Archive of Our Own

Clark sighed, fishing his house key out of the worn leather satchel on his hip. It had been a hard twenty-four hours for one Clark Kent. He had already been running on empty before the day even began. An earthquake struck the pacific rim sometime after midnight, causing Clark to spend the remainder of his night delegating relief between the Philippines and Taiwan. Once everything had finally settled down enough that he felt somewhat comfortable leaving the civilians to their own devices, Clark knew he could kiss any thoughts of sleep goodbye. He just barely had time to fly back home and change into his standard frumpy suit and chunky glasses without being late for work.

His day job hadn’t been any kinder. That morning, the state had sanctioned a new bill cutting local government funding, fueling Perry to make nearly everyone in the office work even later than usual. Clark was among some of the most unlucky reporters and editors, staying well into the evening to finish the standard back page articles they had already been expected to complete prior to the news dropping. After writing articles — and spell checking Lois’ articles — from morning till night, he was excited to pass out the moment his head hit the pillow. Unless a truly blood curdling scream struck his ears, there was zero chance of Clark patrolling tonight.

Alas, lady luck never seemed to be on Clark’s side. The moment he unlocked and pushed open his front door, a child’s yell graced his senses.

“You’re finally back!” Dick cried as he ran up to the man.

It seems Clark didn’t even need to go on patrol for a crisis to find him tonight.

“Hey, kiddo. What’re you doing here so late? Your dad didn’t tell me I was watching you tonight,” Clark said as he ruffled the young boy’s hair and pushed the thoughts of sleep away from the forefront of his mind.

It seems that was all it took to get the waterworks going.

“Screw Dad, I’m never talking to him again!” the young robin cried as he flung himself towards Clark and wrapped his arms around the man’s middle, “He cheated on you with a witch!”

Nothing in the world could have prepared Clark for those words. Clark Kent had never felt more confused. Despite his confusion he automatically wrapped his arms around Dick and lifted the boy up.

“Woah! A witch, huh? Sounds like you’ve had a crazy day,” Clark said, still trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Dick immediately adjusted his grip and curled his arms around Clark’s neck, “Crazy’s too nice of a word. I’ve had a horrible day,” he proclaimed.

Clark could absolutely relate. Dick’s news was only the cherry on top to complete his own horrible day.

Dick buried his head into the man’s shoulder, “How could he do this to us, Pa?” he asked through a hiccup.

Clark’s heart stopped. He suddenly felt light headed. Pa? There were no words to explain how earning that special title made him feel. That was the first time Dick had ever called him that. The boy had always been a fan of nicknames — he had taken a particular liking to calling Clark ‘Big Blue’ ever since he heard Barry affectionately call him that out in the field — but never had he called him Pa, or any paternal name for that matter. He had always felt paternally towards Dick, but never in a million years would he have thought the feeling was mutual. Dick thought of him as his other dad. It made something warm settle in the bottom of Clark’s gut. He wasn’t about to backpedal on that.

Clark walked them over towards his worn out couch, taking a seat while rubbing the boy’s back soothingly, “Hey, shh, calm down buddy. It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s alright. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Talia happened! That evil lady took Dad from you. She kissed him. On the mouth! Now Dad’s a big fat cheater and our family’s gonna fall apart,” Dick said in a tiny warbling voice.

Clark had to admit, it was a little concerning that a ten year old had connected the dots when even the world’s greatest detective couldn’t piece it together. Admittedly he got the situation all sorts of wrong, but Dick’s head was in the right place. Clark was indeed upset to hear that Bruce had met someone. It had been so long since he had fallen in love with the broody bat. At this point he had come to terms with the fact that his feelings were obvious enough for Bruce to realise and promptly ignore. It did however sting a little to find out that it was in fact so obvious that the man’s young son had even noticed.

It had taken years of hard work and broken down mental walls to build their friendship to what it was today, so he hadn’t dared to jeopardise it, but oh how he wanted to. Clark was beginning to think they were finally getting somewhere, too. They were quite literally raising a kid together. Bruce allowed him to stay late in the cave under the pretense of looking over cases and security feeds, but they would talk well into the morning. Clark had nearly been late to work on more than one account. Bruce had even started asking him to stay the night at the manor — albeit in one of the guest rooms — but it had still happened often enough that Alfred had dubbed the room he frequented ‘his room’.

The most damning piece of evidence was that look Bruce would get when Clark had been monologuing about this, that, and the other for just a hair too long. Someone less versed in the body language of the bat would think he was getting annoyed, but Clark knew better. He liked to hear Clark talk; he liked having Clark around. Clark had liked to think that meant something. Apparently he could not have been more wrong. All of that development just for Bruce to get with some woman Clark had never even heard the man mention? It just didn’t feel fair.

“You can’t divorce him, Pa. I know he deserves it, but I don’t. I didn’t do anything!” Dick whined.

Well that was a funny thought. It would be sort of difficult for Clark to divorce a man he was not at all involved with, let alone married to. Clark breathed a quiet huff of amusement out through his nose.

“You don’t need to be worrying about that, Dick. I have zero plans of divorcing your dad. I don’t think that one’s really in the cards,” Clark said through a weak smile.

“Thank god. I don’t want Talia to be my new mom. She’s the worst. You should’ve seen her, she was all over him, and he just… he just let her be! I’m just so mad at him,” Dick growled out. He would wear a hole into the back of Clark’s shirt with how quickly his little fingers were worrying at the collar.

“I know, bud. You have every right to be mad at him,” Clark began placating when a thought crossed his mind, “Does Bruce know where you are right now?”

Dick went stock still, the tell tale sign that he knew he was in trouble. Clark seized this moment to take a good look at the boy for the first time that night. He was dressed in baggy plaid pyjama pants and a dryer faded superman t-shirt. Clark sighed internally. There was absolutely no way Bruce knew Dick wasn’t home and tucked away in bed.

“No, but you can’t tell him. I don’t want him coming here,” Dick’s words began toppling atop one another when he saw Clark’s brow furrow, “You can’t get mad at me for running away from him, he’s the one that should be in trouble.”

Clark knew he should be mad. Something bad absolutely could have happened to the little boy all on his own this late at night. At the same time, he couldn’t help but be impressed with how Dick got all of the way to Metropolis on his own without the world’s greatest detective noticing.

“Dickie, I know you’re upset with him right now, but I’ve gotta call your dad. He doesn’t know where you are and I’m sure he’s worried sick. I would be too, you know, if you ever disappeared on me. We can talk to him about how you’re feeling but we can’t hide from him, okay?" as he spoke, Clark lifted one arm from around Dick’s back to reach for his phone in the satchel that still hung awkwardly around his neck.

Dick appeared to be mulling over the man’s words, eyebrows scrunching together in thought, “Fine. You can call him if you want, but I’m not going back home. If he wants to start a new family with the lady that kidnapped me, he can do it alone,” he mumbled, bottom lip jutted out.

That certainly got Clark’s attention.

“Sorry, what do you mean kidnapped?” Clark asked, failing to completely mask the anger in his voice.

“I mean what I said! Her and her stupid dad kidnapped me to ‘test’ Batman,” Dick explained, forming air quotes with one hand for added pizzaz.

“She acted like she was in trouble too, but she was in on it! The whole time! All because she loves him or something. Pfft, like she knows what love is. Did’ja know she kills people, Pa? She kills people, and Bruce kissed her! It’s all just so… arrgh!” he frustratedly screamed, reaching a hand up to pull angrily at his bangs.

Clark took a deep breath, mentally tabling his own tumult of emotions about the entire situation in order to focus on Dick’s big feelings. He gently grabbed at Dick’s hand, easing him to release his self inflicting grasp. He ran his thumb across the boy’s small hand in a soothing motion, “I’m so sorry, Dick. I bet that made you feel really disappointed in him. She doesn’t sound very nice at all.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s not nice at all. You’re a whole lot better than her. Dad’s an idiot,” Dick mumbled.

Clark couldn’t hide his smirk at the boy’s angered words, “It’s not nice to call your father names. He can definitely be dense at times, but B’s the smartest guy I know.”

“Alfred said book smarts are different from emotional smarts,” Dick corrected.

“Well, Alfred’s right about that. You’ve gotta give him grace though. You can’t be good at everything after all,” Clark informed with a chuckle.

“Hmmph. I guess,” Dick huffed.

Clark lightly squeezed the boy’s hand before letting go, “Why don’t we just get the call out of the way, huh?” he said as he once again reached for his phone, this time successfully pulling the device out of his satchel and unlocking it.

Clark punched Bruce’s number into his phone without even looking at the keys. It only took two rings for the other man to answer.

“What?” Bruce growled with full Batman tonality.

“Hey, B. I just wanted to let you kn-,” began Clark.

“I’m busy,” Bruce cut in.

Clark rolled his eyes despite knowing the other man couldn’t see him, “Dick’s here,” he lightly nudged the boy sitting in his lap, “You wanna say hi, Dick?” the man prompted.

“Nuh-uh,” Dick forced out as he reburied his face into the crook of Clark’s shoulder.

“You heard the kid. When can you get here? I think there’s some things we all need to discuss,” Clark asked.

The man on the other end of the call was quiet for a few moments, “Give me thirty minutes.”

The line went dead with a signalling beep.

Internally, Clark was running through the logistics of Bruce getting there in thirty minutes flat. The commute from Gotham to Metropolis was forty minutes on a good day, but over an hour at worst. Bruce was also undoubtedly out on the streets, still in his gear and looking for Dick when he answered the call. Nonetheless, this was Batman. He would be there in thirty, traffic laws be damned.

Clark let out a sigh, “Well, that gives us half an hour to have fun before Mr. Grumpy Pants arrives to lecture us both,” Clark gave a small squeeze to the boy’s middle, “Have you eaten dinner?”

Dick shook his head in nonverbal answer.

“Now that we can fix. Why don’t you go sit in the kitchen and I’ll cook you up something yummy,” Clark said, kissing the top of Dick’s head as a parting gift before setting him down on his own two feet.

The prospect of food seemed to lift Dick’s spirits. The smile Clark had grown so accustomed to began crawling its way back onto the boy’s face as he made the few step journey to jump onto one of Clark’s kitchen barstools.

Clark shook his head with a smile, pushing up off the couch and shrugging off his suit jacket before following Dick into the kitchen. He mentally started running through meal options as he opened his fridge, only then remembering his major lack of groceries. Last week the tractor had given out right in the middle of Ma hauling bales. Again. Clark had sent most of his pay check back home in order to get a mechanic out there to fix it. The cows needed to eat after all, and he honestly didn’t. His body had grown accustomed to eating at least two square meals a day, but it wasn’t out of necessity.

He mulled over the contents of his fridge: a stick and a half of butter, a jar of mayo, a now half rotten head of lettuce, and the pack of beer he never touched but kept for show. Things were not looking promising.

“So Dick, how’s school been going?” Clark asked in an attempt to distract the boy from noticing his woeful grocery situation.

Dick trilled his lips in a sigh, “C’mon Pa, you know how school’s been going.”

Clark opened up the cabinet beside the stovetop in hopes of finding better sustenance, “Touché. How’d you do on your math test Wednesday? Did our study session pay off?” he spotted a box of cavatappi noodles. Bingo.

“Ugh. I hope you know talking about math isn’t succeeding in fixing my mood,” Dick groaned, laying his head down atop his crossed arms on the counter.

Clark felt for the boy. Dick was incredibly intelligent and insightful for his age, but he struggled with focusing during his classes. Titling him as high strung would be an understatement. The strict boring setting of a Gotham Academy classroom was not very conducive to Dick’s learning process. His only prior schooling was in between and during trapeze sets, after all.

Clark reopened the fridge, grabbed the half stick of butter, and tossed it into a pan, “Okay… how’s Barbara doing, then?” he grabbed a pot and carried it over to the sink just in time to catch the blush creeping up Dick’s cheeks.

“Fine! I got an eighty-seven on the test. You can’t tell Bruce, though,” Dick mumbled through his embarrassment.

Clark turned on the tap to fill the pot, and turned to give Dick a lopsided smile, “Why not? An eighty-seven isn’t too bad. You’ve been working really hard. Plus, that’s an improvement. You were doing a lot worse earlier in the year. I bet Bruce would be happy to know how much you’ve grown, kiddo.”

That comment earned Clark a glare, “Do you even know him? Dad always talks about how I need to make A’s. He may not say it to me, but I’m good at sneaking around. I hear him talking with Alfred. He says the media would say he’s a bad parent if I don’t make good grades.”

Clark’s heart broke a little with the boy’s words, “That’s only because he worries. You just keep doing your best and it’ll pay off. If you ask me, I still think he’d be proud of you for making an eighty-seven. You can’t be perfect all of the time.”

Dick answered him with a shrug.

Clark carried the pot back to the stovetop and turned on both front eyes, “How do you feel about buttered noodles, bud?” he asked as he tossed his head back to look at Dick. He received a thumbs up in answer, “Perfect, ‘cause that’s what we’re getting.”

The conversation lulled as Clark focused on melting butter and bringing water to a boil. The ticking of the clock over the sink sounded loud in the quiet little apartment.

Clark allowed his mind to drift to Bruce. The man was at the forefront of Clark’s thoughts far more often than he would like to admit. Things had been so good between the two of them as of recent. It was hard to believe that there was a mystery woman in his life, considering Clark spent practically every day with Bruce. Why had he never mentioned anything? They were best friends, even if Bruce had never dared to use such an elementary label to define their relationship. Clark couldn’t help but feel hurt over the fact Bruce kept something so important from him.

Perhaps if Clark had been braver, this Talia would have never had the chance to win Bruce’s affections in the first place. Just the other day Clark had been so close to giving in to his impulses. In the moment it had almost seemed as if Bruce had wanted him to as well.

Last Tuesday they had been reviewing a case file in the cave. Dick had long since been put to bed, so it was just the two of them. Bruce had inched his chair closer to Clark as the night drew on, his head deep in the pile of papers sat on the desk in front of them. He was apparently so focused that he hadn’t noticed how their knees were touching, the outer side of their thighs nearly flush.

Clark could not say the same. He couldn’t force himself to focus on the papers in front of him no matter how hard he tried. Every synapse in his brain was lighting up at the physical contact. All of his senses were honing in on Bruce as a whole. Every breath he took smelled of Bruce’s expensive cologne — sandalwood and bergamot — mixed with the lingering musk of Kevlar and sweat that always clung to Bruce’s skin. The sound of Bruce’s heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears, drowning out both Bruce’s voice and the slow drips of moisture running down the stalactites above them.

Clark was suddenly snapped out of his musings by a light nudge.

“Did you listen to a word I just said?” Bruce asked.

“What?” Clark ran the past few minutes through his head at a rapid speed. His eidetic memory always came in clutch, “Oh, yeah. Crane was on the Iceburg’s guest list. That’s abnormal. Something about him and Penguin working together again,” Clark said with an air of uncertainty.

“Nygma, not Crane, but good guess,” Bruce lifted his hand to touch Clark’s face, “Are you feeling alright? Your last run in with Kryptonite was more than two days ago, but you’re not acting like yourself. Was there a residual amount left embedded somewhere that you neglected to tell me about?” he asked, leaning in close to Clark and looking him over.

Mayday.

Clark let out a nervous laugh, “No, no, I’m fine!” he assured, leaning back an inch or so in a feeble attempt of putting some distance between them, “Just a little distracted. I’ve got that article on the science fair that needs to be submitted tomorrow morning,” Clark lied through his teeth.

Bruce gave him an unamused look, “You were distracted by an article about a middle school science fair? Pity, I thought I’d finally taught you to lie better than that,” Bruce said as he stood up, swivelled Clark’s chair to face him, and shoved himself between Clark’s legs. With one hand still holding Clark’s face, he used his other hand to pop open the first few buttons of Clark’s flannel, quickly getting to work.

He pinched Clark’s neck, studying the man’s face for a reaction, “No visible response, and your skin’s no more malleable than usual,” Bruce recited clinically. His hand wandered further down, pushing Clark’s now open shirt to reveal his chest.

“Bruce, what are you doing?” Clark asked breathlessly, eyes frantically darting about.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m checking you for injuries, since you seem so inclined to lie to me about whatever’s bothering you,” Bruce huffed, unrelenting on his quest to find Clark’s ailment.

Clark reached his hand out to grab firmly at Bruce. From his sitting position, it just so happened that the man’s thighs were in Clark’s grabbing range. He wrapped a hand around the back of Bruce’s upper thigh, squeezing to get his attention.

“Nothing is bothering me, Bruce. I’m okay. I promise,” Clark stated, staring the other man down. He prayed for the promise to be enough to placate Bruce and end his investigation. Clark didn’t think his heart could handle Bruce’s hand travelling any lower.

Bruce paused, meeting Clark’s desperate gaze. The pair stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the tension in the air palpable.

Bruce was the first one to break the silence, clearing his throat, “It’s late,” he started, taking a step back to break Clark’s hold, “You should sleep here tonight,” he continued, turning to make his way up the stairs to the manor without sparing Clark a glance.

Clark nodded despite the man’s turned back, knowing any audible response would only get caught in his throat, and shakily stood to follow Bruce. He clumsily rebuttoned his shirt as he fell in line with his partner in justice.

“I have a board meeting in the morning. Brucie Wayne can get away with a lot, but I believe I’m on strike two with Lucious. Falling asleep in tomorrow’s meeting would mean strike three, and he’s been hinting at an improved cowl design as of recent. I need to be on my best behaviour if I want any chance of actually receiving it,” Bruce commented offhandedly.

The sudden change in topic allowed Clark to feel like he could breathe again, “Improved, huh? What’s he adding this time, laser vision?” Clark wiggled his eyebrows humorously.

Bruce let out a low chuckle, “You wish. I’m afraid Wayne Tech isn’t that advanced quite yet. Most of the past versions have prioritised movement over protection. Allegedly the new design will still allow me to use my full field of vision while also eliminating the concern of a bullet to the neck taking me out,” he explained.

Clark’s eyes flew wide open at that, “You mean to tell me that’s been a concern this whole time? I thought the Kevlar took care of basically all bullet related issues.”

“Yes, but only from a distance. If someone were to get close enough, even a knife could easily penetrate. The top of the cowl’s lined with ballistic plates, but the neck portion’s just Kevlar. It’s been that way for the last eight or so years. I rather like being able to turn my head out in the field,” Bruce gave Clark an unimpressed look in response to the other man’s impetuous gawking, “I’m pretty sure you know that criminals aren’t very fond of attacking directly in front of you.”

“I’m pretty sure you know criminals aren’t very fond of avoiding our weak spots. Luthor wouldn’t be digging up every piece of kryptonite on the planet if that weren’t true,” Clark refuted.

“Once you survive a few gunshots to the head, they all assume a knife or bullet to the neck would have the same outcome. My rogues are a superstitious bunch, but they aren’t very detail oriented when it comes to anything but scheming,” Bruce explained.

“I don’t like how much trust you put in that logic,” Clark said.

Bruce stopped and turned to face Clark once they reached the top of the stairwell, standing toe to toe with him.

“Are you worried about me, Kent?” Bruce asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Clark placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “I always worry about you,” he replied, his soft tone carrying a serious weight to it. The mood shifted once again.

To think things were just going back to feeling semi-normal.

Bruce leaned into the other man’s touch. Clark had always felt a sense of pride over the fact that he was one of the only people Bruce withstood any form of physical contact with. It seemed so small, only a hand to the shoulder, but that meant a lot when it came to Bruce. Clark understood that.

They were so close. Clark could almost feel Bruce’s breath against his face. It would only take a few inches to close the gap. Clark could barely stand it. Maybe this time he could…

No. It wouldn’t be worth the risk.

Clark let his hand fall from Bruce’s shoulder, “I should let you get to bed. Early day and all, like you said. I’d really prefer to not have to worry about you getting shot or stabbed in the neck ever again,” he said, giving Bruce a weak smile.

Bruce’s eyes dropped to Clark’s mouth for a long moment, his gaze intense. He let out a deep, shaky breath, “Okay,” he looked away from Clark and adjusted the neck of his sweater, “You get some sleep.”

Bruce repositioned the old grandfather clock to cover the cave’s entrance, “Will you be back tomorrow afternoon? Dick said something about an English project. Seems more up your alley than mine.”

Clark’s smile broadened, “I’ll be here.”

The beating sound of little toes against the particleboard bar drew Clark out of his daydream.

Dick was slowly getting antsy in his seat, hands twiddling and feet kicking. Without any conversation to distract him, he was letting his nerves get worked up again, “Does all this mean we’re not gonna have family movie nights anymore? What about family dinners?” he paused to let out a tiny gasp, “Oh my god, this is the last time you’re gonna cook for me, isn’t it?!” The terror in Dick’s eyes was laughable considering the meagre quality of his assumed last meal.

“Dick, this is not the last time you’re going to eat my cooking. You know my Ma would have my neck if I ever stopped trying to fatten you up,” Clark chuckled. He sprinkled a touch of garlic powder and ground some black pepper into the melted butter that was bubbling in the pan, simultaneously dumping the box worth of noodles into the now boiling pot.

“Okay… but will we still go to the baseball field? We had already bought tickets to the Meteors game next week! Ugh, Bruce has gone and ruined everything!” Dick shouted. He slammed his elbows onto the counter and shoved the palms of his hands harshly into his eyes.

Clark sprung into action, shutting the stove off so that the pot of water wouldn’t boil over. He turned around and leaned across the bar side, firmly grasping Dick by the shoulders, “Hey, hey. Look at me, Dickie,” he said as he leaned down slightly to look the boy in the eyes.

“No matter what happens between me and your dad, I will always be there for you. We both love you so much, Dick. There’s no argument we could have that would change that. We’ll still take you out to baseball games and amusement parks. I’ll still take you to get ice cream after school. I’ll even keep sneaking over to make you pancakes in the morning,” he soothed as he smoothed the pad of his thumb across the young boy’s cheek, wiping away a puddle of tears, “You’ve got nothing to worry about, bud. I promise.”

Dick’s cries morphed into sniffles, “Pinky promise?”

Clark gave him a sweet smile as he outstretched his pinky towards the boy, “Pinky promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Their fingers interlocked. Dick was still at the age where this sort of promise was considered more founded than actual law, so he seemed content with the outcome.

Crisis averted, Clark turned back to the stove, flipped the eyes back on, and tested the firmness of a noodle with the back of a wooden spoon. Satisfied, he lifted the noodle out of the pot and lightly blew on it before presenting it to Dick, “Has this been prepared to your liking, sir?” he questioned with a dramatised proper tone.

Dick giggled and slurped the noodle into his mouth, “Hmm… yes, I believe this will do. Compliments to the chef,” he answered, equally dramatic with the added flair of a posh British accent.

Clark let out a snort. He went to work draining the noodles and popping them into the lightly seasoned butter filled pan. He retrieved a bowl from the cabinet and, after giving the noodles a good few stirs, dished up Dick’s dinner.

The moment he stuck a fork in it, a knock rapped on the door.

Dick’s improved mood immediately visibly plummeted. Clark had to admit a feeling of doom was growing in the pit of his stomach as well. Lectures from Batman had been a part of his routine for years at this point, but that didn’t make them pleasant.

“Come on, goofball. Let’s go let your dad in. I’m sure he’s anxious to see you,” Clark told the boy. When Dick showed no signs of moving, other than to grumpily cross his arms, Clark sighed and walked the few steps towards the entrance alone.

Without further ado Clark unlocked and opened the door. Bruce burst in, looking right past his partner, and made a beeline to the young boy sitting at the bar.

Clark glanced over at the microwave to read the time. Twenty-nine minutes had passed since his phone call with Bruce, and here the man was donning a turtleneck and slacks rather than his cape and cowl. Bruce never ceased to impress him.

Bruce held Dick’s face in his hands, looking him over, “Don’t you ever run off like that again, chum. Do you hear me?” he smoothed his thumb over the boy’s cheek, “Do you have any idea how worried I was? You know our city. Anyone could have picked you up. Anyone. Anything could have happened to you. I can’t begin to understand what possessed you to act like that,” Bruce lectured.

The boy looked past his father, locking eyes with Clark, “Could you remind Bruce that he trained me to run around safely and undetected?” Dick harrumphed.

Clark suddenly wanted to be anywhere else in the world but in his own apartment. Bruce broke his gaze from his son to shoot a glare at his partner.

“Might I remind you that I am always, always there when you’re out running around quote ‘safely and undetected’? You still have a lot to learn about the dangers out there, boy,” Bruce shot back.

“Tell him I’m not talking to him right now!” Dick yelled towards Clark.

Bruce’s glare momentarily returned to Clark, “I see. That’s how we’re playing tonight? Let’s see how far that gets you,” Bruce threatened, eyebrows furrowing.

Dick stuck his nose up, decidingly not responding to his father. Clark figured now was as good of a time to intervene as any.

“So, uh, hey, B. I heard you two had a pretty crazy day! Why don’t we all calm down and have a little chat?” Clark attempted to mediate.

“That’s what this is about? Dick, you know our line of work can be scary at times. I had everything under control, and I would not have let something happen to you,” Bruce chided.

Dick’s frustration was evidently growing, “Tell Bruce that he’s an asshole and I don’t wanna see him right now!” he said as he spun his stool around to face away from his father.

“Language, Dick!” Clark scolded.

“Tough luck, son!” Bruce growled, hand reaching for the back of Dick’s stool.

Clark let out a defeated sigh. Deciding both boys were letting their anger get the best of them, Clark placed a firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “Can I speak with you for a moment? Alone?” he emphasised.

Bruce paused, searching for something in the other man’s eyes for a long moment. Finally, he gave an affirmative grunt in response. With that, Clark walked back into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet to grab a glass, filled it up from the tap, and picked up Dick’s bowl of noodles.

“How about we get you settled in the living room, bud. I’ll even let you eat on the couch if you promise not to tell Alfred that I’m teaching you bad manners,” Clark enticed with a wink.

Dick couldn’t contain his smug look at the idea of sneakily going against Alfred’s strict etiquette, despite the older man himself not being present to catch and chastise him. He skipped along at Clark’s heels before ungracefully plopping himself onto the couch. Clark smiled at the boy’s antics and handed him his bowl of noodles, setting the glass of water on the coffee table.

He then walked over to the small box television that was barely supported by the rickety old table he had bought from a secondhand store years ago. He switched it on and flipped through the channels until he found a late night cartoon that still looked vaguely kid friendly. Clark made sure to turn the volume up a little higher than it needed to be. Dick didn’t deserve to hear any of the argument he and Bruce were about to have.

Clark squatted down in front of Dick, meeting the boy’s eyes, “Your dad and I are gonna talk alone for a minute, okay Dick? We’ll be back to talk to you in just a minute. You just finish eating your supper, alright?”

“‘Kay,” Dick responded through a mouth full of noodles.

Clark ruffled the small mop of black hair before standing upright. He turned his attention towards Bruce, who was still standing awkwardly near the entrance.

Clark made his way towards his bedroom, tossing his head back to ask, “You coming or what?”

Bruce gave an affirmative grunt and trudged along behind his partner. He settled with his lower back against Clark’s dresser once he was in the room.

Clark softly shut the door and levelled Bruce with an unimpressed look.

Bruce’s agitation came full throttle the moment he heard the door click shut, “I cannot believe you didn’t call me the second you saw him here alone. Do you know how worried I was? I had been patrolling the streets looking for him for over four hours by the time you called!”

Clark was already exhausted by this conversation, and it had only just begun. He sat down at the foot of his bed, directly across from Bruce.

“It was almost midnight when I got home from work. Trust me when I say I had zero intentions of getting into your business tonight, but no. What do I open my door to? Dick falling apart in my living room! He started bawling the second he saw me, Bruce. He’s really upset with you, B,” Clark explained.

“If he’s angry he can talk to me. He acclimated to the dangers that come with this job long before now. I don’t understand why he’d run all the way to Metropolis over this,” Bruce countered.

“This may come as a shocker, but you’re not the easiest guy to talk to. He was scared to tell you about his score on a math test. Telling you he’s mad about how you reacted to him getting kidnapped is probably a little more high stakes than that!” Clark chastised.

Bruce only deemed that quip with a low grunt.

“Seriously, Bruce. Our child gets abducted by a murderer and you get handsy with her instead of reprimanding her? Unbelievable,” Clark goaded.

“Our child? Kent, you better think about what’s coming out of your mouth before you say something you’ll regret,” Bruce stated coldly.

Clark abruptly stood, crossing the few feet between them to get in Bruce’s face, “Oh, don’t give me that shit. Dick stays at my place when you’re out of town. Lord knows I help him with his homework just as much if not more than you do. I even pick him up from school twice a week! When he wakes up from a nightmare I run over and take him out flying till he falls back asleep, for god’s sake! I think it’s pretty safe to say we’re coparenting at this point,” Clark snarked, slamming his hands down on the dresser on either side of Bruce.

Clark eyed the tensing of Bruce’s muscles. He was a mere breath away.

The room was silent, both men waiting for the other to take the next shot. Bruce was the first to break.

“When this is all over we’re talking about that flying thing. You know I don’t think it’s safe,” Bruce sighed, peering out the window as he ran a hand through his hair, “Spending time with him doesn’t make you his father, Clark. I know you two have bonded and I’m grateful for the help you’ve given me, but he’s my responsibility, not yours.”

The conversation’s quick shift in tone made Clark hesitate. Embarrassment due to his overstepping was slowly creeping up his spine.

“I… I know. I just sometimes-,” Clark cut himself off, pulling back slightly to drag a hand down his face. He let out a deep sigh, “He called me Pa, Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes widened for a split second, “Did he, now?” he questioned, tone predictably unreadable.

“Yeah, he did, and if he thinks I’m his other dad, then I’m going to be his other dad whether you like it or not,” Clark’s determination was once again instilled, “You may not have asked for this, but he did. We’re in this together for the long haul now, B. End of story.”

An odd look flashed across Bruce’s eyes, “Dick may be bright, but he’s still a child. He doesn’t always understand the situation at hand. I understand you enjoy being in this role at the moment, but what happens one day when you start your own family? How will you explain to Dick that you’re too busy with your actual children to act as his father?”

Clark could feel his heat vision flair up beneath his pupils. He moved ever closer to Bruce, his leg slotting between the open pair in front of him, “Do you really think I would do that to him? That I would, what, replace him with biological kids? Which, by the way, genius, I’m not even sure is physically possible?”

“I’m only saying that it is a possibility you need to consider before getting the boy’s hopes up,” Bruce stated, his eyes pleading. There was a hidden message somewhere in those words that Clark wasn’t picking up on, his emotions clouding his thoughts.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all, Bruce,” he shot an accusing finger towards the wall that separated the pair from Dick, “I love that little boy in there, B. No matter what the future holds, I want to be there for him. I will be there for him. If you don’t want me to be a part of your family then say it like it is, because pinning this on me losing interest in him is the wrong move,” Clark threatened.

Bruce grew quiet, gaze anywhere but on the upset man in front of him, “Clark, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m only trying to tell you that this may not be what’s best for him.”

“Oh, like you always have his best interest in mind! I know you’re a grown man, and you deserve a personal life as much as the next guy, but you’ve got a kid now. Whatever woman you’re attracted to no longer comes first. Dick is your priority,” Clark sternly lectured.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Bruce barked. He wrenched his hand into Clark’s front, grabbing a fist full of his shirt.

Clark scoffed, “Well apparently you don’t! I mean, come on. You kissed this woman after she and her father kidnapped Dick. She’s a criminal! Dick told me she’s a murderer.”

“Talia has her faults but-,” Bruce attempted to get out.

“But it’s worth it because you love her. You don’t need to explain it to me, Bruce. You didn’t have any issue hiding her from me for god knows how long, so don’t go acting like you suddenly care enough to justify her to me,” Clark said, looking past Bruce to glimpse at himself in the dresser mirror. He felt pathetic, and looked the part. Arguing with a man about his love life which he had no part of. Arguing about a child that wasn’t his. Forcing his way into the role he wanted, knowing Bruce had no interest. Really and truly pathetic.

Bruce reached a hand up to grasp Clark’s chin, turning his face to look at him once more, “Clark, there’s been a misunderstanding. I never hid anything from you; at least, not about Talia.”

The verbiage made Clark pause, “So you can admit you keep things from me, but you refuse to admit you hid her from me? I honestly thought we were past your weird secrecy years ago. Clearly I overestimated how much you trust me,” Clark said, knocking Bruce’s hand away and pushing his own hand up against the man’s front.

A hurt look flashed across Bruce’s face.

“Secrets aside, I’m only trying to tell you that Talia’s not as cruel as Dick makes her out to be,” Bruce said.

“Really? That’s the angle you wanna take? I’m not stupid, B, so don’t treat me like I am,” Clark chastised.

“Clark,” Bruce said, practically begging.

“I seriously thought you had better standards than that, Bruce. Of all people, you choose a criminal? There’s no way she’d be good for you,” Clark sneered.

“And you know who is and isn’t good for me? That’s your call to make?” Bruce growled, a challenging glint in his eyes.

“I can name you someone who’d be better for you since you clearly need help figuring out your love life,” Clark glared, “I just don’t get it. You always overthink every little thing. Why can’t you at least spend one singular moment contemplating the consequences of this?!” he fumed.

This seemed to take Bruce aback. He paused, staring into Clark’s eyes, searching for something.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re jealous,” Bruce said with a smirk.

Clark sent him a deadly look, “Oh real mature, Bruce. Sure, I show concern for how stupid you’re being so that means I must be jealous. You know what, why not! Fine. I am jealous! I’ve known you for years. I work with you, I’m raising your kid with you, we spend practically every day together at this point, and yet you make out with some criminal you’ve never even told me about-!”

Suddenly a pair of lips were halting Clark’s words.

Clark’s eyes flew wide open. Bruce was kissing him. Bruce Wayne was kissing him. His mind was running a thousand miles a minute, but he automatically melted into the other man’s touch.

The kiss was gentle and sweet, Bruce’s way of trying to say something he always failed to put together with words.

Clark’s mind came roaring to a stop the moment the warm feeling of Bruce’s lips left him, “Is that how you kissed her?” he spat icily.

A mixed look of hurt and exasperation crossed Bruce’s face. Instead of rising to the bait, he firmly planted one hand on Clark’s hip and used his other hand to wrap around the back of the man’s neck, drawing him into another, deeper, kiss. There was more force behind it this time, Bruce taking a chance and scraping his teeth on his partner’s lower lip. Clark whined in agitation when his body naturally fell into time with Bruce’s movements despite his brain’s protesting.

Bruce’s tongue breached Clark’s lips, running curiously over the back of his incisors. Clark let out a quiet moan, his hands frantically roaming to find purchase on the other man’s chest. Bruce continued his ministrations, greedily exploring the other man’s mouth. This song and dance went on for what felt like hours until, regretfully, he eventually had to pull up for air.

“Talia kissed me,” Bruce explained as he pulled away, still close enough for his breath to fan into Clark’s open panting mouth, “Not the other way around,” his face broke into a smirk, “I think I’m beginning to understand why that was the part you were so focused on.”

Clark bashfully smacked Bruce on the chest, “I promise you I was much more focused on the fact the lady kissing you could have hurt Dick. He was the one more focused on y’all’s make-out session.”

“I would hardly call it a ‘make-out session’, Clark,” Bruce countered. He released his grip on Clark’s neck to run his fingers through his own hair.

“That’s not what Dick said. He told me she was all over you, and that you just let it happen,” objected Clark.

“First of all, Dick is ten. I’m fairly certain his requirements for a make-out session are pretty low standard. Secondly, I think you can understand me being hesitant to get hostile when Talia’s father’s assassin group had just kidnapped my son. We were still surrounded. I went along with everything so that I could get Dick back home safely,” Bruce explained.

“I’m sorry, assassin group? How in the world did you even get yourself wrapped up in that?” sputtered Clark.

Bruce let out a strangled sigh, “The League of Assassins. Ra’s Al Ghul, Talia’s father, has apparently been watching me for a while. I trained under him years ago. Evidently he took more of an interest in my skills than I had previously assumed. Clearly his daughter had her own set of interests in me. That’s the reason he took Dick. He wanted to test me as a detective. His motive was to see if I was worthy to take the League’s mantle and, I suppose, if I was worthy of being with his daughter,” he saw Clark’s eyes narrow, “Which, since apparently my previous actions haven’t made it obvious enough for you, I wasn’t interested in either reward.”

“Hmm…,” Clark hummed, considering.

“What more do you want me to say? It’s not like you’d staked a claim on me. I technically don’t need to explain anything to you. You’ve never given me reason to think you had interest in me,” Bruce argued.

“Don’t you go putting this all on me. You just as easily could have said something too. You’re not the easiest person to talk about feelings with, you know,” accused Clark.

Bruce only grumbled in response.

“See? My point exactly. You’re not scared of a fight, but you run away from emotions, B. You always have,” Clark said softly, reaching a hand out to grab Bruce’s. He laced their fingers together, rubbing the pad of his thumb in slow circles across the calloused knuckle of Bruce’s thumb.

“I’m… aware of that particular fault. If this is really something you want, you’ll have to get used to it,” Bruce admitted.

“Uh-uh. This is a two way street, pal. I can give a little, but you’re gonna have to as well. I understand talking about this kind of stuff is hard for you, but you’ve got to work on it if this is going to work out. Communication is a non-negotiable for me. That is, assuming you want this to work out?” Clark queried.

“Yes,” Bruce replied instantaneously, “I would like that. Very much so.”

Clark had to put conscious effort into keeping his feet planted to the ground. He reached his hand up to cradle Bruce’s face and leaned in. This action was met enthusiastically. Bruce snaked his arm around the back of Clark’s waist as he kissed him deeply.

It felt so right this time. Clark could cry. He had gotten everything he’d always hoped for. Everything he thought was unrealistic. His smile grew so wide that his teeth were hitting against Bruce’s lips. The other man pulled away, giving Clark a puzzled look.

“What?” Bruce asked, his eyes smiling.

“I’m just happy. You make me happy,” Clark told the other man, words filled with love.

Bruce cracked a small smile, “You are such a sap.”

“I don’t care,” Clark said, capturing the other man in a kiss once more.

The pair continued on like this for a while, both not so secretly revelling in the fact this was now an allowed action.

“Dick will be thrilled when he hears his parents are back together,” Clark mused once they had broken apart.

“I don’t think back is the right word, considering we weren’t together until now,” Bruce corrected, his brow quirked.

“If you wanna tell him that then be my guest, but I for one will not be partaking in breaking our little boy's heart,” Clark warned.

“Hmmph. You know, people typically go on a date or two before telling their kid that they’re together,” Bruce remarked.

“Oh we’re well past that. According to Dick, we’re already married. He was worried I was going to divorce you,” Clark informed the other man.

“Divorce me, hm? Were you considering it, Mr. Wayne?” Bruce jokingly purred.

Clark chuckled lowly, “I was tossing the idea around, for sure. I don’t take infidelity lightly, Mr. Kent-Wayne.”

“Oh, I see we went with hyphenation. Very hip. It’s going to be Wayne-Kent, though,” Bruce said through a smile.

Clark began his rebuttal, “Why does Wayne get to come first? I’ll have you know I come from a long line of… wait. ‘Going to be’?” he looked quizzically at the other man, “Hold on a minute, B. I think we’re having two different conversations here. I was joking, but you don’t sound like you are.”

“Well, I think we need to go on those one or two dates first, but according to our son we’re already married. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” Bruce commented.

Clark snorted, “I can’t believe you,” he tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at hearing Bruce say the words ‘our son’, “I’ve waited years for this moment. You’re going to have to wait through a lot more than one or two dates before I pop the question, thank you very much.”

“Who says I’m waiting for you to ask me?” Bruce shot back.

“If you ask too soon I will say no and it will crush you,” Clark told him, eyebrows raised.

“Hnn,” Bruce grunted.

Clark barked out a laugh at the man’s behaviour, “I think you’ll live, Bruce. I’d like to think dating me won’t be all that bad.”

“No,” Bruce said as he wrapped his arms around Clark’s middle, hands reaching up to spread across his upper back and pull the man flush to his own chest, “Not bad at all.”

They stood there for a few minutes, content. Bruce’s head found its way into the crook of Clark’s neck, deeply breathing in his scent. Clark wrapped one arm around Bruce as his other hand found itself in Bruce’s hair, playing with the strands at his nape.

“I do, you know,” Bruce mumbled into Clark’s neck.

“Hmm? You gotta give me a little more than that, B,” Clark hummed.

“Want you to be apart of my family. I know Dick does, too. You said earlier that I didn’t want that and I just… needed you to know that wasn’t true,” Bruce said, still not bothering to move even an inch away from Clark’s embrace.

Clark smiled into Bruce’s hair, “There’s nothing I would love more than that,” he said, planting a kiss into those soft black locs.

He basked in the feeling of having Bruce in his arms for as long as he could. Bruce chose to entertain himself by mapping his mouth up Clark’s jugular and across his jaw, nipping softly when he saw fit.

Clark’s breath hitched. His hand on Bruce’s back began to wander, nails softly grazing up the man’s spine before letting his palm meander across the expanse of his broad shoulders, fingertips kneading into the toned muscle. Bruce rewarded him with a soft groan as he worked his way back down Clark’s throat, suckling despite knowing no mark could be left.

“You think we ought to head back in there?” Clark eventually asked, head nodding towards the wall separating them from Dick despite knowing the other man couldn’t see it from his current position. Just off the top of his head he could think of ten things he would rather do, but Dick was waiting for them. Not to mention it would be immoral for him to do at least eight of those things with the young boy in the neighbouring room. Even with the television playing, the paper thin walls of his apartment would not do them any favours.

“Mmh. If today’s taught me anything it’s to never leave him alone for too long,” Bruce said, lips ghosting over Clark’s Adam’s apple. Clark let out a strained chuckle.

Despite his words, Bruce made no attempt at moving.

Clark indulged the other man for another minute or so, but eventually he gained the willpower to lightly tug at Bruce’s hair, getting him to lift his head and half heartedly untangle his arms from their home around Clark’s waist.

“Alrighty. Let’s get a move on, B,” Clark said, giving a soft smack to Bruce’s backside for emphasis. Bruce shot him the dirtiest of glares but moved towards the door nonetheless.

When Clark reached to open the door, Bruce placed his hand over Clark’s, leaned in, and gave his partner a swift peck on the lips.

“Now we can leave,” Bruce said, satiated.

Clark rolled his eyes at the man’s antics.

“I’ve missed out on a lot of opportunities to do that over the years. I don’t want to risk missing any more,” Bruce told Clark, a rare vulnerability in his voice.

Clark could hear the man’s heart rate speed up, his own racing along with it, “We have a lot of opportunities in our future to make up for lost time, B. I’m not going anywhere,” Clark replied.

The look on Bruce’s face was oh so tender. It said more than any of the words they had exchanged. Clark understood every line.

“Pretty sure now’s not the right time, though. We’ve got a boy in there who’s up way past his bedtime,” Clark said as he opened his bedroom door.

“He would argue that it is nowhere near his bedtime,” Bruce said, earning a snort from Clark.

As the men approached the living room they heard the young boy giggling at something occurring on the television. Clark smiled widely. That was his boy in there having fun. It felt good.

Morosely, the giggles abruptly stopped when Dick saw his fathers approaching.

Clark tried not to let the boy’s change in mood get to him. He went to mute the television before taking a seat on the couch next to Dick.

“Hey, buddy. Your dad and I had a good talk about what happened earlier. We worked everything out, and nobody’s mad. Do you have anything you want to say to us?” Clark prompted.

Dick worried at his lip as he shook his head to say no.

Bruce crouched down on his knee in front of where Dick was snuggled on the couch, “I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I wasn’t thinking before I spoke because I was really worried about you. Can you understand that?”

Dick gave a quiet hum in response, looking down at his lap to avoid his father’s gaze.

“I’m glad you’re okay — that you’re safe — but you cannot run off like that. I thought you were at home in bed. I had no idea where you were, Dick. Finding out you were in a completely different city was very scary. You need to promise me you’re not going to do that again, okay?” Bruce explained, his tone soft.

“I promise,” Dick mumbled, reaching to fidget with the tip of his father’s ring finger, “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Bruce felt his heart tighten, “I forgive you, chum. I need you to know that you can talk to me when you’re unhappy with me. I’m going to make mistakes, and I need you to tell me when I’ve upset you so that I can correct my behaviour.”

Dick started sniffling, tears pooling at his waterline. Bruce got up to sit on the couch by the boy, reaching over and pulling him into his lap. Dick immediately buried his head into his father’s chest, sniffles turning into quiet sobs, “It’s okay, my little robin. I’ve got you,” Bruce placated as he ran a hand slowly through the boy’s hair.

Clark’s heart swelled at the sight. He placed a hand onto Bruce’s shoulder and leaned over slightly to rub circles into the little boy’s back.

After a long few minutes, Dick’s crying died down. He pulled his head away from Bruce’s chest, leaving behind a wet spot from tears and snot. Lovely. Dick used the heel of his hand to dry his eyes.

“So you and Pa aren’t getting divorced?” the boy asked hopefully.

Bruce let out a chuckle, “No, chum, I don’t think we’re getting divorced. Unless…?” he looked mischievously towards Clark.

“Nope! No way, no how. I’m afraid your dad’s stuck with me, Dick,” Clark said through a smile, giving Bruce a playful glare.

“Hmm, I guess I can live with that,” Bruce said, the look on his face completely betraying his words. Clark sent him a playful glare in return.

“Careful Dad, you’re already on thin ice!” Dick said with a laugh.

“I suppose you’re right. Thanks for keeping me in line, chum. What would I do without you?” Bruce gave the boy a soft squeeze as he spoke.

As the conversation died down, Dick let out a yawn.

“I guess I should be getting this one to bed, huh?” Bruce said, smiling down at the boy wrapped in his arms.

“I don’t wanna leave yet,” Dick said groggily, body sleepily slumping into Bruce’s front.

“Well, it is rather late… and you don’t have school tomorrow,” Bruce shot a questioning glance towards Clark, “We could just stay here for the night.”

Clark’s heart was so full, “I’d love that.”

So much later into the night that it was technically morning, the three boys were snuggled up in Clark’s too small bed. Dick had wriggled right in the middle of his fathers. The heavy multicoloured quilt Clark’s Ma had made for him when he was little easily covered the three of them.

Bruce, now donning a pair of Clark’s sweatpants and his old Metropolis University t-shirt, had fallen asleep nearly the moment his head hit the pillow. The soft snores pouring from his open mouth put a warm smile on Clark’s face. He could already imagine falling asleep to that comforting drone beside him every night. Dick, on the other hand, was still wide awake and staring up at Clark. Something was clearly on his mind. Not wanting to push the boy, Clark simply stared back at him, that small, warm smile still on his face and love pouring from his eyes.

“I’m glad you decided to keep him, Pa,” Dick eventually whispered into Clark’s ear.

Clark gave the boy a huge grin and tightened his grip around the sleeping man beside him, “Me too, bud. Me too.”

Clark Kent decided right then and there that Pa was the best title he had ever earned. Superman never stood a chance.