Chapter Text
The car hummed beneath them, a low, steady purr that Kon had always found comforting. The Gotham skyline loomed in the distance, all sharp angles and dark silhouettes against the bruised purple sky. It wasn't Smallville. It wasn't even Metropolis. It was... Gotham. And Kon had never quite known how to feel about it.
"You nervous?" Jon nudged his shoulder, a too-wide grin on his face.
Kon scoffed, forcing his expression into something casual. "No. Why would I be?"
"Because it's been forever since you've been here, and there's many new jewels to the Wayne name." Jon's grin widened. "I heard there are two new ones. Both around our age. One of them is supposedly a total nightmare."
"Nightmare how?" Kon raised an eyebrow.
"Damian Wayne. Bruce's biological son. Apparently he showed up a few months ago and has been terrorizing everyone ever since." Jon's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'm kind of excited to meet him."
Kon snorted. "You're excited to meet someone who'll probably hate you on sight?"
"Hey, I'm charming. I can win anyone over."
"Your confidence is terrifying."
"Your lack of confidence is sad."
The car let out a low purr as it came to a stop in front of the grand Wayne Manor gates. The mansion loomed before them, all gothic spires and warm, glowing windows. It was impressive. Intimidating. Beautiful, in a dark, brooding sort of way.
"Now, you two better get your act together, we're here," Clark called from the driver's seat, glancing back at them with that knowing dad look. Lois sat beside him, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Don't embarrass us," Lois added. "Especially you, Kon. I know that look."
"What look?" Kon asked, genuinely confused.
"The one that says you're about to do something reckless."
Kon rolled his eyes. He was perfectly capable of behaving himself. He'd been to the Wayne Manor dozens of times. He knew the family. He knew the expectations. There was absolutely no need to tell him—
Kon's brain short-circuited the moment he stepped out of the car.
There, standing next to Bruce Wayne at the top of the manor steps, was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.
His eyes caught the fading sunlight and reflected it back like polished crystals—sharp, clear, and impossibly blue. His hair was dark silk, perfectly styled but with a few stray strands that looked like they'd escaped on purpose.
His features were sharp, the kind of face that belonged on a renaissance painting or a magazine cover. He held himself with an air of quiet confidence, chin lifted just slightly, as if he were constantly assessing everything around him.
And he was looking right at Kon.
Kon's mouth went dry.
"Wowzah," he breathed.
Jon, bless him, didn't seem to notice his brother's crisis. He bounded forward, hand extended toward the other figure on the steps—a shorter boy around his age with dark hair, a permanent scowl, and the kind of posture that screamed "I want you to die."
"Hi, I'm J—"
"Jonathan Kent." The boy's voice was clipped, precise, dripping with barely concealed disdain. "I am well aware of who you are." He gave a judgmental sweep of Jon's figure and settled on not shaking his hand. "Damian Wayne." He introduced himself as if his name alone should command respect.
Jon's hand hung awkwardly in the air for a moment before he dropped it. "Uh. Nice to meet you?"
"It is not."
"Behave yourself," Bruce said, his voice carrying that familiar note of exhausted authority.
Damian's glare shifted to his father. "Yes, father." His compliance was immediate, but his eyes promised retribution as they swept back to Jon and Kon.
Kon barely noticed. His attention was still fixed on the crystal-eyed man.
Bruce turned to the Kents, his expression softening slightly. "Clark, Lois, welcome." He gestured to the assembled group. "You know Dick, of course. And these are our newest additions." He placed a hand on Damian's shoulder, then gestured to the crystal-eyed man. "And this is Tim. He's been with us for about a year now."
Tim.
Kon's heart did something strange in his chest.
Tim gave a small, polite nod to Clark and Lois. "Mr. and Mrs. Kent, welcome to Wayne Manor. I hope your stay is pleasant." His voice was smooth, formal, perfectly rehearsed.
Clark smiled warmly. "Thank you, Tim. It's good to finally meet you. Bruce has told us so much."
"Has he." Tim's voice was flat, unreadable.
Kon's mouth moved before his brain caught up. "I'm Conner Kent, and you are..." He let his gaze travel over Tim. "...beautiful."
Tim's expression shifted in an instant. The neutral mask cracked, replaced by something cold and sharp. His jaw tightened. His eyes, those crystal-clear eyes, turned to ice.
"Beautiful," Tim repeated. "But what else?"
Tim stepped closer, and Kon's smile faltered. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction. He'd expected a blush, maybe. A shy smile. Not... this.
"I'm beautiful," Tim said, each word clipped and precise, "but what else?"
Kon blinked. "What?"
Tim jabbed a ginger into his chest, hard enough to make him stumble back half a step. "What else is appealing? You don't know anything about me.“
"Tim!" Bruce's voice was sharp, his hand already pressing against his nose bridge like he was warding off a headache.
Tim didn't seem to hear him. His eyes were locked on Kon's, burning with something that looked dangerously close to pain.
"You saw a pretty face," Tim continued, his voice quieter now, but somehow more cutting. "And that's all you'll ever see. Because that's all anyone ever sees."
A beat of silence.
Then Tim turned to the Kents, his posture shifting into something formal and controlled. "Mr. and Mrs. Kent, you have my sincerest welcome." He gave a small, polite bow. "Jon." He nodded to Jon, his expression briefly softening—or maybe that was just Kon's imagination.
And then he spun on his heel and stormed back into the manor, the door slamming behind him with a sharp crack.
Silence descended on the group.
"Well," Lois said mildly. "That was eventful."
"Mom!" Jon groaned.
"What? I'm just saying."
Dick stepped forward, his expression apologetic. "Sorry, Kon. Tim's... been through a lot. People haven't been kind to him. Especially about his jewel."
Kon swallowed hard. He hadn't meant to upset anyone. He'd just been trying to be friendly. Flirty, maybe. But not cruel.
"Courting him isn't the best move for either of you," Dick continued, his hand warm on Kon's shoulder. "Give him some space, yeah?"
"Courting?" Kon repeated more to himself than anyone. "That's still a thing?"
Courting.
Kon tried the word out internally. It felt old-fashioned. Antiquated. The kind of word you'd hear in a period drama or a romance novel. But maybe things were different for jewel families? The Kents were farm people at the end of the day. They didn't follow those kinds of rules.
Still...
Kon's eyes drifted to the manor doors, where Tim had disappeared.
"What's his story?" Kon asked, his voice quieter than he'd intended.
Dick's smile turned sad. "He was on his own for a long time. Before Bruce found him. People took advantage of him because of his jewel. Used him. Pretended to care." He sighed. "He doesn't trust anyone anymore. Especially not people who try to, you know."
Kon's chest tightened.
Jon, for his part, was watching Damian with an expression of fascination. Like he'd just discovered a particularly interesting puzzle.
"Your brother's an interesting one," Jon said to Damian, his voice thoughtful.
Damian's eyes narrowed. "My brother is none of your concern."
"Noted."
"Good."
They stared at each other.
"Stop staring," Damian snapped.
"You started it," Jon said.
"I did not—"
Kon tuned them out. His attention was still on the manor doors.
Tim.
He was going to figure that guy out. Not to court him. Not to get close to his jewel. Just to understand.
Because there was something behind Tim's anger. Something that made Kon want to know more.
He smiled. A real smile. The kind that meant he'd just found something worth pursuing.
"Cut that out." Jon's face twisted in disgust. "That's creepy."
Kon smacked him on the arm.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"For being annoying."
"I didn't even do anything!"
"You exist."
Jon's indignant sputtering faded into the background as Kon's eyes drifted back to the manor doors.
"Conner, focus," Clark said, his voice gentle but firm. "Let's get settled in first. Give everyone some space."
Kon nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
Space. Right. He could do that.
For now.
***
Tim was in the study flipping through some of the WE paperwork when he heard the door creak open. He didn't bother looking up. It was probably Bruce coming to check on him, or Damian looking for something to criticize. Either way, he wasn't in the mood for conversation.
The only sound in the room was the soft rustle of papers and the faint crackle of the fireplace. Tim lost himself in the numbers, letting the familiar rhythm of work soothe his frayed nerves. The encounter with the Kents had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. That Kent boy—Conner—with his easy smile and his sweeping gaze and his casual "beautiful."
Tim's jaw tightened.
Beautiful.
As if that was all he was. As if that was all he'd ever be.
He'd heard it a thousand times before. From people who wanted his jewel, his money, his status. From people who saw a pretty face and decided that was enough. From people who didn't care about the person underneath.
Conner Kent was no different.
Tim was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the footsteps approaching until a voice spoke directly beside his ear.
"This one of your hobbies?"
Tim startled so violently that he nearly knocked his papers off the desk. His head shot to his right to see Conner peering over his shoulder, close enough that Tim could smell his cologne—something warm and woodsy and entirely too distracting.
Tim's hands instantly covered the papers. "These are confidential."
They weren't. They were just boring financial reports that Bruce had asked him to review. But Conner didn't need to know that.
"Right," Conner said, his tone making it clear he didn't believe Tim for a second. He straightened up, shoving his hands into his pockets in what was probably supposed to look casual. "So, what's your favorite color?"
Tim blinked. "What?"
"Your favorite color," Conner repeated, as if it were the most natural question in the world. "I never got to ask, given you stormed off."
Tim's grip on his papers tightened. "I didn't storm off. I made a strategic exit."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
Tim's eye twitched. "Blue."
"Really?" Conner's eyebrow arched. "Me too."
Tim could play along. He could give short, dismissive answers until Conner got bored and left. It was the quickest way to end this interaction. "Hobbies?"
"Oh, this is like a game of rapid-fire questions?" Conner grinned. "Okay. I like photography. And reading. And annoying my little brother." He paused. "Your turn."
"Work." Tim's voice was flat.
"You like working?"
"Yeah, got a problem with that?"
Conner's grin didn't waver. It was infuriating. "What makes you laugh?"
Tim paused. That was a harder question than he'd expected. He thought about it for a moment, genuinely trying to come up with an answer. "I don't know. I don't laugh much."
"That's sad."
"It's practical."
Conner tilted his head, studying Tim with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "Okay. What about your favorite food? Pizza? Pasta? Something fancy?"
Tim opened his mouth to give another dismissive answer. Something bland, something boring, something that would make Conner lose interest. But before he could speak, Conner cut him off.
"Wait, let me guess." Conner's eyes narrowed in mock concentration. "You seem like a pasta guy. But not, like, fancy pasta. More like... mac and cheese. The cheap kind. From a box."
Tim's expression flickered. Just for a moment. But it was enough.
Conner's grin widened. "Oh my god. I'm right. You're a mac and cheese guy."
"Tt." The sound escaped Tim before he could stop it—an involuntary noise of frustration that Damian had somehow managed to rub off on him. "You're quite annoying."
"And you're avoiding the question."
Tim shot up from his seat, shoving Conner in the process. "Goodbye."
"Wait, Tim—"
Tim didn't look back. He beelined for the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was dangerous. This was exactly the kind of thing he needed to avoid. Conner was charming and persistent and way too good at reading people.
"Bye, Tim," Conner called out, his voice warm and infuriatingly cheerful. "See you at dinner."
Tim yanked the door open and fled.
He walked quickly down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors. His face was hot. His hands were shaking.
Weirdo, he thought distantly.
But his heart was pounding for an entirely different reason than fear.
He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to slow the frantic rhythm.
Tim shook his head, forcing the thought away. It didn't matter. Conner was still just another person trying to get close to his jewel.
Nothing more.