Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
-Kansas, "Carry On My Wayward Son"
Robin's gloved fingers slide underneath the belt clasp—the lid separating a fragment of green Kryptonite, little smaller than a golf ball, from the outside world.
The Boy Wonder hesitates. If he's too quick about it, the whole operation could be compromised. Too slow, and Superboy would make ashes out of everyone.
In the back of his mind, he hopes Batman's got a back-up plan.
Of course, Batman does. He always has contingencies. It's his modus operandi, as the expression goes.
Robin opens the clasp on his Utility Belt and slides two fingers around the angled sharpness of the green rock, pulling it out from the lead-lined compartment slowly.
No motion. No surprises. Move the arm slowly; the cape can't move. Conner can't know what's going on. Or else everything's screwed.
He should have woven a layer of lead into his cape.
Superboy stands rigidly over what's left of the Martian Manhunter. His arms are held tightly at his side, and his eyes burn a violent red. His heat vision is in excess, the wisps of heat scarring and burning the areas around his eyes.
"What's he waiting for?" Flash asks blankly.
"Instructions," Batman mutters.
Robin inhales quietly, and releases. Now or never. He throws back one side of his cape over his shoulder and opens his hand. The Kryptonite fragment lays motionless in his palm, its invisible radiation already working.
Psychologically at least.
As soon as Robin reveals the Kryptonite, Superboy's heat vision kicks off, and his eyes flash in abrupt surprise. This is something he didn't count on.
"Yeah," Robin says. "You know what this is."
"You've used it on me before," Superboy replies. His voice is gravel.
"Some things never change," Robin says tightly. "Do they?"
The Boy Wonder tosses the Kryptonite chunk into the air, catching it, and repeating the motion. Trying to be playful about it.
Superboy's knees begin to shudder, and he presses a hand against his temple, trying to suppress a headache. Robin extends his arm, positioning the Kryptonite closer to Superboy.
"And the Kryptonite starts working. The radiation…it almost seeks you out. And starts wasting you away. Your cells begin to atrophy. Your breathing shortens, and you become dizzy from a weakened blood flow."
Robin steps closer to the Teen of Steel, tightening his grip around the Kryptonite.
"This is what its like to die, Conner." Robin's almost surprised at how a little amount of Kryptonite can affect Superboy thusly. "This is pain. You're learning it.
"This is what Luthor never told you. That you can be hurt. You can be defeated." Robin allows himself a moment of reserved pride. "And I'm just the man to do it."
"You're…lying…" Superboy mutters weakly. He falls to his knees.
"Possibly," Robin says lightly. "Is that a risk you're willing to take?"
"This…is pointless," Superboy gasps.
Batman's eyes narrow and he entertains a thought.
He's trying too hard.
"I can destroy you," Superboy rasps. "I must destroy you. You cannot stop me from my goals."
"Conner," Robin says; his voice suddenly comforting. "Look at me."
The Boy Wonder tightens his grip on the Kryptonite. He slides his free hand up the side of his face. Nice and slow. No surprises. Gloved fingers wedge themselves between Robin's domino mask and Tim Drake's parched skin. He pulls the mask off and clasps it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Look at my face," Tim Drake repeats. He swallows the saliva at the back of his throat nervously. He inhales slowly, his chest and shoulders rising, and then sinking as he exhales. "And remember…"
Superboy's shoulders slump a bit. And it starts to come back to him. Slowly.
Those people. Beast Boy and Raven and Cyborg. And the others…Cassie and Bart…where are they? Are they all right?
Does it matter? What have they ever done for you, Conner?
The question rings through his head—his heart—eating at him like a dragon. A cold, dead one.
Not nearly dead enough.
Overcome your limitations, Lex said, and you'll achieve true power. You'll be able to defeat Superman. Not directly, though. You must destroy something he loves. Something he believes in.
His friends.
"For God's sake, remember who I am," Robin whispers in desperation. "Who you once were. The work we did together…to make the world a better place. It's not too late to start over. Luthor hasn't taken control of you fully."
"It's…too late for me, Robin," Superboy whispers weakly. He's caught somewhere between depression and futility. "This is my purpose, and my place. I've accepted it…"
"You don't have to accept anything." The Boy Wonder's voice rises.
"It's what I was made to do," he says through gritted teeth. "Don't ask me to choose."
"Look at this—look around you. What you've become—what you've done for him. Is this…how you want to be remembered? Fighting Lex's battles for him again and again and again! Until you end up broke, when you're no longer useful to him. He doesn't give a damn what you think."
"He showed me the light. Rescued me from…the deepest corners…"
"The deepest corners of what, Conner? Luthor took control of you—used you. You don't owe him anything."
"I owe him everything," Superboy says with a grimace. "No one understands…none of you can see it. But you'll thank me for this. Every single one of you…"
And then it dawns on Tim Drake. Something he's been missing this entire time. Conner is not Conner. His voice is different….more rigid. He's being forced to speak. But how?
"Lex," Tim says, coming to a quiet realization. Luthor is controlling Superboy through some...implant in the boy. Invading Conner's life. Compromising his dignity. "You sick bastard. Let him go."
"No," Conner says gutturally, in a flash of anger. "You will learn to let go, Robin. You already have. Everything you love has been stripped away from you. Your father, your girlfriends. Aquista and that stupid little blonde, whatever her name was. I had Sionis kill her you know."
Conner flashes a sick, toothy grin. "I almost wonder. How did it feel? How did you get over the pain you must have felt from their deaths?"
Robin scowls. He loosens his grip on the Kryptonite, throwing it straight for Superboy's head.
The Kryptonite hits Superboy between the eyes. He stumbles a few steps and massages the point of impact carefully. The world looks…hazy.
In an instant, Robin lunges forward, tackling Superboy. Robin forces him to the ground. Three right crosses push the air from Superboy's lungs. Robin reaches to the chunk of Kryptonite on the floor beside him.
"You wanna talk to me about pain? I know pain, Conner. I know it all too well. Sometimes…I share it. With someone like you."
And the Boy Wonder starts throwing punches. One hand is just a tightly held fist, underneath Kevlar and Nomex reinforcement. The other hand holds a golf-ball sized fragment of the now dead planet Krypton.
Robin wails on Superboy like a schoolyard bully. Unlike the Man of Steel, Robin doesn't pull his punches. Broken bones be damned.
Every hit with the Kryptonite forms purple bruise on Superboy's face.
Every hit makes Tim Drake grit his teeth even more. Months worth of anger course through his fist. Inside his head, with every inch of him, Tim Drake is determined to bring Conner around. Even if it means beating the self-loathing, self-victimizing crap out of the boy.
Inside thirty seconds of the tackle, Superboy cedes the fight, claiming innocence and gasping for air. Robin stops himself. The Kryptonite fragment is heavy in his hand.
Through blood-stained teeth, Superboy manages another grin.
"You never learn," he says with a half-smile.
Robin scowls. With his free hand, he hooks Superboy's jaw and pulls it open. The other hand forces the Kryptonite rock between Superboy's teeth, gagging him.
Not for long though. If the Kryptonite stays there long enough…Superboy won't have anything to gag on. Just the bleak airlessness of death.
"Likewise," Robin says pointedly.
Superboy's eyes flutter and his face whitens. Robin grabs Superboy's shirt by the neckline and raises a fist.
"Now," the Boy Wonder says grimly. "It doesn't have to be this way, Conner. I don't want to do this."
Robin leans closer to Superboy.
"Tell me, Conner. Why did I beat you?"
Superboy's eyes burn hatefully. He begins to feel…a creeping sensation. A cold vine curling through his body. The Kryptonite radiation is working. Very soon, he will have no expectations to meet. Not Superman's. Not Luthor's.
Not anyone's.
"It burns, doesn't it, Conner? The Kryptonite radiation taking over your system. It will always burn you. Part of you will always be part of Krypton. Its dead now…and you may be too in a few minutes.
"But you hate it. You hate that you can be defeated, and that's what that rock between your teeth represents. Fallibility. But you can't beat me…and that drives you nuts. That you're not the best and brightest. So you go out and destroy, you kill, you pillage. In the name of self-gratification. Knowing that when it's all said and done…there'll be nothing left except you. No challenges. No great battles to win, no monsters to fight, no hearts or minds to win.
"It's lonely at the top of the mountain, Conner."
Superboy's eyes calm. His hate begins to fade. Robin continues. He knows his audience. Luthor has ears on what's playing out. In the back of his mind, the Boy Wonder almost wonders who he's really talking to.
Conner. Lex. Does it matter?
Robin continues.
"And you have to make something of it now. No one else can. If you don't…you run through life as half a man. So far less than what you could be. A Composer gone deaf, a pilot gone blind. You know where the power is, but you can't tap into it. Do you really want to?
"It requires…sacrifice—work. You have to dig deep, get dirty. And you don't want to. You want the quick and easy path. You want someone to do it for you."
Robin pulls the Kryptonite chunk from Superboy's mouth and sets it on the floor, pushing it away.
"Why did I beat you? Because you're too weak."
A few feet away, Batman catches the rock and slides it into a lead-lined pocket on his own Utility Belt.
Robin doesn't take his eyes off Superboy.
"Now you know. You can be defeated. And once you are, you're a different person. Angry…sad. It doesn't matter. But you can't go back."
Robin lowers his fist.
"Not ever."
Superboy's scarred, scorched-red eyes close tightly. A tear edges out of one corner.
The dragon in Conner's head stares at him, its eyes burning hate. What are you doing? Get out there! This fight is yours! Take it! The dragon calls to Conner. It is your birthright.
Inside his head, Conner's boot grinds into the dragon. It gives a final cry of defiance: Is this how you want it to end? An anticlimactic end to an anticlimactic life.
And silence. Conner's agony fades. Something makes sense…finally.
The dragon isn't telling Superboy anything different. No secret of the universe. No simple adventure story. Tim is right.
He always helped keep the dragon down.
Superboy's heat vision kicks off, and his knees wobble beneath him. He falls to the floor with a dull thud, buries his face in his arms.
Tim is right.
"I…I never meant to hurt anyone," Superboy says quietly.
"I know," Robin replies calmly. He stands and pulls Conner up with him. Tim Drake wraps his arms around Conner Kent in a hug.
"I know…"
The Watchtower Medical Bay.
Bart Allen and Tim Drake.
I catch Bart in what seems to be some weird trance. His iPod lies on the bed next to him. The earphones are screwed in his ears and he's drumming his fingers on the plastic tray over his lap. His head lies lazily on the pillow, staring at the ceiling…or, more appropriately, the back of his eyelids.
His eyes flutter open, and he sees me instantly.
"Hey!" Bart says smoothly, pulling the earphones off.
I ease myself down onto the side of the bed. "Where's Wally? I haven't seen him since we all left the Conference Room."
"He teleported back home. He's taking Linda to a hockey game tonight. Keystone and Detroit," Bart says with an arched eyebrow and a grin. Like he's perfectly impressed with the idea. "Should be fun."
"I'm sure."
Bart turns off the iPod and starts shoveling a plate of green Jell-O in his mouth.
"So…"
"What?"
"How is he?"
"Conner? He'll be fine." I wave a dismissive hand. "With time and rest."
"That's what he said. Before this all blew up in our faces."
"Well, touché," I say frankly. "But if I'm right, Luthor won't be coming back anytime soon."
"Yeah?"
"He's got bigger fish to fry."
Bart goes back to his food, cutting into what appears to be a steak. You're a lucky man, Bart Allen.
"Let's hope so," Bart says with a smile.
Continued...