For the next three days, I spent most of my time exploring Gotham—trying to familiarize myself with its layout, its rhythm, its… mood.

The city had a gothic charm to it—dark, brooding, and strangely beautiful.

It left me both unsettled and captivated.

In my universe, some of the films had captured its atmosphere eerily well.

The parks weren't much to write home about, but they offered a break from the city's oppressive weight.

And, thankfully, Gotham's notoriously miserable weather had held off.

Still… John's absence clung to me like a phantom limb.

A dull, constant ache I couldn't shake.

I tried to distract myself with museums and restaurants—filling my hours with motion.

For a while, it worked.

I could almost pretend I was just a normal tourist, passing through another unfamiliar city.

But on the third day… I miscalculated.

I left the museum just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Too few streetlights flickered to life, casting long, uneven shadows across the sidewalk.

My stomach tightened as I stepped onto the dimly lit street.

Rookie mistake, I cursed inwardly.

Gotham at night was something else entirely.

The city changed. It darkened. Hardened.

The air felt heavier, and the prickling unease along the back of my neck screamed that I wasn't alone.

I quickened my pace.

Then—voices.

Low. Male.

Drifting from a nearby alley.

Growing louder.

I turned the corner —

And froze.

A group of men were heading straight toward me.

One of them spotted me instantly, nudging his buddy and nodding in my direction.

This… isn't good.

Panic surged in my chest.

My fists clenched on instinct.

I forced a breath through my teeth, trying to quiet the rising tide of fear.

Not now, idiot. You don't have time for a fucking anxiety attack.

My body didn't care.

They were closing in.

Unhurried, but deliberate.

Predatory.

I made a split-second decision.

Run.

My younger body responded immediately—smooth, strong, without pain.

I sprinted down the street, clutching my purse tight against my chest.

Adrenaline carried me a block, maybe two—but already my muscles were burning.

I backtracked to the museum, stumbled up the steps, and reached for the doors — Yanking.

Locked.

"Damn it!" I hissed, yanking on another door.

And another.

Still locked.

I glanced back—

My pursuers had rounded the corner.

They weren't running.

They didn't have to.

They knew I was trapped.

This is not how I wanted to meet Batman, I thought bitterly, heart pounding.

There wasn't time to wait for a last-minute, plot-convenient rescue.

I had to figure this out myself.

Powers weren't an option. Not yet.

I wasn't ready to reveal them—and I definitely wasn't ready to hurt anyone.

A reckless idea surged to the front of my mind.

It made my stomach churn… but it might work.

Screw it. Into the deep end we go.

I pushed off the steps with a burst of speed, sprinting for a narrow alley to the right.

If I could get enough distance—enough confusion—I might still lose them.

Angry shouts rang out behind me.

Yeah. They weren't amused anymore.

"Superman? Kal-El? Clark?" I called out between labored breaths, barely loud enough for a bird to hear, let alone a goddamn alien.

How does one even get the attention of a superpowered extraterrestrial anyway?

Is there a number you dial? A signal in the sky?

Do I scream into the void and hope you're using your ears?

"I really hope you're listening right now!"

My voice cracked as I pushed myself to keep running.

"I know who you are! I know your secret identity—and I know Batman's too!" I whisper-yelled, breath hitching.

"I know he'll be pissed if you show up here, but I haven't exactly introduced myself yet!"

The sheer absurdity of my plan hit me just as I dodged a trash can, lungs burning.

"Oh my god," I gasped, "I really hope you're listening, Superman—because I didn't get thrown into another universe just to die in a Gotham alley!"

Nothing.

No sound. No blur of motion. No caped crusader descending from the clouds.

Desperation clawed at my chest as I skidded around a corner—

My shoe caught on a jagged bit of sidewalk, and pain lanced up my ankle like fire.

But the worst part?

The crack my head took against the wall as I went down.

Stars exploded behind my eyes.

Everything rang. Hard.

Thank God for adrenaline.

I staggered upright, swaying like a drunk, one hand pressed to my temple.

The pounding in my skull was vicious—but I'd had migraines that felt worse.

"Seriously?!" I rasped, breathless.

"You're just gonna let me get mugged? Bruce is gonna have to rethink your Boy Scout nickname!"

That's when I heard it.

A loud thump behind me—followed by a gust of wind that hit like a pressure wave.

The concrete beneath my feet vibrated.

I turned, one hand braced on the crumbling brick wall.

And there he was.

Superman.

Standing between me and my would-be attackers, red cape billowing in slow-motion perfection, steely gaze sweeping the scene like he'd been here the whole time.

At over six feet, with broad shoulders, dark hair slicked back, and a pants-shitting glare that could cut through steel, (literally) I had to admit…

He made a striking figure.

Hands on hips. Cape just barely fluttering.

Iconic.

His suit looked badass.

Sleek, perfect, molded like it had been poured onto him.

I made a point not to ogle.

(Not too hard, honestly—nausea was doing most of the work.)

"I may be old-fashioned," he said, his deep voice cutting through the alley like a blade,

"But I don't believe women respond well to being chased through the streets, gentlemen."

The men hesitated.

If I hadn't been trying not to vomit, I might've laughed.

They actually shrank under his gaze.

"I strongly suggest all three of you go home," he continued, tone even and firm, "and think very carefully about making better choices—before it's too late."

No one needs to get hurt tonight.

Another one of Batman's rules.

No outside heroes in Gotham.

This city ran on a strange, precarious balance.

Even the smallest shift—if not calculated perfectly—could send the whole thing toppling.

Too many volatile factions.

Too many egos.

Too many ghosts haunting the rooftops.

And now Superman had just punched a hole in the quiet.

Spying a lamppost, I stumbled toward it, one hand catching the cold metal as my knees threatened to buckle.

Panting hard, vision swimming—

Fuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing slow through my nose, lips pressed into a tight, determined line.

Just a few seconds.

Come on. Breathe.

The world steadied—barely—but it was enough.

Cool.

I opened my eyes and turned my glare on the assholes who'd chased me.

Fuckers ruined my plans.

The men exchanged glances, clearly uneasy now that a literal superhero had joined the conversation.

One of them stepped back.

Ah, I thought, eyes narrowing. So they do have brain cells. Good to know.

The other two hesitated… then followed their friend.

Retreat wasn't honorable, but it was smart.

Superman watched them go, eyes tracking past the corner long after the men disappeared from human sight.

Then he turned to me.

His expression softened—but there was wariness in it, too.

Couldn't blame him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice calm and low.

That surprised me.

Brownie points for asking about me before grilling me on how I knew his name.

"Yeah," I nodded, cautiously grateful when my vision stayed level.

"Thanks for that."

Not wanting to seem as wrecked as I felt, I straightened my spine and scanned the alley.

"I'm sure you've got questions—and I've got answers. Some of them, at least," I sighed. "But can we maybe go somewhere with a lower rat-to-human ratio first?"

He was quiet for a moment, then inclined his head in agreement.

I pushed off the post—

And immediately stumbled as pain knifed up my ankle.

Shit.

His hand shot out, catching my elbow with careful precision—

The only thing keeping me from face-planting on the asphalt.

Well, that's humiliating.

His brows knit together in concern. "You're hurt."

There wasn't much point arguing when he was clearly right.

I waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine," I said, forcing a smile through clenched teeth.

"Just a nasty sprain, I think."

Then, sighing, I added, "Which I'm guessing makes refusing a lift significantly harder, huh?"

I gave him a pitiful look—head aching, ankle throbbing, and not at all ready to go airborne with a head injury.

Superman chuckled, voice low and warm. "I think it's best if you let me carry you, miss. That ankle won't hold. It needs medical attention."

His tone was firm—but still kind.

And he waited. Patiently. For my choice.

He would still give me one.

Huh.

I groaned internally.

This was not the plan.

The whole damsel-in-distress route? Not even on the options list.

I was supposed to reach out to Lucius Fox.

He would've helped me stay off the radar, acted as a go-between—maybe even vouched for me.

If that had worked…

I could've avoided meeting any heroes.

This wasn't a tactical maneuver. This was an embarrassing, ankle-snapping fuckup.

Meeting Batman had been one of my last-resort options.

Just a brief interaction—to prove myself, show I wasn't a threat. Maybe satisfy a little curiosity while I was at it.

But I'd scrapped that plan.

Even that small encounter would've been a monumental uphill battle.

Being more involved might've helped me… but I knew the second I brought Batman—or Bruce Wayne—into the mix, my part would be over.

He'd take control of everything. That's who he was.

So yeah. Not ideal.

Unfortunately… so was being carried.

Superman was right—there was no way I was walking anywhere.

Which meant I was about to be very close to a stranger.

Yay.

As if sensing my hesitation, Superman moved slowly—deliberately.

Like he was trying to appear non-threatening.

It was actually kind of hilarious.

I was mad I couldn't enjoy it more.

Even with the warning, my body still locked up when he lifted me—gently—into a bridal carry.

Ugh.

I gave him the name of my hotel. He nodded, but his expression grew slightly distracted.

I frowned.

"Don't worry," he said, catching my discomfort easily.

He offered a soft, reassuring smile. "I've had plenty of practice at this."

"I believe you," I muttered, trying not to focus on how incredibly close his face was as we lifted off the ground.

He could hear me just fine. Of course he could.

I fell quiet.

Didn't really know what to say.

I probably wouldn't hear him over the wind anyway.

I wanted to ask about Lois.

Just to confirm—once again—that I was in a universe based on D.C. stories.

But… if I were being smart, I wouldn't.

Superman might be one of the good guys, sure.

Didn't mean he wouldn't take an innocent question as a threat to someone he cared about.

So, I kept my mouth shut.

The city looked different from this height.

My hotel room was high—but not this high.

The noise and chaos below faded into something unreal, like a dream painted in streetlights.

Superman flew slowly—just above the rooftops.

The pace of a fast jog, maybe.

My head and stomach were very grateful.

Despite his consideration, though, my nerves refused to settle.

Especially when I realized—

We were passing my hotel.

"Um… not to sound ungrateful—because I am grateful," I said quickly, trying not to let the panic creep into my voice,

"But where exactly are you taking me?"

I pointed behind us. "My hotel is that way!"

Then yanked my hand back like I'd just reached for a hot stove.

Maybe don't be rude to the bulletproof alien carrying you hundreds of feet above solid ground, genius.

Superman gave me an apologetic smile.

It did nothing to calm me.

"Gotham isn't my city," he said simply— "As you apparently know."

His tone wasn't unkind. Just… resolute.

"I have a set of rules I agree to follow when I'm here. That means I'm taking you to someone who can help."

My stomach dropped.

No.

I looked ahead—and recognized the building instantly.

The G.C.P.D.

Fuck.

My plans just went up in smoke.

When we touched down on the tar-coated rooftop, my anxiety spiked—a live wire sparking against bone.

The wind up here was sharper, colder than below, slicing through the layers of my coat as Superman lowered me onto a crate like I might break.

My purse was suddenly in my lap.

I hadn't even seen him pick it up.

The rooftop was quiet, save for the low hum of the city below and the distant honk of traffic. The floodlights cast long shadows across the rooftop, bouncing off the battered housing of the spotlight.

The Bat-Signal.

Superman turned, heading toward it.

My heart lurched.

"Wait! Superman, please!"

My voice cracked.

It must've been the way I said it—raw, unguarded—because he stopped mid-step.

I coughed, throat tight, face flaming red. I didn't want to look like I was scared.

Even if I was scared out of my fucking mind.

He turned back slowly, concern flickering behind his bright blue eyes.

Then—without a word—he walked back to me and knelt, bringing himself eye-level with the mess that was me.

"I can wait until you're ready," he offered, voice soft enough to drown out the wind.

I wished that were true.

But no one was ever ready for this.

Not with a pounding head.

Not with a twisted ankle.

Not with the symbol of a city's fear blazing overhead like a silent judge.

I took a deep breath—polluted Gotham air filling my lungs—and let it out slow. It didn't help much.

"You don't have any questions for me?" I asked, eyes searching his face.

Then I snorted quietly, answering myself.

"Right… rules."

Superman smiled—a little crooked, entirely genuine—as if my annoyed disdain amused him.

The way it curved his lips made him look almost human.

"Those rules why you aren't saying much?" I asked.

He gave a single nod.

"Well," I ventured, voice low but steady, "there aren't any rules about listening, are there?"

He shook his head.

The wind kicked up behind him, tugging at the ends of his cape. The Bat-Signal continued to blaze in the corner of my vision, casting long shadows across the rooftop. Still no movement. No sign of the one I knew was coming.

Good. I needed a minute.

"The circumstances…" I began, then paused, steadying myself. "The circumstances that brought me here are unknown—still. But I need you to know… I'm not here to hurt anyone. Not even by accident."

His gaze softened, the smallest hint of warmth breaking through his stillness.

"I'm not a threat," I added, a little quieter now. "Not to the heroes here. I won't expose anyone's identity. I promise."

The words hung in the air, like frost waiting to melt.

Superman nodded, the barest motion, but I could feel it—some of the tension easing from the line of his shoulders.

"I can appreciate your candor, at least," he said gently.

In an effort to lighten the mood, I smirked.

"On another note… how much would you bet I can make Batman say please?"

Superman blinked.

For a second, he looked genuinely startled.

Then he chuckled—shoulders lifting with the sound, head shaking in disbelief.

"I'll take that bet for a hundred bucks," he said, amused. "Never gonna happen."

My mouth dropped open in mock outrage. "Only a hundred? Wow. Cheap bet, but fine."

I leaned back on my hands, pretending I wasn't nervously tracking every shadow that moved across the rooftop.

He turned toward the spotlight, reaching for the switch, and this time… I didn't stop him.

As the Bat-Signal blazed to life, painting the clouds with a distorted crest, I caught him sneaking another glance my way.

"Go ahead," I teased, raising a brow. "Ask the question. I won't tattle."

Superman chuckled again, sheepish now. "I'm that obvious, huh?"

I gave him a wry look.

"You are a reporter, aren't you?"

He moved a little closer—but not too close.

Just enough to show attentiveness without crowding me.

Another $100 bet said Superman had actual professional training on how to interact with trauma survivors. Probably sat through courses. Probably aced them.

He sighed, and his right hand lifted—index finger raised.

It hovered at the bridge of his nose… and stopped.

I watched, caught in the smallest flicker of hesitation, as he aborted the movement.

No glasses.

My eyebrow lifted. A smirk tugged at my mouth.

Gotcha.

"Okay, I'll bite," he relented, tone dry but not unkind. "Why did you call for me instead of Batman?"

I snorted—unladylike and completely unrepentant.

"Because I was never supposed to meet him," I said simply.

I paused, tongue poking at my cheek as I considered how much to share.

"Batman is… complicated," I admitted.

"My original plan was to pass on relevant info. Quietly. Maybe be available for consultation—nothing more."

I exhaled slowly, gaze drifting toward the glowing skyline.

"I never meant to get this involved."

My voice edged into something lightly accusatory, and I pointed at him.

"Though I might've reconsidered calling for you if I'd known you were just going to hand me over to him anyway."

Superman's gentle expression faded, replaced by something far more serious.

No anger. Just… steel.

"Considering what you've told me so far," he said evenly, "I'm not sure limiting your involvement is an option anymore."

The words landed hard in my chest.

He continued, voice calm but firm, "You need to be careful with what you know. That kind of information is dangerous. Especially for a civilian."

Then, a beat later—softer, but still direct: "Not everyone will be as understanding."

My stomach twisted.

A quiet warning, wrapped in kindness.

I swallowed thickly, my voice dropping.

"What about Batman?" I hesitated. Then forced the words out.

"Should I… be worried about him?"

The Man of Steel's lips pressed into a thin line.

"He won't hurt you, if that's your concern…" His voice faded as my gaze dropped away.

"Batman is… suspicious," he said at last. "But he's fair."

Then, softer—more deliberate: "If you're being honest… he'll know."

The unspoken warning hovered between us like smoke.

And if I wasn't…

I nodded slowly, chest tight, and let out a long, shaky breath.

My eyes drifted upward to the glowing symbol cut against Gotham's smog-choked clouds.

The Bat-Signal burned bright.

God, I hope so.

Several long minutes passed as we waited for the elusive billionaire vigilante to make his grand entrance.

I busied myself with clean-up—digging out a small mirror and a pack of wet wipes from my purse.

(Still didn't remember when Superman retrieved it. Probably hit my head harder than I thought. I wasn't asking.)

I wiped grime and dried blood from my face and hands, then finger-combed my curls back into something resembling order.

I may have been chased through Gotham's alleys, but I'll be damned if I was going to look like it when I met Batman.

Superman watched quietly from a short distance, amusement dancing in his eyes.

He didn't say a word.

Smart man.

Then it happened.

The prickle of awareness came first.

A sudden chill along my spine.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck lifted. I froze.

Something—someone—was watching me.

Slowly, I turned my head toward the farthest, darkest corner of the rooftop.

The shadows there felt heavier. Like they were breathing.

And then… they moved.

A flicker of motion—fluid, precise—slipped through the gloom.

A figure stepped from the darkness, tall and silent.

Batman.

The imposing bulk of him loomed large as he emerged from the shadows.

Despite the rooftop's wide expanse, it suddenly felt claustrophobic with two superheroes on it—like the air itself had grown heavier.

Since I was being given the opportunity, I studied him.

Almost everything he wore was matte black—unsurprising, considering the need to blend into Gotham's shadows.

The only reflective surface was the bat symbol stretched across his broad chest. It gleamed faintly in the low light, and I noted it was the most heavily armored portion of the suit.

A target, then. Draw enemy fire. Smart. Brutal.

His arms crossed over it, a silent show of dominance.

The motion drew my attention to the gloves—thick and reinforced, with spine-like ridges lining the outer edge. I remembered those. Variants from comic panels and animated shows.

The cape hung heavy over his shoulders, adding bulk to his frame, its drape designed to blur his silhouette.

The cowl—those infamous pointed ears—added height, presence. The illusion of something inhuman.

I wouldn't be surprised if he had lifts in those combat boots too.

Bruce Wayne probably walked in heels better than most of his dates.

The thought nearly made me snort.

I had to bite my lip to keep the grin from escaping before continuing my evaluation.

My eyes dropped to his belt—bulky and covered in pouches, holsters, loops.

It wound in a thick band around his waist, even thicker at the back. Too wide for a simple utility belt.

I tilted my head, analyzing.

A back brace?

I recognized the shape. I'd worn one myself back in my world.

Right. Bane.

He broke Batman's back at one point.

That tracks.

My gaze drifted upward again, tracing the sharp jawline softened by dark stubble, the high cheekbones, and—

Icy blue eyes locked on mine.

Oh.

Yeah. He recognized me.

For a flicker of a second, I'd hoped his famously perfect memory might overlook me. A long shot, sure.

But… still.

Damn.

The costume, at least, was less campy than I expected.

And thank God for that. Being universe-napped was already pushing my grip on reality to the edge—if he'd shown up in spandex and neon, I might've started looking for my padded cell.

The less cartoon, the better.

(For my sanity, if nothing else.)

And then—

A sudden movement.

Another figure vaulted cleanly onto the rooftop, landing in a crouch with the grace of someone who'd been doing it since they were twelve.

Robin.

Otherwise known as Tim Drake.

He landed with the soft thud of someone used to rooftops.

Under the darker, more modern take on the classic red-green-and-yellow suit, his build was unmistakably a runner's—lean, long-limbed, still growing into his full height. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Still had a few years left to fill out, though I couldn't remember if he ever ended up taller than Bruce.

Same dark hair. Same sharp blue eyes.

Like mentor, like protégé.

He gave his bo staff a casual spin—flashy and unnecessary—and grinned wide enough to light up the roof.

Then he leaned back on the weapon, perfectly balanced, looking absurdly at ease.

My inner teenager did a dramatic little swoon.

Sue me. He's fucking adorable.

"Superman," Batman greeted, his voice a harsh growl distorted by the modulator.

"Why did you bring a civilian here?"

His tone was clipped, cold, and accusatory.

Wow. Someone's in a mood.

This situation wasn't Superman's fault—not even a little. It was mine. Entirely mine.

And yet, Batman was leveling that legendary scowl at him.

My hackles went up.

Defensive. For Superman.

Which, in hindsight, was ridiculous. The man could bench press a continent and shoot lasers from his eyes—but apparently, I still felt the need to step in.

The sudden realization hit like a slap.

Oh, no. I've subconsciously adopted all the heroes.

And a good portion of the villains, too.

Fantastic.

I could practically hear the therapy bills piling up.

But I was a champion compartmentalizer.

Olympic-level. Industrial grade.

I shoved that existential spiral into a mental cage reinforced with sarcasm and titanium guilt—and slammed the door shut.

Time to focus.

Superman gave Batman a welcoming smile—one that, frankly, wasn't earned—before his expression sobered.

"She called out for my help," he said quietly.

"She knows my name... and yours."

The weight in his voice hit like a thunderclap.

Not loud, but heavy. Measured.

A fact that changed everything.

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

So much for avoiding excess drama.

Clearly, that was too much to ask for in Gotham.

The infamous Bat-glare shifted its cross-hairs to me.

And it landed like a punch to the gut.

The same look that made villains piss themselves was now turned full-force in my direction.

My skin crawled.

The aggression in his eyes was unmistakable—cold and barely leashed. There was violence there. Calculating violence.

And I wasn't sure if I was the target or just in the way.

Fuck.

The Batman I remembered didn't exactly have a sense of humor either.

That didn't bode well.

"Look," I said, lifting both hands slowly, palms out. My voice was calm, but the tremor beneath it betrayed me.

"I'm not here voluntarily. I'm not even from this universe."

The wind picked up, tugging at my curls and carrying the faint scent of oil, smoke, and rain-soaked concrete—Gotham's signature cologne. The chill bit into my skin, but it wasn't what made my spine stiffen.

Batman didn't speak. Didn't blink.

He just stared.

Silent. Immovable.

A monolith in matte black.

My breath came shallow. Still, I pushed forward.

"Where I'm from, we don't have heroes or villains," I said, voice gaining strength. "Regular people do enough damage on their own."

Still nothing. His cowl gave away nothing—but I could feel it. The weight of his attention pressed down on me like a lead blanket.

"I know a lot about your universe," I continued. "Your names. Your pasts. Not everything... but enough."

That changed the air.

He stepped forward, and the shadows seemed to follow him like a cloak. His boots didn't echo on the rooftop, but I felt every step like a drumbeat in my chest.

From my perch on the crate, he loomed.

Up close, he wasn't just tall—he was engineered to dominate every inch of space he occupied. The sharp angles of the cowl, the silent glide of the cape, the cold gleam of the armor—it was all designed for one thing: fear.

And it was working.

I fought not to shrink back. The posture. The presence. The judgment. It was like being dissected alive under a microscope.

Still—I held his gaze.

"I twisted my ankle," I said, the words flat and clipped. "Standing hurts."

Then, sharper:

"And I don't appreciate being loomed over like I'm a criminal."

Silence.

A long, oppressive beat.

Then he moved.

Not much—just a single step back.

But it was enough. The air loosened its chokehold on my lungs.

"Hn," he grunted.

Eloquent as ever.

"How do I know you're not a threat?"

His voice was a low growl, gritty and mechanical—distorted by his voice modulator until it barely sounded human.

It scraped along my nerves, but I refused to let it shake me.

"You don't," I replied evenly, the words quiet but firm. "And I don't blame you for being cautious. Anyone in your position would feel the same."

A pause.

The wind dragged a loose curl across my cheek, and I brushed it away as I gathered my thoughts.

This is the same guy from lunch, I reminded myself.

He's playing a part. Don't let him throw you off your game.

"I wouldn't be here if I had any choice," I continued. "Something—or someone—brought me here against my will. I don't know how or why. You can believe me or not... but I'm telling the truth."

His expression didn't change. No flicker of emotion, no shift in stance. Just... watching.

The silence stretched, taut and oppressive.

So I pushed on.

"I was out later than I meant to be," I said. "Some assholes decided I looked like an easy target. Superman's hearing is unmatched, so I took a chance. Used a few keywords I figured he'd recognize."

I shrugged lightly, wincing as the motion pulled at my injured ankle.

"I'm not lying. Between the two of you, figuring that out should be the easy part. Am I right to assume that?"

Batman didn't answer.

Instead, he turned to Superman.

A subtle exchange—just the faintest shift in weight. No words. No drama.

Superman gave a small nod, slow and deliberate.

An unspoken she's telling the truth in that simple gesture.

"You're not lying," Batman said at last, the words clipped, but unmistakably certain. "But telling the truth and being trustworthy—aren't the same."

I nodded, jaw tight as pain flared behind my eyes. The headache was getting worse.

"Fair," I admitted, each word careful. "I'm not asking you to trust me—not yet. I just want the opportunity to prove I'm not a threat."

He shifted away, taking up a position just behind Superman's right shoulder. Still close enough to strike if he wanted to. The suspicion radiating off him was palpable.

"How much do you know?" he asked.

No—demanded.

The words cracked across the rooftop like thunder. The sudden intensity made me flinch, just slightly, my fingers curling tighter around the edge of the crate.

God, my head.

"Easy," I muttered through gritted teeth, pushing down the urge to snap back.

He wasn't asking—he was probing. Testing me.

"I need answers. Now."

I braced myself, lifting my gaze to his with slow deliberation. "I know more than enough to be dangerous, B."

The nickname slipped from my lips with practiced ease—soft but sharp, and very intentional.

Batman stilled.

I didn't miss the way his jaw ticked beneath the cowl.

"I also have no intention of using that knowledge to hurt anyone," I added, my voice steady.

"Convenient," he replied, flat as slate.

My spine tingled with rising fury.

"Not so much, actually."

The words spilled out cold and sharp.

"Turns out, being kidnapped from your natural universe and dropped into one written by nerds with superhero complexes? Really fucks up your life."

The glare I leveled at him was full of all the pent-up rage, grief, and exhaustion I'd been swallowing since the night John died.

And for once, Batman didn't interrupt.

"If you feel like you need another opinion," I said, voice flat but steady,

"Call Wonder Woman. I won't have a choice but to tell the truth if you use her lasso."

The words hung heavy between us, and I saw the flicker in Batman's eyes—a twitch behind the cowl, nothing more.

"But just a heads-up," I added, tone cooling further. "I know future events. So if you decide to ask something… think it through. Carefully. Some things are better not known."

Batman's mouth flattened into a hard line.

"How do we know you won't use what you know for personal gain?" he asked.

Not growled. Not barked.

Asked.

A shift.

I groaned, loud and frustrated, letting my head fall back for just a second before locking eyes with him again.

"If that were my goal," I snapped, "why would I be here? I could have set myself up somewhere safe—miles away from Gotham. Sipping overpriced margaritas on some private island. Hell, I could've made myself disappear and avoided every disaster I know is coming."

I gestured to myself. "Instead, I'm here. Bleeding, bruised, and exhausted.

Exposing myself, risking my neck... just to prove I'm not a threat."

A short, stifled snort came from Robin's direction.

Batman—being the ass-hat he is—shut it down with one sharp look.

Still, it was the tiniest breach in the gloom.

Drawing in a deep breath, I straightened, willing strength into my spine.

"Look," I said, voice lowering. "If I wanted to hurt anyone, you never would've known I existed."

A beat of silence.

"I'm here because it's the right thing to do," I finished. "Even if it's incredibly stupid from a self-preservation standpoint."

Batman stared at me for a moment that stretched far too long. The weight of his gaze was suffocating, dissecting me down to the marrow.

Then, he turned to Superman.

"She's coming with me," he said, voice like cut granite—flat, cold, absolute.

Superman's brows pulled together. "Batman, I don't—"

"She knows too much," Batman cut in sharply. "You can't watch her twenty-four seven. I can."

There it was. The gavel drop.

And maybe I had hit my head harder than I thought, because I sighed like a woman utterly done with this universe.

Rubbing my temples, I muttered under my breath, "Oh, great. Babysitting by Gotham's favorite ray of sunshine. Lucky me."

Robin couldn't hold back this time—his laughter echoed across the rooftop, bright and sharp.

Batman's head whipped toward him with another laser-glare, but Tim only shrugged, trying—and failing—to wipe the grin off his face.

"Why aren't you freaking out?" Robin asked, genuinely curious as he looked me over.

I gave a half-shrug. "Naturally calm-natured," I said dryly. "Or maybe I'm just really good at compartmentalizing. Childhood trauma—great for sorting priorities under pressure."

Batman stepped forward again, and the shadows clung to him like they were afraid to let go.

"You'll stay with me," he said, tone final. "I'll determine whether you're a threat… and neutralize you if necessary."

My eyebrows shot up. "Neutralize?" I repeated, letting the word linger in the air like a bad smell. Then I exhaled slowly, folding my arms.

"You know," I said coolly, "I'm very curious—do you have any idea what this kind of behavior does to someone who's innocent of wrongdoing?"

No reply.

"No?" I pressed. "Nothing? Doesn't exactly get you on the Christmas card list, I'll tell you that much."

Still nothing.

"Rude," I muttered under my breath, but just loud enough to be heard.

Superman nodded reluctantly, the corners of his mouth tight as Batman's eyes locked on his.

"Fine," he said. "But I want to be kept updated on her well-being. She's still somewhat my responsibility, too."

The moment felt like a turning point, and I wasn't about to let my one ally fly off without a parting shot.

Clearing my throat, I straightened up on the crate.

"I know all your names," I said smoothly, "but we've skipped proper introductions. Not very good manners, now is it?"

I turned my attention to the Caped Crusader, letting the smile pull at the edges of my lips.

"You've got a promise to keep, don't you?"

Batman's eyes narrowed, jaw tightening beneath the cowl. "This isn't the time for games."

"Oh, I disagree," I replied, grin widening. "I've got a bet to win."

Robin cracked up, clapping a hand over his mouth but failing to stop the laugh. "You bet on Batman having manners? Seriously?"

"No," I said, voice calm and steady. "I bet that Bruce Wayne wouldn't break his word."

The silence that followed was glorious.

Batman exhaled sharply, a sound of reluctant surrender. I had him.

"May I have your name… please?"

Oof. That actually sounded painful.

Who knew fucking around with superheroes could be this much fun?

I let the silence stretch just long enough for dramatic effect, basking in the tension like a cat in a sunbeam.

"…Leigh Ashton," I said finally, with a sweet smile. "Pleasure to meet you."

Robin's bark of surprised laughter echoed across the rooftop, and Superman's amused chuckle followed.

"Likewise, Leigh. And… good luck." The sincerity in his voice caught me a little off guard.

Then he launched into the sky with a gust of wind and a sonic boom that tugged at my clothes.

I turned to Batman, utterly unbothered. "He still owes me a hundred bucks. Do you know if Superman uses Venmo?"

No response. Just a slow, withering glare.

"Well," I said cheerfully, "this is going to be fun."

The glare deepened.