Similis

"Okay, let's hope Chloe's instincts are right this time too…" Jonathan pulled a pencil stub out of his pocket and crossed off one small section on the carefully folded map.



"One down, umpteen to go. Gotham sure is a big city." He sighed and then his usual positive attitude reasserted itself. "Still, at least Lex is covering Metropolis, and if we work at this methodically we'll soon break the back of it!"



Seated across the table from the older man, Haze nodded and sank the rest of the coffee, gesturing absently with one hand at Jonathan, and scattering crumbs from his pastry as he did so.



"Y'know what?" The older man looked at him. "I never thought I'd be saying this to you, Haze, but you really shouldn't talk and eat at the same time…" Laughing at the sheepish look that appeared on the face of his young companion, Jonathan mussed the lad's hair jokingly. "Only kidding, son." He reassured him.



Haze made out like he was mad at that.



"If you sit there pouting like Clark does, then I'm going to do what I do to him, and eat all that pie myself." Jonathan warned him with a grin.



Haze's hand practically blurred across the table and rescued his plate of apple cobbler before Jonathan could carry out the threat.



"Wow, and I thought Clark was fast…" Jonathan eased backwards on the padded seat with a smile. "I'm just going to make a short pit-stop out back, and then we can get going again." He gestured at the small door in the corner. "Sure you don't want to pay a quick visit back there before we leave? Never know what you might be missing?"



Haze grinned at him and shook his head. The advantages of his peculiar metabolism had become a standing joke between them. In fact, the two of them had come to understand each other pretty well since they had started their search for Clark.







Finishing the last few crumbs of his dessert, Haze waited for Jonathan to get back.



"Well, I have to say you don't lack guts!" A harsh voice interrupted his thoughts. Bewildered, Haze found his personal space suddenly invaded by an irate female. For a moment he simply sat and stared, wondering what it was he could have done to offend this lady?



"You have got a damn nerve showing your face around here! Got nothing to say for yourself?"



Haze gestured at his throat, suggesting that he didn't. The woman stared at him blankly. She obviously hadn't been expecting that.



"Haze? Is everything all right, son?" Jonathan was back, and wary.



"Is this your boy?"



"Why, yes he is."



"He's not very talkative now, is he?" the woman sneered. "Bit of a difference from the last time we met! Had plenty to say for himself then!"



"Haze is mute, Ma'am," Jonathan told her calmly. "And I don't see how you could have met him, when we only found this place less than an hour ago. In fact, we've only been in Gotham since this afternoon. We're here looking for his brother, Clark, though. From what you say, it sounds like you might have met Clark."



"A likely story!" She didn't seem inclined to believe that.



Carefully taking a photo from his pocket, Haze showed it to her, pointing to a youth in a blue shirt then pointing to himself and shaking his head. He then pointed to the other person in the picture, the person that the youth in blue was leaning on. The two were identical, except for the colour of their shirts. Haze pointed to the youth in red, before pointing to himself and nodding.



"Oh my God! There are two of you!" The woman realised. She lent closer to Haze as if that would help her distinguish the difference, and started to talk to him in the stilted fashion normally reserved for Very Small Children and The Disabled: what Martha described as 'the does-he-take-sugar?' voice.



"You must be twins! Is that it?" She warbled.



Hoping that the woman had not noticed him gritting his teeth, Haze nodded.



"I am so sorry to have been so rude to you. Please do forgive me?" She asked.



Haze gave a polite shrug, indicating that he wasn't going to hold a grudge. At least he wouldn't if this woman could actually give them a lead on Clark. If she couldn't then he might start thinking creatively…







"So it really was your brother I met? And you're both here looking for him?" The woman glanced at Jonathan for confirmation.



Haze looked at her more carefully. It occurred to him that underneath the brash exterior this stranger was worried about something, but what?



"We've come to take Clark home." Jonathan assured her. "But to do that, we first have to find him."



"Well, I've seen him. And quite recently." The woman narrowed her eyes. "Late last night, walking down by the abandoned park at the end of the next street. I was looking out of the bus window and he was some way off, but I'm sure it was him. Your boys are quite distinctive, after all. If it wasn't one then it had to be the other."



Jonathan seemed slightly relieved. "Thank you so much, ma'am, but Clark's been lost to us for several weeks now, and I was starting to worry that we were on completely the wrong track. This is the first sign that we've had that we're even coming close to catching up with him."



"I doubt you'll thank me when you find him." She said doubtfully. "He was supposed to be renting a room in the same apartment block as my sister, but he left without paying the rent, nearly tore the place apart." She sniffed again. "He's probably living in one of those derelict buildings…"



"Are you sure that Clark did all that?"



"Unless he keeps gorillas as pets? The noise was terrible. You wouldn't believe that one kid could do so much damage to a place! Even one his size."



"That doesn't sound at all like Clark." Jonathan instinctively tried to defend his absent son's honour. "Where did you say you saw him?"



The woman gestured towards the door and gave directions. "You'll know it the instant you see it, it has an abandoned look about it, but I suggest you be very careful, the people that hang around there are not the sort of people you want to meet. Not decent folks like you, anyway. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing even telling you."



"I'm sure you are." Jonathan assured her. "Haze, I already paid the bill. Let's get out of here and check out that park."



Haze waved a polite goodbye towards the woman, who blushed quite unexpectedly at the attention.



"I think you were in with a chance there, son." Jonathan teased as they headed down the street for their truck. "Although she was a bit old for you. Bit old for me too, come to that…"



In reply Haze mock-punched him lightly in the arm, making the older man laugh.



"After Clark, I hardly have much to worry about when you do that, do I?" Jonathan chuckled, easing the truck out into a gap in the steady stream of traffic.



"Lord, but I miss that boy!" The worry lines in the farmer's face deepened slightly as he glanced rapidly at Haze. "Yeah, I know you do too."







As the woman had predicted, Jonathan found the area within a few minutes: the playground lay at the centre of the open courtyard formed by the intersection of various abandoned tenements. It was immediately obvious what the woman had been trying to tell them.



This was no longer a place for happy families. Broken sections of fencing littered the ground, mounds of earth, rubble and detritus clogged every available surface, whilst a shadowed and very uninviting dark alley appeared to lead towards some urban version of Hell judging from the smoking vents in the floor.



"Well, if Clark was here there's no sign of him now." Jonathan said. From the tone of his voice it was difficult to tell whether he was relieved or disappointed.



Perhaps a bit of both?



Quite unexpectedly, out of the corner of his eye, Haze noticed something in the higher level of one of the old tenements. The movement was subtly done and obviously intended to pass unobserved, and probably had Haze been human it might well have escaped his notice, but the angel's vision was differently adapted.



There is a person-shaped object, standing in the shadows high up on that building.



Haze's other senses kicked in.



A living being, a human male, and also definitely not Clark. While the red-K might mask Clark's uniqueness even at these close quarters, the man's stance was entirely wrong. The looming body shape was that of a mature adult, quite different from Clark's youthful frame.



Muffling his disappointment, Haze continued to observe the upstairs window, chiefly because of his increasing interest in what the stranger was wearing.



What peculiar clothing!



It occurred to Haze that the man was dressed like something out of one of Lex's comic books…



So what is a comic book man doing up there? And why is he trying to conceal his presence?







Tugging at Jonathan's arm, Haze gestured, informing the elder Kent of what he had found.



"Not Clark then? Damn." Jonathan looked disappointed and then unnerved. "Male though? Tall? Body armor? Cloak and mask, eh? Given that this is Gotham it sounds like the Batman. I've never been sure about him. I don't think he'd do us any harm." He hesitated. "All that running around in a costume sounds pretty odd though… Still, standing here isn't helping us find Clark. Best clear out of here while we still have everything we came in with."



Haze was about to comply when an odd cough-like sound echoed off the faces of the surrounding buildings. Out of curiosity, Haze refined the range of his angel senses insinuating himself more closely into the aura of this world again, while still being careful to limit himself to only the immediate area.



At first Haze felt only what passed for normality in the human world: the energy pulses of scattered lifesigns, some hominid, but mostly other smaller mammalian forms. Delicately the angel increased the level of his interface, making sure to move in with great care: one did not draw the attention of the host biosphere without good reason.







As Haze rode the link deeper he soaked up what his newly expanded senses could tell him, detecting a strange trail, an already fragmenting line, making a temporary join between two of the buildings. Traces of hot metal and gas, hanging on the still air a couple of floors above them. The traces connected a room some way behind Jonathan to the very spot where the cloaked man lurked.



Something small, metallic, and cylindrical passed through the air at speed, and recently, but in which direction?



Pulling his attention back to Jonathan, Haze signed urgently to him, making a guess at the likely cause.



"A bullet?" Jonathan frowned "I didn’t hear anything. But I trust your judgement, Haze. Could be someone using a silencer." Jonathan decided. "I take it you don't think that either of us was the target?"



Haze shook his head. If someone had wanted to shoot either of them, then one or both would be laying here now wearing a new hole, either that or Haze's individual senses would have alerted him to the impending danger. So the question became, who had the gun been aimed at, and why?



Instinctively, Haze looked up to where the comic book man continued to observe from the shadowed high window, noting that the gloved hands remained empty.



Doubtful that he is the marksman then? Did that mean…? From the empty buildings on the other side of the square came the echoing thunder of feet pounding down abandoned hallways and broken staircases, distracting Haze from his speculations.



"I've never heard of Batman using guns." Jonathan murmured, unaware that he was confirming Haze's suspicions, as he turned conspiratorially toward the youth. "I wouldn't want to be that shooter once the bat guy catches up with him…"



Fascinated, Haze watched as the man in the dark costume stepped a little more out into the open.



"Odd that he'd be out during the afternoon though…" Jonathan puzzled aloud. "I always thought he mainly came out at night…"



Somewhere off in the near-distance, a car door slammed, an engine revved and roared into life. Tires squealed and bit tarmac.



The cowled figure paused at the very edge of the broken parapet, facing the courtyard.



Is he watching us? Might he think we are connected to the attack somehow? Haze hesitated. If that is the case then I must be ready to protect Jonathan. He glanced at the materials available around them, finding plenty to work with.



Up above, the cowled figure waited, barely moving.



Behind Haze, the engine sounds were already fading as the vehicle headed off into the distance at speed.



What is he planning? Time continued to grind slowly onwards. By now Haze was getting a bad feeling about this entire situation…







With startling abruptness the comic-book man lurched stiffly forward, toppling out over the shattered balcony he plunged down towards the waiting concrete.



He was the assassin's target! Already injured, that fall may kill him! The realisation came too late. Desperately Haze reached out with his gifts, seeking some way to prevent further injury, but time, gravity and acceleration were busily acting against him.



Given that he was working solo and also dealing with strictly human flesh the amount of assistance Haze dared offer was necessarily limited. Ironically had this person actually been Clark, the downward plunge could have been arrested in mid-air without risk to either of them.



By limiting his attention to the armour that the human was wrapped in, Haze was able to bleed off some of the man's forward momentum: to attempt to do more would certainly kill the already badly injured vigilante. Haze was also only too aware that a more forceful approach was likely to draw entirely the wrong attention to his presence.



I cannot stop it happening! Cringing inwardly, Haze could only watch as the injured man impact with a loose dirt mound outside the building.



At the vigilante's side almost at once, skidding onto his knees in the dirt, Haze urgently sought for a piece of undamaged skin, and pressed his fingertips to it.



Is he still alive?



"Haze?" Jonathan arrived, panting and anxious, to stare down at the caped form with reluctance and a little horror.







Bruce Wayne opened his eyes to find himself still in costume, lying on his back in the open air, and being watched over intently by a youth with glossy midnight hair.



I'm dead … and there's an Angel sitting beside me.



That was his first coherent thought, and nearly his last, as reality sank its teeth back into him, and the agony that had ended at his descent into unconsciousness returned with interest.



No, amend that to 'still alive'. The after life ought to look a lot less like Gotham … and feel a lot less painful… at least I hope so!



As he lay there, hurting badly and unable to protect himself in the slightest, the dark haired youth kneeling in close at his side extended careful fingers to Bruce's neck.



What the? Smooth skin touched his and Bruce found himself surprised, as the light pressure invoked none of the unease he normally experienced on contact with another person.



He's only checking for a pulse… A pair of the gentlest eyes he had ever encountered regarded him with compassion.



"Haze?" An older man, with sun bleached hair, arrived and leaned over the youth. Carefully he eased himself down beside the lad, balancing himself against the boy's shoulder with the casualness that spoke of long acquaintance, or a blood relationship.



"Dear god," The older man whispered. "Look at the size of that bullet hole…" Evidently realising that Bruce was conscious now and watching him warily, he leaned in closer.



"Easy there. We don't mean you any harm." He promised. "Haze," He directed his attention at the dark haired lad. "We have to get him some medical attention. I'll go get the truck and we can…" He paused as the youth held up a hand to stop him, watching the pale hands gesture urgently.



"What? We can't move him?" The older man shifted uneasily. "Haze, are you sure?" He gave a heavy sigh. "Stupid question. Of course you are…"



The youth gave him a meaningful look, and drew a rapid triangle in the air over Bruce.



Whatever the hell that had meant, from the grim expression it was a sure bet that the other man had understood the gesture and that he was not in agreement with whatever the youngster was proposing.



Desperately Bruce fought to stay awake, to stay alive… His limbs were numb, unresponsive. As he breathed, he could feel the grating of broken bone, the bubble of broken veins and torn arteries.



"You can't mean to …" The older man was openly worried. "Haze, if you draw any attention …" He nodded grimly as the boy's gestures grew increasingly active. "Okay. This is your call, Haze. I trust you. I'll be ready for after."



Bruce panted, gasping for air. Instinctively he knew that it was too late now to worry about whatever these two might be planning for him. I'm dying…







Somewhere nearby a small explosion went off, bringing the scent of broken concrete, dust and dry earth wafting over. Normally Bruce would have immediately rushed up, all senses on the alert, but now all he could do was wonder, and wait for whatever was going to happen to get on with it.



The dark that Bruce had lived in for so long begin to rise around him. He felt it come to claim him, and while so much of him already longed for the promised oblivion, one last tiny part was too stubborn to simply let go that easily. Forcing his eyes to remain open through sheer force of will, he watched the silent youth reach down and fetch up a handful of fresh dirt.



Intently the youth extended his right arm, sprinkling the dry soil through his fist and measuring it out into a loose triangle across Bruce's abdomen.



What IS he doing? Vision blurring, Bruce shivered as the cool earth dusted over his shattered torso, sifting in through the rents in his armour. One of the broad hands settled lightly against his broken flesh, warming it. Meeting Bruce's eyes the youth smiled down at him.



Curiously, Bruce found something utterly reassuring in that smile, even the young stranger's silence, intruding fingers and dirt lines did not detract one iota from the unmistakeable comfort being offered.



Glancing quickly around, the youth mouthed something.



Any sound was lost in the frantic pounding of the blood in Bruce's ears. He strained to lip-read, but could find nothing familiar to him in the shapes forming on those full lips. The darkness was rising, filling the edges of his vision with obscuring clouds.



Tilting his face toward the sky now, the youth continued the strange ritual. As if in answer a sharp stinging wind arrived, driving particles of dirt across the stony ground, mixing it with the paper refuse from the broken fences, and fanning it up into the stale spaces between the buildings.



The dark-haired lad stretched his free arm out, clenching his fist in the air. Across the deserted park, a loud bubbling snap announced the return of the long-vanished water to the old fountain. The smell of dampening earth rose up, thick, fetid and cloying.



Again, the youth gestured, opening his palm and extending it level with the despoiled ground.







Unnatural heat bloomed around Bruce. Clenching his eyes shut, he managed to compact the cry that rose in him, holding it down to a muffled groan. Within him, shattered bones immediately realigned. The bullet wound sealed smoothly shut. He breathed again, gratefully sucking in air, aware that each successive breath required less and less effort. New lifeblood flowed through him in wave after pure wave, raising him from the clinging dark.



He healed me! Bewildered, Bruce opened his eyes. As he gazed up at the face that hung just above his, he decided that he would never see a more wonderful sight. Surely those weren't, couldn't be, wings rising majestically from behind the boy? But for just a second, Bruce could have sworn that he saw faint lines of dark glossy feathers, before the same primal shiver ran through them both and the cloudy pinions were gone.



With shocking suddenness the hand resting on his bare flesh withdrew.







Startled as much by the abruptness of the withdrawal as the healing, Bruce sat up, his hands automatically reaching to grasp for the solid shoulders. The glorious eyes darkened, eclipsed as the unearthly youth's heavy eyelids slid shut. Bonelessly, the lad dropped backwards into the waiting arms of his companion.



"I've got him." The elder man promised, pulling his charge into a comfortable position in his arms, and turning his attention to Bruce. "So, how're you feeling now?"



"Fine." And he was. Better than he had any right to be. Glancing around his well-trained senses began picking up on the startling differences in the area. Most noticeable were the hundreds of deep cracks, all radiating out from their current position.



It almost looks as if a bomb went off directly where we're sitting. Devastated, the concrete had completely disintegrated in places, leaving the ground beneath exposed to the air for the first time in decades.



What weapon could obliterate concrete and yet leave human flesh intact?



Lolling in the older man's embrace, the youth's hand dangled down onto the newly exposed ground, knuckles in direct contact with the uncovered earth, the dark flecks of soil contrasting with the golden hue of his skin.



Then again, maybe not all of us here are Human…



Amazed, Bruce watched tiny shoots rise out of the moist ground and nose blindly upwards seeking the sun, pausing only to break into delicate lilac flowers as they brushed against the youth's bare skin.



He's incredible.



Fresh grass was already colonising the cracks at the same speed. Across the way the fountain gurgled pleasantly.



As if he was bringing new life with him to the whole stale city block….



At that realisation, a thought jumped unprompted into Bruce's mind and would not be dismissed.



Wings or not, this really is an Angel...







Totally unnerved by his own fascination, Bruce forced himself to stop staring at the limp form. "Will he be alright?" He asked. If the other man wasn't going to pass comment on the unusual activities then Bruce decided that he wasn't going to mention it either. Then again, perhaps there was a more rational explanation: maybe he was actually hallucinating everything? Bruce decided that he simply didn't care.



"Haze has just exhausted himself. His colour's good and his pulse is strong. He'll be fine, once he has had time to recover." Came the steady response.



"Does Haze do this often?" The Dark Knight had to ask.



"Not often, but enough that I know the drill." The other man's face was calm, revealing nothing.



"You can't stay here, either of you." Bruce was immediately concerned, he stood cautiously, and when the expected pain failed to materialise he dusted himself off. "This is not a good place to be, not at any time."



The blonde took a hasty look around. "I don't doubt it. We're parked just down there. It's only a short walk."



Lifting the youngster off of his companion so that the older man could haul himself to his feet, Bruce waited, finding himself oddly reluctant to hand the lad back when the moment came, and definitely not wanting the other man to notice.



"Let me see that you both get back to your vehicle safely." Bruce held up a hand at the first indication of imminent protest. "It's the least I can do. Where are you staying? Hotel? Motel?"



Please, don't let them be checked into one of the seedier dives. Just the thought of this unearthly boy laying in one of those filthy rooms made Bruce's skin crawl.







"We only got into town a little before midday, and what with getting lunch and all, we hadn't quite worked round to sorting out a place to stay yet." The blonde admitted. "I don't reckon that me carrying Haze into the lobby, slung unconscious over my shoulder in the middle of the afternoon, is exactly going to make quite the right impression."



The man tugged the youth into a more comfortable position in his arms, and glanced over at Bruce. "Don't worry, I'll just park up somewhere and sit with Haze in the truck until he wakes up. That should happen roughly in the next few hours, we can find ourselves a room after that."



Bruce did not miss the slight tightening of the man's hands as he held the unconscious body. The youth was heavy and, despite a fairly athletic build, his guardian was not going to be able to keep this up for too long.



"We never did get introduced, did we? I'm Jonathan Kent, and as I already said, this here is Haze." The blonde met his eyes with easy candour. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm sure you'll understand if that has to wait a while?"



"Interesting name." How long had it been since he had met an honest man? Too long… Bruce decided.







"I assume you're talking about his name rather than mine?" Kent gave a lopsided grin. "We're not sure it's really right, but Haze seems to like it well enough, so that's what we call him."



"He's a good kid." Bruce offered. "Solidly built."



Jonathan grimaced and shifted his grip. "I couldn't exactly lug him around all day." He admitted.



"They grow up fast, I guess?"



"Yeah." The light in the craggy face seemed to dim a little. "Neither of the boys is exactly lightweight. Thank Providence that Haze is not as heavy as Clark, even though you couldn't tell them apart just by looking." Jonathan added, apparently recognising the flicker of confusion, despite the mask. "Clark is my… son."



Why the slight hesitation, and why hadn’t he said 'other son'? What was not being said here? Bruce immediately felt ashamed of even thinking along those lines: the look that Kent was giving the wondrous youth in his arms could be nothing but pure fatherly concern. Still, that was what living in this city and associating nightly with the scum of the Earth would to a person.



"Isn't Haze your son too?" Bruce wondered.



"I couldn't be more proud of him if he were, but no, Haze came to us fairly recently, and quite by accident." Jonathan told him. "He seems happy to stay, and Lord knows we're happy to house him. He's been a real blessing these past few months."



"We?"



"Martha, my wife, and I."



"So Clark doesn't live with you?" Kent's son must be older, which would explain the 'not as heavy' comment.



"He did, but he ran away a couple of weeks ago. In fact, Haze and I came to Gotham hoping to find him." The soft admission obviously cost Jonathan dearly to even talk about it. So often the parents of runaways blamed themselves for having failed their children in some way, and apparently Jonathan Kent was no exception.



Bruce began to find that he was taking to this decent and honest man. A twinge of conscience tickled him. No way was he going to leave either of these people to the dubious mercies of Gotham City. He owed them, and he intended to do what he could to repay that debt. Although from the look of him, Jonathan Kent was not the sort to accept monetary favours.



"I can arrange somewhere secure for you to stay." Bruce looked at his new acquaintance. "Assuming you feel able to trust me? I realise that we're strangers, but I give you my word that I only want to help."



"If Haze hadn't healed you," Jonathan started to say.



"I'd be dead now, so the least I can do is help you find somewhere to sleep for the night." He hoped that might forestall any notions of blackmail. Not that Kent seemed at all the type. But then, who did? The most successful criminals were the ones who least looked it…







"Well, so long as it's just for the one night." Jonathan was agreeing. He flicked a quick glance at the bat suit. "Costume not essential is it?"



Bruce laughed. "Not at all…"



"Good. I don't reckon I'd look any good in tights." Jonathan told him. "But what I was going to say was, is that I know that I can trust you to do right by Haze."



"You sound pretty confident about that?"



"Oh, I am." The blonde nodded.



"Any reason?" Bruce couldn't stop himself from asking. "Not many people would readily trust the Batman."



"Not many people have a guardian angel with them." Jonathan replied carefully. "I suspect that you were awake for most of that healing. Would I be right about that?"



"Yes." Bruce admitted, "Your point?"



"So you saw what Haze did? What he is?"



"I think I did." If the wings had been a hallucination Bruce was not going to compound his own stupidity by admitting it.



"I expected as much." Kent nodded. "But it goes a lot deeper than just the healing part. Some tiny bit of what Haze is gets into a person, linking them to him afterwards. I never met a more black and twisted person in this world than Lionel Luthor, and if he can't manage to scheme about doing wrong by Haze, then you surely can't…"



"Haze performed this same healing on Lionel Luthor?" Bruce was amazed, and more than a little appalled. The exit of the elder Luthor from the world could not happen too soon for Bruce Wayne, or the Batman…



"Not on purpose, but Lionel happened to be close by when Haze healed Clark a while back. We all got the benefit of that session." Jonathan's craggy face broke into a happy smile at the memory of that.



"Between them Lex and Haze turned that day from a nightmare into one of the better days of my adult life." He said cryptically.



"Having your son made whole, or having Lionel Luthor declawed?"



"Bit of both." Jonathan inclined his head toward the simple red truck parked at the kerb. "This here's ours."



Activating the remote for the Batmobile, Bruce summoned it to him. "Ride with me, if you like?" He suggested. "I can call ahead and have someone here to collect your truck within five minutes. We can wait until they turn up, if you're worried?"



"You mean actually ride in the Batmobile?" Despite the obvious weight in his arms, Jonathan still managed to look like a handful of birthday's had come at once. The truck didn't seem to be top of his list at that moment.



"Unless you prefer not to?" Bruce teased lightly.



Jonathan gave him a wry grin. "Oh, I think I'll just enjoy it while I can," He smiled, "Haze isn't going to be happy with me when he wakes up and finds that he's missed this…"





* * * * *





As the Batmobile pulled smoothly up in front of the sweeping steps, Bruce still hadn't planned on quite how to play this one. He decided to take things as they came, and to see what happened. He was not going to lie, but there were plenty of things in his life that were better off staying secret. He opened the car door and Jonathan slid out carefully, leaving Haze resting alone on the front passenger seat.



Alerted by the arrival of the car through the front gates, Alfred was already waiting for them.



"Good afternoon, Alfred." Bruce called out, "Could you manage a couple of extra guests for tonight? I'll go and square it with the boss."



"Mr Wayne is not in at present, sir." Alfred replied taking his cue from Bruce in his usual unflappable manner. "I was not expecting Master Bruce back until later, however you may use the telephone if you wish to contact him?"



His identity safely hidden under the armour, Bruce let out a soft chuckle, "It's not like Bruce Wayne can't afford an extra phone call."



"Indeed not, sir," Alfred agreed, "And as my standing orders include accommodating any reasonable requests that you might make, I shall be pleased to attend to your guests." He gave a polite nod towards Jonathan. "Shall you also be wanting to eat dinner here with us, sir?"



"I doubt it." Bruce answered. "I have to check out a few things, and I expect that I will be gone by the time Bruce gets back. Any idea of how long before the crew arrives with Mr Kent's truck?"



"I expected that might be the case with dinner, sir, as I have yet to see you and Master Bruce sit down to eat at the same time. I can however confirm that the vehicle should be delivered here imminently." There was a small twinkle of mischief in Alfred's eyes, but only someone who knew him as well as Bruce did would have been able to find it.



"I had intended dinner for seven pm, will that be acceptable?" Alfred continued smoothly.



"I don't know if the lad will be awake in time?" Bruce suddenly thought about that. "Will he be awake again by seven, Jonathan?" He checked the time. "It's three-thirty now."



"Maybe?" Jonathan looked doubtful, "Haze is still pretty much out of it, but when he wakes he does it real fast."



"Something wrong?" Bruce prided himself on being good with body language, and Jonathan looked a little uncomfortable.



"When I accepted your offer I didn't realise that you were planning on rooming us with a friend." Jonathan said quietly.



"Bruce Wayne is more than a friend." Batman assured him. "In fact I practically live here at times, and although I will eventually need to go and finish what I was doing earlier, I aim to stop here with you until Haze recovers. When I do have to leave Alfred will get you anything you need."



"You and Mr Wayne must be very close, if he lets you bring people to his house?" Jonathan observed.



"You have no idea…"



"Oh, I just might." The easy half-smile returned. "Clark and young Lex Luthor have been buddies for the past few years, and Lex is always getting called on for favours…"



"Perils of being rich, I guess." Bruce answered. Wonder how these people come to know the Luthors? And since when has Lex been friends with any normal people?







"Wouldn't know." Jonathan shrugged. "Doesn't seem to make anyone any happier though. I'd rather have my family than money. Not that a little bit of money would necessarily be a bad thing…" He added, obviously not wanting to give offence.



"Actually, I agree with you." Bruce told him, as he carefully approached the passenger door, thinking of his own history. "Family would be much better than any amount of money." As the door swung open, he glanced at the unearthly youth sprawled out along the leather seat.



"And on that subject, Haze looks good for a few more hours downtime yet." Jonathan decided, leaning in past Bruce and assessing the sleeping lad with a critical eye. "Oh well, better get him shifted."



"Would you mind if I," Bruce was suddenly awkward.



"Please do." Jonathan offered. "It's your car, and your back's probably a lot younger than mine. Haze is pretty damn heavy." He cast an openly longing look at the Batmobile and ran an admiring hand over it. "Absolutely perfect bodywork."



Bruce smiled, looking at the passenger rather than the vehicle and totally agreeing with Jonathan on all counts.



"It is rather, isn't it?" he said neutrally. Bracing his foot against the door, he slid his hands under Haze and carefully lifted the lad into his arms.



"We'd better follow Alfred." He told Kent, easing Haze's head so that the youth's face rested against his shoulder. Haze nestled against him with no signs of waking.







"This is Mr Jonathan Kent, and this young man is his adopted son, Haze." Bruce simplified the relationship and received an approving nod from Jonathan in the process. "Jonathan, this is Alfred, Bruce Wayne's butler and most trusted accomplice."



"Mr Kent." Alfred said politely. He looked Bruce with a faint sigh of disapproval "Really sir, that introduction does rather make me out to be some sort of reprobate. I am not sure what my employer would have to say about that."



"Come on, Alfred, lighten up. We both know exactly what your boss would say…" Bruce padded in through the open door, carrying Haze in his arms.



"Indeed, sir." Alfred fixed him with an inscrutable stare. "And I believe you are also very much aware of what I advised Mr Wayne the last time that this sort of thing happened? I always have the option of seeking more respectable employment…"



Bruce took the hint: best lay off teasing Alfred for the moment.



"Lucky you don't work for Batman, then?" Jonathan suggested lightly, oblivious to the additional elements within the seemingly bland exchange.



"The Batman could not afford me, sir." Alfred replied blandly. "Besides, I do require certain qualities in an employer…"



"So Mr Wayne is okay?" Jonathan asked.



"Master Bruce is a very respectable and philanthropic gentleman." Came the mild reply. "And a most excellent employer, despite the somewhat unusual company he keeps at times." He cast a knowing look over his shoulder.



"He's not into tights then?" Jonathan laughed.



"I really couldn’t comment, sir." Alfred raised an eyebrow. "A good manservant never discusses such matters."



The small group made its way upstairs and along the carpeted corridor of the upper floor, where Alfred indicated two adjacent rooms.



"You can settle young master Haze here, if you would, sir?" Alfred opened the first door, "And I shall install Mr Kent in the next room."



Bruce carried the drowsing lad in to the bedroom and laid him gently on top of the covers, removing the boy's boots and setting them down beside the bed.



* * * *



"Mr Kent has finished calling his wife and is unpacking." Alfred advised discreetly, materialising at the end of the bed in the ultra silent manner that had been perfected during long years of devoted service. "Their vehicle was delivered a few moments ago, and I have had their bags fetched up." He put down the holdall that he was carrying. Slipping a neatly folded blanket from a cupboard across the room he tucked it neatly over Haze, covering the sleeping lad up to the waist.



"I am going to sit here for a while longer, Alfred." Bruce decided. "I intend patrolling later, but I want to be here when Haze wakes up."



"Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?"



"I'll have a cup of coffee." Bruce decided.



"Did I hear someone mention coffee?" Jonathan was back. Bruce was not surprised. It was one thing to accept the hospitality of a stranger, but quite another to leave him alone in a bedroom with a youth under your care, and an unconscious youth at that.



"I shall fetch a pot of fresh coffee and some cups at once, sir." Alfred assured him "Please do make yourself comfortable Mr Kent." He indicated another seat, at the far side of the bed.



"Wow." Jonathan blinked and looked around the room with appreciative eyes. "This is a really beautiful house, at least what I've seen so far."



"I think so." Bruce answered, and then remembered that he was currently not being Bruce, but Batman. "I do get to see quite a lot of it." He added.



"Ah, so you work with Mr Wayne?"



"In a manner of speaking." Bruce found his eyes straying to the dark-haired figure on the bed.



At that moment, Haze gave soft sigh and rolled over onto his side.



"Ah." Jonathan smiled fondly. "We shouldn't have to wait more than half an hour for Haze now."



"Half an hour?"



"Once Haze starts to move, he's over most of it. He'll be back with us fairly quickly."







The half-hour was almost up, and apart from several changes of position, Haze appeared little different.



"Alfred, where is Mr Kent now?" Bruce wondered, checking his watch, and anticipating the imminent return of the surrogate parent.



"I last saw him in the den, sir. He expressed an interest in the latest sports results and I assured him that I had express instructions from my employer to see that he was entertained. I believe that Mr Kent senior has been thoroughly enjoying the benefit of the plasma screen with surround sound."



"Good." Bruce answered absently, not taking his eyes from the sleeping youth. "Jonathan Kent is a decent, honest man, and I get to meet far too few of those. Present company excepted."



"Indeed, sir." Alfred agreed sombrely, casting a curious glance at the dark haired lad. "Was there something you would like to share?" He asked cautiously. "This is most unusual behaviour, even for the Batman."



Bruce turned and shrugged. "Even the Batman does not get delivered from the jaws of death by an angel all that often." He said quietly.



"You were involved in an altercation?" Alfred was immediately concerned. "Do you require treatment?"



"Not any more." Bruce tugged at the cape and located the bullet hole, showing it to Alfred.



"Good Heavens." Alfred poked one finger through the hole in the edge of the cape, obviously assessing where it had gone.



Bruce continued to wonder that too. However, given that he felt quite astonishingly hale, it was a reasonable guess that the bullet was not currently residing anywhere inside of him.







"What happened?" Alfred's voice brought him back to the present moment.



"I was shot." Bruce told his elderly confidante.



"A very near miss?" Came the immediate speculation.



"No. The body armour took a lot of the impact just like it was designed to, but the pellet was packed with explosive, and I felt it bury itself at waist level."



Alfred gave him a rather doubtful glance.



"Then I plunged over a second storey balcony and onto a dirt pile on the concrete." Bruce continued.



"Perhaps the damage was not as bad as you initially assumed? And the loose dirt below you must surely have broken your fall?" Alfred suggested. "Or you would not be here to tell the tale?" He finished reasonably.



"Someone, Alfred, not 'something', and not when I fell, but later. I passed out before I hit the ground, but I could feel the damage when I came round, and it was not something I expected to survive. I was all-but dead, right there and then."



"If I may say so, you seem remarkably intact now?" Alfred reminded him. "Considering the events you have just described."



Bruce finally had the chance to examine his clothes. He had felt the front of his protective suit all-but shredded by the blast, even before the fall, There were huge cracks in the dull polymer, and deep gouges were all too evident across the rest of the chest plate. Wondering what he would find underneath, Bruce released the damaged section.



Sliding aside the ripped and dirty fabric beneath, Bruce took a look at his skin. Peering down, there was no trace of where the bullet had torn him open. However it had been achieved, the tissue was intact again or at least solidly healed.



"Then to what do you attribute your remarkable recovery?" Alfred was asking.



"Haze." Bruce let the awe he was feeling, show in his voice. "He didn't know me from Adam but he didn't hesitate for a second. He put his hands on me and he healed me, Alfred. I've never felt anything like it. From the look on his face it must have hurt him like hell, but the kid never let up. He pulled me back into the world… and nearly wiped himself out doing it."



Bruce turned to his faithful retainer. "I don't know the mechanics of how he managed it, but there is no doubt in my mind that he did, and that I owe him my life." He smiled at the memory of the dark wings lifting above him. "You are looking at a real Angel."



"Young master Haze is certainly a most pleasantly featured and well proportioned young man." Alfred conceded, "However I am not certain if he would truly appreciate being described in that manner? It hardly seems the most appropriate term for a modern young fellow."



"Well, you can discover what I mean for yourself, Alfred." Bruce sat up straight. "Hello Haze. How are you feeling?"







Pulling himself into a sitting position, Haze gave Bruce a happy smile, before raising an enquiring glance in return.



Maybe he's shy with strangers? It was a curiously endearing thought.



"I'm fine again, thanks to you." Bruce assured him. "Alfred thinks you might be unhappy if I called you an Angel?"



With a light shake of his head, Haze slid to the edge of the bed and stood. His eyes were bright and he seemed perfectly recovered. Giving Bruce a warm grin, he stretched luxuriously and looked around.



"If you're looking for Jonathan, he's downstairs watching the television." Bruce told him. "I can show you if you want?"



Haze's eyes practically lit up as he gazed past Bruce toward the open door.



"Hi Haze." Jonathan greeted him, wandering in and giving the lad a quick affectionate hug. "I thought you'd be stirring right about now. Wanted to be here when you did. Any problems?" He didn't seem bothered with not receiving a reply to the question.



Haze merely shrugged and patted Jonathan's shoulder in a reassuring manner, before escaping the embrace.



"Jonathan?" Bruce was concerned by the youth's continuing silence. Shy was one thing, but the boy seemed too quiet. "Is everything alright?" A vague recollection of the boy's earlier gesturing came back to him.



"Fine." The older man replied. "Why wouldn’t it be?" He glanced at Bruce. "Ah, you've noticed how chatty our boy here is, right?"



Haze squirmed at the attention.



Jonathan turned back to Bruce. "Haze has never made a sound ever since we found him."



"I saw …" Bruce felt awkward even discussing it, but he wanted to be sure.



"What?"



"Haze was saying something while he was healing me, and I saw him cry out, but I couldn’t hear him through the ringing in my ears."



"I couldn't hear him either." Jonathan assured him. "And there was nothing wrong with my ears." He hesitated and looked at Haze. The dancing hands waved in deft patterns. Bruce understood a great deal of standard ASL, but much of what Haze was 'saying' was completely unfamiliar. It was readily apparent that Jonathan understood exactly what the youth was telling him, and that the older man was a lot less enthusiastic than Haze.







"You sure you don't want to rethink that just a tad?" Jonathan wondered, "No offence to Batman, and we've got no reason to doubt his trustworthiness, but Haze, he's still a total stranger. Maybe it's a bit soon to let him in on our concerns?" He glanced at Bruce.



"I apologise for this, but, while Haze has obviously taken to you, personally I find it a bit difficult to trust a man when I can't see what expression he's wearing…"



Bruce nodded. "Point taken." He shrugged, and going with his gut instincts, slid his fingers under the edge of the concealing cowl and undoing the fastenings, tugged it off. "Bruce Wayne, at your service…"



"Nice to meet you, Mr Wayne." Jonathan smiled. "I kinda thought that might be the case, but I figure that a man's business is his own, so I wasn't going to say anything unless you raised the subject."



"Call me Bruce." Bruce offered, holding out his hand.



"It's still Jonathan." Jonathan's grip was firm. "Or Jon, if you prefer?"



Haze nodded, and smiled. Gesturing to Jonathan he indicated that he should talk for both of them.



Jonathan sighed and got on with it. "Clark told us that Haze can't speak like we can, although as you can tell for yourself he can hear every bit as good as any of us and maybe better at times?"



"So Haze has no voice?" Bruce pressed.



"Not as far as I know." Jonathan confirmed.



"And the healing? How is that done?"



Jonathan shrugged. "Not sure. I've been there on three separate occasions when Haze has healed others. It seems to be the same pattern each time: Haze definitely opens himself to … well, I don't know what he's letting in? In a way it's more like he's calling on something?" Jonathan tugged a work-calloused hand through his hair in concentration.



"Haze recovers a whole lot faster when he's able to use someone to help him. He had Clark to help him once, and he was weak for no more than a few minutes, but when he goes it alone it hits him real hard, like this time. As you saw, there are four distinct parts, and on the last bit something funnels through Haze. When that rush fades out so does Haze, his whole body goes limp, like there's hardly anything left in him."



"I saw that." Bruce agreed.



"You could hardly miss it." Jonathan agreed.



"It was like a power surge …" Bruce decided. "If Haze was a computer, I would have said that he had rebooted and reset…" Seeing that he had totally lost his new acquaintance, Bruce shook his head and abandoned that avenue of speculation for the time being.



"So where does Haze come from?" Bruce abruptly recalled a little extract from the past few minutes. "Jonathan, did you just tell us that you found him?"



"In our front field, while we were putting in a new fence." Jonathan agreed. "Haze fell out of a hole in the sky and hit the ground right in front of Clark and I, and trust me when I say that that's exactly what it looked like." He shrugged.



"We don't know where Haze came from, but it must be very different from here. Once he was recovered, Haze explained to Clark that he had been hurt pretty badly, and that his body just naturally adapted to mimic ours so he could survive here. Which seems to be how he ended up the way he is now."







Coming from any one else, Bruce would have been sceptical, but there was something about Jonathan Kent that made him immediately take the man's word for it. Nothing else about Haze was exactly standard, so why should this be any different?



Confidently, Haze approached Bruce and ran enquiring fingers along the edge of the mask in his hand, and then down the cape, finding the hole where the bullet had pierced the thick fabric. He explored it with the tip of his finger, seemingly not in the least disturbed by standing only inches from a notorious costumed vigilante. He glanced up at Bruce, and down at the hole.



"Yes." Bruce told him. "And I mean to repay you for that. I owe you, Haze, and I want you to know that I am grateful for what you did for me."



Giving an uncertain shrug, Haze continued to poke at the cape. With one palm pressed lightly against the chest plate, presumably for balance, the fingers of Haze's other hand trailed around the edge of the hole in the cape, the light colour of his palm showing through in stark contrast to the rich dark fabric.



"Oh, my." Alfred noticed it first. "The hole … "



"It's going." Bruce looked down just in time to see the last traces of the hole knit back together as smoothly as if there had never been any damage. The chest plate was also unmarked again. Bruce was stunned. Given the complexities of the different materials involved, the knowledge that this youth must have of molecular bonding must be positively phenomenal!



"Haze?"



The marvellous eyes met his readily.



"How did you do that?"



Shrugging, Haze gave a happy smile and smoothed the line of the cape back into place.



"Either Master Haze cannot tell you, or else he would rather not discuss it." Alfred predicted, collecting the coffee cups and leaving them to their conversation.







"Haze does that a lot. Mend things, I mean …" Jonathan added. "It's as if he can't bear leaving things broken or untidy. He even cleans up after Clark …" He stopped, and tightened his lips.



Patting a comforting hand on Jonathan's shoulder, Haze pantomimed something returning.



"Yeah, sure, we'll get him back." The older man agreed softly. "I can't even begin to imagine what it is like for Haze without Clark. Clark is the only one who knows what he's really thinking, the rest of us are only able to make a good guess."



"Haze is very communicative." Bruce watched the dark haired youth wander over to the French windows. "You seem to be able to understand him pretty well though."



Opening the doors, Haze stepped outside onto the small balcony.



"We've been playing him videos on how to use American Sign Language, and learning along with him." Jonathan yawned widely. "Haze seems to pick things up pretty well from the TV. Martha says that means he's a very visual learner."



"Tired?"



"Still used to farm hours, and it's been a busy sort of day." Jonathan agreed. "I won't be turning in late tonight."



"Try and relax, I'll do everything I can to help you find your son." Bruce promised. "I'll need a picture though, I have to know what I'm looking for."



Jonathan pulled a photo from his shirt pocket. "Actually," he said slowly. "I think you'll find that you already have a pretty good guide…" He held out the picture.







As his disbelieving eyes took in the content of the small snapshot, Bruce felt his jaw drop. "Good god…" Which boy was which? He really couldn't tell.



"That's pretty much what I said when I first saw them together." Jonathan admitted. "But the resemblance is only skin-deep. Clark doesn't have the same gifts as Haze." He frowned. "I don't rightly know if I should be telling you this, but Batman or not, I can't just let you go out looking for Clark without at least warning you: Clark isn't exactly Joe Average either. He's incredibly strong, and inhumanly fast."



"You make him sound dangerous." Bruce observed.



"He definitely has the potential to be. Clark's normally a sweet kid, but he …" Jonathan fell silent.



"Drugs?" Bruce guessed at the hesitation.



"Not the way you might expect. The thing is, that Clark's always been different. All of his life, Martha and I have encouraged him to hide it, and to keep a low profile." Seeing that Bruce had no idea of what he was talking about, Jonathan pulled a small lead pillbox out of his jeans pocket and flicked it open carefully. He pulled out a small lump of green stone and handed it to Bruce.





"There are loads of these meteor rocks in the ground all around Smallville, and they have caused some pretty bizarre mutations over the years." Jonathan was explaining.



"Haze seems unaffected, but they have a strong effect on Clark. These green ones make him sick and sap his strength. The red ones don't weaken him, but they do remove all of his inhibitions, and that makes him unbelievably dangerous. We're pretty sure that Clark has a bit of the red rock with him. He may even be wearing it."



"They don't affect you?" Bruce could see that there was something that Jonathan was not mentioning, although the other man had handled the stone confidently enough and passed it to him without apparent qualms. It didn't feel as if the rock was doing anything unusual, pleasant or unpleasant.



"No, in the short-term the rocks don't affect most people at all. Although over the past few years we've been finding that there have been a number of folks mutated through being in regular close contact with them. This is a lead box. It blocks the effects."



"Ah." Bruce passed the stone back and Jonathan popped it away in the box. "Yes, I can see you'd want to take precautions against cell damage."



"That's not the only reason for the box. The lead blocks Clark from the effects too, and if we do have to use this on him then I'd rather he didn't sense it coming."



There was a momentary hesitation, and then Jonathan looked him in the eyes. "I'll be straight with you Bruce, I think of Clark as my son, and in the eyes of the Law he is, but we adopted him when he was just a little kid." He made the admission with great reluctance.



"Clark is no more my flesh and blood than Haze is." The blond let out a heartfelt sigh, closing his eyes as if that would make the subject easier to deal with. "I can't believe I'm trusting you with this on such short notice, but you are the Batman, and this has gotten way out of my league. I've begun to realise that even with Haze's gifts we may never find Clark without your help unless I do tell you."



"Tell me what?"



"Neither of the boys is exactly from around here." Jonathan said carefully.







"I won't change my mind about helping you." Bruce assured him. "I've had to do some rather questionable things at times for the right reasons." He hesitated. "How not local are we talking about?" Even with that dark hair, Haze was no Mexican immigrant: his skin was far too fair. Had he come in from somewhere in Eastern Europe? There had been rumours about winged mutants being sighted out there.



"About as far from here as you can imagine." Was the cryptic reply.



"I can imagine pretty far." Bruce told him.



Jonathan nodded. "Yep. So can I."



"Jonathan, are you telling me that both of the boys are actually illegal aliens?" He asked carefully.



The older man nodded sagely. "In every sense of the words."



Finally, it began to dawn on Bruce that this was no polite euphemism, that in fact what Jonathan Kent was saying was exactly what he meant. When Kent had described Clark as 'Inhumanly fast' earlier, that had not merely been a convenient term either.



More like a deliberate choice of words, discreetly testing to see how I would react. Which means …



"You're saying that Haze is …?" Bruce looked incredulously at the silhouetted figure. His voice dried. Surely it couldn’t be possible, could it?



"Yep." The elder man sounded almost matter-of-fact about it now. "Haze is not human, and neither is Clark."