Chapter Text
He always had trouble defending the lines, where exactly something started and where it ended. The edges were blurry, everything caught in between. He wasn’t even sure where exactly his cowl ended and where his expensive going-out suit began.
Batman, or should he say, Bruce Wayne, were as much separated as they were a union. One body. Only the closest ones could see the difference between his masks, even though sometimes Bruce himself found it difficult to tell them apart. But at least he was sure of one thing: every persona of his wanted to change Gotham for the better, using fists or money to do so. Every possible resource was used by him to fight for a better future, the one he was deprived of when his parents were killed. The darkness inside him was covering all of his soul and heart, which made him a Batman.
But it didn’t make him any less human.
He was using his own body, pushing it to complete exhaustion. Each night and day he spent either patrolling the streets from the shadows or quietly funding the Wayne Foundation, everything done in silence. He was constantly working, barely having time for sleep. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had slept a proper eight hours.
Alfred was giving him worried glances when he saw Bruce’s dark, permanent circles under his eyes. Sometimes he deliberately didn’t wash off his black eye makeup properly after patrolling, so Alfred wouldn’t see the exhaustion on his face. He didn’t know the lines, where he should stop pushing his own body and health.
The origin of the Justice League didn’t make him… less Batman. Even though now he had constant support from other metas, he was still himself. Grumpy, lonely, violent, cold. He still had issues with trust, but over time he had to let go a little and put some faith in the other members, especially during missions. But that trust was still a little blurry around the edges. At the end of the day, Batman always preferred working alone. And it wasn’t because he thought less of the Justice League, it was because he was still himself.
Whatever he was.
They were on a mission. Giant metal robots were attacking the city, destroying buildings and hurting civilians. Maybe they wouldn’t have been such a big problem, but somehow they were really strong, difficult to destroy, and they were also shooting damn lasers from their arms. Flash and Green Lantern were responsible for civilian safety, while Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman were taking care of the fighting.
The quick heartbeat. Dry mouth. Sweat. Blood from injuries. Adding the exhaustion built up over days prior, Batman felt out of breath. But it wouldn’t stop him. Never would. He heard the other members through the comms, designed and created by him. He also heard a sharp shout from Wonder Woman when she was trapped by a robot’s arm. Bruce, in the blink of an eye, grabbed a batarang from his utility belt, throwing it precisely into the joint between the robot’s body and its arm. Even when tired, he hardly ever missed. Wonder Woman freed herself from the trap, using her bare fist to pierce through the robot’s surface and swiftly destroy its core. She nodded to Batman in thanks and flew away to take care of another one.
Superman was also busy, drifting his body through the air, trying not to get hit by the lasers. He, on the other hand, looked barely troubled. The only thing suggesting that he was actually in a tough fight was his hair. Usually slicked back perfectly, now a few loose locks had fallen onto his forehead. He used his superspeed to move smoothly toward the robot, and like Wonder Woman, he flew into the robot’s insides, destroying it from within. The metal rubbish dropped loudly, and Superman stepped out of it without even a drop of sweat on his face.
When Superman was dealing with another one, Bruce realized that a robot was moving fast to attack the Man of Steel from behind. He fired his grappling hook, and with speed kicked the robot, using his heavy boot to pierce through its surface. He crushed its sensor with his hands and tore the remaining joints connected to its core. The robot hit the ground, completely lifeless, with Batman on top of it. Superman sent him a grateful, warm smile, and Bruce felt his heart skip a beat.
The fight was nearing its end. There were only a few remaining robots, and all civilians had been taken to safety. Batman felt how his muscles ached, his knees turning to wool, his vision blurring. That was why, when he heard a scream aimed at him from Flash through the comms, he barely registered it. He realized a robot was charging at him too late. He jumped aside, avoiding the full impact, but the robot grazed his shoulder with a laser. It had burned straight through the suit, leaving the skin beneath raw and angry. It hurt like hell. The smell of burned costume and skin made him gag. Batman covered the injury with one hand, kneeling on the ground, his head dizzy with pain. Wonder Woman quickly flew over and took care of the robot, when Superman appeared right in front of him.
“B?” he panicked, taking a look at Bruce’s wound. “Rao, are you alright?”
Bruce couldn’t look into his deep blue eyes, full of worry. He grunted in confirmation, turning his body away from Superman.
“What was that?” This time it was Wonder Woman. She landed nearby, her face twisted with annoyance. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed! Why didn’t you listen to Flash’s orders?!”
Batman closed his eyes, his hand still clinging to his injured shoulder. His whole body ached, but now he also felt shame blooming inside him. He didn’t say a word, his silence the only answer they were going to get.
Superman put his hand on Bruce’s uninjured shoulder. Heat radiating from him warmed Bruce’s insides.
“Get off him,” he scolded Wonder Woman, sending her a warning look. “Batman actually saved our asses today more than a few times.”
“Geez, you’re right,” she sent Batman an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Emotions got the better of me. It’s hard seeing you get hurt.”
They didn’t have a chance to say anything more. They saw Green Lantern and Flash trying to stop the incoming people, but they failed miserably. The danger was gone, so the rescued civilians wanted to greet the heroes who had saved them. Reporters with cameras were also rushing in, wanting to capture live footage of the mess that remained after the robots. People started to surround Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, and Superman, while Batman was still kneeling, feeling a little blood slowly soak the hand holding his injured shoulder. He watched as grateful people cheered the Justice League members, who seemed either embarrassed or glowing under the incoming praise. Batman was there too, on the gravel, surrounded by metal rubbish and shattered fragments of infrastructure and buildings.
He saw Lois Lane, an intelligent and gorgeous reporter, approach Superman and hug him briefly. When Bruce saw the gentleness in his gaze and the soft, warm smile on his face, a new ache bloomed inside him. Using his uninjured hand, he fired his grappling hook and fled the scene, not caring about anything else.
He wasn’t needed there anymore.
This was another case, where Bruce wasn’t sure, where the line was. He didn’t know how and when exactly he fell in love with the almighty Superman.
A few days passed. Bruce spent them mostly in the Batcave, writing reports and scanning live footage videos, revising every mistake. Every move. Every step. Every breath he had taken. He had pushed himself too hard during the last mission, and the injury limited his movement. Even after taking painkillers under Alfred’s care, he wasn’t able to patrol Gotham. He was out of service for at least a week.
He had fractured ribs, a deep cut on his chin, a sprained wrist, a twisted knee, but the deep burn on his shoulder sealed the deal.
A few hours after the mission, Bruce picked up a communicator and sent Superman a short request to take care of the city for a while. His heart felt heavy in his chest as he did so. He ignored any incoming texts, silencing the device.
Bruce felt old. Not fast enough, strong enough. Only Batman got hurt during a really basic mission. He had to do more, train more, put in more effort. He was the only human in the League. He had to keep up. He didn’t have any other choice.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said when he came to check on him, finding Bruce locked away in the cave, rewatching the same footage again. “The League is requesting a meeting. I think it would be better, if you attend.”
Alfred’s face was stoic, as usual, difficult to read. But Bruce noticed faint wrinkles on his forehead, carved there by worry. Bruce shut down his computer, sighing heavily. His hand ran through greasy hair, making him realize he should probably shower. He had been far too long in the Batcave.
“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “I should probably go.”
He appeared in the Watchtower then, where everybody was already present. Bruce caught a few not-so-discreet, worried gazes directed at him. He ignored them and sat down at the table in the meeting hall, showing no emotion, cold as always.
“Batman,” Wonder Woman greeted him, offering a small smile. “How is your injury?”
“Yeah, it looked like a really nasty wound,” Green Lantern chimed in. Everyone was listening closely.
“I’m good,” Bruce muttered, keeping it short. “Let’s start the meeting, shall we?”
Bruce saw their worried gazes. He hated being the center of attention. But deep inside, in a place he didn’t like to look at too often, he was glad they cared about his well-being.
He hated being seen. He hated even more how much part of him wanted it.
Bruce stayed stiff throughout the meeting. Still, he took part in it, he wasn’t going to ditch his responsibilities. Wonder Woman led the discussion this time, but she often asked for Batman’s opinion, seeking his advice. Even though he wasn’t a metahuman, his mind wasn’t replaceable.
The World’s Greatest Detective, they called him. And Bruce didn’t mind. Everyone knew he had brains. At least when he had his cowl on.
If they knew who he was behind his mask, they wouldn’t be so nice.
The meeting ended quickly, touching only the bare essentials. That day, Batman had a monitoring shift in the Watchtower. With Superman. As much as he wanted to sneak out, call it off, and lock himself away again in the Batcave, he knew he had to stay.
When everyone started leaving the meeting hall, Bruce sighed and began to get up. A burning pain shot through his shoulder wound, freezing him in place. His knees shook as he tried to steady himself with his uninjured hand. Suddenly, there was a rush of wind, and a very warm touch on his forearm, keeping him upright.
Bruce didn’t even need to look up to know whose hand it was.
“Kal-El,” he murmured, yanking himself away from the burning touch, which somehow felt hotter than the laser.
“B,” Superman said. He stayed close, just in case Batman had another moment of weakness. “You didn’t answer my texts.”
“Hm.” Bruce grunted. He started walking toward the monitoring room, not checking whether Superman was following him. “I was busy.”
Bruce sat down in front of the screens, trying to ignore the presence of the other man. But he could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest.
It was hard to tell where exactly his feelings had begun. During their first meeting, neither of them would have believed that one day they would trust each other. At first, Batman had growled at Superman, cold and intense: stay away from my city. He wanted nothing to do with a flying damn alien in blue tights. He still had kryptonite hidden somewhere in the Batcave, even now.
It had changed gradually over time. Metropolis was close enough to Gotham that collaboration became unavoidable. They started to warm up to each other, no longer openly hostile. Nights spent patrolling the streets together became more common. Quiet talks on rooftops. Standing back to back in battle, protecting one another. Creating the Justice League only deepened their bond.
Bruce wouldn’t call them friends. He didn’t have friends. Didn’t need them.
But he trusted Kal-El with his life, and that said more than any word ever could. At least when he had his cowl on, and Superman wore the bright, proud S on his chest. They didn’t know each other’s identities. It was the last remaining barrier between them, and Bruce clung to it desperately. Even though he could find Superman’s secret life under five minutes. He told himself it was about caution. About safety.
But deep down, he knew better. They were already too close.
Bruce felt the weight of Superman’s gaze on his temple. He didn’t turn around, his eyes glued to the monitor in front of him.
“Batman,” Kal-El started. He pulled his chair closer to Bruce. “Can you show me your shoulder?”
Bruce glanced at him from the corner of his eye, unimpressed. But when he caught the warmth, the sincerity, and the worry in those so fucking blue eyes, he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. With a deep, irritated sigh, he unzipped his suit, lowering some of the armor pads, just enough to reveal a glimpse of the bandage.
“Use your X-vision for the rest,” Batman ordered, his eyes already back on the monitor.
When he heard a sharp inhale, he immediately zipped the suit back up.
“Rao, it doesn’t look good…”
“You don’t say.” Batman rolled his eyes. “I had to stop patrolling Gotham for a few days. And thank you for doing my job. Starting tomorrow, I won’t need your help anymore.”
“But it’s not healed yet!” Superman protested, his eyes still fixed on Bruce’s shoulder. “I can still smell the faint scent of scorched skin!”
“Burns heal slowly. It’s better now.”
“Why didn’t you go to the medbay here after the mission? I was looking for you.”
“It’s not that severe,” the irritation was clear in Batman’s dark voice. “The wound barely bled. I patched myself up.”
“But… I wanted to help you.”
“I don’t need help,” he snapped, glaring angrily at Superman. “And all of you seemed busy, so I left.”
“Those people were there for you too, B.”
A flashback from that day cut through Bruce’s mind. He bit the inside of his cheek, remembering how lovingly Superman had held Lois in his arms. His girlfriend. He hated how that memory made him feel. The jealousy sat heavy on his tongue, tightening his throat with force. It pierced through his insides, like fire consuming him from within.
Batman and Superman had grown close enough to talk about things beyond missions and strategy, about their private lives. Especially during late nights spent in the Watchtower’s monitoring room, just like tonight. Kal-El, in particular, liked to talk about his life and his problems. And Bruce liked to listen. The warm, deep sound of his voice brightened the dark, cold nights, if only a little.
But not every night filled with Kal-El’s laughter was pleasant.
Bruce would never forget the love-struck look on his face, the mist in his sparkling eyes, the faint pink on his cheeks. The wide, happy smile, dimples showing, when he told Batman that he was in love with his amazing girlfriend.
Maybe that was the beginning. Or maybe Bruce’s feelings still hadn’t fully surfaced back then. He had patted Superman on the back, wished them luck, even as something unpleasant twisted in his gut.
He would always wish for Kal-El’s happiness. Even if it meant sacrificing his own.
Bruce was lost in thought when he felt a light touch on his chin. The pad of Superman’s thumb was warm against the healing cut, another reminder left behind by the mission. Batman pulled away instinctively, the hair at the back of his neck prickling at the unexpected closeness.
“We all care about you,” Kal-El said, his hand still hovering in the air between them. “I do care about you.”
They didn’t say much for the rest of the shift.
Batman spent the remainder of the night moving between Gotham’s rooftops, the rising sun slowly erasing the shadows he usually hid in. He could still feel the ghost of that touch on his face when the sunlight finally blinded him with its brightness.
Cutting ties between them was hard, almost impossible. And Bruce tried. Oh, he tried.
With the League in the background, it was difficult to avoid Superman completely, or even to prevent having a proper conversation with him. After Bruce realized his feelings for the other man, he did everything he could to distance himself. He didn’t pick up shifts with Superman. He didn’t answer his texts unless they were strictly League-related. He avoided talking to him outside the meeting hall. He put an end to their late-night talks on rooftops. His avoidance didn’t go unnoticed. Wonder Woman once pulled him aside to ask if he and Kal-El were fighting, if everything was alright.
Nothing was alright.
Superman looked wrecked. He had no idea what he had done wrong, why Batman had stopped talking to him altogether. And when Bruce saw the tears in his gorgeous eyes, real, unguarded tears, something inside him broke. He realized then that cutting ties was impossible. They cared about each other too much for that.
So Bruce made a decision.
He swallowed his feelings and stayed by Superman’s side as his teammate.
Nothing more.
It worked well. Bruce had spent his entire life learning how to bury what he felt. If he could, he would erase that part of himself completely, the part that still hurt, the part that still bled. But without it, there would be nothing left. No anger. No grief. No reason to fight. And emptiness scared him more than pain ever had. Because pain meant connection, to the past, to the boy he had been, to the man he was trying not to lose. It was the last thread tying him to his humanity.
And humanity, however fragile, was what had made him Batman in the first place.
So he fought. And fought. And fought. Until he wasn’t sure whether the blood on his face was someone else’s or his own. He tore through his enemies, crushed them, smashed them, destroyed them. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Sometimes, even the shadows beneath him scared him too.
He hadn’t slept for four days straight. Commissioner Gordon had given him a lead, Penguin. They’ve been sitting on his tail for a few weeks now. A warehouse near the docks. A late-night meeting. Batman had been watching them for hours that night. He stayed in the shadows above the warehouse floor, crouched on a steel beam, unmoving. His body ached with every breath. His vision swam at the edges, the lack of sleep turning the world soft and unreal. He counted heartbeats instead of minutes. Forced himself to stay sharp. Below him, Penguin laughed. Loud. Annoying. Surrounded by men who thought numbers would protect them.
Batman waited. When he moved, it was sudden.
The lights went out in a burst of sparks. Screams followed immediately. Panic. Guns raised in the dark, firing wildly at nothing. Batman dropped from above, hitting the first man hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. Bone cracked under his boot.
He didn’t slow down.
Another man lunged at him. Batman twisted, elbow driving into a throat, then a knee to the chest. Someone grabbed him from behind. Batman slammed his head back, feeling the impact rattle his skull. The room spun for a second too long.
Too slow.
A fist connected with his jaw. He tasted blood.
Didn’t stop.
He fought like someone with nothing to lose. Too hard. Too reckless. He tore through them with bare brutality, punches landing where they would hurt most, movements fueled by exhaustion and rage rather than precision. Pain barely registered anymore. Everything blurred together: shouts, metal crashing, the sharp smell of sweat and fear. Penguin tried to run. Batman caught him by the collar and slammed him into a crate, hard enough to crack the wood. The world tilted. For a moment, Bruce wasn’t sure if it was Penguin gasping or himself.
“You talk,” Batman growled, voice low and broken. “Or I keep going.”
And Penguin did.
By the time the police arrived, Batman was already gone. Vanished back into the night, leaving behind unconscious bodies on the floor and questions no one wanted answered. He landed on a nearby rooftop and barely managed to stay upright. His hands were shaking. His knees buckled. He dropped to one knee, breathing hard, the city spinning beneath him.
Four days without sleep. And still, it wasn’t enough.
Everything was spinning, making him dizzy. He tasted blood in his mouth. Black dots bloomed at the edges of his vision, his breath hitching painfully in his throat. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact, when his body would finally meet the cold concrete.
But it didn’t happen. Instead, there was warmth.
An arm wrapped securely around his waist. A careful, almost reverent touch against his face. When Bruce opened his eyes, he felt like the rising sun blinded him again. Superman.
“Kal,” he rasped, his voice rough and hoarse.
“B,” Superman said softly. His voice wavered. “I-I heard your heart. It’s usually so steady. But earlier… I knew something was wrong. I had to come.”
Batman said nothing, only let out a quiet grunt. His body weighed a ton, even lifting a finger felt impossible. New aches and pains bloomed everywhere, overlapping until he couldn’t tell where it hurt the most. His heart was starting to steady, his blood pressure no longer racing, the light-headedness slowly fading.
A flicker of emotions crossed Superman’s face as he scanned Bruce’s body, no doubt using his X-vision. Carefully, he secured Batman in his arms and lifted him from the rooftop.
“You need a doctor. Or a hospital,” Kal-El said, adjusting his grip under Bruce’s knees. “Where can I take you?”
Batman closed his eyes. A sharp headache pulsed behind them, probably the start of a migraine. He tried to think, but the pain was becoming unbearable. In this state, he didn’t have many options.
“Batcave,” he finally muttered, regret heavy in his voice. “Put me in the Batmobile. It’ll take me from there.”
“Are you insane? I’m not leaving you in this state. And where is-” He cut himself off as a black car pulled onto the rooftop and came to a smooth stop nearby. “Never mind.”
The car opened its door on its own. Superman gently settled Batman into the passenger seat before moving around to take the driver’s seat. The Batmobile locked them inside, the engine humming to life as it automatically mapped the shortest route to the Batcave.
“In the Batcave,” Bruce started, his voice grainy and cold again. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t come too close to anything. And don’t you dare use X-vision.”
Superman smirked, one corner of his mouth lifting. He placed a hand over his chest, right next to the bright S on his suit. “Scout’s honor.”
“We both know damn well you were never a scout,” Bruce added dryly.
Superman chuckled. And for a moment, just a moment, a ghost of a smile crossed Bruce’s face.
They arrived at the cave, its vastness illuminated only by a few dimmed lights. Batman tried not to dwell on Superman’s presence here. Kal-El was the first person, besides Alfred and Bruce himself, to ever set foot in the Batcave. And Bruce knew he shouldn’t have allowed it. His secret identity was at risk. Every instinct screamed at him that this was a mistake.
But he didn’t had a choice.
Batman stepped out of the Batmobile and moved slowly toward the medical wing, his body protesting with every step. He focused on the path ahead, deliberately ignoring the open fascination in Superman’s eyes. Kal-El didn’t even attempt to hide it, the awe, the curiosity, as he took in the advanced technology, the towering machinery, the sheer scale of it all. A fortress of steel and shadows, hidden within nothing more than a cave.
Bruce felt exposed. Not because Superman could see the machines. But because this place was him.
Batman lay back on the examination table, quickly typing commands into the nearby console to initiate the scan. He opened a drawer, took out a strong painkiller, and swallowed a couple of pills without water.
“Is it… did you buy the equipment?” Superman asked, his gaze drawn to the machine as it began scanning through Batman’s armor and suit.
“No,” Batman replied flatly. “I built everything here.”
Superman blinked. “Wow. I knew you were amazing, but seeing all of this with my own eyes…”
Batman only grunted in response.
The laser burn on his shoulder flared sharply, pain blooming beneath the bandages, hot, insistent. The adrenaline in his blood finally ebbed, and every ache hit him at once.
“Thank you, Superman,” Batman murmured, closing his eyes. Colors swam through his vision, too bright, too sharp. The migraine was close. “You can leave now.”
“What? No.” Superman frowned immediately. “I’m staying. Someone still needs to take care of you.”
“I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.”
“Still-”
“There is…” Batman started, swallowing hard. Alarms rang in his head, every instinct screaming at him. “There’s someone.”
“Oh.” Superman stiffened, clearly startled. When Bruce opened his eyes, Kal-El was suddenly looking everywhere except at him. “I-I didn’t know you had a… partner. You hardly ever talk about your private life- don’t get me wrong, that’s completely fine! I just- well, I hope you’re happy and-”
“Stop rambling,” Batman groaned. He shifted slightly, the movement sending another spike of pain through his shoulder. He wanted, needed, to strip out of the armor and properly tend to his wounds, but he wouldn’t do that with Superman still here. “It’s my… assistant. Family.”
“Oh.” The Man of Steel’s cheeks flushed red as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-Yeah. Sure. I mean- good choice.”
“Good,” Batman said without emotion. “Now leave.”
He hesitated, like he was weighing something. There was something behind those deep blue eyes. Flickering across Superman’s face, impossible to name. Something in his posture sent goosebumps racing down Bruce’s spine. The alarms in his head were screaming so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts. Kal-El made a decision, Bruce could see it clearly now, the sudden firmness in his gaze. His chest rose and fell slowly, deliberately. Bruce’s heart, on the other hand, was racing out of control.
“B,” Kal-El said softly. His hand brushed against Batman’s for a split second before he pulled it back. “I know how much you value your secret identity. Your privacy. And I admire that. I also know you could look me up, have my real name in minutes. But you never did.”
A creeping dread settled in Bruce’s gut. He knew where this was going.
“What I’m trying to say is…” Superman hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “Look. I can honestly say you’re my best friend. I trust you with everything. And I know you trust me too. I know all of that, but-”
“Kal,” Bruce said quietly, not moving an inch.
“-today I realized something. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. And seeing you trust me enough to let me into your base, into a place that’s practically your home…” His voice softened. “It means more than you think.”
Superman smiled.
“I don’t expect anything in return. You let me in, so I’m letting you in too,” the smile never left his face as his eyes searched Bruce’s, hidden behind the cowl and smeared black makeup. “My identity. My real name is Clark Kent. And, um- I should go before you say something you’ll regret.”
There was a faint, apologetic smile, a rush of wind, and he was gone. Silence swallowed the Batcave. Bruce’s elevated heartbeat was the only sound left echoing through the cavern.
The last line. The final boundary. The last barrier Bruce had fought so hard to maintain lay in ruins beneath his boots. And he hadn’t been the one to cross it. It had been Superman. Kal-El. Clark Kent.
His pulse slammed in his throat. The world narrowed, then slipped. The sheer exhaustion finally caught up with him.
The world became quiet, darkness slowly crepting in.
Batman passed out.
He slept for almost fifteen hours. Alfred came down to the Batcave several times, taking care of Bruce and tending to his wounds. He left him there on the medical table, most of the suit removed, the black makeup washed away. Bruce woke drenched in sweat, a blanket pulled over his body and the bitter taste of medicine still on his tongue. He felt like he had risen from the dead. His body was covered in new cuts, a whole spectrum of bruises blooming across his skin.
Again, he spent the next few days in the Batcave, recovering from yet another near disaster. By now, it felt like a pattern. He pushed himself too far, got hurt, and then disappeared underground to heal. New scars appeared on his body like unwanted souvenirs. Maybe soon there wouldn’t be a single patch of skin left untouched by old injuries. Rest days, however, didn’t really mean rest for Bruce. They just meant working from the safety of his cave. From the cold, dark comfort of the Batcave, hunched over the main computer.
Penguin was in Arkham, but there were still loose ends to tie up. Fortunately, the GCPD under Commissioner Gordon’s command was competent enough to clean up what remained on Gotham’s streets, following Batman’s very firm suggestions. At least that part was going smoothly.
Bruce couldn’t say the same about the rest of his life.
He hadn’t been in contact with Superman. There were no League meetings either, which meant they hadn’t spoken in days. Kal-El’s confession had shaken Bruce to his core. Superman hadn’t given him a choice. He had shared his identity knowing full well that, if Batman hadn’t been injured and exhausted, he would have shut him down immediately.
But Bruce had been weak. So Kal-El spoke. A new name left his mouth. And Bruce had no choice but to take it. And become obsessed.
Born in a small town called Smallville, Kansas. Adopted as an infant by Martha and Jonathan Kent. Raised on a farm. A journalism degree from Metropolis University. Renting tiny apartment in centrum. Not so long ago repaid student loan. Currently working as a reporter at the Daily Planet, the same newspaper where Lois Lane was a star.
They were coworkers. No wonder Kal-El had the time to get to know her and had fallen in love.
Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent had never officially met. The galas Bruce tended to attend were always covered by the ever-lovely Cat Grant. Part of him was relieved that Clark had never spoken to the famous Brucie Wayne. And yet, another part of him ached at the thought that, given the choice, Bruce would have much preferred flirting with the awkward reporter. Clark Kent had dark, unruly curls, thick-rimmed black glasses, and an absolutely terrible, truly terrible, sense of fashion. And somehow, all of it only made him more adorable.
Bruce dragged a hand down his face. This was getting out of control.
Luckily he didn’t have much time to scroll through Clark Kent’s historical reports. His rest days came to an abrupt end.
Batman received an alert, something was happening in Metropolis. The preliminary data was thin, someone needed eyes on the situation. Without hesitation, Bruce was already in the Batplane, engines roaring to life as he linked his comms to the rest of the League.
“Supes, you there?” Green Lantern’s voice crackled through the channel. “What’s the situation?”
“Any help would be appreciated,” Superman replied, the noise of explosions loud in the background. “It’s a drone attack. There are a lot of them. They are destroying everything. I cannot tell you more than that right now.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Wonder Woman said.
“On my way,” Batman grunted, speeding towards Metropolis.
There were actually a dozen of them, at least at first glance. The drones were large, angular machines, moving between skyscrapers with unsettling precision. They weren’t firing randomly. They were coordinated. One group distracted, another cut off escape routes, while the rest targeted infrastructure, bridges, power grids, evacuation paths. Whoever had built them knew exactly what they were doing.
Batman’s jaw tightened. Too organized for a simple terror attack. They were targeting something.
He swooped lower, Batplane engines roaring as he fired a series of EMP charges. Two drones dropped instantly, spiraling down between buildings in a shower of sparks. Another adjusted midair, narrowly avoiding the blast.
They were learning. Which meant high-end tech. Expensive, hard to obtain. Was it… LexCorp?
“Flash, status?” Bruce snapped into comms as he threaded the Batplane between buildings, sending another pulse toward the nearest cluster.
“Evacuating civilians near Fifth,” Flash replied, breathless. A blur of red and yellow streaked along the streets. “These things are fast, Bats. Way faster than last time.”
“Green Lantern, shield the lower streets. Wonder Woman, take the east flank.”
“On it,” she answered calmly. Batman didn’t even need to check on her, fully trusting Wonder Woman’s abilities.
Superman streaked past Bruce’s cockpit in a blur of red and blue, slamming straight through one of the drones and tearing it apart from the inside. The wreckage scattered harmlessly across the empty street below. But something was wrong. Bruce noticed it immediately, the flush on Clark’s face, damp hair clinging to his forehead. Superman hovered for a moment too long, one hand swiping sweat from his chin. His fingers trembled slightly before he shot off toward another cluster of drones.
“Superman. Status,” Batman barked, eyes locked on the blue blur.
“I’m fine,” Clark replied, his breathing elevated. “Just- there’s something odd about their energy output. Feels-”
A loud crack cut him off.
One of the drones detonated midair, releasing a dense, shimmering cloud that spread unnaturally fast, glittering faintly green as it caught the city lights.
Bruce’s console screamed. So did his mind.
WARNING: ANOMALOUS RADIATION DETECTED. TRACE KRYPTONITE PARTICLES.
His blood went cold. Superman had been the target all along.
“Kal, pull back!” Batman almost shouted, fingers tightening around the controls. “They’re releasing kryptonite- you’re the-”
Too late. Clark inhaled sharply the greenish cloud. He froze midair, hands clawing instinctively at his chest. His breath hitched, a strangled sound tearing from his throat as his flight faltered. Alarmed voices filled the comms, but Bruce heard none of them. All he could see was Clark, losing his strength, his powers, right in front of him.
The untouchable man struggling to breathe.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce spotted another drone surging toward a nearby building, civilians still visible through shattered windows. Clark saw it too.
Before Bruce could shout an order, redirect the Batplane, do anything- Superman was already moving. He intercepted the drone with his own body, slamming into it and forcing it away from the building. The explosion followed immediately. The kryptonite-laced mist engulfed him completely this time.
“Kal!” Batman yelled, ejecting from the Batplane without hesitation.
He watched Clark fall. Watched him drop, plummeting toward the ground.
Bruce fired his grappling hook and landed just as Superman hit the street. The impact cracked the asphalt beneath him. The almighty Superman laid motionless. Smoke curled around his body. His skin had gone ashen, lips tinged blue, chest barely moving. Batman was at his side in seconds, hands scanning, mind racing. A pulse. Weak. Irregular. But there. Bruce exhaled shakily. Unconscious. Injured. But alive.
“Wonder Woman,” he said sharply.
Woman landed beside him. She looked shaken. Terrified. A breathless sound escaped her as her gaze fixed on Clark’s sickly pale skin.
“Get the civilians out,” Bruce ordered, his hands checking other vitals. “I’m taking him to the Watchtower. Handle the rest.”
She hesitated, biting her lip, gaze locked on Clark’s still form, then nodded and shot back into the air. Words weren’t necessary.
“Lantern, contain the drones. Flash, clear the airspace. Now,” Batman snapped into the comms. His gloved hand brushed the damp curls away from Clark’s face. “It’s Luthor. His technology. This was always about Superman.”
He pulled a sealed canister from his belt and activated it, deploying a rapid neutralizing field around Clark, filtering the kryptonite particles from the air. It had to be enough for now.
Bruce pressed his hand against Clark’s chest.
“Stay with me,” he muttered, low and fierce. “You don’t get to do this. Not today.”
Batman carefully gathered him into his arms. Shattered glass crunched beneath his heavy boots as he moved. He caught the terrified faces of civilians staring in horror at the unconscious Superman in his grasp. He understood their fear.
For Metropolis, Kal-El was a god. Indestructible. Untouchable. Undefeated. And now that god had fallen. He was being carried away by the Dark Knight himself, an ordinary human beneath the cowl.
From the battlefield, you either return with your shield… or on it.
Bruce carefully seated the still unconscious Superman in his Batplane nearby, taking a seat next to him in front of the console. When Flash had given him a heads-up, he flew off, heading toward the Watchtower. Batman kept one eye on the instruments and the other on the reflection in the cockpit glass. The grayness of Kal’s skin wasn’t fading, which was concerning. Batman hoped he would start to get better soon.
At the Watchtower, he lifted Superman in a princess-style carry, taking him to a special room in the medical wing. This was something Bruce had created himself after countless observations and conversations with Kal about his Kryptonian roots. The room was spacious, light, and bright, but the walls were covered with hardened steel. There was a large bed in the middle, and around it many different sets of lamps. Superman’s powers were fueled by yellow sunlight, so the specially created regulated solar-spectrum emitters should help him heal.
Bruce carefully placed Superman on the bed, wiping the sweat from Kal’s forehead with his glove. Batman took a small controller and adjusted the lamps’ power properly. With a careful eye, he watched Superman’s face, looking for any sign of discomfort as he examined him and ran several tests. And it seemed the light room was working its magic, because healthy color was slowly returning to his face and breathing evened out. Just enough to loosen something in Bruce’s chest.
Superman was still unconscious when the League returned after taking care of the remaining drones. Everybody exhaled with relief, seeing how gradually their teammate was getting better.
“Shit,” Green Lantern commented, looking like something heavy had just dropped from his shoulders. “Supes really made a scene down there. I think everybody gasped when he hit the ground.”
“I don’t want to see him like that ever again,” Flash said, hovering near Superman. “This Luthor guy is fucked up.”
Wonder Woman’s gaze flicked over the lamps, the reinforced walls, the bed. She didn’t ask how long Bruce had had this ready. She didn’t have to. “Luthor,” she said simply. “He’s always had a fixation. This isn’t his first attempt.”
She reached toward one of the emitters, then hissed when the heat bit her fingertips.
“I hope,” Batman’s voice cut through the room, low and flat, and too sharp for how quiet it was. “Today’s encounter will make you all realize that you are not untouchable.”
Green Lantern tried to lighten it, because that’s what he did when things got too real. He gave Bruce’s arm a quick, playful smack. “Same goes for you, Bats. You’re the only non-meta here and you still keep getting yourself beat to a pulp.”
Batman turned his head slowly. The glare he gave could’ve cracked glass.
“Debrief,” he said. “Short. Now.”
After a brief conversation and drawing some conclusions about the mission and the kryptonite used by Lex Luthor, everyone slowly returned to their tasks. They all checked on Superman a few times, but as time passed, the only one who remained by his side was Batman. Wonder Woman stayed a bit longer as well, her gaze shifting between Superman and Bruce. When she finally left, she patted Bruce’s uninjured shoulder.
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly, offering him a small smile, before turning and leaving.
Soon, there was nothing left in the Watchtower but the quiet hum of machinery.
Batman felt like it was his fault.
Again, he had been too slow. If he had realized earlier that kryptonite was involved. If he had been just a little faster and taken the hit instead of Superman. If he had-
The mistakes of the past few days were piling up, heavy on his shoulders. The thought repeated itself like a bruise pressed again and again. Superman had fallen because Bruce Wayne had misjudged the equation.
Instead of leaving and locking himself in the Batcave for the thousandth time, Batman stayed in the light room. In the corner, he set up a small computer with controls that allowed him to work next to Superman. The hum of machinery, the quiet tapping of keys, and Clark’s steady breathing were the only sounds surrounding Bruce for the hours that followed.
He was so focused on the work in front of him that he almost missed the soft, rough voice.
“...B?”
Bruce turned immediately, his neck nearly snapping with the sudden movement. His eyes met deep blue ones already fixed on him.
“Kal-El,” he managed to mutter under his breath as he was suddenly at the bedside. “How are you feeling?”
Superman tried to push himself up using his arms, aiming to sit on the bed. His mouth twisted when he realized his powers hadn’t fully returned yet. Bruce stepped in automatically, helping him sit up and lean back against the headboard.
Kal looked almost normal. The natural glow had returned to his tanned skin, blue eyes sparking under the intense lights, and the small smile on his face made Bruce’s heart skip a beat. He was alright.
“A little sore, to be honest. Not my best day,” Clark joked. His gaze drifted around the room before settling on the large lamps emitting a yellowish glow. “What is this place?”
“The light room. It helps restore your powers,” Bruce answered simply, eyes flicking to the vitals display. Everything was stable.
“You… you built this?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“No need,” Bruce replied flatly. “I prepare for many possibilities. In case one of you, metas, gets hurt. Or goes ballistic.”
The tension between them was heavy, almost suffocating. Batman avoided Clark’s gaze, even though he could feel those blue eyes tracking his every movement. Bruce busied himself with the remaining data on the console, pretending to be occupied.
But they had to talk.
Bruce closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. He bit the inside of his cheek.
”Listen-”
”I’m s-”
They spoke at the same time. Kal chuckled softly, and Bruce shook his head, hiding an amused smirk. Superman nodded in his direction, letting him go first.
“Listen…” Batman began, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sorry. I’ve made too many mistakes again, and you got hurt.”
“What? No.” Superman’s brows furrowed immediately. “I got hurt because I was reckless and chose to ignore some major red flags.”
“If I had stopped you in time, or taken the hit myself, then-”
“B, stop.” Kal’s voice was firm but gentle. “I’m responsible for my own actions, not you. I underestimated Luthor. That’s on me. Alright?”
They stared at each other, locked in a battle of heated gazes. Bruce finally exhaled, loud and tired, and looked away.
“Fine,” he muttered. “If that’s settled, then let’s move on. What were you trying to say earlier?”
This time, Superman looked startled. He fidgeted with his fingers, gaze dropping to his hands. Bruce adjusted the intensity of lamps, turning it down a little, to not blind Kal.
”I’m also sorry,” started Superman, still looking down. ”For that day in the Batcave.”
Batman only grunted, folding his arms across his chest.
“I realized,” Kal continued, “that I was selfish. I should have asked you first, or at least given you time to react or something… And everything I said back then was true. I do trust you with everything. And to be honest, I don’t regret giving you my name. I just- maybe I should’ve done it differently.”
“Yes,” Batman said. “If you ever want to share your identity with someone else- don’t do it like that.”
“Yeah,” Superman chuckled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Luckily, that won’t be the case. Everyone I wanted to know already knows. Maybe one day I’ll share my name with the League, but that decision is up to you.”
“Many people know? I hope you’re aware how dangerous that is.”
“My parents. Lois. And now you.”
Hearing her name made Batman clench his hand into a fist. Hot tongues of jealousy flared in his chest, forcing him to take a few slow, measured breaths.
“Lois Lane,” Batman said flatly. “The star of the Daily Planet.”
“Yep, that’s her,” Superman said easily. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need to introduce her. I figured that the moment I told you I was Clark Kent, you already used your big Bat-computer and made a folder about me.”
“It’s not a Bat-computer,” Batman snarled, irritation creeping into his voice. “But yes. I did some research. And I found information about your… girlfriend.”
Bruce’s jaw locked as he swallowed iron. He didn’t like these feelings inside him. They made him do or think about things that he normally would never have done. And even the bare thought of Lois Lane, despite having made peace with their relationship, despite being well aware that he and Kal had no future together - still made part of his heart ache, completely stripping any rational thought from his head.
Silencing his heart was impossible, but Batman was used to living with pain. He would manage, as he always did.
However, Superman, hearing her name, wasn’t as love-struck as Bruce had expected him to be. On the Kryptonian’s face there was pure confusion and then… embarrassment? Superman rounded his shoulders, a few locks breaking free and falling onto his forehead. He didn’t look like Superman. He looked like Clark Kent.
“Ah… um, well, we’re not together anymore. We broke up maybe six months ago.”
“What.” Batman didn’t even try to hide the pure confusion in his voice. Had he been lied to all this time?
“We realized we were better off as friends,” Kal shrugged. “And also… erm- some other things happened… So, we’re friends now!”
Bruce flexed his hand, the muscles finally relaxing after holding his fingers clenched into a fist for several minutes. Thoughts had already begun to crowd his mind. Why hadn’t Kal told him earlier? By his own words, they were friends. So why, during their night patrols or long monitoring shifts, had Superman never mentioned it? Hadn’t he said he trusted Bruce with everything? But maybe not with that. And Bruce couldn’t recall seeing him heartbroken recently. Kal wore his heart on his sleeve, it would’ve been hard to miss.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Batman asked simply, something raw edging his voice.
Superman flinched at the sound.
“I- um… well…” he began, squirming under the hard stare of Batman’s cowl, the same one that terrified thugs in Gotham’s alleys. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But please- please hear me out, okay?”
“Hm.”
Superman placed a hand on his chest and took a long, slightly shaky breath. It made Bruce worry despite himself, his gaze flicking briefly to the controls monitoring the Kryptonian’s vitals.
“I’m fine. Just nervous,” Superman said quickly, noticing where Batman was looking. “To be honest, I don’t really know where things went wrong with Lois. Maybe at the beginning? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. The point is…I realized there are many different kinds of love. And I do, still love Lois, but it’s not this type of love, that I thought it was at the beginning. I love her, but I don’t love love her.”
Batman’s brows furrowed beneath the cowl, calculating every word that left Superman’s mouth. Again, deep in his gut, a feeling stirred, one that made his fingertips go numb and his breathing grow slightly uneven.
“Actually, I can point to the main reason we broke up.” Kal’s eyes didn’t leave Bruce’s for a moment. “It’s you, B. That’s why I haven’t told you about it before.”
Something inside Bruce shattered. His breath stuttered, his heartbeat spiked, hot blood rushing to his head and leaving him lightheaded. A storm of emotions crossed Kal’s face, but his eyes, so impossibly blue, were a window straight into his soul. And what Bruce saw there made him take a single step back, his knees turning to wool. He felt like he was choking on clean air, suddenly powerless. The only thing he could see was blue.
It’s you.
“…What?” Batman’s voice lacked its usual roughness. Something raw and unguarded slipped through.
“I like you. I’ve always liked you,” Superman said quietly. “At first, I thought it was just admiration. Then I thought I just liked being your friend. But Lois made me realize I feel so much more than that. And I feel like I’m drowning in those feelings, but somehow it isn’t scary. It’s comforting. And the only thing in my head is how much I truly love you.”
Batman’s face remained stoic, carved from stone by years of discipline, but inside he was crumbling. Too many emotions came crashing down on him at once, violent and sudden, squeezing his throat tight. His tongue felt heavy as stone in his mouth, every word trapped, useless. His heart thundered in his chest, pumping blood too fast.
Love.
He had made peace with that word a long time ago, or so he thought. It had haunted him the night his parents died, a ghost that never truly left. It followed him through his childhood, through the endless training, through the first night he put on the suit and decided that fear would be his weapon. It lingered in quiet moments he pretended didn’t exist. In stolen glances. In the warmth of Superman’s gaze when no one else was looking. And now it hunted him down again, merciless, tearing straight through his chest.
It hurt like a constant wound, open, raw, never allowed to heal. And for one terrifying moment, it felt like that wound was finally starting to close. Like something inside him was loosening, easing, offering relief instead of pain.
That was the problem. That wasn’t right.
Pain was what drove him forward when exhaustion should have stopped him. Pain was what kept him moving through sleepless nights and endless battles. Pain was what kept him hidden, focused, controlled beneath the cowl. Pain was familiar. Pain was safe.
Without it, he didn’t know who, or what, he would become.
Bruce took another step back, putting distance between himself and the truth pressing in on him. He forced his breathing to slow, to steady, each inhale measured, deliberate. Stay composed.
“That’s not possible.” The words left his dry lips, barely audible, but he knew Kal had heard them perfectly well.
“It is. I love you. And I don’t care if you aren’t ready to hear it- but I do. And I know you feel something too. Maybe you don’t even realize it yet.” Kal’s gaze remained gentle, matching his voice. Like he was speaking to a frightened animal. “Give us a chance, B. I’m tired of pretending I don’t see the tension between us. I’m tired of everyone else telling me who I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to want. I just want you.”
Another step back.
“You don’t even know who I am under the suit.”
“And?” Kal didn’t hesitate. “I like every shade of you. Everything that makes you… you. You didn’t know my identity either, and somehow we’re still here.”
“No. You don’t understand,” Batman snarled, his self-control finally slipping. “You don’t know me. And you wouldn’t want to.”
“But I do.”
Before Batman could stop himself, before he could cage the aggression boiling under his skin, he cursed under his breath. Then, in one sharp, sudden movement, he tore off his cowl and hurled it to the floor. It hit the metal with a loud, echoing clang.
Something inside him screamed that if he didn’t end this now, he would never be able to.
Their eyes met.
Shock was written plainly across Superman’s face, his breath caught. Bruce Wayne had finally revealed himself.
His hair was greasy, damp with sweat, flattened after hours beneath the cowl. The black makeup smeared across his face, dark streaks carved by droplets of sweat trailing down to his chin. This wasn’t the polished image of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy, Gotham’s golden prince. This was a man worn down by his own demons. Fueled by pain and by an unyielding belief in justice. A man who sometimes was afraid of his own shadow.
This was Bruce Wayne.
And there were no lines left between them.
“Look at me.” Batman took a step forward. “This isn’t someone you love. This isn’t even someone worth your feelings.”
“B-” Kal tried to interrupt, but Bruce didn’t let him.
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp, breaking. “I don’t even know who I am. And you’re telling me you like… this?” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “That’s bullshit.”
Somehow he couldn’t stop talking. Something inside him had snapped, pushing every carefully buried thought to the surface. Years of restraint cracked open all at once.
“Yes,” Bruce continued. ”I have feelings for you. And no, they don’t matter.” He took another step forward, stopping close to the bed. “I wouldn’t kill for you. I wouldn’t burn the world down. I would do worse.”
His jaw tightened.
“I would change.” The word tasted wrong on his tongue.
“I would fight my instincts. I would reject the violence that’s kept me alive. I would be kinder. Softer. I would dull the pain that’s driven me since I can remember.” His voice shook now, barely contained. “I would tear apart everything that made me Batman, everything that keeps me standing, just for the sake of your love.”
Tears filled Clark’s eyes, unguarded. His lower lip trembled between his teeth.
“You don’t have to,” Kal said, voice wet and uneven. “I said I love every part of you. Even the darkness. Even the shadows. I love you whole, B. Bruce.”
The lively waves of blue washed over Bruce. The sea’s deep depths surrounded him, calming the storm inside his body. He wasn’t drowning, the blue water wasn’t suffocating him. He was floating, the breeze wrapping around him. He felt lighter.
Bruce had to look away from Clark’s eyes, trying to clear his thoughts.
“Shit,” he muttered, realizing what he had just done.
He palmed his face with both hands, smearing the dark makeup even more, rubbing it into already raw skin.
Then an alarm rang in his ear, one reserved exclusively for Gotham. His focus snapped back instantly. Still standing next to Kal’s bed, he swiftly adjusted the comms channel, connecting to the private, heavily guarded line of Gotham’s police.
“There’s been an explosion in Arkham. Multiple prisoners escaped, Penguin included,” he reported to Superman, who was still looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “They saw what happened in Metropolis and struck while they could.”
They both knew their conversation was over. Maybe their world had stopped for a few stolen minutes, but everything around them kept spinning, relentless. Evil never slept. They knew that better than anyone.
They had chosen this path. Chosen the responsibility that came with it.
And Kal understood. He offered Bruce a small smile, quickly rubbing his eyes using his fist.
“Go,” he said, dimples showing on his glowing face. “Save Gotham, Batman. But this isn’t over. I’ll find you.”
Bruce looked at him in silence for a few seconds. Then he nodded, stepped back, and picked up his cowl from the floor. Once the mask was in place, he cast one last look over his shoulder at Superman. Still powerless, still recovering, still injured, but happy.
“Take care, Clark.”
And then he was gone.
It takes time to get used to the blinding flashes of cameras. The shouts, the screams, the elbows and shoulders, the bodyguards pushing people back. The constant smile tugging at dry, overstretched lips. The fake words, sweet like honey dipped in poison. The robotic handshakes, firm, but not too firm, never too subtle. The stains of lipstick on your cheek or, occasionally, on someone else’s hand. The business cards piling up in your suit pocket until the seams strain. The splendor, the fakeness, the money and alcohol. Blending into this lifestyle isn’t easy. Either you’re born into it, or you’re damn good at pretending you belong. Bruce liked to think he was lucky enough to have both.
He moved through the crowd like he owned it, like he was born from it. Swimming in people and attention, dripping in confidence with every step. The black velvet suit fit him like a second skin, highlighting every line and curve of his body. A few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt were left undone, revealing the barest glimpse of his chest. His polished black boots almost glided across the marble flooring. His dark hair was styled to perfection, pushed back to reveal his sharp blue eyes and the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
He looked expensive. Because he was. He was Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Gotham’s Prince.
Tonight, he was attending yet another charity gala. He had to be here, representing his own foundation, but God, he hated events like this. The fakeness, the greed, it all stank. High society donated money only to show their faces, not to actually help the city. Half the foundations in Gotham were nothing more than polished scams, clever ways to launder dirty money. The corruption was still high, festering like a rot beneath marble floors and crystal chandeliers. But Batman and Commissioner Gordon were on the right track. Slowly, methodically, they were cutting out the infection from the inside.
And Bruce was exactly there, right in the center of it.
He stood in a tight circle of people, laughing at the appropriate moments and sipping champagne from a crystal flute. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, someone else patted his back in approval. Bruce hated being touched like that. The smile on his lips never faltered, not even when he flirted back with a woman nearly twice his age. Her strong perfume burned his nose as she leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“Mr. Wayne?”
Bruce turned, carefully slipping out of the woman’s grip.
And there he was, Clark Kent in the flesh.
Jet-black curls fell messily over his forehead, thick-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, half hiding those impossibly blue eyes. He wore a navy suit one size too big and a crooked red tie that looked like it had lost a fight with gravity. And even like this… No, especially like this, he was unfairly handsome.
“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” Clark said, flashing his press badge as it swung loosely from his neck. “Could I ask you a few questions?”
For a split second, something broke through Bruce’s mask, a flicker of shock, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Not quickly enough for Clark, though. He noticed and smiled, just barely. Bruce returned it with a practiced smirk, slipping back into character effortlessly.
“Ah, the Daily Planet from Metropolis,” Bruce drawled, letting his tone drip with lazy charm. He turned toward the woman and gave her a half-lidded look from beneath his lashes. “Excuse me, my lady. Duty calls.”
He stepped forward, placing his empty glass on a passing tray. Then he extended a hand toward Clark, his eyes never leaving the other man’s.
“A pleasure, Mr. Kent. Please, follow me.”
He led the reporter away, a hand placed lightly at the small of Clark’s back, not quite touching, but close enough to feel it. They slipped out onto the balcony, a shadowed corner overlooking the city. Hidden from the crowd, from cameras, from prying eyes. It was just them.
It wasn’t the first time they saw each other since their confession. Heroes never sleep, so they had been on a few missions together. The topic was never brought up, but Bruce saw Superman’s face. Now he understood his expressions. How did he miss that loving, longing gaze on him? And he saw how much Kal wanted to talk to him about it all, but one firm, chilling gaze from Bruce stopped him in his tracks.
Bruce was many things, but he definitely was a professionalist. First work, then everything else.
Deep down he appreciated that Kal waited and gave him time to process feelings and thoughts. And that he actually made an effort to meet him outside of costumes.
“Well, Mr. Kent,” said Bruce, not yet dropping his act. “I believe this type of event is covered by Mrs. Grant? She’s usually the person with whom I’m giving my interview.”
Clark smiled shyly, slightly blushing. He was holding his notebook in one hand, but his pen wasn’t moving at all.
“Yes, I asked my colleague to switch with me.”
“Oh? What is so interesting about this gala that you wanted to attend in person?”
“You.”
Bruce dropped his act, inhaling deeply. He turned around, his back towards Clark, grabbing the cold balustrade and leaning on it. It was chilly outside, the cold wind made him shiver under his perfectly fitting suit.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice lower now, something between Brucie’s act and Batman’s growl.
“I told you I’d find you.” Clark appeared next to him, not quite touching him, but close enough to share his body heat.
“And you decided today’s the day? At a crowded charity gala in Gotham?”
“Yeah,” Clark shrugged. “Figured you wouldn’t run away. Besides, I wanted to confront you like this, as ourselves, not as heroes.”
“I’m not a hero,” muttered Bruce under his breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “And I wouldn’t run away.”
Bruce this time had his heartbeat under control, perfectly steady and uninterrupted. The air in his lungs didn’t escape unexpectedly when Clark leaned a bit closer. Even his thoughts stayed wrapped tight, contained for once.
He had spent many sleepless hours rethinking their last conversation, imagining countless ways things could look now, how they should look. He was Batman, he was supposed to have the best solution ready for every scenario. But somehow, none of that applied to his feelings. His abrupt confession had been the final sign, the crack that showed he couldn’t hide or deny anything any longer.
If what Kal said was true… then why not? Why not be a little selfish?
He wasn’t used to allowing himself anything purely for his own sake. His life had been built on sacrifice, on holding the line, on giving parts of himself away piece by piece until there was barely anything left. Wanting something felt dangerous. Wanting someone felt reckless. Wanting Clark felt… inevitable.
But he did want him for so many years and this time he allowed himself to show this part of him.
Clark shifted beside him, just slightly, and Bruce felt the warmth roll off him like a soft wave. Not overwhelming, but patient.
And maybe that was what grounded him most, how patient Clark had been. How he hadn’t pushed, how he had waited.
Maybe both of them were too tired to wait anymore.
So Bruce spoke.
“I’m not going to deny my own words or take them back. I have feelings for you, deep-rooted in me. I was ready to take them to the grave, but now it’s too late.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I know I’m still not worth your love, you’re not going to change my mind about that. But…”
“…But?”
Clark placed his large hand on Bruce’s shoulder, slowly turning him toward himself. They stood almost chest to chest, Bruce having to tilt his head up to meet the slightly taller man’s eyes.
“But if you’re willing to try, I’m not stopping you.”
Bruce saw the way those blue eyes lit up, a spark, bright and impossible to ignore, before Clark’s wide, radiant smile bloomed across his face.
Kal hadn’t been love-struck when he talked about Lois that night, Bruce realized, feeling the smallest, reluctant tug at the corner of his own lips. This was the real thing. The real happiness written so clearly on Clark’s face that even Bruce couldn’t deny it.
He still had voices in his head telling him he was making the biggest mistake of his life, that he should run, push away, destroy this before it became something real. But for now, those voices went quiet.
“I need you to understand,” Bruce continued, forcing his voice to stay steady. “This isn’t going to be easy. I’m terrible with feelings. I am not partner material. I’m going to hurt you. You’re going to hurt me. Maybe all of this will end up as a giant fiasco.” He exhaled slowly, shoulders tight. “You need to keep that in mind. Our relationship won’t only affect us, it will affect the League.”
“B,” Clark said with absolute conviction. “I’m sure about you. I’ve thought about all of this a thousand times, and my conclusion never changed. You’re worth it.”
Clark reached up and cupped Bruce’s cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles against cold skin. Bruce didn’t push him away, he leaned in, almost instinctively, tilting his face toward the warmth of Clark’s hand.
“I’m not easy to love,” Bruce murmured, barely above a whisper. “You’ll regret it.”
Instead of arguing, Clark gently guided him backward, step by careful step, until Bruce’s back met the cold stone wall in the shadowed corner of the balcony. Clark leaned in, pressing his forehead against Bruce’s. Their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them. Clark’s smile softened, patient and impossibly tender.
He looked at Bruce like he had hung the moon behind him.
“Falling for you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Bruce wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss, maybe they both leaned in at the same time. At first, it was barely a touch, the softest brush of lips, like both of them were terrified to push further. Warm breath mingled between them, short and uneven. Clark’s hand found Bruce’s cheek again, thumb stroking once before gently tilting his head. Bruce’s breath stuttered when he grabbed the crooked red tie, pulling Clark closer with a sudden, desperate certainty. His other hand landed on the back of Clark’s neck, fingers cold against warm skin. The kiss deepened slowly, both of them searching for the same rhythm, the same quiet harmony, lips moving cautiously at first, then with growing confidence.
Bruce wet his own chapped-from-cold lips, and Clark responded by softly biting Bruce’s bottom lip. A low sound vibrated in Bruce’s throat. His hand slid up from Clark’s nape into those jet-black, impossibly soft curls, twirling a few strands between his fingers before giving them a gentle pull.
“We could’ve done this much sooner,” Clark murmured, voice low and breathless, looking at Bruce through half-lidded eyes.
Bruce let out a quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle, the sound warm in his chest. Then he grabbed the front of Clark’s jacket and pulled him in for another kiss.