Archive of Our Own ^beta

This was probably one of the stupidest ideas that Clark had ever had. But he was never one to shy from difficult tasks.

His hand reached out to the ring the doorbell, rocking on his heels as he waited for Alfred to answer the door. Despite Clark spending the majority of his time at the Wayne Manor, Alfred still preferred to know who was coming in and out when they did not officially live there. And if Clark was using these few minutes to delay his task, well that was his business.

He perked up as the door opened, smiling brightly at Alfred.

“Master Clark, what a surprise,” Alfred’s voice did not indicate that he was surprised in the slightest. There was not much that could surprise Alfred, Clark was sure of that. Alfred anticipated and knew everything before it happened. Clark often wondered if he was clairvoyant in some compacity. “Master Bruce is not currently home.”

“Good Morning Alfred,” Clark greeted, his mother’s upbringing requiring him to greet the other first. Him and Alfred had almost always been on awkward footing around each other. Clark had been taught to follow the rules in other’s homes, but Alfred was trained to take care of guests. Clark had become adjusted to having someone like a butler, but there still lessons from his upbringing that were too hard to overcome.

“I know that Bruce is at work. I was actually hoping to check in on Damian?” Clark tried to keep his unsureness out of his voice, but he could not avoid the statement turning into a question. Alfred lifted a single eyebrow at Clark.

During their brief morning call, Bruce had mentioned that he would be going into work and that Damian’s tutors had been cancelled for the day. It seemed that during their patrol last night, it had poured and Damian had allowed himself to get soaked instead of finding cover. Which led to him waking up with a sniffle and in an even surlier mood than he typically was.

“He’ll be fine, he just needs some rest. Maybe this will teach him that his health is just as important as catching a criminal?” Bruce had said, the sounds of him rushing around to get himself together in the background. It was not often that Bruce actually had to go into Wayne Enterprises, but he had a budget meeting that required his physical presence.

Bruce had not seemed too concerned with Damian being left in the home with Alfred, but Clark could hear the underlying worry in his partner’s voice. It was not often that any of his children were sick or injured, least of all Damian, but when they were Bruce preferred to be there should they need anything.

He fully trusted Alfred to care for Damian, but it did not stop the anxiety of leaving his youngest son when he was not feeling okay.

Clark had taken in upon himself to check in on Damian for Bruce. He rarely used his vacation days and Lois had no quarrels with making up new excuses for him to take a half day off of work so he could go check up on the boy. That is if Damian would let him.

Of all of the kids, Damian was the most complex when it came to his relationship with Clark.

Bruce and Clark had been together for five years by the time Damian had come to them and they did not know how to introduce the fact that they were a couple to the young boy who had already seen so much trauma in his life. Bruce had requested that Clark keep his distance while he bonded with his son, their relationship only nurtured through phone calls and late nights. After a year of Damian living with Bruce, they had been introduced and Damian was told of Clark’s super identity. The child, only preferring his father’s company and barely tolerating his siblings, kept away from him and glared whenever Clark would ‘interrupt’ their family dinners.

It was during one of these family dinners that Jason, temper flared and looking to cause harm, had revealed their relationship in front of Damian. All had held their breath to see what Damian would do. Thankfully, he had not reacted with violence but Clark would argue that the response he had was just as bad.

The pre-teen’s face had fallen into his flat mask and eyes turned ice cold. He did not speak a single word, pushing back from the table abruptly and stalking from the dining room, Titus right on his heels.

Clark had watched as the rest of the family turned on Jason, ensuring that he knew how much he messed up. It had ended with Tim punching Jason while Dick attempted to get between them. Bruce had squeezed his hand in an attempt to reassure him before he went to break up his other sons. Cassandra shot him a sad smile from across the table, eyes flicking over his shoulder in the direction Damian went. He did not need anymore push than that.

While the others fought in the dining room, Clark traced Damian’s steps. It was not hard to find the young boy, his heart beat as familiar to Clark as his own mother’s was.

He found Damian in one of the sitting rooms upstairs, one with large windows that faced towards Gotham. If one looked closely, you could see lights of the city over the trees. Damian was sitting on the window seat, knees pulled up his chest and chin resting upon his arms. Titus was curled up on the rest of the seat, head resting on his owner’s foot.

Damian did not look up as Clark walked into the room, but Clark could see his slight shoulders stiffen at the sight of him in the window’s reflection. Clark walked up to the young boy, stopping a few feet from the window so he did not crowd Damian. He was prone to violent expressions, a learned behavior from his upbringing that led to many injuries to his brothers and sometimes even Bruce. Damian could not really harm Clark without kryptonite, which Clark was pretty sure he had not retrieved from the Batcave in his retreat. But Clark did not want Damian to hurt himself in trying to hurt him.

Whatever Damian may think of him as, it was hard for Clark to not consider him a son and look after him. Just like their other kids.

Whether the boys and Cassandra considered him like a parental figure or not, Clark felt parental towards them. He had been around since Dick was a little boy, had seen them all grow up into the people there were today. He had hoped that Damian would take to him as easily as Dick and Tim had, but he had been willing to meet Damian where he was comfortable.

He wanted to tell him about his relationship with Bruce, but he was following his partner’s lead. As much as he felt like their second dad, Bruce was their actual dad and he had the final say with them. Clark allowed Bruce to set the pace when it came to the kids, but both of them should have expected that one of their other boys would spill the beans to Damian.

If it had not been Jason, Clark’s money would have been on Dick. Their eldest hardly ever called Clark by his name, had not since he was a teenager. Bruce had to talk to him privately about their decision to not tell Damian yet and that Dick had to call Clark by his name for now. Something Dick had not liked in the slightest. He had been the one to give Clark the title of Papa, he did not want to stop using it no matter the reason. Dick was ecstatic that his dads were Batman and Superman and wanted everyone to know he was proud of that. Within the bounds of their secret identities, of course.

“Damian, are you alright?” Clark finally broke the silence, hoping that the boy would at least speak with him a little bit. It would have probably been better for Bruce to come with him, but Clark had felt the need to do this alone. He wanted Damian to see him as someone that would always be there, even in the tough situations.

“I will not call you my parent, Alien.” Was all Damian had said to him that night, but he did not hit Clark or insult him like he typically would his brothers. It was the closest to acceptance of their relationship that Clark would get. He had to find out later through Bruce that Damian would need to adjust to the new information and like any child was a little upset that his parents would not get back together. Bruce had to explain to Damian had he had not loved Talia in quite sometime and Clark made him happy. Apparently, Damian had just repeated that he would not consider Clark his parent and left the conversation at that.

Now, a year after Damian finding out about them, Clark was not held so much at arm’s length, but Damian still preferred it when Clark did not try to comfort him. He could sit in the same room as Clark and sometimes even hold a civil conversation with him. But he never reached out for him. He never wanted the casual affection that Dick sought or the covert comfort Tim would seek after hard patrols.

So, showing up when Damian was sick was probably a horrible idea when the boy only tolerated Clark’s presence in his life. But Clark felt the need to check up on their youngest child, whether he wanted him to or not. All he wanted to do was check his temperature and make sure he actually ate something and then he would be out of Damian’s hair.

“Master Damian is in the informal sitting room, I believe. I have not been able to get him to take medicine or eat,” Alfred moved out of the way so Clark could walk in. Clark nodded at the information, pushing his glasses up his nose when they slipped.

“Give it to me and I will do my best,” Clark said, full of determination. He hoped that in his sick state, Damian would not be so aggressive. Maybe he should call his Ma and see how she got him to take medicine when he was a child. No child liked medicine, but all parents had their tricks to getting them to take it.

He followed Alfred into the kitchen where there was a mug and a bottle of cough syrup sitting there. He wondered how many times Alfred had tried to care for the feral child before he gave up. None had seemed as immune to Alfred as Damian.

“I wish you the best of luck, Master Clark.” Alfred said as he handed the reporter the mug and bottle. Clark could have laughed at the severity of his voice if he did not know Damian Wayne.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Clark bobbed his head before heading off into the manor, doing his best to not spill the mug of soup. All of his goodwill would mean nothing if he spilled chicken noodle soup on one of the expensive rugs.

After going to three sitting rooms that were apparently the wrong informal sitting rooms, Clark found Damian.

Or more accurately, he found Titus and the pile of blankets that presumably was Damian.

His entire body was covered in blankets, only his mouth and nose uncovered. His nose must be stuffed as his mouth was hanging open to breath.

Clark made a clicking noise with his mouth so Titus, who was guarding his owner like good boy he was, would moved out of his way. He placed the mug and bottle down, taking note that there was at least a half filled glass of water with a straw in it next to him. Clark crouched down on the floor, facing Damian. Titus pressed up against his side, leaning into him heavily. The dog was used to Clark, but with his owner being in a vulnerable state the poor dog did not know what to do with himself.

“Hey boy,” he whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to Titus’ forehead and scratch behind his ear. Titus continued to lean into his side, even when Clark began to carefully untangle Damian from his blankets. He went slowly, not wanting to scare the young boy. He kept an ear on Damian’s heartbeat, worry coiling in his own stomach at the elevated pace. Humans tended to have faster heartbeats when they were sick, but Clark hated any changes to his family’s hearts.

Clark finally reached the last blanket, carefully laying it to the side as Damian’s face was exposed. Clark’s heart hurt at the sight of the young boy. His nose was red and rubbed raw, presumably from blowing it and his skin looked paler than normal. His lips were chapped and he had bags under his eyes.

“Oh Dami,” Clark whispered, carefully reaching forward to rest his hands against the young boy’s face. Damian was burning up. He wondered if it was from the illness or if he had overheated himself with the blankets. If Damian was Dick or Tim, he would have wasted no time scooping him up and getting him in a bath to try and lower his fever. Maybe even Jason if he was this sick would allow Clark to baby him. But this was his aloof boy who would rather try to stab Clark than have him carry him when he sprained his ankle.

“Were you watching over him?” Clark asked Titus, when Great Dane slipped under Clark’s arm to get closer to Damian. “You did a very good job, Titus.” Clark praised, shifting his hand up to Damian’s forehead, palm pressed flat as he tried to gauge his fever.

He held his breath as he noticed Damian’s eyes snap open. However, instead of the fierce scowl that usually overtook his face, those greens eyes were hazy as they tried to focus on him. They did narrow after a few seconds when his brain connected whose hand was on his head.

“Alien,” Damian rasped, a few weak coughs escaping him. Clark pulled his hands back, quickly turning to grab the glass of water. He held the straw to Damian’s lips, taking note that the straw had Batman’s symbol on it as Damian took a few small sips. Clark pulled it back when Damian pulled his head back, setting it back on the table.

“How are you feeling, Damian?” The boy gave him an incredulous look for what was probably stupid question to begin with. Clark resisted the urge to snort, sometimes it was too cute seeing a serious expression on the child’s face. “I guess that was a dumb question,” Clark conceded, carefully placing his hands in his lap so he would not be tempted to brush Damian’s hair off his face. Damian had tolerated him touching his face, but that was not to say he would allow him anything further.

“Why?” Damian grumbled, rubbing at his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He was asking why Clark was here. It broke Clark’s heart a little bit that Damian would think that Clark would not come to check on him when he was sick.

“Your dad mentioned you didn’t feel well and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He answered honestly, smiling softly when he noticed Damian’s hand on the edge of the couch looking for Titus. He reached forward to guide Damian’s hand towards Titus. He felt equal parts relieved and worried that Damian allowed him to touch him.

“Good thing I did, Alfred said that you wouldn’t eat or take medicine?” Clark prodded softly. Damian looked embarrassed for having gotten caught. He probably thought he was too grown to take medicine. Clark did not know Talia or the League of Assassins as well as Bruce did, but he did not think they would allow such ‘weaknesses’ as taking cough syrup when sick. If the worst images in his imagination were true, they probably punished Damian if he ever had a cold.

His poor boy.

“Don’t like it,” Damian’s voice was soft and reluctant and it broke Clark’s heart all the same.

“The medicine?” The boy nodded, pressing his lips together. He was trying to put on his bravest face, but Clark could see the faint tremble in his lower lip. Even at twelve, Damian was just a child and no child liked to be sick and feeling bad. “Medicine never tastes good, even when you grow up. But you need it to feel better. It will help with the yucky feeling,” Clark continued, stifling his laugh at Damian’s nose scrunch.

“No,” Damian refused, even as his teeth began to chatter. Clark pressed his own lips together, thinking of the best way to do this. He did not want to force the boy into taking the medicine, but he needed it. Perhaps he should call his Ma?

“Can you at least drink some of the soup for me? It will warm you up,” Clark asked, wincing internally at his wording. Damian barely tolerate Clark, he would not be inclined to do anything for him. The pre-teen looked contemplative at the words before another coughing fit wracked his body. Clark watched helplessly as Damian small body hacked. He wanted to wrap the boy into his arms and just take away all of his hurt.

Once the coughing fit passed, Damian’s body was trembling and he was reaching for the blankets again. Clark gently intercepted his hands, guiding them back to Titus instead of holding them like he longed to do.

“The soup, Dames?” Clark implored, grabbing the dark blue mug from the table. He hoped that just the scent would entice Damian. The boy looked torn between fighting about the blankets and shaking out of his skin. They had a silent stare off for a few seconds before the boy nodded and weakly began to push himself up. Clark held out his hand, trying not to show his worry when Damian actually reached forward to have the meta-human help him up fully.

Damian carefully took the mug from Clark once he was up straight, sniffling pitifully. Clark kept his hands underneath the mug, just in case Damian’s grasp slipped. The soup was not as hot now, perhaps he could go get a straw? Clark was not supposed to fly in the house, but maybe Alfred would allow him to bend the rules just this once?

There was no need for the straw, as Damian lifted the mug to his lips and tipped it back so he could sip the soup. The boy must be hungrier than he thought, immediately tipping the mug back further to get more of the soup. Clark watched raptly, making sure Damian was okay. His breathing was nasally and his heart beat still erratic, but his eyes were not so unfocused now.

Damian drained the mug in a few sips, slowly pulling the mug from his lips as he swallowed. Clark took the mug from his hands and placed it behind him.

“Clark.”

He stiffened as he heard Damian’s heart pick up in speed, his head turning back towards the young boy. Just in time to see the pale face turn green. Clark’s eyes widened as Damian begun to struggle out of the blankets, his teeth clenched so tight that Clark could hear his jaw creak.

Clark stood up quickly and backed up out of Damian’s way just in time for the pre-teen to shoot down the hall, hand clamped over his mouth. The meta-human and dog were right on his heels. He grimaced at the sound of puking, but the parent in him quickly pushed that down so he could comfort his child. Clark hurried into the bathroom, kneeling on Damian’s right side as Titus pressed tight to his left. He reached forward to rub his hand down Damian’s back, making soothing noises as the boy heaved.

“It’s okay, Dami. It’ll be okay,” Clark spoke softly once the puking had stopped, Damian just breathing heavily into the bowl. Titus whined worriedly at Damian’s side, Clark reaching over to rub his back as well. He was just as worried as Titus, especially when Damian’s body stiffened and he was throwing up once more.

Clark did not know how long the three of them sat like this, he did not care. He would sit here for all of eternity if Damian wanted him too. It sure felt like an eternity before Damian’s body finally sagged against the toilet, head pillowed on his arms as he breathed raggedly.

“C’mon Dames, we should get you back to the couch. That’s not too sanitary.” Clark coaxed, slipping his arms under Damian’s armpits to pull him up from the toilet. Even if he laid on Titus, that would be better than the toilet.

Only Damian did not seek out his dog. No, he turned to Clark, burying his face into the meta-human’s chest as his body trembled. Clark froze for all of two seconds before he wrapped the boy into his arms, one arm securely around his body while the other slipped into his sweaty hair to cradle his head.

“I got you, Dami.” He promised, pressing a soft kiss to Damian’s head before reaching over to flush the toilet. Damian winced at the noise, pressing closer to Clark. Titus pressed into Clark’s side as well, licking at Damian’s face. Clark pretended that he had not seen the tear tracks on the small face. Throwing up was never fun and without the medicine, Clark was willing to bet that Damian was feeling ten times worse now.

“Can you move?” He asked, frowning when he got a pained whimper instead. “That’s okay, I got you.” Clark whispered, carefully shifting Damian so his arms were around his neck and slipped his arm under his bottom so he could lift him securely. Getting to his feet slowly, Clark carried his boy to the sink and set him down on the edge. He sent a silent thanks to the Wayne’s for having huge bathrooms with room length counters. Large bathrooms were easier to navigate with a pre-teen in his arms and a dog that was insistent on being right under his feet.

He received another whimper when he made to pull from Damian, the man immediately shushing him and trying to comfort him as best as he could. Clark was a little out of his depth here. He had never seen Damian act like this with Bruce, let alone with him. He did not know if he could treat him like he would Dick or if Damian would snap out of it in a second.

He decided that he would coddle Damian as much as possible while it was allowed.

“I’m not going anywhere, but can I brush your teeth for you?” Damian let out a displeased noise, slitted eyes barely focused on Clark at this point. “It will feel a lot better,” he tried, already prepping the spare toothbrush he found in the cabinet. If this was Dick, Clark would have already had him pinned to the counter. Damian would not react well to that, but Clark was not above it.

“Lie,” Damian huffed, a sniffle following shortly after. Clark frowned as he tried to figure out what he meant. After almost two decades surrounded by emotional stunted bats, Clark had become rather fluid in their communication skills. One had to be when half of the conversations he had were a series of grunts. It did not take him long to realize that Damian was calling him a liar because the soup had made him sick.

“I’m sorry about the soup, Dames. I should have made sure you drank it slower. Did it at least warm you up a little?” Damian let out a soft disgruntled noise, shaking his head. Which was a mistake as it caused Damian’s body to lurch forward out of his control, like his head was too heavy for his neck. Clark let out a startled noise, quickly putting his arm out so the young boy ran into his shoulder instead of falling off the counter. Titus whined again, the man feeling bad for worrying the poor dog.

Damian leaned heavily into Clark’s arm, his own arms latching onto the adult. The pre-teen’s skin was clammy against his own skin.

“Warm,” he sighed, congestion making his words a higher pitch. He had not even thought that Damian would find skin contact with him comforting. Kryptonians typically ran warmer than humans because of their connection with the sun. Clark let his lips slide into a fond smile, brushing Damian’s hair back. It was getting a little longer than he usually kept it, he would need a cut soon.

“If I let you stay there, can I brush your teeth? I swear to you this time that it will help,” Clark waited for an answer, watching Damian curl around his arm. The young boy may have rubbed his runny nose on his shirt, but Clark was just happy that he was finally seeking comfort from him. It took a few minutes, but Damian finally nodded, never lifting his head from Clark’s arm.

“Thank you, baby.” The pet name slipped out, but Damian did not seem to catch it. Clark pressed a grateful kiss to Damian’s head before raising the toothbrush up. It was an awkward angle and a little difficult with Damian’s half-hearted help, but Clark managed to brush his teeth as thorough as he could and coaxed him into spitting the foam out. Once it was done, the child buried his face into Clark’s chest, done with putting up with Clark’s antics.

“Okay, let’s get you back to your couch,” he whispered, gently scooping Damian off the counter. The hold was an awkward one, Clark having to hold him with one arm since Damian refused to release his other arm. It did not matter to Clark, with his super strength he could hold Damian with one finger if he wanted to.

“Come on, Titus.” Clark said unnecessarily. The Great Dane would follow Damian anywhere.

The trio made their way back to the sitting room, Clark noticing that the couches in this room were a little wider than in the other rooms. They looked like more expensive versions of the couches one found in normal houses. Not as worn in as the couch in his Ma’s house, but still more comfortable than the hardback settees that were in the “formal” sitting rooms.

Clark took note that the mug had been taken away and that the glass of water had been refilled. He stooped to grab the glass and held the straw to Damian’s lips, pulling it back before he could drink too much. He would have to be careful now that Damian did not upset his stomach again.

“Do you think you may want to try some medicine now?” Damian whined at these words, shaking his head against Clark’s chest. The man shushed him softly, head turning in the direction of the door when he heard soft footsteps. Alfred stood there, another bottle in his hand. Catching Clark’s attention, Alfred turned the bottle so he could see the label.

Grape juice.

He turned his head to look at the medicine. It was grape flavor.

Could they get away with this?

“How about some juice? Alfred brought some grape juice, I know you like that one.” Clark spoke softly, keeping his nervousness out of his voice as he watched Alfred walk into the room and prepare for their deception. He glanced down at Damian, feeling relieved that his eyes were closed. Clark sat down on the couch and tried to tug his arm from Damian, only to be met with heartbreaking noises.

“I know Dami, but I need to open the juice, okay? You can have my arm back in a second.” He promised, hoping that Damian would still want to be held once this was over. It spoke volumes how out of it Damian was that he had not realized their plot already.

Damian released his arm with a displeased huff, fingers clutching the fabric of Clark’s shirt instead. Clark ran his hand over the side of his face in what he hoped was a soothing manner before reaching forward to grab the juice. Him and Alfred had a silent conversation before he opened the bottle, Alfred opening the medicine bottle at the same time so the sound would be indistinguishable.

“Okay, Dami,” Clark whispered, carefully holding the bottle up to Damian’s lips and helping him take a small sip. His free arm held Damian tightly, for comfort and for what was to come. He pulled the bottle back, letting Alfred pull it from his hand and replace it with the small cap of medicine.

Clark moved quickly, tipping the medicine into Damian’s mouth and quickly covering it so he could not immediately spit it back. Damian squirmed in his hold, displeased noises sounding under Clark’s hand. He quickly reached for the grape juice, holding it to Damian’s mouth until he drank some of it.

“There we go, it’s over now.” Clark soothed, gently rocking Damian in his arms. Instead of pushing Clark away, Damian latched tighter onto him. The noises he made were close to what Clark would call crying, but there were no tears on his face. The poor boy was probably overwhelmed with the pain and sensations. He wondered if Damian had ever been sick like this before or if this was all new to him.

Alfred clapped Clark on the shoulder, giving him a brief squeeze before leaving him with his youngest. Clark pressed feather light kisses over Damian’s sweaty forehead and rubbed his back. He hated having to trick him, but the boy needed medicine and it was either the juice trick or Alfred holding his nose. Clark much rather the juice drink.

“C’mon on, let’s get you bundled back up.” Clark stood back up so he could lay Damian down the couch. The medicine seemed to already be working as the pre-teen did not put much fight into staying in his arms. Clark settled for two blankets, hoping that it would be warm enough for Damian without raising his fever. When Bruce got home, he was going to need to convince Damian into a bath.

Damian settled back into the couch pillow, head already lolling back. Soft snuffling escaped his mouth and Clark committed the scene to memory. This would probably be the only time he could ever see Damian with his guard down.

Clark brushed his hand over Damian’s cheek before moving to stand up. He should probably go get some work done while Damian was resting. He was not sure what time it was but it would only be a few hours before Bruce came home.

Before Clark could even take a step away from the couch, a hand shot out to grab his index finger. The bundle of blankets let out a pitiful “Papa?” that absolutely broke Clark’s heart.

Damian had never called him Papa before. His first name was the closest he had ever gotten.

“Yes, Dami?” He said back, voice just as soft as Damian’s. As if he was afraid that if he spoke louder he would break the moment.

“Stay.”

And who was Clark to deny his youngest’s request?

“Of course, sweetheart,” he answered, following Damian’s weak grip as the pre-teen tugged him. He followed the grunted instructions until he was laying back on the couch and Damian was curled up against his chest, head where Clark’s heart was. His weight was nothing to Clark. He tugged one of the blankets over Damian again, settling himself in be used as a life-size heating pad. Surprisingly, not the first time that Clark had found himself in such a position.

He jerked his head back when slim fingers reached clumsily toward his face, not wanting to get poked in the eye.

“Off.” Damian ordered, not removing his hand from Clark’s face until the glasses were pulled off and placed on the table. Clark could not stop the snort this time, pressing a kiss to Damian’s knuckles before placing his hand back on his chest. He was so much like his father that it sometimes made Clark’s heart skip a beat. Bruce hated the hypno-glasses as well and always pulled them off the second Clark stepped near him.

“Go to sleep, Dami.” Clark whispered, rubbing Damian’s back gently to hopefully assist him in going to sleep. It did not take too long for the erratic heartbeat to slow, although it was still faster than it should be. Clark allowed himself to focus on the beat, drifting off himself under the comforting weight of his son.

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“Good Evening, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted him as he entered through the Batcave.

Bruce was immediately alert by the look on his butler’s face.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, sir. Although, you may want to go to the sitting room on the third floor.” Alfred responded, an amused tilt to his lips. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him before making his way out of the room to follow his advice. Whatever it was, it was amusing enough that Alfred was following him to see his reaction.

“How is Damian?” He did not like leaving his son this morning, the boy looking like a ghost in his blankets and wearing one of Dick’s sweaters that he left in the manor the last time he stayed. If his presence had not been required at this meeting, he would have definitely skipped it. But he had to make appearances from time to time or the investors would start to question his commitment to the company.

It was just rather difficult that when Bruce finally decided to accept his role as a father and actually try to be one, his work life got in the way of it.

“He has been resting for the majority of the day. Master Damian did throw up a few times, but we did successfully get him to take medicine,” Alfred answered easily, Bruce immediately latching onto a certain word.

“We?” Bruce sped up his steps, anxiety settling in his chest. Who had shown up when his son was home sick? The anxiety was misplaced of course. Alfred would never let someone in that was a danger to any person in the house, but Bruce could not stop the feeling. His son was vulnerable and he had not been aware someone other than Alfred was with him.

He practically burst into the sitting room, ready for a fight. All tension left his body at the sight that met him.

Damian was on the couch, exactly where he left him, but he had a new pillow. A Clark Kent shaped pillow.

Bruce had called his partner this morning, the two trying to talk in the morning or at night as much as they could, and had briefly mentioned how Damian was sick. Never did he expect that Clark would have come to check on him or that Damian would be curled up on his chest.

His eyes tracked over the pair, taking in Clark’s relaxed face to Damian’s snuffled breathing. Clark had one hand wrapped around Damian’s waist while the other cradled his head. Damian was fully on top of Clark, head against the Kryptonian’s heart. His lips quirked at the sight of Titus’ head on Damian’s back, right above Clark’s arm. He had captured the Great Dane’s attention when he entered the room. The dog’s head dropped back down when he realized it was just Bruce.

“You are not allowed on the furniture,” Bruce spoke sternly to the dog, who did not pay him any mind. He had no doubt that Clark had either lifted Titus up there or the dog realized that Clark would not stop him and hopped up. Bruce shook his head, turning to look at Alfred. “I assume you have photos?”

“Yes, sir. Approximately fifty of them and they have been passed along to Mrs. Kent.” Bruce’s lips quirked in amusement again, knowing that the photos probably made Ma Kent’s day. She loved being a grandma to Bruce’s kids, even prickly Damian.

“Have you sent them to my phone?” Bruce asked, having not seen any messages on his ride home.

“They will be sent post-haste, Sir. I thought you might appreciate seeing the real thing first.”

“I thank you for the surprise, Alfred.” Bruce answered sincerely, turning his attention back to his partner and son.

“Of course, Sir. I will bring up some dinner in a little while,” and with that Alfred turned on his heel and left Bruce to his sleeping boys. Bruce walked over to the couch and carefully crouch down, wincing as his knees creaked.

“Down,” Bruce snapped his fingers at Titus and pointed to the ground. The Great Dane huffed at him before slowly pulling himself from his Master and hopping off the couch. He gave Bruce a quick sniff before he trotted out of the room in search of his own dinner. Bruce shook his head at the dog’s back. How could a dog have the exact same attitude as his son?

Speaking of which, Bruce turned his attention to Damian, carefully reaching up to press his hand to his forehead. He was still warm, but not as feverish as he was earlier. His skin had the smell of sick clinging to it and Bruce hoped that he could get him into a bath before bundling him into bed for the night. He moved his hand to Damian’s back, letting the weight of his hand rest between his shoulder blades. His free hand reached up to stroke a thumb over Clark’s cheek.

“Kal,” he called softly, hoping not to wake up the pre-teen. He knew that Clark had wanted more than anything for Damian to look to him for affection. Their other boys had seen Clark as one of their parental figures, but all of them had been in their teens when they met Clark. Damian was the youngest in their care and Bruce knew his partner wanted to baby him more than anything. He would not spoil this for Clark by accidentally waking Damian.

Clark let out a soft noise before those blue eyes were blinking open. As he noticed Bruce, a happy grin spread across his face. It was all teeth and sunshine. Bruce’s heart beat a little faster at the look of love Clark shot him. He was so in love with this man.

“Hey, B.” Clark greeted, twisting his head so he could kiss Bruce’s palm. Bruce smiled fondly down at his partner, brushing his thumb over his lips. Usually, the move would be sensual and lead to something more in the confines of their bedroom. But here, it was just tender affection between two partners. Bruce was not the best with tactical affection or even really showing soft care for those he loved, but Clark made him want to try. Made him want to be a man who could be as tender as he was rough around the edges.

“Didn’t you have work today?” Bruce asked, shifting so he was sitting on his backside instead of crouched. It made reaching Clark a little more difficult, but it was better than destroying his knees. Clark’s hand cupped Damian’s head a little more securely.

“Lois was more than happy to say that my neighbor’s friend’s kid fell off their bike and they needed a baby sitter,” Bruce chuckled at the excuse, shaking his head. Lois Lane was one of the only normal humans that knew about Clark being Superman and she loved making up excuses for him. Bruce’s favorite had to be that Clark had to save a baby bat that fell out of a tree when Jason had taken a tumble off a room and broke his wrist. Even before they were dating, Clark had cared about his sons like they were his own.

“Rather imaginative that one. She should go into fictional writing,” Bruce teased, watching Clark’s nose scrunch at the thought. Lois was too set on finding the truth and the facts to ever make anything up, outside of reasons for Clark to miss work. He shifted his attention back to Damian, hand moving up the boy’s back and up to his head. He rested his hand over Clark’s, his thumb rubbing over the back of the other man’s hand.

“How’s he been?”

“Out of it. When I got here, he refused to take medicine or eat for Alfred. I got him to eat and he got sick and he has been clingy ever since,” Clark’s voice was heavy with longing when he mentioned the clinginess. It made Bruce feel bad that he could not give Clark a child who was not full of trauma. Clark deserved to be as much of a mother hen as he pleased. Perhaps he could convince Dick to sprain his wrist and come over so Clark could baby him.

None of the others would allow Clark to do so. Not even Cassandra let Clark worry over her.

“He called me Papa, B.” Clark whispered, voice reverent like he had been given the greatest gift.

It made Bruce ache.

With want, with love, with regret.

Clark deserved to feel this way always. Not just when their boys were injured or half out of their mind.

“Oh, Kal,” he whispered back, reaching up to stroke the other man’s cheek. His thumb caught a stray tear and his heart broke for his partner. He had been holding onto this all day, having to curb his excitement so he would not scare off Damian.

“Father,” came a raspy voice, half muffled by Clark’s chest. Bruce’s attention jumped to his son, blindly wiping the other stray tears from Clark’s face.

“Hey buddy, how’re you feeling?” Bruce moved his hand to Damian’s forehead again, gently tilting the boy’s head back so he could see his face clearly. Damian’s eyes were barely open but they were locked on Bruce.

“Thirsty,” Bruce was immediately reaching for the bottle of juice on the table. Damian let out a panicked noise at the sight of it, sliding off Clark’s chest and hiding between the man and the back of the couch. Bruce stared at him incredulously, looking up to Clark for an answer.

His partner looked abashed.

Bruce raised one eyebrow in question, placing the bottle of juice back on the table so his son would stop cowering at the sight of it.

“We may or may not have tricked Dami with the grape juice,” Clark admitted, rubbing Damian’s back in an apologetic way. Bruce bit his lip to stifle a laugh, shaking his head at the two of them. Who would have thought that a super human and butler would resort to such dirty tactics to get a twelve year old to take medicine.

“If only the world knew that Superman was so sneaky,” Bruce teased, reaching instead for the glass of water. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the Batman straw, but dutifully held it out for Damian to take some sips from it.

“I needed Damian to take it so he could feel better. And it helped didn’t it, Dames?” Clark brushed the back of his knuckles against Damian’s cheek. The pre-teen let out an annoyed noise that also sounded like a confirmation.

“If you are feeling a little better, do you think you can stand in a shower?” Damian let out another annoyed noise. “C’mon, Buddy, it will help you feel a little better.” Bruce cajoled, eyebrows scrunching in confusion at the shared look between the two. Did they have inside jokes now? What the hell had happened in the short time he had been at work?

“Go with your dad, okay? Your sweater is soaked and I bet it will feel better to be clean,” Clark carefully moved Damian from where he had wedged himself, pulling them both up into a seat position. Damian leaned his head against Clark’s shoulder, still seemingly not able to keep his head up on his own.

“You stay?” Damian asked softly, not looking up toward Clark. He was beginning to radiate nerves, like Clark was going to grow tired of him if he kept asking him to stay. Bruce ached for his son as well. His partner longed for someone to give his affection to and his son longed to have someone to cling to. Both too stubborn and polite to overstep the other’s boundaries.

“I promise, I’ll be there when you are all done, okay? I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” Damian nodded, face pressed into Clark’s bicep. Bruce looked on fondly at his son, sleep lines still on his face. He wondered if Damian sought out this type of affection from Talia when he was younger. He quickly pushed that thought away. There was no healthy affection to be given by Talia or the League of Assassins. Thinking of the torment his son had experienced was Bruce’s least favorite activity, so he quickly turned his attention to present.

“C’mon, buddy.” Bruce stood up from the floor, with the help of Clark, and pulled Damian to his feet. “Go on and I will meet you there, okay?” Damian hummed as he slowly shuffled out of the room. Clark watched after him anxiously, ready to shoot forward to protect their son.

Bruce stepped up to Clark, grabbing his chin and pulling him so his attention was on him.

“Thank you for checking up on him,” Bruce whispered, trying not to let the sight of Clark looking up at him like he hung the sun get to his head too much. He still had his son to care for and he could not get too lost in his partner.

“It was no problem,” Clark whispered, hands resting on Bruce’s hips. “I love him and I love you,” he continued, grinning up at Bruce when the elder blushed at his words.

Bruce would not be outdone by his partner.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice dropping a few octaves and dragging the last syllable out just how Clark liked. Clark was weak for pet names. “I love you too, Kal.” He continued, the words that were once upon a time difficult for him to even think spilling from his lips easily. Loving Clark was one of the easiest things that Bruce had ever done in his life.

Clark pulled Bruce down for a brief kiss, but no less heated than their other kisses. He pulled away before Bruce was ready, but that wide grin was back on his face.

“Go take care of our son, Bruce. I’ll be waiting,” Clark promised him as well, hands moving over Bruce’s waist. Bruce ducked to give him one more kiss before he hurried out to get Damian into the shower. The sooner he got Damian settled for the night, the sooner he could get back to Clark.

All of his plans were thrown out after Damian was out of the shower, mumbling in his hoarse voice that he “wan’ Papa.” Bruce was powerless to deny Damian that simply wish and Clark, who knew he should not eavesdrop but sometimes could not avoid it, even less so. Clark was there before Damian could say the rest of Papa, taking the towel bundled boy from Bruce and going to his room to get him dressed.

Damian clung to Clark, only releasing the Kryptonian long enough for him to slip a clean shirt over his head. Any time Clark attempted to place him down or hand him off to Bruce, he would start with the same quiet whining of wanting his Papa. Even when they had gotten him to take some more medicine with the grape juice deception, he immediately reached for Clark.

Bruce resigned himself to the fact that Damian would most likely be sleeping curled between him and Clark tonight. And that he would most likely wake up sick tomorrow from sharing the same bed as his sick son.

He found that he did not mind a single bit.