Work Text:
Tiles.
Cold, hard tiles.
The white ceramic was a biting frost beneath his shoulders, but it soothed the cuts and scrapes littering his back.
He’d been getting less and less careful with his body since the revelation that it wasn’t his. Not his image. Roy Harper was abducted and he had been wearing his identity like some kind of crook. Like a liar. A thief. Unwitting, sure, but he still felt responsible for doing the team in while flaunting a personhood that wasn’t his.
The bathrooms at Mount Justice weren’t exactly private, but they were secure, and as much as it pained him to parade this body around the cave, it was… better than having to look into the mirror at home. At least here he’d be under surveillance if he did something reckless. He shuddered to think of what he’d be doing to himself back in his apartment. Ollie had been around to visit once or twice since he found out, but the pained grimace on his face was not an easily disguised thing, and it just made the teen feel even worse about it all.
This wasn’t his face. His skin. His voice, his body, his mind. It was all somebody else’s. All handed to him on a silver platter, waiting for him to fuck everything up. Roy didn’t deserve this. Nobody did.
Then again, nobody was exactly who he’d become.
There was no solace to be found in his potential to grow anymore, and his only goal for the past few months was proven to be nothing more than genetic coding. He was feeling more sub-human than ever before, now with the knowledge that that’s what he was. Not a person. The most human thing about him was the crimson leaking over the floor.
A knock echoed throughout the room, and he craned his neck. It was heavy-handed, and even though it was still quite loud, he recognised the clumsy attempt to be gentle with the door.
“Come in.” he whispered hoarsely. He knew Superboy would be able to hear him.
Sure enough the door opened, and there stood Conner Kent.
Now here’s a guy who had it all worked out. He had a name, a girlfriend, a family. An identity of his own beyond Superman. Sure, people still made mistakes out on the street, and they always would. But Conner had someone to be that wasn’t Clark. Red Arrow did not.
“You’re bleeding.” he said simply, crossing his arms over the red symbol across his shirt. He leant against the doorway, a flat expression taking place. It was something between analytical and concerned. Definitely a face he inherited from the big blue boy scout.
“Hah. Thanks. Hadn’t noticed.”
His reply was chased up by a resounding spluttering cough, that he was sure only served to make him look more pathetic. Instead of voicing any further assessments of his physical state, Conner approached the floor, laying down on his back beside him. Two clones chilling on a bathroom floor. It was almost like a little bonding activity.
The silence was almost deafening now. It was probably less awkward down here when he was alone.
“Roy -”
“I am not Roy!”
The response was seething, a quick snap that he hadn’t properly considered before it had been uttered. Conner turned his head, blinking at him wordlessly but avoiding his eyes. Searching.
“I get it.”
“Oh, do you?”
The bitter edge to his snipe spoke more than the sarcastic comment itself. This was probably the most real frustration Superboy had ever seen Red Arrow express. Sure, he was always grumbly on the field. Conner was no different. But none of that ever seemed like much more than daily tension. This went beyond that. He wasn’t too bright socially, but he could tell.
“I know what it’s like to not have anything to yourself.”
“...”
“I catch my reflection sometimes on missions. It hurts to see his face looking back at me so angrily. And people talk to me on the street like I’m him. I don’t want to be him. I want to be me. But you and I don’t get that choice sometimes.”
There was a pause as the confession settled.
“I don’t know who I am if I’m not him.”
“Then make someone up.”
It was a very easily reached conclusion. Play pretend til it sticks. He’d already seriously considered dropping everything and moving off to a farm, or something like that. Rebuild it all and pretend these last few months never happened.
“That someone has very loose grounds to be made up on. All I have that’s mine is Red Arrow, and even then the archery bit was stolen too.”
“You can just be Red Arrow for awhile. I was ‘Supey’ for a long time before I was Conner. It’s not an instantaneous thing.”
Red Arrow didn’t know what to say to that.
Wait months for the pain to subside and hope that eventually he finds himself? It sounded… gross. Like a crappy movie montage. How was he supposed to fill all that time, when all he did was chase cold cases and drink?
“Red Arrow is only half a person”, he concluded. “Red Arrow can’t just be Red Arrow for that long.”
Conner seemed to lack a response; either that, or he was just thinking it over. The archer continued speaking.
“You had it easy, you had someone to tell you who to be until you figured it out. You were given an identity, a nice gig as a classic brooding highschool boyfriend, a way to vent your anger, and a team that doesn’t care how fucked up you are.”
“You know you’ve always had a place on the team.”
“Heh, right. Like you guys need me and Artemis having a go at Wally for every little mishap. Like you need us both losing our shit and having edgy dark pasts and, and running out of arrows. The only thing worse than one broken archer is two.”
Conner snorted, noting that they did indeed have a number of similarities.
“You’d keep eachother in line. And I’m sure she’d come round to sharing the privilege of bossing Kid around.”
“Yeah.”
A quiet fell over them, more comfortable than the last one. The air was unmoving. He could still feel the damp spots on the back of his uniform where the blood had yet to dry, and he could feel the spots where the rough fabric had gotten stuck in his wounds even more.
A laugh escaped him. A small chuckle, that escalated to a booming cackle partway through, and kept on going until he was wheezing and coughing again. Superboy’s face held a small, confused smile as he watched him let it all out.
“What’s so funny?”
“I really am just a shell of a person, huh?”
“Means you get to start from scratch. I didn’t get to start from scratch.”
“Yeah, how horrible that you instantly had chicks hanging off you and a bunch of personal character arcs to tie off.”
“I mean it, man. Half of ‘Conner’ is stuff that I’ve learnt about myself already, but the other half is this act that I’m putting up to fill the space. You get used to it. I know eventually the gaps will close, but… I won’t have it easy trying to fix up what’s already been decided for me down the track.”
“Yeah. Guess you’re right.”
“I can ask M’gann to give you a name, if you want. Since you seem hung up on the fact that she gave me mine.”
His face contorted a little, cringing at the thought.
“Nah, I’d rather not be named after one of her little fictional crushes.”
“Then… I’ll give you a name?”
They made proper eye contact for the first time that encounter. The wear and and anger in Conner’s features was the same as what lingered in his own, and it hit him how little he’d considered the other’s circumstances. Thinking about it now, he would probably hate it more if everything was decided for him. If it was all pre-ordained and he just had to pick it up. It wouldn’t be his life any more than Roy’s is.
“I’d like that.” He murmured.
They brainstormed a bit. A couple of them had a nice ring, many sounded absolutely awful. Conner wasn’t all that creative with names, as evidenced by Wolf and Sphere before him. At one point, he even suggested he just take on the name Harper and be Harper Harper. He laughed at how ridiculous that would be. Ollie would never refer to him again and Dick wouldn’t even stop to take a breather between making fun of him for it.
“I’m so close to picking random objects in the room to name you after. M’gann didn’t have to try this hard for me.” Conner breathed, a grin landing on his face.
“Honestly, go for it, Can’t be worse than Petunia.”
“Petunia is a classy name, alright?”
Their joint laughter glanced off the walls, and Superboy propped himself up with his palms to get a better look around.
“... Toothbrush?”
Red Arrow quirked an eyebrow when he looked back down at him, checking his reaction.
“Nope. Doesn’t fit.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Okay, but what about Sink?”
“Badass, but no.”
“Washrag, surely.”
They met eyes again in a silent and ridiculous staring competition. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the infamous Robin cackle.
“What are you two doing on the floor?” Dick’s gloved hand shielded his face as he giggled.
“Bonding.” Conner answered plainly, shifting back down to his elbows.
Dick pointed down at the slight mess beneath the redhead.
“He’s getting blood on the tiles.”
“We know.” They responded in unison.
“Riiiiiight. Well, B’s called us in for a mission and we need Supey, so see yourself to the medbay while we’re out. ‘K?”
The archer rolled his eyes.
“I’ll carry you there.”
There was something casual, but commanding about the offer. Conner was telling, not asking, and Red Arrow actually felt compelled to comply, which struck him as novel.
“My hero.” The response was flat, but he wore a smile of his own, which Superboy managed to interpret as sincere acceptance.
“See you in a bit then, prince charming.”
Dick cackled again, resuming his lap of the cave to collect the other members of the team.
Strong arms helped him off the floor once Conner was standing again, lifting him up by the bicep and propping him against the counter.
“Come on, Sink. Piggyback time.”
“What, no bridal style?” A manufactured whine laced his voice.
“Your back is injured, I’m not putting pressure on it. Also, you’re helping me clean the bathroom once you’re healed.”
“I won’t be here when you guys get back.”
“...”
The Kryptionian hoisted him up by the thighs, adjusting his weight so he had a better grip on him.
“The team is nice and all, but they want Roy. I can’t give them that anymore.”
“I know.”
“I’ll stop by more often.”
“... Yeah. Alright.”
The two made their way to the med bay, and Red Arrow made a decision. Just because he wasn’t Roy Harper anymore, doesn’t mean he could never be a person again.