Disclaimer: I own nothing but this idea! ;)

I also do not own several of the lines below. Those belong to several alternative poets and characters such as Yukari, Igor, and Pharos from Persona 3, Philemon from Persona 2, Timothy Leary, and Edward Hale.

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"

-Edgar Allan Poe

Chapter Three

Awakening

Superboy is alive.

That's all the team of teen heroes cares about. The mentors are exhausted. Stabilizing the clone had taken some maneuvering and several blood transfusions from the Man of Steel but by dawn Superboy wasn't in danger of bleeding out anymore. The team sits with the clone, silent, in the Infirmary room. There are several machines monitoring his vitals, and for any brain activity. Robin doesn't say why Batman might have something like that. He doesn't want to acknowledge that something else might be wrong.

Superboy's room is hushed. Megan doesn't link with the others and they don't reach out. All they can focus on is the dark haired teen lying motionless under white sheets, face pale, bandages tied over the top most of his head and forehead. There are wires protruding from his arms, his chest. The tube is still there, connecting to a ventilator, breathing for him. Wally stares particularly hard, because although he can't see, he knows that Superboy's legs are an elaborate work of patches, bandages, and on one leg, a brace.

The team wants answers. One of their own has been targeted. They want to know why. They want to know by who.

But the only who has the answers is unresponsive. They can't risk seeing into his mind. Martine Manhunter tried and found a war. He could not calm or find the cause. In fact, the telepath found himself expelled from the teens mind by a surge of fire. The martin returned to reality with his hands singed and had no answer for the phenomenon.

Ten days later…

Artemis was introduced as the new team's archer but only Kaldur actually greets her. At first, she's annoyed and her attitude grates on the other members of the team. She assumed the cold front was because she was replacing another archer. Green Arrow and Black Canary had to take her aside after Megan burst into tears that had Kid Flash and the boy wonder glaring at her.

Finding out that another member had almost died and might not wake up, had shut her up real quick.

She went to see him and didn't stay long. But she tries and the others don't give her hassle for it.

Superboy is still sleeping.

And they know he's sleeping. He isn't in a coma. The increase brain activity reassures everyone that the teen will wake up soon. Manhunter had tried again several hours ago to reach for his consciousness. He was only partially successful. The telepath was still forced out by the inferno, but the war that he had trespassed across shimmered to a low crawl. Superboy was found in the middle. He didn't acknowledge the alien but something else did.

Something had tried to set him aflame. He theorized this was a facet of Superboy's psyche trying to recuperate from the trauma and was adapting at a rapid and aggressive manner. However, despite concerns that this might have changes in his personality, it was also a sign that the teen should awake at any moment.

That seemed to rejuvenate the other teens. Megan started cooking again and Wally even started to crack jokes. Robin lets his signature mad cackle fill the cave from wherever he's hiding. Kaldur smiles lightly from his seat as he watches Megan move about the kitchen and Kid Flash vibrate to and fro. It was a transition Artemis watched with awe.

The team was catching its second wind. They were gearing up and Artemis felt a rush course through her. She fingered her bow and checked over her arrows, making sure each was secure and not malfunctioning.

Something was going to happen and she wanted in.

And something was.

Superboy is standing in an atrium of gold. Beyond this place is nothing. Strange as everything was, he didn't feel threatened. Nothing hurt in this place. His ears didn't ring; his head didn't pound or burn. There was a tenderness caressing his arms, his shoulders. It crawled along his chest, tracing the contours of his entire form. He can't help but shiver when it follows the spine of his back.

There is a man with a white mask. There is a purple butterfly wing over the right eye. He is dressed in a white oriental suit with a black undershirt and tie. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It flowed behind him in a lazy manner.

"Welcome…" he gestures around him with his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Philemon, a dweller between consciousness and unconsciousness."

"Is this a dream?"

"Indeed, you are fast asleep in the real world even as we speak. This visit of yours is merely a dream. And now, a simple test. Can you tell me your name?"

His voice echoes all around them, deep, smooth, and obscure. He takes his time speaking as if he had eons of time to spend. Superboy doesn't know why he's here. But Philemon is polite and just being there is like a balm that eases something inside of him, the cool touch over scorched skin. He wants to know if Philemon has an answer for him.

"Superboy…"

"Splendid." He nods to the teen, "This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter. There aren't many who can remember their identity when in this domain. It seems you pass that test."

He points at Superboy.

"You appear to have awakened to your power and fallen into a deep slumber. Do not be alarmed. It is nothing to be worried about. So do enjoy your stay…and I see that it was Uriel who heeded your calling. The power you possess is called a Persona…it is a manifestation of your psyche."

"Persona?"

Superboy remembers calling out that word, remembers reaching for something, hoping something or someone would hear him, help him and miraculously getting an answer. Something answered him when he needed help the most and it was…Uriel…? Uriel was his persona?

"Yes, a Persona is a facet of your personality that surfaces as you react to external stimuli…you can think of it as a mask that protects you as you brave many hardships. It is the self suffused with divine love…the self capable of demonic cruelty…People live by wearing different masks..."

Philemon raises his hand, palm facing up, and light gathers there. It doesn't hurt to look at. It's soft and warm and not unlike when he pulled the gun's trigger.

"You though…," a figure forms in the light.

It's familiar. It is Uriel. Uriel is crouching in Philemon's palm, his arms placed across his chest, his sword gripped in one hand, blade aimed at the ground and his wings are arched over his form.

"You have a strong grip on your identity. I respect your strong will. So, from this moment forth, you and your persona will fight for a greater purpose…because your existence and the very future is at stake. Time is already up. You cannot remain oblivious."

"I-I can't!" Superboy chokes out, suddenly afraid. So, so, afraid, like a child who discovers how frightening the world is when the lights go out. "There's only one of me. I'm alone and I'm not Superman! I'm not even like him! I'm just…just…"

His voice dies. He can no longer say what he is. Superboy turns his gaze to his feet, to the marble floor. He didn't want to start crying again.

"You are one but still you are one…" the somber teen raises his eyes to the masked figure, "you cannot do everything but still you can do something. Do the unexpected. Find the others…"

The angel vanishes and Philemon folds his arms elegantly in front of him. "Together you, your persona, and those like you will break the chains bound together by karma."

"Others? W-what?"

He didn't understand. Nothing made sense here and yet, again, it did. But that didn't stop the uncomfortable sensation of being overwhelmed. This was something greater him-bigger than him- but…others? There were others like him?

"You're awakening has roused others with the same ability. Should they evoke such power, they, too, can no longer remain insensitive to what comes. Innocence is no longer yours to own. In exchange for power, you can no longer look away from the things you do not wish to see."

Philemon extends his hand, closed into a fist, before slowly opening it. A butterfly sits patiently in his palm.

"You are the Catalyst, The Aeon, lost as you are, you stir The Fool. Unfortunately, those who remember have since passed from the world…those who hear but do not comprehend, tremble at your rebirth…and those who flee, will find no haven in which to hide."

A memory tickles Superboy's mind, telling him that there is a connection. There is something important, something he's forgetting and Philemon's words coax it out bit by bit.

"The world you once knew is now changed..."

It creeps up from the depths, unhurried and potent.

"You will learn no one can escape time…It delivers us all to the same end..."

It nuzzles the space just behind his comprehension.

"You cannot plug your ears or cover your eyes."

It feels like an apology…

"Now, you must return," He nods gracefully, "to your proper time and place."

The little blue and green creature lifts itself from Philemon's hand, and flutters into Superboy's vision. Everything turns white and the gold atrium disappears from his sight.

Here the memory strikes.

It pierces through his awareness, cleaving a vicious path, leaving cracks and crevices behind. Old scars are ripped open, the angry edges left in tatters, red and bleeding. A red swell grows and filters along after the memory. New rents form, constructing jagged fissures leading to nothing, not blackness nor emptiness but to the very void where the self goes to die… and it threatens to swallow Superboy whole.

He struggles to push it back. He doesn't want it, want the memory. He doesn't want what it brings because he knows it will engulf him so completely, he will lose himself. It will change him and he doesn't know how. He's afraid.

It does not take long for it to conquer him. It already has roots there. Then he is drowning. It floods every corner of his essence. It leaves nothing untouched, not even the parts he never knew existed. His mind hemorrhages with the knowledge it brings. And just before he believes he will dissolve into nothing, hands reach into the swirling, rolling, crimson sea, and pluck him from its depths.

He is embraced in strong, friendly arms. He looks to his savior to meet Uriel's shining visage. The angel's wings are soaked through and keep him from flying but the persona keep the pair afloat. Superboy doesn't fight Uriel's hold, doesn't try to brave the churning ocean around them. He clings to the golden haired angel, letting the current take them wherever it may, and closes his eyes.

Superboy wakes up in the Infirmary screaming.

It is not a sound of victory or triumph. It is one of absolute primal terror. It is the kind of fear that burrows itself beneath the bones and in between the cracks of the soul. His body jerks and twitches, eyes wide, face covered in tears, voice raw and loud. The screaming doesn't stop when members of the League rush to his aide. Not even when arms stronger than steel circle him, keep him still. Instead, Superboy thrashes within the hold because he doesn't recognize them. They are not the arms of Uriel.

After days of uncertainty, Clark Kent, had come to several conclusions. The first, and most important, is that Superboy, despite the circumstance was his son. Even if he wasn't planned, he needed someone and as much as it pained the Son of Krypton to admit, Batman and Canary were not enough. So the hero had promised to be there when his son woke but it didn't prepare him for this. No one is prepared.

The teen fought with all of his superhuman strength. He arches off the bed, in a desperate attempt to break Superman's hold. Wonder Woman and Red Tornado are quick to hold the clone down. The older hero doesn't look away from his son, from the fear carved into his young face. The teen's echoing wail hurts his ears but he refuses to let go of Superboy to protect them.

When he finally stops fighting, it is not by choice. He runs out of breath, wheezing and rasping for air. He meets Superman's eyes and the teen feels a piece of the answer reverberating beneath his skin.

"He's suffocating!" Canary yells.

Batman is already moving an air mask over the clone's face. He pressed the mask over Superboy's face and the teen inhales deeply. Between each breathe, he whispers the words.

"…Me…men…to….Mori…"

Superman only lets him go when Superboy's breathing evens out. He lays the tired teen back on the bed. Everyone is quiet for a moment. Flash vibrates very minutely, trying not to make a hole in the floor. Green Arrow places an arm around Black Canary's shoulder. Diana gently massages the muscles she had roughly held not long age. Red Tornado stands motionless, analyzing Superboy's condition. Batman rounds on Superman.

"What did he say?" The red caped hero says nothing, forcing the Dark Knight to grab his attention. "…Clark."

Alien blue eyes turn to the Gotham hero before returning to the exhausted teen.

"'Memento Mori', is what he said."

The tension that grows within several of the heroes is not missed.

"Meme-what?" Green Arrow frowns, "What does that mean?"

"It is Latin…" Zatara's voice answers from the door way. The others turn to the grim faced magician. Superman bristles at the look Zatara gives his son. It's one he can't read.

"Well?" Arrow snaps. The blonde doesn't like how thick the air is getting.

"It means…" The magician hesitates before plowing on, "Remember that you will die."

Yay! Its done! Just to let you guys know. I will be alternating between the three stories with Conner so don't worry! I'm still working on the others! Rotating this way keeps me from losing inspiration.

Now, please review. I like hearing from you. Oh! That rhymed! :)