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Even though Clark should be home most of the time, seeing as he was a retired reporter and a freelance journalist, he wasn’t. Superman was out saving the world, and Batman—well, Bruce Wayne, since he’d also long retired from the cape, was managing and leading a multi-conglomerate company from home, all while taking care of their eleven month old son, Terry.

Bruce sealed the diaper, and put some onesies on the chubby child giggling at him on his and Clark’s bed. He carefully lifted him up, and pressed his nose to the child’s temple, inhaling the light scent of baby soap. He smiled to himself, thinking he was too old to be taking care of a small child like this, but he did it anyway.

 “Bruce!” Dick had barged into the manor yelling, with Tim right behind him. “Bruce!”

 Clark had been the one to receive them. “Dick? Is that you? When did you come back? What’s going on?” he’d asked as he approached them.

 “Where is he?” Dick had demanded.

 “Will you just calm down?” Tim had said with a frown.

 “He’s in the family room—Dick!”

 Dick had rushed to the family room, barged in there, where Bruce had been entertaining a small bundle in his arms. “What the hell is this?!” Dick had thrown a tabloid onto the coffee table.

 ‘WAYNE-KENT HAS CHILD THROUGH SURROGACY’ the tabloid’s heading, in bold capital letters, had said.

 Bruce faced him, and the four month old child he held raised his little arms, reaching for Bruce’s face, wanting his father to face him. Then he looked at the newspaper on the coffee table. “It’s a newspaper sensationalizing my decision to have a child,”

 “Yeah!” Dick had fumed. “A child, just like we were. A child you’ll rob of a good childhood full of attention and care. And for what? Because you’re busy aiding Barbara with anonymous tips, manipulating gangs until they run into the police, or you managing your company? Then you’ll choose those over going to your own child’s graduation! Then what? You’ll train him to become just like you—a manipulative asshole who doesn't care about anybody else but himself!”

 The baby had started to cry, obviously upset at the sudden rise of voices. His face had turned red as fat tears rolled down his chubby cheeks. Worry had washed over Bruce as he immediately tried to shush him, swaying lightly to calm him down.

 “If you’re done being bitter about a childhood we chose,” Tim had said to Dick, “I’d like to meet my new little brother now,” Tim had gone over to Bruce, who had a little success at toning the cries down to little whimpers. “So what’s the little guy’s name?”

 The child had stared at Tim with the same blue eyes Bruce had.

 “Terrence. We call him Terry for short,” Bruce had proudly said.

 Clark put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Bruce would never admit it, because he knows what people who really know him would say, but it is lonely you know, especially for two old men like us,” he’d said. “Living in a house like this, knowing it should be full of children and not dust,”

 Dick had watched as Clark joined them, as Tim took a turn at holding the baby, cooing as the child stared up at the new face.

 Then with a fond smile, Bruce had looked at him. “Would like to meet him, Dick?”

 He thought he’d gotten angry out of concern, but he really got angry because he thought he’d moved on but he hadn’t. He let out a sigh, relaxed his shoulders, and took a single, long calming breath, and he too gave Bruce a small, fond smile. Because no matter how badly they’d parted, Bruce was still his father.

 And hell yeah, he’d like to meet the little squirt.

 “So, Terry, huh?” Dick had said as he joined them.

“Come on, we better take advantage of your good mood,” Bruce said as he left his and Clark’s bedroom, holding Terry close to his chest, headed for the kitchen. “We’re going to have leftover smoked ham sandwiches for lunch, and you’re having some pureed carrots,”

Terry looked Bruce in the eye as be babbled, and Bruce solemnly agreed with him. Whenever Terry tried to talk and babble, Bruce liked to give meaning to what he was trying to say, and replied with things such as, ‘Is that so?’ or ‘Really?’ and, ‘Well, we can’t have that, can we?’ and refrained from baby talk and nonsense words, saying that he wasn’t going to intentionally talk to his son as if he weren’t capable of learning.

“Well, if you feel that badly about pureed carrots,” said Bruce when he entered the kitchen and Terry’s babbling had stopped. He put Terry in his high chair. “How about some mashed bananas then?” he asked as he prepared the ingredients for Terry’s baby food, and his lunch.

“Hey, Bruce!” Dick greeted as he entered the kitchen and set a three boxes of pizza on the counter and two bottles of soda. “And there’s the man of the house!” he cooed at Terry as he lifted him from the high chair and snuggled with the giggling baby. “How’ve you been, buddy!”

“Dick?” Bruce closed the fridge door. “Why on earth did you bring this much pizza? And why didn’t you call before coming?”

“Well, I’m a hungry man, you’re a hungry man, and then there’s a hungry ubermensch on his way home after he just happened to fly by Timmy’s communications station and helping out with some heavy lifting with his satellites,” Dick blew a raspberry on Terry’s chubby cheek.

“He went to Tim?” Bruce started making Terry’s food, mashing half a banana and putting a little diluted formula in it.

“Yeah,” Dick continued to play with Terry, kissing his pudgy hands, and swaying and dancing him around. “Tim called me and told me to tell you that he told a little bird to tell Clark to accidentally or just pass by so he could ask for help,”

Bruce raised a brow at him. “So Tim knew you were coming over and I didn’t?”

Dick paused for a moment. “Surprise?” he smiled at Bruce. “Hey, I brought pizza,”

Bruce sighed, and continued on making the baby food. “Alright, would you mind feeding him while I prepare?”

“I’d love to!” Dick said cheerfully, setting Terry back down on his high chair. He washed his hands, and settled himself on one of the counter stools near Terry’s chair. 

Bruce handed him the small bowl and Terry’s spoon, and set aside the boxes of pizza, put the soda in the fridge, and started to make himself a sandwich. “What did Clark have to help Tim with?”

“One of the beams that held the dishes up got rusty—say aahhh—and collapsed,” said Dick as he tried to train and airplane the spoon into Terry’s mouth. “But he needed to get the service back up ASAP—come on, open up, buddy—so he had to call Clark so he could lift the dish and Tim and his team would be able to try and weld it back, but I think Clark took care of the welding, too,”

“I see,” he went to the fridge for some cucumbers and tomatoes, and a strawberry yogurt cup that he handed over to Dick. “Here. It might be a while before Clark comes back if you want to wait for him,”

“Thanks!” Dick grabbed a tablespoon from one of the drawers, and had a spoonful of the yogurt before turning back to feeding Terry.

It was a good thing he’d already finished making his lunch, when Terry, after no more than two tiny spoonful of bananas, started fussing. Terry shook his head as Dick tried to feed him one more spoonful, then backed down when he threatened to cry.

“Okay, okay!” Dick said in a panic, setting the bowl of baby food down on the chair’s desk.

Bruce chuckled and moved over to Terry to gently pluck him from the chair, and lightly bounce him in his arms to let him know he was just close by. “It’s only Richard, Terrence. And I will never be too far away from you,”

“What is it? What’s going on? What’s wrong? Why’s he crying?” Clark worriedly asked as he hurried into the kitchen. He was wearing a rumpled shirt and a pair of pants, apparently rushing to change clothes when he heard the crying.

“He didn’t like it that Dick was feeding him,” Bruce let Clark take a sniffling Terry, who reached for his Pa when he saw him.

“Pa! Pa!” Terry chanted as Clark laughed.

“Yes, hello, son,” Clark smiled, pressing a kiss to Terry’s temple.

Dick pouted dramatically. “I’m a failure,”

“Oh, shush,” said Bruce, as he cleared away his mess from the sandwich making, and then put the pizza back on the counter. “Dick brought pizza. How was ‘just happening to fly by’ Tim’s comm-station?”

Clark moved over to Bruce and gave him a quick kiss on the lips as a greeting.

Dick was grinning widely. “I love the domesticity in here. Pa’s home from work and Ma’s making baby food,”

“Tch,” Bruce scoffed. “Be thankful this isn’t a hundred years ago and that you’re 40 and not 15. I would have grounded you,”

“Aww, thanks, Bruce,” Dick opened one of the pizza boxes and flipped the cover under and set it down before taking a slice.    

“It was good,” Clark started. “I welded the dish to the stand, because it would have taken them at least a few hours to get that finished, and I didn’t want to miss lunch,” he took a slice of pizza from the box and took a bite. Bruce raised a brow at him. “What?”

Bruce rolled his eyes and bit into his sandwich.

“And, Tim says he’ll be by with the kids soon. He wants to see how much Terry has grown since last week,” he set Terry back on the high chair, and washed his hands with a rolled up pizza slice in his mouth.

Bruce decided to take over feeding Terry. “That’s nice. Maybe for lunch this time? So they can actually see Terry awake and in a good mood rather than fussy, cranky and non-stop crying from coming in during naptime,”

“I’ll call him so he can set the day,” Dick grabbed a glass to pour himself and Clark some soda, and took a bottle of water from the fridge for Bruce.

“Okay, it’s definitely naptime,” Bruce smiled in amusement as Terry struggled to keep his head up halfway through his mashed bananas. “You two clean up here. I’ll put him to sleep,” he left the two alone, and headed for the master bedroom.

It wasn’t a difficult decision for them to keep Terry in the room with them. Bruce, though still strong, was aging, and the thought getting to the next room with creaky old bones wasn’t something Clark liked at all. And besides, they both liked having him near at all times.

Bruce had always thought that the house would always be quiet, and he and Clark would have to live through his life in a mausoleum. Most of the rooms were locked and a lot of the furniture was draped in white cloth. They never thought something could breathe life back into Bruce’s childhood home.

Even though Terry’s creation was Amanda Waller’s idea of a legacy, it didn’t turn out so well. Mary McGinnis died at birth, and Warren was murdered for some illegal research that Derek Powers had been doing at Wayne-Powers, which prompted Bruce to kick Powers out and gain back his company.

What happened was cruel, but Bruce wasn’t going to keep secrets from Terry. He might tell him little by little, but the most important one, the one resting in the cave underneath their home, could wait until Terry was old enough to understand. And whatever choices Terry were to make when that time came, Bruce was going to try and respect them.

“Dick already left. Said he had to go back to the precinct,” Clark said as he entered the bedroom. “He asleep?”

“Out like a light,” said Bruce, letting Clark snake his arms around his waist, and put his chin on his shoulder so he could watch the baby sleep. “I played with him all morning to make sure he’d sleep after lunch. He even tried to resist when I cleaned his teeth,”

“Hard headed just like you,” Clark chuckled and gave Bruce a kiss on his cheek. “C’mon, let me have a turn,”

Bruce gently placed Terry in Clark’s arms. “Okay, you have him. Because I need a nap, too,” he yawned and climbed onto the bed as he watched Clark hold their son.

“I’m thinking of a big birthday party,” said Clark, “Big meaning two big brothers, one sister in-law, two cousins, one DA, two police commissioners, the other one retired. And probably the league of godparents,”

“Please say we’ll just go get a huge set of food from the nice, fancy Chinese place in town, and get a big cake?” Bruce yawned again. “Don’t want to blow up the kitchen trying to learn how to cook things and bake. Not that I can’t,”

Clark gave a soft chortle. “Whatever you want,”

“Good,” said Bruce as he closed his eyes. “A baby is one thing. Cleaning up after a party is another. My back can’t take that. Sometimes I think I’m too old for this,”

“Better late than never,” said Clark absently as he adored their sleeping baby.  

He kissed Terry’s little head before setting him down in the crib, and joined Bruce in bed for an afternoon nap. He pulled Bruce closer to him, and whispered ‘I love you both’ before falling asleep.

Better Late Than Never - A SuperBat fanfic
I really wanted to write a baby!Terry and old man dad!Bruce fic. So here's what I got.

This fic disregards that Superman had been in Starro’s control, and only partially regards the Justice League Unlimited episode Epilogue and Return of The Joker. Terry’s creation will still be because of Amanda Waller, and Tim would still have quit Robin at an early age, but the whole kidnapped by the Joker thing didn’t happen and Tim and Bruce are happily ever after, but does not rely on Bruce for everything (such as accepting to be named heir to the Wayne Enterprise). Tim has two children in RoTJ, which will remain unnamed though have interacted with Bruce. And this will not be connected to any Batman Beyond comic storyline.

Bruce is 58. Clark is 59. Dick is 40. Tim is 35. Their ages in this fic +17 is their age during the Batman Beyond series.

Unbeta'd. Mistakes are mine.

The world needs more baby!Terry and old man dad!Bruce.

Anyways, Dick's outburst came from that episode in BTAS where he's had of Bruce's shit and quit Robin.

Comments are appreciated!

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It was raining.

A thunderstorm that Damian was capable enough of driving through, but it was hard enough for Bruce to allow Damian to cut school. Even Bruce knew tertiary education professors barely gave a shit about attendance. Summer terms weren’t necessary, but Damian saw fit to take subjects during the summer, just to lessen his load of general subjects for the next semesters.

Bored, surprisingly lazy, and surrounded by coursework, Damian decided to go downstairs and maybe join the others for a warm mug of hot cocoa and their marathon of Tom and Jerry, even if he never understood the appeal of watching a cartoon about a never ending cat and mouse chase.

“Ah, Master Damian,” said Alfred as Damian entered the kitchen. He slid a mug over to Damian on the counter, and handed him the bag of marshmallows.

“Thank you, Alfred,” said Damian as he took the mug, and put a few pieces of marshmallows in.

Alfred never thought he’d see the day those words would ever come out of Damian’s mouth. It took a lot of hugs, mostly from Dick, a lot of gentle coaxing and firm orders from Bruce, and a lot of time spent with his brothers and sisters. He was glad that Damian had mellowed out, but he still acted older than he was.

Mug of cocoa in hand, Damian made his way to the living room, where most of his family members were gathered. Richard was on one of the chaises, his hot cocoa half-finished on the coffee table, laughing with Mr. Kent’s clone at something Jerry did that Damian failed to find amusing. The Clone was on the sofa with Drake’s legs on his lap, with Drake lying on the sofa, reading a book and paying no attention to the TV. Brown and Cassandra were cuddling on a bean bag on the floor half listening to the show and talking to each other; Todd was passed out on a floor pillow, mug of cocoa forgotten; Colin was in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn and Mr. Kent’s foster son, Christopher, was lying on his belly on another floor pillow beside him, deeply engrossed in the cartoon show as Colin.

Damian stood there behind the couch Drake and Kent were on, sipping his cocoa and trying to see how his older siblings could possibly such mindless waste of visuals entertaining. Sometimes he wondered where his father and his husband found all their patience for their children. Every single one of them, for the tiny exception of Drake as much as he’d hate to admit, acted like they were ten on several occasions. Cassandra not so much, but when Brown was concerned, Cassandra would just go with whatever Brown wanted to leap at.

Richard was a bottomless pit of hugs, smiles, and would probably find baking cookies for all the children in Gotham his calling. Todd liked teasing Richard and stealing the cookies he baked; he also liked annoying Drake as he read a book, or stealing and drinking his glass of milk at breakfast. Drake would sometimes, when he has had it with Todd’s shenanigans, would promptly punch him in the face once, retrieve whatever Todd had stolen from him, and walk away without a word. Brown, some years ago, had once begged his father to take her and Cassandra shopping, and they came home with so much pink, he swore he heard his father say he felt a little light headed. Colin, and the two younger Kents also had their moments, one of which involving a trampoline and the pool. All three were grounded. Even though Damian also had his fair share of bullshit, at least he was ten.

This led him to conclude that Wayne Manor had too many children. He couldn’t imagine how his father and his husband, and naturally, Alfred, could manage all this chaos, but they did, and most of the time it went smoothly. Richard used to live in Bludhaven, but ever since his promotion to Batman and his father’s retirement, coming back to live with them at the Manor was of course a need. Some people would agree that still living with your parents at Richard’s age would be embarrassing, but Richard felt no such thing, and was happy to move back. Todd came and went as he pleased, and his father was just glad that he came home.

As for the elder of the two young Kents, he used to live with Drake in an apartment in Gotham, but since Christopher started to live with them at the manor, he thought it’d be fun to for them to all be here. It actually just meant there would be civil war during breakfast over the last bowl of Froot Loops, and his father and Mr. Kent would be calmly dodging whatever was in the air as they quietly had their toast and coffee while reading the day’s paper.

It amazed Damian how this many people, with resources such as theirs, with tempers such as his and Todd’s, could stay in one place and not burn it down. It also amazed him how so many grown (and super powered pseudo) alphas, Mr. Kent, his Clone, Christopher, Todd, Cassandra, and himself, could live under one roof without much casualty. Usually, it’s he and Todd who were always at each other’s throats, and Mr. Kent would break them up, and then it was his father who’d decide the punishment. Now he’s careful of engaging Drake in a fight, because no matter how many times he would tell the Clone to back off, the half-Kryptonian would always come to his rescue. He had already broken one of his ribs trying to get back at Drake for something so shallow he couldn’t even remember, and that he was too stupidly young and proud to let go.

“Anybody want anything?” Dick sat up on his chaise. “I’m gonna go get some chips,”

“I’ll get it!” Christopher got up from the floor and turned to head for the kitchen. “Oh, hey, Damian! Are you going to join us?”

“No,” said Damian. “I don’t find this show entertaining,”

“Oh,” Christopher looked like he’d break a bone thinking why Damian didn’t like Tom and Jerry. “Okay,” he said as he made his way to the kitchen.

“You don’t find any show entertaining,” said the Clone.  

“I like Spartacus,” Damian said defensively.

Colin looked over his shoulder. “That’s because you like all the killing there,”

“Hey, Little D!” Dick said cheerfully.

Damian’s eye twitched. He had not been little for a few years now. He was also taller than Drake. “I am not little, Richard,”

“Of course you aren’t,” Dick grinned.

“Aaaww,” Brown cooed. “Little Damian, are you sad you don’t have anyone younger than you to bully?”

“Shut up…” Jason mumbled sleepily.  

Damian’s grip on his mug tightened as he started to get annoyed. “I am not—!”

And then it hit him.

This house didn’t have too many children. It didn’t have enough.

 Damian knocked on the door three times before entering. His father was at his desk, working on a stack of papers. He couldn’t tell what they were, but a few steps closer and he could tell that all of the papers scattered on the desk were from Wayne Industries.

“Damian,” Bruce looked up and saw Damian approaching his desk. “The others, I believe, are watching TV. Why don’t you join them? I enjoyed Tom and Jerry myself when Dick was young,” he said as he signed a document. “And later, if it’s no too much trouble, please go downstairs and tell Alfred that Clark will be bringing home some Chinese, and some Japanese for me, for lunch so he doesn’t have to prepare anything,”

“Yes, Father,” Damian nodded. He shifted in his spot, unable to figure out how to bring up the subject.

“Something troubles you, Damian?” Bruce asked as he grouped some papers together and set them aside. He adjusted the glasses on his nose, took another piece of document from a stack, and started writing some remarks on the edges.

“Father,” Damian started. “Why haven’t you and Mr. Kent had a child yet? You’re healthy Omega, and Mr. Kent, though not from this world, I’m sure is a robust pseudo-Alpha, and the both of you are perfectly capable of having one. And I know that you are fond of children, otherwise this house wouldn’t be so full,”

Bruce suddenly stopped writing, and froze in his seat.

Damian was unsure of how to receive this reaction. “Father?” he said softly.

Bruce set the pen down and blankly stared at the document he was writing on. “Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me and do not try to stop them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’ Matthew chapter nineteen verse fourteen,”

Damian resisted a frown and his brows met in confusion. “I don’t understand,” What did a bible verse have to do with this?

Bruce took a long, deep breath, took off the glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He leaned back on his chair and for a few moments avoided Damian’s eyes, and then looked up to face his son.

“Before Talia sent you to live with me,” Bruce began reluctantly. This wasn’t something he thought he’d ever share with Damian. “Before Clark and I bonded,”

Damian could see that this was a story Bruce was struggling to tell.

“I fell pregnant and we chose to keep it a secret,” Bruce looked away and couldn’t maintain the eye contact with him. “Rather, I wanted to keep it a secret. Clark only respected my wishes. And I respected his wishes that I take leave from work and duty. Eventually, the League found out, but by the time I decided I was ready to tell our teammates, I suffered a late miscarriage,”

“Stop,” said Damian apprehensively, immediately regretting that he asked. A late miscarriage. That meant his father had been far along his term. That’s what the bible verse meant. “Stop, you don’t have to continue—”

“And Clark and I had a stillborn little girl,” Bruce said shakily.

“Father,” Damian frowned sadly.

“Placental abruption at twenty-five weeks. It was a summer night, and Clark wasn’t home yet, when I woke up to no movement, and I was bleeding. I yelled for him. I yelled that something was wrong and I was losing the baby.” He gave a sad, fond chortle. “Clark broke the windows getting into the room.” Bruce could clearly remember the look of horror on Clark’s face when he saw all the blood on their bed. “He quickly checked me over and explained to me on the flight over to Leslie that the placenta had separated from the uterine walls, and that she wasn’t getting any nutrients from me anymore. We didn’t make it to Leslie in time.” He could also clearly remember the deathly pale face of his little girl. “There was nothing wrong with me. It happened for no reason,” 

Damian felt suffocated.

“The scar from the C-Section done to retrieve her is the cleanest one I have,” Bruce absently traced the horizontal scar on his abdomen. “It hurts when it rains, or when it’s about to rain, or when the weather is cold,”

There was a long moment of silence before Damian spoke. The revelation agitated him. It angered him too, that something as simple and uncontrollable as the change of weather could keep a memory so painful so fresh. “I’m sorry for your loss, Father,” he finally said.

Bruce looked at his son. “We tried, Damian. We tried again, many times. But I guess, I am not meant to bear my own children,” he paused to gather his thoughts. “She just wasn’t for us. And we are blessed enough to have you and your siblings,”

Damian could do nothing but nod.

Bruce gave him a single nod back. “Now, go back downstairs, and tell them about lunch,” he put his glasses back on, pulled himself together, and went back to work. “I will join you downstairs shortly,”

“Yes, Father,” Damian nodded again, and left the room.


After Bruce’s confession, suddenly Damian felt like his room was too big and too small at the same time. He sat on his bed, surrounded by his coursework, suddenly feeling nauseous as he tried to shake off the unexplainable, unreasonable agitation. He left his room and headed to the library with his laptop, thinking that maybe the large windows and spaces there could clear his head.

Miscarriages were normal, right, Damian thought as he sat down on a bean bag in the middle of a reading area and opened his laptop, and started reading about it. It happened to many mothers to be. He felt like he shouldn’t have heard something so personal.

“It bothers you,”

Damian, so glued to Google and in finding any reason to why such terrible thing could have happened, audibly gasped and turned to the voice. He frowned as he saw Richard approaching him.

The eldest of his father’s children sat beside him on the carpet. “It bothered us, too. It was painful, but not as painful as watching Bruce, and we will never get to know what it’s like for him. He buried two of his children,” said Richard softly. “In a way, she looked a lot like Bruce’s mom. They named her Eve. It’s—”

“A Hebrew name meaning life,” Damian said softly. That was the complete opposite of his name.  


“Is…” Damian tried, “Is she buried on the grounds?”

Richard nodded, and led Damian to the window overlooking the grounds, where they could see Bruce’s parents’ headstones. “She’s that tree.” He pointed to the new, still rather small tree by their grandparents’ headstones. “There’s a small plaque on that tree. It says, Eve, beloved daughter and sister, born sleeping and a blossom far too beautiful for Earth, and a bible verse,” he paused. “I think they wanted her to live in some other way,”

Damian remembered the verse Bruce told him.

“I go there every once in a while to ask her to come back, maybe. Or I dunno, send one of her friends over to come and play,” Richard gave a sad chuckle and looked at Damian, then went back to their spot on the floor, and closed his laptop. “Don’t look for a reason. It happened long ago,”

“But Father’s wounds are still fresh,” Damian said quietly. “He said cold weather makes the scar hurt,”

“Scars remind us that the past is real, and time does not really heal wounds. You just get used to them,” said Richard. “And this time, this painful memory, is more real to him than to any of us,”

Damian didn’t answer.

“Her things are still in the nursery,” Richard smiled to himself. “You should have seen them, Damian, arguing over what color to paint the room, instead of League business. They shopped for clothes and toys and tiny socks. It felt like we were a normal family with no secrets, no masks, preparing for a new addition,”

“A nursery?” Damian’s eyes widened. “They set up a nursery?”

“Yeah,” Richard nodded. “It’s been locked for a long time now. We’ve never been in there. And we’re going to continue to respect Bruce and Clark and not go in there, until they see us fit to see it,”

Damian nodded lightly.

Richard put an arm over his shoulders and led him out of the library. “C’mon, we can get something light to eat before lunch,”

“Father said to tell Mr. Pennyworth that Mr. Kent will be coming home with Chinese food,”

“Wonderful!” said Richard, “I’d love some Chinese. Clark better get a lot of lemon chicken and fried rice,”


Suddenly the living room was a disaster. Damian had absolutely no idea why his siblings, all at most twice as old as he was, were so enamored with art materials. The furniture was pushed to the side, and newspapers lined the carpets. There were papers of all sizes and thickness, letter, legal, even the ones used for posters, and crayons, markers, highlighters, calligraphy pens, colored pencils, paint, and brushes all over, and everybody was busy attempting to draw.

Damian raised a brow as Richard excitedly joined them. Drake, he thought would still be reading, but his book was forgotten on the sofa, and he was beside the Clone doodling something with the calligraphy pens.

“Look, Damian!” said Christopher as he held up a white colored construction paper with a messy, fat, brown feathered, red chested bird painted on. “It’s you!” he smiled.

Damian’s eye twitched. “Is not,”

“Is too!” said Colin defensively. Damian was getting the idea that Colin helped Christopher paint it. “It’s a robin! Well, that’s like you and several others, but that’s you!”

“Is there a reason why out of nowhere the living room looks like a kindergarten school with students old enough for a PhD?” Damian asked.

“Because it’s fun!” said Richard with a smile, and held up a drawing of a light blue bird with Nightwing’s blue stripes. “See, now I drew me!”

“I do not look like that!” said Drake.

“Uh, yeah you do,” said the Clone.

Damian took a peek at the Clone’s doodle. He almost snickered at the Clone’s effort at trying to draw Red Robin.

“If anyone looks like a condom, that’s Jason!” Drake looked at Todd.

“Hey!” Todd frowned. “I do not look like a condom!”

“Yes, you do, Jay!” Richard grinned as he slid over a drawing of the old Red Hood helmet with his best attempt at Todd’s annoyed expression on the red bullet shaped helmet.

“Do not!” said Todd petulantly.

The argument went on, and he glanced at the all the pink on Brown and Cassandra’s work.

“I don’t have any neon,” said Cassandra, looking through her bucket of markers.

“Here!” Brown reached for a neon pink highlighter from another box of art materials.

Damian sighed, and went to the kitchen where Mr. Pennyworth was probably preparing something for lunch. “Mr. Pennyworth?”

“Master Damian,” he looked up at Damian as he pressed crushed some biscuits and sugar for a cake base into glass container. “Please hand over that bowl of cream cheese. Be careful of the mixer, sir,”

Damian removed the metal bowl from the mixer and handed it over to Alfred. “Father told me to tell you that Mr. Kent will be bringing home food for lunch, and that you don’t have to prepare,”

“Oh, yes,” said Alfred as he evenly poured the cream cheese mixture into the container. “I have received a text message from Master Clark saying just the same thing. So I busied myself with dessert. No bake cheesecake, for I believe your stepfather will arrive soon,”

Damian nodded and went back to the living room. Mr. Kent was arriving soon, which probably meant he had to tell everyone to clean up. Because even he wouldn’t like coming home to a disaster.  However, he didn’t need to tell anyone that.

It caught him by surprise that Christopher suddenly sat up. “Conner!” he said, “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” the Clone looked up at him from his abstract painting with Drake.

“Is someone upstairs with Bruce?” Christopher asked.

“No,” said Richard. “What’s going on?”

Conner’s eyes widened. “Clean up. Clean up right now,” he said as he put the lids back on the paint containers.

“Conner?” said Drake worriedly. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Everybody off the floor,” the Clone started cleaning up. “Chris!”

Confused, everyone got off the floor, and within a blink, the Clone and Christopher had everything packed up and the living room was clean and back to its usual arrangement, with their drawings all on the coffee table drying, and their art materials back in the boxes they kept them in.

“Hey, not everyone has super hearing, you know!” Brown frowned. “Care to share with the class?”

Mr. Kent walked into the room disheveled, but thankfully dry, from the rain, holding a big bags of take out, and set it down one of the coffee tables.

“Can you hear it?” Christopher asked Mr. Kent.  

“Yes,” Mr. Kent answered. “I will talk to all of you later. Conner, Chris, don’t say anything,” and with a burst of speed, Mr. Kent headed up to Father’s office.

Bruce had been cleaning up when Clark entered the office. “Clark!” he said as he stood up, moving to welcome Clark home after half day at work. “I have something I need you to sign—mmmhh!”

Clark kissed him. Clark kissed him like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Clark wrapped his arms around him, and kissed him long, slow, and hard, and pressed their foreheads together when he pulled away. “I love you,” he breathed. “I love you,”

“I love you, too,” Bruce panted heavily. “What brought this on?”

“The sushi,” Clark answered vaguely. “You asked for sushi. And now I can hear it. Loud and clear, Bruce,”

“Hear what?” Bruce asked confusedly.

Clark smiled. “I can hear your heartbeat, going at eighty beats per minute. And another, going at a hundred, coming from you,”

A Borrowed Summer - A SuperBat fanfic

The title is inspired by this quote:

“Let your children be as so many flowers, borrowed from God. If the flowers die or wither, thank God for a summer loan of them.” – Samuel Rutherford

Written at 3am. Unbeta'd. Mistakes are mine.

I tried to give them a happy, hopeful ending. And I've read somewhere that 100bpm for the first trimester is around 5 weeks, when the baby's heart just started beating. It goes up to 170bpm at 10 weeks then goes back down to 130-160bpm.

I'm going with the idea that Damian arrived during Bruce's early thirties. So now that he's a university student at around 20 perhaps, Bruce can still have that baby and be happy.

Also, I wrote Damian a little mellow. And more mature, though still withdrawn. Bruce isn't going to take his shit calling Clark an alien. Conner's a different story. There are too many Kents to call him just Kent. xD This was my first time writing Damian, so please be nice! D:



AnnikaClarisse's Profile Picture
Annika Clarisse
Artist | Student | Literature
Operating System: Windows 7 Home Premium
  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: Tonight - Jessica Sanchez ft. Neyo
  • Drinking: English every day tea

I watched that romance thing Male Shepard and Kaidan had in Mass Effect, then went straight to bed. 

Then I had a REALLY VIVID DREAM of Clark and Bruce getting in on, on a yacht. I remember it being night, them getting out of a party, and they got out onto the deck and disembarked. They were at some kind of yacht club dock at the bay or something. I’m thinking it’s Lex’s party, and Lex’s boat.

Then they boarded the yacht next to the yacht with the party, which was Bruce’s. And because Bruce is a little exhibitionist, he pushed Clark onto one of the recliners and gave him a head on the deck, which was dimly lit by the surrounding lights. 

Clark couldn’t do anything because holy fuck, Bruce was good at every fucking thing in the world and that included blowjobs. And then Bruce stopped and Clark didn’t know why but it’s like the air was punched out of him. 

When he opened his eyes, Bruce was undressing and he’s like, “Wtf, why amIstill dressed?” and he took off his tux in a rush. And he just couldn’t process where Bruce could’ve gotten the packet of lube and the condom he had.

And Bruce was smirking at him like he was dumb (which, okay he was because Bruce just left his dick hanging, his brain was processing at a really slow speed). Bruce ripped the packet of lube open, and straddled Clark’s groin, and started fingering himself while they made out. 

Boy, did that make Clark’s dick twitch. And Clark said, “Someone’s watching us,” as he sucked bruises onto Bruce’s neck and shoulder blades.

And Bruce just said, “Let them watch,” and he puts the rubber on Clark and give the peeping Toms a show.


Although, I’m not sure who Clark was, Routh or Cavill, but I’m like, around 60% sure I saw Bale in there.

Thank you, Mass Effect, Male Shepard and Kaidan. That was pretty fucking hot. 

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Add a Comment:
Full-demongirl Featured By Owner Apr 29, 2015
Do you still do roleplays?
AnnikaClarisse Featured By Owner May 3, 2015  Student Writer
Not as of late, but it would be nice to RP again. 
Full-demongirl Featured By Owner May 3, 2015
Oh okay well I would be interested just please note me XD
Faichia Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2014  Student General Artist
Would you like to start a Clark x Bruce Mpreg role play with me? I can only play as Batsy, though,
AnnikaClarisse Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2014  Student Writer
I'd love to, but I've only been asked to play Bruce for the many roleplays I've done, so I'm not sure I'll be up to par with the Clark you're used to playing with. I have no experience playing Clark. 
Faichia Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2014  Student General Artist
I see. Well, to be honest, I don't mind how Clark is played.
PPR88 Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave!
DemonNyx Featured By Owner Jan 12, 2013  Hobbyist
Thanks for the fav!
AnnGeea Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the favs! ^_____^
AnnikaClarisse Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2013  Student Writer
no prob! your works are amazing:)
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