The wind was calm.

There was a slight chill in the air as he floated quietly across the city.

His thoughts distracting as he steadily made his way to the familiar highrise.

Over and over in his head he had played out the coming moments, and each time his fear had won out before he could see it through.

“Tonight.” He said softly to empty air

It had to be now, he knew that. Placing his hand on his chest, subtly tracing the outline of his Father’s crest with his fingers.

Hope.

He gave it freely to others, time and time again.

No matter how impossible, or inconvenient.

He stood tall, and made sure everyone could see the symbol he personified.

He never let them see how he struggled, or the pain that he would be forced to endure.

He pressed forward, and never let himself be defeated.

Yet, he knew the hardest battles are always the ones that rage within, the ones we never allow others to see.

He was losing the battle within himself, he felt it.

He needed help, from the only person who would understand.

“Bruce.” He said to the darkness

A moment passed before a towering figure emerged from the darkened rooftop, clad entirely in black, a midnight cape clung to his back, and an ever familiar cowl kept his sharp features hidden.

“Clark.” The figure said in reponse.

For the first time that evening, he felt the weight he had been carrying. The burden of his power wearing down on him. The pull of gravity resisting his will to conquer it. He simply released it, like an exhale after holding his breathe for so long.

His boots hit the ground with a characteristic thunk of hardened leather meeting cold concrete. He felt the fatigue of the last few months hit him hard as he almost stumbled taking a few steps forward.

The towering black figure clad in armor followed him to the edge and quietly took his place beside him.

The two imposing figures stood shoulder to shoulder overlooking the now electrified night life of a city saved yet again from certain disaster.

Seconds turned to minutes as the two stood in silence, simply breathing in the cold night air. A wordless exchange of respect for eachother.

“It’s Lois.” The cowled figure said

Despite everything, he felt a short chuckle escape his lips.

“Am I so obvious?”

“Metallo.”

“What?”

“You were pulling punches against Metallo, you were distracted.”

“You figured out Lois… from that?”

His friend turned his head to him, and simply smiled his knowing crooked smile.

He laughed, for the first time what felt like months he laughed, and how amazing it felt. A complete release of the burden he had been carrying. He could his feel his face being pulled up in a smile as joy threatened to consume him.

“It’s a bad idea.” His cowled friend said

“I know.” Turning to him “But I cannot spend another day not telling her.”

“Like you said.” Bringing his fist up and clenching it. “I’m pulling my punches.”

“For what it’s worth. I’m happy for you.”

His friends caped billowed ever so slightly in the wind as he turned to face him, they met eachothers eyes in fierce determination.

With a quick flick of his wrist his friend tossed a small object at him, he caught it, and quickly examined the familiar treasure.

Batman extended his hand out to him.

“It’s still a bad idea.”

He clasped his trusted friends hand and held it tight.

“I know.”

The two smiled knowing smiles at eachother, knowing that whatever came next. The two would deal with it.

Sirens broke the moment as down below chaos erupted, three painted vans bearing the familiar images of clowns tore up down the street.

They fired their guns wildly into the air, hollering and laughing into the night.

Moments behind were Gothams finest, taking pursuit, and no small amount of gun fire.

“They’re early.”

His friend turned to edge and began tapping wildly on a wrist mounted device, it made short squawks in response.

“Do you ever take a night off?”

Batman turned and simply responded; “Ask me a serious question.”

He then without another word dove off the thirty-story highrise to the street below.

From the opposite direction of the Clown Parade came squeling a very familiar rumble of something all in Gotham had come to fear.

He watched as he friend dove faster and faster before extending his pitch black wings and gliding seemlessly into the open cab of the fabled Batmobile.

With incredible skill the two became one and raced onward toward the Clown Parade.

“Show Off.”

He pitched his head back and took a deep and well earned breath. He felt clear. He felt ready.

His fatigue and indecision banished, he stood renewed.

In his open hand he looked down at his familiar pair of glasses, a set that he thought he had lost in his fight with Brainiac this past spring.

He opened them gently before putting them on his face, using his index finger to push them up to his eyebrows.

He was ready.

With a powerful burst he launched himself into the sky.

Taking flight, to her.