#wip: clark panic-adopts his teenage clones

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from in-progress Superfam fic (aka the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones, yes including the supervillain one):

Match hears a heartbeat in the air, high overhead. He doesn't look towards it. 

He recognizes it. 

He doubts its owner would recognize his, though. 

"Superboy?" Superman asks as he drifts down into Match's peripheral vision. "Are you alright, kid?" 

Match thinks about lying. He sat through the briefing this morning, after all. He knows the Agenda's plan. He knows what he's supposed to do for it. 

"Superboy's in France," he says instead. 

". . . what?" Superman says. Match doesn't look at him. Watches the lab burn down a little more in front of them, but nothing else. 

"Superboy's in France," he repeats. "Outside Lyon, probably. That's where the new lab is." 

"You're–ah," Superman realizes. "Match?" 

"Yes." Match keeps watching the lab burn. He's honestly surprised Superman remembers his name. Or even remembers him at all. 

Well, eidetic memory and all. 

"If Superboy's in Lyon, then what happened here?" Superman asks, glancing towards the flames. Match thinks about lying again, but there's just not really a point. 

"I did it," he says. 

"Why?" Superman asks. 

"They want me to kill Robin," Match says, and Superman . . . pauses. "And Wonder Girl, if I get a shot. But mostly Robin. He's the priority target." 

"Why?" Superman asks again, very carefully. Some burning debris falls down. Match watches it go. 

"To destabilize Batman," he says, because there's still no point in lying. It doesn't matter. When has it ever, really? Lying has never gotten him anything he wanted. "So the Justice League will be weakened." 

"But you're not supposed to kill Superboy?" Superman says. 

"There's no point in killing Superboy," Match says reasonably. "It's not like you'd care if he died." 

"The Agenda thinks I wouldn't care if Superboy died?" Superman asks incredulously, just staring at him. "Why, because he's a clone?" 

"Because I reported back my interactions with you when I was pretending to be him," Match corrects, puzzled by the vehemence of the response. "And also the lack thereof." 

"What?" Superman says, still just staring. 

"Batman loves Robin," Match reminds him, really not understanding the look on the man's face–like he's surprised or something, somehow? Like he somehow doesn't know how he interacts with Thirteen? "You don't even like Superboy. So killing him isn’t currently productive to the Agenda's goals. He's more useful as a live sample." 

"You're telling me that Superboy is only alive right now because the Agenda doesn't think that someone murdering him would bother me," Superman says, his voice very careful again. 

"Yes," Match confirms. More burning debris falls down. 

Match watches it go. 

"Take me to the lab in Lyon," Superman says. Match looks over at him, mostly because his voice sounds very odd all of a sudden, and frowns. Superman's eyes are burning red. 

Heat vision. Okay. 

"No," Match says. Superman's eyes burn visibly hotter, but he doesn't actually activate his heat vision. It's not an attack. 

Then Superman exhales, and it's an icy fog. 

But it's still not an attack. 

"Why not?" Superman asks. 

"Why would I bother?" Match says. "You can destroy it after Superboy escapes." 

Thirteen will escape, Match knows. He can't escape, but Thirteen always does. 

"I'm going to go get him, Match," Superman says, and Match frowns in confusion at the statement. "I don't care about the lab or the Agenda. I just want to get Superboy." 

"That isn't consistent with your previous behavior," Match notes, his frown deepening. He'd be suspicious, maybe, but . . . well, Superman does save people. 

Just not usually Thirteen, in Match's experience of him. 

Or . . . any clone, really. 

In Match's experience of him. 

Not that he ever expected Superman to bother with . . . 

Thirteen called them brothers, the first time they met. Meanwhile, Match is pretty sure that this is at best the second time that Superman's ever even spoken to him without thinking he was Thirteen, and technically he still started off the conversation on that assumption. 

It's just very obvious that he doesn't care about any shared DNA they have or . . . anything like that. 

"Please take me to the lab in Lyon, Match," Superman says. 

"So you can go get Superboy," Match says. 

"Yes," Superman says. 

You never came to get ME, Match doesn't say. 

"Alright," he says instead, and gets to his feet.

[suzukiblu]

more of the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones, yes including the supervillain one:

"I don't know why people keep doing this," Superman sighs as they stop in the air high above the cloud cover between them and the Lyon lab. 

"Stealing your DNA?" Match asks. 

"Kidnapping a sixteen year-old," Superman says like he thinks it's some kind of correction. Match frowns. 

"Superboy is two," he says. And closer to physiologically eighteen at this point, even accounting for the temporary stall in his aging process. Definitely not sixteen by either count, though. 

"I–well, yes," Superman says uncomfortably. "But you know what I mean." 

Match doesn't, actually. 

"It won't be difficult to crack the lab," he says instead of admitting that. "Security won't be prepared for an external assault from your full powerset." 

"Because they think I wouldn't come," Superman says, sounding resigned. 

"Yes," Match confirms. 

"Because of your reports?" Superman says. 

"Yes," Match says. "And you never did before, either." 

Superman frowns, sparing him a confused glance. 

"Why would I have come before Superboy was even here?" he asks. 

"I was here," Match says. 

Superman's frown deepens. He looks over at him again. Match isn't sure why; the lab is the current concern. 

Maybe he assumes that he's lying about the security. Or that he's going to tell the Agenda that he's here. Those would both be fair assumptions. 

"The Agenda thought I might come for you?" Superman says. 

"The theory was presented, initially," Match says. "But you didn't, so external security in the newer labs is less intensive." 

"Why did they think I'd do that?" Superman asks. 

"Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match says. "And the Agenda knew he'd reported my existence to you." 

"I wasn't actually involved in either of your creations, though," Superman says, still frowning. "My DNA was stolen." 

"Yes," Match agrees, tilting his head. Did Superman think he didn't know that? "Because you made your DNA valuable." 

"What?" Superman frowns at him again. 

"Your DNA was stolen because it was valuable," Match clarifies. "Because you demonstrated it was valuable. You don't use science or tricks or magic or owe any gods or countries or labs any kind of allegiance. You just exist on this planet and you're the most powerful thing on it just because you're here. You can do anything you want, whenever you want, and no one else can stop you. Not even if they kill you." 

Superman doesn't say anything. 

"And you told everyone that," Match continues. "You told everyone that you were the most powerful thing on this planet just because of your very valuable DNA and the fact that we happen to be revolving around a yellow sun. That you can't even die. That you'll always do whatever you think needs done, no matter what anyone else thinks or who tries to stop you from doing it." 

Superman still doesn't say anything. 

"So Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match finishes, and then looks back down at the lab below through the cloud cover. Thirteen is down there right now. Or he should be, at least. 

Maybe he's already escaped. 

That's a very Thirteen kind of thing to do, after all. 

"That's how you feel?" Superman asks, all careful-voiced again. 

"That's what I know," Match corrects. "Would you prefer to go straight in or should I provide a distraction first?" 

". . . I'll be the distraction," Superman says, still watching him with an absolutely indecipherable expression that Match doesn't understand the purpose of. "Find Superboy and say my name when you do. Then I'll get you both out." 

"The Agenda will want me back, though," Match says with a frown, not understanding. 

"Do you want to stay with them?" Superman asks. 

Match has absolutely no idea how Superman can even ask him that. It's not a choice if he stays with the Agenda. 

It's never been a choice. 

"They made me," he says. "They own me." 

"That isn't true," Superman says. "You don't have to stay with them just because they made you. Not if you don't want to. Superboy didn't stay with the people who made him, did he?" 

". . . Superboy lives at Cadmus," Match says, more than a little confused by that statement. "He works for Cadmus. He's a field agent." 

"He–what?" Superman blinks. 

"Did you not know that?" Match asks. That really seems like something Superman should've known. Especially since it's something the Agenda knows. "They're under new management. But it's still Cadmus." 

"I–he's still there? I thought that was just . . . why would he still be there?" Superman asks, looking troubled. 

Match really, really doesn't understand Superman as a person. 

"Because he requires food, shelter, and financial support," he ticks off on his fingers. "Also presumably other resources. And he has no legal identity or legal guardian to either obtain or provide said resources. Therefore: Cadmus." 

Therefore: the Agenda. 

It really doesn't seem like something that should need explained, to him. 

Superman looks at him for a very long moment. 

"Find Superboy," he says, finally. "Then say my name." 

"Understood," Match says.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut; Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one).

“Why does Superman have civilian clothes?” Match asks instead. Thirteen–pauses, then just shrugs. 

“Ask him,” he says, which means he knows and is just being an asshole. Figures.

“More thorough scans would be helpful,” Jor-El says as they approach a very large . . . well, Match genuinely doesn’t know. It might be a computer. There’s a screen involved, at least. The rows of crystals underneath said screen are definitely not a part of any kind of “computer” he’s ever seen before, but it’s still the likeliest theory he’s got. “The infirmary is not currently optimized for cloned lifeforms, but we should be capable of extrapolation where necessary. And the Fortress’s programming is certainly familiar with Kryptonian-human hybrids, at this point.” 

Match doesn’t respond, considering how obvious a statement that was. His genes are functionally identical to Thirteen’s, after all, so of course Superman’s already familiar with his physiology. Well–of course he’d have access to Thirteen’s files, more accurately. 

“Um,” Thirteen says, frowning in confusion. “It is?” 

Match cannot believe how incredibly stupid his gene donor is. Is Thirteen somehow under the impression that advanced alien technology can't access Cadmus’s files? Hell, the Agenda can get into those with minimal effort. Cadmus’s lab security is not impressive. He's walked right in the front door enough times at this point. 

“It is, yes,” Jor-El agrees. “If you could hold still for a moment, please. Both of you, ideally. We may as well scan you as well, Kon-El.” 

Match–frowns. 

Wait. If the Fortress already has Thirteen's files, then why . . . 

A pale blue-white light materializes from the crystals beneath the screen and pans over both him and Thirteen. He doesn't feel any hint of warmth from the light or hear anything, and there's no pain. 

In addition to the pain he's already in, he means. Obviously. 

The whole process seems very . . . simple, for a DNA scan. Not involved enough. 

Not–what he would've expected. 

That's all. 

He assumes this is just a first step, and the actual analysis will involve something more invasive or–

“Scan complete,” Jor-El announces as the light flicks off. “Genetic profiles now on file for Kon-El and the as yet unnamed new member of the House of El currently classified as ‘Match’. Proper name impending.” 

Match has absolutely no idea what to say to any of that. 

“I think the AI is malfunctioning,” he says to Thirteen, who scowls at him. 

“Rude much?” he says. 

“It just called me a ‘member of the House of El’,” Match reminds him dubiously. 

“. . . maybe Kal can run a virus scan or something,” Thirteen mutters under his breath with a grimace. Match resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's a gesture he only ever started doing to impersonate Thirteen anyway. 

“All Fortress systems are currently running at peak performance,” Jor-El says like a malfunctioning AI would even be an accurate source, then gestures off to the side. “The basic medical supplies are this way. Please follow me.” 

“The damage is minimal,” Match says. He's healed from worse without wasting medical supplies. The burns aren't even third-degree. Superman can't possibly want to spend actual resources on him, much less anything that would presumably need to be replaced or recharged later. 

“Then treatment will also be minimal,” Jor-El replies matter-of-factly before heading off. “This way.” 

He's definitely malfunctioning. 

Thirteen follows Jor-El, though, and Match doesn’t know what else to do, so he does too. Either way he doesn’t want Superman to catch up when he’s by himself, so . . . 

He doesn’t even know what Superman is doing right now, aside from presumably making whatever call he needed to make, and who knows what that’s about or for. Maybe he’s warning the Justice League about the likelihood of the Agenda causing problems for them, publicity-wise. Or . . . something to that effect, anyway. 

They’ll take the opportunity to, he’s sure. The Agenda doesn’t miss opportunities like that. 

The infirmary is sparse and open and both laboratory-bright and laboratory-sterile, but still . . . off, somehow. Something about it just seems . . . off. 

Match isn’t sure what, exactly. 

Maybe it’s just that he can’t smell blood or bleach. 

Jor-El instructs him through using the cleaning wipes and disinfectant spray and strange alien bandages from the supplies–Match, like usual, uses his tactile telekinesis to keep himself from flinching when it hurts–and Thirteen tries to help, which is irritating. Match glowers at him until he backs off, which takes twice as long as it should. 

Superman probably wouldn’t appreciate him killing Thirteen, after all the fuss. And Superman’s . . . in charge of him now, he thinks. Technically. Probably. 

For now, at least. 

The Agenda will want him back, so . . . 

So for now, yes. Until the Agenda reclaims him and disposes of him as a failed experiment. 

Superman would be–harder to reclaim him from, though. Harder than government custody. Maybe even harder than the Justice League in general, because Superman by himself doesn’t necessarily have to answer to the same specific pressures the whole League altogether would. 

So if he does . . . whatever Superman wants him to do, exactly–if he does whatever makes Superman want to keep him, for whatever reason Superman decided he wanted to keep him to begin with . . . 

He won’t be disposed of as soon, if he does that. Eventually Superman will change his mind and the Agenda will take him back, but–only eventually. 

Not yet. 

So he just needs to do that. 

Match can do that. Superman can't be any harder to please than the Agenda. He . . . thinks he can't, anyway. 

Superman tolerates Thirteen, so . . .

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for S; the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one). 

Maybe it’s a trap, Match thinks warily as he stares down the crystal-lined hall stretching ahead. A trap would make more sense than Superman bothering to be concerned with his injuries. Much more. 

But also it’s fucking cold and Thirteen is already headed inside, and hell if he’s going to get left out here alone with Superman right now. He’d actually rather never be alone with Superman again, at this point.

Match follows Thirteen in, and Superman closes the doors behind them. 

“Welcome home, Kal-El,” a voice says, and a luminous hologram of a man in long robes appears in the high-ceilinged, arching hallway in front of them. 

“Home”? Match thinks in absolute incredulity. That cannot possibly be accurate. Just–no. Not even slightly. 

“Hello, Jor-El,” Superman says, smiling at the hologram with a slightly stressed expression. “We have a couple of guests.” 

“I see, yes,” the hologram says, looking from Match to Thirteen, and then back again, his eyes lingering assessingly on Match. “Jor-El”, apparently. “Well-done, Kal-El. You are proceeding very well, for lacking a proper birthing matrix to work with.” 

“That’s, uh–that’s not–” Superman cuts himself off, looking flustered. “I didn’t commission them, Jor-El.” 

“Isn’t Jor-El your dad’s name?” Thirteen asks, peering curiously at Jor-El. “And you kinda look like . . .” 

“I am an artificial intelligence formed from Jor-El’s memories and cast in his image,” Jor-El explains. “I maintain the Fortress when Kal-El is away.” 

“Sick,” Thirteen says, then looks embarrassed for some reason, possibly because he sounds like an idiot. “I mean–cool.” 

“The current external temperature is 15° F,” Jor-El says agreeably. 

Match cannot for the life of him figure out what he should be doing here, but “escaping this conversation” is an increasingly tempting option. 

“I need to make a call,” Superman says, clearing his throat. “But first–ah, Jor-El, can you scan our guests for injuries and pharmaceuticals? Just–general health scans, actually, but focus on injuries and pharmaceuticals, please.” 

“Kon-El has high levels of hypnotics and sedatives in his system,” Jor-El says. “And your youngest has moderate levels of sedatives and tranquilizers, along with low levels of opioids. He has one second-degree burn on his stomach, another on his right thigh, and a minor head injury. All other injuries are negligible."

“What?” Superman startles, his eyes snapping to Match. “They drugged you?”

Match frowns, not understanding why the man looks so surprised by that idea. 

“Yes,” he says anyway, since apparently there’s actually a question there. 

“Why?” Superman asks. Match continues not to understand why he’s surprised, or why he’s asking questions with such stupidly obvious answers. 

“To keep me manageable,” he says, because why else? Superboy is prone to anger and rage and drastic emotional spikes, and Match was made from the same template. And everyone knows what an angry Kryptonian can do. 

Even just half of an angry Kryptonian. 

Superman stares at him, looking . . . unsettled, almost. Thirteen grimaces. Match really doesn’t understand what the problem is. 

“You mean they always drug you,” Superman says slowly. 

“Obviously,” Match says dubiously. “I wouldn’t be manageable otherwise.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Thirteen mutters under his breath, putting a hand over his mouth and looking nauseous. Match doesn’t bother wasting time on trying to figure out why. Thirteen never has rational reactions anyway.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Mo; Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one).

"I changed my mind," Superman says evenly. "Consider yourself stolen."

"What?" Match frowns reflexively. Superman adjusts his grip on Thirteen; cradles him more carefully in his arms.

Doesn't stop looking at Match, though, for some inexplicable reason.

"You say you're property?" Superman says, quiet and intent. "Fine. But property doesn't return itself when it gets stolen. If the Agenda wants you back, they're going to have to take you from me."

". . . why," Match says, very slowly.

"Because they're going to have to pry you from my cold dead hands before I ever let them near you again," Superman says, his pupils illuminated by red pinpricks of light.

Match doesn't think this man has ever made less sense to him than he's making right now, and Superman almost never makes sense to him. Not in anything more than the most abstract terms, anyway.

Superman doesn't want anything to do with him. Doesn't care that they share secondhand DNA. Doesn't care that–

This doesn't make sense.

Neither does the fact Superman bothered going to get Thirteen when Thirteen always escapes anyway, though, or why Superman caught Thirteen when he fell, or why he told Thirteen he was safe and then gave him to Match. None of those things are even a little bit logical or rational.

[suzukiblu]

Update for the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones. Yes, including the supervillain one.

[suzukiblu]

i will stay but you should leave by skunk anansie for clark panic adopts his teenage clones !! idk i kinda just associate that song with both kon and match

“That's because you're an inferior design,” Match says. “You experience unnecessary emotions. I behave rationally.” 

“Sure. Then why don't you explain to me the ‘rational behavior’ behind you not murdering my uptight control freak team leader when you got ordered to,” Thirteen says dryly, looking unimpressed. 

Match doesn't answer. It's–not relevant, why he did that. 

And it's not something he'd tell Thirteen even if it were. 

Obviously.

[suzukiblu]

Lark by Au Revoir Simone for Clark panic adopts his clones, please!

“A proper name will be necessary,” Jor-El says as he leads them past the unnecessary statue. Match has no idea why this is even a topic, much less a relevant one. 

“I don't need a ‘proper’ name,” he says dubiously. “‘Match’ is perfectly functional.” 

“Yeah well I always said I was fine just being ‘Superboy’, but when Kal said I could be ‘Kon-El’ too I was so happy that I literally fucking cried, so I call absolute and entire bullshit on that one,” Thirteen snorts. Match stares blankly at him again. Why would Thirteen even tell him something like that? Much less react that stupidly to begin with?

[suzukiblu]

Some fic WIP-related sketches I've been noodling at, as previously polled about.

Match and Kon and the mortifying ordeal of being panic-adopted

Clark wakes up alive and finds a four year-old about it

Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids

Kryptonians have omegaverse genders but nobody told Match

All these links are chrono links and therefore won't work on the app, so non-chrono versions are included behind the cut, along with image descriptions.

.

[ Four sketches of various Superfamily characters from DC Comics, illustrating assorted scenes from assorted fic WIPs.

First sketch: Match and Kon and the mortifying ordeal of being panic-adopted. A slightly battered Match is disguised as Kon and holding a dazed and semi-conscious Kon while Clark wrecks utter Kryptonian-level destruction on the Agenda lab in the distant background. Match looks exasperated about this.

Second sketch: Clark wakes up alive and finds a four year-old about it. Clark is in costume and smiling, crouched in front of a physiologically four year-old Conner in Cadmus, who looks wary and is holding Kraig in his lap. Desmond, Guardian, and Dubbilex are in the background. Desmond is angry, Guardian is confused, and Dubbilex has no comment at this time.

Third sketch: Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids. Kara is curled up in the wreckage of her and an infant Kal's crashed ships with him wrapped up in her arms, wearing Kryptonian clothing, with both of them apparently unconscious and laying on the El crest blanket.

Fourth sketch: Kryptonians have omegaverse genders but nobody told Match. Beta!Clark is dressed as Superman and newly-presented omega!Match is disguised as Superboy. Clark is smiling affectionately and pack-scenting Match, who he thinks is Kon, by cupping his face in his hands. Match has no idea what is happening and is currently overwhelmed by his first experience with the soothing beta pheromones whammy. A visual thought bubble depicts Match in his normal appearance being confused as fuck. ]

[suzukiblu]

can you please write some more of when I see myself, I always know where you are for WIP Wednesday? I am weak for clone boys finally getting parented.

Match pulls on the pants and sweatshirt, which both feel strangely soft and fit much too loosely. He ties the drawstring of the sweatpants as tight as he can and rolls up the cuffs and sleeves above his wrists and ankles, just in case he needs to fight, and then doesn’t know what to do with his ruined suit. There’s not exactly an obvious trash can, or even a laundry bin. 

“Your youngest’s name is ‘Match’, Kal-El?” Jor-El asks, frowning skeptically.

“Oh, ah–” Superman hesitates. Match frowns. It is his name. Why is Superman hesitating? “Well, technically, but . . .” 

“I require the literal one, Kal-El, or I will not be able to list him in the family register with Kon-El,” Jor-El informs him dryly. Superman looks startled. 

Match is, again, mystified.

[suzukiblu]

...I... might request all of them, lol. I like them all so much.

but since you want requests in separate asks for extremely reasonable organizational reasons, this ask shall be a request for the one where Clark panic-adopts his clones

get that boy Match some undrugged time and maybe some therapy! And a good meal!

“So, um . . .” Thirteen says, peering curiously at Jor-El. “You’re always here?” 

“I am, yes,” Jor-El says. Match just wonders why an AI is bothering to simulate walking ahead of them. Jor-El is displaying himself as a hologram, after all. He doesn’t need to “walk”. He doesn’t even need to display himself at all, presumably; he could just communicate through whatever theoretical systems keep this place running. There’s clearly something. “We did not meet on your previous visit because Kal-El wished to offer you your name and place in the House of El privately.” 

“Oh,” Thirteen says, and then ducks his head and grins a little, as if he’s remembering . . . well, presumably that visit, given the conversation. It’s not an expression Match has ever seen on his face before. Well–their face. 

Same difference.

[suzukiblu]

“Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance for Clark panic adopts his teenage clones - I KNOW it’s cliche but it’s TRUE

Match gives him a blank one in response, pushing aside the idea that Superman gave Thirteen a name–a stupid and half-assed name, but a name–and a . . . “place in the House of El”, apparently. It’s not relevant, and even if it were, it wouldn’t matter. 

Superman never makes sense, so he's obviously not going to start now.

[suzukiblu]

‘when I see myself, I always know where you are’ for WIP Wednesday please!!

“I, uh–let me get back to you on that, Jor-El,” Superman says, looking flustered now. “I wasn’t even aware you’d put Kon in the–never mind, just–one moment, alright? I really need to make that call. Kon, if you could just take Match to the bathroom so he can clean up some of that blood and ash, and then the infirmary so we can bandage up those burns properly . . .” 

“Yeah, sure. Where are they?” Thirteen asks, tilting his head curiously. Superman . . . pauses, briefly, and an odd expression crosses his face. 

“You don’t know where–” he starts, and then cuts himself off, still looking strange. “Jor-El can show you. Just follow him, please."

[suzukiblu]

Give me those Match feels! "When I see myself, I always knows where you are"

“Oh, yeah,” Thirteen says, looking over to him like that was actually intended to be a conversation starter. Ugh. “It’s Kon-El. Not sure if you actually, like, explicitly know that or whatever. We could probably get you one of those later, maybe. Like, if you’re done with being a dick and all. Or really just if you want one. Uh–I don’t actually know any other Kryptonian names, though, and we’d have to ask Superman if it’d be cool to use one of ‘em anyway, I guess.” 

“. . . your name is Experiment Thirteen,” Match says. 

“Yeah, not so much, dude,” Thirteen says, giving him a dry look.

[suzukiblu]

Another excerpt from the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one).

Previously-posted excerpts: one | two

Thirteen is in a cell in the basement, to Match's entire lack of surprise–that's standard procedure, with his class of prisoner. There are no guards on the floor, but Thirteen is currently suspended in an anti-grav field in the center of the room.

No way to use his TTK on anything but himself, then.

That's not as secure a containment procedure as the Agenda thinks it is.

Match should inform them of that. And he will inform them of that.

Eventually.

"Superman," Match says as he inspects the room for a power source or some manner of off switch for the field. Thirteen says nothing, because he's unconscious. Sedated, presumably, which is also standard procedure with his class of prisoner.

That would explain the lack of guards despite Thirteen's recorded tendency to escape, Match supposes. Though there'll be someone watching the cameras either way, of course, so they don't have long before someone shows up.

The reinforced door on the other side of the room tears off its hinges and reveals Superman standing behind it. His eyes are blazingly red. There's crumpled metal twisted up in his hands.

"I found the other experiments," he says.

"Were they viable?" Match asks.

"No," Superman says, very darkly. Match wonders if that means Superman killed them, or if that means they were already dead. It's not really something he's going to think too much about either way.

He has a lot of dead brothers, after all. Some of them he killed himself.

Assuming that he uses Thirteen's definition of what a "brother" is, anyway.

They have a lot of dead brothers from Cadmus, too.

Or at least twelve of them, anyway.

Superman strides forward into the room, staring up at Thirteen's suspended form. Match inspects the power source he's found.

"I think I can disable the anti-grav," he says. "I don't see any traps or failsafes, at least."

"Then disable it," Superman says. He's still just looking at Thirteen.

He's only ever looked at Thirteen.

Match wonders what might've happened if he'd just pretended to be Thirteen after all, and never told Superman anything about this lab. It's a stupid thing to wonder, though.

He already knows Superman doesn't even like Thirteen, whether he looks at him or not. There's no reason he'd like Match any better.

Even if he is a better experiment.

Match disassembles the power source with a quick burst of TTK and the field deactivates. Thirteen falls out of the air. Superman catches him in his arms.

Match wonders why he bothered. It's not like the fall would've injured Thirteen. He's not even conscious enough to have noticed the impact.

"Ngh," Thirteen says, his eyelashes fluttering restlessly.

. . . alright, maybe he would've noticed the impact.

Still, though.

"You're safe, Kon," Superman tells Thirteen quietly. "I've got you."

"Ngh," Thirteen repeats, and then just sinks back into unconsciousness and goes completely limp in Superman's arms. There is no trace of wariness or fear or anything but absolute faith in those words in any part of him.

Match cannot even imagine ever having a similar interaction with another sentient being.

He feels . . . odd, he thinks, hearing Superman say "Kon". He knows it's one of Thirteen's preferred aliases, of course–he's heard the various members of Young Justice all use it more than once, usually by unknowingly calling him by it. It's not a secret or anything.

He's never heard Superman use it before, though.

[suzukiblu]

clark panicadoption for wip

And Match and Thirteen are the same build, technically. Match is an improved design, but he still came from the same base DNA. Still has the same powers; the same natural inclinations and the same genetic potential. 

Match could do it all better than Thirteen, obviously, but . . . 

But if Superman wanted any of those things, he could’ve gotten them from Thirteen already.

He’s an upgrade, but he’s an upgrade of something Superman doesn’t even want.