Chapter Text
“I’ve got them,” Superman spoke into his earpiece, “Going in now.” Adjusting his flight pattern, Superman zeroed in on the backrooms of a pizza parlor in the Gotham suburbs.
“Clark, wait. Stand down,” Batman ordered in over the comms but Superman ignored him. Gotham was more than just Batman’s now. Superman was on a mission and he would do whatever it took.
The two villains clearly hadn’t expected company. The Riddler was in the middle of accusing the Scarecrow of using all the hot water while throwing random, mundane utensils at the man. Listening passively while a spatula bounced harmlessly off his head, the Scarecrow took a long sip of his coffee and sighed, “If it bothers you so much, stop leaving green paint—”
He never finished his sentence.
Glass, brick, and mortar erupted around them, turning the air into a haze of dust. The Scarecrow reacted first, pulling his gas mask haphazardly over his face, and barked at the Riddler to ‘get down, Edward!’ The Riddler, dazed from being thrown against a wall by the force of the impact and choking on dust in his mouth and eyes, wasn’t able to respond. In the time it took the Scarecrow to speak, Superman had found him. Grabbing the villain by his shirt, Superman threw him sliding across the kitchen island, where he caught him and drove him into the floor. The sound of tile cracking accompanied by tiny pops beneath the Scarecrow’s body as glass canisters shattered in his jacket.
Swirls of purple, green, and orange smoke bloomed from underneath him. Crane’s eyes were wide behind the lenses of his gas mask as he looked up at his judge and executioner. Confusion turned to raw horror and naked terror, adrenaline overriding his damaged amygdala as Superman’s eyes began to glow.
“No! Nonono!” His screams were muffled by the gasmask as he desperately twisted to escape Superman’s hold, fighting the hand that pinned him to the broken tile and glass. “Don’t! Scarecrow!”
The procedure was quick, efficient, and well-practiced. A flash of laser vision, two red dots on the Scarecrow’s forehead, and it was over.
Rising to his feet, Superman let the Scarecrow’s limp form collapse against an industrial dishwasher and turned to apprehend the Riddler. The spot where the Riddler had previously been was empty except for a clean spot where his body had been, dust wiped away in his hurry to escape. Nearby, a maintenance hatch had been left open. Even before using his x-ray vision, Superman knew the Riddler was long gone. Disappeared into the lead-lined sewers that never seemed to have enough funding to fix.
Superman would let the clever man scuttle off like the rat he was. The Riddler’s ego would only allow him to hide for so long. He’d surface eventually and, when he did, Superman would be waiting. For now, he had an incapacitated Scarecrow to return to Arkham. Permanently. The “Master of Fear” was no more and the world would be better for it.
As he slammed the trapdoor closed and sealed it with his laser vision, Superman could hear the rustling of fabric behind him. Crane, who’d been slumped with his back and shoulders supported by the industrial dishwasher, abruptly lurched forward as if someone pulled on his chest with a string. Caught off guard, Superman frowned and took an investigative step toward Crane. It should take hours, if not days, for him to regain consciousness, nevermind locomotion of the limb.
Crane swayed on his knees, arms hung limp at his sides, fingertips brushing the floor. Despite the movement, his open eyes were glazed, chin resting against his chest in a way that must constrict his breathing.
Must be a belated muscle spasm, Superman reasoned until Crane’s breath hitched harshly.
“jONNY,” Crane rasped, “cHILD o’ mine, where have you gone?”
The hairs on the back of Superman’s neck stood on end. Perhaps it was the residual effects of Crane’s toxin in his system or a lack of sunshine and sleep. But Superman had never heard a voice like that before. Crane’s emaciated frame rattled in uneven intervals, like he had to remind himself before taking each breath.
Crane whimpered in pain and started to slump forward but caught himself. “mY child. wHERE has my child gone?” Superman shook off the uncanny feeling aside.
“That’s enough, Crane. You’re going to Arkham where you belong,” he commanded.
“mY child. yOU'VE taken him FROM ME!” Crane launched himself forward with surprising strength. Anticipating Crane to try using a hidden needle, Superman raised his hand to bat the attempt aside. Instead, he jerked in surprise when Crane’s nails gouged deep wells into Superman’s forearm through the fabric of his spandex suit. Reacting instinctually, Superman seized Crane by the collar and hurled him back over the kitchen island. Crane’s body hit the opposing wall with a sickening *crack*. He didn’t get up again.
Superman stood motionless, waiting to see what Crane would do next. Once he was certain the Rogue wouldn’t regain consciousness, Superman finally looked down at the burning scratches on his arm.
[...]
LS: Sman brought scarecrow to arkham bleeding
Sitting comfortably on her couch in her Metropolis highrise condo, Lois read the text and rolled her eyes, tossing the phone aside without bothering to respond. Of course the Scarecrow was bleeding after fighting Superman. That’s how it worked. Clicking on the TV, she blankly watched a Jaws rerun until she heard the telltale sound of soft boots landing on her balcony and the glass doors sliding open.
"So,” she said playfully, rotating in her seat to smile over her shoulder, “You’ve finally returned home. I was beginning to— Superman!” Lois gasped in alarm, shooting off the couch to run to her lover. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing, Lois,” Superman dismissed, cradling his arm so Lois couldn’t inspect the dark patch on his sleeve, “Just a scratch.” He pushed past her further into the apartment, leaving Lois standing in shock.
“But you’re…” Her phone buzzed where it was abandoned on the floor. Numb, Lois went to pick it up, carefully sidestepping little red droplets. Gingerly picking up the phone, she clicked the screen on and read her most recent text. It was an Adam & Eve text chain she’d signed up for to get a 20% discount and free gift. She needed to opt out.
Dismissing the ad, her eye caught L’s text again. Bleeding.