Chapter Text
In all honesty, Tim probably wasn’t quite right in the head when he decided that the first thing to do after Crane’s disturbing diagnosis wasn’t to seek counsel from his family of highly qualified detectives and doctors, but to almost immediately pay a visit to the boy that he had a very convoluted relationship with.
In all honesty, Tim really wasn’t right in the head when, to avoid the awkward confrontation with the rest of the Titans (and particularly Raven, who likely still believed him to be very much dead), he, rather than knocking on the front door of the Tower like a sane member of society, decided to, instead, effectively materialize on Superboy’s balcony, staying clear of any and all cameras. Solely to avoid confrontation, surely.
No matter his intention, however, knocking on anyone’s window, much less a teenager with night terrors’, in the dead of night (as the Red X had gained a habit of doing), was a surefire way to be shot through with a ray of heatvision.
No matter his expectations, however, could he have been prepared for Conner to be half-naked when he opened the balcony window.
Tim’s eyes immediately shot to the floor the second he registered the s-shaped scar across Conner’s chest, half out of embarrassment, half out of genuine shock at what looked to be genuine branding of a sort.
Tim opened his mouth, straining to find some verbal explanation for his sudden appearance, but Conner crushed him into a hug before he could even get a word out.
He fell stiff when he really shouldn't've, his chin cradled against the bare skin of Conner’s shoulder. Months ago, Tim would’ve leaned into the hug, without a second thought. But, now, Tim’s entire body felt cold. Deathly so, like the boy hugging him was nothing more than a stranger, when everything that Tim knew told him otherwise.
Conner pulled away the mere moment that he noticed Tim’s rigidness, as if he could feel the cold that began spiking the deadman’s heart. “This isn’t a happy reunion, is it?” Less a question, more a fact. Tim tried to look him in the eyes, but found it ten times more difficult with the real thing standing before him, rather the hallucination from the night prior. But, that simple action told Conner all that he needed to know.
Tim knew that the hero could read his vitals- hear his lowered heartrate, probably even see the poison that laced every inch of his veins, too. “Can I come inside? Please?”
He could feel Superboy look at him the way one would a discarded puppy. “Geez- yeah, of course. Please,” he spoke, as if the fully clothed one of the two was more at risk of catching a cold from the bitter night air.
Conner didn’t ask how Tim supposedly came back to life, nor did he berate him about ‘not telling him he was alive’. Tim didn’t know why. Maybe the no-questions-asked sort of hospitality was one of the things about being a superhero. Maybe that’s why Tim never would’ve been a good one.
All Conner did was offer him exactly what he needed; an ear to talk to, and a warm bed away from Wayne manor.
Conner took a seat next to Tim on the edge of the bed, draping himself with a blanket when he noticed the detective staring at the odd sear on his chest for a little bit too long. Tim didn’t say anything about it, the same way Conner said nothing about just how much skinner Tim had gotten since X’s ‘death’.
After a few minutes of silence, and one refused cup of tea later, Tim finally bit his pride. “How long did you know I was alive?” He got a wave of deja vu, back to the outside of O’Malley’s, but every second, Conner proved just how much of a fool Tim was for believing in that damned ploy.
“Your brother’s the leader of my team, Tim. He let it slip the moment you were discharged from the hospital,” he explained. “I figured you had your reasons for faking your death… or, I guess, killing off who you were as ‘Red X’, if Donna got that right.”
A year ago, Tim wouldn’t have done something so stupid, especially with so many red threads to follow. But, a year ago, Tim hadn’t yet commissioned Tiffany Fox to make the ‘suit that kills you’.
“A baptism by fire. A failed one,” Tim admitted. “Thought it meant turning over a new leaf, but I was wrong. It’s only brought more problems.” Tim slumped his back onto the bed, met with the canopy shrine of rock music legends that Conner had secured to the ceiling. “My doc couldn’t find a cure for the Xenothium poison- the shit that X’s suit was made out of. He’s like the chemical genius- if he can’t help me, I’m basically dead meat.”
Conner remained upright, sights cast out of the balcony window. Tim didn’t know if it was for his sake, or Conner’s own. “Why come here, then? I get airing out grievances and all, but…” he trailed off. Tim gave him the simplest answer he could muster, refusing to dig much deeper. “I thought you might like to know. Thought that maybe, together, I could get better. Somehow.”
Conner went silent for a moment, wherein Tim’s internal fears were confirmed. “I want you to get better, really, but I don’t… Geez, I don’t even really know you.”
Tim shot up. “What? Of course you do. You slept at my apartment, hell, you kissed me. I’ve probably spent more time with you than half of my brothers.”
Conner stood up at that remark, the blanket falling from his back, revealing the web of bizarre scarring that Tim really should have known about, considering his childish obsession with the hero. “Kidnapping is your way of spending quality time with somebody? Torturing them with kryptonite?” His tone was nearly identical to his hallucination duplicate. Fucking hell.
“Kon, I… shit, I thought I told you that crap was an act? I thought you already forgave me for that?” Tim tried defending, Conner remaining with his back turned.
“I did, and then you killed yourself the next fuckin’ day. So, no, I didn’t get the chance to know you, just the act you put on for fuck-knows-why.”
For the first time ever, Tim felt the inklings of anger bite at his jaw, rooted from Superboy. That’s the truth. You know that’s the truth. You were selfish. You said that yourself.
Then, Tim did something incredibly out of character, his mouth running quicker than he could stop it.
He bit back.
“Cry me a fucking river, Kon.”
He’d never seen somebody whip around faster. Tim didn’t feel the remorse he knew he should’ve. “I come to you, dying, and all you care about is that I didn’t keep in touch?”
Tim hadn’t thought those thoughts- they just spilled out of his mouth, and only made a margin of sense afterward. He didn’t mean to set bait for Conner, but he took it anyway. A death glare from a Kryptonian should’ve sent any person fleeing in terror- hell, a few nights ago, Tim nearly shit his pants when he was confronted with the fake one. But, strangely, he didn’t feel anything, now. Not terror, but not the cruel satisfaction that he’d synthesised as Red X. Just… nothing. Crane had mentioned something about that- a malfunctioning amygdala. Tim didn’t know if that little side effect was working in his favor now, or not.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” Superboy spat, before he seemed to notice the completely blank expression on Tim's face, and he softened his tone, whether that be from confusion or realisation. “You said it was Xenonite that's the problem? Or, uh, Xenothium?”
Tim looked away, resting his chin on a propped hand, before nodding. “Thought you weren’t gonna help me, ‘cause you don’t know me, or something.”
He heard Conner go quiet again, for just a moment, processing the bitter remark. Then, he decided to lie. Straight to Tim’s face. “What? I never said that shit-” He has to be kidding.
“You just fuckin’ said it, you piece of shit. You said ‘I don’t know you, I only knew who you were pretending to be’, or some Broadway rip-off like that.” Usually, when snake-types tried to gaslight, they wouldn’t do so almost immediately after their original statement.
Still, Superboy tried. “I said, ‘I don’t know how to help you.’ How the actual fuck did you get that from that?”
Tim rolled his eyes. He’s such a bad liar. Doesn’t even have the decency to defend himself, just refute, refute, refute… Only when he heard the laughing echoing at the back of his skull did he realize what happened.
Whether it be through the sharp rise in Tim’s pulse, or the rapid shrinking of his pupils, or even through sheer coincidence, Conner seemed to put two-and-two together at the same moment as Tim. “Geez… ok, my cousin might be able to help- she’s good with poisons and things.”
Tim could barely manage a nod, refusing to open his mouth in fear that one of those horrific jeers might escape his mind.
—
In proper Supergirl fashion, Kara Zor-el was tracked down to a karaoke bar, downing a cup of Swamp Water, to spite the fact that she couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol while under a yellow sun.
The woman greeted her cousin and his friend the science experiment with none of the hospitality that Tim had grown to expect from heroes of her caliber- though, not many heroes had grown to the god-killing title like Kara had. Maybe her bluntness was warranted.
“Connerrrr, What's the number one rule we have in the house?” the woman mumbled, in between grimaces from the sin of man that was her drink of choice.
“No bothering you at bars unless the world’s ending?” Superboy recited, like a dog rehearsing a command. “And is the world ending, kid?”
Conner seemed to think for a moment. Like, actually think about it. “No…? But, Tim could use your-”
“Ohhhh, the Wayneson needs my help! Jesus, man, lead with that next time, will you?” She chided, before giving Tim a quick once-over, and immediately identifying his ailment. “Xenothium, right? Enhanced by some other drugs, I bet? Damn, Connie, didn’t know crackheads were your type.”
“Nitros Oxide, MDMA, Hydrogen Cyanide, Strychnine, and Methamphetamine. It’s modified Risorium, not cocaine.” Tim repeated, though he couldn’t recall why he could so easily list the compound’s components. Maybe studying under Dr. Crane had finally started to wear off. Kara, however, didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, only bored. “Yeah, yeah, It was a fuckin’ joke. No wonder you’re Bruce’s kid, geez. You are here to ask about the Xenothium, right?”
Tim didn’t like how predictable he was, but it made the necessary conversations rather quick. “Conner mentioned that you might know the antidote.”
Once again, Tim really needed to stop expecting miracles to happen when it related to Kryptonians. “An antidote? Xenothium’s a chemical first, toxin second. That’s like asking for an antidote for Radium- it just isn’t realistic. Not without completely obliterating the entire body.”
Back to square one? Seriously?
It seemed that way in more ways than one, certainly for worse, when Tim saw, out of the corner of his eye, a familiar hand tap Superboy on the shoulder, interrupting Tim and Kara’s conversation.
“Oh, ehm, gee!” Stephanie Brown, who was supposed to be in police custody, exclaimed when the hero turned around. “Superboy, right? I’m like… a super mega fan, can I pleaseee have an autograph?”
The second that the psychopath pulled out a pen, Tim instantly recognized the hidden blade mechanic on the casing. Then, everything went silent, and Tim could hear nothing but his own heartbeat.
He sprung before Stephanie could ruin another part of his life, taking the girl to the floor, one hand on the wrist that held her disguised weapon, the other on her neck, pinning her down.
Tim could see the shock and terror in her eyes, to which Tim could only feel the faint sparking of brief gratification. She wasn’t seething, nor slinging curses. Not anger. Fear.
She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but Tim socked her in the jaw before a word could escape. He knew attempting a conversation with the villain would only cause more problems. If he couldn’t ask her how she escaped her arrest so soon, he’d make sure that she’d never want to break out again.
Tim could only think of the hell that Stephanie put him through- lying to him for months, making him think that they were actually friends, isolating him from the outside world, drugging him, kidnapping him, threatening to make him kill his own father, shit, it was because of her that the hallucinations started. It was Stephanie that made him start doubting his own reality. Tim intended to make sure she knew that much.
Pressing down on her throat, Tim punched her straight in the nose, with every intention to break it in such a way that wouldn’t heal quite right. That much broke far too easily, along with a few of her front teeth.
Tim at last pulled away his fist, and although it was thoroughly soaked in blood, it was in considerably better shape than the madwoman’s face, who had long lost consciousness, the rivers blood flowing from her nose and jaw staining her brunette hair crimson.
Stephanie had blonde hair.
Fuck.
Tim staggered back to his feet just as he felt a very strong grip yank him by the collar, and in a moment, he was face-to-face with the planet’s favorite superhero, who looked as if she might just kill him.
Tim tried to explain himself, desperately, but could only make a sort of squeak, his vocal chords giving out completely.
Then, from the silence, came the laughing that he’d learned to loathe, along with the shadowed figure of his most hated self. “You’re cooooked, man. I mean, we are, but you could’ve at least finished the job, you pussy,” X taunted him, talking directly over Kara Zor-el’s infuriated interrogation.
Tim could feel his throat closing up, at the simple thought of what he’d just done. That wasn’t Stephanie. He’d just beat some poor girl half to death. It probably was just a normal pen, too, and he’d just…
“Wah, wah, wah, do you know how chicken you’re making us look right now? You’re crying. It’s not your fault that she was that weak. Rather rude of her, too, just to jump into the conversation like that… oh, oh! It probably looks like you got mad jealous of Kon, and jumped at the gal that diverted his attention right?”
Shut up. Shut up, please.
He could tell that underneath his mask, X was smiling. Only after he returned to the shadows were Tim’s senses restored once more, and he felt the slick wetness on his cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to, please-”
Had he been apologizing this entire time? He must’ve seemed manic. Conner, with his pupils constricted to a pinpoint, certainly seemed to think so.
“I thought she was Stephanie Brown, Kara, honest-”
“I don’t care who you thought she was, she’s Kitrina Falcone. Do you know that name, Wayne?”
Falcone.
As in, the Falcone Crime Family.
Kitrina Falcone, as in the favorite niece of the mayor of Gotham.
A laugh actually escaped him, at the exact wrong time.
He was actually so fucked.