A/N: So I've adopted my old story (under my sarahofearth account)! Yay. I just missed writing these guys too much but didn't really feel like doing the Red Herring anymore. It was annoying to write Tess. Hope you guys like this version.

I've missed basically all this last and previous season. Without Bart or Lex, I just don't see the allure in the show anymore. But I don't want the CW to get rid of it. It's prolly one of their only good shows…

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"Bart, we gotta get going!" I yelled up the stairs. I lifted the cuff of my brown leather jacket to check my divers watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. This was how our mornings kept starting: Bart getting up at later and later hours and me being late for my board meetings.

I knew it wasn't his fault. The League had been tirelessly working to stop more of Lex's plans to rule the world, this time by utilizing the very superheroes he had been trying to destroy a few months prior. If he weren't my mortal enemy, I probably would've been getting business tips from

With tousled hair that made him look younger than his sixteen years, Bart ascended the stairs at an unusually slow pace, his backpack hung off his shoulder and his eyes blinked languidly. He was wearing his red hoodie underneath the Excelsior Prep uniform, for which I was grateful. Some days he would come down in sweatpants and a t-shirt, claiming he was ready for school. I think it was just to spite me but he'd swear he was too tired to tell the difference.

"C'mon, Bart, enough dawdling. We're already late." I said impatiently, taking his backpack from his shoulder as soon as he made it to the first floor landing of our superhero base/home. I slung it onto my own back, hoping it would lessen the tired boy's load and make him move a little faster. One would think that wouldn't be a problem for the fastest boy alive, but when he was tired like this (which was most mornings), his power didn't function that well.

Hence, why I had to be stuck herding his butt to school.

"I don't see why," Bart began as we made our way into the garage. I hurriedly selected a random set of keys off the wall and beeped the locks open belonging to one of my twenty sports cars. I cringed every time Bart started sentences off like that because it usually preceded some complaint or question or comment I was forced to answer in some patient tone of voice. "I don't see why AC and Vic can't just drive me to school… At least I wouldn't be read the riot act every time I took too long to tie my shoes."

I sighed, peeling out of the garage with such precision and control, Bart barely flinched. Then again, he was used to breakneck speeds so I didn't usually evoke any screams from him because of my driving. "You were asleep when we got back from the mission, but we agreed AC and Vic would get an earlier start and head back to Lex's hideaway."

"They took the jet?" Bart asked, searching for something in his red backpack with a lightning bolt stitched to the front.

"No, Vic just water skied on AC's back. Yes, they took the jet." I quipped impatiently, honking my horn at a driver that was already going at least ten miles over the speed limit. "God! Were these people born in the '20s? They're driving like grandmas!"

"Somebody didn't eat his wheaties this morning." Bart said in a condescending voice, finally finding the thing he was searching for with an audible, "Ah-ha!"

"Well, maybe if somebody would get up the first time when I tell them to…" I trailed off, glancing at Bart, who was in his own little world as he took a bite of the snickers bar he recovered from his backpack.

I stopped and pursed my lips. "Baart..."

He turned to me, snapping out of his sweet-filled reverie, his face slightly guilty at the sound of my tone. "Yeah?" he replied over the candy in his mouth.

"Where did you get that and why are you eating it for breakfast?" I enquired, pinning the candy bar with a critical stare. Bart hid it slightly from my view as if I would be less mad if I couldn't see it.

He swallowed the last bite and looked desperately like he wanted to take another. "C'mon, Ollie, just because you've been on this health binge doesn't mean I have to."

"It's not a health binge. And we're both doing it to get your calorie intake back to normal levels. You can't keep running on sugars and junk food all the time." I advised. "The nutritionist-"

"Here we go with the nutritionist again. You wouldn't be putting me through half this torture if she weren't insanely bonita." Bart said, pouting a little.

Ugh, why did he think everything I did was to make his life miserable? Is this what regular parents had to deal with? Because I swore I couldn't recall complaining half as much as Bart does. "Just bare with me, Bart. You need to follow this regiment to make sure your ability is in working order. Once you get a clean bill of health, I promise you can eat as many empty calories as you want."

With that, I plucked the candy bar out of his hand and put it in the side pocket of the car. Bart slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms and mumbling something about me being a "candy Nazi."

I sighed as we rolled to a stop in front of Excelsior Prep's lavish courtyard. I unlocked the door and Bart began gathering his stuff together. I impatiently tapped the steering wheel to a haphazard beat, willing the kid to go faster. While he was zipping up his backpack, his eyes caught something in his bag. He paused and I looked at him, incredulous he was actually stopping. "Oh..." He said regretfully.

"Oh?" I quirked an eyebrow. "Oh what? Bart, you need to get to class. What's wrong?"

He pulled out the peach-colored piece of paper and handed it to me with a sheepish grimace on his face. "I forgot about this..."

I took the paper from his hand, read it, and closed my eyes, letting my head fall against the steering wheel. "A parent-teacher conference?" I asked, glancing at the brown-haired teen from my position against the wheel, who in turn lifted his shoulders disarmingly. "Bart, this is set for tonight. Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"Well, my teacher gave it to me at the end of class and by then I was so focused on the mission that I hadn't even cared what the heck she was talking about because she blabbers on forever in history class so I kinda just forgot." He took a deep breath and looked at me anxiously. "I'm sorry."

Again, I let out a large exhale and unclicked the pen from my shirt pocket, scrawling my name across the bottom line which ensured I had gotten the memo. Yeah, gotten a little late, I wanted to add. Instead, I handed the paper back to Bart who mumbled a thank you and finished gathering his stuff. "I'll see you later."

Bart nodded with his head down, obviously disappointed in himself. I wanted to offer an encouraging word to my surrogate son, but I was still irritated about having to rearrange my schedule so my mouth remained shut.

Bart exited the car reluctantly, looking like he wanted to say something but unable to find the words, which was a surprise in itself. Taking one last glance at Bart's retreating form, I shifted the car into drive and made my way out of the gates at a definitely illegal speed.

I took the freeway on my way downtown to Queen Towers, spying the lofty skyscraper a ways off, peaking over the horizon. Thoughts reminiscent of times when I used to play in my father's office there, back when he was still running things, invaded my mind. Some days, I kind of missed the guy, but our relationship never held much meaning aside from the occasional small talk. Often times when I was younger, I got the itching feeling I was just another business investment that he had to nurture to take over his position in the future.

Well, I hope he could look down from heaven proudly because I went along perfectly with the "big plan." I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening as anger surged through my being, like it always did whenever I meditated too long on my darker past. I shook my head, forcing myself to stop grousing over spilt milk and tart focusing on my future.

Bart. He was my future now. Every day I got the opportunity to be the dad mine wasn't. To help Bart grow and show him the love his own parent's were never sure how to give. Bart was special, and sometimes taking care of special kids was difficult, as this morning illustrated. But I was willing to do the work to make him as happy as possible after the life he had to go through.

It got hard to show my love sometimes, especially to a sixteen year old as flighty and exuberant as Bart. He'd probably laugh his head off if he saw some of the stashed-away parenting books I'd been reading. What can I say? I'm a single 32-year old father now with a terrible perception of paternal upbringing. I need all the help I can get!

The 5 Love Languages for Teens was the title of the book that had likely helped me the most to understand the way Bart ticks. It offered insight on which love languages your child uses to express their love towards you and which languages they liked to receive most. I knew it sounded stupid and hokey, but it did help in a way. After a few days of observing, I discovered Bart liked to give words of affirmation (probably because he would never shut up in the first place) and spending quality time. In return though, he enjoyed receiving gifts (which worked out perfectly since that was one thing I could handle, though I had to remember not to spoil Bart rotten) and he liked touch.

I was actually surprised at first when I found out Bart liked touch, mainly because he put up this wall about himself that made him seem untouchable. Also, from the little he told me about his past, his home life with his parents had been less than savory when it came to "touching." But I could see it in his posture and expression every time we ended up lounging on the couch together, watching TV, and I wrapped my arm around his smaller form. Instinctively, he'd tense (a habit that I'd hope I could break sooner than later) but after a few minutes, he practically melt into me, his body greedy for the warmth.

A faint smile made its way to my face. I knew Bart thought it was embarrassing to wake up next to me but I loved every second of it. Yes, because for once, something made him speechless enough to make him timid, but also because it made us have a real connection. I could feel it and I knew Bart could too, despite his protests to the contrary.

"Let's watch Transformers next time, Ollie! I don't want to fall asleep during another boring film," I had nodded in reply, a smirk playing at my lips as I tried not to mention we were watching SAW, which wasn't exactly a movie most people fell asleep in.

I quickly swerved into the roundabout courtyard, passing over the executive parking structure and heading straight towards the glass-doored entrance. I wouldn't need to park since the meeting wasn't even taking place at Queen Towers. I was only here to do a pick up and I saw the American businessman in expensive suits and perfect hair already checking their watches impatiently, waiting for my arrival.

I tried not to grimace when I noticed the time. Thirty minutes late. Perfect. I braked right in front of them, rolling down my window to call the two men over.

"Gentlemen, I apologize for the hold up. Traffic was positively merciless."

They laughed at my slight quip, reassuring me it was fine although I knew I'd be burned for this later.

Nobody wasted the time of these men. Time was a precious commodity, a lesson that I was aware of at an early age. Being a CEO, leader of a small band of superheroes, and now a single father, there were literally not enough hours in the day.

The opened the doors and seated themselves in my car. Craig Keller, an older businessman probably in his mid-fifties with graying hair and a slight paunch, pulled out a piece of paper from underneath him and I hoped my face didn't redden at the sight of Bart's messy Calculus homework.

"Traffic held you up, you say?" Craig joked and David Lieberman, a younger technology CEO around my age with a winning smile and jet black hair, laughed along with the other man.

I took the stack from him with a smirk and stuffed it in the pocket where Bart's already melting candy bar was stashed. God, I was going to have to teach that kid how to clean up after himself. "Yeah, my kid Bart. His head's been in the clouds lately."

I started the engine and began driving toward our destination, a fancy patio eatery where the nicest brunch in Metropolis was served. An unusual silence filled the luxury car, but already I knew the cause of it was the mention of my surrogate son. Frankly, I was surprised I had even mentioned him. I never talked about him to anyone, not family, not colleagues and definitely not tabloids that were thankfully decreasing their interest about Bart and his recent adoption.

"How is young Bartholomew?" Craig asked, a hint of his British upbringing slipping in his pronunciation of Bart's full name.

"Pretty good. Though I think he'd be pretty irritated to know people were calling him by that name," I cajoled, earning another laugh from Lieberman in the backseat.

"I've got two boys myself, twins and they're four years old." the Brooklyn-Native David explained good-naturedly. "Kinda excited to see what it'll be like when they're old enough to be drinking and dating. Are you going through that with Bart now?"

Excited was the last word I would use to describe my anxiety towards Bart's potential party life. Memories of my crazy nights and painful mornings assaulted my mind. If I could have my way, Bart would never get a chance to experience drinking and going out until odd hours of the morning. But, it was hard to keep the fastest kid alive away from something for too long. With a shrug, I replied, "Thankfully, not at the moment and hopefully not for awhile."

"Right, I getcha," Lieberman said in his thick New York accent, pausing. "So how's it been working out with you twos since the adoption?"

I shifted a bit in my seat, taking a chance to clear my throat. I honestly didn't trust these men enough to divulge that tidbit of information. I knew they had better things to do with their time and money than to blab about my private life to the paparazzi, but there was still a risk fact involved. The Justice League, including Clark, Chloe, and Lois, continued to be the only people I sought out for parenting advice on Bart. They were my inner-circle and they had proved time and time again that they could be counted on.

Glancing at my rearview mirror to Lieberman, I offered him a commiserating grin and vague answer before quickly changing the subject to our business deal. By then we had already arrived at the restaurant, and after we were seated, the rest of the time was thankfully spent discussing nothing but business.

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A/N: So, yeah, that's basically the way I'm heading with this story. A lot of Ollie's POV although there'll be some chapters with Bart's. Hope to be done with this fic by summer's end. Hold me to it! Review. :P