Chapter Text
It would have to be today, Dick decided. Zod was losing patience and Kal-El was distracted. He had wanted to wait until Krypto was a little bigger so that the puppy would understand more, but he didn’t have time. Kal-El wasn't stupid, but he was slow when it came to seeing the dangers Zod presented.
That's what happens when you're so sure of your civilization's superiority. You become complacent.
He took a deep breath. Krypto could carry him if he held on. That had to be enough. He stared at the half grown dog petting him to ease the both of them. He had been here seven months. Seven months without any contact from Bruce. Seven months of being a prisoner here. Seven months of watching and listening and he had finally found it.
It wasn’t big, but it would be enough for Batman to take and run with. He had found a crystal disk of poetry and had listened to it while Kal-El was out of the house. He had been trying to figure out what exactly had destroyed Krypton. That perhaps whatever had done it could be used against them, but then he came across a passage.
Chips of home, poison our hearts
We can never go home again
Home sickness. Home sickens
Home kills
And yet I dream of home
Maybe it was because of all the Riddler puzzles and Scarecrow schemes and that every costumed villain in Gotham seemed to have a degree in cryptic flowery literature, or maybe he had a mind for it, but he was good at poetry interpretation.
After going over their works a dozen times that he knew it all by heart in Kryptonian and in the English translation he was certain. They were being literal.
Home made them sick.
A weakness.
Even if it was just making them sick it might be enough to stop their take over. Slow them down.
Sometimes he thought about the potential of after. That one day humanity would win. He didn’t know what that would look like. Would things go back to the way they were before? Already so broken and crumbling? Would something new and better emerge?
But it would be their destiny to make, not the Kryptonians.
“Today’s the day, buddy,” Dick forced a smile.
Krypto licked his face desperately. Maybe trying to talk him out of it.
“I’m sorry boy. I was hoping you’d be bigger…and that you might understand…I know you understand a lot more than a regular old dog, but you’re still a puppy. I… I need your help, and you might get hurt.”
Krypto gave a soft whine but licked his face again.
“Alright then, Superdog. Let’s get out of here.”
Alarms blared. A security alert?
Kal-El froze, trying to think. There was no one able to get close to the city. Not close enough for the alarms to sound. Was it Batman? Had he finally come?
Without thinking he was standing in front of the door of their home, heart beating quickly.
“Robin!” He called. No answer. He went in and found their home empty. The force field around the yard was down.
“ROBIN!” He shouted. Fear curled in his veins. No. No. No. This shouldn’t be possible! The defenses!
He flew up into the sky trying to spot what it was that had triggered the alarm.
“Rao, no.”
Robin was in the air his arms wrapped around Krypto as the dog did his best to dodge the defensive weapons that were packed under the city.
The boy was holding with one hand while throwing pieces of metal at the guns, slow enough that the shielding of them didn’t activate, fast enough that it managed to disable a few, but there was hundreds compared to one boy and his dog.
A very human boy.
Kal-El dove into the fray, but not fast enough. Krypto was hit. The dog gave a loud painful yelp and the two began to plummet toward Metropolis below.
“Krypto!” Robin yelled. “No, no, no, wake up. Please!”
The boy was forced to let go of the dog when another round of canonfire ripped towards them.
“NO!” Robin screamed. Kal-El was there. He grabbed him protecting him with his body as he was blasted in the back by the laser. He gasped in pain, but held the boy firmly. The system, now sensing a Kryptonian, stopped targeting. Above them a squad of ten soldiers floated.
“Krypto–!”
“Shh, shh,” Kal-El whispered as he clung to Robin staring up at the soldiers.
And there was Zod.
Smiling.
Garth stared up at the sky, the sun bending through the water.
The ocean was home. Was safety. Was a place to protect. In all his years it had never felt like a cage, even in exile. Even alone.
But anything can become a cage if you aren’t allowed to leave it.
That was the deal struck with the Kryptonians. The ocean belonged to Atlantis. If the Supers kept themselves and the humans out of it, then the people of Atlantis would stay out of surface affairs.
The deal was struck.
And Garth was stuck.
It wasn’t that he loved the surface. Honestly he felt weak whenever he stepped on land.
Or he had until he had met his friends.
It didn’t make any sense really. Surface dwellers he shouldn’t have anything in common with, and yet they understood him better than everyone save Tula and even her he found himself tongue tied around in a way he never was with them. Friendly insults and jabs and smiles and laughter. The things he missed growing up in the currents. Other young people. Other young people that didn’t fit in.
Before the breaking waves of the sea had become a barrier between two different worlds he had heard about Robin.
He had never felt so powerless. Even on dryland minutes away from dying of dehydration he had felt more able than he did now. He was at full strength, at the bottom of the sea looking up.
Robin would try to help. He knew. If their situations were reversed. He would get the others together. Make a plan.
Garth remembered his former arrogance. How he and Speedy had once boasted that they could lead the team just as well as the Boy Wonder. Then they would devolve into arguments between themselves about how Speedy wasn’t even a full member of the Teen Titans, and Garth was as useful as a dead fish if he got dried out.
And Donna and Wally would roll their eyes, and Robin would laugh and laugh and laugh.
Which was the worst part. Robin got pulled into their argument a few times in the beginning, but now he would laugh at them. Garth hated it more than he hated the stupid nicknames Speedy would give him. He was so sure he would be an excellent leader, it wasn’t something to laugh at.
Yet here he was, staring up, with no idea what he would even hypothetically do. Not only did water separate them, but sky. He couldn’t fly.
He couldn’t do anything.
And what of the others? Speedy and Kidflash were in danger too. Donna perhaps was safe, but the others were just as breakable as Robin. Even Kidflash with his speed was at a disadvantage to the Kryptonian’s strength.
“Still brooding I see.”
Garth felt his hurt burn. With the land’s business not being theirs anymore they had tried. They had tried being Aquaman and Aqualad, but then Black Manta… the baby…the choice…
Arthur Jr. in the bubble slowly filling with air. Black Manta's smugness as he laid it out for them: “Of course I’ll be happy to press the button to replenish the water—as soon as one of you lies dead on the arena floor! Actually which one doesn’t really matter…”
“Well, it matters to me, buster! ‘Cause the only one gettin’ wiped out here is gonna be–-” Garth started, sure that his mentor was floating right beside him.
Aquaman’s attack had been a complete surprise.
“I’m sorry Minnow—” Garth couldn’t move when the punch landed. “—but that’s my son up there!”
He felt a wave of guilt. Was he only thinking of Robin to distract himself, or because he wanted Robin there to comfort him?
Speedy was right, he was a useless dead fish.
He slowly stood, longer than it was polite to make a king wait. That sort of thing hadn't mattered between them before.
But it mattered to Garth now. He straightened up properly.
Prince Arthur was alive. After the fight Garth couldn’t bring himself to follow Aquamna to hunt Black Manta— “ If that’s the thanks I get for taking you under my wing for all these years, fine!” —He used the excuse of bringing the dead toddler home to the Queen, but the child hadn’t been dead! In his anger Aquaman had missed the small signs of life, but he was gone before Garth could tell him.
Garth had gotten little Arthur Jr. to Queen Mera in time for her to heal him. The King chased after Black Manta for months before they could finally get word to him.
But everyone was alive. Everyone was fine.
And so, everything was back to how it was—after the King had returned from his hunt for Manta.
Or that’s how the King would like to see it.
Garth, unable to escape to the surface to seek the comfort of his friends, instead spent his time feeling useless; stewing in his resentment and the guilt he felt for his resentment. Arthur was the only father he had ever known.
And he hadn’t hesitated to try to kill Garth to save Arthur Jr.
But Garth loved the little Prince. It wasn’t that he was jealous. He knew deep down Arthur didn’t love him like he loved his real son. He knew there was no choice between the two of them.
It was that…
Black Manta had said it didn’t matter which one of them died.
What? Did he expect his King to kill himself for him?
No, he had just… he had … he just didn’t like feeling so rejected.
He felt so alone.
He bowed to the King. His monarch sighed at the overly courteous gesture.
“I understand you miss your friends,” Arthur—Aquaman—The King began.
It had been tense between them. They both avoided each other over the past few weeks. The King had thanked him when he learned it was Garth’s quickness that had saved the prince, but all that Garth could hear was: “that’s the thanks I get,” over and over.
“How could you understand?” Garth asked. The words slipped out.
The King was surprised by his sourness. Garth had a storminess to him, but he rarely talked back to his … his King.
“What do you mean by that?” the King asked.
Garth shrugged. He didn’t quite have the nerve to point out that Arthur had everything he wanted.
An annoyed sigh. “Well, I thought perhaps you’d like to accompany me. There’s to be a summit and Atlantis has been asked to provide ambassadors.
A roll of irritation ran through Garth. “You’re the King, you shouldn’t go at all.”
“I’m Aquaman,” Arthur corrected. “And I—”
So was it the King or Aquaman that had tried to kill him?
But his senses caught up with him. A summit would have to be on land. Maybe this was his chance to find his real family.
The one that would call him stupid names but stand beside him and refused to fight anyone but the villian. The one that would have already had the baby in their arms by the time Manta had finished his speech. The one the that would have knocked Manta’s block off for threatening a baby. The one that would have offered his own life for the baby before ever considering murdering a friend.
“I’m sorry,” Garth said before Arthur could lecture him. “The king’s duty is to Atlantis, but Aquaman’s duty is to the ocean.”
Arthur looked relieved. “Yes, exactly. Listen… Minnow. I know—”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t call me by childish nicknames, Aquaman.” It hurt too much. The affection wasn't real, and he couldn't pretend. Not now.
“I—yes, of course. Aqualad, I wanted to apologise again. While I made everything worse you saved my son.”
And if he hadn’t would Arthur care to speak to him again? The thanks I get--
“All in a day’s work,” Garth said, remembering the corny lines his friends used to say. Remembering when they showed him the old movies they were making fun of.
“Right, well… I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you.”
Wasn’t it far too late for that now?
“So, the summit?” Garth asked.
Arthur looked annoyed. He didn’t talk about feelings easily, and getting rebuffed must be frustrating, but he moved on perhaps relieved he wouldn't have to keep talking about it. Queen Meera probably pushed him to do it in the first place.
“I thought it would be a good idea to stretch our legs on land. What do you say, Aqualad?" Aquaman forced a confident smile, and Garth forced one right back.
No, nothing would be the same between them.
"He gave the boy the means for his own escape. Robin has proven himself too dangerous to be kept in the care of Kal-El,” Zod spoke in front of the council, firm and even. “In less than a week we are having a planetary summit. Will the Atlanteans and Amazons stay neutral if we show we can’t even contain a small human? He should be remanded to the military where he will be treated as a proper prisoner of war. No more pretending.”
The council murmured.
Kal-El looked up. Met his mother’s eyes. She gave him a stern look. He nodded and stood.
His back was on fire. He hadn’t had time to have his wounds seen. He knew he had to get ahead of Zod before he could steal Robin and lock him away. He took a deep breath, working through the pain. The lasers weren’t meant to hurt Kryptonians, but they were strong enough to cause harm. He wouldn’t die from it, but it had been a long time since he had felt real physical pain.
“Robin is a boy,” Kal-El said simply. “I know it has been a long time since we have interacted with children. Since our children grew up… since I grew up, but you all remember children. They’re fearless. Selfish. Unaware of what they want and what they need. Sometimes unaware of who really has their best interests in mind. Robin tried to runaway. I tried to runaway once.”
It had been a long time ago. He had felt overwhelmed. Everyone knowing him, wanting to know him, being in his life.
They had come to a planet. It wasn’t really fit for landing in, and the Green Lanterns had it under their protection. He had run off, wanting to be a stranger. Wanting to be unknown.
“He just wants control,” Kal-El continued. “He’s been here for months. He’s settling in, but there’s growing pains. It was always bound to happen. Robin is clever enough to get as far as he did, but any child would have tried in their own way to run.”
“He could have died,” Zod said, trying to appeal to the rest of them. “Kal-El claims he cares for the boy? Then he should face the fact that the boy would have died because of his negligence.”
“I accept that,” Kal-El swallowed. “I was too complacent. I wasn’t seeing what he needed from me, but I know now. Putting child in a cage isn’t fair. You know it isn’t, and sending him to someone else… it will just start the cycle again. I know him. Better than anyone here. He’ll try again. Zod is right. Robin could have died, but he didn’t because I was there to catch him. I’ll always be there to catch him. We all agreed with his capture that he would not be held responsible for the decisions of adults. Don’t lock him up for doing what any angry teenager would do. Please.”
Kal-El felt the softening. He and Zod left the room. Irritation radiated off of Zod, but he didn’t say a word.
Robin had said Kal-El had power. Kal realized what it was. And he hated it.
He was the last child of their planet. Everyone knew him. Everyone doted on him. Everyone loved him.
And they gave him everything he wanted.
Robin was returned to him. A few scratches, but otherwise unharmed.
And Kal-El was… angry.
He was so angry.
“What were you thinking?” He demanded. “You might have died! If I hadn’t been there–!”
“I wanted to be free,” Robin told him, voice flat. His face was pale, completely emotionless. He sounded like Batman. Kal-El hated it.
“Better dead than here, is that it?!”
“Yes!” Robin yelled, his calm demeanor breaking. “Yes! I want to go home! If I can’t go home I’d rather be dead!”
“That is NOT happening!” Kal-El yelled. “I will not let it happen!”
“I’ll do it again! I’ll find a way out of here! One day I’ll get out!”
“At what cost? What about Krypto?”
Hurt flashed across Robin’s face. “He… is he…?”
Kal-El deflated. Shook his head. A Kryptonian person might be able to come out injured but fine from the lasers, but dogs?
Robin’s rage died, devastation and grief taking its place. “I didn’t think he would get hurt.”
“You didn’t think at all,” Kal-El said helplessly. He wanted to yell some more. He was still… angry. Angry at Robin for putting himself in danger, for being reckless.
He remembered in a rush how his father’s disapproval and rage. His father had never disciplined him much, leaving it to his mother, but he remembered the shock at seeing his father so angry.
It was the day he had tried to run away and nearly gotten himself killed. At the time he had thought his father was angry because of the risk Kal-El had brought to their people… but no. It was the risk he had put on himself. His father had been afraid.
Kal-El only understood now, his own anger finally settling as the boy tried to remain composed. His eyes were wet and he was staring hard into the middle distance.
“I didn’t think he would get hurt,” Robin repeated. He sounded so guilty.
Kal-El opened his arms and slowly pulled Robin into a hug. The boy didn’t move for a few seconds, and then he started shaking. He was trying so hard to hold himself together, but something broke and he was holding onto Kal-El like a lifeline. He tried to stifle sobs, then muffled them against Kal’El’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he cried. It wasn’t an apology to Kal-El.
“If he needs comfort you give it to him. You ask for nothing in return, not even gratitude because trust me, you won’t get it.” His mother had told him not long ago. He understood now. He wondered what kind of pain he had put her through that she had to swallow for his sake.
“It’s okay Nightwing , it’s okay.”
Alfred had been an actor.
It was a combination of parental pressure and birthright that had taken him from the stages of London to the drawing room of Wayne Manor.
He hadn’t liked it. Not at first. He wasn’t particularly good at it, in fact, it had felt more like playing a role than it had being an actual butler. The classic type. Polite, but with a dry sarcasm that was popular on television at the time. Other than that it was just telling others what to do. Make sure the cook is cooking on time. Make sure the cleaners clean to a standard.
Run the household. The household already ran itself. There was only one wrinkle.
Little Bruce Wayne.
With Alfred not really knowing what Butlers were supposed to be doing it gave him a lot of extra time. He often found himself alone with the boy because Martha and Thomas were busy and Bruce was determined to look independent and strong in front of them. Happy and cheerful.
But he was also obsessive with whatever happened to catch his attention. Silently he would go into the library, or he would chase insects, or he would dig holes. He wouldn’t ask questions. Alfred had to ask him questions to get him talking. Bruce would talk. Explain his observations and research. Alfred thought if Bruce didn’t become a doctor like his father he might become an academic the way he cataloged things.
Alfred had put on a few impromptu one man shows for the young master’s delight, and Bruce did enjoy them. Smiling and watching politely. Clapping at the end like a miniature gentleman, but he always was more interested in the mechanics of it. He liked action scenes as most little children do, but he wanted to know the steps to the swordfight. The way Alfred could whisper while still be heard clearly, the accents he could run through at the drop of a hat.
Bruce asked later where he had learned. Much later. When he was almost fully grown and wanting to perfect the kind of acting Alfred could teach him. When he could see that Alfred’s foundations weren't that of wooden stages, but back alleys and fancy parties. A spy.
He had grown tired of the lies of real life. He wanted happier ones. Fantasies that make people smile. Not the kinds that got people dead.
Dick was a happy fantasy.
Alfred had watched Bruce Wayne become Batman. Seen how the cowl resembled the boy he raised more than the man who went by Bruce Wayne. Smiling and sociable ditzy Bruce Wayne. A character. Nothing real about him. A mask. An act.
Dick was nothing like Bruce, the real Bruce.
Bruce was quiet, Dick was noise. Bruce was icy rage, Dick was explosive firey anger. Bruce was a dour frown and Dick a wide smile. Bruce was terse commands and Dick was playful puns.
Opposites that instantly understood one another, once Bruce let his mask fall away.
Bruce had categorized everything that ever interested him as a child. Broke apart things and put them back together. Learned how things worked. How parts moved. How A led to B. Trained and drilled and planned each step.
And Dick was improvisation. Impulse. Fearless.
What a pair they made.
Bruce Wayne was driven by fear. Mastered it. Used it as a cloak that he wore and used on others.
But Bruce, Bruce was afraid. Had always been afraid. His paranoia and preparedness. His careful notes. His anxieties. Alfred at first thought it was the murder, but it wasn’t. Not really. Bruce’s anxieties had always been there, but with his mother and father and Alfred they had been eased and comforted. The murder was simply proof that Bruce’s fears were real. Were to be listened to.
Loss.
Dick didn’t fear loss. He resented it. He hated it. He struggled and fought against it, but it didn’t scare him. He didn’t stay awake at night thinking of a way he could lose everything and preparing for a way to prevent it. No. Dick was a reactive creature. He lashed out. He improvised. Always in the present moment. It made him a fine tactition on the field. Bruce taught Dick how to be prepared, and Dick added preparedness to his belt, but he didn’t fear, so there were things he just wasn’t prepared for.
The lead had been Bruce’s idea. It had been meant for Dick. It had been meant as a means for Dick to get clear if there was any trouble. Bruce thought of Dick’s potential loss.
But Dick improvised. The lead wasn’t for him anymore, it was for Bruce. It was to save Batman.
A teenager decided he was a lost cause and decided to use his potential last action to save his friend, his partner, his father. Dick reacted for the best outcome.
Alfred downed the brandy he had been sipping. Just one glass. It wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t even fog the painful thoughts and memories. Just a warm burn down his throat. He didn’t know why he was comparing them both. Or perhaps he did. Thinking of the balance they shared. Knowing that losing either of them was too much to bare.
He tried not to remember the boy’s face, clapping enthusiastically as Alfred preformed a one man show of Hamlet while they awaited Batman’s return after one of the bad nights. Tried not to think of the smile as Alfred set down a plate of waffles in front of him.
Only knowing Dick was alive kept him going. Only knowing Bruce was planning. Strategizing. Fearing loss and planning against it.
And so what was Dick doing? He would be improvising. Making the best of his situation. Using what he was given. Standing in the lion’s den fearless and unafraid. Fighting against loss. Struggling to get back to them. It was the only thing that made sense.
Two sides to the same coin. Bruce and Dick grabbing for each other’s hands in the darkness pushing through and stumbling over obstacles to reach each other.
And Alfred. Alfred uselessly holding empty matchboxes. His voice echoing in the dark cavern any guidance he could provide. Never enough.
“Hey, Ghost?”
“What is it?” he put down his brandy. Straightened himself, put on the goggles. Wally West entered tentatively.
“WellyouknowIdon’twanttomakeabigdealofit.”
“Slowly,” Alfred chided, although he couldn’t bring himself to sound gruff. Wally was trying. Everyone was trying.
“Roy’s gone.”
Alfred stood. “What?!”
“He snuck out. He made me promise not tosayanythingbuthe’slongpastoverdue.”
Alfred stood. Damn. Damn.
Roy Harper reminded him a lot of Dick in his early days at the manor. Angry, resentful, and two minutes away from running. Coupled with his need to do his best it made for a dangerous combination.
“I can go look for him!”
He grabbed Wally’s shoulder before he could start running. “Absolutely not. You are staying here. Protect Luthor. I’ll find Harper.”
“But he might–”
“You’re not expendable, Wallace.”
Alfred ran down what he would need. Where Roy might have gone. Tracking Green Arrow maybe?--
Wally was in front of him glaring up. “Wait. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Alfred had already forgotten what he had said, too wrapped up in panic.
“It means I’m finding Harper.”
“You–you’re not expendable either!” Wally choked out. His own panic was welling. There were vibrations in the air from his supersonic jitters.
“No, I only mean you need to stay here,” Alfred lied. A powerless old man. Useless. Who couldn’t protect those in his charge. He was the definition of expendable.
“Calm down Wallace,” he ordered, forcing harshness and disapproval in his tone. “I’ll find him. Stay here. Hold the fort. If we don’t return you know the plan. Yes?”
“I don’t–”
“Wallace.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
“He’s probably fine,” Alfred softened. He patted the boy’s arm and hurried out.
No time to lose.
Then the alarms started blaring.
It was the middle of the day, which meant it was a bad time to sneak out. Supers were more active and more powerful during the day, not that night slowed them down any, but Roy couldn’t take anymore of the Gray Ghost. Especially now that Wally had become teacher’s pet.
“He just wants to make sure we don’t end up like–”
Like Robin.
He wasn’t Robin. He was Speedy. He was older and stronger and faster–
Damn it.
Robin was their leader not because he was the strongest. Donna and Garth had him beat there. Or the fastest. Wally could run circles around all of them. He was a strategist. He knew where to go for them to do the most good.
He wasn’t up there because he had been stupid. He was up there because he had been smart. He was the one that had saved Batman with the lead dust (and where the fuck was Batman anyway?).
But everyone was acting like it was because Robin wasn’t enough when Robin had done a lot better than the lot of them.
And they were using it as an excuse to hold Roy back.
Roy got it. Moving underground. Moving in secret. Fine.
But when were they going to talk about saving Robin? Huh? No one said anything. Like he was a lost cause or it was someone else’s problem.
Batman’s problem.
But Batman lost the right when he fucked off. He was gone and now all that was left was the Teen Titans. Roy was only an unofficial member, but he hung out with them enough that he knew all the passwords. He was… they were his…
But Wally kept shaking his head when Roy tried to get him to move. It used to be so easy to get Wally moving…
The two of them weren’t enough, the speedster protested. They needed Donna and Garth. Donna could fly, Garth could do storm magic. The four of them together could get up there. Save him. He knew they could.
They just needed a plan. And they needed to be together.
But Wally refused to look for them. He was the person that could run around the Earth and yet he refused to look for Donna. She had to be somewhere. She wouldn’t just leave Robin to rot. He was like her little brother. Maybe Garth let himself get sucked into Atlantean politics, but Donna wouldn’t let Theymascara neutrality stop her. Not for a friend.
So all this was running through his mind as he carefully moved through the streets. Recon. Or finding Ollie. He didn’t know if he was in Metropolis, but Roy couldn’t take much more of Gray Ghost and Luthor.
That’s when the alarms went off. Not in the city, but above.
The whole underside of the sky fortress lit up red. Something was trying to break through??
Roy scrambled up to the highest building he could get trying to get any sort of perspective. There was already an announcement for everyone down on the ground to remain in their homes. That this was a drill.
Bullshit.
He made it to the top and watched as a small white speck fell further and further down. Roy shot out a grappling arrow heading to where the object would land. He didn’t know what it was, but maybe it was an ally. Someone that could fly. Who had almost gotten past the defenses.
He ducked behind the building at the impact site. He didn’t approach. No doubt a Super would show up. He stashed his bow in a trashcan. If he was caught he would play at being just a normal kid that got too curious. Kryptons didn’t kill kids. At worse he would have to break out of an orphanage tomorrow, but if he could get a look–
Was that… a dog?
He ducked his head as there was a second thunderous boom. Another Super.
“Dog’s dead,” the Super said out loud. “The street cleaning robots will have it cleaned up. Is Robin secure? … Then I’ll be returning, commander. … Yes.”
And he was gone.
Robin?
Roy waited impatiently. He wouldn’t have a huge amount of time. The garbage robots were annoyingly efficient. When was sure it was clear he grabbed his bow and sprinted to the dead dog. Maybe it meant something?
He winced. It was a white dog with a red collar. There were burns all over him.
“Good boy,” he said softly, out of pity.
But as soon as he did the dog came to life perking up at him, tail wagging.
“Ah!” he startled. The dog gave a happy whine and limped toward him, tail still moving back and forth.
“How the hell are you breathing?” Roy demanded. Okay, okay didn’t matter. “Do you know Rob–” he cut himself off remembering what a bad idea it would be to say that particular name out loud, but the dog’s tail went even faster at the first syllable.
“Okay, let’s go, we can figure this out after we’re far away from here.”
The dog seemed to agree, limping to his side. Was it kryptonian? They had dogs? Superdogs? Fuck.
Looks like he would have to cut his little escape short.