Chapter Text
Bruce skims the titles on the bookshelf with his eyes, pulling out one of the books and inspecting it, then shakes his head and puts it back.
“Probably a little young for Blood Meridian,” he says to himself before glancing at the book next to it. “Definitely too young for the Road. Maybe save McCarthy til he’s older.”
He looks a little further ahead on the shelf, spotting a book he’d overlooked. He pulls it out, inspecting it.
“He might like Dickens,” he muses. After a minute, he nods, then sets A Tale of Two Cities, on top of the two books he’d already picked out. He thinks three will be a good starting point- surely he can’t read three books that fast, right?
… maybe Bruce should pick out a couple more, just in case. He sighs, then walks back to the shelf, scanning it for more options. He thinks he might have an idea, but he’s not entirely sure if it would be age-appropriate, all things considered. He looks around in the bookshelf, stopping in front of the gothic horror section.
He purses his lips, considering. He doesn’t remember Frankenstein in particular being overly gory, but it might still be a bit much for a kid. Maybe-?
“Sir?”
Bruce looks over at Alfred, who’s standing in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to inform you that I’ll be out for a bit. As it turns out, a key ingredient for tonight’s dinner was left off our grocery order, and I’ll need to get it before I pick Dick up from gymnastics.”
“Alright. Should I expect dinner a bit later than usual?”
“I’m afraid so. Not too much longer, though.”
“That’s alright then.” Bruce looks back at the shelf. “Hey, Alfred? Gothic horror isn’t appropriate for an eight-year-old, right?”
Alfred blinks.
“... no sir, it’s not.”
“Damn. Have to give Jason something else, then.”
“Has he finished off the last Austen already?”
“Saw him take it back here yesterday. Figured I should pick out a few things from the higher shelves.”
“You could also invest in a ladder, sir.”
“True, but then he’d be able to get at any book, and then we’d be in a worse place with the whole ‘appropriateness’ thing. I don’t want him picking out something that’ll give him nightmares.”
“That is true. Well, I’m certain your judgement will be good here.” He turns away. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”
“Alright, see you later” Bruce calls as Alfred leaves, turning back toward the shelf. He scans down the line, stopping on another title. “Hm… maybe…”
Bruce’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, smiling when he sees Clark’s name and face on the screen.
“Hey,” he says once he answers.
“Hey, Bruce.” Conner squeals on the other end. “Conner says hi too.”
“Hi, Conner.”
Conner giggles, and Bruce smiles.
“What are you two up to?”
“After work tummy time. What about you?”
“I’m looking for books for Jason. Trying to find ones that’ll interest him without being inappropriate for an eight-year-old.”
“Oh, what have you picked out?”
“A Tale of Two Cities, Treasure Island, and the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
Clark snickers on the other end, and Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just- you, of all people, picking that last book in particular.”
Bruce blinks, then rolls his eyes.
“I have limited options. Especially since he categorically refuses to read anything he thinks is too ‘babyish.’”
“Really? Like what?”
“He turned down both Alice in Wonderland and Winnie the Pooh. I’m guessing that the Disney movies have something to do with that, but I’m trying to work with him rather than pushing.”
“Hm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out something.”
“I hope so. The alternative is just getting a ladder and letting him go to town, but there are plenty of books here I don’t think he should read just yet.”
“That’s true.” He hears Clark clear his throat. “Hey, so, uh… what do you want to do for Valentine’s Day?”
Bruce blinks, a sudden chill rolling over him.
“I… what?”
“Valentine’s Day? I know it’s a little last minute, but well, we haven’t really had time to plan anything out. We could just order in if you’d like, I heard about this place in Gotham that…”
Clark keeps talking, but Bruce stops hearing him.
Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.
It’s tomorrow, and he forgot.
He forgot about them.
He forgot, he forgot, how could he ever-?
“Bruce?” Clark’s voice sounds a little like it’s underwater. “Bruce, are you okay?”
“I…” Bruce swallows thickly, his tongue feeling far too large for his mouth. “I… I can’t.”
“Can’t what? Bruce, what’s-?”
Bruce fumbles until he manages to hang up, letting his phone slip from his hand once he does.
His heart feels like it’s about to tear out of his chest. His lungs are on fire, and so are his eyes, so is his throat, he can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t, he can’t-!
All at once, he’s on the floor, unsure of how he got there.
His chest heaves as he tries to get enough air in, but he can’t, it’s not enough, he can’t, he’s drowning and he doesn’t know what to do.
His heart is pounding, pounding, pounding. He thinks he might be having a heart attack- no, wrong symptoms, Father told you that, you have to remember-
“B?”
His chest seizes.
“B, do you know where Alfred keeps the- are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”
No, no, no, he can’t- Jason can’t be here, he can’t see this-!
“Why are you- d-do you need an inhaler, or something?”
Fuck, he looks so worried. Bruce has to- to reassure him, has to say something-
“... duh… don’t…”
Oh, that didn’t work. Now Jason looks even more worried.
Bruce’s chest hurts. His hand goes to his shirt, gripping at it.
“Are you having a heart attack?!”
No, of course not, the symptoms are wrong. Bruce opens his mouth to tell him so, but what comes out is a pained groan.
Jason’s eyes go wide. In the blink of an eye, he runs out of the library. Bruce tries to call after him, but again, all he can do is groan.
The world goes gray at the edges. He tries to breathe, it doesn’t work. His lungs burn, and maybe he’s going to die here, sitting on the floor of his mother’s library and scared out of his mind.
He always thought it would be in the suit. If it was in the suit, then it would be for something.
Instead, he’s going to die for nothing, he’s going to die and the boys will be just as fucked up as he is, and it’s all because he’s a bad son, he’s a bad son who forgot, he can’t forget, he has to be the one who remembers because no one else will, and if he doesn’t remember them then they’ll really be-!
“Bruce?”
A voice cuts through the noise. He thinks he knows it, thinks he likes it, but he doesn’t recognize it, not really.
Bruce still can’t breathe.
“Bruce, honey, do you think you can take a deep breath?”
No, he can’t, he can’t, it hurts and he can’t-!
“Just a little breath, then. For me?”
God the voice is nice. It feels like it wants to help, and Bruce wants to let it for some reason.
So, he takes a little breath.
“Good. Let it out, slowly.”
Bruce does.
“Alright, little deeper this time. Inhale slowly. Count to four.”
Bruce does as asked.
“Now exhale, slowly. Again, count to four.”
Bruce does, then takes a deeper breath every time the voice- every time Clark (of course it’s Clark, of course Clark came for him, Clark always does) asks.
And eventually, his heart stops feeling like it’s going to burst out of his chest. His hands stop shaking- he stops shaking. Adrenaline disappears in a rush, leaving him completely boneless against the shelves.
He looks over at Clark, who’s crouched next to him with a small smile on his face.
“Hey, darlin’.” There’s no judgment in his eyes or his tone, just warmth. “How are you feeling?”
“Sweaty,” he answers. It makes Clark laugh, so it’s worth it. “... sorry.”
Clark shakes his head.
“No reason to be sorry.”
“I hung up on you.”
“Because you were having a panic attack.”
Bruce grimaces, looking away. He hears Clark sigh, then feels him turn and sit next to him.
“S’been a while since you had one,” he comments. “The last one was… a little over a year ago, right?”
Bruce winces.
“... last month,” he admits.
“What? No, it was when we thought Dick got kidnapped in Metropolis, but he was just fighting the Condiment King a block over-!”
“It was after you asked me out,” Bruce interrupts quietly. “The first time. I… almost had one on Wednesday, too, but I managed to stave it off.”
Clark doesn’t speak for a moment. Bruce can’t bear to look at him.
“... why didn’t you tell me?” He finally asks.
Bruce scoffs.
“Yes, I should have told the person I nearly blew up my relationship with that I had a panic attack over the whole thing. That would have been helpful.”
“Bruce,” Clark says in a not-quite-scolding tone, “you know I wouldn’t have been mad at you for that.”
Bruce bites back a you should have been, instead looking away. Clark sighs.
“Okay, we’ll table that. What caused this one?”
Bruce swallows the sudden lump in his throat. After a moment, he takes a breath, then gets up to his feet.
“Bruce?”
Bruce doesn’t speak, instead walking over to the shelf closest to the door. His hand skims over the photo albums, most of which chronicle his life up to the year he was eight.
The last one is unfinished.
He touches the one he’s looking for. Stops. Then pulls it out and walks back to Clark, sitting back down.
“What’s that?”
Bruce looks down at the album, then, after taking a deep breath, holds it out to Clark. Clark takes it, looking down and furrowing his brow.
“Why did you give me your parents’ wedding album?” He asks.
“Open it,” Bruce says in lieu of a direct answer.
Clark glances up at him, then back at the album. He opens it up, his eyes going wide when he sees what’s written on the first page.
Bruce knows it all too well.
Thomas & Martha Wayne, wed February 14th, 1992.
“Bruce…” Clark breathes.
“Mother said it was romantic, getting married on Valentine’s Day,” Bruce says quietly. “It’s… always been their anniversary to me, not…”
“I’m so sorry,” Clark says. “I didn’t- I had no idea.”
“I know. I’m not- that wasn’t why I got upset.” Bruce takes a breath. “I got upset because I… I forgot. That it was coming up.”
He looks down.
“I’ve never forgotten before. I’ve always remembered, every single year, but this year I was just…” He swallows. “Everything has been going well, and I have you and the boys, and I just… I didn’t even notice that it was coming up.”
His eyes start to burn again.
“I didn’t… how could I…”
“Oh, honey,” he hears Clark say in a soft voice. “Do you need a hug?”
Bruce nods, and within seconds Clark’s arms are around him, one hand rubbing his back gently. Bruce buries his face in his shoulder, eyes stinging once more.
“It’s okay, Bruce,” he murmurs.
“S’not,” Bruce mumbles. “M’a bad son.”
“No, you’re not,” Clark says.
“I am,” Bruce says. “Good sons don’t forget their parents’ anniversary.”
“I’ve forgotten my parents’ anniversary before. Does that make me a bad son?”
“Did you forget because you were busy with Superman stuff?”
“Well… yes, but-!”
“Doesn’t count.”
Clark huffs.
“Bruce, come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It happens to everyone.”
“It can’t happen to me. I have to remember, I have to, or else-!” He swallows hard, his eyes stinging again. “Nobody else will. And I can’t… I can’t let that happen.”
His vision blurs.
“But I did. I was so happy, I forgot about them. I’m a bad son.”
Clark doesn’t speak for a moment.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
Clark takes a breath.
“If you died tomorrow, would you want Dick and Jason to still be grieving so intensely after twenty-three years? Would you want them to feel guilty about being happy, even with you gone?”
“Of course not,” Bruce says without hesitation. “But that’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it? You’d want them to be happy, don’t you think your parents would want that too?”
Bruce’s throat goes tight. He looks away.
“It’s different.”
“How so?”
Bruce… doesn’t know how to answer that. How to make it make sense, how to convince Clark that he’s right.
“It just is,” he finally says.
Clark sighs, brushing some hair off of Bruce’s forehead.
“Honey, do you think…” He hesitates, then takes a breath. “I think maybe you should talk to someone. A professional.”
Bruce scowls.
“No.”
“Bruce, hear me out-!”
“No. I tried that already.”
“For a couple of months when you were eight. And from what you’ve told me, he wasn’t the best therapist for you. There are hundreds of therapists in Gotham, you might be able to find someone who’s a better fit.”
Bruce grimaces.
“I don’t… like the idea of being vulnerable like that,” he admits. “It’s okay when it’s with you, but… a stranger is…”
“I know, baby,” Clark says, “but I’m not a therapist. I’m glad that you rely on me, but I don’t want to be the only recourse you have for this. I want you to be able to handle it on your own.”
Bruce thins his lips, then sighs.
“I’ll… think about it,” he says quietly.
“That’s all I ask,” Clark says before kissing the top of his head.
After a moment, he clears his throat.
“So… I’m guessing we should take a raincheck on that Valentine’s Day date?”
Bruce winces, then looks away.
He wants to say yes. He wants to give Clark Valentine’s Day, to do things that couples do, because Clark deserves it, because he loves him and he wants him to be happy, but he…
He just…
He can’t.
So he says nothing. Just lets guilt creep up in his throat.
Clark reaches over, brushing some hair off his forehead.
“That’s alright,” Clark says. “I have another idea, anyway.”
Bruce peers up at him.
“What kind of idea?”
“Your birthday’s on the 19th. It’s a Thursday, so we can’t spend the whole day together, but I could make breakfast and come back over for dinner. Conner and I could sleep over- you could have him for the day if you’d like.”
Bruce reluctantly shakes his head.
“Board meeting. Already been moved a couple times.”
“Aw, that’s too bad. But my offer for breakfast and dinner stands.” He runs his hand through Bruce’s hair. “Anything you’d like, within reason.”
“... what if I wanted your father’s cinnamon rolls for breakfast?”
“Then I will figure it out,” he promises, cupping Bruce’s cheek. “I’ll fly out to Kansas and make them with him if I have to.”
Despite himself, Bruce smiles.
“... I’d like that,” he says, then pauses. “Breakfast and dinner, I mean, you don’t have to go to Kansas just for cinnamon rolls.”
“I will if I have to,” Clark reiterates. “I will get you those cinnamon rolls.”
Bruce huffs out a laugh, leaning forward to kiss him.
“You are ridiculous,” he says when he pulls away.
“Yeah, and you’re into me anyway.”
“I am,” Bruce says without hesitation.
Clark beams, though the smile falls a few seconds later.
“I… should probably get back,” he admits. “Wouldn’t want to pawn Conner off on Mrs. Nakazawa too long.”
“That woman is a saint,” Bruce agrees, squashing the feeling of disappointment in his stomach. He then grimaces. “I… should probably talk to Jason, too.”
“Yeah, he, uh, he called for me. I was already handing off Conner to Mrs. Nakazawa when he did, but… he was really scared, Bruce. He was convinced you were having a heart attack.”
“I should probably tell him what that actually looks like,” Bruce muses.
“Not really the point-!” Clark stops, then winces. “Dick and Alfred just got back. Jason’s talking to them.”
Bruce bites back a sigh.
“Wonderful.”
“Want me to stay and help?” He asks.
“No, you should go. You know how Conner gets when you stray from routine too much.”
Clark winces, but nods. He leans in, kissing Bruce’s cheek, and Bruce turns his head to kiss him properly.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he starts, “and I’ll see you on Sunday.”
Bruce nods, then watches him leave the library. After a moment, he sighs, then picks up the wedding album and gets to his feet. He walks over to the shelf of photo albums, staring at the empty space where it used to be for a moment.
He looks down at the album. Swallows.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “That I forgot.”
The album doesn’t answer him. He swallows again, then puts it away, right next to the unfinished eighth album.
He wonders how long his mother would have kept making them. Would she have stopped when he finished high school? College?
Would she still be going now, if she were still alive?
Or would she have moved on to making albums of Dick and Jason?
Or perhaps children that Bruce doesn’t have? Would he have met someone, gotten married and had kids like a normal person?
What do the albums in the world where she lived look like?
“B?”
Bruce’s head springs up, his eyes wide. Dick and Jason are standing in the doorway to the library, with matching worried expressions.
Bruce swallows.
“I…” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry I-!”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. Dick practically sprints across the library, all but slamming into Bruce and wrapping his arms around him. Bruce inhales sharply, then, slowly, hugs him back.
Seconds later, he feels another pair of arms wrap around him, and when he looks down he sees Jason with his face buried in his shirt. His heart twinges, and he takes one arm away from Dick, placing his hand on top of Jason’s head. He looks up, sees Alfred standing in the doorway with a small smile on his face, and he nods at him.
None of them say anything. None of them have to.
For this moment, this is enough.