Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The atmosphere of the cave on Sunday morning was calm as usual. However, knowing Bruce Wayne as he was, Alfred knew that when he went down to bring him breakfast, he would find him asleep on the table, with many articles and newspapers scattered on top of it, as well as several files that all shared one common theme: Metropolis. 

He gently shook Bruce’s shoulder, “Sir, wake up. It’s already seven AM on a Sunday morning.”

Bruce was still drowsy for a moment, but immediately sat up, seemingly alerted. “What—oh.” 

“Would you like me to bring your breakfast upstairs? So you can return to your room and head to rest as soon as possible,” Alfred said patiently, glancing at Bruce’s new... hyperfixation. 

“I already slept,” Bruce muttered, pulling the plate closer, indicating already that he wanted to eat in the cave. 

“Like earlier just now?”

“Yes,” he replied, as if it's the only actual answer. Alfred stared at him. Bruce needed to look away as to not show his pair of eye bags that he knew were thicker than they should be. “Thank you for bringing it here, Alfred.”

“Of course, Sir. May I ask, what were you reading all night?”  

Bruce was silent for a short while. Alfred could see one of the headlines in the newspaper more clearly now that Bruce lifted himself up from his messy desk: LuthorCorp: humanity's protector of the next century? “Where did you get all this?”

“Magazine stands,” Bruce said softly. “Some were still open before I got home last night.” 

“And does this have to do with last night's charity event?” 

“Something like that.” Bruce pressed a few buttons on the computer in front of him, showing the cameras he had captured during the event held by Wayne Enterprises that night. Ever since the flood hit Gotham, Bruce was more determined to contribute as much as he could with his legacy, even though it was still severely painful to simply appear in front of his own people; especially the press, whom he knew would definitely sneak in.

He wasn't sure he was enough for Gotham either way.

He accepted offers of help from other cities with caution; so when a woman dressed in simple black with her braid in a bun, a representative of LuthorCorp based in Metropolis, Kansas, invited him to a private conversation on very specific topics such as aerospace and defense, which also touched on the subject of weaponization (how boldly of her), Bruce was, well... inevitably, overcome with suspicion. “Her name is Angela Spica.”

“You wore it during the event?” Alfred’s eyebrows perked up, making Bruce huffed lightly. 

“It's necessary.” He left the part where it's also helping him focus on something other than the horrendous socialization that he had to bear.

“She has a high position at LuthorCorp from what I've gathered. Since when have you become so involved in delving into cases in other cities, if this is indeed a possible case?”

“She thinks I can be on her side,” Bruce said, sounding zero interested in siding with her. “Or doing something about the story revenue's distribution from The Daily Planet.”

“Sounds like there's an ongoing affair behind the company she works for.”

“I think Metropolis could be in danger,” he muttered. 

“I've heard many things about the city, ” Alfred replied, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Apart from the community being better than Gotham City, there were some... lifeforms that sometimes fell from the sky and caused great turmoil.”

Bruce’s lips twitched upward slightly, humming in agreement. “It’s not about that this time.”

“Then what is it?” Looking at Bruce again who fell silent, Alfred pressed, “Bruce, are you implying that the Batman may need to investigate LuthorCorp urgently?”

“Perhaps it is urgent,” Bruce sighed, looking at him back, utterly exhausted yet committed. As how he always was when he wore the suit. “For all cities.”

Alfred quieted, pulling out the notebook containing the billionaire's observations and precise details, written in a single night. Bruce knew that even without Alfred's suggestions, he would still go to Metropolis on his own. “You assume there is an arms trade and conflict related to LuthorCorp's agreement with other nations, including building an undefeated engineered super soldier as Earth's strongest protector with materials that have never been spoken or disclosed to the public.”

“LuthorCorp is known for its high-tech credentials. Its facilities are protected not far from Metropolis. Strict and limited. I need to talk to an author under the name Lois Lane about it.” Bruce showed an article with the headline: ‘Is LuthorCorp Harbouring Extraterrestrial Breakthrough Potential?’

“An effective story,” Alfred commented. “Were you planning to approach this lovely journalist and interview her before she could interview Bruce Wayne himself?” 

Bruce’s heart tightened upon hearing that; the thought of interacting with a journalist struck him like a blow, as if he hadn’t thought it through. Now, he regretted his imaginary plan, which felt like nothing more than wishful thinking. “Right...”

“I won't stop you, Bruce. I believe you can certainly figure things out,” Alfred said, a hint of gentleness in his voice. “Gotham won't collapse if you're absent for a few days. Would you like me to put Lieutenant Gordon on the line? After you've had breakfast and a nap, of course, I expect you to do them this instant."

Bruce let out a small chuckle, easily carried away by the quietness of the cave. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for him to make a decision. “...Book a ticket to Metropolis for this afternoon, I suppose.”

"Of course, Sir."

Clark Kent only remembered being with his parents when he was, what, four years old? He remembered their faces. He was allowed to see them once or twice a year while he grew up under the name Lionel Luthor, who told him that he had abilities that no other human being on Earth could possess. He was a unique individual. His name wasn't even Clark Kent—that name was given to him by his human parents who found him. He was known as Kal-El, a Kryptonian who was being watched over by LuthorCorp as a source of future power on this earth. Although, he was constantly reminded to hide his Kryptonian heritage, never to use it in front of other humans, and to obey the orders of those who raised him. 

Clark recalled much of his childhood in the Fortress of Solitude. And that's it. He remembered the air carried by the sunlight that shone on his entire body like a single trace of warmth at his parents' farm, feeling the cool breeze dancing with him as he flew a little higher than the surrounding treetops. He could see the horizon touching the setting sun, birds chirping happily, and tall buildings appearing in a blur. Really, what was the point of having the power to fly if he wasn't allowed to explore?

And yet, that was his fate. He couldn't go anywhere except his parents' house—and occasionally see the work produced under LuthorCorp in a pocket dimension of reality. Merely books and films about indigenous human culture and the remaining Kryptonian heritage in the Fortress that had kept him company. Oh, and Krypto, his dog, obviously. And yes, his life was very lonely. Extremely, impossibly, lonely. He tried to ask his parents why he was not allowed to go anywhere, but they seemed afraid, as if something was keeping them from speaking. The only “friend” he had—who had more human blood than he did—was Lex. However, he did not know if Lex was really his friend. He seemed to hate Clark—not just annoyed with him, but with a look that held a burning vindictiveness as vicious as a blazing inferno. Even now, Clark didn't really understand why Lex hated him so much. He figured Lex would probably kill him someday (kidding, of course). 

Lex also replaced Lionel in running the company and planned to change its name to LexCorp. Clark wasn't there when the change happened—he felt like a lot of things were left behind his back as he was 'trapped' in his own home. 

Many moments crossed his mind to take action and rebel—not in a negative sense, but in venturing out into the human society where his parents lived side by side with —curious and kind-hearted. He believed those were the core traits of humanity, and he wanted to see for himself the beautiful creations they had developed on this planet. That became his biggest and long-lasting dream. 

The only thing that kept him from doing so was what had been warned to him—which continued to echo in his mind like a broken record. “Humans will fear you, and they will hate you when they know who you are.”

And yes, it sounded very dramatic and a little exaggerated—but that was what Clark often heard throughout his life, and even though his parents disagreed, they didn't want to give a concrete reason. No one could give him one! Clark was always confused by this dilemma. He couldn't wrap it around his head. 

He just wanted to meet other humans, how bad could it be?

Then, it all happened to him. As if the universe had heard him for the first time. 

It began when he was in the fortress of solitude, wearing a blue sweater made by Ma that matched the cold colors of Antarctica, glasses dipping a bit on his nose (He liked wearing them—he had seen some journalists wearing them when reporters appeared on television at home, and he wanted to be like them—spreading stories that could change people's views into the truth), with maroon pajama-style pants. His curly hair rested on his forehead, chin supported by his palm, with his face full of concentration as Gary—the robot beside him—rattled by what he discovered. He was studying whether there was another history of the relationship between Kryptonians and Humans—when suddenly, there was a knock on the door, startling him. Even Gary was startled.

“Who is it? Is it Lex? Couldn’t he just walk in here?” As he always did without a humble greeting and attitude, thought Clark unamusingly. 

“It seems to be an incoming knock, Sir. Should we—”

“Incoming? You mean unfamiliar? So it's not Lex nor any of his people?” The knocking suddenly intensified—it wasn’t even knocking at all this time, but rather a series of violent punches, creating a rumbling echo throughout the shiny crystal interior. Only one question came to Clark’s mind: was it another human he hadn't seen before?

The mere thought of it leaped his heart like a rocket. 

“Sir, I suggest—”

“I’ll open the door.”

“What?” Gary’s voice sounded malfunctioned from being too stunned. “But—”

“I want to know who it is,” Clark replied simply and calmly. “Everything will be fine, Gary. I'll protect you. Krypto is here too—I think he's sleeping. Just stay calm. Oh yeah, I think we should hide before whoever's behind here steps inside.”

Gary was too surprised once again. Maybe it was the quick excitement— the thought of meeting another human being that maybe, maybe, didn’t come here just to ambush him. He could hear the fainted heartbeat that belonged to the person behind the door. Clark stood right in front of it with his own heartbeat speeding up, causing it to open slowly…

Alfred was correct (well, he was often correct), sleep had helped him be more self-aware when arriving in Metropolis. From the station to the sidewalk leading to the tall, luxurious hotel, Bruce was struck by the sun that illuminated the mood of the citizens on that Sunday afternoon. He even felt annoyed by how bright the sky was here, as if not a single raindrop could ever fall for centuries to come. The sunglasses he wore only half succeeded in bouncing off the bright sunlight, and half failing to bring the familiar sense of gloom that always lingered when he was in Gotham. 

He didn’t know if that made him happier or not. 

After leaving the hotel, Bruce immediately headed to The Daily Planet. He had already contacted Lois Lane beforehand, urgently pressing the matter of LuthorCorp, which, thankfully, made the journalist act curtly, concisely, and to the point, without any interest in tearing Bruce apart in an interview about whatever it was that journalists usually wanted from him. 

“Excuse me,” he said, finally deigning to show his name card to the receptionist, who looked surprised to see Bruce Wayne in person. “I had an appointment to meet with Lois Lane—”

“That would be me.” 

Bruce shifted his gaze to his side, seeing a brown-haired woman with a polite yet sharp smile, eyes full of steel persistence as she carried a cup of coffee that was already halfway empty. “I can take it from here, thank you,” Lois said to the receptionist, her smile unwavering as she looked back at Bruce. “You're right on time, Mr. Wayne. I'm quite amazed.”

“And you showed up early,” Bruce commented without any particular tone, shaking her hand. 

“Oh, believe me. I was actually eager when you called me that morning. I was ready to take over whatever cases were left after the Riddler got... relocated.” Bruce only stared. “That was before you mentioned my article that was no longer published in Metropolis, funnily speaking. As far as I know, Lex Luthor's company made sure my article wouldn't be published anywhere, and Perry would have no choice but to fire me—even though he was hesitant to consider it. Maybe I was just on the right track."

“It sounds like they're afraid of what you write.”

“Oh, they're not afraid of that. They're afraid of what I could write.” Lois finished her coffee. “So, Mr. Wayne, shall we continue this conversation somewhere more… conducive?”

Wearing the suit in the evening in Metropolis felt stranger than he had imagined. The characteristic silhouette formed behind his feet as his cape flew gracefully above a building he had landed on to track Lex Luthor's last known location did not give him the same feeling as when he was on top of one of Gotham's buildings while looking up at the sky to see his batman signal striking fear to those who should be warned. The weather still looked so bright, if that was even remotely plausible.

Lois had mentioned one sentence that had been locked in his mind ever since their meet-up shortly ended. “Lex is building a Superman.”  

Superman. 

“From his own tech?”

“His tech is the clone. The original one...” Lois leaned closer across the table that separated them. Bruce had only ordered some cookies and water. Lois ordered an americano, which Bruce was sure had more caffeine than she had consumed earlier before. “...could be from somewhere other than our Earth.”

“Where did the material come from?”

“I’m not talking about material, Wayne,” Lois smiled tightly. “I’m talking about a person.”

Bruce blinked slowly, taking longer than usual to process. “…A metahuman?”

“Bingo,” Lois snapped her fingers. “This is just gossip. But gossip doesn't fly unless there's something that sparks behind it. I haven't been able to prove it yet, but trust me, it can be proven. And when I can, I'll publish it in every newspaper there is.”

Wherever Lex hid a metahuman from the world, Bruce had found it.

Infiltrating LuthorCorp was surprisingly easy—perhaps because Lex himself was away with his closest associates that night. He could see the private jet leaving shortly after he hid in the darkness of an alley. The only thing that mattered was the technological facilities—and Bruce wasn't willing to find out about those yet. He needed to know where Lex was going first, because a strong feeling told him he was visiting somebody's particular property. 

“What—” the guard coughed, choked hard by Batman. “You—what... are you?”

“Lex Luthor,” Bruce began slowly, his gaze intense. “Where did he go?”

The guard did not respond, but he had pressed a button that caused robots to suddenly appear and attack him. Bruce quickly turned his head, charging forward and knocking them down first—even though it was rather difficult compared to fighting humans armed only with weapons. The guard raised his rifle—only to be pulled back by Batman, who aimed the shot at one robot, causing it to stop moving and fall to the ground. Bruce easily pulled his weapon from the guard's grasp, who merely flinched—using it to attack each robot's head. 

And before the guard could escape, Batman shot the ground in front of him, startling the man with his trembling body. Then Batman pushed him against the metal wall, staring unwaveringly. “The location. Only.”

The guard looked resigned behind his own mask and breathed shakingly, “A—Antarctica.”

Antarctica.

Bruce released him; the man looked shocked, as if he couldn't believe he was allowed to live. When he raised his gaze after gasping for breath, Batman was already gone.

Needless to say, Alfred was a bit surprised that Bruce suddenly reappeared in the cave the next morning. 

“I presume you slept peacefully on your way to travel?” 

Bruce, who had already packed his suit into his bag to head to the batwing suddenly stopped, turning to Alfred with his mouth half parted. “Kinda.”

Alfred held back a sigh and just shook his head, “I take it you have a new lead?”  

“Antarctica,” Bruce simply said, dark circles now hidden by his black makeup. “There’s something in there.”  

“And you are sure that you can reach the exact location?”  

“Yes.”

Alfred nodded slowly. “Be safe, Bruce.”

Bruce offered a small ghostly smile, or rather, the hint of one. “I will.”

And that was when he easily picked up an aura of an extraordinary level of energy while he was tracing a particular indication as the Batwing slowly landed in the cold atmosphere that hit his entire body, even under the cowl. Bruce was used to the cold that constantly enveloped Gotham. Even in his own manor, the air was always the same, as if it never left his shoulders. He continued walking while holding his device pad in the direction the energy was coming from. 

Taking a few steps forward as his cape fluttered aggressively, the snow-covered ground gradually shook as if Bruce had stepped on an earthquake trigger. A recrystallized castle grew from beneath the continent's core, resembling a frozen ice cathedral that appeared both intimidating and simultaneously breathtaking. He had never seen a phenomenon like this in his entire life, whether based on engineering or... just beyond his limited comprehension. 

Bruce inhaled, staring at the giant S symbol carved into the door.

He raised his hand hesitantly, then knocked once.

The door did not move. 

Bruce rolled his eyes at himself—what did he even expect? Without waiting any longer, he promptly punched the door as hard as he could, over and over. Nevertheless, the door remained tightly shut. Before he could give up, with his breath going more heavy, the door slowly opened.

His body stiffened, gathering the remaining strength he had left as he entered. Not far ahead were several holograms. Then there was... another robot? More than one, apparently hiding behind the crystals, which were the most awful hiding places to choose. But they didn't look like a threat. Was Superman even here? What kind of place was this? 

“Hey...”

Bruce turned to the side, his hand already raised and ready to attack whoever—

He blinked. 

A pair of blue eyes. 

The bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Hey! Hey! Calm down, I'm not a threat. I—you didn't come here to attack me, did you?” the man babbled, cheeks turning pink. He looked very normal and... impossibly adorable—why would someone like him even be here? "Because I'm not here to attack you, by the way. I’m just…uhh, are you lost by any chance?” 

Bruce blinked again. 

“Gosh, that’s a really silly question, huh? What I really mean is— Krypto, don’t!”

A bark echoed through the room. Bruce pointed his hand at the dog and he could hear, “Stop, he's just a dog!” 

Bruce had no intention of hurting a dog, oh no. But he hadn't even seen the dog yet. He jerked and pulled his cape, which was being bitten by the dog that was—flying? 

“Let go,” Bruce gritted, pulling harder until he almost threw the dog in the other direction. Before Bruce could instinctively check on the poor animal, he felt a sharp, painful thud behind his head. 

And everything went black. 

Clark really shouldn't have done that. 

Now the guilt weighing on him like his own fortress was crushing him. “Oh gosh, what have I done?” He winced in panic, dropping the dictionary-sized book that was about the history of life on Earth. He had quickly grabbed it from his room that had a small shelf containing books he'd brought from his parents' house—or that his parents had brought home outside of Smallville. Krypto continued to bark recklessly in front of him. The dog bit the man's black cape again. "Krypto, stop it right now! He's not a threat! Gary! Please take Krypto away for a moment, alright?"

Gary, who had witnessed everything, popped out behind the crystal. “Gladly, Sir. Come here, you good boy,” said the robot, moving its robotic hand as if he didn't get traumatized by what had happened. But Krypto just growled unamused. Gary decided to grab his small red cape and pulled the dog away, causing Krypto to whimper sadly. 

Clark carefully lifted the mysterious man with ease, carrying him to the room. He looked at the suit he was wearing, reeking of leather and a mixture of cold chocolate, as well as that distinctive warm petrichor. His heartbeat had slowed, but remained at a steady rhythm. Clark gently laid him on the bed, wondering: is this what all humans wear every day? Of course not. He had never seen a human dressed like this on television. Perhaps it was a costume...? Did that even make sense? He didn't know if this person was lost or had come here on purpose. 

That's when Clark realized the man's face was hidden behind a bat-shaped cowl. 

Biting his lip hesitantly, Clark slowly approached him, lifting the cowl as gently as possible and encountering a face that—oh. 

Oh. 

He was so pretty.  

Clark's face instantly flushed again. No, no, no, don't think like that! It's rude, you don't even know his name! He shouted embarrassingly in his own mind while shaking his head. But truly, when he looked at him again, it was… rather difficult to ignore. 

His dark brunette hair was greasy and clung to his forehead, covering half of his eyes, messy while simultaneously giving his features a soft look, accentuated by pitch-black eyeshadows under both eyes that were still tightly shut. His pale pink lips breathed gently.

Clark felt his breath catch in his throat, unable to control it. 

He had never met this man before—and this man was the first person he had ever met who was likely outside of Lex's company. 

And he was so, so, achingly beautiful. 

He was the most beautiful man Clark had ever seen. 

He alone didn't know what to do with that information. 

Then, those hazel eyes—like those familiar hedgerows in his home—fluttered open. 

Chapter Text

After Clark caught him waking up, he quickly made the tea he had stored, ensuring that the sweet liquid was at a warm temperature by cupping both palms around the cup, providing heat from his Kryptonian genes. 

Clark came back to the room right on time, seeing him suddenly jerked out, lifting his body with his eyes darting around before landing on him. His eyes are so pretty, Clark thought before he could stop himself. “Ah—uhm, are you okay? I made you some tea! And uhh, I made sure to keep it warm—it's chamomile, by the way. I brought it here from Ma and Pa.” He offered a cheerful smile, hoping the man in front of him would smile back. Instead, he was met with a dull stare. Clark's heart leapt, feeling his palms break out in cold sweat as he held the cup tightly. “Uhm—I can make you unsweetened tea if you... don't like sweet flavours. And uh, the tea isn't poisonous—I don't know how to make it either, so...”

Clark wanted to slap himself; why did he say that? Ugh, how dumb of him. 

“No, thank you,” the man finally murmured, barely audible if Clark didn’t have super hearing. 

“Ah, okay. That's fine! It'll stay warm—uh, I'll just put it here.” He put it next to the bed, which was also next to his bat cowl. The man suddenly stiffened, touching his bangs before touching his parts of his face in the process. “Is... something wrong?”

Clark didn't know how to interpret his unreadable expression. “You took it off.”

"...Oh! I'm sorry—I didn't know it wasn't supposed to be removed—I wanted to check if your head was okay because earlier I kinda... well, I hit you with my book and maybe, uhm, I was afraid I hit you too hard, so—I didn't mean to hit you, by the way! I really didn't mean to hurt you, I just panicked when you confronted Krypto because—“ Lex didn't like Krypto. ”—I didn't assume badly about you, I just— I didn't think it through! That's all! I... didn't know that removing it would mean stepping into your privacy, which I shouldn't have done. To be honest, I’m not used to meeting… other people… but I know that’s not an excuse.”

Clark immediately shut his mouth when he realized his explanation had gone on too long and was starting to sound less empathetic. He hadn't been taught to act this way—quite the opposite, in fact. But for some reason, and he knew the people who worked at LuthorCorp knew it too, he couldn't exactly break away from his sensitivity towards others. Not just humans, but every living being he encountered. 

And Clark didn't know if that was the right thing to do. He only knew Ma and Pa wanted him to be that way and that it was a reflection of their nature. And their nature made Clark feel loved, more than anyone else in his childhood. They made him happy (he always wished he could be with them more often than he could). 

“I'm sorry,” Clark whispered, sincerity and regret coating every word he spoke. 

The man who had been staring at him incessantly, as if trying to dig up any lies he could find, finally softened. Just a little. He lowered his gaze and muttered more softly, cheeks turning slightly pink. “It's okay.”

Clark nodded, unsure of what else to say. “We haven’t properly introduced ourselves…” he said shyly, looking away for a moment. 

The man raised an eyebrow. “You first.”

“Huh? Oh, you can call me—” Who? Kal-el? “Clark,” he chose to say with a smile. The name felt more like him. “Clark Kent, nice to meet you, Mr...?”

The man hesitated for a moment, his mouth closing then parting slightly. “...Batman.”

Clark blinked.

“You can call me that for now,” he shrugged.

“That's a cool name,” Clark smiled wider, swearing he saw him flushed again before lowering his head. “Can I call you B?”

“Sure...” said Batman, looking confused about how to respond. He sighed and rubbed his face, pushing back the strands that fell onto his forehead, causing his makeup to smudge and his hair to become even more messy. Clark wondered if it was soft to touch—

“Clark.”

“H-huh? Yes?” His heart leapt again at the sound of his name, shivering with feelings he couldn't yet describe. The man's voice was smooth and rich, like it was made of high-quality chocolate and opium. 

“If I'm hearing this correctly…” Batman continued. “You are not from here?”

“Oh. This isn't technically my place—it's a place I sometimes visit. But—” Clark paused for a moment. He couldn't reveal his secret as a Kryptonian. Perhaps what LuthorCorp taught him could be questionable, but he wasn't sure if his identity was truly safe to reveal just like that. Hearing the possible reactions of a human on learning that he was someone very different and beyond them made him a little... unnerved. “It belongs to Lex Luthor,” he continued foolishly. 

Batman narrowed his eyes, focusing. “For what purpose?”

“I’m not really familiar with his goals either. I just happen to have access here.”

“Those holograms. What are they about?”

“Uhh... anything human-related?”

Batman furrowed his eyebrows, then carefully asked in a serious low tone, making Clark's whole body pulse rapidly. “Are you... Superman?”

Now it was Clark's turn to frown. “Who?”

Batman continued to stare at him, but when Clark remained confused, his expression changed, now looking deep in thought. He then sighed wearily, “Forget it. Of course it's not you.”

“Wait, wait, who is this... Superman? Does he have anything to do with this place?”

“Not this place specifically—to be honest, I'm not sure,” Batman muttered. “Only Lex Luthor is involved in this."

Clark tried to remember any keywords that might have been mentioned when he was in the same room with him, as well as with Lionel Luthor. He couldn't remember anything. Again, something that was probably hidden from him—which left him feeling perplexed— but to his surprise, leaning more towards anger. “He never discussed anything important with me or mentioned a single trivial word to me. I am literally trapped here—well, except at my parents’ house.”

Batman tilted his head curiously, “Where are you from, Clark?”

“Smallville, Kansas,” he smiled, instantly thinking of Ma and Pa. “A very nice and warm town."

Batman snorted. “And you work with Luthor? It sounds like you… see him often.”

“More like passing by, if that makes sense,” Clark bit his lip. It wasn't a lie either. “He never gave me a reason why I couldn't go anywhere other than here or my parents' house—neither did his father.”

“He—” Batman's eyes widened slightly, saying to himself, “Unless he's using it as an experimental subject for one of his projects.”  

A long silence filled the air.  

“What!?”  

“It's just a speculation, Clark,” Batman said quickly, not wanting to make him anxious. 

However, Clark was already anxious—even more than anxious. His anger was more intense than before. And he rarely, very rarely felt anger. Because if it was true, it made sense that he, a Kryptonian, had been imprisoned for his entire life, according to what a group of selfish and arrogant people would have wanted. He had to clench his fists to keep himself from exploding and revealing even a hint of his powers. He had been betrayed since childhood. “I...”

Clark swallowed, his tongue dry with uncertainty about what to do next. He looked at Batman, whose gaze, though sharp, had a sense of firmness and stability to it. Clark felt like he could breathe again when he made contact with those grounding shades of his. “I want to get out of here,” he whispered. “I have to get out of here, if... if that's the case.”

“And why not before?”

“Gosh, I don't know either. I just...” Clark's shoulders slumped, his vulnerability exposed so openly. “I was scared. About a lot of things.” Ma and Pa, my identity, the fate of humanity if I wandered into their world. “I don't want to go back to Smallville either—I don't want anything dangerous to happen there because of me.”

“Since... when have you been locked up?”

“Since I was a kid.” Batman looked momentarily stunned, though he didn't react overtly. “I know now, it sounds a bit messed up, doesn't it? Maybe LuthorCorp is a little insane.”

“A little,” Batman grunted, choosing to get up from the bed. 

“Uhm—where are you going?” asked Clark a bit sheepishly. Batman probably noticed the tone in his voice, because he turned to him and, after a brief silence, answered.

“Back to my city.”

“Ah… Yeah, that makes sense. Uhm…”

“You can come with me.”

As if the essence of daylight lived in Clark's soul, his entire body radiated with disbelief and overwhelming happiness. “R—really? You'll take me with you?” he asked, smiling with anticipation, his heart pounding at the thought of seeing another side of the world—his biggest and long-lasting dream. 

It was truly happening to him at this moment. 

“Of course,” Batman nodded slowly, his eyes observing every reaction that appeared on Clark, making him almost blush profusely. “You need to get out of here anyway. I’m sure it won’t be safe any longer.”

Clark bit his lip, “And... Do you believe this will be safe for me?”

Batman nodded assertively this time. “I will protect you, Clark.”

His heart, which had been pounding hard already, now felt like it was jumping off a cliff, warmth spreading through his whole being at those words until he felt like he wanted to melt right there and then. “Thank you,” he whispered, feeling something stir within him. He didn't really know what he was feeling, but he knew that feeling made him happy enough to want to stay with this beautiful, handsome man—

Batman cleared his throat, reaching for his cowl and putting it back on, hiding his face. “Let's go.”

Clark immediately followed him like a dog wagging its tail. “So, uhh... we're going to look for this Superman you mentioned earlier?”

Batman glanced at him up and down, freezing Clark in place, instantly flustered. “I'm not sure if the concept of Superman already exists or is still in the process of being developed. But we need more information about the tech and blueprints that LuthorCorp has been working on for the past several days.”

A barking sound came behind them. Batman appeared wary again with the dog, which was now sitting but still barking as if wanting to be noticed, its tongue hanging down, giving the impression of being highly friendly and no longer aggressive. “I'm going home, Krypto. Gary, take care of him for me, okay?”

“Sure, Sir, he will continue to be a good boy.”

Clark smiled, and Batman glanced at the robot, as if he was going to ask something, then decided to ask something else instead. “Can that dog fly?”

“What? What do you mean? Krypto can't fly—I don't think any dog species is born that way,” Clark replied, shaking his head, hoping his lie was convincing enough. 

“Hmm.” Bruce narrowed his eyes on the dog. “Why did you name him Krypto?”

“Because it's cool. Like yours,” he smiled. Batman blinked for a moment, then scowled, luckily stopping any further questions. 

He was cute, thought Clark stupidly with a grin. 

The door opened, revealing snowy air that sniffed at their bare skin. “Is that yours?” Clark awed, his face full of wonder as they both walked side by side and met the batwing. “You have a really awesome plane, B.” 

Batman lowered his head, muttering a stumbling thanks. Clark missed seeing the face behind it—if that wasn't something strange to feel for someone.

“What's your city like, if I can know?” 

Batman let out a chuckle that sounded a bit humorless. “You'll find out eventually.”

Bruce could see Clark watching the clouds passing by through the window beside him, those blue eyes roaming around as if searching for something—most likely a city he could find below the batwing's current position. 

He sighed. Everything was a bit disconcerting; now that he knew Clark was just a potential chosen candidate selected by LuthorCorp—if that were ever confirmed. Bruce didn't know what was so special about Clark that he had been imprisoned his entire life. If what Lois said was true—that LuthorCorp was building a clone of Superman as one of their latest engineering innovations and it was also under progress—then they would need the original Superman's DNA. The problem was, he thought it would be found in Clark, but he doubted the man behind it had any connection if he himself didn't know who Superman was. Maybe Superman would become Clark, and LuthorCorp selected based on the ideal human traits that a real Superman must possess. Because what Bruce found in Clark was that he was kind, compassionate, courteous, cute, and very good-looking...

Bruce gripped the handle, grinding his teeth. He needed to focus and complete his mission. Hide Clark in the cave where he would be safe, then leave until his mission was over. Simple. 

As Gotham City began to appear, with its gloomy sky and murky, polluted air carried above the clouds, Bruce heard a small gasp behind him. “Is this your city?”

“Gotham,” Bruce nodded. “Not a city that would suit you.”

“I understand it could suit you.” Even without seeing it, Bruce could imagine that sparkling grin that made his eyes shine. Bruce could only scowl. 

“It still looks very beautiful from up here," Clark continued softly. Bruce glanced back, finding Clark's gaze fixed on the window with reflections of Gotham moving in his vibrant irises. He was certain that no one would react with such fascination to Gotham, especially someone who wasn't from the city itself. Clark Kent was an odd one. 

Slowly landing the Batwing in the cave, he got out to find Alfred waiting for him.

“Welcome home, Sir—”

"Woah! This cave is really filled with bats? Won't they start attacking you? Did you also get the inspiration for your suit from them? No offense, by the way, I'm just really amazed! Because—oh." Clark, who had walked out first, immediately turned red as a tomato, putting his hands behind his back as if he had been caught red-handed. Bruce, for once, held back his need to laugh. 

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said softly, walking out with Clark still frozen and not knowing what to say. “We have a... guest.”

“I can see that,” Alfred replied, his eyebrows knitting together with a hint of amusement. 

“Hi, uh—sorry for rambling about what I just said—that was disrespectful, I truly apologize,” Clark said, a bit embarrassed, but offering a polite smile and extending his hand. “I’m Clark Kent. Batman saved me.”

It was Bruce's turn to redden. He didn't know what it was about Clark; his words were so... full of admiration, gratitude, and amazement—even as Batman, he didn't often get those kinds of looks, not even from the people he usually worked with. Clark seemed to know just the right words to make him feel this way—whatever this feeling was. He didn't want to know and would continue to dismiss it.

“Hmm, is that so, Mr. Kent?” Alfred prodded, shaking his hand while glancing at Bruce with an unreadable look. However, Bruce knew the look behind it. Once again, he ignored it. “Would that mean you’ll be our visitor until the day after tomorrow?”

“Oh, uhh… maybe? But I’ll go with B—”

“He’ll stay here,” Bruce cut in firmly. “Until I return.”

“What?” Clark furrowed his brows, looking betrayed. Bruce’s heart couldn’t help but ache at the sight. “Aren’t I going with you? We’ll find Superman together—”

“I can find Superman myself,” Bruce insisted, turning to look for his car before Clark suddenly confronted him, his face dull and full of disappointment. “Clark—”

“No. We should protect each other,” Clark argued sternly. “You don’t know LuthorCorp the way I do. And it's true that I know bits and pieces that aren't particularly helpful to what you're looking for. But at least I know how they are. And—“ He sighed slightly, a little pleading. ”I don't want to see you get hurt, B. Besides, I don't want to be trapped in a box again.”

Bruce was ready to argue, but his words died on his lips when he heard that. “...I want you to be safe, Clark.”

“You said you would protect me. Then I should be with you.” Bruce stuttered slightly behind his cowl, unable to hold the gaze of those persistent blue eyes. “I know I can be useful to you, B. Just let me come with you. I’ll keep close.”

“How can you even protect me?” Bruce muttered.

Clark seemed to struggle to find the words behind his changing expression. Instead, he simply restated, “You can trust me.”

“I don't trust people like that,” Bruce said flatly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it. But what I mean is, I'm not reckless—”

“Clark, I'm not asking you to be useful to me,” Bruce said, staring at him intently. “This began with me—”

“I need to know directly if you find anything, it's my rights, B. And also, besides that,” His expression shifted completely, now smiling a little shy. How did he do it? Bruce thought distantly. “I, uh... kind of hoped you could show me around your city...?”

Bruce blinked slowly, unable to believe what had been said to him. “You really want to see what's here?” he asked, his tone tinged with sarcasm. 

“Of course! I want to see where you grew up,” he said softly, removing all the mockery from Bruce's face. 

God help me with this man. 

Bruce sighed at his stubbornness and finally mumbled, “Sure.”

“Really? You want to, too, right, B?” Clark asked hopefully, his eyes sparkling again. Now he was suddenly a step in front of him—so close that Bruce's heart skipped a beat, his breath caught again as he observed the dimples on that warm, welcoming gaze. This was not part of his plan. None of this was what he had expected when he took on this investigation. It shouldn't be like this, he should have just refused—

“Y–yes,” he fumbled, words betraying him. 

“I'm glad to hear that,” his smile widened as usual. 

“I apologize for interrupting both of your poignant arguments. Still, I couldn’t resist hearing about your plans to explore Gotham City together. Might I suggest you have lunch first, or perhaps clean up before you two could disappear for days without a trace of word?” Alfred suddenly interjected, embarrassingly surprising Bruce with a flinch. He didn't even notice that Alfred had gone upstairs before coming back down again.

Bruce wanted to roll his eyes. Clark just cheered up. “Oh, I don't want to burden anything—”

“Nonsense. B— The Batman will accompany you while you take a meal. I even consider that he may need to sit down once, considering the days he has spent.”

Bruce scowled, shooting Alfred a frustrated glance. Clark just chuckled amusedly. He didn't know how Alfred could have guessed his name was hidden from Clark, but knowing Alfred, he probably figured someone like Bruce Wayne wouldn't open up to someone he hadn't known for very long. Still, he found it rather… refreshing that someone didn’t recognize who he was, Batman nor Bruce Wayne. It felt like an impossible experience to meet a person like that. Now that Clark truly didn’t know who he was, perhaps it would be easy enough when they parted their ways after this whole thing was finally over. 

Even though he felt Clark's presence was already so strangely familiar just by being near him...

Clark hadn't known much about Batman's background, but he didn't need to know much to realize that he was a very wealthy man, as he looked around the manor on his way to the dining room. “You have a lovely home, B,” he complimented as usual. He sincerely hoped Batman wasn't bothered by his constant compliments—because he couldn't help himself. It was just his nature. (Besides, seeing Batman finally removing his cowl and revealing his pale, rosy cheeks made his compliments worth it. At least in Clark's opinion, as selfish as it was). 

Lunch with Batman wasn't particularly glamorous—not that he didn't enjoy every second of it. It was quite domestic. He really appreciated having someone other than his Ma and Pa to share a meal with. When Alfred brought two slices of cheesecake, which he said Batman had ordered two days ago, Clark realized that the guy liked sweet flavors (even though Batman tried to ignore it). He also discovered that Batman enjoyed mulligatawny soup.

“It’s delicious, no wonder you like it. You have good taste,” Clark smiled. Batman hummed, his mouth twitching slightly upward. At that moment, Clark wondered what it would be like to see him smile genuinely.

“Thank Alfred.” And Clark thanked him.

He borrowed Batman's clothes, which he thought would fit him. And they did fit, a little tight around his biceps but still comfortable and warm (they even smelled like Batman himself, more fragrant and a little... intimate—Clark lowkey tried not to be weird and sniff the fabric. I mean, it's not a normal thing to do when hanging out with other people, right?). He chose to wear the jacket Alfred gave him as an outer. Clark left his clothes at the manor, then went downstairs and caught Batman doing his makeup routine, so concentrated and precise, like he was doing something incredibly fragile. 

Clark didn't want to disturb his focus, but Batman had already looked up and immediately closed his eyeliner. Clark gaped. He was wearing an oversized hoodie that made him look smaller than his suit,  his messy hair still damp from his previous shower. He looked so—

“Ready to go?” Batman asked, a murmur yet echoed in the cave.

“Yes,” Clark said, a bit distracted. “Uhm—thanks for the meal and lending me your clothes.”

“No problem.” 

They walked out of the cave. Clark couldn’t hold back his question, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m just curious—why are you dressed as if you’re going to wear your suit again even though you left it at your place?”

“I have to... disguise myself in public,” he said, putting both hands in his hoodie with his head bowed so that his face looked like a mere shadow. 

“Oh, are you actually popular among your people?” Clark grinned.

“You could say that,” he grunted. 

“I think you look pretty like this.”

Silence filled the space between them. Clark wasn't sure if he said the wrong thing or not. 

“You look... good too."

Before Clark could thank him with an equal stutter, a car horn sounded, startling him. He realized they were in the middle of the city. He was a bit confused as to why the sky was so ‘cloudy’ even though it was still the middle of the day. Clark desperately wished he could fly and see Gotham from his own height, perhaps carrying Batman in his arms as well—if that was a reasonable thing to do.

“The streets look very crowded,” he commented, watching many people passing by, some already holding umbrellas as if there was a predictable rain coming by, while others looked indifferent. Batman turned his full body towards him and touched his wrist tightly, stimulating Clark's senses instantly. 

“You've seen it. Want to go back?”

“What? No! Not yet!” Clark immediately shook his head. He looked for a reason to stay outside and finally settled on one of the bars with neon lights that were more striking than the shops next to it. “Hey, we can go there. It looks nice.”

Batman glanced at the bar and looked back at him blankly, “You want to go to a bar?”

Clark shrugged, “I know what the menu will be like. But I’ve never tried it.”

Batman just sighed. That's when Clark immediately thought of something that could be bothersome. “Oh! If this is a matter of who pays, I—sorry for not thinking it through—”

“What—Clark,” he began, genuinely confused. “You know I... can afford a lot of things, right?”

"Uhm, I figured too. But you seemed reluctant, so I thought..."

“No... sorry,” he repeated, a little embarrassed as he tried to get the words out. “I'm just... not used to crowded places."

“Oh, I understand,” Clark nodded, smiling sincerely. Batman just stared at him, looking incredulous. “Really! I just don't want either of us feeling bad about each other's suggestions. That's not a very good deal, is it?”

“...Are you acting like this out of courtesy?”

“What—no. I really don't want you to feel forced because of me,” he said more softly, searching those hazel eyes for what he wanted to know from him. “I want us both to have a good time. But I want you to know, I'm already happy walking with you, anywhere we go.”

Batman averted his gaze, swallowing hard. Had Clark said too much? What he said was just a fair interaction between two people, right? Admitting that you really like someone's presence even though there is no definite reason while finding your heart blossoming altogether is considered a human thing to feel, right? 

“I think the bar will be quiet at this hour,” Batman said abruptly.

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he let out a short chuckle. “Don't look like a kicked puppy, Kent.”

Clark stammered, huffing lightly. They went inside and, as Batman had predicted, the bar was indeed very quiet, with only about four people inside. Two people were talking, and the other two were talking to the bartender. Clark could smell the distinct scent of alcohol in the air. Batman immediately sat down near the window, which was a more secluded and isolated spot compared to the others, making Clark want to laugh; it was so easy to remember the guy’s characteristics. 

The menu was already on the table. Everything seemed very expensive, but Batman didn't seem to care about the price at all. Really rich then, Clark thought amusedly. He asked for his advice on what to choose. However, he only chose something very simple and beyond Clark's expectations: “I'll have a ginger ale,” he said calmly. 

“Oh, you don't drink alcohol?” Clark asked curiously. 

“The Batman cannot... function properly if he drinks,” He shrugged, hiding his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie. “And I'm not used to the taste either.”

“Ah, me neither.” Only because his Kryptonian genes prevented him from truly feeling the side effects of alcohol. “I still want to try one.”

He looked at the menu to help Clark. “Hmm, the menu isn't updated,” he muttered, mouth twitching again. 

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to surprise you with a special drink?” Batman asked, smirking briefly. “Without knowing the name.”

Clark looked at him with genuine interest. “Okay,” he smiled. “I trust your taste, B.” 

Batman's gaze softened a little, taking Clark's words half-heartedly as a joke, even though Clark had said them with complete sincerity. Then he raised his hand, signaling for the order. The bartender came over, probably because the bar was quiet, indicating that there were less staff working that afternoon. Batman whispered something in the bartender's ear, who nodded and widened his eyes as he realized what kind of drink had been requested. Then the bartender nodded again, informing, “Your drinks are on their way, gentlemen.” 

“I hope you're not planning to poison me,” Clark joked.

Batman snorted, “Trust me. I'll be poisoning myself too.”

The humor was so out of context that Clark could only laugh mildly, catching Batman staring at him for a long time. A slight blush crept up on Clark, even though he kept smiling. “So, um,” he started a topic related to their plans. “After this, which city are we going to?”

“Metropolis,” he replied, leaning back on the sofa. “Where LuthorCorp is located.”

“Oh, I know Metropolis! That's where The Daily Planet is incorporated, right? I often read their articles when I was in Smallville.”

“Is that why you look like one of them?”

Clark blinked, instinctively pushing his glasses up his nose, stammering, “U–uhm, do I look like them? Really?”

“You get a pass out of it.”

Clark grinned shyly, “I’ll take that as a compliment—I want to be one of them, honestly. You could say I get a lot of inspiration from what they do. I like to imagine myself being part of a group of people who can share the truth when there is so much restlessness engulfing us all. Ma and Pa believe I can achieve it someday—if I'm allowed to be free, obviously."

Batman let a moment of stillness, allowing Clark to continue. When Clark didn't, he muttered so quietly, “The job suits you.”

There it was again. His heart blooming like a floral bud encountering spring for the first time. The bartender arrived with their order. Clark thanked him and examined the drink; the glass was wider than he expected, filled with a tempting tourmaline-colored liquid and a hint of foam on top. Clark took a sip, tasting the nuances of coffee beans with a flavor he didn't recognize, followed by a hint of maple syrup. 

“Woah, it tastes... really good.” 

“I've never tasted it myself, to be honest,” Batman murmured, seemingly satisfied with Clark's reaction. “I just know there was a moment when... it was gaining more attention.”

“Do you want to try it?” Clark offered, but he still refused. “Just a little sip, B.”

Batman shook his head but accepted it with a sigh, as if it were difficult to refuse Clark in small matters—which shouldn't be a big deal for Clark, but his heart was still fluttering with childish excitement. He sipped it, feeling the flavor rise in his tongue before humming briefly, “Not bad.”

“Are you going to tell me the name?”

A distinct playfulness flashed in those eyes, “You can find out yourself.”

Clark pouted, then forgetting his ability to handle alcohol that the average human couldn’t consume. He drank half of it, foam filling his lips. Batman looked at him again, resting his head on his arms folded on the table, looking serene—and so... content. Clark liked seeing him like this. “You have a high tolerance,” he muttered, voice low. 

“Ah—I uh, I'm used to doing it together in... Smallville.” Clark hoped his smile wasn't too fishy. “What about you? Do you usually have a toast with your parents?”

His face suddenly turned a bit tense, “They... aren't here anymore.”

“Oh. I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

Batman shrugged, “It's just a little... unusual for someone who doesn't really know, considering it's been printed all over the media.”

“Is that a bad thing? Me not knowing it?”

"It's... neutral."

Clark nodded, respecting his privacy. “Can I ask one more question?”  

“...Sure.”  

“What do you usually do? In life—if, um, it’s okay to ask—you don’t have to answer either.”

He held his gaze, finding a spark of genuine curiosity behind his inquisitive face. "I admit... I did contribute a little to my city before. But after what happened with the Riddler and the flood... I realized that attending philanthropic events and fundraisers mattered more in public than just doing charity work without being present at front. I'm just not used to...“ He gaped slightly, as if unaware of how many words he had managed to say. ”...this."

“This... talking?”

“Hm.”

“That makes two of us,” Clark smiled softly. He wanted to know what Batman meant by the Riddler as well as the flood that he guessed had hit the city, whenever it happened. But he figured it could be a sensitive topic that could stretch on. So he put it in the back of his mind to explore further later. Instead, he said, “What you're doing sounds remarkable.”

His cheeks flushed pink, huffing lightly as he grumbled, “You mean beneficial.”

“That's what I said,” Clark grinned. “But I wasn't wrong with my wordings. I really think it's remarkable, B. I don't think it deserves to be underestimated either. What you're doing needs to be known."

Batman suddenly tensed up again, his jaw clenching as if Clark had pierced a deep part of his soul. He let out a sigh through his nose and gently rubbed his face, not wanting to smudge his hard work. “Do you always talk like that?” he groused. 

“Like what?” he asked softly and innocently.

Batman opened his mouth. 

And Clark suddenly tightened his hand, alarmed.

“Clark?” he asked, equally confused.

“Let me go, you asshole!” The boy's voice filled his ears thanks to his super hearing. Clark turned at the same time Batman turned. There, in the farthest alley, still facing their window, was a boy trying to break free from a man hiding behind a mask. 

“B... I think we should—” 

Clark turned and gaped for a second, finding an empty seat in front of him except for the money left on the table. When he looked back out the window, Batman had already crossed the large roadway so smoothly, as if every car bowed down to him. Clark immediately followed him, nearly getting hit by another vehicle while apologizing loudly and repeatedly. 

How did he do it? Clark huffed, half impressed. 

Somehow Clark could hear the boy struggling from afar, but  Bruce should've heard him too—this was his city, for God's sake. In the split second he stepped out of the bar, a wave of disappointment and self-resentment washed over him, demanding he do better. Be more vigilant, don't fail Gordon, nor Alfred, nor Gotham again—

Without a single hesitation, Bruce approached the man who was covering the poor boy's mouth, whose eyes widened at his arrival, his face a mixture of fear and pleading. In the desaturated light, Bruce's appearance remained parallel to the same person who wore the suit, with his makeup and hoodie supporting the shadow of his features, quite as intimidating as Batman himself. 

The man noticed his presence and grabbed a gun. But before he could swing it, Bruce grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and punched the man with enough force to make him stumble and release the boy. He grabbed the boy's small hand, pulled him behind him before striking the man again until he fell. 

Bruce immediately turned around when he felt the boy's hands trembling and clutching his hoodie so tightly. “Hey,” his voice softened. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, thank you. But um, my brother’s wallet…” the boy muttered awkwardly, as if feeling guilty for mentioning it.

“Where’s the wallet?”

“It’s still in—watch out!”

Bruce looked back, making eye contact with the bastard who suddenly, dramatically, pointed his gun at the boy. Spontaneously, Bruce widened his eyes and stepped forward to protect the boy, ready for another bullet to pierce his skin like the rest of his collected scars. However, that didn't happen. What actually happened was a gust of wind that could only be caused by a speed of light traveling past them. A sudden shot rang out, causing the boy to tense up and squeeze Bruce back. Then a punch. Then a hush. 

Bruce turned around, open-mouthed to see Clark right behind him, his hands clenched and looking a little dismayed. The man was already lying unconscious on the ground. The gun was now empty, bullets scattered everywhere. Clark didn't seem out of breath at all, as if sending that punch hadn't drained any single energy within him. He looked up and made eye contact with Bruce, blue eyes now filled with high concern that strangely made Bruce's heart beat faster. 

“Hey, are you two okay?” he asked, glancing back and forth between Bruce and the boy. 

“We're fine,” Bruce muttered, still a little shocked by what Clark could do. Maybe LuthorCorp had taught this guy a few lessons, huh? 

“Are you sure? What about you, uh... what's your name, kiddo?” Clark asked, bending down to the boy with a friendly smile. His curly hair was now messy on his forehead—Bruce kept staring at it, fingers twitching.

“...Jason,” said the boy, a little apprehensive, but more relaxed than before. “You didn't kill him, did you?”

“What—Gosh! No, that's a big violation. And also unnecessary, we can't punish someone like that, of course there are justifications, right?” Clark said, firmly believing what he said. “The most important thing is safety, that's all.”

“Woah... a little disappointing, but okay, I can get that,” Jason nodded weakly. Clark felt a bit slapped. Bruce cracked a ghostly smile. “Oh yeah, uhh—my brother's wallet was in that guy's pocket, by the way.”

Clark immediately went to the thief and searched for the wallet in his pocket, apologizing profusely to the unconscious man as if what he was doing was scandalous enough. Bruce couldn't help but feel awe and intrigue, as well as little amusement at seeing someone who possessed such a natural and pure gift of kindness, beyond what anyone could've possibly expected. 

“Ah, found it,” Clark smiled, handing the wallet to Jason, whose face immediately brightened. 

“Thank you so much, Mr—”

“Jason! There you are.”

A teenage boy suddenly approached them and entered the alley, panting heavily. “Hey Dick, I found the wallet—”

“The wallet—What the hell? It's just a wallet! You shouldn't have run like that!”

“Dude, there's more than twenty dollars in here!” 

Dick rolled his eyes, muttering, “Because you ran, I couldn't tell the police where you were, jerk.” His eyes met where the thief was lying on the ground. Then his eyes looked up at Clark and Bruce, smiling a little sheepishly. “Heh, you guys saved my little brother—and my wallet. Thanks a lot.”

Dick looked at Bruce a bit longer, “You look familiar...”

Bruce didn't know if he meant familiar as in Bruce Wayne or Batman. “I don't think so,” Bruce replied simply.

Dick just nodded, a little disturbed. Then he took Jason's wrist—who, as he predicted, pushed Dick away and muttered that he was being overprotective. 

“Are you guys safe from here?” asked Clark, furrowing his eyebrows. “We can take you—”

“We're safe. We're going to the cinema,” said Dick, pointing to the cinema building a few steps away from where they were now. Clark nodded and smiled, waving at them. 

Bruce watched the two boys, making sure they were safe until they were close to the front of the movie theater. Then he turned to Clark, “You’re strong,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Clark immediately sputtered, face reddening. “Uhh—you're welcome? I mean, yes, you're welcome, no problem. You—you're really okay, right? You're not hurt or anything?” he asked, so attentively and earnestly that Bruce really didn't know how to respond. 

He remembered what had happened in the bar. Shame overwhelmed him when he only froze up, recalling the calming warmth of Clark's hand on his. It wasn't that he couldn't answer, but that he didn't know if he should answer or not. That moment was when he realized that Clark Kent was the only person Bruce had talked to for a long period of time, and more importantly, it was authentic and not just a conversation about self-images. Again, Bruce didn't know how to react nor how to feel. 

Everything seemed to be happening outside of the reality he once knew. 

Not to mention the unfamiliar feeling that often surfaced every time Clark praised him or paid attention to him like this...

“I'm fine, Clark,” he muttered, lowering his head again. Even as he lowered his head, Clark's gaze followed suit, as if not wanting to break their close eye contact. “And you?” 

“I'm okay too,” he smiled. 

Bruce nodded, “...T—thank you.”

“Of course, B,” his smile turned to his charming grin.

Bruce cleared his throat and looked up, maintaining his composure. “We need to report this to the police, it's somewhere around this block. Then head back to the cave. We couldn't afford to be in Gotham for too long, so I suggest you save your enthusiasm for another time.”

"Oh! I didn't realize how much time flew by. I guess I was having fun talking to you,“ Clark chuckled shamelessly, making Bruce's heart leap again. Fun? Him? Fun to talk to? ”Yes, okay. I'm fine with that. Sorry if I took up your time—I hope you had fun too earlier. I appreciate being able to go places in this city with you."

Bruce ignored him again, because he really wanted Clark to stop thanking him. His heart was beating too fast...

He let Clark report to the police station while he waited outside, not wanting to meet Lieutenant Gordon in case his identity was questioned. Then they returned to the cave as quickly as possible. Along the way, Bruce could see the progress of the infrastructure after the flood, although there was still a lot of work to be done. He needed to ask Alfred if there were any small donations he could chip in for in the future.

Clark's fingers brushed his like an electric touch, only a flee. Their shoulders brushed each other too. The warmth radiating from his body was strangely intense, Bruce thought it was half bizarre. 

“Saving people,” Clark muttered. 

“What?” Bruce rasped, shifting slightly to give them a little space. However, Clark seemed to spontaneously move closer to him again. 

“That’s what Batman does, right?” He turned to him. “Be Gotham’s hero.”

It took a few seconds before Bruce could whisper, “I hope I am.”

“You are.”

Bruce nodded curtly after a beat, not wanting to meet that smile that seemed to see through the cracks in his walls. They didn't say anything else until they reached the cave.