Chapter Text
Bruce threw a duffle bag onto his bed, not sure where to start.
Last night, Clark had marched into the batcave and more-or-less ordered Bruce to take a break. He had been working overtime lately, but it was nothing energy drinks and concealer couldn’t fix.
(Clark, unsurprisingly, hadn’t agreed.)
Somehow the “mandatory day off” order turned into an invitation to his parents house, and somehow Bruce had agreed to it.
Clark’s persuasion had always been a bit of a weak point for Bruce’s normally airtight logic.
He sighed at the luggage like it had personally wronged him.
What was he even supposed to pack? They’d discussed no details. Clark had flown off as soon as his invitation was accepted like he was trying to make sure Bruce didn’t have a chance to take it back. (As if they didn’t both have their text thread pinned).
A suit didn’t seem necessary, so that ruled out half of his wardrobe. What would look normal there? He tried to think through what he’d seen Clark wear out of uniform.
A lot of denim.
A lot of plaid.
The occasional t-shirt with a hole in the armpit.
Bruce walked past the long racks of luxe European pieces, headed for the back wall of his walk-in closet where he kept his more casual items. He would miss the finery of Italian craftsmanship for a few days, but he’d certainly endured worse. (Kevlar, after all, was not known to be comfortable.)
After ten minutes of deep consideration that Bruce would never admit to, he opted for a few of his least expensive pairs of jeans and some solid-color shirts. Hiking boots were the closest thing he had to a non-bat-branded work shoe, so he grabbed his pair along with some sneakers.
This whole affair wasn’t meant to be stressful, but peace of mind was a lost cause. He was supposed to meet Clark’s Parents. In Clark’s Hometown. With Clark. The one thing capable of breaking his composure.
He assumed they’d be flying to Kansas, so he sorted the clothes, shoes, and toiletries into packing cubes and secured the lot into his travel bag with as many straps as possible (the last thing he wanted was to have to explain how his undergarments were found reaching terminal velocity over someone’s Indiana garden.)
“Perhaps you’d like a zip-tie, Master Bruce? Maybe some bungee cords and a ratchet strap while you’re at it?” Alfred caught him tightening the third strap across the duffel.
“Flying isn’t my preferred method of transportation.”
“Have you suggested other means of travel?”
“There’s not an air strip for the jet within five towns, and I’d hate for his parents to have to drive that far out to get us.” Bruce had thought about it, and didn’t want to encroach on their hospitality even more than he already was by lurking in their house for a whole weekend.
“I see. Are you otherwise quite prepared?” Alfred raised an eyebrow like he was looking for a specific answer.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? Nothing you’d like to… let’s see… get off your chest before you leave?” Alfred’s left eyebrow seemed to have taken up recreational hiking with the heights it was reaching on his forehead.
“No, nothing that I can think of.” Bruce smiled tightly at him. There was no point humiliating himself by admitting his affections to Alfred when he’d clearly figured it out himself already.
“Well you know where to find me, Master Bruce.”
-
Alfred had to answer the door when Clark got to Wayne Manor.
“What do you mean he’s here?” Bruce had been waiting in the Batcave for him to arrive.
“He came to the front door. Now chop chop, I know how much you’d hate to keep him waiting.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“Oh, dear. I suppose you’ll have to fire me, then.” Alfred deadpanned.
Bruce just rolled his eyes.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Clark, I expected you to zeta.” Bruce said, rushing into the entry hall.
“Zetas are for business.” Clark smiled. Bruce shifted from confusion to amusement to affection at the statement, a common progression of his Clark-related thoughts.
They agreed to talk logistics before leaving, and Clark followed Bruce into the front parlor.
“Would you like some coffee or tea, Mister Kent?” Alfred materialized to ask.
It was unendingly hilarious to Bruce the way that Alfred always made Clark jump. He’d confessed once that while he understood why the rest of Bruce’s family walked quietly, he didn’t get why the butler was stealth-trained.
“Coffee sounds great, thank you Alfred.” Clark replied, steadying his breathing.
“You’re addicted, honestly.” Bruce ribbed.
“I’ll be sure to bring you some as well, Master Bruce. Especially considering you’ve only had three so far and it’s already half nine.” Alfred deadpanned.
Clark laughed, and he saw Alfred quirk a smile as he left the room to fulfill their requests.
“So what’s on the docket?” Bruce asked.
“Well, it’s actually a great time for you to come to Smallville. We can’t squeeze everything in, especially not when it’s rodeo weekend, and we’d probably have to go back a little later in the season to go apple picking if that’s something you’re interested in-”
“I’m sure whatever you have planned is fine.” The reality of the weekend was slowly sinking in. The more Clark excitedly gesticulated about the ins and outs of small town life, the deeper into despair Bruce silently fell.
Alfred returned with the coffee and with him returned his commentary, fixing Bruce with a look for his subpar response to the itinerary. Thank god he was like this with everyone or he’d be making himself the world’s most obvious wingman.
“I believe he means that whatever you have planned is perfect, and he is thrilled to be included in it.”
Conversation continued. Bruce thought corn mazes, hay rides, county fairs, and apple picking were activities that only existed in Hallmark movies, but Clark seemed thrilled to prove otherwise. (Much to the chagrin of Bruce’s quickly dwindling sanity).
“We still won’t have time for hardly any of it, honestly.” He repeated.
“I’m sure it’ll be great.” Bruce said, casting a sideways glance at Alfred to see him nodding with approval this time.
Clark was adorable. He was waving his hands all over the place talking about their itinerary, and his smile was so wide. The flannel he was wearing looked so soft, and Bruce wanted to reach out and touch it. Maybe do up one more button to preserve his sanity a little longer.
As much as he could listen to a happy Clark talk for hours, though, he did have some more pressing questions about the trip.
“So… who am I to your parents?”
Clark blanched at the question, so Bruce (embarrassedly) further clarified.
“Have you told them I’m Batman?” The clarification seemed to put Clark at ease, though it hurt Bruce’s heart.
“Of course not, that’s not my business to go handing out.” The definiteness made Bruce chuckle. Of course he wouldn’t have told them.
“Then how do you plan to explain how we know each other?”
“To be completely honest, Bruce, they might not know who you are. But if they manage to recognize you from a paper or something, we can say we met at a function you were attending and I was reporting at, and we hit it off.”
Huh. Call him selfish, but it hadn’t occurred to Bruce that his presence wouldn’t carry the same weight out there.
“That works for me.” Bruce agreed. “I think we should add another layer for security, though. How about we volunteer at the same nonprofit? It’s close enough to the truth that you shouldn’t slip up.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t slip.” Clark rolled his eyes, but agreed easily.
“Obviously my parents know that I’m Superman,” Clark continued, “but I think it would be hard to explain why you know that I’m Superman without exposing your own identity, so maybe we should act like you don’t know?”
“Wait… so we’re not flying?”
And that’s how Bruce found himself realizing how utterly fucked he was.
Clark led him outside to the most Clark truck imaginable.
“It’s an ‘85” He said proudly as they walked towards the Chevy, “Pa and I do most of the work on it ourselves.”
It looked old, but very well taken care of. It was two-toned, off-white with a red stripe through the middle, and clean like Clark had just washed it. It had a half cab and a full bed if Bruce knew what he was talking about (which, for once, he didn’t really. He just knew there was only one row of seats and the rest of it looked big.)
Seeing Clark with his too-unbuttoned-button-up and too-tight-jeans walking towards the truck with such a big smile on his face, looking every part like he was ready to pose for a pinup shoot with it, sent a warmth through Bruce like his whole body was blushing without his permission.
It was amazing that even after being infatuated with this man for so long, Bruce’s ridiculous mind was still finding ways to conjure new fantasies about him.
“Do you want your bag on the floorboard by you, or in the bed? I promise I won’t let it fly out.” Clark smiled, shaking Bruce from his shame.
“Then the bed is fine- oh.”
Before he could figure out what was happening, Clark had loaded his bag for him, and was holding the passenger door open.
“Thanks.” That full-body blush from earlier was frustratingly not subsiding, and Bruce resigned himself to a very long weekend as he climbed up into the truck
He silently made a pact with himself to do everything in his power to keep this from turning into the biggest mistake of his life.
-
Clark didn’t know what he was thinking.
He cared about Bruce, sure, more than he’d been able to admit to anyone, but this wasn’t the order you were supposed to do things in.
Now he had a city boy sitting pretty in the bench seat of his truck on the way to meet his Ma and Pa when he hadn’t even gotten up the nerve to ask him out yet.
But Clark wanted to show Bruce his hometown so bad. Wanted to drive him by his school, show him his childhood bedroom, take him to the county fair.
But not like this.
He honestly had no idea what possessed him in the moment to extend the offer in the first place. He had less of a clue what possessed Bruce to say yes, but it was too late to turn back now.
So here they were. Despite Clark’s hard work to keep the truck in good shape, the AC didn’t work too good, so he had the windows down for better circulation. A chanced look over at Bruce seemed to show that he was enjoying the fresh air.
He was bouncing around all over the place, dirt roads and old suspension will do that to you, but the ghost of a smile was lighting up his eyes.
Gods above, Clark was whipped.
The next few hours consisted of slapping each other's hands away from the radio when either managed to find a song that they liked and attempting to talk over the sounds of the wind, before giving up on the basis of only Clark being able to hear.
Eventually the farms gave way to Main Street, and they had officially entered Smallville proper. There weren’t many storefronts Bruce would recognize, the only national chains that ever bothered to build out here were the dollar store and the gas station, but the street was full of historic buildings housing mom-and-pop shops that Clark fully intended to drag Bruce through.
“Probably about five minutes out,” Clark shouted to Bruce over the sound of the engine and the wind through the windows, “our place isn’t far from downtown.”
Clark thought Bruce chuckled at the one street being “downtown,” but it could have been more wind.
They trundled up the long driveway to the Kent family homestead and it occurred to Clark just how long it had been since he’d brought somebody home to Ma and Pa.
Lois comes around sometimes, less since they decided they were better off as friends, though, and before her there’d been nobody since college.
The realization was… weighted to Clark. Charged. He just hoped he wouldn’t end up projecting too hard on Bruce what all this means to him, he’d hate to make the other man uncomfortable.
Ma and Pa were standing at the end of the driveway waving by the open garage as Clark pulled up in his truck, kicking up dust. He pulled into the carport adjacent to the garage (there’s never room in there for him with all Pa’s knick knacks and car parts), and cranked the windows back up to leave.
“Ready?” He asked Bruce.
Oddly enough he looked nervous and rushed to comb his windblown hair down with his hands, but he nodded.
“Don’t worry,” Clark tried, “they don't bite.”
The two exited the truck in unison, and Clark ran to hug his Ma.
“So good to see you honey,” she squeezed him tight.
“This is my friend Bruce, he needed some time away from work and the city and I figured there’s no better place.”
“Thank you for having me Mr. and Mrs. Kent.” Bruce smiled that magazine-cover smile of his, and Ma swooned.
“Of course, any friend of Clark’s is always welcome. Come on in, dinner’s cooking.”
Bruce was stressed.
Clark could tell. He could hear his heart rate spike every time Ma addressed him directly, could smell the way his palms were sweating, watched as he kept wiping them off on his jeans in a way he clearly intended to be subtle.
It was messing with his head, seeing Bruce like this.
Bruce was playing the part of the bashful boyfriend like he’d damn well rehearsed it, which wasn’t helping stifle his delusions of bringing Bruce home to his parents under more favorable circumstances.
Clark knew why he was nervous, but why was Bruce?
He couldn’t deny a creeping worry that he’d miscalculated by bringing Bruce here. If the change of scenery and distance from his home were going to cause him so much distress, this wasn’t so much of a restful vacation, was it? But Clark had more faith.
He wasn’t one to doubt the healing powers of fresh country air, plus he had a working theory for another reason Bruce could be nervous…
“I’d ask you about your work, Bruce, but I understand that’s what you’re here to run from,” Ma asked Bruce over chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cream corn, “so what do you like to do for fun?”
Clark heard the jump in his heart rate that he expected, but Bruce got it under control more quickly this time, used to dodging the same question.
“I like cars, mostly. I know that’s not very interesting.” He laughed nervously, a sound entirely foreign to Clark coming from Batman’s mouth.
“You ever work on them yourself?” Pa, mostly quiet up to this point asked.
This was the scariest part, in Clark’s (admittedly limited) experience bringing people home. (Which, Clark could slam his head against the wall if it wouldn’t draw everyone’s attention, wasn’t what was happening here.) Pa’s approval could be a frustratingly finite resource.
“Yes, I do any work myself that I can. No one will ever give your stuff the attention to detail that you will, because they won’t have to drive it after.”
“Yes. Yes, exactly.” Pa nodded, cracking a smile.
Clark could cry.
He knew the drill when it came to having guests over. The house wasn’t big enough for a spare bedroom, so anyone visiting stayed in Clark’s room and he set up a cot in the computer room. When dinner ended and the washing up was done, Clark realized that meant Bruce was about to see his childhood bedroom.
The room had changed a bit in the decades since Clark’s departure for Metropolis; a bigger bed for when married relatives came through and such, but it was still clearly Clark’s room. Which had him feeling a bit embarrassed as he led Bruce up the narrow wooden stairs towards it.
His old 4-H awards were still all over the room, as were drawings made by school friends and pictures from four years of homecomings.
“You’ll be staying in my old room.” Clark said, dropping him off at the door and not knowing what else to say.
Bruce surveyed the room from the doorframe, scanning it like Clark had seen him do a million times on missions. Whether he was looking for escape routes or curious about the photos with Lana back in high school Clark would likely never know.
It was different than when Lois stayed here for the first time (obvious reasons notwithstanding.) They were inquisitive people in highly different ways; Lois jumping right in with burning questions of anything she could see or find, Bruce silent like he was cataloging everything away for future questioning.
“It’s nice.” Bruce said. It didn’t seem to be a lie, but Clark wanted to know what else he was thinking. It was so hard to get in his head sometimes.
“Thanks,” Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’ll be next door if you need anything. You can always wake me up. Oh! And you’re welcome to anything in the kitchen.” As nervous as he was, Ma would never forgive him for a lack of hospitality.
“Good to know.” Bruce seemed overwhelmed, slowly stepping back into the room.
“Goodnight?”
“Goodnight, Clark.”
It was awkward.