Been a while, hope folks are doing well. Sorry this one's kinda short again, but hope you enjoy!
We were just kids just living in
Wide-eyed innocence
Minivan floor like a tenement
We were just kids who believed in
More than just dreams
In more than just justified ends to a means
-Switchfoot, "Who We Are"
Between.
Gotham Central Park. A harrowed, hunched form had parked himself on a bench overlooking the playground, where a group of children were engaged cheerfully. Peacefully. Safely. Hanging upside-down from the monkey bars, taking turns on the slide while their doting parents watched and applauded at each successful landing; boosting their precious little ones on the swings, higher and higher towards the horizon. It reminded Tim of the time he and Cassandra had sat there together, holding hands for the entire length of the afternoon. …She wasn't here now though. He was alone.
…Or so he thought, but he suddenly felt a familiar shadow fall over him. Only stocky rather than slender. He didn't even need to raise his head to guess who it was.
"I thought you and Cass were in Hawaii."
"We came back as soon as we heard the news."
Conner reclined on the resting next to Tim, who retained silence for an agonizing interval before finally stating:
"My wife's pregnant."
A thump on his back.
"Congrats, man. You finally knocked her up." His companion grinned. "I was wondering if you two even did it, to be honest."
Tim shamefully hung his head in regret.
"…It was an accident."
"That's a real nice way to refer to your future offspring. Look at it this way, you've got a story to tell the tyke when it grows up."
"This isn't funny, Kon." He descended his frazzled forehead further into his palm. "What am I even gonna do with a kid? I can barely handle functioning normally on a daily basis, how the hell am I going to be able to take care of someone else? I mean," he added spitefully, "it's not like I exactly have the greatest track record of role models to go by."
Conner's own brow furrowed in faint frustration.
"Look, you think you've got daddy issues, you're talking to the guy who has half of Lex Luthor's and Superman's DNA."
"Sorry." Tim swallowed sympathetically. "It's just… What if I do end up like my dad? I could've inherited something bad from him…"
Conner sighed.
"Tim, buddy, you're the one who told me genetics don't work that way. Remember when I found out Luthor was my secondary DNA donor, I thought I had a 50% chance of suddenly turning 'psycho' myself in my sleep."
"Or of going bald."
Tim couldn't help but taunt, and Conner flushed slightly, recalling that nervous period of constantly checking his hairline in the mirror each day.
"Point being… Everyone's expected me to turn out to be either the world's greatest hero – or the world's greatest villain." He looked down at his fist, clenching tightly in determination. "Ultimately, I chose to use my powers for good, not because of Superman, or Cadmus – but because I wanted to. Carve my own path. Show I can be more than just a weapon – what I was designed and purposed for – no matter what anyone else says."
He clapped his company's shoulder.
"Listen: You can choose who you want to be. You've already proven that by becoming a hero yourself. You are not your father. You're you. And you're the coolest, smartest, nicest guy I know. So stop worrying, quit beating yourself up, and trust me when I say you're gonna be fine. 'It's' gonna love you, because I do. So does Steph. And Cass. We all do."
Tim rotated slowly to confront Conner, who beamed broadly.
"Remember, I'm here for you. All of us are. If you need help with anything, just ask."
Tim stared at him, before restoring his gaze to the ground.
"You know… When the two of us first met, I was in a really bad place."
"And now?"
"…Now?" He lifted again, and smiled. "Now… I'm in a good place. Thanks to you guys. You've all been as much of a 'family' to me as Dick and Barbara. Heck, you're practically like a second brother. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't met you when I did. I'm… really grateful for you being there."
Conner rubbed his neck in embarrassment at the gushing words of appreciation.
"Ah, jeeze. C'mere, you."
A large limb lunged around Tim's shoulders, drawing him suddenly into a half-embrace.
"Kon!" Tim glanced apprehensively aside at the sound of giggles and whispers coming from two teenage girls passing nearby. "Hey, c'mon, we're in public. People are watching."
"So? Let them watch. I want the world to see how much you're valued."
Tim blinked, but accepted the bear hug, reciprocating amiably. Burying his face into the symbol on the other's wide, warm chest. For a brief instant, it brought back a vague, tingling memory of being held and soothed by someone of similar size and build, dressed also in black…
Finally separating, he laughed sheepishly at the sappy scene, surreptitiously wiping his eyes.
"Look at us, two grown-ass men – acting like total chicks."
Conner chuckled as well, and as if to assert his masculinity, lightly tapped the other's cheek with a playful punch, teasing in a mildly mocking manner.
"I take back what I said before about you being cool. You're still a dweeb."
"And you're still an ass," Tim parried risibly with visible good humor, ribbing back in riposte.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
As they idled there like inept idiots, awkwardly avoiding acknowledgement of affection after the fact, another visitor with red on its breast ironically fluttered down onto the path before them, seeking handouts. Conner glimpsed anxiously at his comrade out of the corner of his eye, but Tim remained relatively calm as he obliged and pulled out the leftovers from the work lunch Steph had packed him, compassionately scattering crumbs of sandwich crust. After a minute of mute feeding, Conner quietly cleared his throat.
"…For what it's worth, you're still a 'superhero' in my eyes. Absolutely nothing that's happened since then can ever change that fact."
Tim wryly rolled his eyes, emptying out the residual rye before crumpling the wrapper and tossing it towards the nearest bin – marginally missing the mark so it bounced off the brim instead.
"You never even knew me when I was Robin," he snorted.
"Yeah but…" Conner squinted contemplatively up at the sky. "For some reason it feels like I've known you my whole life."
"That's because you pretty much have."
"Touché," Conner conceded. "As far as I'm concerned though... You're my Robin. Always will be."
"And you'll always be my clone boy."
Tim replied with a hint of sarcasm, but smiled sincerely all the same.
As he stood in order to pick up the litter and put it in its proper receptacle, Conner followed suit. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he again bumped the neurotic neat freak on his bent backside, bolstering boisterously.
"Just to make sure you've got the message, I'll say it once more: You're gonna be an awesome dad. …A dork dad, but an awesome one."
"Thanks… I think."
Conner patted supportively.
"Go home to your wife, Tim. She needs you now more than ever. If you back out from this, then I seriously will kick your ass."
His senses piqued as he turned towards something in the distance. With a wink, he continued:
"Speaking of which, I should probably get back to mine, before she glares a hole in my skull. Heck," he cupped his palm in a hush, "you'd think she's the one who has heat vision."
I heard that.
A stern voice resounded in both their brains, as Conner winced. Releasing dutifully, he revolved and hastily walked off with a reverse wave.
"See you around, nerd. Remember, I'm always a holler away if you need anything. Even if it's just to talk."
Tim observed him go, approaching a dark-haired woman and a child with identical bangs and bold blue eyes. Conner stooped to ruffle the boy's top, before hoisting the bundle up onto his shoulders. Cassandra smiled and nodded towards Tim.
She's waiting for you.
With that, she took her husband's hand and strolled off through the garden. Tim breathed out, before heading off in the opposite direction – towards home.
…
Stephanie was still seated at the kitchen table when Tim arrived at the house, having apparently yet to clear away the cups from a surprise guest tea with her college girlfriend, who dropped in unexpectedly after receiving a confidential call just this morning. Instead she was surveying absently out the window, running her finger along the rim of the mug, deep in thought. Her eyes elevated upon his entrance, and she smiled.
"Hey. Welcome home, honey~"
Tim crossed over and immediately answered her by leaning into a long, intimate kiss, to which she certainly didn't object.
"Boy, considering I was throwing up in the toilet the last time we saw each other, you're in an awfully adoring mood now." She made a whooshing motion in order to jog – jibe him. "I mean, you just ran out of here like you saw some roadkill."
Gulping, he cast a quick, knowing look towards the containers on the counter.
"Conner came to see me today too."
"Oh, I see." Steph pouted, pushing him away. "So that's why you're being so romantic all of a sudden. You feel guilty for cheating on me, is that it?"
Tim gave a weak laugh, and wrapped his arms reassuringly around her. They stayed like that for a while, his chin nesting gently on her golden crown as they admired the similarly-hued sunset.
"…I'm sorry for leaving you like that. I… haven't really been able to figure out how to react to all this. If I should be happy, or terrified, or…"
She swiveled around, petting his jaw in forgiveness and understanding. She could see from the shaded lines around his sockets how stressed out and scared he was.
"It's okay to be both, you know. I'm scared too. When… I gave birth to my daughter, I had a dream that my dad came to take her away from me. Even though he was supposedly 'dead' at the time, I was still so frightened he'd suddenly show up one day and claim her, train her to become a criminal like him. …That's part of why I gave her up for adoption. I thought she deserved a better life – not one raised by the Cluemaster's own dumb daughter, who went and got herself 'preggers' while still in high school by dating another loser deadbeat."
Tim lowered himself down to her level, kneeling before her as he gripped her tautly balled knuckles.
"We're not our parents, Steph. You're clever and kind and beautiful, plus the strongest – not to mention most stubborn – person I know. You're gonna be a great mom. And I promise I'll be here with you from now on, 100%. Every step of the way."
Her grasp unfurled, and he uplifted her tips, lips caressing in a courteous gesture that made her feel like a princess. She smiled, and responded to the noble deed with a token of her own fondness to her templar's temple.
"We're gonna do this together," she agreed. "And we'll be better."
After a pregnant pause, she considered:
"Wait, so does this mean you'll wait on me hand and foot now?" A mischievous grin formed. "'Cuz if so, not to be cliché, but I'm really craving me some pickles dipped in mashed potatoes at the moment."
Tim chuckled again.
"Whatever you desire, milady."
"Hey, the little guy wants what it wants."
At that, Tim tentatively reached out towards her tummy, and she indicated it was okay to touch, guiding his curious paw there. He felt the softness of the fabric, well aware that a fetus wouldn't be showing any signs of movement at this stage, but marveling at the notion there was indeed a life growing inside of there. A life he helped to create, that he had – must have – experienced once (even if he couldn't bring himself to recollect it anymore), nurtured and safeguarded against the harshness of the outside world. Who knew nothing yet of pain or sadness – just how cruel the world could be – only pure, unadulterated love.
…
…And when his son is finally born and he holds that tiny, squirming life in his trembling palms for the very first time, he makes a vow: To protect that unpolluted innocence at all costs. That he will never let anything bad happen to him; that his father will never abandon him. …Urging him to cry all he can now, because there would eventually come a day when he can't anymore – even if he wants to. When he needs to be both brave and tough, and keep moving forward despite whatever difficulty he may encounter, make his own choice someday.
And yet… He feels tears rolling openly down his own ducts as the infant's mother – his partner – family – rests against him, exhausted but elated. He soon realizes his own weeping isn't an expression of sorrow either… but one of joy.
…
And when they simultaneously ask Cassandra and Conner to be the baby's godmother and father, respectively, the two are more than honored and glad to be of service. …After all, they're only returning the favor.
They said it's complicated
They said we'd never make it this far
But we are
They said the fight would break us
But the struggle helped to make
Who we are
We've got nothing left to lose
There's still time enough to choose