The Watchtower
July 18, 2016 - Team Year 6 18:17 EDT

Silence dominated the room on the Watchtower where Barbara Gordon and Bart Allen sat. Even the steady whirring of her computers seemed to quiet as the speedster stopped talking. Barbara sank deeper into her chair, emotions cresting and swelling over her like an angry ocean.

Dinah, Bruce, Timmy. Her father. They had died in Bart's timeline. They, and so many others, had been slaughtered by the Reach invaders, unable to defend the world against a tactically and technologically superior foe.

Logically, Barbara already knew that the actions they had taken had changed the world for the better. A majority of her friends, her family, were still alive. The world was not burning at the hands of alien invaders. But while the rational side of Barbara Gordon usually won the day, a nagging, emotional, irrational side continued tugging at her brain.

Was this really better? Was a world, any world, where Dick Grayson was gone better than hellfire and destruction? And not just gone, or died, but disappeared off the face of the Earth without so much as a goodbye?

She knew the answers to those questions, of course. Barbara knew that any mission had to be undertaken with the greatest good in mind. And the greater good had been served here. Bart coming back in time had helped facilitate that, but so had Dick's actions leading the Team. So had all their actions, every choice they had made over those difficult months had led to a much better outcome than the one Bart had been describing.

That didn't mean the irrational side of her brain was going to go quietly. For now, she chose to ignore it.

"I'm sorry," the young man blurted out, his eyes darting down to the floor as he struggled to remain as still as possible. "I shouldn't have told you all that. Shouldn't be telling you all this. You're just getting upset. I'm sorry. Forget I told you anything."

Forget? Barbara hadn't forgotten anything since she was six years old. One of the curses hidden in the blessing of having a photographic memory. So even if the speedster from the future stopped talking this very instant, his words would be replayed over and over in her mind. She wouldn't forget a single syllable, a single bit of inflection, a single instant of the way the corners of his eyes pulled together when recounting a particularly painful memory.

On top of all that, there was a reason Barbara loved working with computers and hacking and it wasn't just to show up every single boy in her computer science class who thought she couldn't code simply because she was a girl. It's that computers held information, and lots of it. And Barbara was naturally curious. So no matter how painful this was going to be, she needed to know what happened in the decades between the events Bart was describing and the day he came back to the past.

Offering a warm smile to the boy, Barbara reached out a gently put her hand on his shoulder. His eyes raced up to meet hers, his face changing from concern to recognition of the gesture. She still didn't know how the speedster knew her so well, but she was determined to find out.

"It's okay, Bart. I want you to keep telling me the story. I want to know everything."

There was a pause, which she knew for someone who could run close to the speed of light had to seem infinitely longer, but Bart drew in a slow breath and nodded. "Basically," he began, "if someone went out to fight that day, they didn't make it back. But at the same time, those who would be continuing the fight began coming together."

XXXXX

New Orleans
July 4, 2016 – Team Year 6 (Bart's Timeline) 16:52 CDT

The fires that consumed the surface world belched smoke into the sky, casting the late afternoon sun into a dusky twilight. It reminded Orin of the way light faded the deeper one went into the ocean. And just like those dives, darkness began bringing different and more frightening threats for them to face.

From the very beginning, the fight in New Orleans had been a distraction. Try to keep the Reach forces divided, keep them occupied, and hope for a miracle. Orin had thought, perhaps naïvely, about abandoning the surface city and trying to defend Poseidonis. But the arrival of his wife had put those thoughts to rest. The Reach, though less effective underwater than on land, had already targeted the largest of the Atlantean cities. His people would hide beneath the waves in the waters they knew so well, and strike back in guerilla attacks on the alien invaders.

His wife's presence had helped turn the tide, figuratively and literally, at least for a short while. She was a powerful sorceress, and the waves obeyed her every command. The alien soldiers had not been prepared to face the sea as an enemy. Now, the two of them enjoyed a quiet moment on the docks, Mera's mane of crimson hair resting on his shoulder.

"Look!" The Queen of Atlantis pointed at the waves, drawing Orin's vision away from the darkening sky. To a surface dweller, nothing would seem amiss. But those waves were part of his kingdom and the tides were his sun and sky. When something was wrong, he knew.

"The tides. They are changing." Alarm filled Orin's chest. If the aliens could control the movement of the seas on a planet, then conquest was inevitable. His people would be found and slaughtered. There would be no escape, no refuge in the blackened depths.

As the Aquaman tried to figure out what sort of alien technology could cause even minor variations in the mighty ocean tides, a glimmer of movement above, not below, caught his eye. Straining to see through the smoky haze, he caught the flash of the sun's rays off the small planetoid that was now getting smaller in the evening sky.

"The Warworld! It's leaving." Relief and confusion roiled in Orin's gut. One less doomsday weapon above the planet was always a good thing, but who was piloting it? Where was it going? The answers struck him like a tsunami.

Batman had the crystal key. And the Dark Knight would only trust himself to handle such a mission. But Gotham's protector would not leave his city, this world unless…

"Where is Arthur?" He turned his face back to his wife's, scarred hand running between her shoulder blades. Curiosity swirled to worry in her emerald eyes. Then, almost as suddenly as he had, understanding creased her features.

"I had Vulko take him to the Justice League fallback point when the Watchtower was destroyed." Her gaze turned hard as she looked out over the Gulf of Mexico, a tear slowly tracing down her face as she thought of their son. Orin closed his eyes as he pulled her in to him.

"You're the strongest person I've ever known, my love." Orin could hear the Reach ships coming but wanted a few more seconds of peace. They couldn't steal that from him.

XXXXX

Star City
July 4, 2016 – Team Year 6 (Bart's Timeline) 15:03 PDT

There would be no winning this fight. Red Tornado knew that. From the very beginning of this invasion, the moment the Watchtower had been destroyed, the chances of Earth's heroes and military holding off the Reach attack had been miniscule. Since then, things had only steadily gotten worse. With every hero that fell, every city taken, every military unit destroyed, the odds grew smaller that the human race would survive.

His logical processes knew this. And so too did the logic processes of his brother, Red Volcano. His younger but more powerful sibling was making liberal use of the earth in and around Star City in his battle with Reach soldiers and fighters. Together, the two of them had destroyed hundreds of the alien invaders. But they still came like a raging stream, and the tide of battle would soon overwhelm them.

"Why do we remain here, brother?" Volcano's voice cut through over the din of battle. "Why do you defend these meat bags? We should retreat and strike at these aliens another day." Tornado didn't answer as he directed a wind funnel at another two fighters, sending them spinning off out of control into a skyscraper.

When he had arrived in Star City with Black Canary and Green Arrow, Red Volcano had already been engaged with the Reach. His android brother, the final creation of their father T.O. Morrow, had been trying to find more pieces of the AMAZO android when the Reach attacked.

"You think too highly of these meat bags, brother. You have for years." Tornado watched his youngest sibling smash a large slab of rock down on some advancing Reach soldiers. "They are no better than these alien invaders. They are insects to us."

Tornado flew over next to his sibling, generating more wind currents with his arms. "That is where you are wrong, brother. You have never understood these humans. You were not programmed to." He raked the violent air against more soldiers, sending them flying. "I have spent time among them. Observed their customs. Learned their habits. They are much more resilient than their frail bodies would lead you to believe."

"Resiliency will mean nothing in the face of this invasion. I calculate the odds of their species' survival at less than one tenth of one percent. And our odds will not be much better unless we retreat immediately."

But Tornado knew they weren't going anywhere. Even in retreat, Volcano would always want to fight, to strike back. It was in his nature, as his human friends would say. More accurately, Tornado knew, it was in his programming.

"Your assumptions are once again incorrect, brother. To humans, statistics and odds mean very little, because they have something that overrides that logic. It's something that we, as machines, could never understand, though I would like to think that I came close."

"And what is that, brother?"

Tornado felt his processes skip a beat. Perhaps he was now feeling it too. Perhaps these humans, his humans, still did have a chance.

"Hope."

XXXXX

Gotham City
July 4, 2016 – Team Year 6 (Bart's Timeline) 18:03 EDT

The Warworld continued to shrink in size on the Batcomputer, the image captured from one of the few remaining satellites still pointed toward deep space. Of course, the image was coming from a Wayne Tech satellite, so Alfred Pennyworth figured he could point it in whatever direction he wished. Certainly no one was going to stop him now.

He hadn't moved from his seat in front of the Batcomputer for the past half hour. Ever since Master Bruce had flown off, he had remained, his eyes steadfastly locked on the screens showing the last images he would ever see of eldest of his charges. The first boy that he had sworn, and now failed, to protect. The Wayne line was gone.

This life had taken so much: first, Master Thomas and Madam Martha. The second casualty had been any semblance of a normal childhood and young adulthood for Master Bruce. But that had not been the last. Master Jason. Master Timothy. So many deaths, so much destruction. And Alfred felt that still more would be coming before the day was done.

A red light flashed at the bottom of a screen, alerting him that something had tripped the exterior proximity alarm. Outer screens did not show any intrusion, but Master Bruce had built the sensors; if they said there was breach, then someone had made their way onto the grounds of Wayne Manor. Alfred would not have it. He moved from his seat, taking a handheld monitor on his way. Steadily, he watched for any signs of the intruder as he entered the ground floor. He made his way up the grand staircase and into his own rooms. Locked away, in a safe underneath his bed, Alfred retrieved his personal shotgun. These aliens may have taken his charges, they may have taken his adopted city, but they would not defile this home. Whoever was here would have to get though him first.

Proximity alarms closer to the house began flashing silently. Whatever it was continued coming closer. The shotgun sturdily held in one arm, Alfred kept an eye on his handheld screen. As he advanced towards the door from inside the house, so did the intruder from the outside. Old training flooded back from memory as he stepped purposefully, one foot over the other as he descended the grand staircase.

The screen still showed no movement as he pressed his back against the frame beside the door. Setting the receiver down, his free hand reached for the handle with just the slightest hint of a quiver. If this was his time to die, then he would face it head on and fighting to the last.

The cold metal of the door handle steadied him as he clamped down upon it, twisting and swinging the door open. His hands gripped the raised shotgun, eyes peering down the sights at the dark figure in front of him.

Clad in black, the intruder had their hand raised, not to attack, but instead to knock on the door he had just flung open. Shock, then recognition, registered in her emerald eyes as her arching eyebrow offset her lowering arm.

"Alfred." He hadn't seen her in almost two years. Not since she and Master Bruce had had a… what delightfully inadequate term had he used? A falling out? Yes, that was it. And now here she was, as Gotham burned and Master Bruce played Icarus.

"Miss Kyle." Alfred paused for a moment, eyeing the grounds behind her. Everything was still, though the hellish landscape of Gotham played out behind her. A motorcycle had been artfully hidden just outside the main gate. He deduced that the sometime-thief had scaled the walls to get on the grounds. "Come in, please. Quickly." She didn't move.

"Is he here?" There was a pleading in her voice, a plaintive hope against hope that Master Bruce might remain in the manor. But Alfred's hesitation betrayed him. Before he could answer, Selina sighed. "Of course he's not. Gotham's under attack; he'd do anything to defend that city." Her voice was filled with regret mixed with the slightest touch of bitterness. But more than that, Selina steadfastly refused to look him in the eye. She seemed distracted and anxious, though those were hardly emotions in short supply at the moment. But something was wrong that Alfred couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Miss Kyle, do come inside." She hesitated again. Something wasn't right and Alfred couldn't figure out what it was, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His eyes scanned the courtyard again.

"I…" She took a few tentative steps forward into the house, and then reached for the straps of her backpack. It was the first time Alfred had noticed it, as it blended in with her outfit. "Alfred, I have a favor to ask you." Slowly, delicately even, she set the bag on the floor and opened the top. Staring up at Alfred was a little girl who couldn't have been more than a year old. A thick shock of black hair covered her head and the child cooed peacefully while she slept as the light of the manor hit her face.

"My word…" Alfred inhaled sharply, his eyes taking in the child as Selina bent down to gently lift her out of the bag.

"Her name is Helena," Selina whispered, as if not waking the sleeping child was now the most important thing in the world. She held the baby her in her arms as only a mother could. "Helena Martha." Her green eyes locked with his, wide and pleading. Words left unspoken but communicated clear as anything begged him to believe her. But she needn't have worried. Alfred had raised Master Bruce from infancy; he would recognize those dimpled cheeks and set jaw anywhere, even on an infant.

"Master Bruce is on the Warworld," he informed her, hand taking her arm to begin to lead her down to the Batcave. "We must call him back, he needs to know." But a light resistance to his touch and a pair of sad eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I can't do that to him Alfred," Selina said, tears already gathering among her lashes. "You and I both know he won't be able to turn around. Not even for her. I couldn't torture him with that. That's why…" She trailed off, leaving the obvious unsaid: that Master Bruce didn't know how to give up the fight, and that's why he had never known about his daughter.

"Alfred." His name from her lips broke the silence again. "Please. Keep her safe." Before he could react, the swaddled baby girl was placed in his arms. Helena cooed again, still not opening her eyes as she adjusted in his grip. Selina offered him a sad smile as she leaned down to kiss her sleeping daughter's forehead. "I love you, little one."

Alfred moved in an almost practiced manner, training of a different sort coming back to his mind as he adjusted Helena to cradle her better while setting the shotgun against the wall. "Of course, Madam." He paused for a moment, and Selina turned to take her leave.

"Miss Selina." She stopped, half turning to him again. Tears were already streaking down her cheeks. "You would have made a fitting lady of this house." A smile sprang to her lips and a short laugh followed before both were overtaken by a small sob.

"Thanks, Al." She rushed over and kissed him on the cheek, a hand brushing her daughter's forehead one last time. Then the former thief turned and jogged from the house toward her waiting motorcycle. Alfred couldn't decide if it was because she needed to be somewhere or because she needed to be anywhere but here. It was probably a bit of both.

But as he watched Helena's mother, a new sense of purpose filled him. One more. He would have one more chance to protect the Wayne family. His mission was not yet complete. Alfred closed the front door and positioned the sleeping baby more comfortably in his arms.

"Come, Miss Helena," he whispered. "Let's see what we can do from downstairs."

XXXXX

Washington, D.C.
July 4, 2016 – Team Year 6 (Bart's Timeline) 18:16 EDT

There are too many of them! M'gann M'orzz's psychic shout, to no one in particular, filled the mental air. An acrid cocktail of ozone and burnt flesh invaded her nostrils as magenta beams clashed harshly with the sliver of evening sunlight that made it through the cracked ceiling. Three floors underground in the Cadmus facility, they weren't supposed to be able to see sunlight. But then again, this wasn't the way this journey was supposed to have gone either. They had come seeking salvation but only death had awaited them.

The half dozen hours that had passed since she had arrived at Cadmus with Connor and Sphere seemed like a lifetime ago. They'd climbed in through a smoking hole left by a crashed fighter jet in the side of the only above-ground building Cadmus owned. A frantic search followed, far too long spent looking for the genomorphs: Cadmus creations that were living weapons, and Connor's brethren.

It had taken longer than she thought it would for Connor to be able to convince the genomorphs that now was the time to fight for their freedom. In fact, he hadn't. The genomorphs were unwilling to fight for humans that had enslaved them for so long. Better to let the invaders and humans fight it out, and reign over the wreckage. It wasn't until Dubbilex had spoken up, just as eloquent and manipulative as Connor said he was, that the genomorphs had finally agreed to fight.

Fight… and die. M'gann had lost count of how many genomorphs had already perished once the Reach had figured out what was going on at the Cadmus facility. The genomorphs had pushed back the ground assault by Reach soldiers. But when they reached the upper levels, the invaders had fighters waiting for them. That smoldering hole in the building had turned into a death trap, and so had the doors and windows. Most of the genomorphs had been vaporized as they attempted to fight their way out. The bodies of those that hadn't been now blocked most of the floors above ground.

Sphere was among the dead. Even New Genesis technology was no match for the Reach's beams. The Super Cycle had been atomized with guns blazing. M'gann felt that it was how she would have wanted to go.

A rumbling explosion echoed from the floors above, followed by a sharp cracking just feet above her head. "M'gann, look out!" Connor's voice, not through the mental link but out loud, was nearly drowned out by the growing thunder. She glanced up just in time to see pieces of the ceiling begin to cave, falling toward her in what seemed like slow motion. Her hands flew up, independent of her thoughts, attempting to shield herself. But the weight was too much, the pieces too numerous. Floor upon floor of earth, rock, and metal were racing to crush her, chased by an orange sunlight backlit by hell itself.

A sudden force rocked M'gann's body, but not from above like she expected. Instead she found herself flung to the side, sliding underneath a doorframe that protected her from the falling debris. The sounds of the Reach's disintegration beams were louder now, the sunlight brighter. But the realization that suddenly dawned seemed to darken the world around her.

"CONNOR!" M'gann's hands extended and she found herself flinging away twisted pieces of metal and chunks of rock. There were no thoughts, barely any concentration, just wild abandon as she mentally moved through the rubble like an out of control buzz saw.

Then she found him. Crushed beneath a steel beam longer than a school bus and twice as tall. Rocks and dirt piled on top, smaller pebbles still cascading down like a waterfall. Connor was struggling, straining to push himself off the floor, trying to give himself just the tiniest amount of space to pull himself out. But he couldn't do it. The rubble was far too much for him to lift.

She tried herself, staring at the pile with every ounce of concentration she had lifting with her hands, trying to will it off the love of her life. It was too heavy, much too heavy, and they didn't have the time to lift it off piece by piece. This fight had gone on for hours and she was exhausted, at the end of her mental capabilities. And in the newfound silence, she could hear the Reach coming.

"M… M'gann…" Connor coughed out her name as he smiled up at her, fresh blood forming at the edges of his lips. That crimson fluid so different than her emerald blood and from the purple of his brethren. A chilling reminder that the Boy of Steel was, in fact, part human.

"Shh, shh…" M'gann dropped to her knees, a hand stroking through his ebony hair that was so caked with sweat and grime. "I'm here, Connor. I'm here." The faint crease of a smile flirted over Connor's face before he coughed again, more blood hitting the ground where she knelt. M'gann tried to hold back the tears she knew were coming.

"Connor… why?" He sucked in a haggard breath, his azure eyes locking with her amber ones as they had so many times before. She could tell he was still fighting, still trying to stay with her.

"Because…" Another cough and more blood. "Because I love you." Each word was a battle and this time she couldn't hold back her tears any longer. The fell freely down her cheeks, mixing with his blood in the dirt.

"I love you too, Connor. I love you too. Just stay with me." But Connor's eyes had lost their focus, and his breaths came shallower and shallower, like a tide on its way out.

"I'm sorry…" M'gann strained to hear his voice over the sound of the advancing Reach soldiers. She shook her head fiercely.

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm alright. You saved me." But he gave no indication that he'd heard her.

"Sorry… I wasn't… Superman…" The light left Connor's eyes as his face fell into the dirt. That small impact rocked M'gann with more force than the ceiling collapse ever could have. It wasn't just his body that was gone. A piece of her mind was gone. A familiar presence that had been a part of her, an essential part of her, for the past five years had just been ripped away. She didn't feel whole. She wasn't whole.

The Reach soldiers were descending down the sloping pit into the Cadmus facility now. Dozens of them. A blast vaporized a rock beside her but M'gann didn't move. Reaching out with her mind she could feel them. Each one was alien but their emotions were surprisingly similar to her own. To Connor's. She could feel fear, worry, anticipation, regret, triumph, and so much more. If any of them were able to tap into her mind though, into her emotions, they would have only felt one thing.

Rage. Pure, seething, unadulterated rage. Head arcing back toward the summer evening sky, M'gann's eyes flashed red and her mouth opened in a scream.

"MURDERERS!" The word, shrieking through the mental and physical plane, was accompanied by a psychic wave more powerful than anything M'gann had ever unleashed. The advancing soldiers froze as if they'd been hit by a blast from a freeze gun and then crumpled to the ground. Dead.

M'gann felt her body collapse into the dirt. She had exhausted the last of her mental powers and the last of her energy. She couldn't move and she didn't want to. She just wanted to lie here next to Connor. They'd watch the end of the world together.