Title: You've Got to Change Your Evil Ways (Baby)
Author: Renaissance Makoto
Characters/Pairings: Clark, Bruce, Brucie, Batman, Apollo/Midnighter
Rating: G
Warning: Crack. Not beta-read and just plain crack.
Summary: Clark is visited by three ghosts. They've got a few things wrong.
Author's Note: Urk…? With apologies to Santana.

The first ghost was a young boy, pale and unsmiling. He had dark hair styled so perfectly it was as if it were scared to fall out of place and a suit too adult for his little body. He carried a bucket of popcorn. They were standing in an alley and the boy seemed to find his surroundings disturbing.

"Let's get out of here. I'll show you the wrongs of your past."

And Clark scratched at his head, then shrugged and followed the boy, holding his little hand when it was offered, butter coating both their fingers. Ever since Kon had stopped by to tell him he'd be visited by three ghosts, he'd been a little worried.

He was barefoot and his feet splash, splash, splashed in the puddles on the ground. His pajama bottoms got muddy.

Suddenly, a scene appeared before his eyes and he squinted against the bright light. It was the world Clark knew, only older, definitely a moment from the past.

"Look!" the boy said. "Your actions speak for themselves! What did they ever do to deserve your cruelty?"

Before them, someone who looked very much like Clark dropped a car onto a small gathering of orphans.

Clark studied the scene and then cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Um...that's not me."

The boy looked at Clark, then looked at the misty scene playing before their eyes. "It's not?"

"Nope. That's A version of me, but it's not me. That's Ultraman. Um...from Earth-3? Ring any bells?"

The boy frowned. He had sad blue eyes but he looked strangely sardonic when his mouth quirked up. "Hmm...okay then, my fault."

He waved grandly forward. "Then let us see more of your wrongful acts!"

Clark followed, but he was really beginning to have doubts about all of this.

In his little voice, the boy said, "See there! Your intentions were good, but your actions were reprehensible! Attempting to save the world by conquering it? Have you no shame?"

Clark pushed his glasses up his nose and kicked at the ground nervously. "Um...that's the Superman from Earth-9."

"Wha?"

"Earth-9. That's not me. Again."

"Oh," said the intense little boy. "Crap."

With a serious look on his face, he stomped off to one more scene, popcorn falling beside his shiny shoes. He pointed to a moment in time, just around the corner where Superman was happily accusing Lois Lane of murder. Clark looked befuddled.

"Ret-conned," he said at last, snapping his fingers.

"Ret-huh?" the boy said, eyes wide over his tub of popcorn.

"I'll tell you when you're older. For now, just know that none of this matters. It's like it never happened."

"Like a reset button?" asked the boy, visions of his Atari dancing in his head.

"Exactly like a reset button, only cheating. So, what's next?"

Then the boy's eyes widened. "Oops! Nothing's next! My time's up. But prepare to be visited by two more ghosts!"

The boy faded, adding his own echo of, "Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts!" which Clark thought was kind of lame.

"Riiiight," Clark said. He took off walking, thinking about his nice warm bed, and jumped back a foot when he almost ran into a dashing man with a martini in one hand and a Cuban cigar in the other.

"Claaark!" he cried enthusiastically and then smacked him on the back a few times.

"Ouch," he said, shaking his hand. "Man of Steel! I get it! Okay, I won't do that again. We must go on a journey! Here, grab on to my smoking jacket."

"No thanks."

"Okkkkkay! Then let us goooooooo!"

The world around them changed again in a psychedelic swirl of color and Clark was looking at a modern street in Metropolis.

"There!" the handsome, dark haired man with the martini said, taking a sip. "See how monstrous you are! Attacking blindly, stupidly!"

Clark sighed a heavy sigh. "Bizarro," he said, cringing as a wall went down. And then another. The building followed.

"Excuse me?"

"That's Bizarro! You don't really think that's me, do you? I mean...LOOK at him!"

The man looked. "Hmmm, maybe you have a point."

"No MAYBE about it. I mean...come on the 'S' is all wrong and those teeth are, well. Yikes." And Clark, well, he was thinking that this was the dumbest dream of his life. Even dumber than the one with the squid and the cupcake.

The man wiggled the cigar in his fingers; it was obviously just for the look for he made no move to light it or place it in his mouth. "Well then, I guess we'd better move on to your next ghastly and horrifying deed! Hic!"

The world shifted and suddenly Clark found himself floating in space in his pajamas with the man in the smoking jacket floating right alongside him, happy with an olive between his teeth.

"There!" he said, but it came out: "Thware!"

A Superman in black was punching wildly and the world around him was falling apart, crumbling infinitely into infinity in an infinitely crisis-filled way.

Clark cringed. "Don't make me say it," he groaned.

A drunken frown marred the man's features. "Hic! Not you? Well, despite the red eyes and the kill-crazy expression, he's a handsome devil. Sure it's not you?" the man asked, cringing right along with Clark as the guy just kept punching.

"Pretty sure. That's Superboy-Prime. He's a jerk."

The man scratched at his head. "This is a bit harder than I thought. Let's try this agaiiiiiin!"

The world shifted, a little sloppily and the man stumbled forward while Clark landed smoothly.

While they were protected, the world all around them was a fiery nuclear holocaust. Flames leapt, missiles tore through the air. At the center of the carnage was—

Clark slapped his forehead. "You're not serious, are you?"

The man squinted at him fuzzily. "What's the matter?"

"Frank Miller, okay? That's what's the matter."

The ghost smacked his lips together a few times. "So, you're saying this one doesn't count either?"

Clark gestured in frustration at the insanity around them. "Of COURSE it doesn't count! I'm telling you: Frank. Miller."

"Hmmm," said the ghost. "Point taken!"

The man took the final swig of his martini and just shrugged. "Well, this was a complete bloody waste of time. Hic! All the interesting bits are from someone else's life. What are you, a Boy Scout?"

"Uh," Clark said, helpfully.

"But that doesn't mean that your future is without concern! Prepare to face The Thing That All Men Fear! Hic! Hiccup!"

And with that, the man swirled away in a wildly tilted and uncoordinated way. Clark found himself falling, falling, falling.

He landed once again on the street in his city. He dusted off his sleeves and started walking, unconcerned with direction. He figured the next visitor would find him soon enough.

Sure enough, not a minute later, a dark figure in black loomed up in front of him, scattering gloom and, yes, well, misery. He had pointing ears like a devil and a long black, scalloped cape that dragged the ground. Fog seemed to follow him about.

"Let's get this over with," Clark said and trudged after the intimidating figure.

The world once again changed.

Clark closed his eyes and then carefully opened one. "Again: Not me. That's Antimatter Universe Ultraman," he said with a sigh. "Can we possibly skip this?"

The figure in black with the slit eyes shrugged menacingly as if to say, "Why not?"

Then he pointed into the distance where yet another man in another scene appeared. This one was blonde and dashing and...making out with a gruff, scary guy in black.

"Earth -50! Earth-50!" Clark blurted, covering his eyes hastily. "Not me!"

The ghost cocked his head to the side but made no move to look away.

Clark peeked through his fingers. "Geez, I didn't know it was possible to get your tongue that far down someone else's throat."

The ghost's silent, somber body language said, "Me either. Who knew?"

Finally and with great drama, he pointed with portent-of-doom-ness. The fog cleared and a final scene showed Lois Lane clutching a battered and beaten, very dead Superman. She was sobbing, mascara running down her cheeks. A red cape fluttered in the wind, tatters of its former glory.

Clark made a face. "Let me guess: This is my fate if I don't change my evil ways?"

The dark man nodded.

Clark laughed. "Hate to tell you, but that's the past. Uh...Doomsday? Did you get that memo? Big gray guy? Spikey?"

The man in the black cape seemed to throw up his gauntleted hands. "Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot?" he seemed to say. Then he reached up and pulled off his cowl.

It was the guy with the martini.

"Well, crap," he said. "This really was a complete waste of time. Haven't you ever done ANYTHING terrible on THIS Earth?"

"Uh, no. Not really. My Ma would never forgive me," Clark said and really meant it.

"Well dammit if I didn't just waste a trip. How many bloody Earths are there, anyway?"

"52. I think."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," said the ghost.

"Yeah," Clark agreed. "It's pretty lame."

"How do you keep them all straight?" the man asked, gesturing for Clark to follow.

Clark fell into step beside him. "Practice," he admitted. "And Wikipedia."

"Ahhhh!" the man in black said. "That's good. Well, since I don't have a single thing to show you to scare you down the straight and narrow—seeing as how you're already there and all—would you care for a drink? My butler makes a mean martini."

And together they walked off into a cliché sunset and lived happily ever after.

Unlike the Superman on Earth 27.

Who was an accountant.

And later, Clark would awake and decide, very firmly, not to tell Bruce about any of it.

The end