Chapter Text
The night was falling over Gotham, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary for vigilante like the Dark Knight: closed streets, dead-end alleys, flickering lights, puddles and trash on some corners… just the usual.
To some extent, he recognized most of Gotham’s residents. Not because he personally knew each one or remembered everyone—there were a few he did, though—but by the way they behaved while walking through the streets: how they walked, how they looked around, how they interacted with their surroundings. It was easy to spot an outsider.
That was how, while walking through the streets of Gotham, he noticed a man dressed in a suit that was slightly too big for him, carrying a briefcase and a press badge.
He wasn’t from the Gotham Gazette nor any other local news outlet—Batman recognized the design from afar—but from a famous newspaper in another city entirely: Metropolis.
What on earth was a Daily Planet reporter doing in Gotham at such a late hour?
It wasn’t that seeing outsiders was rare; it was the timing. That alone sparked Batman’s curiosity, and from the shadows, he watched and followed the man wherever he seemed to be going.
A few minutes later, he spotted a group of people in the distance. They looked like the typical criminal gang who mugged—or worse, kidnapped—innocent civilians for money, which immediately put Bruce on edge, prepared to intervene if anything happened.
And he was not wrong.
The man kept walking, unaware he was being watched, until he was cornered by the group of strangers. Batman immediately grew alert, crafting a mental strategy as he observed from the darkness.
The man hesitated to hand over his belongings, stepping back. But when one of the criminals pointed a gun at him, he gave in: he dropped the briefcase and raised both hands above his head, almost touching the wall behind him.
One of the criminals grabbed his belongings. It didn’t last. A batarang—who knew from where exactly—struck his hand and the bag, slicing deep enough to make him drop everything at once.
The men looked around, startled and terrified. They knew exactly what was coming
Silently, a looming figure emerged from the shadows. Batman lunged at them without making another sound, knocking each one out one by one. Some tried tto flee, desperate to run in opposite directions, but none managed to escape.
Once they were all on the ground, unconscious, Batman—certain they wouldnt be causing trouble for a while—looked up and locked eyes with the man in front of him.
“I…” the outsider began, and for the first time Bruce truly paid attention to his face. He had curls, glasses, and almost hypnotic blue eyes. “Thank you… for saving me.”
Batman simply stared, unmoving, before lowering his gaze to the unconscious men. The stolen briefcase lay on the ground, motionless like them. Without losing his calm, he crouched, picked it up, and walked toward the supposed journalist, handing it to him without a word. An ordinary man wouldn’t have noticed how the Dark Knight subtly glanced toward the badge on his jacket, but he did.
“Uh…” the man stammered, trying to keep his composure.
“You’re not from here. You’re from Metropolis.”
It wasn’t a question. The man nodded, swallowing nervously like any civilian would
“Yes. Clark Kent. I’m… investigating for an article.”
Batman didn’t react.
“Gotham is not a topic for an article. This is a warning. Whatever you’re looking for will find you first. And you won’t survive if you keep this up,” he said—not as a threat, but with a tone calm enough to make the point clear.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” Clark replied, keeping his hands visible, his voice steady despite everything. Only the truth. “I have an assignment here… and I’ve read and heard what goes on: the businessmen, the police, what you do…”
The eyes under the cowl narrowed by barely a millimeter.
“What I do, and what the people of this city endure, is not for gossip. Your curiosity and the curiosity of the company you work for is a risk you can’t afford. Go back to your city.”It wasn’t hostile. }
It was… cold. A logical and pessimistic fact.
“It’s not gossip. I mean, it’s not even my area… but I think people need to know,” Clark insisted, his gaze firm despite his fogged glasses. “They need to know that even here, in a place everyone calls hopeless, someone… cares about them.”
The word sounded ridiculously soft in Gotham’s poisoned air. Batman stepped forward, silent as a predator. Clark held his breath, not out of fear, but respect for the personal space the Dark Knight was invading.
“Caring doesn’t stop a bullet,” Batman growled, his breath forming a small ghost in the cold air. “And I don’t ‘care.’ I act. Your presence is a variable I can’t control. A distraction”
Before Clark could respond, the shadow vanished. He didn’t leap, didn’t glide. He simply ceased to be there.
Clark stood alone in the street. He exhaled softly. He hadn’t gotten much information, but he had the first thread of a dialogue. And in Batman’s warning-laden silence, that almost felt like a victory—no one had ever approached him like that.
Or so Clark would think if this had been the first time they interacted. It wasn’t.
He had run into Batman once months ago. After hearing cries for help, he used his super-speed to reach the neighboring city and save whoever was in danger—as Superman, of course—but the vigilante of that city was already there.
“What are you doing here?” was the first thing Batman ever said to him. Not a greeting, not a friendly question; the tone dripped with threat.
Of course Clark had heard about Batman from Metropolis. He rarely appeared in the press; he seemed too antisocial, and the little that existed about him were low-quality recordings and third-party testimonies.
No one knew anything about him. Just a man—or so they assumed; many believed he wasn’t even human, like an urban legend—who dressed like a bat, acted at night, and delivered justice with his own hands.
“Hi, I just… came to help. Someone seemed to be in danger, I just heard and—”
“No,” the bat interrupted. “You didn’t need to. This city isn’t yours. I protect it and I don’t need help.” His tone was threatening as he slowly approached. “Especially from someone who thinks he’s something like a god.
That took Superman off guard. He knew the other man was cold, but he didn’t expect something so direct.
“Listen, I… I just want to help…”
Batman looked at him as if the word “help” was a personal insult. The dim alleyway light barely illuminated half his face, tracing the harsh line of his jaw, his furrowed brow, and the absolute lack of patience.
In that half-light, Clark saw what Gotham whispered but never confirmed: the permanent tension in his shoulders, the measured breathing of someone ready to attack at any second, the rigid posture of a man who trusted no one. His eyes, hidden beneath the cowl, analyzed him like a dangerous equation, a potential risk, an intruder he couldn’t afford to tolerate.
Batman didn’t raise his voice… but the way he leaned forward slightly, the shadow his figure cast over the damp walls, and the mix of exhaustion and resolve in his expression made it clear Clark wasn’t facing a simple vigilante.
He was facing someone who had been fighting alone for far too long. Someone who definitely wasn’t going to let him in.
“I don’t need it,” he stated.
Superman opened his mouth to respond, but Batman lifted a hand, stopping him effortlessly—as if that alone was enough to silence a supposed god
“This city has rules,” he continued, voice low and sharp. “My rules. And you don’t know them. You don’t know who operates here or how. You don’t know who you endanger by intervening without understanding the terrain.”
He stepped closer, invading Superman’s space without a hint of fear, as if the fact Clark could break his spine with a finger were completely irrelevant.
“You’re not welcome,” he said slowly, so there wouldn’t be a shadow of doubt.
Superman pressed his lips together, uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being treated that way. To being seen as a problem.
“I only came because—”
“Because you heard a scream,” Batman interrupted again, as if he already knew the entire script. “I know. But here, you’re not a hero. Here you’re just an intruder. If you truly want to ‘help,’ then stay out"
The words hit harder than Superman expected. For a moment, even he fell silent.
Batman stepped back, turning toward the darkness of the alley he had come from.
“Last warning, Superman,” he said without looking back. “Do not interfere. Not in my city.”
And without waiting for a reply, he vanished into the shadows as if he had never been there.
Superman stayed still, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t name. Rejection, maybe. Distrust. Or simply… Batman being Batman.
He hadn’t set foot in Gotham since… until now.
His boss, Perry, had sent him to cover an event and, while at it, take the chance to investigate the city and gather extra material. “If you manage to get information on their vigilante, or even better, an exclusive with him… you’ll be rewarded. Handsomely,” Perry had said, clearly hinting at Batman.
Clark thought that was impossible. Impossible as Superman—considering Batman had made it clear he didn’t want to see him—and even more impossible as Clark Kent. How could a simple Metropolis reporter get an exclusive with one of the most feared and secretive vigilantes on the planet, when not even Gotham’s own citizens could? What chances did he have against a figure many considered a myth more than a man?
So when he arrived in Gotham that morning, he checked into the hotel and spent the day finishing a pending article, procrastinating the inevitable assignment Perry had given him. Only when night fell did he finally leave.
A normal reporter would’ve gone to sleep, safe—probably—in the hotel bed, resting for the next day’s charity gala hosted by some of the wealthiest men in the area.
But Clark was not a normal reporter.
He knew nothing would happen to him; that was one of the perks of being nearly invincible. Obviously, he didn’t intend to take advantage of that. He couldn’t reveal who he was or act like nothing could hurt him. So he grabbed his bag, filled only with worthless things—nothing he’d regret losing—and walked through the streets, searching for information, observing, listening, trying to understand the rhythm and darkness of the city.
And well… everything happened.
Clark considered himself a good actor. Apparently, even Batman believed his fear, which was ironic. After all, Clark had already seen—and heard clearly thanks to his super-hearing—both the criminals and Batman following him long before he was cornered.
Of course, he hadn’t been afraid of the muggers; he could have taken them down effortlessly. What truly unnerved him… was him. Batman. And for practical purposes, that was what mattered to maintain his façade of a defenseless civilian.
He still didn’t know if he would include that encounter in the possible article about Gotham. On one hand, it added tension, drama, and a real experience. But on the other… Clark felt a knot in his stomach just imagining it.
The idea that the Dark Knight—who months ago had ordered him to stay away from his city—might discover that Superman had returned disguised as a civilian, walking his streets, exposing the little information he had managed to gather…
He preferred not to think about the odds. Nor about Batman’s reaction if he found out.
When Clark arrived at his hotel, he locked the door and let out a long, restrained sigh, as if his body only now allowed itself to relax. He carefully put away his belongings, checking that the blow he’d faked against the wall hadn’t damaged anything. Then he set the bag on a chair and ran a hand through his hair, mentally reviewing everything: the mugging scene, Batman’s harshness, the batarang slicing past him by mere centimeters, and his own trembling act.
Finally, he decided to turn off the lights. Tomorrow would be just as intense.
He lay down on the bed, sinking into the hotel sheets, trying to soothe the mix of tension and anticipation buzzing in his chest. He closed his eyes.
The next day, he had a pre-gala interview.
With none other than Bruce Wayne.
A completely different challenge.
And perhaps equally dangerous...at least for his professional life.