Dreams Save Us

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.

“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.

"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.

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.

He overcame his disappointment and looked earnestly at Conner. “Will you go up with me? You should be able to fly long enough.” Clark didn’t like how Conner was flying, but secretly he wanted to make use of it. He’d tried the tough love approach. He’d tried talking with him. Maybe Superman needed to do something with Conner that only Superman could. He just wasn’t sure if Conner would accept his invitation.

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.

“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.

Wonder Woman’s proteges, Donna Troy and Wonder Girl loved her too much to leave her side. The idea of turning to one of her many arch-rivals was too ridiculous to seriously contemplate. Both Superman’s former teammates had something in common with their mentorees. They had inspired loyalty within them. Luthor had won Conner over and loyalty to Clark meant disloyalty to Luthor. Maybe the trick was to not compete with Luthor over Conner, but just to accept Conner for who he was?

The truth was was Conner had never gone up too much higher than this. He was afraid of falling back down, without powers, into the sea, splashing down a hundred yards and being too exhausted to swim back up after the drop. What if something terrible like that happened? Conner had been in space, sure, he was a superhero and there was the Watchtower and other planets. But flown? All the way? He’d though about it.

He overcame his disappointment and looked earnestly at Conner. “Will you go up with me? You should be able to fly long enough.” Clark didn’t like how Conner was flying, but secretly he wanted to make use of it. He’d tried the tough love approach. He’d tried talking with him. Maybe Superman needed to do something with Conner that only Superman could. He just wasn’t sure if Conner would accept his invitation.

“I’m going to go find Match.” Clark affirmed, keeping pace with Conner. “But…I told you I’d help you.” Ugh. The more he spoke, the more awkward he felt. It was just hard to articulate things to Conner in a way he could understand.

"You’ve done enough," Conner said curtly. "I don’t need any… favors.” If Clark meant that keeping him away from Lex Luthor was a favor, then he was definitely mistaken. Sometimes Conner hated himself for even speaking with Lex, but it ended up being informative and useful, both personally and for the betterment of the world once the law changed. The law had to change. The United States couldn’t go much longer without their heroes in full action.

Sometimes Conner wondered what would happen if they were suddenly allowed to be free again. Out in the open. Instead of being fugitives, they would again be loved, have fanclubs. Conner wanted to feel welcome again rather than be treated like the random teenager in the grocery store . It was always women in buttoned clothes and holding babies that gave him those looks like, what are you doing here? Why are you buying broccoli? He hated it. He wanted to go to university— another thing Lex was willing and able to help out with.

If the patch wore off in fifty minutes, then he’d have to find a zeta tube within forty to get back home in time for work. God he’d be exhausted but he got off at two instead of five, a relief of reliefs and he’d sleep until the next morning.

Wonder Woman’s proteges, Donna Troy and Wonder Girl loved her too much to leave her side. The idea of turning to one of her many arch-rivals was too ridiculous to seriously contemplate. Both Superman’s former teammates had something in common with their mentorees. They had inspired loyalty within them. Luthor had won Conner over and loyalty to Clark meant disloyalty to Luthor. Maybe the trick was to not compete with Luthor over Conner, but just to accept Conner for who he was?

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.

"I’m going home," he lied easily— because he may as well have been going home. "I came here to get you to—" but he stopped speaking and sighed. Clark would never understand why Conner had wanted to protect him. Well, now he didn’t care. If Clark was just going to burn up his shields, then he’d stay away. That was a clear sign.

The knowledge of the danger of the Kryptonite the feds had was given. Conner could rest easy now knowing that Clark would be ready for that kind of foe, that kind of resistance.

Friends, Clark had said. He wanted to be friends. Yeah, well, friends did not destroy each other’s possessions without a good reason. Perhaps Clark believed he was helping Conner, but he was just digging a bigger rift between them and giving Conner a bigger reason to lean on Lex.

“I’m going to go find Match.” Clark affirmed, keeping pace with Conner. “But…I told you I’d help you.” Ugh. The more he spoke, the more awkward he felt. It was just hard to articulate things to Conner in a way he could understand.

Superman took a deep breath. He wanted to subdue the part of himself that was desperate to fly off the handle at any mention of Luthor. He needed to be civil. He needed to put his emotions aside and react in a way that was best for Conner, a way that would help him understand. The problem was that meant Clark had to make the decision, really make the decision, to get involved in Conner’s life. To be his mentor, his advisor. To be like his parent. No, not his parent. Clark wasn’t comfortable with that. Something more like family. Family does what’s best for family.

Clark sighed. He needed to change his approach with Conner. He had to do what was best for him despite what the boy thought he needed. Clark had to accept that Conner was his responsibility. If the revelations of the last hour or so were any indication. Conner needed someone in his life. Someone to look out for him that wasn’t Lex Luthor. Someone that was Superman.

Clark lifted the box of shields, looking at it warily. If he did this, he would be cementing his role. To do what was best for Conner. Regardless of what Conner thought. It was a commitment to Conner. He had to destroy the shields. They couldn’t be left in Conner’s hands without him understanding them. And from the way the boy had defended his use of them, it didn’t look like Conner would listen to reason.

The heat burned in his eyes and they glowed like they had before. Bright red, eclipsing his kind, natural blue eyes. The red beams of light shot out of his eyes and melted the box and the shields in his hand. The metal warped and twisted, melting and burning as he stared.

“It’s for your own good, Conner.”

Oh Clark hated to be the one to tell people what was in their best interest. It was unnatural. Everyone needed the choice to be who they wanted to be, and make the mistakes they chose to make. But Conner needed Clark to be the adult, to guide him. Though it meant Clark had to take things out of Conner’s hands, he still didn’t like having to do it. 

"No, I meant he wants to help me,” Conner said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “He’s a good person,” he repeated, but then Clark was holding out the box and Conner frowned at Superman’s expression.

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.

He couldn’t fault Conner for wanting to fly. Flying was one of the greatest abilities Clark had. Sometimes, when he really needed a break, he could just fly into space. The silence calmed him. He could head off into the clouds, fly around the world. Flying was a gift. It was also once of Clark’s abilities that wasn’t offensive or defensive, next to his several types of vision. He didn’t have to be in a fight to use his flight. It was cathartic. No, he couldn’t blame Conner for wanting to fly. He just didn’t like the way the boy was doing it.

“How long do they last? How long have you been using them?”  Clark was wary about Conner’s ‘usage’. Anyone could say that they ‘didn’t use’ something too much. He’d heard it before. Often it masked ‘too much’ and those who said it were in denial. He didn’t want to let Conner off too easy, but he also didn’t want to scare the boy away. With how much Conner had been lying to him that evening, Clark didn’t take anything he said at face value.

“Did Luthor give them to you?” He wanted to ask the question in a way that Conner wouldn’t be able to avoid. Direct. If Conner said no (and Clark desperately hoped he was going to say no), then that would be that. 

Conner shrugged again. “It’s not painful, Clark, it’s like bitter coffee.” He couldn’t see why Clark was making such a big deal— and the deal would get infinitely bigger if he told him the truth about Lex.

"Each one has about an hour," he said, a little venom in his voice, because this one was being wasted and he couldn’t even fly with it. Clark kept going on with his endless questions and Conner was getting a little tired of the prying eyes, the intrusive curiosity of the Man of Steel. He remembered why he hadn’t wanted to talk to Black Canary at first, because he was fearful she would be like Clark was being. But Dinah never asked more than she needed to and didn’t ever want to be invasive. “And it’s only been a coupla months.”

Well, that was mostly the truth— he’d used them back in the beginning, but that was foolish, impulsive really, counterproductive. Now they were useful, the shields helped people, goddammit.

Conner was taken aback by the next question. He hadn’t expected Clark to figure it out so quickly, so easily. At least maybe a couple of wrong guesses. Though, Conner couldn’t think of even one person who would ever give him something like this other than Lex Luthor.

"He’s a good person," Conner said defensively. "Lex is trying to help—”

The shields only lasted an hour? So, Clark had an hour to watch Conner and see what he was like with the shields affecting him. He mentally prepared himself to observe Superboy’s behavior. He was watching carefully for any changes, in temperament, intelligence or physically. How could Conner be so naïve as to use these things? And for a couple of months?

“Help himself.” Clark finished for him, tone even. Clark had to try to remind himself that Conner was like a teenage kid. He just needed to be talked to, have things explained to him. He would respond to anger with anger. Clark had to just keep calm and set an example.

Superman took a deep breath. He wanted to subdue the part of himself that was desperate to fly off the handle at any mention of Luthor. He needed to be civil. He needed to put his emotions aside and react in a way that was best for Conner, a way that would help him understand. The problem was that meant Clark had to make the decision, really make the decision, to get involved in Conner’s life. To be his mentor, his advisor. To be like his parent. No, not his parent. Clark wasn’t comfortable with that. Something more like family. Family does what’s best for family.

Clark sighed. He needed to change his approach with Conner. He had to do what was best for him despite what the boy thought he needed. Clark had to accept that Conner was his responsibility. If the revelations of the last hour or so were any indication. Conner needed someone in his life. Someone to look out for him that wasn’t Lex Luthor. Someone that was Superman.

Clark lifted the box of shields, looking at it warily. If he did this, he would be cementing his role. To do what was best for Conner. Regardless of what Conner thought. It was a commitment to Conner. He had to destroy the shields. They couldn’t be left in Conner’s hands without him understanding them. And from the way the boy had defended his use of them, it didn’t look like Conner would listen to reason.

The heat burned in his eyes and they glowed like they had before. Bright red, eclipsing his kind, natural blue eyes. The red beams of light shot out of his eyes and melted the box and the shields in his hand. The metal warped and twisted, melting and burning as he stared.

“It’s for your own good, Conner.”

Clark frowned at Conner, still holding the patches. At least Conner was terrible at hiding the truth. It made it easy for Clark to know when he was hiding things. In the context of these shields, anyway.

“Conner,” He hesitated at the boy’s name, struggling to articulate what he wanted to say without coming off like a jerk. “I know I haven’t earned your respect. I hope we can change that, given some time. You said you wanted to be friends and friends trust each other. Let’s be friends now and trust each other. Please, tell me the truth.” 

He tried to ignore the comment Conner made about being more like Superman. It made him uncomfortable. A lot of people strove to be Superman, but only Superboy could actually be Superman. And besides, tampering with his genetic code? There was something off about the whole deal.

Clark looked at the shields in his hands, realizing there were only two left, even though the container obviously had room for many more. Conner was using something to amplify his powers. Something he didn’t even understand. Not only could that power be addictive, but what about the side effects?

“What are the side effects? What do they do to you? How often do you use them?” Clark tried to ask as gently as he could, without sounding like a concerned parent. There it was again, he kept comparing himself to a parent. He was not Conner’s parent.

And then here he was, being even more manipulative than Lex. Let’s be friends Conner, you can tell me, you can trust me, tell the truth now Conner. Five minutes ago he was saying to get home on his own, an entire day and a half of traveling by ground.

He decided to select the questions that he wanted to answer; after all, Clark had asked so many. “There aren’t any side effects,” he said, quite honestly, “except it stings a little, but that’s not a big deal. They just make me stronger, Clark— like I could help you lift the bridge. I could fly. Flying is…”

He trailed off, eyes going a little hazy. Flying was the best. Being chased? Fly around. Can’t reach something? Fly a little higher. And it wasn’t scary. Conner was virtually indestructible, and so any drop or slam or punch couldn’t hurt him. Falling in the water had been painless. Uncomfortable, at worst. And his hair was dry now.

"Flying is great," he said, smiling slightly and looked back up at Clark. "It’s just great. And I don’t use them too much.  I haven’t needed them much because of the law… only when something’s too tough. Which isn’t often. And then there’s some times I just want to fly around."

“What do you mean by that? Do they hurt you?”

He couldn’t fault Conner for wanting to fly. Flying was one of the greatest abilities Clark had. Sometimes, when he really needed a break, he could just fly into space. The silence calmed him. He could head off into the clouds, fly around the world. Flying was a gift. It was also once of Clark’s abilities that wasn’t offensive or defensive, next to his several types of vision. He didn’t have to be in a fight to use his flight. It was cathartic. No, he couldn’t blame Conner for wanting to fly. He just didn’t like the way the boy was doing it.

“How long do they last? How long have you been using them?”  Clark was wary about Conner’s ‘usage’. Anyone could say that they ‘didn’t use’ something too much. He’d heard it before. Often it masked ‘too much’ and those who said it were in denial. He didn’t want to let Conner off too easy, but he also didn’t want to scare the boy away. With how much Conner had been lying to him that evening, Clark didn’t take anything he said at face value.

Instead of saying anything (mostly because he wasn’t even sure what to say), Clark listened to Conner. He didn’t interrupt him, even when he re-iterated his argument about Match. Even when he explained the shields. Especially when he explained how they worked. It was unnatural. What Conner was telling him didn’t sound good. Didn’t sound like it could be trusted. A large part of him felt that Conner had received the shields from Batman. It sounded like something Batman might have done, to help Conner. But, despite being teammates, Clark didn’t agree with everything the other hero thought was right, and the shields were definitely something Clark wasn’t sure he agreed with.

He let Conner finish, arms crossed covering the S-shield on his broad chest. Without saying anything, Clark reached out and took the box. It was metal with an S-shield printed on the box. Clark opened it and looked inside. There were stickers? They were red in the shape of the pentagon that made up his logo. Clark held one up and looked at it closely. He took a moment to alternate between X-ray vision, microscopic and infrared. He could tell that it was some sort of inhibitor, but that was about it. Clark returned the shield into the box and kept it in his hand, not returning it to Conner. Not until he knew exactly what it was and who it was from.

"I’m not really sure what they are," Conner admitted with a little frown. "Kind of just… patches." He landed on the carpet again and wondered what they were. Lex never really said.

Oh, crap. Lex Luthor. Clark would be furious he’d accepted this from Luthor. But Clark didn’t have any say in what Conner did or thought; he’d given up that responsibility a long time ago. Conner shifted on his feet uncomfortably, realizing that telling Clark where he got them might be bad.

"It doesn’t really matter where I got them," he said slowly. "It doesn’t matter, but anyway, they kind of just, you know. Do that. Suppress human DNA. It makes me a better person. Less like my— like my other dad. More like you."

Clark frowned at Conner, still holding the patches. At least Conner was terrible at hiding the truth. It made it easy for Clark to know when he was hiding things. In the context of these shields, anyway.

“Conner,” He hesitated at the boy’s name, struggling to articulate what he wanted to say without coming off like a jerk. “I know I haven’t earned your respect. I hope we can change that, given some time. You said you wanted to be friends and friends trust each other. Let’s be friends now and trust each other. Please, tell me the truth." 

He tried to ignore the comment Conner made about being more like Superman. It made him uncomfortable. A lot of people strove to be Superman, but only Superboy could actually be Superman. And besides, tampering with his genetic code? There was something off about the whole deal.

Clark looked at the shields in his hands, realizing there were only two left, even though the container obviously had room for many more. Conner was using something to amplify his powers. Something he didn’t even understand. Not only could that power be addictive, but what about the side effects?

“What are the side effects? What do they do to you? How often do you use them?” Clark tried to ask as gently as he could, without sounding like a concerned parent. There it was again, he kept comparing himself to a parent. He was not Conner's parent.

Superman was surprised to see Conner flying. He was sure he had seen him flying before, at the bridge, but it had slipped his mind while they were talking about Match. But Conner had told him he couldn’t fly, and that was why Clark had to (awkwardly) carry Conner back to his apartment.

“What’s going on? I thought you couldn’t fly…” Clark was getting more and more annoyed with Conner. He had tracked him down, when Clark wanted to be left alone. Conner had lied to him, when he’d asked Superman to talk. He’d even wasted his time by arguing about whether or not to go get Match. Superman may have appeared infinitely patient, but it took a lot of work, and he was trying to not get openly frustrated with Conner.

“Get inside.” Clark demanded, voice low and commanding. He didn’t want to talk about this floating, in costume, outside his living room window. And Conner had a lot to explain.

"Look, Clark," he said, watching as Superman came in through the window, cape pulled behind him in the breeze. Conner landed softly on the floor, itching to fly but knowing that Clark would want to talk for a little bit first. Hopefully, not long. Not long at all. Uuuurg. It was like bugs were crawling on his arms.

"Look. I get that you feel weary because of all this crap I’ve been telling you, but you gotta believe me when I say that Match is, and has been for a long time, in a good place. The genomes are looking out for him, they promised me."

He looked at his feet, and pushed himself off of the floor. “And yeah, I can fly. But it’s not me.” Okay, that was a stupid way of putting it. To be perfectly honest, Conner didn’t care who knew about the shields as long as they helped him help other people. They made him stronger, they made him better. Without the patches suppressing his human DNA, then who could say how many people would have died? Conner had just helped with the bridge. And in the past few months, ever since he and Lex became closer, he had saved almost as many people as he had when the Titans were still together. They were on a roll before Jason—

Instead of saying anything (mostly because he wasn’t even sure what to say), Clark listened to Conner. He didn’t interrupt him, even when he re-iterated his argument about Match. Even when he explained the shields. Especially when he explained how they worked. It was unnatural. What Conner was telling him didn’t sound good. Didn’t sound like it could be trusted. A large part of him felt that Conner had received the shields from Batman. It sounded like something Batman might have done, to help Conner. But, despite being teammates, Clark didn’t agree with everything the other hero thought was right, and the shields were definitely something Clark wasn’t sure he agreed with.

He let Conner finish, arms crossed covering the S-shield on his broad chest. Without saying anything, Clark reached out and took the box. It was metal with an S-shield printed on the box. Clark opened it and looked inside. There were stickers? They were red in the shape of the pentagon that made up his logo. Clark held one up and looked at it closely. He took a moment to alternate between X-ray vision, microscopic and infrared. He could tell that it was some sort of inhibitor, but that was about it. Clark returned the shield into the box and kept it in his hand, not returning it to Conner. Not until he knew exactly what it was and who it was from.