"What do you want?" Conner kept his voice from shaking, but just barely. He sounded hoarse to his own ears. Hearing his own voice out loud made him irrationally uncomfortable. As if addressing the man on the other end of the line in and of itself would make him materialize in the room.
He tried to steady his breathing in a vain attempt to not let his discomfort show.
"I apologize for my manners, Mr. Kent. It's been a long time since last I was woken up. Tell me, Is Tim your favorite? You spent an awful lot of time with him this past week."
Conner's throat closed on his response. He scrambled, searching his brain for any and every possible sign of the Court watching him. He came up empty. He tried to grasp onto whatever scraps of information he had on the Court, on the man on the other end of the line. He had desperately little. Dangerous. Immortal. Pet Assassins, Tim had said once.
"You'll excuse me if I'm a bit curious, mind you. It's not often they awaken someone like me to deal with someone so mundane. If I'm being honest I'm still trying to understand why it is they haven't handed you over. The Court has been very lenient in their rulings. One lousy human isn't usually worth the ire of the Court."
The polite tone did a lot more to unsettle Conner than blatant threats would have. He sat up and glanced around the room. Only shadows cast by the dim light bleeding in from under his bedroom door greeted him. The rain outside picked up, thundering against the window. He couldn't make out anything beyond the glass. If Mr. Cobb was waiting outside his window for Conner to do something incredibly stupid then he had no way of knowing.
They were safe in the manor. Tim had promised.
"I don't imagine you will make this simple for us and come outside if I ask nicely?" The man paused. There was no background sound on the other end of the line. No rain, no breathing. When Conner didn't answer he started laughing. "No. I didn't suppose you would. Never fear, Mr. Kent, I've been doing this longer than you have been alive and I have very little interest in dragging this out. You will come to me."
That was enough. The presumptuous tone lit a fire in Conner's chest. "Fuck you."
The man laughed. "And how is Clark? He bumped his head awful hard today."
He felt his heart skip at the thought of what would happen to sweet, bumbling Clark. It did nothing to cool his anger. He hated feeling helpless. "What do you want with me?"
The man sighed. Truly he sounded like Lex, put out and ready to launch into a lecture about things Conner should have done better.
"I don't care about you at all, Conner. And this chat has been fun but I don't think the Waynes will be out for much longer, complications aside."
Conner flashed back to Tim crawling through his window and wanted to throw the phone across the room. Mr. Cobb must have been able to tell because he laughed as the line went dead.
Tim didn't usually text while he was out and Conner didn't know what he should say. On the one hand, he wanted Tim, and for good measure, the rest of his family, home immediately, where he could see them and where they were arguably safe. On the other, he wasn't ready to send them tumbling into a trap either. Cobb had everything. Conner's laptop, his books, even his only cigarette. The last part almost made him chuckle. He couldn't leave without endangering himself but he couldn't stand to stay in his room. Someone in this goddamn house had to be awake.
Decided, Conner slipped into the hall. The lights were still on, creating the illusion that no time had passed since he went to bed. He expected Cassandra to be lurking around the corner, but he made it to the kitchen, not a Wayne in sight. He checked his phone. It was a quarter past three in the morning.
Tim was late. Or in a situation where he couldn't get to his phone.
Conner's head felt like someone had spun him around in a circle a few dozen times, then pushed him back into his life and told him to walk a straight line. He needed to find Cassandra, someone. He'd take Alfred at the moment.
Thunder rolled overhead and he jumped.
"You too, huh?"
Conner nearly screamed. He spun around, heart in his stomach, to see Clark, in rumpled handmade pajamas and crooked glasses. Clark smiled and shoved the glasses a little further up his nose.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to spook you. Some storm out there. Can't sleep?"
Conner tried to work the words out and wound up just moving his mouth soundlessly. Clark raised his eyebrows but sighed. He was wearing a fuzzy bathrobe over his shapeless flannel pajamas and he had a book thicker than a bible tucked up under his arm. He looked like he had been planning a late night in some fancy old man study.
"Ok. I really didn't mean to scare you."
"I'm fine." Even to Conner's own ears that sounded like a stretch. Clark didn't call him on it though, just shook his head. He smiled fondly as he stepped into the kitchen.
"So, trouble sleeping?" Clark asked. He looked Conner over. Conner waited for the call out, for the questions, but Clark seemed to write his nerves and weird silence off as exhaustion.
Conner looked away guiltily. Now would have been an excellent time for Cassandra to walk in, but he had no such luck. He thought about retreating, running back to his room to try and see if he could figure out where the Waynes all slept. Before he could say anything, Clark was already stepping around the small kitchen island.
"So, midnight snack?"
With no obvious exits and a brain running on empty, Conner found himself taking a seat at the counter. He watched Clark move around the place like he lived there. He carefully held his phone in one hand and tried to remind himself that Tim said they were safe here. The second Tim said something Conner knew he'd drop everything, though.
Clark carried on, oblivious to his turmoil. He looked like he fit there. Conner let himself picture for a moment an alternate future. One with a better house, where Clark had a kitchen he could really cook dinner in and they had a real living room and maybe even a modern TV.
"You don't sleep very well, huh?" Clark asked as he pulled out the water pitcher and a few leftover sandwiches and took a seat at the counter across from Conner.
"No," Conner admitted. He stared down at his hands. He didn't know what else he could even say. Conner remembered sharply sitting here before, with Tim, and let his thumb trace the contours of his phone.
"Me neither," Clark said. He quirked a small smile. "I could never stand the noise in the city. Hell, even the cicadas in summer used to wake me up with their racket. Apparently being a light sleeper is genetic."
Conner could see, he thought, the edges of what Clark was trying to do. Give him an easy out. Remind him he was normal, make him feel like he belonged. He hated the way it was working too. He could picture himself suddenly, in a farmhouse in the countryside going crazy trying to sleep over the sound of nature.
"I get all my best writing done at night anyways," Clark said.
Conner stiffened. He had forgotten Clark's research and his mind flew back to his phone. If Cobb had it, what else would he have? The draft of Clark's exposé, his investigation into the murders. He wanted to tell Clark everything. He looked up. There was a small bruised cut just under Clark's hairline above his right eye.
"Are you going to have to rewrite everything?" he asked instead.
Clark actually laughed. "No. Is that what's got you so worried? I back everything up on a thumb drive for work. One lousy home intruder isn't going to stop me."
Conner felt a swell of affection and relief and hid it by studying his water glass instead. Something about the conversation, the way Clark shuffled the pages of his book without really reading, and slid the small platter of cucumber sandwiches across the table, felt painfully normal. Like one of their early conversations over dinner, after school, when Conner wanted to be literally anywhere else. So of course he had to ruin it.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"When you left me with Lex, did you regret it?"
If Conner had slapped him it probably would have been kinder. Clark reeled back, eyes wide and panicked. But there was nowhere to go. He stumbled over his words.
"I- things weren't that simple."
Conner sucked in a breath. He could remember a time when he would have been angry. This would have been the moment he stormed out. He felt his shoulders slump. "You just had to say yes."
Clark looked kicked in the gut. He looked at Conner, but Conner avoided his gaze. "Conner if you're asking whether or not I regret you, the answer is never. Do you understand that? Lex doesn't have anything to do with that."
"Do you want kids? Like, for real, someday?" Conner's internal alarms were screaming at him that this was dangerous territory.
Clark stared at him blankly, like Conner's words were some kind of non-sequitur. "I have a kid. For real."
"You know what I meant."
"I do." Clark paused and seemed to really think about the answer. At least, after hearing his answer about Lex, Conner felt the man wouldn't lie to him, even if it would make him feel better. "Conner if I knew what on earth it was you wanted me to say to make this better I would. For what it's worth, I have you and I have Ma, and as far as family goes that's enough."
"But if the right person came along?"
"Conner."
Conner shut up. Clark looked almost annoyed. "Are you coming with me to Smallville this summer?"
Conner nodded, stiff, and not trusting himself to keep asking questions anymore.
"Good. Ma's going to be absolutely beside herself. She hasn't seen you since, God, you were so tiny."
"I don't remember." Conner didn't know why, but he felt guilty. No matter how he tried he couldn't conjure up an image of what Ma Kent looked like. He pictured some kind of generic grandmother-like figure, maybe with Clark's big blue eyes and a tan. Would she look at Conner and see Clark?
"She's going to try and feed you the whole farm." Maybe that was where Clark got his cooking skills from.
Their conversation didn't last much longer after that. He didn't know why, but something about Smallville was important to Clark. Conner wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. Something was going to give, whether it was the mess he'd made of the Waynes' life or of Clark's he wasn't sure. But he held onto the idea of that summer trip while Clark rinsed off the dishes and ushered him back to bed.
When he opened the door to his room, Tim was already there.
Tim looked like hell. He was covered in blood, for one. Conner made a strangled sound and tried to reach for him. Tim stepped back, with a sharp inhale.
"Not mine. Be quiet. Clark is still awake."
"Jesus Christ, Tim." Conner pushed forward, ignoring Tim's warning and reaching out. When his hands met solid, warm flesh and not some kind of vacant ghostly form, he didn't know if he was relieved or hysterical. "Whose?"
"We interrupted a feeding," Tim hedged. He swayed a little on his feet and Conner grabbed him, gently, and started moving towards the bed. "We have to talk to Bruce."
Conner didn't like the sound of that at all. He watched Tim circle the room like he was checking for a breach or some sign of disturbance. Finding only Conner's things and a closed window, he nodded to himself and then turned to face Conner.
"Before I take you to him, you need to know that Jason got hurt."
Conner swallowed. He tried to picture what kind of injury would lead to the amount of blood currently smearing up one side of Tim's neck and couldn't. The worst injury he'd ever had was a sprained ankle. He looked at Tim, at his own hands that had pulled away wet and sticky, and rushed to wipe it off. Tim caught his hand.
"He'll live. It's fine. But we need to talk to Bruce. Are you with me Conner?"
He nodded. Honestly, it even surprised him how calm and even he'd managed to keep his breathing. He was shaken, but not panicking. "What's the definition of fine? What happened?"
Tim grimaced. "Bruce first. Everything will be fine. I promise."
Conner had never seen the part of the house Tim led him too. Logically he knew he had only seen a fraction of the building, but the repeated visits had tricked him into feeling like he knew the place. Only now, turning a corner into a hall he'd never seen before, did he realize how misleading that feeling had been. He moved closer to Tim. If the other boy disappeared here Conner didn't trust himself to find his way back to his room alone. He didn't really want to stay in his room anymore, either, but that could be argued later.
Tim led him deeper into the manor until they emerged into an antique looking study. The room was empty, save for the fireplace, which painted the already Victorian looking room in warm light and dark shadows. Tim moved silently over to a grandfather clock on the far wall. He pulled open the glass case, then looked over his shoulder at Conner who still stood in the doorway.
"Sorry in advance." Tim wound the hands of the clock. Conner heard a soft click, and then the clock swung forward, revealing a narrow entrance.
"Dude," Conner said.
"After you," Tim stepped aside and graciously gestured to the entryway. He had a good sense of humor for someone currently wearing intense serial killer chic.
"You are going to have so much explaining to do later," Conner said, but he stepped into the dark entryway with energy buzzing under his skin.
They descended into what Conner could only describe as a secret, underground, complex by way of a narrow set of stone stairs. The cavernous main chamber contained an array of equipment. On one side of the room, screens blinked high above an intense looking set of keyboards. On the other was a well lit alcove full of beds. Conner recognized a few other jutting half hidden rooms and doors but most noticeably, dead center, was a clear containment cell. The glass looked inches thick, and the interior included a soft looking twin bed and an overhead light. Lying in the bed was the prone, bedraggled form of Kirk Langstrom.
Standing over him, baton in one hand, was Bruce Wayne.
"Tim," he hissed, grabbing the other boy. This was quickly going from the feature of a cool after school teen drama to the opening of a shifty student horror flick.
"It's fine." Tim waved him off even as the figure in the bed began to stir. Tim grabbed him by the arm and dragged him past the cell. Conner couldn't help it. He couldn't tear his eyes away. When they passed by it was close enough to make out the uneven blood spatter on Langstrom's person and a flash of red eyes before he was being yanked into the alcove out of the cells line of sight.
"We keep the more dangerous stuff down here," Tim said quietly. Conner turned around.
"That's a person."
"A dangerous person."
On the one hand, the Waynes having a super secret underground cavern full of magical artifacts and monster hunting equipment was incredibly cool. It tickled Conner as he noticed the sigils scratched over the entryways in chalk and the white lined separating the various thresholds of the place. It felt like a movie. It felt like the first time he'd stayed up late reading about fictional vampires.
On the other hand, as they stepped into one of the well lit alcoves, the sight of Jason Todd laying stretched out on a medical cot with a chunk of his neck and shoulder missing was high up on his list of things he didn't want to ever see again. Alfred stood by, wiping his hands of blood and antiseptic. He didn't say a word when Conner stepped into the room, too focused on the task at hand.
Tim gave Conner's hand a light squeeze and cast an uneasy smile towards the bed. "I'm going to get Bruce. Just, hang in here a second."
And then Tim was slipping away. Conner turned back to the bed holding Jason.
The injury itself looked like a shark had attempted to take a massive bite out of Jason's right shoulder, where it met his neck. The wound was jagged and bloody, though Alfred seemed to be close to wrapping it up.
There was an IV stuck in Jason's arm. His face was pale, and Conner couldn't tell if he was asleep or not, with the way he lay unmoving with half lidded eyes. Jason didn't look right lying still and Conner couldn't tear his eyes away. His hands still felt slick from the blood.
He wanted to offer help, but Alfred looked like he had done this a thousand times. Conner watched, trying to catalog everything and when Alfred finally noticed, he handed Conner a cup and some scissors.
"If you could be so kind, cut those for me. Just so, thank you."
Conner had never been so grateful to Alfred. Having something to do with his hands, something useful helped put off the swell of panic and confusion. He watched Alfred retrieve a pad from a rolling tray of medical supplies and start dabbing it with disinfectant. He handed over bandages cut to a more reasonable size on command and even helped wash off the rags and tools left out while Alfred finished wrapping Jason's shoulder.
At last, Alfred stood up.
"I've called for Dr. Thompson," Alfred said, never looking away from his work. "Talented field medic though I am."
"Thank you, Alfred."
Conner spun around. Bruce stood in the entryway with Tim lingering behind him. There was something guilty in the way Tim hunched, but Conner still found his presence immensely reassuring.
Alfred still didn't turn around. "Perhaps you should have this conversation elsewhere. Young Master Jason needs to rest."
Well, that was a pointed uninvitation if Conner ever heard one. Apparently, Bruce agreed. The older man stepped away and after sparing a glance at Jason who still had not moved except for the barest rise and fall of his chest, Conner turned to follow.
Conner had been so distracted with the sight of the medical bay when he first entered the cave that he hadn't gotten the chance to properly appreciate it. As they walked away Bruce led them through a latticework of tunnels that had clearly been expanded over the years to accommodate the Waynes. They stepped into a room with a number of glass cases, the kind you'd see in a museum. Conner didn't get the opportunity to stop and gawk but he saw leather bound books, skulls, weapons that could have been pulled from history books before he was ushered forward.
Bruce led them into a room far from the main chamber. The room held a slew of computer screens, but also chairs. Duke was leaning heavily over one particular computer. As they stepped into the room he looked up, face awash in the blueish light of the screen directly in front of him.
"Duke, go help Zatanna with our guest." When Bruce spoke it sounded like an order, but Duke's relaxed posture never changed.
Duke looked between the three of them, nodded, and as he passed by Conner on his way out the door, muttered, "Scream if they start doing anything creepy."
He was still Conner's favorite Wayne.
Conner walked over to the nearest chair. He still wasn't sure what the line was. How much of the Waynes' world he was allowed to snoop on. He looked over at the monitors anyways. Most appeared to be security feeds. He caught a couple of figures darting across screens depicting what looked to be the manor interior. He saw Jason lying prone in medical. When he turned to see what Duke had been watching he was unsurprised to see security camera footage of a slumped Kirk Langstrom. Standing just in the frame, but outside the cell, was the silhouette of a woman.
The screen went black and when he turned around Bruce had taken a seat, hand still hovering over a keyboard. He turned to regard his son. Tim hovered by the entryway.
"There was always a risk that you and your father's involvement with this family would not go unnoticed," Bruce started. He steepled his hands, leaning forward and staring down Conner. "Tonight's events were not unexpected."
There was a 'but' in there somewhere. Conner was sure of it. Bruce turned in his chair to face the computer console.
"Bruce," Tim's tone betrayed his own uncertainty.
"A talk with the Court has been long overdue."
"They don't negotiate."
"No. Not typically."
"Bruce-"
"I'm worried, Tim."
"They called me." Conner blurted out. When both turned to stare at him he shrank back a little. Bruce had a way of being cold, of looking at even his own children like they were strangers, that unsettled Conner. He reached for Tim instinctively and faltered, bringing his hand back to his side.
"You need to tell us everything that was said to you."
And so Conner did. He couldn't have lied if he wanted to. Bruce listened carefully, eventually nodded like none of this surprised him.
"Tim, you need to escort Conner back to his room. Then we need to talk."
"Anything you're going to say to him, you can say to me," Conner snapped, and he jerked when he felt Tim's hand brush against his arm. "It's too late. It's not like you can unfuck this situation by keeping me in the dark, right?"
Bruce smiled, cold and calculating. "Very well. Sit down. Let's talk safety measures."
Bruce had all the tact of a drill sergeant. "They don't actually care about you."
Conner found that line of logic hard to follow at first but Bruce pressed on.
"While there are rules, loosely, around the involvement of humans in our affairs they've been looking for a reason to unleash Talon for a long time. The choice of Cobb is...decidedly personal." Bruce didn't elaborate on how or why that was but throughout the next hour or so of discussion he brusquely informed Conner of the fact that the Court had multiple of these assassins at their disposal.
Fighting one, though they might win, would not end this and would lead to escalating violence.
"I will have to find an alternative means of appeasing the founding families." Bruce said offhandedly. "In the meantime, there are precautions we can take. Tim?"
The boy had never relaxed, not even taken a seat, but his head snapped towards Bruce like he was awaiting orders.
"You're not to let Conner out of your sight. It is unlikely an agent of the Court would willingly reveal themselves in the public eyes, so crowded venues, easily visible locations are all safe for the time being. Preferably we will minimize the need to leave the grounds entirely, but depending on how long it takes me to reach an agreement with the Court we may need to get creative."
"I can't stay cooped up in the manor, that'll look suspicious. And I don't think you want to keep Clark right on top of all of...well this. You can't just follow me around forever either." Conner said, already wary of what Clark would think about all of this. The man seemed intent on not pushing Conner's buttons or asking too many questions, but he was paid to be nosy. Not even Clark's patience could probably handle being cooped up in Wayne Manor if Bruce's negotiations lasted more than a day or two.
"It won't be forever, just until Bruce gets the Court to back off. Right Bruce?" Tim turned to his father, and it was plain to see that Tim held Bruce's abilities in the utmost regard.
Also, the boy was dead set on there being a way to somehow attach himself to Conner's side every minute of the day if that's what it took to keep assassins away.
"I'm worried," Bruce said.
The way Tim reacted he may as well have said he was dying or that the world was ending. All the air got sucked out of the room at once.
"There shouldn't be anything to worry about," Tim said. "Bruce please."
"I'll see what favors we can call upon. In the meantime you are not to take risks. Not with Jason out of commission." He raised his head to stare at Tim, a mutual understanding passing between them. "Lean on the others."
"What about Clark?" Conner asked, hesitantly.
Bruce paused for just a little too long. "I will endeavor to find a solution to our problem before your father notices how, ah, strangely protracted our hospitality has become."
It had to be almost light out now. Conner couldn't tell inside the cave, but he had started pushing past the point of exhaustion you got when you stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, looping right back around into fully awake as his circadian rhythms fought with his lack of sleep.
Bruce turned away from them in what appeared to be an unspoken dismissal. After spending all evening itching to do so, Conner found Tim at his side in an instant, hand slipped into his.
"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice crackled from an unseen speaker and Conner jumped. Neither Tim nor Bruce looked even the slightest bit surprised. Bruce reached out to another button on the array of keys before him.
"How is he?"
"Awake."
The tension bled out of Bruce's shoulders. He sagged in front of the terminal. Tim gently tugged Conner towards the exit.
Conner admitted, when he saw Jason lying in bed over Tim's shoulder, looking bruised but otherwise alive, the relief was palpable. Jason grinned the side of his face above the bandages was swollen, giving it a lopsided, cartoonish effect.
"Sup."
"You look like crap," Conner said flatly.
Jason winked. Or tried to. "Right back at you."
"How are you, uh, feeling?" Tim paused and cleared his throat, somehow looking more awkward than usual. "Given the circumstances."
He added the last part with an emphasis that made Conner turn to reevaluate Jason's injuries. He still, quite succinctly, looked like crap but he was alive and not pale and shaking like a leaf the way Tim had been a couple weeks or so ago.
"Well an immortal, super strong, superfast assassin tried to feed me to the local vampire, so you know, not great."
Jason was swaddled up in some grey and white blankets. He sat up on his cot, back against the wall. Despite the gloomy nature of the cavernous basement, effort had gone into making this corner homey. The walls were painted cream, the lighting was soft, and there was a suspicious amount of medical equipment still just lying around from Alfred's treatment.
This was their life, Conner reminded himself. This was Tim and Jason's everyday and he didn't want to look disturbed by it. Tim made himself small, leaning up against the wall across from Jason's bed and giving them ample space.
Conner took a seat on an empty cot next Jason. He crossed his legs and tried to look casual. Like he could hang without being freaked out by, well, everything.
"So besides trying to feed Jason to the monster, what's uh, what happened out there?" Conner asked, because he felt like that was really what this entire thing was supposed to be about.
The way Tim relaxed and sagged down the wall seemed to be a good sign.
"Just the usual. We were doing a Wayne family special. Even Dickie came out to play. Unfortunately the Court appears to be right pissed at us-"
"We used Jason as bait," Tim said quietly.
Conner sucked in a breath. Well that explained the injuries and the shifty way Tim had been avoiding everything. Conner felt his heart melt for him. Jason just scowled.
"It's fine, Jesus, Timmers you're gonna-"
"It was my idea, so I should have been the one on the ground," Tim said, still quiet, but firm.
Jason tried to throw up his arms in a motion of exasperation and hissed as his shoulder fought him. He clutched the limb back into his side but glared across the room at Tim.
"Not to go around quoting the brat but 'Our tactics were sound.' If Talon hadn't showed, everything would have gone down fine. Christ, even Zatanna was there. We were as prepared as we were gonna be. Shit happens, you need to get over it."
Not the most gentle of reprimands, and Conner was again reminded that between the three of them he was the one who intentionally (or unintentionally) antagonized others the least.
"So what about your guest?" he said, successfully drawing Jason's eyes over to him.
"We're keeping grumpy company while he rides out the worst of it," Jason said, lowering his voice. "He took a magical wallop to the head, courtesy of Z."
"It's her fault we're even in this mess," Tim said darkly.
Jason tossed Tim a look, frowning and then quickly covering it up with a shrug. It was hard to look nonchalant with one cheek swollen three times its usual size but he managed.
"Magic," Jason said. "You get what you pay for."
"What was he paying for?" Conner asked, and he asked Jason more than he asked Tim, trusting the other boy to give him the more straightforward answer.
"A cure." Conner waited, but Jason turned and looked out of their alcove. Langstrom's cell was out of sight, but the silence served to remind them all just how close their monstrous guest was. "Guess it worked."
Conner weighed the knowledge of what Langstrom had become against what he might have been running from. It didn't seem like a good deal. Jason's gaze flickered back towards him and Conner found himself momentarily caught up in an idle thought, about what sorts of things he would be willing to trade if Zatanna promised to magic away his problems.
"Are you doing ok?" Jason asked.
Conner snapped out of it. "Yeah? Yeah, I'm ok."
Tim stepped forward. "I talked to Bruce. He's going to be out for the weekend and try and deal with this stuff with the Court. We're going to keep Conner in the manor. I...thought you would want to know."
"Tim," Jason said, "this is getting dangerous."
Tim tilted his head, a little defiant. "Well, it was your idea."
Conner wasn't in the mood for their little rivalry schtick so he sighed loudly and hopped off the bed. He took the two long strides across the room to where Tim was standing. He swung his arm over Tim's shoulder and dragged him closer to the exit.
"Well this has been great, and I'd love to argue over it, but I'm very tired and Tim and I have school."
Tim looked scandalized. "After all this, you want to go to chemistry class? I haven't finished my homework-"
"You guys are fucking precious."
Conner wanted to be mad, but he was too busy trying to goad Tim to the exit.
"We'll leave you to rest up," Conner said as he gently tugged Tim towards the door.
Jason let them leave, saying something about losers and high school lit classes before leaning back and seemingly letting exhaustion overtake him.
As Conner dragged Tim back across the cave they passed Langstrom. The man lay splayed across his cot, Zatanna and Bruce long gone. He found his face through the reflection in the glass. Langstrom's eyes tracked their movement across the floor, red and flickering. He grabbed Tim's hand a little tighter.
Conner finally understood why it was the Waynes had such a rocky relationship with school attendance. He wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for forever, and by the look on Tim's face, he did too. Of course, that would mean going back to his room and he had mixed feelings about that at best.
They both paused as they stepped into the study. Conner looked back at Tim. He kept looking over at Conner, who got the distinct impression that it wasn't the vampire in the basement bothering him.
Tim was dressed in dark clothes, a black long-sleeved tech shirt, and thick canvas pants. The blood on his hands and neck had partially dried, leaving awkward alternating patches of dark red. Conner didn't know if the fact it didn't bother him anymore was a bad thing. They began the trek back towards the guest wing.
"You need to clean up before Clark wakes up and assumes the worst," Conner said. Tim absolutely looked like either a serial killer or a vampire right now. "Pretending everything is normal doesn't really work if you come to breakfast looking like Jason Vorhees."
Tim sighed and held his hands in front of his face for inspection. "Yeah, this is pretty high up there on my gross quotient."
Despite this, Tim seemed reluctant to leave him. "Are you sure about school?"
"I don't want to spook Cark. Besides, I'll go crazy cooped up in here. You heard your dad."
"We should-" Tim announced, stopping abruptly. Conner halted. They were just outside the kitchen. Inside Alfred, who apparently ran on roughly the same amount of sleep as the rest of the Wayne family, was softly chatting with Clark over a steaming cup of coffee.
Tim was still standing oddly, stiffly. He smiled, but it seemed forced. Conner wanted to wrap him up in a hug, maybe a blanket or two, and force him to relax, but it seemed hypocritical to be telling Tim to calm down when his own head was still faintly spinning.
"Talk later?"
"Sure," he said instead. "Whatever you want."
Conner nodded. He understood, of course. The mounting wall of secrets would crush him eventually but for now Tim's family keeping a vampire in their basement wasn't his tantamount concern. His mind was still muddled. He needed sleep almost as much as he needed assurances the locks on the manor windows worked.
Conner tried to shepherd his thoughts into order as he braced for the day. The plan was simple enough. Conner and Clark would stay with the Waynes while Bruce went off to play politics or whatever it was with the Court. Conner had had about five minutes in the morning to think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all, there were worse things than hanging out with Tim all day, before his notions were thoroughly crushed. Tim spent the morning in heated, one sided conversation with Bruce whenever Clark was out of eyesight. He kept his voice low and Conner couldn't even pick out what the topic was though he had some guesses.
Conner struggled to act like everything was normal. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but after turning around and finding himself running face first (chest first) into Damian for the third time in the kitchen, he sighed.
"Do we have to do this?"
"Drake cannot be trusted. His priorities have been compromised."
Whatever conversation or argument Tim was having with Bruce ended a short while after Alfred served breakfast. Bruce got up to "Go see to some preparations for the Thanksgiving Charity Dinner," and Tim finally found his way to Conner's side.
He offered his hand an apologetic squeeze under the dining room table, only for Damian to scoff behind them.
"We just have to get through today," Tim said, but it sounded far more like reassurance to himself.
The Waynes' morning routine seemed rather set, and Conner found himself shifting uncomfortably between them as they tried not to let him out of their sight. He tried not to step on toes. He failed, running once headlong into Dick while the man got the second pot of coffee and repeatedly jumping when Cassandra snuck up on him.
Clark had been insistent that after the day before Conner didn't have to go to school, but Conner had waved him off. It was hard pretending everything was normal. While certainly not ideal, Bruce had all but confirmed it was unlikely Conner would be killed so brazenly in public. He couldn't be left alone, obviously, but there was no reason he couldn't go to school. When Tim tried to corner him on the matter while passing him the scones, Conner kicked him under the table.
"I need this," he said quietly. His eyes drifted meaningfully over to where Clark was busy yammering on at Alfred. "Please?"
Tim frowned and didn't let go of his hand.
For Clark, Conner realized quickly that it had been Grayson who had been set to keep an eye on the man. He tried not to eavesdrop, but as he finished getting ready for school, he listened to the two go back and forth in the kitchen.
"Surely a day off won't kill you," Dick said.
"My entire report is missing. I need to run damage control. I don't see what your average burglar would want with a year in the making exposé on police brutality. Or a half-assed report on local murders."
"It wasn't half-assed," from where he sat, listening in the hall, Conner heard the sound of a coffee mug being placed down. He focused on tying his shoes and recounting the pencils in his bag.
"If anyone knew about that report… I believe in the work we're doing. Me and your father. But I can't sit here worried out of my mind about what might happen if the wrong people found out. I have Conner to think about now."
There was a long pause before Grayson spoke up again. "I can take you into the office today, tell them you're working on the park murders. You know if I knew anything about-"
"I know, Dick. Thank you. You and Bruce both."
"You know, when this thing drops, me, Gordon, Bruce, we're going to look out for you Clark. You and Conner both."
Conner would have liked to listen longer, but as he was sitting there, he had Duke's eyes boring into the back of his skull.
"You could stay in the manor, you know," Duke said.
"Why, am I gonna die today?" Conner asked. He had meant it as a joke but as he looked up from where he was cramming his chem textbook into his overworn backpack, he saw Duke's puzzled expression.
"Not that I can tell," he said, in the same tone he used when he casually mentioned something that hadn't happened yet, or shouldn't know.
Part of Conner wanted Duke to rat him out entirely. Make it easier on him. If he knew anything at all. Duke didn't say anything else.
When Conner had his things and looked passably presentable, he walked outside expecting fully for Alfred to be driving them, only to see a shiny red car parked up front. It made him smile.
"Shotgun," Duke called from somewhere behind him.
Tim slipped a hand into his and gave a light squeeze.
"Just get through today?" Conner asked with a smile that felt strained in the face of his own lack of sleep.
"Yep. And then it will be videogames and pizza all weekend. We'll lock ourselves in and let Bruce deal with all our problems for us."
"Least he could do, I'm sure."
Tim smiled at him.
Tim sighed before letting go and walking towards the car. Behind him, Conner could hear Clark heading towards the front door, deep in conversation with Dick and he shifted the weight of his backpack slightly before following Tim's lead.
School was torture. It was normally torture but Conner was experiencing a new kind of agony. It had started with Cissie King-Jones.
Conner had been grabbing his books from the locker, only really half awake after his all-nighter. Tim hovered, and that was a thing about Tim Conner had learned. He was a hoverer. He always wanted to help and if he couldn't he would orbit Conner's space a bit helplessly until Conner pulled him in or snapped him out of it. Today Conner felt too tired to do either, leaving Tim to flutter nervously at his side. Cass took up sentinel duty and while it wasn't ideal, Conner was grateful that it wasn't the full detachment of Waynes shadowing him.
Still, he would have thought that just the two of them would have been enough to deter anyone looking to stir up drama. He had clearly not factored Cissie into his calculations.
Cissie feared no one.
She strutted on up, dressed in a cheer uniform, and plastered on a lip gloss smile.
"Conner-"
"Before you ask, no. I can't be your prom king. Jason already asked me."
Cissie rolled her eyes, but her smile softened into something a little more natural. "I'm heartbroken, truly. But I was coming to ask you about the game Saturday. Are you going? I know you're like, JV or something."
"He can't," Tim cut in. He was looking more at the floor than either of them, and Conner sighed as he closed his locker. Tim was right. He couldn't. Not now, with everything, with Clark to think about.
"And what are you supposed to be now, his boyfriend?" There was an edge of meanness in the question, some of Cissie's old insecurities bleeding through. But there was something else there too. Conner warily moved to back Tim up and saw laughter hiding behind Cissie's eyes.
Tim did not take it well. "Wh- I – I mean that wasn't- We didn't… not if he doesn't want me to." Tim looked wretchedly miserable as he tried to stutter his way through a half-baked explanation. He finally settled on. "We were going to study this weekend."
Which was possibly the most pathetic lie Conner had ever had to endure but fortunately for Tim, Cissie looked delighted. Deciding to spare him her questions, he leaned forward and slung an arm over Tim's shoulders, tugging him close.
"Don't break my boyfriend, Cissie. I just got him."
She grinned at him. "Sorry, sorry, no one at the lunch table was going to ask and I had to. You know how they are. Don't worry. You guys are cute."
When she bounced off to go catch Cassie before class Conner let himself sag. He really needed just five minutes. Five minutes to himself to think without any of this nonsense getting in the way. Tim hadn't moved.
"You ok?"
"Yeah."
"Cissie's pushy. Sorry."
"It's ok." It wasn't. Tim was still staring at the floor and Conner sighed.
He turned to find Cass watching them with an unreadable expression on his face and winced. He'd forgotten they'd had company. He started dreading the rest of the day. He gave Tim's shoulder's one last squeeze.
"Let's get to class."
His phone buzzed. After last night he really should have known better, but he reached to check his messages without thinking about it.
Unknown: [[img003]]
Attached was the photo of Jon.
His phone continued to burn a hole in his pocket and it took an immense amount of willpower not to check it. He didn't want Tim or his friends reading over his shoulder.
All Conner wanted to do was talk to Tim. It was all he had wanted to do last night. It was what he had wanted to do all morning since they'd left the manor. He was going crazy. He kept spinning around in circles in his head. Just for today. Just get through today, and then he could corner Tim in the mansion and confess all the things that had been keeping him up at night. Besides immortal assassins.
It hadn't occurred to him much before how rarely he was alone. And when it had, it was only in passing. It felt temporary. He had known that if he really wanted to, he could crawl out onto his roof in the evening or even tempt fate by taking a stroll around his neighborhood.
Their newfound chaperone in Cass was as silent as she was relentless.
He could tell Tim felt it too. Could see Tim struggling to say something, only to shut up when he caught sight of Cass down the hall. Could feel Tim watching him the way he had used to before they had been able to talk. Conner wanted to pull out his hair. He pulled Tim close in the halls to whisper just that into his neck before pulling away, teenagers with their cell phones be damned. That earned a weak smile.
The only thing he could really be grateful for was that the attention they had garnered earlier was fading. They were still the shiniest new gossip by a large margin, but either Conner was becoming more accustomed to the attention or people were getting smarter about. In the back of his mind, he did wonder what would happen when it got out for real. It had to be luck or some supernatural Wayne magic that his face hadn't popped up in his own newsfeed yet.
He supposed he should just have been thankful for small miracles. His phone buzzed twice more during class.
By sixth period Chemistry Conner had lost his cool. The repeated mantra of "just get through the day" that Tim whispered to him in the halls between classes started to feel like a mockery of a promise. He suffered through snide remarks about his dating life in English, and while normally he would have brushed them off, today it just made his skin crawl. Stephanie made some off-handed comment about Tim being too good for Conner and it sent him spiraling.
She wasn't wrong. Conner definitely hadn't earned any of what he'd gotten since coming to Gotham. He hadn't earned Clark's trust, though the man gave it freely enough. He hadn't done much to deserve Tim, either. For all the lengths Tim had gone to, arguing with Bruce presumably, and breaking these rules so that he could see Conner, it occurred to Conner that he wasn't exactly a catch. All he'd done was use Tim to bump his grades. And now he was causing the Waynes even more grief.
It was enough to drive anyone mad and Conner, running on barely a couple hours of sleep, really wanted to drag Tim back to the manor and get started on that promised weekend sleepover early.
And so that's what he did.
He dropped his beaker. Tim shot him a concerned look, adjusting his safety goggles before bending to help pick up the pieces.
"I'm leaving," Conner told him, while they tried to mop up whatever basic acid they had been messing with.
He didn't give Tim time to argue with him, just took a deep breath, and made like a ragdoll, forcing Tim to help him hobble to the front of the class.
Ms. Isley did not trust Conner. She was right to be skeptical. Not only had she been responsible for the only detentions he had earned since coming to Gotham, but Conner generally dropped everything and definitely had been using Tim to carry his grade. Any teacher would have been within their rights to move him to a different table or pull the two aside to question them about their work ethics.
But Ms. Isley was a Gotham Public School District veteran, and while she didn't let shit fly in her class, she knew how to pick her fights. Conner wasn't one of them. Or at least, that was the conclusion he drew when he locked Tim into a death grip and stumbled a little to really sell his act as an invalid.
"Ms. Isley, I'm not feeling great."
"I'm sure you can survive the forty minutes to the bell, Mr. Kent."
"Oh, I really don't think I can, Ms. Isley." He slumped over, putting his full weight on Tim who could not have looked more uncomfortable if he tried. "I think I need to see the nurse."
Isley gave a long suffering sigh and looked up from where she was grading last week's quiz. Her horn rimmed glasses glinted in the fluorescent school light as she appraised Conner and Tim and he could see her running the mental calculations in her head of how much she actually wanted to care.
"You finish your worksheet?"
"You know we always finish early."
She muttered something about incorrigible teenagers and waved them off. "My phone better not ring while you're gone."
"I love Gotham," Conner said, breathlessly when they stumbled out of the classroom. Not a single student in sight.
"You're going to get us in-"
Conner cut him off with a kiss and then broke away before they could get caught by any nosy passing students. Tim was trying very hard to maintain that he was upset but his scowl kept breaking and he wound up covering his mouth to hide his grin.
"I know that skipping school isn't really a good habit-"
"Conner…"
"Sorry, I just," Conner took a deep breath. He felt like whatever adrenaline kick had started the night before when he'd gotten that phone call hadn't ever stopped. Like he'd inhaled a bunch of fumes or had spent one too many nights up with Roxy when he shouldn't have. "I don't think I can do this. I thought I could, the school thing I mean, but I'm not sure I can."
Tim looked understandably concerned. Conner was babbling, more so than usual. He pushed Conner back, just far enough so that he could get a good look at his face. He must have looked bad because Tim's already permanent frown deepened.
"We can go home."
"I would like that."
Conner's phone buzzed. Conner jumped. He couldn't help it, and Tim's narrowed.
"What was that?"
"It was…" There was a lie on the tip of Conner's tongue. Something easy, with a bit of half truth sprinkled in about stress and worrying about Clark. He shut his mouth abruptly and hated himself for a second for how quickly he had jumped to deception. Instead, he handed over his phone. "Here."
Tim didn't understand at first, what he was seeing. The photos weren't incriminating in the strictest sense. Tim took a moment to read through the messages.
"This looks like Clark's report."
"It is."
"Is this you?"
Tim held out the phone enough for Conner to see Jon's smiling face. Conner winced. "Listen, there's a lot we need to talk about."
"Conner, whatever this is, keep in mind he's only doing it to egg you on. As long as you're with us, as long as we stick together until Bruce settles things with the Court, you and Clark are going to be safe." Conner really really wanted to believe that. "I'll call Cass. Let's get you home."
Conner must have made a face at the mention of Cass.
"I'm sorry. But we have to. It's for the best. Safety in numbers." But Tim looked as put out as Conner felt as the prospect of being chaperoned back to safety by his siblings.
"I wanted to talk to you alone," Conner mumbled. He knew it was stupid but he had hoped, vainly, that he could tell Tim everything, all at once and-
"When we get back to the manor," Tim said.
Conner made the mistake of checking his phone while Tim was distracted with Duke and Cassandra.
Unknown: [[Img004]]
Unknown: [[Img005]]
One image was of the report Clark had been working on for the Park Murders. Followed by a snapshot of what looked like an address book. Conner hated this. He hated it more than he had ever hated anything in his life. And he'd thought he hated Lex.
It was bait. It was obvious bait. But everything in Conner's being wanted him to run out of the school and go find Clark in whatever library or case files he had buried himself in.
"Hey, you ok?"
"Can one of you call Clark? Can one of you make sure?"
"Of course." Duke pulled away to give them some space, already tapping away on his phone.
It had been easy enough, with Tim, to convince the front office to let them out for the day. Apparently, the Waynes had some kind of special permissions with the front office on account of Bruce, and all Tim had had to do was bat his pretty eyes at reception and they let them out. Conner doubted Tim knew that was what happened. He seemed pretty oblivious all things considered.
Tim kept himself comfortably close by, wrapped around Conner's arm while they waited for Duke to dial.
"New message?" Tim asked.
Conner showed him his phone screen. He watched Tim's reaction carefully. He didn't know what he expected from Tim, but he could feel his heart nearly stop when Tim frowned and tried to reach out for it. He snatched the phone back.
"-Yeah, ok. Thanks, Dick." Duke hung up and came back to them. "He's fine. He and Dick went and got lunch from the Panera by the station. Clark will be fine, Conner."
They started towards the parking lot as a group. While Conner found Duke's steady voice reassuring, convincing even, he also didn't trust that Clark wouldn't be considered acceptable collateral damage in the long run.
Tim and Conner sat up front, Tim thrumming his fingers nervously against the steering wheel while he drove in silence. His eyes never left the road. Cassandra sat, knees pulled up in the back. She looked at something on her phone and was obviously quiet company.
Duke could be equally quiet and seemed content to stare out the window at the passing city.
Silence worked for Conner though. Part of what had driven him crazy at school had been all the talking. People asking about this or that, teasing him about Tim, when all the things he really wanted to talk about were off limits.
They passed few cars on the road. The middle of a school day didn't see a huge bump in rush hour traffic. In their silence, the Waynes were also vigilant. Conner didn't miss the way Cass and Duke casually scanned their passing surroundings or the way Tim kept checking the rearview mirror even though there was no one on the road.
As they drew closer to the manor, Conner started to relax, gradually. He could feel the tension easing out of his shoulders, and as the north bridge to Wayne Manor came into view he even managed to smile.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket.
The Manor was blessedly warm. It smelled like freshly baked pie, and though for once Alfred was not immediately there to greet them, Tim sent him away to the guest room to get some rest and a promise that he'd bring by some food before turning to his siblings.
"Can one of you two go check on Jay? It's not good for him to be down there alone?"
Conner left them to their plotting and trudged to his guest room. He was too tired now to even feel unsafe. The entire room felt more secure in the light of day anyhow. He'd only seen Cobb at night and idly wondered if vampire rules would apply like they did with inviting him into a home. He made a mental note to ask Tim at some point.
The first thing Conner did was strip out of his school clothes. It had been grey and damp and cold outside and right now being cold didn't sit well with Conner. He left his phone on the bedside table after a long, torturous moment where he thought for sure it would go off again. It didn't.
Conner had always liked long showers. It wasn't practical to take them at Clark's. With the two of them sharing one bathroom and sharing hot water with the apartment below, it always felt weird when he took more than fifteen minutes to himself. In contrast, he felt achingly alone in Wayne Manor.
The restroom was as he remembered it, and it appeared Alfred had changed out the toiletries with new, unopened bottles. All cheap enough that Conner didn't feel bad when he used excessive amounts of body wash.
Normally it would have been a time for Conner to clear his mind. And he did, sort of. The heat from the shower definitely gave him a few moments to just breathe before his brain started spiraling again, going back to his phone, and to Clark who was still outside, somewhere in Gotham. He turned the heat to just shy of painful and tried to remember to breathe. He couldn't do anything. He needed to focus on what little he could still control.
He started planning out the rest of his evening. What he would say to Tim, what he would say to Clark. And he planned out a response for if Bruce's talks with the Court fell through as well. Maybe he could convince Clark he'd been struck dumb by love for Tim and wanted to live with him forever. He almost smiled at that. He wondered how hard that would be to sell.
He toweled off his hair as he stepped out of the shower. He took a few moments to gather himself in front of the fogged mirror glass, and then he stepped out into the bedroom.
Tim sat curled up on the queen sized bed, wearing a soft grey sweatshirt and sweatpants. He was wearing glasses, which was something Conner only saw him do when he was buried in homework. He had pulled up more blankets than Conner remembered having been there when he went into the bathroom, and a sleek lightweight laptop sat on the bedspread in front of him.
Soft wasn't really a word Conner had associated with Tim before. Tim was nice. More so than most people, if Conner had to guess. And he was careful. He stepped around people, watched instead of participating. Even amongst his own family, he had this strange way of making himself seem smaller. He would sink down in his seat, and slink by and around his louder, more domineering siblings. But even in his quietness, there was a sharpness to him. A sort of edge that had to have been from the late nights and constant stress.
But he certainly looked soft now. And it was really unfair, Conner thought. Tim always got to look good, especially when he wasn't trying, and Conner always got to look stupid, such as now, half-naked and completely unable to recall the, he was sure, very important thoughts he had been having just a moment before.
Tim made a noise like he was clearing his throat, but was more than likely just a way to snap Conner out of whatever headspace had caused him to stop dead on his way out of the bathroom and stare.
"Sorry!" Tim said.
He looked away quickly, staring at the floor beside the bed. Conner scrambled toward where he'd scattered his overnight clothes across the bedside table. He nearly tripped over himself getting there. Tim didn't look up- he looked flushed, and Conner had honestly never had a problem being naked in front of, well, anyone before so the way his heart was hammering was an entirely new experience.
"You can look if you want," he said because humor had certainly never backfired on him before. And because if he joked about it he could pretend that he hadn't been the one staring.
"I…" Tim shifted slightly. Just enough that instead of staring at the floor he was staring ahead, only occasionally letting himself glance askance at Conner before quickly staring at the wall on the far side of the room.
"I promise I'm usually not this awkward," Conner said, still thinking very much about how Tim wasn't technically wearing that many layers, and really, with the right mindset, Tim didn't have to be wearing any clothes at all.
He didn't think Tim was ready for that.
"I mean," Conner didn't look at Tim, instead he tried to discern which rumpled, patternless scrap of fabric in the heap he'd knocked to the floor was supposed to be pants. It was harder than it should have been. "I wasn't expecting to come out and give you a show. I promise I'll be properly dressed next time."
At last, he found his pants. They were borrowed pajama flannels from Clark, but he wasn't trying to be picky. He quickly pulled them on and spun around, arms wide. "Don't worry I'm decent now."
Tim hadn't been looking away. Conner laughed as Tim turned hard enough to give anyone the spins and tried to stare straight ahead like he hadn't been caught red handed. Conner grinned and jumped onto the bed.
"Tim?" He tried, and when Tim didn't respond, he shuffled closer. He leaned up against his side and when Tim didn't bat him away, he pressed in more, so that he could whisper in his ear. "Tim, were you peeking?"
"You said I could look." It sounded petulant. Conner was willing to bet that if he pulled back to look, Tim was pouting.
"I meant it," Conner said, and then he gave up the whole pretense of teasing entirely, and reached out to try and drag Tim closer and kiss him properly.
Tim's sweater was as soft as it looked.
There was a kind of fluidity, malleability to Tim's motions. It took almost no effort at all for Conner to shift Tim onto his back. He simply moved with Conner in a way that made him dizzy. He couldn't remember that last time he'd touched someone and they had given way so easily.
It took almost no effort at all for Conner to shift Tim onto his back, and Tim only smiled and huffed softly at Conner's persistent touches before he went willingly.
He pressed Tim down, letting his weight settle over the smaller boy, enjoying the rush of air and the choked off little sound Tim made. He felt heat start to pool in his gut and couldn't decide if he wanted to push more or slow down. Tim's hands tugged at his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He skimmed his fingertips along the bottom hem of Tim's sweatshirt. He didn't push, it was all already so much more than he had thought he would get.
There was a part of Conner's mind, no matter how much he didn't want it to, that liked to take moments like this and turn them inside out on themselves. As he came as close as he dared to slipping his hands under Tim's shirt he remembered Kay. He remembered Tana. His gut twisted and the heat and feeling of skin on skin suddenly felt too much. He remembered craving that feeling, chasing it to the exclusion of everything else and suddenly the needlepoint his mind had been wavering on lurched.
"You're thinking too much," Tim pulled back. The space felt like a wash of cool water and Conner could breathe again. He covered up his faltering with a grin.
And then Tim got that dangerous, calculating look in his eyes.
Before Conner could move, Tim, with an amount of strength that he wouldn't have expected, had shifted his weight, flipping Conner flat on his back. He found himself suddenly staring up into very pretty eyes.
"I forget you're a ninja."
"Black belt in three martial arts, trained by a world class gymnast, and three years of fencing. But sure. Ninja."
Conner laughed. "Rich kids."
Tim did not have any of Conner's hesitation when they kissed, grabbing Conner's shirt and dragging him closer when he didn't get the angle he apparently wanted. It was easy as anything to let his hands down to Tim's waist. Even perched on top of him, Tim weighed next to nothing. He felt Tim's hands creep up under his t-shirt and shuddered only for Tim to laugh.
Conner retaliated with a firm squeeze on Tim's hips, then he moved lower, and shifted Tim up so he was straddling Conner's hips properly. Tim stopped laughing very quickly.
He heard a loud buzzing from his bedside table and seized. Tim halted, withdrawing his hands from where they'd been making a valiant attempt at hiking up his shirt. Tim let out a long sigh.
"I should have turned it off."
Conner frowned at the comment but tried to relax the tense feeling running through his chest.
"I can't believe I- Do you want me to turn it off?" Tim sat up straight. His hair fell slightly messier than usual, and he pushed a persistent lock out of his face before glancing over at the night stand.
Conner shrugged. Something seemed off about Tim, all of a sudden, and he watched carefully as Tim continued to frown, and then leaned over to reach for Conner's phone.
"Maybe we should stop," Conner said quietly.
"No, we can, if it'll take your mind off of things…" Tim trailed off as he opened Conner's lock screen. Tim frowned at the phone and it clicked for Conner what seemed off. Tim's shyness, his consideration, the way he tended to hover helplessly whenever the problem was something other than creatures of the night. He played back the last few moments and didn't like the way the scene unfolded.
Conner sat up, so they were face to face and didn't move his hands. "Were you distracting me?"
Tim lowered the phone and refused to meet Conner's eyes. "Did it work?"
Tim smiled, but he continued to look past Conner, at the bedspread, and there was very little humor in it.
"Tim," Conner said, "Tim we need to talk."
"I'm sorry," Tim said immediately. "I wasn't trying to- It's not like it was," Tim flailed and then gave up trying to find the right words. "You've been jumping every time your phone went off all day. And you haven't been well. And I know you're worrying about Clark and I was just trying to-" Tim stopped short, frustrated again, and sat back a little bit more. "This is what I get for ever listening to Jason, you know."
Conner nearly smiled. Nearly. "You know one of these days me and your brother are going to have a very, very long talk about boundaries."
He didn't want to know what Jason had said.
Tim laughed, but he still looked up guiltily as the phone in his hands buzzed again. Conner sighed. He flopped back onto the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. He needed to breathe. Tim was right, hearing his phone go off sent his heart stuttering at an unhealthy speed and he wasn't going to be able to get through a whole weekend if he couldn't check his phone without a panic attack.
"It's ok," Tim shifted closer, and his next words were spoken right up against Conner's ear. "It was just Bart. Wanted to know why you weren't in gym."
Conner could have cried with relief. Instead, he thought back to earlier. "There's two more. I didn't read them."
"Do you trust me?" Tim asked. Conner opened his eyes. Tim hovered over him, much closer now, phone clutched close to his chest. He was watching Conner with wide, serious eyes. "It's ok if you don't."
"I do."
"You don't need to know what the other two are. Do you want me to block the number?"
Conner thought about that for a moment.
"No." He said quietly. "I want to know in case something happens."
Tim nodded and set the phone gently down on the bed beside them. Now that he'd had a few moments to calm down, his mind had time to remind him, forcefully, of all the things that had been spinning around in his head before he'd gotten understandably distracted. He reached up and tugged gently on Tim's shirt.
"Come down here, we need to talk."
Tim, always patient and easy, rolled over and settled on Conner's left side. There was still a caginess about him, and he was careful this time, not to touch Conner, which hadn't been exactly what Conner wanted but he let Tim settle in before he said anything.
He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. Tim, for all his staring, didn't seem to like being stared down. And he hadn't done anything wrong, per se.
"Don't do something like that again, ok?"
"Right."
"I mean, the distraction. Thing. I don't need you distracting me. You're already distracting enough. And I don't want to ever feel like," he hesitated, "I don't want to be used like that."
Tim's sharp intake of breath made Conner feel instantly bad about his choice of words. He hadn't meant it to sound like that. But it was out now. He felt Tim shift slightly, pulling away so they were no longer pressed up side to side. Even though they were still barely inches apart Conner felt cooler all of a sudden.
"Sorry," Tim said. "I didn't think."
"It's ok. Don't ever get into bed with someone because you think it's what they want. Or because you think it's easier. Trust me, ok."
"I do. It wasn't like that. I did want to."
"Right well. Just in case. Let's just set that ground rule now. You are absolutely allowed to jump my bones, but only if you're doing it because you think I'm irresistible and not for any other reason."
Tim laughed in that way he did, where he was quiet as a whisper, barely a breath. But Conner had been listening for it, and he grinned, relaxing as he felt Tim relaxing. He rolled over to face him.
"I wanted to talk to you."
It was still light outside, but getting darker slowly as the mid-afternoon gave way to early evening. The grey cast from the window painted Tim's features in soft, bright light. The room itself still felt dark, with the light never touching the corners and it made the scene feel a little like it had been pulled from one of Tim's photographs.
Tim lay flat on his back, keeping a careful few inches between them, and stared up at the ceiling with an intensity that made Conner's heart ache a little. Tim was nothing, if not careful with him.
"Yeah. I remember."
"Do you mind holding my phone while we talk? Just in case?"
Tim was quick to do just that, retrieving the device from his side of the bed and then, after a moment of hesitation where he apparently was considering his options, he rearranged the pile of blankets that had been pushed to the foot of the bed. He pulled them up, and when Conner made no move to stop him, rearranged them so that Conner found himself leaning against the headboard, with a lap full of blankets and pillows. Tim dragged his laptop over from where it had been getting dangerously close to the edge of the bed.
Then he settled in beside Conner. "Better?"
It was.
In the end Conner told Tim everything that he could figure out how to tell. Sometimes, most times, words didn't come very easily to him. Conner had never been eloquent. But he tried. He tried because Tim sat, curled up on his side, quiet except for the moments when Conner would stop halfway through a sentence, and Tim would reach out and grab his hand or wrap an arm around him until Conner found his way back to whatever he had been trying to say.
He told Tim about Lex. About long days spent in a cramped apartment in Metropolis and how, year after year, the apartment got bigger, and Clark grew more distant. He talked about the last time he remembered seeing Clark. He talked about stilted awkward family dinners.
And he finally talked about Rex. About the shit talking, fast moving, spaztic middle aged man with mullet and a daughter five times smarter than him. How he had found them at a Lex party, grifting party goers and trying to sneak in to see the big shot guests. How starting from the minute he'd figured out how to jimmy the lock on his bedroom door, he couldn't have been paid to stay there any longer.
And between half remembered stories about Rex driving them around beaches to holler at girls half his age, Tim made good on his promise to start their long weekend early. Snacks and bottles of soda materialized. Pillows multiplied. And halfway through explaining how he'd met Tana (with details glossed over because he still couldn't imagine Tim would want to know) he realized that Tim was probably going to stay the night.
He felt like crap when he talked about Lois. At the time, being just a kid, Lois had been the worst thing to ever happen. One day life had been normal, and the next Clark had been packing boxes. He told Tim about the last time he had seen her, about Metropolis.
Tim listened without prying. He didn't tell him what to do or that he needed to tell Clark. He just tilted his head thoughtfully, before deciding, "I don't think Clark would care."
Conner eventually allowed himself to ask some of his goofier questions. Tim laughed but never made him feel awkward or embarrassed, just turned his head to the side, and thought carefully about his answer.
"The only person I've ever met who sucked blook was Kirk Langstrom."
"Really?"
"I promise I wouldn't lie about that."
"What about zombies?"
"God no."
Tim did consider, carefully, how to go about his questions regarding Talon though.
"They are undead, technically," he said slowly. "And they have more in common with vampires in the traditional sense. The Court makes them. They're pumped full of toxin. They're stronger, faster, and all around better than most people but they're bound to the Court's orders and old magic and stuff."
In the end the questions ran out. Conner already knew more than he wanted about the Court and emotionally and physically he didn't think he could say anything more about Hawaii and Clark than he already had.
Tim seemed keyed into his mental state though, and they wound up curled together on the bed, half way through their third bag of chips. Conner held the laptop while Tim picked some dark pseudo-documentary show about drug dealers (a compromise as Tim refused to watch another season of Buffy until Conner sat down and watched Original Trek).
"Thanks for this."
When the phone rang again Conner's eyes snapped towards the little device. It buzzed long and loud. An actual phone call. He was tired of jumping every time the thing went off. Tired of relying on Tim and tired of feeling like everything was going wrong. He picked up.
"What do you want from me?"
Lex's voice rolled through the tiny speaker. "Conner. I've been calling you. Make sure your bags are packed by 6:30. We will be coming to pick you up."