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Quiet and silent are two different concepts, and not just by the definition.
A silent Bat is a bat that is hunting, searching, finding. A silent Bat is darkness and mystery, mixed with intelligence and scheming. Generally speaking, if you’ve not done anything illegal, you won’t see a silent Bat, and he will pass you by like thoughts before a midterm - swift, elusive, and insubstantial.
A quiet Bat is hiding.
You might not know what he is hiding, but he is. He’s hiding from the world, from his enemies, from the whirlpool that is his mind. He’s not silent, and he is unpredictable in this state. He can be standing next to you, quiet, and still be hidden away. You might not even notice it. After all, to most humans, quiet and silent are thought of as two sides of the same coin.
Gotham knows better. And so do the ones who live closest to the city’s core.
Superman! Superman!
The world was filled with voices of the troubled, the dying, the hopeful, the hopeless. Clark could barely remember a time when he couldn’t hear the world, couldn’t hear people call for him, beg for his help. He was pretty sure he couldn’t hear it while he was ‘dead’, but he wasn’t awake to know, so, who knows?
Superman! Superman!
Clark settled onto the roof of the old church, leaning on the bell tower. Bruce was supposed to meet him tonight, to go over a case he was working on. Clark might not know exactly how Bruce worked, but an investigative journalist and a crime investigator had many similar skills. If nothing else, Clark could be a new set of eyes on the files that had stymied the detective.
Kal! Kal-el! Superman Kal!
His kryptonian name, coming from deeper into Gotham, was a surprise. He listened again, head tilting to catch the words again.
“Kal-Elle!” The voice was young, a child. They weren’t sure of his name, like they’d only heard it once or twice. With a quick sweep to check for Batman, he lifted from the roof and flew towards the voice.
The child was seven or eight. Dressed in rough, dirty clothes, they were staring up at the sky when Clark set down in front of them. Dirty blond hair and glasses that were too big completed the child’s look. Homeless, probably. Possibly a run-away, Clark thought, looking deeper. They’d been fed recently, no overt signs of trauma.
“Hello,” Clark said quietly. “Were you calling for me?”
The child looked both unimpressed and stunned. After a few blinks, the child turned and ran down the closest alley. When Clark didn’t move, the kid stopped, and gestured for him to follow.
“Alright, I’m coming,” he said, striding forward. The alley was dark, nearly opaque, and full of garbage bins ready for pick up. Several had local logos for fast food companies. Mixed odours of chow mein, banana and kiwi assaulted his nose.
The kid disappeared behind one large dumpster. There was a gap, just large enough for a child, between the dumpster and a wall of boxes. Looking them over, he noticed a corner of very familiar black fabric peeking out. Clark pushed gently on the boxes, hoping to shift a few -
-only for half of the pile to collapse beside him. They were empty.
“Didn’t want the bird finding him,” another, older child said from behind the stack. “We left his cape out so we’d know which pile we buried him in.” Shifting another stack of empty boxes, the older kid, probably around 12, easily slid even farther back into the recess. “He’s still out cold.”
Batman lay, half on another pile of black garbage bags, and half on the wet ground. His cape had been pulled mostly over his armour, presumably to help hide him. And the kid was right - he was unconscious, bleeding sluggishly from his nose.
“How did this happen?” he asked, kneeling beside Batman.
“Fell. Missed a jump on the roof. We saw him crash right into the dumpster. Hasn’t woken up yet.” The child was hanging back, even as Clark began to unwrap the cape. “He’s not dead.”
Clark shook his head. “No, he’s injured pretty badly, though.” Clark turned around to see the child backing up. “Thank you for calling -- wait!” he called, as the child disappeared around the boxes. He sighed. Looking back down at the Gotham Bat, he knew he didn’t have time to go hunting the kid down. B needed medical attention, and probably a pint of blood. He’d have to take him to the clinic.
He had scooped up the man, and floated half way out of the mess, when the child called from somewhere down the alley. “He knew you’d come, if we used your name.” A pair of reflective eyes shone back at Clark, even as he tried to see whom they belonged to. “We’re not wrong, are we?” their voice said, doubling over itself, like a bad audio sync.
Clark shivered, suddenly feeling very exposed, and very unsure of what was talking to him. “No,” he said, swallowing past the rising bile. Hasn’t woken up yet - he knew you’d come - used your name. The eyes were joined by several more sets. “No, I’ll come whenever he needs me.”
“Good,” the chorus of voices answered, and all the eyes blinked out.