"So here's the plan," Stephanie waved her hands at the gathered lunch table crowd. She'd saved their usual extra large table today, and had waited until every one of them had gathered to start her lecture. "Monday, Wednesday, I'm with Cass. Tuesday, Thursday I'll be with you guys. And we'll alternate every other Friday, okay?"

"What is this, a divorce hearing?" Cassie asked. Conner laughed, but tried to cover it up with a cough when Stephanie glared.

"Well, if you guys are acting like children…"

"Why don't you just bring Cass over here?" Conner asked. This was the obvious, simple solution. He didn't understand what all the social maneuvering who sat with who was about. He'd never had enough friends his age to have to worry about the sort of thing. Stephanie hesitated.

"So, it's not that I don't think you'll like her-"

"Starting strong," Conner told her.

"-Shut up Kent- it's just that, if Cass sits with us, then we're going to need a bigger table. Because then Jason and Duke will want to sit with us. And if they sit with us, so will Damian. And he's kind of an ass."

"This is the largest table here," Bart chimed in unnecessarily. It was obvious to everyone space would be a real issue if they decided to fold the Wayne family into their own.

"Look," Conner said, crossing his arms, "the Wayne's are famous. It'll probably be less pressure on you, Steph, if you aren't the only one sitting at their table. I doubt you and Cass are any kind of secret, but still."

"I thought you didn't like them?" She said, eyes narrowing at the way Conner relaxed back in his chair.

"I've been known to, on occasion, find them annoying, this is true, but it means I can make Tim do my English homework."

"I will do no such thing."

Conner jumped. Tim stood behind their table with a tray, and Cassandra, who looked at Stephanie with big doe like brown eyes. Tim sighed.

"I take it you're sitting here for the day?" Tim asked.

Stephanie nodded and reached out briefly towards Cass. She signed something, hands moving in short, purposeful motions, and Cass signed back with flowing hand movements that echoed dancing.

Tim must have followed all of it because he shrugged, and started towards the usual Wayne table. Cass hesitated, signed one last thing to Stephanie, and followed.

"Ok, you have to sit with her," Cassie of all people said. She watched Cass and Tim take their seats with the other Waynes and turned imploring blue eyes on Stephanie. "That was so cute."

"You were the one-"

"I was wrong. We'll be fine. We'll figure out the table thing later. Shoo. Go." Cassie waved Stephanie off.

Stephanie looked at the rest of the table, seemingly awaiting their permission, and Conner gave what he hoped looked like an encouraging nod. Stephanie grinned.

"Thanks guys," she chirped and jumped up to chase after Cass.

"That's cute," Cissie said, and she looked after the two longingly.

Wednesday finally came and Conner braced himself for the big day. Truth be told, testing had started full swing, and he'd probably bomb Chem and Math. Spanish was surprisingly alright, and PE was not a problem. And then World History would likely be as much of a struggle as English, seeing as it was mostly reading and Conner didn't get it. He wasn't sure exactly what his report card needed to look like for Lex to leave him alone but he was pretty sure he wouldn't make it.

He took his seat in English class, Tim's book on his desk, and nervously played with the end of a pen cap. He had been reviewing the notes Tim had left in the margins everyday since he left his house, and while cramming for three days couldn't guarantee anything, he hoped it might mitigate his bad grades.

Mrs. Bruner passed out the test and kids quietly started scribbling on their loose leaf lined paper.

When Conner got his copy he breathed a sigh of relief. The test almost perfectly matched the study guide she had handed out, and which he had reviewed seriously with Tim. He started skimming through the questions and felt even better when he saw that the essay question was pick one of three provided.

Checking the clock to see how much time he had left, he got to work.

"How did it go?" Tim asked while they did busy work in chemistry. It was almost cute how he tried to look like he wasn't burning with curiosity. Conner looked up to see if Ms. Isley was watching and shrugged.

"I won't know till Monday. Thanks though."

It wasn't much. Conner still had the rest of his classes to worry about. But he enjoyed the small victory.

It wasn't until Thursday that anyone noticed Greta was missing. And to top it all off it was only because Tim said something. It was Stephanie's off day, so she sat a table over with Cass and Jason and the other Waynes. Tim sat at Conner's table. He had taken to checking in on how Conner's English homework was going during lunch, despite Conner insisting he'd ask if he needed help.

Tim normally kept his mouth shut during lunch. He didn't seem to like talking to the rest of the table, or else didn't know what to say. Jaime and Bart seemed to be on marginally better terms. At the very least they were talking and Cissie and Cassie and Conner spent most of lunch politely interjecting into Bart's rambling to save Jaime from having to do all the work.

Tim looked up from his meal (always a school bought cafeteria meal) and frowned, interrupting Bart midway through a sentence about the speed at which a shrimp could theoretically throw a right hook.

"Has anyone seen Greta?"

The table went silent, each person turning over in their head when they had last seen the quiet girl.

"No," Jaime said at last.

Tim frowned. "Is she sick?"

No one answered. Conner honestly, for his part, didn't know. He'd barely ever said three words to the girl. Tim looked visibly distressed. Conner had never actually seen him upset before. Every scowl, every nuisance Conner had caused had certainly annoyed Tim, but the other boy wasn't scowling now. He looked thunderously dark, instead. And then in an instant it passed, but the table remained silent.

"Do any of you have her number?"

Silence.

"Ok, do you know someone who might?"

...

Tim huffed. "Aren't you guys supposed to be friends? One of you has to have it."

"Stephanie might." Cassie answered sounding small.

Tim turned on his heel to go talk to Stephanie. And despite barely knowing her, barely knowing most of his new friends, Conner felt inexorably guilty. He decided he'd ask Tim in class what he learned, if anything.

But Tim didn't show up to class. And he didn't show up the next day either. Conner sat in class Friday miffed about the fact he even cared, but unfortunately he'd gotten rather used to Tim being around to help him through the worst part of lab.

Without him, Conner learned, he was much slower.

"Do think Tim being gone has anything to do with…?" Conner didn't know how to ask without sounding weird but Bart caught his drift as they fell into an easy pace with the rest of the class lapping the gym in PE.

"I don't know. I mean. The Wayne's are absent a lot. Maybe."

"Did anyone hear back from Greta?"

Bart shook his head.

"I'm sure it's fine," Conner said, unconvinced himself. "I'll see you Saturday."

Saturday morning, the most daunting thing Conner had to do was convince Clark that it was ok for him to take the bus into town alone. Clark was less than happy, and spent all morning moping. He made pancakes, which Conner assumed was a passive aggressive way of trying guilt him into letting Clark have his way via an overdose of love and affection.

Which worked pretty well, but only because Conner was feeling guilty about a lot lately.

"It's fine Clark."

"Gotham is dangerous," Clark reminded him, waving a finger in the air as he used his other hand to flip a pancake all Masterchef like. From the sofa Conner rolled his eyes. He would miss this when Lex finally forced him back to Metropolis.

"If it's so dangerous why'd you send me to public school?" Conner grumbled. It was a petty argument. He would have thrown a fit if sent to a private school and Clark couldn't afford it.

Clark wore a faded Metropolis University sweatshirt with khakis and the kind of white socks that only dads wore: calf high with a hole in the toe.

"You know, another of those murders you like so much happened in an alley by the Arkham Bridge Park."

"Way to make it sound weird, Clark." Out of pure boredom waiting for the pancakes Conner picked up the Gotham Gazette from their pea sized coffee table and flipped through.

"Page 12. I'm going to be doing some follow up on it." Clark called, "And I wrote the interview on page 8."

Conner pointedly did not flip to either page 12 or 8. Instead he read the page that was open, a small piece on how Gotham had broken records statewide with their annual blood drive in tandem with the Thomas Wayne Foundation and Gotham Mercy General Hospital. It wasn't a super interesting read.

As promised, page 12 held a short article on a gruesome "bear attack" in Arkham Bridge Park. Thinking briefly of Maps, Conner took a picture of it for later. And finally he turned to page eight.

An Interview With The Wayne Family

By Clark Kent

Bruce Wayne, billionaire entrepreneur and humanitarian, and his family agreed to sit down with me personally this season to talk about the family's upcoming plans.

If you met the Waynes on the street, you might not realize the eclectic bunch are even related. But sitting in the drawing room of the Wayne Manor, with the total of six Wayne children in attendance, there is a sense of belonging. Each of Bruce Wayne's children is distinct. Cassandra Cain Wayne is a master ballerina. His son Timothy Drake Wayne is, from what I am told, a budding business man. Dick Grayson is a man of the law. But each greet me with a warm smile and a handshake as we settle in with tea made by the gracious Alfred Pennyworth, who is as much a part of the family as any of them.

"I don't normally do fluff pieces like that," Clark said, emerging from the kitchen with two steaming plates of pancakes. "But Vicki Vale has been thoroughly told never to try and interview them personally, after what happened last year."

"What happened last year?"

"Bruce Wayne's wedding was cancelled. I don't think it was actually Vikki's fault, but," Clark shrugged, "Why don't we eat?"

Conner accepted the change of subject and resolved to google it later.

"Be careful," Clark told Conner before he left, "There's a murderous bear on the loose."

"It's Gotham. There's probably several. I'll see you later Clark."

The buses of Gotham were not very nice. They smelled, and slogged through city traffic, backing up everyone else behind them. Conner didn't mind Clark driving him, but he liked the independence of public transit. He would have to talk to Clark, he thought, about getting himself a license. He asked Rex about it once, and had been told "Hold on a sec" before getting thrown into the driver's seat of the jeep. Rex had him gun it down beach roads while he hollered. It was one of Conner's favorite memories. But it also had not taught him road safety.

The Burnley District was a bit nicer than the area around Conner's apartment. The bus passed the mall, and eventually Conner got off a block away from where his phone told him the indoor track for Gotham University was.

"Conner!" Stephanie and Cassie waved from across the street and he jogged to meet them.

"Jaime's inside," Cassie informed him.

There was no entry fee for the event. Just a nice security guard at the main entrance, who waved them through. Parents and families sat scattered throughout the stands. It was surprisingly crowded, and a stand had been opened selling canned soda and pretzels. A group of runners, clearly from different schools, stood around warming up. Everyone wore bright colors, but their faces were serious. Conner saw Bart, in a white tank top with the schools logo emblazoned on the front and blue shorts, standing a little ways away from most of the other runners. He was talking to Jackson Hyde.

Though he was surprised to see the other boy, Bart looked perfectly at ease with him. It was the closest to still Conner had ever seen the other boy. Gold eyes lit up when he saw them.

"Guys!" He waved and half jogged over to the entrance. "Jaime is already up in the stands."

He pointed to where Jaime sat with an older white gentleman, and a younger woman who still looked old enough to pass for a mom. Neither looked anything like Bart. Jaime was speaking with the man but it was too far away to hear what they were saying.

Jackson walked over instead of jogging gave an awkward wave. He seemed like the quiet sort and said, "Hey guys."

Jackson wore a red hoodie and track pants. He looked away from the group quickly, and gravitated towards Bart like he though the smaller boy could protect him. Bart took no notice.

"Sorry about this," Bart added, "track is super boring."

"It's fine Bart," Stephanie said, "It's not boring."

"You are literally going to watch me run in a circle, a few times, very quickly, but if you say so," And with a skip in his step he turned and jogged back off to where he'd been stretching. He tossed a peace sign at the stands and fist bumped a dark haired girl as he walked past. Jackson stayed behind with them, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

"I don't think I've ever seen him this chipper," Stephanie said.

"He gets like this before competitions."

"You come to these a lot?"

Jackson ducked his head, "Just this year. The athletes at school do a voluntary summer retreat thing. I went with a few of the other seniors last summer which is why Bart and I um, know each other." Conner couldn't tell if there was more to the story or not, but Jackson simply nodded to the stands. "We should go sit."

The group made their way to the stands where Jackson introduced them to Uncle Max.

Max nodded, curtly and shook hands with them each one by one.

"Good to meet you," he said to Conner. Uncle Max was absolutely nothing like Bart. The man had the bearing of former military. Certainly he was older, softer round the edges than most soldiers, and his face held deep laugh lines. But his broad shoulders the the way he held his head so he met everyone's eyes straight on as he shook hands very much reminded Conner of the only cop besides Grayson he'd ever had an extended conversation with.

Jaime did not say a word to Jackson. He didn't even look up to acknowledge the other boy's presence even as he scooted over to make room for the girls. Conner made, what he felt, was the safe decision of sitting between the two.

After introductions were made (the woman beside him was his daughter, Helen), Max sat, leaning forward slightly, chin resting on his hands, and made for an excellent impersonation of a statue. Conner did not believe that Bart and Max could be related at all.

"They're starting." Helen said. Helen had black hair, and her father's laugh lines. "It's nice of you all to come out like this. Bart talks about you a lot."

"It's no problem," Stephanie appeared to have taken an instant liking to Helen. She sat beside the older woman and had filled her in on who was who and how they had heard about the event. "To be honest I didn't realize he was so good. He never talks about it."

Max smiled, but didn't say anything, and with a bang the race began.

Down below Bart and the other runners took off, and Conner was reminded of Bart's casual "I'm very fast," as the other boy blew ahead. It would not have been accurate to say Bart was graceful. He ran instead like a great force propelled him forward, and before the first few seconds were over he was far ahead of his peers, save one.

Stephanie and Cassie were the only two who cheered.

In the last few seconds Bart raced neck and neck with a nameless blonde. The blonde faltered for just a fraction of a second, and just like that Bart was ahead. He hadn't been lying. Conner could have sworn the entire race took place in less than ten seconds.

"He can go faster," Max said. It sounded very matter of fact. He made a sound halfway between amused and chastising, even as Bart slowed to a jog, and finally trickled to a complete stop so he could turn and wave excitedly. The girl he'd fist bumped earlier ran up to give him a high five.

There were a few other events. Bart ran a total of three races before he took a seat on the bleachers down below and cheered on the other participants. Finally there seemed to be a break in the activities, where the racers all dispersed to the stands or grabbed water bottles.

Conner had to agree, track was kind of boring when it wasn't his friend racing.

Bart bounded up the bleachers.

"Hey guys! They're doing the girls' sprints next, then the jumping events. We're gonna stay to cheer on the rest of the school's runners, if that's cool."

"Of course that's cool," Jaime said immediately.

Bart beamed, turned, and immediately ran back to the rest of his track friends. The blonde he'd beaten also seemed to know him, and they chatted down below while the girls warmed up.

"That's Thaddeus," Jackson said. It was unnecessary, but the older boy seemed like he really wanted to fill the awkward silence that had fallen over the group. Certainly Max and Helen weren't chatty enough to do it. "He's a jerk, and probably the only runner in the county who goes to nationals every year with Bart."

"Bart's been to nationals every year?" Jaime asked. He leaned forward a little to peer around Conner at Jackson.

Conner could sympathise with feeling like you were being left out of the life of someone close to you. It did not make sitting between the two easier.

"Yeah. Sort of. He went for the middle distance runs but not the sprints. He just started doing the sprint training last year. He said he likes the longer distance stuff more but he's better at the sprints. No stamina." Jackson smiled, and gave a soft shrug, before turning his eyes back to the track.

Jaime frowned, but didn't ask any more questions for the rest of the event.

Monday saw Bart in a much better mood. Gold eyes sparkled as he caught up with Conner before school only to thank him repeatedly for showing up.

"That was my best time yet. I know it's boring, but like, it's so good not to just have Max there. And also the pretzels are great I had like five."

"We'll come to the next one," Conner offered.

Bart waved away the suggestion as they walked through the gates together. "Maybe. We'll see where it is. You definitely wouldn't want to come to states or nationals. That's a drive."

Even brushing it off, Bart still beamed. The energy was infectious, and Conner found himself grinning.

"To be honest I was kind of worried," Bart added, "Jaime's been a bit weird since homecoming. I was really hoping him and Jackson would get along. Jackson needs more friends."

As they walked Conner wondered if it was his moral responsibility, as a friend, to say something to either Jaime or Bart about this. At a high level, Conner did not enjoy drama, nor the mechanics of trying to make all his friends like each other. They were young adults and could sort it out themselves. Conner always had managed on his own. On the other hand it did occur to him that by not telling Jaime or forcing the two to speak to each other directly it may cause unnecessary injury. Worse yet, Jaime was unbearable when he awkwardly didn't know what to say to Bart.

Ultimately Conner couldn't decide, and so he said nothing, which was likely one of many mistakes.

When English came around in third period, at least one bit of the conflict amongst his friends had been resolved.

"Greta texted me and Steph last night. She moved to to live with her aunt outside the city. Apparently she decided it would be better to switch schools than try to commute for the rest of the year," Cassie said.

"That's weird." Cissie had recently joined them in the back of class. "Are we sure everything's ok? She was so nice."

Cissie seemed to be referencing something specific and once more Conner regretted not being able to go to homecoming. He also felt greatly relieved in spite of himself. The Greta thing had seeped into his already guilty conscience.

"Tell her to text us if she needs absolutely anything," Cissie said.

"I will," Cassie said, "And I already invited her to come hang out with us again sometime. Maybe if we go to another of Bart's things?"

"Maybe if Conner ever joins the football team for real," Cissie said. She smiled, and Conner found he liked Cissie better when she was a little less concerned with impressing people, even if it was at his expense.

Mrs. Bruner handed back the tests one at a time, and the class went silent as each student checked their grade. She muttered a quiet, "Nicely done, Mr. Kent," as she slipped Conner's test face down onto his desk.

He got a B.

At lunch Conner didn't even wait to slide into the seat next Tim, who looked comically surprised to see six feet of good ole' Kansas born teenager running at him.

"You're amazing. I got a B. I don't know how I'm ever going to thank you."

Tim looked tired. He always looked tired after being absent for a while, but he managed a shaky, half convincing smile as he leaned back. "I'm glad I could help."

"I probably bombed history. And math but-"

"You didn't tell me you were struggling in history," Tim's brow furrowed. Conner was a bit close, having not paid attention in his rush to share the good news, and Tim readjusted so he wasn't leaning so far back. "I can help in math too. I'm in AP Calc."

Conner hesitated, because he didn't really want help in other subjects. He and Tim had a hard enough time getting on as it was, and his study time was mostly weird hours before school and weekends.

"I didn't really think of it," he said at last, "figured it was hard enough getting me to focus on English. Besides. I should be able to study myself."

Tim didn't respond right away. His eyes did the weird focus-y narrowing thing where it looked like his brain was working on overdrive. "Well. I do need to meet certain tutoring hour requirements for National Honor Society. We could meet once a week and just review. I might not be able to save your grades this semester but it can't hurt. After all, if you picked up your English grade so quickly, you probably aren't struggling as much as you think. You can text me to set up a time."

Tim nodded to himself when he finished, like he approved of his own message. Which was cute, but Conner still wanted to find a way to politely decline.

"I mean, you probably have better things to do."

"Not really."

"Are you sure? I'm pretty far behind so-"

"We should probably start soon then." Tim said with a smile.

Any further arguments, though Conner wasn't certain Tim knew they were arguments, were cut off by the arrival of the rest of their friends.

When Conner got home that night after practice, he was met by a peculiar sight. Clark made a point of being home in the mornings. Being a writer afforded him some flexibility, but generally Conner found that Clark wasn't out from work until at least four. And even then he often was out chasing down leads. Most of the time Conner got home well before him. So when Conner walked into the apartment to find Clark had gone all mad detective on him, with papers and pictures scattered across the kitchen, he was a little concerned.

"Clark?" He asked to the looming figure hunched over the kitchen table. He shuffled inside, simultaneously cold and aching from practice.

"Huh?" Clark had clearly been there a while. He'd forgotten to shave off his morning stubble and wore a truly unbecoming set of grey sweatpants with a giant coffee stain across the lap. "Conner!"

"You're scaring me Clark," Conner said, picking up a box of what looked like fast food Tex-Mex. "I didn't even know they did Tex-Mex in Gotham."

"It's not good, but it's delivery." Clark said. "Conner you're going to love this."

"Am I?" Conner asked. He dropped his bag on the couch, picked up a few more empty boxes of food, and walked around the living room to where Clark was trying to tidy up countless scattered papers.

The kitchen table had been converted into Clark's research station. Clark had spread out what looked like photocopied case files, including crime scene photos. On one side of the table he'd laid out a map printed on four sheets of letter paper and taped together with clear glossy scotch tape. Little handwritten notes confirmed Conner's mad detective theory.

"So remember how I was following up on your serial killer bear?" Clark said.

Conner shrugged. "I remember you mentioning something about it not being a bear."

Clark beamed and Conner felt the outer edges of his unease and sarcasm chipping away. Clark seemed like he would be taking a while so Conner took a seat at the table to hear him out. He was fortunate in that despite the regular morning chats, Clark didn't ask much of him, and since Metropolis he'd been able to avoid having to directly lie to Clark. Not that Clark even knew there was something to ask about. Still, Conner felt uneasy at the prospect of the conversation going on too long even as he resigned himself to hearing out whatever story Clark had for him.

"I think you're right. I think it's a serial killer."

"I don't think I said that."

Clark ran a hand through his already thoroughly disheveled bedhead. "Right. That was me, wasn't it?"

"So what's going on? Or can you not talk about that?"

"I'm an investigative reporter. My job is to tell people things I'm not supposed to." Clark sighed, "And sometimes write clickbait."

"Whatever pays the bills Clark. The bear serial killer?"

"Not a bear," Clark said, walking around the table, picking out a few pictures, and taking his seat across from Conner, "Definitely a serial killer though. Are you squeamish?"

"No."

Despite being in black and white, the photos Clark pushed towards him were obviously gruesome. Mangled bodies, made even more graphically disfigured by the fact it was hard to tell where body began, and filthy street and and trash started. Of all of them, the worst was a high contrast image of a mans face, gaunt and gaping. It could have been straight from a nightmare.

Clark watched him carefully, gauging his response. Conner swallowed down his disgust at the picture and looked back at Clark.

"So what's going on?"

"There are several bear attacks every year. Normally in the park. Normally no big deal. Gotham also sees thousands of dog bite cases, only a couple hundred ever need hospitalization.

"In the last three years, there have been a total of fifteen animal attack related fatalities. Of course no one's looking at them too closely. An animal attack is generally pretty straightforward. But this many fatalities in a city like this? I think someone's out there killing homeless people and trying to use animal attacks as a cover."

"Why?" Conner asked. He's never seen Clark so focused. Or enthusiastic. The grimness of the topic, and the deaths themselves seemed to bother Clark less than Conner would have thought. Clark leaned back in his kitchen chair, holding up one of the case files to the light like he thought there might be a secret message in the paper.

"Well that's always the million dollar question, isn't it?"

"Shouldn't cops be looking into this? Besides you, I mean."

"They are. These attacks have happened all around the city, and beyond the abnormality of them, there's not much proof that they're actually murders."

"But there is proof?" Conner said, "You wouldn't be so excited otherwise, right?"

"Excited may be the wrong word but...it does appear some of the bodies could have been dumped. There's a lack of blood on the scene." Clark tapped the map on the table, and Conner looked over to see Clark had drawn little Xs in a few locations around the map. "I got a bit carried away, admittedly. All I'm trying to do is figure out if there's a pattern. Either in the victims or the locations. If I can pinpoint where they might be dumping from.. ."

Conner considered the map. There was an X in the Narrows, one near his school. Another in Robinson Park. And another in Arkham Bridge Park. There didn't seem to be anything in common between the locations, and Conner didn't know Gotham well enough to know where the other marks were or what that might mean. Feeling stupid for thinking he could help, he sat back.

"So is this your new article?"

"I've got a few I'm working on. But I'm keen to try and at least give this my due diligence. Most of the victims were homeless, which is likely part of why it's not getting too much attention right now. And if I try and ask around after the expose drops I doubt I'll get much cooperation."

"This is cool, Clark." Conner said. And he meant it, even as he felt useless. Both for that he couldn't help and that it was the best he had to offer after everything it felt like Clark had done for him.

"Eh. Back when I first moved here I covered the crime beat. I got worn out real fast though. Gotham is not a nice place to reporters. Still, if I can, I try to swing by to pick up a case now and then. Especially ones like these. Where the victims don't have anyone else pushing for the case to be solved."

Conner couldn't even look at him without feeling guilty. Even in the midst of his own career, when he could be thinking about himself and money and his reputation as a writer, Clark still only thought of others.

Conner was a shitty son.

"Hm. You're correct. But that's not how you spell Byzantine."

Conner snatched back his homework and glared. Tim smiled. It was a look that was growing more familiar with each passing day. Tim had a quiet smile, that shone in his eyes despite it's softness. Tim tucked a stray strand of black hair back behind his ear. They sat at his favorite study spot, the same table outside the school where Conner had first met Duke.

For the last couple of days Tim had managed to find Conner before the bell. Conner didn't know how he did it. He never texted him. And they never discussed it. But after Monday Tim just seemed to magically appear when he wasn't looking for him. Conner fell over the chair he was sitting in the first morning it happened.

Tim bundled in a dark grey coat and red scarf worked despite the cold that left their breath hanging in the misty morning air. Conner had taken to wearing one of Clark's old hoodies under his jacket. Clark had clucked at him and said they needed to go winter clothes shopping. Hawaii had never gotten so cold.

Tim was far more talkative in the morning when it was just the two of them. And he made more than good on his one sided promise to help Conner study. Conner had an inkling of an idea that maybe Tim had known that mornings were the only time that would work for him, but he never brought it up. Instead he handed over his homework when asked and let Tim run through and correct it. It helped more than he cared to admit. Hearing Tim's quiet, melodic voice, retelling the story of how the Byzantine Empire got trampled by the Ottomans made it stick a lot better than when the teacher did it. He still couldn't remember dates for the life of him but Tim insisted that the teacher wouldn't care as long as his essay talked about events in chronological order.

Tim wasn't pushy, and he was so much more relaxed when no one else was around. It had the side effect of calming down Conner as well. The normal edge of feeling like time and the world were against him eased in the face of Tim, who seemed to almost slip away into the shadows if you didn't focus your eyes just right. He savored the mornings if only for that calmness.

Often times Tim simply did his own homework while he waited for Conner to finish. Conner still didn't really know what the deal was. What Tim could possibly want from him, but he found he thought about that less the more time they spent together.

"Hey Conner!" Conner looked up. Tim didn't move or even acknowledge it as Jaime walked towards them from the edge of the parking lot. Like almost all the others he kindly ignored Tim when he reached the table. After a couple failed attempts from Cassie to get the boy talking, they had all stopped trying.

Tim looked up when Jaime hesitated though. The boy waffled, looking back at the school, and rubbing his hands together in the cold. His threadbare hoodie did not look at all appropriate for the near freezing morning.

"Conner," Jaime repeated, "Right. So I was wondering. What are you doing this weekend?"

"Studying," Tim answered lightly. He looked to Conner and Conner made sure to roll his eyes at him. He would be studying, it was true, and he suspected Tim expected they would be doing it together. That would be a very Tim like assumption.

"What he said, sadly," Conner said.

"Right, ok. Right. So," Jaime said. He settled on shoving his hands into his pockets, still looking cold . "Would you maybe want to study at my place? Bart will be there."

Conner liked Bart, but it did not serve as much motivation for him. He was almost sure studying while also listening to Bart talk at a mile a minute would be difficult.

"I don't see a problem with it," Tim said quietly.

"I didn't need your permission," Conner said, and this time Tim rolled his eyes. Tim turned back to his homework, and Conner turned to Jaime. "Alright. Sure, when should we get there?"

"Uh," And it was only in that moment, when Jaime's eyes flicked over to Tim, who had thrown himself back into a half finished English essay, burning with questions and uncertainty, that Conner realized too late the invitation was only for him. "I'll text you the details later."

Jaime stumbled off back into school without another word, leaving Conner to figure out if he should uninvite Tim or not.

Tim looked up from his essay, small frown playing on his features. But it wasn't annoyance. He looked more confused than anything. "Should we bring them snacks? Bart eats a lot."

Conner smiled, feeling a little better. "Jaime and Bart hang out all the time. I'm sure we're fine."

"Still, we should probably...I mean it's polite to bring snacks, right?" Something about the way Tim suddenly seemed worried about manners, when he spent most of his time avoiding people, was endearing.

"I'm sure anything Alfred can make will win you Bart's friendship for life."

"If only it were that easy," Tim said, sounding almost wistful. He started packing up his things.

"It really is," Conner assured him.

"Right. I'll see you in class. Good luck in history." And like he was psychic, Tim stood to walk to class exactly as the first bell rang.