Midnight in Gotham City was never quiet.

The signal was still bleeding gold into the clouds when the penthouse windows slid open and Batman stepped inside.

Bruce Wayne was terrifying even without the suit. Six foot three, shoulders filling the doorway, black hair falling straight over eyes so dark they looked bottomless. The shadows under them only made him look meaner. He moved like something carved from stone and sharpened.

Their son was waiting up.

Jon was perched on the kitchen counter, curls messy, blue eyes glowing faintly when he smiled. He looked so much like his other dad it made Bruce’s jaw tighten in a way that was not unpleasant.

“You’re late,” Jon said.

Bruce pulled off his gloves. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I know.”

From the hallway came a warm voice. “He gets that from you.”

Clark Kent leaned against the wall, glasses slightly crooked, sleeves rolled up from his shift at the newspaper factory. Ink smudged his fingers. He looked soft in the lamplight. Six foot five of farm built muscle pretending to be harmless. His blue eyes were gentle until they were not.

Bruce grunted. “You let him stay up.”

Clark shrugged. “He said he wanted to wait for you. I’m not arguing with a kid who can bench press a truck.”

Jon beamed. “It was only a small truck.”

Bruce stared at him. “You lifted a what.”

Clark winced. “In his defense, it was abandoned.”

“For fuck’s sake, Clark.”

Jon slid off the counter. He was still small enough to look like a kid, still big enough to crack tile if he forgot himself. He walked over and hugged Bruce around the waist.

Bruce went rigid.

Clark watched carefully.

Then Bruce’s hand came down, heavy and sure, resting on the back of Jon’s head.

“You could’ve been seen,” Bruce said quietly.

“I wasn’t,” Jon replied. “I checked. I listened for heartbeats like you taught me.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched. Pride. Terrifying, silent pride.

Clark crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s temple. “He’s careful. He’s ours.”

Bruce turned his head slightly. “That’s what worries me.”

Clark laughed under his breath. “God, you’re dramatic.”

Bruce grabbed Clark’s shirt and pulled him closer. “And you’re reckless.”

Jon gagged loudly. “Ew. Jesus.”

Clark smiled against Bruce’s mouth. “Language.”

“You literally just said fuck,” Jon shot back.

Bruce raised a brow. “He’s not wrong.”

Clark huffed. “I am trying to be a good influence.”

“You punch aliens through buildings,” Bruce said.

“Only when necessary.”

Jon looked between them, eyes bright. “Can I come on patrol tomorrow.”

“No,” both men said at the same time.

Jon crossed his arms. “Dad.”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “Which one.”

Jon grinned. “Both.”