Chapter Text
There are few beings in the universe who Hal Jordan respects as much as Superman. The man really is something, with his kindness, godlike powers, and unwavering moral integrity all wrapped into one person. Still, sometimes Hal can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at the sight of Clark pulling off a feat that sends the masses into fainting spells.
Today is no such time. Today, Hal is very much part of the crowd. Rarely has he been more relieved, grateful – yes, and dammit, awed – than at the sight of Clark swooping out of a shuttle, his splendid red cape mingling with the frayed yellow one worn by the figure curled up in his arms. Today Hal really could use some rose petals, laurel wreaths, or whatever stuff people throw during victory parades.
“Kal-El”, Diana says when Superman touches down, a regal expression etched on her face as if she wants to cup his jaw and kiss his brow. “You’ve brought him home.”
“Robin”, Barry whispers hoarsely. “Oh God, Robin… There you are, kid.”
Hal pushes through them unceremoniously, raising his right hand before anyone can protest.
“Hey, I’m allowed to do this when he’s injured”, he grumbles at the stern looks Clark and Diana throw him. “Wanna see the form that Batman made me sign?”
A form detailing how Green Lantern may (and may not) interact with Robin does, in fact, exist. It comprises thirty-five pages, ninety-two rules, forty footnotes, and, yes, Hal skimmed every single one of those while waiting for Superman in the hangar.
“I’ve already scanned him”, Clark says tensely.
“Just double-checking”, Hal mutters, eyes fixed on the green light running down Robin’s shins. “Almost done.”
“And?” Diana asks, concern darkening her tone. “Do you agree with Superman’s assessment?”
“Yeah.” Hal lowers his hand, drawing the power back into the ring. “Minor injuries, major adrenaline crash. The kid needs fluids yesterday.”
Clark nods and abruptly zooms away, Diana and Barry following close behind. Too exhausted to compete with his colleagues for once, Hal flies through the elevator doors as they are about to close.
“So, the Scriks had him”, he says into the silence. “Doing their usual dirty work for the Krognons?”
“It looks that way.”
Clark stands half-turned away from them, Robin held tightly against his chest.
“How much blood did they take this time?”
“500 milliliters.”
The highest possible amount that wouldn’t cause him serious harm, Hal thinks, gritting his teeth.
Oh, how he hates those hedonistic moneybags tripping their way through every species of the universe. Lucky for Robin, human blood only does it for the Krognons as long as the people who have given it are alive and reasonably well. Considering all the other types of body fluid dealing going on right now, it was the best-case scenario really. The one Hal would have picked if someone had given him the choice.
“What was the deal?” he asks, trying to rub the damn tiredness off his face. “How did they get the kid to let them take it?”
“I don’t know the details yet. Robin said they hid him in a dimension where time passes more slowly. He probably gave them his blood in return for being taken back to ours.”
“Another dimension? Fucking hell.” Hal curses under his breath. “That’s why we couldn’t find him.”
Sorry, ring, he thinks, a little chagrined. I can see now that you did your best.
“How did Robin get away?” Barry asks. “He got the smugglers to call you, Clark, didn’t he?”
When no answer comes, Hal raises his eyes to study Clark. Something cold twists in his gut at the sight. Rarely before has he seen Superman’s profile look so stony, so stripped of sunshine, warmth, and joviality.
“Supes”, he prompts in a low voice. “That must have been the best deal those four-eyed slimeballs ever struck. How did Robin get them to negotiate?”
They know the prices all too well. There is a reason why two new body fluid smuggling rings arise for every one the Justice League and Green Lantern Corps dismantle. At the current rates, 200 milliliters of juvenile, humanoid blood, freely given in exchange for a heartfelt wish, is enough to buy a planet twice the size of Mercury. If the smugglers had kept Robin for longer, as they undoubtedly planned, they could have made this amount several times over.
“He is a very smart kid”, Clark says at last. “He found a way.”
His steely tone does nothing to calm the twisting in Hal’s stomach. Swallowing, he exchanges a glance with Barry. What the hell happened during that rescue? Superman isn’t supposed to look so grim and shaken. Ever.
“That’s enough questions for now”, Clark says as the elevator doors open. “What about the others? When do we expect them back?”
Diana and Barry fill him in on the way across the floor. Too wrapped up in his own thoughts, Hal only manages to contribute a few grunted syllables. In the medbay, Clark lays Robin on a bed more gently than Hal has ever seen him release someone to the pull of gravity.
Now. The fluids, Hal thinks, shaking himself. Right. But, God… who’s suicidal enough to stab Robin with a needle?
Diana does it, of course, quickly and professionally. She is also the one who wraps the boy in a blanket, attaches the oximeter, and disinfects the scratches visible through the tears in his vest. Barry whizzes around the room to get her the necessary equipment while Hal feels perfectly useless, standing next to Clark, who is looking so intently at the kid’s unconscious face that Hal can’t help but suspect him of running yet another scan.
“Clark.” He keeps his voice low and steady. “Come on. Spill it. What happened?”
A blink disrupts Clark’s stare for the briefest of moments.
“You don’t want to know, Lantern. Trust me.”
“Probably not,” Hal concedes with a grimace. “But somebody aside from you should know what crazy stunt the kid pulled to free himself. Since Batman’s MIA, you might as well tell me.”
“Oh, God. Batman.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Clark sharply turns away.
“He can’t know. He can’t! Not until he has rested. But he will figure it out. He will figure it out as soon as he gets here!”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Hal catches Superman’s shoulder beneath his hand. “Clark, come on, listen to me. You’ve just achieved the impossible. You’ve found Robin after 92 hours when we were about to give up hope. You’ve wrested him from the paws of the most cunning smuggling rings we’ve ever dealt with. If Batman’s anything other than grateful to you when he gets back, I swear to God, there will be words between him and me.”
“No.” Clark keeps his face turned but doesn’t step away from the hand on his shoulder. “Hal, you don’t understand. I’m not worried about Batman being angry at me.”
“Okay, who else then? The kid?” Hal scoffs, more tired than irritated. “Oh come on. Sure, Robin went on that mission against Batsy’s wishes, but even he should be able to wrap his rule-obsessed head around the fact that the boy did whatever he had to surv—”
A warm, broad hand closes around Hal’s wrists and pulls him across the room. The blue glimmering sight of the Earth greets them through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Having reached the glass pane, Clark lets go of Hal’s arm and turns to look at him for one long, tense moment.
“Robin threatened to destroy the cargo,” he finally says. “That’s how he got the smugglers to cooperate.”
It takes Hal too long to get it. The terrible meaning of those words. Not because he isn’t familiar with that disgusting trade. Using a stash as leverage is a classic move, because lost goods are something that most runners try to avoid at all costs. Showing up empty-handed before a drug lord can be tantamount to a death sentence, especially when dealing with a cut-throat species like the Krognons. However, in this particular case…
“Clark, I thought,” Hal says slowly, “you said that the blood tubes weren’t on the shuttle.”
“Yes”, Clark replies with a hard, flickering stare. “They weren’t.”
The ring glows on Hal’s hand, and he barely manages to stop it from manifesting a chair for him to sag on. Instead, he stretches out a hand and braces himself against the cool and sprawling window.
“Goddamnit”, he breathes out, throat tight. “Robin threatened to hurt himself?”
Clark doesn’t reply and doesn’t have to. The expression on his face is all the confirmation Hal could ever need.
Oh God, he thinks. Ring, did the scan show any signs of self-harm?
Positive, the ring replies after a pause, its usually neutral voice almost commiserate. A superficial cut above Robin’s left carotid artery appears to be self-inflicted.
With a dull thud, Hal’s right hand joins the left, splayed out on the window. His head droops until it almost touches the glass. A string of curses rallies on his tongue never to get spoken, words blown apart by the rough, steadying breaths he forces himself to take.
“Clark.” Pushing away from the window, he faces the man beside him. “Are you seriously telling me that Robin threatened to render his blood worthless by…?”
Clark, the most forthcoming person Hal has ever met, doesn’t do him the favor of completing the sentence.
“And the smugglers believed it?” Hal rasps. “That the kid would go ahead and slash his own throat?”
“He was very convincing.” Clark closes his eyes for a moment. “Hal, even I was convinced. He was still holding the knife when I got there. He refused to lower it even after the smugglers had left.”
Again, Hal’s desire to grit out the most fervent curse of his life gets overruled. This time, by the impulse to step forward and grab Clark’s elbows.
“Man, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped.”
No, not could. If Hal had been in that shuttle, he would immediately have encased the entire kid in a bulletproof, knifeproof, everythingproof layer of bright green.
“I know.” Clark opens his eyes again. “I know, Hal. But trust me, in that moment, Robin neither wanted your help nor mine. There was only one person on his mind.”
And we still don’t know where the bull-headed bastard is, Hal thinks. Goddamnit, Spooky, why couldn’t you have given us one more day to help you find him?
“But you talked him down, didn’t you?” he asks. “You got him to lower the knife.”
“Yes, eventually.”
“God damn.” Dizzy with dread, Hal turns to look across the medbay. “He’s always so cheerful and breezy… How does a mere teenager, a child, come up with such an idea?”
“He was desperate”, Clark says quietly. “Scared that there was no other way of escape.”
Maybe he was right about that, Hal thinks. Who knows what they would have done to him next?
During the frantic search of those past four days, there had been little time to analyze what happened. So many things don’t add up yet, and Robin’s miraculous escape is another infuriating puzzle. All they know is that the attack had been meticulously planned by several parties for three months at least. With a silent shudder, Hal remembers the distress call.
“Justice League, come in! Wonder Girl, here. It’s a trap! We have walked into a trap!”
The bastards had made sure that Batman, the Teen Titans, and the rest of the Justice League were neatly spread across different corners of the universe before they struck. And it is abundantly clear by now that the kidnappers didn’t want just any kid or human. They did not take Roy when they had the chance, nor any of the other teenagers. Robin was their only target.
“We’ve got him back now”, Hal says darkly, more to himself than Clark, “and I swear, I will not rest until the miserable fuckers who snatched the kid right from under our noses are locked away for good.”