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Chapter Text

The city glittered at night and Superman stared down at it, listening. 

With the speed of a bullet, he shot down, put out a fire, lifted a car out of the way of a ten-car pileup, and patted some crying kids on the back before he sped away to the next disaster. 

He bent a gunman’s arm past its limits, throwing the guy to cops who were relieved they didn’t get to test out their vests. 

Clark hovered over the tallest building Metropolis had and listened again, disdainfully. 

There was the screeching of wheels as cars raced through traffic, the sounds of more gunshots ringing out, and someone’s screams and Clark wondered if he had to save them. 

Do it again and again just to catch petty crooks and weaklings that relished their fleeting moments of power. Just to stop a candle from being extinguished when they all knew what was coming. What was the point? 

Sighing, Clark drifted toward the nearest catastrophe when his ears caught the shrill beeping of a beacon and spared him tonight. 

Clark flew to Metropolis City Hall, smiling and moving past crowds of delighted people as he made his way to the Mayor’s Office.

“Mr.Mayor, is everything alright?” Clark asked, striding through the polished doors leading into the man’s office. The man was exceptionally despicable and Clark was pleased to see the mayor struggling to hide his annoyance.

The cause of the annoyance was a familiar-looking, sharply dressed woman seated behind the mayor’s desk, but the mayor spoke first.  

“Superman, excellent. I’d like to start by apologizing for the lack of progress in capturing Lex Luthor. We’ve got our best people on it, but you know…” The mayor waved a hand. "The man was a conniving snake, of course, he found a way to disappear off the face of the earth." 

Clark pretended to look frustrated because he knew they would never find Luthor. He had made sure of that. “No sign of him? Or the kryptonite he could be making weapons out of right now to hurt my cousin and me?" 

The vulnerability was what really sold it. These people were frantic to protect him, to pay him back even a little favour in order to keep him on their side. 

The mayor looked genuinely apologetic. "We're using the tech we catch terrorists with, but I wanted you to hear it from me." The mayor smiled tightly as he turned to the higher-ranking person in the room. “I’d also like you to meet Governor Mills.”

“Governor Mills,” Superman frowned a little as he clasped her hand, his nose getting stung by the chemicals these people bathed themselves in. “You’re not the Governor of-”

“Not of your state, no, Superman. I’ve come on behalf of Gotham city to make a personal plea.” Governor Mills said and Clark caught the irritated look on the mayor’s face. 

Humans played their games, and Clark usually found it cute, like watching rats navigate a maze. He had so much power over them, but he knew nothing appealed to humans more than the idea of control. Specifically control of something much more powerful. Like a gun, a missile. And he was the most dangerous weapon on Earth. 

So these mildly improved apes enjoyed summoning him, each one grasping to their ability to control him. Even the Governor’s request for help wasn’t begging; her tone made it clear she felt entitled to Superman’s help. 

Clark dreamt of the day he could cast aside this persona and tear their notions of power to pieces. But for now, he had nothing better to do. 

“Of course, Governor, how may I help?” Superman asked, Midwestern polite as he’d been raised.  

“Gotham city has yet another problem,” The Governor sighed, sitting back down behind the mayor's desk. “A vigilante, going by the name, Batman. We tried leaving it up to the GCPD, but he's clever and continuously gets away from them." 

Clark waited. Gotham may as well be a synonym for the word problem, and unless a burning bush had suddenly commanded it, none of these high-ranking people had any interest in fixing it. So there must be something else hurting their business interests in Gotham. 

Could one human vigilante really pose that much of a threat? 

“It started with him beating up petty street criminals, mobsters, that sort of thing. But now,” A muscle twitched in the Governor’s well-coached jaw. “He’s going after politicians.” She placed a few photos on the table. 

The vigilante sounded like Superman, just not strong enough to force these people to accept him. Clark leaned over to stare at them, trying to keep boredom out of his face. 

“I read the papers,” Clark said, staring at the blurry shot of a masked man. “Wasn’t the councilman corrupt?” 

“That’s not the point.” The mayor cut in, clearly itching to get a word in. 

Clark raised his eyebrows and the Governor raised a hand. 

“Superman, we understand what you stand for,” Words, gently said, as though to a naive child. “But elected officials are at the heart of our democracy, and no vigilante should have a greater say than our laws and voters.” 

To translate that, they let Superman fiddle around with street-level crooks and black and white problems. As long as he stayed out of the pockets of the one percent and politics, they couldn’t care less what he did. 

Clark wondered if they’d cover it up, or celebrate him if he fired lasers through the Governor’s head. How far would these hypocrites go to continue this little game? 

“They want him arrested, but he’s not your problem, Superman.” In honesty, it was the mayor’s rabid eagerness to keep him in his city, that convinced Clark to go. 

“For the people of Gotham, I would be honoured to help.” Clark figured it would be a one-night mission, before he picked up the guy and tossed him into a cell. 

There was a look on the Governor’s face, just for a second, like she was seeing through the thick act he was putting on. Clark wanted her, dared her to call him out on it, but the look vanished. 

“Thank you very much, Superman. If there ever comes a time you need anything, please do not be afraid to ask.” She held out a hand again, but Clark heard her pulse shoot up as he approached. 

She’d seen that blood mingling with his red cape and Clark followed her eyes to it. 

“Did you get hurt?” She asked and Clark smiled. They'd like that, wouldn't they? 

“I don’t bleed, ma’am. It might be from a drug dealer.” Or the dirty cop he’d thrown off the precinct, or maybe the gunman whose car he’d lasered in half. 

“I’ll fly to Gotham tonight.” Clark promised, letting go of her hand with a kind smile. “My apologies, Mr.Mayor, I’ll have to miss your anniversary party. Unless there was something else?" 

The mayor waved a hand. "Go be a hero, Superman." Even these people needed to believe in something. And Clark took great pains to be something even the greatest cynics couldn't say a word against. 

After smiling a bit more, and fulfilling social niceties, Clark left. He kept flying until he reached the upper edges of the thermosphere, just feeling the first tinges of the miserable cold of space. 

When he was thirteen, he’d gotten pretty far before he realized that without the yellow sun, he wouldn’t have the powers needed to keep going. He'd somehow managed to turn around, and realized he wasn't going to escape until someone helped him leave. 

But it wasn't always bad. 

Superman smiled slightly as he remembered how much Lex Luthor’s reputation was ruined. How he, an alien, had become one of the most famous US citizens. The irony made him laugh sometimes. He was Time Magazine’s Man of the Year, and a role model for billions. 

A red-blooded all-American nuclear weapon with a charming personality. Clark let himself fantasize about the cold and quiet of space for a bit longer before he set course for the filth of Gotham city.

He hoped for Batman’s sake, that the man was interesting enough for Clark to consider capturing alive. 

Chapter Text

Martha and Jonathan Kent were not normal people. And if their child had been normal, it likely wouldn’t have survived in their twisted house. But by some wicked coincidence, the spaceship that crashed onto their farm carried a child just as monstrous as them. 

Learning to hide was one of the first things Kal's parents had taught him. It was a necessity since they were trapped in a small town that barely managed to hide the Kent family's proclivities. 

People often asked about the collection of weapons and the shed out back, to which Martha sweetly replied, "Boys will be boys. Jonathan loves to hunt all kinds of things. Fish, deer..."

People. 

Clark had once padded out of bed, to see his dad struggling with moving a body. The scraped trail of blood started staining the bottoms of Clark's Star Wars patterned pyjamas. "You want some help, dad?" He asked sleepily and Jonathan smiled, letting the boy easily move the body into the shed. 

But nobody ever truly suspected any of the Kents of anything. Especially not Clark, who excelled at being charming. It cost nothing, and it was so much easier than being openly dangerous.

Aside from that, his parents also taught Clark how to hunt, and were delighted to find that he was a natural. Extra senses aside, Clark had a killer instinct and loved everything about it. 

Technically, he’d only ever gone properly hunting once. The soft, stupid look in the deer’s eye as it nuzzled his hand made him lose interest in killing it. It just wasn’t sporting to be that much of an apex predator. Humans, when Kal was truly allowed to hunt, made for much more exciting prey. But just as Jonathan and Martha Kent had patterns, Clark too, had a favourite type of target. 

Not low-IQ psychopaths that relied on brute strength, Clark would always win that competition. He preferred the intelligent variety, the ones that tried to outthink him, and set a proper challenge. 

Aside from a few memorable exceptions, like Lex, Clark hardly ever got to freely hunt. And watching Batman whaling down on a man that had attacked a woman for her purse, Clark was disappointed. 

Brute force and the eloquence of knuckles crashing past bone? Not quite the brilliance he was led to believe. Clark decided to wait anyways, slightly intrigued. Why be a hero in a world with Superman? 

And a quick scan revealed that it was hard work. There was a healed break in Batman's right leg, three healing broken ribs, and a fracture in his left forearm. Good teeth, so probably someone richer than the people living in the slums around them. 

It made no sense, and Clark planned on getting an explanation while getting Batman to the cops. 

After the man’s face had become featureless, Batman straightened and Clark smirked. It appeared that he’d been noticed. Finally. 

Batman turned slowly, the controlled turn of an invincible monster. Terrifying, if Clark couldn’t hear the faster heartbeat behind that armour. 

Clark wondered what he would do. There was no reason for anyone to be afraid of Superman. 

“Hello.” Clark waved, hovering in the polluted air. Batman stared at him, and in a second, Clark was shielding his eyes, disoriented by a blinding flash. 

Clark lunged for him blindly, blinking furiously to try and get rid of the after-effects on his vision. 

Batman had vanished into the darkness, and Clark knelt when he heard a crunch, picking up a fragment of the explosive he'd set off.

A cheap trick to overwhelm Clark’s senses, but it had bought enough time for Batman to disappear into the heavily populated Narrows. 

Clark tried for a moment to pick out his heartbeat-

"Please." The man Batman had beat up reached for him weakly, talking around the blood. 

"Quiet, I'm trying to focus." Clark closed his eyes, but it was impossible to hear anything in all that noise. Shouting, televisions crackling, at least a hundred other heartbeats all mingling and thudding together. 

"Superman... please help me."

Clark breathed out evenly and pressed on the guy's neck, not letting up until the choking had stopped. "Do you still need help?" 

Silence, at last. Clark got up, slightly impressed no matter how crude the escape had been. People rarely got away from him. 

It was tempting to look anyways, but he had no idea what Batman looked like under the cowl. Just that he was tall, well-built, and dressed in military-grade equipment. Scanning Gotham for that and the x-ray information he had would get him nowhere. 

Perhaps this trip wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Clark asked Lois and he heard her breath twist angrily but she spoke calmly. 

"No. How’s it going?” Lois asked flatly, knowing better than to say anything else. Her tone irritated him, but Clark was eager to talk to someone that understood him. 

Even if she was cold and distant now. "More interesting than I anticipated." 

“You’re going to be gone a while?” Lois’s lightened slightly at that and Clark let it slide. This time. 

“Don’t worry, probably just a few days longer.” Clark sighed. “I need to get inside his head. I’ll have to call you back. Love you. Lois?” 

“Love you too,” Lois responded tightly before hanging up and it made Superman smile as he entered GCPD headquarters. Most of the cops were happy to see him, half eager to get some of their impossible burden relieved and the others awed. 

“Hello,” Clark smiled at the desk clerk. “Would it be possible to get access to the evidence on Batman?” Clark high-fived four officers and wondered how stupid Batman was. Being a superhero was so much easier when the cops were on your side. 

"Let me take you to our evidence room." 

The file the police had was slim and inadequate. Clark flipped through it in two minutes. “And there’s nothing else?”  There were case reports and listed bits of armour and evidence that should have gotten logged but were all missing. 

Amy consulted the logbook, sounding apologetic. “No, sir, that’s all the material on Batman.” 

“Thank you.” Clark smiled, dismissing her, and realizing that one of two things was happening here. Either the police were so incompetent due to bribery and general uselessness that they had actually managed to gather nothing on Batman in over a year, or someone here at the GCPD was covering for Batman. 

Could it be that Batman was actually a cop? Clark doubted anyone that well-trained and wealthy would be eating doughnuts in a precinct. Clark logged his bomb fragment as evidence and added it to the box, but put a small tracker on the evidence to see who’d get rid of it.

He might still be able to find one of Batman's friends. 

Chapter Text

Superman hated Gotham’s unrelenting, miserable rain. It was yet another nail in the coffin for this cesspool of a city. 

“All the time, Lois. It’s dark and depressing.” Clark wiped the drops off his eyes, disgusted by the chemical tang to them. “Lois, are you listening?” He was starting to get tired of how rude she was. No input into their relationship at all. 

“I’m just wondering.” She said, voice toneless. “Why you’re still there? You said Batman was…boring.” She must be jealous, but it was a relief to hear the old curiosity in her voice again. 

“I’m letting him have a second chance.” Clark grinned as the Bat-signal lit up the dark sky. “Now shut up for a second, I need to listen.” 

He searched for the sound of those heavy boots. The sounds of-

There was a sharp snick and scratch of metal. The grapple gun. 

“I’ll have to call you back, Lois. I love you.” Clark took to the air. “Say it back.” 

“Love you too.”

The thugs, already bruised and crumpled around Batman, fled the second they saw Superman. The Man of Steel smiled as he stared at the suit. He’d lined the suit with lead. Clever. 

“The way you left the other night was pretty rude,” Clark said, slowly striding closer to him, trying to listen to the sound of Batman’s heartbeat over the thunder. 

“It’s rude to come to someone else’s city uninvited.” Batman rasped and Clark tilted his head. His city? As far as Clark was concerned, the Earth belonged to him. 

Clark tossed the warrant for Batman’s arrest between them. “I think you’re getting evicted.” It got soaked within a moment. 

Batman’s lips pressed into a thin line and Clark smiled wider. Those were not deer’s eyes. 

Clark surged forward, meaning to grab Batman’s head and slam it against the wall behind them. Batman blocked his hand and landed a punch that would have shattered human ribs. 

Clark swung again and Batman pushed him back with a kick. The vigilante looked unafraid, and his heartbeat was more level than ever as they fought. 

One solid hit from Superman would have ended this little game, but Clark was far too amused to permanently damage him. Yet. 

Instead he broke Batman's ribs again, and left glancing blows on his face and stomach. 

Ma often chided him for playing with his food, but that’s not what this was. Clark didn’t have to really hold back, since every move he made was predicted and countered easily. Batman was used to being a hunter himself, a thought which delighted Clark. 

This was so much more fun than fighting Lex Luthor, because there were truly no limits. Killing Lex had to be secret and controlled, but a rogue vigilante? 

And he liked watching Batman move. How much effort did it take to become this? How easily could Clark strangle him while all those muscles valiantly tried and failed to keep him alive? 

Batman showed no signs of slowing, winding up for another brutal hook. 

Clark caught it with one hand and Batman’s bones squeezed in his fist. 

Suddenly, Clark felt a searing pain across his abdomen and staggered back. 

A knife of kryptonite glowed green in Batman’s hand. Clever and resourceful. Clark wondered why he hadn’t used it from the start, but the kryptonite started evening the odds. 

Clark realized Batman was the truest thing he had to an equal, if only he had a fraction of Clark’s abilities. Clark believed in letting creatures rise to the occasion. To evolve. 

Clark backed off for a second as the shards pieced his suit and his veins started greening. The pain was not nothing and Batman was coming close to overpowering him. 

Whoever this guy really was, he was extremely well-trained, intelligent, and could read him almost as well as Clark read him. 

Delightful. Clark tilted his head, listening to the frantic hammering of Batman’s heart. 

“Oh no, don’t let this game end.” Clark pouted and Batman snarled, stabbing himself with a syringe.

Clark laughed incredulously. Yes, continue rising to the occasion. 

The screech of metal colliding against metal distracted Batman and Clark grabbed his arm. Batman's eyes snapped to him, furious and gorgeous. 

“You should never turn your back on me,” Clark warned, the gauntlet splintering under his fingers. He hissed as the kryptonite knife slashed across his cheek and Batman shot off the grapple gun, heading for the accident. 

Clark sighed, following him to the site of the accident. He had to play the part, and despite the city’s hatred for him, heroics seemed to come naturally to Batman. 

He used his grapple gun to tear off a car door, and Clark twisted the metal open on the other car, flying a half-crushed human to the hospital. 

Clark just barely caught the way Batman’s heart lurched in terror, and Clark cast him a final smile as he took off. Was Batman scared for them? 

Proving Clark right yet again. That he was an equal, someone who understood him, and could best him. Clark got the humans to the hospital and called Lois. 

She could be really annoying, but she was-

“What do you want?” She snapped when she picked up his fourth call. 

“Want to try that again?” Clark asked calmly, taking a picture with a smiling family. 

“I’m in the middle of-”

“I don’t care, Lois,” Clark growled the second he was away from people. 

“I’m sorry.” She ground out at last. “What’s happened?” 

“He’s exactly what I’d hoped for.” 

“How sweet.” Lois sneered. “I’m sure you two will be very unhappy together.” 

“Watch your mouth. What’s wrong with you?” Clark snapped, a metal railing twisting under his hand. “Don’t we have everything? Why do you have to- Lois, stop crying. Lois stop.” He hung up on her, irritated. 

Clark scoured the city for him, but aside from a few near misses, he wasn’t able to find Batman for a few nights. 

Just petty crooks and a few clever decoys Batman had planted to trick his senses. 

Clark tried listening again, for the heartbeat that grew calmer on battlefields instead of panicked. His phone beeped and Clark looked at it. His trap had paid off. 

Superman sped to the precinct and watched from the window of the evidence room as a dark-skinned cop started removing evidence from Batman’s file. 

The man turned the fragment over, slightly frowning, and noticed the small, tracker. Alarmed, the cop looked up, and Superman let his eyes glow red. Got you.

Chapter Text

The whole planet ran on evolutionary base drives, but Clark always found it funny how much of it got twisted with guilt and shame and needless complexity. How easily these brains got wisted and ravaged by mental illness. 

“This is who you really are.” Clark pointed at the squabbling women on screen, shaking his head as he ate more popcorn. That was why he liked reality TV, liked the honesty of it anyways. 

“A real housewife from Metropolis?” Gordon gasped, breath wet and ragged and Clark turned, grinning at him. 

The lieutenant was slumped into the chair he was tied to. Blood dripped thickly onto the floor and Clark knew he’d have to clean it again before long. 

Nothing turned his stomach as much as old blood. Even if he felt strong enough for snarky comments, Gordon still winced as Clark approached. 

The lieutenant tensed as Clark took the glasses off his face, and wiped the blood off them. “Oh Jim, this can all stop if you tell me who he is.” He placed the glasses back on the detective’s bruised face. 

“Like I’ve been saying for the last two days-”

“Three.” Clark corrected and Jim Gordon swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“You’re a detective,” Clark reminded him, raising the volume on the television as Gordon groaned with pain. “You must have some idea who you’re working with.” 

But he knew the man knew nothing. He’d been torturing the Lieutenant for days, and it just impressed him more that Batman was so paranoid he never told Gordon his true identity. 

Clark watched Gordon shake with pain, similarly happy with his choice of partners. Gordon’s eyes were practically swollen shut and broken fingers uselessly twitching on the armrest. Maybe Gordon did have some idea, but if he hadn’t cracked yet, he wasn’t going to. 

That was how passionately Gordon believed in Batman. Another similarity between them was how much people believed in their causes. 

All Clark wanted was to know him more, but Batman was playing hard to get. 

Clark smiled, kneeling next to Gordon, hearing the man’s tired pulse kick into overdrive. “Why are you protecting him? Why would he even need you?” 

Lieutenant James Gordon, a distinguished member of the police force, should have crumbled in hour one of his interrogation. Half the bones in his body were broken, and there was other damage that only a team of surgeons would have any hope of fixing. 

“You think he’s looking for you?” Clark taunted when Gordon stayed quiet. "How much do you think you're worth to him?"

In fact, Batman was searching frantically, turning Gotham upside down searching for his friend. Battered gang members were clogging hospitals, and cops were having a hard time processing people given how fast they were surrendering. 

Even though Gordon didn’t know that the cop stayed obstinately silent and Clark turned as he got up, slamming his fist into the wall with annoyance. 

“Lieutenant James Gordon, divorced, but you’ve got a little girl that lives upstate. Barbara junior.” Clark held up the personnel file he’d charmed Amy to get. “You think I won’t go after her?” Hopefully, Gordon cared more about his daughter than Batman, who was at best a coworker of some sort. 

Gordon swallowed, his breaths speeding up. 

“Oh I won’t kill her, but kids, they don’t recover from that you know? Something about their brains.” Clark smiled as Gordon shook his head. “Her whole life, if she doesn’t kill herself, she’ll be terrified.” Clark rested his hands on the armrest, letting his eyes glow red. “And nobody will ever believe her.” 

Gordon’s less swollen eye painfully widened, the white of it red. “Please.” He managed to get out, voice pained. “She doesn’t- they don’t know anything. I don’t know him!” Gordon shouted, struggling against the ties. Blood trickled out of his cut lip. “I swear, I swear I don’t know who he is! Just that he’s rich and strong and someone trains him, please!” 

Clark punched him across the jaw, irritated at having wasted so much time on this man. Gordon was unconscious, barely breathing past his dislocated jaw. 

What to do now? Clark rinsed the blood off his sleeves. He should probably go back to the station, and pretend to check up on Gordon’s disappearance. 

“What’s going on?” Clark asked, stopping a cop by the arm. 

“Superman, hi, uh, Batman broke into our evidence room, the Commissioner is furious.” The rookie straightened his uniform. 

Clark released him, smiling slowly. That explained why the assaults on gang members had stopped. Batman now knew he was responsible. There had to be clues or something that the idiots in this station hadn’t managed to track down. 

Clark headed for the Bat Signal and turned it on. A message of his own, to remind Batman that whatever unfathomable reason he kept Gordon around, it was unnecessary. 

Superman also gave a statement on national TV saying he was joining the effort to find Gordon.  “He’s a friend to a lot of important people in Gotham. He means a lot, and I want to make a promise to Ms. Barbara Kean, that I will find her husband.” Superman held the woman’s arm soothingly, and she nodded, eyes heavy with tears. 

The kid was cute too, and clearly loved her father. Clark loved kids and knelt down in front of her. 

“I promise I will do my very best to find him, sweetheart,” Clark promised, stroking her hair and the little girl nodded, her nose a perfect copy of Gordon’s before Clark had broken it. 

Batman was scouring the city, undoubtedly, but no matter how great a detective he was. It was tricky catching someone who didn’t have to get spotted by traffic cameras, or need a van to sneak someone to an abandoned cabin in the woods just outside Gotham. 

“Wake up.” 

Gordon spluttered, coughing as he shook from the cold water. 

“Your wife and daughter are quite worried about you.” Clark smiled and Gordon’s heartbeat went up again. “Oh, no, I haven’t done anything to them, no, you might be useless, but you can still take a message can’t you?” 

Gordon frowned. 

“To your friend, Vengeance.” Clark grinned. “Will you do that for me? Take a message?” 

Slowly, Gordon nodded. 

“Excellent.” Clark grinned. “First, we need to return to the city. Are you hungry?” 

Gordon was stiff and pained and obnoxious to move. And Clark let him crumple to the floor when they landed in an abandoned part of the Narrows. 

The young man Clark had paid to get here was standing there, staring blankly at the bleeding man at Superman’s feet. 

“This is Paulo,” Superman told Gordon, gesturing lazily at the curly-haired boy. “He’s a junior member of the Maroni crime family. Paulo, this is Lieutenant James Gordon.” 

“Hi,” Paulo said and Gordon stared at him. 

"You should get out of here, kid." Gordon wheezed weakly and Paulo blinked at him when Clark laughed. 

A heartwarming attempt. 

“Well, best not to waste any more time.” Clark rubbed his hands together and snapped Gordon’s leg. 

The man screamed, falling into the filthy rainwater and Paulo blanched, jumping back. 

“Shoot him,” Clark instructed, and Paulo did a shaky double take. 

“What?” Paulo asked, his accent wrinkling with confusion and Clark sighed, remembering to be kinder. 

“I’m a cop!” Gordon groaned, holding his hand up. “Do not do this, you aren’t guilty of anything yet!”

Clark rolled his eyes, pressing on the protruding bone until Gordon screamed and shut up. 

“Shoot him.” Clark enunciated slowly. “You won’t be in trouble, I promise. Shoot the nice detective. Shoot him or I kill you.” 

Paulo shook, chewing on his lip as he raised the gun. 

Gordon closed his eyes. 

There was a loud sound and Clark froze with disgust as blood spattered his suit. Gordon’s body listed to the side and fell, blood pooling into the puddles. 

“You idiot.” Clark wiped it off with rainwater, shaking his hands to lose the red drops. 

“Oh what the fuck, what the fuck! I just shot a cop. Please, Superman you gotta- you gotta let me go.” 

“Okay.” Clark smiled and Paulo turned and sprinted. 

Clark shot him with his heat vision and the boy’s head exploded. 

“Oh dear, looks like I was too late to save the brave Lieutenant.” Clark sighed. “Somebody better call the police.” 

Chapter Text

The murdered lieutenant made the headline of every paper in Gotham city. There was a huge public outcry and the mayor, Don Mitchell Jr., promised in a furious speech that the Maroni family would pay a heavy price for the crime. 

Superman was a sombre fixture at the Mayor’s side as the cameras went off, and Clark stared into them, hoping Batman got the message. 

And he did because for once, Vengeance found him. 

“I was wondering when you’d come.” Clark smiled, but Batman didn’t say a word. His eyes were so dark, and Clark tilted his head. “I didn’t think you cared about him very much. You let me play with him for three days.” 

Vengeance moved deathly fast, the kryptonite dagger slicing its way through Clark’s skin. Clark reeled with the pain, and laughed, flying at him. 

Their battle on the Gotham bridge would be one Clark would always remember. If he survived it.  

Batman didn’t hold back this time, each punch brutal as it slammed into Clark. Every time Clark tried to block or punch, he got cut with the kryptonite dagger. 

Vengeance grabbed Clark’s face and twisted it away when Clark shot out lasers. Clark’s uppercut slanted into Batman’s chest instead. 

It barely fazed Vengeance, and Clark heard something crack in Batman’s left arm when he blocked the next punch from Clark.

Batman snarled, sweeping his legs out from under him and following him down. He kept hitting Clark, striking and kicking until Clark collapsed fully under the attack, weakened miserably by the kryptonite he kept getting stabbed with. 

Batman plunged it into his stomach, ripping away Clark’s breath. 

Clark’s heart thudded wildly, vision growing bloodied by the repeated punches. His head jerked back under the onslaught, one after the other-

The metal was cold under him. He was going to die, truly, and it exhilarated him. 

And at the hand of an equal at last, dark and terrifying. 

He laughed, rain mingling with the blood in his mouth, the chemical distorting the taste. He was going to die, he’d heard it in the grieved anger in Batman’s breaths. 

Vengeance ripped the dagger out. And each hit and cut was a testament, a punishment carved into his skin, each one retribution for the suffering and Clark knew as his nose shattered. 

He knew Batman had read Gordon’s autopsy report. 

Clark gasped for air, staring up at the unbridled rage swinging at him. Beautiful, monstrous. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. 

But Batman stopped short of the final blow, the kryptonite dagger froze mid-stab, its point trembling. 

Clark frowned, mouth leaking blood. “What’s the matter? Are you scared of killing?" He breathed the words with malicious glee. 

Oh, Vengeance was just a human after all, because a candle’s life was a pitiful thing to care about. Clark was going to burn that out of him, make him deliciously bloodthirsty, and live up to that damn potential. 

Batman’s breathing was furious and ragged, hyperventilating almost, but the dagger didn’t come down again. His hands shook and Vengeance stood, getting off him. 

"Do it!" Clark snapped at him. "Why do you bother, otherwise?" Batman's breathing was speeding up and he was backing away, Clark's blood dripping off his gloves. 

Clark groaned past the pain, shouting after him. “Oh come on, Vengeance! That’s how little he meant to you?” it hurt to breathe, he was broken, injured on the edge of the cold metal bridge. 

“He didn’t break after three days!” Clark laughed, because, for a moment, Batman turned around, face contorted with rage. 

Superman waited, breathless, to see what he’d do. Would he get his hands bloody? 

There was a sharp snick as the grapple gun went off. 

“I guess I’ll have to find someone more important to you.” Clark closed his eyes, groaning past the agony. Something in his face was broken, and he bled from multiple cuts from that damned dagger. For a moment, he didn’t know if he’d survive anyway. 

Every moment he spent there, hidden in the darkness of this bridge in a storm, Clark wanted to beg for sunlight. The agony was unlike anything he’d ever felt, as his bones screamed as they knitted together, skin still stinging from the kryptonite. 

He spent every moment thinking of Batman instead. His almost perfect equal. Ruthless, relentless, and unstoppable. No pain, and no injury slowed him down.

 Clark remembered the way Vengeance knew him already. Knew the stances and punches he preferred. 

When his bleeding, shattered face had healed enough, the thought brought a smile to it. 

Once the feeling returned to his hand, Clark fumbled for his phone. 

“Lois?” Clark slurred into the phone, the thick blood getting rinsed off by the rain. 

“What did you do, Clark? I just heard that-”

“I want a divorce.” Clark grinned, spitting blood out of his mouth. He let his head hang back and hung up on her, aching as acidic drops of rain found their way to his cuts. 

And he closed his eyes as a single ray of sun reached out to him through the clouds. 

—----------------------

A day. It took a full day for Clark to heal enough on the surface. His phone was buzzing and Clark blinked it, noting that he’d received a summons to the Gotham City Town Hall. 

For one, horrible moment, Clark wondered if Vengeance had been arrested. He wouldn’t be for long, and Clark doubted Gotham’s incompetent police were up to it. 

No, Batman would one day be his own end, unless Clark had a say in it. 

The real news was much less interesting. Turned out that the Mayor had invited him to some gala. 

“It’s in honour of the late lieutenant, God keep his soul.” Mitchell looked up to the ceiling, pressing a kiss to his hand and raising it up.

Clark barely, barely managed to keep the disbelief off his face. Mitchell had busted open champagne in his office when “the sanctimonious bastard finally went missing”. He’d hated Gordon and his incorruptibility. 

“He was a good man.” Clark agreed, and Mitchell nodded gravely. 

“Mm." Mitchell put down the whiskey glass he was sipping from. "I’d like you to come as thanks for the work you’ve been doing in Gotham. Want one?" He offered and Clark shook his head. 

Knowing that the mayor was corrupt and probably wanted Gordon gone, Clark wondered for just a moment if he’d been caught. 

But the mayor was too smart, too corrupt to admit anything like that out loud. He patted Superman on the back, and while a lot had healed, Clark still had to bite back a shout of pain as white hot pain ran through him. 

“I’d be honoured, sir.” Clark breathed out slowly. Marks. He was almost giddy. Someone had almost killed him. 

“You going to wear that to the Gala, though?” The mayor asked, looking Clark's suit up and down while lighting a cigarette at the open window. “I’ve got some incredible Italian suits, a couple are blue even.” 

“That’s very generous.” Superman smiled, knowing he’d refuse. He was a soldier, a hero, not some puppet to be trotted out at parties for the Mayor’s advancement. “I doubt they’d fit.” 

Shrugging, Mayor Mitchell hummed in agreement, looking over Clark’s bulging muscles. "Let me at least get the dry cleaning bill. A week in our city and you look like you've been through the wars." 

Clark did smile at that, feeling the agony in his face as he did. 

Chapter Text

The second Clark entered the hall, he already regretted it. The room was thick was false mourning, people dressed in their best black outfits and trying their hardest to look sombre. The rich and powerful of Gotham had gathered to pay respects, but really to spitefully drink in Gordon’s name and wash their hands of him. 

Half the people in this room had wanted the lieutenant dead at one point. Over a third had set out hits, or planted evidence to destroy the man's life. It was disgusting watching them all pretend otherwise. 

Clark barely managed not to roll his eyes, as a group of corrupt cops mangled a toast to Gordon's memory. 

Eyes had turned to him when he'd finally shown up, and Clark worked overtime to school features into politeness and muted smiles as the whispers began. Mitchell eagerly stared at him, wanting everyone to know, or at least suspect that there was some kind of agreement between them. 

That kind of behaviour irritated Clark, who'd only really come to pay his respects to Batman's one ally in this city. So Clark took his time making his way over to Mitchell, shaking people's hands, and consoling people that didn't look that sad. 

The idle rich of Gotham tittered excitedly when they saw him, like mice crawling over a bomb, excited by the pretty lights. Clark stopped himself from crushing the hand of a man whose hand he was shaking. 

How could their money and arrogance stop him if he decided to end everyone in this room? Clark breathed deep, reminding himself of the lessons his father had drilled into his head. 

It was always easier to get people to do things if you made them your allies, but you'd always have to keep an eye on them while forcing your enemies to obey. 

The itch to obliterate the crowd settled into Clark's usual level, and Clark relaxed more as he waded through the crowd of mice. 

There was a silver lining, he didn’t have to pretend to be Clark Kent at this event. 

Clark Kent was about as human as Superman’s suit. Jonathan Kent, one of the most dangerous killers in the world, had helped Clark craft Clark Kent after he’d broken a kid’s nose at school. A child's temper tantrum, but Pa had recognized the stupidity and carelessness of it. 

As a human, Pa couldn't risk the attention some dangerous, out-of-control child would bring. And at the time, not knowing about kryptonite, he also couldn't kill his powerful alien child. 

So, while other dads taught kids how to build or climb, Jonathan Kent helped mold Clark Kent. Helped imbue Clark with human clumsiness instead of the preternatural grace a Kryptonian had, and helped Clark Kent’s smile soften and glow. But Clark Kent didn’t exist. 

The illusion of Clark Kent, of Perry White bossing him around, of being Jimmy Olsen's friend, it hung on by a feeble thread. Clark dreamt of the day he could impulsively snap it. 

Along with Perry White's neck. 

Because Clark Kent was a weak, innocent tool to get sympathy from swooning women and hone his skills. A way to find and hide evidence of some of Superman’s more…controversial tendencies. Who better to conceal Superman's crimes than the top investigative journalist investigating Superman? 

And no matter how useful Kent was, it was refreshing getting to be more true. A hunter dangerous men respected because they had to. 

“Mayor Mitchell.” Clark smiled, finally shaking the man’s hand. 

“Hell of a grip.” Mitchell declared, and the sycophants around him laughed. Then Mitchell frowned over his shoulder. “Holy mother of God, look what the cat dragged in.” 

Clark turned, narrowing his eyes as he watched a man in a dark suit enter the hall. 

“Bruce Wayne.” Mitchell downed his champagne glass. “Wayne!” 

Slowly, looking like there was nothing less he wanted to do, Bruce Wayne walked over. His eyes bored holes into Clark’s, taut with anger and grief. 

Hello Vengeance. 

Clark hungrily studied his face, almost architecturally beautiful in its gauntness, eyes tortured. Bruce Wayne came off more odd and alien-like than the actual alien in the room. 

“Superman, meet Bruce Wayne, heir to Wayne Enterprises.” Mitchell introduced them and Bruce Wayne’s face was icy. Clark resisted the urge to brush the hair of his eyes. 

“Mr.Wayne.” Clark smiled charmingly, noting the clenched fist, each knuckle bloody. 

Oh, how Bruce Wayne must be itching to draw out the kryptonite dagger he no doubt had stashed somewhere in his lead-lined suit. 

It was impressive the human was still standing after their week of fighting. Everything about him was impressive. 

Both of them glared irritatedly when Mayor Mitchell cleared his throat.

“My dear boy, how are you?” Mayor Mitchell’s words dripped with false concern and barely concealed eagerness. Clark could practically see the dollar signs Mitchell was calculating into his campaign fund. “Would you mind coming by my office later this week?” 

It disgusted Clark, and Bruce Wayne showed total disinterest, his pretty face tense and emotionless.  

“I came to pay my respects to Lieutenant Gordon.” Bruce Wayne rasped hoarsely and Clark stared at him. How could he not? 

Mitchell looked deeply annoyed, fingers tightening over his champagne flute. “Oh of course.” Mitchell sighed heavily. “Terrible, tragic. I wasn't aware you knew him-” He laid a hand on Bruce Wayne’s shoulder that got brushed off. 

“He was one of the best men I ever knew.” Bruce Wayne snapped, and his eyes locked on Clark and all Clark saw in them was hatred. 

Well, it wasn’t all Clark had seen. Because in Bruce Wayne’s eye glinted a small piece of machinery. Clark had last seen it in Batman’s eye, as the man punched him over and over. 

Clark tried scanning him again, and the lead-woven suit gave nothing and everything important away. Bruce Wayne stared back at him, unable to contain his contempt. 

His eyes lingered on the shadow of the healing cut on Clark’s face. A small smile tugged at the corner of Bruce Wayne's cut lip and Clark was amused. 

Bruce Wayne had not mastered the art of personality. Another thing Clark could help him build. 

Mayor Mitchell fumed like a grown up for a few more minutes. There was something deeper to Mitchell’s irritation, but Clark had no interest figuring it out right now. 

“Mr. Wayne,” Mitchell said quietly, leaning in. “You of all people know, how important it is to have allies in this city. Your father knew that fact very well, and look what happened to him.” 

Bruce stayed completely silent, a ruthless lack of self-preservation in his eyes. It unsettled Mitchell enough that the man backed off, but Clark could spot all the signs of vicious, revengeful anger in the man. 

"It's a bold move threatening someone in front of me." Superman broke the silence and Mitchell narrowed his eyes at him.

"Not at all, Superman. Just some friendly advice. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Wayne. Don’t hide again for too long. Excuse me.” Mitchell’s smile barely looked forced, and he calmly walked away. 

Clark realized he wanted Bruce Wayne on his side. A proper equal on this planet of sheep. It wouldn't be difficult to lure Bruce Wayne away, and nor would his absence or new ownership be particularly noticeable. The man never left his house, apparently. 

Bruce Wayne was studying him, hand close to his pocket. And Superman smirked as he tipped champagne down his throat, realizing that Bruce Wayne had come to protect these people from Clark. 

Superman leaned closer to him, "Remove the lens, now." He'd rather not threaten in public or on camera and held out his hand. 

Bruce Wayne looked utterly unafraid. It was a cute show of defiance, but he should be. He had made a massive miscalculation showing up here today and outing his identity. 

"Afraid they'll know what you are?" Bruce asked, and Clark smiled gently. 

“You should be more worried because I know what you are.” Clark watched those perplexing eyes narrow. “I do not share your weaknesses.” 

And Bruce Wayne followed Clark’s eyes as he glanced at the many, many people in the room pointedly. 

Bruce took it out of his eye, and Clark promptly dropped it into a champagne glass, before returning it to a server's tray. 

“If you try anything, I’ll stop you,” Bruce warned him and Clark raised an eyebrow, delighted with the tone. 

"You'd have to kill me to stop me, and that's your oldest rule." In the past day, Clark had searched for one instance where Batman killed. And he never did. "I guess it isn't happening. So unless you want me ripping the heads off every single person in this building, you better do what I say." 

Bruce froze. This was hilarious, Clark usually had to threaten the one person somebody really cared about. Had to figure out who really mattered. 

To Bruce Wayne, apparently, everyone mattered. 

"It's nice seeing you here Batman, you had me worried after our last meeting," Clark said and Bruce stiffened. 

“What do you want?” Bruce Wayne demanded, and Clark considered him carefully, watching him try and fight off whatever issues he had. 

“I’m getting bored of this party. Why don’t we talk somewhere more private?” 

When Batman stared at him, the refusal painfully obvious, Clark let his eyes glow red.

Chapter Text

It might have been smarter to leave the event separately, but Clark wasn’t letting Batman out of his sight. The man would come up with something to fight Clark, and Clark would have to retaliate to make a point, and he’d rather delay all that. 

Though something told him, as he watched the gears turn in Bruce Wayne’s head, that it would happen sooner rather than later.  

Bruce Wayne stuffed a wad of cash into a server’s hand and they were led out a dark, empty service door. As they stepped into the sunlight, Bruce Wayne seemed to shrink into himself, and cast an irritated look at Clark’s colourful suit. 

“Sorry, I would’ve worn something darker to match.” Clark smiled at Bruce, who didn’t spare him a second glance. 

Clark heard Batman’s heart pick up, heard the telltale rustle of clothing, and caught Bruce Wayne’s wrist as the man tried to drive a blade of kryptonite into his neck. 

The radiation hit him immediately, weakening him. But not so much that he couldn’t twist Bruce Wayne’s wrist. 

Vengeance gritted his teeth, and Clark saw his whole arm shake as his wrist kept bending the wrong way. Clark wanted to see if he’d break his own wrist rather than beg. 

The knife fell, Clark released his wrist-

And in a flash, Vengeance caught it and sliced the tendon in Clark's ankle. 

Clark made a strangled sound of pain, crashing onto the ground, but fired his heat vision dangerously close to Batman. One good hit and Vengeance would lose several vital organs or get sliced in half. 

Neither option was appealing. Vengeance came at him and Clark blocked the next stab, flying into the air and slamming Batman into the door. 

In a moment, Superman had pushed him up the wall with one hand, pressing onto his windpipe. 

There was a burst of pain as Vengeance got in a good, weakening gash, but it only made Clark angrier. So he pressed until the man’s eyes started rolling back in his head, before catching him. 

The kryptonite dagger had fallen far enough away, but Clark could sense more kryptonite somewhere in Bruce Wayne’s suit, making him nauseous. 

Clark tutted, resting the unconscious, but breathing vigilante against a wall, then stepping away. 

He was starting to feel extremely ill, but he was amused that Bruce Wayne wasn’t the kind to give in. He’d suspected that, by looking into Batman, but those were humans. 

It was enlightening to know that Bruce Wayne didn’t fear gods either. Every moment in this man’s presence showed Clark potential. 

Bruce Wayne’s phone buzzed, having fallen out of his pocket at some point and Clark grinned, picking up the battered phone and answering it. 

“Master Bruce is everything alright?” A crisply accented voice asked, and Clark smiled. Now, who are you? 

--------------------------------

“You’ve been working for him a long time, then,” Clark said, eager to learn more about Bruce Wayne. Bruce. 

The man’s sharp eyes glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Since before he was born.” His name was Alfred Pennyworth, and he was a British special agent turned butler. 

Clark didn’t fully understand what a butler was, but it was nice to meet someone else Batman cared about. Someone that knew more about him than Lieutenant James Gordon had. 

“What was he like as-” Clark cut himself off as he watched Batman jerk awake, gasping for breath. “Ah, there he is.” 

Bruce Wayne’s eyes widened with something a lot like horror as he noticed that Alfred was present. “Leave him out of this.” He rasped, throat bruised and voice more strained. 

“Out of what?” Clark smiled pleasantly, reaching out to caress the bruise. “Can’t I just be getting to know your family?” He frowned when Bruce Wayne caught his hand, disgust and hate printed on Vengeance’s face. 

Simultaneously adorable and vexing. Clark had been in this position before. People crumbled before him, but somehow, Bruce Wayne and everyone around him seemed immune. Already those clever eyes were calculating how best to kill him. 

Clark gagged suddenly, the proximity to the kryptonite still too much for him. Bruce Wayne looked darkly satisfied and Clark felt a wave of irritation. 

Clark let his eyes glow red with lasers. “Stop the car.” He ordered and with a glance at Bruce in the rearview mirror, Alfred did. 

“Get rid of the kryptonite you have on you,” Clark stated and the second Bruce set his jaw, Clark shot his heat vision through the headrest, just barely missing Alfred’s head. “Let’s try this again. Who do you think is faster?” 

Bruce Wayne's breath stopped for a second as the vigilante stared at the smoking red hole, the smell of burning plastic flooding through the car. 

When the butler spoke his voice was impressively calm. “Master Bruce, don’t listen to him. Do not give-”

But Clark ignored the rest of the butler’s words. He knew that Bruce Wayne was already giving up. There was a tremble in Vengeance’s hand, his mouth was pinched with terror. 

You don't have a choice, Vengeance. Why is that?  

Clark tilted his head. While he may be just a poor farmboy from Kansas, he was pretty sure butlers didn’t mean this much to most people. 

Butlers shouldn’t make a ruthlessly logical individual crumble without a fight. 

Bruce Wayne flung open his car door and Clark followed. The vigilante tore things out of his blazer and threw them off the bridge, into the water. 

“Drop it,” Clark ordered, voice brooking no argument when Bruce held onto a final piece. "Good boy." Clark cooed when Bruce glowered and threw it into the water. “Is there more hidden somewhere?" 

Bruce smiled slightly and Clark could not determine if he was going to lie or not. The vigilante walked right up to him and Clark heard the butler’s heartbeat skyrocket.  “Before you get comfortable, you better kill me, because I’ll spend every fucking second figuring out a way to kill you.” 

Clark traced a finger across his cheek, Bruce snarled, pushing it off and Clark seized his neck, squeezing insistently. 

Bruce's battered fingers closed over his hand, trying to pull it off. 

“Let him go,” Alfred said, pointing a gun at Clark’s head. Kryptonite bullets, from the way they were weakening Clark. 

“I don’t ever want you to stop trying,” Clark told Bruce, smirking. “I want you.” Bruce Wayne frowned and Clark looked straight at Alfred. “I could kill him if I squeezed right now. Hand it over.” 

Alfred breathed out sharply.  

“Fucking shoot him. Alfred, that’s an order.” Bruce growled, and just in case the butler actually listened to him, Clark used his heat vision to melt the gun. 

Bruce ripped himself away, furious. 

“Pick it up, and throw it over.” Clark would get someone to later dig it out of the river and deal with it. Right now it just needed to be gone. 

Alfred coolly tossed his gun over the railing. 

“You should have shot him.” Bruce muttered and Clark laughed. 

“You really mean that.” Clark mused, and Bruce stared over the railing into the dark water. “Get in the car. Now." 

"Why?" Bruce asked, and the way he looked made Clark wonder if that torture would ever fade from them. 

"And ruin the surprise?" Clark snorted, pulling Bruce by the arm to the car. "Get in or I start throwing cars off this bridge." 

Chapter Text

The car ride to Wayne Tower was quiet and tense. Alfred kept glancing at Clark through the rearview mirror, while Clark stopped seeing the butler as harmless. 

The city loomed, immense and imposing around them, but Clark watched Bruce Wayne. He’d thought his obsession would fade the more he got to know the man. The more he saw him for humanity and weakness. 

But the longer he spent in his presence, the more Clark was sure he’d found an equal. Even if that equal was ignoring him at the moment. 

Clark frowned, noting the way Vengeance’s eyes seemed to have dulled. And it wasn’t just a lack of attention, but something a bit more serious. 

Bruce just looked blank, almost locked away in his mind. Even his steadily, slow beating heart gave nothing away. What a weird response to a predator, Clark couldn’t imagine it had any evolutionary purpose. 

Alfred had noticed it too, but his lack of worry told Clark that this was something common. Clark’s touch on his hand barely registered. 

The cracks had made Bruce Wayne stronger, but that didn’t mean they were gone. Clark thought that was a charming parallel to how the last remnants of his home were the only thing that could kill him. 

Clark continued gently tracing patterns on Bruce’s hand, and raised his eyebrows as they neared Wayne Tower. 

While it was no Fortress of Solitude, it was an actual tower. Clark whistled, low and incredulous. 

Bruce Wayne was just as detached from the misery of humankind as him. But Bruce Wayne chose every day to try and fix the misery. Was that some human quality, or simply mental illness?

Clark couldn’t wait to find out. He cast another look at Bruce Wayne. If the man ever left whatever fugue state he’d entered. 

Once they arrived, Alfred managed to snap Bruce Wayne out of it, and Clark realized that Alfred was his only leverage. Bruce clearly didn’t give a shit about himself. 

Mercifully, Bruce’s eyes were clearing. “Why are we here?” Bruce croaked, his voice even more thin than usual. 

“Go get him water,” Clark told Alfred. “Please.” Bruce glared at Clark, swallowing to try and say something. 

Alfred scoffed. “Mate, if you think I’m leaving you alone with him, you’ve got another thing coming.” Alfred crossed his arms, and that made Clark laugh. 

“You’re going to protect him from me?” Clark smiled icily, “Look at him, you can’t even protect him from himself. It’s a hard job, so after you unexpectedly break your leg, don't feel too bad about taking early retirement.” 

“Enough.” Bruce snapped, standing up. “If you ever hurt him, you'll wish you died with the rest of your planet. Alfred has gone above and beyond in keeping me alive. So he stays out of this, always."

Surprise leaked past Alfred’s carefully controlled face and Clark was utterly overjoyed that he could bring them together like this. 

Clark moved over to Bruce Wayne. Such defiance from someone who two minutes ago was helpless and catatonic. “That,” Clark said, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “Was the last demand you make of me. From here on out, you do what I say-”

“Or you’ll kill me?” Bruce interrupted, smirking slightly. “Why don't you just get on with-"

Clark slapped him, hard, and was very pleased that Bruce Wayne looked unaffected. Alfred was seething, but both of them ignored him at the moment. 

Kal-El was impatient to find out exactly what it would take to affect Vengeance, but Clark wanted to savour this. 

After all, it wasn’t every day a challenge like this presented itself. Lois, Lex, they were nothing compared to Vengeance. Not even Zod had truly made Kal-El emerge. Or worry. 

Clark wanted to lick the blood dripping off his chin. “You didn’t let me finish. I will kill everyone in this rotting corpse of a city and nobody will care. You will, so I’ll leave you alive to watch every single person die.” 

Bruce’s face didn’t change. But his heartbeat lurched horribly. Apparently, he could read the truth in Clark’s words as well as Clark read him. 

“What do you want?” Bruce Wayne asked. He was like those snarling, snapping strays Martha brought home sometimes. Wounded, vicious dogs that she slowly tamed into useful killers. 

What would a housebroken Vengeance look like? 

Clark beamed, using his freeze breath to create ice cubes in his hand. “That’s what I like to hear.” Bruce pushed his hand away before Clark could press one to his swelling lip. 

Clark’s smile sharpened. “I'm glad you like to suffer. I'm being polite right now, but nothing would make me happier than making this miserable.” He held out the ice cubes again and Bruce Wayne ignored it. 

“What do you want?” He repeated, voice flat. But not the dull, depressive tones Lois had slipped into. His voice was tense and devoid of emotion, calculating terms like a lawyer. 

“I want you.” Clark said again, holding out his arms. “I thought that much was obvious by now.” 

Bruce Wayne’s face barely changed but his heart squeezed. “I could just kill myself.” Alfred Pennyworth’s breathing grew tense. 

Clark tutted. “Careful now, you’ll give your surrogate father a heart attack. And if you did anything like that, you wouldn’t be able to have any say in which of Alfred’s bones I break first.”

Bruce’s adam’s apple bobbed painfully and Clark watched his pupils dilate. Vengeance had to be remembering Gordon’s autopsy report. Had to know that Clark had broken Gordon’s right leg, reset it, broken it again, and done it over and over until the tibia had been pulverized into twenty-three different shards of bone. 

“You promised you were leaving him out of this." Bruce reminded him, voice gravelly. Clark sighed, wishing he could call Ma for advice on a particularly snappish stray. 

“I’m not worth this, Master Bruce-” 

“Stop.” Bruce ordered, looking at Alfred. Clark almost pouted at the pleading look in Bruce’s eye. 

Alfred closed his eyes for a moment. 

When Bruce Wayne looked back, it was Batman that was there. Cold and relentless. Clark would have wrung Alfred’s neck right now if he could guarantee that Bruce Wayne would die. 

“Will I have to threaten your butler every time to get you to behave?” Clark drawled. 

“If I’d known, I’d have jumped on it years ago.” Alfred muttered and Clark laughed. 

“We’re going to get along, Alfred."

"I sincerely doubt it." Alfred replied curtly. 

Clark grimaced. "Someday we'll get past this." He turned his attention back on his stray. "The only way you get to make sure I keep my word, is if you're here." Clark reminded him, then smiled. 

“Now, I still want you going out, Vengeance.” Clark let the name drip off his tongue. “I want you hunting for whatever reason you do it-” 

“To protect this city,” Bruce said and Clark raised an eyebrow. There was more, but Clark honestly wasn’t interested. 

“Still?” Clark drifted closer to him again, murmuring lightly. “You were magnificent on the bridge. A hunter, a killer. I saw it in your eyes.” 

“I don’t kill.” Bruce Wayne insisted and Clark chuckled. So confident. What if you slipped, Vengeance? What would you do if I made you slip? 

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” Clark hummed then, pressing a finger to his lips. “But this.” He gestured at Bruce. “Ends now. You’re going to get another identity, you’re going to stop throwing your life around carelessly-”

“Occupational hazard. We’re not all bulletproof.” Bruce interrupted yet again, and while Clark was charmed, he was also growing annoyed. 

Clark debated the merits of hitting Bruce Wayne until his mouth stopped working. But then he'd miss all this.

Breathing evenly, Clark forced his jaw to loosen and pointed at Bruce’s arm.

“You shattered that in a driving accident. You broke your ribs most recently because you burst into a gang hideout from the front door. You’re not an idiot.” Clark pointedly looked down through the floor at the electronically buzzing and whirring cave below them. “You choose to put yourself at risk.” 

Bruce Wayne said nothing. 

“That stops.” Clark snapped. “As does the general lack of care for your own wellbeing.” An equal that died of a lack of nutrients from starvation, despite having an in-house chef, was not a long-term challenge. It was a pathetic waste of time. “Are we clear?” 

Bruce tilted his head. “Most recently you broke my ribs. So, will I be excused if it’s on you?” 

Clark smiled, part of him burning to make Bruce apologize, on his knees preferably. The other part was drooling. “Depends how nicely you ask.”

The look on Vengeance’s face was one Clark relished. It was clear that Batman was two seconds from refusing everything, that part of him wanted to burn it all down just to spite Clark. 

But the other part of him didn’t dare and that tension played out on Bruce’s face. 

“Try and remember, that whatever went down in this house before. It ends here.” Clark warned them, making his eyes glow faintly with heat vision. “I have nothing to lose, and if you’re wondering about that, you might want to look into what happened to the Luthors.” 

Both of them stayed silent, neither naive nor stupid enough to believe the stories in the media about the Luthors going on a never-ending family vacation. 

Bruce Wayne shifted in pain, but the stubborn moron remained standing, one hand pressed to his ribs. 

Clark sighed. It seemed that Bruce Wayne needed limits, and rules. That was he set on pushing Clark until he regretted it. 

There was another tense silence, where Clark watched Bruce analyze him. Filing away little tidbits about him in his memory. Superman longed to see what he would come up with. 

Which is why he knew this was the right decision. 

“And you’re going to be my partner.” Clark smiled. He fondly remembered his parents’ hunts together. Their effortless teamwork, and skill. How the darkness tied them together. 

“Partner?” Bruce scoffed, but behind him, Alfred looked far more worried. “I work alone.” 

“Not that kind of partner.” Clark purred and Bruce Wayne narrowed his eyes. 

“What the hell could you want from me?” Bruce Wayne laughed suddenly and Clark found it enchanting. “You think we’ll be playing house?” He growled. “Debating what to plant in the garden?” 

Everything was what Clark wanted. Bruce would see that eventually. 

Bruce Wayne tensed when Clark placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I think we’re going to rule the world.”