Hey guys! So yeah, it's taken me an incredibly long time to update. Sorry about that. I've been planning and working on my novel for National Novel Writing Month, and that's kind of been taking up all of my time. Due to NaNoWriMo, my next update won't come until next month since I will be spending all of November trying to write a 50,000 word book. So yes, expect to see Chapter 8 at the beginning of December.

Sorry if there are a crazy amount of errors in this chapter, I was working quickly and didn't have time to revise.

Thank you all so much for your patience and reviews, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 7: Conner

Conner had woken up in a lot of strange conditions before, nursing a Psimon-induced headache, coming out of a M'gann-induced coma, and let's not forget being in the pod labeled "Kr". But this? This was by far the worst thing that he has ever woken up to. He had experienced pain before, and if those other things that he had experienced were considered "pain", then what he was feeling right now was far beyond any imaginable type of injury.

He lay on the thin, white sheets of a hospital bed, breathing slowly through an oxygen mask that covered his mouth and nose. Was that really necessary for him? He didn't know, nor did he care at this point. His lungs felt as if someone had taken a lighter to each one individually while they watched the tissue slowly burn away until all that was left were the charred remains. Each inhalation felt more painful than the last, and with every beat of his heart, he felt it coming closer and closer to pounding right through his chest. It was confusing to him how he could look so okay on the outside and be so completely dead on the inside. It seemed as if there wasn't a single scratch on him, but it sure as hell didn't feel like it.

He looked to his right, noticing that there was a glass of water sitting on his nightstand, and as he reached for it, his heart rate accelerated, causing his breathing to increase which in turn, brought on more agonizing pain. He groaned, ripping off the oxygen mask and sitting up in bed with one quick movement. Every tiny action made it seem as if he'd just ran a marathon, and within seconds of raising the glass to his lips, his vision became blurry. Swallowing hard, his hands began to tremble, and before he even had time to notice the sudden shaking, the glass slipped from his grasp, landing in his lap and spilling all over his bedding and gown…gown. He was wearing a hospital gown.

Eyes widening in horror, he picked up the glass and put it back on the nightstand before he had time to break it. He threw back the wet sheets, staring down at his bare legs as he let out a cracked groan of frustrated anguish. His clothes had to be here somewhere. There was no way he was going to let anybody see him in this thing. Scanning the room, his eyes locked on the jeans and boots sitting neatly on a chair in the corner. On the opposite side of the room. Perfect.

Spinning himself, he let his legs dangle over the side of the bed for a moment while he frantically rubbed the fuzziness out of his eyes. His ears were throbbing, and as he managed to get to his feet, the moment he put any weight into his legs his knees buckled. Gripping the bed, he tore the mattress as he fell to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. The tile was cold against his skin, and as he struggled to fight off blacking out from the searing pain coursing through his lungs, he found himself only able to think about how he'd just ripped the bed. He still had his strength.

The smallest sense of relief flooded his pulsating thoughts, but it was quickly replaced by the sudden feeling of embarrassment as Garfield walked into the room. Immediately upon noticing Conner's position, he gasped, racing to his side to help him up. "Jeez, Conner!" He draped Conner's arm around his neck before slowly standing him up. "What were you trying to do?"

"…" Conner stopped. He frowned, trying again. "…" No. No. His voice. It was gone. Gone. He couldn't talk. His throat went numb with each passing puff of air that came out of his mouth. The Kryptonite gas must've singed his throat on its way down to his lungs. A wave of panic swept over him as he moved to sit back down on the bed, clutching his throat with one hand and touching his temple with the other. This wasn't going to be permanent, right?

Garfield must've noted Conner's silent gestures because he scrunched his eyebrows in worry, sitting down next to him on the bed. "Oh my God. Conner…you can't talk…can you?"

Conner's breathing became more rapid as he closed his eyes, fighting back tears that, what he told himself, were due to the immense burning sensation accumulating in his chest. He rested his head in his hands, gripping his hair with his fingers and clenching his teeth. This could not be happening.

He felt the feathery light touch of Garfield's hand against his back, offering him comfort, and for a split second, his muscles relaxed, giving in to the small show of affection. Steadying his breathing, Conner wiped his faced before opening his eyes and turning to face the young hero. His blue eyes softened as he summoned a slight smile to his face, bringing his hand up to ruffle Garfield's hair, though Gar was smarter than that.

"No," Garfield proclaimed, removing Conner's hand from his head, "You're not okay. Don't even think about trying to tell me that you are."

Conner's smile faded as he realized that there was no way he was getting off easy here. What was he supposed to do? Even if he wanted to, it's not like he could talk about his feelings or anything. Remembering that he was still not wearing any pants, he perked up a bit and pointed towards his clothes and shoes. Garfield looked over, grinning as soon as he figured out why Conner had been on the floor in the first place.

"Got it," he said, "Yeah, I wouldn't want to be sitting around here without pants on either." Springing up from the bed, he retrieved Conner's clothing, handing it to the thankful meta. It was almost as if a sudden realization dawned on Garfield's face, and as Conner took his outfit, the younger boy chimed, "Do you, uh…do you need any help with that?"

Conner immediately blushed, shaking his head. As he began to dress himself, slipping his feet through the holes in his jeans, he unexpectedly felt as if he was forgetting something, and as he pulled his pants the rest of the way up, Garfield rubbed the back of his neck. "So…how are you feeling? Other than, ya know, the whole not talking thing."

Conner glared at him as he pulled the hospital gown up and over his head, grabbing the fresh, plain black shirt that he'd guessed one of his teammates had brought for him. He raised an eyebrow at Garfield, holding the shirt out as if to say "Did you bring me these clothes?" And as he put it on, Garfield shook his head.

"M'gann brought them for you. She figured that…well, that as soon as you woke up, you'd want them. I guess she was right." He smiled at his mentioning of her name, giving Conner a suggestive look. "She really does know you well, doesn't she?"

Conner rolled his eyes. He didn't need this right now. What he needed was for his lungs to stop burning and to figure out why he had the strange feeling that he was missing something here.

Okay. Let's recap: Mission. Queen Industries. Ninja guys. Separation. Kryptonite room… Nothing that he could think of…

M'gann. Of course! The fire. He wondered if she'd made it out without any substantial damage. She had apparently been well enough to bring him clean clothes, so that was a good sign. Looking back over at Garfield, he sized him up, not noticing any major injuries and thanking God for that. He grabbed the boy's shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes, mouthing the words: Where's M'gann?

Garfield chuckled, brushing him off. "Don't worry, she's okay. I got her out before things got too hot. Luckily, I'm only part Martian, so the heat doesn't really bother me as much." Conner let out a sigh of relief which for some reason, caused Garfield to tense up. He put a hand on Garfield's shoulder, looking at him as if asking what was wrong.

Garfield winced. "You…you have no idea what happened, do you?" Conner shook his head. Garfield sat on the bed as Conner waited for him to keep talking. He sighed. "Think, Conner. How do you think you got out of that building?"

Conner paused for a moment. If Garfield had saved M'gann, he most likely would have stayed with her to make sure that she was okay, which left the notion that…

Oh God. Robin. Robin had been with them, too, hadn't he? He mouthed the name, and Garfield nodded, looking down at his feet. "It was his idea, going in after you. M'gann tried to stop him, but he didn't want to risk leaving you in there until backup arrived."

Conner's stomach lurched. Oh God. What had he done? Had Robin… Garfield must have noticed Conner's uneasiness because he quickly spoke up. "Oh, he's not dead! Oh, God, yeah, he didn't die or anything, he's just bruised and…well, his tibia is broken in two places, he has three broken ribs, he's still unconscious, and…they're not sure if he's gonna wake up."

The meta stared down at his knees, collecting his thoughts. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This couldn't have been real. Why would Robin do that for him? It's not like they were exactly "best friends" or anything like that. Well…actually, he probably would have done the same thing for him, he guessed. They were teammates, that's what they were supposed to do. It was just weird to hear that someone was so willing to risk their life in order to save Conner's. Especially Robin. He'd never known how selfless that the young hero was until now.

There was a long, awkward silence following Garfield's startling information as Conner tried to process what he was suddenly feeling. Guilt? Gratitude? Worry? What should he be feeling? Conner turned to Garfield and mouthed: Where's Robin?

Garfield's eyes filled with hope. "He's in the room down the hall. I can help you there if you're up to it?" Conner nodded as Garfield hopped off of the bed and took his arm over his shoulders again. Stepping off of the bed, he limped towards the door, and just as they were about to make their way out, a striking man with raven hair and bright blue eyes walked into the room. He looked very familiar, but Conner was pretty sure he'd never seen him before.

Garfield hunkered over. "Hey." He spoke defensively. "Look, before you get all-"

"Gar, could you give us a minute?" He interrupted.

"But Conner didn't have anything to do with-"

"Please?" He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows. Garfield hesitated, but he nodded, walking Conner back to his bed and letting him sit down before slowly walking towards the door. He stopped for a moment, making eye contact with Conner one last time before leaving completely. Great. Here Conner was with some pissed-off stranger in his room with no explanation for whatever he was most likely pissed-off about. He was probably here because of Robin, and Conner guessed him to be his older brother maybe, much too young to be his dad. He closed the door, hand lingering on the knob.

"Conner…I know you can't talk," he stated, "They said you wouldn't be able to talk. At least not for now, anyways." The man walked over to him, standing a few feet away. "You probably have no idea who I am, do you?"

Conner shrugged.

"I guess you've never seen me without my mask, have you?"

Conner froze. His eyes widened. Dick? He mouthed.

"Look, Conner, I'm not here to yell at you," he began, "I'm just here to tell you that next time, when something like this happens, please pay closer attention to him, okay? He's so young, and I don't want..." He looked off to the side for a moment before continuing. "…Why did you let him do that?"

Conner shook his head as if to say that he had no idea, that there was nothing he could've done, but Dick ignored him. He was getting a little angry now. "Why would you let him stay inside of a burning building with a broken leg to save you? You're Kryptonian, it's not like you needed saving!" He clenched his fists at his sides. "And I know there was Kryptonite gas, and I know that you're in a whole lot of pain right now, but you're going to recover. You heal ten times faster than a normal man. Robin is just a person. And now…" He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. "I don't even know what I'm saying."

Conner had only seen Dick cry two times in his life. The first time was after the death of Jason Todd. The second time was right now.

The Superboy continued in his attempts to get Dick to try and understand what he was saying, but the stubborn acrobat wouldn't have it. He rubbed his eyes, completely disregarding the tears, and stated sternly, "You…you are to never go on another mission with him again, do you hear me?" He was shouting now. "Never again! Don't even talk to him!" As Dick stormed out of the room, Conner held out his hand in his direction, trying to get him to hear him out, but it was no use. He guessed that Garfield had tried explaining things to Dick, but the hard-headed leader most likely wasn't willing to listen to a child, especially with such a sensitive subject. Where was M'gann? Had Dick not spoken with her? Conner had to find her. Dick listens to M'gann. She would explain everything until his damn voice came back.

Quickly, he put on his boots and got off of the bed. It was still painful as hell, but he could already feel his body beginning to heal. At least now he could stand on his own…somewhat.

Mt. Justice…

After searching practically everywhere he could in his condition, Conner gave up. He collapsed onto his bed with a broken grunt. Where was she? It was useless. Useless. He couldn't find her anywhere. It was almost as if she was hiding from him or something. And to top things off, he couldn't even get in to check on Robin, to see if there had been any progress. Dick wouldn't let him. Conner could understand Dick's reaction, but he was being completely unfair. It was Conner they were talking about here, not some serial killer who'd tried to murder the kid!

Against his better judgment, he sprung up off of the bed, punching the wall, and it crumbled beneath his fist, knocking over his nightstand. The drawers flew open as it landed, a box springing out and hitting him in the feet.

A lead box.

Brushing the drywall off of himself, he leaned down, grunting as he felt the soreness in his back and picked up the box, sitting back down on the bed. He examined the container. As crazy as it sounds, he'd kind of almost forgotten about this thing. This source of what would supposedly be "ultimate power" for him. He wavered a moment before slowly unlatching the top and lifting the lid, revealing the thin leather bracelet, the red K glittering as if it had a life of its own.

It couldn't possibly work, couldn't possibly be or do what Lex claimed that it was…but what if…

Conner smirked. Either way, he was going to find out.