Chapter Text
Superboy is six when Superman first meets him. He can barely hold a pencil upright, not because his fingers are too weak, but because his fingers are too strong. They fumble and snap the wooden object in half and Superboy scowls, pressing his face against the well taken care wood of the coffee table, frustrated by his uncontrollable strength.
He looks like an exact replica of Clark, albeit younger, with baby fat hanging off of him everywhere. Cadmus had been working on a formula to speed up the aging process but only managed to succeed marginally before Superboy somehow broke out and found Superman, so technically, the kid is only a few months old, but still, he’s a child all the same, even if it’s one with superpowers, and, well, it's a child Clark never asked for.
A child Clark never wanted.
Being a superhero never meant being a father. Being a superhero never meant getting your DNA stolen from you and having a clone made of you, something so fundamentally violating, done by someone he once called a friend , that it still leaves Clark feeling uneasy and disgusted in the boy’s presence, desperately wanting to turn and walk away, pretending it never happened.
Except, what being a superhero does means and what being a hero does is help people. It means that when you a child runs up to you in the street, peering up at you with wide gray eyes, emotions bursting in each movement for the world to see, grinning up at you brightly in awe, tooth missing and hair messy with nobody to rely on, so young and small he barely comes up to your knee, it means that it becomes glaringly clear what the right thing to do is and you can’t walk away.
You just can’t.
So sure Clark’s apartment is suddenly full of toys and yeah, maybe Clark is visiting Ma and Pa multiple times a week asking for advice and letting Superboy spend time with them, and maybe Clark has to stay up later than he’s used to and rise with a faceful of kid jumping on his stomach now, has to stamp out and push down the resentment he feels all the time, but the alternative— Superboy choking down a sob that he can’t stop but desperately tries to anyways, tiny hands pressing down on his eyes, and breath shaky, but his grasp on his emotions is downright terrible and he’s so, so young that Clark can’t believe he’s even trying. Then he reluctantly pulls away his hands and looks Clark in the eye, slowly, pleadingly, and asks if Clark thinks that Superboy didn’t come out properly too, that he doesn’t want him, like Luthor doesn’t want him, like nobody wants him, like Clark secretly doesn’t want him, like maybe it’d be better off to never have been born because he’s a kid that came out wrong. Someone so young thinking that way, saying these things —is so much worse.
Clark is a terrible liar and deep inside, he can tell Superboy knows that Clark doesn’t want him too, can see it in want for approval, but even so, Superboy wants him , wants to get to know him, and has nowhere else to go anyways, so neither say anything. Superboy is a much smarter child than Luthor gave him credit for and Clark has to wonder how Luthor didn’t see it. Maybe it’s because Superboy still values his emotions highly, wears his heart on his sleeve, is six, and isn’t as cold and cunning as Luthor. Maybe it’s because Superboy hates most puzzles but always, always aces the sliding puzzle in record speed because he loves it, hates math and english but will somehow read through a boring clinical book with surprising vigor and retain most of it if said book is about different types of poop and why they come out the way they do, or because Superboy hates complicated things and loves simplifying everything, loves working off of instinct instead of planning, but still thinks ahead on how to make people comfortable and respects the complicated things no matter how much he hates it if it makes sense.
There’s a lot to the boy, Clark is slowly realizing.
Superboy is patient even though he doesn’t act like it. He’s six and so, so patient it’s not even funny. It’s not obvious, not at all, especially not when he complains about dinner taking too long after only five minutes, but when rare moments like where Clark can’t help the sliver of disgust that slips out, or when Ma takes minutes to remember something, or even when Pa ends up talking for too long and all Superboy wants to do is play with the animals happen, the boy is unconditionally yet surprisingly patient.
Superboy quietly listens to Pa even through his restless movements, tries his best to help Ma remember, and, well, when Clark messes up, sometimes Superboy will flinch, sometimes Clark will see the hurt in his eyes before he painfully remembers that Superboy is just that: a boy. But Superboy won’t ask for more, won’t ask Clark to love him, won’t ask Clark to hug him, won’t even ask Clark to even do something as simple as giving him a name even though he clearly wants one from him . Why Superboy didn’t just choose one himself is beyond Clark. He won’t ask Clark to do something he can’t do even though most kids ask their parents who can’t do even a fraction of the things Clark can for things like unicorns, even though Clark is Superman and Superman is supposed to be better than giving cold shoulders to a six year old, better than slamming his hands against the table tops, glaring, and asking for space when all the kid did was accidentally call him dad, better than getting caught dropping his fake smile whenever Superboy looks away even for a second.
Superboy doesn’t call Clark out for the cold shoulder. Sometimes Superboy explodes, sometimes he gets mad, sometimes he throws tantrums, but he’ll never call out Clark, never call out any of them, never ask for more. Superboy doesn’t call him dad again. Superboy never says anything about the fake smiles. Superboy understands in a way Clark can’t— won’t. It’s wrong because it’s not Superboy’s fault but Superboy’s existence in itself is wrong, yet nobody else can take Superboy because he needs to work on controlling his powers and who better than Superman? And even if someone else could take the kid, who would want him other than Luthor? Luthor who doesn’t even really want Superboy because all he wants is Super boy.
Superboy is also loud, obnoxious, rude, destructive, etc. etc. etc. He’s always looking for attention all the time, so much so to the point it gets infuriating and feels like the boy is just blatantly selfish and self-absorbed, stuck in his own bubble. All it’ll take is one action though and suddenly Clark can’t tell if the behavior is born from insecurity or just him, can’t tell if Superboy screams neglected child, can’t tell if this is how a child learning new things and using learned behavior usually acts, can’t tell if he was emotionally abused based on how he said the scientists and Luthor treated him. So Clark focuses on the bigger parts, the shallower aspects, the parts he can tell, like how Superboy hits on people way too old for him, exaggerates and brags too much, acts entitled far more times than Clark can count, and acts like a spoiled brat in general. It’s too much. It’s overwhelming.
Superboy is just too much.
Clark can’t stand him. He hates him. He hates Superboy. He doesn’t want him. At all.
But the boy grows on you and just like a breath of fresh air after drowning for so long, Clark can’t help but love him to an extent. Months pass and Clark still walks on eggshells around him, still feels sick to his stomach, still feels violated, still wonders if leaving Superboy to figure everything out by himself, ditching him in an orphanage of some kid, would be too cruel.
Because Superboy isn’t just some unwanted child; Superboy is exactly what his name entails: a Superboy. He’s a child with powers he shouldn’t have, a responsibility and attachment to Superman that Clark never wanted and doesn’t know how to handle. He’s an actual, literal clone of him. It’s not just a violation of Clark’s body, it isn't solely about the simple act of stealing DNA. It’s about stealing who Clark is. It’s about stealing and copying his powers, trying to replace Clark and kill him , and his powers are a weight that Superboy has yet to understand, a weight he cannot even begin to fathom and something nobody but those who have it could possibly understand, something that both frees and confines Clark, the last memento of his birth parents and planet he has, something that makes him stand out where he is now, forces him to hide and be dishonest but also allows him to help, something that was attempted to be used against him in the form of a clone, stealing every feature but his eye color and personality, that is so mind-numbingly violating.
Except time and time again, Clark is reminded that Superboy is also just Super boy. He had no role, no part in what was done other than being alive. He acts like a child, frowns at vegetables, sings along to openings of kid shows, marvels in the toy section of stores, begs and whines and laughs. He still stands as close as he can to Clark because he likes being near him, likes the body heat and hugging him or holding hands like a normal kid, likes it all and yet refrains from doing any of it, anything other than standing close enough to feel but not touch because he knows Clark can hardly stand to look at him, much less touch him. He’s smart, patient, and kind underneath it all. He’s a sweet kid, one that doesn’t deserve any of this but doesn’t understand that.
Sometimes Clark wants to give Superboy the world, wants to move mountains and rivers and give him anything he wants. Sometimes he would be willing to die if it meant just seeing Superboy happy, would give up anything just to see the kid achieve anything he wants. Sometimes Clark wishes Superboy was never born and never existed. Sometimes Clark wishes he could just drop the kid off on the streets and never see him again.
Most of the time, Clark just wants to lay down and let the wind tell him what to do.