🚨🚨🚨Read my new story Peter Parker: To Think is To Choose.✅✅✅
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"Healing begins not when the wound closes, but when the truth finally bleeds out."
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The Watchtower's observation deck was quiet — the kind of silence that even the hum of machinery dared not disturb.
Beyond the glass stretched the Earth, vast and blue, unblinking.
Superman stood before it, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere far below — on nothing and on everything.
Behind him, Batman's reflection appeared like a shadow made flesh.
"You didn't even say a word to him." Bruce said evenly.
Clark didn't turn. "There wasn't anything to say."
"You could've said something." Bruce countered. "You just found out you have a son."
Clark's jaw tightened. "He's not—"
"Don't finish that sentence." Bruce said coldly. "You'll regret it."
The air grew heavy between them. Superman exhaled, and for the briefest moment, his shoulders slumped.
"You don't understand," Clark murmured. "He's… not really alive like I am. He was made. He's—"
"He's a boy," Bruce interrupted. "And right now, that boy's looking for a father. If you don't give him one, he'll look somewhere else."
Clark turned toward him finally, eyes burning faintly blue. "You think you know what it's like to raise someone like that?"
Bruce met his gaze without flinching. "I know exactly what it's like to look into a child's eyes and see all your failures staring back and yes I've raised plenty of child weapons."
Clark had no answer for that.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — it was the silence of realization, of wounds reopening.
Finally, Bruce spoke again.
"You won't go to him. Fine. Then we're going to someone who can make you understand."
Clark frowned. "Who?"
Bruce's tone darkened. "King."
The Unexpected Third
They were preparing to leave when Dinah Lance, Black Canary, intercepted them in the corridor.
"Hold on," She said, folding her arms. "You two are going to Gotham. To see him."
Bruce gave her a look. "You don't have to come."
"Oh, I'm coming." She said flatly. "Because apparently everyone's been going to King for their 'issues' instead of seeing the League's licensed therapist. That's professionally insulting."
Clark raised his hands in surrender. "Dinah—"
"No, no," She continued, matching their pace. "If this guy's as good as everyone says, I want to see it for myself."
Bruce crossed his arms. "He doesn't heal people, Canary. He exposes them."
"Exposes?"
"He shoves a mirror in your face," Bruce said grimly. "And if you don't accept what you see—"
Superman finished the sentence for him, his voice calm.
"He breaks the mirror and make you bleed on the shards until you stop lying."
Dinah blinked, stunned. "That's barbaric."
Bruce smirked slightly under the cowl. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Arrival at Quinn & Ink
Gotham greeted them with its usual gloom: concrete and the whisper of secrets in every alley. Except things weren't much of a secret. Gotham has changed. No organized crime, no drug addicts, no wayward teens and no secret prostitution. King had cleaned up Gotham, not with only brute force but also with patience, guidance and second chances. Now Gotham is a tourist spot famous for a large variety of small businesses including cafes and restaurants of various cuisines.
The neon sign above Quinn & Ink buzzed softly as they stepped inside.
The air smelled faintly of ink and rainwater. A framed sketches of tattoo designs adorned the walls — quiet, artistic, human.
At the center of it all sat King — in a simple dark shirt and brown slacks, hands folded calmly on the counter, his presence making the small parlor feel like a cathedral.
No ornaments. No tattoos. No aura — yet the air itself seemed to bend around him, acknowledging something beyond comprehension.
He didn't rise. He didn't need to.
"Bruce," He said, voice calm, steady — an ocean that didn't need to roar to remind you how deep it was. "And the Man of Tomorrow. You finally remembered the day after."
Then his gaze moved to Dinah.
"And the songbird who screams truth."
Dinah blinked, surprised. "You know who I am?"
"I know what you are." King said simply. "The voice that shatters illusion. Plus your songs are acceptable."
She smirked slightly, trying to stay composed. "You've got quite the reputation, you know."
"So do you," King replied, "but reputation is just noise that hasn't met silence yet."
Bruce stepped forward. "He won't talk to the boy."
King's expression didn't change. "Of course he won't. The god is afraid of his reflection."
Clark frowned. "I'm not afraid."
King's gaze met his — unflinching, immovable. "Then why are you trembling?"
For a moment, even the lively chatter outside seemed to stop.
Dinah looked between them, pen in hand. "You think Clark's problem is fear?"
King's voice was soft but carried weight.
"No. Fear is a symptom. His illness is distance. The man believes himself above humanity and now he must learn to love it or he'll lose what's left of it."
Clark's jaw set. "You don't know me. I'm married to a human."
King stood — slowly. He wasn't towering but he felt taller than anyone in the room.
"Clark Kent," King said quietly. "Born Kal-El. Raised by kindness. Broken by expectation. You've spent your life saving others because you can't save yourself from the truth — that you were never chosen, only lucky. Plus loving a human doesn't make you human."
Dinah's hand froze mid-note. Bruce didn't move — he'd seen this before.
King stepped closer. "You can lift worlds, but you can't lift your own guilt. You think love is something you have to earn by playing god."
He leaned in slightly. "You're not a god, Clark. You're a farmer's son pretending to be a star."
Clark's breath caught. The words hit harder than any kryptonite.
Dinah looked between them, her professional detachment starting to crack. "That's… brutal."
King finally turned to her. "Therapy offers comfort. I offer truth. The difference is results."
Bruce gave a small nod. "Told you."
Dinah swallowed, pen trembling slightly. "How do you even help someone this way?"
King looked toward the rain-dappled window, his reflection faint and endless.
"I don't help," He said quietly. "I reveal. If they survive what they see, they heal."
Outside the Parlor
When they stepped out, the streets still chattered.
Dinah closed her notebook, her usual poise replaced by quiet contemplation.
"I don't know whether to call that therapy or psychological warfare." She muttered.
Bruce's tone was low. "Both."
Clark walked ahead of them, silent, expression unreadable. For the first time, the Man of Steel looked small — not in stature but in certainty.
Dinah glanced at Bruce. "You really think King can fix him?"
Bruce shook his head. "King doesn't fix anyone."
He looked up at the cloudy sky. "He just makes sure they can't lie to themselves anymore."
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Danzoslayer517
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