A/N: Okie dokie, here's Chapter 7. Sorry for the little wait, hopefully you'll feel it was deserved since you guys gave me like ZERO reviews. Sike! No, I got like 3. That's good enough for me! Still, send me some feedback! I like it.

XxxxXXXxxxX

Bart and I arrived at the mansion where the newly 17-year-old's party was being held in a state of incensed silence. Even as we walked to the door, Bart had his arms tightly crossed over his dark red dress shirt and a stony scowl firmly in place. I looked down at him, resisting the urge to tell him to get his act together, knowing it wouldn't do any good, and, if anything, make his entire demeanor even worse.

"Hey," I said, hoping to try a different approach. He looked up at me from under his shaggy, brown bangs, a firm frown on his face. "Try to behave tonight, okay?"

Okay, obviously that wasn't what he wanted to hear because his face only darkened into a deeper glower. Ugh, if he would just make some right decisions, maybe I wouldn't have to remind him to make good ones once in awhile!

When I knocked on the door, a servant answered, already on her way out with a big bag of trash. Peaking over her shoulder, I could see the rowdy teenagers laughing, dancing, and chasing each other in the expansive mansion, which cluttered with various party decorations and trash.

"Oh my, I'm sorry, sir! I didn't hear you knock!" the maid apologized, looking sheepish.

I gave her a reassuring smile and a nod. "It's not problem. I'm just here to see-"

"Mr. Jameson! Yes, he's been expecting you, Mr. Queen. Told me so himself that he wanted to meet with you right away!" she said, seeming proud to have been entrusted with the boss' meeting information. She tilted her head to the shorter young man beside Oliver, her eyes lighting up. "And you must be Bart Allen! -I only know from the pictures in the magazines. Haha, sooo, how do you like your new dad?"

While Bart dropped his head in misery at her words, I put myself on the defensive, my face becoming solemn at her words. "Please. Mr. Jameson's office?"

The maid could plainly tell she crossed some sort of privacy boundary by our reactions and became sincerely apologetic looking. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. That was so rude of me. I have such a big mouth and sometimes things just don't register in my brain first."

"That's all right," I said, doing my best to give her another smile though it was harder. It wasn't all right though. Glancing down at Bart, I could see how uncomfortable and weary the sudden popularity was making him. Out of all the people I could save, I always felt like Bart was furthest out of reach. Especially considering it was my celebrity that was getting him stuck in this mess in the first place.

"Here, just give me a minute to throw this out and I'll show you where his office is. You can go right in, Bart, if you like…" she trailed off, giving my boy an uncertain look. With a tight-lipped grimace, Bart nodded, and the maid smiled before rounding the corner to the dumpsters.

Eyeing the party from the distance, I could only imagine the chaos these kids were getting into. I looked down at Bart, who was giving off the expression that last thing he wanted to do was go inside.

"Hey, you can stick with me if you want. I'll only be a couple of hours," I told him, trying my best to give off the "nice guy" vibe.

It was only when I spoke aloud the offer did he remember that he was supposed to be angry at me, hence why he quickly removed himself from my side, hardening his resolve to go into the party.

"I'll be fine. Call me when you're done." he said brashly, plodding into the swarm of teenagers who were gradually turning the living room into their own personal club lounge.

I sighed and waited on the arrival of the maid, who returned shortly after and lead my up the stairs into the corner office of the extravagant house. Even overlooking the balcony of the stairway, I doubt I would have been able to see or hear Bart over the booming music and hoards of young people.

Sensing the danger of so many underage, wild kids stuffed into one house, I only hoped, this time, Bart would take my recommendation to for once behave.

XxxxxXXXXxxxxX

"Behave my ass," I grumbled, filling up one of the small shot glasses and downing it in one gulp. The teens around me cheered and hollered at my brave display of inebriation. My eyes watered uncontrollably. The burn of the alcohol left me choking and gasping for air, but the massive crowd approval made it feel entirely too good. Damn peer pressure.

The crowd was egging me on to continue, chanting "one more!" in perfect unison. My body told me no though as it leaned precariously against the counter, threatening to fall over. Still, my mind could still sense the hurt Ollie had put me through. His disappointment in me as a son. I wanted only to drown the need for his approval into nothingness, and the shot of Jack on the counter seemed to be the only solution.

My face set in a readying grimace, I picked up the small cup and downed it once more. The crowd went crazy and so did my stomach. Not able to handle the rowdy mob any longer, I pushed my way through them, blindly searching for an exit.

I don't know how I found it through my haze of drunkeness, but I was suddenly in the backyard, puking my guts out in the bush next to a couple that had been in a serious makeout session before my arrival. I was coherent enough to hear the girl's sounds of utter disgust at my actions.

"God! Learn to hold your liquor, kid!" the male yelled at the protests of his girlfriend. After they left, I finally found the solitude in which I sought to barf in peace. After several more minutes of the alcohol ripping it's way out of my body, my body sagged to the ground, laying my cheek against the cool, neatly-trimmed lawn.

Still feeling smashed beyond the belief, I ventured to pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial a number that resembled someone that would help me. 911 was a tad on the exaggerated side (and I doubt my shaky fingers would have been able to find the buttons in the first place), so I prayed that I would randomly land on Clark's number, even AC's.

I heard a ringtone and would've smiled if my current predicament didn't leave me sorely nauseous. I kept repeating the words "pick up" mentally in my head until I finally got an answer.

"Hello?" a female voice said. Was that-?

"Harper? Is that you?" I croaked, my throat raw from the searing liquor.

"Uhh, yeah, Bart, you're the one that called me, remember?" she replied, sounding confused.

"I needsh…yousss to…. pickmeup?" I slurred, feeling the effects of the alcohol incapacitating me from talking clearly.

"Bart?" I heard a small laugh. "Are you drunk?"

"I don't… What?" I couldn't compute what was going on anymore. She was either making no sense or I was entirely too intoxicated. I would vote the latter, but I couldn't convince myself of that. "Call Ollie, pleaassh. I don't… I'm ssstuck…"

Harper laughed in a seriously sinister manner, and it was at that moment, even in my drunken state, that I finally connected she was nothing but pure evil. "God…You don't deserve him, you know that, right?"

I closed my eyes, feeling even more stupid than I already did after drinking an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. How could I have trusted her? It was plain to see her jealousy of my and Oliver's relationship as father and son. I had always shrugged it off as a romantic sort of envy though. Oh, stupid-stupid-stupid…

"Why would he ever wreck his perfect life for a little snot like you? You're just some loser street kid that doesn't understand what it means to be a real superhero. Once I show Ollie how horrible you've been these past few days, he'll never trust you again. He'll throw you back in the slums where you belong!" she said in words that were dripping with venom.

I swallowed, resisting the urge to throw up the nonexistent contents of my stomach again. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She was trying to separate Ollie and me this entire time? How could someone hide their motive so well? I was almost convinced Harper was the only friend I had in this world that understood what it felt like to be a teenager in the fight against evil and now… She had suddenly transformed into the very manipulative criminals we battled.

I rubbed my face in hopes that it would sober me up. No dice. The world was actually getting blurrier the more I laid in the grass, unconsciousness creeping into the edges of my vision.

"And hey, Bart, don't worry. I'll call Ollie for you right away. I also have some plans for the other members of the JLA…" Harper revealed, and I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline at those words.

She was not going to hurt my family.

"If you do anything to them, you're dead, Harper! I swear to God!" I cried. It was too late though; all I heard on the other side was dial-tone.

I had to get home and warn them. I had no other choice; there was no telling what she had cooked up! Standing up on wobbly legs, I attempted to superspeed. Nothing. It felt like I had no ability to begin with, but I was still painfully aware of the dulled ache in my torso from my earlier injury.

Tough it out, Bart, you can make it home. I told myself. Do it for the team. They need you. Relying heavily on my stubborn prowess, I unlatched the side gate and started my slow, ten mile stagger in what I hoped was the direction towards home.

Maybe this wasn't the most brilliant plan, but it was the only one I had left…

XxxxXXXXxxxxX

A/N: Okay, I get A LOT of people telling me how there are virtually no parental Bart/Ollie stories out there, and I have to agree. Just so we're clear, I like READING them, just as much as I like WRITING THEM. Also, I don't own any copyright on this genre whatsoever.

What I'm trying to say is…

If you want to read more of these types, I suggest you write more. And tell me! I'd be more than happy to give my input. For now, review this story, haha!