Work Text:
Despite the vastness of the multiverse, there are universal constants to every reality. First is the existence of alcohol (or something close enough to it), hence the second universality: bars.
Whether it’s a cozy local tavern, a speakeasy packed with intergalactic bounty hunters, or a gilded skyrise with a menu of unpronounceable liqueurs, the local bar and, by extension, the average barkeep maintain society’s trust via a mutual, ancient understanding: they’re here to sell booze and you’re here to get fucked up.
There’s limits-- another lesser known but no less universal constant is the desire to avoid police reports and whatever passes for small claims court-- but the sign of a good barkeep is their commitment to walking that line.
And Guy Gardner would have it be known that he only picked good bars.
****
Batman folded his arms as the tall, silver haired man showed them to their table. “Again, I’m timeboxing this to an hour. We need to head back to the Watchtower before--”
The Green Lantern heaved a yowling sigh and dropped into an oddly curved chair, seemingly perfectly comfortable with it’s spine challenging angles. “Ah, come on, Bats! Don’t be such a spoilsport. We kicked the shit out of those peace talks--”
Superman raised an eyebrow and muttered ‘language’. Beside him, J’onn’s expression folded with open confusion. “I believe, by definition, we did the exact opposite--”
Gardner waved the unwanted accuracy away. “--plus, we’ve been robbing the kids here of their chance to get out in the universe a little. Keeping them trapped in the ambassador's palace wasn’t teaching them anything about alien culture, at least not the real ones not putting on a show for the sake of ceremony. This is the real deal.”
Batman made a show of glancing around. The white haired staff strode to and fro, glittering violet eyes staring almost haughtily at them from above their high rubicund cheekbones. The establishment was smaller than its seedier neighbors, just off the main street and clearly not in the nice part of town, though it managed to be cozy considering it was on a minor moon tucked somewhere in the remote Glirell territory of sector 55. To be fair, Batman’s objections had less to do with the bar itself than it’s patrons-- it’s place on the far edge of the sector made it an attractive watering hole for the usual catalog of interstellar thieves, mercenaries for hire, and questionable business types scattered across the tables. “Setting aside the fact that everyone here is over the age of twenty one, and thus not kids, tell me exactly what cultural education you expect us to glean from a bar.”
“It’s culture, Bats,” Guy insisted, spreading his hands. “The point is that you can’t describe it, you have to experience it--”
The cowled gaze didn’t so much as blink. “One, the entire field of sociology disagrees with you. Two, the point in bringing our younger members was to log training hours in space, not to take them on a three week field trip. Three--”
“Agree to disagree. Besides, you’re right, I misspoke: no one here is a kid.” Guy grinned and spread his hands, assuming the anticipatory air a really good punchline. “Because the legal drinking age on this planet is twelve .”
Conner snorted and raised his eyebrows, propping his elbow on the glass table. Little spirals of light illuminated across the surface. “Well, I’m still screwed.”
Beside him, Artemis nudged Zatanna with her elbow. “Quick. What’s the magic spell for a fake ID?”
Guy let out a long suffering sigh. “Okay, fine, it’s a thinly veiled excuse to drag everyone to a good bar. Come on, trust me a little here. They have the best drink specials for six sectors in either direction.” Guy gestured as though to smack Batman on the shoulder, stopping short of actual contact. That was probably for the better. He spread his hands instead. “This is a break. We all earned it.”
Green Arrow muttered, “Amen to that.”
J’onn shrugged. “I stand by my earlier position. There is little harm in spending a few hours enjoying beverages. With the interstellar gate system in this region repaired, we are but a few hours travel time from Earth and thus, a week ahead of schedule.”
Swiping a finger across the tabletop to bring up it’s built in menu, somewhat clumbsily overlayed with the Lanterns translation tech, Superman gave Batman a somewhat helpless grin. “We’re already here. We might as well make a night of it.”
“That settles it.” Guy clapped his hands. “I’ll get a round for the table.”
****
Ten minutes later, they clinked blue tinged glasses and settled in. Conner met Clark’s wry gaze for a second before the younger shrugged and fiddled with the odd little glass stirrer before taking a sip. Sweetness blossomed across his tongue. “Huh. It tastes like a guava had a baby with peanut butter.”
Green Arrow wrinkled his nose. “Really? Mine tastes like watered down apple cider with orange zest.”
Guy snorted. “They’re the same drinks. Fun, huh? Adaptive flavor profile. Tastes differently to everyone, regardless of species.”
Giving in, Clark raised his glass to his lips. “You’re right, Conner. Guava peanut butter.” He gave Batman a slanted smile. “You sure you don’t want to try yours? I’ll be designated driver.”
Batman pushed his drink towards him. “Even sober, I trust autopilot more than your flying. I’ll spare the rest of us the motion sickness.”
Green Arrow snickered. “That’s right. I forgot Supes can’t get drunk.” He paused, raising an eyebrow and tilting his glass with a decidedly challenging air. “Or is it that you just haven’t tried hard enough?”
Clark rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his glass in one swift swallow, then grabbed Batman’s untouched drink and did the same. He raised his thoroughly sober eyebrows. “I don’t know, I’ve tried pretty hard, Ollie. I went to college like the rest of us.”
“Given the redundant nature of kryptonian organs,” J’onn pointed out, setting his own drink on the table. “It’s highly unlikely you’d ever consume enough alcohol in a short enough time period to come close to overwhelming both your livers.”
Oliver groaned. “Multiple livers? Christ.” He flicked a glance at Conner. “You too, kid?”
“It’s like being born with a permanent child lock on your account,” Conner acknowledged, knocking back the rest of his drink and setting the glass beside Clark’s. He shrugged at the aghast look that got him. “I’m used to it.”
“At least you’re growing now,” Ollie said, patting his arm with a conciliatory air. “I swear to god, you look at least nineteen and three inches taller. At least.” He grimaced. “Glad Lex is good for something. What’s he doing to you again?”
It didn’t even occur to Conner to bristle at the barely-concealed distrust, because, well, it was Lex. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, just some exfoliating kryptonite skin treatments.” He shook his head, catching Ollie’s frown. “J’onn superivises. It’s not a big deal. Doesn’t even hurt. Makes me tired more than anything. Only one more session and then I’m done with the whole thing.”
Ollie’s glance flicked across his facial features, pursing his lips as he took another swallow. “How many more years are you planning on cramming into one treatment?”
J’onn was the one who answered, as Guy flagged down their waitress to order another round. “There was a surge in cell turnover when he began the treatment, but now that it’s stabilized, there is unlikely to be any more rapid onsets. Conner should resume aging at a normal rate now.”
“Man, that’s still gotta suck a little.” Artemis’s face flushed as everyone turned to look at her. Conner guessed it had less to do with the sudden attention and more to do with the sips of Zatanna’s drink she’d been stealing once she’d finished her own. “I mean, you'll still have to explain your age every time someone asks. You’re what, seven years old, but physically nineteen, but mentally more like twenty two?”
Batman shrugged. “Wait until your late twenties. People stop asking.”
Conner leaned backwards in his seat so the waitress could slip past to set down their drinks. “It doesn’t bother me so much these days. There’s very little about me that isn’t kind of weird, but at least I’m not stuck at sixteen forever. Now, I just look a little young for the age on my driver’s license.”
“To Conner,” Guy announced, toasting him. “Now three steps closer to not getting carded every time he so much as looks at a Terran bar.”
****
Clark watched the group get decidedly less lucid as time went on, save for the occasional amused glances he’d share with Conner or Bruce. It was nice, in a way. Ollie was on his fourth drink and happily explaining the passive aggressive flower-arrangements Dinah would send to his office when she was annoyed with him. Zatanna listened intently, or as intently as she could with a bored and drunk Artemis trying to revenge-braid her hair. Guy’s braying laughter somehow tripled in volume and he swayed slightly when he stood, but remained coherent for now
It was nice, in an odd way. Clark found himself more than a little reassured by the relative normalcy of it. They’d been cooped up for too long, first in the ship for a week of space travel, then for two weeks as representatives for an entire planet in an alien palace. Ignoring Bruce’s misgivings to stay and enjoy themselves had been a good call.
Actually, Clark had been in need of some stress relief for a couple of months now. He wasn’t unhappy with his new life, per se, it was just strange. Waiting for him back on Earth was the pleasant but disconcertingly luxurious apartment Bruce was lending him while he sorted out the divorce. It would empty without him there, save for Alfred stopping by to collect his mail and check on the fussy potted fern Clark had set on the balcony, but that wasn’t distressing; it was slowly being filled with Clark; the Clark he was, the Clark he used to be, and the increasingly more clear Clark that would be.
It wasn’t perfect, but he was cautiously optimistic. Despite all the trouble upending his marriage and familial relationships caused, he found it much easier to be this Clark than the old one. It was humbling in that way things became as he got older, to realize he’d had no idea how much pain he’d been in until suddenly he wasn’t.
Now, if he could just figure out where the Clark that Will Be could intersect with the baby he’d just had, that would be great.
Conner snorted and leaned back in his seat, eyebrows scrunching ever so slightly with the effort of humoring the drunks around him. “Well, assuming I’m still unemployed and it doesn’t conflict with my class schedule, sure, Ollie. I can babysit for you and Dinah. Hypothetically. If you one day have kids.”
“Good, good, that’s all I need to know,” Ollie slurred, tipping his drink at him in a salute. He gave a spectacularly uncoordinated wink. “You’d be so good at it. A babysitter who can handle canary cries. And bears.”
Conner rolled his eyes. “That’s never going to die, is it?”
Ollie cackled. “Nope. Never. That is Justice League legend now--”
Artemis flashed Conner a sympathetic look. She might have only tangentially been part of the Arrows, but she’d dealt with enough of Ollie’s shit to spot it a mile away. “Hey, Conner. If you’re signed up for classes, does that mean you picked a new major?”
“More like a general direction of study,” Conner said, rubbing his neck. “Medicine. I figured I could get some basic certifications out of the way to see if working in the field is more my thing or if I want to pursue research.”
Clark couldn’t help his own chuckle as the waitress arrived with a fresh tray of purple drinks. He swirled the stirrer curiously and figured he’d take a chance with this one-- the last had reminded him of his Ma’s peachberry pie, mixed with coffee beans. “You should tell them what you said at Lex’s gala.”
Conner groaned and took an irritable sip. “That was months ago .”
“No, really,” Clark said, giving him a slanted smile. “It’s a good story.”
Apparently realizing that even Batman was listening now, Conner set his drink aside and folded his arms, resigned to his fate. Took a second to figure out where he wanted to start. “Lex had been hounding me to study business administration so he can leave me the company when he dies and wasn’t taking my eighteen versions of ‘dear god, no’ as an answer. Anyway, to shut him up, I told him I was considering medicine, so of course he went late-stage helicopter parent on me and tried to plan my entire doctorate at some Ivy League school. I told him that I was considering medical school, but that he couldn’t bring up anything more in public. So what does he do at the gala? Tell everyone that I was going to be a doctor, of course. Anyway, we get seated and everyone introduces themselves. Lo and behold, most of our dining companions are somehow— by wild, cosmic coincidence— tangentially connected to the medical programs at Lex’s list of Ivy League universities. You know. In the spirit of being barely not the exact thing I told him he wasn’t allowed to do.”
“What an ass.” Artemis’s face tightened, pink with the surge of alcohol in her system. “So you flipped the table and stormed out, right?” Zee, half dozing on her shoulder, let out an agreeable cheer.
“Considered it,” Conner admitted, with only a faint trace of shame, “but no. So, everyone finishes introducing themselves while I’m wracking my brain for how I can get back at Lex, when eventually some dean’s cousin asks what subfield I was interested in.” Conner takes a long drink from his glass. “And that’s when it came to me.”
In the silence of the group, Clark stirred his drink and beamed.
Conner widened his eyes ever so slightly. “I looked this guy dead in the eye and said, ‘Midwifery.’” He couldn’t stop the wolfish grin creeping across his face as the table devolved into shocked snorts. “Lex and his weirdly gendered expectations turned purple . I’m not exaggerating. Actually, it wasn’t until I said it that I realized it does sound interesting. Birth is just so weird and gross. It’s the first certification I’m working on right now, actually....”
*****
Guy felt the flush crawling up his face as he staggered back to the bar counter, heralding the cheery stage of inebriation that was both his favorite and the reason he had insisted on this bar in particular. Gwain, the two hundred year old owner and bartender of this fine establishment, was also a fine brewing scientist. Not only were the majority of the specials his own products and mixes, but from what Guy had been told by Kilowog, the Glirellian was a master at calculating the blood alcohol impact of any one drink on any one patron based only on a vague understanding of species and body weight.
To say this was brilliant for business was an understatement-- not only did Gwain avoid the worst of the rowdy drunks, his patrons all got to enjoy a reliable, steady buzz without any of the undesirable lurching and vomiting that no one on either end of the transaction wanted to deal with.
Guy tapped the bar counter to get the white haired man’s attention. “I’m gonna need three more tonic blitzers, and two of cocktail specials eight through sixteen,” he said, as clearly as he possibly could.
With a squint, Gwain tossed his snowy braid over his shoulder. “Say again.”
Guy sighed and did as asked. Okay, so this bar was almost perfect. Adding whatever slightly backwards dialect of Glirillian that this entire outer moon spoke to his universal translator would be the only thing that would improve the experience. Just the one. It was fine, though-- with a lot of hand gestures and pointing, the very important business of getting liquored up could still be conducted.
Gwain’s violet eyes narrowed. “Yes, blitzers. No, sixteen specials. Too many drinks, too fast for Terrans. Die of alcohol on my bar floor. No serve.”
Guy placed a hand on his chest and shook his head. “Oh, those drinks ain’t for me or the other Terrans--” that got him a suspicious glare. He wondered briefly how often the old ‘it’s not for me, I’m just going to hold it’ routines the man got nightly. “--it’s for those two.”
Sparing half a glance for Superman and Superboy, Gwain hardly seemed reassured. “Sixteen for only two? They die faster. No serve.”
Leaning forward with a vehement shake of his head, Guy enunciated even more slowly. “Not all of us are Terrans, some are Kryptonians. Those two--” he pointed again, enunciating as though he’d be docked a thousand bucks per error. “-- Kryp-to-ni-ans . Check your door scanners. They don’t get drunk. They just want to try the flavors. Kryptonians.”
“Kryptonians? Here?” Gwain leaned forward across the bar to get a better look at their table. Guy spared a moment to pray that whatever cosmic probability made Kryptonians were virtually indistinguishable from the Terran human population didn’t apply in all intergalactic circles. Hopefully Conner and Clark looked very Kryptonian . Whatever the hell that meant. “Hmm. Not see Kryptonians in long time. I look up.”
Guy deflated a little as the alien swiped a finger across the backsplash of the bar and pulled up a small light screen for the bar’s internal system. Twisted to look back at the table, where the rest of their group burst out laughing.
He groaned. He was probably missing another story. Just his luck.
Gwain tapped a few things, fingers braced against his chin. Apparently, whatever his computer said lined up with Guy’s attempts to order for his table. “Kryptonians not drunk?”
Finally, they were getting somewhere. Guy nodded enthusiastically. “Not drunk. I promise.”
Gwain nodded gravely. “Okay. I serve. One more round for Terrans,” he said, holding up a firm finger. “Two more for Martian man. All others for Kryptonians. After, wait two hours, order food, and then maybe more drinks. No dead Terrans in my bar.”
“Thank you,” Guy said, pressing his hands together in gratitude, before abruptly remembering that could be construed as a rude gesture in these parts. Luckily, Gwain seemed amused by his aborted movements. “You are magnificent. This is the best bar in the whole quadrant. I’ll tell everyone I know. Word of mouth advertising. You deserve it.”
That got him an eye roll. “Yes, yes. You say every time. More drunk Green Lanterns in bar. Can’t wait.”
****
Tufi, Gwain’s head waitress and daughter in law came up to him as the annoying Terran Lantern ambled away from the counter. “Don’t tell me you let him talk you into overserving those Terrans,” she snapped. Four hours into her shift and her rosy skin was already ashy with fatigue. She flicked her temple braid, interspersed with beads, over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. “If one of them vomits on our floor, you have to clean it up.”
Gwain consulted his screen, then scribbled on a napkin and handed it to her. “Yes, yes. I’ll take the risk, but first I need you to go into the cellar and get these for me.”
She squinted at the list, nose wrinkling. “I haven’t seen you take these off the shelf in the last decade, much less serve them to any species weighing less than a ton. Did someone put a hit out on these Terrans?” She lowered the napkin and scowled at him, only half serious. “If yes, I want half the bounty.”
He swatted her away. “They’re Kryptonians, apparently, and they haven’t even gotten tipsy yet despite drinking half the menu. Special liver biology. Go on. They’re waiting.” He sighed as she scowled and stomped off.
Reputation was a fickle thing. Surely he wouldn’t be blamed for not realizing what species they were before now, right? He hadn’t seen any Kryptonains in this sector in over a century. They’d been isolated and reclusive even before their planet had blown up decades ago, but the scanner that passively assessed his patrons for species-level information upon entrance did, in fact, detect Kryptonians.
He hadn’t even realized there were any left.
Some warning would have been nice. Gwain huffed to himself and went back to his math. Damn redundant livers. With any luck, it should only take a few modified drinks to have these heavy-drinking Kryptonians nice and buzzed and certainly not going to accuse Gwain’s establishment of watering down their drinks. Hopefully.
****
“What did you do?” Batman snarled.
Guy threw up his hands. “Nothing! You said they couldn’t get drunk!”
Across the table from them, Conner and Clark leaned on each other to stay upright in their uncomfortably curled chairs. Occasionally burst into peals of laughter every time one of them tried to straighten and only inevitably and wobbily fail.
Artemis was busy pawing at the pockets of her own suit, then at Zee’s. “My phone. Where’s my phone? Tell me you have my phone. They’re both off their asses and posterity needs to know.”
“We’re in space,” the magician reminded her. “Your phone is lightyears away.”
J’onn impassively picked up Conner’s half finished drink and swirled the liquid gently beneath his nose. “I do not detect any kind of poison or kryptonite compounds, but the spirits in this beverage are different than the ones we were initially served.”
“I swear I ordered them the same thing,” Guy groaned. “The specials taste different, but they’re supposed to be made of the same stuff. You gotta believe me, Bats!”
Batman ground his teeth together. “How many did they have?”
“Between the two of them?” J’onn glanced down at the table then over at the door where the waitress that had scooped up their last completed round had disappeared through, brow furrowing as he struggled to count glasses that were no longer there. “At least eight, possibly closer to fourteen.”
With a triumphant a-ha, Clark managed to get to his feet, hands clamped around Conner’s shoulders to bring him with him in victory. Walking did not seem promising. “We’re ready to go, Bruce,” he proclaimed before promptly tripping over the edge of his cape. He and Conner hit the floor with a dull thud. “Ow?”
Conner rubbed his head and nodded. “Ow,” he agreed, then burst into giggles.
Batman grabbed Guy’s arm in a vice grip. “Find the bartender. Now.”
****
“See? It was just a simple miscommunication, is all. No one’s been poisoned--”
“By a technicality,” Batman pointed out, glaring at his guantlets’ holographic map as he struggled to navigate the warren-like streets for a group of largely drunk aliens. “They would have certainly not ingested that much alcohol if they understood how it would impact them.”
Guy twisted to look at Clark, who was bouncing up and down pulling Conner over to look at some colorful, glowing glasswares shaped vaguely like hookahs in the nearest shop window. Conner’s matching enthusiasm was immediate and equally bouncy, though he didn’t hover. “I dunno. They seem pretty stoked about this.”
“Look at them. They’re stoked about everything right now,” Ollie snorted. His gait might weave slightly, but he was upright and cogent. He’d probably be sober-ish within the hour. “It’s like giving two five year olds cocaine and a keg of Red Bull before letting them loose at Disneyland. I’m only half joking. Have you seen their eyes? Their pupils are the size of dinner plates.”
“Terminology aside,” J’onn intoned. His own inebriation seemed manageable: you could only really tell he’d had anything to drink when he attempted to walk a straight line and nearly phased through the floor. “Batman’s reasoning is sound. We do not know what to expect and neither do they. It would be wise to end the night now and let them sleep off the effects on the ship.”
“Aw, but I didn’t even get to show anyone the--”
“Drunk Kryptonians wandering the streets,” Batman said through gritted teeth. “We just finished repairing our intergalactic reputation after Rann. Do you want to take personal responsibility for whatever they might do here?”
There was a crashing sound, followed by shattering glass.
Guy glanced over just in time to see a giggling Conner sitting on the ground amid the wreckage of whatever items had been on the display cart, while Clark nearly folded over on himself laughing. That looked expensive. “We need to get them back on the ship,” he said, quailing as Bruce strode past him with a glare, already tugging out payment and approaching the irritated shopkeep who’d come outside to investigate. “Pronto.”
****
“Oh, I like this game,” Clark enthused. He stared down at where Bruce’s fist had twisted in the front of his uniform, angled to drag him through the late night crowd congregating in front of some sort of night club. It had a lot of music and flashing lights emanating from it, anyway: that usually meant dancing. He twisted and grabbed Conner’s hand, towing him along. “It’s like Follow The Leader.”
“Damn it,” Conner muttered, a little regretfully. “I’m not very good at this one.”
“That’s okay! I’ll help--”
“Yes, Clark,” Batman said, feeling his patience drain from his body like grains of sand. “It’s just like Follow The Leader. Do you want to know what the second rule is?”
“There’s a second rule? I’ve never heard of it before. Tell me!”
“It’s ‘don’t wander off.’”
“Neat!” Clark’s mouth dropped open. “Ohhhh…. I get it. You’re mad we left the group, but Bruce--” Bruce grunted as he was suddenly stopped short by two hundred and some odd pounds of delighted Kryptonian. Clark turned back to face the distant club, like a moth to a cheap, technicolor flame. “Did you see how fun that place looked?”
“There were lots of lights,” Conner added, as though that explained everything, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He yawned. “I’m tired. What’s that?” he added, twisting as he spotted a shop window that seemed entirely composed of a sparkling, gaseous cloud. “It smells like popcorn.”
It was like herding cats. Selina deserved a lot more credit than he realized.
“Conner’s tired,” Bruce repeated, tugging Clark’s cape until he looked away from the shopfront and at Bruce. “Which is why we should go back to the ship. So he can lay down.”
“Do you want to lay down?” Clark waited for Conner’s nod before turning back to Bruce. “We should go back to the ship so Conner can lay down.”
“Great idea,” Bruce snapped, dragging them both forward again. “Let’s do that.”
****
Guy flew over to J’onn, surrounded by a faint green shimmer as he hovered maybe ten feet above the street. “There ya are. Where’d they wander off to this time?”
“I believe Superman smelled something from a food cart six blocks over,” J’onn said heavily, his two charges floating above the ground. “They found a pet shop on the way. After I persuaded them not to purchase a litter of ‘shark puppies’, I resorted to levitating them to prevent any additional… wandering.”
That did rather explain why Conner seemed a mite inconsolable. “We need to go back,” he grumbled, wiggling unhappily in J’onn’s levitation. He glanced mulishly at Clark for backup, who for all his willingness to do so, seemed perturbed to find himself in the same tractionless predicament. “We bonded, okay? Wolf would love that shark puppy.”
“It cannot breathe our atmosphere,” J’onn said, with weary patience. “And was attempting to eat your hand.”
“She was just playing! We’d figure something out. Get her a little helmet—”
J’onn glanced around. “Where are the others?”
“Batman took them ahead to the Javelin,” Guy informed him. “Everyone else was getting cranky. He’s going to meet us on the east end of town to try to save us some time.”
“That does seem prudent. What should have been a fifteen minute walk from the bar has now taken--” J’onn consulted his communicator. “--seventy eight minutes.”
****
“Where are you?” Batman snapped into the ship’s comm. “You’re late.”
“Minor complication, muchacho,” Guy said. “We got halfway to you when we realized Conner’s fingers were kind of… purpley. Or blue.”
“Blue.”
“Yeah. And he wasn’t breathing more than a few times a minute. And falling asleep while standing up. And was kind of growling softly without meaning to, or at least, I don’t think he meant--”
“That first part sounds like alcohol poisoning in humans.” Bruce tugged off the cowl and put his face in his hands. “Not that we’d know what it looks like in him. Even without him having been drunk before, we don’t actually know how his biology works. We barely know anything about Clark’s.”
Ollie nudged him, half sober now that he had half a gallon of coffee in him. “His surgery wasn’t that long ago. This could be serious.”
“Our thoughts exactly. Luckily,” Guy said, voice trapped somewhere between apologetic and smug. “I remembered that our good barkeep Gwain has a wife, Yula, who is-- drumroll please -- a three hundred year old field medic. Toured with the ol’ Interplanetary Relief Corps. That’s right-- she even treated a few kryptonians way back in the day. Gwain is getting her now-- oh, fuck, what now? J’onn? J’onn.” Batman heard the Martian say something indistinct. “Are they-- are they fucking glowing?”
Bruce swore into his palm. Once he’d gotten control of himself, reactivated his comm. “Send me your coordinates. We’ll come to you.”
****
Yula turned out to be a long limbed Glirellian with elegant rosewood wrinkles that curved like the flutes in a stage curtain from the corner of her eyes, who impatiently waved away Batman’s attempts to thank her for both her treatment and use of her roof as an impromptu landing pad. She flicked her long, salt and pepper braid over her shoulder and gestured him inside. “Kryptonians fine. Normal drunk.”
Batman nodded appreciatively as he stepped through to find himself in some sort of guest room. J’onn and Guy stood from where they’d been seated beside a piece of furniture that was a cross between a fainting couch and a daybed where Clark was propping up a dozing Conner on his shoulder. “Even the hybrid?” When she tilted her head, he gestured and explained, “The shorter one is half Terran.”
She shrugged and pulled some kind of medi-scanner from her apron, showing him the readout. He understood precisely none of it. “Breathing not great but okay. Sick, yes. Tired, yes. Vomit and faint, maybe. No die.”
“And the glowing?” Batman almost didn’t ask. Now that he could see it in person, he understood why Guy had been so startled. Along both of the kryptonian’s faces, necks, and arms, magenta bioluminescent flecks spread like a constellation of freckles. He had to swallow a choked laugh.
They looked like bad extras in a half-assed production of Avatar. The effect was less organically majestic and more like neon eczema.
She looked at them then back at Bruce. Gave an unimpressed shrug. “Normal drunk kryptonians.” She turned to Guy and said something that must not have translated because the syllables sounded harsh and nonsensical to his ears.
Guy’s ginger eyebrows raised. Darted a glance at Batman. “Um, there’s no exact match,” he hedged. “—but uh, just know it's a mildly derogatory term that conceptually translates to ‘glowsticks’.”
If there was a racist word for it, it was probably a normal species trait. Bruce would take it.
“Good enough for me. Guy, J’onn: get them on the ship while I settle the bill.” Bruce mustered his politest smile and produced the League’s credits chip. “Since we’re here, do you have any additional medical information specific to Kryptonians you’d be willing to part with?”
****
Aboard the Javelin, Conner hunched over an evidence bucket someone had managed to dig out of a cabinet for him where J’onn had deposited him in the bunk area behind the cockpit before retreating to the lower level to recover from the alcohol on his own time. “I don’t want to vomit,” he groaned. It somehow came out a snarl, ending in a plaintive whine. “And I still want a shark puppy.”
“Yeah, drinking pretty much sucks,” Artemis said, without opening her eyes from where she was stretched out on the bunk above him. “Now shut up. I’m trying to sleep off my hangover before I get it.”
There was a rumbling sound below her.
Meeting Zatanna’s inquisitive frown from the bunk across from her, she leaned over the edge, hair trailing behind her. “Are you growling, just super softly?”
Ollie twisted from where he was seated in the cockpit across from Guy. “Oh, my god, I think he’s purring.”
J’onn phased up through the floor to tug open the fridge and retrieve a bottle of water. For someone who hadn’t gotten noticeably drunk, he looked quite worn down by it. “I believe that is a hyoidal vibratory flutter, aimed at the 25 hz range to encourage stem cell production. Triggered, no doubt, by the lack of yellow sunlight available in this region of hyperspace. Likely a residual or alcohol specific response, since I do not believe he attempted to use it when previously ill.” He glanced around, seemingly taking in their bemusement for the first time. “It is not an unknown survival adaptation among mammalian life forms. It can even be observed in several species on Earth.”
“Which species?”
“Many fall within the taxonomic family of felidae--”
“That’s cats.” Zatanna said, eyes widening with delight. She looked around the room. “Guys, he’s purring.”
“Hyoidal vibratory--” J’onn tried.
“No, no, no,” Guy said, holding up a hand. “Purring is way cuter. Drunk kryptonians purr. That is now Justice League fact, my friend.”
J’onn just pressed his chilled water bottle to his forehead and phased down into the hold without comment.
Artemis turned back to Conner, still hanging over the edge of her bunk and hair flopping behind her like a paintbrush. She waved a finger, unable to reach far enough to poke him. “Do it again.”
Conner shook his head and nearly heaved into the bucket.
****
“This is so cute,” Zee whispered. “I wish one of us had our phones. No one is going to believe us.”
Beside her, crammed into Zee’s bunk and the furthest from the potential vomit zone, Artemis nodded and peeked down. On the bottom bunk across from them, Conner lay curled on his side, purring softly as he drifted in and out of consciousness, one hand on the bucket. Behind him, chest-to-back, Superman was also purring, having figured out how to do it after listening to Conner but before having the bright idea to combine forces.
Now they were both dozing, half cuddled, like overgrown Kryptonian cats.
(Who also had glow in the dark chickenpox.)
Conner groaned and sat up. Sweat slicked his dark hair to his forehead, plastering it up as he rubbed his forehead. “I’m too hot.”
“Okay,” Superman said, brows furrowed. He brightened. “I can help with that.” With that, he took a deep breath and sent a gust along Conner’s back, forming small icicles in the fabric and a ring of frost blossoming around the bunk. The ambient air temperature dropped by at least ten degrees. “That better?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey!” Zee called, dressed in her stage leotard and fishnets as normal, yanking the covers out from beneath Artemis. It had been plenty warm in the palace, so she hadn’t changed her wardrobe. “ Tekalb mraw . It’s like a freezer in here.”
“No ice breath on deck.” In the cockpit, not fifteen feet away, Batman turned away from where he was monitoring the controls and sighed. “If Conner’s overheating,” he added, “take him to the shower room and let him use the cold water. Do not make the Javelin’s climate control fight you; I don’t care who’d win and I’m not wasting thruster power to find out.”
“But he’s still sleepy,” Clark countered. “He should stay in bed.”
“We’re maybe twenty minutes from Earth. He can sleep all he wants at home.”
“Okay,” Conner said, dragging himself into a standing position beside the bunk’s ladder. He started towards the shower with Superman hovering cautiously behind him. Zee didn’t blame him; Conner was weaving as though he could feel every bump and bob the Javelin’s flight deck stabilizers spared them. Who knew? Maybe he could. “I’mma sleep in the showers, then.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No freeze breath in there either,” Batman warned. He spun around in his chair for the full effect. “Don’t assume that just because I can’t see you, you can get away with it. I will know.”
Superman didn’t respond beyond the caught-out nose wrinkle he shot back. Turning the right way, he caught a glance at himself in the wall mounted mirror as he stepped through the entrance to the shower room. “My tongue is glowing! Conner, does your tongue glow too?”
The last thing Zee saw before the door slid shut was both of them stopping short to stick out their tongues, making faces at their reflections.
“I can’t believe we don’t have a camera,” she grumbled, still shivering.
****
Green Arrow poked his head out of the shower room. “Bruce, we’ve got a problem.”
Bruce sighed, not pausing in his post-flight checklist as he powered down the Javelin. A more thorough maintenance routine could wait-- he was eager to put boots on solid ground and collapse in his own bed. In the Watchtower hanger, he watched Zee and Artemis wind their way unsteadily towards the zeta landing, supervised by an overly cheerful Guy.
“Did Conner vomit glow stick fluid?” he grumbled. Surely that would be the thing they needed to round off the night. Biological contaminants.
“Conner’s not here,” Ollie snapped. “And neither is Clark.”
That got his attention. “Did you check the--?”
“I checked the whole ship. I even woke J’onn up in the hold. He hasn’t seen them and one of the airlocks registered a discrete override over five minutes ago.”
“Are the short range breathers gone?”
“What?” There was a sharp shuffling noise while Ollie checked. “How’d you know?”
“Just confirming that Clark’s still just drunk and not stupid,” Bruce sighed. He started pulling up the tracker in Clark’s earpiece. “It means they bailed right as we approached the atmosphere.”
“Why? We were nearly home. It would take just as long to fly with us as--”
“Ask him that. I’ve never been drunk with super senses before. Maybe they smelled brownies in South Dakota.” Bruce took a calming, meditative breath before activating the comms. The red dot on his screen blinked steadily somewhere in the Arctic. Under normal conditions, he’d have assumed Superman was enroute to the fortress of solitude, likely to get medical treatment for Conner, but their movement had halted. “Clark? Is everything okay?”
“Hm?” There was a startled chuckle, followed by a splash. “Oh, we’re fine.”
Bruce leaned back in his chair. “Where are you?” he asked conversationally, as though he weren’t looking at their GPS coordinates in real time.
“Conner was hot,” Clark said, as though that explained everything. There was another splash.
Reality struck Bruce so quickly he doubled over, fingers pressed to his forehead to stifle a phantom migraine.
Conner had been hot. Bruce had forbidden the use of ice breath on board. It had been five minutes since Clark had used the airlock, meaning he’d literally pointed himself at the coldest looking location he could see and flown. There hadn’t been time to stop anywhere else on the way.
Fuck. If they’d been worried about their intergalactic press before….
“Clark,” he said, in his most solicitous, not at all intending to yell voice. His kids called it The Obvious Trap. “Are you and Conner skinny dipping in the Arctic Ocean ?”
****
“Oh, no, Bruce,” Clark chirped, pulling his earpiece out and shaking it. “You’re breaking up.” He dropped it into the pile of bunched fabric that was in fact his uniform and also Conner’s clothes, perched on the edge of the glacier and folded in a way that would make his mother scold him. Spared a second to wave at a passing polar bear, staring at him bemusedly over the shining, scaly body of its freshly caught dinner. He gave it a thumbs up and turned back to where Conner was paddling in circles and jumped in beside him. “Feeling better?” he asked as he resurfaced, flipping wet hair out of his eyes.
“Much,” Conner assured him, grabbing a small chunk of floating ice and clutching it to his stomach like a pool toy so he could roll lazily onto his back.
“Oh, good,” Clark said, backstroking over to him. “I was worried when you kept falling asleep. It didn’t look very fun. I’m glad you’re having fun again.”
“Me too,” Conner flipped around again, resurfacing. He blinked water out of his eyes and pointed. “Wanna race me to that iceberg?”
****
Ollie dragged out an enormous sigh and waved a not so humoring hand, glancing at J’onn for backup. “I mean, I don’t see what the big deal is. So what if they’re having a nude swim? I can’t believe you of all people are being such a prude about this, Bruce.”
“Communal bathing is a common family activity in several European and Asian countries,” J’onn provided. “Have you not expressed a desire for them to spend more time bonding, especially after the stresses of having Lex Luthor involve himself in Conner’s life? I do not see any cause for worry, except perhaps for Conner’s medical state going unsupervised.”
“See? J’onn’s right. The Swedes do it all the time. There’s no need to stick around, hyperventilating, when we could all go home and celebrate a mission well done--”
“My attitudes towards casual nudity are not the problem.” Bruce pulled the cowl down, so they could both suffer the acerbic force of his glare. “My trust in the press is.”
“I do not see how this would interest them,” J’onn said, glancing between them both. “Again, this happens daily in many cultures. This does not strike me as newsworthy.”
The moment Oliver got it was like watching a baseman have the ball unexpectedly drop into his mitt. His eyes got huge. “Oh no.”
“Oh, yes,” Bruce snapped. “Unless you want to trust the world press-- no, for the sake of argument, let’s just say the American press-- to maintain their reputations as discreet, tactful entities capable of respecting boundaries and privacy in only the most ethical--”
Ollie turned to J’onn. “They’re going to rip themselves apart trying to get a photo of Superman’s dick. Normally, it’d be hilarious—”
****
They both surfaced at the same time, grinning ear to ear.
“That shark was so friendly,” Conner said, wiping water out of his eyelashes before it could crust into ice. The bioluminescent specks on his skin had darkened to near purple. Clark spared a thought for whether that had to do with the cold or their livers working overtime. He blinked owlishly. “Are they normally like that?”
“Greenland sharks usually are, at least when I’ve visited them. I think they’re just slow and don’t know what to do with us, so they hang out.” Clark thought for a moment. “I think that one was about two hundred or so? They’re neat.”
They tread water in silence for a couple minutes. It was peaceful, listening to the steady slap of the waves against the edge of the glacier with the sun’s rays shining down and bouncing off all the snow.
“Hm… Clark?”
“What is it?”
“I’m cold now.”
“Okay.” Clark huffed out a laugh, twisting in the water to look towards the Fortress. It was only a few hundred miles away but their fun day would probably end there. No doubt Bruce would be waiting for him or Diana or another amused yet firm member of the League. In fact, they were probably on their way already. He snuck a glance at the opposite horizon and brightened. “I have a great idea.”
****
“What do you mean they’re not there?” Within the confines of the Batcave, Bruce was tempted to drape himself against the case he was currently depositing his equipment into with the wild abandon of an anemic Victorian maiden. He was so close. So close. His bed was upstairs. His children were behaving or at least faking it well enough that he didn’t have to care.
“I’m telling you,” Barry said, sighing over the comm. “His comm was just sitting there on the ice.”
“Well, he was there ten minutes ago,” Bruce grumbled. “Look around.”
“You think I want to miss this? I found a bunch of footprints by where they must have gotten dressed and ditched the tracker, but I am telling you, they’re gone.”
Bruce let his forehead smack against the glass. Not enough to hurt, just enough to validate his frustration. “I’ll hail the Fortress again. Just a moment.” He stalked over to his computer and had to restrain himself from slamming the keys. “The AI says they aren’t there, though my system is throwing up some weird chatter from Yellowstone…”
****
“This is perfect.” Conner reclined against the pitted travertine formation on the edge of the pool and inhaled sulphuric steam, heat curling around him. The golden orange glow of late evening warmed the limestone terraces of Mammoth Hot Springs, giving the mountainside a sepia burnish that contrasted nicely with the deepening shadows. A sharp flash went off just as his eyes started to drift shut. He popped them open with a sigh. “Though I could do without the Chinese tourists.”
“How do you know they’re Chinese?” Clark asked him, turning and waving to the group on the platform. That got a few startled exclamations and a handful of return waves. Clark smacked Conner’s shoulder until he relented and joined in (he was very big on heroes being extra approachable. Conner was less firm on the topic.).
He yawned. “I speak most languages. They’re speaking Chinese. I guess it’s still an assumption where they come from….”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten.” Clark stared at him askance for a moment, the purple speckles on his face, neck, and chest shining brighter as the sun began to set in earnest. “How are you feeling now?”
“Regular sleepy,” Conner muttered, shutting his eyes as he found a comfortable angle to rest his neck. “I’m warm now. Except my ears.”
There was a soft splash and suddenly wet, sulphur coated hands cupped his ears. Conner chuckled and nearly batted them away, but it did help his ears so he settled back down. “Better?”
“Yeah. Better.”
“Good. Glad I’m not messing up my turn.”
What was that about? Conner cracked open an eye. “Hm?”
“Lex did it the last time you felt sick,” Clark clarified, smiling almost apologetically. “I’m not sure I’m good at being a dad rather than a brother yet, but I can’t be that far behind Lex, can I?”
“You’re not.” Conner laughed. “You’re doing fine.” He relaxed again, letting a hand drift through the gently flowing water. “It’s okay if you still feel like an older brother, Clark. It’s not always that different, I don’t think.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Conner felt himself frown. It didn’t take much guessing to figure out where Clark’s anxiety stemmed from. “I didn’t want to keep being your brother because it meant pretending about a bunch of stuff, but I don’t want you to have to pretend for me either. Just love me however you can.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen?” A throat cleared. A park ranger in full khaki and green uniform was nodding at them from the nearest platform, nearest their clothes. Behind her, another ranger shooed the gawking tourists down the boardwalk. “I’m afraid you can’t swim here.” She nodded with sympathetic understanding at their immediate, disappointed sounds. Conner distantly realized her expression was a rather lot like his own had felt when Ollie had tried to drunkenly commit him to babysitting years in advance. Huh. Her name tag said Owens. “I know, I know. It’s such a fun looking hot spring--”
“Very fun,” Clark agreed. “There’s lots of colors.”
“--but I’m afraid it’s protected under several conservation provisions and laws. The hydrothermal bacteria and formations are very delicate.”
Conner looked down at the indents he’d already left in the softer travertine and calcium buildup. “Whoops.”
“Also,” Ranger Owens added, still sounding more amused than accusatory, gaze landed on him in particular. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to pet the bison either. For future reference.”
Feeling his ears burn, Conner thought of the new bovine friends he’d made when they’d first touched down and made a good faith effort to summon remorse. One look at her wry expression told him she wasn’t buying it anyway, so he grumbled, “Sorry. We’re drunk--”
“It’s our first time being drunk,” Clark explained, ducking his head and rubbing his neck.
“Oh. Well, I hope it’s been nice, then,” she said after a beat, blinking. Gathering herself, she gave them both an encouraging smile. “If you’d like, I can show you a map of other hot springs that aren’t protected and you can move there. Okay?”
“That’d be great!”
“Great,” Owens agreed, pulling a map out of her pocket and looking down at it suddenly as Clark stood, pulling Conner with him by the arm, and floated out of the water. She cleared her throat and tapped the map as a very naked Superman and Superboy hovered over her shoulder. A few scattered flashbulbs went off in the distance. “This one’s a little hotter than these, at about two hundred degrees fahrenheit--”
Clark beamed before he abruptly took off. “Oh, that’s not far from here. Perfect! Thanks!”
“Superman, wait!” Conner heard her shout, before the wind snatched it away.
****
Oliver appeared in the corner of his screen. He was reclined in his favorite leather armchair, a popcorn tin perched on his lap and holding a rocks glass Bruce very much doubted contained apple juice. He swiped a tablet with languorous interest. “So I take it you’ve seen Twitter…”
“Is that all you called for, Ollie?” Bruce asked, through gritted teeth. It was like playing whack-a-mole: everytime he thought he’d managed to delete or issue take down notices on one photo, another at a slightly different angle or aperture would appear, and the whole process would start again. If shares and reblogs were tinder, these photos were wildfire. It was never ending. He needed to narrow down the IP addresses they originated from-- strike at the source. “You could have texted.”
“I could have,” he agreed, throwing a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “But I figured you were probably busy and this would make it easier to multitask. You’re welcome. Now I’m just enjoying the show.”
Bruce looked up from his screen to give Ollie a withering glare. “That is your coworker and our professional reputation on the line. We’re going to have to explain this and trust me, I’ve spent the entire night trying to come up with the least damaging option.”
“No, Cat’s going to have to explain this. We just have to stand behind the podium and nod gravely.” He shrugged. “It’s already happened, Bruce. If the house is already burning, why not enjoy some s’mores? Then again, you did decline the betting pool all those years ago so I guess it’s a little less exciting a night for you ....”
“Forgive me for being so tasteless as to refuse to speculate on my best friend’s genitals.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Or to apparently keep it going for over a decade.”
Ollie laughed. It trailed into a mirthful sigh. He wiped his eyes. “I won’t lie, I lost money tonight, but you know what? I ain’t even mad. Watching the internet collectively lose their shit is reward enough.”
“Sweet mother of god. Tell me there’s no official bets among the public. Private pools are a lost cause, I know....” Bruce trailed off into a hiss.
“Well…”
“Ollie.”
“I mean,” Ollie said, raising his hands like the most innocent bystander to ever encounter such a situation. “If you think about all of those, shall we say, adult entertainment videos with homages to Supe’s likeness that have all made-- hm, let’s go with ‘creative guesses’-- about just what is underneath all of that lycra and then count those as votes….”
Bruce exhaled. “If money didn’t change hands, the League doesn’t have to care. Thank god.”
“Don’t be naive. Have you seen the production value on some of those? Money changed hands. At least a dozen xenobiological experts have been consulted on some of these things.” Ollie scoffed and helped himself to another fistful of popcorn, eyes glued to his tablet’s screen. He snorted and shook his head. “Man. The pincer crowd seems pretty resigned to their fate, but the tentacle diehards are crushed. I mean, seriously though, they’re inconsolable...”
****
The hot spring was only about the size of a backyard trampoline, rimmed by very average, not geologically interesting rocks and screened by a dense wood of aspens and firs on all sides. Starlight was the night sky’s only challenger (apart from the fading pink spots on sunset), while a dirt hiking trail loped near the edge, completely empty. Perfect.
“This is nice.” Clark hummed, swirling his hand through the water. His curls, which had dried on the flight over, nearly dripped with steam. “I think this is a little warmer than the other one, actually. Less pretty though.”
Conner nodded, leaning back against the smoothest section of bank. “There’s no view, but there’s also not anyone taking pictures of us, so it’s a compromise I’m willing to make.”
“Oh, that’s what those lights were.” Clark flopped his torso atop the nearest protruding boulder, pillowing his head on the cage of his arms, and shut his eyes. It occurred to him that the idea should upset him, though he couldn’t imagine why. Probably wasn’t that important.
It came to him suddenly. Mammoth Hot Springs had been getting dark . Human eyes and cameras alike needed flash lighting for those sorts of things.
Mystery solved, he settled back down.
“What? Did you think they were flickering their flashlights at us, Clark?”
“No, that’d be ridiculous.” Clark snorted and popped open his eyes. Studied Conner where he was drifting off again, breathing slow and steady. “We’ve got to pick a word. I want a word.”
Conner started, torn from the edge of sleep. “Hmm?”
“You call Lex Dad. You call me Clark.” Clark couldn’t help but huff a little, struggling not to obviously sulk. Not that he didn’t still have lingering reservations about the topic, but losing ground to Lex Luthor was losing ground to Lex Luthor. “You can call me dad too. It’s a little confusing to use it for both of us, but Jesus had two dads and he turned out okay.”
That ripped a laugh out of his genetic offspring. “I call Lex Lex. He’s usually only Dad when I’m ticked off. ‘God damn it, Dad’ rolls off the tongue better. Easier to shout.” Conner grinned and peeked at him before tipping his head back as though he were going back to sleep. “We need a better word for you. Something that’s not annoyed.”
“Like what?”
“Well, father’s too formal. Daddy sounds either baby-ish or like a fetish thing. Pa’s already taken by Pa. English-language wise, I’ve only heard papa used in Dickens novels.” He yawned and rubbed an eye with sulphur water. “What’s the Kryptonian word?”
Clark had to rifle through his memory, uncertain if he liked the idea or was just suffering from the usual burst of guilt that accompanied Kryptonian language questions. The AI’s at the Fortress had learned to speak to him before vice versa, so his study of his birth language was stilted and non-conversational. “I don’t really remember. I think it’s supposed to be Apap’bos when used as a descriptor. Shortens to Up’a or something like it when spoken. Kryptonian conjugates are complicated. A lot of it doesn’t translate to English.”
“That settles it.” Conner snapped his fingers. “You’re a Pop.”
“What?” Clark splashed him, aghast and grinning. “Every pop I’ve ever met is an old guy. Are you calling me old?”
“ Yes ,” Conner agreed, ducking under the water to avoid the next attack. He resurfaced cackling and sent a wave back. “You’ve non-ironically said ‘Great Scott’. Don’t deny it-- I was there.” He dodged another aquatic strike. “Besides, I’m seven. Compared to me, you’re ancient. Just wait. Once Jon’s old enough to talk, he’ll back me up, Pop.”
Something shifted in the world. He wasn’t sure if it was the night sky or sulphuric and pine scented steam or the orientation of the stars, but somehow, everything tugged comfortably into alignment. Fit snugly. Peaceful.
“Yeah,” Clark said, smiling softly as Conner stretched and settled back down in the water. “I bet he will.”
****
They both heard the engine before it’s headlights emerged, sending slices of light through the tree trunks as they approached. Tires crackled over branches and dirt as the SUV rolled to a stop a couple hundred feet from the pool atop an embankment, still largely out of sight through the foliage.
Conner looked to Clark, expectant, just as Clark shifted to x-ray vision. “It’s the same park rangers from before. Wonder what they want.”
“Maybe we’re in the wrong place again,” Conner said. He glanced around at the pool. “This one doesn’t look special though. Look at these rocks. They’re very boring.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Conner sank back into the water, clearly unenthused at the prospect of relocating. “The water’s not even a fun color. It’s just hot. Like a regular pond, but angry about it.”
They waited patiently as the two rangers made their way down the winding hiking trail, carrying two large canvas packs between them. “There you are,” called Ranger Owens as she approached the pool and set down her flashlight on a flat, altar like rock. “Glad we caught you two.”
“We in the wrong place?” Conner asked, tone barely on the mulish end of hostile, until Clark stepped on his foot underwater.
She and the other ranger snorted. Now that he was up close, Clark could read the other guy’s name tag. Hoy. Ranger Hoy was the human caricature of a bear-- a broad man with a husky build with a thick dark beard and probably only a few inches shorter than Clark. He carefully upturned his bag, sending Superman’s suit and Conner’s jeans and t-shirt toppling onto the rock-table, neatly folded into self contained squares. Their boots followed. “Nope. You forgot something.”
“Oh, our clothes. Thank you,” Clark said, delighted. That was so nice of them, saving him the trip back to get them. He’d never realized how helpful the Rangers were; he needed to remember to put a dollar in the donation bin on his way out.
“No, thank you, Superman. Your help with those rockslides last year really saved our bacon. I’m just glad there’s anything we can do to return the favor,” Owens said, fiddling with the second bag and pulling out a small, beaten up Igloo cooler. She seemed to be making a concerted effort to keep her gaze at least partially towards the sky. “Anywho, we figured we’d make sure you got the whole hot spring experience since you’re here. Here’s some sodas and snacks-- just be sure to pick up your trash-- and towels are in the other bag. Oh, and we were asked to pass along a message.”
“From who?” Conner asked, in much improved spirits as Ranger Hoy tipped the cooler towards him so he wouldn’t have to get out the water to dig around in it. He retrieved a coke and popped it with a satisfying hiss.
“Batman.” At both kryptonian’s starts, Hoy laughed. “He said put some damn clothes on, stay off of Twitter, and don’t you dare attempt to contact him before noon tomorrow.”
Clark looked down at himself. Turned to Conner. “Wait. Have we been naked this whole time ?”
****
“Ohhhh, I get it,” Conner exhaled, sinking back into the water. He took a contemplative sip. “That’s why they were taking pictures.” He stared at the red can in his hand, expression lightening. “I was worried they’d ask for autographs. I’m not public yet.”
Clark had his fingers buried in his hair, alternating between staring down at himself and then up at the sky, aghast. “Oh, he’s going to kill me.”
Owens patted his shoulder a tad awkwardly, considering their angle (and her commitment to looking at them from the waist up). She tugged open the cooler and handed him an orange Gatorade, clucking in sympathy. “Here. Hydrate. That helps most people feel better around these parts. They’re mostly overly ambitious hikers, but still.”
“Staves off the hangover too,” Hoy added. “I don’t know about alien ones, but neither do you, apparently, so I’d play it safe. Electrolytes are your friends.”
“‘Preciate it,” Clark muttered, twisting off the cap and taking their advice.
“Anyhow, if you guys are all set,” Owens said breezily. “We’ll head out. I take it you won’t need a ride back?”
“Pop’ll fly us,” Conner said, smirking at the splash that got him. He could tell Clark was pleased though, so he didn’t let it draw him into serious counterattack. “Thanks for looking out for us.”
They relaxed in the pool until the sound of the ranger’s car faded and the steady drone of insects against the whispering leaves filled the silence. Or rather, Conner relaxed while Clark seemed to experience all five stages of grief.
Eventually, Conner gave in to temptation. “You really that embarrassed by the nudity thing?”
“And you’re not?” Clark grumbled, taking another sip of his drink.
Conner shrugged and leaned back into the water, floating pointedly. “Not really. Grown in a lab, remember? Before they gave me the solar suit, I was naked all of the time. It wasn’t a big deal.” He snorted. “Not that I want to be on the front page of tomorrow's paper. Hell of a way to announce there’s a Superboy.”
“Oh, Rao. They’re going to have--” Clark waved vaguely at his lower half. “--opinions. Or questions. Comments. I don’t know what’s worse.”
“You sober enough to fly?” Conner asked, a touch dubiously. “Because I think I’m at least halfway there. We should figure out what to do after this. Any longer and I might get that skin thing the others get in pools. Water wrinkles?”
“Pruney.”
“That’s the word.”
Clark sighed and sank back into the water. “I can fly, but I’m still drunk and it’s less fun now. I don’t want to go far. Closest place to spend the night is Kansas, but I don’t want Ma and Pa to see us like this so….”
“We can call the Watchtower to have someone come get us.”
Clark rested his forehead against his favorite boulder with a smack. It cracked slightly. “They’ll tease me,” he whined, smacking his head a second time. “I can’t deal with that right now.”
Conner sat up. “Wait. I know where we can go. Lex has a cabin we can hide out in. I’ve only been once but it’s not far. Come on. Let’s go.”
“You don’t have your keys.” Clark said, sinking into the water with something that resembled a pout. “And Lex will see us drunk. You said he watches you on the cameras all the time.”
“They’re only in the entranceway and exterior. Less for respecting my privacy and more to avoid evidence of his own crimes,” Conner assured him. “And Lex gave me a universal access code to all his properties. It’s the date of his father’s death.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope. We celebrated it too. There’s cake with something insufferable written on it in icing, only to be served while he drinks and complains about what an asshole Lionel was.” Conner stood and grabbed Clark by the bicep, tugging him towards the shore. “Come on. No one will bother us there. We can even break something expensive if it’ll make you feel better.”
Clark’s show of offense was far from convincing and they both knew it. “It might,” he admitted. He floated out of the water and grabbed a towel. “All right, we’ll go there and lay low. Just keep your eyes peeled until we’re out of the woods.” After a pregnant pause, he added, unable to hold in his snickers any longer. “After all, there could be bears.”