Chapter Text
The first time Clark noticed it, he thought he was imagining things.
The Watchtower was quiet after a mission—too quiet. Most of the League had already left. Diana was speaking with J'onn. Barry was halfway through raiding the kitchen. Hal was loudly insisting that he had "absolutely carried the team."
Bruce had disappeared.
Nothing unusual there.
Batman always vanished first.
Clark was on his way to the teleporters when a sound stopped him.
Not footsteps.
Not a communicator.
Not a villain.
A muffled, uneven breath.
He tilted his head instinctively.
His hearing stretched through steel walls, humming generators, distant conversations...
...and found it.
One heartbeat.
Fast.
Unsteady.
Hidden inside one of the unused briefing rooms.
Clark frowned.
Bruce?
He walked over, raising a hand to knock.
"...Batman?"
Silence.
"I know you're in there."
Another few seconds passed before the voice came, perfectly controlled.
"I'm busy."
Clark almost walked away.
Almost.
Then he heard it again.
A sharp inhale.
The kind people made when they were trying not to sob.
Clark's stomach dropped.
He gently opened the door.
The room was dark except for the emergency lights.
Bruce was sitting in one of the chairs with his cape draped around him like armor.
The cowl was still on.
His elbows rested on his knees.
His hands covered the lower half of his face.
If Clark hadn't been able to hear his heartbeat—
If he hadn't been able to smell the salt of fresh tears—
He never would have known.
Bruce was crying.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just...
Silently.
Like he'd done it a thousand times before.
Clark immediately looked away.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"...Leave."
Clark hesitated.
"Bruce—"
"I said leave."
There wasn't anger in his voice.
Just exhaustion.
Clark should have listened.
Instead, he stepped farther inside and quietly shut the door behind him.
"You don't have to pretend with me."
Bruce laughed.
It wasn't even remotely amused.
"You think I'm pretending?"
"You've been crying."
"No."
Clark sighed.
"...Bruce."
"I'm fine."
Clark closed his eyes for a second.
Every person in the League knew Batman had impossible pain tolerance.
Broken ribs?
He'd ignore them.
Concussions?
Keep fighting.
Stab wounds?
"Just a scratch."
Apparently emotional pain was no different.
"You don't have to lie."
Bruce was silent.
Then—
"You know what the funny thing is?"
Clark waited.
"No one notices."
His voice was almost conversational.
"I disappear after missions."
"..."
"I spend thirty minutes in here."
"..."
"I clean myself up."
"..."
"And then I go home."
Clark stared.
Bruce continued, still not looking at him.
"Three years."
Clark blinked.
"What?"
"I've been doing this for three years."
Three years.
Clark's chest tightened.
"The League never noticed."
"..."
"They think I'm reviewing reports."
"..."
"They think I'm making contingency plans."
"..."
"They think I'm being Batman."
He laughed again.
"They don't realize Batman is having a panic attack behind a locked door."
Clark couldn't speak.
Three years.
How?
How had no one—
Then he realized.
Because Bruce never let anyone see.
Not really.
The cowl hid everything.
The voice.
The posture.
The stillness.
Everyone assumed that because Batman always looked composed...
...he was.
Clark slowly walked over and sat in the chair beside him.
Not touching.
Just there.
Minutes passed.
Bruce kept breathing unevenly.
Clark kept pretending not to notice.
Eventually Bruce whispered,
"I can't stop."
Clark looked over.
"What?"
"The crying."
His voice cracked.
"I don't even know why anymore."
Another tear disappeared beneath the cowl.
"I'll finish a mission."
"..."
"I'll sit down."
"..."
"And suddenly it's like every funeral I've ever attended happens again."
Clark felt something break inside him.
He thought about Jason.
His parents.
The Waynes.
The Robins.
Alfred.
Countless civilians Bruce had lost.
Every failure Bruce had memorized.
Every name.
Every grave.
Every impossible choice.
All stacked inside one man who never allowed himself to fall apart in public.
No wonder.
No wonder.
…
The next League meeting started normally.
Until Superman interrupted.
"I think we need mandatory decompression after missions."
Hal frowned.
"What?"
"Time to recover."
Barry shrugged.
"We already go home."
Clark shook his head.
"No."
"I mean emotionally."
Several people exchanged confused looks.
Batman remained perfectly still.
Clark continued.
"We ask each other if we're injured."
"We never ask if we're okay."
Silence.
Diana slowly nodded.
"He's right."
Arthur leaned back.
"...That's... actually a good point."
Bruce didn't move.
Not even a fraction.
Clark refused to look at him.
"This job isn't normal."
"It shouldn't require pretending we're unaffected."
J'onn spoke softly.
"There is wisdom in that."
From then on, things changed.
Not overnight.
But steadily.
After every mission there was no immediate teleport home.
People stayed.
Someone made coffee.
Barry ordered food.
Arthur complained.
Hal told increasingly unbelievable stories.
Diana listened.
J'onn quietly checked in with everyone.
No one was forced to talk.
They just...
Didn't have to leave immediately.
…
Bruce still disappeared sometimes.
Old habits.
But one evening, Clark found him heading toward the same briefing room.
Bruce stopped.
"...I'm fine."
Clark smiled gently.
"I didn't ask."
Bruce stared.
Clark simply held up two mugs of coffee.
"I figured you might want company."
"..."
"No talking required."
Bruce looked at the coffee.
Then at Clark.
"...You won't ask questions?"
"No."
"...You won't tell anyone?"
"No."
"...You'll leave if I ask?"
Clark smiled.
"Eventually."
Bruce actually snorted.
It was tiny.
But real.
He accepted the mug.
…
Weeks turned into months.
Clark never mentioned the crying.
Not once.
He never acted like he'd witnessed something shameful.
Because it wasn't.
Sometimes Bruce sat in silence.
Sometimes he cried.
Sometimes he managed neither and simply stared at the floor while Clark rambled about Kansas weather or Lois's latest article or Jon trying to convince Krypto that bath time was a conspiracy.
Bruce rarely answered.
But he stayed.
One evening, after another brutal mission, Bruce removed the cowl before Clark could say anything.
His eyes were red.
His face was tired.
He looked...human.
"I hate this," Bruce admitted.
Clark nodded.
"I know."
"I hate that you know."
"I know."
Bruce let out a shaky breath.
"...Thank you."
Clark smiled.
"You've carried all of us."
Bruce looked confused.
Clark continued.
"So let somebody carry you for five minutes."
Bruce's eyes closed.
For once...
He didn't argue.
And outside the briefing room, the Justice League continued on with their evening, blissfully unaware that the strongest man in the world wasn't saving Batman from a villain.
He was saving him from believing he had to survive his grief alone.