Me no own.
Prompt: "Decaf is for quitters. I don't quit. I haven't slept in approximately 47 kilometers."
The mountain was rarely inhabited by many people in the wee hours of the morning. Generally, those that lived within those walls stuck in their bedrooms or in the common area, some rare people going to the gym to run or something similar. The control room, however, was rarely used by the Team in general, let alone at four in the morning. Which is why Richard Grayson, better known as Nightwing in the location he was in, stood there, typing vigorously on the holographic keyboard in front of him.
He was a sight to see – black hair sticking up in every direction, eyes red underneath his mask, and hands trembling slightly. The floor next to his feet held a coffee mug, and he danced around it as he addressed the different screens that surrounded him, though perhaps not as easily as he'd normally be able to.
Conner Kent, or Superboy, knew that something was wrong as soon as he'd entered the room. Namely, that the original Robin didn't notice his entrance. The man was too distracted by the screens surrounding him. He was doing research about something to do with the Light, but Conner didn't bother to understand what Nightwing was focusing on. He watched for a few moments. The man's movement were almost desperate, and after Conner had watched him stare at the screen for a solid three minutes, likely not reading anything in front of him, he decided to step in.
"Cave, disable research screens. Authorization Superboy B-04." The screens disappeared, and Nightwing stared at where he'd been typing a second ago before realizing what had happened and turning to the clone with a noise of indignance.
Nightwing looked terrible. Conner had known that he wasn't remarkably well when he'd entered the room, but there was something about the hair that fell everywhere than it was supposed to be, the aggressive downward slope of his mouth, and the slightly widened whites of the mask he wore solidified that. And the fact that the man had kicked over the coffee sitting on the floor with the spin – a remarkably clumsy move for the former acrobat.
"You spilt your coffee." Dick looked at the ground, then cursed, his voice high-pitched holding a strange amount of amount of distress.
"Con! That's the only thing keeping me alive!" He took a threatening step forward, pointing an accusing finger in the other man's direction. "You dick, I needed that!"
"You seem to be overly irritated at the loss of this coffee – given that there's a coffee pot and necessary accessories in the next room." Conner's voice was calm as he tilted his direction in the direction of the kitchen, and Nightwing shook his head and made a "pffft" noise. Conner figured this would be comical if not for the fact that his friend was currently looking like he'd just escaped Arkham. He didn't say anything else as he moved in that direction, followed by Conner, who hadn't changed his calm demeanor.
"Any chance I could convince you to drink decaf?" The glare sent his direction was enough to get Conner to give up that ridiculous line of reasoning, instead putting his hands up in defeat. Nightwing felt the need to respond anyway.
"Decaf is for quitters. I don't quit. Look at me!" He gestured to himself as if he looked like a successful businessman as opposed to a train wreck of a hero that's been awake for far too long. "I've been awake for 47 kilometers!" After the statement left his mouth, he tilted his head, eyes looking off into the distance as he tried to decipher what was wrong with that statement. Finding nothing, however, the smaller man shrugged and went back to mixing the coffee.
"Dick—"
"No names in uniform." Nightwing interrupted, turning back at him and pointing in his direction with a threatening… spoon. Of coffee. Conner scoffed as most of the ground beans hit the tile underneath their feet. Nightwing stared at the ground for a moment with an expression of guilt on his face. Conner was once again struck with how comical this situation was. If he wasn't worried for the friend that had been awake for almost two days… worth of distance? He could only assume that the word the man had been looking for was "hours".
"Dick, you need sleep." Nightwing glared at him for even suggesting he sleep (or the use of his real name, Conner wasn't sure), then turned back to the coffee pot. Conner sighed heavily.
"Sorry, Dick." Before he could ask what he was sorry for, Conner shoved Nightwing out of the way, effectively knocking the glass carafe from his hands. It shattered on the ground, and he again cursed, louder and more desperate this time. He stared at the remnants of the carafe for a moment as if they were a friend, then turned his face towards the larger man. His face looked as if he was going to cry, and Conner's concern level raised a bit. Nightwing removed his mask, another red flag in Conner's book, and looked at him.
It didn't matter how often he saw them – Dick's eyes were always strikingly, almost surprisingly blue. This fact was likely increased by how rare it was for him to see them, but still. At this moment, however, the blue in his eyes were enhanced by the red around his irises, and Conner knew that not all of it was because he was tired. Even now they looked suspiciously watery.
"Dick…?" Conner trailed off, unsure of what to say. Dick waved him off, running a hand over his face. It was a physical difference – Conner saw the moment when the weight of the world fell back down onto his shoulders. Once again, he was struck with how young Dick was. Even now, as the leader of the Team, he was only nineteen. And he worked as Nightwing in Bludhaven, assisted the Batfamily in Gotham, and, during the day, he worked as a police officer.
Conner placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. Shaking his head, Dick walked past Conner, deftly, if not slowly, avoiding the shards of the carafe. The latter threw out an arm to stop him, and in any other situation Dick would've easily dodged it. As it was, however, he didn't seem to see it until it was against his chest, stopping him from continuing forward.
"What, Conner?" He ground the words out, glaring at the clone from the corner of his eyes, and Conner mirrored his movement from earlier, running a hand down his face.
"You don't have to carry the world on your shoulders, you know." Scoffing, Dick pushed his arm away. Conner caught Dick's upper arm instead, pulling him back, more roughly than he'd probably intended to. Dick snarled at him, all earlier clumsiness and disorientation forgotten.
"You don't know what I'm going through. You don't know what I've been through. You don't know me." The words were born of the tiredness, the stress, and those mood swings that tended to follow right behind staying up for "47 kilometers". They stung nonetheless.
"You're right, I don't know what you're going through. But I do know you. Kaldur was a friend to all of us. Artemis too. And we're all heartbroken at losing them – even if we didn't lose Kaldur to death." Silence rang through the kitchen area, and Dick shook his head.
"See? You don't understand." The sentence was murmured, and for a moment, Conner thought that Dick had forgotten his super hearing. He dismissed it, however, and loosened his grip on the other's arm, loose enough that Dick tugged his arm from his grasp and crossed them over his chest.
"I just… want you to understand that you're not alone." They stood next to each other, so Conner had to turn his head to look Dick in the eyes. Even as he did, though, the other turned further away, so he stepped in front of him, standing with an arm loose at his side and the other one outstretched slightly towards the hero in front of him.
Nodding, Dick sighed again, then immediately shook his head.
"The worst part?" He spoke suddenly, and Conner didn't know how to reply. Dick saved him the trouble. "I'm not upset about it. I mean. I am, but. I'm not upset about how everything has turned out. I know that this is the way it has to be. Wally… Wally thinks I should be. Wally says I'm not doing enough…" he said this slowly, trailing off. Conner only spoke again when he was sure that Dick was finished speaking.
"Wally just lost the woman he loved. He's saying a lot of things." Sighing, Dick nodded, looking at Conner.
"That's why I'm here." Dick paused for a moment, pensive, seeming to decide to continue speaking. "I should be doing more. So, I was."
Placing his arm around Dick's shoulder companionably, as much for comfort as to lead him in the direction of one of the spare rooms, Conner shook his head.
"You're useless right now, Dick. If you want to do more, sleep first." Dick nodded slowly, the tiredness catching up to him slowly. As they walked, his head lolled towards Conner's shoulder, resting there, despite his legs to continue forward.
"Mhm. You're right. It jus' sucks. Never enough time y'know?" His voice was significantly more tired than it had been before.
Despite needing very little by the way of sleep, he nodded in reply. "I know."
This isn't great. It's actually quite shitty. Ending is lame. It was written in two hours.
I like the idea of Conner & Dick being bros, and I think that through Season 2, Dick struggled a lot in knowing whether or not he was doing the right thing. So. Here. I think the prompt was supposed to be funny or cute but.
Lemme know what you think. If you want. Also if you want a continuation.
Winglet