#Tim had such a fucking crush on Conner and he didn’t even realize it oh my fucking god

[raeofgayshine]

At this point I’m starting to think Tim Drake is actually an idiot for how long it took him to figure out he’s bi.

#ravenpuff rambles #Tim Drake #conner kent #Kon El #TimKon #Tim had such a fucking crush on Conner and he didn’t even realize it oh my fucking god #why did dc ever try to convince us he was straight again???? #twice. he did this twice!! in two separate comics published years apart #Tim thought he was dying and just went ‘I wish I could talk to Conner again’ #in YJ (98) #and then in Red Robin he just goes ‘Will I see Conner again? Hope So.’ #i adore Tim. i adore their friendship. but oh my god this is gay. #Tim was in the middle of a breakdown because Bruce was dead and he’s more excited to see Conner in the afterlife? #love this fucking disaster what a guy #also I made this meme entirely for my friends who are into dc stuff but haven’t read a lot of Tim comics #they follow other Batfam members and understandable Tim is just the one that stuck in my head first #I’ve been reading the Red Robin comics and this is part of me chronicling my feelings on the series #of which I have so many oh my god Tim what the fuck #the first half is just an extended breakdown. #so far the second half has just been making me question if he has any regard for his life at all #Kid needs fucking therapy oh my god #i mean I’m glad he’s happier but also he is so fucked up #Though shout out to Alfred who continues to sympathetic to Tim punching Damian in the face #Damian isn’t in this a lot but he is such a little shit whenever he is and I love him so much #ngl I really do want to read the Batman and Robin run with Damian and Dick now because seeing pieces of them work together is so #interesting and I want to see more of it it seems fun

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Lovestruck - fic

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, kinda Dick Pairings: future!jondami, implied-kinda?timkon, also timbernard Summary: Damian starts acting weird after Tim and Bernard begin dating. Turns out even this kid can be naive, and a total idiot, when he wants to be. A/N: idk a headcanon I couldn’t stop thinking about haha. Damian is absolutely one of those genius kids who don’t know the most basic things. Also if it’s not clear, Damian is comparing Tim’s answers to what he likes in people to if they match Conner. all ages are current canon so Tim is immortal and Damian is 14 mkay bye.

~~

When Tim started dating Bernard, he expected a lot of different things. He expected Bruce’s protectiveness, Dick’s softness, Jason’s gift of XL condoms, Cassandra’s date suggestions and even Stephanie’s own prepared shovel talks for his new paramour.

But he did not expect…well, this.

He did not expect to see Damian sitting on the front porch when Bernard brought him home from their third date. He did not expect Damian to start furiously writing in the notebook on his lap at the sight of them.

He did not expect to come down to breakfast and see the kitchen table scattered with notes and lists and images of way too pretty people, pictures of Bernard and Steph among them.

“…What are you doing?” Tim found himself asking sleepily.

“Research.” Damian replied simply, sipping thoughtfully from a mug on the island. “None of your concern.”

“Oh yeah?” Tim asked as he approached. Instantly he tapped the photos of Steph and Bernard. “So why are there pictures of my ex-girlfriend and current…boyfriend here?”

His stomach still did giddy jumps at the thought.

Damian’s lips twitched, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he reached out and slid the photos underneath some papers. “Just…persons of interests.”

“For?”

“None of your concern.” Damian reiterated. Quickly, he began to shuffle all of his papers and pictures together. “Jeez, what does that Dowd boy even see in you…”

And then he was gone before Tim’s pre-caffeine mind could catch up.

After that, Damian was less obvious, but Tim could still catch on. In fact, everyone was catching on. But, like the emotionally constipated Bats they were, no one said anything, or tipped their youngest off.

They all just watched, as he suddenly began to distantly follow Tim around. Around the house, around the city, both as a civilian and in uniform. It was Cassandra who declared that Damian was watching who Tim was interacting with, not necessarily him.

He never followed him on his dates, though.

Then came the questions. Every time they were together. They’d go to lunch downtown near the office, and Damian would ask:

“Do you like that girl’s hair?”

“Would you ever wear those shoes?”

“How much do you respect a person if their suit jacket doesn’t fit them properly?”

When they’d be staking out a suspect on a building overlooking a street corner, he’d say:

“That belt is too gaudy.”

“You can tell he spent way too many hours in the mirror getting ready to go to that disgusting dive.”

“I can’t believe she’s walking on this street in those heels. Would you go for comfort or fashion?”

And it continued, the following, the seemingly random questions. After a while, Tim chalked it up to…maybe Damian was just getting to know him. Just trying to actually get along for once in their lives. They were both getting older, more mature. Maybe it was just time they started acting like what they were.

Brothers.

But then he came home one afternoon to find Dick standing in the manor’s foyer, back leaning against the wall that led into the central sitting room they all used. It was almost evening, which meant Damian was most likely in there sketching, or reading with his pets.

Dick noticed him open the door, and quickly put a finger to his smiling lips. Tim nodded and silently closed the door behind him, carefully took off his shoes and jacket, then tiptoed over to Dick.

He peeked around Dick’s shoulder. Sure enough, Damian was in there, but he was standing at the fireplace, staring down into the flames.

Jason sat in the loveseat behind him.

“Jay just got in there. He hasn’t said anything yet.” Dick breathed. Tim frowned skeptically. Surely Damian knew who was in the house. Knew there was something going on if Jason had just sought him out.

“What are we interrogating him for?” Tim whispered back. “Did he lose one of Alfred’s recipe books again?”

Dick just shook his head and pointed into the room. Tim looked back in.

Jason was relaxed in the chair, but staring intensely at his youngest brother. Damian must have known that, felt his eyes, because he wasn’t looking up. Kept his gaze glued to the fire at his feet.

Suddenly, Jason huffed, crossing his arms. “Spill.”

“Spill what.” Damian rolled his eyes.

“Spill why you’re stalking Tim.” Jason said bluntly. “Why you’re asking him all those dumbass questions.” A pause. “…Why you’re keeping tabs on his boyfriend.”

Tim inhaled sharply, glaring up at Dick. Dick waved both his arms quickly, implying that Jason’s words weren’t true, that it was just to catch Damian off guard.

“I’m not keeping tabs on him, Todd. That’s ridiculous.” Damian countered. “I’m merely making sure they’re still together.”

A moment to let the fire crackle.

“Well, I’m also making sure that boy isn’t hurting or manipulating Drake in some way.” Damian murmured softly. “But mostly, I’m just making sure they’re still together.”

Jason crossed his ankle over his knee. “Why?”

“What, I can’t be concerned for my brother’s safety and happiness?”

Jason snorted. “Not that brother’s.”

Damian glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. Then back to the fire.

Jason waited a minute, let his eyes dart across Damian’s back, study his posture. “…Why are you so concerned if Tim and his new boy-toy are still together?”

Damian shrugged silently.

“Don’t do that.” Jason scolded. “Use your words, Damian. Like a big boy.”

Damian let out a frustrated exhale. “I’m just…confirming Drake isn’t looking elsewhere.”

“What, to cheat on his boyfriend?” Jason drawled. “Timmy’s not the cheating type, I can tell.”

“No. No.” Damian said sternly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying!” Damian threw his arms out. Let them fall back to his thighs with a slight smack. “…I’m saying I’ve seen him look at others the way he looks at Bernard Dowd and that is…concerning. …To me.”

“Others?” Jason questioned. “What others?”

“Like Conner Kent!” Damian finally spun around now. Jason’s eyebrows rose in surprise and Damian rolled his eyes again. “Oh don’t tell me you don’t see it. Those two have been flirting with each other since the damn day they met. Drake dating this boy now only confirms the possibility of their eventual coupling.”

Jason let his face settle back into neutral, let the words bounce around in his brain. “Okay…I guess I can agree with that.”

Tim glanced up at Dick, who gave him a wink. Tim’s face instantly went beet red.

“But that still tells me nothing.” Jason continued. “So Tim and Conner maybe had or have crushes on each other. Maybe they’re attracted to each other. Maybe they’re forever star-crossed and nothing will ever happen. So what? Why does that bother you?”

Damian kept his lips pressed firmly together. After a moment, he spun back towards the fire.

“…Damian?”

“…Because it would be weird.” Damian said at last. “It would be weird if he and Conner…”

Damian’s voice fell to an unintelligible mumble.

“What?” Jason asked gently. “I didn’t catch that.”

Damian mumbled again, still impossible to understand.

“Kid, you’re gonna have to speak up, okay. I can’t hear you-”

“I said it would be weird if he was dating Conner while I was dating Jon!” Damian yelled, whirling around once more. “And if he breaks up with Dowd and starts dating Conner before I can gain the courage to talk to Jon then I’ll lose my chance!”

His last words echoed in the space around them. Floated into the hallway and echoed up the stairs, too.

Not that anyone noticed. Tim had grabbed Dick’s bicep, while Dick had thrown a hand over his own mouth in surprise.

“Oh my god.” Tim whispered. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

“That…” Dick murmured. “That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Jason, luckily, had more composure than the two of them, and suddenly Tim realized why it was Jason doing the prodding, not Dick.

Jason’s eyes had just widened, no other movement than that. He remained still, remained calm, even as Damian’s face darkened, and embarrassed tears appeared in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh.” He said simply. “Oh, Damian.”

“Shut up.” Damian crossed his arms again, but they all knew this time it was to hold himself. “Don’t…don’t make fun of me.”

“Never.” Jason promised. “But also, not a thing you need to worry about.”

“Why, because Jon will turn me down anyway?” Damian whispered bitterly, turning away. Not towards the fire this time, just the window.

“He’d be an idiot to, and I’ll beat the shit out of him if he does.” Jason said as he uncrossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees. “No, I mean, you don’t need to worry about it because it wouldn’t be weird if y’all just so happened to be double-dating.”

Damian waited, then glanced back at Jason. “It wouldn’t?” Jason smiled and shook his head. “There isn’t like…I mean…a law…?” He inhaled slowly. “If Drake and Conner started dating, wouldn’t that make Jonathan and I…related?”

“That’s only if they got married, and even then, wouldn’t be weird.” Jason shrugged. “What, you’ve never heard those stories of like…twins marrying another set of twins? That shit happens all the time. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Damian blinked owlishly, let his hands fall back to his sides. “…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Jason laughed, standing. “Besides, Tim seems to really like Blondie whats-his-name so…I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.” A second, to cheekily add: “At least…not right now.”

Damian twisted his lips. “I told you their chemistry was obvious.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, so is Bruce and Clark’s if you ask the tabloids and half the Justice League.” Jason droned, reaching out for Damian’s shoulder and tugging him into his side. “But like I said, don’t worry about it. Who cares about your idiot brother and who he’s dating, let’s focus more on you and how you’re gonna woo one Jonathan Kent, mmkay?”

He quickly ushered Damian out of the room using a door on the far side, only glancing back once to mouth oh my god! dramatically to the ones watching from the hall.

“That…” Tim exhaled as Jason closed the door behind them. “…was the most precious thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

Dick hummed in agreement, then: “…But is he right?”

Tim glanced up at him.

“You and Conner?”

Tim felt his face warm a little. “…I’m dating Bernard, Dick.”

“Okay.”

“And…I think I should go call him. We haven’t talked all day.”

Dick smirked. “Okay.”

“…Don’t look at me like that.”

Dick let out a chuckle. “Okay.”

“…Stop saying okay.”

“…Okay.”

“Dick!”

He laughed again. “Sorry, sorry.” He ran his fingers through Tim’s hair. “Tell Bernard I said hello, and also warn him that your younger brother is absolutely ready to gut him, should he hurt you.”

Oh yeah. Tim forgot that little tidbit. He felt his face warm even faster.

“Yeah…” He sighed, turning towards the stairs. He ignored the little flutter in his heart, at the idea of his lovesick, protective, ridiculous little brother. God, that kid. “Yeah, I think that’s probably something he oughta know.”

#Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #jondami #timkon #timbernard #whatever that ship name is idk

[thelittleboyfromloveactually]

Two Shorten the Road

part 1

joel dawson x reader

warnings: cussing? idk, bad writing.....fluff, cuteness, monsters(is this a warning), mentions of death, SPOILERS

word count: 2154

prompt: when your best friend decides to leave your colony to go find the love of his life, you decide to join him on his journey even if you aren’t so happy about where this journey is going

Welp I did it, I took it into my own hands. I am writing a joel dawson series. Because we👏need 👏more👏joel👏fics👏 it’s basically the movie, almost the same script but obviously slightly different…ENJOY! <3

No one in my generation or later had a typical upbringing, I mean some of us did but then the world ended. This type of thing sounds straight out of some apocalyptic movie, but we basically live in one now. Agatha 616, an asteroid heading straight for earth, I know, so original. So we all came together and did what we do best, blow things up. Yup, we blew up teh asteroid, and humanity was saved! We thought. But here’s the thing about rockets, they are made of a bunch of chemical compounds which eventually rained back down on earth. Suddenly there were these Aileen creatures that mutated and started eating us. Ants, lizards, roaches, crocodiles, you name it. Our president was even killed by a giant moth. Ya….not so original now huh? We suddenly need tanks to kill ants, oh man I remember the good old days when a shoe would do just fine. Sometimes even the tanks didn’t work. Eventually the really big ones and our military took each other out and we lost 95% of the human population in a year! Those of us who survived hid, bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So for the last seven years I’ve been hiding in an underground bunker. It’s really not as bad as it sounds, and it’s better than getting eaten alive. It’s a great group of people and we all love each other.

“Are you sure they’re asleep?”

“Who?”

“Y/N and joel!”

“Oh ya I’m sure”

“Joel? Y/n?”

“He’s asleep”

Actually we are both awake. Me and my best friend joel have kinda mastered faking being asleep. Our beds are right across from each other so we normally just lie there and make stupid faces at each other. We are the only two single people in our bunker. Nice huh? Joel is my best friend. I met him when I joined the colony. He’s the sweetest. It’s funny cause everyone thinks we should just have sex already because that’s literally all everyone else does. But we are way above that. Anyway, joel is in love with his girlfriend from before the colony, her name is Aimee. With one “I” and two “e”s. He loves to talk about her, he writes her letters. So in reality, I am the only one who is not in love in this bunker. I’ve never had a boyfriend, ever, even before the world ended.

We don’t really get any sleep. The moaning kinda keeps us awake. I got up and out of my bed and headed for the kitchen. I heard Joel’s bed creak and then his footsteps as he followed behind me. Another annoying thing about being down here is that to get to the kitchen from my room, you have to walk though other people’s bedrooms. Oh shit, they are busy, why would they leave their door open. Me and Joel stopped.

“Oh” joel and I said in unison

“Hey Y/N! Hey Joel!” Ava said

“Oh hey Ava” Joel said, we didn’t dare look over to our left.

“Y/N how’s it going?” Tim asked

“T-totally good tim, h-how are you doing” I asked

“Yeah, good” he responded

“I uh we couldn’t sleep” said Joel looking at the ceiling

“Ya we know the feeling” Ava said with a laugh

“Yeah probably not for the…..same reasons” joel said looking straight ahead

“Your guyses door was open, did you…did you know that?” I asked

“Yeah we know” they said

I shook my head and knitted my eyebrows together

“Okay” joel trailed off

Ever since Tim’s parents were eaten by a swarm of termites he and Ava have gotten really close, in every way.

“Okay, goodnight” joel said as we walked

Basically everyone is coupled up down here, a baby was born last winter! Welcome to the apocalypse kid. Ok if we ever get out of this, that would be an awesome story to tell your kids. “Oh ya I was born in an underground bunker doing a monster apocalypse” “yes exactly like World War Z but with bugs bigger than a 5 story building”. I mean come on.

So your probably wonder how the hell we get food, we’ll we have a cow. Gurdy. Gurdy is great. We also have a hunting party that brings back whatever they can from the surface. It’s gotten harder and harder, cause we ran out of bullets. And facing one of those things with a handmade weapon is just as hard as it sounds. It’s very very difficult. I go with them….sometimes. I still get scared. But I’ve been out quite a lot, especially compared to my man joel over here. I’ve been out maybe 30 times, he’s been out…maybe once, or not even. He’s the chef of the bunker. He makes super good Minestrone.

Me and joel like to hang out with Mavis. A robot. Yup. Not much for conversation, her batter is shot. Just like every other mavis I would imagine. When I’m not hunting we hang out with her. But sometimes I just go read. Reading and joel keep me sane. I mean sometimes joel drives me insane but I still love him. I have quite the collection of books too! I’ve got Emma by Jane Austen, a couple random ones that we found, all the hunger games and Harry Potter books, some mysteries that stopped being mysteries after a while, and then of course some smutty romance books for personal entertainment.

Joel likes to say that his thing is target practice. He has never hit the target but ya know, gotta entertain yourself. I think his thing is drawing though, he has this book that he draws in from Aimee. It’s really cool actually. He’s really good.

I sat watching Joel as he tried to hit the target, laughing a little every time he missed. It was cute how hard he tried.

“Shut up” he said shaking his laugh away

I laughed again, but then suddenly the lights started flickering. You could hear screeches and creeks echoing through the bunker. Joel turned to look at me. Worry and determination in his eyes. We both scrambled out of the room and into the kitchen where everyone was preparing.

“Hustle, hustle people we’ve gotta move”

I turned to look at Joel but then realized that he wasn’t next to me. Where did he go? Worry flooded through me. Suddenly the clanking of our weapon started behind me.

“Hey guys!” Joel said as he rammed into the railing, I shook my head. “Guys! I’ve got the weapons” he smiled at me

A few people walked over to him taking them out of his hands

“Stay” said Tim

“W-what?” Joel asked looking around in confusion

Everyone was talking and barking orders “grab what you need and let’s go! Y/N you coming?”

My eyes shot open “yes! Yup!” I jumped up and grabbed the bow and arrow from Joel.

“W-what's happening?” He asked innocently “what’s going on?”

“There’s a breach” said Tim

“What do you mean? Like inside the bunker breach?!” He asked

“Yes joel! Now come on!” I told him, patting him on the pack as I followed the others

He followed me and watched the plan get arranged

“Anna, Y/N and I will engage. Anderson and Tom plank him”

“Plank him, ya ok where do you guys need me? You want me to uh come through the rear or..?” Joel asked eagerly

“I don’t think your going to pass this joel” I told him

“Pass what? You guys need help, let me help” said clutching his crossbow

“You gonna make me say it?” said Sam

“Say what?!” God he was so adorably clueless

“You can’t handle it joel, your shook” said Sam, we all began getting into positions

“Ya ok, yes so you guys don’t get scared..ever?” He asked still getting ready to fight

“We get scared, we all get scared joel, but you get really scared” said Sam

“They are trying to make you feel bad joel” I said sweetly, trying to calm him down

“We love you joel”

“But your a liability”

“Ok why did that speech feel so rehearsed? And what about Y/N? She’s like…ya know?” He said bobbing his head

“Joel-“ suddenly the bunker shook and the lights flicked again

“Ok 30 meters out! Let’s move!” And we were off

Leaving joel and some others behind. You could hear the growling of whatever we were up against

I followed the others and listened carefully. I was freaking shaking. Don’t ask how I got sucked into becoming one the the hunters. Kinda just happened and I was just-

“OH SHIT!” I heard someone yell, it was too dark to see. Someone was gone, that thing took them. I couldn’t even see it. Oh fuck my life. Everyone began scattering, running away from the monster. I stopped running to take a breath, when I realized I was alone. Nicely done Y/N. The lights kept flickering. I heard something blow up in the distance.

“Conned? Conner?” I heard a whisper, one I knew all too well. Shit, joel. I ran toward the sound, and had no idea I was also running toward certain death. I stopped running. There it was, that thing. I’d never seen this before. I didn’t recognize it. I stayed silent, not moving at all. It slowly crawled over a shower curtain. Oh fuck. He was going toward joel! I quickly grabbed my bow and arrow and shot it. Right though the face. Next to its….eye I guess you could call it. Joel stood there, frozen.

I slowly walked over to him “Joel, hey are you ok?” I asked as I slipped my hand into his. He was trembling. Tears ran down his cheeks. He has a bad freezing problem, so I've been helping him work on it.

About an hour later I sat with Joel, still holding his hand as he stared out into space. We could hear everyone talking. How could this have happened?

“It ripped through steal”

“Anderson and I resealed the Breach point, nothings getting in that way again”

“But why did it happen?”

I tried to toon it out, and I hoped Joel did too.

“Joel, do you wanna talk about it?” I asked squeezing his hand, he looked so sad, which just crushed me

He shook his head

“Ok….” I nodded, I leaned into hug him but was interrupted by his voice

“How far away is Aimee's colony?” He asked

I pulled back, looking at him confused. The talking stopped and everyone look at him

“What?” Tim asked

“Aimee’s colony, how far away is it?” He repeated

“About 85 miles” he said as he furrowed his brows

“How long will it take to get there?”

“What do you mean joel?” I asked leaning closer to him

“Just humor me, how long?” He insisted

“7 days” said Tim

“Someone who’s armed and trained would hardly last 50miles, but you…joel” Ava said, I felt bad for him, he really didn’t deserve any of this

“Alright” Tim continued “now I need volunteers”

“I’m gonna go” joel said

No one said anything, they just stared

“It’s an impossible journey joel” said Tim, crossing his arms

Joel stood up, moving around my chair. “No im serious…I love you guys but there’s only one person in this world who ever truly made me happy and she’s only 85 miles away” he said strongly “I’m gonna go see her” I could see his mind was made up

God he was such a romantic, how could you not love this guy? Sure it hurts when your best friend tells you that you didn’t make him truly happy. Especially when you maybe sorta kinda have a crush on him.

He let out a breath “woah, that felt awesome” he said as he walked off to start packing

I stood there for a second processing and thinking, but then suddenly my mouth took over and well….

“I’m coming with you!” I said, he froze “I mean you can’t leave me here with these middle aged people, and your my best friend so” I shrugged

“I’ll come back for you I promise” he walked over to me “I can’t let you put yourself in even more danger” he said grabbing my arms

“I can’t let you put yourself in danger knowing that I could have helped protect you” I said, he stared blankly at me

I smiled “o-ohK…then I guess…” he trailed off

“Cool I’ll go pack” I skipped past him. Was I scared? Hell yes. But like I said, I needed to help joel and protect him in every way I can. And sure I wasn’t so happy that he was returning to his long lost love but if it made him happy then I would live. And anyway, two do shorten the road.

#love and monsters #joel dawson series #joel dawson fics #joel dawson #joel dawson x reader

[queerbutstillhere-writes]

Mutual Pining

"I'm going to literally put my head through a wall."

"Pftt, why?"

Cissie shot a glare at Cassie, then turned, pointing at Bart.

"So? He's just . . . What is he doing?"

Bart was sitting on the beanbags in the corner of Cassie's room, just . . . Staring into space. He never sat still. Ever. Not for this long, anyway.

"He's been like this for weeks, Cassie."

"Why?" Cassie asked her girlfriend, shifting to look at her phone better.

"Take a wild guess."

Cassie sighed and set down the device, looking up at her fellow blonde, thinking. What could have Bart Allen literally moping.

Oh.

"Is it because of Tim?"

Cassie had overheard Bart talking to Cissie once about his crush on Tim. It sounded like he was in pretty deep, but no one knew Tim's sexuality.

"Close."

"Close? How can I be wrong, is there anything else that boy thinks of?"

"Yep. Well. Two things. Food, and . . ."

"And what?" Cassie asked, narrowing her eyes.

Cissie seemed less annoyed and more just amused now. Amused at holding this over Cassie, watching her struggle for the truth.

"What is the one thing, everyone on this team, has all been head over heels for?"

Cassie blinked at Cissie. Then she slowly turned to look at Bart. Then back at Cissie.

"OH MY GOD, KON?!?!"

Tim tapped angrily at the edge of the desk, scowling at his computer screen, then looking down at the case file.

"What's got your bat-panties in a twist?"

Tim didn't bother to respond. Nor did he bother to look up at Dick as the older vigilante walked over and ruffled his hair.

"Hey. You're tapping, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just tap."

This was true. He would bounce his leg or drum on surfaces or two against his collarbone. He just did that. It wasn't even something he thought about or noticed anymore.

"Okay. That's fair. But why are you glaring at the computer screen like it personally wronged you."

"It has. This case isn't panning out like I thought."

Dick was silent for a bit.

"Kon called earlier."

"Oh?"

Dick nodded, still reading the monitor. "He sounded worried. Said something about you missing a meeting?"

"They had training drills today. I couldn't make it."

A few beats of silence.

"Why not? You weren't doing anything. It's summer break."

"I was working on this case."

"So you skipped training with some of your only friends because of a case?"

Tim scowled deeper. Why was Dick questioning him? Why couldn't Dick just mind his own business? Tim didn't want to discuss it anyway. Besides, it's not like he was avoiding his friends or anything. No, nothing like that.

"It's an important case."

Dick snorted. "No offense Tim, but I don't really think the theft of those two paintings are really all that important. Besides, you know Bruce was just going to ask Selina."

Tim neglected to answer, leaning forwards and hitting a few buttons to run a program search.

"Why are you avoiding them."

To his credit, Tim didn't react, just watched code run across the screen as his program worked. Then he slowly looked over at Dick. His question had not been worded as a question. It had very much been worded as a statement. You're avoiding your friends and I want to know why.

"I'm not."

"You are. Normally when I would mention Kon, you'd at least grin or something, but just now you sat there and scowled like Bruce. Oh god are you becoming Bruce? Oh no, we need to get you help, quick-"

Dick grabbed Tim by the armpits and started pulling.

"Quit!" Tim said, but did laugh a bit, smacking at Dick with one hand as he grabbed onto the desk with the other, holding himself in place.

"Come on, Timmy, what's wrong?"

Dick asked, going serious once more as he sat on the desk, facing Tim.

Alright. Time to take a calculated risk. Talk to Dick, your kind of older brother who definitely has more relationship practice, and also practice with this certain issue, or continue to be harassed by him.

Then again, telling him could lead to more harassment.

Does Dick know he's gay?

Never mind, just don't mention genders and he'll probably assume you mean the girls.

"Okay. Okay fine. Don't tell anyone about this."

"My lips are sealed," Dick promised, smiling and pulling a leg up, knee against his chest.

"I thought I had a crush on one of my friends."

"Okay."

"Except now I think I have a crush on two of them."

Dick was silent for a moment, head tilted at him, considering this.

"Kon and Bart?"

Tim scowled, crossing his arms, facing Dick fully.

"Why did you immediately assume them?"

"I'm a detective the same as you are, Tim. I have eyes. I see the way you look at them, the way you act, posturing and showing off. I know how to recognize teen boys with crushes."

"Except when you're the teen boy with a crush."

Dick snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, unless it's me. So am I right."

Tim hesitated, then nodded.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know! I really like them both, but Kon's so straight and Bart . . . Bart just doesn't talk about relationship and things so I have no clue what he thinks."

Dick nodded distantly, and Tim really hoped he was thinking of ways to help and not ways to mock.

"Have you, and this just an idea. Have you considered asking them?"

"Why would I do that?"

"To find out?"

"Dick they don't even know I'm not straight!" Tim exclaimed, feeling more annoyed than anything.

"So tell them." Dick shrugged.

"That's not how this works."

"Tim. They're your friends. I highly doubt either of them have a problem with it. . . Now the crush thing, that may be an issue.

Tim groaned and dropped his head to the desk, banging it a few times.

So what if he had a crush on his two best friends. It didn't matter. He wouldn't say anything. It's not like he wanted to hold their hands and kiss them and cuddle and- no, it's not like he absolutely craved any of that.

Besides, even if he did come out to them, he'd have to pick between them, and he didn't think he could.

He'd have to pick, right?

"Why are you moping, kid?"

Kon glanced up at Kyle, scowling.

"I'm not moping."

"Oh you soo are."

Kyle easily picked up a huge piece of cement debris with his ring and spun, putting it on the big green truck full of other debris.

"I'm not!"

Kyle snorted, floating down to be level with Kon, who had done a third of the work Kyle had done so far.

"Sure. No moping, got it. So what is the cause of your Not-Moping?"

"None of your business," Kon muttered, picking up a piece of cement tangled with steel and turned, placing it on Kyle's construct truck.

"Okay okay. Do you want me to go get Supes then because-"

"No! Don't you dare!"

Kyle cracked a grin, creating two chairs with his constructs.

"Sit down and tell doc Kyle."

"I hate you."

But Conner sat down in the chaise like construct, glaring at the Green Lantern.

"I'm having relationship issues."

"Oh god that's a fucking mood. What's happening."

"There's this guy I really like. . . "

"Oh."

"Except, it's not just one guy."

"Oof."

"Yeah. And I don't think either of them know I'm not straight and that I like boys too, and I don't . . . Liking both of them is a problem."

"Ah, a classic love triangle. Alright, you want help cracking this?"

Kon took a deep breath, ready to yell at Kyle and tell him to piss off.

"So step one, you gotta come out to them. If one is like "ew, gross" then they're off the table," Kyle started, not even waiting for permission. "Two, see who you fit better with, personality wise, who do you get along with more. Three, make a decision. Probably regret it later."

". . . Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Kyle."

"See, I do know things! Like I know that you're way behind on clean up so you better get your ass in there!"

Kon scoffed as Kyle shoved him forwards, toward the debris, but he just returned to picking up, thinking as he worked.

Kyle was right. He should come out first. He'd been meaning to for a while, anyway. He'd only dated girls so far, but he still very much liked boys. Especially, as he had recently realized, Tim and Bart.

He was so screwed.

Why did he have to fall for both of them?

Bart was going to vibrate out of his skin.

The problem literally wasn't with him this time.

For once.

See, where he had come from, relationships were just whatever you made of them. Sexuality was more fluid and open, gender was just weird, standard relationships weren't necessarily between two people, sometimes there was as many as five people in one relationship. Sometimes there were even more. But. That's not how things worked here.

But he was going to vibrate out of his skin because he wanted to date his best friends and that's not how things worked here.

He just wanted cuddle piles and kissing and holding hands with both of them. Because he was in love with both of them.

And right now he was stuck, watching them flirt, and realizing that if anyone was going to get to date them, it would be each other and he wouldn't be involved. He'd be lonely.

Cue "All By Myself" by Celine Dion.

It was obvious Kon and Tim liked each other. They did all the typical flirty things, showing off, trying to one up each other, so on and so forth. They grinned at each other and touched each other and stared fondly at each other from across the room. Bart saw it all. And he knew he would never be the receiving end of all those looks and little things.

Only he was. And for all his speed, he never saw it.

He never saw how Tim fondly smiled and shook his head when Bart zipped off to do something silly. He never saw how Kon would just space off staring at him, a stupid grin plastered on his face. He never noticed the fond comments and nudges and smiles. He never really paid attention to how Kon often threw an arm around his shoulders as he traded him. And he never really noticed how Tim was always checking on him first after the team got hit hard. He didn't notice these things.

And boy, he would have gone into this conversation a lot different if he had.

They were all three just hanging out, laying around in the lounge area of their headquarters, Bart was laying half off the sofa, playing a video game on his DS. He wasn't really paying attention to what the others were doing because he was focused for once. Then Kon spoke.

"Hey, can uh. . . Can you two listen for a moment."

"Yup," Bart responded instantly, even as he moved so his feet were on top of the sofa and his head was dangling off.

"No like. Really listen, Bart."

So Bart sighed and paused the game, setting it down and looking back at Kon. Once he had Tim's attention, he spoke again.

"I'm . . . Uh, I'm bi."

Tim blinked at him, Bart scowled.

"What's that," he asked, and then gave a little wave. "Bye?"

Kon snorted and shook his head. "No, imp, bi. Bisexual. I like boys and girls."

"Oh. . . Huh. Neat."

Kon seemed nervous. Why was he nervous? Did he think they would accept him? That would be dumb if him, Bart was pretty sure he had mentioned how things worked in the future. So maybe he was worried about Tim? But why would he worry about Tim? Tim was their best friend. Why would Tim judge?

Kon was, in fact, looking at Tim now.

"Okay. Thank you for trusting us," Tim said with a smile.

A forced smile. His face was carefully controlled, even Bart could see that. Kon could definitely see it.

"Sorry if this uh, makes anything weird?"

Tim just shook his head. "No, you don't need to apologize, Kon. We want you to feel comfortable with us."

Kon nodded once, but stayed quiet. Bart glanced between them, as they were staring at each other, then sighed sadly, picking up his DS again.

Loneellyyyyy, I'm so lonnnellyyyy.

Ohmigodohmigodohmigodohmiodohmigodohmigodohmigodohmigodohmigodohmigodohmigodohmigod

Tim's brain had been screaming that for hours now, ever since Kon had come out.

So sue him for going to Blüdhaven instead of Gotham.

He banged on the window that he knew Dick climbed in and out of, waiting until the other vigilante slid it open.

"You know I have a front door, right?" Dick asked, leaning on the window sill.

"I know but I need to talk, are you free?"

"Not particularly."

Dick pointed behind him and Tim looked past to see a couple of the Titans inside, eating pizza that he could just now smell. His mouth started watering.

"Let him in, Dickiebird! We'll stay quiet!"

Dick squinted at Tim, but he knew it was directed to Roy.

"Yeah, fine, you can come in if you still want to talk with them here."

Tim found himself sat on the only free armchair, pizza in hand. He looked at the Titans, and then shrugged, taking a breath.

"You know that guy I was telling you about," Tim started warily, not wanting to out Kon to all of his brothers friends.

"The one you liked?"

"Yeah. The one with the dark hair."

Dick nodded. Thankfully he had picked up that Tim was trying to avoid names.

"He just told me that he's bi."

"Hey! That's great!" Dick exclaimed, grinning.

"Yeah. . ."

"You gonna tell him, or?"

Tim was silent for a bit, munching on his pizza.

"Should I? But what about the other . . ."

"Oh you're right," Dick scowled at the floor.

The Titans exchanged looks.

"What's going on?" Donna asked finally.

"Tim here has a crush on two separate guys, who are pretty close friends," Dick explained vaguely.

"Oh, classic. That sucks dude," Wally said, nodding and looking thoughtful.

It was Roy who shrugged and said the words that would be stuck on Tim's mind for the next month.

"Date them both."

Well step one had failed ultimately. Or well, rather, it went amazing.

But he was still stuck with having crushes on both Tim and Bart.

The problem is - as Tim had also previously complained about, unbeknownst to Kon - Tim is like, straight straight, and Bart just doesn't seem interested in relationships.

So he was so fucking screwed.

He was just laying in bed, moping and feeling sorry for himself, when there was a shout from downstairs.

"Kon! There's a girl on the phone for ya!"

Kon scowled at the ceiling. Phone? It was probably Cassie. But what could she want. With a sigh he pushed himself out of bed, grabbing a shirt and putting it on as he walked downstairs.

"Ma, where's the phone?" He asked as he got downstairs, stopping in the kitchen where Ma Kent was aggressively kneading dough.

She pointed at a wireless phone on the counter so he grabbed it, stepping out onto the back deck.

"Hello?"

"Hi. I'm tired of playing babysitter, come pick Bart up."

"Cissie?"

"Yep. Hi."

"Wait, babysitter? What's going on?"

Cissie paused, speaking to someone else on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah. Max left Bart in my charge for the day and I can't handle his moping anymore."

"Moping? Bart, moping?"

"It doesn't sound believable, but come get him and you'll see."

"Okay, let me to ask Ma."

40 minutes later, Kon was landing outside Cissie's house, knocking on the door out of courtesy before walking in. He first thing he noticed was one Bart Allen laying on the sofa, staring at the tv.

"Bart?"

"Kon!"

And just like that the ginger was hugging him tightly, eyes squeezed close as he squeezed around Kon's stomach. Kon just grunted lightly and hugged Bart back.

"Hey, imp. What's with you? Sis said you've been moping?"

"I-" Bart pulled away, scowling. "Not moping."

Kon snorted, but scooped Bart up, tossing him over his shoulder easily. Bart squealed in protest, grabbing Kon's belt loops.

"Where's Cissie anyway?"

"Dunno."

Kon carried him through the house, not even bothered by his weight. He weighed like maybe a 100 pounds anyway. They found Cissie in her bedroom, painting her nails and listening to music.

"What are you doing? Leaving a child unattended like this?"

Cissie looked up, eyebrow raising.

"What are you doing? Carrying a child like a sack of potatoes?"

"He's not a child."

"You just called him a child!"

Kon just grinned at Cissie and she rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, feel free to take him home."

"Really, you're just gonna do that?" Kon asked, feeling shocked that Cissie would just dump Bart, one of her best friends, on him like this.

"Yeah. It's you he wants to hang out with anyway."

"Cissie!" Bart complained, bracing his hands against Kon's back.

"Am I wrong?!"

"Shut up!"

Okay what was going on here?"

"Just have him back by like, I dunno, what time was Max coming to get you?"

"Nine."

"Okay. Have him back by eight thirty."

So Kon ended up leaving with Bart.

They raced back to Kansas, causing sonic booms and destroying a few fields along their way, but Bart was laughing and having fun, so that's all that really mattered.

When they got back to the farm, Ma Kent immediately had some chores for them to do, so they spent a few hours doing that and then stumbled inside, crashing on Kon's bed, side by side, still giggling from something Kon had said. Bart looked over at him, going quiet, smiling softly.

"What?" Kon asked, not knowing that he was also smiling back.

"Nothing. I just missed you."

"Oh."

Silence. Bart's eyes were really gold.

Why were they gold?

Who knows, but they're gorgeous. Kon really likes his eyes.

And then he was leaning in and lightly kissing Bart.

There was this slight pause, before their lips met, where he was leaning in. They were just inches apart, breath mixing, noses almost touching. Kon looked up at Barts beautiful golden eyes, as they both hesitated. It would have only been a mere second for anyone without speed based powers, but for them, the moment stretched out for a while. Kon was waiting, giving Bart the opportunity to pull away, to set down boundaries.

But then Bart's eyes slid shut and he tilted his face up towards Kon. This was permission if Kon had ever seen it, and he closed the small distance, lightly pressing their lips together.

It was soft and sweet and timid. Bart's lips were slightly chapped, probably from all the running in the wind - could he get Tim or Wally to make a super hydrating chapstick formula? - but Kon couldn't care less, because he was kissing Bart.

Kon pulled away first, pulling back far enough to look at Bart, who was steadily grinning more and more, slowly pulling his eyes open.

"You-"

Then he giggled, and kept giggling, rolling away and pressing his face into the sheets.

"What?" Kon asked, confused. But Bart kept giggling and Kon frowned. "What?!"

Kon rolled over so he was practically laying on top of Bart, tickling him, causing him to laugh harder, squealing and trying to get away from Kon. Obviously he didn't actually want to, or he would have been on the other side of the room by now.

By the time Bart finally stopped laughing, they were both in stitches, just grinning at each other as they gasped for air.

"Okay, what was so funny?" Kon asked finally, once he could breathe properly.

Bart took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling.

"I thought you were in love with Tim."

Kon blinked at him. "Oh."

Bart didn't respond, but did look over. Kon was silent for a bit.

"Which is. . . Honestly totally fair, because-"

Bart was rambling, but Kon was starting to realize that maybe, maybe, Bart had been in love with him.

"Bart-"

"And like, he's really pretty and I totally understand-"

"Bart."

"Because like, I'm kinda in love with him too."

"I like you both."

They had both spoken at the same time. There was about two seconds and then Bart was sitting up quickly, looking down at Kon.

"Could you run that by me one more time?" He asked, eyes wide.

"Uh. I like you both?"

Bart blinked at him, then grinned, flapping his hands slightly in excitement. Well, slightly for Bart. They were going slightly blurry.

"Oh my god I thought I was insane."

"What?"

Bart dove at him, and Kon grunted as Bart landed on his chest, chin on his breastbone.

"I thought I was crazy for being in love with both of my best friends. Well. Actually it's not that crazy for me. The future is like, super chill about relationships and stuff. But like, nowadays people think things like that are weird and-"

"Bart, what are you talking about?"

Bart scowled, looking away as he thought.

"Urggh, what's the current word for it?"

He scrunched up his nose, and Kon felt this pang of just pure emotions.

"Oh! Polyamory!"

Kon blinked once, then twice, then a third time. And it was clear Bart realized he may have made a mistake.

"Kon-"

"Wait. Like. Dating both of you?"

"Yeah, it's a thing in the future, I know a lot of people aren't comfortable with it and-"

Bart slid off of Kon, standing and starting to pace slightly.

"I just, I really like both of you and I want both of you and-"

Bart kept talking, but Kon was just staring at the wall now, thinking about this. Why had he never thought about this. Dating both Tim and Bart? It might be a little strange at first. And as Bart said, a lot of people probably aren't comfortable with it.

Bart had apparently out-worried himself and collapsed on the bed next to Kon, their legs touching as Bart looked up at him.

"Kon?"

"Yeah?" He asked, looking down.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Bart's golden eyes were wide and pleading. Puppy dog eyes. Who had taught that boy puppy dog eyes. Kon just ducked his head and pressed his lips to Bart's lightly. Bart sighed softly, pressing up into him.

"Boys?! Didn't Bart have to be back by eight thirty!?"

......

Tim was probably going to cry.

Okay not actually but he was kinda sad now so that's fine.

Reason for his sadness? Bart and Kon had gotten together two days ago.

Yup, you read that right. His two best friends who he's being incredibly gay for pretty much since he met them are now dating.

It's fine.

He's fine.

He's not.

When he had found out it felt like a knife through his chest. His breath had been stolen and he had wanted to cry, but he had to smile and fake that he was happy for them. They grinned back and would cling on each other and kiss each other and it was painful.

It was so painful.

And he didn't see the frowns and side glances and every little hint that they were doing this for his attention, to see how he'd react.

He was just heartbroken.

It would have sucked if had just been one. It had sucked when Kon and Cassie dated, but not quite like this did. Because he hadn't been in love with Cassie and he hadn't been in love Kon back then. But no  he was in love with both Kon and Bart and now they were together .

He kinda felt like crying.

He had gotten out of there as fast as possible, and sat on a gargoyle, staring off the roof and pretending he was patrolling.

He may have ended up avoiding Bart and Kon for the next few days, just because he can't. He couldn't be around them, and be with them and yet not with them.

It hurt so much because he thought that he and Kon had actually had something. He wasn't that dumb, he could tell when they were flirting. He knew that. He knew it happened a lot. And yet Kon had gotten with Bart.

He was jealous.

He was so jealous.

He hated how jealous he was.

He hated this so much.

"Why is he so difficult?"

"He's a brains over emotions, person, Bart. Patience."

"I'm not patient."

"I know," Kon said with a laugh, pulling Bart down into his lap.

Bart huffed, putting an arm around Kon's neck and pressing his forehead against Kon's head.

"What's wrong?"

They both looked up at Max as he walked in, raising an eyebrow at them.

"Tim."

Max raised an eyebrow, looking from his ward to Kon.

"Still trying to get him to date you two?"

"Yeah. He's avoiding us now."

"I think we should just go and talk to him," Bart grumbled.

"And I think we should give him space. He's clearly upset by us dating."

Max just nodded for a moment, sipping from the glass in his hand.

"Conner, I think I have to agree with Bart here. He's not going to realize what you want from him if you don't talk to him. Those Bats boys are like that."

The Max turned and walked out. Bart grinned at Kon smugly, and he just sighed

"Fine. Talk to him," he agreed. "Do you want to do it, since you did so good with me?"

"Yes! I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Wait, Bart-"

Bart kissed him and then disappeared in a shower of sparks. Kon sighed and shook his head, standing and picking up his backpack, calling a goodbye to Max as he walked out.

Tim nearly screamed when Bart appeared with a shower of sparks and a burst of wind, sending his papers flying.

"Oops!"

In another burst of light, the papers were gently replaced in their rightful spots. Tim sighed and looked up to Bart, who was now standing at his elbow, just in civilian wear.

"Bart?" He asked by way of a greeting, setting down his pencil.

"Hi! Watcha doing?"

"Homework."

"Oh. Boo. Homework is boring."

"Don't you have homework?"

"Technically yes, but Kon was over so I did it all super fast, don't tell Max though, and now I'm here because I want to talk to you!"

Tim raised an eyebrow, turning his desk chair to face Bart.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to ask you about something."

Bart hopped up on his desk, his little legs swinging. He was grinning, but he looked a little nervous, all the same.

"Okay. Shoot."

Bart hesitated.

Bart Allen hesitated.

This should have clued Tim in on what Bart was wanting to ask. It was apparently a very serious topic if Bart Allen hesitated to speak his mind.

"You know how Kon and I got together the other day?"

"I'm aware," Tim bit out, teeth clenched, trying to keep the scowl off his face. He wouldn't snap at Bart.

Bart bit his lip, looking down at the floor. He was hesitating again. And suddenly he looked a lot more nervous. Then he looked up, made eye contact with Tim, and then slid off the desk.

Before Tim could register what Bart was doing, the ginger had leaned down and was kissing him.

Tim shoved him off quickly, and was up, out of his chair and several steps back.

"What the hell?!"

"What?" Bart was staring at him with wide, worried eyes.

"Bart! You can't just do that! Not when you're dating Kon! What the hell?!"

Bart sighed, hanging his head and stepping back.

"I'm doing this wrong. Don't- just wait."

Tim scowled at him, putting his hands on his hips.

"What the hell is going on?"

Bart shoved a hand into his poofy hair, then turned to face Tim.

"We want you. We both want you. We want to be with each other, but we want to be with you, too."

Bart looked so sincere, and he looked scared. He was giving Tim this mixed look of fear, hope, love, and longing.

Tim went silent.

He hated to admit it, but his brain immediately went logical, examining all of the things Bart had just said to him, taking them apart word by word and making sure he fully understood what was happening. He looked at this with a very cynical thought process. And he ignored the part of his mind that was freaking out because of what Bart's proposal had meant.

"Tim?" Bart's voice asked, and now he mostly sounded scared. "If you don't- just let me know and I'll never mention it again."

Tim didn't respond.

They wanted to be with him. Clearly they had discussed this, and apparently quite a lot, if it had reached the point of actually bringing it up to Tim. Bart wanted to be with Tim, Kon wanted to be with Tim. Tim wanted to be with both of them. They could all date. Yes they'd have to hide it from the public, because people wouldn't approve of this type of relationship. But what did it matter. Tim already knew Dick would approve, and he suspected Bruce wouldn't have a problem with it. Maybe the Kent's would. But it's not like Kon cared what Clark said, Martha and Jonathan on the other hand. . .

Bart was still staring at him, wringing his hands, and Tim remembered that he needed to give some kind of reaction. Something. Anything before Bart started getting upset.

"Bart."

The ginger's head snapped up and Tim realized he was too late, Bart was already upset.

He walked over and grabbed Bart's hands, squeezing them, then moving his hands up to his face.

"Bart."

Bart blinked at him, his eyes weren't quite wet yet, but they were certainly close. Tim didn't know what to say. He wasn't good with emotions. So he leaned in and gently kissed Bart again. There was about a half a second of a pause and then Bart was eagerly pressing into him, hands grabbing onto Tim's arms, squeezing as they kissed. Squeezing as they backed up until Tim's shins hit his bed and they were toppling over, lips parted as their kiss deepened.

"Does this mean?" Bart breathed out, their breath mixing as he had just barely pulled away.

"I want it," Tim confirmed, and pulled Bart back in for another kiss.

Kissing Bart was exciting and new. It was like jolts of electricity running through him and yet soft and sweet and practically frustrating with how gentle it was. He wanted more and yet didn't want to lose this soft perfect kiss.

"Kon's gonna be so stoked," Bart mumbled, kissing Tim's jaw lightly.

"Tell him tomorrow," Tim told Bart, keeping his arms hooked over Bart's shoulders, keeping him down.

"Tomorrow."

Kon wasn't that surprised when Bart practically accosted him the moment he walked into the headquarters. He wasn't surprised when Bart leaned up and kissed him. He wasn't surprised when Bart pulled him away, into a side room they rarely used, that seemed a bit like an office.

He was surprised when Tim was sitting in front of a table, reading a book. And he was surprised when Bart zipped over to their fearless leader and bent down, kissing him gentle.

"Oh," Kon said, pieces falling into place. "Talk went well then?"

He shut the door behind him, and watched as Tim closed his book, standing.

"If you still want me," Tim said softly, glancing up and down over Kon.

"Of course, I do."

Kon walked over, grinning. He was happy. This was what he wanted. This was good. This was perfect. He put his hands on Tim's hips, tugging him in.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

Kon bent down and gently kissed him, and Tim was immediately pressing back into him.

"We're really gonna have to talk about sharing, aren't we?" Bart asked, and they both pulled away, laughing.

Yeah. This was going to be good. Kon could feel it. They would have their fights, and their bumps in the road. But it would be good. It would be worth it.

@core-disaster-week-2020

#timkonbart week #core disaster week #timkonbart #core disaster #tim drake #conner kent #bart allen #queerbutstillhere writes #queerbutstillhere

[klariwitch]

All You Ever Were was One’s and Zero’s

There was some sort of light above them. It casted long shadows among their noses, their bodies that pressed tightly against one another’s and even the little lilies scattered by the pond nearby. Was it the sun? Sure. Could be, if you were to look past the science fiction side of it. So, maybe it was a laser, or not, either way he found himself completely distracted from all the possible ill intent it held. He didn’t care. No, not when he had all this.

Conner was with him. Right there. Holding him oh so tightly. It was the way they were always supposed to be. His do-over.

The grass scratched at their legs below. It was nice at first, but now just annoying and itchy. He’d most certainly puff right up tomorrow but what did he care? Hell, he’d  choose to sniffle and sneeze all week if he had to.

They probably should have gotten up earlier, time passed so much quicker on the screen. Almost like, a movie you really like? One you’d never wish to end. Well, the credits were well past rolling. It was the kryptonian that kept him there. Tied him down like an anchor. It was okay, though. All is well in pure bliss. 

Kon huffed. He nudged his side slightly. “Hey,” he chuckled. What a fucking angel, “I know that look,” he nodded, brain doing small turns and twists. “Care to share what’s gotcha so stuck in that big brain of yours, wonder boy?” His voice. Oh god his voice. It rasped so heavenly and choked him into lust. Tim slid into his lap. They sat against the old barn, the rusty red paint properly poisonous, chipped and splintered from wear. 

They were indeed where they belonged. Not, in the city. Sure, that’s where they hung out most often and where they were to reside, but really they could only truly thrive out in the country. There, it would be quiet, peaceful, and…happy?

read the rest on ao3

Tim rolled his eyes in a playful manner. He tilted his head to stare at Kon, he could so easily lose himself in the depths of his eyes. Like some sort of romantic maze of one's and zero's.

He tangled his fingers in the inky curls. “Just that, I like this,” the boy shrugged, lips pursed. His voice kept quiet, almost like a hushed whisper with his mind preoccupied.

“You like this?” Kon chuckled, raising his eyebrow. Tim hummed a soft agreement as he felt large hands slip up his waist. “Care to be more specific?”

The robin tilted his head back, giving a soft sigh and hopefully the sudden sort of ability to quickly hide a blush. When he turned back, he held on to Kon’s face, fingers balancing below his jaw. Leaning slightly, he craned his head to dip in for a kiss. One, that would only last a split second before he pulled back away.

“Well, lets see,” Tim started, resting one hand on Kon’s chest and the other still gripping the black locks. “I missed that,” he gave his lips a glance, “I missed this, I missed you. I missed your touch, I missed your laugh, I missed your dumb jokes and your little rants and your cockiness and your smile and god, I missed your charm,” Tim groaned, looking away now.

Kon rested his head against the old boards of the barn. His fingers inched up his lover’s hip, and the other caressed the small muscles in his arm. He brought his palm in for a kiss, then set it down on his heart. His beating heart. “Fuck, Tim,” he bit his lip. “You didn’t lose me. You didn’t lose any of that,” Tim could hear the sigh escape his lips. If he were to sink any closer he could feel the hot breath on his neck.

The only problem was, he did lose him. Very much so. The Superboy died nearly a year ago and he hasn’t came back till now. Maybe that’s why it felt off. Why was he here again? Come to think of it, none of this was right. The blue sky tended to glitch around them, and he was pretty sure the original spot they had settled in was in the field. They had held hands and kissed in the dirt whilst flooded in nothing other than wheat. He remembered thinking that the sun didn’t hurt his eyes no more. No, not as it did before, not while Kon was huddled over him, kissing his-

No. He wasn’t to look far enough into it. He held on to Kon, in the now instead. This was better. This would be safer.

“Can you just kiss me?” He muttered, voice shaky and eyes tired.

Kon groaned. He'd never looked at him with such sad eyes before.“Tim, look-"

He kissed him. Kissed him because he didn’t want to fucking talk he just wanted to be held. With Conner, he felt completed. Obviously this was something he wouldn’t so easily let go of. The clone played along too, giving into the simulation in every way possible.

Then, a single tear came between them, and when Kon jolted away Tim watched his own tear stream down Kon’s cheek. How lovely was that? Anyway, the water flooded his eyes now and would have flowed over if it wasn’t for the thankful barriers.

Yet, they broke. Harshly, too. Like a dam ready to burst. Hot tears flooded down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Besides all that, the boy managed to remain almost completely emotionless and dull. What a scary look.

“Jesus,” Kon swore. “Tim? Love, you didn’t lose me. I'm right here. I promise,” he pleaded, holding his darling oh so very close. He lifted his chin, turning him face to face.

Tim held his expressionless disarray.

“What can I do to help? Whatever it may be,” Kon asked, too sweet for his own good.

His muscles stiffened. Any sort of way that could keep him from touching him, really. Why did he feel so nauseous?

It was all fake. All artificial and false and any other sort of synonym to describe the true alarm of the situation

A sob developed in his throat. “Can you just talk? I don’t care about what I just…” Tim looked him in the eye, “my head is so loud.” His request was obviously simple enough, because he heard a small ‘of course’ in return.

Kon pondered for a moment, it wasn’t everyday someone was to encourage him to talk. “Y’know, now that you ask me to its like my mind is just drawing blanks?” That earned a soft laugh. When Tim opened his eyes, it was just as before only this time, he was looking directly up at blue skies. He was laying on his back, not one cloud in sight.

“Lets see, well, one time I sunk a tractor?” Kon offered. His story continued on too, but to Tim it all sounded like babbles, getting drowned out by inaudible sound.

He realized then his full surroundings—some sort of strawberry field, with everything around them so overgrown and the light dimming that suggested evening. His head still was placed on Kon’s lap, of course he’d only notice that when he felt familiar fingers twirling his hair.

Something about this was nostalgic, like some sort of odd case of deja vu.

“We moved,” Tim stated duly. His doll eyes stared up at Kon with such curiosity, and his arm reached to caress the side of his cheek. Solid. Real. Even when all he really was-

“Hm. Yeah, I guess we did, didn’t we?” The meta glanced around. He picked one little white flower from the strawberry bush, tucking it neatly into Tim's hair. What an angel. His ttk seemed to be present as well, Tim found himself shuddering as the imaginary compression of hands snaked down his body and scrapped against his collarbones. “Malfunction?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Tim nodded, swallowing his gasp.

“C’mon, let's get out of here,” Kon finally announced. He stood then, bringing his lover up with him.

“What?” The Robin asked shockingly. On his feet now, he could feel the soft flower buds tickling up the ends of his jeans as he was lead out of the small field.

“I want to show you something,” Kon insisted, bringing him further along.

“Kon,” Tim halted. The air between them felt almost toxic and unwelcoming.

“What it is?”

“We uh,” the boy started, looking around for some help. “I mean, I don’t think we can..” Why couldn’t he finish? This was all so wrong, so incorrect and not to mention horrible for his health. The world quite literally felt like it was going to crash, how were they to surpass this? Who were they to decide to keep going? The system had already been running for so long…well he wasn’t quite sure how much longer it could go.

“Why do you only ever care when it's getting good?” Kon asked him harshly. That was sure to break his trance.

“What?” Tim shot back in shock. He was still holding his hand, only now Tim could feel his grip getting tighter. Bone crushing.

“Kon,” he gasped, eyes wide, “you’re hurting me,”

“Oh,” was all the superboy said in return. He loosened his grip and smiled, “shall we continue on?”

Tim just nodded. What else was he supposed to do? His hand throbbed, heart matching the same. He wanted again to ask where they would even go, but who knew what the computer would throw at him this time. Or, maybe it was his subconscious begging him to stay.

****

It didn’t take long for the pair to reach the car. It was of course the Kent’s old truck, parked in the midst of the driveway. The one that seemed to go on for miles. Maybe it did.

****

       He’d never seen so many trees in his life. It was like, being in a forest when really they were just driving down a dirt road. The trees seemed to change colors as they drove on, from darker greens to lightened ones and then fading into dead yellows and…reds? Fall.

The system was crashing, time speeding up far faster than could be contained. He’d have to leave this soon.

Somewhere along the way, Kon’s hand found his thigh. Tim looked up when he noticed, only to see his lover smiling at their surroundings. He placed his hand to overlap Kon’s.

He wanted to ask, ‘are we there yet?’ Like some sort of impatient child, but before he even had the chance to, the engine roared to a stop.

“Well?” Kon turned for his reaction.

All around them sat more trees, which didn’t appear to be much till he spotted the red fruit. An apple orchard.

In the center was nothing but a red checkered blanket and a bottle of white wine, accompanied by two tall glasses.

“You, Conner Kent, have truly outdone yourself,” Tim smiled, looking over his shoulder from the landscape, to his loving boyfriend.

It wasn’t so sad anymore, all the glitches. After all, he was sure the system could hold on just a tad longer, right?

“There it is,” Kon sighed a bit of joking relief, “there’s that famous Timothy Drake smile,”

He rolled his eyes at the tease, of course the never could have a sweet moment with the reminder of being best friends.

“Zip it,” Tim hissed, pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss. It was all too familiar, lips pressed together softly with some sort of rhythm going. Maybe he was just that lucky, too, because suddenly the car had no middle compartment he remembered, making it easier to slip into his lap.

Just like magic, he had Kon’s hands holding him steady at the hips and his own bringing him closer with his fingers intertwined with untamed curls.

They smiled, heads tilting and breaths quickening. If they were to have done this back at Gotham they’d have the paparazzi all over, the media would annoyingly wonder, “who is Gotham’s youngest bachelor dating?” But, without all that they could give less than one fuck.

It was only, when he felt strong hands slip up his shirt did it get interesting. Then feeling of warm fingertips against his cold back was something ethereal, like something could just possess him and ask for Kon to never stop.

Within enough time there was something new to drive him crazy—that being the trailing of kisses down his own jaw and down to his neck. This time, Tim allowed a few soft sounds to escape his lips, ones that bounced their way around the small roof of the old truck.

He thought, maybe he’d tell him he loved him, that he never wanted to leave this place and that he would promise to make it happen.

His knuckles went white when he gripped the seat, he could feel all sorts of emotions flooding his brain, all as kon slipped his way up-

The soft cushion of his lap turned to concrete. The fastest it ever had before.

It was numbing, really, the way his elbow hit the ground.

Tim cried out.

“Kon?” He called, sitting up in almost an instant.

He wasn’t there, though. He wouldn’t be there to lift him up off the ground.

“I wasn’t finished..” He whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

Above him, he stared. The blackened lens of the projector stared back at him, evilly.

“I said,” Tim spat, standing up to get a better look at the mindless machine. “I wasn’t finished!” He yelled at it. “I wasn’t ready yet!” The robin screamed at the projector, he’d probably hit it down if he was close enough.

It was times like this, where he couldn’t think. He couldn’t breath or speak. All he was left with was the ability to scream. To cry. To throw himself against the hard walls and punch the stone till the skin over his knuckles turned raw and sensitive.

He would look at the controls. Begging and praying to no god to bring his beloved superboy back.

Screaming and crying doesn’t help, though. Even with voice control. The audio constantly insisted on being fried whilst the robin barked back for it to all start up.

“System overload,” the robotic voice reported.

The creator sat slumped over in the corner. His eyes were bright red and puffy, cheeks flushed and hands torn to shreds. “Please..” He would beg the system, the one that didn’t understand that sort of command. “I love him, you know that?”

Still, the computer didn’t budge.

His chest felt heavy, hot and overemotional. It was fake but it still hurt. He lost Kon. Again. He wasn’t able to decide when he wanted to leave before the system shut down itself. But, who could blame it, really? That was sure to happen when you stay in for an almost forty-eight hour period. It was fried. Overworked, just as Tim was. Now he had no choice but to let the system to rest.

How had he almost forgotten he was there? Like some sort of magic wooed him into confusing tech and reality. Almost like some sort of alluring way of putting him to shame.

From then, he’d get to work. The next week or so he would simply spend his time hunched over a small computer screen, eyes wearing from overloading amounts of one’s and zero’s.

In no time, he spotted the hundred of bugs, that and the needed storage.

“That explains the teleportation and seasonal jumps,” he’d talk to himself aloud, anything to reassure the idea of losing his love.

He got to work immediately.

#timkon #Tim Drake #Kon-El #I know I already posted this I deleted it on accident #Red Robin #Superboy #timkon ao3 #tim drake x conner kent

[traya-sutton]

Gotta Give it Up for Shakesy-P

Happy holidays @awhitehead17!  I’m your secret santa lol, here’s your gift!

ao3

__________________________

“Quiet down now,” Ms. Prince ordered and the class fell into silence. The end of the period was near, and they were restless. “Your final project for Romeo and Juliet will be a performance piece. We’ll be doing an abridged version of the play in front of parents and friends two weeks from now.” This resulted in loud ‘Aww!’s from the class. Cassie wrapped her hand around Conner’s and squeezed, neck craning around the room. She was already picking who she wanted to do the project with. Conner wanted her or Roxy on in his group, but he could see Ray making eyes at him from across the room. It wasn’t that Conner didn’t like Ray, he just preferred to work with his friends.

“I’ve picked the scenes you will be performing,” Ms. Prince waved to the numbers written on the white board. There were three sets: an act number, a scene number, and a third number—almost of all which were between two and four, except for one which was six. “I have also written by the side of the scene how many people will be in each group. Groups will be picked randomly.” She said and pulled out a hat. This was met with another lament from the class. “After I pick your groups, huddle up and you can begin prepping for your piece for the last five minutes of class.”

Cassie sighed and dropped Conner’s hand. “Well, we tried.”  He said with a shrug.

“I just hope I get a death scene.” Cassie said. Ms. Prince started calling out scenes and names but the attention span of the class was gone. Conner only half paid attention.

“Who would be your Juliet?” Conner teased.

“Huh? Oh!” Cassie’s eyes flickered to Cissie at the front of the room, leaning over Anita’s desk to mutter something to her. Then back to Conner, the tips of her ears pink. “I-I mean-any death scene will do. I’d love to be Mercutio.” Then Cassie grinned at Conner and waggled her eyebrows. “What about you, Romeo? Which would you like?”

“-ake. Conner Kent.” Conner’s jerked his head to look as Ms. Prince wrote names down next to scenes. She picked another out of the hat. “Jaime Reyes. Bart Allen.” He’d gotten the six-person scene: act one, scene five. “And Stephanie Brown. Since we’re doing an abridged version, you’ll be starting the scene at the entrance of Capulet, alright?”

Conner flipped to the scene in his copy of Romeo and Juliet, and scanned it. It was the scene where Romeo and Juliet met. He counted the characters and the number of people written on the board. There were too many characters in the scene, they’d probably have to double up. Ms. Prince moved on to the next group.

“Act one, scene five over here!” He heard someone call.

“You got a romance scene,” Cassie said, glancing at his book. She laughed. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Conner said sarcastically and she shot him a thumbs up as he headed over to where his group sat. Bart was with him, that was good. Conner liked Bart, even if he was a little much to be around sometimes. Plus, Bart was on the track team so Conner would see him in the locker room sometimes.

He knew Jaime vaguely. He was on the football team with Conner, but other than the fact that he liked science Conner knew nothing about him. La’gaan he knew was on the swim team.  So they were a group of jocks, that would be fun. Conner would totally be able to get Romeo. There was a blonde he’d never met, but knew was a friend of the Waynes, and—Conner’s eyes fell on the last member of their group—a Wayne themselves. Well, fuck.

Tim Drake-Wayne. Tim was chewing on the end of a black pen as he read over the scene, completely ignoring everyone around him. Typical.

Conner was good at a lot of things. He was the best at most of them, in fact. Sure, he needed some help in math and science, but frankly, who didn’t. Plus, he was passing, which was good enough for him to not put in any extra effort. Almost anything Conner tried, really tried at, he was great at. Amazing, if one was being kind.

However, whatever Conner wasn’t good at Tim Drake-Wayne always seemed to be the one to excel. One step ahead whenever he was falling behind.

He knew that Wayne was on the debate team, Model UN, and the theater club. Oh, Conner realized, a theater nerd. This was going to be fun.

“Hi! I’m Steph! This is Tim. When are you guys free after school to work on this?” The blonde asked. She glanced at the clock. “We only have a few minutes before the end of the period.”

“Conner and I have football practice on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays after school, and Bart has track.” Jaime said, packing up his bag.

“I’ve got swim on Tuesdays.” La’gaan said.

“Well, that’s all the days of the week.” Steph said.

“What about after practice?”

“It ends around seven,” Jaime said chewing on his lower lip. “If someone drives me then I might be able to make it.”

Tim waved a hand. “Not a problem. How about tonight, Thursday, and then same time next week? It’ll only be for an hour or two at most.” He stood up, and pulled out of his phone. “Put your numbers in, I’ll make a group chat.” Bart took the phone first, fingers flying across the screen. Tim hadn’t even said  ‘please.’

Kon bit his lower lip. Entitled brat. He took the phone without complaint though and put his number in.  He passed the phone back to Tim just as the bell rang. “Awesome! See you guys later!” Steph hummed before grabbing Tim by the arm and pulling him out of the class.

Conner honestly had no idea what he expected when he checked his phone after football practice, but a message that simply said: Alfred is in a black car in front of the school wasn’t it.

“Who’s Alfred?” Jaime asked.

Conner shrugged. “Come on.”

They met Bart outside the school. Bart’s bag was gone, probably already in the car. He bounced up and down on his heels. “Dudes.” He said, waving his hands for emphasis. “You have to see this!” Then he sped off and Jaime and Conner exchanged a look before jogging after him.

Bart skidded to a stop in front of a Bentley. An honest to god Bentley.

“Ta-da!” He said, using Jazz Hands to add extra flourish.

A man who must have been in his seventies got out of the car and opened the door in the back for them. He had a British accent and wore a suit. Conner’s jaw dropped open. “You must be Master Tim’s classmates, Mister Allen was telling me you would be along soon.” Conner had known that the Waynes were like, stupid rich, but this was ridiculous.

Yeah, sure, the ‘black car’ in front of the school.

“Woah.” Jaime breathed. Conner agreed, but his exclamation would have been a little more on the inappropriate side.

“You’re Alfred?” Conner asked stupidly. Because… duh.

“That I am, sir.”

Conner, Jaime, and Bart slipped into the back seat. Alfred closed the door behind them and sat in the driver’s seat. “I believe we have one more friend of yours to pick up, yes? A Mister… La’gaan?”

“Yes, sir,” Conner said and shut his gaping mouth, because really Ma had raised his with better manners than that.

“What about Steph?” Bart asked, vibrating in the squishy seat beside Conner and Jaime. The kid seemed to be unable to sit still.

“Miss Brown is already at the Manor.” Alfred said and pulled out of the school parking lot. Conner’s phone dinged and he glanced at it.

Jaime

Alfred picked us up

Tim responded so quickly that Conner was shocked.

Tim

awesome

Steph

see you guys soon :peace sign:

They drop by La’gaan’s place to pick him up and because he’s last he gets the front seat next to Alfred. After that they head to the Waynes’ house. When Conner asked what the address of the house was he received an odd look in the rear-view mirror from Alfred.

“Dude,” Bart said, “it’s Stately Wayne Manor, that’s the address.” Well, then, Conner thought.

He wished Alfred had picked a larger car, he was crushed up against Jaime.

“We have arrived. Master Tim is waiting for you in the library,” he said, opening the door for them. He led them through the doors of the Manor and into the hallway.

Stately Wayne Manor was huge. Absolutely enormous. Conner’s mouth dropped open again against Ma’s better breeding, and he stared as Alfred directed them to the library. Bart was reading Wayne Manor’s Waynipedia page like stats for a weapon in a video game. “-and as for the library, that’s really a misnomer since Wayne Manor has four libraries, and three studies-”

La’gaan opened door to the library. Steph sat on the ground, her back resting against the coffee table. Tim sat across from her, his legs crossed on him. He was scribbling something in his copy of the play. Behind the coffee table was a mobile whiteboard.

“I leave you here, good sirs. Tell me when you are all finished.” Alfred said, and strode back the way they’d came.

Tim looked up when they came in. Steph grinned.

“Welcome!” She crowed. She waved them over.

Conner dropped his bags with the others by the door, digging out his book before heading over to the couch.

“Hi!” Bart sang. He sat on the floor next to her.

As soon as Conner sat on the couch, the cushions bowing under his weight, Tim jumped to his feet and around the table. He took a magnetic marker from the side of the whiteboard.

“Oh great, are we back at school?” La’gaan asked.

Tim gave La’gaan a condescending look and La’gaan flushed. Tim twirled the marker between his fingers. “Okay, I’m sure we’re all busy so let’s get started with parts.” Tim said.

Bossy.

Tim quickly scribbled out all the parts on the whiteboard—Capulet, Romeo, Juliet, Tybalt, Nurse, and Others.

“Others?” Jaime asked, flipping through his own book.

“There are three one line characters in the scene. Remember? Ms. Prince said that we’ll be skipping the first few lines to get to the plot of the scene.” Tim explained.

“Can I take those then?” Jaime asked. Everyone turned to look at him. “I’ve got stage-fright,” he said quietly.

“Sure,” Tim said. He wrote Jaime’s name down on the whiteboard.

“Can I be Tybalt?” Bart asked. “I can carry a sword.” He grinned.

“Sure, Bart is Tybalt. I’ll be Romeo-”

“Why do you get to be Romeo?” Conner asked.

Steph laughed and Tim gave Conner an odd look, like he thought that Conner was an idiot and was amused by him. “Conner, please.” Tim said.

“No, seriously! I’m big and strong, why can’t I be Romeo?”

“’Cuz Tim’s a theater nerd.” Bart argued.

Steph laughed again. “He is!”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I am not.”

“You are!” Steph grinned. “You’re totally a theater nerd!”

“I’m not.” Tim insisted, but his ears were pink. “But yeah, I should be Romeo because I act.”

Steph snickered to Bart, waving a hand daintily. She mimicked Tim’s voice and gave it a large drawl, “he acts.” Bart burst into giggles. Tim ignored them both.

“So? I look the part.” Conner said, bringing them back onto topic.

Tim turned to face him. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a black shirt and jeans that, each on their own, probably were worth more than Conner’s car. He was giving Conner that amused and condescending look again. “Come here,” he said.

“What?”

Steph whistled, looking like Christmas had come early. Her eyes flickered between them.

“Come here.” Tim insisted.

Conner stood. “Put down your book,” Tim said. He looked around the library for a second before he motioned to one of those ladders that roll around bookcases so people can reach high shelves. “Sit on the ladder.”

“On the ladder?”

“Just do it.” So Conner sat on the ladder.

Then Tim got down on one knee. Conner ignored the snickering of the others. Tim looked up at him and Conner raised an eyebrow. Was something… supposed to happen?

Then Tim looked up at him. The warm lights of the library illuminated his eyes, making their blue sparkle. Tim’s condescending expression melted, and he looked up at Conner. His eyes fluttered and he looked… awed.

Conner’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“But… soft… what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun,” Tim whispered. Conner swallowed thickly. Tim’s eyes flickered back and forth, staring at Conner. Through Conner. Taking him in, absorbing him.

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon/Who is already sick and pale with grief/That thou her maid art far more fair than she/” his voice had a quiet shock to it, chills went up Conner’s arms, “be not her maid, since she is envious/her vestal livery is but sick and green/and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off./It is my lad; O, it is my love! O that she knew she were!/She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?/Her eye discourses; I will answer it.” Tim clutched a hand to his heart, tearing his eyes away from Conner’s, as if it hurt to look away.

He looked embarrassed. “I am too bold; ‘tis not to me she speaks.” He turned to look up at the ceiling. “Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven/having some business, do entreat her eyes/to twinkle in their spheres ‘til they return/what if her eyes were there, they in her head?/The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,” he sighed, leaning against the ladder, dramatically. He looked back up at Conner wistfully, “as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven/would through the airy region stream so bright/that birds would sing and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!” Tim leaned closer to Conner and took his hand in his own. He pressed it close to his lips, as if he were going to kiss it. Tim’s breath tickled Conner’s fingers. He glanced up at Conner again, the words whispered. “O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.” He raised a hand, as if to brush it against Conner’s cheek. Tim’s lip quivered.

“That’s-” Conner couldn’t form any other word. There was nothing after ‘that.’

Then Tim stood and shrugged that sensitive facade off, and the asshole was back. “I’m Romeo.” He said simply. Bart began a loud, obnoxious slow clap, and Conner was rudely sucked back into the present, choking on his breath. He stumbled off the ladder.

Steph whooped. “Bravo! Bravo!” The other boys clapped also, though Conner wasn’t even sure if Jaime (who stared at Tim like he’d never seen him before, jaw slightly ajar) was conscious that he was.

“That’s-That’s not our scene.” Conner argued, but his argument fell on deaf ears. The boys stared at Tim with a new sense of awe.

I could do that, Conner thought angrily. Tim preened self-satisfied under the shocked reaction of the others in the group. I could do better than that!

Steph moved on, clearly no longer caring about Tim’s performance. Perhaps she saw it often. She swung her feet up onto the coffee table. “I call the nurse.”

“Why not Juliet?” La’gaan asked.

“Why should I be Juliet? Because I’m a girl?” Steph scoffed. “Capulet is obsessed with a blood feud, Tybalt is an idiot, Romeo and Juliet kill themselves rather than just move to a new city. The nurse is the only rational person in the play.”

“Well, I’m not going to be Juliet.” La’gaan grumbled. “I’m Capulet.”

Tim scribbled the parts down on the board. He turned to Conner. “That makes you Juliet, big guy. You okay with that?”

“My masculinity isn’t threatened.”

“Good thing, Juliet.” Tim said and wrote Conner’s name down.

“Wait! I want a shot.” Conner said stubbornly, arms crossed.

“Huh?” Tim asked mildly, picking up his play.

“You… auditioned for us, right now, to be Romeo. I want a callback.”

“To callback you have to audition first,” Tim corrected and Steph snorted.

“Nerd.”

Tim leveled a glare at her. “I hate you.”

“Give me a shot. I’m not a diva like you-”

Tim huffed, “I’m not a diva.”

“-But give me a week. We meet twice a week for two weeks until the performance, right? Give me a week, and I’ll prove to you that I can be a good Romeo.”

“Being Romeo is more than just being able to say a few poems. Our scene is iconic,” Tim snapped, he gesticulated widely as he spoke, “it’s where Romeo and Juliet meet! If our scene doesn’t land, the whole play means nothing.”

“Dude, it’s just a grade.” Jaime muttered.

“It’s our final project,” Tim said, crossing his arms. “You guys know that Ms. Prince used to do Greek plays and tragedies professionally, you get that right? She’ll have high expectations.”

“And I’ll get us that A,” Conner insisted. “Let me try.”

“I thought you didn’t mind playing Juliet.”

“I don’t.” Conner tried to copy the condescending look that seemed to be a favorite of Tim’s. “Do you?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t take the bait.

It wasn’t a lie, either, Conner didn’t mind. Conner just hated that Tim was better at this than he was. He was Conner Kent. He could out act Tim Drake-Wayne. He knew he could, if he tried. It wasn’t like acting was that hard, right? So you lie, big deal. Anyone could do that. I could do better than that.

Tim’s lips twisted into something that had to be classified as a smirk, but it definitely looked more sinister. “I’m Romeo,” He said simply. He turned back to the whiteboard, Expo in hand.

“I’ll make it worth your while!” Conner said. Last ditch attempt.

“Please, you two,” Steph said, “get a room first.”

Conner made a rude gesture at her that she returned without a glance. Tim just rolled his eyes at her, but he turned back to Conner.

Conner had a foot in the door. He could feel victory in his hands. Conner Kent always got what he wanted.

“Oh?”

“If my Romeo makes you literally go ‘wow’ or ‘woah’ or something of the sort, or I get a majority of at least three,” Conner waved a hand at their other group members.

While La’gaan and Bart looked excited by the idea, Jaime groaned: “Leave me out of it, Ese.”

“-that agree that it was a ‘woah’ moment, I get to be Romeo.” Conner said.

“And when you fail miserably?” Tim asked, arms crossed.

Conner shrugged. He wasn’t going to lose, so whatever he bet was inconsequential. “I buy you a pizza.”

“I’m rich, Kent. I can buy myself a pizza store if I really wanted.”

Bart’s eyes lit up. “Really? Do it! Do it now!”

“I’m not buying a pizza store.” Tim said. Bart deflated, grumbling something to himself.

“Nice try. I give it a five out of ten, would have worked if Tim wasn’t like stupid rich,” Steph said.

“I don’t know, I could get you date with the head cheerleader.”

“Not interested.” Tim said, turning slowly back to the board. “So for theme-”

“Ooh, strike two. So close.”

“Wait!” What on Earth could be something Tim wanted? If it wasn’t money or food based, then all he had left were possibly embarrassing things. Conner watched as Tim tapped his foot, yes literally tapped his foot, against the floor gently, eyes fixed on Conner’s soul. Something embarrassing that would prove that Tim was better than Conner… he’d appreciate that. He was on debate, and members of the debate team always had to be right. “Uh, I’ll let you pick a scene, segment, or play for me to preform blind in front of the entire English class, and you can critique me.” Conner said.

“Ooh, playing on his ego. I like it.” Steph said, grinning. She turned back to Tim, who was still tapping his foot. “Rebuttal?”

Tim was quiet. His face blank.

“Well?” Conner prompted.

Tim brought an index finger up to his lip, tapping against it as he thought. “I’m processing...” Tim mused. “Hmm… Processing… Assessing risk… Weighing pros and cons...”

“Oooh, pros and cons list.” Steph nodded sagely. “He’s really thinking about it.”

“Alright, worth the risk. Proposition accepted.” Tim stuck out his hand, as if they were going to do a business deal.

Conner strode over and slapped his hand into Tim’s. He squeezed slightly, just to see how Tim would react. Conner carefully didn’t cry out when Tim squeezed back, damn was he stronger than Conner too? Now, Conner had the urge to arm wrestle him.

He… may have had some issues. But if it got him the part, who cared.

Tim turned back around to the whiteboard and Conner sat on the arm of the couch, and pulled out his book. La’gaan was giving him an amused look.

“What?”

La’gaan shook his head and laughed. “Just take ‘em out and measure, dude.” He snorted.

Tim said loudly: “anyway.”

“He’s right.” Steph hummed, winking at La’gaan. Bart gave her two thumbs up.

“Anyway,” Tim said, pulling their attention back to him, “theme. I was thinking something that isn’t classic, since almost everyone will be doing classic. I mean with-” and he continued to prattle on animatedly, but Conner was no longer listening. He was too busy studying Romeo’s lines, and daydreaming about how he was possibly going to up what Tim had just done to him. He had a lot of planning to do.

As Thursday drew nearer, Conner practiced and practiced and practiced. He knew his scene backwards and forwards, and was almost ready to be off book. In the showers after football practice, he’d practically sung his lines (much to Gar’s annoyance). For hours on Wednesday he’d sat in front of his mirror and worked on reciting the lines, making different faces while he did to see how they looked on him.

When Alfred swung by the school to pick Conner and Jaime up, Conner felt he had gotten much better. Maybe even Tim level by now, even if he still wasn’t settled on blocking for the scene. They’d decided on a modern view of Romeo and Juliet (but Tim had compromised on Bart’s/Tybalt’s sword). Tim had gone on a tirade about how having two boys be Romeo and Juliet could be a commentary on society or some shit… Conner honestly had been thinking more different reactions Tim would make after Conner blew him out of the water as Romeo. One where his smirking blue eyes would be wide with shock, or as pupil-blown as Conner knew his own were (despite how he really felt about Tim’s obnoxiousness) whenever Tim played Romeo. Or how maybe Tim would whisper ‘wow,’ and his hands would linger on Conner’s.

Maybe Conner would kiss him, the script called for it. Every time the kiss came up in the script during rehersal, Tim inconspicuously would find a way to skip that part. Conner would have been offended if he hadn’t been thinking in those moments about how much better Conner would be as a Romeo.  

Who knew someone with such cutting expressions could be so soft?

Everything that Tim did as Romeo (and apparent director, it seemed, fuck he was bossy) Conner took mental notes on. It would have bothered him less though if Tim wasn’t doing the same—only Tim’s notes weren’t mental. He said them, aloud and self-importantly.

“It’s a poem, Kent,” Tim said. “Our lines are a sonnet. If you don’t say them in time, you miss half of the beauty of it.”

Then Tim proceeded to preform the entire conversation on his own, but all Conner could focus on was how good Tim was as Juliet. (And yeah, the poem thing when done right was really cool. Conner spent the rest of that meeting practicing his timing, because if they could pull that off for the play, they’d get an A straight off, even if everything else went wrong.)

“Wow,” Bart said as the boys sat in the car on the way back to their houses. “Tim is really bossy. Who would have thought?”

“Right?” La’gaan said. “I thought you would totally blow your lid,” he said to Conner. “I would.”

“He’s a theater kid, guys. Of course, he’s bossy when it comes to this project.”

“And it’s not like you help with that,” Jaime teased, nudging Conner’s shoulder, “you keep egging him on.”

“Whatever I do or say is an appropriate reaction to his pretentiousness.” Conner argued. Alfred pulled the car up to Ma and Pa’s and Conner opened the door.

“Oh? Is that what we’re calling it now?” Bart asked. Jaime and La’gaan shared a grin.

Conner didn’t get it. “What do you mean?”

The others shook their heads, exasperatedly. “Never mind, Juliet.” Jaime sighed. “See you tomorrow.” He closed the door behind Conner and the Bentley sped off.

Conner was invited four different times to the party at Wayne Manor on Friday night, and not once was by Tim (although one invitation was from a Wayne). Tim’s older sister invited Conner and the rest of Tim’s English class, as well as half the school. Cassie insisted that Conner went with her so she wouldn’t be going alone. Steph demanded that their English group come to make fun of Tim. And, as a football player, Conner was also invited by the Senor members of the team—whether or not any of them had a formal invitation, Conner wasn’t sure, but either way he counted it.

Friday night came, and Conner, as well as half the school, showed up at Stately Wayne Manor to trash it.

The party was much like any other party that Conner had gone to. There were those who went because their friends did, those who went to get wasted and out of their house, and those who weren’t invited but it was a party, so of course they were coming. Conner himself had no idea why there was a party, but when he finally arrived it was clearly well underway.  

Cassie was called over as soon as the two of them passed the threshold by Cissie King-Jones. She shot Conner an apologetic look (with the volume of the music there was no way they could hear each other), and he waved her off and pointed to his teammates. He’d just hang out with them. She blew him a kiss and pushed through the crowd of teenagers.

After a game of beer pong that Conner, of course, slayed, he grabbed his second beer from the kitchen and headed upstairs. With all the extra practicing for the group project, plus other school work and sports training, Conner was lacking some sleep. Today, he hadn’t drunk anything other than Red Bull and the beers from the party. His head pounded, and the music was definitely going to give him a migraine. He couldn’t leave yet, it was still too early and Cassie was his ride anyway. Thank god she’d volunteered to be designated driver.

Conner realized, as he climbed the stairs and the thrumming of the music quieted, that he’d never been anywhere but the first floor of the manor. Wayne Manor loomed around him. The hallways were lined with paintings and sculptures. None of the rooms were labeled, and most were locked when he tried them.

Conner took a swig of his beer. It buzzed through him gently, easing the pounding in his head. Conner came to a fork in the halls and picked one at random. He continued walking.

The painting shouldn’t have surprised him or made him stop, because he knew, theoretically, that this house was probably full of old oil paintings like this. But, this one was different than the expensive landscapes and modernist art that had lined the halls before them. This painting was a family portrait.

Conner took another sip.

In it, Tim looked exactly like he did now, though perhaps a little younger—he was maybe fourteen. His younger siblings, or… the people Conner thought were Tim’s younger siblings with that weird amalgam of children in the Wayne family, clearly hadn’t been adopted yet. But his sister was. She slung her arm over Tim’s shoulder, positioned to his left. She was giving the painter a light closed-mouth smile. Between her and Tim stood an older man that had to be the Bruce Wayne himself.

Hmm… Conner mused, his unoccupied hand drifted up to run his fingers across the bottom of the frame. Bruce Wayne looked… different than Conner usually saw him online and in the pictures used in Lois’ articles. Softer. Less aloof. More like a father. Next to him, framing the other half of the picture was a young man who was definitely Dick Grayson. He rested one hand on Tim’s shoulder. One of Bruce’s arms slung across Dick’s shoulders. Both of them were giving smiles—Bruce’s looked like it was straight out of a stock photo. Dick’s was stupidly large, all encompassing and completely awe-inspiring. Looking at him, Conner felt a stupid grin spread across his own face.

But Tim wasn’t smiling at all.

Something about it made Conner clench his beer harder and take another sip.

Conner turned away, and continued along the hallway. He turned a corner and ran right into Stephanie Brown.

“Sorry.” Conner mumbled. “You alright?”

“Huh?” Steph asked, looking up at Conner. “Oh, hi Conner. Yeah,” she pulled her hair up into a purple scrunchie, “I’m fine. What’re you doing here?”

“It’s a party.”

“Uh, the party is downstairs.” Steph said, pointing down to the ground. Conner looked at his feet, as if he could see through the floor. Steph laughed. “But maybe you can help me with something else.”

“Oh?”

Steph hooked a finger behind her. “I’m going to have fun, but Tim’s being a party pooper and won’t come down. Convince him to loosen up a little, chill?” Steph asked. She patted Conner on the shoulder as if he’d already agreed, which Conner was pretty sure he hadn’t (and he wasn’t drunk yet, so saying things he wasn’t aware he was saying wasn’t a probability), then she skipped passed him.

Conner drank some more liquid courage, and turned the corner.

Tim’s door was open, and his room was empty, well, of people at least.

Conner surveyed the room. It was as large as Lois and Clark’s apartment in Metropolis. It was also a complete mess, clothes and books and video games scattered across the room. Huh. Who would have thought. Conner had a strange urge to check under Tim’s bed for porn, see if he was a real boy.

On Conner’s left he could see a half open bathroom door, and another door that was closed. Conner wasn’t sure if it was another room or a walk-in closet of some type. Other than that, what could it be?

A cold breeze drifted through the room. Conner’s cheeks burned from the booze in his veins.

Steph had said that Tim was in here, but it didn’t look like he was… unless… Conner walked over to the open window and poked his head out.

Tim Drake-Wayne sat on his roof, arms wrapped around his knees. He stared down at the ground below, which, Conner stood on his tiptoes, overlooked the parking lot. People danced and sang and hooted below.

“Hi there,” Conner said.

Tim turned his head. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was invited. You?”

Tim narrowed his eyes.

Now, there was the pretentious-robot Conner knew and hated.

Conner shakily climbed out onto the roof. He sat next to Tim and leaned forward a little to watch the buzzed teens below. “Learning normal teenage habits to imitate and then scoff at?” Conner asked. He took another sip and wobbled (less from the booze and more from the precarious position he sat in). Tim’s arm whipped out and grabbed Conner’s forearm to steady him. Conner flashed him a smile in thanks.

Tim dropped Conner’s arm and curled back up over his knees. “Did Steph send you? I’m not going down there.”

“How dare you! Of course not!” Conner paused, and Tim gave him that infuriating expression that clearly said he didn’t believe him. “I was enlisted after I had already left the party.”

Tim didn’t reply. Another breeze fluttered passed them and Conner watched Tim not move, not even shiver a little.

Perhaps robot wasn’t the right word. It needed something more pretentious, like a statue. One of those great, large pale Roman ones that were missing arms and you could see every sinew and muscle in, but were frozen in time.

Except, of course, that Tim was dressed.

“Aren’t you cold?” Conner asked, nodding to him.

Tim looked down at his clothes. He wore a black button up over slacks, like a true grown-up pretending to be a child. Tim shrugged.

“Are you?”

Conner shook his head. He drank some more beer. Tim’s eyes followed his hand, then went sharply back to people-watching. Conner shrugged off his leather jacket and held it out to Tim. Tim’s eyes flickered back to Conner, surprise cracking his cynical facade. Then his gaze fell to Conner’s chest.

“My eyes are up here.” Conner told him, waving the jacket in Tim’s direction.

In the dim light of the room and what drifted up from the parking lot below, he watched as Tim flushed. Or, Conner thought he was flushed. He wasn’t sure.

“Sorry.” Tim mumbled. “It’s just… your shirt.”

“What about it?”

Tim was definitely blushing now. “It’s… y’know. Cool.”

Conner wasn’t even sure what shirt he was wearing. He glanced down. It was a Wendy the Werewolf Stalker shirt with a picture of Seraph on it and a quote of his.

“You like Wendy? You?”

Tim frowned. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s fun.”

“It’s just… not… y’know.”

“What?” Tim quirked an eyebrow, and Conner got that feeling he got so often, like Tim was laughing at him.

“Stuck-up.”

Then Tim really did laugh. Or, chuckle, but that was close.

“No big soliloquies, and… I mean the deepest shit in there is the metaphor for growing up, which really is undercut by the episode where Wendy worked at a doggy day care that actually was for werewolves.”

Tim chuckled again. “Dog Days.” He said.

Conner was pleasantly surprised that Tim even knew the episode name. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Tim shrugged sheepishly, “you know all those speeches and analyses on Romeo and Juliet? They’re not mine.”

“They’re not?”

“No, they’re my brother’s, Jason. He gave me a rundown on the scene before you guys showed up, and that thing about a gay modern Romeo and Juliet, that’s all shit he lectured us on at dinner Wednesday night.”

Conner frowned, lip of the beer bottle halfway in his mouth. “Wait, is that why Steph couldn’t stop giggling?”

Tim laughed. Really, big, belly laugh. “Yeah.” He sighed, and leaned back against the roof, staring up at the sky. Conner lay back next to him. In Gotham there were no stars, barely even the two or three Conner got in Metropolis when he stayed with Clark and Lois. An airplane flew passed, blinking through the dusty clouds.

“I like… I like Wendy, and Enya, and video games. You know?” Tim said. “All this… Shakespeare and, I don’t know, honors English class and sweater-vests,”

“God, do you have sweater-vests?”

Tim ignored him, “and slacks and blazers and whatever. It’s not really me. It’s Tim Drake-Wayne. Not… Tim Drake.”

And for the first time, Conner realized that Tim didn’t used to be a Wayne. He was a… Drake, also. Whatever that was.

“Then why do you… do that?”

“Do what?”

“Treat everyone else like they’re below you. Lie. Be a pretentious asshole.” Conner’s tongue felt a little numb. He pulled his leather jacket into his lap.

Tim’s hand found his—his fingers were freezing and Conner winced, but didn’t pull away. Tim took Conner’s beer from him and brought it to his own lips, upending the bottle in his own mouth. Tim wiped the remnants from his lips with the back of his hand.

“Because it’s easy,” Tim said. He burped and Conner snickered even though it wasn’t very funny. His head was pounding again. “Because I’m good at it.”

“You’re not that good-” Conner tried to argue, but he knew that it was just macho posturing. That was what Conner was good at, what propelled him through his days, being better than everyone else.

“Conner, please.”

“Yeah,” Conner agreed. “So… that’s why you act? Because it’s easy?”

Tim shrugged. “Yeah. Pretty much. Why? Why do you do it?”

Conner shrugged also. “I don’t know. Because I want to beat you.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, nothing against you, it’s just that, you know, I’m Conner Kent.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just-you know.” Tim’s voice got quieter. He waved a hand vaguely. “You’re Conner Kent. Quarterback of the football team, popular kid, Ultimate Jock, part of Model U.N. and…” Tim’s voice trailed off. “just the Best at Everything.” Neither of them said anything and then Tim added, almost whispered: “I didn’t get mad at you calling me pretentious, you can’t get mad at me for this.”

Conner snorted, but didn’t say anything else. He turned. Tim stared up at the sky, watching the dusky clouds drift slowly across the night. His eyes were dark in the dim light, but his skin was ghostly pale. Conner sat up and reached to pull off his shirt. Tim watched curiously, giving him that so hated Look.

Conner wondered if Tim even knew he was doing it.

“Ask me to dinner first, why don’t you?”

Conner handed it over to Tim, immediately realizing what a stupid idea it was. It was freezing outside, and Conner’s nipples seemed to be trying to make sure that Tim knew that. Conner pulled his leather jacket back over his shoulders. “It’s for you.”

“Gross.” Tim said.

Conner rolled his eyes. He was already this far in. “You know, so you don’t have to lie, you know, if you don’t want.”

Tim snorted. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m just being dramatic.” And stupid. This was really dumb.

Tim laughed. He took the shirt from Conner, curling his hands in it, running his thumb over the faded image on the front. “Gross.” He repeated, but he didn’t hand it back. Instead, he looked at Conner, in that same assessing way he had when he’d agreed to the stupid Romeo bet. “You should probably head home. Do you have a designated driver?”

“Yeah, no need to call the butler.”

Tim wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t reply to that, “who?”

“Cassie Sandsmark. You know her?”

“Kick-boxer? Blonde,” Tim sat up and tapped a finger against his lower lip. “Yeah, she has a mean right hook.”

“Mean right hook?”

“We do Krav Maga together.”

Of course, Tim did. “Do you have a black belt in that?”

Tim gave him the Look. “You don’t get black belts in Krav Maga, but… yeah, essentially, something like that.” Conner laughed sardonically. Of course.

“Steph totally has a thing for her.” Tim added.

“Steph? I thought, you two were… you know.” Conner wasn’t quite sure how to say it so he crossed his fingers.

Tim snickered. Conner felt himself flush and Tim laughed harder. So that wasn’t so bad. “Nah, she’s more of a Juliet girl, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah… If it matters, Cassie is too.”

Tim didn’t look surprised but he smiled back. “I’ll let her know. In a slightly less tragic metaphor.”

Conner shook his head. A breeze blew by, but he wasn’t very cold anymore. He zipped up the leather jacket, his cheeks burning.

“What about you?” Tim asked.

“Huh?”

“Romeo or Juliet?”

Conner wasn’t sure if he was blushing, but he felt like he was. He shrugged it off, like it was just the booze and cold. “Romeo. You?”

“A little bit of both.” Tim murmured. His eyes, lit by the little light of the his bedroom. Blue, a vibrant, violent, piercing blue.

“Uh. Yeah.” Something came back to him. “Uh, speaking of which, I um, I mean I came in here in the first place because Steph told me to convince you to come down to the party. I-I should probably be heading back down, anyway.”

“Right. Yeah.” Tim shook his head, and coughed. “Yeah, definitely. And,” Tim waved the empty beer bottle at Conner, “to get a refill.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Conner said, but, he thought as he headed back out of the room, he had probably had enough.

Conner was halfway down the hall when he realized Tim hadn’t come out with him. He went back and poked his head into Tim’s bedroom. “You coming?” He asked.

Tim grinned. “Yeah, let’s go.” He walked passed Conner and out of his room, and Conner stared at him. Or, more accurately, stared at his shirt as it hung from Tim’s shoulders, a little bit too big, but not hugely. Almost, just almost, an okay fit.

Monday came too fast, or maybe not really fast enough. Ma and Pa didn’t ask about the shirt which disappeared before the weekend. Conner wasn’t sure if they noticed. But he didn’t bring it up, just in case.

The ride over to Tim’s house was a lot quieter than Conner remembered the other two being. He knew that Bart was pointedly not mentioning the… upcoming audition. Jaime and La’gaan kept up the conversation expertly. Conner was sure they were in on it, too. It was nice of them. He felt weird. Conner usually wasn’t worried about these types of things, but right now he couldn’t stop his hands from sweating. There was a rush in his ears. Every sound and touch grated on his nerves. Conner was anxious. He really wanted this to be good. He really wanted to impress Tim. Or beat him. Whatever.

Alfred finally pulled up to the Manor and Conner and the others went to the library to meet Steph and Tim. Conner was the last through the door, and subsequently the last to see that their group weren’t the only ones in the room. Tim’s sister sat on the couch, munching merrily on popcorn which resided in an enormous bowl on her lap. Steph sat next to her, shoes kicked off and purple socked feet intertwined with the sister’s (why couldn’t Conner remember her name…?). She dug her hand into the bowl of popcorn and shoved it into her mouth.

“Connermph!” She called around her food. She swallowed noisily and Bart sat down on the other side of the sister, popping some popcorn in his mouth. “Ready?”  

“You clearly are.” Conner nodded to them, pointedly.

The sister grinned. “I wanted to see,” She said gleefully. Tim stuck his tongue out at her, and she just grinned back.

“Do it, do it, do it.” Bart chanted. La’gaan, Steph, and the sister picked it up too. Conner shrugged off his bag and placed it by the table.

“Guys, cut it out,” Tim said to no avail. “Sorry, Conner.”

Conner shrugged. “Fine, just chill a sec, okay?” He called to them, which was met with cheers from La’gaan. Bart pulled out a glittery handmade sign that said GO CONNER! on it and was filled with tons of Valentine’s day stickers.

Conner must have given him a strange look because Bart shrugged and said by way of explantion, “there wasn’t really anything Romeo and Juliet themed for some reason. This was as close as I could get.”

“Perhaps because they die at the end of the play,” Tim said wryly. Bart took this idea under consideration.  

The sister’s eyes widened and she gasped. “They do?”

“Oh, sorry Cass. Yeah, they die.” Tim said.

“Did you really not know that?” Conner asked, surprised.

Cass—right! That was the sister’s name! How could Conner have forgotten that?—shook her head. “I’ve never seen it before.” She said. Steph bet over and whispered something to her. Cass nodded solemnly.

Tim took Conner by the arm. “Do you really want to do this?”

“What? Nervous?” Conner gave Tim what Conner knew was a shit-eating grin.

“Please,” Tim gave him that Look.

That was all the boost Conner needed, all his anxiety was gone now, only the overwhelming urge to wipe that look off Tim’s face remained.

“Alright. I’m going to need you to follow my lead.” Conner said. “Think you can do that? Just ‘yes, and.’”

“Yes, and,” Tim repeated dutifully in a totally infuriating tone.

Conner whispered the blocking into Tim’s ear, ignoring the looks they were getting from the others. Tim thought for a minute, processed, and then nodded. “Let’s go.” Tim said, and got into his place.

Conner cleared his throat, and looked up at Tim. Tim Drake-Wayne. Juliet.

Juliet, who stood there in all her beauty. Juliet, who Romeo desperately wanted to get into the pants of.

Tim stood with his back to Conner and Conner placed his hand gently on Tim’s shoulder before turning him around. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand/this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this/” he leaned closer to Tim, brushing his other hand over Tim’s cheekbone. Tim’s brilliant blue eyes went wide, and an innocent look spread across his features. “my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand/to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” Conner leaned in and watched Tim’s patented Look crawl onto his face.

Tim pulled back, smirking. He shrugged Conner away, and Conner made it hurt himself. Made his features twist into those of pain. Made that sharp tug in his belly.

It was for the act.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much/” Tim shrugged, looking back at Conner with a wicked grin that ruined his Look, but also made it so much better, “which mannerly devotion shows in this:/for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch/” Tim took Conner’s hand that had touched his cheek, running his own fingers through Conner’s. Conner caught his breath. “And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.” Then Tim dropped it and crossed his arms.

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?” Conner asked with a shrug, reaching out for Tim yet again, but Tim pulled away. ‘Yes, and.’

“Ay, pilgrim,” Tim teased, tapping against Conner’s mouth gently, “lips that they must use in pray’r.” Then he turned, as if that was the end of the conversation.  

Conner grinned and caught Tim’s own hand, which flew out as he turned flamboyantly. He brought it to his face, in a mockery of what Tim had done during his own audition, just millimeters away from his lips. Tim’s fingers twitched in his own. Conner looked up at him through his lashes.

“O then, dear saint,” he fell to one knee before Tim, keeping Tim’s hand in his own, “let lips do what hands do/” Tim took his hand away with a snort, blue eyes electric. “They pray—grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

Tim took Conner’s offered hand, up to his Juliet as if in worship, and pulled Conner to his feet. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

But when he turned away yet again, Conner seized his chance and pulled him in close, almost in a twirl. Until they were chest to chest, faces just inches away from one another. Tim was breathing heavily.

“Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take/Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg’d.” And with that, Conner closed the distance between them and kissed Tim. It was a chaste kiss, an easy one. Gently pressing lips together, more a tease than anything else. Then he let Tim fall away.

Hungry, electric blue eyes stared into his soul as Tim took a step back. His hand drifted to his mouth. “Then…” he paused for a moment, “have my lips the sin that they have took.”

Conner grinned at him, and Tim’s pupils blew a little wider. ‘Yes, and,’ huh? Tim said that acting—lying—was easy, that was why he did it. Conner didn’t know about easy, but it was certainly fun. “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d!/” He reeled Tim back in until they were once against close enough to feel each other breathe. “Give me my sin again.”

Conner kissed Tim again. A real, hard, hungry kiss. One Romeo would have given Juliet. Then he stopped and leaned back, over-exaggerating the heaving of his chest. Tim did the same, those eyes never leaving Conner’s.

Conner waited. Tim’s hand clenched Conner’s shirt, and Tim swallowed thickly.

“Line?” Conner prompted him.

Tim blinked. “Huh?”

“Tim. It’s your line.”

Those blue eyes confused and… Tim shook his head and backed away. “Uh...” Tim bit his lower lip, usually pale skin pink. “You…uh… You…” Tim shook his head again, “Bart?”

“What?” Bart’s voice rasped, uncharacteristically.

“Line, Bart.”

Bart scrambled for his play but Conner knew the line, since usually it was his.

“You kiss by th’ book.” Conner told Tim.

“You kiss by th’ book.” Tim repeated dully. There was a crushing silence and Tim ran his fingers through his hair. Conner knew everyone was staring at Tim. Cass, Steph, and Bart’s munching had stopped. Had probably been stopped for a while, Conner realized. He hadn’t even noticed, he’d been too absorbed in the scene. Conner shot a glance at them. The others, all of them, sat with their mouths open. Gaping at Conner and Tim.

What the fuck was wrong with Tim?

Tim whirled on Conner. The electricity came back to those piercing blue eyes and he pointed accusingly at Conner. “You cannot do that in front of our parents.” He said, voice shaky.

Conner wasn’t sure what he’d done.

La’gaan was the next to speak. “Well, I’m gonna say that you won, Conner. That’s… totally a wow scene.”

Jaime swore in Spanish.

Conner glanced back at them (mainly because the longer he stared at Tim the hotter he felt his cheeks becoming) and saw that Bart held a notebook over his head which was decorating in glitter gel ink: WOW.  

Wait, did that mean-? Had Conner won?

“So… do I get to be Romeo?”

Tim began laughing a little bit hysterically, and then everyone was. Even Conner, though he wasn’t really sure why. “Yeah, sure, why not,” Tim said, but his voice and face slipped back to normal (infuriating). He gave Conner a pink-cheeked grin. “But we’re definitely working on the blocking for that scene.”

“What? You don’t want Conner to jump you in the middle of the play?” Steph giggled. Tim rolled his eyes at her, but Steph hopped to her feet and slid across the room in her socks.

“I wasn’t-”

“Dude, it was like, I know you’re Romeo and Juliet but get a room.” Bart agreed.

A blush rose in Conner’s cheeks. “I wasn’t-!”

But Tim ended the conversation with a snort and a shake of his head as he shifted into director mode. “Alright everyone, places. Let’s take it from the top.”

Ma was way more excited for the play than Conner was. He picked up his phone after football practice and was greeted with seven different messages that seemed to be a bunch of cancellations and ramblings. Ma wanted to know if she should bring a pie for a treat. Would he be hungry between practice and the play, after all they had about a thirty minute wait between. What foods were best for actors? Should she bring him a present for after he was done? Never mind, Conner, Pa had figured it all out. Ignore everything she’d sent. She would see him soon, and she loved him.

Tim was waiting in the locker room when Conner and Jaime made it out of the showers. He was curled up on the metal locker room bench, texting on his phone. He held their costumes in his hands and tossed the clothes to them. “Ms. Prince wants to do one more rehearsal before the parents get here.” He told them. “Also, film club is filming it for some school… spirit… yearbook… something, I don’t know. But, you’ll both need make-up for camera.”

Jaime groaned and pulled his costume on. His was the least inconspicuous of everyone else’s since he would be playing a handful of characters.

To separate between Capulets and Montagues they’d decided that they would have them wear different colored clothes. All Capulets wore red and black, and Montagues wore red, yellow, and blue. (Tim had said something about how the two reds would be symbolism of how similar the two families were despite their perceived differences, which Steph had giggled the entire way through. Conner couldn’t stifle his own laughter now that he knew that the clothes were probably Jason’s idea.)

Tim did Jaime and Conner’s make-up—simple blush so they would show up on camera and eyeliner and mascara. Then they were off.

Conner was shocked by how smooth the play went considering how anxious Ms. Prince was. Conner and his group were the second scene up, since they were doing an abridged version. It went flawlessly. Jaime didn’t forget any of his lines, Bart didn’t hurt anyone when he swung around his sword flamboyantly. La’gaan was regal and serious for once. Conner was pretty seductive if he said so himself. He didn’t kiss Tim on the lips, they’d decided to trade the kisses for a kiss on the hand (which really didn’t make sense with the script but, Conner supposed, they were being censored by the school and strictly ironic PG rating for the kids in the audience), and another on the cheek. Then came Steph’s act as the nurse, and her foreboding warning which she delivered perfectly.

The rest of the play went pretty well. Cassie’s death scene as Mercutio was touching, and Courtney and Maxine as the final Romeo and Juliet were stunning. The balcony could have been done better, Conner thought though when that group went up. Tim had been a much more convincing love-struck Romeo for sure.

After the play was over, Ma and Pa came running up to Conner to congratulate him. He was shocked to see Clark and Lois behind them, their son wasn’t with them though. Clark beamed, but let Ma do the gushing.

“That was fabulous, Conner! Very realistic!” She insisted. She had six de-thorned roses in her arms (that Conner knew were from her own garden) wrapped in a red ribbon. She undid the ribbon and handed one to Conner.

Conner felt himself turn red. “Aw, Ma...”

“You deserve it, young man!” Pa said curtly. Ma stood on her tiptoes to see over the crowds of other parents.

“Where are your castmates? I picked one for everyone!” Ma said.

Conner frowned. After the play had ended, the class had been rushed by parents and friends. He wasn’t sure. He spotted Bart and his Uncle Max over by the stage. “Over there.” Conner said pointing.

Ma handed a couple of roses to Conner. “Here, honey. Would you mind helping me hand them out?”

Conner smiled. “Sure thing, Ma.” He stuck his own behind his ear. “I’ll meet up with you guys in a little?” He asked Clark and Lois. Maybe he was being too hopeful.

“Of course, Stud.” Lois grinned, bumping his shoulder with hers. They were level in height now. “We’re taking you to dinner. Jon’s sorry he couldn’t make it, but bedtime is bedtime.”

“I get it, it’s fine.” Conner shrugged it off. He was just happy that he got to see Clark and Lois. Metropolis was far enough that they’d probably had to take off both today and tomorrow to get back. “Text me if I’m not back soon.”

“Sure thing,” Lois smiled at him. Conner really liked Lois. Totally out of Clark’s league.

Conner jogged off to find his group mates. He climbed up on the stage and scanned it but couldn’t find Tim or Steph. He did see Ma hit La’gaan and then start looking for Jaime. Conner decided he’d head for the missing two.

Now that he looked, he couldn’t find any of the Waynes. He took out his phone.

Conner

hey did yall leave yet?

Steph

sorry cowboy

Conner tried Tim.

Tim

I’m by the lockers. Forgot my history homework.

Conner

stay there

Tim

…

Why?

Conner

just trust me dude

Conner headed out to the lockers. He found Tim leaning against his, bag slung over one shoulder.

“Took you long enough,” Tim said.

Conner was used to Tim’s wicked smirk, or, he’d thought he was, but something weird happened to his belly as he saw Tim pull himself upright.

Tim’s eyes took in the flower behind Conner’s ear, and then the one in his hand. His eyes widened. He looked speechless.

Second time Conner had done that to him. Conner’s heart sped up and he felt himself smile giddily. He liked making Tim speechless.

Conner bowed and presented the rose to Tim. “For you, fair maiden.” He said.

When Conner looked up again, Tim’s face was pink. He brushed some of his long hair behind his ear and took the rose gently. As if he were afraid he’d break it. His hand shook.

“It’s from my grandmother,” Conner explained, “she wanted to give one to everyone in the group. Steph already left though, I’ll have to give her hers tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Tim said. “Tell her I say thank you.”

“Sure thing, dude.”

Tim stared at the rose, running some of his fingers over the petals. He raised it to his lips—no, that was stupid. His nose.

Why had Conner thought that?

His heart thumped loudly in chest.

“You know, it’s too bad.”

Tim looked up to meet Conner’s eyes again. “What is?”

“This… that it’s over. This was fun.”

Tim smiled. “Yeah, it was. You know, we always have room in the theater club-”

Conner laughed and pushed Tim gently. “Yeah, no thanks. You know what they say about theater kids.”

“Oh?” Tim asked amusedly. His attention, however, was back on the rose. He pressed it back to his nose, inhaling deeply. “What do they say?”

“They teach all y’all how to project, but they never teach y’all how to shut the fuck up.” Maybe that was why Conner liked seeing Tim speechless so often.

Tim laughed. “Well, don’t get me started on what they say about football players.”

Conner snorted. “Yeah, I guess you would win on that one.”

Tim’s eyes slid over to Conner’s slyly. “Is everything a game to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, banter, this play… you’re a good actor,” Tim mused, “you should have bargained higher.”

“Huh?”

“Well, the bet, that you won.”

“The one that made me Romeo?” Conner wasn’t sure where Tim was going with this. Tim twirled the rose between his fingers. “I’m aware of it. What? You think I should have haggled?”

Tim shrugged. “You were Romeo for a week and a half. Was it really worth it?”

“Are you kidding? I just wanted to get Romeo,” Conner shrugged, “and I got what I wanted. I always do.”

“Do you now?”

“Mmhm.” Conner grinned at Tim. Tim’s eyes were narrowed, his lips upturned into what was definitely a smirk. One black eyebrow quirked. Amused and condescending. Conner was beginning to like this Tim just as much as the blushing and speechless one. “I am Conner Kent,” he said as pompously as he could manage.

“Hmm. You know,” Tim said mildly. He put his own rose behind his ear. “I’m pretty used to getting whatever I want too. Pretentious and rich and all.”

“Really?” Conner asked, trying to make the excitement in his tone not show through. Tim was a better actor than Conner was. Conner would just have to learn from him, he supposed. He tried to match Tim’s indifference. “You got something in mind?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

This… was not where Conner had thought this conversation was going, but when he saw the sparkle in Tim’s playful blue eyes… Conner couldn’t help but be intrigued. But-

Lois. Clark. Ma and Pa.

“Shit.” Conner hissed. Tim looked shocked at this sudden change of tone. “I would. I totally would, but I’ve got this huge like, family dinner thing.”

Tim shrugged. “Friday night, then.” This time Tim was a little shyer about it, as if worried that Conner might say ‘no’ now.

Conner smiled. “Sure. Text me the details.”

Tim smiled back. “Yeah, okay.”

Conner turned to talk away, but as he did Tim caught his hand and pulled him back against him. Then Tim kissed him, fingers curling around his neck to bring Conner in closer and stroking the hair beside the rose in Conner’s hair. Conner tightened his grip around Tim’s waist, pulling him closer than they ever were as Romeo and Juliet. And tongue. Oh god, there was finally tongue. Tim tasted like peppermint and he was a really good kisser and-

When Tim finally broke the kiss (because it was Tim who broke it, not Conner who was too busy forgetting about the outside world) with a laugh, Conner heaved in air. Tim leaned on the lockers to support himself as he giggled.  

“What?”

“The Conner Kent, and The Tim Drake-Wayne,” Tim said. “It’s just, I think we might be what Steph would call a ‘power couple.’”

Now Conner was laughing too, but that was probably more because Tim was infectious than any hilarity. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

Tim rolled his eyes and, still snickering, pushed himself upright. “A little less tragic though, I hope.”

“It’s funny,” Conner said, “how many teenagers do you think got together because of this play? Ironic, really. I feel Shakesy-P would be proud.”

Tim snorted. “Please never call Shakespeare that again.”

“Shakesy-P, Shakes-P, Shakesy-P-”

“And now I know why Romeo really died, it was because Juliet killed him.” Tim pushed Conner, teasingly.

“Well, if you want to get technical about it-” But Tim was pulling Conner in for another kiss.

“Shut up.” Tim told him.

After another kiss that made Conner go ‘wow,’ Conner pulled away, his phone buzzed in his pocket. “You’re so bossy.”

“And I always get what I want.” Tim added condescendingly.

“I haven’t forgotten. You’re also pretentious, and condescending, and-”

“Do you really want to go down this path, Kent?”

Conner pressed his lips to Tim’s for one last kiss, but broke it off far too early because of his fucking phone-

Conner took it out and checked it, even though he knew what the texts would say. “I have to go.”

“Your family. Yeah,” Tim said, a wry twist to his lips, “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Friday. Text me.”

“Will do, Juliet.” Tim called, saluting Conner with the gifted rose and Conner jogged away, laughing and red-faced.

Clark and Lois were staying over with Ma and Pa for the night so they all headed to the house after dinner. Conner was tired and full and happy, but he kept his eyes open the whole ride, waiting for Tim’s text. But it got later and later and there was little Conner could do, so he changed into pajamas and headed to bed.

The text finally came a little after midnight. Conner jerked up when he heard the chime of the text, half asleep.

Tim

You kiss by th’ book.

Sleep tight

Conner snorted and rolled over in his bed. Had to give it to Shakesy-P, he certainly knew how to write a pick-up line.

#timkon #diana writes timkon #timkon secret santa 2019 #awhitehead17 #diana writes dc

[bluboothalassophile]

Hi blu! From the 100 prompts could you do #41 - “Welcome to Fatherhood” with Bruce saying it to John? For the Dad Constantine au? I love ur fics & the relationships you’ve built between these characters!!!

Hello,

Okay, I want to say I like this prompt, I like this trio, and I think I’ve found a good way to write my favorite Bombshells trio, but without Zatanna being the ‘mom’ figure. I don’t ship Constantine/Zatanna, never have, and despite not shipping it I can’t write it. So I hope you enjoy the dynamics here and the story! =)

Welcometo The Seventh Circle of Hell…

Constantine wondered how the bloody hell it was that he wasstuck with not one, but two girls, who were always at each other’s throats.

Raven and Zatanna got along about as well as cats and dogs,and the two girls were probably going to blow his house to Hell if they didn’tlearn get along at some point or another.

Which had lead Constantine hiding out in the one place heknew neither of his daughters would look for him as he nursed a scotch andcontemplated giving up and just calling Zed for help. God knew he was fuckingup this father thing if he couldn’t even get two teenaged girls to get alongfor five minutes.

A hand clasped his shoulder and Constantine reluctantlylifted his head to find himself staring at the only hero he found to be competentand worth talking to and working with. Batman, also known as Bruce Wayne.

“I thought I would find you here.”

“I am a creature of habit,” Constantine chuckled tonelesslyas he yawned then knocked his drink back before motioning the tender foranother. The woman poured him two and before he could as he watched as Brucetook the other glass and they sat in silence. For a long time neither of themspoke. Constantine was trying to remember when the bloody hell his life hadgotten so fucking hard!

Raven… Raven was his first daughter, and she was the easychild. It was fucking weird to think of the demon as the easy child. Fuck heknew that she wasn’t an easy child, so withdrawn, and independent, inquisitiveand quick to temper and rage if she didn’t keep her precarious control. But shewas so easy, she was easy for him, he got Raven. Constantine could sit withRaven in silence and not feel like he was neglecting the girl, they couldsimply hang out, he just had to focus on teaching her, and that was reallyabout it. Raven just wanted… she wanted love and loving her was as easy asbreathing. She just wanted that love, to know she was loved, and as an empathhe knew his youngest knew she was loved by him and Zed, and adored by Lucifer,Mazikeen and Chas.

Fuck, Raven was the most lovable demon ever.

Then there was his newer daughter, Zatanna Zatara, and she’dhad a father who had loved her before, and a cousin who was like her brotherbefore he had died. Zatanna was light, she was happy, exuberant, she was kind,and giving, she just gave everything to everyone all the time; it must havebeen that Italian passion of hers. She was all fire where Raven was ice. AndZatanna wasn’t easy, fuck the girl made life hard. Zatanna demanded attention,she demanded to learn, she made her hatred of demons well known and made it apoint to berate and torment Raven; who was already withdrawn enough and wasretreating further away from everyone now that Zatanna was there. And it painedConstantine.

He adored both his girls, but he just didn’t get it. And hedidn’t know how to stop the wars that had ignited.

Just this morning he’d been a bloody rabbit! A fuckingRABBIT! While Raven and Zatanna had also been transformed into a rabbit andmouse. But all that for Raven’s book; a book which had been given to her by theonly person Constantine knew she regularly interacted with outside the magical community;Jason Todd. And Zatanna had proceeded to berate and tease and torment Raven abouthaving a crush on the young Robin, and that had lead to this fucking mess andnow he was drinking because if he didn’t get away from the women he’d blastthem both or tie them together until they got along.

Light and Dark were clashing so violently at his house, andZed was out for a girl’s weekend with Renee.

“When I adopted Jason, before Tim, Dick and Jason tried tocontinuously kill each other; then after…” Bruce trailed off grimly.

Constantine understood then as they both stared at thecounter. The near death of Jason Todd, not anyone’s finest moments even as achild had killed the Joker to save her friend. The silence was heavy betweenthem for a long time as they both remembered that grim day. The day that sealedJason and Raven’s bond and started their friendship.

“Things improved when Cass, Tim, Duke, and Damian joined thefamily,” Bruce commented.

“They transfigured each other into animals, and me into arabbit,” Constantine stated icily as he sipped his drinking. “A fucking Rabbit!”

“Siblings apparently fight,” Bruce said dryly.

“I have two of the most naturally magically gifted girls inmy house and they can’t even get along for five minutes! It’s driving me bloodybonkers!” Constantine snapped.

“Clark had the same problem when Conner was discovered,”Bruce said.

“Oh fuck, I knew what I was signing up for, B, I adopted abloody demon! I didn’t think Zatanna would be a problem as Zatara was fuckingstupid enough to put on Nabu!” Constantine sighed.

“Welcome to fatherhood,” Bruce stated dryly.

“Welcome to the Seventh Circle of Hell,” Constantinecorrected dryly.

“They’ll be better,” Bruce shrugged.

“Or send each other to hell, you know Raven doesn’t likepeople outside the magic community as it is, and Zatanna only likes peopleoutside the magic community, and she just seems determined to ruin Raven’s oneconnection to the outside world, which happens to be your son, and I just don’tunderstand this need to hurt each other the girls have,” Constantine sighed.

“I only came because Raven materialized is Jason’s room innear tears, Jason’s at space camp though, took some convincing on my part tolet her let Alfred check her over,” Bruce said.

“Great,” Constantine groaned as he dropped his head to thebar.

“Zatanna showed up, she’s currently getting an earful fromDick about her actions,” Bruce said calmly as he sipped his own drink.

“Bloody hell, do you want the girls!?” Constantine’s headsnapped up as he glowered at the man who could barely handle his horde ofchildren had better expierence handling his daughters than he did.

“No, I’m just telling you they are safe,” Bruce said.

“Raven is the bloody Gem of Scath, the Devil Himself wouldtear the fabric of reality apart with the other angels to keep her safe, and Zatannais more than capable of taking care of herself,” Constantine stated calmly.

He just… he just wanted them to get along, he was sure they’dbe good together if they stopped swinging at each other with intent to maim orkill.

“It will get better,” Bruce said.

“Sure it will, all I need now is to adopt another magicallyinclined little girl; maybe a demigod, complete this circle of Hell, I swearif Black Orchid wasn’t in that house it’d have fallen apart, and without Zed I’mfucking clueless what to do, and they’ll kill each other and I can’t stop them,”Constantine barked out a bitter laugh. “The worst part, the worst part, B, isthat they’re both two of the most powerful girls of their magic types, and theyrefuse to get along. Do you even realize how long it took me to convince Ravenshe wouldn’t hurt humans, or being an empath was alright? Then Zatanna comesinto life and smashes all that progress to hell.

“And do you realize how difficult it is to get a teenagegirl to stop crying about her father ‘dying’ to host Nabu and will never be herfather again, only for the little demon to point out it’s possession and not bya demon!? I swear to God they are out to hurt each other and drive me to anutter house!”

“I do,” Bruce said.

“I just, I don’t get this animosity between them, I lovethem both B, but I wanted to throttle them today,” Constantine sighed.

“It gets better,” Bruce said.

“I’d better go retrieve them before they blow your house to Hell,”Constantine sighed. He didn’t have favorites between his girls, he’d loved Zedsince he had met her, he’d been a father to Raven longer, and now there wasZatanna, and he couldn’t truly be her father but damn him for trying. Dragging hishand through his hair he pulled a cigarette and lit it, he wondered if there wasa way to get them to get along, without doping them with potions.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“I just… want her to like me!” Raven sobbed into the phoneas she sat curled up on the floor talking to Jason and Zatanna was strickenhearing what Dick had forced her to hear.

“This isn’t my… she’s not…” Zatanna started.

“Grow up Zee, she is, and there’s only one of her! what areyou going to do if she dies thinking you hated her, and she couldn’t even callyou for help because she thought you’d laugh at her!?” Dick snapped, and Zatannastiffened hearing that from him.

She was well aware of Jason, and how narrowly they all wouldhave lost him had Raven’s empathy hadn’t acted up and she went to the teen.

“Yeah, think about that while you torment her, because fromwhat I get about her, she’s got it a hell of a lot harder than you,” Dick snappedas he walked away.

She looked back through the crack of the door where Ravenwas crying into her knees and bit her lip.

#bluboothalassophile #fanfic #one shot #constantine dad au #john constantine #bruce wayne #raven #zatanna zatara #family bonding

[iphoenixrising]

No Home for Dead Birds XI

It wasn’t long after he moved to the ‘Haven. So many people around him were dying, his father already gone, and B figured out there was no Uncle to keep him out of CPS (and those little tips helped, thanks Bruce). It was before the adoption, before he felt like he could breathe again without his chest caving in.

It was just after Cass left for Hong Kong, and he was running free in Blüdhaven, not giving much of a shit if he kept moving to the next ass hat or not. Kon and Bart were in a constant state of pissed off with him because he wouldn’t just stop and mourn, wouldn’t let them be good boyfriends, wouldn’t let them comfort him.

(At the time, he didn’t understand why it mattered so much to them, why they couldn’t let him fight out his pain like he’d always had to do.)

Dick...showed up at the terrible flophouse he was in, amazing him because after losing everything, Dick was the last person Tim expected to see anywhere near the ‘Haven. But, when his “big brother” refused to take get the fuck out for an answer, he hadn’t had the energy really to fight anymore.

(He’s been fighting for so long, hasn’t he?)

Instead, he got trapped in the whirlwind of activity that is Dick Grayson.

(It’s not the first time he’s saved me)

And Dick had gone the good brother things; he had tried so hard to get Tim out of the funk, to make sure he wasn’t going to shove the .45 in his mouth and blow his fucking head off or something.

(What a wasted effort)

A night of tolerating Dick’s presence, his light and witty banter, of being the Cindy to his Marsha, and something in his broken chest caved way.

He couldn’t have known at the time how stupid he was for kissing his long-standing crush in the first place. A year later and he would def find out.

**

Because at almost twenty, he’s fucking done with everything except the group of loveable assholes shuffling along around him, keeping him moving with their sheer momentum. He follows Cassie’s excitedly bouncing ass and slowly drifts to the side, just enough to slide a finger into the side pocket of Bart’s jeans while they walk through the brightly lit aisle of IKEA.

It feels stupid to do something like that, but really, the speedster is too busy talking and looking around to notice anyway. (His other best friend, however, isn’t, and does notice, a corner of his mouth quirking up.)

Gar’s shirt stretches tight over his shoulders when he points out the Dyfjord over the Hemnes since Rachel is still on board with the Tyssedal.  Really, as long as it does things like hold stuff in drawers, he’s good either way (because things that will eventually hold dangerous vigilante weaponry? Those things he makes himself, so just raw materials. Seriously, he needs something that can withstand a small explosion and most of the stuff here? Would stand a chance in hell). But this gives him time to idly work on his phone, playing with the code for the first training loop while holding on to Bart’s pocket with the other. His body operates on auto-pilot as he’s balls deep in the numbers and commands, making vague noises at towel racks. As he’s been informed, he has to put all the shit together himself anyway, so he’s about to drop the Koppang and end all the mayhem.

There, mindblown.

Well, after this next span of code (because some people need special guns with the right tracking capabilities to make it, you know, a challenge. Speed and such).

He’s riding on over twelve hours of sleep before this little team-building exercise (and nice try. He knows exactly why they’re doing this, not just because Oh, since you have exercised sensible decision-making, we will reward you with shopping. Yup, sure.) But...playing along is so, so much good times that it makes him the right kind of nostalgic. Not something painful, something to choke on, but something lighter, something building all over again in those steps of affection and a mutual love for beating the ever-loving shit out of bad guys.

And it was...different, finding himself immersed with his old team to do movie night in celebration of his agreement to stay and rejoin them under new management (you know, their own). And yes, he was stupidly touched they went out on a limb and picked up the new Star Wars because, well, he’s the ultimate nerd of the group and probably always will be.

(Some people remember the little things.)

Still, much heckling and throwing popcorn at the screen is absolutely rote.

Falling asleep was definitely not his intention and should have been damn near impossible considering his sleep pattern has only become more sporadic, short and sweet bursts, in the time he’s been out on his own vigilanting it up.

The fact Conner was able to lift him without waking him, that his painfully sensitive instincts didn’t immediately alert him, kick his system into fight mode was far too telling for his peace of mind. It’s something at the very bottom of his priority list, something he can’t think about (because now is not the time for any of it, any of the should-have, would-haves, to feel like utter shit about how wrong he did them, how they should have just turned their fucking backs on him—just like Dick— because he made a fucking choice—the wrong one as it turns out) since there’s a whole lot of ‘shit we still need to do before we’re ready to break criminal heads.’

So he’s totally not thinking about the span of footage he caught from the new and improved communal floor proving that yes his system works and is crystal-fucking-clear because he saw the smirk on Rave’s face, he saw Gar snickering at him, he saw Cassie gently touch his hair, he saw Bart lay a throw over him with absurd gentleness just before Conner eased arms under him and lifted.

He shouldn’t have been shocked to wake up in the room Cassie showed him on day one (it was his from the get-go, wasn’t it?). The room for the guy they wanted as their strategist, their intel source. The two rooms are at the top of the new HQ, the secondary one prepped with a boss system (that is oddly similar to the one he built from the ground up in his Perch at the old Titan’s Tower. Hm. Coincidence, right?), work station, compact lab for analysis, and a meeting room with conference table.

All the nice things.

When he blinks owlishly around the separate bedroom, it takes too long for his brain to get with the ‘holy shit this is comfortable’ groove. It’s the first real bed he’s slept in since his last night in the Manor, not a cot, a couch, a seat, or the floor, it’s soft and perfect, molding around his body, more comfortable than he can remember being in a while. It’s enough that he really doesn’t want to get up. Is pretty good sinking back down for a few more…

When he finally manages to get somewhat conscious and use the impressive shower, he digs in the stacks of boxes in the walk-in closet, looking from something he can throw on—

And pulls out his last pre-everyone-dying Robin suit with green sleeves on the tunic and those reinforced green tights (before Conner and Bart died, before his ident was compromised, before Dad was murdered, before Bruce died, before Dick betrayed him). The sight leaves him weak-kneed, choking, trying very hard not to throw up because that shit was seriously a little out of left field.

(And if he sat in that closet for twenty minutes while his eyes got hot and full, holding that piece of his life while thinking about how Dick’s hands pulled this very tunic off him the last time before it ended up in a box, then no one would be the wiser because after he was done, he pulled his shit together, stood the fuck up, and closed that suit back up in the box to gather dust again when he should really send it straight to Dick with a huge fuck you sign attached. But nope, it’s his last vestige of the life he used to love, so until he could even take it, the damn thing would stay.)

The unlabeled boxes are full of his old things, things he’d apparently left in in the Tower before the last good-bye from the Justice League. Which is another thing he is not going to think about, but shoves those moments, out of his sight, and digs in another to pull out a pair of slightly too-small sweats and a nerd t-shirt that smell like Kevlar and spice, one that hangs off him because taller yes, but lacking some pounds apparently.

And yes, he realizes the bathroom is stocked with his brand of shampoo and body wash (and fuck, there’s even a can of that shitty hair gel—no more of that fuck-you-very-much). Yes, he realizes the sheets are blue instead of red (but not that blue, Nightwing blue, thank God). Yes, he realizes the yoga mat under the bed is worn and have-I-seen-that-before? Yes, he realizes the medicine cabinet has his favored brand of tape to wrap his hands so the owfuck isn’t so painful after a night cracking heads together.

(There’s antibiotics there—someone found out about the spleen thing, right?)

Really, he doesn’t need any more evidence—they planned on adding him to the roster, made a place for him, made sure his stuff wasn’t just tossed out in a dumpster when the new team started moving in.

(He wouldn’t have even blamed them for it, really.)

It’s a tough enough realization to make him facepalm for several long moments because these guys.

Seriously.

Coming downstairs to the team gathered for lunch, a plate set out for him, and excited chatter while a po’ boy is absently set in front of him along with a grape fucking Zesti (grape is always the best).  All the plans they already have mapped-out, their contingencies and safe houses, their contacts and info sources, layers the conversation around him while he scarfs his food down, moving in time with everyone else chewing rather than really eating. Instead, he listens to how they’ve started gathering their own network of crime fighting and superheroing.

Within the fire few bites, he was done for.

The bus tickets out of New Orleans he’s had carefully stowed away were thrown in the trash an hour or so later before he started down to look at the training room on the lower level Gar had half-rigged up, a mess of wiring still needed to be run, lights needed to be connected, the AI that had been adapted from an old team project needed to be installed, and just the vents, man. How could you forget to booby trap the vents?

(Okay, so they need him for shit like this)

But it’s odd and comforting to have the them pause, gazes swinging to him to when he starts talking, laying out the power grid and system configurations, when they take his opinions as that’ll work, how long until we can get started?

As much as he’s freaked out by the attention after being his own team, it eases the raw and jagged edges he refused to focus on, to give power to anymore.

(It’s time to start moving again, asshole, in Robin’s old voice in the back of his head, the voice of variable reason. Except in matters of Dick Grayson apparently.)

But it’s fine because it’s not like he didn’t expect more of these little things to look forward to. You know, the whole team bonding thing. He gets it, he really does because most of it is them trying to figure him out all over again, sizing him up. The last few months of playing the game, being the nameless, travelling vigilante, had taken its toll. He knows he’s different, he knows he’s not the same Robin, not even Red, not even Tim in too many respects. When they get done with this little outing, he has every intention of sitting them down and laying the plan right out.

(And fuck, he has a plan again—he has plans.)

For now, he’s just raises a brow at Conner and nods his head to the Koppang. The super winks behind his fake, dark-rimmed glasses and subtly veers off from the group. He’s the smart one, not getting in on this little argument.

The group shuffles, pulls him along with the forward momentum. He’s already decided how he’s going to lay out their systems once the immediate needs are identified, then get scans up and running, get their basics ready to fill in the gaps between the other superhero groups. A database of their baddies, strengths and weaknesses, bolt holes and last-knowns. He needs algorithms to track credible sources for any kind of intel they might need to keep track.

He starts when Conner lays a hand on his shoulder, the conversation running around him lost in the multiple contingencies he’s got running in his primary processes as warm-up.

“Tim? Food after this, dude, since you’re driving the truck. Gar’s license is expired and I don’t trust Bart behind the wheel of anything that goes over ten miles an hour.”

He immediately bites down on his lip before Bart even does the speedster double-take with an offended squawk, “wh-wh-what?! I am totally trustworthy driving—“

“—off a cliff,” Cassie fills in, humming to herself while pushing the flat cart with the boxes all loaded.

“—into a wall,” Gar seconds with a wink.

Rave just pats Bart’s shoulder but doesn’t even try.

“All of you suck,” Bart bickers back, “that one time was totally not my fault, dammit—“

And it’s just so crazy that he’s laughing under the cover of one hand while looking obediently at the bathroom towels Cassie is asking about while she shakes her head in mirth at all the antics or stands in front of the full-length mirror Raven suggests he could use.

“Okay, so next we need—”

“Wall cabinets.”

Gar, Raven, Cassie, and Bart pause in the mission, turn to blink at him because he’s been pretty quiet since coming down to breakfast after pulling a Rip Van Winkle.

“I need some wall cabinets,” he specifies with a half-shrug.

“Righteous.” Gar grins wide, the projectors taking away the slightly longer canines along with the whole green thing. He seriously looks like a surfer from Cali, and that? Is completely believable. “They have, like, the mirrored ones, dude. I totally had to have a set.”

“I already know my ass looks fantastic in tights, man. We can go practical on this one,” he deadpans back, moving to lead the way without taking his finger from Bart’s pocket.

It’s telling when Rave is the one that laughs out loud, but, well, he gets the mirrored ones any damn way.

**

A few days later, he takes a tour of a nice place in Faubourg Ste. Marie on Marseille Street for his daytime pseud (and...he’s really going to be Tim Drake again, like, being back in the real world, isn’t he?) to do crazy things— like start establishing residency.

It’s been awhile since he’s been that guy, but still, the knowledge never really left his brain pan. The suit is cut perfectly (reminding him of another life), and he falls back into the old space, charming the realtor with stories of Gotham City (the most crime-ridden in America. “Oh my! The things you must have seen.” You really have no idea), and bringing another industry to the booming town.

He doesn’t take the first place, but circles four more he wants to look at in her handbook, smiles when he hands it back, and she’s slightly breathless when she guarantees she’ll have the keys for them tomorrow morning.

He also mentions being in the market for office space—something large to house a substantial crew for the newest main office of Drake Industries.

HQ is closer to 60% up and running (because at least someone can get everyone moving when things like wiring and panelling needs to be done—some of you can fly, do this thing) when Miles Kelsey comes down from Gotham with the official paperwork. It’s three small letters that have already been attached to his name under the Wayne Enterprise heading (just a formality to keep Bruce’s legacy out of the hands of Hush and Ra’s). But it mean more now. Not a deflection, not a ploy, not because of do or else. It’s his choice this time since, well, the reason for those hint drops in his voicemail? He’s going to turn twenty-one in a few months, and the whole shebang is going to be offered up, get a Drake back in control of the company. Miles is the one that wanted him to know in advance, maybe start early, get a jump on everything, and figure out if this is what he wants.

Thanks for looking out, man. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.

Miles hasn’t changed at all since he last visited the offices in Gotham. The guy is and always was a powerhouse, one of the reasons he’s been on the Board of Directors for so long.

In addition to being one of his dad’s good friends, Miles has always been a voice for the interest of the people (at times, over the business model), and it’s bittersweet seeing the older man again when they meet at a cafe in the Business District to go over the details.

Tim has a smart three-piece suit on that made Cassie whistle appreciatively while the others give him the equivalent of cat calls when he gets back—you know, because they’re assholes.

He’s giving them the half-smirk that is desperately familiar and heats up his coffee from this morning (previous night whatever really).

The convo he walks in on is at—

“It would be such a bitchin’ reality show,” Gar grins, sharp and wide from his spot on the island. The littering of wiring, motherboards, random drives, parts and pieces laid out in front of him like a variable buffet of tech. There’s a bin on the floor by his stool with completed comm units ready for use. He’s got about seventy-some so far because, well dude, we go through so many of these, you don’t even know.

“No way,” Conner argues while he presses down the panini maker gingerly (the last one was not as reinforced—the parts are in the trash by his hip), “there’s no island or anything.”

“I’m thinking more Real World versus Survivor, dude.”

“With the way our lives go, Survivor would probably be more fitting.”

And yes, that’s him, hiding his grin with his mug, and shaking his head at the antics of crazy superheroes.

Cassie is still out doing research on the local universities, thinking about History and Anthropology. Raven is taking the nice background docs he “made” to establish her a real ident to the DMV so she can have a picture ID all her own (she’s been using the Rachel Roth pseud for, well, forever, but he totally gets the whole let’s make it legal kind of feel.) Bart left to go for an interview for (wait for it), a bike courier position.

(He totally didn’t facepalm. Promise.)

When he’s putting his mug in the sink, buttoning his coat regardless of the heat, Conner (now Conner Kesel, thanks to a little bit of magic, or well, shameless hacking) leans in bump their shoulders together in such a familiar move. Those blue eyes are crinkled down at him, wide and bright and—

Fuck.

“Hey Mr. CEO. This,” and there’s a finger wiggle at the suit, “not bad.”

He smirks because, well, it’s all sinking into his bones at this point. The new digs, the company, the team (his team), and things are coming together in a way he hadn’t expected it to ever again. The worst part is the slow warm coiling in low in his belly when Conner or Bart smile at him again.

Double fuck

“It’s supposed to be a cover story.”

Conner just raises a brow at him and hums.

It makes the point.

His sigh is ignored for the smoke screen it is really is, “okay, so it’s a good cover story. Establishing a believable pseud is a good rule of thumb. Cassie is going to college, Bart is working, Gar is being the lazy, rich degenerate—” earning him a “hey! Well, yeah, so true,” from said degenerate before he goes back to the comms— “Rave might start a business once she had a real ident, and…”

He waves a hand absently, “someone has to pay for it all. Why not be me?”

And Con does that thing. Crosses his arms over his chest and gives him the stare down, totally seeing the utter bullshit without fail. The question of who would fund them has never been an issue; all of them have moved and maintained a financial cushion long before they broke it off as Titans.

Tim is trying to carve out a place for himself, something that can’t be taken away, a new ident, a new set of rules and how to live’s, and the meta-human can recognize it before Tim himself really can.

It’s one of those crazy moment where, if they were still that Superboy and that Robin, he would cuff the vigilante on the shoulder and tell him not to be a dumb ass (or when they were that Kon, Tim, and Bart, he would grip those hips and talk his ex-boyfriend out of his own headspace of insecurities). Instead, he lifts a hand to the back of the CEO’s neck, squeezing gently and turning Tim to look him in the eye.

“Don’t think you have to do it for any other reason than you want to.” Conner admonishes, “we’ve got plenty of resources, and you know it. People are grateful when you save them and the donations have always been put aside. If there’s one thing we don’t need, it’s money, Tim.”

And Conner watches those eyes blink quickly in surprise, the head tilt just slightly when the guy with the plan is faced with a fact he hadn’t considered.

Conner just leans down a little, raising a brow, “there’s nothing wrong with making your mark outside the mask. You want to be the Drake running your Dad’s company, then have at it. No one is going to judge you for it.”

“Conner…”

The expression on Tim’s face is so utterly painful in that moment, like his best friend is expecting some kind of admonishment, some kind of humiliation, something, that Conner just can’t stand there waiting on the outside anymore. He’s been treating Tim from some imagined distance for too long as it is.

And slowly, easily, without disturbing the two, Gar Logan slips easily out of his seat in front of the still-playing flat screen and strafes down the hall until he’s far enough away to hit the staircase (sure, Con had super hearing, but something tells him Blue might be a little busy at the moment).

He doesn’t see the super shake his head in old exasperation and pull this dumb ass in by the back of his neck, letting Tim rest his forehead right on the curve of Conner’s collarbone.

Hands are hesitant, light, high on his hips in such a familiar way that the super grins to himself because dammit Tim.

“It’s...fucking stupid isn’t it?” The vigilante asks quietly, keeping his head bowed.

“To want something to hold on to? I don’t think that’s stupid.”

The laugh is not one of those ha-ha funny ones, it’s something a little more bitter, “everyone gave their idents up, dude. What the fuck am I doing?”

“Making it your choice this time,” Conner replies easily, knowledgeably.

And for the fucking life of him, he can’t even get in a breath.

#no home for dead birds #tim drake #conner Kent #cassie sandsmark #garfield logan #rachel roth #bart allen #au #my fic #my writing