Chapter Text
Chapter-1
The night split open with a sonic crack as something violently ripped across the sky over Wayne Manor.
Inside, glass trembled in its frames.
“Master Bruce—” Alfred glanced at the younger man, already reaching for one of his hidden shot-guns.
Bruce couldn’t help the wry smile at the shot-gun in the beta’s hand, “I’ve got this.”
Alfred, well aware of Bruce’s distaste of guns shook his head. “It’s for the kids. No one touches them without going through me.”
Bruce reached out to grab the older man’s shoulder in wordless gratitude before hurrying outside. He could see Dick ahead of him and Jason stepping alongside his brother and lengthened his stride, “Boys. Behind me.”
Jason was the only one still in his Red Hood gear, minus the helmet and shot him a look, “I’m the only one—”
“And I’m your father.” Bruce interrupted. “I refuse to lose you again.”
“Perimeter breach?” Dick interrupted, already shifting toward the formation Bruce had demanded.
Bruce didn’t respond, eyes already scanning the estate grounds. He didn’t have to search long to locate the source of the sound they had all heard—just beyond the cut grass and damp earth, something scorched. The crater wasn’t large.
That was the first thing Bruce registered.
Not a bomb, then. Not an impact meant to destroy. The earth had given rather than shattered, soil thrown outward in a low, wide ring. The kind of landing that bled off force instead of dispersing it.
Controlled.
Or desperate.
Steam curled up from the centre.
And in it—
Red and gold.
Bruce’s breath hitched, just once as recognition slammed.
“…Stand down.” He called out to the boys. “Go back inside. I’ll handle this.”
“B—” someone started.
“I said stand down.” He met the boys’ gaze just once before hurrying forward and sliding down the muddy wall of the recently formed crater, uncaring of his dress pants or white shirt... The distinctive red and gold titanium suit lay half on its side; half braced on one knee as though it had tried—tried—to stay upright and failed at the last second. Scoring marked the plating, heat-warped edges and microfractures spidering faintly across the chest piece.
Bruce let out a sigh of relief as he noted that the arc reactor still glowed a bright blue, “Tony.”
No response.
For a heartbeat, two—
Bruce began to worry just as the helmet disengaged with a fractured hiss as the metal peeled back. Tony Stark didn’t so much look up as drag his gaze into alignment.
Bruce had seen Tony exhausted before—hungover, wired, manic—but never like this. There was a slackness to him, something stripped down to nerve and bone and will alone.
“Hey,” Bruce said, softer now, stepping closer. “Easy.”
The suit shifted as Bruce reached him, the weight of it obvious even in the way the ground had compacted beneath its fall. Bruce didn’t try to lift it—not fully, not the way he could; but he wrapped an arm around the back to support like he would’ve for an unarmoured individual, careful to hide his wince as he felt the heated metal press against him as Tony went slack. He crouched down, one hand coming to Tony’s shoulder, the other bracing along the damaged plating. “C’mon...Talk to me, Tones. What happened?”
Tony’s hand moved—uncoordinated at first, then catching at Bruce’s collar with sudden, desperate precision. “Help—”
His voice broke. The engineer swallowed hard, dragged breath back into his lungs, “...help. Please.”
Now that he was pressed against the man, Bruce tried not to recoil as he smelled the something else threaded through the air. Not just scorched metal.
Something… altered.
He didn’t name it. He couldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he shifted his grip, helping Tony upright without ever truly taking the suit’s weight. “Of cour—”
The air crackled again as a second sonic boom sounded—this one closer but controlled. Contained.
Wind rushed outward as Superman dropped into the grounds, landing clean and precise; Bruce automatically moving to ensure the rush of displaced air didn’t hit the injured man head on but bounced of his own back instead. He straightened a second later.
“B—I heard—” Clark’s gaze flicked as he noted the body in Bruce’s arms. “I thought the Manor was under attack.”
Tony blinked, slow, unfocused for a second before recognition cut through.
“Wow,” he rasped, breath hitching.
Bruce could see the calculations start in Tony’s mind and didn’t give him time to spiral into it. He glanced up at the Kryptonian, “Superman—meet Tony Stark. An old friend, we were in school together.”
A beat.
“Tony— as you already identified, Superman.”
“You’ve… got powerful friends.” His mouth twitched, clearly deciding whether or not to tease Bruce. Then the humour dropped as reality rushed in.
“Good,” he added, quieter. “You’ll need them.”
Clark’s eyes flicked back to Bruce in a silent question.
Bruce chose not to answer till he had more details, instead he glanced at the Kryptonian, “Could you help him inside, please?”
Clark stepped forward without hesitation, taking Tony’s weight easily—carefully adjusting for the armour without comment. Tony exhaled, tension bleeding out of him just slightly at the change in support even as he glanced at Bruce, “Always so bossy.”
Clark didn’t comment, turning towards the house with his precious cargo—
“Wait.”
Clark paused immediately.
Bruce stilled.
Tony dragged in a breath that sounded like it hurt. “Not—... I— I need cameras… a record.”
Bruce held his gaze, then nodded once. “My study.”
Clark adjusted his hold easily, “Got it.”
Bruce followed at a deliberate pace.
Tony wondered, dimly, how Superman was familiar enough with the Manor to not need directions, but held his tongue, his body in far too much pain to allow him to focus on his curiosity. Superman eased him onto the couch, surprisingly careful of angles, pressure points, and of the way Tony flinched even from controlled contact. The suit groaned as the weight redistributed, and he swallowed down a bleat of pain as his body protested being lowered to where he hurt most. He forced his gaze to track the room— straightening slightly as Bruce set a tripod with recording equipment in front of him.
He breathed shakily as he watched Bruce turn slightly away and pull out his phone, “Leslie, I need you at the manor.”
A pause—
“No. Now.”
Bruce’s eyes flicked back to Tony. “No, don’t worry about that— I’m sending someone to pick you up.”
His eyes stayed on the engineer’s brown eyes, taking in the pallor... The tremors... The way he held himself like something inside him had been forcibly rewritten.
“Yes. …It’s bad.” Bruce added, quieter. “I — I think we might need a kit.”
Tony let out a weak, breathless sound that might have been a laugh. He had known Bruce wasn’t the airhead he pretended to be, but clearly, he looked worse than he’d imagined if the other billionaire had caught onto what had transpired so quickly. He watched the way Bruce just looked at Superman once the call ended and the Kryptonian gave a sharp nod, “I’ll get her.”
“Wow,” he muttered. “You’re ordering around gods now?”
Bruce huffed—soft, almost automatic. But his eyes didn’t leave Tony. “Can you tell me what happened?”