Chapter Text
The interview had been well received nationally. Dick had fielded a number of calls from current and former Titans, Roy among them. The conversations had left him drained. Some in a good way, like he’d lanced a boil and let the infection run out. Others like he was a week old dish towel.
Clark had suggested moving up their timeline for visiting the farm.
The idea was appealing. There was no press to chase after him, no Damian to corral into doing normal human things like sleeping and not stabbing his siblings. He probably wouldn’t even have cell reception. Ma and Pa Kent had a landline for goodness sake. No one would think to look for him there, and even if they did, he was pretty sure that Jon Kent packed a similar gauge to Alfred by the front door.
They traveled by air the normal way. Clark flew himself for his little one off trips, but they were staying for a week and Dick had actual baggage he needed to bring. Clark could live off the four extra shirts he kept in his old bedroom, but Dick’s skin had needs and those needs required their own carryon bag.
Clark had declined having his father pick them up from the airport. It was too long a drive round trip, he said. Personally, Dick was grateful for the chance to center himself. He had never actually done a meet the parents. He’d known Roy’s adoptive father for years when they got together, Kori’s family had been a galaxy away, he’d never really seen Jim Gordon while he and Barbra dated, and anyone in between had been inconsequential at best.
The views on the ride reminded him of the circus traveling. They’d gone by train every year, criss crossing the country and hopping into Europe every other summer. He remembered sitting by the windows with his mother, counting cows as they flew by. It had been boring, with no television or internet hooked up, but the fun kind of boring. The kind where he started making up a million little games to pass the time until he fell asleep on his father’s lap, warm from the sunshine and the laughter.
He wondered if they’d ever ridden through here, passed the Kent farm without ever knowing.
“You with me, Dick?” Clark asked, breaking his mediation.
“Hm? Yeah, I’m here Clark.”
“We’re almost there, just down this road here.”
The road turned out to be a good mile and a half of gravel that had Dick hanging on to the oh shit handle to keep from cracking his skull on the window. The Kent's driveway wasn’t paved either. There was a light blue pickup parked in front of the detached garage. It was an older model, boxy but sturdy looking. A stout woman was standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel.
“That’s Ma,” Clark said, pointing.
Suddenly Dick was seized with the gravity of the situation. He was meeting his boyfriend’s parents a week after he’d gone on national television and admitted he was an alcoholic. What were the chances that the Kent’s hadn’t heard about the interview, or watched it? If they were anything like Dick’s family, they’d have hunted it down at the mere mention of their son’s workplace.
Clark rubbed his shoulder gently and leaned over, dotting a kiss right on his hairline. Dick had braided his hair for the flight. Clark tugged on the end as he hopped out of the truck and hollered up to his mother. Dick slipped out and moved around the back of their rental, going for the bags while Clark passed out hugs and received kisses.
“Where’s your young man?” Martha Kent asked, her voice drifting over on the breeze.
“Being shy,” Clark said, unashamed. “He’s been in the news so much the last few weeks, it’s been a nightmare for him.”
“Then why’d he do it?” Jon asked, though not meanly.
“Because integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching,” Clark said, like he was parroting something he’d heard before.
“And especially when someone is,” Jon finished.
Dick met them on the porch with his and Clark’s duffle bag across his back and his carry on in hand. He made a half wave and smiled as best he could with what felt like a monarch migration in his stomach.
“Hello,” he said awkwardly, “I’m Dick.”
Martha looked him up and down and, apparently finding him suitable, nodded. “Well come on in, honey, and we’ll get you fed some lunch. Then the boys can show you around the farm. Have any experience with horses?”
Martha led the way in. Clark disappeared upstairs with the bags, leaving Dick alone with his parents. John settled in at the table in the kitchen nook, leaving Dick to slide in on the bench to leave the other chair for Martha. She brushed off all the help he offered, politely but firmly.
“Settle in for a day,” she said, “Then you won’t be a guest any more and can do all the work I put you to.”
Dick laughed. “Alfred said that to me when I first came to Bruce.”
“Alfred?” Jon asked, leaning his elbows on the table.
Dick faltered for a moment. He had assumed that the Kents knew something about his life other than the recent news. That Clark would have shared something about his upbringing or his current life. Hell, hadn’t Bruce been out to the farm before? Suddenly it occurred to him that Clark might not have let the bat out of the bag yet.
“He’s, uh, well–” There really wasn’t a delicate way to put it, Dick decided. “He’s Bruce’s butler. He raised Bruce after his parents died, so he’s like my grandfather, but also not.”
Jon nodded, but was frowning. “So he’s the hired help?”
“Sort of?” Dick waffled. Really he didn’t know much about the arrangement other than Alfred did the butler things and called himself the butler and they all gave him father’s day cards. “I don’t know that Bruce actually pays him any more. He’s just–well Alfred’s just family who won’t eat dinner with us unless it’s a holiday.”
“Interesting,” Martha said warily.
Dick was saved by Clark’s reappearance, sliding on to the bench next to him. This had the unfortunate side effect of putting him eye to eye with Jon, instead of catty-corner to him. Clark rubbed his knee under the table.
“Don’t give him too hard a time,” Clark said.
“We aren’t giving him a hard time,” Martha said, propping a hand on her hip. “We’re just asking the boy about himself. I was just going to ask him again if he had any experience with horses, maybe you boys can use them to do the tour.”
This was either going to go really well or really badly, Dick decided.
As Martha passed out plates he said, “Bruce has a set of stables at the summer house so I ride there, but I also did trick riding in the circus before I was old enough to be in the trapeze show.”
Even Clark paused at that, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “You were a trick rider?”
“The circus?” Martha asked at the same time, alarmed.
It occurred to Dick that living most of his life among Bruce’s peers might have skewed his thinking. It had been years since he’d encountered someone who wasn’t aware of his upbringing. He supposed that outside of the north east and the upper circles of wealth, his details weren’t all that well known. Lois’s broadcast had put him back in the national lime light, but hadn’t spoken at all about his life before Bruce during the interview. Most of his everyday fame just came from being Bruce’s kid and posting on Instagram. He was like a Kardashian without the branding.
Dick smiled awkwardly. “My birth family were acrobats in a trapeze act with Haley’s International Circus. We were called the Flying Graysons. But I was too young to be in the act so I did trick riding until I was nine.”
“Huh,” Jon said, nodding. “Do you still do any of that?”
Dick looked at Clark, trying to communicate through his eyebrows to find out if the Kents were in on the Wayne family secret. Clark stared back at him with a goofy little smile that made it hard for Dick to follow through on kicking him under the table.
“I’m a gymnastics coach now,” he settled on. “Well I was until recently.”
“He’s a bird-theme vigilante that no one thinks is real,” Clark added around a mouthful of ham and cheese.
“Oh,” Martha said, finally taking her own seat after checking the million things moms did before starting meals. “I’m so sorry that people don’t think you’re real, dear. Maybe you should go out with Clark sometimes, then people will see you.”
Dick nodded like he’d taken it under consideration and picked at his own lunch. The interrogation came to a standstill among the scraping of forks and crunching. It was pleasant, but in the way that being stopped in the grocery store to chat with an old classmate was. Not something that you’d pick to do, but it was alright all the same.
If Dick was a less generous person, he’d say that Jon Kent had purposefully timed his next question with Dick taking a bite.
“So, whereabouts are you from?”
He considered his answer carefully as he swallowed. “I was born in France.”
Martha leaned forward a little to get a better look at him. “And your family?”
Clark sighed, pinning her with a one-eyed stare.
“What?” Martha said, “I’m just asking the boy about himself. If you’re dating the young man I want to know things about him!”
“Ma–”
“Clark, it’s fine.,” Dick interrupted, laying a hand on Clark’s arm. “My mom was French and dad was an American Roma, he and my mom grew up in the circus.”
Martha nodded thoughtfully. She opened her mouth, seemed to catch herself, but shook her head and said, “Did you not have other family you could go to after your parents passed away?”
Jon shook his head at her, but said nothing. Dick shifted in his seat, his lunch turning to stone in his belly. He knew it was probably being asked in good faith. Clark was a good man and this was the woman who had raised him. She’d invited him out to the farm the moment Clark told her about him. Clearly she was accepting of Clark dating men and women, and could the mother of a space alien really be called xenophobic?
“My father’s parents died before I was born and his brother was in the accident too. He passed away a couple of years ago in the nursing home. My mom’s family was from Poland originally. . .” Dick twisted his hands in his lap. This was really the part that got people. The final conversation ender. “Most of my mom’s family died in the war. My grandparents were children at the time, but they passed away before I was born.”
Dick could hear a faucet dripping upstairs.
He had told Clark some time ago about his mother’s family. It was a miracle that his grandparents had lived to see the liberation. They had joined Haley’s not long after, but had died when his mother was a teenager. The toll their childhood had taken on them was just too great in the end, she had told him, and when her mother passed, her father had followed shortly after. They were too in love, she had said, to be separated for long.
The silence persisted. Martha looked like she regretted being nosey. Jon simply focused on his lunch like it was the best meal he’d ever eaten. Clark, having heard the story before, held Dick’s hand on the table top.
“We’ll take that ride after I load the dishwasher,” he said to the room at large. “Dick can show off some of his tricks for you, maybe?”
Martha, seeing the chance to move the room to a happier mood, clapped. “Oh that would be wonderful! Would you be willing, dear?”
“Of course,” Dick said, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, “I shouldn’t be too rusty, Damian likes to go down the stables.”
***
“You survived the day,” Clark said late in the evening as they lay in bed together.
Martha and Jon had redone Clark’s old bedroom at some point, but there were still touches of him here and there. His trophies, old clothes, and even a battered stuffed animal sitting on the dresser. Dick laid his book on the side table and curled up around Clark’s warm arm, head on his shoulder.
“They’re nice.”
“They grilled you like they think you’re Luthor in disguise, but that’s nice of you to say.” He rubbed a rough hand across Dick’s arm. “I didn’t know you could ride like that.”
Dick grinned. He’d spent over an hour after the farm tour turning tricks for Clark and Jon. Damian’s demands to see the horses had kept him in good practice lately. He’d shown them his handstands and even a flip once he and the animal had gotten comfortable with each other. Clark had tried to draw the line at Dick showing off his quadruple summersault, but Martha and John had cheered for him so hard that Dick had to do it. He at least let Clark be the one to throw him up and catch him, just to make him feel better.
“I’m told I’m a lot,” Dick giggled.
Clark rolled his eyes and turned over to be face to face. He nuzzled against Dick’s long nose , kissing him softly. Dick kissed him back, preening under the attention. Clark was forever amazed that anyone lucky enough to get close to Dick would ever let him go. He trailed his fingers along Dick’s side to his hip and pulled them tight together.
“Clark,” Dick said warningly, “Your parents!”
“We can be quiet,” Clark whispered against his mouth.
Over the months they hadn’t gone much further than exchanged handjobs and oral sex. Dick was shy about penetration, he had told Clark, and Clark hated to bottom. That wasn’t to say their sex life had stalled, it was actually the most satisfied that Clark had found himself in a while. But he wanted, still.
As Dick’s hand crept around the back of Clark’s head, twin sirens sounded. Dick got to his communicator first and cursed.
“Aliens,” Clark growled.
Dick threw off the covers, going for their bags. “You are an alien.”
“Yeah, but I was getting somewhere.”
Since he dressed in a flash, Clark spent a moment to watch Dick slip into his under gear and suit. Standing there in nothing but his high cut underwater, most of Dick’s impressive behind was on display. Clark traced the curves with his eyes, lingering on the lightning strikes that wrapped around the meat of him. Before he could think twice he shot out a hand just to see the way that Dick’s flesh ripple under his fingers. Dick glared at him half heartedly.
Clark was ready to take his licks for the spanking but Dick surprised him, saying, “Later, big guy, you’ve got to fly us to a zeta.”
From this angle Clark could see that the complicated over the shoulder thing Dick always did was something to do with his suit’s anti-removal system. Dick glued down his mask on the move as they left the house. Clark waved off Jon, telling him to go back to bed and not watch the news. Martha popped out of the bedroom from behind him in her curlers and headed straight for the living room to turn on the television.
The nearest Zeta was in Central City, Superman not having a need for one to access the Watchtower. Dick spent their short flight mulling over the alert. Unfamiliar aliens had made contact with the Watchtower asking for help. Or that’s what the League thought they were asking for, but none of the resident extraterrestrials could understand them perfectly and Nightwing was the best with languages both on and off planet. Naturally the Lanterns were off-world dealing with bigger intergalactic problems and hadn’t been reachable to confirm if their visitors were really friendlies.
Nightwing B-01
Superman A-02
The zeta droned as they materialized on the landing pad. Nightwing headed straight for Batman, who had planted himself at the center of the communications board. Kori was floating nearby and Kara wasn’t far off, bent over a notebook.
“Nightwing, Superman,” Diana said, nodding in greeting.
“What’s the ‘sitch?” Nightwing asked as he came alongside Batman.
It looked shockingly like a Wayne Enterprises conference call with several beings that looked human, other than being a range of fluorescent colors. There were several squares with different groups, like they had split up to take the call in different rooms. One bright pink alien was gesturing emphatically at Batman, who only shook his head.
“Our linguist is here,” he said, waving at Dick.
Nightwing waved.
“I believe it is still the best option that I should make contact,” Kori said, floating closer.
Batman frowned. “We’re not taking that kind of risk.”
Nightwing thought back to when he’d first met Kori, the crushing kiss in the middle of a crater in Jump City. “Your method is effective,” he said, not looking at her, “But prone to causing further misunderstandings.”
Superman stepped up, laying a casual hand on Nightwing's lower back. “What do you need me for, Batman?”
He twitched just a little. “I was hoping that you might be familiar with their language, but so far Supergirl hasn’t had any success.”
Her blonde head popped up when she was acknowledged. Kara looked from Clark to Nightwing and back again, raising her eyebrows. “Get it, cuz.”
Superman pulled back his hand like he’d burned it. Nightwing rolled his eyes.
“Puh-lease,” he droned, “No one but the original seven and some of the Titans know who I am. It’s not going to blow my cover for us to date here too.”
“Oh, right.” He turned back to Batman, noticing that their new companions were watching the proceedings closely. Drama was an intergalactic interest. “Do you have a recording of the communications so far?”
Batman silently passed him a thumb drive. “I want you to examine these while Nightwing speaks with them real time. We think that they’re asking to board the Watchtower for help with something.”
“You’ve gotten pretty far,” Dick said, impressed.
Batman held up a pad of paper that had been sitting on the desk in front of him. It was filled with doodles. “Pictionary,” he deadpanned.
It took Nightwing several hours and a call to Tim for assistance with programming, but they at last had a functioning translator. He’s been reluctant to call his brother considering that the number of bats was a closely guarded secret, but Batman had approved the use of their secondary code names to help disguise their association.
Several more Leaguers and associates had drifted in response to a less urgent alert that Batman had put out. It was clear that their visitors weren’t hostile, otherwise they were playing the long game. Their ship had remained out of sight but radar told them it was close by. Just one vessel likely able to hold no more than fifty or so human-sized persons and provisions for a long voyage.
“Much appreciated, Danny,” Nightwing said cheerfully.
“Peace out, Flamebird,” Tim chirped back, and hung up.
“Danny?” Superman asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Grease,” Batman said.
He suppressed a laugh. The League would never believe how big a musical fan Batman was. Clark had gone with him to see any number of productions at the Gotham Theater. According to Dick there was a framed Catz poster somewhere in the manner and at least three Wicked playbills in a keepsake box.
“Launching live translation now,” Nightwing called out as he hit the key. “Testing testing, do you read me?”
Wild cheers broke on on the alien ship with rounds of back slapping and neon-colored firsts pumping in the air. A bright yellow person who Nightwing had been able to identify as their leader, whistled for quiet over the lines. Nightwing muted several still-partying screens, the feeling that he was on a badly managed zoom call growing.
“Hello Earth!” the yellow person said, loudly and slowly. “We read you.”
Superman clapped Nightwing on the shoulder. “Great work, ‘Wing.”
Batman stepped forward, crowding next to Nightwing in front of the camera. “You’ve reached the Justice League, defenders of Earth. What do you want?”
The ruckus quieted. The strangers shared tired looks, clearly worn out in spite of their excitement about making true contact. Behind the communications board, the assembled heroes had stopped milling around and watched with rapt attention. The yellow person folded their hands on the desktop before them and sighed deeply.
“We’ve been traveling for many months seeking refuge. We reached the Lantern Corps, who guided us here.”
“Of course they did,” Green Arrow groused. “And didn’t bother sending a heads up. Have we been able to reach either of them?”
“No,’ Nightwing said, “They’re still out of our range.”
Muttering swept through the Watchtower. The Lanterns sending a foreign species to Earth was new. They’d taken in refugees before, of course, but only one or two at a time and often without knowing they’d done it. Never before had they found a crowd on their doorstep, so to speak.
“What are you running from?” Batman asked.
The leader, identifying himself as La’Inn, explained their religious minority status on their home planet. The surface of their home was largely uninhabitable, leaving a livable landmass about the size of the African continent. With such a small global population–at least when compared to Earth or other, more habitable planets–it had been easy for the majority to begin a religious cleansing, leaving La’Inn and his thirty-eight remaining disciples to flee. Seven children had been born during the journey and at least six more were on the way. La’Inn’s ship was running out of fuel, food, and medical supplies quickly. If the Earth wouldn’t have them, they were asking to be provisioned so they could reach a friendlier port.
After hushed conversations, the Flash, Batman, Superman, and Wonderwoman agreed to host an unarmed landing party. It took over an hour for the foreign ship to come close enough to launch its explorer, but they arrived in due time.
As agreed, the party of five were unarmed. A green, female-appearing person identified themselves as Sha’Inn, daughter of La’Inn. She bee-lined for Nightwing, taking his offered hand and bringing it to her forehead briefly.
“We are grateful to you, Nightwing.”
Green Arrow turned to Kori and said, “That’s a new record.”
Superman glared over his shoulder. “That’s enough.”
Nightwing guided the landing party toward Woderwoman and Batman to introduce them. Superman drifted back towards the knot of Leaguers that had slowly formed around Green Arrow.
“It’s enough,” he said again, meeting Ollie’s eye.
“It’s just a joke, man,” someone said, “Lighten up,”
Ollie smirked. “Just because you’re shtupping the guy doesn’t mean we’re gonna stop teasing him, Big Blue.”
“It’s not okay,” someone rasped from the back of the group. They were all surprised to see Red Arrow pushing to the front of the crowd.
He looked worse for wear, Superman thought, with bags visible even under his domino and greasy hair falling limply around his temples. He knew Dick had been dodging Roy’s calls for a while now. He didn’t know exactly what had been said when Dick and Jason had spoken about Roy last, but it seemed to have gone well. Clark had assumed that Jason was tasked with passing whatever message back to Roy, but looking at him now that didn’t seem to be the case.
“Red?” Ollie said questioningly, holding up a hand like he wanted to touch him. “You alright?”
“I’m getting there, old man. Just lay off ‘Wing.” He met Clark’s eye and nodded once, sharply, before moving on toward the loose ring the rest of the former Titans had made.
Batman returned, confirming that they’d be welcoming the rest of the refuse aboard the Watchtower to resupply and receive medical care. Wonderwoman had contacted the UN to begin the process of requesting asylum for them. It was a dangerous game to play opening the Earth to interplanetary immigrants, but it was the right thing to do.
“Nightwing was most adamant when he spoke with the Secretary General,” she said, clearly impressed. “It was very moving.”
Batman nodded approvingly. “It’s likely with Nightwing, Wonderwoman, and Superman leading the diplomatic front we’ll succeed. I’ve sent Miss Martian to retrieve at least one of the Lanterns, Martian Manhunter will remain here in case he’s asked to speak at the UN committee hearings. Wonderwoman has identified an unoccupied island near Themyscira as a possible relocation option.”
“We appreciate you all responding to the alert,” Clark added, “Those of you who are not on Watchtower duty can return to your normal lives.”
As the crowd dispersed, Nightwing reappeared at Clark’s left. “I sent your parents flowers,” he said, “I figure we’re not making it back for the rest of our vacation. Agent A is picking up my bags in the Batplane.”
“We can go back another time.”
Dick nodded. “Could we bring the baby with us? He likes animals, and the space might do him some good.”
“I’m sure Ma wouldn’t mind if it was a short visit.”
Batman rolled his eyes. “You know he’s just going to steal that cow with the bat-shaped spot, right?”
“Really?” Clark asked, looking down at Dick.
Dick smiled back up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “No he won’t. It’s not stealing if I already bought it.”
“You bought my cow?!”
Nightwing shook his head, hooking one long arm around Clark’s waist and squeezing him tight. “No, I bought your dad’s cow. Now come on, I want to go home so I can call John.”