Unidentified Flying Spider

The best word Tim could think of to describe himself in his current situation was… confused. He has been watching this camera feed like he was born to do it for the last three days and yet somehow, something has happened without his knowledge. 

It was like tuning into a TV show when he first started watching the camera feed. The character goes about their day, which mainly consists of sitting on a table, pacing and sleeping, and he will watch until he gets bored. However, this character was a real person, a person that within one hour of waking up found exactly where the camera was placed and would routinely stare into it like Truman fucking Burbank. 

Tim can’t be sure the kid knows what he’s staring at is a camera, but even if he doesn't, he sure spends a lot of time just staring at it. 

To be fair, there isn't much else the kid can do with himself in there.

If Tim were this kid, he would have attempted at least three different prison breaks by now. The levels of success might vary, but he still would have tried. The fact that the boy hasn’t even attempted to brute-force his way out of there has Tim stumped. 

What Tim has noticed though with his hours of camera watching, is a certain look in the kid's eyes. It only appears every so often but it reminds Tim so much of Bruce, so much of himself, that he can’t help but lean towards the screen in interest. It’s an analytical gaze, one that shows he’s taking in every square centimetre of his environment with a keen interest. But as Tim now knows, it’s much more than just his immediate environment.

Dick and Jason had told him of their plan to go in and see the boy, and although he wishes he could have gone himself, he was more than happy to watch from the sidelines. Looping the camera feed so Bruce couldn’t see anything happening was easy, but keeping another copy of the real feed running in a side tab was the time-consuming part. It wasn’t easy, but it was doable, and being able to watch and listen in to the whole exchange made it plenty worth it.

As much as he wanted to kick Dick and Jason for wasting time asking unimportant questions, he supposes that would keep the boy from freaking out and clamming up. But seriously, ‘what happened to the table’? For the love of god, you're supposed to be an ex-robin, ask something important.

Tim knows that, if he were in the room, he would have shoe-horned as many questions as possible into their short window of time. He would have wanted to know everything he could about this boy, he wouldn’t give up until he knew everything. The boy says he 'doesn’t know an answer'? Rephrase the question six separate times until he comes up with something. Can’t remember A, B or C? Why don’t we try and remember together? Tim is sure he could have gotten answers.

And he will.

Dick and Jason had immediately come back to him to report what they had heard. Told Tim that Bruce had come back early, had chewed them out for their idiocy and threw in the old 'At least your other siblings could follow a simple order to stay. away.’ guilt trip. 

Oh, Bruce. You overestimate your army of charges once again.

Tim is moving down the corridor, the corridor that he’s very surprised doesn’t have an angry Bruce standing guard in it like some sort of German Shepherd. The hallway to the kid’s 'room’ is dark, the lights in the room above him are dim and practically useless. Even if it’s closed off, Tim would expect Bruce to still keep lights on in case they are needed. As he gets closer to the room, he mutters out loud, he’s positive the kid can hear him from this distance so he supposes it’s only polite.

“Hey man, don’t freak out, just coming for a little visit.” Tim could kick himself, really dumbass, ‘ a little visit’ ? It sounds like you’re about to kill him. “Not in a weird way though, just like, a social call.” Somehow, that was worse, he actually wishes he was dead.

He gives up on the small talk and just keeps walking, stopping right outside the door. Even though he’s seen this kid being non-combative for days, he can’t help but be slightly nervous. What if the kid is suddenly full of homicidal rage and Tim, who has just walked in, is the nearest outlet for it? What if the the boy is an alien like everyone seems to think he is and oops, Tim is the first victim of his freaky alien powers? Yeah no, no thanks, one more peek at the cameras can’t hurt. Checking the camera shows that yes, as usual, the boy is sitting on the metal table doing absolutely nothing. Perfect.

Tim takes one more calming breath before stepping forward, the door sliding open in front of him. He doesn’t move any further though, immediately pulling his phone out again and checking the feed one more time. The feed shows the boy sitting, twiddling his thumbs and staring down at his hands on the table in the centre of the room. Yet when Tim looks up, directly at the table in front of him, it’s empty.

So yes, it's fair to say Tim is very confused.

It doesn’t come across as bragging, he doesn’t think, for Clark to call himself a smart man. Yes, he’s known for his strength, but he also knows truly and surely that he has a solid head on his shoulders. Despite this, no amount of complex thought could have prepared him for a call from Bruce. 

Not Batman, but Bruce. 

Especially when Bruce knows that Superman, not Clark, is in the middle of something. Bruce is his friend and his colleague, he cares greatly about Bruce’s well-being and likes to think the other man feels the same. 

While this is true, they were not the ‘chat on the phone about this that and the other’ type of friends (although Clark can’t say he would be upset if they were.). They are ‘there for each other no matter what’ friends though, and that’s likely how Clark found himself at Bruce’s door almost immediately after coming back to Earth.

The boy, or man Clark supposes he is now, who opens the door smiles widely at him. A true smile, with slightly too much teeth and a dimple on his left cheek. If he is smiling like that, maybe the situation isn't as bad as Clark expected.

“Clark! It’s so good to see you” Dick beams from the doorway, stepping aside to let the other man through. 

“You too Dick. How is it that every time I see you you're at least a foot taller.” He punctuates his words by holding a hand to Dicks head and lowering it down to his chin, Dick huffs at this.

“You and I both know that joke stopped getting a reaction out of me when I was 18, Clark.” 

“18? I swear I was at your sweet sixteen last week.”

“Yeah hardy har, Bruce is waiting for you downstairs.” Dick finally closes the door behind them before leading the way to the cave. Clark knows how to get there himself, Dick knows this. Usually, Clark would be the one leading the way while Dick peppered him with question after question about his latest trip (or, as Dick likes to call them, ‘interplanetary exchanges’). This time though, as he leads the older man further and further into the manor, Dick’s heartbeat gives him away. 

Clark has become a master of reading people over the years. Whether based on the pattern of their breathing, of their hearts or the subtle movements of their eyes, Clark always found it easy to tell a person's emotions by reading the signals their bodies were subtly putting out. Dicks breathing is steady, Clark knows full well this due to years of practice and training with Bruce. His eyes are squinted just slightly and trained forward as he quietly talks about something Clark isn't entirely paying attention to. But his heart reminds Clark of a hummingbird. Not that fast of course, but the occasionally irregular but rapid beating clued him in to how the younger man was truly feeling. No amount of fake smiles could ever fool Clark, whether he likes it or not. The younger man was nervous, it was time for Clark to know why.

Dick finishes whatever sentence he was saying before Clark stops him, ready to cut to the chase.

“Dick, what is this about.”

“What?” Dick responds quickly,  “What do you mean ‘what is this about’? Bruce told us he called you in.” Clark takes a deep breath, unsure how to approach this. Obviously, Bruce is trying to keep the kids in the dark for whatever reason. Clark can either be honest, say that he has absolutely no idea what's going on and paint Bruce as the bad guy. Or he can talk around the topic at hand, make it seem like he and Bruce are both trying to keep the kids in the dark, keeping Bruce out of the doghouse.

Clark hates to admit it, but it only takes him a second of deliberation. He will do anything to defend his title of ‘favourite uncle’, even if it means throwing Bruce under the bus.

“Yes,” Clark starts, still a little unsure how to phrase what he’s trying to say, “Bruce did call me in, but all I was told is that there are teenagers with accelerated healing falling out of the sky. Not a whole lot for me to go off of, to be honest with you.” Dick scoffs at that, turning back to keep walking towards the cave, Clark sighs before following him.

“It does seem like a sensitive topic, Dick. Not exactly a ‘let’s discuss it at length over the phone’ type of topic, you know that.” Dick just keeps walking, his steps only faltering once as he sighs deeply again. The dramatic sighs are a bit excessive if Clark does say so himself, but also this is Dick he’s talking about, drama is in that boy’s blood.

“I know I just-” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair, frustrated he can’t find the right words. “It irritates me to no end that he keeps blocking us out of whatever he’s doing with that kid. The kid is in our home, in our workplace and we deserve to know what's going on.” Dick was starting to sound more and more frustrated, words getting faster and faster, Clark cuts him off once again.

“I get that, trust me I do, but for this one, this boy could be anything. He could be like me for all we know or he could be the complete opposite. You know full well Bruce is just trying to keep you safe.” Dick quiets at that, he knows Clark is right, and Clark knows that he knows. They continue down to the cave in silence.

When Clark finally enters the cave proper, Bruce is standing in front of the large monitor, facing the screen. As Clark approaches, the picture disappears and Bruce turns to face him.

“Thank you for coming.” Bruce says simply as if it’s some sort of social call and not a potential Kryptonian in his basement.

“You know I will always come when you call Bruce, why don't you just tell me what’s happening.” Bruce's eyes drift to the doorway where Clark knows Dick is still standing. Judging by what Bruce’s face is doing, Clark would have to assume they are doing the ‘who can stare longer’ thing that all of the Waynes seem to do instead of just speaking. Another sigh behind him and receding footsteps tell him that Bruce has won.

“Days ago, we heard the sound of something crashing into the grounds of the manor. Upon investigating we found a crater containing what appears to be a teenage boy. So far we have seen accelerated healing, hearing that is miles above average and significant crushing force in his hands.” That was… strange phrasing, Clark couldn't help but think, so he asked the question.

“How exactly did you find out that he had, how did you put it, ‘significant crushing force’ exactly?”

“He crushed a metal examination table like a paper ball while seemingly unconscious." Bruce replied, his face deadpan but a miniscule hint of mirth could be seen in his eyes. Probably caused by the gobsmacked look Clark knew he had on his face.

“Right. Yes, okay. So what are your thoughts on him? Has the boy said anything about his history” Was all Clark could think to say to that information.

“He appears to have complete memory loss, no tells of lying when he speaks. He has made no attempts to leave his holding room or strong-arm his way past us when we enter the room.” 

“So the children have been in to see him? That doesn’t sound like something you would allow.”
“It wasn't.” Ah, right. Clark isn't sure what Bruce expected on that front, it's like placing a gutted pig in front of a starving dog. It was inevitable one of them would be too temped to leave well enough alone.

“You’ve got a place to keep him. You’ve got theories about him. He’s complying with whatever it is you're doing here. So tell me, why exactly did you call me in, Bruce.” Bruce holds eye contact with him for a moment, looking for something in Clark's expression before simply saying-

“I want you to take him.” And doesn’t that give Clark pause.

“You want me to take him?” 

“To the farm.”

“You sound like a parent trying to hide that a pet died.”

“I’m serious, Clark”

“So am I! You can’t just bring me here and tell me I’m taking home a powered child.” Clark is gesturing wildly with his arms at this point, trying desperately to understand what Bruce is suggesting, and why he's suggesting it.

“Clark. You grew up there, learnt about yourself there and managed to control your abilities there. Can you not see what I’m getting at here?” And ok yes, Clark could see what he was getting at there.

“And if I do, then what do you want me to do, just keep him there?” Bruce sighs at this, running a hand through his hair, a mirror image of Dick’s earlier dramatics.

“Just- try and bring his memory back. If his intentions are malicious, and I do loathe to say this, you will be the most equipped to deal with him. But if he isn't a Kryptonian killing machine, then you can work through whatever he is with him.” Clark considers Bruce for a moment, his words are more emotive than Clark has ever heard from him, his eyes holding something Clark reads as pleading. He gives in, he always does where Bruce is concerned.

“Alright. Where is he.”

He sits as he always does, kicking his legs and watching the way his feet swing.

Something feels wrong, it has been that way since he woke up last, but he can't for the life of him figure out what.

He glances at the white triangle in the corner of the room, it is suspiciously still.

He strains his ears to listen for movement outside, he hears nothing.

Nothing is wrong, except for the glaringly obvious ‘locked in a room’ thing. But nothing is different, nothing should be wrong and nothing should feel wrong. Except it does. 

His brain has that strange feeling again, like an insect working its way through his skull. 

That's when he hears it. Footsteps.

An optimistic part of his brain thinks it’s Jay and Rich, but the way the insect keeps buzzing louder tells him he’s wrong. The people outside aren't speaking, the two sets of footsteps just quietly come closer and closer. The insect in his head continues to buzz, his heart rate quickens and he thinks he’s sweating. He’s scared, he realises, he’s scared of whatever the hell is coming towards this door. The footsteps come closer and the insect buzzes louder. ‘This must be that Clark person’ he thinks, what did Jay call him? ‘The Superman?’ He doesn't know what that means but whoever this ‘Superman’ is can now be heard right outside the door. He is definitely frightened now, he hopes whatever they do, they do it quickly, he doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore.

The door opens and someone even taller than Jay stands there. His clothing is simple and loose fitting, it looks more comfortable than threatening but looks can always be deceiving. His hair is scruffy, dark as night but fluffy looking in a way that reminds him of Rich. The man’s eyes are the part that catches his attention though, blue and bright and… kind? The man is looking at him with something unreadable in his expression before he switches to looking around the room instead. He feels two inches tall as the man takes in the stark walls and sheer amount of nothing the room provides, the man lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously furious. The man eventually turns to look over his shoulder to whoever is behind him, Bruce, he realises now, and tsk’s.

“You know what I’m going to say.” The man says, voice deep with a complete lack of humour in his tone that only makes him more frightening.

“Its safest this way.” Bruce responds from behind him. They stare at each other for a moment before the larger man breaks eye contact, scoffing.

“We will be talking about this later.”

The man walks right the way inside then, Bruce follows him inside before the door slides shut behind them. 

He is still terrified, inching backwards slightly on his table. The man is closer to him now and it's practically scaring him stupid. That is until suddenly, the insect in his head stops buzzing. 

The man sticks out his hand, a soft smile slowly appearing before he speaks.

“Clark, it's nice to meet you.”