Chapter Text
–
-Bruce Wayne-
–
Bruce only had a few people he considered close to him. He meant no disrespect- it wasn’t for the sake of mystery, after all, that he avoided being very personal. The idea of being the center of attention always made him horrifically nervous, and he wanted to avoid it as much as possible. Personality wise, he didn’t consider himself that interesting; he appreciated when Clark called him “mellow”, but he knew he really meant “borderline lifeless."
Truthfully, Bruce often lost track of the (albeit very boring) conversations of his fellow upper-class, and he rarely had much to contribute aside from mild remarks. His “thinking face” was a tortured stare into the distance, apparently, and it made even the simplest thoughts look like he was contemplating death. His interests were also very Batman-centric, which prevented him from talking about them. He told people he liked to read and relax; it wasn’t a lie, but obviously not the greater truth.
To anyone living in the prime of their youth, Bruce was the most boring person on Earth.
Bruce accepted that. He was regarded kindly, despite being viewed as dull. Bruce maintained a sense of politeness with everyone in return, though that was a shallower well than people assumed. Perhaps that wasn’t what people expected; often, his politeness led to many assuming they were his friend. Of course, that was their perception. In reality, Bruce only considered a few people worthy of that title.
One of them was Clark, though he was tentatively pushing his luck with that man. The other, of course, had kept the loneliness of losing his family from eating him alive in his school days; daily, he inspired Bruce to commit to justice.
His name was Harvey Dent, and he was his best friend.
Bruce hadn’t seen him in almost five years. Though they’d stayed in touch, Harvey had isolated himself from the world after an attack covered his left side in burns and scars. He’d been working to take down a trafficking ring in Blüdhaven, and the mob had tried to kill him. Though Bruce had ensured he’d gotten top-of-the-line care, Harvey forbade them from meeting in person until his scars healed to their fullest. Of course, Bruce would never judge Harvey for his looks; he understood, however, that the aftermath of such a horrible ordeal would be a lot to adjust to. Harvey still gave Bruce legal advice whenever he asked, and sent him videos of his son that his wife had taken.
Finally, as summer rolled in, Harvey told Bruce that he was ready to meet again. After hearing how much “excitement” (his words) Bruce had gotten in the past year, he wanted to see him. He was probably worried sick, after hearing how many times The Riddler had tried to kill him.
“Brucie-boy!!” Harvey cried as he stepped through the door. "Come down from that tower, buddy!!"
The sound of his deep baritone sent Bruce’s spirits soaring, and he quickly raced down the stairs.
“Harvey,” Bruce greeted, sighing as he embraced his friend wholeheartedly. In his eyes, Harvey still looked the same- inky black hair, warm, brown eyes, and handsome, chiseled face. It didn’t matter that one half of it was now red and partially melted. Definitely acid, Bruce thought.
The shock of white in his hair was a surprise, though. Harvey laughed when Bruce pointed it out. “Ah, a coworker told me it would make this a bit more palatable. Makes it look like I’m wearing a mask, eh?” He explained. It was gruesome; his lips had been burnt off, exposing his teeth and gums whenever he smiled. Skin grafts had covered most of the serious damage, but the scars were unsettling. It did, however, look a bit like a Halloween mask.
His smile faded a bit. “...I am glad you’re taking it well. I was worried about what you’d think the most, you know,” Harvey admitted.
Bruce flushed a bit. “Oh… Come on. Your wife has to worry about that more than me, Harvey…” He trailed off.
“Hey, we were the most gorgeous men in Gotham! A dynamic duo in college!!” Harvey argued. “If you think I’ve still got it, then I can actually rest easy.”
Bruce snorted at the ego. Harvey always put a lot of value in being attractive, so he didn’t dispute what he said. “You’re staying, right? In Gotham?” He asked.
“Of course! Would hate to miss the Gotham Met again- especially this year!” Harvey declared. “I’ve got my outfit all ready. Got something for you, too, if you’ve accepted the invitation.”
At the mention of that gaudy affair, Bruce rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll pass. You know how I feel about The Batman.”
Disappointment was a strange expression on Harvey’s face. “Aw, come on, Brucie. You still don’t have fun, after all these years?” He whined.
Bruce remembered what he was doing before Harvey arrived: reading about unexplored regions of the Arctic. Batman related, naturally.
“...I have fun,” he refuted.
“Sure.”
“I do!!”
Bruce huffed as Harvey clapped his shoulder. His laugh was still capable of making his heart skip. He always had a bit of a crush on Harvey- it was inevitable, for someone like Bruce. His attraction came as a result of attachment, not the other way around. He’d lost his chance when Harvey got married; rather than let that bother him, Bruce accepted it for the missed opportunity that it was. It wasn’t a loss, in his eyes, as he already felt fulfilled by their friendship. He was Batman now, too; in the end, it was for the best.
Harvey still made him feel like a schoolboy when he teased him, though. His one weakness.
Harvey’s hand slid down Bruce’s back as he mulled over a thought. “Well… I’ll tell you what. I’ve got something I think will be perfect for you. It’s some New-Age medicine that I think you’ll like,” he said.
With that, he reached into his pocket, and he took out a ring. The band was thick and made of silver, and had a single gem laid atop it. The gem was exquisite; bright, bubblegum pink, the color more vibrant than a pink diamond.
“Put this on, and it’ll realign your Chakras,” Harvey said, placing the ring into Bruce’s hand. “You probably won’t notice much of a difference- I know how stuck you are in reality. But maybe a slight placebo will encourage you to… Loosen up.”
Bruce gawked at the gift, looking at it with mild awe. “Harvey… This looks priceless. I could never accept something like this-”
“Ah, it was worth nothin’! I got it from a street vendor in India. Just humor me, okay? You’re only young once. You gotta learn to live it up, sometimes, or you’re gonna be old and wish you did.”
While Bruce wasn’t normally so easily pressured… Harvey was his best friend, and Bruce usually trusted his advice. Maybe he did need to “loosen up”, as he put it.
So, without any further deliberation, he slid the ring onto his right ring finger.
To his surprise, there was an immediate, physical reaction. Bruce let out a small breath as a peculiar, giddy feeling spread over him, tingling his skin. He felt… lighter, somehow. Like he wanted to go outside, do something that involved other people… Have fun. If that was suggestion, Bruce must have been more gullible than he thought.
He smiled at Harvey, adjusting the ring on his finger. “I’m starving. I’ll go get changed into something nice, and I’ll treat you,” he offered, his voice tinged with mild excitement.
Harvey grinned toothily back at him. “Now THAT’S what I like to hear.”
–
–Clark Kent–
–
“Alright, the Gotham Met Gala is this weekend… Kent, you’re covering it this year.”
Immediately, Lois Lane stood up in a rage. “ What!? I always cover the Gotham Met! Why does he get to do it!? Look at him- Kent doesn’t know fashion if it bit him on the ass!!” She cried.
Clark, who had been sitting beside her, gave their Editor-in-Chief a shrug. In his eyes, his fits were absolutely fantastic. It took a lot of effort to find nice suits in Biggest and Tallest, and khakis with a nice polo was professional attire.
You think the Superman suit is sexy, he thought with a huff.
Their Editor in Chief scoffed, paying more attention to Lois. “Sorry, Lane- they want Bruce Wayne to attend, and he’s refusing to accept the invitation unless Clark is there. You know how it is with that guy- they're begging us.”
Irritation crossed over Lois Lane’s face like a storm. “Oh, I knew it had something to do with that gloomy rich boy…” she grumbled, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Everytime we have a job in Gotham, he’s on Clark like he’s made of caviar and cocaine. ’Oh, you’re in town, Mr. Kent? Let me treat you two to a nice dinner’. ‘Oh, you’re in town, Mr. Kent? Let me get you a five-star hotel room’. ‘Oh, you’re in town, Mr. Kent-?’”
“What can I say?” Clark hummed. “He’s grateful for the publicity my story got him.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s the reason.”
Despite the dig, Clark's heart soared, and he had to restrain himself from giving away too much joy. Was Bruce going to ask him out on a date? Or could it be that this was the date invitation…?
The Gotham Met Gala was a huge event for celebrities and socialites. It always had some theme- that year, hilariously, was “masked darkness”. The real theme was obvious- The Batman. It didn’t surprise Clark in the slightest. Bruce couldn’t help but be a little dramatic, so The Batman made for perfect art fodder. He couldn’t imagine Bruce wanting to go to something that glorifies himself, though… But apparently, Bruce would if Clark was there.
God, he’s too much, he thought. Two kids, five dogs, a nice house in the mountains… I’ll make him breakfast every morning…
Lois sat back down, tapping her pen irritably against her desk. “Well… Fine!! Come here, Kent. I’ll walk you through the do’s and don’ts, since I know Wayne’s not gonna do it…” She grumbled, gesturing for him to scoot his chair over. Though many would call Lois a stone-cold bitch, Clark knew she had to be one in order to be taken seriously. Their department, sadly, still lacked women, and their attitudes showed it. Clark saw her as more charmingly gritty, like the reporters in old movies. It wasn’t like she lied about anything. She was a better reporter than she thought; she was joking about their relationship, but she had no idea how true it actually was. Despite how much she treated Clark like an overgrown kid, she was willing to bat for him if he needed it. He respected her, genuinely.
After all, she was also in charge of reporting on Superman, and she respected Kal-El’s work.
As soon as he was done with his daily report, he was out the door. He had to see Bruce and thank him… Maybe kiss him a little bit. Or a lot, if he was feeling up to it. Quickly, Clark removed his civilian clothing in a nearby alley and took to the sky. Gotham was a two minute flight for him- one, if he really pushed himself.
It was still daytime, but late afternoon; therefore, Bruce was undoubtedly home.
The moment Clark’s feet touched the balcony, he heard a loud bark. Ace bounded up to him with a happy smile, her tongue hanging out as he scooped her into a hug. She was a huge dog, but to Clark, she weighed as much as a puppy. She adored the special attention, licking at his cheek as her tail beat against his side.
“Clark!”
Bruce had appeared in the doorway. His expression shifted to amusement at the sight of Clark, a knowing look in his eyes. There was something else there, Clark noticed- a new glitter.
“Good afternoon, Superman. Can I help you?” Bruce asked coyly, keeping a neutral tone to his voice as he sipped his coffee. He sounded perfectly stable, neither high nor drunk. However, there was something a bit more… lively about him. Bouncy, even. Clark couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly. The only thing that seemed visibly different about Bruce was the ring he was wearing, which had a sparkling, pink gem. He didn’t expect Bruce to like jewelry, but the man had walls like the skin of an onion. It wasn’t surprising he had unusual tastes that Clark wasn't aware of.
Clark smiled at Bruce, scratching under Ace’s chin as he set her down. “Apparently, I’m covering the Gotham Met for the Planet,” he declared. “A certain someone refused to go unless I did.”
Bruce’s coffee cup hid his mischievous smirk. “Oh, right. That,” he stated. “You’re welcome.”
As Clark drew closer to hug him, he felt a strange twitch building in his stomach; however, he attributed it to butterflies. Bruce was quite the man, and he knew he was more deeply invested in him than what was probably advisable.
Clark embraced him, lifting him off the ground. Bruce willingly allowed, which he typically never did. Actually, Clark saw a spark of arousal cross over his features at the action, the expression melting into obvious delight.
He’s in a really good mood today, Clark thought. “So… You pay for my meals, you buy me nice clothes, and you make sure I’m the one getting the important jobs at the Planet. Is that normally how you treat fuckbuddies?” He teased, daring to take a sip of Bruce’s coffee, too.
“It’s how I treat you,” was Bruce’s rather immediate response. Clark choked a bit, unsure of what he meant. He hesitated to be hopeful, but Bruce had established some serious boundaries the last time they met. No fraternizing in the suits, and no strict relationship. Both were unsafe, in his eyes.
Bruce sighed, idly twirling a curl on the back of Clark’s neck. “...Truth be told, Clark, I’m being coerced to go by my friend, Harvey. Apparently… I’m not… fun. I don’t agree, exactly, but I’ve been feeling the urge to try new things.”
Bruce gently took his mug back, avoiding Clark’s gaze as his fingertips brushed over his knuckles. “...Be nice if I could… talk to you while I’m there. You always put me in a good mood, so…”
Clark blinked owlishly, stunned by such a confession. Could a heart absolutely shatter from affection? He didn’t know, but he felt that his could.
“Bruce, that’s… That’s so sweet…” he cooed, rendered breathless by the honesty. Immediately, he kissed him, tasting the vanilla on his tongue with a low hum.
…And then. There it was again. That strange, squirming feeling. What is that? Clark wondered.
Bruce allowed the kiss for exactly three seconds; then, he huffed, begrudgingly pushing against his chest. “Don’t be so flattered. I’m pathetic, not sweet,” he admitted.
Clark’s touch shifted to rest on Bruce’s lower back, and he leaned in for another kiss. “You’re both. And I like that about you,” He declared. “My poor, lonely, pretty boy…”
Bruce pouted. “Get a girlfriend, Kent.”
“No can do. Men only, for me.” Right now, you only, he added in his head.
He saw Bruce’s eyes grow dark with arousal as they narrowed. “...Well… Since you’re here… Why don’t you lend me a hand?” Bruce offered, his hands rather pointedly grabbing Clark's cape. “I’ve been needing Superman's assistance all day.”
Clark barked out a small laugh, his face growing hot at the bold proposition. “I-Isn’t Alfred home?”
“I have ways of keeping you quiet, Kent.”
Goodness, Bruce really was in the mood. The moment the idea of sex popped into his head, Bruce was pulling at Clark’s suit with an eager, little smirk. He was usually blunt, but not that blunt.
“Come on… I’ve been thinking about you nonstop, Clark,” He drawled, wrapping his arms around Clark’s neck as he leaned in. “...You can fuck me in the air, if you want.”
Clark’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Immediately, his face was bright red, and his suit felt just a little tighter than before.
“Bruce-!”
At that moment, Alfred poked his head in the doorway, hardly surprised to see Clark holding his ward midair. He had Ace’s leash in his hand, with the dog dancing around him with soft ‘woofs’.
“Ah. Now I see what’s got Ace so worked up,” Alfred said.
He’d been told right away who Clark was. Both he and Bruce had agreed to reveal the other’s identities to their immediate family, in the event of a disaster. Clark’s parents had been the hardest to convince; Bruce had to actually meet them in person and confirm it. Clark was certain it was just a ploy to meet the man he'd been gushing over, but they kept their surprised act up fairly well. Alfred, however, took one look at Clark and believed it wholeheartedly. Clark didn’t even need to show off one of his powers.
Clark grinned and put Bruce down, greeting the family butler with a sturdy handshake.
“Howdy, Mr. Pennyworth!”
“Hello, Mr. Kent. I suppose using the door was too much to ask?”
“Oh, I used the balcony door!”
“Wonderful. Delightful to see improvement.”
Alfred fixed a pointed look at Bruce. “Maybe next time, you’ll knock as well,” He added dryly.
Bruce let out a small, embarrassed chuckle. “You’re… going out, Alfred?” He asked with a cock of his head.
“I am indeed. Ace has alerted me that it is time for my walk… I’ll be back in an hour, I suppose.”
“Ah. Okay.”
Clark feigned a cough, turning his head away out of embarrassment. It was obvious what they were actually talking about, and it had him utterly flustered.
“Oh, before I go… Harvey called,” Alfred said. “He wanted to know if you’d like to come to the fitting for his- well, he called it a costume?”
Bruce’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, yes!! Harvey!! You know Harvey, right, Clark?”
Clark nodded at the mention of Bruce’s childhood friend. “I do! Interviewed him for my piece about you. He’s a nice guy.”
Mr. Dent was a prolific Lawyer, and helped struggling communities fight against tyrannical businesses in the courtroom. Even as a child, he dominated people’s attention. Originally, he was the ringleader of the friend group he’d had- basically, the only reason Bruce had friends as a child. Where everyone else avoided him, Harvey had taken him under his wing. Allegedly, he really helped Bruce recover from his parent’s death. Clark liked speaking to the man, but he got the sense that Harvey considered himself incredibly important; the ego was a bit much. Still… By Bruce’s reaction, it was clear that he held him in high regard.
Clark remembered how Harvey had described Bruce as a kid; utterly shy, sensitive, and soft-hearted. As Harvey himself had put it: “Nobody had to tell Bruce to be gentle with something.”
Harvey had spent quite a bit of time waxing poetic about how elegant and demure the other man was- how the girls had fawned over him the moment he started developing his pretty face and gentle nature. Clark found it a bit hard to believe, knowing Bruce as an adult. Bruce would kick him for saying something nice.
… Or… Was Clark the one really out of the loop? He only thought he knew Bruce because he knew he was Batman. But… Really, there was no way he could know as much as Harvey did.
That time, the strange feeling in his gut was horribly familiar.
–
As Clark predicted, Bruce was all over him the moment Alfred left.
No later than a second after the door of the penthouse closed, Bruce was pulling at his suit, dropping to his knees with dizzying speed. Bruce liked giving oral- good at it or not, nobody was that excited to give head without it being a kink. That time, however, he looked starved for it.
“B-Bruce, it’s only been a couple days…” Clark mumbled. Of course, he still took off his suit for him. After he’d spent the last few minutes stewing with jealousy, it felt good to see the other be so honest about desiring him.
He tried to focus on the man tugging down his boxers, pulling his semi-hard length from its confines. However, his mind wandered a bit. Bruce could have anyone he wanted, and he was allowed to have whoever he wanted. They weren’t like normal people, Clark told himself. They couldn’t have close relationships. Clark was certain he was one of Bruce’s flings, and he thought he’d accepted that.
However.
“L-Look at me,” He blurted out, tangling his tanned hand in Bruce's dark hair. “...Please?”
Bruce focused his baby blues- a deeper blue than Clark remembered- and smiled dreamily. “Yes, sir,” He cooed, sending a shiver down Clark’s back. He began to lap at Clark’s length, coaxing the other to full hardness as he palmed himself through his jeans.
Clark stroked his hair as Bruce mouthed along his cock, his eyes struggling to stay open as heat spread all over his body. He wanted to watch every second, and commit it all to memory. The other made that incredibly difficult; Bruce’s soft, wet tongue traced over the vein on his dick and sent sparks into his vision. Clark tilted his head back momentarily to moan as Bruce lapped at the space where his shaft connected to his balls, losing sight of him for a second.
He forced himself to look back as Bruce began to take him into his mouth, gritting his teeth as the pleasure spread through him like fire. Bruce was relentless, taking inch after inch down his throat as he sighed through his nose, his eyes growing hazy as he started to bob his head.
Clark shuddered, moving to grip Bruce’s hair by the nape of his neck. “I want you to… take it all, and hold it as long as you can,” he commanded in a gentle voice, his other hand brushing over Bruce’s as it clutched his thigh. He watched with red-rimmed eyes as Bruce deepthroated him without hesitation, the human moaning weakly as he swallowed around his length. He still hadn’t looked away, even when Clark had shut his eyes from the waves of pleasure coursing through him.
Clark's heavy cock stretched Bruce's jaw, his throat bulging with him as he held his head still for a few seconds. Clark could see the saliva that dripped down his chin in growing rivulets, tears welling up as his face grew red. Bruce made another small, throaty noise, his long eyelashes fluttering as they grew wet. It took longer than Clark expected for the other man to pull back, and he still didn’t take him out of his mouth completely.
“You really are full of surprises, Bruce…” Clark breathed, carefully guiding the other into bobbing his head again. “F- Fuck , ah…”
Bruce bobbed his head on Clark’s length, letting the other control the pace. That is, until he felt his cock twitching and throbbing on his tongue. Once he felt that, he pulled away enough to suck lightly on the tip. With a barely hidden smile, he listened intently to Clark’s growing cries of desperation, pumping his shaft with a tight fist.
“Bruce, please-” Was all the warning Bruce got. As Clark came, he shot thick, hot cum directly into Bruce’s mouth, painting not only the inside of it, but the outside and his chin as well.
Bruce didn’t seem to mind. Quite the contrary; he kept still, shutting his eyes in case any splatter hit them. He gently stroked Clark through his orgasm, his breath rough and heavy from letting the other man fuck his throat.
When Bruce opened his eyes again, they were a bit darker. Almost… Purple.
Bruce swallowed audibly, licking the excess cum from the corner of his mouth. "That was awesome… You should boss me around me often," He cooed. Not satisfied, he cleaned Clark’s length with a lewd drag of his tongue, making the greatest gift to humanity tremble as he held him by the dick.
“I prepared for you to show up,” Bruce pointed out, biting his lip. “But… I bet it’s not gonna be enough. I think I want to ride you, too- I haven’t done it yet, and I’m curious if you’ll hold still long enough.”
He sounded positively giddy about the idea. It’s not even my birthday, Clark thought. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into Bruce, but the man was certainly following Harvey's advice. Actually, that was probably it; Harvey was his best friend, after all. Obviously, Bruce was just taking what he’d said to heart.
Wonder if he knew he’d use it like this , Clark thought. Hopefully not.
–
–Edward Nashton–
–
Blüdhaven was dreary that time of night. The rain made inky black puddles on the street, matching the blackened sky above. The lights of the city only captured the definitions of the rolling clouds overhead. It was a perfect night to move about unseen.
The two men with Edward walked behind him, but were still leading the way. Edward wasn’t aggressive, but that didn’t matter. He was a killer, and killers did not get the luxury of walking behind someone. They had guns in their back pockets, too, should he decide to surprise them.
That time, he hadn’t escaped- someone had broken him out. His reputation, as always, preceded him; however, that was the first time that he’d been retrieved from Arkham for his talents with combating The Batman.
The door had one guard. “This him?” the man asked, narrowing his eyes at the sight of Edward. He didn't look like much in his orange-striped Arkham clothes, but his constant, manic energy was undeniable.
“Yea. You’re fine. He’s not gunna try nothin’. Ain’t that right, Nashton?”
Obviously not , Edward thought, fixing a polite smile at the well-muscled guard. “Good evening,” he greeted. “I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?”
“Don’t answer that,” said one of Edward’s guards, cutting in quickly. “That’s how Tony got his brakes cut.”
Oh, so they were learning. Leave it to Edward to provide Gotham with a proper education.
It was a delight that Edward kept being hired to face off against The Batman. Truly, it was his dream job. Not only was he paid handsomely and allowed to do whatever he wanted, it all involved the bane and muse of his existence.
His newest job, however, took the cake. All of his favorite things had been placed right in front of him. Not only would he be keeping The Batman busy… He’d also be collecting a prize of his own. The ultimate prize.
Bruce Wayne.
His benefactors were going to take him. Not for ransom- to kill. After he inserted himself into Gotham’s renewal program, he essentially shut off the city to the crime rings in Bludhaven and Metropolis. If he was dead, the program would once again languish, and things would go right back to normal.
The task had been given to Edward to perform. After all their interactions- after every passionate moment he’d shared with Bruce, and every sad-eyed look of loss- he was finally going to bring their relationship to its ultimate climax, killing him for good. While he’d been delighted Bruce had seen the light, his sins were still great, and Edward was being paid handsomely to punish him. Edward was vengeance, just like Batman- if he felt compelled to kill him, he would. Bruce was still his ultimate source of hatred, his paradigm, his-
… Oh, Bruce Wayne.
Edward would take him before he killed him. He wanted to be inside the other man so badly, and by god, he’d have his way before he ended his life. Just imagining Bruce’s face twisted with anguish as he tears off his clothes, the tears of pain as he fucks him raw…
…Made him feel a little sick. He remembered what Bruce sounded like when he was aroused; how he whispered Edward’s name so tenderly, holding him with strong fingers. Anything less than that didn’t feel authentic. Surely… Bruce would be drunk. After all, the plan would take place at the Gotham Met Gala. He’d be loose, his inhibitions lowered. Surely, he’d agree to let Edward fuck him without force, right? Edward wasn’t a bad lover… He’d make it feel good, if Bruce would do it willingly.
He might not even kill Bruce right away. He could find a nice, abandoned apartment, and keep Bruce there as a pet. The very idea of his dreams becoming a reality made his mouth water.
“Mr. Nashton?”
Edward blinked, his attention drawn to his boss. “... My own bodyguards, a fund of 100k, and- a new costume, you said?”
“Well, you’re going to a swanky event. Not to disparage the utility of your green winter wear, but you’ll be able to slip into the party more easily in something a little fancier. Is that a problem?”
Edward twitched at the question. It was, actually. That was the point of the green jacket; it symbolized how he was the everyday man’s savior. How, literally, anyone could wear what he wore, and do what he did. He was a terrorist, not a supervillain. A man of the people.
Still… This was his life, now. He had no choice. He wasn’t going to stay in Arkham- unlike The Joker, he hadn’t given up on his ideals when defeated by The Batman. He wanted to continue his work in Gotham, purging it of all the evil that festered inside it. The only way he could achieve that was to rely on his ability to impress very bad, very wealthy people.
The thought made him feel even sicker.
Back to normal, they said. Undoing everything Bruce had done… Everything Edward had done, too.
Edward forced a cruel grin onto his face, his anger showing through it. “...People make me, save me, change me, raise me. When you die, I’ll provide you the casket to lay in, but I won’t follow you into your grave. What am I?” Edward asked.
He got a crooked smile in return.
“Oh, Eddie boy… That’s easy. It's money.”