Daddy Issues (Superman + Superboy)
Crap, now here was Clark trying to be all fatherly. Conner crossed his arms and shrugged his shoulders, mouth in a straight line. He’d never been; maybe it was worth it. But was it really worth it, considering Clark was just trying to use the wonder of space to overshadow his own carelessness? Could Conner let him do that…?
He risked a look way up high. Space was awfully big. He swallowed nervously and glanced down at the plastic bag in his hand, gripping it tightly. The clothes inside were still bunched up and soaked. Didn’t— didn’t plastic break or something? In space? Wouldn’t everything start drifting away? Surely they would have to do it another time. When their heads were clear. It was dangerous.
"We can’t," he said quickly, starting to fly a little faster. "It’s dangerous, too— too risky, I mean, it’s nighttime right now.” Dark, expansive, impossible. Sure they could see just fine, but geez, Conner felt nervous. Clark could probably tell. He’d notice and then call him out and Conner would have to deny it and it’d be so obvious Conner had never been in space. “Maybe another time. I have to get home before the hour is up,” he added with a trace of venom in his voice, still fuming about his melted shields.
Part of the reason Clark had followed Conner was to keep him under observation. He wanted to know what kind of changes they made to Conner, other than physical. It was a little bit hard for Clark to make judgements on personality or temperament. He only really knew Conner from afar, and the time they had spent together tonight was full of anger. So far, Clark really hadn’t seen anything too out of the ordinary and that reassured him.
“Those guys with the Kryptonite won’t find us too easily in the dark.” Clark offered Conner a small smile, catching on to the way Conner nervously gripped the bag.
“Your hour only just started, we’ll have time. Your clothes…might not survive the trip though.” Clark gestured towards them, flying in pace with Conner.
“Trust me,” Superman started, trying to sound reassuring without sounding patronizing. “I promise we’ll be back down before it runs out.”
Conner stared down at the bag again, unable to look Clark in the eye. Stupid Superman and his stupid promises. He tied the thin handles together, then started to try to weave them into the belt loops of the— sweat pants. No loops. Conner tucked the bag under his arm and glanced at Clark finally.
"I’ll take that chance," he said, putting effort into being nonchalant. He’d totally been in space before, or at least, Clark believed that, and no way was he gonna let him know he’d lied. Conner rolled his eyes to say this is dumb and stopped flying eastward. He gestured to the sky.
"You know, that was uncalled for back there. At least— you could at least apologize. And never do it again, ever.” He was a little freaked out to speak like that to Superman, but hey, it was worth the risk. Conner doubted that Clark was sorry at all, but he could leastways pretend.
He kept the bag securely under his arm. Superboy shirts weren’t easy to get anymore and Conner had lost countless of them, either burned or shredded or shot or otherwise mauled. It was rare that they faded, partly due to the fact that they often were destroyed before that was possible, and partly due to the fact that Conner seldom wore them anymore.
Clark was pleased that Conner had finally been persuaded to fly up into space. He watched patiently as Conner tried to figure out what to do with his wet clothing. If they had been his clothing, he probably would have used his heat vision to burn them to ash. He didn’t like the idea of any piece of him floating around loose on the planet’s surface, even if it was just his clothing. Clark didn’t bother offering the suggestion, watching Conner decide for himself what was best for him. Well, for his clothing anyway.
The demand for an apology surprised Clark. “I can’t apologize for it, Conner.” His voice was as deep and powerful as ever, but his tone was gentle considering the words. Conner might have a hard time understanding. The teenager might not ever understand. “I won’t apologize for doing what’s best for you…what’s right. It might look like I’m biased against Luthor. He has a lot of people convinced he does what he does for all the right reasons, but I’ve known him a long time. A long time. There is something dark in everything he creates.”
Clark stopped and looked at Conner, studying him for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He tried to think of the best way to say the next part of his explanation. Despite his love of reading and his expansive vocabulary, Superman had no eloquent way of putting the next part.
“You have to wonder, Conner, what did he really create you for? What kind of Superman did he think you’d be? I know the reason he gave to Cadmus for the project, but the man, Luthor, works with a hundred motives…and they all benefit him.”
