"Mom, wait!" John stepped in front of me, his hands held out to calm his mother. "I don't think she came here to hurt us." He glanced at me over his shoulder. "I think she wants to help us."

I stared at him in disbelief. Was he helping me? His bedroom was in shatters and he was defending me? That can't be right. He couldn't actually be trying to make friends with me, could he? After everything I just did? I was absolutely certain that nobody was that trusting. But, as I stared into his clear blue eyes that were staring back at me, I realized he was. My first thought should have been, "What an idiot!" mixed with anger and frustration. But, quite honestly, all I felt was gratitude. John was taking a big risk by trusting me, and I was certain he knew it, but I was thankful for it. I briefly wondered if this was what it was like when Bruce and Kent met all those years ago.

"I'm not here to hurt you." I clarified once again, stepping around John to face Mrs. Trigger-finger who still had not lowered the rifle. "I just came to talk."

"By breaking into John's room?" Lois asked skeptically. "How exactly is that talking?" I could tell she didn't trust me as fully as her son, but she lowered the gun anyway.

"I needed to speak with him." I replied, gesturing to John. "And obviously you both were on high alert. How was I supposed to talk at all when John could have fried me within an instant of seeing me?" I raised an eyebrow at Lois. "Or can he not do that now?"

She scowled at me. "You still haven't answered the question. Why are you here?"

I hesitated, glancing at John, his blue eyes big and curious. How could I destroy that innocence? How could I ask something of him that could lead to his death? Did I have the right to make that choice for him? It wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to get involved in this war. He shouldn't have to fight. But, I reminded myself. Luthor killed his father. He has the right to do something about it, just as I do.

"I came to ask for your help." I said quietly, allowing my gaze to drift from John to Lois and back again. "I was originally sent for Kent, I mean Clark Kent, but it seems that his help is no longer available."

Lois lowered her gaze. "Yes," She sighed sadly. "He died years ago, a few weeks after John was born."

I nodded sympathetically. I knew what it was like to lose someone you cared about. "Why didn't you make contact after he died?" I asked. "Kent had many friends in the League still alive then. They could have helped hide you." I fought to keep the desperation out of my voice. Why didn't you call Bruce?

Lois shook her head. "I wasn't sure I could trust anyone from the League. Luthor had turned many of them into his own personal army. My only choice was to hide John myself, blend in with the other citizens. We use fake names outside of home and I move John to different schools twice a year so that no one could find out about his abilities."

John nodded in agreement. "I stay out of sports and clubs so that I don't attract attention. We've been hiding for years, so it's worked so far."

I shook my head. "But wasn't there someone you knew you could trust? Someone that Kent trusted? There must have been someone."

"No," Lois answered, her eyes brimming in tears. "We were on our own."

I sighed in frustration. Why wasn't Bruce good enough for them? Didn't they trust him? He had been searching for them for years, trying to help them! He hadn't even known his best friend was dead! Why had they ignored him? Why didn't they make contact?

"I'm sorry to hear that." I replied bitterly. "I had hoped someone here could help me, but it seems like you have everything under control. I'll just leave and you can go back to your happy little lives."

I turned towards the window, clicking a small button on my belt. There was a small humming noise, and then from somewhere inside the rubble my weapon zoomed up into the air and into my waiting hand. I was about to clasp it back into its compartment, when I heard John gasp. I turned, my hand hovering over my belt.

His blue eyes were locked on my hand. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, pure awe filling his voice.

I raised an eyebrow and turned to Lois. "Where did you get that?" she whispered, never taking her eyes off the weapon. I opened my hand, allowing the moonlight to reflect off the weapon. I held it carefully between my fingers, avoiding the sharpened wings that could chop my finger in half with little more than a scratch. It was comprised of a combination of metals, each adding its own strength and properties to the overall surface and all delicately separated to allow for its flexibility.

Bruce had often lectured me on the structure of the weapon, giving me reading material and his schematics on it. I had devoured the information greedily; stunned by the incredible simplicity of the thing and how useful it seemed to be in the field. I had practiced and mastered all 3, 486 maneuvers and tricks Bruce had designed, and even had invented some of my own. I had often wondered if he had created the weapon, not only because it was so useful, but also because it allowed some identity into his attacks and scares, a personal touch. Bruce had denied any connection to the design of the weapon and his personal ego, but still I had wondered. A smile slowly tickled at my lips as I watched both Kents gape at the weapon, and I realized that it obviously held some personality after all.

"You like it? My boss designed it." I replied, slowly clamping my hand around the weapon, careful not to cut myself on the sharp edges. I returned the weapon to my belt and started again for the window. I could feel their eyes follow me, burning holes into my back. I had to force myself not to giggle while I counted down in my head. Three… two… one…

"Wait!" I felt Lois grasp my arm. Her nails dug into my skin through my jacket and I had to bite my lip to keep from swatting her across the room. "We should at least hear what you have to say."

I turned and stared at her, narrowing my eyes. She backed off almost immediately, releasing my arm as she did so. Her eyes misted in fear and I could tell she hadn't expected my cold response. I looked over to John and saw him step back a couple of steps as well. It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep from crying out in triumph. Who needs a cowl now? I thought. Huh, Bruce? I have mastered your Bat-Glare and all without that mask you hide behind! The thought brought sadness again to my heart and I quickly pushed it aside.

"Alright," I said at last, pushing passed the debris on my way to the half-broken door. "Let's talk." I felt John and Lois follow, their footsteps sounding like thunder in the sudden silence. I smiled. I knew I was going to have to remember this night, log it into my beginning files and save this information for later. I briefly wondered if Bruce had ever known about the power and reputation his weapon had. But, as I had discovered before, it was amazing what a little Bata-'rang could do.


The Kents' living room was nothing like I had expected it to be. I mean, for a house with an entirely painted exterior and a design that was only used by those who are now dust, the inside was strangely… lively. Digital posters and old newspaper clippings were pasted all over the walls, covering up the old paint job. I leaned in close to one of the old articles and was not surprised to see it was written by Lois Lane. The picture of an article caught my eye and I couldn't help but smile at the floating man in a red cape that seemed to encompass all of Lois's writings.

"That was my father." A voice behind me said sadly, and I quickly turned around to see that John had caught me looking at the picture. His bright blue eyes were misted with used up tears and again I felt the guilt of having to bring him into such a horrible and impossible war as the one I had been drawn into. How could I warrant the possible loss for Lois of yet another family member? John was all she had left… Could I really take him away from her?

"He was very brave." I commented, trying to banish the dark thoughts from my mind. "It's a tragedy he isn't here now."

John nodded, his face twisted in a grimace of sorrow. He suddenly looked at me with a thoughtful expression. "He would have liked you, you know. You have so much in common."

"What do you mean?" I asked him, genuinely surprised that he would compare me to his father. He was the greatest superhero who had ever lived! How in the world was I like him?

He smiled weakly. "You have such determination, so much passion. My father would have done anything for someone in need, like you're here to help us now. He would have liked you."

I stepped back in surprise, practically stunned by what he had said. I quickly snapped out of it though, and then shook my head. "Me like Superman? You've got to be kidding. I'm nothing like him."

"Oh no?" John slowly smiled at me. "Then who are you like?"

My face suddenly fell. Sad memories swelled in my mind and, try as I might, I couldn't hide the mist that instantly clouded my eyes. I quickly turned away from him, desperate to conceal my sudden weakness, but I knew he had already seen.

I felt his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry." He said, that genuine sadness evident in his voice. "I said something wrong, didn't I? I didn't mean to cause you sadness."

I let out a strangled laugh through my tears. He sounded so much like a confused toddler, not sure what he did wrong, but completely sorry all the same. I felt him turn me around so that I was facing him again. I had suppressed most of my tears, so I forced myself to let him. Looking into his face, I saw such sympathy there that I could have smacked him so hard you would've been proud, Dad. He didn't ask me what was wrong. He didn't laugh and mock me. He didn't even smile. He did something much worse. Without a word, he pulled me into a huge hug, and that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part… was that I let him. I felt such a safety and warmth in his arms that I hadn't felt in years that I suddenly never wanted him to let go. And I hated myself for it. Was that how you felt, Mom? When you were with Dad? Did it feel like your head was going to explode and your face burned?

"Will you tell me your name?" He whispered into my ear, and his voice sounded so calming I almost answered. I almost opened my mouth and told him. Bruce would have killed me for letting myself get so close to breaking, to have allowed someone offer me safety and have almost accepted it. So I didn't tell him my name, I didn't tell him anything. The anger that built up inside me was so intense I could have punched him, but I didn't. I didn't do much of anything really. I was suddenly so tired from fighting two powerful urges inside me, that the only thing I could do was push him away. And I did.

He blinked at me in surprise as we parted, and I forced myself to look away. "We still need to talk." I mumbled, turning away from him. Lois suddenly appeared and ushered us towards the couches in the middle of the room. I sat down on one of the old sofas with them sitting across from me. Lois was looking at me with a look that could have been curiosity, and John was just plain staring at me. I shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, not very eager to begin my story.

I took a deep breath. "Well," I began, suddenly not sure about what I was going to say. "I guess I'll start from the beginning…"