#clarkkentbrucewayne

Chapter 11

12. Probably

Location: Watchtower. Status: Emergency briefing.

The room is quieter than usual for a meeting about good and easy news. So it is like usual, because they rarely get good and easy news.

Zatanna stands before the main holographic console, her fingers tracing faint trails of residual energy only she can see. The air around her crackles softly when she speaks, as if reality itself is remembering how to bend.

Batman stands rigid beside Superman.

Clark does not look at him. Not directly. As if he is trying to give him space even in perception.

Zatanna: Okay. I’ve got it. And… magically speaking, it’s a mess.

She flicks her wrist. The hologram shifts, showing Rann, the Thanagarian artifact, the moment of impact. A wave of invisible force spreads across Bruce’s silhouette.

Zatanna: The explosion you used to “deactivate” the object gave consistency to part of the magic surrounding it. I don’t know what it was. Some of the “dust” hit you, B, and… partially anchored you.

Barry leans forward.

Barry: That sounds bad.

Zatanna: It is bad. It means the spell didn’t form correctly.

Diana’s gaze sharpens.

Diana: And what did form?

Zatanna hesitates for a moment.

Zatanna: A conditional “Truth Binding.” Not global. Just personal and focused on something.

Barry: That doesn’t sound that bad.

Zatanna: It is, because I can’t undo it. And I don’t think anyone can. It’s stuck halfway formed—we’d have to find the exact missing half to undo it, and that… is luck. We don’t even know how much dust hit B or what percentage of the curse each particle carried.

Everyone falls silent. No matter how much they actually understand, the important part is that it cannot be undone.

Bruce clenches his jaw.

Bruce: Define “conditional.”

Zatanna exhales.

Zatanna: When you fulfill the condition, it breaks. I think. Normally that’s how it would work.

Bruce: And how do we know what the condition is?

Zatanna’s eyebrows lift.

Zatanna: Ah… it’s always the same: when you express your deepest hidden truth, your most intimate secret, the anchor releases and you regain the ability to lie.

A sepulchral silence settles over the room.

Clark finally looks at Bruce.

Clark: That is… specific and incredibly vague.

Zatanna (shrugging): Magic loves specificity and mystery.

Hal mutters something under his breath about hating magic entirely.

Bruce remains motionless.

Bruce: “Deepest hidden truth” is not measurable.

Zatanna: Oh, it absolutely is. But it usually means you first have to be honest with yourself, and the spell only forces you to be honest with others.

It is such a terrible thing—and even more terrible because it is emotionally constipated Batman—that everyone falls silent as though Zatanna has announced a deadline for Bruce’s life.

For several full minutes, all the heroes remain quiet. Screens shift colors. Things beep softly.

Finally, Victor adjusts the console.

Victor: So if he confesses it, the effect breaks.

Zatanna: Probably. Or it stabilizes. Or rebounds. But I trust it’ll end even incomplete.

Barry groans.

Barry: Bats is never going to manage that. He could move a mountain, sure, but…

Diana: Of course he will. When he is ready.

That silences Barry, though not his expression, nor the heaviness in Bruce’s chest.

Clark’s voice is quieter.

Clark: And if he doesn’t?

Zatanna looks at Bruce, not unkindly.

Zatanna: Then he stays like this. Honest. Exposed. The strain could… break the binding anyway. Probably.

Bruce finally speaks. Eyes forward, seeing no one, lost somewhere among the stars beyond the great window.

Bruce: Who do I have to tell?

Everyone falls silent.

Zatanna, speaking carefully: Who do you tell… your secret to?

Batman nods.

Zatanna: Oh… oh… —she seems to understand. The others probably do too, but Bruce refuses to look at them—. The person. The people involved. If it were, uh… a secret about yourself, verbalizing it would be enough. If it’s about someone else…

It does not matter that she never finishes the sentence.

Bruce: And then it ends.

Zatanna: Probably.

Bruce: “Probably” is unacceptable. And there are too many here.

Zatanna almost smiles.

Zatanna: Welcome to magic, B.

To be Continued...

1. Truth Under a Broken Sky

Coordinates: low orbit over Rann. Mission status: Thanagarian artifact neutralized. Participants: World’s Finest (currently, off-universe).

The final blow is delivered in tandem, as always. Clark holds the gravitational core with both hands, containing an explosion that could have folded the city in on itself, while Bruce—magnetically anchored to a shattered satellite—inserts the disruptor manually, milliseconds from implosion.

There’s no margin for error. There never is when it’s the two of them.

The artifact collapses inward with a dull sound, nonexistent in the vacuum. Space stills. The debris drifts like a metallic cemetery.

Clark exhales first. Bruce takes a few seconds longer.

They remain suspended in silence, floating among alien junk and stars that are too bright. Clark moves closer—close enough for Bruce to notice without sensors.

Clark: Are you okay?

The question is automatic. Mission routine. Nothing personal.

Bruce opens his mouth to give the usual answer.

Fine. Operational. No structural damage.

But something catches. Like an invisible hook around his chest.

Bruce: No.

The silence that follows is… enormous.

Clark blinks. Not because he didn’t understand, but because his brain needs an extra second to slot that answer into the right place.

Clark: …no?

Bruce closes his eyes. Just for a second. Long enough to know he can’t fix it now.

Bruce: I’m not okay. I’m tired. My ribs hurt. And I hate fighting intergalactic things that could kill me just by… thinking too hard.

Clark doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t smile.

Clark: Bruce…

The name, said like that, without the suit as a buffer, tightens something behind his sternum.

Bruce: I’m human—he continues, because he can’t stop now. And sometimes I forget that matters until I’m hanging off a broken satellite waiting for something not to explode.

Clark closes the distance completely now. He doesn’t touch him. He respects that boundary as if it were sacred.

Clark: Thank you for telling me.

Bruce opens his eyes. Frowns.

Bruce: That wasn’t… an invitation to—

Clark: I know.

A few seconds pass. Then a few more. Space doesn’t rush anyone.

Clark: Do you want me to take you back? Or would you rather use the Zeta?

Bruce should lie. Say it doesn’t matter. That he doesn’t need anything.

He can’t.

Bruce: You. I hate Zeta beams, anyway.

Clark nods without hesitation.

They don’t say anything else. They’re a little scared.

Chapter 5

6. Kara Zor-El Doesn’t Believe in Subtlety

Location: Metropolis, two days later. Status: a beautiful spring morning.

Kara lands on the balcony of Clark’s apartment with the energy of a happy meteor.

Kara: Clark! I brought food and an incredible story and— (stops) Oh.

Bruce (not Batman) is there. No mask. Coffee in hand. Looking out the window like he once lived in a small downtown apartment.

Bruce: Kara.

Kara: Bruce.

They look at each other. Kara smiles. Big. Too big.

Kara: You’re not usually here.

Bruce takes a breath to answer.

Bruce: No. I don’t usually come here.

Kara blinks. Then looks at Clark. Then looks back at Bruce.

Kara: It’s morning.

Bruce: Yes.

Kara cares far less than Dick about looking unhinged: zero.

Kara: There’s a lot of sun.

Clark clears his throat.

Clark: Kara.

Kara: No, no, relax. I’m not judging. I’m just… —she makes a wide gesture— observing.

She sits on the couch, still watching them.

Kara: You’re more relaxed —to Bruce—. And you —to Clark— are way too attentive.

Clark turns red. Bruce frowns.

Bruce: What you’re implying—

Kara raises a hand.

Kara: I don’t care. Nothing matters to me as long as it works.

Bruce looks at her, unreadable.

Bruce: Is that all?

Kara: Bruce, my civilization disappeared. I learned not to complicate things and to value what matters.

Bruce rolls his eyes and Clark tilts his head, possibly moved by her words, so Kara doesn’t let him speak.

Kara: Are you calm because you feel safe here?

Bruce swallows. He can’t lie.

Bruce: Yes.

Kara nods and turns to her cousin.

Kara: And you’re watching him because he’s calm and you’re afraid something will happen to him and that never ever again in the entire universe and in every reality will he be able to be calm.

Clark: No, but—

Kara: No but yes?

Clark: Partially.

Kara smiles, genuine.

Kara: Then it’s fine.

She jumps to her feet.

Kara: Great. Now, who wants to hear how I almost broke a satellite by accident and then it did break because Krypto peed on it?

Chapter 4

5. Dick Grayson Notices Things

Location: Batcave. Time: 6:04 a.m. Status: last night’s rain has turned into a spring storm by morning.

Dick drops into the Batcave like always: without warning and with far too much energy for the hour.

Dick: B! Alfred said you were in a bad mo— (stops) Oh.

Bruce is sitting on one of the metal steps, out of costume, a cold pack on his knee. Clark is nearby. Not on top of him. But close enough…

Too close not to mean something.

Bruce: Dick.

Dick: Hey, Clark.

Clark: Hi, Dick.

There’s a microsecond of silence. Dick stares at them without blinking, forcing himself to keep smiling and not hallucinate in front of them over what he’s seeing. In fact, the first thing he does is rule out that it’s a hallucination, just like Batman taught him. And he analyzes.

Bruce isn’t tense. He isn’t defensive. He isn’t alone.

That’s new.

Clark is calm. Clark is touching everything. Clark is watching.

That’s not new.

Dick: Rough mission?

Bruce opens his mouth. Sighs.

Bruce: Long.

Dick smiles softly, nothing accusatory.

Dick: You staying tonight? —he asks Clark, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. His brain is screaming.

Bruce tenses just a little. Clark notices.

Clark: If Bruce doesn’t mind.

Bruce can’t lie.

Bruce: I don’t mind.

Dick doesn’t know Bruce can’t lie.

He feels his eyes go wide and his smile lock in place. Inside, he’s absolutely losing it over the situation, the words, everything.

He drops to the floor, resting his back against the railing.

Dick: Good. Because that way I don’t have to worry so much.

Bruce looks at him.

Bruce: Dick—

Dick: Relax, there’s no hidden meaning. It’s just… —he shrugs— it’s good to see you not alone.

Dick has a lot of composure; he can be mature while internally running through the list of objects that could have slipped him the dose of LSD that is probably coursing through his system right now.

After a few more minutes of trivial conversation, Dick stands.

Dick: I’m heading out before Alfred makes me clean something.

He leans toward Bruce, voice low.

Dick: I’m glad to see you like this.

Bruce doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to know what might come out of his mouth.

When Dick leaves, Bruce keeps staring at the spot where he was.

Bruce: He notices everything.

Clark: Yeah.

Bruce: And he still didn’t ask anything.

Clark smiles.

Clark: Of course not, Bruce, of course not.

Bruce nods slowly, beginning to understand.

Chapter 1

2. The Impossible Lie

Location: Batcave. Time: 2:53 p.m.

They confirm it in the Batcave.

Clark leans against the main console, arms crossed, watching as Bruce removes his cowl with slow movements.

Clark: Does it hurt a lot?

Bruce freezes.

Bruce: No.

The word comes out… wrong. Ill-fitted.

Clark tilts his head.

Clark: Bruce… does it hurt?

A second attempt. No qualifying words.

Bruce: Yes.

They look at each other.

They both know Bruce should have lied.

Clark: Unexpected.

Bruce: Yeah.

Bruce presses his lips together. His mind is already racing: variables, risks, possibilities of exploitation. He doesn’t like any of them.

Clark: Let’s try something.

Bruce should say no. He doesn’t want to risk talking.

Clark: Do you trust me?

The answer is immediate.

Bruce: Yes.

Clark swallows, even though it means nothing. Bruce trusts him—that’s not new, although… does Bruce really trust anyone? But he said… maybe…

Clark: Do you always tell the truth when you answer me?

Bruce closes his eyes. Curses silently.

Bruce: No.

Clark smiles.

Clark: And now?

Bruce: Yes.

It’s a growl, but Clark is used to it—and he has super hearing.

Clark: Since when?

Bruce shakes his head.

Bruce: I don’t know.

Clark: Are you giving me short answers to avoid saying more even though that’s going to slow us down?

With a snort, Bruce leans back against the Batcomputer and looks at him, brows furrowed.

Clark: Bruce, if this is happening, it could be dangerous.

Bruce: I know. And we need to figure out whether it happens with everyone or, coincidentally, only with you.

Clark: That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Clark sees Bruce struggle—but the answer slips out before he can stop it.

Bruce: Definitely not.

Clark laughs and Bruce grumbles a little, but the moment fades and they both sober up again.

Clark: If anyone finds out—

Bruce: They won’t.

Clark: I would never use this against you.

Bruce swallows.

Bruce: I know.

And that’s the worst part. And the best.

Clark steps closer.

Clark: Do you want me to avoid asking you questions?

Bruce thinks about it. Really thinks.

Bruce: No.

Clark raises an eyebrow.

Bruce: I hate being exposed, but it’s a relief not having to avoid it and, since for now it’s only you, it’s okay to stop pretending and rest.

It’s almost verbal diarrhea on top of a lot of very pretty words, so Clark can only smile.

Chapter 3

4. Alfred Knows

Location: Batcave. Time: just before dawn.

The Batcave is unusually quiet when they return.

Bruce removes his cape with tired movements. Clark stays close, respecting boundaries more than ever, now that Bruce can’t be safe with him.

Then Alfred appears—not stealthy, but not announcing himself either. As if he’d stepped through a wall, but without anything magical about it.

With a tray.

Alfred: Good evening, gentlemen.

Clark smiles immediately.

Clark: Good evening, Alfred.

Bruce snorts.

Bruce: Tea?

Alfred: Chamomile, Master Wayne. You must sleep, even if you enjoy pretending you don’t need it.

Bruce stiffens. Clark stifles a laugh.

They sit. Alfred pours as if they were in Buckingham Palace itself. Before finishing, he gives Bruce a once-over with a clinical eye.

Alfred: Severe damage?

Bruce opens his mouth to answer automatically.

He can’t lie.

Bruce: Nothing severe. But I’m exhausted.

Alfred raises an eyebrow. Just one…

Alfred: I see.

He hands over the cup. Then looks at Clark.

Alfred: Thank you for bringing him back in one piece, Mr. Kent.

Clark turns serious instantly.

Clark: Always.

Alfred nods, satisfied. Then looks back at Bruce.

Alfred: Do you trust him?

The question lands like a well-placed chess piece.

Bruce doesn’t move. Doesn’t dodge. Doesn’t soften it.

Bruce: Yes.

Clark inhales sharply. Alfred smiles.

Bruce thinks he’s a sly old fox and that he’s in the middle of some plan.

Alfred: I’m glad to hear it, sir. You’ve carried this weight alone for far too long.

Bruce lowers his gaze to his cup.

Bruce: It’s not… simple.

Alfred: It never is. But simple is rarely what saves a man.

Alfred gathers the empty tray and pauses before leaving.

Alfred: Mr. Kent.

Clark: Yes?

Alfred: Take care of him.

Clark doesn’t hesitate.

Clark: I do.

Alfred leaves.

They’re alone again, steam rising from the tea between them.

Clark: I think… he likes me.

Bruce lets out a brief, tired laugh.

Chapter 2

3. Silences That Don’t Weigh

Location: Gotham, 2:47 a.m. Status: Constant drizzle. Low clouds. Solo patrol… or not so solo, since an alien has shown up to liven up the hardest hours.

It’s not an official mission. No invasion, no cosmic artifacts, no omega-level threats. Just Gotham being Gotham: a poorly planned robbery, a couple of gunshots, an awkward escape across rooftops.

Clark doesn’t fly. He jumps.

Bruce notices. He doesn’t comment.

They move in parallel, covering different angles, without speaking. When it’s all over—the criminals tied up, the police on the way—they stay on top of a building, watching the city breathe under the rain.

Bruce checks his sensors. Ribs: still bruised. Knee: mild inflammation.

Clark watches him without using X-ray vision. He does it on purpose.

Clark: You’re limping.

Bruce sighs, almost amused by how useless it would be to deny it—even if he could lie to Clark.

Bruce: A little.

Clark nods. Doesn’t lecture. Doesn’t offer to carry him. Just stays at his side.

And that is… disconcerting.

Bruce has spent his life lying so he’d be allowed to bear the weight of the world. To not need. To not lean.

But with Clark… he doesn’t have to. He respects his choice, even if he thinks it’s a shitty choice. Which Bruce assumes he does, because if Clark thought it about himself, Bruce would think it was a shitty choice.

The silence between them is light.

Clark: I can stay if you want.

Bruce should say no. The night is still long. Gotham doesn’t sleep.

Bruce: Stay.

No effort.

It’s so freeing to tell the truth.

But at the same time…

Bruce: I hate it.

Clark looks at him, attentive but calm.

Clark: The pain?

Bruce shakes his head.

Bruce: Being seen. Not being able to… hide the cracks.

Clark takes a second before answering.

Clark: And you still don’t ask me to leave?

Bruce closes his eyes.

Bruce: No.

The silence returns.

And it’s light. Whether that’s good or bad.

Chapter 6

7. The Problem with Questions

Location: Watchtower. Status: Ordinary meeting (which is precisely when disasters happen)

The meeting room hums softly with holograms and overlaid reports. Barry is eating something pink that is anything but natural, with pink cake underneath. Hal is half-reclined in his chair. Arthur looks tired, like a king with a heavy crown.

Bruce stands near the main console, arms crossed beneath his cape.

Clark struggles not to look at him too much.

Five days pass.

Five days in which Bruce is physically incapable of lying.

Five days in which Clark discreetly helps him navigate conversations as if handling unstable explosives with oven mitts.

It is manageable.

Until now.

Hal: So, Batman, a quick question.

Clark closes his eyes mentally.

Bruce turns slowly.

Hal smiles.

Hal: Did you hack my constructions last week just to prove you could?

A pause.

Bruce: Yes.

Silence.

Hal blinks.

That doesn’t really prove anything either. Bruce does things like that sometimes and doesn’t regret them. And he usually has no incentive to lie to Hal when he does, because he doesn’t care what Hal thinks of him.

It is also not unusual for Barry to burst out laughing and spit some crumbs.

Barry: Seriously?!

Bruce: You leave the encryption exposed through the feedback loop.

Hal sits up straight.

Hal: I didn’t.

Bruce: Yes, you did.

Cyborg stops typing and raises a hand to stop them before they enter their own feedback loop.

Victor: One moment.

He opens the code projections. Scans them.

Victor: …You did. It is exposed.

Hal points accusingly.

Hal: That’s not the point! The point is he admits it!

Barry laughs again.

Barry: That proves nothing. He loves pointing out your mistakes to your face.

Hal: But I asked if you only did it to prove you could!

Barry shrugs, and there are a lot of looks exchanged among the League members, except Clark and Diana. Clark keeps his gaze fixed on the table. Diana looks at Bruce and catches him before speaking.

Diana: Batman, could you tell me a lie right now?

Batman’s lips whiten as he presses them together, displeased and trapped.

Bruce: No.

They are heroes, so there is no idle murmuring, just tension and Barry’s exclamation of “damn it,” setting his radioactive pink bun aside.

Arthur: That’s… concerning.

Bruce already hates this.

Diana watches him intently from the other side of the room, but she doesn’t agree with Arthur; she doesn’t seem worried. She looks… content. Quietly happy.

Clark, now looking at Bruce, intervenes before anyone else can.

Clark: It is temporary.

All heads turn to him, and Bruce looks like a man watching his own funeral.

Barry: You knew?!

Hal: Why did you know?!

Bruce clenches his jaw.

Bruce: It happens on Rann, when we deactivate the Thanagarian artifact. Superman is there.

Victor: The World’s Finest…

It is a murmur, but everyone hears it just before it erupts. There are reproaches about dates and hiding problems, and incredulous laughter because Batman can’t lie.

Then Diana speaks.

Diana: Magic?

Bruce: Probably.

Diana: Is someone taking care of it?

Bruce: Yes.

Diana nods, and the general conversation is about to resume. Clark knows he could stay silent, but he also knows that, even if Bruce gets annoyed, now that the cat is out of the bag, they have to expose everything or there will be real problems.

Clark: Is someone handling it who isn’t you? Or me?

Bruce has the decency not to look at anyone.

Bruce: No, but it is enough.

Hal’s irritated sigh is the first response, but not the only one. Arthur rests his head on his hand, Hawkgirl looks tense. Victor, incredulous. Barry…

Barry: Bats!

He reprimands him.

Bruce: I am working on it. And that is optimal.

Again, exasperated reactions follow, and this time even Diana and Clark join in.

Hal: And the guy believes it too—he mutters before leaning in until he makes contact with Bruce, who is still standing with arms crossed, facing them next to the data-filled screens—Then let’s take advantage, since you don’t feel like fixing it fast: do I appeal to you?

Bruce: No.

Barry falls off his chair laughing.

Arthur covers his mouth. All the tiredness has vanished from him.

Hal: How rude!

Bruce: You are yelling.

Hal: I know! I didn’t expect you to actually not like me at all!

Bruce: I tolerate you more than you think.

The response is so quick that, even without seeing Bruce’s eyes, everyone imagines it is a truth that slips out, even though no one has asked a question.

Hal pauses.

Hal: I have seen how you talk to the Robins. I take it as a compliment.

Clark smiles, despite himself, and is surprised when his gaze meets Bruce’s. He sees no trace of reproach, so, like Hal, he decides to think the best and believe Bruce also has fun.

Barry: And me, Bats? Me? Do I appeal to you?

Knowing he is caught, Batman rolls his eyes.

Bruce: You all appeal to me.

Barry: Some more than others?

Clark can only shake his head. Barry will always be a brat.

Bruce: Yes. And you are dropping in rank now.

The League laughs again. Clark has known for years that Bruce is funny when he chooses to speak, but it is always, always great to see.

He is about to intervene to keep the moment going, but they get to it first:

Bruce: No.

Clark: I didn’t say anything.

He didn’t, and besides, he can lie.

Bruce: You were about to.

The League laughs again.

When they calm down, it is Diana who speaks.

Diana: This must be exhausting.

Bruce responds automatically.

Bruce: Yes.

There is laughter again, but now it is just sighs because everyone knows the gravity behind that reality: Bruce could get exhausted and exposed. Not just as Batman to civilians, but as Bruce to villains—and even discover parts of himself before he wants them discovered.

Victor: We can minimize unnecessary interactions until we solve it.

Arthur nods once.

Arthur: Reasonable.

Hawkgirl: And we need to alert a magic expert.

Bruce: Zatanna.

Diana: Constantine.

Both suggestions collide.

Bruce: Zatanna first. Constantine if that does not work.

Clark would like to alert both, but he will not be the one to expose Bruce’s secret to anyone else unless everything is in danger again. Or Bruce himself is.

Slowly, Diana nods, and Victor starts typing some things on his screen. Everyone is serious because the reality of Batman possibly being cursed is never good.

Gradually, the session comes to an end, and everyone is standing, ready to leave, when Barry raises his hand.

Barry: Before we go, I want to make it clear that this is the most fascinating thing that has ever happened.

Bruce: I know.

Clark smiles as he leaves the room. It is nice that the final tone is pleasant.

To be continued...