Muddling though Grey
Chapter Fourteen: Make-Over
Disclaimer: Characters and premise are the property of DC, I'm just borrowing them for a little non-profit fun.
"...Happy birthday dear Owen. Happy birthday to you!"
Conner held the birthday boy on his lap and mumbled along, hoping no one would notice that he didn't know the words to the apparently universally known song. Even M'Gann and Kaldur seemed to be familiar with it.
Owen's eyes were fixed on the cake and he bounced excitedly as Joan set it in front of him and lit the candles.
James, Hartley and Evan looked melancholy when the lighting of the candles was completed without the appearance of a single flamethrower or any shouting matches about the use of said flamethrower.
" 'Member your thirteenth? When Rory burned down half the base lighting the candles and Len froze the other half putting out the cake?" James asked Hartley.
"Not to mention the kitchen table and the ceiling," Hartley replied. "But I managed to save Sam's present. I know an instrument case when I see one."
"Your band flute," James remembered. "He stole it back for you after your dad sold it when he wanted you to quit 'wasting time' on music. You turned Rogue later that week."
"With the flute and your nutty idea of making my poor rats chew their way into that jewelry store."
"Make a wish and blow out the candles," Lisa instructed. She crouched down beside Owen to help with the blowing out if needed.
Owen closed his eyes for a moment then took a deep breath and blew. When the last candle went out he stared expectantly at the door for several minutes before his shoulders slumped in disappointment. Conner glowered angrily at some point in the distance. Joan cut the cake and Iris dished ice cream. They hurried to get the cake in front of Owen, hoping to distract him from the wish that hadn't come true.
After the cake, birthday presents were piled up on the table. Evan and James shared a satisfied smirk as they produced the results of several days spent searching the base and the Rogue's apartments; they'd managed to search out everything the older Rogues had been planning on giving Owen.
Owen's face lit up when he got to the box that held a stuffed koala dressed in his father's costume that Robin had managed to dig up from the days when Captain Boomerang had been the mascot of a toy company rather than a costumed criminal.
Later, when Owen began to lose interest in his new toys, Jay taught him to play patty-cake. Once Owen got the idea Jay increased the tempo slightly, Owen giggled in delight and matched him. Not long after conversation died throughout the room as everyone gradually turned to stare with jaw-dropping shock. Jay was moving fast enough that his hands were a blur to the non-speedsters… and Owen was matching him. Once the game ended Jay shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I don't have any nieces or cousins in the right age group," he remarked.
Barry remembered recent conversations about the possibility that his and Wally's accidents may have altered them on a genetic level, about the possibility that they might pass on their powers to their children. He remembered Evan telling him that Owen had arrived in Central via time-travel. He groaned and covered his face. "Dear God, my daughter's five months short of being born and I already know Digger Harkness is going to get her pregnant. I may have to reconsider my stance on no killing."
"Iris! You're having a baby!" Dinah exclaimed.
"Twins," Iris confirmed.
Dinah slapped the back of Barry's head. "And you didn't tell us!"
"You know, it could be your granddaughter," James pointed out.
"James, don't help," Barry requested.
"Killing him now wouldn't solve anything," Jay reminded. "It's already happened from Digger's perspective."
"Barry?" James asked. "I'll promise to be good, for the whole year, spirit as well as letter of the deal, if you'll promise me one thing: I want to be there, with a video recorder, when we tell Digger that the two of you are in-laws… And we should do it in front of everyone else for maximum reaction potential," Trickster trailed off, his eyes glowing with mischief as he considered how could get the most out this unexpected development.
Barry and Iris looked like they were going to be sick.
"Well, it could be worse," Hartley consoled. "You could be related to Zoom… Actually *Owen* could be related to Zoom. That would really suck. If we're going to have a Speedster-Rogue we'd much rather he be related to you."
Wally was still considering the notion of cousins or whatever Owen was. He'd never had as many problems sharing Barry as certain other people; Robin; had when it came to their mentors, but there was a limit to how much he wanted to see Barry's attention divided. And yet… "I'm not the youngest speedster anymore!" Wally realized. "Cold and Heatwave can't call me 'Baby Flash' anymore. YES! And I'm not a side-kick any more; I'm going to HAVE side-kicks."
"Owen's more mine than yours," Conner declared grumpily.
During the clean-up phase of the party, Artemis found herself in charge of watching Owen. "So did you get what you wanted squirt?" she asked.
"No Papa," Owen told her, disappointed.
Artemis thwacked her forehead for tactlessness. The chair Conner had been folding crumpled like a tin can. "He'll have to be a late birthday present," Lisa said as she walked past with a stack of dirty dishes. "Don't worry, he'll get here eventually."
On a ship, lightyears distant from Earth, the Rogue watched in bemused silence as Digger smashed bulk head repeated while cursing a blue streak.
"Problem?" Batman asked as he walked in.
"Only that I'm a fucking moron," Digger snarled. "Do you know what day today is?"
"June 4," Batman stated.
"My son's birthday," Digger corrected. "Fucking hell, kid's the only good thing that ever happened in my life and I'm screwing it up."
That night, after all the company had gone home and Owen was put to bed, James found Conner glaring furiously at his own ghostly reflection in a darkened window. "Problem?" James asked.
Hartley and Evan glanced up from their respective amusements at his tone.
"I hate him," Conner snarled. "It's his fault Digger and the others weren't here for Owen's birthday and I hate him. I hate that he's anything to do with me. I hate looking like him." Conner put his fist through the window, through the reflection.
The other three boys traded worried glances then Trickster offered Conner a slightly maniac grin. "Oh no, looking like him has all sorts of potential." He grabbed up a pencil and paper and started sketching with quick, assured movements. "I mean when it comes to superheroes, who is a more straight-laced, stick-in-the-mud? And this totally wouldn't annoying the living hell out of him... except you do look like him, exactly like a younger version of him."
Piper and Mirror Apprentice draw closer, eager to see what Trickster has up his sleeve. Trickster finished his sketch with a flourish and turned it toward Conner. "That will really bug him?" Conner asked.
Trickster let the other two see his brilliant idea. Mirror Apprentice laughed. Piper cringed. "It'll work," he said, allowing that some sacrifices had to be made in the name of ticking off lousy genetic donors.
"I don't think these will work," Mirror Apprentice said. "I mean, literally, I don't think that'll work."
"It'll work," Trickster said confidently. "You just have to give me more than fifty seconds to work out all the details of how it will work and what we need to accomplish it."
Conner grimaced in distaste as he pulled on one of his old tee-shirts.
Trickster clapped him on the shoulder. "I know, but it's for the plan. Can't expect super-geniuses to go for the obvious unless you rub their nose in it a little."
Conner covered up the S-shield with a jacket. Trickster dropped a brightly shining pendant over Conner's head. "Jal orderly! Operation Trojan Horse is a go!" he shouted to the other boys.
Conner arrived in Metropolis inconspicuously by train and walked into the building across the street from the LexCorp Tower. He went up to the roof, peeled off the jacket and took a running leap at the towering structure across the street. Conner smashed through a plate glass window on the sixty-third floor of Lex Luthor's corporate headquarters. Fourteen floors short of his final destination.
The key now was moving fast. Conner leapt straight up, smashing through three more floors before the reinforced concrete won out against his momentum and no one had time to do more than blink at him in shock.
On the sixty-eight floor he was met by a hail of bullets. Conner put his hand over the pendant and crashed through another ceiling. They were up to firing bazookas at him by the time Conner busted into Lex Luthor's throne-room like office. The two female bodyguards who confronted him there didn't have heavy ordinance aimed at him but they held themselves with a much greater confidence than the dozens of gun-wielding flunkies he'd left scattered behind him on his way up.
"Did you really believe that there wouldn't be consequence for such arrogance, for bearding the lion in his den, Super... boy?" Lex Luther demanded as he withdrew a lead box from his desk and flipped open the lid.
Conner swayed dizzily as the green glow from the Kryptonite illuminated the room.
Trickster, Piper and Mirror Apprentice appeared from within the pendant. Piper put his flute to his lips and played. Lex's two guards reeled drunkenly as Piper's tune played havoc with their inner-ears.
Trickster swaggered brazenly across the room and snatched the lead box out of Luther's hand, snapping it closed in a smooth movement. "We'll be taking this."
"Consider it partial reimbursement for that job you never paid me for," Mirror Apprentice remarked. He sprayed the room with a quick burst of hardlight, shattering dozens of priceless articles. "Goddamn welsher," he added as he slid a shoulder under Conner's arm. The four boys left via the gleaming, polished surface of Luthor's desk.
"So? What now?" Conner asked.
"A good performer knows when to build suspense," Trickster declared. "Now we take our time. We'll grab Owen and some supplies to get started then lay low at Mount Justice. It's pretty far down on the list of places where people go looking for us. And you-know-who is pretty high on Boy Wonder's list of people getting unpleasant surprises if they try dropping by."
Lex Luthor stood on top of his building, scanning the skies. When he saw a red-caped figure hovering about the city's skyline he took out a revolved and carefully lined up his shot.
Two bangs and several seconds later Superman dropped the crumpled bullets in front of Lex while he hovered several feet above the roof and glowered down at Lex, his fists planted on his hips. "Since they're lead I assume you were simply trying to get my attention?"
"A bit more dignified than shouting," Lex said with a shrug. Then he glared back. "Reign you brat in!"
At Superman's perplexed look Lex rolled his eyes. "About this high. Wears an 'S' on his chest. Looks exactly like you. Ringing any bells here?"
"He hasn't worn the S-shield in months," Superman said, mostly to himself.
"Completely without provocation, he and his misbegotten friends smashed through over a dozen floors of my building, destroyed my office and stole a small Kryptonite sample from me," Lex ranted. "At the least teach him to fly. It'd cut down on the property damage."
"Kryptonite?" Superman asked with alarm.
Lex stopped. For several moments he just stared. Then he began chuckling with dark amusement. "If he'd informed me it was for you, I would have happily given it to him," Lex said. "Even if he fails, just knowing that your offspring wants to hurt you truly makes my day."
Still laughing, Lex turned and walked back inside.
"It's a shame to wreck Trickster's game," Flash said when Superman finished explaining his presence in Central. "He's played you so well. But I'd better, you have a history of reacting poorly to anything dealing with Conner."
"Played me?"
"The kryptonite isn't for you." Barry shrugged. "At least not the way you're thinking."
Superman looked at him, totally puzzled now. "What other use does Krptonite serve?"
"Conner wants to pierce his ear... Or maybe his tongue. Wally wasn't entirely clear on which body-part he was planning on putting holes in," Barry explained. "That's what they needed the Kryptonite for."
"He wants to do what?" Clark exclaimed. "Why?"
"To look less like you," Barry said flatly. "To do something you would disapprove of. Try to look appropriately horrified the next time you see Conner. James has been wonderfully creative coming up with a harmless outlet for how hurt and angry he is right now. You took away his family. Try to play along, you owe him the satisfaction at the very least."
Black Canary's eyes widened. She looked Conner up and down. It took several hard blinks for the whole of it to sink in.
Conner's hair had been bleached, twisted into spikes then dyed a multitude of shades never intended, by nature, to exist. There were several metal bars bisecting his right eyebrow, a small chain running between the ring in his nose to one of a multitude of rings decorating his ears. From the incessant click of metal on enamel Canary guessed that his tongue was pierced as well.
There was a bandage around Conner's upper arm. His tee-shirt looked like it had already gone through a battle, only the tears were too deliberately spaced to be collateral damage.
Conner's fists were clenched and from his expression Canary figured he was making a conscious effort to prevent himself from picking at the unfamiliar bits of metal studding his face.
Of his cohorts, Piper looked pained, Mirror Apprentice looked bored with the whole thing, and Trickster was watching Conner with the pride of an artist unveiling his master piece. On the Young Justice side M'Gann looked like she'd just swallowed a mouthful of salt-water. Kaldur looked confused. Artemis looked considering. Robin and Wally were watching Canary, eagerly awaiting her reaction.
"Moderation not your strong suit?" Canary asked Trickster mildly. He grinned widely and took a bow, flourishing his cape as he did so.
"It'll take some getting used to," Artemis commented.
"You're telling me," Conner muttered.
Canary used the brief reprieve to decide what actually required addressing. "Why are you bleeding black and blue?" she asked.
Conner looked down at the stained bandage on his arm and scowled. "Tattoos suck. They hurt and they don't last very long."
"As soon as we put the green-K away his skin started rejecting the ink," Mirror Apprentice explained.
"Thank goodness," M'Gann muttered under her breath.
Canary prowled around Conner examining the effect from multiple angles. Then her hand darted out and caught the chain attached to his nose. Conner found himself suddenly possessed by a strong impulse to follow where ever she might lead.
"Get rid of anything that might get torn out during a fight," Canary ordered.
Conner started to nod then thought better of it. "Yes ma'am," he said.
Canary released him and grinned. "But before you do, why don't you visit he Daily Planet in Metropolis? Talk to Lane and Kent... oh and make sure to let Jimmy Olsen see you. Words do not do that ensemble justice.
Conner smiled slyly. "That bad?" he asked.
"Absolutely dreadful," Canary assured him.
Conner glared at the receptionist in the Daily Planet's front lobby. "Black Canary called ahead to say I was coming."
The receptionist looked him over coolly. "She said Superboy was coming."
Conner sighed. He was wearing the S-Shield. "Today, you want it recognized that you're connected to him. And they're going to need all the help they can get," Trickster had said. Apparently the S-Shield wasn't enough. His gaze settled on the receptionist's coffee cup then he blew a thin stream of super-cooled air at it. In a second the steaming, dark liquid was a cube of ice.
The receptionist stared at the frozen coffee, she stared at Conner. "You're really? Seriously?"
"The other guy running around with freeze breath is about twice my age," Conner pointed out.
The receptionist hit the intercom button. "Jimmy!" she yelled. "Photo op! This'll totally blow that Superboy footage from Oregon out of the water!"
A few moments later an out of breath red-head with a camera clenched in his fist burst out of the stairwell. "What? Where?" he panted.
The receptionist grinned and gestured to Conner. "Jimmy, Superboy. Superboy, Jimmy Olsen. You don't mind if he takes your picture do you?"
"No," Conner said. "But I don't call myself Superboy anymore."
The elevator opened. Reporters were nothing if not curious and the receptionist's call had most of the paper's staff making their way to the front desk with varying degrees of urgency.
Standing toward the back of the elevator, coffee cup in hand, Clark waited for the people in front of him to clear out. Standing beside him Lois glowered threateningly at the crowd that was obscuring their view of the excitement. When Clark to got his first look at Conner the coffee mug shattered in his hand, sending the scalding liquid over his hand, some of it splashed onto Lois' arm. "OUCH! Clark! Careful!" she exclaimed drawing Conner's attention but not Clark's. 'Barry said tongue OR ear,' Clark found himself thinking numbly. 'Not AND and PLUS and, my god, what was he thinking when he did that to himself?"
"So, um, why don't you come over by the window," Jimmy said. "Or actually, why don't we go up to the roof, get the Metropolis sky-line as a backdrop."
Conner shrugged. Jimmy led the way. Everyone else trailed along.
"You're not going by Superboy anymore?" Jimmy asked as he clicked off a number of photos. "Why? ...And what do we call you?"
"I've got a real-person name now," Conner said. "But that's supposed to be secret, right? I haven't come up with a new costumed name yet."
"But WHY?" Jimmy asked with a trace of anguish in his voice. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to distance themselves from his idol.
"Because I'm not his, Superman's successor," Conner stated flatly. "I never really was."
"But!" Jimmy protested inarticulately and he was far from the only one.
"Cadmus cloned me from Superman. They told me the world needed Superman, so they needed me as a back-up if he should fall," Conner explained. "There was probably more to it than that. Because Cadmus is evil. But that's what was dinned into my head. I think more for myself now. I've had more real experience. I'm not a back-up or a copy of a real person. Being a clone doesn't make me not real." Suddenly and unexpectedly Conner grinned. "One of my friends says it's like being a much-delayed twin. I'm a real person. My own person. And Superman had made it very clear that he doesn't want a successor, or at least that he doesn't want me."
Clark studied his shoes guiltily. He still maintained that he was within his rights to not want responsibility for the results of Cadmus' experiments. But he was sorry that the kid got caught in the middle of things and got hurt.
"I'm not calling myself Superboy anymore and, after today, I'm not going to wear the S-Shield anymore," Conner declared. "I only wore it here so you'd know who I was. It's pathetic to want his attention so much when he clearly can't stand me."
"That's very mature," Lois said, pushing through the crowd. "And, to be blunt, sounds a little prepared. This," she gestured to Conner, "looks pretty angry. If not the look itself, then the effort you're going to to make sure Superman sees it."
"Trickster called it a non-verbal 'fuck you'," Conner supplied frankly. "Canary said I should be honest and I should try to be fair, especially when it comes to talking to you guys. But yeah, I'm mad. When I woke-up he was everything to me. Thanks to Cadmus everything I know about me was defined by what Superman was. And then I met him and he couldn't even look at me!" Clark glanced up, startled at hearing Conner's side of their non-relationship for the first time. "I got over it."
"Obviously not the end of the story," Lois prompted.
"The whole time I was the League's problem, he ignored me," Conner continued, his voice growing tense. "When I finally find people who actually want me around he takes them away from me."
"Central City's Rogues?" Lois clarified.
"Yeah."
"You do know that they're costumed criminals? And that Superman apprehended them in the middle of an armored car heist?"
"I know!" Conner snapped. "How am I supposed to feel? To Superman and the League I'm a dangerous, unnatural thing at worst. At best, I'm a burden they didn't ask for and don't have time for. The Rogues like me. They don't make me feel like I need to apologize for being alive."
To his alarm, Clark realized Conner was so tense he was shaking. He was on the verge of losing control and that was the one thing someone with their powers could never allow themselves.
"I'm trying," Conner said, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm trying to be a hero, to do the right things. I know the Rogues steal stuff, okay? I know. But they're not really bad, they don't set out to hurt people. Not like some heroes. With them I feel like, maybe, there's a chance I can be something good. 'Cause they don't treat me like a weapon that's gotta be locked away from real people."
"It's okay," Clark said soothingly. He put his hand on Conner's shoulder. "Easy now. No one's attacking you. We just want to hear your side. Alright now?"
Conner stared at Clark for several moments. Then his gaze dropped to Clark's unburnt hand where he'd spilled his coffee. Conner looked back to Clark's face. In his eyes Clark saw dawning realization.
Conner threw himself away from Clark, he almost went over the side of the railing in the process. He glared furiously at Clark. "NO! You don't get to change your mind now!" he exclaimed.
Clark backed off quickly, afraid for his secret, tired and frustrated by the way that everything he did turned out wrong around this boy.
"This was a stupid idea," Conner declared. And this time there was nothing accidental about it when he threw himself off the roof.
"Half a second later he was gone, just a couple of inch deep footprints in the asphalt left behind," Clark heard Lois' voice drifting up from Perry's office window.
"Olsen, at least tell me you got a decent picture of the kid?" Perry demanded stridently.
"Got 'em Chief."
Clark tuned out the conversation going on below as Black Canary stepped out of the Javelin. She'd landed on a neighboring building, one with a less obstructed roof than that of the Planet. Clark briefly took to the air, his cape fluttering behind him. He'd searched the city for Conner, taken off just as soon as Clark could make his excuses to his co-workers, without success.
"What were you thinking? Sending him here?" Clark demanded.
"I was thinking it's all public anyway: Conner's connections with the Rogues. You apprehending them. The rather unsubtle message he and Trickster composed in reply. I sent him here so you could do some spin control," Canary growled. "I sent him here so you'd talk to him in your real, fully-functional persona, instead of as the image. I was thinking maybe you'd finally remember what your heart is for."
"He recognized me," Clark snapped. "The glasses might be enough with most people but he sees my face every time he looks in a mirror! He recognized me and I'm the last person he wants to talk to now."
"Who's fault is that?" Canary asked tartly, hands on her hips.
"There was never anything real between us," Clark stated. "I might have been the one to tear down his imaginary castles, but he's the one salting the earth."
"Doesn't feel so great does it? Being the one reaching out and getting his hand slapped?" Canary asked. Then she sighed. "Give him some time. Like, maybe 'til the older Rogues are home safe. And on that subject: Resign yourself to the Rogues being a part of his life. Barry says Conner's smile could have lit the city when Cold's little sister insisted on calling herself his aunt."
Mirror Master grimaced and took a swallow from his canteen to wash away the taste of ration bars for dinner.
"Small and smokeless," Cold reminded Heatwave when he noticed the other Rogue staring at their campfire, enthralled.
"Spoilsport," Heatwave muttered.
Digger sat a little bit away from the camp, far enough to keep his night vision sharp as he took the first watch.
They'd set down in the wilds of Warworld, far from any structures, where the likelihood of being noticed was minimal. For the last week they'd been making their way to the planet's western engine complex on foot.
The wilds were undeveloped but far from uninhabited. Those who lived in there were less the standing army found in Warworld's complexes, more roving packs of predators sharpening their fangs on one another in anticipation of the day when they'd be unleashed on an unsuspecting planet. It had been simple enough to slip in and blend among them. Still their plan made for a long and tiring march. And even though the inhabitants hadn't recognized them as anything other than another marauding band they had yet to manage fifteen miles without a fight.
"What's Evan's story?" Batman asked Mirror Master with mild curiosity, the better to get an answer, as they settled in for the night.
"Don't rightly know," Scudder admitted. "Kid was never one to talk about the past much." He leaned back against a smooth outcropping of rock. "Here I am on a job one day and this crazy, skinny, little fifteen-year-old jumps through the reflection behind me. At first I was just gonna catch 'im and chuck 'im back out. But he's a slippery thing. He'd been on the streets for a month or two minimum 'less I seriously miss my guess and he knew how to run and hide."
"Eventually I start thinking there's no food our bodies can use on the other side of the glass and the last thing I want is a corpse tucked in some inaccessible crevice stinking up the joint. So I start putting out food and water for him. It was a bit like taming a feral cat."
" 'Ventually the kid starts liking me. Starts watching my back when I'm working, he takes to tossing crap through the mirrors at Flash when he'd get a little too close to catching me. All told it takes me damn near a year 'fore I manage to coax him back to the real world. By them I've gotten used to having him around. But he never says a word about what had him on the streets in the first place. Or how a kid with a Scot's accent you can't cut with a knife until he's had his morning coffee came to be knocking around in the States."
Scudder paused to take another drink. "What about you? How'd you end up being the first hero-type to turn up with a side-kick?"
"I wasn't able to prevent Robin's parents from being murdered," Batman said shortly. "Knew what he was going through. Knew what helped. Age aside, he was more than capable, so when he wanted to keep on I had no reason to stop him."
"Empathy'll get you every time. It's why we took to Conner so fast and why Piper and Trickster'll always have a place... Even the morning after all of Central City woke up with hot pink hair because Trickster was bored," Scudder remarked. "Quite a few of us older ones know a little too well what it's like not to be wanted."
"Grandma Joan, I need to borrow Owen," Wally asked as he skidded to a stop in the Garricks' kitchen. "Conner's upset, but I figure he'll come out for the squirt."
Owen hopped off the couch and held up his arms for Wally to pick him up. "Go fast 'kay?" he asked.
Wally grinned. "Like there's any other way to go."
Wally zipped Owen over to Metropolis and had him call for Conner at various points around the city. He noted that Owen didn't get disoriented by being carried around at speeds well in excess of the speed of sound the way normal people did. It was sort of cool having a kid-speedster around Wally concluded. Now if they could just find Conner.
After several more unsuccessful rounds, Wally had a brainstorm. He raced back to Central and the Rogue's lair. Conner was sitting on the floor in the corner of Cold's work room.
"Hey," Wally said, putting Owen down so he could climb in Conner's lap. "I heard today sort of sucked."
"Yeah," Conner sighed. "The Rogues are the greatest. Still it's not much fun spelling out for a bunch of reporters that having a criminal record is basically a prerequisite for an adult who doesn't think I'm a time-bomb waiting to go off."
Wally slid down the wall to sit beside Conner. "It's not that bad. My family likes you. So do the other mentors."
Without acknowledging Wally, Conner continued on, "And Superman, I saw him today in his civilian identity. He's probably freaked that I recognized him. I mean if there's anyone he didn't want to know who he really is it's me. But anyway, he tried being NICE to me. Now. Why doesn't he get it! I don't want him. I want Len back. I don't want someone who's only trying because he thinks I'm going evil and he doesn't want anyone to say it's his fault 'cause he's sucky parent."
"They'll get back," Wally promised.
Notes: In DC continuity, Owen Mercer is the son of Digger Harkness and the 31st century character, Meloni Thawne. He's Bart Allen's half-brother and a decedent of Zoom who is descended from Malcome Thawne who is Barry Allen's evil, separated at birth twin brother. I'm planning on reducing the number of generation considerably so for this story he's descended from Barry's evil twin, and the number of generation is few enough that if they did a blood test it would show a relationship between Barry and Owen.