AN: Hello. I've never really written anything like this before, so if there are any mistakes, errors and such, please feel free to tell me. I'm rather fond of writing AU, and this is one, taking place in a world that has outlawed vigilantes and meta-human abilities. Please read and review!

Edit 12/3/12: Changed the end a bit. Sorry about the fake out. Never start a plot when you don't know who the villain is yep.

Chapter 1: Where They Are Now.

It felt like forever since the golden age of superheroes; when the man of steel kept a watchful eye over Metropolis, and the dark knight hid in the shadows of Gotham, poised to punish the wicked. It had been such a brief period in time, but one that Richard Grayson tried to hold onto with grasping hands. He'd never forget the rush of running across the Gotham skyline alongside his mentor; the wind in his hair, his soul flying. After the death of his parents, the world had seemed so cold and bleak. His emotions had been in turmoil, his anger and hate festering like an open wound. If Bruce hadn't been there for him...

But the days of superheroes were gone.

Dick had gotten off lucky, being human. A slap on the wrist, and a tracking anklet to make sure he didn't take to the skies again. Robin's wings had been clipped, but it could have been much worse. He could have been like the rest of the team; alien, meta-human, burdened with terrible powers that made them a threat to society.

"Almost done with your homework, Dick?"

The teen turned to his mentor, offering a slight smile, closing the textbook he'd been reading.

"Almost, Bruce. You know Greek mythology isn't my thing. These stories are way too tedious."

Bruce Wayne chuckled, taking a few staggering steps forward, leaning heavily on a cane, his left leg immobile and stiff. Dick frowned as the man stopped mid-stride, obviously winded, his face drawn and in pain.

"You really should be saving your strength for tonight." Dick said. "You've got to give that speech–"

"I know." Bruce sighed, shaking his head. "I was just feeling restless. Nervous. It's been a while since I've appeared in public."

Dick got to his feet and took his mentor's arm, guiding him slowly from the room.

"Alfred and I will be there the entire time, okay?" He said.

Bruce merely shook his head again, eyes focussed on the oriental carpets.

When news got out that Bruce had agreed to give up his cowl peacefully, Dick had never imagined that the experience would turn him into the quiet, cowed man who now limped beside him. He had imagined Bruce consumed by the anger always simmering beneath the surface; trapped in the inferno rising from within. A bitter, heartless man, driven by the memories of his fallen comrades.

But no.

Whatever had happened in those three weeks after his disappearance had changed him into a quiet, broken soul.

After Bruce's injury made the stairs too difficult to manage, he had installed an antique glass elevator to help him get around the mansion. The two walked inside, and Dick pushed the button that would take them to the first floor. It was almost time for dinner, and Alfred would be steamed if they were late.

"Don't worry, Bruce." Dick said, allowing himself a slight smile. "If you get nervous, just imagine the whole room's in their underwear."

Bruce didn't laugh.

Wallace West had been born human, as average as any other boy or girl. He had possessed incredible intelligence, yes, and a gift for science that endeared him to his uncle, but other than that, he was normal.

Until that accident in the lab.

He could remember the pain, the feeling of chemicals burning his skin. And yet, he had emerged from the incident virtually unscathed. It had been a miracle...a blessing.

But that was then.

The inhibitor collar around his neck chaffed, it always did, a constant reminder of what he'd lost. With a sigh, the teen tried to pry his fingers beneath it, just enough to rub some cream on the reddened skin, but the ring of metal didn't have a lot of give. Just enough to allow him full movement, nothing more. It was humiliating–humbling the docs had said–to have to wear it day in and day out. A stigma. A brand. He wanted nothing more than to saw it off and run away again.

The former speedster scoffed. Because that had worked so well before.

"Master Wallace?" A voice called from the door. Wally turned, seeing the Wayne's ever-loyal butler Alfred Pennyworth standing there, tray of food in hand. The boy forced a smile, wincing slightly as he irritated the bruise dominating the right side of his face. He'd always bruised like a peach, but it hadn't really been an issue for someone with superfast healing.

"I assumed that you would not be joining us for dinner again tonight, so I took the liberty of bringing your meal to you." The butler said, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

"Thanks." Wally said.

Bruce, and Alfred, and Dick...they'd really been a godsend the past few days. After returning from the compound, his welcome at home had been anything but warm, his dad's anger taking a sudden turn for the worst. What was once occasional violence turned into an everyday event, and to make matters worse, Wally was now powerless...he couldn't run, couldn't heal like he used to. The marks of his father's rage were all over his body, shockingly visible against his pale skin.

He knew that he had to get away.

With both Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris missing, Wally had turned to his closest friend, Dick, and the rest was history.

"I'm not really hungry though."

He never was anymore.

"That's a shame." Alfred tutted, moving toward the door. "I slaved all day over a hot stove making that delectable slice of pie for you. Surely you have room for that."

"Maybe." Wally said, sitting on the edge of his bed, picking at the pie with a fork. Blueberries oozed out, staining the white china purple. It did look delicious, piping hot, covered in a thin glaze.

"Regardless, I do think you should join Master Dick tonight at the gala." Alfred continued. "He could use your support."

"Looking like this?" The boy asked, setting his fork down on the plate. He wasn't sure what he was talking about; his bruised face or the inhibitor collar around his neck.

"It's up to you, Master Wallace." The butler said. "I do advise you to eat though. Starving yourself will do you no good."

Only when Alfred was gone, his footsteps long faded down the hall, did Wally chance a bite of pie. He chewed and swallowed, the morsel falling into his stomach like a brick. He suddenly felt sick.

Rolling onto his side, the boy turned his back to the plate of food, staring blankly out of his bedroom window at the setting sun.

Smallville wasn't much of a town; just a tiny little pinprick on the map, but one that Clark Kent knew intimately as home. Despite how much time he'd spent in Metropolis, a big piece of his heart had always been trapped in the past, remembering the sleepy streets, the friendly townsfolk...

...walking with his father through the cornfields.

After the purge, Clark hadn't felt like going back to the city. It was part of a different chapter in his life, a chapter that had closed all too soon. No matter how he tried, he could never go back to what he'd had there; to the Daily Planet, to his closest friends, Jimmy...and Lois...

He couldn't go back, as much as his heart ached for his old life. Not with the collar around his neck standing out like a beacon.

So, he had gone home.

Ma Kent had welcomed him back with open arms, and a fresh-baked strawberry and rhubarb pie. He ate until he was full, until he was more than full, enjoying simply being back in the open air, free, with his mother, where he was safe.

"I was so worried when I heard what was happening on the news." Ma said, shaking her head. The two were sitting, side-by-side, resting upon a swinging chair on the front porch. The sun was setting slowly over the cornfields, bathing them in yellow and orange and pink. "The purge of all superheroes."

"Super villains as well, Ma." Clark corrected.

"Don't try and justify what they did." His mother continued, her voice growing cold. "During that whole time, I could only think 'what if Clark doesn't come home?' 'what if I never get to see him again?'"

"But, I'm here, Ma." The man replied, taking his mother's frail, wrinkled hand. "I made it out, I'm fine."

He could see that she was crying silently, tears tracking down her face.

This was his fault.

From the steps, Superboy...Connor, was listening silently, his hands fisting in the fabric of his jeans. The boy hadn't had anywhere else to go, no family to turn to. As strained as their relationship was, Clark couldn't let the boy stay at the compound. He wasn't a super villain, he was a boy. He deserved to be free.

"Ma, I'm not going to leave you again. I'm going to stay right here."

The man pulled her into an embrace, gently wiping away her tears. He hated it when she cried. If he had any say in it, she would never cry again.