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16 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS, TO THE NEW YEAR
GROUP: LEGALLY DISTINCT FROM THE JUSTICE LEAGUE
Conner K
Good news! 
The Annual Santa Memorial and NYE Bash has been approved by Ma so we’re good to go with Plan Bonfire and Fireworks
bart allen
CKJ
hate those.
bart allen
mean to me
Anita F
mean to him
Cassie S
mean to him
greta hayes
mean to him
T.D.
mean to him
Traya S.
mean to him :(
bart allen
CKJ
omfg. y’all are the worsttttt
Cassie S
You love us!
Since everyone’s online now though we can confirm a time. Is everyone still free on NYE?
bart allen
ja
CKJ
yep. coach is letting us take christmas to new years off <3
greta h
Yay! i’ve got new year’s off this year too!!!
Traya S.
Im going to need a way down but Im good to go!
Conner K
No worries Traya, SB or WG Airlines can surely make a stop that way :)
Cassie S
Same for Cissie and Greta btw. Let us know
T.D.
Redbird’s always got an extra seat too.
I’ll be there. Not many holiday plans this year.
Conner K
Obviously it works for me. Suns been setting around like 6 here so anytime after that is probably a fine arrival time
Anita F
i can make it, just need to drop by my parents first.
6pm?? are you going to need help staying up with us?
Conner K
Haha so fun fact guys: I am not actually a solar panel and I can stay up to 12
bart allen
? sure?
[An attached image of Conner half-asleep… or fully asleep with his head resting on hiis palm supported against an armrest. He’s drooling a little, mouth slightly ajar. A mess of auburn hair, Bart’s assumedly, is just visible leaning against his thigh. It’s a little fuzzy in the dim light of Christmas lights and lamps, but clearly him in his dark skinned, long-curly-haired glory.]
Conner K
THATS LIBEL? WHEN WAS THAT?
greta h
I think its just a picture of you from last year :( not libel :(
CKJ
it’s ok, we know you’re a full-time farm boy now. there is no shame Conner
Traya S.
Not everyone is made for late nights! And it’s important to maintain your sleep schedule for your health - there’s studies about that. Sleep consistency is important!
Conner K
Thank you, Traya. Thank you.
Who even took this???
Cassie S
Not it.
bart allen
not it
CKJ
not it.
Anita F.
nope
greta h
not me!
T.D.
Sorry, man. The people insisted.
Conner K
Et tu? Et-freaking-tu?
Cassie S
In our defense, it was cute
bart allen
and a little funny
and a little impressive
dude we really thought u were using
like ttk
in ur sleep u were so perfectly aligned
but nope
just balanced
i voted we stack stuff on ur head but was vetoed btw
Anita F
bart, we have to have some standards
bart allen
Traya S., CKJ, Cassie S IS TYPING…
PRIVATE MESSAGE: T.D.
Conner K
Hey man I have a question
T.D.
If it’s about the photo, I lost to peer pressure. Also, you weren’t the only one. Cassie fell asleep with her drink in her hand. Bart did manage to get a couple things stacked on that.
Conner K.
Pffffft. No lol not about the photo. But send that Cassie one to me
You really don’t have any holiday plans?
T.D.
Not many. Couple things with B and the others. We’re not really ‘traditionally festive though’, so no.
Why?
Conner K IS TYPING…
12 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS, 19 DAYS TO NEW YEAR
GATEWAY CITY, CALIFORNIA, USA
The Watson Center Mall takes Christmas pretty seriously.
From Conner’s seat by the Macy’s entrance, he has a perfect view of the synthetic tree that towers between the floors, its boughs weighed down with tinsel garlands, ornaments, and lights. A star bounces light from the skylight around the mall in prismatic beams. Synthetic pine wraps around the walkways throngs of people pass through. Bright red Holiday Sales stickers are plastered alongside displays of mannequins in sweaters posed in fake-snow. Kon picks at the sleeve of his own comfy jumper, worn at Ma’s insistence despite his destination. It’s perfect for a day in the nippy Kansas chill, even with his own Kryptonian heater.
It just marks him as a definite outsider from the denizens of Gateway City, who make it through the winter holidays in, at most, light jackets. Emphasis on the light - he’s seen about three windbreakers that would get a Certified Ma Head-Shake-and-Tsk. A group of teen boys are wearing shorts as they traipse past into a shoe store. Kon is certifiably overdressed in a jean jacket, knitted jumper, and loose, baggy jeans. Kon picks until there’s enough fuzz to roll into a small ball in his palm. People pass by, eyeing the layers. Sweat sticks to his armpits. He’s mid-shedding his jacket when a familiar voice calls out.
“Conner!”
He shoves his arms back through the sleeves. Anita wiggles her fingers at him from the linoleum purgatory of Dillard’s and the outlets, dressed in much more fitting attire. A purple o-neck with cold shoulders top and matching dark plaid skirt pair well with her Mary Janes and white socks. Her hair is slicked back to hang in two thick braids. She grins at him. She looks comfortable and stylish. The lint ball squishes between his thumb and the meat of his palm. He waves back, pushing up out of his chair to cross towards her. .
“S’up,” he greets, shoving the knit fuzz into his jean pocket.
“S’up,” she parrots back, her grin turning even cheekier.
Kon bumps their hips together gently, grinning instinctively. “I asked first. Spill.”
Anita snorts. “Alright, alright. Not much. Got out of class an hour ago. Finals season is killing me. I’m pretty sure you know most of what goes on in my extracurriculars.”
It’s Kon’s turn to snort. Yeah, he’s got a pretty good idea. After all, it was just this week Superboy and Empress had to team-up for a clash against magically-alive, murderous snowmen while the other Titans were busy. It had interrupted their last attempt at this outing.
Socializing as a superhero is nigh impossible. Conner doesn’t know how any of his friends made time for high school back then. (He certainly never felt like he had the time. It had felt like such a waste of his time. His purpose. He swallows around the thought.)
“Yeah, you know it,” he says with a sympathetic nod. “Here’s to no Frosty the Snowmen this time.”
“Don’t even invite that trouble here again,” Anita groans, poking his shoulder with a sharp nail. She turns and makes her way down the walkway, rapping her knuckles idly against the wooden railing. “I still need your help.”
Conner shrugs as he follows. “I still think you’re overthinking it a bit. You know Tim. He’s your friend too.” Anita’s arched eyebrow practically oozes with disbelief. “Seriously! I don’t have any mystical Tim knowledge. You don’t need my help.”
She hums and starts walking down the fake-snow-lined paths. He has to use his full height to keep up for a second. “Sure. I don’t need it. But you are his best friend and I would appreciate your input on how to be a good Santa.”
He reflexively winces.
Anita’s jaw drops before a disbelieving laugh bubbles out. “For-Conner. You guys kill me with this every year.” She covers her mouth as she snorts. “I’m sorry you killed Santa Claus and were contractually obligated to take over the position for 2 months,” she says, with mock-sympathy.
Kon points a finger at her, wagging it back and forth. “Hey, we didn’t kill him, ok? Not even accidentally. Santa saved the world, Anita. We were simple bystanders, not freaking Tim Allen,” he insists. Anita only snorts harder.
“I’ve heard the story, Kon. It’s just so unbelievable - and I saw a car basically give birth accompanying y’all.”
“Not just accompanying,” he chirps as he catches up and swings an arm over her shoulder. She slows to a stop, giving him a wry smile as he beams. “As one of us. That’s what makes it fun.”
“I agree. We never do things by half-measures, do we? …Which-” She spins him around, carefully avoiding passerbys in her graceful movements to dislodge him. “-Brings us back to the matter at hand, doesn’t it? I’m not half-assing this present, Conner. I am not bringing Tim a bad gift.” There’s a spark in Anita’s eye, similar to the one she gets right before sparring or card games or any other competition for that matter. (He’s half-tempted to remind her Secret Santa isn’t a contest or anything - but there’s a reason why she’s called Empress, after all. Changing her mind can be impossible.)
Kon lifts a hand up and crosses his fingers. “Alright, Anita, scout’s honor then,” he swears with a wink. He slides his hand to rest on his chest. “Now, what are the ideas so far?” he asks.
Her lips twitch with laughter before she nods resolutely. “Well, I was going to try and get something new for his workshop… but…”
“He is pretty particular about his tools.” Conner nods.
“Yes! And by the time I’ve settled on something, he’ll probably have bought it for himself if he really wanted it.” She sighs. “I’ve decided that’s a no-go.”
“Well, maybe not a total no-go. You could get him some stuff for maintaining his skateboard.”
A thoughtful expression takes over the no-tools gloom. “True… Cassie did mention they’ve been hitting the skate parks lately…” She stands there silently as the gears turn, ideas spinning. “How much do you know about boards?”
“Surf boards? Tons. Skateboards?” He wiggles his hand. “It’s iffy.”
Anita hums. “That’s fine. I’ll bug Cassie.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’d look like a total geed in the skate shop. Guess this is a bit of a bust of an outing, huh?”
It’s Anita’s turn to grin. “Are you kidding? It’s your turn with the experts now. What are you getting Cissie?”
He feels his face flush, even though he’s not really ashamed. It’s like an instinct, something they put into his brain to make him act like a good ol’ boy - no girly shit allowed. He feels tempted to duck into his jean jacket and it takes every bit of heroic willpower to not. “Uh… I started sewing her some stuff. She was talking about how she can never find a dress that she likes and fits right, so I’ve been working on… I don’t know, I might pivot.”
“Don’t. That’s great, Kon.” She snaps and starts walking again. “Let’s windowshop. I know all of her favorite spots around here.”
He’s taller and still has to scurry to catch up as she steps into one of the shops. Empress, indeed.
It’s a nice shop, though, with most of its contents honed towards girls and young women. The winter-fall collections take up most of the front, trendy jackets and sweaters and flared jeans. In one corner, he can see some pretty dresses set up. In another corner, he sees the clearance racks of summer-not-quite gone. Anita gestures at some of the displays. “She’s always stealing my tops from here,” she says.
“They’re nice tops,” Kon replies (a bit dumbly.)
Anita only smiles. “I know.”
She steps away to browse and he trails behind, letting his eyes catch on the silhouettes and fabrics. There is a lot of nice material here. He can already feel his brain merging the work he’s done so far with some of the embellishments here. A ribbon under the bust maybe? Or maybe he can incorporate some of the layering with mesh and beads. His eyes catch on a slip-like top back in the clearance rack.
It’s gorgeous, a deep red with some bead embellishments from where it flows under the bust and longer than he realized, more minidress-like than he realized. It would hang over most outfits in a flouncy way. Underneath, hanging like a fashionable suggestion, they’ve paired it with a dark-washed jeans maxi skirt. It’s a cute outfit. It’s not Cissie's size. Closer to his with some minor alteration.
He closes the door to that thought, but his fingers still feel the silky material under his hands with almost reverence. It’s a really nice fabric. He repeats the thought. Just a nice fabric.
“Do you like that?”
Anita’s voice jumps him out of his reveries.
“It’s nice - cool, I mean. It’s nice fabric. Almost like silk. Really nice stuff. Ma’s been teaching me all this stuff about weaves and fabric. It’s good material. Really doesn’t deserve to be in the clearance section just ‘cause it’s out of season,” he rambles - states! No, no he’s rambling. His brain is scrambled eggs and his mouth is a fork grabbing random bits. “It’s cute.”
He keeps his gaze averted from Anita, stepping instead to go look at some of the jeans hung on the opposite wall. “Maybe I should do something like these rhinestones? Do you think Cissie would like it?”
“...Sure. Probably. I think she has a couple jeans with fleur-de-lis on the pockets.”
“Cool, cool… Yeah, it’s a good idea!”
He runs away to the winter sections. Very brave, Kon-El, he thinks. Very chill. He walks around the rest of the store, trying to focus on the Cissie side of things and not the Conner side of it. It’s a losing battle. He’s about resolved himself to giving up when Anita catches up to him, a store bag in hand. “Hey,” she says. “Want to check out another shop?”
He glances at the bag before nodding. “Yeah, I think I’ve got enough inspiration from here.”
“Cool.” She strides out of the store without another word.
He follows. They walk for a while, skipping a couple shops until Anita stops.
Kon turns to the store. “This one?”
“Actually, I was going to sit at the bench here.” She sits, setting her bag to her right.
“Oh.” His lips form a perfect o as he sits beside her. The bag sits between. Inside, he sees a glimpse of red fabric.
“Merry early Christmas,” she says, pushing the bag towards him.
“Huh?”
“...I got you that outfit.”
Shame and warmth bubble in his chest in equal measure. He can feel his neck warm. “You didn’t - I didn’t even really-”
Anita cuts him off with one glare and a hand. “Let me finish. I got it and if you turn out to hate it, just make it into something else. It’s nice fabric, right? But you liked it there and I can get other friends’ Christmas gifts too. So, merry early Christmas.”
The warmth overwhelms the shame. He feels wordless. That doesn’t usually happen to him. “...Thanks. Do you- I can go get you something too, if you want.”
“You’re good. I’m good. T’is the season, right?”
“Sure, but you know Midwesterners can’t just let some kindness slide without a disproportionate response. You don’t know what you’ve unlocked, ‘Nita,” he says. It’s a bit of a diversion. He feels a bit gooey. Humor masks it for a moment.
“I think I’m prepared for those consequences,” she dryly replies. “If you really have to do something back, I have some clothes I need mended. Would that suffice?”
“Almost,” he jokes. “But you invoked Christmas first, you know!”
“Yeah, yeah… Speaking of, what are your Christmas plans? I know we’re all meeting up for New Year’s Eve, but I haven’t heard anything about your plans before that.”
Kon pauses. “Oh, huh. Well, it’s nothing too special. Clark and everyone are going to come down to farm Christmas Eve and will probably stay for a couple days after. Ma’s already planning the dinner since there’s going to be so many of us. Lois, Chris, Me, John Henry, Nat, Kara… uhhh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I invited Tim to come down, so now there’s even more.”
Anita freezes mid-nod.
“Wait-”
10 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS, 17 DAYS TO NEW YEAR
A GIANT FIREWORKS WAREHOUS, BARELY IN GOTHAM CITY LIMITS, NEW JERSEY, USA
“-When were you going to mention you’re going down to Kon’s for Christmas?”
Tim freezes, two Wonder Woman-themed fireworks in hand. “Who told you that?”
Cassie Sandsmark, in all her buzzheaded, cargo-pants-wearing glory, squints at him from where she leans against the cart. “...Guess,” she retorts dryly. Right. It’s not like her and Kon never talk. Tim sighs, letting the fireworks drop down by his side.
“It was spontaneous. He asked, I didn’t have plans, and so I said yes. It’s not that big a deal.” He has been repeating that logic to himself since Kon asked, but Cassie doesn’t need to know that. It’s not a big deal and he’s not going to treat it as something too deeply meaningful. Kon would’ve invited any of the others. Kon happened to invite him because he mentioned not having plans publicly. Friends do this. Best friends especially! They are best friends. This is just friendly. He mostly believes this, except for the tiny part of him he’s boxed away that yells ‘he loves you back!’ That part is freaking out. That part doesn’t really believe in the rest of him.
Not that she believes the rest of him either. Her doubt is clear on her face. He sighs again and shoves the fireworks towards her. “Pick?”
“The right. They’ll make the logo and everything… allegedly,” she answers, snagging and dropping it into the halfway-full cart. They bounce against the other fireworks they’ve amassed, a nice tidy collection of the big, light-up-the-night-sky ones and tiny ones they can actually (safely, since not everyone is made of Amazonian mettle or steel) hold. “Nice diversion, but seriously. If it’s not that big a deal, why avoid mentioning it?”
Tim sighs for the third time, blowing back one of his locs as he steps towards the next display of hero-themed fireworks. He tosses one of the Flash themed ones (‘the fastest firework you’ll ever see!’ which is a cute phrase if a bit dangerous) into the pile. “It never came up. We weren’t very specific with everyone’s plans around Christmas. That’s all.” The cart taps into his side. He turns to raise an eyebrow about her. “You are being very nosy about this.”
“You know me. Wonder Girl’s always-”
“Wondering.”
“Right. Not just the Boy Wonder with a hold on that market anymore,” she chirps. Tim snorts and crosses into the next aisle. The more classical fireworks decorate these shelves with classical names like “Bad A** Finale.”
“So you’re really this chill about it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be chill?”
Cassie and him make eye contact for a second too long. Her expression says ‘I’m trying to be nice.’ Her words, meanwhile- “On account of the whole…. soap opera thing-”
“It is not a soap opera thing - you have a soap opera thing-”
“- The will-they, won’t-they. It’s been like a little obvious.”
“-which is more obvious! That I have politely not commented on. Unlike you in the current moment.”
“I’m just checking in!” She tosses her hands up. “I’m just checking in.”
“Can we even have this conversation?” he asks. “Is this a normal conversation for … us to have?”
Cassie’s hands drop back onto the cart. The wheel squeaks under the returning pressure. “What,” she asks. “As his ex-girlfriend or as yours?” His nose wrinkles. Hers does at well, the two of them just grimacing at each other. She laughs at it first, though it’s short and harsh. “Yeah, I think we’ve all long passed the normal standards. I think we’re going to have to embrace the uh..” Her eyes sweep the empty aisles for an eavesdropper. “Embrace the queerness of it all. Really, it’s just… I wanted to check in. I care about you two doofuses.”
“It’s really not a big deal,” Tim insists. Continuing to repeat that probably makes it sound increasingly false. He shoves that thought into the corner and snags another showstopper firework, according to the packaging. “And it’s not - we’re not a thing, if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s all very platonic and I’m not nervous at all. I’ve met basically everyone who’ll be there anyway. I’ve been to the Kents tons of times. What’s there to be nervous about?”
Cassie looks at him with a very sweet and almost pitying smile, which makes him wonder if he was somehow showing some sort of tell, like his body might have betrayed him. That makes his jaw reflexively clench. He zones in on a candle labeled “Big Frog” and tries to relax his muscles. “...It’s a family holiday? Where you’re… kinda part of the whole family thing,” she very tentatively answers.
“That didn’t even cross my mind,” he lies. Of course, that’s been crossing his mind. He’s been slowly drowning in that little factoid for a while now, thanks. “Besides, you know, I’ll just give Mrs. Kent a gift for letting me hang around. One of Bruce’s wine bottles should be good enough, right?”
The pity falls away as laughter clearly fills its place. Cassie laughs. She laughs a lot. “Oh gods, Tim,” she cackles. He turns from the fireworks displays he has been letting take all his attention from this awful, awful conversation to protest (not squawk, thank you) her giggling. “Oh my gods,” she repeats through them. Her hands have left the cart to clutch her sides.
“Cassie,” he hisses.
Her laughter only increases.
Tim groans.
The carts wheels squeak as she clumsily leans against it in a poor attempt to catch her breath.
“Sorry, sorry. You care, I know! It’s just…”
“Cassie,” he pleads.
“... That’s a lot, Tim. That’s maybe too much. You know Ma hates being called Mrs. Kent and…” She smiles, shaking her head. “You’re a mess.”
“...And you’re better?” he dryly shoots back.
“In this exact moment, yes.” She squints at him. “...Actually. What did you mean, earlier? With the soap opera comment.”
Oh foot, meet your old friend, mouth. Tim smiles, looking at the shelves for his ticket out of jail. “Ah, nothing. Nothing at all. What about ‘Cowboy Chaos’? I’m going to put it into the cart, it sounds good.”
“Tim.”
He and his big, fat mouth beats a strategic retreat. The next aisle, to be exact. Sneakers smack against the floor in pursuit..
“Timothy Drake, what do you mean my soap opera thing? It’s how obvious?” A schadenfreude-ish laugh escapes him. She squawks in (hypocritical) protest, face turning a shade close to the package of “Finale Fountain” behind her.
Oh, he is so going to pay for this.
5 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS, 12 UNTIL THE NEW YEAR
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY, USA
Tim is mid-arranging the very illegal-feeling fireworks collection when his phone rings. It’s a familiar ring tone, meaning it’s probably best if he answers. It could be important. He shuffles the thing out of his pocket and keeps it tucked between his ear and shoulder. “Yello,” he greets.
“Hey,” Dick greets back. “When are you heading down to the Kents?”
Oh, brother. Good job, Cassie.
2 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS, 9 UNTIL THE NEW YEAR
SMALLVILLE, KANSAS, USA
Kon squints at the recipe book, focusing on the curly script. The smell of baking cookies fills the house.
It’s smelled like that for a while now, actually.
There’s so many different doughs in the fridge over the last week, proofing and chilling before they bake. Ma’s holiday baking schedule has been in full swing. They’ve made numerous batches of chocolate chips and her Smallville-favorite sugar cookies for cookie boxes to the neighbors. (Sugar cookies that are cut, of course, into trees and candy canes and snowmen, with thick and sweet frosting on top.) There’s been a couple large quantity desserts they’ve made for potlucks and community events. There’s been even more made for the family dinner in 2 days. Kon doesn’t even want to think about the possible quantity that’ll be baked before the rest of Young Justice’s arrival. Maybe he can recruit Tim into that. That’d be fun to watch, Tim eagerly following each of Ma’s instructions like it’ll be mission failure instead of a soggy pie bottom. He forces himself to set the image of Tim covered in flour with some whipped cream on his chin to the side and focuses fully on following the instructions for this cranberry curd. It’s a fine balance of heat and control to make sure he doesn't make the fruitiest scrambled eggs anyone’s ever seen.
“Well,” Ma says finally, interrupting his delicate folding. She sets his Blackberry down on the counter. “I don’t know how close we’ll get to it, but we’ll try our best. Go ahead and get that finished and in the fridge. I’m going to get this all written down.”
“Mkay,” he hums. The mixture thickens as it becomes closer and closer to his curdy goal.
It’s as he finishes cooling the mixture (and god, it is a bit of a cheat, he knows, but using frost breath for it really is great) that Ma sits up from her seat at the table. “Alright, taking what Kara remembers and what we actually have, I think we’ll probably need to mix some of the citrus we’ve got to mimic that fruit’s flavor. Can you go ahead and juice them for me, honey?”
With a quick two-finger salute, Kon rolls the lemons and oranges and limes down the counter, rolling them up to his hand. “You got it, Ma,” he happily chirps, manipulating them to climb up and over his shoulders. She smiles before looking down at her measurements. There’s calculations all down the side of her page, little changes to make the cookie’s texture match Kara’s memories of dense, tart, and warming cookies.
Man, Kon hopes he’ll have that amount of experience someday.
They work in mostly-silence as she measures out the dry ingredients and Conner finishes juicing the various citrus. He starts to zest their rinds into containers, shaving off more and more flavor. The radio croons out a Christmas carol. The smell of fresh cookies hasn’t left the air, even though the last batch was finished an hour ago. Of course, now the scent of the zest starts to burst through, fresh and bright.
“Pass me that juice, Conner?” Ma asks.
The bowls slide towards her with just a thought. “Need the rinds yet?”
“Not quite… I need to decide how much of each I want to use… Oh! Before I forget - do I need to let you go get that friend of yours?”
Ma doesn’t put any emphasis on the words, but Kon’s face already feels hotter. “Uh, no, Tim’s finishing his family stuff today. I’ll be getting him tomorrow.” He focuses on the lime in his hand, shredding off more of the skin, instead of the flush trying to flood his skin.
Thankfully, Ma doesn’t seem focused on him at all. Instead, all her attention is focused on reading her notes and combining the juices. She looks a bit like a mad scientist as she does. “He’s not driving out this time?”
“Uh… no. He was going to, because - and I’m quoting here Ma - ‘Kon, I have winter tires for a reason,’ but since he had to stay in Gotham an extra night, we decided I’d pick him up instead,” he says, setting the zester on the counter. Ma clicks her tongue, shaking her head.
“Well, I’m glad he’s not. It’s no weather for anyone to be driving in,” she says, finally pouring the juice in. “The roads get too slick out here - and it’s just too long a drive. Pass me the zest now, love.” Conner slides it over silently, one bowl after another. “I’m glad he’s coming. It’ll be nice to celebrate with him.”
“Yeah?” He swallows. Too eager. He’s cool. He’s relaxed. “I was worried about inviting him out of the blue. Didn’t want to ruin Christmas or anything,” he says with a shrug. “So, that’s good to hear.”
Ma’s eyes flick to him, briefly, before returning to mixing her dough. “Oh, he’s far from the first guest to the Kent Christmas. You’ve met all of us - we’re just that kind of bunch - so don’t go worrying your head about it. Is he staying until New Year’s?”
“Probably. Is that fine?”
She sets her spoon down. “Well, I’m pretty sure the guest rooms might be filled until everyone clears out after Christmas, but if he’s alright with the couch-”
“Actually, I was going to just share my room,” Kon interrupts. “So, problem solved.”
Ma smiles. “Problem solved, indeed.”
1 DAY UNTIL CHRISTMAS, 8 TO THE NEW YEAR…
or MAYBE CHRISTMAS DAY, 7 TO THE NEW YEAR
SMALLVILLE, KANSA, USA
Tim stares at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling. He should be exhausted.
He’s not. Instead, he’s laying flat on his back straight as a rod. His mind catalogues all the events of today… or yesterday, maybe, at this point, wide awake.
From his spot on the mattress, he can’t quite lean back to see what the clock on Kon’s nightstand has to say. What he can see from his spot on the mattress is Kon, comfortably asleep on his side, snoring. His face is so soft when he sleeps. Tim traces the shapes of it mentally, the freckles across his nose, the stubble on his chin, the scar over his eye. A want - near-constant at this point - aches to press a kiss to it.
Tim turns his head back to the ceiling instead. The stars stare back at him. Kon’s breath tickles his ear, warm as it sends chills down his spine. He closes his eyes.
It’s been a good day. It’s been a weird, little chaotic, but mainly good day. Tim doesn’t know if he’s had a good Christmas Eve since he was 12. It sits awkwardly in his chest, warm next to the familiarly cold grief. (Maybe that’s what growing up is about, enjoying the hot bite of freshly made apple cobbler while wishing to share it with people long gone. Never forgetting, but learning to live around it. Maybe it’s turning good days out of bad ones. Maybe he shouldn’t philosophize past midnight… if it even is.)
It’s been a very different type of day than the years past. He accepted Kon’s invite knowing that. It’s still surprising.
Funny how that works.
It started with waking up insanely early to triple-check his luggage, to make sure the gift for Ma is in there (as Cassie had ultimately managed to whittle him down from the bottle of wine to some nice balls of wool yarn) and Bart’s Secret Santa gift is safely tucked in as well (a custom-built controller, taking into note all the things he’s ever complained about with those on the market and easy to take apart and repair.) Checking the fridge for anything that might expire. (It’s pretty barren. Groceries are feeling like a New Year’s task and any take-out in there won’t be making it to then. He has to toss those out.) Other triple-checks of that nature, even though Kon won’t be coming until at least noon to take them down to the Kent farm. He was aware then, as he is now looking back, that it was nervous energy trying to find somewhere to roost. It’s still ridiculous that he re-organized the definitely-illegal looking fireworks haul in their box multiple times. It was probably for the best that Conner arrived after he finished that.
“Whoa… looking organized around here,” he said, stepping in from the balcony.
Tim, who had just finished re-alphabetizing his movie collection, nodded dumbly. “Had some extra time.”
Kon had accepted the answer and gathered his luggage with a little TTK before offering a spot pressed against his side to Tim. The flight to Smallville was spent with his face pressed into his scarf against the brisk winds, close enough to the nape of Conner’s neck that his racing heart probably kept him warm during it.
They had arrived early enough to be the first ones there - or for Tim to be the first one there. The house was already well into the schedule of dinner prep for when everyone arrived, the scent of fresh home cooking overpowering the candles of pine and winter spirit. Kon deposited Tim and his stuff in their now-shared room to unpack.
Tim tried to keep his cool.
He’d been to the Kents before. He knew the Supers well. Easy-peasy
Hah.
Yeah, it worked until the sound of everyone else’s arrival reminded him exactly where he was. The Kent farmhouse was big, but it filled with the chatter and warmth quickly. Hugs and greetings came hand-in-hand. Tim nearly bit his tongue as he introduced himself to Dr. John Henry Irons. His niece clapped his shoulder with laughter on her way to hug Conner and Kara in the kitchen. Dr. Irons had (so thankfully) ignored his stumbles and offered to talk about his most recent findings with him in the living room.
“Dude, just go,” Conner yelled across the room, after he glanced back for the third time. “I’m helping Ma here anyway.”
And then, there was just Tim sitting around the living room with John Henry and the Pulitzer Prize winner Lois Lane herself as she sat on Clark’s arm rest, the chatter of the others in the kitchen and dining room just at the edges of his senses.
He’d never experienced Christmas Eve like this before. Even before, his parents hadn’t been the type for the big family gatherings and the night before Christmas had been quiet affairs for watching a festive movie, at most. Bruce didn’t celebrate Christmas save the charity events, and charity events had more people but none of the easy comfort the house now exuded.
It was overwhelming, bordering on overstimulating, but Tim didn’t want to leave his spot in the middle of it.
They folded the dining table out for everyone to fit, a task that probably didn’t require both Clark and Conner’s help, but Ma thanked them for it regardless. Shoulder to shoulder, they passed plates and dishes around. Conversations jumped just as quickly. At one point, after they were settling around the house in small groups, Chris leaned in to whisper something in his ear before Conner snatched him around the waist, laughing as he said, “What’s the phrase? Snitches get stitches. Get over here!” Chris cackled in his ear, wiggling the way only little brothers escaping an iron grip can do. (Not, of course, that Tim has personal experience.) At another point, a Midwestern stand-off broke out among the Kents on getting Ma to sit down and let them clean up, only broken by Lois getting in the middle of it.
Desserts cluttered the kitchen counter, a Christmas cake and apple cobbler and cookies that made Kara gasp as they were brought out.
At some point, late, as the party winded down and Ma went to bed, maybe only a few hours before he settled down in bed with Kon and now stares at the ceiling reflecting, Tim stepped out onto the porch, letting the frigid Kansas air cool him down. A blanket of snow had settled over the fields, only broken by fence posts. The truck sat frosted over in the drive. He had to swipe some ice from the rocking chair’s seat.
The screen door swung open and he glanced as Conner slipped to sit in the chair beside him.
“Finally get overwhelmed?” he asked.
“Finally overheated. It’s a bunch of living furnaces in there.”
Kon laughed, a surprised but happy sound. “Oh good… Y’know I was worried it was too much for a minute there.”
Tim hummed to himself. “A bit… but,” he added with an almost-frantic hand gesture to keep Kon from apologizing, “It’s nice. In a good way. Thanks for inviting me. I’ve had a good time.”
Then, Kon smiled, that dimply smile that makes Tim want to forget common sense and kiss him stupid. He stared for a second, not taking in a word of what Conner said. Kon cleared his throat. Tim blinked. His systems kicked back in - ‘do you want to sit out here alone or..?’ - and his mouth flew open. “No, no, no. You’re good. Feel free.” Kon smiled again and more words almost tumbled out - the “I’d be ok if you stayed by my side forever.” He caught those, thankfully.
They sat there, mostly in silence, watching the wind dance with the snow, and then came in and prepared for bed.
And now Tim lays on Conner’s bed, the memories of the night dancing over his eyelids.
He repeats it to himself, certain.
It’s been a good Christmas Eve.
1 DAY TO THE NEW YEAR
SMALLVILLE, KANSAS, USA
Things get loud very quickly with the entire Young Justice gang in town. The porch creaks under the weight of 8 people, old boards protesting. They creak more as they perform the hugging dance, shifting in an indecipherable rhythm to make sure everyone gets a hug. Kon catches Ma’s eye from inside where she smiles indulgently at him, with arms full of Bart and face full of Bart hair.
“You know, we act like we never see each other,” Tim dryly states, ducking Cassie’s headlock. “But I swear I think I saw some of you guys like a week ago.”
“Emphasis on some, boy genius,” Cissie retorts, the tough image slightly marred by Traya’s beaming face peeking from between her arms. Bart disappears from his arms to snatch Tim up, managing to make him look like a wet kitten.
“And y’know, that is basically ages ago,” Bart says with a grin.
Tim rolls his eyes, but a smile splits his face anyways as he awkwardly shifts to hug Bart despite the weird grip. “I concede,” he says. “The experts are clearly right.”
Anita snorts, stepping closer to Kon to give him a hug. Her eyes catch on the top first, though, and her smile grows. “Looking cute there,” she says in lieu of a greeting. Kon smooths the red satin out.
“Thanks, a friend got it for me,” he chirps back. She wraps him into a hug and he quickly returns it.
At the edge of the porch, Cassie clears her throat. They let go. “Alright, so Kon said he and Tim already set up the fire pit and where we’re going to shoot up the fireworks out there. We just need to follow the stakes. So-”
“So, we can race,” Bart asks. Or… really, states. “Because in that case-”
In a blur, he re-appears with Greta in his arms who giggles with excitement. “We’ll see you there,” she chirps. “Go!” Bart calls, disappearing with snow flying in his wake.
“I don’t think so,” Anita mutters, making brief eye contact before grabbing Cissie by the waist and disappearing in a puff of smoke.
“...we can race,” Cassie says to the dust of everyone already gone. She sighs, but her heart’s clearly not in it as she scoops Traya up and blasts off. “Cheating isn’t cool,” Traya yells through giggles at the others.
“I think we just got left behind,” Tim jokes.
“C’mon. I’ve raced Imp before. I got this,” Kon says, offering a hand. Tim stands there, still for a moment before taking it. He tucks him into his side and shoots across the snowy landscape. Wind whips around them, their hair lashing against their cheeks. At some point, Tim whoops with excitement, the vibrations of it rattling in Kon’s chest. When they land, the fire is starting to really crackle to life, light standing out against the growing darkness. Greta has her gloved hands held close to it, while Anita and Cissie not-so-subtly settled beside Cassie and her giant jacket. (Maybe one day they’ll all figure it out. Man, he hopes so.) Traya wraps herself in a big blanket. Bart grins at them.
“How’d my dust taste?”
“Please. I was taking it easy,” Kon blusters. Bart cackles.
“Suuuuuure,” he replies. Kon catches him in a noogie for just a second before he vibrates away, settling by Greta’s side with a tongue sticking out. He sticks out back before settling onto the log beside Tim whose talking about the fireworks schedule with Cassie.
“After we’ve had some fun with the smaller stuff, we could start the fireworks show. Ma said we’d be good to shoot them off out here as long as we’re careful,” he says, not pausing as Kon rests his head on his shoulder. Cassie hums, nodding.
“Works for me.You already carried everything out here?”
“Earlier today,” Kon chimes in. “TTK, as always, is the number one super power.”
“As always,” Cissie repeats from her spot huddled to Cassie’s shoulder.
“As always,” Anita nods.
The conversation devolves from there. Despite Tim’s comment earlier, it really has been too long and they all sit talking forever around the fire, fireworks forgotten as they fill each other on all the details in their lives. Cissie explains how she somehow still manages to get 8 hours of sleep between her paramedic classes and her archery practices. Traya tells them about how her capstone’s going. Greta talks about the cute dog she got to help treat last week. Bart updates them on how his trip to Alabama went. Cassie mentions how her mom invited them to visit sometime. Anita chimes in saying ‘for some reason Daddy and Uncle Ish miss you guys and want a visit too.’ Tim fills them in on his latest update to the Redbird. Kon spreads some of Smallville’s gossip.
It devolves from catching up to chasing each other around with sparklers and snowballs and covering Traya in everyone’s jackets as soon as she says she’s cold (no matter how much she protests she doesn’t need that much!) Gifts exchange between cold fingers and happy laughter.
The fire dies down and the fireworks show starts. There’s a lot of hooting and hollering as someone lights one and runs away as it goes off. Those not shooting them off somehow, in an unsurprising turn of events, end up curled around each other, siphoning off each other’s warmth. Kon, not shockingly, finds himself in the middle of it, sat by dying coals and legs trapped by someone sitting on them.
It’s so different from the last time they did something like this. The thought strikes him out of the blue as he looks from the dying coals to a very lop-sided Wonder Woman logo in the air. Last time, when he didn’t age, when Anita wasn’t here, when Greta was dead, when they were so, so different and yet somehow the same. He sat around a different fire and watched as time passed him by. Presently, the fire dies and he welcomes the new year surrounded by his loved ones.
He wonders if he ever could have expected that then - if any of them could.
He’s glad they made it to now anyways.
“Happy New Year,” they cry together, settled in as Bart sets off the last couple all at once and runs to them.
He’s glad.
DAY 1 OF THE NEW YEAR.