Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lancer was a man who knew all too well what following your life’s passion often meant: Suffering alone, and suffering in silence.

Not always.

But…it sure happened enough.

For Lancer, it was his bizarre mix of majors and minors that landed him squarely in the unsociable zone, partially due to how he was doomed to vigorous study to keep up with a double major in Literary Arts and Historical Anthropology. Although, it was definitely due to his pursuit of two Masters degrees in Education and Developmental Psychology and Historical Preservation that killed his social life forever.

Lancer learned the hard way that his area of specific interest, even within those fields, was less than appealing to his peers.

However, for Lancer’s ex-boyfriend from high school, following your life’s passion meant breaking up with him weeks before graduation to join the army, disappearing into some special forces unit, and apparently dying in combat or something. Unfortunately, Lancer didn’t know for sure.

Life went on. Lancer walked across stage after stage with a terminal lack of friends.

He got his teaching license and became a high school teacher.

He found joy in listening to the games his kids loved, and secretly becoming the best player in every game he could so his kids wouldn’t feel so listless. Knowing about the games, and being able to dangle the olive branch of ‘the more work you finish, the more time you have to play’ worked extremely well with teens. It shouldn’t have worked as well as it did, but the apathy-to-spite pipeline was amazing.

He drowned in debts.

He partnered with niche research institutions no one was really interested in and wrote papers that were published and seemingly went straight into the void at a hundred miles an hour. Lost teaching arts were dug up from extinction and pieced back together by Lancer’s hands. He gained Doctorates after his Masters. He was an expert in his field. He was a nobody.

He spent every night alone in his old, run down house on the edge of Amity Park. It was affordable. Quiet. He built a massive bookshelf in his basement-turned-home study.

Eventually, he could sleep at night without worrying about the debts.

One day, as Lancer watched his students take a test on the rise and fall of Sparta, an email found itself in his inbox. That itself wasn’t strange. Lancer was harassed by emails constantly. 

It was weird because it came from a news station several states away.

The email, while claiming to be for professional reasons, was an inquiry for a personal matter.

Dear Professor L. Lancer,

My name is Clark Kent. I am a journalist associated with the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I’m emailing you in regards to an interest in the papers you have released that indicate an early contact with other civilizations of the greater universe as marked by a significantly abstract change in approach and regard to pre-established ancient civilizations.

I was wondering if I would be able to pick your brain on the logistics of one of those potential civilizations being that of Krypton. I understand that this topic is quite a small field of study, but I am still interested to hear if you would be willing to meet with me, either online or in person.

Please feel free to reach out to me at any point in time, even if it’s to decline. I thank you for your time,

Clark Kent, 

Daily Planet Journalist

Lancer couldn’t help but re-read the email a couple times as he tried to figure out which  of his papers had the journalist connecting his papers to aliens.

He glanced at the clock.

“Alright, students. You have exactly twenty-six minutes left to complete your test. When you’re finished, feel free to come and hand it in after reviewing your answers, and head out early for lunch today,” Lancer smiled.

He turned his attention back to his computer.

Dear Clark,

Admittedly, it is not often that someone contacts me regarding research and academics. Additionally, I do not have an incredibly in-depth knowledge of Krypton or its history in order to speculate such a connection at this time. 

My focus tends to stray into the advancements in cognition and abstract conceptual integration throughout lost periods of civilization, or through periods of history in which there is a significant potential for the information regarding the development of, and implementation of, those lost arts. This is particularly so when regarding lost information and its restoration. Krypton would be a fascinating exploration into restoration at an incredibly grandiose scale as well as an interesting point of contention in some academic circles as to the prior records of interstellar contacts.

I’d be more than happy to schedule a time to discuss this further. As the journalist partially known for recording the exploits of Superman, I imagine you have gathered quite an amount of expertise on the subject. Consider me intrigued. 

Due to my location, I highly doubt meeting in person is possible at this time. However, I am more than willing to meet online. I do teach during the day, but I am free every day from 12:00pm-1:45pm, or any time after 3:00pm.

Please feel free to get back to me with a preferred date and time that works best for you to meet.

Thank you for your inquiry,

L. Lancer

Mr. Kent had emailed him articles from the Justice League themselves on Krypton and its known history. Granted, those documents were redacted and thin regardless of the redactions.

Lance Lancer was no stranger to redacted documents. Metaphorically speaking, redactions were his entire focus. That made it very interesting when he read the documents Clark had sent, and had to ask himself what kind of tyrannical civilization the Kryptonians had to be in order to conquer worlds with relative ease.

It was a fascinating read that had him deep-diving into the archives where he suspected such a thing may be hinted.

If someone had told Lance back in high school that one day a reporter would be having an earnest academic discussion with him about the potential validity of a near-extinct civilization of alliances making contact with the ancient civilizations of earth and influencing their growth, he might have asked his boyfriend at the time to punch them. That was saying something, considering Lancer would have rather punched them himself than have Slade take care of things on his behalf.

“I admit I have a personal interest in looking into the Kryptonians,” Clark joked with a grin. He pushed his glasses up on his nose as he leaned into the camera with more excitement than he probably meant to show.

“I can see why,” Lancer nodded, “Given that the Kryptonians are well understood to be an advanced alien race of similar capabilities as ourselves when on a planet further from the sun than our Earth is, it is an interesting path of academics to look into. If Kryptonians made it to Earth, would they not stay, and if not, why? Admittedly, I never cared much for extraterrestrial pursuits of history before.”

Considering Lancer was often harassed by ghosts that loved disrupting his lessons, and were very often not… well, definitely-human. Humanoid? Perhaps.

Lancer watched Clark’s face raise into a bright smile.

“I’m happy to add it to my research and publish what I find, if that was your intent on reaching out to discuss things with me,” Lancer offered, “I won’t lie. It’s caught my interest.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it has,” Lancer hummed as he flipped through his own notes off screen.

“I didn’t think that the world’s leading researcher in the restoration of ancient cultures would be interested in this stuff, really,“ Clark admitted with a flush, “No one else was, or they were just conspiracy theorists.”

“That’s… not quite accurate. Regardless, while my work wasn’t necessarily directed towards interstellar cultural recovery, I’m not opposed to it,” Lancer hummed, “The fact that my existing work has… semi-raised the question of a connection at all is admittedly curious enough for me to look into it. Even if on a basic level.”

“Yes!” Clark beamed before he tried to reign himself in quickly from the over-excitement. He cleared his throat, "Do you mind if we keep in regular contact?”

“Not at all. I look forward to getting to know you throughout this,” Lancer chuckled as he slid his book to the side, “When it comes time to publish, how do you want to be credited?”

Lancer watched what remained of the flush vanish, overtaken by a white tint.

“Actually, I’d really rather not be credited in any way,” Clark began anxiously. He fixed his glasses again as he held a hand aloft, “I don’t want to seem, you know…”

“It’s alright. I don’t need an explanation.”

As far as piecing together a dead culture’s lost methods of rearing, and the evolution of cognition and abstract conceptualization that would allow both educational and evolutionary milestones large enough to reach a point where it matched with published data of Krypton and it’s society and biology could possibly go from a research and hypothesis standpoint, Lancer figured he was doing okay.

In a way, it was the ultimate test for Lancer.

Could he decode enough of Krypton’s educational and cultural arts to clearly define the growth and influence contained within Kryptonian culture itself, and, in doing so, clearly (or as clearly as possible) discern the methods that the Kryptonians used in their paths to conquer entire planets.

Maybe Lancer wasn’t as honest with Clark as he could have been regarding exactly what he was looking into.

It was for the best.

Lancer had to tell himself that it really was for the best.

If Clark was correct about the Kryptonians visiting  Earth and influencing it enough to create cultural shifts and developments in the educational arts, then why wasn’t Earth another Krypton?

Lancer stayed in close contact with the overexcited reporter. Even as far as erratically passionate and quirky reporters went (and Amity had a few of them), Clark Kent took the cake. 

Then again, it was extremely clear that Clark Kent was a nerd.

He showed an avid interest in Lancer’s work, even past the Krypton Inquiry. It was kind of cute considering Clark didn’t seem to get half of it. The study of education evolution, restoration, and preservation was definitely not most people’s strength, certainly not in the extremes that Lancer himself had taken the studies.

In Lancer’s very specific case, he had to wonder if he was alone in his studies. It wouldn’t change much if he was or wasn’t. The research institute that Lancer worked with approved his research proposal with the same distance his academic advisors did back in university.

They approved his proposal regardless.

Lancer went to work.

“I was wondering if you’d be at all interested in meeting up in person?” Clark grinned at him during their now-commonplace lunch calls. If Clark had moved his lunch back to accommodate how Lance seemed to always be saddled with lunch monitoring duty at his high school, well, Lance would never know.

Lancer covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he pulled up his calendar on his laptop, “I can’t go this weekend, but next weekend I can take a trip to Metropolis? If that works?”

“... You wanna come to Metropolis?” Clark perked up with a grin.

“Well, Amity’s a little unpredictable. Hotel’s are… the city has issues with being the most haunted place in North America for a reason,” Lancer shrugged, “Frankly, I could use a plane ride and a weekend where I read fictional literature for fun and met up with you.”

“Awesome! It’s a date!... Wait!”

Lancer smirked at the flustered reporter, “Yes, Clark, it’s a date .”

Chapter Text

Lancer had a boyfriend for the first time since university. 

Amazing, really, considering even his past partners that had originally thought his focus was quirky enough to be cute were sick of him quickly enough.

Clark had listened to him longer than any of them had, and he hadn’t left yet.

The idea that people wouldn’t drop him for his interests felt like such an abstract concept now.

Clark was perfectly fine with Lancer flying into town, and taking him to the aquarium only for the academic to spend hours lecturing his date about the Odyssey and the intricacies of the emotional context long lost beneath the years. Clark learned so much about the intricately preserved social consciousness as they looked at starfish, jellies, and recreations of reefs.

It was seamless.

Clark was impressed, though he was certain that wasn’t the point.

He bought them ice cream. He picked out matching mugs in the gift shop. He pretended he wasn’t discovering just how much he was into Lancer which was ridiculous because it was Lancer who had asked him out.

Lancer was a lot.

Lancer was a breath of fresh air across a warm field.

Lancer was the sassiest little shit who had honed the attitude into perfection.

“My kids are going to find out about you. They’re bloodhounds for drama,” Lancer hummed neutrally, “ Do you mind if they know about you?”

Clark blushed and smiled softly, “Not at all,  I’m sure they’re wonderful.”

“Wonderful in their own special ways, to be sure,” Lancer agreed, “Wouldn't trade them for the world. Except, perhaps, for a shred of peace.”

“Oh?”

“If you met my students, you would understand.”

And he did.

After a weekend of fun as he wined and dined with his new boyfriend (boyfriend!!), and he showed off Metropolis (with, perhaps, a little too much pride), they scheduled a time for Clark to spend in Amity.

He bribed Conner to come to Metropolis (and to bring Tim along with him) to watch the city. 

He bribed Bruce to watch Jon.

Clark, in a way that rivaled and far surpassed the Young Justice team’s own chaos, found out exactly what Lancer meant. He flew to Amity Park, Illinois and saw the FBI using tanks to square off against teenagers with absolutely no real weapons or armor. The agents fired shot after shot at the kids, but nothing mattered

The teens were winning.

Clark recognized every single one of them from the pictures of school events.

He was absolutely sure one of them had just bitten a chunk out of an agent.

He had no idea exactly when Lancer had found him, but the expression of calm wasn’t as reassuring as it should have felt.

“You should have seen things earlier,” Lancer shrugged with his hands on his hips, “Ghosts were throwing chunks of buildings around.”

“...Why?!”

“I think someone insulted a steak again. It happens every so often,” Lancer dismissed.

An expression of utter bewilderment crossed Clark’s face even as Lancer took him by the hand and led him away from the fight.

“Isn’t it better to help them?!”

“Trust me on this one: There’s nothing left to do,” Lancer admitted with a deep set exhaustion.

Clark could do nothing but let Lancer lead. Just like with Lance’s intellect, Clark was far out of his league.

Clark had no kids and a wife. 

Clark had two kids and a mutual divorce. 

Clark had… well, a lot of kids and a boyfriend. Did he know Lancer’s students? No, not really, just the one trio that sometimes sat in on his and Lancer’s lunches due to detention requirements, but he loved them all equally.

Clark was a liar. The trio were his favourite of Lancer’s kids.

One unfortunate morning when he’d slept over at his boyfriend’s cute little house, the Kryptonian learned that one of the trio had a tank of his own, one was capable of hacking the government, and one had entirely too many connections and maybe owned a part of the government.

“What the hell are you teaching kids in this town?!” Clark cried out.

“To be ungovernable, apparently,” Lancer sighed as he watched the Amity Park News, “The Mayor must have picked a fight again.”

“What on Earth,” Clark whispered to himself.

“To be fair, this is why I much rather visit Metropolis instead of bringing you here.”

It took a special kind of teacher to inspire the level of authoritative abandonment within Amity Park while also still imparting the critical lessons of warfare during that period of growth.

It was something Slade had never managed to do correctly.

And yet, here he was, his ex-boyfriend, pulling it off perfectly.

His dear Lance was surely something else. He may have left him behind to join the military, but it was Lance who had clearly mastered the subject in all intellectual ways.

Slade overlooked the city that burned with green fire and the group of kids that lead their charge against ghosts and government.

“Ah, the tides of youth,” Slade hummed. 

He didn’t bother watching the carnage as he pulled his phone free from his pocket and reread his favourite research paper on the restoration of the lost military arts of fallen empires, and the examination within the pre-development of those strategies’ critical failures of cognitive disconnect.

Slade always hated incompetence.

That was exactly why he never could hate Lance Lancer.

Slade may not have been as human as he was before the military, but, in a bizarre twist of fate, his ex-boyfriend reached heights of immortality Slade could only dream of.

He never did outgrow his high school sweetheart.

It wasn’t hard to infiltrate the research institution, though it didn’t surprise Slade.

His armored combat boots echoed throughout the black halls as he made his way to a familiar office. He didn’t even have to pick the lock. He’d long-since made a key to the Institute’s offices, this one in particular.

What did surprise him was Lance’s proposal.

Standing in the dark of the closed facility, Slade quietly and efficiently copied Lancer’s proposal regarding Kryptonian warfare by the harsh light of the computer.

Even after all these years, his sweetheart never failed to keep him on his toes.

“You never disappoint, Lance.”

What he wouldn’t give to have put Lance in charge of the planet conquerors, if only to see his sweetheart in action.

Slade logged out of the computer that he’d long since memorized the credentials for with the crumbs of his ex’s next academic pursuit.

He could hardly call it a “discovery” when nothing could hide from Lancer. It was hard to imagine that his cheerleader ex-boyfriend was about to be known as the world’s leading expert on Kryptonian interstellar warfare.

Slade was strangely proud.

Months into their relationship, Lancer had finally met Clark’s kids. 

It wasn’t for a lack of wanting to meet him. 

Conner didn’t live with Clark, and had an apartment with his boyfriend, Tim Drake, in San Francisco. Jon, however, lived with Lois slightly more than he lived with Clark.

 If Conner had disliked him, Lancer wouldn’t have held it against him. It was hard to consider himself palatable even after all these years. 

That wasn’t the case.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to overhear Conner telling Clark that he didn’t deserve him.

"If you ruin this, I'll punch you," Conner had hissed as bacon and eggs sizzled on the stove.

Conner didn’t hate him, which he thought was nice. From his spot around the corner of the hall, Lancer was touched.

Lancer also regretted ever inviting the kids to Amity for a vacation.

City Hall was mere coals on a salted earth. 

Danny, Sam, and Tucker took to Jon and Conner like a fish to water, and Danny’s cousin Danielle took to the both of them like gasoline to an inferno.

Lancer marked essays at lunch with Clark on call and pretended like his kids didn’t just finish fist fighting the Mayor over trying to bulldoze the Nasty Burger.

It was a quiet night where Lancer had confined himself to his basement to go on a well-deserved research binge after midterm season finally finished. It felt amazing to just write and research anything that came to mind about the potential of Kryptonian culture, contact with Earth’s own culture, and warfare.

Hours flew by with the teacher bent over his desk as his interest took over. The perfect posture he’d held during the day was long gone as he indulged his interests.

Lancer didn’t notice the form that opened his front door and let himself in. 

He didn’t notice the heavy footsteps as they descended into the dark space, lit by desk lamps and carefully filtered display lights.

Lancer sat in his chair, hunched deeply over first edition texts and primary source material that, while on loan from the research institute, basically belonged to the intellectual recluse. 

Judging from the emails the institute had sent Lancer, Slade had to wonder if it wasn’t Lancer who had discovered the materials in the first place.

If that was the case, the Institute hadn't said a word.

As Slade stepped into the space and examined every nook and cranny from behind his ex, the assassin realized he had never seen a singular man with so many desks. Books sprawled carefully across every surface. Papers were stacked neatly in piles. File folders were scattered everywhere.

 The clack of keys echoed alongside the ruffle of paper as Lance just kept working.

Slade just stared at the back of Lancer’s head and watched him work.

“You still lose yourself to your fixations a little too much,” Slade spoke softly in the dim edge of the lamp light.

Lancer threw himself to his feet and knocked the office chair to the ground as he spun to see his intruder with  a screech all too familiar to Slade’s ears.

“Who are you and why are you in my house?!” Lancer screamed at the man in a full body suit of armor with weapons strapped to every part of his being.

“I’d be insulted that you didn’t recognize me if I wasn’t wearing my work uniform,” Slade acknowledged as he took his faceplate in his hands. He twisted it free and let his hand fall to the side.

Lance’s eyes flickered rapidly as he took in his face. 

The teacher’s eyes widened as he stumbled backwards. He gripped the edge of the desk as the world spun. His legs fell out from under him as he looked up into the face of his ex-boyfriend who had left him to drown under the weight of finals and university alone.

“Sla-ade…?” Lancer’s voice cracked.

“Hello, Lance. Long time no see, though I suppose that’s my own fault,” Slade admitted dryly as he moved in towards his high school sweetheart’s place on the floor.

“One Hundred Years of Solitude,” Lancer whispered breathlessly as he looked up at Slade’s silvery hair, touched seemingly by time despite being physically young. A leather eyepatch crossed its way around his face, and a dark smile did the same as he stared down at Lancer, “What happened to you?! Where have you been?”

“Oh, I joined a secret branch of the military, went through human experimentation… all fun stuff, I promise you,” Slade chuckled, “I learned, I mastered it all, and yet…”

Lancer swallowed as he rubbed his face even as tears dripped down his cheeks. Solid, warm, living hands clenched his shoulders.

Slade crouched in front of him. He could so easily imagine the lithe body of the cheerleader that had spent years at his side. As cute as that boy had been, he preferred the chunkier man in front of him now, “There you were: Miles ahead of me, and eons ahead of everyone else as you dredged up the knowledge on how to raise armies into godhood.”

“I… just like education, Slade,” Lancer blushed even as the hands crept up his neck to cradle his jaw.

“And I adore your mind. I read everything you publish,” Slade hummed as he stood up to his full height.

“Why?” Lancer furrowed his brow, “You left me for the military, for everything you actually wanted out of life, why come back now? Why read my research?”

“Because it’s interesting,” Slade said passively, “Because watching you restore and perfect the lost arts of war is breathtaking even from afar, and your latest exploration has me riveted.”

His ex came back from the dead. 

His ex had never died. 

His ex couldn’t die.

Lancer went to school the next day and introduced One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest to his tenth graders. He tried to pretend that everything was fine.

Deathstroke the Terminator, World's Greatest and Deadliest Assassin, was his ex-boyfriend.

He ate a salad from the cafeteria and ignored Clark’s concerned glances at lunch. Regardless of the definitely-still-there feelings for the assassin, and in spite of how tender Slade seemed to feel for him, Lancer didn’t know if it was just nostalgia or not. He didn’t need Clark involved in that mess.

He refused to acknowledge that Slade grew into the world's best assassin, and definitely knew about his boyfriend already.

Chapter Text

The next time Lancer saw Slade, the assassin was towering over the foot of his bed as Clark snored against the back of his neck.

It was strange.

It had been years, but the action was so familiar that Lance didn’t think as he shifted to make room for the man before he fell back asleep.

He woke up to a screaming match between his boyfriend, who was squeezing him to death, and his ex-boyfriend, who hadn’t moved an inch from the spot he’d taken up at the end of the bed.

“Shut up!” Lancer hissed as he snatched the pillow he had laid on and beamed Clark in the head, “You’re screaming in my ear! It’s…” Lancer squinted at his wrist and murmured, “Two in the morning… Just go to bed,” Lancer mumbled as he smacked the space next to him.

Lancer didn’t hear if they continued their stand-off or not. He wiggled free of Clark’s arms and curled back up in the center.

He only remembered feeling warm all around, and that was so nice…

When Lancer actually crawled out of bed, he’d been tucked in and was alone in his bedroom. The curtain, unlike how he kept it open for Clark, was shut tight like he preferred. When he slipped out of his room and followed the tension straight to his kitchen where Slade, dressed entirely in plain black clothes, was in a staring contest with Clark.

Lancer paused in the doorway and stared in confusion.

“Lance?” Clark asked carefully as he looked over, “Who is this man?”

Lance didn’t know what to say as he looked at Slade. The man just took a long sip of coffee. Typical Slade, “Clark, this is my ex boyfriend. I thought he was dead. Turns out, I was only desirable from a distance.”

Slade raised an eyebrow. His faceplate was clipped to his side as he leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, “Not true.”

“You dumped me for the military,” Lancer pointed out blandly. He dumped some instant coffee into a mug he pulled down from the cupboard, “And then was never heard from again.”

“I did. I also got married to a bitch and had three children,” Slade admitted honestly, “The missus and I are not together, but we never separated.”

“Oh, alright, let me amend my previous statement,” Lancer nodded as he sat down at his kitchen table with a small scowl, “Very true, and also you married someone you didn’t even love.”

“How would you know?” Clark asked with an undertone of accusation and sympathy.

“That man right there is so demi-romantic that the idea of marrying someone he cares too much for psyches him out so much he dumped me to join the military right after he promised me whatever I wanted for my birthday and I said ‘a promise ring.’ Until about a couple weeks ago, I didn’t know he was alive,” Lance deadpanned as he jabbed his thumb in Slade's direction.

“What the fuck?” Clark said, absolutely drowning in confusion.

“Easy, Kent, you’re going to ruin your perfect Boy Scout image,” Slade smirked.

“As if Deathstroke isn’t ruining his own image by breaking into a civilian’s house,” Clark scoffed in return.

“I mean,” Lancer hummed as rubbed his face, “I’m used to him coming into my room at fuck-off o’clock in the morning. He used to do it all the time. Granted, it used to be the window, and I used to wake up to the noise of it, but it kinda feels no different.”

“He came in through the front door!” Clark protested.

Lancer raised an eyebrow as the assassin set a coffee down in front of him, “Did you at least lock the door?”

Slade took a swig of his coffee, “I’m no barbarian.”

Lancer looked to Clark and made an open gesture to Slade, “He locked the door.”

“Honey, I feel like you’re under-reacting to Deathstroke breaking into your house and staring at us sleeping,” Clark said as he squeezed Lancer’s shoulder gently. He glared over the table at Slade.

The assassin smirked, “I think you’re just upset that you only woke up when Lance moved.”

“Why didn’t I hear you?!” Clark snapped across the table.

“My suit would never allow for such measly impediments as bodily functions to be the reason I’m discovered,” Slade dismissed with a wave, “It silences any internal sounds that Kryptonians would otherwise be able to hear. It is a feature you wouldn’t have known about considering you normally aren’t part of the batch of annoying heroes that interact with me.”

Lancer’s eyes flickered back and forth as he listened to them argue back and forth, “While it’s nice to know it really was a personal reason that Clark asked me to consider Krypton, I don’t feel like it was necessary for you to out him like that, Slade.”

“I figured you already knew, Dr. Lancer,” Slade pressed as he shot a look at Clark, as if to lord that fact over him, that Lancer was smarter than Clark could possibly understand.

Lancer knew from the look on Clark’s face that he didn’t get the insinuation Slade was trying to make.

“Sure, but you don’t point it out to them. You wait for them to tell you. It’s not Clark’s fault most get what I do. Most don’t,” Lancer grumbled into his mug, “And you only like what I do whenever I focus on military practices.”

“Not true, Lance. I quite enjoy all of your work,” Slade denied lightly.

“Which is exactly why you dumped me at the thought of marriage, and never talked to me again after vanishing into the military. Right,” Lancer nodded in a self deprecating manner

The Kryptonian sitting next to him brushed past his own feelings of being called an idiot by Deathstroke as he smacked a hand on the table, “Who does that?!”

“Slade and his romantic panic, clearly,” Lancer grumbled under his breath. He pushed the chair back and stood, “ So, are you here for the research?”

“That is one of the reasons I’ve come, yes,” Slade had no problems admitting it. Lancer liked that part about his ex.

He certainly knew what he wanted.

“Alright,” Lancer sighed, “Let’s go.”

Clark stood with Lancer, and reached out to carefully snag his arm, “You can’t be considering handing over your research…?”

“Honey, listen, if Slade wants my research, he’s being absolutely courteous by coming in and asking.”

Clark’s face scrunched in confusion, “He never asked?!”

“He could have gotten me out of bed at…?” Lancer trailed off as he looked back to Slade.

“One fifteen,” The gruff man answered courteously.

“One fifteen,” Lancer continued, “And marched me down to my basement to hand it all over, or just gone himself at any time because he’s already visited me while I was working down there.”

“And that…? Doesn’t bother you?” Clark asked softly with a distressed and pinched expression. Lancer figured it probably would be disturbing if you weren't used to Slade’s bullshit.

He laughed as he led them out of the kitchen, “If you think that would bother me, you should have met Slade as a teenager. Sounds like he’s mellowed out to me.”

“Mellowed out,” Clark whispered to himself in horror.

The dark smirk that creeped across the assassin's face would haunt Clark’s thoughts the next time Dick talked about the man that terrorized his own teen years.

“I was and am a very dedicated and devoted man when it comes to what I want, Clark,” Slade agreed, “Lancer knows this better than most.”

“Considering you got married and had kids with someone else, I agree whole heartedly that I know better than anyone. That is neither here nor there,” Lancer agreed as he marched the two men down the stairs, and into the dry basement. 

“Lance, don’t do this,” Clark begged

“Why not? He’ll access them anyway,” Lance dismissed as he moved towards his desk. 

He logged onto the computer with little fanfare, “I don’t restore knowledge to hoard it, and maybe I pieced together ancient Kryptonian culture, culture that is yours, admittedly. ” Lancer sighed and pushed down the bitter tone that had almost escaped. He’d figured Clark was a meta. Maybe not quite Superman-meta, but a meta, “However, all the information I started with was public information, and you never asked me to look into this specifically, just whether it was possible Krypton had bast interactions or impacts on human cultures. You only wanted to know if it was a possibility. You said it was fine if it was public.” 

“Does he know?” Slade teased as he ventured forwards in front of Lancer to curl a finger along the bookshelves, “Does he know just what you’ve been doing?”

“No,” Lancer scowled, “And only because until you spoke up in the kitchen, I thought he was a meta, not Superman.”

Clark swallowed the lump in his throat as he took Lancer’s hand, “I promise I was going to tell you.”

“It’s fine. I get it,” Lance shrugged, “The world’s biggest hero would need to keep his identity a secret. 

He was used to coming in last, even if Clark had never meant it that way.

Clark didn’t push it. He watched his boyfriend open documents that seemed to hate loading up with how big they were.

The Kryptonian scanned his eyes across the screen as he moved closer and read over Lancer’s shoulder. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at the specifically labeled notebooks piled on Lance’s desk

Examination into Kryptonian Child Rearing - Militia Education #3

Socio-Political Deconstruction - Conquering and Propaganda Exploration Notes #6

Kryptonian Family Breakdown - Bioengineering Potentials Notes

Clark looked at the shelf that was built into his boyfriend’s desk. He was most familiar with it being empty. He hadn’t realized it was empty because Lance emptied the shelf if he was going to hang out in the study with him.

Even though there was an entire miniaturized Kryptonian city within the Fortress of Solitude, Clark knew that all of their actual records had been lost or corrupted, and the city had resigned itself to living peacefully under the protection of Clark until the city’s eventual death as citizens grew old and passed away.

He didn’t know. He didn’t even understand how much he didn’t know.

He didn’t really want to see the rest of the covers. He thought it was mainly a reconstruction to see if Krypton had contact with past civilizations.

“I didn’t know you would be able to reconstruct so much,” Clark whispered with a heavy devastation. He sank into Lancer’s desk chair as he flipped through notebook after notebook of shorthand notes he could barely grasp. Outlines of Krypton’s government, schooling systems, social structures, and career structures that Clark himself barely knew in any depth was all laid bare. 

The part that made Clark’s stomach sink was how every ounce of the information was connected back to military propaganda and planet conquering. 

“I thought…” Clark trailed off.

“For the record, I did look into the possibility that Kryptonians had contact with Earth and the civilizations of old.” Lancer sighed as he looked over his files before copying them to a usb for Slade, “Then I saw that the Kryptonians were known to be planet conquerors, I had some questions as to how Earth wasn’t subjugated as well if they did, in fact, make contact.”

“Kryptonians were kind, they would have left Earth to be in harmony. They respected civilizations,” Clark insisted.

“Yeah, they did,” Lancer agreed softly as he stacked some of the scattered notebooks, “They would have had to have let Earth be. Kryptonian warfare was flawed, and relied heavily on their rearing methods and altered biology. Even with visiting Earth, and also receiving their increase in powers from the sun, it wasn’t enough. In the face of social engineering that had been forced to progress, and be able to continue to progress in the face of immense pressures and threats at a break-neck speed, Krypton never stood a chance.”

Clark leaned back in his chair as Lancer moved to grab all the files he had brought to the academic. The sheer amount of writing that was penned on the pages scared Clark a little, and he was a reporter.

Lance continued in spite of his boyfriend’s apprehension. 

He set down his work on the desk, “Krypton never had to change. Kryptonians, even in changing their strategies, would have failed incredibly at any attempt to overthrow Earth civilizations. They wouldn’t know how to control their powers. Any in-fighting caused by the stress of a losing war would have torn their forces apart and caused a slaughter within their army.”

Chapter Text

“Now, do you see?” Slade taunted from his place against the desk. He grabbed one of the first notebooks Lancer filled with information and connecting hypotheses, Krypton and Their Contact With Ancient Civilizations #1.3 , “Now do you understand just what a beautiful mind my dearest has?”

“The notebooks stay here, Romeo,” Lancer said blankly as he smacked Slade’s arm and poked him in the chest, “If you want to read them, you have to read them here , you menace.”

Clark blanched, “Uh, maybe don’t smack the world’s best super assassin? I may be Superman, but I’m not always around, and while this is a lot to handle right now, I don’t want to lose a boyfriend.”

“Every time I let Slade read anything and leave with it, it never came back. My things stay with me,” Lancer said petulantly. He pulled the usb free from the computer and smacked it into Slade’s hand.

“Listen, I am a humble academic at heart,” Slade chuckled with a smirk as he thumbed through the first notes. The assassin set the book aside and pocketed the drive. 

It was always amazing to see Lancer’s process at beginning to unravel the secrets of whatever civilization had caught his interest. Krypton was arguably the most impressive.

“No you aren’t, you just liked watching me read,” Lancer countered as he crossed his arm, “I’m surprised you actually listened to me as a teenager who was into the driest of the dry subjects.” 

“The interest did have its origins, yes,” Slade admitted as he pocketed the usb and glanced over to Clark, “However, I don’t like sharing.” 

“I noticed,” Lancer grumbled.

Clark furrowed his brows as he stood up and squared his shoulders. He set his boyfriend’s research notes to the side and poked Slade in the chest, “I still think this is information you shouldn’t be willingly sharing with this punk.”

“Again, babe, he’d get it anyways,” Lance said plainly, “Nothing stops a Wilson.”

“He’s Deathstroke the Terminator , Lance!” Clark yelled incredulously, “Not some boob from down the street!”

Lance ignored the way his expression twisted with a shy hurt as he turned away to busy his hands. He held in the wince that threatened to bring his shoulders up to his ears. 

“Whatever conclusions I draw from dear Lance’s paperwork are my own. Besides, if you think I’m interested in conquering a world, you are sorely mistaken, Clark Kent,” Slade promised darkly from over Lance’s head.

He didn’t see when exactly Slade had moved to impose himself damn near chest to chest with Clark, but when he turned back to the two men with fresh composure, he could tell they themselves were losing theirs.

“I don’t know what you’re interested in, and I still don’t like it,” Clark countered through grit teeth and squared shoulders. The hands at his sides were clenched into tight fists as they.

Lance shoved his way between the two bickering men. It felt like wiggling between two rocks, “If you two boneheads are going to fight, don’t you dare fight down here! If you destroy my work, I will kill you both myself and go to prison happily!”

Lancer looked between the two stern faces before he felt muscular arms wrap around him.

Slade grinned above him as he squeezed his ex against his chest and looked Clark in the eyes, “Then let's take this elsewhere. You’re right, it’s crude to fight in your workspace.”

Lancer found himself turned out from between the men and guided out of the basement. Slade could move him just as easily as ever. 

Actually sitting down for breakfast was more awkward than he thought it was going to be. Of course, he hadn’t known his boyfriend was literally Superman, so that did tend to put a damper on things. 

Well, considering his ex was Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the Terminator, that was what put a damper on things.

The fact that Lancer had been keeping a large sum of what he’d been researching away from Clark did, understandably, feel like it put an additional wedge between them.

When Lancer got Slade and Clark to sit through an amicable breakfast of bacon and eggs, it felt like a miracle.

Slade left before Clark could even notice he’d left. Lance had noticed, but he hadn’t said anything. 

Clark went home early after claiming to need some space to process everything. Lance could see the betrayal in his eyes. 

He’d seen it most often in the mirror.

“I get it,” Lancer nodded, “And I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have found out everything that I was researching the way that you did.”

“I should have told you I was Superman, that I was Kryptonian, and not just a reporter,” Clark admitted softly as he took Lancers hands in his own.

“I would never ask you to share that kind of secret,” Lancer promised as he squeezed his boyfriend’s hands, “But thank you. I’m still sorry.”

“You’re a good man, Lance,” Clark said as he kissed him sweetly and let go of his hands as he raised into the air.

Lancer waited until he couldn’t see Clark anymore before he retreated back into his house.

He washed dishes in the cold of his empty house. It was easy to imagine Clark deciding to never return. 

It was easier still to imagine neither man returning. 

He ignored the way his fingers clenched around the plates as he set them in the rack to dry. He went back to his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and laid on top of the covers for the rest of his Saturday.

Lance had sat through two weeks of solo lunches and two weeks without any contact with his boyfriend. 

The teacher was hard pressed to blame Clark for any of it.

He marked essays and caught up with his students without hinting at anything that had happened over the weekend. Danny didn’t turn in his essay. In fact, the kid carefully avoided eye contact for the entire period.

Lancer recognized the exhaustion in his eyes even without the contact. He held him back after class.

“Mr. Lancer, I swear I’ll hand it in! I just… I left it at home?” Danny stuttered as he clutched the strap of his purple backpack, “Please, don’t give me a zero!”

“Danny,” Lancer said softly as he placed a careful hand on the teen’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about the essay. Read the book, and give me one paragraph about whether or not you liked it, what your favourite part was, what it meant to you, and what you think it meant symbolically.”

Danny asked in confusion as he looked up at Lancer, “What?” 

Lancer smiled softly and pushed Danny out of the room, “It’s sort of the same assignment. Just smaller. Bring it in by next Monday. Don’t sweat it too much.”

“But…” Danny protested, “...The essay?!”

“Hasn’t been started yet,” Lancer smiled knowingly, “Danny, I know you can do the essay. I don’t need you to prove it to me. You look like what you really need is a break. I don’t know what’s going on at home, but if you hand in a bare minimum five sentence paragraph, I'll be okay with that.”

Danny’s face twisted up in confusion and veiled suspicion, “Mr. Lancer, I don’t think I understand.”

“Danny,” Lancer insisted as he rested a hand on his shoulder, “Five sentences: I liked or disliked it because... My favourite part was… This book meant blank to me… I think what it symbolized was…”

Lancer smiled and pushed the teenager towards the door, “Go take time to yourself. Play video games. Hang out with your homies.”

Danny cringed, “Please don’t say homies.”

Lancer watched the teen anxiously look back over his shoulder even as he bolted towards Sam and Tucker. He just waved and closed the door to his class. He didn’t bother with lunch as he flipped between his teaching plans and speculative outlines of Krypton’s own education system.

When he went home, he pretended that he didn’t forget his microwavable dinner on the counter in favour of shoving his nose in history books as if he hadn’t insisted Danny avoid the very same.

Clark had no idea what to do, but he knew one thing.

He couldn’t tell Conner.

That plan went well enough considering Lancer had previously discussed a landslide of work that he was going to have to take the time to deal with. With Conner preferring to spend most of his time at the mountain, Conner didn’t notice that Clark wasn’t calling Lancer all weekend or constantly on his phone texting him.

When Jon came for his week at Clark’s apartment, his youngest didn’t notice anything was wrong.

“Hey, are you going to call Lance so he can eat dinner with us?” Jon asked from where he was hunkered down watching cartoons.

Clark shook his head as he typed on his laptop, “No, he’s trying to get a lot of work done, so I don’t want to bother him.”

“But you two always call?” Jon asked with a scrunched up nose.

Clark nodded and did his best to hide the loneliness from his face, “Yeah, I know, but this work is confidential.”

“You’re Superman,” Jon countered flatly, “I thought you handled all sorts of confidential things.”

“I… haven’t told him that yet,” Clark countered but didn’t lie, “But in this case, it's teacher stuff.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Hope he’s got some free time soon,” Jon pouted, “I wanna go sleep over at his house again and see my friends.”

Clark hated the sensation of an invisible weight sinking into his chest.

It was a long two weeks of carefully toeing the line of peace as he took time to process the weirdest wake up call and morning after he’d ever had. He’d had no contact with Lance the entire time, even if he’d spent hours staring at his phone.

Watching.

Waiting.

He didn’t know what he wanted, either. An apology? For what? He made it clear that he didn't want or need to know any specifics of what Lance looked into, just that he wanted

He didn’t count on his son’s new friends in Amity to ask Conner why Lancer wasn’t talking to Clark anymore.

He also wasn’t expecting the confrontation to go down at the Watchtower.

Clark was talking quietly with Plastic Man when the tell tale announcement of his son’s arrival sounded through the main entrance.

“What did I tell you?!”

Plastic Man’s face morphed into a disturbed horror as Clark turned to see Conner furiously racing towards him regardless of the heroes that were in his way, though it wasn’t an issue. The second they noticed him, they had long since leapt out of the way. 

The relationship between Superman and the first Superboy was well known to be a rocky one even if they were getting along, and with one visibly pissed, it was best that everyone cleared house as soon as physically possible.

“Superboy, wait,” Clark called out with outstretched hands, “You don’t understand.”

Those in the main receiving area of the Watchtower watched Superboy deck Superman in the cheek and walk away without reprimand.

“I told you,” Conner scowled, “If you did anything to ruin this I would punch you.”

“Nothing is ruined, I promise,” Clark said as he pushed himself up from where he folded against the wall.

“Bullshit. You think I don’t talk with Danny? You think he wouldn’t bring up how weird things have been?” Conner demanded as he stood in front of Clark and cracked his knuckles, “You’re going to fix this, or I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”

Clark sighed softly, “Look, it’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it.”

Clark’s lips pursed as he scanned the cowering heroes beyond his pissed off clone son.

“Here’s not the best place for this conversation,” Clark urged.

Conner rolled his eyes, “You’re being dramatic. Just spit it out, you coward.”

“It’s… Kon, it’s got to do with Krypton’s history.”

“The shit you asked him to look into?” The younger man raised an unimpressed eyebrow and pulled his fist back, “You’re upset that the extreme history nerd found more than what you thought?”

The crease between Clark’s brows pinched as he grumbled under his breath, “Yeah, and I wish that Deathstroke wasn’t involved.”

Conner paused mid-swing.

He glowered, “You’re going to tell me everything, and then you’re going to fucking fix it. I like your boyfriend a lot more than you right now.”

Despite Kon not being Dick’s teammate anymore, they'd always be close. Something about freeing you from slavery, blowing up a laboratory, and seeing the moon together for the first time tended to do that.

Therefore, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Conner and Dick to text back and forth even if the baby of the original Young Justice team ended up dating Tim when Dick became Nightwing. The puppy love was adorable.

What was out of the ordinary was Conner texting him about the original Teen Titans.

Dick, with a sense of dread he hadn’t been prepared to feel when sitting on the arial bars at the Manor with his bowl of fruity pebbles, stared down at his phone.

Call me. I have a really big question about your experiences in the Teen Titans with Deathstroke.

You’re the only one who is going to answer me honestly.

I need to know if I have to worry about Jon.

Chapter Text

In a skyrise apartment a few states away, Slade lounged with a nice frosted glass of whiskey and a laptop with his dear Lance’s hard drive loaded into it.

It was his third read through, and the Wilson could hardly keep up with the subtext of suggestions and conclusions that Lance was working towards even as his mind tried to focus into one direction.

Slade should have offered that man an engagement ring on the spot instead of cowering when his long-time boyfriend requested a mere promise ring.

“I need you to slow down,” Dick said through his own panic as Conner paced through the Manor’s gym, “What do you mean by Slade is Clark’s boyfriend’s boyfriend? And I need you to explain why and how Jon is involved otherwise this is going to be a whole other conversation.”

Conner took a slow breath and raked his hands through his hair as Tim tossed the door to the room open.

“Kon! I got here as soon as I could…” Tim yelled as his eyes flickered to Dick’s unusually serious expression, “... I take it the incoherent text I got wasn’t incoherent at all. Slade’s active.”

“Lancer’s ex-boyfriend,” Conner nodded, “It’s Slade, and apparently Slade and him came back into contact, though Clark said Slade never stopped keeping close tabs on Lancer. Maybe a little too close.”

“Well, shit, Lancer sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Tim puzzled as he scratched his head.

“Tim, this is serious,” Conner begged as he looked between Dick and Tim, “Jon flies over and spends time at Lancer’s. Him and I made some really good friends in Amity. The fact that maybe Slade has been breaking into the house, and having full access to Jon while I’m not around doesn’t sit well with me.”

“So… it’s an obsession with Lancer?,” Tim nodded, “But the unmonitored potential access to someone as… unabashedly friendly as Jon…”

Dick clenched his fist with a deep set frown, “The fact that Slade has destroyed kids for less… The Thunder Twins, Terra… Hell, he’s gotten to me on multiple occasions, and I’ve almost crumbled completely under that attention… Kon, I see your worries,” Dick stressed as the half-Kryptonian clone passed in front of him. 

Conner snapped, “Do you? Because Slade has gear that blocks out sound so well that Clark could hear nothing .”

Dick caught him by the shoulders with both hands and forced him to make eye contact, “I promise you: I’m going to take this seriously. I am taking this seriously, but we should tell Damian too.”

“No,” Kon refused as he smacked Dick’s hands from his shoulders, “There's enough kids in the mix, Dick.”

“Uh-huh, and Jon is Damian’s boyfriend,” Dick reasoned carefully, “One with a vengeance streak a mile wide and a sword collection. We don’t tell him now, this entire thing is going to be a disaster.”

Conner watched the tell-tale expression of victory swim across Dick’s face, no doubt seeing the precise moment Kon caved to Dick’s logic as he had done for years.

Fucking Robins and their smug-ass faces.

The returned silence in Lancer’s life didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, but that was only due to years of experience in being lonely.

He took time, as he always had, before he shoved all of Clark’s belongings into a box. In flawless cursive, he scrawled out the mailing address with the correct postage. 

It stayed at the front door.

A reminder that he was, once more, a lonely coward.

He pretended the post office wasn’t something he passed by every day for work. Lancer let Clark’s belongings gather dust and hoped that maybe if he left it alone for a long enough period of time, enough dust would form that it would cover the memories as well as the address.

It wouldn’t. 

Slade’s things were still in a box in his closet from when he was over every night, never having been lost to dust as he had hoped.

Lancer barely noticed how his calendar marked down that Jon was supposed to spend the weekend with him as he dumped his dishes into the sink after dinner on Wednesday. 

He spent an hour staring at the calendar before he called Jon’s phone.

“Lance! Hi!” Jon’s cheerful voice  chirped through the phone before the first ring was even over.

It brought a smile to the teacher’s face.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Lancer greeted warmly even as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Are we still on for the weekend?”

“Dude, you bet!” Jon cheered as Lancer heard the tell-tale sound of Jon fumbling with the phone as he tapped the speaker button and tossed his phone on his desk. The teens voice faded as he moved away, “I thought you’d be busy, so I wasn’t sure. Dad said you’ve been really busy.”

The teacher glanced idly at the stake of essays on his kitchen table where Danny’s own “essay” sat on top of the pile. He hadn’t even begun marking them, though Danny’s would have been the easiest to start with, “He’s not wrong, but I’m sure I could be convinced to find some time away from marking and, what have you called it? My ‘Vice Party-Pooping duties’?”

“Okay, but here me out, being a Vice Principal is cool but you’re also a Professional Party Pooper. You’re also my Party Pooper, so I am so okay with that.”

Lancer snorted quietly, though he had no doubt that Jon heard it.

“And here I was going to suggest we get burgers on the way back from the airport,” Lancer teased flatly.

Lancer couldn’t help the smirk that cracked across his face as he heard Jon sprinting back across the room, probably diving for the phone.

“No! Nooooooo, we can still go to Nasty Burger, I swear!” Jon cried.

“Mmm, well, we’ll see,” Lancer teased.

“So… Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“Sweet! That means burgers!” The teen let out a few cheers before he quieted down, “Do you think I could bring my boyfriend for the weekend?”

Lancer tilted his head back and forth for a moment, “Would his guardian be okay with going to stay with a stranger?”

“I mean, you’re not a stranger? You’re basically my dad.”

Lancer swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Sure! I don't see why not if everything’s alright with his family.”

“Good ‘cause he already bought a plane ticket.”

Lancer wouldn’t burst Jon’s bubble by telling him he knew the teens wouldn’t be flying in on a plane.

When Lancer had finally hung up, he stopped holding the wounded cry deep in his chest where the youngest Superboy wouldn’t hear.

He cleaned up the guest room and resigned himself to adding what Jon had called “Damian-safe” foods to his shopping list. Part of him wondered if this was Jon figuring out how to get twice the amount of ice cream by telling him his boyfriend was vegan, but Lancer supposed he didn’t care. It was already a miracle that Jon was still coming over.

He didn’t feel the need to give Clark any reason to stop Jon.

When he showed up to the airport, it wasn’t hard to pick out the youngest Kent, though he couldn’t help but feel surprised when he towed the youngest Wayne child by the wrist. 

Lancer felt weirdly okay seeing the bitter, angry expression on Damian’s face. Jon’s boyfriend was miserable in getting dragged to spend a weekend with a stranger in a strange town.

The teacher couldn’t exactly blame Damian even if the spark of hurt still found its way to settle in his chest. He supposed it wasn’t the worst reason to be despised.

“Lance!” Jon shouted. His backpack bounced with the force of his strides.

“Jonathon, hello. It’s nice to see you,” Lance greeted warmly when the pair came to a stop in front of him. He turned his eyes to Jon’s disgruntled boyfriend who didn’t even look ruffled from the wind of Jon’s flight, “You must be Damian. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lance Lancer.”

Damian took the offered hand with a great reluctance, though Lancer didn’t hold it against him.

How Damian managed to keep up with the Kryptonian, Lance could only guess.

Another Junior hero was likely.

The second Superboy only had a few people his age he hung around with, and only one matched Damian’s description.

Oh, to make it to the watchlist of the infamous Batman, Lancer mourned silently.

Once both boys were buckled into the back of Lancer’s shitty blue car that was a decade past when it should have died on him (probably kept alive on the same willpower and spite that kept Lancer going), he turned to them.

“How does Nasty Burgers sound?” Lance smiled warmly, “I know for a fact that they have vegan food. One of my students eats there constantly, and she’s an ultra recyclo-vegetarian.”

He watched Damian scowl at him in the rearview mirror as he turned back around, even as Jon cheered like he had won the lottery.

“Tt, whatever ultra recyclo-vegetarianism is, it is not veganism,” The Robin grumbled in return.

“Very much so. However, I’m inclined to believe the vegan section of the in-house menu is vegan enough,” Lancer teased. When he saw the scowl lessen, he figured treating Damian as he would treat Jon was a good call.

If he pretended to not hear Jon’s conspiratory whisper about how Lancer would be happy to see him, the only one that would know was the pain in his chest.

And Damian.

It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption to assume that the Batman’s protege would know he could hear the two in the backseat.

He left them be anyways, and when he pulls up to the drive through of the Nasty Burger, Lancer has the pleasure of watching Damian’s face twist in disbelief.

“Alright, boys, Jon can show you where the spare room is, but I’d like to emphasize; my office is off limits save for emergencies. The last time I let Jon in my office, there was an accident involving a priceless vase that I was studying. I feel like that’s not too much to ask for,” Lancer explained as he held the front door open for the boys.

Damian scowled, “How am I to know which door is which?”

“I believe Jonathon put stickers on the spare room door some time ago, and the door with stairs leading to the basement is my office,” The teacher hummed, “I outgrew the spare room and needed more space but that means there's breakable things that I’ve learned shouldn't be around children and young adults. I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep from my workspace as such.”

Damian seemed to consider it for a moment before he nodded respectfully.

“You have my word that I will remain outside of your office, Mr. Lancer,” Damian promised dutifully

It was only when he and the junior heroes were cooking did he realize that Damian was the perfect match for Jon as they bickered and played around in the kitchen. Jon was someone that helped Damian to feel comfortable enough to relax and be a kid, and Jon had someone that didn’t dismiss him for his eccentricities.

He let himself have a quiet, very self indulgent moment knowing full well the boyfriends were too absorbed to notice him watching with a sad smile.

Watching them fight over making tofu nuggets made Lance very nostalgic.

The night was surprisingly quiet, though after an evening of ruckus, Lance couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised that he missed the noise.

He plucked a book from the shelf in his living room after he’d finished tidying up from a chaotic movie marathon. Lancer settled into the silence with a slow breath and cracked open The Hound of the Baskervilles.

“Jon said you were a bookworm.”

Only from years of being with Slade and rambunctious ghosts did he not scream as Damian seemed to materialize from the shadows of the room.

“Damian!” He pressed a hand to his chest and sighed, “I highly doubt he called me a bookworm. I’d believe you if you claimed he called me a nerd. Can’t sleep?”

“I don’t often sleep the whole night,” Damian claimed. Lancer held back a snort.

Instead, he nodded.

“That’s alright. If you’re into reading, you can grab a book from the shelf, but you're more than welcome to watch some television. There’s a particularly intriguing drama right that I like to watch when I’m not reading, if you’d like?” Lancer offered.

Damian scoffed as he moved to the bookshelf. He grabbed something at random before moving back to the couch. The teenage vigilante cracked open the novel with a scoff, “I am certain that whatever it is is beneath me.”

By the time the witching hour rolled around, both Damian and Lance had abandoned their books in favour of bowls of ice cream and tissues. Well, only Lance needed the tissues.

“Lord Foster is an incredibly subpar decision!” Damian hissed at the period piece. He brandished his spoon at the screen as he turned to Lance, “What gives him the right to pursue Leonora?”

“Is love not enough?” Lancer asked as he wiped his eyes after a bout of ugly crying as they watched an attempted rebound after an explosive engagement break off.

“Absolutely, Dr. Lancer,” Damian said seriously, “That is why Leonora should consider Colten Ravensmith. They have twice as much chemistry than this bumbling fool of a Lord!”

When Jon finally woke, he’d come down to find Lancer watching the period drama that he found himself bored by despite it being Lancers' favourite.

Damian looked just as engrossed as Lance was, and was sitting with his knees against his chest, sketchbook in hand and working on drawings Jon could barely tell were two characters.

It may have been boring for Jon, but he found himself happily sitting on the floor in front of the couch, happy in the fact that his boyfriend liked his dad.

And that Lance liked Damian, but, really, he hadn’t had any doubt. The man was a softie. It was the al Ghul that was a wild card.