A/N: I don't think I'll ever be satisfied with this one. I wrote it just after episode three. It's obviously based on Conner's throw-away comment about suicide.

Suicide is a very delicate subject and I hope I've done it justice here. Just going to put it in caps again to remind anyone who might be triggered that this chapter deals with SUICIDE.

I remind anyone contemplating ending their life that this is all you get. There is no assurance of anything better, so take what you have and make it better. There are always people you can talk to about such feelings.

The bullet turns into a little exploded pancake at the contact to his skull. He sighs and sticks the gun in his mouth instead. The still-hot metal barely stings the softer tissue of the roof of his mouth. He fires another few rounds.

Now everything tastes like pennies and his sinuses hurt.

Conner spits out the bullets.

He isn't good enough at stealth to break into the Batcave and steal the Kryptonite bullet Batman keeps.

Instead, he crushes the pistol in his hand and tosses it off into the bushes. Another failed attempt. Story of his existence. Failure.

That's poison, knives, bullets, drowning, and hanging he's tried. He just can't wait for tomorrow's attempt with acid.

Pain. Noise. He just wants it all to stop.

Instead he picks out a nice chunk of log for Wolf to chew on.

A force from the brambles launches him skidding into the earth. Strong limbs pin him and a heavy body covers his.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" A harsh voice asks.

He looks up into rust-coloured eyes and gives her a mental shrug. With effort he could unseat her and escape. What's the point though?

"Why? I mean-you can't. Why would you want to?" Her throat bobs with the thickness of her emotion.

"I was created to kill and replace Superman. What kind of shitty existence is that? I have to live with the guilt of being some... failed prototype of a Super-Clone. I'm a defective weapon. I can't breed. I can't age. I'm just stuck being reminded of what a waste of potential I am."

The hands pinning his wrists grip on to him tighter. He watches emotions flash across M'gann's face before she makes a sound between a gasp and a keen. Another pair of arms lift his torso to tug him closer to her.

"You aren't though. You're a person, and I love you. No one's perfect Conner."

"But at least they're functional. I don't even get immortality with the eternal youth deal. I'll just get ID'd at bars well into my sixties. If I even live that long. For all I know, Cadmus could've put some self-destruct mechanism into my DNA that makes me decay slowly from the inside."

"You're scared of dying."

"That's why it has to end. So the fear, and the anger, and the pain can just stop." He growls, frustrated and shifts in her death-grip.

"How do you know they'll stop if you end your life? How will you know anything if you just... cease to exist?"

"Isn't there some kind of cosmic limbo I could hang out in?"

"Maybe. That sounds much better. Just the same thing for eternity. Incapable of changing anything. No more eating, or sleeping. Just a shadow of your previous existence. That sounds so awesome."

"Kind of like an eternal sit-com?" He asks with a sneer.

"I was thinking it being a peanut gallery of watching other people live their lives."

"Hm."

"I always found that thought terrifying. I mean, what's scarier, death or the afterlife?"

Conner ponders the question silently. They've discussed such matters before, but never with such urgence. M'gann plays the role of Jimminy Cricket to his suicidal mind.

"There's an afterlife." He says.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Kent Nelson was alive after being dead. The League's fought Neron who actually governs Hell. So, all things being equal, there's likely a place where good people go."

"And you think that with all the people we've killed, plus taking away the gift of your own life will give you a spot in the penthouse?"

"My death will do the world plenty of favours. Less tectonic activity from my leaping, redistribution of precious, natural resources used by me, decreasing numbers of dangerous metahumans, a blow to Lex Luthor's ego, my death could even be used to increase Superman's popularity."

"Yeah, you're a real swell guy for wanting to end it. You do realise that you won't be able to see or comprehend the glory you achieve by dying, right? You won't get to hear the moving speeches or see the flag at half mast. You'll just die."

She smashes her fist by his head for emphasis. Conner wishes he could move his hands to wipe the tears off her face.

"I don't know what I want, M'gann. I'm just so lost. Everyone's able to move on but me. I'm stuck." He sobs.

M'gann holds him silently as he cries himself hoarse.