Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Superman was the perfect hero. He was the strongest man alive and somehow also the most gentle. He was noble, restrained, and above all else, he was kind. Earth would always be safe under his watchful eye. As long as he stayed kind, at least. 

A room full of infants and a single kind man with a gun might technically be a very safe place for an infant to be. As long as you could trust the man to remain kind, even when the babies screamed and cried and constantly needed him. Even when they were sick on him. When they shit on him. Even when they were never grateful. So long as the kind man never changed, the infants would be perfectly safe.

It was Lex Luthor’s fear of Superman changing that led to Connor’s existence, and as the scientists stuffed Conner’s mind with the information his creator believed he needed, they made sure to present him with the image of an idyllic, picture-perfect Superman. They told Conner that he was a near perfect copy of the hero. They smiled and told him “We made you in his image.” It was an immutable truth of Conner’s existence that his purpose was to strive to match that image, to fill those shoes, so that he could be ready in the event that he was ever needed. In the event that the picture-perfect Superman ever fell from the standard that he’d set.

Now, after just under two years free of his cloning pod and out from under Lex’s thumb, Conner was no closer to achieving that ideal that he’d been at the start. He knew that the instructions Lex had filled his head with were wrong, but that didn’t get him very far in figuring out what was right. He tried his best to do the right thing whenever he went out as Superboy. To do what Superman would do. 

But no matter how hard Conner tried, he wasn’t right very often. Sometimes he wondered if that was thanks to Lex’s DNA—that pesky ten percent somehow condemning him to a life of never quite getting the whole helping people thing right. Mostly though, he was pretty sure his problems were uniquely him.

Conner was aware of his deficiencies. He was also aware of how dangerous it was for someone as powerful as him to have the deficiencies that he did. Recklessness, impulsivity, and stupidity paired with super strength could topple buildings. It could hurt people. It could get people killed. So Conner understood why Superman felt the need to use a firm hand with him. He really did. That didn’t make it any easier to watch the man interact with Jon, though. 

Conner hadn’t spent much time around Jon until somewhat recently. In the early days of his post-pod life, Superman had wanted even less to do with Conner than he did now, and he especially hadn’t wanted him around his human wife and his squishy, non-superpowered son. Conner hadn’t really wanted to be around them either, so it had worked out. 

He’d only seen Superman occasionally, usually when he’d come to Mount Justice to give Conner whatever well-deserved dressing down was due at the time. For the most part, that was how Conner preferred it. He appreciated the independence he had, even if the mountain base occasionally got so quiet and lonely that Conner was almost tempted to screw something up just so he’d have someone to talk to. The Young Justice team got together often enough that it never came to that, and all had been well—as long as he ignored his ever growing list of failures.

But the situation had changed about a year ago, after Jon’s powers started coming in. First had come super hearing, and since then so, so much more. As the kid’s abilities had grown, so had his desire to follow in his father’s footsteps, and with that desire came an increased curiosity about the heroes closer to his own age. More specifically, an increased curiosity about Young Justice. And even more specifically, an increased curiosity about the only other part kryptonian, part human person that existed: Conner. So Jon had started hanging around Mount Justice, and where Jon was, Superman was sure to follow. 

When Conner first heard about Jon’s abilities expressing themself and the subsequent struggles the kid had with control, he’d cringed with sympathy, remembering his own early days out of the lab. The world had been far too loud and bright as his senses intensified. His strength and speed had been difficult to navigate, and every broken cup or counter or doorknob was another mark against him. Another bit of proof that he couldn’t control himself. That he was dangerous. They were failures, and Superman didn’t take kindly to that kind of failure. Not when it could lead to death in the field. Not when it could lead to someone innocent getting hurt. No. It was unacceptable.

So Conner had felt nothing but pity for Jon when he’d started hearing stories trickle in through the gossip mill that was Tim. Conner’s first few months figuring out how to keep himself in hand had been nothing short of miserable, and Superman had hardly ever even been around to discipline him at the time. Jon lived with the man. Conner wasn’t sure he’d have been able to survive that level of constant scrutiny, and he’d hoped Jon would acclimate to his abilities faster than he had. It seemed likely that he would. He was Superman’s son, after all. Conner was just a defective clone, so of course Jon would do better than he ever could.. Even so, he’d still worried for the kid. At least, he had until the first time he saw the boy and his father together.

He’d met Jon before, briefly. Occasionally the Justice League would host cross generational events for heroes and their sidekicks, and the Young Justice crew always insisted on dragging Conner along, even though he didn’t have a mentor to pair up with like the rest of them did. He’d watched a young, still fragile and mostly human Jon running happy laps around his doting father. He’d smothered his confusing, ridiculous, greedy jealousy and avoided Superman’s eyes as he was introduced by Tim. He’d offered the boy a fist bump rather than a hand shake, holding the fist out stationary to let Jon knock his knuckles against it, not wanting to risk accidentally hurting him. Jon was bright, happy, a little shy, and overall everything Conner wasn’t. He’d probably hurt the kid’s feelings a little bit with how quickly he’d brushed him off, but he’d known better than to stay near Superman for longer than he had to.

After Jon’s powers came in, they had a more official meeting at Mount Justice. Conner had heard that his team was scheduled to train with some of the League associates who were apparently on their way to earning entry into Young Justice, and it had been obvious that Jon and Superman would both be there. Conner had been a little sick to his stomach at the idea of having to watch Jon, who was still so young and small looking, train and potentially fail in front of his father. He’d never seen Superman’s consequences dealt out to someone else before, and he didn’t want to. He knew it was necessary. He knew Superman was right and he was wrong. He just hadn’t been sure he could stand seeing those harsh words and forceful, grabbing hands pointed at someone else. 

He’d spent most of the training session lurking near the edges of the group and only doing exactly as he’d been asked, waiting with bated breath. Then, nearly an hour in, it happened. He’d watched, tense and nauseous as Jon lost balance mid-flight—and wasn’t that a bitter pill to swallow, that eleven year old Jon could already fly —still moving so fast he was a blur. The kid slammed the full weight of his body into M’gann, knocking her out of the air in a move so careless it made Connor’s teeth hurt. He’d been filled with the sudden impulse to break something, to draw Superman’s ire his way instead, but he’d lacked the courage to commit to the act as he’d watched the hero sprint towards his son.

Conner had braced himself for shouting, for hands that gripped so tightly that bones cracked, for eyes that glowed red with repressed heat vision to remind him that he was alive only so long as Superman allowed it. But there wasn’t any of that. Instead, Superman ran gentle hands down Jon’s body, hastily looking him over with frantic worry on his face. Instead, Conner listened to the man hurriedly asking the boy ‘ Are you okay?’ as he wiped the dirt from his clothes. Instead, Conner realized that he’d been worried for nothing.

In hindsight it made perfect sense. Of course Jon didn’t need the same handling as Conner did. Jon was a little kid growing into his abilities. They were coming on in natural, predictable stages. Jon’s mistakes weren’t as dangerous as Conner’s, because he was still young and didn’t have the responsibility of a grown hero yet. And more than that, Jon didn’t need to be reminded to be good. He just was. Conner understood. It made sense that he was treated differently. He was a clone. An unnatural being, forcibly grown to age sixteen in a matter of months, with a brain that had been fed information curated by Lex Luthor and who shared the man’s DNA. It made sense. He understood why Superman treated him differently.

But that didn’t make it any easier to watch Jon get the kind of Superman that Conner sometimes dreamed of.

It didn’t help that Jon, for reasons Conner would never understand, had become somewhat… attached to him. Superman clearly didn’t like this fact, and he glared daggers at Conner any time Jon ran over to demand they hang out, but for some reason he’d yet to put a stop to it. He just made sure to always be somewhere nearby when the two were around each other, like he thought Conner was going to lose control and rip Jon’s head off or do something equally stupid. 

That was the reason that Conner had found himself in Superman’s proximity today.

Things had been better between Conner and Superman for months at this point. Conner didn’t screw up nearly as often as he used to, and he’d finally learned not to put himself in the man’s path out of some idiotic, misguided hope for connection or understanding. He’d learned to toe the line and keep his head down, and as a result, Superman hadn’t needed to reprimand him in quite some time. Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t still tension, though Jon seemed completely oblivious to it.

Or at least, he had. He was probably aware of it now. Conner was pretty sure the kid must have picked up on it around ten seconds ago, when Superman had thrown him through a wall. 

Conner was laying on his back in the wreckage, still stunned from the impact. His ears were ringing, muffling the sound of what had to be shouting on the other side of the room. He gave himself a brief moment to catch his breath, hoping that the words being thrown weren’t directed at him, because if they were, he was completely missing them.

It had all happened so fast. Jon had apparently been gifted a dagger by Robin, and he’d been showing it off to Conner while they waited for Tim and the aforementioned Robin to arrive for their regularly scheduled training session at Mount Justice. The kid had been demonstrating the tricks he’d learned, proudly peacocking as he tossed and caught the blade, ignoring Conner’s insistence that he be careful. He’d laughed at the words, rolling his eyes and chirping a mischievous ‘ Come on, Conner! I’m basically impervious already —’ when his words had been cut off by a pained cry as the knife landed sharp side down in his hand. Conner had moved without thinking, racing closer and pulling the blade from the kid’s grip to get a look at the damage. 

Conner was relatively sure he could guess what had happened next. Superman had probably come racing in at the sound—seen Jon bleeding and in pain and Conner up against him with a blade in his hand—and assumed the worst. Conner wished he didn’t blame the man for that. He wished the fact that Superman had responded to this sight by rushing forward in a burst of wind, pushing Conner away by slamming his hand into the center of his chest so hard that he’d gone flying wasn’t understandable in that context. He wished he knew what it would take to finally earn the benefit of the doubt, even just once.

He pushed himself up off of his back with a groan, plaster and bits of wood falling off of him with a clatter. As he tried to get his bearings, he could hear Superman’s voice coming into focus, frustration obvious in his tone. “See? He’s perfectly fine, Jon.”

Conner wasn’t sure perfectly fine was how he’d describe his current condition. He was going to be bruised to hell and back, that was for sure. He also suspected one of his ribs might be fractured, but he couldn’t really tell. He’d probably be healed up by next morning, though, so that was close enough to perfectly fine. 

“No, he’s not! ” he heard Jon shout, apparently not agreeing with his father’s assessment, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps approaching him. Conner looked up to see the kid rushing towards him, looking more worried than probably anybody ever had on his behalf. 

Conner brought a hand up to his temple, trying to rub the growing headache away, and slowly staggered to his feet, shooting Jon what he hoped was a reassuring smile as the boy skidded to a stop within arms reach of him. “I’m fine kiddo, promise. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

He tried not to tense when he heard the sound of Superman’s slowly approaching footsteps. “More to the point,” the man interjected coldly. “When I leave my son with you, I’m trusting that you are capable of supervising him acceptably, so do you want to explain to me why I had to come in here and find him with his hand sliced open?”

Conner’s body instinctively slid into a position that had been ingrained in him from the moment he’d first opened his eyes, small and coughing up fluid as the scientists pulled him out of the pod for his first growth check. Back straight. Hands clasped together behind him. Feet shoulder width apart. Toes forward. Head up. Eyes cast down. He kept his breathing as steady as he could as he replied in a flat and even tone. “I have no excuses. I should have been faster. I should have realized what would happen and caught the knife before Jon was hurt. I apologize.” He knew better than to say that he should have stopped him from playing with the blade in the first place. Superman had previously established that Conner wasn’t to tell his son what he could or couldn’t do.

He heard Jon gasp quietly beside him and felt the boy’s hand—the one that wasn’t still sluggishly bleeding—tentatively come up to rest on his arm. “What are you talking about?!” he cried. “Dad, stop it! He’s hurt.”

Superman sighed heavily, and Conner could see him dragging a hand down his face in his periphery. “Jon, Conner isn’t the same as you. He’s a clone of me. He has all the same abilities that I did when I was sixteen. He’s impervious. He’s fine. ”

The words were so surprising that Conner couldn’t help but look up at the man’s face, making eye contact for a brief moment, before his gaze was pulled away by the sound of Jon’s voice, shrill and outraged. “ What?! I—Are you stupid? ” 

Conner flinched at the words, instinctively bracing for consequences as Superman furrowed his brow. “ Excuse me?”

But Jon didn’t back down, taking a step forward, placing himself slightly in front of Conner as he clenched his fists and glared back up at his father.  “How do you not know what powers Conner has? Don’t you assign his team missions? He isn’t impervious! He never had been and you just threw him through a wall, Dad!”

Superman looked to Conner in disbelief. “No. No, you’re impervious. I know you are.” He sounded like he believed it, too.

Conner didn’t really like disagreeing with Superman when he could avoid it, but he also definitely knew better than to lie to the man. His stomach twisted and he could feel the blood draining from his face as he forced out his reply. “I—uh. No, sir. I’m sorry. I’m not.” He tried to ignore the steadily increasing throbbing in his chest.

Superman shook his head, his expression shifting to something Conner didn’t recognize. “No, but— No, but I didn’t—” The man stuttered and tripped over his words, and Conner was frozen, unsure of what he was meant to do and really starting to wish Superman and Jon would just leave so he could get some ice and maybe lay down for a little while. Then Superman’s eyes went wide and took a sudden step forward. “ Shit, are you—”

Conner regretted his involuntary step backwards the moment it happened. It froze Superman in place, the man’s words cutting off and his hand stopping in midair, having just begun to reach out towards Conner for a purpose he couldn’t even begin to guess, and he decided suddenly that he wanted to be done with the interaction. He’d fucked up. He’d been disciplined. He should be allowed to go lick his wounds in private now. “I’m gonna go, um, patch myself up, if that’s, uh— If that’s okay, sir?”

He hadn’t meant to ask permission, but as the words had started coming out, Superman’s expression had started to go pinched, and he hadn’t been able to stop the habitual softening of his statement. “Yeah,” Superman breathed, still frozen in place. “Yeah, of course.”

Conner nodded and quickly sidestepped both Jon and Superman, making his way out of the wreckage of the wall, already thinking what a pain that was going to be to fix as he walked as quickly as he could back towards the hall leading to his room. There was only silence behind him as he made his retreat, though he heard the faintest hint of a conversation starting up just as he slipped into his soundproofed room. He closed his door, cutting off the noise before he could be tempted to eavesdrop.

He’d fully intended to pull out his first aid kit and make sure he was all taken care of once he’d reached his bedroom, but now that he was actually alone, he felt all of his energy evaporating. Before he knew it he was laying on his stomach on the floor, his face pressed against the cool linoleum. Once there, he promised himself he would get up after just five minutes of rest.

Some amount of time that was definitely more than five minutes later, Conner woke up to the sound of hesitant knocking at his door. For a moment, he froze in place, worried it might be Superman, having come to lecture him more about letting Jon get hurt when Conner hadn’t even had the proper time to feel bad about that on his own yet. Then he’d realized that the knocking was far too gentle to be Superman, which meant it was probably Jon.

His suspicions were proven correct when he opened the door. Jon was standing on the other side, his face pinched with worry. “Hey, Conner,” he greeted softly. “I’m sorry to come bug you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, after… Well. I just wanted to come check on you before me and my dad go.”

Conner slapped an easy grin on his face and leaned against the doorframe, making himself into the very picture of nonchalant ease. “Of course I’m alright, kiddo. No need to worry about me. How about you, though? How’s your hand doing?” He looked down to find it wrapped in a strip of white gauze and a burst of guilt flared up in his chest. 

Jon held it up and wrinkled his nose at it, rolling his eyes in irritation. “It’s nothing. It’ll literally be healed before we get home.”

Conner nodded, relieved it wasn’t any worse. “Glad to hear it. And did you say you were leaving soon? I thought you had training with Robin today.”

Jon flushed and looked down at his feet. “We, uh. We decided to cancel after…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“Oh,” Conner saved him from having to put it to words. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He grimaced, shame mixing with the guilt he already felt about the kid’s hand. “Sorry I ruined your hangout little dude.”

Jon’s head shot up and he looked at Conner with staunch confusion. “What? What are you talking about? You didn’t ruin anything. My dad ruined it. He threw you through the wall, Conner!” The kid was practically red in the face with what could only be anger on his behalf.

He suddenly realized that Jon probably hadn’t ever seen his dad like that before. He’d never seen the way Conner needed to be taught, and it had probably been upsetting. His face softened and he knelt down to be on Jon’s level. “Hey, try not to give your dad too hard a time about that, okay?” As he spoke, Jon’s face went even redder, and he could see the kid preparing to interrupt him with what would almost certainly be more anger at his father. Conner silenced him with a hand held up between them. “I know that it probably looked like a scary overreaction, but you gotta remember, your dad walked in on you bleeding and me holding a knife. I mean, the blade was even pointed at you, little dude. He just wanted to keep you safe, so cut him some slack, alright?”

Jon was looking at Conner like he was speaking a foreign language, or like he’d grown a second head, so he wasn’t quite sure he’d managed to convince him. But even so, the boy nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure... I’ll think about it,” he agreed, his brow still furrowed. There was a bit of an awkward pause before he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. “Alright, I’m going to head out, I guess.”

Conner nodded and stood back up to his full height. “Alright! It was great seeing you, even if things ended on a less than stellar note. I’ll see you next time you swing by.”

Jon gave him a strange smile in reply. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon, Conner.” Then he turned on his heel, heading off down the hallway at a light jog. 

Conner shut the door before turning to lean back against it with a sigh, letting himself slide down to sit on the floor. His day hadn’t gone how he’d hoped it would. Not by a long shot. He took a moment to rest his head on his knees and just breathe, before he forced himself back into motion.

He stood up, peeling his shirt off and standing in front of the full length mirror that hung near his dresser, looking over his shoulder to evaluate the bruising already turning a deep yellowish purple on his back and around his ribs. A quick assessment confirmed that he probably hadn’t broken anything. There was at worst a small fracture in one of the ribs on his left side, and that would probably be healed by morning as long as he didn’t do anything stupid. He took a moment to be begrudgingly grateful to Cadmus for putting so much medical knowledge in his head as he redressed, and made his way out of his room and back towards the common area, keeping an ear out for any signs to indicate Jon and Superman might still be around.

When silence confirmed he was alone, he let out a relieved sigh and began dragging trash bags and cleaning supplies from the closet in the hall, hauling it all into the common space, towards the remnants of the wall. He stood back with his hands on his hips, surveying the damage. A Conner sized hole had been left in the back wall of the living room, exposing the conference room on the other side of it. A mess of drywall and dust and wood was littered all over the surrounding floor.

He was half tempted to take a nap before dealing with the mess, but this wasn’t the first time one of his screw-ups had left him with something to clean up. He knew by now that if he put it off, it would only get harder to do. And he definitely knew better than to act like a spoiled child who expected others to clean up after him. 

He quickly pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the wreck to send to Red Tornado, asking the robot to please add whatever supplies would be necessary to repair the hole to his next grocery pickup. Conner hoped he’d be able to figure out the repairs without too much trouble, but there wasn’t any point in worrying about that yet. 

With that completed, Conner took a deep breath, boxed up the little voice in his head that was starting to whisper this isn’t fair, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

Chapter Text

Conner woke up bright and early the next morning, excited for a quiet day. Mondays were always quiet. Red Tornado was away at the Watchtower, the other members of Young Justice had school, and Conner was all but guaranteed to have Mount Justice all to himself. When he wasn’t feeling lonely enough to find the silence grating, he usually enjoyed it. After all of the ruckus the day before, he was thoroughly looking forward the quiet. 

He began his day much the way he usually did— by brushing his teeth and washing his face, before dressing in his normal ensemble. Comfortable jeans, plain black shirt, coupled with his treasured leather jacket, and a pair of thick black socks. Someday, when he had his own money and could go to concerts, he’d replace those plain shirts with band tees, but for now they sufficed.

When the other Titans were around, Conner would make sure to put on headphones before playing the crashing, blaring metal music he usually listened to. But on quiet Mondays he never bothered, preferring to play the music directly from his phone as he sang along, dancing and air drumming his way to the kitchen for a quick pre-training breakfast. As he danced and flailed, the joy of safe, unobserved, unrestrained movement welled up in him as it usually did on the rare occasions that he indulged in it.

The bubble of happiness in his chest was unexpectedly burst by the foreboding sight of Superman standing staring at him from the kitchen. Conner startled hard at the sight, scrambling frantically to silence the sound still pouring from his phone as hot embarrassment washed over him. Once the music was off, he found himself frozen, staring back at Superman from the doorway, half terrified about why the man was even there and half humiliated to have been seen acting so ridiculously childish. His body curled in on itself as he schooled himself into a more appropriate posture, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, trying to think of what to say. 

“Good morning,” Superman greeted him uncharacteristically pleasantly, saving him from having to initiate conversation. 

“G-Good morning,” Conner returned hesitantly, watching confused as Superman turned back towards the open fridge, a frown crossing the man’s face as he investigated its contents. Conner’s heart fluttered nervously in his chest, unsure of what could have displeased his unexpected visitor, but certain it would somehow be his fault.

The man picked up the nearly empty carton of milk from the shelf, looking closely at the contents—barely enough for one last glass or bowl of cereal. “There isn’t much in here,” Superman commented, gesturing to the slim pickings of Conner’s remaining food supply. 

“Uh, yeah,” Conner agreed, taking slow, cautious steps closer. “Red Tornado picks up groceries on Tuesdays, so there’s just the last of whatever I ordered for myself last week, since nobody else is usually around on Mondays or Tuesdays.”

“Huh,” Superman sighed, still frowning. “I’d been hoping to make some bacon and eggs or something.” He straightened up and closed the fridge door with a chuckle, looking almost sheepish as he turned to face Conner. “I guess I should have thought to stop by the store on the way.”

Conner briefly wondered if he was dreaming. What else would explain Superman randomly appearing in the kitchen of Mount Justice wanting to cook of all things? But Conner could still faintly feel a throbbing in his chest from his still healing ribs, so he had to be awake. He warily pointed to the freezer door. “There should be at least one breakfast sandwich in there. Sorry there isn’t, uh, isn’t more here.” 

Superman opened the freezer, pulling the last plastic wrapped sandwich out. “Thanks… um, kiddo.” He tripped awkwardly over the word and Conner couldn’t help but cringe. “But what were you planning on doing for breakfast?”

The breakfast sandwich in your hand was what Conner obviously couldn’t say, so instead he shrugged and made his way to the similarly barren pantry, snagging one of the last two granola bars from their cardboard box. “Probably just this,” he replied, showing the bar to the man as he shut the door, leaning back against it rather than making his way to the table like he usually would. It felt wrong to sit down around Superman.

“Oh,” the man froze in place, looking from the sandwich to Conner and back again, and Conner was pretty sure this was already the longest conversation they’d had without yelling. He watched as Superman opened and closed his mouth a few times, much like Conner had when he’d first entered the kitchen. With strangely jerky movements, Superman put the sandwich back into the freezer, clenching his jaw in a way that had Conner’s eyes darting to the floor as he pulled the wrapper off his granola bar. “I’m actually not very hungry, I think,” Superman continued, his voice oddly tight.

It made zero sense because hadn’t he been hoping to make eggs and bacon? But Conner wasn’t going to argue. He didn’t really think he was hungry anymore either. Maybe the sight of me ruined his appetite. The thought almost made Conner laugh, but he swallowed back the urge in favor of nodding in silent understanding. 

For a long moment Superman just stood there, silently watching Conner eat. The man’s presence was nerve wracking, making Conner’s mouth go so dry that the granola was hard to swallow, and it tasted even more like cardboard than usual as he choked it down as quickly as he could. He powered through with the knowledge that once it was done and the wrapper was deposited in the trash, he would be able to politely excuse himself for training and this would be over. 

But as soon as the last bite passed his lips, his hopes were dashed by Superman’s words. “I was hoping we could maybe talk for a minute, if that’s alright with you?”

It was a strange way to phrase that. As a question and not a command. Superman was hoping they could maybe talk. But only if Conner was okay with that. Soft, unsure words that sounded so wrong coming from the Man of Steel. But even so, it wasn’t like Conner was going to say no. He shrugged, swallowing the last of his breakfast and walking to the trash can to throw the wrapper away before turning to face the man, keeping his voice and body relaxed. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Superman responded with a smile of all things, gesturing at the chair across from him as he took a seat at the table. “Perfect, thank you.”

Conner wasn’t sure he wanted to have a sitting at a table together conversation with Superman, but he didn’t see any other option, so he instead elected to silently nod and take the indicated seat, keeping his eyes glued to the table in front of him as he tried to think of what Superman could possibly want from him. 

It probably had something to do with what had happened yesterday; he knew that much. Maybe the man hadn’t been able to say everything he thought he needed to in front of Jon? Was he mad that Conner hadn’t fixed the wall yet? He’d cleaned everything up but he didn’t have the tools and supplies he needed to actually start repairs. Or… He felt his breath catch in his chest as another option occurred to him. 

Maybe his failure to keep Jon safe had been the final straw. Maybe they’d decided it wasn’t worth the risk of keeping him around in the relative freedom of Mount Justice. Maybe he was going to be removed from the Titans. Maybe he was going to be moved to the Watchtower . They’d threatened it before. Threatened him with closer monitoring , back when they’d still been half convinced he was some kind of sleeper agent that was eventually going to go running back to Lex. 

Conner was very nearly swallowed whole by these spiraling thoughts, but he managed to keep his composure, biting his tongue and forcing his body to calm. There was no reason to go assuming the worst. He chanced a quick glance up at Superman’s face, and was relieved to find that he didn’t look angry. He just looked… awkward. As their eyes met, Superman let loose a heavy sigh. “So, Conner, I wanted to talk about your abilities.”

Conner nodded, making sure he was sitting up straight at attention and restraining himself from rolling his eyes. Obviously he wanted to talk about his abilities. That was all they ever talked about. “Of course,” he acknowledged, agreeing automatically before moving into an appropriate display of contrition. “And again, I apologize. There is no excuse for my lapse in vigilance yesterday.” It was a good idea to get ahead of the man’s criticism while he had the chance. 

It came as a surprise when Superman responded by sighing again and shaking his head, rejecting Conner’s words outright. “No, no. That’s… That isn’t what this is about.” For a moment, the man seemed almost at a loss for words, just looking imploringly at Conner.

“Oh,” Conner replied slowly. “Sorry, then what was it you wanted?” He hoped he wouldn’t be made to guess.

Superman’s hands were clasped on the table in front of him, and it occurred to Conner suddenly that the man looked tired . “Why didn’t you tell me you aren’t invulnerable?” he asked, and shit he sounded tired, too.

Conner furrowed his brow in confusion. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting him to say. “I mean, it wasn’t a secret or anything. Batman did a whole evaluation when I first showed up, and I keep the system updated with new info when anything changes.” 

Superman pursed his lips in a way that told Conner the answer wasn’t the one the man had been looking for, and he looked oddly pained as he shook his head. “No, Conner, I mean…” He paused and took a long breath before fixing him with an intense, almost pleading stare. “Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you?”

That question made even less sense than the last one. So much so that it took him time to compose a coherent answer, but eventually he managed. “Why would I tell you something you already knew?”

Superman’s face crumpled, and Conner was starting to feel very uncomfortable, which was saying something considering how uncomfortable he’d been from the start. “But Conner,” the hero replied, looking like Conner had somehow physically injured him with his words. “I didn’t know. I thought you had the same imperviousness as I do.”

Conner blinked, chewing on the man’s words. It hadn’t occurred to him that Superman knowing about him lacking imperviousness might have changed anything. He tried to understand why this mattered to Superman. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take it. He healed fast enough that it never affected his performance. It didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense that Superman wouldn’t have known what he was doing. It wasn’t like Conner had always taken it stoic and silent. It didn’t make any sense. Why did this even matter, when the words had always been the worst part? He had no idea how to respond, and the man clearly expected a reply so he just nodded. “Oh, okay then.”

The words hung like a dead fish on a hook between them before Superman broke the stretching silence with another exasperated sigh—a sound Conner was quickly growing used to hearing. “Why didn’t you at least tell someone that I was hurting you?”

That question didn’t make any more sense than the last one. Even if Conner hadn’t assumed that Superman’s colleagues knew—which he absolutely had—why would he ever want to tell anyone about his failures? About how he was such a screw up that Earth’s most perfect, kind, patient, and forgiving hero had to haul him around by his shirt collar and throw him through walls just so he’d learn . 

“Why would I tell someone? I mean, was I supposed to?” He felt himself getting nervous and defensive—the way he always did when he was being held to standards he’d never been informed of—and his voice began to rise in volume and speed to match. “Nobody told me I had to be telling them that sort of thing, so it’s not my fault that—”

“No,” Superman interrupted, and Conner’s mouth closed so fast his teeth clicked. “I just meant, why didn’t you tell someone so that they could have helped you? So they could have stopped me from hurting you?” 

This time Superman’s statement was so surprising that Conner responded without even thinking. “Why would anyone have stopped you?” Not to mention that Conner couldn’t think of anyone who could even if they wanted to. 

Superman looked just as shocked by Conner’s question as Conner had been by his, and the man spent a few long seconds just blinking, seeming to gather himself before he asked in a disbelieving tone, “Why wouldn’t they have stopped me?”

Conner had a moment of delusional joy that he’d finally been asked a question he knew the answer to. “I mean, you only ever did it when I deserved it, so there wasn’t anything to stop.”

Superman sat back in his chair, looking for all the world like Conner had just slapped him across the face. His words came out choked and strained. “Conner, It was wrong of me to hurt you. It’s wrong to hurt people.”

Conner only just managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that. “ Obviously it’s wrong to hurt people, I know that.” He’d hardly be cut out to be any kind of hero if he didn’t know that much. “But I’m not people. I’m a clone.”

“ What? ” Superman breathed the word out hard, like Conner’s statement of fact had somehow offended him, and things were back to not making any kind of sense again. Conner knew Superman knew that he wasn’t a person. Cadmus had made sure Conner understood that he was more tool than person, but Superman was the one who’d driven that point home.

“What do you mean what? ” Conner cried, his growing frustration getting the better of him. “You literally said it! Remember ?” He continued, quoting the man’s words from over a year prior. “I’m not your son. I’m not your family. I’m not even a person . I’m a clone you didn’t ask for and that you don’t want. You said I shouldn’t ever forget that and I haven’t. ”

By the time he finished he was panting and Superman’s eyes were wide. “ I—” The hero froze and seemed to choke on his words, sputtering before continuing, “That was obviously hyperbole Conner! Of course you’re a person!”

“What do you even want from me right now?” Conner pleaded, his hands tangled in his hair, just wanting the confusing conversation to end already. Today was supposed to be quiet.

For a moment it looked like Superman would ignore Conner’s question and continue on with whatever point it was he was trying to make about how he apparently just said shit he didn’t mean sometimes and how Conner was apparently stupid for not knowing that, before suddenly changing his mind. “You’re right,” he admitted, seeming genuinely castigated. “I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize for my actions and to ask for your forgiveness; that’s all I came here to do.” As he spoke those words, he sat up straight in his chair, once again looking like the noble hero he usually did. He met Conner’s eyes firmly, his mouth set in a determined line.

Conner didn’t understand any of it. He didn’t understand why Superman was apologizing. He didn’t understand why he’d come here. He didn’t understand what any of it meant. But the man’s words had provided him with a clear path forward. He finally knew what he had to do to end this encounter and get on with what should have been a quiet day. “Okay. I forgive you, then.”

Conner appeared to have stumped Superman for the second time today. “ What? ” He exhaled the word like it hurt.

Conner shrugged. “I forgive you.”

Superman looked down at his hands folded in front of him, his lips pursed. He sat there for a long moment before flicking his eyes back up for Conner. “What do you forgive me for?”

Conner shrugged again. “For whatever it is you’re asking forgiveness for.” It wasn’t like it mattered. He continued on without giving the man a chance to reply, hoping to extract himself from the conversation now that he’d given Superman what he’d come for. “If that’s all you needed from me, I’m going to head off to training. Is that okay, sir?” He began to slowly stand from the table even before he’d finished speaking.

Superman watched him moving, looking quite unlike someone who’d gotten what they’d come for. “Training? Don’t you have school?” he asked, visibly thrown by the sudden topic change.

Conner shook his head. “No, just training. Is it okay if I go get to it?” he asked again. He knew he was pushing on rude but he wanted to leave too badly to care.

Superman slowly nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s fine. You can go.”

Conner didn't give him a chance to change his mind. “Thank you, sir,” he called out over his shoulder as he rushed from the room and down the hall to the combat simulation rooms. He didn’t hear any sound to indicate that Superman had gotten up or moved at all as he made his retreat. He just heard the sound of one long sigh, full of emotions Conner didn’t even try to dissect. 

In fact, Conner didn’t try to dissect any of what had happened that morning. Instead he elected to turn the combat simulator on maximum difficulty, throwing himself into the violent fray until he was so exhausted that there wasn’t room in his head for anything other than thoughts of a shower and sleep. 

_____

Conner saw neither hide nor hair of Superman for a full week after their awkward encounter over the breakfast table. This wasn’t unusual. They only really ever saw each other when Jon was doing something that brought them together. 

Conner had spent the first few days after the man’s unexpected visit tense and on edge, half expecting him to be hiding behind every corner. Eventually he’d unwound and assumed that things were back to normal. The mission with the Young Justice that he’d just gotten back from had definitely helped with that. Conner loved working with his team, even when he knew he wouldn’t talk to them about the things that had been stressing him out. 

This most recent mission hadn’t been a particularly challenging one. They’d received intel that The Brain was operating a secret fabrication plant to construct parts for some sort of death ray. Their job had basically been a simple smash and grab. Render the facility unusable and make off with any plans or documents they could. No need for subtlety or really anything but a heavy fist. It wouldn’t put The Brain out of operation, but it would buy them some time while they worked to flush him out. 

It had been exactly what Conner needed. Time spent ripping killer robots apart with his friends. With people who trusted him and believed in him. And the whole thing had taken nearly three full days from start to finish, so Conner had been able to see everyone for so much longer than he usually did.

Everything had gone off without a hitch. Or at least, without any hitches that anyone needed to know about. Conner may have taken a few bullets to the arm and side and been hit by some stray shrapnel, but it was honestly his own fault. He should’ve dodged better and been more careful before throwing that robot into that very flammable machine. Conner really didn’t want to be sent to Superman for a lecture on carelessness or worse, so he’d just kept the injuries to himself during debrief. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be healed in a day or three. 

Unfortunately, all good things came to an end, and considering that the others had school and had already missed a day, they’d had to leave pretty quickly once they’d made it back. Conner hadn’t minded much. It gave him time to get himself patched up and to handle some chores. 

He got as far as finishing bandaging himself up before making his way towards the laundry room to start a load, when the unthinkable happened. 

“Conner,” Superman called over to him from the common room, apparently having entered and taken a seat on the couch at some point since the team had left. “We need to talk.” 

He knows. Conner had to stop himself from instinctively bringing his hands up to cover the wounds on his torso. From trying to hide them like a child. There was no point in trying to obscure his fuck ups. Superman either already knew, so there was no point, or this was unrelated, and he would just give himself away. He stopped at the edge of the room, cautiously putting his hamper on the floor to free his hands. “Okay…” he agreed hesitantly, tense with nerves.

Superman didn’t look angry, and he didn’t usually put effort into concealing his anger with Conner, so he was reasonably certain he wasn't in trouble for his behavior on the mission, but he didn’t know why else the hero would be wanting to talk to him. He did as the man silently bid him, taking a seat on the couch across from him and doing his best to look like his heart wasn’t about to pound out of his chest, even though Superman could definitely hear it thumping away. He wasn’t sure if he was more nervous that he’d fucked something up or that Superman was going to pull a repeat of their last conversation. 

The man nodded at Conner as he took his seat, wasting no time in jumping in. “I’ve been doing some… evaluation of your living situation,” he began, his tone betraying nothing of his intentions. “And I have some… some concerns.”

It was like the floor had been pulled out from under him. For a moment he wondered if he was going to be sick. Conner knew him being allowed to stay at Mount Justice was contingent on his behavior. He knew his privacy and freedom were luxuries he could lose the right to. But he’d thought he’d been doing well. 

His stomach twisted itself into a knot as he tried not to imagine a future where he was stored in a cell when not deployed. Where he was locked up and never let out again. Where running back to Lex was his only option. Superman had only said he had concerns. Maybe Conner could still fix this. “W-what kind of concerns, sir? I’m happy to do whatever needs to be done to address them.”

For a moment, Superman looked conflicted and Conner was sure he’d said the wrong thing, but the man just shook it off and continued. “It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve fallen through the cracks in a few important ways when it comes to you having the proper supervision.”

Conner’s heart was in his throat. He was choking on it. He was going to cough it up onto the table in front of them if he opened his mouth for even a second. He thought he’d earned at least a little trust. Sure, at first they’d had no way of knowing if he was loyal to Lex or Cadmus, or if he had some kind of evil programming in his head, but surely by now they knew better? 

And he already lived in Mount Justice. Every room had cameras and the security system logged every door he went through or window he opened. He never left without league permission and even then he was always at least with his team. But that still wasn’t enough, and now Superman was here to take him to the Watchtower. 

In his rising panic, he could only stare blankly back at the hero as his mind raced for a way out. Superman continued on, either unaware or uncaring of Conner’s distress. “Specifically, I am concerned about your habits with regards to taking care of yourself.”

The statement made no more sense than anything else Superman had said in their recent conversations. When he’d been bracing for criticism, that hadn’t even been on the list of possibilities he’d considered. He took care of himself just fine! Cadmus had put everything he needed to be self-sustaining in his head. He ate the right number of calories and took his vitamins. He kept clean. He stayed on top of his training. He maintained his living space appropriately. He couldn’t think of anything he could have screwed up enough that Superman would want to confine him to the Watchtower. “What do you mean?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

Superman looked at him like the answer was obvious, before sighing. “Conner, you aren’t in school. You eat almost exclusively frozen microwave meals and protein drinks. You’ve also been logging an alarming number of hours in the training rooms. Has nobody talked to you about this? Canary? Or Red Tornado?”

Conner shook his head, not sure what there was to talk about. He didn’t know what an alarming number of hours training even meant. He was supposed to be training, wasn’t he? And why would his food be an issue? He wasn’t underweight or deficient in any important nutrients. He latched onto the one thing he could easily refute. “I don’t need to go to school. Cadmus put a standard first through twelfth grade education in my head already.”

Superman flinched at the reminder of Conner’s status as a clone and the organization who’d made him, anger and discomfort flashing in his eyes for a moment before he returned to that strange neutrality he’d been wearing. “There are other reasons to go to school. But in addition to all of that, you live here alone a majority of the time. By either count of your age, sixteen or two, you shouldn’t be living on your own without supervision. And I’m sorry, but I can’t let it continue to go on now that I’m aware.”

Conner was surprised by the anger that bubbled up in him at the man’s words. “So I haven’t even done anything wrong. You’ve just suddenly remembered how old I am and are deciding arbitrarily that I can’t be trusted to keep successfully living here like I have been this whole time?” That wasn’t fair. His hands clenched into fists and he grit his teeth.

He was expecting Superman to match him beat for beat. To stand up and demand to know why he was speaking to him so disrespectfully. But he just grimaced and shook his head. “I’m sorry it feels that way to you Conner. And I’m sure this isn’t the solution you’d prefer, but until I can find other accommodations for you, you’ll be coming to stay with me.”

All of the air was instantly sucked out of Conner’s lungs as he realized that things were even worse than he’d imagined. They hadn’t decided that he couldn’t be trusted outside of lockdown in the Watchtower. They’d decided something far more terrible. They’d decided that Conner was so dangerous that he couldn’t be trusted out from under the watchful eye of the only person on the planet who could put him down with ease. He didn’t know why Superman wasn’t just coming right out and saying it, but Conner wasn’t stupid. He knew what this was. His understanding didn’t stop a whispered ‘What?’ from leaving his mouth, though.

Superman’s frown deepened, and he looked down at his clasped hands. “I know this isn’t ideal, but it was wrong of us, of the League, to be so careless when it comes to making sure you’re properly taken care of.” The man looked back up at him, his face set with firm determination that began to slowly smother any hope Conner had of changing his mind. “It won’t be forever, but for the moment you’re going to be moving in with me. I’m here today to help you pack up and get your things moved. I’m sorry, but this isn’t up for discussion.”

Conner was glad he hadn’t eaten anything yet today, because if he had he’d probably be moments away from vomiting it up all over the floor. This was maybe the worst outcome he could imagine. He remembered how bad he’d felt for Jon before he’d realized his father treated him differently than he treated Conner. How he’d cringed with sympathy at the idea of living with Superman constantly watching over his shoulder, ready to correct any mistake with brutal efficiency. And now that was going to be his life. “I’m going to be staying at the Fortress of Solitude?” he asked hollowly, his mind racing to try and wrap itself around this new situation.

Superman sucked in a short, surprised breath. “Oh, no. No, you’re going to be staying at my civilian home. With Jon and my wife.”

Conner jolted in place at the words. He’d theoretically known that Superman had a civilian identity. Jon talked about going to school and doing things with Superman and his mom. Of course Superman had a civilian name and home. Kal-El lived in the Fortress of Solitude, but of course Superman didn’t actually live in that palace of ice. It just hadn’t really clicked before. “Your… civilian home. Oh . And I… I need to pack now?” This was happening so fast.

Superman nodded. “There’s not a huge rush, but it would be nice if we could be back in time for lunch.”

“Oh,” Conner nodded, overwhelmed enough that he was starting to feel distant from the situation. Not that he minded. It made it easier, at least. It wasn’t like anything he did would change what was happening anyway. Superman had just said it wasn’t up for discussion. He stood up from the couch, his eyes glued to his feet. “Okay. I’ll just, um… I’ll just go pack then.”

He heard Superman stand to match him. “Do you need any help getting your things together?” he asked, sounding oddly hesitant.

“No,” Conner answered easily, shaking his head. He couldn’t imagine anything he needed less than Superman standing over him while he shoved his underwear into his suitcase. He briefly wondered if his things would all fit in his luggage. It was only intended to hold enough supplies for short missions. Three or four days at most. It would be a tight fit to get everything he’d need to bring packed in it. “I can do it myself. It won’t take long.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as Superman nodded and took a seat on the couch once more. “Alright then. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Conner mirrored his nod and silently made his way from the room, dragging his hamper with him and forcing his breathing to stay steady even as he left the man’s line of sight. It wasn’t until he closed the door on his soundproofed quarters that he let his control slip, pressing the heels of his palms hard into his eyes as he let loose a shuddering gasp. His chest was miserably tight and his body was vibrating with energy. He wanted nothing more than to punch something into dust, but he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not while Superman was so near. And fuck , he’d always be so near from now on, wouldn’t he?

He gave himself two minutes to suck in deep, ragged drags of air and shake. Two minutes to reel helplessly at the inescapable new reality he’d found himself in. Two minutes to choke down furious tears and to let his mind relentlessly loop his thoughts in a miserable repetition of it’s not fair, its not fair, its not fair . And when the two minutes were up he forced himself back into his body properly, and got to work. 

Chapter Text

Conner had been right when he’d told Superman it wouldn’t take him long to pack. He’d also been right when he’d thought that it would be difficult to get everything to fit in his suitcase, but he managed alright. It wasn’t like he actually owned much. Enough clothes to get him through the week without having to do laundry more than once. Some plain black shirts and jeans with a few athletic shorts and tank tops thrown in, boxers and socks, his uniform for missions. His toiletries and his small mending kit for his clothes. He had to use a little of his superstrength to get the lid of the suitcase closed and zipped, but he managed it. Though it did grate on him to shove his dirty clothes in with his clean ones, since Superman had interrupted his laundry day. 

His backpack was then filled with the small set of books and knick knacks he’d been gifted by the team, and he was ready to go. He couldn’t get his shoes or leather jacket inside, but that was okay since he planned to wear them out.

After all was said and done, he was back in front of Superman and ready to go in less than twenty minutes. But when he declared himself finished, the man looked at him with a furrowed brow that had Conner’s heart skipping a beat, worried he’d somehow misunderstood the instructions. 

“Conner you need to bring all of your things, not just your supplies for missions.” Superman sighed with visibly repressed frustration. “Your next team activity here isn’t for a full week and we can’t be coming back in the interim.”

Conner gave him a confused look in return. “This is all of my things,” he informed the man with a frown. 

“Oh,” Superman replied, looking strangely stunned, though for what reason, Conner had no idea. “Just the one suitcase?”

Conner nodded. “I mean, it was a tight squeeze, but I managed to get it all in there.”

Superman still had a funny look on his face, but he accepted Conner’s answer anyway. “Alright… Okay then, I guess we can head out now,” he said, sounding oddly off balance and hesitant. When he turned and began making his way to the exit, Conner followed close on his heels, listening as the man explained the plan for the trip. “We’re going to take the zeta tubes up to the Watchtower, and then we’ll go from there to the closest drop off to my apartment. We’ll take my car the rest of the way.”

Conner let out a quiet sigh of relief. He’d been a little terrified Superman intended to fly his way back to Metropolis, and the only way that would work would be if Superman carried him, and Conner didn’t want that in the slightest. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

The zeta tubes made travel just as easy as they always did, and only a few minutes later Conner was shoving his suitcase into the trunk of a small compact and clambering his way into the passenger seat, watching out of the corner of his eye as Superman affixed a pair of glasses to his face and used the visor mirror to adjust his hair. 

It was a little disconcerting to watch Superman visibly pack himself away into another persona. Conner was a little amazed as he observed him shifting to hold himself like he was apologizing for the space he couldn’t help but take up. Like he was just an ordinary man. The sight of it all but slapped Conner in the face with a realization. “What am I supposed to call you here?” 

Superman’s head snapped to the side to look at him. “You don’t — Oh… I’m sorry, I thought you knew, I— My name is Clark. Clark Kent.” He looked unsettled by his own words. Conner resigned himself to being continually confused by the man’s reactions. He almost wished they could go back to tossing him through walls and stuff. At least that made sense. He pushed that thought down as firmly as he could.

“Clark,” Conner nodded, committing the name to memory. He wasn’t used to dealing with things like secret identities. He’d have to do his best to shift how he thought about Superman— Clark— to reduce the chances of him fucking up where someone could hear. 

Clark smiled tensely at him. “It’ll take about twenty minutes for us to get to the apartment.” As he spoke, he pulled away from the curb, starting them on their drive. “On the way we can go over your cover story.”

“Okay,” Conner agreed quietly, a little surprised to hear that he would even need one. He’d assumed he’d be spending his time tucked away from polite company. He hadn’t expected to be put in a situation where he would need a cover story. He’d never had one before, and despite his best efforts, he felt himself growing a little excited at the prospect.

“Alright, so too many people in Metropolis know that I don’t have any siblings, so we can’t call you my nephew or anything like that,” Clark explained, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. “So we’re going to say that Ma had an estranged younger sister who passed, leaving you behind, and that we’ve recently taken you in after finding out you’d been placed in foster care.”

“Ma?” Conner asked hesitantly, nervous to question anything but more nervous to screw this up.

“My mother,” Clark clarified easily. “Martha Kent. And then there’s Pa, my father, Jonathan Kent. That’s who Jon is named for.”

“Okay, thank you sir,” Conner nodded, making note of the information and simultaneously refusing to process the burning flash of feeling in his chest that came when he thought about having things like family names. Lex had picked Conner’s name. He didn’t let himself wonder where the man had gotten it from. He also didn’t let himself think too hard about the fact that Superman had parents. He’d never even considered the possibility. He also didn’t let himself wonder if Superman— if Clark had told them about him. 

“Mhm,” Clark hummed in acknowledgment, pausing his explanation in favor of focusing on an unprotected left-hand turn before continuing. “My parents moved to Smallville as adults, and they’re relatively private people, so if you ever end up there we should be able to use the same story. An estranged sister never having come up before won’t be too odd for folks.”

Conner nodded again. “Alright, I understand. I’ll make sure not to forget.”

Clark flashed Conner a quick, awkward smile, which was as novel as it was unsettling. “Good. Now, just in case anyone asks, your mother’s name was Margret Kent, you never knew your father, you’re an only child, and you were in foster care for around a year before your case worker found out about us. You didn’t know we existed and we didn’t know you existed, but we are happy to welcome you into our home now that we do. Any questions?”

Conner had about a million questions. Why fake foster care at all? How would the case worker have found them? Would someone really be asking him if they were happy to welcome him to their home? Why would anyone who needed this explanation be talking to him at all? But he couldn’t make himself ask any of that, so instead he just shook his head. “No, sir. Thank you for the explanation.”

Clark cast Conner another tense smile. “Of course.”

With the necessary information shared, an uncomfortable silence descended over the car. Conner didn’t mind much, though. It was definitely better than trying to make conversation. The only downside was that the quiet finally gave Conner time to think, which meant he had time to remember those pesky injuries littering his torso. 

Most of the shrapnel injuries were healed enough to barely feel like anything anymore. None had been particularly deep, so they were rapidly progressing to the final stage of healing. The bullet wounds, on the other hand, were much more problematic. While he could heal a lot very quickly, with his healing abilities split across three gunshot wounds, along with the last remnants of the shrapnel damage, he imagined it would take at least three days, if not closer to a full week for him to be back to normal. 

Ordinarily this wouldn’t be of much concern. He’d cleaned and dressed the wounds, and he knew how to take care of himself. Unfortunately, now that he was going to be living with Superman, he had more of a reason to be worried.

His healing would only be slowed down further if he somehow got himself injured by Superman—No, Clark— again. And on top of that, he couldn’t risk letting the man know he’d been injured in the first place. It would’ve been an easy secret to keep if he’d been alone at Mount Justice like he’d expected to be. But inside Clark’s apartment it would definitely be more difficult. 

He spent the remainder of the drive trying to ignore the steady ache of the bullet holes and the awkward tension of the car’s oppressive silence. Thankfully, neither were anywhere near the worst he’d dealt with, so it wasn’t all that difficult to tough it out until Clark was turning into a parking lot, making his way to what appeared to be an assigned spot before turning to face him with a plastered on smile. “Alright, we’re here! Just grab your things from the trunk and we can make our way upstairs. Jon is still at school, but my wife Lois and I both took today off to help you get situated.”

Conner nodded and did as he was told, following Clark to the building’s entrance, then to the elevator, then through a door down the hall and into the sleek, modern, yet somehow still homey apartment. He watched as Clark slipped off his shoes in the entryway, scrambling to do the same as he listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.

Clark turned towards the noise with a grin, and a moment later there was a woman rounding the corner into sight. She was stunning, with dark eyes, sun kissed skin, and long, shiny black hair that hung perfectly straight down her back. She was wearing jeans and a light blue sweatshirt, and her smile was almost painfully sweet, not diminishing in the slightest when her eyes slid from Clark to Conner, then back again.

“Darling,” She greeted Clark, approaching to press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Hello, love,” the man returned, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Conner turned his gaze to the floor, already feeling like an intruder. “Conner,” Clark turned to him, pulling his attention back up off of his shoes and onto the couple. “This is my wife, Lois.” Then he turned to Lois. “Lois, this is Conner.”

Lois smiled wide and extended a hand towards him. “Hello, Conner! Welcome to our home. We are so happy to have you here.”

Conner nodded, accepting the offered handshake with as gentle a hold as he could, nearly sick to his stomach with fear of what Clark would do if he somehow hurt his wife. “Hello, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

He watched as Lois’s gaze flitted down to the suitcase in his hands, then back over to Clark. “Is there more luggage in the car?”

There was something odd in her tone, but Conner couldn’t name what it was. Clark cringed at her words, clearly hearing it too, though he seemed familiar with its meaning if his reaction was anything to go by. “No, this is it.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, and now Conner could identify the dissatisfaction in the sound, though he had no idea what the cause could be. Was something wrong with his suitcase? Before he could attempt to understand it, she was turning back to him. “Alright then, dear. Would you rather have lunch now, or go get settled in your room and eat later?”

Conner found himself looking instinctively to Clark for guidance on how he should answer, but he received nothing more than a bland smile from the man. “I’d rather go get settled, if that’s already,” he replied, deciding that he could use a few minutes to himself after the painful car ride. 

“Of course!” Clark agreed brightly. “I can show you the way.” He started down the hall, followed closely by Lois.

Conner followed the pair, looking at the space around him as he passed through it. He noted the enormous windows in the living room, stretching from nearly floor to ceiling. His eyes lingered on the photos that lined the hall, depicting various loved ones, housed in uniform black metal frames. Before long, they came to a stop in front of a closed door. Lois gestured to it. “This is you! It should be all set up, but let us know if you need anything.” She paused to point to the room across the hall. “This is the door to our bedroom,” then she pointed to the door to the right of his. “That takes you to the bathroom, and,” she pointed to a final door, next to the one leading to her and Clark’s room. “That is Jon’s room. Take some time to get settled in. I’ll grab you for lunch in an hour if we don’t hear from you, okay?”

Conner nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he grabbed the doorknob and made his way inside the place that was to be his, at least for the moment. Once the door was shut behind him, he let his shoulders relax and turned to examine the space. 

It was small— around the same size as his room in Mount Justice. There was a twin bed pushed lengthwise against the back wall with a window near the headboard. It was adorned with a thick green and brown quilt and two large pillows. Conner spared a moment to be grateful for that. It had taken two weeks for Red Tornado to notice he was missing pillows and blankets at Mount Justice, and Conner hadn’t known to ask for them. 

To the right of the door there was a small wooden dresser, and on the wall to the left was a door that most likely led to a closet. There was a nightstand with a lamp and a digital clock beside the bed and a painting of an orchid hanging on the wall. He estimated he could touch both the dresser and the bed if he stood between them and extended his arms. 

Conner made quick work of unpacking his belongings, stowing them all away with thoughtless efficiency before finally allowing himself to collapse onto the bed, bouncing as the springs squeaked under his weight. It was about as comfortable as his bed at Mount Justice had been. He would miss the couch. It had been great for napping. What he wouldn’t give for a nap right now.

He tried to shake off the thoughts of all the things he would miss, but once he succeeded he was accosted by worried wonderings about what had prompted this move. When he eventually shook those off, they were replaced by nervous dread about how he’d inevitably fuck up. When he finally drifted off into fitful sleep, half dozing as he tossed and turned, his rest was interrupted by stressful thoughts and snippets of dreams that left his heart racing. When Lois came knocking, summoning him for lunch, he didn’t feel any less tired than he had before he’d laid down. 

Conner had expected to be given a plate of food or shown where to prepare his own meal, then sent back to his room to eat out of sight. Instead, he was given a plate containing three sandwiches, a small bag of potato chips, and two cookies, and was told to take a seat at the table located in front of the large bay windows overlooking the picturesque city. 

Lunch was an awkward affair. Lois was relentless in her questioning of him, and he was pretty sure his answers were making Clark angry, but he couldn’t figure out why. It was disconcerting and left him feeling perpetually on edge as the woman asked him about his favorite foods, his hobbies, and more. He did the only thing he could think to do, keeping his answers brief, polite, and as vague as possible. Conner tried to ignore the way Clark’s fist was clenched tight around his napkin and the muscle of his jaw flexed whenever he spoke. 

As soon as he was released he washed his dishes and retreated back to his room. There was just enough floor space inside for him to run through a basic exercise routine, and he threw himself into the workout, desperate for anything to keep his mind off of Clark. Desperate for any sense of normalcy. 

He burned away a few hours like that before deciding he should probably grab some water lest he dehydrate himself. After braving the trip to the kitchen, he allowed himself to remove his sweaty shirt, leaving only the bandages exposed. They were almost certainly too dirty to leave on any longer, and he knew he’d forget if he didn’t handle it right away.

Unfortunately, Conner was focused enough on his task that he missed the sound of approaching footsteps. He missed the sound of a hand on the doorknob, turning it. And then the door was swinging open to reveal Jon, happily grinning up at him. “Hey, Conner! Man, I can’t believe you’re—“ His words cut off as his eyes locked onto Conner’s bare chest, gunshot wounds still visible enough to be alarming. Conner opened his mouth, trying to speak before the kid reacted, but he was much too late. Jon’s eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to cry out, “Dad!” He took off running down the hall towards where his father probably was. “Dad! Help! Conner’s hurt!”

As Jon disappeared around the corner, Conner was struck by a moment of burning anger. How dare he snitch? Why would he tell on him? He wanted to scream. Before he could fully work up to doing so, he was struck by a small gust of wind and then, standing there in front of him like magic, was Superman. Clark. 

No. This was Superman. Conner could spot the difference. It was disconcerting to see him in glasses and plainclothes. 

The man’s sudden appearance surprised Conner enough that he couldn’t help but jump backwards in alarm. “Fuck!” he cursed, staring wide eyes at Superman and bringing his hand to his chest as he tried to calm his breathing.

The hero’s eyes were glued to the wounds on Conner’s chest, and his voice was tight and clipped as he demanded answers. “What is this?” He raised his eyes to Conner’s face. “What happened? What are these from?”

Conner felt like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Not that he’d ever seen a cookie jar. Or been a kid. “It’s just some damage from the last mission,” Conner snapped, rolling his eyes and clenching his fists as irritation flashed through him. This shouldn’t even be happening. He wasn’t even supposed to be here.   “It’s not a big deal or anything.”

Superman stared at him in silence for a few moments, his mouth hanging open and his brow furrowed before he seemed to come back to himself, snarling incredulously. “Conner, I’m counting three bullet wounds! In what world is that not a big deal?”

Conner scoffed and looked off to the side, lashing out defensively. “Whatever, it’s not like I won’t heal.”

Superman shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and Conner was just getting more and more tense waiting for the inevitable. “Wait a minute,” the man mumbled to himself before turning back to Conner, his face scrunched with anger. “There was no mention of you sustaining any injuries in the last Young Justice mission report.”

Conner was well aware of that, but he’d been hoping Superman wouldn’t bring it up. “And?” he retorted defiantly, distantly wondering why he was trying to provoke the hero’s anger. That never went well for him, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop.

“ And?!” Superman all but shouted, taking a step forward into Conner’s room, forcing him to smother a flinch and resist the urge to take his own mirroring step back. “And that means that you’ve either been hiding injuries after missions, or you’ve been sneaking out to do off book missions behind the Justice League’s back, Conner! So which is it?”

Conner felt his lip curl into a sneer. “I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t run missions behind the League’s back. I know what that would look like.” He knew better than to do anything that might make it look like he was running missions for Lex.

The looming kryptonian didn’t seem appeased by his answer. “Why would you be hiding injuries after missions? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?!” 

Conner knew he couldn’t very well come out and say that the reason he was hiding injuries was because every time he reported one, Superman came to tear him a new one. Admitting that he’d been trying to evade a well deserved punishment wouldn’t make him look very good, and he clearly already looked pretty bad if the League had decided to move him here. So instead of answering, he dodged the question. “I know the difference between a dangerous injury and one I can handle on my own. I can take care of myself,” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, tilting his head defiantly and suddenly wishing he’d put his shirt back on. 

Superman huffed and took another step forward. “Clearly, you can’t. And if you can’t be trusted to report your injuries, then you can’t be trusted on missions at all,” he bellowed, raising his voice as he continued to speak. “This isn’t acceptable. I’m benching you Conner.”

Conner gasped like he’d been struck, then straightened, his chest puffing with anger. “You can’t do that, Superman! You can’t take my team away—”

“ Yes, I can!” Superman shouted back, and Conner saw the man moving forward— saw him raising his hand. The flinch backwards away from the hero was both instinctive and thoughtless, and it sent the backs of his knees slamming hard into the edge of the bed, forcing it to ram noisily into the wall behind it. He stumbled and fell back onto it, his arms raised up defensively simply because he couldn’t figure out how to put them down.

Superman went from loud to silent in an instance, and Conner peeked out at the man from between his arms. He’d taken two quiet steps back, and he looked horrified. Conner dropped his hands down to rest by his sides and blushed, realizing the extent of his overreaction. He’d freaked out over nothing. He’d made himself look like a stupid coward. Clark had never even struck him like that before. Idiot.

There was a long, drawn out moment of awkwardness before the man broke the tension by clearing his throat uncomfortably. “You still need proper medical treatment. I’ll send Lois to help.”

Conner glared down into his lap. “I can handle it myself.”

He heard Superman take a long, slow breath in. “I’m sending Lois to help.” And then he was gone, making his way back down the hall towards where Conner could hear his wife moving around in the kitchen. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and collapsed back against the mattress, not sure how things had gone so wrong so fast. He’d been here for less than a single day and he’d already fucked up bad enough that Superman had taken his team away. He wasn’t sure things could get much worse. 

His brooding was interrupted by quietly approaching footsteps, followed by a gentle knock on his still open bedroom door. “Hello Conner,” came Lois’s voice from the threshold. “I hear you’ve got some injuries that need looking at. Can I come in?”

Conner wanted to say no. He wanted to shout and throw something. He wanted to lay down in bed and never move again. But what he wanted had never seemed to matter much, and he doubted now would be any different, so he sat up with a sigh. “I already handled them,” he insisted as his eyes met Lois’s. “They don’t need looking at.”

Lois was standing in the doorway, holding a first aid kit. She gave him an apologetic smile and a shrug. “Would you let me take a look anyway? Just to set my mind at ease?”

“Fine,” he acquiesced with a sigh. He was already in trouble for hiding this shit to begin with. There was no reason to make it worse by being disrespectful to Superman’s wife— no. No. Clark’s wife.  

“Thank you.” She smiled as she lugged the kit over and dropped it onto the bed next to him. “Alright, show me what we’re looking at here,” she instructed, gesturing to his torso with a raised eyebrow.

Conner struggled not to roll his eyes as he pointed to the three bullet wounds— one that had torn a chunk of flesh from his side and two close together that had hit his upper arm. They really were mostly healed. Like, at least halfway there. They hadn’t even needed stitches to stop bleeding, and he was mostly keeping them covered because he didn’t like how his shirt material felt against them. 

Lois spent a few minutes humming and poking and prodding at them, covering them with medicated goop and bandages before she leaned back with a sigh. “Alright, kiddo, I officially pronounce you required to take it easy for another day or two, and I want to take another look tomorrow so I can see how it's coming along, okay?”

Conner furrowed his brows in confusion, but decided not to argue. He’d argued enough today. “Sure, whatever you say, ma’am,” he agreed begrudgingly. 

“Wonderful!” Lois chirped happily, picking up the first aid kit and making her way out of the room as she spoke. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Dinner is at seven, so if I don’t see you before that, I’ll see you then! Door open or closed?”

“Um… Closed,” he replied. She nodded, waving as she did as he’d asked, leaving him once again alone in this new room, wondering how exactly he’d ended up in this situation.

Chapter Text

When Conner joined the Kent family for dinner that night he started to get a better understanding of why exactly he’d ended up staying at their apartment, and he was increasingly certain that this wasn’t actually his fault at all. His first clue came early on in the meal, when Jon—who Conner was still more than a little irritated with—had needed to ask Clark to pass the salt. Instead of asking the man for it, the boy had turned to his mother and addressed her instead. “Mom, would you please ask Dad to pass me the salt when he’s done with it?”

Clark sighed heavily from his end of the table. “Are we still doing this, Jon?” he asked, sounding extraordinarily weary. 

Jon responded by rolling his eyes hard enough that his head tilted back. “Mom, would you please tell Dad that he knows what’ll make this stop.”

Lois raised an eyebrow at Clark and shrugged, seemingly unbothered by her son’s behavior. “You know what Jon said, Clark. I can’t make him start talking to you again.” 

Clark dragged a hand down his face in frustration then slid the salt across the table. Conner watched the whole interaction nervously, feeling like he was seeing something he really shouldn’t be and not even really understanding what was happening. Jon was obviously giving Clark the silent treatment, but he didn’t seem to be in any trouble for it either, which was weird. The whole situation was confusing, which was putting him on edge. Of course, it didn’t help that Conner was already nervous about eating in front of Clark, because like, what if he somehow made the man angry by eating wrong or something? He’d already pissed Clark off and gotten away easy more than once today, and he didn’t want to push his luck.

His anxiety was not improved when Jon noticed Conner’s confusion and nonchalantly explained. “I’m not speaking to dad until you forgive him for throwing you through that wall.”

The words were like a bucket of ice water poured over Conner’s head and things suddenly began to make more sense. Maybe the reason he couldn’t figure out what it was he’d fucked up badly enough to warrent Clark moving him into his apartment was because it wasn’t actually anything he’d done. Maybe if Conner could get Jon to talk to his dad again, Clark would let him move back to Mount Justice. It was the first flicker of hope he’d felt since the man had shown up that morning, and he was more than willing to put aside his frustration with the kid if that was what it took to get things back to normal.

It wasn’t even a lie when he replied, “Jon, I’m not angry with Clark. Everything’s fine, you don’t— There’s no reason not to talk to him. Everything’s, like forgiven or whatever.” Conner looked hesitantly between Clark and Jon as he spoke, but for some reason Clark didn’t seem pleased with his words. Maybe he resented the implication that there was something to forgive? But he’d apologized, and Conner had accepted, so that didn’t make sense. 

Jon didn’t look happy either. He shook his head and rolled his eyes again. “No, there’s definitely something to forgive, and if you won’t be mad for yourself then I’m going to be mad for you.”

Conner didn’t really know what to say in response to that, and when he looked to Lois for help, she provided none. Conner didn’t really have the guts to look to Clark for help, so he didn’t try it. “I’d rather… I’d rather if you didn’t, though,” he tried awkwardly.

But what Conner wanted didn’t seem to matter much more to Jon than it did to anyone else, because the kid just shrugged. “Sorry, Conner. No can do.”

Conner felt another vibrant flash of anger with the brat, because couldn’t he see he was ruining things? He smothered the reaction quickly. It was easy to do with the bolt of fear that popped up as he instinctively cringed away from the thought of how badly things would go for him if Clark noticed him being angry with Jon. If Clark perceived him as a threat .

Rather than try to figure out what else he could do to fix this, Conner sighed, unsure how to even begin to explain to Jon that his plan wasn’t likely to do anything but get Clark mad at him , if it hadn’t already. He gave a halfhearted nod before turning his attention back to the meatloaf on his plate. Being mad at Jon in proximity to Superman was sort of terrifying, so he did his best to focus on his meal. It was weird how different it tasted from the meatloaf he’d eaten in the microwavable dinners Red Tornado provided him with. As he took another bite, he decided that this version was definitely better. 

It was a little bit unfortunate, actually. The meatloaf dinner had been one of his favorites before, but now when he went back to Mount Justice and ate them, all he’d be able to think about would be how much better this version had been. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy them anymore. He almost wished he hadn’t learned what he’d been missing. He poked at the loaf with a forensic eye, trying to discern the ingredients by sight and taste. Maybe I should try learning to cook. There were definitely videos for that.

“So, Conner,” Lois interrupted his train of thought. “How are you liking it?” she gestured with her fork to his plate.

Conner was a little irritated that he was still being made to talk when it was generally much safer and easier for him when he was quiet enough that Clark forgot he was there, but he managed to keep his face and voice politely neutral as he answered the woman. “It’s very good, ma’am. The best meatloaf I’ve ever had. Did you make it?”

Lois and Jon both laughed at the question, and Lois answered between chuckles. “Oh, no. I can’t cook in the slightest . I can do frozen pizza and even that comes out burned half the time.  No, Clark’s the cook of the family.” She smiled and raised her glass in the man’s direction. 

“Oh,” Conner replied, shooting an awkward look at the hero, still a little thrown by the glasses every time he saw them. “Um, thanks then. It’s, uh… It’s really good.” It felt so incredibly weird to be talking to him about something so mundane and trivial. 

He was half convinced Clark was going to snap back that they weren’t family, they didn’t have a relationship, so there was no reason for them to exchange pleasantries. It wasn’t like they hadn’t had similar interactions before, but this time Clark just smiled at him, equally awkward in his reply. “Glad you like it.”

Conner gave a half-hearted smile in return, lifting a bite to his mouth and shrugging. “I mean, it’s definitely a whole lot better than the Hungry Man meatloaf, that’s for sure.” 

Clark continued smiling and nodded in return, but his expression had gone a little tight, and Conner knew the comment hadn’t landed how he’d wanted it to. He wished he knew why that kept happening. Why he was so fucking bad at this.

Thankfully, Jon saved him from the tension. “So, Conner,” the kid said between bites of food. “You should come play video games with me after dinner. I have a bunch of multiplayer games like Mario Kart and stuff.”

Conner bit his lip, darting his eyes over to Clark and fiddling with his fork. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to play video games with Jon. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be in his room being quiet so everybody could forget he was even there. But Clark avoided his eyes, giving him nothing to go off of. “Oh, I mean, I don’t know,” he hedged, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t think I’d be any good. I’ve only played a few times when someone from Young Justice brought a system over, and I never got to practice enough to really be any fun to play with.” He hoped the deflection would stop Jon from wanting to play together.

Jon looked back at him, horrified. “I can’t imagine never getting to play video games. That sounds so boring . Don’t worry Conner, now that you’re here you have plenty of time to practice and get good. And we can start with me kicking your butt at Mario Kart tonight after dinner!” he declared confidently. 

“Sorry, Jon,” Clark interjected, his tone contrite but firm. “There are some things Conner and I need to discuss after dinner. He can join you after if it isn’t too late when we finish up.”

Conner felt his legs tense involuntarily at the revelation of his and Clark’s impending discussion, but he was distracted from his burgeoning dread by Jon’s swift reply. “Mom, could you tell dad that he’s acting like a fun hating dictator?” 

The blatant disrespect paired with the ridiculously casual delivery had Conner choking on a sharp bark of laughter. He immediately clamped his teeth together, cutting off the sound as all of the eyes at the table darted over to him. He felt his cheeks growing hot and kept his own gaze glued to the meatloaf. Conner was quietly relieved when Lois’s firm voice addressed Jon rather than himself. 

“I know you’re upset with your dad right now, but you know better than to speak to him like that,” she reprimanded. “Now I expect you to apologize to him, and there won’t be any video games at all for you tonight, understood?”

Jon clenched his jaw and huffed and puffed angrily for a few seconds, before shooting Clark an irritated look. “M’sorry I was rude,” he muttered, begrudgingly breaking his moratorium on talking to the man.

Clark smiled ruefully at the boy. “It’s all good, kiddo. Thank you for the apology.” He didn’t seem to mind his son’s audible lack of sincerity.

Jon responded with an aggrieved sigh, poking at the green beans accompanying the night’s meatloaf irritably. “Whatever. I didn’t want to play video games without Conner anyway.”

Conner wasn’t sure how to reply to that, and he was still a little nervous that he was next in line to be reprimanded thanks to his inappropriate laughter, so he decided not to say anything at all. Instead, he took another bite of his dinner and tried not to think too hard about the fact that this was the first family meal he’d ever observed. 

_____

Conner had originally been planning on getting up to wash his plate and cup as soon as he finished eating, but Lois was the first person done with her food, and she stayed seated at the table. Apparently you weren’t supposed to just get up and leave the meal when you were done—or at least, that’s what he assumed based on the evidence. He couldn’t be fully sure, since pizza nights on the couch with Young Justice were probably the closest experience he had to this, and they were pretty different.

So Conner sat and waited until Jon and Clark finished, intending on darting away to wash his dishes as soon as he got the chance. Unfortunately, he was waylaid by Clark asking him to join him in his office while Lois sneakily snatched his plate and silverware from in front of him, clearing the table in tandem with Jon and leaving nothing for Conner to assist with. Leaving him with no excuse to put off the conversation that had been looming in his mind since Clark first mentioned it.

That was how Conner came to find himself quietly sequestered in Clark’s office. The room was relatively small— probably only a little bit bigger than the room they’d set Conner up in. He spared a moment to be grateful they hadn’t chosen this space for him to sleep in, despite the extra square footage. It was lacking windows, which lent it a slightly claustrophobic quality. 

Inside there was a large desk made of dark wood, covered with stacks of neatly sorted papers and an abundance of sticky notes with nearly illegible words scrawled all over them. Perched atop the desk was a laptop and two computer monitors. Behind the desk there was a black office chair and a standing lamp, and to the right of the door were built-in shelves littered with books, knick knacks, and awards. In front of the desk there was a small armchair that Conner hastily took a seat in, assuming that was where he was meant to place himself. 

Clark smiled thinly, moving past him to sit on the other side of the desk, so Conner figured he’d probably chosen correctly. Clark didn’t waste any time dithering after he sat down— something Conner was incredibly grateful for. Instead, he jumped right in. “Alright Conner, I figured we should have a conversation about what the goals are with regards to having you stay here.” 

The man’s face held no hostility and only minimal tension, so Conner started to relax into the idea that he’d been right in suspecting that it wasn’t actually any of his own mistakes that had landed him in this situation. “Of course,” he agreed easily. “I don’t… like, have any good ideas about how to get Jon talking to you again, though. I already said everything’s fine. Was there like— Do you have a plan?” he asked hopefully.

Clark’s baffled expression killed that hope relatively quickly. “What? What are you talking about?”

Conner furrowed his brows, matching Clark’s confusion beat for beat. “You brought me here because Jon isn’t talking to you, right? And once I fix it, I’ll go back to Mount Justice.” And then he’d get his team back. That’s what he hoped, at least. And he was hopeful, but the words came out defensive. Angry . He wasn’t really sure why.

Clark was already shaking his head long before Conner had finished speaking. “No, Conner, what? That’s not— That’s not at all why I brought you here.” The man looked almost offended by the statement. “And you aren’t going back to Mount Justice. Even if you aren’t staying here permanently, you aren’t going back to living there.”

Now it was Conner’s turn to shake his head in denial. “ No! No, whatever it is that you’re upset about, I can fix it, and then I can go back to Mount Justice, and everything will go back to normal,” he insisted, leaning forward in his chair, his hands clenched into tight fists where they were resting on his knees.

“No, Conner,” Clark replied, his voice feather soft and placating, like he was talking to some deluded child who was having an obvious truth broken to them. “I’m not sending you back to Mount Justice. I’m sorry, but that’s what’s for the best.”

Conner could feel his breathing picking up and his heart rate skyrocketing as he was forced to acknowledge that Clark meant what he was saying. For the best. The best for who, exactly? Not for Conner, that’s for sure. He had a sudden impulse to just say fuck it. To just run away. Go hide and become anonymous in the city. Start a new life. Pretend he was a normal person. Pretend he was a person at all.

It was a stupid idea. Superman would always be able to find him. Lex would probably find him first. The bastard probably had the labs ready and waiting for him, even now. The Justice League was the only thing keeping him safe from that fate, so there was nothing he could really do aside from whatever they said. That had always been true, and it was stupid of him to have ever gotten comfortable enough to think that there was any other way this would go. He felt the fight leaking out of him like air from a balloon, and he slumped back into the chair with a huff, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes burning. “ Whatever.” It didn’t matter. None of this fucking mattered. “What do you even want to talk about, then?”

Clark was still looking at him sadly, but he continued on nonetheless. “Well, like I said previously, I’m sure staying with me isn’t… the most comfortable arrangement for you, given our history. I want to assure you that I’m looking for other options, and as soon as I have something preferable for you, you’ll be the first to know.” Clark said this like it was urgently important for Conner to understand how much he didn’t want him here, but Conner wouldn’t have ever been so deluded as to think otherwise. 

“Whatever,” he muttered again, not willing to put forth the energy to find other words to communicate how little he cared about any of this.

Clark pressed his lips together, looking down at his hands where they were joined on top of the desk in front of him. He took a deep breath before pressing on. “While you’re here there are a number of things I think we should work on getting done for you. There’s the obvious stuff, like you needing more clothes, finding some hobbies outside of training, and then we of course need to get you enrolled in school—”

“Clark ,” Conner interrupted, holding his hands up and trying to wrap his head around everything the man had just said to him in that rapid fire list of pure nonsense. “If I need new clothes for a mission or something, that’s whatever. And if there’s something else I’m supposed to be doing then I’ll happily do it, you just have to tell me. But I don’t need to go to school.” He was pretty sure he’d already explained that, so he continued on to the more important issue. “More to the point, I can’t go to school.” 

Clark raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is this about you needing the paperwork for a civilian ID? Because the League can get that sorted out in less than a week.” He paused for a moment, his eyes darting to the side as he continued, muttering more to himself than to Conner. “ Batman could probably get it done in three days, honestly.”

Conner had a moment of furious anger at how willfully obtuse Clark was being before he realized that there was a chance the man actually didn’t know. He hadn’t even fully read Conner’s ability list. Why would he have read Red Tornado’s regular updates or Conner’s incident reports? “I— No , Clark. Or — Well, I mean yes the IDs are an issue, but that’s not why I can’t go to school,” he stumbled on his words as he tried to grapple with the thought that Clark had paid him such little attention before now that he didn’t even know what Conner was talking about, when it should have been obvious. “The problem is Lex.”

Clark’s face twitched at the sound of the man’s name, and he furrowed his brow, tilting his head as he continued to have no idea what Conner was getting at. And if the name Lex hadn’t clued him in, then he definitely didn’t know about the situation in the slightest. Conner swallowed down his idiotic disappointment and continued without giving Clark enough time to ask for clarification, gluing his eyes to the man’s hands as he spoke. “If I go out in public like that, without anyone from the League watching my back, Lex will definitely show up and try to drag me back to Cadmus. If he shows up at a school full of kids, I won’t have any choice but to go with him. The potential for collateral if I try to get away is just too high.” He hesitated before admitting the bitter truth. “I’m not good enough to keep everybody safe in that situation.”

Clark’s hands had slowly clenched into fists as Conner spoke, and by the time he finished, they were white knuckled. Conner’s face flushed with shame at his self-admitted incompetence. He couldn’t look Clark in the face as he waited for the man’s response. “What are you talking about?” Clark’s voice was cold and hard like metal. Conner wondered if the hero didn’t believe him. There were documented reports relating to this, so it didn’t matter in the long run if Clark believed him or not, but the lack of trust still stung.

“Any time I go out alone somewhere with cameras or whatever, a bunch of Lex’s people show up with all the shit they’d use to subdue me in the lab, and I end up having to fight my way out,” he elaborated, still talking to the man’s hands. “S’why I don’t really go anywhere, except for on missions with Young Justice. Red Tornado picks up the grocery orders I put in online and grabs anything else I need from town or from the Mount Justice PO box.” Red Tornado complained sometimes about being reduced to a delivery bot, but it wasn’t like Conner could change the situation, so he just tried to keep his requests to a minimum.

Clark’s hands suddenly tightened and then relaxed, spreading to rest flat on the table as he replied, confusion still coloring his voice. “He can’t just abduct you in broad daylight, Conner,” he insisted incredulously. “That would leave more than enough evidence for us to get permission to infiltrate his facilities and investigate, and Lex doesn’t want that kind of scrutiny on his projects.”

Conner finally raised his eyes to Clark’s face, huffing in irritation at the rebuttal. Of course he doesn’t believe me. The man was talking like Conner was some kind of idiot who’d been running around scared for no reason. “Uh, yes he can abduct me in broad daylight, because it wouldn’t legally be abduction.”

Clark went so far as to roll his eyes at that one, clearly still not taking Conner’s words seriously. “Okay, sure technically there could be an argument that he’s your guardian or something, but that would never hold up in court, especially if we set up your civilian identity properly—”

“ No, Clark, you aren’t listening, ” Conner snapped, his irritation finally getting the best of him. “There are already legal documents in existence defining my identity and establishing that Lex is legally allowed to come and take me if he wants to.” Conner didn’t let himself look away from Clark’s startled eyes. The man needed to understand what he was talking about. That this was serious. “The courts have already decided that as a clone, I’m not a person. I’m a thing. An object . Legally, I’m one of LexCorp’s assets. The authorities aren’t all that willing to go up against me or the Justice League in a fight to help Lex get me back, but he is legally entitled to try it himself whenever he wants as long as he doesn’t commit any other crimes in the process, and if he succeeds, you won’t have any legal grounds to attempt getting me back.”

Clark looked horrified. He looked furious. His face had gone pale, and his eyes had gone wide, and his nostrils were flaring. He’d pulled his hands off of the desk in favor of resting them in his lap in a move that Conner recognized from his own experiences with growing too emotional to risk touching anything, lest he shatter it accidentally with his unchecked strength. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of this? Why haven’t you told the League about this before?”

Conner raised an eyebrow, glad he was annoyed enough that his fear couldn’t touch him. “Literally I told you guys about this as soon as I knew about it. I even gave Red Tornado copies of the court records I was able to request using the Mount Justice computer system.”

Clark shook his head. “No. No. If this was going on, I’d know about it .” He kept shaking his head, like his denial could change the situation. He looked so mad that Conner would’ve usually been worried, except he knew he’d done everything right this time, so he couldn’t possibly be in any trouble over this. But Clark still seemed determined to find a screw up so he could blame this all on Conner. “So what are you saying?” he asked. “That you just dealt with these attacks and never asked anyone for help? You never asked Red Tornado why nobody was doing anything, or thought to tell me about this? I take Lex on regularly , Conner. I could have helped you. And you went out with your team with this situation going on? Do you know how dangerous that is!?”

“ Ha!” Conner couldn’t help but laugh outright at that. “Of course I know how dangerous the situation is, Clark! But I was going out with Young Justice for a full two months before I ever tried going out in public by myself. I had so much evidence that Lex wouldn’t try anything if I was with other heroes. He only ever came for me when it was just me, and as soon as I figured that out I told the League, and I stopped going anywhere alone.” It was infuriating for Clark to insist on acting like Conner had fucked this up, when this time Conner knew he hadn’t. “I told Red Tornado, and he told me that he passed it along. I wrote up incident reports and logged all of my related research. There’s even a case file. What else do you want me to have done!?” He wasn’t yelling, but it sure was close.

“You should have told me!” Clark cried, even closer to yelling than Conner had been. 

Conner looked around the room desperately, unable to look at Clark directly for even a second longer without fully losing his composure. “We don’t talk , Clark! Why would I go out of my way to tell you anything!? All you ever do is tell me what a fuck up I am, and that everything is my fault!” Conner was definitely shouting now, and he continued to do so as he threw his arms out in a gesture of disbelief. “You’re doing it right fucking now!”

Something about that drew Clark up short, and whatever reply he’d been preparing seemed to evaporate into thin air as he stared across the desk at Conner. “I’m not— I’m—” he stuttered, uncharacteristically clumsy with his words. “Of course this isn’t your fault, Conner,” he insisted, in complete defiance of everything he’d said previously. He drew in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up as he did so. “I’m sorry, this just took me by surprise. I shouldn’t have gotten short with you.”

Conner leaned back in surprise at the easy apology, not sure what to do with it and automatically on guard at the sudden change in tone. “ Whatever , I don’t care ,” he snapped, glaring at the floor, painfully aware he was lying and hoping it wasn’t completely obvious.

Clark shook his head. “No, it’s not whatever, and I’m sorry.” He met Conner’s eyes and leaned in all earnest-like as he spoke. It made Conner’s skin crawl a little. “You shouldn’t have been dealing with this alone,” he continued, pursing his lips and drumming his fingers on the desk. “Tomorrow I’ll request all of the related records and see if I can talk to Red Tornado to figure out how this fell through the cracks.” Then his voice went all heroic and soft, like he was talking to a civilian victim. “Don’t worry, Conner. We’re going to get this figured out, okay?”

Conner leaned further back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest and tossing his head to the side with a scoff. “I mean, you can do whatever you want. I don’t care either way.” He needed that to be true, because there was no way Clark was actually planning on figuring this out . Or, if he was serious about it, Conner would definitely fuck up badly enough that he burned through whatever sudden goodwill this was motivated by, and then Clark wouldn’t be doing any kind of favors for him. Which was fine. This was how Conner had always lived. He didn’t know any different, and he didn’t need any different.

Clark almost looked like Conner’s dismissive words had made him sad , which was insane and impossible. The man gave a tired sigh—which seemed to be his new favorite sound to direct Conner’s way—and looked at him like the sight of him physically hurt. “This, uh. This definitely changes my plans for your time here, so I don’t think there’s much we need to discuss anymore. I’m going to start looking into this whole Lex situation right away, but I’ll let you go for the night, okay?”

The sudden freedom was a stark relief. “Okay,” he agreed hastily, already standing up out of the chair and moving for the door, only to be frozen by the sound of Clark continuing to speak.

“Just let me or Lois know if you need anything, and I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Conner.” Clark gave him a smile and a wave that Conner couldn’t force himself to return.

“Uh… Night, Clark,” Conner replied uncomfortably, before slipping out of the office and bee lining for the room they’d set him up in. He was almost grateful that Jon had been grounded from video games for the night. There was no way he had the energy for it after that conversation. 

Chapter Text

Clark had previously thought he’d known how badly he’d fucked up. Tonight had thoroughly rid him of that incorrect assumption, and he was still battling back the emotional whiplash of that revelation. Conner’s situation had seemed untenable before Clark had even known about the whole Luthor situation. About the legal situation. 

Clark had already known that he’d screwed up. He’d let his discomfort with the circumstances of Conner’s existence compel him to ignorance, and in his ignorance he’d hurt a child consistently enough that said child now believed the harm was both intentional and deserved. It was something Clark knew he’d regret for the rest of his life. It was an idiotic lapse in caution and control, and he should have known better. He was Superman. He didn’t get to have lapses in caution and control.

Clark wasn’t stupid . He’d known he was failing Conner long before that miserable day with Jon at Mount Justice. He’d known the kid needed a mentor and that he was doing a shoddy job of filling that roll. He just couldn’t seem to shake the resentment that clung to him. The sense of violation. Clark hadn’t wanted to be cloned. He hadn’t even known it was happening, and wasn’t that sickening?   He hadn’t consented to any of this, and now there was this small version of himself running around breaking things, making dangerous mistakes, and looking at him with all of this expectation . It wasn’t fair that Clark was expected to have anything to do with the living embodiment of Luthor’s pathological need to seek power by digging his claws into Superman like he could own him.

And Clark just hadn’t been able to process that. He had a son to raise, a career to manage, a wife to love, and an entire world to protect. So he’d given the bare minimum to ensure Conner wasn’t a danger to the people around himself, avoided thinking about the boy for even a second longer than he had to, and trusted his team to understand that this was just too much for him. Trusted his team to handle the situation.

But apparently, despite Clark’s repeated insistence that he wasn’t going to take responsibility for Conner, his team had assumed that he’d be unable to resist doing so. They’d projected the moral perfection that people were so quick to demand from Superman onto Clark once more. They’d assumed that he was too good of a man not to step up. That he would understand it wasn’t Conner’s fault that he existed and reach into some unending well of kindness and grace to give the kid what he so obviously needed.

But no matter how hard Clark tried, he wasn’t perfect. No matter how the world elevated him, placing him on an ever higher pedestal, insisting he was something more than, better than human, he’d never quite managed it. He didn’t understand how they couldn’t see it when it felt so obvious to him. He was just a farm boy from Kansas. An only child who didn’t quite know who he was or where he came from. A kid with big city dreams, who’d always been too large to fit into his own skin. He was stupid, stubborn, selfish, and proud. He was quick to anger and slow to change his mind. And he wasn’t good enough to do right by Conner.

So it wasn’t only himself that he was angry with. Clark had trusted his team to handle it, while they’d trusted him to do the same, and Conner had fallen through the cracks. He’d been tucked away at Mount Justice, new to the world and needing guidance. All he’d received was a team of superpowered teenagers, a robot whose primary function was to create tornadoes, and Clark coming down on him like an unforgiving hammer every time he dared to slip. But of course he’d slipped. They’d left him with a robot whose primary function was creating tornadoes. It was a miracle that Conner had turned his understandable frustration and anger inwards towards himself, as opposed to directing it at the League or the world in general. They were lucky Conner hadn’t gone dark.

But even that thought wasn’t quite fair, was it? From the moment Conner had appeared before Clark, he’d been on guard for the kid to betray them. He was Luthor’s creation, after all. His head had been filled with information hand selected by the billionaire himself. He shared ten percent of the man’s DNA. He’d come into the world under the harsh fluorescent lights of a laboratory and presented himself to the League like a picture perfect sleeper agent. And even more damning than all of that: he was ninety percent Clark. 

Maybe that was the real problem. 

Clark recognized Conner’s anger and frustration. He understood the boy’s impulsivity. His bull-headedness. His tendency to hit first and ask questions later. He’s seen it all before in his own life. He couldn’t bring himself to trust Conner to do the right thing any more than he trusted himself to do the right thing. Or, more accurately, any more than he would’ve trusted his own teenaged self to do the right thing, if he’d been trying his hand at being a hero with next to no life experience and no Ma or Pa to guide him. So Clark hadn’t trusted that Conner would stay good. Didn’t trust it, if he was honest.

The others at the League had picked up on that. Of course they had. Clark was a leader. Where he went, others followed. If Clark didn’t trust Conner, he surely had a good reason. He surely knew something they didn’t. He wouldn’t distrust someone unjustly. He was too perfect for that. Too moral . He was Superman .

And then Clark had found himself stuck, aware of his many mistakes and desperate to fix them. Desperate to make it right. To find absolution. But he’d also been painfully aware that he’d probably done too much damage to be the person doing the repairing. Conner probably didn’t want to be within a hundred miles of him if he could avoid it. 

So Clark had gone looking for someone to take the boy in. Someone other than Red Tornado. Someone who could be gentle and kind. Someone who could be the sort of guardian and mentor Conner deserved. That was when he’d discovered the cruel way in which he’d trapped the kid, because anyone who could take Conner in, didn’t trust him enough to do so. Conner was powerful, and he would likely only continue to become more powerful. The other heroes didn’t trust Conner, and they couldn’t trust their own ability to subdue him either, so Clark had been left with two options. Leave Conner alone at the mountain, or bring him home himself.

Leaving him hadn’t ever really been an option. And not just because Jon would probably never forgive him if he did so.

Clark had been miserable over the situation, but his misery about all of these things paled in comparison to the furious tangle of thorny emotions that bloomed in his chest as he grappled with the Luthor situation. As he realized how exactly they’d managed to cage Conner in. Heavy shame had him stuck frozen at his desk, hunched over with his face pressed into the wood and his hands pressed to the back of his neck, furious at the flashes of persistent resentment and anger that flared to life in his chest despite his best efforts to stamp them out. It wasn’t Conner’s fault. Funny, how little that knowledge seemed to matter to his heart.

That was how Lois found him, however many minutes or hours later. Still stuck behind his desk, facing down a long list of problems with no solutions to be found. He didn’t look up when he heard the door open. “I just got Jon settled into bed,” she informed him sweetly. “You should go say goodnight.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” he grumbled petulantly into the wood pressed against his face, probably sounding as pathetic as he felt. 

Lois clicked her tongue, and even with his eyes closed Clark could practically see her shaking her head in exasperation. He knew before she spoke that she’d give him no quarter, and he was swiftly proven right. “We both know that’s not true, Clark. Now stop pouting and go tell your son you love him even when he’s being a stubborn brat.”

Clark sighed and pulled his face up off of the desk, taking in her quirked eyebrow and gentle smile with tired eyes. “Okay,” he assented. As he stood to leave he paused and bit his lip, turning his face to look at her hesitantly. “Split a bottle of wine with me after, love?”

That was basically code for talk me through something difficult and awful at this point, and it was a relief when she didn’t hesitate to nod. “Of course, darling. I’ll meet you in the living room. Conner put himself to bed right after he left your office, so we should be set.”

Clark flinched a little at the sound of the boy’s name, but neither of them bothered to acknowledge it. That could wait until Lois was tipsy and Clark was sitting on their comfortable couch, fending off her complaints over how much of the wine he was drinking considering it couldn’t get him even the slightest bit inebriated. 

One trip across the apartment and kiss to a pouting Jon’s forehead later, that’s exactly where Clark found himself. Lois had propped her feet up in his lap and was lounging back against the other arm of the couch, watching him closely as she sipped the overfull glass of red he’d poured for her while she changed into her silk pajamas. She waited through the silence with the quiet patience of an experienced interviewer, aware that the human impulse to fill the quiet would pull the truth out faster than any probing question ever could. Clark had never been as good at playing that game as she was.

“I really fucked up, Lois,” he admitted, staring straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to see her face. 

Lois sighed, nudging his thigh with her toes. “Thought we already knew that.” 

“I thought so too.” He leaned his head back against the couch and pressed his eyes closed. “But it’s worse than I thought. So much worse.” He was hoping for some sort of reassuring reply, but when he opened his eyes to face his wife he was only met with more of that damnable silence as she just watched him from over the rim of her wine glass, head cocked expectantly. She wouldn’t offer him anything until he explained, so he took a deep breath, pressed his thumbs into the arches of her feet, and began. Clark explained that Conner thought he was at their apartment to fix his relationship with Jon. He explained the fact that Conner apparently wasn’t legally a person. He explained that Luthor was apparently still hunting the kid. It felt like hollowing himself out to put it into his own words, and fuck , wasn’t that selfish to think? How had it felt for Conner? Probably worse.

When he finally finished laying it all out, he sat back to wait for Lois’s response, slightly concerned by the intense look he found in her eyes. It wasn’t the look of a sympathetic—or even an unsympathetic —wife. It wasn’t a look of maternal concern for the awful hand Conner had been dealt. It wasn’t even a look of anger or disgust with the situation.

No, it was the same look she got every time she found a particularly juicy story to sink her teeth into. It was hunger. Every time Clark had seen that look on her face before, it had been followed by some combination of death threats, police harassment, attempted bribery, and eventually, the awarding of at least one high profile journalism award. 

“Well,” she replied, leaning over to grab the wine bottle from the coffee table and refill her glass as she spoke. “This obviously can’t be allowed to go on as is, so what’s the plan?”

She was looking at him expectantly, but beyond talking to Red Tornado and reading the reports Conner had apparently submitted, he didn’t really have any ideas. He said as much, huffing with frustration when he felt a headache starting to press at his temples. This was the sort of shit he’d never been all that good at. He was smart. He could strategize and scheme, and he understood far more than he usually let on, but once bureaucracy and the tangled, intentionally opaque systems of the law got involved, he was out of his depth. 

Lois’s skill at navigating inside that arena was what made her a better investigator than him. It was why he tended to stick to writing features and op-eds, whereas Lois tended towards news and investigative works. It was why Lois’s Pulitzer was housed on a shelf alongside five other awards, only one of which had Clark’s name on it. It was why he’d really been hoping she might have thoughts on what the plan should be. “I don’t know, Lois,” he sighed. “I barely had any idea how to fix this back when I thought it was half as bad as it is. I have no clue what to do now.”

It was actually a relief when Lois didn’t answer straight away, because this time she wasn’t waiting patiently for him to fill the quiet. Instead, she was staring off into the middle distance, silently mouthing words Clark couldn’t discern as she methodically sought out the answer in her own mind. “Hmm,” she hummed, chewing her bottom lip with a wrinkled nose. “Talk to your hero friends and get me copies of all of the legal documents that you can. I’ll reach out to a few of my legal contacts and see about getting some opinions on what options we might have. I think I know some people.” 

As she finished speaking her eyes blinked back into focus, and she was fixing him with a determined stare. One filled with the absolute confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she was capable of. “There’s no way this bullshit holds legally, and if it does…” She paused and ran her finger along the rim of her glass as she shrugged. “I sincerely doubt it’ll hold up in the court of public opinion.” Her smile was sharp and viscous. “If Luthor decides to play stupid games, I’ll be happy to award him stupid prizes.”

Clark was one of the most powerful individuals on the planet. Arguably the most powerful person on the planet, at least in a physical sense. He’d stared down evil the likes of which most people couldn’t imagine, and he’d done it without flinching. He’d travelled the universe and faced off against the worst it had to offer, and he’d been the one to walk away from those fights. So it was saying something that, when faced with that smile on his wife’s face, he couldn’t deny the tiny sliver of fear that speared through his heart. 

But then, he wasn’t sure he wanted a wife who didn’t make him at least a little bit afraid. What would be the fun of that?

_____

Occasionally, when things were especially busy, Clark would set his alarm to wake him a few hours before he needed to start his work shift so that he could make a trip up to the Watchtower and get ahead of his to-do list for the day. The Conner situation meant that Clark was definitely busy, so Tuesday saw him up and out of the apartment just a few short minutes after four in the morning, sunrise still hours away and his body already protesting the lack of sleep. Thankfully, the zeta tube retinal scanners worked just as well when his eyes were bloodshot and adorned with heavy bags.

Once he was settled in his office, it wasn’t hard for him to find the reports that Conner had submitted about his run-ins with Luther’s acquisition team . They were filled out exactly as they were meant to be. 

The incidents appeared to have flown under the radar because Conner had marked them as having resulted in no injury or property damage. He’d then filled out the notes section with the information pertaining to the legal situation that was responsible for the incidents and marked the files as requiring no further investigation. That led the system to auto sort the reports to the lowest priority level, and with how overloaded the system tended to be with high priority reports, nobody had ever seen these. It was painfully clear that Conner hadn’t made any mistakes. It was the system that failed.

Reading the details included in the reports didn’t make the situation any easier to stomach. Conner’s first solo venture out of Mount Justice had taken him just over an hour away to the town closest to the remote base. Clark was familiar with it—as were most people who’d spent any meaningful amount of time at Mount Justice—since it was the best spot for resupplying. It was just large enough to have a library, but small enough that the nearest hospital was around forty minutes away. Conner’s destination had been the aforementioned library.

Conner’s report included a number of details that weren’t technically required, but that seemed to be a pattern for him. His reports tended to be around double the length of his teammates’. This specific write-up included a lengthy explanation of his reasons for going into town in the first place, and Clark had been surprised by how strongly anger gripped him in response to what he read.

Conner’s goals had been twofold. The first was simple: he wanted a library card. The second goal was the one that had Clark clenching his teeth. Conner had apparently received correction for his lack of control of his strength and temper and had wanted to be proactive about addressing the issue. He’d looked around online and found that the library offered a weekly beginner’s meditation class. He’d thought that might help. 

But of course, life couldn’t give the kid even a single win, because you needed an ID to get a library card, and you needed a library card to register for classes. The librarian had been nice enough to tell the kid that he could read the books and use the computers if he wanted. He just couldn’t check anything out or use the printers. Conner had asked for help finding a book on meditation and spent a few hours reading before starting on his way back to Mount Justice. About ten minutes outside of town he’d been accosted by Luthor’s men. 

As Clark continued to read, he found himself chilled to the bone. He hadn’t realized that Conner had ever been fully apprehended by Luthor. By Conner’s description the night before, he’d assumed that there hadn’t been any successful capture attempts, but that wasn’t true. During this first encounter, the boy had eventually been cuffed and shoved into the back of an armored car. It wasn’t that Luthor had tried to take him. He’d succeeded in doing so—at least temporarily. And nobody had even known. How scared had Conner been? Clark didn’t want to think about it.

Once Conner had been locked away, Luthor had apparently hopped on a video call to gloat, which was how Conner learned about his legal status. In his report, he indicated that he was waiting for copies of the related court documents to be delivered, and the record showed that eight days later the boy had edited the file and attached scans of what he’d received. Clark downloaded them onto his flash drive and read on. 

It took around eighteen minutes for Conner to calm down enough to use his TTK to disassemble the cuffs binding him, but once he managed that it was easy for him to break the door hinges and escape the car. From there he simply found the person transporting his motorcycle, divested them of the machine, and ran like the devil was chasing him. Which, for all intents and purposes, he might as well have been. He escaped with no injuries and no property damage was incurred, just as he’d indicated. Clark wished he had an answer for why that made him angrier. 

There were three other instances that Conner had submitted reports on. One when his team had gone for dinner in Metropolis after a mission, parting ways to go home separately at the end, leaving Conner to make his way to the nearest zeta tube on his own. One when Red Tornado had been off site for maintenance, so Conner had needed to head into town to pick up his groceries himself. Conner had most recently been accosted while on his way back from a movie that Bart had apparently gotten them tickets to in Central City, after he and his friend had separated, leaving Conner to once again make his way home alone. 

Apparently he’d been prepared for the attack, that time, and he listed his preparatory measures as a tactical success. Clark had to forcefully fight back his frustration at the realization that Conner had knowingly put himself in danger of capture over something as unimportant as a movie. Even Clark was smart enough to know that this wasn’t the time to be reprimanding the boy for such things. Not when the League didn’t have a leg to stand on with regards to how the kid’s situation had been handled.

Once he was armed with as much knowledge as he could extract from the Justice League records system and had it all filed away on his flash drive, he started off in pursuit of his second goal for the morning—speaking to Red Tornado. He was grateful that the early hour of day wouldn’t bother the robot as he sent a meeting request via the League messaging system. He was less grateful when the robot’s only answer to Clark’s many questions was essentially ‘ I’m a robot who makes tornadoes, what do you want from me?’ and not anything useful. 

Why didn’t Red Tornado directly report any of this information to Clark or the other Young Justice supervisors? “I’m a robot who makes tornadoes, how am I supposed to know what is and isn’t important to report directly?” Why didn’t he take any steps to ensure Conner was safe from Luthor moving forward? “He always made it back uninjured and I am a robot who makes tornadoes. How am I supposed to know what is and isn’t an appropriate level of risk for a teenaged kryptonian clone?” Even Clark’s most basic concerns, the ones he’d had before he and Conner’s prior conversation, were met with the same answer. Why didn’t Red Tornado do anything to ensure Conner’s diet and exercise habits were safe and healthy? “I am a robot who makes tornadoes. Why would I know what diet and exercise habits are safe and healthy?”

It drove Clark mad with rage, and he couldn’t even do anything about it because the robot was right. He was a machine with an advanced AI personality that specialized in creating controlled tornadoes and using them to fight crime. Why had anyone ever thought he was the best choice for providing the primary source of supervision for any child, let alone one with as fraught a history as Conner? 

When Clark asked why Red Tornado had volunteered for a task he was so ill suited for, his answer hadn’t been any more satisfying than the ones he’d given previously. He had volunteered because nobody else wanted the job and taking it had exempted him from Watchtower monitoring duty. Clark excused himself from the conversation pretty quickly after that revelation, genuinely concerned his temper might get the best of him if he remained. 

All told, Clark eventually returned home to find everyone else still asleep, giving him plenty of time to seethe over a cup of coffee before the first stirrings of the day started up. His morning wasn’t made any easier by Jon continuing to refuse to speak to him as he ate his breakfast and got ready for school. It wasn’t made any easier by the knowing way Lois extended a hand towards him immediately upon seeing him, accepting the flash drive with a raised eyebrow. And it certainly wasn’t made any easier by the fact that Conner didn’t come out from his room at all, even though Clark could hear him moving around, obviously awake. 

But Clark supposed that things probably weren’t very easy for Conner at the moment either, so maybe this was only fair. Maybe Clark didn’t deserve easy. 

Chapter Text

Conner’s conversation with Clark the night before had done absolutely nothing to help him understand what he was supposed to be doing while he was stuck in the man’s apartment by himself. When he’d woken up that morning, he’d done what felt safest, staying sequestered in his room until he heard Jon leave for school and his parents both leave for work. Then he’d gone into the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat, only to realize that the Kent family’s freezer didn’t contain his usual frozen breakfast sandwiches. He’d had a brief but controlled overreaction to that realization before making himself a bowl of cereal that he was definitely fine with and that didn’t upset him at all. Not even when the starchy mess turned to mush and the milk went sickly sweet. 

The next thing he did was tidy up after himself. Once that short task was completed, he found himself with absolutely nothing to do, and it was barely even nine in the morning. When he’d initially dreaded the prospect of living with Clark, he really hadn’t thought it would be boredom that did him in. 

Usually Conner got in a morning workout after he ate—just something to get his blood pumping. A jog around the mountain path, some cliff climbing, or some time in the weight room usually did the trick. Clark’s apartment didn’t have any mountains or cliffs or even a treadmill . He could run himself through the same equipmentless routine that he’d done yesterday, but it wouldn’t be entertaining in the slightest. He did it anyway, finishing his sets in what had to be record time. Then he ran through it again, just for good measure. And then he found himself exactly as bereft of stimulation as he’d been before.

If he were home then he’d follow that up by starting on whatever chores he had slated for himself that day. The Mount Justice compound was much larger than Clark’s apartment, and as the only full time resident, he felt responsible for the upkeep. Lex hadn’t put much information on cleaning in his head, but YouTube had many very helpful tutorials.

Unfortunately, the apartment didn’t appear to need his upkeep. It was clean and tidy, and even if it weren’t, Conner wasn’t about to go poking his nose around where he hadn’t been invited. The last thing he needed was to be accused of snooping. 

At Mount Justice, those tasks would usually get Conner through to lunch, after which he’d spend some time going over any new materials that had been delivered for Young Justice and putting together any reports that still needed doing. He had the most free time out of all of his teammates, so he occasionally did their work for them when they were especially busy. But even that task wasn’t available to him. Not only was he without access to a League computer to connect to the system with, but he was also benched, so he wouldn’t be granted access even if he could try.

If he were at home, he’d start up his second bout of training for the day after finishing the paperwork up—this time using the compound’s advanced combat simulator to train his tactics and control over his abilities. If Clark’s apartment didn’t have a treadmill, it definitely didn’t have a combat simulator.

Training usually saw him through to dinner, and after that he’d settle down for a relaxing night spent reading whatever book M’gann had loaned him for the week or watching whatever show Tim and Barry were in the process of binging. Conner supposed he could do either of those things, but he really wanted to save them for the evening. Anything to maintain some semblance of consistency.

When Conner next glanced at the clock he found that his pondering over what he should do next had at least burned through about twenty minutes of time, even if it hadn’t given him any useful answers. In the end, he ran himself through his no equipment needed workout another two times over before that got so boring he physically couldn’t stand it. When he finished, it was eleven thirty, which left so much of the day ahead of him. 

He took an early lunch—managing not to have a second overreaction about the unavailability of his usual foods—and spent around thirty minutes laying on the floor, texting his friends in the hopes that they’d have time between classes to entertain him. He’d already updated them about his new living situation and the fact that he’d been benched, though he knew he’d been dodgy enough about the reasons for both things that Tim was getting suspicious.

He received a few replies, but everyone was clearly busy enough that they couldn’t focus on their conversations with him. It was at that point that Conner started to get bored. Like, really bored. Like, really, really bored. Bored enough to get stupid. Bored enough to start practicing with his TTK. 

Conner had gotten pretty good at using the power to shield himself and to push objects out and away from himself in an explosive blast. He’d even started getting better at using it to power his jumps, increasing the distance he could go and cushioning his landing to prevent injury. Lately, he’d been trying to focus on fine tuning the power. He could exert telekinetic force on anything he was in contact with, but he knew the ability was more complicated than that. If he touched a tower of legos, it wasn’t that he could only move the specific lego he was in contact with. He could move the entire tower, even to the point of disassembling it— though he lost control the moment the pieces disconnected from the whole. 

That meant that he could also use his TTK on objects that were touching something that he was touching. He knew this, and technically he used this ability regularly. When he used his TTK to jump, he was using it on the ground beneath him, which he wasn’t actually in contact with. He was in contact with his shoes, which were in contact with the ground. If Conner could use his TTK on anything that was touching anything that was touching him, the floor could connect him to a whole world of possibilities in combat. It should theoretically be possible.

But despite Conner’s sound reasoning, he still hadn’t been able to manage it, so he’d taken to practicing in his spare time. Now that he had far too much of it, he hoped he’d be able to figure out what the issue was. He was sure it wouldn’t hurt anything to try. It never had before.

He took a seat on the couch in front of the coffee table and spent some time trying to disassemble the TV remote. He had a theory that the issue had more to do with what he perceived as being a whole object than anything else, and while he could take apart a lego tower no problem, things that felt whole to him or that he couldn’t actually see the individual parts of were much harder. He was confident he could put the remote back together if he succeeded, so it seemed like the perfect thing to try to take apart, since he couldn’t see the inside and it felt very much like a complete item to him.

He sat there, pressing his fingers to the remote where it lay on the coffee table. His eyes were closed and he was trying to both press his conception of what he was touching outward, and shift his perception of the remote into a series of separate pieces in his mind. Once he felt like he had it, he reached out with his telekinesis, feeding it into the world around him and using it to push and pull the pieces apart, feeling the power leave in a pulse of energy that was immediately followed by the sensation of the remote falling apart beneath his hand. Victory.

But before he could celebrate, the moment was interrupted by the sound of violent shattering and the floor beneath his feet vibrating from a heavy impact. His eyes flew open with a gasp and he was greeted by an awful sight. The coffee table, made of black glass and thick rods of dark metal, was disassembled in front of him just as fully as the remote was. The glass parts had broken to pieces on their impact with the floor. Further forward both the matching TV stand and the TV resting atop it were similarly taken apart into pieces. The TV screen screen had popped free as the device was unmade, shattering apart on the floor even more thoroughly than the coffee table, and Conner was left staring in abject horror at the awful mess he’d made without even trying.

He couldn’t fix a TV. He couldn’t fix shattered glass. He couldn’t— He— He couldn’t fix— Oh, fuck, what had he done? Clark is going to kill me. Panic was stuck like a shard of ice in his chest, cold and sharp and impossible to breathe around. Clark was going to be so angry. There was nothing the man hated more than when Conner lost control of his powers in a destructive way. Especially if his loss of control had been caused by him taking a risk or trying something stupid. Why the fuck had he tried something stupid? Why the fuck couldn’t he breathe?

Maybe he could replace them. Just go out really quickly and buy new ones. Put everything in its place and no one would ever have to know that anything had happened. How expensive was a television? How expensive were coffee tables? Conner didn’t have a job. He couldn’t get a job. He didn’t even have any money. Where did people even buy coffee tables and televisions and TV stands anyway? Shit . This is going to be so bad. Shit. Shit.  

He couldn’t even be excited about the fact that only the floor had been connecting him to the TV stand, meaning his theory was right, because it didn’t matter, because Clark was going to kill him. Conner was up and pacing, his hands buried in his hair and his teeth buried in his lower lip, trying to slow his racing heart down enough that he could think.

Clark had said he’d never meant to hurt Conner. That he hadn’t known he was doing so. That he wouldn’t ever do it again. But Clark said a lot of things. He said he would help him train, then he never showed. He said he’d never let Conner be around his family, then Conner and Jon were friends. He said Conner wasn’t a person, then he said that he obviously hadn’t meant that, and of course Conner was a person, and actually he was a stupid person for ever having thought Clark meant what he’d said before. Conner had no idea how he was supposed to tell the difference between the things Clark said and ‘obviously’ didn’t mean, and the things he said that were actually true, so really he couldn't trust anything the man told him, could he?

Maybe Clark’s insistence that everything had been an accident was something he’d made up because Jon had been so upset to see how Conner was treated. Maybe it was just a way for him to be able to say it was Conner’s own fault that he’d gotten hurt, since he’d never told Clark or asked for help. Maybe the broken television would be the final straw that got Conner sent to live on the Watchtower. That got him stuck in a cell. Or worse.

None of those thoughts helped Conner get himself back under control in the slightest. Instead, it was the realization of how little control over the situation he had that finally slowed his heart and steadied his shaking hands. He’d already broken the things he’d broken, and they couldn’t be put back together. Clark would do whatever Clark wanted to do in response, and there was nothing Conner could do to stop or change that. It was already too late. He couldn’t fix this. He had no more control over Clark’s reaction than he did over his life in general, so there wasn’t really a point in panicking. Not when it was so much easier to just go numb.

There was really only one thing Conner could control and that was the state of the apartment when Clark returned home. Right now it looked like a bomb went off in the living room, but Conner could fix that. So, with movements that felt more robotic than human, Conner collected trash bags and a broom, and began to clean up his mess.

He’d finished collecting all of the large pieces of furniture and glass, wrapping everything sharp edged in thick tape and triple bagging it all, setting it to the side when he was finished. He was preparing to start sweeping up the smaller pieces of glass when there was a knock at the door. Conner froze in place at the sound, not entirely sure what to do. Was he even allowed to open the door? Would Clark be upset if he was seen by neighbors? Who would be coming by in the middle of a work day anyway?

Conner set the broom down and made his way on quiet feet to the door, still unsure of what he was going to do and hoping that a glimpse of the unexpected guest through the peephole might help. It didn’t. In fact, it did the exact opposite, because it wasn’t a neighbor on the other side of the door. It wasn’t a delivery person, or a door to door salesman, or Clark having forgotten his keys and come home early for some reason. 

No. It was Lex Luthor. Lex Luthor was standing on the other side of the door, and if Conner hadn’t known what to do before, he definitely didn’t know now. He watched breathlessly through the peephole as the man raised his hand to knock again, flinching at the abrupt sound of knuckles on wood. 

“Conner?” Lex called through the door, impatient and frowning. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

Conner’s hand twitched instinctively towards the handle before freezing in place. Clark’s going to kill me. But the man was knocking even louder now, and it really didn’t sound like he’d leave, so he took a deep breath, planted his foot firmly against the florr to prevent Lex from forcing his way in, and opened the door a crack, scowling through the gap. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, glaring out at the billionaire. 

Lex rolled his eyes, looking disgustingly suave in his trim grey suit and shiny black shoes. “Now that’s no way to greet me after so long apart. Where are your manners?” The man wasn’t trying to force his way in, but Conner got the feeling that was only because he probably considered that sort of physical brutishness beneath him. 

Conner just continued glaring. “Probably somewhere in the back of that van you used the first time you tried to kidnap me.”

He knew how Lex was going to respond before the man raised an incredulous eyebrow and opened his mouth. “Oh, please . We both know that wasn’t an attempted kidnapping. But enough pleasantries. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

That was the last thing Conner wanted to do, especially with shattered glass still all over the living room floor. As he thought about how much he didn’t want to let Lex into Superman’s home, it occurred to him that Lex wasn’t supposed to know that Clark Kent was Superman, and everything suddenly felt so much worse. Had Conner somehow given it away? Did Lex know, or was he just here looking for his misplaced investment? “I’m not letting you in,” he insisted firmly. “What are you doing here?”

Lex looked down his nose at him, somehow making him feel small and stupid without having to say a word. “I don’t converse in doorways, Conner. Invite me in or come with me if you want to talk, but I’m not going to discuss anything with you while standing in a hallway.” He looked down and adjusted his cuffs like he didn’t care what Conner decided one way or the other. 

Conner needed to figure out if he knew about Clark, and he couldn’t risk going anywhere with him. If he did, there would be nothing to stop the man from just dragging him back to Cadmus. He didn’t see any other options, so—with his heart hammering—he swung the door open and stood to the side to allow the man in before he had enough time to think too hard about what he was doing. “ Fine. But you’re staying where I can see you, and you aren’t going to touch anything.”

Lex put his hands up in faux surrender, chuckling as he crossed the threshold, apparently having been right about not needing force to get what he wanted. “Whatever you say.”

Conner closed the door behind him, flinching at the sound of it latching, before turning his glare towards Lex’s feet. “And take your shoes off.”

That finally seemed to rattle Lex, bringing him to a stop. “Take… my shoes off?” His tone seemed to imply that this was a ridiculous thing for him to have asked.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Take your shoes off, or you have to stay in the entryway.”

The man stared back at him for a few long seconds before replying slowly. “I’m not taking my shoes off.”

Conner shrugged, unbothered. “Then we can talk in the entryway. No shoes in the house. That’s the rules.” He wasn’t even lying. That was the rules.

Lex responded with an aggrieved sigh, appearing to weigh the situation carefully in his mind before toeing his shoes off and making his way further into the apartment. Conner followed close at his heels as the billionaire made his way to the living room, before halting at the sight of the shattered glass covering the floor. He cast a look over his shoulder at Conner. “You made me take my shoes off when this is the state of things?”

Conner nodded. “That’s the rules.” Lex closed his eyes and took a deep breath before altering his path towards the kitchen table to avoid the glass. Conner continued following behind him, joining the man in taking a seat and repeating his initial question. “What are you doing here?”

Lex crossed one leg over the other and leaned back casually in the chair, settling into the seat like he owned the place. “Well, when I heard that Clark Kent—my least favorite reporter—had recently come into possession of something of mine, I thought it best I come take a look for myself.”

Conner’s face scrunched up in confusion. “ Clark is your least favorite reporter? Didn’t Lois almost get you sent to prison one time?” He felt like he remembered hearing about that, but he couldn’t recall where from. 

“Lois is a nasty thorn in my side,” Lex explained with a sneer. “But she is at least worthy of my respect. Clark, on the other hand, is a simpering, idiotic pushover. Lois’s biggest flaw is that she chose such a pathetic man to marry.” He scoffed a derisive laugh into the palm of his hand. “Sometimes I have to wonder if she even bothers trying to hide the fact that she’s fucking Superman from her husband.”

Conner felt his face go bright red as the uncomfortable thought of Lois and Superman fucking tangled with the rush of relief he felt at the sudden presentation of proof that Lex hadn’t sussed out the man’s secret identity. In the middle of all of that, another part of him bristled with irritation at Lex’s crass comment. “You shouldn’t talk about her like that,” he snapped. “It’s rude.”

“Oh, please,” the billionaire sighed. “There’s no need to be so sensitive.”

Conner’s annoyance was rapidly progressing to anger, and now that he knew that Clark’s identity was probably still safely hidden, he had significantly less patience for Lex’s bullshit. “There’s also no need for you to be an asshole,” he snarked. “But you never seem to be able to help yourself.”

Lex clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I suppose we should have put more of an emphasis on respect when we were programming you.” Conner just stared at the man, deeply unimpressed by the obvious attempt to rile him up. “Mm,” Lex hummed, looking down at his hands to pick absently at his fingernails. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. I should ask, though. Does the lack of manners have anything to do with why you’ve been evicted from Mount Justice?”

Tim’s voice was echoing in the back of Conner’s head as he steeled himself and bit out the least mannered response he was capable of conjuring. “Does how ugly your mom is have anything to do with why you look like that?” The way that Lex’s face tightened as he took a slow, controlled breath in and then out would be a source of pride for Conner for a long time, and he did his best to commit the sight to memory. There was no real incentive to keep Lex from leaving at this point, so Conner could be as petty and annoying as he wanted to be.

After a brief pause to collect himself, Lex shifted tactics, smoothing out his suit coat and assessing Conner with shrewd eyes. “What I mean to say is that this seems to be a bit of a downgrade. Going from a premier Justice League compound with ample resources and training facilities, to… this.” He gestured to the space around them, not bothering to hide his disdain as he assessed the Kent family home. “I’m surprised you consented to such a move. If you consented, that is.”

Conner was smart enough to know that he should hide his knee jerk reaction to the painfully correct assessment of the situation, so he channeled his discomfort into motion and pushed backwards, leaning his chair to balance on two legs and kicking his feet up to rest on the dining room table as he interlocked his fingers behind his head, raising an eyebrow in Lex’s direction. “Stop talking around what you want to say and just say it , Lex.”

The man smiled like he could see through all of Conner’s bluster and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yes, you never were one for subtlety were you?” He didn’t seem to expect an answer to the question, sighing before continuing without leaving space for Conner to provide one. “Alright, I’ll speak frankly, then. Something has obviously gone wrong with the Justice League if you’ve been shunted off to live here. I just wanted to make sure you understand that you have other options.”

Conner didn’t dignify that with a response, simply watching the man with a bored expression, letting out a loose and exaggerated yawn as he waited for Lex to go on. After only a second’s pause he did so, his voice slick like oil. “If the Justice League isn’t making proper use of your potential , if they aren’t letting you be the hero you were made to be, I wanted to make sure you understand that LexCorp is still an option.”

Conner couldn’t smother the incredulous laugh that barked from his mouth, and he dropped his feet from the table, letting the chair fall forward onto four legs with a bang. “An option. Is that what you call it?” He couldn’t believe the audacity of this man. Of his progenitor. He could hardly stomach the relation. 

Lex didn’t seem to see the problem, just nodding like he hadn’t said anything particularly out of the ordinary. “Yes, Conner. An option. I don’t see why you’re always so resistant to working with me on this. We both want the same thing. We both want to make you into a hero. Into the best hero.” He looked around the apartment once more. “All I know about what the League thinks of your ability to fill that role is that they moved you here , where you have less resources and closer monitoring. I’m willing to bet they’ve done other things that are hindering your ability to better yourself. That show just how little they trust you.” 

Conner didn’t let himself flinch, no matter how true the words were. His lips stayed pressed together and Lex kept going. “I believe in your potential, Conner,” the man insisted. “At least think about it.”

“Are you going to stop trying to force me to come back to Cadmus?” Conner asked flatly, sure he already knew the answer.

Lex looked so regretful as he responded that it could only be performative. The man was reserved with his true feelings; anything that showed clear on his face couldn’t be trusted. “You know I can’t do that. With the amount invested in your creation I can’t afford to do that. You belong with LexCorp. With me , and if I get a chance to return you to where you belong, I have to take it.” He tilted his head and plastered on a sympathetic look. “You’ll understand once you're home and able to see that I’m right.”

Conner stood up from the table, pushing his chair in and meeting Lex’s eyes defiantly. “I think you should leave.”

He was expecting a fight, so it was a surprise when Lex responded by standing up without argument, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck as he did so. “Oh, you’re probably right. I’m a busy man and you have…” He paused to toss a look over his shoulder towards the living room, where shattered glass lay glittering on the floor. “ Cleaning to do, I presume.” He turned and walked back towards the door, pausing to slide his shoes back on, with Conner trailing awkwardly behind him and watching his every move like a hawk. 

When Lex stood up he made eye contact with Conner one last time. “Just think about it. You know how to find me if you change your mind.” Conner didn’t dignify that with a response—just curled his lip at the man, his arms crossed over his chest and his body tense with barely restrained nerves. Lex quirked a grin at him, seemingly amused by his stoney demeanour. “Alright then Conner, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon. Have a lovely rest of your day.” And with that, he slipped out the door and was gone. 

Conner gave himself a solid five minutes to lean against the front door and tremble the panic out of his body before he forced his feelings back inside himself where they belonged and returned to the living room to pick back up where he left off. Cleaning an enormous mess that was his own fault to begin with. It was something he’d had a lot of practice in at least. He sighed as he picked up the broom. Well, I guess that’s what I get for complaining about being bored.

Chapter Text

When Clark returned home from work, he was determined to have a positive interaction with Conner. He arrived just after five thirty, and it would only be the two of them in the apartment for the next two hours—after which Lois and Jon would be returning from Jon’s robotics club meeting. Clark was planning to ask Conner if he minded helping with dinner. He was going to be pleasant and liberal with his gratitude and praise. It would be simple, easy, and good . Clark would prove to both himself and to Conner that the two of them were capable of that.

Then he opened the door to the apartment and found Conner waiting for him in the entryway, standing to attention with his eyes cast down, guilt written clear across his face, and Clark had a sinking feeling that his evening wasn’t going to go according to plan. That was okay, though. He could be adaptable. He could stay calm and positive. He could do this.

“Conner,” he greeted the kid, trying to sound warm and hide his discomfort as best as he could. “Is everything okay?” He could tell that it wasn’t, but a part of him hoped Conner would prove him wrong and respond that everything was great. He didn’t.

“I attempted to practice with my telekinesis in the living room today,” Conner began, his words practiced and rehearsed, just like they were every time he gave a mission report. “There was an accident and I broke the coffee table, the TV stand, and the television. I should have been more careful, and I’m sorry, sir.” He continued to hold his position even after he finished speaking, his eyes not moving from where they were stuck looking down at the floor. 

Clark’s first reaction was one of fear. What did an accident mean? What had Conner been practicing and how had it resulted in so much destruction? What did he mean by I should have been more careful? Had he been careless? Why had he been careless? Why had he been practicing dangerous things, alone and unsupervised in Clark’s home? He should have known better, he should have—

The quiet sound of Conner’s socked feet shifting as he moved almost imperceptibly back and away from Clark pulled him from his thoughts, and he realized with a start that he was regarding the boy in stony silence, and the quiet had gone on for far too long to be comfortable. The motion would have never been noticeable before, when Clark hadn’t been primed to see it, but now it was miserably obvious. The involuntary shift back. The tightness of Conner’s jaw. The unnatural stillness of his body. The slight uptick in his breathing. It was Fear . Conner was afraid. And suddenly, Clark felt sick to his stomach. 

He swallowed back his nausea and breathed out his fear and frustration, intentionally relaxing his limbs and shoulders as he shrugged out of his jacket and slipped off his shoes. “An accident? Are you okay?” That should have been his first question, and he was momentarily disgusted with himself when he realized how it initially hadn’t even occurred to him to ask. How many times had he failed to ensure Conner was okay? How many times had the kid been hurting, and Clark didn’t even think to ask?

There was an awkward pause as Conner considered his words. Clark could see him casting nervous looks up towards his face, visibly thrown by the question, and fuck wasn’t that a kick in the head? “I’m… I’m fine,” he answered hesitantly, breaking his rigid posture to shift his weight slightly from foot to foot.

“Good.” Clark smiled at him as he placed his keys on the hooks by the door. He was pretty sure his smile didn’t look all that genuine, but he was trying , damn it. “Could you walk me through what exactly happened?” Conner’s telekinetic powers were probably the most unnerving for Clark, simply by merit of the fact that it was the one ability Conner had that Clark didn’t share. It had the potential to be massively powerful, and Clark had next to no understanding of how it worked or what its limits were. There’d always been a part of him that was hesitant to see Conner develop the ability beyond the basics of control, however unfair that was. 

Conner snapped right back to perfect attention—not that he’d fallen far from his self assigned place. His explanation lacked the practiced quality of his initial statement, though it still sounded stiff and brisk—clearly an official report to a superior, at least in Conner’s mind. “I was trying to practice using my TTK to interact with objects that are touching the object that I’m in direct contact with by disassembling the remote, but I overshot it. The force of the TTK shattered the glass in the coffee table and TV stand. The TV was also destroyed. I’ve already cleaned everything up and disposed of it properly. I—” His words suddenly cut off and his shoulders curled inward. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to get the money to replace it all, but if you give me some time I’ll figure it out, sir. I’m sorry.”

Clark hadn’t gotten anywhere near far enough processing this to be thinking about things like replacements and money. He was still trying to get past the part of his mind that was asking questions like What if Jon had been there? and Could Conner have hurt someone with his practice? and Why did a clone of him have telekinesis anyway? while simultaneously screaming for him to do something he knew he’d regret. To react the sort of way he was used to reacting. 

But he wasn’t going to do that. He knew better. Should have always known better . He wasn’t going to screw this up, so he took a breath and waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Oh, don’t worry about that, bud. Worst case scenario I’ll just invoice the Justice League for it. Call it a training expense or something.” He kept his tone light, remaining relaxed and casual where Conner was stiff and formal, desperately hoping the kid would follow his lead at some point. 

But instead of relaxing, Conner looked at him like he’d grown a second head. His weight was shifted onto his toes and his knees were ever so slightly bent, like his body couldn’t help but prepare to run. “O—Okay,” he replied, his eyes sliding over to peer down the hall towards his bedroom. Finding his exit.

Clark could tell the kid was looking to make his escape, but he did need to establish some kind of boundary about the training debacle. His instinct was to outright forbid Conner from practicing his telekinesis in the apartment or without supervision. It was the most cautious approach, and considering how little they knew about the ability and Conner’s current level of control, caution had significant appeal. But Clark was trying not to trust his instinct when it came to Conner. They hadn’t seemed to serve either of them well so far. Instead, he tried to think of what he’d do if Jon’s abilities had led him to breaking things. And he knew exactly what he’d do, because he’d done it many times before, when Jon actually had broken things around the apartment.

“So, Conner, what do you think we can do to prevent an accident like this from happening again?” He kept his body language open and easy, trying to exude nonjudgemental curiosity. 

Conner just looked even more confused and alarmed. “I… I’m sorry,” he apologized again, his brow furrowed and his shoulders rising up towards his ears. “I shouldn’t have been practicing in your apartment without permission, sir. I won’t do it again.” 

The suggestion was in line with Clark’s first idea for a solution, but now that he was hearing it from Conner’s mouth, it was obvious that it was both cruel and an ineffective method of solving the problem. Clark shook his head. “No, it’s okay, Conner. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t practice your abilities.” He needed to practice to get better, and damaged property was oftentimes the cost of practice for individuals as strong as they were. The real issue was ensuring that the damage didn’t extend to other people. 

But then, if that was Clark’s perspective, Conner didn’t have anything to be sorry about at all, did he? He had practiced while a safe distance from anyone he might hurt, and he’d cleaned up after himself immediately. He’d done everything right. “Maybe next time you want to work on developing your TTK skills, try to pick somewhere a little farther away from anything especially breakable. How does that sound, bud?”

Conner stared at him with wide eyes for several silent seconds, visibly trying to parse Clark’s words. “What?” he asked when he apparently failed to do so.

Clark shrugged. “Sometimes you’ve got to break a few eggs if you want to make an omelet." 

“B-But— What?” Conner asked, his disbelief at Clark’s reaction as painful as it was understandable. 

There was an instinct to turn that pain into anger. To let the frustration over having to talk in circles creep in. But Clark was good at self control. He had to be, or he’d shatter the world without a thought. And maybe that was why he’d been so careless with Conner for so long. Maybe he’d wanted to finally have the chance to loosen his grip on himself. Maybe on some level he’d thought the kid’s like me, he can take it. 

He knew better now, so he softened his face even further with a sigh. “It’s okay, Conner. I’m not mad, I promise. You made sure there wasn’t anyone around that could be hurt if something went wrong, and you cleaned up after yourself. Just try and keep a bit further from anything expensive when you’re practicing next time, and don’t try new tricks where a mistake could get someone injured.”

For a moment Conner looked almost offended by the implication that he would allow someone to be hurt by his practicing, but he quickly schooled his expression into one of guarded neutrality. “I wouldn’t let anyone get hurt. I know better than that,” he replied, his disgruntled tone far preferable to the earlier stoicism. 

Clark nodded, unable to prevent himself from remembering the many times he had accused the boy of just the opposite, terrified and furious as he watched him stumble and make childish mistakes with his too grown body. Yet all the while he was still leaving Conner to figure it out on his own, wrongly assuming that his team would pick up the slack and guide the living embodiment of Luthor’s greatest violation where he could not. “I know, bud,” he agreed, watching as the kid cast his gaze down the hall once more, knowing he only had a small window of time if he wanted to stop him from retreating to his room. 

“Alright!” He widened his smile and clapped his hands together to punctuate his change in tone and subject—regretting it when the sound had Conner jumping in alarm, but barreling on anyway because he’d had a plan , damn it. “Now that that’s out of the way, I wanted to ask if you’d mind helping me out with dinner tonight?”

There was a brief flash of anger that flickered across Conner’s face in response to his request, but it was gone almost too quickly for Clark to even make note of it. As the kid’s face smoothed out into one of practiced indifference, he gave a careless shrug and sighed. “Sure, whatever.”

It wasn’t as enthusiastic of a response as Clark had optimistically hoped for, but it also wasn’t as negative of a response as he’s feared. He’d take his wins where he could get them. “Wonderful,” he chirped, pretending he hadn’t noticed the begrudging nature of Conner’s agreement and heading off towards the kitchen. “We’ll be making beef stroganoff. Have you had it before?”

He could hear Conner following dejectedly behind him, his feet dragging on the floor. “I think maybe I made the hamburger helper beef stroganoff once, but I don’t really remember.” His voice was full of a deeply teenaged disinterest, which was probably fair. It was rare that a sixteen year old would express much interest in helping an adult authority figure cook dinner.

“Hopefully we’re able to make something that’s at least a step up from that!” Clark was pretty confident they could, considering this was something he’d made a thousand times before. He made his way into the kitchen and towards the fridge, watching Conner come to linger across the island from him. “Could you grab the flour, oil, and egg noodles from the pantry, bud?” he requested pleasantly as he began to pull the rest of what they’d need out of the refrigerator. 

Conner’s eyebrows furrowed and his nose wrinkled in response. “What the fuck is an egg noodle?” he asked, sounding almost offended, though Clark couldn’t tell if it was directed at him for asking, or at himself for not knowing.

“It’ll be on the third shelf down,” Clark explained, pulling out the flank steaks he’d purchased earlier that week. “In a clear plastic bag. Long, spiraling noodles.” He didn’t look over at Conner as he spoke, focusing on grabbing his own ingredients. Conner stared at him for a few seconds, before muttering out an overly aggrieved fine and turning around to open the pantry. 

It didn’t take long before their bounty had been set out, and Clark was pulling out two cutting boards and a pair of chef’s knives, setting himself up with the meat and Conner up with the onions and mushrooms. “Alright, these just need to be diced. If you could handle that, I’ll get the meat cut, seasoned, and tenderized.”

Conner nodded wordlessly, taking his place beside Clark at the counter and picking up the knife and the yellow onion. Clark shot him a smile that wasn’t returned and focused on his own task. He cut the steaks into thin strips, only using a touch of super speed to accelerate the process.

With that completed, he turned to check on Conner, surprised to find that the boy had barely even started cutting his first onion. And not only that, but he was meticulously cutting the onion—which he hadn’t divided into halves for some unknown reason—into almost impossibly thin rings. He was then individually placing the rings down on the cutting board and chopping  them in a grid pattern to dice them. He examined the boy’s workspace in confusion. He could see the pile of onion skins, torn off in oddly small pieces, atop which rested the top and bottom of the onion, shorn off with next to no excess vegetable connected to them.

Clark’s jaw clenched as frustration came over him. He knew Conner didn’t want to be doing this with him, but if he was honest, he didn’t particularly want to be doing this with Conner either . It was still incredibly rude for him to be responding to the first tiny shred of responsibility Clark had given him while he’d been living in his and Lois’s home by doing it intentionally slowly and with purposeful mistakes. Wasting so much time just because he didn’t want to help was petty and childish, and Clark opened his mouth to say exactly that before he was brought to a stop by the sight of Conner’s shoulders.

They were almost unbelievably tense. His hands were steady on the knife and the onion, but his shoulders were tight and bunched up towards his ears. A quick scan of the kid’s face found it pinched. His eyes were practically glaring with concentration, and he was chewing on his bottom lip nervously. He was so focused on his task that he hadn’t even noticed Clark staring.

Clark remembered the lengthy grocery order history consisting of microwave and box meals, never requiring more cooking than browning the ground meat and adding milk or water, and came to the realization that he was an absolute piece of shit. Conner didn’t know how to cut onions. Conner didn’t know how to cook at all. And why would he? Who would have taught him? Lex wouldn’t have felt the need to include the information in Conner’s ‘ education . ’ Red Tornado was a robot. He didn’t even eat . 

He spent less than a second wondering why the boy wouldn’t have asked for help if he was confused about how to cut the onions before he answered his own question. Why would Conner think he could ask Clark for help? When had Clark ever helped him without making it incredibly known that he hated doing so and wouldn’t be helping if there was any other choice? Of course Conner would just grit his teeth and do his best, hoping he could meet Clark’s confusing and opaque standards on his own, even after Clark had set him up to fail by making assumptions and denying support over and over again.

But that was okay. Clark was going to break that pattern, starting with the onions. “Oh, Conner!” he interrupted, trying to sound anything but reprimanding, though by the way Conner jolted in response, he may have failed. “Here, let me show you a trick for dicing these that’ll help.” He smiled as he motioned for the boy to step to the side.

Conner’s face went just the tiniest bit paler and he put the knife down immediately, moving away from the board with a jolt. “Sorry, sir.” His eyes were once again glued to the floor and his face was frozen in an expression that Clark knew he would’ve once interpreted as disrespectful disinterest, but he could now read as nervous frustration. If Clark had to guess, the frustration was probably self directed, which just made the whole thing even worse.

Clark didn’t bother with trying to address any of the tension Conner was radiating. Lectures about how things would be different now wouldn’t go nearly as far as showing that they would, so he maintained his easy smile and waved away the kid’s words as he moved to stand in front of the onion. “Nothing to apologize for, bud,” he insisted casually, picking up the knife and readying himself to demonstrate. “I’ll show you on this one, and then you can try on the other one, okay?”

He watched from the corner of his eye as Conner nodded and took a cautious step closer, peering around him to watch what he did. “Alright, the first thing you want to do is cut the onion lengthwise,” he began, slicing as he dictated. “Then you’ll take one half and make a series of cuts in this direction, going as close to the base of the onion as you can,] without cutting all the way through it. That’s the hardest part.” He paused for a moment as he remembered just how nervous Conner had been about making a mistake, and clarified. “But if you accidentally cut too far, it isn’t a big deal.” 

Conner nodded, watching his hands intently, so Clark continued on. “Then we simply make cuts perpendicular from the ones we just finished making, starting from the far end of the onion and ending as close to the base as you can. Oh! And curl the fingers holding the onion in place like so.” he lifted his hand to demonstrate the proper claw grip. “It’ll help keep your fingers safe so you don’t cut yourself.” He’d been terrible at remembering to do that up until Jon had started getting curious about cooking. Clark couldn’t hurt himself with a knife, but Jon could, and his son tended to follow his example rather than his instructions. “And then you can chop the last bit of onion like so, and voila! Do you want to give it a try with the other half?” He put the knife down and took a step back, gesturing Conner towards the cutting board once more.

Conner looked practically sick with nerves, but he squared his shoulders and stepped up to bat anyway, and for the first time, Clark realized just how brave the kid was. He didn’t let himself linger on the revelation. Instead he focused on pouring the meat, flour, and seasonings into a plastic zip lock bag to coat everything and prepare it for tenderizing. He kept watch over Conner’s progress as closely as he thought he could without making the kid feel like he was standing threateningly over his shoulder, waiting for him to screw this up.

Before long, Conner was standing in front of a second small pile of slightly less neatly diced onions. Clark tried to move quickly, not giving him any time to compare the two and worry his attempt was lacking. “That’s perfect, Conner!” he praised, slightly disheartened by the way his words once again made the kid jump and tense, staring back at him with thinly veiled suspicion. 

“It’s not perfect ,” he argued, frowning down at his work. “It’s not even remotely uniform.” He poked at one of the larger chunks with the knife, glaring at it like it had personally offended him. 

Clark slowly reached out a hand to pluck the blade from Conner’s grasp, picking up the other onion with a shrug. He quickly sliced off the top and bottom of the vegetable, then cut it in half lengthwise, creating two new halves and peeling the skin off of them, demonstrating the proper method. If Conner had struggled with peeling the first onion as Clark suspected, he was smart enough to watch and utilize the information next time without Clark needing to elaborate. As he stripped the skin away, he shrugged. “Ok, maybe it isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty near perfect, at the very least. You’ll get better with practice.” He emphasized the point by placing the two halves down onto the cutting board, the implication obvious. “And it really was an impressive first attempt. Much better than the first onion I ever tried to dice. You did good, bud!” 

When he looked up to Conner’s face, he was startled to find that the boy was blushing, his mouth opened slightly in an expression of surprise. He looked dumbstruck, and it took Clark a second to realize that it was in response to the praise. Before Clark could spend more than a few seconds wondering if his words had such a strong impact because Conner was hungry for his approval specifically, or if it was because it had just been that long since anyone had told him he’d done well, Conner slid a mask of neutrality back over his face and slid his eyes back down towards the cutting board. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the knife back and getting to work. His dismissiveness did nothing to temper the impact of Clark’s momentary look past the boy’s defenses. It did even less once Clark noticed the lingering redness of the kid’s ears.

Clark nodded and returned to his own work, simultaneously devastated that such simple words from him could have caused such a strong reaction, and ecstatic to finally have evidence that something could actually go right between the two of them. He’d taught Conner how to dice an onion, and he was fairly sure it had gone well. He knew it was idiotic to feel so giddy about such a small victory, but he’d been so worried that there was no fixing this. That he’d irreparably broken something and would spend the rest of his life regretting it. It was stupid, and small, and barely worth anything, but he still couldn’t wait to tell Lois. 

The two of them continued to work alongside one another in the kitchen. Clark made a point to demonstrate each task to Conner before leaving him to it, and the process was shockingly easy as they fell into a rhythm. It was astonishingly pleasant . Clark’s goal had been pleasant, but he hadn’t actually thought he’d manage it. 

Just as Clark heard the front door opening to admit Lois and Jon, the two of them were placing their finishing touches on the meal they’d created and Clark looked to Conner with a grin. “Great job,” he praised him, holding his hand up for a fist bump just like he would if it were Jon standing next to him. “Thanks for all of your help.” 

For a moment Conner just stared at him, his eyes darting from Clark’s face, to his hand, and back again, before he curled his lips into a cautious, reserved smile of his own, raising his hand to gently tap his fist to Clark’s. “Sure,” he shrugged, looking more bashful than anxious for once. “It’s not like it was hard or anything.”

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle at that, because the kid was somehow right. It hadn’t been hard, had it? And relief was warming his body like the warm sun on a cold day. Clark was going to fix this. They would figure it out, and everything would be okay. Clark could make this right. He just had to be careful. Just had to keep himself under careful control. Just couldn’t let himself ever make any mistakes or slip even a single time, for any reason.

So, business as usual, really. 

Chapter Text

When Conner initially decided not to tell Clark about Lex’s visit, he had reasoned that he was already going to be in enormous trouble for all the shit he’d broken. There was no point in pissing Clark off more by mentioning Lex when nothing bad had even happened. Conner had gone so far as to inspect every part of the apartment that the man had touched, so he was confident the billionaire hadn’t left any bugs or surveillance tech behind. Though checking so thoroughly had made him feel a little like a paranoid idiot, but it was better safe than sorry and also so what if he was paranoid? He had pretty good reason to be, all things considered. 

Regardless, the whole Lex thing seemed stupid to bring up when it would only serve to make Clark angrier with him, so he’d kept his mouth shut about it. He’d been confident in this decision up until he was tidying away his dishes from dinner, only for Clark to pluck them from his hands, waving him off with instructions to go play video games with Jon or something, insisting that he’d already helped enough for the night. That was when Conner started to wonder if maybe he’d made a mistake.

Clark was apparently either in a miraculously good mood at the moment, or he’d made some sort of promise to himself to treat Conner with the absolute gentlest of kid’s gloves for the evening. Conner had no idea which it was, but those were the only explanations for the man’s behavior that he could think of.

Clark hadn’t been angry about the fact that Conner had destroyed the living room. Not only had he not been angry, but he’d insisted that the damages were the natural result of training and only asked that he try to stay farther from valuable items the next time he worked on his TTK. There hadn’t been any reprimands or raised voices. Clark hadn’t even taken a single step closer to him as they’d talked. The man’s hands had stayed relaxed at his sides. He hadn’t pointed or grabbed or said anything that could be construed as remotely hurtful. At worst there’d been a few awkward silences. It had nearly given Conner whiplash it was so unexpected.

And then Clark had asked Conner for help in the kitchen as though he wanted to spend time with him, which was maybe the most confusing thing of all because Conner knew the kryptonian didn’t need his help. If anything, Conner’s presence was the opposite of helpful. Clark could use his superspeed to get everything done much quicker if he were actually trying to cut down on time.

And then when Conner had screwed up with the onions, Clark once again didn’t get angry! And he’d taken the time to slowly show Conner how he wanted it done! And he’d said that Conner had done a great job , even though all of Conner’s attempts at mimicking what Clark showed him had fallen short of perfection. Conner was almost tempted to say that the man had been patient with him.

He’d been full of smiles and praise, and Conner didn’t really know what to make of it. He’d been left feeling off balance and a little sick, but also a little like he’d accidentally stumbled into another dimension where he’d been given everything he’d ever dreamed of. And then Clark had smiled, taken his dishes from him, and instructed him to go play with his son , while he cleaned up Conner’s mess for him. 

So now Conner was wondering if maybe he should have taken advantage of whatever insane mood or impulse had caused the man’s novel behavior by informing him of Lex’s visit since he was apparently all but impossible to piss off today. Though, if anything could manage to piss Clark off, it was the mention of Lex, so Conner wasn’t really sure. Not that it mattered at this point. It was too late now. He’d already spent the entire evening hiding it, and there was no way to inform the man now without having to confess to lying by omission. 

Maybe Clark’s behavior would remain unchanged by the mention of Lex. Maybe it would somehow ever hold through Conner admitting to his obfuscation. Maybe it was worth the risk to rip the bandaid off at an opportune moment, rather than risk Clark finding out on his own. But if Conner was honest, he didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t know how long this could last, but he wanted to enjoy it while he had it. It was frightening and miserable and unsettlingly foreign, but above all else it was good.  

So rather than fess up to his crimes, Conner made his way out of the kitchen and down the hall to Jon’s room. He joined the kid on the floor in front of the small TV resting atop his dresser, pretending—at least for the moment—that he was a version of himself that didn’t need to try so hard. That he was someone who’d had a thousand of these kinds of evenings. That he was the sort of version of himself that deserved this sort of version of Clark. 

About thirty minutes later he was wishing he was a version of himself that was even the tiniest better at Super Smash Bros, because having his ass kicked by an eleven year old was getting a little embarrassing. “Oh, come on!” he shouted at the television, tossing the controller to the ground in front of him and glaring at Jon as his little ghost character was once again slammed off screen by Donkey Kong. “You can’t just keep using that move over and over.”

Jon snickered as the game announced his victory. “Uh, clearly I can, because I just did .” He nudged Conner in the side with his elbow. “You should try getting good next time.”

Conner just rolled his eyes. “Can’t we try something else, little dude? You’re killing me here.” Both in the game and in real life. At least, on an emotional level. 

But Jon shook his head vehemently. “No! You’ve gotta practice or you’ll get absolutely destroyed at my birthday party. It’s in less than two weeks, and I cannot have my coolest friend getting his—” He dropped his voice real quiet for the next word. “— ass —handed to him by Devon .”

Conner had no idea who Devon was or why it would be bad to lose to him at this game, and he didn’t particularly care. He was too busy trying not to blush over the fact that Jon thought he was cool . He decided to focus on the only other part of the kid’s statement that he could. “Wait, your birthday’s coming up?”

Jon lit up like Conner had said the magic words. “Yes! I’m gonna be twelve, which is great ,” he declared excitedly, grinning and bouncing in place as he continued. “My actual birthday is next Wednesday, but my party is on Saturday, because duh. ”

Conner laughed, delighted by the exuberance. “That’s awesome, man! What’s the plan for the party?” He was still trying to process the fact that Jon apparently wanted him to be there for it, but he could only handle so much at once, so he was trying not to think too hard about that just yet.

Jon wiggled his knees, the motion looking ridiculous since he was sitting cross legged, his grin bright on his face. “I mean, there’s gonna be cake and presents and decorations, obviously . But a bunch of my friends are gonna come over and we’re having a huge Smash Bros tournament. Mom’s even gonna make some cool prizes, and she won’t even tell me what they are ahead of time, so I know they’re gonna be awesome!” He leaned in closer to Conner, insisting fervently, “That’s why you have to get good, dude. So you can win something, and also so that Devon doesn’t win anything.” His voice was dripping with disdain when he said Devon’s name, and Conner couldn’t help but ask.

“Why are you even inviting this kid if you dislike him so much?” Jon wasn’t the type to dislike someone without cause, so there had to be a good reason. Conner was pretty sure Lois and Clark wouldn’t make Jon invite a bully to his birthday party, but he couldn’t really be certain.

Jon rolled his eyes and groaned. “Because he invited me to his birthday party, so now I have to invite him to mine . But also because he brags all the time about how good he is at video games and sports and stuff, and the second anyone beats him at anything he’s always saying it doesn’t count. Like, he’ll say his controller was broken, or his shoe came untied, or that you cheated. And it’s always total bull .” The kid’s grin turned a bit mischievous. “So when he gets his butt kicked at my party, I wanna see how many excuses he can come up with before he runs out.”

Conner stared at Jon for a moment, stunned at the sight of the sweetest, goodest person he knew suddenly looking so devious as he talked about something so petty and ridiculous. Then his face cracked with a smile and he burst into laughter, delighted by the way it had just been so clearly revealed that, for all his kindness and grace, Jon was absolutely a kid. A shitty little preteen who got mad at his friends for dumb things, and left socks all over his bedroom floor, and rolled his eyes, and hid cusses from his parents. “Shit,” Conner gasped between giggles. “That’s fucking awesome little dude.” Jon beamed at him, letting loose his own delighted giggles. “Okay,” Conner continued, still chuckling as he picked up his controller once more. “Let’s get back to practicing, then, since apparently I’ve got someone I have to beat if I’m going to help you with your evil plan.”

Jon punched him in the arm with a playful glare. “It’s not evil , Conner. It’s scientific.” 

Conner just raised an eyebrow at him. “Whatever you say, Jon. Whatever you say.” And with that, they got back to playing and Conner got back to losing.

Around the twenty minute mark, Jon gasped and paused the game midway through their battle, turning to face Conner with wide eyes. Conner was immediately on guard, looking around to find what was wrong, only for his search to be interrupted by Jon’s questioning. “Wait!” the kid all but shouted. “When’s your birthday, Conner? And how come I’ve never been invited to your birthday parties?” He looked just the tiniest bit offended, which didn’t make any sense, because Conner definitely hadn’t been invited to any of Jon’s parties before this one.

The good news was, Conner had a perfectly reasonable answer. “Oh, I don’t have a birthday, so I don’t have birthday parties.” He’d been to a few small birthday celebrations for the other Young Justice members. They usually just consisted of someone bringing cake to the team practice, and maybe a few presents being exchanged. It was usually coordinated by whoever that individual’s mentor was. 

Tim was the only one who’d realized that Conner didn’t have an equivalent day to celebrate, so he’d made a tradition out of picking a random day of the year to send Conner a “Happy You’re Alive Day” cupcake. It was very sweet and always made Conner smile, and it never stirred up the complicated feelings he had about concepts like birthdays and other things that seemed to be reserved for real people. Tim had sent him three cupcakes over the course of two years, so Conner wasn’t really sure how his friend was timing it out, but he appreciated the thought nonetheless.

Jon looked shocked and horrified by this statement. “ Everyone has a birthday,” he insisted immediately. 

Conner shrugged. “I mean, I guess, but like… What would I even pick to be my birthday, you know?” He hoped Jon would understand what he meant, but the kid’s expression remained confused, so he elaborated. “Like, should my birthday be the first day the researchers pulled me out of the tube? Should it be the last day I left the tube? Should it be the day my initial sample was declared viable, or when I was grown to the equivalent development of nine months? Or should it be actually nine months from then? I wasn’t ever really born , so what counts as my birth day, right?”

Jon’s face had scrunched up while he spoke, and he looked uncomfortable and almost a little bit angry. “Well, so you just pick one then, and that’s your birthday!”

Conner frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. “But I don’t want to pick one.”

Jon seemed to like this answer even less than his last one. “Well you have to, Conner!” he demanded. “How else are you going to have a birthday party?”

Conner raised an eyebrow, holding his ground. “I don’t want a birthday party.”

Jon scoffed. “ Everyone wants a birthday party.” He was glaring at Conner now, and Conner couldn’t stop thinking about what a stupid thing this was to get upset over. It didn’t even affect Jon one way or the other.

“Not me,” he refuted easily. It was the truth. He didn’t want a birthday party. It sounded awkward and uncomfortable. He’d much rather accept Tim’s random cupcakes and enjoy hanging out with his friends how he always did.

“That’s stupid ,” Jon huffed, picking his controller back up and turning to face the TV. “ You’re stupid, and this time I’m not going to feel bad for kicking your butt,” he announced, pressing the resume button before Conner was ready, sending his little ghost character flying off screen almost immediately.

“ Jon!” Conner complained loudly.

Jon just shrugged. “Be less stupid next time.”

Conner sighed and did his best, but by the time Lois poked her head in to send them both off to bed, Conner hadn’t won even a single time and Jon was still insisting he was an idiot. When he finally drifted off to sleep that night, he dreamed of little ghosts and empty plates with no cake to be found.

_____

Conner hadn’t been expecting it to feel so easy, but by the time Friday rolled around he’d started to settle into something of a routine. He’d wake up just in time to hide in his room until he heard the apartment clear out before making his way to the kitchen for breakfast. After eating, he’d run through his workout routine, doing the best he could to keep it varied and interesting despite his lack of access to the sort of equipment he was used to. Next he’d retreat to his room in order to practice with his TTK as far from anyone else’s things as he could get. So far he hadn’t broken anything else, but he also hadn’t been able to repeat his success with expanding his reach. He wasn’t going to stop trying, though. 

He tried to time his lunch to match with his teammates’ school breaks so he could text with them while he ate. They all knew he was at Clark’s and that he’d been benched from the team, though he’d refused to elaborate on why either of those things had happened. His friends were all appropriately furious and sympathetic over the situation, so they’d taken to messaging him more often than before, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see them in person any time soon, so his lunches were usually a pretty fun time, all things considered.

He hadn’t been sure what to do with himself when he opened the refrigerator on Wednesday to pull out sandwich supplies, only to find that someone had already prepared and packed away a lunch for him, complete with a sticky note bearing his name. He still hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask who’d made it for him. The three sandwiches had been made with too much mustard. He ate them anyway, refusing to put a name to the tightness in his chest. There’d been another lunch in the fridge for him on Thursday and Friday, too.

After lunch he’d spend some time out on the apartment’s patio, getting some sun and trying to fend off cabin fever as best he could. He did yoga and read the books he found in the living room. Then he’d twiddle his thumbs and dick around on his phone until someone got home and gave him something else to do. So far that had consisted of video games and cooking.

Clark had maintained his strange new attitude. He was all smiles and easy praise, asking Conner for his help with dinner each night. It was nice but also terrifying. He knew it couldn’t last, and there was something almost more awful about waiting for the other shoe to drop. Some part of Conner had started screaming at him to break the peace. To force Clark to stop pretending. To stop acting like he didn’t hate him. His better judgement had stopped him from doing anything that stupid yet. He was smart enough to enjoy this while it lasted. Sometimes he even let himself pretend he believed that it would last forever. That this was how things had always been.

He couldn’t help but relish in it. The cooking was good . The two of them had even developed a strange little in-joke. Conner argued any time Clark called his imperfect work perfect, so now the man would always call his attempts ‘pretty near perfect’ in order to cut off his complaints preemptively. Clark would smile knowingly as he did this, and Conner would huff and puff like it was the most annoying thing in the world, while he would quietly think to himself that fuck, he could get used to this.

Just as he’d started to acclimate to the idea of this new routine, it was disrupted in a way Conner couldn’t have ever hoped to have predicted. More specifically, it was disrupted by both Clark and Lois returning to the apartment when Conner was about midway through his lunch. He was in his sweats, wearing nothing else, with his hair still a wet mess from his post-workout shower as the pair entered the abode, Lois calling out for him from the entryway. “Conner! Are you ready to go?”

Conner was so startled and confused that he froze in place long enough for Clark to come strolling around the corner, looking immediately displeased with the sight of him. “Conner, we need to be leaving now . Why aren’t you ready?” he demanded, his brow furrowed as he looked him up and down.

“What?” Conner asked around an enormous mouthful of sandwich, trying to chew and swallow as quickly as he could, the sudden dryness of his mouth not helping the situation in the slightest.

Lois rounded the corner next, looking equally startled by his current state. “Didn’t you see the note I left you?” She asked. “I left it taped to your bedroom door this morning. We have an appointment at an attorney’s office. Go get dressed, hurry.” She moved over towards him as she spoke, gesturing him up and out of the chair, pointing off towards his room.

Conner had not seen the note left on his door and had no idea why they would be going to an attorney’s office. He had several questions, but he decided to prioritize obeying the instructions he’d been given, considering he’d apparently already screwed up without realizing it. As he scampered off towards his room he could hear the sound of quiet bickering behind him as Lois and Clark argued softly about who exactly had said they were going to text Conner about the appointment to make sure he knew. He hoped the lack of a text in his phone meant he wouldn’t be blamed for this, though the presence of the obvious note taped to his door that he’d somehow completely missed did nothing to soothe his nerves.

He got dressed in his usual clothes as quickly as he could and raced back out to find Clark and Lois waiting in the entryway, Clark holding a ziplock baggie containing the uneaten portion of his lunch. “That was fast. Thanks bud,” the man praised, handing over the ziplock baggie and stepping out of the way so Conner could throw on his sneakers. “You’ll have to finish your lunch in the car. It’ll be about a twenty minute drive, okay?” Conner nodded silently, holding the bag between his teeth as he laced up his shoes. Once he was done, the three of them made their way out together. 

It wasn’t until he was seated in the back seat of Clark’s car that he realized this was his first time out of the apartment since he’d entered it on Monday. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t sure how he felt even in just a general sense. Things had moved so fast since the unexpected opening of the front door. He felt like his head was spinning.

He didn’t want to interrupt the silence of the car with a question, but he knew he had to ask. “So,” he began hesitantly, heat flushing across his cheeks when Clark’s eyes snapped towards him in the rear view mirror and Lois turned her head to face him from the passenger seat. “Why are we seeing a lawyer, exactly?” He tightened his fingers around the bag holding his lunch, keeping it unopened on his lap. 

“Yes, sorry,” Lois apologized hastily. “You didn’t see the note, so of course you don’t know. We meant to tell you about it in person, but things ended up moving faster than I thought they would.” Conner opened his mouth to apologize for missing the note, but she continued on before he got the chance to. “I sent all of the legal information about your situation with LexCorp and Cadmus to a few trustworthy contacts of mine to see what could potentially be done about it. An old attorney friend of mine was very interested in hearing more and had more than a few ideas on how to proceed, so today we’re going to be meeting with her and her co-counsel, just for some initial discussion.”

Conner could see that Lois thought this was good news. She was smiling at him like she expected excitement or maybe even gratitude. That was probably a fair thing for her to expect. She was offering him a way to resolve one of the most problematic issues of his life. The thing that kept him tied inescapably to the Justice League and their protection. The thing that kept him from being able to go anywhere on his own. Of course she expected this to be good news. Conner knew, from an objective viewpoint, that it was good news. He knew he should be excited. He knew he should be grateful. 

But for some reason, the only response he could conjure was an intense desire to throw himself from the speeding car and into oncoming traffic. It was the only thing he could think of that might derail this meeting.

Ever since Clark had announced that Conner would be leaving Mount Justice and moving in with him, he’d felt a little bit like he was being swept away by an uncontrollable hurricane. Tossed from one current to the next, with no say in what happened to him or what direction he was carried in. He never seemed to know anything until it was already happening, and what he wanted never seemed to matter. 

He hadn’t even known that Lois knew about his situation with Lex, let alone that she’d been telling other people about it. It made his skin crawl to think about. What had these strangers thought when she’d told them? Did they pity him? Did they think he was a person? Had they laughed and made jokes with their colleagues about it? Would they think about it every time they saw Superboy on the news from now on? 

He felt about a thousand miles away as he heard himself respond. “Oh, that makes sense. Thanks, Lois.” He had the faint sense that it was impressive how normal his voice sounded considering he didn’t remember making the choice to speak. He could feel his lips curling into a soft smile as Lois accepted his thanks and turned back to face the front, a smile of her own on her lips. The sensation was strange and disquieting. His face felt like a doll’s face.

As he sat there, mechanically eating the remains of his lunch, tasting none of it, he tried to understand the strange distance he felt from himself. He felt like a puppet on its strings. Like his body was carrying his mind along as it made the choices he was always going to make, because they weren’t really choices at all. Because he wasn’t really a person at all. Was that why he felt like this? Because he wasn’t actually a person? People probably never felt like this, and that realization felt like something breaking inside of him. But on the outside he just sat there, quietly eating his sandwich with too much mustard, caught in the winds of the hurricane and letting it drag him along.

His whole life had been riding the waves of a hurricane he couldn’t control or understand. He was used to that. He shouldn’t be so thrown by it, and yet, he was . He wasn’t quite sure why Lois’s statement had sent him into such an internal tailspin. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to ask the world if he was a person or not. Maybe it was because he was scared of what would happen if someone actually went looking for the answer to that question. Maybe it was because, on some level, he was pretty sure he knew what it was they’d find.

Chapter Text

Conner stuck out like a sore thumb from the moment they walked into the attorney’s office, and for the first time in his life he regretted that he only owned copies of the same stupid outfit. It was deeply uncomfortable to be surrounded by suits and blazers and slacks while he was in a leather jacket and scuffed up sneakers. Even Lois and Clark were dressed professionally since they’d come from work. It felt like everyone they passed could take a single look at him and immediately know that he wasn’t supposed to be there. When they walked past the security guard in the lobby, Conner half expected to be stopped by the man. 

His body was still operating mostly on autopilot as they made their way to the elevators and up to the top floor. He spent most of the long ride staring into the middle distance and going over their cover story in his head again and again. The attorneys had to know he was Superboy for this to work, but they couldn’t know that Clark was Superman. They would be relying on the fact that Lois’s connection to Superman, both as a friend and a reporter, was public knowledge. Conner was staying with Lois and her husband because Kal-El needed him close by and with someone he knew and trusted while they worked out the issue of his legal status. That was the story.

The connection between Superboy and the Kents would make a secret identity harder to maintain later, so there would be a lot of work done to reduce the number of people who knew about who his ‘guardians’ were, but there was no way around looping the attorneys in. Conner wasn’t going to screw this up, so he went over it in his head once more, still numb and far away from his body as he did so. 

He didn’t feel any more present when they got off of the elevator, or when Lois spoke to the assistant at the front desk, or when they were guided into a conference room with a huge glass table and big windows overlooking the city. It was the kind of room Lex would appreciate, Conner noted. The observation didn’t help. 

Lois took a seat next to him at the table, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The contact was searing and uncomfortable, but Conner stayed lax and unprotesting, simply meeting her worried gaze expectantly. “Are you feeling nervous?” she murmured, squeezing his arm in a way that was almost certainly intended to be comforting.

Conner shook his head automatically, belatedly realizing that it wasn’t a lie. He really wasn’t feeling nervous. He wasn’t feeling much of anything at the moment. “Should I be?” 

“No, not at all,” Lois assured him quickly. “Everybody we’re meeting today is on your team. They all just want to help.”

Conner had his doubts about anyone actually being ‘on his team’ but he didn’t bother to voice them. Lois probably hadn’t meant it in a real way. He was fairly certain she would say she was on his team if he asked, and he knew that wasn’t at all the truth. When push came to shove, she would be on Clark’s team every time. The only person she’d probably ever pick over her husband was her son. 

Conner distantly wondered what that would be like—having parents. Having people who would pick you every time. He knew not all parents were good like that, but when he imagined having them, his parents always were.

He didn’t get too far into thinking about the parents he didn’t have before the conference room door opened to admit two strangers—a woman, maybe a little older than Lois who was wearing a trim grey suit, and a man who was old enough that his hair was mostly white, wearing exactly what Conner imagined when he thought of the word lawyer. Lois was on her feet immediately, a wide smile on her face as she strode forward confidently.

“Camila!” She exclaimed as she shook the woman’s hand. “It’s been too long.”

The woman, Camila, smiled and chuckled warmly. “It really has, hasn't it? Gosh, I don’t think I’ve seen you in person since you were working on that big whistleblower case. What was it, two years ago?”

Lois shook her head. “Two years, has it really been that long?” She dragged a hand through her hair as she sighed with regret. “Well, we certainly won’t go that long before our next reunion, I can say that for sure.” Conner watched as the women laughed together, wondering if he was supposed to stand up or not. Clark had stood up and was walking to situate himself behind Lois as she directed her attention towards the man, shaking his hand in a slightly more reserved manner than she’d grasped Camila’s. “And it’s wonderful to finally meet you in person, Rob,” she greeted him with ease. Rob gave a subdued smile in reply before Clark made his introductions. 

Conner elected to stand up from his chair but not walk any closer, trying and failing to find a middle ground between ignoring the attorneys and staring at them awkwardly. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing here, and he hated the uncertainty. His stomach hurt and he wanted to disappear, but he couldn’t because Clark was done shaking hands and now Lois was turning around to introduce him. “And this is Conner, the actual potential plaintiff. Conner, this is Camila Rodriguez and Robert Anderson.”

Conner raised a hand in an awkward wave, forcing a smile across his lips that he doubted anyone believed, unspeakably relieved when the pair responded by reciprocating his wave rather than approaching. “Hello, Conner,” Camila greeted him warmly. “It’s lovely to meet you.” 

“Y-Yeah,” Conner replied nervously. “It’s, uh— It’s good to meet you too.” He hoped it didn’t sound like the lie that it was. His palms were sweating and it was really starting to sink in how badly he didn’t want to be here. 

With introductions completed, the group made their way to take seats at the long table that Conner was still standing beside. He reclaimed his own seat, with Lois settling to his right and Clark—thankfully—depositing himself on her other side, rather than next to Conner. Camila and Robert took their seats across from their group, laying out notepads and thick folders on the table in front of themselves. 

“Alright, thank you all for meeting with us today,” Camila began, opening one of her folders and picking up a pen. “We have a number of preliminary ideas on how we might tackle the issue of establishing Conner’s personhood, as well as taking LexCorp and potentially even Luthor himself to court for damages, but before we…”

Conner knew the lawyer kept speaking after that, saying something about getting to know one another and understanding the current situation and history , but his ears were ringing too loudly for him to catch the details. He couldn’t even find it in himself to worry that he was going to be expected to conjure a reply of some kind. He was too busy standing at the edge of the endless abyss that had opened up in his stomach at the thought of doing anything as directly defiant as taking Lex himself to court. 

He’d been frightened and overwhelmed by the idea of arguing over his personhood. There was a tangled knot of emotions at the core of that fear that he hadn’t even begun trying to unravel. He’d been horrified and intimidated by the idea of attempting to go toe to toe with LexCorp in a legal setting. It was asking for trouble. But none of those reactions came anywhere close to the way he felt when he was made to think about targeting Lex personally . 

Conner had complicated feelings about Lex. He hated the man. If he never saw Lex again, it would still be too soon. He despised the way people assumed he had some sort of attachment to his creator. He couldn’t stand the fact that their association had preemptively tainted his reputation amongst heroes in a way he’d probably never be able to scrub clean. He hated that Lex was so obsessed with owning Superman that Conner probably wouldn’t ever be able to have real life. Conner was fairly sure there was nobody on Earth that hated Lex quite as much as he did.

Conner was also terrified of him. Lex loomed like an insurmountable, inescapable obstacle in his world. He was Superman’s arch nemesis, and yet he was alive. More than that, he was free, powerful, and causing problems for the kryptonian on a regular basis. He went toe to toe with the strongest person on the planet and managed to walk away over and over again. Lex was so horrifically powerful, and on some level, Conner was convinced he was undefeatable. Sometimes Conner wondered if he believed that because Lex had programmed him to.

And yet despite the hatred and the fear, if Conner was really, really honest with himself, there was something else there, buried under the resentment and the anger and the pain. Conner hated the way everyone assumed he felt some sort of attachment to Lex. He hated it. Even more than that, though, he hated the fact that they were right . 

He hated the fact that some part of him understood the man’s motivations in creating him, despite the gross violation of privacy and consent it had been to do so. He hated the fact that he knew Lex had created him to do good in the world. And sure, Lex would have profited off of that good, but didn’t everyone? Didn’t the Justice Leaguers sell merchandise? He hated the fact that he sometimes couldn’t tell the difference between that and what Lex had wanted to do. He hated that he couldn’t ever seem to tell good from bad.

He hated the fact that despite his best efforts to kill it, some part of him still longed to hear someone, anyone, say that he was good enough. That he was good enough to be worth the money it had taken to make him. That he was good enough to be worth the suffering of his failed brothers who never made it out of the tubes. That he’d finally been good enough to be worth the gross, unforgivable violation that had engendered his life. He hated the fact that he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t roll over for anyone that asked him to, if they’d only tell him what he wanted to hear. Even if Lex was the one saying it.

He hated the fact that he could never be sure if the things he felt about Lex were real, or if Lex had put them there himself. He hated how scared he was of potentially pissing off the only person on the planet who could maybe keep him safe from the Justice League if he somehow screwed up badly enough to need to run. He hated the fact that on some level he’d felt more comfortable sitting next to Lex in the kitchen the other day than he’d felt sitting next to Clark at dinner. He hated the fact that he sometimes wasn’t sure that he hated Lex at all.

All of this rushed to the surface as he imagined a world where he was not only demanding independence and freedom for the billionaire, but also attempting financial retaliation. He imagined demanding compensation from the person who’d given up so much just to create him. Who’d ostensibly lose everything he’d invested in Conner was deemed a person by the courts. 

It was such a ridiculous idea that it was offensive. How was Conner supposed to face the man who’d made him—the only person who actually wanted him to exist—who had already spent an unfathomable amount of money and time investing in him only to receive worse than nothing in return, and then say that wasn’t enough? How was he supposed to turn around and insist that he deserved more?

One time Wally had joked that Conner was probably worth more than all of the team combined if they counted the millions of dollars that had been spent on making him. Conner hadn’t known how to tell him that it was actually billions . He hadn’t known how to explain that it wasn’t a matter of probably. He knew exactly what he was worth, and it was actually more than just the money it had taken to make him. Conner hadn’t known how to explain that the reason he knew this was because Lex had been meticulous about calculating his value as an asset—up to and including the projected earnings that would be generated by his corporate-backed hero career. 

The number was large enough that Conner was certain his fleeing from LexCorp had cost the company something massive. He was certain that his fleeing from LexCorp and Cadmus had cost an untold number of people their livelihoods. The fact that he hadn’t had a choice but to run did very little to assuage his guilt.

It was too much for Conner to wrap his head around, and he didn’t know how to explain to the people in this room that if they tried to seek out compensation in addition to freedom, he might be crushed under the weight of it all. He was drowning just at the thought of it—unable to hear or see or think through the horror.

He was abruptly ripped out of his reverie by the feeling of a soft hand on his shoulder and the sound of Lois’s voice in his ear. “Conner?”

He snapped his head to the side to look at the woman, blinking as his vision cleared enough for him to see everyone staring at him with thinly veiled concern. He had no idea how long he’d been caught up in his head or what they wanted from him, and he knew there was no way he would be able to play it off like he’d been paying attention, so he just shook his head to clear more of the static. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Camila caught his eye from across the table, her voice gratingly gentle. “I was just asking if you wouldn’t mind explaining the situation and the pertinent events in your own words.” She gestured to one of the thick folders. “I have copies of the reports you wrote up, but it would be useful if we could hear it straight from you.”

“Oh.” Conner wasn’t sure why they needed to hear him say it, but he didn’t really know anything about how lawyers worked. Maybe him saying it was important for some reason? He wasn’t sure where to begin, though. He’d never explained the Lex situation to anyone other than Clark, and he hadn’t even really been intending to explain anything in that conversation. He generally tried to avoid talking about it. He tried to avoid even thinking about it, usually. But he wanted to do whatever he could to get out of this room as soon as possible. “Sure,” he agreed. “I can do that.”

He jumped into an explanation of his legal status and his relevant interactions with Lex and the man’s agents since he’d escaped Cadmus—leaving out the billionaire’s recent visit to Clark’s apartment, his stomach twisting guiltily at the omission. He tried to keep his report succinct, accurate, and focused on the actual events themselves, rather than on any speculation or feelings. 

When he finished he realized that he’d closed his eyes at some point while he’d been speaking, and when he opened them he found the four adults all looking at him with a strange tension around their eyes that immediately raised his hackles. He’d fucked up, again , and like always, he had no idea how he’d done it. There were so many unspoken expectations, and when he failed to meet them nobody ever explained exactly what it was that he’d done wrong. He was so tired of failing.

“Thank you, Conner.” Camila’s tone didn’t betray her in the slightest, providing Conner with no additional clues as to how exactly he’d screwed up. “That was… a near perfect recitation of the details from your reports.” Conner nodded. That hadn’t been on purpose, but it made sense that he would’ve prioritized the same information and communicated it similarly on paper to the League. Camila pressed her lips together and leaned forward. “Can you tell me anything else about those experiences?”

Conner wasn’t sure what she was getting at. “I mean, what do you want to know?” he asked uncertainly. There wasn’t much else to say. 

It was startling to hear Robert speak for the first time. His voice was soft yet commanding, and he captured all of Conner’s attention without even seeming to try. “We already know what happened, Conner.” He said this almost apologetically, his weathered hands clasped together in front of him. “Now we want to know how you experienced it.” 

Conner’s face must have betrayed his continued confusion, because Lois stepped in, gently prompting him. “They want to know what you were thinking, what you wanted, maybe even how it felt , honey.” She’d moved to once again rest her hand on his arm and part of him wanted to cut himself free at the elbow. 

He didn’t know why they gave a shit how he’d felt, and he didn’t really think anyone in this room had a right to demand he bare his soul to them. “I don’t know,” he answered testily, crossing his arms over his chest so he could pull away from Lois’s hand. “I was thinking that Lex is an asshole. I wanted him to leave me alone. It felt annoying to deal with. Whatever .”

Lois leaned closer, her inquisitive eyes piercing through him. “Why don’t we start with the first time he came after you, can you—” She was cut off by Clark’s large hand landing gently on her shoulder, tugging her to sit back in her chair as the man shook his head.

“I think that’s enough, dear. Conner doesn’t have to get into it if he doesn’t want to.” Clark wasn’t looking at Conner when he spoke, which was the only thing that stopped Conner from rankling at the pity he was fairly certain he could hear in the man’s voice. 

Camila grabbed the reins of the conversation swiftly. “That’s absolutely right. We just want to get to know you and understand where you’re at, Conner. Would you rather if we moved on to discussing the possible options for your cases?”

What Conner would actually rather was if they could please leave now so he could wrap his head around how fast everything was moving and how quickly they were spiraling out of control, but he didn’t think voicing that would get him anywhere, so instead he just shrugged, adopting an affectation of unbothered apathy. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He didn’t know how many times he could say ‘ whatever’ in the same conversation before someone would get pissed at him, but he was going to find out. 

Camila nodded and smiled much too graciously at him, despite his sullenness. “Alright, wonderful. Let’s hop right in!”

As she spoke, Robert silently opened one of the smallest folders, pulling out three identical packets of information and sliding them across the table. “These are just summaries of what we’ll be talking about today,” Camila explained. “So don’t worry about them too much right now. They’re for your reference after you’ve left.” 

Clark and Lois nodded, immediately beginning to skim the packet’s contents. Conner was stuck staring at the gold and blue cover page, proudly declaring its contents to be of Rodriguez and Anderson origin, complete with a small, circular logo containing a swooping R and a blocky A, and the slogan ‘ When the fight’s not fair, Rodriguez and Anderson are there.’ He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that their slogan could be interpreted to position them on either side of that unfair fight. Did they make the fights unfair? Or did they show up to even the odds when someone else did? 

He brushed aside the question in favor of listening to Camila as she began to explain. She began by running through the specifics of the legal actions that had been taken in order to declare Conner as a non-person. Conner was surprised to find that there was a lot that he’d been unaware of.

Apparently courts didn’t really take action on issues if there weren’t two parties in conflict, so LexCorp hadn’t been able to just request Conner be preemptively declared as a non-person without someone arguing for the opposite. In order to facilitate the ruling they’d needed they’d had Superboy Inc.—the subsidiary of LexCorp that apparently actually held ownership of Conner as an asset—had filed for him to receive a social security card. 

The application had been rejected because Conner had none of the required documents and had been unable to submit to an interview due to him still being unconscious in the tank at the time. Superboy Inc. had put on a show of fighting this decision in order to get the ruling they’d been looking for. Conner could not be given a social security number, because he was not a person. He was legally an asset that was owned by the company. Similar to how dogs were technically property, his mind unhelpfully informed him.

Hearing someone laying it out so plainly felt… strange. Conner had strange feelings about the idea of his personhood generally. He’d been told many times that he wasn’t a person—by Lex, by the scientists at Cadmus, and even by Clark back in those early days. He usually accepted the words without much fuss. It wasn’t worth fighting over the issue, and most of the time he didn’t really care what he was categorized as. Labeling him as one thing or another didn’t have much effect on his daily life. At least, it hadn’t in the early days, before he’d known Lex was hunting him. 

But if Conner thought about it, the idea that he wasn’t a person didn’t really make any sense. He was responsible for his own actions. He had thoughts and opinions that differed from those who’d created him. He learned and grew. He had friends who believed he was like them. Why wasn’t that enough? 

At the lab they’d explained it simply. Conner was a clone made for a purpose and designed to carry it out. Anything inside of him that interfered with that objective was a defect that could and would be corrected. They’d said he was more animal than person, acting on programmed instinct in a way real people didn’t. He still wasn’t sure he knew what the difference was between animals and people well enough to say if that was true, but it didn’t feel true. 

Even so, he’d never thought much of admitting his less than human status. It was easy to say. Easier than thinking about trying to do anything differently. He hadn’t realized how much harder it would be to hear someone else describing it. It hadn’t been difficult in the lab. It hadn’t even been all that difficult when Superman had shouted it at him. For some reason, when Camila laid it all out, it hurt . 

But they were moving on before he could even get his head around it.

“We have several options for contesting that result,” Camila continued. “We could apply for any other legal document. We could utilize Conner’s kryptonian genetics to argue that he should receive the same interstellar citizen rights that Superman himself has been awarded. We could even just try claiming that Conner isn’t the same entity that is referenced in the prior case, assuming they wouldn’t have a method to prove that untrue.” She seemed to be getting excited over the idea of it all, speaking more quickly with a new light in her eyes.

Robert shuffled some papers, standing them up and tapping their edges on the table to get them aligned again, the sound interrupting Camila’s words. “But none of that is what we recommend,” he softly interjected before once again deferring to his partner.

“That’s right,” she agreed. “We would recommend that Conner apply for competency based non-human autonomy. Are you familiar with what that is?” She directed her question to him, rather than to Lois or Clark.

Conner shook his head no, his heart racing and his stomach churning. He could see Clark looking at him from the corner of his eye, his brow wrinkled and his lips pulled ever so slightly down into a frown. Conner tried not to pay attention to the man while Camila explained. 

Competency based non-human autonomy was apparently something that had been established in response to the legal situation that had arisen because of Gorilla Grodd. When the simian villain had been apprehended for the first time, charges were laid against him. Grodd, who’d elected to represent himself in court, had argued that he couldn’t legally be charged, as he was an animal and not a person. It had caused quite the controversy in the legal community. Doubly so when the argument worked , and Grodd walked away a free ape. Camila told the story with a voice that rose and fell like they were discussing a particularly interesting bit of gossip, and not the potential basis of Conner’s argument for personhood. 

Lawmakers had been uncharacteristically quick to address the obvious issue with the system. It was a relatively bipartisan issue, so there hadn’t been many roadblocks. Nobody wanted an enormous, six hundred pound, genius gorilla with an axe to grind against humanity running around with complete immunity, and while his non-human status meant it also wasn’t a crime to kill Grodd, it didn’t make doing so any easier when most heroes had non-lethal codes they adhered to these days.

The solution they came up with was competency based non-human autonomy . If an approved panel of twelve experts could agree via a seventy-five percent majority vote that the creature being considered was capable of moral reasoning, decision making, understanding cause and effect, and communication with a human audience it could be granted legal autonomy and henceforth treated as a human within the court system. If rejected, the process couldn’t be repeated for five years. Shortly after the legislation passed, Grodd was swiftly awarded legal autonomy and then arrested to be charged for the crimes he’d committed since being released.

It wasn’t a perfect answer for Conner’s problem. The process had never been used outside of a criminal context, usually requested by the  prosecution to determine culpability, or by the defense to dismiss it. It was most often used in cases involving artificial intelligence based technology or the genetic modification of animals in order to determine who bore legal responsibility—the actual entity who physically did the crimes, or the creator who’d made the entity. This would be the first instance of anyone utilizing it to establish legal autonomy for civil purposes in the way that Conner would be.

Despite those issues, it was at least a relatively preestablished route for Conner to achieve what he needed in order to legally free himself from Lex. It made sense. It could work. Sure, Conner could hear the scientists explaining to him that he was more animal than person or that he’d been programmed like a machine as he considered hinging his life on a system designed for animals and robots. That was fine. He had no feelings whatsoever about the fact that this method would do nothing to disprove their words. None. 

When Camila had asked what he thought of their proposal, he just shrugged and gave a response that shouldn’t have surprised anyone at that point. “I don’t care. You can do whatever you want.” They’d do it anyway, so why bother caring?

Clark and Lois had about a thousand questions, though. Would this ruling ensure his other civil rights? Would it enable him to enroll in school? Would he be able to get documentation? Was it revocable? What other cases had been tried involving this process and how had they gone? How public would the process be? Could the records be sealed? Would he still be considered a minor, or would this also make him legally an adult? Had there ever been another case using this process that involved a minor? 

Conner tuned them all out, picking at his fingernails and trying to think if there were any normal, unenhanced animals who’d pass the test. Hadn’t there been an ordinary gorilla that could use sign language to talk? Did she understand morals? What about cause and effect? How would she feel, putting her fate into the hands of twelve ‘experts’ who’d make her perform for them to prove if she was person enough for them?

Conner was tired, and they still had to talk about the financial lawsuit bullshit. He didn’t want to. He wanted to leave. He wanted to sleep. Fuck, he wanted to go home . He wanted his friends and his combat simulator and his empty kitchen and quiet bedroom, far away from the sounds of the city. He wanted Clark to stop whatever game this was and just tell Conner what he actually wanted, so Conner could give it to him and then be done.

But Conner didn’t get what he wanted. Instead, he got the sound of Camila asking a question it hadn’t even occurred to him to dread. “Alright, and just so we can get started on the basics, we need a full name for Conner. Are we going with Kent for the last name?” Conner went from floating miles above the conversation to aggressively present in a heartbeat. Camila was looking at them expectantly, a soft smile on her face. Asking if Conner wanted to be called Conner Kent.  

What was he supposed to say? If he agreed, Clark might get angry with him for forcing the implication that they were family on him. For taking something he didn’t deserve. If he declined, Clark might get angry with him for being disrespectful. Conner didn’t dare look anywhere near the kryptonian as he held his breath and waited to hear how the man would respond. He wasn’t going to risk saying anything until he knew what Clark wanted.

But Clark was just as frozen and silent as Conner was. He couldn’t even hear the man breathing. Camila’s expectant smile had begun to fade and a concerned look was crossing over her face. Conner felt a small flicker of anger as he realized that Clark was going to put this on him to figure out. 

There was no way Clark wanted to share a last name with Conner. Declining was the safest option. It was terrifying, and Conner hadn’t even tried to figure out what he actually wanted, but he knew it was the safest guess. He reached into his mind for a name he could borrow—at least for the moment—and grabbed tight to what he found. “Draper. You can put me down as Conner Draper.” That could work. Every time he heard it, he’d think of Tim. That would be good.

But Clark was frowning in the corner of Conner’s eye, and now his heart was racing in his chest, and he was so tired of fucking up. Clark sounded stiff and uncomfortable when he finally gave voice to whatever thought was causing him to dislike Conner’s decision. “I’m not sure that’s a good choice, Conner,” he criticized. “You shouldn’t connect yourself to other people’s aliases—”

If Conner’s chair wasn’t set on wheels it would have squealed against the floor with how quickly he stood up from the table, furious and hateful. “God fucking damn it!” he shouted, causing the whole table to flinch. “If you care so much then you pick!” He glared at Clark, the man meeting his gaze with wide eyes. He only managed to hold it for a few seconds before he was looking away, a snarl on his face. “I can’t fucking do this,” he muttered to himself before turning back to face Lois, unable to muster the courage to risk seeing anger on Clark’s face. “Do whatever you want. I’m gonna wait in the fucking car.”

With that, he turned on his heels and marched from the room, relieved and terrified when nobody came after him. As he walked quickly, furiously refusing to allow the tears welling in his eyes to fall, he did his best to console himself. To find something good that might take his mind off of all the bullshit that had just been thrown at him. At least it's the weekend tomorrow, he thought to himself, the anticipation of the upcoming Young Justice training distracting him enough that he could catch his breath.

He was halfway to the car when he finally remembered that he’d been benched, so he wouldn’t be seeing his friends tomorrow regardless of what day of the week it was. His miserable fury returned with new fangs and claws, and Conner kicked a nearby trash can hard enough to dent it. Nothing was going right and everything was miserable, but as he reflected on how badly he’d fucked up in the conference room, he took a strange, sickening satisfaction in knowing that things could only get worse from here on out.

Chapter Text

When Clark and Lois entered the car after wrapping up their meeting with the attorneys, it was to the sight of Conner curled up in the back seat, glaring sullenly out the window with his headphones playing rock music so loud that even Lois could hear it from her seat. The teen didn’t acknowledge their entrance beyond an uptick in his heart rate and the slightest clenching of his jaw.

They began their trip home in silence. 

Clark hadn’t been expecting Conner to react so badly to the attorneys, and if he was honest, he still didn’t understand why the kid had been so immediately on guard. The best guess he had was that Conner didn’t trust Clark to actually have his best interests at heart, and was looking for a trap that hadn’t been laid. It was an understandable fear for Conner to have given their history, but it still stung. Clark wasn’t sure how to communicate that things would be different between them from now on. That day at Mount Justice he’d received a powerful reality check that had reoriented his perception of his clone and now there was no going back. No unseeing the child that peered out from Conner’s much too familiar eyes. 

Clark had tried to apologize, to make it clear that he hadn’t intended any of the harm he’d dealt and that he wouldn’t do the same again. Conner had ‘forgiven’ him, but also pretty clearly hadn’t believed a word Clark had said. Then Clark had learned just how dismal Conner’s living situation truly was, and he knew he’d never forgive himself for the two years he’d spent allowing himself to live in ignorant bliss. 

He knew Conner had good reason not to trust him or his words. He knew that action was the best way to show Conner that he’d meant what he’d said. He knew Conner would fight for things to go back to how they’d been before because people tended to fear change. He’d just also hoped that taking swift, determined action to resolve the Luthor situation might be the thing that would help Conner start believing that Clark wanted to be there for him. 

Clark was an idiot, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Conner didn’t want most of the changes Clark was implementing in his life as a part of his effort to help. Conner wanted to live alone. He wanted to spend nine or more hours a day training. He wanted to eat trash from the microwave. He wanted to be left alone in a life that consisted only of hero work and preparing for hero work. He wanted these things because they felt safe and familiar. Because he didn’t know that he deserved better. So Clark understood why Conner was angry that he’d been uprooted. But Clark was pretty confident they both agreed that the Luthor situation needed to be resolved. It’s why he’d thought it would be the best starting place for building trust.

He’d been sure of it, up until he’d heard the kid’s heart racing in the office and realized it wasn’t from excitement or simple nerves. It had seemed like a solid guess. He knew Conner didn’t like being hunted by the billionaire. The boy was pretty obviously terrified of Luthor, and based on the reading Clark had been doing over the last few days about the conditions of the lab the kid had come from, he had good reason to be. The detached, clinical descriptions included in Conner’s self-reports covering his history that he’d written up shortly after he’d been brought in by the league were the stuff of nightmares. So of course Conner would want to be safe from Luthor. 

That wasn’t even taking the whole issue of Conner’s legal autonomy into consideration. Clark could hardly stand to think about that whole mess. It made him sick with anger. So much so that he could feel the shifting of the steering wheel beneath his hands as he involuntarily tightened his grip. He forced them lax once more, trying to focus on the road and not on the furious, angst riddled teen seated behind him, or said teen’s confusing reaction to being given options for claiming his freedom. 

Despite his confusion, Clark knew they’d screwed up with the attorney situation. Lois knew it too. They’d talked about it briefly on their way out of the office and to the car after they’d wrapped up the conversation and paperwork with Camila and Robert as quickly as they could. The pair had sent them on their way with a folder containing informational packets and all of the forms that needed Conner’s signature, as he was the actual client for everything. 

Clark also knew he’d fumbled the situation with the last names. The issue had just completely slipped his mind as something that might come up during the meeting. He’d never considered the fact that Conner obviously didn’t have a last name. He should have realized it, but he hadn’t, and Conner had paid the price. 

Clark honestly still didn’t know how he felt about the idea that Conner might take on his last name. There was an instinctive discomfort with the idea. Clark had been given that name by Ma and Pa. It was his connection to humanity. It was important. It was his. He didn’t want to share it or be put in a situation where he’d have to. At the same time, he didn’t feel like he had the right to keep something so simple from Conner. Not at this point. The boy had already been deprived of so much, and at Clark’s own hands. No, if Conner had asked for the Kent family name, Clark would have given it. He just hadn’t been able to  make himself offer it like he probably should have. Instead, he’d frozen like a coward.

But his silence hadn’t been the breaking point. The breaking point had been when Conner proposed his own alternative, and Clark had stupidly opened his mouth to criticize the choice. His concern had been a valid one. Bruce wouldn’t appreciate having Superboy’s identity connected to one of TIm’s aliases. But Bruce’s irritation couldn’t take priority at the moment. Clark should have held his tongue, and now he had to do damage control. Something he’d never been very good at in any part of his life. 

The screw up was doubly frustrating because things had actually felt like they’d been improving over the last couple of days. Cooking with Conner had been going so much better than Clark had imagined was possible now that he was mindful about explaining things as they went. They’d only made three meals together and already Conner’s confidence in the kitchen was growing. Clark had previously hoped the confidence would spread outwards from there, but now he was just hoping he hadn’t undone all of that growth. Or made everything worse.

Either way, he figured he probably wouldn’t be asking Conner for help with dinner tonight.

_____

Once they made it home, Conner didn’t take his headphones off until Clark gestured for him to do so in the entryway of the apartment. He’d felt bad for asking, but he did need to speak to the kid before he locked himself away in his room.

“What?” Conner asked flatly, metal music still pouring loudly from the earbud he’d removed. If he were human, Clark would’ve been worried about hearing damage.

Clark decided to get the more awkward thing out of the way first. “We, uh— We went with Draper for the last name.”

Conner didn’t even blink, staring stonily back at Clark. “Noted.” He bit the word out like it burned the inside of his mouth to have it there, turning to leave once he’d finished removing his shoes.

“Wait,” Clark stopped him, surprised when the command didn’t elicit a flinch, then miserable that he’d expected it to. That Conner flinching from him was common enough to be expected. But this time Conner didn’t flinch. He just paused and looked over his shoulder at Clark expectantly. Clark held out the folder of paperwork. “These are the forms from the attorneys that need your signature if you want them to take your case. You should take them to your room and read them over—”

His words were cut off by Conner snatching the folder from his hand. “Gimme a pen, I’ll sign them now.”

Clark was pretty sure there was something about the attorney situation separate from the last name thing that Conner hadn’t liked, so his easy agreement to signing was both confusing and concerning, so Clark shook his head. “No, Conner. You don’t have to sign them right away. You should read them over and think about—”

Conner once again interrupted him, but this time with a loud groan that had Lois frowning into her purse as she loitered nearby. “Fucking hell, Clark. Just give me a pen, I’ll sign them, I don’t care.” The boy glared at him, holding the folder tight enough that it bent.

Clark could tell Lois was ready to step in, but he thought maybe he was starting to understand the issue. He shook his head more firmly, hardening his voice so that it brooked no argument, hoping that this was the right move. “ No , Conner.” The boy froze instantly, his face going two shades paler at the tone, but Clark pushed forward anyway. “I thought pursuing a legal method to solve the issue with Luthor was something you would want, but if it isn’t, then that’s okay. I don’t want you to sign that paperwork if it isn’t something that you want to do.”

Conner didn’t appear to be breathing and Clark really didn’t know if he was doing the right thing, but he wanted the kid to understand . “If you read the forms and don’t like something you see in them, we can change it. If you want to try finding another attorney, we can look for one. If you don’t want to go through the court system to solve the problem, we can talk about alternatives. The forms can’t even be turned in until Monday, so I don’t want them back until then at the earliest . Read them over. Decide what you want.”

When Clark stopped speaking there were a few seconds of frozen silence before Conner’s eyes dropped to the floor as he clutched the folder even tighter. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “It’s whatever. I don’t care. ” The words came out fragile enough that he couldn’t imagine a world where he believed the kid. 

Clark let his voice go soft now, resisting the urge to place a hand on Conner’s shoulder. “Then hang onto the forms until you do care. There’s no rush, okay bud?” 

He still wasn’t sure he’d made the right call in how he was handling this, but when Conner breathed out hard through his nose, snapping a harsh whatever in response to Clark before stomping off to his room, folder still in hand, Clark decided to call it a win. Lois’s hand on the small of his back told him that she agreed. 

_____

Conner didn’t come out for dinner that night. Lois sent Jon to deliver a plate, instructing him to knock and leave it outside the kid’s door. Jon was so worried about Conner that he kept forgetting he wasn’t speaking to Clark in favor of prodding for information about what was wrong. Clark had just done his best to explain that Conner had a rough day and needed some rest. After Jon was put to bed, he and Lois stayed up so late talking that they went through two bottles of wine. Clark had been so wrapped up in the conversation and his own worries that he completely lost track of how much he drank compared to Lois, which meant he probably hadn’t had enough of it. That was all he needed to know to guess that his wife was going to be in for a painful morning, so when he woke at eight thirty, he made quick work of extricating himself from her clinging grasp, placing an advil on her bedside table and heading straight for the kitchen to pour her a glass of water.

As he approached, he heard the sound of movement and sleepily wondered why Jon was up so early. He hadn’t been expecting to turn the corner and find Conner, frozen in front of the fridge, looking back at him with wide eyes as though he’d been caught committing some sort of crime. Clark was grateful for his kryptonian processing speed as he took in the ingredients scattered across the counters and the pans placed atop the stove. Conner was pulling eggs and a packet of bacon from the fridge. Clark’s recipe book was open to the page labelled “Pa’s Flyin’ Pancakes.” 

Conner was preparing to cook, and if Clark had to guess, it wasn’t just for himself. Conner didn’t seem like the type to go all out for himself. 

Thankfully, Conner hadn’t had the chance to fully panic yet, so Clark kept his body lax with sleep. His eyes stayed drowsy and gave a small wave as he greeted the kid. “G’mor—” He didn’t fight back the yawn that tore through his words, smothering it with the back of his hand before trying again. “G’morning, bud.” He ambled easily into the kitchen, hoping the casual lack of comment would do more for showing Conner this was allowed than if he made a big deal about it. 

When he grabbed a glass and began to fill it at the tap he could hear Conner begin to move, slowly placing his things on the counter. “Morning,” Conner replied cautiously. He stayed frozen in place until Clark turned off the sink and slowly spun around to face him, hoping his sleep mussed hair was helping him seem less intimidating. It must’ve been, because Conner continued to speak, though he kept his gaze off of Clark’s face as he did so. “I, uh… I thought I’d maybe like, make breakfast or something. Like, for everyone. If that’s, uh. If that’s okay.” His cheeks and ears were bright red, and Clark didn’t know what he’d done to deserve whatever progress this seemed to be, but he was infinitely grateful. 

“That’s real kind of you,” he smiled at the kid. “I’ve gotta go drop this off on Lois’s bedside table,” he continued, lifting the glass to indicate to it as he spoke. “Want any help when I’m done, or should I stay out of your way?” He did his best to seem like he didn’t care, even as he burned with hope that he’d be invited to help. When Conner sequestered himself after yesterday’s failure of a meeting, Clark had assumed it would be days, if not weeks before he’d be able to meaningfully interact with the kid again. He still didn’t understand what had compelled Conner to get up early to cook for everyone, but it felt like progress. It had to be. 

Conner shrugged, poking at the packet of bacon. “It’s whatever,” he mumbled, still refusing to look up from the counter.

Clark could admit that he probably should have seen that answer coming. Whatever and I don’t care seemed to be Conner’s favorite things to say. It had seemed infuriatingly apathetic and disrespectful when Clark still had his head up his ass, but now that he was paying attention it was obviously a transparently thin defense mechanism. It was safer not to care, because then you couldn’t be disappointed. 

While Clark wished Conner would be open about what he wanted, he also wasn’t going to turn down the opening the kid had left for him. “Alright, then I’ll be back shortly,” he announced, making his way out as he continued. “But if I get in your way, feel free to kick me out.” He doubted Conner would take him up on that, but it felt right to say it, just in case.

Clark deposited the glass of water quietly on Lois’s bedside table, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head before making his way back to the kitchen. Conner was standing in front of a large mixing bowl, meticulously spooning flour into a measuring cup, his eyebrow furrowed with concentration as he focused. Clark lingered in the doorway until the boy dumped the contents of the perfectly filled and leveled cup into the bowl, not wanting to accidentally startle him. 

Conner had evidently already noticed him, though, and turned around to look at him expectantly, his shoulders tense and his eyes guarded. He was holding himself between them defiantly, like he was daring Clark to say the wrong thing and screw whatever this was up. Clark didn’t plan on doing so.

“Alright, bud,” he smiled softly, leaning back on his heels. “Wanna put me to work?”

By the look on Conner’s face, Clark was willing to guess that want was a strong word for how he felt, but he didn’t send Clark away. He just shrugged awkwardly. “M’makin’ pancakes,” he mumbled, setting aside the flour to grab the salt. The motion revealed his phone screen, open to an article reading ‘ How to Measure Flour.’ Something in Clark’s chest twisted at the sight of it. “You can help if you want. S’not like I’ve done it before, so probaly I’m screwing everything up.”

Clark walked closer, peeking over the kid’s shoulder to look into the bowl. He’d made his dad’s pancakes so many times now that he never bothered to measure, and the contents looked about correct to his eye. “Seems like you’re doing a fine job on your own, bud. Why don’t I get some bacon going while you finish here, and if you have any trouble you can just holler?” 

Conner flushed a little—as he always seemed to when given even the slightest praise—and nodded. “Sure.” He didn’t offer any other thoughts as he returned to the bowl, carefully measuring the salt out into a teaspoon.

Clark snagged the bacon off of the counter and turned on the stovetop burner, using one of the two pans Conner had already set out. As he began to prepare the bacon, he kept a careful watch on Conner from the corner of his eye, observing as he whisked the dry ingredients, googled ‘ How to Melt Butter’ and followed the instructions for the microwave , poured milk into a measuring glass, and added the vanilla. It was only when he needed to add the egg that he came to a stop, hesitating before touching the box, then turning back to his phone.

Clark would bet anything that Conner was googling ‘ How to Crack an Egg,’ and he was tempted to interrupt and demonstrate, but he didn’t want to interfere unless Conner invited him to. He continued tending to the bacon as the boy fiddled with his phone, chewing on his bottom lip before putting the device down and pulling an egg from the carton, a determined look on his face. He stood there, holding the egg above the edge of the bowl, hesitating for long enough that Clark genuinely began to wonder if he should step in. Conner seemed so nervous about making a mistake, and he wanted to tell the kid that it would be fine if he did, but he knew their history would say otherwise. He’d probably be better served holding his tongue until Conner did mess something up, and then demonstrate that his reaction would be different now.

But Conner still wasn’t cracking the egg, seemingly frozen. Clark was just beginning to reach for the knob to turn the burner off so he could focus on intervening somehow, when the teen’s face suddenly lit up as though he’d had an idea. Clark subtly watched him move to hold the egg over the center of the bowl, staring at it with intense concentration, and wondered what on Earth the boy was doing. Then the eggshell suddenly split perfectly in half, the two pieces twisting down to release the egg contained within, and Clark realized with a soft gasp that the boy had used his telekinesis.

The sound of his reaction had Conner turning to face him with wide, terrified eyes, frozen in place with the eggshell still held in his hand. Clark quickly decided to continue with his chosen method of handling these reactions and smiled as though he couldn’t see the way the kid’s body had already slid into a defensive stance. “Oh, clever!” he complimented. “Using your TTK to break the egg; that’s smart. I’d have never thought of that.” Conner’s eyes went from frightened to confused and disbelieving, so Clark pushed on. “Let me know if you ever want to learn to do it with your hands and I’d be happy to show you.” With the offer laid out, Clark smiled and turned back to face the pan of bacon, finally pulling the first round of strips out.

Conner didn’t move for another long few seconds, but he eventually did, forgoing replying to Clark’s words in favor of beginning to mix the wet ingredients into the dry. Clark had to bite his tongue to keep himself from calling out for Conner to be careful not to overmix the batter like Pa still did every time Clark made them in his vicinity. That was written on the recipe card, and if Clark gave him that advice, Conner would probably assume something awful—like that Clark was trying to say he didn’t trust him to stir things right. 

Clark had already shown Conner how to use the stove, so when the kid approached with his bowl of batter, Clark didn’t do anything other than cast him another smile. It was a little embarrassing how nervous he felt, standing there next to a teenager with a knot in his stomach like it was his first day of school or something equally ridiculous. He was just so painfully aware of how fragile this early morning moment was. 

He was rewarded for his caution only a little later, when Conner again pulled his phone from his pocket—typing what Clark was certain had to be ‘ How to Cook Pancakes,’ or some equivalent search term—before suddenly stopping, casting furtive glances between Clark and the device. Clark stealthily watched as the kid clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath in. When he shoved the phone back into his pocket, his face set with almost grim determination. He snapped his head to the side to look Clark’s way. “Could you show me how to do this part, sir?” he asked, his words coming out rushed and his tone a strange combination of furious and robotic. As soon as the question was out, the boy’s face went bright red.

Clark was so shocked and delighted by the development that he hesitated just long enough for doubt to creep into the set of Conner’s shoulders. Once Clark saw it there he was scrambling to erase it. “Yes!” he exclaimed, his answer overloud and startling a jolt from Conner. “Yes,” he tried again, tempering his excitement. “I’d be happy to show you.” Some part of him was surprised to realize that he actually meant it. And not only did he mean it, he meant it beyond that rush of relief he got every time he got closer to something that felt like atonement. He was genuinely and uncomplicatedly happy to teach this to Conner. 

The joy remained all the way through his lesson. Conner was a quick study, and it was generally hard to mess up pancakes that badly. A few of the kid’s first attempts ended up lopsided, broken, and burnt, which had his hands shaking just the tiniest bit. Clark had soothed the boy’s obvious fears with a ridiculous story about his own first time attempting to flip pancakes. (He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of his super strength at the time, and by the end of the morning there had been no less than six pancakes stuck to the ceiling at one point or another.) He’d even gotten a tiny little huff of a laugh out of Conner with it!

The joyous trend continued as Clark moved on to teaching Conner how to crack an egg by hand, using the leftover bacon grease to give a quick lesson on a few different methods of preparing eggs. By the time they were done, loading up serving dishes and setting the table, the smells had finally drawn Lois and Jon from their bedrooms and the pair were sitting, blinking bleary eyes at the feast that they’d prepared together.

When Lois smiled at him over the rim of her coffee mug, mouthing a silent What happened? as she gestured with her eyes to Conner—who was currently pouring an unbelievable amount of syrup over everything on his plate—Clark could only shrug helplessly. He’d been so ready for a miserable day. He’d been ready for the sort of weekend that made Monday feel like a gift. He’d been ready for anger and isolation and regression. And Conner had given him this instead. He knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Hey, bud,” Clark called out across the table, pulling Conner’s wary attention his way. “Thanks for breakfast. I think it’s probably pretty near perfect.” When Conner ducked his head, a small smile flickering across his face as he waved away the gratitude, Clark couldn’t help but think that maybe everything was going to work out just fine.

Chapter Text

Nothing had been going the way Conner had thought it would, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that just yet. There was no familiar ground for him to anchor himself to, and he was adrift in a sea of newness that was dragging him along in currents he couldn’t understand or predict. The only thing that made it at all less frightening was the fact that the lack of familiarity was, in and of itself, familiar.

When Conner was pulled from the tank for his first viability check he’d been small and confused. Everything was new. The sights and colors. The feeling of air in his lungs. The ache of muscles unused to holding his body aloft. The strangeness of his feet pressed against the floor. The hands that had moved and poked and prodded at him before returning him back from where he came. Even just hearing his own thoughts in his head had been startling and foreign.

When Conner had escaped from the lab he’d felt no less small and confused—despite the newfound largeness of his body and the wealth of information in his head. He hadn’t known how to interact with anyone other than the scientists. He’d never been outside before. He’d never felt the real sun on his skin, hadn’t expected the way it would feed something in him that he’d never even realized was hungry until it had finally been sated.

The first time Conner met Superman—only a few short hours after escaping Cadmus alongside the teens that would become his teammates—so much knowledge had flooded to the front of his pre-filled mind that the man almost felt familiar. That was the first time Conner ever understood that something could feel familiar. That life wasn’t actually just a constant flood of new, new, new. The feeling lasted exactly as long as it took for Superman to realize who Conner was. To realize what he was. The man’s expression erased the gently budding sensation of familiarity with the cold, awful snap of a new feeling that throbbed and ached. That look doesn’t belong on Superman’s face , his mind had whispered. Conner hadn’t known what hope was until his was shattering to pieces under the blunt instrument that was Superman’s disgust. 

Every moment of Conner’s first month with the Justice League had been spent in an emotional freefall. The world was enormous, and full of too many incomprehensible things, and yet somehow simultaneously so painfully empty . Nothing went how he thought it would. The information Lex had stuffed into his head failed him constantly. His body and mind fought against his bids for control and he’d sometimes been overtaken by the furious thought that if this was how newborns felt, then he really understood why they spent so much time screaming and crying. 

All to say, the fact that Conner once again had no idea what was going on or how to cope with it wasn’t actually as distressing as it could have been. He was used to surviving untethered, and just because he’d lived on stable-ish ground for the past year or so didn’t mean that he’d really believed the ground would stay stable. Sure, he’d hoped it would, but he’d never put too much stake in hoping for things. 

He was used to not being used to things. Used to the ground falling out from under his feet. Used to having just long enough for the losing to hurt. He was used to his world changing so radically that he almost couldn’t recognize it. That part was almost easy to handle.

He wasn’t used to things changing in ways that felt good , though. And that was the part he wasn’t sure what to do with. That was the part that had him flip flopping between breathless delight and this strange, near overpowerful urge to ruin it before it was taken from him. 

Conner hadn’t been sure what to do when they’d returned from the attorney’s office, other than to just finally give up. He’d been so angry and so empty. He’d taken his hands off of the wheel and given in to the fact that he’d never really had any control over his life or what happened to him. He’d been furious at himself for accepting his lot, and he’d been furious at Clark for putting him into a situation where that was what he had to do, but he’d done it anyway.

And then Clark had stopped him, maintaining that strange, new, infuriating calmness, refusing to so much as raise his voice—like Conner would believe that for a second . But despite Conner’s disbelief, Clark had forced his hands to return to the wheel and then stepped back. He’d told Conner that he could take them all wherever he wanted. Even if that meant they went nowhere. 

He didn’t stop Conner from storming away. He didn’t force him to talk or explain himself. He didn’t say anything about his abysmal behavior at the office. He didn’t even make him come out for dinner. He’d just had Jon leave him a plate so that he wouldn’t be hungry, even though he’d been rude and difficult and irresponsible. Even though he refused to come get it himself. Clark didn’t let him go to bed hungry.

At Mount Justice, Conner had let himself go to bed hungry many times. After fucking up the grocery orders and not having enough food for the end of the week. After coming home from a long mission to find that everything had spoiled in the fridge. After screwing up badly enough that he couldn’t make himself feel like he deserved to eat. Sometimes, he went to bed hungry just because that was the only thing that he got to decide about what happened to him that day. 

But Clark didn’t let Conner go to bed hungry, and some tiny, fragile part of himself wondered if maybe the hero didn’t hate him anymore. If maybe something had changed for the better. Conner wanted it so badly he thought he might throw up. He was so scared of it he wanted to scream. He’d spent so long wanting to be good enough for Clark not to hate him, and he’d spent nearly as long convinced it was an impossible dream. And now it seemed like he might actually have managed it.

Conner wished he knew what he’d done right to earn this. He was terrified the answer was nothing , because if it was nothing then how could he do it again so he’d never lose it? He felt like a dog trying to figure out if the thing clutched between his teeth was the bumper of a car or not, all while being pulled along at seventy-five miles per hour. 

That night after the attorneys’ office, Conner went to bed without brushing his teeth and woke up thinking about the stories Tim liked to tell about his family’s Sunday brunches. Conner desperately didn’t want to lose this. He needed to be good enough not to lose this. So he’d found himself downstairs in the kitchen, stumbling his way through making everybody breakfast, Tim’s Sunday brunch stories ringing in his ears, and something painfully soft in his chest all the while. Then Clark had found him and hadn’t gotten mad. He’d even helped. It had been good. Maybe even great . Maybe even ‘pretty near perfect.’  

Conner still didn’t know why Clark had suddenly decided that he deserved different. Why he’d suddenly decided that the way Conner had been treated before was wrong. Conner also wasn’t stupid enough to think that this could last forever. If Clark had changed his mind once, he could always change it again. Nothing ever stayed the same. Nothing was ever for keeps. But maybe, just maybe , if he was careful, he could keep this for a little while longer. 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make sure Clark meant what he’d said. Clark apparently said things he didn't mean sometimes, so it seemed reasonable to double check. It was why he was going to wait until Wednesday to give Clark the signed forms from the attorneys regarding the application for personhood. It was also why he was leaving the forms for the lawsuits unsigned. If Clark meant what he’d said, then he should have no problem with Conner declining to pursue financial compensation from Lex. If Clark responded by taking his refusal as a sign that he was somehow aligned with his creator, then that would answer the questions he needed answered as well as anything else. Conner still wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but he figured he’d probably gotten close enough that it would be okay. 

Before any of that could matter, though, Conner had to survive this weekend. He had to soak up as much of this strange, pseudo-family time that he’d been given, and be as good as he possibly could be so that it would last as long as possible. He needed to ensure he was obedient, unintrusive, and that he wasn’t a burden. Currently, the entire Kent family was making it impossible for him to succeed at that mission.

“Oh, Conner,” Lois called from down the aisle, pulling a pale blue button up off of the clothing rack. “What about this one? It would look lovely with your eyes.”

Conner shrugged, more anxious and on edge than was probably reasonable for a simple trip to the mall, though, in his defense, it was his first time going to one. “I mean, when am I going to need a button up? The shirts I already have work fine.” 

Lois shook her head with an exasperated sigh that had Conner cringing internally at the evidence that he was screwing things up again. “I know your shirts work fine, hon, but you’re a teenager. You’ve gotta be aching for at least a little self expression?”

Conner remembered his fantasies of band shirts attached to memories of shows and friends, and the tutorials he sometimes liked to watch on things like putting patches on jackets or customizing jeans before brushing the thoughts away. “Not really. And even if I was, it’s not like I need it or anything.” He let his lips quirk into a grin. “It’s not like I don’t do a pretty good job expressing myself verbally.” 

“Well be that as it may,” Lois retorted. “We aren’t leaving the mall without getting you something new to wear. I’m getting sick of seeing you in the same outfit every day.” She went back to rifling through the racks as she spoke.

Shortly after the end of her statement Conner heard the sound of pounding footsteps approaching and turned his head, catching sight of an extremely excited Jon making rapid progress in their direction. He came skidding to a stop between them, holding a red sweatshirt aloft. It featured a scattering of cartoon dinosaurs wearing various types of sci-fi gear across the front. “Mom!” Jon exclaimed. “They have a Dinosaur Invasion sweatshirt! Can I get it?” Conner could practically see the stars gleaming in his eyes as he bounced on his toes. 

Lois smiled indulgently at the kid, reaching out to ruffle his hair with her hand as she nodded. “Sure, put it in the cart. Just remember that we’re here for winter clothes, so you have to find a good coat and new boots before we leave.”

“I know, I know.” Jon discretely rolled his eyes as he tossed his newest acquisition into the cart where it joined the scarf Lois had selected for herself and the jeans that Jon had complained miserably about being forced to try on. His prize secured, the boy turned to Conner with a smile. “You know Dinosaur Invasion, right?” 

Conner was fairly sure the imagery was familiar, but the name didn’t ring much of a bell. “I don’t think so, why?” Jon gasped as though this was the worst thing he’d ever heard anyone say before launching into a convoluted explanation of the video game that was apparently also a TV show. It sounded ridiculously complicated and by the time Jon was explaining something about an interdimensional doctor velociraptor who could apparently do surgery on time, whatever that meant, Conner had mostly checked out of the conversation. 

He wasn’t really all that certain why he’d been brought to the mall to begin with. All he knew was that towards the end of the breakfast he and Clark had prepared together, Lois had clapped her hands and declared that they were going shopping today, to the audible consternation of her husband and son. Conner hadn’t been worried until her eyes snapped to him as she announced that he wasn’t getting off easy just because he’d given her pancakes, and he’d be coming along as well.

He’d assumed that he’d just be carrying shopping bags though, so he hadn’t been too worried. At least, not until Lois had started insisting that he needed to pick out new clothes with an alarming degree of fervence. Conner wanted to do as he’d been told, but he didn’t need clothes, and if he took things he didn’t need then he’d be making himself an unnecessary burden. Every time he’d bought things before it had been on the Justice League’s tab, which meant he could make the spending worthwhile through his work with Young Justice. He couldn’t offset this cost to the Kent family and he couldn’t understand why Lois was being so stubborn about him having things he didn’t need. 

Eventually, Lois interrupted Jon’s rambling to pull Conner over to a collection of soft, knitted sweaters, holding them up against his chest and refusing to accept his statement that he already had his leather jacket, so he didn’t need any sweaters. This was the scene that greeted Clark when he finally rejoined the group, having returned from a mission to pick up a new pair of work shoes. In addition to the expected shoe box, he was holding a paper bag with a picture of a cookie on the front. “Hello!” Clark announced himself boisterously. “I have returned! Did you miss me, dear?” He sidled up to Lois with waggling eyebrows and a startlingly boyish grin.

Lois rolled her eyes and snatched the bag away from him. “In your dreams, Smallville,” she grumbled teasingly, rooting through the bag and pulling out an enormous cookie, topped with an alarming amount of bright pink frosting. 

Conner watched the hero nod seriously in reply. “Every night.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows again, only to be cut off by Jon elbowing his way in between them to grab the bag from Lois, his face curled into a dramatic caricature of disgust. 

“ Gross , knock it off—” He cut off his words suddenly, visibly remembering that he wasn’t talking to his father and turning to face his mom. “I mean, Mom, please tell Dad to stop being gross.” 

Clark just chuckled and ruffled his son’s hair, ignoring the irritated glances this earned him from the boy as he answered. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” He paused to gesture between Conner and the cookie bag. “There’s one in there for you, too. I wasn’t originally planning to stop or I’d have asked what your favorite is. I didn’t know so I just went with chocolate chip. Hope that’s okay.” 

Conner nodded, flustered to have once again been included in the small moments of family that kept cropping up on their outing. “Yeah, that’s fine. Chocolate chip is good.” 

Jon reached out, handing the cookie to Conner, holding his own—something chocolate with nuts and white chips—in his mouth as he crumpled up the bag before tossing it rudely at his dad’s face. Clark caught it easily and tucked it into his pocket. “Glad to hear it. What would you prefer for next time?”

Conner hummed uncertainly around his first bite of the treat, vaguely wondering why Clark hadn’t gotten himself one. Maybe he ate his on the way back? He brushed the question off. It didn’t matter. “I’m not sure. I haven’t tried very many different ones before.” He shrugged and took another bite. He liked chocolate chip enough to just go with that in the future, though his stomach did twist nervously at the strangeness of Clark saying there’d be a next time.

Lois and Clark both pressed their lips together briefly, and Conner felt like he’d probably screwed something up again, but the moment was gone before he could worry about it for more than a second, and Clark’s smile returned to his face. “Sounds like you’ve got some work to do, then! I’ll have to make sure to get you something different next time, so you can figure out what you like.”

Conner bit his lip and shrugged. “I mean, I’m fine with whatever. I don’t need cookies or anything like that.”

Jon rolled his eyes, groaning dramatically as he flopped forward to crash into Conner’s side. “Nobody needs cookies, dude. That’s, like, the whole point of cookies.”

“But you do need to pick something out. I refuse to leave the mall without you having something other than those awful black t-shirts that you wear every day,” Lois complained around her own mouthful of cookie.

Conner bit the inside of his cheek and averted his eyes, squirming uncomfortably under her insistence. He didn’t want to pick something out. But he needed to do as he was told. But he also needed to not take any more than he required. It was a complete surprise when Clark came to his rescue. 

“Actually, love,” he interjected, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you and Jon finish up here. I know he needs more things for school. I saw a store on my way back that I thought Conner might like. How about I take him that way and we can meet up later?”

Conner never thought he’d see the day where he’d prefer Clark’s company to literally anyone else’s, and yet, here they were. Anything to get Lois to stop pushing sweaters down my throat. He had no idea if Clark could tell how uncomfortable he was with the situation and was lying to give him an out, or if he’d actually found something he thought Conner would enjoy for some reason, but he didn’t really care one way or the other. “I’m down to go check something out,” he agreed, trying not to sound too eager to get away. 

Lois sucked on her teeth and hummed contemplatively before replying with an easy smile. “Alright, sure. You both have fun.”

“Wh— Mom!” Jon protested. “I wanna go with Conner! What’s the point of even going to the mall with him if I can’t hang out with him?” He was glaring at his dad for the umpteenth time that day, obviously blaming the man for his misfortune.

Lois raised an eyebrow at the boy. “The point is to get you new boots and a new winter coat, and maybe a few other things. I think I was pretty clear on that.”

As Jon and Lois prepared to go at it, Clark subtly gestured to Conner, waving him closer. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go while she’s got him distracted.” The man’s eyes were bright with laughter. They made their way out of the shop and into the large hall together, leaving behind the sounds of Jon’s halfhearted complaints and Lois’s teasing reprimands.

As they started their journey through the labyrinth of the mall, Conner cocked his head towards Clark. “So, did you actually want to take me somewhere, or was this just to get both of us out of watching Jon try on a thousand pairs of boots?”

Clark chuckled at the question, thankfully not taking offense to Conner’s wry tone. More proof that this wasn’t all a front. More of that inescapable urge to push harder. “I actually have a store I wanted to take you to. Skipping Jon complaining about shoes is just an added bonus.”

Conned nodded, following Clark’s lead through the somewhat crowded mall in relatively comfortable silence. He kept noticing that his shoulders were tensing and having to remind himself that things were different now, and he didn’t need to be so on guard, but he was pretty sure he kept it unnoticeable.

Conner heard their destination long before he saw it. The pulsing thrum of heavy metal was audible to his sensitive hearing from several minutes away, and when he turned to fix Clark with a questioning gaze, he found the man was already looking his way, grinning as he nodded that yes, Conner had guessed right. 

The store was dark and sparsely lit, and the windows were full of mannequins dressed in extremely stereotypical, obviously mass-produced, punk-inspired outfits. It was the sort of shit he imagined got people called posers at actual events, and he’d never seen anything cooler in real life. He recognized the song playing as they approached. Unwound by The Devil’s Orchard. It wasn’t one of his favorite bands, but they were still pretty high on the list all things considered. The online forums he sometimes looked at but never participated in were full of people who insisted they were overrated and too mainstream to be respectable. It was stupid reasoning, and he greatly enjoyed observing the fights that those sorts of comments could instigate.

He walked inside, eyes wide with wonder, taking in the chains, piercings, and studded belts. Then his focus drifted to the other people inside the store. A woman with a half-shaved head—her remaining hair died bright orange and red—was flipping through a poster display. An employee with more facial piercings than Conner could be bothered to count was standing on top of a ladder, pulling stock down from a shelf. A cluster of teenaged boys who looked like they could be from the cover of a particularly whiney screamo album were loitering towards the back, half-heartedly browsing the clearance racks. 

It was all so fascinating and exciting. He’d never been to a place like this. He’d only really known they existed in the abstract. He hadn’t ever considered that he might be allowed inside of one someday. And yet, here he was.

Behind the teenagers was a massive wall display of band shirts, and Conner found himself drifting towards it without thought, his eyes drinking in the sight as a small smile bloomed across his lips. He skimmed over the shirts, noticing more band names he knew than those he didn’t, and he made a point to remember any he was unfamiliar with so he could give them a listen later. 

His eyes caught on a few of his favorites as he delighted in the combinations of new and familiar art that adorned the mostly black shirts. Verdant Skies. Rabid Scabies. Pride and Precipice. Dark Dead Sky Attack. They even had a Daddy Issues shirt, which was absolutely insane considering that the band was relatively new and definitely controversial thanks to their aggressive feminist politics and the general sexism directed at women in the industry. They weren’t concert shirts, but they were closer than anything he’d ever seen in person. Conner couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face.

“Good find?” Clark asked from behind him, soft amusement in his voice. Conner couldn’t muster any self consciousness in the midst of his excitement.

“Yeah,” he nodded, a little breathless. “This is so cool.” When he finally tore his eyes away from the display he found Clark already looking at him, the wide grin on his face matching Conner’s to a tee. 

“So do you recognize any of these groups?” the man asked, gesturing up at the shirts with an eyebrow raised expectantly. “Cause I don’t think I’m cool enough to know any of them.” It was all the invitation Conner needed to launch into an animated explanation of the various bands up on the wall and the albums that the shirts referenced. 

He didn’t realize how long or how fast he’d been talking until it was long past the societally accepted time frame for one person to ramble without any reply from those listening. He felt his face growing hot with embarrassment, and he turned to Clark to apologize, only to find the man still looking down at him attentively, not a trace of boredom on his smiling face. For some reason that just made Conner blush harder. “Sorry,” he apologized, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

Clark just shook his head. “No, bud! It was interesting. I liked hearing you talk about it.” He gestured with a tilt of his head back to the display. “We should grab you a couple shirts while we’re here. Maybe one of those pants with all the zippers, too. They look pretty nifty. What’dya think?”

Conner was shaking his head immediately. “Oh, no. No, that’s okay. I don’t need anything like that. I tried telling Lois, if I need new clothes we can get, like, another pack of shirts online or something. That’d be fine.” He didn’t know how much any of this cost, but he knew it would be more than he wanted them spending on him. He was pretty sure they couldn’t bill this to the League.

Clark cast a wry look at him. “I mean, if you don’t want them, it’s okay, but if you like them, we should get them.” He leaned in closer, conspiratorily. “You’d honestly be doing me a favor, because if we meet back up with Lois and you don’t have any new clothes, we’ll both have to sit through her making you try on a truly ridiculous number of button ups and polo shirts.” The man shook his head, fond amusement clear in his small smile. “I don’t know why she’s always trying to dress kids in business casual, but if you come back already set, we might get off scott free.”

Conner bit his lip uncertainly. “Well, I mean… You really think it’d save you some time?” 

Clark nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”

Conner tried to imagine declining and then sitting through Lois’s attempts at dressing him with Clark watching, knowing he could have saved the man from it. He already felt a little sick just imagining how worried he would be that Clark would get mad at him for putting him in that position when it could have been avoided, and even though he was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen, it would be better to avoid the possibility entirely. And he did like the shirts. And maybe also the stupid pants with too many zippers. “Okay,” he sighed, giving in. “We can grab a few things.”

It wasn’t until they were walking out, far more bags in hand than he’d intended, on their way to reunite with Lois, that Conner realized he’d probably just been played. Somehow, he found he didn’t really mind.v

Chapter Text

Yesterday had been one of the better days Conner could remember ever having. The breakfast Conner had put together had gone perfectly. The mall had been overwhelming but undeniably fun. Clark had seen a store and thought of him. Then he’d bought Conner clothes that he hadn’t even needed . Conner had left the excursion with his belly full of soft pretzels, cookies, and several heaping portions of orange chicken.

After getting back to the apartment Conner and Jon had played more video games—Conner seemed impervious to improvement, much to Jon’s consternation. Later, the day had concluded with an abundance of pizza and all four of them clustering together in the living room to watch a movie. Conner had hesitated at the entrance, but ended up joining them after being given strict instructions that he was not to try to skip out. He’d gone to bed feeling warm, happy, and completely off balance in a way he didn’t really hate. 

When he woke up on Sunday to find texts waiting for him on his phone from his friends, expressing that they’d miss him at the day’s team training, he found that the perfection of the day before had given him what hopefully wasn’t an idiotic amount of courage. That courage carried him out from his room, down the hall, and towards where Clark was loitering near the coffee machine.

“Morning, Clark,” he greeted, surprised by the lack of hesitance in his voice. The man met his approach with a smile.

“Morning, bud,” the man replied as he filled his mug from the pot. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Conner answered, moving quickly onto the reason for his determination before he could chicken out. “I was wondering if I could ask you something, though.”

“Oh,’ Clark cocked his head curiously. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Conner pressed his lips together and took a deep breath in through his nose, pushing down his nerves. He was well aware this could be a breaking point. Bringing this up could ruin the strange new peace. It could ruin everything . But if it did, he’d at least have yesterday to remember it by, and that would have to be good enough. “I wanted to maybe talk about what it would take to get me back on the Young Justice roster.”

Clark went immediately stiff at the statement, and Conner rushed to smooth things over. “I understand why you benched me,” he insisted, more than willing to exaggerate his acceptance of Clark’s punishment if it meant fixing things sooner. As he continued, his words left him in a swift flood. “And I don’t expect to be allowed back straight away or anything like that, I’m just missing training today, and even if I can’t go on missions, I’d still like to continue training so I don’t fall behind. I know I have to earn that, though. I just wanted to talk about what that might take, if that’s okay.” His earlier confidence was rapidly draining as Clark remained tense and stone faced. 

The man’s jaw twitched for just a moment before he replied. “Do you want to step into my office to discuss this?”

Conner’s answer left his mouth immediately and without his consent. “No.” Both Conner and Clark’s eyes went wide with surprise at the response, and Conner scrambled to correct himself. “I mean, uh, no. No, sure, we can— We can totally go into your office, sorry.”

Clark shook his head slowly. “No, that’s fine. We can talk here.”

Conner’s stomach was twisting into a knot, because this conversation had flown off of the rails so fast. This wasn’t the right way to ensure things went the way he wanted them to. Needed them to. But he couldn’t push for them to talk in the office anymore without making things weird so he nodded. “Okay. Sorry.”

Clark shook his head again. “It’s okay, Conner. And before we get any further, I don’t actually have any issue with you going to team training. You can even head to today’s if you want. You’ll probably be a little bit late, and you’ll have to let me escort you so that you aren’t making your way to and from the zeta tube on your own, but I don’t see any reason why that should be a problem.”

Conner felt all of the air in his chest leave him in a whoosh as he was taken completely by surprise. “What?”

Clark shrugged, like this whole thing was no big deal. “If you want to go to training, you can go to training.” He paused, regret flickering across his face. ‘Missions are a different issue, though.”

Conner honestly hadn’t expected to get instant permission to train, and he was still trying to get his feet back underneath him at that revelation. He was so far from ready to have a discussion about what it would take to get permission to go on missions. “Yeah, that makes sense.” The lie came automatically, even as he was scrambling to understand how this was moving so fast. This conversation wasn’t happening at all how he’d thought it would, and he’d been so sure things were going badly that he had no idea what to do now.

“I know Luthor hasn’t ever gone after you when you were with other Justice League members, but I still don’t feel all that comfortable with you attempting missions while this threat is active. Especially considering it could put the others at risk if something changes and Luthor decides he needs to be more aggressive about capturing you.” The man’s face was contemplative as he explained his concerns, and for however reasonable the statement sounded, it still had Conner feeling the bitter sting of betrayal. It was immediately obvious what was happening, and Conner was furious with himself for not seeing it coming. 

Sure, Clark had said it was Conner’s choice if they pursued the case the attorneys had recommended, but of course he hadn’t really meant it. Of course he was going to say that it was too dangerous for Conner to be a part of Young Justice with the situation as it was. That was how he was going to make sure he got what he wanted while still being able to say that Conner had chosen it. And just like a well trained dog, Conner would do as he’d been told because it had never really been up to him.

Conner felt his eyes begin to burn, which was incredibly unacceptable, so he focused in on the anger, clenching his fists as he tensed and stared furiously at the floor. “ Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll sign the attorney papers. You didn’t have to do a whole fucking song and dance about it; I would’ve signed them yesterday. You were the one who didn’t want me to.”

When he looked up to glare at the man, Clark was wide-eyed with shock. “Conner, what are you talking about?” His mouth hung open as he stared at Conner like he was the one saying shit that didn’t make any sense.

Conner’s lip curled and he wanted to throw something. Snatch the coffee mug out of Clark’s hands and break it over his stupid head. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I really, really don’t,” Clark insisted before dragging a hand down his face and giving an exasperated sigh. “You’re jumping to conclusions without listening to what I’m actually saying. You’ve got to stop doing that. I never said anything about the paperwork. Where did you even get that from?”

Conner wasn’t sure if the man was playing stupid or if he was actually just an idiot, but he wasn’t going to stand there and explain the obvious. “ Whatever ,” he snarled. “It doesn’t even matter. Just keep me off the team. Take away training. I don’t care.” He turned to storm off, already furious with himself for the way he’d just shot himself in the foot. He’d already had training. Why had he just thrown it away?

“ Conner,” Clark called out insistently, and Conner could hear the man beginning to follow behind him. “Would you just wait a second? I’m not taking away training and I’m not trying to take away Young Justice.”

Conner spun around on his heel to face the man at the threshold of the kitchen. “No, I just can’t be on the team until the legal thing with Lex is fixed, right? That’s the deal?” The questions came out barbed and venomous. 

“No, that’s not the deal, and if you would slow down and listen to me, I’d explain that to you!” Clark’s voice was rising to match his in volume.

“So explain it then,” Conner demanded with a scoff.

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose and took a long, measured breath. “What I was going to say was that I don’t think you should go on any missions unless we inform your teammates and their mentors of the situation so that everyone can make an informed choice on how we move forward, and so your team can be ready if Luthor does decide to try something. But I also don’t want to force you to tell anyone you don’t want to about what’s going on. I’m open to other solutions.”

It was insane how fast Conner’s anger turned into red hot embarrassment as the extent of his overreaction became apparent. “Oh,” he replied, feeling his face go red all the way to his ears. “That’s— Uh… That isn’t what I thought you were going to say.”

Clark put his hands on his hips and shook his head in exasperation. “That’s pretty obvious, bud. And I understand that this has been hard for you, but you can’t keep putting words in my mouth and assuming the worst about everything I say.”

Conner’s embarrassed flush was quickly shifting to one of shame, and he hung his head as unexpected guilt bubbled up inside of him. Clark had been so great lately. The man had already apologized and tried to make amends for so much, and Conner knew it wouldn’t last forever, but now he was acting like he wanted things to go back to normal. He was acting like he wasn’t even the least bit grateful or appreciative for what Clark had done for him yesterday or how forgiving he’d been over the last week. Hadn’t Conner resolved to be good? “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m sorry. I should have listened before getting mad like that. It won’t happen again, sir.”

“It’s okay, Conner,” Clark gently reassured him, an undercurrent of fatigue still present as he spoke. “I understand this is hard. Do you want to talk about making a plan to get you approved for missions again, or would you rather take a break and talk later?”

Conner shook his head. “No, this is fine. I can— I can tell my team about everything at training today.” He paused, unsure if that was still on the table after his outburst. “If I can still go, I mean.”

It was a relief when Clark nodded easily. “Of course, as long as you don’t try to go on your own.”

“Okay, cool. Thank you, sir.” Clark waved away his gratitude and Conner continued, still a little nervous about the whole situation but knowing that it would be worth making his embarrassing legal situation known if it meant he could get back on his team. “I don’t care who all has to know, but I don’t really want to have to be the one to tell anyone other than my teammates. Would that be okay?” He was pretty sure he’d die if he had to look Batman in the eye while explaining the whole clusterfuck he’d dragged the League into just by existing.

Clark nodded again. “Yeah, that’s absolutely fine. I can handle talking to the others. When do you want to head for the zeta tubes?”

Conner hadn’t been expecting to get anywhere near this far, so he had to stop and think about it. He wanted to miss as little of today’s training as possible, and he was already at least a half an hour late, but he also needed time to get ready. “Could we leave in an hour?” 

“Sure,” Clark agreed. “Just make sure you grab something for breakfast before we go, okay?”

“Okay,” Conner nodded. He stood there for another few seconds as the moment stretched into awkward silence, neither of them sure how to end this interaction. “I’m gonna, uh—” he mumbled. “I’m gonna go get ready, then.”

“Yeah, of course,” Clark agreed hastily. “I’ll, um. I’ll just be finishing my coffee.”

“Okay.” Conner turned to leave, still half angled towards the man. “Sounds like a plan… Uh, bye?” It came out as a question and Conner was already kicking himself for how stupid he sounded.

“Yeah, sure, uh, bye, bud.” Clark gave a little wave and then finally turned around, walking stiffly back towards the kitchen. Conner quickly made his way down the hall, thankful for many things, not the least of which was that the conversation had finally ended.

_____

Conner probably should have expected that his team wouldn’t respond well to the news that he was legally Lex’s property and that the billionaire was trying to use that fact to capture him and return him to Cadmus labs. It was probably stupid of him to be shocked that this news was being met with an explosion of furious shouting, but he found himself shocked anyway.

“Fucking hell , guys! One at a time or I can’t tell what you’re even saying ,” he complained, resisting the urge to put his hands over his ears.

Wally was the first one to force his voice above the din, his words coming so fast it almost didn’t matter that he was speaking loud enough for Conner to hear him over their friends. “This is absolute bullshit! Why are we only just now hearing about this?!”

The question mostly succeeded in quieting everyone else as they realized they wanted to know the answer to that too. The exception was Tim, who raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, Conner. Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?” There was a dangerous undercurrent to Tim’s voice that had Conner cringing. 

He didn’t want to give the real answer to that question. He didn’t want them to know that he’d been embarrassed about his inability to handle the problem on his own. He didn’t want them to know that he’d been scared that they wouldn’t want to go anywhere with him if they knew Lex was watching him. He didn’t want to confess that he’d decided he cared more about getting what he wanted than allowing them to make informed choices. 

He especially didn’t want them to know how afraid he’d been that they’d respond to the information by telling him that they agreed that he wasn’t really a person. He hadn’t actually thought they’d say that, but he’d been terrified of being wrong.

But Tim would know if he lied, so he had to give them at least a partial truth. His face flushed and his shoulders tucked up towards his ears as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I mean, it isn’t you guys’ problem,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to bother anyone with it. I have it under control.”

Kaldur sighed heavily. “You are a member of this team, Conner. That makes this our problem, whether you like it or not.”

Tim’s staring had yet to waver, and the intensity of his focus had Conner’s stomach twisting with nerves. “What do you mean by ‘under control’ anyway? I’ve got the sneaking suspicion that we have different definitions of that.”

Conner shrugged, hunching in on himself defensively. “I mean that I’m not going to get caught by Lex. He only goes after me if I’m out alone, and he knows that if he tries anything illegal in the process of trying to take me that I can be seized by the government.” If he wasn’t so deeply aware of how much Lex didn’t want that to happen, he’d be nervous about that happening. He had no idea what it would mean if someone other than Lex ended up with legal authority over him, let alone the United States government. But as it stood, he knew Lex wouldn’t do anything to risk that. “Nobody wants that to happen, so he has to be careful. I just have to avoid putting myself in situations that make it easy for him.”

Wally had begun to pace, moving fast enough to slightly blur in Conner’s vision, gesticulating wildly as he informed Conner of exactly how dissatisfied he was with that answer. “Oh, is that all?” he asked sarcastically. “You just can’t ever go anywhere by yourself or have any kind of life outside of the Justice League? Why didn’t you start with that?” He turned to face the group. “Nevermind guys, everything’s fine . Conner’s just basically stuck in prison with Superman .”

Conner glared at the speedster. “I’m not saying it’s the ideal situation, Wally. But what would telling you guys even have achieved?”

M’gann’s lips were curled into a frown and he could tell the shining water pooling in her eyes was from anger rather than sorrow. “We could have helped , Conner! We could have made a point to take you places, so you wouldn’t have been stuck here all the time! We could have given you a panic button for if Lex managed to take you! I could have talked to J’onn for help!”

Conner was preparing himself to shoot down the Martian’s words when Tim once again interjected, still fixing Conner with that intense glare. “Which reminds me, why did the Justice League allow this to go on for so long? You said you submitted reports on all of the incidents as they happened. Nobody ever thought to check up on you about it? Not even Superman? Or Batman? ”

“Nobody ever said anything, and no,” he pushed onward before anyone could ask. “I don’t know why, and I don’t plan on asking. You can talk to whoever you want about it but I’m not discussing this shit any more than I have to.”

The room was once again filled with chattering, infuriated voices that Kaldur silenced with a wide sweep of his hand. “Quiet. There is no point in arguing about what has already happened.” His voice was level and calm. “Conner, we don’t want to make this situation any harder than it already is. We all wish you had told us sooner, and we hope that you will keep us informed of any similar issues that might arise in your life. That aside, you said Superman was working on a solution?”

Conner sighed and leaned back against the wall behind him. “Yeah, it’s a whole thing with these attorneys. I haven’t signed the paperwork yet, but I’m probably going to soon.” On Tuesday. Just to make sure Clark means what he said.  

“When you get home I want it all sent to me,” Tim demanded from his seat on the couch, his hands folded in front of his face. “Don’t sign anything I haven’t seen.”

Conner raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone, but decided it probably wasn’t worth it to argue. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.” He knew Tim was only trying to look out for him, and he honestly would feel better about the whole situation if his friend had given everything a look over. Tim was one of the only people he could count on to actually have his best interests at heart, in addition to being competent enough to help with something like this.

Some of the tension in Tim’s shoulders unwound at his acceptance, and Conner felt a twinge of guilt for having caused this much distress in his friends. He really hadn’t thought it would be this big of a deal. Or maybe he’d expected it to be a big deal in a worse way. “But none of this is the actual reason I brought this up. Superman doesn’t think it’s safe for me to be going out on missions with the situation as it is right now. He’s willing to let me go anyway, but only if you all are comfortable with it. He’s also asking your mentors for approval.” His words were tripping into rushing territory as his anxiety crept back in. “I totally understand if you don’t want me going on missions with you until this is fixed. I would completely get it—”

His rambling was cut off by the sound of M’gann’s laughter. “In what world would we not want you on missions with us? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time, and earlier today Wally asked if there was such a thing as wet wall. ”

Wally sputtered indignantly. “Well drywall is a thing! It implies the existence of a wet wall!” Conner couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and out of him as the room suddenly took a rapid turn into listing off other stupid things Wally had said in the recent days. It took Kaldur three tries to get the group settled and focused again, and for all of his grumbled frustration, not even the Atlantian could fully hide his smile.

“Conner,” Kaldur began once he’d reinstated order. “You are a member of this team. No matter what. We want you by our side for as long as you want to be there, and if our League supervisors don’t agree with that choice, then you can rest assured that, as this team’s leader, I will be having words with them.” A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth for a moment. “I also don’t like that you were benched without anyone speaking to me, and I was already planning on initiating a conversation with them about that.”

M’gann nodded in solemn agreement. “Absolutely. If they want to keep you off of our team because of something that isn’t even your fault, we won’t let that injustice stand.”

In a flash Wally had zipped to Conner’s side, dragging him down so he could loop an arm around his shoulders despite Conner’s considerably greater height. “Yeah, man! There’s no Young Justice without you!”

“That’s right,” Tim flashed a grin. “And maybe they’ve all forgotten what happened the last time we all got together without this whole ‘ Young Justice’ thing reigning us in, but if they try and take this team apart, we can absolutely remind them.”

Conner smiled at all of his friends, gratitude swelling in his chest at how wonderful they all were. He didn’t know what to do with all of this care and affection. He felt it so strongly it ached. So he did the only thing he could think to do about it. He rolled his eyes and pushed Wally away from himself with an exaggerated huff of aggravation. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he complained, aware amusement was still coloring his voice. “No need to be such saps about it. Now come on, can we finally get some training done?”

Ten minutes later when he was putting Tim on his back in the sparring rooms, he could still feel the aching press of that warm affection in his chest. He decided he didn’t mind it.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since that fateful Sunday where Conner told his team about the whole mess with Lex, and things were still going surprisingly well. Conner had waited until Tuesday to turn the signed and Tim-modified-then-approved forms over to Clark. The man hadn’t said a word one way or another when Monday rolled around and on Tuesday he asked Conner about a hundred times if he was sure. He hadn’t even said anything about the fact that Conner didn’t give him the paperwork to approve the lawsuit against LexCorp. 

Conner had attended every one of the team’s practices—including the one Clark hadn’t been able to escort him to, since Tim had come and picked him up. He’d even gone on a successful mission with them, where they helped exfiltrate a League team that had ended up pinned down in an op gone bad. He had Superboy back, and there wasn’t much more he could ask for than that.

Conner had more anyway. Clark’s new baffling treatment of him had been perfectly maintained. They cooked together. They had pleasant conversation at the dinner table. Clark complimented his growth in the kitchen, and when he returned home from the Young Justice mission the man had even had a word of praise for him on his performance.

And then there was even more. Jon had been genuine when he’d invited Conner to his birthday party. It was ridiculously fun helping the family decorate and prepare, and while it was definitely overwhelming to have the apartment filled with noisy preteens, Conner couldn’t deny how much he’d enjoyed himself. Even if he did rank dead last in the smash tournament, despite Jon’s best efforts to help him. The kid was also still constantly pestering Conner to pick his own birthday, something he’d managed to resist giving in to.

Lois had started teaching him how to play poker and had also been giving him book recommendations. It was more pleasant than he’d imagined it would be to share his thoughts with her and hear what she’d thought of the story in response. At least, once he’d gotten past the stomach turning fear that she’d be mad if he disagreed with her or somehow managed to read the book wrong. 

Jon was still engaged in a relentless quest to find a video game that Conner wasn’t completely miserable at. So far they hadn’t had any luck, but the kid was determined not to quit, and Conner was having a great time with it even if he was doing an awful job at winning. 

Clark and Lois were happy to discover that Jon didn’t complain about having to eat his vegetables if Conner had been the one cooking them. Conner couldn’t help but find it sorta cute, and his affection for the kid was only growing with every day they were around each other. 

Sometimes things felt like they were pretty near perfect. Then one of the persistent problems that Conner hadn’t been able to shake would rear its head, and he’d be forcibly reminded that he shouldn’t let himself get too comfortable.

Jon still wasn’t speaking to his father. He’d been forgetting pretty frequently lately, but that only made it worse when he remembered and switched back to glaring and speaking through his mom. He’d even started trying to speak through Conner recently, which was miserably uncomfortable. It was starting to feel more and more like Jon didn’t even want to be doing it anymore but was too stubborn to stop himself until he felt like his terms had been met. Just a kid who didn’t know how to dig himself out of the hole he’d made. 

And for however firmly Clark had shut Conner down when he’d assumed that it was his job to mend the relationship, Conner couldn’t help but feel like Clark did blame him for the issue at least a little bit. Conner had tried talking to Jon about it, but so far he’d only managed to get the kid even more pissed off at his dad. The conflict left Conner feeling like his skin was crawling with ants and made the air between Clark and him feel stiff and heavy. 

And that was only one of the issues that persisted. Lex hadn’t come by the apartment again, but he had sent a courier to deliver a letter to Conner while the Kents were out the day after Conner’s successful mission with Young Justice. It contained congratulations for his reinstatement to the team, as well as compliments on his recent work with the League. The compliments were just specific enough to be unnerving. The letter also contained another offer for Conner to return to Lex’s custody, complete with a proposed update for his uniform, specs on a number of specialized tools and weapons Lex was apparently working on for him, and a fully fleshed out media packet outlining how Lex would make him ‘the most adored hero on Earth.’

Conner tore the letter to shreds, flushed it down the toilet, and told no one.

There was also the fact that, for however improved things were between Clark and Conner, the man still regularly went out of his way to remind Conner that he didn’t want him around. Every so often he would come to tell him that he was still looking for other living arrangements for him and that it would get much easier to find something once the legal situation was resolved. Conner never got to spend too long pretending he was wanted. He was sure he’d be out the door as soon as the court situation was dealt with. He just wasn’t sure where he’d be going, and the uncertainty sat like a constant weight in his chest.

Then there were the little things. The news from the attorneys that sent Conner reeling with panic no matter how mundane and expected it was. The moments when Conner screwed up in front of Clark and froze, completely certain that he’d ruined everything. The boredom that struck almost every day he spent alone in the apartment with next to nothing to do. It all built up.

But perhaps worst of all was Conner’s inexplicable and near irresistible desire to destroy every last bit of good that currently existed in his life.

He couldn’t understand the impulse. Sometimes it felt like there was a monster or a wild animal in his head, thrashing about as it looked for something soft and sweet to sink its teeth into. Sometimes Clark said something nice and Conner was filled with the wild urge to throw a plate at his head. Sometimes he saw the lunch Clark had left for him in the refrigerator and he wanted to stomp it into the kitchen floor and leave the mess for the man to find when he got home. Sometimes Clark smiled at him and Conner wanted to scream and scream and scream until he’d wiped the smile off his face and replaced it with something much more familiar. Something he knew how to handle. 

Sometimes Conner wanted to break every rule he’d ever been given. Sometimes he wanted to leave the apartment and wander the city until Lex grabbed him, just to see if Clark would come. Sometimes he wanted to ask Clark what he’d have done if he’d asked to have Kent as his last name. Sometimes he wanted to ruin everything, just so it couldn’t be taken from him. 

So far, he’d managed to keep himself in check. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever. Even if he didn’t give in to his self destructive urges, he’d screw up or do something to make it seem like he’d screwed up eventually. His instinct was to assume that he’d be sent back to Mount Justice as punishment, which of course forced him to realize for the first time that he no longer wanted to go back to living at Mount Justice, which was terrifying in and of itself. 

He was also aware that Clark was very opposed to Conner living at Mount Justice, because he no longer trusted Conner to live there alone, which still didn’t make any sense, especially considering how nice he’d been acting lately. But it meant that it was unlikely that he’d be sent back to his old living situation, and with his legal status all kinds of fucked up, he couldn’t imagine them sticking him anywhere other than the Watchtower.

He really didn’t want to get stuck on the Watchtower. It reminded him too much of Cadmus—with its clean lines and cold metal. Everybody there stared at him like they knew what he was. Like his presence was disruptive and dangerous. Like they’d only say they’d trust him as far as they could throw him if they didn’t have super strength. And maybe worse were the curious stares. The ones who looked at him with strangely clinical fascination, far too reminiscent of those white coated scientists who’d wanted him to run and fight and fly so they could have something good to report about his development before shoving him back in his pod. Who’d always been so displeased with him when he inevitably failed. When he fell and cried and stayed firmly planted to the ground. 

He didn’t want to end up on the Watchtower, so he did his best to keep himself in line. He was having a particularly hard time doing so today, however. This was mostly due to the fact that he and Clark were currently on the way to the attorney’s office. For a meeting with Lex. Conner was doing his best to be completely normal about that. 

It wasn’t going well.

Lex had apparently refused to speak to anyone except Conner, and everyone knew that it was a bad idea to refuse to let the man say his piece. If Lex wanted to threaten them, then at least they’d know what was coming. Conner understood this. He didn’t like it.

The lawyers had called the night before to let Clark know about the meeting, and Conner had been on edge ever since. He’d been snipish and cagey all morning, and he’d refused to eat breakfast—something Clark was probably still mad about. The man had only stopped pushing the issue when Conner had started asking if he wanted vomit inside his car.

He was barely fending off his panic as he sat in the passenger seat staring balefully out the window. He was about to be in the same room as Lex and Superman at the same time. Except it was Lex and Clark, because Lex didn’t know that Clark was Superman, and Conner couldn’t fuck up and give that away. He also just had to hope the billionaire wouldn’t mention his visit to the apartment or his letter, because Conner had been hiding both things for too long to get caught now. It was a sickening combination of things to bear in mind.

It was all made worse by the fact that Lois had a meeting with a source she couldn’t reschedule or miss, so it was just him and Clark that would be attending. Conner hadn’t realized how comforting it was to have Lois’s presence when he was around a tense Clark until it had been gone and he was trapped alone in a sedan with the man.

Conner was currently focusing all of his energy on not asking Clark for the hundredth time if he was absolutely sure this wasn’t a trap. He’d already been assured that there were a number of measures being taken to ensure safety. Lex was coming alone. Building security was doubled and the team had been given very specific instructions. Clark had even placed the Flash on standby for assistance if anything went wrong. None of that made the situation feel any less like a trap as they parked the car and made their way inside. 

If someone had told Conner a week ago that he’d be willingly entering the same building as Lex, he’d have laughed in their face. He wasn’t laughing now, though. Instead he was standing in an elevator, trying not to hyperventilate. Clark was watching him with obvious worry that he was clearly trying and failing to be subtle about, but thankfully he said nothing.

When they finally reached the door to the room that Lex and the attorneys were waiting in, Conner wasn’t able to force himself to open it. Clark waited for longer than he should have before eventually seeming to realize that Conner wouldn’t be moving. The hero, hidden away behind glasses, frizzy hair, and hunched shoulders, nodded with determination and did what Conner could not, the determination transitioning seamlessly into the awkwardly apologetic, bumbling mannerisms of Clark Kent. 

Conner had spent more time than he’d like to admit wondering if Clark’s recent kindness was any more trustworthy than the man’s clumsy ineptitude. He’d yet to come up with a meaningful answer. 

He followed Clark through the door, walking close behind his heels, eyes glued to his feet, unable to understand why this was so much more frightening than encountering Lex alone at the apartment. He took his seat to the left of Clark and forced himself to pick his eyes up. They shot right back down the moment he caught sight of that perfectly tailored grey suit directly across from himself. He swallowed back bile and pressed his hands against his thighs hard enough that it hurt. He was sure if he touched anything right now he would break it to pieces. 

He desperately hoped nobody tried to shake his hand.

“Clark, Conner,” Camila greeted them from her place at the head of the table, Clark to her left and Robert to her right. “Thank you for joining us, and I’m sorry to have to drag you all the way out here.” Conner could see her glaring at Lex from the corner of his eye. “Unfortunately there wasn’t much choice.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Camila,” Clark reassured her, his voice soft and passive, like he couldn’t imagine ever saying that something wasn’t okay, good midwestern boy that he was. “We understand.” Conner didn’t look but he could imagine the placid smile pasted across the man’s face just fine.

“I must extend my own apologies as well,” Lex smoothly interjected. Conner somehow tensed even more as the billionaire’s oil slick tone washed over him. “I simply believe some issues must be discussed in person. I’m sure you all can understand that.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Luther,” Clark agreed hastily, playing every bit the doormat Lex thought he was. “We were more than happy to come and chat with you today.”

Conner hadn’t realized how this charade would impact things with Lois absent, and he was slowly realizing that the heavy lifting would be left to him. Clark couldn’t do it without risking his identity. Conner had to somehow stand up to Lex enough that they’d get good information out of him and not simply be walked over, while also ensuring he kept the man quiet about his previous visit and letter. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Lex replied, an undercurrent of disgust curling at the edges of his words before he turned. “Conner,” he greeted pleasantly. “It is lovely to see you doing well. Thank you for coming.”

Conner finally made himself look the man in the face, keeping his own as devoid of feeling as he could, though he felt the corner of his lip twitch into something like a snarl anyway. “Wasn’t exactly my choice.”

Lex chuckled like that was a joke. “Well, I appreciate it regardless.”

Robert tapped his pen on the table twice, drawing the room’s attention off of Conner and Lex and towards himself. “Why don’t we get started?”

Camila quickly nodded in agreement. “Yes, absolutely.” She turned towards Lex, her face sternly professional in a way Conner hadn’t ever seen it. “Mr. Luther, why don’t you let us know what it is that you’ve brought us here to discuss?”

“Of course, Mrs. Gutierrez." Lex folded his hands in front of himself at the table. “Before we begin, I did wish to make it clear that I do not consent to any form of video or audio recording of this conversation. This was my reasoning for the initial request to meet at a neutral, third party location, but as you’ve declined, I wanted to confirm that any recording devices in this room have been disabled.”

Conner already felt a little bit lost, but Camila seemed unsurprised by this demand. “Yes, we remembered that request and had the room set up appropriately.”

Conner wasn’t sure why they were doing what Lex wanted them to do, and he felt a little peeved at how willing everyone seemed to be to just do what the man said. “Why don’t you want this meeting recorded?” Conner asked sharply, his eyes narrowed in Lex’s direction.

“I never permit for any of my private meetings to be recorded,” Lex answered, seeming unbothered by the question despite Conner’s accusatory tone. “It’s generally best practice to keep such things between the people who were actually present for the conversation. This meeting is no exception.”

The man’s authoritative tone had Conner bristling and hoping that everyone else was just putting on a show about not recording. He didn’t even really get why they would record, but if Lex wanted them not to, then they probably should, right? Even so, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now, so he rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the table. “Whatever,” he huffed. “Just tell us why we’re here already.”

Lex smiled at him, looking disgustingly genuine as his eyes crinkled. “Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands and addressing the table. “I was recently made aware of the application for non-human personhood that was made on Conner’s behalf. I simply wished to come and confirm that this was a process everyone present actually wanted to take part in.”

The question sucked the air out of Conner’s lungs even though he probably should have seen it coming. It was obvious that was what they were here to discuss, and he’d known that going in. For some reason it still left him breathless to hear Lex saying it out loud. Thankfully, Camila was replying before Conner even had a chance to worry about what he was going to say. Her voice was firm and unyielding. “I can assure you that everyone involved in the process is an enthusiastic participant, from myself all the way down to the receptionist who took your initial call.”

“Ah, of course. This is a very exciting case for your firm, I’m sure.” Lex’s white teeth flashed as his smile went part sneer before he turned away from Camila and towards Clark and Conner. “Of course, that still leaves a few parties unaccounted for.” He tilted his head as if in confusion. “Not to mention that Lois is absent! She couldn’t be here?”

Clark nodded. “Yeah, she had a prior commitment, but I’ll keep her in the loop on what we discuss.” The Kryptonian was still giving that same easy smile, sitting all folded in on himself with his hair in his eyes.

Lex’s gaze was sharply evaluating as he looked Clark over slowly. “You must be a much better man than most.” He issued the compliment with a voice so smooth and sweet it had to be artificial. “I had assumed that, since Lois’s… connection with Kal-El is the reason Conner has been placed in your care, she would have made more of a priority out of taking responsibility for him. There aren’t many men out there who would willingly take in the product of another man’s genetics, especially considering how… close Lois and Kal seem to be.” He paused to let his meaning soak in, before continuing, his face awash with a mask of pity. “This must all be quite a burden on you.”

Conner was of the opinion that Lex should grow a pair and call Clark a cuck directly rather than use all of this tedious double speak, but Clark didn’t seem the least bit bothered. Probably because he knew just how ridiculous Lex’s implications were. “Not at all!” he replied, dismissing the statement outright. “I’m just happy to have the chance to help Conner out however I can.”

Lex couldn’t quite mask his revulsion at what he must’ve viewed as Clark’s stupidity and weakness. “How kind of you.” His derision was audible, fading as he continued. “And Conner is cooperating with this as well?” He addressed the question to Clark, which made Conner want to punch something extremely badly. It evoked memories of the man asking similar questions over his head to the men and women in white coats that poked and prodded at him incessantly. 

Clark looked towards Conner for an answer, which did something to soothe the anger swirling in his chest. But even though he’d resented not being asked directly, he didn’t know how he wanted to respond. He could see Lex’s question for what it was. An out. He was providing a way for Conner to say that this hadn’t been his idea. A way to get out of the trouble he’d find himself in if he ended up back in Lex’s hands after having been a willing participant. 

Conner’s leg bounced anxiously under the table as he forced out his reply, the words nearly sticking in his throat. “I’m a person.” His body instinctively flinched as it flooded with adrenaline in response to the statement that felt so miserably ill-fitting on his tongue, but he forced it out again. “I’m a person, so yes, I’m cooperating with the process to make that legally true.”

“Hmm,” Lex hummed, narrowing his eyes even as his smile remained. “Interesting.” He let the word hang in the air before he turned back to address the table at large. “Well, I’ll be very interested to see how this all plays out. I can’t say I’m altogether opposed to the application going forward.”

“Well it doesn’t really matter how you feel about it,” Conner snapped, glaring. “You can’t do anything one way or the other.”

“That’s true,” Lex agreed, far too casually for Conner’s comfort. He immediately felt as though he’d stumbled into a trap. “I can’t prevent the application from being filed or processed, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that my feelings don’t matter at all. Given that I was the one at the head of the lengthy and costly scientific endeavour that led to your creation, I’m very closely acquainted with nearly all of the foremost experts in the relevant fields. Why, there’s a chance I’ll personally know more than half of the panel assigned to your case.” 

The man paused, his smile no longer soft or placid, but now more like a shark’s. “What percent was it that you’ll need for approval? Seventy-five? And you can only apply once every five years.”

Lex’s words had wrapped a tight band of metal around Conner’s chest, and he found himself completely incapable of breathing in. He’d known all of that, of course. It had been in the informational packets he’d gone over before signing the paperwork. But the packets had also said that there had only been one case of an application ever being denied. The cases were almost always unanimous decisions, and Conner knew he more than passed the threshold for approval. He’d worried about denial, but only in that frantic, illogical way that he worried about nearly everything.

But if Lex could influence the panel, there was no way Conner could win this. And then he’d have to live for another five years knowing he wasn’t real. He’d only been alive for two years. He couldn’t imagine five. And suddenly he didn’t want to do this anymore. Suddenly it wasn’t worth the risk. And Lex was still talking. 

“And obviously if your application is rejected, the court would immediately remand you to the custody of LexCorp. So again, I’m not entirely opposed to this whole song and dance.” His eyes were pinning Conner in place. His stupid smug face was all Conner could see. “I’m honestly more surprised that you’re so keen on this.”

“I hope you aren’t implying that you’d attempt to influence the panel assigned to Conner’s case, Luthor,” Camila all but snarled from across the table. Her cheeks were tinged ever so slightly red with anger and her voice cut through the air like a knife. “Not only would that be immoral, but it would also be incredibly illegal. Doing so would result in felony charges, I believe. And Robert has quite a close relationship with the prosecutor’s office these days.”

Lex’s face went from predatory and hungry to professionally bland in less than a heartbeat. “Of course not. I’m simply making conversation. Criminal activity is very obviously beneath me.” 

Clark choked on a laugh that he disguised as a coughing fit, drawing a glare from the billionaire. Conner used the momentary diversion to locate his spine. “So you just came here to chat about how friendly you happen to be with the sort of people who might end up on my panel? If you’re so confident about this playing out how you want it to, why even come give us this warning? You wouldn’t plan this whole meeting just to make conversation.” Conner was proud of how steady his voice was.

Lex sighed quietly. “That is correct. I’m not here just to chat.” This statement was addressed to Conner, but for the next Lex turned towards the others, cutting Conner out so thoroughly that it had to be intentional. “I’m also here to inform you all of an alternative, for if you decide you’d rather not proceed with this whole mess.”

Conner wanted to interrupt. Maybe say something about how Lex’s face was the real mess here. He didn’t manage to open his mouth before the man continued on. “If this application were to be rescinded and LexCorp were to be provided with information that led to our securing of a lost asset, there would be a hefty finder’s fee.” He turned to face Clark directly now. “More than enough to send your real son to whatever college he wants, three times over.” Next were the attorneys. “More than enough to sustain your firm through however many other pro bono cases your hearts desire to take on for the next five years.”

Conner couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone’s faces as Lex made his offer. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt like he might be sick. “And if that offends anyone’s sensibilities,” Lex drawled, and Conner wanted this to be over, but now Lex was addressing him again, reminding him that he wasn’t just an inanimate object trapped watching the world around him fall apart. “Then I’ll just say that should the application be rescinded, perhaps our next conversation about what sort of compromise we could come to regarding your future can be held at LexCorp, rather than at the Kent family’s dinner table as our last conversation was.”

Conner could hear Clark sucking in a surprised breath beside him, the man going ever so slightly tense at the billionaire’s revelation. Conner’s ears began to ring and he couldn’t feel his face or his hands. Clark knew about Lex’s visit. Clark knew about Lex’s visit. Conner could hear Camila responding, but he couldn’t make out the words. He couldn’t hear what Lex said in reply, or what Clark said after that. All he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing. All he could see was the way Clark’s fists were clenched in the corner of his vision. 

He hadn’t managed to calm down by the time everyone suddenly stood up from the table, and he heard what had to be goodbyes being tossed around, though he couldn’t make out the specifics as he rose to his feet alongside them. He found himself dreading the moment that Lex would leave, because it would bring him closer to the moment he’d be alone with Clark. And then Lex was leaving. And then Clark said something to the attorneys, and they left too. And then Clark and Conner were alone, and oh fuck this was going to be bad was to it?

The gentle press of Clark’s hand to Conner’s back—just between his shoulder blades—snapped him to attention. “Alright, Conner, let’s head down to the car,” Clark began, his tone so terribly familiar in that moment. The clench of his jaw and the set of his shoulders were equally abundant in Conner’s memory. “Once we get back to the apartment, I think the two of us should probably have a conversation.” The last word hung heavy in the air, weighed down by Clark’s obvious anger.

Conner had known the good wouldn’t last forever. He’d known he’d ruin it eventually. He just hoped that whatever came next wouldn’t hurt too badly. And that they’d let him take his band shirts with him to wherever the League decided to stick him next. They’d be something to remember this brief period of strange joy with. He tried not to get his hopes up over the idea, though. He was tired of being let down. He was tired of hoping. He was tired of avoiding the inevitable.

Lex had struck the match. Maybe it was time for Conner to let it burn. 

Chapter Text

Conner was standing stiff as a board in Clark’s office, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes staring unfocused at the ground just in front of Clark’s feet. Clark was leaning against the front of his desk, his hands clenched into fists and resting knuckle down against the top of the dark wood. The silence that permeated the room was thick and heavy, coating the inside of Conner’s lungs and making it near impossible to breathe. 

The silence was a long lived one, beginning its existence in that tense conference room, persisting for the entirety of the car ride back, then following Conner and Clark to the apartment and then to the office. Conner knew Clark was waiting for him to speak, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t kill the silence any more than he could keep his hands from shaking without holding them clenched tightly behind himself. 

When Clark’s voice finally cut a line through the quiet it came as sharp and deadly as a knife. “Are you going to explain yourself?” he asked. Conner could hear the way the man’s jaw was clenched without even looking.

He had no idea what to say. He didn’t know what Clark wanted from him. He didn’t know what words would temper his anger. He couldn’t think of a single thing that might make this better. He didn’t have an explanation. Clark already knew that Conner had let Lex inside and hid their meeting from him. If he wanted a good reason for it, Conner didn’t have one. If he wanted more details, there weren’t any. Conner couldn’t think of a single word to offer up, but he needed to answer. He pressed his lips together, still refusing to look up, and shrugged. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it, Conner,” Clark growled. “You let Lex Luthor into my home . Into the home of my wife and child . There had better be some sort of explanation."

Conner tucked his chin and drew his shoulders up closer to his ears, curling inward as best as he could with his hands clutched behind him. “He came over and wouldn’t leave. Said he wouldn’t talk in the hallway, so I had to let him in.” The words came out rushed and defensive.

“Oh, you had to let him in, did you?” The accusation contained within the question was so pointed that Conner couldn’t resist lifting his eyes up to Clark’s face for just a moment, taking in the furious curl of his lips and the livid set of his brow with a racing heart before forcing them to dart back to the floor. “Did he have some sort of weapon? Kryptonite? Or did he just say jump, and you couldn’t help but ask how high?”

Conner flinched and shook his head, trying to grab ahold of his racing thoughts. He’d had a reason for letting Lex inside. He was sure he did, but he couldn’t remember it. He knew it existed, though. It had to. But doubt crept in as he grasped at straws. He’d had a reason, hadn’t he? Other than that Lex had been the one telling him to do it. It wasn’t like he just always did what Lex wanted him to do. He wouldn’t be standing in this office if that were true. But then why had he let Lex in? 

“That’s not how it happened,” he snapped defensively.

“No?” Clark asked, his disbelief obvious. “How did he even know where you were or that you’d be here alone? Did you contact him?” Clark demanded, suddenly standing tall, no longer leaning back against the desk. 

Conner’s mouth dropped open in shocked outrage. “What are you—? How does Lex ever know where I am?! He’s always showing up when he shouldn’t know how to find me!” Lex always seemed to know where he was. They’d never found any trackers in Conner and nobody had been able to explain it yet.

Clark glared at him. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Funny how that works.”

Conner blinked up at Clark, anger finally sparking strongly enough to stay lit amidst his fear. “I’m not laughing,” he retorted flatly, looking the man in the eyes. 

Clark’s lips pressed into a thin line and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, holding Conner’s gaze with an immovable sort of fury. “I want to know every word he said to you.”

Conner had the impulse to say something provocatory just to get this over with faster, but he managed to reign himself in. “He wanted me to know I have options outside of the Justice League.” He hoped his tone communicated just what he thought of that offer as he continued to state the obvious. “I turned him down.”

“No,” Clark shook his head. “That’s not good enough. I want to know every word , and then I want you to explain why I should believe a single thing you have to say after you spent weeks lying to me.”

For a moment, Conner was tempted to argue that he hadn’t technically ever lied. He just hadn’t mentioned it. He was fairly certain that argument wouldn’t fly, however, and now wasn’t really the time for semantics. “I don’t remember every word that got said! Lex spent more than half the time just insulting you!” He threw his hands out in exasperation. 

“Of course you’ve forgotten,” Clark sneered, dragging a hand through his hair and closing his eyes like he couldn't stand to look at Conner. He took another deep breath before opening them to fix Conner with another glare. “This is why you tell me things when they happen . I mean, I just can’t understand how you could be so stupid. Why did you even open the door?!” The man’s volume rose with every word and Conner bit down on the impulse to shrink at the sound, instead unfolding himself to stand as broad and tall as he could.

“What, am I not allowed to open it? Is that against your fucking rules? Because you never told me that.” He was growing breathless with frustration, his hands no longer behind his back. Instead they were clenched at his side.

“You know what?” Clark asked, tense and practically spitting mad. “If that’s what it takes to keep you from letting Lex Luthor inside my home , then no! No you aren’t allowed to open the door, or leave to meet him anywhere, or do anything that puts you in contact with him in any way! Which I shouldn’t even have to say, and I don’t understand how this isn’t obvious to you!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Conner replied, his voice containing no contrition at all as he started to lose his grip on his tongue. “I wasn’t aware that this place was meant to be a fucking prison!”

Clark laughed, and it came out sounding harsh and mean. “Oh, no. No, this isn’t a prison. Do you want to see a prison? Is that what this is Conner?” He swept his arm out away from his body as if to gesture to the entire situation they were in. Conner flinched, balking at the reminder that things could get worse. They could get so much worse.  

“I mean, I’m trying to understand,” Clark continued. “But you keep doing stupid shit like this,” he gestured again with his hand, taking a step closer and making Conner deeply aware of the scant feet between him and the closed door behind him as he began to sincerely regret doing anything other than ducking his head and apologizing. Clark raged on, heedless of Conner’s sudden remorse. “And then you act shocked, like it’s some kind of injustice when people think you’re working with Luthor!”

Conner tried to argue, rebuttals on his lips, but Clark’s glare stole the words from his mouth as he stepped forward again, shaking his head. “ No . You can’t ask me to trust you, and then go around hiding things like this. That isn’t how this works!” Another step forward, close enough to touch. Close enough that Conner could feel the air move as the man’s hand cut through the air. 

Conner felt his body folding inward again, and his eyes dropped to Clark’s chin to watch his jaw clench, and Conner’s anger froze over into fear and regret. Clark was yelling, and he was so close, and Conner couldn’t remember why he’d ever forgotten what this was like. And he had to have forgotten, because if he’d remembered, he never would have raised his voice. He never would have fought or argued.

“I let you into my home! ” Clark continued furiously. “I let you around my family! I gave you back your team!” And Clark was right. Things had been good , and Conner had ruined them just how he always did. And now things would be worse than they’d ever been and he’d have nobody to blame but himself, and he couldn’t breathe . “And you let a man who wants you captive and me dead into my home!” Clark shouted, and the next movement of his arm came sharper, faster , the limb seeming to rush at Conner as if to grab and break and hurt and—

Conner didn’t realize he’d been backing up until he was flinching away and felt himself collide loudly with the door, his chin tucked low, and his body made small, his eyes open wide—flitting between Clark’s now motionless hands and blank face. For a moment there was only the sound of Conner’s harsh breathing. For a moment there was only the nauseating anticipation that came with waiting for the inevitable, and Conner wanted to scream.

Then Clark’s expression suddenly split violenly with anger, and he was shouting and moving again, this time with no heed for the way Conner jolted in surprise. “ Jesus, Conner! I’m not going to hurt you! How many times do I have to say it?! How long are you going to keep acting like I’m some damned monster?! ” Clark’s face had gone red and he hadn’t backed up even an inch. 

Conner wasn’t sure where he found the nerve, but Clark’s fury at him for daring to react like he might be in danger broke something in him. It gave him an excuse to push, because it meant one of two things. Either Conner was safe, or Clark was a liar. If Clark was telling the truth, then it didn’t matter what Conner did. Clark wouldn’t hurt him. And if he managed to push hard enough that Clark retaliated, then at least Conner would get to throw it back in his face. He forced himself closer to Clark, pale and trembling, with his voice even and sharp edged. “I don’t know, Clark. How long’s it gonna take for you to stop thinking I’m working with Lex? How long until you believe the things that I say? Because I bet it’ll take me at least that long to believe the shit that comes outta your mouth.”

This time it was Clark who moved back. Not quite a flinch, but close enough that it felt satisfying. “Don’t try to compare that,” he snapped. “It isn’t the same and you know it.”

Conner took a step forward, not letting Clark keep the distance he’d gained, not sure what his plan was but unable to stop now that he’d started. Some part of him was rabid and frothing at the mouth, chanting for Clark to just fucking hit me, hit me, fucking do it, fucking hit me , and that part of him took the reins as he opened his mouth. “No, I don’t know, actually,” he spat venomously. “But it makes sense that I wouldn’t when I’m so fucking stupid , right?” 

This time Clark didn’t back down, holding his ground as he glared at Conner. “I’m not going to pretend that it wasn’t stupid of you to let Luthor inside or to hide this from me. You had every chance to come clean. There is no reason I should have had to learn about this from him.” He loomed over Conner intimidatingly. “Don’t bother acting like the victim here, Conner. Not when you’re the one who violated my trust.”

Conner didn’t even care about the Lex thing anymore. This suddenly felt bigger. “Why don’t you stop looking for excuses and just do it already?” he hissed, emphasizing his point by jabbing Clark in the chest with a finger. “Go ahead and lock me away somewhere you’ll never have to look at me or think about me again, just like you always wanted. Why don’t you fucking get it over with?”

Clark gently pushed Conner’s hand away, the care being taken in the motion only infuriating Conner even more. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” the man commanded coldly. “I’ve never had any intention of doing that.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Conner yelled, reaching up and shoving hard, pushed backwards by the force of it as Clark remained perfectly in place. Conner snarled up at the man through his hair, shaking with anger. “What are you waiting for?” he wondered aloud. “For me to fuck up badly enough on a mission that you can pretend it was sabotage? For me to break something expensive enough? For me to say the wrong thing to the wrong person?” He let loose a hideous laugh, feeling as though he’d lost his mind. “Or are you just waiting for me to fuck up in front of Jon, so he won’t blame you when you throw me into a dark hole to fucking rot?”

Clark dragged a hand down his face and looked at Conner with something like tired disgust. “We are here to talk about you secretly meeting with Luthor in this apartment. Stop trying to change the subject.”

“Okay, fine, ” Conner snapped. “Lex came over and knocked on the door. He refused to leave. I didn’t want your fucking neighbors to see a billionaire at the fucking door shouting about fucking Superman , so I let him in. We talked. He called you a fucking cuck and fed me a bunch of bullshit about how he could make me the world’s most adored hero. I called him ugly and told him to leave. He left. What else do you want to fucking know?”

Clark scoffed. “If you can’t keep yourself under control enough to have a conversation about this, then maybe you should go to your room and calm down.”

Conner bared his teeth. “I think I’m plenty fucking controlled , Superman.”

Clark didn’t seem to buy that, and he seemed even less impressed by the display, shaking his head and firmly pointing to the door, his face set into a furious scowl. “No,” he bit the word out harshly. “You’re going to go to your room, and I don’t want to see or hear from you until further notice. Is that understood? ”

Conner matched the man’s scowl as he snarled. “Fucking fine.” He spun on his heel, stomping towards the office door, throwing it open hard enough that he heard the wood crack as it collided with the wall. He couldn’t stop himself from vocalizing his still boiling anger, shouting hard enough into the air around him that it hurt his throat. “This place is a fucking prison!” 

With that, he made his way down the hall towards his room without looking back, where he’d be tucked away out of sight, just like he’d known he would be. As he slammed the door of his temporary cell shut, his body trembling with the unvented energy of irrepressible rage, he wondered how long it would be before Clark followed through on his threats and showed him a real prison. A bitter laugh escaped him alongside the first stinging tear that slid down his cheek. At least it probably couldn’t be worse than the damned tube. 

_____

Conner spent an embarrassingly high percent of the day after his and Clark’s altercation wedged beneath his bed with his hands pressed over his ears. It was a tight fit, with the metal crossbars cutting painfully into his shoulders and ribs, but he couldn’t bring himself to come out from his shelter. His insides felt too big for his body, and the line of hurt was the only thing keeping him from spilling out onto the carpet. It helped him not forget where he ended and the real world began. 

It reminded him of the cabinet he sometimes liked to hide inside when he was still with Cadmus—where the sink pipes would press unforgiving against him just like the bed was now. He’d only been able to use it three or four times before he’d stopped fitting, but it had been nice while it lasted. He was pretty sure that was the one constant of his life. If it was nice, it didn’t last. 

He hadn’t covered his ears until he heard Lois come home. When he’d heard her calling out a happy greeting, asking about how the meeting had gone, Conner had slammed his hands up to stop himself from hearing without even needing to think about it. He didn’t want to hear Clark tell her what a fuck up he was. He didn’t want to know how she’d respond. He didn’t want any of this to be happening, and as Clark and Lois’s raised voices trickled in past his hands to his ears—the specifics of their words muffled and indistinct, but their volume betraying anger—his eyes burned with tears. 

He spent most of the day in his hiding spot, oscillating between drifting mindlessly through time and choking on explosive, dangerous emotion. At some point there was a knock on his door that his hands couldn’t block out, and Lois called out softly to him, asking him if would please come out for dinner, or if she could come in and have a chat with him. Conner didn’t want to talk to her, and despite what Clark thought of his intellect, he wasn’t stupid enough to show himself so soon after he’d been explicitly confined to his room until Clark released him.

Lois had eventually accepted that silence was all she’d be getting from him and left, coming back some time later and informing him that she’d left a plate of dinner outside of his door. Conner didn’t want to eat, so he didn’t bother retrieving it, staying crammed in place until he finally heard the tell-tale sounds of the Kent family preparing for bed. As he listened to each of them retire to their rooms, he dragged himself from his place and climbed up into his own bed. He didn’t bother to change his clothes and he couldn’t brush his teeth without leaving his room, so he skipped that part of his routine as well.

He’d been laying in the dark—huddled under his blankets with his eyes open for just long enough to begin to accept that he probably wasn’t going to get much sleep that night—when he heard a near silent knock at his door, followed by the sound of Jon’s voice at a low, low whisper. “ Conner, can I come in?” Conner didn’t reply, staring blankly ahead and waiting for the boy to leave. 

“Dude,” Jon’s voice came through again. “ If you don’t say something I’m coming in. I know you’re awake.” Conner still couldn’t bring himself to answer, so it wasn’t a surprise when Jon spoke again. “Okay, I warned you.” The boy opened the door slowly and carefully, slipping in through the crack as soon as it was wide enough and closing it behind himself. He met Conner’s eyes with a worried look and crept forward near silently before hauling himself up onto bed, sitting cross legged on top of the blanket.

“Are you finally mad at my dad?” the kid asked, his voice marginally louder. Conner’s lips felt glued together as he considered the question. Was he mad at Clark? He wasn’t sure. Mostly he was tired, but he knew he’d definitely spent a lot of the day angry. But he got angry all the time when he shouldn’t. Was being angry and being mad at Clark the same thing? Did he deserve to be mad at Clark?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he probably was mad at the man. He was mad that Clark had spent so long acting like things were better between them, just to treat him like a criminal the first time he got the chance. He was mad that Clark expected trust from him while giving none in return. He was mad that Clark had gotten in his face and yelled and said shitty things. He was mad that Clark had threatened him with prison and then acted like he hadn’t threatened him. He was mad that Clark had all but locked him in his room.

He was mad at himself for having the audacity to feel betrayed by this, when he’d known it was coming, but he was also definitely mad at Clark. He was mad at Clark for hurting him again after he’d promised not to, because the words had always been the worst part. His eyes began to burn, and he grit his teeth, forcing his breathing to remain steady as he nodded silently, sure that if he put it to words he wouldn’t be able to help but cry. 

Jon slumped forward with an extraordinary sigh of relief. “ Finally, ” he whispered, drawing the word out on his exhale. “Took you long enough. I was wondering if you’d ever manage it. I mean, I’m mad at my dad every other week. I don’t know how you’ve held off so long.”

Conner sniffled and shrugged, his voice coming out a pathetic croak that had him blushing. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter. I screwed up, so it’s my fault anyway.”

Jon looked down at him with his brows furrowed in baffled confusion, and suddenly all Conner would see was the family resemblance. “Uh, dude, you can totally be mad at my dad even if you screwed up. I screw up and get mad at him at the same time, like, so often. Plus,” he continued, rolling his eyes. “I doubt you screwed up that bad. Sometimes it’s annoying how good you are at everything.”

Conner jerked back, so surprised by these words that all of his upset evaporated, leaving behind only confused shock. “ What?” he gaped, propping himself up on his elbow. “Jon, I’m terrible at everything . ”

Jon squinted at him, looking like he thought Conner’s words were as crazy as Conner knew Jon’s had been. “Have you seen your mission success rates? Or your stats on the Mount Justice combat simulator?”

Conner shook his head. “No, our missions are mostly successful because Tim and Kaldur are so good at strategizing to use everyone effectively. I have some of the worst control of my abilities out of the rest of the team. I’m just good at the combat simulator because I’ve got too much spare time and it rewards going overboard.”

Jon rolled his eyes again. “Okay, well you’ve definitely got more control than me .”

Conner snorted a laugh. “You have more powers than me, so you’ve got more to master. Your attention’s split up more than mine. And, no offense little dude, but you’re literally twelve .”

Jon glared at him. “Yeah, and you’re two , so what of it?”

Conner let himself collapse back onto the bed, resisting the impulse to playfully swat Jon on the thigh as he was momentarily blinded by images of the kid’s leg shattering beneath his hand. He shook the thoughts off. “You know what I mean. I’m not two in any of the ways that matter.”

Jon turned so he could drop down to lay beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “Says you. ” Jon got real quiet after that, but Conner could tell by the way he was holding his breath and tensing that he had more he wanted to say, so he waited patiently. It took maybe thirty seconds before Jon continued in a falsely casual voice. “I mean, y-you’re like basically my little brother, so I think I’d know if you were good at everything or not.”

Conner froze in place at the words, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes once again filling with tears. A strange, delusional fear was welling in his chest, like Clark was going to come bursting in to ask him where he’d gotten the audacity to imagine himself as family. Like this would be taken away before he’d even gotten the chance to think about if he wanted it. A brother.  

He could hear the nervous racing of Jon’s heart and knew he needed to reassure the kid that this was okay. He hadn’t quite decided that for himself yet, but he knew he didn’t want Jon to feel bad about this, so he forced his body to relax, rolling over to face him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “Pretty sure you’re the little brother here, pipsqueak,” he insisted. “You’ve got a lot more growing to do if you wanna surpass me and claim the title of big brother, little dude.”

Jon’s smile was dazzling, showing off his white teeth and causing his nose and eyes to scrunch up with the force of it. He kicked Conner’s legs playfully and shook his head. “Nope,” he retorted with a giggle. “Cause technically I’m like, almost ten years older, so you’re definitely the little one.”

Conner couldn’t help but laugh, turning to press his face into the mattress to smother the sound before reaching out to flick the kid gently on the forehead. “Try getting anyone else to agree to that. See how far you get while you’re still barely pushing ninety-five pounds.” Jon glared through a badly suppressed smile, his own laughter creeping out through his teeth as he rolled his eyes and kicked at Conner’s shins like the little shit he was.

Things continued on like that as the minutes somehow turned to hours. The two of them bickered and joked until far too late in the night, until Jon eventually got too sleepy to stay awake any longer, falling asleep in Conner’s bed—having long since wiggled his way under the covers. Conner hadn’t expected to get any sleep that night, but with the warmth of Jon beside him and the sound of his brother’s Jon’s slow breathing and steady heartbeat, he found himself drifting off as well. As sleep took him under, he distantly wondered if his screw-ups that day would cost him this as well.

Fuck, I hope not.