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Part 1 of Maybe A Family Is...
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2018-01-26
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3,227
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1/1
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An Amazon, a Kryptonian, and a Billionaire (and His Billion Children)

Summary:

Bruce comes home from patrol to find two super powered beings in his bed. He's not complaining (except that he is).
It's all Dick Grayson's fault.

In which Diana and Clark spend an awful lot of time with the Bat-family, who in turn scheme to get the Trinity together.
As everyone knows, the best way to Bruce's heart is through his children.

Notes:

Clark and Diana's courtship of Bruce, shown through scenes of them bonding with the Bat-family.
Hopefully everyone is in character? If not, my b.

I've been on a bit of a trinity bender lately, so hopefully there will be more in the works soon.

Massive thanks to TantalumCobalt for not only beta-ing this, but also helping with the characterisation of the kids. Any and all mistakes are mine.

I obvs don't own DC or any of their characters.

The textpost that inspired the title can be found here

Canon? I don't know her.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

 

Bruce comes home from patrol to find two super powered beings in his bed. He's not complaining (except that he is). It’s a sight he could get used to; Clark and Diana curled up together, asleep in his bed.

 

He just wants to sleep, goddamnit.

 

There's room, of course. Right at Clark's side. Something within him desperately wants this; wants to curl up beside them.

 

Instead, he turns and heads did the door.

 

It’s all Dick Grayson’s fault.

 

 

 

It starts with brunch.

Or, maybe it starts before that.

There has to have been a planning stage, brainstorming and the formulation of contingencies. Bruce has trained his Robins well enough to ensure their plans will be… feasible, at the very least.

 

After a rough night on patrol, (and a rougher night’s sleep) Bruce comes down the stairs to the kitchen, expecting to find his children eating brunch. Which they are, but they’re not alone.

 

Diana’s got an arm around Jason’s shoulders, who is definitely not blushing, while telling a story of her latest off-world mission with Clark.

Nodding along, Clark scoffs down as many of Alfred’s omelettes as he can physically manage.

Something inside his chest tightens at the sight. Clark, Diana, his kids, sitting around the table. He could get used to this.

 

Dick catches Bruce’s eye as he makes the final step. “Good morning, sleepy head.”

Diana and Clark whirl around to see, and Bruce’s heart melts a little further.

“Morning, B,” Clark smiles, all soft.

He must look like a mess, since Diana wordlessly pours him a cup of coffee. When he makes no move to sit, she strides over and places the mug in his hand.

 

It's an old one, something Dick got for him for their first Father's Day together. It's been stacked away at the back of the cupboard, because every time Bruce sees it, well…

 

He realises he's still standing, and makes his way to an empty seat between Tim and Damian. He figures it's best to keep those two separate while there's company.

 

The rest of the family continue to eat, while Clark and Diana occasionally glance up him, mildly concerned.

 

He scoops an omelette and some toast onto his plate, but he barely touches it. Diana goes back to her story, and Clark asks Duke about his latest piece of poetry. It's so… domestic.

 

Did he wake up in an alternate reality again?

 

“What's on the agenda for today, Bruce?” Dick asks, and Bruce rambles about meetings and stocks and other junk. The kids tune out and start their own conversations.

 

It's boring, he knows, but Diana and Clark listen despite. They're hanging on every word, and Bruce has never been more confused in his life. Or maybe he has, but that feeling in his chest is messing with his thought processes.

 

Clark ruffles everyone's hair, (including Bruce but excluding Alfred, who looked very threatening with a paring knife) before heading out to get some work done at the Planet. Diana follows not long after.

 

Tim pokes the sudden silence at the table. “It was nice of them to drop by.”

Bruce nods and excuses himself.

 

 

 

“Got a date for the gala tonight, Bruce?” Dick asks from where he's lounging on Bruce’s bed. It's a fortnight since the 'brunch incident', and Bruce hadn't thought much on it.

 

Bruce knots his tie in the mirror, like he's done hundreds of times before.

“I figured we'd go stag together.”

“Just because I can't get a date, Bruce, doesn't mean you can't.” He grins. “Or is it the other way around?”

Dick’s in a dark blue suit, while Bruce has opted for charcoal.

“I'm an old man Dick, but I'm not that old.” He throws a pair of balled-up socks at the boy. “C’mon, it's show time.”

 

Bruce makes his way down the staircase to wolf whistles.

“Looking good, B,” Clark calls, and Bruce does not blush. He doesn’t .

“What are you two doing here?”

Diana looks up at him expectantly. “We’re your dates. Didn’t Dick tell you?”

Dick clicks his tongue. “Must have slipped my mind.”

Bruce glares at him, but he just shrugs.

He's going to have to work on that.

 

“Master Bruce, Master Dick, you’re going to be late.”

Bruce just sighs and heads for the door. Clark and Diana link arms with him, and the trio head out the door,

A very pleased Dick trails behind.

 

All in all, it’s not a bad night.

Brucie Wayne, socialite extraordinaire, enchants the paparazzi with his two gorgeous dates. The rumour mill will run rampant, and that’s exactly what he wants.

 

He dances with the two of them, one at a time, and watches as they dance with each other, or with Dick.

(“Well, it’s not fair that you have two dates, Bruce, and I don’t have one.”)

Muffled by Diana's hair, he laughs as Clark dips Dick mid waltz.

 

It's the most fun he's had in a long while, and he can tell that Dick is thinking the same.

 

Bruce stays at the gala much longer than he usually would, actually enjoying himself for once.

 

 

 

Bruce is sitting three rows from the front at Cass’s ballet recital, when there’s a hushed commotion at his left side.

He turns to Dick beside him, who merely winks, before waving in the newcomers’ direction.

Clark and Diana, with whispered “sorry”’s and “excuse me”’s, clamber past the other parents and sink into the two empty seats next to Dick. They’re dressed down for the evening but look as lovely as they did on the night of the gala.

 

They each shoot Bruce an apologetic smile. “Sorry we’re late,” Clark whispers, “got held up on the way.”

Or, by the sounds of it, someone got held up on Clark and Diana's way.

 

He's about to ask what the hell they think they're doing here, when someone shushes them from behind.

 

Bruce turns his focus back to the stage. Cass is waiting in the wings, Bruce knows, and he doesn’t want to miss a moment.

 

Afterward, when Bruce sneaks backstage to hand Cass a bouquet of yellow roses, he finds Clark and Diana there as well.

Cass is in Clark’s arms, her own encircling his neck. He’s spinning her around, both grinning wildly.

Diana catches her, giving her a hug of her own. She presses a kiss to her hair. “You were wonderful, darling.”

Cass preens under their praise.

 

Bruce clears his throat, “Cassandra.”

“Bruce!” She runs to him, and Bruce only has eyes for her. He hands her the flowers, grinning softly.

“You did good, kid,” he says, as he ruffles her hair.

“I'm glad you all made it.”

 

And maybe Bruce is glad, too. There’s black and brown smudges of makeup down the front of Clark’s shirt, and both he and Diana are covered in glitter. Bruce nearly laughs at the sight.

 

A woman approaches them, mid-sixties and impossibly tall. Cass’ dance instructor. She holds out her hand to each of them. Bruce, ever the flirt, kisses the back of her hand.

She smiles tightly. “Are these your parents, Cassandra?”

Cass just nods and gathers up her gear.

“You’ve done an excellent job with her,” she says, making eye contact with all three.

Bruce makes to speak, but something within him, something that preens whenever he catches the two smiling at him, keeps him silent.

 

“Can we get ice-cream? Please?” Cass asks. Bruce opens his mouth, but it's Diana who says, “of course.”

Cass links arms with her, before heading out the door.

 

Clark holds out his arm for Bruce, expectantly. “C’mon, Dick's waiting.”

With a roll of his eyes, he grabs Clark's arm, following the girls out into the night.

 

 

 

Maybe a week later, Tim sticks his head through the doorway of Bruce’s office. His regular, Wayne Enterprise office. Not the one in the basement. “Hey, Bruce?”

“What is it?” He doesn’t look up from his typing.

Maybe he needs to put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on that door. Or maybe a lock.

“Kon and Clark are coming over this afternoon.”

And that involves him how? Instead, he says, “that’s nice.”

“Can you… help?”

Bruce saves his work and shut his laptop. This must be big. “What’s up?”

“I, uh, I kind of invited them over… separately. To try and get them to talk.”

Ah. An intervention. “And you need my help.”

Tim’s wringing his hands together like a soaking chamois. “Clark isn’t the best dad to Kon. I know he tries and all, but he just-”

“He doesn’t know where to start.” Bruce pictures Dick, eight year old and clinging to his cape, and he remembers that lost feeling all too well. It’s hard to learn how to parent when your kid is old enough to see your mistakes. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Thanks, Dad.” His eyes widen impossibly and he rushes from the room.

Bruce sighs. He can still hear Tim as he skitters down the hall.

Dad. Maybe he likes the sound of that.

They're sitting around the dinner table like its a Mexican standoff.

Kon’s refusing to look at Clark, and Clark… he isn't doing much better.

“Alright. This has to stop.”

They both snap their attention to Bruce.

“You can't ignore each other like this. You need to communicate.” Bruce can't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

 

“Kon.” Clark looks strained, like the words he's trying to say are laced with magic. “How's Ma?”

 

It's a nice, neutral topic. Bruce feels a curl of pride in his gut. Maybe this can work.

 

“She’s good. Wishes you were home a bit more.”

“Me too, kid.” He looks wistfully at Kon's face. “Maybe I'll come down this weekend. Would that be alright?”

Startled, Kon nods. “Yeah, I’d- I think she'd like that.”

 

Tim looks at Bruce like he just punched Godzilla in the face.

 

The boys head up to Tim's room to play whatever video game they're into this week, leaving Bruce and Clark at the table.

 

The silence drags on a little, until Clark finds the courage to speak. “Thanks, B.”

Clark smiles at him, a little wet and very sincere. He wraps Bruce in a tight hug, and Bruce can't bring himself to fight it.

 

He knows it's not perfect, but it's a start.

 

 

 

It's well after ten when Damian walks through the door.

“Where on Earth have you been?” Bruce asks and tries to keep the ‘worried father’ tone out of his words. He fails.

Damian shrugs, heads to the kitchen, and starts serving himself some tofu.

Bruce follows, not done with his son quite yet.

Clark strolls in after, his check shirt ruffled from the flight in.

“Clark,” Bruce greets him curtly, coldly.

The Kryptonian seems unfazed. “Hey B, sorry we’re back late. Damian was asking the zoo staff so many cool questions, and I completely lost track of time.”

Of course he was. Of course he did.

Of course of course of course.

What's Kent trying to do, steal his children?

Damian pipes up, “the Singapore zoo has extremely realistic habitats, Father.”

“Is that so?” He's pleased, nonetheless, that Damian’s showing an interest in something other than work.

 

Alfred appears by the pantry. “Will you be staying for supper, Master Kent?”

Clark shrugs. “If you don't mind, Alfred.”

Alfred’s eyes glean as he looks, not at Clark, but at Bruce. “There's always room for more. I'll fetch you a plate.”

 

Bruce turns to Damian. “So, what were you saying about the habitats?”

 

 

Jason rolls in later, slumps down on the sofa and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

“You were meant to report in for patrol an hour ago,” Bruce grunts from the doorway.

“Get your laws off my body.”

Bruce glares at him, exasperated. He's not in the mood for another fight.

“You owe Nightwing for covering for you.”

“I'll send him a six-pack of that shit beer he likes. Diana says hi, by the way.”

Bruce nods, the pieces starting to fall into place.

 

“Hey,” Jay calls without looking up from the TV, “did you know your Assistant Head of Public Relations donated a hundred and fifty thousand bucks to pro-life organisations last year?”

 

Bruce frowned. No, he did not. “I’ll look into it.”

“See that you do. I might have to pay him a visit later, if you know what I mean.”

 

And Bruce does. He sends an email that night to the now former Assistant Head of Public Relations of Wayne Enterprise, and makes a donation to Planned Parenthood, under the name of Jason Todd .

 

 

 

The next day, Bruce is on monitor duty with Diana.

“So, how was the march?”

“You aren’t… upset, are you?”

“No.”

“It’s something we’re both passionate about. It was Jason's idea, actually, and I thought it best if he had some supervision, and-”

“Diana,” he cuts her off, “I’m not upset.”

“Good, because Jay and I are going to another next month.”

“He'd like that.”

 

The monitor beeps out a threat, cutting Bruce off.

“There's a disturbance in Martian space,” Bruce says, his fingers fly over the keys. “Manhunter, do you copy?”

“Copy that, Batman. On my way.”

 

 

 

Bruce comes home from a board meeting and gets a soccer ball to the face.

There's a lot more that happened between those two events, but Bruce is a little fuzzy on the details.

 

“Where's your bat reflexes now, old man?” Jay teases.

Flat on his back, he can hear Jason's unrepentant laughter. He reminds himself to cut Jay's allowance in half.

 

Diana and Clark’s faces come into view.

“You okay, B?”

“Mmfine,” he mutters, as Clark offers a hand.

Diana's not as easily subdued. “Jason, apologise to your father.”

Scoffing, Bruce accepts Clark's hand up.

He's caught off guard when Jay mumbles an apology in his direction. He nods, because he feels like he should accept the apology, even if it shouldn’t have happened. Not in this reality, at least.

 

With their ball back, they continue the match.

 

From his understanding, it started as a game of kick-to-kick between Clark, Duke, and Diana and somehow escalated to a full match with the entire family.

He's sceptical, but then he sees it first-hand, and… he's transfixed.

 

It's like his soul’s transcended.

 

They're bickering as they play, of course, but it's so unusual to have most of his kids in one place, let alone work as teams. This is what Clark and Diana do. They unite people. They make him… feel things. Maybe he should see a doctor about this head injury…

 

Diana and Duke's team wins, but it's Clark who throws the boy up into the air. Despite himself, Bruce's heart lodges itself in his throat.

 

Clark winks at him, before both he and Diana catch Duke on the decline. They hoist him up onto their shoulders and march him inside, where Alfred's got fresh lemonade waiting.

 

The rest follow, leaving Bruce and Dick out on the Manor grass.

 

Dick’s looking at him with an expression Bruce can't seem to read.

“That was nice, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” says Bruce, “I could get used to that.”

Dick grins at him, like he’d said that Dick’d get all his money when he died. “Yeah, me too.”

 

He pats Bruce on the shoulder, just like Bruce had done so many times before. “C’mon, let's go have some lemonade.”

 

 

 

So, when Bruce comes home from patrol one night to find Clark and Diana in his bed, he isn’t that surprised, per say.

 

They’re asleep, which is something. Bruce isn’t sure whether he’s conscious or coherent enough to have this conversation right now.

 

There’s space on the bed and it's calling to him.

It’s just the right size for Bruce to curl up next to Clark, to place his hand on Clark’s waist, right next to where Diana’s is resting.

 

Bruce shakes himself, and heads for one of the guest rooms.

 

He doesn’t get that far.

 

Bruce finds Dick lingering in the hallway. “What are you playing at?”

“What?” He tries -and fails- at looking incredulous. “Nothing, Bruce, I swear.”

“Why are Clark and Diana in my bed?”

His lips quirk into a small grin. “I think you’ll find the question is, ‘why weren’t they in your bed sooner?’”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “Dick, that’s enough.”

“Just talk to them in the morning. Like a normal person. Please.”

 

Bruce grunts and heads down the hall. In the first guest room he finds, he crawls under the covers and falls into a pitiful sleep.

 

 

 

In the morning, Bruce stumbles into the kitchen, trailing the heavenly scent of waffles. Steph must be here.

 

And yeah, Steph’s here; she’s cooking waffles, with two apprentice chefs at her side.

Hips swaying to whatever pop song the radio was playing, the three of them sing and dance around the kitchen.

Diana's beating the mixture, Clark's cooking the waffles, and Steph's chopping up fruit for toppings.

 

“Stephanie,” Bruce says, making his presence known. Which is odd, because there's three trained heroes in front of him that he shouldn’t be able to sneak up on. Not without having a coffee, at least.

 

Clark and Diana jump, but Steph just smiles.

“Morning, grumpy head. We're just making you some breakfast.” She grinned at him, before popping another chunk of strawberry in her mouth.

 

She's- they're - what?

“It was Clark's idea,” Diana says, “and Stephanie offered her waffle-goddess services.”

 

With batter in their hair and across their cheeks, the two of them look like an utter mess. Fuck, they were still gorgeous. And they were wearing his pyjamas. Damn it all to hell.

 

“We need to talk,” Bruce grunts.

But first? Waffles. Steph's waffles were not something to take lightly.

 

 

 

They’re sitting in the drawing room, sipping black coffee. Bruce doesn’t have to be in the office until late, and Cyborg seems to be holding down the fort in the Watchtower just fine without him.

Clark finally breaks the silence. “He said your guest rooms were being redecorated.”

“And you had no qualms about sleeping in my bed, instead of, I don’t know, flying somewhere else?”

“Bruce, we’re sorry-”

 

Bruce sighs. “You know, you could always adopt.”

Diana's eyebrows shoot upward. “What?”

“You two can adopt some kids and live happily ever after. You don’t need to keep borrowing mine.”

“Borrowing?” Diana, for once, looks baffled. “Bruce, we’re not trying to take your children. We want to spend time with them, of course.”

“But we want to spend time with you, too,” Clark finishes.

 

He’s hyper aware of the tension building, the arm slung across his shoulders, the hand resting on his knee.

“I was under the impression,” he begins slowly, “that you two were together.”

They share a glance before returning their focus to Bruce. “We are. But we want to be together with you.”

“And being with you means being a part of your family.”

“You already are.”

 

And then Diana’s on his lap, and he’s pulled into some ridiculously awkward hug by the pair of them. The fall back on the sofa, half squashing Clark, but that's okay. Someone’s sniffling, and yep, it’s Clark. Clark’s crying. Panic builds in Bruce’s gut. But Clark’s laughing now, laughing through his tears, and so is Diana. They’re a jumble of limbs and tears and laughter.

 

This is nice, Bruce thinks. He could get used to this.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this utter sap. Comments and Kudos are much appreciated.

Come chat with me about these idiots here

-Nova xx

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