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Chapter Text

Robin typed with singleminded focus. His laptop was perched on the podium. The projector’s light hit half his face and casted the other half in shadow. 

The Teen Titans sat around a long table and waited patiently for their fearless leader’s plan. 

Except Superboy. 

Superboy floated between Wonder Girl and Blue Beetle and read a Which Justice League Member Are You? personality quiz out loud. 

“Which romantic spot would you bring a first date?” Superboy asked, then looked up from his phone. “Do you guys think Superman would be A) dinner at a very fancy restaurant or C) a drive in movie?” 

Robin stayed focused. 

“I think he’s D) a museum,” Blue Beetle said, reading off the screen. 

“No way. That’s so boring. That’d be Batman.” 

Robin didn’t sigh or roll his eyes or give any indication that he was listening. He typed the last finishing touches on the plan. 

“The movie is the best one because alone in the dark you can start the fun stuff,” Superboy smirked. 

“On a first date?” Blue Beetle questioned. 

“You could mess around in a museum,” Wonder Girl argued. “There’s tons of hiding places.” 

Superboy smiled like striking a match. 

“I like the way you think.” 

“Alright.” Robin announced. “Let’s get started."

“Can we have like five more minutes? Kinda in the middle of something here,” Superboy twisted midair. 

“No.” Robin said, blunt like a brick to the head. “Sit down.” 

The sit down conversation was one they’d had way too many times. Superboy floated over to his seat but he was still an inch too tall. 

“Feet flat on the floor.” 

SB rolled his eyes but his butt finally hit the seat. 

“Alright,” Robin hit enter and a hologram scale model of the Kobra headquarters appeared in the center of the table. Impulse stood up to get a closer look, hesitating with a finger like he really wanted to poke it. 

Robin kept his head down, reading directly from his screen. 

“King Kobra’s cult has been gaining converts. Those of you who read the pre-mission report will already be familiar with the details. Those who haven’t, I suggest you do before seventeen hundred which is the time we will leave.” 

Superboy whispered, "Why can’t he just say five o’clock?” in Wonder Girl’s ear and she stifled a laugh. 

Robin ignored them. 

“I’ve been doing recon all week and,” he tapped at a key board and suddenly color coded guard patterns lit up on the hologram. “This is what we should expect tonight on the perimeter. Our mission objective is to apprehend the leaders,” he pulled up the mugshots of the men they were looking for, as well as recent picture he’d taken while on recon. “Corey and Kerrigan. They should be in the laboratory. We know that King Kobra has been working on a dangerous new technology and recent intel—“

Aka Robin secretly connecting with a low-ranking member of the League of Assassins online.

“—leads us to believe that the initial tests for this technology are happening at this location. This may be our only chance to stop this weapon before it’s been released to the wider market.” 

“Impulse will run to central security. Once he apprehends the man behind the security cameras, he can plug in this and grant us access to the cameras in the lab so we can see what we’re working with. Superboy and Wonder Girl will take down the guards at the perimeter, silently. It’s possible that one of them might be able to sound the greater alarm, in which case we will have Wonder Girl fly to the security bell tower. I looked into overriding it, but it appears to be magical in nature. If you’re unable to break through the hard outer shell of the bell, there’s a few other possibilities. If you could get your lasso around the clapper then—”

Robin went off into a tangent about the mechanics of a bell that Wonder Girl mostly followed. Eventually, he returned to the plan. 

“Blue Beetle and I will enter through the underground tunnel system. We’ll apprehend the leaders, unless the technology is active, in which case we will reassess and call for backup. Questions?” 

Superboy and Impulse raised their hands. 

“Imp,” Robin said, with a blank face even under his mask. 

“What time are we leaving?” He asked. Although he was the only time traveler in the room, he still could barely figure out west coast vs. east coast time much less military. 

“In four hours.” said Robin. “Superboy?” 

“I should be the one going into the lab. What’s the point of punching a bunch of people outside?” 

“The point is stealth, a concept I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with.” 

“I know how to stealth. I can fly past them so fast they won’t be able to see me.” 

“They might. You’re not nearly as fast as Imp.”  

“Are you saying you know my powers better than I do?” 

“Yes.” 

“Bullshit,” Superboy leaned on the table and glared. “You’re writing this whole plan just so you can do everything yourself. Like the week of recon you didn’t tell us about? I can see through walls and hear everything. I should be on recon.” 

Robin snapped his laptop shut, cutting off the hologram and throwing the room into shadow. 

“You don’t understand the big picture. I’m the leader of this team. The decisions I make are for a reason. Are you going to follow orders, or do I need to draw up a four person plan?” 

Impulse, Wonder Girl, and Blue Beetle were silent, tensed like they wanted to spring into action or sprint out of this toxic room. 

Superboy scoffed. 

“You’re not even going to acknowledge my good ideas?” 

“They’re not worth acknowledging,” Robin straighten this shoulders. “The plan is the plan. Are you in or not?” 

“Yeah.” But the way he said it sounded like fuck you. 

Superboy wasn’t scared of anything. 

Including Batman. 

Wonder Girl thought his plan was crazy, but someone had to stand up to the asshole currently holding their team hostage and Superboy was the oldest member of the team. In a sense. He’d been on the team for the longest amount of time, pretty much all the years he’d been alive, so he was basically the oldest and wisest and the one Batman would take seriously. 

He agreed to meet with him at least, which was a great start. 

Batman sat in the same chair where he debriefed the Justice League. The table was technically a circle but his seat felt like the head. Superboy sat across from him, flopping into his chair and kicking his feet. 

“So, here’s the situation,” Superboy said, like he was Superman— who he assumed Batman saw as a best friend. Just two colleagues talking about a terrible co-worker. Very chill. Light and breezy. 

“Robin low key sucks.”

Batman didn’t react. The sharp edges of his cape were a stark contrast to the light of the room. He was black and unmovable like the void between stars. 

Superboy took the silence as a good sign. 

“He doesn’t listen to me when I give him valuable insight. I’m trying to help the guy, but he won’t even hear me out. The last Robin wasn’t like this. He was cool. This new guy needs to learn how to chill. I think it’s best if you make me leader for a while. At least until he isn’t such a control freak. Also, I’m not saying this is entirely his fault, but I think more people would be available for missions if we had a team leader that people, uh, actually liked.” 

He smiled like they were sharing a laugh. 

He slowly sobered up, chewing his lip as the shadows of Batman shifted. 

Impulse and Wonder Girl waited just outside the door. 

It almost blew off its hinges as Superboy stormed into the hall. 

Wonder Girl had a sinking feeling. Imp bounced on his feet. 

“How’d it go?” He blurted excitedly. 

They’d never seen their friend so furious. 

“I’m off the team.” 

Batman explained the situation in as few words as possible. It left no room for debate— not that Robin would question his authority in the Tower, where anyone could hear. He’d never been the type to cause a scene. 

Batman walked to the hanger with Robin at his heels, but on the way they passed by one of the training room. It was soundproof with a viewing window, through which he could see Superman and Superboy. 

Whatever Superman was saying, it obviously wasn’t what Superboy wanted to hear. 

Batman kept a brisk pace but Robin slowed just enough to try and read their lips. 

Superboy turned and made eye contact with Robin, sudden and angry.

The look on his face confirmed what Robin had recently begun to suspect. 

He actually hates me.  

Batman was gone. Robin put his head down and followed him. 

“Okay,” Robin said, once again leading a mission debriefing. Everyone was there— Beast Boy, Raven, Arrowette, Blue Beetle, Wonder Girl, Impulse, and Aqualad. He cleared his throat. 

“First order of business. I know there’s been a rumor that Superboy is no longer a member of the team. That is completely untrue. He is taking some time off and he will rejoin us refreshed and refocused very soon.” 

No one was goofing off. They sat straight up, feet flat on the floor, eyes glued to him.  

He refused to believe that the chaos of this team was solely due to the presence of Superboy. It wasn’t just that— they’d been scared straight by Batman. 

Robin grabbed the edge of the podium closest to him so they wouldn’t be able to see his hands, knuckles white as he tightened his grip. 

“So. Black Manta.” 

Robin debriefed the team on their next mission. 

The room felt like a funeral home. The air was thick was words left unsaid. Everyone’s movement was slow, hesitant, like they were afraid they were about to be scolded for making noise while scooting in their chair. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and dismissed the team. 

People chatted quietly among themselves. It sounded more like a group of middle aged business associates than teen friends. It was a far cry from their last post-mission debriefing where Superboy challenged Wonder Girl to a flight race and everyone started eagerly placing bets. 

Robin didn’t place any bets. It didn’t seem right for a leader to participate in something like that, even though he had the money and totally knew Wonder Girl would win. Which she did. 

While he was still reminiscing by the podium, Wonder Girl approached him with a smile. 

“Hey, Rob,” she said, cheerfully. 

He slid his laptop into it’s protective case. 

“Hi. Can I help you with something?” He asked, professionally. 

“No— Actually, I have something for you.” She handed him an envelope with Robin scribbled in marker. “I sent some invites through the mail and put the reminder in the group chat— but I just realized, I don’t have your address and you’re not in any of the chats! Totally my bad for not realizing sooner. But, yeah, I’m having a birthday party tonight. Super low key. I hope you can make it! Oh— I think a few people will be out of costume but I totally understand why you wouldn’t and everything. Don’t worry about it.” 

Humiliated was close, but not exactly the right word. He was eviscerated, cut down by her generous kindness until he felt two inches tall. He was supposed to be their respected leader. He was supposed to be Dick. Dick didn’t get pity invites to birthday parties that had been planned for months. 

Tim didn’t even know they had group chats. 

“That sounds great,” Tim said with a friendly smile. “Thanks. I’ll try to be there.” 

I’d rather die than show up to that party, he thought to himself, a thought that would prove upsettingly prophetic. 

He told himself it didn’t matter. He was here to help people, not win a popularity contest. 

Who cares if I’m in a group chat? They’re useless and trivial, he thought to himself, a thought that would prove completely untrue. 

He slipped the unopened envelope into his laptop bag and left. 

A jerk with super-speed flew past him, beating him to the elevator and blocking the door. 

“Robin,” Superboy said with a fake smile, “You must be so happy your dad fired me. You probably ran home crying about how much easier it would be to lead a team without teammates.” 

“You’re the one who went crying to Batman. And he’s not my dad,” Robin corrected with a stony expression. 

“Oh. Your babysitter, then.” 

Robin narrowed his eyes, barely perceptible through the white of his mask. 

“You shouldn’t even be here.” 

“What are you going to do about it?” Superboy asked, and Robin moved like he was going to answer. 

Impulse sped over and Wonder Girl wasn’t far behind.

“Guys, knock it off.” Wonder Girl stepped up. “The Justice League already thinks we’re babies. We don’t have to act like it.” 

“Careful what you say about Batman’s nepo baby,” Superboy mocked. “You might get kicked out for having a different opinion.” 

“It’s an uninformed opinion because you never read the pre-mission reports.” 

“So you did tell him to kick me out!” 

“I didn’t—”

“If everyone on this team voted for a leader— me or you. Who do you think they’d pick?” 

Robin stared him down, unflinching. Superboy floated forward. 

“Come on, Robin. You always act like you know everything. What’s your informed opinion?” 

“Don’t be a jerk,” Wonder Girl said to SB. 

It was enough to confirm what Robin suspected. Superboy would win in a landslide. 

Superboy and Wonder Girl started bickering and took the opportunity to leave, opting for the stairs. 

Robin didn’t stop walking until he was back in the manor, peeling off his mask and becoming a boy in a Robin costume. He walked straight into Bruce’s office, where Bruce was pouring through paperwork in front of a crackling fireplace. 

“Tim—” Bruce started to speak. The light of the fire flickered off his back. 

Tim interrupted him. 

“You were so out of line! I don’t need you to defend me from my teammates. You didn’t understand the situation. I had it completely handled.” 

Bruce’s expression settled into stone. He waited for a few beats of silence while Tim tried to slow his breathing. 

“Have you made your point?” 

The question was enough to set Tim off again. He hated feeling angry because it made him feel out of control. He needed to scream into a pillow or tear out his hair. Sweeping everything off of Bruce’s desk would work too, but he wasn’t a child throwing a tantrum. He was a fifteen year old who needed to get a grip. 

“They’re my team and you completely undermined me,” Tim said. He’d been aiming for mature but hearing it out loud, he just sounded like a whiny teenager.  

“That was not my intention. I didn’t bench Superboy because of the things he said about you.” 

Tim knew exactly what things he said because he’d secretly watched the security footage before Bruce could delete it.  

“He behaved unprofessionally and was dealt with subsequently. I would’ve held any member to the same standard.”

“You should’ve talked to me first.” 

“It had nothing to do with you.” 

“It’s my team! And now everyone’s being nice to me because they’re afraid if they don’t invite me to their parties Batman’s gonna hunt them down.” 

Bruce clicked his pen. 

“They weren’t being nice to you before?” 

“Oh my god!” Tim started to pace. “They’re fine— not that it matters anyway, because you shouldn’t even be getting involved. It’s so embarrassing!” 

“J-” Bruce stuttered once and then continued smoothly, “Just drop it.” 

Tim was too smart to miss it. The stutter on the J. 

The grimace when he pushed through. 

He’d been about to say Jason, drop it. 

It made Tim wonder. Was this a conversation they’d had? Had Jason shouted it’s so embarrassing, in this very office? Like all questions about Jason, it was one he could never ask.

The cut off Jason— seemed to fill the room like invisible smoke. Tim got a grip. 

“Okay. Sorry. I’ll drop it. Also, I’m going to Wonder Girl’s birthday party tonight and I’ll probably crash there.” 

Bruce returned to his paperwork, but Tim was a professional interpreter of Bruce frowns, and this one meant he was trying not to look pleased. 

“Alright. Text me if you need a ride.” 

He was pleased Tim had friends, so he wouldn’t be sitting alone at a desk doing paperwork on a Friday night. 

But Tim had him fooled. He was going back to the Titans Tower to do exactly that. With one small difference that Tim wasn’t even aware of yet. 

He wouldn’t be alone. 

The couches in the unofficial living room were actually really comfortable. Tim rarely used them because there was almost always a few teammates hanging out in the area. 

On the other side of Titans Tower, a masked man logged into the system with Nightwing’s information.

Despite what some people believed, Tim knew how to chill out. 

But he wasn’t here to chill. He had a chance to be Robin, despite Batman’s hesitation to pass on the mantle, and he was going to treat it with the respect and focus and seriousness it deserved. 

He couldn’t emulate the Robin he loved, the one he watched laugh as he flipped off Scarecrow. He trained so he could shoot a grapple with the same accuracy, but he couldn’t make the funny sound effects pew, bang, zoom that used to make Batman chuckle— which is the Batman version of laughing his ass off. 

Batman didn’t say it, but Tim was smart enough to piece it together. 

He had to be a different kind of Robin. 

When he first started patrolling, it was for two hours at a time with Batman glued to his side. Batman ran him through drills to escape different hand binds until his wrists were rubbed raw. 

Even though he was alone in the dim lights of Titans Tower, he kept his full suit and mask on as he pulled up the security footage from their old King Kobra mission. He’d already reviewed it, of course, but one more time wouldn’t hurt. 

They’d successfully apprehended the cult members, but there was no “recreated League technology dangerous in the wrong hands” as his source had claimed. 

He scrubbed through grainy black and white security footage, searching every room for a clue. 

On the Teen Titans security feed, the masked man walked down a hallway. 

Tim noticed something weird. 

He zoomed in on one of the tables in the lab. There was a rat in a cage, aggressively biting and clawing at the bars. The footage was low quality but the rat looked fucked up, with a little rat face covered in nasty scars. What could’ve injured a rodent that badly without killing it? If he hadn’t been dealing with Impulse and Superboy as they tried to ask the cult members stupid questions, he could’ve examined the rat in person. 

Tim zoomed out, hoping to gain more perspective, searching the screen for a tool used on the test rat. 

BANG. 

Tim didn’t hear the intruder until the first shot echoed through the tower.

A bullet grazed his arm. His uniform was bulletproof, but this suit had sleeves that left his elbow down exposed and he’d taken off his gloves. 

Robin hit the floor on instinct, twisting to see what was going on, ignoring the screaming pain of his new wound. 

A man in a red mask pointed a gun at him. 

Wonder Girl’s birthday party was awesome. Wonder Woman helped her find a secluded stretch of beach where the ocean was clear enough to mirror the sunset, violet clouds like a bruise against an orange sherbet sky. 

Raven, Arrowette, and Wonder Girl were at the karaoke machine sharing a mic and singing Super Trooper by Abba. Technically Wonder Girl was singing, Arrowette was mostly laughing, and Raven was speaking the lyrics in her usual vocal fry. 

Cyborg, Blue Beetle, and Aqualad were trying to play volleyball with Beast Boy, who insisted on playing as a pelican. 

At the picnic table, Impulse ate cake, bouncing in his seat so fast that his fork almost phased through his hand. 

Superboy sat next to him, using his fork to make art with the frosting on his plate. 

“Stop moving for a second, I’m trying to paint you.”    

“Paint faster,” Imp said and then, with a huge grin, “NIGHTWING!” 

He waved, so fast his hand blurred, but Nightwing noticed him anyway and waved back. Superboy went to greet him and he wasn’t the only one. Nightwing had been Robin when Superboy first joined the team, and he couldn’t help but think he was the coolest person he’d ever met. It was part of the reason why the new Robin was such a major bummer drag disappointment. 

“Dude! I thought you weren’t coming,” Cyborg tackled his friend in a huge hug. “You and Batgirl—”

“We were, but some plans got rearranged,” Nightwing returned the hug and then held up the gift he’d brought. It was a sphere the size of a soccer ball, wrapped with perfect precision and a golden bow on top.

“Besides, I had to drop my gift off in person,” he said, tossing it into the air and catching it with ease.  

“Yay! I’m so happy you made it,” Wonder Girl hugged him too and then accepted the gift. “Can I open it now?” 

“You have to. It’s kind of perfect for a party.” 

Everyone gathered around as she tore into the wrapping paper. 

It wasn’t a ball. 

It was a metal sphere with circles of light like a target with the bullseye on top. 

Bart was the only one who recognized it. 

“My grandpa used to have one of those,” he said eagerly. “It’s a Space Speaker.” 

“Wow!” Said Wonder Girl. And then, “What does it do?” 

Nightwing slid into an explanation. 

“It produces sound without compressing air, using vibrations in the body. So basically— it can play music anywhere. Under water, in space. It’s solar powered and pretty much indestructible. And it does this.” 

He tapped the bullseye and it lit up, glowing a cool purple. He held it in front of him and when he dropped his hand, the speaker remained floating in the air. 

“Holy shit,” Wonder Girl said, thrilled by the alien tech.

Superboy had to agree. This was just another example of Nightwing being extremely cool, even though it made him sheepish when he remembered the fifteen dollar Starbucks gift card he’d brought as a birthday gift. 

“Did Starfire hook you up with this?” Beast Boy asked. 

“She took me shopping,” he said with a shrug. 

Wonder Girl thanked him profusely and then started messing around with her gift, trying to connect it via bluetooth to her phone. Impulse ran circles around her, too excited to stand still. Blue Beetle was eager to get his hands on the new tech and Arrowette started curating a playlist, taking song suggestions from everyone but Beast Boy who shouted out meme songs that were hopefully jokes. 

Superboy hovered awkwardly next to Nightwing, hoping to have a conversation. 

Nightwing glanced around before landing back on Wonder Girl. 

“Where’s Robin?” 

“Uh, I’m not sure. He said he’d try to make it,” she said. 

Nightwing swallowed the bad news. Two text messages burned through his pocket— one from Batman that started: 

You need to attend and report back. If Superboy is there, talk to him about respect and…

And one from Barbara, aka Batgirl, aka his girlfriend that was the fury of a thousand suns contained in one letter: 

K.  

He knew she’d be pissed about him blowing off their six month anniversary dinner, but who celebrated six months? A year anniversary, he wouldn’t miss. 

But it was frustrating that apparently, he didn’t have to be here at all because Robin certainly wasn’t. He should call Batman, but he was certain to be upset that Robin wasn’t where he said he’d be. 

He should call Robin. Ideally, he was hanging out with a friend or going on a date or something Nightwing definitely would’ve lied to Batman about at his age, but he knew his brother. He was probably alone on a Friday night doing paperwork. 

“Dude, we should…” Cyborg trailed off as he and Nightwing communicated through facial expressions alone. Nightwing glanced toward Superboy and made a discrete face. Cyborg nodded once, totally understanding. 

“Actually, let’s catch up later,” Cyborg said, and then to Wonder Girl, “Can I take that speaker apart? I swear I’ll put it back together.” 

“Hey,” Superboy said, stepping into his line of sight. 

Nightwing smiled. 

They sat at the picnic table, as the sun dipped below the horizon and their friends started blasting ABBA. 

Superboy picked at another piece of cake. Nightwing cut himself a slice. 

“I heard about getting benched. That sucks.” 

Superboy’s shoulder slumped. 

“Yeah. Can you talk to him? I can’t go two whole weeks without the Titans. I’ll die of boredom.” 

“Batman doesn’t really do… talking. It’s best to wait it out. Trust me— I’ve been benched a ton of times.” 

“I guess… it’s so stupid though because I didn’t do anything wrong. If anyone should be benched it’s Robin. He’s the worst. Like, actually the worst. Literally anyone else on the team would be a better leader than him. It’s not fair that he gets it just because nepotism.” 

Nightwing had a resting poker face, as unreadable as a full-coverage mask. Superboy squirmed in his seat, second guessing how he’d respond. He must know Robin after all, they shared a mantle. They must’ve talked a least a few times. 

“You’re right,” Nightwing said eventually. “It doesn’t seem fair.” 

“Exactly!” Superboy gestured with his fork, he was so fired up. “Why can’t I lead the team? I’ve been there longer than the rest of them. Or if Batman seriously hates me that much, whatever— why can’t you come back?” 

“I wouldn’t be a good fit anymore. But I’ve had a chance to get to know the new Robin and I genuinely believe he’ll be an amazing leader. It sounds like he’s still figuring out his style. It’s a big adjustment. But I actually think if you got to know him a little better, you’d really like him.” 

Superboy lowered his fork. 

“The guy who told me he knows my powers better than I do?” 

Nightwing glanced to the side. 

“Okay, yeah, that’s… I’ll talk to him about active listening. But you should know, even if you’re not the man behind the plans, you’re already a leader. People look up to you. You’re great for morale and you definitely pull your weight on the field.” 

Superboy’s face was the page on which his emotions were written, and Nightwing’s compliments had him practically preening. 

“Yeah, I know… You should tell Robin that because he barely lets me do anything.” 

“You guys will work it out,” Nightwing promised. “Just give him another chance. He deserves it.” 

The sun had officially set, so Aqualad started a bonfire and Arrowette lit a few tiki torches with a flaming arrow. 

“Whatever,” Superboy said, which was good enough for Nightwing. Superboy got roped into karaoke, insisting on a country song dedicated to the birthday girl called Country Girl (Shake it For Me). It made everyone groan except Impulse, who cheered him on, and Beast Boy, who turned into a horse and cheered him on. 

Nightwing watched for a bit, smiling to himself, before using the distraction to slip away. 

He was back to his previous debate, calling Batman or Robin. He decided to text Robin but before he started typing, Batman called. 

The decision was made for him. He answered. 

“Hate to break it to ya, B, but he’s not here.” 

“He didn’t sign out and GPS places him in the control room.” 

Nightwing wasn’t sure if he was born gifted with intuition or if years of vigilantism had honed the skill. Either way, it showed itself in moments like this. He felt an icy dread down his spine before his mind had fully caught up to the situation. 

“In Titans Tower?” 

“Isn’t that why you’re there?” 

“I’m not there.” 

“Nightwing signed in twenty minutes ago.” 

A beat of silence. Nightwing stared into the long empty stretch of sand ahead of him. The ocean crashed against the shore but he didn’t hear it, his mind was already miles away. 

“Impulse can run me.” 

“I’m en route.” 

“Visuals?” 

“The feed’s been cut.”

Nightwing was operating on autopilot, approaching Impulse and calling him away from the rest of the rowdy group. The feed’s been cut was pure pain, a dagger to an old wound that had barely scabbed. It was confirmation of his worst fear. Robin was in danger. 

“Oracle’s been alerted. She will try to patch through.” 

“Should I bring someone?” 

Under normal circumstances he hated asking for Batman’s tactical advice, always searching for opportunities to prove himself, but panic was clawing at his throat and clouding his judgment. He wanted to bring everyone, he wanted to call Starfire and the Justice League and anyone who might be able to save his brother. 

“Cyborg and Raven,” came Batman’s logical reply. 

The perpetrator, who cut the cameras and logged-in as Nightwing, is obviously adept with technology. Cyborg made sense. Raven was always vital backup, a magic user in case they were dealing with something beyond logic. 

Nightwing pulled the two aside along with Imp and ran through bullet points. 

Superboy joined them.

“I heard everything,” he said, “I can help.” 

“No,” Nightwing said definitively. "Stay on call in case we need backup but right now it’s just the four of us. Imp, let’s go.”  

Superboy watched them go. The rest of the party finally noticed something was going on. He told them there was a situation at Titans Tower but the five of them would handle it. 

Superboy flew away, so fast it kicked up sand. 

Nightwing and Imp arrived outside the Tower before Batman. 

Oracle came through on the comms. 

“Robin is in the control room. Unresponsive.” she said, “Tower appears clear.” 

The next second Imp had taken him to the control room, faster than he could process what she’d said.

Unresponsive. 

He’d seen plenty of dead bodies.

“Impulse,” Batman ordered through comms, “begin in the basement and sweep every floor.” Imp raced away. 

“Nightwing, report.”  

The lights were off except for the glow of the screen saver. 

Robin was on the floor crumpled more like a pile of clothes than a person. 

He’d never seen a dead body in a Robin suit. 

Only in his nightmares. 

The screensaver moved, casting a brighter light that illuminated the blood pouring into pools around him. 

Nightwing raced to his side. He knew he what to check for. He’d checked hundreds of bodies for the same thing. Chest, pulse, sounds of breathing, breath on cheek, check the airway, CPR. 

He’d seen plenty of blood but not his brother’s. 

I didn’t even go to the funeral. 

“He’s alive,” he reported. 

Batman entered the room. Nightwing was so relieved he could’ve collapsed. Impulse re-entered, rambling about how there was no one in Tower. Cyborg and Raven entered. 

Imp jumped then added, “but, uh, Cyborg and Raven are here, sir.” 

Imp froze. Nightwing realized he didn’t actually know what the kid looked like when stood still. 

“Is that Robin?” 

“Your assistance is no longer required,” Batman said like an order. 

“Thank you for your help,” Nightwing said, gently, because Imp looked as frightened by Batman as he was by the sight of his fallen teammate. 

“Okayokaythankyou,” Imp said and then he sped away. 

“Raven,” Batman said and she seemed to read between the lines. She approached Robin with a hand outstretched, her eyes going black as she scanned his injuries. 

Batman and Nightwing delicately moved Robin’s body onto a stretcher and took him to the Titan Tower med-bay. Raven followed behind them. Oracle contacted Leslie, Cyborg tapped into the system. 

By the time they reached the med-bay, Raven stopped the bleeding from his head wound. It took everything she had. Batman caught her before she collapsed, taking the injury until she could heal it within herself. He moved her gently to a bed beside Robin’s. 

Cyborg’s voice came through the speaker. 

“Whoever logged in as Nightwing submitted a mission report.” 

He sent it to the largest screen in the room, a TV mounted to the wall. Batman and Nightwing read the stark black text against the bright white screen. They’d only typed one thing. 

:)  

Batman left the room, cape flying behind him. He was going to tear this tower apart, hunting for any sign of the Joker. He was locked up in Arkham, as far as they knew, but a smile was more than enough to provoke his paranoia. 

Nightwing pulled up a chair next to Tim. 

He catalogued the injuries and started doing what he could before Leslie arrived. He washed his hands, put on gloves, and started cleaning the wounds and stopping the bleeding. 

Could he have prevented this if he’d called Tim earlier? 

Bruce asked him to follow Tim tonight, but he’d stayed at the party instead. 

His phone rang and he pulled it out on instinct. 

Superboy. 

Nightwing answered, prepared to hang up the second he knew it wasn’t important. 

“I found the guy who broke into the tower.” 

The situation was this. Superboy had secretly followed them to the Tower despite Nightwing explicitly telling him not to. 

He hovered above the clouds and used his super senses to scan the area as fast as he could. He knew the culprit broke into the tower, likely hiding their face. Blood or other injury would be another likely clue. 

He saw a man in a red mask and leather jacket speeding down an empty stretch of highway on a motorcycle. Dried blood flaked off the leather. His wrist was broken but he kept an iron grip on his handle bars. 

Superboy flew after him like an asteroid. 

He got close enough to smell the exhaust from the bike but before he was within reach, the masked man threw something over his shoulder. 

Superboy was many things. Resourceful, brave, determined. 

But he was also arrogant. 

He was so used to being indestructible he didn’t bother losing speed by swerving to avoid the object. 

The sharp end of the weapon lodged itself in his chest and the combination of pain and surprise landed him face first into the concrete. The landing actually hurt, though it didn’t draw blood. He called Nightwing and then started freaking out. 

Cyborg flew a hyperventilating Superboy to the Tower, where he joined Batman and Nightwing in the med-bay. Cyborg dropped him on a bed. 

“I had him, I swear, but the guy has magic or something! I—”

Batman stepped forward which made Superboy shut up instantly. 

Leslie had arrived and taken Robin into a private room. Raven was beginning to stir. 

Batman examined Superboy’s injury. 

“This might sting,” said Batman with no emotion. 

“What—? OW.” 

Batman pulled the batarang out of Superboy’s chest. 

“How did that— WAIT. Isn’t that one of your—”

“Robin’s—” Nightwing speculated. Batman tilted his head and somehow, Nightwing understood. 

“To be able to throw it with accuracy while moving,” said Nightwing. “To know about the safety.” 

“Hm.” Batman said and Superboy couldn’t tell if he agreed or disagreed because he had no idea what was going on. 

“Okay, someone needs to tell me what the heck is happening here. I’ve played with a batarang before. Why did this one hurt me?” 

Batman stayed silent and Nightwing shifted, forced to be the one to explain. 

“This particular model has a kryptonite core if you remove the safety which removes the lead casing.” 

Batman glared and Nightwing folded his arms. 

“A masked lunatic knows, why not Superboy?” 

“Who else have you told?” 

For a moment Nightwing’s mask slipped, revealing a beat of surprise. The cold expression slipped back on. 

“Just my buddies in the Legion.” 

Batman inhaled and loomed larger, but Nightwing didn’t look scared so Superboy tried really hard not to be.

“Are you kidding me? Robin’s been carrying around kryptonite this whole time? Does Superman know?” 

“You disobeyed orders,” Batman glowered and Superboy tried to sink into the mattress. “Your punishment will be determined. Your powers should return fully within fifteen minutes.” 

The discussion was over. 

Tim woke up in pain. 

His memories of the fight came flooding back before he even opened his eyes. 

“Tim?” 

It was Bruce. Tim opened his eyes and but his left eye refused to cooperate. He reached for his face but his arm got caught, pulling on the IVs that were attached up his side. His other arm throbbed in a sling. Something was broken. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce said, brushing the hair from his forehead. 

Tim closed his eyes and taking comfort from the touch as long as it lasted.  

“You were attacked at the Tower by a man calling himself The Red Hood.” Bruce said, removing his hand. “He’s allegedly new to Gotham but we don’t believe that’s true. Nightwing and I are looking into several suspects.” 

“We have footage from your suit but it doesn’t have audio. His mask covers his lips. If we played it for you, do you think you might be able to remember what he said?” 

Tim nodded because his throat felt too raw to even attempt to speak. He could barely swallow. 

“He needs to sleep,” said Dick. 

Tim kept his eyes closed so he’d be able to open them longer to look at the footage. 

“We need information.” 

Bruce wanted to find the criminal who did this because he didn’t want him to attack again, Tim told himself like a bedtime story. He was worried about Tim because he loved him like a real father would. 

Bruce brought the screen to Tim and he forced his eyes open as much as he could. 

He could finally see Dick, in his Nightwing gear but no mask. Arms folded, leaned against the wall by the nearest monitor. They were in the batcave. Tim wondered how long he’d been out. 

He sort of wished it was longer. 

His entire body ached. 

“It might be sort of traumatizing to watch.” 

“It was traumatizing to experience.” Bruce said with a note of finality. “What do you remember, Tim?” 

Tim watched the footage and tried not to look upset. It was hard because all the parts of his face were either numb or painfully throbbing so upset was currently baseline. 

After the Red Hood shot him by the couches, Tim sprang into action. He needed to disarm him. He remembered exactly what he was thinking, control the weapon, isolate his wrist. The next time Red Hood was between rounds, he made his move. They fought hand to hand before he had a chance to reload, matching each others blows despite Tim being smaller and bleeding out where the bullet had grazed him. 

It was obvious that Red Hood was going to win this fight, especially since Tim didn’t have his bow staff or usual gear. He threw everything he had into stealing the gun. He put all his weight into the arm twist, probably injuring the guy’s wrist, but he kept an iron grip on his weapon. He was bigger than him, stronger too, and foiled Tim’s attempts to disarm him. Tim shot his grapple to the nearest light fixture and the guy finally spoke. 

“Are you already brain dead? This is gonna be way less satisfying if you are.” Tim repeated in the cave. His mask likely contained a voice modulator because it had a static quality. 

The footage continued playing. Tim was smaller, which meant he was slippery. He let the guy stepped closer before ducking with his slack grapple line, attempting to wrap it around his neck to choke him. If he couldn’t physically beat this guy, he would have to get him unconscious. 

It might’ve worked, if it hadn’t caught on the edge of his mask just long enough for the guy to slip a few fingers between the wire and his neck. Tim put a foot on the guy’s back, pulling the wire hard enough to choke him, until Red Hood managed to kick him away. 

He gasped for breath and Tim used the extra second to sprint out of the room. 

If he could get to the control room he could get his bow staff and call for help. 

The guy sprinted after him, shouting the whole way. Tim threw a batarang but it missed its mark. 

“Nice try, Robin! You’re so smart! You’re so clever! Does he tell you that? That you’re so fucking good.” Tim repeated the words through a mouth dry as cotton. His voice was scratchy as if he’d been screaming. He realized that he probably had screamed, at the end, but he just didn’t remember it. 

On the screen Tim rounded the corner into the room. He had to decide if he was going to sprint to the panic button or his bow staff. He ultimately chose the panic button, but he slowed for a split second of hesitation. He couldn’t tell if Bruce noticed, but he probably did because Dick did. His jaw clenched tightly. 

Tim really didn’t want to watch this part. 

He dashed for the panic button hidden underneath the control board, stretching as far as he could, but he wasn’t fast enough. 

Red Hood grabbed him by the cape and bashed his head in with the base of his gun. 

Tim fought through the head injury. He unclipped the cape, causing the Red Hood to stumble back, and himself to fall forward. He caught himself quicker and made another attempt to grab for the gun. He kicked him in the crotch, which hit him hard, and finally freed the gun from his grasp. He took out the ammunition and threw them, bullets clattering to the floor. 

“What do you want?” Tim asked on the screen and repeated for his audience. 

“What do you want?” Red Hood repeated. “That’s what matters now.” 

Tim’s head injury was like a river of blood, but he pushed forward on pure adrenaline. He ran for the panic button. 

Red Hood got to him first. 

And this time, he didn’t let him go. 

The gun was useable without bullets. Red Hood hit him again and again, the only thing visible on the camera was the arc of his arm and glimpses of the unfeeling red. Sometimes he’d throw in a kick, just to mix to up. 

The footage of Red Hood beating the shit out of him continued playing until Dick grabbed the screen from his wreak grasp. 

“Okay, that’s enough.” 

“Tim might remember something else.” 

“We’ve watched this a dozen times. It’s pretty repetitive until the end.” 

“Hm.” 

“I want to watch it,” Tim insisted. 

Dick didn’t look convinced. 

“Come on. It’s my footage. It’s my choice. I want to do anything I can to catch this guy.” 

Bruce was impassive but the pull of his frown was a smug one. 

Dick chewed his bottom lip, annoyed, but handed Tim the screen. 

Tim watched until the end. 

It was awful. 

He picked Tim’s pockets and left him bleeding out in the center of the room. The last thing the camera on Tim’s suit captured was Red Hood taking a running start, flipping against the wall, and out of frame. 

The flip was familiar. 

Especially through a screen. 

When Dick taught Tim how to do a wall flip, he explained that you’re supposed to have one point of contact with the wall, one foot against the brick to give you the height you need. But when Tim was just a kid sneaking around on rooftops to take pictures of Robin— Jason— he noticed that he used both feet when he kicked off. It made it easier, it was kind of like cheating. 

Red Hood flipped with both feet, stepping off the wall more than a true flip. 

His heart monitor spiked.

“What?” Bruce asked, angry but with the snapping undertones that meant he was actually concerned. 

“What do you need?” Dick asked, kneeling closer. 

Tim closed his eyes and croaked, “Can I get a water?” 

Bruce moved but Dick moved faster, reaching for a glass and bringing it to Tim’s mouth. 

Tim sipped and assessed the situation. 

He was probably high on pain medication. 

Magic was real. He knew people who used magic, and he knew aliens, time travelers, and goddesses. There were so many things beyond the natural world. 

But resurrection? Necromancy? 

It was a shocking accusation. He’d never heard anything like it. If Bruce had a reliable source on the subject, wouldn’t he have tried something after Jason’s death? 

The most logical explanation was that this person flipped the way Jason used to. 

The next time Tim woke up, Bruce was once again by his bedside. He told him more details of the case even though Tim really just wanted him to comb his hair again. 

Until Bruce told him about the fact that the guy hacked into Nightwing’s log in information. And Superboy, the batarang, and the kryptonite. 

It was Jason. It had to be Jason. 

He would know Dick well enough to guess his password— Barbara’s birthday backwards— and Barbara well enough to know the date. He would know Nightwing’s log-in could override the cameras. He would known about the emergency entrance, the window he broke. How many people knew about the kryptonite safety on the older models of batarang? How many people could throw a batarang, one handed on a moving vehicle, with perfect accuracy? 

Maybe it was an all a perfectly explainable coincidence. But… 

Maybe it was Jason. 

Bruce walked him through their current theories, most of them tied up in the joker and the smile left in the mission report. He didn’t suspect anything even close to Tim’s number one theory. 

What if Tim proposed it was a resurrected Jason and they didn’t believe him? 

Worse still— what if they did? 

What if they became convinced that their son and brother had been miraculously brought back to life, only to discover Tim was wrong. He couldn’t imagine anything crueler than building that false hope. 

His mind was having a hard time accepting the logic of necromancy. His heart was having a hard time accepting the idea of Jason— his Robin— his hero— ever hurting anybody. He wasn’t a violent person. 

Maybe becoming the living dead had nasty side effects. 

Maybe it wasn’t the real Jason, just a ghost with some of his memories, and they’d have to return him to the grave.

He choked himself up just imagining Bruce or Dick having to deal with that. 

A decision settled over his shoulders like a weighted blanket. 

Tim needed to take on this case alone. 

If it was Jason— alive, dead, or somewhere in between— he needed to be the one to deal with him. If he was alive and under some kind of cruse that turned him violent, Tim could break it before he reunited with his family. If he was dead and just an animated corpse without a soul, Tim would help him rest in peace. If he was somewhere in between, Tim would figure it out so Bruce and Dick and Alfred would never have to suffer from a devastating deadly thing like hope. 

Two weeks later, Tim was still benched. He expected to be benched. He could barely walk to the bathroom alone, of course he was benched. 

Metropolis was a curveball. 

“But if I’m not Robin, I’m totally safe,” Tim argued. He sat at the kitchen table, his crutches leaned against the back of his chair. 

Probably, he thought, unless it’s Jason. And it’s probably Jason. 

Bruce sat at the head of the table in his morning navy blue robe. The heavy curtains were forced open, allowing the morning light in. It was light that felt fresh, and brought up memories of birds chirping and cheerios. Dick sat on the table, eating a bowl of cereal.

“So far he’s remained in Gotham’s city limits,” Bruce said. “I would be able to focus entirely on the case if I knew you were safe in Metropolis.” 

“Plus it’s Superman’s city,” Dick said, swinging his feet. “If you need something, he’s a shout away.” 

“Hm,” Bruce said flatly like he resented the implication. 

Tim slumped into his hand with his elbow on the table. 

“But all my friends are in Gotham,” he tried. 

And their names are Dick and Alfred. 

He’d lost contact with his school friends months ago. He’d had a lot on his plate lately. It was probably for the best because he couldn’t exactly FaceTime anyone with his face looking like this. How many skateboarding accidents could one kid really have— especially him, who was known to be fucking awesome at skating. 

“You’ll make friends in Metropolis,” Bruce said. “And Dick will be there.” 

“Sometimes,” Dick said, giving Bruce a warning look. 

“Most of the time,” Bruce replied. “Except when he’s working the case with me.” 

“I have a life,” Dick said. “I have friends and a hot girlfriend I’d like to occasionally see.” 

Tim looked between Dick’s sullen expression and Bruce’s stoic one. 

He felt like a time traveling anthropologist, witnessing a morning from ten years ago— when Dick was a fourteen year old with attitude and Bruce was his grumpy guardian. 

In the present, twenty four year old Dick looked down at his cereal. 

“Obviously, Red Hood is my top priority.” 

Bruce didn’t acknowledge what he said because it was already taken as fact. 

“Metropolis is a fine city. Think of it as a vacation. It is summer, after all.” 

When Tim was growing up, he was stuck at home while his parents traveled the world. Now, he was the one forced to leave, on a vacation he didn’t want to the city who worshipped Superman and his worse half. If he had to witness Superboy flying past a crowd of adoring fans, he might roll his eyes right out of his head.  

He was able to console himself. 

Jason— who he should probably call Red Hood until he confirmed his theory— was targeting him. If he had been mind controlled into an evil, violent person it made sense. Tim had replaced him as Robin, Bruce’s son, and Dick’s brother. He hadn’t left Gotham because Tim hadn’t left Gotham. 

He would be able to work his case in Metropolis because Red Hood would come to him. 

He was a little bit terrified of the faceless red man who beat him into unconsciousness, but if he’d wanted to kill Tim, he had every opportunity to do so. Now that he’d used him as a punching bag, maybe he wanted to talk. 

Or maybe he wanted to unleash some new twisted torture that only the undead are cruel enough to come up with. 

Tim could handle it. He was Robin. He’d been caught unprepared once. 

Next time, he’d be ready. 

Chapter Text

“Can I drive?” 

“Not in this car,” Dick said, slipping on his sunglasses and pulling out of the manor’s garage. 

“I’ll take another one. Please. I’m supposed to practice.” 

“Yeah, I’ll pay someone to practice with you because after the Tokyo Drift incident—”

“That was a year ago,” Tim argued. “And I was driving distracted because you were bleeding out in the backseat—”

“And I would’ve crawled home if I knew you were going to treat 34th street like Rainbow Road.” 

Tim sat back in his seat and pulled out his phone so he wouldn’t have to look at Dick’s stupid face. Dick turned on his music, a Spotify playlist labeled baby driver with a string of emoji’s that told Tim it was created by Barbara. 

Halfway to Metropolis conversation picked up again. 

“I swear, if I have to see Superboy, I’m taking my chances with Red Hood.” 

Dick had his hands on ten and two. His sunglasses reflected the light. 

“He didn’t tell you,” Dick said, more to himself than Tim. He tried to figure out if he was about to make a joke. But instead, he said seriously, “Of course he didn’t.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Bruce Wayne’s sons are spending the summer in Metropolis. And he donates a lot of money to the Justice League.” 

Tim turned fully in his seat to face him, even though the seatbelt pressed uncomfortably into bruises that hadn’t yet healed. 

“Superboy is banned from Justice League affiliated missions for the next two months due to past insubordination, so Bruce Wayne hired him as private security for his sons apartment building—” 

“No.” 

“I tried to talk him out of it—”

“Oh my god.” 

Dick shrugged, eyes on the road. “I really don’t think it will be that bad. I was at the meeting.”

“There was a meeting?” Tim screeched. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” 

“I thought B— I don’t know what I was thinking,” Dick admitted. “But honestly, it was pretty funny. He laid the Brucie on thick. Superboy was so starstruck he asked for a picture. Bruce is doing his Vanity Fair pout.” 

“I don’t care about a stupid picture. I don’t need security, and I especially don’t need a self-absorbed idiot who’d rather read a teen magazine than a mission report.” 

“You’re right,” Dick said evenly, “It’s not fair.” 

“I know it’s not,” Tim glared. “I need to call Bruce—”

“Don’t fight him on this.” Dick argued. “He’s worried about you. He barely sleeps, it’s like— it’s bad.” 

It’s like it was after Jason. Tim fills in the blank. Sometimes life with the Wayne family felt like a giant crossword puzzle. Almost every clue was a variation of what’s the worst thing that ever happened, who is the person they’ll always miss, what is the loss they’ll never get over. 

“If you put your foot down about Superboy he’ll just create another security blanket to comfort himself. What do you want— secret cameras in every room? Bubble wrapped house arrest? Do you really want him to create the bat-leash-backpack he’s always dreamed of?” 

Tim slumped in his seat which pulled at the stitches on his side. 

“Tell him to patrol far enough away that I don’t have to see him.”

“I actually think if you got to know him a little better, you’d really like him.” 

Tim sighed, resigned.

“Maybe you’re right. I mean, I get why you’d think that— because I used to be best friends with a Ken doll that was brought to life. And so many of my friends are models who fell in love with their own reflection and drowned.”  

Dick smiled like he couldn’t help it, a twisted smirk that was as good as a laugh when it came to him. Tim felt a rush of pride. 

“If you brought jokes like that to the team, they’d finally know how funny you are.” Dick tensed and quickly added, “Don’t bring those jokes though.” 

“Yeah, I don’t plan on starting my junior year with a heat vision hair cut.” 

Tim stared out the window for while, using the passing phone lines to count the ways his life was unfair. 

Superboy had a secret identity. 

No one knew about it. They thought he lived in the Fortress of Solitude or just fucked around in space the way they thought Superman spent his days. 

His secret identity was Conner Kent, 16 years old, son of Clark and Lois, brother of the world’s cutest 8 year old, Jon. 

His life in Metropolis was pretty much perfect, expect he lived in constant fear that Clark would kick him out because he hadn’t wanted to take him in the first place. He didn’t like him when he was just a clone and he was disgusted by him when he was revealed to be half Lex Luthor. 

Once Lois met him, it was all over. She loved him, welcoming him in with open arms, and moving their little nuclear family into a three bedroom. 

At school, he called them his parents— but he’d never call them Mom or Dad face to face. It wasn’t actually like that. But it was kind of like that.

It was summer and he was banned from super hero work. 

He’d never been more bored in his life. When Kon said stuff like that, he wasn’t being overdramatic, because he could remember every day of his life from the moment he broke out of containment. 

The only slightly exciting thing was his new job, protecting the two rich kids of billionaire Bruce Wayne. He’d done a little googling and learned that he had a kid named Jason who was kidnapped for ransom and ultimately killed, so the security detail made a lot of sense. 

He was supposed to patrol tonight at 9, according to a schedule Clark passed on from Batman, but it was the middle of the day and he was bored now. 

If he took a little peek at his clients, that was a good thing, right? He was being prepared. He was working overtime. 

He suited up and flew high above the city, past the clouds, where the atmosphere was thin and his mind seemed to clear. He could focus better the further he got from Earth. And if he looked stupid no one could see. 

He flew around, using his X-ray vision through the city, and after a few minutes, he found one of the sons. 

Tim Drake-Wayne. He was fifteen. He was talking to a kid, probably Jon’s age, in a comic book and game store called Level Up. He was dressed super weird for the middle of June, in a long sleeved navy blue shirt with thin white stripes and starch white collar that looked sewn into the shirt. He had light washed jeans cuffed above white socks and black converse. 

“— unless you have like eight hours to spare,” Tim was telling the kid, pointing to one of the games. 

“Hmm,” said the kid, an adorable little guy with a cowlick and glasses, “Interesting. Do you, um, do you know any games that are for one player?” 

Tim blinked before stepping back to re-exam the shelf. 

“Yeah. I’ve played lots of solo games. Do you like dragons?” 

The kid nodded eagerly. 

“Let’s check out this aisle.” 

They moved to an aisle a few rows over, one overflowing with Dungeons and Dragons books, dice, and other merchandise. There were four kids, probably ten or eleven, reading titles out loud and arguing over which one sounded cooler. 

“Hey,” Tim got their attention. The glasses kid looked unsure of exactly where Tim was going with this. 

“If you guys are trying to pick a D&D campaign, I recommend Curse of Strahd. Super fun— but I think it’s 13 and up because it’s pretty scary.” 

“Cool,” one of the boys said, scanning for the title. Another boy found it first, and they examined the cover. 

“Oh,” Tim pretended to think out loud. “I just remembered. It’s way more fun with five people… Hey, I bet Noah would play.” 

“Um, well, I’m only ten,” Noah said, unsure. “You said it’s for 13 year olds?” 

“That’s recommended because of how scary it is, but I think you’re up for it. You were telling me all about Zombie Blast 2.” 

“You play Zombie Blast 2?” One of the other boys asked and Noah got pulled into the conversation, a new friend group that welcomed him in. 

Tim grabbed a comic and checked out. 

Kon blinked away the x-ray vision, once again staring at the tops of clouds. He floated upside down, letting his curls flop away from his forehead. Tim seemed like a cool guy.

Maybe using his X-ray vision from the sky to stalk him was a creepy thing to do. 

Tim was wearing black joggers and a beige nike pullover. His hair was pushed out of his face by a sweatband and he had a Nike water bottle holder strapped across his chest like a fanny pack. 

He stretched and Kon secretly watched him from a few blocks away. 

It wasn’t creepy. Well, it wasn’t as creepy. 

He was dressed as Conner Kent, which basically meant an oversized t-shirt, wire framed glasses, and his curls loose instead of slicked back with a single piece perfectly in place in the middle of his forehead. 

Tim was in a park with a man-made lake in the center. The sidewalk worked as a running path, a loop that came in at a mile. Tim started running and Kon strained to hear the music coming from his AirPods. He was working on his control over his powers. This was basically a Teen Titans practice. All he needed was Robin bitching the end result doesn’t matter the point is to run the drill. 

Tim ran two miles straight before stopping. He finally took a break, catching his breath on a bench. He shrugged off his pullover. His long sleeve t-shirt was soaked with sweat. 

Kon had always been interested in sweat, since he didn’t have any, but seeing it on Tim really captured his attention. It made Tim feel so real, so touchable. So human. 

Tim was sweaty all over, some of it making his hair stick up funny behind the headband. He itched to smooth it down. Tim took a long drink of water and he watched his throat move before his eyes were drawn to his hands around the bottle. 

Tim finished his break, ignoring the way his sore and already slightly out of shape muscles protested. He needed to get back to running five miles a day, not two miles and a break. 

He started running. 

A guy his age ran up next to him, as if he appeared out of thin air. Tim hadn’t even noticed him around the park earlier. 

“I’ll race you,” the guy said throwing a smile at him before he took off running. 

Tim’s body reacted before his mind processed the stranger’s challenge. He sprinted after him. 

They were almost neck and neck the entire time, fighting tooth and nail for a small lead, until the last push before the finish line, when the mystery guy seemed to get a burst of energy that pushed him into first place. 

Tim caught his breath, sweating so bad it stung it eyes. He glanced at his opponent, who wasn’t breathing heavily in the slightest. 

“Do you run professionally?” 

“Nope. I’m just a natural,” the guy said with a cocky grin. 

“You didn’t even break a sweat.” 

The guy grabbed Tim’s water bottle and said, “I’m just dehydrated.” He poured the water onto his face, and water drops raced down his line of his jaw, disappearing down his neck and soaking his t-shirt. 

Tim was surprised, but the faux pas was forgotten in favor of watching the water drops race across the curve of his neck. 

“I’m Kon. It’s short for Conner,” the guy said and Tim’s eyes snapped back to his. 

He flushed, thankful his face was already pink from the exercise. 

“I’m Tim,” he said, holding out a hand. 

Kon shook his hand with raised eyebrows.

“A handshake. Very professional.” 

“You can tell a lot about a person based on their handshake.” 

“What can you tell about me?” Kon asked, letting his hand go completely limp in Tim’s. 

Tim held on, shaking the hand and making his arm move like noodle. 

“You’re a funny guy.” 

“You’re great at reading people,” Kon said with a smile. 

He had a nice smile. It was playful, straddling the line between a smirk and sincerity in a way Tim had never seen before. 

He wanted to see it again. 

They’d stopped shaking hands but Tim was still holding his. 

With his sweaty palm. 

He let go immediately and wiped his hand on his pants. 

“Uh, thanks for the race,” Tim said, deciding three miles was good enough. He walked away.  

“Wait,” Kon caught up with him, falling into step by his side. “I haven’t seen you at this park before.” 

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I just moved here.” 

“I can show you around, if you want. I’ve lived here basically my whole life.” 

“That’s okay. I know how to navigate the city. It’s a grid.”  

“Oh, yeah, totally… Well, it was nice to meet you.” Conner smiled once more, this time a bit more resigned, and started to walk away. 

It was a moment where the universe seemed to split the way a cell reproduced asexually. He had a  few seconds to make a decision— turn left and walk home, or turn right and potentially make a new friend. There were two paths toward two possible timelines. 

He had to make quicker calls all the time and usually with much higher, deadlier stakes. 

Why was he hesitating? 

He called out, “I’ll be here the same time tomorrow. If you wanted to run together again.”

Conner turned around, lightly jogging backwards, and Tim was rewarded for his efforts with a new smile. It was a smirk, a little arrogant, as if he’d known Tim was going to make the offer. But there was a familiarity to it that made it inviting, like they were both in on the joke. It gave him a rush like he unlocked a new level in a game. 

“I’ll be there.” 

If Dick was in Metropolis, they had dinner together. Sometimes Barbara joined them but tonight it was the two of them and scrambled eggs. 

“I talked to someone at the park today.” 

“A girl?” 

Tim’s eyes cut away. “No. Just some guy.” 

“Is he under fifty?” 

The question was asked because Tim used to tell Dick about his best friend Hayward, and it took Dick weeks to realize Hayward was in fact Tim’s middle-aged kickboxing teacher. 

It wasn’t his fault he got along so well with old people. 

“He’s my age. He challenged me to a race.” 

Dick hit the bottom of his ketchup bottle, absolutely drenching his eggs. Tim tried not to visibly gag. 

“Did you win?” 

“I’ll win tomorrow,” Tim answered. 

“You made plans? Wow. I can’t believe you made a friend in Metropolis before I did.” 

“It’s not a big deal. He was probably planning to go to the park again anyway. And I thought you made friends with that grocery store cashier.” 

“She told me to propose to my girlfriend and when I said maybe she ranted about men being trash for ten minutes. So I’d call us acquaintances.” 

“Maybe enemies.” 

Dick accepted the label with a dry nod and took a big bite of ketchup eggs.  

“I wanna see your new friend. I assume you already stalked him.” 

“I didn’t stalk him. I found his instagram.” 

And his birth certificate, report card, Zillow pictures of his parents apartment, and the maiden name of his grandmother on his father’s side who raised him until he moved to Metropolis.  

He showed Dick his instagram. 

“He seems cool,” said Dick. He scrolled as far back as he could and clicked into the first picture he ever posted. It was a picture of Conner from three years ago, he had the same glasses and wind-swept curls but rounder cheeks. It was the sort of awkward selfie that had been popular at the time, with a filter and a serious expression. 

“Don’t like it,” Tim warned him, even though he was logged into a fake profile so the only thing Conner would see is a 23 year old woman named Crystal from Star City liked his very first post. 

“I’ll just comment.” 

Tim snatched the phone away and Dick laughed. 

Superboy flew circles around the Wayne’s apartment building. Now that he’d met Tim, it was just too creepy to look and listen in. He flew down to introduce himself at the window, but only the older one, Dick Grayson, greeted him. Dick was pretty much exactly what he expected, a guy who’d never have to work a day in his life with a smile like he knew it. Overall the night was super boring, but Bruce Wayne paid him an advance and he was officially richer than he’d ever been in his life. He swung by McDonalds just because he could and ate his fries on the edge of the atmosphere. 

When patrol was done, Tim was still on his mind. 

He did some Googling. 

Tim was sitting on the grass, stretching. He wore a different workout fit but it was still long sleeved and the same headband smushed back his hair.  

Conner unzipped his jacket and tied it around his waist as he approached him. 

“Hey,” he said, “Sorry I’m a little late. I hit the gym this morning. Arm day.” 

He tried to make his “sweat stains” extra noticeable by stretching an arm over his shoulder. He flexed a little. It caught Tim’s attention for a second but then he looked back at the leg he was stretching.

No one at school had ever brought up the sweat thing before, but last night he figured out a solution. He Googled variations of ‘sweaty guys’, ‘sweaty t-shirt guys’, and ‘men at the gym’ until he had a pretty good idea of how to recreate the look with a wet sponge and a grey t-shirt. The water would eventually dry, but that’s what the jacket was for. 

“I’ve been looking for a gym. The one in my building sucks. Which one do you go to?” 

“It’s the one downtown,” he lied, mind going a mile a minute. Now he had another lie to keep up. He couldn’t ask Clark and Lois for a gym membership. The Bruce Wayne money was gonna go fast. 

Tim stood. 

“Ready?”

After three miles, he barely felt it. Still, it was easy to keep pace with Tim. Tim was faster than anyone in his P.E. classes, but Kon hadn’t even tapped into his flight yet. He let Tim win mile two, but for the final lap he gave himself a little air to ensure a victory. 

Tim sat on the grass, but it looked more like he collapsed. 

“Are you good?” Kon asked, giving him a quick x-ray. 

Tim was fucked up. 

Busted rib, an arm fracture that was still healing, sickly yellow bruises, a recently healed injury on the back of his head, definitely blunt force trauma. This explained the long sleeves. 

Damn, thank God his dad hired security. What the hell happened to this guy? And why had he pushed himself for three miles when he must be in pain? If Kon knew he was hurt, he wouldn’t have run as fast as he did. He’d been caught up in how good it felt to try a little, without the aim for the middle mentality Clark insisted he bring to P.E. 

“I’m good,” Tim said after catching his breath and uncapping his water. “I just need a second.” 

Kon sat down next to him, debating whether or not he should act more exhausted. Tim didn’t seem to be paying him any attention, sprawled on the grass with his eyes closed and heartbeat starting to slow from Impulse speeds to hummingbird. 

He felt a little guilty for keeping such a fast pace. He would’ve slowed down if Tim had, but apparently the guy was just that competitive. 

That gave him a great idea. 

When Tim opened his eyes Kon was leaning over him. 

Tim’s heart rate jumped again, but he didn’t give any outside indication that he was surprised. He had a pretty good poker face. 

Tim sat up but Kon didn’t move away, their faces just inches apart. 

“Do you want to get lunch? I can take you to the best place in the city.” 

Tim didn’t look nearly as down as Kon thought he would be. 

“Where?” 

“Words can’t explain how cool it is. You just have to go experience it. Come on, I love taking new people. It’ll be fun.” 

Tim studied his face. Kon had no idea what he was thinking, but eventually he said. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Anyway, I should go home and change.” 

“It’s like three blocks from here,” Kon insisted. “They have clothes there, you can just buy a new shirt.” 

“The restaurant sells clothes?” 

“It’s so much more than a restaurant.” 

There was a light in Tim’s eyes. Kon could tell he was curious, hopefully curious enough to say yes. Tim had eyes that reminded him of the endless expanse of sky above the clouds, his favorite place to be alone. 

“I’ll go,” Tim said, “Just to check it out. I might get a water.” 

Dick and Barbara messed around on the couch. A Netflix movie was playing on the lowest volume but they’d stopped watching halfway through the opening credits. The front door opened, which meant Tim was home. Barbara reached for the remote to pause the movie, mostly because she needed a second to catch her breath away from Dick. 

He sat up and fixed his hair. This was less stressful than the manor, but it made him miss Bludhaven where his apartment had a broken A.C., an oven that occasionally leaked gas, but absolutely amazing privacy. 

Tim walked into the living room practically vibrating with energy. 

He was wearing an obnoxiously orange shirt with the Dave and Busters logo and holding a giant stuffed bear. 

Obviously, they had to hear the story. 

Tim eagerly shared every single little detail. Dick couldn’t hide a smile. It reminded him of the Tim he first met, a little kid so excited to be at the circus that he, nearly incoherent, rambled about all the different performances he was about to see. 

“And I know it’s about hand eye coordination but some of these games were rigged to be more difficult, especially the jackpot games that have the most tickets, so it’s more chance than skill— but Conner was amazing. Like it was insane. Like, I’m sure the employees thought he was cheating. I thought he was cheating but then he accused me of cheating at ski ball and then we played like 10 rounds of ski ball—”

Tim ranted until Dick had enough information to draw a perfect floor plan of the Dave and Busters. 

“Did you find out more about him?” 

“Yeah,” Tim said, carried away in the story, “He sucks at VR games.” 

“I mean personal stuff. Did he ask you questions about yourself?” 

“Yeah, a little,” Tim said, moving past the odd question, “But then we got to dodgeball—”

Tim suggested combining their tickets at the end so they could get a bigger prize. Conner quickly agreed and without consulting him got the biggest bear they had. 

“And I was like, really, the bear?? Because it’s kind of stupid and impractical. And he was like I know right. That’s why I got it for you. Good luck on the subway. And I was like, no way, I’m not taking that thing— But the next time we go I get to pick something out for him—”

Tim finally finished and went to take a shower. 

Barbara played the movie and Dick cuddled closer. 

“Remember our Dad Pact?” 

Barbara tilted her head, her auburn hair slipping off one shoulder. 

“Yeah. If either of us ever sounds like our father, one will mercy kill the other.” 

“Yeah,” Dick said. “I want you to keep that promise in mind when I ask this… I looked into Conner and his parents are Lois Lane and Clark Kent, from the Daily Planet. Lois has written a lot of corporate exposes, including stuff about WE. Clark writes mostly about Superman and the Justice League. Tim doesn’t make friends very easily. Or ever. But after two days, this Conner kid is his new best friend? Maybe if his parents wanted access to the Waynes… Do you think he has any ulterior motives for getting closer to Tim? Am I being crazy paranoid?” 

Barbara took time to really think before she answered, which was one of the things Dick liked most about her. She was also a very tactile person, which he found extremely comforting. 

She cupped his face and then used her finger tips to squish his cheeks. 

“Crazy? No.” She said, shaking his head with her answer. 

“Paranoid…” She nodded his head and he made a face. 

“But I think a lot of the weirdness you’re picking up on can be explained by Tim’s crush.” 

Dick moved her hands away and sat up straighter.  

“No way.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“No one is that impressed by a guy’s ski ball game.” 

Dick lowered his voice, even though they could hear the shower running. 

“You think Tim’s gay?” 

“Or bi or something… You didn’t pick up on that the first time he watched Rocky Horror and then immediately watched it again?” 

Dick was lost in thought, mentally reviewing the last few years in light of Barbara’s theory. 

“It’s a good movie,” he said, but she could tell he’d been convinced. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

“If Tim’s really into Conner, it’ll be easier for him to hide his true motivations.” 

She pantomimed a finger gun pointed at his temple. 

He got the message. 

“But,” he continued, “Tim is a smart kid who can take care of himself.” 

She pressed harder against his head.  

“And,” he continued, not totally sure what she wanted to hear, “I’m not going to offer him 5k to leave him alone.” 

Barbara fell back against the cushion, laughing. 

“Oh my god— I almost forgot about that.” She was dwarfed by Dick’s sweatshirt, the baby blue made her red hair look even more striking. She put her hands on her stomach and said thoughtfully, “I should’ve cashed that check.” 

Dick crawled on top of her. 

“I think I’m worth way more than that. Six figures, at least.” 

She pulled him down for a kiss before he could do a full cost-benefit analysis. 

The first night Dick went back to Gotham, Tim got to work. 

If Robin was spotted in Metropolis, Bruce would ground him so fast. If Tim snuck out of the house at night, there was a risk that Superboy might catch him and tattle to Bruce. He could think of 14 plans off the top of his head to distract the world’s most distracted Kryptonian— but since he needed to leave Metropolis anyway, he went with his first idea. 

The next morning, Tim took a train to New York and Robin texted Wonder Girl, saying he wanted to give her her birthday gift. 

She met him in a public park on the outskirts of the city, in a shady corner hidden from view. 

“I’m sorry I missed your party.” 

“Don’t be sorry! I can’t believe someone broke into the tower. How are you?” 

He assured her he was recovering well and gave her a hundred dollar Starbucks gift card. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I hope you can come back soon. I’ve been covering your leader duties but… it takes a lot more time than I thought it did. And everyone’s always talking during meetings. How did you resist the urge to duct tape mouths?” 

He forced a smile. He understood why he needed to step back for a while. Robin had a target on his back. Red Hood had already broken into the Tower— anyone could’ve gotten caught in the crossfire. 

But it killed him to give up his position. 

Wonder Girl was clearly capable, especially if Batman picked her, but Robin was supposed to be the leader. If Dick had been, he should be, too. 

Everyone probably preferred Wonder Girl. What was it Superboy said? 

More people would be available for missions if we had a team leader that people actually liked.

He steeled his shoulders. 

This wasn’t about his ego. 

“I just tried to stay professional, while cutting them some slack,” Robin said. “They’re teenagers, after all.” 

She cleared her throat. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the card.” 

“Actually,” he said before she could fly. “I need to ask you a favor. Do you think you could deliver a note in Gotham without Batman spotting you?” 

She hovered a few feet above him, unsure but intrigued. 

Conner kept showing up. 

He really liked Conner, but he was always trying to cut their workout short, which was ironic because he obviously worked out a lot. He wore baggy clothes, but Tim could see the definition when he flexed, which was pretty frequently. 

It was another blue sky day in Metropolis. Before they started their Friday routine, Tim rubbed on sunscreen and missed Gotham a little bit extra. 

After twenty minutes of a leg routine, Conner flopped onto his back on the grass. 

“Dude, I think I pulled something yesterday,” he complained. 

Tim completed his squat. 

“You should go. I don’t mind.” 

Conner sat up with his hand behind his head, which made the flow-y sleeve of his t-shirt slide down. His bicep was flexed, tan and smooth. 

“Do you want to hang out instead? You could come over to my house.” 

His first instinct when Conner said that was to ask are your parents home? Thankfully he had enough of a brain filter to not blurt that out like an anxious loser.

“I… should probably finish my reps,” Tim said.  

“No worries,” he said easily. “Can I get your number, though— in case you want to hang out later. I’m pretty available. Or if you just want to text. I love to text.” 

He couldn’t tell if he was trying to make him smile or being completely sincere, but either way, he texted himself from Conner’s phone with a stupid grin. 

He hadn’t spent quality time around someone who didn’t know he was Robin in a while. It was an odd experience, but the weirdest part was how much Conner seemed to like him. 

Batman wore Bruce like a mask. 

When Dick Grayson walked around Gotham, he might as well be spinning a hundred feet in the air, putting on a show just like he used to. Robin was who he really was at his core. 

Tim wanted to be like them, too. He was as smart as they were, he’d just had less time to perfect the ratio of his vigilante and civilian life. He needed to be Robin, always. He couldn’t be the same hopeful, likable hero Dick was, because Jason had died trying. He had to be the Robin who couldn’t break, perfect and precise, in control and strong at all times. 

So Tim would become less of a person, more a cover story. 

It was for the best. Batman needed Robin. 

No one needed Tim. 

And being Robin was amazing. Robin was the best. He’d dreamed about a chance like this for years, so he wasn’t going to waste it. 

But he was only in Metropolis for the next few weeks. The Red Hood case was his first priority, but during his downtime, hanging out with Conner Kent didn’t sound so bad. 

Wonder Girl texted him a thumbs up emoji. 

She’d left the note where he’d asked her to, and Batman wasn’t blowing up his phone so she hadn’t been caught. 

He assumed she did it as Wonder Girl, but if she had a secret identity— which he assumed she did— maybe she climbed the fire escape and taped it to the window as a civilian. It would’ve made the undercover element a lot easier. 

He told her it was safer if she didn’t know the details of the favor. She called his bluff, flying away until he finally relented and explained the note, lies that were close enough to the truth to sound believable. 

He had an old friend in Gotham who Batman didn’t want him to see, so he wanted her to leave a note on the window of the apartment where he grew up. This friend was in danger, and needed Tim’s help. He was surrounded by savior complexes and she was no exception.