This one-shot has been sitting in the back of my mind for nearly a year. Ten months, to be exact. It was one of the first stories I put on my old "ideas" section on my profile. The original title was "The Love of a Father" and I even started work on it sometime last May/June-ish. (I scrapped it later because it sucked. I wrote this one from scratch.) I got the idea from reading a few of 88Key's tags; I think it was her story "Three Simple Rules" that really inspired me. And now, months later, I got over my worst case of writer's block ever and just wrote. So finally I finished it. And you're finally reading it. Yay. :)

Eventually I discovered that the song "Human" by Manafest fits in very well with the plot I had in mind for this story. I highly recommend it while reading. It was great inspiration for me.

Enough about that! Let's get to the story! I don't own Lab Rats, but this story is mine. Enjoy!

* * * I'm Not the Superhuman Here * * *

His life was falling apart right in front of him. The bright blue bars hurt his eyes, but he could still see the shocked faces on the other side. He couldn't breathe as the youngest asked him who the other man was.

"'Who is this guy?'" his brother said with mock hurt. "Donnie, you never told them about me?"

All he could do was shake his head slightly, fighting the tears right beneath the surface. Why would I tell them? They don't deserve to know what you did to them! Or . . . what you were going to do, anyway.

"I'm deeply offended," his brother continued. A sickening smile slid across his lips. "Adam, Bree, Chase . . . I'm your father."

His heart stopped and the lump in his throat grew even bigger. The three teenagers slowly turned to face him. Their penetrating stares cut to his heart. There was disbelief, shock, slowly building anger, and, most of all, disappointment. Even the eldest—who usually wasn't considered the smartest—had a look of sheer betrayal on his face. That hurt the most: to see someone so innocent with a look of pure melancholy at being lied to.

Their stares bore into him, getting more and more intense as the truth settled in and his brother's words were fully understood. The middle child pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. It was a look that for her meant, "I don't know what's going on, but I know it's all your fault." He had seen her use it on her brothers many times, but never, never had she used it on him.

It was too much to look into their pained faces. He closed his eyes and turned away. Desperately he tried to keep his lip from quivering. He wouldn't fall apart now. As much as he wanted to, he wouldn't.

Their instant denial made him feel a bit better. Maybe there was still a chance . . . but no. There was no hiding the truth any longer.

Inevitably, the moment would come when he had to explain it all to the three teens. It was time they knew the truth. They stared at him like he was a stranger, utterly betrayed. Honestly, maybe he could've borne the pain of the truth, but their faces were making him so exceptionally uncomfortable. Didn't they know why he did this? Couldn't they understand?

Their innocent, childlike faces in that moment brought back memories. He was reminded of the first time he met them. Their expressions of pain and confusion were so similar. Too similar.

"Douglas? Douglas?"

There was a whimper and Donald stopped. He looked around the cluttered room that served as Douglas's personal lab. He picked up some of the papers off a computer keyboard and frowned. "You're such a slob!" he shouted. "It could take me days to find you buried in all this junk. Just come out, would you? You're not getting out of paying the rent!"

"What's rent?"

Donald jumped and spun around. That wasn't Douglas's voice. In fact, it sounded like the voice of a child. "Who's there?" he called.

In the back of the room, there was a small clatter. Donald turned to see a small boy, maybe four or five years old, peek out from around a table leg. "Please," the little boy whispered. "Don't hurt us."

"Us?" Donald repeated. He walked over slowly. The boy ducked behind the table again. As Donald came closer, he saw two more children in the corner. One was a young girl, and she was cuddling a tiny baby. Around the baby's neck were a bunch of wires. Donald's eyes widened. "What the—"

Something hard smacked into Donald's leg. He groaned and fell to the ground, clutching the injured limb.

"Leave them alone!" the boy said, stepping out from under the desk.

"Did you do that?" Donald asked with a grimace. "But . . . how?"

"I'm special!" the boy said with a smirk.

"Adam!" the girl squeaked. "You can't say that!"

"Oh, right," the older boy said. "Well, then, I don't have lots and lots of strength." He leaned towards the girl and whispered in a sing-song voice, "Saved it!"

"What the . . ." Donald repeated. "Did . . . did Douglas do this? Who are you?"

The boy and girl looked at each other. Then they both looked down at their feet. Actually, the girl looked down at the tiny boy in her arms. Donald's gaze turned to him and fear filled his heart. The wires were wrapped around the boy's neck. That couldn't be safe.

"Here, let me . . ." Donald tried to say, reaching for the baby.

The older boy—Adam—jumped onto Donald's back. "Don't touch my brother!" he shouted.

"Ow! Ow! Kid, get off!" Donald finally managed to get the younger boy off his back. "Well, looks like I don't need to go to the chiropractor anymore." He rubbed his spine and grimaced. "I only want to help! Those wires might be cutting off his air supply."

"No!" the girl said, moving the child away from Donald's reach. "Don't hurt him!"

"He might already be hurt," Donald insisted.

"But Mister D says that moving the wires will hurt him," the girl insisted.

"Mister D?" Donald repeated. "You know what, whatever."

Donald's eyes traced the wires and found them connected to a large computer on the desk. He reached over and typed in a few things, using his exceptional hacking skills to open a few of Douglas's files. He found ones labeled "A," "B," and "C."

Three minutes was all it took. Three minutes in which Donald learned the truth. Some files were buried too deep for even him to get into, but he had everything he needed.

He took a quick look at Douglas's journal entries in a notebook beside the keyboard. Phrases like "first bionic humans," "I'll auction them off," and "the chips implants were successful" made his heart pound.

"I knew Douglas wasn't exactly an upstanding citizen," he murmured, "but this is ridiculous! Our bionic technology doesn't belong in humans. He knows that. He knows that!"

"Uh, sir?" the boy said. "What are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh, um . . . I'm trying to help your brother."

"Really?"

"Yes. Let's just pull out these wires here . . ."

As Donald pulled the wires out of the computer, the small boy began to cry. The girl rocked him and whispered, "Shh, Chasey, it's okay."

Donald knelt down and began to unwrap the wires from around the boy's neck. The girl stiffened and glared at him, but she didn't try to move away this time. As Donald pulled the wires off, the small child gasped for breath and began to cry even harder.

"Don't hurt him!" the girl screamed. She stood up and ran across the room. Only, she didn't run like a normal person. Donald watched in amazement as she ran from one corner of the room to another in less than a second. She plopped down obstinately on the floor and began to cradle the young boy.

"Super speed," Donald said slowly. "That was supposed to be for emergency robots! Oh, Douglas is so going to regret this!"

"She can only do that when she's mad," the older boy said. "And I can only punch hard when I'm mad. Mister D makes us mad a lot."

"Speaking of 'Mister D,' we should get out of here."

"Why?" the girl called from across the room. "Why do we leave with you?"

"Because . . ." Donald stopped to think about it. "You're not safe here. 'Mister D' is a dangerous man. And if my suspicions are correct, he'll be locked up very soon." Donald grabbed the journal and tucked it under his arm.

"I'm not leaving!" the girl said as Donald walked closer to her. Donald groaned. This child was very stubborn.

"Bree," Adam said, crouching down next to her. "We have to go. We don't like Mister D anyway."

"But what if he's bad?" the girl whined, looking up at Donald.

"I can tell," Adam said gently. "He's not like Mister D at all."

"He kinda looks like him."

"But he doesn't act like him. Please, Bee-Bee?"

Finally the young girl sighed and stood up. Adam smiled and turned to Donald. "We're ready."

Donald grinned and led them out of the room. He quickly realized that he didn't have a place to take them. Not a permanent place, anyway. So he led them down the hall of the townhouse, into his own bedroom. "Just stay in here for now."

The little girl—Bree—climbed up onto the bed with the smaller boy. She held him tight and looked around. "We're staying here?" she asked.

"For the moment," Donald replied. "I've . . . got a few phone calls to make. Just stay in here, okay?"

"They'll be okay?" Adam asked, gesturing to the other children.

"Yes," Donald assured him. "Are they your siblings?"

"Yes," Adam said proudly. "And I protect them."

"Cute." Donald straightened and went to the door. "Just . . . stay."

He headed down the hall. Where was Douglas, anyway? He passed the door that led to Douglas's personal lab. The sign on the door read: "Warning! Stay out! That means you, Donnie!"

"No wonder you never wanted me in there," Donald sighed. He hurried down the stairs. He passed by the door to the garage, which doubled as the brothers' joint lab. Donald hurried past it and went into the kitchen. On the table was a note. He picked it up and read aloud, "'Went to cooking class. Be back at 5. — Douglas.'" Donald glanced at the clock on the microwave. 4:27. He had a little over a half an hour to do this.

The journal was still tucked under his arm. He pulled it out and flipped through it slowly. Donald had always known that his younger brother was a dangerous and somewhat unhinged man. But this book held astounding evidence that Douglas was tampering with things he shouldn't be tampering with.

"This is the last straw, Dougie," Donald whispered. "Davenport Industries is going nowhere with these crazy ideas of yours. And experimenting on children . . . that's going way too far. You're done."

Donald picked up the phone. Luckily for him, he had friends in high places. The FBI might want to know about the experiments Douglas was doing. Donald felt a pang of guilt at turning his own brother in, but as he read the entries in the journal, he knew there was no way he could let Douglas go free. This was too much. He had to think about his fledgling business. He had to think about himself! He had to think about those three little kids sitting upstairs in his bedroom . . .

The FBI searched high and low for the bionic kids. Donald hid them well. Somehow he knew that if they fell into the hands of the government, they would be no better off than with Douglas. They would be treated like experiments, guinea pigs, lab rats . . . in short, something a little less than human. And they weren't less than human; they were more.

After years of keeping them in his basement lab in his new mansion, they had finally gone out into the real world with Leo. Donald had been so scared. Douglas was long dead, killed in a car chase between him and the police. Donald didn't mourn. He felt a twang of regret, but honestly, he didn't miss all the harm his brother had caused. But there were still others who might want to hurt the kids, and Donald was determined to protect them.

Then it turned out Douglas was alive. Donald should have figured. And worse, Douglas had revealed the truth to Adam, Bree, and Chase. Donald wasn't surprised at their loss of trust. Why should they trust him after hearing the the truth?

This was one of the few times when Donald was willing to admit that he was in the wrong. He never should have hid the truth from them. But he wasn't the superhuman of the group! He was the normal one. He was the one who, out of any of them, should be excused from mistakes. He could break down too. Sure, he was incredibly handsome, and rich, and talented, but he was still vulnerable! He could still hurt.

When Chase denied Douglas as their father, Donald couldn't help but feel immense joy swell through him. After everything, they were still willing to accept him as their dad. They didn't hate him. The disappointment they had felt at the beginning had vanished, replaced by an understanding of why he had to do it.

After he sent the kids to bed—it had been a long day—Donald sat down at his desk to work. He didn't think he could go to sleep. It had been an eventful day, and he could now cross "being kidnapped" off his bucket list, but he still had energy to spare. He blamed the adrenaline.

"Mr. Davenport?"

Donald looked up, having been lost in his work for several minutes. Adam had stepped out of his capsule and was walking over. "Yes, Adam?" Donald asked, stretching his arms.

"I knew."

Donald froze. He turned in his chair and cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"I . . . I knew," Adam repeated. "I knew that Douglas was our dad. I remember. I've . . . always remembered."

Adam had always known that Donald wasn't their father? He sure didn't act that way. Of course, Adam was a very strange person. Donald never knew quite how to read him. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" he asked finally.

Adam shrugged. "Bree and Chase don't remember. And I don't want them to. I mean, Douglas wasn't exactly nice back then. He's still not nice now. I remember the things he did to us, and the way he treated us."

"So you recognized Douglas when you walked in?"

"Not at first. It took a minute for me to realize who he was. When he said he was our father, I knew for sure."

"And . . . you were never mad at me?"

"Of course not. Why would I be? You rescued us. I mean, it might have been nice if you were honest with us, but I understand why you wanted to keep it a secret."

Donald stood up and grinned. "Thank you, Adam." He patted the boy on the shoulder. To his surprise, Adam grabbed his arm and pulled him into a tight hug. Donald blinked, then wrapped his arms around Adam. In his mind's eye he could still see that scared little boy, wanting only to protect his younger siblings.

"You'll always be my father," Adam said softly.

Donald inhaled sharply. "Thank you," he said again.

The two broke out of the hug and Adam smiled. Then it slowly faded, and he began staring intensely at the top of Donald's head.

"What?" Donald asked.

"I still say it's fake." Adam gestured to Donald's hair.

He rolled his eyes. "Goodnight, Adam."

"Goodnight."

The oldest bionic headed back to his capsule. Within a few minutes he was fast asleep.

Donald was only human. He knew that. He had lied, he had betrayed trust, and he had broken hearts. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't perfect. He was human, and humans make mistakes. But somewhere in that big mess of mistakes, he must've done something right. Three beautiful children were sleeping in front of him. Donald would never regret taking them from his brother. They were amazing, and they had so much to offer the world, even excluding their bionic abilities. They were superhuman. And above all, they were his kids.

Somehow it wound up being an Adam-Donald bonding kind of thing at the end there. That wasn't really planned at the beginning, but I thought it would be an interesting dynamic if Adam had known all along. Well, he didn't ever outright deny it in Bionic Showdown! (Only Bree and Chase did.)

Yay, another theory about how Donald found them! \o/ It's so hard to come up with a story like that. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but I actually kinda liked it. *shrugs*

So, what did you all think? Thanks for reading, and reviews are appreciated. This story wraps up my four one-shot posts for tonight. I'll try to write my other one-shots soon, but I don't know if/when I'll get around to them. Oh well. I got these out, at least! 'Kay, I'm done now. Hope you all enjoyed it! G'night everybody!