Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Superboy's room in the JLA’s Watchtower is shoebox-sized. He's happy to have a place to hang his head, but it definitely emphasizes the feeling that he doesn't exist unless Superman is around. He's like a library book. He goes back to his shelf when he's not in use. At least Young Justice checks him out to spend time together. Superman only ever gets straight to the point, so they only see each other for training and missions.

While all of the staff and other heroes leave the Watchtower and go home at some point, Conner doesn’t. This communal space is his home.

Even though he keeps to himself a majority of the time, as a result of spending 24/7 there, he heard the rumors around the water cooler. He didn't concern himself with Stacey’s affair or Bob's unconvincing hair piece. Instead, he was preoccupied by the apparent flu going around. 

A flu would justify how he's felt lately with his headaches and perpetually dry throat. Unfortunately, if he was sick, he wouldn't be able to leave the Watchtower until he felt better. He couldn't bear that outcome. Superboy only goes out to save the world either with Superman or Young Justice, and Conner Kent sits in his closet of a room, waiting to be Superboy again.

Despite the possible evidence, Conner pointedly decided he was not going to be sick. He only had two symptoms, a headache and dryness. That was completely manageable. ‘Dryness’ isn't even a real symptom on WebMD.

Everything was fine, until he had more than two symptoms. It wasn't fair. He had only heard about the rash of illness the day before. He didn't even have a chance to take precautions. Regardless, he was woken up by a cough building in his chest. To make matters worse, his throat continued to burn after his coughing fit.

As things got progressively worse, he had to convince himself it wasn't an issue. He got dressed, looked at himself in the mirror, and repeatedly told himself, ‘it could still be a coincidence.’

As he walked to breakfast, people avoided him in the hallways. It was not because of his health. From looking at him, no one would know his stupid, half-human immune system failed him. They were watching something else: his fidgeting. He kept clenching and releasing his gloved fists over and over. His stress scared people.

Regular, non-powered people work on the Watchtower, and he knows what they think: "Superman doesn't like his sidekick. He barely puts up with him. That's why he lives up here."

There's surface rumors that everyone knows, but there's also things that the other heroes say when they think they're alone: "That Super-kid is unstable. The core JLA members know he's going to snap one day. Keep an eye on him."

Conner doesn't even have super hearing.

He eats at a table alone everyday unless Young Justice is visiting or the Flash has a moment. (Impulse told his mentor that 'Superboy doesn't like to be alone'. He's not sure if the guy shows up out of pity or as a precaution to make sure he doesn't “snap”.)

With everyone else's opinions of him clear, he's not surprised to get more space than usual when he's visibly… off. He's not nervous, because he knows he's not sick.

The bright side of people avoiding him was that he couldn't give another person the plague. Other people might not care about him, but the feeling was not mutual. He would feel terrible if he was responsible for getting someone else sick. Of course, that fear was purely hypothetical. He had to remind himself that he was perfectly healthy and not contagious.

His cafeteria food had less edibility than usual, but the food from there was always bad. It wasn't a symptom. Not all of his behaviors had a deeper meaning.

After throwing out majority of his breakfast, he finished his morning routine. His shower was more soothing than it should have been, but he didn't have any other blips at the start of his day. He was in the middle of stretching to the collaborative playlist he has with Impulse called “Anything But Hanson”, when his phone buzzed with good news. Superman was taking him out of the tower! Also, there was not a major threat to the city. That was good too. They are just going on patrol.

When he gets texts about plans with Superman, his mentor always arrives exactly an hour later. It isn't necessary to give that much forewarning. Conner got ready and waited everyday regardless. He was never going to mention that to Superman though. That would be criticizing a guy, who wasn't required to spend time with him in the first place, and he was not going to give him a reason to stop going out of his way.

As they walked through the halls of the Watchtower together, Superman was all smiles. It’s a sharp contrast to the disinterest he shows when it's just the two of them. However, Conner was used to the duality at this point. He doesn't try to make small talk anymore. It got too depressing to constantly get brushed off with one word answers, and Superman always seems more relaxed when they start off quietly.

Metropolis in the Summer can smell worse than a literal pig sty. The trash collection method of the city requires people to leave their plastic bags of filth on the sidewalk. Unfortunately, being a superhero isn't all glamor shots and punching villains. Sometimes, it's helping the understaffed waste management department. In the long-term, the city needed to sort out its taxes and divert more funds to their trash collection. The Daily Planet was investigating the board that determined the department's funding, because things were being dictated so poorly that it might be criminal. Meanwhile, Superman and Superboy were contributing to trash collection efforts.

Of course, Superman called on him for trash collection day. Most of the time, Jon tagged along with them, but he was notably absent from this patrol. Conner missed him, but he also couldn't blame the kid. He had no clue how he was going to get the stench out of his own costume when he got back to the tower.

To cover more area (and probably for Superman's comfort), they split up. Conner was cleaning 6th Street, and Superman was getting the bags on 7th. While super-speed rushing back and forth between the streets and the landfill facility carrying loosely-tied garbage bags, Conner began to feel a sense of numbness. The outside air was the same temperature as his skin, and his brain was overheating. As he blinked, there were floating blotches of blurred nothing in his vision.

Trying to be safe, he stopped at a street corner and leaned on the pillar of a building with his hand. His breathing needed to catch up with the rest of him, but, before it could, the building's alarm went off. Conner looked at his hand for a second, wondering how he had made that happen. It took too long for him to realize he had not set off the alarm, the building was a bank, and there was a robbery in progress.

The bad guys were running down the bank’s entryway stairs. They were not subtle. They had ski masks and cartoonish bags of money. Without another thought, Conner stood between them and the obvious getaway van that was stalled at the bottom of the steps. Stifling a cough, he quipped, “I don't think that's appropriate summer wear guys.”

Before Superboy could throw a single punch, the getaway driver leaned out of the window and fired a blue, gem-studded gun. It was some kind of sound wave or wind-based sci-fi weapon. Whatever it was, it sent Conner flying down the street like a piece of fluff being hit by compressed air.

Thankfully, he didn't crash into any pedestrians. A pile of full trash bags broke his horizontal fall.

Being pushed down the sidewalk for a mile was exhausting. Despite that, the awful smell of rotten food (and the need to stop the robbers) motivated him to lift his head. The squiggly, clear-ish noodles in his vision were large, black holes at this point. Conner needed to get up. Superboy needed to save the day, but his stupid limbs were not cooperating. They were just trembling. Shortly after, his eye lids stopped obeying too, and he passed out.

It was Ricky's first bust, and he was riding on a high after blasting away a genuine superhero. He shifted the gear into drive, and, all of a sudden, outside the window, there was the bigger hero. Even though the crew was quaking in their boots, Ricky felt confident leaning out the window and aiming the Windraver towards that stupid ‘S’. He fired, and nothing happened. Unlike with Superboy, the special, alien-tech gun only ruffled the man’s hair.

In less than a minute, Superman was tying them all up for the cops to collect. Suzane was chewing Ricky out, “I told you that stupid toy wasn't going to be any good against Superman!”

He had to defend his honor, “Hey, it worked on the kid!”

He probably shouldn't have said that, because Superman got in his face, “What kid?”

Ricky had already learned his lesson that day. He couldn't snitch on himself fast enough, “Superboy! He went flying when I used the science gun on him!” Superman was walking away, but Ricky kept explaining, like he was guiltily explaining bad behavior to his elementary school teacher, “But, he's definitely fine! The gun just blows air really hard, and you guys are like indestructible or something. I didn't kill him or nothing! I wasn't trying to!" He didn't shut up. He was undeterred by Suzane yelling at him to do so and Superman leaving the scene.

Chapter Text

It didn't make any sense. Superboy’s Tactile Telekinesis was strong enough to fly against a tornado. How did he get blown away by that puny gun? Far weirder than that, Clark found Superboy sleeping on a bunch of trash bags. He gently tapped his shoulder to rouse him, “Hey, wake up.” When Conner didn't react, a sense of dread filled Clark's stomach. He slightly increased his volume, “Superboy? What's going on?”

At least Conner showed signs of life as he mumbled incoherently. He didn't open his eyes or react cognitively though. It was concerning. Superman picked him up out of the garbage and into a fireman’s carry. Conner was so out of it that he wasn't woken up by that movement either.

A person could fry an egg on the Metropolis sidewalk, but Conner was shivering. There was no apparent reason for Superboy to be in this state. There wasn't kryptonite around. Superman would have felt it too.

In a sudden panic, Clark super-speeded them to the roof of his apartment to be somewhere marginally safer. He spoke to the limp form in his arms, “Superboy, I need you to wake up.” He needed more information. Bruce would have told him to investigate the scene, but Clark didn't want to take his eyes off the kid.

Most of the time, it was hard to conceptualize Conner as a real child. Some stranger in a lab put mystery chemicals on a lump of flesh, and it sprouted a teenager. The premise brought to mind the image of those growing pill-to-sponge toys, not a person.

Additionally, Conner had a tendency for arrogance that Clark felt was uncanny. He had seen the clips from the news during his death, and saw this little jerk basking in glory of calling himself ‘Superman’. That had been a long time ago, but a presence of showmanship stuck with everything Conner did. He always thought he was the best person in the room, and he needed everyone else to know it. Real children aren't constantly acting and advertising themselves.

Under the current circumstances, Conner was vulnerable. He was injured in a way that was human instead of Kryptonian clone-like.

Because he had no idea how to proceed, Clark got out his phone to call for help. He held Conner with one arm as he dialed. Bruce picked up in one ring.

While trying to maintain a balance of haste and accuracy, Clark went over every detail of the day and Conner’s status. When he mentioned the shivering, Bruce cut him off to plainly state, “He has the flu.”

“What?” Clark was stunned. How could Bruce say that so confidently? Batman did not operate with that level of irrationality. It didn't compute. It's not even possible for Kryptonians to get sick. “How could Conner have the flu?”

Bruce was done with him, “Are you really a grown man, a journalist at the country's leading news outlet, asking me how viruses work? Clark, are you okay?”

He took the defensive, “I know how human illnesses work, but Kryptonians can't catch them. Our bodies don't process germs and viruses the same way.”

“Conner’s only half.”

Clark nearly stuttered, “But, but, Jon doesn't get sick.”

“Jon was born, and Conner was created in a lab. There are differences between them.” Bruce felt like he was pointing out the obvious. “Superboy has gotten sick before. It's in his JLA file.” He paused for a second as if silently scolding Clark for not reading the papers. “There’s been cases of the flu spreading from the Watchtower lately. It sounds like Connor has a fever. He needs to rest under some blankets and intake fluids, but he'll be fine."

“Of course,” Superman sounded self-assured at first, but it disappeared quickly, “I should take him back to the Watchtower, right?”

The Batman was rolling his eyes. They were having an audio-only call, but anyone on Earth could feel the look. “You can, but that would be cruel. Conner hates being alone.”

He was defensive again, “You don't know that.”

“Impulse added it to his file in all-caps and red font.”

Now that Bruce knew for certain that he had never even glanced at Superboy's information before, he was embarrassed, “Okay. I get it.”

Bruce took pity on him, “Do you want me to send Tim over to pick him up?”

“No,” He wasn't going to back down after being shamed like that, “I can take care of one sick kid, Bruce. I'm Superman.”

Batman wasn't going to talk him down, “Okay then. I'm going back to sleep.” Without further warning, he hung up. It was 1 in the afternoon.

Clark, still holding Conner, avoided being seen entering the Kent's apartment, but they were not going to be able to hide for much longer. It was a Saturday, so both Lois and Jon were home.

Surprisingly, they made it to the master bathroom without being detected. Clark deposited the unconscious kid on the counter, so he could turn on the bath. When he pivoted back, Lois was standing in the doorway. Clark was sheepish, “Hi, Honey. I'm home.”

Conner's head and shoulder were leaning against the mirror. The pink flush on his face seemed somewhat soothed by the cold glass.

Seeing a knocked-out kid with the house of El crest on his chest, Lois sighed and asked, “What's going on?”

It was an odd situation. Clark never expected he'd regret not formally introducing Conner to Lois. She had met Superboy once while he was dead. They hadn't spoken since. She knew Conner had ‘switched sides’, after previously working for Lex Luthor, but they did not talk about him. She also knew that they worked together on occasion, but there was an implied professionalism in their relationship that made the current scene difficult to explain.

Clark gestured nervously as he answered, “So, this is Superboy. He's sick, so I brought him here.” That really cleared things up. She couldn't possibly have any more questions.

“How can he get sick? Why do you guys smell like hot garbage? And, why didn't you take him home instead?”

Clark wanted to say that Bruce made him take Superboy, but that wasn't true. On the contrary, he had provided an out, and he denied it. Clark couldn't answer all of her questions immediately. He was tentative, “You know how we're investigating the waste management department? Well, Superman and Superboy were helping with some of that uncovered labor. We were collecting trash, when, I think, he fainted. I couldn't just leave the kid alone while he’s not feeling well. I called Batman, and he confirmed it was a case of the flu. Apparently, unlike Jon and I, he can catch human illnesses.” He tried to play it like he was asking to keep a lost puppy, “Don't you want to help him?” 

He was on the wrong page. Lois kept quizzing him, “Of course I want to help this kid, but doesn't he have parents that should know where he is? Why are they not taking care of him themselves?”

She didn't know all of Conner's origins. She only knew that the kid used to work for Luthor. Then, he quit. Clark had no clue what kind of backstory she was imagining went down.

Clark was surprised. His mouth was dry, but he responded, “He doesn't.”

Lois crossed her arms, “Doesn't what? What do you mean by that? He's Super- boy. He's a minor, right? Who is his legal guardian? Batman?”

“No. He doesn't have a legal guardian.”

Lois circled back, “So he's not really a child?”

“No, he is. He's like 15, I think. He just doesn't have any parents.”

“What the fudge!” They stopped swearing when they had Jon. A kid with super-hearing was inevitably going to learn colorful language, but it shouldn't be from his parents. She was angry enough to swear though, “You mean to tell me that the whole Justice League knew this kid was abandoned and none of you did anything? You just let him keep running around with your family's crest, punching bad guys and putting himself in danger, with no one to watch out for him?”

This wasn't where Clark had expected this conversation to go. Honestly, he anticipated Lois wanting Superboy out of the apartment. The only thing she knew about Conner was his past association with Lex Luthor. Hypothetically, he was a safety hazard. This was the total opposite reaction.

He was unsure of what to say, so he just filled her in with more information, “Superboy is doing just fine. He lives at the Watchtower and has all of his needs covered by the JLA.”

Lois had the most incredulous look. She gestured at the unconscious kid, “He's fine? Does that look fine to you? His ‘needs’ are covered? That sounds like you're talking about an animal, not a person.”

Clark didn't have an appropriate response. This was officially an argument now. They hadn't fought since before Jon was born.

Her resentment grew as she continued, “This child was manipulated by Lex Luthor. None of you thought he needed parental guidance after that? That was over a year ago. No one's been watching out for him the whole time since then? Furthermore, he had to have come from somewhere. He had parents at some point. Are his parents from an alternate universe or something? Are they dead? Why can't you contact them?”

Clark was strong. He could stomach looking his wife in the eyes as he impersonally told her, “Lex Corp made him in a lab. He doesn't have parents. Technically, Luthor's the closest thing to that, but…” His explanation stalled.

When he dragged, Lois chimed in, “Lex is terrible and evil.” That was an accurate description of Luthor. She conceded, “Okay, now, it makes sense that there's no one to contact.”

She sounded calmer already, but he suddenly wasn't sure if he could handle eye contact with her after all. Clark turned off the water before the tub overflowed. For the first time, it was hitting him that he had done something wrong to this kid. He wasn't ready to tell her the biggest truth about Superboy, but he could tell her something else she would want to know, “I named him. His name is Kon-El."

Lois dropped all of the anger she had built up at that admission. They were going to have to talk about what Conner was made of at some point, but that conversation wasn't going to happen right now.

Lois was fiery, but she was also caring. Clark was obviously clamming up. Instead of grilling him more, she refocused her attention on the person they were fighting over. She brushed Connor's hair back with her hand and felt his forehead, “Kon-El definitely has a temperature.”

Taking the out, Clark reflected, “I figured warm water would help. Cause you're right, we smell like hot garbage.”

To show support to Clark, Lois put a hand on his shoulder. “I'll set up a space in the living room for Kon.” She went back to the door's entryway and gave him a smirk, “You wash up too, so you don't stink up the whole apartment.”

They exchanged tired smiles, before Clark got to work cleaning Conner and himself off.