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Far beyond the reach of Metropolis’ night lights, Clark hovered among the blanket of stars. He gazed down at the city he now called home and let out an inaudible sigh. Every now and then, a deep melancholy would wash over him, as if to keep him grounded by the grim reality of his existence. An alien from a distant world he could never visit. A hero who saved so many lives, yet wasn’t even sure what meaning his own life had.
When Clark’s special abilities began to manifest, all he ever wanted to do was help those in need. But despite his best efforts, it felt like Superman was becoming more and more contentious in the people’s eyes. He was uncontrollable. He was destructive. He was unattainable. He didn’t save everyone. He was a false god. Superman was too much, and never enough.
Clark often wondered what it would be like if he was born human. He wouldn’t have to bear the responsibility of being a hero. He would fit in, and live a simple life as a reporter. He would surely be happy.
He was overdue a visit to his Ma. She always knew what to say when Clark felt lost, and reminded him why he would ultimately always choose to protect humanity. He needed that right now.
Clark almost groaned when he heard a frantic voice begging for Superman, but his reluctance lasted only half a second before he dove, rocketing down to where the call came from. Clark eased to a stop as he tried to use X-ray vision to scope out the factory interior, but it just had to be a lead factory, filled with aisles of impenetrable metal.
It felt like a trap. But another cry hardened his resolve, and he burst through the locked door, zipping through the maze before finally finding the one in distress.
A young woman knelt on the ground. As soon as she saw him, she burst into tearful wails. “My child! Superman, my child!”
“It’s alright miss, I’ll save you and your child. Do you know where they are?” Clark asked in a calming tone as she clutched onto Superman like a vice.
“My child! It is you! You are my child, I know you are!”
“I’m sorry, I’m not—”
“You are! Please, you have to be, you just have to be my child…” she sobbed into Clark’s chest, heaving with fathomless despair.
“Okay, it’s okay, you’re right,” Clark hurriedly agreed as he hugged the distraught and delusional girl, hiding his discomfort, but hoping this would calm her down for now. “I’m your child, I’m here.”
Clark knew he’d made a fatal mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. A string of golden runes shot out from the woman’s fingers, skittering rapidly all over him. Clark flung himself back, but it was too late, the curse burned into his skin, causing him to shout in pain. His legs folded, and he crumpled heavily on the ground, writhing at the horrible sensation of his flesh tearing, reforming, molding into something different. Something much smaller.
The overbearing pain eased, and Clark tried to scramble up. He tripped over his own cape and fell to his hands and knees. His Superman suit, normally perfectly form-fitting, now hung loose and wrinkled on his shrunken limbs. The bright red cape dwarfed him like a blanket and pooled under pudgy hands that belonged to a 2-year-old toddler rather than a fully grown adult.
Loud claps invaded his ringing ears, and Clark craned his head at the approaching man, coming to a stop by the expressionless woman.
“Luthor!” Clark snarled furiously, lurching up in a desperate attack.
Alas, Luthor was fully prepared. He flicked the cap off his ring, and a sickly green glow emanated from it. The sight alone was enough for Clark to falter, not even realizing that it had no effect on his current body.
A blinding pain lanced through his head as Luthor punched with enough force to knock him several meters away.
“Ohh, now that felt good.”
Clark groaned as he clutched his face, blood dripping from where the ring cut into his skin.
Lex cackled with a manic smirk, shaking loose his fist.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this. At my absolute mercy. How does your first taste of humanity feel, Superman? Well, not so super, nor man anymore. Why don’t you beg me to spare your life, hmm? Then again, I kind of like your new look. I might even be tempted to take you in as my adopted son, and raise you as the perfect little boy. What do you think, Morgan?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “I really could not care less what you do with him. Just give me what you owe.”
“Of course! I was very impressed by your performance, by the way. Even I was moved! Anyway, where were we—”
A loud bang suddenly deafened the room, and a shower of debris rained down with a cloud of thick dust. Lex Luthor gaped up at the hole in the ceiling, before glaring furiously at the woman beside him.
“You said he would become a powerless toddler!”
Morgan shrugged. “I did not lie. He is now a human child, but I suppose he had just enough residual Kryptonian in his cells to be Superman one more time. Surely you are competent enough to track down a boy soon to become as weak as a newborn fawn, no?”
Luthor gritted his teeth and stalked away.
“Run all you want, Superman. This is the last chance you will ever get.”
—
Clark had no sense of direction when he launched himself as far away from Luthor and Morgan as possible. All his attention had been on focusing his last remaining energy to escape. But now he was rapidly losing altitude, and there was no way he could survive a crash landing in his current body. He whipped his head around and veered sharply towards the docks of Gotham. If he could at least survive the fall into the sea, he could swim to shore and hide. That was a big if though.
He dropped, his red cape buffeting him as he plummeted down. At a beat just before impact, he wrenched his body to the side and crashed into the freezing water, reducing the force just enough to prevent getting knocked out immediately. But the damage was still high on top of his initial break through the roof, and his nerves screamed as he struggled to swim back to the surface, muscles practically paralyzed.
He was too weak, and the uniform that symbolizes Hope was now dragging him down further into the unforgiving depths. If he wasn’t about to die, Clark would find it very ironic in a morbid sort of way. But he was determined not to let it end here.
Clark’s tiny form slipped out of the oversized clothing, and with the heavy weight gone, his natural buoyancy made it much easier to claw to the surface, gasping and spluttering. The red cape that had been with him for his entire life was now lost, perhaps forever.
There was no time to mourn, as Clark feebly paddled to the nearest boat ramp. Waves pushed him forward as he lifted himself up just enough onto the concrete slope before he gave up, slumped on his front. He shivered non-stop, submerged in the lapping waters.
His vision tunneled, and he slipped gratefully into unconsciousness, away from the cold and pain.
—
It was the unmistakable sound of gunfire that roused Clark. His heart started to race as he heard panicked shouts and more echoing cracks, so loud it had to be close by. He peeled his sticky eyelids open, and realized the commotion came from a small ship docked about half a mile away. Flashes of light, and more screams.
Clark stared miserably. People were getting hurt, probably dying, right there in front of him. And he couldn’t do a single thing to help. A mere bystander, powerless. Was this what being human felt like?
In less than five minutes, the chaos stilled. A dark silhouette leapt onto the ship’s edge, scanning the port. A jolt of anxiety shot down his spine. It’s the Batman. They’d never met, and Clark hadn’t planned on changing that any time soon. But he’d read all the articles over the years about the Dark Knight, each with their own take on the mysterious man behind the mask. But there was one thing everyone knew for sure.
Metahumans are not welcome in Gotham City.
Batman’s hatred for Metas. Clark had zero doubts that included aliens from outer space.
His desire to be rescued was extinguished by the dread of being discovered. Who knew what would happen to him if Batman found out Superman was within Gotham, in such a vulnerable state?
Another smaller and colorful form flipped onto the railing next to the Bat. It was the teenage sidekick, Robin. He was another reason Clark didn’t attempt to befriend the Bat. How could the guy let his own child fight in such dangerous situations? The father-son relation was merely speculation, but it made the most sense to Clark. Robin seemed to enjoy it though, from the way criminals described the little tyke, so all Clark could do was judge from a distance.
He was grateful for the darkness now, which should keep him hidden until the duo left. Alas, his night was determined to continue its series of unfortunate events, as Robin’s eagle eyes somehow connected with Clark’s. The Boy Wonder did a double-take.
“B!” he hissed before he leapt effortlessly onto the dock and sprinted towards Clark, Batman swiftly followed behind, with only a tad less grace.
Well, wasn’t this just swell. He could only pray they weren’t going to hurt him any more than he already was.
“Jesus, B, it's a kid!”
“Stay back, I’ll check it out first.”
Heavy footsteps came closer. Clark barely mustered enough strength to tilt his head up, eyes wide with apprehension. Batman stiffened, before easing into a crouch with palms raised.
“Hey there, Champ. It’s okay, don’t be scared. I’ll get you somewhere safe and warm. Is it okay if I hold you?”
Clark blinked at the softly spoken words, the lack of voice changer revealed smooth baritones. He had been so caught up by the notion that Batman hated Metahumans and regularly treated criminals as punching bags, that he disregarded the fact that Batman saved many people as well. Under the cowl, there was still a decent human being. One that had a heart when faced with a child alone on the brink of death.
“Look at him, there’s no way he can answer,” Robin muttered, peering over Batman’s shoulder.
Batman clenched his jaw and reached out, carefully wrapping Clark’s naked form with his black cloak and cradling him out of the frigid water. He couldn’t help but whimper as his wounds throbbed, and he shivered against Batman’s chest.
“Shh, you’re alright,” Batman whispered. “Just hold on a little bit longer, I promise you’ll feel better soon.”
Clark wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of these kinds of words. It felt… nice. Maybe Batman was simply Gotham’s resident hero, like Superman was to Metropolis. Albeit a darker, edgier, more violent version.
Robin pattered beside them and they walked, gazing worriedly at Clark.
“Is he okay?”
“He will be,” Batman assured as they stopped next to a black car. “Get in first, I’ll hand him to you. Try to dry him up.”
Robin nodded, easily adjusting his grip to support Clark, even though Robin himself couldn’t be older than 15. Much too young to be out on the streets fighting crime, that’s for sure.
“You’ll be toasty warm in no time, little friend.” Robin gave a reassuring smile down at Clark, and used his cape like a towel, softly wiping away as much moisture as he could as the heating in the car rose. The low rumbling of the engine was comforting, and Clark felt safe enough to close his eyes, just for a moment.
—
The next thing he became aware of was a muted beeping. There was something pinched on the back of his hand, and strange pieces stuck to his chest. To Clark’s relief, he was no longer deathly cold, and actually wearing clothes. The pain throughout his body was also dulled to a slightly more bearable level.
Then he noticed that the hand he felt the pinch in was warmer than the rest of him. Someone was holding it, and a feather-light touch brushed across his skin, a pleasant sensation despite the rough calluses present.
Something damp dabbed on his cheek. A sting of pain made him flinch, and the hold on his hand tightened minutely. Oh right, he was socked right in the face by Luthor and his darned Kryptonite ring. Clark wasn’t used to gaining injuries as insignificant as cuts and bruises, let alone having them remain on his body. It wasn’t a fun experience.
“What kind of sick bastard does that to a toddler?” A voice gritted out. He recognised it as Robin.
Another voice sighed. “It seems as though this case isn't merely a lost child.” It was an unfamiliar, older man. “You found the boy close to the ship?”
“Yeah, we’d just finished dealing with the smugglers. Wait, you don’t think…?”
“It isn’t out of the realm of possibility for drug smugglers to also dabble in human trafficking. Perhaps the boy managed to escape and jump off the ship before you two arrived.”
“We’ll investigate it later,” a new voice stated.
Ah, he had wondered if the Bat was here. Clark’s bleary eyes peered at the one sitting beside him. The man was still in his uniform, but to his great astonishment, the cowl was pulled down. It revealed an oddly familiar face…
…
Holy shit that’s Bruce Wayne! Bruce Wayne was Batman? Bruce Wayne saved him? Bruce Wayne was tenderly holding his hand? Surely this was just a dream, right?
“How do you feel? Can you understand me?” Bruce Wayne asked, smiling reassuringly as Clark internally freaked out.
“Pouvez-vous comprendre?” The dream theory became more valid after the random switch to French.
“Wait, he could be from Belgium,” Robin piped up. “Kun je het begrijpen?”
Oh right. They thought he was smuggled in from a foreign country. Despite being exhausted and in pain, Clark couldn’t help the tiny bubble of laughter from his chest, a faint smile on his face. Well. they technically weren’t wrong about him being ‘foreign’. As foreign as they get, actually. Just a little bit further on from the next solar system.
Bruce and the older man shared a look of confusion, while Robin beamed with glee.
“Did I get it right? Wat is je naam?”
Clark giggled softly again. “Cwark,” he whispered, then instantly froze.
“Gwarg??” Robin bent down, tilting his head.
“Uhhhh…” Clark floundered. Firstly, why the heck did he just blurt out his real name? Secondly, why did he sound like an actual toddler when his mind was still an adult? Then again, from the lack of control over his body right now, maybe he had regressed much more than he initially thought…
“Master Richard, perhaps it’s better to let the poor boy recover some more before interrogating him.”
Ohh of course, he’s Richard Grayson. It was big headlines back when Bruce Wayne took in a child who had just lost both his parents in a freak accident.
Robin slinked away abashedly. “Sorry Alfred.”
Bruce gave him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s alright, Dick, go finish up your homework. You can visit him tomorrow morning.”
“Aww okay,” he pouted. “Seeya buddy!” He waved at Clark before bounding towards an elevator.
Clark managed a slight handwave back, a little saddened by the lively teen’s departure. It was also one less buffer between him and Bruce Wayne, aka Batman. Who, hard to forget, notoriously hated metahumans. Clark didn’t know how long he could hide his true identity from the supposed World’s Greatest Detective.
“How is he?”
“Out of danger, Master Bruce. Temperature is still a bit low, but considering he was hypothermic, it’s to be expected. He’s covered in some nasty cuts and bruises, how he doesn’t have a single fracture is beyond me. His injuries have been cleaned and treated with antibiotic ointment, except for the one on his cheek.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Alfred, likely the household butler, left. It was just Bruce Wayne now, the notorious playboy billionaire, part-time masked vigilante. And Clark Kent, the unassuming reporter for the Daily Planet, part-time superhero, and happened to be in the form of a very young human toddler.
Clark wanted to squirm at the uneasy situation as he eyed the IV in his hand. It was his first time seeing a needle penetrating his skin.
“Clark?”
Clark jerked a bit at the sound of his name and looked up. Bruce kept his blue eyes leveled at him, demeanor open and relaxed.
“My name is Bruce. Is your name Clark?” Bruce asked in a clear tone.
Well, there was no use hiding it now. Clark nodded nervously.
Bruce smiled at the confirmation. “I’m glad you can understand me. You know, there is a rather intriguing fellow in Metropolis, one who bravely fights for the innocent no matter how tough it gets.”
Oh? Oho?? Could it be possible that Batman didn’t hate Superman after all? A shining hope sparkled within Clark’s eyes. Perhaps after he got this curse reversed, he should take the initiative and reach out to Batman, making the first step to becoming allies. And maybe down the line, create a friendship too. Then Superman wouldn't be so alone anymore.
“And that man just so happens to share the same name as you.”
…Say what now? Was Bruce talking about him, as in Clark Kent of the Daily Planet? Not Superman? Exposing corruption in the city was a far cry from saving the planet from a giant asteroid, but unless there was some other Clark in Metropolis he hadn’t heard of… How the heck did Wayne even know who he was anyway?
In the early days of his career, Clark did indeed once meet Bruce Wayne at a charity gala. But there were so many other reporters present that night as well. And that was so long ago. How could he possibly remember Clark from that?
“I know you aren’t feeling too great right now, but do you think you can be strong and brave like Clark Kent of Metropolis?”
Clark nodded in a daze, completely baffled. He would have expected anyone sane to use Superman the Hero as the symbol of bravery, not Clark Kent the Reporter.
“You have a cut on your cheek, it needs to be cleaned and covered in medicine to help it heal. It will sting a bit, but as a reward for being so brave,” Bruce paused, and pulled something out from a pouch on his belt, “you can have this.”
It was a bright pink lollipop. Sure, why not? This night was already such a chaotic ordeal. That Batman carried around lollipops in his pocket was the least remarkable revelation. Clark made grabby hands at the treat. Bruce peeled the wrapper off and handed it to him.
Clark contentedly sucked on the lollipop as Bruce got to work cleaning and disinfecting his wound. The stinging was nothing compared to the initial punch.
He contemplated the handsome face of Bruce Wayne, acting so different to the usual air-headed persona he presented in public. Clark was never taken in by that facade, but to think the true Bruce Wayne was such a multi-faceted person was quite the curveball. On one side, a ruthless vigilante, and on the other, extraordinarily kind and gentle towards children. Was there a true side, or just many parts of a whole?
“All done.” Bruce lightly patted his head after applying a bandaid. “You did so well. Take as long as you want to finish the sweet. My butler, Alfred, is cooking up a warm meal if you feel up for eating?”
Clark nodded, pondering whether he displayed too much unnatural intelligence for his apparent age.
Bruce also nodded in satisfaction. “Rest up for now, I’ll be right over there.” He grabbed something off a tray and moved to a console with a giant array of monitors. Clark couldn’t see what he started working on, the info on a small screen was blocked by his torso.
With the background noise of soft keyboard clicks and machinery hums, Clark turned his attention to establishing his current position and next course of action.
That sorceress Morgan used some sort of magic to change Clark into a human child. Of course it was magic, one of his only weaknesses. She didn’t seem like someone he could convince to change him back, so he had to get in contact with someone else. Someone familiar with magic and much more friendly to Superman. The trouble was, he didn’t know anyone like that.
Besides, there was just no way he could do it by himself. He had zero powers left, was badly injured, and was in the body of a toddler. That’s where Batman could come into the picture.
Initially, Clark thought it was the absolute worst luck, to be found by the one guy famous for his hatred of Metas. But now that he discovered that someone Bruce did seem to like was Clark Kent of all people, then he was a fraction more optimistic that Batman would lend aid to his predicament.
But how would Bruce Wayne react if he found out a reporter had inadvertently learned the secret identities of Batman and Robin? Would Bruce take drastic measures to ensure the truth remained hidden? Bruce Wayne didn’t seem like that type of person, but he wasn’t so sure about Batman.
Clark clenched his fist, where the warmth from the other hand lingered. No, there’s no way that someone who saw an unknown child dying and didn’t hesitate to provide safety, reassurance and medical care with such tender devotion, could be anything but the most compassionate and loving of human beings. Clark, of all people, should know how newspaper articles could skew the narrative in whichever way they pleased to make a story sell.
Trust was earned, not expected. If Clark wanted to become someone Bruce could trust, then it was only right that Clark placed his trust in him first.
Just as he prepared to call out to Bruce, the elevator doors opened, and the heavenly smell of curry wafted around.
…It could wait until after the meal.
As expected, the food was delicious and filling. To Clark’s embarrassment, Bruce Wayne attentively hand-fed him bit by bit. Clark’s arms were still too weak to lift even a spoon.
…Well it would surely be way too humiliating for Bruce Wayne to find out he just hand-fed Superman, right?
The lethargy from the satisfying meal sunk deep into Clark’s core. Tomorrow morning, then. He’d tell Bruce everything.
—
Someone was moving around the room. Clark cracked open an eye and zeroed in on the culprit. Dick Grayson stilled when he noticed the attention, before he grinned and made a conspiratorial shushing motion. He was also clad in red and blue Superman-themed pajamas, complete with a floppy nightcap.
Clark wordlessly watched the kid slink forward like a cat. His target was Bruce, who was leant back fast asleep in the computer chair. Dick crouched and pounced, arms flung open wide.
Unsurprisingly, Bruce Wayne effortlessly caught the attacker with his eyes closed, but did grunt at the impact.
“You’re getting too big for this,” Bruce grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his face.
“I think I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much,” Dick retorted, wiggling his butt for good measure. “Can I say hi to our mini-friend?”
“If you’re quiet. His name is Clark, and he understands English.”
“Awesome!” Dick rolled off Bruce and padded over to Clark.
“Morning Clark! I’m Richard, but most people call me Dick.” He cupped his hand and whispered, “It’s so I can get Bruce to randomly say ‘Dick’ in public.”
Clark snorted, more at the idea that he thought a toddler would understand the joke.
“Dick,” Bruce warned, expression irked, but Clark swore he saw the corners of his lip twitch.
“See?” Dick grinned. “Anyway, how ya feeling, buddy?”
“I’m okay, thank you,” Clark murmured, trying to sit up, relieved that he could now enunciate his words properly. Dick quickly helped him, propping him up on some pillows.
“Gee-whiz, you almost sound like a grown-up!”
“Oh,” Clark bit his lip, not wanting to lie to his rescuers anymore. “About that, I—”
A beeping interrupted him. Bruce grimly stood up and tapped a key. On a monitor popped up a security feed, presumably the front gate. A sleek silver car was parked beside the intercom. To Clark’s horror, the bald head sticking out of the window was unmistakable.
“We were not expecting a visit from you, Mr. Luthor,” Alfred’s monotone voice emanated from the speaker.
“I was not expecting to visit either,” Luthor lamented dramatically. “But you currently have something of mine, and I’m here to retrieve it.”
“And what would that be, sir?”
“Enough with the chit-chat. I know you picked up a stray during the night. The fact that I can track its location should prove it belongs to me. So just do us all a favor and hand it over, and we’ll go our separate ways.”
Oh God, how was Luthor even able to find him? Clark clawed at the sheets, heart thumping wildly in his chest. If Luthor got to him now, it would all be over. Warm fingers covered his hands and eased their grip. Clark turned to see Dick sitting on the bed beside him, smiling assuredly.
“Alfred, let me take over.”
“Yes sir.”
Bruce pressed another key. “Lexie Poo~! How wonderful it is to witness your beautifully shiny head so bright and early in the morning! I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and my dearest apologies but I just have not a single clue what you are talking about! My ward had fallen ill yesterday, so no one in my household has left the manor since, I assure you. Your mind must be frazzled in your old age! Have you had enough sleep lately?”
Clark’s jaw dropped as Luthor’s face reddened with rage.
“You don’t want to do this, Wayne. You don’t even know what you’re dealing with, the danger—”
“Golly gosh, it’s already 7! I hate to be such a bad host, but my monthly spa session is scheduled right now, so I’ll have to invite you in another time. Toodles!”
Beep
On-screen, they watched Luthor slam his fist against the steering wheel. He glared at the manor, before finally reversing the car and speeding away.
A thick silence hung in the air. Clark shuddered, pulling his legs up and burying his head in his knees. Luthor would be back, no doubt about it. And next time, he wouldn't bother ringing the bell.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Clark stuttered. “You should let me go. The truth is, I’m—”
“Superman.”
Clark whipped his head up, gawking at Bruce, who had the audacity to look like they were merely discussing breakfast options. At least Dick Grayson appeared just as flabbergasted.
“You knew?!”
“I did.”
“The whole time?!” Clark screeched, mortified.
“Not the whole time,” Bruce corrected placatingly. “I pulled out a tiny shard from the cut on your cheek, which was an odd shade of green. A few tests confirmed it to be Kryptonite. From there it wasn’t too difficult to connect the dots. Our mutual pest merely confirmed my theory, and likely tracked you down using that.”
Clark took a deep breath. Then another. “Okay, cool. Well, I’m genuinely grateful you didn’t hand me over to Luthor despite knowing who I was. Actually, I have another identity that I think you should know about. The truth is, I’m also—”
“Clark Kent.”
“What?!” Clark yelped. “You knew that too?!”
“I did,” Bruce replied.
“For how long?!”
“...I’ve known Clark Kent is Superman for a few years now,” Bruce admitted, this time seemingly feeling a tad guilty.
“What the fuck?” Dick helpfully declared.
Clark rolled onto his side and covered his head with the blanket. He wished the bed would just swallow him whole.
Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, you know of our secret identities now too.”
After a few seconds, Clark pulled back the covers. “Erm, sorry about that.”
Both Bruce and Dick rolled their eyes.
“No need to apologise, Master Clark,” Alfred said as he entered the room. “The circumstances were rather dire, and completely out of your control. Unfortunately, we have a more pressing concern on our hands.”
One of the screens beeped and brought up a live image feed tracking something in the sky. A green robotic suit was flying towards them, with Luthor inside.
“No!” Clark cried and attempted to jump out of bed, despite being powerless to defend anyone against Luthor’s assault. But he needed to try anyway. Several hands pushed him back down.
“Relax Clark,” Bruce murmured. “He won’t even touch you. Did you forget?”
A confident smirk graced his lips. By his side, Dick enthusiastically threw a V-sign up.
“I’m Batman.”
“And Robin!”
The duo swiftly departed. Clark shook his head incredulously at the show, before he turned to Alfred.
“Will they be alright?” he asked anxiously.
“Have faith. Master Bruce is rather fond of you, and will do everything in his power to protect you.”
“Is that so…” Clark’s eyes misted over. For the first time, Superman was the one being protected by a superhero. This was exactly what he wanted to give to humanity as well, whenever he donned the mantle of Superman. The feeling of safety, the joy of knowing that a guardian was devoted to protecting them. It was a gift only a few individuals could give, and anyone could receive. Even Clark.
—
Luthor was forced to swerve out of the way as a black jet shot towards him. His warsuit spiraled before he managed to stabilize himself. The aircraft that he almost collided with swung back around. It began circling Luthor threateningly.
“Gotham is under my protection,” a deep voice cast out. “I suggest you leave now if you’d like to remain in one piece.”
Luthor grinned. “You must be the infamous Batman. A pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance. I mean no harm to you nor the citizens of Gotham City. In fact, my mission will benefit the both of us! There is an illegal alien hidden here that I intend to destroy. You know, the big blue one. Surely you can understand how important this task is to the wellbeing of the human race?”
“Which part of your suit are you most attached to?”
“What?”
A blur shot out of the aircraft, slicing through the air and stabbing into the torso of Luthor’s warsuit. He only had a second to smirk at the tiny blade before it exploded, ripping apart a huge chunk of metal and scorching his skin. Luthor howled in pained rage.
“How dare you!” He roared. “You have chosen to ally with a monster!”
“You’re wrong. He’s more human than you’ll ever be.”
A panel under the aircraft opened, and a large turret folded out. Luthor paled. He was outmatched and outgunned. Retreat was the only option. He rocketed away. Fortunately, the aircraft did not attack or follow.
“You’ll regret this, Batman! You are now an enemy to mankind.”
—
“You shoulda let me at ‘em.” Robin whined as he jumped out of the aircraft. “Just a couple warning shots!”
“Sometimes, the fear of being attacked is a more effective deterrent than the attack itself,” Batman lectured, dropping to the ground with a dramatic swoop.
Robin scowled. “Sure, say that to the batarang you shot at his face.”
“I didn’t hit his face.”
“Yeah, ‘cuz you missed! I was right behind you, I saw everything.”
Batman’s ensuing sulk was extremely entertaining to Robin, and totally worth the extra chores.
—
“Batman! Robin!” Clark breathed a sigh of relief as the pair returned. “I’m glad you aren’t hurt.”
“Psh, that guy was weaksauce!” Robin waved his hands, then hurriedly flapped them around in horror. “I mean, not that I’m implying he’s not a threat to you! Or that you’re weaker than him!! Mister Superman sir!”
“It’s okay.” Clark muffled his snicker. “I underestimated Luthor. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say. I’m quite wary of him now.”
“What did happen anyway?”
Clark sighed despondently. “I fell into a trap. A sorcerer working for Luthor tricked me, and used some sort of magic to transform my body. I flew away, but lost the rest of my powers after falling into the water. You two found me not long after that.”
Batman nodded, scratching his chin. “We should get in contact with someone well-versed in magic, see if they can change you back.”
“Do you know anyone, Batman?”
The Dark Knight smirked.
“I know a guy.”
—
“This is your ‘guy’?” Clark deadpanned.
“Hey, you don’t look like much yourself, short stuff,” grumbled the chimpanzee, who was in a Sherlock-esque hat and coat, as well as a banana graphic tee.
They were currently standing in a dark alleyway near the outskirts of Gotham. It was just Bruce and Clark. Dick had begged to join, but Bruce needed him to stay at the manor in case Luthor decided to return.
“This is Detective Chimp. We go back some ways.”
“I’ve come to regret it often,” Detective Chimp lamented. “You owe me so many favors already, and you want to add another to the list?”
“It’s not a favor for me this time, it's for him.” Batman gesturing to Clark.
The chimp scrutinized the toddler from head to toe. He pulled out a magnifying glass, and squinted as he looked through it.
“Yikes, that’s some spell you’re under. Who did you manage to piss off?”
“Um, Luthor called her Morgan.”
“Morgaine le Fey! Haven’t seen her around in ages. She keeps to herself, mostly. You’re quite the unlucky victim. What did you say your name was?”
“Oh right! It’s nice to meet you, Detective Chimp. I’m Superman.”
Detective Chimp fumbled with his magnifying glass. “Christ, Batman! A little warning would’ve been nice! I’m a big fan, Supes. Can I have your autograph?”
Clark blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure, but uh, maybe after I get hands big enough to hold a pen back?”
“No way, I demand to be the only one with toddler Superman’s autograph.”
“Can you break the spell or not?” Batman interrupted.
“Sorry man, that’s pretty far out of my field. But hey, I bet Constantine can deal with it.”
A pained expression washed over Batman. “...Fine. Where is he now?”
“Where else?”
—
“Aww what the bloody hell is it this time?” The blond haired man sitting at the counter grouched. “You know, I still haven’t gotten the stinkin’ gunk outta my clothes from the last ordeal.”
“Not my problem,” Batman stated bluntly. Held against his chest, Clark swiveled his head around the room, taking in the sights and sounds of a completely new dimension. It was fascinating and terrifying at the same time.
“You said you’d pay for the drycleaning, so it is your problem. And what the hell did I say about bringing underage youngsters into Oblivion?”
“That’s not just any random kid, Constantine,” Detective Chimp stage whispered. “That’s Superman!”
All conversations ceased, and every being inside the bar stared at Clark like starving lions. He ducked his head down, before a dark cover encompassed his whole body. Clark looked up at Bruce, who had used his cloak to shroud him from the piercing gazes.
“Jeez, alright, you got my attention. And everyone else in this damn place. C’mon, let's talk someplace private.”
Constantine waved his hand, and a portal manifested before them.
“In ya get!”
Batman leapt in with Clark in his arms. Detective Chimp attempted to follow, but Constantine blocked him.
“Not this time, monkey!” he tsked in disdain. “Not until you return what you stole.” He stepped back into the portal and disappeared.
“Don’t you mean borrowed? Oi! I haven’t gotten my autograph yet!”
—
“Aight, let’s get a good look at’cha,” Constantine muttered, slapping a palm on Clark’s shoulder. “Hoo boy, definitely Morgaine le Fey’s magic. The spell she used is called Tögɨduβn. It binds the target into the form of the caster’s deepest desire. Sounds simple enough, but the only way it works is if the curse detects consent from both sides. Do you remember the last words you spoke before the transformation?”
Clark furrowed his brows. “Yes. I said, ‘I’m your child, I’m here.’”
“Oof, well, her son’s death hit her hard, no wonder the curse manifested like this. Guess her most cherished memories were of Mordred as a young boy.”
“Oh…” Clark couldn’t imagine what losing a child must feel like. The arms holding him tightened their grip. Whether it was for reassurance, or if Bruce envisioned Dick Grayson dying, Clark wasn't sure.
“Casting the spell is difficult, but luckily breaking it just requires some brute force. All I gotta do is pull the runes out of your body, and voila! Back to super. Though, unluckily for you I imagine the process will hurt. A lot.”
“That’s fine, I can take it,” Clark said with certainty.
“That’s the spirit! Get a solid grip on him, Bats. Ready?”
Clark breathed in as Bruce braced his tiny form. Constantine placed his hand over Clark’s heart, dwarfing his chest with outstretched fingers. Clark gave a faint nod.
Constantine began muttering unintelligible words, and a deep ache throbbed within his core. At first it wasn’t too bad, but the pain ratcheted sharply, as if his very soul was being torn out. If the initial spell felt like daggers slicing into his flesh, then this felt like molten shards of glass coursing through his veins. Any awareness of his being was crushed by the unrelenting agony.
The passage of time was an amorphous concept.
The awful pain drifted, but the echoes of it caused Clark’s muscles to shake, twitching in a fight or flight response. Pins and needles rippled against his bones.
A hand, full of rough calluses, stroked the nape of his neck. Arms wrapped around his back, cradling his upper body against another, grounding him back to reality.
Finally, a low soothing voice permeated the haze.
“Shh, you’re alright,” Bruce whispered against his forehead.
Clark filled his lungs with fresh air. He reached up, and their hands matched in size. His eyes fluttered open. In his blurry vision, Bruce smiled down at him.
“Hey there, Champ. Is it okay if I hold you?”
Clark smiled back.
Their fingers intertwined.
End