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“You want me to babysit Robin,” Clark summarizes, shooting a look from Bruce over to where the Boy Wonder has chosen to sit - on the back of his couch, specifically, with his feet (bare, he’s taken off his shoes at the door already) on the cushions. The boy is a little pale and Clark can hear his heart racing already from the few movements that only require the bare minimum of a healthy human that age. The sunglasses are firmly in place, though, and Clark knows it’s a facade more than anything. Besides the fact that he literally has x-ray vision, it isn’t too difficult to figure out who Batman’s child-sidekick is when you know it’s Bruce Wayne under that cowl, the guy who’s taken a kid under his wing (hah) only shortly before Robin first showed up.
“Yes,” Bruce answers stoically. As if it wasn’t him who randomly showed up on Clark’s doorstep and gently shoved a child into it. He himself has stayed in the doorway, of course. “Where I am headed, he would be in imminent danger—“ Which, obviously, he wouldn’t be fighting off thieves and murderers and whatnot in Gotham, yeah. “And… he's physically compromised.”
“Physically…” Clark repeats, letting his eyes roam over the kid. There’s no injuries visible (he remembers how even a broken arm hadn’t kept him from fighting crime a few months back - the ways of distraction that Bruce chose were… interesting, to say the least) and other than the questionable exhaustion and sly film of sweat on his forehead… He seems quite okay, actually.
“‘m fine!” Robin insists, as if this were his cue, and then he breaks into a coughing fit.
Bruce gives him a doubtful look. “He’s caught a cold,” he explains, looking up at Clark again. “Had a fever this morning but Alfred got rid off it. Said he should rest now, so…” He trails off, not for a lack of way to continue, how to ask a question, but because he thinks it’s self- explanatory and that Clark should figure it out.
And, boy, does he ever. “Why-- why can’t Alfred watch him?” He wants to know, barely able to keep himself from yelping. What’s he supposed to do with a kid? A sick one at that? He’s got no friggin’ idea about being sick!
“I do need back-up, don’t I?” Bruce answers. He actually sounds a little bit offended, probably because Clark doesn’t get that right away. “Can’t take you because those guys won’t like me any better if I bring… you know. I already cleared things up. Diana and one of the Lanterns are keeping sight on our cities.”
There’s some relief swarming through Clark upon hearing Diana’s name - if she’s involved, Bruce might not put them all in misery. She’d call him out if he were about to screw things up. Still… “Wait, you’re out of town?”
Again, he’s met with a death glare, the one that makes him cower down in reflex. He knows, of course, that Bruce has ties outside of Gotham, too. For one, he runs a large company, so business partners are a given, but he’s had training all over the globe as well, Clark knows that. That doesn’t explain why he’d leave his sick kid behind and him as his protector.
Apparently, one of the many skills that his friend has is mind-reading, because the next thing he knows, Bruce is lowering his voice. “You’re the only one who can deal with him.”
Clark shoots a look back at Robin, still perched on the couch. He’s pretty sure that if it weren’t for his glasses, his eyes would be a bit glassy. Also, he keeps snuffling audibly. Any moment and he’s gonna collapse, Clark is sure. Which means there surely are other people perfectly capable of watching over the boy - he’d understand Bruce’s worries if Robin was healthy, because the kid is fit and’s got a stamina beyond what some people would deem possible and… well, he’s a kid . Even when they haven’t grown up in a circus and trained to take out criminals, they are active. But if he’s gonna fall asleep any minute anyways, he just need medicine or whatever, also known as the stuff Clark has no idea about.
“He specifically wanted to go to you,” Bruce adds quietly and with a sigh. “He insisted on coming with otherwise.”
Clark takes in a breath, feeling a squeeze at his heart at that. He likes the Boy Wonder, actually, when other people, people who can take care of his childish (literally) needs, are around. He’s glad the sentiment is the same on his end. He can’t help the little smile forming on his face. “I-- where exactly are you headed? Just so I know how long--”
Bruce smirks . “I’ll pick him up before you have to head to the Planet.” And without anything else, he backs out of the door and disappears. Clark’s pretty sure that if he weren’t wearing a suit - a normal one - he’d have used a smoke bomb.
With a sigh, he walks up to the door and closes it. He’s not sure if it’s a Bruce thing or a billionaire thing, but visitor etiquette is something he’s given up on long ago.
Behind him, he hears a tiny sneeze coming from Robin and he turns back around. The kid is rubbing his nose while slowly sinking down the rest until he sits on the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest.
“Uh,” Clark starts cleverly. “Hey, little man. You doin’ okay?”
Robin cranes his head, looking up at him. He’s very pale, a stark contrast to the tanned skin of his neck, and the way his mouth hang open tells Clark he’s definitely got a clogged nose. “M’ throat hurts.” He croaks.
“Hang on,” Clark says. He rushes into the kitchen, quickly but still at human speed (he’d always found his apartment too small for him to even get up to speed before he crashes into a wall), and looks through the freezer. He’s seen his mom chug down whole boxes of ice cream when she had that one nasty cold, so he supposes that should help. It was one of the few times where she actually got sick and it had worries him to no end, no matter how often she insisted it was nothing. She got better, though, thanks to the snack, and Clark’s sure she was doing much worse than Robin.
Still, when he comes away empty handed, he panics a little. Should he text someone and ask if they can bring around a pint? Jimmy’s on an assignment at the West Coast and Lois… well, there’s no doubt she’d recognize Bruce Wayne’s ward right away and then he’d have to explain why on Earth he’s got a billionaire’s kid sitting on his couch. So yeah, sending someone else to buy it is out of question. Should he go quickly and grab some himself? No, he can’t leave Robin alone here. What if his fever breaks out again or he chokes on a cough or-- What if he touches something of his things? Kids break things, don’t they? But he can’t take him outside either, because you’re supposed to stay inside and tucked in-- oh, dang it, he never even made sure the boy isn’t cold.
Now he’s starting to rush and he knows he shouldn’t but Bruce will have his head if anything happens to Robin, so he needs to do several things at once and, truth be told, he’s never been good at multitasking… He fills a cup with tap water and blows on it, lightly so that it’s cold but not frozen, and brings it back into the living room.
He’s just glad he didn’t tell Robin what he wanted to get because he’s not sure he’d be able to deal with disappointment radiating from the boy’s face. As it is, he makes grabby hands for the cup and looks almost peaceful when he takes the first gulp.
Clark carries on to his bedroom and gets the duvet from his bed. Robin looks up at him when he comes back and even with his eyes hidden it’s easy to see hints of Bruce written into the expression. He’s gone to an American High School, studied genetics like everyone else, and yet he finds it faulty: facial features may be passed on biologically, but the way you move them? Training and copying, that much he’s aware of. It’s in the way he holds his whole face: slight disagreement, mixed with confusion. It’s Bruce’s standard when he interacts with Hal Jordan.
Luckily, and even though it feels weird to be the one it’s directed at, Clark’s used to ignoring it. Without saying anything, he drapes the cover over Robin’s lap, rolling it around his shoulders. He laughs when he realizes how much it resembles a nest.
“I wasn’t cold,” Robin points out, drawing his brows together.
Clark lifts his shoulder. “I heard it’s important that humans stay warm when they’re sick,” he explains as he sinks down in his armchair. “I’m sure it’ll help.”
For a moment, the kid looks like he wants to argue - no doubt a repetition of the argument he’s had with Bruce about how he’s fine . But then his face falls, as if he’s having an idea, and he looks over at him with a curious expression. “You’re an alien!” He bellows suddenly.
Clark can’t help but flinch at the words, not just at the volume but at the phrasing, too. Even the wonder in Robin’s voice can’t erase the negative connotations. “Shh!” He makes, reaching over to bring a finger to the boy’s lips. “I thought B taught you all about secret identities.”
“I-- uh, yeah. Sorry.” He says quietly and licks over his lips. “Just-- that’s exciting! You can fly and shoot lasers from your eyes and-- you’re bulletproof! Why can you breathe on Earth? Shouldn’t your lungs be used to another atmos--”
Are kids even supposed to know that many words? How old is he, eight? Nine? Clark has no memory of how extended his vocabulary had been back then. Then again, though, this boy has been raised by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth for the last two years. There’s bound to be some inappropriate intelligence hidden in him.
“Woah, slow down there,” Clark says softly. He understands the questions, because he’s had the same ones. Has been worse about them even since they were his to ask, so he isn’t angry that Robin is nosy. “You know the planet I’m from?”
He nods in response. There’s something written into his features, a genuine curiosity. This kid isn’t surprised and overwhelmed by the fact that other planets can have life. Instead, he’s excited to talk to someone from outer-space and to learn about all of that. Clark wonders if Robin has ever gotten to talk to one of the Lanterns besides Jordan. “Krypton, right? B says your powers are because your sun is different.”
“Your sun is different,” Clark corrects with a smile. “Back on Krypton, I wouldn’t have powers. But the light of this yellow sun here…”
“So you have to recharge?” Robin wants to know.
Clark scratches his neck. “Sometimes,” he admits. “Anyway, the atmosphere and physiology of Krypton and Earth are pretty similar. So I can live here completely normal.”
“Safe for the powers.”
“Safe for the powers,” he agrees. He watches as the boy works through the info and puts it into a folder in his brain. But in contrast to Bruce, it’s probably genuine hunger for knowledge - out of curiosity, not caution.
“What about the people?” Robin asks. He sits up, coughing into the crook of his arm at the sudden movement. But in the next moment he’s alert again, only frowning slightly.
“Headache?” Clark prompts. Are kids allowed to take advil? No, scratch that, he doesn’t even have any painkillers. Are there any home remedies against a headache?
“No, my nose just squeaks.” Robin says. At Clark’s confused look, he shrugs. “That happens when you sneeze. Or your nose is blocked. You never get sick?”
Clark shakes his head.
“Neither do I, usually.” Robin says grumpily. “But stupid Riddler had to hide the key down in the river and then we had to hurry and-- being wet and exposed to wind is not a good combination for humans, just so you know.” As if on cue he sneezes. “God!”
Clark watches him produce a tissue from his pocket and presses his lips together. It’s weird, really, but somehow he sees himself in the kid. How he doesn’t regret what he does, but hates that it compromises him, keeping him from doing more. When he was younger, all he wanted to do was help people with his powers; it was like a reflex, like raising his fist to stop a bullet was ingrained in his brain. He knows that Bruce’s work - everything - comes from the heart, but that it takes a toll on him. It’s in the way he closes himself off - as if he has to persuade himself every day to carry on. (And that’s not a bad thing, per se, it just means that Bruce wants to help even harder.) Robin, though, he does it all naturally, just like Clark.
“You know, there was a superhero on Krypton,” he tells him.
Robin looks up at him slowly. “I thought you left Krypton as a kid.”
For someone who values his secret identity so much, Bruce really is bad at keeping quiet about other people’s. He doesn’t mind that the Boy Wonder knows, else they wouldn’t have this conversation, but he’d rather he was the one telling people about his home planet. It’s already bad enough that all of these only are stories to him, too.
“As a baby, actually.” Clark concedes. The kid is just repeating what he has heard, he can’t be mad at him for it. “But… I’ve studied the history. My history, so I know a little.”
“There’s records? Wasn’t the entire planet--?” He trails off, not wanting to say it. As if hearing it would hurt Clark. He’s thankful for the precaution, though it’s not necessary any more.
“Jor-El-- My father, he has given me somethin’ on the way. A… chronic of sorts.” And then, because this is the kid of the world’s greatest detective, he adds, “It’s hidden away in the Arctic, don’t bother lookin’ for it.”
“I wasn’t gonna--!” Clark raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. No snooping, got it.”
“Maybe I can show it to you one day.” Clark suggests. Kryptonian technology can probably survive a small human child, he’d dare say.
Robin leans forward, his palms pressing down on his crossed legs. “Really? That’d be awesome!”
It coaxes a small laugh out of Clark. In the next moment, a green light covers the wally of the room.
“He gave me the Lantern?” Clark moans before he can stop himself. He focuses on the fight going on outside, trying to figure out if his help is needed. Jordan (that explains why he’s here then; Bruce would never leave him in charge of Gotham) seems to have it handled, though.
Robin chuckles. Then he coughs. And chuckles again. “‘Course he did. You think B would let just about anyone watch his city?”
Clark huffs. Knowing Bruce, he’ll probably end up building his own army to protect Gotham in case he was ever absent. All trained exclusively by himself, of course. He can just hope it won’t be any more children because if that means he has to babysit those as well…
“Right.” He agrees and blows a strand of hair out of his face. “Anyway, you wanna hear a story?”
“‘M too old for good night stories,” Robin mutters and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Needless to say, that behaviour only makes him look even more like a kid.
“Fine by me. Just thought since you were so interested in Krypton…” Clark prompts. That method always works on Lois, drawing the best (her curiosity) out of her.
And just like her, Robin jumps at the bait. “Yeah, no! I want to. Just don’t expect me to fall asleep. I don’t need much of that anyways.”
Clark’s pretty sure that’s not how it should be for human children - or any of them, rather - but it does explain how he can go to school and be a vigilante at night. But he’s also pretty sure that a single stay at his place wouldn’t help with any of that, so he lets it slide for now.
“If you say so,” he says with a small smile. He closes his eyes and recalls words that the projection of his father has told him. “There was a man on my homeworld many centuries before my birth. He was cast out of his family for reasons that seemed trivial to him.”
He’s opened his eyes again and watches as Robin looks at him expectantly. Clark would have expected him to speak up already, to ask questions, but apparently he’s more patient than he’d have guessed.
“He dreamt of Justice. He dreamt of helping the weak,” Clark carries on. “He dreamt of showing his family that he was better than they gave him credit for.”
Again, no questions. Hadn’t Clark’s mind races with the need for background info when he first heard the story, years ago? He hadn’t dared interrupt the projection in case it would disrupt it (now he knows better). But Robin knows he wouldn’t mind, right?
“He used his talents and his skills to fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves,” Clark explains. “And he became a legend.”
Maybe it’s the title, maybe the context, he doesn’t know. But after a moment, Robin voices his question. Carefully, he asks, “And did his family ever realize their mistake?”
That’s not what he expected. Back when this was new to him, Clark had wanted to hear about all of the adventures, the fighting, all of the action. But Robin doesn’t seem to be much into that. At least not prominently.
“Does it matter?” Clark wants to know. Maybe there’s something about Bruce’s guardianship over the kid that doesn’t know about.
Robin thinks about it for a second. “I guess not,” he shrugs finally. Then he pulls at the loose skin of his lip. “What was his name, Batman?”
Clark frowns. He can see why the comparison would strike, expecially if Robin focusses on the family aspect like this (it’s Bruce’s whole thing, after all, the murder of his parents), but that wasn’t what he was aiming for. But this… it isn’t his place, is it? He isn’t the one who should reassure the kid and tell him he’s good on his own, better even - Clark has seen him in action; the first time he witnessed his fighting-- if he hadn’t known this was a human… What he didn’t have in experience, he made up with skill. He doesn’t know if it was just the circus training or something else that gave him the energy and the movements, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the kindness radiating off him, even as he cracked jokes on the thieves’ expense and dodged bullets left and right. He actively tried not to hurt anyone at all, tried to make them think with his comments and change their ways. It wasn’t so much about Justice for Robin, and that only got more intense with time, but about the people.
He shakes his head softly. “No one knows his real name. He was called--” He thinks for a moment, trying to find an accurate translation. “Nightwing.”
“Nightwing?” Robin repeats. “Well, that’s more badass, for sure.”
Clark rolls his eyes playfully. Maybe what he connects with the story, and what he sees in the Boy Wonder in comparison, maybe that’s not what a kid sees in it. Mayne a small boy would only care of the coolness of it all, and the tangible story in it, not the metaphorical underlyings.
“Did he have a mortal enemy? A whole collection of crazy people?” Ah, there’s the excitement. “Did the people like him? Did he lead a superhero team?” Now he’s practically bouncing up and down in his seat. Looks like Bruce Wayne does have to deal with an actual child.
Clark chuckles and raises a hand to soothe him. “Woah, slow down there.” There aren’t many stories that have been passed on to him - and Jor-El never said anything about how the Kryptonian superhero was received. But… Clark isn’t a liar (safe for his secret, of course) but if he doesn’t know what the reality holds, does it count? He can’t let down this kid like this. “There was this one time where…”
Robin listens eagerly, basically on the edge of his seat as Clark goes on. He tells him of how Nightwing and his companion, Flamebird, protected Krypton’s capital Kandor. He tells stories of how dangerous it has been to live there and how good people with money have had it - Robin was confused to hear that currency even existed on Krypton. Frankly, Clark doesn’t know. He bases the stories on reports he’s read and written, on fights he’s had. Times he’s seen the Dynamic Duo deal with criminals and the times he’s joined them. It’s always close to that truth, at least, but Robin doesn’t seem to recognize anything.
Instead, he uhs and aws at the right moments, visibly growing more and more tired. When he forgoes any comments in favour of yawning repeatedly, Clark finally claps his hands down on his thighs.
“Think that’s enough, birdie,” he says gently as he gets up. “You look like you’re about to crack away.”
Robin had already sunk back into the cushions at this point, with Clark’s duvet wrapped tightly around himself. It’s a miracle he’s still awake. And the fact that he doesn’t argue says a lot about that, too.
“How you feelin’?” Clark wants to know. He reaches down and brings his hand to the kid’s forehead. His temperature seems normal, as far as he can tell, and apart from a little coughing here and there he can’t think of any symptoms he portrayed.
“‘m fine.” Robin yawns and this time it’s easier to believe him.
Clark nods. “I’m glad. If anything’s up during the night, you can just wake me up. Or else-- free reign over everything but the oven.”
Robin gives him a toothy grin. “Thanks. I’m glad B wanted me to come here.”
Clark frowns. “He wanted--? He said you insisted--” He trails off, realizing what it means. So he was the only one Bruce would trust to take care of his kid, huh? That’s… quite an honor. A sign of trust, he gathers. “Oh, wow.”
He gives him a funny look, like Clark’s confusion over that is unnecessary. And then he just takes off his glasses. “For what it’s worth, I hope I can tell you so much about my home, too. Maybe over breakfast or-- next time?”
It’s basically a please that he pronounces as he looks up at him with those blue eyes of his, so light against the tanned skin, but he can’t concentrate on that. Robin, the Boy Wonder, the younger of the Dynamic Duo, just randomly took off his sunglasses!
There’s disappointment written into the boy’s face in the next moment, and it’s funny how much of it is featured in his eyes. The squint is a perfect imitation of Bruce’s. “Come on, glasses may work for you , but it isn’t a long stretch to guess who I am when you already know both sides of B.” He click his tongue. “So either you’re a little dumb or you think I’m dumb if you think I don’t know that you know.”
Clark whistles through his teeth. “Woah, that was quite a sentence there, Dick.”
He beams at hearing his name, as if it is extra special when Clark says it. “So, you interested in some circus stories?”
It makes him stop short for a second. He hadn’t even realized that home didn’t mean the Manor or Gotham in general to the boy. No, this is Dick Grayson, last of the Flying Graysons. He was born into a circus and until his parents died, it was his world. In the way that Krypton would have been his world if he’d stayed there for a little longer. They’re both foreigners, he realizes now. Both of them thrown into a society, a whole world, that’s strange to them - and possibly even more so to Dick than to Clark. He doesn’t even remember Krypton, he’s grown up on Earth, the only thing casting him out being his powers. Which he can hide. But Dick? He’s lost everything he’d ever known.
Clark walks over to the door and lands his hand hover over the light switch for a second. He watches as Dick finally sinks down, still looking up at him even as he hugs the pillow closer. Finally, he gets out an answer. “I’d love to.”