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The Justice League was still very new the first time that their aid was formally requested by the US government.
Clark had been the first to see the request, and he’d had to re-read it three times just to be sure that it was real. Sure, they had formalized their agreements with Earth’s governments and the UN a month prior, but until that moment Clark had been sure that it was mostly a formality. The world leaders certainly hadn’t seemed inclined to ask for help.
But then he’d read the request, and the pieces fell into place.
Billionaire Bruce Wayne had been kidnapped while attending a charity gala in New York chock full of other billionaires, senators, and the Vice President. Clark didn’t need to be a journalist to know that the optics of the situation were tense.
So, he’d done his duty and called in other Leaguers, and now they were gathered ready to strike as they honed in on Wayne’s location.
The office of the VP had provided them with a preliminary intel report, but it was mostly barebones. Wayne had been taken by a group of assailants wielding some unknown alien weapons. Apparently they were skilled, but their tech had been what gave them the edge over a room full of expensive bodyguards and Secret Service agents. By calling in the Justice League, they were sparing the embarrassment of admitting they’d been breached by anything less than a villainous otherworldly plot.
Luckily, it wasn’t too hard to track the kidnappers to an abandoned warehouse just outside the city limits.
That said, Clark’s nerves were on edge in a way that they hadn’t been in a long time. Technically, the mission was simple, but as they stood outside the warehouse trying to plot their next move there was a glaring issue.
They were missing their strategist.
Batman wasn’t there. In fact, he hadn’t even answered his comm, which was pretty hypocritical from the guy who had lectured the rest of them about the necessity of answering even if it was to say they couldn’t make it.
Now the rest of his team was looking at Clark to tell them the plan. Now, Clark had all kinds of fancy alien powers, but he would be the first to admit that he knew nothing about battle tactics or coordinating a team. He was perfectly happy to sit back and let Batman take the lead in that regard, which he was now realizing may have been a bit of a mistake.
“I say we force our way in,” Wonder Woman argued. “They will not be able to handle our collective abilities.
Clark couldn’t really find it in himself to disagree. From their intel, it seemed unlikely that the kidnappers would be expecting the full force of the Justice League to rain down upon them.
“I agree with Diana. Let’s get in quick, hit them hard, and get out as fast as we can with Bruce Wayne.”
The rest of the Leaguers nodded along in agreement, seemingly pleased that they didn’t have to come up with a plan themselves.
He should’ve known that it wouldn’t be that easy.
They broke into the warehouse with guns—or in Clark’s case, eyes—blazing and everything went exactly as they wanted for about five seconds.
They quickly incapacitated the armed guards that stood watch and found their target being held in the centre of the room.
Wayne was tied up on a metal chair looking like the victim of a violent kidnapping that he was. His once perfect tux was torn and dishevelled, and his white shirt was marred with blood. His normally perfect face was swollen, with his left eye blackened, and he appeared to be bleeding somewhat concerningly from a wound on his forehead.
Really, it wasn’t Clark’s fault that he froze—he needed a moment to reconcile the man before him with the glossy magazine-perfect face that he was used to seeing splashed across the gossip rags.
After all, Bruce Wayne—for all his charitable efforts—was most known as Gotham’s messy playboy prince.
Cat had once told Clark that Wayne was as hot as he was because he’d never had a single thought, let alone a concern, cross through his pretty little brain.
“There’s nothing beneath the surface,” she’d said dismissively, “But I’d still hit it if he offered.”
(Clark had thought, even then, that Cat was being overly harsh for someone who had bounced back from witnessing a double-homicide as a pre-teen to becoming a Fortune 500 CEO.)
Again, it really wasn’t Clark’s fault that he hesitated just a second too long—anyone would when confronted with such a bizarre scene. And it was definitely Cat’s fault that he was too distracted wondering about whether Wayne’s face would be scarred from that cut to notice a new kidnapper approach the scene wielding a suspiciously green sword.
It was actually embarrassing how quickly everything fell apart.
As it turned out, the “alien tech” that the kidnappers had gotten their hands on was a variety of extremely advanced weaponry that included, among other things, a kryptonite-infused sword.
Apparently, they had planned for a fight with the Justice League. They might even have orchestrated it, if their enthusiasm was anything to go off of as more kidnappers flooded the room wielding weapons that quickly gave them the upper hand over the unprepared Leaguers.
As his vision began to cloud over from kryptonite poisoning, Clark was willing to admit that they had rather obviously—and he wasn’t one to use the phrase lightly—fucked up.
Clark found himself completely at the will of the kidnappers as he was manhandled onto his knees beside Wayne’s chair. The rest of the League was barely faring better.
“This is ridiculous,” Wayne murmured beside him, barely loud enough to be heard with Clark’s now more-normal hearing. “I thought you all were supposed to be good at fighting.”
Clark could only wince as the kidnapper who had to be in charge approached with a nasty-looking gun that glowed kryptonite green.
He really needed to do something about how easily his enemies got their hands on that godforsaken space crystal.
“Superman, huh,” the lead kidnapper mused. “I bet I could make a killing by being the one to finally do you in. And to think all it took was getting my hands on some of this green stuff”
Clark tried not to groan. He couldn’t believe that this was how it was going to end. Had he really survived a planetary massacre as a baby only to meet his end a galaxy away because he was too mourning a pretty face?
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Wayne mumbled.
The kidnapper raised the gun to Clark’s temple, and Clark closed his eyes, resigning himself to his idiotic fate.
But the shot never came.
Opening his eyes, Clark was stunned to find his would-be-killer knocked out on the ground in front of him. Standing over the downed kidnapper was none other than Bruce Wayne, completely free of all his restraints.
He locked eyes with Clark, and there was nothing of the airheaded playboy in his eyes. In its place was a steely focus, the likes of which Clark had only ever seen from one person before.
Breaking eye contact, Wayne spun to face the rest of the kidnappers. He reached into his jacket and Clark only barely saw a glint of metal before the rest of the kidnappers were falling to the floor as Wayne tossed a set of knives into their chests.
In a matter of moments, he had freed Clark and the rest of the Leaguers.
Clark was glad to see he was not alone in gaping in open-mouthed shock at the billionaire.
Wayne’s face was a mask of indifference as they stared at him in silence for a beat, before erupting in crazed questions.
“How the hell—”
“What the fuck?”
“Where’d you learn—”
“Does Batman know he’s got competition?”
Wayne glared at Hal and rolled his eyes as he quipped. It hit Clark, a moment before Wayne said it, why exactly he had seemed so familiar before.
“I am Batman, you incompetent imbecile,” he growled, his voice now unmistakably Batman’s. “Was it really so hard to perform a simple rescue mission in my absence?”
Unfortunately, his declaration was met with even more bewildered expressions.
Clark himself was reeling internally, and it wasn’t just the remnants of the kryptonite.
“I trust you can clean up this mess?” More silence carried through the room. At their lack of response, Wayne—Batman—just scoffed and began walking towards the exit. “I need to get back to Gotham.”
As he walked out of the warehouse, Clark’s diminished hearing was just able to pick up his words as he groaned under his breath.
“Dick is never going to let me live this down.”