Chapter Text
For the record, Tim understood what soulmates were. He understood the science behind it, what little there was, and he understood most of the nuances that came along with the science. The irregularities, the differences, even the placebos. Tim understood it all.
It's just - he was pretty sure that soulmates were only a human thing. He'd met Clark, and Kara for that matter, and neither of them had soulmates. Or marks. Or any trace of a so-called fated connection!
So his skin warming when he neared Kon - when it burned, like a candle flame licking across his skin in sharp, brief lines - that had to be a placebo. He was certain that it was a placebo. He had read about placebos. He understood them.
It didn't matter that he didn't realize that he loved Kon until his skin started to blaze around him. Kon was an alien, at least partially, so there was no way that Kon could be his soulmate.
It didn't matter that Tim's skin glowed in the way that soulmarks were supposed to whenever he came near Kon. It didn't matter that placebos never glowed. Tim always was a little odd.
And it had been years of this with no reaction, no reciprocation from Kon. So even if Tim had suspected - more like hoped - that the human half of Kon's DNA might grant him a soul match, the years stretched on between them with Kon having next to no knowledge of the gathering patch of glowing skin on Tim's arm.
Only, recent events were putting a strain on Tim's unwavering belief in his placebo effect.
It had been a run-of-the-mill rescue mission initially. Or - not entirely run of the mill, because it was just Kon and Bart in costume, and they were in Metropolis for the day. And they were rescuing Tim. But still. Generic enough.
Tim had been in Metropolis with Bruce for one reason or another - it was technically official Wayne Enterprise business, but Bruce didn't treat it like it was important, so Tim didn't either.
Bruce had stayed behind at a meeting in order to flirt his way into the possession of more information on one of Lex Luthor's more recent schemes. Luthor had hired a new assistant recently, a young man who blushed accordingly at all of Bruce's crappy jokes and pickup lines. Luckily for them, Luthor had sent this new assistant to a meeting in his place - and Bruce had welcomed the opportunity to do reconnaissance during a boring work trip.
Tim hadn't wanted to stick around - not only did he not want to watch Bruce do that, but there was also a world-renowned skate park only a half mile or so walk from their hotel. It was the reason that Tim had offered to come along in the first place.
His hobby had been a widely broadcasted part of his introduction into the Wayne family, and into Gotham's high society as a whole. He should probably have anticipated an attack of some kind, especially considering how public this trip was, but sue him. He had been hopeful.
Luthor had been the one to kidnap him, too. That might be the worst part.
Tim had been walking down the sidewalk - yes, it had felt silly not to skate down, but the road was under construction and he didn't want to ruin the new Robin decal he had put on his board. He'd liked to have preserved it for a little while longer. Steph had it custom made!
Anyways.
He'd been walking along, minding his business, when a man had brushed by him with an aggression he rarely saw even in Gotham. Tim had stumbled - he thought Metropolis was supposed to be the happy city? - when the man turned back around and snatched up his wrists with a force entirely unexpected. He yanked Tim forwards by his arms, meaning that the skateboard fell, stickers up, on the sidewalk.
Handcuffs slid roughly around Tim's wrists, and he was yanked up and over the man's shoulder. The man turned, and Tim saw that he had been flanked on either side from behind as well. One of the two behind him approached, holding a cloth, and all Tim could do was stare mournfully at his Robin sticker as the other man kicked his skateboard aside. It was already scratched.
He couldn't stare for long. The cloth was wrapped tightly around his eyes, his arms were yanked up over his head and back behind him in a way that had him hissing in pain - his muscles didn't move that way, thanks - and he found himself moving someplace with no real knowledge of where he was going.
Typical.
Tim would have started shouting, too, had it not been for the grimy ass hand that clapped over his mouth. He could practically feel the dirt rubbing off of it and onto his face already.
All things considered, it was neither the most polished nor efficient kidnapping that Tim had ever been a part of. but it was arguably one of the most effective. Because Tim, trained fighter that he was, found himself entirely unsure of where he was going or even why he was being taken, and wholly unable to escape.
When he was able to gain his bearings back, it was in a completely different place to where he had been taken - obviously. Honestly, he was pretty sure it had been a few hours since he was taken - an unexpected considering half of his team was already in Metropolis. Even if they didn't know that adopted son-of-a-millionaire Timothy Drake was their dearly beloved Robin, he would still expect some level of help to be offered. Some hustle, please.
He didn't even have anything to pay attention to until he got rescued. The room he was in was plain, white walls and floors reflecting the little bit of light emanating from the ceiling. And it was cold, cold enough that Tim could see his own breath puff out in front of him when he sighed. It was a stereotype of a kidnapping scenario. Seriously, Luther? Tim would've thought that the same mind that put Kon together would have had some taste in interior design.
Whatever.
He was on the ground - or, not the ground, he realized. A mattress that felt like the ground. It was in the middle of the room, a few inches off of the floor and sitting on a very thin wooden slat, which Tim was apparently strapped down onto.
The straps ran across his chest, his arms, his legs. Not his head, thankfully, or he would have felt really claustrophobic. And it seemed like they hadn't even strapped down his hands, which was even better for him. If things went really bad - if Kon and Bart never came to rescue him - then he would be able to make it out on his own. Probably.
In the meantime, though, he was a regular civilian. Which meant no breaking free and beating the shit out of his kidnappers. Ugh.
When he dropped his head back to the mattress and stared up to the ceiling, he found that it wasn't as plain as the rest of the room. Instead, wires ran across the ceiling, leaving it a reddish, rustic grey.
It would be terrifying were it not for the fact that the wires connected to nothing.
Sure, the wires ran through every inch of the ceiling, crisscrossing and winding around each other like a labyrinth of electricity, but there was nothing to connect to. There wasn't even a light on the ceiling - instead, the room was lit by a dim glow emanating from the inside of the wires, faint but culminating into the equivalent of a panel of gentle sunlight bearing down on Tim.
Gentle, red sunlight.
Tim groaned.
He had underestimated Luther, it seems.
This wasn't just a stereotypical kidnapping room. The wiring above him gave off red sun rays - enough to tone down any Kryptonians that might come to save him. The room was cold enough on the inside to slow down any Flash at least a little bit, and judging by the entire lack of sound that came from the outside of the room, the walls were probably reinforced. And there was no way that a prisoner guarded so heavily would be without a task force of actual soldiers.
Luther had prepped for this. Not just to kidnap Tim, but to keep his team out - and maybe not just his team. These measures could easily be used to stop or at least slow down most if not all of the JL, at their optimal state, and Tim had a bad, bad feeling that his team would be nothing but a test run if they came to save him now.
He strained his head upwards again, peering back down at the straps holding him down. His hand was so close to his thigh - if he turned it properly, he could probably reach the stash pocket hidden in the seam.
Easier said than done, though. When Tim twisted his hand, trying desperately to retrieve the tiny razor he had hidden in the pocket, his fingers only scrabbled fruitlessly at the side of his jeans. He thrashed slightly, trying desperately to loosen the straps at least partially, but it resulted in nothing. Then-
His fingers found the pocket. It was just on the edge of his reach, just the tips of his fingers reaching the gap, but surely, surely it would be enough.
Tim's fingertips pried the pocket open, searching desperately for the razor. His fingers touched plastic, just for a moment, and-
The smooth plastic of the razor slipped by his fingers. Tim cursed.
He kept reaching, but in vain. His stretching and straining only resulted in the the razor sliding even further underneath him, plastic slowly getting crushed by the weight of his own body. Fuck.
The plastic cover was completely shattered now. Tim could feel the fragments underneath his thigh. Reaching for the razor was useless now - it was too far covered, and besides that, he'd slice his fingers open just trying to grab it. Tim cursed into the frigid air.
Suddenly, the slat he was on shuddered. The wires on the ceiling buzzed a little more aggressively. The razor slid minutely across the mattress under his leg.
Tim froze. What the hell was that?
The slat shuddered again. The razor moved again, further towards his fingers this time.
Tim pushed against the straps keeping him down, using all the slack they had to push his body a few centimeters off of the mattress. When the rattle came again, the razor bounced sideways without issue - right next to his waiting fingers.
Gingerly, Tim lowered himself back down and felt carefully for the razor blade. His fingers found the cool metal, and he scraped his nail gently across the edge closer to him. A tiny piece scraped off, and he cursed again. Of course the sharp side was facing him.
He twisted his hand again, using the tips of his nails to avoid touching the sharpened edge. Slowly, he maneuvered the blunt edge back towards him, and finally picked up the razor blade in victory.
Only, before he could use it to shove at the straps, the rattle came once more, directly against the door. The door flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang! and giving way to Kon, apparently throwing his entire body weight against it.
Kon stumbled forward, falling and catching himself on his arms.
On the slat that Tim was tied to.
Directly over Tim's bound chest and arms.
The razor blade slipped, slicing the skin on Tim's fingers, but he was too busy blinking at Kon to notice the sharp pain. Kon's glasses were hanging from the tip of his nose, almost off, and his curls were so far forwards that they were nearly brushing Tim's skin.
"Sorry!" Kon said, brightly, extracting himself carefully from over Tim. Tim burned. "Didn't mean to do that. The door gave, and then I just, like, collapsed. You're alright though?"
Tim stared at him. "I - yeah. I'm alright."
Kon frowned at him, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't know, you seem a little red. And," his eyes trailed down towards Tim's hand, bleeding sluggishly. "Holy shit, you're bleeding! Hold on, let me get you out of those ropes, huh?"
Kon dropped to his knees next to Tim, grabbing the straps and pulling as hard as he could. When nothing happened, he frowned at them again. "What the-"
"Red sunlight," Tim said, vaguely aware that he, rich boy extraordinaire, should not know the weaknesses of Earth's most beloved alien race. "The - the lights."
"Oh, fuck." Kon sighed annoyedly. "I don't suppose you know any other way to get out of these?"
"Razor," Tim responded, staring. Kon looked at his hand.
"Oh, ew, it's all covered in your blood. Yeah, I guess this will work." Kon reached around Tim's still bloody hand, carefully extracting the razor, and set to work sawing away the straps around his body. He sat back on his haunches when he was done, looking satisfied at his handiwork.
Tim sat up, avoiding putting his hand down. It was still bleeding. Kon seemed to notice the way he treated his hand, straightening suddenly and wrapping a hand around Tim's shoulders. The other arm snaked under his thighs, hand sliding up to his hip, and Tim shuddered, froze, and looked down to where his arm was being cradled against Kon's chest.
"Perfect, the sun didn't mess me up too bad! I can still give you a hero's-" Kon cut himself off, freezing completely. He stared down at Tim like a deer caught in headlights.
Tim's skin burned, glowed, boiled where it brushed against Kon's, flaming hot and yet blissful in its pain. He could see the skin under Kon's jacket glowing in tandem - he could see the shock on Kon's face as he felt a devastating, relieving pain for the first and last time in his life.
A soul mark.
"Oh," Tim said, and Kon blinked at him. "I didn't know you could do that."
"N-no, me neither." Kon said, apparently just as startled as Tim. "It must be- hm."
It must be the sunlight, Tim knew, but Kon didn't. Kon didn't know that they'd ever touched before. Tim did. Tim-
Tim had to throw out the placebo theory, apparently.
"Well," Kon cleared his throat, shifted his grasp under Tim's knees, and stepped over the wooden slat. "Can I - take you anywhere?"
Tim gulped, nearly breathless in his shock. "Yeah, absolutely."
"Oh-okay." Kon's arms flexed as they stepped out of the room and into a dimly lit hallway. His strength was probably coming back, Tim thought faintly. "Where can I drop you?"
"What? Oh," Tim cleared his throat. "I- I'm here with my dad. He's at Hotel Vasuki. In Metropolis."
"Oh, perfect." Kon passed over a series of hopefully unconscious bodies. "Impulse and I were just there. Be there in no time, alright?"
"Yeah," Tim was still blinking away shock. "I dropped my skateboard."
Kon looked down at him again, smiling amusedly. "Yeah? Can I get that for you, then?"
"If you want." Tim's voice came out as a whisper.
Kon laughed.
—-
When Kon set him down, fifteen minutes and several miles later, Tim could feel the imprint of his arms across his back, his legs, his arm. The marks covered him, spotted and yet extensive, and Tim couldn't help but flush. There would be no hiding them, surely.
That was alright, though. Because Kon couldn't hide his, either. The marks were still fresh, still glowing brightly against Kon's chest, his arms. They wouldn't fade for a day or so, at least, maybe longer.
That was okay.
Tim teetered as Kon set him down, legs unsteady from several hours of laying down, and skateboard under one arm. Kon had set him down on the rooftop of the hotel, probably so that nobody would know that they were soulmates. That could be dangerous.
"Can I - Will I see you again soon?" Kon asked, uncharacteristically shy in the question, and Tim nodded faintly.
"Come to the Manor," he said, then added stupidly- "Wayne Manor, I mean."
"I know." Kon smiled at him, and Tim's heart fluttered. "I'll see you, then?"
"Yeah."
Kon floated a few inches of the ground - the work of his TTK, surely, but Tim shouldn't know that. He moved forwards, slowly, and Tim felt a gentle tug on his waist, pulling him closer to the edge of the roof.
Kon pulled him carefully over the side, into the air, and into his chest. His arms wrapped around Tim's back, and his skin burned again at the contact. Faintly, Tim heard a shout from below.
Then, eyes soft and arms strong, Kon leaned down, and kissed him.
When Kon released him back onto the roof, Tim felt breathless - but not from the kiss. He stared as Kon waved, floating away and leaving Tim stranded on the roof.
Tim sighed, unthinking, and touching a hand to his lips.
He turned.
There was still shouting coming from the sidewalk.
Tim peered over the edge and cursed.
There was a man, waving his phone and shouting unintelligibly up at Tim. Tim waved.