A superbat fic ideas featuring amnesia
So this happened after the JL had formed but before they share their secret identity—Clark also hasn't tell Lois yet about him being Superman.
Clark hears distress call from people deep within a forest on a mountain somewhere in SEA (South-East Asia) because they're lowkey about to be sacrificed for dark magic ritual—it's real, btw. SEA, like Indonesia for example, is infamous for dark magic involving living being as sacrifices; usually it's just farm animal like chicken, pig, cow, goat or buffalo, but crazy fanatic people can resort to corpse or even living human—and he immediately heads to the site, only to be blasted with a spell.
The spell is originally created to erase someone identity, which in ancient time where wars between kingdoms were frequent it was commonly used because it was convenient for smuggling informant/spy as a slave and make them not remember who they are/their whole identity and personality until the smuggled person arrived safely or until the spell wears off. The spell can actually be put in a controlled period of time. But as the era of magic and rituals fades away, the art of the ancient spell recedes into those of amateur level compared to back in its prime age, and now it's used as a form of hypnotize—putting its victim into a state of disorientation and panic as they can't remember who and how and why and where they are, leading them into trusting the perpetrator.
Unfortunately—or rather, fortunately—for the mighty Superman who is not invincible from magic at all, he has his secret identity; Clark Kent the mild-mannered Daily Planet reporter. The spell somehow, somehow takes it effects after Clark had succeeded in saving every hostage and turned in the captors. And the next morning, Clark the Reporter wakes up, never remembering his other life as Superman at all. In fact, it's as if he has never even experienced his childhood memory of the chaotic moment where his power first came out, nor moment where his parents explained his origin.
Lois is—subtly but persistently—pestering Clark with her "I know you're secretly Superman, dude." as usual. But what differs is, despite the same flustered squawk and evasive demeanor, Clark means it.
This guy genuinely thinks and believes with all his life that he is not Superman. Although he retains his muscle control as a normal human (blocking noises, holding his enhanced vision and other enhanced senses, controlling his strength and remembering how to walk normally, not hovering nor too fast), he's still quite strong due to the muscle mass he already has. But he isn't as fast as Lois manages to snatch his glasses of because a) he isn't superman, he isn't fast enough nor able to creates any distraction by utilizing his super-abilities; b) again, he isn't superman, so he doesn't find any reason as to why he has to get that glasses on his face "all the goddamn time," as quoted from Lois.
So for once, Clark Kent is found without his glasses, as his reporter persona, in broad daylight.
"Holy shit, Clark," Lois has said, along with several colleagues surprised gasps in the background, "You really do look like Superman." Lois quietly puts his glasses in her drawer, hiding it from Clark without him noticing.
"Have you tried punching your apartment wall?" Jimmy quips.
"It's a little uncanny for me," Cat Grant says, some people nodding along.
"You should try styling your hair a little," another shouts from across the room.
"Damn Clark, now I get why you insist having that glasses on every goddamn time." Steve, who usually mocks him, is now looking at him with a newfound sympathy. "Must be suck being compared to a guy that's literally the number one hero all the time."
The commotions only disperse when Perry barks his usual nagging, yet even Perry himself has to do a doubletake when he strides past Clark's cubicle.
Later that day, Lois convinces him to join a Superman look-alike contest sponsored by some big corporate whose name he forgot—the prize money is pretty much all it takes to make Clark agree—and a make-over shopping spree for the oncoming Wayne Charity Gala at the end of the month. Again, it's also Lois who manages to make him agree to not wear his glasses the whole time they're on the mall.
"So we can choose something that truly suits you without that dorky glasses for once," she argues when Clark gets increasingly uncomfortable by every passerby who gawk every time they walk past him, added by the unwanted attention of the customers and clerks in every store they visit.
By the end of the week, there are absolutely no sightings of Superman and instead, Clark has the first place winning trophy of the look-alike contest as a new addition on his decoration shelf, featured in the Daily Planet Sunday newspaper in a fun snippet Lois wrote under the title 'A Common Man with Superman's Face', and an invitation to a talkshow from a quite popular TV channel. Clark doesn't even know what on earth is the talkshow gonna be talking about—his uncanny resemblance with Superman??
Clark grows tired of the attentions people gave him and increasingly trying to hide himself—ironically slipping further into the meek reporter mask he uses to hide his presence before the spell accident.
He has previously thought he would just become another 5-minute internet sensation at best, not... this.
Meanwhile, the JL is in a chaos trying to find Superman, especially Batman. Most of them argued Batman that "Hey, maybe the guy just wanna be left alone, you know? Who knows what he sees on the field and it's not even a week yet."
But well, Batman is still wary of Superman—to be fair, he's always wary and doesn't even think of remotely trusting anybody there—and thus becomes restless when he doesn't hear anything from him even after 2 days of radio silent. Isn't that fool always annoyingly tries to tag along during his nightly patrol? So why the ghosting?
Did he seriously getting ghosted by Superman?
The big, bad, broody Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham??
Bruce is having absolutely none of it.
He has the flight pattern data of Superman; Bruce had tracked him since the moment Superman starts 'bothering' him on patrol.
During the week spent for analyzing it, Bruce discovers two different buildings Superman frequents more that others; the Daily Planet main office building and an apartment building downtown. Well, the Daily Planet makes sense. They have Lois and that one bumbling reporter who was the first to interviewed Superman, so the hero might often visits to either shares news or to give some needed quotes. But Bruce has zero clue on who on earth among the residents in the building does he close to. And before he has time to finish background-checking every residents, the days went by and the charity gala comes crashing down.
Alfred has to drag him to properly dress up for the occasion as Bruce grumbles about how he doesn't even need to attend as he already gives a fantastic sum for donation, although he still ends up being consistently fashionably late.
Then there, smack bang right in the middle of the dancing hall, Clark Kent the Reporter standing tall, towering over the people surrounds him, visibly awkward and uncomfortable.
And a suit that finally fits his surprisingly muscular physique.
And hair that's finally not shaped like a mop of dark, curled nest on top of his head, accompanied with a face that is uncannily, scarily similar to those of Superman without his glasses on.
Bruce finds himself slack-jawed (and pleasantly surprised because for once, he isn't the one swarmed with people trying to lick up to him).
Filled with curiosity, he tries to get closer to Clark for the whole night—evading the intrusive approach of many business owners trying to get him to their side, warding off a band of influencers and models, even blatantly ignoring several journalists who are trying to get a quote out of him. It is an exhausting work, given the way he already circled the ballroom five times because every time he manages to slip near Clark, someone just has to interrupt.
Clark notices, of course.
He wonders whether he has spent his lifetime luck for today because the Bruce Wayne he usually only able to see from afar has been popping up near his proximity so many times that he lost count.
Just when he's finally, finally able to bodily grab this hunk of meat and maneuvers him to a nearby empty balcony, an explosion rang loud and clear from the ballroom.
(He was so, so unbelievably close.
Clark was beyond flustered; cheeks flushing this beautiful shade of rose and hands that rest on his shoulders shuddered. His lovely blue eyes darting frantically from his mouth to his eyes to his mouth again, and Bruce had to fight the world to hold himself back from kissing this bumbling, awkward reporter.
They were so closely apart, and Bruce could picked up the scent of petrichor, mint, and a soft lingering smell of things left too long under the sun. It was familiar, something he knows but couldn't quite put a finger to it.
They split off from each other in record time and run back inside, only to duck along with other guests as gunshots rang. People screaming, Joker laughing, no Batman in sight, and there are five explosives beeping on the heavy, marble adorned roof. As the goons start doing rounds and threatens fussy guests, Kent is holding his hand tight enough to hurt, and Bruce realizes his own is slightly trembling.
Is Kent trying to calm him down?
Does he remembers that Brucie Wayne is supposed to be scared of guns?
Joker starts to demand Batman to come out before the bomb goes off one by one to the countdown, and Bruce grits his teeth because he just can't get out of this without compromising himself. Beside him, Clark Kent is a pale, quivering mess, eyes glistening from occasional tears; and he's still hanging on Bruce's hand.
Why is he so pretty when he cries?
Not the time and place to think about that.
He hastily shrugs Kent's hand off and starts quietly usher other guests away when the rogues aren't looking, hoping at least some of them get to safety and call the cops. Kent blinks and stares at him for a moment before moving away to do the same, a newfound determination in his eyes, face still unnervingly looks like Superman.
Or well enough, at least before Joker realizes that his plentiful hostages starts to dwindle and begins angrily shouting to his rogues; some of them move to intimidate the remaining guests, leading them right to the middle of the ballroom. There are some furious yelling, a quarrel within the villain's party that makes Bruce anxious—what if Joker is pissed off and decided to blow this room off in a whim?
Nonetheless, whatever plan Bruce is thinking evaporates as the beeping rapidly gets louder and the roof starts to fall down, following the deafening explosion. The clown cackles loudly, says something about 'whoops, wrong timing, tehee~' before turning his heels from the crumbling area.
The rest of the guests, who are now screaming amidst the falling rubbles.
The remaining rogues scattered among them, who start to shoot their guns wildly, trying to no avail to stop the debris.
And Kent, the mild-mannered Clark Kent he barely knows, pulls him into a protective hug, shielding him as fuckton kilos worth of marbles raining down on them.
Bruce's heart running over 100bpm, mentally preparing for the worst.
Kent—who gradually loosen his hold on Bruce's figure, drawing a sharp breath as he comes to discover that his own bear no wound, not even a single scratch—survives, slowly raising to his feet, silhouette tall amid the cloud of dust.
Bruce's eyes widen in realization while horror and confusion etched in Kent's gaze, fear written all over his face as he stares at his own body.
He yanks Kent Superman away when police light shines trough, hiding behind massive chunk of fallen marble and slams his back onto it.
"What are you doing here, Superman?" Bruce hissed, and the younger man's vacant stare tells him something is up.
"I- I'm not—" Kent swallows, panic visible. "Please, please, I- I don't know. I— I'm not Superman."
But Bruce really don't have time to talk and discuss right now.
He taps his custom watch and calls—disgruntledly—Green Lantern to help with damage control and clean up, all while Kent (or Superman? Who the hell is this guy?) fixed on him, mouth agape.
Bruce drags him (seriously, he has been towing this guy everywhere since the first time they touched on the balcony earlier) to the backdoor, shoving him into Alfred's waiting car.
"We'll talk about this later, Kent."
