A/N: Okay, so I'm trying to stay on top of the chapters while not failing my classes. Difficult work. Anyways, so Chloe and Lana and (probably) Louis won't be in this fic until later, and Chloe and Lana will definitely be OOC. I'm trying to work Bart into the story somewhere. I wonder what would happen if I randomly stuck YJ or JLA characters into the plot.

...moving on. If anyone was wondering, Roy is Red Arrow. If you don't know who that is, you're crazy. ALSO, I'm not one of those insane people who will only update if people review-because that usually means you like the positive attention more than writing itself, which is lame because writing just for fun is amazingly awesome-but they do make my day :) It doesn't have to be long. Just tell me how you think I could improve my writing. I like feedback, but I like constructive criticism even more (unless I'm getting my definitions wrong and feedback is the same thing, but I think you get it) :) And ideas for upcoming characters that you might want to see, or relationships you support (they can be from Smallville, Justice League, Teen Titans, X-men, Avengers, Young Avengers, and/or Young Justice) I'm usually pretty good about responding to those types of things.

Enough rambling. Enjoy the fic! Don't forget to review :)

xxx, Eve

Down Under

Chapter 2: Supported Failure

Oliver stared at Clark, quick to bookmark his page and slide the text out of sight. No one needed to know that he liked reading. "Clark?"

Well, dumb ass, aren't you good at pretending to be confident. Not. Clark shifted, his face turning slightly red, and the brunette shivered. Ollie was cold too, now that he realized it: the air conditioning was on high to keep the older books from molding, so it was freezing. He liked it though, since he adapted well to the dramatic temperatures while in costume.

For some reason, he didn't believe Clark shivered because of the cold. And now the blond was being stared at through blue-green eyes, which were serious and untrusting for once. It almost felt like Clark could see right through him, was looking at the space behind him. But that wasn't possible.

Flee. That's what his first thought was. The last time Clark had gotten angry at him-if angry was the right word-he'd gripped his arm hard enough to make it turn purple. There were deep, angry bruises there now that probably wouldn't go away for a week or two.

But what if Clark caught him anyway? They shared all their classes, it's not like he'd be easy to avoid. So...no, he definitely wasn't going to run away. He vaguely realized that Clark was talking to him, and tried to tune in.

"-ot off on the wrong foot." He was saying, watching Oliver like he was a stricken animal. "I'm Clark Kent. What's your name?"

Huh. So the boy scout was polite, sticking his hand out for a shake despite their bad meeting terms. He stuck out his own hand. "Oliver Queen. It's a pleasure."

Clark looked surprised at his words, and Ollie smirked. See? Not everyone has to be sugarcoated to know how to play nice. "It is." Clark shot him a smile, which he nervously returned, and it automatically turned into an awkward teenager moment. "Um, what are you reading?"

Ollie tensed ever-so-slightly. When he was younger, his teachers were mean and intolerable, so he'd simply hole himself up in the public library for hours upon hours and teach himself the material. As a result, not only was he over three years ahead, but he also knew French, Spanish, English, and could get by in German and Russian. He'd been reading up on medical textbooks, because he figured he needed to know how to patch himself up.

No normal teenager read medical books in their free time. Clark, while Oliver wanted to trust him (really, he did), would only cause him pain in the end. Because Oliver hated wearing a mask and taking blame for things he didn't do, but hated lying even more. He was a sucky liar. Not that any of the dumb jocks would notice. "I-uh-"

"Medical stuff? That's cool. Do you want to be a doctor or something?" While Ollie was frozen, Clark had reached behind him and pulled out the reading material. He was flipping through it calmly, regarding the blonde with a slight smile.

"Yeah." Oliver said, and Clark's gaze rose from the book for a split second before he closed his eyes, smirked, and said, "You're a terrible liar."

Super. "...yeah." He admitted. "Never was good at that kind of stuff." He admonished himself silently. He wouldn't be able to pull off being friends with Clark. Or anyone. Don't get close, and neither person could ever get hurt. That's just the way it worked. "Well, I'm going to head out." He grabbed his backpack and turned to leave when Clark grabbed his arm. It wasn't hard and painful like before, but gentle and kind. He reigned the blond back in and observed the mark guiltily.

"Sorry." He mumbled, and Oliver tried not to smile and say, 'it's okay', because he should really be leaving now. Clark looked up at him. "You really should go to your classes. The teachers hold more group-discussion periods than lectures. You'd like it if you came."

And, shit, he couldn't lie. "I'll see you in class, then." Clark brightened at his words.

"Yeah," A grin grew over the brunette's face. "Yeah, I will."

Oliver had shown up for 6th period, Clark happily noted. The school had a lot of attendants from Gotham and Central City, the works, so there were dorms (just as nice as the school was and twice as furnished) linked by a long glass hallway at the end of the science department. As a result, students either lived close to the school or practically in it, leading to the fact that they had nine periods a day, starting at 7 am and working up 'til 8. Lunch and dinner were served on campus, and any student who wanted a dorm had it free, as long as they got a 4.0 GPA. Clark guessed that Oliver didn't have a dorm, otherwise he could have holed up inside of it instead of in the library.

...the library...Clark wanted to know what he'd felt. It was a good feeling, definitely, and he wanted more of it. But he wasn't sure where it came from. Ruling Oliver himself out was easy because Clark was nothing but associates with bullies, but-

But. There was definitely a but about Oliver and being a bully, something off. Bullies didn't take the time to grin and introduce themselves nicely, just to muck it up by revealing themselves later. They didn't tuck themselves away in the library, and they certainly didn't read medical books.

There was definitely something that Oliver Queen was hiding. And the inner reporter-slash-investigator-slash-journalist was just itching to know what. Not only that, but Clark wanted to know what, what exactly was hidden behind Oliver's paradox of a personality, wanted to know why it was hidden, and wanted to help.

His thoughts drifted to his nightly activities. Superman helped people, Superman always helped people. But Superman couldn't help Oliver or talk to him, could he? Nope, it would be too risky.

"Clark." Teddy, Clark's lab partner, nudged him softly in the arm.

"Yeah?" Clark asked not-so-quietly, before noticing Ms. Stone's semi-amused glare directed at him. "I-ah-yeah-" He looked down. Teddy was sticking his fingers out under the cover of the desk. "The answer's four."

Ms. Stone stared at him in surprise before sighing and moving on with the lesson. Clark looked over at the blond jock. "Thanks. I thought I was done for."

Teddy was one of the few jocks-well, the only one, actually-who a) wasn't stupid and b) wasn't mean or aggressive (unless it came to his lover). He had blond hair and dark blue eyes, and his muscles were pronounced and well-defined at the same time. He was actually pretty gentle and kind on his part, considering Clark had misjudged and thought he'd be the opposite. Just another bit of evidence that looks are deceiving.

"Any time." Teddy replied with a smile, turning back to copying the whiteboard.

Clark's gaze slowly lingered around the room. A few people, like Todd and Lance and Kate, he recognized. A few others, Teddy and Oliver included, he knew quite well.

Oliver was sitting on the far left side of the classroom near the windows, gazing outside almost longingly as he tapped his pencil silently against the desk. His slightly-long blonde hair was tousled, and Clark wondered if he'd fallen asleep in the library at all. His head was resting on his arm as his eyes-not quite brown, but somehow golden and reddish-brown at the same time-lingered over the open courtyard. He chewed on his lips absentmindedly, unaware of his classmate's stare.

And then somehow Clark could see-see-the welts around his chest. The broken tissue that would fade without a trace, the bruises that swelled up around his ribcage and shoulder, and, worse, the damaged skin that looked like it'd been chemically burned. How was the blond not doubled up in pain?

Tommy, Oliver's partner, elbowed the new kid and pointed three rows ahead to the door, where they shared a grin: some kid darted past the screen from the outside, holding what appeared to be a chemistry set ready to blow, while his teacher ran after him hollering to duck and cover. Oh, Smallville.

However, Clark could see past the now trademark grin to the wince in pain that his Oliver was quick to cover. It worried him that-

Woah.

Woah.

Slow down.

His Oliver? Where the hell did that come from?

His.

Oliver. His.

The feeling was back. Clark struggled with the giddy feeling and peeled his eyes off of his classmate and to the board. Why was Oliver so...different?

It was going to be a long hour.

Oliver sighed and scratched at a fading scar. He was lucky he was friends with the right people (Selina, a stripper), who knew how to get the right kind of cream to make them fade. Otherwise, he'd be covered. There'd be no skin left to scar.

"Fifty-seven and three eight-hundredths of a second multiplied by pi." He muttered under his breath, irritated at the viscous pace the class was moving at. Somehow, Clark had convinced the teacher to sit them together, and the brunette was obviously lost in the math, staring from his notes to the board with blank eyes. The rest of the class wasn't doing much better.

Honestly, the math wasn't that hard. There were only so many ways to screw up basic multiplication and division. The class was just shouting out random answers now, while the teacher glared at them all and tried to explain why math was easy.

To give credit to the other students, Oliver had gotten stuck at one point, between the radicals and the quadratic equation, but only because he'd drifted off for a few minutes and had forgotten what problem they were working on. Getting back on track had been child's play for him.

Says the guy who studies medical books in their spare time. He thought bitterly, eyes flicking over to the clock, and then to Clark.

...Clark. Clark was the problem. The guy seemed intent on figuring out how Oliver worked, why he did what he did. Like Olilie was some puzzle to be figured out, or a problem to be solved. He looked at Ollie like he wanted to...help. With anything. And Oliver wasn't used to people looking that way, especially at himself. And growing too close to Clark would only make it harder than it already was to lie. Clark knew how to see through his fibs, and he knew about Oliver's scars, after less than a week.

He had to break it off before the problem grew. Clark couldn't know what he did, was doing. It was his burden to bear, and his alone.

He blinked when the teacher called on him. "You're acting quiet over there, Mr. Queen. What, pray tell, do you have written?"

Clark's eyes were on him. Clark's eyes were on him, and damn it, that made it so much harder to focus on what he was saying. "Fifty-seven and three eight-hundredths of a second multiplied by pi"

The teacher stared at him. The class stared at him.

Clark was still staring at him. Fuck.

"E-excuse me?" The teacher asked, disbelief written in her voice. "What did you say?"

"I said," Oliver felt irritation flaring in the pit of his stomach, "I said fifty-seven and three eight-hundredths of a second multiplied by pi. It's the answer." She remained blank. He gestured to the board. "To the question?"

"Oh." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Very good, Mr. Queen. Would you like to show your work to the class?"

"Would you like them to copy it and then refer to it every single time a homework question like that pops up?" He retorted, sitting back in his chair and smirking. A couple students glared. Tommy, his partner in science, just tapped his shoulder to lean forward and ask, "Hey, I can copy off of it after class right?"

"Sure." Oliver muttered in reply, strapping his gaze to the board when he felt Clark's eyes drift to the clock and then back to him curiously.

"How did you do that?" He asked while the teacher moved on, seemingly over the uncomfortable exchange, picking on the other side of the classroom. "I don't see any work on your paper."

"Mental math works wonders." Oliver replied coldly, stiffening as Clark continued to invade his personal space. "Absolute wonders."

"Oh." Clark retreated to his side of the desk, and Oliver sighed in relief. Just two more periods...possibly sitting next to his own personal psychologist. Two more periods, and he could go home. As if home was even where he wanted to be.

School was over. School was finally over. Oliver slipped into the froth of teenagers as a last attempt in ditching Clark, his actions successful. No one could ever overestimate the power of teenagers exiting a school. Dodging through the crowd in almost dance-like motions, he managed to get himself through the two glass doors that led out the back way.

From there, he avoided his classmates by doubling back to the science department and passing through the long glass hallway at the end of it to the dorms.

This all happened within the span of twenty minutes (he'd had to wait for the last of the students to dwindle out), and now the entire school was silent, save for the wildlife in the courtyard and the quiet, muffled noises of the basketball team losing pitifully to the School for the Blind and Deaf, or SBD for short, whose players couldn't even hear the buzzer.

He sighed, finding that he'd missed the silence. His old "home" had been in the middle of nowhere-literally, it's name was No-Where-which was basically just like the mountains near Lake Chelan but green and lake-less. But as a result, seldom were there other neighbors, and it had always been quiet.

Frowning as the sound of footsteps filled the hallway, he glanced in both directions only to find that there was nowhere to run: the entire hall was made of glass, and he was too far in it to go back and shuffle inconspicuously in the science labs. All he could hope was that it wasn't someone he knew.

"Oliver?" Shit on him. "I didn't know you had a dorm."

"I don't." He admitted, eyes everywhere but Clark, who was now standing in front of him, arms folded over his chest. "I was going to-"

"It's almost funny," Clark chuckled, and Ollie could almost feel his mocking-but-friendly smile. "I can already tell you're lying."

"Why are you here?" The blonde retorted, eyes resting on the wall just to the left of Clark's face. He needed to get out of here-fast. As though responding to his urgency, Clark's movements became even more leisurely.

"I dorm." He replied, still grinning. "But I forgot to make up a lab last week, so I'm going now to do it." A pause, before. "Hey, you're good at math and science, right?"

Oliver was right about to say know when he added, "-Since you're studying medical books and all."

God mother-"Yeah." Oliver gritted. "I guess."

"Can you help me with the lab, then? I'm stuck in some places where there's no results."

He really needed to get out of here. "I need to go, actually, so-"

"It'll only take a second!" Clark replied earnestly, locking elbows with him and pulling him away.

Clark fumbled around with the switch of the bunsen burner while Oliver read over his procedure. He watched the blond's face carefully, noting that while it appeared to be blank, there was an underbelly of aggregation and-fear? He froze. Oh my god. What if he's late getting home because of me. If he has abusive parents and he gets home late and gets hit because of it it'll be all my-

"Clark!" He looked up. Oliver was waving the report in front of his face. By instinct, Clark did a half-flinch, and the bunsen burner sparked to life. He heard the other yelp and drop the papers, and he was quick to turn off the burner before looking onward in horror.

The sleeve of Oliver's shirt was completely black at the forearm, like it'd been burning for minutes instead of seconds. When he reached out his hand to touch his sleeve, the black fell away like small bits of charcoal. But that wasn't what was horrifying.

"Oh, god," Clark reached forward and grabbed Oliver by the wrist, forcing them closer together in order to get a better look, ignoring the avid attempts at getting away. "What happened?!"

There was a deep, purple bruising, that was blue and nearly black in some areas, a mucky yellow around the edges. The small, white-tinted segments littering underneath reminded Clark that there were scars everywhere, and the shock on his face quickly turned into a frown as he watched Oliver attempt to twist his arm to freedom.

"Nothing!" The blonde said, voice betraying how uncomfortable he was. "Nothing happened! I tripped on some stairs and hit my arm on the railing."

Oliver still hadn't met his eye, not since they'd bumped into each other, and it was really beginning to bug him. Especially when he lied after being told straight to his face that he sucked at it by the person who he was lying to. "Don't lie." He forced himself to calm his grip, switching his position to hold Oliver's hand. His voice became softer, more comforting. "You can tell me."

And he almost did, Clark could tell. Under all that pain and-remorse?-he could see the need to tell someone, the absolutely pure need to confide in someone trusted, and the freakishly strong will pushing it back into the recess of the mind. But then, like a switch had flipped, Oliver's face slipped into a blank mask, the only emotion still seen swelling beneath his eyes, which were facing the clock.

"I can't." He muttered. Then, as he tugged his arm free, he met Clark's eyes. "I can't."

Clark froze. It was like all of the shattering heartbreak resounding in those brown irises flooded into his own blue ones, hitting him head-on like a collision. He reminded himself to breathe, and suddenly understood why Oliver couldn't say anything. "Thats okay." He put a hand on Oliver's bicep, and while the blond's eyes snapped away, he held his gaze. "Just...if you ever need anything, don't be afraid to drop by."

There was that little shift in Oliver's expression that told him he was about to lie. "I'll keep that in mind."

And just like that, Clark realized how close they were. The heat radiating off of Oliver was warm and comforting, and he almost found himself wanting to hug his classmate, squeeze all the heat out of him. The labs were incredibly cold, making the decision even more appealing.

Away. He let go and backed up slightly, already missing the warmth under his fingertips. "S-" What was he trying to say again? "Sorry." He finished lamely. Oliver's lips curled up at the edges ever-so-slightly, so that Clark barely managed to catch it before the smile was gone.

"Clark." He froze. "Thanks. I know it's probably bugging you." A wince. "Been bugging you. So...thanks."

Clark smiled. Suddenly, the labs didn't feel so cold anymore.