Archive of Our Own

The first thing Clark hears when he walks into the makeshift office/supply closet is shouting. Lois and Jimmy, nose to nose in front of the corkboard, which has been wiped of last week’s pictures of that robbery on 58th Street and is now covered top to bottom in blurry pictures of–

“Oh, dear god,” Clark says involuntarily.

Both Jimmy and Lois whip around to face him. Clark shrinks back instinctively.

“Clark!” Jimmy says, with that bright smile of his. “Thank god you’re here. Tell Lois that–”

Lois scoffs. “No, tell Jimmy that he’s insane if he thinks–”

Clark clears his throat. Thankfully, this works.

“Guys,” he says. “Do we have to have the conversation about not stalking vigilantes for information on their secret identities again?”

Because on the corkboard are hundreds of pictures of Gotham City’s newest oddity: The Batman. Blurry and cloaked in shadow and looking very menacing as he punches various petty and unpetty criminals in the face.

“He’s a vampire,” Jimmy says, neatly sidestepping Clark’s very valid point.

“No,” Lois says, crossing her arms in a way that is both extremely cute and also promises future frustration. “He’s obviously Bruce Wayne.”

“Bruce Wayne, like the playboy?” Clark says incredulously. Lois huffs. He puts his coffee down so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Back up. Explain this to me.”

They do, talking over one another and gesturing wildly at the frankly exhaustive number of pictures and news articles. “He only comes out at night,” Jimmy says, as Lois goes on a tangent about the exact locations Bruce Wayne visited on his gap year to Europe.

It’s disjointed, disconnected, deeply invasive, and entirely insane. It’s very much, Clark thinks with way too much fondness, a Lois and Jimmy thing.

“So?” Lois says after they’re finished, breathing hard. “What do you think?”

“There’s merit to both theories,” Clark lies.

Jimmy turns to Lois. “That means he hates it.”

Lois throws her hands up in exasperation. “What’s not to love?”

“The rampant intrusion into a presumably innocent man’s private life, for one,” Clark deadpans.

“Is he really innocent if he’s Batman?” Lois says dramatically.

“And,” Jimmy adds, with equal fervor. “Is Batman innocent if he’s a vampire?”

Clark had considered something along these lines when Batman first grappled onto the scene, albeit with less conspiracy theories and corkboards. If Batman is up to something nefarious, as the name and general vibes suggest, then isn’t it up to Clark to see if he can do something about it?

But all of Clark’s research had revealed nothing more than a man doing the best he can for a city he cares about. Maybe he’s a little dramatic, sure, but it’s not like that’s a crime.

Besides, it’s Gotham. Everybody knows there’s something wrong with Gotham.

“I don’t think he’s a vampire,” Clark admits, apologetically. Jimmy wilts. “And he’s definitely not Bruce Wayne. Sorry.”

Lois is clearly disappointed, but she rallies herself quickly. “Well, we’ll have a good chance to find out,” she says, slamming an envelope down on the table.

Clark carefully opens it as Lois and Jimmy watch. You have been invited to the grand opening of the Metropolis branch of Wayne Industries, the card reads, in enthusiastic, swirling font. Then, in Perry’s blocky handwriting, I am begging you PLEASE don’t get in trouble.

“Oh, no,” Clark says.

“Oh, yes,” Lois and Jimmy say, in unison. They’re terrifying. Clark is obsessed with them.

“Listen,” Clark says, a little desperately. “If we blow up another gala, Perry will fire us.”

“No, he won’t,” Lois says easily. “Besides, we’re not going to blow it up. We’re just going to ask Bruce Wayne a few teensy-tiny questions about Batman.”

“And whether or not he’s been seen sucking the blood of criminals,” Jimmy adds.

“If he’s not Batman,” Lois continues. “Then he’ll have nothing to hide.”

“Oh my god,” Clark says, exasperated. “Lois, you can’t just ask people if they’re Batman!”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” Lois says. Clark has a brief moment of relief before she continues with, “We’re not going to ask him right out. That would give the game away.”

“Bruce Wayne is probably under Batman’s vampiric thrall, anyway,” Jimmy says, considering, like these are normal conversations normal people have. (Says Clark, the alien from outer space.) “We can’t let Batman know that we’re onto him.”

“Subtlety is key,” Lois agrees.

Clark, very maturely, does not put his face in his hands and weep. “Neither of you are subtle. How do you not see that this is a disaster in the making?”

“I can be subtle!” Lois says, unsubtly.

“Also, those are bold words from the man in spandex,” Jimmy says.

Clark hates them. He loves them. He would like to shake some sense into them and then kiss them both on the mouth.

In short: he is so fucked.

The intervening week before the gala does nothing to dissuade Lois or Jimmy from their respective theories. If anything, they both double down. Lois has written nearly twenty thousand words analyzing Bruce Wayne’s body language, in which she misspells the word billionaire in new and exciting ways. Jimmy starts reading teen vampire novels. For research.

But the day of the gala comes, no matter how many times Clark begs Perry to assign literally anybody else. (“Nobody wants to take the Wayne assignments,” Perry says, sounding haunted. “Nobody.”) Clark puts on his singular nice suit and frowns at the way it clings to his shoulders. Apparently, consistent superheroing does give you muscles. Who knew?

“Uh,” Jimmy says. Clark turns to see him standing in the doorway, looking at him with a really weird expression. “You, uh.”

Clark makes a face. “I know. I hate these things. They’re so tight.” He rolls his shoulders experimentally. Jimmy squeaks. “You feeling okay?”

“Pfft,” Jimmy says, after a beat. “I’m fine! I’m all good! Just gotta—warn Lois about something.”

He pulls out his phone and is typing away manically. Clark frowns, but decides to put it aside. “This better not be about Batman.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about Batman,” Jimmy says easily. Clark raises an eyebrow. “Check it out. I’m totally prepared.”

He reaches into his camera bag and pulls out a cheap wooden crucifix, a handful of garlic and an entire wooden stake. There’s so much wrong with that and Clark doesn’t even know where to start.

“I don’t know if they’ll let you bring that in,” he tries.

“I have my ways,” Jimmy says. Concerning! Before Clark can comment on it, Jimmy’s phone dings. “Lois says she’s waiting for us outside.”

Lois, of course, looks amazing. Jimmy also looks amazing. They look even better standing next to each other, even as they whisper fiercely about contingency plans if Batman shows up (why would he show up? He’s supposed to be in Gotham) and casting weird looks at Clark’s shoulders.

It’s going to be a long night.

The gala is held at the very top floor of the brand new Wayne Enterprises building. Intellectually, Clark had known that Bruce Wayne was richer than God, but walking into the room and seeing the high ceilings, the crystal glasses, the careful decorations—it’s something entirely different. They didn’t exactly have shin-digs like this in Kansas. Clark feels more than a little bit out of his depth.

“Does anyone want some garlic?” Jimmy says, effectively snapping him out of it.

“No, thank you,” Clark says politely.

“No way,” Lois says, less politely. “I don’t need your garlic, because Batman’s not a vampire. In fact,” She gives them both a smirk and, dramatically, points across the room. “He’s standing right over there.”

The crowd clears just enough for Clark to finally catch a glimpse of the infamous Brucie Wayne. He looks almost exactly like he does in the tabloids: just as cut, just as glittering. The diamond of Gotham society, a paper had said once, which Clark has always remembered because it struck him as overwrought and tacky.

Now, though, as Bruce catches his eye across the room with a glint and a smirk, Clark wonders if there isn’t some truth in it.

He’s so distracted thinking about this that he almost doesn’t notice Lois and Jimmy moving to hightail it across the room.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing them both by the collars before he’s thinking about it. “Slow down! You can’t just charge at this guy!”

“Right,” Jimmy says, narrowing his eyes. “We have to be sneaky.”

“We have to do our jobs,” Clark corrects. “Which involves asking him about his philanthropic outreach in Metropolis and does not involve asking him about Batman.”

“We can do both,” Lois says, but at Clark’s severe look, she purses her lips. “Fine. I’ll table it for the time being.”

“Thank you,” Clark says.

“I’m not dumping the garlic,” Jimmy says stubbornly.

“I’ll take it,” Clark says, relieved.

They still have to split up to conduct interviews with the Metropolitan upper-crust, and Clark makes sure to keep a close eye on both Lois and Jimmy to ensure they’re not grilling senators on financial records or stabbing people with stakes. For the most part, they behave, thank the Lord. And as if they can sense Clark’s entirely warranted concern, they stick close to him, weaving in and out of his orbit.

Lois sticks the closest. She shoots him sly grins over her shoulder when a politician says something stupid, brushes her hand over his in support as a tech mogul continues ranting about electric cars.

It’s still new, this semi-established thing between them. Still rough around the edges, not quite defined. But Clark kind of likes the fuzziness around the borders of what they are. The thrill of the unknown.

Mostly, he just likes Lois.

A sparkling peal of laughter across the room draws his attention. He glances over to find Bruce Wayne, laughing with a new group of models. Bruce catches his eye. Clark looks away.

“You know,” Lois says, coming up behind him. “I had heard that he’s an insufferable playboy, but God. Do you think he says anything that isn’t a come-on?”

Clark looks at the lazy slant of Bruce’s smile and decides, for the sake of politeness, that it’s best not to comment. “Maybe it’s better up close,” he tries.

Lois snorts. “I doubt it. I mean, look at him.” She gestures at Bruce, who is now pouting at his empty champagne glass. “There’s not a single thought behind those eyes.”

“There’s got to be at least one thought,” Clark says.

“Nope. Not a one,” Lois says mournfully. Then, “That’s why it’s the perfect cover.”

Clark elbows her, gently and lovingly. “Hey. No Batman stuff. Keep it professional.”

“The truth is out there,” Lois insists. “Clark, when you look at the evidence–”

Oh, no. If she gets started, nothing Clark can say will stop her. In a moment of panic, he decides to change the subject. Something normal and innocuous. “Do you think he’s going to try and flirt with you?”

Lois stares. “What?”

“Sometimes,” he says, cringing. What happened to normal and innocuous, Clark? “I just open my mouth and these things come out.”

Thankfully, Lois just snorts. “Oh, believe me, I’ve noticed, Smallville.” She motions towards the women Bruce is grinning at, then back at herself. “I’m pretty sure you’re safe. I don’t think I’m exactly on the same level as his usual fare.”

“Well,” Clark says, with a heat rising up his neck. “I don’t know about that.”

Lois rewards him with that brilliant, crooked smile. Clark has to look at the ceiling to compose himself.

“God,” Lois says. “One of us is going to actually have to talk to him at some point.” She chews on her lower lip, and then sighs. “Might as well get it over with.”

Clark is struck with the sudden, vivid image of Lois and Bruce actually attempting to hold a conversation with each other. It ends with somebody being shoved into a chocolate fountain.

“I can take care of it,” he blurts.

Lois blinks up at him. “That’s very brave,” she says, with apparent sincerity. “My brain cells thank you for your sacrifice.” Then, slightly softer. “Who needs Superman when you have Clark Kent?”

A month ago, that might have been an insult. Now, though, it’s laced with a fondness that makes Clark dizzy, and there’s a particular glint to her eyes that has Clark feeling all swoony–

He’s getting distracted. The sooner he talks to Bruce Wayne, the sooner they can all get out of there without blowing up another gala and getting fired.

“Well,” he says, giving Lois a faux-salute. “Wish me luck.”

Before he’s even taken two steps, Lois is slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Come on,” she says, when he looks at her in surprise. “Did you really think I would let you go alone?”

Clark grins. “Who needs Superman when you have Lois Lane?”

Somehow, this actually manages to fluster her into silence for a full ten seconds.

It’s only as they’re finally approaching Bruce Wayne’s ever-growing circle of models that she speaks up again. “Be honest,” she says, with a sly lilt. “Did you volunteer just so that you wouldn’t have to watch him flirt with me?”

Clark is struck with another vivid image: Bruce Wayne, making another thoughtless comment as he accidentally brushes Lois’s elbow and Lois, judo-flipping him into the appetizers table.

“Uh,” he says. “Something like that.”

One of the models spots them approaching, smirks, and taps Bruce on the shoulder. He doesn’t turn around. Clark clears his throat.

“Excuse me?” he says. “Mr. Wayne?”

This time, Bruce Wayne does turn around, a smile already on his lips. Up close, his eyes are even bluer than Clark had thought possible. Maybe he’s wearing contacts. His gaze is piercing as he looks Clark up and down, then cocks his head in consideration.

Besides him, Lois stiffens.

Clark sticks his hand out. “I’m Clark Kent, from the Daily Planet. This is my colleague, Lois. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Bruce shakes it with surprisingly calloused palms. “Well,” he says lowly. “It’s nice to finally put a name to that gorgeous face of yours.”

The first time Clark had gotten punched in the face by somebody who could actually punch him in the face, it had felt like every description of freefall he had read and discounted. Heady and dizzying, a singular rush of sensation.

This feels like that, except about a thousand times more disorienting.

“What?” Clark says, like the big, dumb hick that he is. Belatedly, he realizes that their hands are still clasped together. He drops his hand back to his side, unsubtly wiping his now-sweaty palms on his pants. “Sorry. What?”

Somehow, this only makes Bruce grin wider. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you all night,” he says, like it’s some great secret between the two of them. It’s gotten very hot in this room, all of a sudden. “I must say, the cut on your suit is…extraordinarily flattering.”

“Thanks,” Clark says, through a mouth full of cotton. “It’s—I got it from Macy’s?”

“Oh, how quaint,” Bruce says. He takes a sip of champagne, looking at Clark through his eyelashes. “You certainly wear it well.”

Clark is not exactly the most articulate person to begin with, but something about the way Bruce is looking at him now strips away every word in his vocabulary. He opens and shuts his mouth uselessly.

“Let’s not get off topic,” Lois says, each word curt and clipped.

“Oh, right!” Clark fumbles for his note cards, nearly dropping the whole pack on the floor. “Er, we just wanted to ask you a few questions about your philanthropic outreach in Metropolis. Mr. Wayne—“

“Please,” Bruce says, raising a casual hand in the air. “Call me Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Lois says pointedly. “You are well known for your charitable work in Gotham. Are you planning to continue that work here in the city?”

“Of course,” Bruce says easily, glancing briefly at Lois before looking back at Clark. Lois’s grip tightens. “I have more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime. Why not use it to do some good?”

Lois scoffs. Clark gives her a warning look before he turns back to Bruce. “That’s very altruistic of you.”

“How kind of you to say that,” Bruce purrs. Clark’s throat is very dry. He swallows. Bruce’s smile sharpens.

“Mr. Wayne,” Lois says, again. “How do you feel about the Batman’s sometimes violent crusade against crime against the complex socio-economic divides in Gotham?”

This is enough to snap Clark out of his haze. “What—you—Lois—“

Bruce takes a second to answer. “I don’t think Batman had enough outlets for his aggression as a child.”

Lois narrows her eyes. “Do you know him, then?”

“Lois,” Clark says again, uselessly.

“Never met him,” Bruce says casually. He puts his glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “But I think we would understand one another. We both feel things…very intensely.”

The look he gives Clark is heated and impossible to miss.

“W-well,” Clark stutters. “He, uh. Sounds like Gotham is lucky to have him?”

“He’s a vigilante,” Lois points out acerbically.

“So is Superman, technically,” Bruce says, examining his fingernails. Lois makes an offended squawk.

Clark laughs, loud and awkward. “Wow! That’s a really funny point, Mr. Wayne!”

“Just Bruce, I insist,” he says.

“How,” Lois hisses. Clark, again, has a vision of Lois and Bruce locked in physical combat. “How dare you—“

Clark manages to hold Lois back just in time. “I think Jimmy’s calling for us!” he says through his teeth. Bruce looks amused. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around.”

“Don’t take too long,” Bruce says with a final grin, and then he turns away. Clark has to bodily drag Lois back, out of sight behind a display.

“I can’t believe,” Lois seethes. “Stuck-up snotty rich boy brat—“

Clark grabs her by the shoulders. “What was that? You said you were going to be professional!”

“He started it!” Lois says, pointing across the room.

“He’s Bruce Wayne,” Clark says. “He’s always like that!”

“Oh, so you’re defending him now?” Lois says, sticking her nose up in the air. “You and your new best friend Brucie Wayne.”

“I—“ Clark rubs at the back of his neck, feeling strangely caught-out. “It’s not like that.”

“Ugh,” Lois huffs. “I can’t believe I forgot he was bisexual.”

Clark blinks. “Lois. We’re bisexual.”

“I know!” Lois snaps. She looks like she’s two seconds away from tearing out her hair with her bare hands.

“Hey,” Clark tries, dropping his voice lower. “What’s really the problem?”

Lois suddenly refuses to meet his eyes. “Nothing. There’s no problem. Why would you think that?”

“Lois,” Clark says. She cringes.

“It’s—“ She puts her face into her hands. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

Clark does what he always does when he doesn’t know how to help someone: he thinks about what Ma would do.

“Lois,” he says slowly. “It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

Lois looks at him for a long time. Carefully, she moves her hand up his arm. “Clark—“

Obviously, this is when the vampires bust through the window.

Clark’s always been taught not to speak ill of the dead but dear Lord, are these things ugly. Less like something out of one of Jimmy’s teen vampire romance novels and more like something out of an old-fashioned monster movie. They’re pale and hunched, with stringy hair and crooked fangs and bulging red eyes. One of them lights onto him and Lois and screeches, running toward them at inhuman speeds.

He manages to backhand it just before it pounces. It goes flying into the wall with a sickening crunch and stays there, twitching.

“What,” Lois says. “The hell.”

Clark is inclined to agree. Vampires? Really? What is this, Gotham? No, no, even Gotham has to be better than this.

“You’ve got to get out of here,” Clark says, mind already racing. “We’ve got to—where’s Jimmy?”

Lois curses, eyes scanning the room. It’s screaming and crashing chaos. “There!” she says, pointing to where Jimmy is standing on a table, throwing cloves of garlic at the vampires swarming all around.

It’s a bad idea to use his powers in public, but it’s chaotic enough that nobody will notice if he has a little extra speed as he drags him and Lois over to Jimmy.

“Clark!” Jimmy babbles. “It’s—the vampires, I told you—”

“I know,” Clark says. Jimmy takes his hand when he reaches out, the warm press of his palm as he hops off the table familiar and grounding as ever. “You and Lois get out of here. Find somewhere safe and call the authorities. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Jimmy grasps his shoulder tight. “Don’t do anything stupid without us.”

Lois leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. “Be safe, Smallville.”

They’re both gone in the next second, leaving Clark even more dazed than he was when Bruce was flirting with him. He doesn’t have long to dwell on it, though, because he is in a room full of vampires trying to kill him to death.

He bolts in the opposite direction of the crowd, towards the secondary stairwell. All of the vampire punching he does on the way will hopefully be attributed to adrenaline and not alien superpowers.

They can’t get out of the ballroom, Clark knows that much. He shuts that door right before a half dozen of them slam into it, twisting the handles shut for good measure.

He lets his head fall back against the door. In the single moment he takes to catch his breath, there’s the sound of a footstep shifting ahead of him. Clark opens his eyes.

“Oh,” Bruce Wayne says, standing above him.

Clark scrambles to stand up straighter. “Mr. Wayne!” he says. “You can’t be here. There are—that is—“

There’s a particularly piercing screeching noise on the other side of the door. Clark winces.

“I see,” Bruce says, surprisingly calm. Maybe he’s in shock? “You should probably be evacuating, then.”

If Clark was a civilian, that would be true. But he isn’t. And he needs Bruce Wayne to get out of this stairwell so he can actually do his job.

“Well, uh,” he says. “So should you.”

“Ah,” Bruce says. He seems entirely different than he did earlier, less effusive. More natural. “Yes. I see your point.”

They stare at each other, for a moment. Bruce does not budge. Neither does Clark.

“Um,” Clark tries. “After you?”

Bruce blinks. “No. That’s alright. You go on ahead.”

They stare at each other some more. Technically, Clark could go on ahead and just ditch Bruce to change. But he’s not particularly confident that Bruce will follow—he doesn’t seem to really be understanding what’s going on, to be completely honest—and even if he is flirtatious and flighty, Clark doesn’t want him to be hurt. But the longer Clark stays with Bruce, the more time the vampires have to wreak havoc, and he can’t let that happen either.

Gah. Decisions. Why did nobody tell him that being a superhero is so hard?

“It’s just, uh,” he says. “There are…vampires? In there? And they seem very dangerous. You should get out of here.”

Bruce does not actually look surprised at the mention of vampires. “Hm,” he says. “There are—a lot of vampires in Gotham.”

That can’t possibly be true. Can it? “That’s interesting,” Clark manages.

“Yes,” Bruce says. “So many. I can deal with them. You can go on ahead.” Awkwardly, painfully, he gestures for Clark to move forward. Clark shifts uncomfortably. How is this the worst part of his night so far?

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me,” Clark says. The joke falls flat. Bruce’s answering smile is too wide and too strained and not at all like the sparkling thing in the ballroom.

It doesn’t take a Bruce Wayne expert to note that the guy is acting a little strange. Maybe he’s secretly working with the vampires. Maybe he’s always like this, and the man in the tabloids is just an elaborate act. Maybe it really is just shock. Who is Clark to say?

“You know what?” Bruce says, breaking the awkward silence. “I think I–left something upstairs.”

“What?” Clark says, baffled. “You–why were you upstairs to begin with?”

“Oh, you know,” Bruce says lightly. Clark does not know. “Uh. Playboy things.”

“Playboy things,” Clark says slowly.

“Yes,” Bruce says, taking a step back. “I’ll just–go get my things. Catch up with you later.”

He turns to fully flee, a sleek black duffel bag bouncing behind him. “I really don’t think I should let you do that,” Clark blurts. “Right now, this building is dangerous. What kind of person would I be if I let you go off alone?”

Bruce turns back to him. Tilts his head. His eyes are far too knowing for Clark’s liking. “How noble of you,” he says, and Clark can’t tell from his tone if he means it as an insult or a compliment. “But like I said. I can deal with it. There are plenty of vampires in Gotham. They’re like, uh, ants. Barely more than a nuisance, at this point.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Clark admits.

“I assure you,” Bruce says, and he smiles like he’s making a joke that Clark’s not in on. “I can handle myself.”

He’s gone before Clark can get another word in edgewise.

“What,” Clark says blankly.

A screech from the other side of the door reminds him of why he came out into this stairwell in the first place. Clark shouldn’t have let it go on for so long, but something about the way Bruce was looking at him–

He’s a very strange man, that much is for certain. And as a journalist, Clark’s first instinct is to ask for more.

As a hero or whatever else he is, the instinct that wins out is the one that has him stripping in the stairway and busting back into the ballroom with his fists.

The vampires all stop in the middle of their carnage and turn to look at him in an eerie unison. Clark gulps.

“Uh,” he says. “Any chance I can convince you to leave in peace?”

The answer to this is a resounding no.

They all leap at him at once. Clark throws a wave of them back just as they pounce, taking flight in order to dodge the next wave. There are–a lot of them. More than Clark had expected. And there are still a few civilians hiding under tables, not dead but certainly hurt, and the people are always Clark’s first priority.

A vampire tries to latch onto his arm. The fangs can’t pierce his skin, but it’s still discomfiting enough that Clark tosses it away on instinct. It crashes into another gathering of vampires, but there’s another half-dozen crawling over their prone bodies before Clark even has the time to catch his breath. They’re grabbing at his legs, his arms, and there are so many of them that Clark can’t shake them all at once.

Suddenly, Clark doesn’t know if he can do this on his own.

What he wouldn’t give for Lois’s black belt or Jimmy’s stake right now, or even just Lois and Jimmy–

One pulls itself up over him, black mouth opening wide. Clark squeezes his eyes shut.

A crashing window, to his left. A projectile whizzing through the air, a wet thunk. Clark’s eyes fly back open just as the vampire falls to the ground with a shiny, pointed object embedded in its chest.

Clark turns to see–

“Batman?” he says, out loud. Because sure enough, standing on the other side of the room in dark, heavy armor is Gotham’s protector. In Metropolis. “What–what are you doing here?”

“Superman,” Batman says, like this is just another day for him. “I thought that was apparent.”

The rest of the vampires seem just as perplexed by Batman’s arrival as Clark is, but they shake it off quickly. This time, their target is Batman. They almost seem to recognize him, darting towards him with particular viciousness. Clark flies up to land down beside him.

“Seriously,” Clark says. “I thought you stuck to Gotham–”

“The case took me here,” Batman says curtly. “Less. Talking.”

There isn’t really much time for talking, anyway, not once the vampires descend upon them. Clark finds that it is easier to cut through the mass of them with somebody by his side. Especially somebody as staggeringly competent as Batman apparently is. He takes down each vamp that leaps at him with a brutal ease. It’s damned impressive to watch. Clark kind of gets why Lois and Jimmy were so obsessed, now.

But that doesn’t matter, because it’s clear that they are still vastly outnumbered. “I don’t think this is working,” Clark says, backhanding a vampire across the face.

Batman grunts. “Then we go to Plan Beta-Tango.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” Clark asks.

He doesn’t get an answer. Batman steps back and looks up towards the ceiling. “The vents should hold,” he mutters. “And according to the blueprints, they should lead into the control center for the lights–”

Clark grabs a vampire by the scruff of its neck before it gets to a distracted Batman, throwing it to the side. “What does any of that even mean?”

Once again, Batman doesn’t answer. Instead, he points his strangely shaped gun upwards. Clark watches as a line of steel rope shoots upward, latches onto the vent, and then yelps as Batman flies upward.

When Clark flies up, Batman is somehow clinging to the ceiling and prying the cover off the vent. “Batman,” Clark says. “You can’t be serious.”

“You stay here,” Batman says, pulling himself into the vent. “Protect the civilians. Wait for my signal.”

“What signal–” Clark says, but Batman is already gone.

“Note to self,” Clark mutters. “The man who dresses up as a bat to fight crime is completely insane.”

His and Batman’s joint work has managed to quell some of the flood and by now, Clark knows how to deal with them. He mostly keeps them distracted, dashing in between fights and helping civilians out of the emergency exit when he can.

It’s easier now, somehow, because even though he’s known Batman for ten minutes and in those ten minutes he has proven himself to be certifiably out of his mind, Clark trusts him.

It’s nice to know that there’s somebody watching his back.

Clark’s using his body as a shield to protect one of the models making her way towards the door when the lights flicker. The vampires that are left stutter in their tracks. Clark hesitates too.

“Is that the signal?” he says aloud.

The lights, suddenly, flare to a deep violet, casting the whole room into these strange, terrifying shadows. The vampires, immediately, screech louder and higher than ever before, covering their eyes.

UV lights. Vampires. Clark takes it all back. Batman is a genius.

The vampires crumple like paper, mostly before he can even get to them. Batman drops back down from the ceiling just as Clark tosses the last one into the pile.

“Not bad,” Clark says, offering up his fist.

Batman stares at it for a long, indeterminable second, before he grunts and turns away. Clark is too tired to take it personally.

“I’ve ensured that your police department has received the necessary cures for those who were attacked,” Batman says. “And the GCPD is on there way to deal with–”

He gestures at the pile of mostly-still creatures. Clark winces.

“The GCPD?” he says.

“They’ve been terrorizing Gotham for nearly a month,” Batman says, without an ounce of inflection. “The Commissioner should be pleased.

Clark glances back at the vampires. “Isn’t there–some way to…bring them back?”

“They’re not from this universe,” Batman says instantly. This explains everything and nothing all at once. Batman catches Clark’s confused look and sighs. “I’ve been following this case for a few months. From what I can deduct, a Gotham rogue built a multi-dimensional portal gun out of spare nuclear reactor parts and brought them over here in order to gain an army of vampiric thralls.”

Ah. So. Maybe Bruce did have a point. “Does that kind of stuff…happen in Gotham often?”

“You’d be surprised,” Batman says which, upon further reflection, does not actually answer his question at all. He nods at Clark once, and then moves back towards the window he came through. “Goodbye.”

He shoots off that strangely shaped gun again and then he’s flying out the window. Before Clark can think about it, he’s following.

Batman has the audacity to look surprised when Clark lands on the roof of the Wayne Enterprises building. He’s already elbow deep in a piece of complicated electronic equipment, pieces laying disassembled besides him.

“What’s all this?” Clark asks.

“It was my temporary base of operations,” Batman says reluctantly. “I was monitoring the situation.”

“That’s why you were here,” Clark says, finally piecing it all together. “The vampires came here, and so you came with them.”

Batman huffs. “I told you, I was following the case.” He hesitates in the middle of flipping open a padded container. “I had some other obligations besides.”

Clark isn’t going to lie–that definitely piques his curiosity, but he would be a hypocrite if he started prying. “Well. I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

Batman grunts again. Clark gets the impression he does that a lot. “Your presence…was convenient.”

This is probably as close to a compliment as he’s going to get from Batman. Clark finds himself rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Thanks.”

His gaze catches on something sitting in the pile of electronics to Batman’s side. He dashes over, picks it up, and is astounded to note that it’s one of Jimmy’s teen vampire romances.

Batman notices and snatches it out of his hands, quick as anything. “That’s not–it’s for research.”

“Of course, of course,” Clark says, putting both of his hands up defensively. Batman scowls. “Is it…accurate, at all? I’ve been told there are a lot of vampires in Gotham. Like–they’re basically ants, at this point.”

Batman stills.

“Oh?” he says. “That’s interesting. Who told you that?”

“Uh,” Clark says, trying and failing to figure out how to describe somebody like Bruce Wayne. “An acquaintance? Kind of? I don’t know, we–we’ve talked twice and it was a very weird conversation–”

Suddenly, Batman is right there in his face. He’s a few inches shorter than Clark, but his presence fills up the whole space. Clark swallows, suddenly nervous.

“I,” Batman hisses. “Knew it.”

Clark blinks. “Knew what?”

“You’re that reporter,” Batman says, jabbing a finger up into his face. Clark’s whole body goes cold. “From the Daily Planet. I knew it.”

“Whoa, ha-ha, what,” Clark says, a few beats too late. “I’m not–I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since the Livewire incident,” Batman continues, stepping back to pace across the rooftop. “Your body types matched up, your alibis didn’t. You’re far too involved far a simple intern, and yet despite that involvement, I couldn’t find a single record of you and Superman occupying the same space–”

“Have you been stalking me?” Clark says incredulously, through the dread pooling in his stomach. He should have been more careful. Now, his whole life is in danger, which means Lois and Jimmy are in danger too, and his Ma and Pa, and–

“I’ve been watching you,” Batman says.

Clark splutters. “Like–like that’s any better?”

“You shoot lasers out of your eyes,” Batman points out. “You are the most singularly powerful individual I’ve ever come across–”

Clark shifts. “I’m really not–”

“–And I’d be foolish not to consider the consequences of what would happen if you ever decide to stop playing the hero,” Batman finishes. For a man wearing a cowl over half his face, his glare is something mighty powerful. Clark feels more than a little intimidated in the face of it. “This is the only warning you’re going to get, Clark Kent. I’m onto you.”

Clark takes a moment to process…all that. At least it seems like Batman has good intentions, even if he’s going about them in a completely demented way.

But how would he even know about–

How would he have put it together–

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re paranoid?” Clark asks.

“Hn,” Batman says. “It’s not paranoia. It’s being prepared.”

Clark has the unbidden thought that Lois and Batman would get along scarily well. Or they would once Lois stopped pestering him about whether or not he was Bruce Wayne–

Oh.

Huh.

“The only thing I can’t figure out,” Batman continues, completely oblivious to Clark’s fresh and growing crisis. “Is why bother to have a secret identity at all. The records in Kansas are well-forged, I’ll admit–”

“They’re not forgeries,” Clark blurts. Somehow, it’s enough to get Batman to stop. “Except for maybe the birth certificate. I never asked. But I grew up in Smallville. Went to Smallville High, worked at the ice cream shop when I was sixteen. Everything you might have found on me during your stalker crusade is real, because I’m real. I’m a person, just like you.”

Batman looks skeptically at the space between the ground and Clark’s feet. Clark lowers himself to the ground sheepishly.

“Look,” Clark tries. “I still don’t know…what I am, exactly. A little bit alien, sure. But my family’s human. My friends are human. And I’m human.” A beat. “Laser eyes aside, I mean.”

“Hm,” Batman says, which must be one of his top three favorite phrases. “You seem…honest.”

Clark shrugs. “I try.”

Batman stares at him for a long second, before turning back to the last of his electronic equipment. “I’ll refrain from the contingency plans.” He looks back up to fix Clark with another, slightly less intense glare. “But know that I have them.”

Well, there’s a lot to unpack there but Clark, frankly, does not have the energy to do so. He’ll take it. “Uh. Duly noted.” He fiddles his thumbs a bit. “Do you want any help with the–”

“This is very delicate equipment,” Batman cuts in. Clark takes that as a no.

Clark should probably head back down to ground, find Lois and Jimmy and make sure they’re alright. There’s nothing more for him and Batman to say, unless Clark wants to make small talk about teen vampire novels. Which he doesn’t.

Except there is one, glaring thing that Clark should probably mention.

Batman packs the last of the equipment up, snapping the briefcase shut. He gives Clark a sideways glance, a very why are you still here kind of look.

Clark gets the hint. He clears his throat. “Well, er. Nice fighting with you.”

It’s a terrible thing to say, but Batman seems to take it in stride. He nods once, then makes to step off the edge.

If Clark is going to say it, then it has to be said now. “I’ll–I’ll be seeing you around, Mr. Wayne?”

Batman nearly trips.

“What?” he says. “I–I don’t know who that is.”

Oh, wow. Is he actually–was Lois right?

“You don’t have a TV?” Clark says, through the petty feeling of vindication. “Or, like. A mirror?”

Batman doesn’t say anything at all for nearly a full minute. Clark can be patient.

Finally, he slips off the cowl. Clark had been pretty sure he’d got it right, but it’s still very surreal to see Bruce Wayne in Batman’s getup. His eyes are just as blue, but only like diamonds in the sense that they are unyielding.

“How,” Bruce grits out. “How did you know?”

“When I referenced our conversation in the stairwell,” Clark says. “You knew what I was talking about.”

Bruce raises a skeptical eyebrow. “And that’s all it took?”

“Well,” Clark admits. “A lot of Lois’s evidence is very convincing, in hindsight.”

“Huh. Lois Lane,” Bruce says, contemplatively. “Her reasoning regarding the Drake Industries industrial espionage case was fantastic, so if anyone were to–”

He cuts himself off. Clark tilts his head. “That article was from three years ago.”

“My research is thorough,” Bruce says, sounding eerily like Lois. Once again, Clark shudders to think of the consequences if Bruce and Lois do ever meet up.

Clark snorts, but sobers up quickly. “I’m not going to…reveal your identity, or whatever,” he says. “I just…want to make sure we’re on the same page. Because I think we could help each other.”

Bruce is staring at him again. Finally, he says, “We could.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Clark assumes this means the conversation is over. “Okay. Okay. Good talk!”

“Thank you again,” Bruce says, laboriously. “For your help.”

“Anytime,” Clark says. He means it.

Bruce does this thing with his lips that Clark thinks is supposed to be a smile. He gives Clark a solemn, awkward nod, pulls his cowl back down and moves to jump off the roof again.

It’s predictable that Clark’s next realization comes with terrible timing. “Wait!” he blurts. Bruce hesitates. “So…when you were, uh, flirting with me–”

“Goodbye,” Bruce says, and in between one blink and the next, he’s gone.

Clark darts over to the edge, heart in his throat. There’s nothing. A six foot tall man, dressed as a bat in body armor, disappeared without a trace.

“Maybe he really is a vampire,” Clark mutters.

Bruce does not appear out of the shadows to grunt negatively in Clark’s general direction, and so Clark figures it’s probably time to head out.

Slipping into the crowd of ambulances and police officers as Clark Kent is actually pretty easy. In the continued chaos, nobody pays much attention to one man. Especially not when Bruce Wayne bursts out of the building asking, very loudly, “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Through the sudden rush of paparazzi and Bruce continuing to pointedly declare that he thinks he would have noticed if there were vampires, Clark manages to catch Bruce’s eye.

Clark lifts his hand in a small wave. Bruce, after a beat, smiles back. Not quite the glittering thing in the ballroom, not quite the stilted thing on the roof. Something in between. Something that Clark suspects is just–Bruce Wayne.

The moment passes. Clark pushes on. He’s got to find Lois and Jimmy. They’re going to flip.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to look for long. It’s only a minute or two before he hears a voice shouting, “Clark!” and a body rams into his side.

Lois clings to him and Clark, without hesitating, clings back.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he says, all in a rush.

Lois buries her face into his shoulder. “Me too.” She pulls away to look Clark in the face. “What happened? They’re saying all these crazy things about–about Batman and–” Catches the look on Clark’s face. “No. No way.”

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself,” Clark says.

“Did you–” Lois drops her voice. “Did you talk to him?”

Clark thinks on it. “For a given definition of the word talking, yes.”

“What was he like?” Lois fires out. “Is he really–no, wait. We should wait for Jimmy. He’ll want to hear this too.”

“Where is Jimmy?” Clark asks, straining once again to see over the crowd. “He’s okay, right?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Lois says. She points behind her. “He’s interviewing people for his vlog right now.”

Clark follows her finger to where Jimmy chatters excitedly at a group of people under shock blankets, looking more shocked by Jimmy than anything else.

“Hey, look,” Lois says, drawing his attention back. She takes a deep breath, and then looks back up at him. “I’m really sorry for snapping at you. Back at the party.”

Clark blinks. “Oh?”

“I was just–” She huffs. “I was frustrated. And I took it out on you. And I shouldn’t have.”

“Why were you–” Belatedly, it hits him. “Oh, my god.” He tries not to sound too giddy. “You were totally jealous.”

“Only a little bit!” Lois says defensively.

“You almost tore his head off,” Clark says. Lois crosses her arms. Clark loses the battle with giddiness entirely.

“Oh, quit laughing,” Lois says, but she’s smiling a little bit too.

“I wouldn’t–” Clark starts, a little more serious. “I wouldn’t ever actually–”

“I know,” Lois says, running a hand up and down his arm. “You’re good like that, Smallville.”

“I try,” Clark says. Lois beams.

“Although,” she muses, putting a hand underneath her chin. “As far as, ah, relationship hall passes go, you could do worse than Bruce Wayne.”

“Oh, god,” Clark says, and he notes a second too late that it isn’t technically a denial. “Relationship hall passes, huh?”

Lois goes pink, but holds his gaze. “Yeah. Relationship.”

The giddiness swoops back in full force. Clark grins like a maniac. “Let me guess. Yours would be…Ronnie Troupe.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lois lies. “But to round it off–”

“To finish it out would have to be–”

“Jimmy,” they say, in perfect unison.

Clark looks at her in surprise. Lois looks back, eyes just as wide.

“Hey guys,” Jimmy says from behind them. Clark jumps. Lois yelps. “Good to see you’re not dead, Clark. Are you talking about me?”

“Just–” Clark says slowly. “Wondering where you were at.”

Lois does some weird shrug-thing. Clark does a shrug thing back. Are they reading too much into this? They’re probably reading too much into this.

Right?

“Oh, you know,” Jimmy says casually. “Uncovering hidden truth, vlogging with the peeps. The usual.”

Lois nudges him in the side. “Clark, tell him who you saw.”

“I met Batman,” Clark confesses.

Jimmy gasps theatrically. “No way!”

“That’s what I said!” Lois says.

“Clark.” Jimmy grasps onto his other arm. “Clark, you have to tell us everything.”

“Don’t I always?” Clark says, because, well. He does.

“Clark, listen,” Lois says, suddenly more serious. She tugs him down to eye-level and holds him there. “I know that we’ve had the conversation about not stalking vigilantes for their secret identities at least three times by now–

“Four,” Clark corrects.

“So I’m not going to ask you outright,” she says. Clark has a moment of relief before she whispers, “Blink twice if Batman is Bruce Wayne.”

Clark considers his options. Then, very slowly, he blinks twice.

“Yes!” Lois crows. “Jimmy, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“No, no, nope,” Jimmy says, cutting a hand through the air. “He could still be a vampire! We don’t know!”

This’ll go on for a while, and Clark will have to shut it down before they ramp up into blatant invasiveness again. But for the moment, he’s got his two best friends in the world by his side and a new partnership on the horizon.

The vampires are probably still a problem, though.

But Clark can deal with that tomorrow.