Chapter Text
The heavy blast doors of the Batcave slid open with a hiss, and Clark Kent didn’t even wait for them to finish before he was inside. His heart was hammering against his ribs—not from the flight from Metropolis, but from the sheer panic in Alfred’s voice over the comms.
"Master Kent, please hurry," Alfred had said. "The Scarecrow’s latest batch of 'Wonder-Dust' is... unconventional."
Clark landed softly on the stone floor, his cape billowing behind him. He expected a thrashing Dark Knight or a catatonic detective. What he found was much, much stranger.
Bruce was standing in the middle of the cave, stripped of his Kevlar armor. He was just in his charcoal-gray thermal undersuit, barefoot on the cold damp rock. He wasn't brooding. He wasn't even moving. He was staring—mouth slightly agape—at the life-sized mechanical Tyrannosaurus Rex in the corner.
"Bruce?" Clark stepped forward, his boots clicking softly. "Alfred said you were... exposed to something?"
Bruce turned his head with the slow, deliberate grace of a sunflower following the sun. When his eyes met Clark’s, the Man of Steel froze. Bruce’s pupils were massive, swallowing the blue of his irises until they looked like twin solar eclipses.
"Clark," Bruce whispered. His voice, usually a gravelly baritone of doom, sounded like a delighted toddler discovering bubbles for the first time. "Clark, did you know... we have a dinosaur?"
"I did know that, Bruce. We’ve talked about it. Many times."
"He’s very big," Bruce breathed, taking a wobbly step toward the Kryptonian. "And very scaly. Do you think he’s lonely? I feel like he needs a hat."
From the nearby computer console, Alfred’s voice drifted over, dry as a fine martini. "I have already vetoed the hat, Master Kent. I’m currently synthesizing the antidote, but the toxin seems to have bypassed the 'fear' centers of the brain and headed straight for 'unfiltered whimsy.' If you could keep him from climbing the scenery, I would be most grateful."
Bruce didn't seem to hear Alfred. He was suddenly inches away from Clark’s chest. Clark felt a flush creep up his neck. Even when Bruce was high as a kite, he was still the most handsome man in the galaxy.
"You’re very... primary," Bruce murmured. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced the edge of the 'S' shield. "So yellow. Like the sun. Do you carry the sun on your chest, Clark? That’s very responsible of you."
"It's a symbol, B," Clark said, fighting a smile. He reached out to steady Bruce’s waist, his large hands resting on the smooth fabric of the undersuit. "You're shivering. Your feet are bare."
"I don't need shoes," Bruce declared, his gaze shifting upward. His eyes caught the corner of Clark’s cape. His entire face lit up. "Oh. Oh."
Before Clark could react, Bruce had grabbed a fistful of the red fabric. He didn't pull it; he just held it up to the light, stroking it with his thumb.
"It’s so red, Clark. It’s the reddest thing in the world. It’s like... a giant strawberry. Can I go inside it?"
"Inside it?" Clark chuckled.
"The Cape Cave," Bruce whispered, pulling the fabric around himself like a security blanket. He tucked his head under the crook of Clark’s neck, sniffing the collar of the suit. "You smell like ozone and expensive laundry detergent. I love you."
Clark’s heart skipped a beat. Bruce said 'I love you' in many ways—usually through custom-built satellites or grumpy forehead touches—but he rarely said it with this much gooey, unabashed enthusiasm.
"I love you too, you big dork," Clark whispered, wrapping his arms fully around the billionaire.
"Look at your eyes," Bruce said suddenly, pulling back but keeping the cape wrapped around his shoulders like a king. "They’re like the ocean. But with lasers. Laser-ocean. That's a good band name. We should tell Dick. Dick likes bands."
"I'll make a note of it," Clark said, gently trying to steer Bruce toward the medical cot. "Why don't we sit down?"
"I can't sit," Bruce gasped, pointing a dramatic finger toward the ceiling. "The bats are upside down, Clark! They’re defying gravity! Are they Kryptonian? Did you bring them?"
"No, Bruce. They’re just... bats."
"They're very talented," Bruce insisted. He then noticed Clark’s hand on his arm. He looked at Clark’s hand, then at his own, then back at Clark. A look of profound realization crossed his face. "We’re holding hands."
"We are."
"We should do this more often. But without the Scarecrow gas. It makes my teeth feel like they’re made of lemon drops." Bruce leaned in, his forehead resting against Clark’s. "You’re very pretty. Has anyone told you that? You’re like a very handsome mountain."
Clark couldn't help it; he let out a loud, boisterous laugh that echoed through the Cave. "A handsome mountain? Thanks, B. That’s a new one."
"Master Kent," Alfred called out, not looking up from his microscope. "If he starts trying to name the stalactites, please inform me. That was the stage he reached just before you arrived. He was particularly fond of one he named 'Sir Pointy.'"
Bruce giggled. Bruce Wayne actually giggled.
"Sir Pointy is a noble rock, Alfred!" Bruce shouted back, before turning his wide, dilated eyes back to Clark. He reached up and squished Clark’s cheeks together with both hands. "Clark. Stay. Don't go to space. Space is dark. Stay here in the cape-cave with the strawberry fabric."
Clark felt a wave of pure, molten affection. He leaned down and kissed Bruce’s forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips. Bruce tasted like the tea Alfred had probably tried to give him earlier, and he kissed back with a soft, clumsy eagerness that made Clark’s knees weak.
"I'm not going anywhere," Clark promised, guiding a very distracted, very happy Batman toward the sofa.
Bruce hummed, settling into Clark’s side and immediately beginning to play with the laces of Clark’s boots. "The dinosaur is watching us, Clark. I think he approves of our union."
"I'm glad, Bruce," Clark said, stroking Bruce's dark hair. "I'd hate to be on a T-Rex's bad side."
"He's a good boy," Bruce murmured, leaning his head on Clark's shoulder, his eyes still wide and sparkling with chemical wonder. "Everything is so... bright. Especially you."
The roar of a high-performance motorcycle engine echoed through the cavernous tunnels, signaling the arrival of Jason Todd. He skidded to a halt near the Batmobile, the scent of burnt rubber and exhaust momentarily competing with the cave’s natural dampness.
Jason hopped off the bike, kicking the kickstand down with a sharp clack. He was mid-sentence, complaining into his comms. "—and I’m telling you, if I find one more tracker on my tailpipe, I’m gonna start charging rent for the space in Bruce’s head."
He started walking toward the equipment lockers, eyes down as he unbuckled his tactical vest, completely ignoring the two figures on the sofa. He didn't even look up when he heard the soft patter-patter of bare feet on stone.
Suddenly, Bruce was there. Right in his personal space. No stealth, no brooding, just... hovering.
"Jason," Bruce breathed.
Jason jumped, nearly dropping his gloves. "Gah! Dammit, B! Give a guy a—" He stopped. He looked at Bruce’s face. Then he looked at Bruce’s bare toes. Then back to the face. "Uh. Bruce? Why are your eyes the size of dinner plates?"
Bruce didn't answer. He was staring at Jason’s head. Specifically, the metallic, polished Red Hood helmet. "Can I... may I see your shiny head?"
Jason blinked. He looked over Bruce’s shoulder at Clark, who was standing a few feet away with a look of pained endearment.
"Is he... is he having a stroke?" Jason whispered.
"Just give him the helmet, Jay," Clark sighed, leaning against a worktable.
Slowly, cautiously, Jason pulled the red helmet off. The second it was free, Bruce took it with both hands, cradling it like it was a dragon egg or a holy relic.
"It's magnificent," Bruce whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "It’s so red. Clark! Clark, look! It matches the strawberry fabric! It’s a Red Hood for a Red Robin for a Red... everything is so coordinated."
Jason stared at his mentor, then turned to Clark. "Okay, what the hell is going on? Did he finally snap? Is this the 'I've-been-punching-clowns-for-twenty-years' midlife crisis?"
"Scarecrow toxin," Clark explained, walking over to join them. "It didn't trigger his fears. It triggered... well, everything else. He’s essentially high on pure joy and sensory input."
Jason snorted, a huge, ugly sound of disbelief. "You’re kidding. The Big Bad Bat is tripping on sunshine? This is the best day of my life. I need to record this. I need this as my ringtone."
Bruce, meanwhile, had stopped petting the helmet. He looked up at Jason, his expression shifting into one of profound, soul-searching intensity. He reached out a hand, hovering it near Jason’s shoulder.
"Jason," Bruce said, his voice thick with emotion. "When did you get so tall? You’re like... a tree. A big, strong, angry tree."
Jason rolled his eyes, but he didn't pull away. "I eat my vegetables, B. Keep up."
"Vegetables," Bruce repeated, nodding solemnly as if Jason had just revealed the secrets of the multiverse. "That’s smart. That’s so smart. You’re such a good boy, Jason. So tall. So smart. Such a good, leafy tree."
And then, the unthinkable happened. Bruce stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jason in a massive, rib-crushing bear hug. He tucked his chin over Jason’s shoulder, squeezing with a warmth that had zero 'Batman' filters left in it.
Jason froze. His arms stayed out at his sides like a startled penguin. He looked at Clark with wide, panicked eyes that said Help me, I wasn't trained for affection!
Clark just beamed and gave him a thumbs-up.
Slowly, inch by inch, Jason’s shoulders dropped. He let out a long breath and tentatively wrapped his arms around Bruce’s undersuit-clad back. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, old man. Don't get 'leafy' on me."
"Is someone hugging? I felt a disturbance in the Force that suggested someone was being affectionate!"
Dick Grayson flipped off the railing of the upper walkway, landing in a perfect crouch before springing up. He took one look at the scene—Bruce hugging Jason while holding a red helmet, Clark looking like a proud suburban dad—and his face split into a grin.
"Oh, this is gold," Dick laughed.
Bruce’s head whipped around. "Dickie!"
He let go of Jason (who immediately tried to look cool and failed) and lunged for his eldest. Dick didn't even hesitate; he caught Bruce in a hug, laughing as Bruce buried his face in Dick’s neck.
"My little Robin," Bruce mumbled into Dick’s shoulder. "You’re so bouncy. Why are you so bouncy? You’re like a human bouncy ball. I’m so proud of my birds. My tall, smart, bouncy birds."
"He’s gone gone, isn't he?" Dick asked, looking at Clark while Bruce started inspecting the stitching on Dick's Nightwing suit.
"He thinks my cape is a strawberry," Clark said.
"And he thinks I'm a tree," Jason added, leaning against his bike. "A 'good boy' tree."
"Well," Dick said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "If he’s in a 'yes' mood... Bruce? Hey, B-man? I think all this emotional growth has made us really hungry. We should order pizza. Like, ten pizzas. And those fries from that place in the Diamond District. You know, the ones with the truffle salt?"
Bruce gasped, his eyes widening further, if that was even possible. "Pizza? With the circles of cheese? And the salty sticks of potato?"
"Exactly," Dick encouraged.
"We should get burgers, too," Jason chimed in, leaning forward. "Big ones. With bacon. Lots of bacon."
Bruce looked between his two sons, his face radiating pure amazement. "Burgers... and pizza? At the same time? You boys are geniuses. Truly. The tactical brilliance... the foresight... the culinary harmony." He turned to Clark, his voice a dramatic whisper. "Do you hear them, Clark? They’re so clever. My birds are the smartest beings in the universe."
Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "Bruce, I don't know if 'tactical brilliance' is the word for ordering a five-thousand-calorie heart attack, but..."
"Let them have this, Master Kent," Alfred’s voice crackled over the speakers. The butler appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a silver tray with a single, filled syringe. "The antidote is ready, but I find I am in no particular hurry to administer it until I see if Master Bruce actually attempts to eat his weight in pepperoni."
Within twenty minutes, the Batcave looked less like a high-tech crime lab and more like a chaotic frat house. Clark had flown to pick up the food (at super-speed, because Bruce had started weeping about the "loneliness of an empty stomach"), and now boxes were spread across the multimillion-dollar computer console.
Bruce was sitting on the floor—still barefoot—happily dipping a fry into a milkshake while Dick tried to take a selfie with him.
"Say 'Justice,' Bruce!" Dick chirped.
"Justice is delicious," Bruce mumbled, leaning his head against Dick’s.
Jason was sitting nearby, actually smiling as he watched Bruce try to explain to Clark why the pepperoni slices looked like "little red moons."
"Look at them," Bruce said suddenly, pointing a fry at Dick and Jason. "They aren't fighting. Clark, look. No one is yelling. My house is full of love and potatoes."
Clark sat down on the floor next to him, ignoring the grease getting on his pristine suit. He wrapped an arm around Bruce’s waist, pulling him close. "It is, B. It really is."
"I like this toxin," Bruce decided, nodding firmly. "We should put it in the water supply. Everyone should love potatoes and strawberries."
"Alright, let's not go full eco-terrorist just yet," Jason chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Bruce's hair—a move that would normally cost him a week of kitchen duty, but today, Bruce just purred like a giant cat.
Alfred stepped forward, the syringe glinting in the cave light. "As much as I enjoy the 'Culinary Harmony,' I believe it’s time to return Master Bruce to his usual, grumpy self before he decides to give the T-Rex a bath."
Bruce looked at the needle, then at his sons, then at Clark. He pouted—a genuine, bottom-lip-out pout. "Will I still love the strawberry fabric tomorrow?"
Clark kissed his temple, his heart full to bursting. "You’ll always love it, Bruce. You just might be a bit more quiet about it."
"Okay," Bruce sighed, baring his arm. "But I’m keeping the helmet for five more minutes. It’s very shiny."