Archive of Our Own

Years had passed since the formation of the Justice League, where the central pillars were respected and fixed, representing the heart, the very protection of the Earth against all inconveniences, made up of different heroes who had represented the necessary qualities to work as a team, having the honor of belonging.

There was just one problem: the League included a bat, the night, a shadow—Batman—whose walls were so high it seemed impossible to approach him. It wasn't just his reserved personality and how he avoided contact with all the members; Batman kept his civilian identity so well protected that it became a topic of conversation in the break room.

Nobody knows anything about Batman. There are multiple forums where the main topic is collecting photos and comparing them to anyone who could take on the mantle of the hero. Other forums focus solely on compiling discussions about who Batman was, or if he was even a human being who loved Gotham and had an insatiable desire to do good, hoping that one day everything he did for the city would make sense.

But no one could have imagined that Bruce Wayne, who seemed to be the least brightest crayon in the whole box, would be the hero. It hadn't even been a week since he'd made the news for breaking his leg while attempting a stunt on his yacht.

Justification for appearing in the media with bandages and an appearance not at all worthy of a Wayne.

Guesses about his identity were frequent, direct questions to which Batman seemed unmoved. No one knew the wearer of the Gotham hero's cowl, the only certainty being that the blood running through his veins was filled with love, protection, and a sense of belonging to that city.

"Hey Hal, can you pass me another slice of pizza? I'm starving."

The fastest man on the planet was resting, reclining on the sofa in the living room, a favorite spot for most of the league, where they relaxed when danger was not a threat and could close their eyes while sighs of relaxation escaped them.

Hal Jordan, Green Lantern, was resting a few feet away, taking out a few slices for some members of the league, leaving them on the table and using his ring to reach the box to fill the speedster.

"Oh! Thank you, Hal, always so helpful." The sprinter didn't delay eating.

The atmosphere was comfortable, with a few other members in different parts of the room, until before biting into that delicious slice the hatch opened, revealing that dark figure covered from head to toe in black, with his cloak wrapping his body, which only revealed, if they were in the dark, the white contact lenses that covered his eyes.

"Only official names, you're not at home, Flash. Identities exist for a reason." Barry rolled his eyes, as it was only half true.

Everyone knew each other's identities; it was a measure to improve trust within the team, allowing them to learn what each other did outside of protecting the world, their skills, their interests, and how they blended in as if they were just another human being. It was more than just being colleagues dedicated to saving the world; some of them could even be called "friends."

Everyone except Batman, who wasn't interested in hearing them talk about it either. He had his ways of getting to know his teammates, or rather, of gathering information on each of them in case, however slight, they became threats and the League needed a contingency plan.

He didn't consider any of them to be among his friends, but after so many years of living with them, he was grateful to share with other beings the sense of courage and love for their planet, knowing that they would all do the impossible to save it.

But that didn't mean that any of them couldn't be controlled or rebel, which meant that Bruce kept his walls up at all times, refusing to answer their countless questions that could reveal a trace of his true identity.

"Yeah, yeah, spooky, we all know that, just relax for a second, we're among friends. None of us would do anything right now." Jordan got defensive.

Batman poured himself his fifth cup of coffee of the day, the only reason he had entered to live together, if you could call his reprimand for the lack of professionalism of his colleagues that.

"We never felt safe enough." An icy glare passed between the two men, even though they were just two white discs, and a grimace vanished as they took the first sip of coffee that everyone could guess contained neither milk nor sugar. "Haven't you considered that possibility?"

Hal Jordan nodded, giving a thumbs-up, his other hand carrying a fresh slice of pizza to Diana and Superman, who were sitting at the table engaged in trivial conversation. He hadn't taken their words too seriously, since, if that were the case, he was well aware of Batman's paranoia about controlling, predicting, and having ten contingency plans memorized.

"Even if I hadn't done it, haven't you? You must have the best security, Batman." He emphasized his name as if mocking what he had said as soon as he entered.

Let's just say this was normal in their relationship. Arguments and what could be interpreted as mutual dislike. It was simply how they communicated; nothing real about it was the other way around.

Let's hope that's it.

The hooded figure did not change his expression, he simply turned around and picked up his cup, heading towards a new laboratory that he had equipped down to the smallest corner to advance his work for the necessary time before returning to Gotham to patrol or it was his turn to watch over the Watchtower, thus reducing the time of his own investigations and making progress without wasting time.

"Another day where Spooky isn't in the mood."

Superman intervened before the usual arguments between the two heroes could begin.

"We know she's a very..." She paused to rephrase. "Careful about who we are, we shouldn't be upset about that."

"But that's not our problem, Boy Scouts. Everyone in this room knows who we are." Flash took a bite of his tenth slice of pizza.

The man's metabolism was very different from the rest of his friends.

"You're right, I say, I understand the concern, but we trust each other enough to know there are no threats, it's not any of our fault that Bats doesn't want to tell us who he is."

"Of course, he knows who we are, he should do the same instead of believing that we are not trustworthy and are going to destroy the earth."

Diana listened attentively to the conversation, knowing what was coming. It wasn't the first time Kal-El had done this. Superman always defended Bruce, even when he was wrong; Clark acted as a bridge, helping them understand Batman's actions most of the time.

"I know, guys, but we know Batman, he maintains his professionalism." Superman got up to sit on a couch next to Hal.

"Oh, do we know him? Supes, is there anything else? What color are his eyes? Do you know if his face is even human?"

In an instant, Flash was standing between the two heroes, murmuring, "That's not his voice, Kal. He's wearing a voice-transforming device. He's covered from head to toe, and all we can see are his lips."

"And she usually has the same grimace that shows how much she spends analyzing everything we say," Diana joined the conversation to add the truth.

"And what about his powers? He knows everything that's going to happen, he has a plan for everything. He can't just be a very intelligent human with infinite money to fund all his schemes." Hal observed his companions, pointing at them all. "I don't want to say what we all know, but Spooky is an enigma."

Diana exchanged glances with Superman, shrugging to indicate that they had a point. As founders of the League, they had known Batman longer than the other heroes, but that didn't necessarily mean they knew more.

Batman only spoke when necessary; the rest of the time he only made noises that they both managed to distinguish between what bothered him, what he was indifferent to, and what he agreed with. Superman had gone a little further, but that was his secret. Let's just say he had a deep interest in his safety, to the point of memorizing his heartbeat.

Jimmy and Lois were the only ones who knew this secret. At work, there were moments during overtime, as night fell, when Clark would sit silently and still in his chair, not typing a single word about his journalistic notes regarding an interview he had conducted with Superman. It seemed to happen more often than he realized, even during outings with friends, at important events, or when he appeared lost in conversation.

Those were the moments when they knew he was intently listening to the heartbeat of Gotham's vigilante.

Back to the present, Hal continued with his comments, which had already faded into the background for the Kryptonian, who was left pondering one of the questions he had posed: What color were Batman's eyes? He admitted that more than once he had spent time fantasizing about his appearance, from one that fit some human, to one that made sense with the rumors about him being a creature that only came out at night with a thirst for justice.

Meanwhile, Batman continued working on modifications to his new suit, particularly the contact lenses, which served both as a way to conceal his identity and as a tool of intimidation. These lenses created an inhuman appearance to terrify criminals, exploiting their fear and lack of awareness of who was behind the mask. The suit also possessed night vision, the ability to read and record everything that happened at all times, allowing him to review and analyze the footage after a mission. These were just some of the various additions he made and improved over time.

He was now improving the infrared system in thermology, making it have a greater range so that he could see the dangers in less time than it currently took.

Working on the lenses of his mask required more patience than other parts of his costume, as it was a tiny area that demanded his utmost attention, using all his tools. It was just as complex as working on his own daily contact lenses, the ones he wore as Bruce Wayne at all times.

Initially, his costume only included the aforementioned features, but as Batman began to gain notoriety in the city and after his first encounter with Diana and Superman, the decision to add that feature to his mask was made without hesitation. However, the messy, black eye makeup remained underneath.

Bruce was overly protective of his identity; this was evident when, despite receiving Clark's word that he would never see his face, the following week Batman was wearing lead all over his suit.

I didn't understand how the rest of the League had so much confidence and nonchalance in showing who they were.

The following event was repeated at one of their weekly meetings, which consisted of Bruce handing each of them stacks of documents, totaling more than thirty pages, and analyzing each point. This time, the documents dealt with scenarios that hadn't occurred during their last mission, in which Green Lantern and Superman traveled for three weeks to a planet that wanted to meet with some representatives to forge alliances and thus cease being a potential threat.

It was more of a political relationship, where good treatment and favor were essential to keeping the aliens on their side. Of course, everything had gone according to plan, and yet here they were, with Batman offering a report based on what he'd gathered from his new allies, explaining why they needed to understand the race, the danger they could pose, and how to defend themselves.

That was roughly what the two-hour-plus meeting was about. By this point, most of the participants could barely keep their eyes open.

If it weren't for Green Lantern and Batman starting another of the scenes they were already used to

"So you're telling us that despite being our potential friends, that planet is a ticking time bomb we need to be prepared for?" Hal muttered without even looking at the pages, just flipping through them. "Oh, how strange for you to be so distrustful."

Batman did not look up from the document on his tablet, getting up to project onto the meeting screen a diagram of a ship that Superman and Hal had spent time in these days, indicating the advanced technology they had.

Before continuing, and without turning around, he flipped the page on his tablet to read in a dull tone

"Page fifty, risk assessment. Your tendency to act without analyzing variables increases the possibility of starting unnecessary diplomatic conflicts by twenty percent. It is recommended to hold an extra meeting to discuss possible scenarios."

Aquaman and Green Arrow exchanged amused glances, creating murmurs that made Hal open his mouth in a matter of seconds.

"It shouldn't be a surprise that you're profiling me psychologically."

"Tactically profiling," Batman corrected, returning to the initial page of the plan he was supposed to explain. "As for the other thing, I already did it years ago."

Before Hal could continue with what was causing laughter among some members, Diana intervened, placing her hand on the table with a force that silenced everyone.

"Green Lantern, Batman, this isn't productive. If we're going to keep this up, I suggest we take a break before we listen to whatever that plan means." Diana returned to her original position, waiting for the rest of the league to decide if it was time for a break.

The tension between the two men had lessened, but it hadn't disappeared. Superman knew this as he checked on Batman, noticing how his vital signs had changed and how his jaw had tightened slightly. Despite Batman's neutral tone, there was a noticeable weariness in it, likely the result of copious amounts of coffee and naps that barely lasted an hour. He was worried about someone he considered, at least unilaterally, a friend, but by Rao, Bruce would never leave a meeting unfinished. He knew of times when Batman had used adrenaline to stay awake, even if it put his own life at risk.

Actually, had I ever done that?

"Analyzing the map is necessary to understand that future contact with this planet requires caution. We are outsiders; we don't know its temperament or plans. Ensuring the safety of the League and Earth is essential."

Perhaps a break would be best. And he was about to speak until another comment came out of Hal's mouth.

"The league? Spooky, it almost seems like you're not one of us."

Oliver added to the conversation, having to side with Green Lantern at that moment. "I don't want to sound like I'm attacking him, but the kid's right, you always refer to the League, it sounds like you're observing it from a distance. Like you're not part of it."

Diana rubbed her forehead with noticeable stress upon realizing that this was getting out of hand, turning to look at Superman who, agreeing with what her gaze said, stood up and, placing a hand on Hal and Oliver's shoulders, spoke, intervening in the situation.

"Guys, it's best to take a break. This conversation is unprofessional, and I think we all want to wrap this up as soon as possible." Her gaze followed Batman, who, without saying much, placed the tablet on the table and left in the direction of another café.

His step this time was firmer, more hurried, seeking to end this situation of being distant from his companions, to make it clear that there was a barrier between them, that there were layers and layers that would never be torn down.

Every word he spoke was premeditated and analyzed, and his voice was mechanical, precise, and correct. He had his reasons.

But Clark realized that his breathing had become heavier, which meant that this situation had been enough for him for now, and that it was best not to inquire, much less bother him with a conversation.

As the rest of the group stood up, Aquaman made a comment that, despite how harsh it was, was a reality: "I've never seen him share a single moment with any of us, except for you." He looked at Clark. "I wonder if he'd rather die than let us see anything of his life."

And considering how little care Bruce had for his own life, the answer was simple.

Everyone left, leaving the matter unresolved. Clark was the only one who remained, sitting and listening to Batman's heartbeat, hoping the coffee would offer him some kind of relaxation before they continued.

She was just reading the pages, her mind distracted by Arthur's comment. He was right, and that made her smile slightly, even though it wasn't the right thing to do.

He was the only one Batman spent time with, although many of his conversations were no better than with the rest, Bruce seemed more comfortable with him than with any of his other companions.

Although he didn't know anything beyond what he had memorized from comments that could more accurately be described as gestures and noises.

He knew that Batman liked sugar substitute, so perhaps right now he might notice the box of sachets he had left on the table, so he could have a few with his coffee.

He knew it when he strained his ears and noticed how she opened the envelope.

Two weeks had passed since the incident, and things seemed to be returning to normal. Only this time, Batman wasn't at the Watchtower; he'd mentioned a week earlier that he'd be busy until nightfall to take up his post in the surveillance zone, which in turn moved the remediation meeting to a risk assessment.

So, with no missions and many alarms that weren't routine or easy to resolve in every corner of the world and the cities where each of the heroes lived, it could be said that it was a day of rest. Therefore, they were in the gym, where for the moment they were training to kill time before the hour when the guard duty was left in the hands of two of the members.

Everyone except Superman, since besides Diana, there wasn't really anyone he could train with without having to be under the red light, weakening him enough to make his powers so weak that it would be a fair fight. At least that's how he trained with Bruce.

Barry was drinking his tenth energy drink of the day, pausing to sit next to the Kryptonian and speak about the hottest topic of the week, thus drawing the attention of the rest of his colleagues who were also coming down from their respective areas to rest.

Oliver wasn't there either; he had matters to attend to, which left two of his members out of the training.

"Okay, I'll say what we've all been thinking these past few weeks." The speedster set the can down, now the center of attention. "Does anyone here have any idea who Batman is?"

Hal let out a laugh as his favorite topic of the moment was "A divorced accountant who lives alone in a lonely apartment and has delusions of persecution"

"A millionaire vampire who lives in a castle," Arthur added to the theories. "Just look, he never sleeps, he only comes out in Gotham at night, and come on, that little bit of skin he lets us see is the whitest I've ever seen."

"Maybe he just doesn't like the sun," Barry said. "Although you do have a point. A millionaire could afford to buy all their weapons and fund the League."

Diana, who had been sighing ever since the topic came up, interrupted, getting up to take a shower and return to Themyscira. She'd had enough of putting up with testosterone-fueled men who wouldn't let go of a subject that seemed destined to remain unresolved.

"My theory is even simpler, it doesn't matter who it is, whether it's human or not, even if it's hiding it, perhaps it has its reasons as we all did at one time." And without another word, the Amazon princess withdrew.

Clark agreed with her, although he was extremely curious to see who was under the bat hood, it wasn't something he should talk about, much less interfere in.

It's possible that I sometimes did it because I overthought how my partner looked. He was certainly handsome, a reserved person but with a big heart.

Clark stopped his thoughts, remembering that he was surrounded by his friends while he fantasized about Batman. Lois was the only one who knew about his huge crush on Batman, and that he had some of his things in his apartment and on his desk.

"I bet it's an irrelevant but tragic identity," Arthur added.

"That's not fair," Hal protested, pointing at him as if he wanted to secure some kind of nonexistent bet on guessing his identity. "We're talking about Batman! By contract, he has trauma; he's not a loving man with a wife who waits for him every night to sleep like a couple in love."

The others burst out laughing, except for Kal, who still hadn't intervened, neither for good nor for ill. He wasn't participating, but that didn't stop him from listening. Perhaps he was a traumatized person, but he seemed to be the only one who imagined Batman as someone who, despite everything he'd been through, still had a motivation, who protected his identity for a greater good, as if he had something to protect.

Or perhaps his identity wasn't very relevant to him, and Batman was who he felt he truly was. That his lack of trust in others stemmed from a desire to control every detail of life to avoid harm.

"He's an emo millionaire, that's my take." Flash mimicked Bruce's pose. "And physically he must be average."

"What? Not at all," Hal and Arthur said in unison, but the brunette was the one who continued, "His whole face and body are covered, he must be rather unattractive."

"Or it's a creature"

"With powers like seeing the future and the ten possible paths."

Superman knew that enough was enough for today and stood up, looking at his friends as he headed towards the exit. "If he wanted us to know, he would have said so already, guys."

As he walked away, he could hear Green Lantern's laughter and a murmur, "And there goes Bats' number one defender." But Clark didn't stop walking until he heard his teammates suddenly change the subject.

"He must not have attended because he was looking after the gala at the Gotham theater; all the millionaires were going to gather there, and there's always some villain."

That was true; today was the gala, and she had declined to attend to cover it for the most obvious reason: if she found Batman, she knew everything would be under control. So, if something had happened, she shouldn't rush out as Superman to the rescue, or she'd have to listen for ten long, interminable minutes to the reasons why she shouldn't interfere in his affairs and city. Today, Kat and Lois were the ones attending.

While the others were investigating why Flash knew so much about celebrities, Hal changed the screen in the area where they were, playing the live video of the many millionaires who were gathering for another gala with positive purposes, raising funds for those most in need.

And Bruce Wayne's presence was being discussed by all the media outlets. The incident had occurred weeks earlier, and this was Wayne's first public appearance after staying out of the spotlight, so his presence at the charity gala was highly anticipated by the press, who loved the Prince of Gotham.

Furthermore, the theater was one of the places where the man was most often seen, which was a resounding "yes" to his attendance at the event.

Claro turned back to get a closer look at the screen. Although he could see everything happening from his seat, he was now just as, if not more, eager to see the prince of Gotham emerge from one of those luxurious cars that fans hailed as their "anthem." Besides, he knew for a fact that the man would make it through the gala; otherwise, the Daily Planet wouldn't have sent Lois and Cat to cover it just to chase an exclusive.

It was a matter of moments before Clark wondered if it was wise to be there watching a charity gala instead of getting things in order and continuing to work on protecting the Earth. Not that they were gathered around a screen like friends who had gotten together at some random bar to eat burgers while drinking beer and watching the game of the week.

The broadcast focused on the theater's main entrance, surrounded by lights, cameras, and a swarm of photographers and journalists ready to interview celebrities, politicians, and influential figures in Gotham and its surrounding areas. The entire spectacle was worthy of one of the most important and anticipated events of the year. Polished black cars pulled up one after another, and as the celebrities stepped out, spotlights shone down on them as if they were in a movie.

Tailor-made suits, well-known escorts, and meticulous attention to detail for every guest. Months of Clark's salary went into even the least expensive garment worn by the least influential attendee.

And everything unfolded in the same way, until he arrived. Bruce Wayne stepped out of a long, low, and silent car. A quick glance was enough to tell that it cost more than most apartments in Gotham, its body painted a deep, satin-matte black, so polished that the theater lights reflected it in soft glimmers, without any attempt to attract attention or be pretentious. In reality, Bruce preferred to ride his motorcycle, dress in several layers of clothing, and wear a helmet to blend in.

Bruce Wayne stepped out of the car with a smile worthy of any magazine of the day, a smile practiced for the media to make the best possible impression without him needing to utter a word that might reveal his less-than-sociable nature, even though no one knew it. It was a smile that said, "There's nothing here but a pretty face," so natural and genuine. And his perfectly tailored black suit, a bit looser on one arm due to the bandages from his recent accident. Clark was the only one who noticed. His tie was slightly crooked, as if he'd straightened it before getting out, perhaps after the stress of being surrounded by a crowd of people who would only want to use him as a spokesperson for their campaigns or as just another wallet to drain of money.

And yet, despite walking alone, yet with his usual elegance and enthusiasm, something caught Superman's attention. As soon as the cameras started flashing at Bruce, someone who was more than used to these situations since childhood, his smile dipped for a moment, imperceptible to the human eye, blinking several times as if overstimulation were something he'd grown accustomed to by force. Despite all this, Bruce remained perfectly still for a few seconds in the doorway, acting as if nothing bothered him.

It was just a normal day in the life of Bruce Wayne. Then he walked toward the paparazzi and media, ready to answer questions.

Clark smiled when Lois appeared on the broadcast and he was finally able to conduct his long-awaited interview. He knew that later, when the theater allowed, he and his friend would be able to get more out of her.

The broadcast filled the screen with small boxes showing real-time comments from social media.

"Bruce Wayne is sooooo handsome ❣️"

"I need that man in my life!!! 💗💗💗💗"

"His face looked so beautiful, oh my God Wayne, 🫦 I can't believe he doesn't have a single dark circle or blemish."

"I WAITED ALL DAY JUST TO SEE MY FAVORITE ANTHEM 🙈🙈 #Bruce_Wayne"

"Well, now we know Gotham is going crazy for that man," Hal whistled, reading the endless stream of comments appearing in real time. "And the other half sees him as an insufferable, irresponsible jerk who only has money because of his last name."

Clark didn't take his eyes off the screen.

Bruce leaned only slightly toward Lois and her companion, perfectly controlling his posture, offering precisely the right smile, the ideal angle for the cameras, and capturing the best possible shot. His movements appeared natural, but if anyone knew that Batman himself was standing before them, they would have understood that these movements were calculated to appear nonchalant, to ensure that no one would ask anything other than their own empty opinions.

If his true self were at work now, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't be answering Lois's questions about the importance of the fundraiser the way he was. Bruce would have argued that this wasn't just a social act, but a collaborative effort to fund the reconstruction of five centers in South Gotham and to raise money for the most vulnerable organizations in need of immediate attention. This fund would help cover needs for at least two years, among other things. It wasn't charity; it was an investment in social stability. It wasn't about lending their faces to improve their image—at least not his—but about doing good for the citizens.

Instead, Bruce replied, "Gotham always needs a little help. My team convinced me, since all the money raised goes to—" He paused, accompanied by a laugh that drew more camera flashes—"You know, the necessary programs," he added with a vague gesture, unable to recall the names. "I'm just here to support and make sure it's working. This city deserves to thrive."

He walked away, entering the theater, stopping abruptly and turning around to face the camera that hadn't stopped following him since the moment Alfred had parked the car. "Or at least that's what they explained to me while I was recovering... Under anesthesia."

It got laughs. Brucie Wayne was never going to change, as clueless as ever.

"Out of the question, that man would break his hand just trying to open the utility belt." Flash had turned off the transmission and went to see his teammates.

"And then," Hal added, joining the game, "I would pause for five minutes to read the batarang instructions."

The group's laughter erupted immediately. Predictably, Clark wasn't amused. The whole identity issue had pushed him to his limit, and he slipped away under the pretext of reviewing some reports with J'onn J'onzz. Anything to avoid listening to his friends spouting nonsense like they were doing now.

Flash, now fully in character, began his impersonation, moving from side to side while exaggerating, "If that guy were the fearsome Batman, the fights would be..." He cleared his throat and changed his tone to a dramatically ridiculous one, "Oh! Stop right there or I'll have to call my whole team to tell me how to finish you off."

"Driving the Batmobile, I would have already crashed it," Arthur added. "Perhaps that would explain why he's always using crutches."

And before leaving, doing his best not to overhear the conversation, Hal blurted out, "If that man were Batman, the city would have exploded by now."

Clark's jaw tightened. He wasn't one to get caught up in situations like this. He knew all too well what it was like to be judged solely by what the public saw, how everyone talked and assumed things that weren't true. It was so painful that he could empathize with Bruce Wayne even though he'd never met him, because whenever it came to him, Batman always came to his rescue.

He paused at the largest window in all of Watchtower, the one that faced the earth and revealed its perfection, the place they had sworn to defend and that all the heroes loved. Among all the lights, and using his vision, Gotham shone brightly today, though he knew the statistics didn't lie and that today would be no exception in the city's crime rate.

Gotham was not a place made for weak people, with a city that presents itself as bleak, decadent, with poverty, despair and mental illness.

"It can't just be that," he murmured, turning away from the city. Batman couldn't just be a being born to live in the shadows, nor could Bruce Wayne be in the media.

Three days later she was in her apartment talking to Lois while she was writing the final words of her note about the interview with Bruce at the gala, since after much patience the women managed to get more than the simple and empty words of the city's favorite himbo.

Meanwhile, Clark was on the sofa with a cup of tea, telling her everything that had happened in training, being overly emphatic about how he didn't think it was right how his teammates had judged Bruce.

"If she weren't your ex and best friend who knew how in love you are with Batman"

"I'm not in love," he said quietly and hesitantly, as if "liking" fell short of describing what he felt for someone who seemed to abhor all social interaction.

"Whatever you say," the woman set her laptop aside, removed her glasses, and sat down across from the man from Kansas. "I'd say you have a crush on that man. You shouldn't care what people say about him, Clark. He's emptier than Batman's words when they try to make him talk."

Clark opened his mouth to protest, but immediately closed it. Instead, he carefully, almost reverently, placed the cup on the table, knowing that if he applied more pressure than he knew he should, he'd have to clean it up.

"It's not that, Lois, it's just my sense of protection for everyone. Bruce Wayne doesn't deserve to be judged the way they did." She looked away, knowing her best friend was smiling. "He helps others even if it doesn't seem like it, with donations, foundations that no one seems to want to acknowledge the dedication he shows, with community programs."

Lois opened her mouth to counterattack with her point of view.

She closed it immediately only because Clark continued.

"And yes, he's clumsy and acts like he has air in his head." He looked at her again as he felt her hand on his head, caressing his curly black hair, "but that doesn't diminish the merit of all his actions."

"Clark," Lois observed him for a few seconds before softening her voice. "Bruce has a team to manage his image. He's not a cat in the rain that needs rescuing by Superman." She knew what the Kryptonian's gaze meant. "Batman doesn't need you to come to his defense either, and you"—her hand landed on his shoulder, covered by a white shirt, giving him a few reassuring taps, finishing her sentence—"you idealize people, Smallville. Even grumpy bats."

And she resumed her position in front of her laptop, turning it towards Clark to lighten the mood, smiling as she pointed to the main image of her note where Bruce was the protagonist, with his pale skin and his perfectly arranged brown hair, with unruly strands that seemed left on purpose and by Rao, blue eyes of the most beautiful color she had ever seen in the entire galaxy.

At certain angles the light made them almost silver, as if the coldest winter had been trapped in their gaze, that blue that acquired a silent depth, like ice that despite being surrounded by water never seemed to thaw.

But deep down, despite how beautiful they were, he could sense Bruce's immense desire to leave that place, as if the situation had overstimulated him and he was just looking for the moment to disappear after fulfilling his obligations.

"You should shut your mouth and blink, Clark," Lois had typed again, without looking at him and with a gentle humor that didn't seek to hurt. "I just wanted to know if it was a good photo, I want my article to sell enough for a few days off."

Claro reacted too late, hiding his face in his hands—a face he knew was flushed with embarrassment at being caught by Lois. Then he looked down at his mug, taking a sip as he continued listening.

"I'm starting to think your type is the enigmatic men of Gotham." I glanced up, observing out of the corner of my eye, and smiled resignedly. Clark was never going to shake off his savior complex.

I just hoped that when I met either of those names I wouldn't be disappointed.

"So," she finally said, "let's end this note before you start writing a philosophical ode about Bruce Wayne's eyes. I've had enough of your video calls fantasizing about Batman to put up with your new crush that you only saw once."

Clark chuckled softly, but didn't deny anything. He wanted to know everything. It was true that Wayne intrigued him, wanting to know what lay behind his absentminded and carefree attitude, but nothing could compare to everything he wanted to know about Batman, and he wasn't just talking about his appearance, but something deeper: his thoughts, his beliefs, what lay beneath the hero's suit, what drove him to act the way he did.

Wayne and his beautiful blue eyes were her current crush, but Batman was more than that. She longed to protect and understand Wayne, and with Batman, she yearned for the moment when she could, even for just a few moments, break down those unyielding walls and hold him, be his support, be able to tell him someday that he had always been there, that he wasn't alone and didn't deserve any of the things people were saying.

But even in his own mind, it was comical to tell Batman that he'd liked him from the moment they met, even after he'd taken him away from his city without ever showing any interest in being part of what would later become the League. At first, it seemed like admiration for his social work and how he wanted to save a city without hesitation, but over time—thanks to Lois and Jimmy, really—he realized that Batman talked about him too much, worried excessively about his well-being on missions, and seemed like his dog. And despite not always agreeing with him, and even arguing when things didn't seem fair, he never stopped empathizing.

Diana even told him that she wouldn't be surprised the day Batman called a meeting to discuss the topics of "Disadvantages of Falling in Love with a Co-worker" and to have a contingency plan for "How to Avoid Superman Looking at You Like You're the Last Ray of Sunshine on Earth."

"You worry too much about two people who can take care of themselves, Smallville." The woman sent the document to Perry for review and closed her laptop. "Well, Bruce and his ten bodyguards and his public relations team."

And now Clark sat there reading Lois's newspaper article for the twelfth time, while a few feet away, Lois was talking to none other than Bruce Wayne, who had come to discuss the far from superficial article about him. Only this time, it didn't seem like he was talking casually, but something deeper, as if Bruce Wayne wanted to make sure the woman wasn't trying to find out more about him.

The millionaire's response was brief, almost evasive, but not empty, because beyond words, the truth cannot be hidden: the Wayne Foundation has supported hospitals, community centers, and shelters for more years than half the eccentric figures who attended the event. This time, Wayne's funds will be used to rebuild five centers located in the south of the city, spaces that will finally become safe havens for families who need more than just a glance, who truly need a real change in their circumstances.

Bruce Wayne may not be the type to find the right words in front of microphones and cameras, nor may he memorize the script he was given a month ago. But his actions, even if he isn't always the best spokesperson for them, speak for him, even when his public image insists on reducing him to the 'pretty face' of Wayne Enterprises.

And perhaps, just perhaps, this is part of the charm that Gotham can enjoy in certain moments before night falls and going outside becomes a battlefield. The idea that, behind the suits and Bruce Wayne's awkwardness, there are still people willing to hold the city together when it needs them most.

Last night, not only were funds raised, but something important and worth reflecting on was also remembered. Even in a city like this, there are still those who believe it's worth trying.

Bruce Wayne has had the opportunity, since becoming an orphan at the age of eight, to flee a city that had destroyed everything a child could long for, the affection of parents, and yet here he remains, in a city he loves and that loves him, willing to leave his money in the hands of projects that will make a greater change in those who need it most.

At the end of the gala, Wayne was the biggest donor of the night. And perhaps, even though his gaze seemed lost and gave us plenty of material about how the desserts were the best part of the evening, Gotham should stop underestimating the fact that, sometimes, love for a city can outweigh the odds.

Wayne had entered as if it were just another fashion show, wearing a white silk shirt and black dress pants that accentuated his tall, slender figure, with the sleeves rolled up halfway, revealing that he was still bandaged after his fall from the yacht. Did he really need that much recovery time for something like that? Clark wondered as he watched him enter and walk straight to his friend's cubicle.

Jimmy and he exchanged glances, deciding to step back a bit to give the woman space to talk to the millionaire. Clark refused to use his powers to avoid overhearing more than anyone else would.

Bruce was sitting in one of the many office chairs, adjusting his sunglasses. Metropolis was undoubtedly a very bright city for someone used to rain and fog. He held a coffee in his hand, taking a large gulp as the woman finished reviewing it.

"Mr. Wayne," he began, his tone a mixture of surprise and doubt. "I certainly appreciate your coming. It's not common for someone with your busy schedule to travel to talk about this." He placed the newspaper with the note addressed to him in front of him.

Bruce tilted his head as if he hadn't memorized the text, pretending to read calmly. He skimmed each line, his jaw clenching for a moment when he reached the paragraph about community centers in South Gotham.

A line so brief that anyone would have missed it. But he was Batman, and nothing escaped his control.

A brief smile appeared, seconds later he was already looking at the woman with a gentle gaze "so you wrote about that" he didn't sound annoyed, nor grateful.

Just Bruce's usual tone when speaking to the media. But inside he wasn't happy; he was tired, alert, as if he were reading something that didn't quite convince him.

"I'm sorry to take up your time, Miss Lane, but well" He placed his coffee on the desk with extreme care, "my team did the best job, I'm just trying not to mess anything up in public."

Lois gave the man an analytical look. A man with his agenda wouldn't turn around just for this. Bruco continued.

"However, there's a small detail." His now cold blue eyes fixed on the reporter despite being covered by his glasses. "I don't know if an ordinary citizen would pay attention to the fact that the information about the southern centers wasn't included in any of the press materials, let alone at any point during the gala." Wayne moved close enough to murmur between them without appearing intimidating.

The silly magazine smile remained.

"That was shared among the foundation's voices and an announcement about it will be made to the public next week."

The woman understood the game they were playing and the true reasons behind his visit. It wasn't a compliment on her work. Bruce looked down for a second, returning to his original position, and held his coffee in an awkward, practiced gesture, taking another strong gulp.

Clark smelled the familiar aroma of coffee, bitter but with a hint of those sachets that replaced sugar.

"We all have good informants who tell us what we need to know." The woman joined in, holding her cup while barely raising one of her eyebrows. "And I have mine."

Bruce smiled once more without breaking the act of a clueless millionaire.

"I suppose so, I've never been good at remembering numbers, they just tell me what to do and I do it." He gripped his coffee more firmly. "The right people make sure my money gets where it needs to go. And you shouldn't know that."

A tense pause settled over the office. Jimmy thought it was time to intervene, but instead, he was held back by Clark, who tried to ignore the situation but wasn't indifferent to it. He was looking out for both of them.

"If I had said anything about the—" Her fingers clicked softly, moving closer to the note to read it once more, pretending to search for the word. "Southern centers. I probably would have revealed information that shouldn't have come out until now."

"I haven't written anything I can't back up, Mr. Wayne," the woman finally began to test the waters, her voice devoid of fear. "My sources were reliable; I don't see the problem with practicing my profession."

"So, Miss Lane," without losing his courtesy, he lowered his voice, and for a moment his smile faded, "how much more do you know that it's not in any official report either?"

The way he said it wasn't a threat, but a reminder that confidential information existed for a reason. Especially when it concerned the most influential people in Gotham.

"Sources are valuable, but there's a fine line between using them with my name attached."

He took another sip of coffee, finishing his venti. Clark noticed how his hand wasn't trembling at all, and how for a moment his free hand began to open and close rapidly. He wanted absolute control.

"My intention was never to harm your work," he said firmly, without taking his eyes off her. "Only to tell what deserves to be told, what everyone needs to know. Where the thousands of dollars they spend on what was called a charity gala actually go."

Bruce looked at her then in a way very few people see, just for a second. This was Bruce Wayne, this was Batman, someone who couldn't stand losing control of anything, of feeling like he was being spied on by the press. Of feeling like he hadn't taken good enough care of himself.

Clark felt the tension. Lois had to agree with him; Wayne wasn't a fool.

"Journalism must be responsible, it must also know when to stop." Her composure returned. "Gotham is complicated, and you're not always going to find people coming up to you with a coffee to talk, Miss Lane."

"Trust me, I know how to measure those risks." Lois didn't blink.

"You know, I chose to come with you first." The formalities vanished for a moment as she gestured with her hand, searching for the words she'd been told to say. If, at this point, Lois still believed in her facade, "there's information that exists and people like you can use it, but there's also information that shouldn't be made public. Especially if it comes from... unofficial channels."

Lois clenched her jaw, but her posture did not change.

"I didn't publish addresses, I didn't publish names. I didn't publish internal figures or anything that would negatively compromise their image," he responded calmly. "If their concern is the safety of the centers or the people, believe me, I share it."

"Then we can agree on something," he said, rising from his seat and leaning firmly on the desk with his hands. "In Gotham, we don't need anyone else investigating where they shouldn't; we have enough of our own."

Clark, from a distance, adjusted the bridge of his glasses. He was ready to go to Lois's defense.

While she held his gaze.

"I hope this isn't a threat to ask me to quit my job, sir." A sip from her cup made her pause, setting the newspaper aside. "Gotham deserves the truth, and I'm sure you're not hiding anything. Everyone loves the Prince of Gotham who's told what to do and what not to do."

For the first time in the entire conversation, his expression remained still, so still that if someone were to say he was beginning to be possessed by a certain masked bat, it would have been unbelievable. His fingers drummed softly on the desk, precisely placing each one down before lifting it again.

"Tell whoever is giving you that information to understand exactly what game they're playing. Gotham isn't kind to people who think the city is a puzzle; on every corner of my city there's someone who wants to make it just another footnote in the daily bread section."

It wasn't just for her, it was for her source.

"Some pieces can't be moved without breaking something, and my team doesn't like being an open book that anyone can read. I'm not a threat, but I should be careful who I get information from. Grant should know the same."

And then, as if a current ran through him, the mask returned and Bruce exhaled a soft laugh, running his hand through his hair as he heard his phone ring with a ringtone that he had to answer immediately.

"What do I know?" she said, taking out the device to leave while answering, "I can barely remember where I parked the car today."

Clark watched him silently, and Jimmy got up and walked towards the dark-haired woman.

Lois didn't lower her gaze; on the contrary, she extended her hand to say goodbye to Bruce. He accepted it without hesitation.

"My source is fine."

"Then I trust that they will both continue to do the right thing."

And the man left, coffee in hand, the other on the phone. Alfred had appeared at the perfect moment to inform him about the research he had been conducting since the beginning of the year, the primary reason for adding functions to his contact lenses.

When Jimmy Olsen arrived with Lois, he had already left.

Passing by Clark, Bruce turned to look at him without breaking stride, smiling one last time. "We all need to take care of each other."

Bruce Wayne stood in front of the elevator, pressing the button insistently, letting out a sigh each time the door didn't open. It would have seemed like foolish impatience in any other rich man.

In him, time was a precise measure, a time that spared Batman. A single second could mean the difference between a civilian's life, between stopping the Joker, dodging Ivy, or solving a riddle. In his city, not a second was wasted.

When the doors finally opened, she took long strides inside, almost exaggeratedly clumsy but wide enough to make anyone think she just wanted to leave and spend the rest of the day arranging her luxury clothes.

And that was all that could be seen. That is, if Kal wasn't in the office watching more than the human eye could perceive.

Wayne briefly removed his sunglasses, and it was clear he hadn't been doing well. The dark circles under his eyes were so pronounced and deep that purple and black were practically part of the bags. His smile had vanished, replaced by straight, expressionless lips, even though he was on a call. He didn't seem to have slept in so long that his grayish complexion only conveyed the weight of his work.

Her beautiful blue eyes were tense, as if her brain had been working nonstop for days, and it was clear that if she allowed herself to close her eyes for a few seconds longer than she should, her body would fall asleep from accumulated fatigue.

Bruce needed a layer of carefully applied makeup to conceal his exhaustion. Gone was the charming man he portrayed in magazines; in his solitude, Bruce Wayne vanished, revealing the weary vigilante who had lived on the brink of collapse for so long.

The hand holding the phone wasn't trembling, but only because she was forcing it not to, as the words she was receiving seemed to have displeased her. The other hand, holding the now-empty coffee, opened and closed with a small, involuntary tic.

He just wanted to get home, lock himself in the cave, and continue his research. He'd been in so many places with so many people these past few days that he felt overstimulated.

Smiling for so many hours was torture.

Clark analyzed those things so quickly that he was grateful Bruce didn't notice. When he reached Lois's side, ready to help her relax, the comment caught him completely off guard.

"You've got a thing for men who no one knows who they are behind Smallville. With a penchant for Gotham natives."

"Wait," Jimmy turned to look at him with the strangest of reactions. "Do you like Bruce Wayne?"

The clouds seemed to crawl over the buildings, electrical charges that caused the citizens of Metropolis to take refuge in nearby premises; others had evacuated, forced by protocols.

The streets were empty, except for the members of the League and, of course, Lex Luthor.

Towers of steel and glass reflected the night, shattering it. An electric hum rippled through the air, like an invisible swarm. An ordinary man, with a tool too large for any mortal, but one that Luthor would use until Superman was no longer a part of this city.

Nor from the earth.

"The energy signatures are doubling up," reported Cyborg, a new member operating remotely on the League's computer, which is why his voice had a metallic echo. "It's using satellite signal waves to replicate the pulse. If it reaches the third phase, it will not only distort perception."

"Translation," Green Lantern murmured as he adjusted his ring.

"We're going to fight blind," Diana said, preparing herself for whatever might come.

They were all there because Luthor's device had a particular feature: it was designed to deal with anything related to Clark, so the electricity was designed to reduce his powers.

Batman didn't respond; he was one step ahead in these circumstances. They were the result of months of work, sleepless nights, minute adjustments to filter interference and reconstruct signals so they wouldn't be a hindrance in these situations.

The reason he was so tired, since his months-long investigation had led him to this situation, was that he knew Luthor was up to something when he decided that asking WE for help would be beneficial for both companies.

The reason why he couldn't afford to fail, or all his work would be for nothing.

Her eyes burned behind her contact lenses, constantly processing information about the various dangers, while insomnia scorched her skin, but nothing in her posture betrayed it. Only the rigidity. Her mind worked nonetheless; her brain didn't process information as usual, in a cold, mechanical way.

Only the slight tic of his right hand opening and closing next to his belt. A tic that did not go unnoticed by Clark.

Oliver and Diana watched the central device after seeing Clark descend to the ground; they knew it was in one of the towers, anchored and connected to floating drones that moved with surgical precision, protected while Lex did his thing.

"Lex is secondary, the machine is not," Oliver concluded.

"Don't underestimate the human controlling it," Batman replied sharply, starting to move forward.

Nobody argued; they knew him well enough to know that if he sounded like that right now, it was because he had analyzed a hundred scenarios inside, and few ended up with one hundred percent of the equipment undamaged.

The streetlights distorted before his eyes, the buildings seemed to bend like liquid mirrors; whatever power Superman possessed was being affected. He clenched his jaw.

"My vision"

"He's got it figured out," Bruce replied. "Adjust to the secondary signal and don't look directly at the drones. Not only will Superman's powers be weakened."

From a distance, Luthor spoke to the League, laughing, "And all it took was one man with a box of toys to take them apart."

Flash tried to move forward, but his senses were bombarded with so many conflicting signals that he had to stop abruptly to avoid crashing. The energy wasn't just ambient; it carried the cause of his impaired senses.

And the fog hadn't helped.

It was impossible to rely on the senses, and as long as this was not contained, fighting was in vain; there was no power or weapon that could do its work while each action failed to be carried out.

And yet, Batman moved forward first. His steps were measured, deliberate before being taken, as he did everything in his mind and body to avoid a misstep, a tremor—everything except his right hand, which kept opening and closing against his glove, showing how difficult it was for him. And nothing did he hate more than appearing weak.

"So many years invincible, and so many years without falling," Lex's laughter echoed through the city, "it only took one man to remind them that they are not gods, just with the use of technology and biology."

Her contact lenses kept readjusting because of the signal, over and over again. They were microscopic, constant adjustments; her eyes burned, not figuratively, they burned, since each blink was like running sandpaper over an open wound.

Beneath the hood, dark circles cast deep shadows, so pronounced that his exhaustion would be obvious if he were to remove it; even he would admit he was ineffective at this moment. But he couldn't afford to give in.

"We must move." Diana brandished her sword, ready to confront the drones. But before the others could follow her lead, she was stopped by the bat.

Ultimately, this wasn't about moving them around like chess pieces, it was about taking care of them.

"Don't do it," Batman replied, without even looking at her, continuing to walk through the fog as if he could see her with absolute clarity, even though if they looked as he did, their condition wasn't much better despite all the technology he possessed. "If you fly or use any of your powers, the drones will mark you as a priority target and adjust the frequency."

"This will make them weaker, so much so that it will be impossible for them to move," Victor added. "You just need to give me a few more minutes to weaken them so that you can use your powers, at least to an appropriate degree."

"And you?" Flash took a step, so measured and full of helplessness. "Why isn't it affecting your powers?"

"They don't exist"

For the first time, they learned something about him, something that made them exchange glances despite the tense situation that demanded their full attention. Diana worried. How could their greatest strategist not have any powers? And all that he had endured on missions? Aquaman wondered, how could he possibly anticipate every scenario?

They couldn't see it, but Batman was already suffering the effects of the distortion; the lampposts seemed to lean toward him, and the ground seemed to breathe. The contact lenses did their best to correct all of that, creating a constant stream of data, maps, and signals.

High atop Luthor Corp, the man adjusted the device's core. The reactor pulsed as if it were an artificial heart.

"Stay where you are, I don't need to move today to see you fall."

His armor shone in shades of green.

"You know what's ironic?" Lex said. "That the only one among you who really understands what's going on is probably the one you trust the least."

Clark clenched his jaw, growing increasingly fed up with the situation. He couldn't just stand idly by; they had to act before things got worse.

Even if that meant earning Batman's displeasure.

"Cybor" spoke in a low voice, "You must prioritize neutralizing the dialing drones, the secondary box until those frequencies stabilize."

The young man sighed in frustration. "I'm on it, Batman, but Luthor keeps changing the keys in real time. Just wait a bit."

"Batman," Luthor said, as if pronouncing the name were an elegant insult, "I must congratulate you, your technology almost reaches my heels. But I was also prepared for you."

An unbearable burning sensation went straight to his eyes, constant, deep, one that tore the air from his lungs although his body did not stop moving, beginning the second phase by running through the streets towards the building, opening his eyes only when it was time to dodge what at this point he did not know if it was real or not.

"In that case, sync with me," he said, feeling in his pocket for a hook to start climbing the building. "I'm going to open the manual ports and I need you to duplicate the signal, to send an echo. If you make the system think the pulse has reached its maximum, it will stabilize the frequency."

"I can do it, but I need a satellite tower as a rebound."

"Mine," Superman replied without hesitation. "I can't fly, but I can stand. I'm the one Luthor wants to eliminate, and with kryptonite in his hands, I won't be of any help even if I can move."

And he did, while in the distance Luthor trusted his system and prepared to descend, disappearing into his laboratory for only a few minutes.

And so Superman closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as his body tried to resist the distortion, which he managed after many attempts by Cyborg connecting his signal through him, using his biology as an anchor.

It was risky, but it worked for the time being, and that was enough to get something done. Every second counted.

"Green Lantern," Batman continued, "I need you to contain any energy leaks; nothing can escape from that reactor."

"Do you want me to create a dome that size?" The man smiled with determination, "I've got it."

An emerald glow surrounded the tower, holding his pulse despite knowing that inside that dome was the bat beginning to climb, having to make pauses.

"Wonder Woman," Batman was saying, his voice by this point beginning to sound different; the close exposure was starting to damage his voice transformer. "When I manage to stabilize the frequency, there will only be one chance, and you must cut the main cables right when I tell you to." He paused, noticing the throbbing burning in his eyes. "If you do it too soon, the pulse will go straight to the ground."

She nodded. She knew that this time it wasn't just another plan; she was placing her trust in them.

"And you, Flash," he continued, "I need you to be ready to move any civilians who may still be exposed, anyone within a twenty-kilometer radius. There will be a few seconds where the energy discharge will be on the ground."

"Aquaman" continued until he reached the middle of the tower, "Your trident can help redirect the energy in case Wonder Woman fails to hit it at the right moment; this is a plan B. If the structure collapses, civilians will die, but if the energy rebounds, we die."

Oliver clicked his tongue.

"Okay, so far I've heard about redirecting, blocking, and resisting. Where do I fit into the equation?"

"The drones have relay nodes, so if you destroy the right ones, the system will take longer to recalibrate. I need you to get rid of at least three of them without Luthor increasing the attack."

"What if I fail?" Oliver asked, though his smile said otherwise, and he drew his bow, ready to start moving towards a nearby building.

"Don't fail."

His gloves gripped the cold metal, every movement a conscious decision where instinct had no place, only calculation and pain, gnawing behind his eyes.

If his body screamed, his mind forcefully silenced it.

"Phase two stabilizing," Cyborg reported, his voice. "But Luthor's system is forcing the system, not letting go, it's as if he wants it to."

"He wants me to go up there so he can attack the rest of the League," Batman replied through gritted teeth, interrupting Victor's words, "and I will."

Above, the reactor pulsed, surrounded by those robots that guarded it while simultaneously trying to continue affecting the powers of others.

Lex emerged from the tower like a king surveying his empire, his green armor still gleaming, bathed in the sickly glow of the kryptonite embedded in his chest. Batman reached the top floor of the tower as soon as he arrived.

"I knew you'd come first." Lex waited for him to get up so he could look him in the eyes, walking calmly until he was standing in front of him. Face to face. "Because you're the only one stubborn enough to think you can win."

Batman didn't respond; it wasn't worth it.

"Your problem," Lex continued, walking to the edge of the platform ready to attack, "is that you think you can handle this." He glanced at the League, his expression twisting into a mocking smile. "They'll start to think so too, but you know you're the least needed."

Clark clenched his fists from afar, hearing the taunt through the microphone. Diana gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to strike.

"Cyborg," he said, his voice deep and slightly distorted by the proximity to the device. At times, his real voice could be heard. Bruce Wayne speaking: "When I give you the signal, execute the echo."

"I'll be watching, but this is going to hurt."

Green Lantern gritted his teeth, reinforcing the dome. Diana, already prepared for the attack, stood firm, knowing there was only one chance. Barry trembled with tension, ready to run to protect civilians. Arthur held the trident tightly, electricity etched onto his skin. Oliver, on a nearby rooftop, aligned the arrow toward the first node.

The league was prepared to defend and work as a team.

Luthor grabbed him by the neck, lifted him a few inches, just enough to humiliate him. Batman's boots hit the ground with a thud as he threw him, landing near the edge, threatening an imminent fall.

"Look how wonderful it can be," he said, taking steps until he was close to them once more, whispering to them as if this were a business meeting, "You should understand me, you're still one of us."

The kryptonite in its reactor glowed from centimeters away.

The contact lenses vibrated, trying to find their balance. A ray of pain pierced his skull, yet his eyes did not close.

"You see," he said, stepping back and gesturing to the reactor as if he were creating a work of art, "Metropolis was a testing ground, and as you probably already know, Gotham was the case study. If only Bruce Wayne weren't such an idiot that he wouldn't cooperate."

Bruce knew what she meant. He'd been on this case for months, and now all the pieces were falling into place.

"Nobody cares how charities stay open, nobody follows the money, except people like you." The man looked up at the sky, stepping on one of the bat's hands, "and that didn't suit me."

Batman knew all this. The southern centers weren't charities, not on his part at least, but rather, for Luthor, they were breeding grounds, perfect places where he could test behavioral patterns and gauge how dependent they might become when Luthor decided to act as their savior. But Batman decided to take a closer look, and, like Bruce Wayne, to work toward their salvation, ensuring it was a form of justice, not one where they had to see him as a god who came to save them, but rather one that empowered them to become their own saviors.

"So I had to speed up this process"

Batman used his utility belt, launching one of his smoke bombs, breaking free from the trap and running towards the drones, even though at this point he could not see or reason as he should.

"The world believes it's investigated for justice, but the truth is it's driven by stimuli." He stood up to follow the hooded figure. "And I've just created the perfect stimulus, where inexhaustible energy will cause absolute dependence."

"On the count of three," Batman muttered, despite knowing that this moment was being detected by the drones.

"Today it destroyed a city," he continued emotionlessly, throwing his toys to the bat. "Tomorrow it will feed a city, then a country, and when everyone needs it, every city, every hospital, organization, or home. I will decide who sees the sunrise, without the great heroes standing in my way."

"Three"

"Batman," Cyborg warned, "You're too close to the reactor; the explosion will hit you."

Lex frowned and Batman ignored the warnings.

"Of the"

The drones swarmed Bruce, who tried to defend himself. Not to escape unscathed and victorious, but to buy time.

"One! Wonder Woman!"

And then Bruce's whole plan began to unfold, but before that, Luthor, before falling, in desperation launched a kryptonite beam straight at Kal, launching himself at a tired, but not defeated, Bruce Wayne.

Batman barely raised his face.

"It was never about winning, Luthor," his voice finally broke through, revealing his identity. Fortunately for him, he was so furious his fists kept clinking. "It was about stopping you from doing it."

Oliver released the first arrow, its tip exploding silently as it pierced the first node. Cyborg executed the echo, and that was the signal for her to leap forward, her sword flashing in the lightning, severing the main cables with a precision that elicited sighs of relief. The reactor expelled the energy, which then sought an outlet, descending.

Barry disappeared into the scene, and in less than a blink, the few remaining unprotected civilians were swept away from the impact into safe zones, one after another, leaving a whirlwind in their wake.

At the same time, Aquaman plunged his trident into the metallic floor, redirecting the falling energy. Sparks flew across him like battle scars, but he continued to withstand the blast as if he were holding an enraged god.

"Close it completely!" Bruce managed to push Lex aside as soon as the drones were shot down thanks to Oliver. And knowing what was coming, Hal reinforced the dome, revealing a fiery green against the enclosed storm.

The reactor collapsed inwards, with the other heroes ready to act to save their comrade.

The dome shook.

And it exploded without turning towards the city.

The contact lenses began to recalibrate frantically, overloading the optic nerve. The world split in two, and for the first time in years, Bruce screamed at the explosion—but it was from his contact lenses. He had to lift his hood to avoid serious damage to his corneas, leaving his face, except for his hair, exposed.

Oliver launched his last arrow, this time at the device, making sure to dismantle it and let the League move and act.

A blast went out, hitting both men directly.

Clark had been injured in his arm by the impact of Luthor's kryptonite, and yet he acted immediately, as did the rest of his companions.

Everyone rushed to Batman's aid. Although Superman could hear him, his heartbeat was so weak that he feared the worst.

The clouds, now broken apart, frayed above the skyscrapers. The electricity was gone, but the metallic smell lingered in the air. Inside the building, both bodies lay sprawled; Lex was slumped against the twisted chassis behind the generator. Batman was motionless, lying face down, his cape in tatters. His armor was cracked along one side, as if something had bitten into it, and his pale skin was finally visible, though the burns were prominent amidst a trail of scars from his missions.

Superman arrived first, flying so low he didn't have to brake, stopping just inches away to check his vital signs. He released Green Arrow, who had been aiming at Luthor the entire time.

"I've got you, so just breathe, you don't need to do anything else."

Diana fell beside him immediately afterwards, but turned to hold Luthor to ensure with her lasso that Lex could be pulled as far away from Superman as possible given how exposed he was at that moment to kryptonite.

Although the damage didn't seem to be on his mind, all he cared about now was keeping Bruce alive.

A broken groan interrupted the small circle. Lex Luthor was shifting under the pressure of Diana's lasso, but smiling, because of course this wasn't the end of his plans.

"Look at them, so glorious, so fragile"

Oliver drew the bow without thinking, and if he weren't a person of principle he would have released his arrow. "Not one more word, Luthor, that was enough."

His lip was bleeding, but he kept talking, because that was the last thing he would lose.

"This was just the second step, measurement. Every second they took to react, every variable, every idiot who thinks their technology will surpass my intelligence."

"Your game is over, no matter what you say."

Lex smiled weakly.

"You don't understand, woman," the noose tightened. "I know how much it costs to break them. Always so moral, and yet they let the human do all the work, again and again." Lex mocked them. "Until one day I don't come back. That's why your kind disgust me."

A green beam streaked across the sky as Barry landed beside it. Hal completely closed the dome to prevent any incident while Diana handcuffed Lex with metal tempered by her own hands.

Metropolis breathed a sigh of relief. Hal and Diana would make sure to take Luthor to the authorities.

Oliver and Arthur would check that the civilians had not suffered any casualties, assuring them that leaving was safe.

"We'll meet at Watchtower. As soon as you have any reports," Diana looked at Batman, "please tell us."

Superman finally lifted him up, with a gentleness that did not seem to belong to a god.

One hand behind his back and the other under his legs. As if the slightest mistake could break him.

Bruce didn't protest, and that was what worried him the most.

Only when he contacted Cyborg to be transported to the intensive care infirmary, leaving the unconscious body on the stretcher, did he notice a detail.

Batman opened his eyes in a reflex to stay alive. And even though his cowl was askew, his contact lenses had exploded, and for a few microseconds Clark could see him.

Amidst the blood, black stains from the explosion, and her makeup, there they were. Beautiful blue eyes, cold yet irritated, determined to keep going.

And if Clark had to say anything, it was that those eyes would never have any other owner than Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham.

Cyborg didn't ask about Batman, nor did he make any comments; he simply followed emergency medical protocols to get him to the intensive care unit. Clark left the room as soon as the body was received by the medical drones, which began precisely cutting through the damaged armor to assess the actual condition underneath, scanning before issuing a diagnosis.

The drones removed the last section of the damaged hood, and before the man, Bruce stood exposed. The dark circles under his eyes were so deep and purple, his cheekbones were sunken, his thinness was noticeable in the abdominal area, his lips were dry as a sign of dehydration, burns had damaged much of his left side, and his right arm was injured.

It was an injury that hadn't healed. During those days, Bruce Wayne had to appear to donate thousands of dollars.

After reading the report and letting the drones do their work, Cyborg withdrew. Superman remained there, sitting with his head in his hands, praying to Rao that Bruce would be alright.

"Hey... his vital signs are weak, but stable," he tried to hide the soft echo of genuine concern as he continued, "he's dehydrated, under extreme metabolic stress, has burns, and damage to his eyesight that will require intervention and rest." One of his hands rested on the Kryptonian's shoulder, offering comfort, "blast wave trauma and chronic exhaustion. But he'll be okay."

Clark could breathe for a moment. He wasn't going to move from there until he could see him and talk to him.

She wanted to get his attention, to tell him he was a complete idiot for risking her life and almost killing her. But on the other hand, she just wanted to hug him and thank Rao for keeping him alive.

"Cyborg, what you saw there, about who he was."

The young man stepped forward, "What are you talking about? I just saw Batman looking calmer than he's been in all these years."

His sense of humor made him chuckle a little, as he continued waiting for the bat to recover. During that time, he focused on sending the report to Diana and the rest of the team. He knew he had to stay put, not only because he needed to see Bruce awaken with his own eyes, but also because he had to prevent him from escaping as soon as he could put a foot on the ground without falling. He wanted to continue the investigation and prepare a plan for Lex's next move.

And he would be there to prevent it, or at least to offer him company and be the one to lead him to the cave. He would be offering a hand, support, his warmth to Batman.

To Bruce Wayne. Those eyes were unrecognizable, and although he couldn't doubt it, he now understood how complicated it was for Batman to reveal his identity, why his voice shouldn't sound like the real one, how Bruce was a silly mask of a millionaire who had the stupidest accidents and with that justified all his injuries or new scars.

Bruce Wayne's bandaged arm was the result of a mission that ended with him dislocating it. He was so stubborn that he was back at it again after only two weeks.

Because his name had to be carefully guarded, protected like a treasure that no one should touch. Bruce was just a human being in every fiber of his being, a child who had died with his parents in that incident that was never truly forgotten, that haunted him day and night.

Batman hadn't become his shield, a refuge from himself and the world. Batman was all he had, all he could control, where walls and mistrust made sense to avoid what he considered his purpose.

Bruce hadn't built a secret identity to protect Batman, he had built it to protect Bruce.

It didn't mean the same thing if they knew Flash was a research scientist in the criminal and forensic science division. It meant Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and public darling, who was nothing but a perfect smile. A broken child made of porcelain and banknotes who grew up to become Gotham's public fantasy.

If the world knew that the man who joked awkwardly at social events was the same one who came back with broken bones, blood on his suit—both his own and someone else's—who never rested and who gave his life to uphold his values, there would be nowhere to hide, nowhere to breathe; everyone would be looking for him, and he would be a danger.

He stared out the window from the watchtower. There, the planet spun calmly, as if nothing had changed after Batman sacrificed his life—for the twentieth time that year—as if there wasn't a man down below who had spent his entire life trying to hold up a world that never gave him back his stability.

He knew the media better than most people, and Bruce Wayne was never immune to criticism. His trauma would never be allowed to rest with his parents.

Clark placed a hand on the glass, observing the motionless body on the stretcher. The pile of bandages covering his body, the rigidity in his jaw even in sleep, as if even unconscious he couldn't let his guard down. He was in a constant struggle to get up and put on his suit, to flee, and to analyze for hours what had gone wrong.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, though Bruce couldn't hear him.

He felt sorry for having seen.
For having crossed, even accidentally, the border he protected so fiercely. But deep down, it had only increased his admiration and love for Batman.

He knew what it felt like to not belong anywhere, but his greatest motivation was to make the world a better place.

Hours later, Diana was the first to appear in the Tower's waiting room. She said nothing upon entering, not even mentioning how the situation with Luthor ended. She simply stood with her arms crossed, looking through the glass, later resting her head against it.

"You men think you can do anything."

Minutes later, Arthur and Hal walked together down the hall, talking in hushed tones until silence enveloped them as well. They sat down next to Clark, trying to cheer him up. Barry arrived last, uncharacteristically still, but knowing that now was not the time to talk.

Oliver was on Earth finishing giving statements to the media.

No one wanted to go in yet; looking at him through the glass was already too much. Now it was dark, so no one knew the reality of his situation, much less what he looked like.

"Well, any news?" Hal asked quietly.

Clark denied it.

"He is stable, but exhausted." The guilt for not having done something sooner was eating him up. "There was no damage that cannot be treated with surgery and a long rest, one that will take a long time."

And everyone in that room knew what that meant; Batman was never going to allow himself any time.

"Maybe we should make sure he doesn't run away as soon as he opens his eyes," Barry said, rubbing his hands together.

Arthur snorted through his nose, but not in mockery of the situation, but because he knew it was a reality "we know he will do it".

"I'll be here the whole time, don't worry about it," Clark replied in seconds. It was a decision he had made without needing to consult anyone.

Nothing would move him from that place. His greatest concern was preserving Bruce's well-being, even at the expense of himself.

"You can't be here every week, Boy Scout, we have to take turns at least for the first few days." Diana stepped back from the glass to look directly at the metahuman.

"Or when I'm out of danger," Arthur added, at least to offer him some reassurance, "come on man, let us help you."

Superman agreed after thinking about it for a few minutes. But for now, he wouldn't stop watching over Bruce; he wasn't going to move until he saw him wake up and had a conversation with him.

When the others left to follow the protocols, Clark entered the room where Bruce was resting, sat in the chair next to the stretcher, and from then on he barely moved except for the essential, changing shifts for only half an hour to carry out his vigilance as a hero; the other days it was his friends who took care of the world.

At first glance Bruce seemed so calm, but every one of his heartbeats was analyzed by Kal-El, being the only thing that still kept him calm.

Like Superman, he had to invent a family emergency to justify his absence, working remotely without leaving his hospital bed. Jimmy and Lois had sent messages showing their support, encouraging him to stay calm and composed.

He slept right there when exhaustion overcame him. The only constant was the image of Bruce motionless, silently repairing himself as he always had. The days slipped by unnoticed; perhaps more than a week had passed in which Bruce hadn't moved at all, not even his fingers lifted.

The automated lights switched between night and day, but inside there was only Bruce's breathing, the medical vital signs, but he knew he was fighting. Clark didn't realize when he started resting his head on Bruce's pale hand, but he could sleep more comfortably.

Sometimes it wasn't just the two of them; sometimes the scene was almost absurd. Barry would leave a deck of cards on the table and pretend to play with Batman, losing a game to him just to make Hal laugh, who, despite not being the best at getting along with "Spooky," kept him company.

I knew he would have done the same.

Victor brought a new blanket because the previous one "wasn't up to the task," replacing it with a thicker one. Arthur left food in case the patient woke up hungry. And Diana was the one who most often offered to care for him, spending most of her breaks there, telling Batman that it was the first time she'd seen him resting in all the years she'd known him.

Small gestures that said what no one wanted to say aloud. But everything was done in the dark, respecting their decision not to reveal their identity.

As his week and a half had passed, Clark began to think this was an eternity. It was just the two of them as night fell; everyone else had gone out on patrol, especially in Gotham.

And then Bruce opened his eyes heavily, feeling pain throughout his body, remembering what had just happened to him and how he now found himself there. Intensive care in the watchtower.

His health had indeed been delicate.

His hand moved to sit up, but something heavy was on top of him, preventing him from doing so. Besides, every muscle ached. When he turned his head, he reacted instinctively, letting out a groan of pure pain as he stumbled away, hurting himself in the process.

Strong, large hands held him by the waist, treating him like the most delicate being that could ever exist. There stood Clark, his eyes weary from so many sleepless nights, gazing at him.

Bruce then remembered he wasn't wearing a mask, and his breath caught in his throat. He'd been discovered. His chest tightened with that childlike instinct, like that night, like the boy who could do nothing but watch.

The same feeling of being without walls, with nothing between him and the world, while Superman held him tenderly, a genuine concern that he could only believe—caught in his panic—was pity. His fingers tried to escape, but the pain was so intense that his body betrayed him for the second time in weeks, and all he managed was hyperventilation.

"By Rao Bruce, you're alive, you're safe."

But that wasn't going to go away just by listening to words. Bruce looked away, searching for something, anything but those blue eyes that were looking at him as if he were someone he had to save, just another civilian who needed to be cared for.

As if seeing it meant acknowledging that he was afraid of not being in control of the situation.

"It's been almost two weeks, B, you haven't moved, fighting like you always do." Clark laid him down while still holding him, moving far enough away to give him his space. "I couldn't leave here, I'm sorry, but you had me so worried."

Bruce glanced down at his hand, where Clark had rested for eleven days. A knot formed in his chest, signaling danger.

Clark spoke again, lowering his voice even more. As if the world would shatter if he raised it. "You don't have to say anything, not about that. I don't care who's behind it all, Batman. I don't mind seeing you like this. Just..."

For a moment, their eyes met, not as allies, but as people. And so the silence stretched on, Bruce's only reaction a grip of panic, of despair at having been so weak as to do nothing for eleven days.

His mind raced, locked in his thoughts until Clark added in a whisper.

"Just don't try to get up without my help again, okay?"

Bruce nodded, and so, resting his head on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, he began to ask about the mission's results and how the world had progressed while he recovered. At no point did he ask about his own condition.

Lex was in custody under heavy guard. Diana and Hal had testified about the weaponry and technology involved. Arthur had assisted with the civilian damage reports. Barry had spent countless shifts taking turns with the others to watch over Gotham.

While Victor was still analyzing the remains of the box.

Hours later, the door slid open, and Bruce regretted not demanding that Clark put his helmet on him. Diana entered first, without her battle armor, her composure masking a hidden concern. Behind her were Hal and Barry.

The reactions were immediate, but a hush fell as soon as all the heroes' eyes fell upon Batman's face. There were no exclamations, no dramatic surprise. It was a truth that simply dawned on them all at once.

Hal was the first to react, though not with words, or he might have sent Bruce running. Or he might have rushed to continue their strained relationship. His brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and concern that he didn't even try to hide; with Batman, those tactics didn't work. For years he'd watched Batman endure blows, explosions, impossible injuries, but now all he could see was Bruce Wayne sitting there, breathing heavily, clutching his own arm as if the pain were a living creature clinging to him. It had hit him in a completely different way, one that made him regret all the times he'd joked about his powers.

He was just a human. No, Batman was more than that.

Barry swallowed. He didn't think about the billionaire he'd laughed at so long ago; he remembered the guy who'd kept fighting with a dislocated arm, who'd returned to the mission two weeks later, as if his body were disposable. All those hours he'd spent working overtime, obsessed with secret identities.

He wanted to approach him and say something awkward but sincere, something like, "So you weren't so stupid, Bruce," but a single glance was enough to understand that talking too much could also break something fragile. And that wasn't Batman; it was his mind.

Diana, who also considered him a friend, understood the weight of duty, the burden of symbols, but she also knew that no warrior should forget that he is human. She took just one step forward, without invading, without imposing herself, simply making it clear that she was there. Not as an Amazon, but simply as someone who saw the man and respected him. She embraced him gently when their eyes met and she could confirm that he was on the verge of breaking.

It was only seconds.

Clark was about to speak up to offer him his words and shoulders, reaffirming that everyone was there for him regardless of the fact that they had just discovered what Bruce least wanted.

Then the inevitable happened, the walls were rebuilt.

His breathing was controlled, not because he was calm, but because he was forcing himself to be. Batman returned to his posture, not because the pain had gone, but because he needed to hide it beneath his capes. And so his eyes conveyed the effect Batman had with his cowl, and his voice, though no longer the one his companions recognized, sounded distant, uninterested in their help.

"Get me out of here."

She felt like she was being pitied. And she couldn't stand being vulnerable for another second.

"I said I want to leave! Now!" she screamed because it was the only way she could keep from breaking down. "I don't need them to want to take care of a human now, to see me as inferior, I just want to leave."

"Bruce, nobody's going to..." Hal regretted calling him that.

"Don't call me that!" The bat's heartbeat suddenly changed, desperate to escape.

He tried to get up on his own, and at that moment the pain shot through him like lightning, but even so he planted his elbows, wanting to separate himself from Clark, wanting to stand alone even though his body protested with every muscle as it had for years.

Being held by Superman was the most humiliating thing he could imagine at that moment. Although for a moment he was grateful to be cared for by someone other than Alfred.

"Batman, you can't even..." Barry tried to approach.

"Don't touch me!" the cry rang out sharply. "Let me go! I'll leave by myself!"

She tried to put her feet on the ground, and as soon as the first one touched the ground, she collapsed. She didn't fall thanks to Clark, who held her with the same concern as the first day, but the humiliation pierced her, making her feel so vulnerable that she hated every second of being there.

Her breathing became erratic again, her hands had returned to the tic of opening and closing desperately, her eyes were closing tightly.

Diana nodded silently, giving him her blessing without touching him. She knew that taking him was far better than sedating him or waiting to see him escape so she could lock herself in her lab and work until she proved to herself that this was nothing, that she could handle anything, alone.

On Batman's orders, they contacted Alfred requesting the coordinates to bring Bruce to him. Alfred sighed with relief upon learning that his son was alive after days during which he had been unable to treat his wounds, but he trusted that Cyborg could do so.

He understood that as soon as young Wayne woke up, he would want to be taken home, so he had completely remodeled his room to meet the conditions required for his recovery. He hoped he would remain at least another week of complete rest before even considering a patrol, yet, far from any wishful thinking or confidence, he had reinforced the door with an electronic lock and installed sensors that would alert him if he tried to walk.

And so the world distorted into white light.

And they reappeared at the mansion.

Bruce wasn't looking at Superman, who was carrying him in his arms. His gaze was fixed on nothing, on a blank space in front of him, refusing to acknowledge that he was entering his home accompanied by the man from Kansas.

If he had ever revealed his identity to Clark, it would have been under different circumstances.

But before I could think any further, Alfred was already there with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Kent," his voice did not tremble, "Welcome home and thank you very much. Please follow me."

How did he know his name? Ah, it was Batman, the man who must have investigated them before joining the League.

He led him to the immense, solitary room with drawn curtains, low lighting because it was Gotham, a large, reinforced bed to withstand escape attempts and cover his back when he surrendered to rest, as well as all the medical equipment that Cyborg had previously recommended using.

As he laid him down on the bed, he hesitated for a few seconds before moving away, glancing at Bruce for a few moments to make sure he was comfortable in that position. Only Alfred's voice pulled him from his thoughts, which mostly consisted of asking him to stay there and offer him company. He refused to leave him alone; if he did, they would likely have a meeting in a few days about his discoveries regarding Lex Luthor and the importance of not repeating the same mistakes.

But with worry weighing heavily on her shoulders, she decided not to speak about it and went out with Alfred. As she did, she heard the door close, activating the mechanism to prevent Bruce's escape.

Even though Kal was taller, bigger, and stronger, he felt intimidated under Alfred's gaze. Alfred was the man who had cared for Batman since he was a child, the one who had shaped him into who he was, and the only person Bruce could trust beyond his own well-being. He had fought gods, impossible machines, and creatures capable of destroying planets, but never against that gaze, the gaze of a concerned man.

"I offer my apologies, and I extend them on behalf of the League." Clark hastened to express remorse for not having informed Alfred of the situation. "It wasn't intentional. We weren't aware of the situation, the explosion." His hands fidgeted, pressing them to his chest. "The contact lenses exploded, and I..." He swallowed, searching for a decent explanation. "I only tried to keep him alive, but I couldn't."

He was interrupted by Alfred's calm voice. Unfortunately for him, these events were commonplace, and nothing that had happened in recent days surprised him, nor did he realize he had resorted to investigating Master Wayne's whereabouts and current situation on his own.

"Thank you for taking care of him, the young Cyborg kept me informed from the fifth day onwards." Alfred gently closed his eyes, in a gesture that mixed gratitude and pain. "He didn't stray from his master, and that's why I'm glad to know that there's someone who cares about him."

Clark didn't know how to respond.

"Young Wayne has never known how to accept being cared for," she said with a gentle sadness, but without showing it. "Mr. Kent, I hope you are aware of the distance that Master Wayne will impose."

I knew it, and although that wasn't a reason to distance myself, I would respect Bruce's decision. It wasn't easy having hidden who you were for so many years and then suddenly having everyone find out your identity because of a mission that involved spending about two weeks in bed.

"I'm not going to leave him alone, I can't," Clark said honestly, looking at his bedroom door. He sighed heavily. "I don't see B the way he sees us, and it doesn't even bother me who's behind the mask, Alfred."

The butler looked at him silently, evaluating his words with the same seriousness he would a medical diagnosis. Alfred had always been able to read between the lines, even before the world had superheroes. But things weren't that simple.

"Then, Mr. Kent," he finally replied, "you should be prepared for him not to know what to do with it."

Bruce didn't know what to do with someone who stayed. He was used to things being fleeting, to walking away as soon as vulnerability appeared in him. When he felt that something else could happen, something that threatened his life.

Being by Bruce's side meant being aware that at some point distance would occur.

"If you decide to stay, I recommend you do so quietly. The young master isn't used to things." Alfred paused; it wasn't his place to tell him what he already knew.

He kept the end of his sentence to himself: When someone matters too much to him.

"But while I appreciate your wish to stay, I would like to spend time with Master Wayne."

Clark understood it was time to retire and rest. Bruce was in the best hands in the world, Alfred, who, beyond being a butler, was the person who raised him.

There was no one else who was more suitable.

Two days had passed and Wayne Manor remained so quiet, the grayish light of Gotham barely filtering through the beige curtains of the room where Bruce rested.

Bruce had been awake since morning and had lost all intention of leaving the room after his first three attempts and realizing that Alfred had anticipated all his initial plans; moreover, he was so tired that he just went back to bed to wait for his arrival.

His gaze followed the pattern of shadows on the ceiling, as if he could decipher a hidden code within them, his mind racing, demanding he catch up, get back to work, not let the world move on without him. He needed to make modifications to his suit to prevent that grave mistake from happening again.

The door opened silently and Alfred entered carrying a tray, as impeccably dressed and composed as ever, though his eyes betrayed a weariness that Bruce recognized all too well. He understood that these past few weeks he hadn't slept a wink, having to look after him once again. The millionaire glanced at him sideways, with that expression that seemed distant, but which was actually the only way he knew to express his gratitude for his presence.

"You slept almost twelve hours straight," Alfred informed him as he placed the tray on a nearby table while preparing Bruce's favorite tea. "I'm glad to know that at least your body has decided to cooperate, even if only a little. That's more than he's slept in months."

He handed her the cup and she raised it to her lips to drink, sighing contentedly at the familiar taste. Only Alfred could make the best tea in the world.

"What has happened in Gotham? If I'm going to be locked up within these four walls, I'd at least like to make progress with my investigation and reports." He didn't ask about his condition; that was the last thing he wanted to know. He was alive, and that was enough.

"He's been doing daily reports on the city, you don't need to worry about that." She placed the tray on a side table and reclined the bed for a better posture while eating. "They've been taking turns patrolling. The league."

"I must mention," he added after a few seconds, "Mr. Kent stayed here longer than anyone would have expected. He has been genuinely concerned about you."

Bruce closed his eyes, remembering how upon waking his hand felt warm from feeling Clark's head resting in search of warmth, and from being awakened when Bruce did the same.

He didn't grimace, he didn't growl, but his breathing changed almost imperceptibly. A sign that Alfred, of course, didn't miss. He knew from subtle hints that if his master had to entrust his identity to any of the members, it would be to Superman.

"It was more important to spend his time taking care of the world, preventing Luthor from advancing his plans," he said, taking a bite of food and pausing to swallow. "My improvement didn't depend on his presence."

Alfred knew this was merely his young master's reaction to feeling guilty for allowing himself to end up there, for Superman to care for him and for him not being able to escape simply because of his desire to help Batman. He was too much to waste caring for someone who didn't value his life.

"In these forty-eight hours, he hasn't stopped asking about you."

Bruce blinked a couple of times. He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve to take care of someone who didn't deserve such attention. Superman deserved more than having his time spent worrying about his recovery. He repeated this to himself over and over as Alfred opened a curtain to let in some light.

But deep down he was grateful for that, even though he refused to let things move forward.

"Next time she comes this way, I'll make sure she knows Gotham isn't her city."

Alfred sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on his leg covered by the blankets. She didn't dare look at him, nor did she want to pressure him, but as the person who knew him best, she decided to advise him.

"Perhaps Gotham isn't what he's interested in seeing."

"Superman doesn't understand what that implies."

"I'm afraid he understands it better than he thinks, my love Bruce," Alfred replied calmly. "And yet he has chosen to stay."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, uneasy. Every person he'd ever chosen to stay had ended up hurt, dead, or too close to something he didn't want them to see. He wasn't used to permanence.

Not even in his life as Bruce Wayne had he ever met someone who looked at him without self-interest, someone who wanted to know what lay beyond his public persona. Someone who didn't want to know about Batman, nor about the billionaire. Just someone who chose to stand by his side and offer him a helping hand.

"All he's done," Bruce insisted, "is sit in a chair. It's irrelevant."

"I've been doing that for years, I love Wayne. You know it's relevant."

His own mind betrayed him, recalling the warmth of a hand on his, the calm breathing beside him, the way Clark had spoken in whispers even when Bruce was unconscious.

I had often had dreams about Superman. Some were more personal.

He was left alone after a few minutes with the promise that Alfred would bring him his laptop so he could read all the reports and continue his investigation from bed. Now that he was alone, he looked at his hand and remembered Alfred's words.

But I couldn't let him in, or anyone.

The following night, the rain in Gotham intensified, pounding against the windows as if trying to break in. Bruce couldn't sleep; he stared at the ceiling, motionless, listening to the storm as if counting every drop. He had reviewed all the reports, but it wasn't enough to make any progress. He needed to get out of there and back to the cave.

He couldn't stand being locked up and feeling useless. The pain was more bearable, the burns weren't burning anymore, and he could try again, just once.

One foot out of bed, then the other, and she began to move around the room looking for a way out. The only option left was to try the balcony, through the rain, needing all her concentration to avoid tripping.

The storm darkened everything, as if Gotham had decided to swallow what little light remained, which wasn't so difficult, given that sunny days were rare in this city. Bruce slowly opened the door to the area; the wind pushed back, cold and sharp.

That danger reminded him of his reason for living, and he left.

The rain soaked him in seconds. The fabric of his pajamas clung to his marked, bandaged skin. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from exhaustion after so many days spent alone with his bed, a burden. And yet, he moved forward to the edge.

He needed to calculate distances, routes, footholds, and how much equipment he would need to descend without hitting anything, making noise, or waking Alfred, thanks to the devices he had installed. He looked down and then back, analyzing the possible tools for escape.

He went back to his room and checked his closet, under the bed, and in the secret walls of his room. Alfred had taken all his things. He smiled for a moment. If he was two steps ahead of everyone else, Alfred was ten steps ahead of him.

All that was left was to think about the blankets, gather them with her clothes, and, as if it were a cliché, climb them to reach the mansion floor. She went outside to check that her plan made sense, analyzing how many garments she needed and where she could secure herself to prevent a fall that wouldn't damage her and delay her work.

He was about to turn around when he looked up and there he was, far away, on one of the city's buildings. Simply sitting on the concrete edge, his raincoat heavy, his calm gaze fixed on some point on the horizon. As if he'd been there for hours. As if keeping watch in a storm were perfectly natural.

Bruce felt the world stop for a second and didn't take his eyes off it.

"Superman".

And he knew he had been heard. Superman wasn't in a flying position. He was simply sitting. As if he had decided not to be a god for a few hours and be content to occupy the edge of a building in the storm, without actually entering the mansion, offering the distance to avoid being seen.

She just wanted to be close, to make sure Bruce was still alive. Even though she could hear his heartbeat, it wasn't enough.

Bruce could have ignored it and continued with his plan, finding other ways to get down into the cave and pretending this encounter hadn't happened. However, he took a deep breath and gathered his courage, looking at him from the balcony entrance.

"Come right now"

It wasn't an order, it was more of a request disguised as annoyance. The storm had started around eleven o'clock at night, and the Kryptonian was soaked, which made it easier to deduce how many hours had passed since his arrival. Clark looked up, surprised; the rain was falling on his face, running in silent lines. For a second he hesitated. Had he started a fight? Was this going to be one of those scenes where they argued, or was he just going to complain that this wasn't his city?

And then he disappeared from the building.

A gentle gust of wind swept across the balcony. The red cape was the first thing that entered Bruce's field of vision, followed by the tall figure that reached just a few centimeters over two meters, the blue stretch suit, and there the symbol of hope stopped a few steps away from him, as if getting too close would be dangerous, still floating, without setting foot inside the mansion.

Clark looked at him silently, concern evident in his blue eyes, which now lacked their characteristic sparkle. The soaked pajamas, the bandages, the emptiness in his gaze, and the lingering aches throughout his body. But nothing bothered him more than the weariness etched in his eyes. And yet, Bruce kept his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed, as if being vulnerable in his presence were a personal affront.

Or an excessive concern upon seeing Superman watching over him like a puppy hoping his master would get better.

"You shouldn't be standing, B, your condition isn't the best," Clark finally said in a low voice, as if the storm could hear them.

"And you shouldn't be watching my house like it's a zoo," Bruce replied, without looking away. "It's Wednesday, you should be in the watchtower covering your assigned shift."

And Clark almost smiled. There was the Batman he knew, the workaholic.

"You're sitting in a storm, on a ledge, looking this way like a..." Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a second, gesturing with his hand, thinking of the best comparison: "like you."

"And let you escape, of course."

"I wasn't going to escape, I'm not a prisoner in my own house, Kent." Bruce began to get defensive. "This is Bruce Wayne's mansion, and I'm pretty sure you know this is Batman's."

"I'm not interested in that, B." Clark hesitated to approach, placing his hands on the railing of his balcony. "I didn't come here to argue." He tried to be gentler, without showing that he felt sorry for her. "I've been here as long as you have, without moving, but I've respected your space. For Rao's sake, B, I just want to take care of you."

The word had been a low blow. He didn't need someone to look after him. He took a few steps back, clutching his head in his hands, trying to figure out how to handle the situation without causing a scene that would end with Alfred barging in like a father figure.

"Come in, I don't need the media to think that Bruce Wayne has any connection to Superman."

Kal entered, leaving his cloak on the ground to avoid soaking the floor, though it didn't help much since the rest of his body was wet, and with each step he left droplets of water behind him. Despite the shorter man's words, he stayed close to the balcony, as if crossing the threshold completely would be invading sacred territory.

Bruce hated that feeling, the fact that Clark always seemed too big for any human space, too present, impossible to ignore. It wasn't just that he clearly wasn't from this planet, but his body—he was big. He would recognize Clark anywhere.

"Sorry for all this B, I'm not watching you, it's not that I don't know you're capable of solving things on your own."

"I'm perfectly capable of deciding what I can and can't do," he interrupted. He didn't want to admit it, but the simple act of standing was taking its toll. "I don't need a nanny. I don't need any of..."

"Care and company," Clark finished in a low voice.

Silence filled the room. It was a fact. Bruce didn't want to be taken care of, he didn't need it, he didn't need the best man in the entire galaxy sitting in the rain hoping that the most stubborn man on the planet wouldn't put his life at risk.

Bruce didn't deserve that; if it weren't for the explosion, he still wouldn't know that underneath the suit he was just a human being.

"Go back to your apartment or stick to the schedule." He turned away, heading for the bed, more out of necessity than choice. He didn't want to try it right now, especially with Superman himself standing in front of him. "I don't want you here."

It was a lie. And they both knew it. If Bruce were someone else, if life hadn't made him so paranoid, if only there were a reality where Bruce trusted his team and could forge some kind of bond that didn't lead to ruin, he would ask them not to leave him alone.

But Bruce wasn't like that.

Clark didn't move forward, but his voice grew a little firmer—not aggressive, but quietly desperate. Despite his feelings for his friend, he genuinely wanted to stay there, wanted to be his support. It wasn't about spending time with the person he'd once fantasized about kissing, no, it was simply about letting him in, allowing him some space.

"So tell me what you want me to do"

For a second, the room went completely dark. The thunder was slow to arrive, roaring heavy and vibrant. Bruce took a deep breath, as if the air hurt; the sound pierced his chest like someone had shot him. His muscles tensed instantly. The air became too heavy to breathe.

It wasn't fear. It was a memory of that night. Suddenly the lights seemed too bright, the fabric against her skin unbearable with every drop of rain. The sound never ended.

Another clap of thunder shattered the air, and he spoke automatically, refusing to let Clark see a part of himself that Alfred only occasionally helped him with. Before he had a meltdown, before he lost control of the situation, Bruce spoke louder, more firmly, despite his heart pounding.

"Go away, I don't need you to stay or watch over me, just leave me alone."

Clark swallowed hard. All he could do was slowly raise his hands in a gesture of calm, move a little closer, and with extreme gentleness say, "If you really want me to leave, fine, but whenever you want to talk, just say so and I'll be here."

And after that, Bruce could feel the loneliness, trying to regulate his breathing as thousands of memories of that day came flooding back to him: the metallic smell of blood, his parents' clothes, how suffocating the press was in the following months.

That night she was grateful once again for Clark's understanding. He would always be the best man she would ever know. And the one she would never deserve.

And Clark left, but he didn't stop listening.

Not its heartbeat, it would have been intrusive. Each night it flew a little slower over Gotham, as if unconsciously its nightly route traced a circle always close to the mansion.

He wasn't patrolling near Bruce's mansion anymore; he avoided it after that night for the man's sake, but that didn't mean he cared less, much less that he didn't want to fly to see him or ask Alfred about him. But he respected the distance Batman had set. Clark didn't regret staying out in the storm that night.

Nor did he leave when Bruce asked him to.

The only thing that hurt her, silently, was what remained between them after that night. That subtle boundary they had once learned to cross, understanding each other's reactions through gestures or grunts, was now only a silence she didn't know if she would ever learn to live with.

He resumed his work, avoiding any mention of what had happened, not letting on that Batman and Bruce Wayne were the same person and that he now didn't know how to approach him. Before, his day was brightened when they stayed for a few minutes talking after meetings, or when they met up twice a month for surveillance.

He missed the boring three-hour meetings. He just wanted to see Batman and ask him to simply listen to him, that he didn't care who he was, that to him he was the most admirable hero, that everything that had happened in his life could have led him down the wrong path, and yet here he was, standing beside gods, fighting alongside them.

And that... that she had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, the way against her skin that seemed never to see the sun, created the most beautiful work of art.

The next two weeks dragged on. Bruce recovered with the same patience one uses to assemble a weapon—methodical, cool, focused. Alfred, by now accustomed to it, watched him test his body as if it were a machine needing calibration, with patrols that reaffirmed that the nearly month-long absence of the mantle meant nothing, that Batman was on the streets to protect the civilians of Gotham.

The bat was back.

And he also heard him speak.

He listened to him talk so much that he began to doubt the recovery was successful and there were more things to review.

"Mr. Kent has considerably reduced his visits over the past two weeks. I suppose he has decided to respect his space."

The image appeared unbidden in Bruce's mind: Clark under the storm, soaked, sitting as if the sky were crushing him, just to be near, then entering without touching the ground, saying his name as if it were something fragile.

"Hmm," Bruce sipped his third cup of coffee, those dark circles under his eyes reappearing. "I spoke to him, he shouldn't encourage rumors about having a close relationship with me, the media always attacks."

"So he's ignoring it?" Alfred picked up the half-finished plate; it was a big step forward.

"Of course not, I just don't have time for that. Luthor isn't the only case I'm working on, you know that."

"Okay, so how do we define looking away when he comes in, not responding when he speaks to you, avoiding being in the same room, and leaving five minutes before he arrives?"

Bruce muttered something he couldn't quite hear, turning to look at him like a young boy staring at his father, who knew everything with just a glance. No matter how much he wanted to deny it or say something sensible, Alfred had raised him, and he couldn't fool him.

"Even you, because you're part of my life, have been on the verge of death," and that was the most sincere thing Bruce had ever said in many years, "I can't let anyone else suffer those consequences."

Alfred said nothing more, he just allowed Bruce to reason for himself, and for once in his life let people decide for themselves whether to stay or not.

Days later, the notice was brief: "Extraordinary meeting. Attendance required."

The Watchtower's main meeting room was completely silent. It wasn't the comfortable, fellowship-like silence they usually had before a meeting; it was a heavy, anticipatory silence, like before a storm. The holographic table was on, projecting orbital maps and incident reports, but no one was really looking at them.

Bruce arrived exactly at the appointed time, and by the time the others were entering, they could see him staring at a fixed point in the room, hoping that the subject of his identity would not be mentioned, at least not now.

When things started, they weren't anything I could have imagined. Not only was there more seriousness, but now it seemed like he'd rehearsed everything and was only speaking what he'd memorized. Diana watched him cautiously, Barry stopped drumming his fingers, and Hal exchanged glances with everyone.

Bruce projected a new panel.

"This meeting is solely to inform you that after months of inefficiency on my part, I will be resuming my duties. Your intervention in Gotham will no longer be necessary." His voice lacked any distinguishable machine-like tone. "Standard night patrols, intelligence monitoring, and I will return to drafting contingency plans. Operations should not be disrupted by my return."

"We're glad to see you too," Diana interrupted, "it's been a long time."

"We'll need to reassign responsibilities," Bruce added, ignoring the comment. "Green Lantern, you'll continue covering the Southeast Sector; Flash, urban evacuation contingencies; and Wonder Woman, interplanetary diplomacy. The rest of the team will have their tasks outlined in a detailed document, which will be sent to them later."

Clark took a breath, as if preparing to say something, but was interrupted again.

"As a result, the surveillance has changed," a new document was sent to the members' tablets. "Their new schedules were taken into account, considering their tasks, responsibilities, and evaluated in multiple scenarios under minimal risks."

They reviewed every document, and when Clark checked his own, he realized they no longer matched Batman's, not even for a change of command or emergency situations. It was distancing him so much that he didn't know how to react. He simply put the tablet aside, deciding to process those emotions later in his apartment, or perhaps it was time to visit his parents.

Clark said nothing. He continued staring at the empty space where Bruce had been standing seconds before, the tablet still in his hand, feeling that strange emptiness in his chest that had nothing to do with his invulnerability.

It was like being erased without drama, leaving a bigger barrier than with his colleagues. None of them had been waiting this month, not to the same extent as Clark, so deep down he understood. But he couldn't leave things like that; accepting that cold goodbye wasn't like him.

"And lastly, I want to emphasize that I don't want any of you near my area," he concluded, displaying a panel of Gotham. "The League should not intervene in Gotham except in threat scenarios of red level or higher."

"Spooky" Hal intervened, sensing the discomfort in the air, "Listen, you don't have to present it as if it were a fault, you were hurt, brother."

"The cause is irrelevant," he interrupted gently, but, without giving space, "the result was the same, operational inefficiency. Now it is not."

Diana exchanged glances, realizing that if Batman wasn't expressive before, now he was even worse. Everything was so calculated that there was no sound or reaction to indicate what he felt or thought; she could only see a man speaking as if reciting a memorized script.

"The mistakes that have been made will not be repeated. And if you have nothing more to say, the meeting is over." Batman didn't wait any longer and turned away.

Clark stood up reflexively, following Batman out.

"B, wait, why are you doing all this?"

Batman didn't turn around, didn't glance at Superman for a single second, nor did he stop to offer him comfort. He simply continued walking toward the pipes to return home. Night was approaching, and he needed to patrol.

"The meeting is over, Superman, return to your post."

He left because staying meant accepting something he wasn't ready to face. He couldn't yet apologize for hiding his identity for so long, even though everyone had trusted him on the mission. He didn't know how to ask Clark to understand how complicated it was for him to give him access to his life.

That night Bruce returned home and stayed until dawn. And Clark broke his promise, listening to his heartbeat as he sat on Lois's couch and explained Batman's changes to her.

That was just the beginning. Then came the lack of training under the red light. Bruce would leave the Tower minutes before Clark arrived, or appear after he'd already left. If they happened to be in the same place for no reason other than a meeting or mission, Batman would keep busy checking panels or disappear with a technical excuse before Superman could even open his mouth.

And going back to the meetings, they became even more mechanical. Bruce spoke while looking at holograms, not at people, answering in monosyllables. When Clark intervened, Bruce adjusted the topic, redirected the conversation, or simply shut down the discussion, ignoring any questions that weren't part of the main issue.

He looked tired again, after too many cups of coffee.

One night Bruce returned home earlier than usual thanks to the rain, now with a poorly healed wound on his side, a wound he had sutured to prevent excessive blood loss, which now required treatment. Alfred said nothing as he helped him lie down on the stretcher, his armor disassembled.

"He has avoided Mr. Kent for twenty-three days." His hands began to examine the wound and remove the dried blood.

"Superman is too visible an asset; he's neither necessary nor appropriate for Gotham."

Alfred proceeded to suture the wound, continuing the conversation without trying to pressure Bruce. Deep down, he was just a man worried about his son.

"I'm not referring to Gotham, I love Wayne, it's the place that would be least affected by Superman's presence."

Bruce looked up, annoyed; it wasn't the time to talk about it. He groaned in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his bare hands.

"So what for?"

Alfred held his gaze without flinching, as he had done since Bruce was a child. Without neglecting his task.

"Someone stayed when you were broken," he said bluntly, "and now they're doing everything they can to punish you for it."

It was true; she wasn't keeping Clark away just for efficiency, but because she wanted to make it clear that he shouldn't be in her life, that living without Bruce was much better than risking his life by being a part of it. She repeated this to herself every time she saw that sadness in his eyes: Superman deserved better.

"He's spent his whole life teaching the world that Batman doesn't need anyone," he paused. "Bruce Wayne almost died. And someone was there when you couldn't get up, couldn't pretend, couldn't control anything."

"If I let him in," she whispered, "I won't know how to get him out later, Alfred."

The conversation didn't continue until the suturing was finished and the bandages were being applied for at least the night, helping his master to his feet so he could sit in front of the computer. It was impossible for him to go to bed to rest in that state, so he didn't even consider it an option.

"I'm not young like you, I love Wayne."

Just thinking about what that comment meant, Bruce turned to look at him with a mixture of sadness and acceptance.

"I'd like to be able to trust someone to look after you when I'm gone." Alfred took the untouched tray of food, "and I wouldn't mind if it were Mr. Kent. Someone has to deal with your attempts to end your life on every patrol."

Bruce spent the whole night thinking about that comment, sighing as he recalled his last conversation with Clark; if Clark wanted to end the barrier, all he had to do was say his name.

That dawn was different; Bruce slept on top of his hand, just as Kal had done while he was in bed.

In the watchtower, some days were different for Clark. He still wasn't used to the noise at night after starting to work with Barry. Flash talked about everything and nothing as they patrolled their assigned perimeter, his voice filling the silences that Superman wasn't used to feeling so heavy.

She talked about food, about something she'd seen online, reminisced about old times, and tried to make Clark smile. He appreciated that.

Actually, everyone had tried. He had this conversation with his parents after not knowing what else to do but wait, and that way he was able to stop feeling so sad about the situation, knowing that if Bruce ever wanted to talk about it, there would be nothing to forgive. He understood how difficult it was to spend so many years alone, but that didn't mean he was right to have pushed him away.

With everyone else at least he maintained the Batman persona, barely holding a conversation, but he had punished him as if taking care of him was a crime.

Clark arrived at the Watchtower with the familiar feeling of being late to something that had already begun without him. The shift was a standard handover.

Flash appeared as an assigned contact in the log, a quiet surveillance, the kind that feels more like routine than a mission.

Nothing out of the ordinary; they'd been doing this for two months, and he'd gotten used to it. He never left there without a laugh. He entered the room where he was expected to sit for at least eight hours. He observed the dim lights, with the constant hum of the systems.

Then he looked at him from the entrance. Bruce was staring out the window that overlooked the land. He was dressed in his full suit, nothing out of the ordinary, with an upright posture and without making a sound despite knowing that Clark had entered at the exact time.

"I thought today would be Flash," he looked away; it was the first time in a long time that they had exchanged words. "I didn't check the files, sorry."

Bruce replied without turning around, "We made the change two days ago. I asked for it without any official document, that's why you didn't know."

Clark was surprised by those words. After apologizing and thinking things would stay that way, he decided it was best to withdraw. He didn't want to make things worse.

Bruce took a deep breath. Clark heard the sound clearly; it wasn't Batman's controlled breathing, it was Bruce Wayne's, ragged, restrained, as if each inhalation were a concession. As if this time he were preparing for the most difficult battle yet.

With himself.

"Not really," Bruce replied. "You don't understand." He finally turned away, and Clark stopped looking for a way to leave, now approaching until he was beside him, but offering the necessary distance to prevent Bruce from feeling intimidated or pressured.

"All this time I've spent weeks avoiding you." His white contact lenses didn't express what his voice conveyed, but it was enough to know he was sincere. "I rewrote protocols just to avoid coinciding with you, I adjusted schedules and redesigned everything. But it was all necessary."

Clark looked at the metal floor, sighing and understanding that this was just another meeting to tell him everything he had done wrong.

"B, if I did something..."

"Yes," Bruce kept looking at him, "you stayed, you stayed without knowing the risk that that means."

"Every person who chooses to stay," Bruce continued, switching off his voice transformer so that this time she could hear him as he truly sounded, "ends up paying a price. I couldn't let you be next. So I did the only thing I know how to do when something matters too much."

To move away to avoid loss. To flee when cornered.

"I didn't know how to look at you after that," she admitted, her hands opening and closing continuously, "because if I looked at you too much, I would have to accept that someone saw all my cracks and decided that I still deserved to stay."

Clark said nothing, not because he didn't want to, not because he didn't want to hug Bruce and make it clear that he would stay no matter what it meant to be part of Batman's world.

"And I owe you an apology," her eyes closed, "I owe you an apology for treating you as if your presence was just another mission to be eliminated, that you needed to be neutralized."

If someone were to tell her how Bruce Wayne apologized, they would be mocking how fantastical and ridiculous it sounded. Now it was a reality that had calmed the storm. The distance between them ceased to be a wall and became a shared space, daring to take a step.

"I respected your decision from the beginning, B, but then it started to feel like punishment." The gentleness of his words was not the same as the intensity of his gaze. "I thought you hated me."

"I don't, Superman"

The words hung in the air. Wayne looked at him and once again searched for the right words, but they wouldn't come. Clark waited, standing unhurried, making no move that might put him on the defensive again; it was like dealing with a cat. His shoulders were slightly tense, and his familiar hands fidgeted, showing that this was a rather difficult situation for Bruce, who wore no emotional mask.

"I've never hated you, or any of you, really." Her gaze shifted to Clark's hand. "Alfred told me that by ignoring you, not speaking to you, avoiding places where we might be together, I was refusing to accept something that was beyond my control."

Knowing they were the only ones in Atalaya, Bruce took his mask and, determined that this was the only moment he would have the courage to do so, revealed his most vulnerable side, in which he was not Batman or Brucie, he was just Bruce, someone broken and whose eyes showed the weight of both lives.

Clark slowly raised his gaze. He observed him closely, not the imposing Batman he had known for years, but the man standing before him. His pale skin, which made the rest of his features stand out. Dark gray under-eye circles, not concealed this time by the black eyeshadow he now knew he used; his cheekbones appeared sharper; his face slightly sunken, as if the weight of those weeks in bed had taken its toll, stripping him of mass, leaving him more fragile than he would ever allow in public, something only Clark could see right now.

There were almost invisible scars on her face, something only Clark could notice: a fine line near her eyebrow, another barely perceptible one on her temple. They didn't draw attention, but they were there, adding to the story her face told without words.

And yet she thought Batman was so beautiful that even with that hair covering part of his face, he was a blessing.

"Then," he stopped, "there will be no more punishments?"

Clark didn't celebrate, he just smiled as he saw him nod. Bruce was confiding something so important and couldn't help but feel flattered. Another reason to add to his list of victories that made the other members mention him as Batman's favorite, and why Lois insisted Clark was Batman's weakness.

"I don't need you to promise me anything, B," she replied, placing one of her hands on his shoulder. "I don't need you to trust me tomorrow, or next week, or next month. I'll only ask one thing." Her grip tightened. "Don't push me away when all I want is to stay."

"I don't know how to do it," he admitted. "I'll always be waiting for the moment when everything falls apart, or when I feel that it's enough and it's better to turn around."

At that moment, their gazes met without hesitation, their words and gestures sincere. However, it was the Kryptonian who supported Bruce. He didn't want Bruce to feel obligated, that he had to endure him simply because of his awful behavior.

"Then don't do it right," he said, holding her gaze. "Make it real, do it like Bruce would. I can stay even if you don't know how to hold it."

Bruce feared the future consequences, but now he felt that things had fallen into place.

"GOOD".

That night he simply stayed there, by her side, watching the Earth slowly spin, demonstrating without the use of heroic speeches, that some people do not stay out of obligation, that it should not be something self-imposed.

But there are people, even with Bruce, who stay because they choose to do so.

After that night, the differences became subtle, everyday, in those decisions Bruce used to make unconsciously. Clark, on the other hand, let things fall into place gradually, just as others appeared without him noticing, sometimes at the Tower, in Gotham, and there were even times when he was just company in the cave, with Bruce reluctantly accepting Clark's presence while he worked, without interfering, without hovering, without offering help unless asked.

Clark quickly learned when to speak and when to simply exist in silence, leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching him concentrate as if it were a privilege. There were no words exchanged for many nights, but the silence was pleasant, simply enjoying the other's company.

Bruce allowed himself to enjoy himself for a moment, nothing out of the ordinary. He did this a couple of times; other times he would just stay locked away without contact with Clark for a few days, but when he returned things weren't like that time, it was just a bit more... peaceful.

At League meetings, Clark no longer felt Batman's gaze averted. They didn't always speak at the meetings, but they shared the same space without any tension, exchanging glances that signified mutual recognition.

Batman didn't stop being Batman; he was still a workaholic, staying up later than he should, paranoid about every situation, and constantly creating plans based on those possibilities. But he was no longer that wall of a man who spoke as if every word were mechanized. He began to respond when Diana asked him questions that weren't strictly tactical, and while his temper was bearable, noises weren't the only thing that came out of his mouth. Nothing lengthy, nothing premeditated, but it was progress that made the Amazon smile.

He let Barry make unnecessary comments without immediately cutting him off, and although his arguments with Hal didn't stop, even he noticed that Batman adjusted plans by listening to others' suggestions instead of imposing them, although it was still difficult and on many occasions those changes didn't exist if inefficiency existed, but at least it wasn't like before.

Alfred was the first to notice the real change.

Bruce began mentioning Kal in conversations that had nothing to do with him, casual remarks at dinner, almost involuntary, and seemingly oblivious to them. He'd say Kal had suggested a less aggressive solution to a certain diplomatic conflict, that his outlook on things remained irritatingly optimistic, or that he insisted he needed a nap and offered to look after both cities, only to be refused. Alfred said nothing at first, just listened, until one day, teacup in hand, he gave him that look Bruce knew all too well, a look Bruce avoided by stopping his meal.

"He's grown close to Master Kent, I should invite him to dinner one of these days," he said simply.

Bruce did not deny it.

Thus began the moments outside the suit. They weren't dates—Batman would never call them that—just pauses. Pauses that, as the months passed, became more frequent than he had initially thought. Clark would appear in simple clothes, and Bruce agreed to spend time with him at the mansion, which was no longer feeling cold and lonely. Away from the cameras, away from any social events or rumors about Clark's presence, they talked about trivial things: food, music, cities Clark had seen from the sky. Other times they didn't speak at all, watching a film from Bruce's library while Bruce watched him in his worn shirts with rock band logos.

Clark liked seeing him like that, so Bruce. Alfred insisted it was time to throw them away.

Deep down, Bruce kept waiting for the moment when everything would fall apart, when loneliness would be his only companion. But that never came.

Clark didn't leave when Bruce locked up.

He also didn't push when distance was created, nor did he interpret each retreat as rejection. This gradually led Bruce to stop questioning why he did it; he simply offered silent gratitude.

Even in the moments when Batman risked his life again and scars became part of his collection, Superman didn't distance himself and was accepted. Just a little.

And for the first time in a long time, Alfred realized that Bruce wasn't thinking about when he would have to leave; he was simply thinking about staying a little longer. About resting his head on Clark's shoulder and sharing one night, just one moment.

And Clark was the happiest person alive because of it. Lois kept calling their outings dates, Jimmy teased them about the situation, pushing them to confess their feelings, to invite Bruce to his apartment, to visit Kansas, or maybe something simpler like going out for a bite to eat. But Clark didn't dare.

Despite the friction, the moments and the hours, even if her feelings grew stronger, she was afraid, yes, of losing Bruce because of it, of going back to what she once understood but which affected her.

But prompted by Lois, one night in the cave, while Bruce was typing on the computer the progress of his research, Clark mentioned being good at cooking, and that Bruce was invited to his apartment to thank him for offering to investigate more of Kryptonian biology in the last week.

And to his surprise, Bruce stopped typing and without looking at him replied with "in two weeks I'll have to drive to Metropolis, business meeting with Luthor. I can go at night."

He continued typing, and Superman was grateful that Bruce couldn't hear his heart pounding with excitement and panic. He should ask his mother which of her recipes would be best for the occasion.

The two weeks passed. Bruce threw himself into his work, nothing surprising or unusual for him, but his one-day absence had thrown his schedule off balance, forcing him to make adjustments, changes, move meetings forward, or delegate secondary tasks that didn't require his presence. It was his anxiety talking.

I didn't know how she so easily agreed to a meeting with Kent. Because of course, this wasn't a date, just another one of their meetings.

Alfred watched him without intervening, only helping with his luggage and recommending the best combination of clothes for his "meeting" with Clark. That morning, before the trip to Metropolis, while Bruce was having breakfast, he noticed him checking the itinerary for the third time, discarding unnecessary options.

"Master Wayne, you should bring something for your meeting." Alfred picked up his half-eaten plate, nothing new, "although I'm not a big fan, a dessert would be appropriate."

Metropolis shone as always, vibrant, noisy, excessive—the complete opposite of Gotham. Bruce attended the meeting with Luthor with his characteristic surgical precision, ensuring nothing leaked, acting as the media knew him to make it clear that an alliance didn't appeal to him.

Although at times he would drop his act of the foolish millionaire and, with measured words, point out to Luthor the folly of forming an alliance to develop technology that would ultimately benefit Lex's ideologies. And then he would conclude with a mocking "or at least that's what I was advised."

But when the clock struck the agreed time, Bruce stood up without prolonging the meeting, leaving orders to refuse whatever Luthor's intentions might be and to present the results in a report, which he would read the following day.

And as if this were just another mission, Bruce arrived punctually at Clark's apartment, carrying a blackberry pie he'd bought at the best bakery in the city. He was dressed normally, or so he thought; it was the most discreet outfit he had on, and what, according to Alfred, would suit him best—something understated, functional, and deliberately inconspicuous, an outfit designed to blend in. But Bruce Wayne didn't blend in, not when he stood out in that city.

A dark, thick cotton shirt, no tie, the collar barely open; its sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing fine, old scars, the kind that never completely disappear, leading people to believe it was just another accident suffered by a scatterbrained millionaire. On top, something so characteristic of him, a well-structured, clean-cut black suit jacket.

He was about to knock on the apartment door, but he knew his footsteps and heartbeat had been heard. The noise inside confirmed it, and now Clark stood before him, staring with a ridiculous grin that made the corners of his mouth curl.

"You arrived on time"

"You said eight o'clock," he replied calmly. "I haven't eaten since this morning, and Alfred insists that I must eat at least three times a day."

"Then let's not keep them waiting any longer."

Clark let Bruce into his apartment, and it was just as he'd imagined it that morning. Small and cozy, with pictures of his loved ones, framed newspaper clippings of the stories that had made the front page, and trophies he could guess were from work or from his younger days, before he became Superman. And speaking of which, there was no trace of Superman, only the life of Clark Kent.

He paid attention to Bruce's face; it was marked by fatigue, deep dark circles under his eyes, lines of tension that didn't disappear even when he was resting. His jaw was clenched, as if even at rest it refused to fully loosen. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that bothered him or particularly caught his attention; it was just Batman analyzing the scene.

"It's quiet, I like it."

It almost seemed like a confession.

The kitchen was the next stop. Clark placed the cake on the counter while Bruce followed behind, leaning against the doorframe, assessing distances, exits, and filling his head with certain situations based on his routine; then he stopped with a conscious effort, letting go, but not completely, just enough to make Clark his center of attention.

"You can take a seat, we'll be serving soon."

"I can help" hated feeling unnecessary.

"I know, B, but you're the guest today," he replied, lowering the fire and leading Bruce to a seat. "It won't be long now."

He hesitated as he was led out of the kitchen and seated at the table. To kill time, he started a conversation while watching Clark move around the kitchen, seemingly unhurried and without tension, even though Superman was a bundle of nerves, even when plating the food. He was Bruce Wayne; he had probably eaten at the best restaurants in the world, and he wanted to satisfy his palate, which only increased his expectations.

Bruce knew it would be delicious anyway; the aroma proved it.

When the food was plated, Bruce took a few seconds to touch his cutlery, carefully examining it and serving himself a portion appropriate for how long it had been since he'd eaten. Alfred was the only person who ever cooked for him. Since this was the first time someone had cooked specifically to please his palate, and someone who truly cared for him, he still felt nervous.

She never expected Clark to be that person.

And so he tasted a bite. The flavor struck him with an unexpected familiarity, sending a warmth through his chest that made him smile, filling his heart with nostalgia.

"It's fine," she paused, searching for the exact word.

Clark breathed a sigh of relief, letting out a nervous laugh. Nothing long or dramatic, just a release of his negative thoughts.

"You know, that's a lot coming from you."

Bruce shared that joy, rolling his eyes with amusement. They ate slowly, their conversations simple, almost absurd, about work and Perry's boss, his mother's recipes and the hours she'd spent choosing a meal with him that would surprise Bruce, or how a cat would sneak in through their window. Batman listened without interrupting, enjoying the warm, home-cooked meal, nodding occasionally.

He would never tell him, but other times he just observed the way Clark gestured when he spoke, how his eyes lit up at the smallest things, how his smile reminded him how different his own was in front of the cameras. A smile so genuine, it made him feel comfortable. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten like that, or where he'd had such a good time.

After dinner, Clark insisted on washing the dishes, and although Bruce tried to help, he ended up leaning against the counter, watching him again while glancing at his watch and realizing that dinner had lasted two hours—quite late. When everything was clean, they went back to the living room.

Bruce took off his jacket and left it neatly folded, and Clark noticed this, hurrying to speak.

"I thought you were going back to the hotel"

"I'll do it in a moment," he replied, looking at her. "Is there a problem with me staying, Kent?"

Clark laughed as he shook his head, "It would be an honor to have the great Bruce Wayne sitting on my couch. Would you like a coffee?"

Bruce nodded in response. The sofa wasn't large, but it wasn't uncomfortable either—the kind that seemed to come with furnished apartments. Bruce sat down carefully, waiting for his cup of coffee and Clark's arrival, checking his phone while he waited, reading only his important messages. Of course, that meant he was only paying attention to Alfred's messages and how things were holding up in Gotham. He felt somewhat guilty for not being ready to patrol.

He had to return to Gotham; this wasn't his place. He couldn't afford this life. Batman belonged elsewhere.

Her thoughts stopped when Clark's weight fell onto the sofa, leaving a safe distance, placing in her hands the cup of coffee with the sugar substitute Bruce usually used. Silence settled between them again, not tense or heavy with words, just a moment sustained by the recent comfort of their shared dinner.

Bruce took a sip from his cup, silently grateful for the attention he'd received. Perhaps he shouldn't leave; he should just wait a little longer.

"You know, I don't usually have visitors," her mug rested on the counter, "much less like this."

He tilted his head, somewhat confused by the choice of words. "Like this?"

Bruce let out a soft exhalation, almost a voiceless laugh.

"Most of the time it's just Lois and Jimmy who hang out here... and now, you."

Clark was the first person he'd ever trusted enough to sit and watch movies with. But he'd never tell him that.

Without realizing it, Clark leaned slightly toward him as Bruce took control and searched for a movie. Meanwhile, Superman ended up with his head near Bruce's shoulder, not quite resting on it. It was an action Clark hadn't noticed in recent weeks, but he always ended up there, close to Bruce.

Bruce sensed it before he saw it; and he hesitated only an instant before raising his hand and placing it on Clark's hair, with a gentleness he wouldn't have shown even when handling a fragile object. He simply remained there, ignoring what his body and face might convey, watching as Clark swiped through the remote until he selected a movie they both liked.

Although he didn't have a library of B-movies, he could still find something he liked.

The minutes passed in the silence between the two heroes, without comments between scenes, only the closeness and the coffee spoke for them in the winter of that apartment, without realizing it they approached and adjusted their bodies.

One scene made Clark speak; it brought to mind those nights when exhaustion won and he ended up lying on top of Bruce's hand.

"It's almost as if they're presenting one of my memories."

There was a long, but not awkward, silence. Clark was breathing slowly, and Bruce could feel that rhythm as his mind raced, his gaze fixed on the screen, listening to the dialogue between characters and repeating Clark's lines.

"Why are you doing this?" came out as a whisper.

"I sleep better when it's like this," Clark said, looking down at his pale hand. "At first it was just worrying about not being alert when you wake up, but after that it didn't matter where I was or what situation I was in, my body calms down."

It was time to stop this. Her hand closed just a few millimeters and she swallowed. Her body tensed and she pulled her hand away, shaking her head as she tried to think of something that sounded like a sentence to rebuild her walls.

"You shouldn't depend on me for that," he replied without looking at her.

And his response made her realize that the pain of distance would be inevitable, but she was approaching a point of no return, since he felt the same way. His sleep, though unreliable and rarely more than four hours a day, was such that when he was with Clark he could feel that same level of relaxation, that feeling of not needing to overthink each answer.

Just be yourself, Bruce.

"I don't depend on you, B, it's something I choose." Despite noticing the change, Clark continued with a faint smile, "No matter how complicated it is. When I seek you out to sleep like this, I know I'll have peace."

Clark was the first to turn his face enough to look at him, without invading his space, just searching for Bruce's expression. He knew he had started talking about something from which there was no turning back, and he cursed himself for it; it shouldn't be now, not when it was the first time he'd been here. But he knew Batman, and if the subject didn't continue, it never would.

"I think I've wanted to feel like this for a long time," without emphasis or drama. "I've never felt peace just sitting around, like Superman. Sometimes it's hard for me to accept that I don't belong on Earth, and being Clark isn't as simple as pretending to live a normal life."

His hand stopped before reaching for her hand.

"But when I'm by your side, B, I feel calm and I've never felt like this in my entire life."

The film continued, unrelated dialogue filling the space, but neither of them was truly present. Bruce remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the screen, though he no longer processed images or sounds. He felt the weight of those words settle in his chest, slowly expanding, afraid to respond or leave things unresolved. He didn't know how to speak, how he should proceed after this.

Opening up her life to Clark was one thing, but opening up her heart meant something greater. It was something she had refused to do since the day Batman took to the streets.

Several minutes passed without a word spoken. The air felt different. Bruce began to open and close his hand, the one Clark couldn't see. The screen went black, reflecting their silhouettes on the glass, yet they hadn't moved. Bruce didn't turn away; he simply remained silent, ready to end it with his distance.

But Clark couldn't let things end like this. If this was going to be the end, at least it would be with a clear conscience and his words out loud, without keeping quiet about what he'd felt since the moment Batman and Superman met—a deep admiration that had blossomed into something more.

"Actually, I was very afraid of losing you," she turned to look at him, without leaning in, without evading his space, "and not telling you that, Bruce, you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in the entire galaxy."

"You shouldn't say those things," he murmured in a low voice, one heavy with warning, "you don't know what it implies, Superman."

Clark did not back down, placing his hand next to hers.

From the first day, from the first time she stood in front of him without fear, without asking for anything, her interest was genuine.

"Yes, I know, that's why I'm saying it now. It wasn't my intention, Bruce, but now that it seems you're going to escape, I have no choice but to be honest."

His hand stopped moving. He took a deep breath, as if he needed to reassure himself that he still had control of the situation, that he wouldn't do or say anything that would jeopardize what little he had left. This wasn't something he could dodge with a plan or brush aside like all the comments that questioned his leadership of the company; this was simply Clark's honesty.

The mention of his eyes disarmed him more than any villain he had ever faced. No one spoke of his eyes, not like that. No one paused to appreciate who he truly was. Only he could do that.

Clark had admired his eyes as many times in these months as Bruce had admired his hands.

"I don't idealize you, I know it might seem that way," she said. "I know you're broken in parts you try to hide, I know you shouldn't allow this, that you're a problem." Her hand reached for Bruce's. "But that doesn't push me away, and it never would."

Bruce lowered his gaze, trying to escape those eyes that seemed to see beyond his own. His fingers tightened on the sofa, his eyes closed, trapped by the jumble of thoughts swirling in his head, conjuring up every possible scenario.

"No, I can't," her jaw tightened, "we'll have to go our separate ways, it's for both our sakes."

"Bruce, I'm not asking for anything," Clark's soft voice echoed in the room, "just don't push me away out of fear."

Her fingers first brushed Clark's wrist, a minimal, almost accidental touch, before carefully moving up to rest on his cheek. The gesture was clumsy in its restraint, and slowly her eyes opened until they met Kent's warm smile, always stirring her heart.

His hand lowered and stopped touching him, then he rested his head in Clark's hand, burying himself there, afraid to come up and say something that would result in either his worst mistake or his greatest joy in recent years. Clark knew his answer without needing words, waiting the necessary time before embracing that pale body.

Their reflections remained imprinted on the television, staying there, giving him the peace he had once lost.

"You don't know how many times I thought about this and thought it would never go beyond a wish."

Clark closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Bruce's as he managed to get out, catching his breath. He spoke in a whisper that barely broke the silence of the apartment.

"If you leave afterwards, I promise not to invade your space."

She didn't know how to respond to Clark's words. Standing before her was the man who had endured so much by her side, who never gave up despite the countless times she had put up her walls. And he was standing before her, holding his heart in one hand while the other held hers.

This time Bruce refused to control the situation and looked at Clark, demonstrating with actions and not words.

"Don't go."

The kiss that followed wasn't rushed or impulsive; it was slow, charged with everything that had been held back for so long, even longer than she could have imagined. It wasn't bold, nor was it accompanied by any biting, just a quiet need to confirm what was already there, what everyone indicated were dates and glances that went beyond friendship.

Clark held Bruce by the waist, refusing to let go, refusing to stop this moment where Bruce was being honest about what he felt, pulling away for a moment to catch his breath, their foreheads touching, breathing the same air, sharing the same pulse. They were kissing again after a few seconds, until they ended up lying back on the sofa and their caresses traveled up to Bruce's dark hair, silently thanking him for what he had shown without needing to speak.

As the minutes ticked by and midnight approached, Clark continued to stroke her, as if her presence were an answer to everything she had confessed. This moment would remain etched in her memory.

The sofa became an impromptu refuge where feelings were laid bare. They said nothing, and that comfort made Bruce settle in a little more, turning slightly to lie on his side with his head now resting beneath Clark's chin, almost unconsciously.

The kiss had surprised even him, so looking up and facing the reality of his situation still left him somewhat tense. After this, nothing could ever be the same, and that was something he couldn't quite grasp.

"You should be aware that you deserve better."

Clark didn't respond immediately, he just separated their bodies and stared into his eyes for a few seconds, raising his hands to his face, gently caressing his cheeks, without pressuring Bruce, without trying to make him forget his feelings, his reactions or his ideas; just showing that he was still there.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured against her lips, adding a few more, "nor am I going to leave, B, no matter what happens, I won't leave your side."

Bruce momentarily closed his eyes, silently indicating that the caresses should continue.

"Can I stay overnight?" he murmured.

Clark quickly smiled and nodded in response to his question, even though he wasn't seen. He stood up from the sofa and took his hand. Carrying him would be too much for Bruce, and doing it that way might make him even more nervous and anxious than he already was, so he decided it was best to guide him to the bedroom.

Clark's bedroom wasn't huge like Bruce's; there was nothing fancy or that Bruce hadn't already imagined: plain walls with a few framed posters, family photos, just the necessary furniture, and neatly arranged clothes, with one messy corner true to Bruce's personality.

"I have some clothes you could use, they're from when I was younger." She opened her wardrobe and bent down into one of the drawers to rummage through them. "They should fit you better and you could sleep more comfortably."

While Clark continued searching and checking, Bruce remained leaning against the doorframe, reviewing his chat with Alfred, reading tonight's report, and keeping an eye on what was happening in his absence. He felt even more guilty when he wrote that his arrival would likely be delayed until tomorrow afternoon.

He shouldn't have continued with this, and yet here he was waiting instead of leaving.

She placed her phone on a nearby piece of furniture, silently accepting the change of clothes, and, following Clark's instructions, changed in the bathroom. Alone in the room, Clark sat on the edge of his bed, bringing one hand to his face, processing how a dinner had ended in a simple confession about her feelings for him.

"By Rao," he observed the ceiling, taking off his black-framed glasses.

But Clark was happy; his feelings were reciprocated.

And his smile didn't fade when the door opened and Bruce came out in his clothes. The dark shirt hung off one shoulder, indicating that even those clothes had ended up being a little too big for him; his baggy pants were rolled up at the bottom to keep them from dragging; his hair fell in patches, disheveled, just as it was when he visited Batman at the mansion.

Bruce didn't say anything about it; he turned away to finish speaking with Alfred, giving him some instructions on what to do, even though the butler already knew how to proceed. While this was happening, Clark noticed Bruce's pale skin, the raised scars that had healed that way due to rushed suturing, and the small burn marks—all symbols of everything he sacrificed for Gotham.

He got out of bed, and instinctively the Kryptonian hugged him from behind, kissing the back of his neck.

Bruce put down his phone and let Clark continue with his kisses and caresses.

He couldn't understand how he could look at him and think he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, how he deserved Clark's love when there were so many people in the world better than him, people he wouldn't have to wait for until the day they disappeared. Bruce turned to look at him, kissing him again, and was led to the bed where they each lay on one side, but without moving away.

"Are you really not afraid of waking up and being alone?"

"You won't," he turned his face to see himself again with the help of the little light that filtered through the window, "and if you do, I know it won't be because you don't feel something, but because you feel a lot."

Bruce reached out and took Clark's hand, their fingers intertwining, deciding that perhaps escape wasn't a choice he made alone, that there was nothing to fear. However, even as he moved closer and climbed on top of Clark, his gaze betrayed his feelings. He felt unworthy of everything Superman meant to the world.

"Don't leave me, Kal-El," she bent down enough to kiss him.

Thanks to their research and their close relationship, Bruce knew Clark's name, but hearing it on his lips for the first time, he surprised the pale man by kissing him, his fingers tracing Clark's shirt until they slipped inside, caressing the numerous scars and trying to memorize each one. A shiver ran through Bruce, letting Clark know more than he could see.

It wasn't the first time they'd met; Bruce's scars were widely known, but feeling them was something else entirely. He gripped Bruce's waist with his large hands, allowing Bruce to explore a part of him, giving him time to consider whether such a profound step was something he could bear.

"You're so beautiful, Bruce," he said, stepping back as someone's fingers touched him, unbuttoning his shirt. "I couldn't leave you, I've always wanted to be yours."

The boy's cheeks flushed red, unable to understand how Clark could see him that way. This didn't stop him from wanting to express his feelings for him, because if words failed him or were the wrong ones, he would express them through desire and the love that had slowly blossomed from everything Clark meant to him.

He set his shirt aside and admired everything hidden beneath those tacky shirts, taking his own and still looking at Clark, allowing them to be on equal footing. The upper part of his body was revealed to the Kryptonian, without shame or shyness on his part, a mere sign that the walls were completely broken down, allowing him to see beyond what anyone had ever seen before—his private parts.

There was no need for comments; their looks and touch were enough to show what they felt.

The positions changed and for once Bruce was not in control of the situation, opening his mouth to sigh the moment the lips brushed his neck, descending with kisses to his abdomen, pausing in that area to ascend again with caresses, nibbling until he was sure that some marks would remain the next day.

Bruce began to moan, stifling some of the sounds in his throat, breathing with pleasure, his chest rising from Clark's kisses and bites. His rosy cheeks stirred something in Clark that compelled him to continue kissing him while the pale man's fingers dug into the sheets.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he slid to the edge of his pajama pants and Bruce finally opened his legs, humming with pleasure at the scene before him.

The great Batman, capable of intimidating just by mentioning his name, was now in front of him showing what he felt for him, the only person who had patiently managed to make him smile.

"Are you ready for this?" Clark asked without lowering the garment, pausing until they were face to face. "I won't do anything you wouldn't want."

He was silenced by a kiss from Bruce. He slipped his tongue inside, exploring every corner of his mouth, his perfect teeth, and his tongue as large as he was. In no time, Bruce managed to convey what he wanted to say, leaving fine strands of saliva as they parted, only to return moments later to the same act.

Clark's hands finally lowered the garment, leaving Bruce exposed, and he stepped back to admire all that Bruce Wayne was. Clark smiled smugly; he had done it so many times that day that it was now commonplace, but this time the reason was the best of all.

"Darling, you're so beautiful."

The outpouring of praise made Bruce's face a work of art, his legs caressing the Kryptonian, urging him on, his eyes pleading for more than just this. Bruce's face wasn't always so open; he usually wore a mask. But now it was like this, communicating what he felt, from his clear blue eyes that drew Clark in to continue.

Bruce's neck was marked again, and he groaned in supplication.

"Calm down, darling," he kisses her nose, her cheeks and finishes at her dark circles, "I'll give you what you need."

It had been a long night, the best in many months, and now it would end with something he hadn't expected when he arranged this date. Clark exhaled and narrowed his eyes.

Bruce's underwear was wet, his excitement growing, and now he needed to feel Clark. He wasn't used to being dominated, much less to the way Clark was treating him, patiently taking his time touching him, raising his hips and moving them with enthusiasm, asking him to take it off so he could try it somehow.

Clark felt that this was all he needed, bending his body and leading Bruce to the edge of the bed, ending up on his knees on the carpeted floor of the room, lowering the thin fabric until it reached the end of his feet, leaving it at his side, holding Bruce's legs and resting them on his firm, large shoulders.

What he found there didn't surprise him; months ago he'd noticed Bruce's distinctive scars, but that didn't lead him to make an inappropriate comment. Everything about Bruce was delicious, no matter what form he took. He wanted all of him, and no one could change that feeling, not even Batman. He kissed his large, juicy thighs, turning Bruce into a box of soft moans, propping himself up on his elbows to see what Clark wanted to do with his body. Those sounds only intensified Clark's growing erection, but Clark was more focused on marking him as his own, alternating between his legs until he reached Bruce's slit, opening his mouth.

At that moment their eyes met and Bruce didn't know how to react without giving her a look clouded by need.

Clark's tongue explored Bruce's intimate area, and a rhythm was soon established, accompanied by his fingers that pleasured the elongated clitoris with just the right pressure for intense pleasure. Meanwhile, his free hand ensured that Bruce's spasms wouldn't interrupt his meal, that his lips wouldn't close. A hint of joy flickered in Clark's eyes, and his sighs revealed that, without being touched, he felt a pleasure only Clark could create.

The sucking motions soon became a constant companion to his other actions, grateful for having him so docile for his consumption. It was an image he would never forget, the night Bruce Wayne became his, and no one else's from now on. Meanwhile, the Dark Knight exuded satisfaction with his clouded eyes and the slight trembling of his legs.

Clark wouldn't let Bruce pull away; on the contrary, he urged him on, helping him find pleasure at the pace the man liked. And he soon realized that as he quickened the pace, Bruce trembled beneath him, uttering his beloved's name between the swaying hips.

A finger entered, slowly, allowing the man to adjust to the sensation, but noticing the gaze directed at him, another finger was added shortly after, and his eyes widened. Batman wept beneath him, tears streaming uncontrollably, his lips raw and raw as he tried to stifle his sobs, biting them until they were raw and red.

"Clark... yes, yes, there" her walls tensed as her sweet spot was found shortly after, soaking her fingers "don't stop, keep going there."

Bruce's moans became incoherent as the licking intensified, bending his body and causing him to writhe. Clark relished every one of his reactions, giving his precious man what he needed, pausing his tongue to once again attend to his shapely thighs, nibbling at them while his fingers pushed Bruce to the edge.

"Honey, don't close your pretty legs," she warns, and Bruce obeys without complaint, apologizing with his eyes, "good boy."

Her tongue returned to where it belonged at this moment, spitting saliva into her cunt to continue attending, groaning with satisfaction as she listened to the accelerated rhythm of her partner's heartbeat accompanied by how he desperately grabbed her hair, begging in his own way, not wanting her to leave, wanting her to stay by his side and make him reach orgasm.

Bruce's eyes begged for more, pleading for Clark's cock, which was still covered by his clothes. But Clark didn't want to rush things; he couldn't give everything to a man who'd never been used to having someone, and he wanted to explore every inch of Bruce. "Princess"—the nickname made Bruce tremble, and Superman smiled at that.

He was a box of surprises. Apparently, Bruce was fascinated by being treated this way, both firmly and with gentle words. He would give him everything.

She pushes her fingers into her lover's walls several times, rubbing her aching cunt and her tongue going up and down again and again, almost ignoring Bruce's pained voice, wanting more of Clark, needing more of him.

"I'm going to... mghh... Kal, please," her voice was so weak

"What will you do? Tell me, my precious one."

Bruce tried to ignore her question upon learning what this game was about, but his fingers emerged seconds after he decided to remain silent, grunting and moaning later as he felt those same fingers delivering small blows against his cunt, driving the pale man to despair. "Run! Clark, I'm going to cum!"

"Do it, darling, be a good boy and let me see you like that."

It wasn't long before they were watching Bruce's chest rise and fall unevenly, his moans becoming increasingly sharp, his lips chapped by this point, and his fingers digging into the hero's curly hair. Bruce couldn't bear it any longer, trembling as Kent held him. Batman's sobs brought Clark's cock immense pleasure, and he longed to enter him, prolonging his sweet climax by slapping his partner's beautiful, wet pussy with his palm.

Clark soon returns to Bruce's side, carrying Bruce's body on top of him, holding him in his arms, kissing his teary eyes and reddish lips, murmuring how good he had been.

Bruce was going to beg to feel his penis, to at least let him take care of it in the same way with his mouth and feel his semen in his mouth, but right now he didn't have the strength for that, hiding in his neck while Clark kissed his messy hair.

"Next week... at my house," he murmured, embracing Clark's body, falling into exhaustion. "Come."

They both lay down, one on top of the other, hugging and deciding that from now on there would be no more secrets, that Clark would stay by Bruce's side no matter what happened.

Days later, they were back in their suits at the Watchtower. Another rest session, another meeting where Hal and Flash sat looking at the screen, chatting with the other members who were relaxing in different areas.

Bruce Wayne's interview was all over the news, once again causing a sensation due to a typical accident of the clumsy millionaire. This time he had fallen at his mansion, which is why his foot was recovering.

It was just another excuse. And at that moment, Batman walked in with his second cup of coffee, glancing at the screen for a few seconds while Flash commented on another part of the interview, now focusing on the reasons behind why he had rejected Lex Luthor's million-dollar offer.

Superman glanced at Batman as he used one of his sugar packets, then at his foot, hoping it was feeling better. Batman turned and walked over to sit beside him, smiling only at him before taking a sip.

"Would you like to bet on who I am again?" His gaze shifted to Jordan. "Or can't I just be a stupid millionaire?"

Diana smiled and stood up to let the discussion begin. Some things would never change, and on the other hand, others had, like the growing closeness between Clark and Bruce.

"Let's begin, blue eyes?"

Superman smiled as he listened to Flash and Arthur arguing over who had won the bet. Meanwhile, Bruce simply pulled out his tablet to continue his research, all while Clark stood beside him, smiling, knowing things had improved.

There was still a long way to go, but everything was alright if it was by his side.

And even though the world kept turning with new threats, he wasn't going to let him go. They didn't need grand pronouncements; the way Bruce no longer moved away when Clark sat beside him was enough. He knew Batman would still be wary and exhausted most of the day, always on high alert for the worst, but Superman was there.

But now, between missions, meetings and shared silences, they had found a point of equilibrium, two men choosing each other without noise, without haste, without masks between them, only their eyes looking at each other at the end of the day, transmitting what words could not.