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He didn’t cry when the ceremony started. His face was calm, collected, blank. His eyes were smooth pools of blue, not a single vein of red in morning. Not like the soft cries and sniffs that echoed in the church. No. He, just like the men who came before him were collected, neutral, distant. It was a testament to see the man of Steel blinking back tears of his own. If only Conner could see it. If only he could see how many people came out. If only he could hear how much his death had moved everyone around him.
Because dying was easy on the one who left. It was a quick end. A shot of pain, and then nothing. No….dying wasn’t a verb for the departing. It was a verb for the ones who were left behind.
It all passed in a blur. Every known superhero came out, as well as at least fifty civilians who had known the man as Conner Kent as well as Superboy. And before it really seemed to register, Conner’s body, surrounded by wood, was placed beneath the grassy soil that resided outside of the Hall of Heroes. Because even if often he doubted himself, that’s what Kon-el was.
He was a hero.
Tim stood at the base of the newly turned earth, eyes staring at the name etched into concrete until the image was burned into his memory.
There were no tears, no clog in his throat, no tightness in his expression or shoulders. No physical evidence of pain, of loss.
Nothing but the silent wailing of his soul, buried down so deeply that no one noticed it. Or rather, the only one who would have heard it was no longer around to do so. Control….Control meant everything. He had bore the loss of his Father, of his girlfriend. And he would bear this too, with the dignity that was expected from a Wayne.
Because crying about it, screaming and cursing the gods, fate, whatever. What would that do but dishonor Kon’s death? No…..Tim would bear his loss in silence.
Because it was in silence that Kon had understood him the best.