Chapter Text
Clark Kent loves Bruce Wayne.
Clark mentally chanted this as he worked up his nerve to enter the dining room. He stopped just before the large oak door, pressing his hand against the dark wood. Beyond it, he heard the boys’ raised voices.
“…you’re such an asshole! You knew I liked her!”
“I knew you had a crush, but I didn’t think you were serious about it. Jason, she doesn’t see you that way. And…I thought it was obvious we…that we… I just didn’t know you didn’t know…about us!”
“How would I know? You two were sneaking around. If you thought I knew, you wouldn’t have been sneaking around like—”
“It is not Grayson’s fault that you are a delusional, unobservant simpleton, Todd. They were not...sneaking...around. Anyone with eyes to watch them can see that Koriand’r is attracted to only Grayson. Your childish admiration of her is pathetic. You are clearly in…what is that term used?”
“The friendzone.”
“Thank you for your occasional bouts of usefulness, Drake. You, Todd, are in the friendzone.”
Clark sighed. Bruce wasn’t home. He’d texted to say he had a late meeting and then would be staying in the office to accept a business call from overseas. Clark had moved into the manor four weeks ago to an attentive Bruce who’d been home every day for that first week, re-introducing Clark to every room in the grand house and moving mountains to rearrange the kids’ schedules so that they were all home for at least one family meal a day at the same time. Clark cherished family meals with Ma and Pa back in Kansas and looked forward to having some semblance of that again now with Bruce…and their boys.
Because they were his boys, too, or at least that was what Bruce told him. Clark had known Robin and Jason since they were little. They’d come to Bruce, Robin at eight, and then Jason later at ten, and had grown up calling Clark “uncle.” Now at fifteen and fourteen, they just called him “Clark” and rolled their eyes when he told old stories about them fighting over which one of them would be Superman for Halloween.
“You broke the bro-code! You’re not supposed to date a person your brother likes!”
“Even if the person the brother likes is completely out of his league? Like he stands no chance, at all? Because then it’s just the brother describing his dream girl, someone completely unattainable, therefore imaginary—”
“Out of my league? Out of my—can you be any more of an asshole? How is she out of my league? No, no, even better than that, tell me what my league is, huh? Go ‘head. Let’s hear it.”
“Young sirs…”
Clark sighed in relief at the addition of Alfred Pennyworth’s voice. As the butler and adopted grandfather threw water on the raging fire, Clark took a deep breath and wiped his glasses on his t-shirt.
One, two, three, four….
He pushed open the door, flashing what he hoped was a cheerful smile at the scowling boys and longsuffering butler.
“Hey guys! So glad everyone’s here for dinner.” Clark walked to the head of the long table, the side opposite Bruce’s empty seat at the other head. It felt strange and isolating at times, but tonight he was glad to place some distance between him and the kids. Jason and Tim and Robin and Damian sat on opposing sides, Jason glaring daggers at a seemingly exasperated Robin as a smug Damian and checked-out Tim spectated from the sidelines.
“Uh…” Clark felt imaginary sweat beading at his temples. Did he dare ask them ‘What’s up?’ They had to know he’d heard them. His super hearing was not a secret. “Eh…” But conversations around meal tables with family you hadn’t seen since the morning were supposed to start with ‘How was your day?’ then segue into ‘Did anything fun happen in class, Tim?’ To which Tim would usually reply that he’d fallen asleep in class again and that Clark would have to sub in for Bruce at another parent teacher conference. Or ‘Hey, Damian? Did you learn anything new?’ and pretend to be impressed that Damian had only insulted one student that day and had attempted to kill no one. But he’d rather ask those questions and receive those answers, than to leap into the alligator pond filling the growing chasm between Robin and Jason.
Clark didn’t know what happened to these boys. They used to be thick as thieves, the best of friends, but…
“Hey, Clark!” Jason wore a large grin. His green eyes twinkled and the small spattering of freckles across his nose and the few on his checks made directors love casting him in the roles of kid brothers or loveable pranksters in short-lived sitcoms and straight-to-stream movies. He was the prince of a growing empire of residual income.
“Hi, Jase,” Clark said. He tried to match Jason’s smile, but felt the sides of his mouth tremble as the happy twinkle in Jason’s eyes vanished and the smile turned sharp.
“Robin thinks that he’s God’s gift to women and that he’s so far above me it’s okay to steal my girl—”
“Oh my God!” Robin slaps the table, nearly knocking over his water glass. “Kori isn’t your girl, and I didn’t steal her! You act like you were dating her! If you’d asked her out, she would have said no!”
Clark stared between the boys. “Kori? As in Koriand’r?” The Tameranean princess, a teenage superhero that doubled as an actress by day? “Jason… Kori and Robin have been…well, flirting for months, very openly. You…were there and never said anything to anyone.”
Jason’s mouth fell open as he flushed and shrilled, “You’re taking his side?” at the same time Robin yells, “See! How was I supposed to know you were serious?”
Clark glanced at Alfred who shook his head. Alfred, Clark learned, didn’t like to interfere with Clark’s attempts at parenting. He thought he was being supportive by letting Clark have hands-on practice. Sink or swim.
Clark sunk.
“Jason, Kori is older than you—”
“She’s older than him, too!”
“By barely a year!” Robin protested.
Jason growled and jumped to his feet, making himself much taller than Robin as he glared down at him. “People always pick you, huh? All you gotta do is smile and flip your stupid hair. She never considered me, but you…” His voice broke. “You knew I really liked her. Even if she didn’t like me, you should have backed off. For me.”
“I didn’t…” Robin trailed off, staring at Jason, large blue eyes blinking rapidly, then looking away.
Oh, Robin. Clark tried not to sigh out loud, but Good Lord. The older boy had known how deeply Jason cared.
Tim, who sat beside Jason, suddenly looked more alert, and Damian’s smug expression shifted to a protective one. He stood up, as if he could match Jason’s height, and raised his chin. “You stood no chance with the alien princess, Todd. Should Grayson have ignored her, and then neither one of you would have a relationship? Are you that petty?”
Clark wondered at Damian and Robin’s relationship. The twelve-year-old had joined the family a year before, when his mother, Talia Al Ghul, the Demon Head’s daughter and a past fling of Bruce’s, dropped him on the manor’s doorstep. Damian had hated everyone who lessened his claim on being Bruce’s heir, but he’d mellowed over time and had somehow become attached to Robin.
“Jason, look. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll break up with Kori. I’ll call her tonight.”
“And then you’ll break her heart, and she’ll hate me!” Jason cried. “And then it’ll be all over social media and people will call me a hating loser and cockblocker and anything else they can think of!”
“Then what do you want me to do?” Robin pushed his full plate of food away. “Tell me.”
“Just… just…” Jason wiped at his eyes.
Oh no. Was he crying? Clark didn’t want to deal with tears or hormones. He just wanted to eat… He blinked and realized he didn’t even know what was on his dinner plate. He hadn’t looked, hadn’t taken a moment to notice the aroma. Grilled porkchops, sauteed spinach, baby carrots and garlic bread. It was probably delicious and would taste best right now, fresh from the oven when it was first served, but Clark wouldn’t get to savor it like this. He was going to have to chase after a sobbing teenager, in five…four…three….
Jason fled the table.
Clark rose, ready to follow, as Robin covered his face with his hands…his bandaged hands. The middle and index fingers of his left hand were taped together. Clark looked in the direction Jason had run, and then at Robin whose tan skin had gone a bit pale but it didn’t make the kid any less good-looking. If Jason’s face made casting directors think little brother and class clown, Robin’s face made people think prince and heartthrob, but he wasn’t the actor.
“Did you hurt yourself at practice?” Clark asked, coming to Robin’s side of the table. The boy pulled his hands away from his face and stared at his fingers as if just noticing the bandages himself.
“Oh yeah, I jammed them on the pommel horse. It was stupid and now I can’t train properly for a week,” Robin grumbled. “Karma, I guess.” He sighed and looked at Clark earnestly. “I just didn’t think he was still serious. Thought he’d figure that…” He shook his head.
“That Kori’s too hot for him?” Tim asked drolly.
Robin’s mouth dropped open. “No! She just…”
“You’re in her league and Jason’s not,” Tim finished. He crunched on ice from his drink. “You won a couple of titles and a few medals this past year and turned into a real jerk, you know that?”
“No, I don’t know that.” Robin was on his feet, blue eyes flashing. “I said I was sorry. Said I’d break up with her. What else can I do, huh? I can’t help it if she likes me back. Can’t help that—”
“You don’t get zits or have bad hair days like the rest of mankind?” Tim shrugged. “That’s fine, but you don’t have to lord it over Jase. Yeah, he was obviously friendzoned, but you knew he didn’t want to be, and you pursued Kori anyway. We’ve all seen you notice girls notice you. That’s fine, but what you did to Jay was shitty.”
“Master Timothy,” Alfred warned and Clark wanted to clap and say, ‘finally.’ He wanted to leave this to Alfred, who would be doing this if Clark wasn’t there. Who had done this for years in the absence of Bruce.
Robin looked positively miserable, and Damian placed a hand on his arm. “There, there, Grayson. It is difficult to be superior in a sea of mediocrity.” He sniffed in Tim’s direction, making it clear that he felt that he was also suffering in not-so silence.
“Damian, you’re not helping,” Clark said. He looked at Robin. “If you like Kori enough to ask her out, then you should date her. However, you need to make up with Jason. Talk to him about why you also like Kori. Maybe, if he understands your feelings, you two can work something out. You always used to.”
Before Jason started getting cast in bigger acting roles in longer shows that had him working an hour outside of Gotham. And before Robin became an elite gymnast and decided to drop one childhood nickname 'Dick' in favor of 'Robin' because he didn’t want 'dick' on the scoreboards. Both boys started homeschooling around the same time two years ago and had schedules that kept them running past each other on their way to filmings, rehearsals, practices, photo-shoots, and meets. The one family meal thing instituted for Clark was probably the only reason why they saw each other more than once a day.
Robin swallowed. “Can you talk to him first?”
“Do I have a choice?” He’d been on his way to handle it, though nothing could prepare him for it. Clark was ready to sigh again and ponder his old life, in his one-bedroom apartment. It was quiet…and lonely, but not stressful. No yelling, no tears, no sense of drowning in escalating teenage angst with no Bruce to be a united front with and no support from Alfred.
Who was he kidding? He couldn’t do this parenting thing. He had been a great uncle, but anything beyond that he was a disaster at. He was going to screw up the kids, and…and…
Robin was smiling at him, misery temporarily lifted. “I don’t think dads get a choice.”
Clark felt something warm in his chest as the room seemed to brighten with Richard John “Robin” Grayson’s smile. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Not even a stand-in dad?”
Robin chuckled. “Not even a stand-in.”
Damian grunted and sat back down. “You are both making me nauseous.”
“I like you, too,” Clark said without bite, moving around the table to take the path Jason had gone. He had to pass Alfred on his way, and he didn’t miss the nod of approval the older man gave as Clark left the room.
The smile Clark had faked earlier stretched his face again with newly gained sincerity. He could do this, and afterward, when Bruce finally got home and they went on patrol, Clark would tell him all about how he saved the day without his cape.
But first, he had a heartbroken teenager to locate.
~*~
Loud K-pop music poured from Jason’s room. Clark grimaced, wishing he’d thought to put the earplugs Bruce had designed for him in his pocket. Bruce called them ‘teen proof.’ Clark wished more things carried that label, but alas. He knocked on the door, not sure if Jason could hear him over the noise—er—music.
He knocked again after no answer, and then pushed the door open a crack to call inside. “Jason? Can I come in for a little bit?”
The music stopped. Clark didn’t dare peek in until he had permission, so he waited for Jason to push the door the rest of the way open. The fourteen-year-old was 5’8 in his socks and still growing, body stretching out to be long and lanky. He was at that awkward phase, where his body was still figuring out what it wanted to do with itself. His cheeks were losing their baby fat, his eyes didn’t seem so round.
“What?” Jason raked longish strawberry blond hair off his forehead, watching Clark through narrowed eyes.
“Just…wanted to talk. See if you’re okay.” Clark shrugged and looked around the room. The walls were covered with movie and video game posters. A desk held a laptop and several binders surrounded by color coordinated highlighters. Bookshelves were laden with thick books ranging from science fiction to biographies, but everything was organized by color and size. The only messy thing in the room was Jason’s rumpled bed which Clark suspected was only that way because Jason had been lying on it.
Jason stepped back, moving to his bed and throwing himself down and Clark took that as an invitation to enter. He shut the door behind him and walked to Jason’s desk and rolled its office-style chair over to Jason’s bed. The teen lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“So…” Clark started.
“Do you think I’m ugly?”
“Huh?” Clark sat up straight, taken aback. He had been expecting to talk about girl trouble. Not this. What was happening? “Do I think what? W-why would you ask me that? No, you’re not ugly. D-do you think you’re ugly?”
“I don’t think I’m ugly,” Jason said flatly. “But I obviously don’t compare to the big dick.”
Clark thought to correct his language, but then thought again, because… Oh, he was going to have a headache by the end of this.
“I’m still taller than him and my voice is lower, and I’m more famous, more people recognize me than him. But I guess I don’t have that pretty boy face that sells stuff.”
“Jason, you don’t need—”
“The show’s not getting renewed for another season, and I heard the stage moms talking about how it’s harder for kids to get work when they aren’t so cute anymore or…don’t look like…” He throws a hand in the air. “Some people just get all the luck. If Robin decided he wanted to do this instead of being on cereal boxes, I bet he’d be bigger than me already.”
“Jason, please stop.” Clark couldn’t listen to that kind of talk. “You have an amazing talent. Bruce was able to find you an agent almost immediately after they saw you playing small roles in community theater.”
“Yeah, when I was a cute little ten-year-old, and I rode that. But Clark, the little Mickey-roles I get now won’t last much longer. Producers and casting directors are looking for the next ten-year-old that can grow up in the pre-teen market.”
“Okay,” Clark said. “No more…Mickey-roles. Does Mickey role mean like child star roles?”
“Campy stuff,” Jason said. “My agent is real good at finding those roles for me, but it’s time to do some real acting. You know, like when I was doing community theater, I wasn’t doing Charlie Brown Christmas type stuff. I was in Arcadia and 1984.” He gestured to his bookshelves and Clark zoomed in on titles like Othello, MacBeth, and Death of a Salesman. “I don’t necessarily want to go back to stage acting, but I want more serious roles in productions that are more hardcore. You know, something I’d actually watch. You think me or any of my friends look at Parker Jr. High Rulz?”
Clark blushed. He watched Parker Jr. High Rulz. It was funny, and charming, and…and it made him laugh. He enjoyed watching Jason play the role of Scotty the class clown with a crush on the high school girl next door, played by Koriand’r of course. “It’s not getting a third season?” What was Clark going to watch on Tuesday night at 7:30 now? He and Ma liked to discuss the episodes on his Wednesday lunch breaks.
Jason raised an eyebrow at him. “Really, Clark?”
Clark cleared his throat. “It’s a good show. You should be proud of the work you do.” He nodded and then smiled at Jason’s small blush. “So… do you look for auditions or roles in projects you may be interested in doing next?”
Jason sighed and sat up, putting himself at eye level with Clark. He looked troubled and excited at the same time. “Well, yeah. There’s this movie. Alex is talking to the casting director, they know each other from some other project, and telling the guy she thinks I’d be perfect for this one character. It’s a crime drama and the role feels like it was written for me. It’s about this mom and kid living in fear of the criminal dad who comes home and is terrible and eventually tries to bring his son into ‘the life.’ I just—if Bruce hadn’t found me, I’d be the kid in the movie in real life. I can play the part and I can’t wait to get my hands on the script if Alex can score me an audition.”
Clark nodded along, loving the eager notes in Jason’s voice and the confident glint in his eyes. Gone was the heartbroken kid who’d stormed out of the dining room or asked if he was ugly. This was the Jason Clark knew.
“Okay, okay, this sounds good. Do you think Alex will be able to get you an audition?”
Jason nodded. “Yeah. I think so, and we’re going to book a studio and film a new monologue so I can show my serious side. Right now, my resume and audition reels are very Disney.”
Clark didn’t see a problem, but he understood. “Okay, can I help?”
Jason tilted his head, studying Clark. “Sure.”
His tone was calculating and Clark wasn’t sure he liked it. “Uh.” Had he gotten himself into something troublesome? “What can I do for you?”
“You can butter Bruce up about the audition if I get it, and into saying ‘yes’ if I’m cast.”
“Why would I need to butter Bruce up for something like that? He’d celebrate your great achievement!” Clark was confused. Bruce loved Jason’s passion for acting. Clark remembered when Bruce first discovered Jason’s talent. He’d been cast in a school play and, to Bruce, had stolen the show. Jason’s teacher had gushed about Jason’s skill and wanted Bruce to enroll Jason in acting and voice lessons. It was the thing that brought Jason out of his shell and closer to Bruce when he joined the family. The calls home about Jason being cold and antisocial in class stopped when Bruce became active in driving Jason back and forth from theater classes and rehearsals, and then came Alex, the talent agent who got Jason his first job in television, an educational kids show about a time-traveling wishing well.
Clark and Ma had loved that show, too.
Jason bit his lip, and looked down at his bedspread.
“What? Why do you think Bruce won’t be ecstatic about you auditioning for this movie?”
Jason coughed lightly. “It’s rated R.”
Clark stared.
“R for violence, language, sex, nudity…” Clark’s heart sank as Jason continued down the list. This movie didn’t sound like anything he could watch with Ma.
Bruce was going to kill him, but, “If it means that much to you…” Clark reached out, ruffling Jason’s hair as the kid grinned at him. He didn’t know what Jason saw when he looked in the mirror, but he was still a cute kid, and would grow to be a nice-looking guy.
Knuckles sounded on the door, and Robin’s voice drifted through, “Jase? Can I come in?”
Jason stiffened, expression closing off.
“Hey, give him a chance, yeah?” Clark said, patting Jason’s shoulder. “He really is sorry.”
Jason groaned. “But he’s been such a dick lately. You should see him in the mirror in the morning.”
Clark bit the inside of his cheek. He should react to that. Jason was using that name the other way, Clark knew it. “Jase, maybe don’t… you shouldn’t…”
“It’s still his name.”
Clark and Jason stared at each other, before Jason finally looked away. “Yeah, fine. He’s been a jerk, but… fine.” He yelled to the door, “Come in!”
The door opened and Robin entered, head slightly bowed, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Jason’s voice offered no warmth, but it was a start.
Clark stood up. “I’m gonna leave you boys to it. Don’t kill each other, and uh… maybe go down and finish eating dinner after you’re done?”
Both teenagers shrugged at him and Clark held up his hands in placation. He backed out of the room slowly, closing the door behind him. As he started on his way down the hall, fully intending to finally taste one of the pork chops he’d left behind, he heard the beginnings of Jason and Robin’s conversation.
“I’m a dick.”
“It is your name.”
Looking heavenward, Clark continued toward the stairs.
Clark Kent loves Bruce Wayne.
He had to, especially if he was contemplating arguing the merits of a fourteen-year-old being in Rated-R movies.
He loved Bruce.
Loved him.
~*~
Clark sat at the Bat Computer reading up on some of Bruce’s old cases, when he heard his fiancé’s footsteps on the stairs. He spun around in the chair to catch his second sighting of Bruce all day. The man wore black sweatpants and a white t-shirt that clung to his muscle frame. He smelled freshly showered, his soot black hair, still damp, waved at his temples and at the nape of his neck. Clark rose to greet him at the base of the stairs.
Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark’s waist, supporting the small of his back as Clark tasted Bruce’s lips. Coffee, lime-seared porkchop and a bit of apple cinnamon pie. He held on to Bruce, savoring his flavor and unique scent of cedar and spicy bath soap. Bruce was a deliciously expensive treat that felt solid and warm.
Clark sighed as he released Bruce, gazing into those piercing blue eyes. “Do you really want to patrol tonight?” Though Clark lived there, Superman didn’t patrol Gotham much. It would be too suspicious. All they’d need is for one nosy person to wonder about Bruce’s new fiancé leaving Metropolis at the same time Superman starts patrolling Gotham. He and Bruce staggered their outings, with Superman remaining the patron saint of Metropolis. Their nights out were special occasions…but nights in were better.
Bruce’s grin always made Clark’s heart flutter. This time was no exception. He loved watching how that small motion animated Bruce’s entire face, raising the apples of his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“What would you rather do?” Bruce’s baritone sent shivers up Clark’s spine.
“Hm…I could tell you, or…show you. The latter option is more fun,” Clark said, letting his voice drop into the register Bruce had used.
Bruce’s grin evaporated, replaced with slightly slaw-jawed awe which made Clark smirk. It wasn’t often that he shocked the prince of darkness, and he had to savor it. He let his eyes wander down to Bruce’s nether regions, sure that Bruce was following his gaze.
“T-the night’s quiet. I listened to the radio on my way home. No prison breaks. No Bat signal.”
“Mmhmm. I checked the computer. Typical night, only petty crime the police can handle,” Clark purred.
Bruce swallowed. “The kids are asleep.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“So…” Bruce nodded toward the stairs, “Come show me what you’d rather do instead.”
Clark crowded Bruce from behind as they headed up the stairs, cursing how many more staircases and hallways they’d have to stumble up and through before they reached the bedroom. If they lived without children, Clark would have Bruce in the landing, in the study. But this was fine. It was more than fine. Rushing through the halls in the dark with his lover was such fun. Excitement for what was to come when they finally reached their destination mounted. Clark wondered if they’d make it to the bed. They hadn’t the last time, and that had been an experience Clark couldn’t tell Ma about.
They reached the door, Bruce ready to throw it open and—
A door across the hall opened and Tim pattered out.
“Bruce? Clark?”
Clark stopped dead in his tracks. Bruce spun, eyes large with surprise but still dark with slowly draining passion as he took in his middle child.
Tim was short for thirteen and looked even smaller in his long sleeve pajamas. His face was flushed, and his black hair was spikey with sweat.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, voice husky, impatient.
“I don’t feel good.”
Clark heard the telltale gurgle from Tim’s stomach, but didn’t have the parenting reflexes Bruce did to know to jump before the projectile vomit flew.
Clark was frozen in place, covered in insides with Bruce behind him, using him as a meat shield. The teenager before Clark stared, hand clamped over his mouth too little too late, and said, “Sorry, Clark.”
Behind him, Bruce made a noise.
A giggle?
Clark turned fast. “What’s that, Bruce, you want a hug?”
Bruce barely had time to grunt before Clark pulled the smaller man into a bear hug. And now they both stood, covered in insides, with a sick teenager looking ready to spew again.
“I’ll take him to his bathroom,” Bruce said, offering Clark a hesitant smile that asked for forgiveness.
Clark nodded. “I’ll get a mop.”
Bruce ushered Tim back into his room as Clark mentally mapped the best route to the supply closet on this floor. Alfred kept cleaning tools in every wing. But first, he was going to decontaminate himself.
Inside his and Bruce’s room, Clark stripped off his vomit-soaked shirt while chanting, Clark Kent loves Bruce Wayne.
Because if this wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.