Chapter Text
“i’ll be fine, ma.”
clark’s tone was soft as his mother gently patted down his shirt, assuring herself that there weren’t any creases that needed to be ironed out for the fourth time.
a part of him knew she was only doing that to get him to stay a little while longer. he could tell in the way her hands barely flitted over his shirt, the way her mouth was drawn in a taut line and in the way her brows were furrowed.
after all, it wasn’t every day that he had the chance to go work for one of the richest men in one of the sister cities. he had the opportunity to work for the bruce wayne of the wayne manor. he’d only heard of the man in almost every passing conversation with his kansas folk; how he was basically like a shadow, never making a scene or an imprint on anyone unless it was through one of his very generous charity donations with a mixture of his inheritance and winnings.
it seemed there weren’t enough hands on deck–either that or bruce was too busy to take care of everything himself–because a few weeks prior, every newspaper under the sun spread throughout kansas with the big, bolded headlines that bruce wayne needed someone who had experience with caring for horses and stables alike. clark, ever the enthusiastic farm boy, had applied on a whim. he really hadn’t expected to get the job, and certainly didn’t know he’d be contacted via email a week later, letting him know that he was accepted. pa had clapped a hand on clark’s back with a roaring laugh and a cheer to boot, whilst ma stared at the paper with a quiet, calculating stare that clark had only seen a few times before.
he knew she was worried. and she knew that he knew.
“come on, martha,” pa’s quiet, urging tone had echoed through the quiet coziness of the small, humble farmhouse that they resided in later that night—sure it wasn’t a mansion, but it was home. clark would much rather have the sizzling sound of bacon and the local tv stations blaring from the living room than be in a quiet chateau all by his lonesome.
maybe some people liked that life. but not clark.
“a boy his age has to go out and explore the world some time,” pa had continued, followed by a soft sigh from ma. it was times like this where clark wished he could turn off his super-hearing through sheer will; but alas, here he lay in bed, listening to his parents discuss him as if they were sitting on the edge of his mattress.
“i know that, jonathan.” clark could picture her wrinkled brow and frown, “it’s just… this is so unexpected. gotham wants our boy? why our boy? you don’t think… they know, do you?”
“maybe they’ve heard about all of clark’s accomplishments—it isn’t exactly hard to imagine, with all of the good deeds that he’s done.” a pause, broken by a quiet chuckle. “he’ll be fine, martha. he knows how to take care of himself.”
“but does he? it seems he carries everyone else on his shoulders before even giving himself a lick of grace.”
clark imagined pa placing his liver-spotted hand on the small of ma’s back and gently escorting her to bed, offering hushed whispers of comfort all the while. a loud exhale escaped his nostrils as he rubbed at his iridescent eyes, allowing his palms to dig into his sockets. maybe ma was right. what if it was all a trap? it wouldn’t have exactly been the first time. clark liked to think he was smarter than that, though.
⫘⫘⫘⫘ 𖤓 ⫘⫘⫘⫘
and so, that’s where he found himself currently. ma fretting over his clothes and hair before finally resting her hands on his shoulders; concern bent into a flurry within her kind eyes. “be careful, clark. you promise?” the subtext practically sat on the brunet’s chest as he nodded his assurances.
“nothin’ will happen, ma. i can take care of myself.” his father’s own words tumble from his mouth as he gives her his best, albeit wavering, smile. in reality, he was absolutely terrified. not just for the idea of making a fool out of himself, but scared for the unknown; scared for the possibility that maybe he was walking into the lion’s den.
but who was clark kent if not a risk taker?
with a kiss on his momma’s cheek and a strong hug to his father, giddiness washed over the brunet once he took his first step out of the door—he could do this. this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste!
⫘⫘⫘⫘ 𖤓 ⫘⫘⫘⫘
okay, maybe the kryptonian was starting to have his doubts now that he was standing in front of the looming manor. breathe in, breathe out. though, that was rather difficult when it felt as if his lungs suddenly felt like they were filled to the brim with water; not unlike the time when he’d been a small boy and practiced his newfound flying abilities, only to skid across the ground and knock the air from his lungs.
that time was a blur, but he did vaguely remember pretending to be more hurt than he really was, if only to be held in pa’s arms for a moment longer as ma tended to his already healing wounds.
rolling his muscles back, here farm boy clark kent stood—glasses constantly sliding down the bridge of his nose, hair tousled in a mess of gel and sweat (he sped walked, it was much less conspicuous than flying, he had argued), and brown, tattered duffle bag at his side. yup, he was prepared.
until the door opened to a much older man at the door. adorned in a black suit and tie, like he’d just gotten back from a ball rather than doing whatever he’d done around this manor, this older gentleman looked to be in his late 50s to early 60s. nose turned upward, stance in a practiced formal fashion before he opened the door wider.
“you must be mr. clark kent. i had heard of your arrival—master bruce is in the main hall.” a quick look up and down clark’s attire had the farm boy cave in on himself in embarrassment; he couldn’t even imagine the mess he probably looked.
“don’t fret, mr. kent. bruce hasn’t talked with anyone who wasn’t holding a champagne glass or camera in front of him in months—i’m sure this change will do him some good.”
the reassurances falling from older gentleman’s lips were enough to ease clark’s fears slightly, allowing him to turn towards the butler (?) and offer him a stiff bow.
“ah, thank you, mr…?” the brunet trails off, ending the statement on a question. he could’ve sworn a ghost of a smile had brushed across the older gentleman’s face when he’d replied, “alfred.”
and with that, clark shook alfred’s hand and was on his way.
… longer than he had meant to, getting all confused within the big confines of the mansion, he’d finally managed to find the main room.
there, the famous polo boy himself sat. clad in a loose, black button-down and some simple dark blue jeans stained in dirt—no doubt from his training with the horses—and something akin to thoughtfulness spread across his features. he’d been sitting on a long couch, adorned with red velvet to accentuate it and a golden-framed glass coffee table before it.
he was even more beautiful than the newspapers had captured. dark, ravenette locks that fell just at the nape of his neck—he had long lashes and a chiseled jaw, with dark eyes that kept you locked away from anything he’d been feeling. no wonder he’d been labeled a playboy, clark thought, he was breathtaking.
he’d been staring into the fireplace that sat as the main centerpiece of the entire room, glass in hand, before raising his head to look up at the brunet from beneath his lashes to see he’d arrived.
“i see alfred let you in without letting me know,” he says offhandedly, and clark is left speechless. he swallows thickly, fidgeting with his duffle bag and nodding before bowing; man, was this gonna be his new custom?
“y—yes, sir. uh… mr… alfred let me in. i apologize, i thought he’d announce my arrival.” he stammered, clutching the strap of the bag like it would save him from whatever peril he’d just stepped into. like a lamb wandering into a wolf’s den.
bruce studies him for a moment but there isn’t any notable expression on his face; a pure blank wall for clark to gauge on before the ravenette shoots him a strained smile and stands to his feet, placing the half-full glass of red wine that he’d been holding down onto the glass coffee table.
“let me guess, he didn’t show you to your quarters?” a curt nod from clark before he continues with a small, begrudging sigh, “well, then allow me to show you where you’ll be staying, mr. kent.”