Chapter Text
“No,” Batman says, before the suggestion is even fully out of Diana’s mouth.
“I only think—”
“No.” More firmly this time. There’s a hidden note in his voice, a worry that untrained ears don’t know to listen for. But Clark can tell, because he can always tell.
Bruce is the last remaining masked member of the Justice League. Clark knows who he is, of course, but even Diana hasn’t tried to find out. It’s an unspoken rule; anyone who doesn’t want to be known, won’t be. Which, usually, Clark’s fine with. He can keep Bruce’s secret until he feels ready, until he thinks he has enough contingencies, until he feels it’s important enough to share.
But today, on a day when Bruce already clearly has a headache and everything is going awry, Clark wonders what exactly he’s hiding from. Especially because Wonder Woman is currently suggesting they extend a tentative invitation to ‘some superhero’ called Nightwing.
Nightwing. Dick. Bruce’s son. But nobody knows that, except Clark, and he certainly won’t say anything.
“I think it’s a good suggestion! He’s fast, well-trained. And he’s saved a lot of people.” Barry’s interruption is one-hundred percent true, but Clark can tell Bruce is about five seconds away from punching something.
“He’s a vigilante,” Clark tries, desperate for any reason why he wouldn’t want someone so competent in the league. But John waves him off.
“Who isn’t?”
“He’s never killed anyone,” Barry refutes, “and my nephew speaks highly of him.”
Wally. Of course, Wally knows Nightwing’s secret identity, and Bruce’s. He’ll never say a word about it—despite his age and youthful demeanor, the kid knows how to keep a secret. Even from his uncle Flash.
“We should take a vote.”
Clark looks sheepishly at Bruce, as though trying to peer through his cowl and ask his real opinion of this. Superman could speed around the world twice before the conversation was even close to over, but he can’t come up with a sufficient answer to get out of voting in support.
“We…We don’t know him well enough,” he tries at last, when neither his nor Batman’s hands go up, in stark contrast to everyone else at the table.
“Batman?” Diana turns to him, ignoring Superman completely. “He operates in the city beside you—your honest thoughts?” Bruce seems to swallow a sigh.
“He’s a good kid.”
It’s pretty much settled after that. Coming from Batman, about someone he supposedly doesn’t know? This is basically a glowing recommendation.
Flash and Wonder Woman agree to be the ones to deliver the news, and Bruce gets the call seconds after he and Clark step into the mansion. Clark pulls off his shoes at the door, something both Alfred and Bruce insist isn’t necessary, but it’s a habit he can’t seem to quit.
“B—your friends are crazy,” comes Dick’s excited voice through the phone. Bruce puts the phone on speaker as he follows Clark’s habit with a roll of his eyes.
“You’re telling me,” Bruce responds at last.
“You…you really want me to join?” The question comes after a second too long of silence, and Clark catches the hesitation in his voice. He watches Bruce’s eyes soften, searching the wall for answers. Clark wraps an easy arm around him. This is…well. This is his kid. Not that they say so very often. Clark knows Bruce used to be more confident of his place in his son’s life. Back when Dick was just a dorky kid in bright colors, begging for ice cream, and Bruce was still young enough to carry the young teenager on his shoulders. But since Dick’s move across the bridge, Bruce rarely says the sentiment ‘my son’ out loud. Mostly, when Clark hears him say it, it doesn’t even seem to register to Bruce that it’s slipped from his lips.
“It can be dangerous,” Bruce warns, dodging the question. They hear a familiar, sarcastic scoff over the phone.
“Everyday is dangerous, when you’re us.” Bruce nods, even though Dick can’t see him. “Do you want me there?”
Clark barely hears that last word. It’s only Do you want me? A question from son to father.
And Bruce’s answer will always and forever be:
“Of course, chum.”
If he listens very hard, Clark can hear the corners of Dick’s mouth tilt up in his familiar grin, even all those miles away.
“And what about you, Supes?” Bruce hadn’t explicitly said Clark was with him, but, well, when is he not? Clark laughs.
“I’ve been pushing for you the whole time!” He swears.
“Liar!” Bruce chastises, probably remembering their meeting.
“Oh, be nice to him, B, or he’ll find someone who knows how to smile!” Dick scolds over the phone. Clark laughs again, and eventually Dick admits he has to go. Usually, upon hanging up the phone with one of his far-away kids, Bruce has this somber look on his face that he tries to hide behind his usual wall of nothingness. Today, Bruce turns to him, a small, hopeful smile on his face.
“Excited?” Clark asks.
“He’s coming tomorrow,” Bruce says, which isn’t really an answer.
“Oh, he’ll be around a lot more after that,” Clark reminds him, and is rewarded with his boyfriend’s soft, secret smile growing even more.
When Nightwing joins the Justice League, there is a very different feeling in the air, especially in comparison to their early days, when it was just Clark and Bruce and a hopeful idea. (Most of the hope was on Clark’s side. Bruce said his negativity was “being realistic.”)
Dick has never taken to Batman’s unyielding glares. He usually refuses to wear fear on him—not the way Bruce does, not until absolutely necessary (and then, it's terrifying.) In fact, when they all officially meet as a team in the field for the very first time, the kid is practically doing cartwheels.
It wasn’t the original plan, having the new recruit hop directly into action. But Nightwing was on his way when they were attacked, and he’s never been one to sit on the sidelines.
Grodd had escaped again. Usually, Flash could take care of business, but the gorilla had already taken hostages, and seems bent on using innocent civilians as his shield. So the Justice League stepped in, and suddenly there was Nightwing, standing at Bruce’s left, punching the thing square in the face before backflipping away.
“You’re early,” Bruce says, in lieu of a greeting. Nightwing smiles, something that’s always come so easy to him.
“Well, I heard you losing all the way from Blüdhaven,” he teases. No-one but Clark and maybe Wing can tell, but Bruce rolls his eyes.
The fight is an easy one, save for the fact that Batman’s focus is split between the battle and Dick. It’s been a while since they’ve fought side by side. Not too terribly long, really, but long enough that Bruce keeps checking on him.
“Stop that.” Nightwing had waited until the fight was over, until he and Bruce were out of earshot of everyone—except Superman, of course. Clark looks in their direction in time to see Dick cross his arms, glaring at his dad. A moment of regard passes between them.
“Good form,” Bruce says quietly, just before the others arrive at their side. Dick’s defensive position drops.
“Nightwing!” Flash greets, reaching out a hand to shake. Wing smiles, greets everyone loudly and with unabashed charm. He’d already met most of them, of course, but only ever as Robin. Clark joins them, seemingly the only one to know all three versions of Dick. He laughs as they reintroduce themselves, and says his own name, Nightwing, as though it’s a sort of secret joke. Which Clark supposed it is.
“Say, how about we move this party up to the tower?” John suggests, and everyone agrees. The switch is quick, and Bruce, Clark, and Dick ignore everyone’s surprise when Nightwing’s name is already programmed into the system—no guest pass needed.
In fact, Dick doesn’t even bother to pretend he hadn’t been here before. He practically leads the way, stopping in the kitchen without pretense, for a snack. Wonder Woman shows her concerns on her face plainly, brows raised, and Clark and Bruce privately share an annoyed look. He’s not being very careful about keeping the secret.
But, to be fair, Dick was up here before almost any other member. He helped make the original plans for the damn thing, and arrived with Clark for the very first tour, post completion. He was the one who’d come up with secret drawers for snacks or weapons, secret hallways between rooms for better access in case of an emergency. Dick probably knows this place better than half the league.
But only Superman knows why.
“So,” Wing says, popping another chip into his mouth—which he’d retrieved from a compartment that he was not supposed to know about—“that was a good start.”
Bruce crosses his arms. Dick finishes chewing his food before speaking again.
“Thanks, for inviting me. We’re gonna have a blast.”
There’s a little more small talk, then Diana and John are put in charge of showing Wing around—something unnecessary, though that fact goes uncorrected. Dick bounces on the balls of his feet excitedly, asking questions occasionally, and Clark realizes it’s about updates or renovations he hadn’t gotten a chance to see in person since he moved away.
Bruce doesn’t even seem aware he’s smiling until Clark points it out quietly, the room having emptied out. Bruce only grunts in return.
“Oh, c’mon B, you can’t fool me,” he says. Bruce sighs. Clark waits him out. He’s good at that.
“I’m glad he’ll be around more,” he answers at last. “Blüdhaven is…far.”
Clark nods.
“Yeah. I’ve missed the kid.” Clark responds without really thinking. It’s true. Once Clark had known Bruce’s identity, Dick’s wasn’t far behind. And ever since then, they’d made quite the trio. Superman would carry around Robin on his shoulders, and they’d force Bruce into ice cream—the tradition carried on even when Dick was probably too old for it to be his idea. Movie nights at the manor, or even fighting side by side. Dick is definitely the son Clark is closest to, and he has missed him.
He’s not the only one. Bruce doesn’t talk about it often, but Clark thinks that’s just because he doesn’t like the way his voice shakes. Little Robin went and grew up, and Nightwing is far away in Blüdhaven, and Bruce feels that gap in more ways than just distance. He’s mentioned, once, how scared he is to call him ‘son’, which is something that used to feel easier. He doesn’t feel needed anymore, and he doesn’t want to pressure Dick, or make him feel trapped in it.
Clark knows it’s not his place, but there is nothing Dick loves more in this world than when Bruce calls him ‘chum.’ Even now. Because Dick loves being Bruce’s son. Being Batman’s son.
But Clark knows no amount of his promises of this will ever convince Bruce that it’s true.
So, yes, Clark is glad that his favorite kid is coming home to them, and glad that he’s joining the league. But most of all, he’s glad for Bruce. It’s insane to him that no-one else can see him beaming right now. (His face looks exactly the same. Barry mutters something about how Batman seems upset with him.)
The days progress normally. So normally, in fact, that the other league members are becoming quickly…concerned.
It’s little things at first. The way Nightwing already knew his way around the tower was reason enough for their whispers to start. But then he’s late, his second day, and Batman says nothing.
He’s used to this, Clark knows. Bruce has found from experience over the years that Nightwing is fashionably late, and there’s no stopping it. He also has learned that he always, always shows up when it matters.
You win some, you lose some, Bruce had said once, when he’d let Nightwing do whatever shenanigan he’d otherwise never approve of.
Nearly the entire team’s mouth drops as Batman ignores Nightwing’s late arrival and carries on with the meeting unperturbed.
“Any questions?” Batman asks, after his spiel. There are clearly some, but no one speaks them aloud. “Good. Let’s move on to physical training.”
Physical training can be fun, because for Superman, it means trying out new ways to use his powers, break out of traps or adapt new skills. For people without superpowers, mainly it includes physical exertion and keeping in shape, and polishing fighting skills and quickening reaction times.
For newcomer Nightwing, it means the team wants to watch his abilities and fighting style up close. Clark already knows it by heart, and could just as confidently predict his moves in battle as he could Bruce or Diana’s. But he’s not supposed to, so he sits and watches with everyone else.
John removes his ring.
“I’ll go first,” he offers. Nightwing smiles jovially, but Clark knows that mischievous smile—he almost wants to tell John to keep the ring on. Bruce looks equally concerned, under that unassuming glare and beneath his cowl.
They battle.
Well. It’s not much of a battle. Nightwing has John on his back in seconds. It’s not even his fault, really. Nightwing had noticed John favoring his right side, and Dick was trained to fight ambidextrously. Without the ring? John Stewart is an insanely strong, talented, and well-trained fighter. But Dick is, well, Dick.
Barry lets out a whoop and Clark has to fight to swallow his proud smile. Bruce does not seem to share the sentiment.
“Again,” he commands gruffly. Dick ignores him, offering his hand to help John from the floor.
“Not bad,” John says. Dick gives a light laugh.
“Thanks for taking it easy on me,” he whispers, quiet and almost honest. John takes the sentiment for what it really was, an out.
“Again,” Batman cuts in once more, louder and more gruff. Nightwing sighs.
“Why?” He asks, a half-whine he saves only to annoy Bruce. Batman glares at him. Clark realizes how tense the rest of the team have become, and nearly laughs. They’re expecting the sort of lecture Batman saves just for them. Little do they know, he has a different sort of lecture saved especially for his kids, too.
“Again,” he growls. John moves to fight, but Dick crosses his arms.
“No one else is fighting!”
“They are trying to learn your fighting style. They won’t learn anything if you push him to the ground in a second. You’ll just have to keep doing it again,” Batman explains at last. His voice is its usual two octaves below normal, like it always is when he’s in the suit, but it also has a strange parent tone to it. An exasperation only dads ever seem to have.
“You’re telling me to lose?”
“I’m telling you to stop showing off.”
John looks a little offended, but Dick at last seems to understand whatever lesson Bruce was trying to teach him. They fight again, slower, and while Dick is by no means pulling his punches, he’s certainly not trying as hard to knock John over again.
The whispers rebound, two days later, when—once again—Nightwing is late. This time it’s for his shift on a watch. It’s not by much, but enough that Batman has already arrived for his switch, and Barry is itching to leave. He hates keeping watch.
“Hey,” Nightwing greets casually as he strolls in, and Flash seems to physically resist running there and then. Clark and Barry get ready to go, while Nightwing takes a seat beside Batman.
He holds out a coffee, which Bruce takes without hesitation or complaint.
There is no food or drink allowed in the surveillance room. Barry knows this better than anyone—he’s the one who complains about it the most. And so Clark watches in abstract horror as Barry’s eyes go wide. They make eye contact, and Clark hopes his face remains impassive. Then Barry rushes off, presumably to tell the nearest possible league member what just happened.
“Bye, Supes!” Nightwing calls over his shoulder as Clark moves to leave. He turns around again, just in time to see Dick put his feet up on the console. Clark shakes his head with a laugh.
“I’ll see you,” he answers.
By the time Clark hits the common area, things are in chaos.
“We’ve got to boot him.”
“How? He’s already got Bats wrapped around his finger.”
“By no choice of Batman’s, surely—”
“Hi, guys,” Clark interrupts the frantic whispers. Barry heaves a relieved sigh upon seeing Superman, rather than the bat or their collective apprentice.
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” he says. “So, what do you think we should do?”
“About what?”
“Nightwing! He’s got something nefarious, I’m sure of it.” The rest of the group nods. Clark scrunches his eyebrows.
“You only just met him,” he tries, worried that his reaction will give him away.
“So did Batman! And look—” they tilt a video screen in Clark’s direction. It’s a live tape of what’s happening in the monitor room.
“Oh, I don’t think we should—”
“We have to!” Barry insists.
“We’ve got to look out for Batman,” John agrees.
The group quiets as Batman and Nightwing begin to talk, which is something that Batman rarely does in the surveillance room. Clark thinks furiously on how to get that screen muted, at least, and extinguish these runaway fears. Maybe turn the thing off altogether, Clark thinks, as he watches Bruce take another sip of a coffee he shouldn’t even allow in that room.
“So, big changes around here, hm?” Nightwing asks. Batman shrugs.
“You think?”
“Oh, c’mon old man. What’s with the huge power cell by the sleeping quarters?” Batman only grunts in return. “Let me guess, it’s for Green Lantern, right?” Bruce sighs.
“It’s just in case of an emergency. If John can’t get home in time to charge his ring. He gets nervous when it’s low.”
“Mhm. And the new kitchen across from Barry’s room?”
“He has a higher metabolism than anyone else. He’d eat up the whole original kitchen if I’d let him,” Batman explains gruffly.
“Liar,” Nightwing says with a chuckle. Batman sighs again, putting down the coffee in favor of crossing his arms.
“Fine. He’s picky with his snacks, and why make him run all the way to the far kitchen if he’s tired? Just thought I’d make it a little easier to have his own space.” Bruce pauses. Then, “He’s a good kid.”
Nightwing laughs a little.
“He’s a full grown man!”
“He’s a kid, and so are you.” Dick huffs at this, copying his dad as he crosses his arms.
Clark looks between the members of the team. Clearly, just like Clark himself, they had no idea that Batman had added onto the tower for specific members. Barry looks like he might cry.
“He…he did that for me?” He asks no one in particular.
“I didn’t know,” John agrees.
“Stay on task,” Wonder Woman reminds them, even though there’s surprise in her voice as well. “Flash—he knew your identity!”
Shit.
Clark had barely noticed. But of course Nightwing knows, he’d grown up beside Wally and Barry. Even if Wally hadn’t told him, Dick is a smart enough detective that he would have figured it out on his own.
“What does that mean? Do you think Bats told him?” Barry asks, concerned. Diana shakes her head in disbelief.
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“He also wouldn’t let anyone be late, or let anyone have snacks when they’re on monitor duty. Looks like Batman is bending the rules already,” John points out.
“Maybe he just figured it out by himself,” Clark suggests desperately. If he were human, he’d be sweating. “He’s a good detective. Er, so I’ve heard.”
He looks around nervously, wondering if anyone caught his slip-up. But they’re too busy tossing conspiracy theories in the air—the metaphorical snowball getting bigger and bigger—and they seemed to have barely heard Clark ar all.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Diana answers. Ugh. Curse Bruce and his endless secrets! Clark can practically feel worry lines forming on his face.
No-one seems to know what to do about it, though. And so eventually they disperse, especially so when they see Nightwing coming up through the halls.
“Oh, hey, guys!” He greets excitedly. Flash at least smiles at him, but John only nods once before exiting the room. Clark watches Dick’s signature smile fade a bit, but brightens when his eyes land on Clark. “How are things in here?”
“Shouldn’t you still be in surveillance?” Diana suggests, her tone polite and unaccusing, even though Clark knows better.
“Yeah, of course. Just getting a snack,” Dick promises.
“No snacks allowed in surveillance!” Flash reminds him.
Dick laughs.
He laughs.
“That’s B’s rule, right?” He asks. Barry thinks a moment, then nods. “Yeah. What’s the old man gonna do? Steal my chips?”
He rolls his eyes, reaching for a bag of pretzels with a laugh. Nightwing doesn’t seem to notice Barry’s look of shock, or Diana’s unease.
“I better get back down there. Supes,” he says at the last minute, “wanna come with a moment?”
Clark nods, follows him. Nightwing clearly waits until they’re out of possible earshot before turning to him.
“Is there a reason everyone’s mad at me?”
Clark wants to answer, and beg him to clear things up, but he’s keenly aware that they may be being watched. He shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he consoles, “they’re just nervous about having a new member.” Dick looks to him, raising a brow, before tilting his head back with a groan.
“They all hate me, don’t they?”