Chapter Text
The magician was certifiable.
No seriously that wasn’t a simple complaint about the absurdity of magic as Batman was wont to talk about, the magic user had escaped from a mental asylum where they had been committed for “hearing the voices of the deep”.
Good news? They weren’t insane.
Bad news? The voices from the deep are extremely evil and had a bone to pick with the man responsible for the clean water initiatives off the coast of Gotham. Bruce Wayne - billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and barely functioning human being.
Inevitably that wasn't the end of the magician's idiosyncrasies, he was a Gotham Rogue after all, but not even the newest members of the league were going to believe the other nonsense he was spouting. Not even Vicky Vale gossip rag writer that she was was going to try the "Bruce Wayne is Batman" angle after the "Butts Match" incident of 2012 which established only that Bruce Wayne looks good in leather.
After the usual threats against the city, against the league, against the earth itself - we eventually reach the point most villains come up short: a personal connection. Batman was an enigma so wrapped in mystery that people refused to view him as human despite numerous press conferences to the contrary from the League, but when asked what or who he cared for most no villain had ever truly scratched the surface.
The Batman was an unflappable wall of mystery that held no ties, no favorites, and no allegiance except maybe to Gotham as a whole. Though many thought that even that was suspect as he went gallivanting around the universe with the so-called Justice League far too often for comfort. Especially in its first few years when the creature was still learning how long he could leave the city to its own devices before the seething underbelly erupted to the surface in the face of it’s demon taking a vacation (intergalactic politics with the Flash were hardly a vacation but semantics).
“And thus your blood will empower me to summon those that would be your undoing Batman!! Those closest to the bat will fall by my hand and you will weep at their broken bodies as I have wept for the deaths of my beloved Ŏ̶̲̝̫̳t̴̰͔̙̑h̵̭͊̉̈̈́͝e̷̩̘͎͂̿̂̈́̓r̴͙̪͇̗̈́̽̆s̵̡̱͉͊̾͑̾̓͜ ̵͓̍̄͐̎͗õ̶̜͎̹f̴̝̙͍͇̠̂ ̷̙͑̒ṫ̸̯̦͎̟̱̑̔͝h̵̡͓́̌e̶̟̱̪̙̓͂̾̈͜ ̵̖̼͇̬̯̈̆͑D̶̞̦̯̠͍͆̊̇̄ê̴̢͖̰̐̿͠ě̶̠̟̦p̶̹̞̥͕̓. “
Oh yeah, and the guy was still monologuing at the “trapped” heroes.
Bruce really hated Tuesdays.
They could escape the B-rated villains traps in maybe 10 seconds but he had several civilians trapped in a lesser pentagram that sparked with purple lightning whenever he saw them move so they needed to escape both quickly and stealthily. As usual it was up to Batman to escape on behalf of the entire league.
There were only a few problems with that
1) the villain was boring holes into Batman's head and hadn’t even blinked for the last two minutes while he was taking blood from Batman’s trickling nose and
2) he definitely had a concussion. He would escape, but probably not before the ritual was done.
Okay, so it was going to summon “whoever was closest to the bat”, apparently the magician wasn’t actually all that confident in his Bruce Wayne - Batman theory since all of his chanting included “Gotham’s Bat” instead. Who was closest to Batman who wasn’t already here? Alfred maybe? If so, this magician was going to get shot, and right now Bruce doubted he’d even care as long as it wasn’t a lethal shot… and maybe not even then. Alfred could handle this.
Catwoman? Selina was amazing and while he didn’t relish her meeting Diana, he’d take the inevitable death-by-humiliation if they ever discussed his failed attempts at wooing them when he was in denial about the fact that he did not in fact like women. Selina could handle this… maybe. Okay so maybe he should get up just in case.
He’s totally standing up in his binds! Totally. The buildings just got exactly three feet taller. Obviously, because he’s not still stuck on the ground. That bang he heard? Totally irrelevant.
Yeah… Bruce didn’t believe that either as his world faded to blackness.
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Clark really hated magic.
First of all, he was in Gotham at noon on a Tuesday. He had deadlines and zipping out of the office every time something like this happened was not going to get his name on the byline anytime soon, super hearing and insider information be damned.
Secondly, he was in Gotham at noon on a Tuesday. He gets his power from the sun and somehow there wasn’t any sun at noon in this hellscape of a city. How is that even possible? The streetlights were still on and no one was acting like this was the doing of the magician in question so he was just going to assume it was normal and move on.
Third of all he was in Gotham at noon on a Tuesday. Despite being from Metropolis (where he can hear Perry going over what the next edition was going to include and - yep Lois’s article got front page again) Clark didn’t actually mind Gotham usually. It was the fact that he wasn’t here to attend some gala and ogle at his crush person-he’s-totally-in-love-with friend pal colleague in a suit. Bruce could cut a line in his gala suit, sue him (Lois said she might if the pining went on any longer, which is ridiculous because he’s not pining, he’s Superman. Lois stop laughing I swear-).
Suffice it to say as soon as the latin (probably latin, that’s the language used in the cheesy horror movies at the drive in back home when the actor tries to summon some demon) started, Superman was over it.
Then they were all trapped in some kind of good rope thing that looked vaguely like gelatinous tentacles. Superman just knew Batman was going to make them all do remedial trap training again and he wasn’t sure he could find another excuse not to go after this. Being tied up by Batman was a hell of a reward punishment for this mess.
Trying to escape while the villain focused on Batman was futile, the lightning in the circle of hostages seemed to react relative to the strength of the hero resisting. Green Arrow gave each one a bad shock but a twitch from him had actual lightning bolts the size of his wrist creating a lightshow around the outside of the circle.
There were thousands of words in the english language and even more in the dozens of languages Superman spoke that he could use to describe this situation - he was a professional journalist - but none of them truly expressed his sheer exhaustion with this situation than the tried, the true, the original expression; Fuck.
“And thus your blood will empower me to summon those that would be your undoing Batman!! Those closest to the bat will fall by my hand and you will weep at their broken bodies as I have wept for the deaths of my beloved Ŏ̶̲̝̫̳t̴̰͔̙̑h̵̭͊̉̈̈́͝e̷̩̘͎͂̿̂̈́̓r̴͙̪͇̗̈́̽̆s̵̡̱͉͊̾͑̾̓͜ ̵͓̍̄͐̎͗õ̶̜͎̹f̴̝̙͍͇̠̂ ̷̙͑̒ṫ̸̯̦͎̟̱̑̔͝h̵̡͓́̌e̶̟̱̪̙̓͂̾̈͜ ̵̖̼͇̬̯̈̆͑D̶̞̦̯̠͍͆̊̇̄ê̴̢͖̰̐̿͠ě̶̠̟̦p̶̹̞̥͕̓. “
Oh yeah, and the guy was still monologuing at the “trapped” heroes.
Batman lurched upwards slightly as the man leaned back with the stolen blood but he only rose about three inches before falling back down as an echoing gunshot hit his stomach. Not a kill shot his heart but enough for his breathing to even out into a wet rasp of an unconscious and injured hero in Clark’s ears.
The magician poured the blood into the circle and began cackling as the pentagram sucked in all the light from the streetlights and then exploded outwards clearing the cloud cover and knocking over anyone who hadn’t been restrained or braced. He was still cackling when Clark’s eyes adjusted to reveal… a bunch of kids he’d never met wearing his house sigil.
Clark really really hated magic.