You would have fought very bravely, and died very quickly. Who then, would avenge your brother?

[isitablurred]

Who: Superdad isitablurred  and Batboy kingofrooks / rookminor 
When: June 25th 2011
Where: The streets of Gotham I mean Siren's Port. Sector 9.
Summary: Bruce is determined to keep patrolling even though he is 8 years old. Clark finds him on the street. Eight year olds have no defense against bullets.
Warnings: Violence, swearing, superheroes making up, flashbacks to Bathistory. Oh

Comments

[isitablurred]

"We're flying back. And before you keep arguing with me, I'll remind you that we're two sectors away from the nearest safehouse and I might have to actually respond to an emergency. How can I do that if I'm worried you're going to walk into some monster's jaws?"

They were already half way back. Clark leapt, keeping his head bent down over Bruce and shielding him from the wind as they crossed the city. His grip was firm and unrelenting, and so help him, Bruce was not getting down until Clark put him down.

He couldn't help himself. Bruce was... Well he was small. And Clark felt the way that his heartbeat flickered and slowed a little more, sluggishly, as the weight of sleepyness sank down on him. If he let Bruce walk back on top of everything else they probably wouldn't make it before morning. If at all.

Landing a street away from the safehouse, Clark dropped slowly to a walk, listening. He didn't want to be spotted going inside, after all.

"Have you ever considered being realistic? You know--not pushing yourself beyond your limits? I know it's sort of your thing, but one day it's going to get you killed."

Still preachy.

[rookminor]

The cold wind on his face kept him from falling asleep- even if he did trust Clark again, he didn't trust him quite enough to fall asleep on him- and when Clark started talking again, it took far less effort to keep awake. Bruce looked up at him, scowling.

"Not all of us have the luxury of being powered by the sun. And I know what my limits are."

Never mind that he almost fell off a grapple line because he was falling asleep. That was just a little less dangerous than being asleep behing the wheel.

"Besides, I'm not that tired that I can't avoid the monsters," and as if his body decided that he was an idiot, it decided to betray him - immediately, he yawned a little- and the moment he let it pass, a huge yawn forced its way through his mouth, tears gathering at the sides of his eyes. Bruce rubbed at them absentmindedly, and turned around slightly, half-curling against Clark when he remembered where he was and turned around right back, scowling.

"And you're naggier than your mother."

[isitablurred]

Okay, that was...completely adorable. He struggled to use the word adorable to describe Bruce because honestly the man was brusque and rude as Batman, and silver-spoonfed and impecuously groomed as Bruce Wayne--slimy, almost. Mostly he struggled because if Bruce ever heard him use the word 'adorable' to describe him Clark would never live it down.

"Unless you haven't noticed, the sun isn't out right now. Even I get tired of this Darkness by morning."

It corrupted everything, and the things that were out in it weren't excluded from that.

Clark bit his lip so that he didn't laugh when Bruce twisted away from him again. Honestly...it wasn't like he was going to complain if Bruce dropped off. It meant he wouldn't have to listen to him complaining any more.

"There's someone watching the entrance to the safehouse." He shifted his grip slightly, leant forward, pupils contracting, telescoping. "Wearing an AGi pin on his lapel. Let's try another."

And ignoring the fact that Bruce is half asleep already, Clark steps away, speeding off for the next destination, approaching it with the same wariness. "My mother doesn't nag, Bruce." A late admonishment, but an admonishment none the less. "She's never had to."

[kingofrooks]

... Wait- there was someone from AGI watching the safehouse? Has Bruce's identity been compromised? He had always made sure to lose them before they could even remotely see him go near one of Batman's safehouses, and he knew he had succeeded simply because his instincts weren't so dull as to miss a person's presence when he was deliberately looking for it.

Damnit, damnit, damnit. Bruce was suddenly, sharply, wide awake. He sat up slightly, body automatically shifting in Clark's arms so that he was still balanced.

"That man from AGI. What was he doing aside from watching the entrance?" And he was craning his neck back, trying to get a better look. "There is no reason for any of them to know about the existence of the safehouses."

Which meant that the security of that one might have been compromised... What did he have in it? That was one of the safehouses he generally went to simply to crash... which meant that it had a shower, and several articles of civilian clothes. Generic enough to not be identifiable, but AGI had facilities and equipment that were enhanced enough that it was plausible that they could find stray skin cells from the clothes and use that to identify him...

Damn.

Bruce looked up, frowning at Clark sharply.

"Go back to that safehouse later and bring out all of my things." He didn't tell Clark not to be seen - he should already know that.

[isitablurred]

"He was smoking. It might just have been a fluke, but I think you probably believe in those as much as I do."

It wouldn't be worth the risk. And if Bruce - young Bruce - had somehow been tracked by AGi it wouldn't bode well at all. But then, he shouldn't be out there crimefighting as an eight year old, it's the worst risk to his identity that there's been so far--and he ought to know it.

Still, it's hard to just turn off that side of you. Clark knows that too. It takes a lot of guts to go out and do what you were made to do, what only you can, when it's at greater risk to yourself for whatever reason. Clark had saved lives in a meteor shower; green Kryptonite raining from the sky. Why? Because someone had to.

"I'm listening to the door. If they go inside, there'll be nothing for them to see." Firm assurance. "And I'll go back in the morning, when that street is as busy as it gets. There won't be a speck of dust with your name on it--okay?"

They kept walking, Clark raising his eyes briefly toward the sky only to let out a brief huff. No stars, right.

"You have nothing to worry about, Bruce."

[rookminor]

Oh, he knew that he shouldn't be out in the nights when he was deaged - it would certainly be dangerous for his identity. But the thing was- he knew that there was a chance that people would die if he didn't. That if he stayed in for one night, then there would be people whom he wouldn't be able to save.

It was a nagging sense of responsibility that was too great for his human body. Back in Gotham, there were countless times when Bruce had been injured and he should, logically, rest up and heal instead and returning back to the streets. But he couldn't, simply because he was out in the streets to stop crime and to save people- and without him there, it would continue. And the criminals might get complacent; they might think that he wasn't coming any longer.

The job wasn't one with holidays and perks. It was a duty and a calling- and one that he had to do. So that what happened to him wouldn't happen to anyone else.

He closed his eyes for a moment, still craning his head back to look. "The security of the safehouse is high enough that I don't think any of them would be able to enter, and if they do, I will know." He kept the alarm in his belt.

Then, he sighed a little, and allowed his small shoulders to sag against Clark's chest.

"Fine."

[isitablurred]

"The security is a big enough give away as it is, don't you think? Makes it look like you have something to hide. You'd be better off making it look like someone really lives there."

But then Clark didn't know much about safehouses. He's thinking of Watchtower's security. Multiple ways in, multiple ways out, high security lockdown. If someone got in, they'd be locked in, the hard drives would all wipe themselves and the systems would shut down. External contact would be severed completely. It had happened before. Was Bruce's security here anywhere near that good?

Clark noticed Bruce's weight slipping against him again, giving up the vigil over his shoulder.

"Good. Because we're not going back now. It'd only be suspicious."

He slows, slipping down the last street. There's a monster--he avoids it with a burst of speed, and moves to take out his key, unlocking the door, then shoving it open with his elbow. It's a little awkward, but then he's used to this. He holds Bruce up to type in the security code as he toes the door shut behind them.

[rookminor]

It was true that it would be less suspicious, but at the same time the security was a necessity. The security was always, always necessary when it came to his safehouses- or wherever he was living in. Even the Manor back home was wired with far too much security that a playboy could justify- but fortunately he lived in an era where paranoid billionaires were the norm and he could pass it off as that.

(Which reminded him. He honestly needed to get an apartment for Bruce Wayne at some point, if only to be somewhere to store all of that persona's clothes and to make sure that all of his ducks were in a row. It would also be a place where he could let people drive him to if they insisted. He already had to deflect one request from Re-l already.)

And if he actually kept harddrives with information, his security would be that good, if not better. But Bruce had no 'family' here to take care of other than Carrie, and he knew better than to keep all of his plans in hackable files about what happened with Talia and the Babel incident, not to mention the Crisis with the Brother Eye... He kept his information in his head right now, and if there were things he needed to remember or were in danger of forgetting, he store it in a code that was based upon Kryptonian alphabets.

And Bruce wiggled slightly as he was shifted, feeling the wind blast against his face as Clark increased the speed- he would never get used to that, and it was one of the many reasons why he hated flying with Clark carrying him. Another reason was that he usually felt like a sack of potatoes or an infant, and neither was particularly flattering.

He rubbed at his nose before he elbowed Clark slightly- and he yawned again, unable to stop it because now that the adrenaline had faded away, his body decided to crash even further.

"We're here. Let me down."

And, contradicting himself, he actually curled inwards a little more. Clark was inhumanly warm, and now that they were away from the stench of the Darkness, he could breathe better- and he was tugging away the goggles again, letting it drop on the floor drowsily.

"You have to get back to your own apartment."

[isitablurred]

Clark had to bite his lip to keep himself from actually laughing at Bruce. He yawned, snuggled into Clark's chest, and that word made another attempt at reaching his lips. No. Tiny and exhausted or not, Bruce would shove Kryptonite down his throat if he even suggested it. His silence was safety.

"And why's that? Do you transform into an ogre at dawn?"

He took his sweet time crossing the room, toeing open the door to the room with the makeshift cot in it. It wasn't much but honestly, it was better than what Clark was living in right now. His standard of living wasn't that fantastic, all things considered. He shifted his grip so that Bruce was a little more comfortable, then moved to set him down on the bed. He was careful not to set him down headfirst, frowning as he remembered similar incidents. Clark's history with children was a dozen horrible tragedies. Telepaths, ageing speedsters, clones. But Bruce was going to be fine. He had to be.

"Until we find a cure for this, you're going to have to cut out some of the night watch. It's not going to do you any good in the long term. Carrie and I can handle it. Spider-man and the other Avengers, too. You don't have anything to worry about."

There wasn't a blanket in sight, so Clark reached up, unclipping his cape from his shoulders and sweeping it off, slinging it out across Bruce, and across the bed. It swamped both.

[rookminor]

Good, because Bruce was still thinking of himself as Batman, as a man closer to forty than to twenty, and even though his current physical appearance was that of a young boy his mind was nowhere near it. If Clark said that to him, he was definitely asking for a Kryptonite punch. Right now. And later on, another punch later- especially if he had a straight, cleared line of empty space that would let Clark shoot right into the atmosphere.

But right now, Clark didn't say it, so Bruce just relaxed, letting himself sink into the cot, kicking his legs out to be more comfortable- and realizing that he still had his socks and shoes on. Scowling to himself, he toed off his shoes, then tugged off his socks, and kicked them both off the cot. Usually, he would put them properly, but right now he couldn't be bothered.

Might be the immaturity that came with the body. Bruce yawned again, rubbing his eyes- and the cape fell over him and he half-sat up, blinking as his hand fell onto the cot, surprised.

The House of El shield was stitched onto the back, bright yellow in contrast with the red. Bruce blinked, poking it before looking up to Clark.

"Feeling proprietory? And no, I'm not cutting it back. I need to be out there every night." He shrugged. "Besides, there's no 'long-term' about this."

He turned, and said, wryly: "And Clark? It's more than I'm going to sleep and I'd rather you not watch me>

[isitablurred]

Clark couldn't help it. The way Bruce just blinked at the cape, his fingers picking at the symbol. A target, Grimmjow had called it--it was a little like one, he supposed. Bruce had made him doubt his right to wear it the other week, but... It still filled him with pride to look at it.

Maybe this was okay.

He reached up, pushing at the center of Bruce's chest to force him down onto his back.

"You're eight," another firm reminder, and he stood up. "I'm not going to be watching you sleep, Bruce. I'll be in the other room. You don't mind me napping on your couch, do you? I thought not." Oh hey, did he not give you the opportunity to say no? Too bad.

Clark stepped away, glancing over his shoulder. Besides, if it had really been AGi observing the other safehouse then Clark wanted to stay and make sure that this one was secure if Bruce was sleeping in it. No surprises.

"Get some sleep. I'll be just outside."

[rookminor]

And Bruce leaned back - he thought of fighting, but in terms of raw strength, he was eight, and fighting Clark about this was just silly. So he laid back down, and out of a sudden, childish impulse, he tugged Clark's cape over himself and held on really tightly.

If Clark wanted it back, it was too bad. Bruce wouldn't be relinquishing it. Not for tonight, at least. It was childish of him, but he was tired at a completely unreasonable timing for him to be tired and he hadn't done much of anything to warrant the exhaustion he felt, so he was entirely justified.

No, the logic wasn't sound. He just didn't care. Yes, he was cranky- especially at Clark's words.

"I know you meant that to be reassuring, but you just made sure that I can't sleep. I know you'll be listening in, and that's incredibly creepy."

Who cared if he was being a massive hypocrite about this? It was creepy. He didn't want a superpowered alien to be listening in to him sleep.

[isitablurred]

Clark shook his head. Honestly. Was he honestly going to have to go to all this effort just to get Bruce to go to sleep? Really? He returned to the bed, crouching down beside it and glaring. Just. He wasn't really that mad, but Bruce was tired. He ought to just give in and go to sleep.

"I can't tell whether you're acting like a sulky middle-age man who can't keep up with his younger friends out drinking, or a kid who's determined that it's not his bedtime yet, but either way--"

He reached up, placing his hand on Bruce's forehead, lifting his other hand above him and just like that he tapped one hand with the other. Enough to put Bruce to sleep without actually hurting him. Wouldn't stop him being mad about it later.

"Sorry, Bruce. It's for your own good."

[kingofrooks]

He was going to say something, most likely something very scathing- but then Clark did that trick and, okay, he was tired, because his body immediately dropped off to sleep without his mind's permission.

How irritating.

[isitablurred]

And true to form he didn't stay to watch Bruce sleep; instead he stepped out into the other room, closed the door and dropped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, just listening to the city. It was late, and if anyone needed him he'd hear it, but soon people would begin to wake up, and their sleepy stirring would just prelude the bursting call of the sirens screaming out across the city.

In the other room, Bruce's heart beat steadily, his breathing equally so. He'd be just fine. In fact it...was a pretty tiring sound to listen to. Inactive as he was, it almost made him want to fall asleep too.

Clark shifted his position, sitting up again so that he could sit with his head between his knees, pressing the sleep out of his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Right. Awake, he was awake.

[kingofrooks]

Rarely did he sleep without dreams- by rarely he meant 'almost never', but 'rarely' was easier to say, easier to explain, and Bruce had grown too used to them that he had learned to control his muscles and even his autonomic functions when he slept so he didn't react.

(But this body was far younger, without his usual safeguards and training and muscle memory--)

It began like this- drops of water in the darkness, shifting to white. White pearls, falling to the ground, and oh, Bruce thought- he was dreaming, this was a nightmare- and the scene was already shifting, changing. A beach, sand underneath his feet and watching himself, three years old and plump and small, tottering around himself holding a shovel.

His three-year-old self shoved the shovel in the midst of the sandcastle, and pulled it out. It started to fall, and Bruce opened his eyes and it was dark and he could feel the thin air and the mustiness and dirt and god- he slammed his hand up, a coffin cover, and he was scrabbling and scratching and pulling and crack, there was his bone. His heart was hammering in his ear, so loud, so loud-

Gunshots. Bruce felt metal around himself. Chains, how unoriginal, subconscious- but then there was the gunshots again, and a body fell against his own. Black hair, blue eyes- his son, his son, and he didn't know which one it was- was it Jason, who had died once before? Dick? Or Tim? There were spots of yellow on his skin, the remnants of a cape, and Bruce's hand trembled and bloodbloodblood it all smelled of blood-

The beach again. This time, the sand was pristine white. Like paper, so smooth that it crackled under his feet- except it really was paper, newspapers, and he looked down to see himself stepping on the portraits of his parents. Waynes Revealed as Drug Addicts!- no, no, not true, never true, he needed to wake up except there was fire and heat and-

A symbol. Welts on his skin. Chains, chains, so many of them, wrapping all around him and a collar on his neck. Forced to his knees- what had Kal-El said? Bow before me, he had whispered. Bow down, Bruce Wayne, or I will destroy your entire city- and Bruce looked at the portraits of his own parents under his knees as he fell forward.

Crash. Plates underneath his feet, priceless porcelain all gone- he raised his eyes- a snapped neck, blood, a butler's uniform and no, no, no- it cannot be-

He wanted to scream.

(Wake up!)