#wet pavement is his kryptonite

[sluggoonthestreet]

Sluggo somehow manages to be surprised that it's snowing in January. In Michigan.

[mikkomacko]

Ok thanks. What do you think about Stucky comforting reader for some reason?

A/n: Hiii. I hope this is ok! My first time writing stucky x reader but it was cool. I might just have to do an expanded Stucky fic 👀

~

It's well known throughout the Avengers that y/n is the kryptonite to every super soldier. At least she is to the two super soldiers they know, because only she can turn Steve and Bucky into overbearing boyfriends.

"Sam, do you have eyes on y/n and Nat?"

Steve grunts, kicking his attacker square in the chest and sending the man to the pavement. Bucky's follows closely behind, the former soldier slamming his own attacker into the ground so hard it cracks under his spine. Both lie there in a heap of sweat and blood.

"Sam?" Bucky asks angrily when they receive no response. Behind them, Wands and Tony shift through the rubble and debris of the two buildings that had been attacked, blown to pieces by the terrorist group in front of them. With civilian casualties high, y/n and Nat had taken up the job of evacuating everyone within the threatened area. But it's been too long since he's heard anything from the two through their comms.

"I've got sights on Nat but y/n is no where to be seen."

Another fly over from Sam, this time closer to the ground but still nothing certain on the missing Avenger. "I've got heat signatures in a damaged office building over here but I can't tell if it's her or not."

Steve and Bucky share a look, concerned for their girl as always, and begin heading over to the building.

"Romanoff you better fucking answer!" Bucky spits into his comms, boots crunching in the rubble under his feet.

A static breaks through, followed by the breathless voice of Natasha. "You're not the only one fighting terrorists Barnes," she bites back. "I cleared the west blocks, lost y/n when she went east. I'm guessing her comms are down."

"Was she evacuating the buildings?" Steve asks, approaching the block y/n is supposedly on.

"Think so. The one closest to you guys. She was worried it'd come down from the blast."

Steve and Bucky pick up the pace, relief flooding through them when a group of civilians rushes out of the building y/n was clearing.

"Is anyone still inside?" Steve asks them, while Bucky cranes his head up to look through the shattered windows. Before any of the survivors can answer, the building behind to rumble, the boom of an explosion going off cutting off whatever answer was being given.

Immediately shielding the civilians, Steve looks up in horror just in time to see the building split into two crumpled pieces, the top half collapsing into the building next to it.

~

There's a ringing in her ears, throbbing in her head and the taste of iron floods her mouth. Groaning, she lifts herself up enough to find that she's braced against a column, smoke and dust clouding her vision but she knows that something is off. The world around her has tilted, leaving the walls as the ground beneath her feet.

An explosion, she concludes, racking her brain for what she'd been doing when the bomb went off. A civilian, she remembers, the last one on the top floor, a young intern frozen in fear as battle rang out around him. Forgetting that she lost her comms in a fight earlier, she reaches for ear to call for backup. Instead, she's met with slick, warm blood and a tender skull.

Grey, the boy's name had been Grey. He'd told her during her attempt to guide him out from under his desk.

"I promise I can get you outta here Grey." She had sworn, and she intends to fulfill that. Unsteadily, she rides to her feet, balancing herself on the rubble around her.

"Grey?" She calls out, voice rough. "Grey if you're here I need a noise, a movement, something!"

She strains her eyes, searching through the mess of grey and charred black. Finally, a flash of ash ridden green, the color he'd been wearing. She watches as he rises to his knees, a gash on his forehead and blood dripping from his ears too.

Quick but careful, she makes her way through destroyed desks and crumpled walls until she's close enough to see how utterly screwed Grey is. A window. He's balanced on a cracked window, one surrounding by other empty window panes.

The boy trembles, helpless as his terrified eyes find hers. She burries her panic, doing her best to appear calm and confident.

"It's ok," she comforts, "I just need you stay very still ok? Let me come to you."

Grey nods, lip wavering in fear. Y/n takes a deep breath, hesitantly stepping onto the panel between two broken windows. When it holds her weight easily, she continues.

"Its breaking," Grey says weakly, peering down the splintering window at the street below them. Y/n doesn't get a good look, but she thinks she can make out two familiar men below. Steve and Bucky. Relief floods through her. They'll send Sam, she just needs to get Grey off that window.

"Don't look down," she instructs, "look at me. Keep your eyes on me."

He complies, tear filled eyes meeting hers again. It's a slow progress, checking the beams to find which ones she can walk on. She does her best to distract Grey, telling him of Sam and the boys below, how she knows they'll be up soon to help. Until then, he's gotta trust her.

"I do," he swears, "I trust you."

And there's relief when she gets a window away from him, prepared to quickly tug him to safety after she steadies her feet. But then the ripped half of the building is quivering, dropping a few feet down and the window is breaking before she gets enough time to grab him.

Panicked, she throws herself out of the window after him, left hand gripping the window pane while the right locks around his wrist. The pull in her shoulder is almost paralyzing as his weight comes to an abrupt stop. She's fairly certain it's dislocated or at the least something's torn, but the adrenaline in her veins keeps her grip strong.

"Y/n!"

Her feet dangle wildly, Grey squeezing her hand for dear life as he hangs 60 feet above ground. Steve and Bucky call out for her, something she doesn't quite pick up because she's too busy trying to calm Grey's hyperventilating body. He's wiggling, panicking, legs swinging in a frenzy like they're trying to find solid ground.

"Grey I need you to stop, if you keep moving I'll slip." As if proving her point, the sweat on her palm becomes slippery. He listens, for the most part, but he can't help the way his body quivers and shakes with cries.

"Sam's grounded!" Steve shouts from below, a panic in his voice she's not used to. "Hang on sweetheart, Stark is coming!"

She doesn't answer, can't answer because her muscles and tendons are screaming and burning, begging her to let go, and the fingers in Grey's hold have gone numb. A few more seconds, painfully long seconds, and the sound of the Iron Man suit floods her ears. Another brief moment of relief, one that also doesn't last because Grey has lost his grip and before she can even think of instructing to him to just hold on for one more second, she loses her grip on the boy and his scream overpowers Tony's thrusters as he falls to the pavement below.

~

Tony got her down safely. Caught her mid fall after she'd jumped after Grey in a weak attempt to save him. By the time her feet touch the ground, she's bolting, heading for the backside of the building where the body of the boy sits. The weak swing of her shoulder and the limp in her right leg slows her down, enough for Bucky to easily catch up to her and halt her. She fights his hold, desperate as he shushes and calms her.

Steve follows closely behind, assisting Bucky in taking care of their girl. Somehow, through a haze they get her to the Quinjet, both working on cleaning up her wounds during the painfully silent flight home. Y/n remains dazed and quiet as they take her to her bedroom, getting her in the shower, bandaged and dressed. Bucky is brushing out her wet hair on the edge of the bed while Steve fluffs the pillows when she finally speaks.

"I had him," she says, voice wavering. "I just needed a few more seconds. If I had held on-"

"Don't do that doll," Bucky interrupts sternly, pulling her into his lap. "don't think about the what ifs, you saved so many lives today. You did what you were supposed to."

She doesn't say anything but they know her well enough to know that she still doesn't believe them. Steve moves to sit next to them, wrapping one arm around her and one around Bucky.

"This job doesn't come without casualties sweetheart, we all know that. You stopped as many as you could and we're so proud of you for that."

His words bring her to tears, painful, heart cutting sobs that force both super soldiers to bite back their own tears. They hold her even tighter, soothing her with kisses and promises of making it better, of assuring her that it won't always hurt.

And once she's all cried out, puffy eyes and bones like cooked noodles, they tuck her into the middle of the bed, sandwiching her between their strong, warm bodies. Somewhere safe and comforting, where she can rest knowing they've got her and they won't be letting go anytime soon.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Metallo!Lena AU Part 22

Despite Kara's patent joy over being included in Lena's holiday event, Lena can't shake the feeling of disappointment that follows her. She can't put her finger on what bothers her about the photo Kara prints and gets framed of them, until one night she's glaring at the picture and a wayward thought darts across her mind.

I should have kissed her.

The thought stops Lena in her tracks, her brain record-scratching to a halt. But as shocking as it is, her new revelation soon envelops her like a warm blanket. She wants to kiss Kara. She... loves Kara.

Lena's eyes sting with tears-- she's in love. A state so pedestrian, so normal... it's something she'd never imagined she'd have again, and yet here it is, proof that despite the parts of her no longer her own, she's still capable of the one thing it is to be human. To love.

She laughs then, a wet sound that leaves her sniffling as she cranks up the holiday radio. The familiar music fills the room, and Lena lets herself bop around to the beat, unable to sit still.

She's in love.

She's alive.

---

She doesn't tell Kara.

As soon as her initial euphoria dims, doubt surges in to take her place. What if Kara doesn't feel the same way? What if the reason Kara got the photo of them framed is because it perfectly encapsulates their friendship-- their friendship, and nothing more?

If Lena says something, and Kara doesn't feel the same way, she'll ruin everything that fills her life with joy: their friendship, working with Supergirl, being roommates, everything. So Lena keeps her discovery to herself, and instead cherishes every moment she has with Kara.

They bake cookies for Kara's annual holiday party, and Lena takes a mental snapshot of Kara smiling at her over coffee, her cheek smudged with flour. She helps decorate the tree, and feels her hand burn under Kara's touch when Kara wobbles on the ladder and reaches for her in reflex.

She avoids the mistletoe Kara puts up like the plague, determined not to be caught beneath it with Kara or anyone else.

There's something special in the way Kara welcomes others into their home. The guests are comfortable enough, but there's a stiffness in their postures to be in someone else's home, but Lena isn't stiff. She's totally at ease, as much a host as Kara. But her eyes are never far from Kara, who looks festive and cozy in a flattering christmas sweater.

Kara glows in the the twinkle of the christmas tree lights, her smile warm and infectious. Heat pools in Lena's chest, and this time it has nothing to do with the kryptonite sitting there. Its all Kara, all smiles, and when Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree comes up on the playlist, Lena lets Kara pull her into the dance they never got at the gala.

By the end Lena is laughing and giddy with happiness, her face flushed. They flop onto the couch together, giggling. Kara leans into her, and Lena knows in that moment there is no other place she would rather be than right here, her arm hooked through Kara's.

She is home.

---

After the new year, Lena finds herself in a state of calm. L-Corp has completed its rebranding and is running smoothly. The media furor around her has largely dissipated with no shocking news to feed them. She and Kara are in a state of perfect harmony.

Even her work with the DEO has been minimal over the holidays, so when Lena is pinged with a set of coordinates, Lena relishes the change of pace.

With a touch of her watch Lena's armor slides into place around her, and she when arrives at the location she's surprised to see Supergirl hasn't beat her there. Cueing her comms, Lena radios back to the DEO.

"Command, this is Luthor. I am on site, please advise."

"Luthor, this is Command. Supergirl and Director Danvers have just wrapped up at another location and are en route. Secure perimeter."

"Roger that."

Lena scopes out the area from a distance first. There doesn't appear to be any movement external to the building, so when she finally approaches she doesn't expect any interlopers. Even so, the lack of life from inside the warehouse puts her on edge.

Maybe it's another warehouse of Coville's, she reasons, and the DEO is concerned more kryptonite may be present. Even if it were, something feels off. Lena carefully approaches, and upon finding nothing of interest at the perimeter, gets a little closer.

As she steps close enough to peer into one of the windows, several things happen at once. A small grenade clinks to the pavement behind her, issuing a thick plume of smoke that blankets the immediate area in a dense fog, blinding her. Lena immediately switches her optics to thermal, just in time to see a hulking figure loom with a rocket launcher at the ready on his shoulder.

When it fires, it releases not a rocket but a fine metal mesh that wraps tightly around Lena with enough force to knock her from her feet. The figure clicks a button and the net comes to life with electricity, surging through her armor and shorting out every circuit. It blinds and burns her, and suddenly her suit locks into place around her, dead in the water.

With her optics gone, Lena can't see or hear anything except her own ragged breath, until an unseen hand reaches under her chin and rips her helmet open. The smoke from the grenade fills her nose and lungs, making her choke. Through tearing eyes Lena can just make out the shadow of another figure crouching next to her.

Something sharp pricks against her neck, and in moments Lena's senses begin to blur. The last thing she hears before losing consciousness is a familiar voice.

"Welcome back, sis."

previous / next

[uninspired--poet]

Kara almost always felt relieved after a successful detail. Almost always.

She wasn’t sure why this time felt different as she adjusted the lapels of her suit and followed Lena through the heavy maroon curtains towards the back exit of the venue.

Lena’s words still rang in her mind. Fierce, stalwart words regarding the protection of Alien privacy and rights in the workplace. The bill she’d proposed months ago was a big deal. It had echoed throughout the country and throughout the world. It was groundbreaking.

It was dangerous.

Maybe that’s why Kara was listening even harder than she usually did. Maybe that’s why the hairs on her arms were lifting and catching against her stiff dress shirt beneath her jacket as she moved closer to Lena when they finally hit the back door that led to the blocked-off street and to safety from the throng of people who had, effectively, made this side of town more of a celebration than a functioning city.

The shouting and commotion had Kara struggling to focus on any one sound. On any one possible threat. That, combined with the rest of her detail in the comm in one of her ears had her opening herself up so much that she feared she might lose her hearing, entirely.

“All clear for Halcyon. Transport ready.”

Kara let out a little sigh of relief as she rested a hand against Lena’s back and guided her out from under the awning they’d been waiting in and towards the convoy of blacked-out cars that were waiting. One to carry Lena - three to distract.

Kara knew just which one they were headed for.

“Let’s go, Lena,” She urged near Lena’s ear.

They’d made it halfway to the car when a sudden commotion near the guard rails drew Kara’s attention away.

Her brow furrowed when she saw one of her agents struggling with someone who had broken through and only made it a few feet into their perimeter before being stopped.

She gave Lena a gentle push to keep her heading for the car as she stood between the would-be approacher and the car Lena was headed for just in case. Another agent took her place at Lena’s side in an easy, practiced move - escorting Lena the rest of the way while Kara continued assuring the situation was being handled.

That’s when it hit her. A strange, quiet sound. Something soft and indiscernible beneath the raucous atmosphere that had followed the briefing. Continuous. Rhythmic.

Kara held her breath and lowered her eyes to the ground as she honed in on the noise coming from somewhere very nearby.

Very nearby.

A timer.

“Lena!”

In her sudden flood of fear, Kara had forgotten any and all code words. Any and all protocol regarding Lena’s name.

She turned just as the timer ticked one last time, and everything around her seemed to slow to a stop as Lena turned her head sharply in Kara’s direction, her eyes wide and full of fear.

“Down! Get her-” The other agent didn’t even have time to respond to Kara’s order, and Kara knew it.

So, when the blast hit, Lena found herself suddenly and inexplicably covered by the weight of Kara’s body pressing her own down into the pavement. Kara, who had been so far away just a moment ago.

Kara, whose body jerked hard down into her own when the first shockwave washed over them.

She made the most terrible noise against Lena’s still-ringing ears.

A strangled scream mixed with a grunt of pain as the air around them filled quickly and utterly with thick, green, acrid smoke.

Kara was dazed at first.

She wasn’t used to feeling pain. Oh, she’d trained for it, sure. She’d even been injured a time or two by some clever foes.

But this.

Breathing in thick gulps of the only thing that could really hurt her. Feeling it burn into her flesh through the shrapnel that had torn through her suit jacket.

Kryptonite.

What else? Kara didn’t know. She only knew that she had to move.

So she did. She dragged Lena forward underneath herself and used her vision to look through the smoke no one else could see through to find the body of the agent who’d been nearest to Lena.

She didn’t have time to consider him. She only had time to reach into his jacket pocket with a violently trembling hand to pull out a collapsible mask most agents kept inside their jacket. A mask that Kara didn’t need. Usually.

She pressed it over Lena’s face. “Hold this tight.”

Lena did exactly as she was told, and with every ounce of strength she still had in her - Kara lifted her from the ground and rushed for the waiting, open door of the car.

Lena suffered quite a few more bruises when Kara loaded her into the car and landed on top of her with much less purpose than she had before, and as soon as she’d shut the door, she managed to groan into the comm in her ear.

“Halcyon secure. Move.”

It had all happened so fast. Yet it seemed to Lena like it had taken an eternity for the car to start moving. For the filtration systems to kick in and the tears in her irritated eyes to begin to clear.

She was still a little out of it when she finally turned her head towards Kara to find her...utterly still.

“Kara?”

Lena’s voice was trembling. The fear that had already gripped her compounded tenfold, then.

She slid her arms around Kara’s back in an attempt to lift them and gasped sharply when she felt the warm, wet heat of blood seeping through the tattered back of Kara’s jacket.

“Kara!”

Lena rolled her off of herself and Kara let out a shuddering groan when her back met the floor of the car.

“I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry, Kara. Fuck. Fuck.” Lena was almost sobbing as she looked down at her hands to find them covered in angry, bright crimson.

“What do I do?” Lena asked in an urgent whisper as she touched everywhere she could reach on Kara.

“What they tell you to do,” Kara managed to whisper, managing to open her eyes just enough to see Lena’s face. Her scuffed cheek. The tears streaking through the dust on her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“Kara, don’t say that,” Lena gasped as she reached for Kara’s face and cradled it in her hands. Perhaps for the first time, she noticed faint green, sickly lines where the capillaries ran beneath her skin. “Kara, please.”

Kara’s eyes slipped shut then and Lena looked around frantically as she pulled Kara’s head into her lap.

“Help!” Lena’s voice was hoarse as the car just kept speeding along as it had been. No regard for Kara or for the agent probably still lying on the ground at the venue. “Please!”

Lena was screaming, now. Angrily. Bitterly, as she lifted a hand to bang on the bullet-proof partition between her in the driver.

No response.

They were just driving.

“Fuck you!” Lena shouted at the driver as she began rocking for lack of anything else to do. “Fuck you!”

Lena had shouted and cried herself into a trembling, half-aware mess by the time they were pulling into an underground garage at the White House she’d forgotten the existence of.

She only loosely recognized a few faces when the door was opened and Kara was pulled away from her. She struggled, then. She fought weakly against those that were trying to take her away.

“Lena, please,”

Her bleary eyes darted up to land on Alex, then. Alex, who looked about as pale as a sheet.

“Let me help her.”

Lena nodded weakly and finally released her grip on Kara’s jacket.

She watched her for as long as she could while other agents and medical staff led her away.

Kara looked so small being put on the stretcher they’d brought out. She looked small, at least, until Lena lost consciousness entirely. Until the combination of shock, grief, and what was probably a rather impressive concussion finally got the better of her.

When she woke, it would be in her own bed with a fresh bandage on the scrape on her face. Superficial, the nurse looking after her reassured her. Wouldn’t even scar.

Lena didn’t care. God, she didn’t give a fuck about scars right then.

All she cared about was getting to Kara.

Yet, when she tried to get up - the nurse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder just when her head began to spin and she urged her back down.

“You need to rest, Ma’am,”

“No,” Lena argued as she nudged the offending hand away and moved to the edge of the bed. “No, where is Agent Danvers? I need to see Agent Danvers.”

“I don’t know, Ma’am. My only concern right now is your well-being,” The nurse explained in a tone that was both gentle and grating all at once.

“Well then I need you to check for me or I’m going to get out of this bed and look until I pass out and there’s nothing you can do about it. Understand?” Lena had never been harsh with her staff. Ever. She treated them like gold, and she had a wonderful reputation around the White House. Maybe that’s why the nurse looked at her with such understanding and sympathy even after the way she’d just been spoken to.

“Will you rest if I do that?” She asked with a furrow between her brows as Lena looked at her sharply for a moment before laying back down.

“Yes,” She lied, rather convincingly.

The nurse sighed and fixed her pillows from where she’d messed them up in her graceless attempt at getting up, and made her way towards the door.

Lena was out of bed and finding her footing not even a minute after the nurse was out of sight.

It was night time. That much she knew. So it’d been at least a couple of hours since the attack. Or whatever it’d been. The nurse would’ve known, right? If Kara hadn’t…

No. Kara made it. She had to have made it.

Even the thought of the alternative had Lena throwing her robe over her shoulders and dashing down the halls quickly, much to the alarm of the various agents posted here and there. Heightened security.

Lena should’ve known.

Yet, she was a veritable force as she stalked towards the medical wing. Unrelenting. Unapologetic.

Unfortunately, Lena soon found out what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

That immovable object just happened to be Alex - catching her as she swayed on her feet after a rather rough impact that had Lena grunting and Alex sighing heavily.

“You should be in bed. The entire floor is in a panic trying to figure out how to control this situation, and you aren’t making it any better.”

Lena almost apologized when she saw the look of exhaustion on Alex’s face. The lines of worry etched by her eyes and in her forehead.

“Nobody will tell me how Kara is,” She said instead, her voice a whisper - her eyes pleading. “Nobody will tell me what’s going on.”

Alex looked at Lena closely for a moment as she gripped her upper arms firmly to keep her still and to keep her on her feet.

“I’m sure someone was going to brief you, Lena. Had you just stayed in bed like I advised the medical team to have you do. I wasn’t looking forward to having to fire someone today on top of everything else, but-”

“Don’t fire anyone, Alex,” Lena breathed as she slowly shrugged out of Alex’s grip. “I tricked her into leaving so I could find out what was going on, myself.”

“How presidential of you,” Alex spat out, clearly frustrated. Clearly hurting.

But Lena looked so wounded that Alex regretted what she’d said as soon as it left her lips.

“I’m sorry,” Alex sighed, and Lena nodded faintly. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re confused. I just...we don’t need to have this conversation in the hallway.”

Alex glanced over Lena’s shoulder at a swiftly approaching agent, and she held a hand up to stop him.

“I need to look her over. I’ll bring her back to her rooms when I’m done,” Alex said simply, and he stopped in his tracks. Being the Presidential Doctor had its perks, after all. “Let the rest of the detail know.”

“Sure, Doc. I, uh...I think she might’ve bumped her head a little harder than we thought. You might wanna take a look at it.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Alex offered with a little half-smile, and the agent meandered for a while longer.

Alex didn’t offer him any information, despite the fact that she knew everyone who worked under Kara was really having a time. It wasn’t her call. None of this was her call, really. But she couldn’t leave Lena out in the cold for much longer. She didn’t have it in her.

Lena followed Alex down the hall. Then, down a corridor. That’s when they reached passageways even Lena wasn’t familiar with. And then rooms beyond that that were as out of place in the White House as anything Lena could ever have imagined.

When yet another automated door slid shut behind them, Alex finally turned to face her, and she looked as lost as she was worried now.

“Alex...where are we?”

“That’s not important,” Alex responded quietly, finally letting her mask fall away. The circles under her eyes looked darker under the fluorescent lights that were casting their steady glow down over them. “What’s important is the fact that Kara is in the next room, and that she’s...fighting.”

“Fighting?” Lena asked as she took a step closer to Alex. She didn’t care about the fact that her voice broke on the word.

“Yes,” Alex responded with a sigh. “She’s fighting as hard as she can. We’ve managed to flush a great deal of Kryptonite from her system. She’s got every sun lamp we have on her. And she’s fighting.”

“That’s what was in the bomb?” Lena asked breathlessly, her mind still working a million miles a minute trying to keep up. “Kryptonite?”

Alex nodded faintly. It was more of a surrender than a nod, all things told.

“She’s not human,” Lena whispered as her face fell and her eyes widened. The shock washed over her so fast and so hard that it took her breath away for a moment. “She’s Kyryptonian.”

“Yeah,” Alex whispered as she looked away, too. “That’s why she does what she does. Why she is what she is. Why she’s so good at it.”

“That explains a lot,” Lena whispered, trying her best to speak coherently past the soreness in her throat. “Please let me see her. Please.”

“Okay,” Alex agreed more easily than Lena had expected, and Lena shuffled behind her into yet another secret room. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Kara laying there, half-covered beneath a sheet - surrounded by so many lamps it was almost blinding at first.

But even if those lights had blinded her - even if they’d burned the very skin off her bones - Lena still would’ve jogged to side of her bed and reached quickly for her hand.

“I don’t know if she can hear you,” Alex explained quietly as she glanced at a few monitors quickly and then looked back down at Kara. “She’s been stable for the past hour or so. That’s a good sign.”

Lena nodded weakly, and cleared her throat as tears danced in her eyes without falling.

“She’s trying,” Alex continued, her voice a little softer as she reached across Kara’s bed to give Lena’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” Lena gasped with a weak smile, and Alex nodded.

“I’ll give you a few, yeah?”

Lena nodded again. Words were quickly becoming a thing she was no longer capable of.

The moment she heard the door slide shut behind her, the first sob broke past her throat. Followed by an uncontrollable bout of them as she leaned down against Kara’s chest and buried her face against it for a while. At least hearing her heartbeat was a bit of a comfort. As much of one as she was able to find, right then.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lena finally asked in a broken whimper. “Why? I trusted you, Kara.”

Kara didn’t respond, of course. She couldn’t. No matter how hard Lena held her hand. No matter how bitterly she cried.

Until, finally, she cried herself out and slowly pushed herself away from Kara’s chest to find the wet spot her tears had left on her hospital gown.

After a while, she reached out and cradled Kara’s cheek. It was almost alarmingly warm.

“I need you,” Lena said - her voice raw and broken. “Please. Please, come back to me. I...I love you.”

Lena imagined it would be like the movies. That she would confess her love and Kara’s eyes would flutter open and the corners of her lips would turn up in that precious, warm smile of hers.

But this wasn’t a movie. And the only response she got was the steady beeping of the various monitors surrounding them.

The door slid open behind her, and she turned to find Alex approaching her slowly.

“You really should be resting,” Alex said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere until she wakes up, don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know. But you can’t stay down here with us. You know that. You kicked an anthill running from your room earlier.”

“Yeah. And you saved my ass,” Lena finished for her with a quiet sigh. “I’ll go. But Alex, please...I...please fix her.”

Alex nodded. “I’m trying. We’re trying. Trust me.”

“I do,” Lena glanced one more time at Kara, and then slowly let go of her hand so she could follow Alex out of the room. It felt like she was leaving everything she had left in her behind. Including what little strength she’d somehow found to make it here.

Thankfully, the presence of everyone walking past them had her feeling a little steadier. Mostly because she didn’t have a choice. She was still the president. Even if she would’ve thrown it all away without a second thought right now if it meant Kara would just be okay, again.

So, she returned to bed. She sucked it up and apologized to the nurse who’d been assigned to sit with her. A nurse who got a glare from Alex, but nothing more serious than that.

“I’m going to give you something to help you relax,” Alex said as she cut her eyes in the direction of the nurse. “Because you need to get some sleep.”

“Another nurse will be by shortly,” Alex continued as Lena removed her robe and climbed stiffly back into bed. She was really starting to feel all those bruises, now, and Alex noticed her wince despite how she tried to hide it. “She’ll have something for the pain, too.”

“I’ll make sure she stays put this time,” The attending nurse said as Alex notated a few things on Lena’s chart before slipping her little tablet back into the front pocket of her coat.

“I sure hope so,” Alex responded before turning her back on both of them and leaving rather quickly. No doubt in a hurry to get back to her sister.

Lena didn’t blame her.

She’d be right there with her if she could be.

There were just too many things in her way.

Not the least of which were the pounding in her head and the throbbing ache that had her curling into herself in bed and the nurse doing some very undesired worrying over her.

Lena didn’t want that. She didn’t want the pills that came soon thereafter. She didn’t want sleep to take her the way it did even sooner after that.

All she wanted was Kara.

[malcyon]

Leap, Fall, Fly

Summary: He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” 

Tim looks at him, amused.“Dude, I have, like, four.”

*****

Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.

Read on AO3

___________________________________________

Kon kinda wishes he hadn’t come to Gotham tonight.

The pavement below shines with reflected street light thanks to the freezing rain, because the weather in this city sucks. And there’s this creepy chill in the air that's unique only to Gotham that’s been making him shiver for the past hour. But Tim had called, asking if he wanted to patrol, and there was no way in hell Kon was turning that down or leaving halfway through the night.

Even if he can’t feel his feet anymore.

He runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the cold water that runs down his neck, and tries very hard not to look over at where his best friend is crouching on the edge of the building they’re staking out on. He seems to be trying to not look at Tim a lot these days. Trying to focus on anything else.

A few blocks away, a lady is yelling at her cat for knocking over a houseplant.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Tim roll his shoulders back smoothly.

Kon huffs out a frustrated puff of air and examines a trash can in the alley below. Part of him feels like he should say something, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't know what to say to Tim most of the time these days.

Despite that, he’s been stealing moments with the other boy outside of the team whenever he could since he’d gotten back from being dead, or comatose, or whatever it was he had been. What Kon hadn’t been, was there to see the results of his death (and Stephanie's, and Bart's, and Bruce's, and Tim's dad's, and so, so many more) on his best friend. Hadn’t been there to see Tim fall apart and then forge himself into something stronger than what he’d been as Robin.

A rat skitters over the garbage lid. He watches it blankly.

He knows that Tim had shattered while he was dead, had put himself back together piece by piece until he was almost whole again. And even now he acts fine, enough so that no one gets too close to see where he's falling apart at the edges.

But sometimes Kon will catch Tim staring at him like he’s about to disappear. Will catch the too fast, scared heartbeat of his best friend.

And it makes Kon want to scream or punch something, blame someone for not helping—It makes him want to hold onto Tim and tell him he’s not going away ever, ever again; because who else is gonna stay up with him to binge-watch Wendy movies and eat junk food until two in the morning? Hell, they don’t even have to do that; Kon would be down with anything that would get rid of the sad look in Tim’s eyes.

And this isn’t even counting all the bullshit with the assassins and Bruce dying and coming back and how strained things still are between Tim and Dick and how there’s a new Robin along with a new Superboy and—

Kon glares at the brick wall across the alley. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t care that Jon had donned the costume. Yeah, his little brother has done more than earned it, but it hurts knowing that he’d missed that too.

Plus now he has to come up with a new hero name.

He shivers again and scuffs his foot against the ground. Carefully, he glances over at Tim, whose masked eyes are still examining the dark corners below their building. Kon sorta hopes that something happens so he could at least move around a bit.

He wonders if that’s unethical then decides that he’s too cold to do any further introspection about himself.

Kon whines instead, “Hey, Red Robin.”

There’s no answer from the other boy—not even a twitch.

“Red. Robbie. Rob. R—”

Tim lets out a long sigh and Kon grins at him. “What?”

“I’m bored.”

“And?”

“And I’m cold.”

“And?”

“And I’m hungry, dude. I want some of Agent A’s cookies.”

Tim looks over at him, and Kon floats a few inches off the ground, giving his best puppy-dog eyes. He’s pretty sure Tim raises an eyebrow under the mask, but Kon tilts his head anyway, mimicking the face Jon gives Lois when he has to go to bed but the movie will be done in ten minutes, come on, pleeeeease.

Tim sighs again, in either amusement or exasperation Kon’s not sure. But he does stand up, so Kon gives himself a mental high five.

“Not like anything’s going on anyway.”

Kon doesn’t even bother to hide his beaming smile as he asks, “Fly back?”

Tim shrugs in agreement and jumps down from his brooding perch, steps light on the rooftop. Kon lowers himself to the ground, carefully picks up the other boy, and is suddenly very much aware of how Tim smells like rain and some sort of really nice body wash. He probably takes off a little too quickly, but he blames it on wanting to get out of the cold.

Tim makes a startled noise and throws an arm around Kon’s shoulders, and Kon curses at himself briefly before wrapping Tim up in his TTK, stabilizing him. The other boy relaxes but doesn’t seem to find it necessary to remove his grip, and Kon decides that focusing on flying is a really great idea. At the very least, it’s better than running into a street lamp.

He’s been in Gotham enough now to know how to get to the Manor from anywhere in the city, and the lights blur together as he goes faster and faster, raindrops splashing against his face.

To be honest, Kon has no idea if he's even allowed to be in the Bat's territory; he certainly wasn't given an invitation. But Tim's been dragging him here more and more lately, and since he hasn't been stabbed with a kryptonite batarang yet, Kon's not going to ask any questions. Maybe Tim had just worn Bruce down, or maybe Dick had changed the man's mind. Whatever it was, Kon got to hang out more with Tim and that’s what mattered.

Tim's laugh draws him out of his head, the sound vibrating through Kon’s chest and he lets out a whoop as they dodge buildings all the way to the Manor.

The rain has thoroughly soaked both of them by the time they enter the tunneled entrance to the Cave, but Kon can’t find it in him to care as he lands, still snickering, on the floor. Tim is grinning wildly as he steps out of Kon’s arms and takes off the Red Robin mask, his wet hair dripping down into his face until he runs a gauntleted hand through it. It sticks up in a bunch of spikes and Kon bursts into laughter.

Tim scowls at him and shakes his head, water droplets flying everywhere and making it even worse.

Kon bites his lip, barely toning down his sniggers, and steps forward. “Dude, stop; that’s not helping.” Tim glares. Kon rolls his eyes and, before he lets himself think about it too much, drags his hands through Tim’s hair, managing to calm it down enough to look presentable.

Tim’s skin is warmer than he thought it’d be, and his hair is thick with water and getting long. Kon likes it; his friend looks older, different in a way that makes Kon wanna stare at him. He wonders if anyone else notices like Kon does. Girls on the street certainly do whenever they go out as civilians, their stares catching on Tim's form, his sharp eyes. The thought makes his stomach sour.

Tim blinks, surprised with the contact maybe, but only gives Kon a quiet grin and doesn’t say anything.

Kon wants to beat his forehead against a wall.

The other boy unexpectedly takes a step back and surveys him with narrowed eyes. “You’re soaked.”

“So are you,” he points out, but Tim waves the observation aside.

“Yeah, but I’m taking this off—” Part of Kon’s brain is suddenly filled with some very exciting images—“and changing into something else. But you don’t really have any extra clothes.”

Kon tries to ignore the pictures in his head, but the tips of his ears still feel hot when he manages, “Am I staying the night?”

The atmosphere changes and Kon suddenly feels like he’s blundering through something that should be handled by someone who understands their own feelings. Tim opens his mouth, then pauses before continuing, “You don’t have to, I mean, if you have things you need to do then you should go, but the storm is gonna get really bad so—”

“No!” Kon definitely did not yelp. He clears his throat. “No, I’ll call Ma, but I should be in the clear. It’s a Friday so, you know, I can do the important chores later this weekend.”

Tim slowly nods. “Yeah, yeah, tell her I said hi. I’m going to get out of this suit; I’ll be right back.”

Kon isn't sure if he imagines the sudden stiffness to Tim’s shoulders as he walks away to some other part of the cave to change or not. He watches for a second, wanting to say something else even if he doesn't know what. But he only pulls out his burner phone and taps out Ma’s number, pointedly ignoring the unexpected awkwardness in the air. She picks up by the second ring.

“Hello?” There’s the sound of crickets and Krypto’s barking behind her voice, and Kon smiles a little bit for no particular reason.

“Hey, Ma. There’s a storm passing through Gotham, so it’s cool if I stay the night at the Manor, right?”

“Of course, Conner. I’m guessing that you’re with Tim?”

“Yeah, he says ‘Hi’ by the way. I promise I’ll try to go to sleep at a decent time tonight.”

She hums at him over the phone, amused. “I’m sure you will.” Kon hears her take in a breath, then hesitate.

“Ma?”

“How . . . are things with Tim?”

He straightens up even though she can’t see him.

“I—What?”

“How is he?”

“Uh, he’s okay. Busy. I think he’s running himself a little ragged.”

“I’m not surprised. You'll need to bring him over for dinner.”

“For dinner?” Kon's pretty sure he's missing something that should be obvious.

“The last time he came over feels like ages ago, and things between you two have seemed rather . . . tense.”

“What—How?”

She hesitates again. “It just feels like you both have something to say to each other.”

His heart stumbles, breath catching in his throat.

"I don't—"

"I've seen the way you look at him, dear."

His brain scratches to a stop.

She continues thoughtfully, "You're always talking about him, you did even while you were dating that Cassie girl. And I know how much time you've been spending with him lately, with the team and all." She's quiet for a moment. "You're sweet on him, aren't you?"

The question hangs in the air, and Kon struggles to breathe.

"I . . . “ He swallows weakly. “Maybe. Just a little. You know.”

”Really? I was so sure you two—"

"We're not together!" The words come out strangled as his ears burn from the teasing in her tone. Ma sighs over the phone.

"Well, I know that. If you were you'd have brought him over for dinner."

Oh.

He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "You think I should . . . "

"Talk to him? Yes, I think you should."

"But what if he doesn't—"

"He does. Trust me, dear, he does." Kon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He thinks of the way Tim’s hair felt against his hands and the haunted look in his eyes that sometimes appears when nobody is paying attention. Ma continues softly, “He’s a good boy and I know what he means to you, Conner. Talk to him.”

He nods at the ground. “Yeah . . . Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and tell Alfred I want him to send me his recipe for snickerdoodles, and in return, I’ll finally give him my instructions for blueberry pie.”

A weak laugh comes out of his chest. “Okay, Ma.”

“Don’t stay up all night,” she chuckles and then says gently, "I love you."

"Love you, too."

She hangs up.

He puts his phone away and stares at the chittering bats on the ceiling high above.

Kon knows that he and Tim have been dancing around having a real talk for months. And it's weird because they used to be able to say anything to each other. But now it’s like they’re walking on a tightrope, carefully balancing so they don’t fall into a chasm of complicated feelings beneath them.

The truth is that Tim and Kon don’t click the way they had before. Like some piece of their puzzle has been flipped, and an entirely new picture created. And Kon has no idea what to do about it. 'Cause they’ve always been close. Before Kon had died, they’d been the best of friends, trusted one another with their secrets, their goddamn lives. Tim had covered his back and he had covered Tim’s. Even when the team was together, they were the ones who had stuck to each other’s sides like glue.

But then Kon had gone and gotten himself killed.

He knows that after he died the team had lost it. Cassie had joined a cult, Bart had died, and Tim had—

Kon’s throat suddenly feels way too tight.

He looks down at the ground.

But then Kon came back. And, yeah, they’re still best friends, but now there’s something else there. Something that both of them have been dutifully ignoring for months now and that Kon isn’t too keen on bringing up, messing with their delicate balance.

Though if Ma had noticed the tension between them . . . They really had to talk.

“Just to let you know, the house is gonna be basically empty tonight, it’s only us, Alfred, and Damian.” Tim’s voice comes from behind him, and Kon nearly jumps. He spins around to see his friend in some old work out clothes, rubbing his head on a towel.

Kon stares at him in disbelief.

“You’re telling me that your entire family all had things to do tonight except for the Bat Brat?” Tim grins at him from underneath the towel and something in Kon’s chest grows warm.

“Yeah, Dick’s in Bludhaven, Jason’s blowing some buildings up, the girls decided to go on a weekend trip to Japan, and Bruce is in Italy for sudden business stuff.”

“And the reason Damian hasn’t included himself in any of these activities is?”

“He’s sick.”

Kon nearly snickers.

“You’re shitting me. There’s no way he’d let getting sick stop him from doing any of that.”

Tim laughs and shakes his head. “Both Bruce and Dick threatened him with being benched if he went anywhere this weekend.”

Kon whistles. Direct orders from the Bat weren’t to be taken lightly. “I’m guessing that went well.”

Tim shrugs and puts the towel around his neck. “Not as bad as you would think. I mean, he was definitely in a pissy mood, but I think Jon is rubbing off on him. There wasn’t as much yelling as there could have been. But he was also totally out of it, so I’m giving credit to his cold and not development of character.” Tim throws the towel on a nearby table and starts walking up the stairs to go into the house, Kon floating after him.

Tim leads him through several hallways filled with family pictures that Kon knows his friend probably took when none of his said family was paying attention. One snags his eye and he pauses to get a better look. It's of Tim and Cassandra throwing pillows at each other inside one of the Manor’s many guest rooms. Whoever took the photo had good timing; they had caught Tim mid-laugh, eyes bright as they watched Cass bring a pillow down on his head.

Kon examines it for a second longer before the sound of Tim’s footsteps brings him back to the present.

He doesn’t look at any more pictures.

The kitchen is one of Kon’s favorite places in the house; it’s cozy despite its size, painted with pale yellows and creamy whites, and usually contains some kind of treat Alfred's whipped up. He hovers in the doorway, breathing in the warmth as Tim opens up one of the many cupboards and grabs a tin of what Kon hopes has cookies in it. He resists the urge to do a mid-air flip when he’s proven correct and Tim hands him the container while he starts to make tea.

The awkwardness from earlier has transformed into something comfortable and familiar, and Kon floats cross-legged and watches as Tim pours water into a pot and sets it to boil.

He takes a sweet from the tin and bites into it, the cookie melting on his tongue. He moans quietly because food and glances back up at his friend. Tim is facing the stove, shoulders suddenly rigid and Kon's eyes snag on the bright pink color his ears are turning.

Then he notices that Tim didn’t manage to dry his hair all the way, and Kon watches as a drop of water rolls down the back of his neck.

He swallows his cookie.

“Hey, so, I—I need some advice.” Kon isn't sure what to do with his hands, and he ends up lightly tapping the box with his fingers. Tim turns around, his brow furrowed in slight concern, the pink quickly fading from his ears.

“With what?”

Kon stares at the granite island below where he’s floating. He brings himself down until he sits on it with his legs hanging over the side, towards Tim but not quite looking him in the eyes. “I need to come up with a new hero identity.”

Tim’s gaze widens a tiny bit with realization before a smirk spreads on his face. “Does this mean a new outfit? Because you need a new outfit.”

Kon drops his mouth open, only to shut it and scowl. “What’s wrong with this?” He gestures to his damp t-shirt and jeans.

Tim gives him a look.

“Do you know how many shirts you go through?”

“They’re easily replaceable!”

“So many. I can’t begin to tell you how many shirts I’ve seen you lose on missions. And in the tower. And on the farm. And—why do you even wear them at this point?”

Kon huffs and glares at him. “At least help me come up with a new name.”

There’s the sound of dog nails on wood and a subdued sneeze, and Tim’s gaze locks on something behind him. Kon twists around and Damian meets his stare coolly, even though Kon can see the circles under the kid’s eyes and his raw nose. Shit.

“A new name for exactly what, clone?”

Tim sighs and goes to grab another mug as Titus weaves around his legs. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Damian scrunches his nose with distaste. “I’ve been in bed all day, Drake.”

“The more you rest up, the sooner you get back to patrolling with Superboy,” Kon points out and Damian shoots him a half-hearted glower. Since becoming friends with Jon and more tolerant of Tim, Damian had grown used to Kon’s presence and quips. Kon's pretty sure that Damian isn't pleased about this at all.

“Is that what you’re doing? Finally moving on from Superboy and creating a new identity?” Damian plops down on one of the counter’s stools and sniffles. Kon offers him the tin of sweets. The kid sighs and takes it without a snarky comment.

No wonder Bruce had made him stay home.

“Yeah, trying to at least.”

Tim hums in thought, “You going to keep ‘Super’ in the name, or not?”

“It would be moronic if you didn’t,” Damian states, but doesn’t look up from where he’s feeding Titus a cookie. Kon cocks his head and resists the urge to swing his legs back and forth like a kid deciding what kind of ice cream he wants.

“It’d be weird if I don’t, but considering how both Superman and Superboy are taken, well . . .”

Tim considers him for a moment. “Superdude.”

“No.”

“Superguy?”

“I don’t care how bad that storm is out there; I will fly home if I have to.”

“Superlad.”

“Drake, I will set Titus on you.”

“Eat your cookie, Demon Brat.”

Damian ignores the order and glances at Kon like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to make the words come out the right way. He nibbles on his lip before speaking, “Jon’s been thinking about your predicament.” He rubs Titus’s head gently. “I . . . believe he feels guilty about taking the Superboy mantle away from you.”

Kon sits up straighter, about to do what, he doesn’t know; but then a hand on his shoulder makes him stop and glance up. Tim is looking at Damian, focused, eyes intent. It takes Kon a moment to go back at the kid, who’s frowning at the cookie in his hand. He thinks for a second.

“He shouldn’t; he’s doing a great job, better than I ever did, really.” Damian glances up, still chewing on his lip, and Kon continues, “But I’ll talk to him about it.” He grins. “Thanks.”

The kid blinks and nods slowly. Tim squeezes his shoulder gently, and if Kon leans into it a bit, Tim doesn’t say anything. Damian, despite the haze of the cold in his eyes, picks up on it though and gives Kon a miniscule eyebrow raise when Tim turns around to shut off the boiling water.

Kon goes very still as Damian’s gaze flickers between him and Tim, his brain coming up with all sorts of images that involve kryptonite and swords and he's already died once, he doesn't feel like doing it again, thanks. Damian gives him a narrow-eyed appraising look, and Kon gets a hollowing feeling that a pros and cons list is forming about his existence and all he can do is watch as it's debated over.

Then Damian dips his head the tiniest bit and goes back to feeding Titus his cookie.

His chest relaxes. Damian looks up at him again, the sharp, calculating stare gone, replaced with something almost contemplative.

“Jon also came up with a few names you could use.”

Oh, Kon is going to absolutely smother his little brother with hugs the next time he sees him.

Damian gives Kon a thoughtful glance before continuing, “Though he did have a favorite.”

Tim sets down two mugs of tea in front of them, and leans forward on the counter with his forearms, hands clasped around his own cup. Kon can see the outline of his shoulder blades through his threadbare shirt. “What is it?”

Damian reaches for his mug. “I believe it was called ‘Supernova.’”

Huh.

Tim looks up at Kon with a smile and a shrug. “I mean, I’m personally still a fan of Superdude, but that’s pretty good too, I guess.”

Kon snorts into his drink and Titus whines for another treat. Damian scoffs and hops down from the stool, cookie and tea in hand, and starts walking back to the hallway. Tim rolls his eyes and picks up the cookie tin to put it away. When his back is turned, Damian shoots Kon a puzzled look and glances between him and Tim again before muttering something in Arabic and turning out of the room.

“Go to sleep.” Tim calls after him, and Kon hears a disgruntled ‘tt’ and a sneeze as Titus follows the boy into the hall. Tim leans back on the counter next to the stove and takes a sip of his tea. “That went much better than I expected.”

Kon grins at him and lets his head drop back. The mug is cooling in his hands, and he wouldn’t mind taking a nap right now.

“I’m still calling you Superdude.” Kon’s not sure if he’d rather kick his best friend out the door or fly through the nearest window. Tim laughs at whatever expression is on Kon’s face. “Seriously though, you need a new outfit. Or at least one that’s waterproof.”

Right. 'Cause Kon’s still in his damp costume that smells like Gotham’s streets which is not the greatest thing ever, and warm clothes sound like a really nice idea. Tim takes Kon’s mug and puts the cups in the dishwasher. “Come on, I think I might have something that you can wear after all.”

Kon slides off the island and follows Tim out of the warm kitchen and up the huge flight of stairs that lead to the second floor and Tim’s bedroom.

He tries not to examine the pictures on the walls, but as they walk his gaze flickers to them anyway. The photos are authentic; bright moments captured by Tim’s camera and hung in the open halls of the Manor with pride.

Kon doesn’t know a lot about photography, but he does know that Tim is good. Really good. Able to snap little snippets of life and set them in frames in a way that's real. He could probably go professional if he wanted to, instead of the current CEO thing. Though Tim seems more than gleefull in torturing greasy businessmen, including Lex which still makes Kon nearly cackle, in the boardroom.

Then he spots several photos that contain other people than just the Waynes.

There’s one of Clark, Diana, and Bruce in a city park, though Bruce’s smile seems a little strained since the other two had basically forced him into a hug. Another that shows Wally graduating from Stanford, arms wrapped around Dick’s and Donna’s shoulders, laughing at some inside joke. Roy dozing on a couch in the library with Jason on the floor next to him, nose buried in a book.

There’s even one with Krypto, the dog nearly buried under Titus with Alfred the cat snoozing at his paws.

He can’t help but stare at that picture and wonder how the hell Tim managed to creep up on the superdog without waking him. Maybe Krypto had heard him but hadn’t been concerned. Besides, the dog likes Tim.

Kon’s eyes glance over the photos again, before looking at where Tim is walking up ahead. He pauses for a second.

Are there any pictures of him?

He shakes his head slightly and goes down the hall.

Tim opens his door and Kon can’t help but let out a little breath of air like he always does when he sees Tim’s room. It’s big, and Tim has his own bathroom, den, living area, balcony, and, most importantly, a giant flat-screen TV to play video games on. But Tim ignores all that and goes over to a dresser, Kon in tow, and begins rifling through the drawers, looking for something. Kon floats a bit, hands in his pockets.  

Then Tim holds up an article of clothing triumphantly and Kon’s brain stops working.

“Told you that you lose your shirts.” Tim grins at him, but Kon only manages a blink in return.

Because that is a Superboy shirt. One of his Superboy shirts. Tim has one of his shirts. Tim could have been wearing his shirt. Kon barely manages to catch the reason for his inner meltdown when Tim tosses the stupid thing at him.

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused.

“Dude, I have, like, four.”

Kon is fucked. He is so irrevocably fucked.

“How did I not notice—”

“So many shirts, Kon. You go through. So. Many. Shirts.”

“But how did you even get them?”

Tim shrugs almost sheepishly. “I don’t know. They just kinda appeared in my closet.” Kon nods dazedly and Tim frowns. “Don’t have any pants that will fit you though.”

“I’ll wear my boxers.”

Tim looks at him for a moment and stands up, stretching lazily. “So, whatcha wanna do?”

Kon stares at him and Tim grins and walks over to the TV console. Kon kicks off his shoes and begins to unbuckle his belt as Tim looks over his collection of games.

It kinda feels like they’re replaying a memory from before Kon died. Putting in a disc, hands wrapping around a controller; he’s pretty sure the night will play out with the same old bickering and arguments. Just like they’re sixteen again and everyone they care about is alive and only a phone call away.

But now there’s the tension from earlier creeping back into the air. Also, Kon is taking off his pants.

He snickers to himself.

Tim is calling out game suggestions, and Kon is really only half paying attention to the names. He pulls off his damp t-shirt and folds his clothes before putting them on the dresser because Ma’s tidiness habits seem to be wearing off on him.  

He wonders if there’ll be pancakes by the time he’s up. Hopefully, there will be because Alfred’s cooking is to die for. Healthier than Ma’s, sure, and not quite as hearty, but still mouthwatering.

It takes him a second to realize that Tim is no longer talking.

Kon glances up and freezes.

Tim is staring at him, eyes roaming over his body with an expression that Kon can’t quite place and hasn’t ever seen before on the other boy. His gaze dips over Kon’s collar bone and down to the muscles on his chest and stomach, lingering. He meets Kon’s stare, and Kon can barely breathe because Tim’s eyes are sorta dark and intense and they’re pinning him to the ground.

He holds Kon's gaze evenly, and though Kon's aware of the fact that he shouldn’t be listening, Tim’s heartbeat fills his ears, fast and steady.

Tim looks down at his hands, and Kon knows he’s not imagining the slight flush on Tim’s face as he lifts up one particular game they haven’t played in years.

“MarioKart?”

Kon’s mouth is dry.

“Sure.”

He pulls on the Superboy shirt; it’s old and tight around his chest and shoulders. He ignores it and makes his way to sit down next to Tim.

They don’t say anything as Tim slides in the disc and the intro music begins to play. Kon fiddles with his controller as they select their usual characters. The colored light flashes across Tim’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and pooling shadow at the column of his throat. He has a freckle under his left ear.

Kon keeps wrecking on the screen in front of them, but Tim doesn’t seem to care too much because it’s not brought up.

Tim shoves him off of Rainbow Road, and this is the part where Kon is supposed to attack the other boy with a pillow in retaliation, but he only spawns again and keeps playing. Tim doesn’t look at him.

It’s too quiet to be anything like when they were sixteen.

He can almost feel the tightrope they’ve been balancing on straining.

Eventually, Kon stretches his neck back and closes his eyes. There’s the sound of a car crash in the game and he knows it isn't his. Cautiously, Kon peeks one of his eyelids open and sees Tim staring at the ceiling like it owes him an explanation for why his life is going the way it is.

Kon hits the pause button and lies onto his back. He takes an unsteady breath. Another. Ma’s words bounce around in his head.

“We need to talk.”

Tim lies down next to him but doesn’t glance over. “Yeah.” His voice is very quiet.

Kon rolls over on his side to look at him. Tim’s eyes are determinedly fixed upwards and Kon lets out a small sigh. “Hey, look at me, please.”

Slowly, Tim’s gaze moves to him. His eyes are steely blue with grey around the pupils, and they look a little lost. There are faded smudges of purple beneath them and Kon wonders how he didn’t notice that earlier. His lips twitch down.

“When was the last time you slept?” Tim opens his mouth and Kon restates his question, “I mean really slept, Tim.”

Tim closes his mouth slowly and stares at the rug underneath them. “Not for a while.”

“Why not?”

A bitter laugh leaves the other boy’s throat, “Nightmares.”

Something cold squeezes Kon’s insides. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Their tightrope sways and Kon breathes and braces himself in case it snaps.

“What are they about?”

Tim’s breathing hitches and his steel eyes close tightly. “People I care about dying. You dying. What . . . What I did after.”

After. Because before and after Kon’s death is all that seems to exist these days. And what happened after had not been pretty. Not at all.

“Tim—”

Tim jumps to his feet, hands running through his slightly damp hair and eyes looking at anything other than him. Kon sits up and watches his friend walk frantically back and forth in front of the TV.

“Look, you don’t have to do this, Kon. You don’t—I’m—I’m fucked up. And I know I’m back with the team and we’ve been working together, but you don’t have to do this—” Tim gestures at the space between them vaguely—“if it freaks you out. If I freak you out. I did some messed up shit, Kon, you don’t have to stay.”

Tim doesn’t stop pacing as Kon slowly stands, the thick rug soft under his feet.

“And I get it. Really, I get it. I went—I went crazy without you. I mean, I fucking tried to clone you and now—” Tim's eyes are a little red, and he shakes his head at the ceiling—“It’s like we’re playing pretend, like everything is okay when it’s not. It’s not. I’m not. And you know that so why are you even still here?” Tim whirls around, hands splayed to the room.

Kon takes a small step towards him, palms open, like he's approaching a scared animal. The tightrope wobbles. “Because you’ve always been there for me; because you’re my friend.”

Another step and Tim’s staring at him almost in pain. “I’m not the same person I was, Kon. I—” Tim looks away, closes his eyes hard—“I can’t be the same kind of friend that you want.”

And that makes Kon pause because there could be something to unpack with that.

Tim’s cheekbones might be flushing, it’s hard to tell with the only light coming from their abandoned game, and Kon hopes they are. He really fucking hopes Tim’s implying what he thinks he’s implying. Carefully, he murmurs, “Do you think I’m the same too? Do you really think that after all the shit I’ve been through, I’d even want to be the same?” He moves closer. “That I’d want us to be the same?”

Tim goes very still like he’s never thought of this before. The tightrope swings dangerously above the chasm of complicated feelings and Kon feels like it’s rushing up to meet them with all the grace and speed of a runaway train.

The multicolored lights from the game play across Tim’s face. He watches them for a moment.

“Tim, listen, I’m still here whether you think I should be or not. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You haven’t scared me away, Rob. You’re not getting rid of me. I’m not leaving—not again.” Tim’s eyes are wide and Kon takes another tiny step towards him.

Tim is giving him a look, like what Kon’s saying makes a bit of sense before he sighs and shuts his eyes. “How are you so . . . ”

They’re really close now, and Kon can see the flickering of Tim’s eyelashes. His gaze drops down a little bit to Tim’s parted lips. “So?” Tim’s eyes open and he shakes his head slightly and doesn’t continue. He’s staring at Kon’s mouth, and Kon sees his tongue flash across his bottom lip, making it wet.

Fuck it, Kon thinks, and he leaps off the tightrope.

Tim tastes like peppermint tea, and he doesn’t move when Kon threads one of his hands through his hair and kisses him fiercely.

And Kon sorta hates himself a little bit, because there’s no way they’d still be able to be best friends after this if he misread everything. Sure, they could try, but Kon knows that it’ll all be forced and even more awkward than this entire evening has been, and one of the greatest friendships in his life is now lying possibly ruined on Tim’s bedroom floor.

He pulls away, a billion apologies already thundering through his head but they all stick in his throat, and he looks at the ground. Tim stares at him, eyes round.

“Shit, I’m so—”

Tim hauls him forward by his too-tight shirt and kisses him.

Oh.

Kon’s hands seem to understand what’s going on much faster than his brain because they’re quickly sliding back into Tim’s hair and along Tim’s neck and are tracing his jaw, and Tim is groaning, or maybe that’s Kon, it’s kinda hard to tell. Tim’s fingers grasp the Superboy logo at his chest, and his other hand presses against the side of Kon’s face. His thumb brushes Kon’s cheekbone and Kon makes another noise.

One of Kon’s hands slides down to grip Tim’s waist, pulling him closer until Tim is fully up against him; his muscles truly relaxed for the first time since God knows how long. Tim nips at Kon’s bottom lip then Kon’s mouth parts open and Tim’s tongue is in his mouth, and somebody taught Tim how to kiss because he’s really good at it.

Kon sends that somebody a silent thank you as the other boy’s lips suddenly escape Kon’s and move to his throat. Leaving him to pant against Tim's ear, more than slightly disoriented.

He's never wanted like this before, not with Cassie, not with Tana. Never wanted to touch and feel and know like he wants right now. Maybe it's because of all the built-up tension, but there's something so amazingly right about this. About the way Tim’s tongue traces down his neck, ending the trail with a small bite that Kon is sure would bruise if he was human, but only makes him drop his head back and groan.

He feels Tim grin against neck and Kon drags a palm up Tim’s back, under his shirt. Tim shivers, and now Kon’s the one who’s grinning as he brings his head back down to nip at Tim’s ear. He’s granted another shudder when he soothes the sting with his tongue, and Kon files away that interesting information for later.

Tim’s back is littered with scars, and even though Kon has seen them in the showers, he’s never gotten to touch them, and his fingers begin to map out where old battle wounds have healed over. He plays with the hem of Tim’s shirt, tugging lightly, and wonders if Tim’s even okay with going that far. Cause Kon’s totally fine with what they’re doing right now if Tim isn’t cool with losing clothes yet—

Tim takes a step back and for a second Kon’s about to apologize, but Tim only rips off his t-shirt, gaze hot blue steel and completely fixed on him.

Jesus.

The sound that leaves Kon’s throat might be a whimper as the other boy immediately goes back to kissing his nape. And there’s bare skin now, and Tim’s rolling his hips, and Kon wouldn’t mind moving to a horizontal surface. Or a wall.

Honestly, he’s pretty sure he could pull off something in the air if he wanted to.

He’s also definitely hard now. Definitely.

Their mouths meet and Tim is laughing into him before pulling back just enough so that Kon can look at his eyes. They’re amused and full of something that Kon can’t put into the right words at the moment.

Tim laughs again before murmuring against his jaw, “You’re floating.”

Kon blinks.

He looks at his feet and, yeah, he’s an inch or two off the ground, hovering from excitement. He lowers himself down, and his ears feel hot, but Tim’s still grinning at him so he’s not too embarrassed.

Kon kisses him again and then one of Tim’s hands interlocks with his and tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

They end up falling against a wall just outside of the doorway, Kon’s shoulders pressing into the drywall while Tim’s hands play with the edge of his boxers. Tim pulls away suddenly, brows making a little crease as he brings them together.

“Is this okay?”

Kon bobs his head up and down, breathless and giddy. “This is very much okay. Trust me, I am so, so okay with this.”

Tim grins, and it’s so goddamn real, and hauls him into his room.

He barely notices the paper-covered desk on one side and the big skylights on the ceiling. There’s only Tim, smiling warmly in the dark with the pitter-patter of the rain above as they stumble their way to the bed.

Kon’s back hits the mattress, Tim’s knees on either side of his waist, and he’s pressing Kon into the sheets, mouth hot and wet. One of Kon’s hand drops to Tim’s ass and tugs the other boy down so that the space between them disappears, and fuck Tim’s just as hard as he is and a startled moan comes out of one of them.

The kiss breaks when Tim leans back, and all of his weight is right on Kon’s dick, and Kon couldn’t keep his hips from bucking up even if he wanted to. Tim’s reaching for the bottom of his Superboy shirt, pulling it off so it lands on the floor and thank God for Kon’s TTK; because when Tim leans up on his knees, Kon’s able to slip his shorts off without having to move his hands from Tim’s hair.

For a second, all Kon can do is stare.

Tim is skin and scars above him, and there’s a slash of healing red on his thigh, like he’d been cut there at some recent point. His cock is slender and long and flushed a darker pink than the blush on his cheeks. Kon distantly wonders what it might taste like.

Tim raises an eyebrow and snaps the elastic of Kon’s boxers.

Kon shivers and then laughs when he flips them over and Tim yelps as he hits the bed.

It barely takes a second for Tim to recover and scowl up at Kon who grins in response. Then Tim’s hands are dragging down Kon’s ass, taking his underwear with them. Kon kicks the clothes off the bed and turns back to see Tim’s eyes moving over his body until they meet Kon’s gaze.

The hunger from earlier fades a bit.

He stares at Tim for a second, at the small smile on his face, and feels warmth spread all the way down to his fingertips.

Slowly, Tim lifts his head and presses his lips against Kon’s, still tasting like tea. One of his hands reaches up to Kon’s hair, tugging it gently, and Kon lowers himself until their bodies are lined up and he can feel the slide of Tim’s cock against his own. A shaky moan falls from Tim’s open mouth, and Kon shudders against him. He forces his thoughts to line up coherently.

"Lube?" He manages, and Tim is nodding against his neck before arching back to rummage through the nightstand next to the bed. The motion gives both of them some more amazing friction and Kon's grip tightens as Tim's hips jerk against him. The other boy mutters something, too low for Kon to clearly make out as he half grabs the lube and half continues to grind up in these little, smooth movements that are going to drive Kon insane.

Finally, Tim is pressing the bottle into his hand, and Kon focuses on uncapping the stupid thing while Tim snickers at his clumsiness beneath him. And Kon would be embarrassed, except this is Tim so he's laughing too; and he moves his hand from his friend’s jaw, down to the open bottle, and then further to take Tim in his now wet palm.

“Fuck.” There’s a groan against his neck, and Tim knots his hands further into Kon’s hair.

Tim is pulsing in his hand, heavy and solid, and Kon drops the lube because he’s so caught up in the feeling. Kon lets his thumb circle the tip of the other boy’s leaking cock before beginning to stroke up and down the length of it. Tim trembles.

“We should do this again,” Kon says conversationally, and Tim lightly slaps the back of his head. Kon twists his fist in retaliation and that makes Tim’s hips stutter and his back arch again.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Tim’s voice is wrecked, gasping out the words, and he really wouldn’t mind making Tim sound like this more often.

His hand moves faster, and Tim is pushing back, thrusting up against Kon’s fist, heels digging into the bedsheets. He brings his mouth to where Tim’s neck meets his shoulder, licking before biting down. Tim cries out, and Kon’s dick twitches in response because holy shit that’s hot.

He uncurls his grasp and runs his fingers up the underside of Tim’s cock. A string of curses streams out of Tim’s mouth, along with what Kon’s pretty sure is his name. He repeats the motion, watching the way Tim's pants are becoming more and more ragged. Kon moves his head lower, lips trailing to one nipple, and he breathes over it wetly before flicking his tongue out and tasting skin.

Tim’s hands clutch at his hair as Kon marks his way across his chest, and Kon knows he’s close, can feel the way Tim is shaking and gripping on to him harder than before. He brushes his fingers against Tim's cock again, too gentle to really grant any relief.

“Damnit, Kon, please!”  And how could he say no to that?

It takes three hard strokes to make Tim gasp and come, white spilling into Kon’s hand and onto their stomachs.

Tim slumps into the mattress, eyes closed, sprawled open, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Kon presses his thumb over the slit of Tim’s dick and the other boy whines shakily and gives a little roll of his hips, face glazing with pleasure.

Then, Tim blinks up at him, still completely blissed out, and Kon sears that sight into his memory. Without looking away, Kon passes his fingers through the mess on his stomach and brings them to his mouth. His tongue curls around one fingertip and Tim’s eyes flicker with the motion. It doesn’t taste that bad. A bit bitter and salty, maybe, but the narrowing of Tim’s stare is totally worth it.

The ache between his legs throbs.

Tim smirks up at him.

Kon is flipped onto his back, Tim doing some crazy Bat-move to get him there, and he blinks up at the skylights, Tim nowhere in sight. Then he feels strong hands on his thighs and a breath over his hip and oh.

That’s where he went.

Tim’s mouth is hot and wet and fucking amazing, and Kon has never been so thankful that Damian’s room is nowhere near Tim’s and that the house is nearly empty. His moan is loud enough that there’s no way someone wouldn’t hear him. He manages to lift his neck to look down at where Tim’s tongue is wrapping around the head of his cock and meets Tim’s smooth gaze. There’s a smug glint in his eyes, and now Tim’s mouth is going lower, taking in more, and Kon nearly sobs.

One of his hands reaches down, palming dark hair and rubbing Tim’s head with his fingers. Tim hums, and the vibrations from that one single sound make Kon’s hips jerk and his dick slide into Tim’s throat a little further. And this is definitely something they need to do again, because it's so good and Kon wants.

He wants and fuck, fuck how is Tim fucking Drake somehow a goddamn wet dream in bed? How?

Kon’s other hand scrabbles at the pillows above him, trying to anchor himself, but that’s hard to do when Tim is doing something with his tongue that makes Kon nearly start begging when he pulls away. He looks back down where Tim's lips have left his dick and been replaced with his hand, since Tim is now biting the insides of his thighs. A small part of Kon curses at his skin's stupid invulnerability because the thought of being covered in bruises left from Tim's mouth is ridiculously hot.

Suddenly he feels intense heat in the back of his eyes, his vision turning red at the edges, and Kon screws his stare shut. He does not want to set Tim on fire during the middle of a blow job. That would be so uncool.

He hears Tim laugh at him from between his legs, so he lightly shoves at his friend's side with his foot. Tim's mouth goes back to his cock and Kon groans.

His fingers tangle in the other boy’s hair. “Tim—”

Tim only sucks harder.

Kon arches and comes with a loud curse. Distantly he feels Tim swallow, and that causes him to shiver, grind his hips up into Tim’s mouth just a bit. He rubs his eyes, the heat vision already fading away. His body feels loose, good.

Tim pulls off of his cock and sits up, wiping at the corner of his mouth, and Kon blinks at him, dazed.

His hair is messy from Kon’s hands and damp with sweat, sticking to the corners of his face. His nape, chest, and shoulders are littered with several marks that are definitely gonna bruise, and that makes Kon feel oddly pleased with himself.

Tim is watching him, rubbing his thumb in little circles over Kon’s hipbone, lips twitched upwards. Kon doesn't really want to move, so he tugs at Tim’s hand gently until the other boy leans down, grabs his shorts off the bed, and cleans up the mess on their skin. This isn’t quite what Kon wants, and he makes a dissatisfied noise and tugs again. Tim rolls his eyes and throws the clothing to a corner of the room before lying on top of Kon, muttering, “Like you’d want to be covered with that while you’re sleeping.”

Kon doesn’t bother answering, and only buries his face into Tim’s shoulder, grinning. Tim still smells a bit like rain and body wash, but now there’s a linger of sex over that, and Kon runs his hands up and down Tim’s warm back, breathing him in.

Tim exhales against his neck and plays with the slightly curly strands of hair at the base of Kon’s head.

Kon practically melts into the pillows.

Tim goes stiff in his arms.

“This—” Tim sits up, legs entangled with Kon’s, and puts a hand on Kon's bare chest—“This isn’t a one-time thing, right?” Tim’s voice is a guilty whisper, scared almost, as if Kon is already regretting what just happened. “You’re not going to leave?”

Kon stares at him for a second, disbelief and hurt curling around his heart.

Then he remembers all the funerals that Tim’s had to go to in the past year. He remembers the one time he went to Tim’s house, back when his parents were both still alive, and how empty it was. He remembers asking Tim where his folks were, and how Tim had gotten very quiet before shrugging and muttering that he didn’t know.

Slowly, Kon sits up, Tim still in his lap, and examines the other boy’s face.

“Hey, I’m not gonna go anywhere.”

Tim sags against him, like the weight of the world has slid right off his shoulders. “That was a stupid question.”

“It wasn’t.” Kon brushes back a piece of hair that fell in front of Tim’s forehead. He kisses him softly. “I get it. It wasn’t.”

He doesn’t move until Tim nods in agreement.

Kon pulls him back down and uses his TTK to slide the thick covers over them. Tim shifts around so they can meet each other’s gaze. Something snags in the back of Kon’s mind.

“Ma wants you to come over for dinner, by the way.”

Tim laughs, the sound soft in the dark.

“Sure.”

Kon reaches over and smooths his thumb across Tim’s cheek, still flushed from earlier, before kissing him again. Tim makes a pleased noise and returns the action, his hand going to Kon’s waist to tug him closer.

They break apart, dropping back onto the pillows, Kon’s fingers tracing over the scars on Tim’s arm. Tim blinks sleepily at him but raises a brow. “So, are you going with that name Jon made up?” He brushes back several strands of Kon’s hair. “Supernova?”

Kon closes his eyes and leans into Tim’s palm. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Tim nods, tapping his fingertips against Kon’s temple thoughtfully.

“Whatever you say, Superdude.”

Kon whacks him with a pillow.

*****

When he opens his eyes, he can’t speak.

He can’t speak because there are tubes in his throat, up his nose, pumping him with oxygen. The steady humming of droning machines fills his ears. He stares.

Everything’s green, but not like the green of Ma’s spring flowers, this green is sick and presses down on him from all sides. And he’s surrounded by something wet and slimy, little bubbles rising past his face like he's in a fish tank. He tries to shake his head, but everything feels heavy even though he's only suspended in the liquid around him. Blurry figures walk towards him, muffled voices fading in and out.

There’s the sound of thudded tapping on the glass. He starts to focus, but still isn’t able to blink the wet stuff out of his eyes.

He sees white coats, Cadmus printed on the pocket.

Fuck, fuck.

“Kon?”

There’s a beam of light shining in his face, causing the green to glow, almost like kryptonite but so much worse. It makes him want to throw up. Want to run.

“Kon.”

There's something else too, moving in on him from the corners of his eyes. Something creeping and peaceful, heavy and familiar in the worst way.

He remembers it, how it settled down on him as he lay surrounded by crushed metal and begging friends, his bones broken, lungs gasping with final breaths. It had been dark and calm and he hadn't wanted to go, but it had closed in on him anyway. And he can't go back, he can't.

There's a fist pounding in front of him, and the voices don't match the furious knocking, too cold and clean.

He tries to thrash away from the glass, tries to get away. But he can’t move, weighed down, and even though there’s air in his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Conner!”

Kon's back hits the mattress and he shoots up, gulping down mouthfuls of oxygen. There are hands running over his back, his shoulders, a worried voice somewhere behind him. His eyes flit around his surroundings. No green, no waiting darkness. He can breathe. Raindrops are hitting the glass above him. Tim’s room. Safe.

This is safe.

He runs a sweaty hand through his hair, shaking. His arm brushes his cheek and he realizes that his face is wet. He hasn’t had one of those dreams in a long time; he’d forgotten what they were like.

“Hey.” Kon looks behind him. Tim is rubbing a spot between his shoulder blades, eyes alert, biting his lip. The sheets are pooled around his waist haphazardly.

Kon twists the patterned covers in his hands.

“What happened?”

He looks up through the dark. Tim’s fingers go over his shoulder. “Nightmare.” He wants to forget it. Forget the labs, and the endless experiments, and all the goddamn green. “Cadmus.”

Tim doesn’t make any sounds, but Kon can almost hear his brain whirring at full speed.

His breathing is too loud in the quiet.

“What do you need?” Tim’s voice is patient.

He fists the cloth in his grip. Opens his mouth, shuts it. Tries again. “Just—Keep doing that.” Tim’s hands run down his skin, grounding and warm, and Kon begins to relax into them.

“Does touch help?” Tim is near his ear, and Kon feels lips press lightly across his neck. He nods.

“Yeah, it—It helps me feel . . . “ He shuts his eyes. “Human. It helps me feel human.”

Tim places a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Okay.” He presses his back against Tim’s scarred chest, and the other boy leans backward so they’re lying down again. Kon rests his head over where Tim’s heart is beating steadily. He listens to the familiar sound, to the rain, to Tim's breathing; ignores the distant honks of traffic and chattering crowds of Gotham.

He exhales slowly, lets his shoulders loosen under Tim's hands. He closes his eyes.

“Thanks.”

Fingers run through his hair.

“You’re welcome.”

Kon doesn’t move for a long time. Neither does Tim.

*****

It’s still raining when Kon wakes up the second time, but there’s a bit of grey sunlight coming through the skylights; enough for him to drowsily blink at the ceiling. He groans and rolls over, towards the warmth by his side.

Warmth.

Tim.

He’s completely awake now, lifting himself up onto his forearms. Curiously, Kon examines the boy next to him. Tim’s still asleep, heartbeat slow and calm, his back facing Kon though their legs are tangled together. The covers had slipped a bit during the night and Kon can see the pale scars his mouth had mapped out hours ago.

He touches a jagged one, curved like someone had carved it in, and smooths his fingertip down it. He moves to the next. Distantly, Kon wonders if he’d get to go over all of them, even if that could take a while because Tim has so many. He doesn’t mind. His fingers trace across an old bullet wound.

Saturday mornings can last a while.

Tim shifts, back leaving Kon’s touch, shoulders rolling into a stretch. He watches the muscles under Tim’s skin bunch together and move apart. His friend flops over to look at him.

Tim's eyelids are drooping as he yawns into his pillow. “What time is it?”

Kon lifts himself up and glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Eightish." Before he lies back down, his eyes catch on a little picture frame next to the clock.

It's a recent photo, he can tell from the haircut he has in it, and he can easily place the day when it was taken.

Bart had insisted on dragging them with him to go shopping for dorm furniture, which Kon didn't understand considering the extremely tiny size of Bart's room at Keystone University, but whatever. They had stopped for ice cream, sat outside and watched people stroll by.

He doesn't remember the exact moment from the picture itself, maybe Bart had said something funny or maybe one of Tim's dry quips had sent them all into laughter. Either way, it ended with a photo that Cassie must have taken; with Bart leaning inside the frame with a huge grin on his face, him with his head thrown back, smiling, and Tim laughing at both of them.

He stares at it, feels a dopey smile stretch across his face.    

Tim hums, watching Kon lazily. “I forgot that you sleepfloat.”

His eyes flick back to Tim.

“I what?”

“Sleepfloat.” Tim lifts the one brow that’s not burrowed into his pillow and gestures vaguely with his hand. “You know, you’ll start hovering sometimes, usually when you’re dreaming?” He frowns. “That’s one of the reasons I knew you were having a nightmare; you were almost half a foot off the bed. Usually, you only go up, like, barely an inch.”

Kon continues staring at him because what?

“Since when do I sleepfloat?”

Tim blinks. “Uh, since forever. It doesn't happen a lot, I thought you knew?”

He shakes his head. Tim laughs lightly, the sound muffled by fabric, and Kon sorta wants to kiss him. He also sorta wants breakfast. “Do you guys have some kind of scheduled eating time on the weekends?”

Tim ducks further under the covers. “Not really, I can ask Alfred to make something. Or we can raid the pantries.”

Kon thinks for a moment. He doesn’t know what time Alfred wakes up, but for some reason, he wants to avoid asking for anything. Wants to stay in this bubble where it’s only Tim and him for a little bit longer.

“What if we make pancakes?”

Tim’s cheeks suddenly turn red and he mumbles under his breath. Kon pokes him in the shoulder, silently asking for a repeat of the comment. The other boy sighs.

“I’m . . . currently banned from using the kitchen.”

Kon tilts his head. “We were in there last night. You made tea.”

It had been good tea. It had been especially good when he’d gotten to taste it off of Tim’s mouth.

Tim grumbles, “Fine. I’m currently banned from using the oven, stove, grill, and microwave for anything other than boiling water.”

Kon's eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

Tim hesitates. “I may have created several small, controlled explosions.”

“You what?”

“They were small.”

“Oh my God, that’s not the point.” Kon’s kinda snickering now, and Tim is too, and Kon really wants to kiss him again. So he does.

Tim’s smiling when he pulls away, and Kon presses their foreheads together. “How about I make us food, yeah?” Their noses brush and Tim’s arms wrap around his neck. His lips move against Kon’s when he nods in agreement.

“Yeah.”

Their legs intertwine even more, and the next kiss is heated, Tim’s hands dragging across Kon’s skin in a way that reminds him of last night. He resists the urge to push their hips completely together. When they break for air, Tim’s cheekbones are lightly flushed, and he’s smirking in a way that makes Kon remember the grin bad guys see right before Red Robin turns all their careful plans to shit.

Tim pushes Kon over onto his back, lips suddenly much more demanding, and straddles his waist. Kon kisses him back just as fervently, mouth following Tim’s a bit when the other boy suddenly pulls away.

Tim’s eyes are catching the cool morning light in all the right ways and Kon’s heart trips over its feet.

Then Tim isn't on his lap, sliding off the bed and walking away. And okay, that’s a bit rude, but Kon gets to stare at Tim’s ass, so he’s not going to complain just yet. But then Tim tosses him a grin over his shoulder, meeting Kon’s gaze smugly before reaching down and grabbing something off the floor. He comes back up, pulling on the piece of clothing smoothly.

Kon’s mouth drops open.

Tim gives him an amused glance, seemingly unconcerned with the Superboy logo stretching across his chest. Because apparently, Tim has filled out enough that he can now wear Kon’s old shirts without drowning in fabric. When that happened, Kon has no idea, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

Tim cocks an eyebrow. “Pancakes? You coming or not?”

Kon tries to make words leave his throat, but only manages a strangled, “Hngh.” Tim nods, like this is an answer, pivots on his foot, and leaves the room. Kon stares after him. He buries his burning face in his hands.

It’s too early for Tim to do things like this to him.

With a sigh of resignation, he gets off the bed and, after some searching, puts on his boxers. When he walks out of the doorway, he’s hit in the face with a large Gotham Knights sweatshirt and his jeans. He shoots Tim a displeased grunt and tugs the sweatshirt over his head. Tim’s wearing some flannel pajama pants now, which is rather disappointing, but the Superboy shirt is still on so Kon takes pleasure from that.

After pulling on his no-longer-wet jeans, he floats to where Tim is leaning against the wall and kisses him in a way that would make old ladies scandalized. Tim’s face has dropped its smugness when they break apart, and he seems slightly dazed.

Kon pecks his jaw for good measure. “Food?”

He gets a slow nod in return. Kon grins and walks out of Tim’s room with a little bounce in his step. He hears Tim mutter a curse and scramble after him, and he laughs.

The light filling the Manor’s halls is weak, but it’s enough to create streaking shadows on the walls as Kon runs down the corridor with Tim hot on his heels. Their feet pound down the stairs and Kon might use a tiny bit of superspeed to get to the kitchen first.

Tim enters seconds after him and slumps against the kitchen island even though he’s barely out of breath. He points an accusing finger at Kon. “Cheater.”

Kon grins and starts opening up random cabinets, hoping to find a mixing bowl. “Maybe.” He spies one and sets it on the island. “Where’s the flour?” The other boy gestures to the pantry and then lifts himself to sit on the counter.

Kon can feel Tim’s eyes on him as he moves around the room, finding and taking the ingredients he needs. Every once in a while, their gazes meet and little smiles appear.

If he's honest with himself, Kon has no idea what this new thing between them is exactly. But he thinks it’s good. Tim glances at him again as he begins to mix the batter, eyes lighter than they’ve been in a while.

It’s pretty good.

Tim slips off his perch and pads up behind him, resting his chin on Kon’s shoulder. “Last time I watched you make pancakes was at the farm. You almost caught the house on fire.” Kon shrugs.

“Ma’s made it her personal mission that I know how to move around a kitchen. She’s had me baking and cooking a lot since I came back from—” He stops himself. Memories from the nightmare surface, cool darkness waiting for him to fall. He shivers, looks down at the pancake batter, suddenly feeling like he's going to be sick. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

Tim is stiff behind him, hands fisting into his sweatshirt, and Kon could punch himself in the face. He really could.

“Dude?”

Tim unfreezes, leans his forehead against the back of Kon’s neck. Kon can feel his fingers clenching and unclenching the fabric.

They’re quiet for several beats.

“You get it, right? That I’m not okay? Not entirely?” Tim sounds so tired like this is the kind of thing he tells himself every night, and it makes Kon’s stomach twist. He turns around, strokes his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone, makes sure that Tim is looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah, man, I understand.” He thinks of the chemical green and the even darker things that crawl into his mind during the bad nights. He shudders. “I’m not either.” He tilts his head, brow furrowing. “Is that okay with you?”

Tim examines him for a long moment; his eyes probably seeing more of Kon than Kon could see in himself. And whatever Tim sees makes him lean in a bit closer.

“Yeah, it is. And this,” he taps Kon’s chest, right above his heart, “us?”

Kon brushes back several strands of Tim’s hair, thinking carefully.

“Whatever you want. I’m good with just staying friends, though, you know, the sex could be pretty awesome.” Tim snorts. “But I wouldn’t mind taking this somewhere,” he says and laces their hands together. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

Tim smiles. “Yeah?”

Kon smiles back.

“Yeah.”

Lips press against his and Kon’s hand threads through Tim’s hair, his back pushing into the counter as Tim steps closer.

Tim laughs, his fingers going around the spoon in Kon’s drooping grasp, probably to keep pancake batter from going everywhere. There’s the clatter of wood hitting ceramic as Tim drops the spoon into the bowl, and Kon distantly wonders if they’ll ever actually get around to eating breakfast.

But Tim’s mouth is lazy and open and a hell of a lot better than pancakes.

He drapes his arms around Tim's neck as the other boy's palms smooth around his waist, drawing him closer.  

So much better than pancakes.

“It seems that I will be tasked to make my own breakfast since you two seem quite intent on being occupied.”

Kon’s lips leave Tim's and his head whips to where Damian is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and mouth an unimpressed line.

Shit.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He desperately looks back at Tim, who seems just as surprised since he only manages a weak, “Um.”

Damian sniffles and Alfred the cat waltzes into the room and rubs around the boy’s legs. Damian leans down and picks the cat up, managing to keep his narrowed eyes on them the whole time. Tim’s hands still haven’t moved from where they’d just begun playing with the hair at Kon’s nape, his fingers rubbing at the base of Kon’s neck. It’s a little distracting. Kon tries to think of something to say and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Uh, you want pancakes?”

Damian raises an eyebrow and pets the top of Alfred’s head. “Later, perhaps. Both of you appear . . . busy. Besides, I need to tell Pennyworth that he won our bet from last night, considering how I thought it’d take you two another week to figure yourselves out.”

Kon blinks. “You . . . made a bet on us?”

The kid nods almost regretfully. “Which I have unfortunately lost.” His sharp eyes stare at the batter pointedly. “Though you could make up for it with food. I prefer chocolate chips in my pancakes, don’t forget.”

Slowly, Kon bobs his head up and down. “Yeah, sure.”

Damian flashes him what might be a tiny smile, but then he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, footsteps and Alfred’s purrs echoing down the hall.

Tim’s gaze clears, and Kon can see his brain rebooting. Then Tim shoots him a disgruntled look. “Aren’t Supers supposed to have super hearing?”

Kon shrugs. “I was distracted.”

Tim shakes his head at the ceiling while his hands run through Kon’s hair. Kon places a kiss on his neck.

Tim swats the back of his head. “New rule: No making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

Kon grumbles, “You have too many siblings for that to be realistic.”

“That’s true.” His lips press against Tim’s throat again, and he feels Tim breathe in a shaky laugh. “I take it back. The new rule is not to get caught making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

“You may wish to add butlers to that as well, Master Timothy.”

They leap apart.

Kon’s eyes dart to where Alfred is standing by the entrance to the dining room, not looking very impressed. He can feel his face quickly growing hot under the man’s unreadable stare, and he folds his hands behind his back like a six-year-old who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Tim mutters something under his breath as his hand rubs the back of his neck, and the old man’s brow lifts.

“Would you care to repeat that, Master Timothy?”

Tim straightens up, and Kon can see the tips of ears are bright red. “No?”

“That’s what I thought.” He turns to Kon calmly. “And how are you, Mr. Kent?” Kon’s eyes flicker to where Tim is looking like he wants to jump off a cliff in mortification. His lips twitch upwards just a little, he hears an impatient cough. He glances back to Alfred nervously.

When did the old butler get so scary?

“Pretty good, um,” he distantly remembers something from last night, “Ma wants to ask for your snickerdoodle recipe.” He resists the urge to smooth out the sweatshirt he’s wearing as Alfred studies him. He gives a weak smile. “She’s offered to give you her instructions for blueberry pie as an incentive.”

Alfred considers him for a moment.

“Well, then I suppose I shall have to talk to her then.” He gives them both a knowing side-eye. “And do remember that the kitchen is for food and that there are plenty of private rooms in this house for more . . . lascivious activities.”

Kon wishes he could sink into the floor.

Tim drops his face in his hands. “Thanks, Alfred,” he mumbles.

Alfred brushes an invisible speck of dust off of his sleeve. “Now, excuse me, I do believe I have a wager to collect from Master Damian.” He begins to walk out of the room but stops and gives Kon a smart glance. “And please make sure that Master Timothy doesn’t start any more fires in this kitchen than he already has, Mr. Kent.”

Tim’s head shoots up with a look of betrayal and Kon has to bite his lip to keep from sniggering.

“Yes, sir.”

Alfred’s steps are unruffled as he continues into the hall. “Considering how I’m sure you’ll be around this house much more often, you may as well as call me Alfred.”

Kon’s face grows warmer.

“Um, sure thing, Alfred.”

The butler dips his head in approval and leaves. Kon can hear him begin to whistle a cheerful tune a couple of rooms away.

It takes both of them several seconds to be able to look at each other. Tim’s cheeks puff out as he exhales slowly, his ears are still pink. Kon rubs the hardwood floor with his toe. “So, uh . . . Huh.”

“We need to work on your multitasking. Things like using your super hearing while you’re . . . being distracted.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Shut it, Superdude, and make our food.”

“That rhymed.”

“I don’t know why I like you.”

“I’ll remind you exactly why later tonight.”

Tim smacks him with a dish towel, and Kon laughs before kissing him again.

[nalufever]

A Case of the Feelz

Brooklyn Nine Nine Jake X Amy Canonverse-esque Word Count: 1829 Rating: mildly mature

Warning: New to this fandom and first time writing for Jamy. Here’s my take (even though this prolly has been done already and better) on the events leading up to Amy and Jake in bed after their first official ‘romantic stylez’ date.

Summary: Alcohol was mighty fine for greasing nervous wheels - now had it been Amy or Jake who made the first move into bed? Sex was supposed to be off the table, but rules like 'no sex on a first date’ and things like piñatas, glow sticks and egg shells were so meant to be broken.

It was weird with a giant helping of delightful. Amy preened under the warm attention from Jake. A Jake on his 'best behaviour.’ A man full of himself; yet dorky and dosing his teasing with honesty. He was having a great time and it showed in the smile that never dropped from his lips. Was this the same guy who’d purposefully planned a terrible date after he’d won their 'most perps caught’ bet?

Dinner was an understandable blur. Four Kamikaze shots will do that to a person. And wine with dinner - well, wine for Amy and a disgusting array of sweet mixed drinks for Jake. Once the appropriate level of drunkenness was achieved, conversation became loud and never lagged. Jake made Amy laugh.

Debris taken away and final drinks in hand; Jake tossed down money to cover the tab. “This was prolly the best date you’ve ever had Ames.” He winked, enjoying the brief look of annoyance. As much as he likes Amy, he loves winding her up - every chance he gets. “Let’s get some air.”

“All right.” Amy gave Jake her most challenging look from down her nose. “I’m surprised at you detective Peralta. Not gonna try to take me home?”

“I remember your third rule and don’t wanna tempt you too much.” Jake rose from his seat and staggered behind Amy to assist her from her chair with a flourish. “We’ll have to cab it on account of how drunk you are.” He grinned and winked. “You’re so the type to have busy hands while I’m trying to drive.”

“You wish!” Amy pretended a look of outrage. “There’s no way I’d let either of us drive.” It would have been more of a stunning set down if she hadn’t also laughed. She slung her purse over her shoulder and lead the way out of the restaurant, head held high.

Jake about swallowed his tongue - Amy did things for the clothes she wore. Good things. She did things for his clothes too - his pants were strangling him. That hip swaying action; oh man, he could watch that for hours. Red dresses were now his kryptonite.

Stepping out onto the pavement, Jake offered Amy his arm. Gratified by how easy she accepted it, he beamed. “Ames, we should totally drink a toast to celebrate how awesome our romantic stylez date went.”

“Oh, it is over?”

“… It doesn’t have to be.” Jake nodded in time with the clack of Amy’s heels as they walked. “I’ll let you invite me over.”

“Let you?”

“All right.” Jake shot Amy a smug look which in retrospect wasn’t the smartest idea - but hell, teasing her was the best. He rubbed where Amy had punched his arm, doing his best to hide his wince. Damn, that was gonna bruise. Good thing he didn’t mind a little rough housing. “Since you insist!” He whistled and flagged down a cab, intending to open the door for Amy. She beat him to it and ushered him in - goosing him in the process and cackling madly to hear his yelp.

She swatted his arm again as he gave her address to the cabbie and assured the man that Amy was big tipper. As a modern man, Jake is all about sharing costs. Paying for a date doesn’t mean he’s entitled to anything either. Oh, he sure as hell hopes so, but he’s not anywhere near that foolish. On the other hand (and Amy’s hands look pretty good too) he’d 'put out’ if Amy asked, nicely mind you. He shares a smirk with the driver and downgrades his words to the truth; 'just ask.’

Longest most embarrassing cab ride over, Amy sprints from the car covering her ears as Jake adds more fuel to her blush. He’s telling the cabbie it’s awesome how eager she is for the sex.

His affable grin doesn’t drop one inch as she repeats from earlier, 'sex is off the table on a first date.’

He nods sagely as she stumbles a bit - when did the floor get so uneven? “Depends how sturdy the table is, really - or if you wanted a new one.”

Smooth, clever like always - but a bit nervous under that veneer? Amy wants to see Jake squirm. She wants to see lots of things. Naughty things - but she promised herself to take this slow. Jake was all kinds of wonderful mixed with smart and irrepressible. “I’ve broken a table before.” She arches her eyebrow and gives him her own Amy Santiago smirk.

Never at a loss for words long, (or ever) Jake nods and agrees in a humble tone, “That sounds like bragging. I’m gonna have to give a second opinion on that. Tell you what, I’ll let you have your way with me on any two tables you want.” As designed, this spins them into a conflict over which two tables Amy could live with destroyed. Jake doesn’t think Amy understands. At this point she has tacitly agreed to have wild physical intimacy with him and on doily encrusted tables no less.

This is fun for the both of them; open flirting - a bit of give and take. Jake gives the most outrageous statements serious delivery and Amy takes everything she hears and does her best to memorize. She’s delightfully drunk, riffing off on his absurdities and adding to them. It’s actually quite awesome how clever they both are. This is indeed the best first date. Hey - it’s kinda the second date between them - Jake did score more arrests, taking her out in that hideous blue dress.

This knowledge swims around in the simmering soup of passion inside of Amy. She laughs in the kitchen where she’s grabbing another round of drinks. Flirting is thirsty work. She goes back into her living room and plops down next to Jake who has flung his tie off lord knows where, but he looks like he’s thought of something he needs to take care of urgently in his own apartment.

“What’s the matter?” She doesn’t give him the chance to turn down the beer, placing the bottle on his knee - making him have to stop bouncing it.

He moves to grip it and nods. “Cool cool cool cool cool.”

Amy scoots closer, loving Jake’s red cheeks. “If I told you, you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

He sputters, “That’s so old. Can’t you think of any newer lines?” How many drinks has Amy had anyway? His virtue is in dire straits. He wants to do the do, but they vowed 'not on the first date’ and dammit he was a man of principle. A dirty, lustful and horny man - but with a few selected important virtues. No going back on his word, no means no. Yeah, he’s not dead - he wants recreational stress relief more than his next breath. Santiago is all kinds of sexy.

“You know what we agreed at the start of the date?”

“Going halvsies? I’ll let you pay half now as a special favour.” Jake took a nervous gulp of his drink and then relaxed to see the amusement dance in Amy’s eyes.

She plucked his beer away and set it and her drink down on two doily coasters. So sue her! She liked doilies. Her tongue darted out and wet her lips. She narrowed her eyes at Jake. “We agreed no sex on the first date - but that -”

“But that doesn’t rule out things that lead up to sex!” Jake cheered. “I have the best partner, ever.”

“I will gray-cious, gray-cee-us - yes.” Amy gave up and straddled Jake’s lap. She paused. In that pause, that second - the Jake she knew as a wise-cracking detective shed some of his braggadocio and become a more honest version of himself. His want was clear to her; whatever she saw fit to give him. And Amy was willing to bet every last doily she had and half of her binder collection (she wasn’t that impaired to risk all of them) that it would be magical.

Amy set her index finger in his chin dimple. She gave him a soft smile and slowly lowered her mouth to his.

Jake liked this, ahem, a lot - and so did Jake Jr. He settled his hands on Amy’s hips and let himself arch up. She didn’t scream, slap him or jump off - so he opened his mouth and made it a two pronged attack.

One hand under her shirt directly on her flesh and the other digging into her pleasing derriere, Jake couldn’t hold in his moans. Santiago was a devil. Her tongue was busy gathering intel and then staged a coup - blasting all his remaining thoughts into the stratosphere.

Holy shit, Ames was on board and making a full press assault. Jake hissed more in pleasure than pain as Amy yanked on hair, forcing his head back. She ran her tongue down his neck and giggled. Giggled.

“What, do I taste funny?”

“Ooh! The name of your sex tape!”

Jake waggled his brows, “If you play your cards right, ours.”

Amy pulled on Jake’s shirt and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons. “Let’s take this to my room.”

“Heh, aren’t all these your rooms?” Jake joked, remembering the number one rule not to be broken. His grin turned into a smirk - man, Ames was a wicked kisser.

“Technically this is our second date.”

“Noice.” Jake kept Amy in his arms and sprang from the couch, huffing only a little. He wasn’t weak or anything, Ames was built sturdy. Stripping her would make her lighter and ditching his own clothes was the new plan.

On Amy’s sensible duvet, a gloriously naked Jake Peralta grinned down at an equally grinning Amy Santiago. She threaded her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. She might be under his body but she still held a position of authority. Amy speared her tongue into Jake’s mouth and destroyed what was left of his mind.

Did it matter who made the first move? Hells no. What was important, was the mutual desire raging out of control. It burned bright, a many splendored case of the feelz.