Chapter Text
“BATMAN BEH-“ Superman’s voice died in his throat as he watched the tip of the heart shaped arrow hit Batman squarely in his shoulder blades before going ‘Poof!’ into a copious amount of smoke. The boyscout silently cursed Constantine for conveniently forgetting to mention his boyfriend of the week was coming to town- and he was a sentient Adonis statue with a temper that rivaled his… safe to say those two were a match made in hell.
It’s different when Batman gets hit. He’s Batman. The Clark never felt like a more inadequate team mate- rushing to the smoke that encapsulated his partners knowing he was just an ounce too late to protect him.
As he waved the remaining smoke away, the questions started and never seemed to stop. “Are you ok? Let’s head up to the watchtower. Can you walk? Did you inhale the smoke?” Where did it-“ he paused, waiting for Batman to respond. That’s when he started to really look at Batman. The ears of his suite were too far back, the suit hung off the man as if he’d lost 30 pounds of muscle in an instant. The aura of fear he normally radiated was gone. A shell of the dark knight.
“Batman?”
“Who’s that?” The voice in the suit was angry- slightly squeaky too, but definitely Bruce. He was glancing around, trying to grasp his surroundings as if he’d never seen the streets of DC he was so well versed in.
“Where am I? Who are you.” It wasn’t a question, purely a demand.
The man of steel practically stumbled on his lips. “My name is Superman.” Batman scoffed. A genuine scoff of incredulous. Clark was taken aback but held his tongue. “You’re in DC. We were fighting an enemy when you got hit with a n arrow that clouded you in pink smoke. I need you to come with me so we can assess what happened to you when the arrow hit you. I am your teammate on the Justice League.”
“What the fuck sort of name is the Justice League. Why the hell should I trust that you’re telling the truth and you didn’t kidnap me? They’ve gotten more elaborate every year, I swear.” Not-Batman turned to walk off.
He would have too. If not for Nightwing’s impressive ability to leap from the top of a building directly onto Batman’s shoulders, primed in position to kick him squarely in the head and leap off to watch him fall down unconscious. “Oh man we can’t have sassy B walking around the streets of DC.” He turned to Superman. “Can you grab him?”
“Y-yeah.”
The Batcave feels a hundred times scarier when Batman is incapacitated. That is to say upon the investigation of Zatanna’s keen investigation and a glance from Alfred, the dark knight got deaged to 16. Every ounce of air in the cave held a certain weight of anxiety and batted breath as the Bat lay knocked out in the med bay. A small crowd gathered near the batcomputer, festering in the silence.
Zatanna finally spoke. “The magic inflicted on him isn’t very strong. He should return to his normal age very soon, but for the time being, he has no memories of being Batman. Or any of you- except Alfred of course. I would tread lightly. He is in a very delicate emotion state right now and magic doesn’t mix well with teenage hormones.” She nodded to Clark as she took her exit.
“Alfred” Clark heard several heartbeats stutter in that moment. Heads turned in unison to the teen leaning on the doorway in a desperate attempt to pretend he wasn’t being supported it. Out of the suit, he was impossibly thin for a 16 year old boy. Lanky with mangey black hair, deathly pale skin and sunken purple eyes to create the image of a boy half dead. Alfred had insisted he be the one to remove the suit and put him in a black turtleneck and sweatpants now several sizes too big.
It was all too much. This couldn’t be the strong, confident, limber man he’d grown to know. This was a boy who could barely standup as is, nearly blown over by the wind. Clark felt ill. He wanted to vomit right then and there.
“Master Bruce.”
Bruce’s eyes conveyed a keen sense of alarm only seen by the trained eye. “You’re so old.”
“Always the charmer, Master Bruce.”
“You know what I mean Alfred.” He but his lip in frustration.
Superman watched the back and forth in the butlers mind before he reached a conclusion. “You’ve been deaged Master Bruce. You were 43 this morning.”
Bruce’s words came hard and sharp. “You’re lying. This is all some elaborate gag to convince the shrinks I’m sick and to have me admitted.” His voice grew to a shout- Superman’s eyes widened. “You’d love that wouldn’t you? Finally reign in ‘the beast’? Fuck off.” He took off, storming up the stairs to god knows where in the Manor.
Alfred was stoic. Watching the boy, his boy, run off. Not an ounce of emotion passed his face, the professionalism expected of a man of his caliber.
Clark felt the heartbeats of Bruce’s children increase, the same way a criminals did before they killed someone, the same way a lawyer hits their stride in delivering the final blow of a closing, so he was gentle with his next words, “I think we should all get some rest. God knows Bruce will be after that debacle.”