Chapter Text
Batman was losing his mind.
He couldn’t exactly pin point when it began- just that it had, and it was a never ending spiral.
Another late night- he didn’t bother to check the clock. He leaned back on his chair, staring listlessly at the array of screens in front of him. He should probably sleep, or even eat, his mind trailing back to the tray of food Alfred had quietly left him. The man didn’t even bother to talk him out of it, just watched him carefully at the door, before walking away, sighing...
It all started with a journalist.
Clark Kent. The name felt like lead in his head, making him itch inside. It irritated him, made him restless…
2 DAYS AGO
Bruce Wayne never made public appearances, and the noise of the crowd asking a hundred questions seemed to affirm the reason why. He stood in front of the car, as the door slammed shut. Today, there were only a handful of reporters that buzzed around him, watching him curiously. Billionaire Bruce Wayne finally makes an appearance… multimillionaire back from holiday in bahamas…
The headlines wafted in his eyes, and he lowered his head.
“Mr Wayne?”
The man had stumbled in front of him, nearly bumping into him. He looked up apologetically, his glasses lopsided. Bruce raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses.
“Mr Wayne, I’m Clark Kent from the Daily Planet. I was just wondering if-”
Bruce simply shoved past the man with the oversized suit, walking towards the entrance.
“Mr Wayne!” he called after him, his voice no longer hesitant. He followed him inside, shoving past the bodyguards that tried to keep him out.
“I don’t do interviews.” Bruce turned around, on his heel, and the annoying reporter nearly stepped on his foot as he halted.
“I understand. But-” he pushed up his glasses. A strange look washed across his features. “I know your secret.”
Bruce froze. He studied the reporter, at the stillness in his voice. He swallowed, his throat bobbing, as if he was regretting it. His blue eyes flitted around his face, waiting for a response.
Bruce scoffed.
“Very good tactic,” he muttered. “Also incredibly overdone.”
He turned away, heading towards the elevator.
Before the doors shut, the reporter shoved his hand inside, keeping it open.
“I understand your hesitation Mr Wayne.” he was slightly out of breath. Then, he straightened up, his mouth crawling into a thin line.
“Then you should understand to leave me alone.” he deadpanned.
The door began to close again, before the reporter barged himself in, keeping it open. He leaned forwards, just close enough for Bruce to hear.
“It’s just that- well. I hear you have a… life altering kind of… well I don’t know how to put this but… a phobia-” His voice was low and serious.
Bruce was growing irritated.
“Is this what occupies journalists these days…” Bruce mumbled under his breath, signalling at his guard to press the button of the elevator.
“A billionaire with a crippling phobia-” Clark continued, persistent. “Is that the reason why you’re never seen at public events-? Because of a rumoured-”
He did not have time for meaningless gossip for tabloids that stained his name. He gestured to his guard to kick the man out-
“-A fear of bats?” Clark Kent said the last word with a forced whisper.
Bruce looked up at him slowly. Cautiously.
“I just… wanted to confirm.” He stepped back, smiling sheepishly, though his eyes had a knowing glimmer in them. “Next time, I suppose.”
The elevator doors shut.
PRESENT
A map of Metropolis lay in front of his eyes, dots scattered across the streets.
Some might call him unhinged, but frankly the Batman was beyond those descriptions, at this point. Was it strange to keep trackers on a man who had simply wanted to interview him? A no name reporter he had only ever seen once?
A man who apparently knew his secret.
Maybe he was delusional- that’s what Alfred suggested. That he was paranoid, and that the reporter- Clark Kent- was just playing with him. But why would he? Why would he say that?
And if he knew his identity, wouldn’t he have published it by now? It should be in every headline, every newspaper. And yet, everyday, when he checked the news for a sign, there was nothing. Nothing at all- nothing about Bruce Wayne, and nothing about Batman.
Perhaps he was blackmailing him.
Bruce stared at the image of the man in front of him. Frustration bubbled up in his lungs. He inhaled sharply.
The picture must be from his ID, as his usually sheepish face was pressed into a serious expression, his hair still ruthlessly curly, his eyes piercing even behind his glasses.
What the hell did this guy want?
So far, he had tracked his whereabouts. He seemed to be…everywhere. Everyday, he would travel to and from each side of the city. Sometimes, he would walk out in the middle of the night, towards the edge of the city, then the middle, then back home. His movements were suspiciously erratic, and made no sense.
But then again, he was a reporter. He had people to chase, leads to meet.
He had to speak to him again. Bruce pressed his face against his palms. He peeled off his gloves in frustration, throwing them down on the table.
He had to speak to him as Batman.