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Batman crouched on the ledge of a high-rise, a silhouette carved from shadow against Gotham’s smog-choked sky—exactly the sort of ominous figure you didn’t approach unless you were very sure about your life choices.
One arm rested stiffly at his side, fingers flexing in slow, controlled motions as he tried to smother the dull throb radiating from his ribs. A souvenir from a well-placed kick, courtesy of a goon with better-than-average training, about thirty minutes ago.
It hadn’t been a quiet night—though in Gotham, “quiet” was always relative. No Arkham breakout, no citywide panic. Just a couple of crews who had been stronger than they should’ve been . Nothing he couldn’t handle, but enough to leave his suit scuffed, cape torn at the hem, and a scattering of bruises blooming beneath the armor.
Down in the narrow alleys, his sons were making their rounds. He didn’t have to check in; the sharp, specific bird calls echoed between the skeletal rooftops now and then, each one carrying coded meaning only they would recognize.
For a moment, he allowed himself to relax.
And then he tensed right back up.
The change in the air was subtle—just enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck.
He pivoted in one fluid motion, dropping into a low, predatory stance. One hand pressed against the cold grit of the rooftop gravel, the other already hovering over the curve of a batarang at his belt.
And there he was—Superman—hovering inches above the roof, cape rippling in the city breeze. Wonder Woman stood a few paces behind him.
Batman’s glare locked onto the Kryptonian instantly.
For just a heartbeat, something like unease flickered across the Kryptonian’s face—not fear, maybe nerves.
Superman’s hands came up in a pacifying gesture as he let himself drop to the rooftop with deliberate slowness, boots touching down in a muted thud .
“We didn’t mean to scare you–”
A sharp, brief trill cut him off—a sound that was more bird than anything else.
You did not scare me.
It had been instinct. The ingrained habit of using the family’s covert calls whenever the suit was on. And the moment the sound left him, Batman was profoundly grateful for the cowl hiding his face.
He tucked his chin in, the cowl shadowing his face further, head tilting slightly—half to hide the flush creeping under his skin, half to keep his eyes locked on Superman.
Superman’s brows furrowed. He looked over his shoulder at Wonder Woman as if hoping she had some explanation. She didn’t.
It was quiet between them. The only sounds were of the city from below. Superman’s uneasy smile twitched into place.
“We—uh—” He cleared his throat, hands still raised but slowly lowering. “We wanted to talk to you.” He took a careful step forward.
Another trill answered him—this one sharper, layered with a sharp burst that no human throat should have been able to produce.
No. Stay out of Gotham.
Batman realized what he’d done the second the last trill left him. Mortification hit like a sucker punch. He shifted backward, still in a low crouch, cape brushing against the rooftop gravel like restless wings. He had really meant to answer in actual words this time.
All he could think about was retreat—back to the cave, into the cold safety of case files where there were no witnesses to this humiliation. If his sons ever found out, he’d never hear the end of it.
Superman’s hands were back up. “Hey—hey—it’s okay—” His voice was calm, but his stance was wary, weight shifting like he was ready to move at super-speed if he had to. He took a deliberate step back. “We didn’t mean to encroach on your territory. We mean no harm.”
He glanced at Wonder Woman, touching her shoulder without looking away from Batman. She didn’t resist when he gently eased her a step back with him. His other hand stayed raised in a placating gesture, palm out.
“See? We’re going to leave. It's all okay.”
They kept edging away, slow and steady, never turning their backs. Batman tilted his head slightly, a measured, assessing motion that made both of them hesitate mid-step.
“We really do want to talk to you,” Superman continued, his voice carefully pitched low, like he was speaking to something wild. His eyes flicked upward as if gauging their exit path. “Obviously this isn’t a good time. So—uh—we’ll come back later.”
He managed another uneasy smile, the kind meant to reassure and signal ‘please don’t attack me.’ Then, without another word, he rose into the air, one arm still on Wonder Woman’s shoulder as he lifted her with him.
They didn’t turn until they were far above the rooftops—high enough, apparently, to be out of lunging distance. Only then did Superman risk a final glance back before angling away, vanishing into the Gotham haze.
Batman stood there a full three minutes after they were gone. The tension in his shoulders bled away in increments until finally, he exhaled. That had been—without question—one of the most humiliating encounters of his career. At least Superman and Wonder Woman didn’t pick up on it. He hoped.
He sent out a series of whistles, relaying to his sons that he was ending his patrol early. It didn’t take long before a reply echoed back.
Threw out your back, old man?
That was Jason.
Batman’s lips twitched upward in the barest suggestion of a smile. He didn’t dignify it with a response. Dropping from the rooftop, he hit the next fire escape in near silence. Somewhere to the east, another cascade of clicks and chirps carried across the city—one of the others chiming in—but he tuned it out. They could chatter without him.
Stripped of the awkwardness, the encounter replayed itself in his mind. Something about it kept pricking at him. That couldn’t be how Superman normally interacts with others, right?
He hummed low in his throat as the Batmobile slid into the cave’s entrance. The heavy doors sealed behind him.
Removing the cowl, he absently brushed a hand over one of its pointed ears. It tilted limply to the side. He paused, testing it he felt the give at the base. A quiet sigh escaped him. Straightening it only made it flop again. He was going to have to fix that.
He set it on the desk, its lopsided silhouette faintly mocking him, and turned to the Batcomputer.
A few keystrokes later, the massive display changed, pulling up surveillance feeds from the sector where he was before. He shifted through a few cameras, landing on one with a clear view of both himself and Superman.
He scrubbed the timeline back to just before the Kryptonian appeared, then pressed play.
He watched as his body spun around to face the Super, the movement looking slightly inhuman. His eyes darted to study Superman reaction, but nothing revealed anything than he already aware of.
Then came the trill.
The sound burst through the speakers, dragging heat into his face despite himself. His thumb twitched toward the pause key, a temptation to kill the feed before it could make him cringe any harder. But he forced it down, jaw tight, and kept watching.
A flicker of motion caught his attention. The wind toyed with the damaged ear of his cowl, making it sway in a way that almost looked like a creature’s ear pivoting to catch distant sounds.
That… could actually be useful. If he could rig a directional audio array into the ears, tie them to a micro-amplifier, he could—
Not the time.
He shoved the design concept into a mental folder for later, refocusing on the feed.
Superman stepped closer. On the feed, Bruce’s own body shifted in response—shuffling a step back, head tilting inward. Another shriek tore through the speakers—worse the second time—and layered under it, a low, rolling growl. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing that.
The Kryptonian’s reaction was subtle, but Bruce had spent decades reading small tells. The man’s shoulders rounded ever so slightly, spine curving forward as though he were trying to make himself look… smaller. His voice changed too—dropped a fraction lower, words drawn out and smoothed at the edges, like he was trying to keep the air between them calm.
Bruce leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing at the feed.
The open hands. The effort to make slow, deliberate movements. Superman’s face remaining as blank as possible.
It was almost like—
…
They’re treating me like a wild animal.
…
OH MY GOD.