Rating: T

Where else can I find this story? All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

Hero

Masks, Part V

Chapter 16: Reasonable Expectations

Conner doesn't even realize what's happening until he flies through a cloud and emerges from it soaked. Maybe it's the shock of the cold water, or the surprise that he's finally flying, but it's enough to make him forget everything, and as he breaks into the stratosphere, he can't repress the smile on his face.

The first coherent thought he forms is about M'gann and the awesome things they can now do in the clouds.

But after about an hour of exhilaration and fantasy, he realizes that he has no idea how to steer, and that's how he ends floating aimlessly over the Greenland and with no idea of how to get back to America. And after another hour of floating without a direction, it starts to get cold. And then it gets dark, and then it gets really cold. The cold and the darkness ground Conner and he just wants to crumple up and cry, except he won't give Superman the satisfaction.

Conner knows he should call Red Tornado or Captain Marvel, who could fly to find him, but he doesn't just want a guide home… he wants someone to talk to, and, well, Red Tornado is still figuring out the whole Touring Test thing, and Captain Marvel is sort of a little kid.

He feels impossibly guilty as he does it, but eventually, he gives in and calls Batman.

But of course, Batman doesn't answer the League communicator. Which, is good, because, Batman's supposed to be resting because Batman almost died. But Conner just wants to talk, and there's no one else to talk to, so he takes out his cell (international roaming be damned) and calls the number Batman gave him.

Alfred's voice answers, "Master Conner, is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine," Conner answers, but the breaking of his voice betrays him.

"Conner, what's wrong?" Batman's voice asks.

And Conner's ready to lie and tell Batman that everything's fine, but instead all that comes out is a garbled mess , "Ihate'im, Ihate'im, Ihate'im!"

"Who?" Batman asks calmly.

"You know who!"

Batman sighs, "What did the idiot do?"

"He lied to me!" Conner realizes, and then, he realizes something. "You lied to me,"

"I told you I couldn't tell you everything. I told you I didn't think Kent needed a body guard."

"I'm so incredibly stupid."

"No. You're not."

"I was living with him; I look just like him. God—I'm his fucking clone—I look at his face every single goddamn day in the mirror—

"Conner!" Batman's voice cuts him off sharply. "Stop!"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not stupid. Clark fools everyone. Lois Lane's worked with him for nearly ten years. Lex Luthor's a twelfth level intellect and he hasn't figured it out. The only reason I know Clark Kent is Superman is because I put a tracker on his cape and followed him home.

"Did you just find out?"

"No," Conner's voice breaks again, and he feels hot tears sting at his eyes. "I… it was several hours ago."

"Oh." Batman seems confused. Then angry: "I didn't know. He didn't tell me."

"Yeah," Conner rolls his eyes as he wipes his cheek dry. "Why would he? He doesn't tell anyone anything."

"Do you want to come to Gotham?" Batman offers.

"I'm sort of stuck," Conner confesses.

"Where are you?" Batman asks, concern evident in his voice.

"I think I'm somewhere over Greenland."

"You're flying?"

"Yeah. I… uh… don't really know how to steer. Can you, um, send someone to come get me?"

"Someone will be there in fifteen minutes. Batman out."

Conner can't believe his eyes when he sees Superman fly over the horizon.

"I can't believe Batman sent you," Conner says, incredulous that Batman would betray him like this.

"He didn't," Superman answers. "I wasn't able to get away from Lois until just now. I found you with the signal from your—

"Look, I really don't want to talk to you. And frankly, you've ne never wanted to talk to me. You've never had a problem leaving, so please, don't let that change now."

Superman sighs. "Look, I know you're angry with me—

"You have no idea how I feel. Look, just go. Go away."

"You have no idea how to fly, do you?"

"Thank you for pointing that out," Conner says.

Superman's face softens. "That's not what I meant… Conner—

"No. I told you already—You don't get to call me by that name."

"Ok, ok. That's fine. I get that. But, let me help you figure out how to fly back to—

"Get it through your thick skull: I. Don't. Need. You. Batman said he was sending someone. I'll be perfectly fine. Without you. Like always."

Suddenly Superman's eyes widen, "Oh, god no…"

"What?" But Conner hears it soon enough, the low rumbling of engines. It's hard to see it in the darkness, but it's not Red Tornado or Captain Marvel, or any of the other flying Leaguers. But then, even with the darkness, the ship's distinctive shape becomes un-mistakable: it's the Batwing, and although the ship's lined with lead, Conner can see Batman's unmasked face through the windshield, and suddenly Conner's very sorry he didn't just go with Superman.

The Batwing stops right in front of them and opens.

Superman rubs his eyes. "Bruce, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing here?" Batman asks Superman with special hostility. "I'm cleaning up your mess Clark, like I've been doing for a while."

It looks like a miracle when Batman stands up, but then Conner notices the exosuit Batman's wearing. Batman steps onto the plane's wing and holds his hand out to Conner, then pulls him down onto the plane. Once his feet touch something firm, it's over: walking is walking. It's easy. He follows Batman into the cockpit.

"Bruce," Superman says.

"What?" Batman asks.

"You can't seriously be thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"Well, as I'm not a Martian, I don't know what you think I'm thinking…"

"You're not going to follow Leslie's advice. You're going to go straight back to crimefighting with that exosuit."

"I can't stop being Batman for a year."

"You're an idiot," Superman snarls.

"Me? I'm an idiot?" Batman asks. "Because, from where I'm standing, this whole mess, is your fault. You stole from me! You published information that I specifically told you not to publish. I knew that information wasn't enough to convict Luthor! All you've done is minorly inconvenienced him and imperiled not only the very existence of the Justice League, but also my ability to operate as Batman.

"But you know what? All of that pales with the endless amount of grief you've put Conner through—

"Look!" Superman pleads, "I know I screwed up. I know I screwed up really badly, but he showed up out of nowhere. You can't reasonably have expected me to—

"I'm sorry Clark," Batman interrupts, suddenly sounding exhausted. "I can't talk to you right now."

"What?"

"Reasonable expectations, Clark? If you think this is about reasonable expectations, you and I aren't speaking the same language, and I can't talk to you right now. You know what, you're right. You couldn't reasonably be expected to do anything. But you know what else, Clark? Children aren't about reasonable expectations. They don't choose to be born, they don't choose to be put where they end up. Or what? Do you think Jonathan and Martha Kent could reasonably have been expected to stop by the side of the road, approach a spaceship, and take the little alien inside home? You'd have to be absolutely crazy to do that! But they didn't ask themselves, can we reasonably be expected to take in this little alien toddler?"

"So, what? Because my parents desperately wanted a child, I should have fatherhood thrust upon me?"

Batman sighs and shakes his head. "I'm too tired for this." He pushes the button to close the Batwing, but Superman holds it open.

"You're going to break my plane," Batman says impatiently.

"I'm not letting you make me look like a bad guy here."

"Clark, I'm really very tired. Please let us go."

"No."

"Ok. Let's do this." Batman closes his eyes for a second, then he takes something from his utility belt. It's an old piece of paper. "Do you know what this is?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "It's Alfred's two week's notice. It's dated a week and a half before the day my parents were murdered. He'd gotten a job offer at MI6—it was his dream job, and it would have let him go back to England. My parents had actually already filled the position. And you know what? He could have left. I would have been fine. It's not like I didn't have a family. Grand-Uncle Silas could have taken me in. He was old, but you know, that's what boarding schools are for. I couldn't reasonably have expected him to stay, to give up his dreams of serving the Queen in order to take care of a little rich orphan as his butler. But you know what? I was a child; I'd just seen my parents murdered, and he was the only person in the world I knew and trusted, and I did expect him to stay. So don't talk to me about reasonable expectations. Now get the hell out of my way."

Superman does as he's told. The ride back to Gotham is long and quiet. Finally, Conner breaks the silence, "Thanks. But you shouldn't have come."

""I'm sorry I couldn't tell you everything before," Batman apologizes.

"No. You warned me about it. And I get it. Superman's entitled to his secret identity, even if he is a complete and utter jerk."

"Clark's an idiot."

"Yeah, I know Superman—

"No. I mean, Clark's an idiot. He doesn't know how to deal with people, not people that matter to him. Kid Flash said you met Lana…"

"Wally reports to you? I thought that was Kaldur's job."

"Kaldur's job is to report to me. Wally texts Dick like there's no tomorrow. But he said you met Lana Lang."

"Yeah. She was kind of strange, she wouldn't stop-Oh.," it hits him. "It's because I look like Superman. I look like him. I was even wearing his clothes."

"It's because you look like Clark Kent did when he was eighteen years old. And do you know what Clark Kent did when he was eighteen years old?"

Conner shrugs. "Go off to college?" he guesses.

"He took her to the prom. And then, after the dance, he told her about his superpowers."

"Oh." Conner isn't sure where this is going.

"Conner, what do you think M'gann would think if you took her to the prom, and then afterwards asked her to go on a walk with you, alone, because you had something very important that you wanted to tell her?"

For a second, he has no idea where Batman is going with this, but then he realizes what M'gann would think if he did that. He groans and sinks his head into his hands. "She thought he was going to ask her to marry him. And instead, he told her that he was an alien who could fly."

"She's still in love with him. Not with Superman the Man of Steel, with Clark Kent, the earnest farm boy. And Clark has no idea.

"And I don't need to explain to you the thing with Lois."

"Clark Kent loves Lois Lane. Lois Lane loves Superman. Clark Kent is Superman, so there shouldn't be any problem. But instead, Superman doesn't make a move because he wants her to be in love with Clark, and Clark doesn't make a move because he thinks he has no chance against Superman." He shakes his head. "Yeah. You're right. He's an idiot."

"He didn't know how to react to you when you first showed up. I don't know why. In retrospect, I don't think I helped when I tried to convince him to be more involved because you needed a father.

"After the Luthor incident, he was too ashamed to show his face to you. He was going to come to your birthday party though. He bought you that car, partially because he wanted it and needed an excuse to spend a ridiculous amount of money on it, but partially because in his brain he thought it would give him an excuse to be around you if you needed someone to teach you how to drive. What he failed to take into consideration was that he didn't need an excuse to be around you, and that these sorts of schemes are best left to the professionals. The whole thing fell apart when his dad had a heart attack—it was the same day as the party at the Batcave. And later, again, he was too ashamed to show his face, and he didn't have an excuse anymore because Cadmus had programmed you with the knowledge of how to drive."

Conner shakes his head again in disbelief. "You're totally right. He's a total idiot." Then he pauses. "But the fact that he's an idiot doesn't mean he's not an asshole."

"That's fair," Batman says evenly. "And if you don't want to give him another chance, that's fair too. He's had enough chances and he's blown them all."

"I," Conner pauses, "I don't want to give him another chance. At least, not for a while. A guy can only stand so much disappointment."

"As I said, that's fair. I'll take you off guard duty for Clark. I can assign you to the Kents, if you would like."

"Can, can I still be friends with the Kents, even though their son is Superman?"

"Martha and Jonathan like you, and they're not particularly pleased with their son's behavior. At least Martha isn't. I don't think it'd be a problem."

"Ok. Yeah. I… I really like them."

"And they really like you. I'll transfer you there, then, and put Artemis and Wally on guard duty for Clark."

"Wait, but he's Superman," Conner interjects. "He doesn't need a bodyguard."

"Maybe not. But the League voted on it, and the vote was to give him a guard. Besides, we can't exactly have bullets bouncing off our dear Mr. Kent. And if someone does come after him, Artemis and Kid Flash will be in a much better position than Clark to go after any would-be assailants."

Batman's earlier words ring in Conner's ears: "The only reason I have assented to have you guard Clark Kent is because you're the only one of your teammates who could take a bullet for him and be no worse for wear."

"But Artemis and Wally are fragile," Conner argues. "Wally can run and stuff, but he's not invulnerable. And Artemis, Artemis doesn't have any powers at all."

"Neither do I. Neither does Robin."

"But it's stupid. Stupid to risk Artemis and Wally for the sake of friggin' Superman, who can't get hurt at all."

"Be that as it may, the League requires that I assign a bodyguard to Clark Kent, and for the moment, Artemis and Kid Flash are all I have. I can't afford to have a regular Leaguer drop everything and guard Kent."

Conner shakes his head. "No. You can't do that. I'll stay and guard Kent. You said it before; I'm the only one of my teammates who could take a bullet for him and be no worse for wear."

Batman looks at him long and hard.

"Are you sure?"

Conner doesn't hesitate for an instant. "Yes."

"Very well. But remember what else I said, I do not want you to put yourself in danger for the sake of Clark Kent."

Conner nods, and it's settled.

Getting Batman out of the exosuit is a nightmare: Batman sits the suit down and opens it, but that's all he can do—he needs Conner to take him out of the suit and carry him into the wheelchair. Physically, it's child's play. Conner can lift tons. But Batman's limp body feels so much heavier than it should.

Above the cave there's a mansion.

Alfred is waiting for them, arms crossed. "Of all the stupid, reckless—

"What the hell was I supposed to do, Alfred? Leave him hanging over Greenland?"

"You could have sent me. You could have sent Master Richard. You could have sent Miss M'gann in her bioship."

"I didn't think that was appropriate," Batman answers tersely.

The scowl on Alfred's face deepens and Conner can't help but step between Alfred and Batman.

"Please," he pleads, "Batman, he… I needed him."

Alfred sighs and his shoulders sag. "I know Master Conner… but if Master Bruce is to be believed, the whole world needs him."

"It does," Conner says, as if though he were saying that the sky is blue.

"If that's the case, he'd do the world no favors by getting himself killed."

"I know what I'm doing Alfred."

"I know what you're doing too. Leslie was quite clear—you require bed rest and physical therapy—the strain the exosuit puts on your heart will kill you."

"Don't be dramatic Alfred. Leslie said it could kill me. I've installed controls to alert me when the pressure is dangerously high."

"Because we all know you're so good at listening to warnings."

"No one knows my limits better than me," Batman says defensively. Then he sighs. "Can we please talk about this later, Alfred? Conner's had a long day, and I'm exhausted."

Alfred presses his lips together tightly, but eventually he uncrosses his arms and nods. Alfred steps behind Batman and takes the wheelchair by the handles. "Let's get you ready for bed then, Master Bruce.

"Master Conner, Master Richard and Miss M'gann are downstairs in the den. If you wish, you may ask Master Richard to take you to the kitchen—there are still some leftovers from dinner. I will be right back to set you up in one of the guest rooms." With that, Alfred turns around and pushes Batman away, leaving Conner by himself.

He goes downstairs and finds the den by sight—incredibly, the Manor's walls aren't lined with lead, and he can see through them to find where Conner and M'gann are playing Super Mario Galaxy.

Leftovers at Wayne Manor are apparently like Thanksgiving dinner at most American households. There's an overwhelming variety of options.

"Hey, Robin?" Conner asks.

"You can call me Dick," Robin says.

"It's just you and Batman and Alfred here most of the time, right?"

"Yeah," Robin says. "And you can call him Bruce."

"Why's there so much food? If it's just the three of you?"

Robin shrugs. "Wally visits often enough—but I think mainly it's because Bruce tends to forget to eat—Alfred uses the variety to tempt him."

Conner sighs. "Alfred was angry at Batman for going to pick me up."

"No," Robin says tersely. "Alfred was livid. But it wasn't about you. Don't worry about that."

"I… I wasn't worried about that," Conner says. "But… I… I didn't know that Batman was going to come for me himself. I… I shouldn't have called him."

"Of course you should have called him," Robin says. "He just should have been enough of a grown-up to send someone else for you."

"He was just looking out for me… it was my fault I got stuck in the first place."

Robin sighs. "Conner, it didn't take him fifteen minutes to whip up that exosuit—one of the first things he did once he could talk was ask Lucius to whip it up from a LexCorp patent. You gave him an excuse to try it out, but he was going to put it on sooner or later. The thing you have to understand about Bruce is that there's something inside of him, something that drives him to sacrifice everything for the sake of his mission."

"I guess that's what seeing your parents murdered does to you," Conner says.

"No," Robin says. "My parents were murdered in front of me too."

Conner's eyes widen. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

Robin shrugs. "It's ok. It was a long time ago. That's why Bruce took me in. Why I became Robin. But I'm not going to experiment with untested neural interfacers because of it."

"Neural interfacers?" M'gann asks.

"LexCorp was working on a new weapons suit it could market to the US Army that would connect directly with the wearer's central nervous system, allowing them to wear the suit like a second skin—the only problem is that the interface isn't perfect. It has a 58% lobotomization rate in anything more advanced than a lab rat. The only reason Bruce hasn't plugged himself in is because Lucius flatly refused to fiddle with the technology and Alfred threatened to quit."

Conner looks down at his plate, and suddenly he's not hungry anymore. He'll have to talk to Batman tomorrow. Maybe Lois's idea, of having him pretend to be Batman while Batman gets better would be an acceptable compromise to Batman. He hadn't seemed offended by the idea when Lois suggested it.

The three of them just sit in silence, until Alfred appears, frown on his face.

"I believe, Master Richard, that it is past your bedtime, and you, Master Conner, have had a very exciting day. Off to bed with the lot of you. Master Richard, I've taken the liberty of arranging the Blue Room for Master Conner, if you would be so kind as to take him there."

Robin nods, and leads Conner and M'gann down what seems like a maze of corridors, then up the stairs, then down another maze of corridors.

Conner had thought that the Blue Room would be called the Blue Room because it was blue. But it's not. It's a tastefully decorated room done up in neutral colors.

"I don't get it," M'gann says, "my room is the Pink Room… and it's pink. Why isn't the Blue Room blue?"

Robin points at a painting of a child with a bowl. "Because that painting is from the Blue Period."

"What's a Blue Period?" M'gann asks.

Conner's response is automatic and involuntary: "The Blue Period (Spanish: Periodo Azul) is a term used to define to the works produced by Spanish painter Pablo Picasso between 1901 and 1904, when he painted essentially monochromatic paintings in shades of blue and blue-green, only occasionally warmed by other colors."

Robin smiles, and Conner knows what's going to happen next: "Hey Conner, why don't you tell Miss M who Picasso was?"

"Spanish painter, sculptor, printmaker, ceramicist, and stage designer. One of the greatest and most influential artists of the 20th century, widely known for co-founding the Cubist movement, the invention of constructed sculpture, the co-invention of collage, and for the wide variety of styles that he helped develop and explore. Among his most famous works are the proto-Cubist Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, and Guernica, a portrayal of the German bombing of Guernica during the Spanish Civil War. Born 1881, died 1973."

"What was his full name?" Robin asks.

"Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso," Conner answers automatically in a single breath.

"Dick, that's enough!" M'gann intercedes.

Robin laughs. "Sorry… it's just, that never gets old."

M'gann glares at Robin.

"I'm not sure why Alfred bothered to make up the room, though," Conner admits frankly. "Can't I just stay with M'gann?"

"Alfred did it because it was the proper thing to do. If you want to spend the night with M'gann, you should at least make it look like you slept here—Alfred will know you didn't—he's Batman's Batman, but at least he'll appreciate the gesture."

Conner furrows his brow in confusion. "He'll appreciate that I'm making more work for him?"

"Alfred lives to serve."

"No he doesn't," Conner answers. "Batman told Superman… Alfred was going to go work for MI6.

"Huh," Robin says. "I guess that explains a lot." Then he claps his hands. "Ok, you two lovebirds, as Alfred said, it's past my bedtime. Not often I get a chance to go to bed before 3am, so I'm not going to pass this up." Then he disappears, like a ninja.

Conner turns to M'gann. "Do you think he was kidding, about making it look like I slept here?"

M'gann shrugs, but then psychically moves the pillows and bed sheets.

"Of course," she says, "No reason not to sleep in this bed…" she smiles and pushes him over backwards. "Of course, it'd be unhygienic if you slept in your clothes…" Her smile deepens as she climbs on top of him and begins to unfasten his belt. Her clothes melt away into something a little more revealing.

Conner pulls her hands away from his pants and pulls her up against him.

"Another time?" he pleads, "tonight, I just want to hold you tight and pretend that I never have to let go."

M'gann nods against his chest and wraps her arms around his neck.

They lie there for a while, together, under the heavy down comforter, limbs tangled together, and Conner imagines that this is what Heaven must feel like, if Heaven admitted grief.