Chapter Text
Seven months.
Seven months since Belle Reeve. Seven months since Brainiac decided to tear Metropolis apart. Seven months since he helped Superman.
And seven months since he came into existence.
Made might be a better word, but that’s just semantics at this point.
Lex sighed and leaned over the crib, looking at curled fists and chubby cheeks. He brushed a finger over the dark ringlets framing his face, careful not to wake him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to care about him.
But he always got too close to his experiments. From Hans to Ultraman, experiment thirteen was no exception.
Conner was no exception.
Though somewhere along the way, he stopped feeling like an experiment.
Conner shifted in his sleep, kicking one foot free of the blanket. He was always a restless sleeper, constantly moving and babbling through his dreams.
Conner certainly didn’t get that from Lex.
Lex bit his lip as he tucked Conner back in, futile as it was. Some traits really were more nature than nurture, even Kryptonian ones.
Experiment thirteen.
The designation had seemed fitting at the time.
Ultraman was twelve. Powerful, strong, a force that even Superman struggled against. But unforeseen issues had quickly arisen.
Intelligence being the most concerning.
His obedience was unquestionable, eager and ready for any task Lex placed before him. But there was a frustrating simplicity to him. A constant need for reassurance. A desperate craving for affection. An inability to learn beyond what came naturally, despite Lex’s repeated attempts.
Closer to a dog than an equal.
Happier with a pat on the head than the concept of a dollar.
For all his strength, there was still plenty of room for improvement.
A new challenger had to be made. And what better variable to introduce than himself?
Half Kryptonian. Half human.
Half Superman. Half Lex.
The perfect answer.
Or it would have been.
Then Lex lost.
Everything after that became somewhat of a blur.
Belle Reeve.
Amanda Waller.
Lawyers.
Rick Flag Jr. Bastard.
The endless humiliation of being proven wrong in front of the entire world.
Experiment thirteen disappeared beneath more pressing concerns.
He was sure the experiment continued uninterrupted. He never ordered it terminated, and his employees rarely acted without explicit instructions. Growth reports, biological markers, developmental assessments—someone was undoubtedly compiling them.
Lex never saw a single one.
Difficult to smuggle classified research into a maximum-security prison, even for Mercy. It wouldn’t have been wise.
Not that he particularly cared.
At the time, there were more important things occupying his attention than an unfinished experiment.
By the time he was released, six months had passed.
No point keeping Lex Luthor imprisoned when a new alien threat promised to collapse civilization within weeks.
He was needed.
A deal was made.
Then came Brainiac.
Metropolis.
The invasion.
The impossible, infuriating reality of working alongside Superman. Being defended by him.
By the time the dust settled, Lex had accumulated mountains of neglected projects for his attention.
Most were routine. Investments. Acquisitions. Research initiatives.
Then, somewhere between his third coffee and manipulating stock prices, experiment thirteen crossed his mind.
Lex paused.
For a moment, he simply stared at his computer.
Experiment thirteen.
Right.
He had almost forgotten it existed.
Less than an hour later, he stood before the gestation tank containing it in the lowest level of Cadmus labs.
A small infant floated within the blue fluid, curled tightly into itself. Pale skin peeked through the haze. Dark curls drifted weightlessly around its head.
Lex placed a hand against the glass.
“This is not what we planned, Dr. Harris.”
Dr. Harris adjusted her glasses.
“No, sir.”
“No?”
She swallowed. “It was determined fairly early after your incarceration that the hybrid genome prevented accelerated maturation. Kryptonian development responded as expected, but the human DNA imposed natural growth limitations.”
The explanation barely registered.
The infant’s hands twitched.
Tiny fingers flexed before curling back into a fist.
“How long until extraction?” Lex asked.
“Projected three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” Lex snapped. “And nobody thought this warranted informing me?”
She cleared her throat, though she remained firm.
“Miss Graves requested you be given these past few days to recover after… Brainiac.”
“Dammit, Mercy.”
Lex turned back to the tank, watching experiment thirteen drift in the blue suspension fluid.
“And Otis? He was co-head of this project.”
“The Prometheus Group has been slowly brought back into the loop as their probation restrictions have been lifted,” Dr. Harris said. “Otis has been overseeing development and asked me to give this to you personally.”
She offered him a thick file.
Lex took it.
The contents were exactly what he expected. Growth reports, genetic analysis, and neurological development. Every projection is well within parameters.
No abnormalities.
No complications.
No failures.
Experiment thirteen was progressing exactly how designed.
A complete success.
Lex closed the file.
He should terminate it.
The original objective no longer existed. Experiment thirteen had been created for a singular purpose.
Kill Superman.
Then become him.
A better version. A controlled variable. A Superman who belonged to Lex instead of the world.
It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.
And now?
Superman was still alive. Still flying. Still insufferably noble.
The world had nearly ended. Lex had helped to save it.
And somewhere along the way, destroying Superman had stopped feeling like a life’s mission and started feeling like an old grudge he was too tired to maintain.
Experiment thirteen no longer had a purpose.
It should have made the final decision easy.
It didn’t.
And now, seven months later, he had a son he’d gladly kill for.
A son he had to keep hidden from Superman.
Because the moment he found out, everything became complicated.
Legally, Conner belonged to Lex.
Genetically?
That was another matter entirely.
While he and Superman still clashed, it wasn’t anything close to what it had been a year ago.
Lex found him irritating.
Superman found him exhausting.
The world continued turning.
But if Superman ever tried to take Conner from him—
Lex’s original plan would be relevant again remarkably quickly.
He would be successful this time.
Not because of some grand ideological conflict.
Not because Superman had finally pushed him too far.
Because Conner was his.
The thought should have been alarming, but instead felt obvious.
Lex sighed and glanced down at the sleeping infant.
He’d rather avoid all that if possible.
Raising a child was difficult enough without planning the demise of its genetic donor.
Fuck.
What was he going to do?