Work Text:
Four And A Half Months
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Kon said.
The AI in Superman’s fortress had long since gotten used to Kon’s swearing, and didn’t bother asking for clarification before saying, “No, I am not.”
“But it’s impossible,” Kon protested, even while a small part of his mind said it was futile. The AI was always right; just like Tim.
Oh, God, Tim…
“I’m a guy!” Kon practically wailed. Being a guy it meant that he would always pee while standing up, never need to shave his legs, never have to wear a dress or pantyhose, never ever get PMS or anything associated with it, and consequently and most importantly of all, never be pregnant.
“In the event of a severe population depletion, Kryptonian biology can undergo a change wherein the male grows the reproductive organs necessary for bearing a child, as well as the ones previously in place for siring one,” the AI said in its typical drone.
Kon stood, dumbstruck, staring at the blank screen before him. “And you didn’t think to warn me of this?” he demanded, aghast.
“Kal-El has been on his own on this planet for thirty-seven years, and I have never observed him develop the hormones necessary for the dual reproductive organs,” the AI replied. “With your hybrid physiology, the chance was even lower than with him. I calculated the possibility of your body undergoing such a change at a minimal 5.2%. And that was only if you should choose to change your previous hetero-centered sexual patterning.”
“I was never heterosexual,” Kon said, glaring at the AIs interface. For the first few months of his life he’d only noticed girls, but that had been what he was programmed for.
Then summer had arrived in Hawaii and everybody started walking around in bathing suits, and he noticed that there were just as many hot guys around as girls. It wasn’t his fault that it was mostly girls that wanted to hook up with him.
Until Tim. And Tim had been the first guy that he’d bottomed for, which, while it felt great at the time, Kon was seriously starting to regret.
The AI made a few beeps; they sounded like regular beeps, but Kon chose to interpret them as startled ones because he was feeling sulky that for once the all-knowing AI hadn’t been all-knowing. He counted on the advanced computer system to warn him of things like the fact that Kryptonian puberty meant that he’d lose the ability to grow facial hair when he was about biologically eighteen (which had been weird, but the goatee was outdated anyway), and that he’d occasionally have to take off from school to sleep for three days straight (which had sucked because then he had tons of make-up homework to finish all at once, on top of his chores). “Be that as it may, I cannot be held responsible for not keeping track of your many and varied liaisons. And if you had bothered to listen to the various lessons in Kryptonian history that Kal-El had me queue up for you, you would have found this information in the one on Kryptonian anatomy.”
Great, so it was all his own fault? “So what am I supposed to do now?” Kon muttered, toeing the ground.
“I suggest you inform your mate of your pregnancy and incipient children,” the AI replied, with an almost humorous tint to its voice.
Kon gulped. Tell Tim that he’d gotten himself knocked up? Dude, he’d almost rather face down Batman again.
Well…maybe not.
Sighing, Kon gave the AI a quiet word of thanks and flew out the entrance of the Fortress. He thought about heading back to the farm to sulk some more, maybe hide under his covers and pretend that this wasn’t happening to him, but if he didn’t go to Tim immediately, he’d lose his nerve.
Not that Tim wouldn’t figure it out when he was as big as a house.
With a whimper, Kon took to the air and headed towards Gotham. The only saving grace about the situation was that Kryptonian pregnancies were six months long.
It was going to be a long four and a half months, though.