Chapter 9:Mark Regrets Everything

Mark shouldn't be upset over doing simple hero work. He liked saving people, he wanted to be the hero his father said he was. But some part of him was scared. Scared he'd fail and more people would die when he could've saved them but failed to do so. It was stupid. It's not like he believed his dad's words. So why was he so bent out of shape about tonight? Was something inside him… broken? He hated the idea of his dad ruining hero work for him, or perhaps Mark ruined it for himself.

Mark didn't sleep well that night, his head too full of mangled bodies and guilt. Sometimes, when he looked at someone, he swore he saw them covered in blood. Gored beyond belief and Mark was supposed to act like nothing was wrong. He knew his mind was playing tricks again, it wasn't real.

"Morning!" Dick chirped as he walked into his room. "Alfred made some pancakes, which are to die for. So I'd hurry on down if I were you," Mark stared at Dick. When he didn't respond for a second, his smile fell, "Is something wrong…?" Yes. Everything was wrong. Dick had a hole through him. His guts were splayed out and blood was dripping from his mouth, slowly seeping into the carpet below and coloring it a dark crimson. He felt sick looking at Dick, yet he couldn't look away.

"Mark?" He rubbed his eyes, looked back at Dick, and he was normal. No blood. No guts hanging out. No blood on the carpet either. Mark took a shuddering breath, he hadn't slept enough tonight. He was seeing things again.

"I'm fine," he muttered and slipped out of bed. He purged whatever sick images threatened to twist reality before him, it'd be fine once he woke up more.

"Ok… well, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," Dick was a good guy, he probably meant every word and Mark knew he'd listen with an open mind. Mark bit the inside of his cheek, the words threatened to spill out at the drop of a coin. To blurt every sick scene he saw, the betrayal he felt when his dad turned out to be in complete control of himself, and his own fractured being. It was all boiling within him.

Mark swallowed, "ok," was all he said, walking past Dick. He didn't want to dump that on Dick, he shouldn't have to comfort someone he barely knew. Not again. He didn't want to be a burden on the family, let alone worry them.

Mark knew he was making excuses at this point, he was just running from his problems. But it didn't matter. He'd go home soon and everything would be better, it had to be.

The day seemed to only get worse and Mark found the manor to be especially suffocating today. His body was itching to do anything other than sit around and be with his thoughts. He was tempted to jump out the nearest window and fly away, but his answer to getting outside came in the form of a little boy he met a few days ago.

Jon.

"Hey Mark!" The boy chirped, he blinked, not expecting to see Superboy inside the manor. Or at all. By his side was Damian, who was sending him a glare that could whither plants. Like he was bound to jump Jon at any moment. However, after helping defeat Gotham's villains, Mark noticed that Damian wasn't as… rude towards him. There was a small sliver of respect. A very, very, small amount. Enough for a few unsavory comments to go unsaid.

"You know him?" Damian said with narrowed eyes, as suspicious as ever. Instead of letting Mark answer, Jon beat him to the chase.

"Yeah. We met in Metropolis, he got a little lost so I helped him get back to Gotham," Jon answered.

Damian smirked, "Lost?" Mark saw the years of teasing in his future. He was already embarrassed enough about it, and Mark would appreciate Jon not telling the whole world.

"Shut up. I don't wanna hear it," Mark muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't have it in him today to deal with Damian and his sass. Mark didn't hate the kid, but he could be draining at times. Actually, this whole manor could feel that way. It certainly was today and Mark wasn't allowed outside unless someone else was accompanying him. Bruce was paranoid, to say the least. An idea slowly formed in his head, a way to get fresh air without having to endure Bruce's disappointment. He sighed, "Jon. Is the dinner offer still available?" He managed through his teeth, and Damian's brows rose.

Jon grinned, "of course. Damian, do you wanna come too?"

"Tt- I suppose. If only to keep the buffoon in check," Mark assumed Damian meant him. Which in all honesty, was fair. The last time he spoke with Superman it ended in disaster and far too much self-hate.

Jon cheered, slinging an arm around Damian's shoulder, who begrudgingly allowed it. "Awesome! This will be great," Mark somehow doubted it but smiled nonetheless.

This in turn was how Mark found himself in a car, with Alfred, Jon, and Damian. Jon insisted he and Mark could fly there, Damian in tow. As fun as that sounded –Mark entertained the thought of a grumpy Damian being held bridal style in Jon's arms– Alfred had refused. He instead wanted to drive them, claiming he had a few items to give Lois. Jon's mom, as Mark learned.

Once they arrived at the house, Jon hopped out of the car and bounded up the driveway with Alfred in tow. Mark moved to follow, only to have a strong grip latch onto his arm. He flinched, whipping his head around to face whoever grabbed him.

"Grayson," Damian hissed and he froze. There was a dangerous undertone to the boy's voice, enough for Mark's hair to rise. "If you so much as spout any hateful rhetoric towards Jon's family, I'll slit your throat. Understand?" Mark stared at him, he hadn't expected that. But looking at Damian's face told him he'd live up to that threat, no matter how much force it took. Mark wasn't easily intimidated, considering Damian would need more than just a knife to pierce his skin, but the kid was scary at times. He'd find a way to slit his throat.

"I understand completely, I… I actually wanted to apologize to Superman- I mean, Clark," he sent Damian a sheepish look, the boy's eyes narrowed and he let go. Mark was quick to tug his arm away.

"My statement still stands."

"And I still understand. You could've said that without the threat," Mark pointed out.

"It wouldn't have been as effective," Mark shrugged, he had a point there. Now Mark would be extra careful over what he said at dinner, Thanks Damian, he thought bitterly, stepping out of the car.

Mark didn't exactly spill the whole truth to Damian. He wasn't just here to apologize or get out of the manor. Although that was definitely a huge part of it. He was also here to see Jon's family and how his dad interacted with them. Maybe then he could truly see if Clark was… like his father. Despite his wanting to trust Clark, he still held doubt over his character. Mark hated himself for it, but a small part of his brain nagged to confirm, needed hard evidence to believe Superman was truly a good hero.

Why not kill two birds with one stone? He'd get some fresh air and see Jon's family. No problem.

Jon lived in a rural area called Smallville on a quaint farm. The house was sitting on an open field of grass, far different from the manor he'd been in for weeks. He thought Jon lived in Metropolis, but apparently not. Alfred knocked on the door, holding a tray with tinfoil on top. The smell of whatever was under there was delightful and made Mark's stomach grumble when they were in the car.

The door swung open, "Oh, Alfred! I see you didn't forget the casserole," a woman answered, who Mark assumed to be Lois. She was a beautiful woman, with short black hair and slightly tan skin.

"Of course not. I also brought the boys, they wished to spend dinner here- I hope you don't mind Master Mark being here as well," Alfred said, and Lois looked at him. He smiled and gave a small wave, her face was blank as she looked at him. Which brought doubt into his mind. Was this a bad idea? Should he have come here? Then she smiled at him, all bright and welcoming.

"That's fine, now come on in!" She moved out of the way and ruffled Jon's hair as he entered. Mark was the last one to shuffle in and the inside was about as simple as the outside. A typical house that a farm family would live in. It made Mark yearn to go back home and see his own house again. Maybe this was a bad idea. Was it too late to bail? He wondered, standing awkwardly off to the side.

"Hey Dad!" Jon called and there was Superman, setting plates on the table as Jon ran up to him. He leaned down and ruffled his hair. No wonder Jon's hair was so messy, his parents never stopped ruffling it.

"Hey there buddy, you had a good time at the manor? Bats didn't cause any trouble, did he?" The way he talked had all sorts of strange feelings whirling inside him, and all types of yearning. It reminded him of his dad, the way Clark talked to Jon, of course, that was when he was younger.

"No no, it was nice," Jon then turned to them. "I brought Damian- oh, and Mark!" Clark's smile faulted a little at the sight of him and his stomach churned. Yeah, this was a mistake. He itched to run out the door and fly away, never to come back. Anything to avoid that strange look Clark was giving him.

"You know him?" Clark inquired.

"Yeah. I guided him back to Gotham when he got lost-"

"You have got to stop telling people that," Mark muttered, allowing himself to smile, albeit strained. He looked into Clark's eyes, and his pinched expression softened a little.

"That's good," Mark sighed in relief. Ok, Clark didn't hate him enough to throw him out. He could stay for dinner, he could do this. It was either this or sitting in the manor… perhaps the manor would've been better. Being here wasn't helping him escape his troubles.

"Dinner's almost ready boys, go sit down," Lois said, patting Mark on the shoulder as she walked past. He tensed a little at the small motion, before forcing himself to relax. Everything's fine, he was in Clark's house, no bailing. Everyone sat down except Alfred, who followed Lois to the kitchen, intent on helping. Superman sat at the head of the table and Mark found himself just at the side of him. It felt awkward to intentionally sit at the other end, it would seem like Mark hated Clark or was avoiding him. He didn't want to stir more bad feelings between them. Damian and Jon were across from him and Damian shot him quite the glare. As if daring him to mess up.

No pressure.

The food began to be arranged on the table and Mark let Jon and Damian talk to Clark, while he attempted to appear invisible. Jon babbled about their latest adventure, which involved aliens and dimension travel. Not the weirdest thing he'd heard, but why were two children doing that? Mark didn't question it and Clark looked proud of Jon, if not worried.

"Don't tell your mother that, you'll give her a heart attack," he muttered.

"Don't tell me what?" Lois said, setting down the last bit of food and taking a seat next to him. He caught the two glancing at one another and instantly Mark felt bad, she probably wanted to sit next to Clark, not him. He moved to get up but she waved her hand. "You're fine Mark."

"But I took your seat?"

She chuckled, "Technically, Jon took my seat," she said and shot the boy a mock glare, Jon looked away.

"Damian sat here first," he mumbled under his breath before Lois continued.

"You're fine. Just sit and enjoy," Mark relaxed a little, Alfred taking the last seat at the other end of the table. It didn't feel fine. But Lois insisted, so… he glanced at Clark whose face was impassive, not showing any disdain or anger at him sitting here. He wasn't mad, it's fine.

Dinner was more pleasant than he expected, despite its rough start for him. It was full of mashed potatoes, roast beef, casserole, and vegetables, and Mark was enjoying it all. It was nice to eat out of the manor once in and while, he had been stuffed there for weeks after all. As great as Alfred's cooking was, it couldn't make up for the same scenery day end and day out. Throughout most of the dinner, Mark didn't say much unless he was prompted to, instead, he focused on eating his food and listening passively to the family. He watched Clark and Lois giving warm looks and smiles to Jon as if he were the world itself. Mark pushed down the ache that rose in his chest watching them.

Eventually, the conversation turned towards Jon and him being a superhero. For once, Mark asked a question.

"Did you train him?" He asked Clark, taking a bite of his potatoes. They were almost as good as his mom's.

"Oh trust me, Jon needed plenty of training. But not too much, I didn't want to interfere with his education," Clark said and Lois smirked.

"As if I would let him," the two chuckled. Mark was a little surprised and it must've shown because Lois was then asking him about his life back in his universe. Turning a curious eye towards the newcomer she's probably heard plenty about.

"So what's your world like? If that's not an insensitive question. I'm sure you miss it," that was an understatement.

Mark shrugged, "I do. I mean, my dad's a superhero," why the fuck did he bring up his dad? He mentally slapped himself. "He goes by Omni-man," he finished. He hoped it'd end there and Mark could move on, but there were always questions.

"Omni-man? Where'd that come from?" Clark asked. Mark sighed, that's an easy question.

"I don't know… It's a little more creative than Superman-" Mark clicked his mouth shut. He shouldn't have said that. What's wrong with him? Why can't he keep his trap shut? He tensed and spared Clark a glance. However, the man didn't get angry or tense, he instead let out a loud laugh.

"I'll admit, I wasn't thinking too hard about a superhero name," he said, eyes crinkling with amusement. Mark stared at him, the knot in his stomach loosening. He wasn't mad. No, he seemed quite happy to have Mark here. Warmth colored his features as he turned to Mark, not a hint of fury. "You became a hero, right? What's your name?"

He snapped out of his shock, "Invincible… I haven't been one too long, I didn't get my powers until six months ago. I was a late bloomer or something," Mark said and gave a small smile. He considered leaving it there, but once his mouth opened he found more words spilling out. Encouraged by Clark, who looked genuinely interested, Mark continued. "I'm new to the superhero stuff, my dad trains me all the time," Clark's eyes brightened at the comment and Jon leaned forward.

"You fight aliens?" Jon asked, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Mark smiled and relaxed in his chair, tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"Yeah, actually. I fought these one aliens, a bunch of green guys. But their dimension time was a lot faster than ours, so they got really old in the middle of fighting," Mark explained. "It was my first real fight as a superhero," he recalled. He left out the more gory details, how many people died, and that Mark had frozen up in fear.

"So you like the hero biz?" Clark said with a smirk on his face. He chuckled, looking away from the man.

Mark began to pick at his food, the tension rising in his shoulders once more. "I don't know. It's more difficult than I thought, I don't even know if I want to be a hero anymore."

Damian clicked his tongue, "You're pathetic-" only to be cut off by Jon's hand, who chuckled nervously.

"Ignore him- ew! Did you just lick my hand!" Damian smirked as Jon flinched away, the two starting to bicker a little. "You're gross!"

"You're facing the consequences of your actions. No one silences me," Mark's shoulders fell, it was rather pathetic, wasn't it? He thought to himself, head resting upon his hand. He moved his mashed potatoes around his plate, he was born with these powers, shouldn't he use them for good? To be a hero? Mark shouldn't hesitate on it. It's practically his destiny.

"Mark," Clark laid a hand on his shoulder and Mark hated how he flinched. Clark's hand pulled away and Mark opened his mouth to apologize. It wasn't his fault Mark was broken.

"Sorry-"

"Being a superhero is hard work," Clark continued anyway, brushing past his half-baked apology. "It's not an easy job. There are things we have to do, have to see, that require strength to overcome. There's been many times where I considered not being a hero too."

"You did?" Mark muttered.

"Of course! And it's fine if you believe you're not cut out for the hero business. It's not everyone's calling," Clark sighed, smiling softly at him. "But if you truly want to save people, truly want to help the world. Don't let your fears hold you back. It doesn't matter how little you do, or if you fail, all that matters is that you put your best foot forward and try. After all, it would be way worse if you didn't try at all," Mark stared at Clark, his throat closing up. Clark's words sunk into him, a whole different perspective on heroism. This whole time he thought he was the problem, that his being a hero was a catalyst to death and destruction. After all, if fighting the villain ended in destruction and death because of his ignorance, what was the point in calling himself a hero?

But, what if Mark wasn't there? He imagined the people on the train would be spared or the building would've stayed intact. Perhaps it would've, or maybe others would die instead. But… he had good intentions. Mark went in there to help, even if he failed, he did… try. If he gave up and stopped being a hero, then who would be there to save those who need him? To face a space threat no one else could handle? To stop a meteor?

No one. More people would die because Mark gave up. He sighed, other heroes could handle the typical hero work, but Mark would be there to handle whatever couldn't be stopped by the average hero. Yeah. He'd… do that. After all, Mark still wanted to help others, and he was scared to do so. But… perhaps he shouldn't let it hold him back.

He quickly glanced away from Clark and looked back at his food, hating how his eyes were watering, how much stupid shit he was close to blurting out. Thoughts whirling in his head at Clark's little inspirational speech.

How could he ever compare this man to his father?

Instead of everything he wanted to blurt out that would embarrass him to no end, he just said: "Thank you," meaning it with all his heart. He really needed to hear that. It made Mark want to adorn his suit again, it made him want to stop hiding.

Clark smiled, about to speak once more only to snap his head to the two boys. Who's shouting became apparent to his ears. "Damian, no swords at the dinner table. We talked about this," Mark looked up to see those two grabbing at each other. Damian was about to pull out a sword and Jon tugged at Damian's hair. Where… where the hell did Damian get a sword? Was he carrying one at all times?

"And no fighting, Master Damian," Alfred chided. The two quickly separated before bursting into laughter. Everyone chuckled and Mark smirked a little, discreetly wiping at his watery eyes.

He didn't want to ruin this by crying.

Before he knew it, dinner was over. Mark was helping clean up, feeling at least a little better than he did before. He and Clark were good, at least Mark thought they were. He still wanted to apologize and explain himself, Clark deserved an explanation for his behavior. But apparently, he didn't have to plan a way to pull Clark aside, because he did it for him.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" The man asked, Mark nodded. He excused himself and followed him outside, where the sun was beginning to set. They stood at the back porch of the house, Mark gazing upon the orange-tinted sky and long grass softly swaying in the wind. It was quiet, peaceful, and cool, the frogs just beginning to croak their songs. Mark would've appreciated the scenery more if his stomach wasn't tying itself into knots. He wanted to talk. Everyone knew that 'talking' could only mean heavy conversations. Did he do something wrong?

Clark sighed deeply, "OK, this is a personal question," instantly Mark was on guard. "But, is everything okay at home?" He asked, voice almost a whisper. Mark snapped his head to Clark, shocked that he would ask that. Did he seem abused? Ok, he did flinch when Clark touched him. But that didn't mean anything.

It's not like his mom or dad hits… him…

Oh.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, "Everything's fine. I mean, I'm not being abused. Sure my dad's a little rough during training, but I'm practically invincible so it's fine," he explained, hoping it'd be enough for Clark. Sure he flinched, but it was a recent thing from his tussle with dad. He wasn't abused day end and day out, or really hit too badly. It was just training. Training had to be rough. But his explanation wasn't enough.

"How rough?"

Mark's shoulders rose, "Does it matter? He's not hitting me-" images of his dad slamming a fist into his chest appeared in his head. Mark was wheezing on the ground, floundering over the first real hit Dad landed on him. The training only seemed to get rougher from there… Mark couldn't imagine Clark hitting Jon as his dad did with him. It would be unacceptable, invulnerable skin or not… would that apply to him as well? No. No, it didn't, right? He's different. Mark huffed, "Well, it's- he's not verbal-" shouting. Dad screamed into his face about how insignificant humans were, how he didn't care about his mom or anyone on Earth. That was new, that was recent, and his dad never yelled at him like that before. That didn't count, right?

"It's fine Clark. I'm not being abused," he finished. Some sick twisted part of him still cared for his dad, still loved him to this day. Despite all the horrible things he did, how badly Mark wanted to not love him anymore. Even now he defended his dad, denying all the terrible abuse he put Mark through. He knew he was grabbing at straws, the answer was staring him in the face. Clear as day, and yet he still closed his eyes and ignored it.

"Mark. It doesn't matter if it's training or not, hitting of any kind is abuse. It's not fine, it's not ok," Clark insisted, reaching towards him.

Mark quickly batted his hand away, what does he know? He doesn't know his family, his dad, what he went through. "My dad isn't perfect, I know he's a shitty person, I know-" he choked a little on his words, seeing his dad. Angry. Yelling. Bloodshot eyes bore into him, telling him every horrible thing he believed that shattered Mark from the outside in. The pain was still there, and it felt like Clark was digging into an infected wound. "I know. But you don't get it, you don't understand-"

"Then help me understand Mark. Help me understand why," Clark begged, he could see him resisting the urge to touch him. Hands curled back every time they made a move towards him. Clark took a deep breath, "I want to help you," Clark spoke, his eyes shining with kindness, his voice speaking nothing but sincerity. And… Why the hell did he want to do that? Mark all but crumbled under his words and shook his head, bowing it so Clark couldn't see his watery eyes. Help him? Was there any part of him that could be helped?

"I… I really enjoyed dinner. Thank you for letting me join," Mark said, the words like lead on his tongue. He wanted to be helped, to have someone save him, but Mark believed he was past being saved. Not worthy. He needed to get back home and be a hero again, save people, to make up for the many people he accidentally killed. He wasn't the one to be helped, he didn't deserve it.

"Mark…" Clark whispered. It wasn't an angry or hurt tone, just soft and open. He almost wanted to resent Clark for being so kind, then it would be easier to reject him. Mark sniffed, holding back every tear that threatened to fall. Why was he being so nice to him, to Mark of all people? The teen who was an ass to him when they first talked. The teen who had blood all over him. The teen who, even now, rejected his kindness after all he's done. "Is it OK if I hug you?" He asked, in that same tone that had his heart twisting. Mark clenched his fists, a hollow feeling yearning for warmth screamed at him. Clawing its way to the surface.

Mark, when every part of him wanted to run away and deny, nodded. Finding himself enveloped in strong, warm arms. Pressed against a chest that felt so familiar, reminded him of being young again. Of looking up to his father, a strong figure who would never waver or be hurt. Someone invincible. Everything Mark wanted to be.

If Clark found his shoulder a little wet, he didn't say anything. For that, Mark was ever grateful.