Author's Note: I do not own anything DC related. This story takes place a few days after the events of The Dark Knight Returns. Spoilers for the ending.
UPDATE: Posted a new story that takes place after this one - Renewed! Check it out :D
It was with a heavy heart that Clark Kent roamed the streets of Washington D.C. that day. The cherry blossoms were beginning to bloom and filled the streets of the Capital with the sweet scent of spring. Shop keepers were shining their windows and couples strolled arm in arm.
It all went unnoticed.
Clark was so preoccupied that it took him about 10 minutes to notice his tail. Not the type that comes out of your spine, but the kind that follows you for a couple of blocks and then tries to rob you, mug you, or kill you depending on the day. Annoyed, Clark decided to attribute his lack of attention to his newly lost powers, not to personal grief. The molecular kryptonite that Batman had shot into his system had robbed Clark of flight, heat vision, and an undetermined portion of his super strength; but he still had years of experience. That part of Clark was berating him as he slowed down as if to more closely examine the contents of a specialty bakery. The tail kept going, head down as he texted, and Clark got even more annoyed that the tail hadn't even been a tail at all.
He kept going, and caught site of another suspicious figure dressed all in black in the reflection of one of the shops. This one wasn't following him, just watching from behind the visor of his motorcycle helmet, leaning against a wall. There was something familiar about the slouch of this one's shoulders that instantly put Clark on alert. Clark slowed down, and the figure in question straightened and walked away.
Clark blinked. Two mistake in two minutes was a new low.
Guess what they say about grief is true, he admitted internally as he continued on his way.
Only to be rammed from behind by something at about knee height. Clark stumbled into an alley, almost face planting and spun around with his hands up. The young woman in the wheelchair had barely registered before a lithe shape detached itself from the roof and flew down to land on Clark's shoulders, driving him to his knees.
Once again, Clark was shocked, but he was already reaching up to grab the figure on his back, already throwing them forward. But the slight figure threw something in Clark's face and the next thing he knew, the world was filled with smoke.
Clark had already flung the figure forward and glared through the smoke. No x-ray vision to cut through the fog. But the fog was already dispersing and Clark found himself looking at the end of a gun.
At the end of five guns.
For the woman in the wheelchair was behind him, the trailers from earlier were at one side, the one that had fallen from the sky at the other. And then this new person who was troubling familiar standing before him, holding the gun with the familiarity of a cop or detective.
The second thing Clark noticed was the faint green glow coming from the end of every barrel.
Kryptonite.
The panic was instantaneous. No, Bruce would never. Even at our worst, even when we hadn't spoken in years. Bruce would never allow anyone else to access the Kryptonite. So where had it come from. Who were these people?
"Hello, Clark," said the leader. The voice still had that musical lilt. Like a laugh.
And everything clicked into place.
"Richard Grayson," breathed Clark.
"Took you long enough," snarled the voice behind the motorcycle helmet. This voice was also familiar.
"Jason," said Clark. The motorcycle helmet clattered to the ground as Jason Todd let it fall. He'd dyed all his hair silver but those angry eyes were the same.
Clark let his eyes roam to the others. Barbara Gordon and Tim Drake lifted their chins as he made eye contact with them. Both left on their masks.
And then the smallest figure pulled down the scarf to reveal the face Clark had just held in his arms, but younger, and with angry tears glittering unshed in his eyes.
"What did you do?" Asked Damien Wayne.
Clark's mouth went dry.
"No...nothing," he croaked.
"Liar!" Damien yelled, the tears began to fall but his hands stayed steady on the gun. "All the headlines said it. All of them. 'Superman saves the world once more - kills the rogue vigilante formally known as Batman.'"
"It was everywhere," said Dick softly. His finger was resting on the trigger, eyes that Clark remembered as being full of optimism were full of a dull pain.
Just like last time he'd seen those eyes.
The former Justice League members finished explaining the new treaty with the UN, and waited uneasily for the reaction of the crowd gathered before them. Red hood. Arsenal. Superboy. Nightwing. Miss Martian. And many, many others who had fought by their side without being formally part of the League. Some where members of The Team. Others were not. But they were all heroes in their own way.
It was silent for several long minutes.
And then Nightwing let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, a noise of pain that was also one of acceptance. He'd thrown his mask to the ground and walked out without another word – but not before Superman had seen the pain in his eyes.
Everyone else had followed.
The shouting had come later.
"What did you do?" It was Jason's voice that jarred Clark back to the present.
"I did go to stop him," Clark admitted, "But I didn't want to kill him; I never meant to..."
"But you did!" Damien yelled.
"No!" Clark protested. "His heart...there was an EMP and the pacemaker in his heart gave out. He beat me though...I don't have most of my powers anymore. He said..." Clark swallowed hard but pressed on, knowing that his life may depend on it. "He said that he wanted me to be beat, to see that I was no better than any other man. And that he wanted to be the one to beat me."
It was silent, Tim cautiously lowered his gun an inch or two.
"It's the truth," Clark insisted. "He's dead but...but it wasn't my fault, he beat me. He won."
The tears were streaming down Damien's face. He was what? In his twenties? Still a child to Clark, who had outlived most of his original friends. And still slight of stature in a way that Bruce had never been.
"Dammit," Jason muttered. He let the gun fall. "Just...dammit. Why? Why would he fight if...dammit."
Something occurred to Clark.
"Why weren't any of you there?" He asked. "Gotham was falling apart and Batman had returned...why didn't any of you?"
The guns were all finally lowered.
Damien had turned away. It was Barbara who answered, after looking at Dick. "Bruce banned them from entering the city again – I could go, if I was visiting my family, but was told not to even attempt vigilante stuff."
"He wanted to make sure we wouldn't violate the treaty," Dick whispered, "But all he did was..."
Clark felt miserable. He remembered when they were signing the treaty, remembered that after Oliver had spent about an hour shouting, Batman had only said, "Mine won't like this at all." That had been it. That had been plenty.
"...all he did was break apart his own family," Clark finished in a whisper.
Dick looked up sharply. "Like you can talk," he snapped. "How long has it been since you talked to Conner?"
Clark felt startled. And then guilty. Very, very guilty. He hadn't thought about Conner Kent, once known as Superboy, for a very long time.
"Are you sure he's dead?" Tim asked suddenly. "Bruce, I mean. Are you sure?"
Clark looked at him and nodded sadly. "I heard his heart stop."
Tim swallowed hard and said, "Okay...cause I...I know I'm supposed to be a real adult and all but...I don't think I could handle it if it were a lie again."
It was silent for a few seconds then Damien said in a halting voice, "Did he...?" But he cut himself off. "No. I know he didn't."
"Mention any of you?" Clark finished gently.
Damien still didn't turn to face him. But sharp, practiced eyes picked up the tense shoulders. "No," Clark said as kindly as he could. "But he had in the past. I know he loved you." He looked around at all of the assembled adults, seeing them as children in his mind's eye. "He loved all of you."
"Oh yeah?" Jason snorted. "It would have been nice to hear that from him." And he was gone, shoving the motorcycle helmet back on his head and marching away. Barbara sighed and followed, rolling herself along slowly. Tim gave Clark a nod before following.
"Dami?" Dick asked softly, looking at the younger boy.
"I'm fine," snapped Damien, and he walked away determinedly without looking at Clark.
Dick gave Clark one last, accusatory look and said, "Call Conner." And then the final Robin was gone.
Alone in the alley, Clark swallowed hard, tears in his eyes and reached into his pocket to dial a number he still had memorized.
"Hey, little brother," Clark said when the ringing stopped and he found himself leaving a voicemail. "Ugh...we should...we should talk cause...life is short. Even for us..."
Clark was so giddy he could sing. Bruce was alive. That old bastard had faked his death again. But that did leave one last loose end. He left the note by the old bat-siren; where Clark knew instinctively he would find it. The note simply said, "Call your boys."
It was the least he could do for old friends.
And Conner nervously made plans to see Clark for lunch.
And Dick shattered an entire box of glass plates when Bruce snuck into his living room that Thanksgiving. And there were tears in his eyes as he called to the college student living in his spare room, "DAMI!"