Chapter Text
Conner isn't homophobic, he isn't.
When Cassie came out as bisexual he accepted it immediately, even spent the rest of the night cuddled next to her on the couch talking about the shitty standards women face compared to men..
When she and Cissie got together and told the group, it hadn’t fazed him in the slightest. Honestly, with all the tension between them it had only been a matter of time.
Hell, even when Tim came out as bisexual, he couldn't have been happier for his best friend.
Conner isn’t homophobic.
So why, why does the mere mention of Bernard cause something so ugly to stir within his chest?
The first time it happened, had been so small he almost missed it.
They were sprawled around the living room in their makeshift base. Conner had his back against the couch, Cassie sitting on the floor between his legs, while Cissie rested her head against Cassie’s shoulder. Bart was… somewhere. Moving. Loudly. Doing something Barty.
And Tim—
Well.
Conner remembered Tim being particularly interested in his phone. More than usual.
Cassie looked over at him, then down at Cissie like she knew something. Cissie only returned the look, the two of them sharing that silent conversation they were so annoyingly good at.
Then Cissie leaned forward.
“Hey, Rob.”
Tim looked up from where he was perched in a chair.
“Who ya texting?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
Conner tried to ignore the pain in his chest, it didn’t mean anything right—except it did, at least to Tim.
Tim immediately flipped his phone face down on his knee, his ears turning pink as a blush spread across his face.
“Shut up,” He muttered, but there was no way Cassie was letting this go, “Oh my god!” She gasped dramatically.
Cissie played along instantly, “Oh my god!”
Conner could hear a muffled reply from the kitchen somewhere that was either Bart pretending like he knew what was going on, or they had a rat problem… again.
Tim dramatically dragged a hand down his face, “You guys are the worst.”
Cassie giggled devilishly now turning her face up to look at Conner, she must have seen his confusion because she not so secretly whispered, “He’s texting someone–”
“Yes, Cass,” Tim said flatly, “That is how texting works–”
“Yeah, but someone.” Cissie was also giggling now, that's when it hit Conner.
“Like—romantically?” He felt dumb just saying it out loud, it's the first thing he’s said all evening, but he could see Tim shift in his seat and look down, “I mean… yeah, kinda?”
The girls—and Bart, who had at some point, materialized from the kitchen (bag of chips in hand)—squealed.
Tim threw his arms out, silencing them, as if physically holding them at arms length, “It’s nothing big, okay?”
He sighs, finally relaxing, but Conner can still hear his heartbeat going a mile a minute. “We went on a date.”
More giggling from the girls.
“I don't know if it’s that serious–”
“Do you want it to be?” Conner couldn’t stop his words before they were out.
He can't see his face—but if the look Tim is giving him is anything to go by, his discomfort must be showing. God damn it Kon, get it together.
“I—uhm—I don't know if that's something I can say for sure right now,” Tim lets out a soft chuckle as his head drops and he fidgets with his thumbs. Something he's no doubt picked up from the big bat himself.
“But…” He looks up again, “I didn’t hate it?”
Cassie and Cissie immediately launched themselves at him.
Tim yelped as they dogpiled over the chair, Bart joining a second later with zero hesitation. Seemingly forgetting the cheese puffs as he zipped over.
It took Conner a moment.
The chaos slowly dissolved into a loose group cuddle, limbs everywhere and Cassie laughing into Cissie’s shoulder while Bart continued to provide commentary no one asked for.
Tim’s head eventually tipped sideways.
Resting against Conner’s shoulder.
And if Conner’s heart started racing—
Well.
He could figure out what that meant later.
Like he said, this thing with Bernard probably wasn’t even that serious.
Well that's a big fat lie.
Apparently “not that serious” is code for ‘i’m planning a happy marriage behind a white picket fence, where we have 2.5 bat kids, and argue over which of our in-laws are worse.’
Okay,
So maybe Conner is a bit…overdramatic, but ‘not that serious’ doesn’t explain why he's currently sitting across from Bernard in a cramped little diner—not even a month later.
Bernard was—well he was nice, that’s what made Conner’s discomfort so much worse.
If he were evil, or manipulative, or secretly plotting something, Conner would have no problem putting on the Superboy suit and punting him five worlds away under the very reasonable excuse of protecting his best friend.
But he’s not.
He’s funny.
Friendly.
Smart.
And so unbelievably, Tim.
He laughs easily, leaning across the table as he says something that makes Tim grin, his hand brushing against Tim’s arm like it belongs there, and quite frankly Conner hasn’t wanted to blast a civilian in the face with his heat vision this much since—well since his father he supposes…
Thankfully, before that thought gets anymore Luthor-ey—Bernard's voice cuts in, “It’s so great to meet you guys,” His smile is bright, and blinding, it makes Conner gag.
“Tim has told me so much about all of you!”
Conner scoffs, leaning back, hands laced behind his head like he couldn’t care less.
“Yeah,” he says, cutting in just before Cassie can jump in with something painfully polite, “can’t really say the same.”
He feels the environment shift.
Tim goes tense across from him, and when Conner glances up, there’s a look there—sharp, warning. The same one Tim gets when Conner’s screwing around on a mission instead of focusing.
Right. That probably wasn’t the best course of action…
It's not like he was wrong! They don't know anything about Bernard—at least… Well, at least he doesn’t.
Then it hits him.
The table, the looks, Cassie pointedly not meeting his eyes, Cissie suddenly very interested in her drink—Bart, for once, not immediately talking.
They do know. He’s the one that doesn’t.
Why would Tim not talk to him about this? He's never shied away from it before, not with Stephanie?
His jaw tightens, as does his grip on the drink in front of him.
He thinks, the only possible conclusion is that Tim had noticed,
Noticed the way Conner went quiet that night. The way he kept leaving the room when Bernard came up. The way something ugly kept slipping through the cracks no matter how hard he tried to shove it down.
Oh.
Tim didn’t tell him because—
Because he thought Conner wouldn’t react well.
It’s an uncomfortable five minutes before anyone says anything but thankfully Cassie saves the day, “Sorry we are all a bit protective of Tim, he’s really special to us—to Conner especially.”
She looks at him, beckoning for him to say something to save this.
He wants to look up and tell Bernard no, that he just really doesn’t like him, but he can’t—because why doesn't he?
Instead he slumps back, all the aggression in his shoulders leaving as he plasters tired smile, “Yeah man, sorry about that Tim is—”
He looks over at his best friend, there's a look on his face, one that Conner can't place, “He’s really special, you’ll treat him right yeah?”
Bernard laughs easily, pulling in Tim by his shoulders, “Don’t worry, I would never hurt him,”
And that hurts, not because he doesn't believe it but because he does.
Tim is in a happy relationship, his life finally isn’t being defined as robing hes—
He's happy.
Why is Conner so upset with that?
Conner isn’t homophobic.
He knows he isn’t.
He also knows that doesn’t explain why he was an asshole in a diner three hours ago.
Or why Tim looked at him like that the whole time.
Or why the idea of facing him now makes something in his chest feel tight enough to crack.
He’s replayed the entire night in his head, every point where it went wrong, every comment or word he said that earned him a pointed look from Tim.
He exhales slowly, leaning back into bed, dragging a hand down his face.
He should probably apologize, that's the right and easy answer,
Except it's not.
What is he supposed to say?
Sorry I was such an asshole to your boyfriend, Tim.
Sorry I don’t like your boyfriend, Tim.
Or—
Sorry I’m such a shitty friend and I don’t know why, but the thought of you and your boyfriend makes me feel sick.
The guilt hits him hard at the admission—he can feel it curl and tighten in his stomach.
He swallows, pressing the heel of his hand against his chest. Looking around for something, anything, to ground him.
Years ago, after he was brought back, it had started like this, he had gotten sick—nothing bad, just the usual nausea, and tension in his chest.
He’d gone to Tim.
Of course he had.
He remembered panicking as he listed it all to Tim, he’s Kryptonian, a clone of the Superman… that's not supposed to happen.
Tim had sat him down, calm and steady, explaining it in that quiet, careful way he did that it sounded like he was having a panic attack—all the while holding his hand gently.
Conner hadn’t accepted it at first—he was supposed to be Clark’s identical clone—he didn’t get to freak out and blame something as trivial as anxiety.
Except a month later he’d ended up on the floor in Tim’s room anyway, shaking and gasping for air while Tim held him together.
He’s better now.
Mostly.
Medication doesn’t really work, but Tim—
Tim had helped him figure out other ways. Ways to manage, and self regulate, grounding techniques he called it.
One of which was to talk it out… with Tim.
Conner can't help but let out a laugh as he stares up at the ceiling, great irony right there.
Well fuck him.
He doesn’t have time to ponder any longer, because before he knows it, his phone is ringing.
Tim.
Yeah he knew this was coming.
Can he just pretend he fell asleep? Or that Jon needed help with math homework?
Tim would see right through that, then assume he was avoiding him, which he is, but Tim would get the wrong idea as to why.
Before he can stop himself, his phone is accepting the call, he blames his incessant need to hear Tim’s voice.
As soon as he picked up he regretted it.
“Kon.” Tim’s voice was calm but firm, in a way that Conner has come to associate with a lecture.
That's what he expects but then he hears a sigh and although he's not there, he can hear the way Tim’s shoulders relax.
“Just–” Tim pauses “what happened man?”
Conner doesn’t answer for a moment, hes not sure himself, and tim sounds–
He sounds exhausted.
“I don’t know what you mean.” It comes out of guilt, in a mutter that he's not sure Tim can even hear.
He does though, “Conner.” Another pause, almost in disbelief, “You were being a dick.”
It was blunt and honest—probably exactly what Conner needed.
It wasn’t mean, but Conner still can't help but to bite back,
“Yeah well…” He scoffs weakly, “maybe I just don't like him.”
“You don’t know him, how can you not like him.”
And that's the issue isn’t it. He doesn't know him, but he knows Tim.
He knows the way Tim smiles when he’s relaxed. Knows how rare that is. Knows what it means.
Tim is happy.
So why—
Why can’t he just be happy for him?
Neither of them speak as the silence stretches between them, Conner’s head is spinning, thoughts tripping over each other—apologies he can’t say, explanations he doesn’t have, and somewhere, buried under all of it—
I think something is wrong with me.
“Look–” Tim starts, dragging Conner out of his doom spiral, “If this is about things changing, you don't have to worry dude, the team is always going to be my first priority,”
Conner can hear a sharp intake of breath over the line, before he says even quieter, “Our friendship will always be my top priority.”
“Yeah,” Conner can’t help the smile that falls over his face, Tim is putting their friendship first—he’s gonna do the same.
“I’m sorry, man,” he adds, forcing it out before he can think too hard about it. “And—tell Bernard that too. Things have just been crazy with everything at home and—”
“Is Lex still bothering you?” Tim cuts in immediately, tone sharpening. “You know I told you I’d have no problem bankrupting that freak.”
Conner lets out a laugh, easy and automatic, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He knows Tim's not serious—mostly—but… he’s missed this.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you” Conner says, “and remember I’m not above giving the demon brat a stern talking to the next he's here, I'll scare him if I have to.”
He can hear Tim laughing over the crackly phone static, and he can't help the warm fuzzy feeling that blooms in his chest.
“I’m not sure anything is capable of scaring him to be honest”
After that they fall into easy conversation, most of it pointless shit, Conner can’t bring himself to care.
Even as the hours blur and their voices grow softer, sleep creeping in at the edges, Conner lets himself focus on the sound of Tim’s laughter.
The way it fills the quiet and settles somewhere warm in his chest.
Fuck—he has got to figure this out.