Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A bat’s sense of awareness is always on high alert. Especially in the dark. As blind as a bat. That’s it. That’s the expression. Because when you can’t see, when one sense has been deduced in the slightest—the others must be ready to enhance and take over. Cant taste? Try smell. Cant see? Trying touch. 

Maybe that’s why he was on such high alert now. The other senses had been enhanced. He couldn’t see. Bats don’t see well in the dark, if not at all. 

He could hear steady footsteps towards him. Slowly, then faster. Far away, then closer. As if someone was running. Someone with great force in their step. 

He could taste the dust in the air. All the debris from the rubble. It was still. Yet, loud. It all screamed at him. All fallen and well beyond saving. 

He could smell fire. Fires well burned out and vanished. Smoke lingered, and he was absolutely sure he too reeked of it. Smoke was deadly. Acidic. It burned to breath in, left from for adrenaline in his lungs instead of proper oxygen. 

Tim could feel the concrete at his feet; each and every individual rock. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. It dropped, well beyond his stomach, sometimes flying up to his mouth where he’d vomited about a half hour ago. Lastly, he felt something different. A pressure. Familiar, yet empty. Cold, yet loving. It spread up his back, across his neck, over his waist and scraped his chin. 

“Conner,” he gasped, turning around almost automatically. 

There he was, too. Drifting out of air to plant himself on the ground. Only moonlight allowed for Tim to make out the shape of the superboy, though his brilliant eyes and glowing green rings unevenly bruised on to his skin allowed for further investigation. 

“What have they done to you..?” He croaked, head tilted. It was bad. Real bad. Tim took a step closer. 

He placed a hand on Conner’s forearm, trailing his fingers up as if they were walking. The tips danced across his broad shoulders, over his nape and up to examine the faded green ring around his neck. 

“S’not so bad,” 

He’d never heard Conner speak in such a low tone. He sounded numb. Defeated. Enough to break the robin. 

Kon flinched at his touch, as gentle as he was being. Tim had barely grazed around the green bruises, yet the kryptonian grabbed his hand and held it. Their fingers intertwined and Kon lifted his other hand to cup Tim’s cheek. 

“I-I thought you were dead, Tim,” he whispered, staring deeply into his eyes. 

Tim pursed his lips. If he were in any other situation he would have joked about how you can’t kill him off, but the thought of Conner holding his own lifeless body sent chills down his spine. Tears welled in his eyes. 

“I couldn’t find you anywhere,” The Robin whimpered instead. He could feel Conner’s hands trembling, so he tried his best to soothe by rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. 

“I know. I’m sorry, I-”

Tim shook his head, eyes wide. He was staring at the rings. So bright and so painful. “Don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

There was nothing to apologize for. He’d been kidnapped, tortured too. All the while Gotham and metropolis were under destruction. They were surrounded by death. Men. Women. Children. Other heros. Dick had been crushed to death by a collapsed building down the block. And Steph lay splattered on the sidewalk by the Wayne enterprises building. The others? He hadn’t seen in hours. As far as he knew, none of the other bats were alive. 

Neither of them knew what to say. Would you? The city had been turned upside down in less than a 24 hour period and so had both of their lives. Kon was staring at Tim in hopes to comfort but his robin couldn’t look at him. He just looked down. Trembling and staring blankly at all the collapsed brick and blood splattered concrete. 

Kon’s eyes scaled the boy. He checked for bruises and scratches and tears. He searched for any broken or fractured bones, overall anything noticeably out of place. Tim had been the lucky one to say the least. He had only two broken fingers, a gash in his shoulder and miles of bruises and minor scratches across his skin. 

Physically, he was fine. He didn’t look too rough, just as if he’d come back from a routine patrol. Mentally though, he was better off dead. The only thing he had left was Kon but even him, he seemed to be mourning. 

They should probably take cover. They both knew it. Even in all the rubble Gotham was still a war zone. It wasn’t that it was dangerous, but more do that the surviving hero’s needed to rest. After all, they were only human (well about 1.5% between the two of them). Anyway, they couldn’t go on like this. If they did they were dead for sure. Neither of them could afford to lose anyone else. 

“I know you probably want to stay and overwork yourself, but you need rest, Tim. If you want to help fix this all up, you need to get back on your feet first before you’re fully able,” Kon suggested quietly, already bracing himself for the typical argument and having to pull out his persuasion skills. Though, to his surprise, Tim bowed his head and nodded. 

“I know somewhere we can take cover for a bit,” Tim whispered, finally looking Kon in the eye. That was the hardest thing, really, looking at him. He wasn’t mad. Wasn’t upset. Instead, he felt as if he was already mourning the kryptonian. Yet another body to the pile. 

                     ************************** 

“I thought you vowed to never come back here?” Kon asked once they entered the empty driveway. 

“I did.” Tim nodded, taking in the atmosphere. It was cold. The sky was blacked out at usual and snow fell all around them. Gotham was on the verge of winter, leaving the white house  to blend well with the snow. 

Then, he started his strut up the driveway, with Kon following not far behind. The robin heaved a sigh as the door came cleared into view. 

“So?”

“Kon, in all the years you’ve known me, how often do I stay true to the promises I make to myself?” 

The kryptonian huffed, the slightest smile tugging at his lips, “it always has been your greatest fault.” 

The front doors opened not long after Tim began picking the locks. It shouldn’t have been so easy. 

Drake manor was abandoned. Had been since Jack’s untimely death. Maybe it was a good thing he died so soon, beats this. Tim turned the knob, twisted it all the way to right and pushed in. 

“Y’know this place never fails to take my breath away?”

“Then breath, Kon,” Tim replied bluntly, his eyes scaling the familiar entrance: the eggshell doors, matching walls that tended to go on forever, the crystal knobs and marble floor. He would have thrown up right there if he hadn’t already back at the battleground. 

“I’m serious, really. Everything in Gotham is so dark and grim, gothic. Y’know? And this place...well it’s not. It’s all white, all grand. It doesn’t particularly fit in,” Kon explained once the doors shut. He turned to the shorter boy then, peeling off his domino to get a better look at his eyes. He matched the place rather well. As a true Drake should. His skin blended into the pale wall paint, his eyes the same color of the icy blue crystal chandelier. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Tim stated, but Kon felt the ‘but’ coming from a mile away. He rubbed his left eye slightly, smearing the black pigmented makeup, “but this house feels more like an asylum than Arkham.” And there it was. He wasn’t lying though. Wasn’t being overly dramatic. Drake manor had never been a nurturing home, always dull and empty. The house had no personality, it was simply fake, cheap, and plastic-like, much like the previous residents. So naturally, it felt odd and honestly quite sickening to bring the boy he loved the most in a house full of so much hate. Maybe he could give it some light instead. 

Kon frowned. So did Tim. The house had always been the most suffocating thing to him, his biggest burden, but he didn’t need to lay that on Kon. He didn’t need that. Not now and maybe not ever. Maybe holding his grudges against Janet and Jack was childish. Or maybe he should swallow his pride. They were dead, and Tim had bright a boy they would have never liked right through the entrance. Though, Connor wouldn’t want to feed into his search of vengeance. 

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispered.

Kon placed a tender kiss on his hairline, “you don’t need to apologize to me.” His words were tender, soft. Unremarkable. Such purity didn’t belong in a place so far from the sun and all its warmth. 

Tim nodded, staring up at Kon for a brief moment before he pulled away and turned. His eyes instead darted to the pictures sat on display on shelves and tables. Each one holding a particular memory, though most of them from social events or from a professional photographer. Peering into the sitting room now, he could still see Janet. She was dressed in the finest of furs and the sharpest blue dress to match her eyes. She held a lit cigarette in her right hand, to which he watched her take a drag—whilst rubbing off a bit of crimson lipstick—and turn to stare back at him. She seemed to be mouthing something, a small ‘welcome home, Timothy’ and a grimacing smirk shaping her thin lips. He could do this, right? Look at her? He had with Kon, when he was seeing him. He had kissed Kon back then, yet, Janet was still as scary as ever even after death. Still, she opened her mouth to speak. 

“How come this place was left untouched?” 

Tim turned away from his mother back to his boyfriend who seemed to be amazed and staring up at the high ceilings. “What?” He asked softly, still quite shaken up. 

Kon shoved his hands in his pockets and have a shrug. “Y’know? Why was most of everything else destroyed but this was preserved?” He asked again. “It’s not like they only destroyed the city, outer edges seemed to be pretty bad too, only this place and Wayne manor are still standing. 

“Oh,” Tim replied, taking a moment to ponder. He stared bank at Kon, returning his shrug. “Well, I don’t know, actually. There wasn’t a clear target. Yes, Wayne manor was left untouched too. Along with a few major mansions and penthouses.” 

“Oh. I see,” Kon stared circles around the room again as Tim began to lead him up the staircase to shower and change. “God bless the rich?” He cracked a smile. 

Tim couldn’t help but give a trying smile as well. He laced their fingers together and nodded. “Yeah. God bless the rich.”

               *********************************

“How’s Ma?” Tim asked rather curiously. It was clear he was just trying to make some simple conversation and take his mind off of all that had happened tonight, but really he did care about ma. 

“She’s good. Actually, she won some pie contest in town around fall,” Kon explained, smiling as he did. 

“Of course. Everyone loves Ma’s famous pies,” Tim agreed, and he too couldn’t help but smile. Ma was always so warm and so caring when it came to Tim. He’d spend hours at the farm with Kon, sometimes running through the fields, or laying on the floor with comic books and video games all around them. She was remarkable, truly. It was a different kind of love, one he’d never felt before. The love of a mother, he supposed, or more so a grandmother. He had never met his, and Janet never so much as bat him an eye. Not to mention he never seemed to go hungry with Ma around. He would visit the farm in the summer, when the Kansas sun was held up in the center of the sky and the heat was unbearable, only to be satisfied with a delightful freshly squeezed lemonade. She was golden, Ma Kent, always knew what was needed when and where. 

It was just about winter, now. Snow fell harder and thicker in the dark outside, the dark that was already beginning to turn into a creeping sunrise. They were in the sitting room, the fire lit to keep the couple warm as they sat on the white loveseat. They had had their shirts off to inspect each other’s wounds a little over twenty minutes ago, and yet Kon was far from cleaning and wrapping all the many of Tim’s cuts. 

Along with that, Tim was holding Kon’s hand, hoping for there to never be silence, even if the sound were just that of Kon’s shallow breathing and still heartbeats. So, he would ponder, in hope to conjure up any sort of inquiry to spark some sort of conversation. Tonight, though, his brain seemed a little too fixated on brutality and  grim thoughts 

“What does kryptonite feel like?” Tim asked gently, brushing his finger tips across the smooth skin of Kon’s wrist. 

He sighed, taking a moment to clean the cut he was working on before he paused and turned to look at Tim more carefully. The short boy turned too, staring now directly at him. ‘What a weird question to ask’  was what he wished to say. Or maybe to ask him what being restrained and stabbed and numbed and drained of all your blood and strength might feel like. “It’s radiation, as you know. You feel nauseous. And dizzy. It feels like when you stand up and you feel a little unstable, and when you get a really bad flu, all that times a hundred, maybe more. You feel powerless, and like the more you fight it the more painful it is and the more sick you feel? You just feel...weak. Weak and undeniably useless.” Kon frowned, thinking of the many times the substance had been used on him. “It also, is like your blood vessels are clogged and overflowing. More specifically like they’re being pumped with chemicals. Kryptonian cells are designed to intake the radiation, so that’s exactly what it does with the kryptonite,” he struggled, a chill shooting down his spine. “Feels like death.”

Tim looked sorry. He shouldn’t have asked, although it was rather interesting and he wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t thought to ask it before. Either way, right now was obviously not the best situation to ask it in, but Kon wouldn’t let him apologize. He too, wanted to  know things he did experience, like what being shot or stabbed felt like, or at least with the intensity humans felt. Instead, Tim situated himself closer and leaned in strategically. 

“Conner?” He asked in an ever so soft tone, his hands trailing up the side of his neck to the back of his head, “can I kiss you?” His words were tender, inviting and very respectful, he didn’t want to overstep of course even though he clearly knows Kon would never turn him down. 

Kon smiled, shivering at the way Tim’s fingers carded through his hair. He placed steady hands on his waist. “You don’t have to ask,” he whispered, right before closing the gap between them. 

            *********************

“Hold still, wonder boy,” Kon laughed, holding Tim to him a bit tighter as he gently smeared a bit of ointment on his cut. The wound was deep, bright red and bloody. Though, he had hope for the ointment to halt the blood only a little longer so he could get the right amount of stitches in. 

Tim’s breath hitched as he flinched once more. Then he finished tying the thread to the needle and handed it to Kon behind him to start stitching. It was clear he was comfortable around him. He was vulnerable and relaxed. The robin had never cried as much as he had, laughed, smiled and let himself be properly held as much as he ever had allowed himself just within a span of a couple hours. 

Kon seemed to notice, too. He noticed in the way tim burrowed into his touch, like he never wanted to let go, or even the way he seemed to hold on to the romantic words Kon spoke to him like it was the first loving word he’d ever heard. Of course, at the thought of all this, the kryptonian couldn’t help but continue it all. He’d make sure to shower him in compliments and little kisses at every open chance if it meant it would make him happy. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Kon whispered, holding on to Tim’s hand a moment after taking the needle from him. He kissed his bruised knuckles lovingly, admiring the way Tim smiled and blushed in the slightest. When Kon let go, he noticed his frown. His head hung low. It was heartbreaking to see, it made him want to drop everything and cradle Tim in his arms till he fell into a slumber. Unfortunately for him, that would have to wait until he was finished stitching him up. “What’s on your mind?” Kon asked with a conceding look. Then he pushed the needle in and out rather carefully. 

“Sometimes, I don’t know. I guess I just wonder how different this would all be if I never got that fucking camera,” Tim spat, his eyes somehow still glossy. 

Kon frowned, tightening yet another stitch to the torn skin. “Tim, you know your curiosity always gets the best of you. You’re smart, too. Too smart for your own good. You would have figured out who The Batman was anyway.” 

“No,” Tim shook his head, his teeth clenched. He seemed angry. Angry at himself. Angry at his natural need to know and stubbornness. Angry at his want to explore the world and do good. 

“Tim—“

“No.” He turned back then, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I never should have, Conner. I never should have done any of this. I was so intrigued by Jason that interest turned into obsession. When he died...I felt like I had lost a part of myself. I was so determined to fix Batman, to fix the city, to bring back Robin. Then there was Steph. I should have stopped that right away. But god no. I didn’t. I fell in love with her and everything she stood for. I was so blind that I let her continue something so dangerous. Hell. I was even an asshole to her when she quit,” Tim took in a quick breath of air and squeezed his eyes shut. Tonight was filled with far too many regrets to allow this to weigh on him. Kon knew it had for a while, something so big and out of his control sadly keeping the boy awake at night. 

Kon leaned forward and pressed a reassuring kiss to his temple, one that made Tim sigh and turn back around. He crumpled his hair in his fingers as the familiar needle once again pierced his skin. 

“If I never found an interest in this, Spoiler could have been a phase because Robin didn’t egg her on. If I never got that camera, maybe my obsession would have been a phase too. Maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe at least Steph wouldn’t be dead.” As he spoke, he got quieter. His voice dying out into calm. By the time he stopped too, the knot on the stitches was tied and Tim was leaning back on to Kon’s bare chest.

Kon thought about bringing up that they wouldn’t have met if Tim hadn’t become robin, but right now that seemed a little ignorant. Instead, he pressed a long kiss to Tim’s neck, and the reached out for Tim’s hand and held it gently. He grabbed some medical tape from the first aid kit and calmly began wrapping up the broken fingers. 

Tim watched, burying his head in Kon’s shoulder as he once again began to sob, this time louder and more violent. “I just, I feel like this is all my fault. I hate this. I hate it. They’re not coming back, Kon. Not like Jason did. Not like you or Bart or Steph years ago...” he tried his best, speaking between hiccups and seeing beyond the tears that clouded his eyes.

“It’s not fair. You know? We do everything for everyone. We show mercy and justice and lay down our fucking lives. And for what? There’s no happiness here. There’s only pain. Trauma. Medication.” 

When Kon was finished wrapping he dropped the hand, then turned his full attention to Tim and pulled him on to his lap. His arms looped around his waist and pulled him close. “Tim, I know it’s hard, but—“

“Maybe it’s Bruce,” they were eye to eye now, Tim sitting up straight to stare at Kon right in front of him. He was crying still, tears spilling out of his brilliant blue eyes and nose bright red but yet he smiled wickedly. “Maybe it’s Bruce,” he repeated, “if he hadn’t started patrolling the streets, maybe if he had felt with trauma in some other, less extreme way, it would be like this. No, it’s not even a maybe, there was balance without a Batman. Sure, Gotham was run by crime bosses and the mob but it was at least some sort of order. The Batman plagued Gotham with criminals more than he had rid of them.” At this point, he’d become utterly hysterical. 

“Tim!” Kon finally shouted, holding his face in his big hands. “Do you even hear yourself? First off, none of this is your fault. You’re a kid. A fucking kid. You can’t take any blame in this. And besides, kids are curious Tim. Bruce shouldn’t have let you be robin for your safety, no sane adult would. And about Steph? She was a kid too. You both were. You were both in the same boat and knowing Steph, she’s just as stubborn as you and would never step down simply because she was asked to. You can’t take responsibility for any of this. You shouldn’t be looking too much into the past, either. We can’t change it. We can’t change what Bruce decided or when he adopted dick or when he found Jason overseas, or even when he allowed you to put on that suit. I can’t, you can’t. We have to live with it. But knowingly that it’s not our fault. It was all just things that happened and occurred that fucking suck, and that we have no control over.” 

Tim was still now. His eyes were bloodshot. His cheeks even holding clear bright red streaks of irritated skin where tears once heavily flowed. He was truly and utterly miserable, yet managed to seem a lot calmer and collected now. Maybe it was a good thing. Or maybe now he just felt numb, as if his fighting had finally halted and he had finally gave in. “You’re right,” he spoke duly as he stared around the room, then up at Kon again, “I’m sorry, Kon.” 

“No, c’mon, mystery boy, you know there’s nothing to apologize for,” Kon shook his head slowly, caressing under Tim’s eye and down his cheek to his jaw. He studied him, then. Every small freckle and blemish that cratered his face. Everything about him was perfect, even when his whole world had been torn from the palms of his hands. “I love you,” Kon whispered. 

Tim nodded. It would be okay if he didn’t say it back. Instead, he tipped his chin up slightly and caught the kryptonian’s lips, who had no problem kissing him back. 

When they pulled away, Tim kept his head rested on Kon’s shoulder, fumbling with his fingers. “Where did I go wrong?” He asked, getting out just one last bit of regret. 

Kon sighed, shaking his head. He pulled a blanket over them and placed on last long and prominent kiss to Tim’s forehead. “You’re absolutely perfect, Tim,” he spoke honestly, with not even  a dash of pity in his voice. “Sleep, we can figure out the rest in the morning.”

Chapter Text

“Tim,” Kon whispered in dark. It was about 6:15 in the morning, snow still falling and the sky turning pink. They laid together still on the white loveseat, wrapped in a thick blanket with the fire flickering beside them. “Tim,” he whispered again, this time poking his head gently. Still, the robin lay dead asleep. 

The boy never even so much as shifted or grumbled, so in order to move him, he had to be exceedingly careful. The kryptonian strategically used his ttk to lift the slumbering boy, so not to wake him when he got off the couch. The loveseat was beautiful, sure, in fact it undoubtedly costed more than his small town brain could process. Unfortunately though, it was in no way comfortable. The edges curled up which pained his back and the cushions were rock hard and stiff. There was no way Kon could lay there for a few more hours, and honestly he was surprised to have had made it this long. Plus, he knew Gotham wasn’t much of an option right now. Tim wanted to stay—of course being the workaholic he is—but, living in a war zone was by no means healthy or safe. Especially when he saw himself as being at fault. Getting him to leave was the tricky part, he expected a rather heavy fight if he just so happened to wake up. Which was exactly why Kon was thankful for him being a heavy sleeper. 

          *************************

The flight to smallville was brief. A short and quick ten minutes that even allowed for a minor stop and even a bit of going on autopilot because he knew the route so well. However, flying in the snow while holding your sleeping and possibly definitely lethal boyfriend whilst in midair was in no way easy. So, instead of the typical ten minutes, the flight rather doubled to about twenty. 

Though, once he arrived, it was all worth it. He had managed to keep the robin warm with his own body heat. Not to mention the little specks of white that dotted his dark hair was adorable and quite fitting. 

“Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up,” Kon repeated as he began to set the boy down on the bed. The mattress cushioned underneath him, and Tim only managed to stir when the covers were placed over top of him. Kon sighed in relief. He was amazed by the fact that Tim stayed asleep, and also at his own ability to make it happen. 

Before he could walk out if the room he had to take one look. The sight landed a quiet smile on his face, the kind filled with love and happiness. He remembered it, too. He remembered watching Tim sleep when they were kids, just staring and wondering how an individual could be so beautiful and graceful and perfect all at once. It was breathtaking, and he was ethereal. That was back when they were kids. Back when smallville meant being in the closet and the superhero gig meant flirting with girls you saved. Now, smallville was a breath of fresh air and a loving home and the superhero gig means kissing your badass boyfriend mid-battle. 

Maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe it all never really happened. Maybe metropolis never went under attack, and maybe Gotham was never really demolished. 

It was, though. It all was. This wasn’t just another sleepover at the Kent farm, this was refuge, this was recovering from battle and regrouping. Still, he had to be strong. Who knew how this much more grief would affect Tim, he had to be there for him. 

*************************

      The air in the morning was crisp, too crisp, like the smell of fresh oxygen and a cold breeze, so far from the polluted air in the city. The sun was bright too, it glazed through the windows and the thin curtains and spread across the bed and the sheets. It felt almost loving, sweet, and refreshing  all the features Drake Manor never achieved and in many ways Wayne Manor couldn’t compare. 

“Connor?” Tim called softly, reaching his hand across the bed as he did. It was empty, though, nothing but a crinkle of sheets. Sheets that didn’t belong to him. Come to think of it, they had fallen asleep on the loveseat, not his bed, but even so, this wasn’t his bed. “Connor!” Tim called out again, louder this time with only a hint of alarm.

He slipped out the sheets effortlessly and shivered when his bare feet made first contact with the cold wood floors. Still no response. The house was still, quiet and suspicious. He grabbed an unlit candle from the bedside table. 

The robin then crept his way out of the room, watching every entryway with clear suspicion. It was all empty, nothing but silence and now the clear sent of coffee. 

There was a bit of commotion now, a soft sound that appeared to be a groan or a simple hum, too far away and muffled to make out the origin. Down the stairs he would go, then. Tim knew the farm house like the back of hand. It was small, simple, and easy to navigate—like his apartment (minus the additional “cave”)—so naturally, he could map out each and every loose floorboards. This would allow him to keep quiet, at least if he was slow and actually took the time to do so.  Only, being put in a new life or death situation each week got a little tiresome and actually seemed to reprogram your brain to know all available exits and flighting stances a good four times in advance. At least more than it should be to a normal soldier. He made his way halfway through the living room when louder noises began to be heard and stronger smells began to sink in. He heard what sounded like a pot being set down and some sort of glassware, and he could smell sausage and eggs now along with the coffee. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” a voice called from the kitchen. He had been quiet of course, but stealth around a kryptonian tended to be significantly more challenging. Still, Kon popped out of the doorway with an easy smile and a mug filled with coffee. He handed Tim the mug, trading it from the candle that he raised an eyebrow at and set down. “Sorry I didn’t stay in bed, I wanted to make you something to eat for when you got up, I should have known you’d be more on edge,” Kon whispered an apology once he turned back, then he kissed the upper part of Tim’s cheekbone. “I’ll start keeping a knife on your side of the bed, the candle was a gift from Lois that I’d hate to get broke,” he joked upon pulling back. Tim rolled his eyes and playfully pulled away. After all, Kon never did fail at making him smile. 

“Good morning to you too, Clone boy,” Tim shot back, earning another kiss—this one to his temple—and the eager kryptonian pulling him into the kitchen. 

“Oh shush and sit down, I’ll bet my hat you haven’t eaten in at least the last twenty-four hours,” Kon steered him in the right direction to sit, which Tim pulled out a stool at the small island and planted himself down on the wood. He wasn’t wrong. In fact, Tim couldn’t quite place when the last time he ate was, he hadn’t even noticed he was hungry till now. Grief had powerful effects on the human body. 

Tim took a sip of coffee, staring around the kitchen calmly. Mainly though, his eyes focused on Kon. He’d seen this before, somewhere, maybe mostly in the times he allowed himself to imagine a future he wanted, with this being just a small part of it: Kon cooking him breakfast in the morning—maybe a Sunday?—and them spending the rest of the day together. Maybe it was silly to imagine, especially with the idea of not getting a future always occupying his mind, but small hopes and images like such, tended to help him keep going. 

Tim took another gulp of coffee, strategically swishing the scorching liquid down his throat. “When did we get here? All I remember is falling asleep on the couch,” he asked in confusion, watching as Kon made his way over to the island, placing down a potholder so not to burn the counter, and the skillet he cooked with right over it. 

“About an hour or so after you fell asleep? I was going to just take you up to bed, but I honestly figured this was much safer, though I hadn’t guessed you’d sleep so long, everything yesterday really knocked you out,” Kon explained as he began plating the food. 

Tim nodded, trying to imagine Kon using his ttk to the best of his ability to block him from the wind as they flew, maybe going slower than usual, even. All that for him. Maybe he didn’t deserve this? He really wanted to, though. 

Kon pushed Tim his plate over then, along with a fork, knife and napkin, he spoke a quick demand, “eat,” then turned to lay the dishes in the sink before standing across from Tim again at the counter and beginning to eat his own food. 

Conner did that when he was anxious—refusing to sit down. It was worrisome when it came to figuring it out, but then it hit him: Kon had only made food for the two of them. “Where’s Ma?” Tim asked suddenly, staring over at his boyfriend with a frightened look in his eye. 

Kon glanced over at him, watching carefully as Tim stabbed a sausage link and stuck it in his mouth, there was no point in refusing to eat. There’s no way Kon would let him out of the house unless he was properly taking care of himself, he could already feel the presence of a future argument on the matter. 

“On her way to metropolis. She left last night and insists on finding Clark and helping survivors, though luckily metropolis didn’t undergo as much damage and is not an active war zone anymore,” Kon explained, shrugging off the thought of Ma being in danger. He stared down at his eggs pointlessly. 

“Hey,” Tim reached a hand out and placed it on Kon’s, “she’ll be okay, just try not to worry too much you know she wouldn’t like that. She’s tough, Kon. You know that.” He tried to smile, he really did. Ma could take care of herself but this was too dangerous, damn her persistence. Tim always wished to be like her, so strong and kind hearted. He was a vigilante, sure. A protector of Gotham. But, what did that really say about kindness? He always thought he was rather selfish. 

“I know, I just. Well this is dangerous. She’s old, Tim why can’t she just let everyone else take care of it? I can find Clark if that’s the problem but I’m sure the government is already sending thousands of nurses and doctors to aid with injury,” Kon huffed. He wasn’t hungry, how could be be? He knew he needed food though, and who was he to set a good example for Tim if he wasn’t taking care of himself? 

Tim simply nodded, chewing slowly and taking another long sip of coffee. He was pretty sure he should have let the beverage cool down a lot more than he did, seeming how his tongue and somehow the roof of his mouth was all burnt up, but who really cared when it was the closest thing to home. “Any news from last night?” Tim asked quietly. He kept his head down. He’d only been asleep for a few hours but obviously a lot could happen in a short amount of time, 

Kon shook his head, searching Tim with sad eyes. He wish he could tell him more, bring just the littlest amount of light into his eyes. “No, most superheroes are still MIA,” he sighed, pushing his plate aside. He couldn’t bare to watch the way Tim slumped forward in his seat, or how he couldn’t even look back up at him. 

Neither of them spoke, nor did they eat much more. Kon simply began cleaning up the kitchen and in the amount of time it took him, Tim managed to obtain two more coffee refills. Unusually, they shared no laughter or even picked on each other in the slightest, Tim didn’t even complain about work or so much as reach for his phone. It was simply the two of them and the sound of running water. 

“C’mon,” Kon eventually  said when he was done. He wiped his hands off with a hand towel before reaching out to his boyfriend. Tim looked up finally. His head tilted and his eyes a mere squint. 

“What?” He asked, lifting his own hand up hesitantly. 

“Let’s take a walk, c’mon,” the kryptonian persisted, latching on to the smaller boy’s hand once he gave in. 

“It’s cold out, Kon. Why don’t we just stay inside?” Tim groaned, allowing himself to be pulled out of the kitchen and into the living room where he slipped on his shoes and caught a black  peacoat Kon threw at him.

“Oh god no. Bats raised you himself, I know better than to let you mope around inside all day,”  Kon snickered and slipped on his own shoes and coat, “oh come on city boy, you could use some sunshine.” 

That last part made Tim give in a bit, the smallest smile forming on his lips. He huffed and looped his arm around Kon’s bicep, “I wasn’t raised by him entirely.” He muttered. 

“Close enough, Rob.” 

                           *************************     

They saw the animals first, stopped by the barn. Kon made sure to quiz Tim on the names of every pig, cow and rooster, to which he let him think he succeeded. After the barn they walked the rest of the property, through the paths hidden by snow and the occasional hay. They talked the whole way too, laughing and chatting about old memories. Memories of just them two or Cassie and Bart as well on the old Kent farm. They spoke of simpler and happier times, and somewhere along the way Tim had slipped their linked hands into the pocket of Kon’s coat to keep warm. 

The past was like a drug. Or, rather nostalgia was. It rotted the brain with happy memories filled with old friends and simple problems that used to appear as dilemmas. What’s the saying? You never know what you have till you’ve lost it? Maybe that was true. Or maybe the past wasn’t worth the longings of smiles and chasing all the time and people and honestly even things you’ve lost since then. 

“Getting old fucking sucks,” Tim sighed after a bit of time. Their laughter seemed to die out. 

“Old? You can’t even legally drink, wonder boy,” Kon smirked, but still he managed to press a comforting kiss to Tim’s temple. 

“Oh shush, you know what I mean,” Tim huffed, pushing Kon jokingly, to which may have been a little too rough. The push had left Kon out of balance, and because of their tightly  linked bodies, swept both of them off their feet and on to the pillowed snow. 

Kon landed first, flat on his back, then Tim right after and right on top of him. They were covered in snow. Not only with snowflakes piling up in their coal like hair, but also seeping into their boots and into their coats through sleeves and collars.

“Are you trying to kill me, mystery boy?” Kon grinned.

Tim shook his head, reciprocating the same expression. His eyes trailed his face. Both their cheeks turned red from the cold temperatures and the feeling of being so close. Tim leaned in closer, holding his hand to Kon’s jaw. “I’m just really in love with you...” he trailed off. 

Kon’s blushed deepened intensely and he propped them up slightly with his elbow. He leaned in as well, tilting his head as he readied himself to speak, but Tim had already beat him by closing the gap. 

It felt nice, too, to just forget about the world for a moment or so. Kon didn’t care if it was selfish either, because all that truly mattered to him was Tim and getting him to smile and to just be happy. It just felt so incredibly rewarding to succeed at such a goal. 

Kon pulled him closer, reeling him in closely with his hands pressed to his lower back. He let a cold shiver run down his spine with the feeling of thin fingers carding through his hair and running across his jaw, down his neck and resting at his nape. 

“Kon?” Tim whispered once he pulled away. 

“What is it?” Kon returned, his voice gentle. He reached for his hands. 

“It’s really fucking cold out here. can we go inside?”  

The kryptonian nodded and wheezed, expecting a more serious request from him. “Of course. Let’s get you inside,” Kon agreed with a friendly eye roll and a kiss to his lover’s knuckles. He pulled the two of them up gracefully. “Are you wanting cocoa too?” 

“Coffee, Conner. Lots and lots of coffee.” 

                          *************************

Inside they laid curled up on the couch much like the previous night. Snow fell outside just as before, and the tv flooded the room with with both noise and a bright glow. 

Reporters spoke only of death and destruction, showing images and videos of the wreckage from all over Gotham and parts of metropolis. Wonder Woman and Superman were quickly confirmed to be alive and well, yet still no sign of Batman. 

Kon glanced over at Tim, he clenched his mug with white knuckles, eyes wide and glued to the tv as if he was going sort of manic. It was hard to look at him like that, so far gone and almost too deep to pull up. Tim had always overworked himself, a trait everyone was well acquainted with but this was just not that. This was something else, something devilish and morbid. This was true grief. The grief of all he’d ever known: his family, friends and the whole place he’d grown up. 

The tv clicked off with a mere button. 

“What are you doing? I was watching that,” Tim snapped almost instantly. He whipped around to look over at Kon, his face full of despair, panic and overall pure anxiousness. 

“Tim, you can’t just watch that all night, they’ve been saying the same couple things for hours now, let’s just give it up,” Kon pleaded calmly. 

“Give it up? Really? Bruce could be—Bruce could be out there and you’re telling me to give it up? I can’t do that, Kon. You’re being unreasonable and honestly a bit selfish here. It isn’t all fine and dandy now that we’re in Kansas, just because you haven’t lost-” Tim paused, deciding at the last moment to retract what he was going to say. 

“Haven’t lost what, Tim? Friends? Family? Myself? I mean, look at you. I can’t bare to see you like this. I know it’s hard, I really do but please let’s get through this together,” Kon begged, braving himself for the continuation of the argument. It didn’t come, though. What did, was Tim huddling close to his chest. 

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t time to fight, you’ve done nothing but take care of me,” Tim apologized, pulling a blanket over them. 

“I’m sorry too, I should probably be giving you more space, I know not everyone copes better with large amounts of attention.” 

“It’s okay,” Tim yawned. 

“Oh no. Not the couch again,” Kon insisted, keeping his hold on Tim in his arms as he stood up and carried him upstairs instead. He couldn’t help but smile either at the defeated huff he gained in response. 

“Good night, Clone boy,” Tim yawned sleepily, pulling Kon’s collar down to give him a quick kiss. 

“Goodnight, Rob.”

Chapter Text

All that night Tim tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He tried all the obvious: counting sheep, military methods, clearing his mind, and even linking his breaths with Kon’s. Yet, to no surprise that didn’t work well either. Eventually, he simply gave up. It was about a quarter to five when Tim finally squeezed his way out of the meta’s tight grip and found himself sitting on the corner of the bed. Krypto stared over at him from his blanket in the corner, all perked up. 

“Cant sleep either?” Tim asked the canine warmly. Krypto simply paced over and rubbed his left ear against his hand for scratches. Tim squinted down at the dog, taking a good, sleepy look at him. “Can you understand me?” He whispered, the intensity of his dissociation all clearly hitting him at once. Krypto didn’t respond either, of course he didn’t. 

“Uh, do you...want to go outside?” Tim asked finally, his fingers beginning to cramp up from scratching the rough fur. Krypto huffed, staring at Tim now as if he’d said the magic words. “Alright, c’mon Krypto,” Tim sighed. He lent down to pick up one of his tennis balls and then led the dog out of the room, down the stairs and to the door. “One moment I have to put on my shoes and coat...” the boy announced sleepily. Then he paused midway through slipping on one boot and glanced at him skockingly, “why am I even explaining this to you? You’re a dog.” 

Tim shoved his right arm into his coat (well the one claimed for him while they stay there at least), and then the left. After being all bundled up, he proceeded to open the door finally. From there, Krypto seemed to run out at full speed. 

“Damn save some energy for the rest of us, Krypto,” He muttered, exiting soon after the dog did. The dog who was certainly hard to see in all the white snow, too, something he hadn’t thought of till he was nowhere in visible sight. Tim groaned, taking a seat on the porch. He threw the green tennis all somewhere out in the frozen white powder, watching what he assumed to be Krypto running to go grab it. 

“Krypto! Bring it back!” He called out, tracing the lines of the wooden poles with his fingernails. If he were an expert of wood there could have been some long shitty internal monologue about this fine oak (?), but atlas, it was edging on to the fifth hour of the morning and Timothy Jackson drake wasn’t some brilliant woodworker. 

Instead, he simply pulled his phone. No notifications, no alerts. Even if anyone back in Gotham still was alive, there’s no way there would be any reception. Loss was weird though. Without that ugly confirmation, you were left with pure anxiety, it could rip any individual to shreds. In a weird way Tim hoped for that confirmation. That at least was better than being thousands of miles away and sitting on the edge of his seat forever. 

Tim decided to try and call again. He started with Bruce, then to Cass, Duke, Barbara, Jason and even Dick and Steph just in case anyone had picked up their phones. No one picked up just as he expected, though Dick’s and Steph’s phones went straight to voicemail to which he assumed their phones had been crushed from such morbid deaths. 

Krypto eventually brought the ball back, and with every time he did Tim threw it as far as he could, yet the dog always managed to return it in seconds. It kept his mind off the calls, and off the topic of imagining everyone else’s deaths.

                       ***

“I feel like you’re tiring me out more than I’m tiring you out,” Tim finally said, staring duly at the dog. They’d been at it now for  a good half hour. He let out a small groan and held up the ball. “Fine,” he shook his head, teeth chattering, “one more, then we’re going inside and trying to go back to sleep,” Tim explained sternly, and just as promised threw the ball as far as he could. Krypto was back as quickly as he left but just in time for Tim to be standing at the door. 

The two crept quietly into the house, Tim taking off his boots and coat respectively at the door. He turned to Krypto, giving him a soft smile and a pat on his round head, “good dog.” 

“How long have you been up?” A hushed voice called from across the room. Tim turned around to meet the eyes of the half kryptonian in the dark. Kon stared right back at him in the doorway of the stairs. 

“I don’t know, maybe forty minutes?” Tim shrugged, shuffling his way over to the taller man. 

Kon gave a frown, leaning over to press a kiss on Tim’s forehead. Then he gently grasped his hand. “Okay, well why don’t we try and go back to bed?” He suggested. Then he began leading him up the stairs. 

Tim didn’t move, though. Kon only made it up one before he felt the slight tug that caught him off guard. All he responded with was a quiet “no”

“Tim?” Kon questioned. He obviously hadn’t expected this, “what is it?” 

“I said, no. I’m not going to bed,” he stated calmly.

“Oh, well, if you’re not tired we could always-“

“Kon. Seriously. I’m sick of hiding out here. I should be in Gotham. I should be helping civilians and finding my family. I can’t stay and just pretend like everything’s fine all of the time  when everyone and everything I know could all just be gone.” Tim narrowed his eye, pulling his hand away. 

Kon groaned. He threw his head back in the door way in a usual way that made Tim’s heart flutter but this time it didn’t occur. “Okay. I know you’re pissed at me, but hear me out,” he started plain and simply. He watched the shorter boy: his face being all scrunched up and his flimsy arms crossed over his chest. 

“I don’t like where this is going-”

“Just listen,” Kon held his hands out to hold Tim’s, to which their hands laced and were surprisingly not pulled apart. “I’ll take you first thing in the morning. I promise. But, for now you have to get at least a few hours of sleep otherwise you’ll be extremely tired and you won’t be thinking clearly, and in order to do all this you have to be thinking clearly, okay?” The kryptonian proposed, feeling as if he may in all honesty choke up. He was so sick and tired of watching his precious robin work himself to death, and he knew this would certainly kill him. 

Tim didn’t respond though. He couldn’t pushed past the lump in his throat to do so. Instead, he simply nodded and allowed himself to be led upstairs and back to bed. 

                          ***

Surprisingly, he managed to fall asleep. Maybe it was the familiar scent of Kon next to him, or quite possibly his own terrors that kryptonian up on him, but either way Tim was easily knocked out, maybe for the first time in a while. 

 
                            ***

In the morning he faced the unexpected. It was light outside in a way that casted shadows on the furniture around the room. The hour was nine o’clock. He had slept far much longer than anticipated. Yet, all in all the worst thing he noticed was that: Kon was no where in sight. 

“Kon?” Tim called. He could almost feel the vibrations of his voice flickering off the walls. Yesterday, when Kon wasn’t there he was downstairs, maybe he was today as well only, many signs point to nay. For starters, he didn’t smell any food, and he didn’t quite smell his cologne in the air either, (typically it could linger for hours). Other than that, he didn’t hear him, or really anything for that matter. Just, silence. And maybe some birds. 

Tim slipped into the hallway. the old wood creaked and screeched beneath his feet, something always so comforting to him in the old farmhouse, but now gave him a headache and some sense of dizziness. Then of course, there was the feeling of being completely and utterly alone, accompanied by his demons. “Kon?” he yelled out, just lightly louder this time. And again, no response. No noise. No scent. No touch. No Kon. 

“Kon!” He finally screamed, running downstairs in full force. Along the way he must have missed a step and stumbled because in no time his head hit the floor with a loud thud, and his back ached with the bruises from the sharp stairs. If his head hadn’t hurt before it was certainly blasting now. 

“This is pathetic,” the boy sneered painfully, mocking his own ability to feel pain. He felt useless. In the last forty-eight to seventy-two hours he had cried more than he had since the age of nine. It felt good, sure, but also weak and wounded. The feeling of failure was what it was. Not even regular failure—the type of failure that took over him after a corrupt mission—no, this was full on heart-breaking-mind-numbing-I-can-barely-breath-failure. 

Still, he pulled himself up. Tears pooled as expected, and he let them. Tim felt like he was eight again. Like he had ran a little too fast down the driveway, or on Gotham’s rooftops in search of the dark knight himself and fell and scraped his knee. So the big of familiarity was something youthful and close to him, but also reminded him of other doses pain and suffering. 

Come to think of it, most of his life had been full of pain and suffering. 

Maybe this was some sort of fucked up wake up call. 

The type that screamed in his ears to just give up

“Tim? Oh god, are you okay?” There was some sort of other thud, something not so loud and weighted as his fall had been. Hands found his under arms and pulled him up, right to his feet after going a tad higher. Tim stood. 

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream and pound and punch and scream some more. He wanted to be told to calm down in a soft tone then scream some more because he wasn’t a child, nor a dog.

That required energy, though, and a fair amount of motivation. Instead, he simply stared up at the boy in front of him. “I thought you left,” Tim tilted his head.

“No, god no. I went back to Gotham and got your suit for you. I forgot all about it when we left,” Kon explained calmly, picking up the gym bag he had set on the floor behind him. He held it out in the air, only letting go as soon as Tim grabbed hold. 

“Right, sorry I’ve been a big dramatic,” 

Kon sighed. He shook his head. “Nonsense,” he spoke steadily, placing a kiss to his lover’s crown. “Go put that on I’ll be here.”

After climbing up the stairs he had tumbled down, Tim made his way into the bathroom. He nearly hissed at the bright light, then set the bag on the toilet and began unzipping. There it was. Staring back up at him like some sort of orphaned puppy. He’d warn the suit just two days ago and yet it felt like years. Almost as if he was coming out of retirement. 

Putting it on made him sick. The sort of nausea that chilled down to the bone, not exactly in the way of throwing up. It did relatively smell like vomit, though. 

As he slipped on the suit, he slowly began to realize his skin showed through the ripped fabric. He had a torn shoulder, and again on his calf and a few rips on his back. Nothing too noticeable. It was something he hadn’t taken into account before. Although, that was when his skin bled uncontrollably and he was covered in dirt, guts, concrete dust and the blood of others. How grand. 

                      *** 

Tim exited the bathroom without his domino on. Luckily, Kon had had the sense to find a spare instead of him having to shove his head into that cowl, but still there was no point of letting the glue irritate his skin so early. 

“Ready, Rob?” Kon asked. He was leaning up against the couch once he got downstairs. The house was so still now, almost like it was filled with grievance. Why did every day there feel like a funeral? 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Tim shrugged, toying with the mask in his left hand. 

Kon gave a sad smile. He really didn’t need any more pity. “We’ll just take it one day at a time,” 

One day at the time. Right. Like some sort of lunatic. You can’t just take the apocalypse one day at a time. Not when there’s god knows what out in Gotham and everyone you ever loved is dead back home. But, sure. One fucking day at a fucking time. 

“Just take me home, Clone boy.” 

                         ***

Gotham was in shreds. 

....so, just as they had left it. 

The two of them walked the bare streets, searching for any real life. In the center of the city it was just one big crater, like a giant explosion had occurred.

The only catch was that, Tim couldn’t remember much of it. He didn’t really remember who or what attacked, or how, just all that was here and now. Gotham in ruins, Dick and Steph confirmed dead, everyone else MIA, and the richer houses that bordered Gotham were left all alone. 

Kon touch the ground. He held ash in his fingers and rubbed it away meaninglessly. “So,” he started, his voice echoing—the effect sent chills down Tim’s spine, they were all alone—“what exactly happened here?” 

“I, uh. I don’t really know,” Tim gulped. He looked terrified. Because, being out of the known really was something to kick and scream about. His motions of being five steps ahead was kicked in the face and sent back by ten, he for once had no idea of what to do or what to say. 

“Okay, okay, well, let’s try and look for your family,” the kryptonian suggested, his voice as gentle as possible. 

“God, I don’t even know where they’d go,” Tim shook his head. His foot tapped the ground excessively. 

“Wayne manor?” Kon suggests simply. 

“No, no they wouldn’t do that. That’s too...obvious. Wayne manor is one of the only things left untouched, that’d be such an easy target,” Tim shook his head. They knew better than that. He knew they knew better than that. Hiding out at Wayne manor is practically hiding in plain sight. They’d be sitting ducks. 

“Well, Wonder Boy? Got any better ideas?” 

“The city, Kon. Maybe a wrecked building-”

“Tim, really? I love you to death but really? Look around you. Do you see any life?” Kon pleaded. 

“Well, no ones going to shout out where they are in a place like this-”

“No, I mean, does this look sustainable to you? There is no shelter. There isn’t anything. Nowhere to hide, no where to sleep or even to really walk. Even if you took cover in a collapsed building there’s a good chance it’ll fall on you. Nothings stable, Tim. I guarantee there isn’t even a healthy amount of toxicity here,” 

The Robin looked around. He squinted his eyes at the afternoon sun. Winter snow coated his hair with little white circles, particles that absorbed so much sound it all felt like some sort of void. 

“So,” he started, Turing back to Kon. His nose was bright red as well as his cheeks and the tips of his ears (which maybe then  the cowl would prove useful). He felt like crying all over again but with his eyes covered by his domino and his irises barely visible, he managed to push past it, “Wayne manor it is?” 

                            ***

There was a slow knock at the door. Actually, a few to be precise. 

one, 

two, 

three, 

 Tim threw his arms in the air. He looked back at Kon with more of an I told you so type look, then shook his head and huffed. “We’re wasting time. Let’s just go back to the city,” he insisted. 

“Now wait just one more second, Rob, I think I hear someone,” Kon countered, his voice hushed. He had his arm reached over across Tim in a way to block him from getting closer to the door, just in case it was anything dangerous. 

Light footsteps appeared to creep up to the door, but only the sound of the turning knob caught the Robin’s attention. 

The door seemed to be dragged on their agony as it shook and turned. Though, when it finally opened, Tim’s eyes widened. 

“Tim?” 

Chapter Text

“Tim?” 

“Oh thank god,” 

Kon had never seen his Robin so relived. He looked like, well, kind of the way he did that night he realized Kon was actually alive. Struck. Amazed. Absolutely speechless. 

The kryptonian took a step back. He decided to give the two their moment, and they did. Bunches of raven hair getting lost in the maze of memory and reunification. They held each other so tight one might think they had been separated at birth. 

Tim held on tight. He thought, maybe if he let go he’d lose everyone all over again. He couldn’t keep doing that. He wouldn’t keep doing that. There was no way in hell. “I...” it’d been so hard lately keeping in sobs, he couldn’t help it. He wiped a stray tear from his left eye. “I thought you died. I didn’t know where you where or what happened to you. I saw Steph and Dick and I just...I don’t know...” He wanted to apologize though, what was there to apologize for? In trolling times like this, he wished there was. In fact, it was arguably human nature to want someone to blame. Loading all the guilt and fault on to himself always had been so much easier...so much better and much more simple for the rest of them. 

“Oh, little brother,” the girl whispered in his ear, her strong palms rubbing his back soothingly. She was just about his height, maybe shorter. Yet, they carried very obviously different builds with him being a lot more scrawny and her carrying much more lean muscle. His older sister, his protector. 

Cass wasn’t dead. She was here. In the flesh. Alive, and in suitable shape when it came to the apocalypse. Her eyebrow appeared to be stitched up, cheek sliced and knee wearing some sort of compressed bandage. Other than that, she didn’t seem to be taking care of herself. Cass looked like what Tim would most likely look like if he didn’t have Kon there with him—which maybe it was exactly that. Cass lost her stability. She lost her best friend and closest ally. Steph had been her complete everything, and yet she died so simply. One could only hope it was quick enough to be painless. Cass was never one to give up, so she was surely persistent enough to hold on, right?

“Where have you been?” Cass questioned. Though, this time, it was targeted at Kon, who still stood on the porch a little off to the side. He seemed to be keeping a close watch of the area around them. 

This took the kryptonian a moment to process. How had they gotten here? With Tim in Cass’s arms, standing right outside one of the only buildings in Gotham left untouched by chaos. God bless the rich, right? Anyway, he hadn’t looked at Cass this way in a longtime. Not since that one time, the first time he had met her. That day they had both been so vulnerable. She had asked him to talk (about anything, really) whilst water flooded their bodies to the idea of their own untimely deaths. He did, too, and with that Cass had saved them. She was just tough like that. So maybe now it was his turn to be the savior. “Smallville. The Kent farm,” he explained finally. His voice was slow, still taking in every hint of the situation. “I did intend on keeping him longer, but of course you bats are always so stubborn,” said Kon. He gave her a sad smile, trying his best really to lighten the mood. A failed attempt. 

The girl gave a nod, then she mouthed a quick thank you, and began leading her brother into the manor.

Alas, Tim felt at home. Not just because of the manor, but even the fact that the atmosphere was tense and hectic. Of course, it still felt off. For instance, he wasn’t greeted by Alfred. And, he hadn’t been harassed by Damian or even Jason (on a rare occasion) yet. 

“Cass?’’ Tim started. He gave another quick glance around. It was eerie this way, no noise, no commotion, no yelling or shouting or even the  sound of weapons clashing or practice spars. Where was Dick swinging off the stair rails, or Duke calling for him to come watch a movie? Where was Steph starting playful arguments with Bruce and him insisting she couldn’t live there? Where were Jason and Damian yelling at everyone to hush up from the study, reading, only to let Alfred in with tea and Barbra for her research? “Where is everyone? Are we the only ones here?” Tim asked, his voice flooded with panic. 

Cass turned. She waited a moment to ponder and look over at Tim, then at Kon—almost as if she were asking for permission to break his heart. “Damian left, in search of Bruce… Alfred followed,”

“Barbara?” Tim squeaked.

“Cave. Mourning Dick,”

“Jason?” 

Cass sighed. She took a seat on the stairs. She looked all beat up. Almost in the way like she had when they would go overtime on patrol. Tired. The batgirl shook her head and shrugged, “don’t know,”

“Duke?” Now he just appeared desperate, his voice giving a squeak. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Kon rubbed his neck and brushed through his hair. 

Unfortunately, her response was the same: “don’t know.” 

He had known it was bad. That it was going to be worse, but who knew having Cass greet him at the door would make him think Dick would pop out behind her and give him a big, annoying, big brother hug? Or, maybe that Steph would send him some stupid meme or ask for opinions on an outfit to impress Cass? He wanted that. He wanted all of that. His mind thought of the lazarus pit. That cruel, beautiful, pool filled with thick green waters. I awoke some sort of demon in your mind, made you feral and unresponsive. Maybe Ra’s could make an acceptation for him. Maybe he could give him something in exchange-

“Tim?” 

His hand felt a bit of a squeeze. 

Conner

He didn’t squeeze back, just simply pulled his hand away from grip. 

Maybe it was insensitive, maybe it was harsh or rude…but also maybe he didn’t care? His life actually was starting to feel like a verbatim. Like, he was just doing the same things again and again. Tim and Kon were playing a game of Ring Around the Rosie—only Kon wasn’t exactly playing. at this point it tended to be more of a mix of “I love him” and “I love him not”.

Maybe that’s why he wished he himself,  had been dipped in the Lazarus pit—the pit of excused anger. The pit of pain and unresponsiveness. The pit of loneliness.

“Tim?” His name was called again, who it was didn’t quite matter. None of it did. 

“I’m going to go get some fresh air,” he finally landed on the right words. Perfect. Only, now he was on that “how long is too long to feel awkward coming back in or staying out? Isn’t anxiety just grand? Keeping him there on his toes and continuously planning. Or, maybe that was the trauma talking. The everlasting PTSD that has started to creep up on him during the day, not just at night. 

The air was rotten. not like the smell of mold and left over dew the day after a rainstorm, or even the smell of decay. No, it was more like if disgust and discomfort had a smell. Like smoke (the smell of blowing out a candle, not cigarettes, the kind that made your stomach hurt but some how flooded the room’s oxygen supply) and maybe a hint of everything there is dead. The coppered smell of blood. He had no future now. Not in the way Steph or Dick didn’t, but more in the sense that maybe this was a good excuse to pick up alcoholism at the ripe old age of nineteen. After all, it wouldn’t be so hard, the manor was stocked with decades and centuries old wine to never run out of. Even if he just so managed, it was only a short walk to Janet’s champagne bar and Jack’s scotch cooler. 

He sat upon the brick steps of the manor, nothing new here. Pink fingers wiped away the frosted snow and felt along the cement in between. If he ran his fingers along it fast enough, they’d far past raw and form blisters. It would be numbing. Like some sort of distraction. Like some sort of addictive medication.  

He didn’t do that, though. He couldn’t do it. 

He’d just sit for a while. sit and ponder on what all went wrong and why he still managed to be so fatigue. Everyone else did, too. Kon appeared to be babying him, and even Cass seemed beat. 

It seemed almost no one was on his side, and for that he doubted anyone would allow him to go out, all except one. 

                              ***

No longer than thirty minutes later, Kon came out to check on Tim. He walked out expecting another cry, but that he did not receive. Tim walked in out from the cold willingly—his ashy hair frosted with snowflakes and his eyes dull and sunken; just not red—and allowed his sister to fetch him hot coffee, a relief. 

Through the rest of the day they talked, ate, and sometimes managed to laugh. 

They sat around with glasses of expensive red wines till Cass headed to bed, a teary look in her eyes. She always was a night owl, after all they all were, but he could easily decode her brain weeped of her blonde lover, nowhere in sight to wish her a goodnight. 

“Do you want me to walk you up?” Tim had proposed. Yet, he gained only a slight head shake and a kiss on the forehead as she left. 

“Love you,” she whispered as she headed off. 

“Are you tired?” Kon asked from the opposite corner of the room. He sat in the chair in the left corner, whilst Tim sat crouched on the right side of the opposing couch. 

He thought for a second, swishing the red liquid in his glass. He did of course, feel a bit of strain in his eye. Sleep weighed far to heavily these past few days, as if taking a few small breaths with his eyes open could send him into a spiraling coma. So, even through his apparent yawn, he managed a small, “nope.”

“Yeah okay, Rob,” Kon smiled then. Why was he always smiling? How could he still possibly be smiling and, how come the fact that he was made Tim want to slap him? 

The meta placed his own glace on the table beside him, close to untouched. It didn’t ever seem to effect him much, after all he only really could get drunk when he was weak. So, one would think now was one of those times, yet he’d only ever taken one sip. 

Tim narrowed his eyes, turning his head slightly. He stared so deeply into the wine glass that he hadn’t even noticed his boyfriend had moved in front of him. 

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he whispered gently, scooping his lover up just enough to stand on his own. 

“You never even touched your wine,” Tim stated, not even in a whiny way, but more so with curiosity of sorts. His voice held no emotion. Just a simple state. Blunt. Too far gone to come back. Ghostly. Kon wanted so desperately to shake him back to life. In fact, every time he kissed him he hoped it would. 

“Yeah, sorry, I just didn’t think it was the smartest decision,” the kryptonian shrugged it off, grabbing the nearly empty glass from Tim’s hand—to which he tore away and gulped the last bit before handing it over. It was placed neatly on the coffee table. Kon smiled. In the light it became quickly apparent the whole idea of getting flustered from alcohol was far from a myth. The pale boy in front of him was now so easily pinker, even in the yellowed light. “Alright. You’ve had your theater,” he teased, looping an arm around his waist, “bed?”

Tim pondered for a moment. He made a few dramatic faces to show for as well, before finally landing on his decision. “Bed.” 

“As you wish, my prince~” the meta nodded, kissing his palm gently. From there, they waltzed their way out of the room, Kon managing to be more graceful than his other. He bumped into walls and took cautious steps, truly anything that may trip him. Yet, each and every time, Kon held him up like some sort of fine China; So delicately gorgeous. He was pretty, sure, but that didn’t excuse the fact that Tim managed to stumble over every groove and crack the tile held. 

No wonder they only made it halfway up the stairs before he pulled his lover to a slow stop. “Kon,” he started in a small voice of complaint. His right hand managed an insistent grip on his shirt. “I can’t walk up any more stairs,” whined the Robin. 

Kon sighed, stopping with him in that moment. Maybe that’s what they needed, too, because he’d never seen anyone ever so ethereal in the moonlight. It was messed up, sure, just the fact that gotham was outside burning in the cold, and here they were, close enough for comfort with one wasted on, and the other having wasted priceless wine. The fire place on the main floor flooded with burning cinders. Even if it was, even if this was the most inhumane idea there was, he almost sort of wished to have Tim all to himself. To run away back to Kansas. Because, suffocating him with safety was the only thing that ever really seemed to help him sleep nowadays. 

“Am I pretty?” Tim asked below him, eyes scanning the stairs. His feet shuffled below him, and his hands held tightly on to his lover’s chest, just to remain sturdy. 

What? Kon wanted to ask him. Because, for one, did he not think he was pretty? And two, why on earth was he asking that? Was he that delusional? Instead, he simply shook his head and smiled, “darling, you are gorgeous.”

Tim pondered for a moment. He bit his cheek in thought before looking up at Kon. “Can you just- just kiss me?” He asked, eyes looking desperate. 

It scared him hevily, fearing maybe Tim had really lost it. “Yeah, you need sleep,” Kon teased, bowing his head down to kiss him. In response he felt skeleton arms around his neck and a bit more pressure on him that indicated a sort of lean. 

“Am I really going to have to carry you up the rest of these stairs?” He asked Tim lovingly. 

“No, I can do it on my own,” the robin insisted, a bit of stubbornness rising in his chest. He would, however need to be carried, because as soon as he attempted a single stair he managed to tumble back into Kon. 

“Wanna rethink that one, Rob?” 

Tim gave a playful glanced and a dramatic sigh before lifting up his arms and allowing himself to be carried to bed. 

**********

The clock stuck three when Tim decided to finally get up. He had a plan of sorts lingering in his brain, one he couldn’t quite surpass. 

For it to work of course, he could only hope Barbara was still shunning herself in the cave and that’d shed be interested in playing along.

The first part was easy, really, getting past Kon. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had stuck out—but it had been the first time sneaking past a Kryptonian. Eventually, he managed to slip out of his strong arms and off the bed, all without waking him. From there, a bit of doubt shaded his mind. He hadn’t realized the type of warmth Kon radiated till now, leaving him freezing cold. It also didn’t help much that the curtains were pushed open and the windows belonged to a museum. 

Again, he turned to his partner, sleeping so soundly in the ocean of sheets and pillows. His face was always so soft when he slept, just one small part that he had picked up on when sharing a room (with the addition of Bart of course.) “For someone with super hearing, you’re quite a  heavy sleeper” Tim wanted to tell him, but he felt fine with the level of self-sabotage he was at already for one night. Instead, he slipped on his shirt and crawled out of the room. 

The door shut rather loudly, giving an atrocious creak. “Stupid old house,” he hissed. Luckily, no one walked the halls to see him, or hear him. So, there he stood. Right in the middle of the hallway on the second floor of Wayne manor. Right outside his own bedroom door with his boyfriend sleeping inside, hopefully unaware of any sort of trouble Tim sought to get himself into. A beautifully executed success. 

From there, he managed his way downstairs, dragging his fingers along the rail. Living in the manor for as long as he had came with benefits. For example, Tim could pinpoint which exact floorboards would creak and therefore which ones to not put too much pressure on. On the main floor he was home-free, safe from anyone walking out of their rooms to find him out. 

He walked down the hall to the study, the grand old place itself. He could only imagine what Thomas Wayne woulds say if he saw the manor now, he would surely be proud of Bruce, right? And, if he were here now he’d surely find an ingenious way to call his Brucie back home. 

Tim entered through the french doors and stood at the grandfather clock. 

“Ah, where are you, Bruce?” He asked the study, searching the walls, desks and books for answers. He wondered what exactly he would do. The Batman. Gotham’s dark knight. He would clean it all up, that’s what he’d do. After all, Bruce was a fixer. A fixer and a knower. Worlds greatest detective after all. Now it would be left to so called worlds second. 

“Barbara?” His voice echoed in the cave, the place where everything was ten times colder and louder. 

He found no response, but he could make out the glow of the batcomputer. It didn’t flash, just remained lit up, so one could only assume she was stumped.

“Barbara?” He called once more, this time a bit louder. 

Yet again, he gained no response. His feet toppled over step by step, soles exploring cracks he never could really find. He could only hope he came across no glass or sharp rocks. 

Somehow he didn’t see her right away. She sat at the computer, back slumped over the desk in a position of which he couldn’t tell if she was sleeping. 

“Barbara?” Asked Tim just once more before she snapped up and whipped around in her wheelchair. 

“Tim?” She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Slowly, she mouthed a soft “oh my god..” and ushered him over for a hug. 

The hug was gentle, though in heart it was strong and secure. She felt significantly weaker now with which he wondered the last time she had eaten. 

“Are..are you okay? What happened out there?” She questioned then, holding his face still to search for any bruising. 

“I’m okay, I promise, I’ve been with Kon,” he assured. It was troublesome really, the two of them. They always were the brains of the operation, but Dick always brought the enthusiasm and leadership—even if it was in form of letting Tim guide and being some sort of a mentor. 

For whatever reason, they didn’t mention him. Not once. It hurt too much. Plus, they both knew he was dead so, why the reminder? 

“No one knows I’m doing this, but I’m leaving for my regular patrol route. I need to see what’s going on out there and I have to help. You know, we can’t just be sitting ducks in here,” the boy insisted. He gave her a hopeful look, one she couldn’t say no to even if she so wanted. 

From there, it was the thought: what would Dick do? That lingered in her brain. He would say no of course. He certainly would not let Tim leave, but he would instead sneak out himself with the same idea and selfless morals. Now, given the fact that Tim had grown up admiring and imitating Dick Grayson, the best she could do was to be his oracle. 

“I’m assuming I can’t convince you otherwise?” Asked Barbara finally. 

Tim shook his head, just as expected. “I’m afraid not.”

“Okay,” Barbara paused. She turned over in the desk and grabbed a small Bluetooth communication chip, “then you’re going to need this, Red Robin.”

Chapter Text

“What’s it looking like out there, Red Robin?” The feminine voice called over the communicator. His ear buzzed. 

“Its uh. Well, its horrid, Oracle. Horrid,” shot back the robin, his voice leaking exasperation. He took a glance around. The city was destroyed. Obliterated into nothing but ash and mostly the skeletons of buildings that once were. “It looks like a bomb went off,” 

“Well I mean, a bomb did go off. Several,” the voice of Oracle corrected him. 

“What? Bombs are what caused the fires?” 

“Tim…do you not remember that? We were right at the front lines..”

Tim pondered a moment. All around him was death. Destruction. The remnants of what once was. He remembered the fire. The burns and the after effects. He remembered just wanting to step right into it all because Gotham was always dirty, and the fire was all that was clean…that, is what he remembered. No bombs. “Right! Yeah, sorry I think I’ve just been drawing some blanks lately. Not really in the headspace,” he assured anyway. Once a liar, always a liar. 

“Right,” Barbara responded bluntly. No way she bought it, but she also decided promised herself she wouldn’t pull him out instantly. He wasn’t a little robin anymore, she knew Tim had to see their city just the way it was. “Are there any civilians in sight?” 

He glanced around. at first it didn’t seem so. “No,” Red Robin called over the comm, his voice in obvious distress and low spirit. The area was just so dead and quiet. Almost numbing. The buildings were fragile, as if it might just collapse if he landed a bit too hard. Honestly, with the buildings so high and the ground so low and scattered he couldn’t see much. Nothing but pure white snow—along with dirt, ash and…fresh blood? “Actually,” Tim started. He squinted down below, “Oracle, I see blood. A fresh trail,” 

“What? Tim, how can you tell it’s fresh? Its snow. It’s probably old. You said the whole place was quiet and empty,” Barbara repeated back to him. In all honesty, she didn’t expect him to leave the buildings, let alone find something. She feared he wasn’t truly in the right mindset to face whatever lays down there.

“I’m going down,” the boy reported

“No!” 

Tim halted. His heart bursted in the stern opposition and he froze. “What? Why no? Oracle, someone could be hurt,” he shook his head. Maybe it was better to take the comm out, that way he wouldn’t second guess himself. 

“You think I don’t know that?” The ginger let out a frustrated sigh. Never had Tim heart her so distressed on patrols. “Look, I know you should go down there, but we don’t know what’s all there. Yes, that person could still be alive but we need to start considering how costly our actions are, Tim,” 

“I’m going down there, Oracle ,” 

“At least let me get Kon over there to check it out with you,” 

“No. You know he doesn’t need to know about this. Barbara, you promised,” 

He was right. She had promised, and yet getting Kon involved would be messy for the both of them. Although, she didn’t think he’d find anything. Gotham’s outline was the safest, calmest and yet the least lived in. Frankly, she didn’t even think many people lived there now, all her knowledge expanded around was the need to keep Tim away from the center of the city. 

Yet, here he was, climbing down Gotham’s skyline to the crimson filled snow below. Unaware of who or what could be down there. 

His boots hit the snow with a soft crunch, and everything around him was so dull. He remembered theses apartments, just a few of the ones he’d sit up on late nights, toying this his camera and trying to capture the best shot of the Batman he could. In the snow, the area had always been reluctantly quiet, as if the frozen molecules absorbed more sound over here than usual. 

Two winters ago he immersed himself in the silence. He had held a bottle of horribly bitter scotch in one hand and didn’t dare wipe his tears away with the other. He’d cried over a boy, then. Something so simply stupid that be honest to god wished he could go back to. It was that night, too, when Jason had found him. He had stood over him, his face completely unreadable till he took off the hood and then all Tim could see was something even more indecipherable than before. Could it be worry? 

“You look like shit,” his brother had said roughly, though in no way mockingly. 

Tim glanced up, then right back down. “I feel like shit,” he shot back almost instantly, and concluded his thoughts of misery with another swing of his bottle. 

“Hey, hey. None of that,” Jason groaned, grabbing the bottle from his corpse-like grip. 

“Give it back, Jason,” the smaller boy wined, reaching out for the glass bottle. 

“What? What’d you do, spend your lunch money on it?” 

Tim thought for a moment. He looked the bottle. It hadn’t been belonged to him. It was Jack Drake’s whom he never even planned to return it to in the first place. So, he shook his head, “well, no,” he shrugged. 

“Fantastic, so you won’t mind me doing this,” Jason smiled and dropped the bottle. The glass shattered into large shards on the roof, the caramel colored liquid spilling out along the cracks. 

“Shit, Jason!” The Robin fumed. He shot to his feet and mourned the bottle with a disappointed look. 

“Alright, now that you’re up, wanna go blow some steam? There’s a robbery on the west side that I’m pretty sure we could catch if we go now,” his brother offered, holding the hood tightly against his hip with one arm. 

Tim stared at him a moment, then the broken bottle. Was it any use really? He didn’t exactly want to stay around and pout all night, and if forgetting about it with Jason’s idea of a distraction was any help, who was he to not accept? So he nodded and adjusted his domino mask “alright, but I’m not talking to you about my feelings. Dick already tried that one,” 

Jason gave a light smile. “Whatever you say, kid,”

 And they did just that. Tim even spat out a few of his problems in a moment of contradictory, one he never did regret. Blowing off so called “steam” with Jason had been his highlight for a while. It was terrifying, yet sort of exhilarating? Sure, he had his heart crushed worse than that bottle of scotch and was angry at the world, yet it couldn’t have gone better. 

The winter after that he took the risk of losing the person he loved the most and kissed his best friend. Kon had been surprised, sure, but finally they were on the same wavelength. 

Now, he was there following a blood trail in a busted city with no sign of life. He guessed time really did change everything. 

“Red Robin, report,” the voice in his ear rang yet again. Who knew how many times she called out to him. 

“I’m on the ground, Oracle. Don’t see much,” Tim kept his voice steady. He looked around, taking a few good steps in front of him. There was surely a good trail of blood. As he walked on it did contain gaps between the blotches, as if the individual it belonged to was trying to stop the bleeding. 

The blood led to one of the buildings, specifically the one with the front glass all shattered and half the roof all caved in.

 “Hello?” Tim whispered into the dark building. Nothing but ash, broken plywood, and the acute piles of snow that the lack of roof brought in. 

He didn’t hear anything too clear, just small drips and resting. The amount of chemicals in the air was uncanny. It’d made a mockery of his lungs if his cape wasn’t a fitting filter. 

“Hello?” He called out a second time, only now his voice appeared more hoarse, “is anyone in here? I’m here to help.”

“Anything?” Oracle buzzed. 

The robin shook his head. “No, nothing,”

“Okay, well we have been at it a while, what do you say we call it a night? Cass has been waking up earlier to train anyway,” 

Tim sighed, “yeah, you’re right. I guess I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up, ri-”

Someone behind him coughed. Faintly. 

The Red Robin whipped around, walking further into the apartment lobby to a pile of wood and stone. “Hello?” He asked the pile. It stood still a moment, but just for one. In the next there was a long and skinny finger poking through the hole, another small cough coming with it. 

He knew he had to act fast, then, pulling off each and every piece of wood just gently enough to know it wouldn’t hurt them. After all, he didn’t know the size of the person or how injured they were. “Shit. Oracle, I’ve found someone!” He reported.

Barbara mentally cursed to herself. She didn’t intend for him to even walk the streets the first night, let alone find a whole person. Still, she went along, “what condition are they in?” She asked, her voice calm as she pulled up a blank document. 

Tim dug some more, finally find the person under all the wreck. A girl. About his age or maybe a little older. She looked like...

The girl gripped his arm with her bloody palm, trying her best to stand. A failed attempt. Instead, he lifted her up, light as a feather to a more blank part of the building and set her down. 

In the moonlight he could see her better, the way her blue eyes screamed and her blonde hair…

“Steph?” He wanted to ask, yet halted. This wasn’t her, he was only seeing what he wanted. Her face was rounder, eyebrows narrow and hair shorter. Instead, he helped prop her head up and asked “are you alright? Can you speak?”

The girl shook her head. Her breathing sounded more like pathetic wheezing, and that’s when he noticed it. Blood, spilling out from her neck. The light draining from her eyes. 

“Her condition…” Tim started, his eyes dull and saddened. She’d already lost so much blood. He couldn’t do much more than sit with her. She knew this, too judging by the look on her face.

She looked up at him, long past the need for tears. She appeared scared before, yet now a little more ease? 

Honestly, it scared him, how she could be so calm while her sliced jugular spit out tremendous amounts of blood. 

“Im so sorry…” Tim whispered to her, gently combing away at her hair. Gusts of wind blew in. He only held her closer. 

She touched his hand, giving it a soft squeeze, a small “thank you” without using the actual words. 

“Red Robin?” The comm called. 

Tim stared upward, up at the dismantled roof. The stars shined through, like little specks of beautifully shimmering dust in the ever-lonesome sky. “Look,” he directed her. Maybe the stars could bring her peace, the snow silence, and him comfort. 

Steph the blonde looked up with him. Her lips moved in a way that indicted they were searching for the ability to smile. Her eyes still open. 

“Red Robin, report,” the voice rang yet again, and to that he switched the small device off. Bittersweet silence. 

Silence. 

That was all there was. 

No more husky breath. 

No more gentle cries.

Simply, dreadful silence. 

He cried then, right when when he shut her eyes gently with two of his fingers. 

Something about it all made him want to hold her tighter, to squeeze her. 

“Goodbye,” he sobbed weakly. At least it was like closure. At least he had been there, to comfort her. He told himself he couldn’t have done more, because truly, he couldn’t have. 

****

He gave her a proper burial at the pier. 

Lowered her body gently into the freezing waters. She was beautiful, truly. Just as Steph had been. 

He cried three more times, sobs turning into screams, hands to fists and hiccups to the overall lack of breath. A panic attack. 

It felt great to be dramatic. Kicking stone and punching wood to bloody knuckles. 

He found dead roses to toss in around her, but he used only the petals. Thorns nicked his palms, drew blood, and in an act to touch his face, cut his cheek. 

From there, he watched the blonde girl float out to sea, never to be seen again. 

****

It was only edging on to the fifth hour when the Redbird came growling entrance of the cave, its glorious red paint reflecting all the dim light, and tracked water in from the snow. A good hour or so after the comms had been turned off. 

The motorcycle halted, wheels squeaking and bouncing up once the rider left his seat.

“What the hell, Tim?” Barbara shot almost instantly.

He watched her roll over to him from the computer. 

Cass wasn’t at her usual corner. Kon wasn’t marching after him with a betrayed look. Thank god

Of course, Barbara wasn’t much of an upgrade. Her wheels rolled faster to him now. She glared daggers, ones that still managed to be less frightening than the look he imagined for Kon’s face. 

“Look, Babs,” Tim started tiredly. 

“You turned the comm off,” the ginger pulled at her own hair.

“I know, its just-”

Barbara breathed. She could hear Dick’s whispering voice telling her to calm down, to go easy on him. “Tim, I get it, okay? I know you want to help, I know you want to clean up this city…” she toyed with the small promise ring on her finger, “its just not safe for you to do that. Especially on your first night back out,”

Tim felt like tearing up. His eyes watered slightly and he brushed his hair back. “The girl I found, the one tracking all the blood, she died.” 

The Oracle sighed. He had just wanted to sit with her, hadn’t he?

He took a seat on the stone-cold ground. “She uh, had a slit throat. She had just lost so much blood and the cut was so deep I just…” 

She pulled him into a gentle embrace. It wasn’t fair what all the poor kid had gone through. 

Tim stayed still, just leaned in slightly. He didn’t cry, no not this time. Though, he may have if he had told the real reason he stayed with the girl. 

***

Once he finally slumped back into his own room he felt gross. Not exactly for the blood, dirt and ash that covered his body, but more so in the way of longing to violently scrub away at the memory of that dying girl. He’d seen plenty people die before—of course he had—just, this time it was all somehow…different? For one, she had carried an an alarming resemblance to Steph. Maybe that’s why he had been so gentle with her? Maybe that’s why he screamed and wailed as loud as he did. Secondly, she was all alone. She would have died all alone, too if it wasn’t for him. Maybe that was the next problem: what could he have done to save her? Logically, Tim assured himself there was in fact nothing he could do, because that was the truth. Though, thee small part of him relying on his heart said he could have done more, like maybe if he didn’t decide to take a moment to smell the fucking roses she could have still been alive. 

His mind was to loud, and he was trying to be quiet. It was like, trying to walk silently through a house full of creaky floorboards, it simply wasn’t possible. 

In the shower he sobbed. Bit his hand to scream and cry into, so that if his dear lover woke up he’d only hear running water. 

He also scrubbed. 

And scrubbed

And scrubbed 

And scrubbed

And puked,

And then scrubbed some more. 

So much so that once he finally got out, his skin was bright pink, and his arm had little tooth marks one could easily mistake as scars. 

Upon stepping back out, he noticed the room to be so very quiet. Nothing other than the buzz of a fan was heard, and nothing felt but soft gusts of cold air that flowed out of it. 

He watched the boy on the bed, the way his arms clung to the blankets, the blankets that swallowed him whole till just below the collarbone. He was sleeping. One hundred percent dead asleep, after all he was never a good liar. 

Tim considered for a moment to lay back down with him, to curl up under the muted cobalt right beside the boy who was forever warm. Maybe that was just the problem—the warmth. He felt like, some part of him didn’t deserve that. In the back of his mind he still saw that face, the one of the blonde girl. She had looked so terrified. So scared of the unknown as she stared up at both him and the stars. Something about her was peaceful, that part brought him peace. Still, the connected study called his name instead. 

He had no work to do. After all, what much was there to do at the end of the world? 

In the study, there was but a book on the desk—Hamlet. He couldn’t remember the last time reading it, just that Jason had insisted he do. 

It had turned more into a lector than a book talk, with Jason holding the book in one hand, and drastically moving the other to the  shakespearian quotes. 

Cass had sat criss-crossed on the center of the desk that day, Tim in the seat. Only one of them looked amused. 

“Why would Hamlet want to be buried with Ophelia?” Tim would ask. To him, it sounded stupid, overdramatic and flat out gross. “I mean, why would you want to be buried with someone in the first place? Thats disgusting,” he continued on bluntly. 

The color in Jason’s face turned to more of an irritated shade of red, almost as if he was sick of such questioning (which he was). 

“Because, he loved her, Tim. He claimed to be the one to love her more, more than her own brother. So yes, while it’s not the common act of giving fucking roses, it was to pronounce his immense love for her,” the taller brother shot back. 

“No,” the younger one shrugged. 

“No? The hell do you mean no? You can’t argue with a classic-”

Tim finished the rest of hamlet that night. Well, almost. He’d only gotten halfway through act four when he had fallen asleep, slumped over on to the hard oak table, with the paper of the book creased under his cheek. He dreamt of his family instead of the dying girl. 

***

Waking up in Gotham was treacherous. The sun was nowhere to be seen behind the sun-proofed curtains, and the atmosphere was the most unwelcome he’d ever felt. 

“Babe,” Kon groaned, “I’m gonna open the curtains for some sun,” he announced. After about a minute and no response in sight, the kryptonian simply got up and walked to the window. With a weakened feeling, he pulled open the thick curtains…only to see no sun. Perfect. Of course, there was light, but just not in the way Smallville did. “Gotta love New Jersey winters,” he muttered to himself grumpily, then turned around only to find the bed empty. “Tim?”

***

He proudly found his robin after about fifteen minutes of looking. Finding a bat was like a game of  I Spy—and he was horrible at I Spy.

‘Tim?” Kon whispered as he entered the study, making sure to approach the boy with small movements. Upon reaching him, he gently placed a hand on his shoulder. 

Tim shot up in a second, gasping with a terrified look on his face. 

“Its okay, you’re safe,” the clone reassured calmly. He rubbed circles on his back and waited till he got a nod. 

Once he did, he smiled. 

“Sorry,” Tim whispered. He grabbed Kon’s hand gently and looked up at him, “how did you sleep?”

“I slept well,” Kon shrugged, just a bit of a white lie—but, who really cared if he wanted to mildly sugarcoat the end of the world? He was about to question Tim at the same, till he noticed the long cut on his cheek, one that surly hadn’t been there before. “What happened to your cheek?”

The sitting boy felt his own face, the cut already all scabbed up. “Hm, must have scratched myself on the book?” He offered. 

“Yeah. Maybe,” the meta nodded.  It would have been believable, too, that was if he hadn’t been sleeping on the opposite cheek. For now, he simply wouldn’t look too much into it. 

Chapter Text

   The next few nights seemed to be a copy of the first. The days reoccurring. Each morning, Kon woke up groggy, no sun—even if Tim had pulled the curtains open for him. So, every day he woke up more tired than he was the night before, weak and irritated. Along with this, he never found Tim next to him, not once. He always found his lover in a different spot than the last—the armchair in the corner, the study, and even once asleep on the ground of the shower, water still running. With this, came constant questioning, to which Tim constantly covered up with stories of insomnia and nightmares. Things he had always woken Kon up with in the past, no matter how big or small it happened to be. 

   So, it was safe to assume Kon’s morning routine quickly became this: wake up (to still no sun), open curtains (if not opened already), and search every place possible for his boyfriend (a literal witch hunt).

   One morning—unlike all the rest—Kon had found Tim sitting at the edge of the bed, just in a daze. 

   “Tim?” Kon had asked, sitting up in a mesh of tiredness. It was getting rather hard keeping a patient and calm attitude these days. 

   “What time is it?” The boy questioned. His voice sounded dull and lulled. 

   Kon glanced at the clock, then back at his boyfriend. “Seven-thirty,” he reported back. Only, this time he only got but a small “oh” in response. That was enough to pull him back to bed for the next few hours. 

   They woke back up around nine. 

   Nothing but foggy sun and ultimately, groggy eyes. 

   “Good morning,” Kon murmured in the Robin’s ear. He was surprised, honestly, that he was still here. He had half expected to wake up alone yet again. Yet, here he was. 

   Tim shifted. He nodded into the rough voice and looked up to see eyes bluer than his own. “Morning,” he responded, though more so in a whisper tone. 

   His lover smiled, caressing the faded cut on his cheek. It had been just a little below a week ago when he noticed it, the damned thing. It wasn’t deep or concerning, but rather mocking him by the means of not knowing what was actually going on. 

   “Y’know, you’ve been awfully distant lately,” Kon spoke softly. He ran his tough fingers through soft hair, hair he knew smelt of cedarwood and Roman chamomile. 

   “Yes…as have you,” Tim chuckled and leaned into the touch. 

   They both dreaded all that was yet to come, just one a bit more than the other. The pair knew what it meant. To be distant. To be distant was to be shallow, and to be shallow was to fight. To fight was to hurt, and to hurt was to not love. Its pretty much all irreversible from there. 

   The kryptonian frowned. “Has something happened to us?”

   His Robin spurted up in almost an instant. “No,” he rejected firmly, eyes eventually softening. His hands cradled his boyfriend’s jaw. “No,” he spoke softer this time around, almost in a way of defeat—like he refused to believe what Kon had said was true. Though, if he truly had though this, he didn’t exactly show it. 

   Kon sighed, he tugged the boy on to his lap. There, he simply stared into his blue-grey eyes—after all there wasn’t much else to do. He’s watch them get colder and colder for him by the day. What wasn’t he saying?

   “We’ve just, well I guess it's safe to say we’ve been through a lot. Of course we had been before, it's just that it's never been like this, has it?” He was toying with a bit of hair now, just around the end of his locks. Long nails scraped his skin which always seemed to cause lust-induced shivers. Really? Now? 

   “S’pose so,”

   “So, then, it’s okay if we’re not our usual selves, as long as we always come back together?”

   Kon thought for a moment. It hurt either way, really. Tim stared at him like a stranger now, and well, he probably has been doing the same thing. He was pretty sure he held the same pained, bored and stiffened face. The kind that broke hearts and grew throat lumps. This wasn’t the end he expected. He pictured fighting—Whether it was by the means of shouting at one another, or screaming for the other to please not let go of the light of day. So, nothing as graceful as this seemed. 

   Thankfully this wasn’t the end.

   Not quite yet. 

   “Of course,” he answered instead, nothing like the begging his mind had been doing. 

   Tim smiled. “I love you, Clone boy,” he used the nickname in sort of a mocking tone. Seeing that girl along side his splattered family every time he closed his eyes was excruciating, yes, but staying away from familiarities like Kon somehow always hurt worse. 

   Maybe it was the sudden feeling of weightlessness, or the lack of sun really getting to him, but Kon made no protest to give in. Instead he simply complied and said: “I love you too, mystery boy,” and kissed him gently. He made a mental note of crackled lips. 

***

   “You’re sure about this one, wonder boy?”

   It was midday maybe, right in time for lunch after, or in Tim’s case for the past week or so—a protein shake. He couldn’t quite stomach anything else. If anyone had noticed the sudden fast, they hadn’t mentioned anything.

   “Of course,” He nodded, so sure of himself. “Why do you keep asking that?” 

   Kon paused a moment. he held beige cloth bandages in his hand, it connected off the roll in his palm to just about the midpoint of his boyfriend’s white, calloused knuckles. “Tim. Darling. Look at your yourself,” he shook his head, returning back to the wrapping. He knew not to scold, but unlike many times before, there didn’t seem to be too many other options. He would instead manage to do so in a sort of empty way, “its just…well, I mean your eyes, Tim, it’s your eyes.”

   'My eyes’ Tim thought lovingly. it was such a simple explanation, yet meant so much? Because, yes, it was his eyes—just not in the way one would think. It wasn’t the way he stared, the often monotonous look people carried with the weight of whatever is pulling the down, but rather the pained manner of someone who was forever gone. They both feared he’d take this relationship with him.

   He bit his lip.

    Kon kissed his now bandaged knuckles. 

   “Just focus,” his quiet voice sounded more like a plea, a plea in the sort of way that he begged for reassurance.

   Tim nodded. He flexed his thumbs to the longest range of their consent and wiped a ghost tear from Kon’s eye. He smiled, feeling the way eyes wrinkled and grew stiff, “always.”

    It wasn’t at all reassuring. 

   “Tim!” Barbara called from behind them. She glanced a moment at Cass readying on the mats. Her lean muscles flexed and stiffened with every movement of her single hand lowering her body down, and pushing her back up. 

   “Be right over!” Called Tim, still staring at his partner. He punched his shoulder gently, a chuckle grasping at his throat. He felt swollen already, like he had been screaming for days. He hadn’t, though he sort of wished he had. “Buck up, Kent.”

   “Ready?” The ginger questioned. She watched as the Robin drew in closer till his feet found the beginning of the mats. 

   He took a deep, soul-soundly breath in, and then out. “Ready,” he nodded.

   “Ready?” Barbara asked again, this time directed at Cass who stood and cracked her knuckles each individually. 

   “Ready,” Cass responded, monotoned. 

   “Okay,” she keeked at the two. Her wheels reversed. “At your own pace.”

   The two nodded. Tim gulped. Cass kept still. 

   That long second of stillness felt like ten minuets, this time some how different from all the rest. 

   Tim knew, they would all understand if he backed down, he just had to step off. 

   They wouldn’t find him weak.

   So, why did he think they would? Or, that they already did?

   As mentioned, it had only been a single second. Just one. 

   Then she moved.

   Swift 

   Powerful

   Still. 

   Cass lunged towards him in an instant—or more logically less than an instant. 

   She thrusted her body with the throw of a punch, one for him to avoid. 

   He did, too,

   Just barely. 

    The noise around them drew out, even the sound of her stepping seemed to absent. Now, all he could hear was his own breath, heavy and broken. 

   He could do this. 

   Cass stepped once more. The two circled each other, a game of chase. 

   Though, one where Cass kept her swinging, and Tim kept his dodging. 

   “He’s prolonging it,” Barbara whispered once she felt the clone’s presence at her side.

   Kon nodded, watching the pair in the makeshift ring. 

   “Yeah…but, why?”

   He felt his feet stick to the mat, pulling up at some spots which caught him off guard. From there, he took a quick left hook to the nose, an instant crack.

   Tim stumbled. His sister halted. She put down her fists, shaking his blood off her  knuckles. “Little brother-”

   “I’m fine, Cass,” 

   The Robin shifted. He stood straight back into position. Only, this time, he swung.

   The first few punches cause him to jolt forward a bit too much. His movements slurred. 

   She dodged each attack with ease.

   “Fight me,” Tim encouraged. He pushed her fists back, provoking her. 

   She gave him a pitied look. He’d been getting a lot of those lately—from Kon whenever he woke up, from Cass whenever she appeared concerned, and even from Barbara now each time he would head back from patrol.

    They made him feel like a child. A toddler who by no means knew how to take care of himself. No, he wouldn’t throw another temper tantrum. 

   “C’mon,” he pushed her again, this time punching hard against the makeshift shield her arms had created. “Hit me. I can take it,” he persisted, messy hair jolting forward with every motion. It was getting long, overgrown. He should have pulled it back like she did. 

   Her head tilted in the slightest, this time she pushed back when he punched. 

   He stumbled, though quickly recovered. 

   A smiled arose on his conscious. He threw a heavy punch. Right in her shoulder. Clearly, she was going easy on him.

   She threw one back, one to merely graze him and even easy to block, yet he let it hit him. Right square in the jaw. Great. Another ugly purple bruise. Maybe it would even swell.

   “Shit,” coughed the detective. He spit blood, he had bit his tongue. 

   “Again?” The Batgirl inquired, her head returning to a constant tilt. Clearly, he confused her. 

“Again,” he nodded. She wasn’t exactly wanting nor expecting that answer, but surely they could both use the practice. 

And again she did, throwing again yet another punch, right in the cheek. Another spot sure to bruise. Right against the bone, just as the last. 

   “Again,” 

   She threw. 

   He spat blood. 

   “Again,” 

   She threw 

   He dodged.

   “Again!”

   She threw. 

   He spat blood.

   At this point, Tim had found a bit of pep to his step. He hopped forward, kicking his leg straight up, right near her head. He categorized this movement almost instantly as a mistake.

   In a matter of seconds, she had him hitting the ground, having pulled him forward by the ankle. 

    She didn’t pin him though, not without another chance for him to get up. 

   Tim stood, though not without noticing the pressure in his joints, some sort of sprain. 

   No matter what it was, it was enough to not notice her fist till it made contact. 

   Still, he managed balance. 

   Though, not for long. 

   He threw, and as always stumbled, just forward enough to feel the instant contact of her knee right into his lower abdomen. 

   “That’s why,” Barbara sighed upon watching him hit the ground, a sharp gasp and thud following. 

   “Great,” Beamed Kon sarcastically. He looked at Tim, laying on the mat in agony. “I’m telling you, somethings up with him, when does he ever do that?”

   “Must be tired?” She offered. 

   The meta shook his head. “No,, its something more than that, I can feel it.”

   “Well, I’ll tend to his wounds,” volunteered the ginger. She pushed forward, but an arm halted her in place. 

   “Allow me,” 

   “No, it's okay, Kon I can take it from here,” she sounded nervous, her eyes darting from the siblings on the mat, and the clone looking back at her in confusion. 

   Lack of sleep makes for bad liars.

    He was suspicious alright, he knew they each had dozens more things to hide from him than he did anyone else. Maybe a diluted Tim would spill something. “Look after Cass, I insist.”

   “I’m fine, thanks,” gasped the boy on the floor. He’d stay there a while, groaning with the wind knocked fully out of him.

   Cass nodded from above. She shifted her once extended hand to her side and turned to walk off. 

   “Good luck,” she nodded to Kon, her palm brushing against his shoulder as she walked by. He’d need it. 

   “Hey,” Tim smiled roughly with his boyfriend’s approach. 

   “Hi,” Kon flicked back to him, crouching close. “Need a hand?” 

   He paused a moment, staring at his ankle. The flesh grew hot, red, and swollen. “Yeah…can’t stand on my right side, though,” explained the raven haired boy as he motioned toward his foot.

    Kon peered at it. He gave him a quick look before slightly touching the skin—to which Tim hissed. 

   “That bad, huh?” Whined Tim. 

   “That bad,” nodded Kon as he scooped him up in his arms—bridal style. “Let’s get you fixed up, face ain’t too pretty either,” he smiled. 

   His Robin rolled his eyes. 

***

   The cave cleared out rather quickly, Cass hadn’t suffered much more than a bruise, and Barbara had insisted she got to work. So, it was quiet. Comforting. Nostalgic, even. 

   “Fuck, Kon,” Tim swatted away the hand that held an ice pack to his cheek. Along his lips, small patches of blood stained his skin, still pouring out in his mouth from her he had bit down, just not as much as before. 

   “Too much pressure?” The meta asked. He surrendered the ice pack to his lover. 

   He waited for a nod, then began dabbing away the blood on his lips with a soft cloth. 

   “Conner?”

   “Yes, Timothy?” 

   “It’s been an hour,”

   “So it has,”

   “And my ankle is wrapped,”

   “Right,” 

   Tim glanced up. He saw all kinds of concerns and confusions written all over his face. 

   He pushed the cloth away gently and held Kon’s hand in his own. 

   “I’m okay, really,” assured the boy, his fingers toyed with the cloth for a moment. Then he let go.

    Kon placed the cloth on the small metal cart and sighed. He stood still a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you are, I do...it’s just, well,”

   Tim’s head tilted, he hoped the next few words would be careful. “It’s just what?”

    “Tim, I know you’re hiding something,” 

   That, made him laugh, full force into humorous nonsense. “Oh, yeah that’s good. Real subtle, huh?” 

   “I’m not trying to be subtle—hell, I have been subtle for, for days! The whole past week! And, I know, I can quite literally feel the lies falling out of your mouth. You’re getting up, in the middle of the nigh, doing god knows what in the time between then and when you stumble back in the room and pass out—quite literally anywhere imaginable,” Kon breathed. He looked—well, he didn’t quite look like himself. He was angry. So much so that he clenched his fists in rage, and Tim was glad he had let go of his hand some time before, otherwise he feared crumbled bones.

   “The hell are you accusing me of?”

   “Honestly? Anything at this point.”

   Tim pursed his lips. “As if you haven’t been acting different too? Kon, I say one word to you whenever, and you snap at me. You’ve been so irritated all the time, and for what? What are you hiding?” Glared Tim. 

   They both quickly grew silent. Both looking so scarily angered and through. 

   Tim huffed a small sigh and sat up straight. “You know what? This is ridiculous. I don’t need this,” he announced. He’d attempt to get off the table he’d been sitting on, and hopped down on just the one foot. Balance seemed nearly impossible, though when emotions get the best of you. He fell towards Kon, who caught him in an instant. 

   “Fuck,” hissed the Robin. He pounded his fists once against Kon’s chest. 

  “Tim...I just want to know what’s been going on,”

   He nodded. There wasn’t much more use to fighting. Not here. 

   Kon watched him think, he knew it took a bit more than trust to have him spill. “There’s no sun,” he explained plainly. “I thought I’d be fine at first, now I just ache. Going home to Smallville each night allowed for me to wake up to sunlight—loads of it. Winter is always as harsh as is, but winter in Gotham is almost an extreme,” he explained quietly, now rubbing circles on Tim’s back as a way to both soothe and steady him. 

   “I’ve been sneaking out to train,” admitted Tim. It still was very much far from the truth, but it was better than nothing. “I’ve just been trying to build stamina and get better, and that’s why I come back so tired, then I think I should stay up and work, but I fall asleep wherever I am, really,” he gave a complying shrug.

   Stinging embarrassment filled the room. They both now realized the were wrong.

   “Sorry for yelling,” offered Kon.

   Tim shook his head. He placed gently with the fabric of the clone’s shirt, gently tugging and pinching at the “S”. He had to stop letting Kon take the fault. “No, I’m sorry for not telling you, I should have been honest,” 

   Kon nodded. He smiled softly. It was good enough for him. “We should really stop doing this to each other,” he whispered, then pressed a kiss to his lover’s forehead. 

   Tim smiled. “Yeah, we really should,” 

   “Ready to head upstairs, Rob?”

   The boy thought for a moment, then he nodded and smiled. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The next few days were filled with absolute nothingness—tired days, sleepless nights, and for Tim, uneventful patrols.

His ankle was kept wrapped in a tight bandage. It hurt worse that he was going to admit because he really should not be on it. Night after night he fought on the muscle, tenants, and bone, twisting  and turning the sprain in all the hundreds of ways it never should be.

He walked in and out of the room at night, fully aware of his lover’s stares which occasionally pull him back to bed. Though, nonetheless, the bruised and twisted ankle only swells further every morning and is walked on more occasionally at night. No one can hide a swelling ankle for long, not even the world’s second (or is he now first? where is the first?) greatest detective. Either way, this is all clear.

Kon calls him out about it during the day. He brings him breakfast in bed and carries him to the study where they read to one another (lately it’s been a book of Aesop’s fables, to which they discuss the lessons for hours upon end.) At night he brings him back to bed, only to wake up to him in yet another odd position around the room.

From there, the day starts all over again with the usual scolding—though not without some loving kisses for a soft touch.

The pair had now essentially adapted themselves to neglect the outside world around them, or at least to the other’s visible knowledge.

Tim still patrols. He slips out of bed half past two and comes back nearly at the crack of dawn—face all scratched up and body red and cold from the winter frost.

As always, Kon still notices. He pulls him back into bed in early mornings, sometimes when his hair is still damp from the ghost of his previous shower.

Once, the kryptonian even woke up to the sound of running water a little before five in the morning, and waited for his lover to appear in the doorway of the bathroom. When he did, the detective held threatening tears in his eyes and an achey slump to his stance to which Kon paid no mind and ventured him over to bed. They had never felt closer than they had night, with no words to express themselves but only tired eyes and tender kisses, even tight grips on the other.

They hadn’t spoke of that since.

“I’m asking you to stay off of it.”

“Shit, Barbra. For how long?”

She looked at him straight; sitting on the table with a swelled and wrapped up ankle, with the babyface that could never grow up, only tire. He was nothing but a complaining kid here. That’s it, too. That’s all he’s ever been. A kid. “Two weeks.”

“Two? I’ve already done two I can’t possibly do four.”

“Yes, you have done two…with your ankle wrapped. I’m saying no walking at all. That means no going out,” she whispered that last part, taping the last bit of the bandage down.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?” She challenged almost in a parent sort of way. If no one else was going to do it, she may as well.

Tim scoffed, looking around in an agitated manner. “Gotham needs me.”

Needs you? Barbara wanted to ask.  There’s nothing out there for you. “Tim. You’re benched.” She handed him two painkillers and a small glass of water, not one look of pity in her eyes.

He wished for the pity. Pity was easy to convince. Pity was flexible and very sympathetic. Pity is a tool worth using. However, they both knew had there been pity, he’d’ve thrown a fit.

“You can’t bench me,” argued Tim, swallowing the pills dry—though not without doubling back and drinking the water as well.

“Actually, I can and I did. I mean, just look at you, Tim, you can barely walk,” now there was the pity.

“I can walk just fine, thank you,” he challenged, lifting himself from the cold medical table.

“Would you cut it out? Seriously, you’re acting like a child.”

The robin’s eyes softened. What was he really doing? He knew his ankle needed to heal before going back out and if he kept up his neglect he may tear a tenant.

So he sighed. “Shit, Babs, I’m sor-“

Neither of them had realized he’d still been lowering himself off the table, at least not till his ankle hit the ground and the most painful jolt shot up from his foot to his calve from the weight, which inevitably sent Tim off balance and crashing to the floor at a falling speed slower than the running speed of the Kryptonian who caught him.

“Hey,” smiled Kon with a wink.

If he wasn’t so shocked he may have laughed aloud. “Hey.”

“Right, yeah so anyway, Conner, keep bird brain here off his ankle for the next couple weeks or so, I trust he’ll be more well behaved in your company,” the batgirl smiled tiredly and rolled herself away.

“You got it, Babs,” called Kon in response, though whilst never taking his eyes off of his lover. “Tea?” He asked once she left.

Tim snorted a good laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Tea?” He inquired, oblivious to the realization that he had been lifted up and headed up the stair, “ since when do you drink tea?”

“Since like,” Kon took a moment to process his thought, simply giving a shrug once he found his answer, “always.”

“Always?”

“Yep.”

The added popping of his ‘p’ didn’t convince the robin any further, and he hadn’t anything else to do for the next two weeks so he may as well interrogate every last bit of detail his partner gives him for the sake of entertainment.

“So, Mr kent, do tell, what’s your favorite kind of tea?” he asked in the most proper voice he could conjure.

They found themselves in the kitchen now, Tim having been placed on the counter to sit, and Kon rummaging through cupboards to find a tea kettle.

“I’d have to say a nice…uh,” Kon mirrored the same proper voice, though his much worse and sounding more like a very poor English accent, though was slowly dropped as he forgot the point and desperately tried to think of a fancy-sounding tea, though soon gave up and went back to his original thought. “Sweet,” nodded the meta, “a nice sweet tea.”

“Sweet tea? You’re kidding right. That's not tea, Conner, it’s pure sugar.”

“What? of course it’s tea. It’s in the name. Plus, what else am I supposed to say? It’s that southern blood.”

“Southern?” Tim laughed, now he was just plain messing with him. “You’re from Smallville, kent. Smallville, Kansas. You’re not even southern you’d be midwestern.”

“So I’m southern at heart, sue me,” shot Kon, sarcastically, “you’re no fun,” he told him, handing his smiling robin a cup of green tea, finally.

Plain. Bitter. No sugar.

“I missed joking with you like this, you know,” He whispered and took the cup in his hands, to his lips, only to set it back down beside him and throw himself back to lean against the cold window.

Outside it was pitch black and full of promised death, nowhere near the warmth of inside, though both were similar at lacking comfort.

“Alright, alright, come here,”

Tim faced forward now at his boyfriend reaching for him. Surely, he could grab him if he so pleased, though Kon seemed to rather acknowledge his partner’s need for control.

“Look, I know our world as we once knew it is practically gone, but can I please just ask selfishly for one day of calm? Just one day to pretend that none of this is happening? I promise tomorrow you can go back to your regularly scheduled brooding and scheming.”

Tim wanted to say no. With everything in him, he wanted to shake his head and scoff at the request.

He didn’t, though.

He thought about what Barbara had offered him while explaining this earlier:

“Maybe this’ll be good for you, Tim. For Gotham, even. You’ll come back to it with a fresh look to things, find things you overlooked before,” she had suggested this to him in only the most hopeful matter, and at the time he merely shrugged it off. They had nothing. They’d found nothing, so how come now a break seemed plausible—good for him even?

He considered the idea further for a moment, then hung his head and gave a small laugh, “Yes. Yes, we can certainly do that, Kent.”

“Whatever happened to listening to your loving boyfriend and staying out on the couch, huh?”

Tim didn’t dare to look back at the clasping sounds of porcelain teacups behind him. They sounded crisp and healthy in a number of ways that made him nauseous. Three days it had been. Three. All of each he’d been stuck inside, stuck in one place. It was a lousy way to live and he was growing well past  tired of it.

“Since I decided sitting on the couch was boring and that I needed to stimulate my hands with more than just knotting the strings of my pajama pants,” he shrugged, moving his pale fingers from one key to another.

Kon tilted his head as he watched. He smiled. His fingers danced gracefully from note to note, picking them up like claws at times and simply brushing his index over to the left at others.

“In all my years of knowing you, how did we just skip over the fact that you can play piano?”

Tim played slower now, softer even. He felt the long bench shift as Kon took his seat beside him, and he plucked his last few keys, “I guess I was just a bit more occupied with the pinball machine at mount justice than the instruments.”

Kon handed him a cup of tea—green. Again. At least it was caffeinated. Not coffee, cleaner than that, but nevertheless still caffeine.

“My mother taught me,” he shrugged finally, taking a sip.

The Kryptonian beside him smiled, leaning sideways to rest his elbow on the hood of the piano and his temple pressed into his palm. “Y’know you never really talk about her,” he pursued, only to catch an unamused glare from his partner.

“What’s there even to say? I feel like I never really knew her,” Tim’s voice was solid, quiet and slow, but still solid. “I’d like to say something poetic like how, just the way she’d look at you made feel known and heard, but god, I didn’t even know Janet. Hell, I’m not even sure my dad quite knew her,” he guessed you didn’t really need to know a person to marry them or to share a child and a fortune. “Towards the end, anyways. they were nothing but business partners,” his shrug was dead silent and still.

“So, the only thing you really have of her is piano?” Kon suggested quietly, his eyes holding a sorrowful look and mouth a quilted frown.

“Shit,” Tim laughed. He sipped a good half of his lesser steaming tea and continued, “by taught I meant just the first few basic notes. No, she hired a teacher for the rest.” His set of blue eyes found their way to the floor, though only for a mere second before shorting back up to face his lover.

“So then that’s all there is to tell?”

“Well, I mean she did sit in a few times or have me play for her and Jack. She congratulated me spottily throughout my lessons, but I wouldn’t say that exactly earned her brownie points, either. After all, Janet never turned down the boarding school offers. Hell, I’m even convinced she planned the majority of them herself.”

Kon plucked a single, high-pitched key on the instrument. His robin rambled.

“Say, why do you ask, Conner Kent?”

Kon looked up at him. He cringed at the interrogation in his voice. “I guess I just, uh, still sometimes feel like you’re hiding behind that mask. Even though, now I can see your eyes,” he chuckled at that last part, reaching for his callused palms as he did. He recalled the day he’d first seen Tim’s gorgeous blue eyes. He mentally marked the way they reflected the black makeup that smudged the skin around them, causing the blue to land a shade grayer. Upon inspection the next time, seeing Tim Drake completely in civies, the color didn’t dare mute itself but instead lit up the room with excitement and ease. Kon rather liked seeing them in person, even though from a screen or aways away they pearled like none other. Tim Drake and whatever beautiful shade of blue eyes he had was more breathtaking in person. He supposed it was because it made him appear more human.

“Well, I guess I don’t really have much to say of them. Honestly, I’m tired of staring into the past, it’s  always just going to be pointless and disheartening .” The robin shrugged a nudge and twisted their fingers together loosely.

His eyes sought the window, glass cold and fogged at the corners, he’d never actually ever seen them that way, almost as if Gotham decided to intensify the weather along with the pressured stakes. “Y’know I’d like to say I want to look forward, to finally feeling happy and comfortable, but uh,” he forced a sickened chuckle and a sad smile, “it’s not really an appropriate time for that, is it?”

Kon sighed and kissed his temple, then resisted his chin on top of Tim’s head, he felt his fall to his own chest in return, “Why do I feel like it’s never really an appropriate time for that anyway?”

“Cause it’s Gotham.”

“Because it’s Gotham.”

Chapter Text

A swollen mouth flooded with saliva and countered with throw up was probably the last thing Tim Drake wanted to experience at four in the morning. he hadn’t slept except for the past half hour; waking up to the most gruesome and almost lifelike night terror he’d had in a while.

Blood and guts. Lifeless bodies and bones split so far in the other direction he couldn’t stomach the sight of it.

Nauseatingly bright green rings on skin.

The awful smell of copper and smoke in the air. Reeked of death.

At this point he’d thrown up everything he’d eaten that day to the point of there being nothing else to hurl out. His body loomed over the toilet, tears forming in his eyes from pure exhaustion and the adrenaline of which slowly backed down.

He spit out the last few lingering vile tastes of stomach acid in his mouth. His throat burned raw. Yet, ever so softly, soothing hands loosely tied his hair up.

Kon-El didn’t speak, he stayed silent as he rubbed circles into a boney back and wiped the corners of tim’s mouth.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” whispered the robin as he slowly turned to face his kryptonian.

Kon just shook his head and brushed Tim’s overgrown bangs out of his dewy eyes. It was clear his Robin was significantly more exhausted than he was, in fact his face bore utter fatigue—almost as if he’d been up for days on end to the point of hallucination. “Don’t apologize,” spoke Kon softly.

It fell silent between them again which felt a lot kinder than whatever ground zero they’d just pulled Tim out of. In no time their skin touched and Kon felt balmy circles being traced around his wrists and up to his chest. He watched as more tears welled into the eyes of his precious Robin, whom had kept it together particularly well until he let out the most heart-wrenching sob.

The kryptonian rushed to hold him in his arms and catch the lifelessness of his body as he panicked and wheezed. He cradled the smaller body in his clutch, though feeling the familiar sensation of boney arms around his neck only this time with increased desperation and urgency; nails digging into his skin.

“I-I can’t lose you, Conner.”

Very rarely did the detective get so frantic and emotional, so when he did it felt like the end of the world. However, with this being the fourth panic attack in a matter of three consecutive days, this had sadly become more of the norm.

Seeing the nail marks in his skin, Kon sighed. He cupped his lover’s face in his hands, using only slow movements so as not to startle the vigilante. At this point it was as tedious as escorting a sleepwalker back to bed.

“Baby it was only a dream,” spoke Kon slowly. He followed the frantic breath and gestured to his own deep breaths and calm composure: breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

This, he continued till the his lover followed suit, and from there he continued until he seemed calm enough to converse with.

“I’m sorry,”

He shook his head and pushed back Tim’s bangs to kiss his forehead, “you don’t ever need to apologize to me.”

                     ************************** 

The bathroom tile was cold. By now he’d rebrushed his teeth and only spoke in a small and tired voice, somehow still stubborn even after vomiting his guts out. “I want out of here,” spoke Tim, “at least for tonight.” His face was a clear giveaway of pure enervation, his eyes red and puffy, his movements slow and practically obsolete.

“Now, let’s just be realistic, shall we? We can’t just up and leave everyone, even if it is one night, let alone the city.”

Tim shook his head and felt his hands up Kon’s chest and to his neck, “god i know that you think I don’t know that?” he stared frantically into his eyes, “I just, I want to be selfish please let me be selfish.”

Kon just stared back into brilliantly blue eyes. Perhaps he was trying to pick up on any bluff or indecision.

“Let’s go back to Smallville,” suggested Tim finally, “It’s quiet there, we’d have time to ourselves,” he searched all around his lovers face for any sort of real emotion he could pick up on. “It would give my ankle more time to heal?”

Kon tilted his head at the suggestion, he groaned. At this point he was to be a mouse in a snap trap and his lover’s persuasion the cheese, so tempting yet dangerously consequential, “Rob, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

                     ************************** 

It was significantly louder now than it was the last time they were there. The snow left and with it went the silence. Birds chirped and crickets hummed. Branches bustled and broke and the wind brushed away at the regenerating blades of grass.

“Well, here we are, mystery boy, just like you wanted. Happy now?” Conner turned the key and pulled it out of the car, a sense of stillness falling as the engine ceased. They’d driven one of Bruce’s cars—a classic stingray corvette, which felt a tad too “fancy shmancy” for country driving but apparently was somewhat of a dress down for Tim so he called it a compromise.

Tim smiled at his lover, shoving him playfully, “you say that like I forced you to bring me here,” he jabbed.

Kon gave a teasing glance and unbuckled the both of them. He inched closer to him “Is that not what happened?”

The Robin gave a satirically pondering look and shook his head. He cracked a slight smile as he came close enough to barely touching but just feeling the heat of their bodies. He grinned smugly, “that’s not how I remember it.”

“Oh?” Kon placed a hand behind Tim for support and leaned in further, “well, how do you remember it, Rob? Do tell.”

“Well for starters, let’s move back to last week when you had requested we took some time to ourselves,” he pointed out, voice confident and steady.

“And you knew i meant just at the manor, but we both know your fancy-ass can’t relax without being in some other destination,” Kon kept a similarly cool tone, though his quieter and more on the sharp side.

Tim lead a faux frown and tilted his head slightly, “but my ankle is just now healed, you knew before i couldn’t do much else but relax, even in Gotham.”

“Sure. We can say that,” the kryptonian shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Oh?”

“What else is there to say, Kent?” Tim gave a challenging glace.

They were closer now, practically touching chests. It was cold in Kansas, they still wore jackets and pants. Too cold to pull away. They both knew what was really going on, the sneaking out. Sure, Kon cared and he will flat out bring it up eventually, this just wasn’t the moment. Instead he wanted to forget there was ever the lingering argument and to rather lean into his boyfriend’s warmth; he’d allow it to engulf him. So, thats just what he did when he said, “just shut your mouth, Wayne,” and he kissed him.

He kissed him long and hard, soft yet greedily. Tim reciprocated and moved further into Kon’s clutch, to which he slowly pushed Tim down and into the car cushion. He snaked his hands up his jacket, slipping it off and tossing it carelessly aside. He felt indents and bumps of slender muscle along the fabric of thin flannel and The Clash tshirt over it. He massaged little knots he found imbedded in his bicep and led along a gentle smile.

His lover on the other hand—kissing just as equally back, reached a hand up into his hair and one along his neck. He played into the coiled curls and clutched the side of his neck as a felt a firm hand move up under the cloth of his t-shirt and began lifting it up over his head and tossing that aside, leaving Tim in only the loose flannel.

Diving back in for another kiss, Kon was haulted by cold fingers under his own shirt and right on his abs, and three small kisses along his jaw. His Robin smiled at him.

They were going to be okay.