Chapter 12
Mount Justice
October 14, 2015 14:00 EDT
"Again."
Tim inwardly groaned, which to his credit was a far better reaction than his peers beside him. They all outwardly voiced their indignation with grumbles and sighs. All gathered underneath the fluorescent lamps hanging from the towering dome of Mount Justice, the group of teen vigilantes prepared for the next round of practice.
Or get the shit beat out of them more like it.
Their mentor, or torturer, looked on at them impassively, totally impervious to their voiced resistance. Nightwing's arms were crossed over his chest. While his domino mask covered his eyes, Tim was one of the few who well knew the look that those cool blue eyes were sending his peers at that very moment. Tim had frequently been the recipient of that calculated stare over the past two years. And while the look made his neck itch in discomfort, at least it wasn't aimed directly at him this time.
It was a small consolation.
In the center of the informal sparring ring that'd been set up, Garfield breathed heavily. His chest rose and fell as he looked anxiously among the teenagers surrounding him, who were sympathetic at least, but not stupid enough to intervene. He looked about ready to cry; the whites of his eyes were red with unshed tears and his black monkey tail hung limply between his legs.
Tim knew it was only a small comfort that Nightwing seemed to be getting even less enjoyment out of the drill than the young shape shifter was. It wasn't in Dick Grayson's nature to ever revel in another's pain, especially his own teammates. Tim remembered his own early days, when his losses far outweighed his wins, but he could always count on his earliest predecessor for an encouraging pat on the back…
But a lot had changed in two years.
"Beast Boy," Dicks voice was stern, but not unkind. "Again." He looked out at the group expectantly, waiting for another volunteer. Beast Boy, meanwhile, tried to shift from his butt on the concrete floor to leaning forward on his furred knuckles. Tim noticed the barely perceptible twitch of his biceps as he did so, a clear indicator of his exhaustion.
Dick didn't need to outright ask for another volunteer, one would inevitably materialize. Though he was stern, as newly appointed leader of The Team he commanded with enough leadership, competence, and ingenuity that, even on his worst days, everyone to still looked at him with stars in their eyes. He was still the Wonder Boy that he ever was. He was still someone that all the younger members aspired to emulate.
And for the older members, they knew that while Dick was relentless in his training, it was nothing compared to what he'd been during the dark year. Even M'Gann, who was particularly protective of her little brother, said nothing as she stood in the corner. She'd step in if it was too much, but that happened rarely these days.
Tim sighed. Seeing that everyone was exhausted, and no one seemed particularly interested in another round, he stepped forward. His own muscles ached in protest. But he knew that the only way to hasten their training session was to get it over with. Dick didn't let anyone finish early these days. He hadn't for years.
Dick jerked his head up in acknowledgement, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a forced smile. Nightwing been on the receiving end of many admonishments from his friends that he needed to ease up on the team, to be friendlier with them. For what it was worth, Tim could tell he was trying. But still, Dick Grayson's small smiles were merely a tease of the infectious grins he used to sport.
"Robin," he acknowledged, "Thanks for volunteering."
Tim forced himself not to laugh bitterly. Some Robin he was. Hearing that title sounded more like a joke than anything else. But Tim was good and had long since learned how to school his expressions, in front of no one more than Dick Grayson. So, he nodded in return, his jaw clenched in a smile that he did not truly feel like giving and made his way into the center of the ring.
Tim felt a surge of pity for Garfield, seeing him breathing heavily with sweat dripping over his forehead. Though Tim was only slightly older, he had just over two years of training on The Team more than the green boy. It wasn't so long ago that Tim was the newest member, constantly trying to prove himself worthy of the team and fresh with excitement. Being new was a harder task now than when Tim had first joined. Nightwing was always hardest on the newest members… well, and Tim Drake himself.
Tim reached out a hand to lift Garfield up. The younger teen took it appreciatively. "Does he ever quit?" he asked, just quiet enough so that only Tim could hear.
Tim grimaced, hoping that Nightwing wasn't wearing any hearing augmentation that would make him privy to Gar's grumbling. That would spell bad news for the both of them. "Come on," he answered, ignoring the other boy's question, "Just one more round and we'll be done for the day."
The difference of skillset between the two boys was immense, as was expected. Tim had already been training with The Team for nearly two and a half tumultuous years now. He'd been training for longer than even some of the older members of the team like Batgirl, Bumblebee, and Lagoon Boy.
And it showed.
Tim's moves were flawless. For every attack from the younger boy, Tim deftly deflected. Beast Boy was aggressive in his style, modeling many of his moves off the animals he chose to shift into. Of course, he wasn't allowed to shift in sparring just as Tim wasn't allowed to bring his bo staff. But that didn't make the young shape shifter any less easy to read.
It was an unfair fight from the start, but that was the point. Nightwing preferred pair-ups that were uneven, rationalizing that it was only through aggressive training that the weakest members could improve. Like a crank on a mountain, Dick Grayson single handedly pulled the weaker members to a level of strength and skill that he deemed acceptable.
It didn't take long at all for the already exhausted Beast Boy to look like he was about to throw up. He had yet to land a single hit on Tim, an action that would signify the end of their match. Tim glanced at Nightwing, who previously had been analyzing their match with a shrewd eye but was now deep in conversation with whomever was one the other end of his earpiece. His gaze was directed at the floor.
Knowing this was his chance, Tim gave a meaningful glance at Garfield, who despite his fatigue, was still advancing for another attempted hit. Tim could never throw a match without the other teens noticing, but at least he could give the other boy a hint without drawing much attention. He tapped his left thigh with his pinky finger.
Garfield zeroed in on Tim's hand, knowing immediately the implication. He swung his long arms to Tim's left side. Tim, meanwhile, had backed himself close enough to the edges of the ring that he was forced to move in the direction of the incoming hit…
And at last, there was contact. Not much, Garfield's fist only grazed Tim's knee, but it was enough.
"Hit," Tim spoke loudly, immediately stopping his movements to look at his mentor.
Sensing that the match was over, Dick looked up from his comms-watch. "Already?" he asked, looking to the other teens for confirmation. Seeing them all nod their heads in agreement, he appeared convinced. Tim breathed out a sigh of relief and quickly strode back to the edges as his leader moved to the middle of the ring. "Guess that's good timing. I just got word of Icicle Jr. stirring up trouble again in Texas."
Everyone grumbled. Icicle Jr. was low hanging fruit, as he was generally nonsensical and easy to thwart. But he was both literally and metaphorically slippery, and thus far had managed escaping capture from the team, which made him supremely annoying.
"Go make your preparations and be back in ten," Nightwing called to the already dispersing vigilantes, who knew better than to be late to a pre-mission debrief.
The only one who stayed was Tim. Nightwing, seeming to expect what Tim was about to say, turned away. "Don't ask," he said, his words dripped with finality.
Tim expected this. He knew it would go down this way, but he still approached Dick Grayson, imploring. "Dick, come on," he pleaded, his hands gathered into fists at his side. "It's Icicle Jr. You know he's a joke. I can handle—"
"Tim," Dick looked angry, his brows knitted, and his mouth was scrunched into a grimace, but his words were laced with his own plea, "Please."
Tim's hands released as he dipped his head low. He didn't argue. He never argued. It took one word from Dick Grayson and all the fight left him, replaced with cool acceptance.
"Understood," he muttered, turning on his heels as he strode out of the dome.
Tim felt like a fish swimming upstream as he walked back to the dorms of Mount Justice. Many having already prepped and changed, the other teens excitedly walked past him the opposite direction. They didn't question Tim. They were aware of the unusual and inexplicable rules that applied to Robin as opposed to them. Nightwing used the excuse that Tim was still too young, but they all knew better.
Tim's only consolation was that Beast Boy would be staying behind as well, however that was only a small comfort considering the shape shifter had only been a part of The Team for a few months as opposed to Tim's two years.
Tim stared at the floor as he walked by, thankful that his domino mask at least offered some anonymity. No one could see the storm that was brewing in his eyes.
"Hey Robin." Tim lifted his head at M'Gann's gravelly voice. She offered a sympathetic smile.
Tim tried to crush the ugly feeling that welled in his gut at the sight of her pity. He appreciated her, truly. But that sad but reassuring smile was the last thing he wanted to see in that moment. M'Gann gave Tim's shoulder a squeeze. "We'll talk to him," she promised, "You know it's not you, right?"
All Tim could do was nod. It was the fastest way to exit the conversation that he'd already heard a hundred times. While he was sure that the older members of The Team were talking to Nightwing, none of their interventions had seemed to help thus far.
M'Gann at least seemed to understand that Tim wasn't in the mood to talk, so she left it at that and walked in the opposite direction.
Finally, the halls of Mt. Justice quieted. Tim's footsteps were the only thing that echoed along the walls as he walked to his room.
His room was neat and tidy. Some of the team members liked to tease him about it, good-naturedly pointing out how it was the perfect emulation of his personality. Tim certainly hoped that wasn't true because he personally found his room to be rather dull. Everything was a mix of muted tones and dark colors, black being the most common of them all. The only shock of color came from the red hoodie that laid wrinkled and sprawled over his made bed.
Tim ignored it as he wandered over to his dresser to change. On his way over, his attention turned to his reflection in the nearby mirror. His suit was new, meticulously crafted and personalized to his fighting style. A black cape cascaded over his shoulders and gold buttons glittered over the front of his chest. A golden R was embroidered over his chest, right over his heart.
Crack!
Suddenly the reflection of the R was distorted by fissures in the mirror, Tim's bare fist covering the offensive crest. Shattered glass fell to the floor at his feet.
Tim's knuckles burned as he pulled his hand from the mirror and cradled it in his chest. He studied tiny of rivulets of blood that trailed down his wrist and fingers. He'd have to wrap it up before everyone got back or else people would start asking questions. They all sparred so much that it wasn't unusual to see each other put together with ace wraps. But they certainly would wonder what he'd done to tear up the skin of his knuckles so good in the first place.
Tim turned away from the mirror and grabbed a left-over training towel from his dresser. Tenderly he pressed the cloth to his knuckles, waiting for the bleeding to stanch. Inwardly he tried to criticize himself for his outburst, but it was a loosing battle to the anger that flared in his chest.
The worst part of his benching was that it didn't make rational sense, and everyone knew it. In the two years that Tim had been there, he'd trained hard to be worthy of The Team… and he'd earned it. Even Batman, who'd also been hesitant to continue Tim's training for nearly a year in the aftermath of his predecessor's death had eventually warmed to the idea. In the last year Tim had joined him on countless missions in Gotham City. He'd earned Bruce Wayne's respect and if he wanted to, he could probably return to Wayne Manor and continue his career there.
But Gotham had never quite been the home that Mount Justice was. For as long it had been founded, Tim had wanted nothing more to be a member of the Young Justice Team. It was there that he'd met the infectious laughter of the Boy Wonder Dick Grayson, the sage mentorship of Kaldur'ahm, the teasing antics of Kid Flash (much to the annoyance of his girlfriend Artemis), and the cool eyes of a boy who had everything that Tim ever wanted.
Dick didn't laugh as much these days, Kaldur'ahm had abandoned them, both Flash and Artemis permanently resigned from the team for college, and the boy…
Tim carefully threw on the red hoodie over his training clothes. He was cautious with the fabric, avoiding the not yet dry blood over his knuckles as he wormed his arms through the sleeves. The thing was starting to show signs of age and only the other day he'd managed to poke its first hole through one of the seams in the sleeves.
Before Tim could rationalize what he was doing, his feet were already carrying him to the Grotto.
As Tim descended the stairs, he listened to the tinkling sound of water that ran down the rock walls. The walls were smooth as marble, cool to the touch as he ran his bruising fingers against its surface. At the base of the stairs, the grotto opened into a large cavern, like the one they sparred in, though on a much smaller scale. At the base, fresh water surrounded two landings. It was runoff from the mountain that gathered into a crystalline pool before disappearing underground to eventually make it to the ocean.
In the middle of the cavern was also a small wooden bridge connecting one landing to another. It allowed access to more empty space that would hopefully never need to be used.
Sighing, Tim sat down at the edge of the bridge. He leaned his back against the wooden rails and dropped his right hand behind him. The bridge was just shallow enough that his knuckles dipped into the cool water.
For being so deep in the underground with no lighting, the room was just bright enough thanks to the two glowing projection memorials that emitted an eerie blue light that cast shadows across the cavern walls. Tim looked up at the projection of Jason Todd that frozenly stared back at him with disdain.
"That looks like it hurts."
Tim startled at the sudden voice, pulling his wounded hand into his lap. He relaxed a bit when he saw that it was only Connor Kent making his way down the stairs. Tim slowly dipped his knuckles back into the still water. Having already been outed by Super Boy's microscopic vision, it wasn't much use hiding his injury from him anyways.
Tim shrugged, opting for nonchalance, "It's not so bad, I tripped on my way over here."
Connor chuckled, "That right?" his eyes were bright and knowing as he approached. "Yeah… I've tripped into a few walls on some of my bad days as well," he winked.
"That's—" Tim stuttered but ultimately stopped, it was no use denying it anyways. He looked up at the older boy. He wore his signature black t-shirt with a dark red S emblazoned on the front and his classic baggy blue jeans with combat boots. "You're not going with the rest of the team?" Tim asked as the other boy sat down right beside him.
"Nah," Connor chuckled, "Icicle Jr. tends to get amped up when I'm around. Thought it'd be best if I hang back this time. You looked like you might've needed someone to talk to back at the ring… and I happened to overhear you tripping into the wall… or mirror"
Tim winced. He was usually so good about hiding his angry outbursts. Whenever he felt ready to burst, he always ventured to a secluded beach that was on the far side of Mount Justice. It was the best he could do to be away from prying eyes and ears.
Not that Connor could help it. It wasn't his fault that he had super hearing. But still, Tim was embarrassed.
"They made him look so angry; don't you think?" Connor changed the subject, nodding towards the glowing memorial of Jason Todd. The projection's eyes were pinched into a scowl. His mouth was curled down. It was the face he always made before his mouth curled up into a sneer and spouted some unkind words.
"It suits him," Tim answered, remembering being on the receiving end of those insults.
Connor's eyebrow shot up and looked at the memorial again, more pensively. "You think so?" he asked genuinely.
No. Tim didn't think so. Tim thought there had been so much more to Jason Todd and that this memorial quite literally projected only a fraction of the person he'd been. But he didn't like to think about those other aspects of Jason. Thinking about that brought him dangerously close to how he'd felt during the dark year, and that was a stone better left settled behind him.
Connor was apparently perfectly happy carrying on the conversation by himself. "I was surprised to see you down here," he swallowed thickly. "You used to stop by so often… but I haven't seen you down here in a while."
Tim swiveled his head towards the boy who, despite being closer to twenty now, still didn't look a day over sixteen. In a few short years Tim would certainly overtake him.
Tim wasn't surprised that he hadn't seen Connor Kent in the Grotto before. In his opinion, grieving was something best left done privately, and Tim wasn't sure how he'd feel about others knowing about just how frequently he used to visit. Silently he was thankful that Connor had been kind enough to give him that privacy.
Tim also wasn't exactly surprised to find out that apparently Super Boy had visited the Grotto just as frequently as he did. While Tim could count on one hand the number of conversations he'd had with Connor Kent, and most of those being cursory at best, Jason had shared a much closer relationship with Connor when he'd been alive.
Connor had a habit of taking the designated "angry" ones under his wing. It wasn't anything official, no mentorship bullshit or anything like that. But for some reason Connor, someone who once had his fair share of angry days but had significantly mellowed out over the years, felt safe to them. There was just something about him that made you feel calm. And so, Connor collected his little angry vigilantes like honeybees to a flower.
Tim had always felt that inexplicable peace around Connor Kent too but hadn't wanted to pursue more than the friendship he'd already been given. Connor had been Jason's closest friend and to encroach on that just felt like another thing he was replacing… and Tim hated that.
But still, Tim couldn't help the way his body minutely leaned towards Connor, as if he too were just an angry little bee looking for a place to finally rest.
"I think he looks a bit constipated," Tim finally spoke.
Surprised, Connor laughed heartily beside him. "Ah man, he'd deck you if he ever heard you say that."
Tim huffed, a little defensive, "He could try." Tim was stronger now… bigger (just a little bit)… and certainly wouldn't have made it easy for him.
Connor hummed appreciatively, like he knew what Tim was getting at. "That's true. You're not the same little tyke that you were when you first joined, are you." A statement, not a question.
"I just don't get it," Tim slapped his hand in the water, "I'm right around the same age when he started," he said, referring to Dick, "He's being totally irrational about it." Tim looked over at Conner, who was listening intently.
Connor loosely pulled his knees to his chest, resting his arms over them. "I don't think there often is a rational explanation for how we choose to grieve."
Tim knew that was true. There was no rational explanation for why Tim had religiously visited the memorial of a boy who'd hated him. In the past, Tim had tried to dissect his motivations… but that usually just left him with a headache and an inevitable trip to that secluded beach where he could throw some things.
Tim sighed, his head hanging low. "I just feel like everything is changing but I'm still stuck where I was two years ago… before he…" Tim didn't say his name out loud. He never said his name out loud anymore.
"I get that," Connor agreed. He too had been experiencing some changes. At first Tim had thought M'Gann and his relationship had only been going through one of their rough patches, as they were well known for. But lately M'Gann was hanging around La'gaan, one of their newest recruits from Atlantis, and Tim couldn't help but feel that maybe this was one of the more permanent changes…
Tim hated that.
"You gotta know, kid," Connor continued, "Deep down Dick knows that you're ready. You've been ready for awhile now… but," This was tricky, because while Connor was consoling Tim right now, he was one of Dick's closest friends and couldn't say too much.
Tim let him off the hook by cutting in. "He shouldn't blame himself. It wasn't his fault." He looked over at the memorial. The mechanisms of the projector hummed unnervingly.
"Being a leader is hard," Connor acquiesced, "You carry the weight of the team on your shoulders and when things go south, especially the way things did… it's hard not to blame yourself." He shuddered dramatically, "I don't envy his job. I wouldn't wanna do it. And I think especially for the Boy Wonders, who all have this habit of being perfectionists," he nudged Tim in the ribs, "they seem to forget they're still human."
Tim lightly tapped his head against the rail of the bridge. His fingers had long since grown numb, so he pulled them out of the icy water into his lap. His hand tingled from the temperature change.
"I just want to be worthy of it," Tim finally mumbled.
The R on his chest, the suit that he wore, the mentorship he'd been offered, the warm home he'd been freely given, the team who trusted him…
Connor reached up and ruffled Tim's hair. "You already are, kid," he chuckled. "Dick'll come around. He's gonna have too. We've got a new member joining and she's the same age as you," he said, still chuckling, "You can bet that Nightwing would get an earful from Diana if her protégé got sidelined too."
Totally unwillingly Tim started blushing, the warmth spreading from his cheeks all the way to his ears.
Cassie Sandsmark.
Tim had seen her trailing behind Wonder Woman around a couple of times during Bruce's meetings with the Justice League. She was… pretty. And fiery too. And whip smart. And always said what was on her mind in a way that Tim was too scared to and—
"There we are," Connor razzed, once again nudging Tim in the ribs, but this time with a sly grin on his face. His blue eyes twinkled with humor.
Tim couldn't help it when his lips curled up in a closed mouth smile. Blushing even harder, he buried his head between his knees.
"You know," Conner said, still smiling. "We could talk more often like this. Doesn't have to be down here, it's kinda bleak. But just anytime… if you want."
And there it was, the offer Tim hadn't realized he so desperately needed. It wasn't as if Tim was aching to have these touchy feely talks all the time. But Dick and Bruce weren't exactly paragons of sharing their feelings. They were more often to settle conflict over a game of basketball than anything else… and that just wasn't Tim.
In Connor's friendship, Tim felt like he'd finally, finally, been offered a place to rest. And while guilt scratched at his skin, considering he was sitting in the glowering eyes of his predecessor, for once Tim decided to ignore it. For once he decided to take something for himself, not caring if he was being selfish about it.
He nodded his head, "I'd like that."
A/N: Sweet and soft Tim and Connor moments? Sign me up please. Honestly I feel in any DC multiverse, Tim and Kon would be friends (if not more than that in certain universes *wink*), so I absolutely loved getting to explore their relationship in the Earth-16 universe where they are certainly separated by an age gap of ~7years! Anyways this was one of the first scenes that popped into my head when I was forming this story in the early days of its creation. I think what excited me so much was exploring the time skip between seasons 1 and 2 of YJ. What happened during those 5 years? Why is Dick so much darker in season 2 than 1. Why is the Tim Drake that we meet so unsure of himself and distanced from his predecessor, Dick Grayson... anyways, these are just my excited ramblings. I truly hope you enjoy this second chapter of three today and I look forward to sharing the next one with you! Update 2/3
