Chapter Text
The sun radiated amaranthine rays of light that glowed through the curtains of the Manor’s kitchen, splaying across Clark’s complexion, turning his olive skin a honey warm. He fiddled with something on the coffee maker, before turning to Bruce, who was sitting at the counter watching him.
“Have you looked at the Sutol accords? I forwarded them to you.”
Looking down from Clark, Bruce stared down at his plate of eggs, pushing them around with his fork.
“Mm,” he hummed in confirmation, “there’s a file on my desk in the cave.”
Clark pumped a fist in the air, nodding in triumph before turning back to the coffee maker. Bruce watched as his arms shifted rapturously, pouring that into this, turning this off, flipping that on. Finally, he whirled around once again, two mugs of coffee in hand. He too sat at a chair around the kitchen counter, before sliding one of the mugs over to Bruce. Clark smiled, hands cupped around his own mug as he gazed at Bruce.
“Black. Just how you like it,” he said, lifting up his own coffee to sip at it.
Bruce nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured before taking a gulp of his own.
“Sooooo,” Clark drawled, tapping his fingers against the ceramic mug and looking out the windows of the kitchen to the garden beyond, “have you asked the kids about Conner’s party?”
Bruce thought for a moment before nodding again. Clark had asked him over patrol about a week ago if he and the kids were free to celebrate Conner’s seventeenth birthday. (“I don't do birthdays,” he had responded, the modulator in his cowl causing his voice to deepen.
“Oh, come on, B,” Clark had laughed, slapping the shoulder of the Batsuit, to which Bruce grimaced. “Everyone does birthdays!”
“I’m busy that day.”
Clark leaned forward to meet Bruce’s eye, an amused grin on his face. “I haven’t even mentioned a day.”
Bruce had stayed silent, looking out over Gotham's skyline.
Clark had sighed, and then went on to tell Bruce the date and location, which was a Saturday at his house in Smallville.
“You’ll be there,” he’d said, gazing at Bruce knowingly. “And make sure to ask around for who’s free.”)
“Everyone will be there,” Bruce muttered in the present, before taking another sip at his coffee. The taste was acidic and rich with flavor. He set his mug down, before wincing and peering at Clark weakly. “It’s still up in the air with Jason, but you know how he is.”
“Right,” Clark sighed, still looking at Bruce. “Well I was thinking we could-”
He stopped mid-sentence, holding out a hand at Bruce to stay silent as he stared at the far wall of the kitchen. Quirking an eyebrow, Bruce glanced between the wall and Clark.
Just then, the door to the kitchen swung open, and Conner entered, hair sticking up at odd angles, a large t-shirt draped over his shoulders. He had a pair of wired earbuds in(the music was blasting so loud Bruce could hear the boosted bass from feet away) but when he saw Clark and Bruce were in the kitchen, he removed one, before looking at them sheepishly.
Groaning, Bruce turned away from him, hunching back over his plate of eggs. “I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing in my house.”
Conner shrugged and continued into the kitchen. Clark gazed at him incredulously.
“Well I am!” He said, leaning up from where he’d been settled against the counter. “What are you doing here?”
Snorting, Conner opened the fridge, his head of black curls disappearing behind the doors. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I asked you first.”
Bruce glanced up at Clark with disappointment, shaking his head while frowning.
Clark seemed to pick up on his intent, for he then said, “I mean- I don’t have to answer to you! I’m the adult here, therefore I ask the questions. When did you even get here?”
“Last night,” Conner grunted, slamming the doors to the fridge shut and turning to the kitchen counter. He reached over the table to the basket of fruit that sat there, and retrieved an orange.
Pushing up his glasses, Clark gazed at Conner with dissatisfaction. “Why didn’t you tell me when you got here? Gosh, I thought you were still in Metropolis.”
“Well I figured since you- I don’t know- have superhearing, you knew I was here. Besides, Clark, I’m not twelve. I didn’t realize I had to tell you whenever I go somewhere.”
When Clark still glared at him condescendingly, Conner rolled his eyes, backing over to the door. “And I’ve been with Tim upstairs the whole night. We had a sleepover. I’m like 90% sure that’s the safest place on Earth to be- besides,” he gestured to Bruce, “being with him.”
Clark redirected his glare to Bruce, who shrugged. “He’s not wrong.”
“Just try and tell me when you go somewhere, Kon. I get worried,” Clark pleaded, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. His eyebrows scrunched with frustration, and he had an absurdly pouty frown on his face.
“Yes, Mom!” Conner called sarcastically as he exited the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.
When Bruce caught Clark staring fixedly at the floor following Conner’s exit, he sighed, shifting his head a little to meet the reporter's eye. “They all have rebellious phases, Clark. Some stick more than others, but they never fully last,” he waited for cerulean eyes to meet his, and when they did, he offered a small smile, “It’ll pass.”
“Yeah,” Clark agreed, laughing slightly through the word, “you’re right. Conner is a superhero. He can handle himself. It’s just that,” he bit at his lip anxiously, “I was so . . . how do I even phrase it? Troublesome? at that age. I know it's ridiculous, but I’m worried that it's genetic or something. I don’t want Kon to feel like he has to keep things from me.”
Completely disregarding Clark’s last two sentences, Bruce raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You were troublesome?”
“Well,” Clark looked down, a slight blush blossoming across his cheeks, “it was just a one year phase.”
When Bruce’s silence gestured for him to go on, Clark chuckled slightly, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. “You know what I mean. Everyone had a grungy era of their childhood. Mine was just a little more . . . intense than others. I was more rebellious than troublesome, honestly.” When Bruce stared at him blankly, Clark said, “You know, sticking it to the man?”
Bruce barked an amused laugh, shaking his head as he gazed at Clark. “No, I don’t think I know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes you do. You’re more broody now than I ever was at seventeen.”
Bruce’s smile dropped instantly. “I’m not broody.”
Clark smirked, looking down. “Sure you aren’t.”
Sliding into off from his seat, Bruce retrieved his plate from the counter. “I think I’m done eating.”
Laughing as he shook his head, Clark followed Bruce to the sink, where he set down his dishes.
“Back to what I was saying before, it was just a phase. But it was a bad one.”
Rinsing out the coffee from his drink, Bruce watched as the murky black liquid slowly flushed to a light beige.“I just don’t believe you, Clark,” he teased, “I can’t imagine you being perpetually unhappy.”
“Thank you?” Clark replied.
A silence stewed as Bruce finished rinsing their dishes. Curious at the sudden bout of quiet, Bruce turned around to see Clark leaning against the marble of the counter, his eyes vacant as he stared at the floor. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, and Bruce was slightly alarmed at the abrupt change in countenance.
“Clark?” Bruce asked, gazing at him questioningly.
Darting his eyes up, Clark’s eyes returned to their usual attention. He smiled softly at Bruce. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “just thinking.”
Bruce nodded, his eyes still glued to Clark. “Do you,” he paused, glancing away and then back at Clark, “want to come down to the cave with me? There’s some things I want you to look at, and you can come get that file you need.”
Clark’s smile grew more authentic as he nodded, his eyes shining with mirth. “Sure,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “let’s go.”
Without a word, Bruce pushed off from where he’d been leaning against the sink counter, trudging past Clark towards the exit of the kitchen. “Try to keep up, can you?”
Laughing as he followed after Bruce, Clark shook his head, voice lilting with amusement. “Buzz off.”
It was only a few hours later, or perhaps more than that (he had no idea how long he’d been down here) that Bruce sat at the chair in front of the Batcomputer. He stared at the monitor of the screen vacuously, head buzzing with exhaustion, bones aching with unattended injuries. It had been a while since he’d returned from patrol, and he’d foregone changing out of the suit in favor of reviewing a file on the Black Mask. There’d been some suspicious cargo movement out of the Gotham Harbour that night, and he wanted to make sure nothing was awry.
The dark splotches of makeup around his eyes itched against his skin, and a tingle up his spine urged him to change out of the Batsuit, yet he still remained seated, half reading the file, half worrying about the whereabouts of his children.
Earlier in the evening, the sensors had picked up an alert about unidentified magic signatures around the downtown Gotham area. Tim had volunteered to check it out, and since Tim was going, Dick had begged to go as well, and then somewhere along the way, Cassandra had gotten involved, and then Duke had wanted to go, and then Clark had gotten worried about them all going out alone (which was frankly ridiculous, his children were all very capable -mostly Tim and Cass) and volunteered to go as well. So now five whole heroes were missing from their posts, and it had been five hours since he’d spoken to any of them.
Five hours. It had been five hours since he’d made any contact with any of them. This was excusable for maybe Dick and Clark, but as for Duke, Cass, and especially Tim, Bruce found it odd that no one had checked in. Besides, they were merely meant to check things out. What could possibly be taking five hours?
Just as Bruce contemplated the notion of pinging the joint communication system, footsteps from behind distracted him. Looking up, Bruce caught sight of Conner advancing toward him through the reflection of the monitors. He was dressed in his uniform, black jacket and all.
“Hey Spooky,” Conner greeted, walking until he was next to Bruce’s chair, before leaning against the desk of the Batcomputer.
“Mm,” Bruce grunted, clicking something away with his mouse.
Conner sized him up for a moment, before looking around the Cave, and then back at him.
“Soooo,” he said, in a voice that was scarily similar to Clark’s, “where did everyone go?”
“They’re checking something out in downtown Gotham,” Bruce muttered.
Conner stared at him some more.
“Y’know, no one’s going to kill you if you got to bed before 11pm, right?”
“Yes, Conner, I’m aware.”
Nodding obnoxiously, Conner looked down, before quirking an eyebrow at the ground and then glancing back up.
“Do you still have those cherry lollipops? The ones that look li-”
“They’re on the farthest drawer to your right,” Bruce interrupted, his eyes still glazed as he rescanned the contents of the file.
“Fuck, yeah,” Conner exclaimed, grinning as he leaned off of the counter and made his way to where Bruce had instructed.
At the sound of rustling from the drawer, Bruce finally looked away from the file to see Connor stuffing an egregious amount of lollipops into the pockets of his jacket.
Conner halted, coming to a standstill once he’d noticed that Bruce had witnessed his actions. Slowly, he unpacked the candy from his pockets, dumping them back into the drawer with shame.
“My bad,” Conner murmured as he hopped onto the computer’s desk, shutting the drawer with his leg. He unwrapped the paper from around the candy, happily popping the lollipop into his mouth. He hummed in question when he realized Bruce was still staring him down.
“Clark.” Bruce said grimly.
Conner raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”
Sighing, Bruce looked back to the screen of his computer, though his thoughts were fixed on something else. “He means it when he says he worries about you. I know he can be,” he paused, finding the words, “slightly overbearing.”
Conner scoffed around the lollipop, rolling his eyes, “That’s an understatement.”
Bruce huffed a laugh. “He only means well. Most of the time, it’s like he has the world on his shoulders. But with you, with Jon, it’s so much more. That fear of,” he squinted at the screen, “of you two getting hurt. It haunts him. It haunts me just the same.”
“Right,” Conner muttered, looking away.
“I’m not telling you to stay locked in the Fortress at all hours of the day, or to not have fun, or something, Kon. I just want you to try and understand where Clark’s coming from.”
“Yeah, yeah I get it,” Conner said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Trust me, I’ve heard it a thousand times before from Lois.”
Bruce nodded before fully focusing back on the file. Personally, he understood how Conner felt. Earlier in their friendship, boundaries had been a difficult hurdle for Clark. Bruce didn’t like being tracked or listened to from afar, but he’d come to learn that most times, Clark couldn’t help it. He’d confessed that often, but mostly at night, he’d get sick with worry, and couldn’t fall asleep without checking in and making sure everyone was alive. And though it had bothered him at first, Bruce had relented, allowing Clark to check in when he felt he had too. They’d had many conversations about privacy over the course of their friendship. Now, however, all attributes of a professional colleague relationship were out the window. Privacy didn’t exist between them because it didn’t have to. Bruce knew everything about Clark and vice versa. Clark could probably describe every scar on his body, and Bruce could probably point out every mole on Clark’s skin. That’s just how they were now.
As Bruce dwelled in his thoughts, a pleasant silence persisted within the Cave. Conner sucked contentedly at his lollipop, while Bruce tried and failed to focus on his work. Unfortunately the quiet didn’t last long, for less than five minutes later, Conner was looking up at the garage to the Batcave. He stood from the countertop, his countenance alarmed and unsure.
“What?” Bruce asked, his attention still on the file. He dragged his eyes away when Conner didn’t answer. The teen was staring at the garage door, eyes squinted, face scrunched in focus. “What is it?” Bruce asked again, his concern increasing.
“I hear,” Conner winced, “voices. From inside the Batwing.”
Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to the monitor. “That must be Clark and the others.”
“Uhh,” Conner began uneasily, “yes, but no. I hear Dick. And Tim and Duke, and not really Cass cause she never talks but . . . yeah she’s definitely there.”
Bruce gazed at the computer in confusion, before a wave of realization hit him and his eyes darted to Conner’s in apprehension. “What about Clark?”
“I-”
Conner looked unsure, his eyes squeezed shut in focus. “I don’t know.”
Groaning in frustration and concealed worry Bruce stood up, stalking over to the Cave’s garage, his whirlwind of a cape tussling about behind him.
“Wait!” Conner exclaimed, speeding over to catch up to Bruce. “I hear someone else in there.”
Stopping mid-step, Bruce turned his head to Clark, peering at him in question.
“They’re bringing someone into the Cave?”
“Yes,” Conner replied, sounding more sure of himself. “It’s a boy. He has a,” he closed his eyes in focus, “a pretty strong Kansas accent. And he’s swearing. A. Lot,” he laughed, “Gosh, he’s cussing up a storm. You should hear what he just called Tim.”
Rolling his eyes, Bruce continued to the garage, where he took a right to enter the Batwing’s hangar. The gate had already opened, which meant the jet wasn’t far off the ground. Sure enough, it was only a second later that the jet was lowering to the ground, the Batwing coming into sight.
Bruce and Conner watched in anticipation as the latch to the jet opened, the latching hissing as vapor wafted out from the door. It wasn’t long before Bruce could hear the voices too, yelling in agitated tones from the open door.
“Fuck, dude, we really fucked up this time,” he heard a stressed voice say, one he recognized as Duke.
“Language!” Bruce heard Dick exclaim. He then went on to say, “I told you that laser was bad news. It was pointed right at him, we should’ve done something.”
“Uh, don’t look at me Mr. First in Command. If Bruce kills us, it’ll be you he kills first,” Tim said.
“Dick is right, we should’ve listened to him,” Duke cried in anguish.
“Duke, do you mind getting Dick’s dick out of your mouth? We have a problem here!”
“Oh, that was just lewd.”
“Who the hell are you guys?” Bruce heard a voice say, one that definitely wasn’t one of his kids. It was just as Conner had described, deep with a rich Kansas accent. It almost reminded Bruce of-
“Okay guys, don’t freak out,” Bruce heard Duke say from inside the jet, “but I’m looking out the window right now, and Bruce and Conner are out there waiting for us.”
“Shit!”
“Language!”
“Ho-Lee-Crap!” The foreign voice exclaimed, loud enough for Bruce to distinguish his words loud and clear. “Is that . . . Is that me?”
Silence rang from inside the jet.
“We should go in there,” Conner said, his voice laced with apprehension as his eyes darted to Bruce’s. “We should definitely g-”
“You guys cloned me!” The foreign voice yelled once again. “What the hell is wrong with you guys? Why the hell did a bunch of kids in Halloween costumes clone me?”
“We aren’t the ones who cloned you, Clark!” Dick replied, “that was one hundred percent not us.”
“And these aren’t Halloween costumes, asshole,” Tim grunted.
“Asshole? Oh, I am so out of here.”
“Wait don’t lea-”
The next thing Bruce knew, a blurry line of red and blue was looping out from the jet's opening and skidding to a stop right in front of him.
It’s Conner. Conner in the Superman suit, except the fabric is a little loose in places, and Conner’s hair is definitely longer than it should be, and . . . wait. This isn’t Conner.
Slowly, Bruce looked beside him to see Conner standing at his side. Conner who was staring at, well, Conner 2 with a bewildered expression on his face. He extended a hand, pointing to Conner 2 in front of them.
“What. The. Hell?”
“No shit,” Conner 2 said, rubbing his neck sheepishly, “that’s what I said.”
“Tim,” Conner called out, looking past the clone in front of him to the jet beyond. “Explain this!”
Slowly, Tim stepped down the ramp from the Batwing, Dick, Cassandra, and Duke following him.
“You let the clone get cloned?” Conner shouted in frustration, gesturing to Conner 2. “You guys had one job.”
“This is really awkward for you Conner,” Duke laughed nervously, his eyes darting everywhere but Bruce.
“Yeah, let’s just say, the pots calling the kettle black,” Dick quipped, shaking his head as he stood pointedly behind Cassandra, who slapped a palm to her forehead.
“Oh my Rao, can someone explain what’s going on!” Conner shouted, his gaze still on Tim.
Bruce looked to Tim as well, his eyes demanding an answer.
Tim opened his mouth as if to speak, yet no sound came out. He gestured with his hands uselessly, before letting them fall limply against his sides. “ I don’t know where to start.”
“How about this,” Bruce growled, his patience running thin, “where is Clark?”
No one spoke as all heads but Conner’s and Bruce’s turned to Conner 2.
“I’m right here,” Conner 2- no, Clark said, shrugging, as he looked at Bruce in confusion.
“Oh my God,” Conner rasped, taking the lollipop from his tongue so that his mouth could gape in shock.
“That is Clark,” Duke said, when Bruce stared at him for confirmation, “that’s Clark approximately twenty-three years in the past.”
Conner shook his head, looking Clark up and down.
“Ha!” Dick exclaimed behind them, “it’s like Honey I Shrunk the Kids. But like, Honey I Shrunk the Clark.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Duke sighed, “it's just not like that at all.”
Tim let his head fall into his hands as he heaved a sigh. “I think I’m gonna have a hernia.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, Bruce sighed without saying a word.
Clark looked between them both, before redirecting his smolder to where Cassandra stood unamused beside him.
“Does someone want to tell me where the hell I am?”