Chapter Text
Bruce doesn’t often leave Gotham. There’s not many places in this world that scream thunder every night the way that Bruce feels in his bones, so why would he ever leave?
It’s months after the flood. Gotham is trying her best to recover, but there’s nothing criminals love more than a city shrouded in despair and hopelessness.
Paranoia is even worse now– when people stop looking towards the future, they start looking towards the shadows. Where the thieves hide with their jewels clutched close to their chest, knife in hand and ready to strike. There's a revival stirring where Bruce can't quite see yet, despite his best efforts.
Bruce is trying as he can, both as the Bat and Bruce Wayne. He’s lending out his resources everywhere he can think of, reaching out a hand to every drenched, terrified child. It feels as if his world is ending around him, with the downpour leaking past his eyelids and his heart beating a rhythm that rattles and echoes through Gotham’s remaining buildings like a chant, pounding against his eardrums.
Across the river, Metropolis is thriving. As much as a city can after a dimensional rip right through the middle, of course, but Metropolis isn’t anything if it isn’t perfect. It’s had its whirlwind of headlines, with every word Bruce reads sending another wave of too-complicated emotions straight through him.
And right of the center of it all, is Superman. Superman.
The beacon of hope that stunned the world three years ago, blazing through the sky like a god, touching on the ground like a human. He walks as if he touches the Earth because of its importance to him, like flying doesn’t cross his mind when he could be making contact with the whole world beneath him. It makes Bruce nauseous to think about.
He’s bright, and charismatic, and shines like the sun manifests right through him, and he’s the complete opposite of Bruce. While the Bat lingers in the night, waiting for someone to dare their way into a jewelry store they shouldn’t be near, lurking behind closed doors to listen in on the city-wide crime schemes that threaten the lives of the people of Gotham, Superman rises with the sun to protect his city from otherworldly threats, tech geniuses, supervillains, and he stills finds the time to save some kittens from trees.
He’s everything Bruce isn’t, and it shouldn’t rattle him so much, to be so different from a man he wouldn’t want to be similar to anyway, but it does– it does. When the sun rarely shines through his haphazardly closed curtains, he jolts awake thinking about the beam of Superman’s smile as he turns away from a camera to high-five a small child. For reasons he can’t rationalize, the very thought of Superman eats him up, claws at his psyche until he feels like he needs to scream to keep the feeling from taking up the space in his lungs.
And Bruce just knows he already hates him. He knows he already hates the endless optimism and radiating hope that follows Superman everywhere he goes, he knows he hates that smile that was meant for soothing seemingly inconsolable children. He hates it all, everything that makes Superman who he is, because there is too much darkness in the world for Superman to be so full of happiness. It isn’t fair.
Despite them both simply trying to do what’s good for their cities, hell, Superman doing what’s good for the world, Bruce hopes he never has to interact with Superman. He imagines how a conversation would go, how long it would take for him to chastise for the naivete that Superman omits.
Bruce doesn’t save people for fame. He doesn’t think anyone should do it for fame. He doesn’t know if Superman does it for fame, but he’ll find out.
From across the river, in between his turns of picking up the broken pieces of his city, he will learn exactly who Superman is, and he will do it from as far away as he possibly can. Bruce won’t touch him, but he’ll tear him open, and he’ll see exactly what’s inside. It would be worth burning his fingers on that sun-scorched skin.
—
Clark has been very occupied with Metropolis as of late, but when he can, he takes a look at everything else that’s happening around him. He isn’t just the Superman of Metropolis– he’ll help any place that needs help.
This naturally draws him to Gotham. The massive flood from months prior as a result of one of the villains of the already ravaged place had wrecked the whole city, claiming hundreds of lives and thousands of casualties. Seeing the footage on the news made him sick to his stomach, but there are certain… unavoidable things about Gotham.
Batman. The Bat. The Dark Knight. Whatever Gotham calls him, he lives up to the name; a roaming vigilante. As a fairly indestructible being, not a lot makes Clark feel threatened, but something about the Bat makes him feel a shiver of panic– who is this man? Is he even human? The questions never seem to end, no answers in sight.
Clark doesn’t know anything about this man. He doesn’t know if he uses magic, or if he has powers, or anything else that could help Clark figure out what kind of vigilante he’s dealing with. He believes that Batman is doing good work, with the people he saves and the relief he’s done for Gotham after the flood, but the unknown is… scary. Always has been, always will be.
As much as Clark wants to help in Gotham, Batman seems like the territorial type, and he just doesn’t know what kind of threat Batman could be.
However, Clark is convincing himself of one thing– if Batman was going to hurt him, he would’ve done it already. Even if he is capable of hurting Clark, which would certainly be interesting, Clark doesn’t think he will. It may be a risk to reach out, help Gotham, but Superman could truly assist, and that may mean facing the unknown. Clark, though, prides himself on being brave.