The boy—the clone. Superboy. He lives in the Mount Justice Cave—to shame Superman into taking him home?—and so he sees a lot of the kid.
At first, the kid avoids him like the plague. But when the other kids are at school—and he knows that The Bat is probably working on creating some kind of identity for the kid while giving Superman time to adjust—Superboy doesn't have much else to do other than watch him. Like some kind of wild animal checking things out, he starts to circle in a little closer each day.
It takes him about three days to get close enough, lonely enough, that he's willing to talk to Crock. "You're Artemis's father, right?"
"Hey, kid. Yeah. Guilty as charged."
"She's a good fighter."
"Yes she is." He cocks an amused eyebrow at the boy. "Are you coming over to ask for my permission to date my little girl?"
"What? No!" The kid's face turns so red it's a wonder he doesn't love his super powers.
"You're saying she ain't good enough for you? You know what I did to the last guy who disrespected my little girl? Tell him Reddy."
"We're still looking for the body parts," Red Tornado said, deadpan.
It had taken five years, but he had finally taught the android to at least act like he had a sense of humor.
Superboy flushed. "I—why am I talking to you, anyway?"
"Because you're lonely and you're bored and you ain't got nothin' better to do." He barks out a laugh. "I'm just funning you, kid. I ain't lookin' to start any trouble." It's something he does; plays the bad guy role up a bit—people always assume you're an idiot if you toss in an occasional "ain't" or let your "g"'s drop. Kid needs to talk to someone who doesn't sound like a doctor.
"What do you know about it? What do you know about me?"
"What do I know? Not a lot. You're a clone of the Big Red S, but you don't have all his powers. You ain't livin' with him and you don't know why because somewhere along the way someone or something told you that blood's supposed to take care of blood and you're wonderin' why you ain't good enough for 'im."
"I don't have to listen to this!"
"No. You don't. But there ain't that much on television and you got another two hours before the rest of the kids get out of school and come back here to rag on the adults." He shrugs and flips another card over. "I was young once, too."
"Were there dinosaurs back then?" Superboy arches an eyebrow.
He barks out a laugh. "You're learnin', kid. Nah. No dinosaurs. But I had trouble with my old man too."
"He doesn't talk to me. He won't talk to me. I try and—" Superboy holds his hands up. "I don't understand. What's wrong with me? Is it because I can't fly—I'm not good enough-?"
"That ain't it, kid." He turns another card over and looks over at the boy. "Look, most guys get nine months to find out they're going to be a dad—the Big Red S was presented with a teenage reflection of himself with no warning whatsoever. I ain't sayin' he's handlin' it right, but it takes time to get used to the idea that you're a parent."
"How do I fix it? How do I make him like me?"
"You don't. You can't."
The kid scowls at him.
"It's because it's got nothin' to do with you, kid. It ain't because you can't fly. It's not because you're somehow not good enough to be his boy. No matter what you do, what you try, you ain't going to make him like you and want you. That's because the problem ain't yours—it's his."
The kid blinks in surprise.
"Superman is the Big Guy. Everyone expects him to take care of everythin' and everyone. He's not God, but people treat him like it—they forget that he's not perfect. Hell, he probably forgets it himself. He looks at you, and he sees himself—he looks at the things you can do and he sees how he could have turned out—and he's afraid. He's afraid he's going to screw it up—screw you up and then he'll be to blame for everything you do." He flips another card. "That, or he's just freaked out by seeing his high school graduation picture walking around as a real person."
"So what do I do?"
"You wait and see. You wait and see if he's gonna man up and grow a pair under those bright red trunks of his." He flips another card over. "But that doesn't mean you give up livin'. Bein' Superboy doesn't mean you have to be Superman's kid."
"I don't know how to do that."
"You'll learn, kid. You'll learn. No one expects you to know all the answers just a few days after hatchin'."
"I wasn't hatched." The ghost of a smile crosses his face. "I was decanted."
"Good ta know. Now sit down and I'll teach you something useful."
"What?" Superboy sits down, curious.
He grins at the kid and sweeps the cards up. "Poker."