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lumosinlove · 4 years

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Coast To Coast

part vii

Harvard University, 2014

There must have been a greater power taunting him.

“Sexy!” Anderson—forward, number 77, alternate captain—had said in the locker room. “That is this year’s Halloween theme, boys. Bring your girls, bring your booze, bring your minimal clothing, bring your A-game.”

Sexy. That was definitely just what Logan needed for his first OKN house halloween party. His new teammates. In minimal clothing.

He rolled onto his back on his dorm bed with a sigh, continuing to scroll through his phone while he waited for Finn to get out of their shared bathroom.

Finn O’Hara. Harzy, the boys called him. Right wing but didn’t always play that way, number 17, a sophomore. Originally from New York City. Logan’s new roommate.

“It’s how it works, rookie,” Anderson had said. “Baby OKs share. You’ll get your own room eventually.”

Logan was fine having a roommate. He had had one at prep school. He didn’t even care if they were messy, he was sure he was twice as bad. But Finn O’Hara. Red hair, six foot even, brown eyes—bambi, the boys called him. A little on the thinner side, but Logan could tell he could bulk up if he wanted to. Finn O’Hara.

There must have been some greater power taunting him.

“Fuck,” Finn’s voice came from within the bathroom. The door was open, but not enough for Logan to see anything. “My balls are going to hate me.”

Logan snorted. “We wear spandex every other day of the year.”

“Yeah, breathable sports spandex, not this plastic shit. Jesus fuck,” there was a groan. “At least I look alright.”

“Stop staring at yourself and let me get in there.”

“Okay, okay,” Finn said, and Logan watched the door move as he pushed it open.

The universe hated him.

Finn was some sort of gladiator, Logan thought, with nothing on but a red cape that clasped around his neck and shoulders, and a pair of tight, gold underwear that left nothing to Logan’s imagination. They had a fake, foam sword clipped at the hip. He had gold paint on beneath his eyes, streaked like a football player, and a gold laurel crown sitting in his red hair. His pale skin was creamy against the gold and the frame of the dark red cape. He had cheap looking sandals on that went all the way up his strong calves, biting into the muscle a little.

Finn spread his arms, turning in a slow circle. “Look at these fucking things. Who makes these and why?”

Logan swallowed, looking at the gold underwear. “For frat parties, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah,” Finn laughed and then bent over his bed to fold his discarded clothes up. His cape slipped away from his back and Logan sat up abruptly.

“Merde, Harzy, those things are barely holding onto you.”

“I told you, my dick is gonna hate me,” Finn said loudly.

Logan smiled and swiped his party city bag from his dresser. “Souhaite moi bonne chance.”

“Swat bon,” Finn rolled his eyes.

Logan laughed and slipped into the bathroom. He could hear Finn putting some music on as he undressed, singing along softly under his breath. Logan gave himself a moment to close his eyes and breathe, fingering his necklace. He’d known Finn for a little over two months. That was it. And already he liked him in the morning. He liked him drunk off his ass. He liked him on the rare lazy day, still under his covers reading a book and wearing his glasses. His glasses. Dark tortoise shell things that turned amber in the sunlight, like his eyes, and just—fuck. He liked Finn on the ice and like it when they were on the same line, something that was happening more and more frequently. He liked Finn, and Finn seemed to like him well enough, and Coach liked them together. The found each other on the ice every time. Logan had never had that before.

Logan rubbed his hands over his face and then reached into the plastic bag for his costume—if he could call it that. A black cape, clasped by the yellow and black Batman symbol, the iconic mask that covered his eyes, and what could only be called underwear. They were black and shiny, with the bat symbol on the ass.

“Merde,” Logan breathed once he squeezed his thighs into the shorts. It was—obscene. He wasn’t hung like some of the guys he’d seen but this certainly made it look like he was. His cock pressed against the fabric as insistently as his ass did. He turned around and looked at the yellow symbol there and was glad that the cape would be covering at least some of it.

“Ready?” Finn said when thumping music started up downstairs meaning people were starting to arrive.

Logan looked out the small bathroom window and towards the dark driveway. Cars were lining up. People were getting out in bikinis and corsets, speedos and stockings.

“Uh, yeah,” Logan said. “One second.”

He looked at himself in the mirror and laughed a little before spinning the bat mask once, and placing it over his head. His hair curled out from under it, and the black frame made his eyes look a little startling.

He looked—not bad. If he was looking to pick up tonight—which he hadn’t done yet at Harvard—he probably could. He turned and looked at his abs, defined from the rigorous pre-season training. He looked good. He pushed away the wish that Finn would notice.

“I’m ready,” Logan said and stepped into the weird plush boots that had come with the costume. He pushed his way out of the bathroom. “Sounds like people are here.”

Finn looked up from his phone, legs spread in a way that was doing Logan zero favors. “Yeah, I—”

Finn’s stare was one Logan had felt before. Spotting him in the weight room, checking each other during drills. Two months of that look that Logan refused to think about. But that was a hard thing, when he had nothing to do but look right into it.

Finn stood abruptly, taller, gold paint reflecting into his eyes and making them light like syrup.

“What’s your,” Finn swallowed. “Tattoo. Necklace. I’ve never asked.”

“Oh,” Logan looked down at his hip. “It’s a fleur-de-lis. Sort of a family thing. Me and my sisters have them in different places.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Three. They’re older than I am.”

“Fleur-de-lis,” Finn repeated softly, eyes on the tattoo. He swallowed again and then looked away. “Sick. Should we go?”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “Yeah, I need a drink if I gotta wear this thing all night.”

Finn laughed. “Uh-huh. Me, too.”

Logan lasted about an hour before he couldn’t stand his mask anymore. He left it on a table somewhere, pushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead and wishing for a hat. He’d have to settle for something cool to drink instead.

OKN house had the back door open into the chilly yard and porch. The living room had a drinks table set up, one of those plastic fold out ones that they used at rush and club fairs, beside the great oak dining table that no one actually used except, well, Finn. Finn who planned his essays at this table until it was way too late and he snuck up to the room, trying to be quiet for Logan. Logan, who stayed up just to see him go about his routine and fall into bed. Logan, pretending he was a part of that routine.

Logan might have had a Finn problem. A two-month long Finn problem. A Finn-in-glasses problem. A Finn-dressed-as-a-gladiator problem. A Finn-in-his-red-Harvard-jersey problem with his rough skating and sharp shots.

A Finn over in the corner problem, talking to a girl. Problem.

Logan turned to the drink table and desperately looked for the rum.

Logan was allowed to have a Finn problem. Logan just couldn’t have a Finn…anything else. Finn-wet-dreams, in which he woke up with a gasp, sweating against his sheets and only needing to shove his hand into his pajama pants where he was red and swollen in his own hand, barely touching himself before he was shooting into his fist, eyes resolutely away from the bed across from him. Finn-bringing-him-breakfast, not that he could make more than burnt toast, before he drove them to the rink. Finn-laughing-with-him, like a best friend that Logan had never actually had. There were teammates, and then there were friends.

Finn was a friend. Logan could have a Finn problem, a Finn secret, and a friend.

He just couldn’t have Finn.

The rum was no where to be seen. A shoulder bumped his.

“Hey, rookie,” Finn smiled. “What you looking for?”

Finn’s crown was lopsided, like some sort of halo in an old painting. Like someone had been messing with it. Logan looked for the girl, but she was gone.

“Rum,” Logan said.

Finn did a quick survey of the table and found the bottle easily, unstoppering it and reaching over to pour a healthy amount into Logan’s waiting cup.

“Coke, right?”

Logan nodded.

A Finn-knowing-his-drink-problem.

Finn made himself one, too, and held his cup out for a cheers with a smile. Logan smiled back, clicking their plastic cups together.

“Lost your mask somewhere, Batman. Now the whole world knows your secret.”

Logan laughed tightly and raised his cup to his mouth. “I can’t have that.”

Finn tilted his head, chewing a little on the rim of his cup before taking a drink. He cleared his throat. “You been to the roof yet?”

“Non,” Logan shook his head.

“Wanna? It’s a kinda cool view of campus.”

Logan tried to smile over the hammering in his blood. “That girl didn’t wanna join you?”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Come on.” He pushed off the table and was disappearing into the crowd quickly. Logan squeezed through bodies to follow.

“I found the picture,” Finn shouted. “Nut—fuck, is he still at the store?”

“Oui,” Logan said, filling up a glass of water from the sink. “Did you really find it? Let me see.”

Logan padded over to where Finn was sprawled on the couch and set his glass down before crouching near Finn’s head to see his phone.

“Oh God,” Logan laughed, ducking against Finn’s shoulder.

“Are you kidding? Lo, you look incredible. Fuck me, look at your legs. And you’re bigger now, like Jesus Christ… Ugh.”

Finn swiped his thumb lightly over where Logan’s tattoo was shown on his hip, just above the ridiculous yellow belt.

“This thing used to drive me crazy,” he said softly. “I mean, it still does, but…fuck.”

Finn used to have fantasies, while wishing for Logan, all of which had been very carefully kept faceless. Until this tattoo would make an appearance and ruin it all—and make him come immediately. It was ingrained in his subconscious as a Logan thing, one moment he would be touching himself in the shower, letting his mind wander quietly towards a hard chest against his, a large hand around his dick instead of his own. Faceless. He’d take the boy and press him against the wall of the shower maybe, do whatever he wanted him to do, kiss his neck, rut their cocks together, maybe he would moan Finn’s name—

Logan’s voice. The hip he had his fingers wrapped around was darkly inked, and tanned.

“Mon rouge,” Logan’s voice—really his voice—came through. Finn looked up at the touch of fingers through his hair. “Where did you go?”

Finn looked at Logan and took a slow breath. He was so familiar. He had been right there for so long, but it was only now that he was close.

“That was…” Finn swallowed. “Kind of a hard night.”

Logan’s brows drew together, and he nodded minutely after a moment. “We’ve had a few hard nights, non?”

Finn looked back at his phone, and then Logan was taking it out of his hand, clicking it off, and setting it on the coffee table. Finn sat up a little as Logan climbed into his lap, knees pressed to his hips. Finn ran his hands over his shoulders, then up beneath his sweatshirt to his broad back. He was bigger now. Stronger.

Logan pressed his fingers through Finn’s hair again and then a kiss to his jaw, one side, and then the other, his cheeks, and then his mouth.

“They lead us here,” Logan said softly. “The hard nights.”

Finn’s throat felt tight. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck. I know. I know they did.”

“Let me show you it’s easier now,” Logan said. “D’accord? Harzy, let me.”

“Lo,” Finn rasped out. He ran his thumb over where he knew the tattoo was, had memorized it quickly, would kiss it endlessly.

“You work hard for everyone,” Logan said the words into another kiss. “You worked hard trying to make me not be afraid, even when I was horrible and terrified.” He kissed down Finn’s throat and Finn’s mouth dropped open. “Even when you were terrified, even when I hurt you. Let me. Finn…”

Finn let out a breath, eyes opening to the ceiling, then to Logan’s when he brought their mouths back together.

"Let me.”

“I took you to the roof,” Finn gasped as Logan pressed against him, warm and real. “I don’t know what I was expecting, I…fuck, we barely knew each other.”

“Do you have any idea how much I wanted you,” Logan said. “Lean up for a sec.”

Finn let Logan pull his t-shirt off of him, let him press wet kisses to his neck and shoulders. It felt good, but part of him itched to flip them, to make Logan feel good. Kiss down his chest, kiss that tattoo.

“Relax,” Logan laughed softly, easing Finn back against the cushions. “You have to let me love you. I need it, Finn. I need to.”

Finn’s cock began to fatten up at that. He let his head fall back. “Lo…”

Logan reached behind him to yank his sweatshirt off and—and there he was. Real.

Finn pressed his palms against his chest, his stomach, feeling the hard curves of his muscles. Logan pressed his hands over Finn’s, bringing them to touch his neck, his pecs. “Let me take care of you for once. Rest and let me.”

Logan leaned down for another, soft kiss and then was swinging off of the couch. His cock was a soft outline in his sweatpants. “Allez.”

Logan pulled Finn up and Finn couldn’t help but back him against the nearest wall, just for a moment, thumb back against the fleur-de-lis, lips harsh against his jaw, just the way he knew Logan liked.

Logan let out a laugh that cut off in a moan. “Non, non—”

Finn pulled back and Logan’s smile made him smile. Logan was flushed and his neck was red from Finn’s mouth. Finn sucked a bruise on top of the blush on the side of his throat, and Logan’s short nails pressed into Finn’s back. Finn reached down and cupped Logan’s cock within his sweatpants, feeling the heat of it through the fabric.

“Non, non, non, allez,” Logan was still half laughing, walking Finn backwards towards his bedroom. “Je prends soin de toi. I’m taking care of you.”

“But I like making you come,” Finn grinned, only just managing to give Logan’s ass a squeeze before Logan pushed him back onto the bed. He bounced a little, pushing himself against the pillows before tapping his thighs. “C’mere, baby.”

Logan shucked his sweatpants off, followed by his socks, and then it was just him, bare and standing there in front of Finn. Finn swore softly and reached down to palm himself.

“Non,” Logan shook his head and knelt on the bed, cock standing out and wet. The sight only made Finn give himself another squeeze. Logan was straddling his hips then, snatching his hands and moving them to his waist. Finn wrapped his arms all the way around Logan, bringing their bare chests together.

He kissed him hard. “Gonna take my pants off, too? Can’t do much like this.”

Logan scoffed and hit the side of Finn’s head lightly, making Finn laugh. But he obliged, coaxing Finn to lift his hips so he could pull his sweatpants away. He leant to kiss the newly exposed skin, mouth soft against Finn’s hips and stomach, hand wrapping around his cock. Finn let out a slow breath and tangled his fingers in Logan’s hair.

He wasn’t expecting it when Logan sucked the head of his cock into his mouth. Logan hadn’t done that yet. He made Finn sit up, abs tightening.

“Tremz,” he panted out a breath. “Oh fuck.”

Leo had been wanting and loving about going down on Finn. It had practically broken Finn’s brain, seeing him there, blue eyes open with his mouth full of his cock. They’d laughed and kissed sending those videos to Logan. It was unbearably hot, thinking of Logan, seeing them, wanting them.

This was entirely different. It was different with both of them. With everything.

Leo and Finn liked to read together, swapping favorite passages. Logan didn’t read much, but he liked to be read to. Finn had always known that, had done it a million times back at Harvard. But now he knew that Logan liked to lay on Finn’s chest while he read, aloud or to himself, and fall straight asleep. He’d always fallen asleep to Finn’s voice. But now he was a weight on top of Finn, breathing softly against his neck and Finn just…

Logan’s mouth was soft, too, tongue pressing against the head of his cock.

Finn loved him.

“Lo, Lo, Lo…” Finn panted. “Fuck, baby.”

Logan just hummed and sucked down further for a moment before popping off and smiling a sweet smile. “Did it with Leo.”

Finn huffed out a laugh, throbbing at the image. “I should be no fucking problem, then.”

Logan laughed, too. “I hope he comes home soon.”

“Me, too,” Finn said. He wanted him with them.

“I guess I know a way to pass the time until he comes back.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan smiled and rolled onto his back, producing lube from Finn didn’t know where. He spread his thighs. “Love it when Knutty does this, the fucking splits.”

Finn leaned forward, running his hands down Logan’s smooth skin. “Yeah. I didn’t even think about how goalies do that until him.”

Finn watched Logan’s face as he slipped two fingers into himself.

“Baby,” Finn said softly. “Let me.”

“Non, you watch.”

Finn sat up further, hand going to his cock—

“Don’t,” Logan panted, head against the bedspread as he worked himself. “Watch.”

Finn sighed and took Logan’s thighs back in his hands and kissed the inside of his knee. There was a little scar there from a night that happened a long time ago. Finn remembered.

Logan laughed breathlessly. “You can’t help yourself.”

“I love you so much.”

Logan’s breathing hitched, green eyes hazy. “Finn…”

Finn kissed it again, and then the other one, and then his thighs. He sucked kisses into the skin, bringing purple to the surface. Logan was marked by the time he sat up.

He was quiet as he pressed Finn back against the pillows. He wet his lips.

“Lo, what—”

“Why do you have your socks on, you weirdo,” Logan said as he swung a leg over Finn’s thighs. Finn’s cock nudged his entrance, and Logan gasped, cutting himself off.

He leaned down and captured Finn’s mouth in a needy kiss and reached behind himself to line Finn up. It was only then that Finn realized—Logan was going to—

Logan’s thighs were firm beneath Finn’s hands as he sunk down on him. Finn’s mouth dropped open at the feeling, of Logan in complete control. It wasn’t like fucking him at all, it was Logan, above him, head tilted back with the feeling of Finn filling him up.

“Finn,” Logan’s voice was more whine than anything else. “Finn, Finn, Finn—“

And he was seated, their hips together, Logan’s cock drooling between them.

“Holy shit,” Finn could barely breathe in. “Holy fucking shit, Lo.”

Logan got his knees under him and pushed himself up before sinking down again. Finn clutched Logan’s hips as all the breath seemed to punch out of Logan’s lungs. He did it again, and again, landing hard with each thrust, completely gone with fucking himself on Finn’s cock. Finn was mesmerized with the wide expanse of tan skin he had to kiss, Logan’s collarbones and shoulders, tongue running over his nipples as Logan’s thighs worked around him.

Logan shifted his hips and pitched forward into Finn’s chest with a curse, burrowing his face in Finn’s neck as he rolled his hips forward in small, sharp motions, hitting that spot inside him again and again.

“There you go, baby,” Finn said, wrapping his arms under Logan’s and around his broad shoulders. He pushed up in time with Logan, making Logan practically shout. “Be as loud as you want, there you go.”

“Finn,” Logan just kept saying, slipping a few times and saying Leo’s name instead. It made Finn all the hotter to think that Logan was imagining Leo there with them, sitting beside them on the bed, maybe working Logan’s cock into his mouth.

Logan’s breathing hitched up and he tightened his arms around Finn’s neck, fingers gripping his hair to pull Finn back for a sloppy kiss as he started to raise his hips again, skin slapping down against Finn’s. He worked until Finn was sure his thighs had to be burning, no matter how toned they were. Finn was going to lose his fucking mind.

“What,” a voice came from the doorway.

Finn looked up to the side to see Leo standing there, keys in his hand.

“Leo,” Logan gasped, and reached a hand out while rocking himself down on Finn’s dick.

Leo walked forward slowly towards the bed and took Logan’s hand like he was in a daze, staring at their naked bodies, slick with sweat by now. Logan yanked him forward and started undoing his belt.

“Hi, Peanut,” Finn panted, head falling back again as Logan rocked against him harder. “Store was—good?”

“I…” Leo was staring at where Logan was wrapping an arm around his waist now, leaning forward to press sloppy kisses over where Leo’s cock was quickly filling in his underwear.

“Knutty,” Logan said, before getting his fingers under the band of Leo’s boxers and pulling down so that Leo’s cock fell out. Leo laced his fingers into Logan’s hair, a laugh startling out of him.

“Logan, oh my god, I’m still holding my keys and wallet. I have my shoes on.”

“Allez.”

Leo just shook his head, raking his fingers through Logan’s sweaty hair. He dropped his things onto the night stand and then tugged his t-shirt off in one go, pushing off his shoes next. Logan let him undress, turning back to Finn and pressing his hands to Finn’s shoulders.

“Don’t touch him,” Leo said as he kicked his boxers aside. He fell down on the bed beside Finn and wrapped a large palm around himself, stroking his shaft. “Come on Finn’s cock, Tremz.”

“Non. Finn.”

Finn watched Logan and Leo share a look that he didn’t quite understand.

“I found the Batman picture,” Finn offered as a hopeful way to get into whatever silent communication Leo and Logan were having. “Sort of—” Finn hissed as Logan tightened around him. “Stirred up some memories if you couldn’t tell, fuck.”

Leo raised an eyebrow, shifting to sit on his heels. “Oh yeah?” He ran a hand down Logan’s back and Logan slowed until he was rocking gently, leaning a little into Leo. Leo looked at Finn. “How’d he look, Harzy?”

“He looked—” Finn began, and then cut off. The sudden well of emotion that had cut through him earlier seized around his heart again. He looked at Leo, all kind eyes, running his hand through Finn’s hair. And Logan, connected to Finn in every possible way right then. Finn opened and closed his mouth, swallowed over a dry throat, and looked at Logan. “He looked…”

The October air was a relief on Finn’s face when he pushed open the old window to the roof of OKN house. He turned back to look at Logan. They had thrown sweatpants and sweatshirts on, Finn had swiped a bottle of rum from the kitchen. The only real remnants of their outfits was Logan’s mussed hair and the gold on Finn’s cheeks.

Finn still felt like he was wearing a costume.

“This is semi-secret,” Finn said as he climbed out onto the tiles, vans catching on the rough material. “And by that I mean I really think no one likes it out here but me.”

He heard Logan laugh from behind him and smiled, pleased.

Fuck.

“You, the roof, and the dining room table,” Logan said.

The rum sloshed gently as Finn settled himself in the curve of the tiles, putting his hood up for some warmth and cushion. Logan did the same, and they settled shoulder to shoulder.

“Might have to steel your spot,” Logan said. “You can keep the table, though.”

“We already share a room and a starting line,” Finn handed him the bottle. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”

Logan’s smile was bright in the moonlight. “Well, good.”

They were quiet for a few moments, passing the rum back and forth to keep warm.

“Do you think you’re gonna make it? To play, I mean.” Logan asked him suddenly.

Finn knew Logan didn’t know just how loaded of a question he was asking. Was Finn going to make it? Hopefully. Was Finn going to survive it? If there was another teammate who became what Logan was quickly becoming, if Finn slipped up…

Hopefully.

He couldn’t read Logan. He couldn’t risk misreading Logan. He shouldn’t even try.

“Yeah,” Finn nodded. “I do, actually. I…you know, there’s all those statistics and shit but I also…feel it? If that doesn’t sound completely stupid? You?”

“I…” Logan hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“Come on, have you seen you play?”

One corner of Logan’s mouth raised, but he looked different beneath the moon. He was looking intently at Finn, bottle clutched to his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I feel…”

Finn waited for him to continue, but when Logan merely shrugged, he pressed on.

“Hey, I’d take you. Any day.”

It didn’t have the intended effect. The look that crossed Logan’s face looked almost—pained.

“I mean,” Finn tried to decide how to backtrack. “Maybe one day, eh? Anything could happen.”

Logan turned to look out over campus. He nodded mutely and took another drink. Finn felt concern draw around his heart.

“Lo, are you okay?”

Logan’s eyes snapped back to him. “Quoi?”

“What? Oh. Oh. Oh, no, I…” Finn laughed, a little awkwardly. “I didn’t really mean to…that’s been, like—it’s just been bouncing around my head for a while and I guess it slipped out.”

“That’s okay,” Logan said slowly. “I’m okay.”

“It’s okay if you aren’t. I mean… freshman year, Harvard hockey…it’s a lot of pressure. Believe me, I know.”

Another surprising thing. Logan closed his eyes and shook his head. “Non.”

Finn blinked. “What do you mean?”

Logan shook his head. “Nothing, I just…I’m probably a little drunk, I don’t even know.”

Finn let Logan hand the bottle of rum back to him, clutching it to his chest just to hold onto something. He didn’t know what to make of Logan’s no. No Finn didn’t know what it was like? That wasn’t true. If anything, Logan didn’t know what he was going through. Logan didn’t think about kissing Finn.

Logan stole the bottle back. “If you’re not gonna drink.”

He had a smile on his face again, one of his small secret ones. Finn, despite the uncertainty, smiled back. He couldn’t help it around Logan. Logan, who he now knew was the youngest with three sisters. Logan, who drank rum and coke. Logan, who hated doing his homework, but liked listening to Finn do his. Logan, who fought boys twice his size.

Before Finn could say anything, a rumble of thunder sounded off in the distance. It made them both look up and across campus.

“Halloween storm,” Finn said. “I guess that’s fitting.”

“My weather app said something about it,” Logan said after a moment.

Finn smiled. Logan, who checked a weather app.

Logan saw his smile and gave him a small shove. “Let’s go before it starts to rain and—and lightning and shit.”

“Don’t like storms?”

Logan was already pulling his hood more firmly on his head and maneuvering himself into a crouch. “Not really.”

“Well,” Finn started following him back to the window. “I don’t know about Canada, but we get some pretty crazy ones out here.”

Logan huffed, pushing the window up. “Well, super.”

Finn frowned. “Do you really not like—”

“Merde,” Logan hissed and stumbled the rest of the way through the frame. “Fuck.”

Finn pulled himself through a second later, eyes falling to the rip in Logan’s sweatpants by his knee, the red bleeding into the thick material.

“Shit, Tremz,” Finn said. “Is it bad?”

“It’s fine,” Logan said, looking at it carefully. “I’m fine.”

“Let me see, sit down.”

“I’m—”

“Let me see, speaking as your alternate captain now.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at him pulling that card, but sat on a ratty window seat. Finn grinned at him and crouched between his legs. He steadied himself on Logan’s knee, and then pushed Logan’s sweatpants up carefully, revealing his leg—a leg that Finn had been trying very hard not to stare at in skin-tight Batman underwear all evening. His skin was warm.

Finn would have liked a longer excuse to touch Logan, but the cut was small if not a little deep—thankfully not too bad. It was already beginning to stop bleeding.

“You should be good. Wasn’t anything rusty, just the wood edge. There’s some stuff in our bathroom from when I cut my cheek open last year.”

“Okay,” Logan said quietly. It was only then that Finn realized how still he was holding himself in Finn’s hands. It made Finn back up immediately, neck going hot. Who knew what Logan thought. Finn was so careful. So careful.

“Okay,” Finn said, then cleared his throat. “Okay, cool.” He looked around and then picked up the rum bottle from the floor. “Yeah.”

Logan pushed his sweatpants back into place and stood. “I’ll go check it out. Thanks, Harzy. See you in the room.”

“Yeah,” Finn managed faintly. He watched Logan send him a raw looking smile before jogging down the narrow staircase with a tight heart.

“Always taking care of me,” Logan was kissing his neck. “Remember the storm that night?”

Finn found Leo’s eyes before Leo was kissing his chest, teeth scraping over his nipple. Logan was grinding down on him in slow circles, making Finn choke out a moan. Their mouths on him ripped him right out of the memory.

Sometimes happiness made sadness’s edge sharper.

Finn blinked heat away from his eyes, but then Leo was there again, cock against his thigh, mouth brushing his own. Leo. Finn held one hand against Logan’s hip, the fleur-de-lis, and the other circled Leo’s back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him in for a kiss. He loved kissing Leo.

“You deserve it, too, remember? Like we said.” Leo said.

Logan mouth was softer now, against his jaw. “Maybe it’s time we show you.”

Finn could only sit there and take it, the two of them, warming him through and through.

Leo leaned into Finn’s touch. “Like you told me.”

Finn woke up with Leo pressed along his front for the first time the morning before they left for Florida. It was to a six AM alarm, Finn was exhausted, but it was one of the best mornings. Finding out Logan was coming to Gryffindor. Waking up wrapped around Leo. Tied for best mornings. After a few kisses, they had to get up, even if it felt like they were a world away from anything normal. Finn actually smiled to himself in the shower the entire time. He was giddy as hell, and Leo was in the kitchen making coffee and eggs and he could kiss Leo while he did that now. He could kiss Leo while he was reading on the couch, he could kiss Leo goodnight and crawl into bed next to him. And and and.

Leo looked up when Finn entered the kitchen, hunched over his coffee cup with two steaming plates in front of him. “Hi.”

Finn just walked forward and turned Leo away from the counter and towards him. “Leo.”

Leo took a lock of his hair, the red darkened from the shower, and curled it around his finger. “You look a little too serious for my liking.”

“You’re okay with all of this, right?” Finn said, and then the words rushed out. “You’re okay with me, and with Logan—hopefully—and you feel good and not pressured, and I just want to make sure because, Leo, I’m not that much older than you but I am older than you. And I need you to know that I want this with everything I fucking have but not if you’re in any way not happy, or, like, nervous, or…I just want,” Finn felt Leo press his hand to his cheek. “I just want to make sure. And I’m gonna keep making sure.”

“Harz…” Leo’s smile was small, almost disbelieving. “I’m so happy. I’m so happy.”

“Well…good,” Finn let out a breathless laugh, relieved. “Because you deserve to be.” Finn pressed his hands to either side of Leo’s face and kissed him once, twice, and then Leo held him there with a hand on the back of his head, licking into his mouth and making Finn sway into the cradle of his thighs. “I really, really like you, Peanut.”

“I like you, too. Even though you’re going to make us late.”

Finn just smiled into their next kiss. “I’ll get the dishes, okay? You go take a shower.”

Logan was already under his covers by the time Finn came into the room. The halloween storm was getting sharper. It was raining now, lightning flashing against the sky. Logan had his headphones in, and his eyes were dark as they followed Finn around the room as he undressed. Finn could hear his music from all the way in the bathroom.

Finn found the Batman mask by the sink and laughed, heart pulling when he thought about Logan’s green eyes in it, staring a little self consciously out at him earlier that night. He brushed his teeth and then put it on.

Logan raised an eyebrow when Finn came out, but he laughed and pushed his headphones away from one ear, making his hair stick up.

“Forgot your secret identity,” Finn grinned.

“Too late now.”

Finn bit his lip as he crossed the room to his own bed, putting the mask down. Logan was certainly his secret. Logan had grown quickly into Finn’s mind, so fast that Finn hadn’t really realized it. One morning, he just woke up thinking about kissing Logan square on the mouth.

Logan took a shaky breath from the other side of the room and set his headphones on his nightstand with a glance outside. Lightning cracked across the sky, lighting up the room. Logan’s fists squeezed around his blanket.

Finn slumped down against his pillows with a sigh, taking the book he was reading from his bedside. He could hear people leaving downstairs, screaming and laughing in the wind and rain.

“I don’t like storms,” Logan said quietly. He wasn’t looking at Finn, and he was messing with his fingers agitatedly, covers pulled high on his chest. “I don’t really know why, I just…I don’t like them.”

“I don’t like seaweed,” Finn shrugged, but warmed when Logan actually laughed. “I don’t know, man, it’s just slimy. Thunder’s loud as fuck, I mean, it doesn’t not make sense to not like it.” He took a breath. “You want the light on? It won’t bother me at all.”

Logan looked at him for a long moment, before nodding. “Oui. Thanks, Harzy.”

“Harzy,” Logan said against his mouth, and Finn felt his back arch as Logan drew them closer together.

Finn couldn’t get any words out, though, not with Logan hot around him, with Leo sucking intently at his neck, rutting against his thigh. He let out a harsh breath and tightened his fingers in Leo’s hair. They were both hard and dripping onto his chest and stomach and Finn wanted to do something for them. He was aching inside Logan, breathless from his own memories.

“Please,” he said, and he wasn’t even sure what he was asking. He tried to sit up, to reach for them. He wanted to surround them, to pull them against him harder.

Leo shushed him gently, pulling him into a kiss and easing him back against the pillows.

“You were gonna go all the way and get me the stars,” Leo whispered, a light laugh following. “Fuck, Finn…”

“I just—” Finn flexed his hips up into Logan and Logan’s brows scrunched together, hands keeping him upright against Finn’s chest.

“I’m gonna come,” Logan panted, his hips fucking down on Finn. “Fuck, I can’t—”

Logan’s hips stilled and he gasped, cock still red and hard. He fucked once, twice, as if he couldn’t help it, but Finn groaned in protest as Logan gingerly pulled off. Finn watched his own cock bobbing an angry red against his stomach, shiny with come and lube. Logan collapsed into Finn’s side, sweaty and running his hand down Finn’s chest to his balls, cupping them gently.

“Always taking care of us,” Logan breathed. “Fuck, Harz, I love you, but you have to let us take care of you.”

They’d only fucked a handful of times—and Finn was looking forward to many, many more handfuls—but he guessed it was true.

“I like it,” He said. And that was true too. He loved it. His breathing hitched as Leo licked a stripe from Logan’s fingers to the tip of Finn’s cock. “Fuck, Leo.”

Leo just smiled, cheeks a deep red and swung a leg over Finn’s hips. Finn’s hand shot out to grip Leo’s thighs.

“Baby, did you even—”

Leo nodded. “You were a little preoccupied.”

“I could of done it.”

Logan laughed, pressing a kiss to Finn’s cheek. “That’s not the point of right now.”

Leo’s cock hung heavily, balls swollen and tip wet. Finn itched to touch him, but instead Leo cupped his cock against his abs, giving Finn a perfect view of him sinking down over Finn’s.

“We’re all here together,” Logan said softly, accent thick as Finn’s eyes closed at the feeling of Logan’s hand and Leo’s body. “We’re all here for each other, mon rouge. Let us.”

Leo’s head was tilted back, hips rocking in slow circles. Finn cursed, gripping Leo’s pale thighs, longer and leaner than Logan’s.

“Peanut,” Finn gasped. “Jesus, did you two practice this on each other, too?”

Leo’s smile was hazy and blissful. “Maybe.”

Finn groaned, head dropping back into the pillows. Finn loved the two of them together. His two.

Leo’s breathing turned heavy and then he pressed up and sunk down again, punching a sound out of himself. “Fuck.”

“There you go, pinotte,” Logan said from beside Finn. His palm was warm around Finn’s balls still, the sensation making Finn feel like he was about to be right on the edge. Leo was still holding his own cock, but not stroking it, just sinking down around Finn again and again. His blond hair darkened against his forehead.

“I’m close,” Finn said. “Jesus, fuck, I’m so close.”

The urgency had come out of nowhere, but he ached with it. Logan’s hand squeezed again around his balls, and then Leo was pulling off, too. Finn’s abs jumped and the loss. He fisted the sheets.

“Boys, this is not what I call appreciation,” Finn’s knees drew up on their own, trying to seek out any type of friction. His cock beaded precome across his stomach.

“Non?” Logan said, and then he was gone from against Finn’s side. Finn felt aflame, like he could feel every touch, and every absence.

Leo smoothed a hand down his stomach, through the mess, and then his mouth was back on Finn’s cock—and so was Logan’s.

“Huh—“ Finn wasn’t sure if he was breathing properly as his hands shot out to tangle in their hair, brunette and blonde. They lapped at him, mouths meeting occasionally around his wet, swollen tip. They’re—

“Fucking gorgeous, what the hell,” Finn managed, and he did sit up this time, legs splayed, pressing against their chests, palms rubbing over their spines. He had to close his eyes for a minute when Logan’s mouth found his balls and sucked at them, at the sensitive skin at his root, all while Leo’s mouth was sinking down, down. Finn felt it like a bruise, like a hurt that was so good it shattered, he shattered, looking at them.

Finn tried to keep his hips still as he came in Leo’s mouth with a low sound, bowed with his forehead pressed to Leo’s shoulder.

They kissed him, and then kissed each other, and then Logan was crawling across Finn and into Leo’s waiting arms. They smiled at each other, and Finn thought that was better than any of the sex. Leo’s hands were shaky as he pushed into Logan. Logan sunk down on Leo’s cock twice before he was shouting, come hot and white against Leo’s skin. Finn pressed himself all along Logan’s back and held him as Leo fucked into him a handful of times and came, too, face buried in Finn’s neck.

They were breathing hard, like a fine current surrounded the three of them, placing their breaths in sync. Finn was—

Leo closed the door to the balcony of Finn’s Florida hotel room and paced back to the bed, sitting beside him. Finn rubbed a hand up and down his back, thumb bumping along his spine.

“He’s hurting,” Leo said, eyes down. “He’s hurting, and he won’t let us tell him that we…”

“Lo’s always needed to do things in his own time. Always. We’ll get to him, we’ll talk to him.”

“I…” Leo cut off with a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he turned into Finn and Finn wrapped him up close.

“We’ll sort it out. Believe me, I’ve been waiting a long fucking time for this,” Finn pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “For you, too, even if I didn’t know it.”

Leo smiled, even if his eyes were still a little sad.

“You’re right,” he said, and then paused. “Maybe we’ll just kidnap him at the buffet.”

Finn snorted. “Maybe.”

Leo took Finn’s hand in his lap and kissed it. “I think we’ll be together soon.”

It was too good. It was all his. Finn ran one hand over Logan’s abs slowly before pressing his palm over his pounding heart. With his other on Leo’s back, he could feel Leo’s heartbeat, too. They were louder to him than his own. Logan’s head was tilted back against his shoulder, his eyes closed, and Finn leant down and kissed his cheek.

“Knutty, c’mere,” he breathed. “C’mere.”

Leo’s cheeks were red like his mouth and he knelt his way over to Finn’s chest, leaning his chin up for a kiss. He pressed his hand to Finn’s cheek, swiping his thumb over his jaw.

“Stubble,” he mumbled with a smile, and dragged his lips over it happily.

Finn laughed softly. “I’ve been playing good, I gotta keep it.”

Logan looked up and all but smacked Finn in the face to feel. “Fucking loved that in college.”

“He had it the first day I met him,” Leo smiled, nuzzling against Finn’s slightly rough jaw and the dark red hair there.

“The fuck’s on your face, O’Hara,” was Logan’s greeting during preseason camp Finn’s senior year.

They’d seen each other a few weeks prior when Logan was still in the city staying with Finn’s family. He’d spent the last weeks of July with his own family, and how here they were, back at Harvard, sticky with sweat from ground training. Seeing Logan again after weeks, even just after a night’s sleep, was always a bit of a punch to the gut for Finn. He was tanned from the summer sun, sinfully so, and Finn wanted to—

“What?” Finn laughed, lifting his shirt up to wipe his face—including the week old beard he’d been experimenting with. “I don’t know about it, what do you think?”

He was thankful he was already sweating, because his face heated with the question. He needed to know what Logan thought, always.

Logan, green eyes were made light by his black snapback, walked forward. He took Finn’s chin between his fingers, turning his head this way and that before rubbing his palm over his cheek. Finn swallowed.

“Nice face,” Logan said.

Finn laughed. “You made fun of me.”

Leo snorted. “Well, neither of us could very well say fuck, what a hottie.”

“Nut, please go around calling Finn a hottie from now on,” Logan laughed, and then let out a breath. “Fuck, that was so hot.”

“I still haven’t seen the picture,” Leo said, and then, more quietly. “What activated our Finn plan, Tremz?”

Finn blinked. “Finn plan?” Logan looked up at Finn with a smile and Finn raised an eyebrow, tweaking his nipple and making him swear and laugh Finn’s favorite laugh. “What the hell is a Finn plan?”

“Just…” Logan looked over his face, and then to Leo, reaching out and petting a hand through Leo’s hair. “We wanted to show you that we want you just as much. That we want to take care of you as much as you always tell us you want to take care of us.”

Finn looked between them. “You…”

“We were talking about it,” Leo began.

“And making out,” Logan added.

“And making dinner one night,” Leo laughed. “And, I don’t know, we just sort of…when we felt the time was good, decided we’d make sure you knew.”

Logan nodded, hair tickling Finn’s throat. “You looked pretty sad there for a second, mon rouge, looking at that picture.”

“And when you were telling me about your rookie year, remember?” Leo said. “In Florida, after we got together?”

“I’m just saying,” Finn shrugged. They were laying down facing each other on Finn’s bed. Timmy was out with Kuny and Nado and, when that happened, he didn’t come back for a good while. Finn didn’t want to do anything too risky, but kissing Leo until he was soft and smiling seemed like a good plan. Logan wasn’t picking up his phone. He wasn’t in his and Leo’s room.

Kissing had soon turned into worrying.

“I’m just saying, I’m really glad you didn’t have to do the rookie season hotel shit. I’m so glad you’re with me. When I did it, it just,” Finn watched where his thumb was stroking over Leo’s knuckles. “I mean, Logan wasn’t really talking to me. I was trying to give him space, but I—missed him. Sorry,” Finn laughed a little, clearing his throat around the hot tears forming there.

“Don’t be,” Leo said. “Harzy, you love him. Of course you missed him.”

“I just waited for him to call forever,” Finn said in a rush. “And I’d wait forever again, you know, but I…I would just stare at my—phone,” Finn’s voice hitched. “And then I finally called him and it was horrible, I could barely talk.”

Leo’s eyes were sad and he pressed closer to Finn.

“I’m just happy you wanted to talk,” Finn whispered into the small space between them. “I’m so fucking glad we talked and now look, I can kiss you, Leo. Even though I’m crying,” Finn smiled a little, and Leo kissed him.

“You’re allowed to cry over him. Fuck, you think I haven’t cried over both of you?”

Finn laughed and rubbed his eyes. “Hope you don’t cry over me anymore.”

Leo grinned, swinging a leg over Finn’s hips. “I think they call you Heartthrob-O’Hara for a reason.”

“I remember,” Finn said softly. He couldn’t think about that phone call, though. Not yet. With time. “I didn’t know you remembered, Nut.”

Leo nodded. “I think we all remember.”

Logan let out a shaky breath against Finn’s chest and Finn rested his lips against the crown of Logan’s head. Maybe Logan couldn’t think about it either. Logan, who had tried to be so bright for him, even when he could tell Finn was crying.

Leo smiled. “Got a couple of star crossed lovers on my hands.”

Finn felt Logan’s laugh this time. “Care to join the party?”

“Yes, please.”

Finn groaned at the soft syllables in Leo’s voice, the drawn out ones in Logan’s. “You both get accent-y after sex."

“Tired,” Logan said.

“Fucked,” Leo sighed.

Logan laughed loudly, eyes squeezing shut, and he nudged Leo with his hand before wrapping his fingers around his arm and pulling him close for a kiss.

Finn didn’t think they were star crossed anymore. They had orbited around that somehow and ended up here, pulled by Leo’s gravity, into a tangle of light.

“In the middle,” Leo laughed, and bent briefly to press a lingering kiss to the dark ink on Logan’s hip before returning to his mouth. “Just how you like it.”

Finn smiled. Finn was just where he liked it, too. Feeling the weight of both of them in his arms, not moving, not going anywhere, their voices soft in a room the was safe and warm.

“What do you like, Nut?” Finn said. “Tell me.”

Leo bit his lip. “Looking at you two. I never even thought I’d have one person. And if I did, I thought they’d get tired of secrets. Scared away.” Leo let Finn pull him closer. “Secrets made you two stronger. And you’re not gonna leave me because you have to keep me a secret, either.” Leo’s gaze flickered. “I like looking at you two and knowing that.”

“Knutty, Knutty, Knutter, Nut, Nutter butter baby,” Finn sing-songed as he shuffled into the kitchen, voice sleepy and hair a mess. He felt awake after last night, his boys, on him, with him, working their way so deep into his bones and heart that he bled and bruised and breathed them. It felt good.

He rested his cheek against Leo’s back as he wrapped his arms around him from behind while eggs sizzled on the stove.

“Morning, Harz,” Leo said.

“Sup,” Finn sighed.

Leo snorted, then took a strip of bacon he had cooling from a plate. “Here.”

Finn made an appreciative sound and took it between his teeth.

“Do you wish we could cook?” Finn asked as he chewed.

Leo wavered his head back and forth. “No,” he decided. “I think you can do more than you think you can, but I like cooking for you. You guys clean up. It’s like being on a cooking show. All the fun, none of the work.”

Finn laughed, pressing a kiss to Leo’s shoulder through his t-shirt. “Cute.”

“Is he awake yet?”

“No,” Finn said, pulling three coffee mugs down from the cupboard. Logan, easily awoken, hard to wake up. “Somehow we managed to sneak out. Lightest sleeper ever. You know, I used to have to pee on roadies or when we were roommates—I mean I still pee, but you get the idea. And he would jump up like there was a fucking burglar.”

Leo dumped the eggs onto the waiting plates and flicked the hot pan off. He came up behind Finn this time, hands on his hips while the smell of brewing coffee rose in the air. Finn leaned back against his chest.

“I thought about doing this so many times while you made breakfast,” Finn said softly.

Leo glanced at his face, nose brushing his cheek. His eyes were closed, eyelashes turned shadows in the warm sunlight pooling on the floor. He was completely relaxed into Leo, and Leo held him there. This was what Leo liked. Finn, knowing that they weren’t going anywhere, no matter what he did.

“Me too,” Leo said, kissing Finn’s jaw. Finn smiled, and turned his head into the kiss.

“Leo,” Finn said.

“Yeah?”

“I think we should ask him.”

Leo only had the chance to smile and kiss Finn again, deeper, before there was a weight falling against both of them, Logan’s dark head of hair burrowing against Leo’s chest. Leo laughed and stumbled, just a little.

“You gain ten pounds when you’re sleepy, I swear.”

Logan just hummed. Leo and Finn looked at each other over his head, and then Finn sandwiched Logan in from the other side.

“Hey, Lo,” he whispered.

“Quoi,” Logan mumbled sleepily, his eyes closed and cheek against Leo’s t-shirt.

Finn smiled at Leo, and Leo ducked down.

“Will you move in with us?” Leo whispered.

Logan looked up so fast he butted Finn in the nose with the back of his head.

“Fuck me,” Finn startled back and Logan swore, turning in their arms and pressing his hands to Finn’s rough cheeks.

“Harz,” Logan began, and then Finn realized that both him and Leo were laughing too hard to speak.

“Ouch.”

Logan sagged against him, gasping for breath—

And then Finn realized he was half crying. And nodding. And nodding and nodding.

Finn abandoned his aching nose and looked at Leo, whose expression had softened. Logan’s breathing stuttered and he gasped out a laugh, wiping his face.

“Fuck, I just woke up.”

“Is that a yes?” Finn laughed. “Head butt me then burst into tears, I guess that’s a pretty regular morning for us all.”

Leo kissed Logan’s neck softly. “Say yes.”

“Get out of Dumo’s basement,” Finn said.

Logan punched him in the chest, making him groan, and the pulled him back in, leaning into Leo’s arms.

“Yes,” Logan said. “Yes.”

Over coffee, Finn held his phone out to Leo.

“Slutty Batman.”

Leo blinked at the photo. “Holy fuck.”

#coast to coast #lumosinlove #sweater weather #sweater weather spin off #coast to coast lumosinlove #lumosinlove coast to coast #o'knutzy #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #finn o'hara #lumosinlove ocs #lumosinlove oc #finn x logan x leo

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gaitwae · 3 years

Text

The Dark Angel [|] Batman x OC

read on AO3!

Warnings: Possibility of being bad, it’s a sequel.

Length: 8k

Summary: Bruce Wayne and Charlene fluff, i don’t really know XD

Ring, ring, ring.

The sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon when the telephone rang, violently and loudly. Internally, Bruce knew it wasn’t an emergency — it was someone trying to reach him before the day started. If it was an emergency, the caller wouldn’t have dialed the Blackberry. It wasn’t the red phone; the small cell was for business, not pleasure, so it wasn’t that either; he had a small rotary for the boys in case they were sick or held up at the university or high school (or in Damian’s case, soccer practice). The ringing phone was the Blackberry.

His thoughts were all over the place. In the beginning, his first thought was that he really needed to change the ringtone. It sounded like Christmas bells on Kryptonian steroids. The darn thing was just outside of Bruce Wayne’s reach for the first time in years; that thought alone was infuriating to him. The more he dwelled on someone calling the Blackberry…

Ring, ring, ring.

“Not today,” he swore, heaving a sigh and hoisting himself off of the bed. His Blackberry kept buzzing and playing its tone on the nightstand like an angry massage tool from Tartarus. He wiped his face, and just before the contraption could finish its next Ring, ring, ring, he answered the call. “Bruce Wayne.” His tone was gruff; he wanted to make sure the caller knew that the excuse better be good. The billionaire wasn’t in the mood to play games with the idiot on the other line.

“It’s Clark,” the voice on the opposite end answered. Bruce tensed. Clark had no reason to call him this early — had something happened with Charlene? Did their trip to Smallville get tracked?

“Clark —”

“Don’t worry; this isn’t life-threatening. You left something in that suit jacket you lent me,” his friend explained. “We should talk… Soon.”

The tension that built in Bruce left instantaneously. He had almost forgotten: Weeks ago, an envelope had been slipped into the inside pocket for Clark to find. He couldn’t risk saying something around Charlene, or anyone else who could have found her, when the risk was so high. He didn’t expect Kent to find it immediately, but he didn’t think it would take weeks to discover the note.

“I placed it in the jacket intentionally,” Bruce replied. He laid back down, closing his eyes. He would have to go downstairs soon. The boys would need to be woken up. Alfred would reprimand him about his sleep, telling him that a ‘sound body and mind cannot operate under such conditions,’ when he came downstairs. He could already see where the day was taking him. “I was banking on you finding it much earlier. Why did it take you so long?”

A pause.

“I don’t think she’s going to like this, Bruce.” He could hear shuffling over the mic, the crinkling of paper. “She really won’t like this. She just bought a house; this is quite a big commitment.”

“I’m not proposing, Clark; calm down.” Bruce rubbed a finger under his eye once or twice. He didn’t have the patience so soon in the day. He reached over to his bedside table and switched on the lamp. “She would despise that, not to mention how we haven’t talked about it, yet.”

“I didn’t even know you two were really together.” Clark’s tone reflected an edge — either protective, disgusted, or judgemental — that told Bruce exactly how much trust he had when it came to Charlene Park. “The last I heard about the two of you was your most recent trip to Metropolis.”

“When I met with Luthor,” Bruce guessed. He chewed his cheek; he didn’t mind talking about Char, but when it came to his relationship with her, he preferred not to be bothered — his affections didn’t need to be questioned left and right. Char was a grown woman. She chose Bruce; that should have been the end of it. “We’ve seen each other in Gotham since then. I’m surprised she hasn’t told you.”

“Yeah, with Luthor. Char said you had coffee and she babysat Damian,” he said. His voice was rising. For having impermeable skin, Bruce was having surprising luck getting underneath it. “And what do you mean ‘surprised she hasn’t told you’? What are you implying? That you’re sleeping together?”

“We’re taking it slow,” Bruce answered. “If we were sleeping together, I’d be the one to tell you. You’ll be glad to hear that we aren’t.” Clark scoffed over the phone; clearly, he didn’t believe that. “I just thought you’d like to know what I’m planning; Diana will need to be informed as well. This is important. Char’ll need all the help she can get.”

“You know, I never did take you for the type of guy to be with Charlene,” the other man continued. “You’re brooding and dark; she’s not like that at all. You’ve got some nerve—”

“Is this all you needed, Clark?” the billionaire deadpanned, cutting the Kryptonian off. He looked over at the bedside clock. It read 4:22 AM . Superman was far more worried than he was letting on if he was calling at the witching hour.

He didn’t need to be. Bruce would make sure that the woman was safe above anything else — he loved her too much to just put her in harm’s way.

“You know she’ll be fine,” Wayne reassured.

“Do you think this is safe for Charlene? This lifestyle?” the journalist whispered into the phone. “Lois couldn’t handle it; who knows if Char can?”

“She’s more involved than we ever anticipated,” Bruce said. He wet his lips. Lois left Clark? Unsurprising. “She’ll be excited to join. She has the potential; why waste it?”

“What will the boys think? They’ll think they’re getting a mom.”

He huffed a half-humored laugh. The boys didn’t know yet — no one knew. Clark was the first to be told. “They love Char. It shouldn’t be an issue to let them think that. Damian already told her she would be the only acceptable candidate for a stepmother. In the next decade, they might have one.”

“You can’t be serious. You’d marry Char? She’s going to join the League?”

“I’m plenty serious. She’s going to be part of the Justice League’s inside informants if she wants to. Whether you approve or not.” He didn’t answer the marriage question. Marrying Charlene would require more time. He wasn’t ready; she hadn’t hinted at anything more. She had only stayed at the manor twice — he felt that was enough of a leap for now.

He didn’t need to marry her out of the blue, did he?

“I don’t approve. She’s delicate. What if she thinks that your attempt at being personal is —?”

“Goodbye, Kal-El.” Without another word, Bruce hung up the phone. Clark had too many worries; too many things on his mind. He was so preoccupied with Charlene’s life that he had to ask about her relationship instead of the plan to incorporate her into the League. He needed to let go and learn to trust others’ judgement… But then again, some could say the same thing about the Batman.

Bruce sat up in bed. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Charlene or said he never thought about fully committing. It had been three years since the gala; things were going well between them. If he was just a billionaire, he might have tried harder, pressed for marriage instead of bringing it up every now and then.

But he wasn’t just a billionaire.

Bruce wiped his face again and looked out his bay window. He could see the area of town where he first saw her… where the Batman thought Charlene Park would jump to her death. He hadn’t expected to even meet her after that. He hadn’t expected a wonderful woman who understood him. Meeting her seemed so long ago now. It seemed against reality to think he hadn’t known her at one point in time.

He could make a few calls before seeing his family, maybe create a funding account for Char when she was ready to join the League; he knew she wouldn’t say no if he explained himself the right way. She was warming up to the idea of helping him with all aspects of life — he was warming up to the idea of domesticity. At the same time, making the calls would be presumptuous. Who knew if Charlene wanted that, yet? He didn’t want to do anything without talking to her.

Char may have understood the Batman, but he certainly couldn’t predict her. The identity guessing and the kiss and the entire history of their relationship proved that fact over and over and over like a natural law. Everyone thought they were gravity: dangerous; inevitable; fitted perfectly to the human body like Earth’s atmosphere.

He thought they were just a coincidence that turned into a gift. Charlene was an angel; he was her knight in shining armor.

“Time to start the day,” Bruce mumbled. He got up from his bed. He looked out the bay window once again. He sighed deeply.

Gotham City.

Would this place really be safe as Charlene’s future home?

He looked away, resting his head against his pillow and trying to sleep again. The attempt wasn’t very fruitful — eventually, he got up and dressed for the day. He tinkered with the gadgets he had created for Char, tweaking it and wondering whether or not to pick up the phone and call her. Every day was another failed attempt to be the hero she needed.

“Ah! Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred Pennyworth greeted the dark knight as he descended from the stairway. The old man handed him a glass of water and the stack of letters that had been delivered overnight. “I take it you had a restful night?”

“Barely,” he sighed, squeezing his old friend’s shoulder in appreciation. Bruce drank from the glass, feeling the coolness spread downward. It was calming, but not the calm he needed. “I got a call from Clark Kent at about four in the morning. How are the boys? Are they all up? I had something I wanted to talk to them about.”

“Damian is awake; Dick has left for school; Tim is still sleeping; Jason never slept, I’m afraid.” Alfred cocked his head, eyebrows lifting as he studied his former ward. He stuck his hands in his pockets and took a careful breath, asking in a wary voice, “Is everything alright, Master Bruce? Was Mr. Kent’s call that important, sir?”

“Yes and no,” Bruce answered. He didn’t clarify; he couldn’t think of an answer for each question. He scratched his neck, taking Alfred with him as he walked down the hall. Each picture on the walls was of the Wayne family, and as he got closer to the end of the hall, each of the boys. Dick with his acceptance letter to Rutgers University; Damian’s birthday; Jason against a tree; Tim playing guitar. Countless family pictures. There was a spot on the wall waiting for Char, he realized. “We’ll just have to talk about it when Dick comes home. I’ll sit the other boys down and tell them not to leave.”

“Sir?” Alfred asked, now flabbergasted. “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” he said. He tried for a smile. Alfred didn’t relax, so Bruce stopped. “It’s just about Charlene.”

The butler nodded deeply. He leaned in and looked about the room to make sure no one was spying on them. The corridor was empty. He held his breath to listen, but the only sounds were their shoes clicking on the tile. “Sir, is Charlene… leaving us?” Alfred whispered. “I thought you and she were getting along rather nicely.”

Bruce didn’t react. “I’ll talk about it later tonight, Alfred. I’ll need to see Char when she comes back from Kansas — if she’s leaving, we’ll find out after I visit her.” He clapped Alfred’s shoulder. “But if she isn’t, we might have to reclean the guest room.”

“The guest room, sir?” Pennyworth grinned.

Bruce found himself surprised at that. Another joke, obviously, but he just hadn’t thought about that sort of arrangement with any seriousness. “Yes — she’s not going to be in my room, Alfred.”

“A woman who’s not so worldly, eh?” the butler chuckled.

Bruce smirked. “No, it would seem not.”

°°°

Charlene would have to say that her morning wasn’t going perfectly. Going down to see Johnathan and Martha was one of the best parts of the year. It was the best part of the upcoming summer season! But this morning, this last week, she had noticed that Clark was acting insane. Her instincts told her to ask, to say something, but she got swept away with her pseudo-parents fluttering about her and asking how life was in the big city.

“You look so grown up, now!” Martha cooed. She set her hands on Char’s shoulders and turned her about, checking her face over. Charlene had stayed with Martha and Johnathan for two years when she was a teenager. They were the closest she had to family. Every summer, she returned to stay with them for two weeks — whether or not Clark was there. Martha, now satisfied with how Charlene’s physique and health was, found her gaze set on the newscaster’s newest gift from Bruce: A small locket pendant graced with a rose-shaped diamond, tied around her neck by a silver chain. “I love this new piece of jewellery you’re wearing, sweetheart. What is it?”

“Has Clark finally made a move?” Johnathan asked. He took a sip from his coffee cup, craning his neck to see the necklace. He turned his head sideways at it, then hummed. “It’s gorgeous, honey. Whose gift was that? Was that from my boy?” He laughed, looking over at Kal-El. “Did you buy that for Char, son?”

“Er, no.” Char laughed nervously, holding the locket in her hand to hide it. “He isn’t going to make a move. He didn’t buy it. I’m seeing someone else; it’s going pretty well. He’s a businessman, single father.”

“Who are you seeing?” Martha gasped. She pushed a mug of coffee into Charlene’s hands, shuffling about the kitchen to try and find some food for everyone. This conversation was just before breakfast. “It’s such a nice necklace! When can we meet him?”

“He doesn’t want to push things too fast,” Char explained. She smiled brighter than she wanted to; she was nothing but happy when she talked about Bruce. She hadn’t seen him in almost three weeks due to work and flight preparations, his business meetings, and whatever secret project he was working on. “He’s got three sons and a ward who’s planning on surprising him with adult adoption papers for next Father’s Day.”

“That sounds just…,” Martha trailed off, pressing her lips together as she thought of the words. Charlene knew she was a little wary, almost disappointed. Seeing a man with multiple children either meant he was one of the sweetest men in the world or one of the more careless. How he raised his children was a completely different story. Not wanting to spread Bruce’s life story around to everyone, she just figured it was better to keep quiet about it. “How old is this man?”

“He’s thirty-seven,” she continued. “He, uh, adopted two of the three sons. The youngest was a different situation. Clark’s met him already.”

Johnathan nodded. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked to Clark, who was still acting off. “So he’s a good man, then?”

“One of the best men,” Charlene swore. She opened the locket, looking at the picture of Bruce holding a rose to the camera on the inside with an inscription on the opposite side: “More than you know. - B.W.”

She showed Martha and Johnathan. Martha set a hand on her heart and Johnathan’s shoulder, smiling at the picture and carved words. “We’re taking it slow and old-fashioned; eventually, I’ll bring him down here for you to meet. Or he’ll invite you to his home — whichever comes first.” She grinned, closing the locket. Martha smiled at her.

“How long have you two been seeing each other? It seems like this man loves you,” Martha said. “Does he know your history? When did he give that pretty thing to you?”

“Yes, he knows my history. He gave me the locket about two months ago. I took him to my favorite spot in Metropolis and gave him a few written letters about my feelings.” She scratched her scalp. “The next time he saw me, he said he couldn’t just let me be the only one who ‘let their affections come to light.’” She laughed at her imitation of Bruce. Martha gasped and grinned.

“So you’re taking it so slow you haven’t told him you love him, yet?” Clark scoffed behind her. “You wrote a letter? After two years?” Charlene rolled her eyes, turning to see her best friend of nearly twenty years. The Kents’ faces drew up in surprise, but Char just frowned. He had barely said anything last night and this morning. Why did the first thing have to be about his distaste for Bruce?

“He knows I do; you know he isn’t big on words. We’ve found other ways of telling each other.” She crossed her arms. Clark mirrored her movement, rolling his eyes. He took his glasses off and set them on the table, pinching his lids closed. “How many times are we going to have to talk about this? I know you don’t like the idea of me dating anybody, but it’s going to happen. I might even get married; are you going to make nasty comments about that, too?”

“I might if it’s him. He’s going to get you killed, Charlene. Do you have any idea what he’s got planned for you?” He raised his hands and then dropped them.

“No, not really. Gosh, Clark, you realize it doesn’t matter. You’re Superman. He’s not any different from you. Let it go.” She waved her hand in dismissal. She tried to turn back to Martha and Johnathan. She didn’t want to get into the I’m-dating-Batman explanation today.

Kal-El screamed in frustration, hovering off the floor by a few centimeters. He combed his hair with his fingers — with both hands — giving away how anxious he was. Charlene knew there was more than he was telling her. “No, I won’t, Char. You need to be careful! He left a note in the suit jacket he left me, I called him—”

“Wait. Stop,” Char said, cutting him off and trying not to sigh in exasperation. She was getting tired of being constantly questioned over her boyfriend. He wasn’t dangerous, he wasn’t rude, he wasn’t going to kill her. Bats tried to actively keep her out of the dangerous details of his life; eventually, that would change… but wasn’t going to change yet. “This is about you two not communicating, again. Isn’t it?”

“I—,” he started. Charlene pointed her finger at him, hushing the alien. He shut up quickly at her silent threat. They both knew she couldn’t hurt him. Sometimes just the idea of her trying worked, though. He set his feet on the floor again. Char set her hands on her hips, taking a step back.

“Deal with that on your own. Please. I don’t want to break up with him because you’re acting like a kid, Clark.” She wiped her face. She knew that Ma and Pa were watching them argue and she didn’t like it. She hated being the center of attention (one of the Wayne boys would say that was ridiculous, considering she was a newscaster). “I appreciate you worrying, but I know what I’m getting into.”

Clark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And what if you find out years along the way that you don’t want to be Bruce’s wife?”

“That’s why we’re taking it slow, Clark. I’m not going to abandon you like Lois did; I’m not going to do the same thing to him, either.” She looked at the clock. “It’s six in the morning. Let’s help with chores, yeah?”

“You’ve gotten quite commanding since I’ve last seen you,” Martha chuckled. “Does all this change come from that Bruce?” She used the name in a teasing manner, which made the younger woman laugh. The old mother set plates out for breakfast.

“Yes, it is,” Char said. “He and Clark work together. He’s not too thrilled with me being a hero’s partner, yet.” She shrugged, sitting down at the table. Johnathan clapped her shoulder lovingly. Clark sat down next to Pa.

“They’re a good brand. If Clark trusts him enough to work with him, I don’t see why you can’t go with him.” Johnathan snickered. “Speaking of going with people. Son, have you heard back from that lovely Amazonian woman? You know, since you’re not with that reporter lady and, apparently, you gave us the wrong idea about Charlene. Honestly, I’m not too surprised about the Charlene bit; you two could never figure out if you were friends, siblings, or edging something more for as long as I can remember.”

“Pa, come on,” Clark whined. He crossed his arms, his cheeks colored with a red flush. Char didn’t know the Man of Steel would get embarrassed over Wonder Woman. She suppressed a giggle. And then he started stuttering. “Diana isn’t interested in me — Be-Besides, it doesn’t even matter. She’s a — She’s a very nice woman and I’m her colleague. That’s all. I’m going to steer clear of dating for a while. Sorry we didn’t tell you Char was seeing someone.”

“You should be sorry!” the old man said sternly. His smile never wavered. “What if I’m a grandpa and I don’t know about it? I understand Charlene not telling me, but you? Oh, Clark, come on!”

“Pa, it was her place to tell you.” Clark sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table’s edge. “I’ve been busy, too.”

“You never know if a relationship is working until you start talking about marriage, boy.” He held Char’s hand and Clark’s. Martha placed the last of the foodstuffs before the family. She sat down next to her son. “You two need to figure things out. You’re stuck with each other for life — you know you are. You’re going to have to trust each other. Now hush: let’s say grace.”

They all did as they were told. Johnathan prayed over their food, they ate, breakfast went by quickly. When they were cleaning up, Char’s phone went off.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Ma asked.

Charlene read her screen. Her eyebrows drew together. “I’ll have to leave a day earlier than expected; there’s a change in my work schedule.” She frowned a little bit. “I’ll have to make a call.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. Don’t worry about it,” Martha said. She patted her back. “Do what you need to.”

“Oh, I will,” she smiled, but in reality, she wanted to scold someone. She knew exactly what happened.

Bruce changed her scheduling around without telling her.

°°°

After staying as long as she could — about a week — Char had to board a plane and find her way out of Smallville. Somehow, getting on the plane and sitting on it for five hours wasn’t the issue. She could afford to be patient when she knew she had a plane to catch. She had just enough experience to practically ignore the takeoff, the flight attendants, and the goodbyes.

That all went smoothly. It always did.

And then there was the airport after the flight.

Being at the airport was one of the worst experiences Charlene ever had. She hated air travel with every bone in her body, but there was no other way to get back to Metropolis: the trains didn’t go that far, the buses would have taken too long, and Charlene didn’t have enough money to rent a car. She felt safe flying when she had another person to count on; this time, she was alone. Standing in the middle of the bustling, glassy terminal made her heart pound. Was she supposed to call for a taxi? Walk home? She had driven to the airport with Clark. She had no ride.

Walking through gates and managing to find her luggage without difficulty, she passed every single crying child, scolding mother, complaining grandfather, and fussy TSA member. She had jet lag. She had a headache. She missed Bruce. She was a little bit irritated with him, too, but she could talk about it — calmly — at a later time.

Her eyes were clouding up with sleep. Her mind was wandering. She didn’t even know what time it was. She was trying her best to walk out of the terminal.

“Charlene,” a familiar voice called. She picked her head up, her heart swelling with gratitude. Dressed from head to toe in black, Bruce stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His feet were spread apart. He had that look about his face — the one he wore when he was amused but didn’t want you to know it. She all but sobbed as she ran to him.

“Oh, my goodness!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him. Bruce’s arms encompassed her. “You’re here! How?” She buried her face in his shoulder and let the hero keep her steady.

“Clark said you were leaving early,” Wayne laughed. He took her suitcase out of her hand, absentmindedly rubbing her back. Charlene thought she must have been dreaming. She nearly forgot about trying to ask if he rearranged her work plans, again. She opened her mouth, but Bruce was faster. “Before you ask, I didn’t mess with your schedule this time. I was working on a —”

“— project, yeah, yeah. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to ask the producer what happened,” Char sighed, taking in Bruce’s metallic scent. His shirt was scratchy, but soft from wear. She dug her fingers into it, closing her eyes and soaking in the warmth from her boyfriend. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured. He broke the hug. “Let’s get in the car. The boys are going to be worried sick. I can call the studio, tell them you’re under the weather if you don’t want to go to work.”

“Are you okay, Bruno?” Char asked, yawning. She covered her mouth, minding to use the other nickname rather than just calling him “Bats” in public. “You’re edging a ramble; that’s unlike you.”

“I’m fine. There’s just some things we need to talk about; Clark doesn’t like it, despite how it could benefit our life.”

“‘ Our life’?” she asked, voice slurring with the need for slumber. She took his hand. He held it back, but gently. He was being somber. Solemn. Serious. That usually only happened at home, behind closed doors. And behind another set of doors, he let himself truly smile. “I wasn’t aware you were thinking about a future so soon.”

“I am,” he said. His fingers tightened their grip on hers as they swung through the air. “I want to help you into all sides of my life, even for just a little bit. I heard perspective can help a marriage last longer.”

“Marriage?” Charlene laughed. She swung their hands. The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched, again. She started grinning like a madman — no, like the Joker. “You intend to make me an honest woman?”

“In the end? Definitely.” Bruce walked her outside. It was raining. He opened an umbrella and handed it to her. Charlene took it in her hand and tried to hold it above Bruce’s head, but it didn’t work — he was too tall. He just shrugged at it, smiling at her softly. “Depending on when you’re ready, darling, I’ll propose.”

“‘Darling,’ now? My, my, my, aren’t we affectionate today, Mr. Wayne.” Charlene giggled and poked his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s not every day you’re calling me pet names and talking like that. In fact, I think the last time you said the words ‘I love you’ was April Thirtieth.”

“The thirtieth wasn’t that long ago,” he frowned. He walked her to one of his antique cars, opening the trunk and putting her suitcase in the back. She took down the umbrella and set it back there, too. “It’s only mid-June. It’s not like I never tell you.”

“Bruce, other couples say it daily,” Charlene smiled. The rain started pouring down harder. It was mussing Bruce’s neatly-combed hair and dripping down his nose. She could feel it soaking her back and coiling her locks. She was sure she looked just as messy as Bruce looked adorable. “I know you don’t need to say it for me to hear it, but it’s still nice.” She paused for a moment, playing with the locket. She knew that just this gift alone was worth a thousand “I love you”s. Then she added, “And rare. Clark thinks we haven’t said it at all.”

“Rare,” he repeated. He opened the car door for her. She slipped into the passenger’s side. “Nice to know. It’s not Clark’s business whether or not I tell you I love you.”

“So what if it’s rare?” she asked with a permanent smile. “It just makes it even better to hear.”

“Are you going to cry when I deliver my wedding vows?” he asked in deadpan. He buckled in, turning the engine. “I have about seven years to prepare them; I’ll make sure to make them as sensitive as possible. The boys can say a line each toward the end of the ceremony.”

“Are we going to have a Jewish wedding?” she asked. “I’ve never been to one.”

“No,” he answered. “Not entirely. My parents were Jewish, but I… I don’t know. I haven’t done anything in regards to faith in years. I think we should just have a small ceremony for the boys and Clark and his parents. The only people who matter. We can blend in some Jewish tradition.”

“I can understand that,” she said quietly. She set her hands in her lap. She could already imagine a ring around her finger. Would it be an older design? Would it be intimate? With meaning behind it? Would it be big? Simple? “I don’t want anything huge, but I don’t want to rush into this. We have forever and a half, Bats.”

“We have longer than that, angel.” He looked behind him and pulled out of the parking lot. “I brought the boys from Gotham. I hope that’s not a big deal.”

“Did you get a hotel room?” Char looked out the window, then watched the wiper blades scrape water off the windshield. They made their way onto the highway in no time at all. “Or are they hanging out in the apartment?”

“A hotel room. I didn’t want to go into the apartment without asking.” He flexed his fingers on the wheel. “Was that an invitation, Miss Park?”

“Mr. Wayne, I am a woman of class,” she teased. She sat up a little. “Of course, you and the boys can stay. We can all sleep in the living room. You, the big, bad billionaire, can lay on the carpet floor next to the common damsel.”

Bruce scoffed. “As if there’s anything common about the woman I’m going to marry. Not everyone can be trusted. Not everyone can handle this life.”

Char shrugged. “We didn’t meet like common people meet.”

“We certainly don’t love like normal people. Kent can’t seem to stop reminding either of us of that fact.” He sighed, cracking his neck. Char wondered how that phone call Clark had talked about a week ago went. “Is he in love with you? Is he worried? Whatever his issue is, I can’t figure it out. It won’t change the fact that you and I are romantically involved.”

“You have a taste for danger,” Charlene answered. She vaguely recalled hearing from Dick that Bruce used to have a relationship with Catwoman. Damian was the product of an affair with an evil mastermind’s daughter. Batman, for the majority of his life, had been married to the cowl. “That’s his issue. You have mass intellect and he has superpowers. He could catch me from the sky, but you can’t. I’m a casualty waiting to happen.” She laughed sadly. “In his mind, I’m not safe with the Batman.” Bruce exhaled slowly to show exactly how much he agreed with that idea.

She could tell it was more than he wanted to admit.

“That’s why I can’t propose yet.” Bruce kept his attention on the road. “I need to make sure that you know how to defend yourself. If something ever happened, you’d at least be able to throw a punch or two. When the need arose, we would be prepared to keep the family safe. Right now, you need constant surveillance; I know what that does to you.”

“Constant surveillance?” she questioned. “Why?” Her heart dropped several levels. Had she been right all along? Was she being duped or manipulated into giving Wayne easier access of keeping an eye on her?

Bruce took a while to answer, creating more and more fear in Char’s mind. Finally, he opened his mouth. “I want you to gather intelligence for the Justice League. Whenever you’re ready, you’ll train with the boys at Wayne Manor. Just say the word, baby.”

“Is… Is this the perspective?” she asked, wary and unsure. She felt her eyes burn and her throat tighten. She didn’t want to ask this, again, but she felt she didn’t have a choice. The last time she asked the question, Bruce had kissed her for the first time. It ended up just being a publicity stunt. “Are you sure you actually want to marry me? That this isn’t just to make sure I don’t accidentally tell the world Bruce Wayne is the Batman?”

Bruce’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “Charlene, how many times do I have to explain myself? If I wanted to keep an eye on you, I wouldn’t be talking about making you my wife. I wouldn’t let you interact with my boys. I wouldn’t be setting up a whole room for you at Wayne Manor. I love you. I have no reason to be picking you up from the airport other than my own desire to make you happy.”

“I know,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry. You were just acting funny. I didn’t know that you actually wanted to stay with me for… for as long as we live.” Charlene took a deep breath to calm herself. Man, did she feel like an idiot. “Bruce, you said you didn’t want to be part of that kind of domesticity two years ago. When did you decide you wanted to marry me?”

“Char, I didn’t need to decide. I still don’t want the picket fence type of life.” Bruce turned to exit the highway. “Our relationship has changed over the last two years. I would be lying saying I didn’t rely on you whatsoever.”

She swallowed. “You need me?”

He didn’t say anything. Yes. His cheeks colored. She let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh.

“I need time to think this all over, Bruce!” she exclaimed, slapping her palm to her forehead. Her pulse accelerated. Her legs felt tingly. “Marry you someday…”

“You don’t feel the same?”

She watched as the city blended into the street instead of Bruce’s unchanging expressions. If she wasn’t careful, he would turn investigator on her. “I had no idea you were so sure about us. It isn’t that I don’t feel the same, baby, I just need time to process this.”

“I understand.” He hummed. “Don’t tell the boys, yet. They might get excited.”

Charlene dropped her hands in her lap. She would be getting stepsons. She would have a husband. She would be a freelance spy. “I’m getting excited. I’m nervous, scared, sad, happy. I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

Bruce pulled into a parking garage. He got out of the car and took her luggage out of the back. “Say you’re going to be sure before you tell me you’re ready to start training.”

Charlene got out of the car, too, taking Bruce by the hand once more. “I will.” She cupped his face. “I will, Bats. Now kiss me.”

°°°

Walking to the hotel room, using his stealthy steps across the hideous patterned carpet, Bruce found himself holding his breath. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were going to blow this out of proportion, make Charlene uncomfortable. He knew he was letting his emotions get the better of him — but then again, how could they not? This was his whole family’s future at stake. This was an opening to expand the family. “Char.”

“Yeah?” she asked. She twisted her head to see him. “You okay?”

“Only tell them about the Justice League. Let’s ease into this.” He was practically pleading. He didn’t answer her question, but she nodded in understanding. Charlene took his hand and kissed the back of it, then dropped it.

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a winning smile. He managed not to sigh out the flood of fuzz that rushed in his soul. He was the Batman. He should be braver than to push Char away.

“Ready?” he asked, smiling gently.

“Ready.”

Wayne took her hand this time. He watched her, studied her. She had a lingering smile she was trying to wipe. She didn’t need to. Charlene was happy. When Char was happy, he was happy. Her hand shook in his; he was nervous, too. Committing to this would change so much. There would be no backing out. Even asking her to be on the same page could have scared her away.

He was quickly realizing he needed to trust Charlene. Whose life was going to be altered after all this? Whose life would never be the same once this process was over or ended? Not his. Not to the extent Charlene’s would be. She would be the first-time parent, not him. She would be the one who knew nothing about business or vigilante work, not him. She would be the one most affected.

She deserved so much from him. He thought he was asking for greater than she could handle; Char was there to prove him wrong again. Again, again, and again.

Bruce put on a big smile, opening the hotel room door. The boys all stood up to greet him, and all spoke over each other at the sight of Charlene: “You’re here!”; “How was the flight?”; “How long are you staying? Alfred’s—”; “We missed you!” They brought the woman into the residence with glee.

He couldn’t be more grateful to the boys. They always did their best to welcome Char and put a smile on her face. They loved her too much for their own good. She loved them, too. Bruce brought her into the room, setting her bags on the queen bed where Damian had left his shoes. The boys were swarming her, hugging her and asking question after question.

“Hey,” Bruce said. “Give her space; we have to talk about something important.”

“What is it, Bruce?” Dick asked.

“Is something wrong, Father?”

Bruce beckoned the kids to the floor where they could all sit. He took Charlene, pulling her next to him. He held her hand. “We’re thinking about making Char part of the Justice League’s informant group. That way, she can see the world from our perspective. We’re hoping…” He trailed off, uncertain of how to finish.

“We’re hoping this can further our relationship and give me a chance to spend more time with you,” Charlene filled in. She smiled, moving under Bruce’s arm. He held her tightly. “We’re not getting married, yet; just thinking about how to make it work.”

Jason was the first to speak up. “So… after Selina and Thalia — sorry, Damian — you’re finally going to settle down?” He grinned. “You’re going to marry Charlene?”

“When it’s the right time,” he said. “Don’t tell Superman.” He chuckled a little at his own joke. At least the boys approved. They deserved to know what was happening. Damian scooted over to sit closer to Charlene, who ruffled his hair.

“Are you going to stay at Wayne Manor?” Dick asked. He folded his hands in his lap. Out of all four of the boys, he copied his mannerisms the most. Secretive, stoic, at times, and would sometimes hum more than speak. The only difference between his mannerisms and the Batman’s was the smile that he allowed to grace his features.

Charlene shook her head. “No; not until we have everything sorted out. It’s probably unusually old school, but it’s what we want.” She smiled up at the Batman. He smiled down. Tim, quietly, went “Oooooh,” but that didn’t stop the small moment of perfection. As suspicious as it seemed, everything was perfect for a little while. A small pocket of happiness he had allowed himself.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t going to be so hard to relate to, anymore.

Damian took his chance to ask a question, practically jumping up and down with excitement. Tim pulled him down on his bottom, which made Dick and Jason laugh. He usually wasn’t so excited. Actually, none of the boys were. “Did you pick out a codename for her, Father?” Damian looked at Charlene. “What will we call her?”

“Nothing.” Bruce shook his head, feeling a bit dissatisfied with himself. This whole situation was unorthodox for him, but that was something he could live with. It wasn’t unlike him to embrace change, but it wasn’t like him either. He had no idea what nonsense the boys would bombard him with once Charlene was gone for the night. He could guess… and his guess told him it wasn’t anything he’d enjoy. “She doesn’t have a codename, yet. As soon as she’s comfortable, I want you boys to start training her to fight.”

“And then what?” Jason asked. He crossed his arms. He leaned forward, looking between the two of them. It was as if he was trying to figure out how soon the relationship would end. After all, the Batman was alone. Selina didn’t work out, Thalia didn’t work out, countless others didn’t even get a chance. Charlene’s odds were stacked against her.

Yet he loved her more than either of those women.

Bruce laced his fingers with Char’s habitually. The domestic affection had only happened behind closed doors, and any kisses or lingering hugs happened within closed doors behind closed doors. She looked up at him with slight surprise when their fingers slid together. “And then we’ll figure things out as we go along.”

Everyone made noises of excitement at that. The night went on in the hotel room, with giggling and laughter and games. Questions were passed back and forth. Food was ordered. Near midnight, Charlene had to go home. She had work the next day, and Wayne’s surprise had been laid in her home. Asking her to join the League hadn’t been the whole package; he and Clark both knew what was waiting for her there. He knew it was a rushed decision — one of his stupidest ideas by far.

Legally, as a billionaire, he could practically do anything for Char. As Batman, he would kill anyone for her — her and the family. She was family, now. He wasn’t going to push her away.

Taking Char home was one of the first times Bruce had felt this nervous in years. There weren’t enough roses or lockets or even words to express how much he cared about her other than that paperwork he had hidden away.

It wasn’t a proposal. She would only have to sign it if she was ready. The rest of the work to make it real would come in time.

“Are you okay?” Char asked as he drove. “Your fingers are turning white on the wheel, Bats.”

“Fine,” he answered with a clipped voice. “Just tired.”

“You never get tired,” she reminded him gently. He could feel her eyes on him but he stared only at the road. Metropolis was easier to drive through, but it only made the impending doom feel even worse. There was no possibility to stall. Not when he was certain.

“I’m fine, angel,” he insisted. They were quiet the rest of the ride, minus the exchange of a kiss and goodbyes when he dropped her off.

Now all he had to do was wait.

After all, he didn’t switch around her schedule for nothing.

°°°

After that worrying ride through the city, Charlene trudged through her door. She looked about the living room, noticing how something was different about her apartment. A few of the pillows had been moved — it was as if they’d been sat on. There was a letter and a gift bag on the table. She set her bag down on the floor. “What on Earth?” she muttered to herself.

Bruce’s metallic scent lingered in the air, but it could have just been from when she sat in his car. She walked past her old dog, rubbing his head and checking his bowl. The pet sitter had fed him, then… and he had been given a new collar. Hmm. That definitely wasn’t the pet sitter. She beckoned him over as she checked out the present on the table.

The letter was the first thing she opened. As Char sank into the couch, she folded it open and quickly read the words. It was a brief description from a lawyer about what… what…

“Legal marriage to Bruce Wayne would entail”?

Her heart stopped. She fished through the gift bag and found a marriage license in a different envelope. A pink glass rose. A small set of glass earrings and an article clipping of the night of the gala. If anyone ever accused Bats of being unromantic, they were seriously, seriously wrong. This wasn’t a proposal — she could see that. He wasn’t asking for this. He wasn’t telling her to try and find out. There was no trying! And along with all that silly stuff, there was a mask and a tag in his script that said, “Dark Angel – Can be changed”.

He just laid it all out for her, knowing this was their future.

With clammy hands and a voice that was barely working, she dialed Bats’ number. It chimed for a few rings, but he eventually picked up. The familiar “Hello?” followed by, “Char?” was so sweet to hear, to let her know it was real…

“I’m signing,” she said. “And I’m keeping the codename.”

#Batman x OC #Batman x reader #Bruce Wayne x OC #Bruce Wayne x reader #gaitwae writes

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peeterparkr · 4 years

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How about Dick and reader used to date but Dick broke it off because she deserved better or some BS! Titans don’t know and they’re all drinking and playing never have I ever to get Dick drunk by saying “never have I been in the bay cave” or “never have I driven the batmobile” but reader keeps drinking too then they say “never have I waltzed” and both dick and reader drink and she admits dick taught her and they have to dance to prove it and it’s angsty/cute as they’re clearly in love still!!!

warnings: drinking, swearing

word count: 2.3k

Still Burning. Dick Grayson x Reader

I SERIOUSLY LOVED WRITING THIS ONE!!!

Nobody can really answer how to heal a broken heart. Had you known, you wouldn’t be trapped in such a mess. But you chose to hide it. That’s the best one does sometimes. Where do they go? Our feelings, the broken hearts? They remain there, silently making you remember and stabbing with memories that will make you hold on forever.

Dick was one of those stories you liked to keep to yourself. He did, too. Sometimes it’s difficult to admit it. Maybe it was for the best. But sometimes, you liked to remember that smile, which you barely saw anymore.

It was difficult. But it was for the best.

It truly was. Especially because both of you had decided to, for sometime, keep away from each other. You had your reasons. He said he had become too much like someone he once admired. He said you deserved better, but did you?

You were both made out of the same piece, but carved with a different sight. But it hurt to know that you were only someone he would ignore, that he wouldn’t talk about anymore. And it hurt to think that you could still taste his lips on the tip of your tongue. And it would’ve been easier to move on had he not searched for you to help him. Donna had warned you he’d come. Dawn, too. Everyone warned you he’d come back. But he didn’t come they way you expected him to.

And he eventually did come and ask for help, because that’s what you were supposed to do, always. Help each other. Because that’s who you were first and foremost. Friends who helped each other. Even after all the fights. Even after he broke your heart. He didn’t come to fix your broken heart.

Dick said his biggest talent involved leaving. You said it was coming up with bullshit to leave.

But you still remembered your teenage years, escaping together and rushing everywhere. Lifting your hands up in the air while he blasted your favorite music. You remembered your first kiss and the way he had blushed after it. You remembered the fights and the good times. But you also remembered how he broke up with you on your 21st birthday, breaking your heart as you were left with a dozen roses on your hands but a million tears coming from your eyes.

But there you were now, with a beer on your hand, as you had your legs crossed. You needed time to relax, you barely did that anymore. It was always helping out someone, or taking someone down. But Dick and you barely talked about the past. You used to work with each other, that was the statement.

You stared at him, he was relaxed. You hadn’t done this in a while, just sit down and have a beer. Kory brought up a tequila bottle, too. The younger ones were too busy eating flaming hot Cheetos.

“You guys are boring,” commented Jason Todd, watching as you were sipping from your beer. You listened to the faint music playing on the background.

“Are we?” Kory asked. The music sounded glitched.

“Very,” Gar agreed. “You just drink.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Adults do that, we just have enough trouble already that we just… drink it.”

“No need to make stupid excuses like when we were young, no beer pong, no card games,” Dick continued. “Just…drinking.”

“Hm,” Rachel laughed before taking a bite of her waffle. “I think we should play never have I ever.”

You laughed, “haven’t played that one in a while.”

Dick frowned. “Those games end up on trying to get only someone in particular drunk.”

To which Jason smirked, he poured a glass of soda for him, Rachel and Gar. Rachel and Gar joined you at the table.

Jason brought shot glasses for Dick, Kory and you. Kory and you gave each other a glance.

“No, not doing this.” Dick rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, Dick, relax a little,” Kory chuckled, “don’t you remember doing this kind of stuff in your teenage years? Stupid games?”

You stared at him, remembering all the times you used to have that kind of fun.

“Didn’t you have any fun?” Pushed Jason. “Is that why you’re always so grumpy?”

“I had fun,” Dick cleared his throat, quickly glancing at you.

You chuckled. “Fine, fill it up.”

Jason poured the three of you tequila, and then changed the song, a familiar guitar sounded. Let it Rock by The Rolling Stones started playing.

“Fine, Let’s start with something…. Rach? You wanna start?” Jason suggested.

Rachel chuckled, and rolled her eyes. “Never…”she gave it a thought. “Never have I ever eaten dog or cat food.”

“Am I supposed to—do something if I have?” Gar asked. He drank from his soda.

“Oh my god!” You laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

Gar laughed. “Well, well, it’s my turn now… never have I ever… met Batman.”

“Oh, come on,” Dick rolled his eyes.

“Bottoms up, Grayson,” Jason said as he took a sip and Dick drank from his shot. You took a sip as well.

“You’ve met Batman?” Asked Kory.

You winked. “Yeah, we were on a first name basis and everything,” you chuckled, Dick looked away. “But yeah. I once worked with Batman.”

“Worked?” Jason blinked. “With?”

You took a sip from your beer. “Oh sorry, you felt special?”

Jason nodded. “Well I kind of did.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Keep up with it.”

Maybe you were meant to be just as damaged as Dick was, but you had decided to move on. You never wanted to be bossed around.

“Never have I ever…” Kory started. “Driven the batmobile.”

Jason laughed as he shook his head. “He never let me.”

Dick took another shot, you took another one, too.

Rach raised her eyebrow at you. “What?”

You just winked at her.

“No, wait I wanna know why!” Jason laughed.

“Oh—“you laughed. Dick turned red. “I—well, you know, Gotham had —this thing, and Batman—or maybe it was—This other thing and when it happened I—I drove it.”

You were such a bad liar. But they didn’t push it. And you only stared at Dick, who took a deep breath.

You were taken back to that one time. Where Dick let you drive it, you were sitting on his lap and you remembered how fast it went, only seeing the lights passing through. You remembered screaming with pure joy and excitement and adrenaline. You remembered how you felt his hands on yours while you were crossing Gotham city, and how your stomach was filled with butterflies, and how his head was on your shoulder. And maybe this exact song was playing, or something familiar to it, because piano was trembling in your ears.

“Never have I ever… been in the bat cave,” laughed Gar.

Jason laughed. “I’m so glad this is Dr. Pepper.”

Dick scoffed and took another shot. “Ha ha.” He rolled his eyes.

You took a shot, too. How many times hadn’t you sneaked on to the Batcave, and done stupid childish stuff. Like playing 80’s music and dancing to it. ‘I think we’re alone now’ was one you remembered the most. It was fun. Neither of you were good dancers but it was worth it.

And they said some others.

And you continued. It seemed to be innocent enough. Start me up was now playing in the background.

The game was a constant throwing at everyone, making sure Dick was getting completely wasted. Problem was, some, if not most of them dragged you with them as well, you had spent so much time with him.

And you were both wasted, and your giggling had started. He had loosened up, too, and somehow you both ended up with your feet on the couch, trying to avoid

“Ah, come on, come on,” Dick pushed. “Can we stop making fun of my life?”

“Mr. Millionaire, we are soooorry Master Grayson,” Kory mocked, slightly drunk herself. You laughed, watching Dick. You hadn’t been this close since your breakup.

But you knew you were still smitten with him, he could tell,you guessed. He still knew you, perfectly. And he knew that even the way he was holding his cold beer had you thinking. How cruel was it that you had to avoid even staring at him when he once loved you.

“Never have I ever—waltzed,” Gar smirked, the music had finally stopped.

Dick chuckled. “Fuck off, man,” he rolled his eyes, before taking a sip.

You looked down at your drink and then took a sip.

“You’ve waltzed?” Kory laughed. “What have you been hiding from us? I didn’t know you had that many things in common with Grayson?”

Maybe it was the alcohol speaking for itself but you stared at Dick. “Yeah, he—he,” you shrugged. “He actually taught me how to waltz.”

Dick took a deep breath, running his hand through his face.

“He did?” Rach questioned.

You shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a great dancer.”

“Show us, I don’t quite believe it,” sassed Kory.

Dick rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve had enough.” He stood up, nervously. It seemed like every time you had both had a shot, he was getting more and more nervous, like someone was stabbing him each time with more memories. But you didn’t understand why he was angry, he was the one who blew things off.

You shook your head. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“I really don’t believe it,” Rach pushed.

You shrugged. “I wouldn’t either.”

“C’mon, show us!” Kory pushed.

“Yes, what could you lose? I want to see the amazing Richard Grayson waltzing, and I want to see how great a teacher he was,“said Garfield.

Dick blushed slightly. “No, it’s alright,” Dick grinned. “Let’s… let’s see if they can learn a thing or two.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to do this.”

Dick smiled at you, standing up. “No, no, you know they won’t shut up if we don’t do it,” he was drunk, you could tell by his raspy voice as he offered you a hand. You laughed, shaking your head but he pleaded again. “Please?”

“Fine,” you gave him your hand as he helped you stand up.

Dick watched them. “It’s not that complicated to waltz,” Dick explained. “Not really,” he continued as he placed himself in front of you. “The lady places herself slightly to the left of the leading gentleman,” he informed as he moved just a bit to your right. You stared at his eyes and then at his lips, you saw him gulp. “Six basic steps, and… you’re good.”

“Should we bring in a candle?” you chuckled. And he grinned.

“Ah, yes, yes,” Dick laughed. “Bring in a candle, that’s a good idea since we’re both wasted.”

You sighed. “But it wouldn’t matter if you’re with…”

“The perfect partner,” He finished your sentence, a faint smile forming. “Yeah.”

“What’s that about?” Questioned Kory.

“Well, you see… They use a… a candle, it’s the true test, one has to be as swift, and perfect and so delicate and so smooth, but the candle flame will not be extinguished in the hand of the leading partner,” he explained.

“Let’s bring in a candle!” Jason ordered. “Let’s put them to the test.”

Kory laughed to herself. “You’re joking, right?”

But Jason had brought in a candle already, they lit it up and Dick picked it up. He placed it within your hands and he took a deep breath.

“We might… um we might need some music,” he asked, while not taking his eyes off of yours. “Waltz number two by Dmitri Shostakovich,” said Dick and Rachel played it on the stereo.

His hand was finally placed on your back, and you gently posed yours on his shoulder as soon as the first notes started to play. You felt like all the alcohol had been sucked out of your body. But he smoothly started to dance around the room. You knew they were staring as he kept leading you as you danced, and it felt like the old times. But it felt like you were both trying to prove something to each other, as if you were both dancing away from the memories or as if you both were trying to hide from everyone else. As if you were both accusing each other with the dance, having a conversation each time you stepped, he was trying to apologize and you were trying to beg him to come just slightly closer. His eyes were fierce and dark and he wouldn’t take them off you, but you would turn away sometimes.

And the world was spinning around you, and the flame had not extinguished, it had remained firing. And you felt like burning but it wasn’t the candle, it was another type of flame growing in within. And your heart had started to spin. And you had forgotten you weren’t at the manor anymore, and you weren’t wearing that red dress you’d worn that time. But you’d forgotten it, you were back there where there was a constant smile on his face and where you didn’t even worry about everyone else noticing that tinge of redness on your cheeks. Because it was mutual.

The song stopped abruptly and you saw the candle.

It was still burning.

You then saw him, as you hadn’t seen him in years. He stepped back still holding the candle and you got your hands off of him.

Everyone stayed quiet, as you awkwardly stepped back.

“Oh, look the… the candle is still burning,” Gar commented as to distract everyone from the clear elephant in the room.

You smiled at Dick.

He blushed. “Yeah, it still is.”

part two

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

Text

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 1990 Review: Still Possesses Turtle Power After All These Years

Cowabunga all you happy people! I freaking love the Teenage Ninja Turtles. I grew up with it from Turtles in Time, which was my first video game, to the 2003 cartoon, which I covered the first three episodes of last month, and on to present day as I re-read the idw comics after finally reading the original eastman and laird run of mirage, and impatiently waiting for Shredder’s Revenge to come out after a LONG drout of no good TMNT games. I”m a fan of these heroes four, their dynamic as a family, the endless possiblities that come from it’s long history and ablitlity to go anywhere in any genre, and the wonderful goofy shit that happens when you have a franchise about mutant turtles learning ninjitsu from a rat and fighting a dude covered in knife covered samurai armor.

So with me finally covering the guys after almost a year last month and with a new movie set to debut at some point this year, I had the bright idea to revisit the FIRST TMNT movie after way too many years of not watching it. This movie is anear and dear to my heart: When I first started getting into the boys big as a kid with the 2003 cartoon, I badly wanted more turtles. But back then it wasn’t nearly as easy to glom onto some more of the sewer shock pizza kings: Streaming sites with all the cartoons on them weren’t all that accesable, dvd’s were expensive for the 87 cartoon, Mirage wasn’t reprinting the comics in any meaningful way and my local comic shop didn’t have any at all and I could only play the SNES when my brother had it set up on occasion like at our Grandma’s farm.

As you probably guessed though there was one exception: the original 1990 movie, which I got at Walmart for 5 bucks and haven’t let go of since. It was one of my first dvds and is still one of my most precious. Said film hit the spot just right as like my beloved 2003 series, it was a mildly goofy but still fucking cool adaptation that stuck closer to the mirage comics, even more than the 2003 series would, while taking a few queues from the 87 series. This film is as precious to me as the 2003 series and a with a brand new movie coming up, I figured it was the exact right time to dig into this classic: what makes it still good to this day, what’s fun to point and laugh at, and how the heck Jim Henson got involved in this. So join me under the cut as I take a look at my boys first theatrical outing and why I still love watching a turtle.

No One Wanted To Make This: Before we get into the film itself some background. As usual I struggled a bit, but thankfully found some help in the form of this Hollywood Reporter article. It’s a fascinating read worth your time, providing an oral history of the film from the people who worked on it.

The film was the baby of Gary Propper, a surfer dude and road manager for the prop comic Gallagher, aka that guy who used to smash watermelons but now has instead opted to smash what little’s left of his career by being a homophobic douchenozzle. He found an ally in Showtime producer Kim Dawson who’d produced Gallagher’s special. I don’t think there will be more of an 80′s sentence than “Gallagher’s surfer dude agent wanted to make a teenage mutant ninja turtles movie”. Propper was a huge fan of the comics, and with Dawson’s help convinced Laird and Eastman to let them option it to studios.

It may come as a shock to you but the road agent for a homophobic watermelon man and a producer at a niche cable channel wanting to make a movie based on an underground comic book about masked turtles at a time when the two most recent comic book movies were Superman IV: The Quest for Peace and Howard the Duck, did not go well. Every door in Hollywood got slammed in their face, even Fox> Even the eventual backer of the film, Golden Harvest, a hong kong action film studio, took months to convince to actually back the film.

Things did not get easier from there: The films writer Bobby Herbeck had trouble getting a story agreed on because Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird’s working relationship had deteroiated horribly from the stress so naturally the two could not agree on a damn thing and argued with each other. Peter Laird made a tense siutation even worse by constnatly sniping at Herbeck and feeling he was a “Hollywood outsider infringing on his vision and characters”

Granted the script was apparently not great... but Pete still comes off as a pretnetious ass who views his weird indie comic as THE HIGHEST OF HIGH CALLINGS HOW DARE YOU SOIL IT. And continued to be kind of a prick like this throughout the rest of his time with the property.

Thankfully the film found i’ts voice, vision and director in Steve Barron. Barron was a music video guy who knew the producers and while reluctant, eventually dove into the project rightfully thinking the film would need to be a mix of the mirage comics and 87 cartoon, keeping aprils’ reporter job, the turtles lvoe of pizza and their iconic color coding from the cartoon but adapting several stories from the comics as the backbone of the film. The guys liked barron MUCH better and things ran smoother.

Barron also brought in one of the film’s biggest selling points and it’s most valuable asset: it’s triumphantly awesome Jim Henson costumes. Barron had worked with good old Jim on the music videos for Labyrinth, and while it took some convincing since the comics were violent as hell and that wasn’t Jim’s style, Barron eventually got him on board. This naturally doubled the budget, but given Henson’s costumes STILL hold up today and look better than the cgi used in the platinum dunes films... it was a good call. And this was brand new tech for jim, having to invent tons of new ideas and mechanisms just to make the things work, and said things still were absolute hell on the actors. Jim later ended up not liking the film for being too violent... which I find hilarious given how many muppets got eaten or blowed up real good on his show but regardless, I thank this legendary and wonderful man as without him this film WOULD NOT have worked. The costumes here look great, feel realistic, and you can’t tell the actors were dubbed much less horribly suffering in those suits. Much like Disney Land.

The film would get picked up for distribution by New Line, and despite i’ts weird as hell origins and the long shot it had.. the film was a MASSIVE hit at the box office, owing to a combination of Batman 89 the previous year having proved comic book movies can work for audiences, the cartoon’s runaway sucess, and a massive marketing campaign. The film made it’s mark. So now we know how we got here let’s get into the film itself.

What’s the Story Morning Glory?:

So the story for this one is largely cobbled together from some of the more notable arcs Eastman and Laird did before handing off the book to others full time as the stress of the company and the mounting tension with each other made it near impossible to work together on the book itself.

To Save time i’m just going through what hte movie takes from the comics plot wise now to save me the trouble later:The movie takes elements from the first issue (The Turtles, Splinter and Shredder’s backstories, Shredder being fully human and the main antagonist, Shredder’s design and the final rooftop showdown that results in Shredder’s death), second and third, (April’s apartment over her dad’s old store and the turtles moving in when their home is ransacked and splinter has gone missing), the rapheal micro series (A tounge in cheek way of cashing in on the Mini-Series craze of the 80s, a one shot by modern standards and something that’s tragically been underused as an idea as only TMNT and MLP have used the idea at IDW, Raph meeting casey and their fight with one another), the return of shredder arc (One of the turtles being ambushed and mobbed by the foot and then thrown though a sky light (Leo in the comic and Raph here), the turtles being horribly outnumbered by them, Casey coming ot the rescue and metting the non-raph turtles for the first time, and them being forced to escape when the place goes up in flames), their exile to northampton (April writing in a journal, casey working on a car with one of the guys and one of hte guys looking over hteir injured brother), and finally, their triumphant return which was very loosely adapted as there are no deformed shredder clones and shredder not being dead yet in this version was not brought back by a colony of super science worms.

So as for how this all comes together: Our story takes place in New York: A crimewave is high with muggings mysterious. There are a ton of phantom thefts going around and at most people have been seeing teens responsibile. And the police.. are at about this level of useful:

The only person doing something is April O’Neil, played by Judith Hoag. Hoag is easily the standout of the film, giving us a strong, confident woman with a wonderful sense of humor. She honestly might be my faviorite April O Neil, and given we’ve had some great ones with 2003, 2012 and Rise, that’s not something I say lightly. I honestly wish I’d recognized her in more stuff as she was both on Nashville and the mom in the Halloween Town films, and most recently was on the ScFy show the magicians. She’s a talented lady and i’m glad she’s still goin.

April is a reporter for Channel 3 like the cartoon, though for some weird reason her boss from the cartoon is replaced by Charles Pennigton, played by Jay Patterson, whose currently dealing with his troubled son Danny, played by Micheal Turney. Pennington is horribly useless at both jobs: At work he tries to ease April off calling out Chief Sterns, who refuses to listen to April’s evidence gathered from japanese immigrants that the crimes resemble similar ones in japan in favor of trying to get charles to shut her up. Danny meanwhile is a member of the foot becase his dad thinks shouting out him and talking about him like he’s not there and generally being a dipstick will actually do anything to help him.

I love the concept for the foot here. In addition to being a Ninja Violence Gang as always, they now recruit new members by finding kids without families or with troubled family lives and giving them a sense of family with the foot, and sweeting the bargin with a giant cave filled with arcade machines, a skate ramp and general late 80′s early 90′s kids goodies. Is it rediculous? Yes. Is it also clever as it gives Shredder an easy army of plausably deniable theives that he can pick the best out of to put in his elite that will be tirelessly loyal to him and him alone? Also yes.

So April being public about this stuff gets her attacked, which naturally leads to our heroes coming in, first in the shadows and later directly when April wont’ give up on the case and Shredder sends some ninjas to go shut her up.. which he does weirdly as the guy jsut slaps her and tells her to cut it out like he’s on a domestically abusive episode of Full House. Raph saves her, and we get the turtles origin.. though weirdly they cut it in half. We get the ooze portion but Splinter’s past with Saki, Saki’s murder of his master and his master’s partern Tang Shen is left for later in the film and the fact Shredder’s saki is treated as a big twist despite the fact the biggest audience for the film would be kids... and kids would’ve been familiar with the cartoon where the giant brain monster routinely screeches out saki at the shredder. Maybe Barron just thought he was an alcoholic I don’t know. It just would’ve made more sense to have it all at once and let the audeince put it together.

April becomes good friends with the turtles over a night of frozen pizza and camradrie, but the Splinters return home to find it ransacked, Splinter kidnapped by the foot, and are forced to Stay with april. Charles meanwhile tries to get April to backoff because he made a deal with the police to clear Danny’s record, without TELLING her any of this mind you, but I will save my rage on that little plot point for in a bit as Danny who he drug along sees the turtles and tells the Shredder.

So we get the return of the shredder arc as Raph goes through a window, our heroes fight valiantly, and Raph’s friend Casey who he met earlier shows up, the two having bonded as all true friends do.. by beating the shit out of each other ending with raph shouting DAMNNNNNNN really big and dramatically into the sky for some reason. The Turtles and friends escape with an injured raph from April’s burning second hand store. She had a second hand store it was poorly established and only there because she had it in the comics.

Our heroes retreat to a farm April’s grandma owned in Northampton, Massachutes, where Mirage was located at the time the original comics where they were exiled to the place were written and a location that has been a staple of the turtles ever since. The turtles slowly recover, lick their wounds, talk about who hooked up with who on gilligans island etc, before Leo connects with Splinter via meditation, who tells them to come back. Splinter also starts to connect with Danny and convinces him to swtich sides.. or at the very least squat in the boys old home.

The boys return home, find danny, and prepare, Danny goes back and ends up giving away the Turtles are home.. but the turtles are ready and in an awesome sequence kick the fuck out of the foot squad sent for them with some well prepared steam vents. Casey goes to get splinter since Danny told them and with Danny’s help, finds him, since Danny found out they were gonna kill him. Casey beats up Tatsu, shredder’s right hand man, and they get him out.

We get our final fight which is awesome up until the climax.. which is splinter casually tripping shredder with nunchucks and thier bloody history being kind of rushed and unsatsifying. Casey crushes shredder with a garbage truck, April gets her job back, more on that in a moment, she and casey hook up, and we end with the fucking awesome song T-U-R-T-L-E Power by partners in cryme. Seriously check it out it’s fucking triumphant.

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The song is just good.. cheesy? Sure but that’s half the fun. It’s the gold standard for movie theme songs for them and stacks up handily with the various animated series themes.. all of which slap. Okay... ALMOST all of which slap. Fast Forwards is aggressively medicore, which is doubly suprising to me since 4kids was REALLY damn good with theme songs. It was one of the three things they were best at along with finding VERY talented voice actors and setting japan based works in america because merica dammit.

The plot is very solid: It skilfully packed half of eastman and laird’s run on TMNT into 90 mintues while adding things like April’s job at channel 9, the way the foot recurited kids etc. The plot flows well for hte most part and apart from one annoying subplot we’ll get to never has a moment that feel unecessary or dosen’t pay off later. And the stellar plot and fun pacing of it helps boilster the characters that do work... and help paper over the ones that are so thin the’yd fall down a grate...

Our Heroes, Villains and Annoying Middle Aged Guys:

Yeahhhh character is hit and miss here. Some are rather strong, others are the bare basics for the character their adapting and most are just to serve the plot but some work some don’t, So let’s talk about it starting with our boys:

Raph is the most fleshed out of the turtles, being the main focus of the first 2/3 of the film, and having his anger be part of what SHOULD be a character arc, learning to temper it. And while granted MOST TMNT properties do this, to the point that Rise Raph is so loveable in part because his boisterous bruiser big bro attitude is a refreshing break from the usual grumpus we get. But at the time this hadn’t been done in every version but the 87 cartoon, so exploring it was valid.. but despite saying this should be a thing htey just forget about it and the most plot relevance he gets is going thorugh a window. He dosen’t really get a resolution.. his arc just kind of stops dead for the final half and it’s one of the film’s weaker points, one I only just now noticed on this rewatch. He’s still the most entertaining.

Leo is the weakest of the turtles. He really lacks a personality here mostly just being leader and while his spirtual side is touched on, it’s mostly a plot device. He’s just kinda the leader because he was in the comics to the point Partners in Cryme called Raph the leader. His role in getting taken out by the foot was taken by Raph, so he just has.. nothing to do for most of the film other than gripe at raph ocasionally and say orders. He’s probably the worst Leo i’ve seen outside of Next Mutation. I prefice that because after watching Phelous’ review it’s VERY clear those four are the worst versions of the characters, and no personality is still better than either having your team do nothing or yelling at them as your personality. I chalk this up to the Mirage Leo, and the mirage turtles to a poit being kind of bland. Not TERRIBLE characters, especially for the time, but not nearly as fleshed out or individualized as they woudl be in other adpatations, and with most traits LEo DID have, like his badassery flat out gone, he’s just.. nothing here.

Mikey and Donnie are a double act here with both sharing a brain. Interestingly instead of his normal genius character, Donnie is Mikey’s best friend and the two simply trade jokes and schtick together. The two are interchangable.. but easily the best part of the film and a lot of the most memorable gags and lines, from Ninja Kick the Damn Rabbit! to “Do you like Penicllin on your pizza”, are from them. Thier there almost entirely as comic relief but it works, with both clealry being more modled ont he 87 cartoon turtles, a move that helps lighten the mood in darker moments. Their just genuinely charming and it’s intresting to see such a diffrent version of Donnie, and other incarnations, specifically the 2003 and Rise versions, would retain the sarcastic edge.

Splinter is splinter. That’s about it, he’s peformed well and the puppet is amazing but he gets kidnapped a half an hour in and outside of influcencing Denny, more on that in a moment, and finishing Shredder he dosen’t do much but spout exposition. He’s not bad or anything, but he’s essentially a rodent shaped plot device. He was also puppeted by Kevin CLash, aka the guy who does Elmo. So there you go.

April on the other hand.. is truly excellent. This might be my faviorite April. Judith’s april nicely blends the cartoon and mirage versions: She has the cartoons energy and job, but the comics sheer will and casual nature. Judith just oozes personality and her April is just a joy to watch, from her breezy chemistry filled interactions with the guys to her confrntation with Chief Sterns, knowing she’ll get thrown out by the asshole. She’s confident, and even when afraid dosen’t back down to her attackers and even helps out during the sewer ambush. I mean it’s a pot on the head but still it’s neat. She’s easily the best part of the flim and the most fleshed out of the cast. The worst I can say is they kinda shove her store from the comics, Second Time Around, in there for no other reason than it was in the comics: It dosen’t come up until it’s needed for the foot’s assault on her place. But overall.. she’s just fantastic to watch.

Speaking of fantastic to watch, Elias Koteas is fantastic as Casey. Seriously he’s only second to the 2003 version in my eyes, getting the concept of a testorone filled average guy who decided to just go out and hit people with sports equipment after watching too much A-Team.. I mean that part of it’s not in this version but it’s implied, just right. Like judith, Elias is just really funny to watch and his big scenes, showing up just in time during the foot assault on april’s place and his fight with Tatsu are some of the best parts of the film, the former taken directly from the comics. This version isn’t without problems: His friendship with Raph, his most endearing aspect and one that has been carried throughout eveyr version Casey’s important, with the only exception so far being rise and we have a movie to fix that, is absent here. HE does save the guy, but they don’t really bond or anything. In fact he disappears for about half an hour after his big fight with Raph. But... again he’s just so damn entertaining, down to his JOSEEEEEEEEEEE Conseco bats (There was a two for one sale!).

Shredder is just a LITTLE better than splinter, if only because his actor projects a true aura of menace and I feel this version had some influence on the pants crappingly terrifying 2003 version. And the idea of the foot recurting teenagers like I said is a good one: He gives them home and a cause, they give him plausably deniable backup. And his fight with the boys in the climax is really awesome... the conclusion sucks but otherwise h’es okay. Not the deepest villian, but he has enough presence to be enjoyable.

His right hand man Tatsu, whose been adapted ocasionally since this and reimaigned as Natsu in the IDW comics, a female version, is also fine. He’s your standard grimacing goon but has enough presence to work.

So that brings us to the penningtons. Charles, april’s boss at the station and his son Danny who’s joined the foot as he feels his dad dosen’t love him. Charles..is about as interesting and likeable as a dog turd and is the worst aspect of the film. No debate there, he just sucks. He sucks so hard he’s classified as a black hole. The film wants you to see him as a put upon wokring dad whose frustrated with his son’s increased moodiness, skipping school and crminal undertakings and just wants to help him and loves him deep down. The problem is his actor’s delivery instead of concerned.. is just pissed. He just seems pissy and upset about the whole thing and comes off like he’s only mad about Danny doing this because he’s embarassing him and not because you know, it’s bad. When confronting Danny about stealing, he dosen’t consider MAYBE he’s part of a gang or needs help, but just wonders “Why are you stealing when I give you stuff”. Because, Dipshit, sometimes kids do crimes not because they need the stuff but because they WANT to, and because they want to act the fuck out.

The most he does for the kid is agree to try and get April to back off the police when Cheif Sterns offers to let Danny go and not put him on record in exchange for it. The problem.. is this makes him even MORE unsympathetic. While I do get wanting to help your child, I do and it’s a sucky position... he again should be sympathetic.. but he handles the thing so badly it sucks. He just tells april to ease off, with no reason given, then fires her when she SHOCKINGLY dosen’t give up taking the guy whose refusing to take her hard work seriously or actually solve the crime wave problem to task for his shitty behavior as ANY person facing a shitty, corrput cop would. She just wants to hold him acountable and get him to actually do something. He clearly knows her on a personal level too as he talks about his issues with his son freely with her, something you don’t do with an employee unless their also a friend on some level.

He could have TOLD april what was going on. She’d be furious at Stern’s naked corrpution and prioritizing shutting her up over actually solving crimes.. and thus put at least some of that energy into shutting him down or finding a way around it, going to the papers or something like that. Even in 1990 pre-internet, there were ways to get around Sterns blackmail and expose him so someone who’d actually do the job could get the job. Instead he just comes off as a selfish coward who rather than try and fight the guy blatantly abusing his power and using Charles own son as barganing chip, goes along with it because it’s the easier option to simply bow to him instead of TRY and stop this. And it’s not like he’s even going after a beloved public figure or someone who could hide behind his rep: Sterns was blatantly failing a crime wave, April had called him out on his failrues and coverups multiple times. The public was against sterns.. finding out he tried to blackmail the media into shutting up about him would PROBABLY end him... I only say probably not because the public wouldn’t skewer him, but because police tend to escape consequences for blatantly murdering someone on a daily basis and Andrew Cumo is STILl mayor over in new york, the same city this movie takes place, 31 years later, depsite EVERYONE asking him to resign over a long history of sexual harassment and a more recent but still horrible history of hiding death numbers. I don’t doubt people being stupid enough to ignore this or the bilaws with cops being stacked enough for him to get away with it, but just because someone gets away with a crime dosen’t mean you shoudln’t try and go after them in the first place. Fuck. Charles. Pennington.

Danny on the other hand is FAR more interesting and I think gets way too much flack when it comes to this subplot. Unlike his dad, whose dead weight, Danny is intresting: He provides a POV character for the foot’s MO in the film of taking in wayward teens, and his character arc is pretty engaging, slowly realizing the foot dosen’t care and that hte turtles are the good guys. HIs actor does a great job and while not the biggest presence, he’s not a bad addition to clan hamaoto and I wish other adaptations would find a way to use him. The pull between doing the right thing and his found family is a good struggle. My only real issue with his plot is the moviies flawed aseop about family. It tries to contrast shredder and his using the kids blatnatly with Splinter and Charles really loving their sons. And it works with Splinter and the kids because despite being a tad strict, Splinter clearly loves his sons and works with them to help them. The problem is ENTIRELY with Charles and Danny. As I said Charles love comes off as transasctional: He either thinks he can buy it or just expects it because he shot a bunch of goop into Danny’s mom after two minutes of disapointment. It dosen’t work with them because neither option is good for Danny. His father is neglectful, chooses throwing his jounralistic integrity out the window over talking to his son or his best friend about another way, and abrasive. Danny is no saint, he does do crimes, but it’s clearly a result of a shitty upbringing and the shredder and co actually offeirng him the love he desperatly craves. Danny goes to the foot because his dad is bad at his job but the film never adresses that and just expects Danny to go back to his dad because the plot says so. Danny would HONESTLY be better off with Splinter. No really. Sure he’d have to live in the sewers.. but he did so for a few weeks in the course of the movie. He’s fine down there. Splitner actually cares about him and took an intrest to him and knows how to raise a child. Let him become the fifth turtle. An aseop about family is not a bad thing: Loaded subject that it can be given how many outright abusive families exist, i’m one of the lucky ones who dosen’t have that issue, family is an important thing and can be a source of comfort and support. But this film tells you you should love and respect someone who does not love, respect or value you because he spent a minute in your mom’s vagina and that’s not how family should work and is outright dangerous to kids in an abusive situation. Love the film otherwise but fuck this aseop skyhigh.

Final thoughts:

Overall though.. the film is bodacious. It’s funny, well paced, has an awesome cast, and outside of a certain bald asswipe... it’s a really good superhero film. Is it the best i’ve seen? Nope. Not even close and character wise most of them are as thin as a wet paper bag covered in ranch dressing. But it’s still a fun as hell with awesome corepgraphy, a killer soundtrack, seriously the soundtrack is damn excellent and only didn’t get it’s own section because I didn’t have enough to say and some of the best effects work i’ve seen in a film in the turtle suits. If you haven’t seen it I urge you to check it out: it’s a breezy 90 minutes, it’s on hbo max and it’s a shell of a time. Will I do the next film?

We’ll see how this one does like wise and such, but I will be doing the rise film whenever it comes out this year. So look for that and keep possesing turtle power my dudes. If you liked this review subscirbe for more, join my patreon to keep this blog a chugging, comission a review if you have more turtle stuff you want me to cover, and comment on this. What do you think of the movie, what are your thoughts on the review, what can I do better, what other turtle stuff would you like me to cover/ Let me know and i’ll see you at hte next rainbow.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles 1990 #leonardo #raphael #donetello #michealangelo #casey jones #april o'neil #the shredder #oroku saki #new line cinema #golden harvest #film #90's movies #the 90's #partners in cryme #judith hoag

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jupitermelichios · 3 years

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How I would have introduced Spidey to the MCU

(bear in mind if this had happened in the same timescales as homecoming, this would have come out before Spider-verse. Spiderverse is good enough that I’m kinda glad they didn’t do this but hey, this is all theoretical.)

we start with an adult Peter - bonus points if he’s played by Andrew Garfield although that’s unlikely for reasons that will become clear - at the height of his powers. He’s an adult with a good job, he’s married to Mary-Jane, things are generally going great. He has a nightmare about Gwen Stacey early on his solo movie, so he know he’s seen some shit, that this is a Spiderman who’s been around the block a time or three.

He first appears as a guest star in an Avengers movie, some people love it, some people hate it, everyone is talking about it.

And then he dies at the mid-point of his first solo movie, leaving his protege Miles Morales to try and fill the gap, and he manages it, he defeats the Goblin and saves the day, but there’s no resolution to their relationship, Peter is just dead and Miles is just doing his best to cope.

Miles gets some cameos in other movies, and then we get to his second solo movie. And Peter is there. Miles doesn’t know why, but Peter says he survived somehow, he was just in a coma, and Miles is so fucking relieved, finally he has a mentor again! It seems almost too good to be true!

And maybe it is, because people seem to be afraid of Peter, and bodies start turning up with skin missing from their faces, shaped like a handprint, almost like someone with sticky hands has just...

But it can’t be Peter, obviously. Peter’s a good guy. Sure sometimes it seems like he doesn’t know Miles at all, sometimes there’s these weird gaps in his memory, and eventually he confesses he doesn’t remember being in the hospital at all, and he’s having these nightmares, or nightmare really, this recurring nightmare about a Jackal and a girl with blonde hair who he can’t save, but he’s a good guy. He’s Miles’s mentor. He’s his friend.

Anyway life’s hard enough as it is. He’s got this new science teacher, Professor Warren, who is a total asshole, detirmined to make his students suffer, and Miles is struggling to balance school and spiderman, he just wants to pass this year and make his parents proud. Although when he mentions this when he’s at Peter’s apartment one day MJ says that she and Peter had had a teacher in college called Professor Warren, and doesn’t know why Peter seems to have no memory of the guy.

Then on patrol one night, Miles catches the other spider-man, the one who’s been killing people, the one with the red and black suit that looks like an inverse of Miles’s suit, and he pulls the mask off to reveal... Peter.

Obviously Miles is horrified, so horrified that Peter gets away. He goes to confront Peter at his apartment, but Peter insists he hasn’t left all night and Mary Jane backs him up. Miles can’t shake it though, can’t shake the suspicion, and he and Mary Jane start to investigate.

He starts to realise just how wrong things are when he fights the Red and Black spiderman again and he doesn’t know Mary Jane, doesn’t know Miles, doesn’t even react to the name Peter. In fact when Miles calls him that, in an attempt to appeal to his better nature, he replies that Miles is thinking of someone else, that his name is Kaine.

He escapes again, but this time Peter is waiting to tail him back to wherever he was coming from. And he says he found it, says they won’t believe what he’s found... and then the line goes dead.

Miles is able to figure out a way to retrace his steps, and Mary Jane insists on coming with him. He tries to tell her no but she’s detirmined.

What they find looks like a warehouse from the outside, but inside it’s a mad scientist lab, complete with things floating in tubes of bubbling green liquid. Well not so much things as people. Well not so much people as Peter. Peters. And a blonde girl, about Peter’s age.

Obviously the bad guy is revealed to be Professor Warren, the Jackal. He was in love with Gwen Stacey, even though she was his student and dating someone else, and he’s detirmined to clone her, but he figured he’d practise first on the person he blames for her death - Peter.

He releases Kaine from his tube, and he and Miles fight, and it’s not going well, but Mary Jane manages to release not!Peter who joins the fight. Then Warren gets a gun on Mary Jane while she’s trying to figure out the controls to release the not!Gwen, and not!Peter knocks it out of the way, but gets shot in the process. Mary Jane knocks Warren out and Kaine takes the opportunity to bail. Peter gives Miles a speech about how he’s passing the torch, about how Miles is the real Spiderman, and then dies in MJ’s arms. They release the teenage clone!Gwen and carry her out while the police turn up to arrest Warren. Our film ends with clone!Gwen waking up in the hospital and jumping so hard when Miles startles her that she ends up on the ceiling. Hanging from her finger-tips.

And our post credits scene is people smugglers in Mexico. We go full Batman, something in the dark, moving too fast to see taking them out one at a time, until the figure steps into the light to rescue the girl they’d been moving. She introduces herself as Aracely, and asks his name, and he says it’s Kaine. Kaine Parker. Cut to black.

Any that’s how I’d use the 2nd most hated spiderman storyline of all time to remove Peter Parker, establish Miles and a version of spider-gwen as both living in the same universe, set up MJ as a recurring character and mentor figure to the younger spider kids, and set the stage for a TV miniseries based on Christopher Yost’s Scarlet Spider run

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peppersonironi · 4 years

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Batfam/Avengers Crossover Chapter Three: Morning Routines

Tagging: @the-fair-maiden-of-fandom

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types

Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Natasha Romanov & Damian Wayne, Clint Barton & Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tim Drake & Duke Thomas, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd,

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Justice League (DCU), Alfred Pennyworth, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Thor (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Alfred the Cat (DCU), Bat-Cow (DCU), Goliath (DCU), Selina Kyle’s Cat Isis, Kate Kane (DCU), Duke Thomas,

Additional Tags: Batbrothers (DCU), Avengers Meet The Batfam, MCU/Batfam crossover, Crossover, no beta we die like robins, rated T for Jason’s language, I bleeped it out though. Just to be safe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, canon? What’s canon?, Deaf Clint Barton,Deaf Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Happy Batfamily (DCU), Birdflash and joyfire are implied/referenced,

Summary: Now that the Avengers have begun to settle into the Manor, they get to know the inhabitants.

Notes: Yo, I do take requests for scenarios, pov’s, and characters to show up!

Steve awoke in one of the most comfortable beds he had ever slept in. For a moment he was relaxed as the sun streamed in through the large window. Then he sat straight up. How did he get here?

Then he remembered. After the Justice League had left, Batman - he still felt weird calling him Bruce - led them into an elevator which emerged in a richly adorned sitting room. The entrance to the elevator being in the Grandfather clock which lay to the side of the room. A butler - a butler! Even Tony didn’t have one of those - had met them there. Batman had informed him that they would be staying for a while, and the butler had quickly led them to free rooms, assuring the Avengers that clothes would be provided before dinner. He had spoken the truth, as a change of clothes were provided shortly. Steve suspected they were pilfered from the manor’s residents.

Steve got out of bed and went over to the neatly stacked pile of clothes, and got dressed. He had been given cargo pants and a gray t-shirt. He then left his room and began to follow the smell of breakfast - a heavenly mixture of coffee, maple syrup, bacon, and blueberry pancakes.

Nat, Tony, and Clint were already in the kitchen when he arrived. They were sitting on stools at the island along with Tim Drake and Cassandra Cain. The Butler was placing a heaping pile of pancakes on the table whilst handing Tim a pot of coffee.

Steve walked over and sat down. "Good morning," he said. "They look great sir, thank you."

The Butler smiled. "Call me Alfred, everyone else does." He spoke with a crisp british accent, which Steve hadn’t noticed the evening before.

Steve nodded as he took some pancakes and bacon. Everyone else started chowing down as well, with the exception of Tim. Tim looked horrible, if Steve was being honest. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his lids were drooped.

Tim was about to pour some coffee, when Steve noticed he was clearly going to miss the mug. Steve opened his mouth to say something when Cassandra Cain reached over and casually pushed the mug over.

Tim filled up the mug. He either hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t cared.

Cassandra went back to her seat. "You sleep?"

Tim shrugged. "No more than usual. I had patrol, then worked on that eastside murder case."

Cassandra frowned. “ Sleep ,” she said vehemently.

"What's patrol?" Clint asked curiously.

Tim frowned. “We go out and patrol Gotham. Take care of crime. Typical vigilante stuff.”

This gave Steve pause. “You handle petty crime?”

Tim blinked. “You don’t? I thought you said you were superheroes?"

Natasha nodded. “So you’re like Peter. He protects Manhattan. The rest of us only got together due to an alien invasion. We’re what you would call the . . . heavy hitters.”

Cassandra nodded. “City needs us. Without . . .” She pursed her lips and moved her hands around. “Bad things happen.”

“Once you have finished, might I suggest you explore the manor or cave?” Alfred said as he placed more bacon on the table. “Master Bruce has a full gym and training areas in the Batcave which you are welcome to use. After all, if you are to stay here, you might as well have something to do.”

Steve stood up from his now finished meal. “Thank you Alfred, I believe I will. I think I remember the way to the cave. Thank you for the meal.”

Tony nodded. “See you down there, I guess.” Clint and Natasha agreed.

*****

Steve entered the cave to find that he was not the first one there. Standing on the main platform was an honest-to-god cow.

It was brown and white, with stubby horns and a baleful look. On its forehead was a brown patch that looked suspiciously like a bat. The cow mood.

“Bat-Cow! Get away from the invader!” Damian Wayne swooped in out of nowhere and landed in front of the now named Bat-Cow. “What are you doing in the cave?” He asked, his sword drawn and pointed at Steve’s chest.

“The butler - Alfred - said I could come down here to workout,” Steve replied. He was still trying to get over the fact that a cow was in front of him, being guarded by an eleven year-old in black training clothes that looked a lot like a ninja’s.

“T-t,” Damian replied, clearly unimpressed.

“Well, um. . . Is that a cow?” Steve couldn’t help himself.

“Yes of course. Are you blind? This is Bat-Cow. Bat-Cow, this is one of the invaders by the name of Steve Rogers. Stay away, he’s probably not even a vegetarian.” With that, the boy and the cow strolled away, and Steve turned to go.

*****

Steve found the gym platform and set to work. It was quite nice equipment, and Steve enjoyed using it. He wasn’t the only one, as both Jason Todd and Stephanie Brown were there with him in gym clothes. They both wore gray sweatpants, but Stephanie also wore a purple sports bra, almost the same color as her suit. Stephanie was using some resistance bands and Jason was bench pressing.

Steve walked in muttering about cows, which gained a smile from Jason, who inevitably heard him.

“If a cow surprises you,” Jason said between lifts, “then wait till you see Goliath.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve asked as he settled into a warm-up.

“One of Damian’s other . . . pets.” Stephanie said, a grimace on her face. “But boy, I can’t wait till I see your face!” She laughed as she finished up, and moved onto chin-ups.

Steve frowned, but let it slide. There was silence after a while as he settled into his routine. Eventually he moved over to bench presses. He began to set up the weights, glad there were so many, as he usually needed a lot more than the average man.

Steve looked over at Jason, who was still pressing. On closer inspection he was benching almost 400 pounds.

“Do you have super strength,” Steve asked before he could help himself.

Jason snorted and finished up his last few reps, setting the bar down then sitting up. He wiped his face as he answered Steve. “Nope, I don’t need superstength to get these babies.”

He lifted up his arms and flexed. This sent Stephanie into a giggle fit. “You,” She said between snorts, “Jason Peter Todd, are utterly ridiculous.”

Jason smiled as well before turning back to Steve. “But really, none of us bats have super strength. All we have is skill, and kicka** personalities.”

Steve frowned, but nodded anyway. He went to begin bench pressing when Stephanie asked him, “That Stark guy said you were a supersoldier, I assume that super strength comes with it?”

“Yup. There was an experimental serum that the scientists of World War II chose me to test. I worked in the army for a while, before I got frozen in ice due to taking down a Nazi ship. I got rescued and joined the Avengers to help stop an alien invasion.”

Jason muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “cheater.”

Stephanie glared at him. Before standing up and speaking cheerfully “Well, I’m going to go spar with whoever’s available. See you later?” Stephanie walked off, grabbing a purple water bottle on the way out.

Jason nodded. He moved on in his workout, and Steve went back to his bench presses. After a while, Jason had left to spar. Steve finished up himself, then decided to follow. He remembered seeing a fighting area on his way down, so he left the gym and started his search.

*****

Steve didn’t have to search for long, as the platform in question was easily the most crowded. It was the largest, with some thin mats on the floor. Steve wasn’t sure that they would provide much protection.

Thor was standing near the center, holding Mjolnir, and looking quite uncomfortable. He was seemingly being questioned by Damian, Jason, and Cassandra. Tim, Duke, Peter, Nat, Bruce (Banner), Tony, Bruce (Wayne) and Clint stood to the side. Their faces were a mixture of worry (Nat, Bruce Banner, Tony, and Clint), Amusement, (Tim, Dick and Duke), and confusion (Peter and Bruce Wayne).

Steve walked up to Nat. “What’s going on?” He asked.

“They're questioning the technicalities of being worthy of the hammer,” She said with a frown. “Specifically how many and how often you murder to be excluded.”

Steve frowned right along with her as he turned to the conversation.

“But is there a time frame?” Jason was asking. “Like say you don’t kill for like two weeks, and you’ve been super good? Would that get you points?”

“Uh. . .” The look on Thor’s face was priceless.

“T-t,” Damian said. “What about the technicalities behind the actual murder? Perhaps if a seven year old went on a killing spree? Would age exempt him?”

“I’m not sure a child would-”

“Not their fault?” Cassandra asked. “Forced? Didn’t know?”

Jason frowned. “Yeah, would the kid be declared unworthy if they were forced to kill? Or they didn’t know what they were doing?”

“Well, I-”

“What about mind control? Manipulation? Amnesia?” Jason asked.

“I’m sorry, but -”

“Do the more you kill, the more unworthy you become?” Damian asked, “Or until you hit a certain body count, it's a free-for-all?”

Thor sputtered. “Free-for-all?!”

“Or what if they were really bad people?” Jason asked. “Like other murderers? Pedophiles? Rapists? Drug dealers who sell to kids? If they did something wrong, would that cancel out your own wrongness?”

“These kids are hard-core,” Clint muttered.

“They raise a good point though,” Duke replied.

Tim nodded. “Ten Bucks its Damian who throws dear Thor off the edge.”

“Cass is feisty though.” Dick replied

Duke snorted. “Hah, never bet against Jason!”

All three exchanged handshakes.

“Okay,” Jason said, waving his arms about as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Does the way you kill affect how bad it is? Like would slowly and painfully bleeding to death be worse than a bullet to the head? Or say a sniper rifle compared to a handgun? Since one is more personal?”

Thor gaped at the young man.

“ Why kill.” Cassandra asked. “Told? Want? Accident?”

“What if it was to save yourself?” Damian asked. “If it was self-preservation, would that account for anything?”

“What if you were saving someone else?” Jason added. “Either directly, or just making the world a safer place?”

Thor frowned. “I do not speak for Mjolnir, but I assume all murder is murder.” The kids looked disappointed, so Thor continued. “However, if you wish to try to lift it, You have my permission to do so.”

“Naw, it's okay,” Jason said as the kids walked off looking dejected. “Doubt we could anyways, as Thor here just clarified.”

This caused the most uproar out of everything else in the conversation. Thor looked stricken, along with Peter, Bruce Banner, and Tony. Natasha and Clint looked at each other worriedly, Bruce Wayne, Tim, and Duke just rolled their eyes. And Steve was just confused.

“You kill?” Steve asked, as he started to worry if this universe was much more different than he had originally thought.

“Cassandra, Damian, and Jason had … unusual circumstances.” Bruce Wayne said simply. There was a silence after that. Then Bruce continued. “Well, we were about to start some sparring. If you’d like to join us, you are more than welcome to.”

Steve stood straight. He’d been looking forward to seeing them fight. “Sure,” he said as Tim, Dick and Duke exchanged ten dollar bils. “Sounds fun.”

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yicruz48 · 4 years

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Teen Titans Review: Issue 42

Written: June/23/2020

The issue starts off with Damian recalling memories from the past that he had with Alfred. Damian looks back at this memory as a moment that Alfred gave him guidance when he felt lost in the past. And this is when we hit the biggest problem with this Issue:

I’m not denying that Alfred is not an actual support system to rely on and some sort of guiding force in his life because he is:

The thing I have an issue with, that I’ve discussed with @wesavegotham is that Alfred, primarily in Teen Titan’s has been everything but a support system to Damian. If anything, he is one of many who antagonizes him and claims that Damian knows exactly who is (When the core conflict in Damian’s character is not knowing who he is because of his upbringing in the league and his connection to Batman so that claim is stupid).

But most importantly, Alfred is portrayed as someone that Damian NEEDS in his life to make good, sensible moral decisions in this issue. And now that Damian doesn’t have him in his life he is incapable of telling good from bad.

Which if you have read Batman and Robin (2011) and R:SOB you know that Damian is self-aware of what is morally bad. As well as knowing what he did what he did in the past was wrong and why it was wrong. Sure, he had a push from Bruce but he mostly he reflected and discovered it on his own.

Writing it as if Damian doesn’t have the cognitive ability to understand that killing (even if they are evil) is wrong in current times without depending on someone else for guidance trashes his previous development. It makes it seem like Damian never learned anything from killing Nobody in Batman and Robin.

But moving on, the Issue continues with the members attempting to find out what is going to happen next with each other after breaking up last issue:

-> Damian attempting to figure out the next best way to end crime while stopping a bank robbery.

-> Crush somehow very open to becoming friends with Roundhouse after he trapped her...um...crush-love interest in her ring.

-> Wallace seemly out of no where having the desire to confess to Emiko even though there wasn’t really anything in the previous issues to make me think that he liked her. Would’ve made sense of Emiko was the one confessing since she has shown more interest in him, but whatever.

Later, the gods have appeared to have answered the members question about what to do next after breaking up: which is coming back together to find out who killed Brother Blood (not as a team as explicitly mentioned by the team several times but I guess as individuals who will work together for one last time(s?)).

Anyhow, they go into the sewers (where Brother Blood died) in order to find clues to who killed Brother Blood. As they are finding clues in a hidden location where Brother Blood had barrels of toxins to control his cronies they are interrupted by his cronies.

Their plan suddenly shifts from finding out who killed Brother Blood to stopping Brother Blood’s cronies. Once they do, they leave the scene quickly before the police catches sight of them.

The team again questions whether the death of Brother Blood was a good thing or a bad thing. Evidently having very conflicted feelings about it.

The team is ready to drift off their own ways again but Emiko is adamant about figuring out who killed Brother Blood. The team eventually decides to continue working together till they find out who killed Brother Blood.

Towards the end of the Issue Bruce suddenly remembers he has fucking son (that he probably should check on) and like Damian is very lost on how to approach and/or reconnect with Damian without Alfred around (and this my friends, is called a parallel. Which means we should probably remember this for future issues).

Conclusions:

-> So I am guessing Batman didn’t encounter the Teen Titans like in said in the solicitations? Because to me it just seemed like it picked off after where we left over last issue.

I’m guessing this was one of the changes Teen Titans took after quarantine hit? Because originally Eduardo Pansica was supposed to draw these issues (42-44) but it was suddenly switched to Javier Fernandez as if the story was scrapped.

-> Overall, surprisingly this issue wasn’t that bad besides that big issue I mentioned in the beginning.

-> It was enjoyable to see Damian not portrayed as an non-sympathetic asshole like Glass liked to portray him. With the added plus of vegan/vegetarian being brought back to canon after disappearing years ago.

-> Wished that Thompson would’ve focused more on the emotional aspect of Damian seeing his grandfather die in front of him rather than emotionally-dependent aspect of it.

-> Glad the team “broke up” I guess. Though I can’t get the feeling off like they are all in a toxic relationship they keep finding weak reasons to stay in. In the words of Roundhouse, “You all need therapy.”

-> Very confused as to why are they running away from the police when they did nothing. Was it because they trespassed?

-> There is apart of me that is questioning whether Damian did actually kill Brother Blood before meeting up with the Teen Titans and the cover was not just a ruse. It was Emiko, not Damian who brought the team together in Roundhouse’s home. Damian wasn’t interested enough to organize this meeting himself. And why would he if he was the one who killed him in the first place?

Also every time the team questioned Damian about what to do or what HE wanted to do, he kept getting flashbacks back to Alfred and him. As if he was conflicted about telling the Team something he did.

Also when he was asked if he wanted to find out how Brother Blood died he hesitated and said, “ I agree with Red Arrow. You need to know why.”

Not, “‘we’ need to know why”. Almost implicating that he knows why he died (obliviously, if he killed him) and wants to:

a) Play along because if he said no they might be suspicious of him.

b) He wants them to know it was him. Like the guilt is eating up at him or he thinks it will somehow convince him to see his way and join him.

Plus it seemed like Emiko was suspicious of Damian. She was in deep thought at Roundhouse’s home about something. She kept trying to bring the focus on the cause of Brother Blood’s death as if there was something crawling at her in the back of her mind.

But I could be wrong. it could be KG Beast who killed him (which starts off Damian on his hunt or something).

Anyways...let me know what you thought about this issue in the comments. I love to see discussions in the comments.

What is your guy’s impression on Robbie Thompson’s first issue alone?

#I imagine this issue worse in my head so I was kinda surprised #Damian Wayne #Teen Titans #Robin #Batman #Alfred Pennyworth #Crush #xiomara rojas #billy wu #roundhous #wallace west ii #kid flash #emiko queen #red arrow #flash #green arrow #yicruz48

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thebluenebula · 4 years

Text

This just an idea I had for a Batfam story. Batman takes in a new child after they lose everything. I don't have any idea where this story will go or if I'll continue it for long.

Masterlist

Day 2

Day 3

A New Bat Pt1

I stepped out of the limo and looked on at the huge mansion looming over me. "Holy shit."

"Indeed Miss Ashleigh." Alfred had gotten out if the car and was now standing beside me. "You head inside now and I'll grab your bags."

"Let me help you Alfred."

"Nonsense. Master Bruce is waiting for you inside. It's best you go see him immediately."

I nodded to him and walked up to the door. It seemed so much larger now that I was in front of it. I knocked gently on in it. Within a minute the huge door swung open and behind it stood Bruce Wayne.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Ashleigh."

I looked in awe at the huge entrance hall.

"Ahsleigh. I'm glad that you are here. I tried to make sure most of the children are out today. I imagine meeting them all at once would be overwhelming."

"Exactly how many people live here?" I asked.

Bruce shrugged and laughed a little. "Honestly I'm not sure. It varies from day to day. At any one time there's usually at least eight people here."

"Jeez."

A voice chimed in from behind. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

I turned to see Alfred walking in the door carrying my bags. "Let me help you with those."

"No need Miss Ashleigh. I see no reason in bringing these any further until you have picked a room."

I turned back to Bruce. "I get to pick a room?"

"Well there's quite a few unused room in the manor. I'll get Dick to show you around and you can choose any of the unused rooms."

"Shall I retrieve Master Grayson?" Alfred asked.

"If you wouldn't mind Alfred." Bruce turned back to me. "Dick is my eldest and between us, he has more common sense then most of my other children."

A moment later Dick appeared out of one of the doors. "Alfred said you're ready for me to show the new kid around." He turned to look at me. " And there she is. Nice to meet you, I'm Dick Grayson."

"The names Ashleigh."

"Well Ashleigh, I'll show you around the place." He motioned for me to follow him.

Bruce placed a hand on my shoulder. "You go with Dick and Alfred will prepare dinner. Any allergies or general dislikes he should know about?"

I shook my head. "No none."

Bruce nodded and I took off after Dick.

"B's happy to take you in. Despite the fact he has like a dozen kids he's still not all that good at this parenting thing but he tries. I mean really how bad could he be. I turned out alright.

Dick showed me around the first floor. It had all the practical everyday rooms you would expect in a house. Kitchen, dining room, living room, etc. We chatted as we went through the rooms. Little fun facts about the manor. When it was built, what extensions had been added, etc. He even told me about himself. How he ended up in Bruce's care. He seemed like a nice guy. I'm pretty sure I'll enjoy it here.

"The second floor is mostly like hobby rooms." Dick said as we climbed the stairs to the next floor. "You got any hobbies?"

"I like to draw."

"Well theres a drawing room, a painting room, a music room, a gym, and a room for just about every other hobby you could have."

"Every hobby?"

"Every." Dick put a lot of emphasis on the word.

"Archery?"

"There's a range in the garden.

"Metalwork?"

"There's equipment for that down in the basement, along with woodworking equipment and the sorts."

"How about a shooting range?"

"There's one down in the cave. Jason kept at B until he had one installed."

The idea of Red Hood bugging Batman until he gave in paints a beautiful image in my head.

Dick pointed to a piece of paper hung on the wall. "Steph insisted on putting these maps around on this floor. There's one in almost every hall. She kept getting lost looking for Cass everytime she took up a new hobby."

I examined the map for a moment. "That's a lot of different rooms.""Yeah, it's B's way of showing interest in what were up to. Any time someone mentions an interest in something he has a room renovated to suit that hobby or interest."

"That sounds awesome." I was slightly in awe.

Dick smirked. "Yeah, one of the many perks of being adopted by a billionaire. Babs once complained about the price of cinema tickets, a week later we had an indoor cinema."

"Guess I should just complain a lot." I joked.

Dick laughed. "Anyway I don't think I need to show you around this floor. The maps should be enough direction. Steph works hard to keep them updated." Dick started up the stairs to the third floor. "This floor is all the bedrooms."

Suddenly a shape jumped down from the floor above and landed in from of me. I jumped back and lost my footing. I land back on the second floor. I opened my eyes to see Dick and the shape, a cat, a fuckin cat running down the stairs to me.

"Are you okay Ashleigh?"

I got to my feet. "I'm fine, just a little bruised." I glared at the cat.

"That is Alfred the Cat. He's a bit mischievous."

I watched the cat run off. "Yeah I think I got that. Any other pets I should know about?"

"Well we have two dogs, Ace and Titus, and Batcow."

"Is Batcow a mix between-"

"No, she's just a cow."

"Okay. Yeah a cow bat hybrid would be ridiculous."

"Well should we tour the next level?" Dick gestured up the stairs.

"Sure."

This time we reached the top of the stairs uninterrupted.

"I can't really show you inside the rooms, cause you know invasion of privacy and all that, but I can show you where my room is if you need me, and I'll show you the empty ones."

We walked down a couple of hallways and then stopped outside a door. Dick pushed the door open. "This is my room."

I looked inside. A large double bed against one wall. Gym equipment in the corner but other than that is was pretty ordinary, A dresses and a wardrobe. A big Tv and one one wall a large poster of The Flying Graysons. "It's nice.

"Thank you. Most of my personal belongs are in my apartment in Bludhaven so it's a little bland here. Theres plenty of empty rooms on this floor but I figure you probably want one with a window."

"That'd be nice"

We spent the next twenty minutes or so going through rooms I could choose but to me they all had the same problem. They were two big. I didn't own a lot of stuff. At least I didn't bring a lot of stuff here with me and the last thing I wanted was to be in a big empty room. Eventually we came to a smaller room. I took one step in side and it felt warm. Welcoming even. I turned to Dick. "What about this one?"

"You sure this ones okay? It's a lot smaller than some of the other ones."

"Yeah, its enough room for me." I smiled at him.

"Okay then. Remember you can always change to another one later if this one doesn't suit. I'll have Alfred bring your stuff after dinner."

"I'll bring them up. I'm sure Alfred is busy enough."

Dick smirked. "I think Alfred will like you. Dinners probably nearly ready. You can chill here for a while or wonder around. Just come down to the dining room soon. If you can remeber where it is."

I giggled. "Im sure I'll find it."

He left and I just stood there. Thinking. A month ago my life was completely different but after today everything changes. I smiled out the window. It overlooked the huge back garden. Honestly if I was just passing by the outside I'd assume this place was a hotel. I guess I should go down for dinner. Today is the beginning of a new life.A few flights of stairs and a couple wrong turns later I was in the dining room. The huge table was empty bar Dick sitting near the top.

I sat down across from him. He looked over to me. "Dinner might be another couple of minutes." Looked around to make sure no one else was in the room. "Apparently B tried to help Alfred. Which always ends in disaster."

"Not always." Bruce's voice chimed in from the other side of the room.

Dick flinched at the sound of the voice. "Piece of advice. If you ever talk bad of B, he usually pops up behind you."

Bruce laughed a little and took his seat at the head of the table. "Alfred is just finishing up the meal and will be joining us soon. I hope you enjoy spaghetti bolognese Ashleigh."

"One of my favourites."

"Trust me." Dick chimed in. "Alfred is the best cook in the world."

"While it may not be quite as good as Master Dick says it is most certainly above average." Alfred said as he walked into the room carrying a tray.

"Humble as ever Alfred." Bruce smiled.

"Of course Sir."Alfred set the tray down on the table and began to head back out of the room.

"Won't you be joining us Alfred?" Bruce asked.

Alfred stopped and turned to us. "Of course Sir." He took a seat next to Dick.

"So Ashleigh, have you chosen a room yet?" Bruce asked as he ate.

I had a mouth full of food. Typical. Silence for a second as I swallowed it. "Yes, it's one at the back. It looks over the garden. It lovely out there."

"She actually picked one of the smallest rooms." Dick pointed out.

"Huh." Bruce seemed intrigued. " I don't think anyone has deliberately picked a small room before." He then points to Alfred. "The garden is for the most part Alfred's work."

"It's a nice way to keep myself busy on my days off." Alfred commented.

Dick looked over to me. "Saturday and Sunday are Alfred's days off. Though he does usually still cook those days."

"Yes. Cooking is another thing I find to be relaxing." Alfred then glared over at Dick. "And if I didn't this manor would have burnt to the ground years ago.

"We're not that bad Alfred."

"Shall I tell Miss Ashleigh about the time-"

"No."

"Or perhaps-"

"No Alfred, that's quite alright." Dick turned to me. "Okay so maybe there's a reason most of us are banned from the kitchen.

I giggled and from the head of the table table Bruce let out a small chuckle."

Both Alfred and Dick stared at Bruce for a moment before they began to chuckle themselves. The rest of the dinner went by with lots of chatting and laughing.

"Alfred, delicious as always." Dick complimented the food as he took the last of it up in his fork.

"Thank you Master Dick." Alfred stood up from the table and gathered all the empty plates. "Now if you dont mind, I must tend to the dishes."

Dick stood up. "I'll help you Alfred. You should give Ashleigh a heads up about tommorow B."

Bruce nodded to him as the two left the room.

I looked to Bruce slightly concerned. "What happens tommorow?"

"Nothing serious. Dick just meant all the people that'll be around."

"Oh, how many people?"

Bruce shrugged. "Honestly I'm not sure. As I said it varies. Probably at least four, but it could be like ten. My guess is quite a few. Once they know theres a new person in the house im guessing most of them will come around for a while hoping to meet you."

"Oh." I was slightly worried at the thought of meeting so many people.

"I've warned them not to swarm you. My guess is they'll 'bump' into you across the day. Probably in groups of one or two."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"I'd warn you about each of them individually but i think its best you learn about them each yourself. Also ever door in this manor can be locked. If you need some time alone."

I nodded and stood up from the table. "Thank you. I should probably head to bed early after the flight. Jetlag and what not.Goodnight. If you need anything dont be afraid to ask."

"Of course. Goodnight."

I walked back to the entrance and grabbed my bags. I went up to my room, only taking one wrong turn this time. It took awhile to fall asleep but eventually it came to me.

I sat up. I was sweating. It was still dark outside. I stood up and threw on my clothes from yesterday. "It was just a dream, just a dream." I took a moment to settle my self. "Now where was that bathroom Dick showed?"

A couple of minutes of aimless wandering later and I found it. After I had emptied my bladder and washed the sweat off my face I headed back to my room. I approached the door when I saw two men walk out of my room. "Dick?"

"There you are." Dick walked over to me. "We just got back from patrol figured I'd check in on you."

I looked him up and down. He was still wearing his Nightwing costume. "Are you expecting something to happen to me?"

"No. Its just wanted to check in on you."

The figure behind him joined in. "He's very motherly kid. Best get used to it."

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I noticed the other figure was holding a helmet.

Dick pointed to him. "This is Jason or just Jay. Jay this is Ashleigh."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Jay turned to Dick. "Im gonna go get some shut eye. You can put the kid back to bed." He walked by by me and into one of the rooms.

"Jay's like that with everyone." Dick assured me. "You'll get use to it. The rest of the gang came in a while ago, they were asking about you."

"Oh."

"They're excited to meet you." He patted my shoulder. "Im going to get some rest my self. You know where I am if you need me."

I nodded and headed back to my room. I managed to fall back to sleep for awhile.

#batfam #batfamily #batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #nightwing #dick grayson #jason todd #red hood #fanfic #fanfiction #au #batsis #ashleigh wayne

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tiberiusblackthot · 5 years

Text

TO EVERYONE WHO SAYS TY DOESN‘T LOVE KIT IN TDA

1. He touches him excessively ☑

[Ty] held out his hand […] Ty’s fingers were cool and careful as he took hold of Kit’s arm to steady it.

[Ty's] hand was gripping his shoulder, hard

Ty was sitting on him as casually as if Kit was a sofa

[Ty] was wedged in beside him and Livvy on a love seat too small for the three of them

“I think it’s time for you to get your first real Mark,” said Ty […] Ty was standing behind him, his stele out, his eyes bright. “Your dominant hand is your right,” he said, “so put that one out, toward me.”

Ty pushed past Kit

They were now pressed so tightly together that Kit couldn't move his arms, pinned between Ty and Livvy

Ty glanced again at the drawing he held, then turned, his other hand outstretched to Kit […] His fingers closed around Ty’s, warm and firm under his grasp […]

His grip tightened on Kit’s, pulling him after

Ty tugged on Kit’s arm, pulling him away

They’d already left, Ty dragging Kit behind him with a firm grip on his wrist

He took Kit’s hand unselfconsciously and pressed the stone into his palm

Ty had been full of suppressed excitement all the way in the back of the Uber car, which he’d dealt with by pushing up the sleeve of Kit’s shirt and giving him several runes

Ty muffled a laugh and grabbed Kit’s sleeve

2. He has a cute lil' nickname for him ☑

“Watson”/ "my dear Watson"

3. He’ll play with his hair ☑

Ty reached out and brushed Kit’s hair away from his face, an absent sort of gesture

4. He likes to cuddle him ☑

"Put your arms around me," said Ty

"Hold on to me."

Kit stood breathless, the water receding around them, as Ty came up and put his arms around Kit’s neck […] He threaded his arms around Ty, crossing his cold hands over Ty’s back […] Ty leaned into him with a sigh

5. He smiles at him ☑

Ty smiled. It was a genuine, light-up-your-face-type smile

Ty blinked rapidly. Then he smiled

Ty’s mouth crooked at the corner. “Very good, Watson”

Ty smiled his rare, dazzling smile. “A bit”

“Blackthorns,” said Ty, with a dazzling smile

Ty, who had been straightening the paper clip, gave Kit one of his rare sunrise-over-the-water smiles. “You are.”

Ty smiled sideways

Ty looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “Details, Watson”

Ty smiled and tapped his side pocket, where his phone was

“Have you learned nothing from the way Batman’s parents died?” said Kit, feigning shock. Ty smiled

Ty smiled. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that a smile broke across his face, like the sun rising

Kit being the missing piece they had never known Ty needed, stealing a potato from Ty’s plate and making him smile

Kit smiled and Ty smiled back at him

6. He laughs at bad jokes with him ☑

“Waste of a perfectly good starfish,” muttered Kit, and Ty laughed

Kit burst out laughing. Ty looked even more astonished than he had when Kit had said he’d miss him. But after a second, he started to laugh too. They were both laughing, Kit doubled over the blankets, when Magnus came into the room

Out of patience, Kit slowly raised his middle finger. “Here’s the password.”

Ty muffled a laugh

7. He wants to be wherever Kit is ☑

Kit had been put in one of the spare rooms, as he’d asked, and Ty was sitting outside of it, reading a book.

Ty had been sleeping in front of Kit’s door for the past nights

Ty and Livvy were instantly on their feet, following him

He let the door of the fridge fall shut, and nearly yelled out loud [...] Ty Blackthorn stood in the middle of the kitchen.

He saw Ty asleep in front of Kit’s room, half-sitting up, his chin in his hand

"Some kind of doubled glamour?" said Ty, coming up beside Kit

Ty leaped up after him

Ty sat by the side of his bed

She looked at Ty, sitting on Kit’s bed […] Ty bounded to the door, seemed to remember Kit, and swung back around. “We can talk more later,” he said

Ty reached the ground and walked away from the pyre without stopping to catch his breath, heading across the grass toward Kit

Ty was near Kit, as he almost always was, like a magnet clicking into place

“You should go after him,” Mark said. “You’re the one he wants.”

Ty followed him out into the water

[Ty] went across the room to join Kit in the DOWNWORLDERS-WARLOCKS section, where Kit was struggling with several heavy books

8. He wants Kit to be wherever he is ☑

But it was Ty who hesitated. "Kit's coming, right?"

Ty joined Livvy at the door. "Are you coming, Kit?"

“Wake up! […] I have something I have to do and I’d rather you came with me”

“Do you want me to get Julian?” Kit said.

“Not right now,” Ty said […]

“Should I stay?” Kit said.

“Yes, I’d rather you did,” he said.

Ty […] was still asleep, Kit beside him

A moment later Kit was downstairs […] Ty didn’t say anything, or even glance over at him, but the tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly

“I’m glad you’re here […] I wanted to talk to you.”

“Will you come and sit down next to me?”

He took out his witchlight and gestured for Kit to follow him

Then Kit had come outside, and Ty’s expression had changed, as if he’d realized something

“Come sit next to me,” he said

“Kit, come up here––you can see everything.”

There was no answer.

Ty leaned down through the branches, searching the forest floor below the oak. It was bare. Kit was gone

9. He needs him ☑

“I need you,” Ty said. “You might be surprised to hear that.”

“I need to talk to you later,” Ty said

“You don’t––want to talk to your brother? To Julian?”

“No. I need to talk to you”

“I can do this without you […] but I don’t want to. Sherlock doesn’t do things without Watson.”

“You need me,” Kit asked slowly.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Ty spared her a cursory glance. “I need to talk to Kit now, though […]

“Okay,” Ty said again. “But I need to talk to you

The corner of Ty’s mouth trembled. “I don’t want to do it without you.”

“To never being parted,” Kit said, looking across the campfire at Ty […]

“To never being parted,” he said with a grave emphasis

10. He blushes ☑

He was blushing. It was very visible against his pale skin

11. He gives him thoughtful gifts ☑

First runes

First seraph blade

First witchlight

Potato chip breakfast

12. He acts like a concerned boyfriend ☑

“Are you all right?”

"You have blood on your hand,” Ty said. “I noticed it earlier."

“Are you bored?”

“Are you thinking about running away again?”

"I didn't want you to feel bad"

“I’m sure many people find you hilarious”

“Just words I like,” he said […] “Does it bother you?”

“Do you want more water?”

“You seem sad,” said Ty. “Are you?”

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

“That’s not it,” he said. “You’re mad at me, I think.”

“You are mad at me.”

“Kit,” he began haltingly. “I thought that you––I thought that it would be––”

13. He trusts him ☑

Ty turned suddenly to Kit. "Can you take her?" he said. "Carry Livvy?"

Ty hesitated. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said finally. “It was just an idea I had.”

“I’ll know.” Ty paused in his murmuring. “I don’t mind,” he said, “if it’s you.”

“You won’t tell him, will you?”

Kit threw himself at Ty, knocking him onto the sand. Ty tumbled backward without a struggle, too surprised to defend himself

He had leaned on Kit most of the way

14. He invades Kit’s personal space ☑

He leaned in toward Kit, whose back was against the wall

Ty turned to whisper in Kit’s ear

15. He lets Kit invade his personal space/ touch him ☑

Kit leaned close to Ty [...] "Neither do I," Ty whispered back”

Ty relaxed under the tight grip of his hands

He took a step toward Ty, touched his shoulder gently

He put his hand on Ty’s arm as Tiberius scanned the ground furiously

The mattress sagged, and he knocked against Ty’s elbow

Kit put his hand on Ty’s shoulder x 2

Kit touched Ty’s shoulder […] Ty’s back curved as he hunched forward, but he didn’t avoid the touch

Kit, who was sitting beside him, tentatively put his hand over Ty’s where it lay on the table; Ty didn’t react, though he didn’t draw away from Kit either

Kit realizing, put a hand on Ty’s arm

Kit pulled Ty toward him by his sleeve and whispered in his ear

Kit put his hand on Ty’s back, between his shoulder blades […] Kit remembered hearing somewhere that it was soothing to rub circles on someone’s back, so he did that. Ty’s breaths began to regulate

His hand shot out and grabbed Ty’s shoulders. He knew he shouldn’t––Ty didn’t like to be startled

16. He misses him when he’s gone ☑

Ty was also quiet […] Ty would smile, but he seemed unusually listless, uninterested […]

Eventually he went up to Magnus […]

“Where’s Kit, really?” Ty said, […] “I keep asking, but no one will tell me.”

“Kit’s all right. He’s with Tessa and Jem. He’s going to be living with them.”

“I know,” Ty said. His voice shook. “I know but––can I say good-bye to him? If I could just talk to him once––”

“He’s already gone,” Magnus said. “He didn’t want to say good-bye to you.” […]

“I don’t understand,” Ty said, his left hand fluttering at his side. He caught at his wrist with his right hand as if he could stop it […]

“I don’t understand.”

17. He spends A LOT of time staring at Kit ☑

He glanced at Tiberius. What was odder, perhaps, was that Ty was looking at him. Emma remembered Ty, years ago, saying, Why do people say “look at me” when they mean “look at my eyes”? You could be looking at any part of a person and you’re still looking at them. But he was looking curiously at Kit’s eyes as if they reminded him of something

Ty stumbled back and stared at the boy on the floor

He was once again conscious of the sense that Ty was studying him, maybe counting up his pluses and minuses or something like that

She had found Ty and Livvy sitting on the floor, watching as Jace tried to convince Kit

Ty’s eyes lit up. They still moved restlessly around Kit as if he were reading him, examining him, never quite meeting Kit’s own, but that didn’t dim their glow

He flicked his storm-cloud-gray eyes in Kit’s direction

He turned back to look at Kit and his sister

Everyone glared at him except Ty. “I thought of that too,” Ty said, looking delightedly at Kit

Ty looked up at that, his gray eyes aglow.

Ty looked at him

“The open rune’s not working,” said Ty, straightening up and looking at Kit as if he knew everything Kit was thinking. As if he knew everything Kit had ever thought

He looked over at Kit

Ty looked at him with sincere friendliness

Ty gave him a long, considering look, with a tinge of surprise to it

Ty’s gaze didn’t meet Kit’s, but he looked him over, as if checking for injuries

Ty bit his lip […] He glanced away from Kit

Ty looked up in surprise […] He was blushing

He looked up at Kit

Ty stared at him

His gaze slipped over Kit’s ear, his cheekbone, not quite meeting Kit’s eyes. "Watson––”

Ty, who was looking at him with concern, his gray eyes skating over Kit’s face as if he were a book he was having trouble reading

Ty raised his eyes; though they didn’t meet Kit’s, Kit could see the expression in them

Ty opened his eyes and looked toward Kit

Ty glanced at him sideways

He glanced up at Kit, who was sitting on a rise of sand, and beckoned him closer

“Fifty bucks says the Inquisitor develops a high-tech robot arm that shoots laser beams,” said Kit. Everyone looked at him

Ty looked up at Kit, who was standing close to the water’s edge

Ty stared at Kit confused, his gray eyes darting from Kit’s collarbone to his face and back down again

Ty looked up, his gray eyes flashing in his thin face

18. He puts himself through sensory overstimulation for Kit ☑

Ty reached for his headphones, too, but paused. Slowly he looped them back around his neck. "I should keep these off," he said. "I might need to hear something."

"He uses the headphones less when you’re around […] I think he just doesn’t want to miss anything you say.”

19. He cries and throws things because of Kit ☑

“I will help you. But not if you do this. Not if you do this, Ty.”

His mouth twisted, as if he was trying to hold in tears

He shoved at Kit, elbowing him hard in the throat. Kit coughed and let go; he grabbed for Ty again and Ty kicked at him. He could see that Ty was crying

Ty threw the stick aside; Kit jumped […] “I thought you cared, but you lied to me. Just like everyone else.”

“You only thought of yourself. I wish––I wish I’d never known you ––”

Ty’s eyes filled with sudden tears […] Ty was Ty; he didn’t weep easily, but he was wiping tears from his face with shaking hands

20. He ventures into caves with him ☑

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 4 years

Link

A @batfam-christmas-stocking fic written for @solarcelest!! happy holidays <3

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Picking Damian up from school isn’t something Tim can truthfully say sounds fun. It’s even worse seeing as Damian, grounded after going on patrol with four broken fingers and despite being told to stay home, is without a phone and has no idea it’s Tim coming today instead of Alfred. He’s taken the same car Alfred always uses, though, so he figures it’ll be fine up until the kid gets in and sees Tim.

He waits out the ungodly 30 minutes for the bell to ring playing games on his phone. Alfred had said to go even earlier if he wanted a good spot, but he’d waited until what felt like the last second. He didn’t get a great spot but Damian should still be able to see the car fine.

Eventually, Damian steps out of the school. Tim sets down his phone to watch, curious what Damian is like around people other than their family members and other heroes. He knows Dick, Steph, Duke, and maybe even Cass have seen that side of the kid, but Tim never has.

The other kids swarm out around him. He’s alone, dressed in his stiff school uniform. He looks up, and for a moment, his face is smooth and relaxed, none of the angry little wrinkles Tim is used to seeing. He looks…relieved, maybe. Tired. Happy the school day is over.

Yeah, Tim gets that.

He turns the engine once Damian spots the car and makes his way over with a lightness in his step. It’s honestly kind of cute, but Tim isn’t about to admit that to anyone.

Halfway there, another kid stops Damian as he walks by her, physically moving into his path. She’s taller and probably older, and she looks familiar to Tim in a way he’s come to realize means he must know her older sibling.

For a few minutes, they talk, and though Tim can read lips, they’re too far away, at a bad angle. He can read their body language just fine, though. Whatever she’s saying, it’s pissing Damian off.

For a brief moment, Tim entertains the idea of getting out of the car and going to get Damian himself. Rescue him from whatever is going on here, that’s making his face turn red and his fists to clench. But he knows it wouldn’t be appreciated, and honestly can’t blame Damian for that—Tim wouldn’t have wanted that either. It’s embarrassing, having to have an older sibling come and save you from bullies. If that’s even what’s happening here.

He decides to watch, and if it seems like any tears are going to be shed on either side, or fists are about to start flying, he’ll intervene.

In the end, Damian gets away from the girl, roughly pushing past her, and storms over to the car without Tim having to do anything.

Damian opens the door, flings his backpack in, and follows just as roughly. He closes the door and buckles up without looking over even once, then says, “Alfred, I— Timothy ?”

“Sup,” Tim says awkwardly. He isn’t expecting this to go well, and maybe he should preemptively try to not piss Damian off, but he can’t help it. He’s still getting used to being the kind of big brother Dick is, and so far, it’s been far easier with Duke than Damian. They get along better these days, but that isn’t saying much, really.

“Where is Alfred?” Damian demands.

“He had to take Duke to see his therapist and asked me to come get you. You strapped?”

“You can clearly see that I am.” Yup, definitely pissed.

“Just making sure!” Tim sighs and pulls out of the space, joining the long line of people also trying to leave the roundabout-like parking lot. After a few minutes of tense silence, they’ve barely made it half way out. Tim taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “How long does this usually take?”

“If you had gotten a better spot,” Damian says, mutinously glaring out the window, his arms crossed tight against his chest, “then we could have been gone already.”

Don’t argue with him, Tim, he tells himself. He’s just a kid. School is stressful, even without potential bullying. Don’t argue.

“ I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you can’t even do that right .”

“Look, Dami,” Tim says, much too loud. He has to force himself to lower his voice, but it’s too late—he can already see Damian clenching his jaw in the mirror. “I was just trying to help by coming here, okay? Otherwise, you would’ve been called out of school early, and had to sit around for an hour while Duke was—”

“That would have been preferable to being stuck here with you!”

Damian’s voice rings out just as Tim gets out on the road, and for a moment, neither of them speak.

“Damian.”

“This is unacceptable! Alfred is the one to pick me up. I don’t want anyone else. Just Alfred. And certainly not you . Why couldn’t it have been Richard? Or Stephanie?”

“Dick’s in New York with the Titans, and Steph is in class right now,” Tim says, fingers tight on the wheel. He’s glad Damian isn’t slinging insulting nicknames around yet, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

“Tt. So of course you’re all that’s left.”

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

They go back to glaring out their respective windows. As they take the winding road back to Bristol, Tim weighs the merits of attempting to figure out what happened. It’ll probably only upset Damian further, but dammit, Dick would ask. Jason would, too. Cass would’ve already figured out what was eating Damian without having to ask, but she would do it anyway. Open up the communication lines, Tim’s therapist and Alfred and Clark all say.

Slowly, he asks, “Is this tantrum because of what that girl was saying to you?”

“I am not having a tantrum, and it doesn’t matter what that wench said!”

“Right, so you’re shouting at me because you’re totally cool, calm, and collected and not at all upset?”

“Yes,” Damian seethes. “Congratulations on noticing the obvious.”

“If I was stating the obvious, I would say that whatever she said upset you and then the disruption of your routine made it worse, and now you’re taking it out on me because I’m the most convenient target.”

“I am not upset!”

“Fine, okay,” Tim gives in. Pushing isn’t going to help. “You’re not upset. Whatever.”

“No, I am not.” Damian pauses, and then he bursts, “ It doesn’t matter what she said, anyway, because all it was was a bunch of drivel about how Father only took me in to look good to the society people, just another one of his charity cases . But that’s not true! I know it’s not! Father cares about me and he took me in because he is my father and it was the right thing to do, not because of...that. That’s ridiculous and wrong!”

Oh. Oh, shit. Poor kid, Tim thinks. He was bullied, too, and he knows how much it hurts. Fuck, he needs to find out who this girl is so he can figure out a way to get her to leave Damian the fuck alone. Jason will help.

“And I wanted to talk to Alfred about it, because he…has a good sense of how to parse these things, how to react to them in a way that is befitting of someone like me ,” Damian says, diplomatic and on the verge of tears. “But instead, I am forced to talk to you, as if you could be of any aid at all!”

“I used to get bullied,” Tim offers. “I know something about how it feels. And you’re right, none of that is true. It’s all elitist, racist bullshit that she’s probably copying from her parents who are jealous Bruce has more money than them.”

“Of course it is. I know that. I don’t need you to pathetically try and comfort me, Timothy.”

Tim forces a sigh down before it can get out. No, Damian doesn’t need him, and would probably be much better off with Alfred, Dick, or Steph. But right now, he’s only got Tim, and clearly this talking thing is working out. “I know.”

They’re getting close to home, but he still turns on the radio to a song he knows Damian likes. At least it gives them both a reason not to keep talking.

#bsc19 #tim drake #damian wayne #batfam #batfamily #batfam fic #my writing #solarcelest #fanfic

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that-shamrock-vibe · 4 years

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TV Review: Crisis on Infinite Earths (Spoilers)

Part Two: Batwoman

Spoiler Warning: I am posting this review the day after the episode airs in the U.S. so if you haven’t yet seen the episode or are waiting to watch the crossover all in on, don’t read on until you have.

Overview:

I was right, and I’m so annoyed they couldn’t keep the high momentum of the first episode here. Where Part One felt like an epic and grand high-stakes crossover opener, Part Two feels more like the typical and somewhat formulaic Arrowverse episode. The problem with that is, it’s supposed to be both! I don’t quite get how the episode that had the most elements I was looking forward to fizzled this much.

But now with the true enemy finally revealing himself, and the promise of more Paragons to find, can Crisis save itself while it destroys the Multiverse?

Avenging the Fallen:

So the episode opens with the three main women of the Arrowverse, Kara, Sara and Kate, drinking in memory of Oliver. I have to say, I know this is a Batwoman episode and these three women in particular do often preach girl power and all that, but the fact Ray isn’t there at least does just make it seem like they wanted this girl power moment, and as Kate said, the Multiverse is still in danger.

As I mentioned when talking about Batwoman in my Elseworlds review, there were problems that fortunately have been fixed by Batwoman the TV series mostly, I still don’t like the fact she’s not a red head, I still don’t like how similar Ruby Rose and Erin Richards look because it’s distracting to me. Even a choppy bob style as Kate has in the comics would differentiate the two more for me.

That being said, Ruby Rose sold the dry cynical humour here as she does in her own series. I loved how she left the drink here but later wished she hadn’t, in that same scene when the Monitor reveals Batman’s secret identity how she demands discretion from the team was funny, Kara finding Earth-99 Luke Fox attractive and Kate finding it weird I thought was hilarious and Ruby Rose sold that very well for me.

Also, for all Kara’s mourning about her lost planet, there was no confirmation on where Alex, Brainy, J’onn, Nia, Kelly or Lena were after the climax of Part One. I know Brainy and I think J’onn are in future parts of this crossover but it would have been good for a side comment saying where they are.

Speaking of mourning, my god Mia goes hard here. It’s funny because in last week’s episode of Arrow, Oliver was all for Diggle finding a way to get Mia and William back to 2040, yet Mia is still around and making understandably emotion-driven but drastic decisions and both Barry and Sara, who are supposed to be older, wiser and more level-headed particularly in this area, are going along with it.

Barry especially, I believe, feels that if he can help Oliver cheat his fate then maybe he can as well considering that Iris has now got the idea that with The Monitor being wrong about how Oliver died maybe Barry won’t die either, that’s just stupid to give someone who has already accepted his fate and has been known to make the stupidest decisions going (Flashpoint) when he feels he can change it.

Mia decides to use a Lazarus Pit to resurrect Oliver and, like I said, both Barry and Sara agree. Sara does need some convincing I grant you and Caity Lotz does sell that she is never fully on-board with the idea, and why would she be because she knows first hand what the pits do.

I did appreciate the Nyssa mention, I just wish she had been their guide to the pit on Earth-18, instead we get a mini-fight between Mia, Sara and an unaltered Jonah Hex.

I did kind of guess Hex would appear as soon as the location was revealed as North Dakota, and to be fair I didn’t really see where Jonah Hex would fit into this crossover, so I am glad they found a space for him.

I also like that Constantine has something to do finally, because I am tired of just seeing Sara and Ray, as much as I love Sara and tolerate Ray, it’s called Legends of Tomorrow and currently I think has the biggest main cast out of these shows...so why am I being drip-fed Legends with now the addition of Constantine and Mick...again I do enjoy both of them but give me the god damn team.

Barry and Constantine bring Oliver to the Lazarus Pit and, as expected, Oliver emerges as an out of control rage monster that Stephen Amell does not sell quite as well as Caity Lotz or Willa Holland previously have.

I guessed Oliver would somehow be brought back, because while the Arrowverse execs try to say “We killed him off in part one to show no one is safe”, it was an eye-roll for me because you’re not going to kill the original main star of the Arrowverse in the first part.

My only issue with it is it happened so quickly, there was no time really to miss him because he was dead at the end of part one and suddenly they’re talking about bringing him back.

Sara had an entire season between death and resurrection and Thea’s resurrection came with great sacrifice on Oliver’s part joining the League of Assassins. Here, we had Constantine saying that the antimatter was making him lose his magic so he couldn’t bring back Oliver’s soul like he did for Sara, which only makes me wonder why they’re wasting time trying to bring someone back rather than stopping existence from dying.

Paragon Pursuit - Bat of the Future:

Okay so, apparently The Monitor has recently discovered seven Paragons across the Multiverse that can come together to defeat the Anti-Monitor. He knows this from retrieving the Book of Destiny from the timeline which was the McGuffin in Elseworlds last year.

Fortunately four of these paragons are known to The Monitor, the Paragon of Hope is Kara Zor-El and the Paragon of Destiny is Sara Lance. I got why this worked because Supergirl’s main brand is all about hope and she’s from a parallel world while Sara is of Earth-1 tying into the fact these seven Paragons are spread across the multiverse.

The Monitor tells the team that two more Paragons are to be found on different Earths, the first is the Bat of the Future on Earth-99 which Mar-Novu name drops as Bruce Wayne, much to Ray’s surprise and Kate’s annoyance.

Again I am actually enjoying Brandon Routh in this crossover, and cannot understand why he isn’t at this level on his own show.

Kate and Kara go to Earth-99 where they come across a dilapidated Wayne Manor, which looks more dishevelled than the one from the DCEU, and meet Earth-99 Luke Fox...who I had to double-take to ensure it was in fact Camrus Johnson partly because of how different he looks not geeked up and also because he is the only other main character of Batwoman to appear in this Batwoman episode.

Now I get that none of the other supporting players are vigilantes at this point, but not even Earth-1 Luke Fox making an appearance is slightly unfair, and you could argue that during Invasion! None of Supergirl’s supporting players were involved, but Supergirl still had an episode in that week which featured its main cast.

Again also Kate’s reaction to Kara finding this Luke attractive was probably my favourite moment in the episode.

Once forcing their way inside, Kate and Kara meet Earth-99 Batman, Mr. Kevin Conroy. I was so looking forward to seeing this veteran Batman voice actor in live-action and when you don’t see him talking, he sounds a lot like Batman of the DCAU, the only problem is I was promised Kingdom Come Batman and didn’t really get that.

I don’t know Kingdom Come that well but I thought Batman was supposed to be the main force of good left in the world, yet not only is he killing his rogues as displayed in his trophy case, including a Riddler cane which I also own, but he also killed Superman.

It’s at this point that Kate and Kara realise that this Batman is not the Paragon of Courage they were sent to retrieve and at that point Batman turns on Supergirl apparently hating Kryptonians.

Now this is where it gets interesting because before this, there is actually some good character moments for Bruce and Kate where Bruce tries to make Kate see that where he is in his mindset is where she should be, not trusting anyone, not believing in anything, just becoming the night basically.

It echoes similarly to what Lex Luthor tried to install in Lena last season which eventually worked as we know and it apparently maybe worked here because, even though Kate saved Kara from her doppleganger cousin, she still kept that Kryptonite wrist strap of his...what does she plan on doing?

Anyway before the Kryptonite reveal, we see Kate and Kara return to base where they tell The Monitor they failed retrieving the Paragon, but The Monitor reveals that the Bat of the Future and the Paragon of Courage is in fact Kate herself.

I don’t know how to feel about this, I love the fact Batwoman is being spotlighted even though she is the new girl, however, it does seem like the only reason she is the Paragon is because this is her show.

Also to have two Paragons from the same Earth? Not exactly far spread out.

Paragon Pursuit - Reign of the Supermen:

While Kate and Kara are on Earth-99, Earth 38′s Clark and Lois, and Iris for some reason, scourer the Multiverse for the Paragon of Truth, which is revealed to be a Superman...but which Superman.

Well just before they head off a spanner is thrown into the works in the form of Earth-38s Lex Luthor. We knew Jon Cryer would be back, I thought he would have returned in the Supergirl episode but we also see at least three other versions of Superman here so why not.

Anyway Lex steals the Book of Destiny because the Monitor apparently brought him back to be duped by the supervillain, shocker, and Lex travels the Multiverse killing off Supermen.

Clark, Lois and Iris first arrive on Earth-75 where they are too late because Earth-38 Lex has already killed this version of Superman who lies dead on the big screen with his Lois mourning the loss.

Their second attempt sees them arrive on Earth-167, which is the vaguest Easter-Egg reference going as it refers to Smallville co-producer Al Gough’s year of birth 1967...

When Tom Welling said he and Erica Durance were only in one scene they weren’t kidding, however I loved it. I am a massive Smallville fan, it was my proper Superman introduction, these versions of Clark and Lois are my Clark and Lois and that’s not going to change.

The decision for Clark not to have powers here is a weird one because they highlighted the fact that the Smallville Comics which followed the TV series would count as canon, yet aside from returning to the Kent Farm nothing we learn about Clark and Lois here was mentioned in the comics.

Also Clark and Lois have daughters, I’m not sure who they’re supposed to be but I’ve only ever known them to have a son...Jonathan...and since when did all the Supermen need to be Superdaddies anyway?

Anyway Earth-38 Lex shows up and Clark has the great confusion of wondering why Jon Cryer doesn’t look like Michael Rosenbaum, it is again sad that Rosenbaum didn’t reprise the role, but to have a Lex Luthor going up against multiple Supermen was still quite cool.

When Clark reveals he gave up his powers, most likely to be a father and family man, it did just seem like a cheat way for the writers to say “Yeah we have Smallville’s Clark Kent, but he won’t be part of the action”. Which as a Smallville fan is painful because I wanted to see Tom Welling in the tights, flights and action!

Also once Lex and the heroes disappear, Smallville’s Lois arrives and I have to say, she looks exactly the same as she did back in 2011 but different to how she looks as Alura Zor-El. Maybe it’s the choice of farm clothes as opposed to regal dresses but this is Lois Lane I had through my teen years, everything from the fashion to the hair, to the voice. I wasn’t crazy about the laugh because it seemed a bit forced, but she called him Smallville straight after and spoke in her high-energised way so I was happy.

The final stop was on Earth-96 which is a reference to the year the Kingdom Come storyline came out, it was confirmed that Brandon Routh would be Kingdom Come Superman but also the version of Superman from 2006 Superman Returns which Routh starred in.

We meet, or are reacquainted with,Routh’s version of Clark Kent. I have to admit I never much cared for Superman Returns, possibly because Smallville was on at the time and that version had already won me over. But I do know that Brandon Routh drew a lot of inspiration from Christopher Reeves and his portrayal of the character and you can clearly see that in both his fashion and acting.

I want to say it’s sad to see that pretty much all of Superman’s supporting staff at the Daily Planet are dead, Sam Huntington in my opinion was a decent Jimmy Olsen, but if this was Smallville’s Daily Planet staff all killed I’d be distraught.

Again I am comparing a lot but they are literally scenes apart from each other here.

Anyway, just as it’s confirmed that Brandon Routh’s Superman is the Paragon of Truth, Lex Luthor appears and decides he’s fed up with killing Supermen...we’ve only seen him kill one but there you go, and decides to turn Kingdom Come Superman against Earth-38 Superman in order for his now puppet to kill the other one.

I have to say, this was another weak battle sequence, I know it’s really CGI with two Supermen flying around, but neither Brandon Routh or Tyler Hoechlin have really sold flying as Superman to me that well anyway.

Lois finally does something and knocks Lex unconscious while she and Iris, who I cannot understand why she even came along at all, try to use the Book of Destiny to fix Kingdom Come Superman.

Eventually Lois gets through to KCS by appealing to his love for humanity and for his lost Lois. This breaks him free of the book’s control just in time before he snaps Earth-38 Superman’s neck.

With Lex detained, the heroes all return to base where they set up a machine to search for the rest of the Paragons.

Harbinger’s Headache:

This sounds stupid but genuinely is what happens, since the start of the episode when Mar-Novu reveals the Book of Destiny, Harbinger starts to get headaches, this does alert her to the fact Lex Luthor is stealing the book but also puts her in the pathway of the Anti-Monitor.

Yes we finally see the big bad of the crossover in all his...glory? He looks ridiculous! His concept artwork does make him look like Oscar Isaac’s Apocalypse but the actual thing we get just looks ugly.

I will give a minor positive and say it is better to see him in the show than he looks on the promotional images because I get the feeling lighting is not this guy’s friend and we meet him in what looks like the hallway of S.T.A.R. Labs.

Mick Rory, Baby Whisperer:

Again, this sounds stupid, but I wanted to highlight this for a couple of reasons and to spotlight Legends of Tomorrow because it doesn’t look like this crossover is doing that.

Firstly, this Mick Rory isn’t our Mick Rory, this is in fact the Mick Rory of Earth-74...why is it called Earth-74? I don’t know because originally there were only supposed to be 52 Earths, then Earth-X came about and now we have Earth-167 so I’m making my peace with them making it up as they go along.

Anyway, Dominic Purcell has grown on me since he was first introduced on The Flash. I think once you accept the fact that DC’s Legends of Tomorrow is essentially a piss-take because that is what it’s become then you accept why the characters do what they do, and not only turning a Flash rogue into a hero/legend is understood but also having him be a writer, have a rat as a pet and be good with babies is also understood.

We see that Earth-74 has a Waverider and did have its own version of the Legends before they all disbanded, Mick has taken command of the Waverider as seemingly his home where he is a struggling writer and his only companion is the Waverider’s A.I. Leonard...Wentworth Miller is back! As a disembodied voice, I would have liked to have at least seen his floating blue head but no we get the voice which is fine by me to be honest.

Once Harbinger commandeers the Waverider ad brings it to Earth-1 with Mick on board, he seemingly becomes the only person on board who Jonathan won’t cry for...not his mum, not his dad, not his aunt...a gun wielding alcoholic hot-head...great choice kid.

It is the lowest form of comedy side-story going but it is still nice to see them at least attempt to include the Legends and particularly Wentworth Miller in some form.

Easter-Eggs:

Superman III:

Alright so this is a clever throwback as this version of Superman Brandon Routh is portraying may be repackaged as Kingdom Come Superman, but he is also the same Superman Routh portrayed in 2006′s Superman Returns, who in turn is the same Superman Christopher Reeve played during the 80s, one movie Reeves was in was Superman III where Superman’s human and Kryptonian sides physically fought each other.

This plot point has also been done in Smallville briefly during the opening episode of Season 4 but not to the same degree as here or Superman III.

Smallville:

So many Smallville Easter-Eggs in one small scene, the first was the mention of Smallville’s Lex Luthor being the President of the United States of America. In a vision of the future Lex Luthor was indeed president and during the flashforward epilogue of the Smallville finalé he was running for president.

I also appreciated the time joke that Lois made when she said that it’s taken about a decade for Clark to “make a funny”. In real-time it has been almost a decade since Smallville finished as it was 2011, whereas now it is 2019.

Captain Cold:

Some things never change and whether he’s a doppleganger of the original or an A.I. version of the man, Wentworth Miller’s charm oozes out.

When Harbinger arrives on the Earth-47 Waverider, she notes that she is aware of who the A.I. is and he responds with his classic line “Always pleased to meet a fan”, this he has said a couple of times firstly in Season 1 of The Flash and then again with the Legends.

This was a great episode on reflection but in terms of ramping up the drama and grandeur of the crossover it did need work. Hopefully it’s only a minor bump before tonight’s third part, which promises a sizeable cliffhanger before the Christmas break.

So that’s my review of Crisis on Infinite Earths: Batwoman, what did you guys think? Post your comments and check out more DC TV Reviews as well as other TV Reviews and posts.

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terresdebrumestories · 5 years

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Clark Kent, of Krypton - 4/4: Clark Kent

FANDOM: DC’s cinematic universe. RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 27 147 (Fic total: ~98k words) PAIRING(S): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (main focus is on Clark, though). CHARACTER(S): Kal-El | Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jor-El, Lara Lor-Van, Kara Zor-El, Zor-El, Martha Kent, Alfred Pennyworth, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, Victor Stone, John Stewart, J’onn J’onn, plus a quick cameo by Lois Lane. GENRE: Alternate Universe (canon divergence), transition fic with romance. TRIGGER WARNING(S): A great deal of anxiety and self loathing, especially in parts one and two. Some descriptions are heavily inspired by my experience of dysphoria-induced dissociation. SUMMARY: Batman crashes on Krypton a few days before the Turn of the Year celebrations and Kal-El's life takes a sharp turn to the left, on a path that will ultimately lead him to becoming Clark Kent.

OTHER CHAPTERS: [I. Kal-El] [II. Shadow] [III. Superman] ALSO AVAILABLE: [On AO3] [On Dreamwidth]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you, still, to @stuvyx for the wonderful illustrations and to @susiecarter for the beta :D

Wonder Woman—“Call me Diana”—retrieves a long wrap-up dress from a bag hidden on a nearby building, tucks her hair into a tight bun, and takes Kal to a nearby shop for what she introduces as one of humanity’s best inventions and the shop advertises as ninety-nine different flavors of ice cream.

“I should probably warn you I haven’t had ice cream before,” Kal says as they sit down after Diana paid for their order. “I have no idea what it might do to my—I don’t know how well I’ll digest it.”

“Well,” Diana says with a smile, “we’ll just have to keep an eye out for unfortunate symptoms.”

Kal chuckles as Diana dives into her five-flavored mountain of ice cream with gusto, and for a moment they are entirely focused on their respective desserts. Kal can’t help but let out an exclamation of pleased surprise at the deliciousness of it, and laughs at himself when a few heads turn his way. Across from him, Diana is chuckling into her chocolate chip mint, and she winks when she sees Kal blush.

“Ice cream was one of the first things I discovered when I joined the world of men,” she says with a fond smile, eyes going just a little distant with the memory. “Everything was so...gray. The ice cream was delicious, though. Plain vanilla. I remember telling the vendor he should be very proud.”

Kal follows her in an amused chuckle, and tries the cherry and chocolate flavor he took such a long time to settle on. It might, possibly, be his favorite so far.

“I don’t think I can fault you for that reaction, you know. This is delicious...though, to be fair, I haven’t had food I really disliked, so far.”

He’s not overly fond of seafood, but that honestly has more to do with the fact that he can’t keep it down more than fifteen minutes than with the taste or texture of it. Fortunately ice cream doesn’t seem to be having any adverse side effects so far. Kal gives himself a second to appreciate that, before he caves in and says:

“Please don’t think I’m not enjoying this but...why did you bring me here?”

He can’t possibly imagine Diana as the sort of woman who would have more than a passing interest in someone like him after all. An eye-catching costume is not enough to erase who he is in the slightest.

“Can’t I simply check on a new colleague after his first mission?” Diana asks with a smile that leans too far to the cheeky side to be entirely innocent.

Kal resists the urge to rub at his neck, but only just. He is, after all, acutely aware of the vast gap between Diana and him—doesn’t know the exact shape of it, of course, but the very way Diana carries herself is more than enough evidence for him to go on. She must see something of his feelings on his face, too, because in an instant her grin softens into something a tad less teasing.

“If I’m to be fully honest,” she says in a conspirational tone, “I have to admit I’m also very curious about you.”

“About me?”

Kal catches himself before he points at his forehead—not the ideal gesture to blend in—but he couldn’t restrain himself from blinking even if he wanted to. What is there even to be curious ab—oh.

“Oh,” he says once the avalanche settles. “I—I don’t know how...ready I am. To talk about...home,” he finishes, rather lamely.

He’s been—it’s easier, these days, to talk about it with Martha, sharing tidbits of the world he grew up in whenever he discovers something new with her, comparing their faiths while observing Martha’s customs...but that’s different. That’s just—they have things in common. It’s easy to share with Martha because she shares so much of herself already: all Kal has to do is answer in kind, and make sure he’s as much of a support for her as she is for him. It would be another thing entirely, to answer Diana’s questions—to dig into his memories for something vaguely academic, to try and order his thoughts into something...coherent and understandable. It is a work he’ll have to start on, eventually. There will be others with questions about where he came from, what he did, why he came to Earth. Right now, though, even the thought of it is too much to stomach.

Diana, however, doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“That’s all right,” Diana says with the kind of indulgent chuckle adults tend to reserve for silly children. “Like I said, I’m actually more curious about you.”

“Me?” Kal blinks, wrong-footed despite himself. “What could you possibly want to know about me?”

Diana gives an elegant shrug, settling back in her seat with studied nonchalance, but Kal doesn’t miss the sharpness of her gaze, the thoughtful pursing of her lips as she looks him up and down. The once-over makes him blush from the scrutiny—although, he is quite relieved to note, there is no sexual undertone to the gesture—and he has to remind himself that fiddling with his napkin is actually a possibility now that no one’s there to reprimand him.

“Anything you’d like to tell me,” Diana says, eyes still alert. “Bruce is the most tightly controlled man I’ve ever met—I’d like to know what it takes to impress him so much.”

Kal all but chokes on his chilled water, spluttering when he spills a good quarter of his glass on his lap as a result. Batman, impressed? By him ? Either this is a cruel joke, or Diana has Kal confused with someone else—anyone else, really. Kal is so far—he wouldn’t even be able to impress the public version of Bruce Wayne, he’s sure of it, so for Diana to think he’s impressed Batman ? Rao, the thought would make him laugh if it didn’t come attached to the certainty of failure where he and Diana being friends is concerned.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Diana, “but I think there’s some kind of misunderstanding here. I’m not—he’s not—”

“Oh, I daresay he is,” Diana cuts in with a brilliant grin, “but you don’t have to believe me—and we don’t have to keep talking about him either, unless you’d like to?” She pauses just long enough for Kal to shake his head. “Well then. Tell me about you. What do you do?”

“I’m sorry?” Kal says, stumped by the turn of phrase.

“As a job, I mean,” Diana clarifies. “What kind of civilian identity did you build for yourself?”

“Oh,” Kal says, wincing a little while his hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck. “I, uh—I don’t really have...one...anymore?”

He sinks into the booth bench with every word, red leather creaking under him while Diana’s face grows increasingly tight with something that might—just might—be like righteous anger. Not that Kal is very eager to stay and find out—she won’t harm him, he’s pretty sure, but he’s never dealt well with being scolded, and he’s got a feeling that coming from someone as eminently admirable as Wonder Woman, it’d be even worse.

“Sorry?” he offers, stumbling through the word as his brain waddles through his abrupt shame for even a scrap of competence. “I just don’t—”

“Kal,” Diana interrupts. She’s firm but not stern, and Kal wonders what it is, then, that makes his stomach sink like a stone when she says his name. “You have to have one. Even a flimsy one will do, but you can’t—no one can wear the uniform all the time. No one. You’ll go crazy, if you don’t have anything but the cape.”

Kal nods in silence, and doesn’t have the heart to tell her he already knows what that feels like. He stirs the conversation away from that particular topic instead, exchanging stories of his first few days on Earth—without sharing Martha’s name—for Diana’s first adventures in what she calls “the world of man” over a hundred years ago, and laughing in horror when she tells him about her first contact with the other members of the League.

“You can’t be serious,” he tells Diana, and this time her snort of laughter has absolutely no mirth in it.

“Oh, I am. It’s a good thing I’ve had time to learn how to think before I speak—had I been fifty, maybe even forty years younger, Lex Luthor’s scheme might actually have worked.”

“Well,” Kal says, “I’m glad it didn’t happen to me...I don’t know that I’d have handled it as well as you did.”

“Luckily, we won’t have to find out.” Diana shrugs, her mood brightening again. “Luthor is in prison, his creature dead underground, and we are all very, very grateful for John’s perfect timing.”

Kal sighs in belated relief, glad that he didn’t have to discover an Earth where Batman and Wonder Woman had been at war—or worse, still were. He cannot imagine the state of things if Diana hadn’t forcibly manhandled Bruce into a long conversation about everyone’s goals and principles, and while it’s a pity the two of them—three, with the Green Lantern’s timely intervention—had to kill what sounds like a perfectly innocent Mlrn to protect Earth, at least the planet remains safe; that’s all that matters.

“That we are,” he agrees. Then his suit vibrates with a time alert, and Kal winces. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I promised my host I’d be back for dinner, so….”

“Oh,” Diana says, “yes, of course.”

She insists on paying, which is objectively a good thing despite his unease at owing anything—even something as small as that—to someone he barely knows. Kal doesn’t exactly have money to his name, not even cash. He promises Diana that he will pay for their next ice cream—the width of her smile enough to soothe a wave of panic when he realizes he didn’t even ask her if she wanted there to be a next one—and then sets off toward Kansas.

He and Martha share a small celebratory dinner, Kal blushing his way through the recounting of his story and making an embarrassingly enthusiastic sound when Martha gets her apple and rhubarb pie out of the oven. The dessert is more than worth it, in Kal’s opinion, and Martha's fond laughter doesn’t hurt at all, either. In fact, Kal even finds himself expressing his delight more than he usually would, just so he can hear her chuckle again—it works like a charm, and Kal keeps the game up until he thinks, unexpectedly, of his parents’ faces the last time he attempted to make them smile and the mirth slides right out of him.

“Oh, by the way!” Martha says, either not realizing what’s going on in Kal’s head or offering him an out from it. “Batman called while you were away—don’t look so shocked, dear, he’s had my number longer than you’ve had his. And it isn’t like he can phone your suit, now, can he?”

“Right,” Kal says, surprised at his own reaction, “of course. Did he leave a message?”

“Only that he wanted to talk to you,” Martha says. “You ought to call him—and figure out a way for him to call you. I’m too busy keeping this farm afloat to take on a job as your secretary.”

Kal promises not to make a habit of it, taking the dishes off the table as he goes, and speeds through the washing up before he goes into his room, sits on the open windowsill, and has the suit patch him through to Bruce’s phone.

“We need to procure a phone for you,” Bruce says in Ellon, in lieu of greeting.

He still speaks in the slow, slightly too-well-articulated way Ellon nobles do—a sharp contrast to Kal’s definitely Shadow-inspired grammar. But he’s taken to using more familiar forms again these days. He’s willing to meet Kal as an equal—perhaps a friend, even, someday—and the deliberate increase in grammatical proximity is enough to turn the fond eyeroll threatening to overtake Kal into a grin, a feeling like warm water in the bottom of his stomach.

“Hello, Bruce,” he says, bringing his knees up to his stomach as if to trap the soft heat there. “Martha and I were just talking about this, actually. We agree, really, it’s just—I don’t really have money and—”

“And you are talking to a literal billionaire,” Bruce retorts with clear exasperation, “and worrying about pennies.”

A beat passes, during which Kal’s mouth gapes open and then closes again all on its own. It isn’t—money is not...well, it is the problem, but—it’s not Martha’s money that’s the problem. Sure, Bruce has more of it than he could even think of spending for the rest of his life, but….well. It still leaves Kal uncomfortable to take money from him, is all. He hasn’t quite figured out why, yet, but the feeling is there. He barely has time to wonder how to explain all of that, though, before Bruce concludes:

“As I thought. I’ll send it over tomorrow.”

“All right,” Kal says, because there really isn’t anything else to say when all has been decided. “Martha said you wanted to talk?”

Silence, brief but all the sharper for it, until Bruce breathes in like he’s gearing up to dive—not that Kal is meant to hear it, probably—and says:

“There’s video footage of this morning.”

“Oh.”

Possibly not the most intelligent reaction Kal could have had—in fact, he should maybe have anticipated that. Still, getting caught on camera is—there’s a reason Shadow’s suit was programmed to deal with nearby recording equipment whenever he got out. To be filmed, to give anyone the occasion to study him, could have spelled his death back on Krypton. He isn’t as fragile now as he was then, that’s for sure, and the likelihood of anyone linking what that Daily Planet reporter has dubbed The Superman to Martha Kent is too low to be of concern just yet, but old habits die hard.

“I, uh—” Kal attempts when Bruce doesn’t seem interested in using any more words, “I thought that—um. It went...well. I mean, I suppose there’s room for improvement—”

“You don’t say.”

The words knock Kal right out of himself, into the small space that never quite ceased to exist between himself and Shadow, the brand new emptiness between Kal and the Superman. It’s—it’s a familiar space, but it was never particularly comfortable, and finding it here when he’d hoped to be rid of it forever leaves Kal almost breathless with the pain of it. He blinks, throat tighter than it should be, and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he should not—should not —be surprised when Bruce says:

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

“Look,” Kal tries, eyes drifting to the endless sky as if there could be some comfort there, “I’m sorry. I realize it wasn’t perfect—”

“You were thoroughly unprepared,” Batman cuts in, “and it showed. You had no idea what the fire would do to you, did you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“It could have made you explode, for all we know,” Batman continues, without acknowledging Kal’s words, the calm of his tone one more reason for Kal to wince. “You put your life in danger—”

“The suit is fireproof, actually,” he points out, barely restraining a roll of his eyes in time. “I’m not entirely stupid, you know. I’m not convinced by your explosion theory either.”

“My point is,” Batman replies through what sounds like painfully gritted teeth, “that you went into this without preparation, putting not only your life but also those civilians’ lives in danger, and—”

“And if I hadn’t done anything,” Kal interrupts, finally finding his voice when a flash of anger rises inside him, “they could have died anyway—I heard some of the firefighters talk, you know, and even if—”

“Kal—”

“You forget I wore Shadow’s suit long before I came up with the Superman’s!”

There is a short pause while Kal gets his breathing back under a semblance of control, too incensed to even think of being embarrassed by his own outbursts. He can feel the heat high in his cheeks, the burn of anger in his armpits, and it feels like he’s trying to cough up glass when he continues:

“I couldn’t have allowed myself to stand by and do nothing any more than you could have remained inactive back in El! Now, I may be—inexperienced, and sloppy, reckless and a simpleton and all those things you think I am, but I’m not—I’ll train more, if you want. I’ll do research and I’ll plan ahead better, but you can’t—don’t you ask me to stand by when I have the chance to really help people, because I won’t.”

The line remains silent for a long while after that, Kal’s mind swinging wildly between the wilting shreds of his anger and the absolute terror of thinking maybe this is it—maybe this is when both of Bruce decide they’ve had enough of the ridiculous stranded freak from El. Even with that, though, even thinking perhaps this is the last he’ll hear from the first true friend he’s ever had...Kal can’t make himself regret what he's said.

Oh, he’ll train all right. Bruce...he’s got a point—a sizable point, even, though just thinking it feels like pulling teeth at the moment—and more preparation would probably benefit everyone in the long run. Gods, does the thought chafe; not by itself, but because of the way it came about, and—the point is, Kal will train. He’ll...sulk about Bruce’s opinions for a few days, and maybe even grumble about it for a while but he—he will, if that’s what it takes. But he’ll still help in the meantime, prepared or no, and if Bruce has a problem with that—well, then they’ll have a real fight on their hands.

“Fine,” Batman says, with an explosive sigh that startles Kal badly enough that he almost cracks the phone receiver in his hand. “Fine. You keep helping. But I’m sending you some reading—and don’t think for a second I won’t be quizzing you on it.”

“Fine.”

There is the sound of flesh brushing against flesh on Bruce’s end of the receiver, and Kal pictures him rubbing the bridge of his nose—an impatient gesture he’s never seen Bruce indulge in outside of his Cave—before Bruce takes a deep breath and, in a voice that’s almost back to normal, asks, “What do you think of Diana?”

“I like her,” Kal says with a shrug, slipping into the new topic with no small amount of relief. “She’s nice.”

It isn’t simply that she was much more positive about Kal’s first performance as a helper than Batman—or Bruce, for that matter. It’s...well, she seemed to care, is all. She had pointers to offer, advice that, now Kal thinks of it, differed greatly from Batman’s in tone, but not so much in content, and she asked about Kal’s life outside of his new costume—didn’t quite tut at him about it, either, though Kal got the feeling she wanted to. And even then...somehow, he doesn’t think that would have been so terrible. Diana has—Gods, Kal would probably get in trouble with someone if he said it out loud, but there’s something old about her. Not just in the wealth of experience she seems to have, or in the yearning for long-gone happy times, but also in the...shamelessness of her. There were moments in that ice cream parlor when Diana reminded Kal of the elderly members of El’s court, who would laugh criticism of their oddities off and tell whoever the concerned party was that perhaps they’d live long enough to learn wrinkles came with a definite lessening of self-consciousness. Diana didn’t get the wrinkles, obviously, but there is an unrestrained part of her that makes it feel, just a little, like they’ve already settled on her soul.

Must be a stark contrast to Batman’s way of doing things, Kal muses. Of all the things to be said about the man, good and bad, ‘unrestrained’ doesn’t even come close to the list; quite the opposite. And it isn’t—it doesn’t make him a poor teacher, or mentor, or friend or—whatever it is he wants to be to Kal. He’s good at all these things—too good for Kal to follow, most of the time—it’s just. Sometimes, both Bruce and Batman are hard to keep up with, and now they’ve gone and finally found the button to press to get Kal angry enough to push back. It sounds like a recipe for disaster, really, and so Kal keeps this train of thought to himself, humming when Bruce tells him Diana would like to meet him again.

“In fact,” Bruce continues, like the words are being torn out of him, “they would all like to meet you.”

“...All?”

“The League.”

“The—oh.”

Martha, passing through the hall with a hefty bucket full of vegetables, pauses on the threshold and clears her throat, waiting long enough for Kal to meet her eyes—he must look more panicked than he meant to, judging by her light frown—and mouth ‘they want to meet me!’ in awestruck English. He has to clarify who he means, but then Martha breaks into a gigantic grin and pads toward him in socked feet to set a hand on his shoulder.

“Congratulations,” she mouths, and Kal is in the process of nodding when Bruce asks:

“Are you still there?”

“Oh—yes! Yes, I, uh—I’m here. And I’d be very honored to meet the Justice League .”

In front of him, Martha's grin grows even wider.

“Great. The Cave, next Friday. Three PM, New York time.”

“All right. What should I—”

A dull clicking sound. Kal pulls the receiver away from his ear and stares at it for a second, trying to slow-blink himself out of his stupor. To be invited to the League’s headquarters—of course, Kal was hoping to meet them. It’s just—he’d have thought he’d meet them individually first and then maybe, if things went well, be invited more officially later on. But no. It’s happening now.

There is a non-zero possibility that Kal will be sick at least once before the day comes.

Looking down reveals Martha still standing in front of him, close enough to hug—Kal half wants to, half fears overstepping some kind of boundary if he does—and still frowning at him. It isn’t the sort of frown that means disapproval, but it still makes Kal’s heart beat just a little faster. He swallows, ready to ask what’s going on and hopefully diffuse the situation, when Martha says, “Let’s go milk the cows, shall we? I’ll teach you how to do it by hand if you want.”

Nodding, Kal follows Martha to the door and, after slipping into a well-worn pair of boots, follows her to the barn. The Kent farm isn’t exactly a small one, but its main strength is crops, not dairy, and sixty head of cattle don’t call for a fully automated process, so the next two hours are spent letting eager cows into the milking stalls in batches of six, cleaning them up, hooking the milking machine to their udders, and waiting until they’re done to repeat the process with the next group. Both Kal and Martha remain silent during that time, focused on trying to deal with the cows’ insistence on trying to lick every inch of Kal’s face they can reach, even if it means they have to strain against the barriers holding them. By the end of it, though, they manage to get the animals back out in the field with minimal fuss—although Kal has to physically carry one of them out of the way—and are left with one unmilked cow standing in the stalls for Martha to demonstrate on.

“Wash your hands first,” Martha says as she pumps soap in her own palm, “then wash her up.”

She kicks a stool close to the cow while Kal complies with her instructions, careful not to get anything on his hands that would ruin the experience. He’s been here long enough to know the dangers of getting any germs into the milk, after all. He watches Martha get in position, wincing when she mutters imprecations directed against her lower back.

“Jon and I always used to talk about sinking a pit here,” she tells Kal over her shoulder, snorting along with him when he leans against the stall’s barrier and the cow gives him a big lick on the cheek. “Something to put the udders at arm level and reduce the backaches, but...well, he’s dead, and these things cost money.”

“I could do it,” Kal says, gently pulling the cow’s tongue away from his nose and letting it suck on his fingers instead. “I’d need to read up first, but between the speed and the muscles, I’m sure I could manage something.”

Shaking her head, Martha laughs and motions for Kal to pay attention before she bends down to the task, explaining how it works as she goes. Kal has to keep half of his attention on her and half on her patient, who, despite the terribly impractical configuration, is still trying to reach any piece of Kal’s exposed skin.

“I’d tell you to shed a sleeve and let her do her thing with your arm,” Martha says after a few minutes of that game, once she’s done with the first two udders, “but I’m afraid she’s already been more than spoiled enough for the day.”

Laughter bubbles out of Kal before he can even think of catching it, and he gives the cow’s ribs a fond pat while Martha gets up and pops her spine back into place.

“A smile, at last,” she says, stretching her arm. She’s smiling, too, just enough that Kal doesn’t blush too much as he looks down at the ground. “Now, are you going to tell me why you were wearing such a long face? I thought you wanted to meet the Justice League.”

“I do!” Kal says—promises, almost. “I do.”

It isn’t a lie. He’s been trying—he’s been wanting to make a real difference somewhere long before he came to Earth, and the Justice League does exactly that. Of course he’d want to meet them now he’s got what it takes to join. They help so many people already, the six of them, so helping them would be—but that’s the big question, isn’t it? Can Kal really help them? Sure, he’s strong, and he can see and hear a truly ridiculous amount of things nowadays; but if his time as Shadow has proven anything, it’s that material means are far from the only thing needed to be an efficient helper—let alone a hero.

Kal explains all of that while fumbling blindly with the cow’s udder, the way he has to almost press his cheeks into its flank to reach his goal a convenient excuse to avoid meeting Martha’s eyes. Not that he needs to, when he can still hear her snort, but it does make things...mildly less uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Martha says, sounding anything but. “Did you think Bruce told me nothing about you before you came here?”

A pause, while Kal gapes.

“That boy may be genetically compelled to make everything into a secret, but he knows when a little sharing is necessary. I know how you got that patch job.”

Kal’s hand flies to his side without thinking, the skin barely ever itching anymore now that the scar is fading. It was quite the sight when he first came to Martha’s farm, purple and raised, stippled in curving lines like worms trying to crawl into him—and then the sun happened, and now it’s on the verge of being indistinguishable from a rug burn. It...would be a lie, to say he’d thought Martha could know any more about it than what he’d told her—which is absolutely nothing—but then again it would also be a lie to say the revelation truly surprises him. Knowing Bruce, it was quite foolish of him to expect anything else.

“It isn’t the same,” he tells Martha, pushing his shoulders into a shrug. “It’s—”

“Well, you’re going to have to explain that one to me,” Martha retorts, leaning against the cow’s stall the same way Kal did earlier, “because from what I heard there wasn’t that much difference between that Shadow of yours and Batman.”

“Of course there was!” Kal protests, barely even noticing when he gets to his feet. “There was a huge difference!”

“Where?”

“Everywhere!” Kal exclaims, wincing when his outburst startles the cow and he has to rescue the milk bucket before it can spill over. “See? You know what he’s like, what he can do! I can’t even stand in a barn right!”

“Kal-El,” Martha scolds, and Kal doesn’t know what it is about the name that makes him want to shrink into himself, sink into the ground until he vanishes entirely.

“Please don’t call me that,” he manages through the knot in his throat.

With a blink, Martha pauses—just long enough to take Kal’s face in and nod. It’s a relief, really, because the absolute truth is that he has no idea what brought on the abrupt sensation of loneliness, inadequacy, the background noise of sheer misery that used to color every instant of his life on Krypton. Fear rushes forward at that thought, a bone-deep sort of horror at the idea that he could, somehow, be made to go back to the life he used to lead in El, even as he misses the place so much, and his heart rate doesn’t lower back to something reasonable until Martha says, “Don’t you think that means I’ll let you go on with this self-deprecating nonsense. Just because you mean it doesn’t mean it’s true, do you hear me?”

He does, the words piercing through his chest and crawling up his throat with a slow, agonizing heat that makes him close his hands into fists, clench his jaw. Blink, against the moisture of his eyes.

“So you’re not Batman; so what? No one else is, either! Even his kids—”

“He’s got children?”

Martha gasps, and actually slaps herself in the forehead with a low groan. Kal watches her face redden, her shoulders stiffening to a worrying degree until she sighs, releasing the pressure all at once.

“Two sons,” she explains with the sort of tone reserved for things one is unwilling to share. “One of them’s a police officer in one of Gotham’s neighboring cities. Blü-something. The other...he’s been in the Wayne mausoleum for a few years, now.”

Dead. Taken from his father before his time, leaving nothing but mementos behind—an empty room, Kal supposes. A few treasured objects and many more casually abandoned around the house on the fateful morning. A brother and a father, mourning together until Bruce got down to the cave and its damp air, its red lights...the echoing clang of feet on the spiraling...metal...staircase.

The suit in the glass case.

Oh, Rao—the suit.

There’s—Bruce must have buried all the proof. Destroyed it, maybe. Kara burned almost everything her mother had left her, except for a ring she’s never taken off since. Kal wouldn’t have—couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to—but they’re a different sort of person, Bruce and Kara. There’s no proof, but the theory makes sense, and Kal presses a hand against his mouth to make sure the words won’t spill out—to make sure he won’t take the conversation further than it should go.

Martha knows—must know, at least. If she’s known Bruce since before—she has to know. That doesn’t mean she is the one Kal should talk about this with.

“My point is,” Martha says after the long, heavy silence has settled around them, “that the fact that you can’t be Batman is no indication of a supposed lack of qualifications for this sort of job. Would you say Wonder Woman has no qualifications?”

“Well, no, but—”

“You want to help in the same way that they do, and you have the power to do it,” Martha cuts in, the firmness of her tone belied by the softness of the palm she settles over Kal’s cheek. “Those are the only qualifications you need. You can learn the rest with them.”

“I don’t know—”

“Son,” Martha cuts in again, and the word pushes a shiver down Kal’s spine, “you’ve learned the English language and the essentials of American culture in less than two months; you’ve learned to use hands that can lift a tractor to catch an egg without breaking it in less than that—of course you can learn what they need you to learn.”

“Martha,” Kal tries, mountain rocks in his throat and burning water in his eyes, but Martha’s grip on his cheek tightens, even as her other hand comes up to cup his face too.

“I don’t know who put it into your head that you’re not just as good as anyone else in this world—and better than some, believe you me—but they were wrong. I haven’t seen a single thing about you that wouldn’t make any parent proud. And—and I don’t know,” Martha says, voice catching on something wet just as Kal closes his eyes, feeling like he’s about to rip out of his own skin, “maybe your parents aren’t proud of you—some people are idiots like that. But I ’m proud of what you’ve accomplished before and since you came to Earth. I’m proud that I was there to help you through it, and I’m very proud to say I consider you family.”

The burn in Kal’s eyes spills over onto his cheeks, and he leans down until he can hide his face in Martha’s shoulder. With a great sigh, Martha reciprocates the gesture, looping her arms around him, and they remain locked into a teary hug for a long, long, long time.

Superman gains traction. Kal told Bruce he’d prepare and he meant it: he doesn’t wait for Bruce’s books to start reading up on the best ways to deal with a house fire, first aid techniques, and as many anatomy books as he can get his hands on. No world has ever waited for anyone to be done with their education to keep on turning, however, and in the following week Kal gets involved in a variety of car accidents, three forest fires, four hold-ups, and twenty-three cases of pets of various shapes and sizes stuck in increasingly unexpected places. He also helps many people with their groceries or everyday tasks, but that’s more being a good neighbor than anything else, so it doesn’t particularly count as, uh, ‘heroing’, as Martha jokingly puts it. On Thursday night, he even helps a doctor give birth to her own baby by the side of a dirt road in northern Vietnam—it consists mostly of doing what he’s told in labored English, but he does still come out of it with an undeniable sense of...poetry, almost.

Not that the actual affair was very glamorous—between the blood and gunk and other various bodily fluids, no one should be expected to look good while giving birth. But there is a sense of pride there, an awed accomplishment at the thought of having contributed, even just a little, in the making of a new life. He wonders, for a while, if that was what his parents felt when he was born—if they at least enjoyed that part of the whole ordeal, before they became entirely disenchanted with him. That is, of course, a question he’s unlikely to ever get an answer to—but even then the pride doesn’t leave him for the rest of the week.

On Friday, Kal wakes up with one of the worst cases of jitters he’s ever experienced, and he’s about to explode from it when Martha takes pity on him, drags him to the kitchen, and proceeds to teach him how to make apple crumble and gooey butter cake. He does have to leave eventually, though, and at one in the afternoon, local time, he walks through the door, runs out of Martha’s backyard until he’s at a comfortable distance, and jumps into the sky with as much force as he can manage.

He gets a little disoriented by the sonic boom at first—he’s never provoked one by jumping before—and figuring out how to fly on purpose proves tricky enough that Kal almost crashes down into a wheat field. He catches himself at the last second, though, rises until he’s just below the cloud cover, and heads toward Gotham.

He enters Bruce’s cave via a door installed under a lake, and touches down right next to the landing platform for Bruce's plane. There’s a motorbike there that Kal has never seen, parked next to a muddy blue four-by-four, but other than that, the cave remains as it was in Kal’s memories. He floats over the water in silence, popping up to get a closer look at the bats sleeping on the ceiling, and touches down again when he reaches the upper level of the cave.

Kal was right, before—this is a space that only pretends to be an armory. What weapons he can see haven’t been used in a while, and the suits on the back walls are all variations of Bruce’s Batman uniform—older versions, perhaps. And there, in the middle—Kal swallows. The build of the suit is slight, shorter than Batman’s. A younger person; he should have deduced that much from the get-go. A younger man. There are scratches in various spots on the red and green design, a bullet hole in the right shoulder...and the words in dulled yellow, mocking Batman—Bruce—every time he goes through that cave reminding him—Gods. No wonder the man tries so hard to make himself as engaging as a prison door.

Someone gasps to Kal’s left, and he turns to smile at the Flash—Barry—who is all but gaping at him through the glass. Kal exchanges a smile with Diana, too, who is standing by Bruce’s large office chair, and then he floats inside the room, multiple monitoring screens glowing as red as Krypton’s sun. Arthur and Cyborg have settled over a small console with a game of...checkers, and John the Green Lantern is apparently completing crosswords while sipping on a cup of tea. In his chair, Bruce—or, well, Batman, at the moment—doesn’t seem too pleased about the rest of the group’s nonchalance, but he must have decided it wasn’t important enough to point out, because he doesn’t protest when Barry zips from one end of the room to the other with a crackle and a strong gust of wind.

“Oh my Goooooooooood,” he says in a high-pitched voice, grin almost too big for his face. “You can fly!”

“I can fly too,” Cyborg points out, only for Barry to spin toward him.

“Are you ever going to fly me anywhere, Victor?”

“I’m not your personal jet, Barry.”

Barry makes a show of turning his nose up in the air before he turns back to Kal, “Victor is a bit of a killjoy sometimes,” he says in a stage whisper, “but I like him anyway, I don’t know why.”

“Lay off, Barry,” Victor protests—without heat, though he does duck his head to hide something that looks suspiciously like a smile.

“If you could all settle down.”

There is more than a hint of command in Batman’s voice and Kal, after a lifetime of conditioning, doesn’t even blink as he orders his suit back into civilian clothing and uses the excess material for a lightweight chair. (“Oh my god,” says Barry, and though he’s the only one who actually makes a sound about it, Kal still notices at least Arthur and John raising an eyebrow.)

“First item of business,” Batman announces, as soon as everyone is seated and mostly turned toward him, “everyone’s monthly—what, Barry?”

“I have new items I’d like to submit for consideration.”

“I’m sure we can all wait until after the meeting to ask about the pie,” John says, amusement lacing his tone, before anyone else has a chance to speak.

“Smells like apple crumble to me,” Diana says—Kal isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees her smirk, just a little, when Batman’s jaw twitches.

“Okay, well, about the crumble—”

“Later, Barry,” Victor says.

Kal sees him frown when Arthur catches his eyes with a ‘how do you deal with this’ sort of expression, but the topic does seem to be effectively dropped for the time being, which allows Flash to continue:

“Second proposed item: I’d like to officially challenge Superman here to a race. Employing the scientific method. For science.”

“Done,” Kal says before Bruce has time to speak, “if we can keep this meeting on track.”

Kal smiles at Batman, whose face immediately hardens into a scowl. Kal expected as much, but the sight still stings, and he has to bite down on a sigh. Clearly, they won’t be going back to being friends right away. He nods at Batman anyway, just a small tip of the head to confirm his support, and makes sure to keep his body language as professional as possible while Batman readjusts his notes. Good thing the physical attitudes communicating seriousness and attention are mostly the same in El and in the United States.

“Thank you, Superman,” Batman says like the words were stuck to his tooth and took it along for the ride when they exited his mouth. “First item of business: monthly reports.”

The groan that erupts from the table is at least as much attitudinal as it is audible, but Batman remains steadfastly undeterred, and Kal manages—though not without some trepidation—to keep his face mostly neutral. Reporting on anything, let alone anything of importance, is, after all, a first for him. He listens to everyone’s accounts of their months intently, sinking further into Superman’s solemn demeanor with every word that passes. By the time his turn comes, Kal’s nerves have left him entirely, and he’s able to give his own report without a hitch. Batman, of course, doesn’t exactly praise him, but he doesn’t ask too many follow-up questions or point out any flaws in Superman’s account, which definitely counts as a win.

Diana said, in the ice cream parlor, that the Justice League didn’t have an established hierarchy as such, and the truth of it is apparent in the comments of various degrees of utility made during reports, and the haphazard way they’ve all settled in Bruce’s space, without regard for who sits where except each of their preferences. There is, however, very clear leadership in place, and that’s why Superman is utterly unsurprised that no one even thinks of protesting once Batman suggests moving on to the second item.

“Which is the League’s headquarters.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to having more space,” Arthur says where he’s reclining against something that doesn’t look like it should be reclined on. “Hopefully somewhere a little less creepy.”

“You’ve got to admit the cave is a little...” John sweeps the space around them with his gaze, the satiny fabric of his uniform shimmering with the movement, before he purses his lips and concludes with: “Gloomy.”

“We’ve already agreed to change headquarters,” Batman says, causing a smirk to bloom on Diana’s face—there is mischief in her eyes when Superman catches her gaze, but she grows serious again as Batman continues. “The question now becomes where we want these headquarters to be.”

One of the screens behind Batman changes with a click, discarding what Superman thinks might have been old reports in favor of a set of blueprints and simulations. The projected building looks old-fashioned, from what Superman knows of Earth architecture, but also quite large and isolated from the rest of Gotham. Smaller windows and annotations hint at plans for private quarters, training facilities, and even something of a restaurant—who would have staffed it, Superman has no clue, but he knows Batman well enough by now to realize there are probably multiple possibilities built in the project.

“The original plan was to use the foundations of Wayne Manor to build the League’s headquarters for all of us, with room to grow—”

“Assuming anyone wants to join,” Arthur snorts, and while the others look at him with various levels of reproach, he clings to the provocation until Superman says:

“I’d like to.”

“That’s our third item,” Batman says, cutting the tangent off before it has a chance to get out of control. “The point is, we—that means you too, Aquaman—agreed it would be best for any headquarters of ours to leave room for several more additions. Building over Wayne Manor would allow for that, as well as future expansion, if needed. It does have a few downsides, however.”

“We’d be based on American soil,” Diana says, as if on cue. “That gives your government leverage against us, should they decide the Justice League needs to be leashed.”

“It’d make Gotham even more vulnerable,” Victor adds. “This city already has the highest concentration of megalomaniacs with weird gimmicks the world over—and that’s not poetic license. We settle in on Wayne property, the wrong kind of people are bound to hear about it someday, and then what? We got lucky with Steppenwolf, but I’m not too crazy about hoping the next guy will be that stupid.”

“Precisely,” Batman says with a terse nod. “Not to mention building headquarters on my private property makes the League legally and financially vulnerable should anything happen to me.”

“Enter: Superman.” John grins, winking in Superman’s direction. “Our good prince in primary-colored armor.”

Superman acknowledges the joke, but doesn’t respond to it one way or another, well aware that now is not the moment for it...and not entirely sure he finds it funny, besides. Behind Batman, the screen changes again to a picture of Kal’s ship, a staggering mass of dark greens on the black backdrop of space, sunlight barely reflecting off the material. It’s strange to see it from this angle. It’s inspired by wildlife, as are the vast majority of El’s—of Krypton’s—designs, and from what Superman has learned he suspects the Justice League members are also thinking of whales when they look at it. Still, from the outside—it never did feel that massive from the inside. Not even when he first stumbled upon it as a teen. Now, silhouetted against Earth’s golden sun, it has taken on an otherworldly sheen, a mysticism brimming with potential that makes Superman shiver.

“There are several points in favor of this project,” Batman begins. “First of all, it would address our concerns about the repercussions of the Justice League’s presence on geopolitical relationships—”

“Displace them, you mean?”

Superman is not the type of man to squirm under surprised gazes, but he does experience a very Kal-like shiver when the others turn to him. He does manage to keep his cool, though, and keep his voice in the lower register he picked for that persona as he explains:

“The ship is still well within Earth’s space territory, so that shouldn’t be a problem. But do you really think knowing the Justice League is hovering over them won’t catch the attention of some other governments? It doesn’t seem likely that China or North Korea will be very enthusiastic about this initiative.”

“He’s got a point,” Arthur says. “And that’s without even talking about other so-called local government.”

“Green Lantern archives corroborate J’onn’s story,” John interjects from his seat. “If there’s still life left on Mars, the Corps doesn’t know about it.”

“Regardless,” Batman says with a slight nod in John’s direction, “we’re going to have to start thinking about what to tell the press if and when they find out about the two literal aliens working with us. That’ll be a point for another meeting, however. Right now, we’re discussing our headquarters. Political problems aside—and I think we can all agree there will be plenty, regardless of where we settle down—that kind of vantage point would bring tremendous advantage to the League.”

“And how do we get people to and from your little watchtower?” Victor says, slapping Barry’s hand away from his pocket and what turns out to be a packet of sweets. “I might be able to go to space, assuming my circuits don’t freeze, but the rest of you are kind of stuck here.”

“I’m pretty sure J’onn mentioned something about teleportation,” John offers, pulling his phone out of Rao knows where, presumably to check on previous notes. “I could ask him about it during his next Settler’s appointment—it’s due next week, anyway. Speaking of,” he adds, turning to Kal, “you and I need to have a chat, and soon.”

Kal blushes. It doesn’t take as long as he’d feared to explain his situation to the League—they might never have moved from one planet to the other, but they’re all familiar with the concept of immigration, and since John Stewart is the only known Green Lantern of Earth, it’s obvious he’ll be the one to supervise Kal’s settlement project.

“You know,” John tells Barry when he asks about it, “keeping track of where he settles down, what name he uses in his day-to-day life. That sort of thing.”

Oh, Rao. The name thing. Kal had completely forgotten about that. And this isn’t like Superman, either—he can’t just toss it to the press and call it a day, if only because he has less than no desire for the press to know who he is out of costume...although of course, the whole thing would probably be much simpler if he had any idea what sort of name he’d like in the first place, but—

“That’s not the point,” Batman says. “What we’re here to discuss is—”

“It’s to know if we want the headquarters to be your house or this—what did Victor call it? The watchtower,” Arthur interrupts, voice booming with boredom loudly enough that the one glass wall of the room shakes with it. “Personally I’d rather sleep on a cactus than on your bed, so I’m in favor.”

“I mean, the idea of living in your manor’s cool and all,” Barry tells Batman with a slightly apologetic grimace, “but you can’t beat a space station. I’m in, too.”

“We’re not voting today,” Batman grits out—Superman hears the leather of his glove creak as his fist tightens on his lap. “We’re assessing—"

“I think you’ll have a better chance just sending a report over to the team,” Wonder Woman mutters while Barry tries to engage Victor in a debate over whether Superman’s ship has the potential to be as cool as the Enterprise.

“I’ll do that,” Batman replies, jaw still tight enough to chew glass. “In the meantime, our third item?”

“What is it?” John asks, clearly trying to maintain a minimum of professionalism while Superman attempts to stare Barry into behaving himself a little better.

“The Superman’s relationship with the Justice League.”

Superman really, really doesn’t blush—but the part of him that’s Kal does, and it takes him several seconds to get his face back under some semblance of control when both Barry and Diana pronounce themselves in favor of him joining. Arthur and Victor are mostly acting indifferent, and John says something about papers and regulations, but at least no one outright objects to the idea. No one, that is, until Batman says:

“You’re all assuming we’ll be offering him a position. We haven’t decided that yet.”

Superman stares, flabbergasted, while at least two of the other League members protest on his behalf. Someone says something about the advantages of having one more flying person on the team, but the rush of blood in Superman’s ears drowns the words out—and he’s fairly sure Batman is in the middle of a very, very rational explanation when he asks:

“Why?”

There must be more strain in his tone than he meant to leave there, because the assembly instantly falls silent, eyes turning to him with something that looks a lot like apprehension on his behalf hovering around the edges. Batman, if at all possible, straightens even further.

“You’re too green.”

“I’ve been in this sort of business for eight years,” Superman replies, and he’s entirely positive he doesn’t imagine the way Barry gasps at the rebuke.

“You don’t know anything about Earth—”

“You didn’t know anything about El when you decided to investigate the Melokariel Proposition,” Superman points out while Barry—or Flash, or both of him—makes a frighteningly high-pitched noise.

“I knew what I was doing,” Batman grits out, though it’s difficult to say whether the change in his voice is due to frustration or sheer disbelief that anyone—let alone Kal—would dare to dismiss two of his arguments in a row.

“Well, so do I,” Superman replies, turning toward Bruce as the world narrows down to their conversation. “You can quiz me if you’d like—I’ve spent the last week learning about first response efforts and human anatomy. I’ve learned Spanish—”

“In a week?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impo—” Batman grunts, quite obviously frustrated.

In the microsecond he takes to pinch at the bridge of his nose Superman hears Aquaman snort and recline further into his seat.

“Look, that’s not the point,” Batman says after a brief pause. “The point is, you’re rash, impulsive, and untrained—”

“You trained me yourself!”

“We have no idea how far your strength goes!” Batman counters, voice rising to match Superman’s volume. “You keep taking unnecessary risks—”

“We’ve talked about that robbery, Batman,” Superman all but groans, a small part of him proud that he didn’t resort to calling the man by his first name. “It was neither a risk—”

“They shot you in the face!” Batman shouts. “You could have died!”

“I accidentally wrecked a tractor by standing behind it!” Superman shouts back, rising to his feet as soon as Batman does, too incensed to worry about propriety, or strength, or anything that isn’t the sun-hot burn of irritation in his veins. “And even if it had really been a risk, which we both know it wasn’t—that man would have died! Putting myself in that bullet's path might have been many things, but it was not unnecessary!”

“No one would have blamed you for taking some time to assess the situation!”

“I would have!” Superman allows himself three harsh, heaving breaths, before he repeats: “I would have.”

The silence around him is absolute, as if even Bruce’s machines had felt the tension in the air and decided to make themselves even more discreet than they already were. Wonder Woman is looking at them in a way Superman can’t quantify as anything but skeptical, and the other four are mostly just gaping at the sight—but in all honesty, at this point both Superman and Kal are too incensed to care.

“Meeting adjourned,” Batman says at last, more tense than Kal has ever seen him. The rest of the League hesitates for just a second, until Batman barks: “Everyone out.”

Wonder Woman doesn’t look like she’s putting particular haste into leaving, but she’s the only one. Barry barely mumbles something about seeing the rest of them next time before leaving in a flash, Victor hot on his heels. John floats out with reasonably dignified haste, and Diana throws a Look at Bruce before she walks out of the room, the blue car’s engines roaring to life just as she reaches the threshold.

“That meant you, too,” Batman says, pushing Superman to snort, throat still tight with the fight.

“Yes, I gathered that. I just wanted to say—you’re the one who invited me here. If you didn’t want me around, you could just have said so.”

He should—it feels like he should be able to pursue the conversation in a calmer, more rational manner. Like he shouldn’t let the burn in his throat and in his cheeks get the better of him...but Batman doesn’t answer—Bruce doesn’t answer—and Kal deflates out of Superman’s persona, eyes burning as he turns on his heel and flies away like a coward.

He hides away in the settlement ship afterwards. The cold there is too intense for anyone on the team to bear—except maybe Diana but why would she come look for him here in the middle of the Arctic?—and even if it weren’t the security system won’t let them in until its commander, which is Superman, orders it to. It’s the perfect place to be left alone with his thoughts, to have time to think things through...and, Kal realizes, the perfect place to be miserable.

It doesn’t start out that way—the distance is a great idea at first, and the relative silence of the Arctic makes for a helpful dampener for the noises of the rest of the world. In time, Kal is sure, he’ll come to relish the opportunity for some quiet. Right now, though, on the heel of Batman’s not-so-subtle rejection, the mix of Federal and Ulian alphabets on the command consoles and walls turns from comforting to a painful reminder of Kal’s many, many inadequacies. In the end, he all but flees the ship and decides to run around the world for a while.

He goes from one country to another, plucking people out of disaster zones after natural catastrophes, hurricanes after floods after earthquakes, until his head buzzes with it. Eventually, though, the rush of purpose, the heady sense of accomplishment, fades away. There’s no room for Kal’s struggles when Superman is busy proving to the planet that he’s here to help and here to stay. There’s no room for Kal’s anger when Superman has to be mild, even-tempered, unthreatening in every possible way until everyone forgets he could blow them to bits with something as simple as a sneeze. To an extent, Superman’s calm demeanor, his self-assurance bleed into Kal enough that he can almost fool himself into thinking he’s over the whole thing until, three days in, he realizes Superman is on his way to turning just as rote and automatic as Shadow was, in his last few days.

The realization brings him up short—jerks him out of a feeling that’s as terrifying as it is familiar—and Kal has to spend a long time ranting about the whole ordeal to Martha before he’s calmed down enough to stop panicking. He’s destroyed a full tub of ice cream by then, something he tries to apologize for until Martha tells him not to sweat it.

“You know I’m happy to help, sweetheart,” she says with a shrug when Kal looks at her with intense puzzlement. “And besides, I’ve got to admit there’s something a little funny about someone with your build complaining about a stubborn coworker with his mouth full of French vanilla.”

Kal tries to resist glancing at Martha’s helping of black cherry ice cream, but she tuts at him with an exaggerated grin, clutching the carton closer to her chest before she warns:

“Don’t even think about it, young man. I have a spoon and I’ll smack you with it if I have to.”

Kal could steal the entire thing from her if he wanted to, of course. He could rob Martha blind and be out of reach within minutes, if he really put his mind to it. But the very thought makes him snort, and he concedes the point—and any claim on the black cherry—with raised hands and a rueful grin. The exchange does have the benefit of lightening his heart, though, and Kal’s next sigh is more contented than anything else as he lies back against the couch, careful not to press too hard against it. He’s not...it’d be a lie, to say that he’s forgotten all about Bruce’s attitude two days ago—or that he hasn’t noticed there’s been nothing but radio silence between them since—but it’s grown a little lighter all the same, and Kal is ready to appreciate that.

“It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?” Martha says, after a bit.

Kal groans and lets his head fall backward.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Martha, fully aware that he sounds more sulky than genuinely pained by his own attitude. “I just can’t get it out of my head—he was so—urgh. Sorry.”

“I’d tell you to stop apologizing,” Martha says, the hint of a chuckle in her voice, “but I doubt it’d do much good...What if I told you I’ve got the perfect distraction instead?”

Kal lifts his head back up at the words, looking at Martha with undisguised curiosity only to find her sporting a grin that wouldn’t be out of place on—what’s the phrase again? Oh, right. The canary that got the cat. No, wait—the cat that got the canary. That sounds more sensible. Either way, Martha looks a little proud of herself, like she’s about to pull the best prank the world has ever seen on Kal; and it’s only trust that she won’t do anything to hurt him that keeps him from making his excuses and retreating to his bedroom.

He obeys Martha’s gesture to follow her instead, tailing her outside and across the yard to the storehouse, inside, and then up an old wooden ladder to an empty hayloft. The walls of it are raw, bits of straw lying discarded on the floor among bird droppings and something that looks an awful lot like a dead mouse in the dim light of the evening. Kal follows the slant of the roof from a set of wide doors to the left-hand wall, and then down to a pile of brand-new cans of paint.

“I wanted to wait for a special occasion,” Martha says when Kal looks at her in incomprehension, “but I figure it’ll do the most good now.”

“Uh, Martha, I…I’m not sure I understand….”

Even in the fading light it’s easy for Kal to see how Martha’s face grows more serious, her smile just a little smaller, and yet...more important, somehow, at the same time.

“Look, I know this arrangement was supposed to be temporary,” she says after taking a deep breath in, “and I’ll understand completely if and when you want to move somewhere else, but I thought—I wanted to make it clear that I want you to have a place on this farm and in my life. Permanently.”

“What?” Kal asks, take aback. “But the hay—”

“Most of it is stored above the barn already,” Martha says with a dismissive shrug, “and a lot of the rest I just hand over to Mr. Abernathy because he helps with the harvest. I’ll figure something out for what’s left—or you can help me build a new shed, if you’d like. Either way...I figured this would be a better use of the space. If you’re interested, that is.”

Kal tries hard to keep the tears that well up in his eyes from falling onto Martha’s shoulder when he presses her into a shuddering hug. The fact that his own shoulder feels damp, however, means he doesn’t really mind too much when he fails.

Kal spends the next day in the hayloft, in between Superman’s interventions, one ear on the radio and Kryo’s alerts from the Ship as he scrubs the walls and floor squeaky clean, sanding them only slightly over human speed. He’s mostly done with the preparation work by dinnertime, and laughs himself silly as Martha recounts the work she and Jonathan had to put in on the farm after a particularly nasty storm.

“I’m very glad I was forced to sleep by an open oven door in my twenties rather than later in life, let me tell you,” she says, and Kal snorts at the mental image—a disheveled all-but-newlywed Jonathan with his clothes covered in paint and wood shavings, collapsing on the floor next to his exhausted veterinarian of a wife, huddled in front of a working oven in the last dregs of autumn.

The picture is as heartwarming as it could be distressing, the biting cold and fear of failing to finish the repairs before winter long since worn away from the memory—and Kal smiles at his hands, clutched around a mug on the table. Martha chuckles, too, emptying the last of her hot cocoa with a satisfied smile before she says:

“He’d have liked you as much as I do, you know. I’ve got absolutely no doubt about that.”

Kal looks down at his cup again, heat creeping up his neck and into his chest, sweeter than anything as it spreads into his limbs and makes him feel almost as invulnerable as he actually is. I’m proud to call you family, Martha said all those days back, and to hear—for her to think—Kal swallows. It isn’t—it won’t ever be the same as hearing this from his birth parents. To hear Jor-El or Lara Lor-Van say anything even close to that—he breathes in deep. Just the thought of it aches, the pain barely dulled by a lifetime of training; and not just because it’s impossible, either. There is too much pain there, too much unanswered need and longing for an about-face not to cut deeper than Kal cares to find out.

Martha’s words, her easy acceptance, the unconditional nature of her affection and of her care—of her love, even—won’t ever be the same as receiving such a sentiment from anyone in the El family, but it doesn’t hurt the way that would. It doesn’t—of course, it can’t exist without taking Kal’s entire history into account...but the pain there feels more like healing than an infection, a necessary step on the path of recovery. Kal sighs with it, one hand coming up to rest on his chest before he realizes it, and Martha frowns again.

“Are you all right?” she asks. “Should I not have—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Kal hurries to reassure her. “It’s just—there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, I think. In the future. I just—I need to give it a little more thought before I can really...share it, so to speak.”

“Oh,” Martha answers, clearly trying to rein her wariness in, “of course. I understand.”

“Thank you, Martha.”

It takes a bit of time before they can go back to the easygoing mood of their early evening, but Martha’s yellow kitchen—with its pale chairs and the chips in the wooden cupboards and the homemade pottery dishes drying on the rack next to the sink—has become such a place of freedom to Kal, of safety, that he doesn’t even realize he could fear failing to recover the mood until they’ve already done it.

Four days after his disastrous first encounter with the Justice League, Kal decides to swallow his pride and be the bigger caped crusader in this ridiculous feud with Bruce. Well, technically he did sort of come by that decision on day three, calling Bruce in the middle of sanding the hayloft’s loading doors. He didn’t really commit to it, however, and after a few calls had gone to voicemail—to his immense relief—he gave up and decided to wait more.

This time, though, he’s truly decided to make things right; so, after Bruce has ignored four more phone calls and Kal has moved Martha’s old but serviceable pull-out couch out of the living room—“I’ve been looking for an excuse to change it for ages, and Bruce saved me the money for a replacement tractor, so just take the damn thing off my hands, please"—and into his new spot on the farm, he turns the suit back into Superman’s costume and flies towards Gotham City.

He makes a pass over Blüdhaven on his way in. It isn’t, strictly speaking, on the way, but night is falling over there, and spending the past four days thinking about little else but Batman gave Kal more than enough time and reason to wonder about the mysterious son who exiled himself here. He doesn’t intrude—wouldn’t know how to introduce himself even if he wanted to—but he does take a look at the city. It doesn’t seem that different from Gotham, similar signs of poverty and political neglect marring the streets despite what Kal has seen described as tremendous efforts on many people’s parts to help the citizens make better lives for themselves. It seems almost too on-the-nose a project to take up for Batman’s son, but then who’s Kal to judge? He certainly can’t claim to have only picked easy projects in the past.

He leaves the city behind, eventually, promising himself to come back, and heads to Batman’s cave. It’s a relief not to have to dodge any alarms that he can detect, especially when the more paranoid part of his brain had become convinced he might be facing lethally dissuasive measures upon his return. It is a surprise, however, to fly and in and run into Wonder Woman as she all but stalks out of Batman’s main operations room with an impressive scowl on her face.

It melts away when she sees Superman standing there, though, and the force of her smile is almost enough to stun as she says:

“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you, but you’re very good at being elusive, Superman.”

“I apologize,” Superman tells her with a bow of his head. “I’m afraid I got sort of...caught up. In various matters.”

“’Various’ wouldn’t be my first choice of word to describe Batman,” Wonder Woman says with a wink, “but I suppose to each their own.”

“I suppose so,” Superman concedes. Then, reluctant to leave the truth unacknowledged: “he made some good points, you know. Mostly good points, in fact. I guess I just sort of...overreacted, a little bit.”

“Well,” Wonder Woman says with a small smile and a shrug, “as long as you’ve made your peace with it.”

Superman has a feeling the Cave may sound like he did the very opposite of that in the next few minutes, but he nods anyway, unwilling to drag things out. Diana replaces Wonder Woman, then, grin tipping further into mischief, a spark of almost childish glee blinking to life in her eyes as she says:

“Once you’re done, the others and I would like to meet you again—properly, this time. If you don’t mind.”

“You mean—as civilians?”

Kal flinches when his hesitation makes Diana blink, but he doesn’t let it push him into pretending he’s not feeling slightly off-kilter, even if it means Diana’s smile is slow to come back.

“Yes,” she says, “as civilians. Would that be all right with you?”

“Oh...sure,” Superman says, the role pushing some of Kal’s hesitation out of his posture. “That’d be great. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Well, then, do let us know when you're done here and I’ll send you my location.”

Smiling again, Wonder Woman offers Superman a small rectangle of thick, embossed paper introducing her as “Diana Prince, head curator,” with the British Museum’s logo in the upper right corner. Two phone numbers line up at the bottom, and Diana taps the second one, which, Superman guesses, must be a mobile phone. Nothing he’s seen so far makes him think this could be a personal number, but it still feels nice to have this tiny piece of connection to her, one that doesn’t go through Batman, or Bruce. It isn’t much, of course, and it isn’t like Superman—let alone Kal—resents Bruce’s presence or anything of the sort. It’s just—it’s nice to feel like he’s putting down roots, is all.

“I will,” Superman says, and waves goodbye as Diana floats out of the cave and into the early afternoon sun.

Then, breathing in, he makes his way through the cave and up the stairs. He walks there, unwilling to risk upsetting Bruce by flying, and can’t help but pause in front of the glass case where the suit looms over the rest of the room. It’s almost menacing in its emptiness, the gloves gripped tight around a discarded weapon—but Kal remembers who used to wear this, now. Tries to imagine what it would have been like, for him to lose Kara. What it would have felt like, looking at the clothes she died in—for that is exactly what these are, the yellow words leave no doubt about that—and the mere thought of it burns at the corners of his eyes. Not just the familiar salt-sting of tears, but the other heat, too, the one that pressed at the backs of his eyes after the tractor, and a handful of time since, after his argument with Bruce.

Kal swallows it down, turns to the main den and its Krypton-like red light, and sighs as he knocks on the glass door.

“I ate one of them,” Bruce says, clearly distracted by something under his microscope, “so spare me the lecture, please.”

“I’m fairly sure Alfred prepares two sandwiches because one isn’t enough,” Kal retorts with what he hopes is a passable effort at keeping his voice even. Ish.

Besides, even slightly wilted, the sandwich on the forgotten tray looks delicious, and not saying something in favor of eating it would feel almost as bad as snubbing the food a second time. It might be a bias, but it isn’t one Kal cares to correct—and if Bruce’s expression is anything to go by, not one Bruce cares to dispute, either.

“What are you doing here?” he asks instead, sounding more wary than actually sullen.

“I...I wanted to talk to you about the, uh—the meeting. The other day.”

Scowling again, Bruce turns back to his microscope, shoulders tightening with a shift of muscles that's actually audible to Kal. Kal blinks himself back inside his body, the surprise of the sound all the more unwelcome for how rare these things have become, and he closes his eyes against the abrupt burn in them. He hasn’t found out what that sensation is leading up to, yet, and he’s got no desire to get on with that part of his evolution, let alone within a small enclosed space where all he wants to look at is Bruce.

“I’d think you made your stance very clear,” Bruce says, tone flirting with the edge of a mutter, as if he were trying to make himself sound more...professional than he really feels like being. It brings a smile to Kal’s mouth as he answers:

“I did. So did you. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m wondering whether maybe we didn’t get it all wrong anyway.”

“I don’t get things wrong,” Bruce protests, head coming up and away from the microscope, the white lenses of the cowl retracted to make observation possible.

Other than that and his general demeanor, Bruce is in full Batman regalia—almost ready for a meeting. Part of Kal wants to rise to the same level—keep the suit and the solid voice and the straight shoulders on—but the last time he did that turned out to be...well, he doesn’t want to use the word ‘disaster’, but doesn’t quite find himself able to come up with an adequate alternative. So, ignoring the instinctive urge to make himself bigger than he is and let Superman handle things for a while, he turns the suit back into jeans and a plaid shirt, a white t-shirt peeking through the open lapels. He keeps his posture natural, without straightening his spine but without slipping into the excessive slouch he’s been practicing either. Nothing but Kal, wrapped in all his shortcomings and surprisingly irritable temper.

“Maybe you don’t,” he tells Bruce, “but you don’t always see everything either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying,” Kal replies with a shrug, struggling to keep his arms uncrossed and shoving his hands in his pockets instead. “You didn’t realize I was Shadow until I took the helmet off.”

Bruce snorts at that, which, considering the exact circumstances of Shadow’s unmasking, Kal can understand, however begrudgingly. The point, however, was to remind Bruce of his own potential for failure, and that’s been accomplished, so Kal doesn’t dwell on it. What he says instead is:

“I don’t always see everything, either.”

What gave him away, Kal will probably never find out. Possibly nothing. He can’t have been the first to notice the memorial in the middle of the cave, although now that he thinks of it he might well be the first to have actually hinted at it out loud. Alfred, after all, has been in Bruce’s service since Bruce was a boy, and would have no need to ask about what happened, let alone figure out a way to let Bruce know he knew. None of that, of course, tempers the glare Bruce fixes him with, and so there’s nothing for it but breathe in deep, and hope for Bruce’s mercy when he says:

“I know what the suit means. Some of it.”

It’s remarkable, really, what super senses allow you to pick up on. The Kal that lived on Krypton would never have realized just how deeply tense Bruce grows at the words.

“Get out,” he growls, but this time Kal forces himself to stand his ground.

“No.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but no. We’ve been putting off this conversation long enough.”

“I haven’t been putting anything off,” Bruce replies, slipping around Kal to get to his computer and busy himself with...something, presumably. “There’s nothing to say here. You’re not ready to join the League—”

“Actually,” Kal says, raising his eyes to the ceiling in the vain hope that Rao will find and help him even here, “I think you’re the one who’s not ready.”

Bruce reacts, perhaps a little predictably, like Kal just stabbed him in the back and then insulted his House, which is to say that he whips around and stares at him with what, on Bruce, is practically a slack jaw. Sticking to English for this conversation was definitely a good idea, then, because this has to be the most intense display of emotion Kal has seen on Bruce’s face since the night they left Krypton and—and then Bruce slams him into the wall.

It isn’t painful, of course—nothing really is, these days—and it only worked because Kal wasn’t actually expecting it, but the sheer rage on Bruce’s face stops him from saying as much. He did come here to make things better, after all, and if that requires gritting his teeth through a number of uncomfortable moments, then so be it.

“What,” and Batman’s growl is rumbling out with no small amount of threat in it, “is that supposed to mean?”

“You heard me,” Kal repeats, forcing himself to keep his voice as level as possible without dipping into Superman’s register. “I think you’re not ready for me to join the Justice League.”

“How dare you—”

“I’m not like him.”

Batman—Bruce—stops again, gaping, hands still caught in the collar of Kal’s shirt as his mouth opens and closes on empty air. Kal doesn’t need to actually listen to his heartbeat to guess it’s probably going for a speed prize right about now, and so he continues instead, softening his voice:

“I don’t know what happened to him, exactly. Only that he was your son, and what the armor tells me.”

“Stop,” Bruce manages, voice as rough as broken glass.

“I’m sure he was as well-trained as it was possible to be—”

“Shut up—”

“I’m not human, Bruce.”

“Shut up— ”

“I can’t be killed.”

“ Shut up! ” Bruce shouts, pushing himself away from Kal with enough force to send himself stumbling into his super computer. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don’t know what—he was—don’t you dare—”

“Bruce,” Kal tries raising his hands in appeasement, and freezes when Bruce physically recoils from him. “I wasn’t—I’m not trying to insult him, and I know it hurts—”

“You know nothing about J—you know nothing about him,” Bruce spits, somewhere on the edge of a scream, the beating of his heart a painful sound at the back of Kal’s hearing. “You don’t even know what it’s like to have a family!”

The last word explodes into the shout Bruce was clearly struggling against, clattering against the walls of the room like a gunshot. It leaves the same sort of silence behind it, too shocking to even remember there is a world outside of stillness, and Kal almost—almost—fails to notice the soft padding of Alfred’s footsteps on the other side of the door, the sharpness of his inhale.

What he couldn’t miss, even if he wanted to, is the way Bruce tenses and then crumbles under all his armors, sagging down against his desk and then onto the floor, breathing harsh and heavy, the tremors in his hands so fine it takes Kal’s super senses to see them. Kal stands there for a second, ignoring Alfred entirely, until he finally gathers the courage to take the few steps that separate him from Bruce, kneel, and allow a hand to hover close to Bruce's knee.

“You’re right, I barely know what it’s like to have a family,” he says—the sound Bruce makes then is...Kal can’t tell if it’s a protest, or pain, or some mixture of the two, but the rawness of it makes him wince in sympathy. His chest aches. “I don’t—you know what my life was like. I’ve only ever had Kara, and things with her were...complicated.”

Not for lack of love so much as lack of understanding. Caring about someone in a way that doesn’t suit them sometimes leaves scars just as deep as not caring would; that much, Kal knows.

“I’m learning, though. I’ve got Martha now,” he says, unexpectedly delighted by how much he means it. “Martha...and you.”

This time, the sound that rises from Bruce’s throat is definitely wounded. Kal’s hand crosses the gap towards Bruce’s knee and squeezes it, perhaps a shade too far on the strength scale. Bruce doesn’t protest, though. Doesn’t react at all, really, except for the way his head bows further, his hands retreating towards his chest.

“I don’t know—I have no idea how you feel about him. But I do know how I felt at the thought of Martha getting hurt because of me.”

“That,” Bruce manages from the confines of his knees, “that’s not—I don’t—”

“All right,” Kal concedes readily, unwilling to let this scene go on longer than absolutely necessary, “you don’t. But just in case you did—I’m invulnerable, Bruce. I can send over the data from the suit and the settlement ship if you want. I don’t think even a bomb could hurt me now, and my muscles aren’t anywhere close to being done mutating.”

“I’m not—”

“Fine, you’re not,” Kal cuts in, unable to restrain his irritation in the face of Bruce’s shaken stubbornness. “Well, in that case, you’re going to have to get over yourself, Batman. I want to help people, and that’s what I’m going to do, with or without your blessing...and you won’t be able to say I’m too green forever.”

Kal hesitates, but he does give Bruce’s knee a last squeeze before he straightens up. He’s not quite sure Bruce really does tell him to get out, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take a genius, after all, to realize this conversation—inasmuch as it can be called that—has been more than hard on Bruce’s nerves, and Kal has no desire to add to that. Bruce’s answer will come when he’s ready for it. In the meantime, leaving him in peace so he can lick his wounds and sort himself out is the least Kal can do.

He leaves the room with an apologetic grimace for Alfred, who is going to have to deal with this particular mess through no fault of his own, and flies out of the Cave before his suit is even done rearranging into Superman’s uniform. From there, it’s only the work of a moment to pick his phone up and send a text to Diana:

Do you think we could push the get-together back until tomorrow?

He’s expecting to get a text back, and startles when the suit alerts him to a phone call instead.

“Diana?” he asks, slowing down as he picks up. “Is something wrong? Does tomorrow not work for you?”

“Tomorrow is fine,” Diana replies, dismissive. “I’m just concerned about the reasons behind the rain check.”

Kal files the new expression away for later use, holds onto a sigh, and says, “It’s just...I realized something. When I talked to Bruce. And now—there’s just something I need to do, and I can’t—I don’t want to postpone it.”

“Fine,” Diana replies, a thin layer of puzzlement still in her voice. “I’ll let everyone know, then.”

Superman hums into the receiver, glad to have this sorted out, and flies on toward Kansas.

Kal comes down a few minutes later, wincing when he botches the landing and takes a large chunk of gravel out of Martha’s driveway. He’ll have to refill the pothole as soon as he’s done, but right now the problem is simply not important enough to stop him, and after a quick check, he strides into the house, half determined and three-quarters terrified this is going to go terribly wrong. Martha is in the middle of a phone call when he enters the kitchen, washing tomatoes while she arranges the next meeting with her D&D group—she’s tried to take Kal with her a couple of times, but they didn’t have any sort of cover story ready, let alone a name to give people, so after a couple of missed sessions, Kal just insisted he’d survive one night alone per week. So Kal busies himself by getting two mugs out and reheating some coffee in the microwave.

Martha doesn’t realize he’s there until he actually starts the machine, and when she does she takes one look at Kal’s face and says, “Mary-Beth, I’m going to have to call you back, I’ve got a call I don’t want to miss coming in.”

Kal tries to wave her away, signal that he can wait, but in less than a minute Mary-Beth has made her goodbyes and Martha is setting the phone down, taking a seat in front of Kal at the kitchen table, and saying:

“All right, what’s wrong? How did it go with Bruce?”

“It...went,” Kal says with a grimace. “I said what I had to say and he—I knew it was going to be a painful conversation—well, a painful moment—but that. Um. It, uh—it went. Okay. Ish. I think.”

“Oh, Kal,” Martha says in a sympathetic tone, one hand coming up to rest on his wrist, “I’m sure Bruce will come around. I know he’s stubborn, but—”

“Oh, I’m stubborn too,” Kal says with a barely restrained snort. “One of the many things I've learned about myself here. I’m sure we’ll work this out somehow. It’s—that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

Martha straightens in her chair with a little surprised ‘oh’, undoubtedly puzzled by the sudden formality in Kal’s voice, but doesn’t say anything further. She gives Kal an encouraging nod instead, and he takes a deep, bracing breath before he says:

“This is something—I’ve been...coming to this for a while, I think. But it didn’t quite—I hadn’t really put my finger on it until today. See, Bruce and I, we talked about...about family—well, he shouted, but it’s not like I don’t—”

“Kal,” Martha interrupts with a squeeze on his wrist, “big breath, then slow down, please.”

“Oh. Um. Sorry.”

Chuckling at himself, a bit, Kal gives himself time to blink, take another couple of deep breaths, and try again:

“So. Bruce and I talked about family and I—it, uh. Got me thinking. See, I...I haven’t had any contact with my parents since I left Krypton. Haven’t had a proper conversation with them since—wow. Sorry, I, uh—wow.” Wiping at his eyes, Kal manages a chuckle at himself anyway, eyes carefully kept on the tablecloth. “Sorry, I didn’t—it’s touchier than I thought it would be.”

At least, he thinks while Martha quietly passes him a tissue, his voice is still stable for the moment. Mostly stable, at any rate.

“Anyway,” he manages after a while, trying to keep his words...well, understandable, at least, “Kara—my cousin Kara, the one who writes—she’s, uh. I don’t really...have a real relationship to anyone beside her. Back on Krypton, I mean. But then...I had this talk with Bruce, and I—he said I didn’t know what family was, and—”

“He what?” Martha exclaims, shocked enough that her coffee cup almost topples to the ground. Kal catches it, and raises a placating hand:

“No, no, I—it’s fine. He was right, for the—please sit back down. He’s—he wasn’t wrong. But...he wasn’t entirely right, either. Because I realized—as we talked, he and I, I realized that...I’m learning. About family. Thanks to you. What I’m saying is—I consider you family, too.”

Kal chances a glance up when he hears Martha sniffle, and when their eyes meet she makes the kind of choked-off sound Kal has only ever heard from people too profoundly emotional for words. He’s far from done with what he wants to say—hasn’t reached the real crux of the matter, yet—but the sound gives him enough courage to keep looking at Martha as he continues:

“I haven’t—I don’t think I’ve told you this before but...I’m supposed to pick an Earth name. It’s intergalactic law for people who migrate to a planet that hasn’t got proper awareness of the rest of the universe yet. And so—because I consider you like a mother—I was wondering if you’d be willing to, uh...pick it.”

“Clark,” Martha blurts out immediately, the name all but bursting out of her through a sob. “It’s—with Jonathan, before—if we’d conceived a son, we’d have called him Clark.”

Something fierce overtakes him, too strong and too encompassing to be called joy—it rushes through his veins at the speed of light, makes him straighten up and grin and cry at the same time, fills his heart and lungs with warmth and light brighter than the sun. It flows through him like the best, most brilliant tsunami in the history of the universe, makes his palms and armpits tingle with it, and in an instant he’s got Martha gathered in as tight a hug as he can give her without hurting her, sniffing and laughing and sobbing all at once until, finally, he finds just enough breath to say:

“Hi, Ma. I’m Clark.”

“Oh, shoot,” Kal realizes, a few hours later. Or—Clark. He’s still not used to it, still goes giddy with the joy of it, but he’s sure it’ll only grow easier to think of himself that way as time goes by.

He and Ma—and that transition is so much easier than the other one—have cried their fill and had a celebratory dinner; and through all that, it hadn't even occurred to him, not until just now.

“I need to tell Bruce!”

He’s off so fast, after that, that he actually has to turn back around and give Martha a kiss on the cheek and a promise to do the dishes when he comes back, before he’s off again. Less than a few minutes later, he’s flying over Gotham, almost surprised to find the sun still up over the city, and making his way toward Bruce’s cave.

He finds it occupied, of course. Kal—Clark—might have only brushed shoulders with Bruce Wayne, but nothing in those few minutes, let alone the glimpses he’s caught on TV or in the occasional tabloid, has given him any reason to think Bruce would ever consider Bruce Wayne an acceptable person to be in times of crisis...and it isn’t like Clark hasn’t prompted a significant one. So, all in all, it isn’t much of a surprise to find Bruce hard at work under the hood of the Batmobile—“People keep calling it that—I should get it patented.”—despite the late hour. Or, well, late for regular people; it’s probably barely afternoon for Batman.

Batman, who, for better or for worse, doesn’t react when the main doors open to let Clark in, or when he lands next to the car. Or, in fact, when he clears his throat no less than three times, with increasing volume. Clark waits a bit longer, mindful of the very heavy, very solid piece of metal over Bruce’s very human head, before he reaches down, seizes the underside of the car—

“Don’t even think about it.”

Clark tries to bite down on his grin at the sound, but even he realizes he’s not very successful when he speaks next. There’s something heady about causing Batman to break his resolve, after all, and for all his newfound strength Clark is still, for the most part, just a guy.

“Sorry,” he says, not quite managing to sound as sorry as he should. “It seemed kind of necessary.”

Stony silence, only disturbed by the occasional click of tools—some he recognizes, some he doesn’t—answers him, and Clark reminds himself sternly that it’s his fault Bruce doesn’t want to talk to him right now. He does still have to count in his head a for a bit before he trusts himself to say:

“Look...I’m not here to reopen that conversation.” The silence from under the car becomes, if at all possible, gloomier. “I just...I don’t know if you’re aware—you probably are, being you—but I have to pick a human-sounding alias if I want to stay on Earth. Legally speaking.”

Not even a hum.

Clark closes his eyes, and doesn’t let himself feel frustrated or flustered at the result of his own actions. Instead, he tightens his fingers into fists once, twice, and makes himself say: “In my case I was—I think I’ll probably just change it altogether. My name I mean. On my intergalactic papers.”

Bruce’s...whatever a plank on wheels is supposed to be called. It squeaks, at any rate, when Bruce rolls from under the car and fixes Clark with a Look that is, in all honesty, far less somber than it could be.

“I wanted you to know. First.”

Nothing really...changes, in Bruce’s expression. His eyebrows don’t rise, his mouth doesn’t grow softer or tighter or—he doesn't show any of a dozen possible signs of modified attention or reaction to someone the human body is capable of giving without a word. Still, whether it's Clark’s imagination or something else entirely, it’s like the atmosphere of the Cave changes around him. He wouldn’t know how to quantify it exactly—it seems weightier, that much is sure, but other than that...well, other than that, there’s nothing that seems to matter much but the intense hazel of Bruce’s eyes on him.

It seems, eventually, like one of them is going to break the silence—they both open their mouths to do it, in any case—but they never get the chance.

“Ah, Mister El,” Alfred says from where he’s bringing in what must be Bruce’s evening meal. “What a pleasure it is to see you here—you should have called ahead, I would have had something ready for you.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Clark says with a polite smile, “I’m quite all right. And, uh...it’s no longer Kal-El, actually.”

Clark turns back toward Bruce for the next part—can’t fight against the overwhelming sense it makes to do so. Bruce—Bruce Wayne, Batman—of all people, knows the importance of a name. He’s known Kal-El, and Shadow, and Kal, and all three of those men have considered him a dear friend. Their dearest friend, in many respects...and it makes sense for him to be the first person to know, after Martha. It makes sense for Clark’s birth, of sorts, to be witnessed by the very man who made it possible in the first place.

“Hi,” he tells Bruce. “I’m Clark Kent.”

It is, perhaps, a little overdramatic to offer his hand in greeting, like they’ve never met before...but then they are both dedicated to parading around in form-fitting costumes to fight crime, so perhaps overdramatics can be a shared language of theirs, if they let it be. And besides, overdramatic or no—corny or no—Bruce does reach out, clasp Clark’s forearm with strong, greasy fingers and say:

“Bruce.”

Clark meets Diana in the Alps, in the sort of landscape that would almost look right at home in El if you could just paint it with a red overlay. The mountains here are shorter, of course: humans don’t have the same tools krytons do when it comes to digging into the earth, let alone setting a second major tectonic event in motion. What the region lacks in height, though, it more than makes up for in palette, and Clark takes a moment to drink in the view before he actually touches down on a wooden deck.

The restaurant, which Diana assures Clark would be much more populated if it were winter, oversees a series of long slopes, one or two with jagged rocks strewn in the middle: rivers of green rushing downwards, the thin blue ribbon of a river cutting through them in the distance. Pushing further, Clark spots many kinds of wildlife, from mammals to insects, and a variety of flowers just as wild and hardy-looking as the vegetation of El was.

“Looks great, right?” Flash—well, no, Barry: he’s in the plaid jacket again—says behind him.

“It does.”

Grinning, Barry motions for Clark to follow him, and they walk across the large deck to a picnic table close to the southern guardrail where John, Victor, Arthur and a man Clark has never met have joined Diana around...hot cocoas, going by the smell. They’re several minutes deep into a heated debate about whether or not certain places count as mountains—the unknown man is arguing, extremely soberly, that Earth can’t even pretend to play in the same category, and the table erupts in protests—Arthur, specifically, yells something about things depending on where you count from—just before Diana abandons her posture of distinguished remove only to say, “Perhaps we could ask Superman to referee. Being the only one of us from outside the solar system should make him an impartial enough observer.”

“Well,” Clark says with a shrug and what he hopes is a suitably apologetic grimace, “I don’t know about the mountains on Mars, but where I’m from, we call that a hill.”

“Don’t let the French hear you say that,” Victor all but snorts. “They’ll get upset.”

“The French get upset too easily, sometimes,” Diana says, but there’s no bite to it, and a moment later she tempers her words further: “But they do know how to cook, so there is that.”

Clark gives a polite nod along with the rest of the table, and peers at the drinks menu with more than a little curiosity. Barry has time to instruct him not to worry about price—“Diana usually pays when we enter her income bracket.”—before Clark settles on another hot cocoa despite the balmy weather, and a dessert consisting entirely of egg whites in custard.

“I imagine Bruce helps, when he comes along,” he half asks the table once the waiter has gone with his order.

He’s not prepared for Arthur’s explosive laughter, or for John to snort into his coffee. The stranger doesn’t smile, but he does tilt his head, just a little, and says, “It seems you have a rather different experience of him than we do.”

“That’s...quite likely, I guess,” Clark says. Can’t expect Batman to treat him the same way as people he’s been colleagues and friends with for years. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where I’ve left my manners, I’m K—I mean. Clark. I’m Clark. Sorry it’s—new. Haven’t done the paperwork yet.”

“Oh, that’s why it sounds so human,” Barry says while John pulls out his phone to make a note of it. “I was wondering if we’d get another J’onn.”

The stranger inclines his head towards Clark again, and a diffuse sense of ‘well met’ greets Clark's thoughts. On autopilot, Clark reaches for the pleasant sense of camaraderie he’s carried as emotional background noise since he set foot on the deck and draws it just a little tighter around his mind, mingled with his own desire to make the acquaintance a pleasant one, and almost doesn’t realize what he’s doing until J’onn’s eyebrows tighten, just a little.

“Sorry,” Clark says, causing eyebrows to draw up around them, “force of habit.”

“What’s force of habit?” John asks. Diana squints:

“Cutting J'onn out of his thoughts, I’d assume.”

“Sounds fishy,” Arthur remarks, and Clark decides that’s his cue to explain before someone—oddly enough, his bet would go to Victor rather than Barry—decides to pick up on the humor of that word in Aquaman’s mouth:

“I used to—uh. Operate outside the law, back on Krypton,” Clark explains. “My family didn’t receive off-planet guests all that often, but I encountered enough of them—and enough of them were—what’s the word for that?”

“Telepathic,” John supplies.

“Right. Enough of them were telepathic that concealing what I was thinking about became a reflex.”

Not, Clark confesses in the semi-privacy of his head, that I particularly intend to lose it. I highly doubt you’re the last telepath I'll encounter, and they can’t all have good intentions.

That does sound quite reasonable, J'onn answers. And if anything, you feel far less defensive about it than most of the others did.

No explicit thought or image passes between them, but for a short second a distinct Batness hovers in their connection, and Clark doesn’t really feel like struggling against the grin blooming on his face.

“Great,” Arthur sighs, sounding exceedingly—but not falsely—put upon. “I guess we’re going to have to get used to you talking over our heads, then.”

“Not at all!” Clark promises. “At least, it’s not my intention. I mean...it would be rude, for a start.”

“Yeah, not even Batman tries to do that,” John remarks as he stirs the remnants of his cocoa. “And besides, you’re assuming that J'onn would be okay with that kind of behavior, which is rude.”

“Aquaman doesn’t know me as well as you do,” J'onn points out, but John snorts and shakes his head.

“We’ve worked with you enough for him to realize that. Just because B—Bruce is being a stick in the mud about having new people join in—”

“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite,” Arthur says—Barry and Victor erupt into an eerily synchronized groan, and Clark hears Diana’s discreet sigh as easily as a tempest. “You haven’t exactly been fighting him about any of it.”

“Must we really have this conversation again?” Diana asks, mostly rhetorically, before she turns a vaguely fond but still exasperated expression in Clark’s direction. “They’re always bickering about which one of them comes the closest to being able to go toe-to-toe with Batman.”

“It’s not about that!” Arthur and John protest with identical looks of horror.

“Isn’t it?” J'onn asks, making Barry laugh at his quiet disbelief.

“It absolutely is about that, and I don’t know if you guys noticed yet, but Clark has got you beat by—what’s the Earth’s circumference again?”

“Just over forty thousand kilometers,” Victor deadpans.

“Yeah, that, at least.”

Blushing, Clark drops his gaze to his hands on the naked wood tabletop, cocoa still steaming in the half-full cup. The others are watching him, he knows. There’s a special kind of silence that happens when people who’d gotten quite comfortable forgetting—or ignoring—that you were there are forcibly reminded of your existence. Reactions after that vary, though not a lot around Ka—Clark—but the silence? That’s always the same.

This one doesn’t last long, however, thank Rao, because Diana lets it live for all of five seconds before she says in a vaguely wondering voice, “That was a surprise indeed.”

“I don’t know what came over me,” Clark mumbles, the tips of his ears heating up even more than they already have. “I’m not—I’m usually better at listening—”

“Oh, people listening to Bats isn’t the problem.”

Arthur pauses when the waiter comes back to clear their table and ask if they’d like something else—sodas and another hot cocoa are ordered—but as soon as the coast is clear it’s John who picks up the thread.

“Bruce is very good at making people listen when he puts his mind to it—”

“Because we’re terrified of him.”

“You’re terrified,” Victor says, bumping Barry with his shoulder hard enough to make him waver in his seat. “Some of us just don’t care enough to really fight him.”

“Let’s call it that,” J'onn murmurs.

Clark is fairly sure Diana heard him, though her poker face is too good for him to pierce it, and he’s left with the strong but unprovable feeling she’s currently doing a great deal of internal eye-rolling at everybody else’s expanse.

“The point I’m trying to make,” Barry insists as he rights himself, “is that even Diana’s never gotten that kind of reaction out of him, and she’s notoriously unafraid of basically everything. Even Bats.”

“Oh, well,” Clark says, forcing his shoulders into a small, dismissive shrug, “I must have caught him on a bad day.”

“He doesn’t have bad days,” the table replies with frightening unity.

“Officially,” Diana concludes. “We’re all well aware he’s only human—though he is quite skilled at making people forget it—but he is, without a doubt, the most stubborn person I’ve ever met in my entire life, and I’ve been in this world for over a hundred and fifty years.”

“So, what’s your secret?” Barry asks, and while more than one other person around the table chastises him, even J'onn gives the impression of paying closer attention.

Clark, keenly aware of their gazes on him, slouches under the pressure and focuses on keeping his fingers still, his hands flat on the table. What kind of question is that, anyway? ‘What’s your secret?’ Ha. As if Clark had somehow tamed a beast, when all he’s done is stumble into the path of a brilliant man who ended up leading him—quite by accident—to his salvation. There’s no secret there, nothing but nearly three decades of misery and then the most extraordinary stroke of good luck the universe has ever witnessed.

It isn’t—Clark has a life outside Batman, now. He meant what he said, about being Superman with or without Bruce’s blessing. He’s got Martha, and Alfred, and Earth-appropriate papers coming right up—might even get to tie himself legally to Martha as a cousin or some other kind of distant relative, if he’s lucky. Eventually, he’ll be able to actually go out, make friends. Oh, he’s...he might never turn out to be the kind of outgoing person Bruce Wayne is, but Clark is already miles and miles away from who Kal was, just by existing, and that’s only going to get better as time goes by. So yes, he does have a life outside of Batman—has not actually depended on the man for a while now—and it’s a pretty good life, so far. But he’s also not naive enough to think he owes that existence to his own effort.

“Well, whatever it is,” Arthur chimes in before Clark has time to figure out how to deflect the question, “I would love to be able to annoy the guy half as much as you do—that was magnificent!”

“It really wasn’t.”

Arthur doesn’t blink at him, or even show any outward sign of pausing, for that matter; but he doesn’t interrupt when Clark continues either.

“Just because things got...loud...that doesn’t mean he didn’t make good points.”

“Oh, come on!” Barry protests, Victor’s mouth twisting wryly in the background. “He acted like you were a regular human who ran into a burning building with nothing but a t-shirt and boxers on! That’s ridiculous!”

“And the lot of you acted like the very purpose of his existence was to annoy you,” Clark retorts before he can even think of stopping the words.

Silence shrouds the table, Diana carefully sipping her cocoa on his right—though Clark can tell her eyes aren’t leaving his face—and the atmosphere is more than a little awkward, especially for a second meeting. Still, as he’s heard Alfred say: in for a penny, in for a pound. So he refuses to allow himself to hesitate, sinking into the comforting certitude of Superman to keep himself going.

“Experience matters—being careful matters, if not for our own sakes then for the sake of the civilians we could fail to help or outright harm if we’re not serious enough about what we’re doing. The goal of an organization like the Justice League is to help everyone, isn’t it? Gather as many helpers as can be found to help as many people as can be reached. Isn’t that right?”

“It is,” Diana says, setting her cocoa cup back down on the table.

She doesn’t share the others’ look of contrition, but a glance at her confirms her expression has gone from surprised to speculative—Clark would falter at the sight, but Superman meets it head on, determined to get to the bottom of this, even if it hurts his relationship with the Justice League. It will, in the long run, bring more good than bad anyway, he’s sure.

“Well, there you have it, then. You don’t build something like that without discipline, and dedication—and paperwork. We are all adults here; we are all capable of recognizing that. So I may disagree—strongly disagree—with Bruce about a number of things, but I’ll still be taking him seriously, because he did make good points, and if I’m not going to listen to them, then what even is the point of being part of a team with him?”

Breathing in deep, Superman closes his eyes and forces his hands to unwind, his heartbeat to slow down. Superman is not supposed to get angry, not supposed to yell at teammates—or, if he’s going to be realistic, at anyone. A man who can destroy a tractor without even noticing could easily kill a person he’s annoyed with, no matter his intention, and while people may forget he has this ability as long as he keeps his temper under control, he has absolutely no doubt a little bit of shouting would do wonders to jog their memories.

Fortunately, once he does convince himself to look at his—possibly, one day, if he’s lucky—future teammates, they don’t look scared. Arthur, Barry, and Victor have sunk down in their seats, a little, and John seems very absorbed by his fingertips. J'onn’s face is impossible to decipher, and not just because he manages to make it feel totally blank despite having specifically chosen features for himself. Overall, this is a better reaction than Clark was anticipating, and he turns to Diana with a cautiously optimistic smile...only to find her looking at him with a disturbingly cryptical grin, something sparkling in her eyes as she says, “So, that’s your secret.”

“What? What’s his secret?”

“He likes Bruce.”

“Well, yes,” Clark says, Arthur’s smug grin making heat rise on the back of his neck, “of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

“Batman doesn’t usually do friends,” Victor remarks with a wry twist of his lips, “but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go back. Dinner with the old man.”

Clark watches Victor get to his feet, mutters of encouragement and good wishes for the evening rising from the table, and waves goodbye just before he takes off, without even considering the nearby cable cars. Barry yawns, then, glancing toward the sun where it is already dipping down towards the mountains, and says:

“You know, I’d love to stay longer—I still have like, three million questions—but I’ve got a thing tonight and I think I’d like to nap a little before it's time for that. Also, laundry.”

“Anything we can help with?” Diana asks, but Barry shakes his head.

“Thanks, but it’s not really Flash-related. Haven’t forgotten about your analyses, though—they’re still processing. Should have the results for you tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Barry.”

Barry nods, makes his way off the deck, and, once he’s out of view from the inside of the restaurant, takes off at a run, the blur of him zipping through evergreens until Clark can’t see it anymore—not without a better idea of where he’s going. Then Arthur gets up too, making some noise about going home as well since everyone’s leaving, and pretending to be terribly inconvenienced when John offers to drop him on the coastline on his way back. Soon enough, it’s only Clark, J'onn, and Diana left to pay the bill and tell the waitstaff their friends decided to hike back down the mountain.

“For my part,” Diana tells them afterwards, “I was thinking of hurrying up to the top and catching the sunset there. There’s a great view of Mont Blanc and Geneva below, if you like that sort of thing.”

Clark does and, apparently, so does J'onn: less than a few minutes later, they’re up the mountain and looking down at the whole valley of Geneva. The city sprawls along a wide lake, lights on against the early night of mountain villages everywhere: it looks like a piece of night sky itself, from up there. Clark refuses to look closer, just so he doesn’t have to shatter the illusion. Higher up, Mont Blanc and its surrounding peaks are aflame with the sunset, wide streaks of light slashing across the darkening sky, and Clark absorbs it all—imagines he can see actual red in there, hear a m’ro moo in the distance. He’s growing used to the nostalgia, little by little. Has mostly managed the trick of not letting it cut him down, of acknowledging it and moving on...But even like this—even with training, and a growing number of sunsets and sunrises there to help...there may never cease to be a part of his heart, the part that will never forget having been Kal, that looks at all this beauty and misses another kind of wilderness all the more strongly because he never felt able to enjoy it while he could.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, well aware of the twist to his lips.

“It is indeed.”

J'onn’s voice sounds different, then, and when Clark turn he’s almost not surprised to find a green-skinned man in place of the neutral, purposefully forgettable features from earlier. He has no eyebrows, or any sort of hair Clark can see; and J'onn’s outfit doesn’t keep much from view. But his eyes glow with the same red as Krypton’s sun, and the color is enough to take Clark in completely. J'onn doesn’t quite smile—whether that’s a personal quirk or a Martian thing, Clark wouldn’t know—but he does say:

“The colors are very reminiscent of my home planet...though they are perhaps somewhat less orange here than they are there.”

“The sun was always golden on Themyscira,” Diana offers, a hint of sadness tinging her smile. “A divine gift, I assume. Greece is—the sunsets there come close, but they’re not the same. Nothing ever is.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is.”

“You mustn’t be too hard on the others,” J'onn says after a long silence, when all that remains of the light is a thin lining of orange over the snowy mountains. “They’re young, and impulsive.”

“They’re too set in their ways for them to get used to being part of the League quickly,” Diana says. “Especially Arthur.”

“Well, he’ll have to learn, won’t he?” Clark asks. “All of us will, if we’re serious about keeping the League afloat, and I am. Even if I’m not—this could change things. Really change things. But—”

“But there’s too much room for error if we’re allowed to run around on a whim,” Diana concludes. “And error with people like us would be...well. I imagine you’ve had more than enough time with Bruce to expose all the ways in which a rogue group of super-powered people could do far more harm than good.”

Clark didn’t have to wait for Batman’s arrival in his life to realize that unfettered power could be a dangerous thing. Krypton was more than enough of a master class in that; and hearing your aunt fall to hear death in the dead of night—dismissing it as a bad dream and not realizing that was what it was until entire months have gone by—has a way of driving a lesson home. Now is not the time for that conversation, however, and so Clark nods, holding a sigh in. The Justice League is a good idea, he’s convinced of that. But it will only be a good thing if everyone involved, including him—even if he doesn’t ever get to actually join—is willing to put effort towards that goal. Even if said effort results in paperwork.

“Don’t worry,” J'onn tells them when the lull in conversation becomes noticeable. “I’m confident we will all rise to the occasion...It doesn’t seem like any of us is the type to leave their home unprotected.”

“Home,” Clark murmurs. “I suppose that’s what it’ll be, eventually.”

It isn’t, just yet. He likes his life here, has no intention of leaving in the foreseeable future, but home? Home is still a place far off among the stars, with mountains so high they might as well be touching the sky, and a sun so red it changes all the colors of its world. Home is, still, a place too vast to name, where he was small and scared and all but invisible...and yet it is a place he misses still, part of him longing to go back, to see his parents again, to—but those are useless dreams, and Clark shuts them down with a deep, shaky inhale.

“It’s not so bad, you know, once you grow used to it. Plenty of this to experience, and the neighbors are fairly decent.”

“Oh, I know. So is my housemate, actually,” Clark tells Diana, unable not to mirror her smile, even if he tried. “Speaking of her...it’s my turn cooking tonight. I think I’d better get going.”

“Of course,” J'onn says with a solemn nod. “As for the future—I realize we share neither a culture, nor a membership in the League, but I know something of what it is to be an alien. So does Diana—”

“In a manner of speaking,” Diana interjects with a little smile, “but as J'onn was about to say—we’re here if you’d like to talk. Or drink.”

“Diana is very fond of wine.”

“And whiskey. And vodka. And I rarely say no to a good rum.”

Clark laughs at the way Diana winks, the faint sense of fondness floating around J'onn. He didn’t get to talk with the League as much as he wanted today, but they were good conversation, and so he’s still smiling when he floats upwards—Diana congratulates him on his progress with a teasing tone—turns towards Kansas, and heads for Smallville.

Clark comes back to Smallville just in time to put himself between Martha and the stove and bicker with her about not letting him skip out on chores, while she insists she won’t just sit around being hungry when she can just fix dinner and let him take care of something else later on. Which is fair and perfectly logical, but Clark makes sure to keep being contrary, just so he can see Martha’s grin widen as the conversation goes on. Later that evening, after Clark is done doing the dishes, Martha sits him down in front of the TV and announces it’s time to keep furthering his pop culture education.

“You have a choice: we can stick with Star Trek and watch the animated series, or we can go for something a little different and have ourselves a Star Wars marathon.”

Clark looks at the cover, and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s still set in space.”

“There was a fad, and I’m a nerd, sue me,” Martha replies. “We could skip ahead and watch Buffy or the X-Files, but you said you wanted to maybe take a break from long shows, so….”

“Let’s go with Star Wars , then.”

“Great. Could you get the lights?”

It would be a lie, so far, to say that Clark has been as enthusiastic as Martha is about the shows and movies she’s shown him. He doesn’t dislike them, far from that, but he has to admit that a good part of the fun in these is watching Martha mouth lines as they are said on screen, and listening to her impart a veritable encyclopedia's worth of obscure knowledge about fictional characters, the fictional universes they live in, and the people who dedicate an astonishing number of hours to loving those things. It isn’t the only part of pop culture he's discovered, of course: he enjoyed Clue immensely, especially the bit with doing the voices—“Oh, I’m definitely introducing you to my D&D group.”—raged at Chutes and Ladders, and got his butt properly handed to him in no time flat the one time Martha had him playing Risk. The shows and movies are definitely Martha’s favorite part, though, and watching her enjoy them is a delight in and of itself...Clark can’t wait to see what it’s like when she’s let loose in the middle of like-minded people.

Of course, they’ll have to wait until his new papers come through before they can think of actually letting anyone meet Clark. But it’s nice to make plans for the future, even if they’re frivolous ones about watching movies with new people. It’s the small things that keep you going, after all, like hoping Luke Skywalker will finally get some closure from the man who killed his father—

A sound prickles at the edge of Clark's hearing.

“I think Bruce is coming.”

“What?” Martha exclaims, looking between the front door and the screen, where Obi-Wan Kenobi is searching for Darth Vader in the Death Star. “Right now?”

“He’s in the plane,” Clark replies, getting up from the couch and trying to make sure he hasn’t left anything embarrassing lying around. “Shouldn’t be more than five minutes, I think.”

He’s not entirely sure why this urge to neaten up has even seized him. Rationally speaking, he could stay on the couch with Martha and keep watching; but the thought of Bruce looking at the place and thinking Clark is responsible for any sort of mess is far too distressing to be ignored, and so he doesn’t try to stop Martha when she pauses the DVD in the player and goes to put the kettle on.

Four minutes later, at the most, Bruce Wayne knocks on the front door.

It’s Clark who answers, far more flushed than he needs to be, and what is even going on with—

“Oh, hi, Bruce.”

“Hi. I, uh—I was wondering if we could. Talk. For a bit.”

“Uh,” Clark says, intelligently, looking at the TV first and Martha second—she looks more than a little perplexed, though whether by Bruce’s presence or Clark’s behavior, it’s difficult to say. But she gives a little shrug anyway, so Clark concludes: “Yes, sure. Let me just—”

Clark gestures down at his socked feet, and then almost topples when he bends to put shoes on, which would be embarrassing under any circumstances; here, now, combined with the way neither Bruce not Martha are saying anything while they wait, it has the potential to become thoroughly mortifying. Still, eventually Clark manages, and then he’s vaguely waving in Martha’s direction and stepping out through the front door and into the balmy air of an early August evening. He follows Bruce away from the house, toward the fields, and when the silence between them becomes too tense to bear, he makes himself blurt:

“I’ve got a room now. Of my own. I mean, it’s, uh—it’s above the storehouse. If you’d like to...I don’t know. Sit down or something.”

“Certainly,” Bruce says in Ellon, more formal than they’ve ever been with each other—then he winces, almost too quick for even Clark to see, and chooses much more casual, downright friendly grammar to add: “Lead the way.”

Nodding, Clark does as he’s told, and they finish the walk to the storehouse and up the ladder in silence, until Clark is sitting on the faded couch and Bruce is looking around like he’s trying to appraise the place. Tension grows between them again, threatening to push Clark into another bout of insanity, when Bruce apparently decides it’s his turn to try and produce some semblance of conversation, in English this time:

“I like it, Clark. It’s very midwest. Very you.”

“Thank you...I guess.”

Bruce nods, short and decisive, and then his shoulders straighten, and his hand lets go of the hem of his blazer. When he looks back at Clark next, there is no hesitation at all in his posture. Clark adjusts in response, slips into Superman’s demeanor without even having to think about it, and remains entirely neutral when Batman says:

“The League has voted in favor of accepting your offer of an off-planet base. They sent their responses along tonight, as well as a number of suggestions, questions and requests regarding the actual process of installation...John has volunteered to ask around for transportation devices—he mentioned something called Zeta beams?”

“That makes sense,” Superman replies with a slight nod. “They’re limited in range, but they’re cheaper and easier to maintain than other systems. Probably the best choice for a test run, and they’ll be safer for any civilian who may come in contact with them, too.”

“That’s settled, then. I’ll put the team’s feedback together and send you a summary so you can prepare your answers before we have another meeting.”

“A meeting?” Superman asks, puzzled. “I thought you didn’t want me joining the League?”

There’s a brief pause, Batman’s lips pinching together as he gives Superman a flinty look, but Superman doesn’t move from his place on the couch, afraid a single shiver of his muscles will bring whatever bridge they’re trying to build crumbling into dust between their fingers.

Eventually, Batman says, “The League will have no choice but to work with you on this. It makes more sense to sit us all around a table than to have me keep acting as a go-between.”

“Of course,” Superman agrees, finally getting to his feet so he can extend a hand for Batman to shake. “Well, I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to working with the lot of you.”

“The League could say the same,” Batman answers, stiffer than ever despite the steadiness of his gaze, the confidence present in every nuance of movement in his hand. Then, as if taking a plunge he adds: “Wonder Woman informed me I have you to thank for everyone’s speedy responses. I don’t know what you did, but I’ve never had Arthur take less than four business days to answer an email from me, so...thanks for that, Superman.”

“You’re...welcome.”

Batman nods again, either oblivious to or unconcerned by Superman’s slack jaw, and turns around to leave with such a flourish that it almost feels like he’s swung a cape over his shoulders. Deflating, Clark sits back down on Martha’s old couch, feeling vaguely disappointed with the proceedings. Sure, it makes sense for Batman to let him know about that sort of development, and if Clark had been opposed to working with him, he wouldn’t have offered his ship as the League’s headquarters, let alone fight fought to be considered an acceptable candidate to join. Still, he’d have hoped—that is to say, with how their last conversations have gone, he’d have thought—oh, but it probably doesn’t matter.

And then, a second later, it definitely doesn’t matter because when Clark tries to figure out where Bruce’s plane is, he realizes not only has the thing not moved, but there’s also a distinct crunch of graveled earth under expensive shoes. Well, he can’t really hear the expensive part, but it’s Bruce. Everything he wears is expensive. It’s also deeply, deeply irrelevant right now, at least compared to the question of why on Earth he hasn’t left yet. Frowning, Clark floats down from the loft, landing behind Bruce without a sound—and grinning when Bruce grunts but doesn’t seem startled at all.

“Is everything all right?”

“No,” Bruce retorts, almost a bark. Then, switching to Ellon after a long silence: “About—when you came to the Cave and— fuck .”

A deep breath as Bruce turns his back to Clark.

“His name was Jason,” he tells the sky, which is almost entirely pink with sunset. His son’s name sounds odd, next to Ellon words, but Clark has had more than enough time to realize some things in his life are easier to speak of in English, and he doesn’t begrudge Bruce the reverse. “I—I was not there. That—that—bastard took him, and t—”

Bruce cuts himself off with such force, Clark is almost afraid he’ll chip his teeth. He takes a tentative step forward, hand reaching out to touch, but stops himself at the last second. Who knows, after all, if touching Bruce right now would be at all helpful? Clark waits instead, tries to leave space for Bruce’s harsh breathing, for the sort of feeling that blocks the throat and traps the words inside. For the sort of sound that feels like if it starts, it’ll never stop again.

“I was not there,” Bruce repeats, deflating, hunching under the weight of it all. “My boy died, alone, because I was not there. Because I took a vow—because Batman exists to save people, to help them, but I—whatever exists between Batman and Bruce Wayne, it’s never brought anyone anything but pain. And that is the thing that trained you.”

This time Clark does reach up—touches the fingers of his right hand to the back of Bruce’s left elbow, and, with as much care as he can manage, positions himself just a little closer to Bruce: just close enough that he won’t have to speak above a whisper for Bruce to hear what he’s got to say. He clears his throat, fearing for a moment that the words really will stay stuck inside—or will cut through his throat like razors and leave him to bleed out here in the grass, in the first place where he’s ever felt like he could fit in.

“You know,” he says, with his hand still on Bruce’s elbow and his eyes firmly stuck to the ground, “I used to hate it. The—the thing in the middle. It just—it never managed to really be Kal, it was never strong enough to be Shadow...I thought...I thought it was—thought it would be better for everyone if it just...stopped existing. Disappeared, and left Shadow free to complete his mission. To be—well. Essentially: Batman.”

Clark forces a chuckle, and it scrapes at the inside of his chest, at his throat, until he almost decides to switch back to English and the—not quite the ease of it, but something like it, at least. He’s the one who forced this conversation on Bruce, though, without pausing to think about the circumstances in which he’d have preferred to have it—if at all—let alone the language. The least he can do is let Bruce decide what words to use for the rest of it.

“I don’t—I can’t express how much I hated it. I thought—it felt like it could never—be. Like I had to be something else, always, or I’d just be some sort of terrible—”

“You’re not—” Bruce starts in English, twisting around to look at Clark’s face. “There’s nothing hateable about you. You—”

“It’s okay,” Clark cuts in, sticking to Ellon even if Bruce won’t.

He’s still not sure he’ll manage to say what he needs to say properly with this specific language, but now that he’s started it seems...important, somehow, to say all of it in his mother tongue. Especially when he realizes, as he says it, that it really is okay—or, at least, far more okay than it’s ever been before.

“It wasn't, for a long time. I certainly wasn’t okay when I tried to become a second Batman. But then—then we came here. To Earth, I mean. And then—then I met you. Not Batman. Not Bruce Wayne. Just you. The guy in the middle.”

Clark smiles, just a little, when Bruce’s mouth all but falls open, color leaching from his face.

“You were the first person who saw me. Batman saw Kal, and then he saw Shadow, but it’s you who—you were the one who helped me when I had no option but to learn to be myself. You helped me learn what I needed to know, and then you introduced me to Martha and—look,” Clark adds, when Bruce’s face goes entirely white and his eyes widen in something far too close to horror for comfort, “I’m not saying—you didn’t turn me into Clark. Of course not. But you—you made it possible for me to...I don’t know. To become him. Become me. And I’m not—it doesn’t...erase anything, or cancel anything out. I know that. I’m not expecting it to. I’m just saying—it’s not pain. What you, Bruce, brought me. It isn’t pain, or anger, or sadness, or—it’s quite the opposite, in fact. Like...a sheltering rock in a storm. Maybe I’d have survived without you, but, Rao, I’m glad I found you.”

“You say that now,” Bruce mutters, blood rushing back into his cheeks, his neck, his ears.

Clark watches Bruce’s skin change color and wants to hug him, press him close until all the affection he feels, all the love and friendship and hope he’s found here, on Earth, flood from his chest into the man who made all of it possible. He wants to gather Bruce to him and keep him there until he realizes exactly how much he’s done. It wouldn’t erase the pain in Bruce's past—nothing would, Clark knows—but maybe, just maybe, it would help soothe it a little, and that would be worth it.

Clark ignores the urge, however—doesn’t listen to the part of him that wants to kiss Bruce’s forehead; as if it could solve anything—and reaches for Bruce’s elbow again instead, giving it a friendly squeeze. He settles for smiling down at Bruce in as sincere and reassuring a way as he can manage, leaning into him for comfort—his or Bruce’s, he’s not sure—until they both realize how close they’re standing and step apart at the same time, breathing like they’ve been underwater all this time.

“Thank you,” Bruce says in strained English, still flushed but more...stable, now, than he was when he first arrived. “That was—thanks. For...sharing.” Bruce clears his throat. “I should go back to Gotham. I’ve got things to do.”

“Yes, of course,” Clark replies, his whole skin buzzing with a sort of electricity he doesn’t remember ever feeling before. “Well, goodnight, then. Let me know when you’ve got a date for the meeting.”

“Will do,” Bruce replies, more softly than the words really require. Then, almost hesitant: “I’m going to need my arm back.”

Clark lets go with a sheepish chuckle, face blooming with summer sun-heat, and watches Bruce walk back toward the front yard, bypass the house entirely, and climb into the plane, taking off in the general direction of Gotham. Clark watches him go far longer than a human could—has to force himself to stop, after a while—and then he spends longer still just standing there next to the grazing field and grinning at the stars.

Martha has situated herself back on the couch when Clark comes inside, nibbling on popcorn with her giant book of crosswords, the screen still frozen on Ben Kenobi’s quest for Darth Vader. She waves Clark’s apologies away as he sits down, making room for the bowl of popcorn between them and grabbing the remote before she asks, “What did Bruce want, anyway? It must have been important, for him to come all the way here.”

“Oh, the League’s decided to use my ship as headquarters. He was just here to let me know.”

“He made a four-hour flight just so he could tell you something that would have fit into a text?”

Caught by surprise, Clark almost doesn’t catch the popcorn bowl in time to prevent a fatal fall to the ground. When he looks up from his near-blunder, Martha is still staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Clark flushes again, not quite as pleasantly as before—though not in a painful way, either—and manages a shrug that he hopes is convincing. Somehow, he hadn’t thought of that, and now the very knowledge is throwing a wrench in his thought process, making his mind sputter and...well, not die, but definitely not work as it should.

“I mean,” he manages after a while, “there was...something else we needed to talk about it’s just—that wasn’t the only thing, is all.”

“Yes,” Martha says like she thinks Clark hit his head somehow, “but he still flew for four hours—eight, with the trip back—just to have a, what, thirty-minute chat with you in the barn?”

“I think I should get a job,” Clark blurts out.

As diversions go, this one is absolutely disastrous—he doesn’t need to see Martha’s face go a stony sort of blank to realize that. She’s a kind woman, however, and so she pretends not to notice the fumbling—or the way Clark’s fingers are millimeters away from denting the metal bowl they’ve used for the popcorn. For a few seconds, silence floats between them while Clark tries to figure out where to go from there...but then, as it turns out, he must have been thinking about this a little, because his mouth starts working as if on its own:

“I can’t just rely on your generosity forever. And it’s not that I don’t like living on the farm, it’s just—I don’t think I want Superman to be the only one who helps, you know? Super strength can do a lot of things, but it won’t solve everything.”

“So...are you thinking about going into politics?” Martha asks, filching a fistful of popcorn even as she turns to face Clark more completely. “Because that might mean more scrutiny than you’re ready for.”

“Oh, no! No, my cousin is a politician, I’ve seen what that can be like—no, I don’t think leadership is the thing for me.” Clark shudders. “I do want to help, just...not that way.”

Martha hums, and makes a bunch of other suggestions—working for a non-profit, being a teacher, a social worker, a foster parent...none of these options really catch Clark’s interest, but the conversation does last long enough to prevent another go at discussing Bruce’s reason for flying all the way to Kansas, which Clark counts as a win.

He’s not sure he feels ready to share the delightful strangeness of the warmth in his stomach with anyone—not sure what to do but savor it, grinning at the ceiling of his loft until he falls asleep with a smile on his lips and a contented hum on his tongue.

Clark flies into Detroit later that week so he can meet with John and start filling out his paperwork. There’s a lot of it, predictably, and in a language Clark never learned, which makes the whole process even longer than it would normally be.

“I realize it’s stupid,” John says when they set aside the paperwork in favor of a coffee over his extremely shiny kitchen table, “but J'onn is the only other alien—well, non-Terran—I’ve met, and since he was able to read it without a problem, I kind of assumed—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll learn it,” Clark reassures him cheerfully, almost surprised by his own persistent good mood. “I can recognize a couple of words already.”

John’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead, but Clark just smiles and keeps filling out his application for a Corps-territory passport, since his Kryptonian one has been revoked. (It hurt, somehow, to read about it in Kara’s latest letter. It isn’t like he hadn’t expected it, but it caught him by surprise anyway.) The good part is, once that’s done, the Green Lanterns will be the ones to take care of inserting Clark Kent into American databases—which is a blessing, because Clark doesn’t have the slightest idea how he’d manage that.

“We just do the legal bits, though,” John warns when Clark shares his thoughts. “If you want to convince people you’ve always lived...wherever you want to settle down...you’re going to have to ask for J'onn’s help.”

“I haven’t decided where to go yet,” Clark replies with a shrug, refusing a third cupcake with a polite smile. “I’m not even sure what I’ll do with myself—I don’t know how to do any Earth job. Well, aside from some farming, but that’s not a career path I’m interested in.”

Oh, he’ll do it, if he has to. If Martha needs the help, or if he can’t find another job, but...well. Part of it is that he genuinely does want to help more than one person, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to do that as a farmer. Another part—more selfish, more shameful—is that after a lifetime of only barely ever leaving his house for anything but crime-fighting, he has no desire to settle down in another place where he’d see the same hundred faces for the rest of his life.

“Well, what do you want to do then?” John asks. “Me, I’m an architect—I like it, but it’s not for everyone.”

“I want to help,” Clark replies, aware of the petulant note in his voice but strangely incapable of keeping it out. “I want to—Krypton’s government is quite...corrupt. On multiple levels. I’m used to helping people, smuggling information pamphlets out, and getting them off the planet when they become compromised...I think I’d like to do something like that. Not the smuggling-people-out part, necessarily but...making sure the public has access to information, even if it means annoying a few people in the process. It’s not like I can’t take it, after all.”

John looks at him for a long time, every line of his face speaking of someone focused on an idea—though what idea, Clark doesn’t really know. He sits there, trying not to fidget too much, until John, as deep in thought as he was before, asks:

“Have you ever heard the term ‘muckraker’?”

“Can’t say I have, no.”

John grins, and ends up sending Clark away with a lot of reading recommendations, the names of three different universities in various cities, and a promise that he’ll be welcome to stay with John if he ever needs to spend time in Detroit again.

Not exactly the afternoon Clark had anticipated, but not exactly a bad one, either.

On Saturday, five days after Bruce’s strange visit to the farm—and the loft, where his smell lingered the first night, caught in a closed space while Clark, for some reason, never quite got around to opening the back doors—Clark receives a text from him that only says ‘[email protected]’, followed by a string random numbers and letters, which, Clark reasons, must be a password. It takes a few minutes before he manages to access the mailbox, but once he does he’s not that surprised to find a single, tersely-worded message with a fifty-seven-page PDF attached.

He’s in the house’s living room, with the brand new couch all to himself while Martha is out in town for her weekly book club. He takes the time to sip from his coffee before he scrolls past the main title—“Project Watchtower”— takes a look at the table of contents, and promptly chokes on his coffee, laughter stinging at the corners of his eyes until he has to set his suit-made tablet aside and double over with it. It takes him a while, but eventually Clark does get himself back under control...just enough, at any rate, to send a quick text to Bruce’s number:

‘How much did part three hurt to write?’

‘My teeth may never recover,’ comes the near-immediate response.

Clark snorts again, scrolling down the file past ‘I. Technical Concerns’ and ‘II. Political Concerns’ to go straight to ‘III. Personal Concerns’ which he’s absolutely certain will turn out to mean ‘questions Batman deemed unprofessional but felt compelled to include anyway’. And, indeed, the first item on the explicitly unordered list doesn't do much to change his mind about that.

‘You can tell Barry replicators are not a real thing,’ he texts Bruce.

‘Not unless I want him to come up with another ridiculous science-fiction related questions. How do you even know what a replicator is?’

‘Martha describes herself as a veteran nerd.’

Clark chuckles to himself as Bruce’s side of the conversation turns into a ‘currently writing’ bubble, sipping on his coffee again while he gives the following questions a cursory look, dictating answers where he can and marking things to look up in other places. He’s on the cusp of sinking into complete focus—and moving back up to the more serious questions—when his phone vibrates with a new alert.

‘I still didn’t expect her to teach you about that first.’

‘If I recall correctly, she said I might as well turn to Wikipedia and scientific journals for ‘the high brow topics’ and let her take care of my cultural and hands-on education. What’s a TARDIS?’

‘Let me guess,’ Bruce replies, again without pause, ‘Barry?’

With a snort, Clark shuffles around on the couch until he’s no longer sitting but rather sprawled on his back, tablet resting on his belly and propped up against his bent leg. It feels a little bit like surrendering to some form of temptation—like waking from a luxurious nap and sinking back into bed with a beloved book in your hands—and his smile widens, warmth bubbling in his stomach with the delightful fizz of a soda bottle. He smiles down at his tablet as he types an answer, still technically working even though he’s looking for ways to appall Bruce more than he is actually trying to answer questions.

‘Arthur, actually. Should I be surprised? I have no idea what this is referencing.’

‘An alien,’ is Bruce’s instant reply. It makes Clark frown despite himself.

‘Far be it from me to complain,’ he writes, ‘but I don’t think you’ve ever replied to my messages this quickly. Is there a special occasion?’

He doesn't send it. He stares down at the tablet for a long time instead, the texting app that wouldn’t exist on a human-made item blinking at him in bright, textured colors, and hesitates. He’s not sure why he hesitates, exactly. It’s an innocent enough message—one he’d have no problem sending Kara, for example. But here, and now, he can’t help but think maybe he should try to sound less—less. Less something, surely, though he can’t quite put his finger on what or why. It’s enough to keep his fingers away from the ‘send’ button, at any rate, and he stares at the screen for a moment longer, hoping against hope that Bruce will send something else and spare him from having to make an actual decision.

He does want the conversation to keep going—has never had any objection to talking to Bruce in any capacity, or at any length—but, perhaps, not quite that way. Still, Bruce doesn’t seem in the mood to say more. So after a while, Clark erases the unsent message. And despite—or perhaps, a tiny voice whispers at the back of his mind, because of—his vague awareness of the implications, he decides to ask:

‘What are you doing?’

The next alert is for a picture of Bruce’s feet in very expensive shoes, propped up on what looks like a very expensive table surrounded by a bunch of people in very expensive suits. Clark may have grown up in ridiculous wealth—even more so, perhaps, than Bruce—but Krypton’s wealth is very different from Earth’s and he’s never been rich here. Besides, it isn’t like he ever felt like he belonged in El’s palace either. He certainly would never have dared to flaunt his disdain for it the way Bruce seems to be doing now, at any rate.

‘Playing stupid in a meeting,’ Bruce writes a few seconds later, the ‘currently writing’ dots hovering for a long time before he adds: ‘Intensely boring work.’

There’s another break while Clark tries to figure out how to respond to that, and then, to his utter bafflement, Bruce sends:

‘I’m not good with people.’

Clark stares down at his tablet, blinking just to make sure he hasn’t misread the message—it is, after all, not related to anything they’ve been saying so far, and hardly news besides. Bruce Wayne might be excellent at wrapping people around his little finger—as evidenced by the general tone of fond dismissal most tabloids seem to adopt when they discuss him—but neither Batman nor Bruce has ever struck Clark as particularly skilled in the art of interpersonal relationships. Or, well. Sincere interpersonal relationships. To point that out would be rude, though, and potentially misconstrued, and so Clark sighs in relief when the next message comes:

‘I was harsher than I should have been.’

Another pause.

‘During the meeting.’

Oh, Clark thinks. That meeting.

‘You apologized for that already.’

‘No,’ Bruce sends.

Then, after a pause:

‘I didn’t.’

Another blank.

‘I let you know you were right about’

‘about him’

‘but I didn’t say I was sorry’

‘so’

‘here it is’

‘it wasn’t fair of me’

‘to make it sound like you were bad at your job when i’

The suspension marks continue to hover at the top of the screen for a while, and then they vanish, leaving Bruce’s sentence unfinished and the air brimming with a certain sense of...finality, somehow. Or maybe a sense of opportunity. Like Bruce isn’t going to say anything further—he probably isn’t, Rao, this must have been like pulling teeth for him—but it’s up to Clark to decide whether he’s going to let it drop or not. Whether he’s going to make something of it or not.

And he’s nowhere close to knowing what he’d want to make of it, but he does know he is very much not okay with the conversation stopping here—wants to keep Bruce talking as long as he can, just to feel that sense of connection between them, the faint, pleasing tingle of knowing Bruce is thinking of him.

‘It’s all right,’ he says, after spending enough time deliberating he’s half afraid Bruce will be done with his meeting and too busy to answer. ‘I figured as much.’

Rao, how grateful can you be for the possibility of picking your words with care? (Quite a lot, as it turns out.)

It takes him a long time to find enough courage to add:

‘I care about you, too.’

Bruce doesn’t reply to Clark’s last message. It was, Clark reminds himself, always a possibility. A very predictable one, at that, and so he decides not to mind at all. He reads books instead—runs to and from Kansas City multiple times just so he can go through all their books on journalism and law and, when there’s really nothing left for it, politics. He hasn’t been able to let the idea of journalism go ever since John suggested it; and maybe he’ll regret it later, but for the moment it feels right, and he’s determined to follow his gut wherever it’ll lead him. It’ll do him good to let himself be led towards something as opposed to away from things, for a change.

The whole business takes about a week, and even then only because he’s alternating between that, Project Watchtower, and the related email chain where Barry piles food suggestions on him, Victor keeps making subtle references to things he claims to be too cool for, and Arthur routinely shoots down every single one of Diana’s suggestions to create a group chat.

That bit is, obviously, not really work, but it does lead to several lunches and outings, and it’s still good for Clark’s horizons to expand. It makes Martha chuckle when he tells her, just a touch of sadness in the sound. Having seven whole friends is a new thing, though, new enough he feels compelled to swear on Rao he’s not inventing them when he writes to Kara. He is damn well going to enjoy it as much as he can.

He’s sitting at a library table and trying to figure out how college application forms work—he hasn’t really discussed it with John, but he’s starting to figure Earth out well enough to realize he won’t be able to just fake a degree, especially when the programs he’d be most interested in, as a student, don’t come with online courses.And then his phone rings and nearly makes him jump through the roof. Grabbing at the table to prevent it from clanking back down and alerting the entire library, Clark manages to stop himself before the top of his head climbs past the tops of the bookshelves and, feeling redder than his cape, answers the phone.

“Bruce,” he manages, just a little more breathless than he’d like. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

“Are you free?” Bruce asks in strangled, almost brittle English.

Clark frowns, spine straightening without even thinking about it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bruce says, with the sort of haste that says something is definitely wrong. “I’m just—”

“Bruce, where are you?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Kent,” Bruce retorts, but there’s that brittleness in his voice again, and Clark almost forgets to exit the library like a normal person.

Flying to Gotham barely takes him more than a few minutes nowadays. Fifteen, tops, when he lets it—and he’s definitely not going to let it right now, so he’s fairly sure he’s the reason Bruce is running his fingers through his hair and muttering ‘shit shit shit shit shit shit shit’ to himself when he lands on the deck next to the lake house. It’s a bit of a surreal sight, in that Clark has definitely never seen any of Bruce’s personae this messy, not ever—and also in that the second Bruce realizes he’s not alone he physically stops in his tracks and cycles through at least three different colors before settling for a blank face with a very, very bright red overlay.

“What is it?” Clark asks in Superman’s voice, just in case the house is somehow compromised. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Bruce hisses through his teeth, taking three steps toward Clark before he doubles back, grabs a package off a glass table, and brandishes it like a shield. “Your papers came through—John had to leave for some kind of emergency with the Lanterns, so he left them with me.”

Clark, mouth opening on a quiet gasp, drops out of Superman’s posture and costume all at once—sinks down into the Kal-esque slouch he’s decided on for Clark Kent’s public persona instead, and proceeds to open the thick envelope with even more reverence than he’d anticipated. He takes them all out, one by one—driver's license, ID card, passport...and a birth certificate in appropriately faded paper. He brings it up to eye level with trembling fingers, the world dissolving into a blur when he sees Smallville listed as his birthplace, Jonathan and Martha Kent as his parents.

Wiping at his face doesn’t do anything to slow the tears, or the sobs that turn into chuckles—or maybe the other way around. After a moment Bruce must take pity on him because his hand settles on Clark’s shoulder, thumb squeezing in the dip above Clark’s clavicle as he clears his throat and, in a shaking voice, says, “See, nothing wrong.”

Clark manages a strangled noise that might have become a word with some practice, shaking his head for emphasis even as he tries to stop the helpless giggling that's taken him over. Bruce’s hand is warm on his shoulder, solid where Clark feels suddenly fragile, and he leans into it just a little harder than is entirely appropriate, glad that it’s Bruce here with him to receive the news.

“I’m sorry,” Clark manages at long last, “it’s just—you sounded so nervous….”

“I don’t sound nervous,” Bruce retorts, but there’s no heat in the words.

And even if there were: the Earth’s sun has given Clark an eidetic memory. He’d know Bruce was lying anyway. As it is, all he does is snort and wish he had some kind of handkerchief as he sniffles and wipes the last tears from his eyes, and then sighs like he’s been dragging a small moon behind him for years and has finally been allowed to set it down.

“Thank you,” he tells Bruce in Ellon, making sure to use the most respectful and affectionate forms he can think of. “For everything you’ve done...and for being here.”

“It was my pleasure and my honor,” Bruce replies, surprising Clark with his truly commendable use of an Ellon form he has to have learned after their return to Earth. “Actually...I was wondering if, perhaps, you would like for us to celebrate this together.”

For a moment—just the one, earth-shattering moment—Clark’s heart turns loud enough to drown the universe in its rhythm. The Earth, the Milky Way, Krypton itself all cease to exist, swallowed into a heartbeat like glorious bells, a warmth like the sun filling Clark’s veins and squeezing at his guts and his heart and every inch of him in between as he digests the way Bruce spoke the words—shy, almost reverential in tone as much as in form. This is—this would be how an Ellon would offer...lifelong commitments. The kind of arrangement of the heart that can’t, won’t be broken by anything except, perhaps, those who entered it. Clark feels his face grow redder and redder with it, his armpits and neck prickling with the emotion until even his sun-altered body is sweating.

“Bruce,” he manages, feeble and almost too low to be heard, “I don’t think you—”

Bruce makes a face like he’s about to jump from a roof to another one too far away, knowing the gap is too wide and there’s no way he’ll make it, but unable to allow himself to back down anyway. It’s remarkably close to the face Clark imagines he pulled the first time he jumped down from the Citadel’s dome, the first time he flew his own h’mori as a child. The same face he might be wearing, right now, as he allows himself to trust Bruce’s dedication—to believe the man really, truly knows what he is saying.

Bruce, after all, wouldn’t have become Batman—let alone survived this long in the uniform—if he’d been the kind of man content to be anything less than excellent at anything he decided to learn.

“I would love to celebrate with you,” Clark tells Bruce, offering just as much of himself as Bruce offered him.

The feeling is heady, terrifying and intoxicating, not unlike flying: the mad rush of a fall with the absolute certitude he will be caught at the bottom, and land, safe and unscathed, in a place where there will never be any doubt of his welcome. Or, well. Not enough to make him leave, at any rate.

He watches the realization bloom on Bruce’s face, far redder than any shade Bruce Wayne has ever sported, and all the lovelier for it.

“Well,” Bruce says, clearing his throat hard enough Clark can’t help but wince in remembered sympathy, “what do you say to ice cream?”

He’s switched back to English, but it doesn’t do anything to dispel the joyful, brimming tension between them, and Clark reaches for just a little bit of Superman’s strength and bravery. Just enough of it to take the second plunge—always the scariest, in his opinion, because by then you’ve had time to realize exactly what you’re risking—and says:

“Before that, though...can I—”

“I’m not a blushing princess, Kent,” Bruce cuts off, the attempt at irritation just enough to pull Clark from his stupor. “You don’t have to court me or anything.”

“Fine,” Clark sighs, glad for the way Bruce’s grumbling makes some of the nerves go away. “In that case...I’d like to kiss you, if that’s all right with you.”

Bruce’s features all but scream ‘duh’, and Clark snorts, giddy with it, before bending down to kiss Bruce's lips and forget, just for a while, that fear even exists at all.

#DCU Fanfiction #Superbat #Clark Kent #Bruce Wayne #Superbat Big Bang #SBB 2019 #Fanfiction #My Posts #fic: Clark Kent of Krypton

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