

Those thoughts come with a very unwelcome thought, so to ignore them, he bonks his head against his son’s shoulder instead.

“B?” Jason wonders, and Bruce doesn’t answer.

“Let me hug you, son,” Bruce complains. Jason squirms a little, but after a moment, he allows it, huffing. The two of them wait in cozy silence, and Bruce begins to drift sleepily, glad to have his son safe in his hands.

“... Hey. B.” Jason’s words are soft. Bruce cracks his eyes open, and he realizes after a moment that his son had probably let him fall asleep.

“Mmph, Jason?” Bruce cracks his eyes open, his mouth curling up into a tired smile.

“Ma’s called. She’s going to light the menorah soon.” Bruce gives a tired little noise, but sits up, smiling slightly at his son. Jason kisses the top of his head and offers him coffee. He takes a sip, and then shoots Jason a questioning look.

“I’m not getting you six espressos this late in the evening,” Jason says defensively. “You will accept your latte and like it,” Jason says sternly, and Bruce softens.

“Of course, my favorite son,” Bruce says fondly, and Jason flushes a dull pink.

“Don’t say that where Dick can hear,” Jason says to him, and he chuckles.

“Oh believe me, he knows,” Bruce says warmly, and Jason turns pink again, looking undeniably pleased as he grabs the fancy tablet that had Skype access and sets it up, the teenager flitting around as he makes sure the lights are dim. Bruce toys with the settings, glad he’d had the foresight to make an advancement on the mobile tablet market when he’d been younger. He’d seen what people considered passable.

They wait until Martha appears on the screen, looking rather nice in her deep blue dress, and they greet her with smiles.

“Heya Ma,” Jason greets, waves at her.

“Hello Martha,” Bruce greets, equally soft. Martha’s eyes are dancing at the sight of them, and she waves.

“Hello boys!” She laughs. “How’s them Netherlands treating you?” She asks, and Bruce smiles tiredly.

“I think I’ve been accosted for more investment meetings with the European Branch than Clark’s had paperwork to sign.”

“The trial’s… a trial,” Jason agrees. “It’s almost sunset there, right?”

“Sun’s settin’ in four minutes,” Ma agrees. “You boys ready?”

“So ready,” Jason says with feeling. “It’s almost ten here, and there’s a cup of hot chocolate and a hot minute of playing whatever card game B suckers me into this time.” Bruce pulls a face at Jason in response.

In the end, it’s not much. Bruce itches to light the candles himself, to take the match in his fingers and guide little Tim and Elyan into lighting the shamash for the first time, but he watches as Martha guides Tim through it, a fond-looking Clark leaning just barely in frame as they light the shamash together, before lighting the next two candles. Tim’s face is glowing happily when it’s over, and he smiles at his son.

“Next year,” he promises a delighted-looking Tim. “I’ll be there with you boys.” Tim’s smile is a brilliant warmth, and Elyan’s is shyly pleased. Clark is looking at him with his warm, glowing smile.

Looking at this, at them, Bruce realizes that perhaps he’d done well after all.

His parents would be proud of this, at least. Bruce closes his eyes, and smiles, murmuring along quietly to an old prayer as everyone begins to clean up.

“You okay B?” Jason asks him, and he smiles at his son.

“Yes.” He says the words with a soft, gentle smile. “I think I am.”

Chapter Text

Rain patters against the skyline, the inside occupant staring at the window blankly. A cup of hot chocolate was in his hands, the palms that clasped it together trembling from the weight of unspoken emotions. Inside, his father sleeps, a troubled toss and turn of his body, the furrow of his brow.

Jason didn’t blame him. It was bad enough to hear the truth of what happened from Joker’s lips. But to find out the Joker had killed him because he thought B breaking down would be funny…

Jason takes a bracing sip of his cocoa. It’d never been about him. None of the people who died, it’d not been about them. He wants to blame Bruce for it all, yell at him, scream at him. Why did he do it? Jason wanted to scream. Why had he let Joker go on so long?

Blearily, Jason sighs, finishing his drink and putting the cup down. Slipping off the windowsill, Jason can see the uneasy furrow of Bruce’s brow, and part of him wishes he dared wake his father up, dared shake him and scream at -

“Jason?” Bruce’s groggy voice makes him turn, and he realizes, belatedly, that he’d probably been staring too long. Bruce at least has the tact to not ask what’s wrong, the tired-looking CEO rubbing his eyes and sitting up, before walking over to take the cup out of his hands and hug the teenager.

Jason squeaks. Bruce’s hug is warm and as solid as he is, the man’s head laying on top of Jason’s own as the teen shivers in Bruce’s hold. It’s a little too tight, but Jason doesn’t complain.

“The trial hit you hard,” Bruce sighs, and Jason’s eyes close, the boy allowing himself to be bullied into the bed, burying his head against Bruce’s shoulder and relaxing once he was safely curled in his father’s arms.

“Why couldn’t you just let someone kill him?” Jason says, muffled against Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce doesn’t argue with him.

“Would I have been any better than the GCPD if I had?” Bruce asks, and Jason wants to say yes. But he’d been on the streets. He remembered the days when the corrupt cops of Gotham would look the other way for a mouth and some cash, would broker deals with pimps to let them do what they want.

Harvey Dent needed no explanation. Jason groans against Bruce’s chest, to his father’s sad amusement.

“The hard part about being a good guy,” Bruce tells him wryly, “Is that you have to be a good person. That means avoiding extrajudicial punishments. Even if every jury in the world wouldn’t convict you for them.” A soft kiss to the top of his head, and Jason grimaces at the truth.

“I hate that you’re right,” Jason complains.

“Believe me, I hate when I’m right sometimes too,” Bruce agrees. That’s so Bruce that he can’t help his reluctant snicker, the teenager laying his head against Bruce’s chest and sighing.

“I want to go to sleep,” he tells his father, and Bruce gives a sweet hum. His hand comes up to cup the back of Jason’s skull, and the boy grumbles a little, but allows his father to gently bully him to sleep.

“Sleep, Jaylad. Know I love you,” Bruce promises softly, fingers running through his hair. Jason makes a disgruntled little mrrrp noise.

“That was never in question,” Jason complains against his father’s chest, and he falls asleep to the gentle laughter of his father, comforted by the touch he so freely gave. He wakes up bundled in blankets and to the smell of Irish Breakfast. Bruce is looking tired, but he still has a smile on his face for Jason.

“Brought up some pastries,” Bruce says, smiling at him. Jason was not a fool, and he knew it was just Bruce feeling guilty, but he accepted it, accepting Bruce’s hug too.

“Morning, B.” Jason kisses the top of his dad’s hair, and Bruce smiles weakly at him.

“Hey, Jaylad.” Bruce greets tiredly, and Jason flops into the chair next to him, stealing Bruce’s half-eaten breakfast muffin. Bruce makes a noise of faint annoyance, but lets him.

“My little thief,” Bruce grumbles.

“You took my favorite blueberry muffin,” Jason counters. Bruce looks offended.

“I had two muffins.” Bruce says, aghast. Jason harrumphs, and Bruce looks at the tray of pastries in betrayal. He checks the other one and makes a noise so wounded that Jason nearly laughs at him. Jason takes a bite, before handing it back.

“There. I’ll pity you and let you have the rest,” he says, and Bruce’s eyes are a warm, soft, subtle thing. Jason snags the other muffin, which is a nice raspberry, and he sits with Bruce. “So. Today’s the verdict. Are you joining me?”

“Do you want me there?” Bruce asks, and Jason leans against him after a moment.

“Yeah, actually,” Jason admits. “I know he’s going to have that verdict, but… you know Gotham.” Bruce’s smile thins, and he nods agreement.

“I do know,” Bruce says, and something about that makes part of Jason perk up in interest. Bruce expected something. He knew Bruce did, with that tone, but he looks at Bruce’s haggard expression and decides to worry about it another day. “Finish your breakfast, Jason,” Bruce says tiredly. “Let's go face the devil.”

Somehow, Jason had a feeling that the devil in question wasn’t actually the Joker… They head out, and Jason leans against B a little as he looks out at the court.

“They did plan to uh…”

“Believe me when I say the Joker is going nowhere,” Bruce says evenly. “If he walks, I’ll deal with it.” Jason blinks, side-eying him curiously. That, that was not

“What was that?” He asks, bemused.

“What was what?” Bruce asks, equally confused. Jason glares at him as they enter the car.

“Don’t play obtuse, it doesn’t suit you,” Jason says, irritated. “It doesn’t suit you.” Bruce looks at him, and then at the driver, who takes the hint and snaps shut the door that’s between them.

“Jason.” Bruce’s voice is soft. “Look at me.” Irritably Jason does - and is immediately hit by the full weight of Bruce’s Batman-level firmness. Jason deflates.

“Don’t need to know?”

“Not yet,” Bruce concedes, and Jason scowls slightly. “Not because I don’t trust you, but because what’s going to happen needs to be kept quiet. Contingencies only work if they’re a secret.” Jason scowls harder.

“I want an answer,” Jason complains, and Bruce gives him a soft smile, kisses his temple.

“Of course, Jason,” Bruce tells him fondly, and Jason sighs, but allows his dad to hug him, knowing he’ll regret not letting himself have that comfort later if he denies it now. Grumbling, Jason curls up and waits for the driver to get them to the courthouse..

They step out into the early morning sun, only to be greeted by Lucifer, who is holding two cups of tea and smiling. Jason waves a quick hello, as does Bruce, who looks surprised to see him. Jason had been spending the last two-ish weeks hanging out with him, more for a lack of comfort with being around strangers than anything.

In between, they’d struck up a weird friendship that Jason felt was more fond than anything, with Lucifer offering the occasional bit of advice and commiserating with him on various works of fiction. Honestly, if Jason hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Lucifer and Bruce went to college together.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne,” Lucifer says courteously. “I hadn’t realized you’d be here today, or I would have brought coffee for you.”

“Good morning, Lucifer,” Bruce gives him an exhausted smile, but holds up his thermos. “I’m good, thank you, but I appreciate the sentiment. I’m guessing you’ve kept my son company?” Bruce sounds only mildly curious, but Jason knows he’s assessing Lucifer from the words.

“I have, yes.” Lucifer confirms, and Bruce flashes the man a smile, relaxes. Lucifer gives Jason his cup of tea, and the three enter together, chatting quietly. The conversation, brief as it is, is enough to convince Jason that these two definitely had history. Bruce or Brucie, though, that was the question.

Once everyone’s inside, the doors are secured firmly, and everyone waits with rapt attention.

“Good morning,” The judge coughs a little. “It’s been a long three weeks. As we’ve stated before, the court has already determined his guilt, and this trial was more to confirm any doubts, from all interested parties, than for any need to ascertain guilt. After what we have heard, and the options provided not just by the United States, but Iran as well, it has been decided that Jeremiah Valdeska would be imprisoned here in Europe, rather than on American soil.”

The crowd murmurs, surprised.

“There have been a few appeals to have him turned over to the United States, but at this time, the security has been deemed inefficient. If the United States and the city of Gotham so determine, then we will transfer the prisoner to Portlaoise and from there hold him until such time he is deemed safe to relocate.” Jason isn’t the only person to turn his head to see Joker’s reaction, and he flinches back at the ugly smile on Joker’s face.

Oh. By the look of it, he thought he could get out, and honestly, if Joker could get out of Blackgate, then he probably could get out of Portlaoise, too. Jason shivers, but Bruce squeezes his hand, reassures him without words.

“Additionally, the information here will be used to provide a remote trial in Gotham City, where they will determine if the death penalty will apply to Valdeska or not. Much of this trial will be available for public viewing, should one wish to, but be warned that it is not for the faint of heart.” Several eyes fixate on the judge then. “Thank you for your attendance, and if there are no other objections, I think it would be best if we were all to finish this unpleasant business and adjourn.” A bang of the gavel, and everyone stood up. Bruce lightly tugs at his sleeve, and Jason pauses from where he’d planned to stand.

“We’re staying,” Bruce murmurs quietly, as the rest of the room empties, down even to the judge.. That’s when Jason notices they’re not the only ones still in the room. There’s a black-haired girl in purple waiting, as well as Lucifer, who smiles encouragingly as he stands up, straightens his suit. The girl does too, but Lucifer looks at her.

“Miss Kaye.” His smile is still friendly as always, but something about it gains teeth, and Jason shivers bodily as the girl backs away from him in surprise. “I wouldn’t think you would want to do what you’re thinking of, milady.” He smiles a little wider, and something in his expression makes her quail.

Struck by a thought, Jason leans in. “He’s not that Minhkhoa guy that Dick warned me about, is he?” Bruce gives an alarmed look at him.

“God no,” Bruce tells him, and Jason relaxes.

“Oh good. He told me to knock you out and drag you to him to get sense talked into you,” Jason says dryly.

“He has a list?”

“Have you met yourself, B?” Jason says, keeping an eye on the girl who still stood firm.

“... Hey.” Bruce mumbles, offended, but doesn’t otherwise argue.

Finally, Lucifer sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and closes his eyes. The girl reaches into her pocket, and before Jason can move to help Lucifer, he opens his eyes again, facing her squarely. From this angle, Jason can’t see what’s going on, but the girl quails again, shaking in her boots.

“I warned you, Miss Kaye. Don’t make me do it again.” Jason squeaks, slams back against Bruce, who steadies him with his own surprised expression. The girl bolts without another word.

“What the heck?” Jason hisses slightly to Bruce, who shrugs in his own bewilderment. “B?!”

“Don’t ask,” Bruce mutters. “I’m as surprised as you.” The two of them watch as he relaxes, turns back around to smile at them warmly.

“Now. Where was I?” Lucifer wonders. “Ah yes. Jeremiah.” The man walks down the aisle, where Joker was being pulled to stand up. Jason stands up in alarmed surprise, but Bruce pulls him down again.

“Not now, Jason.” Bruce gives him a look, smiles slightly. “He can handle himself.”

“And who’s this? You’re not Batsy!” Joker cackles. “Honestly, what? Are you another fan of mine? I’m honored, really. Not that I’ll be here that long for you to admire me.” Lucifer gives the man such a patently disdainful look that was so icy, Jason actually shivered.

“Don’t be a fool. I’m not here as a fan,” Lucifer says with a sniff. “You see, I’m here because of a favor. A very important favor that I fully intend on taking care of.”

“Oh? Did Batsy finally decide to kill me?” Joker says, gleefully. “I didn’t know he had it in ‘im to hire a killer!” The man laughs, and Jason twitches, pushing into Bruce’s warm, affectionate hold.

“Oh no. Nothing of the sort.” The female guard tightens her grip on Joker, smiling menacingly. “You see, a certain someone else requested a prison transfer to the most secure prison in the world.” Here Lucifer grins. It’s the same sharp-toothed smile, and Jason shivers at the sight of it.

“Oh? That dinky Irish prison? I’d be out in hours,” Joker snorts. Lucifer’s smile widens, as though Joker had stepped into a trap.

“Hardly.” The room begins to grow dark, and Jason shivers harder at the menacing look, the oppressive darkness, and then the grip of hands reaching out to him aggressively, dozens of which have no discernable origin, reaching out of cold mist and stone formations to hold onto the man. “You see, I’m the Devil,” Lucifer’s voice has dropped again to this forbiddingly dark tone, a gleeful smile overtaking his face as fire licks at his flesh and bone, revealing a horrifying visage that Jason gives a muffled yelp at the sight of.

That… that reminded him of Two-Face, and dammit, that was a -

“Come now, Joker. Your prison transfer is here.” Lucifer says with a smile. In a blink, all three of them - Joker, prison guard, and Lucifer - are gone, leaving Jason to stare blankly behind them.

“It’s over,” Bruce says softly. Jason’s heart is practically beating out of his chest from fright alone.

“What did you do, B?” Jason hisses angrily, turning to face his father.

“I made you a promise,” Bruce says firmly, sending the wind out of his sails. Softer, Bruce repeats, “I made you a promise, that I would get rid of the Joker, even if I didn’t kill him. You know I’m a man of my word,” Bruce reminds him. Jason’s mouth opens. Closes.

“But… B,” he says faintly. Bruce’s hands cup Jason’s cheeks, and he doesn’t squirm away.

“You’re my son,” Bruce murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Mine. I love you so much, don’t you get that? I know I’m bad at words, and that I can be caustic, sarcastic, and perhaps a bit dense, but I will never, ever let you think that I don’t love you, Jaylad.” A kiss to Jason’s forehead. “I will never let you think that.” Bruce smiles at Jason’s slack-jawed shock. “Why does this surprise you Jaylad?” Bruce asks, and Jason bites his lower lip.

“I… I don’t think I actually expected this,” he admits. “I knew you said you were going to deal with him, but I honestly thought you meant jail time, not…” his eyesight was blurry. Jason hiccups a little, curling up and hiccuping as the relief hits him like a sledgehammer. “Thank you,” Jason manages wetly through his tears. “Thank you, thank you,” Jason sobs, and Bruce holds his son tightly.

The two of them stayed there until the phone rang. Jason lets Bruce pull away, look at the caller ID, and watches him wince.

“Let’s head back,” Bruce says wryly. “Dick has some questions.”

Boy, so did Jason.

“What did I just see,” Dick says faintly. Everyone had seen it. Joker had been struggling against the arms of the guard that held him as they led him to the armored truck, and then -

And fucking then - 

Fire and stone had swallowed him whole, the wings of a demon - the demon - dragged Joker down through the earth. Clark is staring at the screen with a raised eyebrow, but he’s the calmest out of all of them.

“Huh.” Is all Clark says. Everyone’s eyes fix on him.

“Clark,” Dick says. “What in the fuck did Bruce do?” the man says, voice rising in pitch just the faintest bit. Clark simply allows a slight smile on his lips.

“Call Bruce. He should be the one to explain this mess of his.”

… Goddammit Bruce. Dick does dial, but after three calls, gives up with an irritated glower. Sulkily, he flops back into the couch, and Clark affectionately wraps an arm around him. Dick sulks in response while Tim and Elyan smile at him in amusement on Clark’s other side.

Ma Kent and Pa Kent are both staring at the screen in undisguised horror.

“Clark, honey, your future husband better have a good explanation for all this,” Pa Kent says.

At that moment, the tablet rings, and Clark keeps Dick from diving for it while Tim quickly picks it up, scampering to the TV and answering as he hooks it up.

“Hey,” Tim greets, scurrying back to his boyfriend and waving. Bruce looks tired, but he still manages a smile for them all.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen the news,” Bruce says dryly. Next to him, Jason looks similarly stunned to the rest of them.

“Young man -” Ma stops, takes a breath. “Please tell me the Devil didn’t ask for your soul, son,” she says, and Bruce looks bewildered.

“Lucifer’s never needed to ask for someone’s soul, Martha,” Bruce says, mildly confused. “I did him a favor - not one that would cost any of us anything.” Ma doesn’t look convinced. Actually, none of them look convinced.

“What did you do?” Dick asks faintly. Bruce looks fondly at them.

“You boys really sure you want to know?” Bruce asks, mild as butter. Finally, Elyan speaks up, purple eyes sharp as he watches Bruce.

“You did the Devil a favor,” Elyan says evenly. “The thing about favors is that depending on how big it is, there’s plenty of ways to take advantage of that.” Elyan’s eyes are unforgiving. “In both directions.”

… Eep.

At least B looked amused.

Jason drops his teacup when Bruce explains how he’d gotten the favor.

“You stole from the Vatican?” Jason yelps, and Bruce gave him a vaguely unimpressed look. On the other side of the screen, he can see Elyan's biting back laughter, the Kents are all varying stages of horrified (With grandpa Kent looking ready to bust a gut laughing), and Tim and Dick are staring.

“Of course I didn’t.” Bruce sniffs. “Selina was already in the area, so I asked her to pick them up for me.”

“B!” Jason yelps. “You are not getting the point. You stole from the Vatican.”

“So? I’m Jewish,” Bruce points out, and Jason’s mouth hangs wide open. Then he splutters.

“That’s not the point! What if it was Jerusalem?” Jason says, and Bruce looks mildly confused.

“Jason, I think you’re misunderstanding a key point here.” Bruce reaches out to him then, ruffles his hair. “I gave you my word that Joker would pay for killing you.” Jason’s breath punches out of his lungs, and he can hear how Dick sighs, amused.

“Jeez B,” Dick sounds entertained, but also a little… Jealous? “What would you have done if it was in Talia’s domain?”

“Probably just picked it up myself,” B says nonchalantly.

Everyone stares.

“What? I know the floorplan.”

Jason doesn’t know who cracks up first. Maybe it’s Tim.

It might be him.

But in short order, the whole room is in hysterics, and Jason’s leaning against Bruce’s shoulder.

“I hate you,” Jason wheezes. “Not literally, don’t even,” Jason manages through strangled snickers. Bruce deflates immediately, relieved. “You make it really, really hard to stay mad at you, B,” Jason says, and Bruce smiles down at his son softly, fingers running through the boy’s hair.

Blue eyes peek up at him, before Jason sighs, leaning against his father.

“I love you, B,” Jason mumbles, and Bruce hugs him, resting his head on Jason’s. It… it was also so, so weird now. B had always shied away from physical affection, he’d never truly been comfortable with it. He remembers how Dick had talked about his childhood, and he wonders - without Clark, would B have been like that then too?

Jason’s not sure, but the idea chills him.

Dick wants to be happy for Jason. Dick wants… well. He wants a lot of shit, but why -

Tonight’s not a good night. He’d gone back to Blüdhaven to figure himself out, completely out of sorts at the - rather unhelpful - thoughts cycling in his head. A whisper of your fault, your fault, if you were better Bruce would have done this for you too -

“If you’re here to kill me, do it another day,” Dick says flatly. It’s silent. And then a figure drops from the shadows.

“Funny you say that -” One of his smaller knives embeds itself in the brick next to his head.

“I mean it, Deathstroke. Whatever you’re looking for in our usual little tête-à-têtes, you aren’t going to find it today.” He glares at the man, and Slade merely looks at him, head tilted to a side. The silence stretches, and then Deathstroke snorts.

“You know what? That sounds fair.” The man says, strolling up and taking a seat on the edge of the building with him. It’s… it’s weird, this little equilibrium. He and Slade have had this ongoing… friendship? Mentorship? Dick doesn’t know, really - for a while now, and while Slade always complained about being his unpaid therapist, he never said no.

“ Good .” Kicking his feet up, Dick looks up at the night sky.

“You know, I’m not a therapist, kid.”

“Yeah yeah, you keep saying. And then you keep offering advice, so what’s it to ya?” Dick complains, and Slade chuckles, leaning on his arms.

“What did dear Bat-Daddy do this time to aggravate you? Is this about Joker getting dragged to hell?” Slade wonders. “Never knew the man had it in him.” Dick doesn’t grit his teeth.

“That’s not what I’m mad about.” Dick says flatly. It really wasn’t. He was more mad about -

“Bat-Daddy picking favorites again?” Slade guesses, and Dick hates how well the man knows him.

“If I say yes will you fucking go away?” Dick asks, and Slade snorts.

“When was that the last time you knew me to do that?” He wonders, amused, and Dick hisses a little

“Fuck’s sake, go away,” Dick groans. “Let me wallow in peace and fucking quiet.” Deathstroke eyes him.

“You’re much too easy to rile up today. Making it easy,” Slade jokes, looking at him with a tilt to his head. Dick groans, and wonders if he should just jump off of the building and be done with it. He doesn’t, of course, because Slade only ever comes when he wants something, and better to let him get on with it.

“The fuck do you want?” Dick asks, unimpressed.

“What makes you think I want something?” Slade asks, unimpressed right back.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think you could do something with what you’ve learned,” Dick says flatly. “So either pitch or leave.” Slade chuckles, leans in and tugs at a strand of black hair. Dick twitches, a bladed wingding in his hands in the next moment. Slade wisely lets go.

“Don’t you ever want to go renegade?” Slade offers, leans in. “Get out from that Bat-daddy’s thumb you’ve been under since you were a kid?”

Dick grits his teeth again.

He hates how well Slade can sense weakness in him, how much he fucking hates Slade for going after him while the insecurity is still fresh.

“What do you want?” Dick says, tone sharp. Slade chuckles.

“Lex Luthor’s put in a contract.” Dick’s head tilts, and he scowls. “He’s looking into a clone of his, says he wants to get an uninterrupted hour or two with the boy, no questions asked.” Slade leans in closer. “Seeing as you’ve got an in with the big blue guy himself, I’d think this is a pretty good job for a first timer like yourself.” Slade’s arm slings over his shoulder, and Dick shoots him a look.

“Why are you really asking?” He bites the words out, and Slade smirks. He knows Dick well enough to know Dick doesn’t like being used as a stepping stone,

In the dark of the night, there’s nobody there to hear Slade’s words or Dick’s laugh as he listens.

Jason returns home two days before Christmas - a record, really, for any trial, but then again, it was less a trial and more an affirmation of guilt. Everyone’s busy the moment he enters the house. B is off to an investment meeting - though he looks horribly unhappy by that fact - so Jason goes looking for his brothers. He’d gotten a text from Clark telling him that Tim has had some issues with school, so he’d sent back some recommendations for that.

But he hadn’t heard anything from Dick recently, so once he’s sure everything’s all good, Jason tells an amused Alfie where he’s going and hops on a subway train with his gifts.

“Remember to turn on the television around noon, Young Master Jason,” Alfred tells him, and Jason nods agreeably before running off to catch the shuttle to the train.

The ride to Blüdhaven is only about an hour long, so Jason packs one of his lighter books and enjoys the ride. He knows Dick’s apartment number, so he hops right on up and knocks on the door. Nobody answers. A minute passes.

Two.

After the third, Jason’s cheer begins to wane, and he wonders if maybe he’d come at a bad time. Finally, he hears the sound of sneakers, and turns around to see a surprised looking Dick staring at him from the stairs, holding a giant bag of groceries.

“Jay!” Dick’s confusion melts into a ready smile at the sight of him, and Jason smiles sheepishly. “Just got in?” He chatters easily away, and Jason relaxes at the realization that he’d just forgotten Dick’s schedule.

“Yeah, the flight landed two hours ago. B got dragged into an investment meeting, and Clark’s apparently helping Tim out with alternative schooling options, so I thought I’d see you.” He smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t come at a bad time, did I?” He asks, and Dick rolls his eyes.

“Psh, nah. Glad I caught you, though. Would have hated to miss you being back.” Dick sounds sincere, but Jason knows Dick well enough to know something’s bugging him, and that it’s probably pretty serious, if Dick is trying so hard to be cheerful when he’s so obviously tired. They’re quiet for a bit, Jason helping Dick put away his food and looking skeptically at the ice cream sandwiches.

“You look at me and tell me after an eighteen hour day you want to scoop ice cream.” Dick defends, and Jason snorts.

“Fair enough,” Jason says, puts them in the best spot for Dick to get them after a long night. Dick winks at him playfully, and he sets up a plate for the both of them. “Anything exciting?” Jason asks, and Dick smiles a little wryly.

“Nothing that exciting,” Dick deflects, and Jason pouts at him, makes Dick laugh. “How are you? How was the Netherlands?” Jason offers him the bag, fights to keep a straight face as Dick blinks, but accepts the bag. He reaches in, and pulls out -

“Jaybird, you are so lucky I refuse to commit homicide,” Dick says firmly as he stares at the gift - er, gifts - that Jason had gotten from the Amsterdam sex museum. “Is this-”

“A bag of dicks?” Jason says, lips twitching. Dick’s glare intensifies, and Jason loses it, snickering gleefully into his palm while an unimpressed Dick watches him in irritation. “Oh come on, Dick,” Jason says, amused. “Was I not supposed to go? You would have pouted at me for not making the ultimate pun.” Dick’s brow twitches, and he stares at him for several minutes, before giving a defeated shrug.

“Fair play, I guess,” Dick sighs. His hand goes up to scrub at his hair, and he moves to tuck the gift away. Jason raises a brow, and Dick arches an expressive one back. “Oh, you want me to dig through this bag of dicks? Ha-ha, Jaybird,” Dick complains, but he obediently digs around until he gets to the actual gift.

Jason looks sheepishly at Dick when the man stares at him.

“I couldn’t carry the whole set on public transit,” Jason says shyly. “But they had a cool-looking Nightwing-themed set, and B let me buy it as a gift.” At Jason’s eager look, Dick’s smile becomes more real, the man chuckling as he looks at the mug fondly.

“You know I probably will just have to keep it at B’s, right?”

“More reason to visit?” Jason says hopefully, and Dick laughs, a warm thing.

“Sure, sure. Miss me that much?” He teases.

“Yes.” The flat response makes Dick blink, visibly surprised. Jason gives his big brother an amused look. “I miss seeing you around, and Timbo’s great, but he’s a little brother, not the cool big one.” Here Jason gives him another annoyed look. “Blüdhaven’s way too far for my tastes,” Jason complains. Dick gives him a warm little chuckle, reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Love you too, Little Wing,” Dick says, a warm smile spreading over his lips, much more fluid and free than the tight, slightly stressed one of earlier. Dick leans in to press a kiss to Jason’s forehead, and he preens under the attention. Dick leans on his hands, looking indulgently amused at Jason’s cheer.

“What mischief are you up to?” Dick asks, and Jason shifts with a sheepish smile.

“I’m thinking about moving out.” Jason admits, and Dick’s brow shoots up. He looks at Jason seriously, before frowning.

“Why would you want to move out?” Dick wonders, and Jason twiddles his fingers together.

“Would you believe me if I said that I think if I don’t, B’s going to start smothering me?” Dick hums.

“I can see that,” Dick says, and Jason’s shoulders untense. “I don’t think I’m the best person to talk to about this, honestly. You know B and I - we’ve gotten along like cats and dogs since I was about the same age as you.” His lips twist into a bittersweet smirk. “He and Harvey were school buds. So I ended up splitting from him because of that.” Jason winces slightly. He knows bitterness well, especially this kind. Jason reaches out, and even though Dick’s eyes flash with irritation, he lets Jason hold his hand.

“B loves you, you know,” Jason says carefully, and Dick’s mouth twitches into a bitter grin.

“Sure as fuck doesn’t feel that way,” Dick says, and Jason squeezes his hand.

“Wanna watch TV with me?” Jason asks, and Dick’s lips quirk up slightly.

“I can be distracted, Little Wing,” he says gracefully, knows Jason’s trying to play peacemaker, and amused enough to let him, the two of them taking their plates and absconding to the tiny living room, both of them curling up around each other and watching mindless TV together.

Near noon, Jason changes the channel, much to Dick’s confusion.

“Alfie told me you needed to see this,” he says, and Dick hums slightly, unamused.

“Well, nobody dares to defy Alfred,” Dick says, allowing Jason to be pushy.

“This is Gotham Five news - in a shocking turn of events, There has been several arrests made in just the last three hours, prompted by a release of information from the infamous Batman himself! Among the arrested is former District Attorney Harvey Dent, for murder, attempted murder, and abuse of authority. It seems like with the removal of the Joker, Gotham’s Dark Knight has proven he’s - heh - hell-bent on clearing up Gotham, come hell or high water.”

The screen goes black, and startled, Jason looks at Dick, whose hand is tightly wrapped around the remote hard enough to make it creak.

“Did you know?” Dick asks, and Jason shakes his head.

“He said he was going to step up some stuff after we got back, but no, not anything more than you did, I think,” Jason says quietly. Dick’s expression is carved from stone, his eyes hard as flint.

“That son of a bitch makes it damn hard to be mad at him,” Dick says flatly. With a defeated sigh, Dick sets the remote aside, dragging Jason into his arms much to the teenager’s alarmed squeak. “Zip it Little Wing. If I gotta put up with B finally getting his shit together, then you owe me this much.” Jason flails a little helplessly, before curling up close and letting Dick hug him as he pleased.

“What a day,” Dick grumbles into his hair. Jason squirms against his big brother’s grasp, but with a sigh, he gives it up.

“It’s not B if he doesn’t have the emotional range of a teaspoon,” Jason offers, and Dick snorts.

“Quarter teaspoon.”

“Half.”

“Are we really arguing about Bruce’s emotional range?” Dick says, amused, and Jason shrugs.

“What else are we supposed to do?”

Dick can’t help his laugh.

Jon is a curled lump on Elyan’s chest when Clark comes back, the man ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“How is everyone?” Elyan wonders, and Clark pulls a face.

“Shaken. Jason’s dragging Dick back over here later tonight - says he wants to talk to you.” Clark arches a brow, and Elyan shrugs.

“It’s not exactly rocket science that he’s annoyed with B, papa,” Elyan says, his smile wry. Clark concedes the point. “I’ll do my part - he and I used to work together, so I think I can head him off some.” Clark gets that confused-not-confused look on his face that he has whenever he thinks too much about Elyan’s other life. It’s vaguely homicidal, which Elyan can’t help but find funny. The other Clark had always looked uncomfortable instead. He bounces Jon, and the boy blows a sleepy raspberry at him. Clark looks unbearably fond of the two of them, and he reaches out for his son, kneeling down to plant a kiss against Elyan’s forehead.

“Geh,” he says, more to be contrary than because he doesn’t actually like it. Clark gives him an unimpressed look for it, and he grins sheepishly. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, grinning, and Clark, just to be a jerk, presses a kiss to his cheek, makes him squawk indignantly, before absconding with Jon, the little boy giggling gleefully at it all.

“Hey!” He complains, Clark tossing him a cheeky grin and wink at him.

Blegh. Papas. He scoots himself off, waiting for his big brothers to arrive.

But...

Elyan watches Dick closely when he arrives with Jason in tow, watches as he laughs and admires Jason’s gift for him. He watches how Dick practically ignores Bruce, who looks a bit sad, but doesn’t push his son beyond a little pat to Dick’s shoulder with a little hug thrown in. Dick smiles at Tim, ruffles his hair, hugs Jon, laughs with Clark. Nobody else notices the difference.

Elyan gives it until after dinner before he ambushes him, the teenager catching him alone while Tim distracts the rest of the family with a well-timed request to Jason about Arthurian mythos, without more than a pointed glance. Jason easily drags the rest of them into the discussion, and Elyan escapes with Dick, curiously observing the way Dick’s eyes glitter meanly in the light.

He knows that look. Knows the way Dick tilts his head, the furrow of his lips, the twitch of his smile. He had loved Tim more, clicked with him, but he’d worked with Dick when he was still Robin, worked with him when he’d been fresh into the mantle of Nightwing, and he recognizes that shift, the way all that tightly leashed kindness had shifted and turned into self-loathing and anger deep enough to run rivers. He lets Dick guide them for a minute, smiling easily. It’s an easy silence, and Elyan is careful to not let anything bleed through as they slip into one of the rare blind spots on Bruce’s surveillance.

The next moment, Elyan has Dick pinned by his throat, using some of his powers to keep them both hovering a few feet off of the ground.

“Am I speaking to Nightwing, or did Renegade make his debut?” Elyan hisses into Dick’s ear, holding him up just enough to let him breathe and no more. Dick squirms in his hold, and he presses harder. “Don’t even think of trying to play me, Dick,” Elyan hisses. “I know you better than you think I do.” Dick flails a bit; coughs, and it’s but a thought to control the air around them with TTK, muting them from being heard by holding the air in place around them in a perfect bubble. He lets go, and Dick hits the ground. “Papa won’t hear you,” he says icily, as he watches the man, watches him rub at his throat and cough again. “Tell me. Who am I speaking to?” He snaps.

He hadn’t been able to help Dick when he’d been Renegade, the last time around. Dick had been too tense, too tightly wound, a wicked knife’s edge that had turned on ally and enemy alike. Dick wasn’t his to protect, but in this world, he would not let the man he’d called a friend walk that path another time.

There’s a gleam of bright anger in his eyes, but Elyan isn’t having it, foot pressing hard against Dick’s ribcage and pressing down, just a little bit. Dick gasps a little, squirms, and Elyan smiles.

“Don’t think just because I’m Clark’s kid now that I’m sweet,” Elyan croons. “I’m still the same boy who had to stop and kill anything between me and my baby brother, and yes.” A flicker of heat vision, and Elyan kneels down, lets Dick see how his eyes burn with black fire. “That meant killing you too.” He keeps his knee where it is, jammed up in the tender space right below his sternum, careful not to break anything, but pressing hard enough for a human to feel serious pain. Dick squirms, and Elyan’s smile sharpens. “I’m not above breaking something, Dick,” he warns sweetly, and Dick stops squirming.

“There’s overkill, and then there’s you,” Dick complains, and Elyan stays right where he is. A little extra pressure, and Dick wheezes.

“I like you, Dick,” Elyan says casually. “I’d really hate to break you.” Dick glares at him for that one. Another press, and Dick wheezes. “I mean it. Don’t try pulling a fast one either. I had no patience for you when you pulled this shit in the last half-a-dozen realities, I’m not going to have any patience for it now.”

Dick winces even as he glares.

“Anyone tell you that you’re a vindictive little shit?”

“When thirty five out of thirty-seven versions of Clark turn out to be monsters, you learn how to find one in the making.” Dick stares at him, before he relaxes deliberately, and Elyan smiles, spreads his TTK through Dick, ready to seize his heartbeat at the slightest sign of betrayal.

“Luthor hired Slade to bring you to him,” Dick says flatly, and Elyan tilts his head as he observes Dick. Layer by layer, he peels away the human façade that he wore so much like a habit over his skin like his TTK. His mouth twists into a smirk as he leans in.

“Oh, did he?” Kon-El purrs, all threat. “And you were just going to take me there?” He says, amused. Dick squirms under him, looks irritated.

“Do I look stupid to you?”

“No,” Kon-El says, sitting on his heels as he moves to pin Dick down by sitting on him. “You look vindictive. The same sort of vindictive that sent you right into Deathstroke’s arms in my original universe. You hated Bruce so much because he couldn’t stop failing to live up to your expectations that you looked somewhere, anywhere else for someone to fill that gap. So you let Deathstroke fill that void, and paid for it.” Kon-El leans in. “I’m not burying you a second time.”

Dick is pale, his usually tan skin white from fear as he realizes Elyan is not messing around. Elyan leans over him, smile cold and sharp.

“It destroyed my first Tim when you died,” Elyan hisses. “I will not let you do this to this one, to my Tim, to my best friend, do you understand?”

Dick stares at him, and then he laughs, a quiet, sharp thing that’s lined with knives. “Isn’t Timbo lucky,” Dick says, his tone jealous, angry. Elyan curls his fingers into a fist and decks him - but gently.

“You’re an idiot, and I’m handing you off to Bruce so he can talk some sense into you,” Elyan says icily. “You are the world’s most reckless big brother, and this has to end.” A little shake, and Elyan pulls off of Dick, hauls him up bodily. “And don’t say I don’t get it. Believe me, I know all about what it’s like to be the older, hated brother. You aren’t anywhere near that.”

Dick’s eyes gleam defiance, and he waffles between his options. What he’d done to Cassandra had been to protect her, but Dick was… he wasn’t a trained assassin. He wasn’t in need of saving.

But he was. He knew that whatever came, he’d have to get Papa to agree.

Blegh.

Dick actually expects B to be mad at him. Sure, he’d planned on pulling Elyan aside to talk to him about Luthor, to talk to him about what Slade had said and done, but he’d not anticipated how intensely Dick’s reactions to yesterday, and to today’s surprise.

But to watch how viciously, how intensely Elyan had reacted was nothing in the face of Bruce’s almost palpable, crushing self-disappointment.

He’d expected it against himself, expected B to be disappointed in him. He wiggles his fingers in the restraints, and Elyan stops talking to Clark in the corner long enough to give him a vindictive glare.

“Why?” Bruce asks him, and Dick’s eyes slide over to his father, purses his lips, and doesn't answer. Elyan looks at him and snorts.

“Because you’re a hypocrite,” Elyan says dryly. “It’s a universal constant. No offense meant, dad, but I think Dick’s just pissed because of Harvey.” Dick’s head snaps around to glare fiercely at Elyan, who looks bluntly unrepentant. “What? You’re nearly as bad as Bruce,” Elyan says dryly. “Honestly, it feels like I’m watching a sixties sitcom with how you two dance around the subject.” Bruce turns to look at him too, brow raised.

“Another thing you learned from your old reality?” Bruce asks, looking pained.

“Mmhm.” Elyan says the words noncommittally, shrugs. “You two were at each other’s throats practically all the time.” Elyan also eyes him with a twisted smile. “I could make him remember it,” Elyan says, and Dick shivers at the sheer ice in his tone.

“Elyan,” Clark says, gentle chiding as he ruffles the back of his hair. Elyan gives a low whine of annoyance, but leans into Clark’s touch anyways. “It worked okay with Cassandra, but shoving memories into Dick can go very badly.” Elyan’s purple eyes glitter a faint black, before he huffs and presses his face into Clark’s chest.

“He’s living up to his nickname,” Elyan mumbles, and Dick fights a snort. Looking down again sees Bruce looking at him with a sort of desperation.

“Dick?” He looks - well, he looks pretty hysterical, actually. “Dick, please, tell me. Yell at me, scream, something - I know I’m not John, but please -”

At the name of his father, something in Dick cracks.

“Not like you tried very hard to be a father,” Dick spits, and Bruce flinches back. “You just treated me like some kind of add-on, and then when you weren’t happy with that, you tried to control me!” The words rise into an earsplitting shriek at the end, and Dick squirms again in his binds. Clark and Elyan have mysteriously vanished, and it’s just them in the room. He expects B to keep him tied up, but B doesn’t, is already untying him, pulling him tight into a hug that makes him tense up.

“I almost killed Harvey that day.” The words are very quiet. Dick stops squirming in Bruce’s hold, listens. “I planned it out, down to the last detail, while you were in the hospital.” Bruce pulls back and rubs his thumb against a stunned Dick’s temple. “I hated him so much, but if I did that…” Bruce sighs again, squeezes Dick close. “Do you think I wouldn’t burn the world down for you boys if you died?” A bittersweet smile curls Bruce’s lips up. “I couldn’t do that to you boys. I love you so much, and I wasn’t going to make you boys choose between your humanity and stopping me.” A shiver runs down Dick’s spine at the look. His temper hasn’t cooled in the slightest, only incensed by this, by Bruce’s typical -

“I hate you,” Dick blurts out, and Dick shrivels a little at the look Bruce gives him. “I hate you, because you always pull this shit, because you don’t talk to us, because you never let us know this until it’s past the point where anything is salvageable. You -” The air seems to close in on him, and he drops his head to Bruce’s shoulder, fighting a wet sob. “I hate you,” Dick wails, wet and childish as tears bubble up.

Anger and temper and pity all fight for a place while Bruce and he sink to the floor, Dick’s struggling renewed as he fights against Bruce again, angry and miserable and hating how Bruce always did this when he was desperate, when Dick needed and craved his validation, only for him to be thrown away after the next kid came by.

“I know,” Bruce soothes him, fingers running through his hair gently, carefully. “I know.”

Dick cries and curses Bruce, and squirms and struggles and kicks out to be let free from warm arms that had no right to be warmer than the memory of John Grayson and hates him for the fact that no matter what, John was never the first person Dick thought of when he heard Father.

He keeps crying until his tears run dry, and he feels hollow and washed out, empty and alone.

“I hate you,” he mumbles against a shoulder, “hate you so much, I hate you…”

Dick doesn’t remember when he passes out, still mumbling his anger against Bruce’s shoulder until the world goes quiet.

Bruce leans against the wall, keeps Dick securely in his arms as he thinks privately to himself, in the calm before the storm. Dick’s head is resting on his shoulder, mouth open a little as he slumbers, soft, hitched sobs still leaving his precious son. Bruce rocks him back and forth, staring blankly at the door.

His son.

Bruce hadn’t known when the arrangement between him and Dick had changed from brothers a generation apart to father and son, and perhaps he never would. Dick’s rage had been incandescent - spiteful, angry, righteously so, and part of his heart trembles at the knowledge.

How many times would Bruce disappoint his children? How many times would he fail to live up to what they needed? Dick was an adult, he knew his son could be independent, could be as strong - stronger - than him.

But it seemed all Bruce did was hurt them, break them. A sigh, and Bruce leans his head against Dick’s, closes his eyes, and drifts off hazily. He’s only barely aware of the door opening, of soft footsteps treading lightly over the metal. He’s in that far-off state of awake and asleep, so he doesn’t fight the warmth of a thick comforter being wrapped around them both, how whoever tucks them in leans them to the side so they can sleep on the floor, a fluffy pillow brought in and pressed beneath their heads. Bruce doesn’t remember any of this at all, only the quiet of the room, the dimming of the lights, and the way Dick, even in sleep, clutches at his shirt.

There’s quiet murmuring outside, but it’s not important. Nothing is important but his son.

Bruce closes his eyes, tugs his son closer, and lets himself fall asleep.

It feels like hours later before he wakes, Dick still half-asleep next to him. Bruce strokes the back of his son’s spine, and Dick mumbles restlessly against him, before waking up, stiffening in Bruce’s hold. Bruce doesn’t push Dick away, waiting to see what his son will do. Dick’s hands press against his shoulders, clearly trying to discreetly escape, and gently, he reels the boy in closer. Dick’s body stiffens, and then he relaxes, a sigh of relief leaving him as he slowly becomes less tense.

“I know you’re up B,” Dick says a little reproachfully. Bruce doesn’t bother pretending, opens his eyes to see his son’s irritable expression.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce says, and Dick flinches back in surprise as though struck.

“What?” Dick asks, bewildered. Bruce isn’t sure what startles him the most. Then, he tries again, a little quieter. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry I don’t tell you how proud of you I am. How much I love you. For taking advantage of how much you love me.” The words are careful, quiet. “I’m sorry that every time you come to see me, we end up in an argument. I’m sorry that I made you feel in any way like I wasn’t proud of you, or that I dismissed your dreams.” Bruce pulls Dick in close from where the boy had wiggled away to plant a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“I am so, so sorry, if I ever made you feel less than loved.”

Dick gives a little wet sniff.

“I hate you,” Dick mumbles, and Bruce’s heart cracks. “I fucking hate you,” he repeats for good measure, even though those strong arms wrap tight around Bruce, cling to him as he says the words. Bruce doesn’t know what else he can say.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Dick startles at his words, before wilting a little.

“No… but I kinda have to, don’t I?”

“I’d at least like to know what’s going on, that you’d approach Elyan on Deathstroke’s word. It’s not like you, and at least, I know that much.” Bruce watches as Dick silently contemplates what he’s going to say.

“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce says quietly. “I’m not… I know I have a bad habit of making promises I can’t keep, but for this one, I promise. I won’t ever blame you for Deathstroke. That man’s as manipulative as I am.” The joke, sad as it is, makes Dick’s mouth curl into a bittersweet smile.

“You’re a dick,” Dick tells him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s your name,” Bruce says, amused, and Dick’s mouth trembles in reluctant amusement, before he sighs and curls up against Bruce in a way he hasn’t done since…

Since Harvey. Bruce curls his eldest closer, and for all his whining, the boy doesn’t pull away, instead greedily pressing up against Bruce’s touch.

“It started a while ago, when I was still new to Blüdhaven’s streets…”

Chapter Text

Elyan finds Dick later, the man curled up in a heavy blanket and sipping at his cup of hot chocolate, looking somewhere between a wet, disgruntled cat, and an angry bird. It’s only Tim’s mild chastiment and Clark’s parental disappointment that had clued Elyan in on the line he had very nearly crossed. Cass had been one thing - she’d been broken inside in a way that needed help, that she needed to be protected, but Dick?

They had been friends, once upon a time. Close friends, and the memories of Dick, small and huddled and broken after Deathstroke’s manipulations had come undone at the seams, a visceral revelation of how his once upon a time best friend had been shattered by what had come from the way the older man had used Dick.

He wonders - did Dick hate him now? Even if he knew that Elyan did care, in his own, twisted, weird way?

“Are you going to just stare, or am I getting company sometime this century?” Dick wonders aloud. Elyan startles at his voice, before sheepishly entering the library, watches as Dick puts down his hot cocoa. “You might as well sit.” There’s a careful neutrality in his voice, and Elyan winces, scurries over and takes a seat. Dick looks wrung out, tired. But the dark circles under his eyes are lighter, his shoulders are straight and not hunched. He looks not… not happy.

But more put together, less unraveled around his edges. Elyan sneaks closer, plopping on the couch.

“Hi.” Elyan says sheepishly. Dick picks up his mug, takes a sip. Elyan watches as he does so, cautiously concerned. Dick drains his mug until it’s empty, sets it down.

“You know, I don’t know if I should be pissed or amused.” Dick’s voice is a dry, broken thing, and Elyan winces a little.

“Sorry?” He tries weakly, and Dick snorts.

“You’re less sorry about it and more badgered into the apology,” Dick says dryly. “I’m tired, grumpy, and really fucking sick of people manipulating me.” Elyan gives a cautious hum, leans against Dick, who doesn’t throw him off.

“I am sorry,” Elyan says. “I was never good at being the whole… good, thing.” A sheepish shrug. “The problem about being cloned, I guess. Luthor didn’t give a damn for something as pesky as morals, so I still have a little trouble telling what’s right from wrong.”

“And sometimes you don’t care.” Dick says, dry and accurate.

“Or I care for the wrong reasons,” Elyan said quietly. “I don’t… Care about you the same way I care about Tim. Or Jon.” Here Elyan’s head lays on Dick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he offers again. “I know we don’t have the same history, but you took care of me when we first met. What little I learned of right and wrong came from you. And…” a huffed little sigh. “Deathstroke used you so much, so often that I couldn’t let him use you, not, not like this.” Dick eyes him.

“The ends justify the means?”

“Mmm.” Elyan winces. “Less justification, and more a lack of forethought on consequences?” He tries, and Dick raises a brow. “You and Tim had a hard time punching common sense into my head,” He says, suddenly shy as he ducks his head, a blush coloring his cheeks. Dick’s brow rises.

“You had that much of an issue?” He says, amused. Elyan pulls a face.

“I was as down to murder as you were when you were still Robin,” Elyan deadpans, and Dick can’t seemingly help his laugh, shakes his head fondly at the boy. He flicks the boy on the nose, and Elyan squeaks in surprise at the touch. “Hey!” He squeaks, and Dick’s smile is a searing blend of bitterness and fondness all in one, and it hurts to see.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a brat?” He wonders dryly, and Elyan shrugs.

“You, I guess. But you also said me being cute’s a good reason to stop wanting to commit murder so…” Elyan says, sheepish.

Dick chuckles, a dark thing. “Were you always this brutally blunt, brat?” Dick’s tone hasn’t changed from the faint, bitter tone, but he’s physically softened, feet kicking up on the table, arm thrown over Elyan’s shoulders.

“Someone had to be honest when everyone else was fond of talking circles around their problems,” Elyan says, sighing as Dick’s fingers run through his hair. Dick is silent as he continues to run his fingers through Elyan’s hair.

“Why do it?” Dick asks suddenly. “Why do you - love Bruce?” He says the words with a bitterness, a deep, aching scar of anger. “You, more than anyone, know better what kind of monster he can be.” Elyan hums thoughtfully.

“Bruce can be a lot,” Elyan says after a long, considering silence. “He’s snippy, and quick to judge, he can be painfully, brutally blunt, and sometimes - usually - he doesn’t understand people.” Elyan can hear the bitter laugh, doesn’t let himself wince. “But even the worst, most awful versions of Bruce loved his kids.” He taps his fingers against Dick’s ribcage. “You died in some of the realities I visited.” Here, Elyan’s mouth curls into a bitter smile of his own. “Clark even killed you.”

Dick jerks upright, startled by shock, disbelief on his face.

“He what-”

“Clark killed most of you guys, in other realities. But no matter how far Bruce went, it took someone else digging into his brain, altering it on a base, chemical level, before Bruce would kill his kids.” Elyan looks up at him, and Dick’s expression is frozen. “I know Bruce can be stupid about showing he cares, but Dick. He loves you. He loves you.” Elyan pulls back, before bravely leaning in to kiss his big brother’s forehead.

“Don’t forget - Bruce adopted you to spare you from what Gotham would have otherwise made you,” Elyan murmurs quietly, before he ducks out of the room, leaving Dick stunned and shaken in response.

Food for thought, Elyan supposes.

The city is dark and empty. The shock of Joker’s death is still rippling out, making waves as the news spreads by word of mouth.

The Devil took him, they say.

Devil? Ha! There is no devils in this world, though truly, he was delighted to see how wicked his friend had become.

“I’d quite lost hope with you, Bruce.” A smile appears in the shadows, a gleam of pleasure. “It will be… delightful, to see you again, Dark Knight.”

The gleam of a smile reflects on the glass.

And then there’s Luthor… who needed to be dealt with.

Tim is curled up next to Elyan, the teenager watching his boyfriend pick at a tissue absently, fidgeting. Tim knows that if Elyan wished, he could be completely calm and still, without fidgeting in the slightest. It was an undeniably human action, a learned action. Tim reaches out to take Elyan’s hands in his own, pulling his hands close. Elyan leans in, follows his touch, before the two of them tangle together slowly, Elyan’s weight pressing Tim down into the couch.

“Hey,” Tim says, hands cupping his cheeks as Elyan looks distressed. Elyan presses closer, his mouth pressed thin, and he tucks his head into Tim’s neck.

“Hi,” Elyan’s voice is a little muffled, but that’s fine. Tim honestly thinks he’s just overwhelmed. Tim’s hand runs through dark curls, and Elyan relaxes by degrees, clearly taking comfort in Tim’s touch.

“Do you want me to ruin Luthor’s life?” Tim asks, and Elyan laughs, a quiet, wet thing.

“I just… I’m so fucking mad,” Elyan mumbles against Tim’s neck. “At Dick, at Slade, at…” Teeth grit, his jaw set against Tim’s throat. “I hate that my memories aren’t preventing the worst things, that I can’t remember shit until it becomes relevant!” Elyan’s arms wrap tight around Tim’s waist and squeeze, though he stops before it gets too close to uncomfortable.