#so they're gonna go ''wait fuck babyproofing''

[transingthoseformers]

I read cleaning the Nemesis and immediately pictured Silverlight wearing a baby mop

Jdfoulbljb YES EXACTLY THAT

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for pile o’ rats, who gave me dealer's choice for the WIP I wanted to write for; Knockout gets knocked up.

“Do you want them?” Superman asks just as gently as before, not taking his hand away. Superboy wants to cry, he thinks. No, he definitely wants to cry. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. “I–even if they're not mine, I just . . . someone's gonna put them in a lab and hurt them, I know they are, I know it, and I–and I just can't let that–let that . . .”

“Alright,” Superman says, and squeezes his shoulder. Superboy chokes again, and it comes out more a sob than anything else. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he manages, and feels absolutely helpless. 

“That’s alright,” Superman says, low and soothing. “You don’t have to know what to do yet. I can help you figure out your options, and we’ll go from there. Okay?” 

“We’ll”, Kon registers, and immediately bursts into tears. 

“Sorry!” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucked up so bad–!” 

“You made a mistake,” Superman says, simple and merciful and squeezing his shoulder again. “You didn’t do anything to hurt anyone else. You didn’t do anything wrong or cruel or on purpose. And it’s not anything we can’t fix.” 

“I don’t know how,” Superboy chokes, turning his head away and desperately trying to rub the stupid tears off his face and pull himself back together, because why is he being this stupid and this isn’t Superman’s problem, and he’s–and he’s so stupid! Why is he always so stupid?! And he doesn’t want to look stupid in front of Superman, much less this weak and pathetic.

Even if it’s true. 

But if this kid gets stuck in a lab, whether they’re his or not . . . well, he’s the reason Knockout’s in prison right now. He’s the one who took her down. 

Fuck, she was pregnant when he took her down. He hit her! While she was pregnant! He hit her really hard! And like, yeah, she was trying to murder him and stuff, but–just, shit, what’s wrong with him?!

This kid is so fucked. There’s no way this kid isn’t fucked. They’re gonna grow up in a lab and if they ever hear anything about him and Knockout, it’s gonna be about how fucking fucked up they were, and–and–

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t even know how this could get fixed, no matter what Superman says. 

He’s never . . . he’s never doubted anything Superman told him before, but . . . but the situation is just so fucked, and he doesn’t even have options. How could he? Just–how? Ever? He’s not a legal adult, he’s not even really a legal person; they’re not gonna let him have the baby. Even if they say they’ll let him, they’ll find an excuse to keep them later, or a reason he can’t have them, or–or something. 

His place definitely isn’t babyproofed, if nothing else. He doesn’t even know how to babyproof a place, he’s just vaguely aware that that’s a thing that people do when they have a kid. Like, normal, responsible people who the government isn’t going to take said kid from.

Who’s he kidding? He doesn’t even have the kid to have them get “taken” from him. Knockout’s in custody and he’s just a stupid fucking not even legal idiot who hit her while she was pregnant. 

“We’ll figure that out, kid,” Superman says kindly, and Superboy folds his arms and tries not to start crying harder. It’s less that he’s folded his arms, though, and more that he’s . . . hugging himself, probably. But he really doesn’t want it to look like he’s doing that in front of Superman. 

“What, the government’s gonna let me keep a baby in my shitty beat-up old place with zero security that everybody knows is my home address?” he asks bitterly, digging his fingers into his arms. “They won’t let me do that. They’ll say it’s not safe. Fuck, it’s not safe!” 

“It’s not, no,” Superman agrees. “But there’s still options, alright? Why don’t you just . . . come with me, for right now. Have you eaten yet?”

“Um–I don’t think so,” Superboy says, trying to remember. He honestly . . . yeah, no. “No, uh–the call woke me up, and then I just waited for visiting hours and then I–then I just came here, so . . . no.” 

“Alright,” Superman says. “Then we’ll get lunch, and then we’ll talk about your options while we eat. Okay?” 

“Um . . . okay,” Superboy says, swallowing uncomfortably. He scrubs the last of the tears away, still feeling stupid and embarrassed. Superman squeezes his shoulder one last time, then drops his hand away. Superboy misses it immediately, even though he doesn’t even deserve the–the comfort or whatever, right now. He fucked up. Really bad. He doesn’t deserve comforted, and especially not by Superman.

But he can’t bring himself to turn it down, either. 

“Okay,” Superman says, giving him a faint, regretful little smile. Superboy feels even more embarrassed. He’s bothering Superman with this, like he thinks he has the fucking right to, but . . . but he didn’t know where else to go, or who else to talk to, or . . . 

He just didn’t know where else to go.