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Clark was always Dick's favorite. A smiley, cheerful child with wavy hair that clambered over Clark's shoulders and yelled, "It's Superman! You're Superman! Hi!"
Dick had met Clark when Lois popped over to Gotham to do an exposé on Wayne Enterprises. "Hi, I'm Lois's editor, and her husband. My name's Clark," Clark grinned at the energetic child.
"Hi! I'm Dick," Dick had announced, "I like your teeth, they look like they belong in a commercial!"
He then performed a triple backflip handspring and bounded off, leaving Lois to cackle and Bruce to hide a smirk behind his airheaded guise. Dick didn't learn Superman and Clark Kent were the same till he was 15. The reaction had been incredible.
Jason had always preferred Diana. He had stared up at Clark and huffed, "You're cool, I guess, but you're not Wonder Woman. I bet she could whoop your ass."
Diana preened as she approached and agreed, "I suppose that I have done so before."
Jason had gone bright red and breathed, "OhmyGod, you're Wonder Woman! B, B, that's Wonder Woman! That's Wonder Woman!"
Diana was not a vain woman but to have such a cute little fan marvelling over her and exclaiming, "I want muscles as big as yours'! You kick so much butt, can you show me how to use a sword, Miss Wonder Woman?"
Yeah, Clark didn't mind at all. But he guesses he grew on Jason because Jason marched right up to Clark and shoved Superman cookies into his hands on Clark's birthday. Then, he met Jason as Clark when Lois was invited as the only person trusted to interview the growing Wayne family and Jason stared right at him and asked, "Did you grow up on a farm."
Clark nodded and Jason said, "Yeah, I could tell. Do you say 'y'all' a lot?"
Jason learned that Clark was Superman on his fifteenth birthday. Jason asked, "How many cows can you carry?"
Jason died a few months later. He never got to see Clark balance all the cows on the Kent farm on his shoulders. Diana mourned Jason with all the sadness of a sister losing a brother. And Bruce mourned with all the raging, aching grief of a parent who lost their child. A raw, screaming grief that spilled blood and tears. Clark was preparing to lose his best friend. To murdering or being murdered. Bruce was wanting to join his boy in the afterlife, hopefully Heaven if there was one in this existence. Jason deserved Heaven. Then, Bruce...changed? He was still angry, still sad, still mourning because a parent will never stop mourning their lost child. But he was restrained, in a way. Becoming more careful. He was being put in check. Was it Alfred? Was it Dick? Was it something else?
Bruce had a new Robin. This Robin was small, very small. He was not olive skinned, lanky limbed, wavy haired Dick. He was not big-shoulders-big-hands-big-feet, curly haired, golden skinned Jason. This was a compact, narrow, wirey little slip of a boy, with straight hair (it was also black like his two predecessors'), who was pale and silent as a ghost. He was not energetic like Dick. He was not exuberant like Jason. He tilted his head and Clark had the distinct feeling of being dissected. His suit was padded and armored all around the chest and shoulders and legs, with boots that had lifts in them, and this one had pants and a bo staff. That was different. This little Robin stood at attention, not relaxed and languid, not comfortable under the hand of a loving father. This was a little soldier boy, a nameless recruit with all the presence of a phantom. "Hello," Clark greeted the pale shadow, "I'm Superman."
Little Robin's masked eyes fixed themselves on Clark's face and with a voice bare of emotion or accent or inflection, hummed, "I know, Mr. Kent. I do watch the news."
Bruce's head snapped to Robin's. "How did you know," Bruce demanded.
"I have known for years, Batman. You are not the only identity that I know, and you will not be the last. I also know Mr. Allen, Mr. West, Mr. Queen, Ms. Prince," Robin reported blandly, "None of you are all that good at hiding it."
Bruce sighed heavily. Robin stayed still. He was like a little statue, cold and unmoving. "How long did it take you to figure it out," Bruce grumbled.
His answer shocked Clark. "Mr. Kent, I figured out a few weeks after your's. Then, the dominos fell and I knew them all before my tenth birthday," Robin shrugged, "It is hardly a feat, Batman."
Clark would like to object. "Um, what is your name," Clark chuckled nervously.
"Robin," Robin deadpanned, "I am Robin in the mask. There is a very small likelihood that we will ever cross paths and you knowing simply for the sake of knowing is a risk. Thank you."
Clark felt distinctly like he had whiplash. Robin shook his hand stiffly, and turned on his heel to march off. Clark was left with a pristine photograph in his hand of Clark Kent with the Superman suit poking out the top of his shirt.
"Clark, I love you very much, but you are being a goob," Lois chuckled.
"Lois, Bruce's new Robin is the scariest child I have ever met," Clark insisted.
"And you are publicly friendly with good ol' Brucie," Lois teased, "That's why you get put on Gala Duty. Have fun, Smallville."
Clark was one of the few reporters allowed to attend any Wayne event. He genuinely got a kick out of seeing the stone-faced, hyperfocused Batman act like a gigglemonster as Brucie. But his nerves were on edge, even when Dick leapt forward to greet him. "Mister," a soft, posh voice accented with Bruce's Upper Gotham inflection interjected, "Mister, your shoe laces are undone."
There was an itty bitty little boy in fancy clothes tugging on his coat, staring up with glacier blue eyes. Clark jumped and looked down at his shoes. "Oh," Clark laughed sheepishly, "Thank you! I almost had a little accident there, huh? You sure are helpful."
The child blushed and nibbled on a cheese cube on a toothpick. " 'M sorry for bothering you, Mister, I just didn't want you to trip," the boy mumbled.
He was sweet, and practically the size of a boot. If she saw him, Ma would bake this kid a whole pie and put him down for a nap in the hay like she used to do with Clark when he was little. "No, no, you ain't botherin' me at all," Clark assured, "You were a big help."
The boy beamed shyly and finished off his cheese cube. "Have fun, Mr. Kent," the boy said, and disappeared into the gush of the crowd.
Clark thought nothing of it. He was wearing a name tag on his lanyard after all with his press pass. He found a photograph of Kon-El in his back pocket later that night when he was home. He never noticed anything. That scared him most of all.
The little Robin was sneakier than his predecessors. He could sidle up to Clark's side fast and silent and scare the heebie jeebies outta Clark. He had a stilted, toneless voice and the one time Clark had touched his bare hand, his skin was ice cold, the almost frail frame of his pale little hand stark against Clark's calloused, sun-beaten skin. He was stone and iron and ice, like Gotham itself. J'onn once mentioned, "His mind is one I do not wish to venture into. I do prefer to not be plagued by endless Rick Rolls and forensic analyses of flayed, decapitated bodies."
There were few times he ever saw or heard warmth in the little Robin. When he once observed the Young Justice team over the cameras in the old Mt. Justice hideout, planted by Batman strategically. "Dodge-this-Rob," Impulse called out as Arrowette released blunt ended arrows, one after the other.
Robin danced between them, a grin spread across his face. He caught the last arrow between his feet in a backflip-handstand and preened, "Nightwing taught me that one!"
Everyone loved Nightwing, so this earned him dazzled, admiring cheers. He had never seen any of these kids so happy. It left him floored.
Then there was the time he had decided to check on their camp out. "Alright," Wonder Girl directed, "Repeat after me: we deserved better."
"We deserved better."
"We deserved better!"
"WE DESERVED BETTER!"
"WE DESERVE BETTER!"
They all let out furious screams that transformed into high pitched shrieks of laughter as they all proclaimed, "We have each other, that is better!"
They were the reject sidekicks, sort of. Misfits, for a better term. People could not be alone, and underneath the superpowers and masks and such, weren't all those kids people who didn't want to be alone? So maybe he would never know this Robin like Dick and Jason. So maybe he would never exactly consider Kon-El his child. But they were people. And they were not alone. Clark could find it in himself to be content with that.