#wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

what do you have for Clark kent?

Clark is the last son of Krypton.

Clark is the last of Krypton.

At least, that's what he thought thirty seconds ago.

"Uh," the kid standing in the middle of the broken-up Metropolis street in front of him says awkwardly, a gloved hand half-covering the bright and bold and undeniable emblem on his chest. There's a lot of surrounding property damage, a lot of staring civilians hovering on the sidewalk, and some very upset police officers cuffing up some very unconscious metahuman gang members. Clark can't even begin to bring himself to care about any of it. "Hey . . . ?"

"Hello," Diana says, raising a curious eyebrow at both the kid and the ridiculous mess that's somehow been made of the street. From the look of it maybe one of those gang members had some kind of tectonic-based abilities or something similar, but Clark continues not to care. "It seems we've encountered an admirer of yours, Kal."

"You're wearing that crest without permission," Bruce says flatly, looking less amused than Clark has seen him since the last time someone died on the League's watch.

Clark, meanwhile, can't say anything at all.

"Hey, Superman gave me permission, okay?!" the kid protests, bristling defensively. Clutching the emblem . . . protectively. Like he's afraid to have it taken away. "Just not, uh . . . this one."

"This one." Bruce frowns. The kid flattens his hand against his chest and just . . . shrugs, looking away. Clark can't look away from him at all. He looks like . . . he looks . . .

"Yeah," the kid says, gesturing a little directionlessly with his free hand. "I'm kinda not, like . . . local? There was like this whole thing, like with Hypertime and–it's complicated, okay? Just, like, it's an alternate reality issue. I'm sort of, uh . . . lost. Or–stranded, more like. I guess more like . . . stranded."

The kid swallows. Drops his hand away from the emblem and folds his arms over it instead.

Keeps standing there, looking like . . .

"Are you, now," Bruce says neutrally, and he's definitely going somewhere with that, but–

"You're Kryptonian," Clark blurts, because he can't hold the words back a moment longer. Diana and Bruce both go very still beside him. The kid just looks surprised.

"Uh, not really?" he says. "I mean, okay, sort of. I'm a binary clone of . . . you know, like a hybrid? Um, they based me off, well . . . our Superman. And then, like, stitched me up with human DNA to hold me together 'cuz the Kryptonian genome is a freaking nightmare and they couldn't really figure it out all that well, so otherwise I would've degraded and–uh. Sorry."

Clark feels something he doesn't think he's ever felt in his life, looking at this kid. Feels like he's been dragging himself through the uncanny valley and finally seen the other side of the thing; like he's finally crossed through the fog and darkness and come out into the clear light of day and seen what people are actually supposed to look like. Everything about him is just . . . right. The pitch of his voice, the slope of his shoulders, the way the sunlight reflects off his skin, the pattern of spokes in his irises, the color of his eyes, the weight of him in the world . . .

Clark wants to snatch this kid up and wrap him in his cape and never let anything else touch him. Never let him be hurt or upset or–or alone. Never. Not for anything.

He feels the way he's heard people describe feeling when they first met . . . when they first . . .

He feels the way he's heard people describe feeling when they first met their child. A sense of awe and wonder and . . . and . . .

He feels like he felt the first time he left the atmosphere and saw all of Earth all at once. Everything on it, everyone on it. The whole thing all together, all the same. Perfect.

Complete.

He's never loved anything this immediately, Clark realizes distantly. Not even that first full glimpse of Earth.

He can't imagine how he ever, ever could have.

"What's your name?" he asks, unable to shake the intensity of emotion held painfully tight in his chest. Not even wanting to shake it.

The kid looks–worried, almost. Puts his hands behind his back. Clark can see the full image of the El crest emblazoned in pride of place across his chest for the first time, and it makes him feel weak.

"Superboy," the kid says. "Um . . . Kon-El."

Clark's heart could burst, hearing that.

Or break.

"Kon-El," he echoes, forcing himself not to step in closer; not to crowd the kid. "I had a . . . on Krypton, before it was destroyed, there was . . ."

"A cousin. From the, uh, second house of El," the kid–Kon-El–agrees, shifting just barely anxiously. "My Superman said I . . . reminded him of him, like from what he saw in the recordings and all? So, uh . . ."

"I named you after him?" Clark asks wonderingly. He would've given the kid a human name over a Kryptonian one, himself, but then again, a public street in an alternate dimension isn't really the place for him to be introducing himself as "Jon Kent" or anything similar. Kon nods stiffly, drawing himself up a bit.

"Yeah," he says. "He said, uh–um. He said Kon-El was strong-willed. And . . . uh . . ."

He trails off, looking nervous, and then visibly steels himself and looks defensive again instead.

"He said I was family," he says, squaring his shoulders and lifting his jaw, like he's actually expecting someone to argue with him or something. "So he gave me that name."

Clark doesn't know who the hell made this kid so much as hesitate over saying that to any version of him that isn't an active supervillain, but he thinks he'd like to throw them into the Phantom Zone for a century or two. Just . . . that's all.

Or maybe three.

#clark kent #kon el #superman #superboy #superfamily #plotbunny-bundle #rinfic #long post #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for yesdangerpls; the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

“A version of you was conquering alternate realities,” Bruce says, still neutral. 

“Uh,” Kon says, looking embarrassed. “Kinda, yeah? Kinda definitely, actually. I mean–dude had some issues. His home reality wasn’t really all that clone-friendly, and shit kinda went to shit there, and then he just decided ‘actually killing inconvenient people is ethically okay if I just make clones out of their dead bodies and give those clones their memories after’, so, uh . . . issues, like I said. Serious ones.” 

“And you don’t think that’s ethical?” Bruce says, which is an obvious test. Kon glowers at him as Clark resists the urge to sigh at Bruce. The man’s as paranoid as ever, no surprise. It’s . . . understandable, admittedly, but not exactly fair in this situation. 

“Clones are their own people,” Kon says, setting his jaw stubbornly. “No matter whose memories you stick in our heads.” 

“That’s a school of thought,” Bruce says neutrally. Kon scowls, then pointedly lifts his lassoed wrist. 

“You’re an asshole,” he says emphatically. Clark has to muffle a snort of laughter behind his hand; Diana does the same. Bruce looks sour. Clark knows he doesn’t think they’re taking this seriously enough, but he just can’t look at this kid and see a threat. 

Of course, that’s part of why Bruce doesn’t think they’re taking this seriously enough. 

“And you’re asking for a lot of trust, for someone who’s reportedly an interdimensional conqueror in at least one reality,” Bruce says. “Why should we believe this version of you is any different from Black Zero?” 

“For the record, it was a version of me that stopped him, too,” Kon says, still scowling at him. “Like, a whole bunch of versions of me. And we didn’t all survive the experience. So I dunno, democratically speaking I think I’m mostly not a shithead.” 

“And you don’t know how to return to your home reality?” Diana asks. Kon grimaces, then shakes his head. 

“No idea,” he says. “I only got out into Hypertime to begin with because another Superboy showed up in our Watchtower with a hyperjacket keyed to his DNA and, uh . . . crash-landed and died right in the middle of a JLA meeting, actually. He was–injured, when he made the jump. Didn’t survive it. He was with the resistance. Was trying to warn our reality that Black Zero was coming, but . . .” 

Clark feels immediately nauseous at that thought; wonders how traumatic and horrible it was for his alternate version to watch that happen and not be able to save that version of Kon. Wonders if that Kon’s version of him even knows what happened to him. If . . . 

He tries not to think about it. It’s not something he can do anything about. 

It’s definitely motivating him to get this Kon home all the quicker, though. His other self must be losing his mind right now. 

“Satisfied?” he asks Bruce, raising an eyebrow at him again. He’d be amused, a little, if he weren’t still thinking about what had happened to that other version of Kon: about a kid that young dying far from home trying to do the right thing, surrounded by a roomful of heroes who couldn’t save him. 

“No,” Bruce says. 

“Batman, there are multiple realities in which all of us are supervillains,” Diana says wryly, unlooping her lasso from Kon’s wrist and winding it up again. “We can hardly blame Kon-El for the crimes of a single version of himself.” 

Bruce has a look on his face that makes it very clear that he does, in fact, think they can do that. Bruce also thinks that about them, though, himself included, so Clark isn’t going to give that concern particularly heavy weight right now.

#yesdangerpls #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon #long post

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt: the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon.

“Half-Kryptonian, half-human,” Bruce reports flatly, clearly not liking the answer. Clark feels his heart clench painfully in his chest again at the confirmation, even as obvious as it was to his eyes. “Specifically, fifty-four percent Kryptonian to forty-six percent human.” 

“I think it’s more like fifty-two and forty-four, technically,” Kon says. Bruce looks irritated again, but Clark’s immediately curious, since that obviously doesn’t add up to a full hundred percent and also he just wants to know everything about this kid. “They custom-built the last four percent or something, I guess, so it’s kinda . . . synthetic DNA, probably? Or something, I dunno. That’s where the TTK and the part where I haven’t collapsed into clone soup comes from, though. Apparently, anyway.” 

Clark feels briefly nauseous at the mention of collapsing into . . . “clone soup”, which just leads to all sorts of horrifying mental images, but Kon says it casually, as if it’s not an actual concern and more just a morbid reference, which is . . . still concerning, admittedly, but at least less concerning than it could be. If he’d had to watch Kon degenerate to death while knowing his other version would never even know what had happened to him . . . 

That sounds like a literal goddamn nightmare come to life, yes. And he can’t imagine being that version of himself, either, and just never, ever knowing. Just having that empty place in his life forever, and never knowing why it had happened or what had happened to the person who belonged in it, and just hoping against hope, without knowing it was already too late. 

God, what a thought. 

“Satisfied, Batman?” Clark asks, trying not to think about it. They’ll get Kon home. If there isn’t a way to track down his home reality with science, magic is still on the table. The League is full of resourceful, well-connected people who are owed a lot of favors, and someone always knows someone.

“Not even remotely,” Bruce replies, stepping away from the scanners and gesturing Kon towards Diana. “Lasso.” 

“Batman . . .” Clark sighs, folding his arms. “You’re three Robins deep and they’ve never had to answer to the Lasso of Truth.” 

“None of them showed up already wearing a bat on their chest and claiming ties to one of the most singularly powerful people on Earth,” Bruce retorts flatly. “And even if he’s telling the truth, for all we know this boy’s Superman is a supervillain.” 

“He is definitely not, actually,” Kon says, shooting him a dubious look as he folds his own arms the exact same way Clark just did. Clark resists the urge to take the imitation as flattery. Bruce looks exasperated, very briefly.

“Then you won’t mind telling Wonder Woman’s lasso that,” he says. 

“Robin would tell me to ask for a lawyer, I’m pretty sure,” Kon says, still more dubious. Bruce looks very exasperated. 

“Well, he isn't wrong,” Diana says, clearly amused.

#wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon #long post

[suzukiblu]

WIP Wednesday The Last Dad of Krypton meets Hypertime Son

“The telekinesis is from your human DNA, then?” Clark asks, smiling at him. Kon blinks a few times, then shifts his center of balance just a little bit. 

“Sort of. I mean, not really. Well, it’s based on–like, I can fly with it and sort of . . . like, make a shield? Kind of? Like, a skin-tight one, so it looks sort of like being invulnerable,” Kon says, leaning in a little closer towards him. Clark is–embarrassingly grateful that the kid trusts him enough to tell him that. Tell him anything, but especially anything about how his powers work. “Because the whole tactile thing. It’ll work on anything I touch, but I’m always touching myself, obviously, so . . . wow that sounded weird, shit, please ignore how weird that sounded.” 

Clark laughs, and Kon goes very still for a moment and just–stares at him. Very, very intently. 

“Did something sound weird?” Clark teases gently, and gives the kid a hopelessly fond smile, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “I didn’t hear a thing.” 

“He literally just told you his powers were based on touch,” Bruce says flatly, eyeing his hand where it’s sitting on Kon’s shoulder. Diana muffles a quiet chuckle. 

“I mean, I can already reach all of you right now,” Kon says, briefly sheepish. “It’s, uh–transitive? I think that’s the word? Like, you just have to be touching something I’m touching, so since we’re all standing on the same surface and all . . .” 

The line of Bruce’s mouth goes very sour. Clark continues not to care. Later, maybe. He’ll care later. 

He’s never seen anyone like Kon before. No one who looked so right to him; whose voice and face and eyes and even his heartbeat all just were . . . all just fit. 

It doesn’t help that the kid looks just like him. A different haircut, and he’d be looking at his teenage self in the mirror. It’s . . . 

This is how parents feel when they meet their kid for the first time, isn’t it. 

Well–of course it is, he thinks, because how else could he feel right now?

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

For Wip Wednesday is it possible to request one of each? Or would you prefer individual asks for different wipes?

the Gotham Kid

Trauma can do a lot to a person, though, and it’s not like the Alley isn’t spoiled for it. Kid’s only been here a few months, and he’s seen way worse than something a cheap dye job could cover up. 

Way, way worse. 

“Should it be, pretty boy?” Trish asks the guy, her smile pleasantly poisonous and familiarly shit-starting. Kid might have to rough up a couple guys before they're done here, he notes in mild resignation. Not that he blames her for wanting to make it clear that this isn't the time or place for outsiders to be fucking with anybody, but these guys haven't actually done any fucking with anybody yet. 

Though he does know better than to give anybody in Gotham too much benefit of the doubt, especially in Crime Alley. 

Superman would, but Superman would do a lot of things Kid can't afford to.

Could never afford to.

the one where Kon isn't the father

Tim cries all over himself and also Kon for way, way too long, but it’s–fine. It’s fine. He can explain looking like he cried to the Kents, because crying over his dead boyfriend coming back to life is a perfectly normal emotional response. 

And Kon is, technically, his dead boyfriend now. Or–not the dead part anymore, obviously, but–

“The cover’s good as-is,” Kon murmurs quietly as they’re sitting together in the far corner of the nursery. She’s still asleep. Tim couldn’t bring himself to leave her and go upstairs, though. “Like–what everybody assumed, I mean. They already all think it anyway, right? Like, they’re all already convinced. So coming up with a different lie might just make ‘em reexamine shit and maybe notice something, and that’d be a problem.” 

“It would,” Tim agrees in relief, glad that Kon understands that. But also . . . “But you want to tell them–you want to pretend about us, too?” 

“I don’t want anybody to have a single reason to doubt who Kyra’s other dad is,” Kon says. “Ever.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Tim says, although if Kon doesn’t it's going to ruin his life. 

Ruin Kyra’s life, more importantly. 

“Fuck off, Rob, don’t tell me what to do,” Kon snorts the exact same way he used to in their Young Justice days, and Tim chokes on a sob of a laugh. Fuck, he’s missed him. 

He’s missed him so, so much.

Match technically is also a Luthor

Match finds that response . . . strange. Strange in several ways, in fact, because it almost sounded like Luthor was actually listening to what he said. 

Almost. 

“I take it there isn’t something less idiotic than ‘Subject Match’ to be calling you, then?” Luthor says. 

“No,” Match says. He doesn’t particularly care what anyone thinks of his designation–it’s perfectly serviceable–but he doesn’t know what he thinks of the way Luthor’s commenting on it. Like he thinks the Agenda should’ve . . . tried harder or something. 

That can’t be right, Match thinks. 

“Of course there’s not,” Luthor snorts dubiously. “Fine, I’ll come up with something bearable in the car. Now come along, I wasn’t actually joking about that meeting I have to terrorize. The board members have been getting ideas again, suicidal little optimists that they are.” 

“In the . . . car?” Match asks incredibly. What, did he just drive here? 

“That is what I said, yes,” Luthor says, then snaps his fingers impatiently beore turning back towards the door. “Keep up.” 

And Match doesn’t understand what the hell is happening here or even why it’s happening at all, but he doesn’t have orders and Luthor definitely does have kryptonite, or at least an Amazon or two, so Match just . . . 

Follows him.

weird Kryptonian bonding rituals

“Huh?” Clark startles, and they all look over at Lois. She looks triumphant, waving her phone. 

“Conner,” she repeats matter-of-factly. “It’s easy to pronounce, common enough he won’t constantly be having to spell it, but still uncommon enough there won’t be twelve other ones everywhere he goes. Also it means ‘lover of hounds’, so we have to get him a dog now. Do you want a dog, Conner? And, uh, also the name. Also do you want the name.” 

“. . . maybe?” Superboy looks curious, floating over to peer at the phone screen. “What’s having a dog like?” 

“It's nice, if you get one who's right for you and take good care of them,” Clark says, immediately resolving to find an apartment that allows pets. He’ll pay the pet fee. He’ll pay a monthly pet fee if he has to. Superboy can have all the dogs he wants. “It's rewarding. And, well–nice, again. Dogs are great, and they love people. Man’s best friend and all that, you know? Not that we necessarily count as that kind of ‘man’ because of the whole alien definitely-not-biological-weapons issue but–look, it’s fine, dogs are great! They don’t even get weird about us being the wrong species! Um. Not the wrong species, just . . .”

“A dog would love me?” Superboy tilts his head, then . . . blinks, very slowly. “Like–how much?” 

“Almost as much as we're going to,” Clark says, his chest clenching tightly.

the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon

“We’ll help you however we can,” Clark promises again, slightly rephrased, and Kon looks surprised. 

“Um–you sure it's not a problem?” he hedges awkwardly. “I can, like, go bother somebody who’s less busy . . .” 

Clark cannot imagine ever being busy enough to ignore this kid, much less pawn him off on someone else. That is not a thing that he is ever going to do, no matter how long it takes to get Kon home. He’s another Kryptonian, and one who’s proudly wearing the El crest and carrying both genes and a name from a version of him. How could he do anything less than his best for him? 

“It’s not a problem at all,” he says firmly, giving Kon’s shoulder another squeeze before dropping his hand away. 

“Certainly not,” Diana agrees. 

“It’s definitely a problem,” Bruce mutters under his breath, like he’s never picked up a random stray kid who he doesn’t know anything about except how much they needed his help. Hypocrite, Clark thinks both wryly and fondly.

#anonymous #wip: the gotham kid #wip: the one where kon isn't the father #wip: match is technically also a luthor #wip: weird kryptonian bonding rituals #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon #long post

[suzukiblu]

Hypertime for wip Wednesday?

“I am cooperating,” Kon says indignantly, putting his hands on his hips. “And my story isn’t even ‘outlandish’! Kal’s from an alien planet and Wonder Woman’s a literal magic warrior princess from a secret island, and you’re a totally normal human who just decided to go fist-fight violent crimes every night without any powers at all! That is all just as weird as I am!"

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

Kal deserves sime kinship. Hypertime Kon for WIP Wednesday

“Batman . . .” Diana says, raising a meaningful eyebrow. Bruce glowers at the screen. 

“Half-Kryptonian, half-human,” he says flatly. “Specifically, fifty-four percent Kryptonian to forty-six percent human.” 

“Fifty-two and forty-four, technically,” Kon says. Bruce looks irritated again. Clark’s immediately curious, though. “They custom-built the last four percent or something, I guess. I dunno. That’s where the TTK and the part where I haven’t collapsed into clone soup comes from.”

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

wip Wednesday I would love more last son of krypton and hypertime kon

“We can help you,” Clark promises, because obviously they will. Because he can’t possibly not. Kon looks a little startled again, and then just–pained, more than anything else. 

“I don’t know if you can,” he says in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm again and looking around the smashed-up street. “I don’t have any of the tech we used and I don’t know how it worked either. I don’t even have the home signature of my reality. I–don’t know how to get back.” 

Clark has the awful, visceral thought that this kid might’ve just lost his entire world. Worse than that–lost everyone he’s ever known or seen or even heard of in passing. All his friends, all his family . . . 

And he’s all alone in a strange new world with nothing but the crest on his chest and his name and whatever a yellow sun will give him. 

So that’s . . . definitely something that Clark is thinking about right now. 

Something he’s thinking a lot about.

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

For WIP Wednesday: the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon? (And thank you!!)

“DNA scan first,” Bruce instructs tersely as they enter the lab, immediately heading for the equipment. He called ahead to have it set up and the lab cleared, because he’s Bruce and if he’s not over-prepared, then it’s the end of the world. 

Well, no, Bruce is definitely over-prepared for the end of the world too. 

“How many needles are involved in this DNA scan?” Kon asks with a grimace. “Like, ballpark it for me.” 

“None,” Clark says, unable to repress a wry little smile of amusement. “It’s a noninvasive procedure. We don’t need a blood draw or anything.” 

“Oh, cool,” Kon says, looking curious–and a little relieved, too. Well, it probably takes kryptonite to get a needle through his skin, so Clark doesn’t blame him for that. Though they do have the red sun room, of course, but that’s a much longer process. “Uh–no offense, just not a fan of getting stabbed, y’know?” 

“Your ear is pierced,” Clark points out mildly, and Kon blushes in embarrassment and covers it with a hand. 

“That is so different!” he sputters, gesturing with his free hand. “And it didn’t involve anybody running off with any of my blood or anything!” 

Clark tries not to laugh, but it’s very hard not to laugh. The kid is just so animated, so reactive and emotional, and it’s just . . . 

The closest he’s ever gotten to another “living” Kryptonian is the Fortress’s AI, which has always been stiff and stagnant and artificial. Kon, though . . . Kon is alive, just like the people in all the old recordings that Clark has spent countless hours watching, wondering what it would’ve been like to meet even one other person like him, even once. 

This, apparently, is what that’s like.

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

happy wip wednesday!! really digging the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon, so maybe some more of that please 💕

“What?” Clark asks, bewildered. Elemental control isn’t a Kryptonian power; how did he . . . ? 

“They made me a little telekinetic when they were working on my powers, so I’d have something ‘til the yellow sun really kicks in,” Kon confesses, looking inexplicably embarrassed. “Like–just kinda. It’s tactile-based, so when I’m on the ground I can, uh . . . affect the ground? Basically?” 

Clark looks around the broken street again and realizes–this damage was all done simultaneously, wasn’t it. 

“That’s amazing,” he says, more than a little impressed. 

Kon . . . blinks.

“Um,” he says. “Thanks . . . ?”

#this-was-a-terrible-idea #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

Hypertime Kon for WIP Wednesday please?

“Um,” Kon says, grimacing slightly. “It’s–fine. It’s just, uh . . . there was a reason I was the guy in Hypertime, and not, like, somebody from the Justice League or whatever. The, uh, travel method I was using was kinda a hand-me-down, and it was keyed to, um . . . my DNA. Like–exactly my DNA.” 

“Was it, now,” Bruce says neutrally. Kon shrugs, looking uncomfortable.

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

OUGH ITS STILL WEDNESDAY

hypertime please??? 🥺

If Kon’s been born in multiple realities, why not theirs? He could happen here too, couldn’t he? 

It’s very, very hard for Clark not to ask about that right now.

#ddxcrow #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

It's still Wednesday where I am so I'd love more "Hypertime Kon" ❤️

“Batman,” Clark sighs himself. “Is that a necessary question for the lasso?” 

“Seeing how he didn’t mention it when it originally came up?” Bruce says dryly. “Yes.” 

“And you couldn’t have asked at the time?” Clark replies equally dryly.

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon WIP please!

“Right, of course,” he says, still not able to shake the wry smile. Diana looks amused too. Bruce looks irritated, but of course he does. “Don’t worry, we won’t be pulling anything too vampiric on you. You’ve got sunlight in that blood, after all.” 

“Oh, he’s got jokes,” Kon grumbles, folding his arms with a huffy expression that makes Clark have to stifle a grin and want to pinch his cheeks. Kon’s just–he’s so–

He’s alive, and he’s nothing like anyone else Clark has ever seen.

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

the Last Son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon please

Bruce looks even more exasperated, which is funny coming from a man who’s raised three extremely headstrong teenagers and should therefore be used to the experience of communicating with one. Clark hides a smile behind his fist and resists the urge to chuckle at him. Bruce wouldn’t appreciate it, for one. 

Though it is pretty funny.

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon

[suzukiblu]

Hypertime Kon?

They materialize in the Watchtower and Kon glances around curiously. Clark wonders, again, how long the kid’s been doing this. He’s young enough that he can’t imagine his other self having let him out in the field for too long, considering what a target he'd obviously be with the El crest on his chest and a younger version of Clark’s own face, but he seems casual enough about the sight of other superheroes; it's the Watchtower he looks at like it's something new and unusual. 

Clark can only imagine how his other self feels, having finally let the kid out into the world and having something like this happen. Getting Kon back home as quickly as possible is definitely for the best. 

He . . . wishes it weren’t so urgent, a part of him. But that’s a selfish thought that he’s going to keep inside his head, not something he’d ever act on. 

It’s so hard not to reach out towards the kid, though. Not to keep finding little excuses to touch his shoulder or arm or guide him down the hall. Clark wants to ruffle his hair, pat his head; just hold him. He wants to know everything about him; everything about the closest thing to another Kryptonian he’s ever met. 

He wishes he could introduce him to Ma and Pa. Let them meet him. They need to get Kon home, though, and there’s no reason to delay it by making him meet people he already knows in his own reality. 

. . . though if he has to stay a few nights before he can get home, Clark wonders if . . .

#anonymous #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon