A/N: Chapter request by yumisaurous

"Oof!" Frigid slush smacked across the side of his face, rolling off the lens of his glasses and down his cheek. The man shuddered, reaching a gloved hand up to clear his vision.

He peered to the side, catching a glimpse of the boy ducking down under a shallow snow bank. Clark smiled, sauntering forward slowly, boots crunching in the fluffy white blanket that covered the lawn. His ears picked up the sounds of the boy scuffling around, pressing more balls of ice with his mitten covered hands.

Kent glanced down quickly, pressing his fingers into the pristine fluff of untouched snow and scooping up a pile of his own. The man squeezed his hands together, forming a perfect ball of cold.

Of course, he couldn't throw this at the kid (super strength) but…his eyes trained on one of the tall pines surrounding the yard, smirking mischievously. He could find an alternative.

Richard popped up around the bank, choppy locks of hair poking out from under his knitted hat. Clark grinned, waving the hand that held his perfect snowball and pulling his arm back like he was going to throw it. Dick's eyes widened, and he ducked back down under his protective wall. Kent's smile widened.

Perfect.

The man turned directions, aiming for the closest tree, which happened to be quite close to Richard's hideout, and launching the icy ball with a little more force than he needed. None the less, it did the trick.

The tree shuddered, branches shaking with the force of the hit. The pine needles, once weighed down with excess snow, were wiped clean, dumping a fresh batch of fluffy snow directly over Richard's fort.

It was quite for a long moment, and then "ACK! MR. CLARK!"

Richard crawled out from under the light pile of snow, shaking his head to send the icy bits flying. He got back to his feet, still covered in flakes of snow, and crossed him arms, pouting. "That wasn't fair."

Clark laughed, shaking his head. "You never made any rules, buddy." That earned him another snowball to the face.

When he cleared his glasses, Richard had started to make a run for it. The sky above them had turned a deeper shade of gray, and the wind was blowing through with a nasty chill. Clark ran forward, grabbing the back of the boy's puffy jacket before he could escape back to his bank.

"Woah. I think it's time we head back inside. Looks like the snow's coming back for another round. "

Richard sighed. "awh."

Upon closer inspection, it was easy to see the shudders traveling through the boy's tiny body. His cheeks were bright red, as well as his nose, making his eyes look impossibly bright. Going back in to the heat with a cup of hot chocolate really wouldn't be a bad idea for the kid.

He smiled, gently pulling the boy towards the front of the mansion. Their boots trudged through the snow with loud crunches, leaving being two sets of twisting footprints.

When they got to steps, Clark paused.

"Oh! I almost forgot! Your present is still in my car."

Richard's eyes lit up like the sun. "I get to have it?"

Clark chuckled, making his way back down the icy steps carefully and popping his car door open.

"Yeah. You nailed me with a couple of good snowballs. I'd say you're brave enough."

The raven haired boy whooped from his spot, excitement dominating his face.

Clark laughed, ducking into the car and briefly rummaging around the back seat. When he emerged again, his hand was full of dark red fabric. That sparked the boy's interest.

Clark climbed back up the stairs, ignoring the boy's curious looks and attempting a straight face as he pulled the heavy door open and let the tiny acrobat back inside. The gush of warm air felt absolutely amazing, but the rapid change in temperature made the boy shake like a leave.

Quickly, the two shed their damp jackets and heavy boots, leaving everything on hooks by the entry to dry.

When the man turned around, Richard was looking up at him, enthusiasm barely contained on his features. Clark smiled, kneeling down beside the boy and unraveling the velvety fabric. He grabbed the ended and leaned forward, carefully fastening the snaps around the boy's shoulders. Richard gasped.

It was a cape.

"Bruce tells me you've been running around with a blanket tied around your shoulders. But hey, a genuine superhero needs a genuine cape, right?"

The boy smiled his broadest smile, throwing his arms around Clark's neck. This was one of the best presents he had ever gotten.

"Thank you!" he cried excitedly, releasing the man to run through the hall, testing out his new present.

Kent smiled, following Dick into the toasty living room, where he ran circles around the couch. The reporter would have to thank Lois for making the child sized cape at such short notice. She would get a kick out of hearing how happy it made him.

And speaking of Lois, because she must have some sort of mind reading abilities, his cell phone buzzed loudly from his pocket. Richard giggled, jumping onto the couch with a grin. The cherry colored cape fluttered behind his back. Clark smiled, sparing the boy one last glance before he fished the device out, flipping it open with a cheery 'hello?'

Richard watched as Clark spun around, pacing the floor in the absent way that most people do when they talk on the phone. A voice that was very much female buzzed from the speakers, causing the man to run a nervous hand through his dark hair.

Hm.

The boy glanced down at his cape, watching it swish around. It was going to look awesome when he practiced his acrobatics.

Maybe he could surprise Clark and show him one of his new flips, as a thank you for the cape! Then he could test it out right now!

The boy ran up the steps as fast as he could, skipping two at a time to make it up before the man turned. He looked up, wide blue eyes focusing on the chandelier. Last time he did this, the drywall on the ceiling cracked.

That must be what all those extra bolts are for.

Richard grinned, adrenaline pumping fast through his veins.

He ran back, steadying his feet on the wooden floors.

And then he vaulted himself through the air, cape rustling out behind him.

He felt like he was really flying.

His legs hooked onto the now sturdier chandelier, crystals tinkling as they clicked together.

He steadied himself, eyes on his safe spot.

He held out his arms, spread like a bird ready to take flight.

And he let go.

He was a meta- human. Superman, the man of tomorrow, the man of steel. How many times had he seen someone in a situation that posed a threat, faced a day packed with danger before he could even greet Louis with morning coffee, or hurled an unconscious villain halfway to Mars?

It was almost every day! And that didn't even include cats! He always swooped in and pulled the hissing fur balls from their towers, depositing them safely into the waiting arms of those ever-present watery eyed little girls, or grateful elderly women, or occasional gentleman with a questionable fear of trees.

Point is, Clark Kent helps people, almost as frequently as he breaths air. It was his job, and he wouldn't trade it for the world. (Unless he had to. Hypothetically speaking).

He was used to the adrenaline, used to the situations that were often life or death, used to seeing a threat and acting, no thought needed.

So why did the dread settle in so thickly at the scene he was met with after snapping his phone shut?

Why did seeing that familiar mop of raven locks so…high…up… make him want to scream?

And then Richard was falling, propelling himself from the chandelier and tucking his legs in to gain momentum, performing summersaults almost as fast as Clark's stomach was.

Really, he should have seen this coming.

He knew the boy's past with acrobatics. He probably did this type of thing all the time, probably had done this type of thing even higher off the ground before.

But Clark's brain doesn't work like that. The red flags kicked into high gear before he could process the facts, and he was forced into motion as soon as the boy uncurled himself and braced for landing.

Before he knew what he was doing, Clark's feet were off the ground, and his hand was curled tightly around the boy's ankle, halting his fall.

Looking back on it, things could have gone differently.

Clark could have let Louis's call go to his voicemail. He could have made sure that there was something to hold the boy's attention for the five minutes that his back was turned. Better yet, he could have super glued the fidgety kid straight to the couch… and then be declared the worst babysitter in the history of babysitting.

Well, as long as he was listing mistakes, he could have listened to Oliver Queen before he came over instead of just laughing him off. 'Trust me. When it comes to kids, sugar is your worst enemy."

And, he could have noticed one tiny little detail that his panic induced mind might have missed.

The couch. The nice, soft, plushy couch that was positioned damn near perfectly to serve as a cushioned landing pad for tiny acrobats. Not to mention the litter of pillows that had been dumped off of the furniture and scattered around the perimeter, just in case the blue eyed boy overshot his flips.

But no. Clark Kent does not stop and think. He sees, and he does, propelled by the force of adrenaline that danger shoots through his veins.

And look! Here's Bruce, waltzing right into the living room an hour earlier than he was due back, because of course, midday traffic is taking the day off, for the first time in Gotham City history.

There's only one logical reason for all this misfortune, all the turmoil that chases Kent around every corner.

"…Clark." There it was. The Batman tone, sealing his doom. "Would you mind explaining to me…why my kid is…"

Then, that tiny voice piped up from his spot in the air, dangling upside-down by his ankle Kent had gripped tight.

"Oh… my…god…SUPERMAN?"

And Clark was frozen in midair, floating over the foyer with Richard hanging from his grip, a good foot off the ground. He stared dumbly as Bruce's jaw clenched tight and his eyes darkened with anger and decided that yes, it's official.

The universe hated Clark Kent.

Until next time,

-Arrow.