There was no hiding Jason from Clark because Jason was not a small boy. While he shared his family's penchant for hiding and, apparently, stalking, he was broad and muscled. Conner had a hard enough time squeezing himself into his room as it was, with Jason there it was nearly impossible and they simply accepted their fate and Clark's worn out sigh of "I'll make some coffee".

Clark didn't say anything about Bruce or the new bruise blooming across Jason's cheek. He made coffee and boiled water for ramen and put on the X-Files. Jason curled up on the rug in front of the television and ate like he was starved.

"This is some really good shit," Jason said, though Conner didn't know whether he meant the food or the show.

Clark didn't say a word as he got an extra comforter and pillow out and did the couch up as best he could before waving and disappearing down the hall for bed. Conner bit his tongue. There would be time for questions later. Tonight he wanted more than anything just to sleep. He looked over at Jason.

Jason sat cross legged on the rug, combat boots discarded under the coffee table and bowl clutched in his lap while his eyes remained glued to the television screen. The flickering light from the show and the over-sized blanket now cocooned around him made him look younger. Conner was used to thinking of the boy as older and dangerous, but here, in this space, he could have been a kid.

Eyes flicked over to him, and Jason grinned. "You're dad is surprisingly chill with this."

"Clark's…" Conner trailed off because at this point what could he say, "Clark's been really good to me since I got here."

"I didn't mean to cause you any trouble," Jason said, and there was a tense line to his words. Like he was waiting for the lecture still. He set his bowl down on the coffee table. On screen the image slowly faded to black and credits rolled.

"I think that's the end of the tape," Conner said, getting up to go shut off the TV and wind the damn VHS.

"Listen, Conner," Jason said, sitting up, "I-"

"We can talk in the morning," Conner said easily. He smiled at Jason, and Jason wilted under it, uncharacteristically timid. "Don't go anywhere. You can stay as long as you like."

How many times had Conner wanted to hear that from someone, anyone, in his life? He turned towards the hall and his waiting bed.

This time Conner dreamed about flying. He'd had lots of dreams about flying growing up, always a blur, and the feeling lasted longer than the memory upon waking. This time the dream lingered. He had been flying over Metropolis. His head swam with images and half formed ideas of Roxy and Universities and sports cars.

When he shook off the worst of it and headed into the living room, he was unsurprised to find Jason sprawled over the couch. Jason was a snorer, it turned out.

Jason didn't seem at all taken aback or bothered by the lack of space or rundown nature of the apartment. In fact he seemed quite natural in it.

"Hey, sunshine," Conner said, and yanked the pillow out from under Jason's head.

Jason cursed as he awoke. A stream of foul language and flailing limbs that only stopped when Clark cleared his throat from where he stood at the entryway to the kitchen.

"You boys want breakfast?" he asked, holding a frying pan.

"Thank you Mr. Kent," Jason said when they were all seated at the rickety kitchen table.

Jason had egg hanging off the corner of his mouth.

Clark arched an exasperated brow at Conner, before opening the morning paper and saying a little too nonchalantly. "Should I be calling your father, young man?"

"Nah. No. It's fine. I…" Jason's eyes drifted over to Conner for help.

"I'll keep him out of trouble," Conner told Clark.

Now in all honesty, Conner didn't think Clark would buy that line, but the older man just sighed. "At least let me tell Bruce you're ok?"

Conner lent Jason a flannel and shoved him towards the shower first, mainly because "You smell like a dumpster," and also because he really needed a coffee before he could even think, let alone deal with Jason, who for his part seemed all too relaxed for someone who looked like they'd been mugged the night before. Conner was really beginning to come around to Tim's point of view on the other boy. Jason was an ass.

In the meantime he got ready for school as best he could. He had no illusions about Jason coming with him but-

There was a knock at the door.

Conner groaned even as he heard Clark answer the door in the living room.

He gave his room a quick scan to see if there was anything overtly incriminating or embarrassing, and had just enough time to kick some laundry under the bed before Tim was standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

"Hey," Tim said, looking properly dressed for school and Conner did his best to smile back even as he heard the shower shut off from across the hall.

" Er , I'll be just a second."

Tim nodded. But it was too late. As Tim surveyed the room, unsuspecting, Conner heard the door open, and in short order a muscular, freshly showered, incredibly shirtless Jason Todd was waltzing into his room, flannel held in one hand.

Jason, to his credit, barely tripped up over the presence of Tim. The only giveaway was a sly look he tossed in Conner's direction, which could have meant any number of things. Tim was less elegant, spluttering at the sudden intrusion, and then suddenly taking a step back as Jason stepped into the room and, quite uninvited, took a seat on Conner's bed.

"Jason," Tim said, voice sounding tight.

"Relax, Tim," Jason said, overly cheerful, "I got here last night. Figured it would be a safe place to crash. The Kents were very hospitable."

The look on Tim's face did nothing to reassure Conner, and he had a sinking feeling that maybe he should have called Tim last night as soon as he discovered the other Wayne on his couch.

Jason couldn't seem to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Maybe we should all talk?" Conner said, hoping to circumvent the mounting tension.

"Sure thing," Jason said, pulling on one sleeve of the borrowed shirt, "Why don't you and Timmy give me just a second. I'll be right out."

"I'm not going anywhere," Tim said, eyes narrowing. He crossed his arms and stepped more firmly into the room.

"Fine by me."

Conner was man enough to admit that he eavesdropped. He had meant to give the two privacy, of course, but the walls were thin, and Conner had a weak will.

"-are you trying to get yourself killed—"

"Oh that's rich, coming from you—"

"Dick was up all night—"

"-as I recall you pulled some stunts yourself when you were —"

"-and Bruce is unbearable when you do this and—"

It didn't take long for Conner to realize what he was hearing was likely a repeat conversation, something they'd been talking in circles about for years. And it felt achingly familiar. Instead of lingering, he wandered into the kitchen where Clark stood at the counter, second coffee of the morning in one hand, last page of the paper in the other. He looked up over thick rimmed glasses as Conner slinked into the room and smiled the dimpled, good ' ole Kansas boy smile that probably worked to charm the pants off of most of his interview subjects.

The sound of arguing grew louder momentarily.

"Odd boys Bruce's got there," he said, with a solemn nod.

Conner leaned up against the wall. It was hard to think with the noise but-

"They aren't so bad." He waited a beat, and then, "You told Bruce?"

Clark shrugged and folded up the paper, placing it down on the counter before grabbing a coat he'd left slung over a chair and looking for his keys.

"Bruce has always asked me to look out for his boys. Besides, we're not really in a place to judge ourselves."

Clark found his keys buried under a pile of mail and snatched them up with an "ah ha!"

"We're not so bad either," Conner said.

Clark smiled at him, and paused, "No. No we are not."

The shouting in the other room had receded somewhat, and Conner shifted uncomfortably. Part of his brain screamed at him to ask now. Ask about Lois, about John, about Lex but just when he thought he found his voice he heard the bedroom door open.

"Remember to lock up," Clark told him. He ruffled his hair as he walked by, before heading out for the day.

It was raining.

Tim and Jason managed to say nothing to each other the entire way to the car. Jason lit up a cigarette as they walked, and Tim looked like he was trying to burn a hole into the pavement with the way he glared.

"Shotgun," Jason said, and Conner normally would have fought him, but with one look at Tim's face he slid into the back passenger side seat.

Jason cracked a window, even in the face of the drizzle, and Tim said nothing as he started the engine and pulled onto the street. The ride to school took forty minutes in rush hour traffic. Conner could have walked faster. As they pulled up to the school, Tim put the car in idle on the curb.

"Aren't you coming?" Conner asked.

Tim met his eyes in the rear view mirror. "Jason and I have some things to do."

Conner's hand hovered over the handle. "Like what?"

Jason snorted.

Tim scowled. "Nothing you need to worry about."

At that Conner pulled back from the door and crossed his arms. "And what did we just say yesterday about lying? You guys can't do this."

"He's got you there," Jason said, and took a drag of his cigarette.

Tim sighed. And then, like it cost him great effort, said, "We're going to go take a look at some dangerous, distinctly non-human crime scenes. It would be safer for you to go to school."

"If it's so dangerous shouldn't you call your dad or something?" Conner asked.

"That's not how this works," Tim said.

Conner crossed his arms.

"Take him along," Jason said, sounding exasperated. He blew a large puff of cigarette smoke out the cracked window and kicked his dirty biker boots up onto the dash. "You can take him to Z, I'll handle the...other stuff."

Tim glared at his brother and the two had one of their silent, no - so - subtle conversations.

"Fine," Tim said at last, and kicked the engine into gear.

They dropped Jason off in some warehouse district. When Conner began to protest, Jason just spun around in the rainy alley and gave him a half assed salute and a " See you at nightfall, Kent." That left just Conner and Tim. Tim's fingers thrummed against the steering wheel, impatient as he pulled out of the alley and started towards downtown. Conner said nothing, still reeling from the awkwardness of yesterday and the tension of the morning.

Tim drove well above the speed limit, the little red sports car maneuvering expertly between lanes of traffic as his agitation seemed to mount. Unlike Jason's driving, however, Conner never felt jolted. Tim took each turn naturally and beside the constant thrum of the engine when he hit the accelerator, they rode in silence.

Eventually the warehouses morphed into townhouses, which in turn slowly became shops, until bars and strip clubs and grungy liquor stores started popping up. Conner had never been to this part of town.

Eventually Tim pulled into the backlot of a club with bright fluorescent flamingos up front, and cut the engine.

"If we're going to do this, you're going to have to trust me," Tim was looking at him through the rear view mirror.

Conner nodded. "Sure."

Tim sighed. "Sorry for freaking out back there. Jason, he really knows how to get under my skin, you know?"

Conner reached out and found Tim's shoulder. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry. Mine too."

Tim smiled at him and then got out of the car. The drizzle and morning air bit into Conner's skin immediately. Tim didn't seem to feel it though. Today a long, grey coat pulled over a black turtleneck made him look like something of a younger, hipper, CEO. He put on shades despite the weather, and gestured for Conner to follow him into the back of the club. Conner felt rather under dressed in his hoodie and jacket, but he tried to act natural as he lumbered after the admittedly more graceful and better dressed young man.

The, ugly, squat building squeezed between a seedy hotel and what looked like a high rise apartment complex, hid one of the most beautiful interiors Conner had seen in Gotham. Just inside the back door was a long platform and a series of industrial, bare metal stairs that descended into what felt like the belly of the city. Below them hung rustic chandeliers on large chains, two large, circular bars with slick black counters and hairpin bar stools. At the far back of the room, between the two bars, was a stage. It was obvious the place hadn't opened yet, with only one or two staff in waistcoats walking about below.

Conner must have looked impressed because Tim grinned at him. "Guess the club scene in Hawaii wasn't super great?"

"This place looks like a film set."

Tim shrugged. "They filmed some superhero movie here once, a few years ago."

Conner could picture it. He followed Tim down the stairs, and watched the young Wayne wave at the staff, who simply waved back and generally ignored him.

"Here often?" Conner asked, genuinely curious. What did this place look like at night? Was this what normal rich people his age did?

"Sort of," Tim admitted, "Come on."

Tim led him down the stairs past the bars to a door in the far back of the room. The door opened to a dark hallway, with double doors to their right obviously leading to the kitchen. Tim took them left and knocked on a door with a nameplate next to it. A sticky note stuck over the bronze nameplate read Zatanna Zatara in neat cursive.

The door swung open.

"Timothy Drake Wayne, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Zatanna was a dark haired woman in stage makeup and a glittery tailcoat. "And make it quick, we're running rehearsal in an hour."

"Hello, Zatanna . Nice to see you too. My family has need of a witch."

Zatanna Zatara's dressing room was full of exactly the type of contraptions Conner recalled from magic and gag shops growing up. The kind he could only ever go in when Lex wasn't looking, and almost certainly the kind he wasn't allowed to buy anything from. Tarot cards, dream catchers, fake candles, chains, and top hats hung off the corner of her vanity. Card decks full of hearts lay scattered across the floor.

Zatanna led them to a lumpy sofa with a faux fur throw and fold out chair propped against the arm. She made her way to a corner of the room with a small kitchenette and set a kettle on a plug-in burner.

"Tea?"

"Do you have anything with extra caffeine?" Tim asked, folding into the couch like it was natural.

Conner tried to follow suit, but found there was an uncomfortable scent in the air he couldn't put his finger on, and a general feeling of disarray and chaos in the room that kept him from completely relaxing.

"I think I've got something for you," Zatanna said with a wink.

Tim must have visited her often because he seemed content to lean back on the sofa and scroll through his phone while Zatanna busied herself with tea. "And for your friend?"

"Nothing," Tim said.

"Not asking you," Zatanna sang.

Conner stuttered out a nothing, thanks , and sank further into the couch. He wasn't sure what "witch" meant, but after everything Tim had told him he was inclined to, this time, keep his head down.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Zatanna sauntered over with two steaming mugs. She sat down in front of her vanity, and tossed Conner a red lipped smile as she sipped her tea. Her lipstick didn't stain the cup.

"Thank you, Zatanna ," Tim said, "It's been a long morning."

"I can imagine, for you to be coming to me. Is your dad busy ? "

"Something like that?"

"Tell him his dear old friend Zatanna misses him, why don't you?"

Zatanna spun on her stool, placed her mug on the vanity table, and started to work on her hair, twining long black locks around her fingers, curling them up near her head, and pinning them in place. Stunning blue eyes stared at them through the vanity mirror, and for a minute Conner felt their eyes lock, and something in him gave, like all the things that normally kept thoughts of Roxy and Tana and Lex at bay had been violently jerked aside. He forced his thoughts back into check and when he looked again, Zatanna had turned her attention to Tim.

"So tell me, what troubles the Waynes this time?"

"There's something new in Gotham." Tim said. He didn't look at Zatanna but stared into his tea.

"Isn't there always?" she said, sounding exasperated. She dug around under her table and found a curling iron. It took her a few tries, but she found an outlet behind the clutter, and plugged it in before picking it up and resuming her efforts.

"I know it isn't a concern of yours," Tim said, "but it's our job to see to Gotham's safety. We can't have some monster running around eating the homeless."

Zatanna gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"You know what I meant," Tim said.

"And why isn't your father here telling me this? That's usually the only reason he comes around these days." Zatanna sounded almost distracted as she tried to pin a stray curl by forehead so that it didn't quite look like a cowlick.

"He's busy."

"He told you to leave it alone, didn't he?" when Tim didn't answer, Conner turned to look at him more fully. Tim stared into his tea. "You can't lie to a witch, Tim."

"So what?"

"So why should I help you? Every member of the Gotham underworld and their cat knows how protective that damn bat gets of his kids. You don't cross him lightly. Especially where you all are concerned."

"This is important," Tim said. "And he can't— B doesn't have time to do everything."

"No, I suppose that's why he recruits children into his crusade."

" Zatanna—"

"Sorry."

Zatanna sighed and set down the curling iron. "Alright. Fine. But you know how this works." She spun around to face them, hair now done up like a princess or a goddess. "You get what you give."

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't ready for that."

Zatanna grinned, and the lights flickered. From somewhere beyond her dressing room a sound like wailing echoed and reverberated through the building. Conner must have looked as shocked as he felt because she laughed.

"They're doing stage tests," she said, not at all reassuringly, and swept about the room, sifting through the clutter and muttering under her breath.

Conner tried to relax. He really, really did. But he must have looked like he was on the verge of panic because he felt Tim reach out and squeeze his hand lightly. He looked up. Tim didn't say anything, but he nodded. Conner stared down at the floor, discolored and ageing carpet, and took a breath. This wasn't nearly as scary as a hairy, red eyed monster barreling towards him with fangs bared.

The lights went out, and Zatanna lit a match. She took a few minutes to light a couple candles, which she set down on the coffee table in front of the couch. She took a seat across from them, and in her right hand, in the flickering candlelight, produced a deck of cards.

"Are you sure about this?" She said one last time.

Tim nodded.

"Tell me what you want to know, and I'll tell you what you need to give."

Tim broke away from Conner and was suddenly all business. "I need to know what it is we're dealing with, and how to stop it."

Conner could have sworn Zatanna hissed. "That's a lot to ask."

"I'm here aren't I?"

What happened next convinced Conner maybe he would have been better off if the Waynes were vampires. Static filled the air, and the room around them faded to black. Conner's awareness centered only on the flickering candle light, and the way it painted Zatanna's face in his vision like some kind of phantom. Her eyes glinted like diamonds, colorless in the glow of the fire, and her gaudy makeup suddenly morphed into something unreal and terrifying. Conner suddenly felt that maybe he was in the presence of a monster after all.

Zatanna when she next spoke sounded older, as if a thousand women were speaking at once. "Child of the Bat, for what you seek, we will need something more than old secrets and dusty images."

"Name your price," Tim said, voice icy and crystalline in comparison. It yanked Conner out of his delusion, and for just a moment Conner was in a normal room, with a normal stage magician, before Zatanna spoke and pulled him back in.

"We want him," A painted nail raised, pointed towards Conner. Conner reeled a little. He wasn't too fond of belonging to anyone, frankly, but his tongue felt like cotton, and as he tried to speak, Tim jumped up first.

"That's not how this works," Tim said, sounding angrier than Conner expected.

"Little bird, this isn't a game. There are no rules here. You want to know things. We want him."

"He's not mine to give."

Not-Zatanna cackled. "Then you are more foolish than we took you for. Perhaps you should have let daddy handle this after all-"

" Zatanna!" Tim stood, rattling the table. Not-Zatanna stared up at him.

"He will not be hurt," She cooed, "It's a trade of equal value, after all. You value this human?"

"This isn't negotiable."

Not-Zatanna's head snapped unnaturally in Conner's direction. "And what do you say? I'll trade you my secrets for yours."

Miraculously Conner's voice found its way, raspy and weak though it was, "You don't want my secrets. They aren't very interesting."

"This deal is off," Tim said. Conner could see him moving out of the corner of his eye, but couldn't tear his gaze away from Zatanna, whose eyes looked colorless. And their depths seemed to stretch on forever. Almost like watching a movie, he could feel it as she drew closer and couldn't do anything to make himself move.

Once more without his consent thoughts of Kay and Lex and Clark...of his childhood, and his rather eventful time in Hawaii, started swimming. Like this, in the dark, it was hard to tell who the woman in front of him even was- and with all that, suddenly the lights flashed on, and Conner reeled back, tripping and falling back onto the couch. He hadn't realized he'd stood up .

"This is over," Tim said, standing by the light switch, looking angrier than Conner had ever seen him. He then turned and stormed out of the room. Conner realized belatedly that he had probably been meant to follow.

"Don't worry about it," And now that Zatanna's normal speaking voice had returned he realized it was lyrical, almost in tone. He turned to look at her. In the bright light the room returned to looking like a hurricane had hit an antique store, and Zatanna returned to looking like a slightly older Prom Queen, with a pearly grin and a glittery tailcoat.

"Sorry bout the dramatics back there," Zatanna said, "Tea?"

And now Conner felt certain, whatever had happened he had to have hallucinated some of it.

"Thanks," he said, feeling parched and tired, he took the offered mug. "What just happened?"

"Oh, you know," Zatanna said. She raised her hand in a lazy wave, gesturing to where Tim had gone off, "Some people just barge in here wanting magic answers to all their problems. And then get mad when they realize you can't just abracadabra your monsters away."

"Is that what he was trying to do?"

Zatanna shrugged. Finished with her tea, she turned back to her vanity and used a makeup brush to start carefully applying a translucent powder that Conner could only guess the use of.

"He means well. But magic doesn't work if you plan to sacrifice something. A sacrifice is something you don't want to lose. Something you wouldn't trade."

Conner contemplated his tea. "I don't think I get it. All you wanted was, what, my secrets? Who I am? I could tell you that. It's not that important."

Zatanna grinned at him in the mirror. "You weren't the person making the trade."

Conner flushed slightly. It was nice, if unnecessary for Tim to get so defensive on his behalf. If he had known, he could have just told Creepy Zatanna whatever she wanted. Even if it had been slightly uncomfortably.

"Honestly, I've got to ask," Zatanna picked up a mascara wand, but paused to look at Conner before she continued with her makeup, "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"Who you are?"

Conner felt some of the uneasiness from earlier creeping back into the pit of his stomach. "It...I don't think it would matter."

Zatanna considered him in silence for a long, long time. Finally she sighed, put her makeup aside, and walked over to the coffee table. She picked up a card from the top of the discarded Tarot deck and handed it to Conner without looking at it.

"Let me tell you something, Conner. Tim came in here today thinking he would give up his own memories or secrets or even on e of his fathers ' in exchange for information. But the minute I tried to take a single thing from you, he backed out without a second thought. Maybe that's not a big deal to you, but I think you should tell him. He's too in his own head. Too convinced that this is the way the world works I...I used to be friends with Bruce. I know what he's like."

"He already knows the important stuff."

"You don't think Lex Luthor is important?"

Conner flinched. "Look, it's not like it's a secret-"

"Listen kid, I really don't care. You're too young for this. Do whatever you want. I'm just saying he likes you. And be careful. Now shoo. I have a show to prep for."

Conner found Tim pretending not to be angry outside. Tim tended to try his hardest to keep his face looking neutral, and as a result often looked more unnatural than he probably meant to. No amount of shades and staring straight ahead could disguise the fact that what had just transpired infuriated him.

"Conner," he said, "took you long enough."

"Sorry you didn't get what you wanted out of this," Conner said, even though he really had nothing to apologize for, and frankly after talking to Zatanna, he wasn't sure the witch did either.

"What's that?" Tim asked, noting the card Conner still had clutched in his hand.

He flipped it over to get a better look. Instead of the tarot card he was expecting he found a business card.

Zatanna Zatara

Illusionist, Actress, and Exorcist

Mistress of Magic

"Well at least she likes you," Tim said, rolling his eyes. "Not that that did us much good."

"What were we hoping to find out?" Conner asked, tucking the card in his back pocket. The two started towards the car.

"Right now I have a list of bodies and an idea of what this thing looks like. I was hoping for something more concrete."

"Like what?"

"A name," Tim shrugged, "A location would have been good too."

Conner paused for a moment. "Actually. I might have an idea."

Coming home in the middle of the school day had a surreal vibe. Back in Hawaii Conner really hadn't bothered to try and go to school. If he did go, he showed up late and left early, and Roxy had normally been home waiting for him to get out back in those early days.

Now, however, he wondered when his life had become so normal. The place was empty, and even the downstairs neighbors must have had jobs or better things to do because he unlocked the front door in the deep oppressive silence only a house built before the 1900s could provide.

Tim stayed close by, perhaps feeling a bit uncomfortable in his surroundings, but Conner blocked that out in favor of the task at hand. He sat Tim down in the living room, and made his way down the hall to Clark's room.

As he stood before the door to his father's bedroom, he hesitated. There wouldn't really be any going back after this. Any pretending that he wasn't completely taking advantage of Clark's trust and good nature, just like every other person in the man's life.

Conner sighed.

He opened the door.

Clark's room was exactly what Conner thought it would be, and still having never seen it before, it felt weird to be standing in it. He had a soft, rusty orange rug, a full sized bed pushed up against the far wall, and a desk half the size of Conner's own. For all his complaints of his own room being a broom closet, Clark's wasn't much bigger.

First he checked the desk, and was rewarded quite quickly. He found a bundle of Clark's notes and newspaper clippings in the first drawer. As he started assembling what he could find of Clark's research, he noticed, next to the spot that must have usually contained Clark's laptop, a small photo. It looked old, no bigger than a baseball, in a silver frame. Conner's old childish features gazed back up at him.

Conner did not remember when this picture had been taken. He couldn't even tell how old he was. No older than maybe five or six? Possibly younger. He'd seen very few pictures of himself from when he was young. Lex didn't have a penchant for hanging up family portraits that weren't carefully posed headshots, and it wasn't like Conner had asked for any before running away. He picked up the picture to get a better look.

In the image it was obvious he was sitting on someone's lap. Blue jeans and the bottom half of a grin and a head full of black curls gave it away to be Clark. They were sitting on someone's couch. Conner was dressed up in dark blue baby overalls and shiny black boots. He looked remarkably like the picture of Jon he still had hidden in the back of his English book.

He wondered who took the picture. Had it been Lex? Some friend Conner had never met?

It took a long time for Conner to put down the picture. Ultimately the only reason he finally did it was the thought of Tim growing bored or curious out on the couch. Zatanna's advice of telling Tim who he really was surfaced.

He hadn't even really realized how much of a secret it was, but now that it was pointed out, he wasn't even sure how to bring it up. Hey sorry I've been on and off harassing you for being rich and crazy, did you know my dad is Lex Luthor?

Conner shook it off and grabbed Clark's things. No good came of worrying about things he couldn't predict. He returned to the living room with bundles of paperwork and found Tim sitting on the couch stiff-spined and staring straight down like he'd been caught passing notes in class.

Conner laughed. "Relax. Here, this is what I wanted to show you."

He spread Clark's research out on the coffee table.

"Oh," Tim said, and Conner could tell he was already trying to puzzle out all the red pen and newspaper clippings.

"Investigative reporter," Conner said softly.

Tim grinned up at him. Conner took a seat beside him and they got to work.