Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Atlas' Shoulders

Canary's comforting hand on his knee and her words of understanding and support warmed the kryptonian-genomorph and he felt his shoulders relax. Admitting it had helped him to feel better –less guilty, less conflicted. During the failed simulation exercise he had watched innocent bystanders as well as his own teammates die around him and yet, rather than the heart-wrenching grief that the others experienced, he had felt at peace. He had been created to replace Superman and in the simulation he had finally gotten the chance to fulfill his purpose.

Though he had been quick to correct the dream constructs that addressed him as 'Superman', Conner hadn't been able to help feeling a something that felt suspiciously similar to pride swell up inside him and fill his chest. It gave him a grim confidence; he could do anything –anything that was needed of him. And so, when Robin had suggested he be the distraction for the others to sneak inside the alien mothership, he had been all to ready to agree.

And when the disintegration beam hit him, his last thoughts were not of the friends he had lost or the one he was leaving behind, or even of M'gann who's confession of love was still fresh in his mind. No. His final thoughts had been about the Man of Steel and what he must have thought or felt in his final moment when he made the final sacrifice in the protection home and freedom.

There had been a long empty blankness that seemed to stretch on for an infinity after that… and then, he awoke. He was alive, his team was alive, their mentors were alive. It had all been a training exercise. A 'no win' simulation to teach them to cope with failure –a 'Kobayashi Maru' Wally would later call it (though, Conner still hadn't figured out where that name had come from). It had failed, of course. After Artemis' death, none of them had been able to cope.

Except him.

He had done more than 'cope', he had thrived. Was that really how Superman felt when the weight of the world rested on his shoulders? With his home in danger, the people around him being threatened –dieing… was the Man of Steel at peace? Conner didn't think so. With all his friends dieing before his eyes, his home being threatened and his efforts to beat back the invading tide being blocked at every turn Superman would not be a peace, he would not thrive. He would strive, but not thrive. He would strive to do what he could, and possibly what he couldn't as well. But over all, he would do what was right –or at least what he deemed to be 'right'.

That was the fundamental difference between them. (Well… that was one of the fundamental differences between them.) Superman did what he thought was right because he perceived it to be the right thing to do. Conner did what was needed because he perceived it to be the heroic and 'Superman-like' thing to do. In that respect, he was nothing like his genetic-parent at all.

He had not grieved when Artemis and Aqualad had been disintegrated, he had only felt… needed. And when Robin told him to run decoy, to basically lay down his life, he had felt happy –honored even.

But now that the nightmare –the dream- was over, Conner found it difficult to look his teammates in the eyes. How could he face them now, knowing that their lives meant little more to him than a means of validating his own importance? Even M'gann…

When the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, he grinned and flexed to test its weight. But he was sure that that was not what Superman did when he was burdened with the weight of the world. And it would be a burden for him –for Superman, the ever-boy scout. For Conner the weight of the world had been a prize or maybe a reward, and something about that just didn't seem right now that he was back in the waking world.

Canary had said that these things took time. That admitting it was the first step.

Well, he'd taken the first step. Now he wanted to take one more. Whether or not it was the right step, Conner didn't have the foggiest. But it was the next step he wanted to take. It was a step that had been delayed far long enough already without the added prompting of the nightmarish simulation.

…

He had indulged in several doubts while riding Shpere in her Super-cycle form north towards the Arctic. What if the Fortress of Solitude didn't actually exist? What if it had just been a construct of the dream-simulation? What if there was nothing there but barren ice? These were the misgivings that ran through the young genomorph's mind as he sped through the air. He acknowledged the possibility of these doubts, but he refused to let himself give into them.

His stubbornness was rewarded when the Super-cycle touched down outside a sheer white structure bearing the S-shield that was exactly identical to the one in the dream-exercise.

Conner dismounted the cycle and strode up to the S-shield carved right into the cliff-face. It didn't look like a door. There was no hinge, no knob, keyhole or anything easily identifiable as a lock. Still, the Boy of Steel knocked. It didn't feel like ice either. Oh, sure it was plenty smooth, but not really very cold, and it seemed much denser than ice (or at least, denser than any ice Conner had come into contact with).

"Hello!" The kryptonian-genomorph called to the empty Artic landscape. "I need to talk to you."

There was no response from the Fortress. No peephole on the cliff-face opened up. No big booming voice demanded 'Who goes there!' There was nothing to indicate anything had heard him. The Boy of Steel had to glumly admit that this had been an exercise in futility. The Man of Steel wasn't home, possibly didn't even live in the Fortress at all. He would not meet his genetic-parent here. With a growl of frustration over his wasted time, Conner turned back to the Super-cycle to leave… and froze mid-turn.

Superman stood a good ways away, his feet planted, arms crossed over his broad chest, cape fluttering in the chill breeze. He stood out boldly against the stark whiteness of their surrounding landscape.

"You wanted to talk to me?" The man's voice was so much like his own, but a deeper octave. It was a premonition of what Conner's voice would sound like in a few more years, once he had completed his maturation 'the old fashioned way' outside of his Cadmus hibernation pod at the rate of a normal kryptonian.

Caught in the man's gaze, the Boy of Steel suddenly found himself at a loss as to what to say. He opened his mouth to speak but only a feeble croak came out. He had come here wanting to ask his genetic-parent about the weight of the world and how he coped with having it thrust upon his shoulders. But the few times that he had actually interacted him the Man of Steel, he had been evasive, aloof and anxious to get away –jumping at any opportunity to distance himself from the boy.

Conner suddenly felt uneasy about discussing anything with his genetic-parent.

As the awkward silence dragged on Superman raised an eyebrow. "Has your voice frozen?"

Conner shook his head.

The Man of Steel sighed, his shoulders slumping as if in defeat (though, what he'd been internally battling, Conner couldn't even begin to guess). "Well, if you're here and you're not going to go away, I might as well invite you inside." He turned from the boy and headed for a gap in the ice where the frigid water beneath was exposed. "Follow me."

The Boy of Steel hesitantly followed the Man of Steel to the water's edge. He wondered briefly if his genetic-parent intended to drown him like an unwanted cat and finally rid himself of the clone forever. He could probably do it too. He was stronger than Conner was and could overpower him easily, they were in the middle of nowhere, there would be no witnesses, Conner hadn't exactly told anyone where he was going for fear of being stopped. When asked if he might know the whereabouts of his clone, Superman could easily deny ever seeing the boy. It wasn't like they hung out allot (or at all).

But heroes didn't do that sort of thing.

Once Superboy had reached the water's edge, Superman dove beneath the surface with a splash so small, the Boy of Steel thought it might make Aquaman jealous. Conner turned back to Sphere, still in her Super-cycle form and said, "Stay."

The sentient alien machine obeyed, transforming back into her base ball-form to wait for him. Reluctantly, Conner dove into the chill Arctic water as Superman had done. He caught site of the tail end of a red cape as it disappeared behind and ice formation and followed. The ice seemed to close in around him to form a natural pathway, but the way the ice had been smoothed was most decidedly not natural, it had been planned by an architect of one sort or another. The underwaterway began to slope upwards and Conner saw the surface shimmering above him.

When his head came up gasping, the Boy of Steel found himself in a wide chamber with Superman standing on a solid crystal landing –already dry. Conner pulled himself out of the water and stood sopping before his genetic-parent.

"How did you…?"

"Spin dry." The Man of Steel supplied as if this should have been obvious.

Conner cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What, like, super-speed spin? I don't have super-speed."

Superman missed one… two… three beats before he sighed and turned around, grumbling a soft, "Wait there."

The Man of Steel blurred out of the chamber and returned less than a moment latter holding a clean dry towel out for the boy. Superboy accepted it and began padding himself down. When he was no longer dripping (but by no means 'dry') he looked back up at his genetic-parent wondering what to do next. This had, so far, been the most time he'd spent in the man's presence since first escaping Cadmus that faithful Independence Day night. (It was also approaching the most words they'd exchanged with each other, too.) It seemed neither of them quite knew what to do about the other.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Superman finally broke the awkward silence between them. He took the used towel from the boy's hands and draped it over his arm.

"I, uh… yeah." Conner suddenly found himself talking to the man's boots rather than his face, not waning to make eye contact. "Have you, uh, did anyone tell you about the training simulation not to long ago?"

There was another prolonged pause. Their conversation (if you could even call it that) seemed to be more of a prolonged silence occasionally broken by dialogue rather than an exchange of words occasionally broken by silent pauses. When the Man of Steel did not respond Conner raised his eyes to chance a glance at the man's face. He had expected to find something akin to polite blankness or perhaps even confusion. After all, he wasn't a mentor to anyone on the Young Justice team, what reason would there be to keep him up-to-date on YJ happenings? Instead, Superman's expression was thoughtful –considering- and ever so slightly sympathetic.

Finally, after the pregnant silence had dragged on long enough he stepped aside to let Conner enter the Fortress proper and said in a gentler tone than the Boy of Steel was used to, "I'll make you some tea."

…

After being led through an archway of white stone and crystal, then a corridor of yet more crystal, all of it illuminated by a soft light that seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves, Conner didn't quite know what to expect the Fortress' kitchen to look like. But the Boy of Steel was sure that he hadn't expected what he found.

While the rest of the Fortress of Solitude (that he had seen) was all crystal and white stone, the kitchen was paneled in wood. The counter had been tiled in a rustic shade of yellow that was not at all flattering (to anything) and the floor had been covered in linoleum. Overall, it looked more like an old country house's kitchen rather than something you'd expect to find in a secluded ice fortress built by an alien superhero.

Conner sat in the only chair at the small wooden kitchen table and watched Superman pull a single mug and a tea bag form the cabinets. He filled the mug with water, placed the bag in it then heated it with his vision. He placed the hot mug in front of Conner who took it hesitantly.

"You're not having any?"

"There's just the one mug."

The boy raised an eyebrow at that and cocked his head to the side.

"I call this place the Fortress of Solitude for a reason." The Man of Steel elaborated.

"Would you prefer it if I left?"

This time he took longer to respond. Then finally, because Superman never lies, he said, "Yes."

Conner stood to leave. He had expected the answer before the words had even left his genetic-parent's lips, but they still stung. If the man didn't want him here, why invite him inside in the first place?

"Wait." A strong hand was placed on his shoulder. "You came here for a reason."

The boy sank back into his seat, once again avoiding looking at the Man of Steel. He spoke to his mug when he said, "Since you're being nice to me all of a sudden, I assume you heard about the exercise."

There was only one chair at the table and Conner was already sitting in it, so the Man of Steel could not sit with the boy to offer comfort. Instead he knelt to be on eye-level with his clone when he said, "It must have been horrible for you."

The man's eyes, crystal blue eyes so much like his own, looked deep and full of ghosts and Conner suddenly remembered that the man had been hero'ing for over a decade and had saved the world countless times over. He had probably seen comrades, friends and loved ones die for real, right before his eyes. The world was (more or less) at peace for the moment, but the Boy of Steel saw the weight of the world still weighed heavily on Superman's shoulders. It was an almost permanent burden, not just something to be taken-up in times of need and then shucked off when the peril had passed. It was a way of life for the Man of Steel. That was probably why he came here, to his Fortress of Solitude, to rest form the burden.

"Has Canary told you about her talking sessions with me?" The boy ventured.

"No." Superman confessed. "All I know is that the Team had been trapped in a psychic-web that caused you to watch each other die at the hands of an invading enemy and that you were all convinced it was real." A pause. "Batman also made a point of telling me that you could have fallen into a permanent coma."

Conner didn't know what he had expected. Canary had promised that the things they talked about remained between the two of them and never left the room. Doctor-patient confidentiality. He was grateful to be able to trust her with his darkest secret. But at the same time, it would have been nice to have someone else tell Superman his reason for seeking him out. The Boy of Steel found himself at a loss as to how to explain himself to his genetic-parent. A mediator would have been nice.

The silence dragged on between them. Finally, Conner decided that he might as well ask what he came here to ask and not prolong this crappy melodrama of theirs.

"Superman…" He ventured meekly. "When… when the weight of the world rests on your shoulders… what do you do?"

He didn't know his genetic-parent very well; he didn't know what kind of response to expect. But he did not expect the man to offer a reassuring smile and place comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Plant your feet and try not to shrug."

…

END