Author's Note: I've always thought Superman's reaction to Superboy was really OOC for him. Recently, my brain came up with an explanation. (Feat. Nightwing)
I own nothing.
It starts on the Fourth of July, revelations exploding like fireworks in his chest. Kal-El shudders and collapses around Clark Kent as hands that can lift whole worlds struggle to open a window from the outside. Usually, Superman is smarter than this. Has to be smarter than this. Smarter than Luther. But tonight Superman is less super and more man and he just needs to get home.
Kal-El slams his fist into the glass of the window, shattering it, and Clark collapses inside onto the floor, onto glass shards that don't cut him, that are crushed by the weakest layer of his skin and he wonders how he ever believed there was nothing on earth that could hurt him.
"I'm Superman's clone."
Clark squeezes his eyes shut, tries to turn off the memories, turn off the thoughts, turn off the emotions. Wishes for powers or skills like J'onn so he doesn't have to feel. Slams a fist into the floor and it caves; no resistance, nothing to reward his effort. Like paper. Clark shoves his fist into his mouth and screams.
*S*
Clark's life falls into a new routine; Dick calls, Clark lets it go to voicemail. Robin reaches out on comms, Superman directs him to another capable League member. Batman shows up randomly, unpredictably, stalking the rooftops of Metropolis and watching Superman with grim, hooded eyes. Kal-El is smart. Smarter than Luther or Chloe or Lois or Bruce give him credit for. He avoids Batman.
"You've been awfully busy, Superman," a reporter pretends to have no ulterior motive to her line of questioning. "Don't you think your girlfriend is missing you?"
"I'm sure my girlfriend understands that protecting the city is important to me." He's been told he has a smile that can derail conversations, and now is the time to test that theory.
Lois has eyes that can carve through steel and a smile like a baited shark. "I know the kittens appreciate it."
Kal-El hands Squishy back to her owner. "It's the little things that really matter, Ms. Lane."
Little things.
Kal-El used to shake hands with reporters, give hugs to particularly shell-shocked victims, fist-bump Jimmy on his way up, up and so forth. Now he's hyperaware of any sort of physical contact. The professional distance he maintains between himself and the humans is a neon-red flag with flashing lights in his own mind. He hates that he nods in acknowledgement and lifts almost immediately into the air. He hates that it feels like running away but he can't stop. He hates how he lies to the little girl, telling her he's giving her kitty a "laser bath" to get rid of anything it might have picked up whilst in the tree. He knows Lois notices, too.
"…made from DNA stolen from Superman."
Kal-El maintains an almost regal distance, which is accepted by most people. Clark Kent collapses into himself like a turtle and flinches away when Perry White moves to pat his shoulder. Superman thinks this is what falling must feel like.
*S*
"He needs his father."
Clark Kent lathers soap onto his hands under the spray of the shower. The water has been cold for a long time. He promises himself this will be the last time, and then he will actually work on that article he needs to write.
"I'm not his father."
Clark Kent shudders and tells himself he's just cold. He wonders what it is like to freeze to death. He remembers hearing that, right before the end, people who freeze to death feel warm. Then they just fall asleep.
He can't be a father. Because he's not ready. Because he's lost two of them. Because he feels the pressure of being a role model to kids he isn't responsible for like the weight of a red sun on his shoulders. Because he was saving himself for marriage. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Your son. Connor. Superboy. He needs his father. Clone. DNA stolen from Superman. Connor. Connor. Connor.
Clark Kent presses his fists against the sides of his head hard enough to feel pain. His eyes are shut, heart pounding in time to the throbbing, and that darkness is his whole world.
"I'm sorry." He whispers. "Connor."
He lathers more soap onto his hands. One more time.
*S*
"I need you to talk to me." Dick Grayson is standing in the middle of his kitchen, leaning on the counter with his bare hands.
A talented scientist could collect remnants of DNA from that counter if it isn't cleansed. Clark imagines tiny, brooding Dick Graysons running around filled with self-deprecating thoughts because they can only do a double somersault. "I don't remember inviting you over." But his voice is gentle because this is Dick and he can be fourteen or one-hundred and fourteen and all Clark will see is a nine-year-old insisting that the scales on the bottom of his leotard make him look like a dinosaur.
"Why won't you spend time with Connor?" Dick is hurt and betrayed and confused, clenching his fists and turning those baby-blue lie detectors on his uncle.
"It's complicated."
"I have all weekend."
Clark raises an eyebrow. "Where does Bruce think you are?"
Dick smirks. "Knowledge Bowl."
"Dick!"
"It's not like it's a total lie," the boy holds up his hands defensively. "I do plan on winning some knowledge."
Clark runs a hand over his face. "I'm starving." Because this kid got the most pessimistic man he knows to agree to take a nine-year-old out crime-fighting in one of the most dangerous cities on the planet. "No interrogations until after pizza. Deal?"
Dick grins. "I thought you might say that."
The doorbell rings.
*S*
"So, what gives?"
Clark is surprised Dick waited until he actually finished his pizza. If the Boy Wonder is willing to play by the rules, this must really matter to him. Clark sighs. "I don't know, Dick. I just…I'm not comfortable around him. It's just weird."
"Why? You always said you wanted kids."
Clark remembers that, too. Ruffling Robin's hair and joking about adopting a sidekick of his own.
"A little Supergirl or Superboy."
Superboy.
Connor.
"Yeah, kids. Not clones." Clark can't look Dick in the eyes when he says it. Can't stand to see the disappointment.
"Clones are no different than actual people and you know it. Why are you trying to distract me?"
"I just…I always hoped I'd be able to raise my kid, you know? Connor's like…"
"Almost a year old." Dick deadpans. "You're right; you've really missed a lot. Why even bother at this point?"
"He looks sixteen."
"He acts like he's four sometimes."
An image of Connor stomping his foot in frustration makes Clark's lips twitch and his stomach twist. "It's not the same."
"Like how it's not the same for Bruce to be raising me instead of a biological child of his very own?" Dick is done messing around. "Can we stop with the dumb excuses? They might work on Bruce, but I can see right through you."
Clark wouldn't be surprised. "I can't get over the fact that…" he falters "It's not how I wanted it to be."
"Almost nothing ever turns out the way you want it to." Dick scoots closer. "Why is this such a big deal? Are you upset because Lois isn't the mother?"
"No."
"Because he has aggressive tendencies?"
"No."
"Because you're afraid of what could have happened if Kaldur, Wally and I never found him? You feel guilty that he attacked us after we freed him?"
Clark puts his head in his hands. "No," he whispers brokenly. Because, honestly, that should've been it. He should've been thinking about the kids; if not about Connor, at least about Dick, the beautiful little boy he vowed to always protect. Clark should've been upset about what could have happened, how his DNA could have been used to create something – someone – who would hurt his family. But he's selfish. He's too selfish; he's avoiding Connor because of some stupid feelings of…
Hurt?
Betrayal?
The word is lost in his mind.
Dick shifts closer, arms wrapping around the Kryptonian's shoulders, and the tension in the room is altered.
He knows.
"Uncle Clark," Dick whispers, voice quavering. "I am so sorry. I didn't realize."
Clark shakes his head. "It's," he swallows. "It's stupid."
"No, it's not." Dick squeezes him tighter. "I should have put it together before. You're upset because Connor was created using your DNA…without your consent."
"Yes." It's barely a whisper, barely a breath, but it's heard.
"Have you told anyone?"
"No."
"Oh, Clark."
Clark, Kal-El, Superman; he just wants to forget himself, his life, this whole Connor situation and just stay here, wrapped up impossibly securely in Dick Grayson's tiny arms. He just wants to disappear into this moment of feeling safe and loved and never go back, never face anything ever again.
"You never have to suffer alone," Dick's fingers tease through his hair. "That's what family is for."
Superman has carried the weight of millions of innocent human lives on his shoulders. Kal-El is never free from the burden of one dead world and the horrible power strong enough to kill another. Clark Kent has weathered taunts, deaths, competition, and everything else Real Life could throw at him. He pushes his head into a bird's ribcage and sobs.
*S*
Clark Kent straightens his tie, smooths his shirt, and digs into his messenger bag for his phone. He presses the power button and frowns. Something must have happened to the time-space continuum again, because he is absolutely certain it has been longer than a minute and a half since he last checked.
"Hey, Clark!"
Clark looks up to see two boys approaching him. They look like brothers and polar opposites all at once; one of them short with a gymnast's slender form, the other slightly taller and stocky. One with his eyes covered but his smile bright and inviting, the other with a mouth set in a frown of annoyance and confusion under eyes stormier than hurricane season. The reporter's mouth is suddenly dry. He forces a nervous smile. "Hi, boys!" Whatever is wrong with time and space will have to wait.
"Who are you?" The taller boy demands as soon as they get close.
"I, um," Clark looks at Dick, and soon the clone follows suit.
Dick rolls his eyes, even though his sunglasses are too thick for even the Kryptonians to see through. "Connor," he says, "this is Clark Kent. He writes for the Daily Planet."
Recognition sparks in Connor's eyes. "Oh, yeah. We met in Bialya when that Qurac freedom thing was happening."
Clark nods. "Yes. That was me."
The two of them stand in silence for a moment before turning simultaneously to Dick. The Boy Wonder shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and leans back. The message is clear; they're on their own.
Clark takes a deep breath. "Connor…"
Dick nods encouragingly.
"I, um. I'm not just a reporter."
"Okay?" Superboy doesn't look curious; just patient. It's not something Clark would've expected from him.
"I'm Superman." Speaking of things Clark didn't expect.
Connor's eyes widen and his whole body language changes in an instant. Instead of being slightly on edge with annoyance at his friend's lack of candidness, he's fully on the defensive in every way a one-year-old with the mind of a weapon should be. It takes Clark a minute to realize that his defensiveness probably means he's expecting to be hurt. By Clark.
For the first time, Clark feels something for Connor. He's had a lot of feelings that were caused by the fact of Connor or the idea of Connor or the implications of Connor, but this is the first time he has looked at the boy and felt…a connection. This boy is his – something. (Don't think about it.) Whatever he is, he's hurting, and Clark has to stop that.
"I'm sorry I've been so distant." Clark fidgets with his hands. "Di—Robin talked to me, and I realized that…you might think it was something to do with you. That made me act like this. I just – I just wanted to let you know that it's not your fault. I'm just…working through some things right now." He glances up to see a softer, but definitely more confused, look on Connor's face. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
"You don't…hate me?"
Clark almost cries because he understands now what Dick was saying about this kid sounding like a toddler. "No." He forces himself to meet his clone's eyes. "No, Connor, I don't hate you." And it's true. No matter how many lies they tell each other through the rest of the night – "I'm okay." "I wasn't hurt." "His name is just 'Robin.'" – that part, at least, is true. And maybe that's enough for now.
*S*
Clark Kent is convinced that he does not deserve Dick Grayson. The kid has sat through dozens of awkward dinners and coffee shop non-conversations with the two Kryptonian Kents, planned outings for the three of them that require more fun than forced bonding, and has not pushed for more of an effort. From either of them.
The best way to thank someone, Lois has told him before, is to not call them at three in the morning to express your gratitude. However, Clark finds himself dialing anyway.
"Hello?"
"I'm sorry I woke you."
A stifled yawn. "No; that's okay. What's up?"
Kal-El traces grains of wood on the table. "My father uploaded a bunch of Kryptonian fairytales into the Fortress. I guess he thought I would be growing up there."
"Makes sense."
"There's this one," Kal clears his throat. "About two great dragons; Nightwing and Flamebird. They're in love. The thing is, Flamebird destroys everything she touches. She can't help it. But Nightwing won't give up on her, so he sticks with her, rebuilding what she destroys. They're opposites, but they balance each other out. Eventually, though, Flamebird's powers of destruction kill her beloved Nightwing. But Nightwing has this other ability; he can rebuild even himself. So he keeps rebuilding what was destroyed, still refusing to give up on his love, no matter how many times he is rebirthed from the flames."
"I like it." Dick yawns again. "But if you wanted to tell me a bedtime story, you're a few hours late."
Clark laughs. It feels good to laugh. "I just wanted to tell you that you remind me of Nightwing; you rebuild what seems to have been broken beyond repair, and you never give up."
"Um, wow." Dick almost audibly fights the sleepiness clouding his mind in order to find an answer for something he was already unprepared for. "Thank you, Clark."
"No, Dick," Clark's fingers brush a framed picture of Lois, Connor, and himself. "Thank you."