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The cave was humid, cool, and draped in shadows. Conner could hear waterfalls somewhere in the distance, as well as the frantic heartbeats of bats and the occasional creak and pop as machinery warmed and cooled. The odd hiss or growl. Conner shivered, even though he didn’t feel the cold, and Superman – Clark – put a steadying hand in the middle of his back. Clark was a warm presence behind him, and Conner and tried to channel his nervous energy into knocking against the sides of the medical table with his heels. He stopped when he realized he was leaving dents. Batman scowled at him, and Conner reared back in spite of himself before squaring his shoulders and sneering at the Dark Knight.
“’Sup?”
He heard Clark’s bemused sigh but didn’t bother turning around. Batman, for his part, only granted him a grumble.
“He looks a little thin.” Batman’s “working voice” was the opposite of Clark’s, Conner thought: deep, threatening, threaded through with barely-controlled rage. Add in a dash of arrogance and sarcasm and you had Luthor. Conner shivered again and Clark’s hand moved to rest on his shoulder with a light squeeze.
“We’re working on that,” Clark assured Batman. Conner flushed. Clark’s parents, Ma and Pa, had been delighting in setting as many dishes in front of him as possible, and Ma always refused to let him leave the table until he’d eaten everything on his plate. She’d pat her soft hand on his ever-more-rounded cheek, cooing in satisfaction as if she was a farmer fattening up a pig. He didn’t mind especially. He couldn’t really recall eating before, aside from the rare snack at an event. He’d wanted to try everything. Even if it mostly boiled down to potatoes, beans, beef, and apple pie. So much apple pie.
“If you’re working on that, why did you feel the need to bring him here?” Batman asked. His cowl was lead-lined, but Conner was sure a blood vessel must be pulsing somewhere around his forehead. Conner scowled at him. Things had happened fast when he’d been assigned to guard the President, and there were a hundred voices in his ears, but he did remember Batman’s: “I say take the shot.” That had been a joke. Batman had been joking. Conner hoped.
“Don’t be like that,” Clark replied, voice gentle but with a hint of steel. “I was hoping you could use your . . . specialized equipment to take some blood samples, some scans. In case anything ever happens and we need a medical baseline. There’s never been anyone like Conner before. I don’t want us to be working from a place of ignorance.”
“STAR Labs also has that equipment.”
“I trust you more than STAR Labs,” Clark said with finality.
Batman grunted and turned away, rummaging through drawers as Conner shifted on the table. Conner. The name had been Pa’s idea, the name of a favorite uncle or something. It had stuck, and over time, Conner had become used to it. He hadn’t had a name before, other than “Superman,” and that was now taken. Yet “Conner” hadn’t really felt like his until a few weeks ago, flipping through channels in Clark’s living room while Ma puttered around in the kitchen. He’d landed on an episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. It wasn’t even a sad episode, but he’d found himself crying. Not even manly, subtle tears – huge, gulping, ugly sobs. He’d felt the couch shift as Ma sat next to him and pulled him against her shoulder. “Now, now, Conner,” she’d said gently. “Now, now.” His cries had brought Superman all the way from Portugal in an absolute panic, but he wasn’t angry like Conner assumed he would be. The Kents only ever touched him to comfort him. It was a new experience.
Clark shook him, and Conner snapped back to the cave. “What?”
“Conner, Batman needs you to take off your shirt. Just for a minute.”
Conner eyed Batman skeptically, his gaze traveling from his frowning face to the empty syringe in his right hand. A syringe with a glowing green tip.
Conner didn’t remember taking off, but now he was thirty feet in the air, his back to a dripping stalactite, getting mud and bat guano and who knew what else on the back of his jacket. He didn’t care. He shook down to his bones with a half-forgotten fear.
“Conner?!” Clark called up to him, drifting slowly upwards. “What’s wrong? Batman won’t hurt you.”
Conner shrunk against the stalactite. The cave seemed even darker than before from up here, making the green glow all the brighter.
Clark followed his gaze. “Is it the kryptonite? We only need it to pierce your skin. Batman has a sun lamp – you’ll feel better in no time once he’s done. It’ll only take a minute.”
Clark made to fly up to him, but Batman caught his red cape and shook his head. “Superboy. Conner,” Batman amended at Clark’s pointed look, “Did Luthor have a syringe like this?”
Conner was going to nod, but he was beginning to feel a little faint. Why was breathing out so hard? When did the air become so thick? Clark was saying something to Batman. It sounded far away.
“Because Lois told us that she thought Luthor had tried to murder the boy,” Batman said, distaste and fury buzzing beneath the surface of his voice. “Now we know he did.” Batman looked back up at Conner. He was beginning to look a little fuzzy in Conner’s vision. “Get ready to catch him.”
Batman put the syringe down and reached up for his cowl, pulling it off in a single, practiced tug. The man underneath was stern-looking and angular, but vaguely familiar. Conner was trying to figure out exactly how he knew him when he lost his grip on the rock and fell. Clark caught him before he could even close his eyes.
When Conner woke, he was wrapped in Superman’s cape and blinking up at Batman, his dark hair slightly mussed from the cowl. A place on the inside of Conner's right elbow stung, but that pain was fading more every moment. More irritating was the too-bright lamp shining directly into his face.
“I took a blood sample while you were out,” Batman supplied, examining him with a neutral expression.
Conner took a steadying breath and looked around. “Who else is here?”
“Alfred,” Batman called, and an elderly man with a kind smile stepped out of the glare.
“You must be the Superboy we’ve been hearing about,” Alfred said, pulling back the cape to examine Conner’s arm. “It’s an honor to have yet another illustrious guest on my gurney. I hope, unlike some people, you will not be a repeat customer.”
“Hn,” Batman replied, and gave a brief nod of dismissal. Alfred raised an eyebrow at the man before giving Conner a gentle pat and evaporating into the shadows. Conner listened for his footsteps to fade and finally decided he and Batman were alone. He wanted to ask the man something, a worry he'd been carrying for months, but he doubted Clark would tell him the truth. Batman didn't seem like a man who would spare his feelings.
“There have been people like me before,” He started, and Batman nodded at him to continue. “Luthor said that there were others. I don’t know how many. He killed them all. Some kind of kryptonite poison. He was going to kill me. I wasn’t – I wasn’t a good enough return on his cash, I guess.”
Batman crossed his arms and said nothing, waiting for Conner to continue. Conner chewed his lip and met Batman’s gaze. “I thought for a while I was the first, but . . . do you think Luthor was telling the truth?”
“Probably,” Batman replied immediately. “Cloning is rarely successful on its first try. Though,” he added, "I can't speak as to whether they were as functional as you."
Meaning they might not have been alive or conscious enough to murder, Conner thought to himself. He supposed he would never know. “I didn’t know what I was until Lois found out.”
Batman grunted in response, eyes narrowing. Conner glared up at him. “I didn’t know Lex was my other dad either. That’s not my fault!”
“I never said it was.” Batman relaxed his stance, and, with effort, lowered his arms to his sides.
“Do you remember the name of the scientist who worked on the project?”
“Dr. Donovan,” Conner said, voice nearly catching on the words.
“Dabney Donovan?” Batman asked, and Conner nodded. “Might’ve known. Do you know where he is now? I don’t like the idea of him out there, knowing what makes you and Superman tick.”
Conner swallowed. “He’s dead.”
“You’re sure?” Batman asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“I’m sure!” Conner bellowed. “Lex made me listen to him die! I’m sure!”
“We’re fine,” Batman said quietly, seemingly to empty air. Conner ignored him.
“Dr. Donovan convinced Lex not to kill me, but Lex always had kryptonite on him. I could always feel it. I don’t know where he kept it, but he dragged me into the elevator and released the other experiments. They ripped Dr. D apart. He stopped the elevator so I had to listen to him getting ripped apart!” Conner took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down the nausea boiling up in his guts. “Dr. D let me watch TV shows. He told me that people would like me. That I would be a hero.”
“Do not go to Luthor’s home. We’ll deal with him later,” Batman said sharply.
“I’m not going back there!” Conner snapped back.
“Wasn’t talking to you,” Batman ground out, then relaxed. Something had softened in his face.
“I should have tried to save him,” Conner said, sinking further into Superman’s cape. “But I thought he might have another syringe.”
“I can guarantee you he did,” Batman said evenly. “Luthor always has fail-safes within fail-safes. Had you tried to break out of the elevator, you would have died and been replaced.”
“I should have done it anyway,” Conner said bitterly, raking an arm over his eyes. “It’s what Superman would have done.”
“Superman is Superman,” Batman agreed. “But, speaking personally, I for one am glad you’re still here, and not just because you helped save the League.” He smirked. “And I’m glad Green Lantern didn’t end up taking that shot.”
Conner flushed and looked up at Batman, aghast. Could he read minds?
“No,” Batman answered. “Do you think you can handle the elevator up to the mansion?”
Conner was too busy admiring Batman’s telepathic abilities to register “mansion,” but he nodded, launching off the gurney and wadding the cape into a ball against his chest. They made their quiet way to the elevator, and Batman motioned Conner in. Once the door slid home and the box lurched upward, Batman turned to examine the boy fidgeting across from him.
“When I was young, I witnessed an act of violence I was powerless to stop. You can either let that moment consume you or you can let it motivate you. I suggest the latter.”
Conner clutched Superman’s cape a bit tighter, blinking up at Batman in surprise. “Thanks, Bats.”
Batman grumbled again and glared down at Conner. It was no less potent without the mask. “I am Batman.”
Conner nodded vigorously as the doors chimed open. Saved by the bell.
Superman had him wrapped up in a hug before they’d even opened all the way. Embarrassed, Conner wriggled, and Clark reluctantly let him down, but didn’t take his cape from him before pulling both Alfred and Bruce away. The only person left was a young teenager wearing a suspicious scowl.
Met with the new boy’s sour expression, Conner defaulted to his most arrogant smile as he took in the rich library around him. “Man, you be up in here maxing and relaxing!”
That won him only a puzzled frown.
“This is . . . funky fresh?” Conner tried again.
“Ah, you’re Superman’s brat,” the boy said, as if the hug earlier hadn’t already convinced him of that. “The one raised by 1990’s-era American sitcoms.”
“It was either that or listen to my dad and become a supervillain!” Conner snapped, face heating.
“My mother and grandfather are also supervillains,” the boy said with a grin. “We must compare evil family members at some point.” The boy held out his hand. “Damian Wayne. Batman’s brat.”
“Wayne?” Conner echoed as he shook Damian’s hand. “Wait, Batman is Bruce Wayne? Man, that’s awesome. Lex Luthor hates Bruce Wayne.”
This earned him another toothy grin. “Father says we are to attend the same school in the fall. I was hesitant at first, and it appears I do have my work cut out for me, but I believe I have the time to sufficiently reprogram you to avoid any unseemly behavior. I have worked hard for my social position at Gotham Academy, and I will not tolerate dead weight. No more . . . ‘funky fresh.’”
“But Will Smith is the best!” Conner insisted helplessly. “And what do you mean ‘social position?’ Don’t tell me the son of Batman cares about being prom king. Because, let me just warn you, that crown is going to be mine. The ladies can’t resist me.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “I will be prom king,” he said with cold fury, though Conner could practically hear the thrill of competition crackling through the other boy's skull. Damian shook himself. “I propose a test. If my dog, Ace, likes you, I shall consider allowing you to visit Titans Tower to . . . max and relax, as you say. On a temporary and conditional basis.”
It turned out Conner was very good with dogs.
They could return to Metropolis in minutes, but Clark set a slower pace. Conner let himself skim the thick clouds below, admiring the fiery hues of the sunset.
Clark cleared his throat. “Bruce and I think it might be best if you moved to Smallville to live with Ma and Pa for a while.”
“Damian said I was going to attend his school.”
Clark looked back at him. “Is the commute going to be a problem for you?”
Conner thought for a moment. “No, I guess not.” After a pause, he added, “I’ll miss you.”
Clark ruffled his hair before Conner yanked himself away. “We just think – we all just think – it would be best if you had a bit of distance from Lex for a while. A change of setting.”
“Did – did Bruce find something?”
Clark paused and looked away for a moment. “Possibly. He said there are nanobots in your blood – parasites that might be able to influence your actions. Make you more . . . open to persuasion.”
Conner thought back to all the times Luthor would grab him, cuff him, order him do things he didn’t want to do, make him stand there dumbly while he approached with the poison that would kill him. In hindsight, he always wondered why he’d never once thought about hitting back. Helpless, angry tears filled his eyes and then froze on his cheeks in the high altitude. Let it motivate you, he remembered. “Can you turn them off?”
“We’re working on it,” Clark assured him. “Bruce has quite a bit of experience with these things.” Clark drifted over and wrapped an arm around Conner’s shoulders, holding him awkwardly at his side as they flew. “Don’t think living with Ma and Pa will be all fun and games. They have a list of chores for you a mile long. And I don’t think they know what the internet is.”
Conner groaned, but it was only a token protest. The Superboy who hosted unboxing videos and took a billion selfies a day felt like another person now. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe it was time to get to know Conner.
“By the way,” Clark continued, “Lois told me a bit more about the night you left Lex. How you tore off his symbol and flew away.” He smiled down at Conner. “You did that. You walked away from him. You were very brave, and I’m proud of you.”
Conner felt himself redden again. “Lois is such a babe,” he said before he could stop himself. Maybe Superboy wasn’t so dead after all.
Clark sighed. “Young man, we need to have another talk about respect, or Lois might actually release the footage of you being pummeled by my nanny.”
Conner shuddered, but also couldn’t stop a smile. He was about to move halfway across the country, and this weekend Batman had arranged what he called a “supervised playdate” with Damian and someone named Nightwing (Damian had snarled more ferociously than Ace at that), and he was going home this evening to what would probably be a metric ton of apple pie. Conner wished he could go back in time and tell the scared boy in that elevator that someday soon he would be all right. The lights of Metropolis rose up out of the clouds and father and son swooped down into the city below.