Batfic/Supermanfic: Sight For Sore Eyes (Bruce/Clark)

[lady_bug_kay]

Title: Sight For Sore Eyes
Author: ladybugkay
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce/Clark
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 751
Summary: Tim gets the shock of his life, from which he will never recover.
Disclaimer: DCU owns the characters, but I like to borrow them and make them do dirty things.
A/N: Happy (early) birthday,tmelange! I'm posting this early because I don't think I'll be online tomorrow, but I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful day, filled with your favourite foods and all the best presents you could receive. You deserve it!
 

 

The only thing preventing Alfred from losing all professional dignity and dropping the tray of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies is that he knows for a fact Bruce is alright, and there is a small smile dancing around the corners of Dick’s mouth as he comforts Tim.

 

Tim’s face is pale, his eyes open wide in an expression of sheer horror. He looks as if he has seen every one of his worst nightmares suddenly real and surrounding him on all sides. The one thing holding them at bay, and apparently keeping Tim from the brink of a total breakdown, is Dick’s arm around his shoulder and the steady murmur of comforting words coming from Dick’s mouth.

 

“Whatever has happened, Master Dick?”

 

Dick opens his mouth, but Tim interrupts. “It’s awful,” he says, shooting Alfred a look of blinding terror.

 

“It’s okay, Tim,” Dick reassures him. “It’s just you and me and Al, here.” Turning to Alfred with amusement dancing behind the relief in his eyes, he says, “Clark’s alive.”

 

It isn’t news to Alfred, but he has spent decades perfecting the art of being oblivious. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Master Kent is a very good man, and he has been sorely missed.” Most particularly in Wayne Manor, Alfred thinks. Clark’s miraculous return does not explain Tim’s behaviour, however, and Alfred remains concerned. “But what is the matter with Master Tim, then?”

 

“Well, Tim wanted to tell Bruce himself,” Dick begins, before cutting himself off and glancing at Tim, who shudders and seems to fold in on himself.

 

“It’s the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, his eyes staring blankly into space. “I’ll never be able to close my eyes without seeing it.”

 

A quick glance at Dick dispels Alfred’s anxiety about the severity of Tim’s traumatic experience, and the last bit of unease fades from his body. Dick is pressing his lips together tightly, trying desperately not to laugh, but Tim must feel his body shaking, because he comes alive enough to punch Dick in the arm.

 

“Ow!” Dick steps back from Tim, rubbing his arm with a wounded expression.

 

Alfred knows better than to interfere at this juncture.

 

“Don’t make fun of me,” Tim glares. “You didn’t see it. You don’t know.”

 

“No, but I kind of wish I had. Who doesn’t want to see Superman wearing nothing but a blissful smile and an appreciative moan?”

 

Tim claps his hands over his ears and whimpers.

 

Oh, dear, Alfred thinks. It appears Bruce was not as diligent about locking his bedroom door as he was before Superman’s death and recent resurrection. Still, allowances must be made. One could hardly blame him for being caught up in the moment after having his lover return from the dead. Even Bruce Wayne can be swept up in emotion, under the right circumstances.

 

All the same, Alfred makes a mental note to fix Bruce’s door so it locks automatically whenever it is closed. It wouldn’t do for Tim to walk in on them again, particularly if doing so provokes this kind of reaction. The poor boy sees enough things that give him bad dreams.

 

“Come on,” Dick says soothingly, coaxing Tim’s hands away from his head and slipping an arm around his waist to give him a hug. “It’s not that bad.”

 

“Not that bad? I saw Bruce naked, too.”

 

“You’ve seen him naked before. In our job, everyone’s seen everyone else naked.”

 

“Injured and bleeding, yes. Not—not—not like…that. That’s different. That’s just wrong. That’s like walking in on your parents. It’s Bruce.”

 

“Well, to be fair, Bruce is a beautiful man,” Dick says consideringly, then leaps out of the way of Tim’s fists, laughing. He risks another punch when he leans back in to ruffle Tim’s hair.

 

Collapsing onto a kitchen chair, Tim buries his face in folded arms and moans weakly. “Why doesn’t anyone ever try to burn your eyes out when you want them to?”

 

Dick shrugs carelessly before snatching two cookies off the tray in Alfred’s hands and swinging open the refrigerator door to grab a bottle of milk. Clearly, he’s decided Tim no longer requires gentle handling.

 

Content that he is not needed here, Alfred continues on with his duties, carrying the remaining cookies out the door and up the stairs, wisely saying nothing about the other tray he left outside Bruce’s door a few hours ago, and what was on it.

 

There are only so many innocent uses for whipped cream and chocolate syrup, after all.

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