Chapter Text
Before
"He killed my parents," Tony's voice was so broken, wretched with emotion. "But I can't hate him. I know he wasn't in control of himself. That poor schmuck…"
"So you, uh, f-forgive him?" Superman slurred, a hint of optimism in his voice. Tony shrugged.
"I know I can't blame him but-it hurts. I always thought it was a car crash. How could Steve lie to me?"
Wayne looked pained this time, pulling away from the impromptu hug. He looked at Tony, who was the drunkest Steve had ever seen him. "He wanted to protect you."
Tony's voice was small. "Why?"
"Because he knew what you would do to yourself. He knew how much it would hurt you, and, misguided or not, he was trying to protect you."
"How would you know?" Tony asked, voice shaking. "Huh?"
"I do know," Wayne said, voice low. His eyes caught Steve's in the darkness over Tony's shoulder. He knew he was there. He'd probably known the entire time. "Someone tried to save me that same pain once. And you know what?"
"What?" Tony asked, eyes wide. Superman looked similarly entranced.
"I almost lost them too. I was horrible to everyone. I was so caught up in my grief, I didn't think about what I was doing." Wayne swallowed, reaching for the bottle again. He was looking a little more than drunk now as well. "I had to let it go. They loved me. They were all I had left-I couldn't change the past, no matter how much I tried."
Superman was silent. Tony looked a few minutes away from passing out. Wayne sighed and finished the bottle in his hand, swallowing without a flinch.
"Let's get you to bed, huh?" Wayne stood, shaky on his feet, and looked at Superman. Between the two of them, they managed to get Tony upright. Barely.
Steve took that as a sign and left the hallway, darting down the stairs as silently as possible. Tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe they could work things out.
Now
Bruce rubbed Clark's back as the other man heaved, wincing as the noise of retching hit his own hangover. "You're doing great, buddy. Doing great."
"Fuck," Clark hissed when he was done, forehead hitting the toilet seat with a distinct crack. "I can't stop throwing up."
"No one told you to drink all of my scotch, boyscout." Bruce sighed as Clark turned a particular shade of puce, shoving his head back into the toilet. He heaved again. "C'mon….get it all in the bowl. I'm not letting Alfred clean up this mess."
"I've never thrown up in my life," Clark gasped when he could breathe again, looking up at Bruce. His face was pale under his famous dark curls, and there seemed to be a sheen of sweat across his brow. "This is awful."
"Could be worse," Bruce mused, looking at his watch. "Matches Malone once threw up for four hours straight after a stakeout."
Clark's eyes went wide. "Four hours?"
"Mhm. Tequila shooters." Bruce looked pointedly at the other man. "Never drink tequila, Clark. You'll regret it."
"The kryptonite is gone…" Clark leaned down to retch once more, but nothing came out. He looked disgusted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why am I still throwing up?"
"It's called a hangover," Bruce said, calling it quits on being ambulatory. He slid down the bathroom wall until he was on the tile with Clark, stretching out his legs. "You're gonna feel shitty for a few hours until your powers come back fully."
Clark mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a handful of swearwords and the name Stark, but Bruce chose to overlook it in favor of closing his eyes. He pressed his head back against the cool wall, willing his throbbing headache away.
"So why aren't you throwing up?"
Bruce blinked his eyes open, frowning when he saw Clark looking at him. "Years of practice."
"I thought Bruce Wayne only drank a glass here or there to pretend he was drunk."
He raised an eyebrow, hearing Clark Kent more and more in Clark's tone. Must be feeling better. "When I was training. In the mountains. There was a spirit there that the men would fight with."
"Fight with?" Clark asked, frowning. There was a little bit of color coming back into his cheeks. "What does that mean?"
"It means, you took as many shots of it as you could, and then you sparred," Bruce said, leaning back and closing his eyes again. "It didn't matter if you won. Everyone was puking by the end of the night."
"That sounds horrible."
"It was." Bruce cracked an eye open. "But it makes fighting sober look a hell of a lot easier." He sighed. "Any chance you've got eyes on our two loverboys?"
Clark put his glasses back on, wincing a little. He peered through the left wall. "Steve is in the basement with Bucky. Tony is in your study touching things. Is he supposed to be touching things?"
"Fuck," Bruce said, standing up. "Superspeed me down there. Now."
Clark paled considerably. "Bruce, I don't know if-"
"I have nuke codes down there."
Clark grabbed him without another question, and a blurring, horrible ride later, he was in front of his study. "Bruce, you have nuke co-"
"Shh." Bruce put a hand up, closing his eyes. "Jesus."
"What?" Clark asked, panicked. "Bruce, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I almost threw up on you." Bruce sighed, then opened his eyes. "Go watch Steve. Make sure he doesn't do anything...rash."
"Bruce, I don't mean to sound condescending-" a tilted head cut him off. "But I don't think he likes us very much."
"If you guys combined your love for America and all things American, this country would implode from sheer patriotism and manly good looks alone," Bruce muttered. "Now leave."
"You think I have manly good looks?" Clark asked, cracking a smile. Even his Superman curl was back, flopping happily across his forehead. "You think I'm preeeeetty.."
"I think your google search history is much prettier, Clark," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. "'Can I pet a wolf?' 'What colors are ostriches?' 'Do women like it when I-"
"Okay okay!" Clark cut him off, waving a hand. "You've made your point. Superman out."
Bruce watched in amusement as Clark almost superspeeded into a wall, then composed his features. He looked at his study door, weighing his options, then pushed it open.
Tony didn't look up as someone entered the study, still playing with a picture frame on Bruce's desk. "There's my second-favorite billionaire."
Bruce snorted, leaning against the doorjamb. "Who's the first?"
"Lex, obviously."
"Ah," Bruce's eyes were razor-sharp as he watched him play with the picture frames, as if worried he'd dropped them. "Doing a little catching up?"
"Your kids are cute, Wayne," Tony said miserably. "I have no idea how you managed that."
Bruce nodded his thanks, stepping into the study. He walked over slowly, like a predator trying not to scare his quarry. "How are you feeling?"
"Me? Fine." Tony said, shaking off the dregs of a hangover. "I only threw up once." Liar. It was twice. "Looks like my liver is still the reigning champion."
"That's not what I meant," Wayne said, raising a dark brow. "But please tell me it wasn't on the oriental rugs again."
"Would I make the lovely and magnanimous Alfred clean something like that up?" Tony asked, putting a dramatic hand to his chest. On a snort from Wayne, he smirked. "Third floor bathroom. Some kid was in the room next to me snoring. Didn't recognize him, so I looked at your pictures."
Bruce examined the photo he was holding. "You threw up in Tim's room?"
"Why, is he some kind of germaphobe?"
"He's two, Tony!"
"Need I remind you," Tony pointed at him, accusing, "That it was your idea to get drunk in the first place!"
"You don't see me throwing up in little kids' rooms, do you?"
"No, I'm sure you have some sneaky Bat device that lets you throw up anywhere and destroy the evidence," Tony said, pouting. "The Battrashcan. The Battoilet. I don't know, something like that."
Bruce shook his head, depositing himself in one of the leather chairs by the fire. Someone had come in and started a nice blaze a few minutes before Tony had gotten there, and the extra warmth was nice. "I'm here to talk about Steve."
"I don't gossip," Tony said immediately. "Sorry."
"Don't beat around the bush, Tony," Wayne growled, voice dropping several octaves. It was impressive. Even he had to admit the Batman voice was a little scary. "I know what I heard last night."
"What am I supposed to do, huh?" Tony exclaimed, volume rising. He threw his hands out. "Hit him? Cry? Yell?"
"He lied."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "About what now?"
"No, he lied to me." Bruce stood, something very much more Batman about the movement than Bruce. "I asked him if he knew about your parents' deaths, and he lied to my face. Most people wouldn't dare do that."
"He doesn't really like you, if you didn't notice." Tony said quietly. "That whole lunchbox thing was really the last straw."
"I don't give a damn if he likes me," Bruce said viciously. "I care about my best friend being hurt. He doesn't get a free pass because of Barnes, as much as he thinks me letting him stay here is evidence of it."
"So what," Tony said, shocked at his outburst. "You're kicking them out?"
"Barnes can stay," Bruce said evenly, calming. He stood by the fire, his back to Tony. "I need to look over his arm. You can have Rogers."
"Have Rogers?"
"Talk to him, hit him." Bruce's shoulders shrugged. "Cry. Yell at him. I don't care. But if he tries anything in my home again-" He broke off. Tony blinked.
"Bruce…"
His friend turned around and smiled, something eerie about the expression. "Talk with Steve. Then we'll see."
Tony swallowed, suddenly very warm. "Fine. Right."
"I'm sorry, Tony." Bruce said softly a moment later. "For what it's worth."
"Hmph," he replied, still looking at the fire. "You're a real class act, you know that, Wayne?"
The other man's lips twitched.
"So I've been told."
Steve looked up as someone knocked on Bucky's door. A taller man with darker hair and glasses waved, letting himself in. "Hello?"
"Hi, I'm Clark." the man put out his hand, nodding his head. "Nice to meet you."
"Steve," he said, squinting. Was this the man from last night he'd seen with Tony? "You must be…"
"Oh, whoops," the man said, stumbling into one of the chairs by Bucky's bed. "Sorry about that. You must be Sergeant Barnes!"
Bucky looked up, still woozy from the meds. "Who the hell is this buffoon, Stevie?"
Clark put out his hand eagerly. "I'm Clark!"
"Nice to..meetcha.." Bucky said, shaking it awkwardly. "You one a Bruce's friends?"
"Yeah," Clark said, taking a seat. His gaze caught on Steve, and something within it made Steve sit a little straighter. "We go way back."
"Well, you should tell Bruce that I'm very, uh, grateful," Bucky mumbled, struggling to sit up. He pointed at his left shoulder. "I'm going to have an arm again 'cause of him."
"So I heard," Clark said, gifting him with a small, but brilliant smile. "So, Sergeant Barnes-"
"Bucky."
"Bucky," Clark smiled again. "How's life treating you in the 21st century?"
Bucky raised an eyebrow, grinning. "You sound like one a them hotshot reporters."
Clark smiled, pushing his glasses back. "Force of habit, I guess."
"No way," Bucky said, shocked, "You're a reporter?"
"Daily Planet, yes." Clark said proudly. "That's in Metropolis."
"What's a reporter doing hanging out at a billionaire's mansion?"
The other man looked unfazed. "What's an ex-Hydra agent doing here?"
Bucky's eyes narrowed. He sat up, the metal joints in his left arm twitching. "Who did you say you-"
Before either of them could react, his new shoulder joint hit the blood pressure machine on the bedside table, knocking the heavy equipment towards the floor. Clark reached out and grabbed it with one hand, setting it back on the table.
"Huh," was all Bucky said, looking Clark up and down. "Neat trick."
Steve was watching Clark like a hawk now. That kind of save was impossible for a normal human-and would've taken at least two hands from him. "You're Superman, aren't you?"
Clark raised an eyebrow, turning back from Bucky. "What makes you say that?"
His gaze was suddenly tinged with red, growing power swirling in his eyes. Steve swallowed and decided he didn't like the man's tone very much at all. "Nothing. Just a joke."
The red light disappeared, and Clark smiled at him again. He turned back to Bucky. "Now, since you're-Oh wait, never mind."
A knock on the door startled everyone except Clark. Steve looked up to see Bruce Wayne in the doorway, arms folded. He was wearing something expensive looking, but his expression didn't have a hint of playboy in it. "Rogers. I need you upstairs."
"Where'ya taking him?" Bucky asked from his bed, noticing the sudden tension in the room. "Steve?"
He noticed how Bruce nodded discreetly at Clark, something being discussed and settled within seconds. "I'm just gonna go talk with Bruce, alright?"
Bucky didn't miss the communication between the two men either. "Steve-"
"Just stay with Clark, alright?" Steve realized the trap too late. Stay with Clark-Superman-the only one who had a chance at keeping him locked down. "I'll be right back."
Wayne turned and left, expecting him to follow. Steve took a breath and stood, trailing after him.
"Where are we going?"
Wayne got into the elevator, not bothering to hold the doors open for him. "Cave."
"I thought this was the furthest down the basement went?"
Bruce grunted, as if it didn't dignify a response. The elevator plummeted, the doors opening a second later with a soft beep. Steve's heart stopped as the person behind them was revealed. Of course.
"Tony."
Tony Stark looked him up and down, then crossed his arms.
"Rogers."