Rating: T

Where else can I find this story? All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.

Warning: Adult language in this one.

Hero

Masks, Part V

Chapter 21: Origins

The pretty lady, Death, is nowhere to be seen, and for an instant, Conner wonders if he imagined the whole thing, but then he sees that he's in a hospital room, M'gann is slumped in her chair, passed out, but even asleep her hand is holding tightly on to his, and he can feel her mind wrapped around his, no weaker or less loving than the tight grasp of her hand.

He groans. All the world is pain.

"How're you feeling, Con?" Lois's voice asks, quiet and kind and concerned.

"I thought I was dying," he tells her.

"You did. For a little while," she answers.

"Oh. So, I didn't dream it then," he mutters. "How's Luthor?"

"He isn't going to hurt you," she answers. "You're safe now."

"No, I mean… the operation."

Lois looks startled. Afraid. Then she regains her composure. "I'm going to go get Doctor Mid-Nite, ok?" She gets up and puts a hand on M'gann's shoulder. "He's awake honey," she whispers in her ear.

M'gann's eyes flutter open. "Hey babe," he smiles at her.

"Oh, Conner! You're awake!" She takes his hand and kisses it. "Don't ever scare me like that again!"

"I'll try not to." Then, he thinks about Luthor again, and what Death had said, and the question is on the tip of his tongue, but M'gann spears it with a kiss, and she tastes so sweet and good, he forgets about Death and Luthor. And then Mid-Nite comes and reads his vitals and tells him he's going to be absolutely fine as long as he takes it easy. Right off the bat, Mid-Nite tells him, no superheroing for at least six months.

That's going to make it impossible for him to fill in for Batman.

Which reminds him, "Where's Batman?"

"He'll be along, shortly."

But it takes Batman a long time to come. Everyone else piles in, and he's so happy to see them again, even though, for him, it's as if though he'd seen them all five minutes ago. Wally can hardly contain his joy, and even Roy shows up with a quiet smile of relief that doesn't quite fit on his face. And after a half hour, he's exhausted, and Batman still hasn't come. So, he decides to take matters into his own hands and gives a massive yawn, which is signal enough for Mid-Nite to demand that everyone leave. Everyone, including M'gann.

He's so glad the rooms in the Watchtower aren't lined with lead. He waits for everyone to disperse, and then he fiddles with the machines—he's not as good a hacker as Robin, but he knows enough—so no one will know he's gone. Even with his superpowers, walking is something of a chore. It's a good thing he has an IV drip—he holds on to the metal bar for support.

But if Batman's the one he's looking for, Luthor is the one he finds first. Luthor's yelling his throat out. It's a voice that has haunted his nightmares for years. He'd recognize anywhere, even hoarse from yelling and muffled by sound-proof walls. "You motherfucking heartless cocksucking son of a bitch bastard—agh!—this wasn't, wasn't part of the deal!" The sound is faint, but detectable, if only just barely, which means he must be close. He turns a corner and finds himself outside the door. It's locked, but Conner's heat vision cuts through the lock like a hot knife through butter. Luthor's screams drown out the sound of Conner turning the doorknob and opening the door.

And that's when he finds Batman, standing tall and dark and grim over Luthor's writhing body, gloved hand on a dial on a machine hooked up to Luthor.

"I don't recall ever telling you I would give you morphine," Batman answers in the low, grim voice he usually reserves for interrogations on the balconies of skyscrapers.

"If you're going to kill me, just fucking do it already and put me out of my misery," Luthor begs.

"Batman?" Conner asks, because he doesn't quite understand, can't quite believe what's going on.

Both men turn to see him. Luthor interrupts his screaming just long enough to hurl a bed pan at Conner's head. "Get the boy out of here! I don't want him to see me like this!" The bed pan misses and clangs dully against the wall behind him.

"I don't really give a fuck what you want," Batman tells Luthor, but he turns to Conner anyway, and then, it's like Batman is a different man entirely. His face softens. "You shouldn't be here, Superboy," he says kindly, like there isn't another man writhing in agony in the room. "You should be resting. Let's get you to bed."

Batman takes the IV caddy from Conner's hand and gets under his arm to replace the support. Conner's very tired. So, very tired; it would be the easiest thing in the world to let Batman take him back to the room, to let Batman put him to bed. Luthor's not even screaming any more. But Conner can still hear the bald man's jagged breaths. Even though he's making a tremendous effort to hide it, Luthor's in an inhuman amount of pain.

Conner shakes his head, breaks free of Batman's support, and walks to the machine.

"Superboy," Batman warns, "that's the man who tried to kill you."

"I know." But he turns the dial anyway. Cadmus programming tells him when to stop.

The reaction in Luthor is almost instantaneous. Once he's calmed down enough, he casts a look at the dial, and when he sees the dosage is correct, that Superboy doesn't intend to murder him with an overdose of morphine, he thanks Superboy.

"Go to hell."

"I deserve that," Luthor says shamelessly.

"Yes, you do deserve to go to hell."

Then he walks back to Batman and lets Batman guide him out of the room. Just as they're over the threshold, Luthor calls out after Batman.

"What?" Batman growls.

"When you get a chance, could you do me a favor? Tell Bruce Wayne that I hope he gets better soon. And that he should be very careful with what medicines he takes. Some drugs don't play nice with Smilex."

Conner feels Batman tense, but then Batman regains his composure.

They bump into Mid-Nite running in the hallway—

"What's wrong with Luthor?" Mid-Nite asks.

"Mainly that he's still breathing," Batman answers coldly.

"And why the hell is Superboy out of bed?"

"That's a very good question," Batman answers. "I'll ask him when he's back in bed."

Batman takes him back to the room. Hooks him up to the machines. He even tucks him into bed.

"You're safe now, Conner," Batman says, holding his hand.

"Luthor—

"Isn't going to hurt you anymore."

"No. That's not what I was going to say. Luthor—his liver—I don't understand."

"You heard that conversation," Batman frowns. "I had hoped you wouldn't."

"Luthor was a compatible donor."

Batman nods.

"How is that possible?" Batman doesn't answer. "Unless… I'm not really… I'm not really Superman's clone, am I?"

"Not entirely," Batman admits. "Cloning Superman, successfully, making another person with Superman's exact genetic code, is impossible. I told you before. Cloning is complicated enough. But with a Kryptonian, there were insurmountable biological obstacles. The only way to extract Superman's DNA is to use kryptonite, but the kryptonite damages the DNA, of course. And there's an added complication that there are no Kryptonian eggs. It's why none of the Superman clones LexCorp produced worked. Why they all fell apart eventually."

"So… What am I?"

"A human-kryptonian hybrid. That was the work Desmond did. He mixed and matched DNA from different creatures to create chimeras—genomorphs—with the properties desired. He took what was available of Superman's DNA and filled the gaps with human DNA. He played with the arrangement until the sequence was stable enough to be able to reproduce itself without major errors, and human enough that it could be implanted in a human egg."

"So, I'm a Frankenstein's monster?"

"No. Of course not, Conner. Despite Cadmus's best efforts, you're not a monster, Frankenstein or otherwise. You're just, you. A wonderful, brave, selfless young man, and I wouldn't have you any other way."

"And Luthor? Where does he come in?"

"He's the other…" Batman pauses to search for the word, "Source. Desmond used his DNA to fill the gaps in Superman's DNA."

"How much comes from Superman, how much from Luthor?" Conner asks.

"Does it matter?"

"I want to know."

Batman sighs. "Fifty-fifty, thereabouts."

"Did Superman know?"

Batman shakes his head. "He would probably have figured it out, eventually."

"Why?"

"Because you're different enough that he'd notice it. You get hungry. You need to eat. You need to sleep. To breathe. You get cold. If you don't watch what you eat, you can get fat, or too skinny. Not Superman. Red sunlight depowers you faster, but kryptonite hurts you slightly less."

"That's why he only eats junkfood."

"Food is like music and art to Clark," Batman confirms. "Completely devoid of utility, but enjoyable. I don't listen to Kiss, and he doesn't eat spinach."

"Why Luthor?" The older man doesn't answer. Conner asks again.

"Do you really want to know?"

Conner nods. "More than anything."

"Sometimes… sometimes it's better not to know."

"I want to know. Need to know."

Batman nods, takes off one of his gauntlets and turns on the wrist computer lodged inside. He pulls up a folder called "SB" and hands it over to Conner. There are documents upon documents in the folder. Conner's stomach sinks deeper and deeper as he browses through what he's realizing are Desmond's notes:

Irreparable damage to Target DNA sample (kryptonite?), coupled with difficulties in obtaining suitable oocyte, explain total failure of all previous cloning attempts. Without intact DNA sample, successful cloning impossible. Lack of kryptonian oocyte makes successful cloning exceedingly difficult, even if intact DNA sample could be obtained from Target (red sunlight?).

Best approach = Human-Kryptonian Chimera

Methodology previously established with genomorph program. Creation of Weapon expected to be much simpler than creation of a new genomorph species, as most of the work is sequencing and gap-filling. Question remains: where to get human source DNA?

Conner finds that he wants to vomit, but he keeps looking, keeps reading, and eventually, he finds what he's looking for: a TIFF of a scanned note card with Desmond's messy scrawl:

46 yrs – 188 cm – 91 kg – 230 IQ

• Excellent physical condition, despite age. Reasonably attractive, no distinctive features other than obvious—easy enough to mask under target phenotype.

• No known genetic antecedents. Alopecia totalis only readily apparent flaw, but does not appear to be genetic in origin.

• 230 IQ of utmost interest: Weapon will require an elevated intelligence if it is to retain any meaningful measure of sentience after indoctrination process. Repeated exposure to Genomorph control has been observed to occasion up to a 50 pt decline in IQ (Guardian). With requisite programming, the drop may be closer, or perhaps over, 100 pts. 130 end IQ will roughly correlate to Target (estimated IQ 130-150).

"As far as Desmond knew, Luthor was one of only a handful of viable choices," Batman says finally, handing Conner a handkerchief pulled out of his utility belt. "Luthor didn't know. Desmond thought, probably correctly, that Luthor would say no. Desmond didn't even tell Luthor that what Luthor was buying wasn't a full-out Kryptonian. Luthor's DNA was pilfered—Desmond arranged for there to be an extra vial of blood drawn at Luthor's yearly physical. Luthor didn't even notice because he's afraid of needles and wasn't looking.

"It's why it took me so long to get here. He wouldn't believe me at first. I had to convince him. That took longer than arranging the plea bargain."

Conner doesn't answer. He lets it all sink in, and even after, once he's understood it all, he still doesn't speak, because he knows his voice will crack. He blows his nose a couple of times, takes a deep breath, and finally, "If Luthor didn't know… does that mean, you didn't get this off of the iPad?"

He can see Batman think about his answer. He can see Batman consider lying. But then he shakes his head. "No. It's not from the iPad. It's from Desmond's home office, where he kept all the notes he didn't want Luthor to see."

"You didn't look this all up when you heard I'd been shot." Conner states plainly.

"No. I didn't."

"So. You knew."

"Yes."

"When? When did you find out?"

Batman sighs. "After your first encounter with Luthor. You were so badly injured when I found you—but after, after the red kryptonite fight, the damage was worse. It occurred to me that, in the future, something, something like this could happen, and that you or Superman might need a transfusion or a transplant. And, and that might have been the end of it, but as you know, I'm famously paranoid. I decided to check and make sure that you and Superman could really be compatible matches for one another. At the time, Alfred made fun of me. But, when I realized that you weren't—Superman's cells are stronger than yours, his immune system would end up killing you—I dug deeper, and when I found Desmond's files, I, out of what I suppose could be called, an abundance of caution, tested you against Luthor."

"And you never told me."

"I didn't want to burden you. Luthor had hurt you so badly. Maybe I should have told you. But I wanted to protect you."

There's been an earthquake in San Francisco, so the Watchtower is running with a skeleton crew. Even Lois is back planetside covering the disaster. Conner takes the opportunity to leave his room unnoticed once again and goes to find Luthor.

He can't help but notice that the bastard's been moved to a room with energy bars rather than a door. And there's a panic button by Luthor's side. Conner uses his new League ID to turn the energy bars off for just long enough for him and his IV drip to go inside.

Luthor's lying down, eyes closed. Conner can hear his heartbeat and the in-out of his breathing. Luthor's asleep. He doesn't wake up as Conner walks towards him, stepping slowly and lightly.

For a second, Conner thinks about ripping the pillow out from under Luthor's bald head and smothering the bastard.

Then he folds the thought up and puts it away.

"Luthor, wake up," he says.

The man doesn't stir.

"Wake up," he orders, more insistently, but still, Luthor doesn't move. They probably have him on heavy sedatives, if not for the pain, then so he won't up and leave. Conner wonders if Luthor know's he's on an orbiting satellite.

Conner doesn't really want to touch Luthor. But he already has half of Luthor's liver inside of him… half of Luthor's DNA inside of him.

"Wake up!" he says for a third time, prodding the sleeping man.

That, finally, is enough to get a groan out of Luthor.

He opens one eye.

"So, I take it, from the fact that you're here, and that I sort of feel like I've been cut in half and swimming out of my body, that this wasn't all a bad dream."

"Nope… it was all real," Conner says grimly. "Getting shot, thinking I was going to die… that was all real."

"Then… you really are my son," Luthor says.

"No."

"Well, apparently, half your DNA comes from me… So, either, you're my son, or I'm not very good at science. And I'm plenty good at science."

"I am not your son. You are not my father. You are not even a sperm donor. You are literally, less than nothing to me."

Luthor chuckles. "Well, at the very least, I'm your organ donor. You'd be dead without my liver."

"You don't get bonus points for saving me when you tried to have me murdered. Especially since Batman already told me that they're dropping all charges against you."

He sighs. "I suppose that's fair. Not that I've ever been a fan of fairness. Though, if we're being fair, I should point out that the fact that the charges against me are being dropped benefits the League far more than it benefits me. And Batman. No one gets more out of this than Batman who gets to continue violating the Fourth and Fifth Amendments with impunity… at least until he decides to bother me again.

"He threatened to kill me you know. I'll never forget his exact words: 'You're being offered a deal because I thought it prudent to extend a professional courtesy to the DA. But I don't need your consent. I don't even need your corpse. All I need is your liver—and I've got one of Freeze's cryo-guns right here with me.' I've had people threaten to kill me before, but hacking me into pieces? That's a new one.

"The man's a psychopath, like all the other trash that crawls out of Gotham." Conner's about to tell Luthor off, but then a dangerous light enters the man's green eyes, and even if he's lying on his back in a hospital gown with his belly stitched up, Conner is still terrified of Luthor. Still has nightmares about the man. So Conner shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw, and takes an involuntary step backward.

"Damn Desmond. Damn him to hell," Luthor says, green eyes full of poisonous rage. "If he hadn't transformed himself into a mindless brute, I'd have him killed. He should have told me. If I had only known…" He sighs again. "You have to believe me. If I had known… I wouldn't have…" Luthor lets the word drift into nothing and licks his lips.

"You wouldn't have tortured me?" Conner provides.

"Yes. That. I wouldn't have done that," Luther concedes.

"No. I don't imagine you would have. But you would still have been the same monstrous bastard who would do those things. You just would have done a better job of hiding it, and me, like a fool, I might have bought your act. So I'm glad you didn't know."

Luthor doesn't say anything. His heart doesn't speed up. His breathing doesn't change.

Conner bites his lip and exhales. "But, I wanted to thank you."

"For the liver?"

"No. The first time we met? When you tortured me, and then put red kryptonite in me so that Superman and I might kill each other? That was the first time I realized that it didn't matter that I was Superman's clone. And you know what? If it didn't matter that I was Superman's clone, it sure as hell doesn't matter that I have half your DNA. It doesn't matter one whit. You're a monster, and I want nothing to do with you. As soon as we figure out how to clone me a new liver, I'm taking yours out."

"That's not a bad idea. That way you won't have to take the immunosuppressants your whole life. I can arrange to have the organ cloned. I still have access to all of Cadmus's technology."

Conner ignores the offer. He won't give Luthor an inch.

"But here's another thing I want to thank you for: because if you hadn't threatened Mr. Kent, I never would have gotten to know the staff at the Daily Planet and if I hadn't met them, I probably would never have gotten to know their pal Superman—and while he may have some problems, he's actually a pretty OK guy when you get to know him. And if you hadn't shot at me with an exploding kryptonite bullet, I probably wouldn't ever have had the deathbed heart-to-heart with him. Thanks to you Superman and I are friends now. And that's so much more than you can ever hope for."

Finally, that seems to get a rise out of Luthor. But then he does the opposite of what Conner wants him to do.

He laughs.

"Superboy, I do believe you've actually managed to go and hurt my feelings. You really are a Luthor, aren't you?"

"I hate you."

Luthor's smile only deepens. "Superboy, all teenage boys hate their fathers. Now go to your room before you tear out your stitches."

"I'm going," Conner answers, "But only because I can't stand to be in the same room with you any longer."

He leaves, making sure that the energy bars close properly. It's eerie how quiet the Watchtower gets when the entire League is on Earth. He clenches onto the IV pole at the thought of being alone in the corridor. He wonders if energy bars could really hold Luthor. He has an IQ of 230. If Luthor wanted to… he could probably get out.

Conner's so caught up in thinking about Luthor, and about Luthor getting out, that he forgets himself and almost misses the sound of shallow breathing cut up by faint pained gasps. Almost. But he does catch it, and in an instant, he's off, not quite running, because it hurts too much to run, but walking quickly. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees who's making the sound.

Conner finds Batman, collapsed, face down on the floor, gasping like a fish out of water. Then, in an instant, Conner's on his knees, pain forgotten, turning Batman around. Then he has Batman, limp and barely breathing on his lap. Conner tears a gauntlet and presses his fingers to the naked wrist, feeling for a pulse. It's there, but it's weak and erratic, and getting weaker, like Batman's heart is tired and near defeat.

"Shit, shit," Conner says, because he can't think of what else to say. Mid-Nite is down on earth, and Conner's on the Watchtower so rarely that he doesn't know how or where he'd go to call for help. "Batman, Bruce," he whispers softly. Then he slaps Bruce's face gently, but Batman's unconscious and not coming back, and Conner has no idea what's wrong with him, or what to do. In desperation, he picks Batman up and runs—pain be damned—to the only other person he knows might be able to help on the Watchtower.

"Help, please, help," Conner begs, laying Batman's still body at the feet of Lex Luthor. For his part, Luthor gets up. Conner can tell from the way Luthor's breathing changes that he can only do it with tremendous difficulty.

"He's going through withdrawal," Luthor says, as if though that could explain anything. "He should have another vial of the drug on him, if not—

Conner stops listening, he's looking through Batman's utility belt. There's nothing in the compartments that he can see that looks like a vial of a drug, but Batman's added a second compartment lined with lead. Conner takes a deep breath, because he knows there's a sizable chance that he's about to open a box full of Kryptonite in the same room as Lex Luthor, and then he tears open the compartment, ignoring the pain of the electrical shock the utility belt releases the moment it senses that someone other than Batman is trying to open it.

He pulls out a syringe, and looks up to Luthor, eyes imploring for guidance.

"Stick it in his carotid and inject it all at once," Luthor instructs, and after a moment's hesitation, Conner does as he's told.

In less than an instant, Batman's eyes open and he reaches for the syringe in his neck, pulling out the needle and throwing the syringe across the room. It's like nothing Conner's ever seen. Batman is up in a flash, and then he pulls Conner up, and without a look at Luthor, ushers the boy out of the room.

Batman won't meet his eyes. Part of Conner wants to leave it alone. Just. Let it be. He doesn't have to ask. And if he doesn't ask, then Batman doesn't have to answer, and then they can go on pretending like nothing's wrong. But Conner's just narrowly evaded death, found out he's part human, and that—

He stops thinking about it. Just for right now, he can't think about everything, everything that's changed.

"What was that?" he asks finally.

Batman doesn't answer.

Conner waits in the hopes that if the silence is long enough Batman will answer, but Batman doesn't, and after five minutes of silence, Conner has to speak again, heart in his throat. "I don't know what I just pumped into you, but I know that I've only rarely been as afraid as I was when I found you gasping on the floor. If you're not telling me, then it's because it's something bad—but you should tell me, because if it is something bad, Luthor will and I'd rather hear it from you."

This time, it only takes Batman a moment to breathe in before answering: "Miraclo. That's it. Rex Tyler, the first Hourman, developed and used it to give him expanded strength and agility by stimulating his synapses—but how it works isn't important."

"Did it leave him passed out on the floor when it ran out?"

"No. I don't know why that happened. Miraclo is a mostly safe drug."

"Luthor said…"

"I know what Luthor said."

"Do you know what it means?"

"Medically? I have no idea. But…"

"Luthor knows who you are."

Batman sighs and sits down. "Luthor thinks he knows who I am."

"No. Luthor thinks you're Bruce Wayne. And he's right. And he knows he's right. And he also knows you're taking something—I think he knows what it is, or if he doesn't know exactly, he's got a good enough idea."

After a moment, Batman sighs and his shoulders sag. The Caped Crusader suddenly looks old. "It's not an ideal situation," he admits. "But so long as he's here in the Watchtower, Luthor can't do anything with that knowledge. Superman and I will have to talk to him tomorrow and we'll see what needs to be done. Now, Conner, you need to get some rest. You've had a very exciting past few days and you need to recuperate."

"Nice euphemism for getting shot," Conner says.

Batman smiles. "Oh, I have a whole dictionary of euphemisms for being shot. And stabbed. And falling from a fifth floor window."

"Will you stay?" he asks, in part because he wants Batman to stay with him, in part so he can keep an eye on Batman.

Batman nods, and Conner falls asleep to the steady beat of Batman's heart.

Conner wakes up to the sound of drumming fingers.

"Is everything alright?" he asks Batman.

"Yes, given the circumstances," Batman answers, looking up to face Conner. "The earthquake crisis is mostly resolved. Five hundred people are still missing, but J'onn and Flash can take care of that. Superman and I have to talk to Luthor in fifteen minutes. I need to go prepare. Is it alright if I leave you with M'gann?"

Conner nods, because it's not like he can tell Batman no. He can't help but notice the small tremor in Batman's hand as the older man gets up and walks away.

Once he's alone with M'gann, he asks her if she noticed anything wrong with Batman.

"He's worried and tired. We all are."

"His hand was shaking," he tells her.

"Conner, he hasn't slept in days. And he's still recuperating himself. He's only human, you know."

"Yeah, I know," and for the first time, he finds that idea particularly distressing. He doesn't want to think about it, so he asks her about San Francisco and the earthquake.

The rest of the team, the Kents, and Ms. Lane trickle in during the day. Mid-Nite stops by periodically to check u on him and yell at his visitors for exhausting his patient. Batman doesn't stop by until 10 pm, but Conner's glad to see he looks much better than he did in the morning.

"Did you catch some sleep?"

"I got what I needed," Batman answers with a smile. Then he settles down to business: "We're releasing Luthor into police custody tomorrow morning at noon, Metropolis time. They'll release him by the end of the week. After that, he's under his own authority. As far as we can tell, he hasn't figured out Kent; just me. He made several insinuations that he didn't have any plans for the information about my identity, but I've had emergency protocols in place for a long time. If he goes public with the information, Bruce Wayne and his fortune will disappear. He doesn't know the Watchtower is in space. He believes it's an underground complex under the Hall of Justice, much like Cadmus.

"He requested to speak to you before he left for police custody—

"No," Conner interrupts.

"Of course not. I told him that he's never to go near you again, unless he wants to discover a very unpleasant side of me.

"The League is afraid of what Luthor may do or attempt to do. Unfortunately, we can neither control his actions nor alter his memories. As such, the League thinks it would be for the best if you stayed away from Metropolis, at least, openly."

"I understand," Conner agrees, though he hates the idea of avoiding the city out of a fear of Luthor.

Batman nods. "There's one last thing I'd like to discuss."

"Yeah?"

"At least in the short term, you'll need a place to stay. You'll need six months or so to recover from your injuries and from your operation. The Cave is not really an ideal place for that sort of thing, and Red Tornado is not equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Doctor Mid-Nite would prefer for you to stay at the Watchtower, but Mr. and Mrs. Kent have volunteered to take care of you during your recovery. You'd be welcome to live with them on the farm, and the League would install a teleporter there so M'gann and your friends would be able to visit."

Conner waits for the third option. He waits for Batman to offer to let him stay at the Manor, with Dick and Alfred.

The offer doesn't come. He's about to ask if he can stay with Batman instead—a thousand reasons why that makes sense are blasting through his head—but he chickens out, because Batman might say no, and Conner isn't sure what he'd do if he did. So finally he licks his lips and nods his head.

"Smallville is nice."

Batman smiles and gets up. He ruffles Conner's hair. "Smallville is nice," he says. "Martha and Jonathan will want to talk more about it tomorrow. Sleep well."

A/N: So, one of the interesting things about reposting a story that was originally posted to the anon meme in fits and starts is figuring out where the chapter breaks should be. I'm not quite sure where the posting breaks occurred for this segment, though I have a hunch the section breaks give us a good idea for this chapter (often they don't).

My original intention had been to post this as two chapters, the first called "Origins" and the second "Science." As I was posting here, I thought about changing the title of the second chapter to "Plenty Good at Science." But, the truth is that the second chapter relates to Conner's origins, and the first chapter has lots of science (or sci-fi pseudo science babble, though I think it's a little bit better than some of the stuff we saw on the show (suppressing human DNA to make you more powerful? WTF is that?)). So, congratulations: you get a longer chapter.