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Superman works alone.
He always has, and he probably always will.
It’s not that he’s anti-social — Superman is a friendly face, a helpful presence.
He fights out-of-control robots, intergalactic bounty hunters. A toymaker on occasion.
Nobody can keep up with him, and that’s probably for the best. He flies too fast, he hits too hard, and most fights are over in a heartbeat.
That, and even Superman remains afraid of the day where he’s not quick enough to save someone. To save the one.
Which is why he moves slowly and quietly, stays out of sight and under the radar, when he has to make a trip to Gotham in the unholy hours of the night. Lex Luthor has been getting involved there with god knows what, and it’s in both Superman and Clark Kent’s best interests to figure out what.
Not only is it good practice to keep one eye on Lex and his dealings at all times, but catching his men in the act could be page three material. Lois would be furious.
He’s torn between lamenting and being grateful for Gotham’s low-hanging, smog-filled clouds above Gotham harbor when he hears them — warning shouts, cut off screams silenced before they begin to leave their owner’s lungs. He isn’t sure if they’re anything to do with Luthorcorp — Lex’s warehouse is on the other side of the bay.
But curiosity drags Superman from dark clouds and down to the ground, flitting between buildings like shadow.
He’s a journalist first and foremost, of course he’s heard the urban legends. But it’s another thing entirely to see the Batman in action.
The Batman moved with all the grace and silence of smoke and shadow, dodging gunfire and weaving between shipping containers like it was second-nature. If he was feeling poetic, Clark Kent might even guess that he had been a dancer in a past life, rather than mere martial artist.
Superman simply watched, quietly — he didn’t have a reason to get involved. Batman stayed on his side of the coast, and Superman stayed on his. Even if curiosity gnawed at his bones and wore him down until he lingered — just to see the end of this fight. Just a little longer.
Once all the hired thugs and paid-off guards were disarmed and tied up with cable, Batman melted back into the darkness. Cop cars were racing through the city already, painting streets red and blue as they passed.
Superman heard him before he saw him — the fwip of a wire, the clatter of a grappling hook. The crunch of steel-toed boots as they landed on the rooftop that the Kryptonian had been standing on to observe.
“Quiet night?” The Batman asked, his voice low and soft, and Superman ignored the flutter in his chest.
“Something like that,” He said, turning. The Batman was a marvel up close, too — all armor and sturdy strength. Even the way he stood, straight and at attention, radiated stability, screamed ‘rely on me’.
“You did good work out there,” Superman added, tilting his head towards the dock where cops were rounding up tangled goons. He forced himself to sound casual, relaxed, even when every molecule in his body longed.
“I try,” Batman’s lips twitched with what might have been a ghost of a smirk, and Clark wondered if he did that on purpose. “I heard the Martian spoke to you. Invited you to join the League.”
Oh. That.
“He did,” Superman wrenched his eyes away and back down to the dock, if just for a second. J’onn had been interesting to talk to, even just as a fellow outsider. And yet, “But I prefer to work alone. I appreciate the offer, though.”
“You know, working together with a team… it’s not so bad, once you get used to it.”
Superman couldn’t help himself. He looked back to Batman, one eyebrow raised, and — oh, he was smiling. Only barely, just a little. Imperceptibly so, but so. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest. He tried to push the feeling down.
“Is that so?”
“I’ve got a pair of teenagers who insist on following me around because they’re that desperate to help,” Batman explained in a way that made his quiet, gravely tone almost fond. “The League is a cake-walk by comparison. At minimum, J’onn and Diana would be glad to have you there.”
“But I understand why you’d decline,” Batman added, and suddenly his grappling hook was in his hand again. He turned and walked to the edge of the building, to leave and vanish into the shadows. “It’s not for everyone. But we’re there if you need us.”
Half of him wanted to say no again. Outside of perhaps the Martian and the Wonder Woman, the entire League were mortal. The Flash was a sprinting hazard, Aquaman’s powers were conditional at best, and the Green Arrow and Batman were purely human.
If someone like Brainiac, Metallo or Lobo wanted them dead, they’d be dead.
Superman might not be fast enough, if he was there at all — and that thought was what shook him most. That this living legend in front of him, the definition of human stubbornness wrapped in Kevlar and a black cape, could even be killed and that Clark might not know it was happening until it was too late? Terrifying.
Batman was moving, still. Grappling hook launched and latched on some far off pole or building that Superman wasn’t paying attention to, and standing on the edge of the building. His heart leapt into his throat, and—
“Wait.”
Batman paused. Glanced over his shoulder.
“I’ll consider it,” Superman said, before he could stop himself. “I’ll come meet everyone, at least.”
And then Batman smiled again, and oh, Clark was done for.