The weeks of school passed by with Conner settling into a rather comfortable routine. He got up early in the morning. Insomnia? Noisy neighbors? Both? And spent it studying, a habit he never had in his old life. Clark was almost always already up, brewing coffee, and would leave with a wave and a bagel in hand telling Conner not to miss school.

Conner would throw on his leather jacket, grab his bag, and walk to the bus stop in silence. At school he'd meet with Stephanie and Bart and their friends before the bell, and then he'd spend the rest of the day bouncing between classes with various friends before lunch.

Lunch managed to always be a fun affair of conspiratorial whispering with Stephanie about the Waynes. She liked to make up extravagant adventures about them, touting it as The Lives of the Rich and Beautiful ™.

"See Damian over there?" She said, not even bothering to hide her pointing. "He's angry because Jason has run off with his lover."

"Who's his lover?" Bart asked.

"A Russian girl he met when they were absent last week. Her name is Katya and they were in love ."

Chemistry was right after lunch, and Conner got used to the fact Tim seemed to be absent more often than not, and when present shirked away from Conner. Still, he felt almost certain that Tim stared at him, and had caught the other's gaze several times. Conner's increased glares did not seem to discourage it. When he asked Stephanie, she claimed Tim had told her long ago Bruce liked to take them camping if the sun was out, and that Tim hated everyone and not to take it personally.

Then he would go to gym, where he killed it, and then he would go home by the same bus he used to get to school. He'd delete messages from Lex, he'd talk awkwardly with Clark over dinner, then rinse and repeat the entire thing.

And then there was what Stephanie dubbed "the van incident".

It was well known by everyone that the Waynes rode in style. A needlessly expensive slick black car with a personal driver dropped the five off everyday. It was like watching real celebrities walk down the red carpet when the Waynes emerged from their vehicle with excessive grace. The first time Conner saw it he rolled his eyes and turned on his heel so that he could avoid Tim seeing him get off the bus.

Conner took the city bus. Fare was cheap, cheaper for students, and the apartment was honestly in walking distance if Conner didn't wanted to avoid it. Most students took some kind of bus, school or otherwise, simply because Gotham traffic was unmanageable.

Still Edward Elliot High School was technically situated in a more well to do part of the city, and only a few of the neighborhoods it was zoned for were as poor as Clarks. Kids showed up to school in Ferraris and Porsches all the time for the sake of showing off. Stephanie constantly threatened to throw rocks at kids in the parking lot who revved their engines too loudly.

All this to say that, Conner, for his part, did not interact too much with vehicles of any sort. Roxy had a jeep back home, but for the most part he never needed to be in the parking lot and the only reason he had been in the first place was because Jaime had been eager to show them all his latest piece of art.

It was early enough the lot wasn't full yet, and rain that had started earlier in the morning meant the four of them were drenched and huddling under Stephanie's umbrella.

Jaime was Bart's friend, as far as Conner could tell, and his dad was a mechanic with his own shop. Jaime had the head of a mechanic, a bleeding heart, and put up with Bart's endless chatter in a way that made both Stephanie and Conner eternally indebted to him. He was also responsible for Bart's terrible attempts at Spanglish, however, so they considered it even.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Jaime said.

It was pouring rain, Conner was soaked to the bone, t-shirt sticking to his skin under his jacket. Stephanie, though dressed for the rain, looked equally miffed to be out. Bart, who dressed in nothing but his track clothes from early morning practice, seemed to be the only one excited.

"It looks great Jaime!" he said, eagerly circling the vehicle to inspect.

The car in question was a tiny, ancient Volkswagen Beetle. It was painted a gorgeous sky blue, a paint job Jaime was quite proud of, and, according to Jaime, was so sturdily rebuilt she'd run for eternity without breaking down. He called her the Blue Beetle.

"You rebuild cars a lot?" Conner asked, not wanting to be rude.

Jaime shrugged. "It's my dad's hobby, really, but he let me have this one. There's a pick-up truck waiting in the garage though that I'm hoping he'll let me have because he's been so busy lately."

The pause and the nervous habit of biting his lip gave Jaime away as not being totally honest, but Conner didn't push.

"You know none of us will fit in there," Stephanie said.

"Sorry," Jaime said, "but my parents didn't want me to spring for anything too big. They were worried about my driving-"

It happened very fast, and Conner barely registered it even as it occurred. One moment they were standing there, chatting in the rain and trying to be nice the Jaime, the next there heard a screech, a flash of white and-

-Conner hit his head on the pavement.

He must've blacked out. Maybe. But he couldn't be sure. Someone in a white van had demolished what had once been Jaime's car. The small bug had been pushed clear across the parking lot, it's front end demolished.

Conner laid sprawled out on the pavement, and it took him awhile to realize that A. He had been directly in the way of the incoming vehicle and B. He had been pushed.

And his savior was swearing.

"You motherfuckers are lucky I was paying attention. Jesus fucking Christ what do you think you were doing?" It was one of the Wayne boys. Not Tim. Jay something.

"Jason I'm so sorry," the girl in the van squeaked. Her large white vehicle looked like it hadn't hit anything.

Van girl was blonde, and would have been cute if it weren't for the pigtails, the goggles on her head, and the incredibly bright red joggers he saw as she exited the vehicle.

"And you idiots, what are you doing standing around the fucking parking lot like that?" Jason screamed. Conner's friends looked appropriately terrified. Jason was big, clearly packing muscle under a brown leather jacket and fingerless gloves. Conner loathed to admit it but he liked the guy's style, even if he was being a total dick at the moment.

He stood shakily.

"Be careful," Van Girl appeared at his side in an instant.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"No you aren't." They both turned to see Tim and one of his other siblings, the Damian, standing directly behind them. "We saw what happened is everyone ok?"

Conner raised a thumb, "Topsy turvey for a bit, but ok. And wet"

Tim looked at Jason with the same distaste that Conner saw him use on the rest of his classmates. "Jason, leave them alone."

Jason looked at Tim, back to the scene of the accident and then scowled. He walked over to Conner roughly grabbed and scrutinized his face. Up close Jason had the rugged good looks of an old movie star. Like the all American Cowboy type, if a bit young. If Conner hadn't been so dazed he'd have appreciated it more.

"You," Jason said, "I pushed you pretty hard. Get your head checked."

And with that loving advice, the Waynes walked away, leaving Conner cold and with a throbbing head.

Predictably, the morning's accident was the only thing the school was talking about. At least the parts of the school Conner cared about. It even made it onto the school news in third period, with a gentle reminder of traffic rules and seat belts and stuff. Cassie had been freaking out. She called her mom, and Jaime mourned his car as they traded insurance cards and called a tow truck. The guy with the tow nodded at Jaime and asked about his dad's leg, and Jaime shooed everyone into class.

"Don't skip on my account," he said.

The girl who almost killed him made herself known as Cassie, and apologized constantly for the rest of the day. It turned out Conner had English with her.

"I'm also in Gym class. We were partners for the last volleyball practice," she reminded him gently, looking heartbroken.

"Uh….I thought that was Cissie?"

If at all possible Cassie's face fell further as Mrs. Bruner started handing back last week's pop quiz. "No, Cissie's that blonde girl in the front row."

The girl in question was tall, lean, athletic, blonde, and wearing a pound of make-up. Conner cringed internally at his own mistake. As Bruner handed him his paper. Conner looked at his 56% correct and sighed. He'd had to guess the entire time because Wuthering Heights was impossibly hard to decipher. Cassie noticed.

"I could tutor you, if you like," she said, "as sorry for the car thing?"

Conner liked Cassie. Really she seemed nice. "Er, no that's ok."

But he was going to live in this shame alone, thanks.

Cassie even joined them for lunch, squeezing between Greta and Stephanie and offering more apologies. And if Tim was missing from his family's table at lunch, and their shared desk in chemistry, Conner didn't notice.

Conner did eventually go to the nurse at Stephanie's insistence, and was told to "take it easy". The P.E. teacher, an old crow of a man, didn't even let Conner play badminton.

School let out, and Conner went out to the bus stop, expecting it to be the same as the last few weeks, plus the addition of rain. Then a thought occurred to him.

His head still ached, and not being able to play in P.E. had given Conner time to sit and think, which inevitably led to thoughts that mostly centered on problems he couldn't solve. Where was Rex now and was he ok? Was Roxy having a good time at college? Did Tana ever miss him? Did Kay?

When he got sentimental, sometimes Conner liked to sneak out of the window in his room (a task he discovered days into his stay that took some contortion but allowed him privacy and a view from the roof) and a place to smoke. He figured on a day like the one he'd had Roxy would forgive a cigarette.

Conner didn't smoke. Usually. The last time Roxy had caught him with cigarettes she had made him smash them in front of her. But that didn't mean she didn't. Do as I say not as I do, she had always said good naturedly. She also had sent him packing to Gotham with the last one in her pack. She'd handed it to him with a sigh. "Smoke it for me when you miss me."

And Conner missed her. He missed her so much.

His mind made up, Conner decided to walk, and avoid the nuisance of public transit. In the rain, boots sloshing and raincoat pulled over his already heavy leather coat, he walked home.

Gotham smelled a bit like sewer and fall. The normally grim faces of the buildings along the main street by his school were extra grey in the diffuse lighting of the steady downpour. Conner took to counted the slabs of crooked concrete that made up the sidewalk, and admiring the the old and mismatched assortment of buildings and lamps. Sometimes he'd see a storefront that looked like it had been pulled from the 1920s, and other times an office building would wear the skin of what once must have been an old cathedral. Though nothing about Gotham held the homey, rugged nature of his old cabin.

Conner felt more than saw that he was being followed. Rex had always been paranoid about people, claiming they were out to get him or follow him. Sometimes he was right, and his outrageous debts caught up to him. Sometimes he was just paranoid. Conner sincerely hoped he was just paranoid, but when he turned down a less busy side street towards his neighborhood he began to doubt it.

The guy tailing him was acting odd, shaking his head furiously. Conner could only see him from the corner of his eye because he didn't want to turn fully and risk a confrontation.

He wasn't worried, he told himself.

Unfortunately Conner had never walked to school, and had only eyed the route from a seat on the grimy bus, so it took only one wrong turn for him to realize he was completely going the wrong way, turn around, and come face to face with bloodshot eyes.

The man was ragged, and still shaking violently, but Conner figured no reason to be a hasty judge, and made to squeeze past the guy in the narrow, dark alley.

"Hey! Hold on a sec," his voice was raspy as all get out, and Conner picked up the pace, only to be yanked back by a hand on his upper arm. The man had to have some strength because moving Conner was like moving an ox, or so he had been told, "Can I talk to you for a minute, it will only take a minute."

Up close, the guy was bigger and scarier than Conner had realized. He stood half a head taller than him, hair soaked in the rain, eyes glaring down a face that would have been handsome if he bothered. Dark coat pulled over a grey hoodie made him seem larger, and he had a wicked grin.

"You are very new to town, aren't ya?" He said,

Conner stepped back uneasily, and tried to remember the few times Sam or Kay had gotten into the boxing ring with him. He would be fine. Worse came to worse he'd hand over his wallet and go on his way.

For the second time that day, Conner found his life played out in ultra high definition as adrenaline pumped and several things happened at once.

The man pulled a gun and aimed it at Conner. Conner stumbled and fell on his ass as he tried to get away. And Timothy Drake Wayne who had previously not been present, appeared to drop down from the sky and total the guy. The man with the gun crumpled, a gunshot sounded, and before Conner could register that Tim had moved, the gun was skidding across the alley, and the man was roughly restrained via zip tie, which definitely did not make Conner feel any safer.

Conner looked up in shock even as his heart hammered in his chest. "Y-you! You!"

Rain poured down in a constant stream, pasting Tim's hair to his head as he regarded Conner with a level of coolness that was simply unacceptable for someone with a bullet hole in their cashmere sweater. What right did he have to be ninja diving off rooftops anyways? He didn't even look winded, pale skin free of scrapes or bruises, and clothes still pressed save the sweater.

"What?" Tim glared, as was his manner.

"How did you do that?" Conner asked in lieu of the dozens of better questions he could have asked. His vision swam a bit. Did he hit his head again?

"I don't know what you're talking about." A beat. "I take Taekwondo lessons at home."

Now Conner had always been more of a boxing and MMA kind of guy, but he was pretty sure Taekwondo was not a skydiving kind of sport and-

"How did you even know I was here. Wait you were shot!" Conner started to freak out from where he sat on the muddy sidewalk. Tim was probably a serial killer, he was probably waiting the last few weeks to get Conner alone. This was probably pay back for the horse thing.

Saying a prayer to God in the hopes that if he did exist Conner's hedonistic upbringing wouldn't kill his chances at the pearly gates, he accepted his fate. If he died, at least he had lived life to the fullest. And Stephanie would probably avenge him.

"What are you babbling about?" Tim looked horrified. Conner wondered how much he'd been saying out loud. Tim's black designer boots stopped just shy of Conner's reach and he looked uneasy. Sirens sounded in the distance. "I called the cops."

Conner looked at the prone man, now restrained, groaning at the end of the alley. "But- "

"Later." Tim said, as a cop car pulled up to the street beside the alley and a couple officers got out.

Conner did not believe for one second Tim was telling the truth, but his brain felt hazy, and when he tried to argue with the officers on the scene, the older guy smiled and was so at ease, that Conner found himself being shuffled into the back of a car before he could even register it had happened.

Officer Grayson was criminally charming, and should have been arrested and charged as such, preventing him from being a police officer in the first place. It was, simply put, unfair to Conner's mental health to have to answer questions when, every other word, he was getting an encouraging smile and "are you sure you don't want something to eat?" from a man with eyes so blue Conner could get lost in them. And did. Multiple times.

Officer Grayson cleared his throat. "Uh, are you ok?"

Conner snapped out of it. "Fine. What was the question?"

Behind Grayson's back Tim scoffed and glared even more heavily at Conner. Conner blatantly ignored him in favor of Officer Grayson. Tim had ditched the cashmere sweater, and Conner had no idea where it had gone. Hopefully into evidence or something. However, if Tim had been shot, he seemed perfectly ok now.

Tim and Conner had been dragged back to the station to give statements by Officer Grayson and his partner Bertinelli, who was tall and terrifying, and threatened to break multiple bones in Conner's body. It might have been a good cop/bad cop routine but Conner was too tired to care.

The precinct office was crammed full of people, and the corner desk Grayson had sat him at was stacked precariously with paperwork. Two people were arguing over a dry erase board, a TV mounted to the wall by another office played NBC news on a loop. It was almost too much for Conner's senses to bear, but the level gaze and reassuring smile of Grayson kept him somewhat grounded.

"Is that everything you can tell me?" Grayson repeated softly.

Conner nodded. "I'm just tired. It's fine. I don't wanna press charges. Tim drop kicked the guy anyways."

Grayson turned to look at Tim critically. All Tim did was shrug, looking surly, and Grayson sighed.

"I'm going to grab some paperwork. I'll be a few minutes. Please don't touch anything."

And with that he was gone. Conner's head was still aching from earlier in the day, but not enough to stop him from turning to Tim, who stood behind Grayson's desk peering "innocently" at the papers strewn about.

"Alright, seriously, what the fuck happened?"

Tim looked up. They locked eyes. Conner was glad Tim was so unpleasant or he might have been as dumbstruck with him as he had been with Officer Grayson.

"You hit your head really hard today," Tim said, in no way answering the question and picking up a manila envelope from the desk.

"And you got shot."

"Don't be ridiculous, I was walking down to the bus stop when I noticed you were in trouble. You must have hit your head really hard."

Conner glared. "You jumped down from the roof and you had a zip tie."

Tim was a very very bad liar because the look he was trying to pass as confusion was so obviously fake that if Conner wasn't quite so worried about starting a fight in a police station he would have decked him.

"I don't know what you're talking about Conner. You have a concussion."

Conner seethed. "I do not. There's a hole in your sweater. The police will see it."

"I didn't have a sweater on today. You're confused." Suddenly Tim dropped the folder.

Officer Grayson rounded the corner, Bertinelli in tow. "Tim, you're free to go. Conner, could you go with Officer Bertinelli?"

Conner turned to Tim. "This isn't over."

But he was already walking away. Conner glanced over to the desk to see that, in his rush, Tim had managed to knock a newspaper clipping loose from the file.

Mysterious Murder in Gotham Central Park.

After some rough handling and paperwork from Bertinelli, Conner found himself back at Grayson's desk. He had tried to ask the other officer about the gun maybe having gone off, but she'd looked at him like he was insane and explained that there had been no gun at the scene, according to both the mugger and Tim's statement. Besides they'd conducted a thorough search of the scene and found only trash. Her face betrayed nothing but her overly forceful tone convinced Conner she had to be in on it with Tim. There was no other explanation. He didn't hallucinate the gun. After that all his questions were similarly shut down. Conner resolved to go back the alley later and see if he could fine the thing himself.

Not able to help himself, he used a pencil to gently lift the flap of the topmost manila folder on Grayson's desk. He got as far as "Murder in Gotham City Park" and a gruesome photo of a dead man before Officer Grayson was back.

Conner had never been huge on cops. He was arrested once, in Hawaii, for something he didn't do no less, and had had a generally good time being harassed for weeks afterwards. If you had asked him even a week ago he would have had a lot of angry things to say, and he had no doubt that big city cops were worse. Still, Conner was smitten where the young officer was concerned was concerned, and jumped away from the desk. Grayson smiled.

"Curiosity killed the cat," he said.

"Satisfaction brought it back," Conner muttered.

Grayson chuckled. He then surveyed the surrounding area, looking dismayed. "Tim took off fast."

"He probably thinks he has better things to do than hang around a police station," Conner said, with a sniff.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah he's kind of always like that."

"Always like what?"

"Rude."

"Please do tell."

Conner heaved a great sigh, ready to regale the willing officer with his story of woe. "Tim sits next to me in chemistry and he is the worst. He thinks because his dad is Bruce Wayne he can just, do whatever. All he does is glare at me and lie to my face."

"Hm. Well that sure is rude. Would you like me to talk to Bruce about that?" Grayson said, grin growing.

Sensing dangerous territory, Conner paused. "...what?"

"I might have some sway," Grayson continued, leaning forward, "being Tim's brother all."

Conner spluttered, "You? But Tim...and then, if he, if you were-"

Grayson winked and laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Why don't we get you something to eat and a doctor for that head?"

Grayson turned out to be good company, and set Conner up with an ice cream and a quick trip to a medical center around the block. Unfortunately, his mood dipped from there. Clark showed up acting worried as ever, and the doctor insisted he had a mild concussion and needed to take it easy. His thoughts played through the events of the alleyway, the police station, and Bertinelli on repeat, and with each reexamination Conner's confusion grew. Were the cops idiots or just under the Wayne's thumb? Was Grayson?

His agitation grew all the more when Grayson had to leave.

"The streets of Gotham need me," he told Conner with a salute.

Conner returned the gesture and went home with Clark.

Clark, who was a mess.

"Are you sure you're ok?" He asked for a millionth time. He hadn't stopped asking since the hospital. "Why didn't you call me earlier? I would have picked you up."

"I'm fine," Conner slammed the door to the car and marched into the house while Clark scrambled after him. He had no reason to be angry with Clark, not really, but that didn't stop him from storming to his room to mope. He really didn't want to talk to Clark today. And even if he did, he doubted that Clark would believe him about the cops and the lying. No one had believed him in Hawaii. Even Tana had "distanced" herself from him.

Conner's room really was tiny. Barely fitting his twin bed, with a sloped roof, and a window that looked out onto the city. His desk was crammed in an alcove and he had about three feet space between his desk chair and bed. There was a landline on his desk beside his hand me down laptop, and he and Clark had had to purchase a network extender for his room because the wifi was abysmal. His own phone dinged, and he ignored it. If it was Roxy she would call. If it was Lex, he could go fuck himself at the moment.

He tried to lie and bed and ignore the fact his heart was hammering. Stupid heart. It had a habit of doing that for no reason.

All this because of a cigarette, he thought.

"Roxy, why is this so hard?" he asked the air.