I do not own Batman/Bruce Wayne, J'ohn J'ones/Martian Manhunter, Superman/Kal El/Clark Kent or the other Kents: Johnathan and Martha. I also don't own Alfred Pennyworth or Leslie Thompkins, or Lucius Fox. DC does. So, please enjoy this chapter for free.

Wayne Manor Eleven Years After Waynes' Deaths

Bruce called Alfred as soon as Superman left for Metropolis. There was a private line between Evenlyn's Manor and the Wayne manor, so he filled his butler in in some detail. As he predicted, the Englishman was irate.

"I should never have let that man into your home, Master Bruce!"

"I insisted Alfred."

"You were ten! And legally in my and Leslie's care! I should have just given you a firm 'no'!'"

Bruce gave a slight smile. Some things he could still trust in. "Did you have suspicions he had superpowers back then Alfred? Or were you just suspicious of him in general?"

"He mentioned losing a wife and children, but never mentioned specific details about them or where they lived, or anything about his past really. Just a tragedy to explain his lack of anything but the clothes on his back and a fear of fire. He never told us anything we could substantiate. When a man was in love with a woman, even long after he loses her, he remembers what she looked like! I had to hear plenty of rosy descriptions of my mates' girls back home! And girls who got away. He said he loved and lost a 'wife' but I never heard him speak of her eyes, hair, or figure!"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Neither did I. Although, I wouldn't have expected him to share such things with me at that age."

"I never heard him share such things with Lucius or I, when you were out of the room, nor of the home he shared with his "family." A man who never loved his country of origin, doesn't speak fondly of his new one, nor any another he wishes to make his own is not to be trusted."

Bruce pinched his brow. "I'm sorry I didn't take your concerns seriously."

His grandfather paused and then asked, "What shall we do about this Samson bloke then? He should be easier to deal with."

"Even if he's recently suffered a health crisis, he could still be a threat. I'd like you to take Madge and Aunt Leslie to Aunt Evelyn's. I'll set up a more thorough security system to look out for him, so he can be 'confronted' if he shows up there tonight."

Alfred answered in a grim tone, "Very good sir. But do be careful."

"I will."

"May I take a vacation?"

Bruce started. "Alfred?"

"I have a source I'd like to speak to about this other matter regarding our once-house-guest."

"When would you be leaving?"

"We have that emergency cash of necessities here at Evelyn's, in case an emergency occurs at the manor. I can take my share of that in a piece of borrowed luggage and be on a plane an hour or so after dropping off the ladies."

Bruce straightened again, his eyes wide. "Alfred, what do you think is happening?"

"I'd … rather say after speaking to my contact."

"Is this a contact from your time working for MI6?"

"It is."

"Alfred, can you give me any details at all?"

There was a longer silence than Bruce was used to from his butler followed by "There are a few … overlaps between what you describe and a description of an individual who was being hunted by the American government a few decades ago."

"You never told me you were part of a joint mission with an American agency."

"I … wasn't …"

"Alfred?"

"The prime minister wanted to keep up with what our allies on the other side of the pond were worried about during the Cold War, sir."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Then his shoulders fell. "I must admit, I've gotten used to having in the cave while I'm out. If something significant is developing, I'd feel we were at our fullest strength to meet it with you here."

"You can operate out of the bottom of the tower with Lucius. He's been eager for more action from what I've heard."

"That's true. I'll call him. Take care of 'yourself.'"

"Always. You do the same, young master."

"Always."

Public Lands Outside Gotham Eleven Years After Waynes' Deaths.

The warrior saw him. He knew it was a warrior, despite having never seen a member of the human species before. There was power in the other beings' movements as well as aggression and confidence. Fear poured from the warrior's mind, but also determination. He was afraid but moving swiftly toward not away from that fear's source. And he was that source.

Despite his courage, the warrior's eyes went wide at the sight of him. He didn't have to understand the beings' language to know what he was calling him in his mind. Monster.

The warrior raised something and pointed it in his direction. He hadn't known what "guns" were then, but he'd known by how the warrior handled it it was a weapon of some sort. He'd been attacked by projectile weapons before, so he had a rough idea of how to counter.

He waved a hand in a slashing moment. The muzzle of the gun jerked so it was no longer pointed at his body. The warrior froze in confusion. He took advantage and attacked his mind.

He could have attacked the body physically. He could have picked him up. He could have thrown him into a wall, or to the floor, or even at the ceiling.

He hadn't wanted to injure the warrior's entire body though. The native of this planet he'd ended up on, was defending something important to him from something unfamiliar. He had just fought a war doing the same. He hadn't wanted to be so gentle the warrior could pick himself up and attack again, though. So, he'd gone for his mind.

Mind attacks were common among Martians. So common, they had their own defenses against each others' mind attacks, long ingrained, instinctual defenses. Even the wildlife on Mars was adapted to counter such attacks from them.

How could he know "humans" have no such protections back then? But, how could he ever expect forgiveness for what he'd done to that soldier? He'd proven he was a threat to even strong powerful humans in his first interaction with one. He was a powerful alien threat to the whole species in charge of this strange planet. He'd attacked one of their own. He'd laid a strong and trained soldier, a veteran of human wars, permanently low … Even if he hadn't meant to …

The Martian cupped the stream water in his hand, lifted it to his mouth, and drank unafraid of earth-parasites. They'd never bothered him before, unlike Martian ones. Then he raised his head and contemplated his options including the one his fellow extraterrestrial had mentioned.

Go back? Was Kal El insane? He should never have let young Bruce give him a home in the first place. He didn't belong. He was a Martian. He could pretend to belong here on earth, but he didn't. And those who knew that hunted him relentlessly. Go back … to make his own problems those of humans who didn't deserve them and didn't need to be involved? He couldn't undo the hurt he'd caused them or other humans it seemed, but he didn't have to bring them more trouble.

So, who would he become this time? Who should he disguise himself as before leaving this forest? Not the younger version of the woman at the bus stop again. No younger or older versions of Bruce or any closely connected to him either. A younger version of one of them might be recognized so close to Gotham, and he didn't want any to notice a resemblance to Bruce in the future. One of the Kents maybe? No … First, the agents hunting him had likely studied earlier pictures of those they knew he'd come into contact with, and they "knew" he had" come into contact with all the Kents. As long as his hunters were still somewhat behind him though, a person he'd been close enough to to mimic well without them realizing it was … Samson.

That thought nudged the deeply seated anger in the Martian. While reading the man's mind after his fellow extraterrestrial woke him, he'd gleaned many things. They'd only made the Martian despise the human more. He'd left him unharmed after the blast for a human brain he'd perfected over decades to leave humans unconscious for three to six hours only. He'd given him every opportunity to help himself when he awoke. The human hadn't taken it.

Samson had too much wounded pride to escape and start over, as he himself was so used to doing. The human hated the thought of starting over, because he hated admitting defeat. Samson didn't want to die, but he didn't want to run from the men threatening him. He wanted them to admit he'd won at their games and that he was valuable to them, not the loser they believed him to be. More importantly, Samson come to Gotham less than a decade ago. A young, teenage Samson, slender and soft-faced, would be unknown to most, if not all, Gothamites save Samson himself. And if they ran into each other …

John gave a predatory grin. Messing with the man, frightening him with his own face from the past … Maybe that would shake the predator and manipulator of young helpless human females up a bit.

The smile fell away as he remembered his daughters. The deaths he'd failed to protect them or their mother from were bad enough. He couldn't imagine them in the hands of something like a Martian Samson. He reached up and touched the photo he still carried with him. He couldn't, wouldn't, imagine "them" with such a man either.

He shook his head and forced his thoughts toward other things. Kal El had asked him to go back to Bruce. He couldn't do that. But … he could go back to Gotham.

Samson had gone back to Gotham to continue his terrible plan, which might endanger Dr. Thomkins, who had taught Bruce to be kind. She had been kind to him, when she thought him a homeless helpless fellow human.

Staying in one city too long as anyone was a risk. Still, covering a whole city and investigating everyone in it, even all new arrivals in it, was a stretch of resources even for those hunting him. He'd slipped away under such circumstances before and now knew to stay alert for snipers.

There were other concerns though. He was low on cash, which meant he'd soon be low on food. Was there any work in Gotham for a young man that would feed and house him sufficiently that didn't involve criminally preying on human beings that wouldn't make using his Martina abilities, which would alert his hunters, too tempting? He could look. Besides, if things were the same as they'd been nine years ago, there was always a soup kitchen for hungry homeless humans … or Martians.

Whumptober 2024 Alternative Prompt "Regret."

What do you think?

God bless

ScribeofHeroes