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Conner Kent was not oblivious, despite what the rest of the Young Justice roster says in their more uncharitable moments.
He had a decent attention span, regardless of Kara’s frequent jabs about him having the Kryptonian equivalent of ADHD. Usually, he just ignored her, pretending his super-hearing had conveniently cut out while she was mid-lecture.
But when it came to his family, Conner’s focus was like a high-powered laser, intense and unwavering. He noticed the minute shifts in the household's atmosphere that others missed: the way Tim’s coffee consumption spiked from three cups to five during a cold case, the specific, sharp pitch of Caitlyn’s sigh when she was stressed about a final and trying to pretend she wasn't, and the exact, rhythmic speed at which Thomas could sprint from his room to the kitchen the second he heard the distinctive crinkle of a snack bag.
So, when he and Tim began the grueling, mountain-of-paperwork process of adopting Thomas, they hadn't been scrutinizing the birth certificate for anything other than legal hurdles. They were looking for signatures, for state seals, for the finality that would finally make the boy theirs in the eyes of a world that didn't always understand their kind of family. They were focused on the weight of the responsibility, the logistics of a growing household, and the emotional tether that was already pulling them toward the quiet, observant child.
It wasn't until a few days after Thomas had officially moved into the Drake-Kent household—his small suitcase finally unpacked in the room next to Caitlyn’s, his presence filling the house with a new, curious energy—that the coincidence hit them. They were sitting at the kitchen island, a sea of school enrollment forms, dental records, and vaccination charts spread out before them like a map of a new territory they were both eager and terrified to explore.
Tim had frozen mid-signature, the tip of his expensive fountain pen hovering over a line, a small blot of blue ink blooming on the paper like a tiny, dark star. He tapped the date on the birth certificate, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dawning amusement that softened the hard lines of his face.
"Kon," Tim whispered, sliding the paper across the polished granite. "Look at the date."
October Seventh.
In most households, it was just a random date in autumn, a day for light jackets and falling leaves. In their house, it was already a sacred day, marked on calendars in bold ink and remembered with a warmth that sustained them through the winter.
October Seventh was Caitlyn’s birthday.
It wasn't that Conner hadn't been paying attention to the day his son was born; it was just that life had been a whirlwind of legal battles, late-night strategy sessions, and the sudden, terrifying shift into being a father of two. The sheer volume of their lives—the heroics, the secret identities, the mundane struggles of suburban living—had created a beautiful, chaotic noise that drowned out the calendar for a moment.
When they eventually shared the news with Caitlyn, she didn't react with the teenage indignation they’d half-expected from someone about to have her special day encroached upon. She didn't complain about "stolen thunder" or shared spotlights. She just snorted, tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and looked at them with a dry, knowing smirk. "Whatever. Does this mean I can use him as an excuse to get double the amount of cake? Because if so, I'm totally in."
Establishing a routine for siblings with a ten-year age gap was like trying to bridge two different civilizations with entirely different languages and customs.
The first year had been a trial run in compromise and patience. Caitlyn was turning fifteen and still adjusting to the quiet suburbs, her eyes often fixed on the horizon of her own burgeoning independence; Thomas was turning five and was utterly convinced, with the unwavering logic of a preschooler, that he was a triceratops. They had taken Caitlyn to her favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian place for a lunch where the pasta was handmade and the lighting was moody enough to satisfy her teenage soul, then pivoted immediately to a backyard filled with five-year-olds who thought a juice box was the pinnacle of luxury.
By the next year—Caitlyn’s sixteenth and Thomas’ sixth—the stakes had risen alongside their heights. Caitlyn had finally found a sense of belonging in the friendships she’d forged with Axel and Inaya, alongside her growing bond with Lian. For her sixteenth, Caitlyn had wanted an escape room and the keys to her first car, a gift Tim had agonized over for weeks, checking safety ratings and engine reliability until he could recite the manuals in his sleep. Thomas, meanwhile, had wanted a scavenger hunt that spanned the entire property.
Tim had designed a hunt so complex it involved ciphers, hidden riddles, and triangulating coordinates based on the position of the sun. Conner had quietly stepped in, simplifying the clues to ensure a six-year-old wouldn't have a mental breakdown before finding his goody bag. He had turned "The Shadow of the Gnomon" into "Check behind the birdbath," much to Tim’s mock chagrin.
Now, this year, Caitlyn was turning seventeen—standing on the very doorstep of adulthood, with college applications and big dreams looming ahead—and Thomas was turning seven, shedding the last vestiges of toddlerhood for the boisterous curiosity of a grade-schooler.
The compromise this year was a "Batman-themed pool party." It was a choice that reflected the overlapping circles of their lives. When Conner had nervously asked Caitlyn if she was okay with sharing her seventeenth with a chorus of "I’m Batman" impressions and black-and-yellow streamers, she had merely shrugged with that effortless cool she possessed. "It’s fine, Pops. Honestly, Axel will probably enjoy the Batman theme more than the kids will. He still argues with me about which belt gadget is the most efficient."
The backyard was currently a dizzying blend of "cheap and inaccurate" and "absurdly high-end," a visual representation of their dual lives. Conner had spent the morning stringing up streamers from the local party store that featured a Batman who looked suspiciously like a muscular cat with a questionable cape, while Tim had been meticulously arranging the official, high-quality decorations Alfred had brought over from Gotham.
Alfred had arrived that morning like a focused relief mission, bearing a cake that smelled of rich dark chocolate and professional-grade vanilla, its frosting smooth and perfect as marble. He had also stopped by Smallville on the way, his trunk loaded with hand-knitted sweaters from Martha Kent and jars of peach jam that smelled like summer in Kansas. He had stayed just long enough to kiss the kids on their heads, give them a stern, loving reminder about the importance of manners, and then made a quick retreat before Diane could arrive.
The tension between Alfred and Diane was the stuff of legends, a cold war fought with polite nods and pointed silences. Last year, after a five-minute conversation near the punch bowl where Diane had made a comment about the "nutritional density" of the snacks, Alfred had pulled Tim aside. He had calmly stated, with a twinkle of steel in his eyes, that if he ever had to interact with the woman again, he would be forced to break the "no killing civilians" rule that Bruce had put in place specifically to keep Alfred's more protective instincts in check.
Conner couldn't blame him. Diane had a way of looking at a five-star meal or a meticulously planned party and asking if the decorations were "sustainable" or if the cake was "low fat" in a tone that could make even a pacifist reconsider their life choices.
“Conner Kent! Why is the tablecloth not centered?”
Tim’s voice snapped Conner out of his reverie. Tim was currently circling the patio like a hawk that had detected a slight disturbance in the grass. Birthday stress was Tim’s specific brand of neurosis; Conner suspected it was a holdover from his upbringing in the stiff, demanding world of Gotham high society, where a misplaced fork or an uncentered centerpiece could cause a social scandal. It was the lingerings of Jack and Janet Drake’s expectations, a desire to prove that even in this unconventional life, he could provide a "perfect" childhood. The one time Conner had suggested this theory, Tim had glared at him with an intensity that made Conner check his skin for kryptonite burns.
Conner hustled over from the chairs where he’d been tying black balloons to the wrought iron. “Sorry, Baby,” he said easily, his voice warm. He used his tactile telekinesis to lift the edge of the heavy plastic table just a fraction of an inch, allowing him to smooth out the creases and align the seams perfectly. He took a roll of tape and secured the corners underneath the fold-up table with the kind of precision usually reserved for repairing a spaceship.
Conner hadn't celebrated his own birthday until he was with Young Justice. Bart had chosen a random date by spinning a wheel during a particularly bored afternoon, and the team had insisted on a celebration. It had taken years for Conner to realize that a birthday wasn't just an administrative mark on a government file—it was a day where you were allowed to be the center of the universe, surrounded by the people who chose to love you. Tim made sure that every year, Conner felt exactly that, showering him with the kind of attention and thoughtfulness that Conner still sometimes felt he didn't deserve.
Tim stopped suddenly, kneeling by the edge of the pool. The water reflected the pale blue of his eyes as he glared into the depths as if he could intimidate the chlorine into being clearer. “It looks clean, right? I checked the pH levels twice, but the sunlight is hitting it weird and making the tiles look cloudy.”
“It looks perfect,” Conner said, stepping behind Tim and placing a heavy, steadying hand on his shoulder. Through the thin fabric of Tim’s shirt, he could feel the tight, vibrating coil of tension in his husband’s muscles. Tim was always like this before a mission or a party—prepared for every contingency but convinced he’d missed the one that mattered. “The water is crystal, the snacks are out, and the kids are going to have a blast. Deep breaths, Sunshine. We're on the same team.”
Tim bit his lip, his gaze flickering over the Batman-themed napkins that were stacked with mathematical precision. “Alfred could have made it perfect. He has this way of making everything look... effortless, like the house just grew into a party on its own. I feel like I’m just faking it, trying to piece together a 'normal' life from fragments of what I remember.”
“That is because Alfred is a magical man with superpowers we don't understand,” Conner joked, squeezing his shoulder and feeling the tension give way just a little. “You’re not faking it, Tim. You’re a dad who cares so much it’s vibrating off you in waves. That’s better than effortless. That’s real.”
Tim snorted, finally standing up and leaning back into Conner’s touch, his head resting against Conner's chest for a fleeting second. “Yeah, I guess. You’re right. I’m overthinking. Again.” He checked his watch, his eyes widening as the digital numbers ticked closer to the hour. “Guests arrive in ten minutes. Can you get the rest of the snacks out? I need to go make sure Thomas hasn't tried to put his cape on over his swimsuit—it’s a safety hazard, and he'll get dragged under if he tries to do a cannonball.”
Conner leaned down, a playful, loving glint in his eyes. “I will do it for the price of one kiss. Upfront payment.”
Tim dropped his chin, raising an eyebrow in a look that was classic Drake—half-amused, half-demanding. “Just one? You’re really going to stop at one, Superboy? After all the work you put into those streamers?”
“You are a very smart man, Rob,” Conner hummed, the old nickname slipping out with a fond warmth as he wrapped his arms around Tim’s waist, drawing him into the circle of his strength.
“Flattery won’t get you extra kisses,” Tim murmured, though his hands were already tracing the lines of Conner’s chest, his fingers lingering on the fabric.
“You sure about that?” Conner whispered, leaning in until their breaths mingled in the crisp autumn air.
Tim didn't bother answering with words. He closed the gap, connecting their lips in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and deeply grounding. Tim always tasted like the expensive espresso he insisted on brewing every morning and a hint of the cooling air. His lips were cool, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off Conner’s skin, but as they lingered, Tim melted into the embrace. It was that specific moment Conner lived for—the second where Tim finally let the persona drop, his shoulders losing their rigid set, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Conner’s neck.
The kiss deepened, becoming something warmer and more profound. It was a silent conversation, a promise of "we’ve got this," a shared acknowledgement of the life they had built from the wreckage of their pasts. It was the anchor in the middle of the birthday storm. Conner moved away slightly, his thumb tracing Tim's lower lip, but before he could say anything, Tim pulled him right back in, their lips meeting with a renewed, hungry intensity that spoke of shared nights, whispered secrets, and a love that had survived every crisis the world threw at them.
“Okay,” Tim said breathlessly, finally backing away with a flushed face and eyes that were much softer than they had been five minutes ago. “Was that... sufficient payment?”
Conner, whose chest still felt fuzzy and warm, as if he had just swallowed a star, nodded. “Very sufficient. But I think I’ll tip you later. Significant interest.”
Tim shook his head and rolled his eyes, a genuine laugh finally bubbling up. “Terrible pun, Conner. Terrible. Go get the chips.”
Conner snorted, pressing one last, quick kiss to Tim’s forehead before speeding off inside the house. He moved through the kitchen with a grace that belied his power, bringing everything outside—the sliders, the fruit skewers, the chips—and organizing them on the buffet table in a way that would look appealing to Tim’s sharp, critical eyes. He made sure the Batman-shaped cheese slices were aligned and that the napkins were easy to grab, creating a scene of domestic perfection that waited for the chaos to begin.
It was exactly noon when Jason and Roy arrived like a tactical unit, Lian fiddling with the bag holding Caitlyn’s gift while Jason carried a large box on his shoulder that was wrapped in dinosaur-themed wrapping paper.
“Where are the womb eviction date twins?” Jason asked, his voice booming as he glanced around the backyard, looking more like he was scouting a perimeter than attending a seven-year-old's party.
As if on cue, Caitlyn stepped out in her bathing suit. It was a simple black one with a cut-out at her waist in the shape of a spiderweb. She had a lace sarong tied off at her waist that she used to tuck her phone into against her hip, looking every bit the confident seventeen-year-old.
Her smile widened at the sight of Lian, who was dressed in a light blue swimsuit that matched the dyed edges of her hair. Lian wore a loose band-shirt over it that barely stayed on her shoulders and reached down to her knees, looking effortlessly cool in that way only a Harper could.
“Hi Uncle Jay, hi Uncle Roy,” Caitlyn greeted, her tone warm. “Dad is still wrangling Thomas. He does not want to wear his floaties.”
“Happy birthday, kid,” Roy said, opening his arms for a hug and raising his eyebrows. Caitlyn rolled her eyes with the practiced expertise of a teenager but stepped into the hug anyway. “Sorry we can’t stay—there’s a situation that needs our eyes on it. But tell Thomas we said hi and that we love him.”
Lian handed the gift bag over with a smirk. “Who said we wanted you to stay?” she teased her dad.
Jason snorted, placing the large dinosaur-wrapped box with the other gifts that were set out from Tim and Conner. “I have raised you right,” he said with a wide grin, ruffling Lian's hair.
“Whatever! Fine! I see how it is! Have fun, wonderful daughter of mine, who I love so much!” Roy said, waving goodbye with a grin as Jason began dragging him out by his arm toward the gate.
“Love you guys too! And it’s whom!” Lian called after them, her voice full of affection.
Caitlyn showed Lian where to place the gift and then dragged her over to the lounge chairs to catch up. Conner watched the interaction with a smile, but it was quickly interrupted as Tim walked out the sliding door with a pouting Thomas. The boy was dressed in his swim shorts and a pair of Batman-themed water wings that looked slightly too big for his small arms.
“Papa! Tell Daddy that I don’t need my floaties!” Thomas said, throwing his arms in the air. The gesture was meant to be one of protest, but with the bulky water wings, it looked more like he was cheering.
“I hate to break it to you, Tommy, but you do need floaties,” Conner said, kneeling to eye level with his son. “Safety first.”
“Mr. Thomas, even I need floaties.”
They all turned their heads to see Axel and Inaya walking in side by side. Inaya was dressed similarly to Caitlyn, but without the cut-out at the waist; instead, it had a detailed spiderweb design printed onto the fabric, and she wore a pair of ripped jeans over her swimsuit.
On the other hand, Axel was a walking neon sign. He wore a pair of hot pink swim shorts, crocs, and his hair had several beads braided into it. On his arms were matching hot pink water wings that he wore with zero shame. He carried two gift bags and wore a pair of sunglasses that Conner could bet Tim’s entire fortune were hiding red eyes.
“Who let you in?” Tim asked, though there was no real bite in his voice.
Axel snorted, adjusting his sunglasses. “I hopped your fence, Mr. Drake, and opened the door for Inaya. Very scary defenses—that crossbow almost got me.”
Tim narrowed his eyes, the vigilant part of his brain immediately calculating entry points. “Don’t hop my fence,” he said. “I need to upgrade the weaponry.”
Conner laughed quickly, patting Tim’s shoulder to ground him. “He doesn’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” Tim muttered.
Inaya, who had already walked over and plopped down next to Caitlyn and Lian, nodded solemnly. “I told him not to.”
Thomas scrunched his nose at Axel’s pink floaties. “Now I really don’t wanna wear my floaties,” he said, his eyes locking on Axel’s with a look of betrayal.
Tim looked down at him and sighed, and Conner couldn’t help but snort at the standoff.
Eventually, the rest of the guests strolled in—Thomas’s school friends, all with their mothers by their sides. Diane led them like a pack of wolves, her eyes scanning the patio for any sign of non-organic snacks. Conner swore he could see every muscle in Tim’s body tense as they approached. He stepped in front of Tim, playing the role of the social buffer so Tim didn't have to carry the burden of small talk alone.
“Janice, so good to see you. How’s Henry? Tim told me he fell last week during the game,” Conner said, his voice smooth and inviting.
He saw Janice’s smile falter a little. “It’s good to see you too, Conner. He’s alright. I was surprised to see Timothy at the game instead of you,” she said. She patted her son's head before waving him toward Thomas.
“Yeah, I was at Caitlyn’s volleyball game. She plays recreational and school, so there’s always a game,” Conner replied easily.
“I couldn’t imagine having a teen daughter,” Alina, another mother, said as her son Alexi ran off to join the growing group of boys.
“A teenage son is enough. I couldn’t imagine having to struggle with a girl,” Janice added, her gaze flickering toward Caitlyn.
“We don’t struggle with Caitlyn. She’s a great kid,” Conner said, his voice dropping an octave into something very serious and very final.
Conner glanced around and saw Diane already investigating the snack table, her expression hovering somewhere between curiosity and disapproval. Tim was busy adjusting Thomas’s water wings for the tenth time as the boy excitedly spoke to his friends about the "secret mission" they were going on in the pool.
“How has Timothy been?” Susana, the final mother in the group, asked with her arms crossed. “I couldn’t help but notice the bags under his eyes at the game. Is everything quite alright at home?”
Conner used the best Southern manners he could remember Ma Kent teaching him—polite but firm. “My husband is a very hard worker, Susana. We don’t have this home for free; he works day and night to make sure he’s present in our kids' lives, too.” He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
“Oh, of course,” Susana said, stepping back slightly. “I mean no harm; I just worry about him is all.”
Conner hummed, gesturing to the seating area. “You can place your stuff down on any of the chairs.”
He said nothing else and rejoined Tim, who had been in the middle of a very serious debate with Thomas regarding the water temperature.
“It’ll be better if you acclimate slowly,” Tim was saying.
“But I wanna jump in!” Thomas insisted.
“If he wants to jump in the pool, let him jump in,” Conner said, leaning against his husband.
Tim glared at him. “You’re taking his side?”
Conner raised his eyebrows. “I am taking no one’s side. I am just saying, it is his birthday. Let him make a splash.”
Tim sighed, looking at Thomas’s eager face and then back to Conner. “Fine.”
Thomas smiled widely, the gap in his front teeth showing. “Papa, can you throw me in the deep end?” he asked, eyes wide and sparkling.
Conner grinned. “Of course!” He walked over to the deep end, right in front of Caitlyn and her friends. He lifted Thomas up, being careful not to use his tactile telekinesis in front of the civilians. Thomas was giggling the entire time, his small hands clutching Conner's forearms.
“Ready?” Conner asked. Thomas shook his head 'no' while laughing even harder. “Three, two—” and before he could get to one, he tossed Thomas in carefully, making sure he came right back up with the help of his floaties. The boy surfaced, gasping for air and giggling.
“Again!” he shouted.
Conner smiled, noticing a line of kids had already formed—all of Thomas’s friends and, surprisingly, Axel. He looked over at their mothers. “Is this okay?” he asked, raising his voice so they could hear him over the splashing.
The mothers offered a chorus of hesitant nods, though Diane seemed more interested in her sunscreen application. Conner tossed each kid in, following the same countdown and giving enough time in between for each kid to float up and doggy-paddle to the edge. Finally, he got to Axel and just stared at him.
“Are you serious?” Conner asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Deadly serious, Mr. Kent,” Axel said, earning a snort from Caitlyn and Inaya.
Conner shrugged and picked Axel up bridal-style, throwing him with a bit more force than the little kids. The resulting splash was massive, soaking Conner’s shirt completely. He sighed, tugged the wet fabric off, and tossed it over a lounge chair. He glanced over at Tim, who was definitely watching him with narrowed eyes. Conner couldn't help but flex a little, smirking at his husband.
Tapping into his super-hearing, he heard Tim’s heart rate tick up a few beats despite the eye-roll Tim gave him. He also caught the whispered conversation between the mothers.
“I see why Timothy married him,” Alina whispered, earning a nod from Susana.
“I need to have a long conversation with my husband tonight,” Susana added.
Conner snorted to himself. The line of kids had reformed for a second round, except for Axel, who was now laying on his stomach on a lounge chair, his back already turning a shade of bright red.
He continued tossing the kids in until they finally settled on a game of "Bat-Tag" in the shallow end. Conner took the opportunity to slide into the water, swimming over to the edge near where Tim sat talking with Diane and Janice.
“You having fun?” Tim asked as Conner shook his head like a dog, water flying off his dark curls and landing mostly on Tim’s legs.
“Yes,” Conner said, wiping his eyes. “I think I hurt Axel, though,” he added, glancing at where the boy was still hunched over.
Tim hummed. “I think that’s just his normal posture.”
“I don’t understand why you let Caitlyn hang around with people you don’t approve of,” Diane said, her voice cutting through the sounds of the pool.
Tim didn't miss a beat. “My daughter can hang out with whoever she wants. She’s smart enough to make her own decisions, Diane,” he said, and Conner nodded firmly from the water. “I don’t need to ‘approve’ of her friends. As long as she is being safe and smart, she’s welcome to give her time to whomever she chooses. I like to give my kids freedom.”
“Besides, even if we did tell her no, she’d find a way to do it,” Conner added. “Kids are smart. If they want to do something, they will find a way, or they'll just resent you later. It’s better for us to support her so if anything goes wrong, she knows we’re in her corner.”
Diane hummed, clearly dissatisfied, but said nothing further.
“So, Conner, what’s your workout routine?” Susana asked, scooting her chair a little closer to the pool's edge.
Conner snorted, leaning his arms on the coping. “Being a dad. Do you know how much I carry in a day? Between groceries, sports bags, moving furniture when we're cleaning, and picking up the kids? It adds up.” He was talking out of his ass, but it was his standard cover story. He couldn't exactly explain his Kryptonian physiology to the PTA.
“See, my husband doesn’t clean at home or carry in the groceries,” Susana lamented.
Conner nodded with a fake-serious expression. “It makes a huge difference,” he lied, catching Tim’s amused smirk out of the corner of his eye.
The sun hung high and golden over the Drake-Kent backyard, turning the pool into a shimmering expanse of turquoise that echoed with the high-pitched joy of seven-year-olds. Conner floated near the edge, the cool water a welcome contrast to the humid heat of the afternoon. To any of the parents sitting on the patio, he was just a relaxed, athletic dad enjoying a birthday party, but his focus was elsewhere. He kept his super-hearing dialed low—just enough to catch the drift of the conversation without being overwhelmed by the rhythmic splashing and the shrieks of "Bat-Tag" coming from the shallow end.
Tim was still in the line of fire, surrounded by Diane, Janice, Susana, and Alina. From a distance, he looked perfectly composed—his posture straight, his smile polite, his legs crossed at the knee in a way that screamed old-money Gotham elegance. But Conner knew the signs. He saw the way Tim’s fingers occasionally drummed against the arm of his chair, and the specific, sharp set of his jaw that usually preceded a very long, very silent night in the cave.
“It really is a lovely home, Timothy,” Susana said, her voice carrying over the water with a calculating glint. She was swirling a glass of sparkling water, her eyes moving over the architecture of the house like she was looking for a structural flaw. “It’s so much more... lived-in than the Drake Manor ever was. I remember seeing photos of it when I visited Metropolis. It looked more like a museum than a house for a child.”
Conner watched Tim’s smile hold steady, but he caught the momentary flicker of shadow in his eyes. It was a familiar look—one that appeared whenever Tim’s upbringing was poked at. Conner knew bits and pieces of it; he knew about the empty halls, the silent dinners, and the parents who were more like distant, globe-trotting legends than caregivers. Tim never wanted to discuss the details, and Conner never pushed, but he could feel the coldness of those memories radiating off his husband now. It was a phantom ache of a childhood spent waiting for a phone call that usually didn't come, of being Robin because he had to figure out his own life in the absence of anyone else doing it for him.
“It was a different time, Susana,” Tim replied, his voice a smooth, practiced mask. “My parents traveled a lot for the export business. They preferred a certain... aesthetic for the estate. It was efficient for their lifestyle.”
“I can’t imagine being raised in a place like that,” Alina chimed in, leaning forward as if she were dissecting a biological specimen. “No wonder you’re so focused on the details here. It’s a reaction, isn't it? Trying to fill the gaps? I read a fascinating article about how children from those kinds of cold, high-status environments often struggle with... well, with forming traditional bonds or expressing vulnerability. Yet here you are, with two children and a husband. It’s quite the turnaround. Does it feel performative sometimes? Trying to build the 'perfect' family to spite the past?”
The air on the patio seemed to chill by ten degrees. Conner felt a surge of protective heat in his chest, his Kryptonian blood simmering. It was the kind of clinical, armchair psychology people used to poke at wounds they didn't understand. Tim’s childhood wasn't a secret, but having it dissected over organic fruit skewers felt like a violation of the peace they had worked so hard to build. He knew Tim wouldn't ask for help—Tim Drake-Kent didn't ask for backup for a conversation—but Conner was done letting them poke at his husband's scars.
He decided it was time for an intervention.
Conner pushed off from the edge of the pool and swam over to the stairs, hoisting himself out with a deliberate, clumsy lack of grace that sent a small wave of water toward the ladies' expensive leather sandals.
“Whoops, sorry about that, ladies,” Conner said, flashing a toothy, innocent grin as he grabbed his towel. He didn't bother drying off properly, instead walking over to Tim’s chair and dripping cool pool water onto the pristine patio stones, right in the center of their little circle.
“Conner,” Tim warned, though his shoulders dropped an inch the moment Conner was within arm's reach.
“You look a little dry, Tim,” Conner said, his eyes dancing with mischief. He didn't give Tim a chance to calculate the trajectory or plan a counter-move. He reached out, grabbed Tim’s wrist, and with a quick, powerful tug that utilized just a fraction of his strength, he pulled Tim straight out of his chair.
The splash was spectacular. Diane let out a small shriek, jumping back to protect her silk blouse, while Janice looked like she’d just witnessed a breach of international law. Tim hit the water with a loud thwack, sinking below the surface for a long, tense second.
Tim surfaced a second later, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his expensive navy-blue polo shirt clinging to him like a second skin. He wiped the water from his eyes and glared at Conner, who was already back in the water, treading lazily and laughing.
“You’re dead,” Tim sputtered, though his eyes were bright with genuine amusement—a sharp contrast to the dull glassiness they’d held moments before. “I have divorce papers in my office, Kent. They’re already drafted. I’ve got three different versions depending on the state of the filing. I’m serving them the second the last guest leaves.”
Conner barked out a laugh, splashing him playfully with a flat palm. “You love me too much to leave me.”
Tim waded toward the shallow end, shaking his head as he tried to wring out his sleeves. “It’s a contingency, Conner. I have one for every scenario. Including 'Husband becomes a literal golden retriever and forgets how to act in front of guests'. It's purely for legal protection at this point.”
Conner brushed the hair out of Tim’s face and helped him out of his shirt while staying in the water. He placed Tim’s shirt off to the side to dry and took a second to admire his husband's shoulders and upper arms.
The laughter from the pool was interrupted by a sharp, audible huff from the patio. The playful mood shifted instantly. Conner turned his head to see Janice staring at the lounge chairs near the back fence, where Caitlyn, Inaya, Axel, and Lian were sitting.
Axel was playing some game on his phone while Lian kept poking his screen. Caitlyn and Inaya were leaning close to each other, sharing a pair of earbuds. Inaya had her hand resting comfortably on Caitlyn’s knee, and Caitlyn was laughing at something on Inaya’s phone, her head resting briefly on the other girl’s shoulder. It was a quiet, affectionate moment between two people who clearly cared for one another—the kind of teenage closeness that was perfectly normal for anyone else. But to Janice, it was clearly a provocation.
Janice turned to Diane, her voice not nearly as quiet as she likely intended it to be. “I just think it’s a bit much for a children’s party. There are seven-year-olds running around, impressionable minds. Do we really need... that on display? It’s confusing for them. They should be allowed to be kids without having these adult themes shoved in their faces.”
Conner felt the temperature in his blood rise again, a low hum of anger vibrating in his ears. He saw Caitlyn’s smile falter; she had definitely heard it. She didn't look up, but her shoulders tensed, and she moved slightly away from Inaya, creating a careful, self-conscious distance. Conner started to move toward the edge, ready to say something that would likely get them banned from the neighborhood association, but Tim was already there.
Tim didn't climb out. He stayed in the water, his arms resting on the edge, looking like a predator that had just found a reason to hunt. His voice was perfectly level and terrifyingly calm.
“Janice,” Tim said. “Is there a problem?”
Janice looked momentarily taken aback. “Oh, Timothy, I just... I think some things should be kept private. For the sake of the younger kids. You know how impressionable they are. We try to keep things traditional for Henry.”
“I do know how impressionable they are,” Tim agreed, his eyes narrowing into cold flints. “Which is why I think it’s important for them to see that love and friendship come in many forms. Thomas sees his sister and her girlfriend being happy. That’s not confusing; that’s a lesson in being a decent human being. It’s a lesson in being part of a family that supports one another. If you find the sight of two teenagers sharing music 'a bit much', the gate is right where you left it. You don’t voice your problems about Conner and I, and if you have a problem with queer people, you can have a problem with me. I won't have my daughter feel like a stranger in her own backyard.”
The silence that followed Tim’s sharp defense was heavy enough to sink a ship. It wasn't just a quiet moment; it was a pressurized vacuum that seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the patio. Janice’s face flushed a deep, mottled red, the color of an overripe beet, as she stammered for a comeback that wouldn't make her look like the villain in front of the other mothers. She gripped her glass of sparkling water so tightly her knuckles turned white, her gaze darting toward Diane, who was suddenly very busy examining the stitching on her handbag.
Conner didn't wait for the awkwardness to fester. He swam over, the water parting around his chest with a soft ripple, and put a steadying hand on Tim’s arm under the surface. Even through the cool water, he could feel the tremor of protective anger vibrating in Tim’s muscles. It was a familiar tension, one born of a fire that had been burning since Tim was Thomas’s age—a fire fueled by the memory of empty rooms and the crushing weight of having to protect himself because no one else was there to do it.
To the neighbors, Tim was a wealthy, perhaps slightly high-strung father. To Conner, he was a surivor of everything life could throw at a person. This was Tim's ultimate contingency for a broken home: he would make his own family impenetrable, building walls of love and loyalty so high that no amount of suburban judgment could scale them.
“Why don't we get the food started?” Conner suggested, his voice low and steady, a grounding anchor designed to pull Tim back from the edge of a truly legendary Gotham-style dressing down. He knew that look in Tim’s eyes; it was the one he got right before he dismantled an opponent’s argument—or their life—with surgical precision. “I think the kids are getting hungry, and these burgers aren't going to flip themselves.”
Tim took a slow, controlled breath, the tension in his arm receding just a fraction as he looked at Conner. The ice in his blue eyes thawed, replaced by the weary but grateful look of a man who knew his partner had his back.
“Right,” Tim muttered, his voice still tight but no longer lethal. “The burgers.”
The tension broke almost instantly as Thomas and his friends came charging toward the patio like a pack of small, masked wolves, their capes fluttering and their voices raised in a chorus of demands for "Bat-Burgers." The moms took the opportunity to scatter, drifting toward the buffet table or the lounge chairs in a flurry of hushed whispers and avoided eye contact. The air remained thick with the unspoken, but the immediate threat of a social explosion had passed.
Conner spent the next hour at the grill, the heat of the charcoal matching the slow simmer of his own thoughts. He flipped patties with a practiced rhythm, the sizzle of the meat providing a backdrop to his observations. He watched Caitlyn from across the yard. At first, she remained stiff, her eyes guarded as she caught the lingering glances from the adults. But slowly, the safety of the backyard began to work its magic. He saw Inaya lean back in, her shoulder brushing Caitlyn’s as she whispered something that made Caitlyn’s nose crinkle in a genuine laugh. When Inaya reclaimed the shared earbud and offered a playful wink, Caitlyn’s posture finally slumped into comfort, her world narrowing back down to the people who actually mattered.
Tim moved through the crowd like a ghost, efficient and silent, ensuring every child had a plate and every drink was topped off. He didn't speak to Janice again, but his presence was a silent perimeter, a warning that the borders of his family were non-negotiable.
Once the "Bat-Burgers" had been sufficiently devoured, leaving a trail of ketchup and satisfied seven-year-olds and teenagers in their wake, Tim clapped his hands together. "Alright, everyone! It’s time for the loot. Let's move to the shaded area by the tree."
The children moved in a chaotic swarm toward the pile of gifts. Thomas sat cross-legged on the grass, his eyes practically vibrating as he reached for the large, dinosaur-wrapped box Jason had left earlier.
"Careful, Tommy," Conner chuckled, leaning against the tree trunk. "The paper isn't the enemy."
Thomas ignored him, tearing through the wrapping with the focused intensity of a raptor. Inside was a high-tech, remote-controlled Tank, complete with working lights and a recorded growl from a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bruce’s "Batman" voice. Thomas let out a high-pitched squeal of delight, immediately trying to find the 'on' switch.
"Uncle Jay knows exactly what I like!" Thomas cheered, holding the tank aloft like a trophy.
"Alright, hero, don't use all the battery yet," Tim said, kneeling down and sliding a smaller, heavy box toward him. This one was wrapped in simple blue paper with a silver ribbon—classic Tim. "This one is from Papa and me."
Thomas tore into it with equal fervor. His eyes went wide as he pulled out a professional-grade, custom-fitted astronomical telescope. "For our rooftop nights," Tim explained softly. "Since you keep asking to see the craters on the moon properly."
Thomas threw his arms around Tim’s neck. "Thank you, Daddy! Can we use it tonight? Please?"
"If the clouds stay away, it’s a date," Conner promised, ruffling the boy's hair before turning his attention toward the lounge chairs where the teenagers had established their own territory.
Lian handed over the gift bag she had been clutching. "This one's from my dads and me," she said with a grin.
Caitlyn reached inside and pulled out a sleek, vintage-style leather jacket. It was worn in just enough to be soft, with custom-embroidered patches on the interior lining that featured inside jokes. Caitlyn’s eyes widened, her fingers tracing the stitching. "This is incredible. Tell Uncle Roy I'm never taking it off."
Axel handed over a small, poorly wrapped box that looked like it had been taped by someone wearing oven mitts. "Open mine next. It’s better than a jacket."
Caitlyn carefully unpeeled the layers of tape to find a high-end, limited-edition stylus for her digital tablet—the exact one she had been complaining was too expensive for her budget. She looked up at Axel, who was trying (and failing) to look nonchalant behind his sunglasses.
"Axel... how did you even know which model I needed?"
"I have my sources," he shrugged, though he couldn't hide a proud smirk. "And maybe I asked Mr. Kent. Whatever."
Inaya leaned in, handing her a flat, heavy envelope. "Mine is a bit more... collaborative." Inside were two tickets to an immersive art exhibit in the city that Caitlyn had been obsessing over for months. "And a promise that we go together," Inaya added softly. Caitlyn smiled widely, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.
Finally, Conner and Tim walked over together. Conner was holding a small, flat box, and Tim looked unusually nervous.
"We know seventeen is a big one," Conner said, his voice dropping into that specially tender "Dad" register. "And we know you've been talking about wanting to do more travel photography once you head off to college."
Caitlyn opened the box to find a high-end mirrorless camera, the professional kind that could handle both high-speed action and low-light landscapes.
"This was my camera from when I was a kid," Tim said, his voice thick with emotion. "It helped me become who I am and I hope it can do the same for you."
Caitlyn didn't say anything for a long moment. She just looked at the camera, then at her friends, and then at her dads. She stood up and pulled both of them into a tight, three-way hug, burying her face in Conner's shoulder. "I love it," she whispered. "Thank you. Both of you."
As the sun began to dip lower toward the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of deep purple, burnt orange, and soft gold, the atmosphere shifted from the chaotic energy of the afternoon to a quiet, expectant warmth. It was finally time for the cakes. Conner watched as Tim meticulously lit the candles on the patio table, his hands steady despite the long, emotionally draining day.
“Alright, birthday twins!” Conner announced, his voice booming with a cheer. “Thomas first. Everyone, gather 'round!”
The seven-year-olds crowded in, a sea of sticky fingers and crooked masks, their faces lit by the warm, flickering glow of the seven candles on the Bat-cake. Thomas was beaming, his cowl pushed back so his hair was a messy nest of dark curls. His eyes reflected the flames with a pure, unadulterated joy that made Conner’s heart ache with a fierce, protective pride. The boy looked up at Conner and then at Tim, his expression one of complete and total safety. He didn't know about the whispers or the judgments; he only knew he was loved.
“Make a wish, Tommy,” Tim whispered, leaning down next to him, his hand resting firmly on the boy's shoulder. It was a gesture of grounding, a silent promise that he would always be there to catch him.
Thomas closed his eyes so tight his whole face crinkled, his small chest expanding as he took a massive, heroic breath. With a sudden burst of effort, he blew. The candles flickered and died in a single gust, followed by a chorus of cheers and Thomas triumphantly pumping his fists in the air like he’d just saved the city himself.
“Now for the big seventeen,” Conner said, his voice softening as he moved the lighter to Caitlyn’s cake.
The crowd shifted, the raucous energy of the children settling into a more subdued, respectful hum for the older birthday girl. Caitlyn stood up, her sarong fluttering in the evening breeze. She looked at the seventeen flickering flames, each one representing a year of growth, struggle, and finding her place in this strange, beautiful family they’d pieced together.
She looked at her dads, her gaze lingering on Tim’s tired smile, then she glanced down at Thomas, who was busy trying to lick icing off his thumb. Finally, she looked at Inaya, who was standing right beside her, her hand subtly finding Caitlyn's under the table.
The cynical, cool-teenager mask Caitlyn usually wore was completely gone, replaced by a soft, genuine warmth that made her look remarkably like the little girl Conner remembered from years ago.
“Don't wish for something stupid like a new car!” Axel shouted from the back, his hot-pink water wings still defiantly strapped to his arms as he balanced a plate of chips. “Wish for a pony! They’re more fuel efficient.”
Caitlyn laughed, a bright, clear sound. She shook her head, her eyes reflecting the fire of the seventeen candles one last time. She leaned in and blew them out with a slow, purposeful exhale, as if she were breathing life into whatever future she was dreaming of.
As the cheers erupted again and the knives were brought out to slice the cakes, Conner reached out and squeezed Tim’s hand under the table. Their fingers intertwined, damp and tired, but held together with a strength that went beyond the physical. They were surrounded by a neighborhood that didn't always understand them—people who poked at Tim's past because they were bored with their own, and people who questioned their daughter's happiness because it didn't look like theirs.
But as Conner watched Caitlyn pull Thomas into a one-armed hug, and Inaya squeezed Caitlyn's hand while Axel tried to steal a piece of chocolate off Lian’s plate, he knew they had built something real. Something that couldn't be dismantled by a few snide comments over a fence. They had built the home Tim never had, the family Conner had always wanted, and the safety Thomas and Caitlyn deserved.
As the last of the guests began to filter out, leaving behind a trail of crumpled wrapping paper, cake crumbs, and the faint scent of sunscreen, the backyard finally fell into a peaceful, cooling silence. The crickets began their evening song, and the pool lights cast a soft, pulsing blue glow against the house. Conner leaned into Tim’s side, his arm draping over his husband’s shoulders as they stood together on the patio, watching the kids retreat inside.
"So," Conner whispered, his voice vibrating warmly in the quiet air. "About those divorce papers? You still got 'em ready?"
Tim leaned his head against Conner's shoulder, closing his eyes and letting out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire day with it. "I think I'll shred them," he murmured, a tired but content smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But only if you promise to help me with the mountain of dishes currently sitting in the kitchen. And no using your super-speed to cheat."
"Deal," Conner smiled, pulling him closer as they watched their children’s silhouettes laugh together through the sliding glass door. "Happy birthday, kids."
"Happy birthday," Tim echoed, finally letting the masks fall away entirely in the safety of the twilight.