Chapter Text
It was a normal day in Metropolis.
Kon was currently patrolling with Jon and Krypto. And by patrolling, he meant playing fetch in the sky while keeping an ear out for crime and danger. The weather was pleasantly cool with the autumn breeze blowing in form the Atlantic and the sun shining above them.
“How are things looking, boys?” Clark’s voice cut through the ambient noise. The eldest Super was stuck at work during this gorgeous day, and since Jon was on fall break from school, Kon had volunteered to patrol with him to keep him occupied.
“Stopped a few muggings, but nothing too interesting thus far,” Kon reported as he reared back to throw the ball once again.
“Krypto and I set a new record for longest catch!” Jon pointed out excitedly. “Playing baseball has really helped my form.”
Kon heard Clark chuckle. “That’s great, kiddo. You guys just remember to be home for dinner. I’m making lasagna.”
Jon did a loop and pumped his fist into the air. “Yes! I love lasagna.”
“We’ll be home on time,” Kon promised. “Don’t forget that Tim’s coming over for dinner tonight.”
“How could I forget? I have a meeting with him in an hour to discuss some press coverage for an upcoming WE event. Plus, you’ve reminded me everyday this week.”
“That’s because he liiiikes him,” Jon snickered.
Kon definitely didn’t blush. “Shut up, Pipsqueak. I do not.”
“You totally do.”
“We. Are. Friends. Bros. Amigos. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Then why is your face so red?”
“Jon, that’s enough,” Clark chided. “I’ll let you both get back to patrolling. Be safe, and if you run into any trouble and need backup just let me know.”
Kon snorted. What kind of trouble could they possibly get into at noon on a Thursday? Still, it was nice to hear from Clark. His relationship with Superman had vastly improved, though it was still complex. Kon couldn’t say he completely saw Clark as a father figure (that role belonged to Pa 100%), but maybe a big brother of sorts? In any case, he found himself splitting his time more and more evenly between Metropolis and Smallville. And he loved being a big brother to Jon (because that’s what the boy called him, and it just felt right) – except when he teased him for having a crush on Tim. Because he totally did not.
“It’s okay if you like Tim, though,” Jon said. “Damian said he likes you, too. He said it’s annoyingly obvious. And if you guys got married, Dami and I could be brothers!”
Okay, that was a lot to unpack.
Kon opened his mouth to once again reaffirm that Tim was just his best friend when a loud crash caused him to freeze.
Jon’s eyes were fixed on try ground below. “There’s a car crash. Looks like a motorcycle got dragged underneath a truck.”
Kon frowned. “Let’s go see if we can help.”
The two Supers raced to the scene of the accident. No first responders had arrived yet, but it was still chaotic. Civilians in the surrounding area were already getting out of their cars and swarming the crash site. The driver of the pickup truck jumped out of the driver’s seat, appearing to be unharmed.
“M-my brakes went out,” he explained with a panicked look on his face. “I couldn’t stop. I had to use the emergency brake, but I must have dragged him a hundred feet. God, tell me he isn’t dead.”
“Superboy, clear the civilians and secure the area. Make sure the first responders have room to get in,” Kon ordered. Jon nodded and immediately started asking people to step back.
Conner guided the truck driver to the curb. “Please sit down, sir. You could be injured. I will check on the motorcyclist.”
He turned his attention back to the scene. He listened for a heartbeat, and his stomach dropped. The man underneath was alive, but it wasn’t good. His pulse was there; though it was very thready. Thready and… familiar.
Oh God. He knew that heartbeat.
“No, no, no, no,” Kon whispered as he dropped to his knees by the injured man. He wanted to be wrong. He prayed he was wrong. The motorcycle was crumpled up underneath the body of the truck. It was bright red – a specific shade he had helped the cycle’s owner pick out.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Tim,” he breathed, looking at the broken body of his best friend. Road rash covered most of his back and shoulders even through his motorcycle leathers. His x-ray vision showed multiple fractures all over the boy’s body. He could also detect fluid building up in the abdomen – probably internal bleeding.
“Uh, sir, can you hear me?” he called out. At that moment, he loathed secret identities with every fiber of his being. He wanted to cry out his friend’s name. To promise him everything was going to be okay. To tell him he loved him and beg him not to die.
But instead, he had to remain Superboy.
Tim didn’t answer. He lay freakishly still; the only sound he produced was shallow, labored breaths. His eyes were closed within the helmet.
He glanced back at Jon. His brother had done a good job of clearing the area. “Superboy, I’m going to pick the truck up and move it away from him. Make sure everyone stays clear.”
Jon glanced at the wreckage then widened his eyes. “Is that–”
“Now, Superboy.”
The boy swallowed. “Right. I’m on it.”
Conner took a deep breath to steel his nerves before carefully lifting the truck off of his best friend. He set it down a few yards away then rushed back to Tim’s side, pushing the totaled motorcycle away in the process. In the daylight, Tim looked even worse – all smushed and cut to pieces. Blood was leaking onto the pavement, the puddle growing by the second.
Panic welled up in Kon’s chest. What was he supposed to do now? The ambulance was still minutes away. He knew enough about first aid to know that he shouldn’t try to move Tim, but surely there was something he could do to help. Afraid to do anything too drastic, he settled for using his TTK to stabilize his best friend’s neck and hold pressure on the heaviest bleeding wounds.
“Just hang on,” he whispered. “Please, stay alive.”
When the first responders finally arrived, Kon was almost shaking. Tim’s heartbeat was getting weaker by the second. Should Conner have just flown him to the hospital? The logical part of his brain reminded him that it probably would’ve caused even more damage, but at the same time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t doing enough. That he was just standing there while his best friend in the entire world slowly died in front of him.
The medics swarmed Tim. They locked a c-collar around his neck before they worked to remove his helmet. Tim’s hair was plastered against his forehead and soaked with blood.
It took every ounce of his Kryptonian strength not to throw up.
Suddenly, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Superboy, it’s time to go,” Superman said, pain and worry shining in his bright blue eyes.
Kon shook his head. “B-but he’s hurt. He’s really hurt and I –”
“The medics will take care of him. You did a great job securing the scene, but the authorities are here now. You need to let them take over. Come with me, Kon-El.”
Conner knew Clark was right. In any other situation, he’d be happy to stand down and let the professionals handle it. But this was Tim. How could he just leave?
He hated secret identities.
He glanced back at his best friend. Tim was all bruised and broken and bleeding and oh God they were intubating him.
“Superboy. Let’s go. There’s nothing more we can do here,” Superman ordered, though his tone was more pleading than harsh.
Kon snapped out of his gaze. Panic gripped his very soul and refused to let go. Tim was dying right in front of him. He had to be. His heartbeat was stuttering and unsure and now the medics were forcing him to breathe through a tube.
It was all too much.
He took off away from the scene but didn’t get very far. He crashed on a rooftop a few blocks from the accident and immediately fell to his knees.
This time, he couldn’t stop himself from throwing up.
The image of his best friend strapped to a stretcher with a tube being shoved down his throat was engraved on his eyelids. No matter how many times he blinked, it wouldn’t go away. He just kept seeing it.
Clark and Jon landed on the rooftop beside him. Superman motioned for his son to hang back before moving to kneel in front of Kon.
“It’s going to be okay, Conner,” he soothed, rubbing circles on the younger man’s back.
“No it’s not,” Kon croaked. He could feel hot tears streaming down his cheeks. “He’s dying. My best friend is dying, and I left him.”
“You had to leave to protect his identity,” Clark reminded him softly. “And the medics are working on him. He’s still alive.”
“They intubated him, Clark. Right in the middle of the street.”
“I know, Conner, but you did everything you cou–”
“I didn’t do fucking shit,” Kon snapped. “I just fucking stood there while he was dying. There had to be something I could have done. I should have flown him to the hospital myself.”
Clark gripped his shoulder tightly. “Moving him when he was that unstable probably would have killed him. You did what you could by moving the truck and keeping him still until the paramedics arrived. I know you don’t feel like you did enough, but there was nothing else you could have done. We just have to believe that Tim is going to be okay.”
“I can’t lose him. He’s my best friend. I can’t lose him.”
“I know,” Clark said softly. He wrapped his arms around Conner and pulled him tightly against his chest. “He’s extremely strong. If anyone can survive, it’s him.”
Kon collapsed into the embrace and allowed violent sobs to overtake him.
He just hoped Clark was right.