Superbat trying to prove they’re not dating (and failing miserably).
The Justice League was convinced Bruce and Clark were dating.
The problem was that the two of them had absolutely no idea how to prove otherwise.
Because, sure, Clark did bring Bruce coffee every morning during briefings. And maybe Clark did patch Bruce up personally in the medbay instead of letting himself handle it.
And fine, maybe they occasionally left missions together and came back suspiciously at the same time.
But that didn’t mean anything. Obviously.
At least, that’s what Bruce told himself every single time Barry waggled his eyebrows across the meeting table.
“Just admit it,” Barry started one afternoon, leaning over the table with a grin. “You’re together.”
Clark laughed. “No, we’re just good friends.”
Bruce didn’t even look up from the mission report. “Colleagues.”
“Sure, Bruce,” Diana sighed as she rested her chin on her hand. “That’s why he calls you sweetheart over comms.”
“He was… joking,” Bruce muttered.
“He was asking if you’d eaten.”
There was a long pause. Barry snorted so loudly he had to fake a cough.
After that meeting, Bruce decided to put an end to the rumors once and for all.
Clark agreed, mostly because he thought it would be funny.
It was not funny.
“Alright,” Bruce began, arms crossed in the Watchtower’s common area, “we’re going to prove we’re not dating.”
Across from him, Barry and Hal exchanged identical grins. “This I gotta see,” Hal muttered.
Clark looked vaguely amused. “And how exactly are we doing that?” He whispered.
“By behaving like professionals.”
Barry snorted. “That’s what you’ve been doing. It’s not working.”
Bruce ignored him. “We’ll demonstrate appropriate team dynamics. Minimal personal interaction.“
It lasted exactly three days.
By day one, Clark had “accidentally” brought Bruce tea again.
By day two, they were caught mid-conversation, standing too close in the hallway. Bruce was fixing the buckle on Clark’s suit because it was “misaligned.”
It was not misaligned.
By day three, someone noticed Bruce’s comm ID was renamed “🦇❤️” on Clark’s communicator.
Clark swore it was “a glitch.”
Bruce deleted the entire comm network.
They were midway through a cleanup operation in downtown Metropolis when Barry’s voice came through the comms:
“Hey, uh, question. Are Batman and Superman flirting right now?”
“No,” Bruce replied instantly.
Clark, however, sounded too cheerful. “Why, does it sound like we are?”
“Buddy, it always sounds like you are.”
“Focus,” Bruce barked sharply. “We have hostiles incoming.”
“Yeah, yeah, hostiles, sure,” Hal muttered. “Just saying, your ‘battle banter’ sounds a lot like foreplay.”
“Hal,” Bruce growled.
“Okay, but it does,” Berry chimed in, clearly smirking. “The growling, the yelling each other’s names.”
Clark’s warm voice came over the line. “Maybe that’s just our friendship dynamic.”
“Dynamic, my ass,” Hal yelled. “You call him darling over comms!”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was once.”
“Twice,” Diana corrected smoothly. “The second time was when you thought the line was muted.”
There was a long pause.
Bruce had nothing to say anymore.
—
By the end of the week, the League had collectively decided that Bruce and Clark were together, had been together for years, and were simply "private about it."
Bruce gave up arguing entirely.
Clark, meanwhile, seemed to find every excuse possible to stand a little too close, smile a little too warmly, and say things like "thanks, sweetheart" over comms just to see if Bruce would react.
He didn't.
Mostly.
Though Alfred did quietly set two plates for dinner that night.
And when Clark showed up, Bruce didn't send him away.
Because at that point, trying to prove the League wrong started to feel like lying to himself.
