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Earth was dying.
It was a fact, plain and simple. Nobody knew exactly the cause. It wasn't an invasion, or otherworldly threat. It wasn't magic or gods or geological fluke. It was just…dying.
The plants went first—farmers reporting failed crops, flowers dropping their blossoms. Then, small animals began to die off—some starved as their food sources withered, and others just…died.
By the time anyone put the pieces together and discovered there was a problem, it was too far gone.
They couldn't find the problem, and they couldn't fix it.
The Earth was dying.
The worlds heroes banded together, and they made a plan.
Three teams. Three goals.
The first kept looking for a solution. They combined their skills and directed their efforts towards getting to the bottom of whatever was poisoning the earth. They wouldn't stop, wouldn't give in until they succeeded.
The second kept the peace. They helped people on the ground, put out fires, and did everything they could to minimize the damage.
The third group. The last hope. The ship left in the middle of the night, bound for the stars. Searching for a new home.
Tim was in group three.
He wasn't sure why—he felt he could do the most good on the ground, but his arguments had been ignored. He had been shut down. Shipped off.
They had been traveling for weeks now, course plotted to a distant planet that the Earth's greatest minds had determined to be a possible new home, from a very short list of options allowed under intergalactic law.
Each team checked in once per day, and Tim read their communications carefully, desperate to know what was happening, feeling utterly useless every time he had to respond with yet another uneventful day in this tin can.
Clark was a mess.
He knew it, but it didn't make it any easier to stop being a mess.
He knew he wasn't doing enough. Everyone else was working around the clock, doing everything they could for the sake of the Earth. Of Humanity.
Most days, Clark could hardly think above the sounds of misery from all directions. He should be leading the team tasked with keeping things running, while the rest of the league focused on finding a solution, but he couldn't look any of them in the eye.
He didn't remember Krypton. He didn't remember what it was like in those days before the planet's final moments. He used to wish he'd been older, when it happened. He used to think the pain of witnessing it would be worth it, to have known his family. To have known his home.
Now he knew better—it had been a blessing, losing it the way he had.
Now he knew how it felt to see the planet he called home slowly wither and die, and have no means to repair it.
They tried—they were all trying. The finest brains in the world, the most powerful magic users, all working together to find a solution, but Clark knew deep in his heart.
It wouldn't work.
They wouldn't save Earth.
Clark had watched the ship leave. They were looking for a new home, a place to restart. Clark wasn't sure whether he could. Did have space in his heart for a third home?
The ships were crewed with an assortment of heroes, ostensibly chosen for their ability to assess a new planet for habitability, to build a base there and to establish a landing ground for anyone else who made it off the planet.
Clark knew better. He had put his own children on that team, as had every other member of the Justice League. They all knew where this would end.
He'd watched the ship take off, and understood exactly how his own parents had felt, watching him leave Krypton's orbit, standing amid the decay and accepting their fate, hoping his would be better.
Kara stood by his side after the ship launched, and in the silence that followed she asked a question.
"Do you think we're cursed?" she asked.
Clark stared at the crater left by the ship. "We're not cursed." The words tasted like lies on his tongue.
Kara nodded. "I can't stay here any longer, Clark. I can't watch it happen again. You don't remember last time, but I…"
"I know." Clark put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll fix it. We'll fix it, and you can come back."
Clark knew she saw right through him, but she didn't say anything. She simply nodded once, looked to the sky and took off.
Clark wasn't sure he believed anything he said anymore.
"Tim, are you in here?"
Tim said nothing. He was in his bunk, knees curled up to his chest, head resting against the cold, solid wall.
Dick let himself in. "Hey, Tim."
Tim sniffed. "Hey."
"I'd ask if you wanted to talk, but I think I know the answer." Dick sat on the bunk across from Tim's.
Tim shrugged.
"How about I talk, then?" Dick lay back, looking up at the ceiling. "I hate not being able to help," he said. "I'm the leader of the Titans, I should be down there with them."
Tim sniffed. "This is ridiculous—surely there's more we can do than just…sit here?"
"There is." Dick cleared his throat. "I could co-ordinate teams, I could keep protecting Blüdhaven. I could take over Gotham and let Bruce focus full time on strategy. I could lead the entire Earth Protection team, and Bruce knows it."
"But you're not."
"I'm not."
"How are you not as pissed off as I am?"
Dick sat up and looked Tim in the eye. "Trust me, I am. But I also understand why I'm up here."
"You gonna enlighten me?"
"Same reason you are. Same reason Damian's here, and Jon and Conner and Roy and Lian and Connor and just about everyone else on this ship. Use your brain—what do we all have in common?"
Tim sighed and sucked his teeth. "Nepotism?" he guessed.
"Tim, this mission is important, but we weren't chosen for our skills. They sent us to keep us safe."
"To sit on our asses and let them shoulder it all alone, as usual."
"Yeah. Sure. But the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can start being useful up here. We're stuck with this, least we can do is to make sure the job gets done well." Dick stood. "There's plenty to do, and we could use a brain like yours on some of these problems. There's a lot to figure out, if we want to be ready for more people to follow."
"Why didn't you put up a fight? It's not like you to just roll over accept what B makes you do."
"You think I didn't?" Dick raised his voice, cheeks flaming red. "You think I just rolled over and let him do this? I pushed back, Tim. Hard. I yelled, I fought—probably the worst fight I've ever had with B, and that's saying something."
"And yet, here you are."
"Yeah, here I am. Because he pointed something out to me."
"Oh here we go—Bruce's great wisdom. What did he say?"
"He pointed out if I stayed behind, then you would insist on staying, too. You, and Jay, and Damian, and—" Dick shook his head with a sharp breath. "Look, I'm not getting into this anymore. That's all I wanted to say. You're welcome to sit in here and rot until we get there, but this is the situation we're in, and I'd be glad of your help out there."
He walked out of the room and left Tim alone, stewing in his anger, resentment and grief.
Clark wasn't used to feeling helpless. He didn't have seven PHDs, and he couldn't attune himself to the pulse of the earth, or follow channels of deep-rooted magic. He didn't have anything to contribute but brute force and speed—skills he'd willingly point at a solid threat or solution as soon as one made itself apparent, but for now…
The world ending didn't stop it from turning. It didn't prevent people from being people—in fact, food shortages, fear and desperation had driven the crime rate through the roof. Clark worked around the clock, pulling double, triple duty, taking on the responsibility of every hero who was preoccupied with the big picture.
City to city, country to country, he flew around the world putting out fires, stopping crime, helping people wherever he possibly could. He didn't stop, didn't slow down, didn't sleep—not while there were people out there who might need him.
Not when stopping meant being alone with his thoughts, facing the reality of what was happening.
He'd rather be moving. Busy. Occupied. If he was working, then he was useful. He was helping.
Occasionally, he heard someone call for him—a familiar voice. Sometimes it was Lois, other times Diana or Bruce or Jimmy or his parents. They all worried about him, he knew that, but he just…couldn't. He couldn't stop, couldn't slow down.
He heard a scream, flying towards it without a second thought. He'd been getting slower, these past few weeks—the sun was dimming—or was he just no longer capable of absorbing the light?
His mind was hazy as he landed in a barren field, looking for the source of the scream. Where was he? Who had screamed?
There was nobody here. He'd heard someone. He was sure of it. Something terrible must have happened in this place, for them to—something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
He felt sick. His palms were clammy, his stomach turning. His head spun and he fell to his knees. It felt like low-dose kryptonite poisoning, but that couldn't—
There, in the dirt, he saw a faint glimmer of green powder.
This was a trap. Who would do this? He tried to crawl his way out, but the kryptonite must have been sprinkled across the entire field.
It wouldn't be enough to kill him, but it was certainly effective at keeping him there.
"Who's there?" he asked. He couldn't imagine who might want to do this. Usually, Lex was a safe bet, but even he was playing the hero now, working side by side with the League to save the planet.
Someone landed behind him—more than one person, from the sound of their boots on the ground. His blood was pumping in his ears, too loud to make out anyone else's heartbeat. He fell as he turned, then pushed himself up to sitting.
There, standing in front of him, was Diana, backed up by Bruce, both standing with arms crossed.
"No." He tried to protest, but Diana swept him up in her arms and carried him away. By the time he regained his senses, they were in the emergency League base, and Clark felt like a heap of warmed-over manure.
"We didn't want to resort to this, Clark," Diana was saying.
"You wouldn't slow down," Bruce added, handing him a glass of water.
Clark sat up, rubbing his eyes. He drained the water. "I have to help. I can't just sit around and do nothing."
"You have been helping." Bruce took a step towards him. "But burning yourself out—"
"I'm fine!" Clark snapped. "This is what I can do, and I'm going to do it."
Bruce scoffed. "You think I don't know self-destruction when I see it?"
"Tell me if there's something you need from me. Until then, there's a wildfire in Australia, and I won't let any more people die."
Diana shook her head. "You can help more people if you help yourself. You're slowing down, Clark. You're burning out. You need to rest. We have a whole team ready and able to take care of the world while you do."
Clark tried to fly away, but he couldn't. "What have you done?" he asked.
"The Kryptonite sapped your strength. Your powers are depleted. It was the only way we could think of to get you to slow down. There's a sun room here," Bruce pointed through a door. "You're going to stay in there for at least 24 hours. Rest."
Diana crinkled her nose. "Then take a shower."
"And then we can talk about a plan, moving forward." Bruce crossed his arms.
"A plan for us all to do the most good we can." Diana put a hand on his arm. "We'll fix this, Clark. But we need you."
Clark shook his head. "I can't help. I'm not—"
"Don't be an idiot, Clark," Bruce snapped. "We'll need you for whatever comes next. Rest up."
Clark was forced to concede—to let himself be led into the sun room, too weak to continue arguing. Glass and mirrors reflected the light towards a chair in the center of the room, and as he sat, he felt the light seep into his bones.
It was beautiful in here. A tear escaped his eye and tracked its way down his filthy cheek.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just… I don't want to lose this place, too."
Diana wrapped an arm around him.
"None of us do." Bruce knelt in front of him. "We're going to keep doing everything we can."
"And if it's not enough?" Clark asked.
"Then we find a new home—all of us." Diana's voice echoed through the room, powerful and certain. "This planet is beautiful. It's our home, but it's the people who matter the most. And wherever is next—we'll still have each other."
Clark closed his eyes, and let the sunlight begin to heal his weary bones.
The common room of the ship was loud.
Tim had never really spent any time in here before. He took his meals directly from the kitchen, worked on the bridge, then sat in his bunk, reading whatever he could get his hands on about the situation back home.
He didn't want to be out there, to see the faces of everyone else who had been sent away, torn from their home planet without so much as a consultation. At least Dick had been able to plead his case.
Tim had assumed everyone else would feel the way he did. How could they not? This mission was accepting defeat. They were the back-up plan, in case the real heroes couldn't figure out the cause and find a solution in time to make things right.
He couldn't imagine how anyone could feel useful up here.
He would probably never see Earth again. The realization hit him in waves, at the strangest of times.
His home. His friends. His parents' graves. It was all so far behind that it barely registered as a blip on the ship's navigation system. If he ever returned, if the League found a solution and managed to maintain a habitable planet, it would be different. Too much had died, too many desperate measures would have been taken by then. It would be a different world than the one he'd grown up in.
But as he stepped into the common room, he could see groups of people—people he cared about deeply. Friends, teammates, family, all working together on plans for humanity's last hope.
Tim stood and watched them all. They talked, heads ducked together over plans, reports and maps of the planet they were headed for.
Some people looked as sad as Tim felt—most of them looked more serious than he had ever seen them. Bart was actually sitting still, brow furrowed in concentration.
But then he looked up and saw Tim, and he smiled.
"Tim!" he called.
Then, one by one, heads turned to see him, and suddenly Tim was surrounded by people, all telling him they were glad to see him.
Home was a million miles away, and he might never go back, but here, on this ship, he wasn't in it alone.
He wrapped one arm around Bart, finding Conner with his other. Damian and Stephanie were both holding him, and Tim could barely maintain his balance.
"Does anyone have information on the new planet's soil make-up?" he asked. "Maybe we could synthesize it in the lab and figure out whether any of the surviving plants we have in stasis can survive in it before we get there."
And then he smiled—not as bright as he'd smiled at home, but he smiled.
Maybe he'd make it back there, someday. Maybe they all would.
But for now, he'd do his best to make sure the rest of humanity found a safe place to land.