Bart knew that he should remember the rules and behave. He knew that he should keep himself clear of trouble and keep Juno company when he wasn’t out playing the part of the good little hero. He had been decent this far, had kept himself mostly in line, and that was saying something, really it was. Oh yes, he knew that he should have kept his negative yearnings under wraps, so that he could make Clark and Oliver and the other adults who only wanted him to be safe, happy and content, relaxed when thinking about him. None of them liked having to worry about where he was or what he was doing, if he was in trouble or hurt or unconscious at some villain’s feet.
He had one of those wild, untamable spirits that caring people like Clark Kent wanted to settle and keep out of harm’s flexing claws. Bart could understand why they’d want to reprimand him and why they’d want to try to get him onto the right path. They were only trying to help him. They were only trying to look out for the kid who was still young and hungry for adventures that liked to get teenagers like him into the kind of deep holes that could sometimes be hard to dig out of.
Before Clark had discovered him, Bart had been the street urchin who ran rampant while screwing people over and working under the crime magnets who reigned supreme in the slums. Since being taken in by Oliver, everybody who knew him could say that he was doing much better. He was behaving.
That itch for danger and mischief was throbbing now. It was an annoying sensation that he couldn’t ignore. He wanted to run around with kids his own age, wanted to fool around on the streets and walk the thin line that separated safety from danger. Being good could get boring. It got old fast.
“Here,” he called, stepping out from behind a palm tree just when she approached some guy who could have been a year or two older than him. Seeing that he was speaking to her, the other kid shrugged and walked in the direction of the door. And Bart walked in the direction of the girl who could only be Dominque.
He had the red backpack slung over his shoulder. It was his favorite possession and it had carried hundreds of stolen goods over the years. The yellow lightning bolt made it distinguishing. The lightning bolt was his. Andrew said he wore it on his costume as the Flash, but since Bart wasn’t about to drape himself in the spandex anytime soon, he kept the backpack and the symbol.
“I’ll warn you now. I’ve gotten myself into huge messes while playing around in the past. So, let’s hope it won’t bother you if something comes up.” It was a fair warning.