Oh man this is ridiculous
Title: Visiting Rights
Fandom: DC
Characters/pairings: Kon, Lex Luthor, Kon/Cassie, Clark, Lois, Clark/Lois, the YJ kids, Kara, Natasha Irons, Zachary Zatara, blink and you’ll miss it Zach/Eddie, Mercy motherfucking Graves, Chris Kent mentions of other characters like John Henry Irons
Rating: R for language and excessive BRODACIOUSNESS
Summary:Stupidly perfect AU. Lex Luthor sues for custody, and Clark caves. HIJINKS ENSUE.
Warnings: 100% pure unrepentant crack, hipsters, Kon being Kon, lots of milkshakes, blatant disregard for canon, schmoop, run-on sentences, text messages
Eventually Lex Luthor had sued for joint custody, and because Clark didn’t want to bankrupt the Justice League, Bruce, Themiscyra, his parents, and his and Lois’s relatively meager savings fighting a custody battle with Luthor and, probably more importantly, all the lawyers they knew personally who might be willing to do some pro bono work didn’t really do this sort of thing, Kon was sitting in front of his desk, fidgeting awkwardly and trying to pretend like he didn’t really hate his sort of other-dad. Luthor looked terribly earnest, like he wanted to ask him about school and girls and maybe like invest in his college fund or something. In a really weird sort of way it reminded him of how Clark tried to take him for milkshakes or play catch or be patronizing and fatherly. God, if Luthor started asking him about Cassie he was gonna have to hit something and that would just suck. Actually if he said Cassie’s name he was going to have to give her Clark’s “Secret identities” talk which would probably sound a lot worse coming from him since he hadn’t had one for like ninety percent of his entire life, but really he got kind of worried sometimes because she wasn’t nearly as careful as Tim or Cissie or anyone, not that anyone should be as careful as Tim because really that was just Bat-neurosis, but when Bart’s starting to do a better job than you and you’re supposed to be all sensible and responsible and shit, well, you got a problem is all he has to say. She really had a giant blind spot when it came to secret identities and it probably was because Wonder Woman was really actually terrible at that sort of thing, and so was Donna Troy when you came right down to it. Actually, there probably wasn’t a single Amazon who even had a secret identity, except for Cassie, and he was counting that chick from the Outsiders who was kind of terrifying and hot.
“So, Kon-El,” said Luthor, snapping him out of his weird Themiscyran reverie. “Tell me about yourself. I’m afraid I haven’t seen you for the longest time.”
“Um,” said Kon, unsure where to start. “I’m just a regular guy, I guess, except for, you know, the tactile telekinesis. I like sunglasses?”
What the fuck, Conner, he mentally berated himself. Sunglasses, I ask you, honestly, what the fuck.
Luthor raised his eyebrows.
“Um, I mean, surfing,” he said hastily. “I meant surfing but I said sunglasses. Haha, who even does that?”
That was a lie. Kon had never even gone surfing, but it sounded better than “I like to sit on the beach and show off for the hot girls, at least until I moved to Smallville and started dating this girl who like rolls her eyes and me and makes me feel bad about doing stuff like that all the time, maybe you’ve heard of her, her name is Wonder Girl?” Plus, if he said that, Luthor would probably take out a hit on Cassie, and she probably had homework or something to do because she was responsible and didn’t make Bart do it.
Plus, he was like fifty percent sure that Cassie liked homework, which was weird and unnatural, and probably would rather be reading about friggin’ ancient Greece than punching things, although probably not more than bossing people around.
But, goddammit, he was thinking about Cassie again when he should be paying attention to Luthor in case he said anything about his evil empire that he could tell Clark or Lois about and they could write it up in the Daily Planet and Luthor would go to jail and he’d never have to sit through an awkward meeting like this ever ever again.
“Hm,” said Luthor, clearly thinking that he must not’ve given him enough of his own DNA because Kon was like the biggest idiot ever in the history of dumb. “I’ve heard good things about Young Justice. Why don’t you tell me about that?”
Kon really wished he had a beverage to choke on or some other really good way to express his disbelief because whoa, did Lex “I hate Superman” Luthor really just approve of something spandex-y and justice-related? Holy shit, he’d have to call Tim and tell him that and also pretty much everyone, ever.
“It’s good,” said Kon. He wondered what he could tell him that wouldn’t probably get someone killed. “Um, I really like the other kids there. We, uh, we have a lot of fun together.”
Which, yeah, be more vague. If this was Clark he could tell him about something totally ridiculous Cissie did once, and Clark would look all shocked and scandalized and it would be totally hilarious. But, no. Luthor would probably just arrange to have Cissie killed.
Man, Kon didn’t give Clark enough credit. Yeah, he was uptight and kind of awkward and liked milkshakes probably way too much and thought baseball was better than football and was the one who told him to go live in Smallville in the first place when Hawaii was obviously so much better but at least he didn’t kill people or sue them. Plus, he totally did barbeques and shit where Kon could invite his friends instead of prissy, awkward dinners at fancy Italian restaurants.
“I’ve made reservations at Inocenzia,” Luthor was saying. Apparently he had been talking this whole time and Kon had been too busy thinking about Clark’s weird milkshake obsession to notice. He really had got to stop doing that or Luthor would put out a hit on him. “I take it you like Italian?”
“Um,” said Kon, who was wearing his Superboy costume to preserve his newfound secret identity. “I don’t really think I’m dressed for the occasion.”
“I had a suit made in your size,” said Luthor, with a smile that he probably thought was kindly. “It will be waiting for you in your bedroom. Be back down here by 6:15.”
Oh dear lord he had a bedroom. It was probably Armani. It probably had, like imported plants and tropical fish and expensive photographs of cities on the walls and sheets that cost more than probably even Tim’s Bat-allowance could afford. Suddenly he wanted very much to be back in Clark’s old bedroom in Smallville with the plaid comforter and the stupid JSA poster which was like, way more awkward now that he knew most of the people in it and the pictures of Cassie and Tim and everyone on his desk. Would Luthor expect him to put pictures of Cassie and Tim and everyone on his desk? Oh god, he was going to have to drag around a little duffel bag for weekends or else keep a spare set of clothes which, in all fairness, Luthor would probably buy for him.
Anyway, Luthor shooed him onto the elevator because apparently they lived in Lexcorp Tower which really didn’t surprise him in the least, and as soon as he was alone he whipped out his cell phone to call Tim.
“What,” Tim answered, and it wasn’t even a question, which was rude.
“Oh god, Tim, you have got to save me,” he whispered, kind of still paranoid that Luthor was watching him through the elevator cameras or something.
“Did you get kidnapped by wizards again?” asked Tim, yawning.
“No, I did not get kidnapped by wizards and if I did, you could try to sound a little more worried about it,” said Kon. “I need to know what rich people do.”
“Can I ask you why you even care?” asked Tim.
“Because I am with Lex fucking Luthor and we’re going out to dinner,” snapped Kon. “Does it matter?”
“Is Cassie taking you to a benefit or something?” Tim asked. He sounded bored. “Because if she is, all you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”
“No, I told you. I’m going out to dinner with Luthor, and I need to know which fork to use so I don’t make an ass out of myself in front of this fancy Italian restaurant,” said Kon.
“What,” said Tim flatly. “Why are you going out to dinner with Luthor.”
“Because it’s my weekend at his house,” said Kon. He sighed. “Look, can you just help me?”
“It’s your weekend at his house?” asked Tim incredulously.
“He sued for custody, all right?” said Kon.
“Like him and Clark got divorced or something?” Tim laughed.
“Exactly like that. Would you stop laughing?” Kon snapped impatiently. “This is serious.”
“Bruce would’ve helped,” said Tim.
“I’m sorry, do you want him and Cassandra and Alfred and everyone living at your house?” asked Kon. “Because that’s totally what would have happened if he tried to get into a legal battle with fucking Lex Luthor. He would have lost his entire house, and then where would you be.”
“Cass has her own apartment,” said Tim indifferently.
“My point remains,” said Kon. “So are you going to help me or what?”
There was a long, drawn-out silence that usually meant Tim was going to say something he thought was funny but nobody else did.
“I’ll go get Alfred,” he said finally.
Fifteen minutes and an etiquette lesson later, Kon was standing nervously outside Luthor’s office, trying to figure out cuff links. Luthor showed up shortly after he did, smiling benevolently (and who even smiles benevolently unless they’re actually an evil dictator?). Immediately Kon wanted to call Tim back and ask him what the hell he could possibly talk about, or if Alfred knew. Potentially he could text him from the car, or maybe Cassie because that was kind of a Cassie question anyways. Cissie probably would know. Potentially also there could be a supervillian attack, although probably not since this was Metropolis and it had, like, Superman and Steel and the other Steel and like ten or fifteen other people protecting it. So. He was stuck.
“Shall we go?” said Luthor, and Kon nodded, and they started to walk. There was a limo waiting out front, which was stupid, but also typical. They slid in, and as soon as Luthor wasn’t looking he pulled out his phone to send a mass text.
Help me I’m in a limo with Luthor and I can’t get out we are going to dinner and there won’t even be any supervillians except for Luthor because I am GOING TO DINNER WITH HIM
To which they all immediately responded, because they had no lives and basically just lived to hear what he had to say.
Cassie first, with haha good luck BB call me when it’s over, and then Bart said Haha what? Cissie was mean and just said hahahahahaha oh my god I’m dyinnnggg how did that even happen to you? and Tim was just like, I talked to you like five minutes ago. Stop whining. Anita asked him What? Why? Greta told him that Haha if you got kidnapped by wizards I can totally help you! And Kara, who was like the worst fake cousin ever and deserved to be sent back into space from whence she came said sucks to be you! So basically what he took away from it was that his friends thought it was funny when his life was miserable.
And it was miserable. Miserable and awkward. He really didn’t have anything to say and Luthor kept asking him terribly pointed questions, like where he lived and if he was in school, which Kon really didn’t know how to answer.
“Um,” he said, wondering if he should lie or what. “Not in Hawaii anymore, that’s for sure.”
He managed a quick text to Clark, asking he wants to know where I live what do I do? To which Clark said I don’t know the Watchtower? which was stupid, Young Justice lived in a cave.
“But yeah, Young Justice headquarters is pretty great,” said Kon, which technically wasn’t a lie. “We even have a Jacuzzi.”
“I see,” said Luthor, in a tone of voice which meant I think you’re full of shit, even if you do have a Jacuzzi. “And your schooling?”
“I’m, uh, homeschooled,” Kon lied smoothly. Well. He had been homeschooled for like five minutes back at Cadmus. Kara had to do it a lot longer because she was from space and didn’t know anything, pretty much, so he knew what it was like. “Superman makes sure I do correspondence courses.”
“That’s very responsible of Superman,” said Luthor in a tone of voice which meant when I get full custody you are enrolling in the very best college preparatory school in the city of Metropolis and also Superman is not responsible at all. Kon wondered if maybe it was weird that he knew what Luthor’s tones of voice meant already and decided it was probably genetic.
There was another too long silence, and his phone buzzed against his leg. It was Lois.
Hey kiddo, sorry you’re stuck with Lex, let me know if you need anything or if he lets something slip. Come over Sunday night before you head back to Smallville, Kara wants to see you and Clark is worried. XOXO
It made him feel better to think that Clark was sitting up somewhere fretting about him to Lois and probably anyone unfortunate enough to call, although that did mean like Wonder Woman or someone was going to check up on him next, which was ok but after Wonder Woman usually came Batman, which just sucked since Bruce tended to think of him and Tim and Cass’s borderline retarded little friend. Hopefully he wouldn’t get to the point where he told Oracle and Oracle told everyone, so that he was getting gift baskets from, like, Booster Gold.
Finally they pulled up to the restaurant, and Kon inwardly groaned because checking his phone inside would be bad manners. Luthor seemed happy, though, in that he was smiling, and the chauffeur came around and opened the door.
“After you,” he said to Luthor, who just looked at him funny. “Um. You should probably get out first.”
“I should, shouldn’t I,” said Luthor. He sounded amused, but he got out of the car. Limo. God. Being rich was going to take some getting used to, especially since it wasn’t Tim’s kind of rich which meant you got a nice computer and a new iPod whenever they made one and a car even though you lived in the city, but the shitty kind of rich where you had to wear suits and go to places where they served you truffles, mushroom not chocolate, like all the friggin’ time.
They went into the restaurant, where the host knew Luthor and made a big deal of giving him the best seat in the house which, whatever, wasn’t as cool as floating a table outside with your tactile TK for your girlfriend, who could also float. The waiter brought them bread and also champagne, which was admittedly pretty sweet, even if Luthor only let him have half a glass.
But, well. There wasn’t a lot of conversation going on, and it was uncomfortable. Kon was this close to blurt out something awkward, like “I go to your old high school!” or “My girlfriend can probably beat you up!” Luthor, for his part, was sipping his champagne and looking at him bemusedly, like he was some odd and curious specimen that maybe he could use to kill Superman but would probably not be worth the risk if he tried so maybe he should just use something else, but still was probably good for something that could maybe make him a lot of money. It could probably be called affection if it wasn’t so calculating.
Afterwards they went out for gelato even though they had already had this amazing chocolate-apple dessert thing with hazelnuts, probably because Luthor wanted to make up for how they really had nothing in common. Kon had vanilla, which for some reason made Luthor smirk a little bit, and Luthor had something that Kon thought might have brandy in it. Kara called as soon as he got home, which probably meant she’d been lurking around his window all evening like a creeper.
“Hey, Kara,” he said wearily. He heard giggling in the background, which probably meant Zachary and Natasha were over and he was on speakerphone.
“Hello, Alexander Luthor Junior,” said Kara. More giggling. “How is your other daddy’s penthouse suite?”
“Look, can you either take me off speakerphone or send Zatara out of the room,” said Kon, with near-Tim levels of flatness.
“Hey!” he heard Zachary shout.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have made fun of him,” Natasha said. “And then he wouldn’t hate you so much.”
“I called him broseph!” Zachary protested.
“Ironically,” said Natasha patiently. “You never call people broseph and mean it.”
“You also called him Broback Brobama,” Kara added helpfully. “Now get out of my room.”
He waited until he heard the click of a door before he said, “The penthouse is fine. How is the pretentious hipster lifestyle?”
“We are not hipsters!” said Natasha angrily.
“You are hipsters, I know for a fact you have a unicorn backpack, Kara, so don’t even try,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are hipsters, and you think I’m a bro.”
“Just ‘cause Zat thinks you’re a bro does not mean we all think you’re a bro,” said Kara. He could hear her rolling her eyes. “Zat is stupid and wears girl’s jeans, so ignore him.”
“I’m trying to,” said Kon, over Zachary’s loud “They are not girl’s jeans!” and Natasha’s equally loud, “Stop eavesdropping and go text your boyfriend, Jesus, asshole!”
“No, but seriously,” said Kara. “He hasn’t tried to mind-control you or shove kryptonite down your throat or do experiments or anything?”
“No,” said Kon, almost laughing because that was kind of what he had thought at first a little bit. “I think he really just wants to be my dad.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” said Kara. “I mean, for Luthor.”
“I know,” Kon admitted. “It’s weirding me out a little.”
“Clark’s really going to step up his daddishness,” Kara added. “You’re going to get a ridiculous amount of milkshakes.”
“It’s weird, but I think gelato is like the new milkshakes,” said Kon. “I mean, we had gelato and dessert. That is not normal.”
“I think it’s a really good metaphor for your life, though,” said Kara. “I mean, Luthor is to Clark what gelato is to milkshakes, you know?”
“You need to stop hanging out with Cassie,” said Kon. “That was an analogy.”
“Just ‘cause you like ‘em nerdy does not mean you get to freak out whenever I make an analogy,” said Kara. “Sometimes people make analogies and you are just going to have to deal.”
“I am not freaking out,” said Kon, as patiently as possible. “You’re the one freaking out about how I’m freaking out when I’m not even freaking out. Can you stop freaking out? And besides,” he yawned. “I’m going to see you tomorrow. Can I go to bed now?”
“Fine,” said Kara. “Enjoy your thousand thread count sheets.”
“I will,” said Kon. “Enjoy enjoying Creed ironically.”
“Goodnight, Kon,” said Kara.
“Goodnight, Kara,” said Kon. “Goodnight, Natasha.”
“G’night!” said Natasha, who was probably just happy to be included.
“What about me?” yelled Zachary.
Kon hung up.
The tasteful probably-Armani thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets weren’t as comfortable as his light blue probably-Target ones back in Smallville, but they were close. He slept through the night and dreamed dreams that weren’t interesting enough to remember in the morning, when he was woken up by motherfucking Mercy Graves which was terrifying enough to chase any dream-remnants right out of his head.
“Breakfast’s getting cold,” she said, when he was good and properly scared for his life. He wondered if Luthor did it on purpose or maybe if Mercy asked him if she could. Neither one would surprise him, not even a little bit. He lazed around for maybe thirty seconds before Mercy poked her head back in and he got all terrified again and literally superspeeded it over to the breakfast room. Where, apparently, Luthor had been waiting for him in a bathrobe, which, okay, it was Sunday, and the bathrobe was probably spandex, but still it was the strangest fucking thing he’d ever seen and he was a superhero. Luthor closed his laptop and smiled at him, which was still weirder than Cosmic Horror Number Five or whatever, and some guy came around to take the silver cover thingy off their plates like they were at a fucking hotel. Breakfast was Eggs Benedict, and, as Kon shortly discovered, it was damn good Eggs Benedict, and he could be excused from not talking because it was early and he was eating. So it was good, up until Luthor smiled again and said, “Eat up. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”
Whenever Clark said something like that, it meant a trip to a baseball game and then maybe actually playing baseball, plus probably fighting crime and bookstores and milkshakes. Once they flew down to the Newseum and Kon had to watch him get all teary-eyed at the Lois Lane exhibit, which was more understandable than when he got teary-eyed at the (considerably bigger) Woodward and Bernstein exhibit but just as uncomfortable. Probably the best time had been the Springsteen concert--Kon had grudgingly admitted that maybe Clark’s taste in music wasn’t offensively terrible, and that classic rock was on the whole pretty okay. This was pre-Kara, so nobody had been around to beat him over the head with guitars until he stopped talking about how the Beatles were for old people and hip-hop was where it’s at, and also nobody around to beat him over the head with turntables until he learned about Wu-Tang and Tupac and Biggie and Grandmaster Flash. Probably if Luthor wanted to go to a concert, he’d take him to the fucking symphony orchestra or worse, opera, and if he wanted to go to a museum it’d be some art gallery and he wouldn’t get all stupidly emotional, he’d just buy everything. Also, if somebody was going to beat him over the head it wouldn’t be in an affectionate manner to tell him his taste in music sucked.
He kind of took his time with the eggs.
“First off, I thought we’d get you some new clothes,” said Luthor, who probably noticed Kon’s stalling techniques because he noticed everything. He gave Kon’s undershirt and boxers a disparaging look.
“You haven’t even seen my clothes!” Kon protested.
“You haven’t brought any,” said Luthor calmly. “Unless you were planning on walking around in your Superboy costume, or perhaps that nice new suit I had made.”
“Yeah, about that,” said Kon suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure I’ve grown since the test tube.”
Luthor waved a hand dismissively. “It was all mathematical, I assure you,” he said. “We do have some very fine tailors.”
“Uh-huh,” said Kon, mopping up the last of his eggs with toast.
“You haven’t grown nearly as much as you think you have, by the way,” said Luthor. Kon gave him a Look. “I’m sorry, would you rather I humored you?”
Kon tried not to gape. Luthor was teasing him, like they were best buddies and he didn’t actually kill people all the time. Which, okay, was better than Luthor looking at him awkwardly and him looking at Luthor awkwardly back, but still was not the best thing ever. Mostly because Luthor was bad and evil and had people killed and charged ridiculous amounts of money for his cure for cancer and tried to hurt nice dorky guys like Clark and John Henry and was mean to Kara and Natasha and pretty much all of his friends, kind of, and probably did all sorts of illegal business things. And now he was trying to pretend like Kon didn’t know any of that, which was ridiculous because of the S on his chest. It wasn’t like they were just some dudes who happened to be related in a really complicated way, and it made Kon uncomfortable to act like they were. It seemed…mean, somehow. Like a betrayal of Clark, and of important things like Truth and Justice.
Which, fuck, which reminded him that he had forgotten to call Cassie, what with the gelato and Kara and her stupid hipster friends, and Bart probably had no idea what was going on and neither did Anita or Greta, and Cissie might’ve heard from Cassie or Kara but only because she would actually bother to ask them. He also kind of wanted to talk to Tim and ask him if being rich was always this sucky, and if he wasn’t rich, he was “affluent” to go ask Dick or something. Mostly he just wanted to talk to someone who didn’t scare the shit out of him and also wasn’t Kara, because he was going to see her tonight anyway.
“I’m going to go get dressed,” Kon announced, and got up from the table.
“Good boy,” said Luthor. “I’ll have some clothes sent up to your room.”
Some clothes turned out to be expensive jeans and a polo shirt, which he found out when Mercy fucking Graves scared the shit out of him again while he was trying to explain the significance of the gelato to Cassie. Fuck, that asshole Zatara was going to call him Bronan Bro’Brian or something fucking ridiculous like that.
“I want to know why we have to go shopping if you’re just gonna keep sending me up clothes,” he grumbled, pulling on his shoes.
“Because,” Luthor sighed. “I cannot commission you an entire wardrobe, and I hardly think you’d want me to,” he quirked an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve grown fond of my taste in clothing?”
Oh. So he’d picked up on that. Kon wondered if maybe he should say something like, “I don’t really mind them, I just don’t want my cousin’s gay best friend that I hate to call me Broprah Winfrey,” but decided it wasn’t worth it, mostly because it was Luthor. Instead he just laughed a little, and they set off in a limo (the same limo?) for some expensive department store where Luthor had a personal shopper.
“Style assistant,” Luthor insisted. Whatever. Kon ended up buying jeans that cost more than his cell phone bill, he was pretty sure, even with all the long distance calls to Manchester and DC, and lots of t-shirts with artsy designs that Kara would be proud of him for wearing. He also got some gym shoes that were like suede or something, and then like ten pairs of sunglasses because he couldn’t resist. Luthor didn’t say anything, he just smiled almost fondly, which, no, he did not get to do that. That was definitely a Clark look, a sort of, “That’s our Kon, always buying sunglasses,” thing he’d seen on way too many Cadmus employees’ faces.
Afterwards they went for gourmet pizza, where cheese was apparently margherita and you could get goat cheese with rosemary and fingerling potatoes and it didn’t even have sauce. There was also, obviously, gelato involved.
Once they were full of unnecessarily fancy food, they went to a museum. It was an art museum, which was typical, and Kon spent most of his time looking for naked ladies and dudes with small packages. Unfortunately, they were in the postmodern wing. Postmodernism, Kon decided, must be art for hipsters, since the only way you could like it was ironically. Luthor seemed pretty happy, though. He kept pointing out artists he knew or whose paintings he had hanging at home. Kon kind of really suspected that was why they were in the postmodern wing in the first place.
He also introduced Kon to people he knew, calling him “My son, Kon-El, perhaps you’ve heard of him? Superboy?” Which made Kon grit his teeth a little. Kon had never really thought of himself as somebody’s son, but he was Superboy, for god’s sake, not Luthor Lad. And Kon-El? Kal-El? Kara frickin’ Zor-El? It was a little obvious whose son he’d be if he were even somebody’s son.
By the time they left, the sun was going down, which was a pretty good indication of Kon’s mood at the time.
Save me, he texted his friends. They didn’t even try.
Dinner was sushi, which at least wasn’t French, but Luthor got horrible things like sea urchins, which kept putting him off his unagi.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Luthor, his eyebrows raised. “I daresay you even enjoyed yourself.”
Kon, to his credit, didn’t cringe or anything. He did blush, but only barely.
“Yeah, it was fun,” he managed. “I had a good time.”
“You’ll have to get here earlier next time,” said Luthor mildly. Kon inwardly groaned. “Friday, shall we say?”
“Sure,” said Kon, with a weak, defeated smile. Luthor’s smile was much broader and more satisfied, and if he saw Kon’s disappointment, he chose to ignore it.
When he got back to Clark and Lois’s (relatively smallish) apartment, he got jump-tackled by Chris (who was like the cutest thing ever, and totally loved him) and then Kara joined the pile, and Clark got a sort of doofy look on his face and said, “Welcome home, son.”
To which Kara elbowed him and Chris chattered away, asking him did Luthor have kryptonite or lasers or kryptonite lasers or trained attack pandas or shark pits or lava, did he make Kon commit any crimes and was it a heist, Kon, are you a criminal now?
Then Lois came in and gave him a hug and asked him secretly if Luthor had said anything about his latest project, and Clark said “Lois,” and he kind of laughed, in a “Oh that Lois, she’s incorrigible,” sort of way.
Kara raised her eyebrows at the polo but at least she didn’t call him like the Brotorious B.I.G or something, but she did look at his bags and ask him if he bought the whole store, or just some of it.
“I’ve seen your closet, Kara,” said Kon. “I don’t think you have any room to talk. Or in your closet.”
“That was remarkably witty, Kon,” said Kara. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Yes, yes, he’s hilarious,” said Lois, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you two let the poor boy set his bags down?”
Chris was currently hanging on to Kon like one of those monkeys with the Velcro hands Cassie still had on her shelves at home. He floated down dutifully, and said, with a pout, “When’s Conner going to come live with us?”
And Clark sighed, like they had this talk every night, and said, “When we get a bigger apartment, son,” which was code for “When we can trust him to handle himself in a big city, son,” but Kon for once didn’t really mind.
“He lives with us on weekends,” Lois offered. She scowled. “Well, every other weekend.”
Kon touched the couch and it sprang to life, arranging itself into bed formation. Kara rolled her eyes, and Chris zoomed off to get the mattress and bed things.
“Aw, you didn’t hafta do that,” said Kon fondly, but Chris was already back and making the bed. “At least let me-”
“All done!” Chris shouted.
Clark frowned. “I’m positive I wasn’t that fast at his age.”
“Everybody’s different,” said Lois. Then, lower, “It’s probably just the P-H-A-N-T-O-M Z-O-N-E.”
“Lois!” Kara scolded. “Kon can spell!”
“Kara, Kara, Kara,” Kon sighed. “You and your wicked sense of humor.”
“Don’t mind him,” said Kara to Chris, who was staring up at Kon with something like adoration, but cuter. “He’s wealthy now.”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” said Kon, scooping up Chris for a snuggle. “Not everyone needs to be spending all their money going to Animal Collective shows.”
“That didn’t even make sense,” said Kara, smirking.
“Sure it does,” said Kon. “You’re just not smart enough to understand it.”
Chris let out a loud yawn and burrowed his face into Kon’s shoulder. Lois, who was probably the only one of them without super-hearing, nevertheless heard the yawn from halfway to the other side of the apartment.
“Looks like it’s somebody’s bedtime,” she said, brushing Chris’s hair off his forehead. “You want Conner to put you to bed?”
Chris nodded enthusiastically, if a little sleepily. Kon had worked up quite a bit of experience in the bed-tucking-in since Clark and Lois had picked up Chris. He carried Chris into his bedroom and plopped him unceremoniously on the bed.
“Kon!” said Kara, scandalized.
“Hey likes it,” said Kon. “Don’t you, buddy?”
Chris nodded again.
“Was it really scary, Conner?” he asked, eyes wide. “Living with Lex Luthor?”
“Nah,” said Kon. He grinned. “It was boring. Now get under those covers!”
Chris scrambled under his blankets and pulled them up to his chin, giving Kon a wide smile.
“G’night, Conner,” said Chris. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Good night, Chris,” said Kon, and he almost melted with the cuteness of it, but not, like, in a girly way. “Me too.”
Clark caught up with him just outside Chris’s room.
“Hey,” he said softly. “That was a brave thing you did there.”
“What?” asked Kon. “Put Chris to bed?”
“With Luthor,” said Clark with a small smile. “I don’t think I could’ve done that, in your place.”
“It was nothing,” said Kon, nearly blushing. “Least I got some sunglasses, you know?”
“It was not nothing,” said Clark. “I’m proud of you, son.”
And, okay, maybe they hugged. And maybe Kon got a little bit choked up. And maybe he told Cassie about it and she squeed and d’awwed a little bit, but it was totally manly. Really.
Well, at least he didn’t cry.
Fandom: DC
Characters/pairings: Kon, Lex Luthor, Kon/Cassie, Clark, Lois, Clark/Lois, the YJ kids, Kara, Natasha Irons, Zachary Zatara, blink and you’ll miss it Zach/Eddie, Mercy motherfucking Graves, Chris Kent mentions of other characters like John Henry Irons
Rating: R for language and excessive BRODACIOUSNESS
Summary:Stupidly perfect AU. Lex Luthor sues for custody, and Clark caves. HIJINKS ENSUE.
Warnings: 100% pure unrepentant crack, hipsters, Kon being Kon, lots of milkshakes, blatant disregard for canon, schmoop, run-on sentences, text messages
Eventually Lex Luthor had sued for joint custody, and because Clark didn’t want to bankrupt the Justice League, Bruce, Themiscyra, his parents, and his and Lois’s relatively meager savings fighting a custody battle with Luthor and, probably more importantly, all the lawyers they knew personally who might be willing to do some pro bono work didn’t really do this sort of thing, Kon was sitting in front of his desk, fidgeting awkwardly and trying to pretend like he didn’t really hate his sort of other-dad. Luthor looked terribly earnest, like he wanted to ask him about school and girls and maybe like invest in his college fund or something. In a really weird sort of way it reminded him of how Clark tried to take him for milkshakes or play catch or be patronizing and fatherly. God, if Luthor started asking him about Cassie he was gonna have to hit something and that would just suck. Actually if he said Cassie’s name he was going to have to give her Clark’s “Secret identities” talk which would probably sound a lot worse coming from him since he hadn’t had one for like ninety percent of his entire life, but really he got kind of worried sometimes because she wasn’t nearly as careful as Tim or Cissie or anyone, not that anyone should be as careful as Tim because really that was just Bat-neurosis, but when Bart’s starting to do a better job than you and you’re supposed to be all sensible and responsible and shit, well, you got a problem is all he has to say. She really had a giant blind spot when it came to secret identities and it probably was because Wonder Woman was really actually terrible at that sort of thing, and so was Donna Troy when you came right down to it. Actually, there probably wasn’t a single Amazon who even had a secret identity, except for Cassie, and he was counting that chick from the Outsiders who was kind of terrifying and hot.
“So, Kon-El,” said Luthor, snapping him out of his weird Themiscyran reverie. “Tell me about yourself. I’m afraid I haven’t seen you for the longest time.”
“Um,” said Kon, unsure where to start. “I’m just a regular guy, I guess, except for, you know, the tactile telekinesis. I like sunglasses?”
What the fuck, Conner, he mentally berated himself. Sunglasses, I ask you, honestly, what the fuck.
Luthor raised his eyebrows.
“Um, I mean, surfing,” he said hastily. “I meant surfing but I said sunglasses. Haha, who even does that?”
That was a lie. Kon had never even gone surfing, but it sounded better than “I like to sit on the beach and show off for the hot girls, at least until I moved to Smallville and started dating this girl who like rolls her eyes and me and makes me feel bad about doing stuff like that all the time, maybe you’ve heard of her, her name is Wonder Girl?” Plus, if he said that, Luthor would probably take out a hit on Cassie, and she probably had homework or something to do because she was responsible and didn’t make Bart do it.
Plus, he was like fifty percent sure that Cassie liked homework, which was weird and unnatural, and probably would rather be reading about friggin’ ancient Greece than punching things, although probably not more than bossing people around.
But, goddammit, he was thinking about Cassie again when he should be paying attention to Luthor in case he said anything about his evil empire that he could tell Clark or Lois about and they could write it up in the Daily Planet and Luthor would go to jail and he’d never have to sit through an awkward meeting like this ever ever again.
“Hm,” said Luthor, clearly thinking that he must not’ve given him enough of his own DNA because Kon was like the biggest idiot ever in the history of dumb. “I’ve heard good things about Young Justice. Why don’t you tell me about that?”
Kon really wished he had a beverage to choke on or some other really good way to express his disbelief because whoa, did Lex “I hate Superman” Luthor really just approve of something spandex-y and justice-related? Holy shit, he’d have to call Tim and tell him that and also pretty much everyone, ever.
“It’s good,” said Kon. He wondered what he could tell him that wouldn’t probably get someone killed. “Um, I really like the other kids there. We, uh, we have a lot of fun together.”
Which, yeah, be more vague. If this was Clark he could tell him about something totally ridiculous Cissie did once, and Clark would look all shocked and scandalized and it would be totally hilarious. But, no. Luthor would probably just arrange to have Cissie killed.
Man, Kon didn’t give Clark enough credit. Yeah, he was uptight and kind of awkward and liked milkshakes probably way too much and thought baseball was better than football and was the one who told him to go live in Smallville in the first place when Hawaii was obviously so much better but at least he didn’t kill people or sue them. Plus, he totally did barbeques and shit where Kon could invite his friends instead of prissy, awkward dinners at fancy Italian restaurants.
“I’ve made reservations at Inocenzia,” Luthor was saying. Apparently he had been talking this whole time and Kon had been too busy thinking about Clark’s weird milkshake obsession to notice. He really had got to stop doing that or Luthor would put out a hit on him. “I take it you like Italian?”
“Um,” said Kon, who was wearing his Superboy costume to preserve his newfound secret identity. “I don’t really think I’m dressed for the occasion.”
“I had a suit made in your size,” said Luthor, with a smile that he probably thought was kindly. “It will be waiting for you in your bedroom. Be back down here by 6:15.”
Oh dear lord he had a bedroom. It was probably Armani. It probably had, like imported plants and tropical fish and expensive photographs of cities on the walls and sheets that cost more than probably even Tim’s Bat-allowance could afford. Suddenly he wanted very much to be back in Clark’s old bedroom in Smallville with the plaid comforter and the stupid JSA poster which was like, way more awkward now that he knew most of the people in it and the pictures of Cassie and Tim and everyone on his desk. Would Luthor expect him to put pictures of Cassie and Tim and everyone on his desk? Oh god, he was going to have to drag around a little duffel bag for weekends or else keep a spare set of clothes which, in all fairness, Luthor would probably buy for him.
Anyway, Luthor shooed him onto the elevator because apparently they lived in Lexcorp Tower which really didn’t surprise him in the least, and as soon as he was alone he whipped out his cell phone to call Tim.
“What,” Tim answered, and it wasn’t even a question, which was rude.
“Oh god, Tim, you have got to save me,” he whispered, kind of still paranoid that Luthor was watching him through the elevator cameras or something.
“Did you get kidnapped by wizards again?” asked Tim, yawning.
“No, I did not get kidnapped by wizards and if I did, you could try to sound a little more worried about it,” said Kon. “I need to know what rich people do.”
“Can I ask you why you even care?” asked Tim.
“Because I am with Lex fucking Luthor and we’re going out to dinner,” snapped Kon. “Does it matter?”
“Is Cassie taking you to a benefit or something?” Tim asked. He sounded bored. “Because if she is, all you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”
“No, I told you. I’m going out to dinner with Luthor, and I need to know which fork to use so I don’t make an ass out of myself in front of this fancy Italian restaurant,” said Kon.
“What,” said Tim flatly. “Why are you going out to dinner with Luthor.”
“Because it’s my weekend at his house,” said Kon. He sighed. “Look, can you just help me?”
“It’s your weekend at his house?” asked Tim incredulously.
“He sued for custody, all right?” said Kon.
“Like him and Clark got divorced or something?” Tim laughed.
“Exactly like that. Would you stop laughing?” Kon snapped impatiently. “This is serious.”
“Bruce would’ve helped,” said Tim.
“I’m sorry, do you want him and Cassandra and Alfred and everyone living at your house?” asked Kon. “Because that’s totally what would have happened if he tried to get into a legal battle with fucking Lex Luthor. He would have lost his entire house, and then where would you be.”
“Cass has her own apartment,” said Tim indifferently.
“My point remains,” said Kon. “So are you going to help me or what?”
There was a long, drawn-out silence that usually meant Tim was going to say something he thought was funny but nobody else did.
“I’ll go get Alfred,” he said finally.
Fifteen minutes and an etiquette lesson later, Kon was standing nervously outside Luthor’s office, trying to figure out cuff links. Luthor showed up shortly after he did, smiling benevolently (and who even smiles benevolently unless they’re actually an evil dictator?). Immediately Kon wanted to call Tim back and ask him what the hell he could possibly talk about, or if Alfred knew. Potentially he could text him from the car, or maybe Cassie because that was kind of a Cassie question anyways. Cissie probably would know. Potentially also there could be a supervillian attack, although probably not since this was Metropolis and it had, like, Superman and Steel and the other Steel and like ten or fifteen other people protecting it. So. He was stuck.
“Shall we go?” said Luthor, and Kon nodded, and they started to walk. There was a limo waiting out front, which was stupid, but also typical. They slid in, and as soon as Luthor wasn’t looking he pulled out his phone to send a mass text.
Help me I’m in a limo with Luthor and I can’t get out we are going to dinner and there won’t even be any supervillians except for Luthor because I am GOING TO DINNER WITH HIM
To which they all immediately responded, because they had no lives and basically just lived to hear what he had to say.
Cassie first, with haha good luck BB call me when it’s over, and then Bart said Haha what? Cissie was mean and just said hahahahahaha oh my god I’m dyinnnggg how did that even happen to you? and Tim was just like, I talked to you like five minutes ago. Stop whining. Anita asked him What? Why? Greta told him that Haha if you got kidnapped by wizards I can totally help you! And Kara, who was like the worst fake cousin ever and deserved to be sent back into space from whence she came said sucks to be you! So basically what he took away from it was that his friends thought it was funny when his life was miserable.
And it was miserable. Miserable and awkward. He really didn’t have anything to say and Luthor kept asking him terribly pointed questions, like where he lived and if he was in school, which Kon really didn’t know how to answer.
“Um,” he said, wondering if he should lie or what. “Not in Hawaii anymore, that’s for sure.”
He managed a quick text to Clark, asking he wants to know where I live what do I do? To which Clark said I don’t know the Watchtower? which was stupid, Young Justice lived in a cave.
“But yeah, Young Justice headquarters is pretty great,” said Kon, which technically wasn’t a lie. “We even have a Jacuzzi.”
“I see,” said Luthor, in a tone of voice which meant I think you’re full of shit, even if you do have a Jacuzzi. “And your schooling?”
“I’m, uh, homeschooled,” Kon lied smoothly. Well. He had been homeschooled for like five minutes back at Cadmus. Kara had to do it a lot longer because she was from space and didn’t know anything, pretty much, so he knew what it was like. “Superman makes sure I do correspondence courses.”
“That’s very responsible of Superman,” said Luthor in a tone of voice which meant when I get full custody you are enrolling in the very best college preparatory school in the city of Metropolis and also Superman is not responsible at all. Kon wondered if maybe it was weird that he knew what Luthor’s tones of voice meant already and decided it was probably genetic.
There was another too long silence, and his phone buzzed against his leg. It was Lois.
Hey kiddo, sorry you’re stuck with Lex, let me know if you need anything or if he lets something slip. Come over Sunday night before you head back to Smallville, Kara wants to see you and Clark is worried. XOXO
It made him feel better to think that Clark was sitting up somewhere fretting about him to Lois and probably anyone unfortunate enough to call, although that did mean like Wonder Woman or someone was going to check up on him next, which was ok but after Wonder Woman usually came Batman, which just sucked since Bruce tended to think of him and Tim and Cass’s borderline retarded little friend. Hopefully he wouldn’t get to the point where he told Oracle and Oracle told everyone, so that he was getting gift baskets from, like, Booster Gold.
Finally they pulled up to the restaurant, and Kon inwardly groaned because checking his phone inside would be bad manners. Luthor seemed happy, though, in that he was smiling, and the chauffeur came around and opened the door.
“After you,” he said to Luthor, who just looked at him funny. “Um. You should probably get out first.”
“I should, shouldn’t I,” said Luthor. He sounded amused, but he got out of the car. Limo. God. Being rich was going to take some getting used to, especially since it wasn’t Tim’s kind of rich which meant you got a nice computer and a new iPod whenever they made one and a car even though you lived in the city, but the shitty kind of rich where you had to wear suits and go to places where they served you truffles, mushroom not chocolate, like all the friggin’ time.
They went into the restaurant, where the host knew Luthor and made a big deal of giving him the best seat in the house which, whatever, wasn’t as cool as floating a table outside with your tactile TK for your girlfriend, who could also float. The waiter brought them bread and also champagne, which was admittedly pretty sweet, even if Luthor only let him have half a glass.
But, well. There wasn’t a lot of conversation going on, and it was uncomfortable. Kon was this close to blurt out something awkward, like “I go to your old high school!” or “My girlfriend can probably beat you up!” Luthor, for his part, was sipping his champagne and looking at him bemusedly, like he was some odd and curious specimen that maybe he could use to kill Superman but would probably not be worth the risk if he tried so maybe he should just use something else, but still was probably good for something that could maybe make him a lot of money. It could probably be called affection if it wasn’t so calculating.
Afterwards they went out for gelato even though they had already had this amazing chocolate-apple dessert thing with hazelnuts, probably because Luthor wanted to make up for how they really had nothing in common. Kon had vanilla, which for some reason made Luthor smirk a little bit, and Luthor had something that Kon thought might have brandy in it. Kara called as soon as he got home, which probably meant she’d been lurking around his window all evening like a creeper.
“Hey, Kara,” he said wearily. He heard giggling in the background, which probably meant Zachary and Natasha were over and he was on speakerphone.
“Hello, Alexander Luthor Junior,” said Kara. More giggling. “How is your other daddy’s penthouse suite?”
“Look, can you either take me off speakerphone or send Zatara out of the room,” said Kon, with near-Tim levels of flatness.
“Hey!” he heard Zachary shout.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have made fun of him,” Natasha said. “And then he wouldn’t hate you so much.”
“I called him broseph!” Zachary protested.
“Ironically,” said Natasha patiently. “You never call people broseph and mean it.”
“You also called him Broback Brobama,” Kara added helpfully. “Now get out of my room.”
He waited until he heard the click of a door before he said, “The penthouse is fine. How is the pretentious hipster lifestyle?”
“We are not hipsters!” said Natasha angrily.
“You are hipsters, I know for a fact you have a unicorn backpack, Kara, so don’t even try,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are hipsters, and you think I’m a bro.”
“Just ‘cause Zat thinks you’re a bro does not mean we all think you’re a bro,” said Kara. He could hear her rolling her eyes. “Zat is stupid and wears girl’s jeans, so ignore him.”
“I’m trying to,” said Kon, over Zachary’s loud “They are not girl’s jeans!” and Natasha’s equally loud, “Stop eavesdropping and go text your boyfriend, Jesus, asshole!”
“No, but seriously,” said Kara. “He hasn’t tried to mind-control you or shove kryptonite down your throat or do experiments or anything?”
“No,” said Kon, almost laughing because that was kind of what he had thought at first a little bit. “I think he really just wants to be my dad.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” said Kara. “I mean, for Luthor.”
“I know,” Kon admitted. “It’s weirding me out a little.”
“Clark’s really going to step up his daddishness,” Kara added. “You’re going to get a ridiculous amount of milkshakes.”
“It’s weird, but I think gelato is like the new milkshakes,” said Kon. “I mean, we had gelato and dessert. That is not normal.”
“I think it’s a really good metaphor for your life, though,” said Kara. “I mean, Luthor is to Clark what gelato is to milkshakes, you know?”
“You need to stop hanging out with Cassie,” said Kon. “That was an analogy.”
“Just ‘cause you like ‘em nerdy does not mean you get to freak out whenever I make an analogy,” said Kara. “Sometimes people make analogies and you are just going to have to deal.”
“I am not freaking out,” said Kon, as patiently as possible. “You’re the one freaking out about how I’m freaking out when I’m not even freaking out. Can you stop freaking out? And besides,” he yawned. “I’m going to see you tomorrow. Can I go to bed now?”
“Fine,” said Kara. “Enjoy your thousand thread count sheets.”
“I will,” said Kon. “Enjoy enjoying Creed ironically.”
“Goodnight, Kon,” said Kara.
“Goodnight, Kara,” said Kon. “Goodnight, Natasha.”
“G’night!” said Natasha, who was probably just happy to be included.
“What about me?” yelled Zachary.
Kon hung up.
The tasteful probably-Armani thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets weren’t as comfortable as his light blue probably-Target ones back in Smallville, but they were close. He slept through the night and dreamed dreams that weren’t interesting enough to remember in the morning, when he was woken up by motherfucking Mercy Graves which was terrifying enough to chase any dream-remnants right out of his head.
“Breakfast’s getting cold,” she said, when he was good and properly scared for his life. He wondered if Luthor did it on purpose or maybe if Mercy asked him if she could. Neither one would surprise him, not even a little bit. He lazed around for maybe thirty seconds before Mercy poked her head back in and he got all terrified again and literally superspeeded it over to the breakfast room. Where, apparently, Luthor had been waiting for him in a bathrobe, which, okay, it was Sunday, and the bathrobe was probably spandex, but still it was the strangest fucking thing he’d ever seen and he was a superhero. Luthor closed his laptop and smiled at him, which was still weirder than Cosmic Horror Number Five or whatever, and some guy came around to take the silver cover thingy off their plates like they were at a fucking hotel. Breakfast was Eggs Benedict, and, as Kon shortly discovered, it was damn good Eggs Benedict, and he could be excused from not talking because it was early and he was eating. So it was good, up until Luthor smiled again and said, “Eat up. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”
Whenever Clark said something like that, it meant a trip to a baseball game and then maybe actually playing baseball, plus probably fighting crime and bookstores and milkshakes. Once they flew down to the Newseum and Kon had to watch him get all teary-eyed at the Lois Lane exhibit, which was more understandable than when he got teary-eyed at the (considerably bigger) Woodward and Bernstein exhibit but just as uncomfortable. Probably the best time had been the Springsteen concert--Kon had grudgingly admitted that maybe Clark’s taste in music wasn’t offensively terrible, and that classic rock was on the whole pretty okay. This was pre-Kara, so nobody had been around to beat him over the head with guitars until he stopped talking about how the Beatles were for old people and hip-hop was where it’s at, and also nobody around to beat him over the head with turntables until he learned about Wu-Tang and Tupac and Biggie and Grandmaster Flash. Probably if Luthor wanted to go to a concert, he’d take him to the fucking symphony orchestra or worse, opera, and if he wanted to go to a museum it’d be some art gallery and he wouldn’t get all stupidly emotional, he’d just buy everything. Also, if somebody was going to beat him over the head it wouldn’t be in an affectionate manner to tell him his taste in music sucked.
He kind of took his time with the eggs.
“First off, I thought we’d get you some new clothes,” said Luthor, who probably noticed Kon’s stalling techniques because he noticed everything. He gave Kon’s undershirt and boxers a disparaging look.
“You haven’t even seen my clothes!” Kon protested.
“You haven’t brought any,” said Luthor calmly. “Unless you were planning on walking around in your Superboy costume, or perhaps that nice new suit I had made.”
“Yeah, about that,” said Kon suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure I’ve grown since the test tube.”
Luthor waved a hand dismissively. “It was all mathematical, I assure you,” he said. “We do have some very fine tailors.”
“Uh-huh,” said Kon, mopping up the last of his eggs with toast.
“You haven’t grown nearly as much as you think you have, by the way,” said Luthor. Kon gave him a Look. “I’m sorry, would you rather I humored you?”
Kon tried not to gape. Luthor was teasing him, like they were best buddies and he didn’t actually kill people all the time. Which, okay, was better than Luthor looking at him awkwardly and him looking at Luthor awkwardly back, but still was not the best thing ever. Mostly because Luthor was bad and evil and had people killed and charged ridiculous amounts of money for his cure for cancer and tried to hurt nice dorky guys like Clark and John Henry and was mean to Kara and Natasha and pretty much all of his friends, kind of, and probably did all sorts of illegal business things. And now he was trying to pretend like Kon didn’t know any of that, which was ridiculous because of the S on his chest. It wasn’t like they were just some dudes who happened to be related in a really complicated way, and it made Kon uncomfortable to act like they were. It seemed…mean, somehow. Like a betrayal of Clark, and of important things like Truth and Justice.
Which, fuck, which reminded him that he had forgotten to call Cassie, what with the gelato and Kara and her stupid hipster friends, and Bart probably had no idea what was going on and neither did Anita or Greta, and Cissie might’ve heard from Cassie or Kara but only because she would actually bother to ask them. He also kind of wanted to talk to Tim and ask him if being rich was always this sucky, and if he wasn’t rich, he was “affluent” to go ask Dick or something. Mostly he just wanted to talk to someone who didn’t scare the shit out of him and also wasn’t Kara, because he was going to see her tonight anyway.
“I’m going to go get dressed,” Kon announced, and got up from the table.
“Good boy,” said Luthor. “I’ll have some clothes sent up to your room.”
Some clothes turned out to be expensive jeans and a polo shirt, which he found out when Mercy fucking Graves scared the shit out of him again while he was trying to explain the significance of the gelato to Cassie. Fuck, that asshole Zatara was going to call him Bronan Bro’Brian or something fucking ridiculous like that.
“I want to know why we have to go shopping if you’re just gonna keep sending me up clothes,” he grumbled, pulling on his shoes.
“Because,” Luthor sighed. “I cannot commission you an entire wardrobe, and I hardly think you’d want me to,” he quirked an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve grown fond of my taste in clothing?”
Oh. So he’d picked up on that. Kon wondered if maybe he should say something like, “I don’t really mind them, I just don’t want my cousin’s gay best friend that I hate to call me Broprah Winfrey,” but decided it wasn’t worth it, mostly because it was Luthor. Instead he just laughed a little, and they set off in a limo (the same limo?) for some expensive department store where Luthor had a personal shopper.
“Style assistant,” Luthor insisted. Whatever. Kon ended up buying jeans that cost more than his cell phone bill, he was pretty sure, even with all the long distance calls to Manchester and DC, and lots of t-shirts with artsy designs that Kara would be proud of him for wearing. He also got some gym shoes that were like suede or something, and then like ten pairs of sunglasses because he couldn’t resist. Luthor didn’t say anything, he just smiled almost fondly, which, no, he did not get to do that. That was definitely a Clark look, a sort of, “That’s our Kon, always buying sunglasses,” thing he’d seen on way too many Cadmus employees’ faces.
Afterwards they went for gourmet pizza, where cheese was apparently margherita and you could get goat cheese with rosemary and fingerling potatoes and it didn’t even have sauce. There was also, obviously, gelato involved.
Once they were full of unnecessarily fancy food, they went to a museum. It was an art museum, which was typical, and Kon spent most of his time looking for naked ladies and dudes with small packages. Unfortunately, they were in the postmodern wing. Postmodernism, Kon decided, must be art for hipsters, since the only way you could like it was ironically. Luthor seemed pretty happy, though. He kept pointing out artists he knew or whose paintings he had hanging at home. Kon kind of really suspected that was why they were in the postmodern wing in the first place.
He also introduced Kon to people he knew, calling him “My son, Kon-El, perhaps you’ve heard of him? Superboy?” Which made Kon grit his teeth a little. Kon had never really thought of himself as somebody’s son, but he was Superboy, for god’s sake, not Luthor Lad. And Kon-El? Kal-El? Kara frickin’ Zor-El? It was a little obvious whose son he’d be if he were even somebody’s son.
By the time they left, the sun was going down, which was a pretty good indication of Kon’s mood at the time.
Save me, he texted his friends. They didn’t even try.
Dinner was sushi, which at least wasn’t French, but Luthor got horrible things like sea urchins, which kept putting him off his unagi.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Luthor, his eyebrows raised. “I daresay you even enjoyed yourself.”
Kon, to his credit, didn’t cringe or anything. He did blush, but only barely.
“Yeah, it was fun,” he managed. “I had a good time.”
“You’ll have to get here earlier next time,” said Luthor mildly. Kon inwardly groaned. “Friday, shall we say?”
“Sure,” said Kon, with a weak, defeated smile. Luthor’s smile was much broader and more satisfied, and if he saw Kon’s disappointment, he chose to ignore it.
When he got back to Clark and Lois’s (relatively smallish) apartment, he got jump-tackled by Chris (who was like the cutest thing ever, and totally loved him) and then Kara joined the pile, and Clark got a sort of doofy look on his face and said, “Welcome home, son.”
To which Kara elbowed him and Chris chattered away, asking him did Luthor have kryptonite or lasers or kryptonite lasers or trained attack pandas or shark pits or lava, did he make Kon commit any crimes and was it a heist, Kon, are you a criminal now?
Then Lois came in and gave him a hug and asked him secretly if Luthor had said anything about his latest project, and Clark said “Lois,” and he kind of laughed, in a “Oh that Lois, she’s incorrigible,” sort of way.
Kara raised her eyebrows at the polo but at least she didn’t call him like the Brotorious B.I.G or something, but she did look at his bags and ask him if he bought the whole store, or just some of it.
“I’ve seen your closet, Kara,” said Kon. “I don’t think you have any room to talk. Or in your closet.”
“That was remarkably witty, Kon,” said Kara. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Yes, yes, he’s hilarious,” said Lois, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you two let the poor boy set his bags down?”
Chris was currently hanging on to Kon like one of those monkeys with the Velcro hands Cassie still had on her shelves at home. He floated down dutifully, and said, with a pout, “When’s Conner going to come live with us?”
And Clark sighed, like they had this talk every night, and said, “When we get a bigger apartment, son,” which was code for “When we can trust him to handle himself in a big city, son,” but Kon for once didn’t really mind.
“He lives with us on weekends,” Lois offered. She scowled. “Well, every other weekend.”
Kon touched the couch and it sprang to life, arranging itself into bed formation. Kara rolled her eyes, and Chris zoomed off to get the mattress and bed things.
“Aw, you didn’t hafta do that,” said Kon fondly, but Chris was already back and making the bed. “At least let me-”
“All done!” Chris shouted.
Clark frowned. “I’m positive I wasn’t that fast at his age.”
“Everybody’s different,” said Lois. Then, lower, “It’s probably just the P-H-A-N-T-O-M Z-O-N-E.”
“Lois!” Kara scolded. “Kon can spell!”
“Kara, Kara, Kara,” Kon sighed. “You and your wicked sense of humor.”
“Don’t mind him,” said Kara to Chris, who was staring up at Kon with something like adoration, but cuter. “He’s wealthy now.”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” said Kon, scooping up Chris for a snuggle. “Not everyone needs to be spending all their money going to Animal Collective shows.”
“That didn’t even make sense,” said Kara, smirking.
“Sure it does,” said Kon. “You’re just not smart enough to understand it.”
Chris let out a loud yawn and burrowed his face into Kon’s shoulder. Lois, who was probably the only one of them without super-hearing, nevertheless heard the yawn from halfway to the other side of the apartment.
“Looks like it’s somebody’s bedtime,” she said, brushing Chris’s hair off his forehead. “You want Conner to put you to bed?”
Chris nodded enthusiastically, if a little sleepily. Kon had worked up quite a bit of experience in the bed-tucking-in since Clark and Lois had picked up Chris. He carried Chris into his bedroom and plopped him unceremoniously on the bed.
“Kon!” said Kara, scandalized.
“Hey likes it,” said Kon. “Don’t you, buddy?”
Chris nodded again.
“Was it really scary, Conner?” he asked, eyes wide. “Living with Lex Luthor?”
“Nah,” said Kon. He grinned. “It was boring. Now get under those covers!”
Chris scrambled under his blankets and pulled them up to his chin, giving Kon a wide smile.
“G’night, Conner,” said Chris. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Good night, Chris,” said Kon, and he almost melted with the cuteness of it, but not, like, in a girly way. “Me too.”
Clark caught up with him just outside Chris’s room.
“Hey,” he said softly. “That was a brave thing you did there.”
“What?” asked Kon. “Put Chris to bed?”
“With Luthor,” said Clark with a small smile. “I don’t think I could’ve done that, in your place.”
“It was nothing,” said Kon, nearly blushing. “Least I got some sunglasses, you know?”
“It was not nothing,” said Clark. “I’m proud of you, son.”
And, okay, maybe they hugged. And maybe Kon got a little bit choked up. And maybe he told Cassie about it and she squeed and d’awwed a little bit, but it was totally manly. Really.
Well, at least he didn’t cry.