Ftr, I dropped watching Young Justice after what they did to Cassandra Cain's (and by extension Barbara's) character in S4, but Conner will always be my ragey bby~
Feeling like a hero but I can't fly
No, you'll never crash if you don't try
Took it to the edge, now I know why
Never gonna live if you're too scared to die
-Goo Goo Dolls, "So Alive"
After.
"I don't like it."
Tim leaned over to Dick and whispered in a light lilt:
"'It' doesn't like being called an 'it'."
Standing before them in the center of the loft was a burly youth with jet-black hair and wary blue eyes; strong, square-set jaw tilted defiantly towards the two – plus another muscular man in a red cape towering over the entire trio. Dick and Tim shifted sight anxiously back and forth between the confronting opposites – or rather parallels, as the stranger bore a striking semblance to his elder, almost a miniature model (especially as both had their limbs crossed in identical positions). Superman stared suspiciously down at his mirror image, studying him hard as steel.
"You say you found him wandering the streets?"
He prompted, addressing Tim rather than the one before him.
"You make it sound like he's some stray dog." The subject narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. "There was a crash at an intersection; some clueless guy walked right into the direct middle of traffic, and I watched with my own eyes as a car ran straight into him. He was fine afterwards, but the vehicle was totaled. Not exactly something you see in Gotham everyday. So I checked to make sure the driver was okay, before getting this crazy kid the hell out of there before the police and media showed up and started swarming."
"You made a good call. I'll- contact the League, and we'll take… 'it' from here."
"Hold it," the ticked-off teen spoke up at last. "Don't I get a say in any of this? Who gave you the right to just go deciding things on your own? You're not the boss of me."
The Man of Steel made an expression like a wild animal had just suddenly started spouting fluent English phrases.
"You claim to be my clone, that we share the same DNA. That Cadmus created you – in order to take my place in the event of my demise… or to take me down, if necessary. That makes you my responsibility."
The boy huffed, unimpressed.
"I don't care about any of that. I just got sick of them trying to control me all the time. So I busted out. But, if you're going to stand in my way," he boldly balled his knuckles, "Then I will fight you."
Superman glared coolly at the raised fist. So much anger – and danger – all in one unstable adolescent. …Frankly he recognized that look, as his gaze traveled subtly to Tim out of the corner of his periphery, before flicking back.
"That makes you a loose cannon, if not an outright threat. You really expect me to believe that you're not here on some covert mission? That Cadmus hasn't already filled your brain with an assassination objective, fully trained you on how to kill? This isn't the first time they've employed this tactic."
"Yeah yeah, I know all about Supergirl's clone. My supposed 'big sister'." Resembling a rude child, he repeatedly mimed finger-quotes in the air. (It was a wonder where he picked that gesture up from.) "The failure. They said she was 'defective'. That they learned from their mistakes, and made me to be 'better'. 'Perfect'."
Superman mused if that was the reason he remained so… "juvenile" compared to Kara's copy, who had been artificially aged to maturity, as well as peak physical strength. Perhaps, they thought that by keeping this one more mentally regressed, he'd be easier to rein in – "mold" to whatever warped purpose they had in mind.
"She was a soldier. A slave. Raised to obey and follow orders. There's no proof you're not carrying out the same directive right now."
Despite his doubt, deep down Clark wanted to believe in the boy's words. That their plan had indeed backfired, and all the hormonal rage and rebellion had culminated in preventing a pure, innocent soul from being corrupted, having luckily managed to escape before the indoctrination process could be completed.
Tim interjected at that juncture-
"Look, supposing he is telling the truth – what do you plan to do with him?"
Superman debated, honestly still somewhat unsure of his own intentions. His… "feelings" towards this "thing" in front of him. His foster cousin hadn't considered her doppelganger a "real person" for even a second – which may have been her only way of coping with the concept that another version of her could ever exist to serve – be "evil". He had been inclined to concur back then, but now that he was faced with his own reflection, it was ironically a different story. Additionally, he had witnessed firsthand a potential future where a dark side of his soul reigned supreme, what a superpowered person of his caliber was capable of if sent on the wrong path…
"We can take him to the Watchtower. He'll be safe there."
Tim snorted.
"Why? So you can keep him under constant lock and observation all the time? How is that any better than him being with Cadmus?" He scoffed on the other's behalf. "Are you really going to deny him freedom as soon as he's found it?"
There was a sensitive edge to Tim's tone, and Dick picked up on it too as he cast an awkward sidelong glance towards his brother. He was clearly taking this personally, projecting his own past experience of being forced into secluded privacy (sadly sometimes even padded rooms and restraints) for nearly a year following his… "ordeal". Being regarded – and thus subconsciously treated – almost as an "object" himself.
"What do you propose then?"
Tim shrugged.
"Why not just let him stay here?"
Each and every other person in the room stunned at the suggestion, including the one in question. Dick reached out and put a firm paw on his sibling's shoulder.
"Tim, can I have a word with you for a moment?"
Superman insistently joined the timeout as the guardian duo drew Tim into a hushed huddle, hovering over him simultaneously in lecturing stances.
"Are you out of your friggin' mind?"
Dick tested in utter disbelief, to which Tim merely rolled his eyes and retorted:
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
"We don't know anything about this dude, and you want to just let him move in with us? We have no idea what he's capable of. He could murder us in our sleep – hell, at any time – with his bare hands."
"And no one thought that about me after Arkham."
"Tim…"
"You guys gave me a second chance."
"You're human." Dick glimpsed apologetically towards the third party. "No offense."
"None taken."
Dick shook his head, returning attention to Tim. "What makes you think he can even be trusted?"
Tim simply shrugged again.
"Dunno." He gleamed mischievously. "Would you believe me if I told you a little 'voice' in my head says it's okay?"
His senior sighed in exasperation at the mildly mocking smirk on his lips.
"Tim, now is not the time to be making jokes."
Tim kept playing along though, putting his palms together in a pretend-pleading pose, puppy pupils shining as he begged.
"Oh please, can we keep him?"
Dick veered desperately to his partner, beseeching for assistance. "C'mon, Clark, back me up here."
The other older male was oddly mute though, deliberating pensively before declaring at last:
"…I'll allow it."
Dick's jaw dropped to the floor, floored by the unanticipated approval.
"You're not serious?"
"Tim's right, keeping him cooped up in space isn't a sufficient solution. It might be better to have him experience Earth instead. Be around regular people, learn about our society through actual interaction." His vision squarely met Tim's. "…Let him lead a 'normal' life."
Dick wasn't convinced though.
"What if he is our enemy? He could turn out to be some kind of monster."
Just then, the topic of their discussion elevated his volume:
"You guys do realize I can still hear you, right?"
The three revolved around as he pointed irately at his ears.
"I've got superhearing too, remember?"
He folded his arms in further frustration.
"If you don't want me here, fine. Then I'll leave. But I'm not going back to being constantly told what to do and where I can and can't go."
Superman stepped forward, solemn and severe.
"You can stay, on one condition. You are not to activate your abilities, under any circumstances. Not until you've proven yourself completely trustworthy, that you can integrate successfully with this planet and abide by its rules."
The lad looked even more aggravated by the notion, bristling in irritation and insolence.
"What's the point of having powers if I can't even use them for anything?"
"It's to teach you self-discipline. Listen to me: The people of this world are incredibly fragile, and if you're not careful, you could easily end up hurting someone, even if you don't mean to. And trust me, I will be keeping an ear out for anything suspect. If I hear one whiff of you causing harm to anyone, I will bring the entire Justice League down on you so fast you won't know what hit you. We will hunt you down, no matter where you go."
His replica gnashed his teeth. The G-Gnomes and scientists had instructed him on how to combat the League, made him go through each member's file and drills multiple times until he memorized their weaknesses by heart. Still, the prospect of taking them all on at once wasn't an idea he really relished the thought of, if he could avoid it. Grudgingly, he acquiesced.
"Fine. I accept your terms."
"Goody," Tim piped up as he sauntered forth to pat his new "playmate" on the back. "Welcome to the 'Rejects Club', pal. Hope you enjoy your stay. We've got a cripple, a crazy clown killer," he indicated offhandedly towards a dumbfounded Dick and himself, "previously a crackhead junkie, and now a clone. We should call ourselves the 'Three Caba-zeros'."
The boy blinked blankly at him.
"…Man, maybe we need to work on your sense of humor." Tim deflated in disappointment. "First things first though," he scrutinized the bland white jumpsuit the other was wearing, tasteless and tattered so that a flap fell over his nigh-bare exposed chest (coincidentally concealing a scarlet symbol that matched his double). "We should get you some clothes. Mine probably won't fit you, so you'll have to borrow my bro's for now. Is that okay?"
Dick lifted his hands in defeat as Tim twisted towards him – too late – to request for permission.
"I guess. Whatever, go knock yourselves out." Under his breath, he muttered: "This is insane."
"Thank you."
Tim responded dully, and Dick couldn't tell which statement it was in answer to.
As Tim led their guest away, the other visitor exhaled, appearing extremely exhausted. Dick couldn't help but think that were he in civilian disguise right now, Clark Kent the Daily Planet reporter would be removing his glasses to rub his tired lids. He approached gingerly, trying to imagine what must be going through the man's mind at the moment.
"You all right?"
"…I just came face to face with my genetic duplicate who was secretly born without my knowledge or consent. It's bad enough the government exploited my kid cousin, now I'm the source of introducing a possible new peril to this planet."
Dick clapped Clark on his broad back.
"We don't know that he's a risk yet."
A wistful mist slipped onto the man's visage as he reminisced.
"His eyes… They remind me of Kara's. Proud. Arrogant. Stubborn." He beamed faintly in mixed fondness at the memory. Dick looked on with sympathy.
"…You miss her, don't you."
Clark respired.
"I worry about her. I respect her decision to stay in the future, and I'm glad she found happiness there, a place where she belongs and can spread her own wings. …Still, I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me that she ended up with a descendant of Brainiac, of all beings in the universe. I still can't wrap my head around it."
Dick quietly contemplated the other's sour countenance.
"You're sure you're not transferring some of that resentfulness onto the kid?"
Clark flinched, but made no effort to refute. Brainiac, Darkseid, Luthor – all had their periods of portraying themselves as harmless and peaceable – before stabbing him in the back yet again. As much as he strove to give the benefit of the doubt to strangers and established comrades, when it came to personal grudges against archvillains he wasn't about to allow himself to fall victim to another ruse – even if he wasn't quite certain where on the spectrum the current concern lay.
"That's why I'm entrusting this task to you. I'm counting on you to watch over him. If anything happens, I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."
"…You're asking an awful lot of someone who can't even see completely right anymore, let alone throw a proper punch or kick," Dick mumbled in partial jest.
It was Clark's turn to bolster the other's backside.
"I have faith in you. You see the good in others, and that's what matters. If anyone can keep him on the right track, you can."
Dick's own one worn eye swiveled aside.
"I'm not so sure about that anymore."
He murmured in a morose manner, as Clark thumped supportively a second time.
"If there's one thing we can't lose, it's hope. If we do, then we've really, truly lost. It means that they beat us. That they won."
Dick looked up at the smiling superhero – a man he himself looked up to once, idolized as much as another brave icon…
"I'll ask Bruce to send over some Kryptonite anyway, just in case," Clark continued, treading carefully with his words; figuring that if the kid did indeed have Kryptonian blood in him, logically he should be susceptible to its effects too. "I'm sure he's got tons of the stuff stashed somewhere."
Dick cleared his throat.
"Have you… heard from him at all recently?"
"No," Clark confessed. "I was hoping you had."
"We don't… talk anymore. Not really."
"I see."
There was an uncomfortable beat, before Dick carried on with another curious inquiry.
"What about… Diana? How's she doing? I… know she and Bruce were… close."
Though they had never officially met, he had wondered, idly, how she felt on the whole affair with Barbara – Batgirl. As far as he knew, Bruce – Batman – had never actively pursued a relationship with Wonder Woman, despite obvious mutual infatuation and daytime persona's playboy tendencies.
"Diana's doing fine. She's strong." Clark softened in appreciation and understanding. "…So are the two of you."
He reinforced the other's shoulder once more, before releasing and beginning to head for the exit.
"Both of you, look after each other. Families are tough to keep together, I know. But, that's why you need to treasure the time you have. Before you know it, you can lose someone entirely from your life, and then that's it. Don't ever take those precious moments you shared for granted. And…" He hesitated on the handle, acknowledging his own hypocrisy. "Look out for the kid for me too, will you?"
Dick nodded.
"Don't worry, I'll keep a close 'eye' on him."
Clark's facial features twitched marginally at the poor attempt at a pun.
"Thanks. Oh, and you don't need to worry about tracking devices either by the way. I checked, the kid's clean."
"How'd you-" Dick cut himself off, slapping his forehead with a grin. "Oh, right. Duh. X-ray vision."
Superman winked at him, before opening the door and speeding off into the sky, towards the hill where Wayne Manor overlooked the city. Dick watched him go, vanishing into a speck, before slowly shutting the egress behind him. Hobbling upstairs after the previous pair, he made a beeline for the fridge and grabbed a beer, flopping down on the sofa as he endeavored hard not to think about the fact there was a half-naked superhuman clone currently raiding through his wardrobe. Scanning absently around at the several "Flying Graysons" posters lining the walls surrounding him, he pondered just when had his own place – personal space – suddenly become so crowded again. Somehow, it seemed his "private bachelor pad" had been converted to a "wayward home for lost boys" without him noticing.
…But then, he thought as he popped the top and took a swig, Bruce had done pretty much the exact same thing, hadn't he.
…
"So… You two were 'superheroes' once too."
"Yup."
"And… You don't have any special powers."
"Nope."
"How'd you guys do it?"
Tim shrugged.
"A lot of training, a lot of skill, a lot of sleepless nights – and some luck. …Although that ran out eventually, as you can see."
The other teenager nervously massaged the back of his neck.
"I guess humans really are fragile."
"Inside and out."
Tim impassively agreed.
"So, uh… Do you really hear like, 'voices' and stuff?"
The query ventured cautiously.
"Voices, hallucinations, homicidal urges – the works."
His company's irises widened in alarm.
"…I was kidding. About that last part anyway." (…For the most part.)
"Oh."
Tim shook his head. It seemed "sarcasm" was something else he'd have to teach this kid.
"Still want to crash with us?"
The "alien" looked uneasily down at his toes.
"I dunno… It doesn't seem as if your brother really cares for me all that much…"
"Don't sweat it. He'll come around."
"Why'd you stick up for me anyway? We hardly even know each other."
Tim shrugged his shoulders again.
"I know what it's like to be labeled a 'freak'. To be tossed aside and treated like you don't – shouldn't – exist."
The other boy's knuckles clenched.
"I bet 'that guy' just wanted me out of the way so he doesn't have to deal with me. So he can hog all the glory to himself."
"Maybe. …Although in his own way, he's probably trying to protect you too."
Tim seemed to be talking – rationalizing – more to himself than his newly acquired acquaintance at this point, leaving the latter confused. Snapping up from his stupor, he quickly pushed the conversation aside.
"Anyway, more importantly, go pick something out to change into. Anything will do for now, I can take you shopping for stuff in your size later."
His companion complied, digging deep through the closet's contents, which mostly consisted of cool leather jackets and jeans. (…No more ugly sweater vests, Tim noted nonchalantly.) At length he pulled out a black T-shirt from the far back, rotating it around to reveal a plastisol ruby logo echoing his own emblem. …Seems Dick hadn't thrown out everything from his adulating adolescence after all.
"This. …I'll take this."
"…A bit on the nose with the irony, isn't it?"
There was no reply as the plunderer stripped then and there, showing zero signs of modesty as he stretched the prize snugly over his (admittedly impressive) abs. Tim felt his face growing hot for some reason as he averted and coughed.
"Well, what do you know, it fits. …Now don't forget to put on some pants."
He hastily tossed a pair of trousers towards the half-dressed hunk, smacking him on the snout as forecasted. The target detached the denim wrapping and dutifully donned it as well.
"You're gonna need a name too. Unless you actually want us to keep calling you 'it'." A pause, as he wondered whether whoever brought the puppet to life actually bothered to give their creation a designation. "…What did Cadmus call you?"
A shrug.
"They mostly just referred to me as 'Experiment 13' or 'Project Kr' or simply 'the weapon'." (Again with the finger-quotes.) "Although, after I broke out of the pod, I found a 'top-secret' document that stated my actual 'codename' was 'Kon-El'. …Before I tore it and the place apart anyway."
Been there, done that, Tim thought to himself as he rolled the title on the tip of his tongue.
"Kon-El, Kon… Sounds foreign, it would definitely stand out way too much." (As if he didn't already.) "…How about 'Conner' instead?"
The boy tilted his head as he mulled over the moniker for a minute, before nodding in approval.
"As for a last name…" An almost wicked spark flashed. "So long as we're being daring and tempting fate, what do you think about 'Kent'? That's Superman's citizen surname."
Conner debated for an interval again, then signaled another affirmation.
"'Conner Kent' it is then."
Tim thus dubbed his new bud. Sobriquet settled, he held out his hand and introduced:
"My name's 'Tim' by the way. …Although the voice in my head likes to call me 'JJ'."
He added with a casual hint of a grin, taking a mordant stab at his "witty sarcasm" again. (Besides, a semi-sadistic streak in him still enjoyed watching others squirm whenever he willingly brought up his apparent lack of "sanity".) Conner seemed sincere though as he looked Tim dead in the eye – undeterred – and mimicked the motion, greeting with a mighty grip. Seems he was at least aware of what a "handshake" entailed at least.
"…You know, when I was inside the tube – before they put me in a pod – I used to hear a 'voice' too."
"You mean those 'G-Gnome' things you mentioned?"
Conner shook his head.
"No, it was weird. Different. Definitely human."
"You're sure it wasn't one of the scientists?"
"It was more like a… girl's voice." He frowned, struggling to sort out a jumbled fog of hazy memories from the first few weeks of being "formed". "She kept… crying out and asking for someone to be her 'friend'. For someone to come 'save' her. …She sounded really scared."
Tim stared at him, unsure what to say.
"Maybe we're both actually crazy."
"Heh. Maybe."
It was Conner's turn to look brooding though as he ruminated. Tentatively, Tim tried to distract by taking their new tenant on a tour, grasping him by the hand again.
"Come on. Let me show you around."
After Conner had familiarized himself with most of the facility's amenities, his host deemed it time to get back to unfinished business.
"We still need to create an 'official' public identity for you. Don't worry, it'll be easy." Tim snapped his tips. "I can make it so Cadmus won't be able to trace your location status at all. …I'll need some better equipment than just my laptop though."
He pressed his palm to a secret security panel (having overridden access yet again without his brother's knowledge), and a section of the partition slid open to reveal a hidden doorway. Entering into the restricted alcove, Tim took a seat at the desk where a giant triple-monitor display was assembled, inertly collecting a thin layer of dust. Conner tiptoed in after, and wordlessly analyzed the enormous circus scroll behind them (the likes of which he had encountered – counted – an extraordinary quantity of various other advertising prints stationed all around the building) as Tim booted up the system. Conner turned at the sound of ferocious keyboard typing as Tim brought up a cascade of windows on separate computer screens all at once, digits switching nimbly between numerous tabs and increasing digital lines of text like lightning, as the stupefied spectator marveled at his capacity to keep track of them all.
"What… is all this?"
A slightly smug smirk tugged at the verge of Tim's mouth.
"This, my friend, is how we do – did things in Gotham. Now then…" He flexed his fingers dramatically. "Watch me work some magic."
I am no man of steel
I have no heart of stone
Don't tell me how it feels
I'll find it on my own
...I lied. This is totally a harem story, *flees*