The gala was nothing extraordinary. It was a typical rich billionaire hosted event, where rich billionaire people could chat mindlessly about how rich they were long into the night. Clark felt sorely out of place; he had worn his best and only suit, and was clad with Clark Kent's thick glasses and reporter's book. He watched lazily as Lex Luthor was introduced, and the enigmatic man made a show of beginning his speech.

But something caught Clark's eye—or ear, rather. A soft hum of a voice, too quite for any person to hear, save the man the earpiece belonged to. Bruce Wayne slowly shifted his way through the still crowd. No one gave him a second glance as he passed fluidly. Clark trailed the man, the sound of applause for Luthor nothing more than background noise. Wayne was now at the doorway by the staff—

A flash of movement instinctively pulled at Clark's attention. It could have been someone pulling a gun, or running from an explosive, or any amount of terrible acts. Clark slowly felt his tense muscles relax; it was only a child running between the tipsy patrons. Clark turned to find Bruce Wayne, but between the noise and the laughter and the talking and the lights, it was a losing battle. He had slipped away perfectly.

Clark was forced into his role as reporter. He meandered around the room, keeping distance from the aristocrats—or rather, they were steering clear of him. Reporters were nothing but swarms of flies on hot summer days to these people.

It was some time later when Clark finally spotted him. He quickly (but not too quickly) shuffled to the man's side. "Mr. Wayne!" he called out. The man in question slowly turned to face the reporter. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet."

"Oh," Bruce murmured distractedly, "my foundation has already issued a statement in support of the . . . cause."

Clark watched the billionaire like a hawk. He didn't have to be a genius to know that Bruce was focused on something else. Ten bucks said it had to do with whoever he was secretly conversing with. His eyes antsily wandered the room. It seemed all he wanted was to leave, but he was forced to stay.

"I'm sorry?" Clark asked, regaining the man's attention. Bruce only shook his head, dismissing the subject. Clark cleared his throat, "What's our position on the bat vigilante in Gotham?"

"Daily Planet," Bruce mused softly to himself. "Wait, do I own this one? Or was that the other guy?"

Clark clenched his jaw. He was sure there were nice billionaires out there, but he could sure see how the snobby, rude, and arrogant stereotype had been created. "Civil liberties have been trampled on in your city," he went on. "Good people living in fear."

This received a tight, insincere smile. "Don't believe everything you hear, son."

"I've seen it, Mr. Wayne. He thinks he's above the law."

"The Daily Planet criticizing those who think they're above the law," Bruce laughed. "A little hypocritical, wouldn't you say? Considering every time your hero saves a cat out of a tree, you write a puff piece editorial about an alien who, if he wanted to, could burn the whole place down. There wouldn't be a damn thing we could do to stop him."

So that was the man Bruce Wayne was. Society either worshipped Superman, or they feared him; there wasn't much of a gray area in between. Bruce Wayne was as black as the night.

"Most of the world doesn't share your opinion, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce gave a lopsided smile. "Maybe it's the . . . Gotham City in me. We just have a bad history with freaks dressed as clowns."

In that moment, three things happened. Firstly, Clark wanted to punch Bruce Wayne in the face. Really, really hard. Only Clark couldn't do that, because he was a good person.

Besides, had all he needed: there was no denying Wayne was the Batman. Honestly, Clark could have figured that out from the first line the billionaire spoke. Egotistical, temperamental, vague, and out for Superman's blood. His blood.

But the third event caught Clark—and Bruce—off guard. The sound of glass shattering. Much of the chatter in the room came to a halt as all eyes looked toward the sound. The feuding duo turned to see Lex Luthor behind them, a champagne glass in millions of pieces at his feet. The force that caused the accident was only a foot or so away, four feet tall, and looking extremely guilty.

"Sorry," the boy winced. Clark recognized him vaguely from earlier, during Luthor's speech. A it of annoyance built inside him; this boy had stopped him from seeing what Bruce Wayne was plotting. The innocent smile and the sweetness of an innocent child, though, quickly diminished any anger almost immediately.

He had neatly groomed hair, flushed cheeks, and bright blue eyes. A happy child, to say the least. Most likely he belonged to one of these billionaires who thought it best to take their rambunctious kid to a charity event. Clark smiled at the guilty looking child; he looked so innocent and shameful that it was downright cute.

Lex gave a carefree grin, shaking a piece of glass from the top of his shoe. "No worries. No worries at all! Just a glass, right? Not like I can't buy more."

Bruce moved toward the boy and Luthor. Clark was just about to call Wayne back and insist their talk wasn't done yet when Bruce put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What did I tell you about running indoors?"

The small child grinned shyly, looking at his shoes. "Not to."

Bruce nodded, a simple smile on his face. "And did you?"

The impish grin the child gave Bruce was a clear enough answer. Clark watched the two with waves of confusion. It hadn't quite settled in his mind yet what he was witnessing.

Lex threw his hands in the air, looking delighted. "Oh! This little one's yours? I had no idea." Lex extended a hand to the child, who took it sheepishly. "The name is Lex Luthor, as you probably know. My name's on the invitation, after all," he chirped in his eccentric voice.

The kid still seemed embarrassed from the glass accident. He quickly pulled his hand out of Luthor's shake and clung to Bruce's suit jacket.

"Richard Grayson," Bruce supplied easily. "He's my ward."

Lex let out a happy noise. "Well, isn't that delightful!"

Clark couldn't help but stare. He had the most heated back and forth discussion with Bruce Wayne moments ago, and now the man was comforting a child—his child—like any good parent. Was a man that patted the boy's shoulder out for his blood? Was his vendetta against Superman a sort of parental instinctive protection? Clark knew to his very core he would never stoop so low as to hurt a child, but Bruce did not.

And suddenly a pair of big, blue eyes were locked onto Clark's own. This was Bruce's kid. The son of the Batman. And yet he looked so innocent, so happy. Clark understood that his opposers feared him. He just never imagined that it might not be out of their own fear, but fear for others.

The voice from earlier snapped Clark out of his daze. Not any person in the room, but the person in Bruce's earpiece. Clark had to say, Bruce was a master at controlling his features as he listened to the voice. Luthor continued to ramble, oblivious to any interference. Bruce carefully stooped down to Richard's level and whispered into his ear. The child took off seconds later, running just as Bruce had told him not to.

Confusion and fury filled Clark as he realized the child was in this too. What kind of a man was Bruce Wayne, to let a child into this fight?

Clark listened in as Luthor continued to talk Bruce's ear off. The child came back minutes later and whispered back to Bruce. Looking troubled, Bruce excused himself and his ward.

He would have trailed after the two, but a television headline caught his attention. Clark Kent could investigate Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson later. Right now, the world needed Superman.

Hey, guys!

I'm back from my hiatus! I think it's obvious that during my said absence, I watched a little something called Batman v Superman. Honestly, I loved every fight scene, Easter egg, and cameo, and completely disagree with most critic reviews. So naturally, when we got a glimpse of a deceased Robin's uniform, curtesy of the Joker, Bruce's grittiness made a bit more sense.

Then the author in me kicked in and screamed BUT WHAT IF—

Anyways, if people like this enough, I'll continue the plot line with my own twist, obviously. If there're no follows/favorites/reviews, then this will go collect dust on my "Abandoned Projects" shelf and I'll be sad. (*cough cough* That's a hint. *wink wink*)

Stay awesome, my dudes!

~palmtreedragons