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Conner turns over in his bed, trying to ignore the ringing of an alarm he can hear in the room beside him. Regardless of when he gets to sleep or needs to get up, he wakes when his team does. He can't sleep through alarms. He doesn't know why, they just bother him more than he can explain and they're loud enough that he can hear them through the walls with his super hearing.
He listens as he hears Robin start to move around his room, the earliest riser of his team. Conner has recently decided he hates Robin. He always wakes Conner up at 5:35 in the morning, and since it's winter, Conner can't even take advantage of the early start to get some much needed sunlight until eight. The worst thing is the music. Robin listens to country music while he does whatever he does in the morning, and Conner wants to strangle him for the few hours before Robin leaves his room each day.
About half an hour after Robin's alarm, he hears M'gann's go off. Hers is less terrible than Robin's, but it's still irritating and prevents him from going back to sleep, though the country music Robin plays is enough on its own. He doesn't mind her morning as much; she plays pop as she starts her routine.
Each team member has their own morning routine, and the constant sounds make Conner want to die scream. He doesn't know how Superman is sane, considering the fact that he almost certainly has stronger hearing than Conner.
At about eight in the morning, the sun has finally risen enough to be of any use to the minorly photosynthetic clone. Regardless, Conner stays in bed. He doesn't have enough energy to give a fuck today.
He hears a knock on his door as it nears ten, the footsteps leading up to it revealing the person on the other side as Robin. "Conner, you up?" Conner doesn't respond, curling up tighter in his bed. "M'gann made pancakes, and Red Tornado said Superman would come visit today for a training exercise." Great. Now he has to see the man who's better than him in every aspect while he's at his worst. Today was going to be hell. Robin knocks again. "Come on, I know you can hear me. You should try being more chalant sometimes." Robin huffs, scuffing his shoe against the ground. After another while of silence from Conner, he sighs. "I'll wrap up some pancakes for whenever you come out." He starts back down the hallway, leaving Conner alone.
When Conner finally leaves his room at nearly noon, he realizes he was right about today. M'gann questions him on his wellbeing incessantly until he ends up snapping at her. Robin also asks a couple times, but the coffee he gives Conner makes up for the annoyance. Kid Flash starts making jokes about Conner being swapped out for his evil twin, which absolutely does not scare Conner into thinking there's another clone he wasn't aware about for a few minutes until M'gann telepathically explains that it was a joke so he doesn't embarrass himself more.
All in all, the morning and afternoon are terrible.
He goes to the training room for a while to distract himself from the embarrassment, but it doesn’t help much. Each punch feels like he’s holding back most of what he has. He huffs, steadying the punching bag as he hears Red Tornado calling for the team in the meeting room. He sticks his hands in his pockets, strolling from the room. He could think about it after the training exercise with Superman and his team.
Everyone exchanges pleasantries as they arrive, but Conner glares at the wall as he half listens to Red Tornado and M’gann discuss a show she watched the other night. They got on his nerves sometimes, but the show sounded interesting enough. As Kid Flash enters, citing sleeping in as his excuse for being slightly late, Red Tornado starts to explain the exercise they’ll be doing once Superman arrives. Conner can’t entirely focus on the words; there’s a pipe in the wall that’s humming at a note that reminds Conner of a song he heard on Robin’s playlist this morning. All he catches is something about learning to fight someone stronger and more experienced.
Conner looks up as he hears the zeta tubes start to turn on. A couple seconds later, the man himself is announced by a robotic voice. “01: Superman."
Red Tornado greets him as he steps out of the zeta tube, and Superman responds in kind.
“So, is everyone ready to get started?” He asks, flashing a bright smile that Conner could never hope to match. Conner grunts in response as the rest of the team cheers. Superman’s gaze flicks over to Conner for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing slightly—an expression so small most humans would miss it. “Red, could I get a second with Superboy?” Red Tornado nods, ushering the rest of the team down the hallway, presumably to the training room.
Conner crosses his arms as Superman approaches. He remains silent, waiting for the hero to speak first. “How are you doing?” He asks, glancing over Conner, whose eyes narrow in suspicion. “It’s your first winter, so I was just wondering. The lack of sunlight really tends to get to us Kryptonians, even Kara—my cousin, you haven’t met her yet—avoids Earth this half of the year.” Superman explains, clearing his throat.
Conner sighs. “I’m fine.” He replies dryly. “Let’s just get to training. The others were excited about the exercise with you.” Superman sighs as well, glancing Conner over thoughtfully. Conner steps to the side, stalking off in the direction of the training room. Superman follows a moment later in silence.
His team got into position around the mat as Superman stepped into the middle of it. “I’m ready when everyone else is.” He gives them all a grin, and the second he stops speaking, Conner lunges forward. He trusted that the team was ready. Instead of his fist meeting Superman’s gut, he gets the same move in return and a kick to the back of his knee. He remembered vaguely some of Red Tornado’s words just then, “Superman will not be holding back much. This is an exercise you’re designed to fail. The question is how well you fail, not if.”
The wind is knocked out of Conner as Superman throws him to the floor, catching Kid Flash by the arm as he attempts to come to the boy’s rescue. Superman tosses Kid Flash over his shoulder, who chokes on his breath at the sudden impact. Conner grabs Superman by the ankle, trying to stand and pull him off balance, but Superman turns and kicks Conner into the wall. Conner groans in pain, realizing he’d actually have marks from this exercise.
The calculated attack of the teens continues for a long hour, with Conner receiving the majority of the abuse.
Conner leaves the training room with several bruises, though they quickly begin to fade as he storms off to the living quarters. He’d gotten his ass beat by Superman, and now he’s too humiliated to show his face in front of the team again today.
He decides to try to sleep a bit earlier, since he knew he’d be woken up by Robin early in the morning. It’s not even six in the evening as Conner starts getting ready for bed.
He pulls his shirt off, looking down at the bruises coating his skin. He’s a bit shocked at the sight—nothing else had managed to really hurt him for this long before now. Conner presses his fingers into a darker patch on his lower ribs, letting out a hiss at the sharp pain in his side. He turns to the mirror on his closet door, taking in the sight. He’d never seen himself so damaged before; every other injury he’d had had healed before they even finished whatever mission. His fingers trail up to his collarbone, where a dark spot covers the majority of it. He pushes his fingers into the bruise, his jaw clenching as he resists the urge to let out a noise of pain.
After a few more minutes of poking his bruises, Conner finally decides to finish getting ready for bed. He flops into his bed and puts on his headphones, trying to drown out the sounds of the building and his neighbors with his favorite (and only) playlist. It doesn’t work well, but the sound of Gerard Way screaming about how he’s not okay in Conner’s ears is attention grabbing enough for him to mostly ignore the other noises around.
He ignores the knock on his door, the speed of it obviously Kid Flash. “Conner, dinner’s ready. Come on! M’gann won’t let me steal anything until you come over.” He whines. Conner stays silent, huffing at the words. He only wants Conner to come to dinner since M’gann won’t let him snack beforehand if he doesn’t. There’s no way he’s falling for that. The speedster quickly gets bored and runs back to the kitchen, leaving Conner alone.
About an hour and a half later, Robin strolls up the hallway. “Con, I wrapped up some of dinner for you. It was really good. You should have some if you feel up to it tonight.” Robin sighs. “You know where you can find me. I’ll see you in the morning.” Conner doesn’t move from his bed as Robin leaves, a hint of disappointment coating his thoughts.
The next week goes similarly.
Conner wakes with everyone’s alarms. Robin’s country music, M’gann’s pop, Aqualad’s rain sounds, Artemis’s white noise, and Kid Flash’s dad rock.
He tosses and turns for the next few hours after being awoken, trying desperately to sleep with the sounds constantly surrounding him. His thoughts usually wander during those hours, crossing everything and anything.
Robin comes to knock on his door, trying to convince him to come have breakfast. Conner pretends to be asleep until he leaves.
At about noon, he gets up and heads to the kitchen, dodging questions until he snaps at his teammates as he prepares lunch. He quickly goes back to hide in his room after snapping, the guilt getting to him.
He drags himself to training, barely listening and not trying much. Red Tornado pulls him aside on the third day, but he manages to get out of it by pulling the ‘clone with bad genetics’ card.
Conner returns to his room immediately after training, ignoring the questioning from his teammates. M’gann waits in the hallway for almost an hour in an attempt to convince him to talk, but she eventually gives up with a promise to be there if Conner needs it.
Aqualad asks him to come to dinner, the concern in his voice palpable. Conner says he has a stomach bug—none of them know if he can or can’t get sick yet, so it works.
Conner goes to sleep much earlier than normal, the latest he stays up being eight and the earliest being five.
He catches the concerned looks from each member of the team in the few hours he’s out of his room, and he wants to scream.
It’s two in the morning; a couple hours before Robin wakes up. Conner has his own alarm set, and he breaks the clock as he hits the off button. He’s decided he’s done with the hiding, and he’s going to start a routine of his own—one better than everyone else’s. He stares at the wall for only half an hour before he gets up and gets dressed. He bypasses the kitchen, instead heading for the training room.
The punching bag swings away and Conner hits it as it tries to return. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Training as hard as you can for four hours without a break or getting much sun for an entire week tends to drain a guy, especially when you get your powers from the sun. His fist meets the punching bag again, and he wishes it was someone that could hit him back. A good fight where he ends up with a few bruises for the few minutes they last would be perfect; he’d have something to think about other than his failures.
He hears footsteps from the hallway and looks over to see Robin leaning against the doorway. He pushes his sunglasses up as he presumably glances Conner over. “Glad to see you’re up early again. I was getting kinda worried.” He chuckles sheepishly as Conner rolls his eyes.
“No reason to be worried. I was tired, but I’m fine.” Conner replies, starting to go at the punching bag again.
Robin hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “Sure. How long have you been here?” Conner huffs in response, sending Robin a glare. “You’ve been out of your room for barely over forty hours this week, and now you’re suddenly training before seven in the morning. What gives?”
Conner steadies the punching bag as he glances over to Robin with a hint of irritation. “Just felt like it. I’m done being lazy, it’s boring.” Conner wipes the sweat from his forehead. Robin strolls over to him, hands in his pockets.
“How long have you been training this morning?” Robin asks again, adjusting his sunglasses. “You can’t just jump back into training as hard as usual after taking a break.” Conner grits his teeth, striking out at the punching bag without answering. Robin jumps in, grabbing Conner by the arm in an attempt to make him pay attention to the conversation. Conner doesn’t pull away from Robin. “I’m serious. Conner, I was– Ugh, I am worried about you. You’re being colder than usual, and you have been for the last few weeks—not even counting the last week of silence. Did I do something?” He asks, his voice softening on his last words.
Conner looks away. “No. I’m fine, and you didn’t do anything. There’s nothing to be worried about.” He mutters. Robin’s hand drops down from Conner’s elbow to his wrist. Conner lets his shoulders relax, but doesn’t look at Robin. “Why are you here? You’re usually still doing your routine now.”
Robin clears his throat. “I was planning on talking to you about this today, and I couldn’t stay still this morning. I decided to come train a bit early, but you were here, so I thought I might as well bring it up.” He explains, sliding his hand into Conner’s. Robin starts fidgeting with his hand, tracing along the lines of Conner’s palm and fingers.
“I’m really fine.” Conner insists, though he doesn’t remove his hand from Robin’s. He’s noticed Robin often struggles with staying still and letting him fidget with him helps, even if it is a bit annoying. Conner reaches up, pushing Robin’s sunglasses up his face as they start to slip down. “I’ve been training for a few hours, but you know I can handle that much.”
“Have you eaten?” Conner stays silent at the question, sighing. “Thought so.” Robin interlaces their fingers, tugging him along as he starts towards the exit of the training room. “Hey!” Conner protests, but doesn’t pull away. Why the hell doesn’t he pull away? Robin leads him to the kitchen, sitting him down at the table. “We’ve got dinner from last night, or I can make something breakfasty for us.” He glances over his shoulder to Conner, who shrugs. “Dinner it is.” Robin mutters, grabbing two plates from the fridge and moving over to the microwave.
Robin looks over to Conner as the two finish eating. Conner grabs Robin’s plate as well as his own, moving over to the sink. “Conner, I really do worry about you. I don’t want to be pushy, but can you at least try to come out for dinner sometimes?”
Conner sighs. “I will.” He’s silent for a moment, the only sounds in the room being the sink and Robin’s breathing. “Thanks. For caring, I mean.” He mutters as he sets the plate on the drying rack. He sticks his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. Robin beams at the words. “Of course I care, you’re one of my best friends.” Conner grits his teeth as he stalks out of the room. Something about the words pissed him off. “Come out for movie night, we’re watching Tangled!” Robin calls after him, and Conner doesn’t respond.
Three days later, the team is out on a mission; recon for something regarding an Arkham breakout, but Conner wasn’t sure on the details. He slowly creeps across the roof of an apartment building, heading for the one he’d been directed to. He has to find the thirteenth—or was it fourteenth?—room on the south side, drop down two floors, then sneak in. Robin is out in Gotham doing something with Batman, which is why Conner was given the task instead. “‘ You’ve watched Robin enough, you must’ve figured out some of his skills. ’ Bullshit.” Conner mutters as he counts the balconies he crosses over.
“Comms are for official communication, Superboy. Turn it off or keep quiet.” Aqualad scolds from the other side. Conner huffs in irritation, but doesn’t protest. And thirteen. Conner drops down onto the balcony, shifting his weight in the way he’d watched Robin do countless times to be quieter while landing. He repeats this twice, then stops at the balcony he comes across. Conner presses a lockpick into the lock on the balcony door, clumsily shifting the pick until he manages to get the pins into place. He slides the door open, coming into a living room.
He slowly steps into the room, pausing at the sight of the man—almost a boy, even—unmoving in the middle of the floor. It seems this mission is going to quickly become more than just reconnaissance. “Superboy to Aqualad, target is unconscious in the living room. Approaching with caution.” He moves over, ready to grab if the man tries anything. He didn’t, and Conner pressed his fingers to his neck in an attempt to find a pulse. Conner is silent for a long moment before reporting back. “Target is deceased. No signs of struggle. Cause of death, unknown.” He hears a few sympathetic gasps and murmurs from the team on the other end.
“ Artemis will join you to finish recon. ETA in three minutes. Check for a red briefcase, it should contain the plans. ” Conner stands up, starting to search around the apartment. About three minutes later, he hears the sound of someone landing on the balcony. “Oh, shit.” Artemis hisses. Conner glances over, noticing her prodding at the body. “Artemis to Aqualad, COD is suicide. Probably been gone for about twelve hours.” Conner’s eyebrows raise in shock. He understands the root meaning of the word, but that’s about it. He hasn’t really thought about it. Artemis nods, agreeing to the words Conner forgot to listen to. “Superboy, do you read me?" Conner clears his throat. “Yep.” He hears Aqualad sigh from the other side of the comm link. “House fire two blocks away. You’re the best option; firetrucks are delayed.” Conner quickly stands, moving over to the balcony.
Four days later, Conner groans in frustration as he hits the punching bag harder, the chains rattling with each strike. He can’t hit it hard enough to really feel anything. He needs something tougher, something that will let him feel the force go through his hand and scratch up his knuckles. He’s tried punching the walls—they just break and he gets a lecture on anger management. He’s tried sparring with the others—they can’t handle the full force punches he wants to throw. He can’t ask Superman to fight again, not after the hero humiliated him two weeks ago. Something has just felt off lately. He hasn’t been able to get the Arkham escapee out of his mind.
What had it felt like? His fist thuds into the punching bag.
Did any of his family miss him? Another punch, slightly harder this time.
Did he have friends that were grieving over him? He knows he’s hitting too hard at this point, but he doesn’t care.
Would any of Conner’s friends grieve him? The punching bag goes flying across the room, skidding across the floor.
A broken chain link hits Conner in the face, and he barely even notices it. He sinks to his knees, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.” He murmurs to himself.
“That’s not something someone fine says.” Robin says softly, stepping into the training room. Conner startles, his head snapping over at the sound. Robin is one of the few people that can occasionally catch him by surprise, but it’s still not common. Robin sits next to him, nudging an elbow against his side. “What’s going on, Conner?” He asks. “I’m not just kinda worried. This is starting to scare me.” He admits, looking over at him.
Conner will never admit that he leans into Robin’s side following the nudge. “I don’t know. I just–” Conner buries his face in his hands and Robin wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. “I just feel like shit all the time. I can’t stop thinking anymore, it’s like I’m stuck in my head. I’m never just here . I’m so fucking tired. I’ve been pushing through it since everyone needs me, but I don’t feel like doing anything at all.” Robin rests his head on Conner’s shoulder.
Robin sighs. “I don’t really know what to say. Is there anything specific that gets stuck in your head?” Conner nods slightly, leaning his cheek on the top of Robin’s head.
“A few days ago, when I found that guy who escaped Arkham Asylum, Artemis said the cause of death was suicide.” Robin jolts at the words, his grip on Conner’s waist tightening. “I can’t stop wondering about it. Why? Is anyone grieving him? What did it feel like?” Robin’s breath shakes for a moment as he considers how to respond.
“Conner… That’s really bad. Really unhealthy, uh… Fuck, I don’t know how to fix this.” Robin glances around anxiously, quickly readjusting the domino mask on his face. Conner nudges the corner of the mask to the spot he knew it usually sat on Robin’s cheekbone. Conner sighs. “You don’t need to fix me, Rob. I can handle this, it’s just some stupid thoughts.” He shrugs.
Robin sits up, pulling away from the half hug the two had found themselves in—Conner definitely didn’t pout—and looking at him, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. “Conner, it’s not just some stupid thoughts. This is thinking about death in a kinda obsessive way. That really messes with someone, and can lead to– It can lead to actually doing it. I’m scared for you, and I think it’s reasonable.”
Conner looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “It sounds a lot worse when you put it that way.” He mutters, offering his hand to Robin as he notices the other picking at his nails. Robin takes the extended hand, interlacing their fingers as he starts tracing over the familiar lines of Conner’s palm. “That’s because it is a lot worse than you put it. I can’t not tell anyone about this, for your sake and mine.” Robin murmurs. Conner nods slightly, looking down at their hands. As sure as he was that he’d hate it later, he didn’t mind the idea of sharing his problems right now. “Can I text Black Canary and ask her to come over soon so we can talk?” Conner nods again, and Robin starts typing out the message.
They sit in silence for a long moment before Conner breaks it. “Thank you, Robin.” Conner gives him a small smile. Robin clears his throat. “Dick.” Conner’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Well, if you hate being thanked that much, I–” Robin quickly shakes his head. “My name, idiot. My name is Richard, but everyone who actually knows me calls me Dick.” Conner’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, turning to look at R– Dick. “I figured, since you told me one of your current deepest secrets, I might as well tell you one of mine.” He shrugs. Conner squeezes his hand slightly, feeling Dick return the gesture.
“Thank you, Dick.” Conner looks up towards the ceiling, suddenly unable to maintain their previous eye contact. “For caring, for trusting me, for listening to me, for saving me so many times, and for being my best friend.” Dick nods, leaning his head on Conner’s shoulder. “Thanks for being my best friend too. I really appreciate you, man.” Conner smiles softly, resting his cheek against the top of Dick’s head.