I PULLED THE TRIGGER of my grappling gun and my feet were pulled off of the ground, swinging across the street until I landed safely on the roof of a building. I retracted the line, tucking it back at my side. I took in the Gotham skyline in front of me. The tall buildings of the upper district rose into the moonlit smog, with the slums barely visible out of the corner of my eye. Car horns blared faintly from all sides and I sighed, hopping from one roof to the next.
I didn't have a lot of nights like these anymore— where I could just weave in and out of streets and alleyways, finding trouble as I went. Or, more often than not, trouble finds me. These days, my time was taken up by training sessions and crime-stopping and a whole lot of bat-themed merchandise. How pathetic.
I did a front flip to the next rooftop, landing gracefully on the edge and walking along it, arms out at my sides for balance.
Is it a little weird to any of you? The way Bats treats me, I mean. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure why he goes along with me sometimes. I've seen how he "tolerates" people, which is pretty much just him not staring someone to death while assigning them a mission. He tolerates Barry. He tolerates Oliver. He tolerates the rest of the team. It's not like he particularly goes out of his way for any of them... so why does he seem to go out of his way for me?
Probably because he thinks I'm dangerous. That he can't trust me, and that I have to be monitored at all times. He's paranoid like that. But... then why would he give me his cape yesterday? There's really no other motive behind that, besides... I don't know... being nice.
I shook my head. No. You know what it is? A false sense of security. He's trying to get me to trust him, so he doesn't have to watch me 24/7. He's trying to turn me into a Robin— into the rest of the League— who blindly follow him just because he has a scary voice and a good plan.
Well, let me be the first to tell you that it's not going to work. He's a big asshole, and no matter how nice the beds in his house are, or how great Alfred's food is, or how cool his jet is, I don't trust him for a second. I can only rely on myself, just like I always have.
"Your observational skills are a little lacking, Bri."
I whipped around at the sudden voice behind me, my gun immediately in my hands. In the dim moonlight, I could make out a figure leaning on an electrical box, staring directly at me.
"Whoever the hell you are, if you don't show yourself in the next three seconds, your head's about to be splattered all over the concrete," I snarled, pushing the gun forward.
"I don't doubt it." The voice was feminine and strangely familiar.
"One," I growled.
"Oh please, Brielle—"
"Two."
"—give your mother a break, will you?"
"What?"
I couldn't help the way my gun slightly dropped at the word. Mother? There's no way— yeah right. The crack addicts in this city are starting to get bold. I rolled my eyes, locking my gun on her once again. "What the hell are you on, lady? Because whatever it is, I'd like a little bit, if it makes you that delirious—"
She stepped forward and into my view. I took a sharp breath in, immediately recognizing her. It's the lady who's been following me around for the last few weeks— the one in my dreams and the one in the mirror at the club. I didn't have time to process any of the emotions running wild in my body before she spoke.
"You might as well put it down." She gave me an amused look. "The bullet won't touch me, anyway."
I squared my jaw. "Like hell it won't."
I pulled the trigger.
And sure enough, the bullet never reached her. I'm not entirely sure what happened, either my gun malfunctioned, or I just suddenly became the worst shot in the world. The bullet flew into an electrical box, sparks flying out as the piercing sound of the gun ricocheted down the street.
A low growl rose in my throat. "I don't have time for craziness, woman. I already deal with Batman enough as it is."
She rolled her eyes. "He can't help you like I can, regardless. Now please put the gun down. It's taking a lot for me to be here, and we can't really have an effective conversation with that in the middle."
I weighed my options, the sounds of the city becoming muffled sounds in the background as blood pulsed in my ears. Well, I have two choices. Either throw the gun and run, or listen to this randomly-appearing, magical crack addict who claims to have given birth to me. Honestly, out of all the people I'd assumed would be my mother, that description was the only one crazy enough to kind of make sense.
I slowly lowered the gun.
"Thank you." She gave me a small smile out of what I guess was... relief? "Now, we don't have a lot of time. At least not right now, so please hold all of your questions to the end."
I scoffed. "Well, you just wasted like, ten seconds giving me that garbage, Ted Talk intro, so hurry it up then. Why are you following me?"
She lowered her gaze. I put my hands up in mock defense. "Fine. Questions at the end, got it."
There was a brief pause, and I recognized the pounding of my heart in my chest. The way your palms got sweaty and your breath got short, and your stomach wanted to run in the opposite direction of your feet. I was nervous, and I hated it.
"You have a very special gift," she began slowly, seeming to carefully pick her words.
I wanted to open my mouth to ask if she meant my movie-star good looks, but decided against it. Probably wasn't the time.
"And I don't want it to kill you like it did to me."
I blinked. Did I hear that correctly? Maybe that was weird, magical crack addict slang for something else.
"You're dead?" I found my usually confident voice fell flat in my throat.
"I am." She sounded hollow and assured.
My heart dropped a little at her face. She wasn't lying.
Her dark hair was blown back by a large gust of cold wind. "I had hoped you would've been a bit more perceptive, but I can't blame you. At your age, it's easy to let your ego get the best of you— I would know."
The frozen state my body was currently in jolted at the comment. I narrowed my eyes. "Excuse me?"
"Haven't you ever wondered why things just work out for you?" she asked, ignoring my statement. "Why you're naturally just so great at everything?"
I blinked again. What the hell was she trying to tell me?
"Uh, not really. It's just because I am naturally talented at stuff."
Her face seemed disappointed, the way a parent's would be. "No fourteen-year-old should be on par with Batman, Brielle."
"That's because I'm not your regular fourteen-year-old, you crazy bitch," I sneered, putting my gun back into my holster as I pulled out the grappling gun yet again. "So if you're done telling me how amazing I am, I really have to—"
"That's right, you're not. You have a power. That's why you're good at what you do."
There was silence as I stared at her in utter disbelief. My mouth dropped before I barked out a laugh. "Powers? You really are a crazy woman. What powers would I have, exactly? I think I would've figured it out by now if I could fly or shoot lasers from my eyes."
"Luck." The word rolled off her tongue almost as if she was disgusted by it. "You got it from me."
"Luck?" I repeated slowly. "Right... and how is that supposed to be a power?"
"It's a subconscious act, a telekinesis of sorts," she explained. "You affect the probability around you, especially in a fight. That's why things tend to go in your favor. That's also why you pick up things easily and can excel at them in a short amount of time. It gives your opponents 'bad luck,' is the easiest way to put it."
I snapped my mouth shut, not realizing it had fallen open. "Alright, so stuff goes my way. Whatever. Big deal. How is that supposed to kill me?"
Her face now seemed somber and grim, and my palms were sweating uncontrollably. This wasn't really happening. My heartbeat was like a drumline in my ears. This random woman can't just show up after fourteen years and say this to me. She's a liar!
"You get a finite amount. If you're trained from a young age to turn it off when you don't need it, it can easily last you your entire life," she paused, licking her lips. "You've been using it for fourteen years straight. That's what happened to me. I didn't realize I had it— I thought I was invincible when I was younger. I became a fighter, just like you. It comes easy to us. And that's how I lived for my entire life— under the guise that I was always the greatest. "
I didn't dare speak through the silence. My face felt numb at the freezing wind and I didn't pay any mind to it, too busy trying to distract myself from the onslaught of emotions that threatened to rise in my throat.
"But one day, things started to slowly go wrong. In the beginning, I just figured it was life's minor inconveniences. It only got worse. Every day. I didn't know how to survive without it, or why I suddenly had become this horrible warrior. And then I got pregnant, and I had to stop fighting for a while. I had you."
My stomach dropped at that word and I tried my best to control my breath. Pregnant. I felt fear creep into the back of my mind at the possibility that this woman might be telling the truth, and that she actually might be my mother.
"I loved you— I adored you, I honestly did. But..." she trailed off as her voice softened. "But I loved the rush of fighting more. It wasn't safe to have a baby around that... so I left you with a friend."
Images of Selina flashed in my head, memories of her telling me that she just randomly found me on the streets when I asked her where I was from. I felt... angry, almost. Betrayed. Lied to. Why didn't she just tell me?
"I didn't know I had these powers... much less that I passed them onto you. If I did, I wouldn't have—"
She went silent, but I could read the unspoken message in the air. I wouldn't have left you.
"I got into another fight," she continued, this time her voice back to a normal tone. "A bad one. One I couldn't get myself out of. I assume you can figure out what happened after that."
I prayed she didn't stop talking. Not because I wanted to know more, but because I didn't want to have to sit here with my thoughts and actually process what was happening.
She got a distant look in her eyes. "I have to go, but I'll leave you with a choice. Meet me here again, and I can teach you what I know. How to control it. Or don't. I was never a big part of your life, I can't start forcing you to listen to me now."
Then I blinked, and she was gone. The spot she stood was empty replaced by cold air. I was still. Completely, absolutely still. I'm not sure for how long. Eventually, my knees gave out from under me and I fell back, sitting on the wet concrete of the rooftop. The grappling gun in my hand clattered to the ground next to me.
I shook my head, my heart beating rapidly. I was cold. I was confused. I was— I don't know what I was at that moment. I pushed myself off of the ground and it felt like my world spun sideways for a second. I could feel a hot, burning sensation behind my eyes but refused to address it.
"No," I growled. "No, no."
I wet my lips. "I'm fine. I'm going back to the base. It's all fine."
I'm not letting myself have a breakdown on a random roof at midnight. It's just not going to happen.
I picked up the gun from the floor, shaking the wetness from it. I fired it down the street and my feet were moving again like second nature. A few runs, pushing off, a leap, and I was soaring through the air.
I shut my mind off, focusing on making my way back to the base as I swung through the streets.
Dick's POV
I stared at the ceiling, laying on my bed in the manor. The India mission was a success— we stopped The Brain and Gorilla Grodd from enslaving animals, and Kaldur stepped up as a leader, which took the heat off of him for not telling us about the mole.
I think I performed pretty adequately. Bruce seemed happy with me— well, about as happy as Bruce could get— but I probably could've been more effective if Wally didn't drone on about the whole "Blackout being favorited" thing the entire time.
Which wasn't even true, just by the way. Bruce has reasoning for everything, and Wally's just a skeptic. Bruce probably took her to do something important, most likely somewhere along the lines of interrogating a villain, which Blackout would have extensive knowledge about. See? Just what I told you. Logical. Like Batman always is.
I sat up and grabbed my laptop off of the nightstand, opening it. Blackout said he was going to help her go somewhere, right? Meaning they probably took the Batjet. So, I'll just find the last inputted coordinates, show them to Wally, and this whole mess will be taken care of. Easy.
It took me a few minutes to get around some firewalls and type in some passcodes before the jet flight log appeared on my screen.
LAST KNOWN COORDINATES: 37.048,-94.701.
"Hah!" I laughed as I reversed them into a destination.
My eyes narrowed, putting my face closer to the screen.
"Lowell County, Kansas?" I read the information slowly. "What the hell were they doing in Kansas?"
I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye and looked up, seeing Bruce pass by my half-open door. I closed my laptop and walked out after him. He was wearing a long, dark brown coat with black pants and boots.
"Uh, hey, Bruce?" I called.
I received a grunt in response.
"Can I ask you a question?"
I jogged to catch up to him as he walked down the stairs and into the foyer.
"What." He didn't look up at me as he searched around for something.
"You don't—" I paused as we entered the kitchen. "You don't like Blackout, right?"
He picked up his wallet and a pair of sunglasses off of the counter. "Define like."
"Well... it's stupid, but... some people on the team," I coughed out Wally. "Are starting to feel that you... favorite Blackout, I guess."
"And what do you think?" He glanced at me for a moment before Alfred walked into the room, holding a pair of black gloves.
"I told Wally I think he's stupid! She's just dangerous and has to be watched, obviously."
Bruce put his wallet and sunglasses in his jacket pocket. "Then there's your answer."
"I knew it was crazy," I laughed, slightly out of relief. "But you know how Wally is. He kept bothering me about it during the India mission and—"
"Hey, Rich Kid!" a voice suddenly called from the front of the manor.
I froze. That sounded a lot like—
Then, through the kitchen door walked Brielle, in a dark green turtleneck and black jacket. A small duffel bag was slung over her shoulder.
"Usually I'm all about being fashionably late," she said as she put a hand on her hip. "But I want good seats."
She looked over at me, noticing my face. "Richard."
I stared at Bruce with wide eyes. "Wha— I— where are you going?"
"To a football game," Brielle replied, before addressing Bruce again. "And, I heard you just bought the latest Bentley, so I think we should take that."
Bruce rolled his eyes at her. "We're supposed to be discreet."
My head whipped back and forth between the two of them. "A football game?!"
"It is discreet! Hello, it's black," she said in a 'duh' tone.
"Miss Kyle," Alfred interrupted. "It will be cold, I suggest you take gloves."
He handed her a pair to which she shoved in her pocket, muttering a thanks.
Bruce walked out of the kitchen. "We're taking the Mercedes."
She scoffed, following him. "Can I at least drive?"
"No."
They disappeared down the hall, Brielle saying something that sounded like "you really suck."
I stood there in utter shock, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to figure out what to say. The sound of the sink running pulled my attention, and I saw Alfred washing some dishes.
"Alfred!" I shouted.
"Yes, Master Dick?"
"I— what team are they even going to see play?"
"Conner Kent's, I believe."
"What?!" My mouth dropped even more, if that was possible. "So, wait, let me just get this straight. Bruce won't come to watch a Gotham Academy game with me because it's 'bad for his reputation' and 'a waste of his time,' but he'll take Blackout, a girl we've literally put in jail before, to Superboy's football game?"
"Master Dick," Alfred said passively as he washed another plate. "If it gets him out of the cowl for a few hours, I have learned not to question it."
Wait, he wasn't serious about that, right?
I waited as he turned back to the dishes, drying a cup. Silence filled the room and I impatiently tapped my foot.
Oh my God, he was serious.
"I— uh— wh— ugh! Fine."
I spun around and did all but stomp out of the kitchen and back upstairs. I gripped the wood railing in anger as I made my way to my room, the door flying open. What the hell is going on these days? Is Wally right? No. Wally's never right. Bruce just told me he was wrong. And Bruce... Bruce wouldn't lie to my face, right?
Jealousy crept up my chest, but I pushed it down. I have absolutely nothing to be jealous of. Nothing. Nothing at all. She's a criminal. Once a criminal, always a criminal. Nothing more, nothing less.
... Right?
Brielle's POV
We finally arrived at the game, after I'd spent about the last twenty minutes of the car ride complaining that Bruce was driving too slow. Going faster would've taken my mind off of certain... events, that happened last night. (Which for the moment, I'm just pretending didn't exist. I'll address that mess later. Right now I'm here to piss off Clark and help Conner. Simple.)
Apparently, the speed limit only didn't apply to Batman, not to Bruce Wayne.
"You're a billionaire," I had said. "Just pay the stupid speeding ticket and get us there faster."
He then very kindly explained to me that if I didn't shut up he would stop the car, push me out, and leave me.
Jerk.
He parked at the end of the lot, which was filled with cheerful adults and kids. The sun had just set, making the air chilly as I got out of the car. I turned my head to see Clark and his parents approaching us.
"I thought you said you were coming discreetly?" Clark gave Bruce a look as he got out of the car, now in a brown beanie that matched his jacket and a pair of dark sunglasses.
"I am."
"Really?" Clark raised his eyebrows, glancing at the car. "And what exactly about a two-door Mercedes sport screams discreet?"
"It's black."
I snickered at his use of my earlier comment. We started approaching the gates of the football field, which was already packed. I caught up to Clark, who was a few feet in front of me, and nudged him with my elbow.
"Well?" I grinned. "Do you feel excited? You're officially a first-time dad!"
"Yeah," Clark scoffed. "Except I missed ages one through fifteen."
We stopped in a long line at the entrance, waiting to hand in our tickets. I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. You'll have a good time! Maybe we can convince Bruce to buy us hotdogs. Or, you know, I'll just steal his wallet when he's not looking. Whatever works."
Clark actually chuckled. "How do you plan to steal something off of the Dark Knight?"
"I stole a whole motorcycle from him once. Shouldn't be too hard."
He shook his head, laughing. "That's horrible."
We fell silent, and I listened in on Bruce's conversation with John and Martha, something to do with Alfred and his recent trip to England.
"So," I turned back to Clark as we neared the front of the line. "Your mom said that you used to play in high school, too. What position were you? Conner told me he plays linebacker."
"Really?" He seemed mildly surprised, eyebrows raising behind his glasses. "I used to be a linebacker, too."
Actually, I already knew that. He just needs to feel like he and Conner have something in common.
"Like father like son," I hummed as we got to the front and handed in our tickets. Clark scowled at me as we walked into the stadium.
The entire atmosphere was buzzing with excitement; players warmed up on the sides, mixed in with the cheerleaders and coaches. The lights were blindingly bright as people bustled around and the sound of music from the speakers filled my ears. Both bleachers on either side of the field were packed with smiling students and parents.
"It's been a while since I've been here," Clark muttered as kids ran past us in groups.
"Yeah, well I've never been here."
"You didn't go to school?"
"I was like, a first-grade dropout."
He gave me a weird look and I smirked, before something on the field caught my eye.
"I'll, uh, catch up with you guys in a sec."
I walked away towards the fence between the field and the bleachers, leaning over it. "Hey, Meg!"
The peppy redhead, now with pale skin instead of her usual green, turned around from the group of other cheerleaders she was talking to. Her face broke into a grin and her eyes lit up once she saw me.
"Oh my gosh!" she squealed, looking like she was trying her hardest not to fly as she ran over to me. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to see Conner, and I need to talk to him really quick, so link us up."
She nodded, still beaming.
Now online, her voice rang in my head.
M'gann, Conner suddenly said, I told you, no telepathy while we're at a game.
How ya doing, Handsome? I asked, watching Conner, who was in a red and white jersey, spin around in surprise.
Blackout? he sounded shocked. You actually came?
Ugh. My poor, cold heart. I momentarily forgot about the awfulness of my previous night just from the look on his face. He seemed like he expected me to not show up.
I grinned, this time a genuine one. Duh. I'm a woman of my word. Oh, also, I brought this guy with me— he's a journalist from Metropolis, you may or may not know him.
I specifically highlighted "journalist" and "Metropolis," the two things I told Conner about Superman's identity yesterday.
His jaw hit the floor. No way. You're kidding, right?
I jabbed my thumb towards the top corner of the bleachers where Clark sat. Conner focused in that direction, and I swear he was two seconds away from passing out.
Those are his parents, too, by the way.
His parents?!
Wait, M'gann stopped us. What's going on?
I gave her a smirk. I brought Superman and his parents to the game.
M'gann's eyes widened before another smile broke on her face. Oh my gosh! That's Superman? And his parents?
How did you even convince him to come? Conner asked.
Let's just say I'm... very persuasive.
Does Superman have a brother too? M'gann rose an eyebrow.
I gave her a confused look. What do you mean?
Who's the man next to him?
Wha— I turned around, realizing who she meant. Even with the sunglasses on I could tell Bruce was scrutinizing me as he crossed his arms. Probably thought I was giving away his secret identity or something. Oops.
Oh, that's just Batman.
Batman?!
I clutched my head, grimacing at both of their voices ringing in my brain. Yes, geez. Not only do you have Supes and your grandparents to impress, but you also have your boss. So don't blow this, Con.
With that, I walked away and up the bleachers. A kid behind me suddenly pushed me out of the way, wanting to get to the top first. I narrowed my eyes, anger flaring in my body as I grabbed the back of his hood and roughly pulled him. He fell backward down the stairs, eliciting a few shocked gasps, but there was too much commotion going on for anyone to really notice.
I finally made it to the group, shoving Bruce aside as I sat in between him and Clark.
"That boy fell down the stairs!" Martha cried from her seat next to John, pointing to the kid who was now getting up with a bleeding head.
"Oh, bummer," I pouted. "I wonder how that happened."
I knew Bruce was looking at me, undoubtedly glaring.
"What?" I asked innocently.
"Don't antagonize the civilians."
I scoffed, tightening my jacket around me from the chill. "He pushed me first."
After a few more minutes everyone started to get settled down, and then the sounds of a marching band began to play. All of the football players ran off the sidelines and onto the field, the crowd clapping and whistling for them. Cheerleaders waved their pom-poms, doing a dance while chanting a cheer I couldn't make out.
"I don't want to be here," Clark grumbled.
I punched his shoulder, probably hurting myself more than I did him. Stupid Kryptonian DNA. "And I'm sure Conner doesn't want to be neglected by his father, but here we are."
"You know," he glanced at me with disdain. "You really are cut out to be a Bat. You're rude and overbearing, just like him."
I narrowed my eyes. "Have you ever considered that maybe great minds just think alike? Intellect isn't exactly a Kryptonian trait."
"She makes a good point," Bruce commented from next to me. "For once."
"Screw you, Bruce," Clark said as a whistle was blown on the field, and the players began to move.
Next to nothing went on for a few plays, and Clark seemed to grow irritated.
"He doesn't look very excited," I lowered my voice, leaning closer to Bruce.
"Just give it a minute."
"This is stupid," Clark suddenly scoffed. "I don't know why I— wow! That was an incredible pass!"
Our side of the field filled with cheers, while the opposing side booed. On the field, one of the players throw the ball to Conner, who just barely caught it before being tackled by a few guys. Clark, now sitting up straight, turned to John next to him and immediately started to spew football knowledge.
I smirked. Maybe this won't be such a bad idea after all.
* * *
"That's a bullshit call!" I yelled, shooting out of my seat. Clark and his dad, along with the rest of the crowd, quickly followed after me.
"This is the worst reffing I've ever seen!" Clark exclaimed. "That shouldn't be a penalty!"
"Hey, ref!" I screamed, cupping my hands around my mouth. "When this is over and I get my hands on you, you're done!"
A man sitting in front of us spun around, annoyance on his face. "Hey, girl, could you do me a favor and shut up?"
I felt briefly shocked before giving him a nasty glare. "Oh, I'll do you a favor and—!"
I was roughly pulled back onto the metal seat by Bruce. The man gave him an accusatory stare. "Get your kid under control, will you? She's blowing out my eardrums."
Rage flared in my body as I went to lunge at him again, but Bruce's grip on my wrist tightened.
"You're lucky he's here, you balding whore," I spat. "Because after I'm done with the ref, you're next."
The man gave me a face that told me he thought I was crazy, before ignoring us again. I yanked my arm out of Bruce's grip, crossing them.
"Stop threatening everyone," he spoke lowly, his voice borderline a Batman growl.
I laughed mockingly. "Oh, it's no threat. I'm kicking some ass after the game. You can't tell me that was a good call! The refs are biased!"
Bruce didn't respond as he glanced down at his phone to read something. I sat in silence for a moment as the whistle for halftime was blown. I stood up again. "You know what? I can't do this anymore! I need a hotdog."
I started to walk down the bleacher aisle, pausing. I spun back around to Bruce, holding out my palm. "I need money for a hotdog."
He glanced up at me, furrowing his brows.
"What?" I put my other hand on my hip. "Usually if I want something I just take it. I don't carry cash on me."
I gave him an impatient look and he sighed, begrudgingly getting out his wallet and handing me a twenty-dollar bill. I stared at it in confusion. Does he know how much a hot dog actually costs? Maybe it's a billionaire thing. I opened my mouth to ask, but he already seemed to understand my question.
"Two," he muttered, attention still on his phone. "Extra mustard."
It took me a minute to process what he had said before I laughed, walking down the bleachers again.
* * *
"You know, we're probably gonna get salmonella from this," I said as I inspected the half-unwrapped hot dog in my hands.
"I've had worse."
I snickered. "True. I've gotten one too many faces full of fear toxin for my liking."
"Those are brutal," he replied, slightly muffled by the food in his mouth.
"I know!" I exclaimed as I bit into the hot food. "And for the next few nights after, you get the random reoccurring terrors and the—"
"—night sweats."
"Yes!" I pointed a finger at him. "Those are the worst. I wake up drenched in so much sweat they might as well call me Aquaman."
A voice interrupted us. "Okay, now you two, smile!"
I turned to see Martha holding a camera up in our direction. I gave her a suspicious look. Was this lady crazy? Holding up a random black object, knowing full well who we were at nights?
"I always brought a camera to all of Clark's games," she explained. "Now smile!"
I swallowed the bite I was chewing and gave her a quick smile, just to get her to go away. Seeming satisfied, she grabbed John's arm and they walked off to get food. I ate in silence for the next few minutes, before the woman sitting in front of Clark abruptly turned around.
"Excuse me," she said to him. "I'm, um, sorry to bother you, but are you Conner's dad, by any chance?"
My eyebrows raised, interested to see what he would say.
"I— uh— sure?" Clark answered, sounding cautious.
Well, hey. It wasn't a no. That's progress, right?
The woman smiled. "I figured. I mean, he looks exactly like you. Minus the glasses, of course. I'm Noah's mom, by the way, he's number thirty-six."
"Oh," Clark said. "It's, uh, nice to meet you."
"Likewise. Since we haven't gotten a chance to meet yet, I just wanted to let you know— Conner's such a great young man. Whenever I host a team dinner he's always so kind and so helpful. He's an amazing player, too. Noah always tells me how all of the boys think he's the best on the team."
Clark almost seemed a little... prideful? He chuckled. "Yeah, I used to play, back in high school. I like to think he got it from me."
It took everything in me not to break out into a grin. I clamped my mouth shut, grabbing Bruce's arm and shaking it.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered sharply.
He pulled his arm away, slightly amused. "I have ears."
The conversation between the two continued until Martha and John returned. Then, the whistled blew, and the third quarter began.
* * *
"Clark," I stood up in the bleachers along with everyone else, a hand on his arm for support. "I'm literally about to pass out from stress. I've never been this stressed in my life!"
It was down to the last fifteen seconds of the fourth quarter and we were currently losing 30-35. My entire body was shaking, partially from the cold but mostly from anticipation. Conner literally has fucking powers. He's literally Superboy. Why the hell aren't we winning?
"I am too, so shut up or so help me Blackout—"
The whistle blew and the play began. The other team had the ball. Their quarterback threw it, but it got intercepted by 36, Noah, whose mom is in front of us. Noah tossed it in a perfect spiral ten yards across the field, and it was caught by someone on our team. The player was tackled to the ground, and the whistle blew again.
"Oh my God," I breathed, putting my head in my hands as I slumped back down onto the metal bench. Our side of the stands erupted into cheers. I turned to Bruce, who wasn't standing or clapping, but was leaning forward in his seat, meaning he was most likely interested in what was going on. I studied his face as his head slightly moved back and forth between either end of the field— within the last minute, he'd probably created at least ten different plays for them to win.
I took a second to compose myself as I slipped on the pair of gloves Alfred gave me to wear. I stood back up, brushing my hair from my face. "Clark, I'm losing it. I can't take this anymore."
They were literally so close, and I have never wanted someone to win a game so badly. Conner needed this, and I probably won't be able to convince Clark to come a second time. It was all on the line right now. And if they make this touchdown, they'll win.
"Nine seconds and twenty yards," the Man of Steel muttered from next to me. "I don't think they can do it."
So much unbridled passion welled up within me at his words and I couldn't stop myself from screaming. "Conner! Conner!"
The man in front of us turned around again, rage flickering in his eyes. "Kid, I already told you once—!"
Suddenly my fist was flying into his face, and he was falling down the bleachers.
People around us gasped, a few screamed, and I looked down at Bruce, assuming I was going to get in trouble. He barely spared the man a glance, his eyes still on the field.
I grinned. I was in the clear. "Conner!"
He made eye contact with me from the field. Thank God for superhearing.
"I just punched a guy in the face! You can not fuck this up! I don't care how you do it, just win!"
He gave me a curt nod, looking back to his team and whispering something in the huddle. The players dispersed once again to a starting formation.
The whistle blew.
There was a commotion on the field, and it felt like everyone in the stadium was holding their breaths. Players jumped on top of each other and I lost sight of the ball. Where the hell did it go?
I stared at the clock. Five seconds, and still no ball.
Suddenly Conner burst out from the pile of boys running at a speed which very obviously indicated to me he was using his powers. A movement caught my eyes, and the ball was spiraling through the air. Conner made a jump for the last seven or so yards, and the entire crowd gasped, obviously all thinking that there was no way any normal person could make that.
He landed on the ground, losing his footing and tumbling over in a somersault, his hands clutched in his chest. Everything went absolutely still.
Clark was gripping my arm and it was beginning to get painfully hard, but I didn't even care. My heart beat so loud I thought it was about to fall out of my chest.
Conner shot his arm up in the air. And in his hand? The football.
Everyone around me erupted into utter chaos.
I couldn't help the yell that tore through my throat. I was unexpectedly picked up in a very tight, and very warm embrace. I couldn't even find it in myself to yell at Clark for touching me.
"They won!" I shouted over deafening cheers, confetti, and the sound of the marching band playing again.
"Oh my God, I know!" Clark's grin was blinding and would've made even the sun blush. I now see why people liked Superman so much— his happiness and natural charisma were addictive, and I could feel it in my bones.
Next to him, Martha seemed ecstatic, and John put his fingers in his mouth, blowing a sharp whistle. Clark set me down and I noticed the entire student section rushing onto the field, surrounding the team which was currently piling on top of Conner.
Bruce was now standing with his arms crossed, but had a softer look on his features as he stared at the field.
I gave him a smug smile and nudged him with my elbow. "Say it. Come on. You know you want to."
"What."
"That I was right? And that this was a good idea?"
He rolled his eyes. "This wasn't... the worst you've ever had. And I heard about the Bane... playdough... thing."
I almost laughed at the fact that Batman knew was playdough was, and then stooped low enough to actually use the word.
"I see my reputation proceeds me," I smirked as I followed Clark and his parents down to the field, Bruce trailing behind me. "And it was silly string, Rich Kid. What kinda damage do you think I'm gonna do with playdough?"
I didn't receive a response as we filed in behind all of the other parents and adults, all eager to get to the field to congratulate the players. I scoffed. This was taking way too long. Old people.
I hopped onto the railing and slid down it, pushing hands and feet out of the way as I went. I finally made it to the bottom, hopping on and walking onto the field. I tried to sift through the mass clusters of students to try and find Conner. I figured he'd probably be wherever the most people were grouped together.
Eventually, I spotted his mop of black hair, trying to push away from the excited students who were surrounding him.
"Hey!" I called out.
His head turned back and once we made eye contact, his face split into a grin— it was a million watts, just like Clark's. He said his goodbyes to the group, dismissing them before jogging over to me. He set down his helmet that was under his arm and I couldn't help the smile on my face as I crossed my arms. Dumb Kryptonians and their infectious charm.
"Well, if it isn't the—"
I was cut off by the second overly-warm, restrictive "super" hug I had received that day. This one was a little sweaty.
"—man of the hour," I managed to choke out.
He put me back on the ground and slightly composed himself, noticing my apprehensive face. I rolled my eyes, wanting to say something snarky but biting my tongue, deciding not to ruin the moment. He seemed to want validation.
"You did good, Handsome."
He smiled again, eyes blown wide with adrenaline. He looked as if all the stars in the world were aligning for him at that very moment. In a way, I theoretically guess they were.
"Oh my Gosh!" An all too familiar squeal reached my ears. "Conner, that was incredible!"
The boy was suddenly tackled by M'gann, who pressed her lips to his.
I made a fake gagging noise. "Super PDA. Super gross."
M'gann let him go, either not noticing my comment, or just not caring. "Blackout! I'm so excited you came!"
She opened her arms and approached me, but I put my hand out to stop her. That was enough man-handling my body for one day. "Save it for your boyfriend later, Meg. I'm sure he'd like a treat after the game."
She blinked at me, smile not faltering. "Oh, like a donut?"
"What?" I stared at her quizzically. "No, I meant— have you guys never—?"
"Have we never what?" Conner sounded equally as confused.
"Geez, you two really were made for each other," I muttered, before noticing a figure approaching from behind them. My eyes widened. "Uh oh. Big Blue, on your six."
His easy-going energy was immediately gone, and his whole body went rigid. I tried to send him a comforting look, but he didn't seem to catch on. Clark approached us, seeming a little timid but confident nonetheless.
"Hey, guys," he greeted.
Conner turned to him but his eyes were downcast and his shoulders slightly hunched over as he wrapped his hands around his body. His face was void of any of the sparkle he had just a few moments ago.
"Hi, Superman!" M'gann replied warmly.
"Miss Martian." He smiled at her before glancing towards Conner. "Hey! Uh, that was a fantastic touchdown."
Conner looked up, shocked Clark had actually addressed him and not said something negative. "Really?"
"Really," Clark confirmed.
"W-well, to be honest, I kinda cheated it. I try not to use my powers too much," Conner explained slowly as if he was going to be cut off at any moment.
Clark shrugged. "I can't say I haven't. It was a hell of a game."
Conner cocked his head to the side. "You used to play?"
"Linebacker, high school," Clark explained with a knowing grin.
Conner's arms dropped to his sides and he gave the older man a small smile. "No kidding."
A deep chuckle rumbled in Clark's chest. "Yeah. Uh, maybe we could throw a ball around some time? I'm a little rusty, but it would be nice to play with someone who can actually keep up."
Conner's pearly grin was back. "That'd be awesome! I-I mean, yeah. Cool. Whenever."
Another two figures appeared beside us, and Clark snapped back to attention. "Oh! Uh, these are my parents, John and Martha Kent."
"Kent?" Conner repeated, puzzled, before widening his eyes. "Oh— I didn't— I didn't know that was your last name! Blackout and Robin just—"
"It's alright, I know how the Bats are," Clark put a hand on his shoulder, flashing me a knowing look. "Besides, you're part of the family. It's yours now, too. I'm Clark, by the way. I don't think I ever gave you my name."
"Clark," Conner repeated slowly, and I didn't hear what he said after that since Martha started bombarding the boy with affection. John laughed at Conner's surprised face.
As they began to talk, I noticed Bruce walking up to us, absentmindedly adjusting the brown beanie on his head. M'gann suddenly gasped from next to me and I froze, knowing exactly what was going through her mind.
Bruce's head darted up, his usually perfect black hair now a mess. He seemed to catch onto what was happening and pulled the fabric back over his hair.
"You're that man!" M'gann pointed a finger at him.
"What man?" I questioned, but couldn't keep the smile off of my face.
"That man!" She turned to me. "From when you, me, and Artemis went out! You two were talking about him earlier and we then saw him at the club— what was his name? Bruce? Um... Bruce Wayne! Oh my God, you're Bruce Wayne!"
Bruce stared at the girl, face unreadable.
"Wait, but you said that was Batman?" M'gann's hand flew over her mouth. "Oh my God, he is Batman! That's why he was with Green Arrow at the club, right? That's why we got in so much trouble!"
Well, damn. I'm probably getting yelled at later.
She paused before shock washed over her features and her mouth dropped lower. She grabbed my shoulders. "Oh my God, Artemis has a crush on Batman!"
I stifled a laugh, slapping my hand over my mouth. M'gann turned to Bruce, whose eyebrows were furrowed beneath his glasses.
"She thinks Bruce— or, you, are really attractive."
"Who's Bruce?" Conner interjected in the conversation. He stared at the older man, putting the pieces together as he looked him up and down. "Wait, he has a name other than Batman?"
Bruce rolled his eyes and began walking back towards the parking lot, following the crowd of other people who were leaving as well. I laughed as I caught up to him.
"You know," I began. "We're not half-bad at this whole 'bringing families together' thing. Maybe we should drop out of hero-ing and do this full time."
There was a silence.
"You'd injure so many people there'd be no room left in the hospitals."
I scrunched my face up. "Hey! I only hurt two people today! That's not bad."
I didn't recieve a response, but I knew his sarcastic reply was lingering in the air as we entered the parking lot and made it back to the Mercedes. I had started to open the door when someone's hand stopped me. I glanced up to find Conner, seeming embarrassed.
"Hey, uh," he sounded cautious as he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not, um, really good at this stuff or anything but, uh, thanks. You, ya know... didn't have to."
I rolled my eyes, waving him off. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. We don't do emotions around here, remember? Only punching. Much easier."
He tilted his head down in a chuckle. "Right. Uh, also, we're going for pizza with Clark's parents. You wanna come?"
I looked back to Bruce, who was already in the car and starting the engine. I shook my head. "Nah. I got plans. Let me know how it goes, though. If Smallville's rude to you I might have to beat his ass again."
A few feet behind Conner, Clark gave me a glare. I smirked. "You heard me, Kansas."
Conner waved goodbye as I slid into the leather seat and shut the door. I was grateful for the reprieve of the cold, taking in the stillness of the car compared to the loud noises of the stadium. The engine rumbled quietly beneath me.
I sighed. "You got anything after this?"
"I have a meeting in an hour."
I reached down by my feet and picked up the black duffel bag I had brought with me. "How important? Like 'the world will end if you don't go' important? Or 'you can blow it off because you're a billionaire' important?"
He turned his head in my direction.
I zipped the bag open, pulling out my domino mask which rested on top of my folded suit. I rose an eyebrow.
"No."
"C'mon," I leaned back, resting my head against the seat. "Meetings are stuffy. And are we seriously going to act like you don't have a cape and cowl in the trunk, mister 'I'm prepared for everything?'"
He narrowed his eyes.
* * *
I skidded to a halt at the edge of the rooftop, watching the three men sprint out of the bank and into a van. The wheels of the vehicle squealed as it drove off down the street, leaving a trail of smoke.
"We got runners," I announced through the comm in my ear.
A rumbling vibrated through my body, and suddenly the Batmobile was roaring around the corner, slowing down as it approached me. I took a few steps back before sprinting off of the roof, flipping three times in the air as gravity took ahold of me. I landed in the passenger seat of the infamous car. The top snapped shut, blue lights illuminating the interior, and Bats pressed a few buttons on the dashboard.
"This was a good idea."
I snickered at his statement as I pulled out my gun, reloading the magazine. Then his foot slammed on the gas, the growl of the engine rang in my ears, and we shot off after the men.
* * *
Oh my goodness that was a loonnggg chapter. It was honestly going to be longer but I had to pull some stuff out so it wouldn't go on forever lol. Also, not to self-promo or anything, but I'm working on some of my other books, my favorite as of right now being "Lightning Boy," my Billy Batson x OC story, soooo maybe check it out? Thanks for 160k!
xo Alexa