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The first time Jason met Superboy, he was being threatened in an alley.
Carl, one of the dealers working out of Park Row, was pressing him back against the wall with a wry smile. He had a golden tooth and a bunch of missing ones, too. But despite that, he was young, mid-thirties at the most.
“Where’s my ice, sweetheart?”
With a knife clutched behind his back, breathing in the night air, Jason broke out a sharp, sarcastic laugh at the big man.
Night in Gotham was dark and gritty, filled with car exhaust and the smell of sewage. Her sky was neon hidden behind thick pollution, and the car horns and police sirens were her songs. The East End was the most dangerous part of her, but it was home.
He wasn’t afraid of anything it had to offer, not even those who sought to hurt—even kill—him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carl.” Jason paused. “Also, you might not want to talk to me that way.”
“You know damn well,” Carl said through clenched teeth. He was twice Jason’s size, and with the knife in his hand, he was the most intimidating drug dealer in the area. “Where’s my ice, punk?”
“Can’t you keep an eye on your own stock? If you don’t even do that, how the fuck should I know?”
“You’re a lying little thief!” Carl gritted out. “All my sources said you were the one who got your hands on the lot. Now where did you hide it, huh? How did you get it, and how much did you make?”
Jason shrugged, but he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face.
“Well, if you knew it was me, then you should’ve guessed. I don’t sell your filthy lot, Carl. I dumped it all into the harbor.”
Jason could see Carl seethe. With a growl, the big man trembled with rage.
He raised his knife, spun it in his palm. “You’re gonna be sorry…”
Gripping around the handle at his back, Jason braced.
Carl lunged at him with a roar, spittle flying.
He might be big, but he only had dumb weight. Jason was much more agile than him, and with a rather easy maneuver, he was behind the drug dealer before Carl’s blade could carve into the wall. Jason ducked, raised his knife, and went for the calf—
His target was stolen from him.
A hand grabbed Carl’s collar, pulled him away. There was a blur, a flash of blue and red and black, and then the dealer was tossed to the side, falling on the ground on his face.
Carl cursed, wiped the drool from his lips, and got up. He raised his knife and blindly swung it around.
“Who the fuck did… I dare you…”
A figure, levitating, in midair, faced the cursing man.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said the newcomer. His voice was chipper, and he had a large grin on his face.
And that was Jason’s first impression of Superboy: he looked more like a rock and roll kid than a superhero.
His pose was exaggerated, performative, like he was used to smiling for the camera. The tights and boots, the black leather jacket, the side-swept hair greased with hair gel, midnight black, all giving an impression so different from the Big Daddy Hero his name was based on.
Carl halted and took a step back. His eyes roved over the teenager, at the levitation, at the S symbol on his suit. He cursed, sheepishly returned his knife, and ran in the other direction.
Naturally, Superboy went after him.
“Oh, be careful, mister—” it took him only a second to catch the dealer, grabbing him by the collar—“don’t run off before getting properly introduced yet, am I right?”
Carl made a noise that sounded like a whimper when Superboy flung him into the air. Superboy tossed him around, pulling him from the ground, dropping him, then catching him, and when Carl was finally curled up into a ball, begging, Superboy pinned him against some metal railings on a third-floor fire escape platform.
The alien bent the metal bars around Carl to make a temporary restraint.
“Now you stay there, mister—”
“Fuck! Let me go!” Carl kicked the air. Curses and insults poured from his big mouth. “I’ll get out! I’ll get out!”
Superboy turned to Jason, flying an inch above the ground.
The teen was too young to be Superman, and too cocky, too. Superboy’s lips were curled into a smirk, and we wore a single ring piercing in his left ear.
He floated toward Jason. His eyes were like blue marbles when the light hit them at just the right angle.
“It’s rather late to be out here alone,” Superboy said. He had one of those youthful intonations that made it especially annoying when he intentionally lowered his voice, emulating his old man for intimidation.
“It’s rather far from Metropolis,” Jason shot back.
“I was passing through.”
“Whatever.” Jason showed the knife. “I could’ve saved myself.”
“Yes, I saw. And I also saw how you were ready to slash him.” Superboy made some chopping gestures with his hands. “It was pretty cool. But also uncool.”
Jason returned the knife to his belt.
“What if he deserved it?”
“You can’t do that.” Superboy crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t do things like that—”
“Then what are you gonna do about that?”
“I’m letting you off the hook this time, but—”
“Oh, yeah?” Jason leaned over (as much as he could with the hero flying in the air). Smiling wryly, he said, “And what if I don’t listen?”
Superboy landed on his feet. He looked annoyed with his eyebrows pinched and his lips pursed. It must be rare for him to be met with Jason’s attitude after having saved somebody.
Superboy was clean-shaven, and his eyebrows were strong above his blue eyes. His genuine anger made him rather handsome, more fuckable than the carefree playboy persona he’d shown earlier.
“That guy could’ve stabbed you to death, you know.” Superboy raised a finger and pointed it at Jason. His gloves were fiery red. “Uncool. Very uncool.”
“No, he wouldn’t. That was just Carl—big guy, actually pretty dumb. I escaped from under him a bunch of times before.”
Superboy curled his lips.
“Whatever your name is—”
“Jason.”
“—Jason, I’m supposed to tell you this, self defense is great, but next time—hey! I’m talking to you!”
“Then maybe next time you should’ve been more concise,” Jason tossed the words behind him.
Superboy yelled after him, “Ass!”
“Prick,” Jason responded.
*
Jason had a suspicion that Superboy had started following him.
The alien appeared the next day near the soup kitchen Jason volunteered at, floating not-at-all all conspicuously over the intersection between Fifth Boulevard and Sixty-First Avenue. He was there like a tasteless kite that someone had forgotten to roll back via its line—that was before Jason entered the building; when Jason exited, the hero was gone.
The alien showed up the next day, and the next. Sometimes floating, other times standing or sitting in high places only a helicopter or a bird could reach.
Jason started to think the guy might be getting petty with him. Superboy did practically nothing while in Gotham, just watched and taunted like he didn’t have a lot to do back in Metropolis. Somehow, he’d gotten issues with Jason because of that night.
Rather than letting it get on his nerves, Jason allowed it. It was like having a free, bulletproof bodyguard. As soon as Superboy started, troubles around Jason decreased. There was even this one incident in which one of Carl’s lackeys tried to rush him with a knife, and then had his arm dislocated before he could even get into the ten-foot radius surrounding Jason.
“You should be careful about these,” said the hero, letting go of the whimpering thug’s arm.
“If I did,”—Jason blew a pink, grape-flavored bubble from the gum he was chewing—“then you wouldn’t have an excuse to save me, would you?”
Superboy gaped. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t deny it. Why are you stalking me then?”
Afterward, Jason learned the hero’s name was Kon-el. Never heard a name like that; he asked. Offended, the alien eventually gave an alternative name: Conner.
Conner wasn’t human, but neither was he one-hundred percent alien, like the man whose mantle he’d based his identity on. Lab-grown from collected and tampered DNA, he was half human, half alien, a mishmash of genes. His father (one of them) was a controlling asshole even when Conner was supposed to be on his own, and that was why Conner preferred to skip his lessons and spend his days at a place like Gotham.
“Why don’t you just settle in a different city, then?”
Conner’s eyes grew wide.
“You mean… run away?”
“Why not?” Jason shrugged. “You’re not a kid, right?”
Conner shook his head, stopped himself, nodded, and then shook it again.
“He’ll find me eventually.”
“Who cares, right?”
But apparently, Conner cared, so he stayed in Metropolis despite Jason’s suggestions. Jason couldn’t say he empathized with the sentiment. It wasn’t like he’d had an adult presence like that in his life since his mother passed from an overdose.
Either way, Conner was determined to stick around as long as he had time. He followed Jason from day to day—whether he was volunteering in shelters or working part-time in libraries. Conner asked questions—so many fucking questions that he drove Jason insane.
“Why do you have to take these jobs?”
“I need money.”
“To do what?”
“For one thing—food. But also, college.”
“Do those things cost a lot?”
“Yes, because I’m not rolling around in money.”
Conner hummed in thought.
“Why are you such a pain in the butt?” Jason asked him one evening. “If you’re bored, can’t you go find some other orphan to bother?”
Conner looked over from behind the gigantic cotton candy he was eating.
They’d been walking through a carnival—a rare occasion in a city like Gotham. Jason had some money he’d pilfered from a drug dealer, and surprisingly, Conner didn’t mind. He was usually the one who brought the money to buy hotdogs or whatnot. Today, Jason had insisted they stick to the stolen cash.
Jason suspected he had a “negative influence” on Conner, as the privileged adults would say.
They ambled through the midway, looking at all the attractions and the fireworks in the dark sky. The lights were blinding, and the cotton candy stuck to their teeth.
“But I like bothering you,” Conner said, taking another mouthful. The candy stained his lips blue.
“You dumbass alien.”
“And you’re a slimy criminal.”
Jason stopped in front of the Ferris wheel. He looked up at the blinking, blinding lights decorating the frame and the cars, backdropped by the sparks of explosions in the sky.
Conner stopped, looking at him quizzically.
“I’ve always wanted to ride it,” Jason reminisced. He’d never had a chance to. Every penny he’d gained was precious and went into his savings for school.
Conner followed his eyes, saw the wheel, looked at the hanging cars rolling by.
He grinned.
“I have a better idea.”
Moments later, Jason found himself being held in superhuman arms, bridal-carried into the sky.
Fresher air greeted him as the warmth of the coming summer brushed past his cheeks. Weightlessness overtook him as Conner brought him up and up, enveloping him in a brief ecstasy of ascension. Then Conner stopped, right on top of the highest point of the Ferris wheel.
Fireworks exploded behind them, the lights blinding. They sent out tiny grains of golden sand, shimmering, falling, burning brightly before turning into smoke.
“Holy shit,” Jason said, looking down at the people on the ground, as small as ants.
Jason held Conner close, feeling the first dizziness of flying. He could smell sulfur in the air, feel the heat from the fireworks.
But it paled to the heat radiating out of the teen holding him.
“How do you do this every day and not be afraid?”
Conner laughed. “Are you seriously asking me that?”
“Maybe.” Jason turned to the boy, whose face was painted a myriad of colors by the carnival’s lights. Suddenly, he had an urge—“Kiss me.”
If Conner was flying under bright daylight, Jason would see him sporting a blush.
“W-what?”
“Kiss me.”
Conner’s face softened. His lips parted.
A second later, he was pressing his lips to Jason’s with the firework crackling behind them, the kiss sending a tingling sensation throughout Jason’s body.
Conner’s lips were sticky with sugar and tasted like cotton candy. His heat was nothing like Jason had ever experienced before.
“I think I kinda like you, alien boy,” Jason said against Conner’s lips.
Conner’s face turned even hotter.
“And I like you, too, thief boy.”
“Be careful, then—because I’m a bad influence.”
“Is that a threat for a good time?”
Jason’s lips curled upward.
He said nothing, only held on tighter.
Everything was alright in his world.