Dio parked his Harley smoothly in the back lot of Cebrello's Auto Shop.
He hopped off and took a quick shower, washing away the dust and grime of the road.
As for Cebrello? The guy was already snoring loud enough to wake the dead. The guard dog barely lifted an eyelid, gave Dio a lazy glance, and went back to dozing. Clearly, the mutt was used to this late-night visitor.
After finishing his routine disguise, Dio grabbed his suitcase and a cake box, then set off down the quiet country road toward home.
Moonlight stretched his shadow long across the ground, the convenience store logo on the cake box standing out in the dark.
He'd made a special detour to the 24-hour store on his way back. Gotta keep up the "good son" act for Dad, after all.
The walk from town to home wasn't long—thirty minutes, tops.
But when he pushed open the front door, a strange gut feeling hit him like a punch.
It was too quiet.
The living room TV was off, no flicker of light, no hum of sound.
This wasn't the usual calm of a sleeping house. It was… empty. Hollow.
Normally, no matter how late, Dad would be waiting in the living room. But tonight…
"Dad?" Dio called out, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the silent room.
No answer.
Just the steady tick-tock of the old wall clock, regular enough to set his nerves on edge.
He hurried upstairs and gently pushed open his father's bedroom door.
The bed was pristine, untouched, not a wrinkle in sight. The air didn't even carry the faint scent of Dad's usual aftershave.
Frowning, Dio turned to his little brother's room. "Sarafiel?"
His voice rose slightly, edged with a urgency he hadn't noticed himself.
The kid's room was empty too. His dinosaur blanket was neatly folded, and a half-finished animal drawing sat on the desk, colored pencils scattered, caps off.
Dio's frown deepened.
This was way off.
Dad's rule was ironclad: no matter how big the emergency, he'd leave a note or shoot a text. Especially if he was taking Sarafiel with him.
Dio's grip tightened on the suitcase handle. The thirteen grand inside suddenly felt heavier.
Forcing himself to stay calm, he strode to the second-floor window, his sharp eyes scanning the dark expanse of the family farm.
Then he saw it—a single, stubborn light glowing in the distance, like a tiny lighthouse in the inky night.
"Might as well check it out," he muttered, grabbing his jacket and heading out.
Moments later, Dio stood on Jonathan's porch, hesitating with his hand raised to knock.
Finally, he rapped lightly on the wooden door.
"Come in," a voice called from inside, easing the tension in his nerves.
The moment he opened the door, warm light and the smell of food hit him. Sarafiel was at the dining table, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk, clutching a ketchup-smeared fry. Spotting Dio, the little traitor mumbled "Big brother!" through a mouthful of crumbs.
Dio shot Sarafiel a glare, but relief washed over him. He'd probably overreacted. Dad must've had something come up and left Sarafiel with Aunt Martha and Uncle Jonathan.
"Dio, you're back," Jonathan's voice came from the living room, but it carried an unusual weight, like he was holding something back.
Dio's heart, which had just settled, lurched again.
Jonathan was slouched in an armchair, clutching an empty coffee mug. Something was wrong.
"Where's Clark?" Jonathan asked, looking up, the lines around his eyes stark in the lamplight. "You two weren't together?"
"He's… he'll be here soon," Dio started to say.
"Dio!"
Right on cue, familiar footsteps approached, and Clark poked his head in, his sunny smile tinged with caution. "What're you doing here…?"
He's not gonna drag me down with him over tonight, is he? Clark thought, swallowing hard. He'd gone to Gotham alone precisely because he knew Dio didn't want Uncle Lock finding out. No way he's trying to take me down with him, right?
Clark tried to send Dio a pleading look, but the blonde just scoffed, ignoring him completely and plopping down on the sofa next to Jonathan.
"Huh?" Clark blinked, confused. He's not chewing me out?
Scratching the back of his head, Clark followed Dio inside but froze when he saw the scene in the living room.
His dad sat with his hands steepled under his chin, his face unusually grim. Mom was gently wiping Sarafiel's mouth, but her eyes looked red, like she'd been crying.
Everyone was here—except…
"Where's Uncle Lock?" Clark asked, sinking uneasily into the rocking chair.
"That's what I'm about to get to," Jonathan said heavily, taking a deep breath. His voice dropped low, almost ominous. "You two… don't freak out."
"!!!"
Both young men sat up straight, their faces turning serious, holding their breath.
Is the IRS finally coming for us?
"You…" Jonathan's gaze flicked between them, as if checking if they were ready. "You ever heard of time travelers?"
"…"
Dead silence.
The tension and worry on Dio and Clark's faces froze, then slowly melted into… utter speechlessness.
"?"
Jonathan's head practically sprouted a giant question mark, thrown off by their bizarrely calm reaction.
"We're talking time travelers! Your uncle got taken by a time traveler!" he blurted, trying to hammer home how wild this was.
"…"
Clark scratched the tip of his nose awkwardly. "This time traveler… did he have, like… a donut on his head?"
"And called you 'Grandpa,'" Dio added flatly, like he was stating the obvious.
Clunk!
Jonathan's coffee mug hit the carpet.
"Alright, enough," Martha cut in, stopping her husband's stunned outburst. "Stop trying to spook the boys, Jonathan. Looks like they've known for a while." She sighed, a hint of sadness in her voice. "Poor Jorno, so young…"
She turned to grab a tissue, her eyes glistening with emotion.
Clark jumped up to comfort her. "It's okay, Mom, don't be upset. What exactly happened?"
"Jorno… is he okay?" Clark asked.
"That kid's fine," Jonathan said, rubbing his temples as he sank back into his chair, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. "I can't believe you kids kept this from me."
"Martha and I were the last to know," he muttered, scratching his chin. "Fine, let's talk about Lock. Three hours ago…"
Bang!
The door suddenly flew open, cutting him off.
A tall man stepped into the living room, his face etched with exhaustion.
"Dad!"
"Dad!"
"Uncle?!"
"Lock?"
All five voices exclaimed at once.
"Somebody get me some pie," Lock said with a tired grin. "Just got back from crossing dimensions. We're starving."