He's not alone.
The gargoyle beside him counts as company. The sort that listens. Won't offer advice either, though Kon knows he wouldn't follow through anyhow, had some been offered.
They overlook the streets below. They're dirty. They're full of ungodly people. Some are monsters.
Kon wonders what the stone's thoughts on monsters are. They have a lot in common with this city. Ugly features and subtle secrets.
But despite the similarities, Kon can't ever hold any love for this place.
And he knows that somewhere, Tim would agree.
Might, if he would say something.
Anything.
Or just utter a sound for Superboy to catch a snippet of.
A bloated moon rises over one of the gothic structures. The gargoyle snarls at the traffic below.
Kon thinks about Tim's warmth, and withdraws his arm from around the stone shoulder.
The gargoyle makes terrible company. It no longer counts.
Kon's alone.

He had to reboot. It was too much, even for him, to accept the computers projected three hour print job. It was four pages! Four pages did not deserve three hours of his time. But Bernard had learnt that if the English gods decided that more than ten minutes of bull on a page should be punished by a long print job, just below average boy should have smiled and at least be thankful that there was time before school resumed in the morning.Instead, he chose to reboot.
Now the damned program insisted that the file ceased to exist.
"Oh for the luvva-"
Pounding on the open command didn't do anything. The monitor froze. Bernard groaned, eyes looking sunken in the orange pool of lamp light and the white, now unchanging, glow from the cursed screen. "Tim could fix this in-," he fell short.
Bernard fell silent.
It was too soon. So fresh. School had been closed for a few weeks and he hadn't abused the newfound opportunities. Honestly, Bernard could admit that he had been afraid. He could recall that one particular bullet swishing past his head. At night he wondered if he'd hear those same shots outside his window. And Darla was...and....hell.
He hadn't spoken to Tim since.
Bernard stood up, sat down, shifted. Turned away finally from the screen. Word was back that classes would resume in the morning. His essay though, seemed suddenly so unimportant.
He pushed the button on the powerbar and everything fell dark.
He felt so empty. So tired. He'd sleep and then wake up late.
Screw school. Screw everything.
Tim wouldn't be there. He knew that much about the boy. He knew a lot more now too.
He heard the bell.
The clock on his desk had said it was late before it died. Too late for company.

Waiting for the door was always an awkward thing.
Kon somewhat regretted ringing the bell. This hour especially. But it was a better option than tossing rocks at the window upstairs for example. Where there had been typing. Where there was silence.
One set of steps followed. Kon hoped he could do this without sounding stupid. He hoped he didn't give away too many secrets.
Kon hoped for a lot of things.
The door clicked. Twice. Three locks removed and an orange haired kid, about his same height, poked his head out.
"Yo?"
Kon felt a catch in his voice. "Um, hi. My name is Conner. I've um, I'm looking for a Timothy Drake?"
The boy looked at him. He was tired, but sharp. Kon had taken the time to twist his shirt around. Anyone from the back would recognize the shield, but Kon had no intentions of turning around. The boy looked at him. Intently. Kon wondered if this was what it felt like to be X-Rayed.
"Tim?" The boy sounded out, snapping his attention from the stranger on his doorstep to the railing on the steps. Then to the moon heavy in the sky. Up and down the street. Back to Conner. "He's a friend of mine. You can find him in the phone listings."
Kon watched the boy now. Hesitant in his answer, well played. It was late. He could be sleepy. He could be distracted. He could know that one did not just give addresses to side-kicks away. Kon wondered if he did know.
"I've been to his house. There's nobody there. No car, no people. It's locked up," Kon expressed, running a hand along his scalp and trying to sound sincere. "I'm not sure where else to find him."
The boy in half pajama bottoms, plaid top shook his head. "I wish I could help you, but you're probably better off equipt to finding them than I am. Give a ring on the Batphone or something," he started slipping the door shut. "Tell him I'm sorry about his dad."
TK held the door in place. "His dad?"
Tim's friend gave the door a questioning glance before meeting Kon's open mouthed stare. "You...you don't know?"
Kon opened his mouth wider, but was without words.
"Come on," the boy invited, resigned and stepping inside.
Kon followed, slipping the door shut behind him.
They progressed to the kitchen, around a stair well in the hall to the night lit interior. On the table was a bowl of fruit and a paper. "Don't read the Gotham Spot in, um, Metropolis, or where ever right?"
Kon accepted the page offered and shook his head. He wasn't the one to read the news in the morning. If Bart had seen anything important though he would have sai-
"Oh fuck."
It explained more than anything. The unanswered calls. Alfred's letter that Robin may be absent on weekends. No voice. The brief flash of police tape from inside the house.
"You'll find him right?" Tim's friend asked, somehow sounding needy but not hopeful at once.
Kon gripped the paper in his fist.

"I'll find him."

Author Note:

My AN for the last part didn't turn out. I have no idea why. It was never meant to be continued. Then, lo and behold, one night I just wrote this. I suffered for the lack of sleep too the following day, but sacrifices, yo? I still don't know if I'll finish it. Or if so, what to write. If anyone wants to take up the challange, I'll be psyched with joy. If not, maybe I'll finish. Maybe not. Depends if I can get ID Crisis 7 any time soon. And with birthday and midterms, and endless hours at work rushing at me, who knows?

Thanx though for the read.