Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce is getting older. It was a truth, a statement.

All his kids had come to terms with it, coming by the manor whenever they could to help him around the cave and around Gotham.

The only one that hadn’t come to terms with it was Clark. The ever lively—ever living—Clark. He didn’t see age in Bruce. Didn’t see how he struggled to stand from his chair in the bat cave nor saw how his patrol hours had dwindled.

Grayson was the only one that had enough guts to try and get through Clark.

Grayson: He’s aging, super. You have to stop pretending he’s gonna live forever.

Clark scoffed, smiling at him in the same way he did when he was a child and he’d hide in his cape during late patrols.

Clark: I know he won’t, but he’s still young.

Clark wasn’t as oblivious as everyone thought. He knew Bruce was aging, knew their time together had finally grown a timer. But he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He didn’t want to think about a future where there was no Bruce.

Where there was no shadow in his light.

Grayson stared at the man as he continued shuffling around the bat cave. He couldn’t see what Clark was truly feeling, but he still tried anyways.

Grayson: He’s got grays now, you know. I caught him trying to dye his hair dark again but there were too many and they grew too quickly.

He was sure that’d get him. There was no one that spent as much time with Bruce as Clark did. He had to have noticed them.

Clark just laughed again.

Clark: I know that too. I told him he looked dashing and he threw away the extra boxes he bought.

His hand clenched around the stack of papers he’d printed out for a new case they were working on over at the league. He tried controlling his strength but the paper creased anyways.

Of course he knew about Bruce’s graying hair. He stayed up into the late hours of the night just looking at him, searing him into his every waking memory.

Grayson tried one more time.

Grayson: He’s dying, Clark. He’s getting old and he’s dying.

Clark didn’t laugh this time, just froze. He didn’t turn to face the man either, just kept his back to him as he stared at one of the computer monitors that had one of the manor’s security cameras pulled up. He watched Bruce in his study as he worked away at the case from there. Cardigan on and fireplace lit.

Bruce had never been one for such warmth.

Clark: I know that, Grayson.

He sighed.

Clark: But he’s still alive and well.

Grayson just watched him for a while, wondering how a man could be so composed as his loved one ages and dies. He couldn’t comprehend the idea of living as long as Clark did and having to deal with such a thing.

He was upset about his father dying—of course he was—but he wasn’t going to live as long as Clark was. He was going to be able to join his father after a few more years.

Clark would have to wait much longer, and with that thought, he walked out of the bat cave and out of the manor.

Night had fallen and two of the bat kids had taken Bruce’s shift for the night. Bruce tried to argue that he was fine, but his eyes were droopy and his body was heavy.

Now he lay in bed, head on Clark’s chest as they watched the stars and moon through the window. They usually slept with the curtains drawn, but Clark insisted on having them open that night.

Clark: The moon’s beautiful, isn’t it?

Bruce hummed, nestling closer into Clark’s embrace, ear pressed just where his heartbeat sang.

Bruce: It is. Beautiful indeed.

The older man feel asleep quickly after, soft breathing filling the air but all Clark could hear was his steady heartbeat. It had become a routine of his at this point. He’d stay up into the latest hours of the night just staring down at the tuft of gray hair as he focused on his heartbeat, scared that it’ll go silent at any second.

Superman was scared. Clark was scared.

He placed a tender kiss atop Bruce’s head, wrapped his arms just slightly tighter around the man.

Bruce was getting old. He knew that. But he wasn’t dying. Not tonight.