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Staring into the fading blue void of the sky, Kon wishes that he was laying on a roof somewhere else. But if he were to leave, he's pretty sure Superman would just drop in to talk no matter whether he wants to or not. And that's the whole gist of his problem. "Like, who am I supposed to be, when all I am is two people smacked together into one?"
"That's generally how people are made." Kon is not even surprised that he didn't hear the vigilante getting closer. Tim lands on the roof and walks up to him.
"Yeah," Kon answers when he's close enough, "but I'm a clone. I'm literally made to replace someone. That's not normal."
Tim thinks for a moment while they sit in silence, and he uses that to look over the city scape. From up here, Metropolis looks even grander. Towers and people framed with a setting sun, filling their own little part of the world with dreams and ambitions. The sunlight dances over him in dancing patterns of the dimming day, leaving the wind to gently ruffle his hair.
"I am my mother's son," the boy finally says.
Kon is pretty sure that there are people who disagree with that statement, but when he opens his mouth, Tim continues, "I have her smile, you know, the cutting edge that she used against anyone trying to undermine her. I have her hair, and if you look at pictures of her before she dyed hers you'd think we were siblings."
Kon turns his head to where the vigilante serenely looks over the skyline.
"It's funny actually, how many people started commenting on how much I took after her when she died. As if her not being there suddenly made them see our similarities." No, it isn't funny. He knows all too well how much Tim cried when she was buried. Kon has a lot of opinions on how she raised his friend, but Tim adores her more than he will ever understand. He talks about her like she's the greatest non-hero there ever was.
Tim turns his head to look straight into his eyes. "I am my mother's son. First of all and always. But my mother didn't like Gotham all that much."
His smile says that he knows what he says next isn't something he wants to hear.
"I love Gotham, and one day I will die in her streets," Kon's breath catches but the Bat pushes on, "One day, I won't win a fight, won't get help in time and my limbs won't be strong enough to carry me. Maybe my brain just won't have the ability to think anymore." - Shot through the head. He means getting shot through the head. - “Sometimes, I've assumed that I'd lose too much blood before I can be saved."
"Stop it," Kon croaks out. He doesn't want to hear how his friend- how his friend casually talks about how he thinks that he will die. The answering smile is honestly apologetic, but don't deny that he believes everything he just said.
"Sorry," Tim says. "My point was actually that I'm not my mother. I like things that she doesn't and I dislike things that she does."
Present tense. Sometimes Kon thinks that he forgets that she isn't just traveling somewhere on the other side of the world.
"She's where I got a lot of traits, but those traits don't define me." Reaching over, Tim takes his hand. "You've got some traits from your gene donors, which is normal, but just like anyone else, that doesn't say anything about who you are."
Tim taps a knuckle against his forehead.
"Hey," Kon half-heartedly complains. But the other just smiles, "You're just you Clone Boy."
And Kon... He doesn't really believe it. But maybe, one day he will.
"Yeah," He breathes.
His eyes turn back to the sunset laying low. Soon, everything will be pitch black with only the streetlights letting them see. Then, through the city lights, the stars will come out and shine over the expanse of the city.
Somehow, he finds himself looking forward to it.