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Chapter Text

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Chapter 1

One advantage of taking a break from his Batman duties was the ability for Bruce to enjoy, at last, a few long, restorative nights of sleep. 

The downside, however, was that it didn’t free him from daytime responsibilities as the CEO of one of the world’s largest conglomerates. Even though he was actually experiencing one of the worst migraines of his life. 

It was during these kinds of moments that Bruce Wayne appreciated his third identity—the most famous of all—Brucie Wayne. The beloved Brucie, flamboyant playboy, delightfully irritating, a generous philanthropist but an airheaded heartthrob who lit up parties and tested the patience of his associates every time he opened his mouth. 

Today was no exception. During an endless meeting about a potential partnership with LexCorp, Brucie upheld his reputation, eager to escape work sooner.  A very graphic and detailed comment about his latest sexual escapade with Russian twins allowed him to cut his day short, with the delightful prospect of indulging in a well-deserved nap in his office before heading home. A little extra rest wouldn't hurt.

After all, he might be on vacation—a concept that still seemed unrealistic to him after nearly ten long years of loyal service as the nocturnal protector of Gotham’s ruthless yet beloved city—but that didn’t mean his nights entirely belonged to him. 

At least, not for the coming months...

------

As Bruce walked into his office, any desire for relaxation instantly disappeared, replaced by a surge of alertness that shot through his body like lightning.

In front of him, illuminated by the golden and ochre rays of the setting sun streaming through the massive windows of his office, stood Superman. His intensely blue gaze landed on Bruce, his cape following his body’s movements—a body that only appeared human—as he took a cautious step forward.

Though Superman was approaching slowly, almost cautiously, with a reassuring smile, Bruce was not fooled. Everything about him radiated power, a monstrous force held back solely by his goodwill. Bruce and the rest of the world had witnessed it since Superman's arrival on Earth less than a year ago. All you had to do was watch the news, come across a hastily posted video on social media, or, worse, witness firsthand one of his public displays of power to understand what Superman was truly capable of.

A near-divine being who could claim to be the protector of Metropolis one day and humanity’s annihilator the next.

Motherfucking Superman.

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne," Superman said, extending his hand as naturally as if he were an old friend. “Pleased to meet you.”

One of the main downsides of taking a break from his Batman duties was having to set aside his relentless research on this mysterious alien who claimed to be a hero, willing to protect the human race he professed to love so much. The second downside was that Bruce couldn’t rely on the protection provided by his suit and ingenious gadgets to attempt a quick smoke-bomb exit through the window. A temporary retreat for now, until he could discover this dangerously enigmatic being’s weakness.

Bruce had promised himself that. And he was a man of his word, no matter this threat coming from the sky and above. But Batman was on vacation. For now, Superman would have to settle for Brucie.

"Oh my God! Superman! What a surprise!" Bruce exclaimed, shaking his hand with feigned excitement, like a teenage girl meeting her overwhelming crush.

He suddenly moved away from his uninvited guest to rush to the minibar beside his large, polished desk. He was still wearing a flawless host’s smile despite the tension in his neck. Thank God Bruce could always control his heart rate. His pulse rarely betrayed him, no matter the danger. At least Superman’s super-hearing would give him no advantage over Bruce.

It was a small victory, but it was something—and for someone as proud as Bruce, even the smallest win counted.

“Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you. I never drink on duty.”

“So the rumors were true,” Bruce chuckled, winking playfully as he raised his glass to a stoic Superman. “You are a boy scout. ”

If Superman noticed the mocking tone hidden in Bruce's comment, he gave nothing away. Between a sip of his ginger ale, Bruce watched him intently, waiting for any subtle cues that might reveal his next move. Polite but infuriatingly unreadable, Superman stepped forward, closing the small distance that Bruce had strategically put between them.

Now, Bruce was physically pinned between his desk, leaning against it with no escape, and Superman’s imposing frame. The alien was just a few inches taller than him and too close for his liking.

Dangerously close for a supposed boy scout . Bruce cursed himself as he felt inconvenient heat invading his cheeks.

But cornered or not, the man still had his best assets: his remarkable intelligence and the charm he had perfected over years of navigating charity galas and high-society events. Man or woman, his expert charm could still throw anyone off balance. As many would say, Bruce was very skilled with his tongue. In every sense of the word.

He took one last sip of his drink, his piercing gaze never leaving his guest while his tongue went slowly over his lips to catch the last droplets lingering there. His expression turned seductive, a dangerous glint shining in his steel-blue eyes. Then he spoke again, his voice deliciously hoarse:

"Usually, I wait until the first date before offering a private tête-à-tête in my office. But for someone as special as you, Superman..." Bruce lifted his hand toward the proudly displayed 'S' on the alien's chest, brushing the blue fabric with his fingertips in a falsely hesitant yet promising caress. "Maybe I could make an exception?"

Superman gave a silent smirk, completely unfazed by Bruce's bold attempt to seduce him. 

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Wayne, but I'm not here for that."

It didn't shake Bruce's resolve. If anything, it only made him more determined to get under Superman's skin. 

"Please call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne was my father’s name," Bruce purred before placing his hand on the other man's chest. In the process, he discovered that his body temperature was higher than a human’s. The warmth radiated from his hand throughout the rest of his body, pleasant but inconvenient, sending a small shiver down his spine.

Once again, it did not escape Superman’s sharp focus, who smiled. Bruce suddenly felt truly vulnerable.

He knew that kind of smile. Once in a while, Bruce had seen it in the faces of his worst foes as he was on the verge of losing. Killer Croc, Double Face. The Joker. They all had this triumphant smirk. Bruce could still remember the fear, the raw emotion he felt while trying to survive, pushing his body beyond human limits to survive through the night. Seeing that expression of total power on Superman’s face, along with its almost supernatural beauty, was terrifying. 

And even more so when he leaned in close to his ear, whispering in a soft, calm voice:

“I know who you are, Bruce.”

—-----

When Jason returned to the Batcave after his patrol as Batman, he encountered a perplexing scene.

Bruce, head in his hands, looked furious, barely holding back from smashing the Batcomputer screen where videos of Superman in action across the globe played on a loop. 

Seated next to him, Tim looked equally frustrated, his face twisted in exasperation as he snapped shut his math book, clearly unable to concentrate in this tense atmosphere. Despite the dark looks thrown his way, Dick was on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. Jason could have sworn he saw bats fleeing in panic, startled by Dick’s outburst of hilarity.

Removing the Dark Knight mask, Jason approached his brothers, raising an eyebrow and pointing at Dick, who hadn’t even noticed him arrive.

“What’s going on? Why is he laughing like a lunatic? I heard him from the entryway. Even Alfred’s furious.”

Since Bruce was in no mood to say a word and Dick was nearly suffocating with laughter, Tim took it upon himself to quickly explain the situation to Jason. He did his best to be as concise as possible. After all, the situation was embarrassing enough without dragging it out.

More importantly, he didn’t want Bruce to lose his cool entirely or Dick to laugh himself to the point of choking to death. By the end of Tim’s brief story, his cheeks were slightly flushed as Jason looked at him with a mix of disgust and horror.

“Wait… You’re telling me Superman thinks Bruce Wayne is Batman’s sugar daddy?”

He ignored the sinister growl emitted by his father, still crouched in front of the computer, as well as Tim’s moan of despair. They both looked as if they wished for nothing more than to disappear into the deepest depths of the earth.

Only Dick seemed amused by the situation, laughing even harder at Jason’s choice of words. Jason barely resisted giving him a well-deserved kick to the ribs.

“It’s not exactly the term Superman used, but let’s skip over that awkward detail... Anyway, I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to link Batman’s equipment to Wayne Enterprises,” Tim explained, his voice revealing just how serious he thought the situation was.

After five years of operating in the shadows, it was the first time anyone had come so close to the carefully guarded secret of Batman’s identity. And it wasn’t just anyone—it was Superman.

This couldn’t have been worse.

That realization struck Jason hard, immediately overtaking the fury he’d felt on hearing that Bruce had been practically ambushed by the alien. Everyone in the Batfamily was aware of Bruce’s opinion about the hero of Metropolis.

No wonder Bruce was fuming beneath the surface. Jason would have felt the same helpless anger if the Joker had trapped him in broad daylight, using his civilian identity to exploit his weakness. 

A silent rage seized him as he imagined his father, defenseless, facing a Superman whose strength was beyond measure.

His heart clenched at the thought of that all-too-familiar suffering. Despite their strained relationship since Jason’s resurrection and all the turmoil that followed, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for Bruce.

The timing couldn’t have been worse for him, especially now.

Without warning, Tim shot him an accusatory glare, his eyes narrowing.

“Jason, aren’t you curious to know what object Superman used to trace Batman?”

“Stop with this stupid suspense and spit it out, Drake.”

“A batarang,” Tim replied, his voice full of reproach. “The same one you threw at him when he was flying over Gotham last week while you were on patrol.”

“And how the fuck was I supposed to know that a single batarang would give him so much info on Bruce?”

“I told you not to engage with him if he came near any of us. Bruce told you a million times. Even Dick. What the hell were you thinking?”

Jason swore under his breath, angry at himself and his little brother’s holier-than-thou attitude. How was it his fault if he finally decided to take action against the alien who kept flying over his city?

Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Superman dodged it with ease and flew away as if nothing had happened. Batman and Jason retreated into Gotham’s shadows, avoiding the alien until a contingency plan was in place. Despite wanting to face Superman again, Bruce had made Jason promise not to interfere, assuring him that he’d handle it himself once his leave ended. 

He’d better. Jason wasn’t backing down next time, promise or not.

“Look on the bright side,” Dick said with a reassuring smile, positioning himself between his two brothers to keep them from lunging at each other. He was used to being the mediator during their minor disagreements. Everyone agreed Jason and Tim still needed time to get along—or at least talk civilly. But they had bigger issues at hand. “At least Superman doesn’t know Bruce is Batman.”

“Thank God. Who in their right mind would think that brainless Brucie Wayne could be Batman?”

“For now. Let’s not declare victory too soon,” Tim said gravely, again taking on the role of the adult, despite being only fourteen.

“Because the alien should think Bruce Wayne is Batman’s fucking sugar daddy, funding his gadgets in exchange for sexual favors? Man, give some self-respect to Batman.”

“Half of Gotham already thinks he’s sleeping with Batman anyway. And the other half claims they’ve already slept with him, so nothing new under the sun.”

“At least nobody suspects he has a secret relationship with Superman. That would be the worst to happen.”

“Oh, come on, Dick,” groaned Tim, massaging his temples. He could never be comfortable with the subject of his father’s love life.

“Alien or not, he is pretty good-looking,” said Dick pensively. “You think it’s the same down there for him? Last time, I caught Barbara reading some fanfiction about an astronaut getting stranded on Mars and meeting a super-sexy alien with three di—”

“Dude, you’re disgusting!”

“Hey, watch your language, little Tim!”

“And you’re the one saying that?!”

“Grayson, I swear I’ll punch you if I have nightmares about this shit tonight,” Jason muttered through gritted teeth.

“That’s enough, all three of you!” Bruce interjected firmly, reminding them of his presence during their embarrassing conversation.

The three men immediately stopped bickering and turned to their father who had finally broken his almost eerie silence.

“May I remind you that I’m still here? So please stop talking about this sugar daddy nonsense” he pleaded with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He knew that it wouldn’t stop his sons from shamelessly dredging up all the wild rumors about his personal life, imagined or otherwise.

The most bothersome rumor for Bruce was the supposed secret relationship between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

It started a few months ago.

First, it was only anonymous whispers on forums, then it grew on social media, eventually solidifying into articles in respected newspapers like the Daily Planet and Gotham Gazette. A clandestine romance between Gotham’s most eligible billionaire and its masked protector was too juicy for the gossip columnists to resist, despite Wayne Enterprises’ repeated efforts to deny it.

Somehow, Bruce made it worse unintentionally, thanks to his Brucie persona and his habit of making a fool of himself in front of the reporters. He’d swear on camera that his heart still belonged to no one, but it was hard to believe him when he convincingly declared he had a weakness for, in his words, “a dark and dangerous partner who could ruin my life for one unforgettable night.”

It was even harder to deny the rumor when Batman had been swooping in a bit too often lately to save Bruce Wayne in broad daylight, breaking his own sacred rule of only intervening at night. It had become a vicious cycle. More and more people believed Bruce and Batman were lovers, including Batman’s enemies. Kidnapping attempts became more frequent , forcing Batman to keep saving Bruce like some damsel in distress. And once again, the tabloids would pounce on these stories, fueling a rumor that was seriously starting to get under Bruce’s skin.

It was even worse now that he discovered this rumor had raised Superman’s suspicions towards him. No surprise that, after linking Batman’s finances to Wayne Enterprises, the alien concluded they had some kind of “sugar daddy” relationship.

After all, God forbid Bruce Wayne could have any kind of normal relationship.

“Let’s be cautious, but Dick’s right,” Tim concluded philosophically. “It could be worse. Better for Superman to keep believing this rumor than risk him figuring out Bruce is Batman.”

“Yes, but now I can’t help picturing Superman reading tabloids in his fortress. Kind of ruins the myth,” Dick sighed, secretly a fan of the fascinating and charismatic man in blue.

Despite his bad mood, Jason couldn’t help but laugh as he imagined the world’s most powerful being, coffee in hand, reading the latest Vicki Vale article on Gotham’s two favorite princes. But, as usual, this short moment of lightness didn’t last long. With a scowl, he turned to Bruce, who had retreated into a defeated silence, finally tearing his tired gaze away from the computer’s screen.

“I know this all seems funny,” Bruce admitted, his voice dark, “but it’s worse than you think. If that alien linked Batman’s gear to Wayne Enterprises this fast, imagine what he’ll find if he keeps digging. Or if that information leaks to the wrong people.”

Lost in the grim hypotheticals spinning in his sharp but pessimistic mind, Bruce was only brought back to reality when Dick spoke directly to him:

“B, do you know what Superman wants? I mean, he didn’t just drop that bomb on you without explaining his intentions, did he?”

Bruce furrowed his brow, not hiding his irritation at the glaring lack of information and control he had over this entire situation. His headache wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“I suppose not. But I really don’t know for the moment. Lucius arrived at my office at that exact moment, and Superman left without a word.” Bruce remembered how he had flown out the window, leaving the two men stunned long after his departure. Anger had then taken over and hadn't left him hours later. “But I’m sure he’ll show up again. He wants something from me, and he won’t stop until he gets it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Bruce turned toward his screen, staring at one of the images where Superman’s face was shown up close.

It was impossible to miss the raw determination that radiated from his blue eyes. The same look he had witnessed during their first encounter when Superman had pushed him to his limits.

He would never forget that look.

“I just know it. Superman is unpredictable and dangerous. It’s only a matter of time before he tries to make contact with me again. And I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to find out why. Or to prepare myself if I have to fight against him.”

Dick paused for a moment. He looked intently at his two brothers, probably searching for an answer that no one had at the moment. At the predictable lack of response from them, an unusual concern marked his face, contrasting with his usual unshakable optimism. He took a deep breath before asking his father again:

“So what do you suggest, B? You have 4 weeks before going back to work. Don’t tell me you seriously think you can avoid him during that time. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to easily give up.”

Unfortunately, Bruce couldn’t refute this fact.

“I can try, at least. I doubt Superman would try to kidnap Bruce Wayne in broad daylight. Whatever his intentions, he still has a public image to maintain.” He paused, coming up with a resignation that hardened his entire face. “Anyway, I don’t have a choice. I’ll ask Lucius to replace me as much as possible at Wayne Enterprises during the day to give me enough time to continue my investigation.” Then, with a genuinely apologetic look, he added, “I promise this won’t interfere with my time with your little brother. You know that remains my number one priority.”

Tim, who had remained silent until then, simply nodded before leaving the Batcave. Dick and Jason followed shortly after, knowing full well that no words or arguments would make Bruce leave the Batcave before the first light of day.

Over his shoulder, Jason took one last look at the image of Superman on the Batcomputer screen, his hands clenched, unable to escape that dangerously hypnotic blue gaze.

That gaze, fiercely blue and alien, reminded him of the danger Bruce was currently facing.  

The danger Bruce—and his entire family—was currently facing.

As he slipped out of the cave, drops of blood still trickled from his clenched fists.

—--

A few days later, Bruce had fallen back into the near-usual rhythm of his existence, minus the Batman part.

His daily life as Gotham’s favorite socialite among the golden class forced him to organize far too many high-society parties, each minute of which he hated.

Once again tonight, Bruce was the center of attention, surrounded by his guests on the rooftop of one of the many imposing buildings he owned in Metropolis—a city he had been trying to avoid as much as possible lately for obvious reasons. Once again, businessmen with sharp interests and sculptural models gravitated around him like bees to their queen. A typical ordeal for a true introvert like Bruce. He would have given anything to escape to the peace of his manor, where he could finally read the books gathering dust on the corner of his desk.

But unfortunately, this time again, his real desires would be set aside. As well as tomorrow. And the day after. Maybe until his death, who knows?

On this pleasant early autumn evening, he played the part of a performer, effortlessly adopting the splendid costume of Brucie Wayne, charming and flirtatious host. As usual, he knew how to flatter his guests with smooth compliments and entertain them like no one else with his many true (or fabricated) anecdotes about his nocturnal affairs and extreme sports interests.This charade would last for another hour—just an hour—before he could feign drunkenness and slip away from a crowd that expected nothing from him except a few minutes of distraction at his expense, money, or his body for the night.

In general, this bitter reality left him completely indifferent. Wasn't he, after all, a soldier rigorously trained by the League of Assassins, with a robust body and mind Rationally, Bruce knew perfectly well that all of this was stupid. It was just a game of appearances, mere trivialities. But sometimes, like tonight, and without fully understanding why, it left him with a cold emptiness throughout his entire being. Surely one of the downsides of temporarily relinquishing the Batman armor. 

At least when you spent most of your nights jumping from building to building, chasing Gotham’s most dangerous criminals, there was no time for introspection. No time to feel anything other than a dangerously addictive cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and raw rage.

No time to feel utterly, desperately alone.

He wrapped his arm around the hips of a sultry blonde—another aspiring actress desperate for a few seconds of fame by sneaking into one of Bruce Wayne's famous parties. The high-pitched giggle she let out at his touch had the desired effect. Back to reality, far from this moment of introspective dissociation that had been a little too long and dangerous for Bruce’s liking.

"Stay where you are, gorgeous. I'll go get us some drinks. The night is still young," he promised with a seductive wink before moving away from the lovely creature, who was already eager to lay her hands on him.

Still wearing a big, stiff smile on his lips, Bruce walked past the enormous pool where guests were throwing themselves in, nearly naked and merry. The bar awaited him at the far end of the rooftop. It had been a while since he’d wanted to get drunk. With a bit of luck, Alfred wouldn’t even notice if he allowed himself one or two glasses of cognac before going home and fully dedicate himself to his fatherly duties...

“Oh my God, look up!”

A lively murmur immediately rose, forcing Bruce to tilt his head toward the sky in search of the source of the commotion. Countless fingers pointed at a visitor floating in the air, someone who wasn’t on the guest list. Someone who couldn't possibly be subjected to a restraining order—something Bruce had used time and time again against overly persistent stalkers.

“It’s Superman!”

“Superman is here; this is incredible!”

“Superman, can we have an autograph?”

After all, no court in Metropolis, Gotham, or anywhere on Earth could contain Superman with trivial laws—or prevent him from crashing one of Bruce Wayne’s parties.

Glass tightly gripped in his hand, which he had somehow kept from shattering, Bruce watched a hysteria akin to that of rock star fans in a frenzy. Except this time, it wasn’t a harmless artist seeking fame, but Superman. An extraterrestrial being with powers so vast he could crush them all like insignificant ants if their existence posed even the slightest irritation to him.

Instead, oblivious to the danger, most of them crowded toward the figure in the costume as he landed, his eternal boy-scout smile on his lips, greeting them like a 1950s TV presenter.

Under different circumstances, Bruce would have laughed at the absurdity of the scene. For a brief moment, he imagined himself in the middle of a debate with Tim, a great lover of societal and philosophical analysis, about the dangers of idolizing figures. But not tonight. Not when Superman turned toward him, his unnaturally blue eyes offering no escape. Still as powerful and determined. Bruce could swear he also saw a glint of amusement... 

Or perhaps triumph? 

Before Bruce could form a coherent thought, Superman vanished from his line of sight, only to reappear inches from him, catching the glass that had slipped from his sweating hands. With his breath short and heart pounding, Bruce offered no resistance. He watched as Superman scanned him from head to toe, that infuriating smile still on his lips— a smile Bruce would have loved to distort with his fists.

“Good evening, Mr. Wayne. Sorry I’m late. I hope your little party isn’t over yet.”

Without waiting for a response, he brought the glass to his lips, wearing once again an expression of challenge and disdain that, for God knows what reason, was reserved only for Bruce.

---------

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Bruce had to act quickly.

He realized he had lost control of his evening the moment his guests, curious and overexcited, almost surrounded him, bombarding him with questions about the nature of his relationship with Superman.

Among his exasperating yet harmless guests, the real danger was named Cat Grant, head of the society column at the Daily Planet and the main instigator of the articles fuelling the rumor about the secret relationship between Gotham’s prince and Batman.

Although Bruce owned the Daily Planet, he remained firmly committed to press freedom. Even if it meant enduring this absurd rumor, which attracted the condescending glances of his peers—Lex Luthor on top of the list—and the increased attention of his most deranged enemies, such as the Joker, who refused to share him with anyone.

This did not mean Bruce accepted being associated with Superman in such a way. Being tied to two superheroes at once involved devising new strategies and managing too many unknowns in the long term.

Above all, there was a greater risk of his true identity being exposed. Everything he had built over the years—all his sacrifices and hard work in the shadow of the Dark Knight—was at stake.

The price of his blood, sweat, and very soul. All condemned to go up in smoke.

All because of that fool Superman.

The alien had the brilliant idea of gate-crashing his party and acting as if they’d known each other forever, even going so far as to drink from his glass.

By imposing his presence and insinuating an almost ambiguous closeness between them, Superman reminded him how foolish it was to try to avoid him. 

The message was crystal clear. Wherever he was, Bruce Wayne could not escape Superman.

Bruce had to act quickly.

When Cat began approaching him (or rather charging at him) to snatch her next scoop of the century, Bruce let his instincts take over.

He grabbed Superman by the wrist and swiftly took his leave from his guests, gifting them with a dazzling smile before leading the alien away.  Without looking back, he left the rooftop and headed towards a private lift, which he then activated with a code. Strangely, Superman didn’t flinch and followed him without any sign of resistance. 

During the few minutes of silence that had passed between the closing of the lift doors and their arrival at the businessman’s office, Bruce didn’t once look at the alien in costume. As his hand clenched tightly around the door handle, the Gothamite could hear only the erratic, painful beating of his heart. A stark reminder of how much he hated losing control of the situation.

This was his building, his party, his guests. And yet, Superman had to show up and remind him just how weak he could be. How, with the snap of a finger, he could become powerless to protect himself. Or protect others.

But now was not the time to dwell on that. He had to stay focused.

Bruce took a deep breath, then turned towards the source of all his current problems, his face displaying a mask of calm.

Unlike his arrogant and dominant posture from earlier, Superman looked hesitant. Almost apologetic. He didn’t dare meet Bruce’s gaze, his head lowered like a child caught in the act of mischief.

“I’m sorry for dropping in unannounced, Mr Wayne. I didn’t mean to cause such a commotion… or scare you. I assure you, that was never my intention.”

Bruce stifled an ironic laugh in his throat.

At least his heartbeat had returned to normal. Superman had invaded his world, his thoughts, and his party, and now, he even dared to invade his body, taking control of his very pulse. The idea was so unbearable, almost repulsive, that he hadn’t even realized he had abandoned the mask of Brucie, emanating a cold and hard aura.

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. He felt himself dangerously slipping into Batman.

“What do you want from me, Superman?” he finally asked, articulating each word to ground himself in reality. Behind the mask of Brucie, far from the Dark Knight who had no place here.

Superman’s eyes widened, surprised by this dark, authoritative voice that few had ever witnessed. Fortunately, he decided not to dwell on it.

He cleared his throat, his azure pupils rising timidly towards Bruce, before speaking again, this time with a more assured tone:

“I just wanted to talk to you, Mr Wayne. I tried to see you again after our last encounter, but couldn’t find you at your Gotham office. Or your Metropolis office. Or any of your other known offices for that matter. So when I learned you were hosting a party in Metropolis tonight, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to see you again.”

A dull wave of nausea took hold of Bruce. “Are you stalking me, Superman?”

“What? No, of course not, I…”

“You’re trying to blackmail me, aren’t you?” Wayne spat with vehemence, his steel-blue gaze growing colder, more merciless.

Superman grimaced, horrified, clearly offended by the accusation, which he denied with a vigorous shake of his head. He slowly stepped closer to the other man, still frozen by the carefully locked door.

“Mr Wayne, I assure you I have no ill intentions, neither towards you nor anyone else,” he explained, his tone imbued with an almost unsettling sincerity. “I'm being truthful when I say I simply wish to talk to you.”

Bruce couldn’t suppress an uncontrollable shiver that ran down his tense shoulders, the only physical manifestation that could still betray his state of alert. Superman immediately halted his steps. They were not close enough to each other, but Bruce discerned a trace of painful resignation in his gaze.

The alien let out a sigh before fixing his gaze on Bruce again. He looked genuinely sorry.

“It’s my fault,” he admitted with a sheepish smile that did nothing to lower his counterpart’s guard, quite the opposite. After all, he might be a master of emotional manipulation, which might be far more effective and dangerous than any other extraterrestrial power. “I realized I had made a mistake the first time I came to see you. I panicked a bit and mentioned Batman without warning you. I understand how you might have thought I was threatening you. That wasn’t my intention, and I sincerely apologize for that.”

At the mention of Batman from Superman’s mouth, Bruce felt as if his entire body was swaying beneath him. He just hoped Superman would forget about Batman and leave him the hell alone. 

He quickly crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to take his eyes off the alien. Despite his defiant stance, Superman didn’t seem offended. Instead, he gave him a small, almost pleading smile before gesturing to the two leather chairs placed in the center of the large office.

“Could you spare me a few minutes, Mr Wayne? I promise I won’t bother you again after this.”

Bruce wanted to retort that his words meant nothing to him, but he changed his mind at the last second. After all, he had always adhered to a very clear strategy: observe, analyze, and then strike when the time was right. And he trusted his tactical abilities enough to allow himself to lower his guard slightly in front of such an unpredictable alien. 

At least enough to give him a false sense of trust and prompt him to reveal his intentions, whether deliberately or not. After all, Batman’s brute-force interrogation methods had proven effective, but sometimes Brucie’s charm could be just as efficient.

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension that had stiffened his muscles. He then gave a regretful smile. His grey-blue eyes, sometimes compared to a winter sky filled with clouds, softened, instantly granting him the sympathy that made him one of the most beloved figures in all of Gotham.

“I guess I haven’t been the best host tonight,” he confessed with a bashful and embarrassed look. He moved closer to the alien, his fingers intertwined in a gesture of candid nervousness. “I apologize for being so rude, Superman. It’s not every day that something like this happens to me. I kind of lost my cool…”

He placed his hand on Superman’s bicep, feeling that same intriguing warmth he had felt during their first physical contact in his office.

“… I hope you can forgive me?” He punctuated his request with a flutter of his eyelashes, his signature move, causing the alien to blush slightly.

However, he picked up on Bruce’s change in attitude and relaxed instantly. A large, relieved smile illuminated his entire face, revealing the full power of his inhuman beauty.

Bruce felt his heart skip a beat. Despite everything he might think of him, Bruce understood why Superman captivated crowds like no one else ever had.

If Batman could be compared to the moon, dark and mysterious, Superman, on the other hand, was the sun, dazzling and majestic.

“Please, Mr. Wayne, there’s nothing to forgive.”

They finally sat down on the sofas, face to face. The atmosphere between them grew lighter, more promising.

“Call me Bruce, please.”

“Bruce.”

“I’m listening, Boy Scout. I can call you Boy Scout, can’t I? Tell me everything.” He crossed his legs, relaxed but very curious.“What exactly do you want from me   ?”

“Actually, it’s about Batman.”

Bruce pouted, pretending to be offended.

“What a shame! To think I thought you were interested in me… Silly me. It’s because of the suit, isn’t it? I bet it’s the costume. I’ve often been told I have the best pair of legs in all of Gotham but it seems I can’t compete with Batman. Not with his incredible pair of…”

“Bruce, you’re completely wrong!” Superman interrupted, his hands raised in fierce denial. “I assure you, I don’t feel that way about Batman, only admiration! I promise that’s the truth.”

Bruce let out an internal sigh, fighting the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. The blush on Superman’s cheeks wasn’t exactly helping to take him seriously. Was he always this reckless and impulsive? Incapable of properly concealing his emotions ? How the hell had he managed to keep evading Lex Luthor’s genius attempt to take him down so far?

A whirlwind of questions spun through Bruce’s mind, heightening his curiosity to a level he’d never experienced before. He felt light-headed, almost dizzy with excitement.

“Okay, let’s just cut to the chase. What do you want from Batman?”

Superman stared at him with intensity, a silence slowly building between them. His eyes were sharp, resolute, and determined.

“I want to meet him.”

Bruce didn’t react. He finally felt the tables had turned. He was slowly regaining control.

Interesting.

“Is it because you don’t approve of his methods? Are you planning to follow him around and keep tabs on him?”

“No, not at all,” Superman replied.

“Or is it because you have a crush on him?”

Bruce, I’m telling you again, that’s absolutely not the case," Superman sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he continued, this time uncomfortable. “And even if it were the case – which it’s not, of course! – I don’t intend to get in between you two.” Despite his visible efforts, he couldn’t hide the blush that was lighting up his cheeks.

Bruce didn’t comment, determined to let Superman believe he was Batman’s sugar daddy. Especially since the conversation was finally getting interesting.

Now that Superman was finally revealing his intentions.

“I want to meet Batman because I want to propose a partnership. Heroes like us are few and far between, but our enemies are multiplying. My goal is to bring us together, starting with Batman and myself. It would be a unique opportunity to join forces and be more effective on a larger scale, beyond our respective cities. To protect the whole Earth from all threats, here and beyond.”

A heavy, electric silence had settled in the office before Bruce burst out laughing. 

“Like some sort of club?” He chuckled, breaking the solemnity of Superman’s manifesto. Despite his mocking attitude, his heart was pounding, betraying an intense, burning feeling he hadn’t experienced in years. Why did it have to be this damn alien who inspired that? “Like Boy Scouts, but with costumes in every color?” 

The alien’s jaw tightened, irritated by the way his pure, idealistic vision of a league dedicated to protecting the innocent had been reduced to a bad joke. It didn’t scare Bruce, who was still smirking. He knew Superman would do nothing about it.

He didn’t have a choice after all. Despite how little patience Bruce still inspired in him, it was clear that Superman needed him to make his noble dream a reality. Enough to tolerate his eccentricities, his cheeky flirtations, and his moments of stupidity.

That’s why Superman simply nodded without making any remarks about Bruce’s infuriating attitude, determined not to stray from his true objective.

“I need you to help me meet him, Bruce.”

“Why? I’m not the jealous type, Superman. You don’t need my permission to talk to him.”

“I’ve tried talking to him several times these past few weeks. Every time he saw me, he disappeared without saying a word. Then, overnight, he became extremely aggressive whenever he saw me. He called me a dangerous alien and threatened to take care of me if I ever came back to Gotham… Last week, he even tried to attack me from a distance before vanishing. I haven’t seen him since…”

Bruce remained silent, staring at Superman, who had pulled a batarang out of his pocket. The same one he had shown Bruce last week. A bitter reminder of Jason, a formidable Batman, but all too often controlled by his recklessness.

He stared at it for a moment before handing it to Bruce. There was no trace of despair or gloom in his cerulean eyes, only vibrant hope directed at the other man. Wayne felt a lump form in his throat. The batarang, usually such a familiar object, seemed to weigh a ton in his pale fingers. 

“Superman, I don’t think…”

“I think you’re my best option, Bruce. No, I’m certain of it. I’ve been watching Batman for weeks, and you’re the only person I’ve managed to link to him. I don’t know all the details of your relationship, but it’s clear he trusts you.”

Damn stalker , Bruce cursed inwardly, once again grateful for his excellent control over his emotions.  If Brucie was both curious and excited by the attention Superman was giving him, providing an unusual source of entertainment, Bruce Wayne – Batman – only dreamed of punching him in the face. Not sure that would be enough to temper the damn entitlement of the man in the costume, convinced he had every right to derail Bruce’s life for his own interests.

“Superman, I assure you, I’d love to help you. After all, you know my passion for muscular men in tight suits, that’s no secret,” he said in his best dumb playboy voice, provoking yet another disapproving look from the alien. That was a lot for someone who had sworn only minutes before not to feel anything for Gotham’s vigilante. Bruce’s life was already complicated enough without having to deal with the jealousy of an intrusive, uncontrollable alien. “But I think you’re overestimating me. No matter how many toys I buy him, Batman operates alone. I can’t tell him what to do. And even though I’m very, veryyyy good at convincing people, it won’t work with him. He’s the biggest paranoid in Gotham, for God’s sake. No way he’ll ever agree to meet you without any guarantees. I don’t want to interfere, but I suggest you pick someone else for this plan of yours.”

“What if I told you I could give him those guarantees?”

A smile of excitement lit up Superman’s face, despite the blatant skepticism Bruce was displaying.

“And what exactly is your plan, Boy Scout?”

Superman leaned toward him, hands resting on his knees, before replying:

“I’ve thought it through seriously. Batman knows nothing about me, just like the rest of the planet. And I know full well that humans tend to fear what they don’t understand.” He clenched his fists, a trace of regret in his voice. “I’m responsible for that, I shouldn’t have waited so long before revealing more about who I am. I don’t know why I hesitated so much,” he added in a whisper, his shoulders hunched and his eyes betraying a certain vulnerability. It was almost as if he was speaking more to himself this time. “Maybe... Maybe I was scared, too?”

He turned his gaze away for a few seconds, uncomfortable, before meeting Bruce’s eyes again. Bruce remained frozen, paralyzed by the intensity of the emotions swirling in Superman’s unique blue eyes. He wondered when he would finally get used to it.

“In a month, I’m going to be interviewed by the Daily Planet to officially introduce myself,” Superman announced. “They’ve tried several times to contact me to arrange it sooner, but I’ve finally decided to go ahead with it. Of course, I’m the one who gets to choose the questions and the person who will handle the interview.” His lips curled into a soft, gentle smile.” I suppose you know Lois Lane?”

Bruce nodded. He’d noticed the tender note in the alien’s voice when he mentioned the famous investigative journalist, Lois Lane. But it was another piece of information that caught his attention.

A month.

That coincided with the end of his leave and the return of his Batman costume. What a lucky coincidence.

“Are you suggesting that Batman should wait for the release of this article to learn more about you and become your new best friend?”

Superman let out a nervous laugh. “No, of course not. What I’m proposing is an exclusive interview for Batman.”

“I don’t quite understand where you’re going with this.”

“It’s simple. We could organize it over several meetings, say once a week. One question each time. And unlike the Daily Planet, Batman can ask me whatever he wants, and I’ll answer without hesitation,” he promised, with such conviction in his voice that it almost made Bruce forget all his reservations.

Bruce was almost tempted to be swayed by this completely insane plan, both risky and crazy, but with undeniable potential.

The only thing holding him back was the thought of sending Jason to handle these one-on-one interviews with the alien. No matter how convincing Superman was, Bruce couldn’t be sure of anything. What if it was a trap? There was no way he was going to lose his son a second time. Bruce wouldn’t survive it this time.

As if reading Bruce’s thoughts, Superman continued his argument. “Of course, I’m not expecting Batman to conduct these interviews. I know he’ll never agree. He doesn’t trust me. And I know he has a lot to do on his side.”

Bruce let out a slight chuckle, resting his chin on his hand in a relaxed posture. “It’s clear you don’t spend enough time in Gotham. Otherwise, you’d understand why Batman is so neurotic. Facing the craziest and most creative criminals in the country, believe me, it changes a man.”

Superman nodded, his expression betraying what seemed to be compassion. Admiration, even.

Fuck . Batman wasn’t going to get rid of this die-hard fanboy anytime soon.

One problem at a time. He first needed to tackle a much more crucial question, left hanging by Superman. Of course, he knew the answer, but it was important to hear it from his own mouth.

“Who do you think should interview you in his place?”

Superman immediately regained his professional neutrality as he answered Bruce. “You, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“You're the perfect go-between for Batman and me.”

“I have many talents, but I’m not a journalist, Superman.”

“Think of it as just simple conversations. You ask me questions, and I answer them, that’s it. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“Let’s assume I agree with that. What do I get out of this?”

Superman raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this question. “I thought you were Batman’s ally?”

“We have a deal that benefits us both, but that doesn’t mean I work for him,” Bruce protested, crossing his arms in defiance. He was still weighing the pros and cons of this strange proposal, determined not to give in easily to this overconfident alien. “I’m not a superhero, but I have a full life too. I have a business to run and a lot of responsibilities. I have my kids as well. And, most importantly, I have parties to organize! People depend on me, I can’t let them down!”

The Man of Steel slumped back onto the couch, sighing like an exhausted adult after yet another tantrum from his stubborn child. His lips were pressed tight, frustration evident. He didn’t even try to hide how much Bruce was pushing the limits of his patience.

Bruce smiled mischievously, enjoying being able to return the favor after all the emotional roller coasters Superman had put him through. In the end, it wasn’t such a high price to pay for wasting a week of precious leave he wouldn’t get again anytime soon. Fortunately for the alien, his pettiness didn’t last long. After all, he couldn’t afford to let Superman change his mind at the last minute.

“But you know what, Boy Scout? I don’t want to disappoint you either,” he whispered, placing his hand on the alien’s knee, a charming smile spreading across his lips. “I’m sure my secretary can find me a few free moments in my schedule so we can set all this up. What do you think?”

Far from being pleased, Superman showed a palpable nervousness. It only worsened when Bruce slid his thumb across his knee, causing the alien to flinch, instantly paling.

“Mr. Wayne—Bruce, I can’t, I…”

Bruce burst into laughter and withdrew his hand. “Relax, I’m not asking for anything like that in return. Everybody knows I have my own personal Bat vigilante watching over me. I just hope you’ll come to my rescue if anything happens to me in Metropolis."

He winked playfully " Can I count on you in the future, Boy Scout? "

The alien furrowed his brow. “I help everyone, Bruce.”

Even you,  Bruce completed in his mind, more amused than offended by Superman’s lack of sympathy for him.

He had suspected it during their first meeting, but now he was sure of it. While Superman adored Batman, he was not a fan of Bruce Wayne.  Without his connection to Gotham's knight and his hero's league, Superman would never have sought to cross paths with him, let alone tolerate him for a whole month. This only proved how much he believed in his project, but more importantly, how dangerously invested, patient, and determined he was. More reasons to keep him under close surveillance in the coming weeks.

But all this required some organization. Some precautionary measures. 

“I have a few conditions to propose.”

“Of course. I’m listening.”

“First, I’ll choose the dates and locations for our meetings. No more surprise appearances at my office or one of my parties. The same goes for Batman. You let him work quietly until the end of our deal. Is that good with you?”

“Alright, let’s do that,” conceded the alien with a deep breath. “Anything else?”

“Yes, my second condition is very simple." His grey eyes had never been as intense, as piercing, as they were in that moment. “If, at the end of the interviews, Batman refuses to meet you, you’ll respect his decision and never approach him again.”

Superman stared at him for a moment, as if struggling to accept the very existence of this alternative. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally nodded. Bruce clapped his hands, a radiant smile spreading across his face. 

“Perfect! All settled then!” He jumped to his feet, exuding the enthusiasm of a businessman who had just signed the deal of a lifetime. “Pleasure doing business with you, Boy Scout!” He extended his hand to Superman, who shook it with a slightly strained smile, officially sealing their agreement.

Despite the alien's apparent lack of conviction, Bruce returned the smile tenfold. A radiant, sincere smile. 

A triumphant smile.

Superman didn’t know it yet, but in this deal, only Bruce would emerge victorious.

In a month, Bruce would have all the necessary information to discover Superman’s weakness. Batman would get back to work, and the alien would no longer be able to approach him, or Gotham.

And at the slightest misstep, Batman would make sure Superman would never be a threat to anyone again.

Once and for all, if necessary.

Chapter Text

The alliance he had just forged with Superman felt so improbable to Bruce—almost surreal—that he decided not to waste a single moment in taking the next step.

As soon as he shook hands with his future subject of study for the coming month, Bruce headed straight to his desk. He pulled out two disposable phones, handing one to Superman after saving his number. Superman accepted it without showing the slightest hint of surprise. After all, a playboy lifestyle like Bruce Wayne’s probably required a certain degree of logistical organization. With that practical detail taken care of, Bruce sank back into his chair, adopting a relaxed posture, his legs comfortably crossed in front of the Man of Steel. Then, with eyes gleaming with the peculiar excitement he felt whenever he was about to unravel a particularly complex mystery, he asked one of the questions that had been haunting him for nearly a year:

"Where exactly are you from?"

Superman’s face immediately registered surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I know I’ll never be as good a journalist as Lois Lane," Bruce replied with a small, mischievous laugh, "but I’m pretty sure my question was clear enough. Would you like me to rephrase it?"

He tilted his head slightly toward his interlocutor, mimicking the faux-understanding look of an adult indulging a child’s endless absurdities. Superman merely narrowed his eyes, proving he was the more patient of the two by enduring Bruce’s sly jabs without flinching.

"I understood the question perfectly, Mr. Way-Bruce. Thank you. I was just-uh- a bit surprised."

"And why is that? I don’t think it’s such a strange question. I’m sure plenty of people have asked you that before me."

"That’s true," the alien admitted after a brief pause, his hands beginning to fidget on his knees. Then, he straightened up, crossing his arms with a confident expression. "It’s just that I didn’t expect us to start the interviews right away."

"And why is that? Are you expected somewhere else? I mean, if you’re going to show up uninvited to my party, you might as well stay till the end, right?" Bruce quipped with a wide grin, provoking an obvious clench in Superman’s perfectly chiseled jaw.

It lasted only a brief moment. A faintly amused smile formed on Superman’s lips as he unconsciously—or perhaps deliberately—mirrored the man sitting across from him: legs crossed, back resting against the leather chair. Bruce immediately understood the message: no amount of sharp remarks from a hedonistic billionaire would rattle a man of his stature.

And more importantly, that he could also play this little game. After all, the night was still young.

"Unlike you, Bruce, I’m not exactly a fan of nightlife. I figured you’d need some rest to prepare your questions—or perhaps a few days, even. There’s no need to rush for my sake, you know," Superman added, his words brushing dangerously close to outright insult. Even so, Bruce maintained his perfect host smile.

"You’re too kind. I hardly deserve so much attention from the great Superman," Bruce replied with an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes, as theatrical as ever.

"I thought it might be a bit of a challenge for you," the superhero continued in a tone of cheeky impertinence that the general public had likely never witnessed from him before. "It’s just five questions, but I strongly suggest you prepare them with Batman. After all, he's the reason this partnership exists in the first place," he added, making it abundantly clear that his presence here today was a matter of necessity, not of his own volition. 

Bruce rested his chin on his interlaced fingers, more amused than offended. Years of playing "Brucie," enduring judgmental stares and thinly veiled insults had given him an Olympic-level detachment. At least, unlike the countless fools who mocked him with neither finesse nor subtlety, Superman possessed a sharp wit and a thoroughly entertaining bite. Despite the gravity of what was at stake in this new partnership, there was something particularly amusing about engaging in a verbal sparring match with the ever-polite, squeaky-clean Superman. Especially when Bruce knew he had the upper hand. After all, he was well aware of at least one of Superman's weaknesses. And now, it was time to take advantage of it.

His not-so-subtle crush on Gotham’s Dark Knight.

"You’re right, Superman. I should probably call him and ask him to meet me at the mansion later," Bruce said, adopting a falsely innocent tone. He immediately pulled out his phone, his smoldering gaze giving away nothing of his (false) intentions regarding his (fake) sugar baby. "I’m sure we’ll find some time to work on that list. I didn’t even get to enjoy my party, so I might as well have a little fun tonight, right?"

Bingo. Superman’s cheeks immediately flushed, breaking the illusion of control and composure he had maintained throughout their conversation. Too bad the alien didn’t realize that Bruce had a knack for knowing exactly where to press to push his opponents to their breaking point—whether they were Batman’s enemies or false friends like the venomous Lex Luthor. Bruce silently watched Superman struggle to recover from the knockout punch, a barely concealed triumphant smirk on his face. Yet he stayed alert, yet he stayed alert, a state he was as accustomed to as breathing. After all, how could anyone predict the reactions of an alien caught off guard?

Superman had turned his gaze to the side, attempting to regain control of his emotions. After a long sigh that made his chest rise and fall, he stood and walked over to face Bruce, locking eyes with him without a word. His gaze, unwavering, was as blue as an endless summer sky.

That was enough to dry Bruce’s throat in an instant. As he began to wonder if Superman had finally decided to punch him in the face, the alien removed his cape and held it out to him. Bruce blinked in utter confusion.

"Thanks, but red is not my color. Still, I appreciate the gesture."

"Put it over your shoulders," Superman replied, his voice sounding more like an order than a suggestion. "It’s cold where we’re going. Very cold."

Bruce stared at him as if he’d just said the most absurd thing in the history of humankind. "We? Who’s ‘we’?"

"You and me."

"Oh? Am I supposed to go somewhere with you? "I’m pretty sure my secretary would’ve mentioned it if I had a late-night appointment with Superman," Bruce exclaimed with a nervous laugh, deliberately ignoring the cape still extended in his direction.

Superman rolled his eyes. Despite being the perfect boy scout, his patience had run out.

"I know we agreed you’d pick the meeting spots, but let me make an exception this time. You’ll understand once we’re there."

Bruce felt control slipping through his fingers. The increasingly frantic beats of his heart were a painful reminder of that.

"You know what? You were probably right earlier. I think I should get some rest before we start the interview. I’m already feeling a little drowsy from all the margaritas I had tonight. What would Bruce Wayne be without his beauty sleep, right ?" he said, adopting the most nonchalant tone he could muster. His attention was already on the door, which suddenly seemed so far away.

Unfortunately for him, Superman didn’t seem to share the sentiment. "I assure you, you won’t regret it, Bruce. Trust me. Please."

"Superman, I don’t think this is reasonable tonight."

Bruce sprang to his feet, his body instinctively trying to escape Superman’s proximity, which had never felt so intense. He couldn't escape those penetrating eyes, that full mouth, the constellation of barely visible freckles on his cheeks…

He’d barely blinked when he found himself surrounded by the dark winter sky of Metropolis, floating a few meters above his rooftop, where his party was still in full swing.

Despite the dizzying height and the after-effects of Superman’s speed, Bruce could still distinguish the shocked faces of his guests gathered below, watching this strange scene unfold. Bruce cynically—and unsurprisingly—realized they weren’t at all concerned about their host. Even though he was bound thanks to the cape up to his shoulders, carried bridal-style by an alien who didn’t seem to understand the concept of consent. Instead, like all the wealthy people craving excitement in their overly comfortable lives, they were thrilled by the spectacle. They even didn’t hesitate to pull out their phones to capture the moment for their next juicy gossip session. And of course, Cat Grant was at the forefront of it all.

As Bruce clenched his jaw painfully, torn between humiliation and helplessness, Superman turned his attention to the crowd. With a sunny smile and a friendly wave, he sparked enthusiastic reactions. This bitterly reminded Bruce that he possessed a power he would never have.

Being a public figure who was effortlessly respected and loved by everyone.

"Sorry everyone," Superman said in an unbearably charming, apologetic tone. "I’ll have to borrow Mr. Wayne for an urgent matter. You’ll have to do without him tonight. Have a pleasant evening, everyone! "

His words sparked another round of chatter and embarrassed giggles. Bruce knew it. Starting now, the only topic of this party will be the relationship between Gotham’s prince and Metropolis’s protector. He had never seen Cat Grant so euphoric. How could he blame her? She was probably already imagining the perfect headline for her next article in the morning edition of the Daily Planet .

Bruce wished tomorrow would never come.  He then wondered, somewhat morbidly, how he might get out of a murder charge in front of so many witnesses. Sure, he had no weapons, and all his movements were restricted. And sure, he probably wouldn’t survive a fall from over 150 meters if, by some miracle, he managed to stab Superman between the eyes (something still impossible to this day). But hey, it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?

Despite Bruce’s dangerously dark look, Superman shot him an indulgent smile, filled with softness. Maybe it was because he was in his element, floating in the air amid the familiar lights of his beloved city. Or maybe it was because Bruce had stopped his verbal provocations?

"You don’t have to worry, Bruce. I’ve got you. Sorry for the sudden takeoff. I’ll wait until you’re feeling better before we leave."

Perfect , Bruce thought bitterly. As if Cat Grant hadn’t already gotten enough compromising photos of them. He could already picture the look on his poor publicists’ faces, already struggling with the whole Batman drama. How would he explain that Superman was now in the middle of the mess? He could already picture the headline: 'The Dark Knight, The Billionaire, and The Man of Steel—A Love Triangle in the Making. He groaned. What a pain in the ass. Bruce promised himself he’d give them a raise as soon as he got home.

If he ever made it home.

Yet, he wanted to believe he was wrong. That the glimmer of honesty and kindness shining in the eyes of the hero in the suit was real. He turned his gaze away, finally speaking with a tone he wished more annoyed :

"This is the second time you've apologized tonight. It's starting to get a little tiresome," he said with a small, understanding smile. Strangely, his irritability had given way to a sort of acceptance, a carefree resignation.

Superman couldn’t have reassured him that easily, could he? Maybe his eyes had some special power? Bruce knew they could shoot laser beams, but he hadn’t heard of any mind control abilities. That seemed like a much more realistic explanation than the ridiculous idea that a simple puppy-dog look, no matter how endearing, could easily sway him. It was simply an unacceptable thought. There had to be a rational explanation, maybe some magic involved. Bruce had to talk about it to Zatanna the next chance he got.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"To my place," Superman replied, "It’ll be the perfect place to answer your question."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. He’d known people who were experts at blowing hot and cold - especially his ex -  but he didn’t expect to see that kind of behavior from the Man of Steel. One moment, Bruce’s presence seemed intolerable, and the next, he was invited to his place? There was no logic to it. Was this part of some plan to disorient him, keeping him from learning more than necessary about Superman during their exchange?

Superman seemed to misinterpret Bruce’s thoughtful silence. Then, as if realizing the possible double meaning of his words, he blushed furiously, prompting a teasing smile from Bruce. Of course, the man was determined to prolong his discomfort for as long as possible:

"You don’t waste any time, Superman. I thought gentlemen waited for at least the third date before inviting someone over."

"Bruce, it’s a misunderstanding, I—"

"You shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble. I would’ve followed you without resistance. Next time, try offering me a drink instead, and I promise I’ll make a very interesting use of that cape."

Superman looked like he wanted to disappear from the earth.

"That’s not what you think," Superman groaned, struggling against a particularly graphic image Bruce had planted in his mind. "It’s just that... " He took a nervous breath. "It’ll be easier to answer your question over there. Trust me," he repeated for the second time that evening, his gaze almost pleading.

Bruce stopped himself just in time from voicing his thoughts about any promise of trust from someone who was only giving him the illusion of choice. He bit his tongue, suddenly feeling an intense fatigue. The exhaustion from his recent sleepless nights was beginning to affect his composure. Now more than ever, he had to be more alert than usual.

After a brief silence, he gave a Brucie's signature smile and nodded with submission, his voice clear and engaging "I believe you, Superman. As long as you don’t drop me while we’re flying, I’ll follow you wherever you want."

Whether he believed this sudden compliance or not, the alien returned his smile, relieved not to have to waste time arguing with the diva-like billionaire. He tightened his hold on Bruce, pulling him a little closer to his powerful chest as he soared higher.  Soon, the faces of their guests were no longer visible. He even forgot about their existence for a moment, lost in the warmth of Superman’s body, comforting and protective despite the altitude.

"I recommend holding on tight, Bruce. I’m going to start accelerating gradually. We’ll have about a 30-minute ride."

Despite the discomfort he felt, Bruce obeyed. He managed to pull his arms out of the cape and wrapped them around the superhero’s neck, resting his head on his shoulder. He silently cursed himself at the blush spreading across his face from the sudden closeness, grateful that no one - especially not Superman - could see him right now.

Quickly, the towering skyscrapers of Metropolis began to look smaller than ever. Now far from the background noise of the city, Bruce focused on the increasingly rapid beating of his heart. He attributed it to the altitude (Bruce had always preferred the ground), his reluctance to be carried like a fragile thing (Bruce did not share all of Brucie’s known questionable kinks), his exhaustion (Dick constantly reminded him that he’d need a second break to recover from his current break), but most of all to the uncertainty of their destination (Where on earth could an alien live? Bruce refused to imagine Superman in a cozy English cottage, sipping tea while scheming his next moves to torment Bruce Wayne and secretly get closer to his crush—at the same time).

"Where are you taking me? Bruce asked once more. "You mentioned a cold place. Do you live in Alaska?" Fortunately, Bruce's brain always knew how to stay sharp, even in unusual circumstances. If they stayed within U.S. airspace, Bruce figured he'd be gone for at least another three hours—counting thirty minutes for the outbound trip, the same duration for the return, and at most an hour to finish the interview once they arrived at Superman’s place. Adding an extra hour of driving to get back to Gotham (there was no way Superman was dropping him off at the manor or anywhere in his city), Bruce estimated he'd be back by midnight.

He'd be late, but it was still manageable. Alfred would probably give him an earful, but that was always better than dealing with Dick or Tim’s reprimands—or worse, Jason's. After all, this wasn’t part of their deal.

Unfortunately, Superman crushed all of his hypotheses and calculations with a single response :

"No. We’re going to Antarctica. To the Fortress of Solitude."

Bruce felt his heart skip a beat. What the actual fuck?

"Huh? Superman, wait a…"

The rest of his words were swallowed up by a sudden acceleration that made everything around them blur into a cloud of red and blue.

Bruce barely had time for one last clear thought, directed at his son Jason.

He's going to kill me this time.

—----

"Please, don't kill me!"

Jason silenced his opponent with a ruthless kick to the jaw, sending him flying several feet away.

Despite being on the verge of unconsciousness, the man found the strength to mutter a few insults toward the Dark Knight standing before him, more sinister and dangerous than ever.

For Jason, it was just another night in the skin of Batman. A night soaked in extreme violence, spreading across Gotham in all its ugliness, like a dark stain seeping into every corner of the city. As usual, he didn’t feel particularly merciful—or patient. So, when the man before him started begging on his knees (a notorious mafia member who had just cold-bloodedly slaughtered an entire family over an unpaid debt), Jason lunged at him in a near-animalistic rush, raining punches down on him.

He held back the urge to scream his rage, a rage far too present, still uncontrollable, burning through his heart since his return to Gotham after months of utter emptiness—an emptiness that only death could offer. He wanted to scream, scream until his vocal cords shattered, scream until this unbearable fire consuming every cell of his body finally burned out. But when he felt one bone break too many under his fists, he immediately stopped. His breath was erratic as he looked at his bloodstained gloved hands.

It took a long moment before Jason felt himself again. He stood shakily, as though struck by sudden dizziness.

Once again, he had dangerously flirted with an absolute transgression imposed by Batman, the real Batman, who forbade him from killing. And once again, he realized that no matter how much he used the muscles of his body—built for destruction—nothing could quell his rage.

This almost supernatural anger that lived within him, made him a far more dangerous and feared Batman replacement than the original. Yet, that didn’t mean Jason was giving up anytime soon. He still had several weeks left to play this role, many more nights ahead where he would dive into this violence in a twisted attempt to rid himself of it once and for all. It was also the only solution he’d found to avoid directing his fury at the one person he truly held responsible for his torment.

Especially when that person was also the one he loved most in the world.

Just as he was about to contact Commissioner Gordon to have the unconscious mafioso arrested, he received a red alert from Red Robin.

Jason let out an annoyed grunt. If there was one thing he missed as Red Hood—aside from finally being able to use his methods to rid the city of the fucking filth rotting it from the inside—it was working solo.

But of course, he had to be teamed up with Tim fucking Drake, courtesy of Bruce. 

Fucking old man.

Thank God Jason only had to wait one month before being freed from all this bullshit.

He picked up the phone with a loud curse. "It better be important," Jason barked as he stepped away from the alley, wanting to vent his frustration on his new little brother without waking up the whole neighborhood. "Aren’t you supposed to be in bed at this hour? I told you I don’t need you tonight, Drake!"

Ignoring the same old line he’d heard from Jason ever since he’d temporarily stepped into the Batman role, Tim spoke in a panicked voice:

"J, we have an emergency!" The fear in his voice made him sound more like a frightened kid than the steel-nerved Robin he usually was.

Jason furrowed his brow. This wasn’t like Tim. After all, the kid had the best control over his emotions among the Wayne brothers. Jason would never admit it, but he envied him for it. "What’s going on? Speak, damn it!"

"He kidnapped B!"

"What? Who?"

"Superman!"

Jason felt as though he'd just been punched in the stomach. Just a few hours ago, Bruce had reassured him in the Batcave, explaining that he had the alien situation under control. Jason had been a damn fool to believe him. Once again.

Tim snapped him out of his thoughts, trying to regain control of his frantic speech. His voice betrayed the helplessness and distress he was feeling. After all, this was an unprecedented situation:

"I just sent you a video from the evening B was at. According to Lucius, Superman showed up, forced B to follow him to his office, and then they both disappeared without a trace."

Jason recalled Bruce’s words from the Batcave, right after his first encounter with Superman. They echoed in his mind, louder and more serious than ever:

"I doubt Superman would try to kidnap Bruce Wayne in broad daylight. Whatever his intentions, he still has a public image to uphold."

"When did this happen?" Jason asked, his voice distant, pale.

"Less than an hour ago. I called Dick; he’s on his way from Blüdhaven. Let's meet at the Batcave in 25 minutes to discuss how we’re getting out of this mess."

"Ok."

With those final words, Jason hung up and rushed toward the Batmobile parked a little farther down. He revved the engine and sped down the nearly empty streets, the late hour working in his favor. The automatic mode kicked in, propelling the vehicle toward the manor at breakneck speeds. Finally, he checked his phone. In the video, Superman was clearly seen flying through the air with Bruce in his arms, almost completely hidden under his cape that restricted his movements. Then, in a supersonic burst, they both vanished into the night, swallowed up by the darkness around them.

The video played over and over as the Batmobile roared into the depths of the Batcave. Each time, Jason’s murderous urges grew stronger, reaching a level he never thought he’d feel for anyone except the Joker. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, struggling to contain the burning desire to tear everything apart. To forget the promise he made to Bruce and fully embrace his destructive, vengeful nature.

After all, the line had been crossed when the alien decided to mess with his family. With Bruce.

From now on, he would personally take care of this motherfucking Superman. 

—--

Despite the speed and altitude, the flight went better than Bruce had imagined.

It was impossible to tell what material Superman's cape was made of, but it was clear that it was highly effective in shielding him from the wind and the cold, which only worsened as they neared their destination. Another thing that surprised Bruce was the alien's gentleness. 

Given how little sympathy Superman was usually showing him, Bruce had expected to be carried without any consideration, like a mere sack of goods. After all, that would have been more convenient for the hero to do so, and faster for their journey too. Instead, Superman made a point of carrying him carefully, holding him close enough to protect him from the gusts that had been battering them for nearly half an hour. The warmth radiating from the alien's body helped as well.

Bruce was grateful his face was hidden in the crook of Superman’s neck. The shame of blushing like a teenager, unable to control his hormones, was unbearable. Maybe it had been too long since he'd shared the arms of another person since his last breakup. An eternity, according to Brucie’s standards. To his dismay, Alfred and Leslie occasionally amused themselves by explaining - using scientific arguments for more impact - how forced abstinence could compromise his mission as Batman.

He shook his head to clear the erotic thoughts that were beginning to invade his mind as he tried to recall the last time he sexually enjoyed himself. It was getting harder these days. Especially when you were a father under 35 of a dysfunctional large family with no time for yourself. He knew what he had signed up for. But why the hell did the universe decide to torture him even more by sending him an enemy as attractive as this damn alien?

Fuck Superman. Fuck him and his damn perfect body, that annoying smile, and those fucking dimples…

“Bruce, we’ve arrived!” announced Superman’s stupidly cheerful voice. He sounded relieved that the trip had gone smoothly. Mainly because they hadn’t exchanged a single word or started any verbal sparring since they left. So maybe Superman could be a fan of Brucie if he kept being pretty and silent . Too bad for him, Bruce wasn’t about to indulge him anytime soon.

When they landed, Bruce ripped the cape away from his face, finally discovering with his own eyes where the great Superman lived. The Fortress of Solitude.

As a seasoned traveler, Bruce could boast of having seen countless extraordinary landscapes and experienced the breathtaking beauty of many architectural wonders that constantly reminded him of the timeless and infinite nature of human genius. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him, in the heart of the North Pole. The Fortress of Solitude exuded an entirely otherworldly magnificence. A vast expanse entirely made of ice, with a dome so high that Bruce felt ridiculously tiny. He felt both captivated and overwhelmed by this place, timeless and out of space, only known by Superman.

“Remind me to ask you for your architect’s number. I need a place this big for my next birthday. The whole of Gotham will never forget it. Too bad it’s so cold,” Bruce lamented with a dramatic sigh before wrapping himself back up in the cape. He had more and more trouble staying in character as Brucie, his awed gaze trying to capture every corner of the icy structure. He knew he would remember this place until the day he died.

Superman chuckled softly, amused by the admiration softening Bruce's face, revealing a more natural and youthful charm. He couldn't look away as Bruce approached the walls to examine the crystals that made up its structure, like a naive newborn discovering a new world full of promises. 

“This might be complicated,” the alien finally responded, never breaking eye contact. “The Fortress of Solitude has existed on Earth for thousands of years. Even before mankind appeared, if I recall."

Bruce spun toward him, eyes wide open in disbelief.

"But that’s impossible! Who could have built all of this?"

Superman's face darkened. "This is one of the last remnants of my people, one of the many fortresses built across countless planets, scattered throughout the surrounding galaxies."

Despite the cape, Bruce felt a shiver crawl down his spine, spreading through every vein in his body. Yet his voice remained light as ever, feigning innocent curiosity, devoid of suspicion. "Your people? Are there more of you living in these kinds of fortresses around the world? I hope the others at least got theirs in the Bahamas, not in the middle of Antarctica. Much more practical if you're trying to save on heating and help the planet. And it’s a definite advantage if you’re trying to socialize."

Superman didn’t seem to respond to Bruce’s attempts to dig deeper, clearly eager to extract what he could from the alien beneath his Brucie mask. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the ground, losing himself for a few moments in the distorted reflection of himself in the stalagmites.

"My people no longer exist," he finally admitted, his voice distant and devoid of emotion, despite the pain in his words. Bruce recognized that state all too well. It was as if Superman had repeated this painful reality so many times that the horror had turned into a cold, detached fact. "They’re all gone, along with my home planet, more than thirty years ago." He paused, his voice heavy. "I’m the last survivor."

Bruce resisted the urge to dwell on the depth of that pain, rooted in Superman’s very soul, and for a brief moment, he forgot that Superman was just an alien with a human-like appearance. He hesitated, unsure of what words would stay within the boundaries of his persona. Finally, in a soft, almost shy voice, he asked another question:

"I know I’m only allowed one question at a time, but...," he met Superman’s melancholic gaze, eyes filled with soft hope that only made them more beautiful, "...can I ask the name of your planet?"

Cut off from the outside world, with no sense of space or time, Bruce only then realized there was no sound in the heart of this ice palace—so sublime, yet so cold. An eerie stillness, like that found in the depths of space, filled the vastness around him. He began to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the flow of his breath from chest to nostrils, and even the faint rustle of blood through his veins.

Bruce had heard of something called a "silent room," designed to absorb every sound, driving anyone mad after just 45 minutes. And yet, this was where Superman lived. 

Far from any civilization, past or present. Alone.

Bruce felt himself suffocating.

Noticing Bruce’s rising heartbeat, Superman decided to break the relentless silence, ending what almost felt like sensory torture:

"My planet is called… was called Krypton." Then, with an unreadable smile, he extended his hand toward Bruce, who was still regaining his composure. "Do you want to see what it looked like?"

Driven by an irresistible impulse he attributed to his love for science and truth, Bruce nodded and took the Kryptonian’s hand. He was gently pulled toward him, close enough that Superman’s breath brushed against Bruce’s face. He silently gestured for him to place his feet on his, hands resting on his waist. And then, with a controlled movement, they both lifted off the ground.

Midway between the dome and the floor, Superman spoke a few words in an unknown language, so far different from any language Bruce could recognize. Before he could feel self-conscious about their closeness and the way their hearts almost beat in unison, Bruce gasped in surprise as the fortress was suddenly plunged into darkness. A myriad of stars appeared, followed by planets of all sizes and colors. Fiery comets streaked through, completing the immersive scene and unveiling a galaxy unknown to humanity until then. Though Brucie wasn’t supposed to be an astronomy enthusiast or have interests that required much intellectual effort, he allowed himself to appreciate this stellar display meant just for him. After all, it would’ve been hard to feign indifference to such a magnificent re-creation. Especially when his heart was racing this fast and his eyes shining as brightly as the stars surrounding him.  

It was nothing more than the result of unknown technology, yet Bruce couldn’t shake the feeling that he was an astronaut discovering the infinite beauty of space for the first time.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured without even thinking, deeply lost in a contemplative state. Superman didn’t answer, submerged in a disenchanted silence. He eventually turned his face toward a planet floating not far from them, larger and more striking than all the others.

“Krypton was a prosperous planet, extremely prolific, with technology thousands of years ahead of any other planet. My people were mainly scientists, the most gifted in the galaxy. Thanks to them, Krypton experienced its golden age for centuries. Until the day of the Thal'raak .’” At Bruce’s questioning look, Superman quickly translated. “The Great Catastrophe.”

He felt the Kryptonian’s hands tighten around his waist. Without a word, Superman floated them closer to Krypton, close enough to observe Krypton's massive sun dangerously approaching the planet.

Bruce felt like a powerless witness to a tragic event from an unchanging past. There was nothing he could do as the star engulfed Krypton in its devastating halo, eradicating an entire millennia-old civilization forever. All that remained was a cloud of meteors scattered across the galaxy, the only remnants of a planet that no longer existed except in the Fortress of Solitude’s database.

Among the rain of asteroids speeding through space, Bruce spotted a small spacecraft that passed just inches from him and Superman. The passenger was visible through the cockpit window.

A baby.

As it disappeared into the galaxy’s maze, Bruce lifted his eyes to Superman. The last son of Krypton. The only one left to hold its memory while still alive.

A survivor exiled to a planet that would make him an eternal alien. A stranger to mankind and all of humanity. Bruce included. 

Amid this field of desolation, he felt something break inside of him as well.

“I’m sorry.”

The pain felt even more intolerable when, amidst all the stars and unknown planets whose secrets he would probably never uncover, Superman smiled at him.

—-------

A few hours later, Bruce watched the nightlights of Gotham pass by from the back window of his car. 

As always, the sky was pitch black, sadly devoid of any light due to light pollution. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, imagining the sky over his city illuminated by thousands of stars, by distant planets where its inhabitants lived in peace.  Dreaming of an alternative world where no family would ever know the meaning of the word Thal'raak . Where no one would ever endure the gaping pain of loss. When no one would ever experience the despair imposed by a gunshot in a dark alley. The suffering of surviving one's family - one's parents- to wander the Earth like a lost soul in a mausoleum of ice. Alone.

Bruce clenched his jaw, fighting against that part of him—secret and intimate, vulnerable and deeply empathetic—that sympathized with Superman. Unfortunately, the last words of the Kryptonian still echoed in his mind, deafening after the hostile silence of the North Pole, creeping into his heart, raw and exposed.

“Bruce, you asked me where I come from. Krypton is my home planet, but Earth is where I found refuge. Earth is my home now. Like my parents who did everything they could to protect Krypton to the very end, I must protect Earth. As long as I live, I will do everything to ensure its people never experience what I’ve gone through. That’s the vow I made when I first understood the weight of this mission. It's my parent's legacy. So, Bruce, please, don’t be sorry for me. My mission is all that matters.”

In one last effort, Bruce wiped away the last fragments of the Kryptonian's voice from his mind, the memory of the warmth that had filled his chest when Superman had managed, for a brief moment in that sublime ice palace, to make him forget his own mission. He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened an app. A map appeared on his screen, along with a red blinking dot in Antarctica.

Sooner or later, Superman would discover the tiny tracker hidden in his cape. But it would likely be hours, maybe even days before that happened. In any case, the delay would be more than enough for Bruce. Besides, there was no way to link it to Wayne Enterprises or him. This time, he had made sure of it. In the worst case, he could feign ignorance to the end, relying on Brucie’s nationally known stupidity. Who would imagine such a risky, calculated move from a playboy with a birdbrain? No, Brucie couldn’t possibly do that to anyone.

Brucie was promiscuous but honest and kind. Brucie was a fan of superheroes like Batman and Superman. Brucie trusted Superman.

Brucie…

... didn't hate Superman.

Bruce closed his eyes, sinking into sleep and dreaming of a world where the guilt weighing on his chest would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely risen over Wayne Manor when Alfred descended into the shadowy depths of the Batcave.

“Master Bruce, Superman is waiting for you.”

Despite a dreadful night that had left him with only a few fleeting moments of restless sleep, Bruce found the strength to rise from his desk. Exhausted and disoriented, it took him a few seconds to fully process his faithful butler’s words through the fog in his mind. Alfred watched him with a look of disapproval and concern as Bruce trudged toward the Batcave’s shower, shedding clothes that reeked of vomit and unhealthy exhaustion.

For nearly a month, the nights at Wayne Manor had followed the same relentless pattern. As Batman, Bruce had, by necessity, become a nocturnal creature—a stranger to the natural rhythms of ordinary people. Insomnia wasn’t an affliction; it had become his nature.

After all these years, Bruce thought he had tamed it, navigating its effects on his body and mind as if it were as natural as breathing. But while Batman thrived in the night, transcending the limits sleeplessness might impose on a mere mortal, Bruce Wayne never felt so weak. His nights had grown shorter, made worse during his forced leave—a bitter irony he hadn’t failed to notice. Still, he had naively assumed that this temporary sleep deprivation would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Unfortunately, he had been gravely mistaken. Bruce felt closer and closer to his breaking point. And while Superman wasn’t entirely to blame, he certainly wasn’t helping matters.

It had been a week since Bruce had agreed to conduct a series of interviews with the Man of Steel on behalf of Batman. 

When he announced the plan to his family, their reactions had been wildly mixed. Unsurprisingly, Dick and Tim were genuinely excited by this bold and unexpected idea. Lifelong fans of the Kryptonian, they were eager to see the mission succeed. For Bruce, the objective always was to uncover Superman’s weaknesses—and ideally all his secrets. But Dick and Tim had far different hopes. And they were very vocal about their dream of an alliance between the two heroes. Bruce recalled how their eyes sparkled with hope and youthful naivety as they even came up with a nickname for a duo that existed only in their imaginations: The World’s Finest.

Jason immediately hated that name. 

He hated his brothers, who were making light of the situation, he hated Superman for bringing more chaos into their lives. And he hated Bruce even more, blaming him once again for his weakness and inability to protect their family.

A week had passed since then, but Jason's anger had only grown stronger, like a flame consuming everything in its path. He still hadn’t come to terms with Bruce’s forced disappearance to the North Pole, accusing him of wasting valuable hours the Batfamily could have spent protecting Gotham’s citizens. Nor he could forgive Bruce for agreeing to such a dangerous and reckless deal with the alien without consulting them first. But the most unforgivable thing was Bruce's decision to invite Superman to the Manor for the second part of the interviews. Although it had been a long time since Jason considered the place his home, his desire to protect it from outside threats had never been stronger than it was now. And for compromising the security of the Manor—both impenetrable and vulnerable at the same time—Bruce had become a traitor in Jason’s eyes. 

And despite Alfred’s intervention (usually one of the few capable of tempering Jason's foul mood) and the logical arguments Bruce calmly presented (in case of danger, Bruce could better defend himself with access to the Batcave than in a public location full of innocent civilians), nothing could quell Jason’s fury. The two men were on the verge of a physical fight before Dick intervened. After hours of shouting back and forth, Dick had finally managed to convince his younger brother to leave before the situation escalated further. 

Bruce hadn’t seen Jason since. 

Fortunately, Jason hadn’t severed contact with the Batfamily—at least not with Dick, with whom he had always been close. Luckily, the eldest son hadn’t inherited their father’s emotional constipation and awkwardness. Instead, he used all his skills as a cheerful diplomat to calm down Jason as he was away from home.  For a year now, they had all been trapped in this endless, dysfunctional, toxic cycle—a cycle whose predictability, though unhealthy, provided a strange sense of comfort. It had become a predictable routine, like a perfectly calibrated automaton repeating the same actions over and over. 

Once again, Jason’s anger would burn out after a few days. He would isolate himself in a place only he knew, but he wouldn’t stop patrolling as Batman. Then, without warning, he would reappear in the Manor’s hallways. They would see him wavering between distrust and familiarity, like an animal fighting against its instincts. Stuck in a climate of unspoken words and silenced emotions to the bitter end. Unable to fully embrace the love and warmth of a home, of his family. 

A family that only made sense when he was there. As it was always meant to be from the start. 

Before Bruce screwed it all up. 

All this situation was psychologically exhausting, but Bruce had no better options for now. He was already grateful Jason had agreed to take over as Batman during his leave. Of course, his son never missed a chance to remind him that he wasn’t doing it for him. In a rare moment of naivety, Bruce had imagined he could use this time away from his Batman's duties to try to fix things between Jason and him. Unfortunately, every attempt at reconciliation had failed—miserably so—only deepening the gap between them. While Bruce struggled with words, Jason was an impenetrable wall, holding his heart sealed shut ever since he came back to life one year ago. 

Bruce had never been a coward, but part of him lived in absolute terror since he had watched his son die before his eyes. That fear had never truly left him, dark and consuming, like a tide swallowing everything in its wake. Terrified of hearing again the hateful, reproachful words Jason had hurled at him the day they were reunited. Terrified of watching that fury growing day after day, destroying every trace of the earnest, kind boy he had once known. Terrified of the day his leave would end.

Because he knew it would be the day Jason would disappear from his life. This time, for good. 

As his heart felt heavy and numb in his chest, Bruce abruptly realized he was late for his meeting. Even for Brucie Wayne's standards. He tried to enjoy the last few seconds of quietness and solitude in his shower, savoring the feeling of hot water on his skin. While it did nothing to improve his pallor or dreadful dark circles, it helped clear his mind. Reminding him of his mission. 

Superman was waiting for him in the garden. Bruce had to ask his second question. Continue the interview. 

It was the only thing that mattered today.

Once dressed and prepared, he met Alfred again. Still as efficient and thoughtful as ever, the older man had taken the opportunity to prepare his best coffee. Despite his fatigue, Bruce’s face lit up at the smell of the brew he had been longing for since waking up.

"Thanks, Alfred," he said in a slightly hoarse voice, but with all the gratitude in the world. He felt even more thankful when his butler refrained from lecturing him on how a proper gentleman should behave, especially when it came to the rules of punctuality. And yes, those rules applied even to aliens, no matter how infuriating they could sometimes be.

Despite all his paternal indulgence, Alfred couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at the unconventional outfit Bruce had chosen to greet Superman: a plain bathrobe, wet hair plastered messily across his face, and, to top it off, slippers made of faux pink fur on his feet—the cherry on top of all this display of bad taste. Bruce rolled his eyes, already preparing for the judgmental barrage that was about to fall on him. He could read the words “Seriously, Master Bruce?” “Unacceptable and deeply disrespectful towards Mr. Superman,” and “Playing Brucie doesn’t give you the right to traumatize us all, Master Bruce” in the narrowed eyes of his butler.

"Master Bruce, if you must be late, you might as well seize the opportunity to attire yourself more appropriately. Forgive me if I am mistaken, but one of the privileges of being a billionaire is the luxury of choice in matters of dress. While no one expects you to be a trendsetter, it appears that the prevailing social conventions do mandate a minimum amount of fabric to properly cover one’s person."

"Alfred, I made the effort to wear a pair of boxers. Don’t expect too much from Brucie, it’s already quite impressive that he’s dressed at this hour,” Wayne joked absentmindedly, his attention still focused on savoring his coffee. After all, Alfred had seen worse. Bruce was still enduring sarcastic remarks about the fluorescent thong he had dared to wear in front of the entire Daily Planet team during the pool party held to celebrate the acquisition of the Metropolis newspaper. He doubted anyone would ever truly recover from that, even a year and a half later.

Far from being offended by his casualness, Alfred gave a smile full of double meaning. "One of the additional advantages of being a billionaire is the ability to choose from any of the 50 rooms in the mansion should you wish to remain unclothed. Whether in solitude or with company. However, I would strongly recommend the latter, particularly when fate has brought us a guest who happens to be one of Metropolis’ finest specimens."

Bruce almost choked.

Between two violent coughing fits, he thanked the heavens for having equipped the Batcave with an ultra-effective lead soundproofing system, allowing him to escape the scrutiny of the Kryptonian. He had no way of confirming its efficiency 100%, but he prayed to every known god that it would also protect him from Superman’s super hearing. Otherwise, Bruce was condemned to hide out in his mansion until the day he could finally face such humiliation. Which meant never.

“Alfred,” Bruce whispered, more cautious than reckless, “I don’t know where you got this completely far-fetched idea, but there’s nothing between me and Superman. And nothing will ever happen, we’re not even friends. I swear, our relationship is purely professional!”

Alfred crossed his arms, visibly unconvinced by this animated argument. Especially when it was accompanied by a blush that could hardly be attributed to the influence of caffeine, no matter how strong it was. Without losing his unfazed expression, he approached his desk. Above the Batman files was a stack of newspapers and magazines from the past few days. They may have been printed in several languages, demonstrating Bruce’s wide linguistic range, but they all shared the same front page, the same picture that had been causing a sensation for almost a week.

Bruce Wayne in Superman’s arms, floating in the middle of Metropolis' night sky. 

Of course, Alfred's face was glowing as he was contemplating - once again - the source of Bruce's misery. “I may be old-fashioned, Master Bruce, but all this doesn’t seem very professional. Or does it mean I should start questioning your relationships with your employees? Should I contact Mr. Fox about his recent HR training proposal on workplace interpersonal relationships?”

Bruce wanted to let out a long cry of despair. Why did he have to wake up this morning? Maybe if he lay down for a few more hours, ideally a few days, he could forget the existence of that damn photo. Why, of all the pictures Cat Grant had taken, had she chosen the only one where Bruce had dared – just for a millisecond – to smile at that stupid alien? Now, all the scandal magazines’ readers thought they had witnessed a stolen moment between two lovers escaping a boring evening in favor of a romantic rendezvous in the stars.

Unfortunately, Alfred was also a devoted reader of the gossip press. Worst of all, he was a true romantic at heart (Dick had once caught him crying over Pride & Prejudice ) and had never hidden his dream of organizing his son’s wedding one day. Neither Bruce's disastrous love life nor the fact that his life belonged first to Batman and Gotham had been able to shake Alfred's hope. And, for reasons Bruce didn’t understand (or simply didn’t want to understand), Superman fulfilled all the criteria of the ideal son-in-law according to Alfred. Handsome, kind, and willing to deal with all of Bruce's foolishness.

Usually, Bruce would always avoid the sensitive topic of his love life, and always doing so with as much detachment as possible. But the idea of a romantic connection between him and the Kryptonian was more than he could bear. It only worsened the internal chaos he had been dealing with for several days. Especially since their last exchange at the Fortress of Solitude. When Bruce realized that distrust, annoyance, or even fear were no longer the only emotions Superman provoked in him.

For the first time since he had discovered Superman’s existence, Bruce had felt empathy for him. Worse, he had seen him as a human being. Which was not only false – Superman was still an alien – but also extremely dangerous for the success of his mission. Some people would use their emotions and the art of forming bonds with the enemy for better chances to defeat them. But it had never been Batman’s specialty, far from it. Even though Bruce remained a flesh-and-blood human - one of the best to understand the suffering of loss - he could never forget who Superman was. Even if they had some similarities, they were insignificant compared to the stakes of Superman’s very existence on Earth.

No matter what he wanted to believe, Superman remained an alien with immeasurable powers and no known weaknesses. And this idea was still unacceptable in Bruce’s eyes. 

Fortunately, this realization managed to anchor him in the reality of his task. Anchoring him in the logical, cold, but also impeccable part of his left brain.  Logic was a perfect tool, like a mathematical language that offered only one reliable solution. Emotions, on the other hand, were too subjective, vague, and deceptive. Emotions had no place in his plan. That’s how Bruce – Batman – had always functioned, and no one, not even Superman, was going to challenge his entire existence.

As he reached the steps leading out the Batcave, he stopped. His gaze, now alert and serious, fixed on the older man. “Alfred,” he began in that distinctive Batman voice, unyielding and dark. “I’m counting on you for what’s next.”

“I won’t leave the Batcave, Master Bruce. You can count on me, though I think your concern may be a bit…”

“And the boys?” Bruce cut him off, still as impassive and cold. Eyes narrowed. Focused.  

“In your penthouse on Fifth Avenue, as planned. Master Richard will ensure no one returns to the Manor until you give the signal. Still no word from Master Jason, but the situation remains under control.”

“That’s not an issue. I know he’s in Metropolis. Last I heard, he’s investigating Luthor.”

Alfred let out a sigh, suddenly weary. “Master Bruce, please don’t tell me you’ve been tracking him. May I remind you what happened last time you violated his privacy? ”

His jaw clenched. 

“No need to. I know what I have to do to protect this family.” Wayne replied before turning on his heel and climbing the stairs. He didn't want to face  Alfred’s disappointed gaze again. 

However, he couldn't shake off his final words, the same warning he had heard all his life. Yet, strangely, today, those words resonated in his heart more deeply than ever.

“One day, your inability to trust those around you will lead to your downfall, Master Bruce.”

Bruce smiled. A bitter, sad smile.

“Everyone lies, Alfred.”

When Bruce finally left the Batcave and made his way to the garden, he thought he might find a moment of peace in the silence that followed him with each step. But neither his cold logic nor his flawless plans could silence the primal voice inside him, screaming louder and louder about the impending disaster awaiting him.

—--- 

"This place is beautiful, Bruce."

Superman's voice echoed softly, almost a whisper inside the Wayne greenhouse, one of the family’s most treasured legacies passed down to Bruce.

From the entrance, Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He stepped closer to the Kryptonian, unbothered by the fact that Superman had yet to turn and greet him—his back still to Bruce. After all, how could he blame him? He was admiring one of Bruce’s finest creations: shimmering emerald green daffodils, the latest addition to his impressive collection.

"Do you know anything about the language of flowers?" Bruce asked, his voice light. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied Superman’s profile, just inches away, their shoulders almost brushing.

Bruce had always disliked the colors of Superman’s suit, finding them garish and unrefined. Yet, at that very moment, Superman had never looked more beautiful. Was it the light filtering through the glass dome or the vibrant mosaic of flowers blossoming around them? It was like revisiting the impressionist paintings from his trip to the Netherlands, forever dazzled by the way color and light seemed to come together so perfectly.

To his great dismay, Bruce felt his cheeks flush slightly. He blamed it on his fatigue, biting his tongue to shake off the dreamy feeling that had no place here. Could lack of sleep make someone more sentimental? Another theory to explore on his next sleepless night.

A few seconds later, Superman’s piercing azure gaze, still as hypnotic as ever, finally landed on him. "I know as much about flowers as you do about punctuality. So, not much, unfortunately."

Despite the reproach in his voice, Superman smiled—relaxed, almost playful. Bruce couldn’t help but smile back.

"What a shame. That’s part of the basics, though."

"I assume you're referring to manners?"

"Superman, please. Trust me, I impress women more with my knowledge of flowers than with my punctuality."

"I’ll take your word for it," Superman replied with a sigh that was meant to sound weary but didn’t fool Bruce. His eyes, sparkling blue, glinted with amusement that couldn’t be faked. "Too bad for you I'm not one of them."

"Why’s that? Because you’re not easily impressed? Or..." Bruce asked, tilting his head slightly, a teasing, seductive expression on his face. "...because you’re not a woman?"

Superman’s smile grew even wider, the proximity of their shoulders more palpable. Bruce felt electrified with each exchange, each second suspended between their responses. His heartbeat quickened, almost imperceptibly, or at least, to a human's ears. Yet Bruce refused to look away, captivated by the words, by the overwhelming sensations Superman made him feel. Even when he used his sharpest, most cutting words to tease Bruce whenever the opportunity arose.

And always with that cunning smile on his fucking perfect face. 

"Maybe because you’re not my type. Or maybe because I find punctual people much, much more attractive."

Bruce burst out laughing. He was quickly joined by Superman, though his laughter was far more restrained—more reserved. Despite the Kryptonian’s restraint, Bruce suddenly realized something important.

Superman's attitude towards him had changed.

It was subtle, but Bruce was sure of it. The Kryptonian felt… different. Less guarded, more relaxed. No longer brimming with resentment. Right now, he seemed more like the benevolent and likable hero admired by the whole planet. A side of him he had always denied Bruce, until today. Was it because Superman had chosen to reveal one of the most painful aspects of his history—the destruction of his planet and people—offering Bruce a rare, privileged glimpse of who he truly was? Did going through this experience again, alongside a human with whom he shared nothing, surrounded by false stars and galaxies, make him feel as though he shared a real, tangible connection with Bruce?

But then, Bruce suddenly felt foolish.

Foolish for feeling joy. Foolish to think that anything could change between them at this point. Superman was probably just grateful for Bruce to have listened to his story like a decent human being, not as the obnoxious and insufferable Brucie. Foolish for still believing that anything was possible when it was probably too late.

Not when Bruce was maybe on the verge of destroying everything. 

"Bruce, is everything okay?"

Superman’s voice, concerned and soft, broke through the fog of his thoughts. His laughter was already a memory of the past, replaced by a stretched silence between them. In response, Bruce forced a stiff smile, this time empty of any emotion. Before the kryptonian could react, he moved toward the daffodils, plucking one gently. His smile was distant, an impenetrable veil covering what he was truly feeling as he spoke. 

"Since you're not familiar with the language of flowers, this will be the perfect chance for me to teach the great Superman something." His fingers caressed the petals of this flower that held a special place in his heart. "These are daffodils, from the narcissus family. Also known as Narcissus Jonquilla."

Absorbed by the flowers, he didn't notice the surprise in Superman's expression. Of course, he'd be shocked to hear complex words from the mouth of Gotham's most famous playboy idiot. It was too unusual to go unnoticed. Normally, Bruce would never have allowed such a breach in his persona. But now, he had come to terms with it.

For the first time in a long time, Bruce found himself unable to anticipate what would happen next. All his strategies, his assumptions, and his mental rehearsals began to blur into nothing. His mind became clouded, a headache beginning to form. 

All control was slipping away. 

"It's a flower that symbolizes spring," he continued, his tone oddly serene, truly peaceful. "Traditionally, it's associated with renewal, hope, and resilience after the harshness of winter. But it has another meaning, too."

He stepped closer to Superman, offering him the flower with a smile that was both vibrant and elusive. A final glimpse of the true Bruce Wayne.

"Absolute trust in the future.”

—-- 

Superman and Bruce were seated at a lovely white marble table in the sunniest spot of the greenhouse. As always, Alfred had outdone himself, offering them a lavish breakfast with homemade pastries, English jams, and hot drinks (After all, Alfred didn’t know Superman’s preferences, and it was unthinkable for him to leave without a full and satisfied stomach.). Bruce discovered, with a certain surprise, that Superman’s laser vision could serve other purposes besides demolishing buildings. It was also the perfect tool for reheating coffee that had gone cold due to someone’s lack of consideration.

“Once again, sorry for being late, Superman,” Bruce said, his tone way too cheerful to express any genuine regret. “I had a very restless night yesterday—you know how it is.”

Superman couldn’t suppress a slight grimace of disapproval. He was visibly unimpressed to see Brucie’s flamboyant and shameless personality resurface.

“No, Mr. Wayne, I wouldn’t know. Honestly, sometimes ignorance does feel like a blessing.” He added a ridiculous amount of sugar to his coffee before paying interest to the generous plum tart that had been tempting him for a while.

“But surely you must be familiar with what’s called tantric sex, right?”

Superman was on the verge of spitting out the bite of tart he’d thought he could enjoy in peace. Sharing breakfast with Gotham’s most indecent and unpredictable man was no easy task. Bruce's surprising passion for botany or his occasional use of scientific jargon wasn’t enough to make anyone forget that reality.

“Mr. Wayne,” the Kryptonian said, clearly uncomfortable, “forgive me for being direct, but I’d prefer not to discuss that sort of topic with you. It’s… well… highly inappropriate. And certainly not ethical according to journalistic principles..”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Last I checked, I’m not a journalist. Not a real one, anyway. And I don’t plan on becoming one—too many boring rules to follow. It sounds exhausting and not fun at all.”

“I see your point, Mr. Wayne, but… I… uh…” Superman’s words began to falter. His gaze darted anywhere but toward Bruce. Especially not when he had just crossed his legs, revealing the pale skin of his finely toned thighs in a way that was anything but subtle. The Man of Steel let out a strained sigh. “Would it be alright if we moved straight to the interview?”

Bruce gave an amused smile. Even under the worst torture, he would never admit how satisfying it was to torment Superman, who was far too uptight for his good. Of course, the superhero couldn’t just be one of the most attractive beings on Earth. He had to be adorable when he blushed like a child, too. 

God. Bruce could never get a break with him.

Luckily, all this provocative play was all part of Bruce’s plan. It wasn’t like he was pushing him to the limit, teasing him further into this little game of seduction, purely for his enjoyment. Not at all. 

“Well then, Superman,” he purred, emphasizing each letter of his name. "Let's do that, then."

His grey eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint as he leaned toward the kryptonian. With a subtle but calculated movement, his bathrobe parted slightly, revealing flawless ivory skin, perfectly covered by makeup. 

Bruce was aware of the power of his body. As a beautiful weapon, it was sculpted to perfection, an ideal mix of defined muscles and dangerous flexibility. Bruce didn’t hesitate to use it as a tool to destabilize his enemies by manipulating their most primal instincts. And even though he felt a bit rusty lately, he was willing to do anything to uncover the truth that the Man of Steel was hiding from him.

"But on one condition," he continued, his voice as soft as silk. "Don’t make me remind you to call me Bruce. I don’t like repeating myself. Makes me feel like an old nag and I hate that. Are we on the same page, Superman?”

Given how long the Kryptonian’s gaze lingered on his chest, Bruce figured he might not be the only one missing out on the pleasures of the flesh lately. Still, he decided it was time to end this little session of sweet torture. As he sat back, he tried not to think about Leslie’s last unsolicited advice on headaches. Sex might be great, but having a third cup of coffee was the wiser, safer choice right now.

Superman finally regained his composure, though the redness on his cheeks and ears remained. “Of course, Bruce, I... uh... sorry, I forgot what I was going to say…”

He took a big gulp of water, then looked at Bruce with a hesitant, almost shy expression. He nervously fiddled with his fingers, a habit Bruce had already noticed during their previous encounters. Then his gaze shifted to the green daffodil he had placed on the table, just beside him. As he was slowly relaxing, a smile full of genuine curiosity and wonder appeared on his face. “This is incredible. I was  sure daffodils were yellow. I’ve never seen a green one like this.”

He lifted his face toward his companion as if struck by a sudden realization. “Bruce, did you...”

“Where did you grow up, Superman?”

Superman blinked.

“I'm sorry?”

"Are you sure you have super hearing, Superman? I feel like I have to repeat myself a lot with you." This time, there was no trace of the usual playful warmth in Brucie’s smile. 

Superman shot him a dark look before replying in the same bitter, sharp tone "Maybe I don’t like repeating myself either, Bruce. In case your memory’s failing you from all those wild nights, I already answered that question last time."

"You’re not answering my question."

"I just did."

"Are you telling me a baby somehow grew up alone in the middle of the North Pole? What’s next? Are you going to say penguins fed you before you decided to wear your costume and save the planet?"

"There are no penguins at the North Pole," Superman retorted, disdain evident in every word, every tone. "You might want to check your biology books if you have one lying around somewhere."

He paused, his hands clenching again on the table, revealing just how agitated he was. Small cracks were beginning to form under the pressure of his raw power. Bruce wondered how much longer the table would hold up. How much longer he would hold up, considering his own skull might suffer the same fate when Superman discovered the truth. 

His headache was so intense that Bruce felt like he was using superhuman strength just to keep up with the conversation. To continue processing Superman’s words, studying his every expression while he tried to come up with an explanation that could stand up to Bruce’s scrutiny. 

"Of course, I didn’t grow up alone, Bruce." Superman was trying to calm his nerves, his breath shaky. "There’s a robot at the Fortress, his name’s Kelex. It’s a highly advanced Kryptonian robot with an AI superior to anything on Earth. It took care of me until I was able to become independent enough to explore the world on my own. To become Superman."

His eyes stubbornly refused to meet Bruce’s piercing, shadowed gaze. A silence fell between them, thick with tension and uncertainty. Despite his light attire, Bruce was starting to feel overheated.

"And this robot, Kelex… So, it’s him who raised you? Who took care of you all those years? Who gave you your name?"

Superman’s expression didn’t change. His face remained set in irritation, his body rigid under the flood of questions. What had started as an interview was quickly turning into something more like an interrogation. Yet, despite it all, he remained steadfast, unwavering in his posture, holding on to his truth like an unshakable conviction. 

And when he finally answered, his blue eyes couldn’t hide the bitterness any longer. That deep, lasting animosity toward Bruce, a feeling that not even intimate confessions in an ice palace or a breakfast in a floral sanctuary could ever overcome.

"Yes."

They stared at each other in silence, as if frozen in time. Then, after a minute that felt like an eternity, Bruce placed his warm, clammy hands over his face. The long laugh he let out afterward poisoned the peaceful calm of the greenhouse, tainting it with all his bitterness and disappointment.

When Bruce met the alien’s gaze again, torn between frustration and confusion, everything finally made sense in his mind.

Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change. And it wasn’t Superman’s fault.

It was entirely Bruce’s fault.

"Bruce, are you… are you alright? You look terribly pale." Concern was genuine on the Kryptonian's face, his voice truly compassionate. "I think you have a fever. Maybe we should call Alfred." He stood up from his chair, but Bruce grabbed his wrist, halting his steps.

How could Bruce have forgotten that hope, that feeling that seemed so appealing and harmless to ordinary people, was a thick, poisonous fog for a person like him? 

"What if I told you a story too, Superman? This time, it’s not a tale from space, thousands of light years away. It’s a story that takes place on Earth. Or more exactly in Kansas, 27 years ago."

Superman instantly went pale. 

"Bruce…"

For the first time, his voice was pleading. Despite that, Bruce’s expression remained impassive, detached from any emotion that might blind him again. He radiated an almost unreal sense of detachment, like soldiers who had made peace with themselves before facing certain death. A dark, fatalistic aura, contrasted with the vibrant colors surrounding Superman and Bruce, which served as the only backdrop for the unfolding story. "Unfortunately, I don’t have the same technology as the Fortress of Solitude, so I’ll have to rely on your imagination to follow my story."

Wayne’s eyes had never looked so sharp and resolute, despite the fever that weakened him with every passing minute. Yet he refused to give up, using the little strength he had left to keep the Kryptonian trapped. "Let’s imagine a shower of asteroids hitting the country and falling on Kansas. Let’s imagine that among the debris is a ship, small enough to go unnoticed on the radar. Let’s imagine that instead of the authorities, it’s a lovely couple from the Midwest who discovers this ship. A small ship for a small traveler. Perfect for a baby." 

A pause. His gazed remained locked on the Kryptonians, searching for any sign of a scarlet flash, a harbinger of destruction, in those azure orbs.

"And let’s imagine that this baby is raised by his new human parents, a couple without a history, honest and upright. Able to teach empathy to this child they love as their own. To give him a human heart, to instill values that will shape him as an individual. To use his cosmic powers to become the protector of the planet that took him in and gave him everything after he had lost everything."

The lump in Bruce's throat grew heavier with each word. He felt Superman’s muscles tensing painfully under his fingers, unable or unwilling to respond. Offering no clues as to what might come next. "Let’s imagine that this alien decides to protect this planet at all costs," Bruce continued, "so that what happened to his home planet will never happen again. Then one day, he decides to wear a suit and take on the role of a superhero with near-divine powers. Without anyone suspecting that he lives among a crowd of ordinary people, like any other person." 

He couldn’t escape the irritable heat spreading through the Kryptonian’s body, in contrast with the unusual coldness of his gaze. Habitually, Bruce would have felt a legitimate terror at the thought of pushing such a powerful creature like Superman to his limits. But strangely, it was when he was unarmed and cornered, sick and unable to defend himself, that Bruce felt capable of anything. 

For the first time in far too long, he felt consumed by an overwhelming sense of power—irrational, dangerous, yet so intoxicating.

"Maybe he’s a civil servant, a police officer, or an IT guy. Someone who takes the subway every morning and eats pizza on Saturday night while watching the latest TV show. "Probably less marketable and glamorous than the story of an alien cut off from the world and living in the middle of an ice fortress with a super robot, but..." He offered a smile that wasn’t joyful or even satisfied, even though he had just struck a devastating blow to Superman.

As the fog of lies and deception finally lifted, Bruce expected to emerge as a triumphant victor. But all he felt was a bitter, sorrowful aftertaste. 

He lifted his eyes to the Kryptonian, now a hazy blue, as he concluded in a final whisper that squeezed his chest. "... I much prefer this story. Don’t you, Superman?"

He finally released the Kryptonian's wrist. Without a word or a glance, Superman immediately used his superspeed to scan every inch of his costume, exploring every part of his body in search of answers to his questions. 

It was his cape that finally provided the answer. Or rather, what he found hidden in a fold, insidious and almost invisible. The small tracker device was immediately crushed in his hand, in front of Bruce’s unwavering gaze. His calmness and relative coldness only served to fuel the righteous fury within the Man of Steel.

"You had no right to do that," he growled between clenched teeth, still struggling to keep himself under control despite the storm raging inside him. But Bruce wasn’t fooled. The kryptonian's hands were clenched to the limit. And a ominous red glow was slowly starting to eclipse the usually soft blue of his eyes.

"And you had no right to lie to me according to the rules of our deal," Bruce replied firmly, no trace of fear in sight. "Or rather, according to YOUR rules and YOUR deal, the one that you imposed on me in case you have forgotten. You could at least have had the decency to respect it, to respect me, considering that I’m doing you a favor. Last time I checked, I never asked you for anything."

 "Because I didn’t reveal to you that I have a secret identity? I didn’t lie to you!"

Bruce sighed with an air of arrogance, determined not to be the one to show patience or diplomacy. He’d already done enough of that. 

"That’s called a lie of omission, Superman. I’m sure you’re smart enough to get how it's still different from telling the truth, right?" The air around him felt harsh, and painful with every breath. The pain that started in his head was beginning to spread through the rest of his body. "And if you don’t get it, maybe you can explain to me how Batman is supposed to trust you when you lied about the very first question asked?"

Superman snorted with contempt. "You’re a hypocrite, Bruce. Don’t talk about Batman like you care about his interests. You and I both know how far you’ll go to get what you want. You don’t give a damn about Batman, or anyone else for that matter."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bruce asked, impatient, tired of dealing with the moods of an alien who couldn’t separate his feelings from the professional neutrality needed for any possible partnership with the Dark Knight. Superman might be one of the most remarkable beings Bruce had ever met, but his emotional immaturity was starting to get on his nerves. What a waste. "Sorry to say this, but I don’t have time to deal with your stupid jealousy and pettiness. I already have enough children to manage, I certainly don’t need another one."

He stood up, determined to leave before things got any worse. It was already bad enough that the alien had managed to push his buttons and nearly compromised his identity as Brucie for good. It was time to head to the Batcave and figure out what to do next. The mention of his children reminded him that he could no longer afford to put himself in unnecessary danger. 

Unfortunately, Superman didn’t share the same opinion. It only took a single finger pressed against his chest to push Bruce back into his chair, forcing him to listen while his voice grew louder, brimming with anger.

"Don’t try to change the subject, Bruce! I see right through your game! Every time, you play the insufferable rich guy to push me to the edge and make me quit, but it won’t work with me! Because unlike you, I have a real purpose, a real motivation in my life! And people who depend on me!"

Indignation swept over Bruce. It was too early in the morning for this alien bullshit. 

"I won't let you talk to me like that, do you hear me?" He roared, his voice becoming more and more like Batman’s. He too had reached the end of his rope. "Now you’re going to take your finger off me and step back, before I…"

“Whatever tone I use won’t change the fact that you’re a selfish hypocrite, Bruce. You, of all people—the one closest to Batman—how can you act like you don’t understand the need for me to protect my true identity? The sacrifices I have to make to keep my loved ones safe, juggling truths and lies? Does that make me a liar, or someone who has to put the well-being of others—of my family—above my considerations?” An intense emotion mixed with his anger amplified the weight of each word, which hit a little too close to Bruce’s heart.  

Of course, he understood. He was probably the best person to understand the meaning behind those words, the burden of those words. It was yet another shared truth between him and Superman. Because of who they were, their love for others was inherently tied to a life of endless solitude and lies.

Bruce understood it all too well. But blinded by his anger and emotions that seemed to have been repressed for far too long, Superman would never see it.

Not when he was looking at him like he was the lowest of the scum. Like a true enemy. 

“You stay away from my family, do you hear me, Bruce? You can use all the gadgets Batman has, but that won’t stop me from taking you down.”

Bruce believed him. He saw how Superman was doing everything he could to hit him back after this breach of privacy, caught in a storm of betrayal, resentment, and impulse. How he was throwing out every line he could think of, desperately searching for the one sentence that could inflict the same level of pain he was feeling. 

The perfect blow to destroy Bruce, once and for all. Bruce was aware of that.“That was never my intention.” Still, he was still trying to explain himself. Superman had to listen to him. He had to understand him. “ I swear to you, I didn’t digg deeper. I don’t even know who they—”

“How could I ever believe someone like you?” Superman spat, cruel and relentless. “I don’t even understand why I’m wasting my time explaining this. You wouldn’t get it, would you? You couldn’t even protect your own family!”

A miserable silence fell between them.

It was as if all the colors had drained from the world, transforming the space into a lifeless, hopeless tomb.

Superman’s eyes widened the moment the words left his mouth.

His face twisted into a grimace of horror, making it painfully clear he’d finally come to his senses.  As if the stormy, hurtful behavior he’d just exhibited had been nothing but a distant dream, an illusion. As if he could somehow go back and erase the last few minutes of his existence. Back to the moment when they were still just sharing breakfast, clinging to the fragile illusion of some common ground despite everything that separated them.

But that was impossible now. The icy look Bruce gave him—standing there, trembling with unspeakable fury—was proof enough. 

It was all over. 

“Leave,” Wayne murmured. His voice was barely audible over the erratic sound of his heartbeat. 

“Bruce, I’m so sorry,” the Kryptonian stammered, trembling now for a completely different reason. Shame. Sadness. Regret. Emotions that no longer reached Bruce. “I didn’t mean to say that, I… My God…” He stepped toward Bruce, but he immediately backed away, his face expressionless and his heart impenetrable. 

“Bruce, please—”

“I’m asking you to leave, Superman. Before I make you.”

It wasn’t Brucie or even Bruce who stood before him now. It was Batman, in all his terrible, absolute glory.

And not even Superman could stand against him. 

The Kryptonian stood frozen, confusion and shock etched across his face. At that moment, he looked painfully young and lost. His voice was almost timid as if dreading the answer to the dangerous question lingering in the air between them.

“Bruce… Who are...”

“NOW!”

Superman stepped back hurriedly, completely disoriented, his face pale. He lowered his arm, which had been half-reaching toward Bruce, in a desperate gesture of appeasement. Then, after one last heartbreaking look filled with sorrow, he disappeared in a blur of red and blue.

Bruce tilted his head back, staring through the greenhouse’s glass windows. He watched Superman race into the clouds that had darkened a sky that had been sunny just an hour before. It wasn't until the alien had completely disappeared from his view that Bruce finally let his body collapse.  

He sank to the ground, the vivid colors of the flowers blurring through his damp lashes, swallowed by the darkness that promised sweet oblivion. 

----