A/N: My last one-shot (at least until I finish the 4 multi-chapter stories I want to do)…*sniff* I'll confess that I didn't mean to go as Superman-Batman friendfic as I did, but heck, I love them together.

P.S. As you can tell, I totally disregard Batman Beyond.


….1 Year Later….

Clark had been looking for Batman for almost a half hour when he finally found him in the library.

"There you are," Bruce said, turning around and sticking the file about alternate universe #16-7 back on the shelf. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been looking for you," Clark couldn't keep the grin off his face. He dragged Bruce out to his dorm room, where they were alone. Bruce pulled off his cowl.

"I've got something to tell you," Bruce said. Clark thought he could detect a hint of a smile on the Dark Knight's face.

"Me too."

"You first," they said, in unison. Then both blurted, "I'm engaged!"


"You asked Lois finally?" Bruce said, deadpan.

"Finally? You're one to talk!" Clark smirked. "How long have you been stringing Diana along?"

Bruce smiled at that. He clicked the second pocket to the left on his belt open and shut, a nervous tic Clark recognized from years of friendship. Bruce looked up, "Would you be my best man?"

"As long as you're mine," Clark hugged Bruce around the shoulders, even though Batman put on a half-hearted scowl and pushed him away after a second.

….2 Years Later…..

Bruce stood in the room, staring at the room, utterly stiff in his starched tuxedo. His heart was running at 80 beats per minute—nearly hyperventilating for someone who was usually around 40 BPM. "I can't do this."

Clark laughed. He was also trussed up in a suit, but infinitely more relaxed in it. "Getting cold feet?"

"It's not funny."

"You're supposed to be happy," Clark came up, tweaked Bruce's bowtie. "Everyone thought it would be Wally before you."

"That's not much of a compliment," Bruce said, utterly seriously. The tuxedo felt odd and fake—too much like Bruce Wayne's costumes for his liking.

"Think of tonight—that ought to cheer you up," Clark grinned as Bruce turned sixteen shades of red. "Wow—when you blush your ears turn pretty dang scarlet."

"Never mention this again," Bruce said, though his shoulders relaxed and he smiled a little.

"Actually, I was planning to use it in the toast," Clark said, and Bruce turned a patented batglare on him at maximum intensity. He was spared by Dick opening the door and telling them it was time.

They walked together into the church and took their places at the front of the aisle. Donna waved at Clark from the other side—then the music started and Clark had to hold in laughter when he saw Bruce jump at the sight of Diana looking utterly beautiful in her long white dress.

….5 Years Later….

Bruce walked in late and without Diana. He collapsed in the seat next to Clark with a sigh.

"Long day?" Clark asked, even though he was exhausted himself from getting up with the baby every two hours.

"Long night," Bruce took off his mask and rubbed his temples. "It's hard to sleep when a toddler pukes on you at two in the morning."

"Eew!" Flash said and stuck out his tongue.

Bruce glared at him, "I hope you have children someday, Wally. Lots of them."

"Be nice," Clark said. Shayera and J'onn were smirking. "James was hoping for a playdate, but I take it that's not an option?"

"Not if you want him sick, too," Bruce said, and sighed. "God, I got better sleep back when I patrolled from eleven at night to five a.m."

Suddenly he sneezed. "Aw, crap."

Clark laughed. "I guess kids do bring everything home."

Bruce feigned a kick at him.

…10 Years Later…..

The West triplets zipped around the room, climbing over every possible surface. Their peanut butter and jelly handprints went up the walls and over the bookcases and tables.

Bruce watched them and wondered how in the world they'd managed to get a peanut butter footprint on the underside of the shelves.

Wally and Linda were trying to corral them, which was an impossible task.

"Why are their kids at recruitment tryouts, anyway?" Bruce asked with more than a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"They've gone through every babysitter in the phone book," Clark said. Then the first of the new superheroes walked in the door and the founding members took their places around the table, ready to decide if "Electro Boy" was league material.

Three tryouts in, Clark leaned over. "Where's Diana?"

"Themyscarin knighting ceremony," Bruce whispered. The performance of "Acid Snot Man" left something to be desired. "Very big deal, apparently. I wasn't allowed, because of that pesky Y chromosome, but Diana and the girls went."

"Must be quiet," Clark said.

"Just me and Alfred," Bruce said, and sighed.

"What?" Clark asked. He was now studiously ignoring the contest, who blew green snot out his nose at a chair, which promptly dissolved.

"How come you got all the sons?" Bruce asked. "Wally still has not stopped teasing me about that."

"You already got your allotment with Dick and Tim," Clark watched Acid Snot Man walk out, with more than a measure of relief. The whole room smelled like metallic bodily fluids. "How's Barbra, by the way?"

"Three months along," Bruce said. He watched the next contestant enter. This one was a girl with a full face mask and a cloak. She was petite, maybe even a teenager, but that wasn't unusual these days.

The girl started her maneuvers. She had no superpowers, but wielded a pair of eskrima sticks expertly, working her way through three level two training robots in ten minutes. That was good. Not great, but good and she probably hadn't had that much training.

Bruce squinted. Something in the way she moved seemed familiar. A little—no….

He stood up, jumped over the table and ripped the girl's mask off.

"Bruce!" Clark said, but stopped when he saw who it was.

"What are you doing!" Bruce yelled. Rose Wayne squirmed under her father's grip, but managed to keep a steady look on her face.

"I'm trying out," she said, and the whole rest of the League sucked in a breath at how she was talking to Batman. "It's open, you know."

"I told you that you were never to put on a costume!" He looked like he wanted to smack her. "It was your mother's idea to train you and even that, apparently, was too much."

"You don't love me," Rose said. "Dick was Robin at age eight. I'm twelve and you won't even consider it!"

"Of course I love you!" Bruce was nearly at the end of his rope. Clark stood up, ready to intervene, and for once the West triplets were absolutely silent. "Why the hell do you think I don't want you out on the rooftops?"

"Oh, so its Dick and Tim and Cassandra who are meaningless and expendable," Rose said, and smiled. Any noise ceased in that moment. Clark walked over.

"Okay, now, break it up," he put his arms out, and they both ignored him.

"Absolutely not," Bruce said, through grit teeth. His fist were clenched at his sides and Clark was pretty sure that if he had been the one saying this stuff he would already be out on the floor with a Kryptonite chunk up his nose.

"Really? Are you sure that you don't see them more as 'foot soldiers' rather than sons and daughters? Because that might be why Dick stopped speaking to your for three years," Rose looked up at her father with absolute calm.

Clark almost laughed out loud—with her black hair and blue eyes Rose was almost a female version of Bruce, and she had inherited his stubbornness. Perhaps the only one who could win an argument with Batman was his own daughter.

He saw Bruce's face turn red and remembered that this was not an argument any sane person would have picked.

"Young lady," Bruce growled. "You will shut up this instant or I swear…"

"You'll what, smack me? Sounds kind of like what I'd get from supervillains, huh?" Rose grinned. "You're only angry cause its true."

Bruce said nothing. Based on what Clark was seeing, he probably didn't trust himself to speak.

"This is your own fault," Rose shrugged. "When Batman and Wonder Woman combined genomes, it probably should have been expected that one kid would come out with her fighting instinct and your brain."

Bruce sighed, and looked down at his daughter in her small, badly sewn costume. She did look like Dick, when he'd first tried to prove himself good enough to be Robin.

"If you go through exactly what Tim and Dick went through, then I'll let you," he said. "As long as you promise to stay a sidekick for a couple years."

Rose grinned from ear to ear and jumped on Bruce. "Thank you Daddy! I promise I'll do good!"

Bruce looked at Clark, "I'm a sucker, aren't I?"

Clark shrugged. "It's the family business, Bruce. You can't mess with tradition."

"Not the tradition I wanted," Bruce hugged his daughter back and set her down. "I suppose I'll have to tell Diana now. Want to help me out with that?"

"Sorry," Clark said. "For that one, you're on your own."

….25 Years Later…..

Bruce leaned over and whispered to Clark, "This is all your fault."

"Excuse me?" Clark said.

"Grey hair," Bruce said, and pointed to his head. "You and your stupid genetics."

"You're fifty-five. You had to start going gray sometime," Clark rolled his eyes. "And anyway, my hair is half white. That's a result of always chasing after you and saving you from crashing the Watchtower into the ground while still inside."

"That was decades ago!"

"And yet, I still haven't forgotten," Clark said, and was shushed by Lois. He dropped his voice a pitch. "Having grey hair isn't as bad as white hair at the temple."

"Says the immortal alien," Bruce muttered, before Diana shushed him.

"I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when they told you," Clark said, and grinned at Bruce's reaction to that: an annoyed shake of the head and a sigh that could have knocked over an elephant.

"C'mon, I know you're happy," Clark poked him in the ribs and Bruce swatted his hand away. "We're related now."

"No, we're not, technically," Bruce shot him an expected glare. "And at this rate the whole League will be related in a few generations, which could lead to god-knows-what genetic abnormalities."

"Aren't you glad it wasn't one of Wally's boys?"

Bruce groaned. "Please—don't even put that thought into my head. They're ten times worse than he was at that age. The hyperactivity must multiply exponentially between generations."

Clark smiled. The West triplets were all seated on the far side of the church. They'd each taken a color out of their father's costume for theirs—Patrick in yellow, Barry Jr. in white, and Jay Jr. in red. "Someday the fate of the world might be in their hands, you know."

"We're screwed," Bruce said.

"You and you're pessimistic view of the universe," Clark ducked another reproachful glance from Lois, who threatened him silently with a hymn book. "No wonder Gordon could tell that Dick was a new Batman."

Bruce hrmphed and accidentally knocked over the cane he'd been using since the knee injury that had finally forced his retirement. It landed on Diana's feet, and she shot them both a glare that rivaled her husband's in potency.

"Speaking of Dick, how are the grandkids?" Clark asked.

"Nieces and nephews," Bruce said. Diana heard this part of the conversation and rolled her eyes. "I'm too young to be a grandfather, and Alfred is the one who really parented Dick. I did a crappy job of it."

"And yet they call you Grandpa and him Granddad," Clark said. Bruce elbowed him.

"Knock it off," Diana whispered. "Honestly, you two are too old to have to be separated."

She and Lois exchanged and exasperated look over their husbands' heads.

"Do you realize that our grandkids will be part Kryptonian, part Amazon, and part Bat?" Clark said.

"No more talk of grandchildren."

"You have an unhealthy view of aging."

"My wife and my best friend are practically immortal, what do you expect?"

"True," Clark said. "Still, I see how you spoil Dick's kids rotten."

Bruce smiled at that. "I'm Bruce Wayne, aren't I supposed to spoil my grandkids?"

"Ha!" Clark said. Too loudly—half the church turned to look at them. "You called them grandkids!"

"That does it," Lois made Clark switch seats with her, and Diana made Bruce switch her. Two seats apart, they were forced to be quiet through the rest of the wedding of James Kent and Rose Wayne.

The End