The week flew by without incident. At least externally. Conner meanwhile internally waged war on himself. He still hadn't told Clark about his other kid.

What would that do to him? Conner could only guess. Lois had been important enough to Clark that when he left Metropolis he pretty much begged her to come with him. And Lois had said no. Did she know then that she was pregnant? And not telling Clark...it was bad enough Clark had to deal with Conner, the ultimate regret of his high school career, but now he had another kid out of wedlock who he hadn't even known about. Clark maybe wasn't exactly winning in the date department. As far as Conner knew there weren't any girlfriends or boyfriends who weren't Lex or Lois. That said, Clark's easygoing, let-me-fix-that-for-you, breakfast in bed attitude was obviously meant for marriage. If there was a poster boy for stable husband material Clark was it.

So why did assholes like Lane and Luthor happen?

It wasn't fair, and Conner knew he wasn't being fair by hiding it but he wasn't stupid. If Clark found out about Jon he'd drop everything to go be with his new family. That was the kind of guy Clark was. And that would leave Conner with no place to stay in Gotham and a one way ticket back to Metropolis. If his visit to Lex had proven anything it was that nothing had changed and he'd rather die than go back to how things were.

He could always go on the run again, he supposed. Maybe head back to Hawaii. Sure he had some dark shit there he'd rather leave behind but by the same token anything would be better than Lex Luthor. Conner's friends, though he loved them, lived in a world of their own, for all they noticed his panic in the following days. He tried not to fault them for it.

About halfway through the week Cassie walked up to the lunch table with a beautiful blonde girl in tow and a bashful look on her face. The tall, regal blonde stood behind Cassie like the tomboyish girl was somehow protecting her. Cassie presented her new friend to the table.

"Guys, you all know Cissie?"

Yes. They all knew Cissie King-Jones. In the stark silence that followed Cassie gestured for the Homecoming Queen, to take a seat. She did, hesitantly, a chair down from Conner and next to Bart. Cassie sat across from her.

Stephanie, reached across the table offering her hand, "I'm Stephanie Brown. We've been in English class together since, like, eighth grade-"

"You don't need to patronize me," Cissie said, but she shook Stephanie's hand anyways.

"She's going to sit with us from now on," Cassie told the rest of the table, and wisely no one said anything. Conner tried to finish the chemistry homework he had started maybe a day too late, and if anyone noticed he was quieter than usual he didn't care.

The only thing that kept Conner from maybe completely collapsing in on himself under the weight of his newfound secret was football practice.

Everyday after school, when the sun beat down on the astro turf, Conner donned gym clothes and awkwardly hung out with the JV football team. The boys, with their freshman and sophomore baby faces and full gear, mostly ignored Conner as he drilled beside them with Coach Scott's oversight.

At first he burned his hands against the astroturf during drills, before Coach Scott pulled him aside and told him which shoes and gloves he would need to buy in the coming weeks to keep from getting injured.

Burpees, tire drills, Conner did anything that wasn't directly playing football, and when the team ran practice scrimmages, Conner sat on the bleachers with Scott and did his homework.

"You've been coming out every day," Scott said by Friday, glaring out at the sun and field from under the dorky looking visor every gym teacher seemed to wear.

"That's what you said to do," Conner paused mid chem homework. He hadn't managed to talk to anyone on the team. He hadn't really tried either. On the field half the team wore dirty red scrimmage vests for practice, and the gleaming blue and white colors of the schools were nearly worn out of their practice jerseys.

"You're a Junior, right?" Scott asked.

"Yessir."

Scott nodded. "I surprised you haven't tried out before. You keep up well."

Conner bit back a comment about his less than thrilling attendance record in Hawaii. Scott fell silent and Conner waited awkwardly for the middle aged man to get to the point.

"The JV team is very good this year," Scott said. Whatever he was getting at, the point was lost as at the far end of the field a pack of monstrously sized seniors started piling onto the green. Scott sighed.

"Time to section the field off," he grumbled, pulled down his visor, and jumped off the bleachers with a thump to go corner and talk with the Varsity Football Coach.

As the players started lining up and the coaches argued on the sidelines, Conner noted one of the players making his way towards him. For a minute he looked around to see who the kid possibly intended to talk to, only to realize he was the only one on the bleachers.

A dark haired, dark skinned boy with a warm smile and hesitancy in his step walked up to Conner.

"Hi."

Conner waited.

The boy shifted awkwardly under his padding, helmet clutched under one arm. "You're friends with Cissie right?"

"Friends is a very strong word."

"Oh. Well. Tell her I'm sorry, I guess."

Conner stared like an idiot for a minute before the pieces started clicking into place. "Oh. You're Jackson."

Jackson Hyde nodded, looking anywhere but Conner, before he stuttered an awkward, "well, see ya," and jogging back to his team. Conner really wished the high school drama would take a back seat for a little while. He could use the break. He resolved to tell Cissie nothing.

Conner thought, perhaps, if he glared at the dusty brownish-green sloped ceiling of his bedroom, he could turn back time and undo his last two weeks of existence. Go back to a simpler time, when, perhaps, people weren't quite so irritating.

Instead he let his thoughts turn to more bittersweet things. Tana Moon, with her hair up, trying to teach him to surf his first summer in Hawaii, Roxy hollering on the beach as he tumbled face first into salt and grime, eyes stinging, over and over.

Barbeques by their small cabin. Rex scratching lotto tickets in the dim light of their fire pit after an ill-gotten paycheck, waving them around excitedly each time saying "this is the one!".

Conner couldn't say when the memories slipped into the fractured, incongruous images of his dreams, but he could hear the sound of the surf, even as a younger version of him, too young to be living in Hawaii yet, laughed playing games in the ocean with Kay and Tana.

Conner awoke to three text notifications.

USPS: Your package has been delivered! 8:15 EST

Roxy: [img0001]

Loverboy Jason: Tutoring starts at 10AM sharp Mr. Kent.

Conner allowed himself a moment to scowl, and be upset with the world. Mornings were terrible, and it was already 9:30. He had no interest in being anywhere that wasn't his bed. Jason could shove off.

Roxy's picture was of her and Kyle posing in front of an art museum and generally looking stupid. He saved it to his phone.

He stumbled out of his room, hissing as his feet hit the cold floor, and called down the hall where he could hear Clark moving about.

"Did something show up in the mail?"

"You'd best take a look for yourself."

Conner, curiosity outweighing morning grogginess, entered the kitchen. Clark sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper, glasses comically balanced on the end of his nose. His coffee still steamed.

"BLTs this morning," Clark told him, then used half his sandwich to gesture at the front door, "What on earth did you order?"

Conner grinned when he saw the package. It stood nearly as tall as himself, and made the small apartment seem even more cramped. In big loopy handwriting on the front it spelled his name and home address. FRAGILE was stamped across the thin package in all red.

"You're going to love it," he told Clark.

Clark inspected the painting carefully. Conner's bedroom ceiling had been too low, so the six foot tall monstrosity had to be taken into the living room and mounted behind the TV.

"He really has quite a delicate hand," Clark said, leaning in close and inspecting the brushwork along the lower left leg of the mech.

Conner couldn't tell if Clark was being serious, or humoring him. Regardless he took a selfie and sent it Roxy, with Clark looming over the painting in the background.

Jason: Chop Chop pretty boy. Wayne manor at 10 sharp. You know where that is, don't you?

Seeing his message notifications again, he sighed. One the one hand, Jason was an ass. On the other hand he was failing three classes. Luthor or Tim? It was a much easier choice when he thought of it like that. Maybe some of Tim's weird anal retentive organization would rub off on him.

"Hey, Clark, can I get a ride to Wayne Manor? Tim Wayne said he'd help me study for English."

Clark nearly choked on air, which was a feat and something Conner thought was rather odd, but the older man smiled, pushed up his glasses and said, "Sure, I'd love to. Been meaning to stop by and talk with Bruce."

Conner recalled the refined man with the cigarette on the balcony of Lex's private dining room and felt a shadow of a smile surface. "Right. Well. Let me grab my homework."

The Wayne Manor was something out of an old movie. Sitting high on a hill overlooking Gotham, each corner of the house held up a stone gargoyle with a gaping maw and dark eyes. The windows were all small, with white trim, and the structure gave the overwhelming impression of someone glaring coldly from under a pointy had. The driveway had been gated, but as Clark's clunker rolled up to it, the wrought iron creaked open automatically and they were able to make their way up the winding gravel drive.

"This house is fucking huge," Conner said, feeling every bit of good will earned by Jason vanish as he thought of his own, crowded room. He couldn't even lean back in his desk chair without hitting the bed.

"It's been in the family for generations," Clark said, sunny as usual despite their surroundings, "Bruce refuses to give it up."

For one, brief moment, Conner thought of Ms. Havisham from Great Expectations, the latest English torture book they were reading. Unfortunately it triggered the thought of Bruce in an ancient wedding dress and so he quashed that thought, and all thoughts of English class, quickly.

They pulled up right outside the house, and a tall, thin man, balding with a neatly trimmed grey mustache emerged. Conner had to do a double take because the man was wearing a full on three piece suit with a tailcoat and white gloves.

"What century is this?"

"Don't be rude, Conner," Clark give him his best admonishing glare (it was half-hearted) and got out of the car.

"Master Kent. Young Master Kent," the man said in a lilting British accent, "What an unexpected visit. Master Wayne is out for the afternoon, I hope you understand."

Conner decided if the Waynes really were vampires, they were doing a piss poor job of hiding it.

"That's quite alright Alfred," Clark said, "I know he's busy. Conner is here to see one of the boys about schoolwork."

Alfred took a long look at Conner, and even from the porch, Conner could feel the man making snap judgement about him. Probably accurate ones too. He wanted to kick himself for having worn Jason's jacket today.

If Alfred saw anything he didn't like, he didn't say, just straightened up, and stiffly gestured for them to follow him inside. Conner averted his gaze as he passed. Alfred had eyes like a hawk.

The inside of the Wayne Manor was every bit as gothic as the exterior. Long dark stained wood floors, furniture that all looked like it could be found in an antique store. The age of the place was made even more apparent by the cramped size of the rooms and uneven doorways. Alfred led them through several to a sitting room with some dark green upholstered chairs and a fireplace.

"Wait here, I'll go fetch Jason." he sent a meaningful look at Conner. "If you need anything, please just ask,"

Clark took a seat as easily as if it were his own apartment and waved Alfred off, "You know me Alfred. I'll just get some work done while I wait for Bruce to come back."

Alfred finally cracked a smile, warmth seeping into his carefully composed mask of politeness. "Absolutely, Master Kent. You know how to reach me."

He glided out of the room with an unnatural grace, not even faltering over the uneven floors, and vanished down the hall.

"Come here often, do you?" Conner said playfully, taking his own seat across from Clark.

"Oh yes, all the time. Bruce requested a piece a while back to help get his new art grant program off the ground. And obviously there's the otherpiece which is still under wraps until I get the Gazette to publish it."

Conner sighed. Clark was no fun.

Alfred reappeared with a suddenness that reinforced the vampire theory. He gave a curt nod, "Young Master Kent, Young Master Todd-"

Jason Todd barreled into the room, pulling Conner out of his chair, and generally looking like the opposite of the kindly butler with his biker coat and slicked up hair.

"Thanks, Alfred, you're the best,"

And that was all the warning Conner received before being dragged down the hallway into the labyrinth of the Wayne Manor.

"You didn't have to pull," Conner pouted, when Jason slowed down enough for conversation to be reasonable. And when Alfred was far, far out of sight.

"You're late," Jason said. He still wore a crooked grin and hadn't let go of Conner's arm, so Conner suspected he was forgiven, "It's 10:30 Kent, what were you thinking?"

"Not my fault you live on the far side of Gotham. How do you even go to our school? You're way out of zone."

"Yes because school zoning is a huge issue for the Waynes."

Conner rolled his eyes. By this point he could not track the number of turns they had taken, or the number of rooms they had passed. The house truly was huge. Unfortunately, perhaps because the windows were so small, very little light seemed to make it to the innermost parts of the house, and Conner found they walked in half darkness most of the way to their destination. Despite his better senses telling him to drop it, he could hear Maps in his head enthusing about how the Waynes were totally vampires.

"You live like bats," Conner said, as he tripped over something in the dark.

Jason cackled. "Man you have no idea ."

Conner felt more vindicated in his vampire theory with every moment he spent with these lunatics.

At last Jason led him to a long hallway, with brass light fixtures, and a rug that looked like it hadn't seen daylight in years.

"Third door on your left," Jason said.

Without really thinking about it, or why Jason would do the things he did, Conner walked forward three doors, grabbed the brassy doorknob, and found it locked. When he turned to ask Jason what was up, the boy was gone.

Knowing that what lay beyond could not possibly be good, but not knowing how to get back to Clark from here and beg to be taken home, Conner raised a fist, took a deep breath, and knocked three times.

Silence. Conner leaned closer to the redwood door. He thought he heard someone-

The door swung open.

"Jason, I swear to god, if you woke me up to…" Tim trailed off.

Tim did not look good, to put things kindly. Pale, sallow skin looked worse in the crappy yellow light from the hallway. Dark shadows under his eyes and a purpling bruise poking out of his t-shirt collar made him look even more like he was wasting away. Conner could see the the sharp jutting of his collar bone, his elbows, and he suspected if he lifted his shirt he'd be able to count Tim's ribs through the skin.

Tim let out a string of curses, some of which Conner had never heard before, and slammed the door. Conner sighed. Somehow he felt he should have expected this. Almost 11AM. He had a test on Wednesday and he hadn't started studying. Instead he was putting up with Jason's pranks and-

The door swung open again. The supernatural speed with which Tim gotten ready did nothing to improve his complexion, but he looked surprisingly less dead in an over-sized red turtleneck and black jeans. His hair still looked like he just got out of bed, but otherwise nothing seemed odd.

"Conner. Come in." He said it with such stiffness Conner considered leaving immediately. But Tim stepped aside, and with nothing to lose, Conner stepped inside.

Tim's room was exactly what Conner thought Tim's room would look like with one crucial exception. Spartan, with grey sheets, a modern queen sized bed, and a large, sleek black desk with two monitors. There was a sliding door closet, a standing full length mirror, and unlike the rest of the house, everything looked like it had been bought recently. The rug was even a bright white, with a modern abstract design across it. It was a surprisingly normal, if neat, room, and completely normal sized compared to Conner's suite at Lex's.

And across every available free space on the walls were pictures. Many black and white, some color, all large, and on glossy paper. Most of them, Conner realized, were of Officer Grayson or Jason or Bruce. A few of Cassandra, and the younger Waynes, Duke and Damian. There were group photos of what looked like the entire family out together. And one stunning portrait of Bruce with a woman Conner had never met dressed for a wedding. He hadn't realized Bruce was married, and didn't want to ask. The pictures sort of killed the idea of vampires. Vampires didn't show up in photos as far as Conner knew, but seeing that Tim had some human emotions under his bad attitude was nice.

"Sorry about Jason," Tim mumbled, and apparently realizing he only had one desk and one desk chair, he grabbed his book bag and took a seat on his still unmade bed. "You can take the desk."

Conner hesitantly took a seat, pulling out his copies of Wuthering Heights, Heart of Darkness, Great Expectations, and their midterm study guide. Tim had his own copies spread out on his bed, pristine and probably not public school issued. However they were bookmarked like mad, with colored sticky notes sticking out of every conceivable corner. A notebook labeled in black sharpie and the study guide were also laid out.

Tim got comfortable, stacking pillows, and leaning against the headboard. He flipped open his notebook and looked over at Conner. "So, what exactly are you having problems with?"

Conner cringed, and, looking down at his books, felt the urge to curl up and go home. He could study on his own without Tim's withering comments and know it all attitude.

"Conner," Tim said.

Conner shrugged, "Everything I guess."

Tim made a disgruntled sound and shifted on the bed. "Ok, the test is multiple question, two short answer, and an essay, which one are you most worried about?"

Conner frowned at his hands instead of looking at Tim. "I said everything, didn't I?"

"Do you have any of your old tests, maybe we could review that?"

Conner felt his heart sink a little more. As if the day could get more unbearable. "I threw them away."

Tim sighed and Conner looked up to catch sight of a fuming face. "Look, if you don't want my help fine. I don't even know why you're here if you hate me so much."

"Jason invited me," Conner spat out without giving it much thought.

The storm over Tim's face darkened considerably as thin delicate lips pulled into a scowl so severe for a minute Tim looked scary. "Oh yes. Jason. How could I forget? He's great isn't he?"

"What's your problem with him?" Conner asked, feeling defensive of his friend, inconvenient though he could be.

"I don't have a problem with him. He's fine. "

"Well you sound like you have a problem."

"Why are you defending him?" Tim yelled and threw down his English notebook. "If you like him so much you can study with him ."

Generally speaking Conner was an incredibly impulsive boy. Every relationship he'd ever had had been him nose diving into the deep end before he could even tread water. And he didn't always start his fights, but he certainly finished them, whether or not they warranted it.

Maybe it was Clark's good influence. Or maybe fate was being kind, but all of a sudden the building heat in his chest slammed out of him, replaced by an odd cool, that tinted the world blueish gray and when he looked at Tim, he saw a very tired boy in too big clothes in a too empty room. He could almost, if he squinted and thought about things a little differently, see what it might be like to be in Tim's shoes. Rich, with siblings who weren't always tactful, and a dad who traveled, and a butler and room with nothing to indicate a teenage boy lived there.

With pictures of his family all over the wall.

Tim must have seen the fight go out of Conner because his features softened momentarily.

"Conner?"

Conner sat back in his chair, a big lump of tired himself. "Idon'tknowanythingI'msorrythebooksarestupid."

His words slurred together as he mumbled into the collar of his coat.

"Excuse me?" said Tim, but he looked far more approachable now that his face wasn't contorted in a scowl.

Conner lifted his head and spoke clearly. "Books. Are stupid. I hate this class I've failed every test since I got here."

Tim took in all this information with the face of someone looking at an unwieldy puzzle. As though he thought, if he looked at Conner hard enough, the answers would appear in the air between them. Conner momentarily felt reminded of a detective show he once saw before the spell broke and Tim scowled at him and dug through his notebook.

"Lucky for you I save all my quizzes and tests."

"Yay me."

Tim glared, and Conner reluctantly acquiesced when Tim gestured for him to come look over last week's quiz together.

"I just think it's dumb is all," Conner said from the floor. From his vantage point with his head against the bed he could just see the tips of Tim's wild hair as the other boy reshuffled some papers.

"What's dumb?" Tim asked sounding distracted.

"The entire book."

Tim's head popped out from over the edge of the bed. "You know this is all a lot easier if you stop treating everything like it's stupid."

"That doesn't mean it isn't."

"Stupid or not, you have to learn it." Tim disappeared from view again and Conner sat up and joined him on the bed. He took up his seat at the far end away from Tim. Though both boys' moods had improved considerably since the morning Conner did not want to get in striking range on the off chance Tim was faking.

Tim had a stack of quizzes and essays they had reviewed together in one pile and in another the ones they still had left to cover. What had started with awkward, stilted conversation and Tim trying to explain to Conner what an extended metaphor was, had evolved into something closer to their chem class relationship. Tim did all the work, keeping careful note of where Conner missed answers and what points he was weak on, and Conner sat back and let him.

"We haven't even touched Great Expectations and that's probably going to be the one on the test the most." Tim frowned at the paper he was holding. "What was I thinking? Jesus it's already one."

"It's fine," Conner said, "I wouldn't have studied at all if I hadn't gotten help. Something's better than nothing."

"You barely could wrap your head around the light/dark symbolism in Heart of Darkness and that's like...most of the book."

Conner picked up the pillow nearest him and chucked it at Tim's dumb head. Tim caught it with lightning fast reflexes and tossed it back, hitting Conner square in the face.

"You're going to fail at this rate." When Conner recovered from his pillow impact he looked over to see Tim still frowning at his notebooks, but the look on his face was quickly darkening. Tim started sifting through papers like he thought Conner's falling GPA could be saved with enough old quiz review, and Conner took pity on him just the once.

"Hey," he said, and moved over on the bed, well into risky hitting range. "Look, Tim, I appreciate all the help. It's no one's fault but my own that I didn't get help earlier." Feeling a little awkward about being so honest, Conner felt the need to add. "I never liked school anyways. It's really not for me."

Tim's face fell further, which was the opposite effect Conner had been aiming for.

"You shouldn't think so poorly of yourself," Tim said.

Conner scowled. Somehow the way Tim said things, even the well intentioned things, rubbed him wrong. It felt like Tim thought he knew Conner better than he did.

"I don't. I'm great. I didn't say that so you could lecture me about how all I have to do is believe in myself."

Tim threw up his hands. "Ok! Seriously! Is there anything I can say that doesn't piss you off? I was just trying to-"

Someone knocked on the door and they both jumped.

"Young Master Drake," Alfred's voice called through the door, "Lunch is ready."

Tim sighed and closed his notebook, stuffing their papers between the pages. He turned to Conner.

"We'll figure out what to do about your test later. Let's not keep Alfred waiting."

The place where the Wayne kids took their lunch looked suspiciously like a normal kitchen. Conner tried to piece together whether it was the actual kitchen of the house, or the dainty household kitchen. Maybe they had hidden their real, extra large mansion kitchen in the basement.

The kitchen had yellow walls, cheery tawny granite counter tops, and a giant bucket of a sink. The wall by the stove was brick, like someone had filled in what had once been a fireplace. In the center was an island, with several rustic bar stools. It was all very normal, maybe even quaint, compared to the shadowy decor of the rest of the house. A picture of the Wayne family, in black and white, sat in a rough looking wooden picture frame on the brick wall. All five Wayne children, Officer Grayson, and Bruce sat grinning by what looked like a pond.

On the island, already half gone, were two large pizzas. Conner checked for delivery boxes but found nothing. Tim grabbed a plate from a cabinet by the stove, and handed one to Conner. It took only one bite for Conner to be certain it wasn't delivery.

"This is amazing."

"Alfred's an amazing cook."

"I've been meaning to ask. You guys really have a butler? In the twenty-first century?"

Tim took a seat on the opposite side of the island. "He's been with the family for years."

"Ok. Not weird at all."

Tim scowled, and Conner delighted in it. Likely lunch would have continued on its steady downward spiral had at that moment a delighted voice not said:

"Timothy Drake Wayne as I live and breathe… are you awake before noon?" Dick Grayson dressed in casual clothes stepped into the kitchen and made a big show of sniffing the the air. "Oh God Alfred's cooking is heavenly. You locusts didn't get it all did you? Oh good."

Grayson took no notice of the way Tim had stiffened but Conner certainly did.

"Dick. What are you doing home? Don't you have work?"

"No, no I'm off until tomorrow- Conner!" Grayson had leant over to get a slice of pizza off the counter and seemed to only just then notice that Conner was not one of the many other black haired blue eyed boys belonging to the Waynes. "How's your head treating you?"

"Fine, Mr. Grayson."

"Call me Dick, please."

Conner bit down a lot of jokes, but did not miss the way Tim glared at him. He had a feeling Tim knew he was holding back. And that Tim knew Conner knew he knew. He sent the boy a sidelong grin.

"Of course, Dick. "

"So what are you two up to?" Grayson took a seat next to Conner and up close Conner realized the man was actually a lot younger than he realized. The uniform added ten years. Certainly he was older than Conner and Tim but he struck Conner as not being much older than Roxy or maybe Tana.

"Studying for English," Tim said curtly. And Conner didn't know why Tim was such a short tempered ass to his family. Jason was annoying, but honestly everyone Conner had spoken with outside of Tim had been decently nice. Maybe Tim just hated his family.

Dick paid it absolutely no mind. "That's fantastic Tim. I'm so glad you're making friends."

"I have friends."

"Stephanie doesn't count."

"Why not?"

Dick paused, wide eyed, and looked at Conner, then at Tim.

"Because she's an ex?" Conner ventured a guess. Dick look relieved and nodded in agreement as Tim grumbled something about meddling no good brothers and ate in silence.

"So what about you Conner? What are you up to?" Dick asked, turning the full force of his warm, heart meltingly pleasant attention to his guest.

"Uh, I started working out with the football team…" Conner said, because despite the fact he had never shown interest in sports and didn't like the team except for pleasing Lex, it was the first thing that popped into his head.

"Really? Football? That's great."

"Er, yeah," Conner said, and didn't correct him about how he wasn't technically on the team.

"And how's school?"

"I'm trying not to fail my classes. My dad told me I needed to get my grades in order," Thinking of Lex made Conner falter, "start some extracurriculars, think about college…"

Dick nodded, taking a huge bite of pizza and talking around. "That's very good. Especially at this grade. Hobby's are great for college apps. I think Tim's got his photography, right?"

Conner had seen Tim scowl a lot in the short time he had known him, so he expected fully to turn and see the very familiar twist in his features. Instead as he looked up from his dinner he saw Tim go bright red. On pale skin his blush stood out worse and despite the fact he still looked half dead and like he didn't eat or sleep properly, the speed with which his hands snapped up to hide his face was criminally cute.

Conner could see an opportunity when it presented itself.

"Photography?" He asked, leaning over the table towards Tim, "Is that what all the pictures on the walls are about? Did you take those?"

"Oh yes! Isn't he talented?" Dick said, clearly delighted to be able to brag about his little brother, "He's been taking photos since he was...what, five?"

"Dick," Tim pleaded quietly from behind his hands.

"And he's gotten so much better recently! I've never seen anything like it. Sometimes I'll walk into a room I think is empty and find him hiding in a corner or on top of some furniture trying to get an angle-"

"Dick, please-"

"One time I caught him on top of the fridge-"

"Please kill me." Tim sunk further down in his seat.

"It's adorable," Dick finished.

Conner leaned over and said, "Aw, that's so cute."

Tim went oddly still at that, and Conner made a mental note that maybe that was a line he shouldn't cross too often if he wanted to live. He was not one-hundred percent certain yet that Tim wouldn't kill him if he went too far.

"If you guys want to take a break from studying," Dick said, ever the helpful and productive member of the conversation, "You should definitely check out Tim's dark room and studio. It's super cool even if you don't like photography. And it would be a good break."

"That sounds cool," Conner said. He didn't really think Tim was eager to take him on a tour of what was likely private work space but what Dick didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"That's great. I'm so glad Tim's finally making friends at school. You know you should take him to the dark room after lunch, Tim."

And to Conner's surprise Tim lifted his head just enough to look at Conner through his hands and said. "Ok."