"Okay," she said slowly, her voice carrying notes of determination mixed with terror. "Okay. Hypothetically—and I mean *very* hypothetically—if I were to consider possibly maybe potentially having a conversation about this... how would I even start?"
"Hi, I'm Maya, I helped save the world, want to get coffee?" Zatanna suggested immediately, like she'd been waiting for this exact question.
"Hi, I'm Maya, I control plants now and think you're attractive and have been writing detailed romantic fiction about you but we're going to gloss over that last part?" Ethan offered.
"Hi, I'm Maya, I've been writing detailed romantic scenarios about you for three months but in a totally normal and not-creepy way and also I'm a superhero now so that makes it okay?" Raj said, then winced at everyone's expressions. "Okay, definitely not that one. That one makes it sound creepy. Which it's not! The fanfiction is very respectful! But maybe don't lead with that."
"DEFINITELY not that one," Maya agreed emphatically.
"The point is," Zatanna said firmly, taking Maya's hands in hers with the kind of best-friend intensity that demanded eye contact, "you talk to him. Honestly. Like a person. Explain your feelings—the real ones, not the fanfiction versions. Ask if there's space for exploring possibilities. Accept whatever answer he gives, whether it's yes, no, or 'let me talk to my current partners about this because polyamory requires consent from everyone involved and I'm not making unilateral decisions about our relationship structure.'"
"That's a very specific potential answer," Maya observed.
"I've done research," Zatanna said. "Polyamory requires communication. Like, SO much communication. More communication than you'd think. It's basically relationships but with more group chats."
"That sounds exhausting."
"So is pining," Zatanna countered. "At least with communication you might get a positive outcome. With pining you just get carpal tunnel from typing and an increasingly elaborate AO3 tag system."
"Fair point," Maya conceded.
"And if they say no?" she asked quietly, voicing the fear that had been sitting in her chest like a stone since the moment she'd realized what she was considering.
"Then you cry, eat an inadvisable amount of ice cream, let me cast a minor hex on his shoes so they're always slightly uncomfortable, and move on with your life having at least tried," Zatanna said with the confidence of someone who'd clearly thought this through and prepared contingency plans. "You'll have closure. You'll know. And knowing is better than spending the rest of your life wondering 'what if.'"
"You can't hex his shoes," Maya said automatically.
"I absolutely can. My aunt is literally Lilly Lane-Kent, aka Scarlett, aka one of the most powerful magic users on the planet. I have connections and I'm not afraid to use them for petty vengeance if someone breaks my best friend's heart." Zatanna's expression was absolutely serious. "I will make his socks damp. Forever. Every sock. Slightly damp. Not enough to change them, but enough to be uncomfortable. That's the curse. I've been planning it."
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the fear, the overwhelming nature of the last several hours—Maya laughed. It started as a small sound and built into something genuine, something that loosened the knot of anxiety in her chest.
"Okay," she said finally. "Okay. I'll think about it. After we process the whole 'fought an alien invasion with borrowed magical weapons' thing. Which might take a while. Like, several days. Maybe weeks. Possibly months of intensive therapy."
"Take all the time you need," Zatanna said supportively. "But maybe don't take so long that someone else asks first. I heard Artemis making interested sounds earlier."
"WHAT?!"
"Kidding! Totally kidding! She's definitely into Kid Flash, they have that whole 'we pretend we hate each other but actually have feelings' thing going on." Zatanna paused. "But the point stands—you're not the only person who's noticed that Hadrian Kent is both powerful and attractive. So. You know. Consider your options before they become more complicated than they already are."
"My life is a disaster," Maya muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
"Your life is an adventure," Raj corrected with the solemnity of someone delivering profound wisdom. "There's a difference."
"What's the difference?"
"Disasters end badly. Adventures end with good stories. And this?" He gestured at the battlefield, at the armor, at the impossible situation they'd all survived. "This is definitely going to be a good story. One day you're going to tell your kids about the time you fought an alien invasion and then had to figure out how to ask your crush if his polyamorous relationship had room for one more person."
"That's a terrible story," Maya said.
"That's an AMAZING story," Raj corrected. "That's the kind of story that gets told at parties. That's the kind of story that gets passed down through generations. 'Did I ever tell you about the time your mom saved the world and then had to navigate complex polyamorous relationship dynamics while wearing magical armor?'"
"Please stop," Maya begged, but she was smiling.
"Can't stop, won't stop, this is too good," Raj replied.
—
While Maya was having her crisis about boys and polyamory and the general chaos of teenage feelings amplified by superpowers and cosmic-level threats, a different—and considerably more politically fraught—conversation was happening about fifty feet away.
Batman and Superman stood facing Alex and Lena Luthor with the kind of focused attention usually reserved for bomb disposal, hostage negotiations, or discovering your teenage sidekicks had borrowed unsanctioned magical artifacts and fought an alien invasion without adult supervision.
Behind them, Wonder Woman had positioned herself with the casual grace of someone who wasn't obviously guarding against potential threats but absolutely was, thank you very much, and would respond to any suspicious movement with immediate and overwhelming force.
Alex had removed his scarab helmet, revealing his pale face and sharp features that looked so much like his father's that it made Superman's jaw tighten involuntarily and his eyes narrow in that way that suggested he was having flashbacks to approximately eight thousand previous encounters with Lex Luthor, approximately seven thousand nine hundred of which had ended with property damage and legal complications.
His posture was carefully neutral—not defensive, not aggressive, just... waiting. Like someone who'd spent their entire life learning how to stand in rooms with people who didn't trust them and project "I'm not a threat" while remaining ready to defend themselves if necessary.
Lena stood beside him with her silver hair catching moonlight like she'd been designed by someone with a flair for dramatic lighting. Her sword was sheathed but her hand rested on its hilt in a way that suggested she was very aware of exactly how outnumbered and outgunned they were but was refusing to show weakness anyway because Luthors didn't show weakness, even when weakness was the tactically appropriate response.
"Alexander Luthor," Batman said, his voice carrying that gravelly authority that made even his statements of fact sound like accusations that would hold up in court. "Lena Luthor. Children of Lex Luthor—criminal mastermind, attempted murderer approximately forty-seven times by current count, Superman's self-proclaimed nemesis, and someone who's currently wanted in at least twelve countries and possibly an alternate dimension."
"We're aware of our father's resume," Alex said dryly, his voice carrying that same smooth confidence that made him sound like a young Lex minus the pathological need to prove his superiority to aliens and anyone who associated with aliens. "We get regular updates. Usually in the form of news reports about his latest scheme, his latest arrest, or his latest escape from whatever facility thought it could hold him this time. It's very consistent. You could set your watch by it."
"Last Tuesday it was LexCorp," Lena added helpfully. "Broke himself out. Again. Used the same ventilation shaft he used last time. Security footage shows he was literally humming while he did it."
"Your father has a flair for the dramatic," Superman said with the kind of restraint that suggested he was working very hard not to think about how much easier his life would be if Lex Luthor would just stay in prison for five consecutive minutes.
"You could say that," Alex agreed. "We prefer to say he has 'an inability to accept defeat gracefully' and 'a pathological need for validation that manifests as increasingly elaborate revenge schemes.'"
"That's very specific," Wonder Woman observed.
"We've had therapy," Lena said. "A lot of therapy. Our therapist has very detailed notes. She's probably going to write a book about us someday. We've already agreed to let her use our case for educational purposes as long as she changes our names."
There was a pause while the League members processed this information.
"You're in therapy for having Lex Luthor as a father," Batman said slowly.
"Among other things," Alex confirmed. "The Luthor legacy is complicated. Lots of expectations. Lots of pressure. Lots of 'you should be grateful for your superior genetics and use them to dominate lesser beings.' It's exhausting. Hence: therapy."
"Also," Lena added, "we're aware that you now know the civilian identities of several League members. Hadrian Kent, Neville Kent, Roslyn Kent, Zatanna Zatara, Kara Zor-El. We saw them. We fought beside them. We know who they are."
Superman's expression hardened slightly, his blue eyes studying them with that particular intensity that came from being able to see through walls but choosing to look people in the eye instead because intimidation was more effective with direct eye contact.
"That information, in the wrong hands—" he began.
"Or rather, in our father's hands," Alex interrupted, "could endanger everyone here and their families. Could be used for blackmail, extortion, targeted attacks, elaborate revenge schemes that would make Rube Goldberg weep with admiration. We know. We've thought about it. We've run the scenarios."
He stepped forward, his scarab armor gleaming in the moonlight, his pale eyes meeting Superman's without flinching.
"We're not going to tell him."
The silence that followed was heavy with skepticism.
"And why," Batman asked in that tone that suggested he'd heard similar promises approximately six hundred times and they usually ended with betrayal and someone trying to steal his contingency plans, "should we believe you?"
"Because," Lena said, her voice carrying an edge of something that might have been old pain or just exhausted resignation or possibly both, "we're not our father. We've spent our entire lives being told we should be grateful for the Luthor legacy. That we should embrace the family business. That superiority is our birthright and ordinary humans are beneath us and aliens are abominations that need to be eliminated for the good of humanity."
She gestured at the battlefield around them—at the defeated alien forces, at the young heroes standing together, at the wreckage of ships and the evidence of a battle where ordinary humans had stood beside gods and won.
"And you know what we learned tonight? Watching your kids fight beside us? Watching teenagers with borrowed weapons stand against an invasion force because it was the right thing to do?"
Her silver eyes held something fierce now, something that looked almost like hope mixed with defiance.
"We learned that our father is wrong. About everything. About humans being weak, about power being the only thing that matters, about the universe being a zero-sum game where you either dominate or get dominated. He's wrong, and we're done pretending he's not."
"Your kids fought beside us," Alex added, and his voice held wonder mixed with certainty. "Solaris—*Hadrian*—extended his cape to cover Sarah when she was overwhelmed. Didn't hesitate, didn't calculate the tactical advantage, just *protected* her because she needed protecting."
"Sentinel—*Neville*—threw himself between Raj and an energy blast without thinking twice," Lena continued. "Could have been killed. Didn't matter. Someone needed help, so he helped."
"Supergirl pulled Maya out of a crater and told her she was doing great," Alex said. "Took time in the middle of a battle to provide emotional support to a teammate who was struggling."
"Enchantress—*Zatanna*—coordinated with me like we'd been fighting together for years instead of minutes," Lena finished. "Trusted me. Treated me like an ally, not a Luthor. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"
She met Wonder Woman's eyes, then Superman's, then Batman's in turn, her expression absolutely serious.
"That's not weakness. That's strength. The kind of strength that our father has spent his entire life trying to destroy because he's terrified of what it means—that he's wrong, that his philosophy is empty, that he's spent decades pursuing power and has nothing to show for it except a prison cell he can't stay in and children who want nothing to do with his legacy."
The silence that followed was heavy with assessment and decision-making and the kind of calculation that came from being professional heroes who'd been betrayed before and weren't eager to repeat the experience.
Finally, Superman spoke, and his voice had softened just slightly—not quite trust, but the beginning of it, like watching ice start to thaw.
"You understand what you're risking? If your father discovers you're protecting our identities—"
"He'll disown us," Alex finished calmly, like he'd thought about this extensively and made peace with it. "Disinherit us. Cut us off completely. Possibly try to kill us or make us wish he had. We know. We've run those scenarios too. We have contingency plans. We've already started transferring assets to accounts he doesn't know about. We have exit strategies."
"You've planned for this," Batman said, and there was a note of something that might have been approval in his voice, or at least recognition of thorough preparation.
"We're Luthors," Lena said with a slight smile. "We always have contingency plans. We just usually use them for evil instead of good. We're trying something different."
"And?" Wonder Woman pressed gently. "How does it feel?"
"Terrifying," Alex admitted. "Also liberating. Mostly terrifying though. Our father is not someone who takes betrayal well. He's going to come after us eventually. We know that. We accept it."
"And you're willing to face that?" Superman asked. "The consequences of choosing this path?"
"We already faced an alien invasion," Lena pointed out. "Fought beside teenagers wearing legendary armor against a genocidal governor and her army. If we can do that, we can handle our father's disappointment."
She smiled then, and it was small but genuine—the kind of smile that suggested she was discovering what happiness felt like and finding it surprisingly pleasant.
"Also, we just helped save the world with divine artifacts and teenage determination. That's significantly more fulfilling than anything our father's accomplished with his billions of dollars and pathological need for validation. We're two for two on 'things more satisfying than the Luthor legacy.'"
"We're not asking you to trust us," Alex added, his voice carrying quiet sincerity. "Not yet. Trust is earned, and we know that. We know we haven't earned it. We're asking for a chance. To prove we're not our father. To prove that the Luthor name doesn't have to mean what he's made it mean. To prove that we can choose to be different."
He paused, then added with a slight smile, "Also, we just fought really well together and it would be a shame to waste that tactical compatibility on family drama."
Despite himself, Superman's lips twitched.
Batman studied them for a long moment, his white lenses giving nothing away, his cape settling around him like judgment made fabric.
Then, surprisingly, Wonder Woman spoke up, her voice carrying the weight of centuries.
"I have watched children struggle with the weight of their parents' choices for millennia," she said, her expression softening slightly. "Some fall into the patterns laid before them, accepting their family's path as inevitable. Others forge their own paths, often at great personal cost, often alone."
She looked at Alex and Lena with something approaching approval, or at least the absence of immediate suspicion.
"Tonight, you chose to fight beside heroes against a tyrant who sought to claim what was not hers. You protected those weaker than yourselves. You used powerful artifacts with wisdom rather than wrath. You could have turned on us—could have used the chaos to steal technology, gather intelligence, serve your father's interests."
She paused meaningfully.
"You didn't. These are not the actions of children following in Lex Luthor's footsteps. These are the actions of young people choosing their own destiny, regardless of the personal cost."
"Diana's right," Superman said, and coming from him, that carried significant weight. His expression had softened, the hard edge of suspicion easing into something more like cautious optimism. "You're not your father. And you're not responsible for his choices, his crimes, or his pathological hatred of anyone who can fly without mechanical assistance."
"But," Batman interjected, because there was always a 'but' with Batman, "if you betray this trust, there will be consequences. Immediate, comprehensive, and unavoidable consequences. I want to be very clear about that."
His voice carried the kind of casual menace that suggested he'd already planned seventeen different contingencies for this exact scenario, had detailed files on both of them, and knew exactly where they lived, what they ate for breakfast, and probably their Netflix passwords.
"Crystal clear," Alex and Lena said in unison, like they'd practiced it.
"Good," Superman said, and he actually smiled then—not the public Superman smile that graced magazine covers and inspired hope in millions, but the Clark Kent farmboy smile that made him look younger and more approachable and reminded everyone that underneath the cape and powers, he was just a guy from Kansas who wanted people to be better.
"Then welcome to the team. Provisionally. With oversight. And probably some paperwork. Definitely paperwork, actually. So much paperwork."
"The League generates more paperwork than the IRS," Flash added, appearing in a streak of red and yellow that left afterimages and a faint smell of ozone. "It's honestly impressive and slightly terrifying. I think Batman does it on purpose. I think he ENJOYS the paperwork. It's unnatural."
"The paperwork serves important organizational purposes," Batman said without emotion.
"See? UNNATURAL," Flash stage-whispered.
"We can handle paperwork," Lena assured him, trying not to smile.
"And oversight," Alex added.
"And probably some deeply uncomfortable conversations about family dynamics, trust issues, and the long-term psychological effects of being raised by a supervillain," Zatanna called out from her position across the battlefield, because apparently she'd been eavesdropping with magic and had decided to contribute to the moment with typical Zatanna subtlety, which was to say none at all.
"That too," Alex agreed with a wry smile. "We're very familiar with uncomfortable conversations. We've been having them in therapy for years. We're basically experts at this point."
Batman's expression didn't change—his expression never really changed, that was kind of his thing—but something in his posture suggested he'd made a decision, calculated the risks, and determined they were acceptable within defined parameters.
"We'll be watching," he said simply, and somehow made it sound both like a promise and a threat. "Don't make us regret this."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Lena replied.
"We'll probably disappoint you occasionally," Alex added honestly, "because we're human and humans make mistakes. But we won't betray you. That's a promise."
"I'll hold you to that," Batman said.
"We're counting on it," Alex replied.
As the League members moved away to coordinate the final cleanup operations, prisoner transport logistics, and whatever diplomatic nightmare was about to unfold when various government agencies asked why there were alien bodies on American soil, Alex and Lena stood together in their gleaming armor, exhaustion and relief written across their faces in equal measure.
"We just signed up for a lifetime of suspicious surveillance," Alex observed quietly.
"Better than signing up for a lifetime of being our father's children," Lena replied. "Being watched by heroes is infinitely preferable to being controlled by a villain."
"Fair point."
"Also," Lena added with a slight smile, "we have friends now. Real ones. Who don't just like us because of our last name or our money or our connections."
"We have friends who fought an alien invasion with us using borrowed magical weapons and won through sheer determination and teamwork," Alex agreed. "That's actually pretty cool."
"That's EXTREMELY cool," Lena corrected.
Behind them, Zatanna approached with Maya, Sarah, Raj, and Ethan in tow, all of them looking like they'd been through a war—which, technically, they had—but still managing to smile because apparently surviving cosmic-level threats gave you a certain perspective on what qualified as a bad day.
"So," Zatanna said, grinning despite the exhaustion evident in her posture and the fact that her makeup had smudged into something that looked like she'd been in a wind tunnel fight with a tornado, "do you guys want to join our study group? Because I feel like we should probably have a standing meeting for 'teenagers who accidentally became superheroes and need to process the emotional implications of their life choices while also maybe doing homework.'"
"That's a very specific study group," Raj observed.
"We're very specific people," Zatanna replied. "Also we just saved the world, so I think we've earned the right to be specific about our social groups."
"I'm in," Sarah said immediately, her fox tail swishing with barely contained nervous energy that suggested the adrenaline still hadn't completely worn off. "Because I have so many questions. SO many questions. Starting with 'how do I explain the ears to my parents' and ending with 'am I going to have to register as a metahuman now' and including approximately forty-seven questions in between about whether this is permanent."
"The ears are cute though," Maya offered supportively.
"The ears are a LIABILITY," Sarah corrected with feeling. "They tell everyone exactly what I'm feeling at all times. Do you have ANY idea how inconvenient that is? I can't bluff in poker anymore! Not that I play poker! But theoretically!"
"Actually yes," Ethan said, gesturing at his golden lion armor with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he'd been waiting to complain about this. "Because my emotional state is now apparently tied to whether my mane flares with energy, which is both embarrassing and completely outside my conscious control. I got excited about a sandwich earlier and my whole head lit up like a Christmas tree."
"You got excited about a sandwich?" Raj asked.
"It was a REALLY good sandwich," Ethan defended. "I was hungry and we'd been fighting aliens! I'm allowed to have feelings about food!"
"At least you don't accidentally make plants grow when you're emotional," Maya muttered, gesturing at a small tree that was definitely still growing in the middle of the battlefield. "I stressed-sprouted a whole TREE during the fight. A tree. From nothing. It's still there. It's getting bigger. Someone's going to have questions. So many questions."
"I can make arrows out of light," Raj said, holding up one hand and watching as golden energy flickered around his fingers like he was trying to conduct an orchestra made of photons. "Which sounds cool until you realize it means I'm a walking weapons system and probably going to end up on multiple government watchlists. Also I accidentally shot my ceiling earlier. My MOM has questions."
"What did you tell her?" Sarah asked.
"I told her it was a skylight now and she should be grateful for the natural lighting," Raj replied. "She's... skeptical."
"Welcome to superhero life," Zatanna said cheerfully, spreading her arms like she was presenting a game show prize. "Where the powers are cool, the responsibility is terrifying, and the paperwork is eternal! Also you'll probably end up on at least three watchlists! It's very exciting!"
"There's paperwork for having magic fox ears?" Sarah asked with dawning horror.
"There's paperwork for EVERYTHING," Zatanna assured her with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she'd been through this exact conversation before. "The League is very thorough. Sometimes excessively thorough. Occasionally bordering on obsessively thorough to the point where you wonder if Batman sleeps or just fills out forms in increasingly detailed categories."
"I blame Batman," Alex said.
"Everyone blames Batman," Zatanna agreed. "It's traditional. He probably has a file about it. A very detailed file. With subcategories."
As the group devolved into tired laughter and mutual commiseration about their new circumstances, the absurdity of their situation, and whether they were legally required to report plant-based property damage to their insurance companies, across the battlefield Hadrian finally escaped his parents' gentle interrogation about his love life and made his way to where Donna and Koriand'r were waiting.
Both of them looked exhausted, battered, and somehow still beautiful in that particular way that made Maya's heart do complicated things when she looked at them from her position behind the wrecked fighter craft.
Donna's armor was cracked in places, her dark hair escaping from its braid, but she stood tall with the kind of posture that came from years of Amazon training. Koriand'r was leaning against her slightly, her skin still glowing faintly with residual energy, her expression soft despite the exhaustion evident in every line of her body.
They looked like they'd been through a war together and come out stronger for it.
When Hadrian approached, both of them smiled—not the public superhero smiles, but genuine expressions of relief and affection that suggested they'd been worried about him despite knowing he was nearly invulnerable.
He smiled back, that soft, genuine smile that made him look younger and more vulnerable, and said something that made both of them laugh.
Then Donna reached out and pulled him into their circle, and Kori's hand found his, and they stood together in the moonlight looking like something out of a painting about heroes and hope and connections forged in battle.
And Maya, watching from her hiding spot behind the wreckage with her friends surrounding her and her heart doing complicated things in her chest, thought:
*Maybe Zatanna's right. Maybe this doesn't have to be a competition. Maybe there's room for more people in that circle of protection and care. Maybe I just need to be brave enough to ask.*
*Maybe saving the world together is a good foundation for having awkward conversations about feelings.*
But that was a conversation for tomorrow.
Tonight, she'd just be grateful they'd all survived, that the world was still spinning, that her friends were safe, and that somehow—impossibly, ridiculously, against all reasonable odds—a group of teenagers with borrowed weapons and too much determination had stood against an alien invasion and won.
Tomorrow, she could worry about boys and feelings and polyamorous relationship negotiations that would probably require charts and possibly a mediator.
Tonight, she'd just breathe and be alive and marvel at the fact that she was wearing legendary armor in a field full of superheroes and had somehow become one of them.
"You know what?" she said suddenly, turning to her friends with a smile that was equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration. "Fuck it. I'm going to talk to him. Maybe not tonight, because we're all about to collapse, but soon. Because if I can fight an alien invasion, I can have one awkward conversation about feelings."
"THERE SHE IS!" Zatanna cheered, throwing her arms up in victory and accidentally casting a small shower of sparkles. "That's my girl! Character development! Growth! Courage in the face of romantic adversity!"
"I'm so proud," Ethan said, wiping away a fake tear. "They grow up so fast."
"She's literally the same age as you," Raj pointed out.
"Emotionally she just aged five years," Ethan countered. "That's what matters. This is a big moment. We should commemorate it. Someone take a picture."
"Absolutely not," Maya said, but she was laughing now, the tension finally breaking as exhaustion and relief and the sheer absurdity of everything crashed over her like a wave.
They stood together in their borrowed armor, six teenagers who'd started the day as relatively normal high school students and were ending it as superheroes who'd helped save the world. The moonlight caught on their artifacts—gold and silver, wood and crystal, scarab shell and fox fire—making them look like legends stepped out of time.
Which, technically, they were.
"Group hug," Zatanna declared, and before anyone could protest she was pulling them all together, armor clinking and clattering as six exhausted teenagers collapsed into each other's arms.
"Ow, your helmet is stabbing me," Sarah complained.
"Your tail is in my face," Raj countered.
"Everyone stop moving," Ethan groaned. "I'm comfortable and if I move I'm going to fall over."
"We're all going to fall over," Alex observed. "This is structurally unsound."
"Let us fall together," Lena said dramatically. "As heroes."
"You're all ridiculous," Maya said, but her voice was warm with affection.
They swayed there in their group hug for a long moment, exhaustion making them giddy, relief making them reckless with their emotions. Around them, the cleanup continued—heroes moving with practiced efficiency, alien technology being catalogued and secured, evidence being collected or conveniently disappeared.
The world kept spinning.
They'd made sure of it.
"Okay," Zatanna said finally, her voice slightly muffled because her face was pressed into someone's shoulder—possibly Raj's, possibly Ethan's, everything was kind of blurring together. "Okay, we need to go home before we all pass out on this battlefield. Also I need to return these artifacts before my aunt notices they're gone."
"She definitely already noticed," Sarah pointed out.
"Yeah, but if I return them before she officially confronts me about it, I can claim plausible deniability," Zatanna explained. "It's a legal loophole. Probably. I'm not a lawyer but it sounds right."
"That's not how that works," Alex said.
"Do you want to be the one to explain divine artifact borrowing protocols to Scarlett Lane-Kent?" Zatanna asked pointedly.
"...No."
"That's what I thought."
They finally broke apart, stumbling slightly as they readjusted to supporting their own weight. Across the battlefield, Batman was gesturing toward the Javelin with the kind of purposeful motion that suggested debriefing was about to happen and nobody was going to enjoy it.
"Ugh, debriefing," Raj groaned. "Can we skip that? Can we just... not? I'm going to fall asleep standing up. It'll be embarrassing for everyone."
"You can sleep when you're dead," Zatanna said cheerfully. "Or when Batman decides he has enough information. Whichever comes first."
"We're all going to die," Ethan said with conviction.
"We just survived an alien invasion," Maya pointed out. "I think we can survive a debriefing."
"You underestimate Batman's commitment to thorough documentation," Alex said darkly. "I've heard stories. Stories that would make you question your will to live."
"He's not that bad," came a voice from behind them, and they all jumped approximately three feet in the air—or would have, if they'd had the energy for jumping, which they didn't, so it was more of a collective flinch.
Robin—*actual Robin*, not Neville in his Sentinel armor but Dick Grayson in his full cape and domino mask—was standing there with the kind of smug expression that suggested he'd been watching them for a while and found their paranoia amusing.
"Jesus CHRIST," Sarah yelped, her fox ears flattening against her head. "How long have you been there?!"
"Long enough to hear the Batman slander," Robin said, but he was smiling. "Don't worry, he's not as scary as his reputation suggests. He's actually significantly scarier, but in different ways than you'd expect."
"That's not reassuring," Raj said.
"It wasn't meant to be," Robin replied cheerfully. "But seriously, the debriefing isn't that bad. He'll ask questions, you'll answer honestly, he'll make you feel like you've disappointed him even though you literally just saved the world, and then he'll file everything away in his comprehensive database of every superhero encounter ever. It's fine. Totally fine. You'll only cry a little."
"I hate you," Ethan informed him.
"You don't know me well enough to hate me," Robin countered. "Give it time. We'll get there."
Despite their exhaustion, despite the looming threat of Batman's debriefing process, despite everything they'd been through in the last few hours, they laughed.
Because what else could you do when you were seventeen and wearing legendary armor and had just helped save the world and were about to be interrogated by the world's greatest detective about your decision-making process during an alien invasion?
You laughed.
You stood with your friends.
And you faced whatever came next together.
---
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