straight on 'til morning - merils (2025)

Chapter 1: once upon a time

Notes:

hello hello!! as mentioned in the tags, this fic is primarily about kon processing all the fucked up things that happened to him in his early life. there will be themes pertaining to internalized victim blaming, grooming, relationships between a minor and adults, statutory rape, and abuse. nothing too graphic will be described, but some sexual topics will come up in thoughts and conversations, so pls tread with caution if need be!!

timeline-wise, we're in some sort of postcrisis/new earth mishmash bc thats the majority of the comics i've read so far and also specifically where everything in superboy '94 happened, but also jon is there and he's kon's baby brother, and we're not thinking about this too hard.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“—happy biiirthdaaaay, dear Jooonnooo, happy biiiirthdaaay to yooouuu!”

Jon’s grin is blindingly bright and stretches from ear-to-ear as the room finishes their horrible, off-key song—hell, Kon even notices Bruce mumbling along from the corner behind Clark—and Lois steps forward, smiling broadly, to catch him blowing out the candles on video. Everyone cheers and claps and whistles.

“Look at you, already sixteen!” Dick leans on the table, suavely, because he manages to make everything he does suave. Kon’s known the guy for however many years now, and he’s still trying to take notes on how he does that. “Man, you kids grow up so fast.”

“Stop that,” Damian interrupts, elbowing him. It’s still so fucked up that at eighteen, he’s hit a growth spurt that put him nearly at Dick’s height; even more than fucked up, though, it’s funny, ‘cuz Tim is so bitter about it. “You’re being embarrassing.”

“Oh no, my baby brother thinks I’m being embarrassing, whatever shall I do—"

“Yeah!” Kon steps in, hooking his arm around Jon’s shoulders to pull him in for an affectionate noogie. “It’s my baby brother’s birthday. I should be the embarrassing big brother around here!”

“Koooon,” Jon protests, but it’s token, and everyone in the room knows it. Jon smushes his head into Kon’s side, trying to avoid the worst of the noogie action. Unfortunately for him, Kon has TTK, and it doesn’t matter if his hands can’t reach. “I’m sixteen! You can’t call me a baby!”

“I can and I will, sucker!” Kon ruffles his hair harder, until Jon reaches his limit. He squawks and elbows him in the stomach hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He lets go without further protest, laughing, but only ‘cuz it’s the kiddo’s birthday. “You’ll be my baby bro no matter how big or old you get, sugarsnap.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dick says approvingly.

Damian rolls his eyes. “Like I said. Embarrassing.”

“Shaming only works as a tactic against people who possess shame,” Tim tells him. Damian scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. “You’re waging a losing war here.”

“Are you calling Dick or Kon shameless?” Jon wonders.

Tim raises a single eyebrow. “Yes.”

Jon snickers. Kon flicks the side of his head fondly, then as a mature elder sibling, decides to step back before things can escalate into a frosting battle before Ma even finishes cutting the cake.

And besides, Kon worked hard on decorating that thing! As far as he’s concerned, there will be no warfare around it, ever. Not after how painstakingly he carved all those strawberries into roses, no sirree. Plus, Ma would have everyone’s heads if that happened, and there are a lotta heads in this room. Easier on Ma’s wrists to keep her from having to behead that many people.

Man, it’s funny. This was originally supposed to be a small family affair: just Jon, his parents, Kara, Ma, and Kon. But then Jon asked if he could invite Damian over for the weekend, and once Damian said he was free, Jon bugged Kon about asking Tim, too, so they’d have even teams for board games and MarioKart, since Kara wasn’t originally planning to stay the night. Once Tim was on the invite list, Ma said it’d be rude to invite just two of the brothers and not the rest of the family, and, well. Ma’s a stickler for courtesy.

So, of course, Ma contacted Alfred, and things snowballed from there, as they often do. At least only a few of the Bats actually were able to make it, rather than the whole gang; they’d have had to start putting people up in the barn or something.

Privately, Kon thinks this is precisely what Jon was after from the start. The kid enjoys big parties, likes having the house full, and certainly never would turn down an opportunity to get more presents. And Ma’s always delighted to have guests to fuss over, particularly Bart and the Batbrood, and it’s always good to see Ma happy.

As Ma passes out cake, everyone splits off into smaller groups. First piece goes to Jon, of course, and then Damian gets one, and the two of them peel off to the living room; Kon moves over again now that there’s room closer to the table.

“Want me to help, Ma?”

Ma swats his hand before he even finishes reaching for the stack of paper plates. “Don’t you dare! You made the cake, so at least let me serve it.”

“I don’t mind!” Kon protests.

“Careful, Kon,” Clark teases. He looks warm and fond, leaning indolently against the wall on the other side of the table. “Keep insisting and she’ll ask if you think she’s just too old to be capable of doing things on her own. From experience, that one’s a bad trap, trust me.”

Lois snorts. “So you stopped offering to help, huh? Some Midwesterner you are.”

“Hey, I never said anything of the sort! Don’t tell me you’re turning into a tabloid writer, honey.”

Lois reaches up to lightly tug at one of the curls near Clark’s face. “Don’t insult me like that on our son’s birthday.”

Ma plates the next slice and passes it to Tim, then starts to slice the next. Then she pauses, looks at Bart, and asks, “How big of a piece would you like, dear?”

Tim catches Kon’s gaze and rolls his eyes. Kon grins back at him. Ma adores Bart—she loves to feed people, and Bart loves to eat. They’re a match made in heaven. Bart invites himself over to hang out and eat them out of house and home all the time.

“About twice as big as you gave Tim, please,” Bart requests, sweet as can be. And then, because he’s an underhanded little fuck when he wants to be, and he knows it, he waits until Ma’s focus is on the cake and turns to stick his tongue out at Tim.

“Of course. Here you go.” Ma hands Bart his veritable hunk of cake with a warm smile, pats his cheek, and turns to Kon. “How much for you?”

“Uh…” Yeah, Kon recognizes a losing battle when he sees one (Ma’s quite firm with the knife). “About… three quarters of Bart’s?”

Tim rolls his eyes again; Bart guffaws. Ma simply nods and cuts another wedge of cake for him.

“Thanks, Ma,” he says, once she hands it over.

Ma pats his cheek. “Thank you for making it.”

“Aw, it was no problem.” It’s Jon’s birthday. Of course Kon’s gonna make him the strawberry layer cake of his dreams. Took a while, but it came out great, plus it was fun to make, and Tim hung out with him in the kitchen the entire time. Even let Kon swipe a dollop of frosting onto the tip of his nose and everything.

“It certainly looks like a well-made cake. You did a fine job preparing it, young mister Kent.” Alfred smiles benignly, and Kon resists the urge to rub the back of his neck, pleased with the praise. That’s a habit he seems to have picked up from Clark.

“Well, thanks, Alfie. That’s high praise, coming from you.” He grins, and even does a single finger gun since his other hand is holding cake, which is a much less Clark-like response, even if it does make Tim snort.

“Of course.” Alfred nods once.

“And here you are—your own piece to try,” Ma says, holding out another paper saucer. “Conner’s baking is always out of this world.”

Kon narrows his eyes at her playfully. “Now, Ma. Is that another alien joke?”

“It is whatever you want it to be, dear.” Ma winks. “Now, you and your friends go on, stop crowding around the dining table! See if Jon and Damian want anyone else to play that video game?”

“Nah.” Kon shakes his head. He can hear the music from the other room. “They’re doing a two-player one right now. It’s that Star Trek one Tim got him.”

Tim’s face becomes very smug very quickly, which is frankly impressive given that he’s kinda got chipmunk cheeks from the big-ass strawberry he just shoved in his mouth. “Dami inshish he’sh above Shar Frek’,” he says. “N yet…”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Alfred and Ma say at the same time.

Bart snickers.

Tim huffs a little, chews the strawberry, and taps Kon on the shoulder. “I said, Damian always insists he’s above Star Trek. Mostly ‘cuz Dick keeps trying to get him to watch it, I guess. And yet…”

“I’ll crack him yet,” Dick vows. “I bet he’ll love the whale movie.”

“That’s the best one of all of them!” Bart agrees enthusiastically, perking up. “Literally what gets better than Spock being mistaken for a hippie wandering around San Francisco in the seventies? Nothing. Nothing is better than that! Except for maybe the time we got a space ship, and by we I mean me, ‘cuz technically it was mine, and…”

“Bart,” Tim groans. “That was years ago. Will you ever let it go?”

“We left my perfectly good, brand new spaceship on some other planet,” Bart laments, slumping against Kon’s shoulder. “How am I supposed to let that go?!”

“He’s right,” Ma says, plating a slice for Dick next. “I would have loved to take a joyride in that thing someday.”

Oh, for the love of god.

“Well, we’re gonna go up to my room,” Kon says, because Ma’s blatant Bart-favoritism is always funny, but also Bart really doesn’t need a head any bigger than he’s already got. “At some point, I think Cassie’s gonna swing by—she said she was gonna try, anyway. I know she wants to at least drop in to say hi and drop off Jonno’s gift, even if she’s too busy to stay over.”

“Well, yeah, this place is packed to the gills!” Bart points out, not unreasonably, as they meander towards the door. “Where else would we put her? The barn?”

“We?” Kon asks, amused. “So you’re sleeping over too, now?”

“Uh, yeah?” Bart stuffs the last of his cake into his mouth, which is impressive because Kon literally hasn’t even taken a bite of his own yet. “I always sleep over.”

Well, Kon can’t argue with that. “You’re just lucky Ma likes you so much. She’d never let just anyone invite themselves over half as often as you do.”

“Yeah, but I’m not just anyone.” Bart grins. “I’m a total cutie.”

“And so humble, to boot,” Tim adds dryly.

“You know it!” Bart makes a heart with his hands, flutters his eyelashes, and strikes a pose. To add insult to injury, when Tim flicks a lump of frosting at him, he effortlessly catches it in his mouth.

When they get upstairs to Kon’s room, the door’s just barely cracked open, a telltale sign that somebody has nosed it open in search of a napping place. Kon eases it open further, flicks on the lights, and waits.

…Slowly, painstakingly, Krypto lifts his head from his pillow, blinking very groggily and squinting against the light. The very tip of his tail wags.

“Awww, hey, buddy,” Kon coos, setting his cake down on his desk to go over and rub that warm, fuzzy lil head. “Sorry to wake you, but y’know how the house is all packed right now. You can go back to sleep if you wanna.”

Krypto yawns, stretches out his paws, and consideres this. Then he slowly clambers to his feet, stretches out forward and then back, turns in a slow circle, and ambles out of his bed to sniff Kon. He sniffs the desk for a second, too, then turns to Bart and Tim, his tail wagging faster as he spots the plate in Tim’s hand.

“Don’t look at me,” Tim says, fork lifted in mock warning. “This is all mine. You don’t get any cake.”

“And I already ate mine,” Bart says cheerfully. “But I’m happy to give you love and attention! Aw, you smelling Dox on my clothes? Yeah, he misses you too. We’ll have to do a playdate sometime soon, huh?”

Bart happily plops down on the rug and holds out his arms, and Krypto comes in to sniff his face, tail wagging up a storm. Kon grins fondly (man, he loves his dumb dog) and settles down in his desk chair to finally get a bite of his own cake; Tim, fucking bat that he is, perches on the edge of the footboard of Kon’s bed as if that can possibly be at all comfortable.

“Freak,” Kon tells him.

Tim smirks. “Mad because you don’t have a good enough sense of balance?”

“What I don’t get is how you can possibly be comfy sitting like that when you barely have any ass padding you out there,” Bart says, vigorously rubbing Krypto’s back. “Like, are your butt bones not pressed right up against the wood? That sounds like, mega-ow.”

Tim’s face immediately goes flat. If Kon were Bart, he’d specify as flat as his ass, almost. Because Kon is a noble man and a kind friend, he refrains.

“Must we?” Tim asks, long-sufferingly. “Must we do this every time?”

“Yes,” Bart says. “Your face is funny every time. Maybe I’ll stop doing it the day you stop making funny faces, but I don’t think you’re gonna stop making funny faces anytime soon, ‘cuz you’ve been really good at making funny faces the entire time I’ve known you, even before I knew what your actual face looks like!”

Truly, he is the picture of unrepentance, grinning ear-to-ear as Krypto turns around to request getting rubbed on the other side, too. His tail smacks Bart across the face as he does, and Tim snorts.

“Hey!” Bart catches Krypto’s tail. Krypto, offended, immediately turns in a circle to lick Bart’s hand, very insistent, until Bart lets go. “Okay, sheesh, you can have it back, but watch where you’re wagging that thing!”

“He will not,” Kon informs him. “He got too hype about a game of fetch once and whacked a tree with his tail. Like, it wasn’t a big tree or anything, only like… I dunno, eight inches thick? But it fell right over. Scared the shit outta him when it hit the ground, too, ‘cuz he didn’t even notice he knocked it over. He jumped literally ten feet up.”

“Yeah, that does sound about like Krypto,” Tim sighs. Krypto wags his tail at the sound of his name. “I guess we’ll count ourselves lucky that Bart’s face is still in one piece.”

“Is it?” Kon pretends to frown in consternation, stroking his chin and everything. “Coulda fooled me, with how fucked up it looks…”

Bart flips him off. Kon just laughs.

They sit together and eat cake, talking and laughing. And it’s nice; for as easy as it is for Kon and Bart to zip all over the country whenever, it’s still been a while since the three of them have gotten to hang out just for the sake of hanging out, without any missions or fighting or bullshit hanging over their heads. Last time they got to do this was probably… sheesh, a few months ago?

Man. Growing up is bullshit. When’d it become so normal to not see each other all the time? They used to hang out like, constantly, before.

That—

That’s a weird thought, actually. Makes him feel kinda funny to think about, and there’s no room for funny feelings here, not when the house is full of people all gathered here to celebrate Jon’s birthday, and Kon gets to hang out with two of his best friends in the entire world, and they have cake, and ice cream, and a very intense game of Jenga, and…

Yeah. Nope! Not thinking that thought right now. Or, ideally, ever! Right back under the proverbial bed it goes. Whoosh!

“And remember: holding the tower up with TTK is cheating,” Bart says petulantly.

Kon spares a quick glance from the block he’s halfway through easing out of the structure to pout at him, eyes wide in innocence. “Would I ever?”

To his credit, he’s not using TTK. Mostly because the time he tried, they noticed, and then he got shamed in the group chat for cheating at Jenga for weeks. It wasn’t worth it.

“Uh, yes,” Bart scoffs. “You did.”

“And I’ve learned my lesson!”

He frees his block—fuck yeah!—and lets out a breath in relief. Okay, and now all he has to do is balance it on top. There, easy does it…

The tower wobbles, but stays upright. Phew.

“Alright!” Kon cheers, pumping a fist in the air. Krypto, sprawled out on Kon’s bed, perks up for a second, deems the entire affair unimportant, and drops his head back to the duvet with a thump. “Tim, you’re up!”

“So I am,” Tim agrees. He scoots forward on the rug, just a little, and neatly tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, eyes narrowed in focus.

Kon takes the opportunity to watch him; he scrutinizes the Jenga tower the same way he scrutinizes clues for a case or attack patterns in a fight, and it’s ridiculously endearing. Not that Kon would ever say that out loud, of course, but—the way he always taps a finger against his chin, or tips his face down just a touch, even though it makes his hair fall over his forehead again…

It’s cute, is the thing. It’s just cute. He’s cute.

Tim finally selects a block to try, his touch featherlight and delicate as his fingers brush the wood. Kon watches as he skims a fingertip along the side of the tower; his lips press together just a touch harder as he finds what he’s looking for and starts to gently, gently begin to press the block out of place.

It comes as no surprise that the guy Batman trained in bomb defusal is great at Jenga. He slides the block out with barely any difficulty—the tower hardly moves at all. It barely even sways when he delicately sets his chosen block on top and sits back, radiating smugness as he leans comfortably against the side of Kon’s bed.

“Your turn, Bart.”

“You guys are the worst!” Bart clutches the sides of his head, tugging at his hair. “I barely survived last round! How did neither of you fuck it up? I mean—okay, I get it when Tim is good at stuff, but come on, Kon. I was counting on you!”

“Hey! I’m plenty good at stuff,” Kon objects, leaning over (very mindful of the tower, of course) to swat him on the shoulder. “Remember whose house you’re in!”

Bart sticks out his tongue. “Uh, yeah, Ma Kent’s?”

…Okay, fair point, but still. Kon scrunches up his face. “Be nice. Or else we’ll kick you out ‘cuz the house is already too full.”

“You can’t. Your grandma looooves me!”

Unfortunately, that’s also true. Kon sighs. “Only ‘cuz you eat everything she puts in front of you and ask for seconds.”

“Yeah,” Bart agrees.

“Stop stalling, Bart. It’s your turn.” Tim brings them back to the topic at hand before they can descend into any bickering (smart, because Kon and Bart are really, really good at bickering over the stupidest and most pointless shit ever, purely because bickering is funny).

“Fine, fine! I’m going!” Bart puffs out his cheeks. He leans in very carefully to scrutinize the tower, reaches for it with determination, and…

Something, somewhere, jolts Krypto out of sleep. He vaults to his feet with a “BWOOF!” loud enough the walls vibrate.

Poor Bart doesn’t stand a chance—he jerks in surprise and smacks his hand right into the tower. The way it immediately rights itself and neatens up, well…

“Disqualified!” Tim crows, pointing a finger imperiously across their circle at him. “No superspeed in Jenga!”

“That’s not my fault!” Bart protests. “I got spooked! That doesn’t count!”

“Krypto, chill out!” Kon ignores him to clamber over his bed to where Krypto is standing, still halfway on his bed. One of his ears is inside-out from sleeping funny, and Kon smooths it back into place as he rubs his head and neck. “It’s okay, buddy. I know, there’s a lot of people around here this weekend.”

But Krypto doesn’t settle down, completely ignoring the Tim and Bart debate going on behind him. He pads over to Kon’s window, noses at it, and makes a low noise, like he’s revving up for another bark without actually barking again, and Kon frowns. What’s he hearing…?

He tilts his head, listening carefully, and hears the whistling of the wind. Nothing particularly… ooohhhh.

“Cassie’s here!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “C’mon, gang, let’s go meet her.”

Bart whoops, Jenga immediately forgotten in favor of leaping to his feet. Tim gets up more fluidly, and Kon pushes Krypto’s nose out of the way so he can unlatch the window.

Tim pauses, hand on the doorknob. “Oh, we’re doing an intercept?”

“Hell yeah we are,” Kon says. “There’s waaay too many people downstairs between us and the front door. I told her to just land on my corner of the roof.”

Tim shrugs, nodding. “Sounds good to me.”

Bart launches himself at Kon’s chest, clambering up like he’s a monkey, and Kon laughs and hooks an arm around him, using a bit of TTK to keep him securely held against his hip. He knows the drill by now—Bart loves clinging to him like a limpet when he flies, especially if it’s a fast flight (although he constantly bitches about supersonic flight being too slow). Bart cheers, wrapping his legs around Kon’s hips.

“Giddy-up, horsey!”

Kon flicks him on the nose. “Not how that works, cowboy.”

Tim could probably scale the building just fine on his own, and by “probably” Kon means “definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt”, but he still turns and holds out an arm anyway. It’s only polite to offer, so… yeah.

“Coming?”

“Sure,” Tim says, and comes over. He slips his arm around Kon’s waist, which is more than enough contact for Kon to wrap him securely in his TTK, but he wraps his arm around Tim anyway before he shoots out the window, Krypto hot on his heels.

“Yeeeee-haw!” Bart whoops.

It’s a very short flight up to the roof, but just going there and nowhere else is absolutely no fun, so instead Kon shoots up into the sky, towards the last of the sunset glow in the west and the stars starting to shine overhead. He does one big, lazy loop-de-loop over the house, then a tight corkscrew, as if they’re on a roller coaster; Tim laughs against his ear, and Bart hollers again in abject delight.

“Cassie!” Kon can see her coming in hot from the northeast, a silhouette against the rapidly-darkening sky. She lifts an arm to wave, and since Kon’s arms are both full, he holds Bart up by the legs and swings him about to wave back.

Krypto zooms up to meet her, never one to hold back his enthusiasm, and Cassie’s laughter rings out bright and clear as he tries to pounce. She catches him easily, lovingly tussling in the sky for a moment before he breaks free to zoom around her in wide, hyper circles as she comes closer.

“My boys!” she calls. Her hair is short and hopelessly mussed by the wind, her face full of raw joy to see the three of them; she looks happy, and Kon’s heart lifts to see her. “I missed you!”

“We missed you, too!” Tim calls back.

As she descends, Bart wriggles in Kon’s arms, cupping his face to get his attention. His palms are warm. “Hey, hey! Toss me over!”

Kon laughs. It’s one of Bart’s favorite pastimes: Toss The Speedster.

Obediently, he shouts out a heads-up—“Yo, Cass! Incoming!”—and twirls a few times to build up momentum, holding Tim securely to his side, then hurls Bart upwards hard. Bart lets out another whoop of abject delight, shrieking with laughter as he hurtles up into the air, high over the farm.

For a delicate moment, he hangs weightlessly, suspended at the top of his arc. Then he begins to fall, spread-eagled and still laughing; Cassie swoops under him and catches him effortlessly, cradling him princess-style against herself.

“Package secured!” she announces.

Kon rises up to meet her halfway as she descends towards the rooftop, holding Tim snugly about the waist. Bart wraps his arms around Cassie’s neck and squeezes her hard, and she laughs, bouncing him in her arms; Krypto flits down to circle the four of them, too excited to stay still.

“It’s good to see you, Cassie,” Tim says warmly, leaning over Bart to embrace her. Kon moves closer so he can hug her, too, ignoring the way Bart protests loudly that he’s being crushed; he’s never felt anywhere more at home than here, wrapped up in the arms of his best friends, in the sky above the farm. Something shifts and settles in his chest, filling him with contentment.

“Man.” Cassie draws back after a moment, shifting Bart against herself. “It’s been way too long since I last saw you guys.”

That’s—

Uncomfortably close to the thoughts Kon had earlier, the ones that he’s absolutely and adamantly not going to be thinking about for the foreseeable ever. The ones about growing up and adulthood and everything else. Which he’s not thinking about, so there’s no point in clarifying.

Yeah.

Yup.

Nailed it.

“Yeah, it has. Hey, come on—we already cut the cake, but I know Ma saved you some, and not to toot my own horn, but it’s a bammin’, slammin’, bootylicious cake.” He drifts down from the roof level back towards his window, gesturing for Cassie to follow; normally he’d lead her to the front door—house rule—but Ma’s already okayed the exception given how chaotic the front room is right now, what with the air mattresses and the video gaming and everything.

If Tim is giving him any odd looks for his less-than-subtle topic change, no he isn’t. Kon isn’t looking at him, so any weird looks are cancelled out. That’s definitely, totally, one hundred percent how this works.

Yup!

“Oh, cake? Fuck yeah, don’t mind if I do!” See? Cassie knows how to roll with things. (Take notes, Tim.) She swoops after him in a graceful arc, stopping to hover right outside the window. She waits for Kon to set Tim down, then swings Bart back and forth once, twice, thrice—

“Whee!” Bart cheers, as Cassie tosses him at the window.

Kon leans out and catches him easily, of course, and Bart laughs in delight again. He loops his arms around Kon’s neck, leans in, and presses a loud, smacking kiss to Kon’s cheek.

“My hero!” he sings, and Kon rolls his eyes fondly and dumps him on his bed. “Hey! That wasn’t very chivalrous.”

“Who said I was a knight, huh?” Kon pokes his nose. “Pretty sure that’s more Tim’s wheelhouse.”

“What, because Batman is the Dark Knight, et cetera?” Tim sounds amused. “That’s in name more than anything. If any of us is chivalrous in that sense, it’s… honestly? Probably Nightwing.”

Bart and Kon both consider this. Dick holds the door for everyone, walks civilians home if they need it, has a sense of honor and shit, and, uh, Kon doesn’t really remember what else knights are supposed to do, and he’s pretty sure neither does Bart, because they come to a conclusion at the same time:

“Okay, yeah.”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

Cassie, sitting on the windowsill and petting a very enthusiastic Krypto, laughs. “Hey, I think I could give him a run for his money if I tried.”

“That is true,” Bart says. “Butch lesbians get a ten point bonus to chivalry.”

Cassie strikes a pose, flexing victoriously. “Fuck yeah we do!” She grins, then tosses her head to get her bangs back from her face. “Now, excuse me, Conner, but I do believe I was promised some bangin’ cake.”

“You betcha!”

Kon fires off double finger-guns and opens his door, and the four of them file back downstairs. Krypto follows eagerly, apparently re-energized by his nap earlier; he peels off from their heels to go trot into the den, where Jon and Damian are still playing the Star Trek game, by the sounds of it.

Ma isn’t in the kitchen when they troop in; instead, Alfred and Bruce are doing the dishes from dinner. Clark is hovering by the counter, clearly having lost the courtesy battle (obviously. No one wins against Alfred, except for Ma, and that’s only sometimes), but still fretting over having guests washing up.

Man. Sometimes, Kon thinks, being country is ridiculous.

“Cassie!” Clark lights up, moving around to clasp her hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you again. Do you want anything to eat? Sorry, we just put the leftovers in the fridge, but I can get them right out—”

“No, no, I already had dinner before I flew over!” Cassie waves her hand. “We’re just here because I was promised cake, that’s all. But, uh—do you guys need a hand with the clean-up?”

“No,” Kon, Clark, and Alfred all say at once. Bruce says nothing, but adds a sharp look.

“You just got here! You’re not doing any chores!” Kon sets his hands on his hips—she should know better by now, seriously.

“Quite so, Miss Sandsmark.” Alfred nods sharply once, then hands a soaped-up bowl to Bruce for him to rinse and dry. “Rest assured, we have got this completely in hand.”

“If Bruce was funny, he’d drop that bowl right now,” Tim mutters, just barely audible.

Kon snorts, then snorts again at the look on Clark’s face, too. “And risk Ma’s wrath for breaking her good china?”

Tim shrugs languidly. “Gotta do what you gotta do. It’s about committing to the bit.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t fight you on it!” Cassie is laughing, hands up to placate everyone. “I just—you know. Let me know if you need any help.”

“There are plenty of others to be put to work first before we get so desperate as to make you pitch in, don’t worry,” Clark says, clapping her on the shoulder. “Let’s see about getting you some of that cake instead.”

“Oh! And that reminds me—” Cassie digs around in her purse and pulls out a neatly-wrapped package, complete with a (somewhat squished) big, shiny bow. “For the birthday boy himself! From Donna, Diana, and me. By which I mean it was my idea, but I had help making it actually happen.”

“Mildly ominous,” Clark observes, smiling benignly. “Here, take your cake, and you can go give it to him. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

“Mr. SuperClark sir?” Bart jumps in—there he goes with those Alabama manners he only seems to trot out once in a blue moon. “May I also have another slice of cake? Pretty please with a strawberry rose on top?”

Clark, because he’s a huge softie, melts into a big smile. “Of course, Bart! You only ever have to ask. How about you, Tim? Kon?”

“Sure, I’ll have some more,” Tim says. “Kon’s baking is always a treat.”

Bart elbows him. “Simp.”

Tim raises a single eyebrow. “Says the one who’s already eaten more than twice as much of it as I have.”

“Fellas, fellas, please,” Kon says, while Cassie snickers. “There’s enough of me—I mean, my cake—to go around.”

“Your cake?” Bart waggles his eyebrows, and—oh no, that’s his causing mischief face—smacks Kon on the ass. “Yeah, I’ll say!”

Right in front of Clark. And with Bruce and Alfred right there.

Kon resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

Instead, he just swats Bart playfully upside the head. “Oi, not in Ma’s kitchen! God, Bart, keep it in your pants.”

“Yeah, Bart,” Cassie teases. “You shameless horndog.”

“Children,” Clark sighs long-sufferingly. He casts his gaze skyward, takes a moment, then looks back to Tim. “Just tell me how much cake you’d each like, and then you can go back to flirting.”

Immediately, Kon scoffs. “We’re not flirting! Did that look like—is that how you flirt or something?! We’re trying to besmirch Bart’s name here. Get with the program, Clark! Man, at least I hope that’s not how you flirt with Lois. Nah, what am I saying, she’d kick your ass if you tried besmirching her name…”

From the sink, Bruce makes a noise that definitely is supposed to be a disguised laugh.

Once everyone’s caked-up, the four of them leave the kitchen to go settle in the den. Damian and Jon have just finished a level of the Star Trek game and called it quits for the moment, or more likely have been bullied off the TV for the moment; lively music is playing, Lois is holding a stack of board games, and Dick, ever the charmer, is twirling Ma around the center of the room in a spirited West Coast swing.

“Wooo!” Cassie waves her fork around. “Party time! Hiii, birthday boy! I gotcha something.”

“Cassie!” Jon shoots up from the sofa (literally; he floats up over the back and rolls over in midair to get his feet under him on his way to the entryway). “Hi! Omigosh, you didn’t have to bring me anything. Thank you!”

At sixteen, he’s shot up; standing, he’s taller than Tim and Bart now, and nearly as tall as Cassie. Kon lightly ruffles his hair, and Jon laughs and swats at his arm.

“Of course I brought you a gift! It’s not every day that you turn sixteen.” Cassie hands over the package. “Happy birthday, Jon!”

Jon leans in for a hug, beaming at her. “Thank you, Cassie! You’re the best. Can I open it?”

“Absolutely!” Cassie almost bounces on her feet. “Go on.”

So Jon tears the paper open and carefully opens the little box. Kon peers over his shoulder to see what it is; Damian melts out of the shadows behind Cassie to take a curious look as well.

It’s a pair of round sunshades, tinted and shiny. Kon’s eyebrows shoot up.

“They’re enchanted!” Cassie explains, as Jon takes them out of the box and oohs and aahs, examining them carefully. There’s a golden design along the arms, reminiscent of Themysciran armor patterns. “While wearing them, you can see through any magical illusion.”

“Whoa, seriously?” Jon’s head snaps up, and a huge grin spreads across his face. “That is so cool—Ma?” He whips around. “Permission to waive one swear jar penalty on account of extenuating circumstances?”

Lois laughs outright.

Ma, still breathless and beaming from her dance with Dick, pauses in sipping a glass of water to wave a magnanimous hand. “Oh, go ahead, dear. It is your birthday!”

“Thanks!” Jon turns back to Cassie. “Okay. This? This is absofuckinglutely baller. Like, holy hot dog! Thanks, Cassie!”

…Yeah, Kon can kind of see his influence there.

Cassie tips her head back and laughs.

Jon puts the shades on and strikes a pose. “Whaddya think?” he asks, and then without waiting for an answer in his excitement, twirls and bounds across the room to Lois. “Mom, look! They look totally normal but like, fashionable, and they’re magic! Like the Lens of Truth from Ocarina of Time! Isn’t that awesome?”

“Oh my god.” Cassie shakes her head, grinning ear to ear. “I’m so glad he likes them so much. Gosh, all he needs now is a leather jacket—with those on, he looks just like you back when we met, Kon!”

And that—

Kon balks.

Later, he’ll identify this as the crux of it all. This is the pinnacle, the apex, the flap of the butterfly’s wing that caused the tornado, whatever you wanna call it. Later, he’ll look back, and he’ll know this is the first domino that kickstarted the whole chain.

Right now, he doesn’t know any of that. All he knows is that Jon is his baby brother, emphasis on baby, because he’s only sixteen, and sixteen is still a baby, and he’s still got puppy fat in his cheeks and despite everything he’s seen in his life he’s still got innocence in his smile, and he’s not done growing, and he’s not ready to be alone, and.

And.

And something is unsettled in his chest, like something in the fabric of the world just gave a little and there’s a rip and everything’s gone lopsided trying to make up for that tension, and his heart feels a bit funny, and the cake in his saucer has never been less appetizing, and Tim is looking at him like he can read exactly what’s wrong and that’s wrong, too, because Kon doesn’t know what’s wrong, and…

And, and, and.

“What?” he finally says, a beat too late to pass it off as normal. “Psshhh, no way. He’s got such a baby face.”

Across the den, Dick says something that makes Ma chortle and pinch his cheek. Jon hugs her, and Damian says something to Dick that makes Lois laugh again, a bright peal like a chapel bell.

“Uh, yeah,” Cassie says, and she gives Kon a funny look. “So did you, dumbass.”

And that makes the world rip a little further and something isn’t right, and Kon isn’t in the cozy farmhouse living room, he’s in Hawaii and he’s in a shithole in Metropolis and he’s in a lab at Cadmus and he’s here, he’s here, he’s in Kansas and his baby brother is sixteen, and none of it matters.

“I did not,” he says, pretending to be indignant as if that’s the problem. “You take that back!”

“No way! It’s the truth. Don’t make me get out the old photos to prove it to you!” Cassie smirks at him, and on one hand he should be pleased that his lies are holding, but on the other, the idea makes panic spike in his chest, his heart skipping a beat (and that’s not good, because both Clark and Jon might hear it).

If he looks at himself in those old photos and sees puppy-fat cheeks, he’ll be sick.

“Hey,” Bart interrupts, and thank fuck for that because Kon couldn’t for the life of him think of anything to say. “Are you gonna eat that…?”

Kon looks down at the cake he’s still holding. “Nah,” he says, and hands it over. He ignores the weight of Tim’s gaze. “You can have it. I think I’m still full from dnner.”

“Sweet,” Bart says, and steals it without further ado.

“Hey, you four!” Dick calls, waving them over. “Get over here, we’re about to play Pictionary! And the dads are welcome to join, too… if they dare!”

It’s the perfect excuse to abandon the last threads of the conversation Kon so desperately wants to avoid.

“Coming!” He hooks his arm around Tim’s shoulders, hauling him into his side; Tim doesn’t even stumble. “I call Tim on my team.”

“I should get to pick teammates first,” Jon objects. “It’s my birthday.”

“You were obviously gonna pick Damian,” Kon points out.

Jon puffs out his cheeks, rather adorably. Kon is physically obligated (like, it’s literally legally binding, for real, he swears) to reach over and squish them with his palms until Jon’s face looks like a fish, and Jon bats him away with a wordless noise of complaint.

“I guess so,” he allows. “I mean, it’s good strategizing, too. Damian’s the best artist of everyone here.”

Damian doesn’t say anything to that, but his lips curve in a small, fiercely pleased smile.

“Exactly.” Kon nods. “So you pick Damian, and I pick Tim.”

“Hold on, how many players do we even have? We’ve got… three dads, six kiddos, and… three wine moms,” Dick counts out, raising a finger for each group. “Right? That’s Clark, Alfred, and Bruce, then Jon and Damian, and Kon, Tim, Cassie, and Bart, and then Lois, Ma, and me, and that’s it, since Kara’s not back yet.”

“Are you calling yourself a wine mom?” Damian sounds distinctly unimpressed.

Dick is completely unperturbed. “In spirit, yes. Absolutely.”

Damian stares at him. Dick doesn’t seem to give a shit.

“Well, this splits us nicely to teams of three, save for the kids needing to swap it up,” Ma points out. “I think that works fine. Four teams, rather than two, since we’re such a big group.”

“Yeah, sure!” Jon turns a wicked grin on Kon. “In that case, as birthday boy, I call the right to choose one more teammate… and I pick my favoritest big brother!”

Oh, that conniving, sly little…

He gets this from Lois. Kon is sure of it. He thinks he’s being so funny, splitting Kon and Tim up after Kon just claimed Tim, but by claiming Kon instead of Tim, he’s made it so that Kon can’t even protest, because his baby brother, the birthday boy, wants him on his team.

“Damn,” Tim says, and shrugs Kon’s arm off his shoulders. “What is this, fraternizing with the enemy? Get off me.”

“Alright, alright, fine! Sheesh. You’re going down, Drake. For the glory of my favoritest baby brother.” Kon scoots over to stand by Jon’s side, draping his arm around him, instead, and Jon laughs, very pleased with himself.

He’s a kid, enjoying his sixteenth birthday with his family and friends.

He’s a kid.

And he doesn’t look anything like Kon used to.

Notes:

I Just Want Good Things For Kon, Is That Really So Much To Ask For?

i know pictionary usually has 2 teams but they have such a big group ok. they'll figure out the rules. i believe in them.

also, i've tagged timkon as romo and the others as platonic, but tbh the bart&kon is pretty much a qp. also, the core four in general are firm believers in kissing the homies and i will die on this hill. the timkon is like... late stage slow melt. i swear they'll get places but they have to be stupid for a hot minute first ok? and there's a few more friendships i didn't tag for the sake of not having 4829489 tags, but... they will be there.

this fic is largely already written; it was my nanowrimo project this year! so updates will probably be weekly, with a possible exception of next weekend because i will be out of town for a bit.

i'm also on tumblr at mamawasatesttube!!

Chapter 2: there was a boy.

Summary:

“But the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys.”

― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Notes:

Warnings: heavy internalized victim blaming, self-destructive behaviors and maladaptive coping mechanisms, non-graphic/mild sexual themes, allusions to/discussions of past grooming and statutory rape and abuse, anxiety attacks, flashbacks to unhealthy sexual situations...

basically, it's a doozy, folks. if you want more of an explanation of what's going on (i.e. a rough chapter summary that therefore will contain spoilers), check out the end notes below!

also, a content warning specifically for duckie my good friend duckie: Contains Mentions And Depictions Of Smooth Yoda

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Metropolis isn’t like Smallville.

Like, okay, yeah, that much is obvious. It’s even in the names: Metropolis is a big-ass city. Smallville is small, and… almost a village. But the thing that stands out to Kon isn’t the size, not really—yes, Metropolis is a glistening, well, metropolis, full of bright lights and polished glass and skyscrapers, and yes, Smallville is a sleepy town where the plants and the cows are the most important things anyone’s ever seen, but none of that is the point.

Smallville means Ma Kent’s farmhouse and the aging paint on its walls. Means the somewhat cramped bedroom covered in posters and photos that Kon’s lived in since he was a—that he’s lived in for years. Means Krypto running around at four in the morning and Ma always making coffee right at the crack of dawn. Means Simon and Lori and Sajan all with him playing Uno on the weekends.

Metropolis, by contrast, is what it means to be alone.

A siren blares, loud and grating, as a police car zooms down the highway somewhere beyond the window, and Kon huffs. Damn superhearing makes it hard to concentrate on homework sometimes.

It’s not like he minds having his own place here. He’s attending Met U, getting a degree in journalism of all things—he’d scoffed, back when Lois first suggested it, but upon further reflection, had to admit she may have been onto something. He doesn’t know exactly what he wants to do with his life, but he does know he doesn’t want to sit still at some desk job all day long, and he wants to help people. And he doesn’t want to be tied down to one place or thing. He wants to be flexible.

So, journalism degree. And he’ll figure out what to do with that degree… later.

For now, it means having a nice little one-bedroom apartment near campus. He originally tried staying with the Kents, but no matter how long it’s been, he’ll never be a part of their family the way Jon wants him to be. There are more ways to be lonely than just to be alone, and nothing drives that home quite like sitting in his room and overhearing his baby brother excitedly ramble about his day to the parents Kon never had.

It was honestly pretty funny, how he got his own place. He mentioned wanting to move out on his own, asked his friends if any of them wanted to come with him when he toured options, and the next thing he knew, Tim was shaking hands with the real estate agents after buying him a goddamn apartment.

(“Just go with it,” Bart advised him, popping a grape into his mouth while Kon gaped. “He did the same thing for me last year, remember? Classic Tim. Our squad sugar daddy.”)

(He then took advantage of Kon’s dropped jaw to feed him a grape, too. Bart is a menace.)

So—yeah. Kon’s got his own pad now. There’s even a Bat-approved sensor gadget on one of the window locks, so that Krypto can come and go as he pleases but no one else can get in. And he likes it here, too. It’s not always lonesome, being here on his own; it sure as shit beats the last time he tried finding an apartment in Metropolis, all those years ago.

That thought gets a snort. Maybe that’s what he should write this essay on—maybe he should just scrap everything he’s got right now and switch over to housing inequality in Metropolis. Sighing, Kon drums his fingers on the keyboard, hits save, and leans back in his desk chair, stretching his arms up over his head.

Homework is boring.

“Maybe a little break,” he tells himself, rolling his shoulders. It’s a Friday night, and the paper isn’t even due until Wednesday. He’s being such a good student right now. Ma would be proud of him. Even if it is a habit he only got drilled into him because being on standby to save the world and shit often means missing a lot of assignments, and eventually it just becomes easier to do them early.

Picking up his phone, he glances at the group chat and laughs to himself.

freak in the spreadsheets [06:29 PM]
hey so
did one of you tell damian how much i fucking hate smooth yoda
bc if so, L + ratio + we aren’t friends + i don’t love you anymore

gotta go fast [06:29 PM]
timothy i am OFFENDED that you think we would ever do that to you
we make your life hell out of LOVE!!! we have STANDARDS

resting butch face [06:30 PM]
^^^ yea what bart said!!!!
cmon tim do u rly think so little of us </3

freak in the spreadsheets [06:32 PM]
kon is suspiciously silent over there……………

resting butch face [06:33 PM]
nah he’s just busy being a good boy

freak in the spreadsheets [06:33 PM]
oh?

gotta go fast [06:33 PM]
pffff the way you say it makes it sound like he’s a dog
good boy kon!!!! such a good boy!!! want a treat????

resting butch face [06:34 PM]
LOL
i mean. if the collar fits,

freak in the spreadsheets [06:34 PM]
.

gotta go fast [06:35 PM]
i think we should get kon a collar. it’d be funny

freak in the spreadsheets [06:35 PM]
.

gotta go fast [06:35 PM]
did you just bold that single . ?

freak in the spreadsheets [06:36 PM]
yes. obviously.
can we get back on topic?

resting butch face [06:36 PM]
LOL tim u r a RIOT
n e ways i just meant kon’s doing homework rn. phone silenced
we were txting earlier when he was like deuces gotta write this paper
can u believe

gotta go fast [06:37 PM]
on a FRIDAY NIGHT??????

freak in the spreadsheets [06:37 PM]
hm. and do you ALSO vouch for his integrity re: smooth yoda?

resting butch face [06:38 PM]
tim. if u think kon would ever tell damian what img u think is the most cursed pic on the planet, u don’t deserve him or his insane loyalty </3
as if he’d give ANYONE that kind of weapon against u </3
we might make ur life hell w smooth yoda but that stays firmly in this gc

freak in the spreadsheets [06:39 PM]
…ok point sry kon
then who DID tell damian????? im suffering here

resting butch face [06:39 PM]
what’d damian do w it????

freak in the spreadsheets [06:40 PM]
[img20XX0821123821.png attached]
straight on 'til morning - merils (1)

resting butch face [06:40 PM]
omfg

gotta go fast [06:41 PM]
DS;LALKSLAEWOIFJLKJFA:GDj;SJFKDJFSLKJFA:FJSDLKJF:ALFKJASH
LATTE ART?!??!?!?!??!?!?!??!?!?!??!!??!?!?!
SINCE WHEN DOES DAMIAN DO LATTE ART

freak in the spreadsheets [06:41 PM]
I DON’T KNOW!!!!
DO YOU SEE NOW WHY I AM SO DISTRESSED

139 more messages

…Wow.

He’ll scroll through all that and backread properly later. For now, Kon just chuckles to himself and sets his phone back down; he really shouldn’t get sucked into it before he finishes his paper. Still, a short break to not be staring at that stupid document sounds enticing.

Slumping back in his chair, Kon hums along to Carly Rae Jepsen as his headphones blare at him, his gaze wandering from the laptop on his desk over to the window. Maybe he’ll go out for a little flight or something. He feels a little restless, like he wants to move, to go somewhere, to do something, but…

With effort, he drags his gaze back to his desk, and his eyes catch on a framed photo at the back: it’s the old Young Justice team, on the night of their first camping trip.

At first, it brings a fond smile to his face—there’s Tim in his old Robin uniform, even shorter than he is now, and there’s Bart as a shrimp, and Cissie back when she was still the tallest one of them, and…

And himself.

He looks younger, too. Of course he does—that’s when he was stuck at sixteen.

Sixteen, like Jon is now.

Unbidden, Cassie’s comment comes back to him, and something tightens unpleasantly in his stomach. He’s not—it’s different, because he wasn’t a kid, not like Jon is, and yet…

He looks like Jon.

He looks like a—

The photo falls forward and crashes face-down on the desk before Kon even realizes his TTK reached out.

He stares at it for a moment, vaguely aware that his heart is pounding, that his chest is tight, that his fists are clenched. It’s not Cassie’s fault; he doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much to think that Jon looks like he used to. It’s just—it’s just…

It’s just that he thinks about Jon, alone, bargaining with a shitty landlord in a shitty slummy part of the city, with that puppy fat in his cheeks and the innocence in his eyes, and he wants to punch something.

“Okay,” he says to himself, before he can go any further down that road, because there’s no point in dredging up old hurts he really ought to be over by now. “That’s enough of that.”

Yeah. He’s not getting any more homework done now, though, not when he has to sit at this desk and knows that photo is right there, so. Yeah. No. He needs to do something with his hands, something more satisfying than just typing, and…

Maybe he’ll go to the kitchen. Cook something. Yeah, that sounds good.

And that’s how Kon ends up with his hands in a bowl, kneading butter, flour, seasonings, cream, and Parmesan cheese into a crumbly dough. It’s satisfying, swaying his hips to Liz Phair as the chicken on the stove simmers away, and it helps chase away the discontent that’s been bubbling under his skin.

Behind him, the oven beeps. “Hold your horses!” he tells it, pressing his crumbly dough into a baking tray. “I’m almost ready.”

The oven, of course, doesn’t respond. Kon pauses to lean over and brush a finger against the other counter, TTK wrapping around the spatula in the chicken pot to give it a good stir, then goes back to pressing the dough in neatly. That’ll make a nice crumble topping, he thinks, and slips it into the oven.

“And I'm gonna tell my son to join a circus,” he sings along to good ol’ Liz, twirling around on his way to the cutting board. “So that death is cheap and games are just another way of life!”

“Whip-Smart” isn’t really an air guitar song, so instead he just holds up the cutting board covered in chopped veggies and spins them all around with a brush of TTK, turning the onions and carrots and celery into a makeshift dance partner to sway with him for a few beats, until the final chorus. Then it’s into the olive oil pan with them.

He washes the last of the butter and crumbs off his hands while the next song comes on—“Supernova” is more upbeat, better for air-guitar (and definitely has nothing to do with why he likes his hero name so much)—and dramatically whips a hand-towel through the air as the first chorus hits.

This isn’t so bad. He’s alright, cooking alone in his apartment. He’s rocking out and having a good time, and while the veggies cook, TTK makes it easy to shred the chicken in a matter of seconds. It’s hard to be mopey while dancing in the kitchen and making Ma’s chicken pot pie.

“And you fuck like a volcano, and you’re everything to me,” he croons, pouring the chicken broth slowly into the roux, then whisking in the milk. “’Cause you’re a human supernova…”

But all too soon, the veggies are done, the broth mixture is ready, and the crumble topping is crispy, and all that’s left is assembly and baking. And baking, unfortunately, means waiting.

It’s gotta bake for twenty minutes, which is more than enough time to finish the dishes—between superspeed and TTK, it really doesn’t take long to wash the mixing bowl, cutting board, knife, or pots—and then he’s left to do nothing. Just… stand there. With his thoughts.

And that’s dangerous.

Sighing, Kon dries his hands and hangs up the towel again, removes his apron, and meanders over to lean against the window by his little dining table. Slowing down, even for a minute, has made his body start buzzing again, and he’s just full of this nervous energy that refuses to dissipate. It wants to drag him back into thinking about being a—not a kid, he was never a real kid—but being… younger. Stupider. More naïve.

He doesn’t want to think about that.

Outside the window, the streets of Metropolis glitter and glisten in the darkness. The night is still pretty young, all things considered, and suddenly Kon wants to open the window and throw himself out into it. To surround himself with people and to do… something, just so he doesn’t have to think. Maybe he should go out?

Well—he has to wait until his pot pie is done baking. He’s not even hungry! Why did he decide to make pot pie? Jeez. Maybe he can foist it on Bart, or just put it in the fridge til later, or something.

…Aw, hell.

“You’re running away from this,” Kon tells himself. “You’re running away like you always complain about all your friends doing from their problems.”

And what is the problem, exactly? He bites his lip.

He was never a child. So whatever he did when he was fift—when he was the equivalent of a fifteen year old, he did as an adult. That’s how everyone treated him, too, so that’s definitely how it was. It’s different than it is with Jon, and the twisted-up feeling in his gut is just… irrational. It’s stupid. It’s not like that.

And yet, he can’t shake it off. Because if anyone—if anyone treats Jon like people treated Kon when he was sixteen, Kon will rip their fucking heads off.

Maybe that’s part of why he feels sick. Because when he was—when he was sixteen, it had been so thrilling that Tana had been into him. And he’d felt so mature, like he was really an adult and he mattered to adults around him as an equal. It had felt good. But now…

Now he’s twenty-three, and something uncomfortable in his gut makes it quite clear that if someone his age tried to look at Jon sexually, Kon would stab their damn eyeballs out. He’d do anything to keep that kid safe. He can’t—he can’t just—

But it’s different. It’s different, because Kon was never a child. He was created to be the equivalent of Superman. People called him a boy, yeah, but that was just because he looked young. That isn’t the same. He…

It’s not the same as if someone groomed Jon into something horrifying today. It’s different. Kon was never a kid, so it can’t be the same. Kon’s an adult. He’s always been an adult. They called him an emancipated minor from the start. That’s basically saying he was just an adult who kinda looked like a child. It’s different.

It’s different.

(Tana only ever called him “kid”.)

“Oh, fuck this.” Kon exhales loudly and wrenches himself away from the window.

Suddenly, his apartment is too small; all the little reminders of everyone he knows are too much. He should never have stopped trying to run away from his problems. Trying to confront them only made the buzzing under his skin feel worse.

The song shuffle has landed on is something with a more pounding beat, and a low bass—LoveGame by Lady Gaga. Something they’d play at a club; it’s fitting, huh? As if the shuffle option knew he was thinking of sex. Funny.

Maybe he should take it as a sign. Maybe he should—no, that’s probably a bad idea.

Then again, maybe it’s a good idea. Kon can’t stand being here, with the quilt Ma made for him as a housewarming present draped over the back of his sofa, or the framed photo of him, Cassie, Bart, and Tim at the beach from last summer proudly on the wall. There’s a big, bright poster of Nightwing that Jon bought him next to it, and a tapestry Lois and Clark got to match his curtains. There’s—

There’s too much home here. He can’t stay.

He stops in front of the floor-length mirror in the hallway, the one Cassie propped up by a door and Bart nearly ran into Looney-Tunes-style while they helped him move in. Tim had laughed so hard at Bart’s near-miss that he whacked his head on the countertop, which is to date the stupidest way Tim has ever gotten a concussion.

Now, as he looks at his reflection, it’s kind of pathetic. His hair is getting a little too long, and he needs to re-shave the sides soon; his shirt is too baggy and his sweats have a little hole on the left shin. His apartment feels so cramped and empty at the same time.

The next song comes on. “S&M” by Rihanna. Another good “dancin’ at the club” type beat.

That settles it. He’s going out.

With a quick glance at the oven timer, he heads back to his closet. He’s got plenty of options; he knows what’s flattering, and how to flaunt his best assets, and fuck. He’s staring at his fishnets like he’s got something to prove. Maybe he does.

The fishnets go with a pair of ripped denim booty-shorts, because he’s got a great ass and he knows it. Black heels make his legs look even sexier. Then he gets a silky black button-down tee, only buttoning it up to barely above his navel, and a dangly pendant, plus a black choker because duh, that’s hot. Of course, he finishes it off with a trusty studded leather jacket, then digs through his bathroom drawers to pull out his makeup. This look needs some smoky-eye and winged eyeliner, after all.

There’s less than two minutes left on the timer when he ducks back into the kitchen. This time, when he goes back to the mirror, he likes what he sees; he’s tall, and the jacket accentuates his broad shoulders, and the deep-V look plus his short-shorts and fishnets are, well, sexy. He looks nice and slutty, but not like he’s trying too hard. Like, effortlessly slutty. Is that a thing? It better be a thing. He likes it.

See? He’s an adult. He can enjoy being sexy and the thought of other adults finding him sexy. It’s different. It’s fine. He’s fine, because it’s all different, and there’s nothing he needs to be upset about, and that dissonant feeling is stupid, irrational, and fake.

The oven beeps.

“Hell yeah,” Kon tells his reflection, winking at himself over his shoulder as he turns and sashays to pull out the pot pie. “We’ll turn this night around yet, baby.”

At first, it’s genuinely fun.

He hits up a club across town, not wanting to be too close to his apartment. Over on the end of Metropolis closer to one of the bridges to Gotham, there’s a place with a big salsa dance scene some nights, and a lot of people there are big on partner dancing even on nights that aren’t officially Latin. Kon’s been here with a couple of his university friends before, and with Tim, Cassie, and Bart another time; he likes the atmosphere, and tonight is no different.

“Oh my gosh, I love your hair!” the person next to him gushes, and Kon grins at them, firing double finger-guns and a wink.

“Thanks!” He has to raise his voice to be heard over the music. “I keep forgetting to shave the sides back down—it’s usually neater than this!”

They laugh, bouncing along to the music. Their hand grazes his shoulder, and he sets one of his at their waist in response, letting them pull him in closer. “I totally hear that. Hey, what’s your name?”

“Conner,” he answers. Someone bumps into his back, pushing him forward a step in the crowd, and they let him into their space, looping their arms around his neck so they’re chest-to-chest. “Yours?”

“Riley!” Their smile is blinding. “You here with anyone, pretty boy?”

Kon laughs. It’s always affirming when people hit on him that blatantly, he thinks, and after all, this is exactly what he came out here looking for. Dancing, drinking (well, virgin cocktails, anyway, since he can’t get drunk), and a good time.

“Nope! Just me, myself, and I.” He lets his hands skim down from Riley’s waist to their hips with a flirty wink. “How about you, babe?”

Riley giggles, pressing closer to him. “Nope! A couple friends of mine are on their way, but I was early. But hey—are you free tonight? Because if you are…” They trail off with a wink.

Kon’s eyebrows shoot up, and he can’t help but laugh. “Damn, you’re direct! Okay, wow. I mean, I could definitely be into that,” he says, and winks back. “But I feel like I just barely even got here! I wanna dance more first.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Riley cheers. “I’m always here for dancing more. Do you ever come here for salsa nights? They’re the best! So, yeah, I’m down to dance the night away if you are!”

“You got yourself a deal,” Kon says, and grins. When Riley’s hands slide down to his ass, he lets them, swaying in time to the music, because this is exactly what he came here for.

And it’s fun. It genuinely is—they dance, with each other and with other strangers in the night. At one point Kon finds himself sitting in a booth with a girl he’s never met before in his lap, sharing a plate of nachos after making out; at another, Riley pulls him out for a spirited Argentine tango that he barely remembers the steps to but makes up for with enthusiasm. It’s fun, really, and the nervous energy that’s been thrumming under his skin all night is finally starting to leave him alone, when it happens.

A flash of red hair and pale skin over his shoulder. Someone taller than him, someone laughing with a low voice.

Kon goes rigid.

“Kay?” he breathes, and there’s no way anyone without superhearing could possibly have heard him over the music and the laughter and the noise, but it doesn’t matter because—

The woman who startled him isn’t her. It becomes obvious once he gets more than a split-second look; her hair is curlier than Kay’s ever was, and she’s not as tall or as muscular. Her skin is covered in pale freckles, and her eyes are brown. The only real resemblance is that her hair is red and she has a low voice. That’s it.

It’s not her.

And yet, somehow, Kon can’t get back into his groove. The atmosphere that was so fun a minute ago is stifling, the music too loud and the bass too pounding, and his heart thunders in his chest as anxiety twists in the pit of his stomach. The hands all over his body that had been welcome just a few seconds ago on the dance floor are suddenly repulsive, reminding him of days on the beach in Hawaii a lifetime ago, when he thought—when he really thought she cared about him, that he was helping her, that they had something special—

“Conner?”

He flinches violently enough to slam his knee into the underside of the table, and Riley winces, their eyes wide. Kon swears under his breath.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost!”

“Yeah—yeah, sorry, I’m good. I think, uh…” Kon rubs the back of his neck. He can’t breathe. “I just need a second. Alone. Sorry.”

Riley still looks concerned, but they nod. “I’ll, um… be over there, then? If you need… anything?”

“Yeah,” Kon says, closing his eyes. The music pounds into his ears, vibrations rattling through his bones, and for the first time tonight he kind of really wishes he’d brought earplugs. He already knows he’s not going to take Riley up on any offers of comfort, but it’s nice of them to offer. “Thanks.”

When he opens his eyes again, he’s alone. Fucking ironic, huh? This whole thing started because he felt alone in his stupid little apartment, and now…

It—it doesn’t matter. He can’t fucking breathe and it doesn’t matter that he’s alone, this is what he wanted, and it’s just a shitty coincidence that someone reminded him of Kay, and—and it doesn’t matter—

But the anxiety roiling in his stomach is busy clawing its way up his throat, and he can’t breathe, let alone move. It’s too loud, and the lights are too stark on the dance floor, and everything smells like alcohol, and he doesn’t want to be here anymore and he can still feel hands all over his body and lips on his mouth and his jaw and his neck and he can’t tell them apart from memories anymore, and, and, and…

Oh, he realizes, faintly. His hands are shaking. Is he shaking?

You were an adult, he reminds himself. It feels harder to believe than ever. It was different. Kay took advantage of you, but not because you were a kid. It was just that you were stupid and naïve and thought you could save her. You were never a kid.

He doesn’t believe himself.

Great.

He needs to—he needs to get out of here. He can hardly think with the bass drilling into his head like this, and he still can’t breathe, but—but he can’t make himself move, either, and it’s starting to freak him out. There’s so much panic roiling in his stomach he might throw up.

He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here. He can’t move. He can’t move. He can’t move.

He was (never) a child. It’s (not) the same.

He can’t breathe.

Fuck.

Fumbling at his pocket, Kon pulls out his phone and swears under his breath. His hands are shaking hard enough he can see the tremors, and it takes three tries to actually unlock the damn thing. He—what’s he trying to do? Call someone for help?

Yeah, right. Who would he call?

Tim, he rules out immediately. Maybe it’s harsh, but—but he just—he doesn’t want his best friend to see him like this. Besides, Tim is probably busy. He’s always busy. And the idea of interrupting him for this—shame curdles in Kon’s gut at the thought. He can’t.

Bart is a maybe, just in that Bart could get here in the blink of an eye and Bart wouldn’t judge him that hard. Bart’s a disaster with issues about being an adult, too. But that’s a double-edged sword, and it makes Kon balk, because he’s not sure he can stand to be seen as clearly as Bart would see him right now, and besides, he doesn’t think Bart would really want to deal with this either. It’s both shameful and… he’s just… he can’t.

And Cassie? No way. If he’s ashamed to let Tim see him like this, he’d be downright mortified if Cassie did. Besides, he knows she and Cissie have a date tonight, and he’s not interrupting that. She doesn’t deserve to have to pick up his stupid broken pieces.

Simon and Lori are out before he even considers for more than half a second. Neither of them knows much about his early life, and he’s in no state to explain why he’s freaking the fuck out here.

So he can’t call any of his closest friends. This was stupid. He shouldn’t call anyone anyway. He got himself into this mess, he can get himself out.

He just needs to figure out how to breathe. God, why is he hyperventilating? What’s wrong with him?

As if this isn’t embarrassing enough, Kon’s vision blurs, and he realizes he’s about to cry. He’s about to break down crying in a fucking nightclub because some random stranger just happened to remind him of Kay, and that’s the most pitiful fucking thing he’s ever heard, and he can’t even move.

He’s pathetic.

His hands are still shaking as he starts to scroll his contacts, hoping desperately that someone will jump out at him. Clark’s name is there, and he barks out a desperate, humorless laugh, scrolling past it quickly, because god, he could never let Clark see him like this. He’d literally rather die again.

Maybe if he agonizes over who to beg for help long enough, he’ll get so absorbed in it he forgets to be panicking about Kay and he’ll be able to breathe again, and it won’t matter, and he’ll be able to leave. Wouldn’t that be nice?

He swallows hard. It feels like he can taste the tangy salt air, the sweat on her skin, the sand beneath their bodies. She’d always climbed on top of him. Said it was a good way to view “her pup”. He—

He thinks he might throw up.

“Conner! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The tinny voice from his phone, only audible because he has superhearing, makes Kon startle and slam his knee into the table again, and with wide eyes he realizes he must have accidentally hit “call” with his shaking hands.

Who did—who did he call?

He sucks in a breath, looking down at the screen, and wants to fucking die. It’s Dick Grayson. He called Dick Grayson. He just called fucking Nightwing in the middle of a panic attack or whatever the hell is wrong with him.

“Conner?” Now Dick sounds concerned, his voice going sharper. “Are you okay?”

“Uh—” Kon swallows hard, hoping and praying he can force his voice back into a semblance of normalcy. “Sorry, must’ve—dialed on accident. Don’t—um—don’t worry about it. Sorry.” Failed step one. Good fucking lord.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. What’s going on? Are you safe—”

Kon hangs up before Dick can finish his question, but it’s too late for it not to punch him in the gut anyway. Is he safe? God, he didn’t mean to make Dick worry about him. He’s such a fucking idiot. Why did he think it was a good idea to come out here when he knew his mental state was a fucking mess?

He drops his phone face-down on the table and then drops his head, too, letting it fall against the hard plastic with a thunk. He hates this. His heart is still in his throat, the music is drilling through his head, his gut is tight, his body refuses to uncurl from the stupid little tight ball he’s curled himself into, and he hates this.

He ought to text Dick and apologize properly. He ought to, but after that mortifying mistake he doesn’t trust his stupid shaking hands to use his phone. Fuck.

He needs to get out of here. How is he supposed to get out of here like this?

One song ends. The next begins. Vaguely, Kon wonders if Riley is still worried about him. He hopes not; they deserve to keep having fun. Hopefully they’ll find a better one night stand than him. He… he can’t really go through with that now, given how fucked up he clearly is at this point.

God. He needs to breathe. Why can’t he breathe?

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, tasting the phantom sea air. It’s different, he knows, but it doesn’t seem very different at this point, and he doesn’t know how to keep convincing himself that what happened with both Kay and Tana was fine when it has him feeling like this. Why is he so fucked up about it? It wasn’t upsetting when it happened. It’s so stupid that he’s a mess about it now, so many years after the fact.

But if it was actually fine, like he wants it to have been, wouldn’t he be able to breathe right now?

Someone slides into the booth right next to him, and he stiffens automatically, his head snapping upright as—

“Conner?”

Kon stares.

Dick Grayson gives him a warm smile, but his eyes are concerned. His hair is windswept and he’s in casual clothes, and Kon just gawks at him, because… what?

“How… how did…” he tries, but his voice is too breathy and uncomfortable, and he has to stop and swallow, hard. “How did you…”

“Find you? Easy. Just asked Babs where you called from. Get here? I was with Wally when you called.” Dick shrugs languidly, his expression softening. “You wanna get out of here?”

Guilt rises up, thick and cloying. Dick was enjoying the evening with his friend when Kon interrupted. And worse, now both Barbara and Wally know, they know something is wrong with Kon, and his breath hitches in his throat because that’s not what he wanted, and… and…

“Hey, hey. Don’t go in your head. Stay with me,” Dick says, and moves a little closer, bodily shielding Kon from all the lights and noise and people on the dance floor. “Can I touch you, Conner?”

Can he touch him? Ha, after Kon’s been flirting with strangers, kissing and dancing and grinding and laughing, what a question that is.

God, he must look quite a sight. What had been a confidence-boosting, fun, flirty look earlier now feels so stupid and embarrassing to be seen in—this is why he didn’t want anyone to know, this is why he didn’t want to call anyone, this is… this is…

Dick asked him a question. Is he okay with touch?

“Yeah,” he manages to rasp out, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Fuck. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Dick lays his hand over his. His hand is a little cool to the touch, his skin soft but his palm callused. It’s startlingly meaningful for such a casual touch, Kon thinks; maybe it has to do with the way he asked, despite Kon clearly looking like he was after way more. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Kon breathes, again, and closes his eyes. Suddenly he’s exhausted. The music blaring in the club is making his head pound, and his eyes burn all over again.

He doesn’t even think before he slumps to the side, the anxiety in his chest giving way to miserable weariness as his head falls against Dick’s shoulder. Dick is steadfast and strong, not wavering in the slightest as Kon’s weight sinks into him, and it’s startlingly comforting to feel like he can lean on someone else. Literally.

“Aw, buddy, that’s it. There you go.” Dick shifts to wrap his arm around him, rubbing a comforting circle into his shoulder. He must’ve noticed the way Kon is still trembling, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “I got you.”

Kon sniffles, turning his head to hide in the soft fabric of Dick’s hoodie. It smells like earl grey tea. How did his night get so shitty so fast? Things were fine until he bumped into that woman that only vaguely looked like Kay.

And what was up with that? He’s interacted with plenty of redheads before and never flipped out like this before. Why now?

“Sorry,” Kon mumbles. He doesn’t even know if Dick can hear him over the music. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your thing.”

“It’s no trouble, Kon.” Dick rubs his shoulder some more. “It’s not like I was doing anything in particular. Wally just invited himself over to hang out. Happens all the time. And hey, I’m glad you called. If you need me, I’ll be here, you know?”

It’s been years, but sometimes, Kon gets reminded of precisely why all of Young Justice imprinted on Nightwing like ducklings, way back then. He’s so effortlessly selfless and heroic, always wanting to help people and somehow always meaning it. It’s not like Kon is super close with him or anything—they’ve hung out, yeah, but mostly with Tim around. And yet he manages to make it sound like he really, genuinely does want to drop everything to help Kon if he needs it.

Dick gives him a gentle squeeze, his other hand coming up to thread his fingers through Kon’s hair. “You wanna get out of here, or do you need a minute?”

“I…” Kon takes a shaky breath. “I wanna get out of here. I just—I just can’t make myself move.”

“Okay. We’ll take it nice and slow.” Dick strokes through his hair. It’s more soothing than it has any right to be. “Just scoot this way with me.”

It’s ridiculous. Kon can fly. He shouldn’t be struggling this hard to get out of a booth. But Dick is patient with him, never once seeming annoyed with how slowly Kon moves or with how desperately he keeps up their physical contact, as if he’ll fall right back into the throes of panic the second Dick lets go of him.

It takes… a while, but once they’ve made it upright, Dick keeps his arm around Kon’s shoulders and leads him towards the door. Kon spots the girl he made out with earlier, dancing with Riley. He drops his gaze.

Outside is blessedly quiet. Kon sucks in a deep breath of the cool night air, relishing the contrast against his too-hot skin; he needs a moment to just stand there, and thank fuck, Dick lets him. He stays, a steady presence at Kon’s side, until the ringing headache behind Kon’s eyes recedes enough that he can think.

“Where do you wanna go?” Dick asks finally, as Kon tries not to shudder beside him. “Your place?”

Kon’s apartment is stiflingly empty, full of reminders of people that he can’t bear to have see him like this. He shakes his head.

“Okay.” Dick hums. “Is it okay if we go to mine?”

Kon bites his lip. “…Yeah.”

How can they get there? Is Wally still waiting? Shit, Kon doesn’t want anyone else seeing him like this. Wally’s nice and everything, but the more eyes on him right now, the worse Kon will feel about it.

“Cool. My bike is parked around back.” Dick tips his head at the alley leading around to the lot at the back of the building. At Kon’s questioning look, he grins. “I had Babs run it on autopilot over here after Wally dropped me off. Figured we might need wheels, and that we could always autopilot it back to Gotham if not.”

God. He’s always prepared, huh? Even now, it’s hard not to feel a little bit of hero-worship.

The wind whips through his hair and around his ears as Dick drives. It should be numbing, but it’s grounding, like flying without flying; Kon inhales deeply as they zoom down the streets. The air here does smell of salt and the sea, but it’s different than it did in Hawaii, and that difference keeps him in the present throughout the entire drive—it’s around thirty minutes, from the edge of Metropolis down to Gotham, and another ten to actually get from city limits to Dick’s apartment.

Kon’s been here a couple of times before, with Tim (that is, enough times to know how to pick all the locks on Dick’s living room window the way Tim does), but never on his own. Now, meekly following Dick up the stairs, he feels a little out of place.

“Come on in, make yourself comfortable.” Dick toes out of his shoes at the door, and following his lead, Kon does the same. Haley lifts her head from her spot on her bed and yawns very cutely, wagging her tail before she lays back down, ready to sleep. Dick pats her head as he goes to the kitchen, while Kon hesitantly goes and sits down on the sofa, uncertain.

What is he doing here?

“Do you want some tea?” Dick has already put the pot on. “Always helps me when I’m having a rough one. I think that’s Alfred’s influence.”

“Um, yeah, sure. Thanks.” Kon bites his lip. Would it be weird if he asked for a change of clothes? He feels weird and exposed now, the way he’s dressed, and he doesn’t like it.

“No problem. Any choices on flavor? I have… a lot of options.” Dick opens a drawer, digging through, and laughs ruefully. “Jason dumped a big holiday sampler pack on me last week. The caramel apple chai is particularly good, in my opinion.”

“That sounds good.” And it does, other than that nothing sounds really appetizing right now. “Um…”

Dick pauses, halfway through measuring tea leaves out, and raises an eyebrow in a manner strangely reminiscent of Ma Kent. “What’s up?”

It’s exactly the way Ma asks what’s wrong when he has a nightmare. Maybe that’s why Kon is off-guard enough to blurt out, “Uh—could I borrow something to wear, maybe?”

Dick’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, just for an instant, before he seems to catch himself, and his expression eases back into a smile. “Yeah, absolutely. Tee and sweats okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Dick lightly ruffles his hair as he walks past the couch. He moves so gracefully, each step like he’s dancing; Kon can’t help but admire him a little even as he tugs his jacket about himself, kind of self-conscious. At this point, if he’s about to change, there’s no real point in buttoning up his shirt further, but he does feel a bit… bleh. Yeah, that’s the best word for it.

Dick comes back in just a moment, holding a stack of folded clothes. “Here you go! Should fit decently—the pants are Jason’s, so they ought to be long enough.”

“Thanks,” Kon says again, kind of awkwardly at this point, and ducks into the bathroom to change.

One look in the mirror is enough to make him wince; his hair’s a mess, his curls all over the place and frizzy after the wind, and his makeup is smudged, his lipstick in particular. There’s a red mark that, on a normal human, would darken into a hickey on the side of his neck, and his shirt is all wrinkled. Yikes.

At least changing and washing his face makes him feel more like a person again. The anxiety in the pit of his stomach is a little bit mollified when he pulls the old T-shirt over his head, and the pants are big enough to be kind of baggy and shapeless. It’s pretty much the opposite of how he looked a few minutes ago. It helps.

“You look comfy!” Dick says, when he emerges. There are two cups of steaming tea on the coffee table, and a box of Oreos between them. “If you want anything more substantial to eat, just say the word—I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge we can heat up, or we can order in. Whatever you want.”

“I already ate dinner, don’t worry,” Kon says. It’s true—he had some pasta before he sat down to work on his essay forever ago. “But, uh… thank you. For… all of this. You didn’t have to.”

Dick shakes his head, sitting down on the couch. He pats the spot next to him invitingly. “Aw, no. What kind of friend would I be if I just left you there on your own?”

Kon sits. The tea does smell really good, he has to admit, and even though it’s pretty hot, he reaches for a cup and takes a slow sip anyway. It’s not like it can burn him.

“It’s good,” he mumbles. His eyes water, for some reason. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Kon.” Dick lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “So… you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he says, his voice soft, “but I want you to know that if you do want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen.”

Kon stares down into his tea. If he meets Dick’s gaze, he knows he’ll start to cry. “I… don’t know what there is to talk about.”

“Okay,” Dick says slowly. “That’s okay, too. Do you… hm. Do you want me to ask you questions about it?”

Kon shrugs. Clearly something is wrong with him, but hell if he knows what it is. “You could. I dunno if I know how to answer. But, I mean, shoot, if you wanna.”

“Hmm. Okay.” Dick shifts, leaning back on the sofa again. He drapes his arm over the back invitingly, and after a moment, Kon shuffles over to lean into his side, like he did at the club.

Dick is a solid, comforting presence, and it’s nice to have that grounding touch; Kon has always been a tactile person, and Dick being open to that is comforting. Especially when Dick drops his arm from the cushions to wrap around Kon’s shoulders, holding him snug and close.

“So—first question, I guess, then.” Dick gives him a little squeeze. “Did something specifically happen tonight?”

Kon curls his fingers around his tea. “…Not tonight.”

“Oh?” Dick’s fingers still against his shoulder for a moment, then thread into his hair again. “Something happened… before tonight, then?”

Kon sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. He’s… never talked about this before, ever, but it’s never been a problem before, either. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t… know. I, um… okay. Can I ask you something, instead?”

Dick nods. “Yeah, absolutely. Anything.”

Here it is, then. The moment of truth. Or… whatever.

Kon stares down into his tea, trying to figure out how to put it. There’s no way that makes it sound okay even in his head, which is upsetting, because it was okay. It was fine. No one said anything when it happened. Why would it not matter then, and only matter now?

“Is it… bad,” he starts, slow and hesitant, “if… a teenager—but like, I wasn’t a teenager when I was like, sixteen, I was… you know. But like… is it bad, if someone… is an adult, like… I dunno. Thirty? I—don’t actually know how old she exactly was, she… I mean, she was from Apokolips, so she… uh… we dated? For a while? Until I realized she was, um, just, like… using me, I guess, but…”

He takes a breath. Lets it out. Hangs his head.

“I didn’t even think it might’ve been—like, bad, or whatever. Not until recently. Because I… Jon is sixteen, and if anyone tried doing that to him I’d fucking maul them. But…”

He trails off, the hard lump in his throat too big to let him finish. Not like he even knows how he’d finish that sentence anyway.

“Oh, Kon.” Dick twists around to face him properly and wraps him up in a tight hug. His arms are strong and comforting, and even though he’s not as big as Clark, everyone knows a Nightwing hug is just as safe and cozy as a Superman hug. And here Dick really is proving it.

Kon sniffles again, despite his best efforts. “I didn’t even know anything was wrong,” he admits. His voice cracks. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault.” Dick’s voice is resolute. “Not in the slightest. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Someone at the club—they looked… kind of like her.” Kon takes a shaky breath. “And I don’t know why that freaked me out so bad now when it’s never freaked me out before, but it did, and… and I just keep wondering, just… because if…”

He sniffles again, wipes his eyes, and lifts his head. Dick loosens his arms enough to let Kon sip his tea, then draws him close again.

“I just keep wondering.” Kon stares at the rim of his mug, at the golden glow of the lamplight glinting off the side. “If… I can look at Jon, and know that he’s a kid, and I’d do anything to protect him from people like that, then…”

He doesn’t think about Rex. He doesn’t think about Dubbilex. He most certainly doesn’t think about Clark.

“Then why was it that nobody ever wanted to protect me?”

Dick is quiet for a long, long moment. His fingers scrunch gently through Kon’s hair again, though, slow and soothing, and Kon does his best to ignore the tear that drips from his chin, barely missing the teacup.

“I don’t know,” Dick finally says, and shakes his head. “I don’t know. We should have protected you. You didn’t deserve any of this, Kon.”

Kon doesn’t know what to say to that. He just sniffles again, scrubs his sleeve over his eyes, and does his best to swallow a sob. “…Okay.”

Dick sighs. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs, and rubs a hand up and down Kon’s back. “You’re not alone. It’s fucked up, and it hurts, and it’s real easy to blame yourself, because at least if you tell yourself it was your fault, that means it was in your control, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t your fault, and you didn’t deserve it. Any of it.”

The way he’s talking, it’s like he gets it. Like, actually gets it. Enough to tell what the thoughts in Kon’s head right now are. Kon lifts his head from his shoulder, eyes wide, and dashes the tears from his face.

“Do you… did you… you know?” Kon asks hesitantly. Is that a question he’s allowed to ask?

Dick’s smile looks sadder than any smile ever should. “Not the exact same thing, but yeah. I get it.”

…Oh.

“Oh,” Kon mumbles, and sets his tea down to wrap his arms around Dick, too. “’M sorry t’hear that.”

Dick laughs softly, holding him tight. “No worries. I just want you to know you’re not in it alone.” He rocks Kon in his arms, slowly swaying side-to-side, and hums. “Stay here for the night. We can talk about it as much or little as you want. And about anything else, too.”

That might be nice. Kon hesitates for a moment, then nods, laying his head back down on Dick’s shoulder.

“Okay,” he says, voice still rough. “I think it might be nice, to not be alone.”

“Yeah.” Dick gives him a gentle squeeze. “It is nice.” He’s quiet for a moment, letting Kon sink into him; his heartbeat is loud and calm and steady, and Kon latches onto both the sound and the feeling of it as he leans against him.

A beat passes. Two.

“When I was still Robin, still living with Bruce,” Dick murmurs, “I thought I was in love with a woman named Liu. She told me she was in love with me, too, and she wanted to leave her life of crime and turn over a new leaf for me. That was a lie. She only wanted me as an in to Bruce’s money. I felt like such an idiot when I found out, and doubly so for being so heartbroken about it.”

He pauses, for a moment. Kon peers at him out of the corner of his eye, scarcely able to believe what he’s hearing; his heart pounds hard in his chest.

“She was an adult,” Dick continues. “And I was a child. And I never even considered how fucked up that was until I was an adult myself.”

Well, damn if that doesn’t strike a chord. Kon swallows hard, looking down into his tea.

“I keep telling myself I was never really a kid,” he admits, throat a little raw. “I never got to be. And maybe that’s why—that has to be why, right? That’s why no one—no one looked at me and saw a kid who might need—who might not know better. I was never a real kid.”

Dick sucks in a breath and lets it hiss out between his teeth. His arm around Kon’s shoulders tightens. “That… I don’t think that’s quite true, Conner.”

His voice is gentle, but it’s still like a slap upside the head. Kon lifts his head to look at him, wide-eyed and distressed. “What—what do you mean?”

“You were a kid.” Dick says it so easily, with finality, like it’s that simple. “You were physically a teenager, and you had no real life experience of your own—most fifteen-year-olds have fifteen years of memories and experiences. You didn’t. If anything, you were even more of a kid than the usual.”

Something twists unpleasantly in Kon’s gut. Something else in his chest unwinds just a bit. The dissonance comes out as a sharp, bitter bark of laughter. “Yeah, right. Like, I know I acted like an immature dumbass, and everyone called me just ‘kid’ or ‘boy’, but—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “No one would think it’s totally chill to never fucking name a real child.”

Dick presses his lips together. “Yeah. And it was never chill that that happened to you, either. Honestly, I just—I love Clark and all, but I don’t know what he was thinking. I mean—I know he was going through a lot himself back then, so… Maybe he wasn’t thinking. Hell if I know.” He sighs.

“Tell me about it,” Kon scoffs. He has to take a sip of his tea to keep the sob in his throat at bay. “He’s all—warm and loving and shit now, but back when I needed him he didn’t want me. I didn’t even know dating Tana was—I thought it was no big deal, I was a hero, I had powers, what did it matter she was twenty-three and I was sixteen, we were in love—”

He breaks off. Tana is a memory that hurts in every way possible, a wound that’s been silently festering for years. He loved her, and she loved him, he knows she did, but the older he gets the worse that feels. How could someone who loved him have done that to him?

Jon is sixteen,” he says miserably, and hangs his head. His half-finished tea meets his gaze from his lap. “If some twenty-year-old tried to get in his pants, I’d throw them into the fuckin’ sun on the spot. But when it was me—” He breaks off, swallows hard, and sucks in a breath. “I didn’t know.”

It was so exciting when it happened. The thrill of someone like Knockout being interested in him, of her staying with him, teaching him, touching him. It was a rush of acceptance, a burst of reckless joy. Because someone like Knockout could’ve had her pick of men on the planet, and she wanted him. And that’s not even getting into Tana, how warm and loved and special he felt with her…

“You didn’t know,” Dick agrees, his voice gentle. He gives Kon’s shoulders another squeeze, a steadfast anchor at his side. “It wasn’t your fault.”

It’s both exactly what he needs to hear and exactly what he can’t bear to.

The memories have been hovering at the back of his mind since that run-in at the club, and Kon swears to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. After a second, he plunks the mug on the coffee table with a clatter and buries his face in his hands; Dick makes a soft, wordless noise of concern and rubs his back.

The tea helped. It didn’t smell like sea salt and sweat. But Kon keeps thinking of Knockout anyway.

“Not to be TMI, but.” Kon’s voice comes out all breathy and wrong, like he’s about to either laugh or cry, and his body hasn’t decided which one yet. “It’s funny. She was always grabbing me. Kissing me whenever she felt like it. When we—we had sex, it was on her terms. When she wanted it. She never—I don’t think she even knew how to care what I wanted. And I mean—I thought I wanted all of it. I never fought her about it. I never thought about whether I even could. It—it never crossed my mind. It was like, I’m a teenage boy, everyone says they’re always horny, so I must want this, and I never questioned it. Can you believe? How fucking stupid does a guy have to be—”

He breaks off into a bitter, watery laugh, wiping at his eyes (his body’s decided the answer is “both”, apparently. It sucks, and he’d like a refund). The tears don’t stop coming.

“And it’s just—I really, actually thought I was helping her. That she wanted to be good. That she just needed someone to believe in her. That whole time, she was telling me what to do, what to think, who to be—and the whole way I thought I was helping.” A shudder runs through him, and he winces. “That—I don’t… Why didn’t anyone… I didn’t—she just used me, and I…”

Unlike the tears, the words dry up. Nothing seems like the right way to express how it feels to know he was just a toy, a warm body, a naïve child—that she knew he was a child all along, and didn’t care. It feels disgusting, horrifying, humiliating…

“I don’t like it,” Kon finishes lamely, and kind of wants to die.

Dick’s soft chuckle rumbles in his chest as Kon slumps into him. “Yeah, no kidding,” he says, and runs his hand up and down Kon’s back, slow and soothing. “I know. I know what you mean. It’s… all of it is pretty violating.”

Violating. That’s a good word for it.

There are other words for it, words that Kon objectively knows exist, because he’s a hero and he needs to know what grooming and statutory rape and predatory relationships are to help keep people safe, but those words aren’t for him. They can’t possibly apply to his whole shtick, because…

Well. Because.

Yeah. He’ll go with that.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. His head lolls against Dick’s shoulder, and he closes his eyes, every inch of his body feeling heavy. “…Does it ever get easier?”

Dick’s fingers card through his hair. That’s way more soothing than it has any right to be, and if he’s not careful, he’ll lull Kon right to sleep on his shoulder. “Eventually, yeah,” he says, his voice gentle. “I won’t lie to you. It’s not easy, and it probably won’t ever be. But it gets easier than it is right now, with time.” A beat. “And with support. I’m really glad you called me tonight.”

Kon huffs out a tired laugh. “I didn’t mean to,” he admits. “Hands were shaking. I hit the button on accident.”

“Well, we’ll call that a happy accident.” There’s a smile in Dick’s voice. How is he so good at this? This whole... reassuring, and taking care of Kon, and making him feel safe and okay, thing. Jeez. “It’s not a bad thing to need help now and then. The people who love you want to take care of you when you need it.”

Hmm. That’s dangerously close to something Kon has tried to drill into Tim’s head. Oh no.

“Yeah,” Kon mumbles. “I guess.” He starts to sigh, but a yawn overtakes him instead, and belatedly he remembers he never finished his tea. Whoops. It’s probably cold now.

“Tired?” Dick gives him a little squeeze. “Yeah, you must be. It’s been quite the night, huh?”

“…Yeah.” It feels a little like an admission of weakness, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, Conner.” Dick presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I told you, I’m glad you called.” He pats the couch cushions, easily breezing onwards as if Kon isn’t still reeling from all this. “Here, this is a pullout couch. I can get it set up so you can sleep, just give me two seconds!”

“I can help,” Kon tries to protest. He feels bad; he’s already imposed on Dick so much tonight. And he’s not so tired he can’t be useful. “Seriously, you’ve done so much for me tonight already…”

Dick hugs him tighter as if in protest. “No way,” he says, tucking Kon’s head under his chin. Kon blinks, not entirely sure how he got here, but not about to complain. “I’ve been told by multiple reputable sources that I’m great at the overbearing big brother thing. This is me doing it right now. Indulge me, Conner.”

Kon grumbles halfheartedly into his hoodie. “You’re like a fussy mother hen…”

That makes Dick laugh again. “Yeah, gotten that before, too. But I don’t mind. Fussing is just what you do when you love someone,” he says, and Kon’s heart does something funny in his chest.

“Oh,” he says, his voice small. “You…?” He can’t even finish the question, not that it’s exactly hard to fill in the blanks.

Dick hums. “Of course. You’ve been coming ‘round to hang with Tim for how many years now? You’re practically family.”

“Oh,” Kon says again, stunned. He can’t quite bring himself to say it back in so many words, not when he’s still reeling from everything else, but he hopes desperately that Dick knows he’s thinking it all the same. “I… oh. Okay. I—you can pull out the couch. If… you want.”

And Dick’s pleased smile as he finally breaks the hug is all the answer Kon needs.

Notes:

this chapter in a nutshell: "i am SO good at coping," kon says, like a lying liar who lies. "i wonder what could possibly have tipped me over into a flashback that's so weird," kon says, after going to a club to get people to hit on him because he thinks that's a good way to cope with feeling like he has issues about the idea of sex. gee, kon, what could have been the final straw? the world may never know. after this, dick grayson picks him up and takes him home to comfort him and they talk about feelings and past traumas. woo!

i'm posting this from an airport while on approximately two hours of sleep so please forgive me if i forgot to mention anything in that summary or in the warnings; if i did, please let me know!! ;o;

ETA: arrived from my flight, took a nap, got bored, and did a terrible job at photoshopping the smooth yoda latte. sorry

thank you all for the response to the first chapter, you all rock ♥♥

this chapter is a lil early mostly bc i know i'll be busy for a lot of this weekend and i wanted to be sure i got it out. ch 3 will be up next friday! <3

Chapter 3: to find a home

Summary:

“Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremour ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying, "To die will be an awfully big adventure.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Notes:

this chapter is a direct follow-up to the previous, so all applicable warnings still apply at least in discussion!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The world is serene.

From here, it all makes sense so easily. Sharp, straight lines, regular polygons, right angles. Sterile, white, clean. All he can see is the sacred geometry of it all.

It ought to put his mind at rest. But there’s a vague sense of unease, as he drifts peacefully in the tube; something isn’t right.

He dismisses the feeling. All is as it should be; just like everything else he sees, he too has a place, and it is here. If all looks correct, if all is so tranquil and clean and perfect, how could anything be wrong?

He drifts, in his sublime chamber. The vitreous fluid suspension all around him is calming. It’s home. He’s floating, serene, placid, fulfilled. The twinge of growing discomfort in his gut means nothing.

It means nothing.

He—

Why is he—

He doesn’t want—

Kon wakes to the sound of rain.

His heart thunders in his chest, and his breath catches in his throat. It’s air, normal, actual air, and he’s in a bed, not in the fucking tube—instead of harsh, sterile lighting and the painfully artificial geometry of the lab, he sees the rumpled duvet over his body, the rounded corners of Dick’s coffee table, the somewhat-worn rug by the window.

“Fuck,” he groans, and scrubs a hand over his face. The relief eats him alive from the inside out.

Gotham is grey and dreary on the best of days, and the best of days today certainly is not. It’s not quite a downpour, but there’s enough rain falling from the sky to hide the skyline behind a grey curtain, and no sun to speak of.

Not great for a Kryptonian metabolism, but c’est la vie, or whatever the fuck they say in France. Kon rolls onto his side and pulls the covers up to his chin, curling into a little ball, and sighs. He’s not exactly in a headspace that makes him want to jump out of bed and start the day, and the weather sure isn’t helping.

But he’s hardwired to wake up in the mornings, between being literally solar-powered and spending years on a farm, and thanks to that and his stupid brain, staying in bed gets boring fast. Especially after he checks the pocket of his jacket from last night and discovers that his phone is dead. There’s not a lot to do other than staring at the ceiling or at the miserable window, and he’s not super keen on either of those options.

God, he wishes Krypto was here.

Crawling out of bed still feels vaguely like admitting defeat, but he does it anyway, sitting up and stretching his arms way over his head, then twisting side-to-side. Dick’s pull-out couch is pretty comfy, but now that he’s awake, he ought to get it neatened up and folded back into a sofa.

He does that, then pads to the restroom to freshen up for the day. At least he looks more like himself in the mirror now than he did last night, even if he does still look kinda like a zombie. Dead inside, with remnants of dark circles both from shit sleep and from the last of the makeup he did an admittedly poor job of scrubbing off his face before bed.

God, he looks like a raccoon. If his phone wasn’t dead, he’d take a selfie and send it to the group chat with that exact caption.

Okay. Now what does he do with himself? Dick is still asleep; none of the Bats are anything close to morning people, no matter how much they lie to themselves and say getting up at ten is getting up “early”. It’d be rude to just leave without saying goodbye or thanking him for his hospitality, and honestly flying home in this weather sounds fucking dismal, but what else is he supposed to do?

“Well, it’s morning, and there’s one thing mornings always need,” Kon mutters to himself, feeling rather like Ma has reached over from Kansas to speak her wisdom straight into his ear. “And that’s a good breakfast.”

Pancakes. That should be nice and doable. They don’t call for any fancy ingredients, and the batter keeps well, so if Dick doesn’t wake up while he’s cooking, he can still put the rest in the fridge so it’ll be easy to make Dick some later. Or for Dick to make some later, if he decides he’s had enough mopey Kryptonian ass on his couch and kicks him out. Whichever.

Yeah. Okay. Pancakes it is.

There’s some muffled noise from Dick’s bedroom while Kon’s whisking the batter together, and after a second, the door opens. Dick stumbles out, bleary-eyed and squinting as he runs a hand through his hopelessly-mussed hair, while Haley prances excitedly around his feet.

“Morning, Kon,” he says, and covers a yawn. “Mmf.”

“Morning.” Kon can’t help the amusement—seriously. Bats and mornings. Tim has tried to convince him that Dick is a morning person before. The most Kon is willing to concede is that Dick is a morning person… for a Bat. That’s not saying much given that Tim has slept in until four in the afternoon before.

Haley barks excitedly, racing across the living room to the kitchen to jump up and scrabble at Kon’s leg. He laughs, bending down to scoop her up—it’s way easier than carrying Krypto’s giant wiggly ass, for one—and leans against the counter, letting his TTK take over beating the batter into shape.

“Good morning to you, too, angel-face,” he coos, scratching lightly behind Haley’s ears. God, she is so cute. “Sleep okay?”

Haley licks his hand and wags her tail so hard her entire back half wiggles against his chest. Kon laughs.

When he lifts his head, Dick is watching them both with a look that can only be described as fond. His hair falls across his forehead, and he runs a hand through it to push it back (completely uselessly, as it just falls down again). “She sure has taken a shine to you.”

“I’m a dog whisperer, what can I say?” Kon scritches under her little chin (who’s a good girl? Aw, yeah, it’s you, Haley, yes it is! Yes, it’s you!) and grins as she leans into it, eyes closing in bliss. “Really, Krypto just trained me for all the worst parts of dog ownership. Now I’m just great at charming all the dogs that aren’t superpowered assholes.” A pause. “I’m kidding, Krypto, I love you.”

“That, and Haley is a little baby who’s just full of love,” Dick says—gushes, more like, except that he’s less doing the baby-talk and more sounding just vaguely like a proud dad. “What’re you making?”

“Oh, right.” Kon glances at the batter. It’s the right consistency, so all they have to do is fry it. “Nothing major. Just pancakes. I was gonna add chocolate chips, but I don’t think you have any. Sorry for snooping through your kitchen, by the way.”

Dick waves a hand. “You’re fine, all the others do it all the time. I could’ve sworn I still had chocolate… well, I guess Cass was here the other night, and she’s a fiend for chocolate chips. Oh, right—she and Damian made cookies. I guess that used the last of them up… Aw, and I don’t have any blueberries on hand either. Those always go great in pancakes.”

Kon shrugs, looking down at the batter. “Well… yeah. But I guess this is what we have to work with?”

“We could nip down to the corner store,” Dick suggests, reaching for a hoodie tossed over the back of a chair. “I have to take Haley out anyway, so it’s basically on the way. It’s just across the street.”

Kon glances at the window. It’s gross out there, but… chocolate chip pancakes are so much better than regular pancakes whenever he’s in a mood. And the aftermath of last night definitely counts as being in a mood. A Mood™, even, and boy is he in it.

Hmmm.

Well, at least he’s good at snap decisions. “Okay, sure. Why not?” Kon sets Haley down, and she gazes up at him soulfully for a half-second before she changes her mind and scampers back towards Dick. “Chocolate chips, blueberries, anything else you wanna grab? Maybe milk, I think you’re running a bit low.” Particularly now that Kon used some to make pancake batter.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to grab another carton for the past couple days and kept forgetting.” Dick grins ruefully. “Lemme get changed and stuff real quick, then we can go.” He pauses, glancing at the window as if noticing the rain for the first time, and wrinkles his nose. “Or if you want, you can stay here,” he adds. “It’s not exactly walk-in-the-park weather out there, even for former Havenoids.”

Kon’s jaw drops.

“No fucking way did y’all actually call yourselves Havenoids.”

Dick breaks into laughter, grinning brightly. “I heard someone say it when I first moved down there. To this day, I’m genuinely not sure if they were joking or not. It’s haunted me for years at this point. Years, Conner.”

“Shit, man.” Kon strokes his jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble scratching under his fingers. “That’d haunt me, too. That had to have been a joke, right?” Like, Blüdhaven was a fucking weird place, yeah, but it can’t have been that weird.

“I want to think so, too, but… it was the Haven.” Dick shrugs languidly. “I can’t truthfully say I’d be surprised.”

Huh, Kon realizes. He hasn’t really heard Dick talk about Blüdhaven so easily before. Maybe he brings it up more with his family, but Kon, at least, hasn’t heard him so much as mention the city outside of hero business since it was destroyed.

Either he’s okay with bringing it up more often than Kon’s noticed, or something about last night has brought Kon into the circle of people he’s comfortable talking about it casually with. That second option feels kinda warm and fuzzy to think about.

(God dammit. Will any hero in Kon’s generation ever get past the hero-worshipping Nightwing thing? At this point, signs kinda point to a resounding NO.)

“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t either.” He pushes away from the counter to go wash his hands, then meanders back towards the couch, leaning against the armrest rather than sitting down properly. “I’m good to go with, though. I mean, batter’s all prepped and ready to rock ‘n’ roll, so all we need is the chips and berries.”

“Okay, cool!” Dick flashes a sunny smile and reaches over to ruffle Kon’s hair—he’s been doing that a lot since last night—before he heads to the bathroom. Haley tries to follow him, and he very gently moves her out of the way with his foot. “I’ll get ready too, and we can head out.”

The first minor obstacle they run into on their little excursion is the footwear problem. Kon doesn’t have any shoes save the heels he was in last night, and none of Dick’s shoes fit him. Kon stares at his (admittedly, baller as fuck) clubbing high heels, frowns a little, and finally just shrugs.

“Fuck it,” he says, and slips them on. They look absolutely ridiculous with his borrowed T-shirt and sweatpants and his leather jacket, and he is rocking it. If only he had some bizarre, funky shades. They’d really complete the look. “We’re in Gotham. Every single person on the street has definitely seen worse.”

Dick laughs. “That’s the attitude,” he agrees, and clips Haley into her harness.

The rain isn’t actually that much of an issue, not even in heels. TTK is real handy—Kon could fly home in it without getting a drop on him, if he really wanted to; it’s just miserable to be up in the sky and buffeted by stormwinds and surrounded by dreariness. But walking down the sidewalk with Dick and Haley isn’t like that—it’s like being part of the only splotch of color in the grey mist all around them, and somehow, that buoys Kon’s mood more than he thought anything could.

Haley splashes through puddles with all the excitement only a dog in the rain can muster, and Dick laughs hard enough to wheeze when Kon tells him about Krypto’s adventures as a white dog in a muddy field one summer afternoon. They duck into the corner store, grab their groceries (milk, chocolate chips, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and a can of spray-on whipped cream), and as Dick checks out, making cheery conversation with the cashier, Kon holds Haley’s leash and realizes that he feels a lot more like himself than he has in days.

Groceries in hand, they return to Dick’s apartment. Kon volunteers to start making the pancakes while Dick deals with a wet and wiggly Haley. He’s got the first two (blueberry, for Dick) done when Dick emerges from the bathroom, heads right for him, and hip-checks him away from the stove. It’s so out of left field that, super-strength or not, it actually works, and Kon stumbles a step back.

“Hey! What gives, dude?”

Dick grins, stealing the spatula too. “Go sit! You’re a guest. You already made the batter and everything! The least I can do is fry ‘em up.”

“You let me stay over without warning and I stole your clothes!” Kon protests. “The least I can do is make you breakfast!”

Dick looks terribly amused as he pours a chocolate-chip pancake onto the griddle. “You’re my guest. My house, my rules? Whatever. I’m not making you do all the work!”

“You’re not making me. I’m volunteering, because it’s only polite.” Kon folds his arms over his chest.

Dick pauses. “…Why do I get the feeling that we’re just fighting a proxy war on behalf of Ma Kent and Alfred?”

Kon opens his mouth, reconsiders, and closes it. “…Because we are?”

“Thought so.” Dick sighs, laughs, and shakes his head. “Look, you made the batter, so I’ll fry the pancakes. That’s a fair division of labor.”

“I guess,” Kon allows, and then spots a fantastic loophole in the shape of the coffeemaker.

He takes one step towards it before Dick realizes what he’s doing and complains, “Oh, come on!”

Kon grins at him and pours the water in with a distinct sense of triumph.

Once they’ve got breakfast ready, they move back to the couch to sit and eat—Dick’s little dining table is piled high with books, papers, and miscellanea, and Dick takes one look at it and announces “Nah.” It’s casual and comfortable, and as a low roll of thunder rumbles outside, Kon sips his coffee and thinks he might even be cozy.

“So.” Dick flips through channels on the TV and finally settles on some variety of Saturday morning cartoons. “How’re you holding up this morning?”

Kon considers that with a lot less defensiveness than he might’ve a week ago. “Uh… okay, I think.” He stabs at a piece of pancake. A chocolate chip that didn’t fully melt falls off, and Kon tries to stab it onto the fork, too, but it just rolls away. Bastard. “I mean, not great, exactly, but… better than last night, for sure.”

“That’s good,” Dick says wryly, watching him try to pick up the errant chocolate chip again. “You wanna talk about it any more? We don’t have to, but we can.”

Kon accidentally stabs too hard, and the chocolate chip breaks in half. Dammit. “Uh… I mean, I dunno what more there is to say about it. Like, I’m not against talking, I just… don’t know how? I’ve… y’know. I’ve never talked about it.”

Admitting that much is both terrifying and thrilling. It’s not just admitting that he’s never opened up about this stuff; it’s admitting that there’s something to open up about to begin with. He never would’ve done that before.

“Yeah.” Dick hums softly. The cartoons make good background noise for this, Kon thinks, watching Wile E. Coyote walk off a cliff without noticing. “That was pretty hard for me too. I still haven’t told many people, either.”

Kon nods slowly, looking down at his plate. “Honestly, I still don’t know if there’s anything for me to talk about. Like… on the one hand, when I say it out loud, yeah, it does sound kind of fucked up, y’know? But on the other, I mean… I was literally fine with it when it happened. Freaking out only in retrospect feels kinda stupid. Like just… being some kind of attention whore or whatever. You know? Plus, I’ve always been the whore friend in general.”

Something about that makes Dick’s gaze sharpen. He goes still, and despite the fact that he’s chilling in yoga pants and an oversized hoodie and eating a stack of blueberry pancakes on the couch, the fork in his hand suddenly looks like a deadly weapon. “Do they call you that?”

“Uh—” Kon fumbles. “I mean, sometimes, but it’s like, you know, a joke? I’ve always been a flirt, it’s not like—no one knows I have issues, it’s not like I even knew I have issues about it until last night, so they’re—no one does it to hurt me, it’s just…”

Dick doesn’t seem mollified. “And if one of them were to say it again, now that you know you do ‘have issues’?”

Kon imagines that for a second. Like, if he’d sent a selfie from last night, and Bart had laughed and said hell yeah, slut it up! Or if Cassie had called him “Young Justice’s favorite whore <3” again, like she did last month. He’d laughed at it, last month, especially when Anita changed his name in the chat to that, but now…

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The way he flinches speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” Dick says. He’s still too still, he still looks dangerous, but his voice is soft.

“Well—fuck,” Kon groans. A bit of anxiety flutters into his chest. It’s so stupid, and yet he can’t help it. “It’s not like I can just tell them to stop. They don’t say it all the time. And if I say something, they’ll know something’s wrong with me.”

Something in Dick’s posture eases again, and he gives Kon a rueful smile. “Is that a bad thing? If they know something’s up?”

“Yes!” Kon huffs. “No. Maybe? I don’t know. Fuck me, why is this so confusing?”

Dick huffs out a dry laugh. “I wish it was easy. Would make all of our lives a damn sight better if it was. But no,” and he waves a syrupy forkful of blueberry pancake around to illustrate his point. “It’s hard and weird and confusing, and we just have to muddle through as best we can.”

God damn, that should not be half as reassuring as it sounds in Dick’s voice. How does he do that? He’s just saying “shit’s tough, deal with it,” but somehow he makes it warm and encouraging as a sentiment. What the hell.

“I… don’t want to make them worry,” he says haltingly. “And—I don’t want pity. Or… or… I don’t think they’d call me an idiot for not knowing better at the time, but—but at the same time I feel like one, and I don’t know—”

He breaks off, coming back to that central tenet that keeps breaking down on him. If he was a kid, it hurts so much more. But denying that he was a kid makes Jon’s face flash through his head, sixteen years old with sixteen years of being alive. Kon was sixteen years old with one year of life experience.

Does that count as being an adult? It has to. It hurts way more if it doesn’t.

“You don’t have to know yet,” Dick says kindly. “There’s no set timeframe, Kon.”

“Yeah, well. Easier said than done,” Kon mutters.

Dick chuckles. “Yeah, and don’t I know it. Trust me, if Donna was here, she’d be smacking me upside the head for being such a hypocrite. I did not practice what I’m preaching for a long time. Especially not at first. She actually physically dragged me to a therapy appointment, once.” His smile is unmistakably fond.

Kon blinks. “Therapy?”

“Yeah.” Dick shrugs one shoulder. “It helped. Unfortunately, shit like this happens to a lot of people. Therapy’s good for working through your thoughts on it.”

Kon takes that and files it away in a box labeled “Thoughts I Am Physically Incapable Of Processing Or Dealing With Right Now”. He can come back to the idea of therapy later, when he’s finished working through the idea that something is wrong with him at all.

“I thought the only stuff I was fucked up about was like, being half-Luthor and dying and shit. Not…” He waves a hand as if to gesture all the rest of that, shaking his head. “I guess… I mean, it’s just… I wasn’t a child.”

“Weren’t you?” Dick counters. When Kon looks up at him in surprise, he finds himself pinned by a startlingly intent gaze, one that starkly reminds him once again that Nightwing was, after all, trained by the Bat himself. “You were the equivalent of a sixteen-year-old. That’s a child by all reckoning. And in your case, you had less than a year of life experience. How were you not a child?”

It’s the same thought he had a second ago, but it’s a lot harder to run away from when it’s out loud. Kon flinches again.

“I… had to be an adult.” His voice rings false in his own ears. “Everyone acted like I was. I was—I was legally considered an emancipated minor. That’s basically an adult.”

“Okay.” Dick’s gaze only gets more piercing. “So, if Jon were to be emancipated tomorrow…”

“Of course not!” Kon snaps, before he can even get the question out. “It wouldn’t be the same, of course that shit wouldn’t be okay if it was him, he’s a baby, he…”

Oh.

“Yeah,” Dick agrees, his face finally softening. “He’s a baby. Sixteen is a baby. You were a baby, and she took advantage of you.”

Kon sets his empty plate aside and blows out a breath, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes hard enough to see bursts of color. He still remembers the sound of Kay’s laughter every time she called him “pup”, teasing and prodding and goading. “It’s just—she did teach me a lot,” he admits, his voice shakier than he’d like. “And it helped. It did. She made me a better fighter. It’s just—why was she into me? If I was a kid. I can’t even imagine—like, being an adult and looking at a kid like that instead of seeing them as a kid. I can’t…”

Dick shifts on the sofa next to him. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand comes to rest on Kon’s shoulder, heavy and reassuring. The warmth of his skin seeps through Kon’s borrowed T-shirt.

“And I think the worst part,” Kon continues, and fuck, there’s a definite waver in his voice now, “is that everyone was mad at me for dating her. I thought—I thought she was so cool, she was a total badass and she was sexy and she didn’t care what anyone else thought, and I admired that, and everyone was pissed at me. Rex got mad because it was bad PR. He didn’t care I was dating someone like, twice my age. He just was pissed that it was Knockout, ‘cuz of the news of her killing a man.

“And after that was over… after she got put behind bars… I went back to Tana. And I begged her to take me back. And—and she said she’d try, but that my immaturity really hurt her.”

At that, Dick scoffs. Kon chokes on a wet laugh, too, because honestly? It never hit him before just how fucked up that was of her, but now it stands in stark relief.

“If she wanted maturity, maybe she should’ve dated someone her own age,” Dick mutters, then winces. “Sorry. Not to speak ill of the dead, and all. I know she was important to you—”

“No, it’s fine.” Kon scrubs a hand over his eyes. “I mean, you’re not wrong. I… never even thought of that until now. She was a grown-up with a job, and I was a freshman in high school. How did nobody—it’s just because I was a stupid fucking superhero,” and oh, god, his voice cracks even as he laughs again. “If I was a normal kid, do you think they woulda said something? Maybe if I was a normal kid, they’d’ve worried about me. But just because I came out of a fucking test tube with TTK, everyone was just like, ‘yeah, who needs to give a shit about that one. He can take care of himself, probably,’ I guess!”

Dick squeezes his shoulder. “Yeah. That’s a supremely shitty way to treat a kid. I’m sorry, Conner.”

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Kon blurts out. It’s too much, now, and he shakes his head at himself, reaching for his coffee. The warmth burns down his throat and heats his chest, and he takes a deep breath, grounding himself. “I… don’t know what to do.”

“Well, the good news is, there’s no one right answer to that,” Dick offers. “That sounds incredibly corny even for me, I’m aware, but I’m also right.”

Kon lets out a watery laugh. “And self-aware and humble?”

“Damn straight.” Dick gives him another affectionate hair-ruffle. “Just… let yourself be for a bit, I guess. If it hurts, let it hurt. Like, not that you shouldn’t take care of yourself and stuff—more that you shouldn’t deny that it hurts. And if it’s easier to let yourself feel what you’re feeling with company, you can always call me.”

“I already feel bad for throwing off your weekend,” Kon admits, scrubbing at his eyes again. He takes another sip of coffee to quell the lump in his throat. “I—did I say thanks for last night? Because, uh, seriously. Thanks.”

“Anytime. I mean it.” Dick hooks his arm around his neck and pulls him into a side-hug. “You didn’t throw off anything, anyway. I have a shift at the bar tonight, but that only starts at eight, and I don’t have any other plans today. So don’t worry about that. And you know what? If it helps, I’ll let you in on a little secret: this helps me, too.”

Kon blinks. Frowns. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, seriously!” Dick quirks a grin at him. “Telling you all this stuff I had to learn at therapy makes me go, ‘oh shit, there’s a reason my therapist told me that!’ And that’s good for me. Plus, you’re reminding me of myself in several ways. So helping you out here is helping me, too. It’s a good thing all around when you ask for help.”

That’s both incredibly vague and extremely reassuring, assuming it’s actually true. Kon sighs, slumping into Dick’s side like he did last night, and drops his head against Dick’s shoulder. Haley comes trotting in from Dick’s bedroom and hops up onto the couch with them, circles, and plops down to lie against Kon’s thigh; he runs a hand down her back, and her tail thumps against his hip.

This is all just… a lot. Kon’s head is too full. He’s really not a fan of that; he’s way more of a head empty guy. Just ask literally anyone who knows him!

“…Did you? Ask for help, I mean?” he asks hesitantly, opening his eyes to stare at Dick’s knee. He’s wearing jeans, the denim washed out in the grey morning light. “When it finally hit you, about, you know…”

“Not at first. And not about Liu.” Dick pauses. When he speaks again, there’s a distinct note of dry amusement in his voice. “I spent a lot of time practicing this Bat-approved emotional regulation technique. You may have heard of it; it’s called extreme repression.”

Kon snorts. “I’m familiar, yeah.”

“Buuuut, eventually, it started catching up to me in a big way.” Dick sighs ruefully. “Eventually Donna just showed up one night and told me I’d better open up or she’d throw my couch into the harbor.”

A startled laugh spills out before Kon can catch it, and he finally manages to drag his gaze back up to Dick’s face. “Your couch?”

Dick grins. “She can’t threaten to beat me up, ‘cuz we both know she won’t actually cause me any major injury, and we also both know I’m too stubborn to let any minor injury stop me from brooding out of spite. But she can threaten to majorly inconvenience me, because we both know she can and will force me to deal with getting new furniture up here alone, and she’ll make sure the elevator is out the day I get it in.”

That… is incredibly well-thought-out, and Kon has to admit, he’s kind of impressed. He might just have to take notes for how to wrangle Tim. “The way you say all this so specifically makes me think this isn’t your first couch.”

Dick laughs out loud. “Not even close.” He ruffles Kon’s hair fondly; something warms in Kon’s chest. “But it’s an effective threat. And I caved. She already knew what happened with Blockbuster, but I hadn’t told anyone the full story at that point. She was the first person I told that… I was raped, that same night. And a few nights afterwards, by the woman who killed him.”

The warmth vanishes with a pop. Kon sucks in a breath. He hadn’t known about that—that’s fucking awful, and so much worse than whatever happened to him. ”Holy shit, dude. That… I… that fucking sucks.”

It’s also seriously impressive Dick can just say it like that. Man’s got balls of steel, Kon thinks. Himself? He can’t even think the words that technically apply to his whole thing, forget saying them out loud. However Dick just did that, it’s badass.

Dick laughs dryly. “Yeah, it does. It took me a long-ass time to stop being in denial about it, let alone actually do any healing. But like I said, Donna and Wally tag-teamed me into going to therapy, eventually, and that helped.”

Kon hums in acknowledgment. He’s not ready to open the do I want to go to therapy? box, so instead he just curls up and tucks himself a little more cozily into Dick’s side, soaking up whatever comfort and support he can get. “…Does your family know?”

“They know it happened at some point.” Dick’s fingers start to stroke through his hair again, and Kon’s eyes close on their own. “Not exactly where or when or how. Except Jason—I had a flashback in front of him once. It freaked him out pretty bad—don’t tell him I said this, but it was kind of funny.”

Kon snickers despite himself. “What’s he even do when he’s freaked out? Yell at people more?” The guy is like, the shoutiest person Kon knows, and he’s met Damian, too.

Dick chuckles again, warm and fond. “Oh, no. Way worse. He was visibly unnerved, but he was so gentle with me, and got mad when Bruce tried to ask what happened. You know he’s freaking out when he starts fussing.”

Jason? Fussing? Kon has to scoff, just a bit. “Now that, I gotta see to believe.”

Dick laughs. “He’s a softie at heart. He just doesn’t want anyone to know that. But he’s just a big squishy marshmallow, really.” A pause. “Well, a marshmallow with a penchant for explosions and the occasional bout of gratuitous violence, but. Marshmallow.”

Kon raises an eyebrow skeptically. “…Right.”

Clearly aware of how ridiculous he sounds, Dick just shrugs one shoulder with a wry smile. “I sound crazy, I know. But no matter what, he’s my little brother, you know?” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

And that—yeah, Kon does get that. A slight smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. I know.”

Cuz, yeah. It’s about being a big brother. Now, to be fair, Jon hasn’t ever had a murderous freakshow phase, but even if he did, Kon doesn’t think he’d stop loving him one bit. It’d break his heart, but he’d still love that kid no matter what. And besides, Jason’s murderous freakshow phase ended years ago—Cass saw to that.

Well, in fairness, Dick helped. But it was mostly Cass. Kon knows because she told him so herself.

On the TV screen, Wile E. Coyote starts to set up a giant catapult from ACME Corp. Dick and Kon watch in a comfortable silence as it invariably misfires, crushing him with a boulder once, then sending him rocketing over the edge of yet another cliff. Thunder rumbles outside, and rain pelts the windows.

“I think,” Dick says suddenly, breaking the silence, “that if there’s anything I wish I’d learnt sooner, it’s that you have to let yourself feel it. Repression is great and all,” and here he pauses to flash a grin at Kon, “but you won’t get through it if you never let yourself. There’s no way around that.”

“Hm.” Kon considers that, and the whole identity crisis over aging or growing up or whatever that’s been swirling around in his head, and promptly decides he hates it. “That sucks.”

Dick laughs again. “Yeah. But it’s important.”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” Kon whines, because he doesn’t. He already admitted to it, got it out of his system, and talked it all out last night and this morning! Why does there have to be more?

Because there’s parts of it he’s still avoiding and doesn’t want to accept? Nah. Nonsense. That’s nothing. He’s totally processed this and he’s done here.

…Yeesh. Even in his own head, that sounds fake.

“You don’t have to think about it all the time or anything,” Dick reassures him. “In fact, you shouldn’t—there’s a difference between letting yourself feel how you feel, and wallowing in it. Not that I think that’s gonna really be an issue for you, but… it bears saying, I guess. God, I sound like my therapist.”

It’s Kon’s turn to laugh at him. “Damn, Dr. Grayson, that’s some insightful commentary. Wow, I never thought about that before.”

Dick swats him on the side of the head, grinning. Kon, the absolute epitome of maturity that he is, merely sticks out his tongue.

Dick rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling as he settles back into the corner of the couch. “But you do have to think about it sometimes. It’s not fun, but it’s… better than bottling it up until you can’t look away.”

That sure is what Kon did until it all boiled over last night, huh. That thought drains the levity away, and Kon’s left biting his lip as he remembers dancing and making out with strangers and letting hands roam his body, just to prove a point to himself.

Hm. Not great.

“Yeah, that was… pretty stupid of me, huh?” He tries to joke it off, but it falls flat.

“Not at all.” Dick’s hand settles on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. Kon can’t quite meet his gaze again, though, too ashamed. “You didn’t know how to ask for help. You were doing the best you could with what you were working with. Sure, it wasn’t exactly… healthy, I would say, but you’re not stupid for it.”

“I’m a lil stupid,” Kon mutters. Dick keeps reassuring him way too much. What does he even do with this much validation? It sits awkwardly in his heart, trying to prod at the shame in the pit of his stomach, and he presses his lips together.

“No calling yourself stupid under my roof,” Dick decides. “I mean it. Besides, that doesn’t matter—you’re not going to do it again, right? So all that matters is that you’re safe now.”

Safe. It’s not like he was in any danger last night, but something about the way Dick says that…

Kon stares at him for several seconds, brow furrowed, but before he can open his mouth to respond, something very quietly scratches at the window, and his head snaps up.

Dick follows his gaze and just sighs.

“Of course,” he laments, while Red Hood fiddles with the locks. “Speak of the devil. We’re having a heart-to-heart, I’m in the process of finalizing the acquisition of another little brother—”

“What? Me?”

“—and he manifests. I swear, he has a sixth sense for the worst possible timing.” Dick huffs, getting to his feet. “Just a sec. Sorry, Kon.” He disappears to the bathroom for a second, reemerging with a towel, and then pulls the window open himself.

“Jeez! Took you long enough,” Jason complains, hopping in. Thunder rumbles outside.

“Stop dripping on my floor,” Dick commands, throwing the towel over the helmet and pulling the window closed again. “I don’t want any more of a Gotham rainstorm in here than there has to be.”

“Fair enough.” Jason grunts, toweling himself off quickly, then pulls off his helmet. “Mm, smells like coffee. I’m surprised you’re up this early.”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen, then almost comically freezes as he finally realizes he’s interrupted something. He pivots on his heel, making a show of scanning the room, and points a dramatic finger at Kon.

“You.”

Kon sips his coffee. “Me…?”

“You’re why Dickie’s bitch ass is out of bed before noon on a Saturday.” Jason raises an eyebrow. “What’re you doing here, anyway? Tim’s over at the Manor.”

Kon huffs. “I can go places without Tim! We’re not attached at the hip.”

“Really?” Jason snorts. “Coulda fooled me. Hey, Dickface, is there more coffee?”

“Yeah, there should be some left in the pot. You know where the mugs are.” Dick throws the damp towel into the hamper and settles back down next to Kon. “What do you need, Jay?”

“Coffee. A bandage, maybe. Ooh, is this pancake batter?”

“A bandage? ‘Maybe?’” Dick is back on his feet instantly, moving toward the bathroom. “What happened?”

“Eh, some asshole got a lucky stab in. Did you make chocolate chip pancakes? Without fucking inviting me? You bitch.”

“A stab? Where and how deep?” Dick reappears with a first aid kit, frowning, and Jason rolls his eyes.

“My jacket got the worst of it, so calm your tits, Grayson. It’s just on my arm.” He sits down on a stool and shrugs out of the jacket all the same, to let Dick examine his bloodied left arm. “Anyway, I can’t believe you didn’t invite me over for pancakes.”

“Kon made the pancakes, not me.” Dick rolls up Jason’s sleeve and frowns. “You can have some after I clean this up. God, ‘a bandage, maybe’, are you kidding me? The ‘maybe’ on this is stitches, dipshit.”

While they bicker, Kon pulls his knees up toward his chest and curls into the corner of the sofa. At least he still has his coffee to occupy himself with; he was comfortable with Dick, more or less, when it was just the two of them, but now that Jason has invited himself over, Kon’s starting to feel like an outsider—a constant peril of hanging with any of the Bats other than Tim, even after knowing all of them for so many years—and he kinda maybe might have overstayed his welcome, at this point.

Like, Dick asked him to stay the night, sure, but he didn’t ask Kon to make him breakfast. And now they’re done eating, anyway. Sure, he said it’s nice for him, too, but…

But now his brother is here, and injured, and Kon definitely doesn’t take precedence over that. Especially since his issues aren’t going anywhere. Like, he’s still not convinced they even count as issues to begin with. So… maybe he should just suck it up and get going?

He sighs and sips his coffee. He’ll figure out what to do with himself after he finishes it. He needs to get his clothes from last night, too; they’re hanging on the back of a chair in Dick’s bedroom. Ha, this feels kinda like doing the walk of shame even though he didn’t get laid last night.

Funny, that.

“Yo, Conner.” Jason’s voice draws him out of his thoughts, and Kon looks up, blinking, to see Dick tying off a bandage on Jason’s arm. Huh. How long was he zoned out for, anyway? He coulda sworn it wasn’t that long. “You good, man?

“Yeah, you know it. I’m peachy keen.” Kon delivers the most pathetic “okay” gesture of his life.

Jason stares at him flatly. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to call bullshit on that one. You look like a goddamn zombie.”

“Gee, thanks. Makes two of us,” Kon mutters. He knocks back the rest of his coffee, groans, and clambers to his feet. “You want a pancake?”

“If you’re offering.” Jason grins, offering him a fist-bump as he walks past. “You’re a real one, Kent. What brings you up to our neck of the woods so early in the morning?” He pauses. “Wait. Those are my pants. The plot thickens.”

“I spent the night.” Kon shrugs. “We also got blueberries. You want those, or the chocolate chips?”

“Aw, shit. Both sound good.” Jason considers, while Dick finishes cleaning up his first aid station and wipes down the countertop. “Can I get one of each? And huh. I didn’t know you ‘n’ Dickiebird have sleepovers.”

“It was a first.” Kon turns the stove back on. “Well, first without Tim also here, anyway. It was… unplanned?”

“Unplanned?” Jason’s eyebrows shoot up as he leans back against the counter next to the stove. He starts to fold his arms over his chest before abruptly remembering that the left one is injured, and settles for setting that hand on his hip as he watches Kon pour pancake batter on the griddle. “Huh.”

Kon shrugs, resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck self-consciously. He knows it’s weird, but fuck, does Jason gotta put him on the spot like this? It’s not like he asked to have a crisis last night…

“What happened?” Jason studies him. “Did Tim do something? Don’t tell me you broke up.”

“What?” That startles Kon out of his scrutiny of the pancakes. He gives Jason a weird look, because seriously, why does everyone always assume that? “We’re not—we aren’t—I’m not dating Tim?”

Jason, for some reason, looks genuinely surprised. “Wait, you’re not?”

“Uh, no? Unless I somehow missed that entire memo.” Kon snorts, flipping the pancake with a flick of his wrist. “Me being over here right now has nothing to do with Tim.”

“Huh.” Jason is quiet for a second. “…Then what’s up with you?”

Dick groans. “Jay, if he doesn’t wanna talk about it, lay off.” He pours a cup of coffee from the pot and hands it over; Jason tips his head in thanks and knocks back half like a shot. “He just had a rough night and called me, that’s all. We talked some, and I told him to stay over, since it was late.”

“Hm.” Jason studies Kon for a moment longer. Kon wonders how much it’d be like swinging a bat at a hornet’s nest to tell him he sure is acting pretty reminiscent of Bruce right now. “Alright.”

Kon stares at the pancake on the griddle. It’s nearly ready, the blueberries purple smudges like bruises on its golden expanse.

Kay might have been the first person who ever really managed to leave bruises on his skin, he thinks, a little bit (a lottle bit) hysterically, and harsh, acidic laughter bubbles up in his throat. There’s no running from this, and he’s a fucking idiot and a coward for trying.

May as well just rip the bandaid off.

“If you really wanna know,” he blurts, sardonic and genuine all at once, “I freaked the fuck out and phoned Dick ‘cuz I realized the first two relationships I ever had in my life both counted as instances of grooming and statutory rape. So. Yeah. Y’know. Having a real one today!”

He runs out of steam the second the actual words for it leave his mouth. A thrill of pure adrenaline—anxiety, terror, excitement, whatever—stabs through his chest and sends his heart rocketing up to his throat so fast he thinks he might throw up. There, so much for his stupid avoidance of even thinking about those words this entire time—those are things he’s seen victims of, sure, in his hero work, but they were always supposed to be things that happened to other people. Not…

Not…

Oh, hell.

“Conner? Hey—shit, hey, you need to breathe,” someone is saying; Kon only hears it as if from a great distance, or underwater. Maybe ripping the bandaid off wasn’t the smartest way to go about this. Who woulda thunk it. Ha.

Belatedly, he realizes Dick must’ve noticed him dancing around the labels. The actual names for any of it. Dick noticed and mirrored that the entire time they talked about any of it. That—that was kind of him, Kon thinks, and then wants to beat himself over the head with the spatula. Why did he have to go and ruin that delicate balance?

What is wrong with him?

“Sorry,” he rasps, only vaguely aware that he’s hyperventilating. “Dunno why I—I dunno why I said that, I—I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to be sorry.” That’s Dick talking. Kon shudders and tries to swallow; his chest is tight and there’s a lump in his throat, and it’s like a miniature version of last night at the club. His eyes burn. “Breathe, Conner. Nice ‘n’ slow. Can you do that for me?”

Vaguely, slowly, Kon comes back to himself. Dick talks him through remembering how to breathe on his own again, until he realizes he’s sitting on the kitchen floor, near the stove; Dick has a hand on his shoulder, and Jason has the spatula. He must’ve snatched it from Kon’s hand to save the pancake.

Grooming. Statutory rape. There, he went and said the words in his head now, too. That’s a first.

It’s still terrifying. Those aren’t supposed to be words he can apply to himself. And yet, the swoop in his chest, the idea that there are words for it—that feels suspiciously close to relief.

“You back with us?” Dick squeezes his shoulder, gentle as ever.

In lieu of answering, Kon groans, gives up on not looking pathetic, and slumps over to lay across Dick’s legs. His head bumps Dick’s knee. “God. Fuuuuck.”

Dick laughs softly, threading his fingers into Kon’s hair like he did yesterday. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“Hey.” Jason looks down at him. He looks even taller and, uh, imposing-er, than usual, from the floor angle, but his expression is strangely soft. “I’m sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to pressure you into talking about that.”

“Nah, you didn’t. That wasn’t pressure. Trust me, I can be way stubborn if I wanna.” Kon flaps a tired hand at him. “I… honestly, I think needed to say it. It was just, uh…. never gonna be pretty when I did.”

Somehow, that makes Dick laugh. “Trust me, that was tame compared to how ugly it was the first time I admitted what happened to me was rape,” he says dryly. “Jay was there. There was a lot of screaming, crying, throwing shit, and swearing.”

“Hey, I can swear,” Kon protests weakly. His eyes are still burning, and while he’s definitely breathing better, the urge to cry is only mounting. “Shit. Fuck. Piss. Damn.”

Jason puts down the spatula and claps. Dick rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

And Kon bursts into tears.

The first sob wrenches out of him with the force of a freight train, followed closely by a second and third, each determined to be more violent than the last. Dick makes a little sound of alarm, and Jason winces, and Kon buries his face in his hands and curls up and just cries.

He hasn’t cried like this in a long time. He hasn’t cried about this… ever, really. He—fuck, he grieved for Tana, he still grieves for Tana, and he’s never even thought about how fucked up any of their relationship was and that hurts. That hurts worse than getting thrown through a building or Kryptonite poisoning. He loved her, he really, really loved her, and he never even realized that if she truly loved him too, she wouldn’t have ever dated him.

He’s twenty-three now. He’s as old as she was when they dated. The idea of looking at someone Jon’s age and seeing a potential partner makes him sick. The dissonance makes him cry harder.

“Let it out,” Dick murmurs, stroking his hair. “Let it all out, sweetheart.”

Someone shifts nearby, and Kon blinks through his tears to see Jason settling down on his other side, so that he’s safely tucked between the two of them as he sobs his heart out. Jason has a plate of pancakes in his lap and a mug of coffee by his leg, like he’s just content to eat his breakfast on the floor if that’s what makes Kon feel safer, and a fresh round of tears prickles at Kon’s eyes.

“‘m sorry,” he manages, voice wobbly as he scrubs at his face. “I just—I just can’t stop crying.”

“Don’t be sorry for that! It’s okay. Let it out.” Dick gently pushes his hands away before he can rub his eyes raw. “Sometimes you just need to cry.”

“Yeah.” Jason takes a swig from his mug. “We’ve seen worse, man. This isn’t even the third time I’ve had breakfast on Dick’s floor while someone bawled their eyes out. Just, like, happens.”

“Occupational hazard,” Dick agrees with a grim little smile.

Kon sniffles. “…Yeah.”

A beat passes. Two. Kon scrubs at his face, but the tears don’t stop coming, and he just sighs at his wet hand. This sucks.

“So. You can never tell him I said this,” Jason says, looking straight at Dick, “but I think I kinda understand B’s adoption thing way better all of a sudden.”

Dick snorts, while Kon chokes on a wet laugh. “I’m an—an adult. You c-can’t adopt me.”

A large, warm hand rubs his back, slow and soothing as he sniffles and wipes at his eyes. It takes Kon a second to realize it’s Jason’s.

“Yeah? Watch me.”

Kon doesn’t even know what to say to that. On the one hand, there’s a ball of shame in his stomach, heavy like lead, and it’s screaming at him that he’s taken up so much of Dick’s time, and now he’s being pathetic in front of Jason; on the other, Dick has been so kind to him, taking care of him since last night, and Jason showed up and instantly joined in on it despite clearly having his own issues, like a stab wound. He can’t help but feel a little warm and cherished, despite himself.

“Besides,” Jason muses. The hand on Kon’s back disappears for as long as it takes him to spear some pancakes and pop them into his mouth, and then settles back on his shoulder as Jason chews, swallows, and continues, “technically, aren’t you, like, eight? I can totally adopt you.”

Kon tries to laugh, gets caught up on how choked up he is, and ends up coughing instead. Blegh. That sucks.

“Right?” he manages, finally lifting his head from Dick’s thigh. “I was one when they did that shit. S’fucked up, huh?”

Including Tana in that feels like a betrayal. It feels like a weight off his shoulders. He’s not sure which is worse.

“Yeah, that is super fucked up.” Jason sounds vaguely disgusted. “Lemme know if you want anyone shot. Like, just say the word.”

“Jay,” Dick groans.

This guy has got to stop making Kon laugh while he’s a snotty, weepy mess. “One’s on Apokolips, I think, and the other’s already dead, but thanks, man.”

“Damn.” Jason takes a swig of coffee. “Well, offer stands.”

This is rapidly becoming one of the most surreal mornings of Kon’s life. He sniffles again, lays his head back on Dick’s thigh, and feels tears well up in his eyes all over again; Dick coos wordlessly and strokes his fingers against his scalp.

“It just—it fucking sucks,” Kon manages. Hot tears roll over his nose and drip into his hair. “I hate this. I—I want pie.”

Ma always makes pie if he’s sad. He helps her—he likes to get artsy with the crusts, decorating them and making pretty lattices. It’s good practice for finesse with his TTK, sometimes, but sometimes he likes to just do it with his bare hands. It’s satisfying either way, seeing the product of his work bake to a light, crisp gold.

“Pie?” Jason repeats.

“Like, Ma Kent pie?” Dick ventures.

Kon nods miserably. “S’the best comfort food ever.”

“Huh.” Jason’s fork clinks against his plate. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Kon closes his eyes. His head hurts, and he’s sad, and in the wake of that burst of panic he’s exhausted all over again, and this sucks. This just fucking sucks all around. If he had more energy, he suspects he’d be angry, but right now all he wants to do is curl into a little ball and cry.

So he does, letting out another pathetic little sob. He’s all curled up on Dick’s kitchen floor, of all places, bawling his eyes out, and god, he’s never felt more pathetic than in this moment, but Dick keeps stroking his hair, and, well, that’s… kind of nice, and… and…

In retrospect, given what a shit past twenty-four hours he’s had, it probably shouldn’t be surprising that he cries himself into a light doze right there on the floor. He’s not sure how long exactly he’s out, but the low murmur of voices is what wakes him:

“—can’t believe you kidnapped him,” Tim is saying, huffy. “And then you made him sleep on the floor? Unbelievable.”

“Oh, shut your trap.” That’s Jason. “Who here hasn’t slept on Dick’s floor? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

“I’d like to point out that one, he is technically asleep on me, not just the floor, and two, he came over completely voluntarily, so there’s no kidnapping involved. Also, two-point-five, just because his phone died so he couldn’t respond to your memes, does not mean I kidnapped him.” Dick sounds amused more than anything.

“Eh, I’m still calling it a kidnapping.” That’s classic Tim, Kon thinks woozily. Always the bossy brat baby brother in the family. Good for him.

Then his brain catches up a little more, and he frowns a little. When did Tim get here?

Groaning, he pushes himself to a sitting position. Ow, his neck and shoulders did not appreciate that sleep position, okay, ow, understood. Vaguely aware that his hair must be a mess, his eyes are probably still red, his cheeks blotchy—he just looks like a wreck, in general—he twists around to blink at Tim, who’s standing in the entryway. His hair is all fluffed up from humidity and there are raindrops on his hoodie; he must have just gotten here.

Kon blinks again, groggy and disoriented. “Um… hey?”

Tim’s eyes widen, and then he whirls on Jason. “You made him cry?”

Jason looks so incredibly offended that on any other day, Kon might laugh. “The fuck? Why do you assume it’s my fault?!”

Dick sighs. He stretches his arms up over his head, flows to his feet with way more grace than anyone who’s been stuck sitting on the kitchen floor with someone else laying on them should ever possess, and then offers his hand to Kon, who takes it. He’s way too bleary to trust his own feet on their own.

“No one made me cry, Tim,” he offers, once Dick has pulled him upright.

Three—not one, not two, but three Bats all stare at him, with varying levels of… of deadpan-ness. That’s not a word, is it? Ugh. He just woke up. His brain is not working. Sue him.

“I wouldn’t go that far, bucko,” says Jason. “Someone did. Just not someone in this room.”

“Well, yeah, maybe, but—” Kon shakes his head. “That—I don’t—that’s not the point.”

Tim promptly decides that he doesn’t give a fuck about the point anymore, which Kon very much appreciates, because it happens in the form of Tim rolling his eyes and zipping across the kitchen to pull him into a hug.

Tim always gives good hugs. His arms settle snugly around Kon’s back, his chin comes to rest firmly on Kon’s shoulder, and his hand slides up to rest protectively over the back of Kon’s neck, and Kon can’t help but sigh in relief. He even lets himself sink into Tim’s chest; he knows Tim is strong enough to support him.

“You smell like rain,” he mumbles.

“I wonder why that might be.” There’s a flicker of a smile in Tim’s voice. “So. You doing okay?”

“Been better,” Kon admits. He closes his eyes and tucks his face into Tim’s hair, and heaves another great, big sigh. “…I cried too much. Ugh. Head hurts.”

Tim draws back from the hug to immediately brush past Jason to get Kon a glass of water, all business. “Honestly,” he huffs, shaking his head at his brothers. “You kidnap my Kon and you don’t even have the good grace to take proper care of him. For shame.”

My Kon, he says. Kon kind of likes the sound of that.

“One, we didn’t kidnap him,” Dick says, more amused than anything as he watches Tim march back over and hand Kon the glass. “Two, you’d also be complaining if we woke him up, so as far as I can see there’s just no pleasing you.”

Tim slots his arms about Kon’s waist again as Kon drains the glass; he didn’t realize how thirsty he’d been, but damn, that hit the spot. He lays his cheek against Tim’s hair in silent thanks; Tim gives him a little squeeze in response.

“I’m still ranking your kidnapping services less than three stars on Yelp,” Tim says, and reaches up to thread his fingers into Kon’s hair. He does that often; after last night and this morning, Kon suddenly finds himself wondering if it’s a habit he learned from Dick. It’s soothing, and Kon leans into his touch, eyes closing again.

His superhearing is the only reason he picks up Jason whispering to Dick, “And he said they’re not dating. Do you see this shit?”

Dick doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, so Kon decides to just ignore that can of worms and focus on hugging Tim.

“What made you come over?” he murmurs against Tim’s temple. “I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you or anything. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Here’s the last place your phone was located before it died, and you weren’t answering any of our messages.” Tim shrugs lightly. “Bart was getting antsy.”

“Oh.” Kon sighs. “Yeah. My phone died sometime last night, sorry.”

Another little shrug. “No big. What do you need right now?”

A surge of warm, clumsy affection rises up in Kon’s chest and threatens to swamp him. Tim must be dying to know what happened, and why Kon is here—why Kon is in Gotham without having told him, why Kon has clearly been crying, why he’s been here since last night—but he doesn’t ask for an explanation. Whether it’s because he can just tell Kon doesn’t want to get into it right now or because he’s simply prioritizing, it makes Kon want to cry again, because Tim is his best friend in the entire world, and Tim just fucking gets him.

“I think,” Kon says, “I would kill a man for some of Ma’s pie. With, uh—with the vanilla ice cream. You know how she does it.”

Tim hums in understanding. He rubs a hand up and down Kon’s back, then relinquishes him to turn smartly on his heel, phone in hand. Kon watches, mildly bewildered, as he stalks over to his brothers. “Kon wants pie.”

“Yeah, we heard, dipshit,” Jason says, and flicks Tim on the side of the head. “We have ears.”

“I have ice cream, but no pie. I guess we could run to the store and see if there’s any good ones at the bakery?” Dick sounds a little doubtful. “Or…”

Tim makes a disparaging noise. “Please. I see a perfectly good container of blueberries right there, and I have Ma Kent’s mixed berry pie recipe right here. There—just texted it to both of you.”

Wait. What? When did Tim even get that recipe? Does he just keep that on his phone at all times? What the hell?

Dick bursts out laughing. “It’s so cute when you get all bossy,” he coos, but he also turns to get the strawberries and raspberries from earlier out of the fridge. “Sure thing, chief. Not like we have anything better to do anyway.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jason huffs, but he’s examining the recipe intently, which rather undermines any petulance he’s trying to go for. “Huh… okay. Seems pretty simple.”

What is happening right now?

“I don’t have a pie crust on hand, though,” Dick frowns. “Should we go buy one, or…”

“Nah, fuck that. I know a baller recipe for a sugar cookie crust.” Jason glances down at his bandaged arm, as if only just remembering it, and adds, “You have to split the egg and roll the dough out, though, unless you want me reopening this bitch.”

“I think we’d all prefer no blood in our pie crusts,” Dick says sagely.

Jason snorts, then turns back to face Tim and Kon. “Okay. If we’re cooking, you two—out. This kitchen is not big enough for four people.”

“Uh—sure thing, bro.” Kon fires off a halfhearted salute, takes Tim’s hand, and forgoes walking; he just floats them both over to the sofa. He can’t believe that just happened. Did Tim seriously just boss his brothers into making a fresh pie for Kon?

And did it seriously work?

Kon sets them both down on the sofa and reaches for the blanket thrown over the back of it. He drapes it over his lap, and over Tim’s, and watches Dick and Jason start subdividing tasks for the crust and the filling. It’s rather surreal.

He glances over at Tim. Thunder rolls outside. Tim’s hair is getting long again; it’s in a tiny low ponytail at the base of his head, but the front strands aren’t long enough to stay back neatly, and they’re falling out, framing his face. He’s smiling, clearly pleased with himself, but when he catches Kon looking at him, his expression goes soft.

“Hey! Stop eating those, they’re for the pie!” Dick swats Jason on the head.

“Fuck off, it was just four! There’s plenty!” Jason retorts, hand full of raspberries.

Tim rolls his eyes, still smiling. “They’re ridiculous,” he says, and adjusts the blanket so that Kon’s knee is fully covered. “You know they’re just hamming it up to make you laugh, right?”

Are they? That would explain some of the silliness earlier. He did have the thought that Jason kept making him laugh while he was crying. Was that intentional?

Oh.

Kon just hums in response. It’s like the flip side to what Dick said yesterday, about fussing, and signs of love, and now his chest is all tight again, and for a moment, he really thinks he might cry, just because he feels… he’s so…

The lighthearted bickering fades into background noise. The rain pours down outside, but in the apartment they’re all safe and cozy, where the storm can’t reach. Kon’s hand finds its way into Tim’s, and he curls up, his head falling against Tim’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Tim murmurs, squeezing his hand. “You good?”

Kon squeezes back. “Not really,” he whispers back. It’s both a weight off his chest and a terrifying leap of faith all at once.

“Okay.” Tim’s thumb rubs over the base of Kon’s, slow and soothing. His heartbeat is calm and steady, an anchor to hold Kon fast no matter how much the storm swells. “That’s okay, too.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Kon asks, still hushed. In the kitchen, Jason throws a spatula at Dick’s head; Dick catches it and throws it back in the same fluid motion, laughing. Lightning flashes outside the window.

“Always.” Tim leans his cheek against Kon’s hair.

“I think,” Kon says, and licks his lips. “I think I’m really fucked up right now. But in a way, I’ve been fucked up all along. I just never knew.”

Tim is quiet for a moment, but not in a way that makes Kon more nervous than he already is. It’s the pensive kind of quiet, the one that means he wants what he says to be right. That he’s giving it actual thought, because it matters to him. It’s a quiet that always makes Kon feel a little bit cherished.

“Okay,” he finally says. His voice is soft. “This isn’t a secret, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. I don’t care how fucked up you are, or have been, or ever will be. I’m here, and I always will be right here. No matter what. I’ve got your back. I’m by your side. Wherever you want me,” and there’s a wry smile in his voice, one Kon doesn’t have to see to appreciate, “I’ll be right there.”

“You didn’t say in front of me,” Kon mumbles. His chest is tight, but he’s smiling, too. “Isn’t that where you’re supposed to be, team leader?”

“Don’t let Cassie hear you say that. She’ll call it mutiny.” Tim turns his head enough that his lips brush Kon’s hair. It’s not quite a kiss, more the suggestion of one than anything, but it’s enough to make Kon’s heart flutter all the same. “…But if that’s where you want me, that’s where I’ll be.”

“Oh,” Kon whispers, breathless. “…Okay.”

He curls closer into Tim’s side, content to sit there in his blanket, enjoying the warmth of him. In the kitchen, Dick smears flour across Jason’s cheek, and Jason retaliates by grabbing him in a headlock. In a flash they’re wrestling instead of baking, until Dick’s elbow slams into a cabinet and Jason whacks his head on the fridge handle, and Tim scoffs at both of them, shaking his head as he traces the lines in Kon’s palm.

Outside, thunder rumbles again. Rain trickles down the windowpanes. Kon’s gaze flickers to the storm, then back to the nonsense in the kitchen, where Dick and Jason have reached a truce to the tune of “Fuck, ow,” and “Shit,” and are back to collaborating on the mixed berry pie.

Tim’s shoulder is a little bony under Kon’s head, but he doesn’t care. Right now, for the first time in days, he finally feels like he’s not alone.

And it turns out that last night, Dick was right. It feels pretty nice.

Notes:

it's about the big brothering of it all (2x combo). jason would be so good at tag teaming little guys in need of big brothering along w dick, once he gets through his feral cat domestication arc (cass has the spray bottle). i believe in this with my whole heart. and since this is a future fic by several years, jason and his family have managed to work through a lot of shit. good for them :)

also, tim? keeping his favorite recipes on your phone just in case? ok gayboy we see u

HUGE sorry for not replying to comments on ch2 yet! i really want to but literally right after i posted ch2 i came down HARD with the flu. still have it rn actually :( today's the first day all week i've been like, able to read at all without my eyeballs threatening to melt out of my skull, and i'm starting to hit that wall again so im gonna have to just post this and go back to bed :( i prommy i'll reply to you guys as soon as i have enough brain cells and physical stamina to do so, i really appreciate each and every single one of u!!

on a related note im very sorry if any editorial notes to myself remain in the chapter body text. i did my best to check for them/edit them out but in case i missed smth glaringly obvious just let me know DFJKHSsJDK like this fic is all prewritten so posting is easy i just plop that bad boy onto ao3 and go "wow i sure hope i actually edited correctly before i got sick bc i sure cant do it right now!" but :(

ANYWAY umm i think thats all i had to say. you can also find me on tumblr at mamawasatesttube !!! thanks for reading ily okay bye

Chapter 4: he opened his heart

Summary:

“Proud and insolent youth,” said Hook, “prepare to meet thy doom.”
“Dark and sinister man,” Peter answered, “have at thee.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan and Wendy

Notes:

Warnings: some talk of grooming/abuse and abandonment. Also mentions of death and some on-screen violence on par with usual comics-level violence.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“You know what I think?”

Bart swings his legs back and forth fast enough they’re a blur. He’s perched on the countertop, happily munching on the fresh-baked cookie Kon just handed him, and getting crumbs all over the T-shirt he clearly stole from Cissie.

“I think the baking skills are the best part of Supes dumping Kon on the farm forever ago.” He takes another bite with a little “Mmm!” of delight, then hops down from the counter. “Well, the baked goods and the dog. Gotta love Krypto!”

Kon snorts as he pulls the second tray out of the oven. “Wooow. You only love me ‘cuz I cook for you and let you pet my dog? Really feeling the love. But hey, I get it, I get it.”

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Bart’s arm snakes around him to grab another cookie from the first tray, which, like its brethren before it, is promptly inhaled. At this rate, he’s gonna polish ‘em all off before Kon even gets the whole batch baked. “Cute dog, nice tits and ass, and a good cook. You’d make a great malewife. Plus, the invulnerability! Like, you could totally do that thing where you can cook while wearing an apron and only an apron, and you wouldn’t have to worry about oil sputters or whatever!”

Across the counter, Tim chokes.

He makes a weird, strangled noise, splutters, and starts coughing, his face red. Bart helpfully zips over to pound him on the back, while Kon gives him a sympathetic look as he preps the third cookie tray.

“Swallowed the wrong way,” he rasps, thumping himself on the chest. “Jesus. Betrayed by my own coffee.”

“Poor thing,” Bart says, not very sympathetically. “Were you thinking too hard about Kon as a malewife?”

Kon scoffs. Tim gives Bart a Look, with a capital L and everything, and just flicks him on the nose.

“Hey!”

The third tray is full of neatly-arranged little balls of cookie dough, and Kon sticks it in the oven and starts scraping the last of the dough from the sides of the bowl back to the bottom, ready to prep tray number four. It’s a decent number of cookies to have with a speedster around, though frankly Bart could polish them all off on his own if he really wanted to. The first time Kon tried this recipe, he didn’t read the fine print that said Yield: Five Dozen in Ma’s careful script, and, well.

It's handy to have a speedster on speed dial, is all he’ll say about that.

Kon’s phone buzzes a couple of times in quick succession, but he’s got cookie dough hands, so he glances at Tim. “Can you check who that is?”

“Sure thing.” Tim leans over and plucks it from Kon’s pocket, unlocks it, and softens a little. “It’s Jon. Wants to know if you have a minute.”

“For my babiest of cute, itty-bitty, widdle tiny baby brothers? Always.” Kon grins. “Tell him exactly that, please.”

Smile growing, Tim taps away at the screen. “Right. Cute, itty-bitty, little—”

“Not little,” Kon interrupts. “Widdle. There’s a difference.”

“The difference is that it’s worse,” Bart adds, helpfully.

“Yes, thank you, Bart. That’s the point.” Kon starts scooping dough into the first little ball. “It’s my legal obligation and moral imperative to annoy him. That’s the big bro rules. Just ask Dick, he’ll back me up.”

“He sent back—let me see—that’s twenty-three eye-rolling emojis,” Tim reports.

Kon laughs outright. “You counted them? Dork.” Of course Tim would.

“It’s just quick multiplication. Only so many fit per line of text, plus the remainder on the partial line.” Tim rolls his eyes, too—Kon is half-tempted to ask if he’ll do it twenty-three times, but he’s afraid the asshole would actually try it and give himself a headache or something.

“Yeah, okay, nerdlord. Ask him what’s up?” Kon smacks Bart’s hand away from the bowl of dough the same way he might Krypto’s sneaky paws. “Hey.”

Bart has the gall to whine at him. Just like Krypto. “But Koooooon…”

“He wants to know if you have a minute to spare to help him with his history homework. Still typing.” Tim waits a beat. “And also wants to know if he can just come over to do it at your place.”

“Tell him I’m at the Tower, but there’s cookies if he wants to come over here,” Kon offers. Tim dutifully nods and types away.

Not a minute later, there’s a knock on the kitchen window, the westward one overlooking the Pacific. Jon, hovering outside, is in costume, and Kon has to swallow a laugh at the sight of his schoolboy backpack awkwardly worn over his cape.

“Yo, Jonner! You know there’s a door on the balcony, right?” Despite that, he flicks the locks open with TTK and pushes the window open to let Jon in.

“Yeah, Konathan, but that’s all the way on the other side of the building!” Jon complains. All mock disgruntlement vanishes in an instant, though, as he sniffs the air. “Oh man, those smell so good! I swear, you make ‘em just like Ma.” He beams, closes the window behind himself (because he’s a polite kid), and washes his hands before he snags a cookie, too.

“Cassie better get here soon, or there won’t be any left for her,” Bart jokes. It’s true; there’s only two left on the first tray, and trays two and three are still in the oven. Kon hasn’t even gotten to eat any yet.

“That’s what she gets for going on dates with Cissie on Friday afternoons. If she wanted cookies, she’d get here as early as the rest of us.” This is a bald-faced lie. Kon will make another batch of dough to make sure Cassie gets cookies if he has to. He just knows better than to say that in front of Bart, who will be delighted to ensure that that happens.

“Aw, I won’t have any more. I didn’t mean to be eating her share,” Jon says sheepishly, as if Bart hasn’t eaten ten out of the first fifteen cookies alone.

Kon pokes the tip of his nose with a doughy finger, grinning at Jon’s squawk of protest. “You are so not the problem, string bean.”

Jon huffs and scrubs the cookie dough off on one hand, then licks it. “Oh,” he says, clearly delighted. “That’s good.”

He swipes a finger into the bowl to snag a dollop, and Kon rolls his eyes but lets him have it. He’s out of space in the fourth tray anyway, and there’s barely any dough left in the bowl. Whatever.

“Hey!” Bart protests. “You smacked me for trying that! This is unfair treatment!”

“Jon gets baby bro privileges. Are you my babiest cute, itty-bitty, widdle, tiny baby brother? Obviously not, so no cookie dough for you. Besides, you’d just suck up the entire bowl. Like a vacuum cleaner.”

Bart puffs out his cheeks petulantly, but then grows thoughtful. “Between me and Krypto… who do you think makes a better Hoover for food?”

Kon opens his mouth to answer, finds that he doesn’t have any words, and closes it again. Tim just starts laughing.

“I think Krypto has you beat,” Jon says, cocking his head thoughtfully, “but it’s a close one.”

Bart nods. “I can see it.”

With the fourth tray ready to go in the oven as soon as the second comes out, Kon sets the dough bowl in the sink and washes his hands. Drying them on his apron, he ruffles Jon’s hair. “Okay, chickpea. Lay it on me. What’s the sitch?”

Jon deflates a little. Kon immediately squares up, at least in his head. Does he have to fight a Metropolis Academy history teacher? He’ll fight a Met Aca history teacher. He doesn’t give a fuck.

“It’s this AP World practice exam thing,” Jon huffs, dumping his backpack on a barstool to pull out a binder. “Most of it I’m fine on, but there’s a DBQ at the end and there’s these two documents in it I can’t make head or tails of, like… I dunno how to include them with the rest or what their relevance even is, and I just know Mr. Watkins will take off points if I just ignore ‘em…”

Mr. Watkins, eh. Kon makes a mental note.

“He dock points on your stuff a lot?” he asks, coming around to examine the essay prompt packet in the front pocket of Jon’s binder. “Also—shoo, go get into something comfy and come back. We’re all in loungewear. You’re way overdressed.”

Jon snorts, disappears in a blur, and reappears in one of Kon’s old T-shirts (an incredibly gaudy tie-dye affair he got at a Pride festival one time) and jeans. The shirt is still a little too big on him; he’s shot up, but he’s still growing into the broad shoulders they both seem to have inherited from Clark, and the fabric hangs off him loosely. It’s incredibly endearing, even if this is exactly how Kon has lost many cool shirts and jackets in the past.

Little thief. He knows he’s cute enough to get away with it. He got all his dad’s innocent looks and all his mom’s guile.

“Mr. Watkins isn’t the worst, so you can stop fantasizing about punching him,” Jon says. “Do you even know what he looks like?”

Tim snorts. The oven timer beeps, and before Kon can turn to handle it, Tim slips off his barstool and goes to pull the second tray out of the oven, then replaces it with the waiting fourth and resets the timer. Kon has a brief fantasy of dipping him in front of the cooling rack and kissing him sweetly in the moonlight. Sunlight. Whatever.

“I was not fantasizing about punching him!” he huffs, turning his attention back to Jon. “I was just… keeping it in reserve. As an option.”

Jon laughs. “Whatever you say. He’s like, not a bad teacher, he’s just… a hardass, you know? And he hasn’t forgiven me for missing that one mid-semester test… Mom was pretty mad about that too. And you know what? So am I! I had to miss a big test for Condiment King.”

He sounds so peeved about it that Tim, Kon, and Bart all laugh, voices ringing out in the kitchen. Jon folds his arms across his chest and huffs a little, but he’s too amused himself to hide his grin for long.

“Right? Of all the villains to have to run off and deal with. Like, dude, this isn’t even your place! And I mean, I get getting sick of Gotham, but—”

“Hey now,” Tim interjects.

“No, he’s right.” Bart swats Tim on the shoulder. “Your city is the worst. This is universally agreed upon.”

“Yeah,” Kon agrees. “Sorry, but it’s true. You gotta stop living in denial someday, babe.”

“No, I know Gotham’s the worst.” Tim steals the last cookie from Tray One before Bart can grab it, which is impressive. “But only people from Gotham are allowed to dunk on it.”

“Like Condiment King did?” Jon asks sweetly. Kon immediately holds his hand up for a high-five. Jon returns it with fervor.

Tim’s lips twitch. “I suppose so.”

“Anyway, I gotta get a good grade on this essay or else Mom will give me the ‘I’m not mad, I just know you can do better’ lecture again,” Jon sighs. He looks so genuinely dejected over this concept that Kon loops an arm around his shoulders and tugs him into his side; Jon flops at him, letting him take a good chunk of his weight. “Kooooon. You gotta help me. Ma said you were good at history, and you’re majoring in something… kinda history-adjacent, so…”

“You don’t gotta persuade me!” Kon laughs, giving him a fond squeeze. “I’m here, let’s figure this out. So, what’s the prompt? Lessee…”

He leans over to peer at the packet. Evaluate the extent to which the processes of empire-building affected political structures in the period 1500–1900, the front page states, followed by a few pages of documents. Yeesh. Kon remembers this shit. He does not miss high school.

Skimming through, he gets a quick idea of what it’s looking for, nods to himself, and looks to Jon. “Okay. So, what’ve you got? Hit me.”

“Well, I know I wanna group one, four, and five together, right, since they all mention economy stuff? But at the same time, one and four specifically could be used to talk about cultural disruption, but then that leaves five and three both kinda… not the same as the rest, but it feels shitty to talk about the vassal system and the Mughal empire’s rajah system only as they pertain to the economy…”

Jon rambles on about the documents and his thoughts, how he’s unsure what’s the best way to group them to write a thesis, and how he feels like he can’t be super objective when discussing colonialism sometimes, still leaning into Kon’s side as he talks. Kon nods and “hm” and “uh-huh”s along, but honestly, he’s more focused on Jon himself than on the essay.

His cheeks are still so rounded. His limbs are long and ganglier than they used to be, but he’s got such a baby face. His jaw isn’t sharp like his dad’s is, yet, and his eyes are still bigger, cuter. There’s a smattering of freckles across his nose.

That’s his baby brother. He’s still just a kid.

I was just a kid, Kon thinks, and immediately slams that thought to a halt before it can drag him anywhere while Jon needs him.

“…so, yeah,” Jon finishes, frowning. “I dunno. I think I’m stuck.” He drops his head against Kon’s shoulder with an explosive sigh. “I hate history. Bleh.”

Kon ruffles his hair. “You’re doing fine, bean sprout. In my opinion, you can make both groupings work—neither’s inherently worse than the other. You just gotta stick to your guns whichever you decide, and build your thesis around it.”

“Who is this, and what did he do to Kon,” Bart loudly whispers to Tim. “Is this a Match situation again?”

“Hey! I can be good at school if I wanna.” Kon uses TTK to send a touch skimming over the counter and up Bart’s arm to tug lightly on his hair in reprimand; Bart yanks his hand away from the counter and glares. “You keep that kinda talk up and no more cookies for you, Allen!”

“Ooh, scary,” Bart teases.

“I think Kon can be smart if he wants to,” Tim says. “All that time around Ma has to have rubbed off on him, after all.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cuz you think he’d make a cute professor.” Bart rolls his eyes.

“Professor?” Kon wrinkles his nose. “No way, man. I’d rather be a malewife. You could not pay me to deal with students.”

“Well, that is generally what they do with professors,” Tim points out wryly. “But we digress. Sorry, Jon. The peanut gallery will try to keep out of your study session.”

“Speak for yourself, peanut.” Bart eyes the second tray. “I think I’m more of a cashew. We should make the cashew gallery a thing. Or am I a walnut?”

Jon peels away from Kon’s side, gets two cookies from the second tray, and comes back to stand by Kon. He smushes the first cookie into Kon’s face with one hand, takes a bite of the second, and nearly spits it all over himself at the incredibly unimpressed look Kon is leveling at him.

“Seriously?” Kon asks, muffled by the cookie Jon is still shoving at his mouth. Jon giggles around his mouthful. “I make you cookies, I help you with your homework, and you do this?”

He takes the cookie from Jon’s hand, scrubs the crumbs and oil from his cheek and chin, and huffs. Then he takes a proper bite of the cookie.

It’s delicious.

“Man, fuck me sideways, I am such a good baker,” he sighs blissfully, chocolate melting on his tongue. Ma’s recipes never fail. “Bart’s right. I am the best malewife.”

“Hell yeah I’m right!” Bart blows him a kiss.

“Gross,” Jon says automatically, and elbows Kon to get his attention. “So anyway, you think the important part is just… whether you can argue it either way about where you put documents three and five? Because I was thinking…”

Eventually, Kon and Jon relocate to the sitting room by the balcony. The windows, like the one in the kitchen, face west, and in the late afternoon they let in a big patch of warm, cozy sunlight that sings a siren song just for Kryptonians; Tim and Bart follow, plates of cookies in hand. While Jon and Kon settle into the sunshine to finish discussing Jon’s essay, Tim and Bart turn on the TV to play some video games.

Jon makes a good bit of progress on writing his essay before, inevitably, the coziness of their patch of sunshine gets to be too much, and he dozes off, sprawled out on one half of a sofa with his cheek smushed against Kon’s shoulder. It’s very, very cute, particularly in that horrendous tie-dye shirt (and, yeah, Kon is never getting that back now).

Carefully, Kon shifts him to lay more comfortably, stretched out along the sofa with his head on a pillow in Kon’s lap. Jon’s eyelashes are long and dark against his cute lil baby cheeks, and maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but his freckles seem even more apparent in the sunset glow.

God, Kon’s little brother is a cutie pie. No wonder Kon’s so wrapped around his little finger.

“Lil dipshit,” he murmurs fondly, brushing Jon’s hair back from his forehead with a gentle hand. Jon snuffles in his sleep.

“And that,” Bart says, not taking his eyes from the screen, “is why Kon is both a malewife and a milf. Take notes.”

The four of them are still sitting like that when Cassie arrives, the sun kissing the sea at the horizon as she opens the door. Her hair is still damp from a shower, sticking up at funny angles from the wind of her flight, and her face is alight with joy.

Kon holds one finger to his lips with an easy grin, raising the other hand in a relaxed wave. Cassie’s eyebrows shoot up, but as she comes around the couch she spots Jon and melts.

“Awww,” she coos, voice low. “I didn’t know he was joining us tonight.”

“He needed homework help, so he showed up to ask Kon,” Tim explains, and then hisses a swear under his breath as Bart’s character knocks his off the stage again. “Shit. Also, hi, Cassie. Good to see you—Bart, that’s just unnecessary!”

Bart cackles, though to his credit he does so more quietly than usual. “Git gud, Drake!” He puts down the controller as his victory banner scrolls across the screen, jumps out of his seat, and throws himself into Cassie’s arms; she catches him easily, twirls him around, and plants a loud, smacking kiss on his forehead as she sets him down. “Cassie! We made cookies and I didn’t even eat ‘em all to make sure you have some. Are you proud of me?”

“And by ‘we’ made cookies,” Tim says wryly, “I think you know what Bart means.”

Laughing, Cassie reaches for one of the cookies still piled in the plate Tim brought in. “I’m very proud, Bart. I’m sure you were a great help making them.”

“I told him to sit there and look pretty,” Kon says. “Opinions may vary on whether he managed it, though…”

Bart cheerfully flips him off. Kon flips him off right back.

Cassie shrugs her jacket off, runs her hands through her hair to try and calm it down (it doesn’t really work), and perches on the armrest next to Kon, leaning on his shoulder. Excitement thrums through her. “So, guys, I have some big news to share, and a favor to ask, aaaand guess what?”

Tim sits up straighter, an incredulous grin spreading over his face. “Oh shit, really? That’s awesome, Cass! When do you—tomorrow?”

Kon frowns. “Bart, would you please—?”

Bart picks up a pillow and bops Tim across the face with it. Tim makes a muffled noise of protest as Bart bops him again, and once more for good measure. “Hey, dicktective-face! Either fill the rest of us in or let Cassie finish!”

“Thanks, Bart. I know I can always count on you,” Kon says.

Bart takes a bow. “Anytime.”

Tim, his hair all ruffled, makes a disgruntled noise and huffs at them both. He snatches the pillow and tosses at Bart’s head, but of course, Bart dodges effortlessly. “Fuck you guys.”

“Buy me dinner first, sweet cheeks.” Kon winks.

“And me,” Bart adds. “It’s a good thing you got that Wayne money, ‘cuz I am not a cheap date.”

Cassie smothers her laughter in her hands. Kon looks up at her, amusement at Tim and Bart fading into warm, gooey fondness; she looks so genuinely happy that it’s got him all melty and soft on the inside. He loves seeing his best friends happy.

“Tim got it in one, surprising literally nobody,” she says, and giggles again, giddy. “Okay, okay, okay. Here goes.” She takes a deep breath, clasps her hands together, and bounces in place a little. “I… wanna propose to Cissie, and I want you guys to come ring shopping with me!”

Oh?

Oh?!

Oh, holy fucking shit!!!!

Okay, forget letting Jonno nap—Kon lets out an elated whoop and twists up to hug her. Jon jolts up with a confused noise, and Cassie laughs and hugs Kon back, tight as only someone with superstrength can.

“Cass!” Kon squeezes her harder. Bart throws himself at them both, literally vibrating with excitement. “That’s amazing! Fuck yeah, I’d love to come with.”

“Me too! Me too! Me too!” Bart buzzes.

“Thanks, you guys!” Cassie squeezes them both, draws back, and then arches a brow at Tim, who’s lounging on a beanbag and watching them with a terribly fond smile. “Hey, bitch, didn’t you get the group hug memo?”

“Coming, coming,” Tim says, hauling himself up.

Jon slumps against Kon’s back. “Why are we group hugging? Not that I’m complaining, but…?”

Laughing, Cassie leans over and ruffles his hair. “I’m gonna propose to Cissie! I’m excited. I don’t have concrete plans figured out yet, but… I know I want to. We talked about getting married after we left the gym today, and… I really, really want to.”

“Oh, wow! That’s real exciting, Cassie. Congrats!” Jon beams, then stretches out and finds the plate on the coffee table. “Have a cookie!”

“Thank you.” Cassie accepts it with grace, but her joy is too fierce to restrain, and she breaks out into another fit of giggles as she tries to eat it. “Ah, man, you guuuys, I’m so excited! We can go shopping in SF tomorrow, right?”

“Hell yeah we can!” Kon gives her another little squeeze. “And we gotta party about this tonight. We totally do.”

“Oh, for sure to both,” Tim agrees. “Regarding tonight, I vote we go full teenage sleepover style as a throwback. Truth or dare, board games, all that bullshit.”

“And a pillow fort?” Bart asks.

“As if that’s even a question.” Tim says.

“I am so in.” Cassie grabs the pillow Tim threw at Bart earlier to give it an excited squeeze, squealing and jumping up and down. “I’m so excited!”

Kon’s phone buzzes in his pocket as they start discussing what games to play. Jon yawns and snuggles back into his side, which makes it a little harder to pull his phone out, but that’s exactly what TTK is good for.

The concerned message on the screen makes him raise an eyebrow and nudge his little brother.

“Yo, Jonno. You forgot to tell your dad you were coming out here.”

Jon grumbles. “He’s your dad, too,” he mutters, huffing. “Bleh. I’ve barely been gone, like, an hour. He’s so fussy.”

Oh, Kon thinks vaguely, as the joy and contentment in his chest threaten to freeze solid. Well, I’m going to be sad about that later.

“It’s not a bad thing that he worries about you, string bean.” He turns his head, something in his rib cage aching, and only belatedly realizes that it’s his heart. He brushes a kiss to the top of Jon’s head. “It’s good. It means that he cares.”

Jon huffs. “Yeah, I know he cares. He’s a worry-wart. But I get you.” He heaves a sigh that turns into another yawn, hauls himself to his feet, and stretches. “Mmf… ‘kay. Guess I should get home, then, before he shows up here to fret at me.”

“Yeah, good plan.” There’s no way Kon wants to look at Clark right now, not when his heart aches like this. He’s still figuring out his whole… everything, and Clark’s warmth and caring will only hurt. He just knows it. “I’ll see you ‘round, kiddo.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the homework help!” Jon gives him a sunny smile, then turns to his friends. “Congrats again, Cassie. Bye, Tim, bye, Bart!”

And then he picks up his backpack and he’s gone. The room feels a little emptier in his wake.

So Kon does what he’s best at. He takes that emptiness and shoves it deep down until he can’t feel it anymore, and he reaches for a grin to charm the world.

“So!” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get to that partying, yeah?”

Tim narrows his eyes slightly, and Kon knows he’s caught. Tim, at least, knows something is up with him. Well, he supposes, it ain’t rocket science, and even if he hadn’t been there at Dick’s place last weekend, Tim’s always been good at reading him.

Still, he sends Tim a pleading look. Not now. Please. Right now isn’t about him; this is about Cassie’s joy, and the four of them sharing it, and it’s not like Kon’s baggage is going anywhere.

In lieu of a response, Tim flops onto the sofa and throws his legs over Kon’s lap, filling the void Jon left. His touch is familiar, and that uncertain feeling in Kon’s chest eases; his smile feels more natural on his face as he lays a hand on Tim’s knee.

“Sure,” Tim says. “Party time. What first?”

“What is this?” Kon asks. “Am I just furniture today? Do I look that comfortable? What is it about me that just makes me—”

“Malewife,” Bart and Cassie both say simultaneously, and without turning to each other, high five. Kon groans.

“As our resident girlboss,” Cassie continues, “I’m making the executive decision that we’re starting with Mario Party. Also, we’re doing teams and I call Bart.”

“Woo!” Bart cheers.

Bart always wins the minigames. Having him on anyone’s team is an unfair advantage. But, Kon supposes, they are celebrating Cassie’s impending engagement or whatever, so…

“We’ll lose with dignity,” he tells Tim, and holds out his hand.

“Highly debatable at best,” Tim answers, and they shake on it.

(Tim’s right, in the end. Tim’s right about most things. It’s one of his most annoying traits. But Kon can’t be too vexed this time around, because at least when they go down, they go down together.)

Dick G. [09:21 PM]
[video053.mp4 attached]
I got Haley a new toy, but she was more interested in the bag it came in…

Conner K. [09:24 PM]
oh my GODDDDD
oh my god shes so precious and stupid oh my god
hales. you put the bag on your own head. you can also take it off the SAME WAY

Dick G. [09:25 PM]
She didn’t figure that part out. I had to help her 😂😂😂😂

Conner K. [09:25 PM]
oh… oh no, babygirl…
well at least she seemed entertained by it? lmaoooo

Dick G. [09:26 PM]
No kidding.
I took the handle off her head and she immediately barked at me for it.
Heroism truly is thankless work ✊😔

Conner K. [09:26 PM]
cheers bro ill drink to that 🥂

Something wakes Kon in the dead of night.

Groggy, barely awake, he squints into the darkness of his bedroom. Krypto is a warm, heavy lump on his left leg, paws twitching in his sleep. Whatever woke Kon, it wasn’t a threat; Krypto doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. All the lights in the farmhouse are still off, and the sun isn’t up yet.

Kon blinks up at the ceiling. Why is he awake?

Only then does he register the silhouette hovering near the foot of his bed, the extra heartbeat thrumming in the room. He blinks again.

“…Bart?”

Bart flinches violently, his whole body jerking in surprise. His shoulders hunch in, and his arms wrap around himself, and something is clearly wrong. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, I just sorta thought—well, I guess I wasn’t really thinking at all, I just ran over here—it was stupid of me, huh, it’s been forever, and—”

Kon shakes his head, reaches for the covers, and pulls them aside. He recognizes what’s happening now. It’s just been a long time since it last happened, is all. Caught him by surprise.

“Nah, s’all good. C’mere,” he says, and pats the mattress.

Bart hesitates for a heartbeat that must feel more like a lifetime to him, but his shoulders slump, and then he’s suddenly in Kon’s bed and burrowing into his chest, sniffling. Kon pulls the covers up, tucks them snugly around him, and drapes an arm over his waist, resting his chin atop Bart’s fluffy head.

“S’okay, Bart,” he murmurs. Bart sniffles again and clutches a desperate fistful of his shirt. “I’m here. We’re okay.”

Bart takes a shaky breath. “Yeah. I—yeah, I know. I just—I had to make sure, it just—you know, when you wake up and it’s a bad dream and it was so, so real—

Kon hugs him closer, wrapping his TTK around him too just for extra comfort. Bart trails off and smushes his face into Kon’s shoulder, and Kon smiles slightly as Bart’s nose bumps into his collarbone.

“Yeah,” he says, and nuzzles Bart’s hair. “I know.”

It’s been a while since Bart last had a nightmare about Superboy Prime. It’s been even longer since Bart had one so bad it sent him sprinting across the country from Alabama up to Kansas in the blink of an eye, just to make sure Kon was still breathing. But a few years ago, right after the two of them came back from the 30th century, this happened all the time. Even now, Kon suspects Bart hasn’t fully forgiven himself for Prime’s escape from the Speed Force letting him kill Kon. Even though that wasn’t at all Bart’s fault.

“It’s so stupid,” Bart whispers again. “I just, I wasn’t sure and I had to check and—and that’s so stupid, it’s been so long, I don’t—I don’t know why I still freaked out this bad, I thought I was over this, but…”

Kon’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. They may rag on each other all the time, but Bart is one of his very best friends in the entire world, and hearing him so devastated makes Kon ache. Especially when he’s devastated over Kon himself.

“Hey.” He takes Bart’s hand where it’s clenched into a fist, grasping a handful of Kon’s T-shirt, and gently but firmly pries his fingers apart, until he gets Bart’s hand to lay flat on his chest, over his heart. “I’m right here, Bart. We’re okay, okay? Deep breaths, buddy.”

Bart takes a deep, shuddering inhale, blows it out in a huge sigh, and slumps against Kon, tension slowly easing from his body. “…Yeah. Okay.”

Kon hums. “Good. And, hey. You know you’re always welcome here. I don’t mind you dropping in anytime.”

Bart fidgets a little—that’s more like it—and huffs. “I knooow, but I still feel bad disturbing you. Like, just because speedster sleep is always shit-tier doesn’t mean yours has gotta be, too.”

Kon shrugs. “I don’t mind. ‘Sides, I sleep better with someone there, honestly.”

And that’s true. Having Krypto sleep next to him for the first time was honestly a game-changer. It’s kinda stupid, but before that, Kon never really liked sleeping; sure, sleep on its own wasn’t bad, but the moment between being asleep and awake was always, without fail, disorienting as hell. He’d be cozily asleep, feel like he was floating, and then jolt awake in a panic, convinced he was back in the tube, before slamming back into reality and remembering he was in a bed.

Having another heartbeat there, feeling Krypto’s warmth pressed into his side, made waking up way less stressful. Having Bart here is the same way. Like, a double boon to his sleep abilities, or something.

“Mmmmf.” Bart groans, muffled into Kon’s shirt. “Yeah, I know.”

He does. This is, after all, not the first time they’ve done this particular song and dance. Kon smiles softly, scrunches a hand through Bart’s untamable hair, and closes his eyes again, cozy. “Yeah. So. You okay?”

Bart makes a vague noise that really could go either way. “Mmnnnnyeh?”

“That tells me a lot.” Kon pokes him in the back. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I dunno.” Bart smushes his face into Kon’s chest again. “Dreamed you were dead. That sucked. Also dreamed you stayed dead this time. Like, we never got you back. That also sucked. What else is there to say? It was a sucky dream?”

It’s not like Bart to be at a loss for words. That, more than anything, tells Kon just how disturbing his nightmares must’ve been.

God, Ma’s right. They’re all too young to have this much PTSD.

“I just, I like…” Bart blows out a breath. “You know how sometimes dreams freak me out ‘cuz I feel like I’m in VR again? It was like, that, but on top of the other extra suckiness, and then Max ‘n’ Helen are out of town so I woke up and there was no one home and it extra freaked me out, and… yeah.”

Kon hums understandingly. “Yeah, makes sense. Being alone and freaking out is never a good combo.”

“Exactly!” Bart lifts his head for the first time, peering up at Kon with eyes that shine even in the dimness. “You get it. So… yeah. And now here I am.”

“Here you are,” Kon agrees, and lightly kisses his forehead. “I’m glad you came over. Way better to let me take care of you than to flip out alone.”

That makes Bart laugh. “God, you are such a mom,” he teases, and snuggles in more comfortably, winding his arm around Kon’s neck and holding onto him like he’s an oversized teddy bear. “…Thanks, Conner.”

“Anytime, man.” Kon pats his back.

They lie together in silence for a few minutes. Bart yawns, nestling himself into Kon’s chest. Krypto’s paws twitch in his sleep, his tail thumping against the mattress as he dreams, and Bart lifts his head to watch him, amused. It only gets better when Krypto drifts a few inches off the bed, paws twitching, and then yips—it’s clearly supposed to be a full bark, with how much his chest moves, but what comes out is just a tiny squeak, and Bart guffaws.

Kon grins. “He does that a lot, when he sleeps deep enough.” Krypto yips again, tail wagging. He’s still floating, too. Weirdo.

“So do you,” Bart says.

Kon blinks. “I do not bark in my sleep!”

Bart smacks his shoulder. “Yeah, you float, stupid!”

“Oh.” Kon huffs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that from multiple sources, so I guess it must be true.”

“Ooh, multiple sources?” Bart sing-songs. “And here I thought we had something special. You sleeping with other people behind my back? Conner, I’m heartbroken.

It’s a joke, but something uncomfortable still twists in Kon’s stomach. “Yeah, well, you know me,” he says lamely. “Always a player.”

Bart props himself up on an elbow and frowns, leaning in to peer at Kon’s face intently. It’s too dark for him to make much out—there’s barely any light out here on the farm—but he stares so furiously that Kon almost wants to hide under the blankets, like the little kid he never was.

“Okay, no.” Bart pokes his nose. “Spill. Your turn. I already told you what’s up with me, so fair’s fair. You’ve been weird lately, you know. And you just started getting weird again.”

Kon groans. “Does everyone know?”

Bart makes a distinctly unimpressed sound. “We’re your friends, Kon. We know you. Of course we can tell when you’re unhappy.”

“It’s just…” Kon shakes his head, slow and uncertain. He’s not used to feeling so on the back foot all the time, and he’s really getting sick of it. “I dunno. I dunno how to talk about it yet. I just…”

Rather uncharacteristically, Bart waits. It’s probably a sign of how worried he is, that he’s willing to be patient. Now Kon feels guilty, on top of everything else. Ugh.

“If you… if you’d shown up here, and you’d never had Max, or Wally, or Jay or Joan or anybody,” he finally says, and bites his lip hard enough to hurt. Bart is a warm, solid weight against him; that comfort might be the only reason he manages to get the words out. “What… do you think would’ve happened to you?”

Bart is quiet for a long, long moment.

“Nothing good,” he finally says. His voice is somber and troubled, two words that should never apply to Bart Allen if Kon has anything to say about it, and he kind of hates that it’s his fault they apply right now. “Definitely nothing good.”

“Yeah.” Kon closes his eyes. There’s a strange sort of sanctity in admitting it to the darkness, his voice hushed. “I… think that’s what happened to me.”

“Oh.” Bart is quiet again. Then he wraps his arms around Kon’s neck, throws a leg over his hips, and holds on tight. “…’m sorry. I love you.”

Kon tucks his face into Bart’s hair and breathes out, slow and measured. That was easier than he thought it’d be; relief makes his heart stutter in his chest. “I love you, too.”

Thunk!

Both of them jolt as Krypto yelps. The second he realizes what just happened, Kon drops his head back against his pillow and groans.

“Krypto,” he sighs. Krypto, now awake, notices Bart, wags his tail, and picks his way across the bed to sniff him in greeting. “Did you just whack your tail against my bed and scare yourself awake with the noise… again? Buddy, that’s the fourth time this week! Tell me you didn’t leave a dent this time.”

Bart laughs loud enough that the knot in Kon’s chest starts to unwind. “Oh, man.” He reaches down to scratch behind Krypto’s ears, and Krypto licks his hand once, then circles and settles back down against Kon’s legs. “Kon, I don’t think your dog is the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“He can be. He just chooses not to be very often. But it’s okay, ‘cuz he’s a good boy.” Krypto’s tail wags at the words, thumping against the duvet, and Kon smiles. “Yeah, you are, doofus. You’re the best doof in the entire world.”

Krypto sneezes.

Bart laughs again. “We were having a moment,” he says, and then as if flipping a switch, latches onto Kon again, burying his face right back into the crook of his neck. “Like this. There.”

“And you say I’m the mom.” Kon hugs him back and sighs, content. He and Bart have always been the clingiest two in their group, especially after they both died and came back together. It’s nice, having someone else who likes casual cuddles just as much as him.

“You are.” Bart pats his shoulder. “You’re our cool, sexy group mom.”

“Does that make me a milf?” Kon ponders. “I wanna be squad milf.”

“Kon,” Bart says solemnly, “you can be anything you want to be.”

That makes Kon snort, rolling his eyes even though he knows Bart can’t see his face. “That was corny as hell, oh my god.”

Bart pinches his side, which honestly tickles more than it hurts, and Kon smothers a giggle. “Yeah, well, you’re a farm boy. You’re supposed to like corn!”

Both of them share a nice, sensible chuckle at that. The moment settles, and Kon closes his eyes again.

“Also,” Bart pipes up again, breaking the silence, “you have literally been our squad milf for years. This is not news. You’ve been the mom friend since day one.”

Kon opens his mouth to protest. “I have not—”

“You literally carry granola bars to throw at my head if I get too hungry mid-battle, you have a whole miniature first aid kit on hand at all times, and you fuss at everyone when we get injured. Don’t think Cassie ‘n’ I didn’t see you fretting over Tim when he had that nasty cold a few months back, either. You made him soup.”

Kon, who is definitely, totally, not at all pouting, maybe pouts a little bit. “Soup helps when you’re sick. Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, just like everyone knows you’re a milf.” Bart may have his head tucked under Kon’s chin, but he makes it very clear that he’s rolling his eyes anyway. “Now go to sleep, your royal milfiness.”

“Oh, says the one who keeps talking!” Kon lightly tugs a lock of his hair in protest.

Bart kicks him in answer. “I have a reason to talk a lot until I fall asleep. I have a speedster brain. I can’t just turn it off. Do you know how annoying it is to lie awake in bed when your mind is going, like, twenty miles a second, and that’s slow for it? Sheesh.” He pauses for a moment, yawns, and then pats Kon’s back. “…But seriously. You still look sad. You should sleep. It’ll help! Probably.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Kon mutters.

Bart laughs at that. “No, you’re the kettle. You drink way more tea than I do.”

“I don’t think you can be friends with Cass—uh, Bat Cass, not Wonder Cass—without developing a thing for tea.” Besides, Ma likes her afternoon tea a lot, too. Alfred got her a sampler set of a whole bunch of different floral ones a while ago. “Besides, saying ‘pot, meet kettle’ implies that you’re the pot. So I already agreed with you anyway.”

“Oh.” Bart blows out a little huffy breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, whatever. The point is, you should go to sleep.”

“So should you,” Kon returns. He has to admit, though, he is getting pretty groggy again. Bart’s good for snuggles like that. Stifling a yawn, he asks, “Think you’ll fall asleep soon?”

Bart hums thoughtfully. “…Yeah, I think probably in a little bit, yeah.”

“Okay.” Kon hugs him a little closer, just like the teddy bear he is. “Night, Bart.”

“Nighty-night, Kon.” Bart gives him a mighty squeeze. “Sleep good!”

Kon smiles, and once again closes his eyes.

gotta go fast [08:47 AM]
poll! who here thinks kon is a milf?
all in favor say aye!

resting butch face [08:48 AM]
how is this even a question??????
AYE AYE AYE AYE AYE
i literally dated the guy bc i wanted his gender so bad. that’s a milf

area 51 escapee 👽😳 [08:48 AM]
you get gender envy over milfs???

resting butch face [08:49 AM]
no but your milfiness added to it
you just had this punk twunk thing going on that’s extra 👀💦 bc of the milf tendencies
i mean youre more hunk now but back then yk. twunky. but u still have the milf gender
its like. idk. a certain gnc quoi

area 51 escapee 👽😳 [08:49 AM]
GNC QUOI

gotta go fast [08:50 AM]
YEESSSSS THAT’S EXACTLY IT!!!!
cassie gets it!!!
of course cassie gets it. what am i saying
theres no WAY cassie wouldn’t get it!!!! the milf charm hit her first!!!

area 51 escapee 👽😳 [08:50 AM]
its me, your hot local alien milf ;)

gotta go fast [08:51 AM]
milf but from area 51?

resting butch face has changed area 51 escapee 👽😳’s nickname to Hot Single Milfs In YOUR Area 51.

Hot Single Milfs In YOUR Area 51 [08:52 AM]
HHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAAHA
YES!!!!!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

gotta go fast [08:53 AM]
CASSIE OSAKJDKAJSHDKAJHS

resting butch face [08:53 AM]
😎😎😎😎😎😎

freak in the spreadsheets [08:54 AM]
q7e’

resting butch face [08:54 AM]
…thanks for your contribution, tim.

gotta go fast [08:54 AM]
do you think he dropped his phone on his face again? or was that just sleeptyping?
q7e’… it’s a code… he’s trying to communicate… he needs to tell us something…
what is it boy what do you see????

Hot Single Milfs In YOUR Area 51 [08:55 AM]
no no
he was trying to say “aye”
q is right next to a. 7 is above y. e is e. ‘ is next to enter/send

gotta go fast [08:55 AM]
e is e
lmao

resting butch face [08:56 AM]
oh my god???? how did you figure that out omg

Hot Single Milfs In YOUR Area 51 [08:56 AM]
and to think! they call bats the worlds greatest detective. smh
bet he’s not half the tim-whisperer i am!!! B)

freak in the spreadsheets [08:57 AM]
🥵

gotta go fast [08:57 AM]
what

resting butch face [08:57 AM]
what

Hot Single Milfs In YOUR Area 51 [08:57 AM]
yeah i got nothin on this one

freak in the spreadsheets [08:58 AM]
*👍
sry they wer e next to eahc otger i my recenys
yo u guys are blowinh up my phone
in going back to slerp. bye

gotta go fast [08:58 AM]
ok yea that’s on me for conducting a poll before noon
BUT WAIT. HE SAID AYE
KON SQUAD MILF CONFIRMED!!!!!!!! UNANIMOUS!!!!!!
I LOVE BEING RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

resting butch face [08:59 AM]
going back to slerp lol

gotta go fast [08:59 AM]
slerp

Hot Single Milfs In YOUR Area 51 [09:00 AM]
slerp

resting butch face [09:00 AM]
slerp

gotta go fast has changed freak in the spreadsheets’s nickname to slerp.

gotta go fast [09:00 AM]
gottem.

resting butch face [09:01 AM]
nice.

Hot Single Milfs In YOUR Area 51 [09:01 AM]
nice.

slerp [12:04 PM]
i hate all of you.

“Kon! Down!”

Kara’s shout barely registers in his ears before Kon drops to the ground, cracked concrete and rubble digging into his palms. A beam of bright energy shoots overhead, crackling with heat as it sizzles through the air where he stood less than a second before. In its wake, Kon can smell the sharp tang of ozone.

Yikes. Close one.

“Thanks!” He jumps to his feet and flashes Kara a grin and a thumbs-up, and she returns both before she shoots back into the sky. He watches her go just for a moment, admiring her arc in the air as she dives in to pummel the killer robots that are currently tearing their way up Metropolis’s Main Street.

So, yeah. Just another regular Tuesday.

Kara and Kal have the offensive covered. Kon, as the only one around with TTK, is on evacuating civilians duty, and he takes that shit seriously. The beam that he just dodged went straight through the corner of an apartment building, and the only reason it didn’t hit anyone inside is that it took out a laundry room and a good chunk of support beams for the structure above.

Absurdly, his mind flashes back to Jon’s birthday weekend, and that game of Jenga. That’s exactly what this swaying high-rise apartment building reminds him of.

Except, like, you know. Way higher stakes.

He leaps into the sky and races to the exposed concrete and metal, bracing the leaning tower against himself. His TTK works into the structure to stabilize it, weaving through joints and taking the groaning weight; he grits his teeth with the effort, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

“Everybody out!” he roars, hoping the people in the building have already started getting their shit sorted. In case they haven’t, he concentrates, tendrils of TTK sweeping through the hallways to search for—

There!

One little yank on a fire alarm has the entire building screaming. It’s painful to his sensitive ears, but it’s worth it to get all the civilians inside to safety. Fuck, is this damn skyscraper big. It’s not too heavy, but it’s cumbersome to hold together something so much bigger than he is.

Another bolt of sizzling energy shoots by overhead, going wide of the building but still close enough that Kon can hear it crackle. His blood simmers in response, fury burning hot under his skin. Whatever Lex Luthor-inspired dipshit made those things clearly doesn’t give a shit about how many people they hurt in their quest to wreak havoc, and that’s unforgivable.

Down below him, he can see a crowd of people flooding out of the building he’s holding up, several of them running westwards, away from the fight. Good—he can still feel some human shapes inside, but they’re trickling out, slowly but surely.

“Supernova!”

Jon’s voice rings out, bright and clear over the clamoring klaxons, and Kon’s head whips around. Superboy rockets towards him, brow set with resolve. He’s only supposed to be in reserve, but if he wants to help with evac, search and rescue, that’s fine by Kon.

“Sorry I’m late,” he greets, smile a little sheepish just for a second before his expression fades into determination again. “History exam. What can I do to help?”

“Glad to see you, squirt.” Kon concentrates again, TTK weaving through the building to find where people are still trickling downstairs. Those guys are good, these ones are gonna be out in two seconds, oh—there. “Eighteenth floor, northernmost elevator shaft. There’s someone in a wheelchair and someone waiting with them. Can you get in there?”

“You got it!” Jon is off like a shot, crashing through a hallway window with ease.

A minute or so later, he comes soaring out, balancing two civilians and a wheelchair; he sets them down near the other evacuees with a bright grin and some quick words of comfort, then zooms back up to Kon.

“What next, chief?”

Another blast flies by overhead. This one is an even wider shot, from further away, and Kon curses; it means this building is less likely to take further damage, sure, but if the fighting is moving, that means other buildings are about to need emergency TTK stabilization.

“Someone on crutches, floor sixteen, east stairwell!” Kon bites his lip, casting a look at the robot down the street. It hasn’t aimed a huge blast at any other building foundations like it did before, yet, at least, but that doesn’t mean their luck will hold for long. “And make it snappy; we gotta move!”

So it goes. He and Jon evacuate as many civilians as they can—Kon TTKs some rubble from the explosions earlier to shore up the building he’s been holding, says a quick prayer to literally whatever gods might be listening that it holds, and lets go, flying to the next evac zone, Jon at his heels, and they get to work again.

The one saving grace is, the longer the fight goes on, the more people have the good sense to get the hell outta dodge without either Supernova or Superboy having to tell ‘em to. By the time Kal and Kara have whittled the five killerbots down to two, the fight has pushed back up the street to the first high-rise; one other building had to be shored up with some hasty TTK, another has intact foundations but also a giant hole through the top, and two more have an impressive number of broken windows.

But, and this is the important part, no one has died.

“Alright. Seems to be the last of ‘em.” Kon wipes the sweat from his brow and stares down the street at the last two killerbots with a grim smile. “Whaddya say we go give Big Blue and Superwoman a hand?”

Jon nods fiercely, eyes glinting. They’ve been at it for what feels like hours, but neither of them is ready to give in just ‘cuz they’re tired, and besides. Four Supers? Two killerbots? This will end quick.

“Kal!” Kara calls.

Kal goes into a steep dive and slams into one of the robots from below its center of gravity, knocking it upwards; Kara, holding a bent lamppost like a baseball bat, whirls in midair and smashes it skyward with a yell of triumph.

The killerbot goes soaring up, up, and away, so high it’s hard to see even with Kryptonian eyes. Wherever it comes down, it’ll be far from here, and in a heap of scrap parts.

“Aw, yeah!” Kon cheers. “Out of the park!”

Kara laughs, her “bat” twirling dangerously in her hands. Her hair is a mess, her clothes and skin smeared with dust and grime, and her face is full of fierce satisfaction. Do super-killer-robots feel fear? Because if they do, they must be fucking terrified.

“Come to get the last one for yourself, cousins?” she asks.

“Or to cheer you on!” Jon shrugs. “That was awesome.”

Kara laughs again, vibrant and wild. She hefts the streetlamp and turns to the last robot, which Kal has backed up into a corner between himself and a building. “Thanks. Let’s wrap this up, shall we?”

And then things go sideways.

The fifth and final killerbot shoots a sizzling bolt at Kal, who should have been able to dodge easily—

Except that he’s in front of a news helicopter circling the area, and there’s no way they’d be able to dodge. And he knows it. It’s like watching a train derailing in slow motion: disaster is coming, and they can all see it, and none of them can do a thing to stop it.

Kal takes the blast straight on.

The force of it sends him flying backwards and upwards, his arms outstretched to block as much as he can from the helicopter. There’s a horrible crackle and an even worse sizzle, and for a moment he’s just silhouetted against the white light of it. Even at this distance, Kon can see the way his shoulders jerk in pain, his entire body spasming, as he starts to fall.

“DAD!”

Kon never wants to hear Jon scream like that again.

His brother doesn’t wait even a second. He surges forward, arms outstretched, to catch Kal before he can slam into the rubble-strewn street. Kara lets out a wordless shriek of rage and horror; her eyes glow red, and only a well-timed pulse of energy saves the killerbot from being lasered clean in half.

These robots are good at ranged attacks. Fine. Then Kon will just have to get in close.

“Kara!” Kon’s voice is terse. “I got this—just cover me!”

He doesn’t wait for an answer—he knows she’s got his back—and rockets forward, hurtling towards the robot. It raises its arm to fire at him, but he drops below the bolt in the nick of time, and then Kara’s streetlamp whizzes past him like the world’s biggest javelin. The robot throws up its other arm to deflect it, and that’s the opening Kon needs.

He slams into the top of its head, rams his fist into the top dome, and draws his TTK around himself and the robot. It struggles in his hold, and to its credit, it puts up a damn good fight, but there’s no winning against a royally pissed-off Kryptonian freak of science. Not when this thing just made Jon scream like that.

It’s just like clenching a fist. His TTK crushes the damn thing, metal scraping and screaming all the way, until it’s gone from two stories tall to a misshapen lump less than three feet across.

Electricity crackles and fizzles out as circuit after circuit breaks. A pulse of white energy sizzles harmlessly over the ground.

“That’s what you get, motherfucker,” Kon tells it viciously. Then he immediately winces and hopes none of the news cameras caught that on tape. God, this is a scenario in which one would think people would be understanding of a hero saying “fuck”!

Abandoning that thought, he throws himself back into the air and arcs towards Jon, Kara, and Kal, heart racing. There wasn’t any Kryptonite or anything, so—surely it can’t be that bad, right?

To his immense relief, Kal is already sitting up, Kara and Jon on either side. Kal rubs his head, then smiles ruefully as Kon lands, running the last few steps towards him. His heart flip-flops in his chest.

“Kal! Are you—are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Kal clambers to his feet, steadfast and strong as ever. Kon’s heart starts to settle. “I just have a bit of a burn, but that’s nothing some time in the sun won’t fix. I’m fine, I promise—I’m sorry I worried you three.”

Jon sniffles and flings his arms around his father. Kara sighs in relief, a tired smile tugging at her lips, and leans into his side.

“Naw, don’t be sorry.” Kon flaps a hand at him, pointedly ignoring the awkwardness of being the only person on the outside of the group hug—Kal’s only got the two arms, after all. “It’s good you protected that helicopter! Protecting people’s our whole thing, right? We just got spooked, s’all.”

Kal smiles warmly at him, rubbing Jon’s shoulder. A little of the awkwardness dissipates, just like that, and oh, hell. Kon stops holding himself back and drifts over to join them, slotting himself in against Jon and Kara’s sides.

His head drops forward against Kal’s shoulder, just for a moment. Kara’s arm winds around his waist, and Jon grabs a fistful of his jacket.

They’re okay.

Kal’s voice is warm and proud, not pained at all. That eases a little more of the tightness in Kon’s chest. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Kon. Protecting people is what we’re all about. And you all did a fine job today. I’m proud. Good work, team.”

“Yeah! Good work, team,” Kara cheers, her arm around Kon’s waist squeezing tight. Then she sighs, drawing back slightly to glance at the three of them. “So… who wants to take one for the team and deal with the press now? ‘Cuz I dunno about you guys, but I’m beat.”

Kara and Kal did the brunt of the fighting, plus Kal was hurt even if he insists he’s alright, and Jon is still a little weepy, though Kon knows he’ll put on a brave face if he thinks he has to. Plus, Jon’s baby. There’s only one real answer here, no matter how exhausted Kon might be from evac work.

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it.” He groans, drops his arms from around her and Jon, and rolls his shoulders. “Just remember: you owe me one.”

“I’ll buy you weekly ice cream from that one fancy place you dragged me to for the next month,” Kara offers. Her smile now is as sunny as it was stormy before. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Kon agrees. It’s not really about the ice cream, though, and he casts one more glance at Jon’s reddened eyes. Jon tries for a big smile, too, but it’s still a little watery, and Kon’s resolve hardens even as his heart melts. He ruffles Jon’s hair affectionately; then he squares his shoulders and turns, ready to face the music.

After all, protecting people is his whole thing.

Notes:

phew i haven't written action scenes in so long. i am so rusty. you have to be nice to me about that LOL

qp konbart :) i like them :) this is me spreading my agenda. join me :D

also to reiterate - this fic is kon pov, and he's not always the most reliable narrator!! we will eventually get to him and clark hashing out their feelings together and kon will get some of that good good family validation. no clark bashing in this house, he is a genuinely good guy!!! they've just got some issues to talk through, is all.

also also. kon is SUCH a big bro. writing this chapter made me arrive at the hc of him just having various veggie related nicknames for jon and i'm a simple guy. that's too cute i can't resist it!!! ;w;

hokay! as always, thank you for reading, EXTRA thank you to everyone who comments, and see you next week!! until then, you can find me on tumblr at mamawasatesttube :D

Chapter 5: but that heart was broken.

Summary:

“After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter.”
― James M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Notes:

warnings: [internalized] victim blaming, talk of child abandonment (...sorta. kon's early life), some talk about grooming and all that, big emotional breakdowns (it's not quite a panic attack but it's heavy)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

gotta go fast! [07:49 PM]
[image20XX0906194823.png attached]
CALLOUT POST FOR @Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 !!!!!!!!
he’s doing DARK MAGIC or something!!!!
how tf is your hair still perfect after you PUNCHED A ROBOT TO DEATH
also, good job punching that robot to death!!! you rocked it!!!

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [07:50 PM]
ok i was gonna make fun of bart for taking photos of his tv but
honestly he’s onto something. kon how tf is ur hair not a mess????
i kno 4 a FACT u don’t use that much gel or w/e. this is wack good job it looks gr8

gotta go fast! [07:50 PM]
LOOOOL CASSIE UR NAME
im glad you know it wasn’t me 😇😇😇😇😇😇

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [07:51 PM]
there were only 4 left. if u ate them u wouldve thrown a tantrum that there werent more
i TOLD tim there would b consequences if he finished my snacks again!!!!
i don’t mind sharing but the last one is mine!!!! that’s the rules!!!!
therefore: public shaming. i will escalate further if needed

slerp [07:52 PM]
i said i’m sorry!!! i wasn’t paying attention and i didn’t realize it was the last one.
can we go back to appreciating kon’s hair? way better a topic than shaming me

gotta go fast! has changed slerp’s nickname to SHAME!!! SHAME!!! SHAME!!!.

SHAME!!! SHAME!!! SHAME!!! [07:52 PM]
……………

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [07:53 PM]
bart ilysm. ur the mvp. ur the loml even <3 <3 <3

gotta go fast! [07:53 PM]
no that’s cissie.

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [07:53 PM]
TRUUUUUUUUUUUE U GOT ME THEREEEEE
okok but fr – kon whenever u get on poke us!!! obvs u werent like majorly hurt since u were like, doing the press gauntlet after (LIKE, SRSLY, HOW @ THE HAIR?? is this a kryptonian thing is2g it better not be) but still! and i hope clark’s doing ok!!!

SHAME!!! SHAME!!! SHAME!!! [07:54 PM]
yeah, i’m sure you’re taking a well-earned nap, so no rush, dude! from the footage i saw, you did a kickass job on evac too. they’re saying on the news there’s a lot of property damage, but no deaths and only a few major injuries at all. that’s srsly impressive, man.

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [07:55 PM]
yes!!!! we’re proud of you <333

gotta go fast! has changed SHAME!!! SHAME!!! SHAME!!!’s nickname to kon appreciator <3

gotta go fast! [07:55 PM]
YEAH YEAH YEAH!!!!

kon appreciator <3 [07:55 PM]
you know you can change your own name, right? not just mine?

gotta go fast! [07:56 PM]
yeah i know :)

kon appreciator <3 [07:56 PM]
:/

gotta go fast! [07:56 PM]
if you really hate appreciating kon you can just change it i guess :/

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [07:57 PM]
no!!! don’t you dare change it!!! you can’t be that heartless!!!!

gotta go fast! [07:57 PM]
omg cassie, tim doesn’t appreciate kon, this is so fucked up and tragic D: D: D:

kon appreciator <3 [07:57 PM]
://///

kon appreciator <3 has changed their nickname to 💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [07:58 PM]
are you guys happy now

gotta go fast! [07:58 PM]
yeah!!!!!!!!!

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [07:58 PM]
YES.

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [09:04 PM]
oh?
oh mr drake 😳😳😳😳😳
i can say with certainty that IM definitely happy now 😎😎😎

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:05 PM]
well. good, you should be.
but we’re absolutely not doing this again. put those blushy emojis away.

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [09:05 PM]
or what? you’ll make me?
😉😳

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:05 PM]
is2g if u guys start the weird homoerotic emoji erotica thing again ill kill u both

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:05 PM]
LITERALLY I JUST TOLD HIM WE ARENT DOING THIS AGAIN.

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [09:06 PM]
oh baby you know i love it when you play hard to get 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:06 PM]
.

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:06 PM]
WE CANNOT DO THIS AGAIN
IM NOT STRONG ENOUGH

gotta go fast! [09:06 PM]
don’t worry cassie, he has enough strength for the all of us ;)
;) ;) ;) 😉😉😉😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [09:07 PM]
you got that right babe 💪💪💪💦💦💦💦🥵🥵🥵

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:07 PM]
did u have 2 kill all the fucked up robots
couldn’t u have saved 1 to free me from this mortal coil

Hot Single MILFs In Your Area 51 [09:07 PM]
LMAO sorry queen 😔 it slipped my mind 😔
srsly tho thanks guys for the concern and praise <3
don’t worry, we’re all good here. clark’s a lil tired but that’s the worst of it
like i glossed over it for the news but even so its rly nbd.
like, kara already called it a night and went back to her place. it’s chill
also. my hair is SO messy in those shots what are yall TALKING about??

gotta go fast! [09:08 PM]
HOW is that messy!!!!!!!!!
you have unreasonable standards for your hair!!!!

Hot Single MILFs In Your Area 51 [09:08 PM]
HEY WAIT A FUCKIN MINUTE @💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟
FUCKIGN UNBLOCK ME ASSHOLE IM TRYING TO REPLY TO UR DMS

gotta go fast! [09:08 PM]
if that’s not perfect hair i don’t even know what IS!!!
LOL
TIM NOT AGAIN

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:09 PM]
no <3
you made this bed, now lie in it <3

Hot Single MILFs In Your Area 51 [09:09 PM]
without you? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:09 PM]
yeah :)

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:10 PM]
😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂
ICE COLD BABYYYY
also kon stfu ur hair looked so good you vain little fuck

Hot Single MILFs In Your Area 51 [09:10 PM]
💔💔💔💔💔💔💔
no it was a mess but thanks im glad im a hot mess at least
(ba dum tsshhhhh!)

gotta go fast! [09:10 PM]
BOOOO BAD JOKE.
but it’s ok kon don’t worry. fuck tim I’LL snuggle with u!!!!!!

Hot Single MILFs In Your Area 51 [09:10 PM]
hell yeah bring it in broski
if nobody got me i know barts got me!!!!!

gotta go fast! [09:10 PM]
i got you!!!!!!!!!

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:11 PM]
rly makes u think… who’s the REAL kon appreciator… 🤔🤔

gotta go fast! [09:11 PM]
tim’s a fake fan? tim’s a fake fan. the NERVE!
not like us. WE love kon, right cassie?

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:11 PM]
ABSOLUTELY. 😤😤😤😤

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:12 PM]
how many times are you going to bully me tonight? just wondering, so i can pencil it into my schedule.

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:12 PM]
LOVE is stored in the KON-EL!!!!!
we haven’t decided yet sorry tim :)

gotta go fast! [09:12 PM]
it’s why his tits are so big!!!!

Hot Single MILFs In Your Area 51 [09:12 PM]
it’s why my tits are so big!!!!

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:13 PM]
i
ok.

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:13 PM]
it’s why his tits are so big!!!!!!!!!!!!
mine too come to think of it.
kon me
🤝
big tits full
of love

Hot Single MILFs In Your Area 51 [09:14 PM]
YOOOO 🤝🤝🤝 cheers bro ill drink to that one!!!
ok ok ok but. jokes aside, today was long and kinda sucked and im BEAT
gonna go make me ‘n’ jonno some hot choccy and then i think i will knock the fuck out
so ttyl, gnight, love yall!

gotta go fast! [09:14 PM]
ok!!! nighty night kon <3 love you too!

tim stop eating my fkin oreos [09:15 PM]
absolutely!!! sleep well and rest up, you did good work today
love you to the moon and back!!! good night <3

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀♥💟 [09:15 PM]
ok! night :)

Milk bubbles on the stove, hot and frothy as Kon stirs in the chocolate. It smells fucking baller as it melts, the cinnamon and vanilla and brown sugar all coming together into the coziest scent possible, and Kon is hard-pressed not to swoon over it.

“This is literally the best hot chocolate recipe in the world. No, the universe. Multiverse!” Theoretically, other Martha Kents in other universes might have the same recipe, but… whatever. This one is the best. “Thanks again, Ma. Every time I make it, I’m in your debt!”

On Lois’s phone, Ma laughs warmly, shaking her head. The farmhouse kitchen looks tantalizingly cozy behind her. “It’s no trouble, dear. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m just happy you like it. Thank you for making it for everyone, too. It’s very kind of you.”

“Aw, gee, no, it’s nothing,” Kon demurs. “It’s been a long day. Hot chocolate’s the least I can do.”

“It’s been a long day for you, too,” Lois points out. She’s sitting at the counter in a pair of fuzzy pajamas, her hair still damp from the shower she took before dinner; she looks exhausted, but her eyes are as sharp as ever. “So, yes, thank you, Conner. Really.”

A little flustered, Kon rubs the back of his neck. Even now, all these years later, he’s somehow not used to earnest warmth, despite how easily his family offers it to each other; there’s always this little niggling voice of doubt in the back of his head, wondering if he’s really part of the family or not.

Well, to Lois and Clark, anyway. Ma has made it beyond clear that she adores him, and Jon—well, Lois and Clark might not be Kon’s parents, exactly, but Jon is one-hundred-percent, bona fide, home-grown baby brother.

On the phone, Ma chuckles. “He and Clark both picked that one up from Jonathan,” she says to Lois, her voice soft and fond, and Kon belatedly realizes she’s right—that awkward back-of-the-neck rub is a habit he picked up from Pa Kent, way back when.

“They did, didn’t they,” Lois responds, smiling. “I guess you could say the ones we’ve lost still live on, in the little things.”

“In the little things,” Ma agrees. “It’s nice to see.”

Lois hums. “It is. Talk about a family resemblance!”

Kon tunes out of the conversation and focuses on stirring his pot of hot chocolate. The chocolate has mostly melted; there’s a few lumps left to stir in smoothly, and then it’ll be ready to serve.

See, it’s not that he’s not sure where he stands, with Lois and Clark. That’d be stupid, still waffling around in confusion after all this time. It’s more that—well, they say he’s part of the family, and they make an effort to reach out and include him often, and they’ve been kind to him, and yet…

For a long-ass time, he didn’t know why he had so much trouble believing them, when so much evidence was stacked up in their favor. It’s only more recently, in the wake of his freakout at the club and ensuing crybaby moment on Dick’s kitchen floor, that he’s been able to put two and two together.

In hindsight, it’s kinda stupid how obvious it is. Like, duh.

Because when they first met, Lois and Clark did not see him as family, and for a hot minute, that was very, very clear. And Kon never really knew why.

Like—obviously, he knew why. He wasn’t a kid they asked for, planned for, or even wanted. Not like Jon. He was… an aberration, in a lot of ways. And it makes sense they wouldn’t have welcomed someone like him with open arms. It just…

It just makes it harder to accept that he’s actually welcome now, is all.

The milk froths and hisses, starting to boil up the sides of the pot, and Kon quickly turns the heat off. It smells fucking heavenly, and his tired bones can’t wait to sink into the sofa with a mug cupped between his hands.

He takes four mugs down from the cabinet, carefully pours steaming hot chocolate into each one, and arranges them in a tray. One mug gets marshmallows, one gets whipped cream, the third gets both, and the fourth gets marshmallows, whipped cream, a little drizzle of caramel sauce, and espresso sprinkles.

…Okay, so Tim maybe might have had a point when he said Kon spoils Jon a little bit.

Maybe.

“—Conner. I was impressed.” Lois’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts, and he blinks in confusion as he turns to face her, a little sheepish.

“Uh, sorry, I missed that?”

Lois’s smile softens. “I said, you handled the press well today. I was impressed. You’ve got a good head on those shoulders, pal—you’re stellar at thinking on your feet even when you’re dead on them, too. Is it wrong of me to be smug I convinced you to try out that journalism major?”

“Not in the slightest,” Ma says, pride ringing in her voice. “Our Conner has both a good head and a good heart. He was always bound to end up doing something to try and help make the world better.”

Tired as he is, Kon finds himself at a complete loss for words, his cheeks hot. That’s—he’s not, like, smart or anything! He was just stuck trying to figure out what to do with himself that’d let him help people, didn’t tie him down to one place too much, and wouldn’t be mind-numbingly boring. Not a lot of things fit in the middle of that Venn tri-agram, and when Lois suggested looking into journalism he only really went for it because he said “fuck it, sure, why not”, not out of any passion.

And yet somehow, he’s standing here listening to Lois and Ma talk about him like that, as if…

Suddenly, he’s incredibly glad none of his friends are around, because they’d never let him live down what comes out of his big, dumb mouth next: an honest-to-god, real, actual, “Aw, shucks.”

Lois cracks up, while Ma coos on the phone.

Kon buries his face in his hands. “Nope. I didn’t just say that. No way. Nope. I know farm life made me country, but I’m not that country. Nuh-uh. I’m gonna just—I’m moving on. That’s behind me now.”

Lois keeps laughing at him anyway, because she’s Lois, and if she can laugh at Superman as much as she does, laughing at Supernova is nothing, but Kon would like it on the record at least that he tried.

“Anyway, uh, I—thanks? I just… I mean, I’ve dealt with the press plenty in my life. Today was fine.” He shrugs a little awkwardly, then grins at the floor, oddly bashful. “But hey, that’s… nice to hear? Um. Yeah. Thanks.”

Lois slides out of her barstool and comes around the counter to ruffle his hair. “Anytime, kiddo. Now scoot, take Ma on the phone, and go on and get Jon to make some room for us on the couch instead of laying across the entire thing. I can bring this in.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.” Kon picks up Lois’s phone and turns the camera to let Ma see into the living room as he leaves the kitchen. “Jonnerino! Move your feet! And say hi to Ma!”

Jon takes too long to move his feet, so as a good big brother, Kon sits on him. Clark, to his credit, makes absolutely no effort to help his son, and simply laughs at him instead.

“You’re heavy,” Jon whines, shoving halfheartedly at Kon’s back. “Get off!”

“Ma, this is gonna sound crazy, but I swear, I hear Jon somewhere,” Kon says, holding the phone up so Ma can see exactly what’s going on. “Isn’t that just the darndest thing? I have no idea where he could be!”

“Where in tarnation,” Clark corrects, smiling. “Where in tarnation is he?”

“Ah, right, my bad. I got no idea where in tarnation that lil rascal coulda got off to!” Kon grins. “How’s that?”

“Incredible,” Clark says, and winks. “It rolls right off your tongue. I’m so proud, son.”

“Koooooon!” Jon smacks his shoulder. “Get off me!”

“Goodness gracious!” Ma gasps, clapping a hand to her chest in fake shock. “I think I can hear him, too!”

Jon groans loudly and slumps back against the cushions. “I give up. You’re the worst. You’re squishing me and you don’t even care.”

“Trust me,” Lois says dryly, coming in with the tray, “no one who ‘doesn’t care’ would make you a hot chocolate this ridiculously extravagant. How many toppings did you put on this thing, Conner?”

“Only four,” Kon says a little defensively, finally letting Jon up so they can all gather their mugs.

Lois raises her eyes to the heavens. “‘Only’ four, the boy says.”

“It’s good!” Jon defends, sitting up. His hair is all ruffled and half sticks straight up. Kon snorts. “I like the caramel and espresso bits, and you can’t choose between whipped cream and marshmallows on your hot chocolate!”

Lois, who is holding the mug with only whipped cream, glances at Clark, who is holding the mug with just marshmallows. Both of them have matching amused glints in their eyes.

“Hey, bean sprout here is right,” Kon says, lifting his own mug in the world’s tiniest, tired-est toast. “Both is good.”

On the phone, Ma chuckles. “You two really are the perfect brothers,” she teases.

“Amen to that,” Lois says, and raises her mug. Wordlessly, Clark clinks his against it, and they both drink. Jon sticks out his tongue at his parents, but Kon bursts out laughing at him, because he’s got whipped cream on the tip of his nose.

So, yeah. Kon’s got issues. He’s always had ‘em—who wouldn’t, after hatching out of a test tube? So, like, yeah, it makes sense. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept that he’s got a family.

But here’s a secret, one that he cherishes:

Sometimes, it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Dick G. [09:48 AM]
💖💖💖
straight on 'til morning - merils (2)

Conner K. [09:53 AM]
holy fucking shit.

Dick G. [09:54 AM]
Good morning! :)
Just thought I’d check in and see how it’s going!

Conner K. [09:54 AM]
and you do that with a MINIONS MEME??!!?!?
youre a millennial you can’t do this to me i can’t believe you

Dick G. [09:55 AM]
:)
It got your attention, didn’t it?
Anyway, I was thinking. I’m gonna force Damian to watch some Star Trek with me soon.
You want in? My plan is to start with TOS, of course.
Dick G. is typing…

35 more messages

Autumn in Smallville is breathtaking.

The air is brisk but not too cold, and the sun warm and enticing as it hangs in the vast, open sky. The plains stretch on and on for miles, farmland dotted by the occasional tree and building all the eye can see. It’s harvest season, and the fields are bursting with ripe, fresh goodness, all the bounty of the earth.

Kon asked Ma, once, why Smallville ever decided to name itself Smallville. He used to think it was such a silly name, as if the town was belittling itself before a big city got the chance to.

Ma laughed when he said that. Then she rested her hand on his shoulder and drew him outside, down the porch steps and over into the little herb garden on the side of the house. He remembers the scent of rosemary on the breeze as she turned him to face the wide-open fields, gestured at the horizon, and turned her face up to the sky.

“Look at that,” she said. A gust of wind threatened to snatch her hat, and she had to clap a hand to it quickly, her apron flapping in the breeze. “How can anyone look at that sky and not feel small?”

Kon remembers how uncertain he felt, back then. He’d only just moved to the farm, after trying to rough it in Metropolis, and small was exactly how he’d been feeling for a long time.

“Don’t you hate that?” he asked her, fidgeting. Because she was right—the sky was so big over them that he was half-afraid he’d lose himself and fall right up into it. “Feeling so small against the world?”

“Heavens, no.” It was one of the first times she gave him that warm, understanding smile, the one he later came to associate with her saying I love you without words. “We’re simple people, here in Smallville. We live and love with what the earth beneath our feet gives us. To think that that earth is so vast, so wide, so full of endless potential… to be just a little part of that, watching the clouds go by—isn’t that beautiful?”

At the time, Kon didn’t know what to say. He thinks he stammered out some dumbass non-answer like “Oh, coolio, I guess,” and Ma laughed at him, and they went back inside.

He used to be a brand name. A TV personality. He used to feel like the world was too small, like he had to constantly strive to claw out his own place in it because there weren’t enough places. Like he had to shove his way onto the only life preserver for miles around, or he’d drown.

Dying put a stop to that thought process. Funny how that tends to work out.

Now, though, he thinks he gets it. The view from the roof of the farmhouse is utterly gorgeous in its mundane simplicity; it’s just the farm, the trees, and the big, blue sky, and he’s just a little speck in the middle of it.

That is kind of beautiful.

And then all his reflective musings are very rudely interrupted by a loud burp, and he groans, clapping a hand to his forehead.

“Krypto.”

The guilty party in question wags his tail at the sound of his name, completely unrepentant. He’s sprawled out on his side, paws all stretched out straight so that he kind of looks like a tipped-over cardboard cutout more than a real dog, and his tongue is hanging out of his mouth and lying on the shingles.

Weirdo.

“You have the worst timing. Do you even know that, buddy?” Kon sets his laptop down and leans over to rub that fluffy white belly. Krypto lazily rolls halfway onto his back, two legs in the air, and closes his eyes in contentment. “You’re such a silly boy. Yes you are, yes you are!”

Krypto wags his tail again, thumping against the roof. Kon decides he should probably stop with the belly rubs before the tail wags get enthusiastic enough to do damage to the house.

“Or maybe you were trying to get on my ass for spacing out instead of actually working on my homework,” he says, with a rueful glance to his laptop. The essay he’s supposed to be editing stares back at him, the cursor blinking innocently at the start of the third paragraph.

He ought to keep working on it, buuuuut… he’s been working on that thing all morning. He finished writing it, took a break, and started editing. Surely he’s allowed to chill out a bit. It’s not even due until Wednesday, and today’s Saturday! He’s being so proactive.

Stretching, Kon twists side to side, then leans back to lay against the sun-warmed shingles with Krypto. The warmth seeps into his back through his shirt, and he sighs contentedly, closing his eyes.

This is nice.

He lies there for a while, enjoying the late-afternoon sun to the fullest. It makes him feel all warm and cozy and rested, the same kind of cozy as waking up in bed after a really good night’s sleep, and he could just bask in that feeling for the rest of the evening, honestly. It’s good.

He doesn’t mean to doze off, but the next thing he knows is that the sound of the porch door opening jerks him awake. The sun that was still high overhead is nowhere to be found, and the air that was pleasantly brisk before is cooling off rapidly. Kon has to suppress a shiver as he sits up, blinking at the star-strewn night sky.

A soft whoosh of air alerts him to Clark’s presence, and Kon blinks, still groggy, as he watches him fly up to the roof’s edge.

“Kon!” Clark greets warmly. “You look like you’ve certainly been making the most of the weather.”

He touches down lightly on the rooftop. Krypto lifts his head, wagging his tail again, but doesn’t actually get up. Lazy butt. Sunbathing always makes him go all floppy and drowsy, but as the temperature dropped, he scooted himself over to lay along Kon’s side, a furry lump of warmth.

“Yeah, I have an essay to finish up, so I was working on it, but…” Kon shrugs. Glances at his laptop, now probably dead. “Took a break, I guess. Oops.”

“It’s always good to pace yourself and take breaks,” Clark says reasonably. “And sleeping in the sun is always nice. Sounds like you had a good afternoon!”

Kon blinks up at him again and nods slowly. Ugh, he feels like he’s still not awake yet, and also, he’s a little cold. That’s what he gets for being out here in a crop top, he supposes. “Yeah, it was pretty solid.”

“Good to hear,” Clark says cheerfully, and holds out a hand to help him up. “Wanna come in and warm up? We’ve got spiced apple cider.”

Now that sounds like a plan. Kon takes his hand, letting Clark pull him to his feet. Krypto stands up, too, now that Kon’s moved, and yawns jaw-crackingly wide, stretches first backwards, then forwards, and then moves forward to lick Kon’s jeans.

Kon sighs as he grabs his laptop. “Krypto. Why?”

Krypto wags his tail and licks Kon’s jeans again. Clark laughs and scratches behind his ears.

When they make it inside, Kon glances around, mildly befuddled by the lack of discernable heartbeats throughout the house. The kitchen lights are on, but no others, and there’s no noise from the sitting room where he’d expect to find Jon watching TV or playing something.

“Where is everybody?” he asks, as Clark goes to ladle two mugs of apple cider from the big pot on the stove. Krypto prances about underfoot, and Clark has to step carefully to avoid tripping over him.

Clark chuckles, setting the first mug down. “We’re just about out of eggs for breakfast tomorrow, and Ma wanted to head to the store before dark. Lois said she’d go instead, but Ma insisted, and—”

“Don’t tell me,” Kon says, amused. “Jon wanted to drive?”

“Oh, you know it.” Clark pushes the mug over the countertop, and Kon takes it with a hum of thanks, perching himself on the edge of one of Ma’s nice wooden barstools. “Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Kon rolls his eyes and laughs. He can just picture his little brother’s antics—god only knows what the scamp loves about driving Pa’s beat-up old pickup truck so much, but it’s his favorite. “I’m amazed I slept through him starting that old thing up.”

“You and me both, son.” Clark takes a slow sip of cider. “That may well be a latent superpower all your own.”

He chuckles at his own joke, while Kon groans theatrically and claps a hand to his forehead. Krypto’s nose appears over the edge of the counter, and Kon pokes it before it can try and put itself into his cider.

“That’s such a dad joke,” he complains, and takes a sip of his cider before Krypto gets any further ideas about mischief. God, that’s good—it hits the spot so nicely after the light evening chill. Mmmm.

“Well, I am a dad.” Clark looks entirely too pleased with himself. Kon looks around, grabs a pen off the countertop, and throws it at his face; he catches it effortlessly, of course, but it’s the thought that count. “So I think by definition I’m allowed to make dad jokes.”

And here’s where Kon takes his foot, opens his mouth, and sticks it directly inside. He’d blame it on the fact that he just woke up, but, well, he’s kind of this stupid all the time, honestly.

“Yeah, but you’re not my dad,” he says glibly, and takes another sip of steaming hot apple goodness. Fucking yum. “I should get a free pass.”

And there it is: a slight wince on Clark’s face. A guilty, sad flash in his eyes before he looks away.

Like a switch has been flipped, the light mood shatters. Just like that, it all comes crashing down; the temperature in the room drops several degrees. Or maybe that’s just Kon.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he snaps, maybe a little more harshly than he should. “You don’t get to look sad that I’m saying you’re not my dad. You never wanted to be my dad, so you forfeited the right to be sad about me agreeing with you. Stop looking at me like that, ‘cuz that’s bullshit!”

Clark takes a breath and blows it out slowly. Krypto looks between them both uncertainly, sits back on his haunches, and whines softly. It tugs a bit at Kon’s heart, but he ignores it.

“You’re right, Kon.” Clark looks down at the cider pot, still steaming. Belatedly, he covers it with its lid again, staring down at his hand on the handle. “I’m sorry.”

Kon scowls at the tile countertop. He was having a good day, dammit, and this asshole had to go and remind him of everything that’s been bothering him for weeks at this point, and now it feels like that good day has gone up in smoke.

Part of him knows it’s not fair to Clark, blaming him like that. It’s not like he ever asked for Kon to exist. He never owed Kon a place in his family to begin with.

“…Why are you even sad about it, anyway?” He has to consciously remind himself not to squeeze the mug too tight, not to crack the porcelain. “Do you… want to be my dad now, or something?”

Clark is silent for several heartbeats. He lets go of the lid handle and steps back from the stove, folding his arms across his chest, and purses his lips; Kon tries to be patient, to let him have however long to think as he needs, but he can’t deny that in this moment, waiting on pins and needles, it’s like there’s ants running under his skin. He fidgets.

“When I told you you are family to me, and gave you the name Kon-El,” Clark finally says, still not quite looking at him, “I meant that. I wish, with all my heart, that I’d said it sooner than I did. I don’t know if ‘father and son’ is, exactly, the label that best encompasses what you and I are to each other, but you are very much family to me.”

That’s not exactly an answer to the question Kon asked, but whatever. It doesn’t explain why Kon reminding him you’re not my dad, and you never wanted to be my dad made him look sad.

“Yeah,” Kon agrees a little awkwardly. “I—I mean, yeah, I know that. It’s just…”

He looks away. He doesn’t want Clark to be his dad, not at this point when it’s been too long for that label to ever not have too much baggage to be comfortable, but at the same time, it’s fucking awkward that Lex Luthor referred to him as his son before Clark ever did. How is he supposed to explain that to Clark? It’s not like he wants Clark to call him his son, it’s just that…

“I dunno,” he finishes lamely, and hangs his head. “Forget it. Just… had a lot on my mind lately, s’all.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. You’ve been troubled recently, haven’t you?” Clark is looking directly at him now, and oh, hell, it’s that piercing Superman gaze. The one where his attention is all laser-focused, like he’s about to dissect everyone in his path down to their souls. “I won’t force you to talk, or anything, but if you ever need a listening ear, Kon…”

Kon bites his lip. Takes a sip of his cider. “Can everyone tell? I swear, practically every single day someone’s going ‘hey, are you good?’ and if I’m being honest, it’s kinda wigging me out a little!”

Clark chuckles. It sounds awfully paternal. Kon shoves that thought far out of his head. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, son. Everyone who loves you knows how to read it easily.”

“No way. I am so cool and mysterious.” Kon huffs. Sips his cider again. Mmm, cinnamon and apple is a godly combination. “How dare you, Clark.”

Clark smiles indulgently, leaning back against the counter behind him. “Alright, alright, I take it back. You’re incredibly hard to read. A total closed book.”

“Thank you.” Kon sniffs.

Does he want to tell Clark any of what’s going on? It’d be one hell of a leap of faith, and one he’d never be able to take back; on the one hand, he desperately wants to ask what’s at the root of it, and Clark is right at the middle of that whole mess, but on the other…

On the other, it’s a little bit terrifying.

“Kon?” Clark prompts gently. “You’re thinking so loud, I can hear it.”

“Am not,” Kon grumbles. His fingers drum on the sides of his mug, and he bites his lip again, hard enough to hurt. “I guess… I’ve just been thinking about the past a lot. Specifically, like, about some stuff I never really… processed. And, uh…. it ain’t great, y’know? And, like, that kind of sucks?”

There’s way too much understanding in Clark’s face now, and too much compassion. Kon squirms, desperately wishing he had something in his hands other than a mug to fidget with during this conversation. It’s hard to be upset with Clark for something that happened years ago when Clark is here, right now, looking at him so kindly, and that just makes him feel worse for the fact that he is still upset.

Kon sucks in a breath. “So I just keep thinking, and—and for the longest time I just assumed I wasn’t really—I mean, no one acted like—it’s not—”

He’s babbling. God. Maybe he should’ve taken a page from Tim’s book and like, planned this conversation out before trying to have it off the cuff. (Although, knowing Tim, he probably would’ve not only planned out what to say but also figured out how and when to ambush Clark so as to have the highest statistical probability of being listened to, or something…)

Kon tries again. Takes another deep breath. Stares down into his half-finished cider, cradling the mug between his hands. It takes him a second to pull himself together enough to square his shoulders and look up at Clark again, but he’s proud to say he manages it.

“When we met,” he says, and then clarifies, “when I was first—you know, created. Was I actually a child?”

Surprise splashes across Clark’s face. “What? Well—yes, you were. You were physically a teenager, but mentally even less than that, in a way. You only had implanted memories, not any real life experience. So, yes, you were definitely a kid. Why?” His brows knit together in concern. “Did you… not think so?”

Well, isn’t that just dandy. Kon barks out a hollow laugh.

“No,” he says bluntly. “Not really. Like, I knew I was physically younger than a lot of people around me, but… I felt mature. I felt like an adult who just had all the perks of youth. I thought—god, I thought, well, I feel like a mature person in control of their emotions. What an idiot, right? How was I supposed to know everyone feels like that, even a toddler, ‘cuz everyone is always the oldest they’ve ever been?”

“Kon,” Clark starts, too gentle, like he’s talking to a victim. The words float through Kon’s mind again—grooming, statutory rape, predatory relationships—and Kon shakes his head, grip on the mug tightening.

“I thought I was basically an adult. And I think—I think there was literally no fucking way I could’ve known better. Because, I mean, that’s how every single person I knew treated me, too. Like I was right.”

Clark sucks in a breath. The guilt is back in his eyes. Part of Kon thinks, Good, and the rest of him immediately feels like shit for it.

He takes a long, slow pull of his apple cider, ignoring the way his eyes prickle with unshed tears. He’s already started; he needs to see this through. The cider helps him swallow down the lump in his throat before it gets too hard to talk.

“And, I mean,” he continues, “I wasn’t your problem. I get that. You never asked for me or wanted me to be made, let alone with some other rando’s genes, forget Luthor’s. I get that. But, man… the part I don’t get is, like…”

Another pause. Another sip. His eyes are definitely burning now. Krypto whines again, leaning against the side of Kon’s leg, and Kon glances down at him gratefully.

“If you saw some kid in a shitty situation, we both know you’d jump to help. And that helping doesn’t mean you have to be responsible for that kid afterwards, so long as they got to someplace safe. Just that helping a kid in a shitty situation is the right thing to do. So—like, with that in mind, I just… I don’t understand, Clark.”

He’s not going to cry. He’s not going to cry, dammit.

“Did you seriously just—not know? What happened with me and Knockout? It was—it was abuse and I didn’t even realize—” His voice cracks, and he flinches at the sound, his breath catching in his throat. “Was I just that repulsive to you, that you went out of your way to avoid hearing any news or anything about me? Did you—did you hate me that much?”

“No!” Clark bursts out. He looks anguished, standing on the other side of the counter, and Kon has to wonder how much he’s holding himself back from coming around to embrace him. “No, Kon, of course not, that was never it. I never hated you, not once, I swear.”

The tears do escape, finally, despite Kon’s best efforts. Fuck. “Then why?” he croaks out.

His throat is raw, and he can’t stop thinking about Kay. He got so much bad press for trying to defend her, and they were all right to doubt him, but—but did Clark really avoid all of it? Did he not know, or did he not care?

Which is worse?

He lifts his gaze to Clark, not knowing what he needs but pleading for it anyway. “What was it I did? Why was—”

His voice cracks.

Fuck.

A sip of apple cider helps with the painful lump in his throat, but his voice is still small and raw when he tries again. “…Why wasn’t I the kind of kid worth protecting, too?”

Clark makes a wounded sound, like all the air’s just been punched out of his lungs. His eyes are wide and horrified, and he just gapes, wordless, as the first tear drips from Kon’s chin into his mug of cider.

“Kon, I…” He trails off, jaw working soundlessly for several seconds before he shakes his head and swallows hard. His voice is hushed, horrified, when he finds it again. “Is this… what you’ve been thinking all this time? All these years?”

He doesn’t even have an answer, does he?

“You can’t answer that, can you.” Kon’s chest is so tight, he won’t be surprised if his heart just bursts any second now. “Either I wasn’t a real kid, or there’s a reason I wasn’t one worth protecting, which means you just lied to me. You did hate me, didn’t you?”

Bitterness chokes Kon through the tears, and he closes his eyes for a moment. He’s a fucking idiot. Why did he think this was worth asking? He’s not going to get an answer that’ll make him feel better. All that he’s done is upset Clark and throw off the status quo they’d settled into, and now Clark is going to dance awkwardly around him and Lois will be pissed that he upset her husband and Jon will be upset that everyone is tense, and—and Ma

“Kon,” Clark is saying, pained, but Kon doesn’t think he can stand this much longer. “Kon, that’s not… I didn’t… You weren’t—it wasn’t…”

If he doesn’t figure out how to put words into a goddamn sentence in the next thirty seconds, Kon swears…

Luckily, Clark seems to get the memo. Less luckily, the words he finds are stupid as hell. “I never hated you. I swear, I never—it wasn’t anything you did, it was a me problem—”

“Really?” Kon snaps. “‘It’s not you, it’s me?’ Is that really the line you’re going with?”

Clark winces. “No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just…”

“Then what did you mean?” Kon demands, tense. Why did he fucking bother? Why did he think this was worth it? He’s a fucking moron.

“I…” Clark keeps fumbling for words and not finding any of them, shaking his head. “Kon, listen, I don’t know how to explain it, I just…”

“I’m all ears,” Kon says acidly.

Clark looks like he’s just slapped him. “It’s… I never…”

He trails off, and Kon watches with almost horrified fascination, not used to seeing him genuinely at a loss for words. He can’t find an excuse, can he? He’s trying so hard to come up with an explanation as to why he didn’t hate Kon at the beginning. He looks so distraught, pacing back and forth, and suddenly Kon understands that there really isn’t one.

It’s a numb, cold realization that washes over him like an Arctic deluge. His heart freezes over in his chest; with its next feeble attempt to beat, it cracks.

There is no explanation because he was right. Clark did hate him.

Superman hated him.

Being right has never felt worse.

Kon’s breath catches in his throat. Clark looks so flustered and distressed as he grips the edge of the counter, and his mouth is moving but no words come out. He can’t explain it. He can’t explain it, because it’s a lie.

Superman, the man who he wanted more than anything to become, the kindest man in the entire world, the man who most exemplifies heroism and heart, hated him.

And suddenly Kon just can’t. He can’t. He can’t be here a second longer.

“Forget it,” he says roughly, scrubbing a hand over his face. It comes away wet. “Sorry. Stupid question. Forget I asked. I—sorry. I’m just—I’m gonna go.”

“Kon, wait!” Clark cries, but when Kon shoots out of the same door they both just walked in through together, he doesn’t follow.

wondrous gorl™ [03:42 PM]
kon!! r u gonna b in sf next weekend??? we should get coffee!!!
cuz i wanna talk to u abt smth (a good smth!! just wanna tell u in person!!)

wondrous gorl™ [04:51 PM]
kooooooooooonnnnn

wondrous gorl™ [06:25 PM]
i think this is a record for consecutive hours of u not being on ur phone omg

wondrous gorl™ [07:19 PM]
kon stop IGNORING me… </3
like r u ok do i need 2 come over there

superb boy™ [09:28 PM]
hey sorry cass i accidentally took the mother of all naps haha
but yeah i can be in sf next weekend
prob wont be going back to the farm for a bit anyway

wondrous gorl™ [09:30 PM]
YAAAAA COFFY TIME :D
that mustve been some nap omg. u good????
wait. U??? avoiding the farm???? that doesnt sound right :V

superb boy™ is typing…
superb boy™ is typing…
superb boy™ is typing…
superb boy™ is typing…
[Read by superb boy™ at 09:30 PM]

wondrous gorl™ [09:34 PM]
kon? :o
u were typin for a hot minute there…
conner bb whats wrong?

superb boy™ [09:36 PM]
nothing. im fine

wondrous gorl™ [09:36 PM]
liar.
whats going on bb??

wondrous gorl™ [09:45 PM]
kon? u there?

wondrous gorl™ [09:58 PM]
hey, im sorry 4 prying. u don’t have 2 talk if u don’t wanna
but im here for u ok? even if u don’t wanna say a word
just lmk if u need anything ok?
and lmk if ur safe?

wondrous gorl™ [10:10 PM]
conner?

wondrous gorl™ [10:17 PM]
:( <3

Kon ends up in Hawaii.

He hasn’t flown out here in a while; he’s never really had a reason to come back, not when there’s no one who cares about him here anymore. Thinking of the time he spent here as—as a kid, because yes, that’s what he was, a child—kinda makes him cringe, now; he had no secret identity and got everyone near him in trouble all the damn time.

He hadn’t known any better. That’s the real sticking point. No one taught him any better. How should he have known?

Out of habit, he finds himself flying towards the compound. He spent many an evening there with Rex and Dubbilex and Roxy and Tana, playing in the waves or complaining about homework he didn’t want to do. But he balks a good ways offshore, once he realizes where he’s going.

That isn’t his home anymore. It was sold ages ago, and if he focuses on the shoreline he can see lights on in the building. Strangers live where his childhood’s ghost walks.

The salt air carries the scent of coconuts from the shore. It’s a lot warmer here than it was in Kansas, and the sun is still up, albeit hanging low in the sky, just barely kissing the sea at the horizon. Kon stares into the distance for several seconds, gulping down breath after breath as the salt pricks at his eyes; despite knowing how fucked up things were here, part of him is painfully homesick for a time he can never return to, smelling the sea breeze.

Things were just so simple back then.

He drifts with the breeze, shame curdling in his gut and mixing with the ugly, heavy fear that he’s just ruined things with his family for good. He upset Clark, and everyone loves Clark more than they love him, which means they’ll all be mad at him, and if Lois and Ma both get fed up with him for putting that look of pure anguish on Clark’s face, it’ll break Jon’s heart to have to say goodbye, and, and—

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he lifts a hand to his cheek and it comes away wet. It explains why his vision is all blurry, though, and the revelation makes him start to sob. An empty feeling settles in his chest, until he just curls up in midair and tucks his knees to his chest, a miserable little ball floating up above the deep blue sea.

A few minutes pass like this. Kon cries, and cries, and cries, pathetic and ashamed and devastated, and his tears fall into the waves below. The wind kisses his cheeks in a mockery of comfort.

“I wanna go home,” he whimpers to nothing and no one. He doesn’t know where home is supposed to be, and the sky is growing dark. “I wanna go home!”

There’s a rush of wind, then a soft yip, and suddenly Krypto is shoving his nose into Kon’s arms, determined to break through and lick his face. Kon lifts his head and sniffles loudly, and Krypto wags his tail, nosing at his shoulder.

Kon throws his arms around him and sobs into his fur. At least, if he’s got nothing else, he has a worried superdog that loves him, he thinks, and laughs through his tears.

“I love you, buddy,” he sobs out. “You’re—you’re such a good boy, Krypto, you’re the b-best boy in the whole world and I love you so much.”

Krypto yips again and snuffles, wiggling in Kon’s embrace. He butts his head against his shoulder and puts a paw on his chest, and Kon chokes on a weird combination of tears and giggles and just ends up coughing instead.

Crying into a fluffy dog is a lot better than crying into his hands, at least, and Krypto is very nonjudgmental. He just wiggles about it, trying to lick the tears away and whining when Kon doesn’t let him.

Eventually, Kon’s sobs slow, and then he’s just sniffling pathetically instead, sitting there in the sky with Krypto in his lap. Krypto is calmer, too, content to lay in his arms and gaze soulfully into his eyes in the way only dogs really seem to do; Kon closes his eyes and bumps their foreheads together, heaving a sigh.

“Krypto,” he whispers, as if it’s a secret. “I’m sad, and I dunno what to do.”

To his surprise, Krypto jumps to his feet as if given a mission. He circles Kon for a moment, thinking, then barks once and—

Zooms off?

Okay.

He’s gone just long enough for Kon’s lower lip to start wobbling again, because having his dog here was helping and now he’s gone and he misses him, and then bam! Said dog is back, tail wagging a mile a minute.

“Oh, Krypto,” Kon laughs wetly, dashing at his eyes. Krypto wags his tail and drops his favorite toy—an old sock Ma filled with stuffing and sewed shut—in Kon’s lap. Most of Krypto’s toys don’t last long, for obvious reasons, but he’s always been incredibly gentle with this one. Maybe because it used to be Pa’s sock, and Pa’s gone? Whatever the reason, this is his favorite toy, and he likes to have it nearby every night when he sleeps.

And now he’s giving it to Kon. To cheer him up.

Kon starts to cry again, reaches over, and rubs Krypto’s head. How can he not cry? His dog fucking loves him. He’d probably want to bawl on a normal day, and today is very much not a normal day, so he’s gonna bawl about it.

Krypto, however, doesn’t seem to realize these are tears of gratitude. Kon hiccups on a sob, and Krypto whines again, licks his cheek, nuzzles his shoulder, and then vanishes again.

“Oh—oh, buddy, you don’t have to do anything else,” Kon tries, but it’s too late. Krypto is a dog on a mission. Kon has no idea what he’s gonna try next, if his favorite toy wasn’t enough.

The moon shines bright in the sky, reflecting silver on the waves now that the sun has fully set. Lights flicker on the islands. The water below is inky-black.

Krypto reappears with a muffled “Arf!”, distorted by the bag in his mouth. Wait, is that—

“Oh, for the love of god, Krypto, did you—did you steal someone’s McDonalds?” Kon can’t help it; he starts giggling, tears still rolling down his cheeks. Krypto looks so incredibly proud of himself as he shoves the bag into Kon’s hands and sits down on his haunches, waiting for praise, and Kon can’t scold him, even though he really ought to make sure his dog knows not to go around mugging people.

…There’s a chocolate milkshake inside, as well as a box of chicken nuggets.

“Okay. That—okay. Just this once.” Kon sticks the straw into the milkshake and sucks. The sweet chill helps with his raw throat, after all that bawling, and he sighs in relief, sniffles again, and blows his nose into a napkin. “Thanks, bud. You’re such a good boy.”

Krypto wags his tail excitedly. Kon tosses him a nugget.

He ends up feeding Krypto all of the nuggets, not really hungry himself, and balls up the bag to stuff into his pocket to throw away later. If only he’d brought a jacket…

Thinking of the way he left in such a frantic rush is a mistake, though, one Kon only realizes once his sore eyes start prickling with tears again. “God dammit,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I thought I was done being pathetic.”

Krypto whines, butting his head under Kon’s hand again. Kon scratches behind his ears, sniffles again, and heaves a deep, shaky sigh.

“I hate this,” he tells Krypto. “Do not mug anyone else about it, though. I just—I’m still sad, you know? It sucks. I wish I wasn’t.”

Krypto lets out a low, rumbly noise, another high-pitched whine, and bolts off into the distance. Kon stares after him.

“Aw, man,” he mumbles. “At least I tried to tell him not to rob people this time…”

Krypto is gone almost a full minute this time, long enough for Kon to suck moodily at his milkshake and stare down into the black water. He nearly drowned Kay in those waves, he thinks idly. Both Kay and himself. Baby’s first murder-suicide, except he couldn’t stomach going through with it.

And then Krypto is back, this time holding—

“Oh my god,” Kon chokes.

Red Robin, hanging from Krypto’s mouth by the scruff of his cape, folds his arms across his chest. “I have to say, this is a whole new definition of dognapping.”

Kon tries to laugh, but his breath catches on a sob in his throat and the whole thing comes out as a rather ridiculous wet wheeze. “Krypto, you—what did you—oh my god, when I said no more mugging people, I did not mean kidnapping was cool!”

Krypto wags his tail.

Kon reaches over and takes Tim’s wrist, wrapping him securely in his TTK. Krypto, once again looking very pleased with himself, sits back on his haunches and continues wagging his tail.

“I am so sorry.” Kon sniffles. “I didn’t think he was about to—were you busy? Oh, man, you were on patrol, weren’t you?”

“I was, but it’s fine,” Tim says dismissively. He reaches up and pushes the dumb cowl back, immediately narrowing his eyes at Kon. “Are you crying?”

Kon sniffles again. “Krypto’s been trying to cheer me up,” he says, and holds up his half-empty milkshake cup. “He stole someone’s McDonalds, I think.”

Tim stares. He looks between Kon and Krypto and back again a couple of times, and then his lips twitch. “I… Is that why you had to tell him not to mug people?”

“Yeah.” Kon lets out another wet laugh. “I didn’t expect him to go steal you, though. I’m sorry, I can take you back—”

Tim interrupts him by shifting in his TTK hold. He moves closer and throws his legs across Kon’s thighs, scoots himself into his lap, and wraps his arms around his neck. His cheek is soft against Kon’s shoulder, and his chest is firm against Kon’s. His embrace is snug and cozy.

Kon’s breath catches in his throat. “—Oh.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Tim murmurs, a smile in his voice. “Krypto wanted me to help cheer you up, right? It would be pretty fucked up of me to let him down.”

Kon wants to joke back, wants to say something like yeah, don’t disappoint Krypto, we can’t have that around here, but the words catch in his throat. Tim’s weight is comforting, the warmth of his body seeping through his costume and into Kon’s skin, and his hair is soft and fluffy against Kon’s jaw, and he’s not leaving—

The tears bubble up before Kon can react, and he sobs into Tim’s shoulder. “I—Tim, I… I’m not… I think I just ruined everything.”

Tim doesn’t tense up. He goes still for a brief second, but he doesn’t tense up. Then he threads his fingers into Kon’s hair, slow and gentle, and starts to scrunch them through it, rubbing his fingertips against Kon’s scalp tenderly. “What happened?”

Kon coughs around another sob. Tim rubs his back, slow and soothing, and Krypto moves around him to curl up against his side.

“I asked—I asked Clark why he, why he hated me, at first.” More hot tears spill over and soak into Tim’s shoulder. “I asked him—I asked him why—why other kids deserved to be p-protected but not me. If—and if it was ‘cuz he hated me back then.”

Tim makes a soft sound of understanding. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Kon whispers, and closes his eyes. That’s the worst part. “He didn’t say anything. Well—he said it’s not you, it’s me, and when I said that was bull, he… He didn’t know what to say. He just—he just looked at me, and—and I couldn’t stay there. He hated me, Tim. I—” He breaks off for a second as a sob claws its way up his throat, and his voice cracks. “I always wondered, but now I know. And that—it feels so much worse.”

For a moment, Tim is silent. Then he hisses out a sigh, his arms tightening fiercely. “Okay. Okay, well… if he ever hated you, he’s an idiot, but okay. Uh. Wow.”

That dry, acerbic note in his voice is so normal and familiar and Tim that Kon’s stomach ties itself in knots, straightens out, and bursts into a flutter of butterflies that bubble out as wet laughter. Tim chuckles, too, stroking Kon’s hair.

“I mean it,” he says. “You’re wonderful, and you always have been. And if he can’t see that, that’s just—look. You didn’t ruin anything, Kon. You’re hurting, and you wanted answers. You clearly wanted comfort and reassurance, and he… dropped the ball about it. That’s not your fault.”

Kon sniffles. “He should learn from Krypto,” he mumbles, his voice small. “Krypto never drops his ball.”

Tim laughs outright. “Yeah. Didn’t drop me, either.”

The mental image of Krypto just sweeping down into Gotham and yoinking Tim off a rooftop really is just too much. Kon buries his face in Tim’s fluffy hair and takes a moment to just breathe. Krypto did good; he’s glad Tim is here.

“Do we—should we call Bats or something?” he asks, belatedly. “Isn’t everyone gonna be flipping out that you disappeared?”

Tim’s voice takes on a distinctly disgruntled cadence. “No. Damian saw it happen. I’m sure he filled everyone in.”

“…Damian saw, huh?”

Tim’s momentary silence is somehow even more grumpy than his words. “He had a treat he was going to give Titus. He tossed it to Krypto instead. And Krypto threw me into the air, scarfed down the treat, and grabbed me again, and let me just say, that was wildly disorienting, and Damian praised him for it.”

Kon lifts his head incredulously, looks down at Tim, and finds himself laughing. Tim’s full-on pouting about this, grouchy as can be even as he snuggles up against Kon’s chest and makes himself comfortable.

A surge of affection rises up in his chest and swamps him, and he wraps his arms around Tim and squeezes him tight, burying his face in the warm crook of his neck. Tim lets out a little peep, startled, but hugs him back fiercely.

That’s his best friend in the entire world. Someone who’s been there for him his whole damn life, pretty much. Someone who’s never given up on him. Tim is a constant in his life, always there to fight at his side or to text him shitty memes at three in the morning. Kon loves him with every fiber of his soul.

“Tim,” he whispers, chest tight with emotion again. “You know how I said I was really fucked up, a little while ago?”

Tim hums, nodding. “Yeah.”

“It happened here.” Kon tips his head towards the islands. “No one told me it’s fucked up for someone like twice your age to be into you when you’re just a kid. Everyone got pissed at me for it instead. That—I’m gonna be real. That sucked. And that’s only the tip of the shit iceberg.”

“Kon,” Tim murmurs. He shifts, his fingers skimming along Kon’s neck, and tips his face up, cradling his jaw in one hand. Then he leans in and presses his lips to Kon’s forehead, a soft kiss that lingers.

Kon’s breath catches in his throat.

“That fucking sucks,” Tim agrees, and kisses his brow. “That—all of it, all of it is fucked up. I’m… sorry I never caught it, or said anything.”

Kon makes a tiny noise, shaking his head. “It wasn’t—you were a kid too. You couldn’t have known.”

“Still,” Tim says. He presses a kiss to Kon’s temple, then folds him back into his arms, cradling him like he’s something delicate, something soft, something worth protecting.

“I was a kid,” Kon whispers. That’s really the crux of it, he thinks; that’s the part that hurts the most. “I was just a stupid kid.”

“You were a kid,” Tim agrees, his voice incredibly tender. His hand cups Kon’s cheek; his thumb skims over the delicate skin below Kon’s eye, and for a breathless moment Kon wonders if he’s going to kiss him. “You were just a kid, and you deserved more.” His thumb repeats that same caress, slow and soothing.

“I have all this—all this hurt,” Kon admits. He presses his cheek into Tim’s palm. “It’s all jumbled up inside of me and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Tim’s gaze is unwavering, but his smile is as gentle as the moonlight as he tilts his head. “You could start by telling me. If you want to.”

“Yeah. I think,” Kon says, and sniffles again, “I’d like that.”

And so, slowly, haltingly, Kon tells him everything. His voice cracks and his hands shake and he cries himself out, but Tim never once falters, steadfast and resolute in his arms, like a spar of driftwood that saves the life of a drowning man.

And Kon is drowning. He’s been drowning this whole time. But he’s starting to tread water, he thinks, and tucks his face into Tim’s shoulder.

Tim kisses his hair, and for a long time, he just holds him, as the two of them drift in the star-strewn sky, somewhere over the inky-black sea.

Notes:

krypto is the best boy in the entire world. everyone give him a treat please

other potential scenarios for who saw tim get dognapped that were ultimately discarded:

> steph watching it happen and everyone on comms just hears tim go FUCK and then steph starts laughing so hard she can't breathe and they're like oh fuck did she get joker gassed????
-- OR --
> bruce having a staredown with krypto and being like krypto. drop him. krypto. put him down. and then not only does batman have a staredown with the superdog, he fuckin LOSES
-- OR --
> cass just chilling about it like:
tim on comms: oh FUCK--
tim: [tracker suddenly saying unavailable, out of range]
in the sky there's a distinct sonic boom.
bruce: status report. what happened?
cass, placidly: dog. :)

also! again to reiterate this is very much unreliable narrator kon!! clark is not a bad dude he just got massively put on the spot in a way he was Not anticipating and it is a difficult topic for him. they're gonna talk it out i prommy. there is no clark bashing here!!!

thankies for reading as always <3 until next week!! in the meantime, i'm on tumblr at mamawasatesttube :)

Chapter 6: still, a heart can be mended

Summary:

“Sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of other boys. For hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them. They had to do, I think, with the riddle of his existence.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Notes:

warnings for non-graphic but somewhat prevalent discussion of rape/rape-adjacent icky themes, child abandonment (of a sort), xenophobia, Fucked Up Unethical Science, abuse, underage, etc.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Kon wakes slowly.

It’s rather dim when he blinks his eyes open, staring up at a ceiling too high to be his own; it takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize it’s Tim’s ceiling, in his room in Wayne Manor, because that’s where he went to sleep last night.

Right. The farm. Clark. Hawaii. Krypto. Tim.

Tim.

Tim is a warm lump, comfortably heavy on Kon’s left arm. When Kon turns his head, he sees Tim completely knocked out, dead to the world in a deep sleep. His head is pillowed on Kon’s arm just below his shoulder, nose brushing the side of his chest, and he’s got one arm resting over Kon’s waist. Their legs aren’t tangled together or anything, but Tim’s right thigh is a warm line pressed along Kon’s left one.

Kon closes his eyes again. He’s awake, and feels rested enough, but at the same time, he feels… heavy. Weighted, like all his limbs are full of an extra ton of sand or something, and it’d take way too much effort to make them move. And why would he want to, when he’s got an armful of sleeping Tim right here?

Actually, that’s a thought worth moving for, albeit not in the “getting out of bed” direction. Kon drags himself onto his side rather than his back, rolling towards Tim to wrap his arm around him. He slots his knee between Tim’s, tucks his arm snugly about Tim’s ribs, and sets his chin atop Tim’s fluffy hair; the contact is comforting, and he lets out a slow breath of relief.

So maybe he doesn’t feel great. Maybe he’s not quite over the whole “bawling his eyes out” thing from last night.

Whatever.

Tim sighs in his sleep, burrowing closer to Kon’s chest to hide from what dim light has made it past his blackout curtains. A little smile tugs at Kon’s lips, and he tugs the blankets up a little with a brush of TTK. How nice it would be, if he could just cut this cozy little bubble of theirs off from the rest of the world, and never have to worry about anything else ever again. Just the soft puffs of Tim’s breath and the slow, steady beat of his heart. Just the warmth between them despite the chilly Gotham autumn outside. Just his best friend, here in his arms.

If he’s being honest with himself, Kon thinks about what it’d be like to kiss Tim probably a little too much to call just a facet of normal bestie-hood. And waking up next to him like this, well… it’s nice. Like, really nice.

It’s not like they’ve never slept in the same bed or anything. Every time they have a sleepover, they share the bed. They always have. Hell, on one particularly rough night back in their Young Justice days, Kon found himself crammed into a single full-size bed with Tim, Bart, Cassie, and Anita, all of them a jumbled tangle of limbs as Greta floated overhead. He’d awoken the following morning with Bart fully on top of him and a mouthful of Cassie’s hair.

So, no, sharing a bed with any of his friends isn’t out of the ordinary. It’s just that Tim is the specific friend he finds himself yearning to wake up next to, like, all the time. And every time he does, he gets a little more wistful, thinking of far-off mornings in a different life, one where they get to settle down somewhere together and see each other every morning and night, and laugh at the same stupid jokes together, in the same room. Kon wants to cook him breakfast and just watch that furrow in his brow as he reads the news, wants to throw him a controller and challenge him to the newest stupid video game they can get their hands on, wants to lounge around doing nothing but simply being together, wants…

It’s worse this morning, he thinks. He wants. He wants with such a profound longing that it scares him, how deep that tug in his chest pulls.

Tim mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, his nose brushing Kon’s chest, and oh, god, Kon can’t handle the surge of affection that sweeps through his entire body.

“You don’t even know,” he marvels, opening his eyes to look down at Tim’s messy bedhead. His heart squeezes with fondness. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Tim, a deeper sleeper than most logs Kon has ever met, only mumbles vaguely and sighs again. Kon smiles, unable to help it. And then he thinks about last night, and that smile fades.

Last night…

It had to have been the better part of an hour, maybe more, before Kon finally quieted in Tim’s arms. And Tim never complained, never even fussed about what was going on back in Gotham despite being abducted from his patrol. He just stayed there and held Kon together with his own quiet strength, content to make himself comfortable perched on Kon’s thigh and to simply hold him, for however long it took.

Tim loves him.

Of course he already knew that, has known for years. It’s a fact of the world: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Tim loves Kon. And it’s as natural as breathing for Kon to love Tim, too. But sometimes it just hits him all over again, and natural or not, he’s left breathless all the same, because Tim loves him. Tim loves him enough to embrace him in his lowest moments and smile at him anyway.

Kon holds him a little tighter. He can’t not, not while he’s thinking about crying in Tim’s arms and sharing a stolen milkshake with him, floating somewhere over the Pacific.

Strangely, what stands out most now is that milkshake cup. When it was empty, Tim just took it from Kon’s hand and lay it against himself, keeping an eye on it so it wouldn’t fall into the water. It was the smallest gesture, just him letting Kon keep both of his hands free to clutch at him or wipe away his own tears, and yet it was so damn thoughtful that Kon keeps going back to it.

It’s just how Tim loves. Tim’s love is loudest in the smallest details.

That cup is in the trash can in Tim’s room now, right by his desk. He held onto it the whole time, and only threw it away after Kon flew him home. And he asked Kon to stay, and it’s not like Kon could have told him no.

“Alfred likes having everyone over for Sunday brunch anyway,” Tim said, tugging Kon in through the window like an oversized balloon. “The more the merrier, and all that, and you know you’re always welcome. Besides, you’re exhausted. Just get in here and go to sleep.”

And, well, Kon was exhausted. So he let Tim manhandle him into his room, took the clothes Tim offered him to sleep in, and crashed. And now he’s here, and that plastic cup is in the trash, and Tim is in his arms, and Kon kind of wants to snuggle up with him and just hide here, all day long.

He knows he can’t. They have to go downstairs at some point, because Alfred likes having a big group for Sunday brunch, and there’s no way anyone will let Kon hear the end of it if he comes all the way here and then doesn’t leave Tim’s room for brunch.

But his fight with Clark, if it can even be really called a fight, doesn’t seem real while he’s in bed. Not when he’s under the blanket in Tim’s arms. Once he’s properly awake, he has to deal with being a person, and he just—he’s not ready for that.

Jon sent him so many frantic texts last night. He hasn’t had the heart to read any of them.

Lois texted, too, and Ma left both texts and a voice message. Tim caught him staring at his phone last night and simply dismissed all of them from notifications without opening any, set the phone aside, and guided Kon into bed.

“They’ll be there in the morning,” he said, and kissed Kon’s forehead again, soft and tender. “I can text Ma to let her know you’re with me, so they won’t be worrying or searching. And we can deal with everything else tomorrow.”

We, he said. Kon is desperately grateful for that we.

At least when he has to sort through the wreckage of his family in the wake of his own stupidity, he won’t be alone. Whoop whoop.

Okay. He is doing himself absolutely no favors just lying here and catastrophizing, though. Which sucks major ass, because lying here is really great, considering the Tim snuggles and the cozy factor. But the sun must be getting up there—the blackout curtains make it hard to judge, but Kon’s internal clock is pretty dang solar-powered—because he can feel himself buzzing in his skin, just a little, too restless to find relaxation in bed.

Booooo. This sucks. He wants to stay here and get cuddles and ignore all of his problems.

On a normal day, he’d take an unflattering pic of Tim with his face smushed into a pillow and send it to the group chat, so Bart and Cassie could laugh and Tim could come in after several hours to whine about Kon’s betrayal. But today, the idea of acting okay enough to laugh at things and reach out to start those conversations… blegh.

And yet. He can’t fall back asleep.

Kon grumbles into Tim’s hair. “I’m a goddamn joke. The sun is laughing at me.” Stupid Kryptonian circadian rhythms. Stupid biology.

Tim, of course, doesn’t answer, because Tim is going to be as non-functional as possible for the next couple of hours before throwing himself out of bed in a rush ten minutes before Alfred expects everyone at the table for brunch. Kon knows this because this ain’t his first rodeo, kids, and he’s seen it all before.

Finally, the prickling anxiety crawling under his skin overpowers the cozy contentment, and Kon blows out a petulant sigh, extricates himself from Tim’s arms, and slips out of bed.

Krypto, curled up around his sock toy at the foot of the bed, lifts his head, watching Kon’s every movement like a very sleepy hawk. Kon cups his face in both hands, strokes his muzzle with his thumbs, and leans down to bump their foreheads together.

“You’re the best boy in the entire world, and don’t you ever forget it,” he murmurs. Krypto’s tail thumps against Tim’s blankets. “Thanks, buddy. You did good. You’re so good.”

Krypto gazes up at him adoringly, licks his palm, and lays his head back down on his paws. Kon chuckles and scratches behind his ears, letting him be for now—he figures the lil dude’s earned a good snooze. Lord knows Kon might still be floating around above the Pacific being all weepy right now, if not for him.

Speaking of which. Ugh. He feels all gross from having cried so much; his face is, like, caked over with salt or something. He needs a shower, pronto.

He steals some clothes—at this point, he’s got some underwear in one of Tim’s drawers, but Tim is notorious for stealing clothes from everyone he knows, so the T-shirts and hoodies Kon brought over ages ago have long been pilfered, and the first shirt he finds boasts a cracked and faded logo for a Keystone City Farmer’s Market. That probably wasn’t Tim’s to begin with either (Kon has a feeling it was Wally’s, then Dick’s, and then Tim got his little gremlin fingers on it), but oh well. Kon’s now.

One really nice thing about staying over at Wayne Manor is that the water pressure in the showers is godly. Kon takes his sweet time luxuriating in it, until Tim’s bathroom resembles a sauna, the mirror so fogged-up it’s opaque. All his preferred products for curly hair sit lined up neatly on the rack, though the conditioner’s running low, and when he finally emerges from the shower and gets dressed, he’s pleased to find that Tim remembered to get another tube of the curl-defining cream Kon likes, the one with shea butter and rosewater.

It probably says something about the two of them, that despite being barely above using three-in-one himself (and this, too, only after strenuous wheedling from Kon and actual blackmail from Steph), Tim still keeps a conscientious stock of Kon’s entire hair care routine in his bathroom, both here and at his apartment in Gotham proper.

Whatever that something is, though, Kon’s not up for questioning it right now, and right back into the neat little box of “things he just accepts about him and Tim” it goes. He hasn’t opened that box in years, and he’s not planning on it anytime soon.

Kon is so good at coping. Like, fuckin’ phenomenal. Wow. He’s soooo good at this.

“Alright, Kent,” he mutters, staring at the vague outline of his reflection in the foggy mirror. His hair is already curling again, one pesky curl in particular dripping on his forehead. He squares his shoulders. “Time to face the music.”

He leaves the bathroom in a cloud of scented steam. Tim is still conked out in bed and doesn’t so much as twitch; his heartbeat is slow and steady, and for an instant it’s tempting to just climb right back in next to him.

But Kon’s definitely too awake for that now, so he just takes a moment to look over at that mop of black hair fondly. Then he grabs his phone, crosses the room, and slips out the door. Krypto follows at his heels, still sleepy but clearly unwilling to leave his side, and honestly, Kon could cry (his dog loves him!) if he wasn’t still so damn sick of crying.

As it turns out, it’s half past eight in the morning. Later than Kon usually wakes up when he’s on the farm, but definitely early for a manor full of bats. Alfred’s probably awake, starting to get brunch prep rolling, maybe, or something. As for anyone else, Kon isn’t sure.

Maybe he’ll go poke his head into the kitchen, if he gets desperate enough for something to do with himself. Alfred can put him to work. Give him something to do with his hands. But first, he probably oughtta just bite the bullet and see what the damage from last night is.

With a heavy heart, he settles himself into one of the sitting rooms downstairs—this one has windows that face east, and the sun helps soothe his unease—and checks Jon’s texts.

abab (assigned baby at birth) [Yesterday, 09:52 PM]
hey, where’d you go??

abab (assigned baby at birth) [Yesterday, 10:08 PM]
dad said he said something that upset you and you needed some space D:
take your time, but if you wanna talk or anything i’m here!! <3
i’m guessing you’ve got krypto with you, so you’re not alone. that’s good!!

abab (assigned baby at birth) [12:04 AM]
are you coming back tonight?

abab (assigned baby at birth) [12:23 AM]
ok ma said tim texted her to say he’s got you!!
good night big bro, i hope you sleep well and feel better in the morning :)

abab (assigned baby at birth) [07:02 AM]
good morning!!!
ma sends you love and wants me to remind you to eat a real breakfast!

abab (assigned baby at birth) [07:56 AM]
btw if me texting you all the time is getting annoying just say the word and ill stop!!

Oh.

So… not as freaked out as Kon was afraid he’d be. He’s actually worried about… Kon’s well-being rather than the feeling of the family falling apart or something? And Clark isn’t telling them Kon’s the worst or anything? That’s—okay. That’s cool. Cool cool cool. Kon can work with that.

What other messages… he’s got—Christ on a bike—seventy-four new messages from Bart, who apparently decided to livetext Kon while watching three different shows at once? Why. Kon’s not even gonna—he’s just gonna answer that later. Yup. And then a couple of hearts from Cassie sometime late last night, and yeah, the reassurances from Ma and even Lois, and—

His stomach drops out.

One from Clark.

superdude [Yesterday, 11:42 PM]
Kon, please take all the time you need – I don’t mean to pressure you or make you feel like you can’t have space if you feel you need it for a while. I merely want to let you know that I’m so, so sorry for how I reacted when we spoke earlier. You were looking for reassurance, and I froze up instead of giving it to you, and that’s on me. I don’t blame you for anything, and I never once have.
You’re part of my family, Kon, and you mean the world to me. I want to do right by you, because you deserve no less. So, whenever you feel ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.
I love you. –C.

That weirdo. Who signs off on texts like that? They’re texts, not letters!

Kon stares at the words on the screen until the lines start to blur, and Krypto snuffles and clambers up next to him on the couch to curl up at his side, offering his warmth and comfort. He’s such a good dog.

Part of my family. Not a son—it’s way too late for that, for both of them. But loved all the same? He stares at that last line again, stomach tying itself in knots, and wonders.

Why is he always so hung up on the wrong parts of everything?

“Conner.”

Kon jumps. Yes, he has superhearing, yes, he belatedly realizes he can hear her heartbeat and soft breathing and the sound of her footfalls and the fabric of her clothes rustling as she moves—and also yes, Cass just snuck up on him (like she always does) and scared the absolute daylights out of him.

Krypto’s tail thumps against the cushions.

“Hey,” Kon manages, trying and probably failing to go for a casual wave. Cass is in a simple hoodie and leggings with a print that can only be described as “a 90s arcade carpet had a lovechild with a neon sign from a defunct roller rink,” which makes it frankly all the more impressive that she snuck up on him so well. “Morning, Cass.”

Cass returns the wave, tilts her head at him, and narrows her eyes. “You are sad. Why?”

At least Cass being able to read him like an open book—actually, that simile doesn’t work as well with her, does it? Whatever—at least it’s a given with her, and not just another symptom of him apparently being obvious as all hell with his feelings. Hmph.

Krypto lifts his head, yawns, and stretches his neck out, pushing his nose towards her, straining to get within petting range without actually getting up. Lazy beast, Kon thinks fondly, and runs a hand down his back.

Cass giggles, scratching behind Krypto’s ears as requested, and perches on the armrest next to Kon like a strange bird. “Good morning to you also, Krypto.”

Krypto wags his tail at the sound of his name. He lays his head back down against the cushions, and Cass settles back more comfortably. She doesn’t say anything, but her gaze slides to Kon’s face again, and she quirks one eyebrow.

Kon groans. “Would it be cliché to just say… daddy issues?”

Cass snorts. “Oh. Yeah. I get it. Steph said we should all get matching shirts. Daddy Issues Club.”

That would be funny, although it’d also make Clark do that thing where he winces but then pretends he didn’t because he doesn’t want to admit to feeling awkward about Kon’s whole deal, which then makes Kon feel even more awkward for reminding him of the circumstances of his existence. So… not a shirt to wear around family, probably.

“We should,” he agrees. “I feel like a depressing number of people we know could be in that club.”

Cass snorts again. “Yeah.” She pauses. “Steph says we should get shirts, but specifically not get one for Jason. She thinks it would be funny.”

Kon sputters out a laugh. “She’s—okay, she’s right, though. That would be so funny.”

“Yeah,” Cass says, and grins.

They sit in silence for a few moments. The sun climbs higher into the sky, and the patch of sunlight on the wall creeps along in turn, spilling over the back of the sofa. Krypto lets out a pleased grumble when it reaches his back.

“It’s—not just daddy issues, I guess.” Kon rubs the back of his neck. “You ever just—like, something happened a long time ago, and you only just now realized it was fucked up? It’s that, too. But, uh, I dunno what to do next. Like, okay, I admitted it! It was fucked up. Now what?”

Cass gives him a long, slow look, her eyes sharp but her expression thoughtful. Whatever she’s searching for in his face, she must find it, because she softens, lips curving into a slight smile, and reaches over to cradle his jaw in one hand. Her palm is cool to the touch.

“You are really asking, ‘Why does it still hurt?’, not ‘What next?’. ‘What next?’ is a dumb question. ‘What next?’ is… treating it like a to-do list.” Her nose crinkles as she laughs. “Acting too much like Tim.”

“Ouch,” Kon says wryly.

Cass flashes a quick, impish grin. Taps a finger against his cheekbone. “Some things… hurt forever. But not as often.” She shrugs one shoulder fluidly. “I still hurt over my daddy issues, too. I haven’t seen him in years. A little part of me still loves him. Most of me hates him, and part also hates myself for loving him. I always will, I think.”

Kon lays his hand over hers. “Cass…”

Another half-shrug. She traps his thumb under hers, still holding her palm against his cheek, and he huffs out a laugh as she grins in victory. “I am okay. Sometimes I am sad, yes. But I am okay anyway.”

Huh. Kon tilts his head into her palm, considering that, and nods slowly. “Makes sense, I think. I just—y’know, for the longest time, I thought it was being stupid ‘n’ weak to show any of it. But that’s pretty dumb. I know you have issues, and I still think you’re terrifying, so.”

That makes her tilt her head back and laugh, and Kon grins, pleased with himself. Cass meets his eyes again and nods, still grinning. “I am terrifying.”

“You are, you are.” Kon squeezes her hand. “Thanks, Bat-babe. Genuinely. I feel better.”

Cass’s other hand fires a finger-gun at him. “Anytime, Super-hottie,” she jokes, and it’s Kon’s turn to laugh. Which is—which is kinda freakin’ incredible, given how anxious and out of it he’s been since waking up. He’s pretty sure that’s the first he’s laughed since breaking down last night.

Abruptly, Cass flows to her feet and tugs at his hands. Krypto lifts his head in surprise at the movement. “Come! Brunch will take a little while more.”

Kon obediently lets her pull him to his feet and lead him from the sitting room. Krypto pads after them, yawning again with a soft woo, and both Kon and Cass coo at him for it.

“Where are we going?” Kon asks, as she leads him away from the main family rooms to somewhere further back. He’s only been in this part of the house a few times, comparatively speaking.

Cass grins and pulls open an ornate door to reveal a (…relatively) small ballroom. It’s been fitted out as a dance studio, with one wall entirely made of mirrors, and tall windows for plenty of natural lighting. There’s a sound system in one corner, and a mini-fridge full of water and Gatorade, plus some cabinets that probably have, like, dance shoes and stuff.

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks over to see Cass almost bouncing on her feet. Her excitement is infectious, and he feels himself smiling in response. “Oh, hell yeah.”

“You asked what next,” Cass explains, flitting into the room and making a beeline for the sound system. “Next, we dance!”

Kon hasn’t really been dancing too much lately, but hey, he’s still got moves. He stretches a bit, following her towards the speakers. “I’m so in. You got any swing? I can do a mean Lindy Hop.”

Cass hums, flicking through songs on her phone. “Sure! Warm-ups first. I don’t know that much swing. Maybe you can teach me!”

“Yeah?” Kon raises his eyebrows. “Sure thing, though I gotta warn you, I’m kinda rusty.”

“No worries,” Cass says. “I have WD-40.”

And for the second time today, Kon finds himself laughing.

superb boy™ [01:00 PM]
hey, sorry for disappearing on you last night
i’m doing better now tho
thanks for worrying and sorry for worrying you
<3 <3 <3

wondrous gorl™ [01:01 PM]
kon!!!!!
shush don’t be sorry its all good <333
im just happy to hear ur feeling better today!!!!
u wanna talk abt it?

superb boy™ [01:02 PM]
oh man. tbh loooong story :/
we still on for next sat? i can tell u then

wondrous gorl™ [01:03 PM]
yea absolutely!!
wanna get coffee n wander the mall @ powell st? just 2 hang?

superb boy™ [01:03 PM]
oh HELL yeah!!!
you Know im always here to find the weirdest overpriced shit to try on

wondrous gorl™ [01:04 PM]
EXACTLY B)
awesomesauce!! ill see u then
love u!!!!

superb boy™ [01:04 PM]
love you too!!

atat (assigned teen at tube) [01:05 PM]
hey jonno, sorry for the radio silence!
i’m ok, don’t worry. and psshhh as if you could be annoying
DON’T take that as a challenge.
i’ll talk to clark soon. we’re ok, don’t stress ur cute lil baby head abt it
and YES, i DID eat a real brekkie!! sunday brunch @ the waynes B)

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:09 PM]
i won’t take it as a challenge…………………………
…………………………………………

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:09 PM]
oh god

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:10 PM]
…………………………….
…………………
……yet.

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:11 PM]
.
ykno what ill take what i can get. small blessings 🙏
small like my lil bitty tiny baby bro

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:11 PM]
do you WANT me to take it as a challenge sooner????

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:12 PM]
im warning you now, beansprout
you can try to annoy me, but i will annoy you right back.
and i am SO good at being annoying. everyone says so <3

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:12 PM]
nooooooo :(
who says that??? :( you’re not annoying you’re my big bro!!!!!

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:13 PM]
oh my god see youre BABY
hey. hey jonno. ily

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:13 PM]
ily2!! :D
guessing ur not coming back to the farm before we head back to met?

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:14 PM]
nnoooo prob not
currently participating in some fucked up bat rituals
by which i mean we’re playing monopoly and tim is running everyone into the ground
and i think dick and jason might be abt to kill him in real life
literally why did they decide to play this game, you ask? I HAVE NO IDEA

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:15 PM]
oh my god.
well, good luck surviving the bloodbath?
also if u wanna we can meet for coffee after i get out of school tomorrow!!

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:18 PM]
yeah sure!! that sou49jt;/.
3p,5kj;

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:18 PM]
oh my god the bats killed him. hes fucking dead.

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:21 PM]
sorry tim fell on me and elbowed my phone real good in the process
i was wrong steph was the one to crack and try to kill him first

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:21 PM]
LOL
is he still alive

atat (assigned teen at tube) [1:22 PM]
no
he’s been murdered in a ritual sacrifice to karl marx, and we are no longer playing monopoly.
we’re playing clue next.
pray for me.

abab (assigned baby at birth) [1:23 PM]
oh man. good luck… youll need it.
😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

“You don’t have to go tonight if you don’t want to.” Tim fusses with the collar of Kon’s jacket, smoothing it down even though it’s already perfectly flat. “You know that, right? You can just stay here. I have patrol later, but if you need me to skip—”

“Tim, it’s okay.” Kon catches his arms, holding him at the elbows, and Tim stills, his hands flat against Kon’s chest. Kon leans in and bumps their foreheads together with a little smile, touched. Tim is fussing. “I’m okay. I’m okay, I promise.”

Tim studies him for a long, long moment. He seems to see what he’s searching for, because after a moment he deflates, blows out a breath, and nods. His nose brushes Kon’s as he does, and Kon has a flash of a thought about leaning in just a little more to kiss him.

“Okay,” Tim concedes. His fingers twitch towards Kon’s collar again, but he stops himself from actually fiddling with it this time. “But you can come back, if you need anything. And you can call me. I want you to call me, if you—”

He cuts himself off midsentence to whirl around and point at Krypto, who perks up at the attention.

“Keep an eye on him, okay?” Tim tells him. “You know how he gets. If he needs anything and he’s pretending he’s fine, you come get me again. Got it?”

“Oh my god,” Kon snickers.

“Wuff!” Krypto agrees. Tim kneels down in front of him, holding out his hand expectantly, and as Kon tries not to lose his mind, they fucking shake on it.

“Good boy.” Tim pats Krypto’s head, rising back to his feet. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Krypto. I’m glad we could come to an equitable agreement.”

“Oh my god.” Kon fishes around in his pocket for something to throw at him and produces a wadded up receipt. It bounces off Tim’s head; Tim blinks at him. “Stop infecting my dog with your businessman talk, you freak!”

Tim smirks. “Make me.”

“Wow. Wow. I can’t believe you’d challenge me like that. This is such an insult. I’m insulted. Come on, Krypto, we’re leaving. This guy is so rude.” Kon hides a grin and turns to the window. It’s not quite sundown yet, but because Gotham is Gotham, the sky is all cloudy and gross, and it’s rapidly getting darker.

Krypto yips and shoots into the air to do donuts around Tim and Kon, ready to go. Kon laughs, then sobers, reaching for Tim’s hands.

“Thanks,” he says seriously, “for last night, and also all of today. I… You helped a lot.”

Tim squeezes his hands back, the warmth in his eyes intense. “Of course. Haven’t I told you? I’d do anything for you. All you have to do is say the word. Or… send the dog, I guess.”

Kon cracks a little grin, his heart full. “You may have mentioned it once or twice. But I want it on the record that the dog sent himself.”

“God.” Tim snorts. Then he leans in and wraps his arms around Kon, tucking his head neatly under Kon’s chin. Kon hugs him back, wrapping him up in both his arms and a little layer of TTK, and Tim hums.

“You’re the best,” Kon murmurs, and brushes his lips to Tim’s hairline, just barely. “See you ‘round, Rob.”

He gives Tim one more squeeze, then lets go and floats up into the air. Krypto, excited to get going, yips again, and Kon gives Tim a little two-fingered salute, and then they’re gone.

It’s a short flight over to Metropolis. Kon reaches his apartment and lets himself and Krypto in, flops onto his couch, and sighs.

“Man.”

Krypto settles down next to him and also sighs, laying his chin on Kon’s thigh. Kon glances down at him, amused, and pets his head.

“What’re you moping about, huh? Weekend was long for you, too?”

Krypto licks his nose and burps. Great answer.

For a few minutes, they just sit there and decompress in the quiet. Kon’s apartment is cozy, and Ma’s quilt draped over the back of the couch is a little piece of home. He should call her, he thinks; he barely got to spend time with her this weekend, and he misses her.

“Oh, shit.” Kon looks down at Krypto. “You left your toy in Tim’s room, didn’t you?”

Krypto blinks up at him uncomprehendingly and wags his tail. Kon laughs, shaking his head, and scratches behind his ears.

“Oh noooo. I guess we’ll just have to go back to Gotham soon. What a tragedy. We’ll just have to go see Tim again soon.” He grins wryly at Krypto, who licks his nose again. That’s probably agreement, and appreciation of Kon’s great jokes.

Eventually, Kon heaves himself off the couch. He had dinner at the manor, but he could do with a hot drink and maybe a snack, or some sweets or something. Plus, he kind of wants to talk to Clark, get it over with…

Okay. First things first. He puts on a pot of hot chocolate, bites his lip, and decides to bite the bullet before he can talk himself out of it.

“Hey, Clark?” He doesn’t raise his voice much, just slightly louder than usual; he knows Clark will hear him. “I’m, uh… here, if you wanna, like… talk about. You know. Yesterday?”

A couple of minutes pass. The milk hasn’t even boiled yet when there’s a knock on the door. That’s—huh. He was expecting, like, a reply of Sure, I’ll be there in twenty minutes, or something, not…

That’s kinda flattering. And also worrying? Jeez, has Clark been that pressed about him?

He opens the door. Sure enough, Clark is standing on the other side; he’s wearing his glasses, but they’re a little crooked on his nose, and his clothes are kinda rumpled from an obvious quick-change after a rapid flight over. He must’ve just dropped everything the second Kon called him.

Guilt starts to fester in Kon’s stomach again. He really shouldn’t have opened his mouth yesterday…

“Hi, Kon.” Clark gives him a tiny, apologetic smile. “May I come in?”

“Oh—uh—yeah, ‘course.” Kon stands aside, and Clark slips past him, politely toeing out of his shoes by the rack near the door. Krypto pads out of Kon’s room, tail wagging a mile a minute as he greets Clark with profuse sniffs and a couple of little licks.

This is, uh… awkward. Kon goes back to the kitchen to stir the milk pot, just to have something to do. Clark settles carefully onto one of the barstools at the counter.

“So,” he says.

“So,” Kon agrees.

Krypto whines. Kon is inclined to agree with him.

This is so, so awkward.

Clark chuckles softly, and in the reflection on the glass cabinet in front of him, Kon can see him rubbing the back of his neck. It’s that same habit Ma said they both picked up from Pa; somehow seeing it again here, in Clark, is soothing. Lowers Kon’s uncertain defenses a little more.

“I prepared a whole speech, you know,” Clark finally says. “To explain myself, and to apologize properly. Lois had to talk some sense into me about it.”

Kon snorts. “Oh, yeah? What’d she tell you to say instead?”

“She told me not to make this all about myself,” Clark says, a wry note in his voice. “And she was right. Kon, I… know I didn’t mean to hurt you, yesterday, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did. Are you… alright?”

Kon hums. He did have an entire breakdown in Tim’s arms somewhere off the coast of Kaua’i last night, but this morning he danced with Cass and traded puns with Dick over breakfast, and the entire table made fun of a very sleep-deprived Bruce for skipping over Kon without comment, freezing, and visibly going back to count his children before realizing there was, in fact, one extra face present. He played board games with them all afternoon, and watched the carnage and laughed at it, and once they were both dead in Risk, Steph sidled over to get his input on an actual design for Daddy Issues Club T-shirts.

So, yeah, last night sucked, but today was better, and the joy is still closer than the pain.

“Yeah,” he says, and finds that he means it. “I’m alright.” A beat. “…You?”

“Oh—I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” Clark sounds a little surprised he even asked.

Kon twists around to give him his very best version of Ma’s patented Are You For Real Right Now? stare. “Nuh-uh. If we’re having this talk, we’re both being honest. Otherwise, stuff it.”

Clark holds up both hands in surrender, so Kon must’ve gotten the Ma look down pretty well. “Okay, okay—that’s fair enough. I’m… alright, but I have been a bit, hm. Frazzled, I suppose.”

That’s better. Kon nods. “I could tell,” he admits, and gestures to Clark’s appearance. “I’m, um… sorry for running off. It wasn’t really cool of me to just dump all that on you and not even give you a chance to respond.”

“It’s quite alright, son.” Clark’s smile is gentle, but sad. “I… wish I’d known you felt that way sooner. Did you… have you thought I hated you for all these years?”

His voice is hushed and horrified. Kon snorts, shaking his head, and starts stirring chocolate into the frothy milk. “Nah. I mean, I know obviously you don’t hate me right now, and you haven’t for a while. It just… I dunno. Seemed like the most reasonable explanation for… the early stuff.” He stares at a square of chocolate, slowly melting in the bubbles, and feels the heat on his face. “…You mean to tell me that even back then, you didn’t hate me?”

Clark lets out a slow breath. “Yes. I do mean to tell you that. Kon, I—I have never once hated you, not once in my life.”

That only feels a little bit like a gut punch. Kon is vaguely aware of making a pained sound; he knows it’s foolish to hope Clark didn’t hear it over the sound of the milk boiling, but hey. He’s been a fool all his life.

“Then… why?” he asks, wrapping his free arm around himself. “I just—I don’t get it, Kal. Why’d you take so long to decide you wanted me?”

Clark hisses out a sigh between his teeth. Kon glances over his shoulder at him and sees his fingers steepled, his brow furrowed. He’s… tense.

“I was… conflicted,” Clark says. “Over how you were created. And—and that was no fault of your own, and even then I knew that, but seeing you was a constant reminder of that conflict, and…” He sighs again, a bitter little smile on his face. Kon immediately decides he hates that smile. “I ran away. Superman ran away. If you can believe that.”

“Of course I can believe it.” Kon hesitates for a moment, biting his lip. “Uh—not that I mean you’re a coward or anything. Just, like… you’re a guy. Um. Anyway.”

He clears his throat. Yeah, totally nailed that one.

Moving on! “What… what about me—my creation—was it? The… clone part, or the human DNA, or…?”

“The clone part.” Clark looks immeasurably sad, now. “I—when I came back, after Doomsday killed me, it was… I don’t know, alarming? Let’s say alarming. It was alarming, to find out that without my knowledge or consent, when I was thought to be just a corpse in the ground, part of my body was taken and experimented on. And that they thought they could just create another me, but one who would be under their control…”

Oh, Kon thinks, and could slap himself.

“…it was violating,” Clark admits, and shrugs his broad shoulders as if that makes it more okay, less horrible. “And that was before I even knew Lex had his hands in it. It was just—it was a violation, and a reminder that no matter how much I love Earth, and humanity, I’m not one of them. I’m something else, something that some people feel entitled to study and dissect and recreate on their own terms. It was… upsetting, at a time when I was already feeling a bit lost.”

Kon’s grip on the spatula is starting to splinter the wood. He quickly lets go of it, wincing; Ma gave him that set of spatulas.

“I… never realized,” he admits, hollow. “Shit. I—shit. I’m—I’m… Oh, man. Oh, man.“

That’s not something he even thought of, but—it’s not at all like when Kon died. Tim tried to clone him, but that was something done out of raw grief and desperate love. He could never have faulted Tim for that; even now, it hurts his heart to think about, but it was never… like this.

It would have been like… if instead of Tim trying to clone him, it had been someone who hated him. Someone who saw him as a tool to be used, less than a person. Someone like—

Knockout, part of his brain offers. The rest of him rejects that idea so violently he flinches away from the stove and starts to pace, rubbing his own arms.

“Conner?” Clark sounds concerned. Kon ignores him for the moment.

Like, he knows. He knows it’s not remotely the same, that it’s not like Lex ever fucked Clark or anything, that it wasn’t about Clark being someone he could just use for fun. Lex is nothing like Knockout; they’re both fucked up and horrible, but where Knockout was all hot passion, Lex is cold and calculating.

And yet, his mind can’t help but compare the situations. It isn’t exactly possible to get more vulnerable than literally being dead; Clark had no control over what was done with his body at all, and Cadmus—Lex—took advantage of that.

Kon digs his fingers into his arms and tells himself he cannot just run away again, no matter how much he wants to. That wouldn’t be fair to Clark. It doesn’t matter how horrified and disgusting he feels. He can’t.

His creation was a violation of Clark’s body. His creation was…

“Conner, what’s wrong?”

Kon can’t face him. He stares at his hot chocolate, sick to his stomach, and feels hollow inside. “I’m—I’m basically a child of rape, aren’t I?”

Clark sucks in a breath.

“I… wouldn’t exactly put it like that,” he says delicately, and Kon shakes his head. He’s being gentle for Kon’s sake, isn’t he? That’s a fucked up thing to make him do. Fuck, how does Kon keep fucking this up?!

“Don’t sugarcoat it to make me feel better, Kal,” he bites out, and immediately winces at how harsh his voice comes out. “I—sorry, I’m not—sorry. That came out wrong. I just—you don’t have to downplay it for my sake.”

Clark takes a slow breath and lets it out, more even than before. Kon risks a glance over his shoulder towards him and sees him looking pensive, more than distressed. That’s… something.

“I’m not downplaying it.” Clark runs a hand through his hair. “I… hm. I have to say, this wasn’t quite on the script Lois helped me prepare.”

He’s trying to joke, but Kon can’t bring himself to laugh. Not when there’s still so much ice in his veins. “Kal,” he pleads, twisting around to look at him plaintively.

He must sound at least half as haunted as he feels, because Clark’s eyes widen. “Kon, hey, are you…”

Are you okay is clearly a stupid question, one Clark catches himself before he finishes. He shakes his head and moves around the counter, and Kon is frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to flee as he moves closer.

Two warm hands settle on his shoulders. “Kon, look at me.”

Kon swallows hard. Shakes his head. He needs to stir the hot chocolate before it burns, but he can’t bring himself to reach for the spatula again. “How can you—how can you stand to be here right now?”

“What?” Clark frowns. He shakes his head too, tips Kon’s chin up with a gentle hand. “Kon-El. You’re a part of my family. How could I ever not want to be here?”

But that makes no sense, and Kon whines a little. “N-no, Kal, it’s not—if I’m—if I’m that, then… then how did you ever not hate me?”

“It was never your fault,” Clark says kindly, and squeezes his shoulder. “And you are a wonderful, kind, heroic young man with so much heart to give to the world. It was never your fault at all.”

Despite himself, Kon starts to tear up. That was never—the idea that it was nothing he did, that he couldn’t have done anything differently to be better, is strangely freeing. It’s incredibly depressing, yes, but freeing all the same.

His voice comes out high and vulnerable, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “It—wasn’t anything I did?”

Clark takes a slow breath. “Oh, Kon. No. It was never anything you did at all. It was nothing to do with you, and that was a mistake. I regret it deeply. Because as horrified as I was over what Cadmus had done, there’s no overstating the joy I felt towards you. Another Kryptonian, someone I could share my language and heritage with, someone I could guide in all the ways I wished I’d been guided when I was younger… and I wasted so much time I could have spent with you, because I was running away from something you never asked for, either.”

“Oh,” Kon breathes, and swallows hard. “I… I never even thought… I’m sorry, Kal. Really.”

Clark’s hand moves from his chin up to rest atop his head, pulling him into a hug. Kon slumps against his chest, blinking back tears, and curls his hands into the back of Clark’s sweater like he’s a little kid, one he never got to be.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Clark rocks him gently from side-to-side. “You were a child, and you never asked for any of it. I didn’t tell you this to make you feel bad for being upset with me yesterday! I just—I wanted to tell you the truth. I should have told you sooner. I didn’t know it still hurt you, but I should have. It was never your fault. There was nothing you did, and nothing you could’ve or should’ve done differently. For me, it was always about what they did, and my mistake was conflating that with you. That was my mistake, Kon. It was never on you.”

Kon sniffles piteously. God dammit, he thought he cried himself all out last night! “Kal, I…”

“Shhh.” Clark’s hand rubs slowly up and down his back. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize again. We’re here now, right? That must count for something.”

That’s such a Clark thing to say that Kon snorts. Unfortunately, that breaks the dam, and suddenly he hiccups on a sob.

Clark stiffens sharply, his eyes going wide. “Oh! Oh, was it something I said? Oh, no. Kon, it’s alright, son. It’s alright,” and he uses his sleeve to scrub the tears from Kon’s cheeks. “Please don’t cry. It’s all okay, I promise.”

That’s—that’s such a stupidly Dad-ish thing to do, the panic and the fussing and everything, and it only makes Kon laugh and therefore cry harder. To think, this all started because he made a dumb dad joke yesterday. “You’re so—you’re so—oh my god,” he blubbers, and Clark makes a tiny noise of concern and wipes away more tears. “Kal, you…”

“I what?” Clark rests a comforting hand atop his head, still almost comically worried about him.

“You’re gonna make my hot chocolate burn,” Kon sniffles, and reaches for the spatula.

Clark, flabbergasted, hands it back, but he doesn’t let go of Kon, his arm firmly wrapped around his shoulders as Kon wipes his eyes and stirs his pot. It’s done now, everything melted and mixed in together, and before he even has to ask, Clark has pulled out a mug, setting it on the counter next to the stove.

Kon nudges him. “Get another.”

Clark blinks, already reaching for another mug despite his confusion. “You don’t like that one…?”

Sheesh, this guy. “I obviously made enough for two,” Kon mutters, gesturing at the pot.

Just like the chocolate squares, Clark melts, his smile incredibly warm. “I did notice it was a couple of servings, but I wasn’t sure if you just wanted yourself a refill,” he admits, and ruffles Kon’s hair. “Thanks.”

Once they’ve got their two mugs, they relocate to Kon’s sofa, where Kon pulls his knees up and curls into a little ball in one corner while Clark sits politely with his feet on the floor, like the square he is.

A heartbeat passes. Then Clark rests one large hand on Kon’s shoulder, his eyes gentle and concerned. “Kon… I don’t mean to pry, but yesterday, you mentioned what happened with you and Knockout, and Tana, and…”

Tana’s name is a knife to already-smarting old wounds. Kon shakes his head rapidly. “Not today. I, um. Can’t right now. It’s… another time. If that’s, like, chill.”

“Of course it’s chill.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. “Whatever you need, son. I’ll always make time for you, whenever you need it.”

“Cool beans.” Kon, master of eloquence that he is, fires a solitary finger gun. He licks at the melting whipped cream in his mug, then sighs. “There is one other thing I wanted to touch on, though, so, um… yeah. Like… what am I to you?”

Kon blows on his hot chocolate and sighs. If they’re going for honesty hour, he may as well say it all, right?

“It’s… kind of weird, when Luthor calls me his son, but you… don’t, really.” He ducks his head. “I mean—not that I am your son, right, but… uh, yeah. You know?” And he’s definitely not Lex Luthor’s son, no matter what the bastard might claim. Besides, less than one percent of shared DNA does not a parent make. But whatevs. Not the point.

“Hm.” Clark looks genuinely thoughtful, rather than uncomfortable, at least. That’s good. “I… don’t entirely know if there’s a good one-to-one label. I know it’s not what I said all those years ago, but these days, I do certainly feel more… paternally, I suppose, towards you than I would a little brother. Plus, we all already know that Jon is your brother, so in a sense, I guess we could say I’m your dad. I mean, if you wanted that, at least…?”

Kon bites his lip. They’ve never been a father and son. It’d just be weird to start now, as much as he appreciates the offer. Clark isn’t his dad; he doesn’t have a dad. “Not that I’m not grateful, but at the same time, I dunno. It doesn’t totally, like, hit right?”

“It doesn’t… hit right?” Clark repeats. That quirk of his eyebrow is definitely something he picked up from Lois.

“You know,” Kon says a little helplessly. Does the man not understand slang? How else is he supposed to put this? “The vibes are kinda off?”

That makes Clark chuckle, although his smile seems a little bittersweet. “Ah. Yes, I understand what you mean.” He takes a slow pull of his hot chocolate. “It’s your choice, Kon. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’ll follow your lead.”

Kon chews at his lower lip some more. “Uh…”

The thing is, like, yeah, he wouldn’t say Clark is exactly his dad, but… there’s no other word that comes as close to what he’s supposed to be. It’s just—everything about calling Clark his “genetic donor” feels horrific after tonight’s revelation, but like, the man is sorta…. Dad-adjacent? Just without actually being his parent.

This is hard. Blegh. Kon isn’t smart enough for this kinda shiti.

“I dunno, exactly,” he confesses with a halfhearted shrug. “Like, you’re not… not my dad. But I don’t have parents. It’s weird.” A thought comes to him, and he pauses, hiding a slight grin in his hot chocolate. “Okay, wait, I got it. You’re not entirely my dad, but you’re not entirely not my dad, and it’s confusing, but! There’s a definite yes-or-no answer if it’s funny. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Clark’s face goes through a cycle of expressions. There’s the bittersweet smile, there’s a fond flicker and a proud look, and finally there’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Of course. You’re my son when I can make dad jokes at you, and you’re not my son when you’re in trouble with Lois. I completely understand.”

“Goddamn,” Kon mutters into his hot chocolate. “You get it too well.”

That makes Clark laugh. “Okay. I can live with that.” He raises his hot chocolate mug for a toast. “To you, my sort-of, sometimes son.”

Kon snorts. “Right back atcha, my sorta-sometimes dad,” he says, and bumps his mug against Clark’s with a clink.

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:03 AM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (3)

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:05 AM]
you get some sick joy from this, don’t you.

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:06 AM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (4)

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:06 AM]
OHHHHH MY GODDDD
OK NO. NO HOLD ON A MINUTE
YOU CANT JUST DO THAT. BOTTOM TEXT IS A MODERN MEME
FACEBOOK BOOMERS WHO POST MINION MEMES DON’T DO THAT
YOU CANT MIX AND MATCH THIS IS TOO MUCH YOU CANT DO THAT!!!!!
ALSO. DID YOU JUST FUCKING MAKE THAT??? JUST NOW?????

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:08 AM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (5)

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:08 AM]
…………ok i have to admit.
you are like. DISTRESSINGLY good at this.

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:09 AM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (6)

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:10 AM]
i gotta ask. why me

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:10 AM]
Because it’s a fun way of checking in on you!
I know you had a rough weekend, so I thought I’d ask. <3
And I’m doing that via minion meme, before you ask, because it’s funny.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:11 AM]
now idk whether to be touched or whether to take the nightwing poster off my wall. :/

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:11 AM]
AWWW!! You have a Nightwing poster? 🥺🥺🥺
I didn’t see it last time I was over!!
It HAS been a while since I visited your place, come to think of it.
Are you busy this weekend?

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:12 AM]
yeah sorry! im gonna be in sf
but i don’t have plans next weekend? though i mean like. my apartment is nothing fancy
its like. an apartment
an apartment that will not have a nightwing poster in it much longer

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:12 AM]
Next weekend sounds good! We can hang out a bit.
What did that poster ever do to you? :(
Also, if I’m being smothering, you can tell me. I get that a lot 😂

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:13 AM]
oh no not at all man its real sweet of you!!
plus its like. kinda nice to like… know you get it. even if we arent talking about it
so smother away, wingman. if ur bros don’t appreciate it i will 😤😤

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:14 AM]
I’m glad to hear that! 💖💖💖
And yeah, it can definitely help to talk. Learned that one the hard way.
Glad to see you not repeating my mistakes :P
We could start a club at this point.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:15 AM]
this is the most downer club membership ive ever seen :/

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:15 AM]
Yeah, but “club” sounds cooler than “support group”.
Oh, also, thanks for sending that cap to Tim. I was hoping you would! Bc this is hilarious.
It takes a special occasion to get Tim so mad about my memes that Jason checks the chat.
And when both of them start dragging my name through the mud, Damian gets mad.
So I’m going to have entertainment all through lunch now.
I can’t wait until Steph gets here.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:15 AM]
…yknow
with how easy to talk to and stuff you are, sometimes its easy to forget ur a bat
and then sometimes. u say horrifying shit abt starting meme psyops in your family gc as entertainment
and im like oh yea. there it is

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:16 AM]
Aw, why thank you.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:16 AM]
it wasn’t a compliment.
oh my god. oh my god wait
YOU told damian abt tims smooth yoda aversion didn’t you!!!!

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:17 AM]
Would I ever do such a thing?
I simply may have implied it to Steph. What she chose to do with that information is on her. <3

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:17 AM]
my god. youre A MONSTER.

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:18 AM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (7)

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:18 AM]
AUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, this blueberry chai latte is like, really good. Kon might just have to get a box of the looseleaf tea for Ma’s Christmas gift.

He nibbles at his matcha bun and shifts in his seat, gazing moodily out at the foggy San Francisco street out the far window. Autumn and winter here are always grey and dreary; it’s never as dark and gloomy as Gotham, but sometimes Kon thinks the dismal weather might be why Tim likes SF so much.

“Conner!”

Cassie appears in the corner of his vision in a burst of color. Her hair is windswept as ever, and her sweater is dotted with droplets of rain. There’s a tote bag slung over her shoulder, and a saucer with a slice of cake and a folded beanie under it in her hand; she dumps the beanie in the bag and swings the bag into the chair across from him, and holds out her arms.

“Cass! Hey!” Kon jumps out of his seat and hauls her into a hug; Cassie leans in and squeezes him nice and hard, the way only someone else with superstrength can, and without entirely meaning to, Kon melts into her arms.

“Awww, hey, you,” Cassie croons, rocking him back and forth. She ruffles his hair, then goes back to squeezing him so tight his feet leave the ground. “Mmm, I missed you too.”

Kon laughs softly as she finally loosens her arms. No one gives hugs quite like Cassie. Man, he needed that. “Yeah. S’good to see you.”

Cassie’s eyes sparkle. She settles down at the table, and Kon takes his seat opposite her again; there’s a receipt in her hand, and he cranes his neck to look. Order number seventy-three: a large iced vanilla macchiato and some coffee cake.

“Iced vanilla macchiato, huh?” He glances at his own cup. “Nice. I got a blueberry chai latte.”

“Ooh! Can I try?”

Kon wordlessly slides his cup over the table; Cassie takes a sip. Her face lights up, and she slides the cup back over to him.

“Okay, that’s good.” She taps her fingers against the side of the table, then reaches over and helps herself to a little piece of the matcha bun, too. “Mm, so’s that! Nice. Solid taste.”

Kon laughs. “Thanks. Hey, hand that over!”

Cassie obligingly pushes over her saucer, and Kon steals her fork to sample the coffee cake. It’s good, pleasantly moist and not too dense; the flavor is nice and sweet, with a good hint of cinnamon, and the streusel topping ties it all together.

“Nice,” Kon mimics. “Solid taste.“

Cassie swats him on the shoulder.

Once she gets her coffee, they leave the café area, drinks in hand. The curved escalators offer a broad view of the mall atrium, people milling this way and that even on a gloomy, wet day like this. It’s been a while since Kon’s been out to downtown San Francisco, and it’s nice, being here with Cassie. Plus, the overpriced department stores always have some weird “fashionable” shit for them to laugh at.

After a little while of meandering from store to store, they find themselves in the back of the accessories area on the second Nordstrom level, where many people are around. It seems as good a time as any to ask what’s up, so Kon nudges her arm. “So?”

Cassie glances up from the bizarrely fuzzy, highlighter yellow-and-orange scarf she’s examing and nudges him back. “So, what?”

“You said you wanted to tell me something in person.” Kon raises an eyebrow. “What was it?”

“Oh!”

Cassie lights up. She loops the offensive scarf around his neck, tugs him closer by pulling on it, and beams at him. Kon picks up the trailing end of the eyesore—that is, the scarf—and raises an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Really,” Cassie says. “Okay, so… I know it’s early, and I haven’t actually proposed to Cissie yet, but I mean, we both said we want to get married, and it’s just the actual proposal part that we’re leaving as a surprise, so I know the wedding will happen at some point, and—well—I just wanted to ask you if, um…” She rakes a hand through her hair and bites her lip for just a second, then looks up at him earnestly, her smile luminous. “Would you wanna be my best man? Or—dude of honor? Whatever it is they call it?”

Oh. Oh, wow.

Kon is so moved that for a minute, he forgets how horrifically ugly the scarf she’s trapped him in is. Cassie wants him to be her dude of honor. They’ve been best friends for years, so it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise, but he’s still all warm and mushy inside now.

“For real? I mean—yeah, man, I’d love to!” Kon sweeps her into another bone-crushing hug, and Cassie laughs with delight and scoops him clean off the ground for a second before remembering they’re in the back of a department store, and quickly setting him down again. Kon laughs, too. “But we have to call me the Dude of Honor. Or maybe Best Broski. Something like that.”

“We’ll workshop it,” Cassie agrees, and playfully tweaks his nose. “Also, this is a binding and reciprocal contract. I get to be Best Butch or Maid of Honor or something whenever you marry Tim.”

Kon’s brain abruptly stutters to a halt. “When I—when I—I’m not—what?”

Please.” Cassie snorts and reaches up to lightly tug one of his curls. Kon smacks her hand away out of habit more than anything, his poor brain still trying to catch up.

Kon-El.exe has encountered a problem and needs to restart. Please wait; rebooting in 3… 2… 1…

Him?

Marrying Tim?

That—well, he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about that, but—like—of course he’s thought about waking up next to Tim every day, or going furniture shopping together so they could decorate their own apartment together, or betting on what kind of rooster decoration Ma will get for their kitchen (it’s bad luck not to have one, she says, and Kon believes it).

But that’s the thing. He’s thought about it, and sure, he’d love to, but it’s Tim. Everyone he knows is a little bit in love with him, right? Like, it’s Tim. It’s Tim! It’s impossible to look at Tim and not adore him. He’s just… magnetic like that. Alluring. Amazing. Wonderful. Lovely—

“Hellooooo? Earth to Conner? Anybody home?” Cassie’s hand whooshes through the air right at the tip of his nose, and Kon jumps, slamming back to reality with a start. “Hey! I didn’t think that was gonna break your brain.”

“I—I’m not gonna marry Tim,” Kon protests weakly. “Where did you even… Tim’s not even into me. I think.”

Cassie opens her mouth, gapes at him, closes it, and claps a hand to her forehead. “For the love of—are you serious? You cannot be that oblivious. He knows what your favorite hair cream is. I don’t think I ever knew that when we were dating.”

“Yeah, but Tim’s just kind of like that,” Kon points out, rather reasonably, in his opinion. “He memorizes everything about everyone he cares about. He’s kind of a freak like that. He’s known my favorite hair creams—plural, Cass, I like to alternate—for years.”

Cassie groans theatrically. “Yeah, okay, he can be a freak, but like—he’s the most batshit about you. You literally let him hack your webcam to watch you sleep.”

“He had a nightmare, and it’s not like he can come over like Bart does, and I thought it was sweet of him,” Kon protests. “It was sweet of him! Besides, Bart does just show up all the time, and he’s definitely not into me. Like, I know Tim loves me a lot! He’s my best friend, and I’m his, and I know that. I just… I dunno if he’s into me like you’re saying. Like, maybe? But I don’t think it’s like, exactly easy to tell, with him.”

Cassie’s other hand joins the first over her face. “Easy to—Oh my god. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation—oh my god. I can’t be the one to do this. Listen to me,” and she claps her hands to his cheeks, holding his gaze intently. “Tim Drake is head over heels for you. Like, deeply, deeply in love with you. So far gone it’s not even funny. Do you understand me?”

Kon stares at her. Her hands squish his cheeks a little further. Does he understand her, she says, but it’s not really a question; she clearly expects one answer.

“No? Jeez, Cass, how are you so sure about this?”

“Oh my god! You know what—no, I can’t do this alone. New plan.” Cassie flicks him on the side of the head. “Cissie, Greta, Anita, and I were thinking about doing girls’ night out next Saturday. Going clubbing. You’re coming, and so is Tim, and we will get this through your head.”

“We should invite Bart, too. Wouldn’t want him to be left out,” Kon says automatically, and then blinks. “Wait, what?”

“Sure, yeah. We’ll bring Bart.” Cassie rolls her eyes. “You are ridiculous, Kent. Just as ridiculous as that scarf.”

Clubbing is… hmm. It can be fun, yeah, but after last time he went out, Kon’s not so sure he’s ready to repeat the experience. He hesitates a moment, and Cassie catches that, raising an eyebrow wordlessly; Kon sucks in a breath. “Let’s do somewhere doing Latin night rather than like, EDM or rave-style?”

Cassie brightens. “Yeah, sure! It’s been a while since we’ve gone partner dancing. I’m in!”

She hooks her arm through his and leads him towards another section of the store, passing by a rack full of suits that look for all the world like they’re made of the same material as airplane seat covers. Kon lets her pull him along, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at her determination.

“Also,” he belatedly adds, “by the way, I’m rocking this scarf, thank you very much.”

“Tim would definitely agree, but he’s the only one,” Cassie says dryly. “That’s how you know he’s really gone for you.”

Kon rolls his eyes, then picks up one of the trailing ends of the scarf and considers. It looks like a Furby and a traffic cone had a horrific love child with a bowl of candy corn. “I think Tim could pull this off. I definitely am.”

“Oh my god,” Cassie groans. “You know what? We should test this. We need to find you an awful outfit to go with it, then send pics and see if Tim still thinks you’re hot. He will, of course, because he’s a mess with bad taste, but I’ll have a good laugh.”

“Hey!” Kon protests. “Bad taste? I’m a total snack!”

“Uh, yeah, but not in that monstrosity you’re not.” Cassie grins, then relents. “Here, you can pick out something atrocious for me, too, and we’ll send it to Cissie. Fair’s fair, right?”

“Oh, now we’re talkin’.” Kon grins. “Absolutely. I am so in.”

And from the way Cassie’s face lights up, he just knows he’s going to be buying this stupid, overpriced, ugly scarf when they leave this store.

But, well, with how much it’s making them both giggle… that doesn’t seem so bad.

Notes:

and there you have it! kon & clark talk things out, and clark gets to actually explain himself. it's been said before and i'm sure will be said again, both by me and by others, that there's a lot of reasons for clark to not be 100% responsible for kon at first, both editorial and in-universe. in the watsonian analysis, it can definitely be said he wasn't 100% in the right to be as hands-off as he was written to be, but at least this is my interpretation of how to make that still make sense with his character being a fundamentally good and kind man--he isn't 100% in the wrong for needing time, either.

also for the record. this fic ignores that geoff johns doesn't know what a clone is and sticks with the late superboy (1994) interpretation that he is, in fact, around 99% or so identical to clark, with the remaining dna being human as a stabilizing agent. the part of the retcon i acknowledge is that human donor being lex luthor instead of paul westfield, but like. the guy is a clone. that's what cloning means lol

also. dick grayson's minion memes are real and they're in your walls. be careful. i'm sorry but it's real and i know that in my heart he would do this bc he thinks it's funny. i know.

kon&cassie partner dancing is canon in yj btw! it looks like they're doing lindy hop at her school dance. it's everything to me

as always, thank you for reading and extra thank you to everyone who comments!!! next chapter may be delayed; i'll be travelling a bit and i'm not sure i'll have reliable internet for a bit there but hopefully we'll be gucci. until then, you can find me on tumblr at mamawasatesttube !!

Chapter 7: and love may blossom;

Summary:

“Pan, who and what art thou?" he cried huskily.
"I'm youth, I'm joy," Peter answered at a venture, "I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg.”
― J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Notes:

Warnings: non-graphic discussion of grooming and past abusive relationships, mild sexual themes. Also, one more Nightwing minion meme.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Which one do you think goes better?”

Kon holds up two chokers—one’s a dark purple ribbon with a heart-shaped pendant, the other a classic studded black. Both could match his outfit tonight, hence the indecision; he’s wearing a deep purple crop top with a heart-shaped cutout, so, like, the first choker super matches (ha, see what he did there?), but on the other hand, is that too much purple and hearts? Can you even have too many hearts, ever?

And on the other hand, studded black chokers go with literally everything, so. It’s a dilemma.

Tim, sprawled on Kon’s bed, sits up to see the options. He presses his lips together and tilts his head slightly in consideration, kind of like Krypto does. “Hmm… I like the first one.”

So that’s a no. Never too many hearts. Kon grins and turns back to the mirror, setting the black choker back on its little rack. “Coolio, thanks.”

He reaches up to fasten the purple one around his neck, but before he actually brings the clasp to the chain, fingers brush against his, and he nearly yelps in surprise.

Tim, suddenly right behind him—when did he get so close?—meets his eyes in the mirror, visibly amused; he clearly knows he almost made Kon jump out of his skin. Dammit, did Cass teach him that or something?

“Here,” Tim says, and deftly steals the ends of the choker from Kon’s hands. “Let me.”

He’s standing close enough that Kon can feel the faintest brush of his breath against the exposed nape of his neck as Tim leans in to hook the clasp into the chain; his fingers are slightly cool against Kon’s bare skin, and as the clasp closes around a link of the chain, his thumb swipes slowly over a ridge in Kon’s spine in what Kon would fucking swear is an intentional, gentle caress.

Aaaand now Kon’s brain is about to fucking melt. Like, liquefy, drip out of his ears, and ruin his pretty blouse melt.

Why would—why did Tim—that little brush of his thumb, he did that on purpose, he—that’s so much more intimate than their usual bro moments! Did he—he had to have known, right? Like, he’s not going around just lightly caressing just anybody’s neck in ways that make their entire body shiver. …Right?

…And why did he come over to fasten the choker at all when he knows Kon could do it easily with a flick of TTK?

“There,” Tim says, just behind Kon’s ear; his eyes glimmer in the mirror, and the little smile on his face speaks volumes. His ears are red, though, and Kon latches onto that, because if Tim is out here being a suave motherfucker, he needs some kind of lifeline to cling to in order to keep his brain from doing that whole aforementioned melting thing.

Distantly, Kon is really, really glad none of his Kryptonian family are around or paying attention to him. His heart is doing all sorts of acrobatics in his chest, because seriously, what was that?

Cassie’s words float out of memory to haunt him, once again. There’s no way Tim is actually into him, right? But then again, he wouldn’t have… like, this is flirting. Right? He’s flirting.

Holy fucking shit. Is Tim flirting with him?

No way. Right? There’s no way. Like—it’d be great if he was, but—Kon would’ve noticed before, if that was going on, right? There’s no way.

But if it wasn’t flirting, what was it?

Holy shit. That might have actually, seriously, for real been flirting.

Emboldened by this absolutely mindboggling theory, Kon meets Tim’s gaze in the mirror and beams at him. “Perfect. Thanks, hot stuff!”

As far as flirting back goes, it’s tame; he’s called Tim hot stuff, babe, sweet cheeks, and other nonsense plenty of times. But it’s still worth noting that this time, that blush making Tim’s ears red spreads to his cheeks, and he clears his throat, stepping back out of Kon’s direct space. “Yeah, no problem.”

Oh.

He’s blushing because of Kon.

Holy shit. Okay. Okay okay okay. Cool cool cool. Mega cool. Kon can so work with this.

Like, it might just be that Tim thinks he’s hot; it might not be that he’s “head over heels” like Cassie said. Kon still isn’t sure about all that. But it’s something! And it’s Tim.

It’s Tim. That means the world and then some.

Kon turns back to his vanity to hide a smile. Tim’s perching on the footboard of the bed now instead of sprawling out on it again, and maybe he’d trick anyone else into thinking he’s genuinely nonchalant, but he’s never been good at fooling Kon. Seeing him flustered, albeit in his lowkey, controlled Tim way, is incredibly endearing, and Kon kind of wants to go squish him in a hug.

Instead, he studies his reflection. They’re going out for Latin night with the whole gang, so he’s dressed to dance—skater skirts are the best for doing spins and twirls. The way they flare out is just fun! And, because he has a brand to maintain, he’s once again got the fishnets, plus some sturdy, strappy Latin heels. And a fuckton of glitter on his face, in the form of highlighter and also sparkly eyeliner.

God bless Cissie for introducing him to the world of makeup. Is there anything better than having a faceful of glitter?

…Now there’s an idea, actually.

“How are we doing on time?” he asks, eyeing his makeup bag. His face is fully ready and glittery, but Tim is right here and readily available, soooo…

“We’ve got another twenty-ish minutes before we need to leave if we wanna be on time to meet everyone,” Tim answers, glancing at his wristwatch. “Why? Forgot something?”

Kon picks up his favorite eyeliner and prepares his very best puppy-dog eyes. They’re almost as effective as Jon’s, which in Kon’s opinion is really saying something.

Turning around, he clasps his hands and gazes soulfully at Tim. “…Rob?”

Tim’s jaw drops.

To his credit, he closes his mouth quickly, but the puppy-dog damage is clearly done, visible in the way he’s sitting up a little straighter, his eyes a bit wider as his hands flutter uncertainly at his sides, like he wants to reach out but doesn’t know whether he ought to.

Gottem.

“What?” Tim asks warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Kon sidles a little closer, just to really drive it home. “Can I draw on your face too? Pretty pleeeease? With a cherry on top?”

Tim stares at him for a moment. Kon presses his luck on gamble and flutters his eyelashes innocently.

It works. Tim huffs a little and rolls his eyes, but he nods. Kon internally pumps a fist and cheers. “Yeah, sure, why not? You could just ask normally, you know.”

Kon laughs. “Yeah, but why would I do that? Normal is just a setting on a washing machine, Tim.”

Tim rolls his eyes again. “Right.” He rocks back and forth slightly on the footboard, then cocks his head at Kon. “Should I sit here, or… How do you want me?”

In whatever way you’d like, Kon does not say, because he’s a super responsible and mature guy who always thinks before he speaks. Instead, he points at his desk chair—the backrest will be helpful in keeping Tim’s head steady. “Why, if you’ll be so kind as to sit your fine lil butt right down over there…”

Tim smirks. “Aw, you think my butt is fine?”

“Of course I do! C’mon, Tim, what kind of bestie would I be if I agreed with Bart about your ass being flatter than a pancake?”

Yeah, that wipes the smirk right off his face. Sucker.

With a dirty look, Tim drops into the chair and leans back. “Keep being rude and I’ll revoke your rights to draw on my face,” he threatens, but it’s an empty threat if Kon’s ever heard one.

“Sure you will, Rob,” he says breezily, digging through his makeup bag. Tim’s wearing a dark red button-down (with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, which only highlights how toned his forearms are, and seriously. How does Cassie expect Kon to believe it isn’t normal for everyone to swoon over Tim? Have they seen his arms?), so he wants to find this one rich, sexy wine-red liquid lipstick he’s got in here somewhere…

Aha! There it is.

Grabbing a couple other things, he crosses the room to stand in front of Tim, puts a hand on his shoulder, and uses him to rotate the chair a quarter-turn, so the lighting is better. He starts to lean down, then frowns; he’s too tall while standing, and the chair doesn’t go any higher, and the angle isn’t very good for drawing Tim’s eyeliner on.

So, naturally, Kon does the only sensible thing to do: he plops himself into Tim’s lap. Specifically, he straddles him, one leg thrown over each side of the chair, and scoots in close.

Tim’s breath catches in his throat.

For a breathless, fleeting moment, their eyes meet. Tim’s eyes are wide, and this close, it’s easy for Kon to see the grey flecks in the blue, to admire the curve of his thick, dark eyelashes. He can take in the rosy flush rising in his cheeks again, or the pinkish tan of his lips. His thin, pretty lips, slightly chapped, slightly parted. Tim’s heart is pounding, his blood rushing frantically through his body; Kon can both hear and feel the moment when he finally remembers to breathe.

Oh, man. Ohhhh man. Kon is so, so fucked.

“We’ll start with a bit of shadow, I think,” he hears himself say. Phew, it’s good to know that at least some part of his brain is on autopilot, not completely stalled out having a meltdown over the fact that his best friend is pretty, or that Kon is in his lap, hips right over Tim’s, and that if they were both wearing less clothes, he’d be in prime position to—

Okay. Okay! Not going there. Not! Going! There! Especially not while he’s in Tim’s lap! Hoo buddy, get it together. Get it together, man! Back on track.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good,” Tim says. Kon is pretty sure he’s not imagining the breathy quality to his voice.

Before he can get sidetracked any further, he takes a breath. Then he gets out his eyeshadow primer and unscrews the cap.

Tim tips his face up before Kon even has to ask, as if it’s the automatic response to seeing Kon lean down over him, and god, fuck if that doesn’t make Kon’s heart squeeze in his chest. It would be so easy to lean in just a little further and kiss him; he won’t, especially when they’re about to have to go meet their friends, but he can’t stop thinking about it lately.

How was Cassie so sure? Kon’s been turning it over and over in his head since last weekend, and he just can’t figure it out.

But the way Tim fastened his choker for him just now… his heart flutters at the thought, and before he even thinks about it, Kon leans in and brushes his lips to the tip of Tim’s nose, so light it barely even counts as a kiss.

Tim’s eyes widen. Kon half-expects him to pull back, but he doesn’t; if anything, he leans in a little more, as if to chase Kon as he retreats, and oh, if that doesn’t do things to Kon…

“What was that for?” Tim’s voice is soft, and the look on his face…

Fuck. Kon just told himself he wasn’t going to try and get into this when they’re about to leave. If Tim isn’t comfortable with it, and then they have to go hang out with their friends, everyone will be able to tell how awkward things are between the two of them; on the other hand, if Tim is into him, there’s no way Kon will want to go out after that revelation.

Thinking fast, he grins a bit crookedly and taps a finger against the back of his choker. “Same thing this was for, I think.”

Tim’s gaze is sharp, piercing right through Kon and all his layers of bullshit. But instead of calling him on it, he just softens, his lips tugging into a smile so tender it could almost be described as mushy. “Oh,” he says, and then after half a second, “Sick.”

Kon breaks into laughter, fond warmth bubbling up deep inside him. “Dude!” He bumps their foreheads together as whatever not-quite-tension there was between them melts away, back into the comfortable closeness they’re both used to. Even if this is, uh, a little more closeness than usual. “You’re a massive fuckin’ dork. You know that?”

Tim’s lips quirk into a wry smile. “So I’ve been told. By you. Several times.”

“I only say it ‘cuz it’s true, Rob,” Kon sniffs. He almost leans in to kiss Tim’s nose again—fuck, now that he’s done it once, he wants to kiss all over his face, wants to feel that smile against his own mouth—but this time he catches himself.

Anyway. Makeup. They have to leave soon. Makeup. Right. Yeah. Okay. Makeup. He can do that.

In Kon’s extremely unbiased and professional opinion, Tim’s face is already pretty much perfect, so he doesn’t need to add much. Just some bold, winged eyeliner (of course) and a few pops of color, for emphasis. And glitter, of course. He starts with the primer, then carefully applies some intensely sparkly gold eyeshadow over it; next is a dramatic swoosh of eyeliner, because duh. Gold highlighter to match, too, also because duh. He cradles Tim’s jaw in his hand as he fills in his brows just a touch, since the lipstick is so dark, and tries his very best not to think about how soft Tim’s lips look as he carefully swipes the applicator over them.

“There you go!”

Kon screws the cap back onto the liquid lipstick and leans back to survey his handiwork. This is a mistake, because shit shit shit Tim is so goddamn pretty, and Kon’s already in his lap, and now he extra wants to make out with him. This is no fair, and he’s done it all to himself!

Before he can do anything stupid (seriously, making out with Tim would totally ruin both of their makeup), he floats himself up and backwards, to get his legs back under him. If he immediately misses the warmth of Tim’s body against his thighs, well… no one else has to know, right?

After a second, Tim stands in a fluid motion, crossing the room to go look at himself in Kon’s vanity mirror. He blinks at his reflection a few times, then turns to Kon with an almost shy, pleased little grin.

“You did, uh… wow. It looks good.” He clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Kon drops the makeup tubes back in his bag and zips it up. “Pretty easy when working with a naturally pretty-boy face like yours, though. I barely did anything!”

“Still,” Tim says. He’s still smiling; Kon really, really likes that smile. But Tim glances away, back down to his watch. “We should get going. Ready?”

“Always,” Kon says, and without thinking, reaches out and takes his hand. Tim interlaces their fingers, smiles at him, and bumps his shoulder against Kon’s as they head for the door.

Tim doesn’t let go of his hand until they reach his car. Kon can still feel the ghost of his touch all the way to the club.

KIND-OF-GROWN-UP-NOW (?!?!?!) JUST US (7 members)

not cis!!!!! [07:52 PM]
hey!! greta and i are running a lil late (mayb 15 min?)
we r stuck in traffic 🙄🙄🙄 booo
but we’re on the way!! cant wait to see @everyone

I NEED TO FIGHT [07:52 PM]
Hi, I’m driving right now – I’ll see your message when I arrive. If it’s urgent, please reply ‘URGENT’.

not cis!!!!! [07:52 PM]
oops that was supposed to be regular everyone sorry for the @ lol

classie cASSie! [07:53 PM]
ok!!! i’m already here, i’ll hold a table 💕💕
im still sad u guys ABANDONED me to get ready alone btw

not cis!!!!! [07:53 PM]
babe you were at work until like an hour ago!! some of us need longer than 10 minutes to get ready!!

ok nyoomer [07:53 PM]
you take ten whole minutes to get ready? lmaooo couldn’t be me!

not cis!!!!! [07:53 PM]
shut up bart.

classie cASSie! [07:53 PM]
yeah shut up bart.

ok nyoomer [07:53 PM]
RUDE
@im just a faaarm boyyy MOM THEYRE BULLYING ME

im just a faaarm boyyy [07:54 PM]
NO! COME HERE MY SWEET SON. I WILL PROTECT YOU
tim and i are on the road too btw! we’re abt 10 min out :D

ok nyoomer [07:54 PM]
ten minutes out?? what is it with you people and ten minutes smh
it’ll take me ten milliseconds to get ready and get over there!
and that’s if i’m taking it slow B)

im just a faaarm boyyy [07:54 PM]
changed my mind i am no longer a mother
@not cis!!!!! @classie cASSie! he’s all yours for the bullying, ladies

not cis!!!!! [07:54 PM]
LMAOOOOOOOO
thanks kon 😘😘

ok nyoomer [07:54 PM]
RUDE [2x combo]!!!!!!!!

im just a faaarm boyyy [07:55 PM]
you started it!

ok nyoomer [07:55 PM]
nuh uh!!!

im just a faaarm boyyy [07:55 PM]
you literally did!!!

ok nyoomer [07:55 PM]
did not!!!!

im just a faaarm boyyy [07:55 PM]
did too!!!

ok nyoomer [07:56 PM]
did not!!!!!!

im just a faaarm boyyy [07:56 PM]
did too!!!!!!

ok nyoomer [07:56 PM]
did not!!!!!!!!!

im just a faaarm boyyy [07:56 PM]
did too!!!!!!!!!!!

ok nyoomer [07:56 PM]
did not!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

not cis!!!!! [07:57 PM]
oh, brother.

“Conner! Tim!”

Cassie’s voice calls over the funky-fresh Latin music as Tim and Kon make their way into the club, and they spot her easily, waving from a couple of tables in the corner. Bart’s already there, too, of course, lounging in a chair tipped precariously back on two legs as he waves too.

“Hey, nerds,” Kon greets, unceremoniously dropping himself into Bart’s lap just to make the chair slam back into the ground.

Bart yelps and then wheezes as Kon’s weight squishes him, and his fists beat ineffectively against Kon’s back. Kon grins. “Get off, you jerk! You’re heavy! There’s a ton of empty chairs right there!”

“And you bullied me for not appreciating Kon enough,” Tim sniffs. “You can’t even let him sit on you without whining?”

“You want him? You can have him!” Bart shoves at Kon’s back; Kon, undeterred, leans harder against him the same way he would Jon. “Ugh!”

Laughing, Cassie reaches over and takes Kon’s hands, pulling him back to his feet. She lifts one arm and easily leads him into a twirl with the beat of the music; his skirt flares out as he spins, and a little rush of glee spikes through him. It’s fun.

“You look so cute!” Cassie gushes, giving him a once-over from head to toe. “That necklace pairs so well with your top.”

“What?” Bart is too smug for the next thing out of his mouth to be anything good. “Kon’s top isn’t wear—”

Tim, for whatever reason, stomps on Bart’s foot before he can finish that sentence. It’s probably for the best. Kon trusts his judgment.

While they wait for Anita, Cissie, and Greta, the four of them take turns holding down the fort at the table and going out to the dance floor. It’s Latin night, with a mix of merengue, salsa, cha-cha, and other tunes; Bart and Kon bounce their way through a very energetic jive, both of them laughing so much that Kon’s cheeks hurt by the end of the song. Anita arrives while they’re still on the floor, and they come back to the table to find her giggling with Cassie and Tim over a video of the two of them exuberantly ping-ponging around each other.

“We’re great at this, I don’t know what you mean,” Kon says, straight-faced. Bart, hanging onto his shoulders, cackles.

“You’re a riot, is what you are,” Anita says, and smacks his shoulder fondly. “I’m gonna get us a round of snacks. Everyone good with nachos?”

Bart grabs Cassie for a samba next, leaving Tim and Kon at the table; Kon plops down in one of the chairs, and Tim stands next to him, leaning against the table. Both of them watch fondly as Cassie twirls Bart under her arm, then spins him into sweetheart position, tucked against her side.

Then Tim lightly nudges Kon’s arm, and Kon blinks up at him.

Tim leans down a little to be heard over the music without raising his voice too much, though Kon could easily have heard him anyway. His arm stays pressed against the side of Kon’s shoulder. “You’re okay, right?”

Kon blinks again. “Huh?” Does he not look okay or something? He’s fine. Tim doesn’t think he’s, like, delicate, just ‘cuz he had a horrible time of it last week, right? No, Tim wouldn’t. “Yeah, ‘course. Why?”

Tim studies him for a moment, then softens with a little smile, seemingly satisfied with what he sees. “Just making sure. You mentioned being at a club a little bit ago, before you wound up at Dick’s, so… y’know. Just wanted to check in that you’re okay being here and all.”

Oh. Ohhhh. Aw, heck, that’s… really sweet of him, remembering that detail and all. Kon melts into a warm smile, shakes his head a little, then bumps his temple against Tim’s arm fondly. Tim cares, man.

“C’mon, Rob. ‘Course I’m okay! How could I not be? You’re here.”

Tim’s eyes widen just a fraction, and then his expression gets even softer, if that’s possible. “Oh,” he murmurs, and brushes his hand helplessly against Kon’s arm, as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself but needs to express some sort of affection. “Well. Good. I’m glad.”

Kon is hard-pressed not to snicker. Why is Tim so stupid cute? It’s no fair. “Yeah, me too.”

They stay like that, leaning ever-so-slightly into each other, as they watch Cassie twirl Bart around and around in a set of swivels; his hair smacks into her face, she squawks, and both Tim and Kon laugh.

Kon’s phone, in Tim’s pocket because Kon’s stupid skirt doesn’t have any, buzzes, and he reaches an arm around Tim to slip his hand into his pocket to get it. Tim raises an eyebrow, but says nothing as Kon reads the text he just got.

“It’s Cissie,” he reports, slipping the phone back into Tim’s pocket. “She and Greta just got here.”

Tim brightens and glances towards the door. “Rad! That’ll be the whole gang, huh?”

“Yup!” Kon agrees. He’s excited; it’s been way too long.

The moment Cissie and Greta appear around the corner from the entryway, Kon hops to his feet to wave enthusiastically. He hasn’t seen them in a while—and it’s been forever since they got the whole gang together—and he’s so pumped for tonight!

“Conner!” Greta spots him first, grabbing Cissie’s arm and hauling her over. Impressively, Cissie doesn’t even stumble despite the height of her heels. “Tim! Omigosh, hey, guys!”

“Hey, Greta, Cissie!” Tim greets, while Kon just holds out his arms. Greta throws herself into his chest with delight, and Kon hugs her tight enough to lift her off the ground for a moment before he sets her down and turns to give Cissie the same treatment.

“Hi, boys,” Cissie greets warmly, squeezing him back. She gives Tim a hug, too, then flicks the pendant of Kon’s choker. “Looking good, big boy. I like the hearts. I’m guessing you’re responsible for Tim’s face, too? Good job all around.”

Kon preens. “Thank you! Isn’t he pretty? I thought I did great, too!”

The samba song draws to a close as Greta and Cissie set down their purses; Greta shrugs off her cardigan and drapes it over the back of a chair, then excitedly flaps her hands at Cissie. “C’mon, c’mon! Take that old coat off! Cassie’s coming!”

Oh?

“New dress?” Kon asks, amused, while at his side Tim just quirks an eyebrow and grins. Knowing him, he probably already saw the receipt for whatever outfit Cissie’s wearing, or whatever ridiculous Tim thing. He’s just… like that.

“Yeah,” Cissie says, equally amused, as she starts to unbutton her coat. “We bought it on a shopping trip a couple months back, but I haven’t had any occasion to use it yet.”

“If it doesn’t knock Cassie’s socks off, I’ll eat my hat,” Greta declares.

“Cassie isn’t wearing socks,” Bart says, suddenly at her elbow. “Where’s your hat?”

Greta jumps with a squeak, spins on her heel, and lightly smacks Bart on the side of the head. “Bart! I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that!”

Bart grins, clearly unrepentant. “Sorry not sorry!” he sing-songs, then smushes her in a quick hug. “But seriously. Where’s your hat? I wanna see.”

“Now hold on a minute,” Tim interjects. “If Cassie’s not wearing socks, the data is inconclusive on whether or not Cissie’s dress will have been able to have knocked them off. It’s a hypothetical we can’t test at present. So you can’t conclude that Greta needs to eat her hat.” A pause, and then a snicker. “…Unless you want to go buy a pair of socks real quick and put them on Cassie’s feet.”

He looks entirely too pleased with himself for this brilliant, stupid-ass conclusion. Kon thinks, not for the first time, of dipping and kissing him sweetly in the moonlight.

Cassie appears from the crowd with a huff. “Bart! You abandoned me! Why are we talking about my feet—oh,” and she breaks off, her eyes growing wide. “Oh my god.”

Cissie, halfway through sliding her coat down her arms, looks very pleased. She’s blushing—Kon can hear her heart pound even through the music, and the way Cassie’s already rushed-from-exertion heartbeat skips and stutters in her chest.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Cissie says, dropping the coat onto the back of the nearest chair. She does a slow twirl, gesturing at her dress with both hands, and flips her hair over one shoulder with a wink. “Like what you see?”

It’s a short, form-fitting red dress with gold detailing around the décolletage and hips. Kon can instantly see why Cissie and Greta were so excited about it; the designer may or may not have meant it, but the shape of those gold details is totally reminiscent of Cassie’s armor.

“Oh my god,” Cassie repeats, hands rising to cover her mouth. “Oh my god, baby, you’re so gorgeous, oh my god…”

Kon whistles appreciatively, and Bart fans himself, pretending to swoon against Greta’s side. “Wow, is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

Cissie laughs and twirls again, beaming. “I was hoping you’d like it!”

“Oh my god,” Cassie whines through her hands. Her face is red enough to match Cissie’s dress at this point; Tim glances up at Kon through his eyelashes, amused, and Kon knows he’s thinking the same thing.

And then it happens.

“Oh my god,” Cassie moans, again. “Marry me.”

Wait.

Wait a fucking minute—

“Cassie?!” Cissie yelps, her eyes flying open wide. “Did you just—"

“Oh fuck, did I just say that out loud?” Cassie stares at Cissie for a moment, then helplessly around the circle at Tim, Kon, Greta, and Bart. “Oh, fuck. Wait—wait! I have—Kon, where’s my jacket, the ring—”

She jerks into action and yanks the jacket out of the air as Kon whoops and tosses it to her, scrabbling frantically at the pocket. Half a second later, she’s down on one knee, even redder than before if possible.

“I didn’t mean to do this here, I—I had plans, a whole everything, um—but fuck it! Whatever! I said it, I’ll stand by it! Cissie—”

Cissie tackles her into a kiss.

Kon whoops loudly, Bart whistles, and Tim claps. Greta jumps in place, squealing, and throws her arms around Bart. Cassie settles Cissie on her outstretched leg as they slowly break apart, and Cissie bursts into laughter.

“I didn’t even—you didn’t let me finish asking!” Cassie protests, cradling Cissie against herself with a smile brighter than the sun. “Baby, I love you so much, I really do, I mean it!”

“Shut up!” Cissie kisses her again, laughing. “Of course I’m saying yes, I don’t care if you finished asking! You’re a mess, and I love you too!”

“Oh, I missed something.” Anita looks from the tray of nachos in her hands to the scene on the floor, then back up to the rest of them as they stand in a semicircle, all beaming, then back down to Cissie and Cassie. “Hi, girlies. What’s going on?”

“Cassie proposed on accident,” Bart answers glibly. He’s clearly enjoying every second of this, even more now as he leans over to grab a plate of nachos to inhale. “And now they’re gonna make out about it, I think.”

Only Bart’s quick reflexes save the tray from hitting the floor.

“Cassie did WHAT?!” Anita shrieks, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “GIRL! What was all that about me helping you hide the ring in the—”

“It was an accident!” Cassie wails, laughing helplessly into Cissie’s shoulder. People around them are beginning to stare, what with all the yelling and cheering and all, but neither Cissie nor Cassie seems to give a shit, too busy being wrapped up in each other. “It just—it slipped out! Look at her! Do you—do you see her shoulders? God, I’m so lucky—”

“Cassie!” Cissie smothers a laugh into her hand. “Please, you’re too much. I can’t believe—you already have a ring, I can’t believe this! You… you…”

“We helped her pick it out a few weeks back,” Kon offers, and Cassie nods excitedly.

“Yeah! I’ve been planning—”

“For nothing!” Anita adds. Next to her, Bart balances the tray on one hand to resume shoveling nachos into his mouth with the other. “Proposed on accident, oh my god.”

Honestly. And to think Cassie tried to complain Kon was stupidly far gone about Tim.

“I think I solidly don’t have to eat my hat,” Greta says.

Bart tries to laugh, chokes on his mouthful, and coughs; Greta pounds him on the back until he manages to swallow and clears his throat. “Yeah yeah yeah, gotta sock it to you, you win this one!”

“What about socks?” Cassie asks again. “You said something about putting socks on me earlier.”

“Greta said seeing me would knock your socks off,” Cissie says, and kisses Cassie again, dissolving into a fit of giggles after a second. “I think she was right.”

“Oh,” Cassie says dreamily. “Ah. Yes. Yes, she was. Let me—baby, give me your—here, lemme put the ring on you…”

“Congratulations, you two,” Tim says warmly, as they all watch Cassie slide the ring onto Cissie’s finger. Belatedly, Kon notices he’s recording—when did he get the phone out? Good idea, though; the girls will definitely want that for posterity.

“Thanks!”

Both of them beam, and Cissie coos over the ring in delight, then swivels about on Cassie’s outstretched leg to show it off to the rest of them. Everyone cheers and claps; the music is upbeat, their friends just got engaged, and joy suffuses the air.

Holy shit. Their friends just got engaged.

“Well, shit. Guess we should forgo the nachos and go for a round of champagne!” Anita pauses, looks at Bart and the nachos, and hooks her arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, you can help me get drinks!”

For a little while, all seven of them crowd into their chosen table and booth and catch up, talking and laughing over the beat of the music. The lights are low and the air is warm, and Tim’s thigh presses along the side of Kon’s as they squeeze into the booth to make room for Greta to settle on Kon’s other side. Cissie and Cassie are snuggled up on the other side, next to a pile of everyone’s coats and jackets, and Bart and Anita pull up two chairs at the entrance side and make themselves comfortable.

Halfway through Anita regaling them all with a tale of some idiot customer trying to hit on one of her girls mid-shift and the way she gloriously shut him down (“I am the manager”), Tim’s hand slips into Kon’s, and the gentle weight of his head comes to rest against Kon’s shoulder. His eyes are still on Anita as he listens, but he leans into Kon’s side enough that Kon’s heart squeezes fondly in his chest.

Man. He loves his friends.

He runs his thumb over Tim’s knuckles affectionately. Tim responds by laying his thumb over the base of Kon’s. Kon could melt on the spot.

The night passes in a blur of food, drink (non-alcoholic, for Kon, since he can’t get drunk anyway and all alcohol does is make his fruity little beverages taste bad), and dance. At one point, all of them wind up on the dance floor in a big circle, while later Cissie and Cassie dance a slow, romantic rumba that has the rest of them pointing, cheering, hooting, and hollering; Kon and Cissie twirl their way through a salsa, while Bart hauls Tim out for a jive and steps on his feet several times.

(Kon suspects that’s payback for Tim stepping on his foot earlier. Bart didn’t step on him once when they danced.)

And then a tango comes on, and Tim’s eyes snap to Kon across the table. He doesn’t even have to say anything; Kon’s already on his feet, grinning, ready to place his hand in Tim’s again.

Tim smirks. He leads Kon to the dance floor easily; god, Kon would follow him anywhere.

The summer before last, Tim and Kon took an Argentine tango class for the pettiest reasons of all time. It met twice weekly for ten weeks at a studio in Metropolis, and by the end of it, they were more than qualified to show up the bride and groom at the wedding of some guy from Gotham that Tim fucking hates. Kon doesn’t even remember all the details; he mostly remembers Tim texting him one day to say, “hey, a WE business partner invited me 2 his wedding 🙄🙄🙄 im going bc i want bruce to owe me a favor but do u wanna be my +1? we can cause problems on purpose :3c”

And, well. Kon is a simple man. If his best friend offers him an opportunity to cause problems on purpose, he takes it.

Now, he lets Tim draw him into frame, his right hand clasped in Tim’s left, while Tim’s right arm wraps around him and draws him close. With all the heat and exertion of dancing, Tim’s unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and it takes more willpower than Kon would like to admit to avoid staring at his collarbones. They’re pressed together, chest to chest, as Tim squeezes his hand

Then they begin to move.

They start with a simple eight-step basic. Tim dances like he fights: sharp and precise, elegant and fluid. He moves like water, effortless and bold, and it’s just as easy to follow his lead on the dance floor as it is on the battlefield.

Definitely more fun on the dance floor, though. The battlefield doesn’t have half as many opportunities for Tim to twirl him so that his skirt flares out, or for him to flirtily hook his leg between Tim’s knees.

“It’s been a while since we did this,” Tim murmurs. If Kon didn’t have superhearing, he wouldn’t be able to hear him over the music; as it is, he grins, exuberant as Tim guides him through a set of eight rapid hip-swivels, back and forth and back and forth. His skirt flares out on every spin, and giddy delight bubbles through him.

“Yeah, it has.” He can see a faint sheen of sweat on Tim’s skin, shimmering along his jaw and down his neck. His makeup though, Kon is pleased to note, is still perfectly intact. “I like it. We should dance more often.”

Tim twirls him into a dip. Kon bends back over his arm, letting the world turn upside down; from the side of the floor, Cissie shouts “Get it, boys!”, and Kon doesn’t have to be able to see Tim’s face to know the exact smirk that must be tugging at his lips now.

And then Tim pulls him back upright and leads him into another basic, grinning. His face is flushed, and his heart is thrumming in his chest; there’s a warm glow from his cheeks down his body, disappearing behind his shirt; Kon kind of wants to follow it, just to see how far down it goes. Heat pulses low in Kon’s core.

Fuck, Tim’s so gorgeous. It’s not fair.

“We should,” Tim agrees a bit belatedly. “Hey, you still remember our routine from class?”

Does he ever? That routine was hot as hell, and super flashy. It was so fun to pull at the wedding. “Uh, obviously I do!”

Tim grins at him, the same grin he has whenever he’s about to jump from a building and feel the rush of the wind as he grapples to the next. Kon’s heart flutters in his chest.

“Good,” Tim says. “You’d better.”

They dance through the steps they’ve done together a hundred times before, Kon’s skirt flaring out around his hips again and again as he twirls. Every time he steps through Tim’s legs, their inner thighs brush, and the feeling of Tim’s pants against Kon’s bare skin through his fishnets is nothing short of exhilarating.

Tim spins him around and catches him so that his back is against Tim’s chest, Tim’s hand on his hip; his other hand guides Kon’s arm out, and they trace through several steps together like that. Tim’s heart pounds against Kon’s back, the heat of his body immense with so little space between them; Kon can feel the warmth of his breath against his neck, and he swallows hard and forces himself to focus on his steps.

The music swells, sharp and proud and sensuous all at once, like the glide of silk against skin. Tim’s hand strokes along the underside of Kon’s wrist as they turn. A pulse of heat sinks low into the pit of Kon’s stomach.

When Tim twirls him back around, catching him effortlessly and drawing him back into frame, the routine is nearly over (and so is the song). Kon lightly kicks through the air and spins in Tim’s arms, and then lets Tim pull him to the side; instead of stepping sideways as his weight shifts, he lifts his right leg and hooks it around Tim’s upper thigh, just below his hip, and leans into him.

Tim takes his weight easily, just like he always has. Kon knows he could float his way through this move, but he’s never had to, and he knows he never will. It’s simple, really.

Tim will never let him fall.

That said, fuck. Last time they did this, Kon wasn’t wearing a short skirt and just fishnets; with his legs open like this, his leg hooked around Tim’s, with Tim holding him up, wholly in control…

He swallows hard again. Tim’s hands are strong and secure, his arms steadfast as he guides Kon through a spin, still holding him up. His face is resolute with concentration, but when he catches Kon’s gaze, he breaks into a fierce grin, and fuck if that doesn’t make Kon all warm and mushy inside.

God. Tim’s heart is racing from the exertion of the dancing, his blood roaring through his veins; his cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing hard, and despite it all he’s standing firm. He’s so… he’s so perfect. Kon could swoon right into his arms.

The music fades, and they hold that ending pose, Kon’s leg still hooked around Tim’s hip. Kon tries frantically to get his heart under control.

Finally, Tim lowers his arms and Kon drops his foot back to the ground, sucking in a breath. Tim lets go of him; Kon misses his warmth immediately.

“Well!” He drapes an arm around Tim’s shoulders, tugging him back into his side. Be cool, Kent, he tells himself. Be cool. Be fucking cool. “That was fun.”

Tim gives him a wry look, but hooks his arm around Kon’s waist in return as they walk back to their table to take a little break. Kon does his very best to pretend the brush of Tim’s skin against his doesn’t send a little thrill racing through him. “Yeah, it was.”

“Daaamn, you two!” Anita, sitting in the booth with Greta, grins broadly and fans herself. “That was somethin’ else!”

Tim grins; Kon preens and pulls him closer. “Thanks! We try. Did you like the dip? I love the dip, it’s so dramatic.”

“Yes, the dip was really good,” Greta agrees. She pushes a couple of glasses of water at them. “Here, got you these! Remember to stay hydrated.”

“Hydrate or die-drate,” Anita agrees solemnly. Greta giggles.

Kon plops down in one of the two chairs; Tim perches on the edge of the booth, and they both take a moment to drink up. Kon is definitely feeling clingy, because he kind of really wants to reach out and take Tim’s hand again, but he quashes the urge; he’s got Tim all to himself all night once they leave the club and go back to his place anyway. He can be patient.

And if Cassie wants to call him obvious and ridiculous for looking at Tim with all these stars in his eyes, well. Pot, kettle, et cetera… not that Kon thinks she’ll be saying anything about it anyway.

He gives in just enough to rest his hand on Tim’s knee. The fond look Tim gives him says more than any words ever will, and despite everything, despite how fucked the last few weeks have been, despite all of it…

Yeah, Kon thinks. Yeah. At least for tonight, he’s happy.

superb boy™ [08:39 AM]
hey
are u up?

wondrous gorl™ [08:42 AM]
yea!!! gotta get them morning GAINZ in 💪💪
whats up??

superb boy™ [08:42 AM]
ok
well
i think i figured smth out.
u have to prommy not to laugh at me

wondrous gorl™ [08:43 AM]
AWW kon i prommy <33 whats going on?

superb boy™ [08:43 AM]
i think. maybe. i think you mightve been right
i think im in love with tim?

wondrous gorl™ is typing…
wondrous gorl™ is typing…
wondrous gorl™ is typing…

wondrous gorl™ [08:44 AM]
OHHHGGNGNHGHNN I SHOULDN’T HAVE PROMMIED

superb boy™ [08:44 AM]
NO TAKEBACKSIES!!!! YOU DID PROMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wondrous gorl™ [08:44 AM]
I KNOW I KNOW IM TRYING SO HARD TO KEEP MY PROMMY
IM NOT LAUGHING IM NOT LAUGHING IMFANJKDN;KSD

superb boy™ [08:44 AM]
STOP KEYSMASHING AT ME THAT’S THE SAME THING!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wondrous gorl™ [08:44 AM]
IM SORRY!!!!!!! ITS JUST!!! LKDSLKAFJLDS
u have to admit its a LITTLE funny

superb boy™ [08:45 AM]
why is it funny!!!!!
im freaking out over here!!!!!!

wondrous gorl™ [08:45 AM]
what why are u freaking out?????
im telling u he is SO into u 2!!!!
*you too
sorry that looks like im saying hes rly into bono or smth
lol can u imagine
actually he so would b. its tim what am i saying

superb boy™ [08:45 AM]
lol yea its tim
but ok like. ok so putting aside the issue of whether hes even into me
(which IDK HOW U ARE SO SURE ABT!!!!!)
i don’t think im doing this right? it doesn’t… idk i don’t feel… right?
i don’t feel like i thought i should if im in love w someone?
does this make sense
and its freaking me out bc its TIM i don’t want to fuck this up
i care abt him so so so much u know this i wanna do it RIGHT
help :( :( :( :( :(

wondrous gorl™ [08:46 AM]
hmmm… ok ok. what do u mean “like u should feel”?
like what “should” being in love w someone feel like?
reminder that when we were dating doesn’t count i don’t think
young stupid & closeted, etc

superb boy™ [08:46 AM]
……………ok so
follow up realization
if we don’t count bc young stupid closeted etc
and tana and knockout obvs don’t count for D: reasons
um
i mean… i had a fling w simon that one summer but
that was. more casual than actual romance i think
so um
uhhhhhh
uHHHHHHHHHHH

wondrous gorl™ [08:46 AM]
oh my god
oh my god. shit. okay. yeah ok yea that would explain things!
well now i just wanna come over and give u a hug :<

superb boy™ [08:47 AM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (8)

wondrous gorl™ [08:47 AM]
OSMDFMBSDKJGKSA;KDSMNDM
DID U JUST FUCKIGN MAKE THAT
R U SRSLY USING ANCIENT BAD PHOTOS OF ME
AS ME M E S ?!?!?!?? ?!?!? !??! M<NSDKJFG;SDI

superb boy™ [08:47 AM]
believe it or not
u can blame nightwing for this one
i was inspired :)

wondrous gorl™ [08:47 AM]
NIGHTWING???????????????????????
IM LOSIGN MY SHIT CONNRE;JKSDH;KHSKB
HANG ON TO UR TITS HOLD TF UP OK ONE MINUTE

superb boy™ [08:48 AM]
tits: held
also yes he texts me awful awful memes all the time lately

wondrous gorl™ [08:49 AM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (9)

superb boy™ [08:49 AM]
HELP
LMAOOO
WHEN ITS TRU ITS TRUUUUUU

wondrous gorl™ [08:49 AM]
also i want 2 see nightwings awful memes wtf
since when does he do bad memes????

superb boy™ [08:50 AM]
no. no u rly dont
trust me im shielding u this is a service
he makes them specifically bc he thinks its hilarious to upset his bros
about just how fucking godawful his memes are
and the thing is. his bros are RIGHT
his memes are GOD FUCKING AWFUL

wondrous gorl™ [08:50 AM]
ok but u CANT just say that and NOT show me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

superb boy™ [08:50 AM]
ok………. but remember. you ASKED for this.
straight on 'til morning - merils (10)

wondrous gorl™ [08:50 AM]
.
im
holy fucking shit.
oh my god holy fucking shit
did he MAKE THAT?????
the arm around the bananas isnt even greyed out oh my GOD
holy shit
holy fucking SHIT
no wait im waking cissie up i need her 2 see this

superb boy™ [08:51 AM]
NO SPARE HER

wondrous gorl™ [08:51 AM]
im losing my MIND lsakjdhf;sdkjfDSKJFBsd;a
i have 2 i NEED her 2 experience it with me

superb boy™ [08:51 AM]
CISSIE IM SORRY
oh man lmaoooooo

superb boy™ [08:56 AM]
so did u get dumped the day after u got engaged

wondrous gorl™ [08:58 AM]
HELP
direct quote: “its not even 9am i want a divorce”
so i was like babe we arent married yet
and she freaked out like. OMG WE GOT ENGAGED LAST NIGHT I LOVE U
and then remembered the meme and she whacked me with a pillow
and now ive been kicked out of the bedroom again lkasmdlkaj;sl

superb boy™ [08:59 AM]
you deserved that
wait. i should wake tim up and show him too

wondrous gorl™ [08:59 AM]
gonna get divorced b4 u even start dating him 😭😭😭😭

superb boy™ [08:59 AM]
WAIT SHIT RIGHT
I WAS TRYING TO HAVE MY TRAUMA RELATED FREAKOUT AT U
I FORGOT BC OF THE MEMES

wondrous gorl™ [09:00 AM]
SKDJFHSDKJ kon quote of all time
screencapping that and putting it in the gc but continue

superb boy™ [09:00 AM]
rude
anyways. wow! uh. wow
i cant believe ive never had an actual decent normal real relationship??
wtf!!!!!!!!!
that’s actually terrifying i think
idk what im DOING!!!!!
im gonna fuck everything up w tim and then ill have to die :(

wondrous gorl™ [09:00 AM]
well no that’s not allowed >:(
aw conner bb. it does sound rly scary im sorry :(
i do rly wish i could hug u
do u wanna call n talk abt it?

superb boy™ [09:01 AM]
mmm yea i think so if u don’t mind :[
i gotta get outta bed n make brekkie for me n tim
gimme a few to go pee etc and ill call u once im in the kitchen?

wondrous gorl™ [09:01 AM]
yea totally!!! <33
im ALSO gonna b making brekkie
gotta atone to the bae for waking her up with nightwing minion lkmdfksjblk

superb boy™ [09:01 AM]
ah, romance.
im taking notes.

wondrous gorl™ [09:01 AM]
sorry tim :)
ß not sorry!!!!!!!!!!! <3

“Thanks, Cass. You are a godsend,” Kon says, not for the first time.

On the other end of the line, Cassie laughs. “Hey, anytime! I’m glad you’re feeling a little better. Now just don’t forget to actually talk to him about it, okay?”

That part’s easier said than done, but Kon still nods at the camera, firing off a two-fingered salute. “Yeah, yeah. Aye-aye, cap’n.”

“Good!” Cassie grins. She looks away for a moment, arranging something out of sight on a tray; Kon hears the clink of silverware and plates. “Okay. I’m gonna go deliver some breakfast in bed to my fiancée”—she stresses the word with exaggerated emphasis, and giggles—“to atone for sharing Dick’s minion memes with her early in the morning. So I’m gonna let you go, okay?”

“Yeah, totally!” Kon sets his spatula aside and makes a heart with his hands at the camera. His head feels a lot clearer now; he’s way calmer than when he woke up and freaked out about finding himself wrapped around Tim. Which happens, like every time they share a bed, but still freaked him out this morning anyway, because he may be stupid. “Go charm your way back into her good graces. Good luck!”

Laughing, Cassie picks up the phone. “Thanks, and good luck to you, too. Love you!”

“Love you too!” Kon waves. “Bye!”

Once she hangs up, he takes a moment, inhales slowly, and breathes out. It’s a rainy Sunday morning in Metropolis, a grey curtain outside every window, but inside his apartment it’s nice and cozy. His kitchen smells like strawberries and vanilla, and the wafflemaker is heating.

It’s a rainy Sunday morning in Metropolis, and Kon is maybe kind of sort of really, really head over heels in love with his best friend.

It’s not as scary as it seemed an hour ago. He’ll call that progress.

…It’s still a little bit completely and utterly terrifying, though. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s doing it all wrong; since when was … love, if that’s what this really is, supposed to feel so comfortable? He barely feels different than before! Tim’s his best friend, someone he’s totally at ease with, someone he can be stupid with and someone who’s seen him at his worst. Surely that’s not… right, is it?

Cassie said it is. Cassie said that’s exactly how she feels about Cissie. Cassie said feeling constantly anxious, like he has to put on a show and pick every response correctly, like he did with Kay, like he did with Tana, even like he did with her… Cassie said that wasn’t actually healthy.

Ha.

Maybe he’ll ask Dick for some advice or something. Dick went on to date people after Liu, right? He probably knows what it feels like to realize there’s something fucky-wucky gumming up the works. Again.

Supposed to be super comfy with the people he’s into. Who woulda thunk it. Ugh.

“This is too much thinking,” Kon says to himself, and shakes his head at the spatula in the bowl in front of him. “I’m too stupid for all this.”

May as well just stop thinking about it all. He’s got a bestie to wake up, and breakfast to make, and… he’ll worry about the rest, like that promise to actually talk to Tim about this, uh… later. Yup! Later.

He nods at the spatula once, spins on his heel, and marches off back to his bedroom.

“Goooood morning, sleepyhead!”

Kon drops onto the edge of his bed, sending the blanket cocoon that currently is Tim bouncing a few inches up into the air. He looks so cozy all wrapped up like that that it’s really tempting to flop down on top of him and snuggle right back in, but Kon valiantly resists; there’s waffle batter ready in the kitchen, and it’s calling their names.

“Mnph,” Tim responds very eloquently. His face is barely visible between the blankets and his bedhead, but what Kon can see of it is scowling. “Nnh.”

Aw, fuck it. Kon flops over on top of him, ruffles his hair, and nuzzles his cheek. If he didn’t want to get squished, he should’ve thought about that before being so darned cute when he’s all sleepy. “I saaaaid, good morning! Wakey-wakey!”

“Ugh, Kon…” Tim groans. He’s very much pinned, between the blankets he’s wrapped in and Kon’s weight on top, and he realizes it within a few seconds of wriggling. The way he gives up rather than waste his sparse, barely-woken energy only makes Kon laugh again. “Why.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Kon gives him another nuzzle. Cassie was probably right, huh? She’s right about a lot of things. He doesn’t really do this kind of thing with most of his friends; Bart’s the exception, but that’s Bart. Everyone is snuggly with Bart. “C’mon, Rob, I made you breakfast!”

As if on cue, the wafflemaker beeps in the kitchen. Kon glances at the door.

“See?”

Tim makes a disgruntled noise, shaking his head like a dog to try and get his hair out of his face. It doesn’t really work, but it is endearing, particularly when he puffs out his cheeks in displeasure. “…I guess.”

“Yeah, so.” Kon grins down at him, enchanted. It really doesn’t feel any different than he usually feels, with Tim; he still thinks that’s scary, but Cassie said that that’s a good thing so… he hopes she’s right about that, too. “I gotta go put a waffle in that so it doesn’t smoke. You gonna get outta bed?”

Tim stares up at him for a second. Kon can practically see the loading symbol circling over his head. Tim Drake.exe is still booting, please wait…

Tim starts to wiggle again; this time Kon lets him get his arms out of the blankets, just to see what he’ll do. That ends up being just wrapping his arms around Kon’s shoulders; he sighs, pulls Kon closer, and closes his eyes again. “Mmmhmmm. Innaminute.”

“This isn’t very convincing of you,” Kon tells him, melting. He drops his cheek against Tim’s shoulder, smiling at the warmth seeping through Tim’s shirt against his skin. How can he not melt when Tim’s here, pulling him into his arms and simply seeming to enjoy having his weight draped over him? There’s no way around it. Tim being affectionate always makes him all mushy and soft. It’s a fact of life.

“Tough,” Tim mumbles. He’s smiling, now; despite his shower last night, there’s still a little faded smudge of eyeliner along his lashes. It would be nice, Kon thinks, to press his lips there, to kiss all over the lines and curves of Tim’s face, to cover him in little kisses and pecks and smiles until he laughs himself properly awake. “Shoulda thoughta that before you decided t’be so snuggle-able.”

“I’m snuggle-able?” Kon looks down at him incredulously. “You’re the one all tucked in in my bed, under the blankets and everything, and I’m the snuggly one?”

“Mmhmm.” Tim is far too smug for a man so sleepy and cute. “S’just facts.”

Man. Kon really can’t take much more of this. How was Tim so—so hot last night, twirling him around and dipping him over his arm, and so cute now? That’s no fair!

Kon leans down and smushes a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon, Rob, I have waffles to cook. They’re not half as good when they’re cold, either, so get your ass to the bathroom already, will you?”

He rolls away, before he can get tempted to linger and cuddle any more than he already has. The wafflemaker really might start smoking. It’s a legit concern!

“Nooo,” Tim whines, but as Kon gets to his feet again he sighs and sits up, running a hand through his ridiculously-mussed hair. Kon laughs at him over his shoulder as he heads out the door.

By the time Tim gets to the kitchen, Kon’s got one waffle already plated (with strawberries, syrup, and whipped cream, just like Ma always serves ‘em) and the next halfway through cooking. The kitchen smells heavenly, if he does say so himself.

Tim comes meandering in, the shirt he borrowed from Kon for the night a little large and threatening to hang off his left shoulder. There’s an old scar visible there, faded after however many years it’s been; his hair’s still a mess, despite the obvious attempts at finger-combing it, and his face is soft and open and sweet.

“Hi,” he says, and wanders over to pour both of them some coffee. “Smells good in here.”

“Gonna taste good, too.” Kon points at the plate with a waffle in it. “Eat up! First one’s all yours.”

Tim automatically adds cream and sugar to one mug for Kon, and just cream for himself; he pushes Kon’s mug over and reaches over to pluck a strawberry from the plate, popping into his mouth. Then he immediately winces, his face scrunching up. “Oh, sour, sour, blech!”

“Aw,” Kon laughs. “Poor thing. Here, this’ll sweeten the deal!” Like any good best friend, he swipes a finger through the whipped cream, too, and smears it against Tim’s mouth.

Except that Tim, fucking gremlin that he is, opens his mouth automatically and licks Kon’s finger instead.

For a moment, they both just blink at each other, nonplussed, as Kon stands there with his finger still in Tim’s mouth. Tim seems just as surprised as Kon by whatever just happened, and then slowly his face turns red.

Kon pulls his hand away and, doing his very best to play this cool, playfully smacks Tim upside the head. Be fucking cool, Kent! Be cool!, round two. “Okay, you fucking gremlin! God, having older brothers trained this into you, didn’t it? Ugh.”

“Yeah,” Tim huffs, turning away to scrub his hand over his face. The wafflemaker beeps. “You’d think you’d expect it by now, since you are a big brother.”

“Okay, but consider: Jon isn’t a goddamn freak like you are.”

“Maybe he should be.”

Kon laughs, rinsing his hand off and drying it on his apron before he turns back to the wafflemaker. Steam rises as he opens it, lifts out the second waffle, and sets it on a plate, then ladles the next scoop of waffle batter in. “Yeah, no. One freak of your caliber in my life is enough for me.”

Tim snorts. “Aw, I’m flattered.”

Kon swivels around to push the first plate over to the bar side of the counter, and shoos Tim over to sit. Tim, obedient, for once in his life, perches on one of Kon’s barstools and picks up a fork. A lock of his hair falls forward, and he huffs at it, tucking it back behind his ear; it’s a simple action, but so endearing that Kon’s heart flutters in his chest again. This weekend is gonna be the death of him.

“Here,” he says, a brush of TTK opening the drawer on the island where he keeps bobby pins for this exact situation. One floats up into his hand, and he leans over to gently slide it into Tim’s hair, pinning it back near his ear. “There you go.”

Tim stares at him for a second. His cheeks are still pink, his lips ever-so-slightly parted, and he leans into Kon’s hand before he can even think of pulling away.

“Kon,” he says, and his voice is suddenly lower, a little bit rough in a way that has Kon utterly captivated. “You keep…”

Oh, shit. He’s noticed.

…Kon hasn’t been being very subtle, has he. Hm! Whoopsie daisy.

“Um,” Kon manages. Swallows hard. And moves a little closer, because he… knows, right? Tim knows. And Cassie said…

Tim’s hand comes up to grasp tentatively at his apron strap, pulling him in. Kon leans in until their noses brush, and Tim is all he can see. Tim’s eyes, piercing and blue, stare right through him.

“Is this okay?” Tim asks, his voice low and gentle.

Kon’s heart squeezes in his chest, hard. “God, yeah. Is it—with you, too?”

Tim’s lips curve into a smile, and he tips his face up a bit further. “Kon. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages.”

For ages?! Cassie was right?!

Kon jerks back in shock. Tim’s eyes widen in surprise and—shit—a flash of hurt, and he lets go of Kon’s apron as though burned, and no no no that’s not—

“You have? Seriously?!” Kon lurches forward, cups Tim’s face in both his hands, pulls him back in close until their foreheads touch again. “I’ve been—you—I could’ve been kissing you this whole time?!”

For a second, Tim just stares at him. Then he bursts out laughing, his head falling against Kon’s shoulder, and just like that, they’re back to being them. Heart utterly melting in his chest, Kon wraps his arms around Tim and folds him into a nice, cozy hug; Tim’s arms wind around his waist, holding him close. His nose brushes the side of Kon’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I think,” Kon says, “we might be a little stupid.”

“A little,” Tim agrees, still laughing. He lifts his head from Kon’s shoulder and cups his cheek, his smile adoring. Kon leans into his palm, and Tim strokes his thumb across his cheekbone. The look on his face is so tender Kon can hardly handle it, all that affection fired directly at him.

“I didn’t realize I wanted this until… recently,” Kon admits. “But I, uh. I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Tim strokes his cheek again, like all he wants to do in the world is gaze at Kon. “Me too. You have no idea how bad I wanted to kiss you last night.”

Kon laughs again. Last night, with Tim in his makeup, dancing him around the floor, his sleeves rolled up and his arms on display? “Man, Rob, that feeling was extremely mutual.”

A little thrill runs through him at admitting to it. He still wants to kiss Tim, like, a lot, but there’s something so, so special about just holding him like this right now, too, now that they’ve actually acknowledged… whatever this is. And the way Tim’s cradling his cheek, and—and looking at him like that…

He feels cherished.

“So… can I?” Tim asks, his thumb grazing ever-so-slightly over the delicate skin below Kon’s eye. Kon’s heart is going to fucking burst.

“Dude.” Kon turns his head a little and kisses Tim’s palm, the base of his thumb, the inside of his wrist. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Tim inhales sharply, and Kon can both hear and feel his heart rate kick up as he kisses the pulse point on the inside of wrist, the side of his hand, and the inside of his palm just below his pinky finger.

“Kon,” he breathes, his voice a little rough again, and then his hand curls into a fist in the front of Kon’s apron and tugs, and then—

And then Tim’s kissing him. It’s a rainy Sunday morning in Metropolis, and Kon is kissing his best friend, and their waffles are getting cold and the kitchen smells of vanilla and he can taste the strawberries on Tim’s mouth, and… it’s really, really good.

Tim’s hand relaxes against Kon’s chest, flattening out to press over his heart. His other arm curves about Kon’s neck, long fingers tangling in Kon’s hair, and Kon melts into him, the first kiss barely breaking before they’re both going for a second, and a third. It’s electric, it’s thrilling, it’s the feeling of coming home at the end of a long day.

"Tim," Kon breathes. He can feel the curve of Tim's smile pressed against his mouth; his chest is tight with warm, heady joy, and every inch of Tim's body pressed against his only makes it worse. Better? Better. No, wait, worse. Better. Whatever.

"Mmhmm?" Tim hums against him, his lips brushing the corner of Kon's. He scrunches his fingers through Kon's hair, fingertips rubbing against his scalp, and Kon actually shivers in pure delight as he presses into his touch. That's nice.

Tim laughs, low and warm. The sound settles into Kon's core and sinks in, cozy and sweet like thick honey. Something in his chest tugs, and suddenly the idea of taking Tim back to Gotham after breakfast is unbearable.

“Stay with me,” he blurts out; once the dam is broken, the words tumble out all too easily. “I—you don’t have anything until ten tomorrow morning, right? You can stay—I can take you back first thing tomorrow, I—if you want, I mean? I just—will you? I want you to stay. Here. With me. If you—god dammit, Rob, stop laughing at me!”

Tim, a real bastard if Kon’s ever met one, doesn’t stop laughing at him, but at least he does pull him in for another kiss. His fingers stroke through Kon’s hair again, too, and it’s such a nice combination that Kon almost goes weak in the knees, both because it physically feels good and because it’s Tim, and he’s just about ready to swoon into his arms.

Uh. Right. He was in the middle of trying to ask Tim something. Forgot about that for a second.

“So?” He peers anxiously at Tim’s face; his mouth is pink and his cheeks rosy, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “…Will you stay? Please?”

“God, Kon, of course I’m staying.” Tim huffs out a soft laugh, and his legs loop themselves effortlessly around Kon’s hips, pulling him closer to the barstool. “You don’t have to look so worried about it. You think I wanna go back to Gotham right now?”

Kon shrugs. Tim fits so nicely in his arms. He’s always known that, but it’s really, really hitting home right now, and that’s kinda shorting out his brain. “I mean, I don’t get why you ever wanna go back to Gotham of all places, so I dunno. Your brain works in weird ways. I’ve accepted this by now.”

Tim playfully swats him upside the head. “Hey.”

Kon kisses the corner of his mouth. God, he gets to do that now, doesn’t he? He gets to kiss all over Tim’s face just like he’s been daydreaming of doing for ages, gets to hold him and tell him he’s pretty and snuggle up to him and kiss him more.

Holy shit. Tim is into him, too.

Holy shit.

“Tiiiiim,” he whines, rocking their hug side-to-side. He kisses a trail up Tim’s jaw, from his chin up to his ear, and Tim lets out an appreciative little hum in his arms, his head tipping to one side to give Kon easier access to his neck. Kon gladly takes advantage of it, brushes his lips to the pulse point just below Tim’s ear, and relishes the soft sound of Tim’s breath hitching in his throat.

“Kon,” Tim sighs. His voice is soft and breathy and achingly content in a way Kon’s rarely heard from him, if ever—and isn’t that something? The ability to discover something new about Tim, even after knowing him for nearly a decade. It makes this moment so very special, Kon thinks, and kisses his neck again.

Part of him wants to keep mouthing at Tim’s skin, to kiss him hard, to leave a hickey there—it’s appealing, the idea of leaving a little mark on Tim’s skin, a little reminder that Kon was holding him and his mouth was right here and that Kon loves him. But as alluring as it sounds, it’s… too soon, for something like that; just because he was having, uh, thoughts yesterday while sitting in Tim’s lap doesn’t mean. Well. Yeah.

Instead, he just brushes his lips reverently against the sharp line of Tim’s jaw, then his cheekbone, and the bridge of his nose. Tim opens his eyes, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and smiles up at him, sweeter than any sunlight.

“Hi,” Tim says. The hand resting on Kon’s chest slides up to cradle his jaw, and Kon melts into his touch, pressing his cheek into his palm. Tim chuckles and bumps their foreheads together, then kisses him again. “Why are you so cute?” he asks, his voice all warm and low again as he nuzzles Kon’s nose. “You’re being so cute. Stop it. …Don’t actually stop, but. You know.”

“I don’t, actually,” Kon replies absently, rather preoccupied with how nice it feels to have Tim’s other hand still scrunching through his hair. Tim’s fingertips rub against his scalp again, and he sighs blissfully, closing his eyes for a moment. He feels a little like Krypto, losing his mind over getting petted, but…

But, like, Krypto’s kinda making some points, retrospectively. Kon can see why this is worth losing one’s mind over.

“You’re doing it even more right now,” Tim complains, clearly amused. His legs tighten around Kon’s waist, drawing him closer; Kon nuzzles his cheek in response and leans into him. The legs of barstool press against his knees as he rests his chin on Tim’s shoulder, and after a second of deliberation, Kon just floats himself up instead, sitting more comfortably in midair and snuggling into Tim.

“Doing what?” he asks, belated. “I’m just getting some cuddles.”

Tim lets out another breathy huff of laughter; leaning into him like this, Kon can feel it vibrate in his chest. “You know exactly what.”

“I do not! You just said I’m supposedly being—”

Before he can finish, the wafflemaker beeps again. Reality comes rushing back with a pop!, and Kon jerks upright. For a moment, he hangs in midair, a little disoriented; did that really all just… happen? He and Tim… they really—?

Holy shit!

Wait. Wait, but.

“Kon?” Tim looks a little worried, his hands resting on Kon’s shoulders. “You good?”

“Your waffles!” Kon exclaims, aggrieved. “They’re getting cold, and I told you, they are seriously not half as swagalicious when they’re cold!”

Swagalicious, Tim mouths to himself, raising both eyebrows down at his plate.

Kon flicks him on the arm and pulls out of his arms, albeit reluctantly, to go get the next waffle out before it burns. He’s not about to let Tim skip out on a good breakfast, even if it is for the admittedly excellent excuse of being too busy kissing him.

As he lifts the fresh waffle out of the wafflemaker and ladles in another scoop of batter, a little niggling feeling tugs at his stomach, uncomfortable in the face of all his giddiness. He told Cassie he’d talk to Tim about what’s bothering him about… them, and he hasn’t done it yet.

He bites his lip and closes the wafflemaker. A hiss of steam shoots up as it starts to cook.

After breakfast. He’ll tell Tim once they’re done eating, and they’ll be fine.

“Okay, I gotta say.” At the sound of Tim’s voice, Kon glances over his shoulder to see him waving around a strawberry on the end of his fork. “I wouldn’t call these just ‘swagalicious’. I’m thinking more along the lines of, like… swagtacular.”

Kon lets out a bark of laughter. “Ha! Yeah, I see it. Move over, IHOP. We’ve got House of Kent Swagtacular Waffles in the… uh, house. Hmm,” and he sighs, rubbing his chin. “I gotta workshop that slogan.”

Tim snorts. “Don’t worry,” he says, and Kon’s heart flutters in his chest because his voice is so transparently, achingly fond. “You’ve got me to help.”

Kon drifts back around the counter, helplessly drawn back to his side. Tim quirks a little grin at him as he draws closer, inquisitive without words, and Kon reaches over, rests a hand on the back of Tim’s neck, and bumps their temples together. It’s casual for an embrace, but all the more intimate for it, and Tim hums, leaning into him too.

“I do, huh?” Kon murmurs, a heartbeat or two late. “I do got you.”

Tim’s entire face lights up as he smiles. “Yeah, clone boy. Always.” He swipes the strawberry slice on his fork through a bit of whipped cream and holds it to Kon’s mouth. “Here.”

Kon bites into it. Sweetness blossoms on his tongue, but he thinks to himself that he’s pretty sure Tim is sweeter.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:40 AM]
heyyy
could i bother you for some advice? 🤔🤔🤔

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:41 AM]
Absolutely! What’s up?
Everything go okay yesterday?

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:41 AM]
oh yeah yesterday was great!!!
cassie accidentally proposed to cissie lol

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:41 AM]
Accidentally??? Haha, how did that happen?
I’ll have to congratulate them both!

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:41 AM]
YEA IT WAS SO FUNNY
cissie had a rly pretty dress on
cassie took one look at her back/arm muscles on display
and just went omg omg MARRY ME
all of us: YO????
cassie: oh fuck did i say that out loud???
anyway she committed to the bit theyre engaged now

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:42 AM]
AWWW!!! That’s so funny. Good for them!!

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:42 AM]
YEA!!! it was great
overall the whole gang had a good time!!

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:42 AM]
I’m glad to hear it!
So, what did you need advice on?

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:44 AM]
its………… kinda hard to type actually :/

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:44 AM]
Ah, that sort of thing. Got it.
Do you want to call? I’m available.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:44 AM]
not right this second, tim’s still over
its. sorta related to the whole… you know. that whole thing
and also sorta related to me and him? kinda?
and. idk how to put it in words like this ugh
could we mayb hang next week or smth?

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:45 AM]
Yeah, definitely!
I don’t have any plans aside from going to work, so I’m open.
Whenever works best for you, just let me know!
We can watch more Star Trek, or maybe Lord of the Rings?

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:45 AM]
OOOH lets do lotr
last time i tried talking abt bill the pony bart threatened to strangle me
next saturday around lunch? maybe?

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:45 AM]
Sure thing!
You can always tell me about Bill the pony.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:45 AM]
youre a real one man 🙏🙏
glad i didn’t get rid of the nightwing poster after all!

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:46 AM]
LOL
Let’s do it at my place!
That way you can see my new Supernova poster.

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:46 AM]
WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
no way you actually got one wtf!!!

guy who inflicts minions on others [10:46 AM]
Of course I did!!!! <3
Cass and I went shopping together and each got one!!

innocent bystander :( :( :( [10:46 AM]
oh my god im honored
thank you
hold on i have to change your name in my phone

NEW FAVORITE BAT GUY [10:47 AM]
Oh? What am I now?

posterboy B) [10:47 AM]
my new favorite bat guy <3

NEW FAVORITE BAT GUY [10:47 AM]
Oh, I’m flattered.
But I can’t have beaten out Tim just by getting a poster, can I?
I’m pretty sure he has, like, 12 posters of you.

posterboy B) [10:48 AM]
yeah but i can’t just say “second favorite bat guy”
that’s not an upgrade it’s always been that way

NEW FAVORITE BAT GUY [10:48 AM]
Awww. Love you too <3

posterboy B) [10:48 AM]
:D

In Kon’s defense, he really does mean to sit Tim down and actually talk about, like, feelings and junk. He just… forgets.

And in his further defense, it’s really easy to forget! When he’s hanging with Tim, everything is just… chill. It’s so chill and cool and zen and whatever, the idea that he has feelings to talk about at all is wack! Things are just always easy when he’s with Tim.

Which is how he and Tim wind up curled up on the sofa together, not really watching whatever’s on for Sunday afternoon TV. It’s a travel show right now, with some guy wandering around in Venice talking about the canals; neither of them is really paying much attention beyond that, though, and Kon couldn’t tell you the name of the street the dude is on (or the name of the host dude himself, for that matter) even on pain of life or death.

Instead, as rain pitter-patters against the glass, Kon sighs in contentment and squeezes Tim’s hand. His head is pillowed on Tim’s chest, Tim’s heartbeat loud and steady right under his ear; Tim’s other hand scrunches lazily through his hair, and they’re both cozy under the quilt Ma made as a housewarming present when Kon moved in here.

Tim makes for a nice pillow. Kon could stay here, just like this, for the rest of his life, and he’d be happy.

Too bad tomorrow’s Monday. Damn, he’s just like Garfield the cat. Always a Monday-hater. Hey, on that note, maybe he should make lasagna for dinner for the two of them tonight? He’ll have to drag Tim out to the store; he doesn’t have any ground beef or ricotta cheese in the fridge, but he’s got pretty much everything else, so… yeah, it’s a solid option.

He rubs the base of Tim’s thumb. “Hey, you want lasagna for dinner? We’d have to run to the store for a couple things, but it wouldn’t be too long.”

“Mm? Sure, that’s fine by me.” Kon can feel the reverberation of his chuckle in his chest. “Are you just thinking of Italian food ‘cuz the show’s about Venice?”

“Huh? Oh, no. I was just thinking I should lean into it if I’m gonna make Garfield my fursona.”

Tim’s hand goes still in his hair. “…I think you skipped a step in there,” he says, clearly amused.

Kon replays the words in his head, realizes what Tim means, and snorts to himself, bringing Tim’s other hand to his mouth to absently press a kiss to his fingers. “Sure did. I was thinking I don’t want it to be Monday tomorrow, which made me think I was acting like Garfield, y’know, the orange cat dude? And that made me think of lasagna ‘cuz he’s always going nuts for it in the comics, and bam. We’re in lasagna mode.”

“So we are,” Tim agrees, and oh, god, he’s doing that thing again where his voice goes all soft and terribly fond, and Kon really doesn’t think he can take it much longer. Especially not when Tim leans in and kisses the top of his head. “…You’re cute.”

“You keep saying that,” Kon complains. “I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Yeah. Sitting there, being cute.” Kon doesn’t have to be able to see Tim’s face to know the exact wry smile he’s wearing. “What’s so bad about tomorrow being Monday, anyway?”

“Gotta take you back to Gotham, and then I have to go to classes and shit.” Kon puffs out his cheeks petulantly. “Gross. It’s always just essays and ethics and boring junk.”

Tim snorts, a puff of air against Kon’s head. “Kon, I’m pretty sure that’s the entire point of a journalism major.”

“Yeah, and it sucks,” Kon whines. “It’s boring and stupid. Like, I know it’s obviously not all action and chasing stories or whatever like the stories Lois ‘n’ Clark whip out, but… sheesh. Talk about a chore.”

Tim is quiet for a second, rubbing an idle, slow circle into Kon’s shoulder. “You really don’t like it, do you?” he asks. Kon isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that he doesn’t even sound surprised.

Kon sighs. He’s known he doesn’t really care for his studies for a while, but it’s not a big deal, in the greater scheme of things. “…Not really,” he admits. “But I mean… it’s whatever. I’m not bad at it.”

Tim’s hand runs back and forth along his shoulder, down to his shoulder blade, and back up to rest protectively over the back of his neck. Kon doesn’t know why, but that makes him suddenly want to cry. “But if you don’t like it, you could just… quit. Do something else.”

Just quit? As if. Kon shakes his head, shrugs one shoulder, and buries his face in Tim's chest. "Lois says I have good people skills. She thinks I'm good at this, and… she's, you know. Proud that I'm going for it. And I don't wanna let her down." His voice comes out muffled. “…I don’t want to give her a reason to… you know. Regret… accepting me.”

Tim sucks in a slow breath. He blows it out as a soft hiss between his teeth, the way he always does when he doesn’t like something and he’s okay with showing it. Kon bites his lip.

“I’ve always thought it was kinda weird you were trying to major in journalism,” he finally says. “But I didn’t want to say anything in case it worked out for you. But… I dunno, Kon. It’s never seemed like the thing that’d make you happy, to me.”

You make me happy,” Kon mumbles, his voice small and uncertain. He didn’t expect to be talking about this right now; weren’t they just talking about Garfield a second ago? That was easier. Safer. Funnier, too; Kon always feels more secure when he can just laugh things off.

Doesn’t erase the uncomfortable fact that Tim is right, though. He’s right a lot of the time.

“You make me happy, too.” Tim kisses his hair again. “Which is why I want you to be happy, dude. You shouldn’t… you’re just doing this for Lois and Clark, aren’t you? Not for yourself at all.”

“It’s a little for me!” Kon protests, but winces, because.

Well.

It’s not for him in a good way, really. Not when it’s…

“Tana was a journalist, too,” Tim fills in, once the silence grows too heavy. “Is that it?”

Kon pulls the quilt up over his head. “Sometimes, I really fucking hate how perceptive you are.”

Tim is quiet for a moment. Kon stares at the underside of the quilt in front of his face, the muted colors of the fabric brightened by the light. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Kon…” Tim’s thumb strokes over the vertebrae in the back of Kon’s neck, slow and soothing. “Shit, man. You know it’s not… you don’t have to live your life for everyone else. You know that, right? Not for her, not for Lois, not for Clark.”

“The more I think about it, the more fucked up it gets,” Kon admits. His TTK holds onto the edge of the quilt tighter, and he has to consciously force himself to relax before he can strain the thread too much. “She died because she was—because she loved me. Or because I loved her. But if she was—if she wasn’t—if she hadn’t been—been taking advantage of me, she wouldn’t have. Maybe. I mean—hell, maybe Amanda Spence would have targeted her for being my friend anyway, but—I don’t know. I don’t know,” he breaks off, pushing his face into Tim’s chest. “She might’ve been someone good, if she never knew me. She might’ve become someone really, really good, Tim. And we’ll never know.”

Tim makes a low, wounded sound. His arms both wind tight around Kon’s shoulders, and one of his legs wraps around Kon’s hips, and he holds on fiercely, his chin resting atop the quilt over Kon’s head.

“We’ll never know what a lot of people could’ve become,” he murmurs. “Not just her. That doesn’t mean you have to become something for her. Maybe… maybe she could have become someone really good. That doesn’t change the fact that she was someone who groomed you, a kid, into a relationship. I don’t—I don’t think that’s forgivable. At least, I can’t forgive her for it. She hurt you too much.”

“Did she?” Kon asks miserably. It’s getting a little too hot under the quilt; he reluctantly lets it slide back down to his shoulders, looking up at Tim. “I was the one who kept begging her to give me a chance.”

“You were a kid,” Tim says sternly. “You didn’t know better. That’s the whole point. And yeah, dude, I’d say she hurt you plenty, given that she’s this big of a part of why you feel like you have to make yourself miserable for the rest of your life.”

“It’s not like I’m that miserable doing journalism,” Kon protests. “I don’t love it, yeah, but it’s not the worst thing ever! Lois says I’m good at talking to people, and… I mean… I can’t just turn my back on that, not when she and Clark are, you know… proud of me. It’s not just about Tana. It’s—Lois especially. She didn’t have any obligation to me, and she’s nice to me. I don’t want that to end.”

Tim purses his lips. He shakes his head, strokes Kon’s hair back from his forehead, and brushes a soft kiss to his brow. “You shouldn’t have to spend this much time and effort on something that’s gonna make you miserable, Kon. I’m sure Lois would say the same thing.”

“Tim,” Kon says helplessly, shaking his head. That’s not the point. It’s not just about whether he’s happy. “Tim, I want her to like me.”

Tim’s brow furrows. “Kon. Conner. My clone boy. She already does. She loves you. That’s why she’d want you to be happy. Nobody who loves you wants you to fit in a little box and meet all these arbitrary expectations in order to ‘earn’ being loved. That’s not love, you know?”

That—

That’s—

That’s exactly what Kon had to phone Cassie about this morning ‘cuz he was all freaked out, and now Tim just said it, and it washes over him with all the force of a tsunami that he’s having this whole emotional conversation with Tim, who he wants to date, and—

He stares at Tim, a deer in the headlights, and blinks once, twice, thrice. His eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted, but no words come.

He’s never had a relationship where he didn’t have to just play a part. Not with Kay, not with Tana, not with Cassie. Fuck, man, he didn’t even realize that was why he was so scared of losing face with Lois and Clark; he’s just so used to having to perform that he didn’t put it together, and—and now Tim is here, and Kon has never been more himself than when he’s with Tim, and Tim has seen him and Tim wants him anyway, and—

“Kon?” Tim sits up a little straighter, dislodging him slightly. He immediately pulls Kon closer to make up for it, cradling his cheek in one hand like he did at breakfast; for a moment, he visibly debates with himself over what he’s about to say next, but ultimately takes the plunge: “Darling, what’s wrong?”

Darling.

Tim Drake has never used endearments lightly. Not once in all the years Kon has known him.

A sob claws up Kon’s throat and chokes him. Tim’s eyes go big and round as saucers; in any other moment, Kon would laugh at him. “Kon?!”

“You—you called me darling,” Kon wails, and throws himself into Tim’s arms.

“Ah, shit, sorry, I knew it was too soon, we only just made out for the first time this morning,” Tim mutters, ducking his head. He does gather Kon into a hug, though, shifting on the sofa so Kon can more comfortably burrow into his neck and cling; his heart is pounding, and when Kon peeps up at him, his ears are red. “Sorry, sorry!”

Ah, yes. The most perceptive man Kon’s ever met, and also the stupidest dumbest moron idiot angel. Good lord, Tim.

“This is a good response, stupid!” Kon sniffles, laughing wetly into Tim’s neck. “I like it when you call me darling!” He sniffles again, and a giggle bubbles up in his chest as he wipes his eyes. “God, I could see you overthinking whether to say it, you—you—”

“Sure, I may or may not be prone to overthinking sometimes. Sue me.” Tim huffs, but he also doesn’t bother to disguise the fondness in his voice again as he rubs big, soothing circles into Kon’s back. “What, would you rather I do this?”

“Do wh—”

Tim tips his face up, then takes him by the shoulders and stares him dead in the eye. “Dudester. Broski. Dude of my life. My one true bro. Talk to me.”

“Shut up, oh my god,” Kon laughs through his tears, dashing at his eyes again. “You can’t—you can’t call me bro when we were making out this morning!”

“Can’t I?” Tim asks, voice soft. His face is impossibly tender as he brushes the tears from Kon’s cheeks with a callused hand, and Kon leans into his touch, sniffly but not about to break down anymore.

This is exactly the thing, huh? He’s just so comfortable with Tim. He’s… he’s never had this before.

He should tell Tim that. He did promise Cassie, after all.

“Tim?” Kon leans in, bumps his nose to Tim’s cheek, and snuggles into his neck again. He just… he really wants to be close right now. “I… this morning, I realized just how bad I have it for you. And it scared the shit outta me. I had to phone Cassie ‘cuz I was freaking out so bad.”

“It scared you?” Tim sounds worried now, like a puppy afraid he’s done something wrong. Kon holds him a little tighter. “Why?”

“I’ve—I’ve never done this before.” Kon bites at his lower lip for a second. “I didn’t even realize ‘til I was talking with Cassie. I’ve never… had a thing with someone I felt at ease with. I mean, I kinda did with Simon, but that wasn’t… it wasn’t serious, you know? It was more… being pals and sometimes kissing or whatever, but. I mean. I’m… serious, I guess, about you. If—if you want that.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ve just never, like, uh… been serious about someone I didn’t have to be perfect for. I—I thought I was doing it all wrong, ‘cuz I’m just—I can breathe around you, and that’s not—Cassie said that’s how it’s supposed to be. I didn’t know that.”

Tim tips his face up again. Kon meets his gaze, a little anxious; he doesn’t think Tim will reject him for it or anything, but it’s still a lot to admit to. Feels a bit vulnerable. Nerve-wracking. Whatever.

“You mean the world to me,” Tim finally says, his voice low and intent in a way that makes Kon’s heart squeeze hard in his chest. He thumbs a stray tear from Kon’s cheek, ever so gentle, and Kon really does think he might melt into a puddle on the spot. “And you make me feel like I can breathe, too. So… if that’s where our baseline is, I think it’s a pretty good one.”

He brushes a gentle kiss to Kon’s mouth, slow and sweet. Kon sighs into him; he loves being able to feel Tim smiling against his lips.

“And I’m serious about you, too. I mean—I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve been wanting this for ages, Kon.” Tim nuzzles his cheek. “So we can take it slow. Figure things out as they come. You’re my best friend. The fact that we’re also into each other won’t change that. But I’m in this for the long haul if you are.”

“I know,” Kon murmurs, smiling back. “You called me darling.”

Tim’s cheeks darken again. Kon kisses each of them. “I—well. Yeah. You said you liked it.”

“I do,” Kon assures him, kissing his nose too, just for good measure. “Hey, does this mean I get to call you pet names, too?”

Tim draws back enough to eye him warily. “That depends on the pet name in question.”

Kon thinks for a moment. He has plenty of actual cute pet names to use, of course, but this isn’t about that anymore, not now that Tim just practically threw down a glove and challenged him to be obnoxious.

“My beloved li’l sweet cheeks?”

Tim sighs. “Absolutely not.”

“Flamin’ hot Cheeto,” Kon offers. His voice is barely wobbly anymore, which is nice. “Ooh, flamin’ sexy Cheeto.”

“Vetoed and vetoed.”

“Bodacious babycakes?”

Tim actually considers that one, tipping his head to one side in thought. “Conditionally allowed: Only if Bart is present.”

“Ha!” Kon laughs into his neck. “I’ll take it, sunshine.”

And… man. If he thought he’d seen Tim blush before, he was wrong. The flush that overtakes Tim’s face now creeps from his cheeks to his ears and all the way down his neck; he’s so rosy-red he might just outcompete Ma’s ripest tomatoes for the county fair blue ribbons. For a moment, he just sits there, wide-eyed and silently spluttering.

Oh, Kon likes that.

“Sunshine?” Tim finally squeaks. He clears his throat, even redder if that’s at all possible, and tries again. “I mean—that’s fine. Sure. Yeah. Sunshine is—that’s allowed. Yuppers. Yeah. Yup.”

“And you said I was cute,” Kon coos, kissing one of his flaming (hot Cheeto) cheeks, then the other, and his nose again. Fuck, Tim is adorable.

“Whatever,” Tim mutters. He looks away, still blushing to the roots of his hair. Kon, overcome with affection, wraps himself snugly around him and settles in close, content to bask in his warmth.

It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon in Metropolis, and Kon couldn’t care less. He’s got his own personal sunshine right here, in his arms.

And it’s pretty damn nice.

Notes:

chapter 7, aka just the timkon chapter jesus fucking christ FINALLY am i right!!! (also shoutout to cissiecassie i love my lesbians god fucking bless <3)

observant readers may have noticed the chapter count has changed! there will be 2 more chapters, not just one; part of why this one took so long is that i ended up reworking the outline of the last part of the fic. hopefully, the next chapter will be out sooner (probably ~2 weeks or so)!

the absolutely fantastic cowboysorceror did an INCREDIBLE comic rendition of the makeup scene at the beginning of this chapter!!! additionally, he did a stellar comic of the krypto timnapping scene from chapter 5!!!! also, byeara did a series of illustrations of kon and krypto in the leadup to the timnapping!! please give them SO much love bc they are everything to me oh my goodness. thank you both again i love you guys!!!!!!

that's about it for notes this chapter; see y'all next time and until then, as always, i'm on tumblr at mamawasatesttube!

Chapter 8: thus, the boy's wings unfurled,

Summary:

“There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Notes:

Warnings: discussion of grooming and statutory rape, including a flashback; non-explicit (consensual) sexual content and discussion of sex, discussion of grief, victim-blaming, and internalized victim-blaming.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

As it turns out, talking to Tim was like breaking down a dam.

Now that he’s gone and put words to it—now that Tim went and oh-so-succinctly pointed it out directly to his face—Kon can’t look at any of his stupid journalism bullshit homework without thinking about Tana. Writing assignment for history class? Suddenly he’s thinking about how much he whined about that placement exam he had to take way back in Hawaii. The packet of short questions about interview technique? Well, Tana definitely interviewed him quite a few times, and now he’s thinking of all of them.

And the ethics of journalism classwork?

Ha. Don’t make him fuckin’ laugh.

Kon stares balefully at his laptop, which stares balefully right back. Turns out that dispassionate blankness—the best he ever felt about getting this degree—is real hard to come by, once it gets shaken out the first time, and unfortunately, nothing but disgust has risen in its place.

So maybe Kon fucking hates his major. What about it? It’s not like it matters! He’s not doing this because he needs a job he loves, or whatever; he’s doing it because… this is what his family does. He’s good at talking to people; he’s very aware of what media can do to people. Lois says that’s the kind of moral compass more people in the field need. Lois says—

Huh, he thinks distantly. The cursor blinks up at him from the screen. Lois probably… would not have liked Tana. Dating a minor who she kept reporting on, and all that.

Take that. He did learn something from this stupid ethics class that he hates. Whoop de doo.

Sighing, Kon closes the laptop and pushes it away, folds his arms atop his desk, and drops his head down with a thump. His head has been spinning with anxiety every time he thinks about classes and his degree now, and he really doesn’t appreciate that, okay? He just… ugh.

It’s not Tim’s fault. Hell, Tim was right; Kon doesn’t like what he’s doing at all. But confronting that means confronting that he’s maybe not as much like Clark or Lois as he wants to be, and that’s scary. He kind of wishes Tim hadn’t mentioned it at all, as much as he knows Tim would disagree.

Man. Why can’t he just sit here and think about Tim? Tim is a great topic to daydream about. He’s so pretty, and he has such strong arms, and his whole body is so lithe and muscular, and he kisses Kon so sweetly, and when he drops his voice all low and commanding-like, Kon’s stomach flutters and his knees get weak. Tim always knows how to make him laugh, and he just makes Kon feel so safe.

It's funny. Tana never made him feel safe. He always felt like he needed to keep her safe; he had to strut and posture to make her laugh, he had to protect her from everyone after him, he had to be fun and exciting and worth keeping around, and…

…And he was trying to think of Tim, not all of this again. God fucking dammit.

With a sigh, he pushes away from his desk and gets to his feet, stretching his arms up over his head. His room at the farm is cozy and bright with the glow of the evening sun painting everything gold; Krypto, snoozing on his bed, is haloed by honey in its light. Kon smiles helplessly; that dog is way too cute for his own good.

Downstairs, he finds Ma at the kitchen table, squinting at the hefty binder she keeps track of the farm’s budget in. The dining room window doesn’t face west, and it’s getting dim as the sun sinks towards the horizon; Kon flicks the lights on, and Ma looks up, startled.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” With a rueful little smile, she gestures at the window; the chain on her reading glasses glints as she moves. “I didn’t notice the sun going down on me!”

“Happens to the best of us, Ma.” Kon meanders over to her side, peers over her shoulder, and tries to make sense of the stacks of receipts and invoices she’s dealing with. “What’s up with you? Need any help?”

“Oh, no. You already do plenty around here.” Ma pats his hand fondly, her smile incredibly warm, and affection melts in Kon’s chest. Ma always makes him feel loved; a bit of the uncomfortable tightness in his stomach starts to unwind. “I’m just putting a few things in the expense log before it gets too behind, that’s all. Feed receipts, the check stub from when George repaired the tiller, all that.”

“Oh, gotcha.”

Kon eyes the notebook. This would be way easier if it was digital, wouldn’t it? Maybe that can be a project for the weekend; Ma’s never gonna admit it, but her eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and he knows the ability to zoom in on a computer screen would make this kind of thing easier on her.

But for now, he doesn’t wanna step on her toes by butting his way in on her work, so he just drops a kiss to the top of her head and moves towards the kitchen. “I was thinking of making something sweet. Any requests?”

“Well, now, I think we do still have plenty of apples, so—”

Before she finishes, there’s a whoosh outside, and Krypto comes careening down the stairs in a clatter of paws and barks. He sprints to the front door, tail wagging excitedly, and woofs again; half a second later, Kon hears a key in the lock.

“Oh?” Ma cranes her neck, peering towards the front door in the dimness. “Is that Clark?”

The door swings open. “No, it’s me,” Jon says, his shoulders slumped; he rubs Krypto’s head with a smile, but it drops from his face as he lifts his head to look at Kon. “If you gotta do something with the apples, can you make those apple turnovers?”

“Apple turnovers?” Kon repeats. Why does Jon look so sad? Who does he have to punt into the stratosphere? “Uh, yeah, sure thing, but—”

“Thanks.” Jon heaves an enormous sigh, closes the front door, and locks it again. “Hi, Ma. Sorry for not calling first, I just…” He sighs again, trudges over to the sofa, and plops himself down like a sack of bricks; Krypto trots after him eagerly and rests his chin on his knee. “Long day, I guess.”

Kon exchanges glances with Ma. She slightly inclines her head towards Jon—you, go take care of him—and pushes her chair back from the table, gets to her feet, and rolls her shoulders.

“You know what?” she says. “I think I might take over the kitchen and make those apple turnovers myself. I’ve been staring at these papers long enough!”

A little smile flickers across Jon’s face, but it’s gone far too quickly, and he drops his gaze to Krypto’s nose again. Kon catches Ma’s eye again, both of them very obviously concerned; Ma goes over to the sofa and leans down to wrap Jon in a hug. Jon hesitates for a moment, then buries his face in her shoulder and clutches at her shawl, and Kon lets out a breath, slow and relieved.

That’s his baby brother. He floats over, too, and settles at Jon’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it, dear?” Ma murmurs. “And do we need to let your parents know where you are?”

“Yeah,” Jon mumbles. “They’re both still at work, but… I’ll text them. I just—the apartment’s lonely, so I came over here.”

He sounds a little uncertain. Ma coos, drawing back from the hug just enough to kiss his forehead, and cups his cheeks. “And I’m glad you did. You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Jon blinks up at her, then glances at Kon. Kon nods encouragingly and gives him a little squeeze, overcome by the need to squish him with affection. Ah, man, he cannot take it when Jon turns those watery baby blues on him like that. He might be taller than Tim and Bart now, but that doesn’t matter; Kon will always look at him and think, that’s just a baby.

“Thanks, Ma.” Jon tries for another tiny smile. Kon is going to find whatever made him sad and throw it into the sun. He’s not hurt physically, as far as Kon can tell, but there’s more kinds of hurt than just the physical. And if someone hurt him…

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Ma kisses his forehead again, then withdraws; Kon takes that as his cue to tug Jon fully into his side. “I’ll go get those turnovers in the oven for you. Anything else you want?”

“Um—no, it’s okay, that’s plenty already. Thanks, though. Again.” Jon fidgets with one of his sleeves; with his gaze dropped to Krypto’s ears again, he can’t see the concerned look on Ma’s face, but Kon catches her eye and lightly tips his head towards Jon. He’s got this.

First act of having got this: he knows what Jon always likes when he’s feeling down, and it’s a pick-me-up. Something warm, sweet, and comforting. So he winks at Ma and mouths, hot chocolate, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles warmly and nods back.

“Of course,” she says, and dusts her hands on her shawl. “Well! I’ll get on it. Will you two hang out down here, or are you heading upstairs?”

Jon doesn’t answer immediately, so Kon nudges him. “Your call, string bean.”

“Uh. I dunno.” Jon gives him a sidelong glance. “Whatever you want…? Were you busy? You were probably busy. I can just… hang out wherever. It’s no big deal.”

Kon makes an executive decision. “Upstairs it is!” he announces, and before Jon can reply, he jumps to his feet, scoops up an armful of moping baby brother, and throws him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Hey!” Jon’s fists beat halfheartedly against his back. Krypto prances around his legs, trying to get to Jon’s face; Kon, because he’s a good and kind big brother, spins in place so Jon stays safe from his slobbery puppy kisses. “Kooooon!”

Laughing, Ma retreats to the kitchen doorway, watching them both with a fond smile as Kon strides to the stairs, while Jon flails in token protest. He doesn’t actually try to wriggle away or get down, though; he’s so transparent sometimes. Just wants company and some comfort. Kon is gonna smother him, if the fondness squeezing in his chest doesn’t do him in first.

They end up back in Kon’s room; the homework he left on the desk stares accusingly at him, but Kon ignores it in favor of dumping Jon unceremoniously onto the bed, a gangly pile of teenage limbs with bony knees and pointy elbows. Naturally, Kon flops on top of him next; Jon lets out an offended wheeze of complaint, and Kon just laughs. Krypto peers over the edge of the bed at them, licks his nose, and settles down on the rug.

“You’re heavy,” Jon whines. He kicks halfheartedly at Kon’s ankle.

“Eh, you’re Superboy. You can handle it.”

Kon props himself up on his elbows and stares down at him. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but the look on his face when he let himself in was very, very close to it. Jon blinks up at him, messy curls a dark halo against Kon’s comforter; he has that little smile again. At the very least, it’s staying this time.

Kon pokes his nose. “So? Spill it, beansprout. What’s up?”

Jon’s face falls immediately. “I…” he starts, and then looks away; his eyes are too bright again, and he bites his lip. “Let me up?”

This time, Kon does. They both sit up, and Jon wipes furiously at his eyes, sniffles once, and looks over at Kon tentatively. Kon knows the drill by heart. He holds out his arms.

Jon flings himself at him and latches on like a limpet. Kon folds him into a fierce hug, the kind that only people with superstrength can really offer, and rubs his back; Jon burrows into his shoulder, clutches at his sweater, and sniffles again.

“Some of my friends are mad at me,” he finally admits, his voice small. “Because… because last month, um. Remember, when those big robots attacked?”

Yeah, when Clark got zapped outta the sky and Jon screamed for him. Kon holds his baby brother tighter. “I remember.”

Jon lets out a morose sigh. “That weekend was Priya’s birthday. And I totally forgot, and it was a big deal ‘cuz it was her first birthday since her parents’ divorced and we were all gonna get together and cheer her up and I forgot, and—and I couldn’t tell them I was distracted ‘cuz, you know, Dad got hurt and everything, and Bailey’s really mad at me ‘cuz Priya is their best friend and they’re really protective of her, but they didn’t even tell me they’re mad until today!”

Wait.

Oh my god, Kon thinks, smoothing a hand over Jon’s wind-mussed curls. It’s just high school teenager drama. He was sitting here, all ready to, like, throw hands with Lex Luthor or to help Jon sort out some hero-related trauma or something, and it’s just—it’s teenager stuff.

It’s such a relief Kon almost laughs; he holds it in because he doesn’t want Jon to think he’s laughing at his problems, but man. Man. Sometimes it really hits him all over again that as powerful as a Kryptonian kid can be, Jon is still a kid.

Just like Kon used to be.

The thought comes a lot more easily than it would have a couple of months ago. It feels a little bit like forgiveness.

“—wanted to split couples’ tickets to Winter Formal, ‘cuz they go on sale next week,” Jon is saying, and Kon hurriedly tunes back in. “And I asked Taylor today, and Bailey just snapped at me ‘cuz Priya and Taylor already agreed to go together, and I didn’t know ‘cuz they decided that at the party, and I really didn’t mean anything by it, but Bailey said I’ve been such a flake all year and so none of them want to go to Winter Formal with me—”

Jeez, okay. Hey—”

“—and Yichen agreed with them and Priya said she gets it but now she’s the only one who’s not mad at me! And I know I’ve had to cancel on them last minute a bunch of times for Super-stuff, but I really have tried to make it up to them and I don’t know what to do—"

“Jonno, take a breath, buddy.”

“—because I can’t just say that ‘cuz they’ll take it as me making excuses, but if they don’t wanna talk to me I can’t explain, but I can’t explain the truth anyway ‘cuz it’s not just my secret to tell, but I don’t want them all to hate me and I guess I can’t go to Winter Formal ‘cuz I won’t have anyone to hang out with anyway, and—"

“Ooookay, hold on!” Kon smushes him to his chest, hard enough to squeeze the air from his lungs. Jon wheezes into silence midsentence, buries his face in Kon’s shoulder again, and shudders with a silent sob.

Jon is crying.

Hmmm. Is Kon really above kicking some high-schooler ass?

…Yeah, that probably wouldn’t fly. He’s not gonna throw any teenagers into the sun. He probably would get some flack for that. But that’s not gonna stop him from thinking about it.

“Jonno, honey,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss atop Jon’s curly head. “Breathe, yeah? Just take a nice, deep breath for me, kiddo.”

Jon sucks in a breath. It comes out as another sob, and he clutches at Kon’s shirt just like he used to as a much smaller child. Kon’s heart squeezes hard in his chest. He would do anything for this kid.

“I don’t know what to do!” Jon chokes out again. “They’re never gonna forgive me if I can’t explain and I can’t explain!”

“I know. I know. It’s rough.” Kon rubs his back in big, slow circles. “Deep breath again, alright, sweet pea? It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay.”

Sixteen. He’s sixteen, and he’s worried about fighting with his friends and going to a high school dance. He’s sixteen, and he’s a baby, and to him, this is legit the most important stuff on his plate right now, ‘cuz he’s sixteen.

Kon thinks he’s finally starting to understand what Dick said to him all those weeks ago a little better.

Jon sniffles again, takes a slow breath, and lets it out as a sigh. He turns his head, lays his cheek against Kon’s shoulder, and sags against him. Kon squeezes him again, helplessly fond.

“There you are. Little better?” he asks.

“Little.” Jon shrugs listlessly, and scrubs at his eyes. “Still dunno what to do, though. I just—”

There’s a knock on the door, and he stops, glancing up. Kon, who has been aware it’s Ma coming with the hot chocolate since she started climbing the stairs, just grins at him, TTKs open the door, and calls, “Come in!”

Ma walks in, expertly dodging Krypto’s wagging tail and searching nose to set down a tray on Kon’s nightstand. Kon loosens his arms around Jon so they can both go examine it: There’s two mugs, whipped cream and marshmallows already melting in, and a little saucer of crackers, baby carrots, celery sticks, and some cheese. Ma is a godsend.

“Here you both are,” she says, and rests her hand gently atop Jon’s head. Her eyes widen when she notices the tears on his cheeks. “Oh, Jon Samuel,” she fusses, gently wiping his face with her apron. “There, there, darling. It’ll be alright.”

“Sorry, Ma,” Jon hiccups. His cheeks are blotchy and his eyes are red, and he’s the most precious thing Kon has ever seen. “I know. I know.”

Both Kon and Ma tut at that. “You don’t need to apologize for a single thing, dear heart,” Ma says, and Kon nods vigorously. Jon presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and takes a breath; Ma pats his head. “Now you drink your hot chocolate while it’s still hot, alright? I’ve got to pop back down to the kitchen to finish the turnover filling, but you just holler if you need anything.”

“Yes, Ma. We will. Thank you.” Jon ducks his head a little, but when he lowers his hands, he’s smiling.

Ma smiles back, bends down to kiss his forehead, and slips out of the room again. Krypto stares mournfully at the closed door, then turns around to aim his most pitiful begging eyes at Jon.

“Hey. It’s celery, dipshit,” Kon tells him, and mentally fist-pumps as Jon giggles. “You don’t like celery. Or carrots. And the cheese is for us, not you.”

Krypto wags his tail. Kon sighs. Jon, ever the softie, tosses Krypto a piece of cheese; it’s gone in a single bite, and Krypto shuffles, wags his tail, and settles down to beg for more.

That dog. Kon just sighs.

With a bit of rearranging, he and Jon settle back onto the bed with the tray of snacks (one of the many perks of TTK: no need to worry about crumbs in bed, ever). Kon snags his laptop from the desk—his unfinished stupid ethics essay is still open; he terminates it with extreme prejudice in favor of his cheering up the baby bro protocols, i.e. pulling up some good ol’ “Star Trek”.

Before he hits play, though, he leans back against the pillows, drapes an arm around Jon’s shoulders, and tugs him into his side. Jon melts like a lump of sugar in the rain, his hands wrapped around his mug, and drops his head against Kon’s shoulder. Affection stirs in Kon’s chest again, warm and syrupy.

“It’s hard, juggling the whole… superhero-versus-civilian identity thing. And I’m not gonna lie, it does make it hard to keep up with relationships.” He smiles ruefully. “I definitely struggled a lot with keeping friends in high school, too.”

“But you have Simon and Lori and Sajan,” Jon objects, lifting his head from his mug. He has whipped cream on the tip of his nose. “You guys met in high school.”

“And we’re only still friends to this day ‘cuz they know the truth.” Kon sips his hot chocolate. Ma always makes it best, no surprise ‘cuz it’s her recipe. “I’m not saying you should tell your friends, particularly not if they’re the kinds of people to get all reactionary without even talking to you first, but… I mean, you’re allowed to think about it.”

Jon bites his lip. “But… if I don’t tell them, is that it? Like—do you think I can’t be friends with them if I don’t?”

Kon hums in thought. “I mean… yes and no. If they can accept that sometimes you’re gonna have to run off or miss stuff without a good explanation, then yeah. But it’s… sort of out of your hands at this point, in a way, y’know? Like, I mean… any relationship’s gotta be a two-way street. If they wanna walk away, then you can’t force ‘em to stay. Ultimately, you gotta just… talk it out, I guess, and see what comes of it.”

“That makes sense,” Jon mumbles. He finally notices the whipped cream on his nose, scrubs his hand over it, and scrunches up his face; Kon laughs, giving him another little squeeze. “I just… I don’t want to lose them. They’re my friends! I care about them. I didn’t know they were upset with me, so I didn’t… I dunno how I could have fixed it, but I could’ve at least said sorry if I knew.”

“Yeah. They should’ve told you,” Kon agrees. “But hey. Y’all’re high schoolers. Not exactly a group known for perfect communication skills, huh?”

Score one for Kon again—that makes Jon snort. He nibbles on a celery stick, then sighs, laying his head on Kon’s shoulder again. “Yeah. Guess I’ll… text them tomorrow and see where it goes.” He makes a face. “…Thanks for the advice, Kon.”

“Anytime, bean sprout.” Kon ruffles his hair with a little brush of TTK. “And hey, listen. If it really doesn’t work out, fuck going to Winter Formal anyway. You ‘n’ me, we’ll go do something way more fun that night instead. Okay?”

Jon turns a watery smile up at him, eyes too-bright again. “Yeah,” he says, and scrubs a hand over his face again. “Yeah, that—that’d be good.”

God, fuck, Kon loves this kid.

“Good.” He stuffs another celery stick into Jon’s mouth, then taps the play button on his laptop. “Now c’mere. It’s literally physically impossible to be sad while watching ‘The Trouble With Tribbles’. Scientifically proven.”

Jon huffs a little, but he eats the celery and snuggles in against Kon’s side all the same. “What scientist proved that?”

“Tim. Duh.”

Jon snorts again. Kon is so good at this. “I shoulda known.”

They sit there and watch the episode together. Jon is quiet, but he’s smiling a little by the first few minutes, and by the time they’re halfway through, the farmhouse smells like the most heavenly apple turnovers.

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:24 PM]
tim
tim
tim
tim
tim
tim
tiiiiiiiiiim
timmmm
timtimtimtimtimmm
tim!!!!!!!!!!
tim
tim!!
tim
tim

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:25 PM]
oh my god what!!!

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:26 PM]
HI TIM :D
so i was just watching star trek with jon
specifically trouble w tribbles bc he needed a pick me up
and yk. impossible to be sad w trouble w tribbles on

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:26 PM]
yes, yes, scientifically proven and all

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:27 PM]
YEAH 💕
anyways
so u know how the spirk sass is PEAK this ep
like how they just do the Face Conversations
and then they both just insult baris together

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:27 PM]
YEAH lmaoo it’s great

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:27 PM]
WELL
i was like. haha wow totally married behavior
and do u know. what jon said to me

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:27 PM]
no, but i get the feeling youre about to tell me :)

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:28 PM]
ur SO right i SURE AM!!!!!
he was like “kon you and tim do that lol”
“YOU AND TIM DO THAT LOL”
he compared us to spirk ive never been so honored
ALSO. I CANT BELIEVE WE DO THAT
like. i know we do that but i never thought abt it!!!!
tim. tim we have to go to space now
we need to find some dumbass in space to insult…
together 💕

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:28 PM]
adding it to my date ideas spreadsheet rn <3
we needed more stuff on the extraterrestrial tab
so this works out great

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:28 PM]
YESSSSS
maybe we’ll even find barts spaceship lmaooo
babe. babe ur the spock to my kirk <333

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:28 PM]
fascinating.

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:28 PM]
hey. don’t take that tone with me, mr. spock.

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:28 PM]
*eyebrow thing*

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:29 PM]
are we abt to roleplay spirk
is that whats happening here
like i would totally be into it but i mean

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:29 PM]
.
no, we are not doing that.

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:29 PM]
u mean u wont add it to the date idea spreadsheet???

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:29 PM]
that is precisely what i mean, yeah.

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:29 PM]
aw cmon babe
youd look great with the vulcan eyebrows
and I’D look great in jim kirks ripped tiddy tops B)

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:30 PM]
youre trying to get me to LARP spirk with you now??

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:30 PM]
is it working???

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:30 PM]
no.
maybe?
no.
no.

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:30 PM]
i’m sensing some indecision, mr. spock.
care to share your insights on the matter?

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:30 PM]
OKAY. how about this.
i’ll put “spirk couple’s cosplay” down on the spreadsheet.
we can figure out a con or whatever later.
happy?

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:30 PM]
FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:30 PM]
not the most professional verbiage, captain.

babycakes 🔥🥵 [09:30 PM]
TIM.

💕🥰🔥💖 sunshine ☀😳👌💖 [09:30 PM]
:)

Tim stares upwards.

Kon also stares upwards.

The splotch of orange sauce and two—count ‘em, two—grains of rice on the ceiling stare back.

“Hm,” Tim finally says.

Kon floats back down to the sofa and (very, very) gently punches his shoulder. “That’ll stain if you let it set, you know. You should clean it up.”

Tim whips his head around to stare at him indignantly. “I should clean it up? You can fly! You were just flying up near the ceiling!”

“You’re the one who threw it!” Kon shoots back. “And this is your apartment! Aren’t I your guest?”

“You invited yourself over. Guest rights are moot.” Tim folds his arms across his chest. “And you were supposed to catch it!”

“Catch it?! I was not! You were supposed to throw it into my mouth while I held still!” Kon looks back at the stain and rice on the ceiling, then at the little chunk of orange chicken on the floor below it. “Not my fault you fucked it.”

Tim huffs. “As I recall, you’re the one who brought up my, and I quote, ‘batshit insane batarang skillz with a Z like we’re in 2010 again’! If that had been a batarang, it would have ricocheted off the ceiling.”

Kon guffaws. “Babe, it’s orange chicken! Why would it ricochet like a batarang?!”

“You were floating face-up at an impossible angle to get an arc to your mouth from behind the coffee table without going through the ceiling! What else was I supposed to do? A bounce shot was the only way it would have worked!” Tim elbows him. “This is on you for setting me up with an impossible shot.”

“Nuh uh. This is on you for trying to make a trick shot with orange fucking chicken.”

“You’re the one who goaded me into it,” Tim grumbles. He’s playing a big grouch game, but Kon can see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And, may I remind you, you can fly. If I have to clean it up, I’ll have to go get a ladder or some shit. So.”

“Nah, nah, nah.” Kon shakes his head. “That’s a cop-out. But I’ll be nice and help you out… if you admit you’re being a sore loser about it!”

“I am not being a—okay, look!” Tim pushes his styrofoam takeout box away on the coffee table, grabs the closest notebook from the stack on the side, and flips furiously until he finds a blank page. He produces a pencil from who knows where and starts sketching, scribbles out a few rectangles and angles and a couple of arcs and holy shit, he’s going full nerd about this.

“See here?” Tim stabs his pencil at the page, and Kon scoots over to glance at his diagram. “I had to eyeball the distances and angles, since you moved before I could get a protactor or something, but whatever. My position was fixed here, at point A, and yours was here, at point B. The horizontal distance from point A to point B is roughly ten feet, and in theory, if your mouth was a massless point it’d be possible to form an arclike trajectory passing between the top of your head here and the ceiling, here, but since your stupid face has mass and form, we have to consider the angle of approach such that the projectile actually goes in your big dumb mouth, rather than just bouncing off your—”

“Tim,” Kon interrupts, breathlessly giddy and trying so, so hard not to crack up right now. “Tim. Tim. Hey. Timmy-poo. Hey. Timsy—”

Tim points the end of the pencil at him with a sharp look. “What?”

Kon does his very best to smother a giggle into just a grin. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a huge-ass nerd?”

Tim gives him a very dirty look and, rather than deigning to reply, simply bonks him on the head with the notebook. Kon figures that, yeah, he deserved that.

They wind up compromising: Kon very graciously flies Tim up to the ceiling so Tim can wipe off the offending sauce and rice, while Tim sits in his lap and gives him dirty looks because “You could have just as easily wiped this up yourself, asshole,” and “You’re having way too much fun with this,” and Tim waits until they’re back on the floor to snatch up the dropped piece of orange chicken and hurls it square at Kon’s forehead.

See? Compromise!

“Do you think we could call that a commie? Wait, no, that’s a word. Compy? Comprommy?” Kon muses, as they put the leftovers in the fridge.

Tim snorts. “Compry, maybe. But that also sounds even stupider than prommy, so… Maybe not.”

Kon reaches for his hands, twirls him around, and pulls him into his side, laughing. They’re both in loungewear—old cozy T-shirts, sweats for Kon and gym shorts and long, fuzzy socks for Tim—and it’s not a very highkey date night, but Kon couldn’t be happier. There’s a little bubble of disbelief in his chest, amid all the warmth; he still has to pinch himself sometimes, amazed that he really, truly gets to have this.

It’s bizarre how easy it is, when he doesn’t think about it. When he does think about it, his chest still gets tight with that same distress and confusion; what’s a puppet supposed to do when it’s cut free from its strings and told it doesn’t need to dance anymore?

When was it ever supposed to learn to do anything else?

Tim’s arm winds around his waist, pulling him out of his thoughts before he can meander too far, and Tim leans into his side, dropping his head to his shoulder. His nose brushes Kon’s collarbone. Kon leans his cheek against his hair and takes a moment to simply breathe.

If Tim notices—and Tim always notices—he makes no comment. Instead, he hums, rubs his fingers against Kon’s side, and then simply asks, “You want ice cream?”

It’s Kon’s turn to snort. “You have anything other than Cherry Garcia this time?”

“Fuck off, it’s good.” Tim pokes his side. “But yeah, I got you the raspberry cheesecake one.”

They take their ice cream back to the living room to settle on the sofa together. Tim idly flicks through channels on his TV, and occasionally steals a bite of Kon’s ice cream here and there; Kon sets their empty bowls aside on the coffee table and hauls Tim into his lap for better cuddling opportunities.

When his gaze falls on the notebook again, he starts to laugh. Tim really was about to work through a whole physics problem and then some just to win an argument, wasn’t he?

“What’re you laughing at?” Tim asks, dryly amused. His fingers trail along Kon’s cheek; Kon leans into his touch automatically.

“The—your orange chicken batarang,” Kon says, and loses himself to a fit of the giggles.

When he gets a grip again and glances at Tim, he—

Tim is looking at him with so much raw affection that Kon’s face flames. Tim’s smiling, soft and tender, and Kon doesn’t know what he’s looking at him like that for but he—

Tim kisses him.

Oh, right, Kon remembers, as if this is somehow news. He loves me.

Okay. Maybe he’s still getting it through his head. He knows, like, obviously, on some level. It’s just—the other levels aren’t quite so clear about it, and, well. He never claimed to be smart, okay?

But Tim is kissing him, and he’s kissing Tim, and he can taste the chocolate and the cherries still on Tim’s slightly-cold mouth. And Tim loves him.

That’s one thing that’s really, really nice about this whole thing he’s got going with Tim, now. He gets to kiss him, cuddle with him, flirt with him, etc., but it still feels like them. There’s no pressure to perform, no thrill of uncertainty and anticipation keeping him on his toes. Right now, his best friend is in his lap kissing him against the cushions, and he’s chill.

The thought makes him smile as Tim finally breaks away. He’s sure he’s grinning like a lovestruck, dopey idiot, but Tim doesn’t call him on it; he just smiles back and pecks the tip of Kon’s nose.

“What was that for?” Kon asks, his arm curving snugly about Tim’s waist. Tim is just so very huggable. Like a cuddly ol’ teddy bear.

“You were being cute,” Tim informs him.

Kon kisses him again, light and sweet. He still isn’t over the fact that he gets to do that now—he can just lean in and kiss Tim anytime the thought pops into his head. How fucking awesome is that? “You’re cute.”

“We’re talking about how you’re cute.” Tim flicks him on the shoulder. “Don’t change the subject.”

Kon laughs, tugging him into another kiss. “Can’t we both be cute?” he asks, and kisses the corner of Tim’s mouth, the soft curve of his cheek, the sharp line of his jaw. “Don’t be a hardass, baby.”

Tim huffs out a laugh. “Okay, but—” Kon kisses him briefly, and he grins, cradling Kon’s cheek in one callused hand. “Okay, but you were the one giggling over the stupid”—he kisses Kon’s nose again—“orange chicken thing.” A little nuzzle. “So. you were the one being cute in the moment.”

The reminder of the orange chicken thing makes Kon start giggling again—he can’t help it! The two specks of rice stuck to the ceiling, and Tim complaining that Kon moved before he could get out a fucking protractor—

“See!” Kon didn’t know before now that kisses could be smug, but if anyone could make it happen, he’s not surprised that it’s Tim. “You’re doing it again!”

“You were drawing a fucking physics diagram,” Kon manages, and cracks up entirely.

Eyes dancing, Tim shifts in his lap to hug him close, leaning into his chest. It’s warm and cozy here in his arms, and Kon happily rests his head on Tim’s shoulder and laughs at them both all over again. Man, nothing beats the sheer joy of being a complete and utter idiot with his best friend.

When he gets ahold of himself again, he lifts his head. Tim smiles at him with that same tender, adoring look in his eyes, and Kon can’t help himself; he cups the back of Tim’s head and draws him into another kiss, this one longer and deeper than before. Tim’s arms curve around his neck, his fingers tangling in Kon’s hair.

He breaks that kiss after a moment, but Tim pulls him right back in for more. Kon makes a tiny, pleased sound and melts into him, tipping his face up as Tim cradles his jaw. He’s happy, content, safe and snug here in Tim’s arms, and as he licks into Tim’s mouth, warmth settles into his core like a dollop of golden honey.

A few minutes pass just like this. Kon’s world shrinks down to the comfy delight in his arms.

“This is” —another kiss— “the stupidest possible thing,” —kiss—“to make out about.” Tim’s voice is wry; Kon opens his eyes just to watch him wrinkle his nose. A rush of affection bubbles through his chest and spills out as laughter, and Tim’s lips curve into a warm smile against Kon’s skin.

“Babe, please. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us.” Kon kisses the tip of his nose and his cheek, grins against the corner of his mouth. “I am sure we’re gonna find stupider things.”

Tim laughs, his thumb stroking over Kon’s lower lip so tenderly that Kon’s heart stutters in his chest. “Point.”

He tips Kon’s face up and draws him into another kiss. His mouth is so very soft, and Kon lets out a breathy sigh of contentment.

This is heaven. Kon is the happiest guy on the planet. He’s snuggled up with someone who loves him, getting kissed breathless, ready to melt into a puddle right here on the sofa. Tim makes him feel so cherished, he hardly knows how to handle it.

He kisses a leisurely trail from Tim’s jaw down his neck, humming softly against his skin, and Tim lets out a soft sound that Kon adores. He wants to hear that again, he thinks, and very gently nips at the delicate skin just below Tim’s ear.

Tim inhales sharply. “Kon…”

His voice is breathy and soft, and Kon smiles against his neck. He brushes a kiss to the pulse point below Tim’s ear again, savoring the little hitch of Tim’s breath in his throat, and nuzzles his jaw.

Tim hums appreciatively, his fingers scrunching through Kon’s hair. His fingertips rub against Kon’s scalp and god that feels nice; Kon presses him closer, kisses the corner of his mouth, and smiles as Tim’s hand slips up his shirt to rub along his bare back. That’s really nice, too, and it’s Kon’s turn to sigh in bliss; he can feel Tim smiling against his mouth.

“This rocks,” Kon murmurs. “I can’t believe we coulda been doing this for ages.”

Tim huffs out a breathy laugh near his ear. Kon’s heart squeezes in his chest. “Mm, well. Guess we just have to make up for lost time?”

“Ooh!” Kon laughs, tracing his finger teasingly along the underside of Tim’s jaw. “Mr. Drake, that was smooth! Since when did you learn to flirt?”

Tim rolls his eyes, though it’s easy to read the fondness in the gesture. He reaches up to lightly tug one of the curls falling across Kon’s forehead. “Oh, shut up.”

Oho, going for the classic lines, is he? Kon grins. “Make me.”

Tim snorts, cradles his jaw in his hand, and leans in again. He kisses Kon slowly, sweetly, his callused palm warm against Kon’s cheek; his lips are slightly chapped, but achingly soft, and Kon lets out an appreciative sound low in his throat as he breaks that kiss to immediately catch Tim in another.

He shifts on the sofa, leaning back slow enough to keep kissing Tim all the way down until his back rests against the armrest behind him. Tim leans down over him, propped up on one arm—Kon glances up at the strong lines of his forearm, next to his head, and feels his own heart skip a beat.

“God, Rob,” he manages, a little kiss-drunk and so very blissful. “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

Tim pauses for a moment. Their noses brush; Kon watches, pleased, as his cheeks darken. “Says you.”

Well, now! Kon preens under him, grinning, and tips his face up briefly peck Tim’s lips. “You think I’m pretty, sunshine?”

Two weeks in, and the power of that particular endearment is still going strong. Tim flushes red, lowers his head to rest their foreheads together, and shifts his weight, moving to straddle Kon’s lap. They lie flush against each other, chest-to-chest, hearts beating as one; god, Kon never wants this moment to end.

“Of course I do,” Tim mutters. His hand slips to the back of Kon’s neck, his thumb brushing tenderly over his vertebrae, and a pleasant shiver runs down Kon’s spine. “I’m not an idiot, and I have functioning eyes. You’re, like, the prettiest guy on the planet. And then some, even.”

Kon’s chest is so full of affection that his heart threatens to burst. “Aw, Rob…”

Tim huffs a little, clearly embarrassed, but he doesn’t pull away. “It’s just the truth. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Prettiest guy on the planet, he says. Don’t let it go to your head, he says,” Kon sing-songs, delighted. Tim loooves him. And thinks he’s pretty. He preens a little more, unable to stop grinning, and nuzzles Tim’s cheek, then draws him into another long, slow kiss. He really, really likes kissing Tim.

Tim hums against his mouth, soft and happy. Kon can feel the smile tugging at his lips, can feel his heart beating in his chest, all the lines of his body pressing against him. He mirrors Tim from earlier, slips his hand up Tim’s shirt and runs his palm up his bare back, and Tim lets out a breathy little gasp against him and kisses him harder, leans into him, licks into his mouth.

Oh, that’s nice. Kon is vaguely aware of making some little blissful noise into Tim’s mouth as he melts under him, luxuriating in the feeling of Tim’s fingers tangled in his hair as Tim kisses him deeply, pressing him down into the cushions.

“Tim,” he manages, between kisses, stroking along the ridges in Tim’s spine, luxuriating in the heat of his body. Very little, if anything, is nicer than making out with his Robin, he’s discovered lately, and it’s a genuine challenge to keep all the thoughts from being completely zapped out of his head whenever Tim takes it upon himself to kiss him senseless. “Mm…”

“Seriously, I just—you’re so fucking cute,” Tim tells him, when he finally breaks away for a moment. “God, Kon. You’re—just look at you.”

Look at you, Tim says. Tim, in his lap, hair messy and dishevelled, his shirt riding up along Kon’s arm, his cheeks rosy, his mouth kiss-red. Tim, his usually piercing eyes soft and shining with adoration. Tim, the hottest man Kon has ever fucking seen in his life.

“I’d rather look at you,” he says honestly, and cups the back of Tim’s head, drawing him back down to rest their foreheads together, so that Tim is all he can see. “My Tim.”

“Yours,” Tim agrees, the look on his face impossibly tender. Then he kisses Kon again.

Kon is in heaven.

After a minute, or maybe five, or maybe five hundred—Kon sure isn’t keeping track!—Tim draws back ever so slightly. He’s a little out of breath, his hair is a mess, and a rosy flush runs down his neck and disappears into the wide collar of his shirt. That shirt is loose enough that Kon can see the tantalizing lines of his collarbones peeking out; part of him wants to flip them, to lay Tim down and kiss his way down his neck, to leave a hickey or two along the way to kiss his collarbones, to tug his shirt down further, to explore just how far that blush runs…

Fuck. Tim is hot.

“Kon,” Tim says, and oh, double fuck, his voice has dropped the way it does when he takes charge on the field, except now it’s warm and syrupy and a little rough, too, and god, Kon shivers. The situation in his pants is very close to getting, uh, noticeable.

“Tim,” he manages, reaching up to cradle Tim’s cheek in his hand. Tim leans into his touch with a little smile, and—god, fuck, who let Tim be so gorgeous?

Tim turns his head to kiss the base of Kon’s thumb. It’s a really, really good thing Kon is lying down, because he’s pretty sure at this point he’s going weak in the knees.

“Kon,” Tim repeats. He leans in and kisses him again, soft and chaste this time, but lingering. Kon’s heart flutters in his chest, wanting him even closer; he has to swallow down a whine as Tim breaks the kiss and smiles at him. His gaze is intent as he studies Kon’s face for a moment, then presses another soft little kiss to the tip of his nose. “How far do you wanna go right now?”

Kon blinks up at him. Is he asking if…? Oh, holy shit, he’s asking—oh. Okay. Okay. Cool. Sweet. Kon is drunk on kisses and love and Tim, and god, Tim is hot, and if he wants to take this to the bedroom, Kon is so here for it.

But that’s an if. Kon swallows hard and tries to remind his brain to, like, function. “I, uh… what do you want?”

Tim’s eyes narrow slightly. “I asked you first.”

Whoops. Right.

“Look, I’m fine with anything, darling,” Tim adds, softening, and darling sinks into Kon’s chest and settles in his heart like warm honey. “If you wanna stay here and cuddle and make out, that’s totally chill. Or if you wanna go to my room, I mean, I’ve got both lube and condoms, so…”

A thrill of anticipation shoots through Kon’s stomach, and he grins, exhilarated. “Wow. Already?”

Tim shrugs one shoulder with a crooked little grin. “You know me. I like to be prepared.” He nuzzles Kon’s nose, kisses him again, and smiles against the corner of his mouth for a moment, but then he draws back slightly and pins Kon with that intent look again. “But I’m serious. If you’re not comfortable with that, that’s fine. You don’t have to—”

“Tim,” Kon interrupts, laughing. He folds Tim into a hug, wrapping him up in his arms and in his TTK like a blanket. One of Tim’s arms curves around his neck; the other holds a fistful of his shirt, and Tim snuggles into him with a satisfied sigh, his body warm and pliant in Kon’s embrace.

Fuck, man. Kon loves him. Has he mentioned that? He loves his Tim.

“Tim,” he repeats, and smushes a kiss into Tim’s hair. “Dude. Buddy. Sweetheart. Sunshine. Yes. Of course I wanna—of course I’m comfortable, dumbass. It’s you.”

Tim makes a noise that Kon will, later, fondly look back on as being rather akin to a dying moose. “Stop that. You can’t be so sweet while calling me a dumbass,” he huffs into Kon’s neck, and then undercuts his own complaints by kissing Kon’s jaw.

“Watch me.” Kon grins against his temple. “Mm, c’mere.”

That’s pretty redundant to say, given that Tim is already burrowed into his arms, but—ugh, whatever! His brain is mush. Tim hot, brain awooga, Kon likey. The point is, he wraps Tim up in his TTK and floats them both up from the couch, drifting towards Tim’s bedroom door.

Tim snorts against his neck, and Kon almost giggles because it tickles.

“You know,” Tim says, propping himself up with one arm on Kon’s chest, “this kinda gives a whole new definition to ‘riding a man’, don’t you think?” He gestures down at himself, his legs loosely wrapped around Kon’s hips as they float through the doorway of his room, and grins.

Tim. Sex joke. Sex joke about him riding Kon. Tim. The images that just manifested in Kon’s brain. Tim’s thighs.

Holy shit.

“Oh my god.” He drops them both onto the bed with a thump and smothers his face in his hands, cheeks on fire as he groans. “Rob, you can’t just say shit like that, you gotta warn me—”

“We literally just said we’re—what, did you think I brought up lube and condoms so we could play ‘Don’t Let The Balloon Touch The Ground, Slippery Edition’ again?” Tim swats him on the shoulder, laughing. “How much more warning do you need than that?!”

“Shut up!” Kon catches his wrist and hauls him back down on top of him into a bear hug, laughing too. God, his face is burning. “I just—dude, you’re so—you’re so—ugh! You know!”

Tim props himself up on his elbows and looks down at him. His grin is infuriatingly smug, but Kon is pleased to see he’s a blushing mess, too. “I’m so what, Conner? You’ve gotta be clearer than that, baby.”

And now the asshole calls him baby?! While he’s already got him on his back in his bed, flustered as hell?!

“You’re so mean to me,” Kon whines, and tugs him down into another kiss.

He loses himself in the ecstasy of kissing Tim again, in the heat of their bodies and the sparks shooting through his skin everywhere they touch. One of Tim’s hands ends up in his hair again, while the other snakes up his shirt, and Kon gasps into Tim’s mouth as his thumb grazes over his nipple; Tim laughs, lightly bumps their foreheads together like a cat, and does it again.

After a few minutes, Kon pauses, gently tapping two fingers against the small of Tim’s back. “Hey,” he breathes, acutely aware of how breathy and husky his own voice sounds right now. “What do you wanna do, specifically?”

“You,” Tim mutters, and then goes scarlet. Looks like Kon isn’t the only one being a horny idiot in love tonight. “Uh. I mean.”

Kon laughs. “I said specifically, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tim huffs, kisses his jaw, and hums in thought. “Mmm… I’m up for whatever, I guess. We can stick to just hands, if you want. Or you in me. Or if you like, I, uh… I do have a strap-on, though I’ve never actually, like. Used it on anyone. But I’ve only got the one size dick for it, so if you’d rather we go shopping for that sometime—”

Tim has a fucking strap-on. The images that fact puts in Kon’s head—oh, boy, oh that’s so fucking hot, holy fucking shit, oh god…

“Holy shit,” Kon wheezes, just about ready to keel over on the spot. “You were not kidding about being prepared, oh my god, Tim.”

Tim grins down at him, ears red. Kon’s heart squeezes with affection in his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

“I’m not surprised.” Kon shakes his head against the pillow, still breathless with anticipation. “I’ve known you way too long to be surprised. But oh my god, Rob, you’re gonna kill me! How am I supposed to pick something here?!”

Laughing, Tim rests their foreheads together. “I mean, it’ll all still be on the table later, too, you know.” His thumb caresses over Kon’s nipple again, and he kisses him, long, slow, and achingly sweet. “Any preferences, darling?”

Oh, god. Tim calling him darling with his voice all low and sweet and warm and hungry, on top of him in bed. Kon isn’t gonna survive this experience, he thinks, but by god is he gonna die happy.

He skims his hands down Tim’s sides to the hem of his shirt, tugs it up with a brush of TTK in suggestion; Tim brightens, nods, and pushes himself up a little so that it’s easier for Kon to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it aside, off the bed, for them to deal with later, and takes a moment to simply admire his Rob.

Tim is made of lean, wiry muscle. His whole body is incredibly toned, but his arms and back are particularly striking, Kon thinks; of course, his pecs are nothing to scoff at, either, and his abs are pretty damn impressive. After so many years in the hero business, he’s got a lot of scars criss-crossing his skin—the most notable are his top surgery scars and the one from “that whole incident with the impromptu splenectomy”, as Tim himself once described it, but he’s got plenty of others, little pale nicks or puckered reddish-brown stretches.

He’s the most beautiful thing Kon has ever, ever seen.

“God,” Kon breathes, reaching up for him. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

This time, when Tim flushes, Kon can see just how far down his chest it goes. Oh, he likes that.

“Preferences, Kon,” Tim reminds him, though he melts easily as Kon pulls him back down for another long, sultry kiss. “Mmm…”

“Hands first,” Kon decides, kiss-drunk and ready to melt from the heat of Tim’s body and all this bare skin for his touch to rove over. “Maybe more after if we feel like it. I dunno.”

Tim laughs, soft and breathy. “Sure,” he agrees, and nips lightly at Kon’s neck. “Sounds good to me.”

He shifts his weight, slotting one knee between Kon’s legs, and Kon gasps, ragged and needy and delighted. Fuck, that feels good, and Tim over him is so fucking gorgeous, and this is bliss.

“Tim,” he moans, spreading his legs a little wider, and Tim beams down at him, nuzzles his nose, and kisses him again.

They settle into a slow, cozy rhythm, the warmth between them growing. Kon is ready to melt; it’s the heat and the joy and the comfort of basking in the sun, condensed and concentrated into their two bodies as they move as one. Tim kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, and Kon kisses him back and holds him close.

He hasn’t gotten laid in a few years, not since he realized casual sex just isn’t his thing, and—

Holy shit, nothing could have prepared him for how fucking awesome making out and grinding is when it’s with his best friend that he’s also in love with. Way better than any stranger, no matter how hot. Holy shit.

Tim’s mouth, hot against his neck. Tim’s hand, pushing up his shirt. Tim’s hair, soft against his cheek. Tim’s weight, pressing him into the bed. The soft gasps of their breath, the heat of Tim’s bare skin under his hands, the smell of Tim’s basic bitch-ass men’s shampoo. The sheets, soft beneath them, the sounds of the city beyond—

—red hair, cascading down around him, the scent of sea salt and distant plumeria on the breeze as she pushes him down into the sand, and the sound of her laughter, low and rich and warm. Her hand, splayed on his bare chest, her weight pinning him down—“C’mon, pup. You’re a big boy. You can take it!”—as her other hand reaches for his waistband. Her grinning face, blocking out the sun—

Kon flinches hard.

He jerks back, scrabbling for purchase against the sheets and frantically scrambling up against the headboard as his heart pounds in his throat. What the fuck was that?! Where did it come from and why—he’s in Tim’s room, he’s with Tim, he’s not there but he can still feel the sand beneath his legs and he can smell the sea air and hear the waves crashing on the coast and he’s not there he can’t be there he isn’t there he can’t be there—

“Conner!”

Tim. That’s Tim’s voice. It takes inhuman amounts of effort, but Kon jerks himself out of his mind and forces himself to lift his head, to meet Tim’s gaze. Piercing blue eyes in a familiar, beautiful face.

Tim looks so worried.

“Kon,” Tim says. His voice washes over Kon like a wave on the shore. “Breathe. What happened? Are you okay?”

Kon can’t find his voice. He tries, but his throat is dry and there’s sand sticking to the roof of his mouth and prickling all over his skin and he can’t find his voice, and—and—

He curls in on himself a little tighter with a pathetic, wordless whimper, shaking his head. His heart thunders in his chest. The walls are closing in around him and he’s a trapped animal, panicking as the cage tightens and the sea rushes in and she’s laughing, why is she still laughing why can he hear her laughing?!

“Kon,” Tim tries again, and god, the furrow in his brow and the brightness in his eyes and the way he bites his lip—Kon wants to reach out, wants to wipe that concern away because Tim shouldn’t have to worry about him, but he can’t. His hands are covered in fucking sand.

I’m okay, he tries to say, but his voice is still AWOL, and all that comes out is a choked whine. God, he feels so pathetic right now, what is wrong with him why is he so scared he isn’t in Hawaii and he knows he’s not in Hawaii, so why why why is terror gripping him in place and coursing through his veins like ice?

“Kon, sweetheart, what’s going on?” Tim moves a little closer, uncertain, and reaches out slowly, deliberately. “Can I touch you?”

“I—” Kon rasps, his throat so choked up that it hurts to talk. “I, I’m—I need—I’m—”

He can’t even get a full sentence out, dread and panic coiled too tight in his chest for him to breathe. Dimly, distantly, he knows he knows he knows it’s just in his head, none of this is real, he’s here in reality and he’s safe, but he can’t believe it. He can’t stop feeling her weight on his chest, holding him down to the sand beneath their bodies, her mouth hot on his, her hand moving between his legs—

His TTK isn’t disgusting and sand-encrusted and prickly like his skin. The realization makes his stomach lurch with so much relief he might be sick.

Tim’s eyes widen slightly as Kon’s TTK latches onto his hand and clings like it’s a lifeline, but he softens immeasurably, his lips curving into the slightest of smiles. “Okay,” he says, like it’s that simple. “Okay, darling. That’s okay. Good.”

He curls his fingers around Kon’s invisible TTK hand—it’s barely even a hand, more of just a… sad, desperate blob—and rubs his thumb over it like he would if he was holding Kon’s actual hand. Kon stares at him with wide eyes. He can feel all the inner workings of Tim’s hand; all the individual muscles and tendons moving together as his thumb keeps stroking over nothing, all the bones and joints beneath them, all the blood rushing through the vessels interwoven between.

Tim’s heart is a steady beat. Still a little elevated from baseline, but steady. Kon can feel each pulse of his heart pushing blood through his veins. Can hear it thumping softly in his chest.

He’s with Tim. He’s with Tim. They’re in Tim’s bed, in Tim’s room, in Tim’s apartment, and he’s safe.

Oh, Kon realizes, incredibly belatedly because he’s a fucking idiot. That was a flashback.

Of course Kon has had flashbacks before. Dying a violent and traumatic death tends to do that to a guy. To this day, he holds his breath when working in the rubble of recently-collapsed buildings; the scent of all that heavy dust and smoke sends him reeling back to when it was his body lying broken in the wreckage.

But this?

He’s never had a flashback like this before. Not during sex, not about sex. What the fuck? What the fuck was that? He was having a good time, he was—he was with Tim, he loves Tim and he trusts him so, so much, and he knows Tim would never, ever hurt him, so what the fuck?!

The walls are closing in around him again. Kon bites his lip hard, trying to calm his racing heart. His fingers drum anxiously against the bed.

“Conner.” That’s Tim’s voice again. Soft and gentle, like how Kon would talk to a spooked horse. “What do you need, sweetheart? Can you tell me?”

“I need,” Kon forces out, hoarse and shaky and panicky, “to get out of here.”

Tim’s eyes widen again, his brows knitting together. He nods slowly, pressing his lips together, and Kon’s heart lurches again in terror as he pulls his hand away. “Okay. Yeah. Do you want—I can pack up the leftovers for you, if you want to take—”

“No!” Kon bursts out, desperately grabbing at his arm. Please, please, don’t leave him, Tim, please! “Not—not like that. I mean—I’m not leaving, I just, I just—”

Tim’s expression softens with understanding, and he eases back down, resting his hand over Kon’s to soothe him. “You just need some air?”

“Yeah.” Gratitude robs the air from his lungs. Kon hangs his head for a moment, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “Can you—do you mind? Coming?”

“Not at all.” Tim squeezes his hand. “Let me just, uh, grab something to wear…” He casts his gaze around the room as if a shirt will manifest on him by the sheer force of his will. “Give me two seconds, okay?”

“Okay,” Kon agrees. Letting go of Tim and watching him pull away is one of the hardest things he’s ever done; he knows that there really, truly is no sand clinging to his skin, but he feels so antsy it’s taking every ounce of self-control he possesses not to shudder and scrape at his body anyway.

Tim moves with purpose, digging through a chest of drawers until he pulls out a nondescript pair of black sweats and a generic, blank maroon hoodie. Kon watches as he swaps out his polka-dotted, fuzzy socks for some plain black ones, quickly and methodically daubs adhesive onto a domino mask (these, Kon knows, he keeps a few of in a false-panelled compartment in his second drawer), and slaps it onto his face.

Then he darts into his closet, emerging with a pair of old sneakers and, to Kon’s minor amusement (he almost even manages a smile), a cape. He throws it over his shoulders, fastens it with the ease of practice, and then holds out his arms to Kon with a slight smile. “Okay. Ready?”

In answer, Kon rolls off the bed, scoops him up with one arm, and zooms out through the skylight.

He doesn’t slow down until they’re higher than even the tallest of Gotham’s skyscrapers, the night wind lashing against his face and roaring in his ears. Tim, securely wrapped in his TTK, simply rests his hand on his back. Kon kind of wants to cry.

When he finally levels off, slows, and stops, Gotham is a glittering sprawl of lights far below. Metropolis is visible over the bridges northwards, glowing against the horizon; all the cars in the streets are tiny pinpricks like ants.

Or fireflies, since they glow. But ants make a better metaphor for tiny crawling specks. Some fucked up crossbreed of ants and fireflies? That does sound appropriate for Gotham.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

Out here, this high up, the air is cool and crisp, and the wind feels fresh against his face, riffling through his hair. Kon gulps down a few breaths gratefully, like a drowning man who’s finally found the water’s surface, and curls his fingers into Tim’s hoodie.

He brings his legs up, settles cross-legged on an invisible recliner, and let Tim settle into his lap, perched comfortably on his thigh. His cape billows out in the wind; the moonlight is a pale bluish-white on his hair, while the city lights shine golden up at them from below. Kon gazes at the curve of Tim’s cheekbone, highlighted in the night glow, and aches.

“This okay?” Tim murmurs, his arm settling around Kon’s shoulders. He feels like security and warmth and home, and Kon turns his head, presses his face into Tim’s shoulder, and breathes in.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, after a moment. “Thanks.”

Tim presses a kiss into his hair that lingers, one heartbeat, two. “Anytime, darling.”

They drift in the sky together for a while. Kon loses track of time, simply watching the flickering lights down below; he can see office buildings with just a few windows per floor still lit, cell towers with airplane lights blinking high above. Some cars peeling off the highway down an exit ramp, circling in a wide arc before they disappear behind a cluster of buildings, far below him and Tim. The world seems so distant from here; none of the panic he left behind in Tim’s apartment can reach him, not up here near the clouds.

The sea to the east is dark and moody, the waves made of shadows rather than mere water. It’s nothing like the ocean in Hawaii was that day, bright and warm in his memories. That, too, is a relief.

Kon drags his gaze back to the lights. Tim is watching him, he knows; he wonders what he can see written on his face, shining in the interplay of the moonbeams and the city’s glow. Does he see all the fear and confusion and frustration?

Tim said he was serious about this. That he was in for the long haul, too. Kon knows it’d be a disservice to think he didn’t mean that, to think maybe he just didn’t think it through, but what if he didn’t realize just how fucked up Kon is? Hell, Kon didn’t realize how fucked up he is, either. If Tim were to decide he doesn’t wanna deal with someone who can’t even just give him some dick without freaking out, Kon wouldn’t be able to blame him.

Tim wouldn’t. Kon knows he wouldn’t. But maybe he’d want to, and just hold himself back.

The thought is enough to fill him with a deep, aching sorrow, the kind that physically wrenches at his chest. It would be just like him to keep up his usual trend in relationships; he’s never been enough to make anyone stay.

Okay, he’s being melodramatic. It’s not Cassie’s fault they both grew apart and realized they weren’t ever even really into each other. And he and Simon agreed early on it was just for the summer, that they’d have a clean break and stay friends when Simon left Smallville for college. And Tana—

He runs into a wall, there. He wasn’t enough to make Tana stay. Kay was part of why he was never enough to make Tana stay, but that’s the funny thing—he wasn’t enough to make Kay want to change, either.

God, they really fucked him up, didn’t they?

“Hey,” Tim murmurs. His fingers stroke gently over the fuzzy stubble at the base of Kon’s head, rubbing down to the nape of his neck. “What’s on your mind?”

“I almost killed myself, you know,” Kon blurts out.

Tim stiffens. To anyone else, his sharp inhale would have been silent, but to Kon, it may as well be a gunshot.

“We wouldn’t have ever even met. Can you imagine? Hatched and dead within the year. Like… like a bug, ha!” Now that he’s started, Kon can’t seem to stop babbling; the words just pour right on out like blood. “And you know? I woulda done it, too, if it was just me. When I found out she’d really killed that man—Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I almost killed us both, to take her down. I didn’t care about killing myself. But I just—I couldn’t bear to kill her.

“I really thought—I loved her, you know? I was a fucking dumbass for it, but I did. I thought she wanted to change, wanted to be good. And then she told me she was just toying with me and that it was nothing but a bit of fun to her, and I… it’s so stupid that that still hurts. She was the first person I ever—I was so excited, too, you know? She pushed me down on the beach and she fucked me ‘til I saw stars, and I thought she loved me, Tim, I thought—but she didn’t. Not even a little bit. God, I was such a stupid kid.”

He breaks off, laughing bitterly into the night wind. Tim is warm in his arms, warm and real and here, and Kon holds onto him a little tighter; he’s the anchor keeping him from drifting away.

“I don’t know why I’m—I shouldn’t be freaking out about this right now.” Kon shakes his head. “I’ve slept with people before without any stupid flashbacks—and what’s there to even have a fucking flashback about? I liked it when it happened, so—”

Tim cuts him off by flinging his arms around his neck and holding on tight.

“Were you forcing yourself?” His voice is low and intent, but there’s an undercurrent of—of heartbreak there that Kon doesn’t understand. “Just now. With me. Did you force yourself?”

“No!”

Kon shakes his head vehemently, frustration clawing his chest to shreds from the inside.

“No, I wanted—I want this, I want you, I really really want—god, fuck, see, this is why it’s so stupid! I want to! I’ve literally had sex before now without freaking the fuck out! So why is this happening now?!”

His voice cracks on a desperate sob, though his eyes are dry. Chest tight, Kon buries his face in Tim’s neck and tries to figure out when, exactly, he started trembling.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tim murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re okay. Shhh. I got you.”

He starts rubbing Kon’s back, slow, soothing circles; his other hand drops away for a second, and then comes back up: he wraps his cape around Kon like a blanket, tucking it around him like they’re both in a little bubble, safe, away from the world.

…Oh, Kon realizes. That’s why he brought it, didn’t he?

Classic Tim. The thought comes with a flurry of helpless fondness that makes tears prickle at his eyes. Always prepared.

“Sorry,” Kon sniffles, scrubbing a hand over his face. There’s no fooling Tim into thinking the tears are just because of the wind, but maybe he can still convince himself. “I totally ruined date night, huh?”

Tim hums. The hand not holding the cape in place moves up, crading the back of his neck, and his thumb rubs gentle circles into Kon’s nape. “Remember this summer, when you invited me over for that farmer’s market weekend?”

Of course Kon remembers. Tim wound up having a real bad nightmare the morning of the market, one that put him on edge for hours before an innocuous conversation with Ma’s friend Mrs. Phyllis made something snap and send him into an anxiety attack so bad Kon had to take him back to the farmhouse right after lunch. He’s never felt quite so protective as then, when Tim curled up tiny in his bed after he’d exhausted himself and just slept for four hours; Kon sat at his bedside and held his hand the entire time, vowing that he’d never anyone lay a finger on him.

…In retrospect, maybe Cassie did have a point about him being a little obvious about being in love with Tim. Maybe.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. He has a feeling he knows where Tim’s going with this, but… “That’s different.”

“It’s not.” Tim kisses his temple so tenderly Kon almost starts to cry in earnest. “Would you say I ruined that day? You were so excited about taking me to the swimming hole, and we ended up not going ‘cuz of me.”

“Yeah, but it’s… different.” This argument doesn’t hold water, and Kon knows it. “I mean—you know I would never hold that kind of thing against you, and besides, I like taking care of you.”

“Yeah, I know.” There’s a smile in Tim’s voice now. “Like the time a few weeks ago I made you come up to Gotham just ‘cuz I got fear gassed and even with the antidote I was too paranoid to chill the fuck out, right?”

Kon sniffles a little again. “…As if I mind coming over to cuddle and watch ‘Wendy’ with you.”

“That’s quite the shorthand for ‘deal with me making you listen for and tell me there are no assassins, mob goons, or anyone else lurking in the vents waiting to kill me in my sleep every thirty seconds’, dearest.” Kon can feel Tim’s smile against his temple as he kisses him again.

“…Dearest?” Kon mumbles. Tim has a point, and Kon is having a hard time figuring out how to refute it without making it sound like he didn’t want to take care of him.

“Yeah.” Tim chuckles. “I dunno if you got the memo by now, but I love you, like, a lot, dude.”

Kon presses a tiny kiss to his shoulder, over his hoodie. “Love you too, Rob.”

“I know you do.” Tim’s voice is so warm and fond Kon doesn’t know what to do with himself. “You didn’t ruin date night. Don’t go telling yourself that, okay? I like taking care of you, too.”

Kon bites his lip, lifting his head just enough to peep up at him. “…You prommy?”

Tim sighs, though a smile is clearly tugging at his lips. “Yes, Kon. I prommy.”

“Swag,” Kon mumbles, and tucks his nose back into the warm skin of Tim’s neck.

Tim laughs. Kon holds him close, like a giant teddy bear, and closes his eyes; up here in the sky, he feels like he can breathe again, and the worst of the panic and distress has passed. He still doesn’t know where it came from, though, and that’s bugging him, an itch under his skin that he just can’t scratch. A few minutes pass; the wind gusts, and the trailing part of Tim’s cape flaps dramatically in the moonlight.

A few minutes pass. Kon turns it over in his head, trying to puzzle it out, but he can’t. One moment, everything was great; the next, he needed to claw his own skin off to escape. He felt so safe and happy and loved, and then he just… didn’t.

“I still don’t know what happened,” he finally admits, voice small. Tim makes a soft, questioning sound, and he continues: “I don’t know where it came from. I’ve never—that’s never happened before. I mean—I’ve had flashbacks, but not… that kind. And I’ve never had one in bed, not even the couple of times it was with strangers. Why wouldn’t it happen then, not now?”

“Well…” Tim clicks his tongue in that way he does when he has an answer but doesn’t know how to say it. “You didn’t realize any of this was an issue ‘til recently, did you? So it makes sense.”

…Oh.

Ohhhh.

“Wait, is that for real it?” Kon feels a little stupid. Well, he is pretty stupid, so that’s par for the course, but still! “It’s just—I was just repressing the shit out of it, or whatever, so it only now came up? Is that a thing? That happens?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.” Tim’s voice is wry now; when Kon lifts his head again to look at him, amazed, Tim pecks him on the forehead. “That’s pretty much just what repression means, honey.”

“Huh,” Kon says, and blinks at him. “That… actually kind of makes sense. Huh. Damn. Who knew I was that good at repression?”

Tim snorts. “What a skill. No wonder I’m into you.”

That actually makes Kon laugh. He nuzzles Tim’s cheek, hugs him close, and snuggles into his neck again, still smiling; he still doesn’t feel great, but he does feel… lighter.

“Can we try again?” he asks, kissing Tim’s neck. “I don’t wanna just… write it off. I—I don’t want her to ruin—to ruin me for good. I—‘cuz I do want this. I really want to. With you.”

“Again, not ruined, and not ruining anything, but yeah, we can try again.” Tim traces a little heart into the nape of Kon’s neck; a shiver runs down his spine. “Probably not tonight, I think,”—Kon nods in fervent agreement at that—“but we can definitely try again.” A pause. “I prommy.”

“Cassie is never gonna believe I got you to say prommy twice in one night,” Kon murmurs in wonder.

Tim huffs out a soft laugh, his fingers carding through Kon’s curls. “Oh, she will. All you have to do is mention that you looked like the saddest little kicked puppy in the world.”

“I do not look like a kicked puppy.”

Tim raises a single, devastating eyebrow.

“Tim!”

And he might not exactly be okay, yet, but drifting high in the sky over the glittering city far below, bathed in wind and moonlight with his Tim in his arms, Kon knows he’s loved nonetheless.

How strange, to be a puppet who can’t dance without his strings. Even stranger, to be loved in full despite it all.

Kon tucks his face into the crook of Tim’s neck and smiles.

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:42 PM]
i got tim to prommy me things TWICE tonight
everyone please clap

gotta go fast [10:42 PM]
WHAT!!!!!!!
oh so when IM the one saying it its “not gonna catch on, bart,” and “a stupid-sounding abbreviation that doesn’t even shorten the syllable count, bart”, but when KON,

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:43 PM]
NO FUCKIN WAYYYYYY
clapclapclapclap!!!
what did u have 2 blackmail him w lmaoooo
i thought he was determined 2 die on this hill

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀💟 [10:43 PM]
i was.
then kon gave me the kicked puppy eyes.

gotta go fast [10:43 PM]
ohhhhh ok yeah thatll do it. forgiven

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:43 PM]
ok yea yup yup there it is

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:43 PM]
i do NOT have kicked puppy eyes!!!!
what are yall TALKING about!!!!!!!

gotta go fast [10:43 PM]
straight on 'til morning - merils (11)
lol.
lmao, even.

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:44 PM]
AUGH LITERALLY EVEN WITH THE PUPPY!!!!
heres my contribution
literally doing the fucking 🥺🥺🥺 face
straight on 'til morning - merils (12)

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:44 PM]
what the hell
do you guys just keep these on hand???

gotta go fast [10:44 PM]
obviously!!!
i gotta be able to clown on you anytime!!!

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:44 PM]
…thanks, bart.

gotta go fast [10:44 PM]
anytime :)

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:44 PM]
LOLLL ok but wheres TIM
i Know hes got a whole collection of cute kon pics

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀💟 [10:45 PM]
i’m a peepee poopoo head!!!!! 🤡💩🤡💩🤡💩

gotta go fast [10:45 PM]
LSKLKDNAKNFDJSBDJFKDBKS

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:45 PM]
AM;BFAIOB;MNDOIWD;;A;KJL;SD???????
oh my god kon do you have his phone

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:45 PM]
he put it down and walked away when yall started sending pics
hes in the kitchen doing… something?

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀💟 [10:45 PM]
i love kon soooo much!!!
his swag is immense and his tits are spectacular!!!
i had to leave because those pics were TOO CUTE!!!

gotta go fast [10:45 PM]
im screenshotting all of this for posterity

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:45 PM]
GODS ALKJFLAKBJD
ok but. that’s totally actually why he left.
also are u rly sitting on a sofa 2gether
and TEXTING EACH OTHER

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:46 PM]
well we were but now hes in the kitchen
wait hes coming back
HE MADE US HOT CHOCCY 🥺🥺🥺
i take back the poopoo joke im sorry tim i love u

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀💟 [10:46 PM]
wow. some real classy humor there huh
real mature kon. bravo
but ^ i do stand by those last 3 statements yeah
<3

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:46 PM]
wait what

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:46 PM]
called it

gotta go fast [10:48 PM]
bet you a taco theyre making out now 🤮🤮

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:48 PM]
oohh ill take it. i bet theyre NOT making out
theyre just making cow eyes at each other

gotta go fast [10:48 PM]
you know that reminds me
one time i saw kon tell tim he looks like a cow
and tim started blushing about it!!!!
what is WRONG with them?????

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:48 PM]
what isn’t………

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [10:49 PM]
I WAS COMPLIMENTING HIS EYELASHES!!!!
HE HAS PRETTY EYELASHES
LIKE A COW!!!!!!!!!!!!
i was like 90% asleep come ON!!!!!

💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀💟 [10:49 PM]
neither of you wins. we’re cuddling :)
[img20XX1028224843.png attached]
also re: the cow thing. i thought it was sweet…

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:49 PM]
AWWW u guys look so cozy
blanket bundle and hot choccy…
correct response to kon sad puppy moments. good job
and LOLLL. of course you did, tim. <3
of course you did.
(whatre u watching??)

gotta go fast has changed 💖💘🥰💕kon appreciator💗👀💟’s nickname to 😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰

😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 [10:50 PM]
sigh.
(trouble with tribbles!)
(scientifically proven to cure sads)

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [10:50 PM]
SUPERSIMP IS REALLLLL
(ohhh GOOD!!!)
(take care of our puppy <3)
oh but also!!!
i think cuddles r closer 2 cow eyes
deffo closer 2 cow eyes than 2 making out
bart u owe me tacos <3

gotta go fast [10:50 PM]
fuck.

Tana’s grave is smaller than Kon remembers.

It’s marked by a simple headstone, slightly worn from time; a mostly-wilted wreath lies at its base, presumably left by her brother or maybe someone else in her family several days ago. It’s cloudy today—fitting weather for visiting a cemetery, right?—and Kon sits down in the grass off to the side, careful not to touch anything, and sighs heavily.

Tana Moon, the headstone reads. Beloved Daughter.

Her family hadn’t let him come to her funeral. He still remembers how devastated he was; they blamed him for her death, and the worst part was that they were right. It was his fault. But that didn’t mean he didn’t love her, or that he knew what to do with his grief. His old jacket—the first thing he ever owned—lies six feet underground here, buried with her.

Man.

What is he doing here?

Trailing his fingers through the grass, Kon heaves another sigh. His head is so full it feels physically heavy on his shoulders. It was really too much to hope for that coming here again after all these years would just magically give him some kind of closure, huh?

“I can’t understand you, Tana,” he finally admits, staring at one of the wilted blooms. “I’m finally your age. It took me eight years to catch up. That’s insane, isn’t it?”

Of course, there is no answer. Kon smiles wanly.

“A lot has changed since I last visited you. Like, a lot. I died, too, actually. Though I got better—shit, that’s probably insensitive, given that you’re still down there ‘n’ all, huh? My bad. I guess—man, it’s just so weird. I haven’t been here in so long…” He sighs, shaking his head at himself. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

Laughing on the beach by the compound, sharing ice cream sundaes after he fought off King Shark or someone. Lying on picnic blankets out under the stars, letting Tana tell him about Hawaiian constellations and wayfinding. Flying over the ocean with her in his arms, laughing as he skimmed the surface and spray splashed across their faces.

Those are the memories it’s harder to reconcile with. Because there’s other ones—worse ones, now, ones that feel darker, crueler, with the weight of knowledge on his shoulders. Getting those ice cream sundaes together when she met him after he got out of school with other kids. Tana’s brother, joking about how good Kon was with children as if he wasn’t one himself. All the coworkers she dismissed as just jealous. Roxy’s misgivings.

No wonder Kon didn’t think he was ever really a kid.

“I have a family now, you know.” He looks down at the vase by the wreath, dry and dusty thing that it is. No one has cleaned it in a while, have they? “A grandma, and a baby brother, and… not quite a dad, not a mom, but family. And I have so many friends, too. Real friends. And I’m… in love with someone.” He thinks of Tim, half-asleep and clinging to him before he even finished waking up in the morning, and smiles. “I haven’t ever been in love like this before. Not even with you. He’s… not like you at all. Actually—I think he kinda hates you.”

Tim even said he doesn’t think he can forgive Tana for how she hurt Kon, even if he got her killed in the end. Kon personally thinks that probably evens it out, but god knows Tim’s way too stubborn to persuade otherwise.

“But that’s the thing,” he continues. “He thinks so little of you because he—he wants to protect me. Isn’t that wild? I don’t think—I don’t think you ever did that. Wanted to protect me, I mean. I know I always felt like I was protecting you. But that’s the thing, right? I was… god, I don’t get you, Tana. It was all you ever even called me. I didn’t have a name. You just called me ‘kid’. Why did you ever think what we were doing was okay?”

It’s a little more frustrating, this time, that the gravestone can’t answer. The breeze picks up; a dried petal cracks off the wreath and floats away to settle into the grass.

“I have a name, now,” Kon tells her. “Two names, even. You—Cassie told you one of them, before the end. But I’m… my grandmother gave me a name, too. I got one from Superman, and one from her. And you never called me by either of them.”

That’s not an accusation, of course. She never knew. He didn’t have either name, when she knew him. But the fact that she was okay with him being nameless—he didn’t know, then, what he was missing, but shouldn’t she have? Shouldn’t she have been concerned, if she truly loved him?

“I am sorry,” he adds, more softly. “Being involved with me got you killed. And I’ll always be sorry about that, ‘til the day I die. Again. But at the same time, I think… I think I’m also kinda mad at you. I’m sorry for that, too, but it’s true. I just—god, Tana, why did you do that to me?”

The breeze ruffles his hair. Kon closes his eyes, the hollow, numb emptiness in his chest aching.

“You’ve been haunting me this whole time, and I didn’t even notice,” he admits. “But I’m—I’m gonna keep moving forward. I’m gonna go talk to Lois, tomorrow. And I’m gonna let you go for good, this time. I’m sorry, Tana, I really am. I still love you, and I probably always will, but I… don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”

The words are heavy and final, hanging in the air around him with the weight of judgment. Kon winces—it feels like a horrible and harsh thing to say to a headstone; for crying out loud, she’s dead. Shouldn’t he forgive her?

But he can’t. Dick even said he was proud of him for that, when they met up for “Lord of the Rings” and brunch the other day, and Kon poured out all his messy feelings about being in a for-realsies serious relationship with Tim and how scared he is of messing it up.

Kon clings to that. Dick knows what he’s talking about. He’s been through this shit, too. And he said he’s proud of him for this.

Granted, he probably didn’t think Kon was about to fly out here and visit her actual grave, but. Still.

He pushes himself to his feet and brushes the dried grass from his legs. The wilted wreath and dusty vase look sad in the dull, cloudy afternoon; his fingers twitch to neaten them, but he stops himself. He doesn’t want her family knowing he was here.

For a long moment, he stares down at the grave. It’s so much bigger in his memories, weighing heavily on his soul; the real thing is simple. Sad, plain, and… normal. Like any other grave in this cemetery. Kon doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t know how to feel about a lot of things, here, and for several seconds, he grapples with himself, trying to figure out how to say goodbye.

Nothing really comes to mind. Finally, he just sighs and tells her, “Bye, Tana.”

Score one for Kon-El on “most pathetically anticlimactic parting words ever”. Jeez. But he doesn’t have anything else to say, so he shrugs, turns, and walks away.

Tomorrow. He’ll talk to Lois tomorrow, when Clark goes home to get dinner ready while she stays late at the office like she always does on Mondays. He can catch her alone then.

For now, he flies high above the clouds, soaring until the Pacific Ocean is a wide, blue void far below, dotted here and there with the shadows of clouds passing by. He doesn’t want to go home yet, to face his own thoughts and dismay; Ma’s there, but she’ll ask what’s wrong, and worry about him if he says he doesn’t want to talk about it.

No, instead he flies a little less to the north than to go back to Kansas, aiming for a small house in a cozy Alabama neighborhood. It’s evening here, the sun kissing the horizon line as Kon zooms down from the clouds, unlatches Bart’s window with his TTK, and lets himself in.

Bart lounges on a beanbag on the floor, controller in hand as colorful blasts explode on his TV screen. He glances up as Kon enters, waving with a grin. “Hey! Want in? There’s no two-player mode in this one, but you can hold half the controller and we can see how long we make it ‘til we die!”

Tension leaks out of Kon’s shoulders and dissipates harmlessly into the floor. He can hear Max puttering around in the kitchen downstairs, and Helen talking to Dox in the back yard, and the cheery chiptune from Bart’s game over it all. The house smells homey, similar but different to how Ma’s farmhouse smells like home.

Relieved, helpless, he drifts closer and sinks to his knees next to Bart’s beanbag, curling up half on the rug so he can lay his head on Bart’s thigh. Comfort seeps in through the cracks in his heart, and he lets out a slow breath. “Nah… think I’ll just watch for a bit.”

Bart makes a tiny noise of concern. He pauses his game, peers down at him, and rests one hand atop Kon’s head, inquisitive. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Kon gives him a wavery, but real, smile. “Just need a minute, s’all. Tell me what you’re playing?”

“Okay.” Bart pats him, then leans down and lightly bumps their heads together. “Lemme know if you need anything. Oh, here—I’ll start this part over so you can see the cutscenes! The plot of this game is kinda complicated, but it’s so good. There’s a singer, see, and her voice got stolen by this magic sword, but it’s not really magic so much as it’s like, super future-tech, and her boyfriend-husband-guy-thing is also, like, in the sword, and…”

Bart’s voice washes over him in a soothing lull. Kon listens to him talk, watches the screen now and then, and smiles down at the beanbag, and slowly but surely, relief sinks into his bones.

The next day, he steels himself and flies to the Daily Planet office right at 5:31 in the afternoon. Just about everyone has already left; if he concentrates, he can hear Jon across the district, babbling to Clark about his day, while Krypto trots around the apartment at his heels hoping for treats. Lois, meanwhile, is still in her office, click-clacking away at her keyboard, just like Kon hoped.

He lets himself in through the roof access door, quickly changes into some civvies, and meanders down the stairs to the office floors, trying to ignore the way his heart pounds in his throat.

Lois won’t be mad. Lois won’t be disappointed.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Maybe?

As nervous as he is, he’s not one to run away from confrontations. Plus, this might not even be a confrontation, and he won’t get anything from putting it off. Not like he’s been able to look at any of his university stuff without feeling sick, the past few days.

So.

Deep breaths, Kent, he tells himself. If this goes really poorly, he can just fling himself to Gotham and pout and eat all of Tim’s ice cream. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

He knocks on Lois’s office door.

The typing stops. After a second, her voice calls, “Come in!”

Kon takes one more deep breath, lets it out, and opens the door. “Yo, Lois. You got a second?”

“Oh, hi there, Conner.” Lois sits back in her chair with a warm smile. “Sure I do. Though, if it’s Clark you’re looking for, he’s already gone home for the night…”

“Oh, no. I was actually, uh, hoping to talk to you.” Kon rubs the back of his neck a little sheepishly, his TTK fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. “If that’s cool.”

“Oh?” Lois raises an eyebrow, then gestures at one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. “Come on in, go right ahead. Of course it’s ‘cool’. What’s going on?”

“Um.” Kon closes the door behind himself, drops into one of the chairs, and straps some mental steel to his spine.

He’s Supernova, for crying out loud. He can do this.

He looks Lois dead in the eye and says, “I don’t think I want to do journalism anymore.”

A beat.

“Okay,” Lois says, steepling her fingers. “What do you want to do?”

Kon blinks. “Wait, what?”

Lois snorts. “What, ‘what’? You don’t wanna do journalism, then don’t. What, did you expect me to bite your head off for it?” A pause, and her eyes narrow. “Oh my god, you did. Conner…”

“I, uh.” Wow. This is—he was so not prepared for this conversation to go half this well. Kon reels. “I had a whole spiel planned out and I, well, I guess that’s not really necessary anymore, but now I dunno what to say. Um.”

Lois’s face softens. “How about you tell me anyway?” she suggests, leaning her chin on one hand. “I think you might just need to get it off your chest. C’mon—let’s hear it.”

So Kon tells her. Tells her that he’s not actually enjoying any of his courses, that he thinks he’s been making himself stay because it’s what she and Clark do, that he was scared she wouldn’t accept him anymore if he didn’t stick with it and that his place in the family might be jeopardized, that maybe he’s still punishing himself for his role in Tana’s death. It all comes spilling out in bits and pieces and babbles, and at the end, when he finally finishes, Lois is quiet.

Then she hops up, walks around her desk, and pulls him into a hug so tight that if he were fully human, he’d be worried about cracking a rib or three.

“You listen to me, kiddo,” she says, squeezing him fiercely.

Kon blinks down at the top of her head, hardly daring to believe how well this whole talk has gone. He bows his head to hide his face in her hair, his hands curling into the back of her sweater. “Listening.”

Lois pokes his back. “Being part of this family, that’s something you are, not something you do. You don’t have to try and check any boxes, dot your t’s and cross your i’s, whatever. I love you, Clark loves you, Ma loves you, and I know you know Jon adores you. We aren’t going anywhere. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like you have to be a journalist, Conner. You don’t, okay? You can do anything.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Kon mumbles, a little ashamed. “I have no idea, Lois.”

“That’s okay.” Lois gives him another tight, rib-cracking squeeze. “That’s fine, kiddo. You can take all the time you need to figure it out. There’s no deadlines.”

Kon swallows hard against the rising lump in his throat and nods, not quite able to meet her gaze. His eyes prickle a little. “And… you’re not disappointed?”

“Nah.” Lois reaches up to pat his cheek, guiding his chin up until he finally looks at her. “Look. You’d have made a brilliant journalist, but I know you’ll be just as brilliant anywhere else. I don’t care what—I mean, I care, because I care about you, but I’m not gonna judge you or cast you aside just ‘cuz you don’t know what kind of career you want. Hell, it’s even fine if you decide the only thing you wanna focus on is hero work and as a civilian you’ll just be Tim Wayne’s sugar baby—”

Kon chokes. “Lois!”

“What?” Lois frowns up at him. “Don’t try to tell me you two aren’t dating. I have eyes.”

“No—no, we are, um, though that’s a recent development, but oh my god, it’s not like that—”

“Ha!” Lois grins. “Knew it. That boy loves to spoil you. Gift giving as a love language, eh? Well, I think it’s cute. Good for you both. He’s not the only one who can treat you, though. C’mon—what do you say we stop for milkshakes on the way home?”

She lightly pinches his cheek and releases him to go start packing up her laptop bag, while Kon just gapes at her, vaguely aware that his face must be on fire. What is even happening? She’s not disappointed, she said she loves him, and now she’s teasing him for being Tim’s sugar baby?

“We can keep talking about all this, too, if you want,” Lois adds, turning off her work desktop and pulling on her coat. “But we don’t have to, if you’re not in the mood anymore. It’s your choice. Just remember: you’re stuck with me, squirt, no matter what. Now, c’mon. Milkshakes, or would you prefer coffee?”

“Milkshakes sound sweet,” Kon manages, still rather dazed.

Lois laughs. “Yes, that would be the sugar content.”

Kon grins, picking up her laptop bag before she has the chance to. “Lead the way, then,” he says, and as she locks her office and heads for the elevator, he finds that the dread has vanished entirely.

Yeah. That is pretty sweet.

Notes:

haha blaze it

OKAY so sorry this took me SO long?!??! i have honestly no idea what happened there. i blinked and it's almost may. wild. anyway, chapter 9 will def be out by mid-may at the latest bc i HAVE to finish this fic before tears of the kingdom comes out, bc im going to become a different person after that. SO. hold me to it, fellas!

very sorry also i haven't responded to comments on ch7 yet!! i read and reread every single one and cherish them all deeply <3 <3 <3 i just got a little overwhelmed with Life Stuff lately and now i'm like well it's been a long time... but if you DO want me to reply feel free to let me know i'd be happy to :) thank you all sooo much for your support!!

ALSO! im here to YELL!!!!! clam my wonderful friend clam drew timkon smoochies from last chapter and they are SO cute. byeara my beloved ALSO drew the smoochies, complete with waffles AND ALSO CISSIECASSIE PROPOSAL!!!! theyre PRECIOUS ive stared at these for so long now. please give them all the love!!!! i know i am!!!!! thank you again you guys youre the BEST <3

also also trans rights B)

that's about it from me for this update! as ever, you can find me on tumblr at mamawasatesttube :) see you next time!

Chapter 9: and he lived happily ever after.

Summary:

“All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Notes:

Warnings: nonexplicit (fade to black) sexual content, mentions of past abusive relationships

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Have you seen my black—oh. There they are.”

Tim grabs a pair of jeans off the back of his desk chair, examines them with a critical eye, and apparently dubs them good enough, tossing them onto the pile at the foot of his bed. Kon watches, fond and amused, as he trots back into his closet.

“How much more d’you need to pack? It’s just one long weekend!”

“Yeah, I know!” Tim’s voice drifts back from the closet. “I just wanna find this one sweater—you know, the cream-colored cable-knit one, it’s cozy as hell—and then I just have to fold all of it and cram it in a suitcase.”

“Okay,” Kon laughs, going back to the laptop on his thighs for a moment before he looks up again. “D’you want me to start folding ‘em?”

“Nah, I got it.” Tim emerges with his cozy cream sweater and a look of triumph. “You finish up your… what’re you working on again, anyway?”

“Hold up, I’m almost done and I’ll show you.”

Kon looks back down, fiddling with the alternating colors per row. There, that probably is a high enough contrast that it’ll be real easy on Ma’s eyes, while still muted enough it won’t fuck with her astigmatism. The formatting all looks pretty good, if he does say so himself.

Tim hums in acknowledgment and starts to fold his clothes. They’re leaving in the morning; Kon’s spending the night here, at Tim’s apartment in Gotham, and then flying him out to Smallville for breakfast with Ma (and Bart, who hasn’t technically confirmed that he’ll be there but who can never resist the siren song of fresh, fluffy buttermilk pancakes).

It’s the annual end-of-harvest-season fall festival in Smallville, and Ma’s planning to fill the whole house up again, just like for Jon’s birthday. The Bats are all invited, Bart and Cassie and Cissie are invited—Anita and Greta too, but they had other commitments—and Ma could not be more excited. It’s really cute to see her so happy; she loves having the silence all filled with a big, big family.

Incidentally, that’s also what Kon’s working on. Well—not family stuff, but like, stuff that’ll make Ma happy. He’s gotten her entire giant old binder of farm budget documents and records digitized, put it all neatly in a spreadsheet with tabs per month and further breakdowns by expense type, and he’s formatted the whole thing to be easy for her to read, without having to squint through her glasses at faded old receipts and torn pages with water stains eating up the ink.

Pleased with himself, Kon saves the document, turns the laptop around to face Tim, and clears his throat. “Ta-daaaah!”

Tim drops the shirt he’s folding and peers over with immediate interest. “Oh, what’s all this?”

“Ma’s farm budget!” Kon scoots closer to him on the bed, clicks back to the main tab, and beams. “See, I was listening all those times you talked my ear off about effective data organization. I even made a pivot table, see?”

Tim stares.

And stares.

And stares some more.

His lips part, ever so slightly, but no words come out. Kon deflates slightly, uncertain, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh… Tim?”

Tim’s eyes snap away from the laptop and pin Kon with a piercing gaze. His ears are red. Why are his ears—

“Can I suck your dick?” Tim blurts. “Right now, I mean.”

The noise Kon lets out is not a squeak, okay, it's—it's maybe a squawk, that sounds more dignified than a squeak. It's not a squeak! He's just—he was caught off guard! It's not…

He clears his throat. “Uh—I mean, I'm not opposed to the idea, but what the fuck, Rob—”

Tim plucks the laptop from his hands, hits save on the spreadsheet again (aw, that's so him, always thoughtful about the little things), and sets it aside on the nightstand. Then he turns back to Kon, cradles his face in both hands, and strokes his thumb over Kon's lower lip.

Ah. Kon swallows hard.

“What do you mean, what the fuck?” Oh, shit, his voice is all low and warm again, and Kon can feel his cheeks heating under Tim's palms. “You're hot, and you're being sweet, and there are very, very few things in this world sexier than a man who knows how to efficiently and effectively organize and present data.”

…He sounds like he's doing a seductive reading of a resume entry. Kon looks up at him, fond laughter bubbling up in his chest, and loops his arms around his hips. “You're so fucking weird.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “You knew that already.” He leans in for a kiss; from the look in his eyes, Kon half-expects it to be deep and fervent, but Tim keeps it soft and sweet instead, lingering for a heartbeat with his lips brushing Kon's.

Affection squeezes in Kon's chest. He hugs Tim tighter, pulling him down into his lap—he loves holding Tim in his lap—and kisses along his jaw, fighting a grin. “You're supposed to be folding laundry.”

“That can wait,” Tim says dismissively as his fingers curl into Kon's hair, and Kon hums in pleasure. “It won't take long anyway, and I'm doing more important things right now.” He kisses him again, long and languid.

Well, Kon certainly can't argue with that.

“Pivot tables really do it for you, huh?” Kon grins, tipping his head to one side as Tim kisses his neck. Mm, that’s nice. “I'm not surprised, exactly, but…”

“I mean, it is a pretty sexy pivot table, but I feel like you’re really”—Tim nips gently at the pulse point in his neck; it doesn’t sting, but it does send a delightful little shiver down Kon’s spine—”underselling how hot it is,” another light kiss against his jaw, “to see your extremely sexy boyfriend,” a slow kiss to his mouth, “with a neatly organized spreadsheet.”

Kon runs a hand down Tim’s back to playfully squeeze his ass. “Yeah? Mm, baby, I can spread you in the sheets.”

He’s not expecting the breathy little sound Tim lets out. “Oh, god, please,” he mutters, mouth warm against Kon’s neck—

“Huh.”

Kon flips them in one quick move; Tim lands on his back on the mattress, and Kon grins down at him, leaning down over him to kiss the tip of his nose. Tim gazes up at him, flushed and breathless and beaming.

Kon has to kiss him again, long and lingering. “I gotta say,” he admits, forehead pressed to Tim’s, “I wasn’t really expecting that line to work.”

Tim laughs, warm and melodious, as Kon leans down to kiss a line down the side of his neck. “Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m like, into you, so—oh!”

He gasps as Kon sucks at his collarbone, then laughs again, breathless. Kon’s heart squeezes tight in his chest. Hearing Tim’s voice go all breathy and low, hearing him gasp in pleasure, mm… that’s delicious. And his laughter, too…

Man. What a fucking weirdo. Kon is so far gone for him.

Tim’s hand skims up his back, runs through his hair, and smooths down the side of his head to cradle his cheek. Kon leans into his palm and looks down at him, adoring.

Tim wants him. Even after the fiasco of their last attempt, Tim still wants him, all of him, wholly and simply. It fills Kon with a warmth beyond words.

“The blue-light glasses are also pretty sexy,” Tim says, and playfully flicks one of the arms. “But they're a little in the way.”

Kon laughs and TTKs them off, folding them in midair and setting them on the nightstand with his laptop. Then he turns his attention back down to his Rob, still happily pinned under him and beaming. “Better?”

“Much,” Tim says, and pulls him down him into a fervent kiss. His lips are addictively soft; every inch of their bodies pressed together sends sparks coursing through Kon's blood as he kisses Tim into the pillows.

When they break apart, he takes a moment to admire his Tim. He's smiling, his mouth kiss-red, his hair hopelessly mussed as it fans out around his head. This close, it's easy to see the grey flecks in the blue of his eyes. His cheeks are still flushed, all the way to his ears.

“You're so pretty,” Kon tells him, and kisses him again. “Mm…”

“Kon,” Tim sighs blissfully. He twines his fingers into Kon's curls, then skims them down the shaved stubble on the back of his head down to his neck. His legs lazily wrap around Kon's hips, his ankles crossing behind the small of Kon's back, and… oh.

Yeah. Kon can very much get into this. He mouths at the pulse point on the side of Tim's neck again, and is rewarded by another soft, breathy hum of pleasure.

“By the way,” Tim murmurs, his voice low and warm and sweet like honey. “I for real do wanna suck your dick. If you're into that.”

This man is gonna be the death of him.

“I'm into it, I'm into it, holy shit, Rob,” Kon manages. Fuck, he’s grinning and breathless himself just at the mental image of Tim, his pretty pink lips rounded and—

Oh, man. Their hips grind together as Tim tightens his legs around him and rocks against him, and Kon gasps. Oh, shit, that feels good.

“I can tell,” Tim says, and grins wickedly.

“You’re a menace,” Kon tells him, and leans down to catch him in another searing kiss.

Later, they lie together, snuggled up into each other's arms. Kon watches fondly as Tim traces idle patterns into his bare chest, his touch feather-light and gentle. Contentment weighs down his limbs, warm and heavy, and he hums to himself, stroking his thumb along Tim's bare hip.

“That was fun,” he finally says.

Tim laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees, and turns his head to press a fond, lingering kiss into the crook of Kon's neck. A pleasant shiver runs down Kon's spine in response. “Gotta ask, though. Since when have you been so good at using TTK like that?”

Kon grins. The noise Tim made when Kon’s TTK stroked down his hip and between his thighs, oh, man. He’s gonna be hearing that in his dreams.

“Sweetheart, I literally hatched as a horny teenage telekinetic. When do you think?”

Tim lets out a strangled noise and groans into Kon’s chest. Kon can feel the heat of his cheeks against his bare skin. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, you asked.” Kon’s TTK skims lightly up and down Tim’s spine, his hand resting still over his hip. His thumb brushes over the slight ridge of an old scar there, and he smiles against Tim’s hair, drawing him closer.

God. He never knew sex could be so nice. Not just the physical pleasure of it, though that was great, too, but—like, all of this. The cuddling. The jokes and the laughter and the closeness. He’s never felt so comfortable in bed with anyone before. It’s…

It’s really amazing. Tim is amazing.

And Kon didn’t even freak out about it once. Fuckin’ booyah.

Kon touches Tim’s chin, gently tipping his face up. Tim props himself up on his chest and meets his gaze, still blushing just slightly; he quirks a smile down at Kon, his expression so tender that Kon’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” Tim murmurs back, and leans down to kiss him.

It’s a slow, lazy kiss that has Kon utterly melting into the pillows. Tim’s mouth is soft against his, and the warm weight of his body presses him into the mattress; Kon’s arms curve around him to hold him tighter, craving every ounce of closeness he can get.

Drowning in contentment is a game, and Kon is fucking winning.

Tim finally breaks away to smile down at him, the look on his face still softer than anything Kon has ever seen. Kon almost squirms under his gaze; he feels so wholly seen, and so wholly adored. How is he supposed to even handle this?!

“I love you,” he blurts, pulling Tim into a tight hug again. “Really really love you, Rob.”

“Love you too, clone boy,” Tim says into his neck. Kon can feel him smiling as he kisses his shoulder. Then he lifts his head, starts to lean in, and pauses. His brows brows furrow.

Kon gazes up at the blue-grey of his eyes adoringly, as Tim cups his cheek and strokes a thumb over the delicate skin just below his eye. What’s that look on his face for?

Tim’s brows furrow further as he strokes just below Kon’s eye again. Then his eyes widen with alarm? Why is he alarmed? What—

“Oh my god, wait, are you crying?” Tim cups Kon’s cheek, sitting up a little. “Shit, are you okay? Did I—”

“No!” Kon deflects, scrubbing a hand over his eyes roughly (huh? His fingers do come away wet. That’s wild!) before he returns it to where it belongs, on Tim’s back. “I’m good! I just—I’m just really happy, s’all.” He sniffles a little, tipping his face up to Tim’s again in a wordless request for another kiss, please.

Tim hears it loud and clear. He lets out a breath, clearly relieved, and then nuzzles Kon’s nose. Then he kisses him again, slow and tender, and then kisses his cheek, then the tear at the corner of his eye.

Kon feels cherished.

“Baby,” Tim murmurs, his lips brushing Kon’s brow. His body is a comfortable weight on Kon’s chest, his skin warm, the shape of him familiar as breathing. Every single time he so casually drops an endearment like that, Kon’s insides turn to mush. “Sweetheart. What is it?”

“I just—I just—I’ve never, it’s, it’s never been—I’ve never—” Kon sniffles, and oh, yeah, his vision is a little blurry. He dashes at his cheeks with a brusque hand; Tim catches his wrist to stop him, then thumbs away the tears himself, much more gently.

He’s so gentle. Kon is basically indestructible and incredibly hard to actually hurt, and Tim is so gentle with him anyway. The tears well up faster.

“Never what?” Tim prompts, his voice incredibly tender. He leans down to rest his forehead against Kon’s; his hair falls around them, a short, dark curtain between them and the rest of the world.

Kon lets out a watery laugh. “Okay, this is gonna—this is gonna sound stupid, but you can’t laugh at me, okay?”

Tim’s expression gets, somehow, even softer. “I won’t laugh,” he pledges, with all the weight of a solemn oath. His thumb strokes below Kon’s eye again.

Fuck.

“I just never knew it could—I didn’t know it could be so nice,” Kon admits, closing his eyes. Another hot tear escapes, rolling down the side of his face into his hair. “I’ve never—it wasn’t—I’ve never slept with someone who, like, loves me, I guess? I didn’t know it’d… ah, shit, now I’m gonna actually cry, Rob—”

Tim lets out a wordless little croon, rolling to the side to pull Kon into himself. He guides Kon’s head with a gentle but firm hand, so that Kon can tuck his face into the crook of his neck, and Tim’s arms both wrap firmly around him. He even drapes one leg over Kon’s hip, cradling him close with his entire body.

See? See! This is exactly what Kon’s talking about! This man keeps making him feel all mushy and soft and gooey and loved and—and—!

“Sometimes,” Tim murmurs, “you say things, and you just say them so, like, casually like that, and it makes me want to lock myself a mad science lab, invent a time machine, and go back to beat up all the people who ever hurt you. With a stick.”

That startles a peal of laughter out of Kon’s chest. “Tim.”

“I’m serious!” Tim’s long fingers start to card through his hair. Kon closes his eyes in bliss, smiling against his collarbone. “I think I could do it. I can start, of course, by making a list.”

“You and your lists,” Kon murmurs. There’s a bubble of warmth in his chest; he feels like he’s lying in a puddle of sunlight.

“Every good mad science venture starts with a nicely-organized list,” Tim says sagely, and presses a kiss into his hair.

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” Kon brushes his lips to the pulse point in Tim’s neck, holding him close; he can hear Tim’s heartbeat, loud and steady. He could stay like this forever, he thinks. It’d be heaven.

“Well, I say you deserve to always be happy,” Tim declares. Kon huffs out a soft breath of laughter; he says it like it’s the new law of the land, and he’s got the power to enforce it. He’s silly.

“And you call me a big cheese,” Kon murmurs, eyes closed in pure bliss. Tim keeps petting his hair, and holding him, and Tim loves him, and…

This is the best day of his life. He is getting the best snuggles right now. Fuck yeah.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, unrepentant; normally, Kon would happily rise to the bait and bicker with him about it, but right now, he’s far too cozy and content and full of lingering emotion for that.

Instead, he just sighs with pleasure and tips his head into Tim’s hand, all too happy to drift in a hazy paradise as Tim shifts him in his arms, then kisses a tender trail down his jaw, his neck, and his shoulder. Goddamn, he has never ever had sex that made him feel so very loved before. Not like this.

Tim is just like that, he thinks. Tim always makes him feel loved.

And then Tim groans, dropping his head against Kon’s shoulder with a little thunk. “Ugh…”

Kon opens his eyes. “What?”

Tim’s arm flops in the general direction of the foot of the bed. “I forgot. I still have to fold my clothes,” he sighs; he starts to sit up, and well that won’t do.

Kon whines, pulls him back down to his chest, and wraps his arms and legs around him koala-style. Tim doesn’t even put up a token struggle; he melts into Kon’s arms and nuzzles into his neck with a pleased hum, his arms curving around Kon’s shoulders again.

Much better.

“You have to give me cuddles,” Kon tells him very seriously. “If I don’t get enough cuddles right now, I’ll die to death.”

“To death?” Tim repeats dryly.

Kon nods. “All the way to death.”

Tim snorts. “You’re so dramatic,” he says fondly, and kisses Kon’s neck again. “I do gotta finish packing at some point, baby…”

Well, maybe he should have thought of that before he went and called Kon baby and turned all his insides to pure mush yet again. Kon hums, hugs him tighter, and nuzzles his temple. Seriously, is it supposed to be this nice every time? He’s so happy right now, he hardly knows how to deal with it. No way sex is supposed to be this baller, like, all the time, is it?

Is sex with Tim gonna make him feel this loved, every single time?

…Holy shit.

Absently, he extends his TTK down the bed to the pile of clothes in the corner; a couple of them fell off while the two of them were, ahem, distracted, and he picks them up from the floor, folds them, and sets them in a neat pile by the footboard. Can’t lose Tim to folding laundry if the laundry folds itself, now can he?

“Kon,” Tim protests, lifting his head to watch his black jeans fold themselves into a neat rectangle. “You don’t have to…”

Kon shrugs. “S’no biggie. And this way you have to keep giving me hair pets.”

Tim’s lips twitch again. He draws Kon closer, brushes a kiss to his forehead, and twines his fingers right back into his hair. “Oh… your dastardly plan worked. Guess I can’t go anywhere.”

“Nowhere,” Kon agrees, and hums in contentment, folding the cream sweater next. His eyes close, and he snuggles closer to Tim again, tucking his face into the crook of Tim’s neck. Tim is warm and cuddly and cozy, and being all tangled up with him, bare skin against bare skin, makes his body sing with contentment. He could just drift like this for a little while…

(It’s the best sleep he’s had in weeks.)

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:06 AM]
hi guys im here to document some more rob behaviors

gotta go fast [08:06 AM]
oh good! our experiment continues
what has the lab rat done today
is he even awake yet????

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:06 AM]
last night he sucked my dick bc i made a sexy sexy spreadsheet.
😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:07 AM]
eyyyyy!!!
yea im not surprised at all
p sure that’s the exact plot of a wet dream he told me abt once

gotta go fast [08:07 AM]
the fuck??? he never told me about that one?????
@😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 what gives!!
i thought we had something special…
i thought u would tell me abt all of them…
not just the weird mango one or the red sun one etc…

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:07 AM]
he told yall abt his wet dreams???????
he never told ME abt any… :(

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:08 AM]
yea bc u were the SUBJECT of all of them lmaooo

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:08 AM]
wait wait go back. what was the red sun one 👀

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:08 AM]
men 👏 get 👏 pegged 👏 ‼

gotta go fast [08:08 AM]
YEAHHHH!!!!

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:08 AM]
OOOHHH 😳💦🔥
men could be sooo into that
and then what???

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:08 AM]
men… get tied up. and fucked ‘til they cry :3c

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:09 AM]
holy shit is that actually what he said

gotta go fast [08:09 AM]
oh yeah baby
there was a whole thing of like
“ohhh is it bad i want to fuck him til he cries???”
“but like then i wanna take CARE of him you know”
“its not like i only wanna make him cry!!!”
“that’s not too weird right. i think its normal right”

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:09 AM]
he wants to take care of me… 🥺🥰🥺🥰

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:09 AM]
yes and it was very cute
but also lets not forget one other bit
men… get introduced to nipple clamps 🥵🥵🥵

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:09 AM]
oh HELL fucking yeaaahhhh
AND he wants to take care of me 🥺🥺🥺
i am WINNING. i am so into this

😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 [08:09 AM]
cassie…
are you sexting my boyfriemd…
for me????.??????

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:10 AM]
whoa ur awake?????
is the world ending????

gotta go fast [08:10 AM]
whats so weird, didn’t we 3 sorta co-sext cissie for cassie
like… literally last week????

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:10 AM]
it took all 3 of you??? as;ldkjfla;skd

gotta go fast [08:10 AM]
cassie.
look at the three of us.
do you think any of us are good at this????

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:10 AM]
hey i think we did fine!!!!
cissie said so at least cmon
i don’t THINK it was out of pity either!!!

😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 [08:11 AM]
of course im awake :/
did you miss the part where i sucked kryptonian/farm boy dick last night

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:11 AM]
hey you had a great time!!! put that :/ away!!!!

😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 [08:11 AM]
:\

gotta go fast [08:11 AM]
:/

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:11 AM]
:\

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:11 AM]
:(

😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 [08:11 AM]
<3

gotta go fast [08:11 AM]
BZZT! wrong! you lost 5 points!

😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 [08:12 AM]
what, for sending a heart to kon??

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:12 AM]
barts in his homophobic era

gotta go fast [08:12 AM]
we were all CLOWNING on kon!!!
and then you had to go and be gay :/

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:12 AM]
:/
so youre saying you WANT me to tell ma you cancelled
sorry ma! bart actually doesn’t want to join for brekkie
yeah actually ma bart said he HATES your cooking.
rude, i know. but its what he said to tell you :/

gotta go fast [08:12 AM]
DON’T YOU DARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hot Single MILFs In YOUR Area 51 [08:13 AM]
then stop being homophobic
:/

ENGAYGED!!!!!!!! <3 [08:13 AM]
:\

😩💗😳🔥superSIMP🥵💖💦🥰 [08:13 AM]
:/

gotta go fast [08:13 AM]
i hate this fuckign family.

The hum of the TV fades into background noise; sandwiched between a whole pile of warm bodies on the couch, Kon is hard-pressed not to doze off.

His head is on Dick’s shoulder, while Tim sits between his thighs, leaning sideways against his chest with his legs thrown over Dick’s lap; Bart is cuddled up to Kon’s other side, hugging Kon’s arm to his chest. Cass has managed to lay herself across the back of the couch cushions, her cheek atop Kon’s head and her hip against his shoulder, behind Bart’s head. Krypto sprawls across the rug in front of the sofa, on top of Kon, Bart, and Dick’s feet all at once as he sleepily drools on Cassie’s ankle.

It’s quite the pile. Kon is cozy. Honestly, he might be a little warm if anything, but that’s far outweighed by how nice it is to be snuggled up with so many people he loves.

Mmm… sleepy.

He drifts on the border between wakefulness and sleep for a little while, vaguely aware of blaster noises and lightsaber vrrrrrmms in the background as everyone watches “The Empire Strikes Back”. On the other couch, Jon is whispering trivia to Damian, while Ma watches indulgently; Krypto yawns with a tiny, adorable squeak.

Yeah, this is a nice end to the evening. Everyone crammed into the farmhouse, full of the dinner made by three generations of Kents—Ma, Clark, Kon, and Jon. And tomorrow they’ll go to the festival. That’ll be fun.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep fully, though not for too long; he’s vaguely aware that the movie is still going, but doesn’t bother to open his eyes, still barely awake. Has he mentioned that he’s warm and cozy? He is so warm and cozy. Mmmmmm…

“…look happier,” Dick is saying, voice low. Kon takes a moment to parse the noises as words. “Both of you do. It’s nice to see.”

“Yes,” Cass agrees. Her fingers card through Kon’s hair; it’s so soothing he nearly falls right back asleep. “He is always happier with you.”

“Yeah, well. Uh. Thanks?” Tim answers a little awkwardly, and Kon’s lips twitch ever so slightly. Tim is silly. He likes his silly Tim. Mmmm, his silly Tim. Yes. All his.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Dick teases. What wedding? Who’s marrying who? …Does he mean Tim? But Tim is…

Ohhhh. He’s talking about Kon marrying Tim. That does sound nice. Maybe a beach wedding? Kon likes the beach. Wait, no, Tim gets sunburnt so easily… But the idea of him on the shore, surrounded by tropical flowers and wearing white, oh, that’s so lovely…

“Oh, shut up!” Tim scoffs. “We only just started dating, and you know it!”

“Yeah, and I also know you.” Dick sounds smug. “How many Pinterest boards do you have for wedding theme ideas?”

“Only seven,” Tim says defensively.

Despite his immense sleepiness, Kon chuckles, his arm around Tim’s waist giving him a fond squeeze. “Jus’ seven?”

Tim freezes. Almost immediately, he then melts in despair, burying his face in his hands with a groan. Even in the low light, Kon can see his ears turning red. “Oh my god, you’re awake?”

“Mmf.” Kon makes a vague noise, closing his eyes again. “Sorta. No. Wanna see ‘em later, though…”

“You do?” Tim sounds surprised, for some reason. But Kon can hear the delighted grin in his voice when he adds, “I mean, sick, yeah, totally! I can show you after the movie. Or, uh… tomorrow. Or whenever you want, sleepyhead.”

Dick chuckles; Kon can hear the reverberations in his chest. “That’s cute. You guys can have a Pinterest board date.”

On Kon’s other side, Bart makes a disgusted noise. “Please, don’t give them any more ideas… my virgin ears…”

Cissie snorts, reaching over to ruffle his hair; Kon doesn’t bother to open his eyes, but he can feel the movement in his aura, and smiles to himself when Bart jerks away from her. “Please. What’s virgin about them? As I recall, you’re the one who sent us all the dramatic reading of that Bee Movie smut fic.”

“The what?” Dick asks, aghast.

“Dramatic reading?” Cass echoes. She sounds intrigued. Uh oh.

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. “Trust me,” he says, voice a little hollow. “You don’t wanna know.”

Wait. Not only that, but Bart of all people…

Kon blinks his bleary eyes open again and looks down at Bart, who’s still hugging his arm like a stuffed toy. “Virgin ears? You were complainin’ just this morning that Tim hadn’t told you ‘bout his—”

Tim kisses him. It’s a soft, sweet kiss, but it’s so incredibly unexpected that Kon’s mostly-asleep brain shorts out. Tim is kissing him. Tim is kissing him. His Tim! Kissing him. Wow…

Tim breaks away with a little smile. Bart, at Kon’s side, sticks out his tongue; Tim sticks his out right back, then pats Kon’s cheek and keeps smiling at him. “You’re very cute when you’re sleepy.”

…What was Kon saying again?

Eh. It probably wasn’t important.

“Sleepy,” he agrees, and hugs Tim tighter so he can tuck his face into his hair. Kon made him use his nice shampoo and conditioner last night, and his hair smells sooo good today. And he’s Tim. Kon’s Tim. His sunshine.

“Awww,” Dick coos softly. “You guys are adorable.”

“Yeah,” Kon agrees again. Tim is very adorable. He sighs contentedly, letting his head droop back down to Dick’s shoulder; Dick pats his hair for a moment. Has Kon mentioned yet that he’s sleepy and cozy? He is so sleepy and cozy. Like, soooo sleepy. And cozy.

He’s surrounded by people who love him. And he’s got a cuddly, squishable Timmy-bear to snuggle. (Like a teddy bear, but, like, it’s Tim!) Life could not be better. Mmm…

He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knows, the lights are on, the TV is off, and he’s a little cold. Cass and Bart are both gone, and Cissie and Cassie are standing. Tim is still in his arms; he lightly taps a finger against Kon’s nose, and Kon valiantly struggles to open his eyes.

“Koooon.” Tim strokes his hair back from his forehead. “Hey.”

Groggily, Kon manages to open his eyes and blinks a few times; Tim cups his cheek, smiling.

“Hey, wanna wake up?” he asks. Kon blinks at him again. “I gotta get up, buddy. Can you let go?”

Confused, Kon flops his arm away from Tim’s waist. He wasn’t holding on that tight; did Tim have to wake him up for that?

Cissie and Cassie both start to laugh; Dick makes a soft sound of delight. Tim, for some reason, buries his face in his hands, breathes out slowly, and then looks back up to Kon, cradles his face in both hands, and squishes his cheeks.

“You’re being too cute again,” he informs Kon. “Didn’t I tell you to stop that? At least give me advance notice if you’re gonna be cute. I want paperwork filed forty-eight hours in advance.”

“Oh my god,” Cassie snickers.

Kon blinks again. He doesn’t get it. “…Huh?”

“The TTK, Conner,” Cissie laughs, taking pity on him. “You’re still holding onto him with TTK.”

Oh. Ohhhh. Right. Kon is all wrapped around Tim, TTK-wise. Sheepishly, he lets go, rubbing the back of his neck; he’s had part of his aura holding Tim snug against himself this whole time even in his sleep. Whoops. “Sorry.”

Tim squishes his face again. “Don’t be.” He leans in and brushes a kiss to Kon’s forehead. “I’m gonna help Dick set up the air mattresses down here. You can go on up to bed, yeah? I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Ah. Right. The air mattresses. Dick, Jason, and Bruce are sleeping in the living room; Cissie, Cassie, and Cass get the proper guest room, Clark and Lois have the spare room that Ma and Kon have turned into a sewing studio, and Damian and Jon are sleeping on cots on Ma’s bedroom floor. Tim and Bart, of course, are in Kon’s room.

Vaguely more awake now, Kon floats himself to his feet and sets Tim on the floor, then stretches his arms up over his head with a yawn. “Mmmkay. Yeah, it’s past my bedtime.”

“Yeah.” Cassie laughs, ruffling his hair. “We know, farm boy.”

Kon scrunches up his face at her in protest, then turns towards the stairs. His bed is calling his name.

Upstairs, he finds Krypto sprawled out in his dog bed, already fast asleep, though he briefly lifts his head when Kon walks in. Bart’s singing in the shower on the other side of the wall.

Kon fluffs up the pillows on his bed, changes into pajamas, and settles down at his desk chair to wait on the bathroom to be free; if he sits on his bed, he knows he’ll fall right back asleep. Krypto wags his tail a couple of times, thump thump thump against his bed, and yawns, going back to sleep, sock toy held between his front paws.

Man, Kon wishes that were him. He was not made to be awake this late. How do the freakin’ bats do this?

Yawning again, he scrubs a hand over his face and glances down at the photos on his desk. There’s one of Young Justice at the beach from several years ago; his eyes catch on his own younger self, grinning broadly up at him from the frame.

There’s puppy-fat in his cheeks; his jaw isn’t as strong as it is today. His frame is more slender, his face more childish.

Man…

Jon really does look like Kon used to.

There’s differences, of course. Jon has his mom’s hazel-brown eyes and thin lips; his jaw is a little more angular than Kon and Clark’s, not quite as square. He’s never had an undercut, either, his curls poofy and cute in a way Kon can never not see as baby.

And if Jon is a baby now, at sixteen, then Kon himself…

He stares at the photo in his hand, at his own face—a child’s face, beaming innocently up at him. Something tightens in his chest. Something else, deep, deep inside him, finally starts to relax.

“Hey, Conner? Do you have—oh.” Cissie stops in the doorway. Kon looks up from the photo to meet her gaze; she smiles softly, coming over to stand at his side and looking down at the frame with him.

She’s next to him in the picture, wearing a big, floppy-brimmed sunhat. He’s got an arm slung around her shoulders, the other one hooked around Bart’s waist, while Bart clings on him like a koala with one arm thrown exuberantly high into the air to triumphantly wave Tim’s stolen T-shirt like a flag. Cissie is laughing at their antics, while Cassie lifts Tim so he can try and grab his shirt back; Anita is pointing and laughing at Tim, while Greta tries in vain to redirect everyone’s focus to the camera. The photo is halfway between staged and a candid, because they were too busy being dumbasses to actually hold their poses.

God. They were all just kids.

Now, Cissie’s hand settles on his shoulder. The ruby on her engagement ring glints in the lamplight. “You okay, big guy?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Kon sets the photo back on the desk and sighs, laying his hand on top of hers. “I just… man. Do you ever think about how fucked up it is that we were all just… kids?”

Cissie lets out a soft breath. Kon looks up at her; when she meets his gaze, she looks right through him into his very soul. “Yeah,” she murmurs, and squeezes his shoulder. “Yeah, I do.”

More than anyone else, he thinks, she would get it. He doesn’t even have to explain any of it. A little bit of the knot in his chest unwinds, and he rubs his thumb over her knuckles. “It only really hit me recently. I guess I never thought about it before.”

“I know the feeling.” Cissie smiles wryly. She looks at the photo for a long, long moment, her face pensive, and sinks down to sit on the armrest of his chair; automatically, Kon steadies her with a brush of TTK, and she smiles at him again in thanks. “It’s… weird, when you never got used to people treating you as a kid when you were one. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, too.”

“Yeah,” Kon agrees fervently. “Are you and your mom—I mean, I thought you guys were doing okay these days?”

“Oh, we are!” Cissie shakes her head. “It’s more, uh… We’re okay now, but that won’t ever give back all the days of childhood I lost to our whole family cycle of bullshit. And I’ve been thinking on that part, specifically, a lot.” She pauses, takes a soft breath, and lets it out. “I’ve been thinking, ‘cuz… I think I wanna have a baby.”

Oh.

Holy shit.

“Like—now?” Kon blurts, astonished; after a moment, he even remembers to pick up his jaw from the floor. Cissie wants a baby?!

“Not now!” Cissie bursts out laughing. “Definitely not for a couple years at least. We have the wedding to plan, and I’m not in any rush about it, but—I just… I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’ve talked to Cassie some too, and… I mean, I’ve helped Anita with hers a fair amount, so I like to think I know my way around kids at least some, and… I just, I don’t know, I like the idea of… you know. Getting to give a kid what I never got to have. It… sounds nice.”

“Oh,” Kon says. That makes his chest feel all mushy inside, just a bit, and he wraps his arm around her, his head falling against her arm as he gives her a fond squeeze. “I think you’d make a great mom, Cissie.”

Cissie beams at him, bright as the sun, and leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Kon. I think you’d make a fantastic uncle, too.”

Kon lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah? You think?”

“Totally.” Cissie gives his shoulder another squeeze. “And… hey. I know it’s not always easy, grappling with the past, but… for what it’s worth? I’m proud of you.”

Aw, man. There’s a little lump in Kon’s throat now, because—shit, it’s just—that’s just really nice to hear. Without even having to rehash all of his… his… everything, too. He just knows if she’d said that last month, after he and Clark hashed it out, he would have been bawling.

As it is, he swallows hard and gives her a slightly watery smile. He can probably blame that on the sleepiness, too. “Aw… Thanks, dude. That means a lot.”

“Anytime.” Cissie ruffles his hair, smiles back at him, and then hops to her feet. “Also! Before I forget, I came here to ask if you’ve got any extra pillows?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, how many do you need?” Kon clambers to his feet, stifling a yawn, and leads her to the hall linen closet. There’s two or three spare pillows in here, unless someone else got to them first…

By the time he gets the pillows into cases, pops into the girls’ room with Cissie to make sure they don’t need anything else, and then meanders back to his room, Bart’s out of the shower, his damp hair even fluffier than usual as it dries. He’s sprawled out on Kon’s bed, legs hanging off one end and kicking back and forth. Tim is there, too, perched on the edge of Kon’s desk and looking all in all way too awake for… whatever time it is.

“Kon!” Bart sits up, pointing at him. “You’re in the middle. Just so you know. I want outside edge ‘cuz I don’t wanna be trapped against the wall when Tim doesn’t wanna get up in the morning and makes me climb over him, and I am not being in the middle ‘cuz I’ve been victimized by those pointy Rob elbows way too many times, so it has to be you, since you’re invulnerable. Got it?”

Amused, Kon folds his arms over his chest. “Sure, I guess, since I apparently don’t get a say in it anyhow.”

“My elbows aren’t that pointy,” Tim complains.

“Yeah, maybe, I mean, they do have more padding than your ass, but that’s not a fair standard,” Bart says airily. “You have to get on the inside edge, though! Kon agreed with me!”

Tim does clamber onto the bed, though he shoves Bart’s head down playfully as he passes. “Unprovoked! What did my ass ever do to you, anyway?”

“It’s a perfectly good ass,” Kon agrees, just to make Bart scrunch up his face like he does every time they flirt in front of him now. What can he say? It’s funny. “Don’t worry, baby. At least I appreciate it plenty. My beloved, bodacious babycakes.”

“Grife!”

Bart claps his hands to the sides of his head, then pulls at his hair in consternation. Oh, the look of horror on his face…

“You did not just say that out loud! What is wrong with you! I’m embarrassed on your behalf!” Bart makes as if to throw a pillow at Kon’s head, then thinks better of it, burying his face in it for a moment of sheer horror. “Like, I know you’re shameless, but what the hell? No fucking way you actually think that’s a good pet name! Please tell me you know that’s a horrible pet name!”

Oh, that’s an even better reaction than Kon was hoping for. He glances over at Tim, who’s radiating smugness so palpably it may as well be as physical a thing as Kon’s TTK aura, and grins.

Tim holds up his hand for a high five. Kon plops down on the side of the bed to return it with gusto.

“Knew that’d be funny,” Tim says, and grins at Bart. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

“You always have the best plans, babe,” Kon agrees, and grins at Bart, too.

Bart stares back and forth between them, slackjawed. Incredulity slowly loses a war with offense on his face. “You guys—you coordinated that? Just to fuck with me? Are you for real right now?” He swivels around to stare at Kon, then back at Tim. “You’re weaponizing Kon’s shamelessness and obsession with your flat ass against me?”

“Yes,” Tim says smugly.

“You scroach!” Bart, still wielding the pillow, tackles him.

Both of them go flailing and toppling over against the duvet; Kon stares at them for a moment, hovering safely a foot up in the air, and wonders what, exactly, Tim thought was gonna happen.

“You two better be behaving by the time I brush my teeth,” he tells the yelling, flailing pile of limbs on his bed, and turns to head to the bathroom.

(He already knows full well they won’t be.)

Music drifts on the wind, puffy white clouds floating high above in a beautifully blue sky. Kon leans back against the big oak tree they’ve spread the big picnic blanket under, full and content; the festival is in full swing, booths all around the leaf-strewn green selling all sorts of food, while further rows of stalls with various local arts, crafts, and other goods line the town center streets.

“This is so good,” Cassie gushes, waving a forkful of pasta casserole through the air. “Did you make it, or was that Ma?”

“That was me!” Kon preens. “I mean, Ma’s recipe, though. Her wrist’s been acting up again, so Clark ‘n’ I did most of the cooking this time.”

“Jon didn’t help?” Cissie raises an eyebrow. “That’s surprising.”

“They made me do the dishes,” Jon says, and tosses a cashew at Kon’s head. “Well, I did help with dessert for tonight! That’s in the fridge back at the house. Pumpkin pie cheesecake. It’s good.”

“Oooooh.” Cissie lights up. “That does sound good. I can’t wait to try it!”

“You have to wait, baby,” Cassie jokes. “We won’t be back for another few hours.”

“Ha, ha.” Cissie rolls her eyes fondly. Damn, Kon thinks. They’re nowhere near having a kid yet, but Cassie’s already got the dad jokes down pat. “You’re hilarious.”

“In theory,” Bart says, in that voice that Kon knows means nothing but trouble, “I could go have some without having to wait. I could.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jon throws a cashew at him, too; Bart catches it in his mouth effortlessly. “It has to set for six hours. So it’ll be perfect in the evening, but it’s not ready yet!”

“Six hours?” Bart looks incredulous, then shakes his head. “That’s crazy. That’s way too long.”

“There are some recipes that need even longer than that, you know,” Tim comments, stealing a baby carrot from the salad on Kon’s plate. Bastard. He has his own plate. “That white chocolate raspberry cheesecake Kon made for Dick’s birthday this year? That had to chill overnight. I remember it vividly, ‘cuz it was in my fridge and Dick came over and started digging through looking for food and I had to hide it from him.”

“Wait,” Dick says, leaning over from the other side of the blanket. “Was that why you were being so weird and cagey around the oven?”

“Yeah!” Tim laughs. “I hid the cheesecake in there when you went to the bathroom, but then you were talking about baking… whatever, I don’t even remember, I just know I was like ‘I can’t let Dick open the oven!’”

“Conner really was the perfect distraction, huh?” Dick laughs.

Kon grins and mimes taking a bow. He’d been asleep in Tim’s bed, since it was the middle of the night, and woken up hearing the vague commotion in the kitchen. So he shuffled out to see what was going on, and then the topic changed pretty quickly to him having slept over—

Ooohhhh. Now he gets it. Dick was totally teasing Tim about being into Kon back then, wasn’t he?

“Yeah, the one time I ever was glad you think my love life is a soap opera,” Tim says, confirming it. He makes a face at Dick; Kon takes the opportunity to steal a piece of pasta from his plate as retribution.

“Not a soap opera,” Dick corrects. “A sitcom.”

On his other side, Jason guffaws.

A pleasant breeze riffles through everyone’s hair, and Kon tips his head back a touch, reveling in the simple pleasure of it. The afternoon sunlight filters through the brilliant red and orange leaves still clinging to the tree up above them, dappled as it dances over the picnic blanket; across the town center green, other families sit, picnicking or going through purchases from the festival stalls. A few kids run around playing tag and shrieking with laughter.

It's a nice day.

Once everyone’s done eating, Dick insists that since they did the cooking, the Kents should relax and let the Waynes clean up and pack up all the leftovers. Kon’s chill with that; he stays comfortably plopped right where he is, leaning back against the big oak tree and watching them. Tim’s wrapping up the last couple of rolls, Jason is gathering up the trash, Cass is cleaning the serving spoons from each big Tupperware with a napkin, Damian’s got the last of the drinks, and Dick is carefully rearranging everything back into Ma’s giant picnic basket like he’s playing three-dimensional Tetris.

It’s a little impressive, how they all weave around each other so easily. But it’s familiar, too, watching them work; Kon’s sure he and his family look the same way, to anyone else outside looking in.

He and his family. That feels good to say. A lot better now that he’s surer of his place in it, too. His family.

Clark, sitting in the grass with Lois, glances over, as if he knows what Kon is thinking. He doesn’t say anything, but he smiles, the sun glinting off the corner of his glasses; Kon pushes his sunshades up on his nose and smiles back.

Yeah. Today is a nice day.

Tim plops down next to him, done with his task; his hand finds its way into Kon’s and squeezes. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Kon says, overcome with simple fondness. He glances down at their joined hands; there’s a couple of fallen leaves right up against the roots of the tree, and an acorn next to them. His smile grows; he looks at Tim, his hair shiny in the dappled sun. “Hey. Can I give you a kiss?”

Tim gives him a quizzical look, wrinkling his nose. “Yeah, obviously? Always?”

Kon turns their joined hands over so that he’s holding Tim’s hand palm-up, plucks the acorn from the dirt, and drops it into Tim’s palm, incredibly pleased with himself. “There!”

Tim blinks again. Looks down at the acorn. Looks back at Kon’s face. Does he not get it? Kon thought he was being so smooth. That was a good line! He was doing a good job at flirting!

“…This is an acorn.”

Yeah… Tim doesn’t get it.

Jason, tying the trash bag a few feet away, lets out a disparaging noise. “Oh my god, you uncultured fucking troglodyte. That’s a Peter Pan reference!”

Thank you!” Kon throws up his hands. “Excuse me for thinking that was common knowledge!”

“Not all of us had an intense Peter Pan phase during a formative stage in our lives,” Tim deadpans, but the fondness in his face betrays him; his smile is all soft now, as he looks down at the acorn. “What was the reference, exactly?”

“At the beginning, Wendy says she’ll give Peter a kiss, but he doesn’t know what that is and holds out his hand, so she just puts a thimble in it,” Kon explains. “Later, he wants to give her a kiss back, so he hands her an acorn.”

“Oh,” Tim says. He’s got that achingly tender look on his face again, the one that if he were anyone else, Kon would have to just call mushy. Then he laughs, slips the acorn into his pocket—he’s wearing the cream sweater Kon folded for him two nights back—and pulls Kon in by the collar to give him an actual kiss. It’s chaste, short, and sweet, but it’s still enough to have Kon beaming at him. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re a dumbass,” Jason says, looking at them both with amusement. “Can’t believe you didn’t get that.”

“Shut up. Nobody asked you,” Tim says, and finds a different acorn to throw at him.

They all break off into smaller groups again after lunch; Lois, Bruce, Clark, and Ma wander off to look at artisan honey, Cass hauls Dick into the crowd closer to the band on the live music stage, and Jason, Jon, and Damian go off towards some hapless caricature artist whose day Kon can only hope they aren’t about to ruin. Cissie asks Kon to distract Cassie while she looks for a surprise present for her; Bart decides they all need some funnel cake for dessert and hauls Tim off to help him carry it all back to the green. Cassie, belatedly, decides to go help, while Kon elects to hold down the fort, keeping their coveted spot under the big oak tree.

He lays down in the grass a little ways from the trunk, arms folded back under his head. The sun is pleasantly warm on his face, a nice contrast to the slight chill of the breeze. Puffy white clouds drift by overhead, big and shapeless and soft. Sweet smells waft from the food trucks parked on the side of the green, where Tim, Cassie, and Bart are in line. Contentment washes over Kon again, as the music and quiet chatter of the crowd all float on by.

For a few minutes, he lies there and simply cloudgazes, enjoying himself. It’s a little hard to find any shapes other than “fluffy white lump” and “kinda squished cotton ball” in the clouds right now; maybe as the wind keeps blowing on through them, they’ll change into something easier to name. Or maybe not.

That one kinda looks like Krypto. A little bit. If he got fluffed up real bad and then had a terrible encounter with a blow-dryer.

A familiar set of footsteps comes closer, and Kon lifts his head, a little surprised. Jon trots over to him, plops down, and lays back in the grass, too, pillowing his head on Kon’s stomach.

“Hi. Damian asked the guy how he got into caricature and they’re having a whole talk about drawing technique now. I got bored,” he says, before Kon can even ask what he’s doing back over here. “So I came to steal your funnel cake. But you don’t have any yet.”

“So you’re lying in wait, huh?” Kon snorts, reaching down to ruffle his little brother’s hair. “Shameless. That’s what you are.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Jon says sweetly, and Kon laughs.

A moment passes, quiet and easy. The clouds keep rolling on by in the big, blue Smallville sky. Then Kon breaks the silence again. “So… I dunno if your parents told you yet, but. I’m officially dropping out of Met U after this semester.”

“Huh,” Jon says.

A beat passes. Kon, oddly, isn’t too worried about whether he’ll think less of him; it’s a little strange to not be anxious, but he’ll take it. Jon just seems thoughtful, not even surprised.

“Yeah, I kinda guessed you weren’t happy,” Jon says, after a moment. He reaches up and pats vaguely at Kon’s entire face; Kon has to swallow another laugh, relieved even though he wasn’t worried. “I mean… I wasn’t sure. But I thought you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t,” Kon agrees. “Was just doing it ‘cuz I felt like I had to.”

Jon sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and runs his hand through his hair. “I know the feeling.”

Kon lightly tugs one of his curls, endeared. “Don’t you fret. You have plenty of time to figure it out, bean sprout.”

“I know, I know.” Jon bats his hand away, and for a moment, they fall into a companionable silence again, just looking up at the blue sky, the white clouds. “So… what are you gonna do now?”

That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? Kon hums to himself. “I’m not too sure yet, Jonno,” he admits. “But you know what?”

“What?” Jon asks.

Kon smiles up at the wild blue yonder. “I’m pretty excited to find out.”

Notes:

remember how i said i wanted to finish this before totk dropped. whoops

ANYWAY... that's a wrap, folks! thank you all for coming on this journey with me 💖💖 *slaps roof of kon* this bad boy (actually a very good boy) can fit so much love in him,

i may be done with sotm, but i def have plans for more fics in the future :3c as ever, feel free to hit me up at mamawasatesttube on tumblr!!

*blows a kiss to the sky* for kon-el.

straight on 'til morning - merils (2025)
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