Archive of Our Own ^beta

Red kryptonite, Kal had long since decided, was fucking awesome.

"Drop the bag!" some cop yelled. "This is your final warning!"

Kal had just robbed a bank in the middle of the day. Walked in, caught some bullets in his bare hands, walked out with a duffle bag of cash. Why hadn't he done this sooner? Every day he'd pretended to be Clark Kent was such a waste.

He stared down the small army of cops with a smile, bag of cash in one hand and bank alarms wailing behind him. A dozen police officers crouched behind their cars with their guns aimed at his face.

He eyed one of the larger guns—no idea what it was called but he'd never been shot by one of those before. It looked powerful. Maybe he should try.

Kal deliberately slid his free hand into his jacket.

They opened fire.

A hail of bullets poured onto his chest, shredding his clothes. Bouncing off his skin. They felt like little taps. Boring.

One of the bullets slammed into his bag, sending a plume of dollar bills flying onto the street. Shit.

He bolted out of the street faster than any of them could see, leaving the humans gawking at nothing.

Kal lurched to a stop in a side alley near his apartment, where he ripped off his ski mask—now sporting several extra holes—and grinned again. Nobody could touch him. Nothing even came close. He was a god.

No more weakness, no more John Kent whispering in his ear, no Chloe tugging at his jacket. No more Clark Kent. He was free.

If Kal were any slower, he might have missed the flicker of light from the corner of his eye.

He turned just in time to see a window flash bright white and two bodies fall through the glass. They hit the concrete with a sickening thud, the crack of a breaking bone, and an inhuman snarling noise.

The larger one in skintight green and orange had blood all over his—its?—face, sharp teeth bared as he tried to bite his opponent. The smaller one seemed intent on wrapping their entire body around the green one's limbs, having planted a knife in the green one's shoulder.

Kal watched the writhing duo for a moment, then the window they'd fallen through. It was shut and intact. Weird. So how the hell had they come through?

The green and orange one looked like he was trying to break free and get—oh, he was coming right at Kal. How fun.

Black shouted and did some complicated leg maneuver, turning Green's knee the wrong way with a crack. Green… kept hissing and trying to crawl to Kal. Black glanced up, his eyes obscured by a mask.

"Any time now, Supes!" Black said, voice surprisingly youthful despite the strain.

"Supes?" Kal raised his brows.

Black pulled another knife, clearly intent on stabbing Green through the neck, when Green twisted just right and planted its jaw on Black's wrist. Teeth sank through the skintight costume and blood spilled down both their bodies. Kal's stomach churned as Black's tendons stretched in the daylight.

Fine, he'd help. Just to ask what the hell is going on.

Kal set his bag down and grabbed Green by the back of his neck, carefully prying him off Black.

Green screeched.

Sharp nails raked down Kal's wrist, his face, sliding harmlessly off impervious skin but it was still fucking gross. Now there was blood all over him. Green kept snapping those sharp teeth, eyes wild and dead behind orange goggles.

Almost like a zombie. Exactly like a zombie. Fuck no.

Kal pulled a face and his eyes heated up. Fire immediately consumed Green, eating up his stupid outfit and his gross sharp teeth. Even as Green's skeleton fell through Kal's fingers, he kept going. Kept burning until there was nothing left but a pile of ash.

He stared at it. A feeling of wrongness niggled at the back of his mind. Shame, maybe. Was this the first time he'd killed someone? Probably.

"Better late than never, but thanks for the save," Black said. Once they stood up, Kal could tell they were literally a child, not older than fifteen. A blue bird stretched across their chest, but the rest of the costume was pitch black. A pair of sticks dangled from their belt along with a series of little bags.

More concerning, the skin beneath their torn costume had healed to unblemished pallor. Was he a zombie, too? If Kal had to kill a kid, he'd do it.

"What was that?"

Black cocked their head at him. "Mirror Master? Yeah, you wouldn't know him. He was one of Flash's rogues. Scottish. Something McCulloch."

"I don't know what that means. Was he a zombie or not?"

The lenses of Black's mask narrowed in a squint. "I guess you could call them zombies. Kinda weird you didn't know that yet. You're not," he paused. "You're not another clone, are you? Or the Eradicator again?"

Kal was very close to simply killing this kid and going home. "No, kid. I'm Kal. Are you also going to turn into a zombie? Because if the apocalypse is about to happen, I'd like to know." Preferably now, so he can go somewhere it isn't happening and keep the party going.

"Kid?" Black repeated, looking somewhere between confused and offended. They patted around their neck and found a pendant, then inspected the broken stone. Clucking their tongue in disappointment, they tucked it away and looked around. They seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. "Before I say anything else—where am I?"

"Metropolis, Kansas." Kal considered the boy in front of him. "United States. Earth."

Black's lenses widened. "Yikes."

"Yeah. So, zombie apocalypse?"

"Uh, I'm immune. Don't worry about it." Black paused. "You should probably burn those clothes, though. And don't wash the blood down the drain. Just in case."

Black was clearly not from around here, maybe an alien, maybe a freak science experiment gone wrong. Kal really didn't care at this point. He stripped off his already-destroyed clothes, ignoring Black's quiet Jesus and tossing the rags onto Mirror Master's smouldering remains. Now naked, he gave them a quick blast of heat vision to get them burning.

"You seem like you know everything," Kal said, picking up his bag. "So I'll just head out. Don't bother me again unless the world's ending."

Before Black could complain, Kal sped away.

Dick Grayson had lived a strange life. Strange enough that his current situation warranted little more than a heavy sigh.

This wasn't his first time trapped in an alternate universe. This was, however, the first time he suspected nobody would be bringing him back. He'd have to get home on his own.

And he absolutely had to get back.

Dick pulled a set of wet-wipes from his utility belt and started cleaning himself up.

First order of business: find out when he was. From there, it would be easier to find allies to help him get home. For that, he had to blend in. Based on Kal-El's clothes, this was very early 21st century, maybe 2005. Too early for skinny jeans and athleisure, so his suit would likely stick out like a sore thumb no matter how he styled it.

He tossed the used wipes into Kal-El's fire.

To make matters worse, he was stuck as a tween.

His enchanted necklace had held strong for over ten years of vigilantism, artificially aging Richard Grayson and Nightwing, giving him a tangible body to move in.

He supposed it hadn't been made with the full force of a brainwashed Bane's fist in mind.

The last thing he remembered of his home world was Cass screaming for him as Bane ran past her and Mirror Master dragged him through a portal.

Dick had healed within seconds, only to land—

Here. In Metropolis, Kansas.

What the hell.

Last time Dick checked, Metropolis was an East Coast city and had always been.

Dick grappled up the nearest tall building to get a glimpse of the skyline. The Daily Planet spun merrily over on the east, next to what looked like a stripped-down LexCorp plaza. That was right.

The massive clocktower? Not right. Very incorrect.

Dick had to get to a computer.

He swung over to LexCorp—LuthorCorp, according to the big sign on the front—and slid through an open window. For all the drawbacks of being an eternal five foot two, being able to fit through five-inch gaps never got old.

The security cameras were obvious, their coverage so riddled with blind spots Dick almost felt bad walking down the halls in a vague zig-zag. He located a mid-tier office with an old nameplate and jimmied the card reader, carefully reassembling it as he slid inside.

He blinked at the empty office. "Holy retro tech, Batman."

The desktop monitor looked like a beige cube. Its rounded screen crackled with static when he ran his fingers over its surface. The computer tower was a beige obelisk. The keyboard? Beige cubes.

At least the mouse was rounded.

A yellow Post-It stuck to the desk declared: password is password1!

Thank God for forgetful middle managers.

Before he even opened up the browser, the computer duly informed him that it was July of 2003. Definitely in the past.

Several internet searches revealed that this world's Dick Grayson was a few years old, that Bruce Wayne had finished his last year at Excelsior and promptly vanished, and that metahumans were generally not a thing. Not a known thing, at least. The Justice Society looked like it had existed at some point. Their digital footprint would have been impossible to find if he didn't know what names to start with. Nothing suggested they were active today. Star Labs didn't share much information with the public and he wasn't about to hack them on a LuthorCorp office computer.

Small discrepancies between his world and this one popped up the more he read. Differences in history, in politics. Slade Wilson was a decorated Army General, for one.

So. Alternate universe. Dick might not be able to get home as fast as he'd like. Maybe he could pick up some help along the way. Get a cure or a vaccine started. He'd need a more secure device for that, maybe a lab. Definitely some contacts. He couldn't go by his real name, given that a Dick Grayson already existed here.

At least he didn't have to worry about screwing up the timeline—but he also couldn't fix anything. He couldn't stop Darkseid from capturing Cyborg and unleashing the Anti-Life Equation, couldn't save Bruce, or Babs, or Tim.

But he could help Clark—Kal, in this world.

The red kryptonite ring was a problem, as was the blank look in his eyes and the cold sneer. Even at his worst, Clark never looked like that.

Smallville's high school newspaper had enough information on Clark Kent to let Dick know this wasn't normal. Young Clark was a shy boy with a passion for justice, not an inconsiderate jackass who burned people alive without hesitation.

Dick checked the lead-lined pocket on his utility belt. He still had the green kryptonite shard Bruce pushed on him just in case, but next to it was a friendship bracelet he'd made for Connor so they could spar together. A blue kryptonite bead glinted from within the weave.

Now, to find out where Kal lived.

Kal monitored the news and a few blogs to see if anybody had even heard whispers of zombies or a plague or something. Not a peep.

Kal cleaned himself off with alcohol wipes and incinerated the evidence before settling down in his penthouse apartment for the evening. He kept an eye on the 100-inch plasma TV droning the news as he tossed his takeout containers in the trash. All of it stolen, obviously. His landlord didn't give a shit so long as the cash kept coming in.

After a few hours, Kal settled. The only freak story anyone cared to report was his own broad-daylight robbery where he ate several hundred bullets in front of at least three cameras. The humans tittered, all of them wondering if it was fake, afraid if it was real, speculating endlessly without any one of them coming close to the truth. He smirked and turned it off, sliding into silk sheets. The red kryptonite ring pulsed on his finger.

Metropolis itself winked at him through his massive windows, a starry view just for him as the red K lulled him to sleep.

He woke up to bullets destroying his expensive sheets, two goons in his apartment, and a mob boss kicking his tires. He threw the goons into the walls and listened to the mob boss.

"You came to my club flashing money and then you interrupt my guys at the bank. I take it that was not a coincidence." Morgan Edge settled in one of Kal's chairs, looking way too chill for someone Kal was considering killing.

Kal thought back to the idiots who tried robbing the bank before he walked in and finished the job without breaking a sweat. "Those clowns? They work for you?"

"You've made quite a reputation for yourself. I set up this test so I could see with my own eyes if you were man or myth," Morgan Edge said, like he hadn't just ordered his men to kill Kal in his sleep. "And clearly you're both."

"Well, I'm glad I could clear it up for you Mister Edge." Even though Kal currently identified as annoyed. He flopped into a chair, picking at where his shirt covered the raised scars Jor-El had burned onto his chest.

Edge offered him a job, promising riches beyond belief, both of which Kal could get whenever he damn well pleased. Still, something kept Kal from turning him down cold—or burning him to a grease stain.

"No matter how many bullets bounce off of you, Kal, you're still a kid and I'm the biggest crime boss of Metropolis."

Kal glanced at the two idiots he'd flung aside like they were made of paper. "I think you could afford better help."

"That's why we're talking."

Kal plucked at his shirt, mostly tuning this guy out.

"So, when you get tired of playing in the little leagues, you know where to find me." Offer made, Edge and his goons left.

The doorbell rang, a cheery ding-dong that set Kal's teeth on edge. The clock blinked a cheery 5AM at him. He groaned and buried his face in his sheets. He x-rayed the entrance.

A pizza delivery guy stood outside.

Kal hadn't ordered pizza.

He hauled himself out of bed and sped to the door, grabbing a handful of cash from under his bed. He swung the door open, grabbed the pizza from the delivery guy and threw cash in his face with the same motion.

He slammed the door and turned to check what he'd gotten.

Hawaiian. Gross.

Kal barely had time to close the box when the sudden pain-weakness-fire of green kryptonite washed over him. He gasped and dropped to his knees. The pizza landed toppings-down next to him.

A hand appeared in front of him, thrusting green light into his arm. Agony exploded where kryptonite sank into his skin. He screamed. The world blurred into pain, his body going senseless.

The burning grew. Swallowed his bones. It hurt. It hurt.

Eventually, it ended.

Awareness washed over him like cool water. His head throbbed. He blinked up at the ceiling, instinctively drawing his wounded arm up to his chest. He prodded around the sore spot. The injury was mostly healed already. His throat closed up as a wall of shame filled the space left by the kryptonite.

His ring was gone. The red K that kept him from feeling everything that happened—that he'd done—had been taken from him.

Clark, not Kal, sobbed.

"Holy comedown, Batman," said a young voice from near his head. Black. That kid from earlier, the one who'd watched as Clark burned a man alive. Clark sobbed again, reaching up to hide his face.

Slim arms wrapped around Clark's shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position. Then Black—hugged him? Rocked him gently and shushed him as he cried. "It's okay, Kal. Just let it out."

He couldn't. If he kept crying, kept losing control, he might break Black's arms. Might accidentally burn them. Might kill them—like he'd done with McCulloch, with Mom's baby.

"It's alright. You can't hurt me. I heal fast, remember?"

"Give it back," Clark choked through his tears. "The ring. I need it, give it back."

Black tutted at him like he was a misbehaving dog.

Clark snarled and pulled out of their grasp, turning. Where was the ring? Somewhere in that fanny-pack belt of theirs? Before Clark could rummage through Black's pockets, the kid grabbed Clark's thumb and twisted.

His face slammed into the carpet, with Black holding his arm painfully straight behind him. "I was trying to be nice. Look, you're obviously going through something, and as much as I appreciate a good teenage rebellion, you're a bit too high-calibre to go off like this."

Clark swallowed. The carpet brushed against his throat. He tested Black's hold, only managing to make his own shoulder throb. "How are you—"

"Blue kryptonite," Black said. He flashed a bracelet a braided friendship bracelet with a glowing blue bead in Clark's peripheral vision. "Brings you down to human level. Now, are you ready to have a grown-up conversation or do you want to try and fight me again?"

Clark hadn't even been aware of their fight. That must be how everyone he faced felt. He nodded against the soft carpet. Black released his arm slowly, keeping the kryptonite bracelet between himself and Clark.

"Who are you?" Clark asked. His panic had drained away, replaced by confusion.

"Robin," he said. Sitting across from each other, Clark could see that his costume was still torn but his pale skin was clean. His black hair frizzed in the summer air.

"Clark Kent." He held his hand out in a fit of instinctive politeness. Clark licked his lips and asked, "You're not from around here, are you?"

Robin shook his hand with a rueful smile. "What gave me away?"

His grey-white skin. The way he moved. His clothes. Those things he mentioned, 'flash' and 'rogues' and 'eradicator', like they were something Clark should have known. "Not too many ten-year-olds can win fights against grown men and know what kryptonite is."

"I'm older than I look," Robin said defensively. "But I stopped aging at thirteen, if you wanted to know."

Clark nodded. He'd seen stranger things. Sort of. "That must be hard. I'm sixteen and I'm already tired of everyone treating me like I'm a kid. Can't imagine always looking like one."

The immortal boy gave a low whistle. "Sixteen. Jeez. Is that why you're out here alone? People treating you like a kid?"

No, he was here because he didn't deserve to be home. He didn't belong there. Wasn't wanted. His chest tightened and tears welled in his eyes again. He shook his head, looking at the ground.

Robin sighed, reaching up and carefully peeling the mask off his face. He looked like a child. Soft features, round cheeks, long lashes framing dark blue eyes.

Except his skin was ghostly pale and grey veins spiderwebbed across his face.

"Are—are you…" Clark had no idea how to phrase this.

Robin tilted his head like a bird and waited patiently for Clark to finish.

"…human?" He winced at how it sounded. "Not that there's anything wrong with not being human, I mean—"

"That's a complicated question," Robin said slowly. "This isn't my world, if that's what you're asking. My DNA wouldn't read as baseline human anymore, either. So I guess I'm functionally an alien."

Clark breathed out heavily. "Wow."

"Your turn." Robin leaned forward over his crossed legs like they were at a sleepover sharing secrets. "What's eating you?"

Clark hesitated.

"Oh, come on. I already spilled my beans."

"No you didn't. You just hinted at the existence of beans."

"Guess you got started on the 'intrepid reporter' thing early," Robin muttered. "Here, I'll trade you—beans for beans. What do you want to know?"

Clark had lots of questions. Way too many, in fact. Did he actually become a reporter? Cool. He worried at his lip and stared Robin in the eyes. Only one question really mattered. "You followed me home. Took my ring. Now you're talking to me, trying to help. Why?"

"Because I'm a helpful kind of guy," he said lightly. Then, before Clark could push, "And because in another world, we're friends."

He swallowed, trying to fit this new piece of information into the puzzle that was Robin. "Another world. Your world."

The boy nodded.

"A world with zombies."

"They won't be a problem for, like, twenty-five years. I wouldn't worry about it."

"So you're from the future?"

"A potential future. This world is already pretty different from mine, so it probably won't happen."

Clark sat with that for a moment, his understanding of the universe expanding to hold this new information. "And in that future, I'm in my forties and friends with a thirteen-year-old?"

"Again: I'm older than I look, I just stopped aging. It isn't weird."

It was actually very weird. Clark felt a strong urge to protect the tiny, heavily armed boy. "Are you hungry?"

"You still haven't spilled your beans yet," Robin reminded him.

"I have burritos in the freezer."

"Sold." Robin rocked to his feet.

Dick hadn't actually eaten in weeks. He could go longer without food than any of the others, barring maybe Deathstroke and the Creeper, so he usually let the kids have his share even though Jason sighed at him.

Clark plopped a steaming plate on the counter in front of him and turned to heat up his own.

Dick didn't wait, sending a silent apology to Alfred as he picked up the burrito with both hands and dug in. Lettuce spilled out the top. God, he'd missed microwaves.

"Any chance I can get my ring back?" Clark asked. The Kryptonian tapped his fingers along the countertop as he watched his breakfast spin. He didn't look like he was jonesing for a hit, only anxious.

"Why do you want it so bad?" Dick took another bite before he was done chewing his first. Beans were fabulous enough on their own. Beans and cheese? Exceptional.

Clark shrugged, faux casual, and opened the microwave right before it went off. "It's mine."

Dick swallowed. "Beans for beans, man. Spill."

"There's not much to say. I," Clark clenched his jaw and stared at his breakfast, "I made a mistake."

How very cryptic. Dick gestured for him to go on, mouth full.

"According to my birth father, I have this… destiny. He hasn't told me much about it, but I don't like the way it sounds. I tried to avoid it and he, uh." Clark hesitated before lifting the front of his shirt, revealing a massive raised scar covering his chest. The El crest, carved into his skin.

Dick's mouth went dry. He swallowed painfully. "Jor-El did that?"

Clark nodded, looking relieved that he'd understood. Except Dick more than understood—Jor-El was an epic asshole in this universe. He could take care of that, if Clark let him. Clark continued, "So I freaked out and blew up my ship, but the shockwave—it hit my parents. And my mom, she—she was pregnant."

The Kryptonian was crying again, eyes turning red as he leaned his elbows on the counter. If this were Dick's Clark, he'd hop over the counter and give him a massive hug, not letting him go until he was done. If that failed, he could call Bruce or Lois.

This wasn't his Clark. This was some kid who was in way over his head.

"Did you mean to?" Dick asked blandly. He had to treat him like a new Titan recruit, like another traumatized kid with too much power and not enough trust.

"What? No!" Clark straightened. His eyes were bloodshot now.

"Then it was a mistake. I mean, you screwed up, but it's not because you're a bad person or because you wanted to hurt anyone."

"But I can't go back—"

"So don't." Clark looked at him, appalled. Reverse-psychology always worked wonders on aliens. "Stay away. Keep running. I'll even help you. You can build a whole new life out there as Kal the super-thief. Or I could help you be Clark the whatever you want. You could move on and leave Smallville behind for good."

Clark prodded at a spot on the counter with his nail. Neither of those seemed to appeal to him. "But you won't give me my ring back?"

"No." Dick licked salsa from one of his fingers. "Clearly you don't actually want to abandon everyone you love, so I ask again: why do you want the ring?"

"When I'm wearing it, I'm a different person. I'm free. I can do what I want." God, finally. Talking to teenagers is like pulling teeth.

"So it's not that you can't go back, it's that you don't want to. The red K just keeps you from feeling bad about it, right?"

Clark nodded, shamefaced.

Dick reluctantly pushed his breakfast out of the way and folded his arms on the counter. "It might be hard to take me seriously because I literally look like a fifth grader, but you should probably know that nobody is really free in the way you're talking about. Like, ever."

"I know," Clark grumbled, picking at his burrito. "Everyone has responsibilities."

Dick hummed. "That sounds like a line. Your dad say that to you a lot?"

"Is it obvious?"

"Yes. He's right, of course, but he's obviously given you some sort of complex because you've got no coping skills." Dick popped a corn kernel into his mouth. "You'll have to talk to him about that. Or I could, if you'd like."

Clark went quiet. "Is this what you did in your world? Just… fix my messes?"

Dick snorted. "No, that's your job. I do, however, have the very bad habit of caring about my friends and making sure they know I'm there to support them even when they're being unreasonable idiots."

A smile touched Clark's lips, gone as soon as it came. "But I'm not your friend."

True enough. "I'd like to be your friend, though."

"I think I'd like that, too."

They kept talking through most of the morning, veering from topic to topic like runaway cars.

Robin laughed when Clark told him about the mob boss yesterday.

"He actually said that? 'I'm a crime boss'?"

"Yeah. I thought that was a little weird."

Clark learned that Robin liked video games, had never heard of Warrior Angel—a travesty he would fix at the earliest opportunity, and could walk on his hands for forty minutes straight. Clark's best friends, Chloe and Pete, weren't around in Robin's world, and Robin had no clue if it was because they never existed or because they'd drifted apart.

Clark stared at the smears of tomato sauce as they cleaned the pizza off the floor. "That guy that I, uh—"

"McCulloch."

"Did I kill him?"

"He was already dead, Clark. They all were." Robin looked every bit his age in that moment. He didn't ask Robin about the zombies after that.

Clark checked the time on the stove clock, his heart sinking as he saw how late it'd gotten. He was missing it.

"What's wrong?" Robin asked over the rim of his mug. They'd switched from lunch to hot chocolate at some point. Clark shook his head.

"There're lots of reasons I don't want to feel," he said hoarsely. "My, uh. My best friend's funeral is today. Right now, actually."

Robin frowned. "Chloe?"

"No, Lex."

"Lex. Lex Luthor?" Robin asked, brows raised. "Billionaire Alexander Luthor? Son of Lionel Luthor? LuthorCorp Lex?"

Clark blinked, fully perplexed. "Yes?"

"Lex Luthor is your best friend?"

"Yeah, he is. Was." Why was Robin so weird about it?

"Did he know that you're—" he gestured vaguely to Clark's whole person.

"An alien? No. No, I never really got a chance to tell him. Never felt right." He regretted that now. Lex had never been fully trustworthy, but he wanted to be. That should count for something. "Too late now. I was already Kal when his plane went down."

Robin seemed fixated on the wall.

"Robin?"

He snapped out of it, looking at Clark with wide eyes. "What?"

"What, what? You're acting weird."

"You've known me for like five hours, how would you know what's weird?" Objectively, the weirdest way to phrase that. They stared at each other for a long moment while Clark tried to figure out what the heck Robin was talking about. Finally, Robin cleared his throat and said, "You should probably go to the funeral. You don't have to talk to anyone, but you should be there. For yourself, I mean. Since he was your friend."

"I was going to, but without the red K, I don't—"

Robin held up a hand in a disturbingly regal pose for a child. "Patience, young grasshopper. Feelings must be felt."

Clark rolled his eyes, ignoring the pang in his chest. Lex was dead. Lex was dead. "Can't believe Karate Kid is a multidimensional thing."

"What?" Robin cocked his head. "No, Kung Fu."

Lex would have loved this conversation, with all its twists and turns. He would have liked Robin.

Clark broke the sound barrier on his way to the funeral.

The moment Clark left, Dick stripped out of his uniform and took a shower. Ah, running water. He cranked the hot water all the way up and scrubbed three months of grime off his skin. Being dead, he didn't really sweat and so let his siblings use whatever water they found. The water swirled black around his feet.

He changed into a set of Clark's clothes. He had to roll the jean hems several times and cinch the waist with his utility belt, but he wound up mostly dressed.

Dick plugged into Clark's dial-up and did some more surface-level searches. Since he figured the dimension jump happened because his glamor broke in the mirror dimension, maybe a magician could provide a fix. Zatara was on tour in Poland—a bit far, but doable with the right resources. Nothing official had Zatanna's name on it, so she was probably too young right now.

His second bet, Constantine, yielded more results. The Constantine he knew existed as the subject of some weird blog posts about London occultism in colleges, and another Constantine was a licensed private investigator. Johanna Constantine. He'd never met her in his world.

Dick jotted down her phone number and address.

One problem solved(ish), he moved on to more pressing matters. Clark was in a weird pickle with the local crime lord, Morgan Edge. Clark-as-Kal truly sucked at covering his tracks—if Edge didn't already know who Clark really was by now, he'd be shocked. Still, Dick hacked the landlord's records and scrubbed Clark's credit card and forwarding address. He'd have to physically go in and remove the paper copies later, but this would do for now.

Dick did a basic analysis of Morgan Edge's activities, hacking the Metropolis police database just as easily as he had the landlord's. Cybersecurity sucked in 2003. Edge owned a club called Atlantis—which Clark apparently frequented. Edge was a suspect in racketeering cases, homicides, fraud, robberies, and more. Dick could probably get him on tax fraud and bribery right now.

He mapped the responding officers' financials to Edge's suspicious activities, marking potential bribes. The man was shameless—sending a $100,000 sports car to a judge a year after one of his trials found him not guilty? Wild. A recent $250,000 payment also looked sketchy as hell. And this was just in his spending account. Dick saved his findings. He'd send his files along to the appropriate authorities after conferring with Clark. Who knew? Edge might come in handy for something. It almost felt like the old days, when he'd scaled his enemies down from the Titans' magic cults and international assassins to street gangs.

He set his head in his hands, breathing out shakily. For the first time in months, nothing was trying to kill him.

For the first time in months, he was alone.

No Jason or Cass by his side. No Jim. Not even Ace.

He didn't even know if they were alive. In an instant, everyone he thought he'd saved slipped into the ranks of the unknown—their lives in limbo until he could lay eyes on them again.

His hands twisted in his hair.

And he was stuck in this stupid skinny body.

Jason always cooed at him whenever Dick had to take off the pendant. Damian looked away awkwardly. Tim had never treated him any different. God, he missed his brothers.

He opened another window and searched Bruce Wayne.

Results poured in. The boy who would become Batman didn't smile in any of his pictures. He stared, challenging, at the camera.

His parents had been shot in front of him when he was eight. His guardian was his butler. He was friends with Oliver Queen. Same as in Dick's world.

He looked so much like Damian.

A whoosh announced Clark's return, the door slamming shut behind him. His eyes burned. His voice was thick when he said, "We have to go."

"Go where?" Dick shut the window with Bruce's face on it.

Clark skittered erratically around the apartment, hauling a bag out and tossing clothes in, then thinking better of it and dumping those clothes out. "Anywhere."

"Clark, stop." Dick stood, hands out. He stepped in Clark's path. The young man glared at him but stopped. "What's the problem?"

The alien deflated a bit. "Lana was at the funeral. She saw me."

Lana Lang. Clark's first love. Another persistent connection.

"She tried to follow me."

"Okay. That's good, that means she wants you to come back, right?"

Clark shook his head vehemently. "I hurt her. I hurt her all the time. Just being around me puts her in danger—she's almost died because of me!"

Dick hadn't quite gotten to the Romeo and Juliet stage of puberty before being frozen in his body, so he couldn't empathize, but he nodded along seriously. "So, no Lana. Alright. Did you see your parents? Speak to anyone?"

"What? Why?"

"Because it was a funeral for your friend. Lex died. That should mean something, he should be spoken about." Lex Luthor absolutely did not die in a honeymoon plane crash. Evil or not, Dick had a hard time believing something so random and pedestrian could kill that guy.

Clark shook his head. "Nobody really… liked Lex. Not like me. His wife does, but she's—I don't know. I get a bad feeling about her."

If Lex actually did die, it was the wife. It's always the spouse. Dick sighed. Guess Clark wasn't keen on the whole mourning thing. He hadn't been back home, either. New plan—a self-serving plan, but a plan nonetheless. "Well, I've got good news and bad news. Good news: I found someone who might be able to send me back. Bad news: she's in London."

"London. In England?"

"If she were in Ontario, it wouldn't be bad news. No, she's an eighteen-hour flight from here and I don't have a passport."

Clark frowned at the floor, thinking. "Okay. Maybe we can use some of the money I stole to buy a fake one?"

Dick snapped his fingers. "Exactly what I was thinking. Sort of. That guy who was here yesterday, Edge? I think he's got a forger on staff. We find them, we can get our own IDs."

"I have a fake ID."

"I mean a good one. Passports are tricky and I don't know who to trust on the dark web yet."

Clark gave him an amused glance. "Yet?"

"Don't worry, I'll show you some tricks before I go." Dick saved his research and logged off. If this Clark really wanted to go off on his own, he'd need some training or else he'd get himself caught saving a kitten from a tree. "Want to come with? You probably should."

"Okay." Clark tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because this Edge guy knows who you are," Dick ticked each point off on his fingers, "knows you have powers, and he's a very big player in the city so he's not going to just disappear on his own."

Clark sat down heavily on the bed. "Do you think he'd track down my parents?"

"Probably. Powers like yours aren't exactly common yet."

"Yet?"

Dick waved off his alarm. "Don't worry. I've got a plan to take care of him. We'll rob him blind so he can't bribe anyone, report his financial crimes to the FBI, then find some evidence of his violent crimes for the police. Easy as pie." Pie. Damn, how long had it been since he'd had pie? For that matter, how long had it been since he'd had cheesecake?

"I don't feel comfortable robbing anyone," Clark said. His chin tucked. "I know I did it as Kal, but it's wrong."

Dick squared his shoulders at Clark. "Look, this guy bribes people. A lot of people. Cops, judges, anyone. If he has access to his money, he'll never face a single consequence because the legal system is built to protect people like him."

"I still don't like it."

"Unless you want to testify that he broke into your apartment, had his men shoot your in your bed with two thousand bullets, just to recruit you because you interrupted his previous robbery by walking through a bank wall and stealing all the money—this is your best option."

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. He scrunched his face in a very teenage way.

"We can make it fun," Dick cajoled. "Don't tell me you're not a little curious about the criminal life?"

Clark had always assumed that fake passports were made up identities. Like in movies. He knew his driver's licence was completely fake because he told the forger what name and birthday he wanted and presto, new card!

Robin swiftly corrected him. "All government-issued identification is linked to a social security number. No number, no ID. This is why identity theft is such a big deal."

"And we're going to steal someone's identity." Dad would freak if he ever found out.

"Two someones, yeah. I'm not proud of it. Just don't open any credit cards and we're golden."

Robin knew a lot of things. Very suspicious things. He answered every one of Clark's questions, like he was a teacher and Clark his extremely slow apprentice.

"Do you feel the first bump? It should be a few millimetres deep."

"I can see it. X-ray vision, remember?" The tumblers clicked into place one after another. The lock turned. "This is really easy."

"It's only easy if you can see the pins. Next one's gonna be made of lead." Robin muttered, snatching his lockpick set out of Clark's hands.

The same process unfolded as Robin hacked the Metropolis PD (again, apparently), broke into Morgan Edge's personal safes, and even the man's safety deposit box at the bank.

Robin flicked through the ledgers with a disappointed tt. "This just has his official accounts. We'll have to wait until tonight to get his finance guy. We want his offshore accounts. Switzerland, Cayman, basically the tax havens—that's where the big money's hiding. It's what we need if we want to get him on tax fraud."

Every time they left in silence, not a single alarm or cop to be found. If Robin weren't from the literal future, Clark would be concerned. Alright, he was concerned. But at least Robin, unlike Kal, never once touched an innocent person's money. Never even looked at the other safety deposit boxes in the vault. Heck, he hardly even touched Edge's money, only sifting through for evidence and placing the cash back where it used to be. Most of the time, he grabbed only heavy binders and asked Clark to flip through them at super speed and tear out any mention of Kal.

Robin updated Clark every time he found something relevant, pointing it out on the books, explaining he knew the forger was at 11 Crestwood, apartment 203, because Edge visited that address every time he opened a new bank account.

That particular connection took Edge's address book, his digital calendar, and two of his safes to put together.

Robin did stuff several gold bars into his pockets from Edge's personal stash, giving Clark a good-humored smile and a quietly justifying it as payment for his future passage home.

At some point, they wound up in the mall, where Robin taught Clark the basics of avoiding security cameras. He showed him which way to tilt his head so it wasn't obvious, how to avoid reflections, and how to find blind spots.

"Now, this is some of the tightest surveillance you'll get," Robin said. He pulled his baseball cap lower. It didn't really disguise the black veins running across his skin, but the beige hoodie Clark bought him sort of hid the pallor. "Cameras on all entrances and exits, basically no blind spots in trafficked areas. Do you know what that means?"

Clark had no idea what that meant. He took a wild guess, glancing around the packed mall. "They've got a lot of security guards just sitting there, watching screens?"

"That's part of it. Lots of screens, not enough eyes, things slip through. It also means that there's too much footage to save long-term. They have to wipe their footage at certain intervals. If we're lucky, it's twenty-four hours."

"And if we're unlucky?"

"Up to a month. Try not to do anything suspicious, okay?" Because two teenagers in caps and hoodies spending altogether too much time at the self-tanner section was not at all suspicious.

They retreated to the penthouse with their bags full. Legally acquired: an outfit and a backpack for Robin, self-tanner, makeup, and a cheesecake. Illegally acquired: the previously mentioned gold bars, one of Morgan Edge's personal ledgers, and all physical evidence of Clark's stay in Metropolis. Clark wasn't sure where he should class all the knowledge Robin had summarily dumped in his head.

He drove into the parking lot, Robin on the back of his motorcycle. Robin tapped his shoulder. "Wait."

Clark squeezed the brakes and set a foot on the ground. "What?"

Robin dismounted, balancing the cheesecake box in one hand. "There's someone waiting for you. Go talk to her for, like, fifteen minutes? I gotta de-zombie myself."

Clark swung his head around to look towards his front door. He squinted, x-ray vision taking over as he looked through the buildings. Lana. It was Lana, sitting there on the steps to his apartment, talking on the phone. When he went to tell Robin that no, I can't do this, he found himself searching the empty parking lot.

Lana was still there. Had been there for a while if the parking ticket on her car was any indication. Clark clenched the bike's handlebars. He could leave. Run away. He'd learned enough from Robin to make hiding so much easier.

He glanced back up. Lana's shoulders were shaking. He killed the engine and started climbing the stairs before his brain caught up with his body. He froze, fighting the urge to vanish before her head lifted.

"Clark?"

Too late.

Lana's big brown eyes found him, she made a sound between a laugh and a sob and propelled herself into his arms. Her phone clattered onto the ground behind her. He caught her around the middle. Holding her. Her heart beat so fast against his chest.

She pushed away a moment later. "Where the hell were you? I was looking for you everywhere."

His gaze skittered to the ground.

"Clark, you need to come home." She leaned to the side, trying to catch his eyes. "Your parents need you, they're about to lose the farm."

"What?" He hadn't heard anything about that. His mom was ridiculously good with the books, there was no way they could be that far behind on payments. Sure, they'd mortgaged the farm a few years ago, but that didn't mean the bank would foreclose so soon. It had only been a few months.

Robin could fix it. Robin could do anything, probably without Dad even noticing it was less-than-legal.

"I saw you at the funeral, I know you still care. Please, we all miss you. Please come home."

"I'd only screw it up," Clark said softly.

"No. No, we love you." Lana cupped his cheek. Tears stuck her lashes together. "I love you. Just please come home."

Clark closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. For years, this was all he'd ever wanted. She was all he'd ever wanted.

If he kept holding on, he'd destroy her.

He took a deep breath. "Lana. Smallville isn't—"

The door slammed open.

Lana yelped, jumping into Clark's chest with enough force that if he'd been normal they would have both gone careening down the stairs. As it was, he stood completely still and glared at Robin.

Robin smiled back, sunny as ever. He'd put some concealer over his dark veins and enough makeup to make him seem alive. That, too, had been on the day's curriculum. Makeup is about balance, Clark. Blush and bronzer, lips and eyes. If you skip one, the whole look falls apart. "Hey, Clark. Want to invite your friend in? We've got some stuff to talk about. Like, a lot of stuff."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Lana asked, appropriately dubious given Robin's skillset. Not that she could know anything about that because right now he looked like a normal middle schooler.

The boy ignored her and scooped her phone off the porch, putting it to his ear. "Mister Kent? Hi, I'm a friend of Clark's. Don't worry, he's back to his normal self and he'd love to talk to you."

Robin held the phone out with that same shit-eating grin. Clark took it, trying his best to ignore Lana's burning gaze as he gingerly lifted her phone. "Dad?"

"Clark." His dad never sounded that breathless. That desperate. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed hearing his father's voice until then. Mom had been the one to pick up the last few times he'd called. "Your mother and I love you very much, and we want you to come home."

The words came out fast, but measured. Like they'd been scripted. Because they were, of course they were. The Kents were nothing if not dutiful. If they knew what he'd done, who he really was, they wouldn't say these things. He swallowed. "No."

And he hung up.

"I give that a zero on the emotional maturity scale," Robin snarked.

Clark pushed past the two of them and into his apartment, where he could hide his face under a pillow or something.

"Maybe a one-point-five. At least he said something. Nice to meet you, by the way. Robin."

"Lana." The door closed behind them. "How do you, um. How do you know Clark?"

Clark sighed and retrieved their newly-purchased cheesecake from the fridge. He plopped it on the counter and pulled out plates. Lana and Robin chattered in the background as Robin fussed with their things. Hopefully he wasn't flashing the gold bars at her. That would go very badly.

"It's a recent acquaintanceship. He helped me out with a problem, now I'm helping him. Quid pro quo type stuff, y'know?"

He kept his eyes on the cheesecake, pretending to be deeply focused on dividing the cake into eight even pieces. Why the hell did they need a full cheesecake, anyway?

The raspberry filling oozed like blood through chocolate cake. Like fire through charred flesh. Like McCulloch, burning.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to listen to Robin weave a mostly-false rendition of their meeting, in which McCulloch was recast as a vaguely-termed creep called Scotty, Clark's intervention was reduced to sending Scotty packing with a haymaker, and Robin was actually invited to Clark's apartment.

The steel-handled knife, when Clark finally set it down, sported new ergonomic finger grooves.

His houseguests had settled in the living area, Robin crosslegged on the floor like he belonged there and Lana stationed on the same chair Edge had occupied only the day before. She accepted her cheesecake with a quiet thank you and a nervous look around. "Is this really your place?"

Clark nodded, handing the second plate to Robin and scurrying off to fetch his own. He pretended he didn't see the look in Lana's eyes as she observed the city views, the fancy furniture and massive TV system. He couldn't help but wonder what was going through her head. Was she judging him for living it up in the city when his family was, apparently, about to lose their home? He sure was.

"So, what have you been doing? Did you get a job, or… something?" Lana asked. She took a dainty bite of cake.

Clark mashed his own cheesecake with his fork. "Uh. Just stuff."

"Stuff," she repeated. She nodded stiffly, mouth flat, politely furious in that dainty way of hers. "So three months of… stuff? Couldn't tell your parents? Your girlfriend? I had to make Chloe tell me where you were—and apparently you didn't even want her to know?"

He looked to Robin for help. Robin, who had nearly finished his slice in the time it took Clark to pick his up. "Um. It's kind of—"

"I thought you were—" she set her plate on the coffee table and put her head in her hands, breathing out hard through her teeth "—I don't know. I don't even know what I thought."

"Clark's in trouble with the mob," Robin declared through a mouthful of chocolate cheesecake.

Lana head snapped up, jaw slack. Her wide eyes went to Clark, then Robin, then back again. "What?!"

Robin swallowed like a python and gestured like a ringmaster about to open the show. "Okay, let's rewind a bit. How much do you know about organized crime? Because this is kind of complicated."

They hadn't really established any of this earlier. Honestly, Clark had hoped they could just disappear from Metropolis without a sound, without anyone even knowing they'd been there. Chloe would have noticed, for course, but she noticed everything. Clark just kept his attention on his cake and agreed with everything Robin said, both impressed and concerned by the boy's ability to lie. Everything he said was sort of true. True enough that Clark could reasonably agree without feeling too awful.

Once again, Robin softened Clark's involvement. Instead of robbing ATMs, he became an under-the-table bouncer cum enforcer for Morgan Edge's bar. He skimmed over any details, letting Lana's imagination fill the gaps.

"Except now Edge wants him to do this big heist—we don't actually know the details—and Clark said no. Edge isn't really the kind of boss who lets his people walk, but since he helped me out with Scotty, I figure I'll do Clark a favor and get him out from under this guy."

Lana put her hand on Clark's knee, squeezing it hard enough to make his jeans bunch up. "How?"

"I've got a bunch of evidence of bribery, and maybe other financial crimes, which will get the FBI on him and hopefully also the Metropolis PD—it's corrupt as hell, apparently." Robin reached into the bag at his feet and pulled out Edge's ledger. "This is last month's ledger. There's probably more evidence here that can link him to other crimes. We were going to go through it while we wait."

Lana gingerly took the ledger from his hands. "Where did you get this?"

Clark cleared his throat, taking a mouthful of cake and fixing Robin with a cautionary glare. Robin smiled guilelessly. "Stole it from his office."

She froze. "You—you stole from a crime boss? Like you broke into his office?"

"His home office, actually, yeah," Robin said with unnerving cheer. Clark closed his eyes. Robin continued, "That's just for while we wait, though. We need to go out again tonight, get some surefire evidence of tax evasion. Maybe convince someone to turn and testify against him."

"No." Lana shook her head, straight brown hair flowing over her shoulders. She smelled like vanilla and coffee. Her knuckles were white around the ledger. "No, this is enough. You can give this to the police, give them your statement, and—"

"And bam, I get murdered, you get murdered, and all the Kents get in an unfortunate car accident."

Clark shifted uncomfortably. This, the truth, felt worse than any of the lies. It was his fault. He'd been so reckless with his powers, with the red kryptonite, that he'd exposed everyone to this danger. They could die because of him, and he hadn't even been in the same city. All because he hadn't run far enough. "He's right, Lana. I'm already in too deep and this is the only way. You should go home now, before it's too late."

Lana's jaw clenched. She glared at him, then at the ledger in her lap. She let them sit in silence for a long moment, both boys watching her. "How can I help?"

Robin perked up with a grin at the same time as Clark reared back.

"No," Clark said in a strangled voice. "You can't—"

"It would be really handy if you could find some potential connections for the payments," Robin said.

"No."

"Sure," Lana opened the ledger, "how do I do that?"

Clark reached out and grabbed at the book. Lana yanked it away, tucking it against her chest with a vicious glower, like she'd hit him if he tried to take it away. "Lana—"

"I don't care what you want right now, Clark. I don't care that you're acting like an asshole. I don't care if you don't want to be my boyfriend anymore." Her voice shook. "I am not going to let you ride out of my life again."

He swallowed, frozen as he watched Lana settle back in the chair with renewed purpose and look to Robin expectantly.

Tension washed off Robin's back like water off a duck. He leaned over and flipped through the ledger. "Each line is a transaction, it's coded so we don't know who he's sending the money to or why, but we do have the dates and the amounts. Using that, go through news articles, social media posts, police records, and look at everything he's doing. We're building a timeline of his financial activity so we can figure out who the money goes to."

Lana nodded and followed Robin to the computer desk, not giving Clark a glance as she went.

His throat felt tight. This was so insanely dangerous. Robin turned the computer on and gave Lana a tour of his files, walking her through the spreadsheet he'd already made. This was also illegal. Robin logged into the Metropolis PD database. Then, the bank.

"Focus on the big numbers, like that $250,000 expense? It's completely unmarked," Robin said. He met Clark's eyes and left Lana to get started.

Clark didn't say anything as Robin perched on the bed next to him.

The click of Lana's mouse was the only sound in the apartment. Robin lasted about twenty seconds before bouncing his leg. Another ten before he sighed. "She seems nice," he whispered.

Lana was still well within earshot.

Clark took Robin's arm and dragged him out the front door. He slammed it shut behind them and whirled on the smaller boy. "What the hell?"

Robin raised his palms. "What the what?"

"I told you that Lana can't be in danger because of me and you make her an accomplice? She could be killed for this."

"Lana made herself an accomplice, Clark." Robin crossed his arms high on his chest. "She's young, but she's close enough to you that shutting her out will only put her in more danger. She'd follow us and try to get the police involved. At least this way, we can protect her."

"And what happens when we've got all the evidence? She wants me to go home right after—what are we gonna do? Bring her to London?"

Robin pinched his chin in thought. "That could work, honestly."

"Robin."

"I'm serious. You could work on hiding your you-ness in close quarters. Because you suck at it. You seriously suck. I have no idea how you've gone this long without someone noticing."

Clark narrowed his eyes, not trusting that easy smile in the slightest. "Is that really what you think is best or are you just being an asshole?"

"Both, always."

"Okay. Okay, fine. If she really wants. And only if we can keep her safe. The moment she's even close to being in danger—"

"We back off and run, I understand." Robin patted Clark on the arm, a brotherly smack that felt a bit too awkward to be familiar. "I've brought civilians along on investigations before. It's not that hard to keep them out of the way once you give them something to do."

Clark swallowed and nodded, letting Robin brush past him and back into the apartment. Even though they'd spent all day together, Robin's practiced ease never seemed false. He'd never faltered, never doubled back as if he'd been caught in a lie. He just kept going with an uncanny self-assurance, like Clark's dad working on an engine, never surprised by anything because they'd already seen it all. He did act like he'd been around for decades, maybe centuries.

"Hey, Lana! Do you have a passport?!"

But the rest of the time, he was just another asshole teenager.

Lana had always played the good girl. The selfless one. The cheerleader, quarterback's-girlfriend, straight-A volunteer with dead parents and a soft voice. That skin fit her perfectly. It was easy. Comfortable. But right now, she wanted to be selfish. For once in her life, she wanted something just for herself. A little bit of chaos. An adventure. She wanted Clark.

Yes, it broke Chloe's heart. Yes, she should have told Mr. Kent to come and fetch his son the moment the boys left her alone. But how could she, when that strange kid Clark trailed after like a lost puppy asked her if she wanted to take down a mob boss and see London? She'd never even left Kansas.

Lana texted Mr. Kent to wait, that she had it under control, that Clark would be back in a few days. Everything was fine.

Maybe chasing after Clark was an artefact of that sweet persona, maybe a rebellion. Either way, she was breaking the law tonight.

Clark kept watch on the street as Robin dug into an electrical box outside an apartment building. Lana stood next to Robin, a tote bag full of supplies in her hands. She didn't know what everything in the tote was for—why they would ever need a smoke detector or a can of paint remover was beyond her. All of them wore latex gloves and backpacks with clothes for a few days.

Lana bit her lip as a spark lit Robin's face. He just kept humming a song she didn't recognize under his breath as he worked. A flashlight balanced on the box's door kept the wires illuminated.

"Pass me a couple inches of tape?" Robin asked, not looking up.

Lana obliged, pulling a roll from the tote bag and biting off a piece. The tween thanked her and wrapped a pair of exposed wires together with the electrical tape. He started tucking wires away in neat rows, like he was making it easier for someone to undo his work. Lana looked over her shoulder to Clark, who leaned against the alley wall with his phone out, pretending to text like Robin had instructed him to.

"You've done this a lot," she said. "Do you ever get caught?"

"Once or twice," Robin smirked up at her, "by guys a lot bigger and badder than Edge. Don't worry—these are low-rent suckers. They have a separate system for security, so if there's a blackout they still have locks and cameras. Downside is that it's easy to cut it all at once from here. If I did my job right, there should be no cameras working in the whole building. We'll be in and out."

That probably wasn't as reassuring as he thought it was. She passed him the screwdriver to put the panels back on the electrical box and held flashlight while he worked. The whole time, Robin kept humming tunes. He'd changed songs by the final screw, to something she finally recognized. "Is that ABBA?"

"Mamma Mia, yeah. You a fan?"

"They're a bit bright for me." Which is to say, she hated ABBA. The lyrics never made sense. She turned the flashlight off and tucked it away.

Robin shrugged and took the tote from her, signalling Clark to try the building's front door again.

She ran through how he'd described meeting Clark. While she could imagine her friend (Boyfriend?) jumping in to save a stranger, she couldn't imagine Clark getting mixed up in organized crime. Yet he obviously had. Questions upon questions piled up in her mind. First and foremost: who was Robin? Tweens didn't know how to rewire security systems, or how to frame a mob boss for financial crimes, or hack the police. Sure, they'd seen stranger things in Smallville, but why would Clark trust him? She thought she'd given up on trying to understand Clark's weird social habits—but he usually singled out enemies instead of friends. And he never ever let someone else take charge like this. Then again, he'd never run away from home before.

"My, my, how can I resist ya," Robin sang softly. His eyes stayed steady on the mouth of the alley, waiting to see if Clark came back.

Lana squinted at him. "How old are you, again?"

He gasped theatrically, clutching nonexistent pearls. "Don't you know never to ask a man his age? Or, hang on, is it salary?"

He talked a lot for a kid who didn't really say anything. His hands moved, his weight shifted, head bobbed, all with a full-body smoothness she'd only seen from her childhood gymnastics coach. Was he uncomfortable? She didn't know him well enough to say.

"I guess it's go time," Robin said. He put his baseball cap on and gestured for her to do the same. They both pulled the rims low, angling their heads so they wouldn't be caught on the ATM cameras across the street. They passed through the apartment building's front door without incident, stepping into an empty lobby. It was cramped and dusty, with cracks in the plaster and a pile of trash in each corner. A sad chandelier with only one working bulb lit the hall.

Clark stood at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest. He smiled tightly when he saw them. "You were right."

"Any trouble?"

"A few guards. I, uh," his eyes flicked to Lana, "made a distraction on the third floor, so they shouldn't be bothering us. I made sure they didn't see my face."

"Nice work, dude." He high-fived Clark as soon as he was in range. Clark's smile grew. The two of them fell into step as they climbed the stairs, leaving Lana to pull up the rear.

When they said Clark worked as a bouncer, Lana hadn't really believed it. Yes, Clark was six-foot-five and broad, but he couldn't scare off a bully—much less an actual adult at a bar. This Clark seemed different. More capable. Maybe it was in the way he deferred to Robin, or the way he stood straight for once, or that new iciness in his eyes. Had something happened to him in the few months he'd been on his own? Had he outgrown her?

God, she hoped not.

They came to apartment 203, where Robin pulled out two sets of lock picks and handed one to Clark. With both of them on the task, the door's three locks popped open in seconds.

Lana's eyes could have popped out of her head. "Clark, how did you…"

He gave her a sheepish look. She'd seen it hundreds of times before, when Clark got caught in a lie, or staring too long, or daydreaming. "Robin taught me."

"You should give it a shot sometime, it's a good skill to have. All the rage in Metropolis," Robin said. He eased the door open slightly, peering into the darkness. "Whoops—tripwire. Hang on, I've got it." Robin slid one of his lean arms through the gap and did something, then opened the door fully and stepped inside.

Lana couldn't take her eyes off Clark. Clark, who kicked up a fuss at every crime, now knew how to pick locks. It made sense, in a way. He always acted like the rules never applied to him, like he knew better than anyone. It would be obnoxious if he weren't usually right.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked slowly. His eyes flicked between her face and the ugly brown carpet. He clutched the lock picks in both hands.

"I'm fine." Her response came automatically. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I just didn't expect… all this."

"I'm sorry," he said, looking tragic and abandoned with his blue eyes and overgrown hair. She reached out and touched his fingers. When he didn't recoil or move to push her away, she wrapped her hand fully around his.

"No, this is good. I'm glad. This is what I wanted, Clark." She stepped closer. "To be with you, to see you—all of you. There is nothing you can do that will make me love you less."

"Even if I never want to go back to Smallville?"

Once, she'd thought Clark was a simple guy. The simplest, most straightforward person in the world. A shy farm boy with a heart of gold. Then, he revealed his true self by inches and she loved each incarnation more than the last.

In the past few days, she'd seen more sides to him than she had in the months they'd been dating, and she didn't know how she felt about any of them.

"It's our home," she said, half-begging. "If you won't come back for your parents, think about Pete and Chloe, and… everyone at school." She tried to think of more, but couldn't really scrape together more than his two best friends. Clark's life was smaller than hers, no less important, though far less rooted than she thought.

"None of them need me," Clark said.

"I need you. Isn't that enough?"

"Lana, I—" he pulled away, leaving her holding empty air. "I can't."

His head stayed bent, shoulders rising to his ears like if he looked pathetic enough she'd let him go without a fight. "What happened to you? Is it because of Lex? Clark, even if you'd gone to the wedding, you couldn't have saved him."

His mouth crumpled for a moment. "But I could have been there for him. I said I would. I was his best man and I—I didn't even say goodbye. Now he's dead."

"He didn't blame you." Lex had adored Clark, treated him like a beloved baby brother, and could never hold anything against him. Lana still didn't know why Clark skipped his wedding and he seemed too fragile to ask now.

"That doesn't make anything better, Lana."

"I know. I'm sorry." She'd have been a hypocrite to try and convince him otherwise. Lana still hated herself for trying to dump Whitney through video message before he died. It didn't matter that he never saw it.

Clark turned his head, the muscles and tendons of his neck standing out sharply as he looked into the darkness of apartment 203. He frowned, brows furrowed. He squinted.

"Clark?"

His eyes widened and he hurried through the door, leaving Lana behind again.

He didn't say anything. Didn't even glance her way. She scrubbed at her mouth while staring at the space her friend had vacated without a word. Tears burned at her eyes. Clark had done this to her before. He'd probably do it again.

She wiped her tears before they could fall and followed him. Boyfriend or not, friend or not, she wouldn't let anything happen to Clark. She loved him too much for that.

Lana almost tripped on a cardboard box full of paper blocking the narrow entryway. The floor was almost completely carpeted in trash. Fast food wrappers, paper, clothes. It smelled like a week-old sock. She scooted around the debris, towards a bend where light bathed the messy hall a soft yellow.

She turned the corner and stopped.

Robin, perched on a desk, waved merrily. "Hey! Could one of you close the door? And we're not using names right now, but you can pick an alias if you'd like. I'm using Rick, this is Kal," he gestured to Clark, who stood completely still in front of Lana, "and this is Jack." He pointed to a man duct taped to a wooden armchair with a pillowcase over his head. "His real name actually is Jack, though. Jack Nimball."

The guy taped to a chair—Jack Nimball, she supposed—shouted. It sounded muffled, like he was gagged. He was angular, pale, dressed only in his boxers and socks, and terrified.

"Don't freak out," Robin said. She didn't know which of them he was speaking to, and frankly didn't care. "Jack here is Edge's forge guy and apparently one of his accountants."

"What—" Lana felt like she couldn't breathe.

"That doesn't mean you can just take him hostage," Clark hissed. He sounded like he was trying not to yell.

"I didn't want to interrupt, it sounded like you two were having a moment."

In the five minutes it took Clark and Lana to almost break up, Dick had secured three suitable identities for them to travel under, evidence of tax evasion (it's always the taxes that get them), and the forger sleeping in the bedroom. Not in that order.

Jack Nimball felt familiar. His name, at least. They probably hadn't met in Dick's world, but he was getting a strong minor villain vibe.

While Lana went to close the door, Clark loomed over both Dick and Jack, the full force of his kryptonian disappointment raining down on them like an adolescent sun. Dick flicked through his new findings while Jack trembled. "Careful, Kal. You glare any harder and he'll wet his pants. Well. Boxers."

Clark shifted, jaw clenched hard enough to break a tooth. He sat down on one of the many rolling chairs scattered around the room like his joints were rusted over.

"Where are the guards, again?" Dick asked.

"Locked up on the top floor," Clark said. He crossed his arms high on his chest. "Unconscious. In a closet."

Good. Should buy them enough time to do what they came here for. "Awesome job, Kal."

"Thanks. Rick."

So much for positive reinforcement. Dick sighed and hopped off the desk, circling the table to sit in front of Jack's computer. An old Mac, one of those classic ones with a translucent blue shell. Still using all the default security. Dick slid in through one of the many back doors in early MacOS and stretched his hacking legs.

"Ooh, lookie here. Eight Swiss bank accounts, got two in the Canary isles, six across Europe, even a crypto wallet. Fifteen American, under aliases at different banks." Dick whistled low. He had almost half a billion in cash. "He keeps way too much liquid. Hey, Jack? Not counting his official accounts, is that everything? Just nod or shake."

Jack didn't move, fully clenched up.

"I can appreciate loyalty. Still, I doubt your boss would do the same for you. Kal, break his knee." At Clark's alarmed look, Dick shook his head and mouthed no. Lana had come back at this point and was staring in something like horror. Shit. This probably looked bad.

Jack, with a hood taped over his eyes, started screaming and thrashing. Maybe sobbing, too. Hard to say.

"Nod or shake, Jack. Eight Swiss, two Canary, six European, one crypto, and fifteen local. Is that every account Edge puts his money in?"

A nod. Frantic and exaggerated. Probably lying.

"Kal, could you just reach under there and pull out his gag for me?" Clark grimaced but acquiesced with a sidelong glare that probably meant he would yell about this later. The wet gag tore under Clark's super strength and flopped to the ground. Jack sputtered, the pillowcase suctioning to his face as he hyperventilated.

"Deep, slow breaths, Jack. If you scream too loud I'll have Kal break some bones, okay?"

Clark retreated to Lana's side, chewing his thumbnail and looking conflicted. As he should be. Dick sometimes forgot how awful this kind of interrogation was. He didn't stop typing.

"We're not interested in you, just your boss. Answer my questions and we'll let you go." Dick flicked through the accounts, using administrator overrides to drain the untraceable accounts to charities and throwing up flags on all his aliases. Should be enough for the FBI to freeze his cash. He put several million into the Swiss account set aside for 'Kal'. "Are you aware of Morgan Edge's crimes?"

Jack coughed. "Some. Some, yeah, but he doesn't tell me shit, okay?"

"Would you be willing to testify against him in a court of law?"

"I'll do whatever you want, man."

Dick sighed. "I won't be mad if you say no. He's a powerful dude, got a lot of weight to swing around. What did he do? He threaten your family? He's definitely not paying you enough if you live here."

"I only stay here on the weekends because nobody else does. I've—I've got a mansion, and a boat, and—it's yours if you want it, just please don't kill me. I'll do anything, I'll say anything."

"So you're only here for the money? Nobody we need to protect?"

"I'm an only child," Jack sobbed. "The pay's fucking fantastic."

Dick considered telling him to upgrade his software if nothing else. Considering he was halfway through writing a worm to infect all devices that logged into any of Edge's accounts. It was one of Babs' inventions, one he'd committed to memory years ago. A self-replicating virus that reported passwords and IPs back to a dummy email he'd set up earlier. The security wasn't great, but he wanted the FBI to find it eventually.

He typed out a list of emails for various government agencies and began forwarding information packets.

"Alright. Final question: do you have a carbon monoxide detector?"

Clark checked the entire building three times. Twice with his x-ray vision, once with speed. The only people in the whole building were Jack and the guards. Alarmingly, none of the twelve apartments in the complex were furnished as homes. Some were storage, others some kind of lab, two of them were packed with computers. He left every door wide open.

When he came back, Jack had been gagged again and someone had taped a paper with 'Call the FBI' written in Sharpie to his chest.

Lana sat next to Jack, hadn't really said a word this whole time. She stared at her brand new driver's license and passport proclaiming her to be Holly Jenkins, born in 1980. Her picture looked much nicer than Clark's.

"Where's Ro—Rick?" Clark asked.

Lana closed the passport and put it in her tote. She stood and led him out of the apartment, going down the hall. "I think he's downstairs, breaking a few space heaters."

"Right."

She stopped suddenly, putting a hand against his chest. "Clark. Do you trust him?"

He licked his lips and considered his answer. Robin hadn't exactly been on his best behaviour that night. Truthfully, Clark would have been afraid of him if he wasn't sure of the other boy's endgame. Robin had only ever done what he promised he would. Jack didn't even have any bruises—something Clark couldn't claim about the guards upstairs.

"I do." Since he couldn't say he's like me but better in every way, he simply said, "He's a good person."

Lana watched his face for a moment. "Okay. I believe you. He's not normal, though, is he?"

His pulse sped up. "What do you mean?"

"Normal kids don't do what he does."

"He's been through a lot," he said.

"That doesn't excuse everything. Look, I want to trust him, but he tortured that man."

Clark shoved his hands deep in his pockets, the latex gloves sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty palms. "You don't have to come with us."

Lana swallowed. "No, I'm with you all the way. I just want to know. You can trust me."

He really wanted to. Instead he said, "We should go check on him before he burns the place down."

Robin, unsurprisingly, had it handled. He'd broken just enough on three space heaters to emit carbon monoxide and set them up in the apartments closest to the stairs. Clark held his breath and poured out all the paint thinner on the carpet for good measure. He left the can in plain sight so the firefighters could identify it.

Lana stayed outside, ostensibly to keep watch but mostly because she was the only one who could be hurt by toxic gas. Robin was already next to her when Clark finished up, both of them in a CCTV blind spot. As he got closer, he caught the tail end of their conversation.

"--when the body metabolizes methylene chloride, it becomes carbon monoxide, so blood tests will show they were exposed to much more of the gas than they actually were." She must have asked about the paint cleaner.

"Isn't that more dangerous?" Lana asked, clutching her depleted tote.

"It could be if I don't call the fire department." Robin pulled out Jack Nimball's cell phone. He wiggled it with a grin.

Clark couldn't help but smile back. "Are we done here?"

"Yep! Lead on," Robin waved him on with a flourish.

With his newfound knowledge of city surveillance, walking became an exercise in anxiety. Camera wires climbed every street corner, the low flash of a red LED catching his eye in each store. Lana walked at his side.

Behind them, Robin finished up the last part of their plan. "Hello? Yeah, I think my carbon monoxide detector is going off." Clark ducked to hide his smile. "Yea, I'm Jack Nimball, I'm at 11 Crestwood, apartment 203. The second floor." He sounded a lot like Jack, down to the slight tremor. His voice wasn't deep enough, and he was way too flat, but he had the accent right. Clark looked down as Lana's fingers twined in his. She kept her gaze forward. "Oh, I don't think I can do that. I feel pretty weird. Oh, woah, the room's spinning."

With that, Robin tossed the phone into a trash can as they passed, not bothering to hang up.

Lana snorted, then slapped her hand over her mouth with a mortified expression. She twisted around to look at Robin. "Will they believe that?"

He shrugged. "Dispatch did. That's all that matters. I've already put tips in with the Feds, the IRS, and Metropolis internal affairs, among others. The more suspicious it looks, the better. They'll tie each other and Edge up for months."

They ducked into an empty Big Belly Burger with a broken security camera and changed their clothes in the bathroom.

Clark thumbed his new passport. He was now Calvin Jacobs, born 1981. With this, he could disappear. Didn't even need to wait for Robin, he could just vanish and not come back. He x-rayed the wall. Robin sat in the employee break room, on the phone with the airport as he ordered their plane tickets. He seemed relaxed, like he hadn't just taped a grown man to a chair and threatened him, then filled an apartment block with carbon monoxide.

Fire engines zoomed down the street, sirens blaring. Red lights flooded the restaurant in split-second increments. The worker didn't even look up, instead bent over an open textbook. He wondered what she was studying.

Their order cooled on the table in front of him. Three burgers and a large fry.

Lana had been gone a while. Clark switched his focus to the restrooms, hesitating only a moment before looking through the wall. She leaned against the sinks, phone against her ear. He couldn't tell what she was saying, but she seemed nervous.

He bit his lip and looked away. Was she calling the police on them? His parents? He didn't know which was worse.

Robin slid into the seat across from him, beaming like a fool. "Three round trip tickets to London, England. Leaves in two hours. Business class. One stop in Atlanta. You still up for international travel? I really only want you out of town for a few days in case Edge tries to find you."

"I want to." Clark fidgeted with his fingers, picked up a fry just for something to do. "I don't usually meet people like me. The ones I do usually try to kill me. It's novel."

Robin grabbed one of the burgers, unwrapping it brusquely. "Don't worry, you'll find some eventually. There's a lot of them out there, just gotta be patient."

Clark tried not to compare Robin to another boy who knew too much. A boy who had almost been his brother. Robin wasn't Ryan. He didn't need a home, didn't have a brain tumor that not even Clark could save him from.

"Besides, you still have to save my farm."

Robin shook his head, mouth too full to speak. "Already did."

Clark blinked and waited for him to finish chewing.

"I wrote a little script earlier. When your address enters the bank's foreclosed database it'll erase the record of debt. Without the digital record, they can't list it for sale, so it should give your mom enough time to argue the farm back. I also got you retroactively accepted to a farmer's assistance program from Wayne Industries that should cover most of the debt with a very reasonable payment program. I emailed her the details already."

"What about the paper records?"

Robin bobbed his head. "Well, yeah, I guess they could make the sale, but that would only happen if someone went out of their way to ask for your farm before your mom could appeal. Have a lot of enemies looking at your land?"

"I don't think so." Lionel Luthor, maybe. Clark couldn't think of any others. Robin demolished several fries, seemingly unaware of what he'd just done for Clark. "Thank you. Seriously, thank you."

Robin waved him off. He glanced at the third burger. "Where's Lana?"

"Still in the bathroom. She's on the phone with someone." He squinted. "She still seems nervous."

A hand came out of nowhere and smacked him upside the head with much more force than he was used to. Robin's blue kryptonite bracelet glowed when he went in for a second smack. Clark leaned out of his range. Robin just stood up on the chair and punched Clark's leg. "Ow! What?"

Robin glared at him. "Didn't your mom tell you not to x-ray people in the bathroom?"

"Wh--I was just--"

He dodged a third swipe. Robin glared at him and plopped back in his seat and picked up his burger like nothing happened. "It's an abuse of power, dude. Literally. Also weird and inappropriate."

Clark winced. He didn't really think of it like that, considering no-one could tell he was doing it. No harm, no foul, right? Or not, judging by the look on Robin's face. "Sorry."

The Big Belly Burger worker didn't look up, didn't even seem like she'd noticed their squabble.

"Good, don't do it again." Robin took a small bite of his burger before pushing it away. "You think she narced?"

Clark shook his head. "Uh, no. No, I don't think so. She's probably telling my parents. Or Chloe."

Robin nodded. "Should we leave her? She's got enough money and a car, she should be fine."

The door opened and Lana stepped out, her backpack secured and a fresh outfit on. She'd braided her long brown hair out of her face. Clark said, "Let's see what she does."

"Hey." She smiled at the two of them and slid in next to Clark. She smelled more like soap than coffee now, but she made it work. "What did I miss?"

Clark and Robin looked at each other. "We have a flight," Clark said. "Tonight."

She nodded. "Great." She scooped up her burger and toyed with the paper instead of eating. "Do you think we'll have time to see Big Ben?"

"I got round trip tickets for two nights." Robin played with his food as well. "You two don't really have to be there, so you can do the tourist thing together while I settle my business. I would just prefer you two be out of danger for a few days in case Edge figures out who is behind all this."

"You haven't really said what business that is," Lana said slowly.

Clark's throat tightened. He started eating just to hide his face. Robin couldn't tell her he was going to find a witch to help him leave their dimension.

"I'm looking for my family," Robin said instead, with a startling sincerity. "Most of them are dead, but I think someone in London knows where the others are."

Lana's eyes widened. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Once I find out how to get to them, I'm gone. Clark's only coming with because he's a good Samaritan." He tried not to feel disappointed at the reminder that their friendship was doomed from the start. That Robin would always have to leave, and that he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"That's our Clark, always a hero."

"Yeah, well, he's a little young to be traveling the world on his own," Clark chimed in. He immediately regretted it when both Robin and Lana fixed him with blank looks. Right, they'd just followed Robin's intricate plan to take down a mob boss, endangering several lives including their own.

"How did you pay for the tickets?" Lana asked. "And the hotel?"

"I didn't steal Edge's money, if that's what you're asking. They can trace that. And we're not staying in a hotel. Don't worry about it."

They finished their meal in stilted awkwardness, then got in a taxi to the airport. No police showed up to arrest him for his crimes as Kal, no friends or family came either. Only Lana's small hand in his and Robin leading the way. He forgot to be nervous about his first time flying.

Once on the plane, Lana fell asleep almost immediately. Her hand rested on his arm for a good four hours before turbulence shook it off. It also shook her awake.

She squinted at the dark plane. Then at him. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he whispered back.

She slid the window shade up just enough to see distant lights. "Do you think that's Nashville or Memphis?"

"I don't know," he said softly. She looked like an angel in the low light. Lana put her head on his shoulder, her shampoo filling his nose.

"I called your dad," she said, unprompted. He could barely hear her. The rest of the plane was asleep or pretending to be, save the flight crew and Robin. "When we were in the restaurant. He's worried about you."

Of course he was. Jonathan Kent was a good man.

"I told him that I'd have you back in Smallville by next week. That we just need to work through some stuff." She leaned more of her weight against him despite the armrest between them. "Do you think that's gonna happen?"

Honestly, he hoped that getting Robin home would take longer than the two days he'd allotted. He hoped he could keep Robin in his life just a few days more. He'd miss their return flight, sure, and maybe he'd stay longer once he was on his own. Maybe he'd hitch a ride across the Channel to France and just run across the continent. The fantasy left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he'd be far away from anyone he could hurt and that was for the best.

"I don't think so," he whispered.

Lana sighed and didn't move.

On their second plane, Clark sat next to Robin, who whispered jokes and awful puns on request. Clark's stifled giggles summoned an exhausted-looking stewardess who asked them to please quiet down, people are sleeping.

They landed in London nineteen hours after they left Metropolis, as dawn settled over the gray city. Lana had gotten a good night's sleep on the second leg of their journey, somehow, and oohed over every tourist trap pamphlet while Clark fetched their bags.

He lost sight of her for a few seconds and she reappeared with Robin and a disposable camera in tow. "Come on, you know I've never traveled before. I have to take pictures."

This led to them posing in front of anything vaguely British while Lana bounced around taking photos. Robin took over the camera when said bouncing nearly got her hit by a car. "I forgot they drive on the other side of the road," she said with a pout, but she was smiling soon after so it didn't seem so bad.

"That little car was so cute, though," Robin said.

"Right? Should we see if there's another one?"

Clark shepherded them through each crossing with a newfound fear. He didn't like London very much. Cute cars aside, it was loud, smelly, and the air hurt his eyes. "That's the smog," Robin said when Clark complained. "Ah, the sweet smell of impending climate disaster."

He hated it.

He still posed with Lana in front of a black taxi cab before getting in.

"Oh, lovely part of town," said the taxi driver when Robin gave him the address. "Very posh."

"Sure is," Robin replied. "It's been forever since we visited, though. Is everything still pastel?"

"Of course! Be a crime against culture to paint over those houses."

The town was, as promised, 'posh'. Multicolored townhouses squished together with no space between, spanning multiple blocks. Pretty enough, but it mostly looked like a fire hazard.

Lana took so many pictures she had to change the film roll before they even left the taxi.

Robin led them around the back of the houses, behind each house's little yard where they could peer into everyone's lives for a moment. Tiny playgrounds, dogs barking, laundry hung out to air dry, a birthday party full of screaming kids. This part wasn't so bad. It felt like a place where people could exist, stretch out their legs and have fun with their friends. It almost didn't feel like London.

Although they all looked the same from the back, Robin didn't falter. He stopped at one of the townhouses and reached over the fence, letting himself in. "Wait here. I've gotta check it out first. Should be back in five minutes or so."

He crossed the paved yard and went straight to the door.

"Is he going to break in?" Lana asked.

Clark would have loved to give her a solid no. As it was, Robin could smash a window or knock politely and Clark wouldn't have been at all surprised either way.

He chose a third, improbable act and opened a hidden keypad in the doorframe, confidently inputting a code. The pad flashed green and Robin stepped through the unlocked door.

"Huh," Clark said.

"Do you know who lives here?" Lana asked.

The yard, unlike most of the others, was paved over in the middle, with two raised boxes filling the space house to fence on either side. The boxes brimmed with late summer produce, hardy greens, and a lot of herbs. Clark shook his head and leaned against the fence. Robin had asked for five minutes, so he was probably clearing it room by room. Depending on how large the house was, this could take some time.

"I was thinking of going to see the Eye tomorrow. Thoughts?" Lana offered a pamphlet for his consideration. The Eye looked like a ferris wheel.

"It looks like a ferris wheel."

"Yes, but it's the world's second-tallest ferris wheel," she said, like that made it any better. "443 feet tall."

Clark hummed, mildly impressed despite himself. "A lot bigger than the windmill in Chandler's field." It wasn't so long ago that they'd climbed it to see Metropolis' skyline in the distance.

"We don't have to ride it."

"Well, if we're just going to look at it, why not see the world's biggest ferris wheel? Where's that one?"

Lana opened the pamphlet again. "Says it's in China."

Clark clucked in mock disappointment. "Shame. It's a bit far for this trip. Maybe next year?"

She snorted. "Sure, Clark. We'll go to China next year."

"Might be tricky without Robin footing the bill, but we'll manage."

Lana leaned her forearms against the fence. She kicked at the dirt. "You and Robin get along pretty well."

"I get along with a lot of people."

"Sure you do. But not like this. You don't trust people like this." Lana glanced at the house Robin had vanished into. "He's just a kid but you're letting him protect you."

"You know he's not just a kid."

"Do I?" Lana's challenge came softly, without rebuke. He could choose not to engage. Choose to let her stay in silence and ignorance.

He said nothing and let them lapse into quiet. Lana huffed quietly and turned back to her collection of pamphlets, sorting through them. He hadn't noticed when she was doing it, but he noticed when she stopped leaning towards him. She didn't step away, nothing so noticeable, just stopped gravitating towards him.

It hurt more than he thought it would. He breathed around the new twinge in his chest and reminded himself that it was for the best.

Less than three minutes later, Robin reappeared in the door, beckoning them over.

Clark and Lana crossed the garden and went into the townhouse. It smelled slightly stale, with an herbal undercurrent and a distinct note of lavender detergent.

"If you would kindly remove your shoes before entering, that would be appreciated," a deep British voice intoned. Right next to Robin stood a tall, thin man in a sweater vest with a shotgun under his arm.

"This is Alfred, by the way," Robin chirped. "You'll like him."