Chapter Text
"I know I agreed to this, but seriously - can't Batman just get up and take a vacation?" Clark asks, flips the cowl around to look at it. Seriously. Holy shit did Batman just like to wear uncomfortable things? Bruce looks at him with a dark scowl, and he holds his hands up, cowl dangling loosely from a hand. "I'm just saying."
"And I'm just saying," Bruce says dryly from where he's tapping rapidly against the computer, "Three days without a patrol, and I promise you that you will never see Gotham again."
"It can't be that bad," Clark mutters, but sighs and puts on the cowl. He's actually a little impressed when it's on his head - the inside is soft and silky, and the visor over his eyes was - wow, that explained how he was able to talk to so many people, this had it's own HUD? "Wish my glasses could do this," Clark says, and Batman tosses him a slightly smug look from where he's typing.
"Whiner," he mocks lightly, which from anyone else would have pissed off Clark. But given he'd accidentally let B get shot helping in Metropolis, he lets it slide. "So, where's the kid?" He asks, and Bruce looks at him in mild amusement.
"That eager to meet your biggest fan?" He asks, and Clark shivers.
"God no," he says, and Bruce actually laughs at him. "What excuse did you give your little gremlin?" He's only seen Robin at a distance, and that distance was enough. Bruce laughs harder at him.
"He's got some after-school activities this week, so I pulled him off of patrol. As far as Dick knows, I'm still going out on patrol." Here, Bruce's eyes sparkle. "Which means you have approximately a week before he figures it out."
"You say that like I'll let him," Clark says primly, and Bruce gives him an arch look. To ignore him, Clark turns away and walks to the Batmobile. "... Why is everything bat-themed, anyways?" Clark asks, curious.
"Blame my gremlin," Bruce says with an amused smile. Clark can't help the way the smile makes the usually stern-faced adult look almost... approachable. "He insisted on the theme. He said to commit or perish." Clark snorts. Okay, now he'd admit the kid sounded fun to hang around.
"Good to know that your bat kink isn't actually a thing," Clark says dryly.
"Don't make me set off the auto-destruct in the Batmobile, Clark. It'll hurt," Bruce warns, and Clark pulls a face. As if he'd have the balls. He does climb into the car regardless, and drives off.
Honestly, it's actually kind of nice, this car. Clark didn't really use cars that much - who needed to when Metropolis's metro system was so good anyways? - but he could see the appeal, especially in the quiet purr of this one, the silky feel of it under his palms soothing as he drove through the usual patrol route helpfully outlined on the display in his cowl.
"If you're lucky," Bruce's voice comes in over the comm unit, "It'll be a slow night. If not, then you'll see the skylight show up with my symbol." Clark snorts.
As it turns out, it's not a quiet night.
Now. Clark is a pacifist. He's an absolute pacifist when he can get away with it. One thing he and Bruce have always agreed on was their shared no-kill rule.
After going up against Penguin (jackass), Riddler (what the fuck, Bruce), and the Joker (clown was almost an insult to the profession), Clark is three seconds away from homicide.
"You seem annoyed," Bruce notes, a sly smirk tugging his lips.
Clark throws the cowl at him. "Fuck your city."
"It's a bit late for that," Bruce has the gall to look amused at his irritation. "I'd say this city was pretty much fucked at the beginning."
"I'm going home." He says, irritable.
"See you tomorrow," Bruce says, grinning. "I'll help you into the suit next time."
Clark does not throw the cloak on the ground.
But GOD is he tempted.
Of course, his luck runs out at the end of the week.
"Hey, B, I have -" The high pitched squeak that leaves the boy's throat makes Clark freeze. His deer in the headlights expression makes Bruce splutter around the rim of his coffee cup, and he turns them on the man helplessly.
Help. As Bruce predicted, the Boy Wonder himself had arrived.
"H-hey," Clark turns and waves a little at the starry-eyed boy and swallows.
"You're Superman," the kid breathes, visibly awed. Clark cringes a little. "I can't believe THE SUPERMAN filled in!" And then he was roped into a conversation that was full of one cartwheeling little thirteen-year-old boy who could not stop bouncing around.
Help, he mouths, but Bruce - fucking traitor - simply laughs at him over the rim of his coffee cup.
Clark will never, ever fill for him again.
Famous last words.
The next time he’s on call, it’s after Dick has left for Blüdhaven, and a new Robin has taken his place. He only agrees because he’s curious - and because Batman promised him some fancy new glasses to make up for the whole mess.
The first thing he thinks when he sees the newer Robin is curls. His hair makes Clark’s look tame in comparison when he’s in his civvies, the boy valiantly fighting against them with a wet brush and losing, Bruce smiling even despite his broken leg.
“Ouch. What caused that?” He asks, nodding towards the injury.
“Bad landing,” Bruce says honestly, eyes crinkling up into a smile. “Jaylad, c’mere,” he says, and the curly-haired boy looks at Bruce in defeat, obediently wanders over to him, and the CEO takes the brush to carefully help it lay flatter, before drying his hair off.
The curls come back, but much less rebelliously, and Jaylad beams up at Bruce.
“Thanks B!” He chirps, before hopping to his feet. He looks at Clark next, and then sticks his hand out in greeting.
“Hi, I’m Jason!” He says, and Clark smiles indulgently at the boy, shakes his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” He says warmly. “You’re my patrol partner today, right?” He asks, and the boy beams.
“Yep! B said you would need another pair of hands for this patrol,” he says cheerfully, and Clark resists the urge to pinch Jason’s - Robin’s - cheek. This kid was leagues different to Nightwing, that was for sure.
“Thanks for the help then. Let me go get changed,” he says, and Jason takes the hint, scampering off to let them talk. “So?” He says pointedly, looking at Jason. “I thought Nightwing was the first and last Robin,” he pitches his voice low, quiet without the attention-grabbing rasp of a whisper, and Bruce doesn’t - quite - wince.
“I’m good, but I can’t handle this whole city on my own,” he admits. “I didn’t intentionally adopt him for that, though.” Clark gives him an amused look, accepting Bruce’s offer of clothes to go and get changed, the two walking side by side.
“Oh? Then why?” He wonders.
“Would you believe the kid tried to steal the tires off of my Batmobile last Christmas?” Bruce says, grinning, and Clark chokes on a laugh.
“Why am I hearing about this now?” he complains with a snicker, and Bruce grins back, eyes dancing.
“Oh, I wanted you to know sooner, but Jason’s been… well, not difficult, but different.” Bruce’s smile softens; a father with a son, not an exasperated older brother. “I wanted him to settle in without having to worry about putting on a good face for everyone.” Clark hums, understanding how that went, especially after having met Dick without the hero-worship. Entering the changing room, he gets undressed and quickly puts everything on.
“Did you change the belt design?” Clark says, a little distracted. He could feel it under his fingers, a fine grit, the shape of a hook attachment underneath the belt loop.
“Oh, is that noticeable?”
“For me, yeah.” Clark says cheekily. “What’s it for?” Bruce sighs, sounds exasperated.
“It’s a belt link for Robin, in case you both need to get up somewhere quick. I thought it was faster and cheaper than just going through the trouble of making us both go through getting a grappling hook latched on.”
“Huh - makes sense,” Clark murmurs in understanding, and quickly settles the belt around his hips. After donning the shirt, Clark was good to go, stepping out and accepting the cowl Bruce offers, the cloak settling over his shoulders.
It’s ironic, that somehow, the Batman suit makes him feel… comfortable? Despite how starkly their morals and goals differed, he couldn’t dispute the fact that being Batman was actually nice. It eased old hurts, going to ground, doing the work on a more even keel than just as he did now.
“Wow!” Jason sounds impressed when he looks Clark up and down, before circling around him with amusement, Bruce following behind on his crutches with an amused look. “Maybe Batman gives you magic too,” he says interestedly to Clark, who bites back a choked laugh.
“What?” he says, bewildered, and Jason gives him a cheeky little grin.
“Y’know, like how Robin gives me magic?”
Oh my god.
“You’re so damn cute,” is what Clark says, and Jason blushes; preens adorably under Clark’s amused gaze. If Clark had a kid half as cute as Jason when he’s married, he’s done everything right. It’s an easy night, but Bruce was right - the city had grown up some, with a lot more floors in the central metropolitan area, though it wasn’t quite as high over the skyline as Metropolis, of course.
Simply beautiful skyline shots , though. Once he and Jason are back, Clark gives the kid a ruffle of his hair, the curls going haywire to the boy’s distressed whine. When Jason is well and truly gone, Bruce raises a brow.
“I’ll fill in as often as you want if he’s patrolling with me,” is all Clark says, and Bruce snorts violently, hands him his glasses case.
“I’ll pass that along to Nightwing.” Clark shudders, and Bruce laughs to see it. “As promised, one upgraded set of glasses, with optional features. I’ll send the packet to your personal email.”
“Much obliged,” Clark says, and escapes to get changed while Bruce was still laughing at him.
Jason’s dead.
Superman’s cape flutters as he lands near him, straining his ears to hear any hint of Jason’s heartbeat, of his breathing, his body moving, his smile -
Nothing. Bruce skids in behind him, cowl ripped, cloak torn, his heart beating erratically.
“Ja…son?” Bruce looks at him, at his son, and his expression - already upset, already angry - twists. “He called you, didn’t he?”
“He called us both,” Clark says quietly. “I tried, I swear B, I fucking tried-”
“I know.” There’s a dull flatness to the affirmation, a darkness lurking there that hadn’t been before. Grief. But Bruce walks closer, kneels down to pick up his son, body trembling with incandescent rage. Clark watches how Bruce fixes Jason’s crooked domino, thumb rubbing against Jason’s temple. “I fired him.” The words are a whisper. “I wanted him to take time off, spend it with you, calm down, and then he could be Robin again. I knew how much it meant to him.” Clark walks closer and kneels next to him, a hand coming up to rest on Jason’s curly hair. They’d tamed in recent years, and Clark remembers the days he’d helped before patrol to smooth them down, how brilliant his smile was every time.
Superman did not hate.
Clark Kent… on the other hand…
“Let’s get him home,” Clark says quietly. “Let’s get him home and call Nightwing. And then we can deal with that fucking clown.” Bruce looks up, startled, but whatever he sees in Clark’s eyes soothes some of his anger, and he looks back at his son.
“Yes. Let’s do that.”
Clark is the one to veto the case, the immortalization of his son. Jason is as much his Robin as Bruce’s, the man says, and it’s telling that Bruce doesn’t argue, instead carefully folding the spare uniform and placing it in a sealed frame. They wouldn’t hang it, however. Clark had won that argument thoroughly. It goes into a drawer, as does Jason’s favorite weapons, and a spare copy of his favorite book, also carefully sealed.
Clark fills in for Bruce for three weeks after that.
They argue about it intensely for hours. They argue so much that Alfred actually gets Dick involved, who thankfully takes his side.
Bruce is benched. He needs to come to terms with his grief, and Dick agrees to stay, though the way his fingers twitch on his upper arms makes it clear that in uniform or not, Joker would be meeting Nightwing too.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Dick says evenly, his eyes firm on Bruce. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a good row anyways. I’ll let Alfred know so he can get some groceries when we’re arguing.”
Clark smiles tightly, and leaves after that, knowing he has to be at work on time.
Later that day, Arkham Asylum finds itself visited by Superman, the caped crusader smiling and waving as he comes for a courtesy check of Joker’s cell.
(Superman doesn’t say please, and everyone is too terrified of the way he smiles to turn him away.)
Joker looks surprised to see him, and then a grin crosses his face.
“Aw, did I make the big blue man mad?” Joker mocks, smirking at him. Superman doesn’t look away from his face, doesn’t smile. He simply stares. The silence stretches, and stretches, and stretches, until Joker’s smile begins to fade, and he begins to squirm.
“My people do not believe in rehabilitating creatures like you. It is fortunate that Krypton’s laws do not apply in Gotham.” Here, he smiles. “But if you step out of this city, I will know. And I will find you. I am not Batman. I have no patience for creatures like you.” Joker’s face is going paler, the stark white losing what little color it had as Superman leans over the table, hands pressed flat and the table bending under his strength, heat glowing and making the metal under his palms red. “I do not kill because I am nigh-unstoppable to anyone who isn’t another Kryptonian.” His smile shows just a faint line of white when he speaks his next words. “For you, I will make an exception. And I will invite Batman to watch.” He pulls back, and notes his hands had left visible imprints on the table, the metal forever a reminder of his anger. “If I were you,” Clark says with a smirk, “I’d stay in my cell.” Turning on his heel, Superman leaves.
And Joker stares, hands shaking at the very close call that he’d just seen.
Clark comes back to the sound of a camera, the shutter-snap audible in the relative stillness of this part of Gotham.
The shutterbug. Jason had pointed him out, giggling about how Bruce hadn’t known, and the memory tugs at his heart, the ache of losing his Robin as much of a reminder of how he’d lost his Pa.
Can’t save everyone, Super-kid, he chides himself, and once he’s out of the little boy’s line of sight, he flies over and lands silently behind the kid, who is frowning over the top of his camera.
“It’s late,” Clark says in his Batman Voice, and the kid jumps so hard he almost drops the camera. Clark’s hand flashes out and catches the kid, and he raises a brow.
“M’sorry Mr. Su- Batman!” the boy cuts himself off, flushing in mortification as he hides behind his camera. Clark allows his brow to rise, and he kneels. So the kid knew he wasn’t Bruce, huh?
“What’s a kid like you doing out without a parent?” He wonders, and the boy flushes behind his camera.
“I’m fine!” The kid protests, and Clark gives the kid a flat look. Too small, too thin, likely underfed and exhausted from no routine. Did the kid even attend school?
“You are not. And shutterbug, now is not a time to be on the streets.” The kid stares at him.
“Is this because Robin’s dead?” The boy whispers, and Clark gives him a slightly sad look.
“Yes. Please go home. I don’t need to see another child die tonight.” The boy fiddles with his camera, but nods.
“Okay Mr. - Erm. Batman.” The kid cannot fucking lie, and Clark notes it down to talk to Bruce about the kid.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
“Tim Drake,” the kid mumbles, and Clark bites back a smirk. Hopping off the guard rail, he lets himself float in the air for a moment, the boy’s jaw dropping before he allows himself to land.
“See you around, kid.” He says nonchalantly, walks away.
Bruce is less than amused, but Clark talks him down into just meeting the kid, and Bruce’s lips thin in the way he gets when he feels stubborn.
“I don’t need another son,” Bruce says, and Clark softens, pulls Bruce closer from where he’s leaning against the desk. Startled, Bruce’s hands settled against his shoulders.
“Do you think I’m trying to replace Jason? Me?” He asks, and Bruce looks away, a flush of shame on his face. “Look at me, Bruce. I mean it.” The two of them look at each other properly, and Clark doesn’t let him squirm away when he’s done that. “Jason was as much my Robin as he was yours. He’s been my kid since we went on patrol together three years ago, do you understand?” Bruce softens, his hands lowering down to Clark’s hips.
“Yeah. I got it.” Bruce says with a faint - but there - smile. “I’ll at least speak to the kid, since you seem so insistent on it.” Clark smiles at him, steps back, and then claps a hand to Bruce’s shoulder.
“Good. I’ll take care of things on my end. You take care of that kid for me.” Here he leans in. “Jason liked him.” Bruce’s hands clench slightly, and he gives him an annoyed look.
“Low blow, Metropolis,” he grumbles. Clark shrugs, not bothered.
“You boys made Gotham my city,” he quips, and Bruce sighs. There's a slightly playful glint to those eyes, and Clark likes that.
“Does that make Metropolis mine too?” He asks archly back. Clark grins at his teasing.
“Sounds like you’re warming to the idea, Gotham,” he jokes, and Bruce smiles, a thin, brittle thing.
“Jason would have loved it.” Bruce says, slumping against his desk. “Fuck… I miss him,” Bruce admits, voice cracking.
Finally. Clark had been trying to get him to cry properly for weeks.
“C’mere, Bruce,” Clark pulls him tight against his chest, and Bruce begins to cry against his shoulder in earnest.
Clark visits Jason’s grave weekly. It’s a habit, to keep an ear out for it, to look after him after failing him the first time.
“Hey, Jason,” Clark greets the headstone. The headstone was classier. Smaller, not a grand thing. Clark smiles at it, wonders what Jason would think. “Turns out your little shutterbug’s been… hmm. Neglected is a good word for it. His parents got a huge earful from Bruce about it, you know?” He softens. “He’s staying with us for now.” He fills the air with chatter, quietly greeting the boy, filling him in on all the little things. He’s recording it, like he does every time, and when he’s done, he touches the grave.
“Bruce sends his love, kiddo. He’s visiting tomorrow. He doesn’t have much to tell you outside of Wayne Enterprises. I’ve been taking over his evening calls, and so has Dick. I’ll pull him off being benched soon though, and he’ll have more to say.” He pats the dirt gently. “I’ll see you again, kiddo. Love you.” He toggles the recording off, and quietly walks off. The snap of a camera, and he turns to face it, raises a brow.
“Kid, you are cute, but that’s a little disturbing,” he says. Little Tim stops hiding behind Martha Wayne’s grave, looks sheepish.
“I like to give him photos,” the kid mumbles sheepishly, and Clark hums, hands in his pockets.
“You got any of B here?” The boy nods, looking down at his camera. “Dick?”
“Yeah…” Clark hums.
“I’ll let you keep the photos if I can get copies. And if you tell me why you’re here instead of at B’s.”
“Mom and Dad came to yell at B. I didn’t want -” the boy winced. “It got loud.”
Ouch.
Clark reaches for Tim’s hand, and the boy accepts it trustingly.
“You know what?” He says, cheerful. “Have you ever been to Metropolis?”
“... No,” Tim says, looking at him curiously.
“You want to go?”
Tim’s eyes light up, just as he thought the kid would. Jason’s shutterbug would be okay.
Hurts! Jason coughs at the feeling of stale air, his hands reaching up and pressing against the wood. It feels old, and slightly smooth, but that doesn’t really calm him down.
He can remember the blistering heat, the last moments of his mother, the desperate way he’d cried for Bruce, for Clark - His hands map out the shape, and his breath quickens.
A coffin. He was in a coffin. A coffin, no, no, no please not this please don’t tell him B buried him alive -
“Superman,” he wheezes, a desperate, last ditch attempt, his hands banging against the wood, coughing and shaking as the coffin rattles, splintering. “Superman! Clark! Clark! Please god, help me-”
The earth roars, and Jason finds himself shaking in the warm arms of a familiar face, wide blue eyes looking down at him, stunned and tearful all at the same time.
“Jason,” Superman breathes, and he coughs, clings to him and cries. Everything hurts, so much of him hurts.
“Clark,” He sputters, gasping. “Clark, what happened.”
“You died, Jason. You died.”
Jason stares at him, and then he laughs. He laughs until he cries, and he cries harder when all Clark does is hold him tighter.
He comes back to an empty house, Clark lowering him down and patting him all over.
“You’re going to need a shower - and I’ll need to look at your injuries,” Clark tells him, and Jason’s breath hitches as he stumbles next to Clark.
“I wanna see my room.”
“After,” Clark says, worried.
“Now. Please.” He says, and Clark sighs, but carries him up. The room is clean. Tim’s photos are hanging carefully from his pegboard, and Clark - and Bruce’s - recordings are lined up on a shelf. Jason grabs one and presses play before he can stop him.
“Jason, hey. Bruce hasn’t been on patrol lately - Dick’s been sitting on him, and I’ve been taking his patrols when Dick can’t. It’s been - fuck, too long - since… since April.” Clark’s voice drifts up, and Jason listens, trembling. “Joker’s still in Arkham - I think my threat might have scared him into staying put, but I think he’s going to try something.” Jason pauses the recording.
“Joker’s still alive?” Jason says, horribly still.
“Diplomatic immunity.” Clark grits out, still pissed about it. The look Jason gives him would be comical in literally any other context.
“What.”
“Don’t ask. The League’s working on it,” Clark says with a rub of his fingers to his nose. “Jaylad… please. Let me deal with your injuries.” Jason is ignoring him again, staring at the photos.
“What happened to the kid?” He asks. Clark, seeing that he wasn’t going to move, sighs and reaches out for a different recording.
“Hey Jason. Turns out your little shutterbug’s been… hmm. Neglected is a good word for it. His parents got a huge earful from Bruce about it, you know?” Clark’s voice is a little tinny. “He’s staying with us for now, and we’re hoping one of his parents will listen to reason. But we’re not holding out any hope. The Drakes are stubborn folks -” Jason’s hand presses pause on the recording.
“B took another Robin?” He asks, voice tight. Angry.
“No. He couldn’t. Didn’t. Drake’s been trying to convince Nightwing to come back for a while, but things are… tense. Jason, please, again, let me -” The boy sways on his feet, and Jason doesn’t fight this time, when Clark holds him against his chest.
“Clark… Clark I -”
“I’ll call them. You know they’ll drop everything to come see you.” Jason doesn’t answer, and he can see how pale Jason looks, his pulse weak and fluttering.
Dammit.
“Go to sleep. Things will be better when you wake up.” Jason slips into unconsciousness, and Clark is left to wonder - what now?
Jason’s been asleep for two weeks. Coma, the doctors say. Necessary, given the hell he’d been put through.
Bruce has to spin the story to the media somehow, and while they wait, things are notably tense. Dick, especially, is hovering over Jason’s bedside, a constant, worried presence in his uniform.
Things get worse when Clark finds out he somehow - suddenly - has a kid. With Lois.
His boss.
Now, don’t get him wrong, he likes Lois. She’s plenty nice. But the most they’ve ever done together was maybe a kiss, and don’t get him wrong, it was a nice kiss. But that was not how babies got made.
He sat through enough embarrassing school-lessons to know that.
Bruce is amused by the whole thing, when he brings Jon over to meet Bruce, the kid crawling over Jason’s chest with happy little babbles.
“So, a secret lovechild?” Bruce says, horribly amused, and Clark hits him with a pillow. There’s bags under Bruce’s eyes that look like Gucci, they’ve been around so long. “Sorry, sorry. I thought if anyone was going to have that issue, it’d be me,” he says, carefully pulling Jon away from Jason’s IV and settling him on his lap with a quick pat to the baby’s hair. Jon whines; predictably, but is soon happy enough to chew on Bruce’s tie, drooling all over it.
Bruce lets Jon do so, smiling fondly down at the kid.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it,” Clark admits. “First we get someone punching reality out in another dimension, Jason comes back to life, and the inexplicable babies? Let me tell you, explaining this to the boss at work as Superman was fucking fun.”
Bruce snorts. “I’ll take your word for it.” He bounces the baby on his knee gently, and Jon squeals.
“How old is he?” Bruce asks, and Clark shrugs.
“So far as Jordan and Allen can tell, he’s maybe 14 months old. Maybe. It’s kind of hard to tell his development when we don’t exactly have a baseline for half-kryptonians.” Bruce hums.
“You grew up relatively close to humans though. But I guess hybrids are a whole separate thing.” Bruce smiles at Jon again, and Clark points a finger at him.
“Don’t you even think of buying a hospital.”
“Too late,” Bruce says mildly, and Clark groans. Dammit. At this rate, Diana’s sugar daddy jokes were looking more legitimate by the day.
“Fuck. Why.”
“Allen can’t go to a doctor, Jordan’s got distinctly non-human brain capacity, Diana’s a demigod, God forbid anyone explain Arthur…” he trails off leadingly, and Clark’s shoulders slump, conceding the point. “It’s in Metropolis,” he adds softer. “It’s being acquired in part of my partnership with the Justice League, but regular civilians can still access and use it. Should be a good cover for any metahumans who don’t want Walker and her ilk chasing them with explosives. I’ll be transferring Jason too, since I don’t trust the doctors here.” Bruce lifts the baby up, and Jon babbles excitedly, little arms flailing happily, before he lowers the boy back into his lap.
“So… Jason his godfather?” Bruce asks, and Clark gives a relieved grin.
“You’re not mad?”
“Are you kidding?” Bruce shoots him an amused look, and Clark shrugs. “I can have the next one.”
“What makes you think another one’s going to pop -” Clark stops cold.
Thinks about it.
“Okay, fuck.” He admits, and Bruce laughs at him. “I hate you. You’ve given me serial child-adoption tendencies.”
Bruce muffles his snickers with a hand, little Jon giggling and clapping his hands at Clark’s smile, reluctant as it was.
“... B?” The voice is hoarse and weak, and Clark takes Jon back into his arms so Bruce can scramble to his feet and hit the button, his other hand going to Jason’s.
“Jaylad - I’m here, I swear, I’m right here,” Bruce says, clings to Jason’s hand as though he was a lifeline. Jason blinks slowly, his eyes cracking open.
“I’m so tired, B…” He whispers gently, and Bruce leans in, presses a lingering kiss to his forehead.
“I know, Jaylad, I know.” His blue eyes were so sad, and Clark wished he could step out, give them their privacy. But then Jason’s eyes land on Jon, and he blinks.
“Are you also randomly adopting blue-eyed orphans now?” Jason says a bit dazedly, and Bruce’s forehead hits his son’s shoulder as he fights a wheeze.
Clark heaves a sigh, stepping to the side as he lets the nurses pass him. Jon gives a cute little coo of interest, waving at one of the nurses.
Why the fuck did I ever get involved with these idiots…
“Shutterbug,” Jason greets, sees the small boy who is half-hidden behind Clark’s leg. Tim - his sneaky cameraman/paparazzo extraordinaire - lights up at his greeting and ducks under Bruce’s arm to take the best seat near him. It’s the one with the Metropolis skyline, so Jason thinks it’s pretty sick, even if he does miss the constant cloud cover.
“Hi, Jason,” he says shyly. A life on the streets has taught Jason everything he needed to know about how badly a kid was treated, and from what Clark had filled him in on, what he could see - and the recordings, which he’d been slowly listening to - Drake’s parents were lucky that Clark and Bruce had forgone revenge in favor of taking the shutterbug in instead.
Hell, he might still jack their tires in revenge. The dicks would deserve it.
“Psh, kid, get on the bed,” he says instead of saying any of the complicated feelings in his throat. Tim grins and does exactly that, carefully putting his camera on Jason’s chest before joining him, Jason snorting at how carefully he was treating him. “There better be some classy photos on there, squirt.”
And Tim’s off. He can see Clark and B just hanging back, amused but also relieved, as though they’d been worried about how he was going to treat Shutterbug.
Well, the kid was shaping up to be the next Robin, and at the same time, after seeing some of the footage of how fucking brutal Clark and B had been in the cowl lately was a humbling reminder. B had benched him for some of the moves Batman had been pulling recently, and he can understand better why Clark had been so blunt about Drake trying to convince someone to retake the Robin mantle.
It was weird how being dead had changed things.
“And I was thinking I could make an album -” Tim is still prattling on, and he reaches out, taps the top of the boy’s head twice. Tim shuts up, blinking at him owlishly.
“Did B give you the job offer yet?” He asks bluntly, and Tim’s camera drops out of his hands.
“What?” He says, staring in bewilderment. Behind him, Bruce is also looking nonplussed.
“You know, for being Robin?” He adds, and Tim’s head swivels in question towards Bruce. Clark, next to him, has a slight cat with the cream smile on his lips. He’d clearly seen this coming. Tim looks back at him, and Jason gestures towards himself.
“Do I look like I’m going anywhere, Timbo?” He asks, and Tim sheepishly shakes his head. “I’ve got at least a few months of recovery before I’m leaving this place - you might as well get a head start.” Here he gives Bruce a look. “You aren’t exactly going to find another black-haired, blue-eyed genius with daddy issues that fast, B.”
Snrk.
Clark isn’t even pretending he’s not laughing at this point. Bruce shoots Clark a slightly murderous look for it, but he softens at Jason’s amused grin. Tim is giggling too, amused but hopeful.
“You really think I can do it?” Tim asks him, and Jason raises a brow.
“Like hell you aren’t going to. Timbo, you were able to follow behind B, me, and Clark. I only knew about you because Dick noticed you once, Clark noticed because, y’know, Superman, and B noticed last. You’ve got this, okay?” Jason says, and the boy flushes shyly at the praise.
“I guess the new Robin’s decided for you,” Clark says once he’s recovered, eyes dancing with wicked amusement. Bruce elbows Clark, but true to form, the man doesn’t even budge.
“I’ll get the training program started,” Bruce says with a tired little sigh, and Jason smirks.
Sucker. Tim launches into an excited retelling of his day, and Jason smiles down at the young teen, the two of them getting a chance to catch up.
The last visitor is Dick, and by the reddened flesh around his knuckles, Jason knows something’s up. Clark had left him with Jonathan and gone off in a hurry, and now Dick was here?
“Luthor,” Dick says without explaining, and Jason’s eyebrow rises.
“Did you punch him or something?” He asks, looking a little bewilderedly at his hands. Dick gives a harsh grin that looks out of place on his normally easy-going face.
“Or something,” He agrees, before taking a seat and offering to take bitty Jon off of his hands. He allows the adult to do so, and wonders what, if anything, Dick is going to say.
“I quit the GCPD today,” He says abruptly, and Jason blinks, startled.
“W-what?” Jason says, alarmed. Dick loved working on the GCPD, even if his shifts with Nightwing made the job a fucking hell on his sleep schedule. Wait, no, wrong question. “Why?” He asks in concern. Jason watches as Dick’s lips twitch slightly at his honest shock.
“Luthor showed up and started talking shit about you. The commissioner tried to stop him - I’ll give him that,” Dick says with a shrug. “But then he started talking about you, and I lost it. Broke his nose, maybe his arm, and I think I got a pretty good kick to the balls before the other officers pulled me off. Quit on the spot to keep Gordon from having to take the badge off of me first.”
Jason’s mouth hangs open slightly.
“But… I’m fine?” He says awkwardly. Dick levels him with a flat look even as he bounces Jonathan on his knee.
“Jay. I spent almost half a year thinking you were dead because B and I were too stupid to realize you’d still try to protect people, even out of uniform.” Dick’s voice is a little blunter than normal, and Jason cringes, before Dick reaches out and cups his cheek. “I fucking love you, Little Wing, do you understand that? And Luthor spouted off about how all the security in the world didn’t save you just… I wanted to do so much fucking worse to him. How can I be a cop if I want to do… that?” Jason can see the clear anguish on his face, the distress, and carefully, he picks up baby Jonathan, sets him on the foot of the bed, and then drags Dick into a hug.
“It’s okay, Dick,” he says reassuringly, squeezing him tight. “You’re okay.” Dick’s head hits his shoulder, and the man sniffles wetly.
“Unca!” Jonathan says, crawling over to pat his older brother’s face. Dick and Jason part with a laugh, and Jonathan pats his face again, confused. “Unca!” Dick wipes his tears and lifts Jonathan to his chest, the little boy giving a happy squeal when his head is kissed.
“Yeah, I’m your Uncle,” He manages with a wet little grin. “Your favorite, right?” He’s obviously joking, but Jonathan looks at him, and then turns to Jason.
“Unca!” He says, pointing at Jason.
Both boys laugh at that. “The kid has spoken. You’re his favorite.” Jason puffs up playfully.
“Course I am,” He grins. “I’m the godfather, after all.” Dick pulls a face at him.
“We are not watching The Godfather with him when he gets older.”
“... Spoilsport.”
When Clark comes in to patrol, he finds Tim bent over the Batcomputer, tiny fingers typing away on the keyboard.
“What are you doing?” He asks, watching Tim as the boy stares at a line of code.
“Ruining Luthor’s life,” the boy says, and Clark raises a brow.
“You know, as Superman, I’m supposed to disapprove,” Clark says dryly.
Predictably, Tim ignores him. “Well, good thing you’re acting as Batman tonight. Besides, after the mean things he said about Jason, he deserves it.”
“What did he say?” Clark says, derailed from his planned lecture. Judging by the sly grin on Tim’s face, that had been intentional. What a menace, Clark thinks affectionately, leaning over to ruffle his hair fondly. In answer, Tim clicks on a video and pulls it up. He recognizes the headquarters of the GCPD, and from the view, he can see how Dick is bent over a desk, the officer recognizable by the cheerful Superman mug he has on his desk.
Awww. That was cute.
“And this is where most of our officers and detectives congregate when they’re handling the paperwork in between patrols.” Commissioner Gordon’s voice rings from the speakers, and he raises a brow as Luthor follows behind him, his expression blank but polite. The expression twists just the tiniest bit at the sight of Nightwing, and he scowls at the sight himself. “And of course, our finest officer here is Mr. Grayson.” Dick looks up, smiling, and he can see how it turns the slightest bit plastic-looking at the sight of Luthor.
He knows the feeling.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Luthor. I hadn’t realized we were having such a high profile guest, or I would have finished my paperwork by now,” Dick has a pleasant customer service face, Clark thinks, amused as he picks Tim up to steal the seat, the thirteen-year-old squirming when he’s set on Clark’s knee. “What can I do for you?”
“Don’t worry Grayson, I’m not here long. I merely wanted to check and see how you were doing, now that your brother has returned from the dead.” As one, every single officer in the bullpen tenses. “Given the track record of your security, are you sure he’s safe?” An implicit threat. Dick stands up, hands pressed flat against his desk.
“I don’t mean to misunderstand, Mr. Luthor. What are you saying?” Dick’s voice is even. But there’s a dark tenor thrumming through his sweet-natured tone.
“I’m not saying anything you aren’t already thinking. Are you sure the security around your brother is tight enough? He was killed once al-” Luthor is cut off by a fist to his nose, Dick flexibly leaping over the table to smash his fists into the man’s face. Half the GCPD surged up only to stop at Gordon’s mild hand raise, and the rest are intently cheering Dick on as he proceeds to beat the stuffing out of Luthor. Gordon lowers his hand after Luthor’s arm is twisted out of his socket, and ouch. That kick to the balls was going to fucking last. The officers wrestle the pair apart, and Dick is panting, his hair plastered to his face, a hard glare in his eyes.
“Let me go.” Oop. That was Nightwing in his voice. An icy steel that had half the officers jumping off of him. “Let me save you the trouble, Commissioner. I fucking quit. I hope you choke on your own teeth, sir.” He slaps his badge on the desk. “Keep an eye out in Gotham, Mr. Luthor. Since you seem to be convinced the security here is so lousy.”
Dick storms out, and Luthor climbs painfully to his feet while Gordon stares disapprovingly.
“Come with me, Mr. Luthor.” The man brushes his suit out, the man leaving in a huff. Gordon waits until he’s gone to look directly at the bugged camera lens.
“Which one of you wants to inform Grayson he’s only suspended, and not fired? I’m not losing one of our finest for that.” he asks, and Clark grins at the sight as several officers cheer at the announcement.
“I’ll tell Dick later,” Clark says. “Maybe I’ll do it as Superman.” Tim grins broadly at that.
“Gotcha, gotcha,” Tim says. Clark looks at the screen, and then raises a brow.
“So, what trouble are you making for Luthor?” Clark asks, and Tim gives him a wicked little grin.
“I hacked his investors to have them sell off a share or two at a penny every other hour on his birthday next week.”
Oh my god.
“You’re terrifying and amazing and you might just be my favorite Robin already,” Is what Clark says. Tim snickers, hands coming up to his mouth. “C’mon. Let’s suit up.”
It’s a quiet evening still, so Clark isn’t expecting much in the way of problems, checking the fit on Tim as he adjusts the boy’s outfit and tugs the red shorts with a grin.
“Red shorts and black leggings?” He teases, and Tim puffs his cheeks out while Clark chuckles, making sure the boy’s domino is secured to his face.
“I don’t have the legs to pull off the speedo,” Tim deadpanned, and Clark laughed brightly, amused. Patrol is quiet, Tim getting a feel for the city as he runs, his cape flapping. Tim stops after a while, panting. Clark waits for him as the kid makes his way to his side, face pressing against the cape when he gets there.
“Holy Batman,” the boy complains to Clark’s snort. “No wonder everyone is so fit!” He says, lifting his arms up for Clark to carry him. Clark does so without complaint, smiling down at the boy.
“Another Robin, Batman?” Selina Kyle’s voice says. He turns, and yep, that’s her. Catwoman in all her glory. He and Bruce had a running joke going on about her finding out when she’d realize there was more than one Batman, but so far, she’d long since blown past their estimations. Or she was fucking with them. “Aren’t you worried about the Joker?” She says, and he smiles at her wryly.
“The boys know to call for Superman, and he’s agreed to keep an ear out for my boys specifically.” There’s something hilarious about referring to himself in the third person, and he watches as Catwoman’s expression turns odd.
“When did you get so friendly with him?” She wonders, and Clark has to bite back a smirk. Tim starts to giggle, face pressing against his chest.
“Oh, ages ago,” he says breezily. “But more recently, he was able to rescue my Robin. We’ve… sorted out our differences.” Catwoman stares at him.
“Sometimes I wonder,” she mutters, still looking bewildered. “Just keep your Robin close, Batman,” she warns, and he watches her leave with amusement. When she’s well and truly gone, he indulges in a snicker.
“She still doesn’t know?” Tim asks, and Clark grins.
“Not that I know of,” he says, smirking. “C’mon, Robin. Let’s finish patrol and go home.”
Lois finally confronts Clark when they’re alone, her hands on her hips as she shoves the paper at him. “Explain this to me,” she says, tone short. Ah fuck. He opens the newspaper, and sees little Jon in the photo while he’s entertaining Jason and Bruce Wayne.
“What about it?” He asks evenly, hands her back the paper.
“The media knows that’s Superman’s kid. Why the hell is he with you?” She says, and he raises a brow at her, waiting for her to soften her tone.
“Do you expect Superman to take a kid around all the time when he’s on the other side of the globe?” He asks her, and she flushes slightly. “You were at work all day, and I had the time off.”
“But - Bruce Wayne? Our boss’s boss?” She says incredulously. “You I get, but Brucie Wayne?” She splutters.
Ah.
“What’s wrong with him?” He wonders. Lois shoots him a look.
“He gets kidnapped nearly as often as I get attacked,” she says dryly, and Clark concedes the point. “I’d understand if it was Officer Grayson, but Bruce Wayne’s another thing entirely.” Mmm. Well, time to come clean, he supposed.
(Not for the first time, Clark wonders what his other reality self was thinking, ending up with Lois.)
“Follow me,” he sighs, and she quirks a brow, follows him. They enter an unused office room, and he closes the door. Dialing, he waits for Bruce to pick up.
“Clark?” Bruce’s confused voice comes from the phone. “Is something wrong? Did something happen at work?”
Lois stares at his phone, mouthing the words incredulously while he smiles slightly.
“Not quite. I have Lois here, at the moment. The papers published Jonathan being with you and Jay.”
“Ah.” Master of understatement. “Alright, tell her what you want - I have an investment meeting in ten minutes.” Bruce hangs up, and Clark gives her a look.
“What am I supposed to know?” Lois squeaks, voice high.
Clark gives a sheepish grin.
The whole office, as one, stares curiously at the closed door the two had gone through.
“Are they finally going to get together?” Someone wonders.
“No way. Lois has her thing with Supes, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, no kidding. I wasn’t surprised about the kid for that reason.” After another moment of observation, they all turn back to their desks.
“WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK, CLARK!?”
The whole office jumps.
“What was that about?”
“Do any of us really want to know?” Someone mutters.