Archive of Our Own

The mission feels an awful lot like herding cats. His teammates know they’ve been given a lesser task to complete, but it’s necessary nonetheless. It’s unlikely anyone will be put in harms way; Tim treats it with the severity he’d give any other mission anyway. Batman has trained him never to underestimate any situation. His teammates seem to not be on the same page.

“Impulse,” he hisses, as the speedster reappears by his side, ice cream in hand. Bart gives no hint of shame; he grins unabashedly.

“Sorry, did you want one?”

Tim rolls his eyes, not that anyone can see. The question doesn’t deserve an answer.

His attention turns back to the mission at hand. Garth circles above, the green of his feathers obscured by the clouded sky. Bart returns to his planned position, zipping away in a blur and stopping atop the decrepit convenience store. Tim is crouched in the shadows across the empty parking lot. He settles into silence and focuses his awareness on his surroundings. He’s the most experienced with this type of mission, the natural choice to lead his small team. Garth is still figuring himself out; Bart is too impatient to carry the mission on his own – too impulsive, one might say. Tim smirks to himself at his own terrible joke.

The intel hasn’t given them a specific time to expect their guests. A series of events had caught the Team’s attention, not serious enough to require immediate intervention but curious enough to mandate a reconnaissance mission. A few trickling reports of suspicious activity around the southern Metropolis suburbs had piled up, all centred around this area. The pattern indicates that the group of unknowns assemble here every two weeks; damage reports are fairly minor and if anything, the group are more of a nuisance to the residential area than a genuine threat. The only major concern the higher ups have is the nature of the group; Tim agrees that they likely have powers. The neighbourhood is one of the lesser well-developed areas with a higher crime-rate than its sister districts; he’s not one to jump to conclusions without evidence but they need to know if these possible metahumans are anything to keep an eye on.

A movement in the quiet evening catches his eye. “Impulse, you see that?” he murmurs into the comms. As he speaks, a figure emerges from an alleyway. They’re too far away to make out any detail, even with his mask switched to night vision.

“Is it just me or is he hovering?” Bart questions. Tim’s brow furrows. He’s right. “Rob, ten o’clock.”

Tim’s gaze snaps back to the parking lot. A woman has emerged from the side entrance of the store. A man joins her and lights her offered cigarette with a snap of his fingers. When Tim looks back to the man by the alleyway, he’s no longer there.

“Impulse, Beast Boy, you two stay here and monitor the situation. Keep an eye out for anyone else. I’ll follow the other guy and report back soon.”

Bart gives a cursory complaint about being stuck of spying duty. Garfield simply sets down from his flight on the branch of a bare tree, high enough to keep a lookout.

Tim manoeuvres about the shadows and scans his surroundings for sight of the man. His grappling hooks carries him to the rooftops of the terraced buildings as he runs silently across the apartments and takeout restaurants beneath him. It’s not difficult to spot the figure sat with his legs dangling over the ledge of a greasy diner. Tim hangs back, slipping easily into a crouch behind an ancient air conditioning unit. He doesn’t risk informing the others he’s found the mystery man just yet. He wants to wait and watch.

Minutes tick by with little progress on Tim’s part. The other, by contrast, seems to be greatly enjoying himself and the boxed chow mein he’s heartily gulping down. Tim is used to waiting out his opponent and ignores the ache of his cramped muscles with ease. The mission is strictly information gathering only; they’re not to engage with the suspected metas unless absolutely necessary. He needs evidence that this person has powers before he simply abandons the lead.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Tim’s eyes narrow. “And I can hear that big ol’ jump in your heartbeat. Did I scare you?”

Tim doesn’t fall for the bait, even as the man glances over his shoulder and looks directly at him.

Not a man, Tim realises. A boy.

He’s young, maybe Tim’s age or a couple of years older. His broad shoulders and strong jawline hint at maturity while his cocky grin and edgy style say otherwise. Tim blinks and suddenly the boy is in the air. He’s facing Tim now, much closer than he had been before, and Tim can finally get a good look at him. His leather jacket paired with his undercut juxtapose the emblem on his chest. The Superman shield is a dead giveaway to anyone who keeps up with hero gossip; Tim had never met the boy before but had heard plenty about him, enough to know to stay out of his way. Superboy. Not exactly an original name, but he definitely had a unique origin. Tim hadn’t been on the team to discover the cloning facility a few months ago; he’d been benched by Batman at the time as a result of a particularly nasty fall on patrol, courtesy of the Penguin and his henchmen. The clone had only been a few weeks old when they’d found him but essentially fully grown already. His resemblance to Superman is uncanny, even if he’d made a few stylistic changes since his awakening. Tim isn’t meant to know much about him–the Justice League had been rather keen on keeping the situation quiet–but Tim can hack his way into anything blindfolded; obtaining the files on the clone had been a breeze. The extent of his powers have yet to be determined but he’s on hesitantly good terms with the League. Tim has stayed out of the way of any drama his discovery had caused but from what he could determine, Superboy had taken off to forge his own life over in Hawaii. Why he was in Metropolis suburbs, then, was a mystery.

There’s no use pretending his cover hasn’t been compromised. Tim stands, a hand at his staff, his shoulders squared. Superboy makes no effort to hide how he looks his fellow hero over. He pushes his ridiculous sunglasses up his nose and lands softly a few feet away from Tim. A glint of metal draws Tim’s attention to the gold hoop in Superboy’s ear. Tim, rather dumbly, wonders how an invincible being has a piercing ad if it’s a cheap clip on.

“You’re Boy Wonder, right?”

Tim’s never been fond of that particular name. It echoes with the Robins past, both the one who outlived the mantle and the one who didn’t. “Robin,” he corrects.

Superboy nods. “Sure. You’re after that group of kids, right? I wouldn’t worry about it.” Tim offers no reply to this, but it’s obvious the other has caught his interest. “They made some online help forum. There’s not much support for them in these parts. They’re just messin’ around and figuring themselves out.”

It’s the best lead they’ve had on the situation all night, even if its credibility is dubious at best. Superboy seems to know not to expect much response from the other and simply offers a grin as Tim processes the information. He strides forwards and pats a heavy hand against Tim’s shoulder. He must have not figured out his own strength yet; Tim knows that’s going to bruise.

“See you around, Rob,” he says, before leaping into the sky in one graceful bound. Tim keeps his eyes trained on his retreating figure as he zips through the sky. He’s heading towards the far-off skyscrapers of Central Metropolis. Tim makes a mental note to mention this to Bruce later.

With a hand to his ear and the other at his grappling hook, he decides to finally catch up with the others. “Any activity on your end?”

Nightwing reads over his mission report and pauses as he reaches the details of Tim’s excursion.

“Superboy?”

Tim nods.

“Huh.” Despite his masked eyes, Dick is as expressive as ever. He’d been on the team who’d discovered the young clone. Tim figures he’s happy to see he’s doing well.

Caught between school, nightly patrols, and his duties within the Team, weeks pass before Superboy enters his thoughts again. An uncharacteristically mundane patrol sees him heading home sooner than he’d anticipated. Bruce had decided having the both of them out was unnecessary and that between them, Tim was the one who needed the rest. Tim would complain, but there’s no denying the ever-growing pile of homework he has yet to complete and the darkening bags beneath his eyes.

It’s well beyond midnight and into the early hours of the morning when Tim finally finishes with schoolwork. He knows the importance of keeping up with his education but there’s an additional pressure to not attract unwanted attention in the event that his attendance falters and his grades slip. His father likely knows he’s hiding something. There are only so many more excuses Tim can come up with for obvious injuries and weekends spent away with the Team. He figures he has some more time before any uncomfortable questions get raised.

He’s in bed with his laptop perched atop his stomach, a red overlay on the screen helping the weary ache in his eyes. He’s browsing through League files out of sheer nosiness more than anything. He’s already checked each of Gotham’s reliable intel channels and found little of interest; it’s a relief to see that his absence from patrol hasn’t been a waste but it makes for useless night time entertainment. The League, however, always has something going on.

Most of the files are mere admin checklists: record keeping, witness verification, damage reports. Tim scrolls aimlessly through the updates until one in particular catches his eye. He opens the file and navigates the encryption with ease.

Subject: SB_01 Monitoring

Below the title are many photographs of varying quality. Some capture a blur of a figure, either flying or caught in a fight. Others are of higher quality and picture a familiar face.

Tim scrolls down read through the latest updates on Superboy’s activities and whereabouts. He hasn’t opened the file for some time now, although not much seems to have changed. Superboy mostly keeps to himself, only now Clark is making more of an effort to connect with him. Tim had been there for Bruce’s many internal arguments for and against Clark’s actions. While discovering a clone of yourself spliced with your nemesis’s genes is undoubtedly a shock for anyone, including the Man of Steel, outright rejection of a being as powerful and volatile as Superboy is a bad idea all around. Then again, Bruce only just about tolerated Clark’s infrequent visits to Gotham and isn’t overly happy when any other metas tag along. His distaste for metas apparently extends to superpowered clones. Bruce doens’t like what he can’t control. The League had settled on regular meetings with Superboy. They allow him free reign of his chosen home location but make sure to keep in contact with him. Tim knows Bruce isn’t nearly as optimistic as Clark about the situation. While he may look like Clark, half of Superboy is still Luthor. Bruce needs to be prepared for all outcomes, including those that involve kryptonite weaponry. He’s wise enough to not start that argument with Clark, though. Clark, for all his humanity and charitability, feels responsible for Superboy. He may not have asked for him, but Superboy is a part of him. Tim knows what it’s like to have a father too preoccupied with his own life and work to spare much time for his child; he’s glad Superman is making things right with his younger clone.

The newest update from the Hawaiian hero details various petty crimes he’d thwarted since the last drop in and little else. No doubt he’s still adjusting to life outside of a tube and testing his abilities. The report’s author–Tim checks; it’s Clark–states that no new abilities have manifested lately. Superboy matches Clark in his flight, strength, and speed. Apparently, he’s tried to induce other powers but Clark details that it had taken some time for all of his current abilities to settle in. Judging by Superboy’s approximate physical age, he’s about on par with Superman’s development.

Tim finds himself exiting out of the League’s server and heading towards more conventional news sources. He’s not familiar with local Hawaiian news outlets and isn’t even sure exactly where Superboy is located. It doesn’t take long to yield the results he’s after, though; apparently Superboy isn’t exactly opposed to the media attention. An article features him posing with a cheeky grin at his lips as he holds aloft a large vehicle. Tim skim reads the story and follows links to related articles.

He glances at the clock sometime later and gapes when he finds that it’s almost four in the morning. He groans internally as he tries to figure out how much sleep he can get without being late to school. It’s times like this he envies his powered friends.

Why is it always aliens or robots?

Tim braces as a spray of slick slime hits him. He’s going to need a long shower after this.

The situation wouldn’t be nearly as threatening if the aliens would just stay down when attacked. No matter how much they slice and slash, the creatures just keep getting back up. The whole Team has been called out to contain the situation and it still feels overwhelming.

“Incoming!”

Tim starts and dives out of the way as a congealed pile and creatures and goo land in the spot he’d been standing. A moment of irritation flashes through him, swiftly replaced by surprise. Waving at him from several feet in the air, Superboy grimaces.

“Sorry!”

Tim doesn’t manage to get out a reply before the Super is off again.

Tim hasn’t had much time or energy left to think about strange boys he’s run into once or twice. His life has been upended and shattered to pieces; he’s still working on crudely putting it back together even a year later. He feels like a stranger in his own home, even though Alfred is more than welcoming and Dick makes an effort to drop by when he can. It’s obvious Bruce is still cautious around him. He’s never had a Robin lose a parent on the job before.

The loss of his father still tears a hole in his heart. The guilt of lying to him time after time weighs him down. He knows logically that there’s nothing he could have done but that doesn’t stop the ‘what ifs’ and the night terrors from clawing him apart.

His friends at school are politely surprised when he’s taken in by Bruce Wayne of all people, but Tim explains away their questions by saying he’s a close family friend. It feels vile in his mouth as he says it; his father had hated Bruce, hated Batman for ever putting Tim in harms way. The failure Tim had felt when his father had found out he was Robin is nothing compared to the devastation that came with knowing his father might still be alive if Tim had never gotten him involved in this.

He’s healing. Slowly and inconsistently, he’s healing. It hurts a little less every time he refers to Wayne Manor as home. It gets a little easier to smile. His friends on the team have no idea what he’s been through; he’s never been especially close to any of them, not to the point that he’d share these kinds of details. He’s carefully guarded about his identity, more so than he ever has been. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. They probably think he’s had an angsty puberty. Tim laughs harshly at the idea; he could only dream of that being the case.

He’s watching Bart annoy Jaime endlessly, switching between pacifying his friend and continuing to provoke the scarab. Jaime curses at Bart in Spanish and swats at him. Bart dodges the hand with ease.

“Rooooob, Blue’s being mean,” he calls. Jaime rolls his eyes and Tim has to smile at them. Bart’s pestering reminds him so much of boys in the schoolyard who don’t know how to talk to their crush and settle for being a nuisance instead.

“Seems like you deserve it to me,” Tim replies, much to Bart’s ire.

As Jaime is about to chime in, an alert sounds through the room. Tim glances over to the source of the noise to see that all present team members are being summoned to the training room. He hops down from his perch atop the kitchen counter with ease to join the bickering duo. Bart snags a freshly baked cookie from a cooling rack nearby–no doubt M’gann’s doing–and hands it to Jaime as a peace offering. A soft smile is offered in return and Tim remembers why he always feels like he’s third-wheeling with these two.

They’re some of the last ones to appear for the meeting. He catches Dick’s eye as he’s counting the people present and returns his nod in greeting. Tim, being irritatingly shorter than many of his teammates, can’t quite see what the commotion is about. Bart, ever curious and ever impatient, zips around the gathered crowd and reports back with his findings.

“Fresh meat!” he exclaims with glee.

Tim frowns. “Could you have said that in a creepier way?”

His interest is piqued, though. It’s been a while since they’ve had a new face to add to the roster.

When everyone’s gathered, Dick starts with greeting everyone. It’s obvious what they’re here for so he doesn’t bother delaying the announcement. With great, playful fanfare, he introduces their new teammate, Superboy.

Wait.

Tim’s eyes widen. He slips away from Bart and Jaime to move through the heroes in front of him. Standing beside Dick is a familiar figure. He spots Tim and smiles at him. He’s grown his hair out to a uniform length, but it’s no longer as sweeping or pushed to the side. The earring and the jacket are gone. He’s switched out the colourful getup for a simpler uniform of fitted, dark jeans and a black shirt emblazoned with a red S shield. He looks as if he’s aged, but Tim knows physically he’s the same age. It’s in how he holds himself, how he handles attention; he looks like he’s found himself.

Tim hangs back as the team mill about mingling and introducing themselves to the new member. A few try to rope Tim into conversation but it’s obvious that he’s distracted. As the gathering thins, Superboy wanders over to him. There’s no hiding the amusement in his expression.

“Boy Wonder.”

“Robin.”

The exchange draws a laugh from the clone. He holds a hand out to Tim. “Nice to meet you, Robin. Properly.”

Tim nods and takes the hand. “You too. I preferred the leather jacket, though.”

Superboy’s eyes crinkle as he grins. “Same here, but that clip on earring was getting annoying.”

Tim ignores the odd looks he draws as he barks a laugh.

Tim never gets used to leadership. Nightwing tells him he takes to it naturally, but that’s only because Tim’s a good liar. He never feels worthy of being in charge, regardless of how smoothly his missions run. His teammates turn to him for help; they have confidence in his decisions. He’s been trained by the greatest detective in the world and can give him a run for his money, but that doesn’t stop Tim feeling like a fraud whenever he’s leading. He doesn’t have the natural confidence Dick exudes.

Superboy—Conner, Tim reminds himself—has been on his team almost consistently since first joining. He’s no longer a face in a newspaper or a distant figure in a sprawling fight; he’s Kon. Tim learns that he’s staying with Superman’s parents and that working on the farm isn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. He has a dog and goes to school. It all seems surprisingly mundane.

“I like it,” Kon says. “Never had anything like it before. The Kents are nice so I can’t ask for much else.”

Tim doesn’t call him out on calling his adopted parents “the Kents”. He doubts he’ll ever call Bruce “dad”.

Kon hovers by his shoulder as he taps away at the holographic display projecting from his gauntlet. Tim switches between the security cameras inside the building to keep track of the rest of the team. The pair of them are standing guard at the building’s only exit to catch any stray enemies that might try to escape. Tim doubts they’ll have much to do. He’s been somewhat careless on his latest patrols, more reckless than he’d typically be. He’d been referred to the school counsellor by his homeroom teacher after a bout of snappy behaviour and given a mandatory session. It had needlessly put a bad taste in his mouth. Bruce had picked up on it instantly but, in true Bruce fashion, hadn’t known how to deal with his troubled protégée. He’d handed Tim off to Dick who’d tried to play therapist himself. Tim has never really been one for talking out his issues and said some things he regrets now. He’s apologised but is still on backup duty regardless; he won’t be on the frontline until Dick deems him to be better. Tim’s trying.

Conner apparently just drew the short straw.

“Besides, they finally got Wi-Fi installed so I can actually watch Netflix now,” Kon continues.

For some reason, the idea of a person as powerful as Kon settling down for the evening with Netflix and an array of snacks brings a smile to Tim’s lips. Here is this feat of human technology, a hybrid of humanity and alien civilisation, binging Netflix.

“Catch anything interesting?”

“Yeah. You seen Wendy—”

“The Werewolf Stalker?” Tim finishes. When he glances to Kon, he’s beaming at him. “Have you gotten to the bit where Seraph—”

“Dude!” Kon exclaims, only to be shushed by Tim. “I only just started. No spoilers.”

Tim can’t help but smirk at all the new opportunities this snippet of information brings, all the blackmail he now has. Kon giving him smack during a mission? Threaten him with Wendy spoilers.

“We should watch it together, though,” Kon says. “If you want to.”

The proposal surprises Tim. His gaze remains fixed on the security feed but he’s no longer watching it. He knows he’s been distant from his friends for a while now after everything that’s happened. At some point, they’d simply given up on reaching out to him so often. He can’t remember the last time someone asked him to hang out.

“Sure,” he replies, so softly he’d be scared Kon wouldn’t hear it if he didn’t have enhanced senses.

Kon looks like he’s about to reply but his eyes narrow and he points to one of the screens. “Got a runaway.” Without needing direction or affirmation, they break away in perfect formation.

Between superheroing and school, it seems as if Kon and Tim are never going to have time to stop and hang out. Tim rarely has free time as it is and apparently never when Kon does. Eventually, Kon grows weary of this game of cat and mouse. He pins Tim down after an easy mission.

“Hey, you busy now?”

Tim, who’d intended to retreat to the computer room and help Nightwing figure out the bug in his new software’s code, pauses. He glances over to where he’s meant to be going and then looks back to Kon. “No,” he replies.

He messages Nightwing, of course. He’s apologetic and says that something came up, and insists that he’ll help him if he comes to the Batcave this evening. Dick tells him not to worry about it. Something in the tone of his message tells him he knows exactly what Tim is doing.

Kon sets up in the lounge area of Mount Justice. His brief attempts to lure Tim to a more residential situation had been thwarted, although that hadn’t been surprising. Tim is cagey about civilian situations. He makes the best of what he has, though, and Tim is oddly touched by the effort he puts in. There’s a variety of snacks from chips to chocolate to popcorn. Kon had even grabbed some cushions and a blanket. He’s planning on being here for the long haul.

Tim settles down onto the couch as Kon fiddles with the settings on his laptop and the television. He’s still in his outfit from the mission while Tim’s traded his Kevlar blend for loose slacks and a Batman branded hoody. Kon snickers when he sees it.

“Y’know, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get you to actually sit down with how much you run around doing three things at once,” Kon says. “You’re either saving Gotham, hacking the planet, or on missions here. Or hanging upside down from the Batcave ceiling, I guess.”

The last remark draws a baffled laugh from Tim. “Hanging from the ceiling?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what bats do?”

Tim rolls his eyes beneath his mask. “Yes, but we actually sleep in coffins.”

Kon gasps dramatically. “I knew it.” He settles beside Tim and reaches for a bowl of popcorn. He munches on a handful of it as he navigates through various menus. “I got to about the end of season two. That okay with you?”

Tim nods. The show had been his favourite some time ago and he supposes it still is; he doesn’t have much time to watch anything new nowadays. From the moment they press play, he’s frozen with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. He hasn’t seen this since before his dad died, since before he was Robin. It brings forth echoes of a simpler time, an ache for a life he gave up. Instead of pain, it brings an odd sense of comfort.

He feels himself relax in a way he hasn’t been able to for a long time. He alternates between watching the screen and watching Kon’s reaction when he knows a big moment is coming. Kon is thoroughly invested in the experience and a joy to watch when the season finale rolls around. He sits with his mouth agape as the credits roll, looking back and forth between Tim and the screen, as if looking for confirmation about what he’d just witnessed.

“Next episode?” Tim asks, as he skips the credits.

“Oh my God,” Kon stresses in a hushed whisper.

A few teammates wander by during their marathon. Tim had only intended to watch a couple of episodes before moving on, yet he’s in the same place hours later, only further melted into the couch as if he’s trying to become one with the fabric. He and Kon are sprawled across its length with the majority of their snacks demolished long ago.

Cassie pauses as she enters the room and comes to stand behind them. She watches the screen for a moment before asking which season they’re on.

“Three,” Kon replies, looking up to her with a slight smile at his lips. Tim looks between them. Oh.

“Oh, that’s my favourite,” Cassie remarks before moving on. Tim doesn’t miss the way Kon watches her leave. He’s not particularly subtle about it and displays no shame when he looks over and sees that Tim caught him staring. He shrugs it off.

“Between Wendy and Cassie, I think you have a type,” Tim says offhandedly.

Kon grins. “Don’t forget Seraph. Maybe I like the broody, quiet ones too.”

Tim tries not to read into that too much and hopes Kon doesn’t hear the escalation in his heartbeat.

Tim would hesitantly call Kon his best friend.

Tim would also, without hesitation, call him the most annoying person he knows.

“Jacob?”

“No.”

“Archibald?”

“No.”

“Jerimiah?”

“Where are you even getting these names?”

Kon’s latest purpose in life, aside from annoying Tim, is trying to guess his name. He’s been doing it in private, around others, and, most importantly, on missions. Dick, for as much as he calls himself Tim’s big brother, does nothing to save him; in fact, he laughs and only provides Kon with increasingly obscure names.

“Rob, come on. You gotta give me a hint.”

“I really don’t,” Tim grumbles. He’s amazed the others have yet to complain about Kon doing this over the comms. He knows it’s a slow mission all around but surely someone else must find this as irritating as he does.

“Is it Robin? Rob? Robert?”

Tim holds back a groan. “Yes, you got me. My name is Robin. I’ve been double bluffing this whole time.”

He can hear laughter on the line, but can’t tell who it’s coming from.

The guesses stop after that; their target emerges from his midnight rendezvous with arms dealers and their mission finally begins.

Kon’s curiosity isn’t quenched, though. He takes to asking Tim about his life, both caped and civilian. Tim answers sometimes.

“Where’d you learn to fight?”

Tim dodges his attack. He’s surprisingly evenly matched against Kon in training. Black Canary usually pairs them up; it’s an interesting mix of brains versus brawn.

“I took classes growing up and then Batman trained me.”

“Boys, focus!” Canary barks at them.

“What colour are your eyes?” Kon asks as they head towards the shower. Tim responds by throwing a towel at his head.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” he asks as Tim pulls a soft shirt over his head. He balks at the question. Kon smirks. “Is that a yes?”

“I’m gay,” Tim blurts out before he can stop himself. The tips of his ears burn bright red and he can feel the flush creeping up to his cheeks.

Kon, on his part, simply shrugs. “Cool.”

They leave it at that for a while. Tim watches Conner subtly, searching for any change in behaviour. The exchange has been playing over and over in his own mind; he can’t push it away. Just as Kon is about to say his goodbyes and head back to Smallville, Tim asks, “What about you?”

Kon pauses, a brow raised. “What?”

“Are you… Y’know, the gay thing?”

Tim can see Kon is trying desperately hard not to laugh. It doesn’t make him feel any better. “Kinda? I don’t think Kryptonians have the same sense of sexuality. I just like people.”

“Oh. Cool.” Tim could kick himself for how idiotic he sounds. Kon, thankfully, doesn’t bring it up and continues as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As he leaves Mount Justice, Tim tries to quell the hopeful ‘what if’. Nothing good ever happens to him; it’s best to stop that train of thought before he gets too invested in it.

“Kon, I swear to God—”

Kon can hardly keep a straight face and bursts into laughter the moment he meets Tim’s furious gaze.

“Listen, Tim. I didn’t—”

It takes Tim a second to catch up with what’s been said. His breath hitches. His stomach drops.

He bolts from the room.

Garfield looks up curiously at Kon. Kon has nothing to offer him to placate his worries. He fucked up.

He catches up to Tim in the trophy room. He tries not to look at the memorial for the fallen Robin as he searches for his own. He’s done a terrible job of hiding, not that anyone can really hide from Kon. The unmistakable sounds of sobs and laboured breathing break Kon’s heart.

Tim doesn’t look up as he approaches. He’s sat on the floor, head between his knees, caught in an obvious panic attack. Kon crouches before him, worry in his eyes, as he stretches out a hand to place on Tim’s shoulder. Tim flinches away and shoots him a watery glare.

“Don’t.”

Kon freezes. He doesn’t know what to do, how to handle this. “I—I’m sorry, it was an accident. I heard Nightwing say it and…”

“Robin?”

The call from the entrance draws Kon’s attention. Nightwing stands not far away, looking between the two boys.

“Please just leave,” Tim says in a quiet, broken voice. Kon doesn’t argue. Nightwing swoops past him as he leaves, tending to his brother in a gentle, hushed voice. Kon looks back. Tim’s face is buried against Nightwing’s shoulder. The sight makes Kon want to cry too.

He doesn’t see Robin for two weeks after that and resigns himself to the fact that he fucked up the best thing he had going for him. Bart and Cassie ask him what happened but he doesn’t know what to tell them. Nightwing, thankfully, doesn’t treat him any differently, even if he won’t answer Kon’s questions about how Robin is and why he hasn’t shown up for missions. Nightwing doesn’t lie to him but it’s obvious Rob asked him not to say anything.

It turns out that things get dull without Robin around. Kon is friendly with most of the team but he finds himself missing the witty quips and deadpan looks that accompanied his conversations with Tim.

Tim.

He doesn’t know when he first started thinking of Robin by his real name. It had been a genuine accident when it had slipped out. He’d known Tim’s name for some time now, having accidentally overheard a private conversation, but everything else is still a mystery. He doesn’t want to say Tim overreacted–he knows there’s a lot going on that he doesn’t know about–but surely there must be thousands of Tims in Gotham. It’s not that big of a deal.

“You keep your mouth open like that and you’ll start catching flies.”

Kon visibly jumps. He spins around and gapes at Robin, who in turn stands with his arms crossed and gives him an amused look. A dozen thoughts race through Kon’s mind, but Robin cuts him off before he can voice any of them.

“Leave it. For now.” He features soften as he continues, “Please.”

Kon nods. His chest swells with warmth and he wants nothing more than to scoop Robin up into his arms and tell him over and over again how sorry he is. Robin simply strides past him. Kon follows without being told.

The day of training goes by without disaster. Tim successfully avoids every worried question directed his way. He avoids catching Kon’s concerned gaze throughout the session but resigns to being dragged off after he’s showered and changed. Batman doesn’t expect him for patrol for a few hours and he’s too tired to put up a fight.

He realises after a moment that Kon is leading him to his room. Without the context of what he knows is about to happen, Tim would blush. However, he knows he has to explain his actions. He’s had many conversations with Dick over the past couple of weeks and knows his teammates have been worried, Kon especially. He’s been working on himself and his emotions; it turns out he’s an awful lot like Bruce with how he bottles things up. It’s not Kon’s fault he’s the one that made it overflow, but Tim figures he should explain what happened.

Kon’s room is simple; he doesn’t stay over enough to warrant decorating the walls or customising the space. A few items are discarded about the place, the only sign it’s been lived in.

Kon takes a seat at the desk. Tim follows suit and sits at the foot of the bed.

“So,” Kon starts.

“So,” Tim replies.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Tim waves the apology off. “It’s fine. I overreacted. I’m sorry I worried you.”

Kon’s brows draw together in a frown. “No, you don’t need to apologise. I overstepped a boundary.”

It’s takes a moment for Tim to gather his thoughts into a coherent explanation. He can tell Kon wants to jump in and continue but he holds himself back, letting the silence play out. Tim picks at a loose thread on his cape as he says, “Bad things have happened when people find out who I am. Really bad things. I… I had a tough year and I wasn’t expecting you to know and it freaked me out and I panicked.”

It’s deliberately vague but he can’t give much more detail. No one outside of his family knows the weight that bears down on him daily, the guilt he carries wherever he goes, and he wants to keep it that way.

“But… we’re okay?” Kon asks gently, nerves evident in his voice. Tim looks up to him and nods. A broad smile melts Kon’s expression. “Good. Dude, you had me so worried. I thought I’d fucked everything up.”

The tension shatters and Tim could kiss him. It’s easy to joke with that out of the way, easy to forcibly shove aside the awkwardness between them. “If you weren’t so nosy, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Kon acts affronted, although he can’t quite quell his smile. “Coming from Mister Stalker over here.”

“Mister Stalker?”

“Shut up.”

His absence from the team a couple of weekends later feels ill-timed, yet there’s nothing Tim can do about it. The trip had been planned for a while and he can hardly back out now. Bruce is adamant in his decision that Tim should accompany him to the gala in Metropolis. They’ve had few public appearances together and none of them have been recent; a simple smile and wave as they enter the gala would be enough to sedate the media for now. Nightwing and Batgirl promise they’ll have Gotham under control for the night they’re away. Tim half hopes something major would happen to save him from attending.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t take to this as naturally as Dick or Bruce do. He can smile and chat just as well as either of them but it drains him so quickly. He can put on a tie and be Timmy Wayne for an evening but his patience and ability to socialise non-stop can only last for so long. Bruce promises he’ll make an excuse for them if the party drags on too long; Tim is underage and still in school so it won’t be too hard to come up with a convincing story.

He’s entertaining some schmoozing socialites when it happens. The rooftop bar offers stunning views but terrible weather. The heavens have yet to pour down on them but the brisk breeze is picking up more than Tim would like. It seems silly to complain about the cold when he usually spends his free time grappling with villains and getting thrown around a training room, but his body is covered in goosebumps and he can’t stop shivering. He’s learning all about Mrs Johnson’s newest charity endeavour when a gunshot rings out through the crowd. Tim reminds himself to duck and flinch as a normal civilian would. He looks around wildly, searching for Bruce. He catches his mentor’s eye; Bruce shakes his head and Tim stands down.

“All of you, wallets out, empty it into the bags!”

A thug twice the size of Tim hops onto the buffet table, madly brandishing a gun. There’s another strapped to his thigh and a large knife at his waist. His accomplices, two in total—no, three—wander around the cowering crowd, each with a gun in one hand and a sack in the other. Tim spots their mode of entrance, a zipline connected to a nearby building. He hadn’t heard their line fire over the wind; they picked a good night to do this.

He spots his opportunity and runs over to Bruce, ducking low to avoid detection.

“Do we let them do this?” he murmurs. Bruce nods, fishing for his wallet. This isn’t worth blowing their cover; there’s no opportunity for them to change or intervene anonymously.

“Cough up, squirt.”

The cold barrel of a gun is pressed to Tim’s temple. He slowly raises his hands. “I don’t have anything.”

“Yeah, right.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Bruce interjects, voice carefully calm. He opens his wallet and retrieves a few notes. “Take it.”

The pressure of the barrel lifts and Tim risks looking at the assailant. He’s a stocky man with more brawn than height. He carries his weight on his left side, posture somewhat off-centre. Tim can’t say much about his skills but anyone would be able to blow someone’s brains out from a foot away, so he’s not about to question the danger he poses.

“You got more money than that, Mr Wayne,” the man leers. “Come on now—”

The man’s face slackens and a few civilians gasp. Tim follows his gaze. There, in all his caped glory, is Superman.

“Now, son. You’ll want to put that gun down.”

The approach only further aggravates the man. His partners hurriedly gather their bounty and call to him. He takes a different strategy.

In a rush of jagged motions, Tim is grabbed by the collar and hoisted to his feet. He staggers and falls against the man, the gun still aimed at his head. “Now, now, Supey. We wouldn’t want anything bad happening to the brat.” He steadily walks backwards towards his comrades, Tim staying in step with him, hands raised in surrender. Superman stares intently at him, assessing the situation. He knows who Tim is and what he can do, but he’s only human. He won’t survive this shot.

Tim tries not to look at Bruce as they walk further and further away, towards the edge of the roof. He knows it will be okay. They’ll just take him to the escape route and cast him aside when they’re on the home stretch. They’re thieves, not killers. They’ll have a hell of a lot more to answer for than some empty wallets if they kill a Wayne.

“Stand down and no one has to get hurt,” Superman commands. He hovers a foot or so off the ground but stays where he is. He doesn’t want to risk Tim’s life. He can catch up to the thieves after he’s safe.

“Not happening,” says the man, and then he does the unthinkable.

Tim has fallen before.

He’s fallen from higher up.

He’s never had the fear that he won’t catch himself.

His scream catches in his throat. The icy wind batters him. The pavement clearly spells out his grave as it approaches.

The wind is knocked out of him as something barrels into him.

The world rights itself and his brain takes a moment to register that he’s not falling. He’s stationary on solid ground, large arms wrapped about him. He clings to fabric like a lifeline, distantly noticing the red S clutched in his hands.

“You okay?”

Tim looks up, straight into the eyes of his best friend. Kon stares back, searching for signs of injury or shock. And then something clicks.

“Tim?”

Tim stumbles back, away from Kon and out of his arms. His balance hasn’t quite returned; he stumbles and falls. He’s on the pavement, a street or so over from the building he’d been on top of moments ago. “I’m fine.”

“You’re on the floor.”

“I’m fine, Kon.”

He doesn’t take the offered hand as he pushes himself to his feet. He starts towards the gala, Kon, as ever, at his side.

“You want a lift back to the roof?”

Tim pauses. “… Yes, please.”

They don’t talk about it.

Bruce quizzes him on what happened when they return to the hotel. Tim only fends him off by feigning exhaustion and saying he needs to rest. He’s bruised from having a Kryptonian crash into him at full speed, but he’d rather that than the disastrous alternative.

The following morning is his to do with as he pleases. Bruce has various commitments to attend to while he’s in the city and gives an estimated time of return to Gotham of about mid-afternoon.

“In time for patrol,” he’d said.

With hours of free time on his hands, Tim finds himself wandering about the city without aim. He’s visited before and seen the customary tourist attractions. The statues of local superheroes aren’t as interesting when you’ve seen them walk into doors before their morning coffee.

It’s as if by thought alone, he summons one hero in particular. Kon doesn’t notice him as he flies overhead. Tim wouldn’t have spotted the hero either had a tourist not pointed and exclaimed to her travelling companion.  He knows he ought to talk to him and address the situation at hand. He feels better prepared to handle this than he had weeks ago. His traumas still weigh on him and he has a long way to go, but he doesn’t feel the world closing in or his life shattering apart. He can handle this.

Maybe.

He pulls out his phone and navigates to Kon in his contact list. He rarely texts his friends from the Team but he has an encrypted phone for the purpose. It seems almost silly to text the Kryptonian when he would probably hear Tim if he raised his voice and shouted to him from the ground, but what he needs to say should be done more privately. He doubts the ice cream vendor in the nearby park wants to hear about Tim’s inner turmoil.

A few minutes later, he finds a secluded booth in a respectable diner for them. The waitress greets him with a kind smile and soft eyes. He’s just late enough to miss the breakfast rush but not so late as to get caught up in the lunch crowd. The place seems nice enough that they won’t attract attention to themselves—if Kon shows up, that is.

Tim fiddles with his napkin and lets his coffee grow cold as he waits. He’s halfway through tearing the tissue into tiny squares when Kon finally takes the seat opposite him.

“Sorry,” he says. “Cat got stuck in a tree.”

Tim only raises his eyebrows.

“What? It did! I have photos!”

He’s reaching for his phone as Tim puts a hand on his forearm to stop him. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for coming.”

Kon shrugs. “You said pancakes so I came running.”

Tim isn’t sure how to proceed; Batman definitely didn’t cover “accidentally unveiling your identity to your best friend and then asking him to brunch the next day” in training. He decides to not address the elephant in the room.

“Did you finish season five yet?”

Kon stares at him, shocked for the briefest of moments, before an easy smile curves his lips.

With the burden of secret identities relieved, Tim finds himself growing closer to Kon. With every cocky grin and bad joke, Tim finds himself falling harder.

There’s no denying his crush anymore. He’s working on acknowledging his own emotions instead of waiting until boiling point, but there are certain things he tries not to think about. He tries not to think about how Kon turns to him first whenever something excites him; he tries not to think about how Kon gives him small touches; he tries not to think about the delight in Kon’s eyes when Tim finally agrees to (one day) visit the Kent farm to hang out with him.

It doesn’t take long for others to notice.

“So where did you guys go on your first date?” Bart asks, appearing suddenly by Tim’s side.

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious! Being around you two is like third-wheeling.” Tim only scoffs; at least he’s getting a taste of his own medicine. “Besides, you get together anyway. Might as well speed it up!”

That briefly catches Tim’s attention but he brushes it off as Bart being Bart. “Sure.”

Bart bumps into shoulder. “No spoilers, but you should totally go for it—aaaaand he’s disappeared. I hate it when Bats do that.”

Tim walks up to the Batcomputer and sinks into the plush chair. He wakes up the screens and Batgirl’s latest upgrades to the firewall flash to life. Tim hadn’t had any idea what he was doing when he came in so he supposes he’ll pick up where Babs left off. Scanning through the code gives him something to focus on. He just needs something to distract himself.

Bart has been on the money with essentially all of his “spoilers” thus far and he’s not cruel enough to lie about this. It seems like cheating to use someone from the future to tell him about the fate of his fledgling crush—well, perhaps not so fledgling anymore. He’s tried not to give it much thought, to avoid the captivating daydreams that try to entice him in. He actively avoids thinking about how easy it would be to cuddle up to his friend during their Netflix marathons; how easy it would be to kiss him after a victorious battle. Equally, he ignores Kon’s lingering gaze on some of the girls and tries to soothe his own jealousy when they ogle Kon in return.

He has no idea how to approach this, or even if it’s a wise idea. Kon is his closest friend, the only person outside of his family who knows about his life and his identity. They’ve traded secrets while awake later after a mission, sat together atop Kon’s bed with the laptop on pause between them. He knows how insecure Kon is about his powers, how he feels lesser when Superman is around, how he feels like a charity case. He knows about the day Kon discovered his tactile telekinesis by accidentally knocking over an entire bookcase at the Kents’ and how he’s often rushed late to school with his shirt on inside out. Kon knows about his late father, if not the exact circumstances surrounding his death. He knows that Tim overthinks and has a habit of jumping to the worst conclusion possible. He knows that he’ll carry the weight of the world on his shoulders unless someone notices and helps him. He knows that Tim essentially bullied Batman into letting him be Robin, that he’s trying his best to live up to the mantle. He knows so much, but not the most important thing.

Tim drags his hands down his face. He adores Kon and cherishes his friendship. He can’t just take Bart’s word for it; he could mess everything up. Besides, he doesn’t even know how dating Kon would work. They see each other just about weekly at Mount Justice but Bruce would never let Kon within spitting distance of Gotham. Smallville seems so far away for someone without powers. He could Zeta over to the nearest stop, but then how would he proceed from there? He supposes Kon could come and pick him up; it shouldn’t matter if Tim is far away from Gotham.

He pauses and loses his train of thought. He’s thinking through the logistics of a relationship he’s not in. He’s fucked.

“Oh! Hey, Tim.”

Tim swivels around in the chair. “Are you eating peanut butter out of the jar?”

Dick grins. “Maybe. You okay?”

Tim’s expression remains impassive. “Yeah? Why?”

Dick shrugs and moves to lean against the console. “You seemed pretty deep in thought.”

“Well, some of us do that,” he says, and swiftly ducks to avoid the incoming swat. “Really, I’m fine.”

Dick stares at him for a moment, unmasked eyes searching for something. If he finds it, Tim’s not sure, but he seems to reach some conclusion. “Okay. But you know you can talk to me, right? You need me and I’ll come running.”

The sentiment sounds familiar, but Tim can’t place from where. “I know, Dick. Thanks.”

Dick’s bright smile is contagious as he leans over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Good, because—oh.”

A red sheen casts over Dick’s face as the largest screen in the Batcave flashes. Red Alert. Tim’s gathering his weapons before the second siren blares.

“This can’t be good,” Dick mutters. He doesn’t wait for Tim to question. “The League are all out on a big mission. Either there’s something else going on and we don’t have backup, or we’re the ones being called in for backup.”

“Sounds messy either way.”

Dick hums his agreement.

They meet everyone at the entrance to Mount Justice. Dick is busy filtering through intel and commands from the League so Tim goes to stand with his friends. Bart is vibrating on the spot while Jaime looks deep in thought. Garfield questions him, asking if he knows what it’s about. Kon doesn’t say anything at all.

Dick trades a few quiet words with Miss Martian and Batgirl before turning to the group at large. Everyone falls silent.

“The League are facing a strategic, robotic attack on D.C. The enemy is unknown and presumed deadly. No one has come forward to claim the attack but the situation is getting out of hand. Everyone has received their team assignments and missions. Stick to your plan as much as you can we should all get out of this fine.”

Tim, it turns out, is on clean up duty. The more agile of the group are tasked with rounding up the smaller robots and taking them out. They present less of a threat individually but their sheer numbers are racking up more damage costs and civilian casualties than the larger bots combined. Kon, unsurprisingly, is teamed with the hard-hitters. He catches Tim before they depart and pats him heavily on the back.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

Tim hardly gets out “you too” before they’re deployed.

Smoke and screams are the first thing he notices. Miss Martian barks orders at them and Tim follows on instinct alone. He’s given an area to neutralise. The fighting has spread to an insurmountable range; they need to claw it back piece by piece and trap the remaining enemies in a zone free from civilians and precious property.

He’s in a residential area not far from Capitol Hill. Civilians cower in their cars and in buildings, shielding themselves from the spider-like bots roaming the streets. Tim observes before he strikes. The bots come up to his waist and have four spindly legs each. Their oval torso has one crimson eye atop it; judging by its size, he’d say it has limited blind spots. He second query doesn’t take long to get answered. The crimson is definitely indicative of lasers.

One scuttles by the alley he’s crouched in. He freezes and breathes, relaxing his muscles. Just as it passes, he strikes. He pounces from his stoop, staff extending and buzzing. His heel slams into the bot. It staggers and stumbles and whirls to face its attacker. Tim swiftly rolls away from the incoming laser. He sweeps his staff at its feet to throw it off balance again, and takes the moment of distraction to send a surge of electricity through the bot. It sparks violently and falls. Tim drives his staff through its head just to be sure.

A beat passes and it doesn’t stand up. Tim counts his first victory.

He ushers nearby civilians towards safety, directing them to shelters and unaffected areas. It’s not long before he faces bots number two and three.

By the time he’s on bot twelve, he’s closer to the action. The clean up team have been slowly but surely closing in, forcing the bots to an industrial area and to the centre of the attack. He’s within shouting distance of the hard-hitters now and can see the League at work. He needs to stay focused on his own task, though, even if he’s wary of the larger bots and falling rubble. The megabots tower taller than buildings, fearsome enough to drive terror into even the hardiest hearts. One misstep could find Tim beneath their clawed limbs or vaporised by colossal lasers.

As he takes down another mini-bot, a familiar voice calls to him. Instinct drives him to follow the command, years of daily practice allowing him to grapple to the top of a building and focus on situation. Batman is perched atop a stumbling mega-bot, his cape scorched but otherwise unharmed. The bot has large sections hacked away, exposing vulnerable interior. Tim takes aim as he’s pulled through the air. His grenade lands amidst internal circuitry. Batman leaps away as the detonation goes off. The bot falls in a fiery, shrapnel-loaded explosion, its limbs flailing as it crashes to the ground.

It’s an error on Tim’s part that he didn’t see it coming.

One of the limbs punctures the factory wall, crumbling precious structural integrity. Tim leaps from the roof before it can fall from beneath him, only to be swatted aside by another mega-bot. He tries himself mid-air and prepare for impact. He lands amongst concrete and rubble. His side takes most of the force and he thinks he feels something crack.

In the moment it takes for him to regain his breath, a flash of crimson blinds him. It disappears in a flash. As his vision rights itself, he sees Kon smash a mini-bot into the ground.

“You okay?” Kon asks in a rush.

Tim isn’t paying attention to him. The felled mega-bot is moving. Its legs twitch and slowly gain purchase beneath the body. Slowly, menacingly, it stands once again.

“You’re fucking kidding me!” Kon yells. Tim shares the sentiment. Kon runs a dirtied hand through his hair and turns back to Tim. He hoists him back to his feet; Tim bites back a cry of pain. Something is definitely cracked. “I need to—”

“Go,” Tim urges.

Kon looks between the newly restored bot and Tim. “Fuck it.” He pulls Tim close to him, hands at his hips. He kisses him.

Before Tim can register what’s happening, register the press of lips against his own, the heaving chest beneath his hands, it’s over. Kon is gone.

Tim shoves it aside, compartmentalises the kiss to deal with later. He has a fight to win first.

“Robin, come in.”

“I’m here,” he replies, hanging back from rejoining the fight as Batgirl speaks.

“I’m at your five o’clock. Hurry.”

She gives no further details, not that Tim needs them. He finds her crouched beside an overturned truck, tapping away at a holographic projector. Without instruction, he kneels beside her and catches up with the information on display.

“They’re self-healing,” she says. Tim hold back an obvious quip. They’ve all figured that out. “There’s a central communication point that relays the repair information. The smaller ones relay the signal.”

“And we’re gonna hack it?” Tim asks, already pulling up his own screen.

“We’re gonna hack it,” Babs confirms with a devilish smirk.          

As the last mega-bot falls, Tim can’t help but sigh. He leans against his staff, his chest twinging with every deep breath he takes. Batman appears beside him and squeezes his shoulder. Tim leans against him instead; Bruce doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s helped back to Mount Justice, despite his protests that he’s fine on his own. He has a slight limp and it hurts to breathe sometimes, but he can walk. Batman puts up an argument that he wants Robin in the Batcave. Nightwing, the only one of them who can really face Bruce and win, convinces him otherwise.

“We’re all heading there to get patched up. He’ll come home after.”

His shower is glorious and scalding, even if the various cuts scattered about his body sting. His muscles take a while to unwind beneath the pounding water and he feels as if he’s melted by the time he emerges. The ice packs left out in his room for his ribs and ankle feel incredible when he applies them. It’s all he can do before he falls face first onto his bed. He manages to roll onto his back and relieve the pressure from his ribs. Exhaustion weighs down his eyelids. The only thing keeping him awake is a knock at the door. Dick is probably exhibiting every ounce of restraint in not just knocking down the door and seeing if Tim’s okay. Tim figures he can stay awake long enough to placate his brother.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door opens. It’s not Dick who slips into the room.

“Hey,” Kon breathes.

Tim pushes himself up and stares at Kon. Kon stands by the door, huddled in the corner as if actively shying away from Tim’s forceful gaze. The kiss. With the action and the triumphant elation of their victory, Tim had forgotten about the kiss. He reminds himself to breathe, to take slow, careful breaths. He offers a small, nervous smile.

It’s enough to break Kon out of whatever’s holding him hostage. He walks over to the bed and takes a seat. Tim is aware of every inch between them.

“How are you doing?” Kon asks, his voice gentler than Tim thinks his heart can handle.

“You kissed me.” Let it never be said that Tim can’t be direct.

Kon looks abashed, a hand at the back of his neck as he rubs at it self-consciously. He avoids catching Tim’s eye. “Yeah. That happened.”

“You kissed me,” Tim repeats. It’s only now just setting in. Kon kissed him. Kon, his best friend, kissed him, in front of everyone. They kissed. “Was it…?” He doesn’t know what he wants to ask. Kon doesn’t know how to answer. Tim feels his initial glee flee him as he comes back to reality. “It… It’s okay if it was a heat of the moment thing.”

Kon visibly flinches at that. “You’re not mad?”

“… No.”

Kon’s shoulders droop, tension flooding from them.

“So, was it?”

Kon frowns. “Was it what?”

“Heat of the moment,” Tim repeats. He tries to keep his voice casual but it fades away to almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” Kon says, and Tim feels his heart shatter. This is why he doesn’t get his hopes up. This is why he doesn’t let himself imagine what could be. The rejection stings so much more knowing that he’d come so close. The new pain in his chest outweighs all the aches from the battle. He’d trade it for a dozen fights with robots if it would only stop it. His hands clench into fists in his lap, his knuckles white as he tries to stop them shaking.

“I just… Everything was happening and I saw you fall and almost get lasered and I just—I kissed you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Tim says, voice low, broken.

“I do! I didn’t know what was going to happen and I was all amped up and… I just needed it out there.”

“… What?”

Kon stares so intently at the floor he’s in danger of setting it alight. “That I like you. More than like you. And I was an idiot and scared so I kissed you in the middle of a battle like some clichéd idiot.”

Tim can’t help it. He laughs.

“Hey!”

Tim laughs so hard his ribs hurt and his eyes water. He calms and looks to Kon, only to see his bemused, irritated expression which sets him off again. “We’re idiots,” he states when he can breathe again.

“I think you’ve had too many pain meds.”

Tim pushes at him. “I’m not high. I’m happy.”

It feels odd to say. Odd, but right.

Kon waits for him to calm down and regain himself. Tim’s smile doesn’t fade. He bumps his shoulder against Kon’s. Kon bumps back.

“I like you too,” Tim says, feeling almost childish in his wording. “A lot. And for a while now.”

“Cool,” Kon replies, which only makes Tim laugh again. This time, however, there’s no irritation. Kon’s chest swells and his eyes soften. He decides he only ever wants to make Tim smile and laugh. He threads his fingers with Tim’s and squeezes his hand. Tim seems so delicate yet hardened, soft yet steely. Kon wouldn’t want anyone else by his side. “So can I kiss you? Properly this time?”

Tim spends a torturous few seconds considering the request. “Yes.”

And so he does.