Chapter Text
There must have been something about Clark that made people think he could lift unconscious men. Was it his height? His arms? Sure, he did it more often than he'd like and it was much easier than hauling hay bales, but he'd appreciate some hesitation before Constantine gestured at him and said, you there, big man.
He balanced O'Leary's body over one shoulder as Constantine led him down London's back alleys. Apparently they were looking for the portly magician's secret lair.
"Y'know your mate back there? The little one?" Constantine twirled the glowing cane she'd gotten off O'Leary as she walked.
"Robin?"
"Yea."
"How long you known him?"
Clark adjusted his grip uncomfortably, stepping over a spilled take-out container. "I don't know, a few days. Why?"
"Oh. Fancy that. Still, you've spent some time with him, what kind of a lad is he? Is he, I dunno, cold?" Constantine pointedly avoided looking at him. "Greedy? Selfish? Any unpredictable mood swings of the spree killing variety?"
He stopped. She stopped, too, then blinked up at him like she'd said something completely normal. "What? Why would you even ask that?"
"Well, he hasn't got a soul for starters. All three of you have got the strangest auras." His heart jumped in his chest. Did she know he was an alien? She gave him a narrow-eyed look and raised one hand placatingly. "Look, whatever you are, I can tell you're not my area, so keep your head on your shoulders. A soulless fella is a bloody horror to deal with. All I want to know is if he's going to be my horror."
Clark swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. Robin hadn't done anything bad, except maybe stealing from criminals and forging identities. He'd left the piles of cash in Edge's safes, only taken the bare minimum necessary to get them to London. He'd protected Lana—no, wait. He hadn't protected her. He'd let her come, let her put herself in danger after promising to leave her out of it once it got dangerous.
He glanced at Constantine, who watched him expectantly with a hand on her coat pocket and a magic weapon in the other. What would she do to him if Clark said yes? After all, Robin only wanted a ticket out of this dimension. And aside from his mild law-breaking, he was almost sweet. Clark licked his lips and finally shook his head. "No, he's been… Good."
"Ah, should be fine, then." Constantine waved him off and continued on her way. Clark followed.
A few uniformed teenagers slipped between them, laughing and apparently not noticing their suspicious behaviour. Clark twisted to watch them go, making sure none of them did a double take. They just kept walking.
"So you deal with this kind of thing a lot?" he asked.
She hummed. "Doesn't pay nearly enough, so I wouldn't suggest it as a career path."
"And the people who see it… Normal people, I mean. How do you hide it from them?"
"I don't, usually." Constantine tossed him a wink. "Strange things don't like being seen, slip right out of your ears if you're not careful."
Clark thought of Lana, standing over O'Leary's unconscious body, screaming as fire washed over her, unconscious on the ground as meteor freak after meteor freak tried to tear her apart. "What if it doesn't?"
"Then," she tilted her head, "I pull it out."
"Does it—"
"You want me to wipe the girl, yeah?"
Clark nodded, shame spiking in his gut. God, she'd hate him if she found out. But she wouldn't put up with another half-baked excuse. He couldn't pretend an actual hellhound and a mind-controlling wizard were nothing to worry about.
Constantine clucked her tongue. "It'll cost ya."
"We came here to hire you anyway."
"Yeah? What's the job?" She slowed and squinted up at an empty storefront. "Oh, I think this is it."
He set O'Leary on the pavement at her gesture. She started drawing something in the air with her finger. Clark stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels, trying to figure out how to explain before settling on the simplest. "Robin's in the wrong universe and he thinks you can send him home."
Constantine froze mid-gesture and turned to him so fast her neck cracked.
The inside of Constantine's apartment was potentially the messiest place Clark had ever been. A path had to be carved through the clutter, the floor barely visible between papers and stones.
Mr. Pennyworth's unconscious body laid on the sofa, Lana fussing over him. Their eyes met briefly. Lana turned away first.
Constantine snapped her fingers at Robin, who was elbow-deep in one of Constantine's archival boxes. "Oi, brat! Hands out before you get cursed."
Robin stepped away with a sheepish smile. She gave him an appraising look before tossing O'Leary's cane onto a teetering pile of random objects next to the window, where it stuck upright out of a coil of rope. "Well, that's him handled. I hexed that prick to next week so he won't be bothering myself or you kids again."
Apparently she felt no need to mention how she locked him out of his own home with a spell.
Clark shuffled out from behind her and tried to pick his way through the carnage to get close to his friends. Dusty artefacts covered every surface like a witch's lair in a movie.
Constantine's dark eyes scanned each of them, pausing for a moment on Mr. Pennyworth's form, before landing on Lana. She snapped and pointed at her. "You. Come with, please. Got something to show ya."
Lana looked to Clark, who tried not to show how awful this whole thing made him feel. Her eyes flared in something like anger before she uncrossed her arms and followed Constantine with stiff strides. She paused for half a second before passing Robin.
The two women vanished into a side door Clark had barely noticed was there. It closed behind them with a quiet click.
"What's going on?" Robin asked. He knelt beside Mr. Pennyworth, checking his vitals.
"Constantine's wiping her memory." The words tasted like bile against his teeth.
Robin hissed a sigh. "Was that her idea or yours?
He really didn't know. Clark shrugged and x-rayed the side door the women had disappeared through. The two of them were just sitting across from each other, talking. Guilt might have crushed him if it weren't for the overwhelming relief that came with knowing Lana wouldn't remember what she'd seen. He often wished he could do this for people—take away their memories of awful, unexplainable things. Take away their memories of him being alien. It would make everything so much easier.
A little voice in his head that sounded like his mother told him not to think that way.
Robin nudged a few boxes out of the way and sat on the ground with his legs crossed. His eyes stuck to Mr. Pennyworth's relaxed face. "That's probably for the best. She was pissed." His tone was hard to read. "What did you two talk about?"
"You," Clark said. He didn't see the need to lie right then.
"From your tone, I'm guessing not about my enchanting good looks?"
"Not really. I told her you need help getting home." The darkness in Robin's eyes was enough to keep Clark from continuing with do you have a soul? and are you fighting homicidal urges?
"Good. Hopefully she's still got enough juice to get me back today."
A thrill of dread went down Clark's chest. He still had questions, still needed Robin's help. "Can't you stay a little longer?"
"My team was in a bad spot when I got snatched. If they're on the move, every minute I spend here makes it more likely I'll never find them." Robin tilted his head, almost apologetic. "My little brother's there, Clark. My sister."
A knot swelled in Clark's throat. He tried to swallow around it. He sank to the ground, half-leaning against a cabinet that emitted way too much heat to be normal. "I understand."
Envy burned in his gut. Shame roiled around next to it. Robin got to go home. He got to see his people again, his birthplace, leaving Clark completely alone on this planet that would never fit him. No more of his half-hints, gentle encouragement, and complete understanding.
It hit Clark then, that Robin was probably the only person in the world who really knew him.
"What's he like?" Clark asked. "The other me, from your world?"
Robin rocked his head to the other side with a slightly more genuine smile. "You know I won't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Can't spoil the ending."
"I'm not him, though. I can tell by the way you look at me. Like I'm doing the wrong thing." Clark watched Robin's smile flicker. He tried not to let the bitterness rise to his throat.
"You're not doing the wrong thing," Robin said softly. "You're just different. You are your own person."
"So it won't change anything if you tell me how things worked out for the other guy."
Robin rolled his eyes, shifting to sit on his ankles. He fiddled with the burnt end of his sleeve. His makeup had mostly melted off, leaving odd oily streaks down his neck. He wondered if Lana would remember that.
"Okay," Robin said. He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling like he was thinking about what to say. "I'm only from twenty years ahead, so take this with a pinch of salt."
Clark leaned forward.
"He has so many friends. Like. So many. On Earth and other planets. But he goes home to the Kent farm every holiday to be with his family."
His hands clenched against his jeans.
"He married an amazing, hot, super smart human woman. Seriously, she's the coolest person ever. He trusted her with his secret pretty early on and she wouldn't ever betray him."
His heart pounded in his ears. A human. A human had fallen in love with him, some version of him, knowing what he was.
"And he has the bravest, kindest son who happens to be best friends with my littlest brother."
Clark covered his mouth with his hand. He could be a dad.
"But now that I think of it, he's a lot more like you than I thought. He's smart, caring, protective, very moral, and wants to help more than anything." Robin glanced over at Mr. Pennyworth. "I just never knew him as a teenager."
Clark blinked hard, fighting back the tears threatening to emerge. He looked down just in case his heat vision made an appearance. He cleared his throat. "You did that on purpose."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Robin beamed like the little shit he was.
Clark scooted over to Robin's side and wrapped him in a half-hug. The smaller boy leaned in and tucked his head against Clark's chest. He smelled strongly of wax and smoke. "I'm going to find this universe's Robin and get him hooked on video games or something useless so he never gets as smart as you."
Robin laughed. "Ah, that wouldn't work but you can sure try. Little me would love you."
Clark rubbed his face. If Robin was right, maybe he wouldn't be alone forever. Maybe he wasn't alone now. He deflated slightly. "I should go back home, too, right?"
"I wasn't lying when I said you and the other Clark were alike. It's in your nature to care. Doesn't matter if you're in Hong Kong or Smallville—you'll always make friends, and you'll always do whatever it takes to keep them safe. That's not a weakness. It's your strength."
Clark huffed. "I've heard that speech before. Usually my mom gives it."
"How about an addendum from someone who's seen how this goes?" Robin sobered. "This isn't a personal growth problem. It's an endurance problem. People will try to make you stop caring. They will hurt your friends, your family, and do whatever they can to make you push everyone away. When you're alone, you're vulnerable. You can lose your identity. You can be changed. It's the only way I can see you becoming the monster you're afraid of being."
Every word felt like a weight being added around Clark's neck. He wondered what Robin had seen, what had been done to him, that he could describe that fate. "Alright. If you're sure."
"I am."
Lana would be happy, at least.
They stayed on the floor while Robin explained how to jailbreak Jor-El's AI ghost instead of letting it control his life—apparently down to very pointed questions and not letting the computer change the subject. If all else failed, Robin walked him through the basics of crystalline to binary computing. He'd have to do a lot of reading on his own, but at least he couldn't be starting from nothing.
By the time Constantine came out, Clark had a fair understanding of Kryptonian computer systems.
"Lads," Miss Constantine greeted as she skirted them and plopped one hand on Mr. Pennyworth's head. The point of contact glowed for a brief moment before she took her hand back, shaking it out.
"Is that it?" Clark asked. He looked back at the open door, where Lana had yet to emerge from. He stood, letting Robin slide free from their half-hug. He x-rayed the wall, only to find Lana putting her bag back on. She seemed to be moving fine.
Constantine grunted. "He didn't remember shit anyway. Are you sure he's alright?"
"It's just a sedative," Robin said.
"Yeah, but he's old as balls."
"I've used it on older."
Constantine's eyebrows rose. "Christ almighty. Fine, yeah, not my bloody problem." She gestured at Robin. "Your turn, boyo."
Robin rose and gave Clark a farewell hug. "Bye, Clark."
Clark tightened his grip around Robin's middle. "Thanks for everything."
"Don't mention it."
Over Robin's head, Clark watched Lana step into the room, looking dazed. He let Robin go and reached to steady Lana. She leaned into his touch for a moment before pulling back and standing on her own, muttering that she was fine.
"The rest of you—just fuck off out of my house, yeah? Get the old man to a proper bed." Constantine said, ushering Robin into the side room.
Clark and Robin waved at each other one last time before Constantine slammed the door shut behind them.
Leaving Clark with Lana and Mr. Pennyworth. Lana had her head down, hovering around the couch where Mr. Pennyworth's breathing had started to speed up.
"Lana, are you—"
"I'm okay, Clark," Lana gave him a tight smile, "just want to get back to Mr. Pennyworth's. Or the hospital."
They decided on Mr. Pennyworth's, loading his now semi-conscious body into the backseat of the cab with surprisingly little reaction from the cab driver.
As the cab took off, Lana in the front seat and Clark in back, he craned his neck towards Constantine's apartment. Just in case there was a flash of light or a ripple of power or something to signify Robin had gone.
They turned down another street without a single whisper of magic.
Magic was not Dick's area. However, he did know that banishing spells were essentially just dimensional portals, so Constantine should be just fine.
He also knew which magical artefacts would come in handy when he got back home. One of the gold bars on Constantine's desk paid for the bag of holding and the collection of weapons and protection charms therein.
Constantine paced in front of a circle of sigils she'd sketched in charred willow wood, book in hand and Dick's broken amulet in the other. He'd changed into clean clothes and wiped his face and hands clean while Constantine had been drawing.
"This is the most elaborate glamor I've ever seen," she said as soon as he entered the room.
"I know," he replied. Zatanna had been ridiculously proud when she'd presented it to him. "Probability spells so I can age and grow, spacial warping, a bunch of other stuff. Every magic user I've ever met wanted to play with it."
Constantine hummed and squinted at it. "And you said you were pulled through a mirror dimension after it broke and that's when you crossed over?"
"Yep."
"Fuck me, that's tricky."
He chewed on his lip until blood filled his mouth. "Can you do it?"
Constantine rolled her eyes, her slouch reminiscent of her counterpart on Dick's world. Or maybe just like her cousin John. Versions and relations got all mixed up with dimension travel. "I could try. Never done it before, though, so you might end up in bits and pieces sprinkled through the void."
Dick scooted to the centre of the sigils, doing his best not to disturb anything. "Look, I don't belong here. My cells are vibrating at the wrong frequency. Just shove me to the one that feels right and I'll find my own way." He thought back to the few times he'd watched Zatanna do this. The sigils looked right, but she'd always explained it as a matter of timing and feel.
Bruce had almost rolled his eyes at her the one time she described it as feeling around in the dark for the right doorknob. Science-based portals required math. They also tended to drop people into the wrong dimension.
Constantine glanced at the two gold bars shining on her desk and seemed to rally. She settled at the apex of the diagram and chanted from her book.
Light flowed along the black lines on the floor, space warping beneath her power as she eased him into a dimensional gap.
Dick closed his eyes. Eldritch creatures between worlds existed and he wasn't keen on losing his mind any time soon. He tried to think of his world. Of Bludhaven, overrun with the dead. Of the orphanage, the kids, of the Unkillables, of his siblings.
Cass' desperate face, the last thing he saw of his Earth, flashed across his eyelids.
Cold wind rushed through the books and papers filling Constantine's spellcasting room. It turned warm and sweet, flowing under Dick's limbs, lifting him.
The sweetness turned to rot. The smell of decaying corpses. Home.
"Shit!"
The room snapped back into place like a rubber band.
He opened his eyes in time to see Constantine stumble out the door, gagging. Dick lurched to his feet at the sound of vomit splattering against something hard.
"Constantine?" He hesitated at the edge of the sigils before stepping over them. If they needed to redo the spell from scratch, then so be it.
He found her leaning against the wall, her puke somewhat contained in a cursed-looking vase. Dick touched her arm. She shook him off without looking and spat yellowish bile into the vase. "m'fine."
"I'll get you some water." He'd spotted a kitchen through the living room.
"I've got it," she said, clearer. She pulled a flask from her jeans' back pocket and took a swig. Some things were multiversal constants, apparently. She swished it around in her mouth and spat it out in the vase.
"I hope that's not cursed."
"Hm?" She looked down at the vase she'd mostly filled. "Oh. Yeah, it's haunted. Ghost or something." She took another drink from her flask and swallowed with a wince.
Dick didn't recognize any of the markings, so he hoped it was something she'd handle on her own.
"Good news: I found your Earth." Constantine turned to press her back against the wall. "Bad news: I can't get you there."
Dick's heart dropped. "What?"
"You don't fit."
"I don't—what? How can I not fit? It's my world." He'd never had a problem getting back after interdimensional missions. Hadn't even had a problem that one time Supergirl dropped him in the timestream and he'd had to wait for Bruce and his Clark to come pick him up.
Constantine dipped her head. "You must've slid backwards in this dimension because the timelines don't match. Worlds are too different. I could see your departure point, but I couldn't get you there. Just slid right off like Teflon. You're lucky I didn't drop you."
"Can we try again?" Dick asked. He felt sick. "My—everyone was in danger when I left."
"And I'm telling ya, it's not happening. Not for a good long while."
Panic circled his throat like a noose. "Are you saying I'm stuck?"
"I'm saying I can put you in the exact moment you left, but not until this timeline catches up."
Dick didn't remember much after that.
Snippets came back when he thought hard about it. Constantine's hand trying to hold him back. The damp evening air filling his lungs. His feet carrying him in aimless circles.
Tall figures surrounding him.
A shove.
Shouting.
Screaming.
He came back to himself with bloody fists and two men broken and drooling at his feet. Dread plopped into his stomach like a stone as he took in their puffy jackets, their clean shoes, the small pistol he'd yanked away from them. Gangsters.
Dick knelt and checked their pulses. Strong, fast and afraid.
He pulled them into the recovery position, apologizing for every whimper and pained yell as he did.
Fuck, he'd probably just started a gang war. They would pin this on anyone they had beef with, probably taking a few innocents out in the crossfire.
Jason would have throttled him. He'd have laughed first, then throttled him.
Dick wouldn't find out for sure for another two decades.
Twenty years in this place.
Twenty years with his siblings, his friends, waiting for him at the finish line.
Promise me you will live?
Yes, mental version of Cass. He would live, for a given definition of living. He wiped at the blood on his hands. There was still good work to be done.
He sighed and dug through his backpack for his domino.
Dick ignored each of the very reasonable alternatives his mind offered, from calling a clinic and claiming they'd fought each other to staging an accident. He wasn't feeling reasonable. He sleepwalked through breaking into the police station, identifying each armed gang in the district, their leaders, and finding their main hangouts.
He came alive when he finally, finally stood at the edge of a building, watching his targets on the street thirty stories down. They seemed so distant, so tiny. He could put them in his pocket. If only they weren't violent criminals.
Lists of charges, both familiar and nauseating, flashed across his eyelids.
Dick loosed his grapple and jumped before it connected. The wind dragged at his clothes, slowing his fall. He had his line, the rapidly approaching pavement, and his target. Everything else disappeared. The line caught. The accumulating force of the downswing pulled his body towards the earth. It felt like his weight tripled, pulling his wrists nearly out of their sockets. Pavement brushed his ankle. Just as the force started to let up—
He met his target, a serial rapist and drug dealer, knees first. Both their bones crunched with the hit, and they traveled together through the London air for a moment--long enough for a wink, not a quip--before Dick dumped him to the sidewalk.
His heart lifted with the apogee as the arc finally launched him towards the sky, weightless.
He flew.
Dick recalled the grapple line with one hand, extending his airtime with a somersault towards a balcony. One spin—he'd lost too much momentum for a quad.
Somewhere far below, his brief companion in flight hit the sidewalk screaming while his friends stood confused.
Dick alighted on the balcony railing long enough for his line to snap back into his escrima before launching himself into another jump. No time to waste. He had forty-two other people to beat the snot out of.
It had been years since he'd felt this kind of anger. The kind that poured out through his fists and dimmed a little more with every shattered bone.
He recognized most of the gangsters by their mugshots (they no longer resembled their mugshots when he was done with them). Some through description. Others by name.
One of them was named Tim. He looked nothing like Dick's Tim, too wide and older than Tim ever got to be, but the name soured as he listened to an addict say, hey, Tim.
Dick let the client, a pay fifteen pounds before sliding out of the shadows and letting loose.
Clark liked Alfred. The old man took his implanted memories in stride, only questioning where Robin had gone. Despite Clark's assurances, he was sure Alfred had people looking for him. After all, there was no way to explain he'd already left this dimension.
Alfred left Clark and Lana alone when they had to talk, brought Clark sandwiches in the aftermath with Lana's voice still hanging in the air. I don't think we should see each other anymore. They ate roasted vegetables and chicken after Lana switched her ticket for the soonest flight to Metropolis and vanished with her fake passport.
Alfred regaled him with stories of his time as an actor at the Globe, taking him on a tour of London's streets with colourful commentary—and that store is where I shot a Soviet spy. Perfect corner for an ambush, watch how headlights reflect off the windows. Oh they replaced that stained glass after I jumped through it in 1961.
Clark hated leaving him when the day came. Alfred gave him a stern look and a reminder to be patient with his parents before sending him on his way.
He stood alone in the airport lobby, fiddling with his fake passport and wearing the edges of his boarding pass down. Strangers grumbled as they stepped around him. He tucked himself further in a corner and stared down the queue.
He didn't have enough money on him to buy a new ticket. Once he went through security, that would be the end of it.
He was going to Metropolis. From there, Smallville. To his parents. No turning back.
Clark took a deep breath.
"It's airport security, not the coliseum," a voice he didn't think he'd hear again said.
He looked down.
Robin smirked up at him. His skin had a healthy olive glow and a layer of baby fat that hadn't been there when they said goodbye. Clark blinked. Was this Robin's counterpart?
"I'm not a ghost, Clark."
"Robin!" Clark swung him into a hug, almost dropping his boarding pass in the process. Robin squeaked and hugged back automatically. But why was he still here? A last goodbye? Clark set him down. "What happened? Why are you—"
"Things fell through with Constantine," Robin said. He gave a brittle smile.
Guilt and joy fought in Clark's chest. He really liked Robin. He didn't want to strand him here, far from his home. "So you're stuck here?"
"For now. She was nice enough to fix my glamor." Robin played with his clay necklace. "Well—she reset it. Apparently it was too complicated to really fix so I guess I'm going through fake puberty again."
Clark let out a laugh of disbelief. He would have taken Robin as an adult, too. "So what are you gonna do?"
Robin shrugged. "I've got twenty years until I can get back home. Biochem's not my thing, but that should be enough time to find a cure."
Twenty years. Clark's head spun. He couldn't imagine that much time. Even a few months away from his home had made him all off-kilter. Robin had been right—isolation changed him. Made him more fragile.
"I think I'll go someplace and set up an identity. Somewhere close to a university, maybe Maryland."
"How about Smallville?" The words left his mouth before he realized he wanted to say them.
Robin's brows lifted. "Smallville?"
"Yeah. With me." Clark ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed. "Metropolis has some pretty good universities. And you could—you could help me out with the kryptonian stuff. My parents have taken in kids who need help before."
"Clark Kent, are you adopting me?"
Yeah, that sounded like what he was doing. Clark winced.
Robin nodded with an amused little smile. "I'm not saying yes, but give me a couple weeks to get an identity together and then we'll talk."
Clark liked to think he knew his parents. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his mother would adore Robin. His dad, on the other hand, would need some convincing.
On the plane ride home, Clark took charge of entertaining his friend. He told him the stories Alfred gave him despite the feeling that Robin had heard them before, told him about his high school adventures and what teams to root for. Robin, for his part, put on a good show of being calm and happy. He couldn't have been, though. Not with the journey in front of him.
Was this because he didn't have a soul? Clark didn't want to ask, but the question wouldn't let him relax. What did it mean for Robin, not having a soul? What did it mean for Smallville, that Robin was coming to stay?
They parted ways in Metropolis, with Robin wandering off and promising to come find him in a couple weeks.
Someone knocked at Lana's bedroom door. "Lana? I saw your car out front. You okay?"
Chloe. The only person it could have been.
Lana threw a blanket over her book and rolled out of bed, opening the door just enough to see her. Chloe lifted a box of Chinese takeout and chopsticks with a nervous smile. "Peace offering?"
For all Lana had been furious at her the last time they spoke, she relaxed as she took in her friend. Chloe hadn't changed at all. She was probably the only one who hadn't, this summer. Still wearing a riot of colour and texture, frizzy blond bob touching her shoulders, she hadn't even shed her teenage awkwardness yet.
Lana stepped out of her room and pulled Chloe into a hug.
"Oh! Uh. Wow. Not to be ungrateful or anything, but what's this for?"
"For being you." Lana hooked her chin over Chloe's shoulder. "And as an apology for being such a bitch."
"Aww." Chloe hugged her back. "I wouldn't say you were being a bitch—I did kind of let you think Clark was totally missing. It's just—I—you know, he…"
Lana stepped back. She really didn't want to talk about Chloe's simmering crush on Clark. "You don't have to explain anything. You were being a good friend to Clark. I understand."
Chloe's brow furrowed. "What happened, exactly? You were gone for a while, I was getting worried."
"Let's just say Clark and I aren't together anymore," Lana bit out. "And I'm not really in the mood to talk about it tonight."
"Gosh, Lana. I'm so sorry. Do you want to hang out? We can watch movies and eat ice cream."
Lana took the takeout container. The hot food warmed her palm. It smelled like General Tao. "I think I'd like to be alone for now. I'm really tired."
"Got it. Totally. I'll, um, I'll finish eating dinner with my dad and bring you some ice cream."
"Chloe—"
"No company! Just ice cream. Every breakup deserves ice cream." Chloe raised her hands with a grin, backing up. "We've got half a pint of cookie dough in the freezer."
Chloe spun on her heel and trotted down the stairs before Lana could complain.
Lana sighed and closed the door. The food did smell awesome. She set it down on her dresser, flopping back onto her bed. She untucked her book. It was a little thing, leatherbound and small enough to fit in her purse. The pages were soft with age, margins dented by annotations from previous students. Her one souvenir from London. Lana traced a finger over the instructions, reading carefully.
Most of the early entries were breathing exercises and philosophy. This page was the first real spell.
Conjuring flame.
Lana picked up her plane ticket to London and held it over the garbage can.
Holding the spell book in one hand, Lana pictured the movement of heat in her mind, mimicking the diagram on the page. Warmth traveled from the book down her arm, curling in her chest, and pooled in her fingertips.
"Nrub."
The ticket smoked where her fingers pinched it. Lana scowled and pulled more magic from the book. It made her skin throb. "Nrub."
Bright red embers lit up, blackening the paper. It still didn't ignite into flame like she wanted it to.
"Nrub!" The paper sizzled. Heat spat back, stuttering on her finger. Lana cursed and dropped the ticket, shoving her thumb into her mouth. A blister was already forming.
Smoke rose from the garbage can.
Better than nothing, but still not enough.
Lana sighed and rocked back into her duvet, scowling at the margin notes like they could tell her where she'd gone wrong.
Instead of wiping her memory, Johanna Constantine had given Lana three of the greatest gifts she'd ever gotten.
First: the spellbooks. Two for spells, one on potions, and another for rituals.
Second: the truth. Lana's magical potential subconsciously drew people's attention. It was why so many meteor freaks were obsessed with her. Why she couldn't live a quiet life.
Third: advice. Clark Kent was not to be trusted. He and Robin paid Johanna to wipe her mind and keep her placid, like an ignorant sheep.
Lana watched the thready smoke rise and dissipate. Thanks to Johanna, she would never be helpless again.
The week before classes began, Clark heard something move in the barn loft. He shed his work gloves and climbed the steps, only to stop when he saw a familiar silhouette looking through his telescope.
"You know this is pointed at someone's house, right?" Robin said. Thank God Lana had moved out last year.
Clark snorted and jumped the last two steps. "Don't start."
"What? Your mom said I could wait here." Robin beamed up at him, leaning in for a brief hug. "Also, she called this your Fortress of Solitude?"
"It's a lot less solitary nowadays." Clark gave his cozy hideout a fond once-over. His parents had packed a lot of it away when they thought they were going to be evicted, so he hadn't fully unpacked all his books. The furniture hadn't moved, though.
He wasn't quite sure what to make of the bemused head tilt Robin gave him, so he moved on. "So, what story did you end up going with?"
"My foster parents just moved into town and brought me along."
Clark crossed his arms. If they were real people, he'd eat his shoe. "Uh huh. What are their names?"
"John and Isobel."
"They real?"
He gave a cheeky smirk. "Real enough. Let me know if you want to meet them. Preferably a few days in advance."
How the hell did that work? Had he hired actors or something? Clark shook his head and tried not to smile. "Social worker?"
"A very nice, very overworked old man in Metropolis."
"How convenient. What about school?"
"Homeschool."
"Really?" Clark's brows lifted.
"Well, I'm trying to cure a virus that doesn't exist yet and reinvent inter dimensional travel, so there will be studying."
"Good start. Mom's going to be disappointed, I told her you might be able to swing a foster license without the inspection." Clark was pretty sure his parents would have accepted anything as long as he came home. They still looked at him like he might disappear if they took their eyes off him for too long.
Robin hummed. "I could do that, if she really wanted. Can't recommend it, though. It's really easy to poke holes in custody cases."
"Don't I know it." Clark plopped down in a chair. "Gotta say, it'll be much easier to deal with things now that you're here."
Robin tipped his head from side to side, making a face. "Eeeh, I may not stay here full time."
Clark pitched forward, then fumbled to avoid falling off his chair entirely. "Whoa—uh, I thought you were? Not that you can't, it's just—"
"I'll still consider this home base," Robin held his hands up, "but I get antsy. It's a small town, I need resources. Labs, people, baddies to fight. Stuff to do, you know?"
"There's plenty of stuff to do here."
"Really?" Robin gave him a flat-mouthed look. "In Smallville?"
Clark fought a grin again. "Oh, yeah." He'd forgotten—he hadn't told Robin everything about this town. "How much have I said about the meteor freaks?"