Trauma 4
"Nothing was the same ever since you left. Many have came and went but they remind me of the past. I was such a fool of letting you go, now I miss you." - Sifiso Robeni
"I wanted to text you, but then I remembered we don't talk anymore." -Carolina Vidal
Chapter 4: Old Bonds…
It has been a full week since Superboy's awakening.
Black Canary brushed strands of her blonde hair out of her face with one hand. An exhausted expression dominates her entire demeanor. She makes her way to the Zeta Tubes but her pace is slow. She notices other members of the league who share her disposition. They are just as weary and run down as she is. Everyone's on edge. There were too many things happening at once to be coincidence. Madam was dead. Black Adam had gone AWOL and even the usually happy Captain was starting to twitch. Although, Canary suspected it was because he knew something or at least had an inkling of what was going on and was fighting the urge to run for the hills.
She sighed heavily as she made it to the corridor leading to the tubes. The Lanterns were also wired and frantic and she worries about possible trauma. She flinches as the idea of trauma brings one specific teen to mind. One that's at the very center of the storm that was starting to show itself and she wasn't even sure if he had the fortitude to endure it.
She programs the tubes for the Cave and tries to think of something to say. She stands a little straighter and takes a deep breath.
All she wants to do is cry.
"Canary."
She turns around and comes face to face with Superman. Even he is brought down by everything that's happened. His shoulders are slumped and there are hints of shadows underneath his eyes.
"Going to see the kids?" There is a sad smile on his lips. "I was hoping you could give me your opinion."
Canary closes her eyes and lets a few tears escape before quickly turning around and brushing her face clean.
"About Superboy?" She doesn't turn to him but he moves to stand next to her.
"No." There is a tone in his voice that is heavy and broken but she can't really name it without seeing his expression. "About Conner…Conner Kent…"
Canary's breathe hitches and she can't stop the automatic reflex to look the Man of Steel in the face. There was a light in his eyes. Something strong and vulnerable. She felt the familiar sting and the blurring of her vision as a fresh wave of tears spills along her cheeks. Canary smiles at Superman.
"I can do that." She feels her smile grow and surge of energy rushed through her, "I'm sure he'll be very happy, too."
Superman gives a small smile of his own before straightening his back. Canary steps through the tube and out into the Young Justice base. She stops abruptly at the sound of laughter. Superman stops right next to her, also surprised. Ever since Superboy's grave arrival, the Cave had been absent of any true laughter. There was the occasional chuckle but this was full out joyous noise. The two heroes follow the sound.
They find the team in the kitchen. Food fighting. Conner is smiling while he tosses a handful of pudding at Artemis. The two heroes stand well out of the way of the flying food. They stand transfixed as a perfectly bright smile blooms across the clone's face. The rest of the team is also happy, laughing and joking as they cover each other in food.
There is only one small, bleak spot with this moment. Superboy only smiles but no laughter passes his lips. They should have expected it. They don't. The laughter had given them hope, small and fragile. Superman closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Canary fights back tears. They compose themselves quickly before making their presences known.
"Having fun?" Canary calls out. The teens stop and turn to look at the new arrivals. They offer sheepish but happy smiles.
"We'll clean the mess!" Kid Flash rushes to say. The other members of the team give similar answers, still smiling. Everyone except Superboy. He doesn't say a word.
Superboy hasn't spoken a word since his awakening.
Both heroes feel a part of themselves crack and chip away at the one mark that tarnished the teen's happy disposition. But they push those feelings away as best as they can.
"Well, that's good." Superman chuckles, "But it's late. Conner and I need to get home."
The emphasis on Superboy's new name brings a speechless quiet to the group. The teens all widen their eyes in shock.
"Wait…" Robin turns to his teammate, "Conner, as in Superboy is Conner? And home as in with you?"
"Yes," Superman quickly replies, his entire focus on the hybrid, "that is…if you want?"
The clone opens his mouth, eyes still wide, and quickly snaps it shut. He swallows and takes a deep breath but when he tries again, he chokes. Tears start to gather in his eyes and with his lips pressed tightly shut, shakily nods his head.
"Okay, then." Superman gives his son a gentle smile, "Let's go get your things."
That's how Superboy becomes Conner Kent and how Clark Kent gets a son.
Clark can feel his shock seeping into his expression and really it's no surprise. There have been little things over the past few weeks that have created a…disturbing idea about his son. There was the way he walked for one. As a teen Clark had been clumsy and unsure but Conner moved confidently. The only issue the mentors had was that Conner was too confident in his body and the heroes had just brushed it off. They had assumed it was the information that was "downloaded" into the clone that didn't transition into actuality. But Clark was sure that even that kind of jarring misinformation would be enough to make Conner a little bit more cautious.
That didn't seem the case.
No, even with his silence, Conner walked tall and clean. His stride was always crisp and efficient. There wasn't any wasted energy. It reminded him of an old friend from Smallville who teetered between good and bad…
But he was learning to relax more so Clark could see how his son transformed from child soldier to hero teen. The adjustment was complicated with Conner's condition but thankfully, they had found a system to work with. It worked because it was familiar, scarily familiar.
Conner would arch his eyebrow just so, to convey mild disbelief. He would tap his finger on the nearest surface expressing his impatience or to channel his nervous energy. It was all reminiscent of a time when he was young and hopeful and oh so easily happy. It reminded Clark of a time when the highlight of his day was playing pool or watching a movie with his best friend. He dreamed and hoped but reality and people crushed those few precious things. Conner reminds Clark of that time he aimed to defy the destiny of his father and had accepted the fate of his other father without ever really seeing the possibility of making his own path, of making his own choices.
Clark had been trying to get Conner engaged with the world, to get the teen to find his likes and dislikes, to try new things.
Conner liked blueberries. He liked Japanese cartoons and television dramas with crime like the Law & Order series and medical like House, M.D.
He prefers mystery movies over comedy. Conner does not like the color white or long coats or tights.
Eventually, the pair made the decision to visit the book store and Clark told Conner to explore. As he watched the clone make his way around, however, Clark noticed another familiarity that struck the Man of Steel in his heart. Conner's eyes brightened with a keen curiosity that could belong to only one other. For a minute he felt the tell-tale gathering of tears before he forced himself to look away. He took several deep breathes before managing to regain his composure. When he turned back to watch Conner, however, he found the teen standing right next to him.
Conner shuffled his feet as he held a book close to his chest. It was a cover the man was familiar with, having seen it treated with exceptional care.
It was a Warrior Angel comic.
Clark looks into Conner's hesitant eyes and smiles. The bright look that crosses the teens face makes something warm and painful bloom in his chest. It feels like regret and love wrapped in a bundle. It's a start, he thinks…
"Here's the intel you wanted, sir."
A nondescript man covered in full armor hands over a generic data stick onto an expensive ornate desk. A tanned hand reaches over and plugs the stick into the side of a large computer monitor.
"Is there anything else Mr. Luthor, sir?"
"No. This will be all for now. You have your orders. Don't disappoint me. " Lex Luthor dressed immaculately as always, gives the man a hard look before turning to his computer.
"Of course, sir." The man gives no indication he is fazed by his employer's threatening demeanor but removes himself from the office at Luthor's clear dismissal.
The billionaire settles into his seat, and opens the file. Large windows and documented reports slither their way across the screen. Luthor frowns as he shifts through the information before him. There is a persistent nudge from the back of his mind, tiny and quiet. But it is there. It is a reminder of a life before corruption and hate. It is the spark born from Clark Kent's benevolence and which Lionel Luthor went to great lengths to utterly decimate.
But the mind is a machine. It was not made to forget, not completely. The inferno that was Lex Luthor's love of the fantastical and extraordinary, which feed his curiosity and obsessions, was doused by betrayal and secrets and prejudices and an old man's ambition. Lionel Luthor would not have his son be anything less than cruel and cold like the arctic glaciers. It was by the might of the father that the grace and glory of his son was violated.
Like with all fires, however, the embers remain.
After years of struggle, of curling in the dust and dirt, the embers sparked. Something shifted and moved. The forgotten pieces of his mind came together but did not push. The mind remembers scars, remembers pain. The memories gather and thrive, waiting for when consciousness calls to them-for when Lex Luthor willingly reaches for them.
They wait for the spark to become a forest fire.
They will not have to wait long. This time, there is no one to scatter them to the shadows beyond unconsciousness.
Luthor pulls up a picture and enlarges it until it fills the entire screen. It's a picture of Clark Kent dressed for a day out, in formfitting jeans, sneakers, a plain blue short sleeved button up, and his signature glasses. The man is sitting on a large quilted blanket against a tree in Metropolis Park with a book in hand. Lex's eyes trail over tanned kissed skin and defined muscles.
Was Kent always so…?, Luthor's thought fades off and he leans back in his chair. Was he always Kent? Wasn't there a time…a time when he was Clark?
The sudden sharp throb of his temple distracts him. He presses two fingers against a vein and message the tender flesh there. He changes the image, quickly, and the next image sends his body into a torrent of hot and cold.
On the screen, Clark isn't alone. Another sat with him on the same blanket. There is a teen with him…with the same blue eyes. He was reading a comic, the photo was top line, and the title of the comic glared at him. The tree over head gave a natural shade to the reading pair. The teen sat against the trunk of the tree behind him. He wore tan cargo pants with a red t-shirt and matching red sneakers. But there were also little things that snagged the billionaire's eye. They came to him in a rush.
Details so small and seemingly unimportant appeared in the center of his mind so rapidly his head started to swim. But the one thing that broke him, utterly shattered him, was the look on Clark's face. He was smiling…and Lex Luthor knew that smile!
The spark flared.
Lex Luthor fell to the floor clutching his head, eyes shut and jaw started to spasm.
Memories flooded his vision. There was nothing but a torrent of life and history clawing and growing. There was Clark and Lionel and Cleo and Lana and Lois and Nixon and faces and faces, everywhere. There were lies and secrets and secrets!
Lex Luthor sobbed, tears trickling down his cheeks and falling to the lavish carpet floor.
He shivered. He was cold all over. Colder than the chill and ice of the north glaciers. There was fear and loneliness and agony. But there was Clark. Clark and his smile. Clark and his bronze skin glistening with sweat. Clark and his cheeks blushing red. Clark. Clark. Clark.
Clark tearing the roof off of his car. Fighting Clark in the Fortress.
Lex Luthor lay twitching on the ground. Slowly the rage ebbed into a light drizzle. There was an echo of the old and new. They bleed into each other. They molded, fitting the pieces and fragments that were once jagged and incomplete into new forms. He felt hollow and light. The world was less dark, less evil and cruel and ugly. He raises himself onto this hands and knees, limbs shaking.
He manages to get a grip on to his desk and hoist his body into his chair. His breathing is irregular and heavy. After a few deep breathes, when he thinks he has a grasp on his composure, looks up again. He loses it.
Lex remembers tanned skin lying before his fireplace, smooth and unblemished. His cock hardens and his breathing starts to become erratic. His eyes darken in lust, pupils blown. Thin lips part for a moist pink tongue to glide across. Luthor doesn't look away from the photo. There, in the picture, was the teen he had claimed as his own. That same teen was now a man. That same man sat next to his progeny, his blood, with such a caring expression.
…And Luthor's expression darkened further.
That was his Clark.
That was his son.
Their son.
Luthor reaches for the phone on his desk. The person on the other end answers on the first ring.
"I have new orders for you." He straightens in his seat. "And keep it clean…"
…And if there is one thing that is unchanged between the Before and the Now, is that Luthors always got what they wanted.
Sorry its so short. But I've been busy with school and work. Plus this new internship I got in a magazine! So crazy happy I cried. Like literal tears. My friends had to group hug me to calm me down. But I'm happy and I'm going to try to post more. They might not be as long as they usually are but I'll try. Thanks guys!