see you later, boy

by beforethemoon

Summary:

“What’s our fearless leader doing out here, then?”

Tim’s left eye twitched violently, but he bravely turned around. There stood Conner, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, half-grinning at Tim in such a smug manner that Tim had to refrain from punching him in the face. “I’m getting some air,” Tim answered shortly. “You can go back inside.”

“Whoa, there.” Conner held up his hands in a defensive posture, still grinning. “I just wanted to check on you. You look just as likely to throw yourself over the railing as rejoin the party.”

Tim had to begrudgingly concede that point because that idea was, in fact, incredibly tempting. He turned around so he didn’t have to see Conner’s face anymore. “If you stay out here any longer, I might.”

...

Or, the convoluted path Tim and Kon took to admit their feelings for each other.

Notes:

• For yourlicoticfriend.

Here is the (very belated) birthday fic I promised you, Soph. Love you bunches. Hope it lives up to your expectations!

Disclaimer: I am very rusty on my Tim timeline. I am rustier on Kon. Y'all be patient with me. XD

Enjoy!

The red solo cup crumpled under the force of Tim’s grip, sloshing cheap beer over the rim and onto Tim’s gloved hand. The mess barely even registered, so focused was he on the scene unfolding on the other side of the room. There, hovering six inches off the ground in an entirely unnecessary, boastful display, was his newest team member: Superboy. Conner Kent had been introduced just last week, and already the team was fawning over him like he was Superman himself. Tim couldn’t understand the appeal—he was a clone of Superman (hardly original), and he didn’t even really have any credits to his name. He was riding the coattails of Superman effortlessly. 

 

The little voice inside Tim’s head that sounded suspiciously like Nightwing asked him if he wasn’t just envious that Superboy was fitting in with the Young Justice team faster than he himself had. Tim told that little voice to shut it. 

 

The party Cassie had insisted on throwing was in full swing. The strobe lights Bart had acquired were murder on Tim’s eyes, even with his domino mask in place, and the music had been cranked up enough to make his ears bleed. His head throbbed with every pulse of the stereo, and he hated that the half-alien with superhearing didn’t look bothered at all when Tim was two seconds away from pulling the plug. Tim watched as Conner gesticulated wildly, earning a chorus of laughter from the group surrounding him. In his leather jacket and sunglasses—which were completely impractical for indoors, although Tim seemed to be the only one who thought so—he was the picture of cool. He had the whole team wrapped around his finger, and Tim couldn’t even get Bart to do the damned dishes once a week.

 

Tim threw back what was left of the beer, mostly to keep his teeth from grinding any further, and went in search of something stronger. If Cassie hadn’t spiked the punch, he’d go publicly declare his love for Bane. Indeed, when he’d pushed his way through the dancers to the punchbowl, he saw several carelessly abandoned empty flasks. He poured himself a generous serving and thanked the predictability of his irresponsible friends. Soon enough, Tim was just buzzed enough to start audibly muttering about self-centered clones who thought wearing a cape was the only qualification for being a hero. 

 

Having been trained by Batman, Tim recognized that he needed to abandon the drink before he said something that could be used against him later. He shoved the cup into someone’s hands and stalked over to the balcony. The closed door offered a blessed relief from the noise of the party, and the cool Rhode Island air helped ground Tim in his body once more. He sighed as he leaned against the balcony railing, staring out at a city that never truly slept. If Dick were there, he’d have called Tim out for brooding while everyone else was having a good time—but Dick wasn’t there, so Tim could scowl as deeply as he pleased. And oh, could Conner Kent make him scowl. 

 

He was infuriating. Always so quick with a joke, so careless with confidential information, and the only thing dependable about him was his likelihood to question Tim’s decisions as team leader. In the week he’d been there, he’d pushed buttons Tim hadn’t even known he had. Somehow, the team still adored Conner. He’d clicked with Bart and Cassie instantly, and he’d even charmed his way into Greta and Cissie’s good graces. It had taken Tim months to earn their respect, and they still challenged his role as leader from time to time. 

 

Tim clutched the railing hard enough to leave indents on his palms. Conner Kent: just as loved as Superman, barely half the hero.

 

“What’s our fearless leader doing out here, then?”

 

Tim’s left eye twitched violently, but he bravely turned around. There stood Conner, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, half-grinning at Tim in such a smug manner that Tim had to refrain from punching him in the face. “I’m getting some air,” Tim answered shortly. “You can go back inside.”

 

“Whoa, there.” Conner held up his hands in a defensive posture, still grinning. “I just wanted to check on you. You look just as likely to throw yourself over the railing as rejoin the party.”

 

Tim had to begrudgingly concede that point because that idea was, in fact, incredibly tempting. He turned around so he didn’t have to see Conner’s face anymore. “If you stay out here any longer, I might.”

 

Tim mentally swore as soon as the words were out of his mouth—that was not the professional, put-together leader Batman had trained him to be. The punch might have done more damage than he’d thought. Conner, unfortunately, agreed with him. 

 

“Shit, Robin.” He laughed more carelessly than Tim had ever allowed himself to be. A second later, Conner had walked over and dropped his forearms onto the railing beside Tim’s. “If you did decide to jump ship, I’d fly down and catch you.” Conner tilted his head towards Tim slowly, an amused glint in his striking blue eyes as they peeked out over his sunglasses. “I’m nice like that.”

 

And there it was: the inevitable jab at Tim’s utter lack of superhuman abilities. He fumed, fighting down a flush he did not want to give Conner the satisfaction of seeing. “I wouldn’t need you to,” he said bluntly, glaring so hard one might have thought he was the one with laser vision. “I have a grappling hook, which pretty much renders you obsolete in this hypothetical scenario.”

 

Conner was still smiling, but something had shuttered in his expression. “You think you could save yourself before I got to you?”

 

Tim scoffed and straightened up, turning so his back was to the railing. “I was trained by Batman,” he reminded Conner. “I have so many contingencies and backup plans in place, there is no world in which I’d need you to save me.”

 

Conner stood up, no longer feigning ease. He’d lost his smile, and Tim was viciously pleased to see that his lip had curled. “I’m an asset to this team,” he insisted forcefully. “I can save way more lives than you, at any rate. You’re the one on this team who can’t keep up.”

 

The words were sharp and cut deep, but Tim hid it well. He cast a cool glance at Conner and said, “You’d be singing another tune if you got a little too close to kryptonite. It takes more than flashy flying to be a superhero.”

 

Years of training allowed Tim to pick up on the slight shift in stance that indicated that he’d cut Conner just as deeply. Interesting.

 

“At least I know how to work with people,” Conner muttered. “You started this team, and you’re still out here alone.”

 

Tim nearly pointed out that Conner was with him, but he realized that wouldn’t help the point he wanted to make. He shrugged instead, pretending like he hadn’t been agonizing over that very thing fifteen minutes ago. “I know how to lead this team, as you’ve seen. When we’re up against the wall, I’m the one who gets everyone out. Who cares if I’m not in there dancing?”

 

I do, he thought to himself. But he’d never admit that to Conner. 

 

Conner shook his head. “Your team, asshole. You’re supposed to be one of us.”

 

If that were true, it would be Bart or Cassie asking him to come inside, not Conner. No, Tim understood his role just fine: lead the team, make the calls, take responsibility for their failings. Train them like he’d been trained until they worked like a well-oiled machine on the field. Live up to Batman. Live up to Nightwing. Honor Jason Todd’s memory. It was sort of funny—if Conner really wanted to save Tim, it was a shame he couldn’t use his superstrength to rescue him from the one thing he couldn’t save himself from: the weight of his predecessors on his shoulders. 

 

Tim pulled himself back from his spiral. “I am one of you,” he lied. It wasn’t really his fault, though; when the only thing exceptional about you was your intelligence, superhumans and star athletes naturally crowded you out. Tim had made his peace with that long ago… or he was trying to. “Go back to the party. Training begins bright and early tomorrow.”

 

Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re not canceling it?”

 

Tim reeled back, appalled. “No. You think the next villain of the week will cancel their attack because you’re hungover? Think again.” Tim started to walk back inside, incredibly pleased by Conner’s open jaw—even if the rest of the team would be irate with him later. “Bright and early, Superboy! If you can handle it.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response before shutting the door behind him, and Conner’s expression had been so delightful that Tim even let Cassie convince him to dance a little before they all turned in for the night. As he awkwardly moved his shoulders and hips—he, unfortunately but unsurprisingly, suffered from a complete lack of rhythm—he saw Superboy stomp inside and head straight over to the punchbowl, quickly downing three cups. 

 

That night, Tim dreamed of all the ways he’d terrorize Conner in training.

 

…

 

“He’s just so annoying, Dick,” Tim complained as he stuffed his face full of ice cream on his sort-of brother’s shitty couch. It had been a month since the party, and Tim found himself escaping to Dick’s apartment in Blüdhaven more and more as Superboy grew more and more popular (and insufferable). “He just swooped in and charmed everyone. They should have been more suspicious, honestly. He could have had ill intent. He still could.”

 

Dick paused from where he was resetting the alarms Tim had hacked when he’d decided to come in through the window instead of knocking on the front door. He’d just returned from patrol; the Nightwing costume was partially unzipped, the top half hanging from his waist and revealing the thin undershirt Dick wore to prevent chafing. He stood from his crouch, wearing an expression that was a mix between fond and exasperated. “You don’t really believe that, Tim.”

 

Tim grumbled around his spoon, but he didn’t deny it. Much as he didn’t like Conner, he’d proven himself to be an ally. “I hate him.”

 

“You should be happy he fit in with the group so well,” Dick chided gently. “It helps the dynamic on the field if everyone gets along off of it.”

 

Tim sighed. “I know,” he admitted. “But I can’t help it! There’s something about him that just makes me want to strangle him. He’s always going on about how he’d catch me if I ever jumped off the building.” Tim bit his tongue, realizing how that sounded and who he was talking to. “Hypothetically, of course.”

 

Dick turned, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

 

“Dick, I’d never actually—”

 

“No, I know that. I meant—tell me more about how he fantasizes about rescuing you.”

 

Tim recoiled, unable to school his expression as the horror washed over him. Dick was shaking with his laughter, so Tim lobbed his lone, pathetic throwpillow at him. “Fuck you. I’m having a crisis here!”

 

“Tim…” Dick stood up and replaced the pillow, then came to cram himself into the little space between Tim and the arm of the couch, despite there being plenty of room on the other side of him. “Being a leader isn’t just about making the right calls in battle. It’s about creating a place where your team feels at home. Believe me, it makes all the difference. The Titans were a mess before I let go of the idea of making them perfect. It all smoothed out when I let myself make friends.”

 

Tim was skeptical. “Batman isn’t really friends with the Justice League, and they’re the most formidable team on the planet.”

 

Dick’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the mention of Bruce—were they fighting again? “The Justice League… They're great. Spectacular, even.” Dick clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I guess it’s really the difference between creating a team and a family. You need to ask yourself which one you want… and which one your team needs.”

 

Tim let that sink in, feeling unsettled. Dick was incredible—privately, Tim thought he was the coolest hero, even if Batman was objectively the best—but he sometimes had this way of saying the exact opposite of what Batman would and effectively pulling the rug out from under Tim. He’d heard Dick, but it really sounded like he was being asked to pick between the ideologies of the two heroes he admired most, and how was he meant to do that?

 

“I don’t think I could make either with Conner,” he said petulantly at last, and Dick laughed and let him change the subject. 

 

“You don’t have any control over that part, Timmers,” he said lightly. “Make it work. I know you can.” 

 

Tim stuffed another spoonful into his mouth grumpily. He’d been hoping for a real solution. “I’ve been trying, but nothing works. He’s just impossible.”

 

Dick took the spoon from Tim’s hand and helped himself to a bite of ice cream, much to Tim’s disgust. “Give him a break, Tim. He escaped from a cloning tube, didn’t he? He hasn’t really lived much life yet.”

 

Tim blinked, surprised. That… was true. Maybe Dick had a point there—human children spent years learning the intricate rules of social interaction. It was possible that Conner was doing his best with limited information.

 

…Then again, he made connections with other people just fine. It was Tim he had a problem with. 

 

“My advice?” Dick twirled the stolen spoon around in the air. “Help him, train him, and show him what human life has to offer. It might help both of you find some common ground.”

 

Tim turned that over in his head. He wasn’t sure that he was the right person to teach Conner about being human; Cassie and Bart seemed much more suited for that, if he even needed the help at all. Conner was, much to Tim’s frustration, a natural at living life to its fullest. He charmed everyone he met (the only two exceptions being Batman and Tim himself) and never seemed to fall on any hardship. Everything he did, he excelled at. It made Tim want to strangle him. 

 

He stole the spoon back from Dick. “I’ll consider it. Tell me about your fight with Bruce.”

 

Dick bit his lip. “I didn’t tell you I got into a fight with Bruce.” Tim just raised an eyebrow, and Dick sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. It’s nothing new. He’s just sticking his nose in Blüdhaven business instead of focusing on his own turf."

 

Tim winced. Bruce and Dick hadn’t been able to exist in the same room without arguing in years, but it had escalated recently. Tim privately thought it had something to do with Dick’s decision to pick a career in policing instead of attending school. “Yeah, but you seem extra…” He waved his hand at Dick. “Offended.”

 

Dick stopped feigning indifference and sat up straight, throwing his hands to the side and knocking Tim’s bowl of ice cream on to the floor. “He told me my Nightwing suit was ridiculous! Can you even believe that? He called it flashy and an unnecessary risk to stealth operations. I told him that anyone whose wardrobe only consisted of three colors couldn’t go out giving fashion advice, but he didn’t seem to believe me because he told me to clip my wings—”

 

Dick continued on, growing increasingly agitated, while Tim listened with quiet amusement. Dick’s deep blue costume with gold fringe and wings was certainly a bold choice—even pooled around his waist, it drew the eye in a way that wasn’t entirely positive—but Tim didn’t know why Bruce bothered bringing it up. Dick’s choices in clothing had always been bold, as evidenced by the bright Robin colors that Tim was currently suffering from. One thing was for certain, though: Dick’s costumes stuck in the mind. No one could ever call the Robin or Nightwing costume forgettable, which was the only reason Tim hadn’t completely redesigned the look when he took over the mantle. 

 

Dick was still expressing his outrage—now moving on to Bruce’s not-so-subtle suggestion of a haircut—when there was a loud burst of air from outside the window. Dick was on his feet in an instant while Tim stumbled to his, both poised to strike. After a moment, a figure appeared in the window and rapped their knuckle against the glass, and Tim realized exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

 

Unfortunately, Dick didn’t believe in that kind of danger. He dropped his stance and grinned broadly as he crossed over to the window, ignoring Tim’s pleas to draw the curtains. Dick threw open the window and leaned out. “What was that?” he asked lightly. “I thought someone was opening a portal to another dimension outside of my living room.”

 

Conner laughed easily, the sound of it enough to make Tim’s ears bleed. “Sorry about that, Nightwing. I’m still getting the hang of stopping gracefully—flying at the speed of sound doesn’t come with a manual, who knew?”

 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Tim cut in stiffly. “Gotham has a strict no meta policy—”

 

“But Blüdhaven doesn’t,” Dick the traitor said sweetly at the same time Conner thoughtfully said, “Are half-aliens metahumans?”

 

Tim narrowed his eyes at them both, irritated that those were both good counterarguments. “Why are you here?”

 

“Team sent me to get you, oh fearless leader.” Conner propped his chin in his hands and leaned on the windowsill. “We’re under attack.”

 

Tim’s jaw fell open and he rushed to grab his gear on the other side of the room—stupid stupid stupid, Bruce would have his head for not having it ready—and grabbed his bo staff. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he hissed as he ran past an amused-looking Dick. Tim glared at him, face now covered with a domino mask, and then glanced back at Conner. “Wait—where’s the jet?”

 

Conner tilted his head to the side, causing his unruly curls to fall over his forehead. “Jet? I flew.”

 

Tim stared at him. “I can’t fly.”

 

Conner lifted an arm and showed off his (admittedly impressive) bicep. “Superstrength. I’ve got it covered.”

 

“Absolutely not.” It was out of Tim’s mouth before he even fully processed what Conner had in mind. There was no way in hell that he was going to let Conner compromise his dignity. “Nightwing, please tell me you have a—”

 

“Nope,” Dick said. He clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t worry so much about it, Robin. It’s a Boy Wonder rite of passage—I’ve been carried by Kory, Wally, Donna… you get used to it.”

 

Tim briefly considered letting his team handle this on his own, but a million scenarios in which they were killed in increasingly gory ways had him reluctantly wrapping his arms around Conner’s neck and settling against his back. “If you drop me,” he hissed in Conner's ear, “my ghost will haunt you.”

 

Conner’s back rippled beneath him as he laughed. “Hold on tight, then, Boy Wonder.”

 

Tim scowled all the way back to Rhode Island.

 

Three hours and one hard-won victory later, Tim collapsed onto one of the armchairs in headquarters and dragged a palm over his face. He’d built considerable stamina over the years, but it was fucking exhausting trying to keep up with all the superhumans surrounding him. Bart and Cassie had gone to raid the kitchen, so if Tim wanted to eat, he should probably get up and order a pizza. When he raised his head, he realized that his phone was in his discarded utility belt on the other side of the room. He looked on with despair. 

 

Tim was weighing the pros and cons of skipping the post-battle meal when Conner’s voice made him jump. “Why’re you called Boy Wonder?”

 

Tim looked over, caught between surprise and annoyance. “It wasn’t my nickname,” he settled on at last. If Conner wanted to make fun, he could make fun of Dick Grayson. “I’m not the first with the Robin mantle. Nightwing was the original, and that’s the name he was stuck with—when I put on the suit, I got stuck with it, too.”

 

“Huh.” Conner perched on the arm of Tim’s chair, viciously invading his personal space. “I didn’t know that.”

 

Tim tried futilely to shove him off. “Now you do, Superboy.”

 

Conner hummed thoughtfully. “It doesn’t really fit all of this, though.” He gestured to Tim’s entire self. “And names are important, Robin. You need one all your own. One that captures the true essence of Young Justice’s beloved leader.”

 

And because Tim knew Dick Grayson so well, he knew exactly what was coming. He slowly sat up, fixing Conner with a hard stare that he usually saved for the worst of adversaries, one burned like a thousand suns and dared its recipient to cross him. 

 

But Conner was a goddamn Kryptonian, and the sun’s inferno never bothered him. He snapped his fingers. “Got it! Wonder Boy.”

 

Somehow, it was so much worse than Boy Wonder. “Kent,” he snarled, half-rising out of the chair, “I’d be really fucking careful what you say next.”

 

Conner launched himself out of Tim’s reach faster than the speed of light and grinned from a safe distance across the room. He hovered six inches above the ground and looked entirely too pleased with himself, the sight of which had Tim grinding his teeth together. 

 

“See you later, Wonder Boy!” Conner called before flying out of the room. Tim threw a pillow in his direction, but he was already long gone. 

 

…

 

“Is the kryptonite really necessary?” Bart asked Tim nervously. It had been one week since Tim had been dubbed Wonder Boy by Conner, and Tim would be lying if he said that this extreme training session had nothing to do with the frequency with which Conner now used the nickname. It was time to knock Conner down a few pegs, and if that meant using a toxic space rock to bring him down to earth, then so be it. 

 

“He needs to learn not to depend on his powers,” Tim said with a nod. Across the training room, Conner was standing in a defensive stance, which would fool most but was awkward to Tim’s trained eye. “You never know who can get their hands on kryptonite—better to learn how to deal with it here than out in the field.”

 

Bart still looked uncertain, but at Conner’s shrug, he left it alone. The training room was bathed in a green glow; Tim had borrowed kryptonite from the Batcave on his last visit for this exact purpose. Conner had been forced to land as soon as the lights had switched on, and Tim could tell that he was off balance without his usual superstrength and speed. Conner clearly hated the feeling—he’d been glaring at Tim for about an hour now, but he hadn’t admitted defeat. It would come soon, Tim knew. Conner might not be used to fighting without powers, but Tim was used to having none and besting his opponents—meta or not—anyway.

 

Tim raised his hands and fell into his own stance, waiting for Conner to rush over and strike, just as he had the last ten times. 

 

“Don’t look so smug,” Conner called. Tim could hear his labored breathing. “I bet I can beat you.”

 

Tim wasn’t bothered. “Then prove it, Superboy.”

 

Conner glowered at him, the nonchalant mask he always wore around Tim absent. It was thrilling; finally, the rest of the team could see what Conner tried so hard to hide: being a hero didn’t come naturally to him. He was struggling to keep up with Tim in front of the team, and he clearly hated it. Tim relished the crack in Superboy’s armor, and he already had a dozen ideas on how to exploit it. 

 

Just like Tim thought he would, Conner attacked first. He rushed at Tim, pulling back a punch that, even without superhuman strength, should have knocked Tim off of his feet. Just like his last several attempts, there was too much power behind it—Tim was a little startled that his teammate hadn’t figured that out yet, but this very well could have been his first time with formal training. Whatever the case, it allowed Tim to dodge the punch and land a hard kick on Conner’s chest, knocking him off balance and causing him to stumble towards the side of the room. He delivered a few quick blows, taking advantage of the fact that Conner was not currently invulnerable, and had Conner flat on his back in almost no time at all. 

 

Tim bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning smugly. “You were saying?”

 

Conner’s face was red—from exertion or fury, each was just as likely as the other—and he scrambled to stand, looking like he was contemplating running over to tackle Tim just for the hell of it. “Whatever,” he spat out. “You’ve had more training, but I can hold my own in a fight. If I had my powers, you wouldn’t stand a chance, Wonder Boy.”

 

Irritation prickled Tim’s skin, but he pushed the sensation aside. “I’d stand more than a chance, but even if I didn’t, you can’t depend on your powers. If you’re useless when someone gets their hands on kryptonite, then you’re of no use to the team.”

 

Immediately, the room chilled. Tim felt a brief pang of remorse before he stamped it down; they were harsh words, but they were true. If Superboy could be so easily disposed of, he was a potential liability in the field. A small voice in the back of his head that sounded like Nightwing chided him for thinking too much like Batman, but why shouldn’t he? Who had trained more successful heroes or led a better team than the Dark Knight? If his methods were harsh, at least they were effective. And that was what Young Justice had to be.

 

Conner clearly disagreed, because he was suddenly in Tim’s face and seething. “You really want to talk about being useless? Every person on this team outclasses you. If any one of us is at the top of our game, we’ll beat you every—single—time.”

 

Tim clenched his hands into fists and reminded himself that this was reactionary. There was no substance to Conner’s claim because Tim had spent countless hours making sure it wasn’t so. “None of you are invincible,” Tim ground out, keeping his voice as even and stoic as he could. “That’s what all that power lets you forget. It’s my job as team leader to remind you that you’re not indestructible and make sure that the person beneath that power is sufficient.”

 

“Sufficient?” Conner threw back his head and laughed, a mean, incredulous sound. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re really not making any friends here, are you?”

 

Tim was suddenly reminded that he and Conner were not the only two in the room; the rest of the team was on the sidelines, watching them with varying degrees of concern. At Tim’s words, they shuffled, seemingly offended. He wavered for a moment and realized that Conner was right—he didn’t have a single friend in the room. Maybe Dick was wrong, or just singularly gifted—maybe being a successful leader drew a line that friendship could never cross. Bruce had never claimed to be friends with anyone in the Justice League, and he did fine. Better than fine. 

 

But that pang was still there, that want to make connections with a team that seemed to gravitate towards everyone but him, and Tim just didn’t understand it. “I’m not here to make friends,” he insisted, swallowing down his protest at his own words. “I’m here to make sure that you all can make it out in the field—”

 

“Well, good,” Conner interrupted, eyes blazing. If the kryptonite lamps weren’t still on, Tim would have thought that he was about to be on the receiving end of Conner’s laser vision. “Because I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Robin. You clearly don’t give a shit about us if all you care about is our performance in the field.”

 

The team was muttering, and Tim felt wrongfooted. He’d clearly missed an important cue, and now he was left to piece together how he’d lost the upper hand of this argument so quickly. “I care,” he insisted, more for the team’s benefit than Conner’s. He tried not to let it show just how much the jab about not wanting Tim’s friendship was getting to him. “I just take this seriously—unlike you. You’ve done nothing but treat this like it’s some sort of game, rarely showing up to training, goofing off on missions, overwhelming the comms with chatter when we need to focus—”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize heroes weren’t allowed to talk.”

 

“This isn’t a game!” Tim finally exploded. He squared his shoulders, and although Conner had considerable inches on him, Tim filled the space. “Much more talented heroes than you have died in this line of work. Unless you want to be next, you’ll shut up and listen to someone who actually knows what they’re doing!”

 

“I know what I’m doing!” Conner shouted. “What, you think that because I haven’t been on this earth as long as you, I’m incompetent? You think because I come from Cadmus that I don’t understand what’s really going on?” Conner’s eyes were blazing, and he stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of Tim’s uniform, pulling him close. “I’ve been out of that damn test tube long enough to hear the rumors.” Conner leaned in close enough that Tim could feel his breath on his ear. “You know what the difference is between you and me? I know what I am.” Tim’s breath caught in his throat. “I may not have been born in the traditional sense, but at least I was made to be a hero. I’m not trying to live up to the legacy of a dead predecessor.”

 

Tim laughed. 

 

Conner took a step back, surprise flooding his face—he hadn’t expected that reaction, and honestly, neither had Tim. “I get it now,” Tim said slowly. His mind, however, was racing as he pieced together the puzzle that was Superboy. “You don’t want to try because you’re afraid you’re nothing without those powers Cadmus gave you.” Tim took a step closer and was viciously pleased when Conner took a small, barely perceptible step back. “You’re afraid that I’ll prove to you exactly what you fear most: You’re not supposed to be here.” Tim took another step. “You’re terrified that, deep down, you don’t have what it takes to be what you were meant to be.”

 

Tim could hear someone calling his name, likely Cassie or Bart, warning him to stop. But Tim was walking on a knife’s edge, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus now. Vulnerability was seeping through the cracks in Conner’s defenses, and it was like Tim could see him clearly for the first time—he wasn’t untouchable. He couldn’t fly above the meager problems of mortals. All this time, Tim had foolishly overlooked one very crucial detail that was the key to Conner Kent.

 

He was half human.

 

He’d been so fixated on the alien, the superhuman, half that he had forgotten that was only a piece of the puzzle. That humanity made Conner insecure. He wasn’t above the worries of mortals because they plagued him, too. He boasted his own greatness after every battle won because he feared there would be a fight he couldn’t handle one day. He had an iron grip on the friends he’d found on the team because he was petrified of being left on his own. He was susceptible to the same uncertainties as anyone else, no more equipped to juggle them than Tim himself. All of his powers were futile in the face of human misery.

 

Conner was no untouchable deity; under his smug, overconfident demeanor, he was as frail as anyone. It was the clarity that Tim had been searching for, and it was so satisfying to know that Conner wasn’t just better. He was just trying desperately to appear that way.

 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Conner spat, but the way his eyes darted anxiously to the left gave him away. Tim couldn’t believe that he’d never noticed how human Conner’s body language was before. “You think that just because you’re Batman’s sidekick that you’re some sort of elite hero—”

 

“I’m a mortal one,” Tim interrupted, prickling at the use of the word ‘sidekick.’ “A truth that I acknowledge and calculate into every decision I make out in the field. I don’t pretend that any abilities I possess are going to be enough to allow me or my team to scrape by without any real skill—”

 

The green lights suddenly switched off, only to be replaced by familiar white ones. Tim looked over to see Bart by the lightswitch, watching them with wide eyes. With a jolt, Tim realized that Conner had been exposed to the kryptonite for much longer than he’d originally intended. Guilt roiled in his stomach, but the apology caught in his throat. He couldn’t make himself admit to the wrongdoing. 

 

Conner wasted no time in showing Tim how easily he could overpower him at full strength. Tim barely had time to blink before his back slammed against the wall, ten feet up in the air. If Tim had thought that Conner’s eyes were blazing before, it was nothing compared to how they glowed red now. Tim’s hands came up to wrap around Conner’s wrist where it was fisted in his uniform, trying to pull himself up enough so that he wasn’t choking as his legs dangled uselessly below him. 

 

“Does it look,” Conner growled, “like I don’t know what I am?”

 

Tim didn’t try to push him away, knowing that it would be futile against Conner’s superstrength. He held unwavering eye contact with him instead, daring him to take the shot he was threatening. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t believe that Conner would hurt him, either.

 

“Conner, put him down!” Cassie flew up and grabbed Conner’s shoulder. She glanced at Tim nervously, like she was afraid of trying to pull Conner away lest Tim fall hard to the unforgiving floor. “Whatever’s gotten into the two of you has gone on long enough. Neither of you are thinking rationally! Robin, quit goading Conner, and Conner—put Robin down, you’ll hurt him!”

 

Tim shot her an annoyed look, even though she was just trying to help, and he hated the slow smirk that spread over Conner’s face. “I have this under control, Wonder Girl,” he said stiffly.

 

“Do you?” Conner asked him, a strange sort of angry amusement saturating his voice. “Do you really?”

 

He set Tim down, but not before he burned a hole in the wall next to Tim’s head.

 

…

 

“So, the interesting thing about speedsters is that they talk to each other.” 

 

Tim winced as he guessed exactly where this unexpected call from Nightwing was heading. He sighed. “Bart called Wally?”

 

“Bart called Wally,” Dick agreed. “And then Wally called me.”

 

“Bart is prone to exaggeration,” Tim tried half-heartedly as he typed away on his laptop. The very frustrating thing about being a teenage superhero is that he was still responsible for getting his online schoolwork completed on time. He wrinkled his nose as he read back the last sentence of his paper he’d written and deleted it with more aggression than was strictly necessary. “This is probably blown completely out of context.”

 

“I really hope so, Tim, because beating Superboy black and blue in front of the rest of your team while he’s under the effects of kryptonite is not how you make friends.”

 

Tim winced at that choice of words. After the incident the other day, Tim had holed up in his bedroom under the guise of needing to complete some important research, but he was really just sparing his team from going through the effort of avoiding him. None of them had been pleased with the way he’d behaved—or what he’d said—that day in the training room. Dick’s words were also a little too similar to Conner’s for him to receive them stoically. “Conner never cared about being my friend,” he muttered. “And I was just trying to show him that he can’t rely on his abilities all the time—you can’t argue with me about that.”

 

“No,” Dick said slowly, “but humiliating him in front of his friends isn’t how you teach that lesson, Tim.”

 

Is that how it had felt to Conner? Tim gnawed on his lip, caught between the beginnings of remorse and feeling justified in putting Conner in his place. “Trust me, his ego will recover.”

 

“Sure it will. But you’ve burned a bridge, Tim. That’s going to be harder to fix.”

 

“I don’t care about being his friend,” Tim reiterated forcefully, irritation spiking. “He’s so arrogant, Dick. It’s hard enough being on a team with him—why should I apologize when he burned a hole in the wall by my head?”

 

“You’re his team leader.” Dick said it so simply, like it was an obvious answer. Tim grit his teeth together and took out his anger on his keyboard. “He needs your support, Timbo. Young Justice can’t meet its full potential when there’s a rift between you two. If you can’t be friends, find a way to be friendly.”

 

Tim scrubbed a hand over his face. He knew that what Dick was saying made sense, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it. Dick didn’t seem to realize, though, that his ability to connect with anyone and everyone in the room was a very rare ability that Tim simply did not possess. He could barely get his own family to give him the time of day. “What if I can’t?”

 

“That’s not really an option, Timmers. Look, you’re a great problem solver. You see all the angles in a fight, and you can recognize the strengths and weaknesses of each of your teammates and how best to deploy them in battle. That makes you an excellent strategist. But that only goes so far—you have to trust each other, too. They have to want to work with you.”

 

Tim looked down at his shoes. “I guess.”

 

“There you go. Listen, I have to run—date night with my lovely lady—but talk to Superboy and let me know how it goes! Talk to you later.”

 

“Bye,” Tim muttered back just before the line went dead. Tim tossed his phone aside and, after a few seconds of deliberating, shut his laptop. He’d never be able to concentrate on a paper now. With a groan that didn’t even begin to cover the depth of his grievances, Tim got to his feet and headed to the garage. He’d ride into Gotham and ask Batman what he thought—surely he wouldn’t insist that Tim try and make friends.

 

With Batman’s incredible technology, it took Tim about three hours to accomplish the five-hour commute into Gotham. Once he arrived at the manor, Tim pulled off his helmet and made a beeline straight for the Batcave; if Bruce wasn’t on patrol, he’d be there. Tim didn’t think he’d ever seen Bruce inside of his actual home. Sure enough, his mentor was sitting at the Batcomputer, cowl pulled down and fingers steepled under his chin as he read over a case file. 

 

“Hey, B,” Tim called out, feeling that familiar rush that he was on a first-name basis with the world’s greatest detective. “Anything I can help with?”

 

“Tim.” Bruce’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave a slight smile in greeting. “I wasn’t expecting you. If you’re offering, I’d like your opinion on this case…”

 

Half an hour later, Tim and Bruce were up to their eyeballs in case files, profiles, and old documents. This was the part of the job that Tim loved the most: Piecing together the who, how, and why. There was nothing more thrilling than a mystery, and Tim knew that he had a talent for this part of the job. Nightwing had been trained to be an incredible detective, of course, but Batman had told Tim that he was a prodigy… in fewer words, but Tim could read between the lines.

 

“What brings you into Gotham?” Bruce asked at last. He was still reading over a police report, but he glanced at Tim to let him know that he had his attention. “You don’t normally come unannounced.”

 

Tim shrugged, a little embarrassed now that he’d come all that way just to complain in person. “I wanted your advice,” he admitted at last. “One of my teammates…” Tim let out a frustrated breath. “He’s impossible to work with. He doesn’t listen, he relies too much on his own powers, and he seems to like the glamour of being a hero more than the actual work. I spoke to Nightwing and he thought the best thing to do was make friends, but I just… I just can’t. And it’s impacting our success as a team.”

 

Bruce smiled wryly. “Dick always advocates for friendship,” he said, sounding fond and exasperated in equal measure. Tim wondered when Nightwing and Batman had last spoken. “It’s an admirable trait, but not always a realistic expectation.”

 

Tim brightened. “You think there’s another way?”

 

“I think that a team relies on mutual trust, not mutual friendship. In fact, I’d argue that friendship creates liabilities. Better to keep things objective in the field. When personal affairs cross into work…” Bruce trailed off, but Tim didn’t miss his glance at a certain bloodied uniform on display, the devastation in his eyes obvious to the few who knew how to recognize it. “Your job isn’t to be their friend, Tim. It’s to lead and guide them. You won’t always be thanked for it, but if you can hold your own, they will respect your authority.”

 

“So…” Tim tilted his head to the side. “You think I should keep my distance?”

 

Bruce clapped a hand to Tim’s shoulder. “I’m saying that it’s not easy to lead, but their training comes first. You have more discipline than any of them, I guarantee it. I know their mentors,” he added with a very slight eyeroll, “and I’ve seen the kind of example they've set. They’re great heroes, but they can’t see the whole picture like we can. That’s what we bring to a world of superhumans, Tim. It’s not popular, but it’s vital to the success of the mission.”

 

Tim nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks, Bruce. That helps.”

 

“Of course. Now, come on; I think Alfred’s ready with dinner. And, ah… he’s already lectured me once this week about my tendency to miss meals, so we’d better not test him.”

 

Tim grinned widely, agreeing easily. Any meal made by Alfred was one worth sticking around for. He followed Bruce out of the Batcave, but stalled as he passed the case memorializing Jason Todd. Tim came to a stop in front of it, the reflection of his eyes coming just short of aligning with Jason’s domino mask. Tim scrutinized it, taking note of every tear, scorch mark, and smattering of blood. Jason Todd had been an incredible Robin in his own right, a more grounded Robin—literally and metaphorically—but beloved by the people of Gotham. His death had shaken the caped community and shone a light onto their own vulnerability. This Robin had not been blinded by his own abilities and had already seen the worst of humanity before he put on the mask, yet he’d still fallen. 

 

Grimly, Tim realized that this was the fate that awaited his team if he couldn’t whip them into shape. Nightwing was wrong, he decided; it didn’t matter if Tim was liked as long as they became the best versions of themselves they could be. It was a heavy burden to bear, but Tim knew he could do it. He had to; he’d basically marched into the Batcave and demanded the responsibility when he’d demanded Robin make a comeback. Tim drew his shoulders back and brought himself to his full height. Failure was not an option for Robin. 

 

When Tim returned to the Secret Sanctuary the next day, he did not take Dick’s advice and apologize to Conner. Instead, he set the team on a grueling workout regimen that had them grumbling and groaning. Tim played deaf to the complaints and worked on his own, Batman-approved regimen, deciding that the results would speak for themselves. And they did—to an extent. After two weeks of Bat-level training, the team was closer than ever. 

 

To each other. The distance between Tim and the team stretched farther than ever, but he considered it a necessary sacrifice. When the loneliness started to creep in, Tim threw himself into cases, busying himself so he didn’t have time to wish for something different. He told himself that it wasn’t a lie. 

 

It went on like that until the night Nightwing called Young Justice in for backup. 

 

When the alert came through, Tim was surprised. Nightwing almost never asked for backup from anyone but his team, but Tim had heard that the Titans were currently scattered across the country. Blüdhaven was nearly as crime-ridden as Gotham, too big a job for any one vigilante, much as Dick might argue otherwise. Tim felt a small rush of excitement at being the one Dick had trusted to assist him, even if he was pretty sure Batman would be the last one on the hero roster that Dick would call in. Still, it felt like a chance to prove himself, and Tim wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. 

 

Unfortunately for him, the only other member of Young Justice available was Conner, so this mission might prove a challenging one. 

 

“Get down!” Tim hissed, his patience finally running out on a rooftop in one of the most run-down neighborhoods in Blüdhaven. They’d been tasked with stopping a shipment of firearms from leaving the city and garnering any information they could on the group responsible. That required reconnaissance, which in turn required stealth—which seemed impossible for Superboy, who was hovering above the roof and making no move to hide himself. 

 

The boy in question crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said, even as he reluctantly came back down to earth. His pout was utterly ridiculous and irritated Tim so severely that he found he couldn’t look away from Conner’s lips. “I still don’t understand why we can’t just get the weapons now. We could totally take them.”

 

“But then we wouldn’t get the information we need.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to stop scowling. “They’re more likely to talk freely to each other, and if we hear something useful, we could pass the information on to Nightwing.”

 

Superboy yelped as Tim grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him down. “Damn it, Robin—chill.” He shoved Tim away, but he lowered his body until it was level with Tim’s. “We could get the same result from interrogating them after we kick their asses.”

 

“No,” Tim argued. “They might reveal something we wouldn’t even think to ask. Action isn’t always the right path—not right away.”

 

Conner stared at him like that was a foreign concept, which it probably was. Hiding in the shadows was commonplace for the Bats, but Tim couldn’t imagine that Superman did much of it. More likely that Conner was used to just barrelling in without abandon. “You want us to just sit here?”

 

“Until the moment is right,” Tim said firmly. “I fucking swear, if you move before my signal, I will personally collect all the kryptonite on the planet and line the walls of the Sanctuary with it.”

 

Conner raised his brows, looking almost impressed. “Damn. Sounds almost villainous.”

 

Tim pressed his lips together. “You drive me to it.”

 

Superboy didn’t respond to that, so Tim refocused on watching the men they’d identified as the arms dealers. They weren’t exactly the brightest bunch, but based on the kind of technology they had at their disposal, Tim could understand why they’d proven a challenge for Nightwing to handle on his own. Tim hated to admit it, but it was a good thing that he had Superboy with him; his abilities would be an asset when they finally did make their move. Still, Tim was almost disappointed when one of the men standing guard started to doze off. 

 

“What an idiot,” Conner muttered, seemingly agreeing with Tim’s train of thought. “It’s not as much fun if they’re incompetent.”

 

“Don’t underestimate them,” Tim chided half-heartedly, even though he agreed. “That’s how mistakes are made.”

 

Conner let out a huff. “There it is. I wondered how long it would take. Would it kill you to have a little faith in me? In case you’ve forgotten, I was a hero on my own for a while. I know what I’m doing.”

 

Tim refused to look at him, but he felt the first prickles of indignation. “I’m not having this conversation here,” he ground out. “I have more experience in the field than you do, I was chosen as team leader, so you need to trust my judgment.”

 

“You’re not Batman.” The words were icy, wielded like daggers. Tim was startled enough to tear his gaze away from their marks and was met with Conner’s deadly glare. “You keep talking like you’ve served on the goddamn Justice League, but you’re not any more seasoned than the rest of us. You’re not Batman.”

 

“I’m Robin,” Tim hissed, his patience finally snapping. It rankled Tim that Conner would pretend to know anything about who Tim strove to be, and he hated that he’d hit the nail on the head. “I was at Batman’s side years before you came into the picture. I’m not on the Justice League, but I know a hell of a lot more than you.”

 

Conner’s glare was hard. “You say that, but you can’t do anything close to what I can do—”

 

“Everything you can do is a result of the intelligence of other people,” Tim burst out, voice still hushed but acidic. “You didn’t train for any of it, and you take it all for granted. You’re the most arrogant person I’ve ever met, and if you can’t learn to curb it that attitude will make sure that your tenure as a hero is a short-lived one. I’m no Batman, but you’re sure as hell not Superman.”

 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tim knew they’d done irreparable damage. Conner’s face turned to stone, and he had risen to his feet in an instant. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Conner’s hands were balled into fists. “If you’re so certain that we’re all going to run to our deaths, leave the team and go back to Gotham. Spare your fucking conscious and run back to Gotham! Let us inferior metahumans doom ourselves and focus on things that actually matter to you, like sitting on your ass for hours while you spy on criminals from the shadows!”

 

“Fine!” Tim jumped to his feet, sure that their cover had been blown but unable to care at that moment. “If you can’t be professional for one measly second, I’ll do this on my own! Go back to the Sanctuary and I’ll finish this myself.”

 

Conner raised himself into the sky just so he could have a height advantage, Tim was sure of it—and he was so distracted by his own outrage that he didn’t notice that they’d been surrounded until five guns were pointed at his head. 

 

Tim flushed, ashamed by his own carelessness, and reluctantly cast a glance to Superboy, who was now floating above them all. He looked mildly surprised by the turn of events, and Tim waited for him to prove his superiority by barreling through the thugs that were watching him anxiously. He watched Conner square his shoulders and brace to do exactly that. 

 

But then the dick raised his hands in surrender and floated back down to the ground. 

 

“Gentlemen,” he called out, “my leader here thinks he knows how to kick your asses better than I do, so it’s in my best interest to learn from the master. Do as you will, I’m sure he’s got this handled.”

 

Tim’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t often that he was speechless, but Superboy had managed it. Tim spluttered as they were roughly bound by the second-rate thugs, unable to fully process that Superboy had just abetted their capture. He was still struggling to find something to say as they took him and Conner into the building they’d been watching and tied them tightly to two chairs standing back-to-back. Worse still, Tim was forced to refrain from fighting back; without more knowledge on the kind of tech they were dealing with, he couldn’t take the risk of getting hit. 

 

Once they were alone in the room—or as alone as they could be with two men guarding them on the other side of the door—Tim regained his ability to speak. “I hate you.”

 

Conner was unrepentant. “Aw, Robin. I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong. So go ahead—do your Batman thing.”

 

Tim fumed. “You got us captured!”

 

“These are second-rate thugs—you said so yourself. This should be easy for you, if you’re as good as you say.”

 

“Fine.” Tim ground his teeth together. “You’ve made your point. Now help me salvage as much of this mission as we can—”

 

“No.” Conner’s interjection was cold and stony. “I meant it. You’re on your own.”

 

Asshole. Tim bit the word back with difficulty, but he knew it wouldn’t help his situation. He had to get them out of this; with any luck, the events of the night would never make it back to Batman. Tim burned with shame when he imagined how disappointed Bruce would be to see him fail so miserably as a leader. Tim was willing to bet that no Titans or Leaguers had ever participated in their own capture.

 

Tim tried everything. He tried to wriggle out of the ropes first, but he wasn’t as flexible as Dick and the ropes were too tight. After several minutes, he managed to maneuver a small file for this purpose from his utility belt, but just like the firearms, the rope must have been specially engineered—his knife couldn’t cut through it. Tim tried breaking the chair, tried moving the chairs across the floor—tried everything he could think of until he was left humiliated and hopeless. The ropes and chairs were reinforced to withstand human strength, meaning Tim required Conner’s superhuman ability to break the bonds. He sat stiffly in the chair for several tense minutes, shoulders hunched as much as they could be and head hanging down as he tried to push aside his pride and ask Conner to save them.

 

Apparently he’d been still for too long. “Uh… Robin?” It was the most uncertain he’d ever heard Conner. “You’re being weirdly… not frantic.”

 

Normally, Tim would bristle at such a comment and shoot a scathing remark back, but he was so defeated that he just slumped. He’d failed, he realized hollowly. Bruce had trusted him to lead a team of young heroes, and all he’d succeeded in doing was drive a wedge so deep between them that they’d rather be imprisoned than help him. Dick had such confidence in his ability to bring everyone together, and he’d been too stubborn to even try it. Maybe Conner was right. Maybe he should resign from the team and return to Gotham. He wasn’t making any progress at the Sanctuary. 

 

“You were right,” Tim said quietly. “I can’t save us. Just—just use your heat vision and get us out of here.”

 

Instead of the smug assent he’d expected, Tim’s concession was met with silence. After enough seconds had passed that Tim wondered if Conner expected him to beg for help, the half-Kryptonian finally spoke. “You’re… giving up?”

 

“What do you want me to say?” Tim asked a little desperately. “I tried every trick up my sleeve. None of my equipment can break the rope. The chairs are reinforced so only someone with superhuman strength can break them—or someone much stronger than me, anyway. I can’t move the chairs close enough to even try the door handles, and even if I could, I don’t have enough information on the weapons these guys have to make a calculated escape. I can’t think of another way out.” Tim looked bitterly at the floor, his face burning. “Do you want me to say it, then? Fine. I’m not smart enough to escape from second-rate goons. I need a metahuman to save me. Get the fuck on with it.”

 

“I…” Conner sounded strangled. “I thought you’d wiggle free or something. Isn’t Robin supposed to be ridiculously slippery?” 

 

Impossibly, Tim felt even worse. “Maybe the others were, but I’m not.” He closed his eyes. “I’m… I’m not the hero they were.”

 

“Where is this coming from?” Conner sounded bewildered. “You’ve always been sure of who you are and what you can do. That was the whole cause of our fight in the training room! You’re a relentless bastard. You don’t just give up.”

 

“Well, I am now,” Tim snapped. “I’ve done everything I can to prove my mettle to you all, and all I get is the cold shoulder and—and tied up by random gunmen. You’ve worn me down. I can’t keep up with any of you. Now can you just get us out of here? If I’m packing, I want to be done before the next nightfall.”

 

“Packing?”

 

“You said it yourself,” Tim said miserably. “I’m not right for the team. Tonight was proof that I’m not cut out to lead you.”

 

Conner suddenly thrust his head back. It collided painfully with the back of Tim’s skull and then landed on his shoulder. Conner shifted his chin up like he was trying to get a good angle of Tim’s face despite the fact that they were tied back-to-back. “If you don’t lead us, who will?” Conner asked a little shrilly. 

 

“That’s not my problem,” Tim said as he tried to get Conner’s dark hair out of his mouth. “You can do it, for all I—ah, fuck, get off—”

 

“Nonono.” Conner shook his head. “I can’t manage a team. I can barely manage myself. That’s—that’s your job, Robin!”

 

“Then get Cassie to do it! Why do you care? You wanted me gone.”

 

“No, I—look at me.”

 

“I can’t, you idiot—”

 

“You said you were trying to prove that you belonged on the team,” Conner said firmly but quietly. More quietly than Tim had ever heard him, and there was something in his voice that made Tim’s response die in his throat. “So… so was I.”

 

Tim furrowed his brow. “What do you have to prove? Everyone loves you.”

 

He could feel the slow breath that Conner took before answering. “I… I’m not really like Superman,” he murmured. “I can’t do what he can.”

 

Tim recalled the many, many powers Conner possessed. “You literally can.”

 

“No,” Conner murmured. “I only have one power. Cadmus… They couldn’t crack Kryptonian genetic code. Not completely. I have what they call tactile telekinesis—anything I’m touching, I can manipulate with my mind. Touching a car? I think hard about lifting it over my head, and I can. I can create laser vision by manipulating the air around me, concentrating and heating it. I’m technically always touching myself, so I can simulate the flight, the superspeed, the invulnerability… It’s all pretend. It’s all in my head.” Conner sucked in a breath. “I’m not a real Kryptonian. Everything I say I can do is a sham.”

 

If Tim’s mind wasn’t reeling from the, frankly earth-shattering, revelation, he’d have noticed how depressed Superboy sounded. But as it was, all he could think was— “Tactile telekinesis? You mean—it’s all your mind? You're only limited by your own imagination?” Tim knew he sounded indignant, but—the precision required! Tim could hardly believe it. “You’re telling me now that your brain processes all of the environmental stimuli fast enough to simulate Superman’s powers in an instant—sometimes multiple simultaneously?” 

 

“Um.” Conner was stunned. “I… guess?”

 

“Why would you keep that a secret?” Tim fumed. “That’s incredible. I’ve never even heard of that before.” Tim couldn’t stop thinking of all the possibilities. This opened so many doors, and he itched to know how Cadmus had unlocked such incredible genetic potential. 

 

“You—you don’t think it’s a cheap trick?” Conner turned his face so his cheek was pressed to Tim’s, whose mind finally screeched to a halt at the sensation. He could feel the vibrations in Conner’s throat as he spoke and his breath tickled Tim’s ear. “I always thought that it was a poor imitation. I wanted to prove that even without real Kryptonian abilities, I could live up to the name. To Superboy.” Conner paused. “That’s stupid, huh?”

 

“Not stupid,” Tim said quietly. He swallowed and gathered his thoughts. He’d never been the best at comforting other people, but he knew he needed to try. “You don’t need to be Superman to be Superboy. And it sounds like you can do even more than he can. It’s not discounted just because your power’s origin is different from Superman’s.”

 

A weak laugh escaped Conner. “That’s… nice to hear. Look, I’m… I’m really sorry about everything. I wanted to prove that I was a real hero even if I was made to be the replacement for one. I guess I’m the one who’s always trying to measure up, huh?”

 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. It seemed unfathomable that Conner could have the same insecurities that he did, but this was the most honest conversation he’d ever had with the other boy. It convinced Tim to let his own walls come down, just a little. “Maybe we both are.”

 

Conner scoffed. “Yeah, right.” 

 

Tim turned his face away, which was as much privacy as he could afford himself with Conner’s head resting on his shoulder. “There were two Robins before me,” he muttered. “I was the only one Batman didn’t choose. I just… want to be worthy of the mantle. So he knows it wasn’t a mistake.”

 

“If he didn’t choose you,” Conner asked slowly, “how did you end up as Robin?”

 

Tim sucked in a breath. “The second Robin was killed by the Joker. I… I’m a Gotham citizen. I grew up watching Batman and Robin, and I knew that the city needed Robin. I knew Batman did. So I… showed up and sort of… demanded the role.”

 

To Tim’s great surprise, Conner laughed so hard that both their chairs shook with the force of it. “Nice to know that your impossible standards also apply to yourself.”

 

Tim frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“Just that you’re the only person in the fucking universe who would volunteer for this life—without any powers or anything to morally obligate you—and still think you have to prove yourself.” A beat passed. “You may not have superpowers, but it’s your name the world recognizes. That means something.”

 

Something Tim couldn’t name squirmed in his chest. “It was D—it was the other two who made the name famous. I inherited it.”

 

“You’re the only Robin I’ve ever known,” Conner said simply. “Trust me, you wear the name well.”

 

Tim’s face warmed. “Thanks,” he managed after a moment. “You wear Superboy well, too.”

 

“Kon.”

 

Tim blinked. “Con—what?”

 

“Kon-El.” There was a nervous tremor in Conner’s voice. “I’m technically not Kryptonian… but Superman gave me a Kryptonian name to use if I wanted it.”

 

The longing coloring Conner’s voice was hauntingly familiar to Tim. He heard everything Conner wasn’t saying and it resonated with him. An hour ago, Tim would have never thought that he and Conner would have anything in common, but he realized that they shared a desire to live up to a name they weren’t sure they deserved. 

 

“Kon,” Tim repeated, trying it out. “I like that better than Conner.”

 

“You do?” Conner sounded surprised. “I thought Conner was more human.”

 

“Maybe,” Tim admitted, “but Kon is more you.”

 

“Because I’m not human?”

 

Tim groaned. “Don’t make this a thing—I mean that Conner’s a basic fucking name and you’re—” Tim cut himself off as he realized the implication of his words, but it was too late. 

 

“Ooh.” He could hear the grin in Conner’s voice. “I’m what, Robin? Exciting? Dangerous? Mysterious?”

 

“Shut up,” Tim grumbled, almost regretting opening the door—but not quite. “Just use your TK to get us the fuck out of here. If Nightwing has to rescue us, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

Immediately, the ropes around Tim and Conner wriggled until they’d unknotted themselves and fell to the floor. Tim closed his eyes in exasperation. “You could’ve done that earlier.”

 

“Aw.” Conner stood and stretched. Tim tried not to miss the missing weight on his shoulder. “Then we wouldn’t have gotten to know each other so well.”

 

Tim rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot. But, uh…” Tim dropped some of the hostility in his voice. “Thanks for the save.”

 

Conner’s eyebrows rose, but he just shrugged in response. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and honestly, Tim was glad. They’d had too many heart-to-hearts as it was. 

 

The sentimentality clearly over, they both took off running out of the room, easily overpowering the guards now that Tim was prepared and Conner was engaging. It was strange; they’d butt heads ever since they met each other, but they worked together almost seamlessly now. Conner took direction from Tim and even complimented Tim’s fighting technique. It left Tim feeling a little like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet, but the change wasn’t unwelcome. 

 

As they ran out of the warehouse, a helpful flashdrive that almost made up for their failed reconnaissance earlier in Tim’s hand, Tim realized that he couldn’t take his eyes off of Conner. 

 

No—not Conner. Kon.

 

Kon-El was Superboy, and as Tim watched him soar through the streets of Blüdhaven while Tim grappled across the rooftops, he felt an unfamiliar fluttering in his chest.

 

…

 

Six months later, Tim was sure of his role as Robin and as the leader of Young Justice. The team was closer than ever, real friends instead of just teammates, and they were finally working as a streamlined unit. They’d beaten every villain they’d faced and had garnered positive attention from big league heroes, which had been, admittedly, very cool (Bart had nearly vibrated through the floor when Superman shook his hand). 

 

So, of course, Tim was in crisis. 

 

“Hey, Wonder Boy.” Kon joined Tim out on the balcony of Titans Tower, where Young Justice had been invited for a party that would have already had the cops knocking on the door if they’d had any neighbors. He swung his legs over the side of the railing, a move that used to get Tim’s heart racing until it had become instinctual to remember that Kon was capable of flight. “Brought you that weird Tamaranean pie Kory made.”

 

He held out a plate to Tim, his blue eyes twinkling. Sure enough, there was a vaguely pie-shaped slice of something alarmingly blue and… wriggling? Tim wrinkled his nose as Kon’s shoulders shook with laughter. 

 

Tim shot him a small smile. “How many slices has Nightwing eaten?”

 

“Four so far. Kory’s delighted.”

 

Tim grinned. It really was nice to see Dick so in love, even if that resulted in some very educational lessons about what too much Tamaranean food did to the human digestive system. “I think I’ll let you enjoy the pie.”

 

Kon made a face. “I took a bite. Looks like my alien DNA didn’t prepare me for food that jumps in your mouth.” 

 

Tim was curious. “What did Kryptonians eat?”

 

“No idea.” Kon tilted his head thoughtfully. “I could ask Clark, but I don’t know if that information escaped Krypton. It was probably a lot closer to Earth food than this, though.” He raised the plate for emphasis, accompanying it with a grin. He didn’t sound upset, but Tim winced at his careless question anyway; Kon didn’t have any ties to Krypton, but the loss of that planet’s culture was a tragedy. 

 

Tim swallowed and looked straight ahead, wishing he could just say something normal. Something that didn’t bring up an entire slaughtered people. “How is Clark?”

 

Kon looked at him oddly. “Like he always is, I guess. Busy kicking ass all over the world. Trying to work up the courage to propose to Lois. Same old.”

 

Tim laughed a little too loudly. “Right.”

 

Kon kicked his feet in the air. “I’m assuming Batman’s the same.”

 

Bruce’s tired face flashed across Tim’s mind. The bags under his eyes had become more pronounced and his knuckles were always black and blue, but he returned each night to his bedroom in the manor, so Tim supposed things could be worse. 

 

“There aren’t any proposals in his future,” Tim said lightly, “but he is kicking ass.”

 

Kon laughed like the idea of Batman getting down on one knee was the funniest image he could conjure up; it brought a smile to Tim’s face, too. Although… Tim’s eyes flitted over to the party on the other side of the door. There could be one Bat whose future contained a ring. 

 

“It’s sort of nice to know that they’re going to last.” Once again, Kon had read Tim’s mind. “Nightwing and Starfire. They’ve been through a lot, but they still make it work. Clark didn’t always think it was possible to maintain a real relationship in this life, but they’ve proven otherwise.”

 

Tim nodded. “Nightwing is crazy about her,” he said quietly. “Since before we’d even met. I can’t see them splitting…” Tim waved his hand around. “Ever.”

 

“Yeah.” There was an almost wistful note to Kon’s voice. “I don’t know any other superhero couple who made it work like they did.”

 

There must be others, statistically speaking, but he knew what Kon meant. It was comforting to know that the price of being a vigilante was not a life of solitude. Dick and Kory had challenged that point of view—even Bruce was close to conceding his stance on the matter. Tim looked back towards Kon and noticed that their hands were mere inches apart on the railing. Slowly, Tim unfurled his right hand and stretched his fingers out towards Kon’s, gradually closing the distance between them—

 

Kon clapped his hands together and Tim’s fingers fell on the railing once more. “Come on, Robin, we’ve been out here long enough. Let’s dance!”

 

Tim immediately recoiled. “I don’t dance.”

 

“I know that’s not true, Wonder Boy. Show me what you’ve got.”

 

“The answer is nothing, Kon, so—”

 

Kon grabbed Tim’s hand and tugged him back into the party. “I don’t believe that, and even if I did, I just watched Bart try to do the worm. The bar’s low.”

 

Tim was just as helpless stopping his laugh as he was his blush. Falling for Kon was a bad idea; that was fact. It was sure to end with heartbreak. It would save time to tamp those feelings down before they got even more out of hand and ruined the team dynamics they’d worked so hard to build. 

 

Then again… That hadn’t happened to the Titans.

 

Tim ignored the voice in his head telling him to play it safe and followed Kon out to the dance floor. He danced half-heartedly, not because he felt self-conscious, but because he was so distracted by the way Kon’s feet didn’t always touch the floor. His grin was blinding, and Tim’s eyes stalled over it, admiring the halo of light that backlit Kon and made him fuzzy around the edges. He was otherworldly, and Tim couldn’t look away. 

 

Tim forced his gaze off of Kon and over to his other friends, only for it to inevitably slide back over to the half-Kryptonian. His stomach swooped when Kon threw an arm around his shoulders, and Tim doubted that he’d feel half as weightless if he was free falling.

 

…

 

The Drakes had their own fortune, but it was pennies compared to the Waynes’. Tim was self-aware enough to know that his relationship with money was extremely unusual, having been born rich and recently been sponsored by an even richer man, but he tried not to take advantage of that wealth. He’d taken note from the Robins before him and tried to make meaningful connections with the citizens of Gotham, spent more time in the Narrows as a result and had come to really enjoy the city he’d been so isolated from. It made him a better hero, and it had banished some of the more spoiled perceptions he’d had about typical life experiences. 

 

Neither the mansions nor the slums had prepared Tim for a Kansas farm. 

 

Batman and Superman—or Batman and Clark, really, because he hadn’t bothered with the cape while on his parents’ farm—were working on a case together for the Justice League. Tim had tagged along, which was how he found himself standing in front of a cow while Kon tried to keep his balance as he walked across the top of a fence. 

 

Tim eyed the bovine skeptically. The fence separated them, but that wouldn’t stop it if it charged at him, for all he knew. Tim wiped the sweat from his brow, wincing as a few beads caught on the edge of his domino mask. That was the only part of his uniform that he’d kept on, and he was glad for the thin t-shirt and jeans he’d opted to wear. He didn’t know how Bruce could stand to be in full gear. Kon, too, was stubbornly refusing to take off his leather jacket even though his forehead was damp with sweat. He’d insisted that he had an aesthetic. Tim argued that he was begging for heat stroke. 

 

Tim shifted his weight from foot to foot, caught between shaking his head at Kon and trying to stay as far away from the cow as possible without letting Kon know that’s what he was doing. He wasn’t successful. Kon called out, “She’s not even looking at you, Wonder Boy.”

 

“I know,” Tim said a little too quickly. “I just prefer more distance between me and… livestock.”

 

Kon laughed so hard that he fell off the fence. “You’re such a city boy,” Kon wheezed out, as if he wasn’t the one who’d look more at home on a motorcycle than a farmhouse. Kon picked himself off the ground with apparent difficulty, brushing off grass and dirt. “I’d give anything to watch you and Batman work on the farm. Collecting eggs. Milking the cows. Cleaning out the stables.”

 

The visual of Bruce trying to collect eggs from hens in full Batman garb was enough to crack a smile on Tim’s face. “I think he’d sooner let metas into Gotham.”

 

Kon snorted. “Let me dream, Robin.”

 

Something twisted in Tim’s gut. It was a recent thing, this guilt every time Kon called him by his mantle rather than his true name, and Tim was unsure what to do about it. The importance of maintaining his secret identity had been drilled into Tim so many times that he could recite all of Bruce’s lectures in his sleep, but his new feelings for Kon were making him reconsider his stance on the subject. Bruce hadn’t yet given the Justice League any information on his civilian identity, but did that mean that Tim never could? Did he always have to keep that distance between himself and his friends?

 

Six months ago, Tim would have decided it was a necessary sacrifice. Now? Now he found himself dreaming about how his name would sound coming from Kon’s lips. 

 

“All right, Robin?”

 

Tim’s head snapped around to look at Kon, and he realized that his face was hot. Hoping that it could be passed off as a consequence of the heat, Tim flashed a smile and shrugged. “Distracted. Sorry. We’ve, uh… had a lot going on in Gotham.”

 

Kon’s face twisted with concern. He’d heard about Bane’s attacks from Tim, so he didn’t question the excuse. “You know what would make you feel better? A dip in the lake.”

 

“I didn’t bring anything to swim in.”

 

“I’ve got some in the house. Come on, I’ll race you back!”

 

Tim wondered if the universe was playing a prank on him. “I—Kon!”

 

Tim threw his hands up to shield his face just as Kon threw a fistful of grass, dirt, and hopefully nothing else at Tim and took off running in the direction of the Kent home. Tim turned on his heel and followed suit, shouting insults at Kon even as his grin threatened to leap off of his face. In the end, Tim won the race by throwing a batarang that he always had on hand at Kon’s ankle, giving him just enough time to steal the lead as Kon stumbled. 

 

He was still grumbling about it ten minutes later when they left for the lake. “I thought you Bats were supposed to be honorable opponents,” Kon grumbled. His sunglasses were nested on top of his head, barely visible through his dark hair. He’d forgone a shirt, which meant that Tim was trying very hard to keep his gaze above Kon’s collarbone. There was a maroon towel slung over his shoulder and was swinging around a picnic basket that Martha Kent had pushed into his hands. 

 

“That’s Deathstroke,” Tim corrected as he pulled again at the drawstring of his borrowed swim trunks. The waistband was low on his hips; Kon was much broader than he was. Tim had borrowed a shirt from Kon, too, not wanting to ruin the only one he’d brought to the farm, something he’d almost immediately regretted when he saw how it swallowed him. “We will absolutely hit you when your back is turned.”

 

Kon looked delighted. “That sounded almost villainous, team leader.”

 

Tim shoved him hard on the shoulder. “Like you didn’t cheat first. I just did it better.”

 

Kon grabbed Tim’s wrist before he could pull away and used his grip on it to tug Tim along the path to the lake. Tim was certain that Kon’s fingers would be imprinted on his skin when he finally did let go—he was so aware of them, how could they not be? He bit his lip and tried to convince himself that his line of thinking would end in disaster, but he couldn’t manage it. It was impossible to believe that anything that made him feel so alive could be anything but spectacular. 

 

Get a fucking grip, Tim. This is embarrassing.

 

“We’re here!” Kon’s voice brought Tim back to reality. The lake was quaint—not as grand (or clean) as the lakes he’d visited on vacations growing up, but there was a simple sort of beauty about it that the artificially maintained lakes had lacked. Tim could understand the draw to this place, even if he did sort of want to test the pH of the water before jumping in. 

 

Kon had no such reservations, and he threw his towel and the basket to the ground before taking a running start and launching himself into the water, using his TK to fling himself much further than any ordinary person could do. Tim couldn’t contain his grin and set his towel down and kicked off his shoes before walking hesitantly towards the water. He waded up to his knees, surprised by how cool the water was. In the middle of the lake, Kon resurfaced with a splash, sending waves every which way. He was the least graceful creature Tim had ever seen, and it made his knees go weak. 

 

Kon swam clumsily over, a wide grin on his face. He pushed back his hair, sending streams of water down his neck. Tim wished he didn’t have to look at him through the mask, but Kon didn’t seem to mind as he tugged impatiently at Tim’s borrowed shirt. 

 

“Don’t be a buzzkill,” he demanded, breathless from the fun he was having. “Just—don’t be Robin for a minute and live a little!”

 

Tim took his advice and submerged himself, pulling a startled Kon along with him. It was too murky underwater to make out Kon’s face, but they were both laughing when they broke the surface. It didn’t take long before Kon insisted on a race across the lake, which Tim absolutely would have won if his opponent couldn’t torpedo himself through the water. He did outlast Kon when they competed to see who could hold their breath underwater the longest—his Bat training had come in handy for that one. Enhanced lung capacity couldn’t be replicated with TK, it seemed. 

 

They spent the entire afternoon there, and it was truly one of the best of Tim’s life. Kon had a way of drawing attention and holding it, evident in the way Tim couldn’t tear his eyes away. In return, Kon gave just as much attention to Tim; he never turned his face away from Tim’s, a planet orbiting Tim’s sun. It was intoxicating. It made Tim a little braver.

 

It wasn’t until a few hours, a picnic lunch, and a few more dunks in the lake later that the two boys finally began the trek back to the Kent home, breathless with their laughter. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, the inky sky quickly filling with more stars than Tim had ever borne witness to before. The air around them cooled against Tim’s wet skin, making him shiver. Kon noticed. 

 

“Cold?” He slung an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “I’d give you my jacket, Wonder Boy,” he teased, “but I didn’t bring it with me to the lake.”

 

“I’m surprised,” Tim managed as he imagined all the other ways Kon could warm him up. “You bring that thing everywhere.”

 

“It’s part of my aesthetic!”

 

“It’s completely impractical,” Tim argued, but he couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice. “A leather jacket isn’t made for farmwork.”

 

“The chickens don’t care,” Kon grumbled. It was such a ridiculous statement that Tim snorted, bringing his hand up to muffle the sound. Fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled his hand away from his mouth, and Tim was startled to realize that Kon was staring at him with a quiet intensity. The starlight was reflected in his face, captivating, and Tim found himself leaning forward ever so slightly. 

 

Kon didn’t let go of his wrist. “I like it when you laugh.” He said it defensively, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, but he didn’t look guilty in the least. “Robin, I…”

 

“Tim.” The correction was out of his mouth before Tim’s brain had fully processed what he was doing. He’d expected panic or regret, but instead he felt calm. He used his free hand to peel away the domino mask on his face. “It’s… I’m Tim. Tim Drake.”

 

If Kon recognized his name, he didn’t let it show. His lips were slightly parted, the smallest indication of surprise, and Tim was strangely bereft of anxiety as he waited for a reaction. When it came, electricity crackled between them. 

 

“Tim?” Kon released his hold on Tim’s wrist so he could cup his jaw instead. “Kiss me.”

 

Under thousands of stars somewhere between the lake and the Kent farmhouse, face flushed despite the slight nip in the air, Tim happily took heed and pressed his lips against Kon’s. What started out slow and sweet quickly picked up in pace as all of Tim’s previous hesitation and worry spilled out of him, like Kon’s touch was all he needed to banish his worst insecurities. They’d be back, but that was easily ignored as Tim basked in the light that was Kon-El. Kryptonians got their power from the sun, and a piece of it must live in that half of Kon’s DNA, for all the warmth he poured into Tim, the gravitational pull that kept them connected. This was everything Tim had been so afraid to want—and so much more.

 

When he finally broke the kiss to catch his breath, he realized there was a reason he’d felt so weightless: They were hovering several inches above the ground, Kon’s hold on Tim’s waist the only thing keeping him from falling. Judging by the sheepish expression on his face, Kon hadn’t meant to levitate them, but he didn’t descend immediately. 

 

“Thank fuck,” Kon said with feeling. “I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t feel the same way.”

 

Tim let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I’ve wanted this for a while,” he admitted. He bit his lip. “I never thought I could feel this way about someone.” 

 

Kon stole a quick kiss. “You know me, Tim,” he murmured, clearly relishing the new information he had. “I love to prove you wrong.”

 

“Bastard.” Tim never thought he could use that word so lovingly. “Don’t get used to it; I’m almost never wrong.”

 

Kon’s grin was wide and wicked. “I’ll work on disproving that claim.”

 

Tim doubted that he’d be successful, but he didn’t protest. He splayed his hands against Kon’s shoulders and tried not to let his thoughts spiral as he considered next steps. “Don’t… don’t tell the team my name, please. Batman would kill me if he knew I’d even told you—”

 

“Relax.” Kon squeezed Tim briefly, a small comfort. “Right now, that’s ours. You don’t, uh…” Kon swallowed, and Tim watched his Adam's apple bob up and down with the movement. “You don’t want to keep us a secret from the team, do you?”

 

Tim shook his head. They’d see through any attempt at deception almost immediately, and now that Tim had permission to kiss Kon, he didn’t want to waste a moment by sneaking around. “I don’t want to do that.”

 

Kon’s furrowed brow relaxed. “Good. That’s good.” He finally brought them back down to earth. “Because I want to see Bart’s face when he realizes how much money he owes Cassie.”

 

Tim blanched. “What? They bet on us?”

 

“I think Starfire won the pot, actually.” 

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Tim hissed, horror hitting him with all the subtly of a train. If Kory knew, then surely— “I’m going to kill Dick.”

 

Kon tilted his head in confusion, and Tim groaned as he realized all the conversations they’d have to have in the morning. “Whose di—”

 

Tim clapped a hand over Kon’s mouth. “That’s a conversation I can only have after ten cups of coffee,” he warned. “You… are in for a surprise.”

 

Kon’s laughter wasn’t quite smothered by Tim’s palm. He pulled it away so Kon could say, “That’s what I like about you. It’s always an adventure.”

 

Tim wasn’t so sure he’d still think that when he was on the receiving end of a Nightwing shovel talk or asked to help out with an Arkham outbreak, but it was a sweet sentiment nonetheless. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you complain about my training regimen.” 

 

Kon groaned. “I’ll have to fix that about you. I’ve heard boyfriends sometimes have success in that area.”

 

Tim’s face must have betrayed his disbelief, because Kon launched into a long explanation of why Tim should relax his standards for team training sessions, emphasized by wild gesticulations that were endearing enough that Tim let him talk without interruption. There was so much for them to discuss, but it was easy to save those conversations for the dawn. For once, Tim was determined to enjoy the moment without the clouds of the future. 

 

They walked back to the farmhouse, this time hand-in-hand. As he looked down at their interlocked fingers, Tim couldn’t believe he’d ever felt anything but affection for the boy next to him. They’d taken the long road, but the destination had been worth the journey. 

 

In the spirit of new beginnings, Tim pretended not to see Kon’s sneaky kisses coming.