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There was a certain peace on the Kent farm that Bruce had never felt before. It existed within the home in a way that was deeply new to him. The peace didn’t invoke long-lost memories of his parents nor emulate the comfort of being around his children, but it was something new, something safe and soft.
It felt like being in Clark’s home, which was no surprise. It felt more like Clark’s home than his apartment (despite the fact that Clark had decorated his own apartment carefully and with lots of love), certainly more like his home than the Fortress. Maybe more than just feeling like Clark’s home, the farm felt like Clark.
The walls around Bruce spoke of safety and comfort, of a childhood of deep care and love. Nothing was pristine, but everything was exactly as it should be, from the blue cabinets to the miss-matched silverware, the stains on the tablecloth that Martha laughed about with Bruce (she had a story for each one) before carefully covering them with her tactful placemats. Those, too, had a story, and a life to them.
It was comfortable, and as Bruce slipped from wakefulness to sleep during his first visit, he was so comfortable he didn’t even notice. One moment, he was lying, cuddled decently against Clark on the couch (with Ma and Pa in their respective chairs), and the next, he was asleep, with no nightmares to chase him.
It was perfect.
That was the first time Bruce went, during the fall.
The Kent farm in the spring was beautiful. Bruce expected this. But all of Smallville was waking up for the spring, and so was Clark, his winter sorrow melting away with the snow and his smile coming back more and more with the sun. Summer was his favorite season, obviously, but Bruce could see how close of a second spring was.
Clark clearly enjoyed spring at the Kent house more than any other season. Summer, he worked on the farm with his Pa, and the fall was winding down into the dread of winter. Winter, Clark hated. So, spring was the best time for Clark to visit, and visit he did, more often during spring than in any other season, and he dragged Bruce along.
It was nice to meet Lana and Pete and see all the places that Clark had spent his time as a kid. They passed by Smallville High and Smallville Middle and Smallville Elementary, and Clark pointed each one out, and despite the fact that Bruce already knew their names, he couldn’t help but laugh at them as a trilogy. Clark took Bruce down to the retirement home where he’d volunteered as a teen, and told him stories of Cassandra who could see his future and how sweet she’d been to him. Bruce donated a good chunk of money to them when he got home, to pay back the good Cassandra had done for Clark.
Spring was beautiful in the Kent house, and full of hope and wonder.
When Bruce went during the summer, it was much more bustling, and Bruce spent a lot of time with Martha. Clark was out on the farm whenever his Pa was, which was all day, which Bruce didn’t mind–he loved Martha and he wasn’t going to complain about spending time with her, even if it meant time away from his boyfriend.
As they rolled pie crusts together and Martha weaved strips into a lattice, Bruce puffing flour accidentally into the air, there was a softness to it. Every moment in the Kent house felt like making a memory that Bruce was already nostalgic for, even while living through it. Bruce could see why Clark had such fond memories of the place.
The Kent house could never be perfect in that everything went right. No, there were still faint scorch marks where Clark’s eyes had burned the walls, subtle finger-print shaped dents wherever the eye could see from before Clark had quite gotten the grasp on his strength, chips in the counter from years of using the kitchen, stains in the tablecloth that Martha remembered the source of and scratches in the wood that no one had bothered to mentally catalog. No, the Kent house could never be spotless or without flaws, but that was what made it perfect.
The summer was bustling, with Martha and Bruce spending time together while Clark and Jonathan worked out on the farm.
The winter was a whole other beast. He’d had to do a lot of needling to get Clark to let him come at all. They had yet to spend Christmas with the Kents, with Clark usually spending Christmas Eve night and Christmas morning there before running down to Bruce for the rest of the day. After a lot of pestering, though Clark still didn’t want Bruce coming for Christmas, the pair agreed to go down to Kansas the first week of January.
The house was covered in a snowfall Bruce would describe as beautiful, soft flakes landing on Bruce’s car as he parked. It was the nice, crunchy snow that made noise as he walked, and Clark didn’t protest Bruce going around his car to open the passenger’s side door. Clark looked up at Bruce without getting out of his seat, putting on his best puppy eyes.
“I don’t understand,” Bruce sighed into the cold before Clark could speak. “Don’t you want to see your parents?”
Bruce had never claimed to be the best at communicating, so he had just assumed Clark didn’t like visiting the Kent farm during winter because he didn’t like doing things during winter. He was always more sluggish and tired and generally miserable, and he spent a lot of time across the globe where it was warm and sunny. Maybe Bruce should have asked why Clark didn’t want to go before he pestered him into going and dragged him all the way down to Kansas, but maybe Clark should have told him.
“Of course I want to see my parents,” Clark responded, a hint of incredulousness in his voice.
“Then why are you giving me that face?”
The carseast was a bit of a tight squeeze for the two men, but Bruce leaned down to adjust it back and down, leaving enough space for him to climb into Clark’s lap and shut the door.
“Bruce!” Clark protested, scandalized.
“I’m not doing anything,” Bruce grumbled, giving Clark a playful wack for his dirty mind. “It’s cold outside and you’re warm.”
Clark was silent, electing to situate his hand on Bruce’s legs rather than protest any further.
“Why don’t you want to be here?”
“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Clark whispered, leaning forward to give Bruce a gentle peck on the lips.
Bruce skillfully dodged it, laser-focused on his mission. “Is it the travelling? Do you not like travelling in the winter?”
Clark sighed, placing his head down on Bruce’s chest. Bruce allowed himself to pet the nape of Clark’s hair, twisting the almost navy curls through his light fingers.
“Is it a Kryptonian thing?”
Clark’s hands moved from Bruce’s legs to wrap around his body, pulling him gently closer. Bruce let himself be held, Clark moving to rest his head on Bruce’s shoulder instead, warm in the security of the heated passenger seat.
“Are you going to keep ignoring my questions?”
“That was the plan,” Clark mumbled.
Bruce pulled away, pushing Clark back into the seat by his shoulders. “Do you want to go home?”
“Not now that you’ve already dragged me down here,” Clark complained. “My parents are expecting us and I’m sure Ma’s made something seasonal for us to try.”
There was a pause between them as Bruce tried to think. “Is that bad?”
“Ugh,” Clark said pointedly, deflating in his seat. After a moment of collecting himself, he offered, his tone more organized, “I want to be here. I want to be with you. I just don’t like wintertime, for a lot of reasons. Is that an okay enough answer for now?”
Bruce took a moment to digest again. “Yes,” he concluded with finality.
“Now let’s go inside before my parents think we’re doing something untold in here.”
A smirk played on Bruce’s lips as he considered making a joke about doing something untold, before he remembered he was at the Kent farm, and he pulled away to open the car door and clamber off of Clark.
The house was as warm and welcoming as ever inside, and both of Clark’s parents were there at the door to greet the pair, Ma hanging their coats while Pa brushed the little bit of snow off of Clark’s hair.
“Pa…” Clark protested lightly, before he was dragged inside, the outside door shut behind them.
“Don’t be such a stranger, Clark,” Jonathan scolded. “I haven’t seen you or Bruce here since last year.”
“Every time, Jonathan.” Martha reappeared, exasperated.
It wasn’t foreign, not anymore, but it did still make Bruce’s heart twist.
“Where are your bags?” Jonathan tapped Bruce on the shoulder to ask, and Bruce managed to not startle too aggressively.
“They’re in the car,” he answered calmly.
“Don’t you dare!” Clark cut in. “You’ll slip on the ice if you try to get them. I can fly so I’ll take care of it.”
Clark went back out to the car to grab the bags; Bruce let himself be swept away to sit down in the living room.
Martha and Jonathan asked about Bruce’s year, so Bruce answered with as much honesty as possible–that it was better than usual, with Clark by his side, but still rough, as business always was. He neglected to mention how much of a pain in the ass Lex Luthor was to Wayne Industries the whole year, but Clark must have already told his parents, because Martha brought it up.
It was nice, to talk freely to them, to be honest and to feel like they welcomed him. Bruce couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to be raised by them, but he pushed it aside–it wasn’t right to think about that.
They asked about the kids, and when they would get to meet them (soon, Bruce promised); the Justice League, even though Clark had almost definitely told them; how was his Christmas? His New Year’s resolution? It was a little exhausting, in a good way, to be cared about so much by someone older than him, much less two people older than him. At some point, Bruce ended up with a slice of leftover pie in his hands (he didn’t believe it was actually leftover), and he didn’t complain.
He did complain about the lack of his boyfriend. Checking his watch, Bruce asked, “Do you think I should check on Clark?”
“He’s probably asleep,” Jonathan answered. “He would sleep all day every winter break unless we had something for him to do.” There’s a hint of sorrow in his voice. “We assumed it was because he slept so little during the summer.”
“Oh,” Bruce paused. “He slept less during the summer?”
Martha nodded. “Of course, we tried to help him during the winter, but we could only do so much… It seemed to us like he fixed his sleeping schedule once he moved to Metropolis. I’m sure the fact that his powers were done developin’ by them helped.”
“Right,” Bruce nodded, before deciding, “I think I’ll check on him.”
“Thank you, dear. Don’t rush him to come down,” Martha fretted, and Bruce nodded his acknowledgement before he headed upstairs to Clark’s room.
The door was ajar, and the light of the hallway illuminated Clark laying curled up on his bed, the suitcases only half unpacked on the floor in front of the closet. Upon hearing the door creak as Bruce pushed it, Clark sat up.
“Sorry,” Clark told him automatically. The beginning of sleep plagued his voice. “I got distracted unpacking.”
Bruce shut the door behind him. “It’s been an hour since you came up here,” he pointed out.
“An hour?” Clark blinked owlishly, looking at the drawn curtains over his window. “I didn’t realize.”
The bed dipped where Bruce sat next to Clark. The covers were a wreck, despite them presumably being made only an hour before, and Clark’s hair was messy.
Bruce lifted a hand up to comb through it. Clark jerked away the second Bruce’s hand made contact with his hair, and Bruce quickly released him, putting his palms up.
“You startled me, sorry,” Clark told him swiftly. A reflex, Bruce deduced. Clark titled his head back towards Bruce, so Bruce worked on combing the unruly curls back in place.
“No kidding,” Bruce responded dryly. “What’s wrong?”
Clark gave him a distant look before asking, “Are my parents waiting downstairs?”
“Yes, they think you’re sleeping.” Clark’s hair now fixed, Bruce put his own hands back into his lap.
“Oh.” Clark pursed his lips. “They sent you up here to check on me?”
“I came up here to check on you,” Bruce corrected.
Clark considered this. “So, if I wanted to stay here, you can go back down and say ‘Clark is asleep and I didn’t want to wake him up,’ and they won’t find that weird.”
“You want me to lie to your parents?” Bruce asked, exaggerating the audacity of it.
“No!” Clark protested. “I’ll fall asleep right now so it’s not a lie.” He flopped down onto the bed, a smile gracing his beautiful features.
“But I do want to wake you up,” Bruce responded cheekily, moving down to lay right next to him.
Clark gave him a light-hearted glare. “You’re gonna force me to come down, aren’t you?”
“No.” Bruce grasped one of Clark’s hands. “I just want to know what’s going on so I can help you.”
“I’m getting deja vu,” Clark mumbled. Bruce let Clark lose himself for a moment, their eyes meeting. Clark once again closed the distance between them, and Bruce did not dodge Clark’s gentle lips like he had before. It was soft and sweet, and then Clark was mournfully looking back up at the ceiling. “I never really spent any time in this room. I was always in my Fortress.”
“Your Fortress?” Bruce echoed. He knew what Clark was talking about–not the Fortress of Solitude in the arctic, but the one right at home, that his Pa had built him so he could have his own space.
“It’s nice in here but nothing beats the nice couch and all the boxes up there. I had my telescope set up there, anyway, and my gaming consoles once I got it. I really only came in here if I was in a bad mood.”
“But we sleep here every time we visit,” Bruce pointed out. The bed was hardly big enough to fit Bruce and Clark both, but they managed, in the warm and comfort of Clark’s childhood room.
Bruce had no such childhood room. He lived in the house he’d grown up in, and so when he’d grown out of his teenage interests, he’d simply had his room remodeled and redecorated. There was no place for Bruce to go to remember his teenage years, nor even photos of his room during that time in his life. Not to mention, he’d spent most of his time away from the manor, with the combination of boarding school and Tibetan monk training.
“I don’t mind it, not with you,” Clark whispered.
“Why not sleep in your Fortress?”
“‘S cold,” Clark answered tiredly. “Or too hot. Couch isn’t big enough for both of us. Lots of reasons.”
“Great, I’ll kick you out to the Fortress and I can take your room all to myself,” Bruce grinned. Clark whined light-heartedly at the injustice.
“Nooooo,” Clark protested. “You’re so mean to me, Bruce.”
“Yes, I’m evil, you should break up with me,” Bruce deadpanned.
“Noooo,” Clark protested more vocally.
“I won’t hear a word against it. We can’t have Earth’s fiercest protector dating such a bully as Batman.” Bruce sat up, feigning deep thought. “We have to set you up with someone. Someone nicer, who can treat you better. What about J’onn?”
“J’onn?” Clark exaggerated his shock. “No way!”
“What about Diana?” Bruce suggested. “It’s perfect. You’ll be a power couple.”
“Noo, Bruce, I don’t want to be with Diana,” Clark complained, before lunging up to grab Bruce by the waist and pull him back down. Bruce fell back with a startle, before fighting his way out of Clark’s arms. “I want to be with you!”
“I thought I was mean to you,” Bruce grinned, starting to wrestle with Clark.
Clark laughed, a big smile all over his face, wrestling back with Bruce (no doubt holding back). “You are mean to me, you’re a bully.”
“Then why not date- I’ve got it! Hal!”
“Hal‽” Clark answered, aghast. “Nobody but you,” he grinned.
Clark managed to flip Bruce over, holding him down by the shoulders. Bruce kicked him in response, and Clark acted like it really hurt, flopping down again on the bed beside Bruce, who took the opportunity to wrap his arms around Clark.
“Even though I’m so bad to you?”
“Yes,” Clark laughed. “Especially because you’re so bad to me.”
“Maybe you’re just into bad boys,” Bruce suggested, lifting himself up so he could stare down at Clark, trapped beneath him.
“Maybe,” Clark smiled. Bruce couldn’t help but smile back. Their shared grins slowly grew softer, and Bruce broke their eye contact, the moment too sweet for him. “You make me feel like I’m young again,” Clark whispered, and Bruce blushed, not wanting to break the moment or wanting to share his feelings.
“Are you going to come downstairs with me now?” Bruce dodged instead.
Clark laughed again. “Fine,” he acquiesced, smiling. As Bruce climbed out of the bed, he felt Clark grab his hand, pulling him back. Bruce turned to look at him.
“What?” Bruce asked.
“I just hate the winter,” Clark said quietly. Bruce already knew this. “It was harder when I was a teenager… I had Ma and Pa but I didn’t have you, and I didn’t trust anyone. I was already depressed during the summer months, and the winter was so much harder. There were so many miserable hours I spent in this room, just wishing…”
“Wishing?” Bruce prompted, when he’d trailed off.
“Wishing a lot of things,” Clark sighed. “Wishing I wasn’t an alien or wishing I was a better person. Wishing I wasn’t a burden. And sometimes, coming back here, with all the snow and the cold getting in, it reminds me of that time in my life.”
Bruce stayed silent.
“It was a really hard time. I don’t ever want to end up back in that place again. I can’t bear to think…” Clark shuddered, “…of having to pull myself out of that dark place again, that’s all. It’s easier to remember the good stuff and forget the bad during the summer.”
“That makes sense,” Bruce answered gently.
“There’s not some… Big secret,” Clark sighed. “It’s just memories that I try not to think about. And a time, or lots of times, in my life that I wish hadn’t had happened. Not to mention things I did that I wish I hadn’t done.”
“But it’s over now.” Bruce moved to cradle Clark’s face in his hands. “You’re here now, and you have a lot of people making sure that you will never face darkness alone again.”
Clark smiled. “That’s right, B.”
“Of course it is,” he agreed, shifting to help Clark off the bed. “Now, downstairs? Your Ma already gave me a slice of pie so you’ll have to eat extra to catch up.”
The smile that split across Clark’s face was like the sun lighting up the sky after a storm. “Okay, okay,” he grinned, and let Bruce drag him downstairs back to his parents.
The Kent farm was colder during the winter, especially with Clark sorrowfully longing for the sun, but there was enough love, Bruce found, despite that fact, to warm it up.