Chapter Text
The situation isn't being resolved very quickly. Robin is evacuating civilians, leaping from street to street. Batman tries to keep an eye on him while subduing residents who were caught in the attack and turned aggressive, handing them over to medics. His left arm is itching with pain because a couple of baseball bats have already been broken against it, and honestly? This is not at all what he wanted from a patrol that was almost over.
There's about an hour left until dawn, and Bruce sincerely hopes Joker has no more surprises for him. He's tired of the regular gas or bomb terrorist attacks over the last two months, and how he keeps failing to lock Joker back up in Arkham. The bastard constantly slips away, leaving behind a mocking playing card and the echo of an evil laugh at the back of his skull. Batman looks around, surveying the square.
Most of the threat is neutralized, only about two dozen victims remain. The police are helping quite successfully; he notices a squad of officers leading several struggling people out of a building. Bruce spots Commissioner Gordon and moves toward him, grappling hook catching on a wall.
"Commissioner," the modulator successfully hides the fatigue in his voice—good. Batman notes with displeasure that he's wheezing more than usual; he's dehydrated.
Gordon only flinches slightly, nearly dropping his lit cigarette. He quickly composes himself, turning to the man in the cape:
"Batman. Checked the building, found these in a lab. They'll go from the hospital straight to the station."
Batman nodded:
"Seems the square is almost clear. Is this the last building?"
The commissioner makes an agreeing hum, taking a deep drag. Police cruiser lights cut his face into harsh, tired shapes.
"Luckily, the wind's blowing east today. The gas didn't spread toward the orphanage," he waves a hand vaguely in that direction, and a sudden bad feeling grips Batman.
Robin drops onto the sidewalk beside him almost silently—but only almost. Batman quickly scans him. Dick looks tired, his knees are scraped, but the boy is otherwise unharmed.
"Streets are clear, I got all the cats and dogs out too! No bites," Robin smiles, but the curve of his lips is small, not as wide as usual. Tired, obviously.
Batman is almost opening his mouth to reply when a metal object clatters down with a loud thud between them and Commissioner Gordon. He reacts instantly, grabs Robin by the fabric on his back and shoots his grapnel at a building behind them. Bruce pulls them away from potential danger in a couple of seconds, but no explosion comes. He sees Gordon also backing away, cursing and drawing his service weapon, and feels a small prick of guilt. Batman waits a few more moments, trying to identify the object from a distance. It doesn't look like a bomb.
"Stay here. Don't approach," he orders Robin, ignoring any objections. He strides back to the commissioner, who is already crouching, examining the object.
It's definitely a radio, a reinforced one at that. Looks like it was dropped from a roof. Batman picks it up off the ground, inspecting it. The channel switch is soldered shut, making it impossible to change frequency; otherwise, it looks normal. The device almost instantly crackles to life in his hand.
"Batman!" And, of course, it's that damn Joker of all people. "Good to see you! Even if you can't see me."
Batman doesn't look around for the villain, only signals Alfred in the Cave to try and trace the radio signal. If Joker can see him, he's close, but this is unlikely to be his hideout. Might only be potentially useful.
"What do you want? Not finished with your idiotic evil plan yet?" Batman growls into the radio, pressing the side button. He watches as Gordon signals free officers to sweep the buildings again and glances back at the square. Robin is standing where he should be, almost all the victims have been led away, ambulances are dispersing.
Joker clicks his tongue:
"How rude, Batsy! You wound me to the core."
Bruce doesn't respond, and a long silence hangs for several minutes, broken only by static sounds.
"I think it'd be fair if I wounded yours. What do you think?"
"Stop speaking in riddles!" Batman barks into the receiver, wound up by the silence and the circling.
"Yeah, I guess that's not quite my thing. Well, enjoy! Kisses, Batsy~"
And then Batman hears the explosion. First, his eyes find Robin—he's safe and quickly running toward him, barely even scared. Second, he hands the radio to Gordon as evidence and starts forming a plan.
"Robin, to the car and home," he summons the Batmobile to an alley with a few taps on the screen on his forearm. "Agent A, expect Robin. I'll be back later."
"B, I can help, let me-"
"This is not up for discussion. Home. Now."
He spends potentially precious seconds making sure the boy gets in the car, then locks the doors and sets the autopilot for the Batcave. The car silently pulls away and Batman heads toward the sound of the explosion, swinging between buildings. In the minute it takes him to reach the blast site, he already almost certainly knows what Joker targeted. He really hopes he's wrong.
"Fuck."
Of course, it's the orphanage. He analyzes the situation; the bomb was on the third of five floors, the upper part of the building is on fire, he sees a huge hole in the facade. The load-bearing wall is damaged but still standing. He starts moving, first carrying about five children visible from the street at the explosion site to the roof of the neighboring building.
"Did anyone die?"
Batman does his best to soften his tone. The children look scared and sullen, they're Dick's age, god, even younger. The oldest girl shakes her head, her small hand tightly gripping the hand of a younger, crying boy.
"Good. Don't move from this spot, help is on the way."
He rushes into the building. He carries out the first children he can reach from the burning floors, trying not to panic. The building could collapse at any moment, he won't have time to save everyone. He grits his teeth, trying to become faster, stronger, to push himself to the limit. Bruce considers his options without stopping.
The upper floors are clear, the first one too—he activates thermal vision—but the remaining two are packed with terrified children huddled in corners, unable to move. He can't see any caregivers anywhere, makes a note to check that later.
Batman feels his own frightened, rapid heartbeat as he murmurs under his breath:
"Superman."
---
Clark was watching the starry, clear sky, sitting on the porch of his parents' house in Kansas. A faint wind ruffled his hair and the even stalks of corn, and nothing else moved. The night was quiet and melancholic, but something deep inside him felt off. He listened. On the second floor were the steady heartbeats of his parents. They were sleeping deeply, comfortably nestled under one blanket. Clark expanded the radius; Metropolis was also quiet, peaceful. Luthor in prison, Lois asleep in her apartment, curled up on the couch in front of a working laptop. He smiles, reaching further, across the bay. He rarely checks Gotham because Batman doesn't like it, and he prefers to deal with his city on his own. But it can't hurt if Clark just listens, right?
He finds the small, recently memorized heartbeat of Robin, Batman's charming protégé. Its rhythm is only slightly faster than usual and moving quickly; the boy must be in the Batmobile right now. Clark searches nearby but doesn't find the louder, steadier heart of Batman himself. Superman frowns, continuing the search.
He stumbles upon a group of fast little hearts; children, he realizes. Clark hears a powerful heartbeat nearby, but it's too fast, almost in the same rhythm as the children's. It can't belong to Batman, but it seems vaguely, elusively familiar.
"Superman."
He changes into the suit in a fraction of a second, shooting toward Gotham with a sonic boom. Clark hopes he didn't leave another crater in the family plot, flying high, not trusting himself to navigate around planes at the moment. He flies as fast as he can, alarmed by the unusually rapid rhythm of Batman's heart. It's strange, it shouldn't be like this, Batman is always the calmest, the most cunning of all the cape-wearers, and Superman involuntarily succumbs to panic. He slows down at the air border of Gotham to avoid damaging the skyscrapers downtown and races toward Batman. He sees the burning, collapsing orphanage, sees the frightened children on the neighboring roof, ambulances, approaching firefighters, sees Batman carrying three children on his back. He wears nothing to protect him from smoke, only his regular Batman cowl’s mask, and what is he thinking, and Clark flies into one of the windows on the second floor, shattering it, focusing on the task. It takes him about two minutes to carry out all the remaining children in the building because they're scared, crying, and choking, they need to be calmed down but delivered to safety, and with one ear he's always tracking Batman's heart. The rhythm doesn't calm, and its pace almost syncs with the frantic beating of the orphans' hearts on the roof. Clark looks around, not seeing a single adult.
"Where are all the caregivers?" he mutters to himself, scanning the building one more time. The orphanage is about to collapse, but there's no one left inside. Batman carries out the last two children, looking composed as always, and only Superman notices the gleam of cold sweat on a small patch of his exposed neck.
The walls give way sooner than he expected, and Batman doesn't have time to get out.
Clark's senses sharpen, as they always do in dangerous situations, and he sees in slow motion the caped man pushing the children to the floor, covering them with his own body. He also desperately understands he won't make it in time.
With the faintest sonic boom—minimize damage, don't harm neighboring buildings—Clark flies toward the three fragile people. He covers them with himself, taking the weight of the collapsed floors on his back. The flames suddenly feel closer and he adjusts his cape, creating a stifling bubble of clean air.
"Everyone's okay. I'm here. You'll be alright, I promise."
---
Bruce doesn't feel alright at all. Children, Dick's age, were in danger and he couldn't do anything to save them all. He didn't have super-speed or super-strength, and he had to call Superman—whom he had previously clearly and rudely told to get out of his city, for god's sake—to help carry all the children out and cover him with his back. He's never hated being just a human as much as he does today.
The fabric of the red cape tickles his face as he tries to catch his breath. His heart, brain, and body keep working, refusing to calm down; he feels trapped. There are tons of cement and bricks above them, and all that separates him and the two orphans—well, three orphans—from death is an alien in a red-and-blue unitard. To hell with his life and to hell with the Joker.
Batman lowers his head slightly, trying to make out the children's faces in the dark.
"Injured? Can you breathe?" His voice modulator is starting to glitch, probably damaged by smoke, and Alfred's voice in his ear is getting louder and more panicked. He's ignoring it for now, focusing on keeping his weight on his elbows so he doesn't collapse right onto the children.
One girl starts sobbing, the other nods uncertainly:
"O-okay."
Batman stays silent, now trying to look back at Superman.
"Can you get us out? Or do we need to wait to be dug out?"
He can only see the edge of the alien's face but hears his voice practically inside his skull.
"I can shake off the rubble, but someone below might get hurt."
Bruce makes a grunt of understanding, turning away.
"Agent A, do you copy?"
"Batman, are you alright, damn you?! The news is a mess, the building collapsed, and I don't see you, Superman—"
"I'm fine, pull yourself together. Tell Gordon to have everyone fall back and clear the area around. Superman will get us out."
"On it."
A minute of silence falls, and Batman listens to the breathing of the children beneath him and Superman behind him. He spends this time trying to calm down a little.
"Done. Two minutes, and you can come out."
"Copy. Two minutes, Superman."
He hears a hum of agreement vibrating against his back, and Bruce feels his heart no longer beating so wildly against his ribcage. The two minutes stretch on, he feels sweat crawling down his spine under the suit. Finally, he feels Superman shift slightly away from him, and he tries to cover the children more tightly with himself.
---
For lack of anything better to do, Clark listened to Batman's heartbeat. It was finally beginning to slow down, no longer frightening him to death. With half an ear, he monitored the commotion outside: all the vehicles were moving back slightly, and most of the time was spent pushing reporters further away. When the perimeter was finally cleared, Superman shrugged his shoulders and stood up, using his hands to push aside the chunks of the building in front of him. The fire was still close, so he tried to get Batman and the children to safety as quickly as possible.
On the neighboring roof, he gladly stretched his back, enjoying the first rays of sunlight on his face. It was dimmer than in Metropolis, but he still liked it. Clark shifted his gaze from the now-active fire trucks to Batman and the orphans, giving the children a wide smile. Clark noticed that the last two rescued girls were now clinging to Batman, hugging the grumpy bat.
"It's alright. You're safe now," Batman repeated to them through the modulator's static, somewhat awkwardly returning the hug and patting them on the back. Clark stepped closer and crouched down:
"Batman's always here to save the day, right?"
He smiled wider, ignoring what was surely a displeased look from Batman behind the white lenses.
While paramedics and police officers helped all the orphans down from the roof, he gladly listened to their now-calm hearts. Clark loved harmony and peace, as well as the fact that no one was seriously hurt tonight. He floated over to Batman, deciding to risk offering help for a little longer. Superman cleared his throat awkwardly:
"I thought I could stick around and help a bit more. You know, talk to the reporters, clear the debris if needed."
Batman was silent for about a minute; Clark could feel his gaze on his face. Superman first blushed, then paled from the awkwardness, shuffling his feet on the asphalt.
"Alright," the man in black finally broke the silence. "And thank you."
Clark gave the Dark Knight an uncertain smile, feeling his ears turn red. God, this was so awkward.
"I'll call for you tomorrow night. We need to talk."
And with those words, Batman vanished into the nearest alleyway without waiting for a reply. Clark stood still for a few more moments, allowing himself to listen to that steady, even rhythm of his heart a little while longer.
"Okay," he answered into the emptiness, finally turning around to go offer his help.
Superman chatted with reporters, children, and police, and moved stacks of building materials for another couple of hours, and Clark got late for work.
---
As Bruce drove toward the Cave, he felt nothing. Well, technically, he felt some pain from the smoke in his lungs, an unpleasant heaviness in the back of his throat, blossoming bruises on his arm and knees, but emotionally he was completely drained. He stared blankly through the Batmobile's windshield, not even having the strength to take manual control. Bruce didn't notice he'd arrived until Alfred knocked—damn politely—on the window from the outside.
Batman got out of the car, looking around for Dick.
"I've put him to sleep," Alfred read his mind as always, and Bruce made a muffled sound of gratitude. "The boy fought like a lion."
Bruce sat down at the computer, removing his helmet and smoothing down his sweaty, disheveled hair. He logged into the system, opening a blank report form. Bruce tossed yet another playing card, found on the roof, into a desk drawer and set about quickly dealing with the report. He was tired, he was drained, but Alfred pushed a plate of still-warm cookies toward him, and that gave him strength. Bruce sent him a small, grateful smile, immediately turning back to the monitor.
"So, Master Bruce. Would you like to discuss any of tonight's events?" Alfred broke the silence after a couple of minutes.
"I couldn't handle it alone and called Superman. What's there up for discussion?" Batman muttered, not taking his eyes off the neat lines of text.
"I was, of course, referring to something else," even with his back turned to the butler, Bruce could tell his face was rather displeased with the attempted deflection. "You looked and sounded panicked. I'd even say terrified."
"No such thing," Bruce denied uselessly.
"You were frightened. I can surmise what you were thinking at that moment. The Joker could target Master Richard..."
"Alfred," he interrupted, feeling unable to speak or think about it right now.
Another few minutes of heavy silence followed, which was enough for Bruce to finish and save the report. He got up from the chair, heading to the changing area to finally get out of the suit and go to sleep.
"Very well," came the voice behind his back. Bruce didn't turn around.
He changed mechanically, showered mechanically, and got into bed, trying not to think. Not to calculate worst-case scenarios, possible plans, consequences.
He tossed and turned for about forty minutes, and then allowed the tears of fear and stress to flow. Bruce curled in on himself on the bed, crying silently and biting his lower lip until it bled.
They were just children. Dick's age.
It could have been Dick. His son.
Bruce passed out a short while later, still unsettled, with red eyes and a deep-seated hatred for the Joker in his heart and mind.
***
The next day, he quickly pulls himself together. Brucie Wayne must shine in his company, and that's exactly what he tries to do. The polished image is slightly marred by his red, puffy eyes and bitten lip, so he wears mirrored sunglasses and applies lip balm at every opportunity.
"Passionate night," he brushes off any inquiries.
Throughout the day, he checks Dick's location much more frequently, but who can blame him? Besides, no one knows. Although Alfred most certainly suspects.
His civilian day passes as usual, in a blur. Bruce mentally prepares for the conversation with Superman and also tries to leave Dick at home. The boy isn't listening, already offended that Batman didn't let him help last night, sent him away, and then called Superman. Bruce can't find the words—a not uncommon occurrence for him when emotions need to be discussed—to explain to the boy why it happened that way. He's angry at himself and at Dick as they both get into the Batmobile, but his son's joyful smile erases almost all of that anger.
He chooses the roof of an unremarkable building to call Superman. Bruce tries not to analyze his gratitude or the sense of safety he felt yesterday. For most of his time as Batman, he worked alone. Back then, there was no one to watch his back, and not much has changed now. Dick is still too young and inexperienced, and mostly, it's Bruce who covers him. Yes, Alfred is always waiting at the manor, but that's different.
He shakes off his thoughts when he sees a blurred flash of red-and-blue. Seconds later, a seemingly delighted Superman hovers before him.
"Hi," the alien breaks the silence, and Bruce activates night vision to see his face better. He notices Superman's eyes darting, examining him and Robin beside him, noticing the intense focus on his lower lip.
"Hi," Bruce replies to the greeting for some unclear reason and immediately feels foolish. Batman doesn't say hi. "Thank you for the quick assistance yesterday. I didn't pull you away from anything important, did I?"
Superman shakes his head, his small smile widening slightly as a stray curl bounces on his forehead.
"Not at all! I'm always happy to help, you know. Even if you don't want interference in your city, just call, and if I'm not busy trying to stop half a million Luthor-bots packed with kryptonite, I'll definitely come flying."
---
Damn, he needs to shut up. He's talking too much. Clark feels himself blushing as he realizes he's showing way too much of his admiration for the Dark Knight of Gotham. He tries to ignore the widening, delighted grin of the boy next to Batman—seems his name is Robin.
Batman doesn't respond for a minute, and Clark fidgets with the edge of his cape behind his back. He always feels oddly awkward around the other hero. Superman doesn't miss Batman's small inhale and the slightest stutter in his heartbeat. Then the vigilante begins to speak, with pauses between sentences as if carefully choosing his words:
"I... appreciate that. You're not as unwelcome in Gotham as before. Anyway, about yesterday... you might already know this, but the explosion was Joker's doing. He's been free for a while; I've checked all his usual haunts, but he's more elusive this time. And something feels off about his actions, but I haven't found any proof yet. So, until I catch him, I might have to call you a couple more times."
Superman is stunned into silence, surprised by the sheer number of words at once. Batman seems to ponder something during the pause, then adds with a deep sigh:
"This, by the way, is my protégé, Robin. He's a big fan of yours."
"Hi!" the child waves cheerfully, his face beaming. Superman can't help but smile back, distracted.
"Hi, Robin! Very nice to meet you," he shakes the boy's offered hand carefully but firmly. "I'm genuinely impressed by the acrobatics you pull off on the streets."
Clark realizes he's slipped up when the corner of Batman's mouth rapidly turns downward.
"You've been peeking into Gotham?"
Superman blushes, and Robin laughs merrily:
"Don't listen to him! He's grumpy. We don't mind! And you can drop by just to visit B." B. That sounds... cute. "He won't show it, but he'd be glad."
"Robin," Batman cuts in, sounding grumpy and somewhat bewildered, and Superman shoots him a guilty look.
"Thanks for the invitation, Robin. But this is your, uh... boss's city, and I'll respect the boundaries he's set. Speaking of which," Superman straightens up from the strange half-crouch he'd adopted to look the boy into the eyes, "I truly appreciate the trust shown and will be happy to help. Metropolis is quiet for now anyway. If you want, I could try searching for the Joker with my vision?"
Batman shakes his head:
"There's a lot of lead in Gotham. It would mostly be a waste of time."
Clark nods understandingly, and silence falls for a couple of seconds. The superheroes look at each other while Robin shifts impatiently from heel to toe, glancing between them.
"We have to go," Batman turns, his cape swirling up with the motion, caught by the wind.
"Bye!" Robin waves at him, and Superman returns the gesture, feeling a bit giddy from the conversation.
"See you!"
Batman emits a low, affirmative grunt, fires his grapnel, and disappears into the night. The small figure of Robin follows, and Superman looks away.
***
For the rest of the night, Robin keeps casting suspiciously cheerful glances his way, which Batman simply ignores. The boy knows how to talk if he wants something.
Dick starts talking the moment they’re back in the Batcave, and dear god, Bruce thinks with a sinking feeling, he’d rather Dick stayed silent.
“Are you and Superman friends now? He seems nice! And you could use a friend.”
Batman lets out a deep sigh, starting to peel off pieces of his armor.
“No, we are not friends. And I do have friends.”
Dick raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and Bruce recognizes his own expression staring back. It tugs at some raw nerve in his chest, and he ignores the feeling completely.
“Alfred doesn’t count. I’m serious, B! How about inviting him over for dinner?”
Bruce freezes mid-motion while his son blinks up at him innocently.
“Why would I do that?”
“Well, to get to know each other better. Talk about the struggles of superheroing, that sort of thing. Have a nice evening.”
Bruce snorts irritably, pulling on a t-shirt.
“I’m sure he has more interesting things to do than having dinner with me.”
Dick frowns, crossing his thin child arms over his chest.
“I think he’d like it,” the boy chews on his lip, trying to convince Bruce of… something. “You didn’t notice how he was looking at you.”
“You’re young and imagining things, Dick,” the conversation continues by the monitor, and Bruce naively throws a begging look to Alfred for help. Alfred stoically ignores him, not a single muscle moving on his face. “He was just nervous because I was… harsh before.”
Dick shakes his head stubbornly, pushing his point.
“He was happy you let him get closer.”
Bruce sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He has no answer to that because, well, his son is right. Bruce doesn’t know what to do with the way Superman looked at him, doesn’t know what to do with his own tangled knot of emotions. He would love to ignore all of that mess, thank you very much.
“And you think letting him get closer is a good idea?”
“Yes!” Dick nods enthusiastically with a ‘you-get-me-now’ look. Bruce sighs again, feeling a throbbing pain in his temples.
“I’ll think about it. Go to bed.”
He ignores the reflection of the boy in his monitor, triumphantly pumping his fist in the air, and the knowing arch of his butler’s eyebrows.
Soon enough, Alfred herds him to bed as well, and oh, he has plenty of time for thinking.