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“Okay, but are you absolutely positive this is a good idea?” Clark asks for the umpteenth time, anxiously trailing behind Bruce as the other man leads them to what can only be described as an overly fortified bunker pulled straight out of some overzealous spy film.
“Of course,” Bruce replies, cool as a cucumber as he types onto a keypad so quickly not even Clark catches the code. “This will be good for them. Think of it as a training exercise.”
Clark frowns but refrains from pointing out that the last time their children competed for anything it almost turned into a bloodbath. There were tears. Bruce assures him this won’t be like that, though, given that it’s just a friendly competition between the family meant to reassure everyone that if anything were to go awry in the coming weeks, all of them are perfectly capable of resolving matters without the pair of them.
Clark has a healthy amount of concerns.
It’s a week before the wedding, which means it’s a week and one day from their scheduled honeymoon. Clark didn’t ever imagine that getting married would involve travelling halfway across the city to hide from their collective army of children, but here they are. It’s not the wedding that’s the problem. It’s the honeymoon. For whatever reason, this has put both of their respective sides of the family in a state of crisis. And the entirety of the Justice League, but they’re attempting to be more subtle about it. After all, it’s one thing for Superman to take a temporary leave of absence, but Batman and Superman at the same time? It’s never happened before. There is clearly going to be some universe ending, earth-shattering event during their time away (and honestly Clark is kind of anticipating that because it would be just their luck, wouldn’t it?).
So, the team is suitably concerned over the fact that if there is some manner of doomsday event their leader and second in command aren’t going to be present. Bruce has tirelessly attempted to reassure everyone that just because they’re going on holiday that doesn’t mean they’re completely unreachable. He gave everyone ridiculously expensive phones for a reason (while making it perfectly clear that if they’re disturbed for anything other than a universe ending, earth-shattering event he will maim everybody upon their return).
Green Lantern dutifully and valiantly volunteered himself as temporary leader so that they could go enjoy their vacation. This has been permitted by Bruce under the addendum that if there is a legitimate emergency everyone is to refer to Nightwing for guidance. Dick is hardly impressed by this, but eventually rolled his eyes with an exasperated, “sure, fine, think of me slowly losing my will to live babysitting all your coworkers as a wedding gift. Go have fun in Thai. Or whererever the fuck it is you’re both going.”
Bruce beamed with pride, obviously, because that’s his baby all grown up and taking charge. Clark also beamed in solidarity.
Anyway. That was the Justice League sorted.
The Robins, Conner, and Jon were an entirely different beast to tackle.
It happened over family dinner, on a ridiculously big table in Wayne manor that Clark is convinced gets longer each time he sees it. They do this roughly every month. Bruce has firmly labelled it as ‘bonding time’ and advocates the importance of everyone attending. Not everyone always makes it. In fact, it’s actually an incredibly rare occurrence to wrangle all of their kids into one place at the same time. At this specific family dinner, however? Everyone was there.
All of them were also, notably, moping.
Usually, it’s chaos at the table. There was absolute silence that day. Cass was picking at her food. Jason and Conner were glaring at each other, and nobody to this day is quite sure why. Tim showed up fifteen minutes late, pointedly not looking at anybody, and had a single cup of coffee for dinner. Dick, bless his soul, was doing his very best to act like everything was perfectly normal. Damian was also glaring at Conner for unknown reasons, clenching his fork so hard Clark was mildly concerned he was going to use it as a weapon. Jon insisted on sitting between Clark and Bruce, looking unbearably sad as he wolfed down mash potato that made his cheeks puff out. Steph kept sighing, and those sighs steadily increased in volume over the course of dinner. The atmosphere was so tense a penny dropping could have set a bomb off.
Bruce was, of course, pretending absolutely nothing was amiss.
“I just don’t see why you have to go abroad,” Jason cracks first, much to Clark’s surprise. He was betting on Jon.
“Or why we can’t accompany you,” Damian immediately adds, in automatic support of his brother.
“I didn’t realise you wanted to,” Bruce answers carefully. “None of you have ever shown an interest in travelling when I brought it up before.”
Damian sinks in his seat with a murderous little scowl. “Perhaps I’ve had a change of heart.”
Bruce hums consideringly, chewing his food slowly before saying, “Well, you’re all perfectly welcome to accompany us on our next holiday -”
“Next?” comes a chorus of outraged cries, not even Dick able to hide his abject horror.
“What do you mean next?” Steph demands.
“I’ve only made contingencies for one holiday,” Tim stresses, looking really rather frazzled about this revelation as he sits ramrod straight. “You mean to say this is going to be a yearly occurrence? When exactly were you planning on telling me that?”
There aren’t any current plans for future holidays, to be clear. None that Clark is aware of. Bruce might have ideas, but he hasn’t shared them yet. The point is, the situation shouldn't beget quite as much drama as it is.
“...Contingencies?”
“For everything that could go wrong while you’re gone. It’s 62 pages long,” Tim replies. “I have back up plans for back up plans, and now i’m going to have to make more back up plans, so thanks a lot.”
Conner rolls his eyes. “Of course you do.”
“Oi, watch it, Kent,” Jason snaps at Conner who pulls a face at him. Clark really isn’t sure what the problem is between those two. He feels like he should, as a parent, attempt to figure that out and resolve the issue. However, as a parent, he doesn’t want to touch whatever it is with a ten foot pole unless he absolutely has to.
“Alright guys, let’s not fight,” Steph says placatingly.
“I think you’re all overreacting,” Dick pipes up, munching on a carrot stick. He points it at them. “Metropolis and Gotham will survive three days without them. Clark can get from -” he pauses. “Wait, where are you both going again?”
“Kyoto. They’re staying in the Arashiyama district in a suite overlooking bamboo groves,” Steph answers for them, and then starts nervously chewing on a strand of her hair when Clark shoots her an incredulous look. How has she already figured that out? Not even Clark knows everything about where they’re going.
“They also have a romantic boat ride on the Hozugawa river booked on Friday the 27th at 9am,” Tim adds, reaching to stop Steph from chewing on her hair without even looking.
“We do?” Clark raises a brow at Bruce, who’s glaring at his middlest.
“Oh. I didn’t realise that was supposed to be a surprise. Sorry.”
“Didn’t you read the footnotes?” Steph hisses at Tim. “If we hack into the itinerary we’re not supposed to mention the boat ride or the -”
“Anyway! As I was saying, they’re going to Kyoto - wait, Kyoto, really? Okay. And Clark can get back from there in like sixty seconds tops, right? So, it’s fine. We’re chilling.”
Jon is frowning deeply like they’re not in fact chilling. “But what if something bad happens to them?”
That’s all it takes, really.
The table explodes into protests.
“Exactly! And none of us would even know about it because you’ve limited contact - !”
“Which isn’t fair or ethical - !”
“Does the fact I'm your blood child mean nothing - !”
“Forget that. You signed papers for the rest of us. Actual documents. That makes it legally binding. I have several copies -”
“I think we’d all just feel a little more comfortable if you let Mr Terrific instal a tracker that monitors your location and vitals at all times -”
“Which they’re not going to do because Bruce is a hypocritical fucking prick about privacy -”
“Well that settles it. You can’t go -”
“Definitely not. In fact we should just cancel the wedding altogether -”
“I agree. It’s getting too dangerous -”
“For the betterment of the group -”
“Like, what if you die? None of us would be there to stop it -”
“So, those are your options,” Conner declares when the noise dies down some. “Either you let us come with you, cancel the wedding, or you don’t go to Kyoto.”
The group nods in unison, little serious expressions fixed on the pair of them. Clark is suitably terrified by each of them.
“Um -” he starts, and has to clear the crack from his voice. “How about we all just take a minute to calm down, yeah? I know you’re all worried. That’s a perfectly natural and valid reaction. You’ve always had access to at least one of us. But I promise everything is going to be just fine. We’ll be back before you know it and you’ll be sick of seeing us again in no time. We wouldn’t leave you unless we were absolutely sure that you were all capable of taking care of yourselves. Besides, you're not going to be alone. You have each other.”
The group eyes each other with great suspicion.
Bruce is frowning now too, which isn’t a good sign. He sighs and sets his fork down. “I wasn’t aware you all felt so strongly about this.”
“We do,” Steph says firmly.
“Well, I suppose…” Bruce trails off, and Clark feels a stab of panic. Bruce is caving. They’re supposed to present a united front about this and Bruce is already caving, which Clark knew he would because that man’s only weakness is his children. He’s going to let them come. Every single one of them. He would have invited them originally if Alfred and Clark hadn’t joined forces to convince him that this should really just be a holiday for the pair of them. And look, Clark loves the kids. He does. Adores them to the end of the universe, and then beyond that. He would lay down his life for every one of them.
But the idea of sitting on a plane with eight hyperactive kids?
It’s not happening.
“We’re not calling off the wedding, and no you can’t come with us to Kyoto,” Clark swiftly interjects, because he can be the bad guy sometimes. In most instances he is. Bruce sucks at being a strict parent, and the kids capitalize on that daily. You have to draw the line somewhere. “This is our honeymoon. You wouldn’t want to be there anyway. It’s going to be a very boring trip, and we’re going to enjoy every second of boring tranquility.”
“I like boring tranquility,” Steph mumbles.
“And why do you get to decide whether or not we can come?” Damian narrows his eyes at Clark. “You’re not a Wayne yet. You’re not in charge of us.”
Jason starts nodding like Damian has just made an incredibly astute point. “So we leave Conner and Jon behind. Perfect. Problem solved.”
Conner immediately starts spluttering. “What? How does that -”
“Jason. Damian. Enough,” Bruce warns quietly.
“What?” Damian says. “I’m just saying. There’s still time for something horrible to happen before the wedding. It’d be a shame if our stash of kryptonite went missing and fell into the wrong hands.”
“Is that a threat, pipsquick?” Conner snaps.
“Yes. Now let us come on fucking holiday.”
“Watch your language.”
“Apologies. Let us come on fucking holiday, please.”
“The answer is still no,” Clark replies apologetically, and at his own risk apparently. “We can plan a family vacation in a couple of months if you all still want to. But I’m putting my foot down on this one.”
Damian’s chair screeches back. Clark has a genuine fear he’s about to be attacked by a toddler shaped demon who keeps an unlimited supply of knives on his person at all times. Mercifully, Damian just fixes Clark with a lethal look before storming off. Bruce winces as he watches him go.
There’s a long silence.
“He’ll come around,” Jason offers, despite also being violently against this.
“I still don’t see the reason why you have to go abroad,” Conner mumbles. “Metropolis is a perfectly respectable honeymoon location.”
“Not Gotham?”
“Fuck Gotham, man.”
Bruce sighs again. “It’s one holiday.”
“Apparently not,” Tim snipes bitterly.
“Why don’t you take just one of us?” Steph proposes nervously. “That’s a good compromise, right?”
“Yeah, and who wants to volunteer to third wheel on their boning holiday?” Jason drawls, and there’s a series of disgusted sounds. “I nominate Conner.”
“Fuck off.”
“I nominate Dick.”
“Pass,” Dick says immediately.
“Steph has been to Kyoto before.”
“When?”
Tim gives her a cool look. “Do you honestly want me to disclose that?”
“I’ll gut you, Drake.”
“Well, I don’t have any legal documentation so it can’t be me,” Jason huffs.
“Why don’t you have legal documentation?” Clark frets, feeling vaguely defeated by this conversation as a whole.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy,” Jason replies ominously.
“Alright, enough. No one is coming to Kyoto with us,” Bruce finally says, and he has to raise his voice slightly to reach across the growing clammer of voices. Clark is so relieved he could cry. “The matter is settled. You will all remain here. I’m sure you’re all more than capable of entertaining yourselves in our absence. If I find out that any of you have attempted to follow us, I’ll be beyond disappointed. Do I make myself clear?”
All of their heads bow with a vague murmur of reluctant agreement, each of them looking incredibly put out.
Clark feels bad.
“Listen, if anything goes wrong, Kon will be able to get to Kyoto as fast as I’d be able to get home, and I have faith in his ability to find us should we need him.”
It was meant to be reassuring.
He wasn’t expecting nearly every one of the Robins to snap to attention, turning frighteningly still as they stare intensely at Clark like he just said something gravely offensive.
“What, and you don’t think we could find you?” Jason asks.
Conner looks ridiculously smug. “Well, I am the one that can fly overseas…”
“So can we,” Steph replies. “We have a jet. Several, actually.”
Dick is the only one who knows how to fly it but Clark wouldn’t put it past the others to improvise.
“Yeah, but me and Jon can fly faster than the speed of light, so I mean…”
“And you think that means you could rescue them before any of us?”
“I mean - yeah?”
“Guys -” Dick tries, wincing.
“Well, that’s some bullshit,” Jason scoffs.
“It’s true, though?” Conner replies desperately, and he sounds really quite sincere about it, bless him. “I’m not trying to knock any of you. It’s just - me and Jon have powers, and like, you don’t, so -”
Clark sighs with Bruce this time.
Every single Robin is out of their seat and shouting. Dinner is officially a disaster. Conner sits there looking vaguely horrified, caught in the trajectory of the Robin's united wrath.
“We could always put it to the test,” Tim eventually proposes, which brings the arguing to a temporary pause.
“A test?” Conner echoes warily.
Tim nods. “We have a competition. See who’s really better: The Bats or The Supers.”
Clark starts shaking his head. “Now, hang on. This is getting a little out of hand. I don’t think pitting each other against one another is the solution -”
“What sort of competition?” Bruce cuts him off. Clark gives him a betrayed look that goes mostly ignored.
Tim’s eyes gleam triumphantly before he clears his throat. “Well, it’s simple. You would both have to hide in an undisclosed location, and we’d have to hunt you down. The first to find you wins.”
“That’s not fair. There’s more of you than us,” Conner protests.
“Oh, but you have all those special alien powers don’t you,” Jason coos, pouting mockingly. “I think that makes it more than fair.”
The Robins nod and murmur in agreement.
Dick raises a hand. “Question.”
“Shoot.”
“Is there going to be a prize?”
“Yes,” Steph answers before Tim can. “The winner gets bragging rights and a ticket to Kyoto.”
“No one is coming with us to Kyoto,” Bruce says quickly.
“The winner gets messaging privileges that include regular updates from either Bruce or Clark to prove they’re both still alive,” She amends diplomatically.
Bruce nods his consent. “Done.”
“Any other questions?” Tim asks.
“Do they have to hide in the same location?”
“That’s entirely up to them.”
“Can they leave the city?”
“For practical reasons we should keep this contained to Metropolis or Gotham in case there’s an emergency and we need to call it off.”
“I can’t do Friday,” Steph says.
“I know. I was thinking Sunday.”
“I’m not participating,” Jason announces.
“Fine.”
“I’d smoke all you bitches, though.”
“Language, Jason.”
“I also can’t do Fridays.”
“I have a spreadsheet with all of our schedules. We’re doing Sunday.”
“I don’t have a reliable schedule.”
“Yes, well, you’re not participating, are you?”
Jon raises a hand. “I’m ten years old.”
“He’s ten years old,” Conner repeats, gesturing a gloved hand at his younger brother. “That’s not fair. We’re at a disadvantage.”
“Damian is also ten. Next question.”
“Does this also prove who’s the best Robin?”
“Not if Jason isn’t participating.”
“Because I'd win.”
“Sure.”
“I would.”
“I said sure.”
“Say it more convincingly then, asshole.”
“Alright,” Clark holds up a hand before they can erupt into another argument. “This isn’t a case of ‘who’s better than who’. You all have your own individual strengths, and your worth isn’t determined by how quickly you can track us down.”
Bruce has been staring contemplatively into space with steepled fingers, but at Clark’s voice he snaps out of it with a clipped nod.
“I will consider the merit of this competition and get back to you all in due time. If - and I mean if - I allow this to happen, there will be conditions.”
“Name them,” Tim leans forward seriously.
“Condition number one: I will decide the rules, and you will all stick to them without complaint. Condition number two: this will not impact your respective duties, and the competition will be dissolved immediately if our attention is required elsewhere, such as in the eventuality of a high priority alert that cannot be handled by the Justice League or Young Justice. Condition number three: the competition will conclude at 8pm, as Jon and Damian still have school on Monday. Condition number four: Clark is right, this competition wouldn’t be about proving who among you is the best, it’s only purpose would be to reassure you of your own abilities. Is that understood?”
“Understood,” everyone parrots, shooting each other covert looks that strongly suggests there’s still a note of competition ringing between them. Clark’s worry grows in tandem.
“But the winner still gets messaging privileges, right?” Steph checks, and Bruce nods.
“And bragging rights,” Dick adds, in a tone that suggests that’s far more important.
Dinner goes much more smoothly after that. Their children turn into actual angels. Clark really isn’t sure how this competition is going to be helpful in the long run, but if it prevents them from secretly buying plane tickets to Kyoto, he’s hardly going to object.
You have to pick your battles.
Anyway, that brings them to this overly fortified, top secret bunker that Bruce has seemingly pulled out of thin air. It’s one of his safe houses. Clark knows the man has an abundance of those scattered across the globe. This happens to be one located on the outskirts of Metropolis. When asked why they weren’t sticking to Gotham, Bruce simply said that would have been too obvious and there isn’t a safe house in Gotham his children aren’t privy to. Which Clark supposes is fair enough. Bruce also claimed they should hide together to save time. Clark suspects Bruce doesn’t trust his ability to disappear. It is Batman’s specialty, so Clark understands the reluctance.
The bunker, as Bruce explains as they walk deeper into it, is reinforced by lead, iron, and steel. To get to the door, one has to pass through a series of traps.
“Why do you have a bunker specifically tailored to keep me out?” Clark frowns.
Bruce gives him a confused look. “I don’t. This is my rainy day bunker. It’s one of the few they don’t know about. I had it installed recently.”
Clark wisely doesn’t question what that means. “Ok…are the traps alright for the kids to get through? Seems like a bit of a safety hazard?”
“They’ll be fine.”
“There were lasers back there, Bruce.”
“Your kids shoot those from their eyes.”
“Yours don’t!”
Bruce snorts. “Trust me, I doubt mine are going to choose the entrance with lasers. Dick might for fun.”
“There’s another entrance?”
“Three, actually.”
Clark is having regrets, but he dutifully follows Bruce into what’s actually a rather nicely decorated room. It looks to be a studio, with a half wall running between a kitchen, a lounge, and a lavish bedroom area.
Clark raises a brow at the four-poster. “Your rainy day bunker, huh?”
Bruce‘s cheeks tint pink. “Shut up.”
The shelves in the kitchens are stocked with honestly an insane amount of rations. The more Clark explores, the more he’s convinced this wasn’t a bunker designed to keep Superman out, but rather one designed for them. And that makes his ears grow warmer the more he thinks about it.
“Both of our phones have been sent to separate locations to throw them off. Alfred has promised to have them returned to us by tonight. The kids bugged your suit by the way. I took care of that. They’ll be chasing Krypto across the city.”
“What about your suit? Is that bugged too?”
Bruce almost - almost - scoffs like the mere idea of someone managing to do anything to his suit without his knowledge is unfathomable. “Please. Also, Diana has agreed to cover for us should anything go wrong in our absence since we’ll be isolated. If there’s an emergency, the League knows to contact Alfred, who’ll give Green Lantern our location if he deems the situation severe enough, and he’ll come collect us. We’ll receive alerts if anybody approaches the bunker. I think that’s all our bases covered.”
Clark is so helplessly attracted to this man sometimes it hurts.
“Soooo,” he smiles, stepping into Bruce’s space and trailing fingers up the other man’s arm. Bruce looks up at him through dark lashes. “What you’re saying is, we’ve been totally cut off from everyone we know, and we’re probably gonna be stuck in this bunker for a while all by ourselves…”
“Mm, seems that way,” Bruce replies indulgently, leaning into Clark’s hold and wrapping arms around his waist. Amused fondness sparks in his eyes.
“Golly, whatever shall we do to pass the time…”
“Well…”
“Oh my god.”
It’s a testimony to how distracted (or comfortable) Clark is in Bruce’s presence that he didn’t even notice another heartbeat in the room. Both of their heads swivel to the left, and there, sitting up on the couch with hair sticking up in every direction, is Tim Drake. He looks absolutely mortified.
“Tim,” Bruce says like he’s surprised to see him, even if the knowing glint in his eyes wildly suggests otherwise. He shifts away from Clark a bit without letting go of him completely.
“No. Time out right now. What the hell? You were both going to - ? Like here? Ugh. Gross. Why?” Tim starts pretending to gag as he rolls off the couch with a thump that makes Clark wince and take a step like he intends to help, but Tim is already springing back up again. He’s wearing an oversized superman shirt and pyjama bottoms. It’s a little endearing, if not for the reprimanding look he fixes on the pair of them. “What if Damian had walked in? Or worse, Jon?”
Bruce is radiating with pride despite Tim’s dramatics. “How long have you been here?”
“Too long,” Tim grumbles, rubbing one eye with a fist. “Since midnight I think? I don’t know. Your message said the official start time was 7am, but I had no idea if the others were aware of this place, or what time you were going to show up, so I just stayed in the night.”
“How exactly did you find it?”
“I have my ways,” Tim answers cryptically, the seriousness of his face only somewhat undercut by the blanket cape.
“Hm.”
Tim glances at his watch.
“And, three…two…one. Cool. Competition’s officially started. I got here first. The Bat’s are superior. Point proven. Tell Kon he can suck it,” Tim announces around a jaw cracking yawn. “See you guys at the wedding. Enjoy Kyoto. Send me updates. I’m going to sleep in my actual bed now. Please stop being gross. The others already have enough trauma. Laters.”
With that, he ditches the blanket, picks up a bag covered in badges, strolls over to the reinforced door, types in a pin that Clark still doesn’t know, and leaves them to it.
“How old is he again?” Clark asks after a beat.
“Sixteen,” Bruce answers.
“He scares me.”
Bruce hums like maybe Tim Drake scares him a little bit too. Clark is pretty sure if Tim wanted to he could bring Gotham to its knees in a day - and he’s not exaggerating. And by the time he hits twenty? Total world domination. Clark is forever grateful Tim is on their team.
Nevertheless, Clark also feels a helpless glow of pride in his chest as well.
That’s their scary little mastermind that’s going to run the world one day.
“Is he going to be okay getting home? Should I take him?”
“If you leave this bunker the rest of them will be on you in minutes,” Bruce tells him. “Tim will be fine. Alfred is monitoring his location. One of the jets will probably take him back. Alfred will be piloting it, before you ask if Tim is going to.”
“Can Tim pilot it?”
“Of course he can. But don’t worry, I’ve told him he’s not allowed to take the jet out by himself until he’s at least eighteen.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” Clark snorts, shaking his head a little. He buts his forehead against Bruce’s, taking the other man’s hand in his, still as elated that he’s even allowed to do so as the first time he linked their fingers together. “So where were we -”
The door creaks open.
Steph pokes her head in. There were zero alerts to announce her presence. She spots the pair of them and lights up.
“Yes!” She exclaims, bouncing further into the room, beaming happily. Bruce is beaming with her. “I’m a bit late, sorry. I forgot to take into account Metropolis traffic but it’s fine. Looks like I had nothing to worry about anyway if none of the others have arrived yet.”
“Actually, Tim just left.”
Steph’s jaw drops. “What? You’re kidding. But - the game just started. I didn’t see him on my way in? There’s no way.”
“He stayed the night.”
“That’s cheating!” She exclaims, and Clark is almost inclined to agree, but he’s not sure how to prove it was cheating. Bruce hasn’t made any indication that Tim has gone against the rules. “That has to be cheating. Can he do that? He can’t do that.”
“There was only a seventy two second difference between you both, if it’s any consolation.”
“Yeah, you basically tied,” Clark offers.
“Basically tied,” Steph repeats sarcastically, folding her arms.
Bruce softens, crossing the distance to pull her into a sideways hug. “Condition number four: this isn’t about who’s better than who, remember? This is to demonstrate your own abilities and celebrate them. You tracked me and Clark down in seventy two seconds. I’d say that’s pretty impressive. I’m very proud of you, Steph.”
Steph is still pouting, but she sighs and leans into him. “Thanks, B.”
“It’s not just impressive. That’s awesome! Do you know how long it took Bruce to find me when I went missing? Like days.”
“You were on another planet, Clark. I had to build a space shuttle and gain access to an interdimensional portal which technically broke the laws of several -”
“Days.”
A shy smile pulls at Steph’s lips. “So…you’re saying I beat Batman?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, I mean -” Bruce stops at Clark’s sharp look. “Yes. Your tracking skills are superior to mine. Congratulations.”
Steph nods, satisfied. “I guess I did okay then. I’ll beat Tim next time too now that I know arriving early is allowed.”
“That’s the spirit,” Clark grins lopsidedly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. She bats him away and ducks out of reach. “You wanna hang out here for a bit, kiddo? I think we’ve got snacks.”
“The pantry is fully stocked and catered towards this event,” Bruce confirms. “I was hoping that each of you would stay once you arrived, in the name of fairness. I trust you all implicitly of course, but it’s because I trust you so much that I know you’d most likely message everyone else the location just to get them here before Conner and Jon.”
“I wouldn’t message everyone,” Steph says, very carefully, very innocently. “Tim already left, though?”
“He said he was going to bed,” Bruce replies. “I’ve been trying to get him to sleep more than three hours this week so if he’s finally getting some rest I’m not going to stop him.”
“Ah,” Steph nods in understanding, then peers hopefully into the kitchen area. “Are there waffles here?”
“Of course.”
She skips off to presumably go help herself.
Clark and Bruce haven’t even sat down yet, and two of their kids have already tracked them. Clark can’t help but let out a slightly incredulous laugh. Bruce tilts his head inquisitively.
“Nothing,” Clark shakes his head. “Just - we might be out of here by lunch time at this rate.”
“I estimate around 1:32PM”
“That’s oddly specific.”
Bruce shrugs and heads over to the couch. Clark follows him. Naturally.
Steph, the angel that she is, makes all of them waffles, and Clark is thrilled when she sets down a plate with a generous pouring of maple syrup that Bruce wrinkles his nose at. It’s exactly how Clark likes his waffles. It means a lot she remembered.
Things go a bit slower after that. They eat and chat amongst themselves for a bit. Bruce then picks a book off the shelf which is essentially code for him about to go nonverbal. Clark asks Steph about school, and then nods commiseratingly when Steph narrates all the woes of being a sixteen year old girl. It all sounds very complicated to Clark, especially when she starts making venn diagrams to explain the intricacies of balancing a school life with crimefighting, and then she goes into the social hierarchy of the school cafeteria, which sounds infinitely more horrifying than the aforementioned crimefighting. Another venn diagram is introduced to demonstrate where she and Tim overlap in all of this, since they both attend Gotham Heights and apparently have an ongoing rivalry. It’s somewhere around the point where she starts rambling about an ongoing drama between Stacy B, a boy called Bernard, and Tim that Clark stops following altogether. Bruce’s lip is twitching like he knew Clark would regret asking.
“Which Bernard?” Bruce inquires, turning a page in his book. “There are three in your year group.”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Perhaps Tim did lose points for leaving early…”
“Dowd. Bernard’s last name is Dowd and he lives in Crest Hill. He’s been stalking Red Robin for the past four months.”
“Hm.” Bruce nods.
Steph turns back to Clark and to his horror looks like she intends to keep going. Clark doesn’t know how there could possibly be more. Thankfully, the door swings open and Jason comes staggering in before she gets the chance.
“What the fuckkk,” Jason says, and his hair looks a little singed, like maybe he went through the entrance with lasers. “Am I the first one here? That’s so embarrassing. Can I come back in a couple of hours and pretend this never happened?”
“Oi, I’m right here,” Steph snaps from where she’s curled up on the only beanbag in the room.
“Oh. Hey, Steph. Nice work. Second place is still ass for me, though. Where the fuck is everyone? I thought for sure Damian would be here by now.”
“You scored third, actually,” Bruce tells him, thumbing his page number as he folds his book shut. “Tim was the first to arrive. He’s gone home early, though.”
“Nerd,” Jason snorts, then boots the door shut and points at the keypad. “That shit was awful, by the way. Didn’t even make it difficult to guess the code.”
“What is the code?” Clark asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce replies, returning his attention to his book.
There also wasn’t an alert for Jason’s presence. The other boy slumps in the armchair and pulls out his phone. After a second he holds it up with a frown.
“There’s no service here.”
“We’re in an underground bunker. Why did you think there’s going to be cell service?” Steph asks.
“It’s a Batman Bunker. There’s always cell service.”
“Yeah, but this one is in Metropolis.”
Jason makes a disgusted noise of acknowledgement. “Fucking Metropolis.”
Clark isn’t sure the implication that Gotham somehow has better cell service than Metropolis is totally correct, but maybe there’s some secret Bruce Wayne satellite that supplies only Gotham he doesn’t know about.
“I thought you weren’t participating?” Steph asks.
“I was in the area,” Jason shrugs, then glances around the bunker like there’s a secret corner he previously missed. “Are you sure the others aren’t here yet? Not even Dick or Cass?”
“Nope.”
“Lame. No sign of Conner or Jon yet, either?”
“Not yet.”
Jason blows out a long breath. “So, what now? We all just sit here twiddling our thumbs until the others show up?”
“Pretty much. I’ve been filling Clark in on the Stacy B, Tim, and Bernard drama.”
Jason looks briefly horrified. Like the reality of the situation is dawning on him that he’s stuck here now. “Oh god.”
“I know. And they don’t even know about the Conner stuff yet.”
That makes Bruce pause and look up from his book. “What Conner stuff?”
Steph freezes.
Jason freezes.
Bruce arches a brow.
“Nothing,” Jason says, a bit too fast. “There’s no Conner stuff. Steph just suffers from brain damage and forgets to keep her big mouth shut sometimes.”
Steph nods.
Conner doesn’t go to Gotham Heights. Clark has no idea how he could possibly be involved in any of this. He’s not even strictly sure what this is. Best he can tell, Stacy B was dating Bernard, but Stacy B also had a crush on Tim while dating Bernard, so Bernard hates Tim on principle, but Bernard is also apparently madly in love with Red Robin, and Tim is an eternal enigma but has been condoning the not so subtle stalking from Bernard so maybe, according to Steph’s hypothesis, he is also madly in love with Bernard. Where exactly Conner fits into that equation is beyond Clark. Is he in love with Stacy B?
Clark needs another diagram.
Bruce stares at the pair for a beat longer, before making a low hmm noise that suggests this isn’t over, and the second they’re out of this bunker he will be investigating the matter further. Jason and Steph seem to also infer this, as they immediately tense up and share a worried look. Jason and Conner don’t get along, so for Jason to be hiding things about Conner is a little concerning. He’s not sure if it’s a good sign or not.
The silence that follows is only a little stifling. Steph and Jason start communicating by swapping notes on their phones, typing more and more aggressively like they’re arguing. Clark leans on Bruce and starts reading his book as well, for lack of anything better to do.
And then the ceiling collapses.
Or well, the air vent breaks open.
Steph screeches as metal clatters against the ground, drawing one leg up to her chest and angling her phone away from the commotion. Damian comes rolling into the room in a cloud of dust. Jason has a gun aimed at him, shoulders hunched.
“Dude,” Jason exhales, lowering the gun immediately and ignoring Bruce’s sharp glare (the only one of them who didn’t get startled by such a dramatic entrance). “What is wrong with you? I almost shot you. Your entire head nearly just - bam,” he makes a small explosion motion with his hand.
“I’m sure that would have been traumatic for everyone involved,” Damian replies blankly, brushing off his cloak as he stands. He fixes Bruce with a scowl. “Father. There you are. Finally. I texted you 48 times. I was beginning to suspect I’d discover you dead in a ditch somewhere and have to report your untimely demise to your dearly beloved. Do you know how awful that would have been for me?” he says reprimandingly. “Anyway. I came to ask for permission to stay over Jon’s tonight before the alien infestation in our home becomes a permanent arrangement."
Everyone stares at him.
“You may,” Bruce eventually says. “Clark?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeh. That’s - yeh. Of course. You’re welcome to stay over anytime, kid.”
“Thank you,” Damian huffs, and it’s only then that he seems to acknowledge their surroundings. “Why are you all in a bunker?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jason replies.
“Fine. I won’t. Bye.”
And then he’s gone.
“Does he -” Clark blinks a few times up at the air vent Damian disappeared through. “Do you think he knows about the competition today?”
“Not at all,” Jason replies, looking immensely amused.
Clark slowly turns to look at Bruce. “How did he know to look here if he didn’t know about the competition?”
“I choose not to question anything about Damian unless I absolutely have to.”
“That’s fair,” Steph nods.
Clark starts to worry. “Are you sure I shouldn’t give him a lift home?”
“Not unless you want him to bite you.”
“He’s just so little.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Steph snorts.
“Alfred will collect him, or send someone else to,” Bruce says as he reaches out to squeeze Clark’s hand. “He’ll be fine.”
“Ten bucks says he drove himself here,” Jason says.
“I’ll take that action,” Steph agrees.
Bruce sighs.
Conner arrives at exactly 10:45am. They’re made aware of this by the alert that rings out, announcing his presence at the main door. It takes an additional ten minutes for him to make his way down to the bunker, and then another five where he’s presumably fumbling with the keypad before simply electing to break the door off the wall.
He stands in the entrance for a moment, panting like he just ran a marathon around the world, holding the broken metal door in both hands, and notably covered head to toe in what looks to be blue goo.
“Smooth,” Jason comments.
“10/10,” Steph agrees.
“You,” Conner seethes.
Jason is the picture of innocence, pointing a confused finger at his chest. “Moi?”
“You fed me to a giant phantom frog.”
“Now does that sound like something I'd do?” Jason replies, and Steph snorts so loud. She then attempts to hide her amused snickering in the crook over her arm. “Where would I even get a giant phantom frog? I’ve been here all day. Everyone can vouch for me.”
Conner inhales slowly through his nose, counts to five, then exhales and sets the door more or less back in its original place. “Sorry about that,” he tells Bruce. “I’ll pay for it.”
“No need,” Bruce replies.
“Congratulations on making it, son,” Clark says, getting up to pat Conner on the back, then hesitating at the goo coating his leather jacket. “A giant phantom frog?”
“I was sabotaged,” Conner mutters through gritted teeth.
“You can’t prove that.”
“I’d have been here first if one of you hadn’t set a fucking monster on me!”
“If, hypothetically, I knew someone from the phantom realm who owned a giant phantom frog, and if, hypothetically, I called in a favour for this person to create a distraction, that wouldn’t, hypothetically, be going against the rules,” Jason says, smiling easily. “Hypothetically, of course.”
Conner snarls and takes a step forward like he genuinely intends to fist fight Jason right here right now, which Jason looks positively elated by until Clark quickly stops him by grabbing his arm, goo be damned.
“Alright, alright. What I’m hearing is, you not only tracked us down in three hours, you also stopped a phantom crisis all by yourself. That’s awesome, Kon.”
“Three hours and forty five minutes,” Steph corrects. “To be exact.”
Conner pulls a face at her.
“Which is still awesome,” Clark makes sure to emphasise, then tilts his head at Bruce. “Are they allowed to sabotage one another?”
Bruce thinks about it. “There’s no rule that states they can’t. Of course, I didn’t think they’d do anything so drastic as unleashing interdimensional species...”
“Hypothtically,” Jason corrects. “Hypothetically unleashing a single interdimensional species in a contained space where nobody other than Superbrat was at risk, which would hypothetically be a badass demonstration of one's abilities.”
“Considering I'm the one who took it down, I think it speaks more of my abilities than yours.”
“It was a frog.”
“It was a big fucking frog, Todd. It spat plasma at me. Plasma.”
“Tim’s probably going to want a swab of that,” Steph says while scrunching her nose at Conner.
“Of course he was in on this too.”
“Hey, fuck off was he involved. This was all me.”
“Hypothetically,” Steph chirps.
“Hypothetically.”
“Where is Tim anyway? I thought he’d be here way before you two,” Conner grumbles, glancing around in search of the other Robin.
“None of your beeswax, Connie boy,” Jason folds his arms and leans back in his seat.
“Tim went home to get some rest,” Bruce explains, suddenly watching the scene very, very closely.
“Oh,” Conner visibly softens. “That’s good.”
Bruce’s eyes narrow.
“Come on. I’ll show you where the bathroom is so you can get cleaned up,” Clark says hastily, intending to wash the goo off his hand as well, steering Conner away from the group.
Conner doesn’t seem to have noticed he’s suddenly become the center of Batman’s attention, which is a scary place to be. Clark knows from experience. He also knows that Bruce isn’t good at being left in the dark about things (ironically), so if there’s a problem between Conner and Tim, he’s going to find out about it. Especially now, three days before the wedding, and since the rest of their collective children also seem to be privy to this problem, to the point where they’ve taken sides about it. Mostly Tim’s side, if Clark was to guess.
Clark figures maybe Conner could use someone in his corner, and he’s always happy to lend an ear.
The bathroom door clicks shut, and really it’s more of a locker room with multiple shower cubicles. Conner starts rifling for towels. Clark opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words.
“Is something going on between you and Tim?”
Conner trips over his own feet and breaks a shelf while attempting to steady himself. Various products that are probably collectively worth more than Clark's entire home slide onto the floor. Conner shoots Clark a panicked if not thoroughly baffled look, like he’s been caught with his hand in a cookie jar but has no idea how Clark knew about the cookie jar to begin with.
“T-Tim?” Conner laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “As in Tim Drake? That Tim?”
Clark doesn’t think they know any other Tim’s.
He smiles and nods encouragingly. “Got it in one.”
“No. Why would you - there’s nothing - I mean it’s a complicated thing to - why would you even ask about - did Jason say something?” Conner gives a bit of a violent blink. “Did Tim?”
“No,” Clark replies, tilting his head. “I only brought it up because I was sensing some hostility back there. I got the impression whatever’s going on is a sensitive topic amongst you kids. Now, I know there’s a lot of big changes being made right now. It’s been pretty hectic. Your support through it all has meant the world to me. You know I’m here for you always, though, right? You’re my son, Kon. You can talk to me about anything. Even if you’ve fallen out with a Bat. Especially if you’ve fallen out with a Bat.”
“You think…me and Tim…fell out?” Conner says carefully. Clark shrugs. The tension drains from Conner and he ducks his head. “Something like that, I guess.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. We had a disagreement. It’s fine. We’ll be fine. It won’t get in the way of the wedding or anything.”
“Kon-el,” Clark says in his best Dad Voice as he crosses the distance between them, planting both hands on Conner's shoulders. “You’re not an imposition on this family. You kids are just as important as this wedding. Nothing you say or do could get in the way of that.”
“I mean, I could set Krypto loose in the middle of it…”
Clark laughs, pulling him in for a hug. “And it would make the day all the more entertaining.”
Conner lets out a huff of laughter as well, clinging to Clark. He’d never initiate a hug. That’s why Clark knows how important it is that he does.
“If you say so.”
“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on with you. I’d never make you do that. But I’m here if you do want to talk.”
Conner nods from where he’s buried his face in Clark’s shoulder and gives what he would probably describe as an incredibly manly sniffle. “Thanks, dad.”
Clark hums happily. “Though, fair warning, I think Bruce is also curious about you and Tim.”
Conner pulls away with a loud groan, letting his head fall back. “Great. Awesome. I’m dead. I’m actually so dead. It was really nice knowing you. I’m going to have to leave the country now. No, that’s not far enough, he’d still find me. The planet. I’m going to have to leave the planet and even that only buys me a bit of time. Shit.”
“Now, now, let’s not be dramatic. I’m sure you both will have resolved whatever this disagreement is by the time we’re back from Kyoto,” Clark assures. Conner doesn’t look so sure. “Besides, the Bats are just protective.”
“Oh, trust me. I know.”
“I think it’s their love language,” Clark chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, go on then. You better hop in the shower. You’re, uh, getting a bit funky there.”
Conner smells like he got dragged through a sewer but Clark isn’t going to say that
“That happens when someone feeds you to a giant frog,” Conner mutters. “I kind of deserved it, I guess.”
Clark arches a brow, but Conner just waves him off as he slings a towel over one shoulder and heads towards a cubicle. Clark washes the phantom frog goo off his hands, and changes his clothes before retreating back into the main area, slumping on the couch with a sigh.
“Everything alright?” Bruce asks, and Clark lolls his head towards the other man with a smirk. “What?”
“I didn’t find out anything.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
“You wanted to.”
Bruce scowls. Clark’s tempted to kiss it off his lips, but he settles for pecking his nose instead.
“Fine. You got me. Is Conner alright, though? I told Jason off for endangering him.”
“Yeah. He wouldn’t say much, and I didn’t want to push the subject, but I think him and Tim will be okay. It’s just a little disagreement.”
Bruce nods, seemingly temporarily satisfied. It’s not weird for the kids to fall out, per se. Damian nearly scratched Jason’s left eye out last week over a pigeon he shooed. But Conner and Tim have always been best friends. They don’t usually have ‘problems’ big enough for the rest of the Bats to activate protective mode. It’s new, to say the least, but Clark trusts them to sort it out.
The next person to arrive is Cass.
Maybe.
Nobody knows when exactly she arrived. Nobody knows how exactly she arrived. She quite literally just appears.
“Fuck -” Conner yelps, clutching his heart after jumping a whole foot away from Cass, who as far as Clark can tell, materialised in the room right next to him at some point. She peers at Conner, and then mirrors the stance he was previously in, leaning against the wall with a leg propped up.
“Cass,” Bruce greets, and she nods in response.
“How long have you been here?” Steph asks in bemusement.
“A while.”
“There’s cookies and waffles in the kitchen.”
She nods again and drifts off to go get one. Conner gapes and then awkwardly trots after her. Those two have also always been close. Clark’s just glad there’s a Bat who isn’t glaring at Conner like he shot their dog.
Jason glances at his watch. “So, do we mark her down as 1PM approximately, or...?”
“12:46,” Bruce corrects.
“How can you possibly know that?”
Bruce just smiles at his book.
Clark sighs and lets his head hang back. “You know, I don’t think we took into consideration how boring this competition was going to be for the people in the bunker.”
“There are snacks and reading material.”
“Yeah. Cool. No doubt. No doubt,” Clark nods. “It’s just - it’s a small space.”
“Your man is right. It’s boring as fuck in here,” Jason pipes up.
“There are also boardgames,” Bruce shrugs, and see - that’s where they go wrong. That exact sentence is what leads to the downfall of what Clark already considers to be an incredibly delicate set up. You can’t play a game inside a game. It gets convoluted. The stakes get higher. People get angry.
“Batmobile isn’t a word,” Steph is arguing.
“Except it literally is,” Jason insists with great conviction. “We have a Batmobile.”
“According to the official Scrabble rules, only words that are accepted in standard English and appear within dictionaries are permitted, and Batmobile isn’t in the dictionary, ergo you don’t get points.”
“According to the official scrabble rules,” Jason parrots in a pitchy tone that Clark thinks is supposed to mimic Steph’s.
“It’s a proper noun. It doesn’t count.”
“Why can’t I use a proper noun? You let Conner get away with UFO earlier, but I can’t use Batmobile?”
“Because it’s invalid in scrabble. UFO appears in the dictionary. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”
“It’s a fucking abbreviation and you know it.”
“Hey, don’t be bitter, man.”
“Well, we don’t have to go exactly by the rules, do we?” Clark tries. “We can make up our own.”
Everyone looks at him like he’s just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.
“Steph is correct. Batmobile is tailored to my brand, and doesn’t appear within any agreed upon dictionary. I’m afraid it can’t be used in this game, but I’m flattered at your insistence,” Bruce says.
“Exactly. So, either you come up with another word or forfeit your turn,” Steph declares.
Jason glares. “Sheesh. Fine. I’ll do another one.”
He squints at his set of letter counters before placing about seven down on the board. Steph stares at it, and then at Jason.
“Batrachian?” She says blankly, and Jason nods. “What the fuck is that supposed to be?”
“A legit word found in the dictionary. Look it up. Oh wait, you can’t, because we have no signal, so I guess I could just be bullshitting here and you’d never know either way.”
“It’s a tailless amphibian. Jason gets 17 points” Bruce says seriously, recording their updated scores.
“A tailless amphibian?” Conner repeats, expression turning down right homicidal as Jason gives him a teasing, lopsided grin. “Like a frog?”
“Exactly like a frog.”
“You had the letters for batrachian and still went with Batmobile?” Steph says, incredulous. “Wait how many counters do you have, let me see -”
Jason clutches his pile of counters protectively against his chest “Oi, that’s cheating, mind your own -”
The ceiling vent once again collapses.
The metal grille lands directly on top of the board. Everyone is immediately protesting and squawking as counters fly everywhere. Damian doesn’t come crashing in this time, instead he’s gently lowered into the room by Jon.
“Damian,” Bruce greets in surprise while everyone lunges to collect their wayward counters. “You’re back. With…Jon?”
Damian gives a sharp nod. “It has come to my attention that there’s a competition being held today. Consequently, Jon says he’s unable to hang out until he locates you both. So, here we are. What place did he score?”
“Seventh.”
“Yay!” Jon cheers, and Clark cheers with him, getting up to twirl him around in the air.
“What place did I score?”
“Fourth.”
“That’s not fair. I didn’t even know this was happening,” Damian scowls.
“We sent multiple reminders in the group chat,” Clark offers as he sets his son back down, privately thinking that scoring fourth place without even being aware of the competition is really quite impressive.
“Why would I read the group chat?”
“Because it’s…the family groupchat?”
“I’m ten. I don’t have time for that,” Damian snaps, and Clark tenses like the kid might actually bite him. Jason hums like Damian’s made a completely valid point. “I demand a do-over.”
“Perhaps next month.”
“Who won?”
“Who do you think?”
“Drake,” Damian scoffs. “Did I at least beat Grayson?”
“So far he hasn’t shown up.”
Damian gives a self-satisfied nod. “Next month,” he promises darkly. “I suppose this explains why all of you are subjecting yourselves to a special kind of torture through forced proximity.”
“Hey, we’re having fun,” Conner protests.
“We were having fun,” Steph huffs, frantically trying to rearrange the board.
Clark thinks they were ten minutes away from someone pulling a weapon.
“Where is Dick?” Jason then says in confusion. “He’s the only one that hasn’t arrived, right?”
There’s a pause.
“You mean to say, Dick Grayson, the Dick Grayson, Robin Number One, Nightwing, and Bats unofficial favourite, lost?”
“I don’t have a favourite,” Bruce says.
“And If he did It would have to be me because I'm the blood child,” Damian states very matter of factly.
“Not how that works, little buddy.”
“I’m not ‘little’ or your ‘buddy’.”
“Ouch.”
“It is odd that he’s yet to arrive,” Bruce murmurs.
“See, that smells like favouritism," Jason points.
“It’s because he’s the eldest.”
“Actually, evidence suggests the eldest is always the unloved one. Look at Conner.”
“Hey,” Conner scowls.
Clark is immediately aghast. “Kon, you’re not unloved.”
“Well.” Damian smirks.
“Guys stop it, you’re going to set him off,” Conner hisses, then gives Clark a reassuring look. “They’re just winding you up. Ignore them.”
“But I do love you,” Clark stresses.
“I know, dad.”
“You’re one of the most important people in my life.”
“I know, dad.”
“And this doesn’t support my theory anyway,” Steph continues. “Conner isn’t Superman's eldest. Dick is. They’ve had shared custody for years. He’s the first super baby.”
“And he…came last?”
All of them let that sink in.
Jason snorts. “Loser.”
“There are no losers. That’s not what this competition is about. Besides, It’s only 2pm. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon enough,” Bruce says. “In the meantime, Damian, Jon, would you care to join us for scrabble?”
“I’m unfamiliar with the game,” Damian replies, but sits cross-legged next to the board anyway, cloak fanning around him.
“I’ll teach you how to play,” Jon grins toothily.
“Entirely unnecessary. Give me the handbook and two minutes.”
Whilst the kids set up a new game, Clark frowns at the door. It is a little strange that Dick hasn’t arrived yet. It’s not that Clark think’s Dick’s abilities outrank the others just because he’s the eldest. It’s just…surprising. Dick is competitive. They all are. Damian didn't even know about the competition and he got here before Dick.
“Do you think he’s okay? It has been a while…”
Bruce glances at the door as well. “Something might have come up. If it was anything serious Alfred would have contacted us by now. He has until 8pm.”
Which seems perfectly reasonable until four hours have passed and they’re all still stuck in an underground bunker surrounded by three broken board games. Dick still hasn’t made an appearance. Even Bruce is getting concerned at this point. Clark knows this because he’s pacing.
“Maybe he’s dead,” Conner speculates boredly, slumped on the ground next to Cass’ seat as she weaves little plaits into his hair, threading her fingers through to smooth it over and start again.
“No. That’s my thing,” Jason mumbles, swiping mindlessly at some game on his phone, a little jingle drifting from it. “The flying Grayson’s are rolling in their fallen graves right now, though.”
Conner cracks up. Jason smirks a little.
Bruce doesn’t even scold them for it.
Jon has fallen asleep against Damian’s shoulder. Damian is glaring at anyone who gets too close or talks too loud. Steph is also dozing off on the bean bag. Jason yawns, which sets off a chain reaction around the room.
Finally, just as the clock hits 7:52pm, there’s an alert.
Everyone perks up hopefully. Bruce exhales in relief, the tension draining from his body as he glares up at the ceiling like he’s privately scorning the gods for putting him through more unnecessary parental stress. Clark rubs his back comfortingly.
“Hey, you were right. He’s fine. Just running a little late.”
“He’s fine,” Bruce repeats, apparently needing to hear it again.
There’s a commotion in the corridor, a series of crashes, yelps, and swearing. There’s two heartbeats out there, which would initially put Clark on edge if he couldn’t hear Dick’s laughter ringing above all of it.
“What the fuck was that? Where are we right now?”
“What, you’ve never been to a Batman obstacle course before?”
“Those were death traps! Why does your dad have so many death traps? Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“Yep. Pretty sure. Come on, stop being such a baby. It wasn’t even that bad.”
“There were lasers back there!”
“I know! It was awesome.”
“You’re such a freak, Grayson. A freak.”
“I’m your freak, though.”
“Regretably.”
“Come on, hurry up. I’m already late.”
“You’re telling me to hurry up? I’m the only reason you made it here on time!”
“Ah shit, there’s a code.”
“Well, go on. Use that big brain of yours. What would your dad put as the code?”
“I don’t know. Could be anything. Why isn’t the keypad working? What the hell…”
“Why don’t you just knock? It’s not like he isn’t going to open the door for you.”
“I mean it sort of defeats the whole point of the competition.”
“Oh my god. Just knock. I’m cold. I’m wet. I nearly just got lasered to death.”
“Shhh. Stop being so loud. You’re not supposed to be here, remember?”
“Dirty little secret, am I?”
“Oh please.”
“Well, If you won’t knock I will -”
“Hang on -”
One of them knocks. It makes the door fall inwards thanks to Conner breaking it earlier. It lands on the ground with a resounding metal clang, dust billowing out from beneath it. And there’s Dick Grayson, alive and well, standing next to no other than Kid Flash, who’s still got a hand half raised in preparation to knock more. Everyone stares. Both of them look ridiculously caught out.
“Uh,” Dick’s the first to recover, laughing nervously. “Wow, you’re all already here?”
“Two more minutes and you’d have been disqualified,” Steph replies. “You lost, Grayson. Miserably.”
“I’ll be honest, I woke up like an hour ago and texted Tim for the address. I forgot this was happening today,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Oops?”
“Does nobody read the family group chat?” Clark groans.
“I do! I just - ” Dick cringes. “Also didn’t?”
“This is the boy you’ve been sneaking out to see every Friday?” Damian demands, voice laced with judgment.
“I’m 23, I'm not sneaking anywhere, thank you very much,” Dick objects. “I have an apartment.”
“This is the boy you made us wait all day for because you were too busy canoodling?” Jason deadpans.
Dick splutters. “We weren’t - canoodling! There was a Titan level crisis yesterday. I nearly got dragged into the speedforce. Wally had to take me back to his place to recover. I’m still a bit wobbly, but I’m not half disembodied anymore so there’s that.”
“Disembodied?” Clark repeats, and Bruce has gone very pale.
“I made that sound worse than it was. My consciousness was nearly ripped from my body. That’s all.”
“Oh, that’s all?” Jason replies sarcastically.
“Why was I not informed about this last night?” Bruce asks.
“I don’t have Batman’s phone number,” Wally admits awkwardly. “And D - Nightwing was out cold. Sorry. Do I have to use made up names here?”
“No, you’re good. And I was totally fine, guys! Seriously. It was just a little disintegration.”
“I’m sorry, you disintegrated?” Steph repeats.
“No. Maybe? On like a mild atomic level - look, I don’t know. I was completely out of it. Wally anchored me, though, and I didn’t disintegrate. So everything’s fine,” Dick says, and he’s smiling a bit too wide, like maybe it’s not fine but he doesn’t want to get into it right now. “He said I was his lightning rod, or something, and that’s how I survived. Don’t ask. It’s been a whole thing. I don’t really get it, either. This is Wally, by the way. You’ve already met. Sorry. I don't know why I’m introducing you.”
“Hi, Dick’s family! Mr Wayne Batman sir,” Wally waves from where he’s not quite hiding behind Dick, practically vibrating with nervous energy. “Clark.”
“Hey, kiddo. Good to see you.”
“You too!”
“How’s your uncle? Haven't seen him in a while.”
“Yeah, good! He’s caught up with work at the moment. I’ll tell him to swing by the watchtower before the wedding. Oh, congrats, by the way! Tying the knot is totally dope. Like woah. Marriage.”
“Thank you!”
“Get that fat prenup, am I right?” He laughs, and Dick elbows him sharply.
“Sorry. Inappropriate. Bad - stupid joke. I love love.”
“Wally,” Bruce says, and Wally’s spine straightens. Clark rolls his eyes at Bruce’s tone. “I understand that the speedforce is…volatile even for experienced speedsters. What you did for Dick last night…that was no small feat. Barry has explained the lightning rod theory to me before. My son must mean a lot to you.”
Wally blinks owlishly, cheeks flushing dark enough to match his red hair. “Oh - that’s - I mean - yeah, I mean it was no big deal really...” he clears his throat a couple of times, shrugging in an effort to play it off cool. “We’re a team, right? It’s what we do. He’s got my back, I've got his. Always.”
“Nevertheless, I’m grateful and appreciate what you did.”
“Batman appreciates me,” Wally stage-whispers to Dick. “I’m putting this on my resume”
A smile twitches at the corner Bruce’s lips as he folds his arms. “You two have grown close. Enough, evidently, for him to be introduced to us without the aliases.”
To Clark's surprise, Bruce doesn't sound upset about this. His paranoid soon-to-be husband is evolving. Not even an eyebrow twitch of discomfort. Clark beams with pride. To be fair, Wally did just save their son from the speedforce. Certain allowances have apparently been permitted because of that.
“He’s my best friend,” Dick says like that should have been obvious. “And I didn’t tell him. He worked it out. He has my magazine issue from last year. I told you those photoshoots were a bad idea. As soon as he saw me without the cowl, he connected the dots.”
“Without the cowl? Unpack that for us chief,” Jason is grinning.
“No.”
“The bestest of friends,” Wally is also grinning now, slinging an arm around Dick’s shoulders. Dick looks like he’s dying on the inside. “Just a couple of bros. Two really good dudes.”
“Five feet apart,” Steph nods sagely, and Dick snorts a bit helplessly.
“Don’t read into it. He’s just my glorified taxi service.”
Wally shoots them a dazzling smile. “With a five star rating.”
“Watch yourself, Rudolph.”
“Oh, middle named,” Wally claps a hand against his chest dramatically. “Breaking my heart over here, Boy Wonder.”
“I can’t tell if they’re flirting.”
“Worse. I think they’re making innuendos. In front of the parents is wild.”
“It’s not an innuendo!” Dick squawks, then sees Bruce’s pinched expression and squawks louder. “It’s not!”
Damian’s glaring up at Wally suspiciously, having crossed the room over to Dick’s side the moment he mentioned almost disintegrating. He’s jabbing at Dick’s leg like he needs to check he’s still properly tethered to the physical plane.
“I’ve done extensive research on the speedforce. You saved my brother. If you have enemies that need vanquishing, come see me. If you need them permanently disposed of, go to Jason.”
Wally gapes for a moment.
“He’s giving you his approval. Just say thank you.”
“Thank you? It’s - you’re the current Robin, right?”
Damian nods seriously. “I have a katana. Jason has a gun.”
“Dope.”
Damian turns to Jason. “He’s proven himself worthy. Now we need only worry about Drake dishonoring the family name with inappropriate suitors.”
“Rookie mistake. Always worry about Dick. He dishonours the family name like it’s an olympic sport.”
“That is so rich coming from you,” Dick retorts. “Dishonour on you and dishonor on your cow, Jay.”
“Don’t bring Bat-Cow into this,” Damian warns darkly.
“You have a cow?” Wally asks Dick giddily. “There’s a cow? A Bat-Cow?”
“Alfred’s still not happy about it.”
“I saved her!” Damian snaps. “She’s done nothing dishonourable. How could you even say that?”
“You're right. I’m sorry, babybat. That was uncalled for,” Dick apologises, and Damian hmphs, giving Dick’s leg another harsh jab. “Ow! Stop poking me, already! I told you I’m fine. Still in one piece, see?”
“You almost disintegrated!"
Dick smiles that mega-watt smile of his and ruffles Damian’s hair. “Aw, I knew you cared.”
Damian scoffs. “Shut up. Someone would have needed to pick up your slack if you died. It would have been inconvenient.”
“Mhm. Sure. Yeah,” he nods, then hauls Damian into his arms, trapping him in a hug. It’s a bit like trying to hug a feral cat since Damian immediately starts thrashing. “And you’d have missed me soooo much!”
“Unhand me, Grayson!” Damian snarls, making Dick laugh brightly and cling tighter. Damian eventually gives up and just lets it happen with a sigh. Clark can see the smile fighting its way onto his lips.
“Alright, very cute. Dickie’s got a boyfriend. Damian’s got a cow. Everyone’s alive. Great news. Awesome. Can we please go home now?” Conner whines.
“I don’t have a boyfriend. Oh my god.”
Wally pouts.
None of them are quite sure if Dick has a boyfriend. All signs point to maybe probably yes most likely.
“Conner’s just grumpy because Tim isn’t here.”
“Speaking of inappropriate suitors -”
“Okay! Game’s over. We’re done here,” Conner interrupts, throwing up both arms in exasperation.
“Wait, so who won? I missed everything,” Dick frowns, setting Damian back down.
“Tim,” the entire room choruses.
“Oh, he's going to be insufferable.”
Jason gets up and stretches until his back cracks. “He doesn’t know Dick nearly died, though. So who are the real winners here?”
“Okay, can we stop talking about how I nearly died? It wasn’t that serious, and the stress is bad for Bruce’s heart,” Dick scolds. Clark can confirm this. He can also confirm, to the extent of his knowledge, that Dick is absolutely fine. He checked. Several times. With super vision. Just as he’s sure Conner has checked with his TTK.
“You’ll accompany us back to the manor to run some tests, just to be on the safe side,” Bruce tells Dick in a tone that brooks absolutely argument.
“That’s fair.”
“I still think Tim cheated,” Steph announces, indignant.
“Well, I think Jason cheated,” Conner glares.
“If we’re going to be pedantic about it, Jon also cheated by getting help from Damian.”
“Which means Dick cheated by getting help from Tim and Wally,” Conner fires back.
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
“You literally lost.”
“I cheated?” Jon’s eyes turn teary, and he looks downright devastated with himself. Damian looks like he’s going to cut Jason for implying such a thing.
“No,” Clark is quick to assure. “You did great, buddy.”
“Nobody cheated. The objective of the game was to track us down within the allocated timeframe, which all of you accomplished. The method in which you did so doesn’t subtract from the fact each of you made it here.”
“So…Tim won?”
“There is no winner,” Bruce states, much to the collective outrage of their children. “You all performed admirably and proved yourselves capable. That is what I want you to take away from this. You should all be proud.”
“I’m proud,” Clark tells them, and he is. Achingly, endlessly proud. “And I love you all. But I’m also begging you to let us go to Kyoto without following us or worrying too much. I promise it’ll be fine. We’ll bring you souvenirs back.”
“He’s bribing us now.”
“I’m not immune to a fridge magnet,” Dick says easily. “And don’t worry. I’ll keep the others in check while you’re away. Go be disgusting and in love or whatever.”
Bruce smiles and grabs his jacket off the back of the sofa. “I’ve arranged transport for us back to the manor. Alfred has prepared a celebratory dinner. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Everyone whoops at the prospect of Alfred’s cooking, scrambling to gather their belongings and filing out of the room, bickering over whether the Supers or Bats won. Clark shakes his head as they go. Bruce also looks unbearably fond. Clark wraps both arms around him from behind. Bruce leans against him with ease.
“I think we did alright with them,” he says. “They’re a little terrifying, but.”
Bruce snorts.
“We did alright,” he agrees. “They’re going to miss us. I’ve asked Tim to coordinate everyone’s schedules for a possible holiday in the near future to make up for it. I was considering Thailand.”
Clark kisses the arch of his jaw and smiles against his skin. “Thailand, huh?”
“Mm.”
“Sure you can deal with that much direct sunlight?”
“I deal with you on a regular basis just fine.”
Clark laughs. “Oh, he jokes now?”
Bruce shrugs. “I’m happy. They make me happy. You.”
And well, how is Clark supposed to do anything other than melt about that?
“I love you,” he says. “So much.”
Bruce turns to face him, and there’s that seriousness in his eyes that Clark adores. The steadying kind that never wavers in balance, that stops Clark from spiralling out of focus.
“I’m going to marry you on Wednesday, Clark Kent,” he says, reaching up to play with a wayward curl hanging over Clark’s eyes. His fingers trail down Clark’s face carefully, like he’s committing it to memory for the millionth time. Clark lets him, humming contently. After a moment, Bruce leans in, eyes flickering shut. “I love you too,” he breathes against Clark’s lips, barely audible, more just an exhale than anything, but Clark catches the words lingering in the air, savours them on his tongue, swallows them to keep as his forever.
And then Bruce kisses him. It’s as mesmerising and golden and brilliant as the first time.
It doesn’t last as long as Clark wants it too, because there are eight kids waiting for them upstairs, most of whom wouldn’t probably have a worse reaction than Tim if they walked in on Bruce and Clark so much as holding hands alone.
“What’s the code for the door, by the way?” Clark asks as they're leaving. Bruce turns abruptly sheepish as he flicks the bunker lights off. “B?”
Bruce clears his throat, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s not important.”
Well, now it definitely is.
“The kids said it was embarrassing. Tell me. Please? I want to know.”
Bruce shoots Clark an annoyed look like he’s the reason one of Batman’s secret codes is embarrassing, before relenting.
“Fine. If you must know, I set it as the wedding date. They’re likely all appalled by its simplicity. It was hardly challenging and shows I’m becoming sentimental in my age,” Bruce says, talking in one big rush like he does when he’s embarrassed by something. Clark stares at him. “Don’t worry, I would never hide anything seriously important behind anything so predictable -”
Clark’s kissing him again. He can’t help it. Bruce makes a startled noise into his mouth, before meeting him full force.
This man. This bizarre and brilliant man.
Clark is the reason Batman’s secret code is embarrassing. And Clark is marrying Bruce Wayne on Wednesday. And they’re going to Kyoto and then they’re going to Thailand as a family. Because Clark has that. He has this. Oh he could cry. He’s so happy he could start floating -
“Clark - Clark, feet on the ground -” Bruce doesn’t flail, because Batman doesn’t flail, but he definitely lurches to wind his arms tight around Clark’s neck, dangling a bit precariously.
Clark quickly lowers them both again. “Sorry. Sorry - I just -”
Bruce is already seizing his mouth again with his. And Clark immediately knows they’re going to be fine. Maybe there is some universe ending, earth-shattering event around the corner that disrupts their honeymoon like everyone is so afraid of, but that’s okay because right now Clark has Bruce in his arms and Bruce has him. They have several no doubt impatient children upstairs waiting on them who are all little geniuses’ as far as Clark is concerned. He’s like to see anything try and ruin that.
Good luck to it.
“I know you set that up for me to win,” Tim later says, when it’s just him and Bruce alone in the Batcave reviewing the test results from Dick’s little dabble with the speedforce (of which he probably shouldn’t have walked away from, but the power of love is a compelling force apparently. Tim remains unconvinced of this, and has been stressing for a good hour over Dick’s improbable survival and wellbeing). The others are upstairs in the main lounge, likely tormenting Clark over the impending wedding.
Bruce pauses for a second, before leaning back in his seat carefully. “That’s quite a bold accusation.”
“But not entirely unfounded,” Tim replies without looking up from the laptop he’s been furiously typing away at. “It’s okay. You can tell me. I won’t brag about it.”
“And your evidence to support this theory?”
“One,” Tim holds up a finger, still typing with the other hand. “Me and Steph arrived more or less at the same time, and ridiculously early, leading me to believe you wanted one of us to be the winner.”
“There were no winners -”
“Two, I'm still a shareholder in Wayne Enterprises, meaning not only do I have access to your financial records through Lucius, I also have access to other resources including your private encrypted server that funds your ‘Batman related shenanigans’ lets say. I get notified each time money goes through that. Given that you’ve neglected to remove me as your legal standing heir, which I’m sure Damian is one day going to gut me for, I can only assume this was either an oversight on your part, which seems unlikely, or you wanted me to notice when your rainy day fund took a random bunker in Metropolis sized hit a day after you decided to host a competition.”
Bruce is unflappable. “Anything else?”
Tim finally glances up, irises glinting like cat eyes in the low light. “I’m the least likely to needlessly bother you on your honeymoon. You wanted me to win so that you wouldn’t have to give anyone else messaging privileges.”
“And Steph?”
“You had Babs give her a nudge in the right direction. I just got there first.”
“Hm,” Bruce glances back at his monitors. “I expect regular updates about what’s happening here while we’re away.”
“So you admit it? The game was rigged.”
“No.”
“Rigged.”
“Fine,” Bruce turns in his chair to face Tim completely. “If you want to continue speculating about this, I will continue to speculate about the nature of your relationship with Bernard who lives in Crest Hill, Wally’s cousin, and Kon-el.”
Tim goes silent.
“You're a sick man, Bruce.”
“That’s what I thought. Don’t mention this theory of yours to the others, and I won’t ask uncomfortable questions.”
“A sick, sick man.”
“I need you to fax that report to Barry, by the way. His team specialises in the speedforce. It’s the easiest way to ensure Dick is 100% in the clear. We might need to pay them a visit.”
“How the hell did you find out about Bart? Not even Steph knows about Bart.”
“Are you dating all of them?”
“I’ll fax Barry now.”
“Thank you.”