Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Tomorrow

Chapter Five: Tuck Your Knees in Tight

Tents came down. Sleeping bags were rolled up. Bags and weapons were thrown over shoulders. Everywhere, bodies scrambled to break camp. The League of New Shadows was moving. The Demon said 'jump'; everyone answered 'how high'.

He had to proceed now under the assumption that the Usurper knew his plans and had known his plans all along, ever since before his mother had dropped him off on his father's doorstep. Before he even knew who the demon was, before they had ever even met, the Usurper knew they would be enemies. So much was thrown into perspective now…

Yes, the Demon had been the aggressor at the start of their relationship. New to his father's household, already at the age ten and unsure of his position, the Demon had taken it into his head to kill the Usurper, Tim Drake. Years later he realized it had been a ridiculous notion and he and Drake made nice. Of course, that was mostly due to the fact that they needed to work together to repel a hostile alien invasion and protect the Earth. But they still managed to work in tandem without incident and the Demon was forced to admit the value of Drake's existence.

Then Grayson passed away.

That was when everything changed. Grayson had taken over as Batman and as patriarch of the bat-clan after the Demon's father disappeared. When it became apparent that the original Batman was never coming back, Grayson's claim to the Batman mantle was solidified. Grayson became like a second father figure to the Demon –though, he was sure to make it clear and distinct that he did not view Mar'i Grayson as a sister. But after Grayson passed away, a question arose as to who would take over the Batman mantle. The Demon claimed it by birthright; Drake claimed it by right of seniority.

They fought.

At first just with words. For days they argued, throwing arguments and evidence as to why each of them was more qualified to be the next Batman. They became as mature and civil as two children fighting over a ball on the play yard. Both wore their own variations of the Batman uniform, both answered to the name. Then, one evening in the Nest their 'debate' escalated into blows. Damian won that first match and Drake slunk away, beaten, his tail between his legs.

'Go cry to your boyfriend!' The Demon shouted after him, knowing that it would hurt Drake far more than any physical would he'd sustained. To be reminded of the dear friend he'd lost, then regained, only to –by his own hands- drive him away again. The Demon was still unclear on the details; he never did find out what Drake did that had made the clone hate him so much. All he cared about in that moment was that it would add insult to the injuries Drake already had. He thought it would hobble his spirit and break whatever resolve he might have had left –to be reminded that he was truly and totally alone in the world. No one loved him. Even his best friend hated him.

Oh, how wrong the Demon was.

Drake did not break. Drake seethed. The Demon underestimated him. He returned less than a year later, no longer calling himself 'Batman', or 'Red Robin' or even just 'Robin'. In solid black body armor and a black cape and cowl, much like his father's but without the iconic bat symbol on the chest. Drake snuck into Nest, hacked the computers –he had always been better at that sort of thing than the Demon. All the Robins were better at computers then the Demon, his talents lay in the more physical arts of the job.

Drake fed false information from the Nest's own computers to a select few influential civilians in the city. Nothing large or earth-shattering. Just things to make them wonder, and think, and guide their trains of thought to Drake's station. It took a week, but within a week the whole city was in Drake's pocket. Psychological warfare, and Drake had won it. Popular opinion was an amazing and underappreciated weapon. Drake commanded Gotham then, he was the Commander. And Gotham turned on her Batman, the Demon was forced to flee the city.

Mar'i offered to come with him; to share his exile and that single offer warmed him. Probably saved him from becoming another monster worse than Drake. It definitely moved him enough to throw caution and sanity to the wind and declare his undying love for her. Out there, on the ash-choked wasted of the border between the city and the habitable zone… The clouds dark and bleak above, somber gray 'snow' falling around them, standing on the cracked and broken remains of what might have been a low-income housing district. The Demon spoke the one three-word sentence he never planned to utter in his whole life.

Then he told her to turn around and go back to the Nest. He had a plan and he would need an operative in the Usurper's household.

But all that would be meaningless if it turns out Drake was aware of his plans all along! If his past-self had learned anything pertinent, that coupled with the knowledge of their relationship that his present-day self had would be enough for the clever bastard to deduce his coup. How much did he know? Allen was adamant that they knew nothing. That he had shown up before either of them could really learn more than the current handles and maybe the names of a couple of their friends' kids. That was it. Don't worry, Demon, they don't know anything.

'For your sake, Allen, I hope you're right.'

But the Demon was still going to step up his plans. The schedule was changed. The arrival of these time-travelers would make a big disruption in the Usurper's daily grind. Maybe it would disrupt him enough to give the Demon an opening. He just needed to be there and in a position to take advantage of it. For that, he needed to get moving.

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tick-tock

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His pen ran out of ink. Damn it.

The Commander tossed the now useless plastic stick-pen across the room. Soon, very soon now. Time was winding down, drawing ever closer to his climactic end. But before that happened he wanted to get everything down. Write down everything he remembered from the past forty years in his little blue book for his past counterpart to study and learn from. Of course, he already knew most of it would never get used. He knew because he refused to even open the blue book until after his final falling-out with Superman. Maybe if he had read it sooner that tragedy could have been avoided.

But he wouldn't think about that now. The Commander put it behind him and never looked back.

Except that he was looking back. Not just in order to write it down in this little future journal to give to his past-self, but just in general. Even since Mar'i reported the temporal disturbance that announced their arrival and heralded the beginning of his end. He though about Superman more in the past night than he had in the past twenty years. Suppressing a silent snarl, the Commander stood in search of a new pen.

It was funny. In all those end-of-the-world movies and works of fiction, people were always concerned with the big things like food, clean water, shelter, weapons, medicine, etc. Those were large concerns and did give the Commander more anxiety than he liked to remember back in the early days. But now that things have long since settled into a regular pattern, he was finding that little mundane things he used to take for granted had become rare and precious too. Things like pall-point pens that still hand ink and could write. Who would have thought that in this post-apocalyptic setting, he would pine for a pen almost as much as others might pine for a cheeseburger and fries.

Was he deflecting?

Probably.

It kept him from thinking about Superman. About that night. Or had it been a day? It was near impossible to tell days from nights in those first early years of ash and blackness. But the Commander distinctly remembered it was dark. Outside the tower and inside. He had siphoned off most of the power from the rest of the building to his cloning chamber. He had been so sure Kon would return at first. After all, Clark came back after his death. But when the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, he was forced to confront the fact that his Kon was good and truly dead and not coming back. So, he turned his time, effort, resources and more than a considerable amount of genius to preserving some part of the Superboy, so that at least some small piece of his Kon would continue and survive.

The cloning process was more difficult than he imagined and the Commander quickly understood why Cadmus had to splice in human DNA. The kryptonian genotype was far to complex to be deciphered with the limited knowledge and primitive technology humans had available to them. With what he had, the Commander would never be able to make a strait-up clone. He wouldn't be able to make an exact copy of his late friend. If he wanted to produce a viable specimen, he would have to splice in some human DNA, just as Cadmus had done…

'What the fuck! What the hell is this!?'

'Wait! You don't understand!'

And then Kon did come back. It was miraculous and wonderful and the Commander could not manage to contain his elation at seeing his friend alive again. There had been a hug that lingered perhaps longer than the Commander should have let it. Then followed an awkward moment of homoerotic tension in which they said nothing and avoided each other's eyes. Then came the questions and attempts to over-simplify vastly complicated explanations for how it was possible. Followed by declarations of undying friendship. Then, the Commander uttered the one sentence he regretted more than anything else in his life.

'I want to show you something.'

He made Kon fly them back to the island that held the tower, the Team's new base of operations ever since the Mount Justice Cave had been destroyed. Holding the demi-kryptonian's hand, he lead him through the dimly lit corridors to his lab in the basement, a room the Team had long since dubbed the 'Timcave'.

Kon froze when he saw another version of himself floating suspended in a cylindrical tank of synthetic embryonic fluid. The tank stretched from the consol it was mounted on all the way up to the ceiling. The clone inside bobbed up and down, clad in a solid white solar suit similar to the one Kon himself had worn during his gestation at Cadmus, similar to the one Match wore when Kon found him, similar to the one every super-clone seemed to wear at this stage in their development. But did he notice that the Commander had replaced the trademark S in the center of the shield with his robin's head? Would he understand the significance?

'What the fuck. Tim! What the hell is this!?'

'Wait, Kon! You don't understand!'

He did not notice. Or if he did notice, he failed to understand its significance. The cylinder was smashed open, the fluid spilling out, flooding the small basement room. The clone came tumbling out with the fluid. Hitting the floor with a loud THUD that would have made Tim wince if he weren't already horror-struck by the violence of Kon's reaction. The clone's eyes opened, blinking at the world around him in the wide-eyes innocents of ignorance. There was no comprehension behind those crystal-blue eyes, so much like Kon's. Tim had not yet implemented any sort of education programs. All the clone had were the basic instincts all creatures were born with.

He tried to stand. Sitting up in the inch deep fluid that washed over the floor. But Kon knocked him back down. Held him there. Knee on the chest. Hands on the throat. The clone struggled, the instinct of survival kicking in instantly. But he didn't have TTK and Kon did. He was new and ignorant and inexperienced, having nothing more than a basic survival instinct, while Kon had experience restraining powerful foes –lots of experience- and training and programming on how to kill kryptonians. He was made to be a weapon after all. Tim had never though of him as a weapon before. Academically, he understood that was what Kon was made to be, but until that very moment, seeing the murderous rage in his eyes, his hands around their clone's throat… in that moment Tim witnessed a transformation. He became what he was always meant to be.

…and it broke his heart.

'Kon, wait! You don't understand!'

He tried to pull the Superboy off, already knowing that a mere human like himself didn't have a chance in hell against a demi-kryptonian. But he tried anyway. Kon smacked him away. Actually smacked him –hard! Tim went flying backwards, his back impacting on a wall, the back of his head hitting a control panel. A white-hot pain lanced through him and he saw stars behind his eyes. …That was the last thing Tim remembered. The next thing he was aware of was waking up in the tower infirmary, Cass, and Dick, and Steph leaning over him –all looking a little sick. He didn't need to ask them what happened. He could guess.

That was the last time Red Robin and Superboy ever saw each other. Kon permanently relocated to the Fortress of Paradise, instating an almost isolationist policy. The city-state still traded with certain territories for some necessities that they just couldn't make for themselves or substitute with kryptonian crystal tech, and then there was the occasional marriage contract to combat inbreeding between the citizens (small community that it was). But for the most part, the Fortress was an island and the Superman –he was called 'Superman' now- rarely (if ever) strayed far from his crystal citadel. Once they had been best friends, the Finest of friends… now, they were less than strangers to one another.

'Tim, promise me we'll always be friends.'

'I promise.'

'Always.'

The Commander found a pencil. He returned to his little blue book. He chose the blue journal because the cover was hard leather and durable. It would withstand the test of forty years (as his own copy had proved). But also, there was a bit of an inside joke to it as well. He forgot the name of the series, but there was a sci-fi show he liked to watch back when TV actually existed. About a funny man who traveled through time and space (and sometimes dimensions) in a magical blue box. Later in the series he met another time traveler and kept meeting her. They both kept journals –the same shade of blue as the box- to keep track of where on each other's timeline's they were. Tim's journal was a slightly darker shade of blue, but it was enough to remind him of a happier time. A time when he could make amusing references and have them go completely over Kon's head.

'I wear a cowl now. Cowls are cool.'

And Kon could just roll his eyes; not understanding because the only TV he watched was 'No Signal'. 'Your head looks like a condom.'

'Tim, promise me we'll always be friends.'

Always.

The most hated word in the English language. Always. Always didn't account for death. It didn't figure how resurrection could change a person. How the trauma of having their life end then begin again could drive them… To become what Kon became. Always…

But he should have known. Jason was a little crazy when he returned from the dead. But Clark had not been. Clark had a little PTSD, but overall was fine. Jason was insane. Kon was jealous, vindictive and murderous. Maybe it was a human thing. Humans were meant to die when they are killed. Die and stay dead. Krypronians get a second chance. Jason went crazy. Clark was fine. Kon wavered half-way between.

There was the scrape of a boot on the floor, a deliberate sound since the Commander had designed those boots himself –they were meant to be soundless, silent. The person cleared their throat conspicuously. The Commander did not turn around to face McGinnis. He just continued writing. Almost. He almost had everything down.

"I'm about to go on patrol." Said the boy.

And he really was just a boy. Seventeen. True, the Commander had been even younger than him when he first donned the Robin mantel. But now, at the age of fifty-four, seventeen seemed like a baby. What would the Demon do with McGinnis after he was gone? He supposed that would depend on Terry. He didn't know that he and the Demon were actually half-brothers (genetically speaking, of course). That McGinnis was a partial clone of the original Batman. The Commander thought about telling him more than once, but it had never seemed like a wise idea. As far as Terry knew, Warren McGinnis was his father, and he loved the memory of his father.

The Commander thought about the clone he had made. He never even gave him a name, before Kon snuffed him out. Academically, the Commander had to wonder if on some level he hadn't been replacing the clone with Terry on some subconscious level. Emotionally, he refused to admit that it was even a possibility. The clone was his. McGinnis was a Cadmus throwback he just happened to find at a critical moment.

"Are you okay?" The boy asked, lifting one ebony eyebrow at his back. "Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

"I'll sleep when I'm dead." The Commander growled. It wouldn't be long now. He took a deep breath and swiveled his chair around to face the young Batman. McGinnis stood in full uniform, sans the mask, arms crossed over his chest –studying him. He was young, still a little carefree, and had the happy influence of a living mother and younger brother. His glare did not hold the deathly seriousness or oppressive undertones that Bruce's bat-glare had. But… the hintings were there, like a shadow of the Bat marking him as an heir to the cowl. The Commander turned his chair back around and resumed his scribbling. "Take the batmobile on your patrol."

"Inside the city?" McGinnis uncrossed his arms in shock. In all his time as Batman, the Commander had never allowed the use of the batmobile inside the habitable city limits. He said there was no point in wasting the fuel when his suit and his training was more than enough transportation. The batmobile was reserved for patrolling the outer territory boarder or long-range salvages.

"I recalibrated its anti-grav thrusters for city-use last night while you were on the comm with Dina."

"Dana." He corrected. "You do that on purpose. But I thought you said-"

"Well, now I'm saying something different!" The Commander snapped, slamming his pencil down on the consol and standing. "Just do as I say and… and, I promise, you won't have to put up with me much longer."

McGinnis raised the other eyebrow at that cryptic and oddly foreboding statement, but said nothing. He pulled the cowl down over his face, turned and walked out. A few moments later, the Commander received the 'In Use' alert from the batmobile's transmitter.

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tick-tock

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"Tim, you awake?"

"No…" The Boy Wonder groaned, pulling the handmade quilt over his head in a vain attempt to ward off the Superboy's attempts to rouse him. The Robin didn't usually approve of sleeping in unfamiliar territory but this was the Kent farmhouse, he'd had plenty of sleep-overs with Conner over the past few months –but that was the past few months back in 2016. The 2056 Kent farmhouse was vastly different and conflicting instincts were making it exceedingly difficult for the Boy Wonder to get any version of decent rest.

Kon sneaking into the room, making the old floorboards creek and the new crystals panels squeak didn't help matter's much either. The edge of the bed sank with the demi-kryptonian's weight as he sat down and Tim heard him heave a heavy sigh. "Can we talk?"

Not removing the blanket from his head, the Robin asked, "Do you mean, 'do we have the mental and physical capability to communicate verbally' or 'may we have a conversation right now at… two AM when your completely ordinary human partner needs to rest'?"

"Uh, the second one."

Tim sighed and sat-up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "What did future-you say? You were quiet all through dinner and kept looking between him and me like one of us had the plague."

"Nothing."

Tim gave Kon his best 'I don't believe you and I'm gonna make you feel uncomfortable until you tell me' look. People didn't sneak into rooms after lights-out and ask to have hushed conversations over 'nothing'. Also, he was annoyed and irritable.

"Its just… I donno, its hard to see the connected between me and the future-me we met today. He's so…" Kon couldn't quite think of an applicable adjective to convey all his impressions of the future-him. "Tim, promise me that we'll always be friends. No matter how I react to some of the crazy shit you do or how crazy I might seem at times… just promise me we'll still get each other's backs."

"I promise." Thought, admittedly, 'always getting each other's back' and 'always staying friends' were two vastly different things and the Robin wasn't quite sure which he was promising to do.

"Always?" Kon pressed.

Okay, seriously, what did future-Kon say? "Yes, Kon, I promise, I've always got your back –so long as you don't decide you like Luthor better than Clark and join the 'Light side'."

For some reason, this did not seem to be the answer the demi-kryptonian had wanted. But Tim wasn't about to make an unconditional promise like that. What if the Superboy did decide to team-up with Luthor at some point in the future? With Lex's brains and Kon's powers, they would be a dangerous team –probably even give Bruce and Clark, the World's Finest team, a run for their money.

"But, I can promise," Tim continued, "that the person I am right now, and the person you are right now will always be friends."

Kon nodded, not really looking all that reassured, but accepting it all the same. "Always."

Downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table in a pair of old Metro-U sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt, the Superman cursed his super-hearing.

Always.

He hated that word. The most repugnant and profane word in the English language. Always.

'This is my flying!'

'Yeah, lets see if you still say that when your line snaps and you fall.'

'I won't fall. You're here to catch me. You always catch me.'

'And I always will.'

Always.

The Superman stood. Since they were both awake, he might as well take them to Gotham now. As much as he didn't want to go to that city, as much a he didn't want to risk seeing the Commander… The Superman also knew he had to. He remembered himself taking them there at ungodly our of the morning, Tim falling asleep in his arms as they flew through the air, just above the ash-clouds, he and his future counterpart soaking up the sun as it rose.

Now he was the future counterpart.

The Superman also remembered flagging down a flying vehicle just inside the city limits and being passed off to a teenager in a Bat costume. The demi-kryptonian smiled to himself. If they left right now, they would arrive in Gotham just in time for Terry to be starting his patrol. He could pass off his charges just as he remembered himself doing forty years ago and never have to speak to the Commander.

With that thought in mind, the Superman blurred upstairs to change back into his uniform and wake his time-displaced guests.

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tick-tock

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Once upon a time, back during an age when people had cars and fuel, the trip between Washington, District Colombia and Gotham would have been a five to six hour drive. Now, traveling on foot, it was considerably longer –roughly two days. But traveling by speedster, it was only a few short minutes.

"Allen, stop here."

Bart skidded to a halt, kicking up a billowing fog of dust and debris, the likes of which probably were not healthy to be breathing in. He released the hold he had on his passenger and allowed the Demon to slide off his back. Bart raised his goggles and stared at the older man in confusion.

"We're still pretty far out from the actual city." He said. "I know this all used to be Gotham, but the habitable zone's still a way's away."

"I am aware of that!" Snapped the Demon. "But if we go wizzing in and breaking the sound barrier, the Usurper will know we're here."

"Oh. Right." Bart hung his head in embarrassment for not realizing sooner.

Then shrugged his shoulders, heaving a heavy sigh. He liked working with Conner and Tim much better than the Demon. They at least had senses of humor and didn't treat every small mistake or flash of idiocy like it was a grievous crime against humanity.

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tick-tock

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Something tapped on the outer hatch of the batmobile cockpit. Terry blinked in confusion. He was sixty feet up in the air. Unless the skies were falling again, nothing should be hitting the top of the batmobile.

Then he heard it again. Two quick taps.

Tap. Tap.

Terry did an exterior hull scan, but showed up nothing. Then a close-range sensor scan. Damn. The Commander was gonna chew him out big time for missing that. Always be alert and prepared. He was prepared. Alert? Apparently, not so much…

The young Batman released the hatch and slid the cockpit canopy back. "Morning, Superman, and… other Superman?"

Behind the whited out eyes of his cowl, the Batman blinked at not one, but two Supermen flying alongside the batmobile. One of them, the one not in uniform, carried a third costumed man in his arms. Terry didn't recognize his colors.

"Got a couple of charges for you, Batman." Said Superman, the uniformed one. "The Commander will wanna see them ASAP."

Terry was about to remind the Man of Tomorrow that he knew where the Nest was and ask why he didn't just fly them there himself. But, that wasn't exactly the wisest thing to say to a guy who could fry you with and look, generally was never in a good mood outside of his Fortress, and didn't need much incentive to get violent with people that irritated. It was also a very well known fact that Superman and the Commander did not get along. Terry was still a little unclear on the details, but he did know from mediating their communications (and that barely deserved a plural) that both of them avoided speaking to one another like it was the plague.

"Alright, Superman, I'll take 'em to Nest." Terry nodded. "Can I at least know who they are? So that I can implement the appropriate security measures."

"Security level two, no immediate threat, but no free information sharing." Superman supplied. "That does not require you to know who they are."

He flew away.

The other Superman, the one in the orange jumpsuit carrying his red-clad friend, pulled in alongside the batmobile. "Uh… hi." He said. "So, where are we going?"

…

(A/N: Short update is short. There's some family drama going on right now, so there is a definite decline in quality. Sorry, 'bout that. Still hope you enjoy.)