(no subject)
Since CapeCon, Kon-El has been withdrawn. Quiet.
He's not been brooding. He's been thinking.
It was the tribute ceremony that got to him. Saying goodbye to the honored dead. The heroes who have fallen along the way, given of themselves so that others wouldn't have to. Barry Allen, saving the universe from an anti-matter canon. Al Pratt and Charles McNider, dead at the hands of a time-twisting psychotic ex-hero turned power junkie. Johnny Thunder, the old guy with the bowtie, dead to save everyone from the Ultra-Humanite. Kinda dead, anyway. That one was a grey area. The original Mr. Terrific, not so much with the grey. Totally dead. Executed by the Spirit King, murdered while he was wearing Jay Garrick's body like a new suit.
They all get to come back eventually, though. Don't they? After all, Superman did.
He'd gone and sat in the park, in Metropolis, for a while, in the shadow of the bronze statue that Lex Luthor had erected after Superman went down swinging on Doomsday. He'd never known this park to not have that statue. After all, he hadn't been cloned until well after it had been erected. It was a strange sort of peaceful in that park. He bought crusty bread from a street-vendor, and when the half-loaf of french bread had gone cold in his hand, he used his tactile teke to crumble it into easy-to-eat crumbs, leaving it on the ground for the birds.
He walked around Metropolis for a while, hands in his pockets, slouching a little, the way Clark taught him, the better to distract from his build. Behind the little secret identity tics, no one could see Superboy. Well, he hoped no one could, anyway. The last thing he needed was someone from Lexcrop dropping in to pick him up when he wasn't even supposed to be in the city in the first place.
He's not been brooding. He's been thinking.
It was the tribute ceremony that got to him. Saying goodbye to the honored dead. The heroes who have fallen along the way, given of themselves so that others wouldn't have to. Barry Allen, saving the universe from an anti-matter canon. Al Pratt and Charles McNider, dead at the hands of a time-twisting psychotic ex-hero turned power junkie. Johnny Thunder, the old guy with the bowtie, dead to save everyone from the Ultra-Humanite. Kinda dead, anyway. That one was a grey area. The original Mr. Terrific, not so much with the grey. Totally dead. Executed by the Spirit King, murdered while he was wearing Jay Garrick's body like a new suit.
They all get to come back eventually, though. Don't they? After all, Superman did.
He'd gone and sat in the park, in Metropolis, for a while, in the shadow of the bronze statue that Lex Luthor had erected after Superman went down swinging on Doomsday. He'd never known this park to not have that statue. After all, he hadn't been cloned until well after it had been erected. It was a strange sort of peaceful in that park. He bought crusty bread from a street-vendor, and when the half-loaf of french bread had gone cold in his hand, he used his tactile teke to crumble it into easy-to-eat crumbs, leaving it on the ground for the birds.
He walked around Metropolis for a while, hands in his pockets, slouching a little, the way Clark taught him, the better to distract from his build. Behind the little secret identity tics, no one could see Superboy. Well, he hoped no one could, anyway. The last thing he needed was someone from Lexcrop dropping in to pick him up when he wasn't even supposed to be in the city in the first place.