Chapter Text
“There’s no way I can pay for this,” Barry groaned. His arms were sprawled out in front of him on the coffee table he was bunkered down over, and his head facing down so that, when he inevitably shot up, there would be a red mark embedded into his face. There was a television behind him, which usually played a news channel, though it was turned off now. Barry almost wished it was on, so that he could focus on something else instead of being stuck in his brain and the fog of despair permeating around him.
Sitting on the couch in front of him, working on his laptop for a project in his civilian life, was Superman—it still felt weird for Barry to call him Clark, but he was working on it. But, come on, no one could blame him, he was Superman, larger than life itself.
“I swear,” Barry repeated, “I didn’t mean to break it.”
He was in the Watchtower, in one of the meeting rooms that had been turned into a common area, unofficially on papers, though, from the design, that's all it could possibly be unless it was some form of waiting room for potential civilians that weren’t allowed up nor had access, however, they continued to call it a meeting room, because no one wanted Batman to lecture them on something like “unprofessionalism.” Superman—Clark, Barry reminded himself—upon hearing his plea, stopped typing away on his computer, a look of working-class pity etched on his perfect, alien features.
Turning his head, eyes wide, Barry asked rhetorically, “What am I gonna do? I’m screwed.”
Hal walked in just then as the last syllable tumbled out of his lips. His eyes scanned the room, and, upon noticing the Red Blur motionless and crying, he raised his brow at Barry, before he turned to Superman and asked, walking into the room, “What’s his problem?”
Before Clark could answer, Barry wailed, “I broke the coffee machine in the lounge! I don’t know how it happened, but it was the expensive one, too, and now I have to get the expense report written and approved or else it’s gonna be out of pocket and I haven’t gotten my pay check yet and—”
“When did this happen?” Hal asked. His face was beginning to pal, mouth turned down in sympathy. No one had ever seen a coffee machine like the one in the lounge, and there was a rumor going around that it was one of a kind and was donated to them by an anonymous millionaire.
“Earlier today.” Barry muttered, turning his head, which was still laid on the table, to face Hal. There were tears in his eyes, and he really didn’t mean to break the coffee machine, but his civilian life had been stressing him out, and he accidentally did something that he wasn’t even really aware of himself, and he felt like the final straw had been placed on the camel's back. “I haven’t told Batman yet because—”
“Tell me what, yet?” Batman asked, slinking into the room.
“Fuck, Spooky!” Hal exclaimed and jumped at the same time as Barry startled, hitting his knees on the underside of the table. “Nothing—!” Barry squeaked, voice pitched high, barely escaping his throat.
“Warn a guy before you do that,” Hal finished.
Batman didn’t respond, he just turned his steady gaze on Barry, who shrank into himself as the seconds ticked by.
By the third consecutive second, Barry broke. It was a new record. “I broke the coffee machine. . .” he trailed off, swallowed, then pursed his lips and looked down, eyes scanning the coffee table. “The cost of fixing it—” he couldn’t bring himself to say any more.
Everyone's secret identity had been out for a while—everyones except Batman’s, but that was expected—though Batman had been checking in with all of their civilian lives without anyone knowing. So, he was aware that Barry was stretched thin on funds because he had been giving up half of his paycheck to help fund his research at Central City Lab after there was a cut in funding, something that Batman was planning to fix soon, because he believed in what Barry and the other scientists were researching, and it would make for a good investment for one of Wayne Enterprises extended branches.
“It can’t be that much,” Batman said, and both Barry and Hal turned to him in shock, although Barry's was tinged in hope. Barry watched as Batman opened one of his numerous pockets on his utility belt, and procured a wallet—if it were any other time, Barry would’ve found the sight comical if he wasn’t so pinched tight.
Superman watched Batman nervously, floating off the cushion of the couch, and resisted reaching his hand out to stop Batman.
“It’s fine, Flash,” Batman reassured him absentmindedly, continuing to think of Barry's research and if he would make the donation public or private. “I can pay—”
From his elevated position, Superman could see the inside of Batman's wallet, and how there was nothing in it besides a coupon for Batburger.
“Actually!” Superman shouted, drawing attention towards him. His cheeks were slightly ruddy from embarrassment on how his voice cracked, but he would do anything for his best friend. “I can help you write the expense report and the funds for the Watchtower can pay for it. We all use the machine, I’m sure it will be fine, right, Batman?”
Barry was practically vibrating in his seat, with both his fingers crossed, watching Batman.
Slowly, unblinkingly—not that anyone would know—Batman nodded. “That would be sufficient.” He closed his wallet after staring at it for a few more seconds, and placed it back into his utility belt.
“Yes!” Barry exclaimed, “Thank you, I’ll get right on that!”
“Barry,” Hal smirked, giving a tap once, then twice, on his nose, “---you got a little somethin’ there.”
Barry glared, but it was half-hearted because his paycheck was now saved and Iris wouldn’t get mad at him. Or, not mad, because she wouldn’t get mad, but she would give him that Look, and Barry, unintentionally for her, would feel guilty.
“Superman.” Batman said. “I’ll be heading back to Gotham.”
Translation: Superman is on monitor duty today and he should’ve been in the room already ten minutes ago.
“Ah, yes! Of course, sorry about that,” Superman apologized, rubbing the back of his neck, a hint of his southern Kansas accent slipping through his words. Barry could tell he really was sorry, and now he felt just the tiniest bit bad that he had been complaining to him for so long. Though, he didn’t feel too bad, because one, Superman was Batman's favorite and got away with more than anyone else could, and two, because he was high off the fact that he wouldn’t have to pay for the millionaire donated, custom made coffee machine.
Batman's eyes lingered for one, two seconds, then he nodded, and turned away with nothing more than a grunt.
A few seconds passed by, and Barry wasn’t really paying attention, still happy about how he should be fine on funds for the rest of this month, so he didn’t notice how Superman was oddly still, even though he would’ve expected him to fly out to the monitor room by now.
“So,” Hal whistled, “what was that about?” His attention was directed toward Superman, and Barry turned his head up just in time to see Superman stiffen further, before he watched him force himself to relax his tensed muscles.
“I don’t think I should say. . .” Superman trailed off, unsure.
“So we’re just supposed to forget how strange you were acting when Spooky offered to pay?”
Superman's lips pressed into a thin line, and all Barry saw was a saddened puppy.
“I don’t think—” Superman started, then paused, and started again. “I don’t think we should be taking money from Batman.”
Hal took a step backwards. “I thought you said he wasn’t a demon?”
“He’s not!” Clark corrected, and he was more Clark Kent than Superman right now—it was easy to call him Clark when he was like that. His cheeks were back to their reddened color, and when Barry tossed a quick glance down, he was still floating, too. “I just. . . I don’t want to spread gossip, but I don’t think he’s, you know—I don’t think it’s right.”
“Why?” Hal asked, taking a seat in one of the unoccupied armchairs in the room, tossing his feet on the coffee table, and leaned back. “He offered, and it's not like he’s homeless or something.”
Silence.
Barry was paying attention now.
“No,” Hal said, “You really believe that?”
“No! Well, not exactly,” Clark fumbled, hands raising to cover his face. “But he has a cave and he never knows what the prices for things are—”
“Nope,” Green Lantern dismissed, “I don’t believe that. Spooky knows everything! And you’re trying to tell me he doesn’t know the prices of common things? Spooky, out of everyone? Come on.”
“We really shouldn’t be talking about this,” Clark said, and his eyes were darting to the door, probably thinking about how he was supposed to be at the Monitor Room already. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I don’t want to make his life harder.”
Hal was stunned. Barry could tell, his jaw was dropped open. He could also tell that Superman felt really bad and guilty for saying anything, so he decided, since Superman helped him out earlier, he would do him a solid in return and give him an out. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking over Batman's position?”
Superman's eyes lit up, and he stuttered out a quick, “Yes! Yes, I gotta go before—” and was out before another word could float in the common room air.
“Hal, please don’t make this a big deal.”
A smirk was stretched wide on Hal's lips. “Don’t make what a big deal? That Big Blue is wrong?”
They both knew Hal wasn’t doing it to call out Superman, he just jumped on anything that was either gossip or a flaw of Batman's, and this time, the topic fit both categories.
“I’m just saying,” Hal whispered, “Bats not knowing prices? Come on, that's ridiculous—”
“Nope!” Barry said, zooming up to his feet. “Gotta go!”
He would have to warn Diana later so that she could put a stop to Hal and maybe give him another lecture about respecting each other's privacy, or Barry would join him when he was free and was able to think about what was revealed to him more, but, right now, he had an expense report to fill out.