He didn’t realize what Clark was doing until it was too late. He took a large step forward, arm stretched out to snatch the shields back, but the beam burned his hand the second he touched Clark’s hand.
"Fuck!" Conner muttered, the hot hot light pinching like a bite. "What the hell are you doing—?"
For my own good? What do you know about my own good?
Conner sped over to the plastic bag full of wet clothes on the floor. He grabbed it and jumped up to hover near the window. Superman has absolutely no right not even a bit to determine what was good for Conner or not— and even if he did, he could be civil about it, and talk it through before destroying the box right in front of him. Conner hoped that the metal would cool around Clark’s fingers and hurt to break apart.
Yeah the shields didn’t make him as angry anymore but they sure didn’t suppress the rage. He shot out of the window, cold air a wet fish, flying east and fuckin’ hell he was going straight to Lex and getting the fuck away from Superman and he didn’t even care if he got caught anymore because fuck Superman, right? Fuck him because he was ambiguous and cold and never ever supportive and he was impulsive (like Conner) and cruel (not like Lex) and always wore that ridiculous outfit, always with the cape and the blue and red and disapproval and awkwardly avoiding Conner every fucking day since he was born and and
"Fuck him," he said under his breath, punching the air as he flew. If he had to run so be it. There were probably fifty or so minutes left of the shield and then he could run, Conner had stamina, he could run to the nearest working zeta tube and get straight to Washington. Lex always knew what to do— Lex treated Conner like the adult he was.
“Conner…” Clark started to say, but Conner had grabbed his clothing and disappeared in the night sky. His first instinct was to let Conner go. Conner just needed time to pull himself together, to think, and he couldn’t do that if Superman was in his space. As ashamed as Clark was to admit it, there was a part of him that still wanted distance between him and Conner. That was only a small part of him.
Superman looked at the melted pieces of metal on his hand and picked them off his fingers. The chunks broke away easily and he flexed his freed hand. He looked back to the window, then to the remains of the shields and the metal box they had come in. They were destroyed. But it was for Conner’s own good. Clark understood why Superboy couldn’t appreciate that. He really sympathized with Conner. But what Conner didn’t realize was that Lex Luthor was manipulating him. Luthor was pure evil. He would bend, twist and manipulate Superboy until there was nothing left of Conner. There was a reason Luthor had his reputation!
He furrowed his brows, trying to make a decision. He could clean up the mess, go to bed and wake up to a new day, Conner-free. Or he could go after Conner and explain himself. Maybe even see if Conner would be okay. Maybe even get him to understand why Luthor was to be avoided at all costs.
Clark sighed. He would have to go after Conner. The decision had been made the moment he decided to incinerate the box of shields. He had decided to be there for Conner as an adult. A mentor. He couldn’t do that half-assed. Clark took a moment to turn the lights off in his apartment, double-checking that the door was locked before heading towards the window. Clark flew up and out of the window to where Conner had gone and followed him.
It was easy to catch up to Superboy. Clark had years and years of practice flying, whereas from what Clark understood, Conner only had the hour-long intervals to fly. It was harder to figure out what to say to him and the flight had been entirely too short for him to find the right words.
“Conner!” He shouted over the wind as he pulled up beside Superboy. “Where are you going?”
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