Chapter Text
The rumors would not die.
They were everywhere- talk shows, villain forums, Gotham’s criminal grapevine:
Bruce Wayne and Batman had broken up.
Broken. Up. Because he managed to fabricate a relationship (a past one at least) with his own alter ego.
Bruce Wayne had cried at a gala. Batman had refused to comment. The city, naturally, assumed the world’s greatest detective had dumped the himbo prince of Gotham.
As stupid as it all sounded, the consequences were anything but.
Because now, to get revenge on Batman- or win him back, depending on which brand of lunatic you asked- villains had started targeting Bruce Wayne.
And his kids could only take over the Batman mantle to save him so many times before they got sick of it.
So tonight, as Watchtower patrol duty began, Bruce sat at the main console, typing with the tension of a man calculating exactly how many crimes would solve his emotional spiral.
The doors hissed open.
“Evening,” Clark said, stepping in with that easy warmth Bruce had no business finding comfort in.
“Superman,” Batman said without turning.
Clark took his usual spot beside him- close, but never too close. Respectful. Careful. God, he was so careful around Batman these days.
Probably because he thought Bruce was heartbroken all because of him.
Batman swallowed that thought and focused on the screen.
He had a task to do. A horrible one. A humiliating one.
“Superman,” he said, voice pitched steady. “I need you to do something.”
Clark perked up, looking at him. “Of course.”
“I need you to-” Bruce paused. He hated every millisecond of this. “Take over… rescuing Bruce Wayne.”
Clark blinked. “What?”
“If a villain targets Bruce Wayne again- which they will- I’d greatly appreciate it if you could take over the rescue. He’s become a repeated kidnapping target due to… rumors.” He forced the next words out. “…personal rumors.”
Clark stared at him, hurt blooming between his brows. “Batman… you’re really going so far as to let a meta in Gotham just so you don’t have to deal with personal matters, prioritizing your comfort over a civilians safety?”
Bruce froze.
Clark’s voice remained soft, but edged with something Bruce had never heard directed at him: disappointment.
“I… would have thought you were above that.”
The words hit Bruce harder than any kryptonite punch.
He could handle anger. Accusation. Condemnation.
But not Clark Kent sounding disappointed in him.
Not over something this stupid.
Bruce’s throat went tight. He stood from the chair, gloves creaking. “I- this isn’t- Kal, this entire situation is out of hand and I- dammit.”
He could not take that look. Not for another second.
The cowl came off before he could reconsider.
Clark’s eyes widened so dramatically Bruce was briefly concerned they’d launch out of his skull.
“…Bruce?” Clark whispered.
“Yeah,” Bruce said flatly. “I’m Bruce Wayne. Batman was never dating Bruce Wayne. Batman is Bruce Wayne. There is no breakup. Or… god forbid… sex with myself.”
Clark’s face went through at least nine separate emotional stages in three seconds: confusion, relief, horror, longing, confusion again, embarrassment, something that looked suspiciously like hope, then back to horrified.
Bruce stared at him, waiting for anything- words, yelling, hell- even a punch.
He got silence.
Painful, absolute silence.
“Okay,” Bruce muttered finally. “Going back to work, then.”
He sat, re-opened the console, and pretended not to feel Clark staring at him like he’d just revealed he was three raccoons in a trench coat.
Bruce told himself he wasn’t sad.
(He was a liar.)
Several minutes passed.
Then a gentle, warm hand touched his shoulder.
It froze Bruce in place.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched like that.
“Bruce,” Clark said softly.
Bruce’s heart did something illegal.
“What?” he managed, half-turning, half-focusing on reconfiguring his firewall so that Red Robin would stop breaking into it to rearrange his desktop icons.
Clark hesitated. Then:
“…why did Lois asking whether you… had sex with yourself make you cry?”
Bruce stood so fast the chair skidded backward.
“Nope,” he said, already walking toward the exit. “Nope. I am not doing this. I’m leaving-”
“Bruce-”
“-To commit innumerous unforgivable crimes or to kill myself,” he announced briskly. “I’ll decide which on the way.”
Before Clark could follow, Alfred’s voice crackled over the comm.
“I’ve just checked your schedule, Master Bruce, and you are thoroughly booked. There’s not even a second to spare for you to die.”
Bruce stopped. Sighed.
“Innumerous unforgivable crimes it is.”
Clark caught him by the cape before Gotham’s most dangerous vigilante could go do god-knows-what to god-knows-who.
“Bruce,” Clark said, and, unfairly, laughed. “Your face.”
Bruce considered elbowing him. Lightly. Maybe.
Instead he glared. “Let go.”
“No,” Clark said, still laughing. “I’m not letting you commit, what was it? Crimes? Plural?”
“Innumerous,” Bruce corrected darkly.
Clark laughed again- warm, bright, stupidly fond.
The Watchtower suddenly felt too small.
When Clark sobered, he stepped closer- close enough that Bruce could feel the warmth radiating off him. “I… should tell you something too. Who I am… my name is-”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You’re Clark Kent. Yes, I know.”
Clark froze.
Then sputtered.
“You-you already-? How did you-?!”
Bruce allowed himself one- just one- smirk.
“Clark. Your ‘cover’ is glasses and an oversized suit.”
He’s probably better off not mentioning how obsessed he is with the man.
Clark’s stunned silence was worth every humiliating minute of the night.
“…okay,” Clark said eventually. “Fair. That’s… fair.”
They stood there, staring at each other, Bruce’s cape still trapped in Clark’s gentle grip.
It felt like something shifting. Something inevitable.
“So,” Clark said, voice dipping low and hopeful, “now that we’re… both being honest… do you want to maybe-?”
“Yes,” Bruce said without hesitation.
“You didn’t even let me ask.”
“I know what you were going to ask,” Bruce said. “Yes.”
Clark’s grin could have powered Metropolis.
“Tomorrow night?” Clark asked.
Bruce nodded. “Tomorrow.”
“Dinner or patrol?”
Bruce hesitated. “…both?”
Clark laughed again and tugged him just a little closer.
“Both,” he agreed.
And for once, Bruce Wayne didn’t feel so stupid about the whole situation he had gotten himself into.
He felt like maybe, just maybe, things were about to get better.
(That is… until the SuperBat and Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne shippers catch wind of their dates- but that doesn’t even compare really- at least those are all founded in truth.)