# MOUNT JUSTICE BATTLEFIELD — THE AFTERMATH
The Javelin descended like a disappointed parent coming home to find their house on fire—smooth, controlled, and radiating the kind of barely contained "what the FUCK happened here" energy that suggested someone was going to be grounded until they were eligible for AARP.
Its engines hummed with the mechanical equivalent of a heavy sigh as it touched down on what had, several hours ago, been a perfectly nice stretch of terrain and was now a landscape that looked like God had gotten drunk, picked a fight with geology, and lost spectacularly.
The ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss that somehow sounded judgmental.
Wonder Woman emerged first, her armor gleaming in the firelight like she'd just stepped out of a Renaissance painting titled "I'm Not Angry, Just Disappointed, But Also Maybe A Little Angry." Her dark hair was pulled back in a warrior's braid that had probably looked perfect this morning and now looked like she'd spent the last three hours flying through combat zones—which, to be fair, she had.
Her expression cycled through relief, pride, concern, and the beginnings of a lecture that was going to involve phrases like "appropriate escalation of force" and "international incident" and possibly "do you have ANY idea how much paperwork an alien invasion generates."
Flash appeared in a streak of red and yellow lightning, vibrating slightly as he surveyed the damage with the kind of professional assessment that came from years of cleaning up after superpowered disasters and occasionally causing a few of his own.
"Okay," he said, his voice carrying that particular speedster energy where he was talking at normal human speed but clearly *thinking* at about Mach 3, "so we've got crashed alien ships—multiple crashed alien ships, some of which appear to have been *strangled by plants* which is a new one—a crater that's going to require creative explanations to approximately seventeen different government agencies, and—"
He paused, doing a visible headcount that involved pointing at each teenager and mouthing numbers.
"—way more teenagers in magical legendary armor than I remember authorizing. Like, significantly more. An alarming amount more. Did I authorize this? I feel like I would remember authorizing *this*." He gestured vaguely at the six teenagers who looked like they'd raided a museum, a fantasy RPG, and possibly a really ambitious cosplay convention.
"You didn't," Batman said, materializing from the Javelin's shadows like he'd been carved from darkness, judgmental parenting, and the crushing weight of responsibility. His white lenses swept across the battlefield with the kind of systematic efficiency that suggested he was cataloging every detail for future tactical debriefings, upcoming lectures, and possibly a very stern PowerPoint presentation about "appropriate use of unsanctioned magical artifacts."
His cape settled around him with practiced menace as he took in the scene: defeated alien soldiers zip-tied like the world's most dangerous party favors, destroyed vessels that were probably going to require EPA cleanup and CDC involvement, six teenagers in legendary artifacts who were trying very hard to look like they'd meant to do this all along, and his own team looking like they'd just survived something that should have required significantly more adult supervision and possibly a permit.
"Right," Flash said, his voice climbing toward that register where he was trying very hard not to think about the paperwork. "So we're going with 'creative tactical improvisation' in the after-action report? Because I'm pretty sure 'teenagers raided a billionaire's magical weapons basement and then fought an alien invasion without adult supervision' is going to raise questions. So many questions. Questions that will require answers we don't have and explanations that sound insane even by our standards."
"We'll address that later," Batman said in the tone that meant 'we will absolutely address this in excruciating detail and you will not enjoy it and there will be a quiz.'
"There's going to be a quiz, isn't there," Flash muttered.
"There's always a quiz," Batman confirmed.
Wonder Woman was already moving toward the captured alien forces with the kind of purposeful grace that came from centuries of warrior training, Amazon diplomacy, and dealing with would-be conquerors who thought "legitimate Imperial authority" was a valid excuse for planetary invasion.
Her eyes swept over Komand'r—still trapped in her powerless ship, still radiating regal fury despite being thoroughly defeated by a group of teenagers who'd learned about teamwork from Saturday morning cartoons—and something hard and uncompromising settled into her expression.
It was the look that said "I have been doing this since before your civilization invented writing and I am NOT impressed."
"Governor Komand'r of Tamaran," Diana said, her voice carrying across the battlefield with the authority of someone who'd been dealing with would-be conquerors since ancient Greece was considered cutting-edge civilization and "democracy" was a controversial new startup. "You are hereby detained under Justice League authority for attempted invasion, assault on League members, endangering civilian populations, and—" she glanced at the strangled ships, "—making us explain the botanical warfare to the press."
"That last one's going to be hard," Flash muttered. "How do we explain weaponized gardening without sounding insane?"
"We'll workshop it," Wonder Woman said without taking her eyes off Komand'r.
"You have no authority over me," Komand'r interrupted, her melodic voice still managing to sound imperious despite the fact that she was trapped in a dead ship, surrounded by Earth's most powerful heroes, and had just been thoroughly defeated by someone who'd learned their powers approximately four hours ago. "I am a Governor of the Citadel Empire, acting under legitimate Imperial—"
"The Citadel Empire," Batman interrupted with the kind of cold precision that suggested he'd done his homework, found it wanting, and prepared a seventeen-page response with citations, "has no diplomatic recognition with Earth. You entered our atmosphere without authorization, attacked League facilities, threatened civilians, and—" he paused for the briefest moment, "—really should have Googled us first because this was never going to end well for you."
"Did Batman just make a joke about Googling?" Flash whispered to Wonder Woman.
"I think that was his version of a joke," Wonder Woman whispered back. "Mark it in the calendar."
"And," Superman added, floating down to join them with his cape settling around him with that particular Kryptonian flair that made even hovering look heroic, "you attacked my kids. Which means this is now *personal* as well as political and possibly intergalactic depending on how many treaties we're about to violate detaining you."
His blue eyes held that particular quality of Kryptonian steel wrapped in Kansas farmboy courtesy—the look that said 'I will absolutely throw your ship into orbit if you make me, and I will be polite about it the entire time, and that somehow makes it MORE terrifying.'
"Also you blew up her planet," Flash added helpfully, gesturing at Koriand'r. "Which, like, major dick move. Even by supervillain standards that's pretty extreme. That's like Saturday morning cartoon villain levels of excessive."
"Flash," Wonder Woman said with the patience of someone who'd been dealing with speedsters for years, "we're trying to be diplomatic."
"Right, sorry, diplomatic." Flash cleared his throat. "You committed genocide, which is *diplomatically* considered a dick move. Better?"
"Marginally."
Komand'r's jaw tightened, but she was smart enough—and defeated enough—to recognize when the tactical situation had become completely untenable and continuing to argue would just make things worse and possibly result in orbital relocation.
"Very well," she said with as much dignity as someone in her position could muster, which was honestly impressive given the circumstances. "I will... cooperate. For now. Under protest. And with the understanding that this is not an admission of guilt but rather a tactical recognition of current power dynamics."
"She's lawyering," Flash observed. "She's totally lawyering."
"Everyone lawyers eventually," Batman said with the weary tone of someone who'd been through this exact conversation approximately four hundred times. "It's tedious but expected."
"Excellent choice," Wonder Woman said with a smile that was somehow more terrifying than if she'd been actively angry—the smile that said 'I am being extremely professional right now but I could absolutely break you in half and I want you to remember that.' "Flash, please escort the prisoners to the Javelin. Batman and I will coordinate with local authorities about the—"
She gestured at the multiple craters, burning wreckage, mysteriously grown trees, and general apocalyptic landscape.
"—situation."
"The 'situation,'" Flash repeated. "Is that what we're calling 'teenage superheroes fought an alien invasion with borrowed magical weapons and won?' Because I feel like that needs a more specific designation. Maybe something with an acronym. TSAWBITWLWW? No, that doesn't work. Nobody can pronounce that. We'll workshop it."
"Just... move the prisoners, Barry," Wonder Woman said with the patience of a saint.
"On it, moving prisoners, being professional, not thinking about acronyms," Flash said, already moving at speeds that made everyone's eyes hurt and their brains try to process motion that violated several laws of physics.
Within seconds—literally, exactly 3.7 seconds because Flash had timed it—Komand'r's soldiers were zip-tied with plastic restraints that looked flimsy but were rated for metahuman containment and had probably cost more than a luxury car. They were being efficiently herded toward the transport ship like the world's most dangerous cattle drive.
Komand'r herself was being escorted with considerably more ceremony and considerably more restraint devices that glowed with energy dampening fields, anti-flight measures, and probably a GPS tracker because Batman was thorough like that.
As she passed Koriand'r, she paused.
The battlefield went quiet—that particular kind of quiet where everyone stops pretending they're not eavesdropping and just openly stares because this is clearly about to be dramatic.
"This isn't over, sister," Komand'r said quietly, her voice carrying notes of threat mixed with something that might have been regret if you squinted and tilted your head and had a very generous interpretation of sibling dynamics.
"You're right," Kori replied, her voice steady despite the exhaustion evident in her posture and the fact that she was barely standing. "It's not over. Because next time you come for me—and we both know there will be a next time because you're pathologically incapable of letting things go—I'll have a family. A real one. Not the kind that destroys planets for political advancement, but the kind that actually gives a shit whether I live or die. And they fight back. Really, really effectively, as you may have noticed."
She gestured at the battlefield—at the defeated forces, at the destroyed ships, at the six teenagers in legendary armor who were trying to look heroic and mostly succeeding despite being visibly exhausted and probably running on adrenaline and poor decision-making.
Komand'r's expression flickered—something that might have been pain or regret or just acknowledgment that her sister had gotten significantly better at the whole "found family" thing than she had.
"We'll see," she said, because apparently even in defeat she couldn't resist getting the last word.
Then she was gone, marched onto the Javelin by heroes who'd dealt with too many would-be conquerors to be impressed by royal posturing or vague threats about future revenge.
"That was dramatic," Flash observed as the Javelin's ramp closed. "Do all alien royal families do that? The whole 'ominous final words' thing? Because it seems like a lot of effort for what's essentially just saying 'I'll be back' with more syllables."
"It's traditional," Wonder Woman said. "Villains like their traditions."
"Fair enough."
—
With the immediate threat of orbital bombardment removed and the alien invasion successfully defeated through a combination of teenage determination, borrowed magical weapons, and what could generously be described as "fuck around and find out" as a military strategy, the battlefield reorganized itself into something resembling controlled chaos.
Young Justice was doing damage control with the kind of practiced efficiency that came from way too much experience with this exact scenario.
Kid Flash was vibrating around at speeds that would make physicists cry and possibly violate the Geneva Convention, collecting debris and evidence before civilian authorities could arrive and ask awkward questions like "why are there alien bodies" and "what's that glowing crater" and "is that a tree that wasn't there this morning."
Robin was hacking into every camera system within a five-mile radius with the kind of casual cyber-crime that would make the NSA weep, making sure the footage was appropriately edited, mysteriously corrupted, or replaced with very convincing shots of weather balloons and swamp gas.
"Nobody's going to believe the swamp gas thing," Artemis said as she helped collect scattered alien weapons.
"They never do," Robin agreed cheerfully, "but it gives them plausible deniability, which is what really matters. People don't want to know the truth. They want an excuse not to panic."
"That's dark."
"That's reality. Also Batman taught me that, so take it up with him."
Superboy was helping move wrecked ships to a secure location with the kind of controlled aggression that suggested he was still running on adrenaline and would crash hard later, possibly through a wall, hopefully not a load-bearing one.
"You good?" Aqualad asked, because someone had to be the responsible one and apparently that was his job forever now.
"Fine," Superboy grunted, lifting a ship that probably weighed several tons. "Just... processing."
"Processing that we just fought an alien invasion?"
"Processing that we fought an alien invasion with a bunch of teenagers who learned their powers *today*," Superboy corrected. "And won. Which means either we're really good at this or the aliens were really bad at invading."
"Little of column A, little of column B," Aqualad said diplomatically.
And in the midst of all this organized disaster management, Superman and Scarlett turned their attention to their children with the kind of focused parental concern that transcended species, cultural boundaries, and the general chaos of an alien invasion aftermath.
Hadrian, Neville, and Roslyn stood in a loose group, their costumes torn and dirty, exhaustion written across their faces but still standing tall because Kent children were raised not to show weakness even when they desperately wanted to collapse and sleep for approximately three days straight, possibly four if you included recovery naps.
Nearby, Zatanna was trying very hard to look like she hadn't just participated in unauthorized magical warfare using artifacts from a probably-illegal private collection that definitely wasn't properly insured for "teenage superhero borrowing."
It wasn't working.
Her hair was a mess, her fishnet stockings had holes, and she had that particular expression of someone who'd just realized they were about to get a very thorough talking-to about appropriate artifact usage and probably a lecture about proper magical protocols.
Superman landed beside them with his trademark gentle touchdown that somehow made flying look as casual as walking down stairs. His expression was cycling through relief, pride, concern, and the beginnings of a lecture about proper communication protocols during cosmic-level crises.
"Everyone okay?" he asked, and his voice was pure Clark Kent—warm, concerned, the Kansas farmboy who'd somehow ended up as Earth's greatest hero but had never forgotten how to be a dad first and a symbol of hope second.
"Define okay," Neville muttered, though he was smiling slightly despite looking like he'd been hit by a truck. Several trucks. Possibly an entire convoy. "I think I pulled something throwing that ship, my definition of 'normal force application' is going to be permanently skewed, and I'm pretty sure I violated at least three laws of physics."
"Only three?" Superman said with a slight smile. "I'm impressed. Your cousin usually manages at least five."
"I heard that," Kara called from across the battlefield.
"You were meant to," Superman called back.
"I'm fine," Roslyn said quickly, in the tone of someone who was absolutely not fine but didn't want to admit it because admitting it meant acknowledging how terrifying the last hour had been and how close they'd come to dying horribly. "Totally fine. Super fine. Fine-adjacent at minimum."
"That's three different levels of fine," Scarlett observed. "Which means you're not fine."
"I'm fine ENOUGH," Roslyn amended. "Which is the best anyone can reasonably expect after fighting an alien invasion before finishing high school."
"Fair point," Scarlett conceded.
"Hadrian?" she continued, and her voice carried that particular maternal quality that suggested she already knew exactly how not-fine her son was and was giving him one chance to be honest before she started using her magic to do medical scans whether he wanted them or not.
Hadrian—*Solaris*—managed a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring but came out more exhausted than confident, like someone had taken his usual smooth charm and run it through a wood chipper.
"I'm okay, Mom. Really. Just..." he paused, running a hand through his dark hair in a gesture so similar to his father that Superman had to hide a smile, "tired. Really tired. Exhausted, actually. Like, 'could sleep for a week' tired. And maybe slightly traumatized by the whole 'fighting a genocidal alien governor who destroyed an entire planet' thing. But mostly okay. Okay-ish. In the general okay neighborhood."
"That's a lot of qualifiers," Scarlett observed.
"I contain multitudes," Hadrian said. "Also I just fought an alien invasion, I'm allowed to be imprecise about my emotional state."
"Fair enough."
There was a moment of silence—the kind of silence where everyone was clearly thinking something but nobody wanted to say it first.
Superman looked at Scarlett.
Scarlett looked at Superman.
They engaged in what appeared to be an entire nonverbal conversation that involved eyebrow movements, slight head tilts, and the kind of marital telepathy that came from years of partnership and raising superpowered children.
Finally, Superman's lips twitched into a smile that suggested he'd won whatever argument they'd just had.
"We heard that you're dating two girls," he added with absolutely perfect deadpan delivery and just the faintest hint of a smirk that suggested he'd been waiting to deploy that particular observation since the moment he'd landed.
The effect was immediate and spectacular.
Hadrian's face went approximately the same shade as his cape—deep, brilliant crimson that suggested all the blood in his body had simultaneously decided his cheeks were the place to be and had relocated there with extreme prejudice.
Neville choked on air, his pale green eyes widening with the kind of unholy glee that only siblings could achieve when witnessing maximum embarrassment. "Oh my GOD," he wheezed, doubled over with laughter. "Oh my god, Dad, you can't just—you can't just DROP that like it's—oh my god."
Roslyn actually *squeaked*—a sound she would later deny making but which approximately seventeen people heard and would absolutely use as blackmail material—her hands flying to her mouth in a gesture that was equal parts shock and barely suppressed laughter.
Zatanna made a sound somewhere between a snort and a cough, trying desperately to maintain her composure and failing spectacularly as she dissolved into giggles that were probably inappropriate given the serious post-battle atmosphere but were absolutely justified given the circumstances.
"I—that's—it's COMPLICATED!" Hadrian sputtered, his usual smooth confidence completely deserting him in favor of teenage awkwardness amplified by Kryptonian lung capacity, which meant his embarrassed stammering was both louder and more obvious than a normal human's would be.
"Oh, I'm SURE it is," Scarlett said, and her eyes were sparkling with that particular brand of maternal amusement that suggested she found this entire situation delightful and was absolutely going to tease him about it for the foreseeable future and possibly bring it up at his wedding. "Red Tornado mentioned something about... what was it?"
She paused, clearly enjoying this.
"Oh yes. 'Relationship negotiations that were interrupted by alien invasion.' That was the exact phrasing. He was very specific about it. Almost like he was filing a report."
"Red Tornado has no sense of discretion," Hadrian muttered, looking like he wanted to phase through the ground and possibly relocate to another dimension where his parents didn't know about his love life. "Also he's an android, he's not supposed to CARE about relationship drama."
"Red Tornado reports everything that happens on the base," Superman said reasonably, though his lips were definitely twitching with suppressed laughter. "It's his programming. Can't fault the guy for being thorough. And apparently 'relationship negotiations involving polyamorous arrangements' falls under 'significant interpersonal developments requiring parental notification' in his threat assessment matrix."
"I want to die," Hadrian announced to the universe. "Right now. Immediately. Just let me die."
"You're invulnerable," Neville pointed out helpfully, still wheezing with laughter. "You can't die. You have to live with this forever. This is your life now. This is what you get for being smooth."
"I hate you so much right now."
"Love you too, brother," Neville replied cheerfully. "This is the best day. This is definitely making up for almost getting orbital bombed. Worth it. Totally worth it."
"I'm disowning you," Hadrian informed him.
"Can't disown me, we're twins," Neville shot back. "We share a genetic connection and childhood trauma. You're stuck with me."
"Boys," Superman said with the long-suffering tone of someone who'd been through this exact argument approximately eight thousand times, "maybe save the sibling bickering for after we've processed the alien invasion?"
"Right, sorry, processing alien invasion," Neville said, not sounding sorry at all. "But also, SERIOUSLY, Hadrian? Two girlfriends? And one's an AMAZON PRINCESS? How did you—how does that even—"
"It's COMPLICATED," Hadrian repeated, his voice climbing toward that register where embarrassment met desperation. "And new. Very new. Like, 'established an hour before alien invasion' new. We're still figuring it out. There are logistics. And communication requirements. And—"
He gestured helplessly, his cape fluttering in a way that might have looked dramatic if he wasn't actively dying of embarrassment.
"And you're not helping."
"Oh, I'm absolutely helping," Neville corrected. "I'm helping you build character through public humiliation. It's a time-honored sibling tradition."
"I'm going to throw you into orbit."
"You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would."
"Boys," Scarlett said with that particular parental firmness that meant 'I am giving you exactly three seconds to stop before I separate you like toddlers.' "Hadrian, honey, we're not judging. We're just... surprised. And maybe a little impressed? Two princesses is objectively impressive from a pure logistics standpoint."
"Please stop talking," Hadrian begged.
"Can't stop, won't stop," Scarlett replied cheerfully. "This is payback for every time you and your brother snuck out for 'training' and came back at 3 AM smelling like Bat-Burger."
"That was NEVILLE'S idea!"
"Was not!"
"Was too!"
"BOYS."
They fell silent, both looking sheepish in that way that confirmed it had absolutely been both their ideas and they'd coordinated the sneaking out like a military operation.
Superman was trying very hard not to laugh and mostly failing, his shoulders shaking slightly as he watched his sons argue with the kind of practiced ease that came from seventeen years of shared mischief.
"Okay," he said finally, his voice carrying that warmth that made him Superman and Clark Kent and Dad all at once. "Maybe we table the relationship discussion for later. When there aren't quite so many witnesses and your brother isn't about to pass out from laughter."
"Thank you," Hadrian said with feeling.
"But we ARE having that discussion," Scarlett added. "Because polyamory requires communication and consent and proper emotional processing, and we want to make sure you're approaching this healthily."
"Oh god, there's going to be a TALK," Hadrian realized with dawning horror.
"There's always a talk," Superman confirmed. "It's tradition. Also your mother insists."
"I do insist," Scarlett agreed. "But later. After you've slept and processed the trauma and possibly had a sandwich. You look like you need a sandwich."
"I could eat," Hadrian admitted.
"Everyone could eat," Neville said. "Fighting alien invasions works up an appetite. That's just science."
—
About twenty feet away, hidden behind the wreckage of a Tamaranean fighter craft that was definitely not structurally sound enough to provide cover but was serving that purpose anyway because nobody wanted to tell teenagers in magical armor where they couldn't stand, a conversation was occurring that would have very significant implications for at least one teenager's immediate emotional future.
Maya Sullivan—still in her nature goddess armor, her wooden mask pushed up to reveal her face, leaves in her hair that absolutely hadn't been there an hour ago and were possibly still growing—was staring at her best friend with the kind of expression usually reserved for discovering your entire understanding of reality was wrong and also your crush might be dating people but the specific people and number of people was still unclear and you had FEELINGS about it.
"Two girls," she repeated slowly, her voice carrying notes of disbelief mixed with something that might have been disappointment or possibly just shock or maybe all of the above because emotions were complicated. "Hadrian—*Solaris*—my lab partner who helps me with calculus and has never once mentioned being a SUPERHERO or having SUPERPOWERS or being SUPERMAN'S SON—is dating two girls. Two. Girls. Plural. As in more than one."
"Technically they just established the relationship parameters about an hour before the invasion," Zatanna clarified, which was not particularly helpful but was accurate and Zatanna prided herself on accuracy. "So it's very new. Very, very new. Like, 'probably still figuring out logistics' new. 'Haven't even had a proper date' new. 'Definitely haven't discussed long-term compatibility' new."
She pointed across the battlefield to where Donna Troy—*Troia*—was standing with Koriand'r, both of them looking exhausted but staying close to each other in a way that suggested they'd reached some kind of understanding that involved mutual protection and possibly shared romantic interests and definitely some complicated emotional processing.
"You know Donna Troy," Zatanna continued in the tone of someone delivering a briefing about complicated diplomatic situations while trying very hard not to make it sound like a briefing about complicated diplomatic situations. "Troia. Princess of Themyscira. Trained by Amazons since she was a kid. Fights Greek monsters for fun. Considers 'diplomacy' a full-contact sport that may involve swords."
"And looking like she could benchpress me," Maya observed faintly. "Multiple times. Without breaking a sweat. While reciting Homer."
"She absolutely could," Zatanna confirmed. "And would, if you gave her a reason. Amazons are very straightforward about physical demonstrations of superiority. It's cultural. Also she's really nice about it, which somehow makes it worse."
"And the other girl?" Maya asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew based on context clues and the way Hadrian had been fighting so protectively around her and the fact that she was literally an alien princess who'd just watched her homeworld get destroyed.
"Koriand'r. Princess of Tamaran. Alien refugee. Recently escaped from slavery, recently watched her sister destroy her entire world, recently decided Earth was worth protecting despite having literally no reason to trust anyone ever again after what she's been through."
Zatanna's voice softened slightly, her expression losing some of its manic energy and settling into something more genuine.
"She's been through hell, Maya. Like, capital-H Hell. The kind that would break most people. The kind that DOES break most people. But she's still kind, still hopeful, still believes people are fundamentally good despite having every reason not to. She's like... she's like if sunshine could fight. And also shoot laser beams. And fly."
"So she's beautiful, powerful, traumatized, fundamentally decent, and can shoot lasers from her hands," Maya summarized with the kind of flat delivery that suggested she was having a crisis. "Great. Perfect. Fantastic. That's exactly the kind of competition I wanted to be up against. Just what I needed today."
"It's not a competition," Zatanna said firmly, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder with enough force that Maya actually swayed slightly. "Or at least, it doesn't have to be. That's the POINT of polyamory. It's not about competing. It's about... addition. And communication. And everyone involved actually wanting to be there."
Maya turned to look at her, and her expression was complicated—hope and doubt and confusion all mixed together like someone had put her emotions in a blender and hit "frappe."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Zatanna said carefully, like she was explaining something very simple to someone very smart who was currently too emotionally compromised to process it, "that polyamory isn't about competition. It's not about being 'better' than someone else or 'winning' someone's affection. It's about... multiple people caring about each other. All of them. Together. At the same time. Without it being weird."
She paused.
"Okay, it's a LITTLE weird. Everything about superhero life is weird. But it's not BAD weird. It's just... different weird."
"You think I should... what? Ask if I can join their thing?" Maya's voice climbed toward incredulous territory, possibly approaching the stratosphere. "Just walk up to Hadrian and his two girlfriends—one of whom is an Amazon princess who could snap me like a twig and reads ancient Greek for fun, the other of whom is an alien warrior princess who shoots energy beams from her hands and has survived horrors I can't even imagine—and be like 'hey, room for one more? I can control plants now, is that helpful?'"
"Well," Zatanna said reasonably, "when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous."
"BECAUSE IT IS RIDICULOUS!"
"But," Zatanna continued over her friend's outburst with the patience of someone who'd been through this exact conversation in her head approximately forty times and had prepared responses, "it's also not impossible. If you actually talk to them. Like adults. Or at least like mature teenagers who can use their words instead of suffering in silence while writing increasingly elaborate fanfiction about situations that could theoretically become real if you just had the courage to have an awkward conversation."
Maya stared at her.
Zatanna stared back.
The staring continued for approximately seven seconds.
"You know about the fanfiction," Maya said finally, her voice very small.
"Maya, *everyone* knows about the fanfiction. You're not subtle. You have seventeen different tabs open on your laptop right now, and at least three of them are AO3. I can see your screen from across the room. You have a tag system. A TAG SYSTEM. For fanfiction. About real people. That you know."
"That's—those are for research!"
"Research into what, exactly? How to write increasingly detailed descriptions of Kryptonian muscle definition?" Zatanna's eyebrow rose to physically improbable heights. "Because I've READ your research, Maya. Chapter seventeen was very thorough. VERY thorough. Suspiciously thorough for someone who claims to just be 'studying human anatomy.'"
"THAT WAS ONE TIME AND IT WAS VERY RELEVANT TO THE PLOT!"
"The plot of your story or the plot of your life?" Zatanna asked with devastating accuracy.
"I hate you."
"You love me. Also I'm right and you know it."
Their argument was interrupted by movement—specifically, by Ethan and Raj approaching with the kind of swagger that came from having survived impossible odds and now feeling qualified to give romantic advice despite having approximately zero successful relationships between them and a combined dating history that could generously be described as "tragic."
Ethan had pushed his leonine helmet back, revealing his grinning face, his golden armor catching the moonlight in a way that made him look like the world's most attractive sports mascot or possibly a very enthusiastic furry.
"Did I just hear correctly," he said with barely contained glee and the kind of volume that suggested he either didn't care about or hadn't noticed the fact that they were supposed to be having a private conversation, "that our boy Hadrian—*Solaris*—the guy who gets nervous asking for extra ketchup at restaurants and color-codes his class notes—managed to negotiate a polyamorous relationship with two *princesses*?"
"Amazon and alien, respectively," Raj added, his own armor gleaming as he gestured enthusiastically enough to accidentally shoot a small light arrow into the ground. "Oops. Sorry. Still getting used to the cosmic weapon thing. But seriously, that's like winning the lottery twice while being struck by lightning in a good way. How does someone who brings color-coded notes to study group and alphabetizes his bookshelf pull that off?"
"He's Superman's son," Zatanna pointed out. "That probably helps. Also he's attractive, kind, smart, and genuinely cares about people. Which, you know, traditionally works."
"Still," Ethan said admiringly, settling down next to Maya with the kind of casual invasion of personal space that came from years of friendship, "major respect. I can barely keep one girl interested long enough to get through a movie without her checking her phone, and he's coordinating schedules with *royalty*. ALIEN royalty. That's like advanced difficulty."
"Please stop talking," Maya muttered, putting her face in her hands in a gesture of despair that was only slightly undermined by the fact that she was wearing magical armor that made her look like an earth goddess.
"Oh, we're absolutely not stopping," Raj said, settling down on her other side and bracketing her with well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful friends. "Because here's the thing, Maya—you've been crushing on Hadrian since literally the day you met him. We all know it. Everyone knows it. The entire school knows it. Possibly his parents know it at this point. He probably knows it, or would if he wasn't completely oblivious to anything that's not physics or superhero work or apparently romantic negotiations with multiple people."
"Your point?" Maya said defensively, her voice muffled by her palms.
"My point," Raj continued with the dramatic flair of someone who'd spent too much time reading mythology and not enough time developing actual relationship experience but was going to give advice anyway, "is that you have three options. One: suffer in silence, write increasingly elaborate fanfiction, and pine from a distance like a tragic Victorian heroine but with WiFi and better hygiene."
"Two," Ethan picked up smoothly, like they'd rehearsed this, which they probably had, "forget about him entirely, move on, date someone else, and spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if' while watching your best friend be in a relationship with three people who all seem pretty happy about it and occasionally save the world together."
"Or three," Zatanna finished, her voice carrying that particular blend of best-friend support and gentle pushing that had gotten Maya through multiple life crises, including that time she'd accidentally killed all the plants in the biology lab and had to explain to Mr. Henderson why his prize orchids were compost, "you put on your big girl pants, have an adult conversation, and see if there's room for one more person in their thing. Worst case scenario, they say no and you at least have closure. Best case scenario..."
"Best case scenario I end up dating Superman's son and possibly two princesses," Maya finished faintly, finally looking up from her hands with an expression that suggested her brain was buffering. "That's the best case. The thing my brain has decided is a theoretically achievable goal. Me. Dating royalty. Multiple royalty. While also being a teenager with plant powers who literally just learned about all of this TODAY."
"I mean," Raj said reasonably, gesturing at her armor with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested the adrenaline still hadn't worn off, "you're literally wearing legendary armor powered by the essence of Earth itself and you just strangled alien warships with weaponized botany. If that doesn't qualify you for dating above your perceived station, I genuinely don't know what does. You're officially in the 'can date royalty' tier now. That's just facts."
"He's got a point," Ethan agreed, nodding sagely like he hadn't just made up that tier system approximately three seconds ago. "You just helped save the world. That's got to be worth at least one awkward conversation about feelings. It's in the superhero handbook. Page... uh... seventeen? Feels like a page seventeen thing."
"There's no handbook," Maya said.
"There should be," Ethan replied. "I'm writing one. Chapter one: if you help save the world, you're allowed to shoot your shot with whoever you want. Chapter two: plants are officially weapons now, deal with it."
"That's a terrible handbook."
"It's a PRACTICAL handbook," Ethan corrected. "There's a difference."
Maya buried her face in her hands again, leaves from her armor drifting down around her like the universe's most passive-aggressive confetti. Some of them were still growing. That probably wasn't normal.
"I hate all of you," she muttered into her palms, though her voice carried notes of affection that undermined the statement completely.
"You love us," Zatanna corrected gently, putting an arm around her shoulders. "And you love him. So maybe—and I'm just suggesting this as your best friend who wants you to be happy—maybe consider actually doing something about that instead of just writing 50,000-word alternate universe stories where you conveniently meet under different circumstances that don't require you to actually be brave."
"Those stories are very good," Maya muttered defensively.
"I know, I've read them," Zatanna said with absolutely no shame. "You sent me the link, remember? The one where you're a botanical researcher and he's an investigative reporter and you meet during an environmental crisis and there's pining and dramatic rescues?"
"That one was based on a very plausible scenario!"
"Maya, in that story he was secretly Superman. The ENTIRE plot was based on him being secretly Superman. Which, in actual reality, he's not—he's Superman's *son*, which is different, and also you already know that, so your AU is actually slightly less accurate than reality." Zatanna paused. "Which is saying something, considering reality currently involves alien invasions and magical armor."
"The important thing," Raj interjected with the kind of wisdom that came from having recently discovered he could shoot arrows made of pure light and deciding that made him qualified to give life advice, "is that reality is currently offering you an option that your fanfiction never considered. Multiple people in one relationship. All the communication and feelings, but distributed across more people so no one person has to carry all the emotional labor. It's like... relationship load-balancing."
There was a pause.
"Did you just compare polyamory to computer networking?" Ethan asked.
"I contain multitudes," Raj replied with dignity. "Also I've been binge-watching a lot of Steven Universe and it has given me many thoughts about relationship configurations and communication strategies and whether aliens would be into humans."
"The answer is apparently yes," Ethan said, gesturing at Koriand'r. "Aliens are definitely into humans. Or at least into Kryptonians. Which are technically aliens too, so maybe it's aliens being into other aliens? Is that xenophilia or just regular attraction? I don't know the terminology."
"You're overthinking it," Zatanna said.
"I'm NOT overthinking it, I'm trying to understand the taxonomy of interspecies relationships!"
"Please stop," Maya begged.
"Can't stop, won't stop, this is too interesting," Ethan replied cheerfully. "But seriously, Maya—" his voice softened slightly, losing some of its manic energy, "—you've got a shot here. A real one. You're not just some random person anymore. You're a superhero. You're wearing legendary armor. You just helped save the world. That puts you in the same category as them, you know? You're not punching above your weight class anymore."
"I was never punching above my weight class," Maya said, but her voice was uncertain.
"You absolutely were," Raj said bluntly. "Before today, you were 'normal girl with crush on secretly-superpowered boy.' That's textbook punching above your weight class. But now? Now you're 'superhero girl with crush on superhero boy.' That's the same weight class. Same league. Literally the same League, actually, if the Justice League decides to adopt us, which they probably will because we're apparently good at this."
"We fought ONE alien invasion," Maya protested.
"And won!" Raj said. "That's a perfect track record! 100% success rate! That's better than some actual League members!"
"I'm pretty sure the League has a 100% success rate too," Zatanna pointed out.
"Not the point," Raj said. "The point is Maya has established herself as someone who can handle cosmic-level threats, which means she's qualified to date people who regularly handle cosmic-level threats. It's just logic."
"That's not how relationships work," Maya said.
"Isn't it though?" Ethan asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, the main thing keeping you from talking to Hadrian was always the feeling that you weren't... enough. That you were too normal, too boring, too ordinary for someone who turned out to be Superman's secret son."
He gestured at her armor, at the leaves in her hair, at the very obvious evidence that she'd just participated in stopping an alien invasion.
"You're not too ordinary anymore, Maya. You're officially extraordinary. So maybe it's time to stop thinking of yourself as the sidekick in someone else's story and start thinking of yourself as a co-protagonist in a shared narrative."
There was a moment of silence while everyone processed that surprisingly insightful statement.
"Dude," Raj said finally, "that was actually really good."
"I know, right?" Ethan grinned. "I've been saving that one."
"You planned that speech?"
"I've had it ready for like three months. Just waiting for the right moment. Figured 'after alien invasion' was appropriately dramatic."
"You're ridiculous," Maya said, but she was smiling now, her hands finally falling away from her face. She glanced across the battlefield to where Hadrian was still talking to his parents, his cape torn and dirty but still somehow managing to look heroic in that effortless way that suggested he'd been raised by Superman and had absorbed heroism through osmosis.
His expression was cycling through embarrassment and exhaustion and something soft when he looked at Donna and Koriand'r—something that made Maya's heart do complicated things that were probably not medically advisable.
Donna was laughing at something Kori had said, her hand reaching out to steady the Tamaranean princess when she swayed with exhaustion. There was an ease between them, a connection that had clearly formed through shared combat and mutual understanding.
And somehow, looking at them, Maya didn't feel the crushing weight of competition she'd expected.
She felt... possibility.
---
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