Archive of Our Own

Tim and Superboy couldn’t be more different from one another if they tried; that much is clear.

It’s why Hawaii and its revelations weigh on Tim more than he cares to admit, why his stomach twists and turns with the knowledge that the heartbeat that’s been haunting his days, his dreams, and all his sleepless nights belongs to someone who gets under his skin in the worst kind of ways; that the one time life had him believe that he was given something to call his, something he didn’t have to fight to earn or fear to lose, it turns out not to be that simple after all.

With nowhere left to hide from the truth, Tim decides to do what he does best and what, really, he should have done from the start: he locks his feelings in his chest, cages them between his ribs, throws away the key and himself into his research; and he doesn’t stop until he knows everything there is to know about the strange clone boy to whom he finds himself involuntarily tied.

Which… isn’t all that much.

Superboy’s breakout from CADMUS is more or less a matter of public record, as is most of his career afterwards— one of the first things that Tim learns about the other boy is that, apparently, no one had thought to include the arts of subtlety and humility in his factory settings. Beyond that, it seems that with the self-proclaimed ‘Hero of Hawaii’, what you see is what you get: he’s grating, impulsive, more than a little reckless and just about everything else Bruce taught Tim not to be; and it would be so easy to write him off as some wannabe hotshot who fancies himself the next Superman—

If only he weren’t also sincere to the point of naivety, and hellbent on doing right by those who depend on him; if only Tim weren’t so sure that his stubborn belief in the best of others just isn’t something that can be grown in a test tube.

Still, Tim’s reluctant acceptance of Superboy’s redeeming qualities doesn’t solve his problem; and after a weekend of nothing but coffee and granola bars and more coffee, with his bloodshot eyes glued to the Batcomputer in search of some sort of explanation for what’s happening to him, he grudgingly admits defeat. He’s pretty sure that watching another episode of Superboy’s vainglorious TV show isn’t going to get him any closer to figuring out how in the world it’s possible for him to hear the heartbeat of a boy who’s almost five thousand miles away, as loud and clear as if he were resting his head on the S-Shield on his chest.

He could ask Bruce, of course.

He should ask Bruce.

It’s just that that would involve coming clean about, well, everything, including the part where Tim’s been lying to Bruce for months— worse, where Robin’s been lying to Batman for months. And Tim fought tooth and nail to earn his place by Bruce’s side in the darkest of Gotham’s alleys; he sure as hell isn’t about to throw it all away because, by some cruel twist of fate, someone else’s heartbeat decided to set up camp in his head without his permission.

So, when Tim and Superboy meet again, nothing’s changed; not really.

Nothing, except for how Tim’s own heart starts hammering in his chest when he climbs out of the window of the Redbird to find out why Superboy and Impulse are in the same place as him; and how he feels himself blush underneath his mask at the unexpected but not unwelcome intimacy in the conspiratorial wink that accompanies Superboy’s shout of, “Yo! Wonder Boy!”

Nothing, except for how the Boy of Steel makes Tim’s blood boil faster than anyone when he gets up in Tim’s face and starts questioning his leadership; and how Tim’s anger melts away into an inexplicable fondness when the two of them joke about parenting Impulse and his impulses, and Superboy, wide-eyed and more flustered than Tim’s ever seen him, holds up both of his hands to declare, “Oh, no! It’s not me! I’m not the mom! I am not the mom!”

Nothing, except for the blind trust Tim places in the other boy when he takes his hand and, without question, jumps off the cliff overlooking the town that’s rumoured to harbour their target; and the warmth inside his chest, insurgent and irrefutable, when it takes but one, meaningful look between them to know that the one thing their trio can agree on is the decision to let the girl go.

Tim and Superboy couldn’t be more different from one another if they tried; only that doesn’t stop fate from pushing them together any chance it gets.

“Oracle reports that everything is back to normal. The entire Justice League was… stumped. You and your friends did a… fine job, Robin,” Batman tells Tim after the whole Bedlam fiasco.

Considering that Robin, Superboy, and Impulse just went and saved the world from becoming a spoiled brat’s psychic playground, Tim thinks that’s a bit of an understatement, but he’s smart enough to bite his tongue before he can say so— he’s gotten good at that, in the two or so years since he’d argued his way into the green tights.

“Um… yeah,” he replies instead, shuffling his booted feet on the uneven ground beneath them. Mind reeling from the twin revelations that Batman just paid him an actual compliment, and that, somewhere along the way, between Nazi dinosaurs and hallucinations of the Joker going full Silence of the Lambs on him, his reluctant alliance with Superboy and Impulse had turned into something akin to friendship, he adds, quietly, “Thanks.”

Just as Tim’s about to follow Batman out of the dilapidated cave that once was the headquarters of the Justice League and back to Gotham, Superboy calls after him. He’s wearing an open, almost hopeful grin, one arm slung loosely around Impulse’s much smaller frame, and his voice is filled with a genuine kind of warmth that Tim isn’t used to and doesn’t think he’s earned, “Hey, Wonder— where ya goin’?”

“Oh, uh… gotta go,” Tim mumbles, feeling an irrational surge of guilt at the sight of Superboy’s slumped shoulders and the sudden deceleration of his friend’s heartbeat inside his head, “See ya.”

He hesitates for just a fraction of a second at the crestfallen look on Impulse’s face, at the undeniable disappointment clouding the sky blue of Superboy’s eyes when they meets his. Frozen, Tim holds the other boy’s gaze, waiting for him to say something, to give him a reason to stay; a chance to chase away those clouds and bring back that infuriating grin of his that Tim wishes he could still claim to hate.

When he doesn’t, Tim lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, turns around with an awkward, little wave— and almost runs into Batman.

“What are you stopping for?”, he asks, confused.

“Robin… Tim… You, Superboy, and Impulse did an excellent job back there,” Batman starts, one of his gauntleted hands twitching at his side, almost as if he wants to reach out and clasp Tim’s shoulder but isn’t sure if he should, if he’s allowed, “And… And I’m proud of you. And—”

“What?!” Tim squawks, but Batman holds up a hand and clears his throat; his lips pressed into a thin line, not unlike Tim’s whenever he feels like he’s said too much and not enough all at once.

Tim’s eyes widen as he watches Batman weigh his next words, because it isn’t often that he lets anyone catch a glimpse at the man Tim knows him to be behind the cowl; not in the field, not when there are others around who rely on the illusion of the Dark Knight as an entity beyond flesh and blood. In the end, he settles for a curt nod instead and, with a practised flick of his scalloped cape that somehow looks even more dramatic in the dim lighting of the cave, walks away with a murmured, “I’ll see you back in Gotham.”

Tim doesn’t think twice before he sets off running, back into the cave; towards his friends. When he reaches them, he returns Impulse’s brilliant smile with one of his own and ducks his head shyly at Superboy’s raised eyebrows, and the words just start tumbling out of his mouth, “Hey, Batman said I could stick around and you wanna know something? You two might think we did pretty good out there, that we acted like a team, worked well together… that maybe — someday — we could actually take over for the JLA? Well, let me tell you something…”

Impulse is all but vibrating with anticipation as he awaits Tim’s next words, while Superboy has his arms crossed in a way that’s somehow both defensive and a barefaced challenge; and Tim, emboldened by his mentor’s praise and the knowledge that the three of them just saved the world, almost trips and falls over his own excitement when he exclaims, “As the Junior Justice League… We seriously rock! With a little practice, we could do some great things!”

Tim can’t help the giddiness he feels when Impulse throws up his arms, whooping in triumph as he starts to run circles around them, or the bout of breathless laughter when Superboy wraps his gloved hand tight around Tim’s own and cheers, “Sweet! Although we gotta come up with something better than Justice League Junior… that just hurts! Now, c’mon, partners! Let’s get back to the party! I love to hear Wonder Woman tell me what a great job we did!”

A few hours and many an eye-roll from Wonder Woman later, Robin, Superboy and Impulse are the only ones left at Mount Justice, stuffed full of jumbo slices and way too many of the Silly Billy Strawberry Squeezits that the Flash had rushed over from Happy Harbor’s local pizza place. Huddled together in a secluded corner of the cave that Tim suspects once served as some kind of storage room, their conversation turns to Bedlam, and how Martian Manhunter’s ‘interrogation’ — aka mind-reading — revealed that his whole reason for deciding to wreak havoc on the world seems to be that his father almost missed his birthday party.

“I mean, big deal, right? I don’t remember the last time my dad made it home for my birthday,” Tim snorts, realising for the first time that what used to be a sharp, stinging pain inside his chest has turned into a dull ache now that he’s got Robin, “If I was lucky, I got a postcard from wherever— well, uh, you get the idea.”

Impulse tilts his head as he processes the little crumbs of information that Tim’s left for them between the lines and Tim wonders if perhaps he’s said a little too much, if he’s given away a piece of his identity that he should have kept close to his chest. He tries not to let his panic show on his face as he holds Impulse’s startlingly shrewd gaze and his breath, but then, the younger boy averts his eyes and settles for a half-hearted shrug. A few strands of unruly, auburn hair fall into his face when moves to brush an imaginary speck of dust off his shoes and mumbles, “Yeah, well, my dad’s kinda in the future, so…”

Tim makes a face that he hopes looks appropriately compassionate, given the circumstances, but there isn’t really anything he can say— it’s not like he understands what it feels like to leave everyone and everything you know behind in a whole other century, nor does he think he ever will. Instead, he glances over to where the third member of their unlikely trio is sitting, in between once-magical artefacts and the rusty remnants of a decommissioned spaceship, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his crossed arms resting on top of them.

Wide, unearthly blue eyes flick up to meet Tim’s for the briefest of moments, before Superboy goes back to fiddling with the yellow straps of his black combat boots. It’s the first time that Tim makes a conscious effort to listen out for his friend’s heartbeat, much too fast and a little erratic, loud enough to drown out all the other sounds surrounding them; and if Tim hadn’t already figured it all out back in Hawaii, the little stutter in its restless rhythm at the exact moment that their eyes meet would have been a dead giveaway as to whom it belongs to.

Tim watches the other boy shift uncomfortably, biting his lip and swallowing hard before he admits, almost too quietly for Tim to hear, “I, um, I guess I don’t really have a dad? What with the whole bein’ a clone thing ‘n all…”

Something raw and vulnerable flashes across Superboy’s face; there and gone again in, well, a heartbeat, replaced with his usual, devil-may-care grin and a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows when he adds, “Which, y’know, totally rules, ‘cause I can do whatever I want, with whoever I want— if you catch my drift.”

Impulse, of course, doesn’t catch his drift, and Tim decides not to dignify it with a reply. He would have missed the tiny crack in Superboy’s mask of confidence if he had so much as blinked; but, brief as it was, it stirs an odd sense of warmth and wonderment inside his chest, not unlike the first time Bruce had ruffled his hair and huffed a laugh at one of his sarcastic remarks.

It’s the reason Tim finds himself holding the door wide open for the chaos that forming a team with Superboy and Impulse inevitably invites into his life.

Tim and Superboy couldn’t be more different from one another if they tried; and yet, sometimes, somehow, they make it work.

It’s not perseverance and it’s certainly not patience that stops the trio from disbanding without ever really having banded in the first place— it’s sheer dumb luck that, right after Impulse defaces the Secret Sanctuary and Superboy addresses the elephant in the room that is their lack of common ground, just when Tim’s about to call the whole thing quits, their first case falls into their laps.

Of course it’s a complete disaster as far as their ability to work together as a team goes, and their wrong moves far outnumber their right ones; but there’s also Superboy rushing to protect Impulse from Agent Maad’s gunfire, and the promise of unwavering loyalty in his eyes as he yells at the top of his lungs, “Hey! No one pops one of my teammates!”—

A promise that Tim later sees mirrored in the firm set of Impulse’s jaw when the speedster shakes his head at the slow-witted reporter who covers the story, and insists, “No… We’re young, but just us.”

So, when the three of them take off on the strange and very possibly sentient vehicle that Superboy — in his infinite wisdom and creativity — dubs the Super-Cycle, Tim thinks to himself that ‘Young Justice’ does have a nice ring to it.