Author's Note: First foray into bringing Superman and his son into my story collection. Will continue if well received. Jon's POV. Superboy misses his mother and can't sleep. He goes to his dad for comfort and the pair end up spying on Bruce and Damian to see if Batman's son is as much of a lone wolf as he claims to be. Unexpected results occur.

Pretty fluffy and aiming for fun.

Please read and review.

Enjoy.

Super Sons – Fathers

Jon

I can't sleep. I miss Mom. This is the fourth day she's been in Paris, the fourth day. Reporting shouldn't take this long. I know because in school I was given two days to prepare and deliver an oral report last month. It wasn't great or anything, but I definitely made sure I got it done before the deadline. When Dad and I flew over to Paris again this morning for breakfast with her, she promised she'd be back before I knew it. Well, I know she's still not here and I also know she's not back yet. It isn't fair. Yeah, sure, my dad is Superman and it's great when we fly around and goof off together, but when he's just being my dad at home, he's kind of boring. Mom is the fun one. She's always the fun one. She gives me treasure hunts and makes up crazy games like duck, duck, supervillain, where you have to act like whatever supervillain you're called until someone else is the right superhero to take you down. My dad is...not so imaginative and actually thinks eating Chinese takeout is exotic. That's literally about as exciting as he gets out of his cape.

It gets to eleven, two hours after my bedtime, and I'm still wide-awake. I decide I don't like it and go to my parents' room. Dad always goes to bed at half-ten. According to Mom, he's been doing it since he was thirteen. And he snores. Apparently, he's always done that too. So, I only knock because I wasn't 'raised in a barn'. I was raised in the house next to it instead. When I open the door, I know he'll still be asleep. In the dark, all I can see is a big old shadow in the bed and hear a noise that sounds like our old truck did when the weather was cold, except louder. I don't get how he doesn't miss her as much as I do. Didn't he marry her because he loved her so much to begin with? He shouldn't be sleeping. It's not fair.

Mom says sometimes he sleeps so soundly she has to slap him a few times to get a response. I don't think I could get away with that. I might actually hurt him. So, I pick up the bottom of the bedframe, lift it six inches off the floor, and then let it drop down. Dad snaps awake and instantly turns the bedside light on. He literally only looks startled for a second. Then he sees me and goes totally limp again.

"Hey, Jonno. What's wrong?"

"I can't sleep."

"Miss Mom, huh?" I just nod my head and he waves me towards him. I go without even thinking about it. My Dad loves me. He may be boring without the tights, but he loves me. I get onto the mattress, crawl across the sheets and then settle into his lap for what's always the best hug in the known universe. He closes his arms around me and squeezes softly in a way that always makes me go completely limp. I hear him sigh. "I miss her too. But we'll go back over tomorrow and see her before school starts, okay? I promise."

My dad always keeps his promises. As soon as he says 'I promise' to me, about anything, I always feel better. I definitely feel better right now. I nod. "Okay. Can I stay with you for a little while, please?" I ask, even though I've never heard him say 'no' to this. He kisses me on the scalp.

"Alright, but just for a little while. You've got your own room for a reason, Jon. And it isn't so you can throw your laundry all over the floor."

"I know, Dad."

He turns out the light and I shift under the bedsheets and onto my side so he can cross his arms over my chest and hug me against his body. I don't know why this feels so much nicer than when Mom does it. I think maybe it's because with Dad I can sort of angle my head and then use his huge bicep as a pillow without ever making his arm go numb. Mom always complains I'm cutting off her circulation. She likes face-to-face hugging instead of back-to-front when she hugs me in bed. Don't get me wrong, it's just as great, but I like the lack of eye contact with Dad. He doesn't expect me to look all grateful every second he's cuddling me. Mom does. I don't think she means it, but sometimes it makes me nervous. Dad never makes me nervous, even when we're fighting crime in Metropolis.

"You still awake, buddy?" He asks me after something like twenty minutes has gone by.

"Yeah. Can't I just fly over and stay in the hotel with her?"

"You can, but that isn't going to help you solve your problems. Mom is going to have to leave quite a lot and it's better you get used to it now. If you do, when you're older and she has to leave on assignment again, you won't miss her as much."

Dad's right. He's not always right. According to Mom, mostly he's wrong. But this time he's totally right. I should be tougher than this, like Damian must be with his dad. He once told me Batman disappeared for a month without telling anyone where he was going or why. Damian said he slept like a baby every night and didn't miss his dad at all. Sometimes I think he's full of bull-plop. His dad is Batman. How can you not miss Batman? Even my dad misses Batman when he's away.

"Am I a baby for doing this, Dad?" I ask him with a sigh. I hear him chuckle.

"You're not a baby, kiddo. You just miss your mom. All boys miss their mothers when they go away for a while."

"I bet Damian doesn't." I say with enough bitterness to leave a sour taste in my mouth. Mom would tell me to 'cut the sass' if I spoke to her like that. Dad just ruffles my hair, which I like better.

"Damian's mom is...not the nicest of ladies. With some of the things Bruce says she's done to the kid, I wouldn't be surprised if he missed his colds more than his mom. But he's a special case – an exception, not the rule." Dad tells me.

"Do you think he cuddles his dad like this? I asked him once and he just laughed in my face, called me 'pathetic'." I say, remembering that conversation too clearly for my liking. I went about as red as my cape after he laughed me out of the cave.

"Despite all the bluster that boy puts on, Son, he loves his dad just as much as anyone else. I am one-hundred percent certain he likes to cuddle Bruce like this behind closed doors." My dad assures me, but I'm still unconvinced. Sometimes he likes to imagine the best of people, even if it's way too syrupy to be true.

"I don't know. Can we go see if it's true?"

"I don't think either of them will appreciate having their privacy invaded. We wouldn't like it if it were them spying on us." He says, but I know he's already considering it. He's stopped combing through my hair, which means he's not thinking about me anymore. He's starting to wonder if it's true as well. I decide to push him a little bit.

"They've already done that a bunch of times. We can do it once and still be the good guys in this. Aren't you even a little bit curious?"

"Don't try to cajole me like that, Jon. I hate being cajoled, especially by my own son."

Okay. Not sure about any of that. I call it Reporter Speak. Sometimes Mom speaks what sounds like gibberish too. "I don't know what 'cajole' means. Is it English?"

"Of course, it is. It means to tempt someone into doing something by repeated asking. It could very well describe you in a nutshell." Dad says before starting to ruffle my hair again. Looks like I've lost this one. I sigh.

"Are you saying I'm annoying?"

"I guess I am."

I smirk. "Am I super-annoying?"

He groans. "Believe me, with your mom, the last thing you ever want to be is super annoying. Regular annoying is just fine." He says with a chuckle that somehow turns into a lethargic sigh before it's over. "Okay. We'll go over and look for a little while. But we're not staying long, okay?"

Yay! I'd do my victory dance, but I'm pretty sure Dad would video it for Mom to fire out on Twitter and Instagram. She's still got that one of me dancing butt-naked as a toddler on her page, even though I beg her at least twice-a-day to take it down. Aren't two million views enough? And she imported it from her Facebook specially to share it with her followers. All five-hundred thousand of them. So, no victory dance tonight.

It takes me two minutes to get out of my jammies and into my outfit. Dad takes half-as-long to pull on his whole spandex suit, boots, belt and cape. Sometimes I think he just likes showing off how fast he is. Either way, after checking the front door's locked, twice, we fly off the balcony and have a little race to Gotham. I say little because, one it takes about five minutes, and two, my dad always wins. When I'm older, I know I'll whip him. I just have to wait. Damian says the same thing. I just don't know whether he's right – his dad is way more into fitness and junk than mine.

Anyway, we get to Wayne Manor and then back-off until we're hovering outside the front gates.

"Let's be discreet, huh, Buddy? Bruce has the best security in the world. This way, you can practice long-distance X-ray and hearing simultaneously." Dad says. I get it. He doesn't want to give Batman a reason to be steamed with us. Invading his privacy to see whether Damian gets cuddles would definitely be a reason not to speak to us. I nod my head.

"Okay. Let's do it."

It takes a while to scan the whole house and find them, but eventually both of us find them in Bruce Wayne's bedroom. I literally can't believe it, even though it's staring me in the face. Damian, the big, tough lone wolf of Gotham City and enemy of human feelings, is snuggled in the hollow of his dad's body, buried up to the waist in bedsheets, being read POETRY. And he looks like he's enjoying it. I prick up my ears to listen.

"An endless fountain of immortal drink, pouring unto us from heaven's brink." I hear Bruce say like he's just finished reading aloud. As soon as he stops talking, Damian scoffs.

"And Keats wrote four books of this dreck, you say? Father, don't you think Alfred's lessons on poetry are enough? If I am forced to sit through four books of Endymion's life history as told by this loathsome bore, I doubt I will last past tonight's rendition." Yep, that's Damian, alright. As charming in private as he is in public too. I watch Bruce just smile and ruffle his hair in reaction, instead of just punching him square in the face.

"It was only an option, Son. Although he is one of the greatest English Romantic poets of the nineteenth century, I do not much care for his work either. Who did you prefer this evening?"

"Coleridge, Father. Kubla Khan was not entirely awful."

I turn to my dad. "What are they talking about? What's Kubla Khan, Dad?"

"It's a poem by an Englishman called Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It's about the Chinese Emperor in his summer palace in Xanadu."

"And how do you know that?"

"I wrote a book report on it once. Sixth grade, I think. I enjoyed it very much."

"Damian's such a liar. He said he never read poetry because it was for girls."

"Well, technically he isn't reading it, Jonno, he's hearing it. Anyway, that's enough proof for tonight, don't you think?"

"No way! I want to see what else he's been lying about."

"Son, any longer and we run the risk of being detected and shamed for eavesdropping. One thing Superman has never enjoyed is being chastised by Batman for being a nosey-parker."

"Chastised? Dad, can you just stick to fifth-grade reading material? And never refer to yourself in the third-person ever again? It makes you sound all big-headed."

Dad clears his throat and nods in agreement. "Very well. How about we listen for two more minutes and then go home. Sound okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah, totally!" I say before tuning back into the Batman and Robin After-Hours Special. This is already way better than cable. Bruce's put the book down and looks unhappy now. Damian is slumped back against his chest, but also looks weirdly ticked-off about something. Did they have a fight in the fifteen seconds I wasn't watching? I concentrate to make sure I hear exactly what they're saying.

"Why do you suppose he keeps violating our privacy, Father?" Damian asks. Wait, what?

Bruce sighs. "I don't know. Parenting tips, perhaps?"

"Tsk. He'd have more difficulty raising a sheep than that boy of his, Father. Jonathan Kent is tame enough to eat out of your hand if you coax him with enough lies." Oh, heck no. He did NOT just throw shade at me. Not again!

"I cannot fathom another legitimate reason for his repeated intrusions. Clark, if you're listening to me and value your integrity and honour as a man, kindly meet us at the front door in thirty seconds." Bruce says in a voice that's somehow angry and calm at the same time.

I frown and look over at Dad again. He looks totally embarrassed. I kind of think he should be. "You don't, do you, Dad? You don't look for parenting tips from Batman, right?"

He shrugs his shoulders and grins sheepishly. "I...I just sometimes appreciate a steer, that's all. Bruce has raised four boys, all of them about as unusual and special as you. There isn't really anyone else I can look to for advice."

"Are we...are we going to the front door like he asked, Dad?"

"It's only right, Son. We're honourable men, aren't we?"

"Well, I'm a boy, but sure we are."

We glide over to the door and Dad knocks on it twice. Bruce opens it and looks unimpressed. Damian's stood right next to him with his arms folded, also looking super unimpressed with us.

"You're lucky we don't have dogs to set on you." Damian mutters before sneering at me. "Shouldn't you be asleep in bed, Kent? A little boy like you needs all the sleep he can get."

"Hey, shut up! You were being cuddled by your dad and being read poetry!" I snap back, trying to forget that both our dads are looking at us.

"So, you've become a peeping Tom have you, Kent? I should've known you were overly infatuated with me from the beginning. I'm sorry to ruin all your dreams of marriage, but I am not interested in guys, especially ones that look as ugly as..." Damian stops speaking when his dad raps him on the back of the head.

"Have some decorum. His father is stood right there. I have no desire to instigate a war of attrition with Superman because you have no filter. Understand?" Bruce says with only the slightest bit of sharpness in his voice. It's weird to hear him speak so much without the growl. He sounds almost normal.

Damian doesn't even roll his eyes. He just nods and for once answers a question without any attitude whatsoever. "Yes, Father."

"We didn't mean anything by it, Bruce. Jon misses his mom and I just wanted to cheer him up. I didn't know this, but what makes my boy smile more than anything is to see your son act like a human being instead of a superhero." My dad explains with all his trademark honesty even though he doesn't need to lay it on so thick and goopy.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Really?" He doesn't sound all that surprised. He looks down at Damian. "Have you been telling tall and very fantastical tales about yourself again, Son?"

"Not really. I merely stated..."

"He said he only sleeps once every four days and that he once wrestled a bear into submission using only his pinkie fingers!" I say before Damian can try to talk his way out of trouble. I realise I'm pointing a second later and will my arm back to my side. I don't want to look like a total snitch, but he makes me so mad sometimes I can't help myself. I always feel on defence when he's around.

"Damian is thirteen, not a robot or cyborg. You seem like a bright enough boy to know that, Jon." Bruce says without any of the sarcasm his son would add to something like that. I nod my head frantically.

"I do, but he just keeps going anyway!"

"Do you tattle on everybody you meet, Kent? I told you that in confidence."

"You told me that to make me feel like a baby! 'I don't get cuddled by my father, I do not need love and affection to know my worth'. That's what you said!" I yell. I feel my dad's hand settle on my shoulder a second later and know I'm making too much noise. I know without looking at him that he wants me to apologise before I make things worse. I look at Bruce. "I'm sorry, Mr Wayne. I'm acting stupid and I really shouldn't be hollering when it's nearly midnight."

"Call me Bruce. Come in, the both of you."

Alfred's long gone to bed, but Bruce fixes us some hot chocolate anyway and then sits us down in the living room. Neither he or Damian have hot chocolate – both of them have water – but he offers around miniature marshmallows too.

"We can trade if you like, Clark." Bruce says gesturing to both Damian and me. I know he's joking, I really don't know how that would work out. I think Damian would drive my dad nuts inside of three days, and I'd be too scared to come out from under the bed. My dad laughs it away, like he does most things people say to him.

"I don't think Lois would approve. How did you know we were spying on you?"

"That's my secret, Clark. We have to keep some for ourselves, don't we?" Bruce says with a smile I can barely make out. He looks at me as I sit cross-legged on the couch next to my Dad. I took my sneakers off because everything here looks expensive and I don't. "Do you not like poetry, Jon?" He asks to put me on the spot.

"I haven't heard much before...Bruce. I... liked the sound of Kubla Khan though. That sounded interesting."

"I could loan your father a copy if you like. Reading it might encourage better sleep." Bruce suggests. I think it's worth a try. If Batman thinks so, it must be. I nod my head.

"I'd like that very much."

"As luck would have it, I brought the Coleridge book downstairs with me." Bruce says revealing the book from behind his back. "Perhaps even more incredulous, is that Damian is very keen to demonstrate his oratory abilities to us all before you leave for the evening." I watch him smack the book into Damian's chest with a smile I can't hide. I almost burst out laughing at the horror on his face when he realises what's about to happen.

"Father, I can't..."

"Oh, yes, you can, Son. Stand up and recite the first two stanzas of Kubla Khan for our guests."

"No, Father, I mean, I really..."

"Please recite the stanzas or suffer the consequences – no patrol duties for a fortnight." Bruce holds up two fingers. "Just the two, Damian. Off you go."

I lean forward in my seat as Damian pulls himself up, opens the book and gives me the most evil-eye I've ever seen before starting to read aloud. I glance behind him and see Bruce wink at me. I grin back in appreciation of what we both see as revenge for rude behaviour. I soon get disappointed though. Even though he looks really uncomfortable, it turns out Damian Wayne is really good at reciting poetry too. As soon as he finishes, I offer a round of sarcastic applause.

"I don't know why you're clapping, Jon. The performance isn't over yet." Dad says before motioning for Damian to hand him the book. As soon as he does, he drops it in my lap. "Now it's your turn. The last stanza. Off you go."

What? What did I do? "Aw, but Dad...he was the one being mean."

"And you were the one getting upset and shouting in the middle of the night. We can't expect Damian to take all the blame for your combined rude behaviour. Up now and recite." He says pushing me off the couch cushion and onto my feet as Damian sits back down and smirks at me. I open to the right page and almost freeze up. I turn back to my dad.

"Bruce doesn't want to hear me stuff-up this poem, Dad." I say.

"You won't 'stuff-it-up', Jon. Not in front of me." Bruce says in his Batman voice to really calm me down. Not. Dad doesn't come to my rescue like he would anybody else trapped in such a dire situation. He just gestures towards my 'audience' and folds his arms. I slowly turn back and face them both.

"Try not to wet your pants during the performance, Kent. Father is a harsh critic." Damian says. I scowl at him, then the page. This is so stupid. I hate public speaking and Dad knows it. But I guess if I want to be a hero like him, I could use the practice. I clear my throat...a lot and then begin.

"The shadow...of...the...dome of...pleasure, floated midway on the... waves..."

I get through it somehow and then get heckled by Damian after I'm finished. "Go back to school, Kent! You don't belong on stage here!"

"I thought you did very well, considering the circumstances, Jon. In any case, you were no worse than Damian when he was your age, better even since you did not have to be prodded." Bruce says to totally suck all the air out of Damian in one awesome put-down. Both this and his praise make me feel good. I smile and bow, a little embarrassed by Batman giving me the thumbs-up.

"Thank you, Bruce. Hey Dad, can we go now? I'd really like to go to bed now." I say looking back at him. He grins.

"Are you sure you don't want to recite another one, Jonno?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." I say, already shoving my shoes back on. Dad shrugs and gets to his feet.

"Alright then. What do you say to Bruce?"

"Thank you for the hot chocolate and book, Bruce."

Bruce smiles at me. "You're welcome here anytime Jon. Just use the front door next time, instead of eavesdropping. Tell your father the same."

"I'm right here, Bruce." Dad says only to get blanked by Bruce anyway.

"I know. Tell him anyway, Jon. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Bruce. Goodnight, Damian."

"Try not to hurry back too soon, Kent. At least give me time to savour the stupefied look on your face when you were asked to read before showing me it again."

"Yeah? Well enjoy cuddling your dad, Mr Lone Wolf. I'll see you around."