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Things got hectic after Bruce returned. For most people, he had never been gone, his eldest son playing the role of Batman so well no one realized the man they’d spent years with had been replaced. No one saw the extra inches added to his boots nor the way his armor switched into something just a little more flexible. They didn’t hear how his words were laced with a voice modulator or notice how his fighting style changed to be more hands-on and flexible than the brute strength it had been before.
Batman was and always has been an enigma. People were so used to minute changes in the man that most of them flew over their heads. Clark had been one of the few people to know who was truly under the cowl, he had gone to Bruce’s funeral (a private one held at Wayne Manner, because even to the public, Bruce Wayne was alive), and he’d done his best to support Dick while battling his own grief.
He’d seen the boy grow up, and in his own way, Clark thought of Dick as his. He wasn’t like Bruce, didn’t have any claim on the kid, but he’d been around enough to care. So, even when he was hurting with the loss of his...whatever he and Bruce had been, Clark did his best to pull himself together. To be a rock that Dick needed in such a hard time.
Even so, Dick handled being Batman better than anyone could have. He filled Bruce’s shoes and trained a child, and no one noticed the switch. He smiled and laughed and was alive whenever he was allowed to just be Dick Grayson, and if Clark didn’t know him, he would have believed he was fine. But Dick Grayson was a performer, and he always put on a show.
He put on a show whenever he put on the cowl, whenever someone asked how he was doing. He acted the part he was given, and it was just as admirable as it was concerning.
“How are you holding up?” Clark had asked, once.
Dick hadn’t looked away from the monitor. He had been still, and his lips had been stuck in the slight scowl Bruce had always had, and if Clark hadn’t known, he would have been just as ignorant as anyone else. He would have thought Dick was Bruce. But he knew better, and he fought away the image of a dead man.
“I always knew he’d die.” Dick said, finally. “I always knew he’d die with the only lines on his face being from battle.”
Clark had winced and couldn’t find a reply, so they had spent the rest of monitor duty in silence. Dick had left with a sweep of his cape and a nod, and it was so reminiscent of the previous bat that Clark had spent the rest of his day reminiscing on the good old days.
The days where Bruce would smile at him faintly with Dick on his soldiers, the boy still small enough to climb onto his shoulders. The days Bruce would look at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment, and it was rare to have all of Bruce’s attention, but Clark would get it in the small touches and softer looks.
Clark used to live for that easy affection. He knew Dick had fought for it too.
“I’m sorry,” Clark said to Dick’s back.
Dick did not reply. Clark expected it.
_-_
“Dick has been distant.” Bruce told him one evening.
He’d been back for months, and he’d gotten the clear to go back on patrol a week prior. Clark didn’t even have to bully the man out of the Batsuit. In fact, he had flown into his room to find him in civilian attire and preparing to join his kids at the dinner table. Clark grinned until the moment he heard that Dick wasn’t there. Business, he had told Bruce, and exactly no one believed him.
“What do you mean?” Clark asked.
Bruce shrugged; a bit disgruntled. He didn’t like not knowing things, though he had always been a bit ignorant when it came to feelings. Distant from all those years he had spent fighting his own.
“He’s coming to Gotham every weekend, but he seems...” Bruce trailed off.
“Different?” Clark suggested.
“Yes,” Bruce said, “Distant.”
Clark didn’t tell him Dick had grown distant during his charade as Batman. He didn’t tell the man he had grown distant because of the stress and hardships Bruce had left behind. Bruce didn’t need him to say it, he no doubt already understood that.
“I’ll talk to him.” Clark said quietly.
Bruce nodded and made his way to the door. He paused after wrapping his hand around the knob and turned to Clark with an almost sad look in his eyes. “You look good, Clark.”
Clark didn’t feel the wave of butterflies he would have a year ago. It upset him when he realized it, weeks ago. He still didn’t know how to feel about it.
“You do too, B.” he said, just as quiet.
Clark turned around, and he was out of Gotham before Bruce made it down the stairs. He idly made his way into Bludhaven, keeping an ear and eye out for her protector. After floating for a few minutes, he caught onto Dick’s heartbeat, and quickly made his way to the man. Dick looked up as Clark landed on the room besides him, and he didn’t look surprised at his arrival. It was difficult to surprise him, anyways, it always had been.
“Hey,” Clark smiled, “Busy night?”
“No,” Dick replied, looking back to the view of the city. Clark had never quite seen the appeal of dark, gloomy cities. But he supposed he could see the beauty, if he really wanted to. And sometimes he did, for Bruce and for Dick. “Why are you here?”
“Checking in.” Clark said. He hesitated for a moment, and Dick locked onto it like a shark smelling blood. “I know things are rough right now, I wanted to see how you were holding up.”
Dick’s eyebrows furrowed, almost like he was confused. “I’m not the one who was lost in time.”
“No,” Clark agreed, “But you went through a terrible experience either way.”
Dick licked his lips and curled his legs up. His knees pressed against his chest, and he wound an arm around his legs. He looked oddly reminiscent to the kid Clark remembered, and he recalled, years ago, how he had told Dick a story of Gods on a rooftop like this.
“I’m fine.” Dick said quickly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, Clark.”
Clark frowned. He turned to the overview of Bludhaven, watched how the moon shone on smoggy clouds. He could hear car horns honking and couples arguing. This city was no better than Gotham – sometimes Clark would listen in, make sure Dick was doing fine on patrol, or taking it easy like he promised he would, and wonder why he would focus his efforts here when he could make a difference where it would stick.
“How is it being Nightwing again?” Clark asked.
“Like coming home.” Dick said warmly. He smiled, a private thing, almost like it was just for Clark and Bludhaven. “I’ve missed it. All of this.”
“I know.” Clark sat next to him.
They sat quietly for a few minutes. Clark listened to Dick’s heart beat and how his lungs raddled with each inhale. His fingers tapped against his knees and his pulse raced, and it was clear each breath was controlled, like he needed to count his breaths to make sure he was breathing at all.
“You didn’t join the dinner tonight.” Clark trailed off, leaving it open, an option should Dick wish to discuss it.
Dick looked at him, minutely horrified, as if he hadn’t expected Clark to know of this dinner. Like he hadn’t expected – or perhaps hoped – him and Bruce to keep in touch.
“I...I had other things to do.” Dick shook his head, his eyes moving wildly under his mask as he looked around. He acted like the shadows would jump out at him, and it was startling. Dick was like the shadows in human form, called it home and felt safe in the dark embrace. Once, Dick had admitted to how he would love to never have to leave them.
Oh, but flying , he had said, I could never give up flying.
“It’s okay.” Clark murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Dick, what’s going on? You know you can talk to me.”
“Everyone is talking about Tim or Damian – even Jason!” Dick looked away, as if the idea of meeting his eyes was too much, and in a voice so small, he asked, “Is it so wrong to think that it hurt me too?”
“No,” Clark said. “I would even say you were hurt the most.”
Dick’s lips pulled up, nose scrunching and eyes squinting behind his mask, like he always did when he was trying to not cry. “Tim is throwing a fit about losing Robin,” he muttered, “Jason’s up my ass about how terrible I was at Batman. Damian won’t talk to me now that Bruce has taken the cowl back. I – I didn’t ask to be Batman. I never wanted to be him!”
Clark recalled how Dick used to show up at his apartment randomly with bruised knuckles and a glum expression and talk about how he never wanted to be Batman. He’d always make some hot chocolate for the boy and dial up Bruce whenever he fell asleep, and Bruce would always placate him with the same old story that always worked no matter how many times Clark had heard it.
Dick had never wanted to be Batman, but he had excelled at it.
Sometimes Clark wondered if no one saw how it killed him to do it. All anyone seemed to see was a scapegoat. Saw his flaws instead of all the good he had done. He took Robin away from Tim, but he trained and gave a young boy a home. He hadn’t taken the cowl right away, leaving destruction to rise, and when he finally accepted the duty, Jason had deemed it too late. Dick was a failure. Damian had taken a lot of time to accept Dick as Batman, and just as he did, Dick left the cowl in the hands of the original.
Clark was proud of him. For doing what he thought was right, for not bending under the pressure, for being a good man. All he ever wanted was Dick to be happy, and to see him tear himself apart like this killed him.
“Dick,” Clark said gently, “You never should have been in that position. It’s not your fault. You did the best you could with what you were dealt.”
Dick let out a cry so quiet Clark knew he only heard it because of his super hearing. The idea that the boy he watched grow up learned how to cry silently made his blood boil. He wanted to shield him from the world and protect him until his last breath.
“I could have done better.” Dick refuted, teary, “I know I could have. But it hurt me too, Kal.”
“I know, son,” Clark murmured kindly.
He opened his arms, and it only took Dick a few seconds of hesitation to accept the embrace. Dick didn’t cry, but it was a near thing. They stayed like that until the moon was high in the sky and the air chilled around them, but Clark didn’t move until Dick pulled back and wiped at his face. He didn’t know how Dick was so strong, truthfully. Clark had seen him go through hell and back and always get back onto his feet and push through. Growing up in Gotham must do that for people.
“I’m proud of you,” Clark told him truthfully.
Dick shook his head. “I’m not something to be proud of.”
“I disagree,” Clark said. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Dick didn’t reply. He picked at his glove and seemed almost awkward as he sat there.
Clark decided to have mercy on him. “How is Wally?”
Dick lit up, his lips widening into a smile that the man tried to stop by biting his lower lip. “He’s good.” he said, soft and sweet, “We’re...we’re talking again.”
“Talking, huh?” Clark said. “Kids these days, you know we used to call talking , dating.”
“Old man,” Dick replied, grinning. He kicked his feet over the edge of the rooftop with the ease Clark had only seen in those who had the ability to fly. Dick had always been the best at defying gravity, even without the meta-ability to do so. “Being Batman really messed us up, y’know? I’m...nervous to date again, but Wally’s stubborn.”
“That must be why you’re a good fit,” Clark said. “I’m happy you have him.”
Dick’s eyes softened behind his mask. “Me too.”
Clark knew they’d have to talk more. About his feelings and how his family was assisting in those emotions, but for now Clark was content to talk about Dick’s love life and pretend that everything was okay, so long as Dick was content with it.
Soon, Clark would fly back to Gotham and tell Bruce to be there more, soon he’d head to Keystone to give a certain speedster a shovel talk, and soon enough, Clark would help Nightwing transition back into the hero community. But for now, he could enjoy a nice evening with the boy he helped raise. That was enough for him.