SuperBat Appreciation Blog

Batman: …Alright.

Superman: Great! Man, I’m so hungry I could eat a whole building!

Batman:

Batman: What are you upset about now, Superman?

Superman: My packed lunch in the Watchtower fridge, it’s gone missing again! That’s the third time this week!

Batman: What makes you think I’d want your lunch? I have my own.

Superman: Because mine included Alfred’s special white chocolate cookies with cranberries! You’re just bitter he didn’t pack any in yours.

Batman: …Irrelevant.

Superman: You know what? I’m checking the CCTV footage.

Batman:

Superman: There are missing minutes in the footage!

Batman: Hm. Perhaps the food thief is also a hacker. Clearly a security threat. They must be found.

Cyborg: Hey, don’t look at me. I didn’t touch your food.

Batman: Curious. I’ll open an investigation. Leave this to me, Superman. [flourishes cape and walks away dramatically]

Cyborg: Uh… want some of mine, Superman? We can share.

Superman: It’s okay, Cyborg. I’ve already eaten.

Clark: Oh, is this some kind of challenge you kids are doing these days? That’s easy, I can do that.

Steph: Hey, guys.

Dick: Hey Steph. We’re doing the statue challenge.

Steph: Oh, that. Anyway, I need help with writing an essay. What’s the past participle of think?

Dick: It’s thoken. Break, broken. Think, thoken.

Clark: [twitching]

Steph: Thanks! “It’s often thoken that the worst form of punishment was death”. How’s that?

Dick: [looking at her laptop screen] Hmm, you’re missing another “n” in “punishment”.

Steph : Ah, no wonder it looks off. It’s “punnishment” right?

Clark: No, it’s not! Give me that! [snatches Steph’s laptop and aggressively presses the backspace key]

“Incubate the egg. I sense that this fetus has grown attached to your presence. It needs to absorb the aura of its caretaker to develop. Without it, the fetus will not survive, Batman.”

And that’s how Batman ended up being convinced into strapping a dragon egg around himself during patrols, hidden under his cape. It was not a responsibility Bruce had anticipated when the Justice League apprehended a group of alien poachers, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the stolen dragon egg and leave it to perish. Thankfully, the alien authorities had assured him that dragon eggs were physically resilient.

Whenever Bruce needed to attend meetings at Wayne Enterprises or charity events, he entrusted the egg to Clark, who was happy to babysit it, despite his usual wariness around magical creatures. All seemed well, until Bruce received a frantic call.

“Bruce, I-I think the egg is hatching!”

Alarmed, Bruce canceled his meeting and rushed home. There, he found Clark hunched over the egg. The egg was shaking violently, and Bruce noticed a hairline crack spreading across its shell.

“I think it’s going to—Look out!” Clark shouted suddenly, tackling Bruce to the ground.

Bruce felt a wave of heat skim his cheek. Glancing up, he spotted a scorch mark on the wall—a mark that looked suspiciously like laser heat beams.

The sound of the shell splintering drew both men’s attention back to the egg. Its top half shattered, and a small head emerged.

“That’s… a human baby,” Clark said, wide-eyed. “I thought they said it’s a dragon?”

The infant sat up, huffing icy breaths. He shook off fragments of shell clinging to his thick black hair and grumpily regarded the two men with bright blue eyes.

Clark: No. It’s probably just a prank caller.

Lois: That’s one persistent prank caller. Are you sure it’s not urgent?

Clark: Yes, I’m sure. The caller is probably just some random jerk who thinks everyone else’s opinions are wrong and that he’s the only one who’s right because he’s obviously the smartest guy in the room! Why should I talk to someone like that?!

Lois: Oookay, that’s suspiciously specific…

Delivery Man: [struggling to push a trolley filled with the biggest bouquet of roses anyone has ever seen through the office door] Hello, I have a delivery for Clark Kent?

Cat Grant: Omg, who is this from? [reads the card attached to the bouquet] “To my dearest Clark, CALL ME. Love, Bruce Wayne.”

Random Employee 1: [murmuring] Did she just say Bruce Wayne? The billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne?

Random Employee 2: Omg, Clark, are you going to call him?

Random Employee 3: Wow, there’s a drone show outside! Wait, it’s spelling out something... C-L-A-R-

Random Employee 4: Clark, you totally should! Call him, Clark! Hey, Clark, are you listening to me? Clark!

"Clark, can you help to look over this article before—" she trailed off, realizing the man sitting at the desk wasn’t Clark. "Mr. Wayne?!"

Bruce glanced up at her stunned expression and smiled, taking the paper from her. “Clark’s out on assignment,” Bruce said. “I’ll handle this.”

Cat blinked, baffled, not quite sure how to respond.

Before she could say anything, the door slid open, and Clark stepped in. His brow furrowed at the sight of Bruce behind his desk. "Mr Wayne? What are you doing here? Did…something happen?"

Bruce didn’t look up from the paper he was editing. "I’m here because someone seems to be avoiding me."

Cat glanced back and forth between the two of them, her gossip columnist’s instincts kicking in. A Cheshire-like grin spread across her face. "Sooo, were you waiting for Clark, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce leaned back in the chair, sighing dramatically. "Well, I haven’t seen Clark here in weeks! When we do meet we’re usually too busy with... other activities. And I’m left exhausted after staying up all night so we never had the chance to just talk.”

Clark blushed at Bruce’s words. He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Perry White, who strolled in, eyes darting between the two.

“Kent!” Perry barked, “Why are you making our VIP your assistant?”

"I—uh..." Clark stammered, glancing at Bruce.

Bruce finished the last of his edits before standing up and handing the article back to Cat, winking at her. "It’s no trouble, Perry. Now, how about our lunch date?" he asked, slinging an arm around Clark.

Superboy: What? No! You can’t do that-

Batman: I’m the strategic leader of the Justice League, and if I say you’re out, you’re out. It’s too dangerous. Go back to Metropolis.

Superboy: I’m staying!

Batman: Do not make me repeat myself.

Superboy: You can’t make me go home! You’re not my dad!

Batman: [glares at him, then walks out of the room]

Superboy: Ugh, I knew he’s gonna get Superman involved.

Batman: [walks back into the room alone]

Superboy:

Batman: I’ve obtained clearance. Now go home, Superboy.

Superboy: Clearance? Did Dad…

Batman: [raises his hand, revealing a wedding band] I married Superman. I am your dad now. Go home.

With his meal gone, Bruce stood, grabbing both alphas by their necks and pulling them apart with surprising ease. Ranken swung at Bruce, his fist glancing off his cheek. Bruce slammed a well-placed punch into Ranken’s stomach, doubling him over.

The beta event organizer rushed over, visibly frazzled. "Is everything alright here?"

Bruce dusted off his shirt. "Everything’s fine, Ranken just wasn’t a fan of our table decor."

Ranken glared at him, clearly torn. Reporting Bruce would mean admitting that an omega had just bested him in a fight. He gritted his teeth. "You’ll regret this," he said to Bruce, stomping off.

The organizer pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mr. Wayne, this is becoming a pattern. At this point, you don’t need a matchmaker—you need a miracle. I suppose I’ll have to schedule you for the next mixer."

Horrified, Bruce grabbed Kal’s arm and pulled him forward. "Actually, I’ve found my match."

Kal blinked in surprise but caught on quickly. "Uh, yes. I’m his match."

The organizer sighed, clearly unconvinced, but handed them both invitations for a private dinner. "Alright, I’ll be seeing you both at the next round. Until then… good luck."

Bruce and Kal left the dining hall together. Kal looked contrite. "Bruce, I’m sorry I ruined your night."

Bruce glanced at him. "Well, at least I had half a decent meal."

A car pulled up to the curb. Bruce paused, plucking an errant flower off his shirt, and tucking it into Kal’s pocket with surprising gentleness. "See you next weekend,” he said before stepping into the car.

The car disappeared into the night, leaving Kal standing on the curb, his heart pounding.

"You need more protein," Kal said firmly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow but split the portions with Kal, watching him take a bite first before cautiously following suit.

Dinner was mostly quiet on Bruce’s end. Kal made several attempts to start conversations, but Bruce’s responses remained curt. That is, until the topic of family came up.

"My son, Tim, got into college," Bruce said, his tone softening. "He’s the first omega to be accepted into the academic research program."

"That’s impressive," Kal said, intrigued. "Sounds like he’s forging his own path."

Bruce nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. The conversation flowed more smoothly between them until a large bald alpha suddenly joined their table, uninvited.

The alpha gave Kal a dismissive once-over before focusing solely on Bruce. "Wayne. Fancy meeting you here," he said, his voice laced with disdain. "I heard Jason caused trouble again. Like father, like son."

“Warden Ranken,” Bruce greeted him coolly. "Jason shouldn’t have been there in the first place."

Ranken snorted. "There are no prisons for omegas like him. Do you know how many riots he incited in gen pop? The only reason he’s out is because your oldest pulled some strings. How long do you think you can hide behind your alpha son’s protection?"

Kal noticed Bruce’s hands tighten around his fork, his usual composure slipping.

"You should leave," Kal warned Ranken.

Ranken sneered. "You should stop wasting your time with a defective omega like—"

Before Ranken could finish, Kal lunged across the table, sinking his fangs into Ranken’s arm.

"Wayne’s so assertive. Doesn’t act like an omega at all," someone muttered.

"He should stop pretending to be above his station," another added with a laugh.

Bruce pretended not to hear them, his jaw tightening as he positioned himself near the door for an easy exit. If not for the fact that these matchmaking events were mandatory for all unmated omegas of age, he would have refused the invitation outright.

A new arrival caught his attention. The man’s tanned skin and wavy hair stood out, he didn’t seem to be from Gotham. His name tag read "Kal."

Bruce watched the foreigner as he mingled with the other guests. Kal’s alpha status was obvious, but unlike most alphas, he radiated warmth and charm. People naturally gravitated toward him, drawn to his approachable demeanor. The double standards grated on Bruce more than he cared to admit.

Until Kal’s gaze found his.

The alpha froze, wide-eyed as he stared at Bruce. Bruce glared at the shorter man. It usually kept alphas at bay.

No such luck. Kal approached him anyway.

"Have you heard of Kryptonian queens?" Kal asked.

Bruce blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What?"

"In Kryptonian legends, queens were the biggest, strongest omegas in the colony. They either earned the title by winning dominance battles or left to establish new colonies on distant outposts," Kal said, his voice filled with awe. "You’re like a legend brought to life."

Bruce’s guarded expression faltered. Despite the absurdity of the alpha’s words, there was something in his tone—genuine respect—that made him pause.

And Bruce found himself listening.

Green Lantern: Don’t feel guilty. You love who you love.

Flash: Wait, are you in love with more than one person too?

Green Lantern: Hell no! I value my life. Good luck, buddy. [pats his shoulder and walks away]

Flash: [sighs] No one understands me.

Superman: I can empathize with you, Flash. I, too, am secretly in love with two men!

Flash: Really? Wow, that actually makes me feel a lot better. Looks like I’m not the only one struggling with a huge secret.

Batman: I’m Bruce Wayne.

Every time he woke up, the same pastel-colored town greeted him, with the same NPCs repeating their pre-programmed lines. This world operated on rules he didn’t fully understand, forcing him to navigate a harem of girls whose affections he was supposed to win. However, his attention was fixed on only one person.

Bruce Wayne.

Except, in this world, Bruce wasn’t really Bruce. He was nothing more than an arrogant NPC love rival challenging Clark for the harem’s affections, only to meet an untimely demise in every so-called "happy ending." The worst part? Bruce didn’t remember who he truly was. He was just a shell of himself, programmed to antagonize Clark.

This time, Bruce had cornered him in an empty classroom, playing his assigned role to perfection. "You’re such a fool," he sneered. "You think you can win?"

Two dialogue options blinked into existence:

[Leave me alone.]

[I’ve already won.]

Clark didn’t choose either. Instead, he leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t a calculated move; it was pure instinct, a desperate attempt to reach the real Bruce buried beneath the programming.

The air shimmered unnaturally, and a new text box flashed before them:

[ERROR: UNKNOWN PATH. CONTINUING MAY CAUSE SYSTEM INSTABILITY]

Bruce froze, his lips parted in stunned silence. Then he abruptly shoved Clark away, his eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, though his voice wavered, uncertainty threading through the anger.

"If breaking the game is what it takes to save you," Clark said softly, his voice steady even as the ground beneath them trembled, "then so be it."

Bruce: Oh?

Clark: ;)

Bruce: Hn. [switches to batdad mode] We need to have a serious discussion about how you trashed the Watchtower. Again. The next time you decide to go off on your own, you’ll be paying for the damages out of your own pocket. Report to the training room immediately, we need to work on your self-control. Oh, and you’re grounded for the rest of the weekend.