Chapter Text
“Are we there yet?” Dick asked, squirming around and tugging on his seatbelt.
Bruce sighed, a deep, bone-tired sigh that only came with having children, tipping his head back to hit the car headrest with a soft thunk.
Clark laughed lightly, glancing at the twelve year old through the rear view mirror.
“Almost, kid. Another twenty minutes at most,” Clark replied.
Dick huffed, yanking on his seatbelt again before settling down, resting his head against the door and shutting his eyes. The drive from the airport to Smallville was long, with nothing but great expanses of fields passing them by. Dick had already exhausted all means of entertainment, books and Nintendo DS messily shoved back into his backpack, and the heat from the Kansas sun was relentless despite the AC blasting through the car. All in all, a recipe for a grouchy, restless preteen.
Bruce wished he had the wherewithal to be grouchy right now, although he was sure Dick would helpfully assure him that he was grouchy all of the time. No, right now the only emotion he could truly feel was panic. Deep, paralysing panic that Bruce was utilising every breathing technique he had ever learnt to disguise his rabbiting heart from his partners superhearing.
When Clark had come up to him working in his study, kneeling down to rest his head on Bruce’s thigh like an overgrown puppy and fixing him with those vibrant blue eyes, Bruce knew he was already going to say yes to whatever Clark was asking of him. Still the question had shocked him, when Clark asked him so earnestly, so hopefully, to come with him to Smallville to meet his parents. Bruce was not the boyfriend people brought home to meet their parents. Bruce was the kind of boyfriend you saw splashed across the front pages of trashy magazines, caught in compromising positions with quotes that would have been horrendously gauche if they had come from anyone other than Bruce Wayne. Bruce was the kind of boyfriend you explained to your parents as a misjudged fling, an experiment gone wrong, fun gone too far.
Of course, Bruce knew that he was not truly like the tabloids portrayed him to be, and of course Clark knew that too, but Mr and Mrs Kent didn’t know that. Perhaps a younger version of Bruce would’ve broken it off with Clark right then and there, spooked by the relationship milestone of meeting the parents. Perhaps a younger version of Bruce would’ve rather broken his own heart and condemned himself to a life of loneliness and misery to escape the parental interrogation that he knew he would not hold up in.
But Bruce was different now.
Dick was an explosion to colour into his life. Dick was also an explosion of people, inspections, and interrogations, each determined to find out whether Bruce Wayne was a suitable guardian for the young boy. Bruce couldn’t spook, he couldn’t let his own social awkwardness and unease condemn Dick back to the group home, or even worse, juvie. Bruce had weathered it all, the home inspections and the cross-examinations, the surprise home visits and the numerous legal appointments, because he knew at the end of it, Dick would be coming home.
That was what Bruce needed to do in Smallville. He needed to weather the interrogation, prove he was good enough for the Kent’s son, prove he was committed to the relationship, prove he only had the best intentions, because at the end of it all, was Clark. Clark, who understood him in a way Bruce had never thought possible. Clark, who’d treated Dick like his son from the moment they’d met and protected the boy with his life. Clark, the alien with powers Bruce had never thought possible. Clark, the award-winning journalist whose cheeks flushed with passion and life as he chased his next story. Clark, the man who had become Bruce’s home.
Perhaps that was why Bruce had given Clark permission to tell his parents that Bruce was Batman before he met them. The deep need for these two people held never met to understand him beyond the tabloids and the headlines. To prove that he wasn’t that air headed billionaire with a drinking problem they’d seen on TV. Clark’s parents meant so much to him, of course they did, and that’s why Bruce desperately needed them to like him. For Clark.
“What you thinking so hard about?” Clark asked, his large hand coming to rest lightly on Bruce’s thigh.
Bruce blinked out of his reverie, turning to look at Clark’s profile as the man focused on the road. His curls fluttered around in the breeze of the AC, and his eyes sparkled with energy from the sun. Clark’s red flannel shirt that Bruce pretended to hate was rolled up to his elbows, unintentionally showing off his powerful forearms. To Bruce, he was the most gorgeous man in the world.
“You.” Bruce replied, uncharacteristically sentimental.
He was rewarded with Clark’s small, shy smile, and traces of red colouring his cheeks, tracing up to the tips of his ears. Clark didn’t respond, and Bruce took some satisfaction in his ability to render Clark speechless, but he felt Clark’s love all the same, the other man gently squeezing his thigh.
“Get a room!” Dick gagged from the back, wriggling around with his seatbelt.
Bruce hit his head back against the headrest once more. It would be a long twenty minutes to Smallville.
The appearance of the farmhouse on the horizon was almost a mirage. The yellow panelling glowed in the orange of the sun, and the red roof stood out against the backdrop of green grass. A large barn stood behind the house, various animals dotted around in surrounding field, straight out of a picture book. Bruce looked over at Clark, watching as the mans smile grew as they drove closer to the house, dust pluming behind the car as the tyres crackled over gravel and dirt.
Dick was practically vibrating in his seat, nose pressed against the window as he took in their home for the next week. Whilst Gotham had always been home to Bruce, its gothic architecture and its gloomy weather engrained into his very being, Dick had come from a life of travel, a life of seeing the world. The boy had travelled to nearly every major city in the Americas and Europe, and it was evident in how easily and enthusiastically he adapted to his surroundings. Smallville was simply another adventure to him, another place to explore and find joy in. To Bruce, Smallville was the dichotomy of everything he was. Smallville was close communities, affectionate families, and unquestionable small town safety. Gotham was the city that had raised him, with her tough exterior, and her tougher interior, with her overwhelming loneliness and her strangling corruption. Bruce could play the part on business trips, he could explore cities and appreciate their unique ambience, but he could never relax until he was back in Gotham.
Clark pulled the car into park, and Dick was off like a shot, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels before Bruce could unbuckle his seatbelt.
He reached for the door handle, taking a steadying breath, when a hard came to rest on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Clark said softly, looking deep into Bruce’s eyes, searchingly. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”
Clark’s hand moved up to cup Bruce’s cheek, and Bruce allowed himself to lean into his partners hold for a moment, taking strength in Clark’s unfaltering understanding.
“I will.” Bruce promised, although he hoped he would not have to.
This was important to Clark. He wanted his Ma and Pa to meet Bruce and Dick so badly, and Bruce was determined to give him that. He was determined for this to go well, for Clark’s sake, and perhaps Dick’s too. Bruce could not offer much in terms of extended family for Dick, and he sometimes worried about how Dick did not have many family figures to turn to in his life. Maybe, if this went well, Dick would gain more family, more adults he could trust outside of Bruce, Clark, and Alfred.
Bruce stepped out of the car, popping the trunk to grab their bags as a screen door squeaked, a thick Kansas accent travelling across the porch.
“Clark!”
“Ma!” Clark grinned, pulling his mother into a hug.
Martha Kent pulled back before fixing Bruce and Dick with a smile. Bruce didn’t know why he was surprised that the smile was genuine, that Mrs Kent was genuinely happy to meet them. Clark had told him his parents were desperate to meet him, but it was still odd, to have someone give him a sincere smile.
“Well you must be Bruce! I’ve heard so much about you from Clark here, oh he just goes on and on about you! I’m Martha.” Mrs Kent chirped.
“Ma!” Clark protested in embarrassment, but his mother bared him no mind.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you. This is my son, Dick.” Bruce replied, resting his hand on Dick’s back to steady himself.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Kent.” Dick added on, the picture of politeness.
“Oh none of that!” Mrs Kent smiled with a shake of her head. “Please call me Martha. Clark take some of those bags from poor Bruce! Come in, come in! Y’all must be exhausted after that drive.”
“I was about to!” Clark grumbled under his breath, sliding the duffle bags off of Bruce’s shoulder and onto his own.
Dutifully, they all followed Martha Kent into the farmhouse, Bruce’s eyes catching on the dozens of framed photographs decorating the walls. Almost every photo contained Clark, beaming at the camera for his parents. Baby Clark cooing in his mothers arms, child Clark stood on the porch with a giant backpack ready for his first day of school, college-aged Clark adorned in his cap and gown being hugged tightly by his parents on either side. It was a house filled with love.
“My Jonathan’s just out in the barn, I’ll go grab him while Clark shows y’all to your rooms. I’ve made up the guest bed for you and Bruce, honey, and Dick here can take your old room.” Martha explained before slipping out of the backdoor.
“I like your mom, Clark. She’s cool.” Dick said earnestly, tugging his backpack out of Bruce’s hand.
“Yeah? She thinks you’re cool too.” Clark replied, shepherding them upstairs.
Dick beamed as if he had been gifted the sun, eagerly following Clark to see where he would be staying. The wooden door still had Clark’s named hung on it in blue and yellow lettering, and as Clark pushed the door open, the first thing that caught Bruce’s eye was the Mighty Crabjoys poster stuck up on the wall.
“Don’t.” Clark warned with a smile as Bruce turned to tease him.
Dick grinned as he picked up one of the trophies lining the bookshelf.
“Debate club winner. Is this why you win all your arguments against Bruce?” He asked cheekily, waggling the trophy under Bruce’s chin.
“He does not win every argument against me.” Bruce denied, pulling the trophy out of Dick’s hands and setting it back in its place, ignoring the fact that Clark was nodding at Dick with a conspiratorial grin behind his back.
“Whatever you say.” Dick replied, his voice lilting upwards.
“Look at that, Clark has every Shakespeare play here. Perhaps you can get a head start on your English homework? The Tempest, wasn’t it?” Bruce said, pulling the dog eared book off of the shelf and dropping it into Dick’s hands.
“Actually, I’m pretty tired. You guys should go see your room. Like, now.” Dick replied, faking a yawn and stretching his arms above his head.
“Okay, the bathroom is next door and we’re the room after that, alright Dick?” Clark said, ever the mediator.
“Yep. Bathroom next door. You guys the door after that. Bye.” Dick said, shooing them out of the room, already hastily shoving The Tempest back on the shelf before Bruce could shut the door behind them.
The guest bedroom was airy, the walls and bedsheets a calming sage green. Clark dropped their two duffle bags onto the ground, before pulling Bruce into a hug, pressing his nose into Bruce’s hair. They stood like that for a moment, content to sway in each others arms, breathing each other in before Clark pulled back, moving his hands to rest on Bruce’s hips.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Bruce replied, wrapping one of Clark’s curls around his finger, watching how it sprung back into place.
Clark just continued to smile at him, an almost lovesick expression on his face.
“What?” Bruce questioned, pulling back to study Clark’s face more intently.
“Nothing. Just having you and Dickie here.” Clark said, rubbing his thumbs against Bruce’s hip bones.
“It’s…good?”
“Yes, Bruce. It’s very good,” Clark nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Bruce hummed, leaning back into the hug.
“Ready to meet my Pa?”
“It depends,” Bruce murmured against Clark’s chest. “Will he be polishing his shotgun?”
Clark laughed, the sound vibrating pleasantly against Bruce’s ear.
“That’s not my Pa, I promise.”
Bruce simply hummed again, resting for a moment longer in Clark’s embrace.
Dick must’ve been waiting for them before he adventured downstairs, his bedroom door swinging open moments after Bruce and Clark’s did. Bruce would’ve teased him, asking how his studying was going if he wasn’t currently panicking over meeting Clark’s parents as a collective. This was where the pleasantries ended and the interrogation began, and Bruce could feel his palms begin to sweat with nerves.
Clark’s parents were already in the kitchen waiting for them, Martha taking something out of the oven and Jonathan Kent set the table, five sets of knives and forks waiting for them.
“Pa!” Clark grinned, pulling his father into a hug, just as he had done with his mother.
Jonathan Kent was a burly man, and although both his son and Bruce were taller than him, Bruce felt impossibly small as he felt Jonathan’s gaze fall on him.
“You must be the famous Bruce Wayne.” Jonathan said, his voice giving nothing away.
“Yes, sir. And this is my son, Dick Grayson.” Bruce replied, resisting the urge to hide behind his twelve year old child.
Jonathan looked at them both for a moment longer before his face broke out into a smile.
“I’m Jonathan, and I’m just pleased as punch Clark’s finally managed to get y’all out here. How was the drive?”
Bruce remembered how to breathe again, as he passed some sort of invisible test, happy to let Dick answer the question.
“Suuuuper long. There’s lots of fields.”
Both Martha and Jonathan laughed at Dick’s observation.
“Sure is, son. Not many fields in Gotham?” Jonathan asked.
“No fields,” Dick said with a shake of his head. “There’s Robinson Park, which is this huge park right in the middle of the city, but people keep blowing it up and stuff.”
The Kent’s blinked. It wasn’t that Gotham’s status as a high-crime city was unknown outside of New Jersey, Bruce was pretty sure Gotham was synonymous with crime for most people, but it could still be jarring for those who had never lived in the city, to hear the daily crimes be spoken about so flippantly.
“Well, you can run around out here as much as you like. No danger of our fields blowing up.” Martha assured.
“Sweet!” Dick grinned.
“Okay, supper’s ready, take your seats.” Martha commanded, slicing the piping hot chicken pot pie onto plates.
The chicken pot pie was amazing, warming Bruce up from the inside, and Martha’s cheeks blushed as Bruce complimented her cooking. The conversation was light and easy, flowing from Dick’s school to Clark and Bruce’s jobs to the latest Smallville gossip. Bruce suspected it was only Dick’s presence that kept the Kent’s from probing further, which he was torn between taking advantage of or ripping the Band-aid off. Eventually, Dick yawned, the travelling and the warm meal tiring him out, and Bruce knew he had to bite the bullet.
“Bedtime.” Bruce murmured, squeezing Dick’s shoulder lightly.
Dick blinked heavily before scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles.
“Not tired.” Dick protested.
“Say goodnight.” Bruce said, ignoring him.
“Goodnight. Thank you for the meal Mr and Mrs Kent, it was really nice. Night, Clark.” Dick said sleepily, pushing himself up from the table.
“You’re very welcome, Dick, and remember, it’s Martha and Jonathan.” Martha replied with a soft smile.
A chorus of goodnights filled the kitchen as Bruce guided Dick up the stairs. Bruce rummaged around in Dick’s still packed bag, pulling out his toiletries and pyjamas and handing them to the boy. Dick disappeared into the bathroom as Bruce unpacked the rest of his bag, neatly placing Dick’s clothes in the empty drawers. Dick reemerged, pyjamas on and teeth freshly brushed, and settled into Clark’s childhood bed. Bruce tucked the plaid bedding up to Dick’s chin, pushing the stray hair out of Dick’s eyes.
“They’re gonna ask you about Batman now, aren’t they?” Dick whispered.
“Probably.” Bruce replied.
Dick studied him through sleepy eyes, before one of his hands snaked out from underneath the sheet, holding onto Bruce’s fingers.
“It’ll be fine. I promise.” Dick reassured him.
“Thank you, chum.” Bruce said with a small smile, squeezing Dick’s fingers softly before rising from the bed.
“Goodnight, B.” Dick hummed, his eyes falling shut.
“Goodnight, chum.” Bruce said, flicking off the light, and gently closing the door with a small click.
Bruce took a moment to breathe, his back against Clark’s old bedroom door.
It was time to face the music.