The desert highway stretched endlessly before them, a shimmering mirage of heat and possibility. Bruce Wayne's grip on the steering wheel was firm but relaxed, his usual tension melted away by the open road and the infectious energy of his unlikely companions. The vintage convertible - borrowed from the Watchtower garage with only minimal objections from J'onn - roared beneath them as the music blasted through speakers that Clark had "accidentally" enhanced with his heat vision.

You were riding shotgun in the truest sense - perched on your knees in the passenger seat with the wind whipping through your hair as you leaned halfway out the window. Your arms stretched toward the endless blue sky, fingers dancing with the rushing air currents like you could pluck the clouds from their heavenly perch.

"Get back in this car," Bruce growled, though the effect was ruined by the way the sunlight caught in his dark hair, softening his usual brooding demeanor. His free hand rested lightly on your thigh, an anchor keeping you from tumbling completely out of the vehicle at 85 miles per hour.

"Make me," you laughed, turning just enough to see Clark and Lois in the backseat.

Lois Lane laughs, her sunglasses sliding down her nose as she grinned. "Leave her alone, Bruce. She's living your repressed childhood fantasies."

The Man of Steel was attempting to braid Lois' wind-tangled hair while she leaned forward between the front seats, her reporter's instincts apparently deciding this was the perfect time for an interview.

"Mr. Wayne," Lois teased, holding up a banana like a microphone, "how does it feel to be the least fun person on this road trip?"

Bruce's eye twitched. "I'm driving."

"You're pouting," you corrected, finally sliding back into your seat just enough to press a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek. The way his grip tightened on the wheel had nothing to do with the road conditions.

The real magic was in the way Lois' laughter rang out when Bruce begrudgingly sang along to the chorus, in how Clark's eyes crinkled at the corners when he caught you stealing his fries, in the secret smiles Bruce reserved just for you when he thought no one was looking.

Somewhere near the Arizona border, with the golden hour light painting everything in cinematic hues, Lois produced a bottle of cheap champagne from gods-knew-where. "To breaking the rules," she declared, popping the cork with her teeth like the chaos goddess she was.

Bruce sighed the sigh of a man who knew he'd lost all control of the situation. "Those are my seats you're spilling that on."

You grinned, stealing the bottle to take the first swig. "Our seats now."

For once, there were no emergencies, no secret identities to maintain - just four people who had somehow become each other's unexpected family, racing toward the horizon with the volume cranked all the way up.