Conner Kent's life had always been largely treated like something that did not belong to him. Lex had always treated him with the assumption that Conner should and would do what he said. Clark himself had signed Conner away to Lex years ago, like children were just items you could pawn off on other people. Rex had at least been open about his exploitation, recruiting Conner and Roxy both into countless get rich quick schemes.
That's why when he received his daily texts over the course of the week from Lex about the opportunities in Metropolis, he deleted them without looking. He was pretty sure Lex's secretary Mercy was the one sending them anyways.
He entertained the idea, briefly, of letting the kids at school know that he was the ward of the one and only CEO of LexCorp, but decided against it. New life, new Conner. One that didn't have to be tied down to anybody.
He would have to call Roxy though. New Conner or not he wouldn't feel ok letting her deal with Rex alone. But that could wait. He told himself that over and over again as he got ready for school.
Stephanie was, officially, Conner's favorite. She offered all the best gossip, and was always on board when Conner started spinning outrageous tall tales for her group of friends. At lunch there was no sign of the Waynes in the large, open cafeteria, to which Stephanie had only shrugged. "I'm in AP Art with Tim and he's always missing," she said.
Tim was still missing come chemistry class, to which Conner loudly proclaimed good riddance when Bart came over.
But Tim was missing the next day too, and despite himself, Conner wondered if he was ok.
"It's a big school, maybe he switched classes," Bart supplied, distracted by trying to get the attention of Jaime across the table.
"I know, but it's just weird. I mean it's the first week of school." His concerns went ignored.
Conner hated himself for it, but summoning the will to call Roxy was becoming increasingly difficult. He told himself it was the new armload of homework, adjusting to the city, to Clark. But in reality, even with homework, it wasn't a bad life. He found the apartment incredibly grim and dark. Very little natural lighting could squeeze in through the tiny colonial windows. The dark wood floors and shitty panelled walls made everything feel cramped. But it was reliable. He was never locked out, and his room offered the best view of the city. He found himself, most days, eating dinner at a kitchen table for two squeezed in behind the sofa and old school CRT TV.
"It's from college," Clark supplied with an apologetic smile as he tried to help Conner hook up his XBox one evening.
"Do you even have Netflix?"
Clark hesitated. "That's...the online video thing, right?"
"Unbelievable."
They sat at the dinner table together that night, and Clark made a concerted effort to parent Conner. Conner hated every second of it. The man had the nerve to be technologically oblivious, serve him microwave lasagna, and then ask him about his feelings.
"How was your day?"
"Boring."
"Are kids being nice to you at school."
"They're high schoolers."
"Point taken. But do you like your classes?"
Conner thought the school questions were bad, but then Clark started derailing into more dangerous territory.
"Have you talked to Lex lately?"
"...No."
"You were in Hawaii for a long time...do you miss it?"
"It's whatever."
"Do you maybe want to visit? For Christmas or something?"
Conner gave Clark his best what-on-earth-do-you-think-you're-doing face and hoped it conveyed how mortally offended he felt about this line of inquiry.
Clark wilted. "I just mean. I was just asking because...you've been through a lot Conner. You've grown up a lot-"
"Amazing how kids do that."
Clark guiltily stared down at the last of their microwave dinner. Conner didn't pity the other man. Really. But they did have to live together, so he tried something he'd never done before. Clark was a reporter, Conner was mostly sure.
"Did you know Bruce Wayne's kids go to my school?" he tried as his first (and only) sort of conversational olive branch.
Clark lit up immediately. "Really? I'd heard they went to public school. Are they nice?"
"They're jerks."
Clark frowned. "That's unfortunate. Bruce really is a great man. I've met him a few times. I've done interviews for charity events and sometimes the family puts together these really amazing humanitarian projects. The Wayne's own a bunch of homeless shelters and they've done a lot to improve the mental health facilities in Gotham. Bruce's father was a doctor even…" Clark trailed off seeming to realize he was rambling.
"I mean, I didn't mean they were jerks. But people say they are. And they keep to themselves a lot."
"Let people talk," Clark said, "I've met Bruce Wayne. He's a good man."
And the conversation was died.
Sleep didn't come to Conner easily that night. Pipes continued to grown. Unpleasant neighbors continued to shout, and thoughts of rich socialites and gambling deadbeat dads played on repeat in his mind until he pushed himself upright and reached for the phone.
Conner showed up to school the next day with bags under his eyes and a smile that was more reflex than joy or actually faking it. If Stephanie noticed, the only sign was the slight down tilt of her lip as she greeted him in the morning, but it vanished as soon as it was there.
As much as Stephanie had been open about Conner not being her type, she was a genuinely pretty girl. Blonde, with kind eyes, and nearly always laughing. She would have been just his type if it weren't for how much she resembled Roxy. The thought of his foster sister soured his mood again.
Roxy's call had been tired. She wasn't given to hysterics. Rex had phoned her from Tijuana. Ostensibly he was on the run because of false accusations of embezzlement. He'd had robbed a bank for funds and ditched all his things, and crossed the border. Supposedly. Roxy's tired tone told him she didn't believe it either. And frankly it was exhausting.
"I don't know what to do. I think he needs help."
"Forget him, Roxy."
Conner felt like he should care, but instead he felt like an overrung dishrag and he and Roxy had agreed to keep in touch and call should they hear anything from Rex again.
The school day was made marginally better by the presence of the Waynes back at their usual table in the cafeteria.
"Back from their shopping trip I'm sure," Stephanie said when she caught Conner looking.
Conner nodded. "In Paris, almost certainly."
"I bet they have a private jet."
"How many horses do you think they own?" Bart asked.
Stephanie laughed and considered this question seriously. "Five. One for each."
"No way," Conner said, "Three to four each."
"That's absurd."
"How are you even going to test this bet?" One of Stephanie's friends piped up. Grace? Greta? The quiet one anyways, with the pale washed out features and constantly grim face.
"Conner sits next to Tim in chemistry. Think you can work your charm, big boy?" Stephanie asked.
And seeing as Conner's day certainly couldn't get worse, and he was gunning for a distraction, he gave her a grin. "What do I get if I win?"
Shockingly, at least to his new city friends, Conner had very strong opinions about horses and rich people.
First there was Hawaii. Hawaii was an alright place for people into horses, it being warm and tropical. But the worst thing was probably the tourists. Horse tours were one of many distractions offered by tacky companies to get rich white folks to part with their money, and Conner resented them the same way he resented the dozens of stores that closed every off season, snowbirds who voted in a state they didn't live year round, and unnecessary golf courses that eliminated the parks and undeveloped land Conner used to explore when he was in middle school.
Second was cost. A cheap horse was maybe two thousand dollars, but often they went for over ten thousand. You could get a car, multiple cars even, for the price of horse. And while technically Conner could get whatever he wanted if he agreed to go back to Lex, he'd been gleeful the first time he'd made enough cash to send Lex's money right back to him, and hadn't been near a horse since his uneventful and miserable childhood of private lessons in boring sports.
And finally, perhaps most hideously: in order to play polo you needed multiple horses. This point in particular was one that Conner found mortifying. Mostly because it meant admitting he had played polo, a sport so rich you had to switch horses every seven minutes. It was perhaps the worst thing Lex had forced him into lessons for.
Timothy Drake Wayne looked exactly like the kind of guy who played polo. Conner would definitely know.
He wore a dark red turtleneck to school that day. He looked good, though Conner suspected he always did and always would, and would drop out of school for Ralph Lauren magazine cover life as soon as he could. Not that Conner wouldn't kill to be so lucky himself, but he tended to take after Clark and was less pretty boy more lumberjack.
Tim sat at the lab table he and Conner shared in chemistry looking stiff and unapproachable as ever, but as Conner strode confidently to take his seat next to the kid who hated him, icy blue eyes locked onto him.
Apparently having never been told staring was rude, Tim continued to watch him.
Conner, who had had an entire plan laid out involving irritating Tim into talking to him, was having a hard time figuring out how this new behavior factored into things. Figuring he couldn't at all lower Tim's opinion of him, he leaned towards the other boy (Tim leaned back on reflex) and said:
"Hi, we didn't get to know each other last class. My name's Conner."
Tim looked down at his hand and Conner was reminded of the uptight finicky white women who frequented the hotels near his house back home and had once remarked that Tana was particularly articulate for a "native" while clutching their pearls. He felt his dislike grow for the boy, and retracted his hand when it became apparent Tim wasn't going to shake it.
"I'm Tim," he said at last.
Conner rolled his eyes and turned to face the front of the room as Ms. Isley explained the lab. Something about identifying elements based on the color of fire. Conner was both excited and terrified. Excited because fire in a school. Terrified because he was so very bad at this.
Tim made maximum effort to avoid contact with Conner the entire lab. He rolled up his sleeves and set to work in a manner that suggested he was very comfortable with all the equipment laid out for them. He didn't even look at Conner as he started putting samples to the flame and muttering to himself.
"Copper."
Conner rushed to jot it down in his own notes.
Tim, predictably, had a hardcover spiral bound black notebook with neat, even handwriting. Conner had a Spider-Man folder with the lab print out sitting on top and large, unsteady letters. Tim eyed his stack of loose papers warily and wisely nudged the open flame closer to his side of the table.
Conner tried to help with the lab. Tim put another sample to the flame, and Conner incorrectly identified it as Lithium.
"Calcium," Tim said.
At that point Conner gave up and let Tim lead. They finished early, with Tim doing most of the work, and Conner took it as his opportunity.
"So, what do you do around Gotham for fun?" At Tim's questioning glance he quickly added, "I'm from Hawaii."
For the first time Tim looked at him with something other than utter distaste. Instead he looked utterly perplexed, eyebrows flying up and frown vanishing before he schooled his features back into his rich boy mask.
Got you, Conner thought.
"Hawaii...that's far."
"Yeah, well," Conner leaned forward, elbows on the lab table. "Couldn't stay there after they arrested my foster dad."
Tim looked utterly torn between wanting to believe Conner and wanting to get very far away.
"For what?"
Conner put on his best bad boy face. "You wouldn't understand."
Tim still looked skeptical, but Conner knew he had him because even as he tried to look disinterested he said, "You don't know me."
Rich kids were easy to play for fools. Conner knew this well, having been one himself.
"Really? Well. My foster dad was a chronic gambler. He got into some pretty deep shit." Conner kept his personal opinion on said shit to himself for the sake of the ruse.
"Huh."
Tim looked completely lost in thought. He gazed ahead into space, and almost without thinking seemed to reach for his notebook. The contemplative look was definitely not the one Conner was expecting, so he decided to bite the bullet.
"You ever ride a horse?" He asked, tone light and conversational.
Unfortunately Tim seemed to snap out of his daze, and his eyes narrowed at Conner. "Yes."
"Summer camp?" Conner asked, even though he knew that was baloney.
Tim hesitated for a long time before answering. "My...mother wanted me to learn."
"Oh, did she like horses?"
"Somewhat?"
"Do you own any?"
Tim scowled. "No."
Conner, for the life of him, couldn't fathom a world in which someone as rich as the Waynes ought to be didn't own a horse. He also didn't like losing. "Not one?"
"No. Why would I own a horse? I do have a cow-"
"Everyone knows rich people own horses!" Conner said a little too loud. Across the room Stephanie dropped the sample she was holding. "If you don't own horses, how rich can you actually be. I bet you don't even play polo. I mean Jesus everyone was playing you guys up to be some uber rich celebrity family. But you're just like the rest of us aren't you. You're horse poor."
"That's, what?" Tim's face quickly ran through the gamut of confused, annoyed, and enraged. "I have no idea what you're going on about."
Conner didn't care anymore, preoccupied with how Tim had ruined a perfectly good bet by not being the kind of rich kid to play polo after all.
"Don't worry," Conner said, voice dripping with sympathy, "We're all horse poor in this world."
Tim bolted faster than Conner thought possible when the bell rang at last for the end of class. Stephanie came up to him.
"Un-fucking-believable. Not a single horse," Conner said, head in his hands.
"You owe me chicken nuggets," Stephanie said, looking pleased.
"Actually, technically he doesn't own any horses so you both lose," Jaime came up behind them, Bart in tow and the group headed to their next classes. Bart accompanied Conner to gym where they played out part two of the epic volleyball tournament they had started earlier in the week and where Conner let thoughts of Tim and his pretty face fade completely from his mind.