Fic: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You | DCU/SR/BB | Clark/Bruce | PG-13 | 5/8
Title: The Greatest Gift I Can Give You - Part 5
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,503 (this section)
Summary: (this section) It's Thanksgiving at the Manor, and certain discoveries are made. Clark overhears a conversation he wishes he didn't.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Written for The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Fanzine.
Index Post
Part 5
In the mere two and a half weeks Dick has been at the Manor, Bruce has watched his demeanor slowly begin to relax into a comfortable brightness, despite the little boy's fits of sullenness. He's spent more time in the gym than even Bruce does, often happily practicing on the equipment, but sometimes working himself so hard that the Bat starts to see himself in him again, see the hard fire of anger and grief pushing the little boy. Dick falls asleep hard on those days, many times in front of the television - a real luxury, as he's informed Bruce on several occasions - and even in the middle of conversations. In those instances, Bruce is more than glad to carry the little boy, so small and light for his age that his weight is like nothing to the man, up to bed and tuck him in.
Watching Dick sleep, then, has become a favored pastime. He could do it all day and night, just adoring the little acrobat and wondering what the future might hold for him, what it might hold for their little burgeoning family.
“Hey, you coming to bed or going out tonight?”
Clark's low voice pulls Bruce's attention away from the small form breathing deeply in slumber, the sleep-tousled hair spilling carelessly over the pillow, and the billionaire turns in the doorway, reaching out to grab his lover's pajama-clad waist. “Going out. Crime doesn't take vacations, not even for Thanksgiving. Anyway, I was just-”
“Watching him sleep. I know.” Clark's small smile is knowing and patient, and Bruce sighs with gratitude for it. He doesn't ever need to explain his devotion to Dick to him; Clark knows. “See me to bed before you head out?”
“Of course.” Pulling the door almost closed, he gives his full attention to his Kryptonian, padding back down the hall with him to their bedroom. “He's pushing himself,” he finally says as they step out of earshot.
“He is,” Clark agrees. When they reach their bedroom at last, Bruce swings open the door to admit them, and the taller man continues as they separate, “He's got a lot to work out. When I lost my Dad, I spent almost a year just... training.” Unwittingly thinking of the way Jason has been recently, his growing upset over Lois sending his other father away, Clark squeezes his eyes shut briefly. Jason shouldn't have any reason to mourn the loss of a father; he's right here for God's sake!
But he shakes it off, as he's become accustomed to doing so often as of late, and thinks again of the little acrobat down the hall. There's something else he's noticed, and he wonders if Bruce has seen it, too... “Dick's been pretty distant lately. You don't think he might be...”
“No,” Bruce says, shutting the door behind them and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Maybe. I don't know.” He doesn't want to admit that his earlier predictions about Dick figuring him out might all be true. “Maybe he's still just processing everything.”
“Well, he does seem to be taking things better than he was.”
Bruce huffs. “He's taking things better than I ever did. Though I'm sure having Zucco in prison already might have something to do with that.”
“True. But then, he's not you, either. He was raised in a circus, after all. Totally different ballgame than living in a Manor with a butler,” Clark teases, catching his lover around the waist and pulling him in for a kiss as they head toward the bed.
Pulling back slightly, Bruce catches the mischievous twinkle in Clark's eyes. “You might have a point, there,” he chuckles lightly. “Besides, Dick is... he's just... happy, in general. He's all the light that I've never had. He's...” His brow furrows. “He's more like you than me.”
Clark laughs, pulling him down to sprawl out on the bed, “Well, maybe, but you love me, so that should work in everyone's favor.”
Bruce pushes him onto his back and looms over him to kiss him again, a slight smile pulling up the corner of his mouth, then, “If we can convince Lois to let you have Jason for a while, I'll be surrounded by so much sunshine that even the Cave won't be dark enough to hide in.”
A half-hearted chuckle forces its way out of Clark's throat at that, and he's sure Bruce can feel the way his heart leaps into an anxious rhythm. “It would be nice, wouldn't it?” he manages in a quiet voice, the light laughter of the moment gone as quickly as it came.
The Bat comes awake at that, and Bruce narrows his eyes. “It'll happen, Clark. Some way or another, it'll happen, I promise you.”
“I... don't know, Bruce,” Clark confesses as his lover settles next to him, both propping themselves up on an elbows so they can face each other. “Things have been getting... ugly, with Lois. Some of the things I've heard.... though I never meant to!” he amends quickly. “The things Lois has said... it's like... she won't be happy until Jason forgets all about me. But he knows all about me already, he knows I'm Superman, and that I'm his father, and I don't even know how he figured it out, but he did, and Lois...”
Bringing a hand up to cup Clark's face, Bruce gives him a stern look. “Stop. You're just making yourself upset. Whatever's happening with Lois, I'm sure it just means she's about to crack.”
“How can you know that, though?” The Kryptonian can't stop the tears that well up in his eyes, tears he's been fighting for weeks. “You don't know Lois like I do. Once she makes her mind up about something, there's no changing it. I know it's foolish to think maybe I had a chance to be Jason's father. God, what was I thinking?” he rolls his eyes at himself in frustration.
“Clark!” Bruce growls, sitting up and pulling the other man up with him, gripping his shoulders tightly. “You need to knock this the hell off. You have every right to be your son's father. Hell, you have a lot more right to Jason than I do to Dick!”
“I just... just wish that...” but Clark can't even complete the thought as he shuts his eyes and leans into Bruce, nuzzling into his lover's t-shirt. He's so overwhelmed with the grief that's been eating at him for months that he doesn't even hear the soft padding of little feet down the hall and the stairs, his thoughts finally resolving into, “Just wish I could make things... right, for once!”
* * * * *
Rubbing his eyes, Dick leaves his bedroom to wander the house again, like he's done almost every night for the past week or so. After falling asleep in the living room and finding himself in his bed later, it's like a switch keeps flipping, telling him to get up and just... go. He can't stay in one place for very long, the wanderlust of seeing a new place driving him forward, and it keeps him going, pushes him through doors to rooms he hasn't even seen yet.
Tonight he finds himself in the study, a place he's been a couple of times; there's just something about this room, he realizes blearily. Something about the way Bruce spends so much time here, working. About the way he almost seems to disappear...
Stalking around the room, Dick gazes at all the books stacked neatly on the shelves, protected by their glass cases. There are more books here than he thinks he's ever seen outside of a public library, and he wonders if Bruce has read them all. His hand trails along one glass door as he peers in at the collected works of authors he's never heard of. Too bad he doesn't have comic books, too. At least those might be fun...
Still wandering aimlessly, he steps over to the grand piano at one end of the room. It's nothing like the circus calliope that Madame Lorraine plays. It's too... nice. Carefully, he touches a few random keys, listening to the resonating plunk of the piano wires. The sound is warm and deep and clear.
With a little smile at the low tones, he walks his fingers up the keyboard, listening to the increasing pitch, and finally, he reaches the end with the high notes. It's like a bird chirping, and he swears he's heard just these last few notes before, when he's come looking for Bruce but hasn't found him, and-
A bookcase close to the piano moves.
Swinging back, it opens up a doorway to what looks like a secret passage. Dick's heart leaps up into his throat as his eyes widen like never before. All the things he thought maybe could be true... The things he's wondered about, with Bruce seeming to be out of the house, or locked up in the study, for hours on end, giving no explanation or even acknowledging that he was gone... But then he wonders if this might only lead to another part of the house, like down to the gym, or maybe to the kitchen - which would be awesomely convenient - and his hope is sort of killed. No way could it be true...
Almost hesitantly, he heads into the passageway, his heart pounding furiously, and after a single turn, he finds himself at an elevator. What the-? It takes him a second to figure out the controls, but when he hits the right button, the car starts to descend.
Oh, please, oh, please...
And after what seems like the longest elevator ride ever, he realizes he's in a cave. An honest to goodness cave, with lights suspended high above him and some kind of metal walkways branching out in several directions. Following the path to his left, he passes into an enormous cavern, hearing the roar of a waterfall somewhere in the distance and the fluttering of wings high up in the shadows of the craggy ceiling.
Bats?
His heart leaps again with hope that his suspicions, as crazy as they've seemed, might really, honestly be true. If Bruce is... then...
When he finds himself standing in front of a huge wall of computer screens and equipment, work benches spread around the room with all sorts of gadgets, and a really awesome-looking leather chair, he knows he's hit pay dirt. “It's true!!” he beams, his heart exploding and his pulse thrumming with excitement. Stepping forward, he picks up a small piece of metal from one of the benches. It's a Batarang. At least, he's pretty sure that's what it's called, and he can't help fingering the sharp edge to the bat-shaped weapon, wondering all sorts of things...
* * * * *
“What is it?” Bruce asks as Clark's expression suddenly seems distant, focused tightly. “Avalanche? Earthquake? Sinking ship?”
“No,” he says quickly, the exhausted aftermath of comfort sex already a distant memory as he listens to the heartbeat far below them. “The Cave... Dick's in the Cave...”
Bruce is already reaching for his clothes and slipping his shirt on in the time it takes Clark to speed dress in jeans and a white t-shirt. “Damn. Damn damn. Why didn't you hear him heading down there?”
“I don't know. Maybe because we were in the middle of something?” Clark returns sarcastically, waiting for Bruce to pull on his pants and slip on some shoes. “I think he's been down there a while already... he's asleep.”
“What!? Dammit, Clark...”
In under a minute, they're descending in the elevator, Clark pointing out, “He's in the main Cave.”
With a nod, Bruce leads the way down the walkway and past the chattering bats, and the sight that greets them is something the billionaire doesn't think he'll ever forget.
In the midst of the benches and computer stations, Dick is curled up in the large leather chair, clutching a Batarang to his chest. He looks so peaceful, Bruce almost doesn't want to wake him.
Smoothing down the boy's thick, unruly hair, he kneels down in front of the chair, Clark hanging back behind him. “Dick?” he says softly. “Dick, wake up.”
“Hmm...” the little acrobat stirs, his eyes fluttering open. “Bruce!” he says tiredly, pushing himself up with one hand. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I just-”
“Wandered down into the Cave and discovered my secret,” the Bat smirks, holding out a hand to take the Batarang gently.
Dick blushes lightly, pointedly not looking at the man. “Yeah.”
Bruce ruffles his hair. “It's all right. You had to figure it out sooner or later.” Looking back and up to Clark, he smiles again, “I think patrol is shot for the night.”
“That's an understatement. Short of a nuclear detonation, I don't think either of us are going anywhere,” the taller man chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.
At that, the little boy's eyes widen. “Either of you?”
“Good job, Clark,” Bruce scowls at him.
“It's like you said, he had to figure it out sooner or later. And if there's any hope that Jason might come here in the future, he'd find out then, anyway. So there's no point in keeping it from him.”
“Keeping what from me? And who's Jason?” Dick looks from Clark, to Bruce, and back several times, and Clark can hear his heart racing.
“Well, Jason is my son - he's about six and a half - and...” Giving a mischievous smirk, Clark lifts gently off from the floor to hover in the air.
Dick can't stop a squeal of delight before clamping his hands over his mouth.
“Show off,” Bruce mutters.
“So you... you're...” the little boy stammers as Clark touches down again.
“He's Superman,” the Bat supplies before Clark can show off anymore. “Now, assuming you'll be able to sleep after this, how about we show you the rest of the Cave and then get you back into bed? And then we can talk about everything in the morning, before Thanksgiving dinner.”
The little boy's face lights up even brighter. “That'd be awesome! Man, this is the coolest holiday, ever!”
* * * * *
After a night spent wide awake and buzzing with excitement, and a morning filled with energetic questioning of his two favorite heroes - Dick would have thought it was Christmas already if it weren't for the Thanksgiving Day Parade playing on the TV in the living room - the little acrobat finds himself sitting with Clark on the couch, finally getting to the important stuff. “How come you didn't say you had a kid before?” he asks.
“Well...” the tall man starts, nervously adjusting glasses that Dick knows he doesn't even need. “It's sort of complicated. Jason... well, Jason lives with his mother, and... she doesn't much want me around.”
“That's stupid! Who wouldn't want Superman around?”
Clark gives a half-hearted chuckle, “You haven't met Lois.”
“Wait... Lois? Like, Lois Lane? Isn't that the lady that used to write all the Superman stories?” Dick questions, his brow furrowed as he remembers the articles he saved from being used for cage lining for some of the circus animals.
“Um... yeah.” The Kryptonian is sure he's blushing furiously.
The little boy just stares at him, his head tilted to the side and his mind changing gears rapidly. Finally, he says, “Is Jason like you are? Can he fly and stuff?”
Clark is surprised by the question. “Oh, well... I know he's strong like me, but I don't think he can fly. He probably won't get most of his powers until he's a teenager, the same way I did.”
“What's all this about powers?” Bruce says as he comes into the living room, smiling toothily. Clark and Dick both look up at him over the back of the couch.
“I was just telling Dick about Jason,” Clark offers.
“I see. Well. How would you two like to go out and play some football?” He tosses a ball to Dick, who catches it easily.
Dick grins, “Yeah! You wanna come, Clark? I used to play with Dad and Zippy and Gonzo and, well, everybody, when we had spare time.”
Clark smiles faintly, his mind still too caught up in thoughts of Jason to get excited about football just yet. “In a few minutes. Think I'm gonna go see if Alfred needs any help with dinner.”
“Suit yourself,” Bruce shrugs as Dick leaps up on the couch, excited to go out and play.
But the little acrobat throws his arms around Clark in a tight hug before jumping down. “I hope you get to see Jason soon.”
“Thank you, Dick,” Clark hugs him back, his heart warmed by the boy's gesture.
Then the pair heads out, the Bat ruffling the Dick's hair along the way. “Let's get your coat, it's cold...”
Standing himself, Clark moves to the huge picture window, stuffing his hands in his jeans' pockets and gazing out at the neatly manicured lawn with its scattering of autumn leaves that haven't been cleared off yet. He watches as Bruce and Dick head out onto the expansive yard to start tossing the ball back and forth and making mock plays toward an invisible goal line, the two of them laughing and happy and finally seeming completely unburdened.
They deserve that happiness so much.
But then he can't help but imagine what he and his own son might look like out there, joining the game, keeping a tight leash on their powers to keep it all fair. The thought leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth, and he wonders if maybe Bruce is right, that Lois might be close to breaking down and letting him see Jason. He allowed himself hope last night, when all their truths came pouring out in front of Dick, but in the light of day... he's just not so sure.
Letting his attention wander, he opens his hearing to the world. So much to take in. So much pain, so much love. So much hatred, so much indifference. Gradually he begins to filter it out, letting the cacophony of the world fade, bit by bit, until he's hearing just voices. Just Bruce and Dick laughing and carrying on, just...
He swallows hard as he realizes he's focused in on Jason again. He shouldn't be listening, he has no right, but...
The Lane/White household is quiet, except for the parade on the TV. They're already eating dinner, forks clanking noisily against plates. Three heartbeats pound angrily in the semi-silence.
Clark knows he shouldn't hear this, is certain that whatever's going on is really none of his business...
“I didn't mean to, Mom,” Jason says quietly. “I swear.”
Nothing.
“Lois...” Richard sighs. “Jason, it's all right. We know it was an accident.”
“I can fix it,” the little boy continues, hopeful.
“How on Earth are you going to fix a busted door, Jason?” Lois's voice is hard and angry. Again.
Clark can only imagine what happened to set this off, and he feels tendrils of guilt creeping up his spine.
Then Jason's sobbing, “I-I'm sorry, Mom! I'm sorry...”
“Dammit, Lois,” Richard curses, apparently getting up from the table and dragging her with him out of Jason's earshot. “It's just a freaking door! You know damn well he didn't mean to break it. How could he have known he was gonna run full tilt into the damn thing?”
“He could have been more careful.”
“Christ! He's just a kid, Lois! A kid that has no idea how to control that powerful little body! I think you owe him a pretty big apology for the way you've been treating him. And you owe it to him to call Clark and-”
“Clark grew up just fine without his Kryptonian parents. Jason will, too.”
“If you don't call him, then I will.”
“Like hell you will,” Lois hisses.
“Dammit, this has gone on long enough, and I think I have a pretty good idea why. You're just holding a grudge against Clark. You're so angry about how things ended up between you two that you can't even bear to have any reminders of him. Well, it's not Jason's fault who his father is.” Richard sounds more bitter than Clark thinks he can stand.
“How dare you-”
“I'm not finished! Jason has nothing to do with this, this spite you feel toward Clark. You don't think I noticed how you took it when he started dating Bruce...”
But he can't bear to hear another word, and when he brings his focus back to the little football game outside, he sees Bruce scowling back at him. The Bat throws a long pass toward Dick, then says in a near-whisper, “Cut it out, Clark. Only Bats should brood this much. It doesn't suit you. You'll get him back. I promise.”
Clark can't help but agree and pray Bruce is right. If only this could be as easy to fix as a door...
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,503 (this section)
Summary: (this section) It's Thanksgiving at the Manor, and certain discoveries are made. Clark overhears a conversation he wishes he didn't.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Written for The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Fanzine.
Index Post
Part 5
In the mere two and a half weeks Dick has been at the Manor, Bruce has watched his demeanor slowly begin to relax into a comfortable brightness, despite the little boy's fits of sullenness. He's spent more time in the gym than even Bruce does, often happily practicing on the equipment, but sometimes working himself so hard that the Bat starts to see himself in him again, see the hard fire of anger and grief pushing the little boy. Dick falls asleep hard on those days, many times in front of the television - a real luxury, as he's informed Bruce on several occasions - and even in the middle of conversations. In those instances, Bruce is more than glad to carry the little boy, so small and light for his age that his weight is like nothing to the man, up to bed and tuck him in.
Watching Dick sleep, then, has become a favored pastime. He could do it all day and night, just adoring the little acrobat and wondering what the future might hold for him, what it might hold for their little burgeoning family.
“Hey, you coming to bed or going out tonight?”
Clark's low voice pulls Bruce's attention away from the small form breathing deeply in slumber, the sleep-tousled hair spilling carelessly over the pillow, and the billionaire turns in the doorway, reaching out to grab his lover's pajama-clad waist. “Going out. Crime doesn't take vacations, not even for Thanksgiving. Anyway, I was just-”
“Watching him sleep. I know.” Clark's small smile is knowing and patient, and Bruce sighs with gratitude for it. He doesn't ever need to explain his devotion to Dick to him; Clark knows. “See me to bed before you head out?”
“Of course.” Pulling the door almost closed, he gives his full attention to his Kryptonian, padding back down the hall with him to their bedroom. “He's pushing himself,” he finally says as they step out of earshot.
“He is,” Clark agrees. When they reach their bedroom at last, Bruce swings open the door to admit them, and the taller man continues as they separate, “He's got a lot to work out. When I lost my Dad, I spent almost a year just... training.” Unwittingly thinking of the way Jason has been recently, his growing upset over Lois sending his other father away, Clark squeezes his eyes shut briefly. Jason shouldn't have any reason to mourn the loss of a father; he's right here for God's sake!
But he shakes it off, as he's become accustomed to doing so often as of late, and thinks again of the little acrobat down the hall. There's something else he's noticed, and he wonders if Bruce has seen it, too... “Dick's been pretty distant lately. You don't think he might be...”
“No,” Bruce says, shutting the door behind them and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Maybe. I don't know.” He doesn't want to admit that his earlier predictions about Dick figuring him out might all be true. “Maybe he's still just processing everything.”
“Well, he does seem to be taking things better than he was.”
Bruce huffs. “He's taking things better than I ever did. Though I'm sure having Zucco in prison already might have something to do with that.”
“True. But then, he's not you, either. He was raised in a circus, after all. Totally different ballgame than living in a Manor with a butler,” Clark teases, catching his lover around the waist and pulling him in for a kiss as they head toward the bed.
Pulling back slightly, Bruce catches the mischievous twinkle in Clark's eyes. “You might have a point, there,” he chuckles lightly. “Besides, Dick is... he's just... happy, in general. He's all the light that I've never had. He's...” His brow furrows. “He's more like you than me.”
Clark laughs, pulling him down to sprawl out on the bed, “Well, maybe, but you love me, so that should work in everyone's favor.”
Bruce pushes him onto his back and looms over him to kiss him again, a slight smile pulling up the corner of his mouth, then, “If we can convince Lois to let you have Jason for a while, I'll be surrounded by so much sunshine that even the Cave won't be dark enough to hide in.”
A half-hearted chuckle forces its way out of Clark's throat at that, and he's sure Bruce can feel the way his heart leaps into an anxious rhythm. “It would be nice, wouldn't it?” he manages in a quiet voice, the light laughter of the moment gone as quickly as it came.
The Bat comes awake at that, and Bruce narrows his eyes. “It'll happen, Clark. Some way or another, it'll happen, I promise you.”
“I... don't know, Bruce,” Clark confesses as his lover settles next to him, both propping themselves up on an elbows so they can face each other. “Things have been getting... ugly, with Lois. Some of the things I've heard.... though I never meant to!” he amends quickly. “The things Lois has said... it's like... she won't be happy until Jason forgets all about me. But he knows all about me already, he knows I'm Superman, and that I'm his father, and I don't even know how he figured it out, but he did, and Lois...”
Bringing a hand up to cup Clark's face, Bruce gives him a stern look. “Stop. You're just making yourself upset. Whatever's happening with Lois, I'm sure it just means she's about to crack.”
“How can you know that, though?” The Kryptonian can't stop the tears that well up in his eyes, tears he's been fighting for weeks. “You don't know Lois like I do. Once she makes her mind up about something, there's no changing it. I know it's foolish to think maybe I had a chance to be Jason's father. God, what was I thinking?” he rolls his eyes at himself in frustration.
“Clark!” Bruce growls, sitting up and pulling the other man up with him, gripping his shoulders tightly. “You need to knock this the hell off. You have every right to be your son's father. Hell, you have a lot more right to Jason than I do to Dick!”
“I just... just wish that...” but Clark can't even complete the thought as he shuts his eyes and leans into Bruce, nuzzling into his lover's t-shirt. He's so overwhelmed with the grief that's been eating at him for months that he doesn't even hear the soft padding of little feet down the hall and the stairs, his thoughts finally resolving into, “Just wish I could make things... right, for once!”
* * * * *
Rubbing his eyes, Dick leaves his bedroom to wander the house again, like he's done almost every night for the past week or so. After falling asleep in the living room and finding himself in his bed later, it's like a switch keeps flipping, telling him to get up and just... go. He can't stay in one place for very long, the wanderlust of seeing a new place driving him forward, and it keeps him going, pushes him through doors to rooms he hasn't even seen yet.
Tonight he finds himself in the study, a place he's been a couple of times; there's just something about this room, he realizes blearily. Something about the way Bruce spends so much time here, working. About the way he almost seems to disappear...
Stalking around the room, Dick gazes at all the books stacked neatly on the shelves, protected by their glass cases. There are more books here than he thinks he's ever seen outside of a public library, and he wonders if Bruce has read them all. His hand trails along one glass door as he peers in at the collected works of authors he's never heard of. Too bad he doesn't have comic books, too. At least those might be fun...
Still wandering aimlessly, he steps over to the grand piano at one end of the room. It's nothing like the circus calliope that Madame Lorraine plays. It's too... nice. Carefully, he touches a few random keys, listening to the resonating plunk of the piano wires. The sound is warm and deep and clear.
With a little smile at the low tones, he walks his fingers up the keyboard, listening to the increasing pitch, and finally, he reaches the end with the high notes. It's like a bird chirping, and he swears he's heard just these last few notes before, when he's come looking for Bruce but hasn't found him, and-
A bookcase close to the piano moves.
Swinging back, it opens up a doorway to what looks like a secret passage. Dick's heart leaps up into his throat as his eyes widen like never before. All the things he thought maybe could be true... The things he's wondered about, with Bruce seeming to be out of the house, or locked up in the study, for hours on end, giving no explanation or even acknowledging that he was gone... But then he wonders if this might only lead to another part of the house, like down to the gym, or maybe to the kitchen - which would be awesomely convenient - and his hope is sort of killed. No way could it be true...
Almost hesitantly, he heads into the passageway, his heart pounding furiously, and after a single turn, he finds himself at an elevator. What the-? It takes him a second to figure out the controls, but when he hits the right button, the car starts to descend.
Oh, please, oh, please...
And after what seems like the longest elevator ride ever, he realizes he's in a cave. An honest to goodness cave, with lights suspended high above him and some kind of metal walkways branching out in several directions. Following the path to his left, he passes into an enormous cavern, hearing the roar of a waterfall somewhere in the distance and the fluttering of wings high up in the shadows of the craggy ceiling.
Bats?
His heart leaps again with hope that his suspicions, as crazy as they've seemed, might really, honestly be true. If Bruce is... then...
When he finds himself standing in front of a huge wall of computer screens and equipment, work benches spread around the room with all sorts of gadgets, and a really awesome-looking leather chair, he knows he's hit pay dirt. “It's true!!” he beams, his heart exploding and his pulse thrumming with excitement. Stepping forward, he picks up a small piece of metal from one of the benches. It's a Batarang. At least, he's pretty sure that's what it's called, and he can't help fingering the sharp edge to the bat-shaped weapon, wondering all sorts of things...
* * * * *
“What is it?” Bruce asks as Clark's expression suddenly seems distant, focused tightly. “Avalanche? Earthquake? Sinking ship?”
“No,” he says quickly, the exhausted aftermath of comfort sex already a distant memory as he listens to the heartbeat far below them. “The Cave... Dick's in the Cave...”
Bruce is already reaching for his clothes and slipping his shirt on in the time it takes Clark to speed dress in jeans and a white t-shirt. “Damn. Damn damn. Why didn't you hear him heading down there?”
“I don't know. Maybe because we were in the middle of something?” Clark returns sarcastically, waiting for Bruce to pull on his pants and slip on some shoes. “I think he's been down there a while already... he's asleep.”
“What!? Dammit, Clark...”
In under a minute, they're descending in the elevator, Clark pointing out, “He's in the main Cave.”
With a nod, Bruce leads the way down the walkway and past the chattering bats, and the sight that greets them is something the billionaire doesn't think he'll ever forget.
In the midst of the benches and computer stations, Dick is curled up in the large leather chair, clutching a Batarang to his chest. He looks so peaceful, Bruce almost doesn't want to wake him.
Smoothing down the boy's thick, unruly hair, he kneels down in front of the chair, Clark hanging back behind him. “Dick?” he says softly. “Dick, wake up.”
“Hmm...” the little acrobat stirs, his eyes fluttering open. “Bruce!” he says tiredly, pushing himself up with one hand. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I just-”
“Wandered down into the Cave and discovered my secret,” the Bat smirks, holding out a hand to take the Batarang gently.
Dick blushes lightly, pointedly not looking at the man. “Yeah.”
Bruce ruffles his hair. “It's all right. You had to figure it out sooner or later.” Looking back and up to Clark, he smiles again, “I think patrol is shot for the night.”
“That's an understatement. Short of a nuclear detonation, I don't think either of us are going anywhere,” the taller man chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.
At that, the little boy's eyes widen. “Either of you?”
“Good job, Clark,” Bruce scowls at him.
“It's like you said, he had to figure it out sooner or later. And if there's any hope that Jason might come here in the future, he'd find out then, anyway. So there's no point in keeping it from him.”
“Keeping what from me? And who's Jason?” Dick looks from Clark, to Bruce, and back several times, and Clark can hear his heart racing.
“Well, Jason is my son - he's about six and a half - and...” Giving a mischievous smirk, Clark lifts gently off from the floor to hover in the air.
Dick can't stop a squeal of delight before clamping his hands over his mouth.
“Show off,” Bruce mutters.
“So you... you're...” the little boy stammers as Clark touches down again.
“He's Superman,” the Bat supplies before Clark can show off anymore. “Now, assuming you'll be able to sleep after this, how about we show you the rest of the Cave and then get you back into bed? And then we can talk about everything in the morning, before Thanksgiving dinner.”
The little boy's face lights up even brighter. “That'd be awesome! Man, this is the coolest holiday, ever!”
* * * * *
After a night spent wide awake and buzzing with excitement, and a morning filled with energetic questioning of his two favorite heroes - Dick would have thought it was Christmas already if it weren't for the Thanksgiving Day Parade playing on the TV in the living room - the little acrobat finds himself sitting with Clark on the couch, finally getting to the important stuff. “How come you didn't say you had a kid before?” he asks.
“Well...” the tall man starts, nervously adjusting glasses that Dick knows he doesn't even need. “It's sort of complicated. Jason... well, Jason lives with his mother, and... she doesn't much want me around.”
“That's stupid! Who wouldn't want Superman around?”
Clark gives a half-hearted chuckle, “You haven't met Lois.”
“Wait... Lois? Like, Lois Lane? Isn't that the lady that used to write all the Superman stories?” Dick questions, his brow furrowed as he remembers the articles he saved from being used for cage lining for some of the circus animals.
“Um... yeah.” The Kryptonian is sure he's blushing furiously.
The little boy just stares at him, his head tilted to the side and his mind changing gears rapidly. Finally, he says, “Is Jason like you are? Can he fly and stuff?”
Clark is surprised by the question. “Oh, well... I know he's strong like me, but I don't think he can fly. He probably won't get most of his powers until he's a teenager, the same way I did.”
“What's all this about powers?” Bruce says as he comes into the living room, smiling toothily. Clark and Dick both look up at him over the back of the couch.
“I was just telling Dick about Jason,” Clark offers.
“I see. Well. How would you two like to go out and play some football?” He tosses a ball to Dick, who catches it easily.
Dick grins, “Yeah! You wanna come, Clark? I used to play with Dad and Zippy and Gonzo and, well, everybody, when we had spare time.”
Clark smiles faintly, his mind still too caught up in thoughts of Jason to get excited about football just yet. “In a few minutes. Think I'm gonna go see if Alfred needs any help with dinner.”
“Suit yourself,” Bruce shrugs as Dick leaps up on the couch, excited to go out and play.
But the little acrobat throws his arms around Clark in a tight hug before jumping down. “I hope you get to see Jason soon.”
“Thank you, Dick,” Clark hugs him back, his heart warmed by the boy's gesture.
Then the pair heads out, the Bat ruffling the Dick's hair along the way. “Let's get your coat, it's cold...”
Standing himself, Clark moves to the huge picture window, stuffing his hands in his jeans' pockets and gazing out at the neatly manicured lawn with its scattering of autumn leaves that haven't been cleared off yet. He watches as Bruce and Dick head out onto the expansive yard to start tossing the ball back and forth and making mock plays toward an invisible goal line, the two of them laughing and happy and finally seeming completely unburdened.
They deserve that happiness so much.
But then he can't help but imagine what he and his own son might look like out there, joining the game, keeping a tight leash on their powers to keep it all fair. The thought leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth, and he wonders if maybe Bruce is right, that Lois might be close to breaking down and letting him see Jason. He allowed himself hope last night, when all their truths came pouring out in front of Dick, but in the light of day... he's just not so sure.
Letting his attention wander, he opens his hearing to the world. So much to take in. So much pain, so much love. So much hatred, so much indifference. Gradually he begins to filter it out, letting the cacophony of the world fade, bit by bit, until he's hearing just voices. Just Bruce and Dick laughing and carrying on, just...
He swallows hard as he realizes he's focused in on Jason again. He shouldn't be listening, he has no right, but...
The Lane/White household is quiet, except for the parade on the TV. They're already eating dinner, forks clanking noisily against plates. Three heartbeats pound angrily in the semi-silence.
Clark knows he shouldn't hear this, is certain that whatever's going on is really none of his business...
“I didn't mean to, Mom,” Jason says quietly. “I swear.”
Nothing.
“Lois...” Richard sighs. “Jason, it's all right. We know it was an accident.”
“I can fix it,” the little boy continues, hopeful.
“How on Earth are you going to fix a busted door, Jason?” Lois's voice is hard and angry. Again.
Clark can only imagine what happened to set this off, and he feels tendrils of guilt creeping up his spine.
Then Jason's sobbing, “I-I'm sorry, Mom! I'm sorry...”
“Dammit, Lois,” Richard curses, apparently getting up from the table and dragging her with him out of Jason's earshot. “It's just a freaking door! You know damn well he didn't mean to break it. How could he have known he was gonna run full tilt into the damn thing?”
“He could have been more careful.”
“Christ! He's just a kid, Lois! A kid that has no idea how to control that powerful little body! I think you owe him a pretty big apology for the way you've been treating him. And you owe it to him to call Clark and-”
“Clark grew up just fine without his Kryptonian parents. Jason will, too.”
“If you don't call him, then I will.”
“Like hell you will,” Lois hisses.
“Dammit, this has gone on long enough, and I think I have a pretty good idea why. You're just holding a grudge against Clark. You're so angry about how things ended up between you two that you can't even bear to have any reminders of him. Well, it's not Jason's fault who his father is.” Richard sounds more bitter than Clark thinks he can stand.
“How dare you-”
“I'm not finished! Jason has nothing to do with this, this spite you feel toward Clark. You don't think I noticed how you took it when he started dating Bruce...”
But he can't bear to hear another word, and when he brings his focus back to the little football game outside, he sees Bruce scowling back at him. The Bat throws a long pass toward Dick, then says in a near-whisper, “Cut it out, Clark. Only Bats should brood this much. It doesn't suit you. You'll get him back. I promise.”
Clark can't help but agree and pray Bruce is right. If only this could be as easy to fix as a door...
* * * * *