Chapter Text
The late afternoon air is brisk and refreshing. Pale wisps of clouds paint streaks against the deep blue sky, and the sunlight on Kon’s back is soothing and warm.
He sighs, stretching his legs out. Up here on top of the Planet’s big golden globe, the city sprawls out down below, glistening and bright. It’s… nice. He can see why Kal likes to hang out up here so much.
Next to him, Kara slurps up another mouthful of boba, chewing on the pearls. She tilts her head to the side, the wind whipping her hair out behind her. “…You were right,” she says thoughtfully. “This stuff is pretty good. What’d you get me again? Lavender something?”
“Honey lavender pearl milk tea,” Kon says. “Next time you head over to SF, let me know and I can come with! There’s a lot of good boba cafés out there.”
Metropolis has good ones too, of course, but they’re not on almost every street corner, not like they are in the Bay Area. Still, the one he and Kara went to after leaving Kal’s place today is pretty solid.
“Is that where you first tried it?” Kara asks, glancing over to him. She has the same eyes as him and Kal. It’s a little strange, seeing them in a face that isn’t a mirror of his own.
Sometimes, when Kon looks at her, it hits him that she was supposed to have a whole family of people who look like them. She did have a family, and then they were ripped away from her. Twice over. He can hardly imagine that kind of pain.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I first tried it in Hawai’i. Waaay back when, while you were still in space.”
“Oh.” Kara takes another sip of her tea. “Right.”
Kon’s already all but finished his; he sucks up the last two pearls left in his cup and chews them slowly. Honeyed sweetness blooms on his tongue.
Kara lets out a breath. “…Hey, Kon. Can I ask you a kinda weird question?"
"Yeah, 'course," Kon says. "Shoot."
Kara takes a moment to respond. "Right. Well, I was wondering, uh… Do you ever, like, I dunno… feel like an outsider here?”
Kon looks at her again, at the sun glinting off her golden hair. Her cape flutters in the wind, the edge caught where she’s sitting on it. She’s even more of an alien than he is.
“All the time,” he answers, more truthfully than he means to. “You too, huh?”
Kara nods. She looks at him a little uncertainly, takes another sip of her tea. Kon employs the tactic Kal and Lois used on him so effectively, and waits.
“Is that why you, uh, yesterday…?” She ducks her head and makes a face immediately afterwards, though, then shakes her head quickly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry—I swear I didn’t listen in, Kal told me it was private and I respected that! I just, um. Was wondering.”
Kon’s stomach drops out a bit, and he chews at his lip. He feels much more like himself now than he did yesterday, sure, but that doesn’t really mean a lot, not when “himself” is still… a mess. There’s so much he still doesn’t know, about what he is, about… everything. And he can tell Kara’s really, earnestly trying to connect with him; it’s sweet. He wants to reach back out to her. It’s just that he doesn’t know what to say.
“That was more, uh…” Kon heaves a sigh and rakes his hand through his hair. “That was, uh, more like… some resurrection-related freaking out?” It comes out a little more like a question than a statement, but oh well.
Kara takes that at face value, at least. She nods, then reaches over and lays her hand over his. Her fingers are cold from her cup.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she says earnestly, and Kon believes her. “I missed you.”
That comes as a bit of a surprise. Kon cocks his head to the side. “You did?” He blinks. “I mean—that sounded mean. I meant, like—you know, we barely got the chance to hang out, before… you know. I died.”
Kara lets out a slow breath. “Kon, I barely have anyone left. And you’re family.” She looks a little hurt, a little uncertain. “I mean… I thought you—if you don’t feel that way about me, that’s—”
“No no no, I do, I do!” Kon hastily reassures her. “I just—I guess I didn’t realize, um…” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. It’s a habit he picked up from Pa. But that thought hurts; he quickly pushes it away. “Aw, man, there’s like, no good way to phrase this. Uh…”
Kara laughs, at least. Score. “It’s okay. Just say it.”
Kon rakes his hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. It’s been—kind of a lot? Coming back and, y’know. Seeing that me dying, like… actually impacted people.”
Kara reels back with a look of shock. “What?! Of course it impacted people! You died, Kon! Everyone who cares about you—you’ve lost people before, haven’t you? You know it hurts!”
Kon winces. “See, this is what I meant about not knowing how to put it.” He chews at his lower lip for a moment, staring out at the horizon. Kara’s hand tightens over his. “I do know it hurts. I do. I just—I got this weird disconnect in my head, about it being different when it’s me.”
Because he was made to die. He was made to die saving the world, and he did. That was his purpose… or at least, he really thought it was. But after how badly his success—his death— tore apart so many people he loves, he can’t quite reconcile the thoughts.
There’s a tiny voice in his head that says maybe Kal was right. Maybe it really is that simple—he’s here just to live. But it’s hard to let go of a truth he’s known his whole life, especially for a new one that sounds way too good to be true.
Kara softens next to him. The wind blows her hair into her eyes, and she tosses her head, scrunching up her face.
“I guess that makes sense,” she says, squeezing his hand. “…You wanna know something, though?”
“What?”
She lets go of his hand to dig through one of the pockets on her skirt and pulls out a glasses case. She opens it, turns it around to show him, and ducks her head a little shyly. “I’ve been wearing these, in my civilian identity.”
Kon blinks down at the glasses. They’re a familiar oval shape, with simple silver wire frames. His breath catches in his throat. “Are those…”
“Yours,” Kara confirms, her voice so soft the wind almost drowns it out. “I didn’t have a civilian identity at first, you know? I was spending all my time as Supergirl. But after you died, some other stuff happened, and I just… spiraled. Lana suggested a civilian identity to help me figure out how to fit in on Earth, and, um, when I mentioned I was trying to put one together… Tim gave me these.”
Kon’s heart stops.
“…Tim had my glasses?” he hears himself ask, as if from a great distance. The blood roars in his ears.
Kara nods, a funny look on her face. “You didn’t know?”
Oh, god. Tim.
A rising tide of emotion swells in Kon’s chest and grips his heart so tight it’s hard to breathe. Tim loves him. Tim loves him so damn much, and it’s been two days since Kon snapped at him and ran off because he couldn’t handle Tim caring about him. He hasn’t even opened any of the texts Tim’s sent him because he’s been so caught up in his own head.
“Oh,” Kara murmurs. “He… yeah. He kept them. And some of your other stuff, I think. He—losing you hit him and Cassie both really hard, Kon.”
“I—I know,” Kon manages. It takes conscious effort not to dig his fingers into the smooth metal of the globe beneath them both. “I just—I didn’t know he… he kept my glasses.”
Tim must’ve gone into his room to get them. At the farm. Ma and Pa probably let him in, knowing he was grieving. Kon didn’t have them on him when he died; if he had, they would’ve been crushed to smithereens.
It was—
It was a brutal way to die, if he’s honest.
Kara pauses, studying him. Kon stares out at the horizon for several seconds and tries to get himself back under control. He doesn’t need to think about it. He’s up here, under the wide open blue sky, and he can breathe just fine. There’s no rod spearing through his ribs, no tons of metal and concrete grinding his bones to dust.
He’s fine.
Kara’s hand settles over his again. A spark shoots through him, pulling him back into the present. “Kon?”
Kon sucks in a breath. “Sorry,” he says reflexively. “Zoned out for a second.”
“It’s okay.” Kara’s still studying his face. “…Do you want them back? I mean, they’re yours.”
“What? No.” Kon blinks at her. “You keep ‘em. I… it makes me happy to know you wanted ‘em.”
Kara’s shoulders relax incrementally, and her smile grows. “Of course I wanted them. You’re my cousin. You’re family.” Her smile fades again, and she looks down. “There’s so few Kryptonians left now, Kon, and… I feel awful that you can’t even get to see Kandor again. It’s my fault, what happened to New Krypton—”
“It’s not,” Kon insists. He grabs her hand and squeezes hard. Kara looks up at him in surprise, and Kon squeezes again. “It’s not. It was Luthor, and that awful bastard general”—he doesn’t even want to call him General Lane; it’s an affront to Lois—”but never, ever yours.”
Kara looks startled. “But Reactron—”
Kon fixes her with his best impression of Ma’s that’s-enough-of-that-talk stare. “Nope.”
Kara wavers. Kon can see her thinking about arguing further, but he holds his ground and hopes to the high heavens he can channel Ma as well as he’d like.
Finally, Kara’s shoulders slump. “Okay,” she allows. “Agree to disagree.” She offers a wan smile.
Kon nods; it’s absolutely not her fault, but if he can’t bring himself to accept that maybe his death wasn’t, like… a good thing, then he can’t blame her for struggling to let go of her guilt. “Truce for now.”
“Truce.” Her smile softens. “I still just wish… you could’ve seen it properly. Spent more time there, with me and Kal. I wish…”
Yeah, that sounds nice on paper and all, but Kon shifts his weight a little awkwardly. Sure, he and Alura Zor-El got off on the wrong foot and all, but that doesn’t make it sting any less that she stood aside and let General Zod call him a clone, a creature, like his entire existence was some kind of dirty word.
“I mean…” He rubs the back of his neck again. “I appreciate the thought, really, I do, but, uh… I didn’t exactly get the sense that folks on New Krypton cared much for people like me. You know. Clones.”
Kara’s eyes widen. “Oh,” she says, and then, softer, “Oh,” like he’s punched all the wind from her lungs. “Oh, Kon, I—I thought Zod and the others, after I told them—?”
“They played nice until your back was turned,” Kon says, vaguely uncomfortable. “It’s not your fault, I mean, it’s not like he was the only one or anything. From what Kal taught me, I mean, the clone stuff isn’t exactly a new conflict. Black Zero ‘n’ all. So I guess I shoulda expected it.”
Several emotions flicker over Kara’s face. She stares at him for a moment, troubled, and then abruptly lurches forward and throws her arms around his neck. She squeezes him even tighter than Kal does, the ice in her cup cold against his back. Kon brings his arms up around her, too, and wonders which of them needs the hug more right now.
Kara lets out a breath. “I know you probably didn’t feel that wanted,” she admits, her arms tightening around him. Her voice trembles, just a little. “But Kon, I swear. If you’d met him… my father would have loved you.”
Something cracks a little bit in Kon’s chest. He sucks in a breath and blows it out against her shoulder. “…Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Kara murmurs, soft and full of emotion. “He would have loved you so, so much.”
It strikes Kon then that he never even thought about what it’d be like, to have a bigger family. He spent so long wishing for parents, siblings maybe, that he never even thought about what it might be like to have cousins. Aunts. Uncles.
He never even knew what he was missing. What a weird kind of grief. If it even counts as grief.
“I wish I coulda met him, then,” he mumbles, and surprises himself by just how much he means it. “Maybe you could… I dunno. Tell me about him sometime. Or—or about Krypton, in general. What you loved about it and stuff.”
Kara draws back to look at him with bright, shiny eyes. She beams, nodding, and scrubs a hand over her face. “I’d love that. I really, really would.”
She has his glasses. The reality of it slaps Kon upside the head all over again as he looks at her. She loves him, even though they barely got the chance to know each other before he died. She’s loved him this whole time.
“Kara,” he says, hesitant. “Could I… ask you something? About… Kryptonian culture, I guess?”
“Anything,” Kara says, and he can tell she means it.
Kon bites his lip. He can’t quite meet her eyes; he stares at the golden hair whipping around her shoulders instead. Shame still curdles in his gut, and anxiety makes his heart thrum in his chest. He’s sure she can hear it.
“Uh… so for my sake, let’s just agree right now that this is a purely hypothetical question. Or, uh, not for any reason other than, like, general curiosity about your—my—uh, our culture.” He rubs the back of his neck again, awkward, but he can see that ending his stumble on our made her smile.
“Okay,” Kara agrees. Phew. It’s obviously more than that, but Kon appreciates that she’s gonna let him keep pretending. He’s just—he can’t say it yet. Not like he did to Aura.
“Okay.” Kon blows out a breath and fixes his gaze on the distant horizon. “So… I know we don’t exactly have the same gender and sex stuff going on as humans do, but did that, like… translate to, uh. Marriage, and stuff? Like… was it a big deal if two dudes wanted to get hitched? Or two chicks? Or…”
“Oh,” Kara breathes. “No, not at all. It was—um, like you said, we don’t have the same degree of dimorphism as humans, so. It was much more evidently a spectrum, so people would just marry… people. The real scandal was interguild marriages, especially ones involving the Labor Guild.” She hesitates. “That’s… actually, that’s one thing that weirds me out so much about Earth. Why’s it such a big deal?” One of her hands fidgets with her skirt. “I mean… I don’t know if you met her, but. My first kiss was Thara Ak-Var. She, uh… became Flamebird, and all that.”
“Oh,” Kon says numbly. Kara’s kissed a girl. And doesn’t think it’s a big deal.
The relief is so poignant that hysterical laughter bubbles up in his chest. He has to try really, really hard to swallow it back down, giddy. What a weight off his chest.
His cousin. He’s got a gay cousin—the jokes almost write themselves. Are they both the gay cousin?
Kara gives him a thoughtful look. “So… is it Tim? Or Bart?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?!” Kon reels back. “We just agreed it’s totally hypothetical, general cultural inquiry, not for any reasons that have anything to do with me!”
Kara’s expression goes from thoughtful to unimpressed. “Kon…”
His ruse was transparent as glass, but he was really hoping she’d let him keep it up. And he knows it’s only fair if he admits it—she just admitted she kissed a girl—but the thought of actually putting any of … of this into words, let alone voicing it, makes his heart seize with panic. “I—”
He breaks off, bites the inside of his lip hard. He knows it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but he swears he can still taste that Daxamite’s cock, hot and heavy on his tongue. Shame bubbles up alongside the panic, mixing into a truly unfortunate stew in the pit of his stomach.
“Whoa, okay, hey, it’s okay!” Kara backpedals, eyes wide. She grabs his hand again, squeezes it hard. “Sorry. I, um—I didn’t realize it was bothering you that much. You don’t have to say anything.”
Kon hangs his head, both relieved and even more ashamed. He squeezes her hand back, closing his eyes, and blows out a breath. Talking around it is a lot easier than confronting it directly. “It’s… I don’t know. Honest. I’m kinda freaking out about it ‘cuz I’ve… never even thought about this stuff before.”
Kara tilts her head in thought. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “I guess you’ve… I mean, Earth culture is all you’ve ever known, right? So it makes sense it’s, um… a big deal to you.”
“Yeah.” Kon blows out a breath. “…Please don’t tell anyone.”
Kara smiles at him, warm and sunny. “Don’t worry, cousin,” she says, and rests her head on his shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me.”
After dinner, Kon makes some nice, cozy green tea.
There’s a big, blustery storm coming in tonight; the winds have been high since afternoon, buffeting him all over as he flew back in from Metropolis. The rain pitter-patters against the windows, though the wind occasionally blows it hard against the glass. It’s good weather for curling up on the big sofa with some tea and watching some Star Trek with Ma before bed.
Once it’s properly steeped, Kon tosses the leaves and picks up both mugs, flicking the lights off in the kitchen with TTK. Krypto follows at his heels as he crosses the breakfast nook and heads over to the living room, where Ma—
Kon balks in the doorway.
Ma’s standing at the fireplace, tenderly cradling a photo frame in both hands. Kon can’t see it from this angle, but he doesn’t need to; he knows exactly which frame sits proudly in the center of the mantelpiece.
It’s Ma and Pa’s favorite wedding photo. It’s old and grainy, slightly yellowed at the edges, if you look real close; the photo was taken right after Pa dipped Ma for a kiss at the altar, then brought her back upright. Ma’s clinging to his shoulders, while Pa’s arms are wrapped around her waist, and they’re both laughing and laughing, too delighted to look anywhere but at each other.
Kon’s heart aches.
He makes sure to step on the creaky floorboard on the left as he walks in, sets the mugs down on the coffee table. Krypto’s claws clack against the hardwood as he follows. “Here’s your tea, Ma.”
Ma doesn’t turn. “Thank you, dear heart,” she says, her voice soft and wistful.
Kon hesitates. Stares at her back for a moment, at the old green cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. There’s more gray in her hair than there was before he died. She still carries herself with dignity and grace, but losing Pa has dulled the light in her eyes. It’s still there, but it doesn’t shine quite as bright as it used to.
Kon shifts his weight. Bites his lip. Fidgets with the hem of his shirt. Finally sinks to sit awkwardly on the edge of the sofa.
“Ma,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor. “…I’m sorry it was me who came back, and not him.”
There. He’s finally come out and said it. The words hang heavy in the space between them, their weight flowing from Kon’s chest into the open air.
A beat passes.
Ma lets out a slow breath and carefully sets the photo back onto the mantelpiece.
Then she turns, and the fire in her eyes makes him genuinely lose his balance for a second in shock; his TTK latches onto the sofa to keep him from toppling over onto his back. What—where did that come from? Why’s she—?!
“Conner Kent.” Ma’s eyes flash. Her voice stays even, but Kon is shocked to see that her hands are trembling. “Don’t you ever say that to me, ever, ever again. Don’t even think it—not under my roof, or anyone else’s, either! Do you hear me?”
“Wh-what?” Kon flounders, gaping up at her like a clown. “But—why are you mad? I thought—I thought you’d… I mean, it’s not like I could trade myself for him anyways, it’s—it’s just, you know, the sentiment…?”
Ma’s face does something funny, like she can’t decide whether to lecture him or burst into tears. That’s terrifying. The last thing he ever, ever wants to do is make her cry.
Hesitant, Kon shuffles a little closer to her. “…Ma?”
Ma sits down hard on the sofa next to him and wraps her arms around his neck. She pulls him into a fierce hug, cradling his head in her hands as she guides him to tuck his face into her shoulder. “Oh, my darling boy,” she breathes, and to his horror, her voice is thick. “Is that really what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”
“Um.” Kon hesitates, uncertain. He gets the feeling she wouldn’t like it if he says yes, even if it’s true. “…No?”
“Oh, Conner.” Ma squeezes him tighter, like she can fold him up small and hide him away from the world. It hits him suddenly that she might just be where Kal learned to be such a good hugger.
Ma draws back, cradles his face in her callused hands. She smooths her thumb over his cheek, shaking her head, and pulls him down so that she can kiss his forehead.
“I would never want to trade you for Jonathan. Not in a million years.” She kisses his forehead again, as if she hasn’t just turned his entire world on its head. “And if I ever wanted to, Jonathan’d never forgive me for it.”
Kon gapes at her. “B-but he’s—he’s your husband!” And Kon was made to die. He was made to die saving the world—why does no one but him realize that? That was what he was made for.
Why did fulfilling his only purpose hurt everyone he loves so much? Why would Ma say that?
…Was Kal really right about him?
Ma meets his gaze levelly, but her eyes are suspiciously bright. “And you’re our boy.”
Kon’s eyes prickle. “Ma, I…”
Ma sighs, caresses his cheek again, then takes both of his hands in hers. She strokes her thumbs over his knuckles. “Dear heart. When you get to my age, when you’ve raised a child, let alone two… you see things differently than young folks.
“Jonathan and I—we had our whole lives together. We had so many wonderful, beautiful years. And when you live your whole life beside someone, when you get old, well… We always knew, one of us would leave this world before the other. It’s something you can’t avoid thinking about, when you get older. I miss him, of course I miss him, but I always knew there was a chance I’d outlive him. Same way he always knew there was a chance he’d outlive me.”
She pauses.
“You, though, dear…” Ma’s gaze falls to their joined hands. “We were never supposed to outlive you.”
Oh, god, her voice is quavery and her smile is wobbly and her eyes are teary. Kon’s just made Ma cry. She squeezes his hands, and Kon swallows hard against the lump in his throat and squeezes back.
“Ma,” he says again, helpless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Ma shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. This is what has been eating you up inside, hasn’t it?”
Kon chews at his lip and drops his gaze. Krypto, flopped on his side on the rug, lets out a big, sleepy sigh, and Kon focuses on him, the rise and fall of his ribs as he breathes.
Taking his silence as answer enough, Ma smiles, stroking her thumbs over his knuckles again. His hands are so much smoother than hers. “I thought so. You’ve been troubled lately.”
An apology hovers on the tip of his tongue—sorry for being troubled. Sorry for making her worry. Sorry for bringing it up—but he can’t bring himself to say it. Maybe Kal really did put a crack in the base of his worldview, or maybe he’s just too exhausted to keep his charades up.
“I guess, yeah,” he says instead, his voice small. “I thought… I thought I did something right. I—I thought I saved everyone, and it was a good thing.”
Ma closes her eyes for a moment, her expression pained. She heaves a great, big sigh, then reaches up to stroke the curly hair back from his forehead. He really needs to cut it again soon.
“It was, and it wasn’t.” Her knuckles tenderly graze his cheek. “Of course it’s good, saving the world. All these people who don’t deserve to die for a madman’s ego trip. But, sweetheart, you didn’t deserve to die for it, either.”
“That’s not—” Kon fumbles. He knows Ma won’t like hearing him say it, but he doesn’t know how to stop believing it, even if he wants to. “It’s—it’s… what I was made for, Ma.”
Ma’s brow furrows. “What is?”
Kon sucks in a breath. Lets it out. “Dying. To save the world. It’s—it’s the entire reason they made me. I was—I was made to be like Superman. And I was only made ‘cuz Superman died saving the world. That’s—that’s what they made me for.”
He half-expects her to get steely and indignant on his behalf, that same righteous fire in her eyes as a minute ago.
Instead, Ma looks heartbroken.
“I wish we’d known better,” she says after a moment, a quaver in her voice. “I wish we’d taken you in sooner. I—” She breaks off, looks at him for a long, long moment. “I remember watching the news, back when Clark first came back, when you were first showing your face to the world.”
Kon tries not to cringe. He was an annoying little dipshit back then, mouthy and arrogant and naïve. He can’t watch most of his old interviews or ad spots anymore without wanting to shrivel up and die on the spot. How anyone could stand him is a miracle.
“And I remember,” Ma continues, “hearing about that missile headed for Metropolis. Jonathan and I were so afraid we were gonna lose Lois, too, right after we’d lost Clark; we didn’t know he was really, truly back, then. Not yet. And you saved everyone. But they all thought you’d sacrificed yourself for it, at the time.”
She looks at him so intently it’s like he’s made of glass, and she may as well be looking right through him. She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to.
Oh. That’s what she’s thinking about. Right.
Kon swallows hard again. “…It didn’t kill me?” he tries, but it’s cold comfort and he knows it. “I mean, what else was I supposed to do, let it hit Metropolis?”
Ma shakes her head, but her eyes stay fixed on his face, still piercing right through him to his soul. She reaches up, cups his chin. “Dear heart, I’m gonna ask you something. And I want you to answer me, really and honestly. Alright?”
Kon bites his lip. “Um, sure.”
Ma holds his gaze for a moment. She takes a breath, then lets it out. “Conner… did you want to die?”
“No!” Kon bursts out, horrified. “No, of course not! I—I’m not suicidal, I’ve never even tried to kill myself—I mean, okay, I guess technically I tried once, but that doesn’t count ‘cuz it wasn’t just me and I didn’t even commit—but that’s not important! No! I wasn’t trying to die! I just… I was just…” He hangs his head. “I was okay with it happening, I guess.”
For a moment, Ma is silent. Kon peeks up to find her studying him, pensive and melancholy. She tilts her head as he meets her gaze again. “You tried to kill yourself once?”
Oh. Shit. He did say that out loud, didn’t he?
“I…”
Abruptly, it’s all too much. Kon pulls his knees to his chest, lowers himself down, and curls up with his head on Ma’s thigh. He’s not used to feeling tiny and fragile next to her, but she manages to make him feel just like Kal does, sometimes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Ma murmurs, and threads her fingers into his hair. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”
“Technically,” Kon mumbles into her knee, “it was a murder-suicide attempt, not just suicide. I just—I thought I had to kill us both to take her down. And I mean—I figured I deserved—I…”
God, it’s hard to think about Kay. Even now, he shies away from the thought of her betrayal—she didn’t even see it as a betrayal; he was just a gullible idiot who wanted so badly to believe the best of her. And she laughed at him, perfectly willing to pin him down, kiss him, and kill him all at once.
“You didn’t deserve it,” Ma says, stalwart even though she doesn’t know what happened. “It’s alright.”
Kon sucks in a breath. Blows it out. “Did you ever hear about, um. Me and Knockout?” he asks hesitantly, shame making his cheeks heat. “I dunno if that news ever left the islands.” Mae heard, of course, but…
“I didn’t.” Ma strokes his hair, slow and soothing. It’s kind of the way Kon pets Krypto late at night, right before bed, when they’re both calm and sleepy. “Tell me?”
Kon takes a deep breath. “She… was a supervillain I met in Hawai’i. Only I thought—I really thought she was trying to change. Everyone thought she’d killed a man, but I thought she was innocent, so—so I hid her from the authorities, and—well, y’know, that didn’t. Uh. Look great for me. So a lot of people were mad at me, but I thought it was a big misunderstanding so I kept trying to advocate for her, and… and she was telling me all this stuff about how I didn’t need anyone but her anyway, after everyone was mad at me, and…”
He chews at his lip for a second. Twines his fingers into Ma’s cardigan, holding on like a little kid clinging for reassurance.
“And then I found out she had actually killed that guy, and she wanted to make me kill someone else for her, and when I was, like, obviously not on board with that, she tried to kill me. And I thought—I mean, I’d been aiding and abetting her, right? Doesn’t matter what I thought, I was still helping her get away from facing justice.
“And she was—she was a lot stronger than I was, back then. So the only way I could take her down was keeping us both trapped on a piece of volcanic rock sinking into the ocean. Y’know. Drowning us both. Except once we were under for a minute, I… I realized I just couldn’t take anyone’s life, not even hers. I just couldn’t do it.”
He takes a breath. Lets it out again. He’s not sure he’s ever told anyone about Kay, actually, not really. Like, he talked to Roxy about her, a little, right after the fact, but besides that, he hasn’t thought about her in years. Or at least, he’s tried not to.
“…She was, um.” It’s shameful to admit, but now that he’s started talking, he can’t quite make himself stop. “She was the person I first, um. You know. My first time. I—I thought I was in love with her. Stupid of me, I know, but. Um. Yeah.”
For a long, long moment, Ma is silent. Her fingers keep carding steadily through Kon’s hair.
“How old was she?”
“What?” Kon blinks. He’s never really thought about it. “Uh… I don’t actually know. She was kinda immortal-ish? I mean… I guess at least thirty. I dunno.”
There’s a frigid Kansas snowstorm in Ma’s voice. “And you were fifteen.”
“Um.” Kon swallows hard. That does sound kinda bad. Saying actually, I wasn’t even one sounds even worse. “…Yeah.”
Ma lets out a hissed breath. “It’s not right,” she says after a moment. “That’s not right. You know, don’t you? That wasn’t right.”
Kon doesn’t know what to say. “I… I mean, it wasn’t like… I wasn’t… she didn’t, like, make me do anything, so…”
Ma makes a disapproving noise. “You were a child, and she manipulated and took advantage of you. No ifs, ands, or buts changes that.”
“I was a hero,” Kon objects. “Heroes don’t… the rules are different for us.”
Ma presses her lips together. “So if it happened to, say, your friend Bart, or Tim…”
The thought of Bart or Tim having to deal with Knockout grabbing them on the field and groping and kissing them without a single care in the world—
Kon full-body flinches.
Ma rubs his shoulder soothingly, strokes his hair, and coos. “Oh, darling. There. You’re alright now. You see what I mean, though? It wasn’t right.”
“I… I dunno,” Kon manages, and swallows hard. “Ma, I—it wasn’t… I’m not…”
“There are words for it,” Ma says gently. “For an adult hurting a child like that. But you don’t have to use them until you’re good and ready.” She pauses. “…Have you told anyone about this? Clark, or Lois, or your friends…?’
Kon shakes his head and closes his eyes. He’s not used to feeling so tiny. “…Just you.”
“Oh, dear heart.” Ma squeezes his shoulder. “Okay. Alright. That’s alright.”
The wind blows a spatter of rain against the windows, whipping around the edges of the house. Lightning flashes behind the curtains; rain pounds against the roof and waterfalls down the gutterspouts. Kon listens to the thunder rumble outside and reminds himself to breathe.
“…I really thought I was in love with her, Ma,” he admits, his voice smaller than he means it to be. “And she said I was basically just a… a toy to her.” He takes a breath. The house feels too big for just the two of them and Krypto. He misses Pa. “Sometimes I think… I just—I’m not made to be loved back. I dunno. I thought—I thought it’d be easy for everyone to move on after I was dead, ‘cuz I was… you know. Made for it. Not made to be loved, anyways. But now I’m just—I’m so confused.”
“Oh, Conner, dearest.” Ma’s voice is more tender than he’s ever heard it. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes; his chest feels tight. “Oh, darling. You are so, so loved. Don’t you ever question it. Losing you—losing you was like losing Clark all over again. It tore us up inside. All of us, not just me and Jonathan. I don’t care what those awful scientists at Cadmus told you—whatever they thought they made you for, it doesn’t matter. You are loved. And you have your whole life ahead of you to keep discovering it.”
She strokes his hair back from his forehead again. Kon blinks back tears and definitely doesn’t sniffle about it or anything. Everyone keeps being so gentle with him as they turn his world on its head—Ma, Kal, Kara—and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to stay intact.
“And,” Ma continues, “just because you and Cassie didn’t work out doesn’t mean you won’t find someone to love you that way, either. You’re young, sweetheart. You’ve got time. Don’t be all in a rush. You’ve got plenty of time.”
Him and Cassie. Ha. Yeah.
Dying in her arms definitely put a damper on things there. And now there’s the whole issue of Kon coming back and being all wrong in the head. Kara said it’s not weird for Kryptonians, but Kon is barely even a real Kryptonian at all, and he can’t shake the sense that he’s wrong for it. He’s all jumbled up and confused and…
Kon’s heart leaps to his throat. What if he tells Ma?
Logically, he knows she wouldn’t be upset with him. She—she knows Cassie, so she’d understand why he’s so mad at himself for being all messed up and not loving Cassie like she deserves. And she would get why it’s a big deal to him, more than Kara, more even than Aura. She already knows that growing up in the spotlight was a real doozy for him. That what people think of him matters.
He’s basically already confessed it to Kara and to Aura both anyways. It’s just that—it’s just that saying it to Ma would make it real.
Fuck it. He’s already spilling his guts to her tonight. What’s one more confession?
“…Ma?”
Kon’s entire body thrums with anxiety. His mouth feels dry. He doesn’t have to say it, but he—he kind of wants to. It’s terrifying, but he’s getting a little tired of running from it. He’s been running nonstop for days, and he’s exhausted.
“Yes?”
Kon sucks in a deep breath.
“…I think I, um… I think I might like guys,” he admits in a breathless whisper. “I—I know I shouldn’t, but I… I think I might be. Um.” He can’t say it. “You know.”
“Oh! Who says you shouldn’t like them?” Ma asks gently. “That’s more than allowed, sweetheart.”
What?!
“But—” Kon is so startled he sits up to look her in the eye. “But I’m supposed to be in love with Cassie, remember?”
Ma looks at him with such intense fondness he nearly has to flee. “There’s no ‘supposed to’ in matters of the heart, Conner. If you aren’t in love with Cassie, then you aren’t in love with Cassie. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person for it.”
Kon gapes at her. “I… But I’m… what?”
Ma chuckles and pats his cheek. “Good grief, child, you hold yourself to such standards! Let yourself breathe once in a while. It’s alright to feel the way you feel. You’re not ‘supposed to be’ in love with anyone! If you are, then wonderful, but if not, then that’s fine, too.”
What in the world is going on? He thought for sure she’d… Well, of course she’d be kind about it, not prejudiced and cruel, but—but he thought she’d echo his own thoughts. And instead she’s going and pulling the rug out from under him again.
It’s alright to feel the way you feel. What a simple sentence. He shouldn’t be falling to pieces about it. And yet, here he sits, a real mess in the making.
At a loss, Kon just stares at her. “I…”
Ma smiles at him. She cups his face again, draws him down so she can kiss his forehead. “I love you so very much, Conner.”
Still speechless, Kon swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “I… I love you too, Ma.”
“I know you do.” Ma pats his cheek again, smiling at him so tenderly he has to look away, down at Krypto snoozing on the rug. “You’ll be alright, dear. Now take a breath, drink your tea, and try to relax, alright?”
Kon blinks at her. Right—he made green tea for them both. “Yeah. Okay.”
Rain pounds against the windowpanes as she presses one of the mugs into his hands. Inside, it’s cozy and safe, and the warmth of the tea seeps into his skin. Kon slides one of his feet under Krypto’s warm, furry side. Krypto doesn’t even stir, drowsy beast that he is, and Kon smiles. It’s grounding.
“Hey, Ma?” he murmurs into his cup, several seconds later.
Ma hums. “Yes?”
“Thanks,” Kon says, a little awkward but incredibly earnest. “For listening.”
Ma’s smile is the warmest thing in the room. “Anytime,” she says, resting one hand on his shoulder. “Anytime, dear.” And he knows she means it.
“Rrrrr…”
Thunder rumbles in the distance as Kon opens his eyes. “Krypto? Whassamatter…?”
Krypto hasn’t gotten out of bed, but his head is up, his ears pricked forward towards the front of the house. He lets out another low, warning growl deep in his chest. “Mmrrrrrrmm…”
Blearily, Kon claws his way out of sleep a little more. It’s pitch-black in his room, the stars all blotted out by the thunderstorm, but the sheet lightning flashing across the sky lights up his room bright as day, even through the curtains. He listens, trying to figure out what’s got Krypto on guard, but not bothered enough to get up. For a moment, all he can hear is the pounding rain and the howling wind, but then…
Kon freezes.
There’s an extra heartbeat. Someone other than him, Krypto, and Ma is here. And—
Scritch-scritch. Thump, thump, scritch.
—And they’re climbing on the roof. Coming closer, by the sound of it.
“Rrrrrmmbfff.” Krypto does a tiny warning woof, not quite a bark. He’s still lying down, though, clearly not worried that the person outside is a threat. Come to think of it, that heartbeat is familiar, although admittedly Kon still struggles to keep different people’s heartbeats straight. They’re all really similar. He’s not quite sure how Kal does it.
Tap-tap-tap, at the window.
Krypto tilts his head. His tail thumps against the blankets once. Kon groans. Guess he’s getting out of bed for this.
He reluctantly peels the covers aside and floats out of his wonderful, cozy bed, clicks on his desk lamp with a touch of TTK, and plods across the floor. Tap-tap-tap-tap sounds at the window again, like an impatient bird.
“I’m coming, jeez,” Kon mutters. Krypto’s lazy ass still hasn’t gotten up. He wishes that were him. He reaches up, shoves the curtains aside, and—
Barely illuminated by the lamplight and the lightning outside, wearing a hoodie that’s soaked completely through, his hair plastered to his forehead, Tim perches on the edge of Kon’s windowsill and waves.
“Hi,” he calls through the glass. “Can I come in?”
What the shit?
Kon TTKs the window open with a rush of cold wind and rain. Even half-asleep, it’s just a matter of a thought to keep any water from hitting the floor as he grabs Tim by the shoulders and hauls him inside, then slams the window shut again. “Dude, what the hell?”
“Hi,” Tim says again, breathless. He looks like he could be in the next Ring movie, his hair plastered to his face and water streaming down his cheeks. “You haven’t been answering my texts.” He shivers, but squares his shoulders resolutely. “So I thought—well—I’m here to apologize. And if you’re still mad and you don’t wanna talk to me, that’s—that’s totally okay, and I’ll just get back in the car and drive back to Gotham, but I wrote out a proper apology and—”
“Okay, okay, okay, stop!” Kon shakes him a little, incredulous. “You’re dripping all over my floor, and it’s—it’s, what, one in the morning?”
“Two-fifteen-ish,” Tim corrects.
“Right. Two-fifteen-ish in the morning, you’re dripping all over my floor, and it’s freezing out and you’re gonna catch a head cold, I swear to god—”
Kon lets go of him with one hand to wheel around, squint at his dresser, and TTK a drawer open. Tim isn’t actually dripping all over the floor, because Kon’s got him wrapped in a layer of TTK, but there is a puddle slowly gathering around his feet.
“Come on, dumbass, you need a hot shower before you even think of reading off whatever script you prepared for yourself.” A couple of folded clothes roll out of the dresser drawer and scoot down the side of the legs, then toss themselves over into Kon’s free hand. “Here. You can borrow these.”
Tim looks a little shellshocked, wide-eyed in the dim, yellow lamplight. “You—are you sure? ‘Cuz seriously, if you’re still mad and you want me out of your hair, I get it, you don’t gotta worry about hospitality.”
A pang of guilt stabs into Kon’s gut. He didn’t really mean to ignore Tim’s texts all weekend long; he just… couldn’t even begin to think of what to say, not while his head was still so full of everything else. And then it just sort of… fell by the wayside.
“Rob.” Kon squeezes his shoulder. “I’m not mad. Now go take a hot shower. Wring out what you’re wearing now and leave ‘em hanging on the rod by the tub, yeah? I don’t wanna go run laundry while Ma’s asleep, ‘cuz the washing machine makes that big clanky noise, but we can wash them tomorrow.”
Tim stares at him breathlessly for a moment, his lips slightly parted, as though he’s been drowning, and Kon’s a life preserver thrown to him in the midst of the stormy sea. “You… you’re really not mad?”
The knife of guilt lodged in Kon’s gut twists. “I’m not mad,” he promises. “I’m—I’m sorry I left you hanging. I, uh… meant to get back to you, but… I’ve just. Y’know.” He shrugs helplessly. “Had a lot going on.”
“Oh.” Tim’s eyes linger on him, reading him like an open book. Kon doesn’t know how much he sees. Like before, it kind of scares him. This time, though, he doesn’t want to run. “Okay. Right. Are… are you okay?”
Kon shrugs one shoulder and quirks a little smile at him. “More or less. Been worse for sure.” He gives Tim a little push towards the door. “Now go. Go on. Git.”
Tim huffs out a soft, breathy laugh and rolls his eyes. “I’m not livestock, farm boy.” But he does let Kon steer him to the bathroom, wrapped in TTK the entire while so he doesn’t drip all over the hardwood.
The door clicks shut behind him, and after a moment, water starts to run. Kon stares at the wood grain of the door for a heartbeat, then heaves a sigh and turns back to his room. Krypto thumps his tail against the covers twice as Kon plops onto the edge of the bed and rakes a hand through his hair.
“Why didn’t you remind me to text Tim back, buddy?” he asks, reaching over to scratch behind Krypto’s ears. “I kept putting it off and now look. Made him drive, like, twenty whole hours. Man… that was a douchebag move of me.”
Krypto licks his nose and very helpfully burps. Thanks.
But man. Tim said that if Kon really didn’t want to see him, he’d get right back in his car and drive all the way back up to Gotham. Just like that. Even though he’s soaking wet and he must be absolutely exhausted. Kon’s been a total dick, avoiding thinking of what to say to him so hard that he never even read the texts Tim sent him.
Tim drove twenty hours to come see him. He must have started early this morning, back when Kon was still asleep on Kal’s pullout couch up in Metropolis, with Kara complaining he kept hogging the blankets.
Kon flops onto his back, a little overwhelmed. “Krypto,” he mumbles, reaching out until his hand bumps Krypto’s side. “Why would he do that?”
He already knows the answer. It’s right there, plain as day, written across Tim’s face every time he looks at Kon. Tim already lost him once; he never wants to do it again.
Guilt twists further in his gut. Tim loves him—not like that, obviously, but Tim loves him. And by thinking he should have stayed dead, Kon’s been spitting in his face this whole time.
Which means… he still can’t tell Tim what’s wrong.
But. Maybe, just maybe, it means he might, perhaps, just a little bit, be able to admit that, um… maybe Kal made some points, with that whole you’re here to live, Kon-El thing.
Kon blows out a breath and stares up at the ceiling. Man… this is a lot.
Rolling over, he grabs his phone from his nightstand. He should read Tim’s texts.
gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 02:13 a.m.]
i’m sorry!!
i’ll stop prying, i swear
come back? we can just chill
i swear i’ll shut up!!!gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 02:20 a.m.]
okay i guess you went home
i’m sorry again. for real
i know i can be pushy but i didn’t mean to upset you :(
you don’t have to say anything now if youre mad
just let me know you made it home?gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 02:49 a.m.]
kon??gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 03:11 a.m.]
okay ill stop nagging you.
i really am sorry tho
take your time. good night, kon.gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 10:15 a.m.]
hey, can we talk?gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 05:39 p.m.]
okay i get that youre pissed at me. and that’s fair
but the radio silence is kind of starting to freak me out
are you like. good??gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 09:28 p.m.]
i know you’re mad at me for being invasive. but
i asked bart if he’d seen you and he said no
and then he said ma asked him the same thing yesterday
where are you??? are you safe???gearhead lol 🏎️ [Saturday, 10:10 p.m.]
ok kara told me youre in metropolis
sorry for freaking out and asking everyone
you still havent responded to any of this…
so im kind of still freaking out.
you’ve never given me the silent treatment before
[Message deleted.]
[Message deleted.]
[Message deleted.]
never mind. sorry again. good night.gearhead lol 🏎️ [Sunday, 05:02 a.m.]
sorry in advance for this.gearhead lol 🏎️ [Sunday, 04:55 p.m.]
[Message deleted.]gearhead lol 🏎️ [12:01 a.m.]
changing a flat tire at midnight in a rainstorm on the side of a highway.
the things i do for you lmaogearhead lol 🏎️ [02:12 a.m.]
you awake?
guess not.
…Oh.
Kon’s chest hurts. All day today—uh, yesterday—Tim was driving. When he was hanging with Kal, Lois, and the kids, having a cozy family brunch, Tim was driving. When Kon was getting boba with Kara and having talks about Krypton, Tim was driving. When Kon came home and sat there sniffling in Ma’s lap, Tim was driving. Just to come see him and apologize.
Man.
“Krypto…” Kon scrolls through the texts again. What did Tim say and delete? “Oh my god. He’s too good for me. He’s… oh my god.”
Krypto yawns, resting his head on Kon’s leg. He gazes dolefully up at Kon, and Kon dutifully gives him some TTK-scritches behind the ears, just like he likes.
“I’m gonna fix this,” he promises. “I… don’t know how. But I’m gonna fix it.”
Krypto licks his nose in agreement, and they settle in to wait. Rain pounds against the windows; the roof creaks ominously overhead. A little thrum of anxiety flutters through the pit of Kon’s stomach, but it’s stupid and irrational, so he ignores it. The roof isn’t gonna fall on him, no matter how anxious he gets when he’s sleepy.
After a few minutes, the water shuts off. Kon, halfway to dozing off again, jerks awake. Groaning, he pushes himself back into a sitting position. Thunder rumbles outside, and the roof creaks again. He pushes it out of his mind.
Tim. Who cares about the storm outside when Tim came all this way in it, just to see him?
He waits a little longer, growing antsier by the second. Tim’s just a few feet away, through a couple of measly doors and walls, and Kon…
Kon really, really wants to hug him. And to say sorry, over and over, for scaring him so bad. And to hug him again after that. And… yeah. Tim drove all day to come see him, ‘cuz he was worried. It’s still really, really getting him. Tim had his glasses, he remembers with a jolt. Tim kept his glasses. And then gave them to Kara. He doesn't even know how to start with that, other than by hugging him.
“Hey, Kon?” Tim’s voice drifts over from the bathroom, and Kon perks up. “Could you, uh… give me a hand here?”
Blinking the last vestiges of sleep from his vision, Kon pushes himself to his feet and hurries out of his room. “Yeah, what’s up?”
Light spills into the hallway as Tim opens the bathroom door. He’s half-dressed; Kon’s Star Wars-print pajama shorts are a little long on him, hanging past his knees, but he hasn’t bothered to pull on the matching shirt yet. He gives Kon a tiny smile as he pulls the door further open and gestures to him to come in.
The steam inside smells like Kon’s shampoo. Like coconut and plumeria and sea salt, because Kon’s poor heart has never quite been able to let go of Hawai’i, not in full. Despite everything that happened to him there, it was the first home he ever knew. He loves the scents of coconut and plumeria; they always make him a little wistful.
And now Tim smells like his shampoo.
Kon quickly shoves that thought out of his mind as hard as he possibly can. He’s not gonna focus on that, or even think about it remotely at all. He’s not gonna be a creep. Tim trusts him way too much for him to risk their friendship by being weird and creepy and… yeah.
“What’s up?” he asks, forcing himself to stare at the side of Tim’s head rather than his collarbones.
Tim hums. “Could you… help with the dressing again?” he asks, turning his back and pointing over his shoulder, as if Kon’s forgotten about the laceration wound he had to dress three nights ago. “I can’t reach.”
“Yeah! Yeah, of course.” And Kon is not going to be a creep about Tim’s shoulder blades and back muscles, or about having his hands on his bare skin. He’s not.
If he ever, ever tells Tim about being… about maybe liking… about liking guys, would Tim stop trusting him with this? Would Tim stop being comfortable getting changed in front of him, touching him like he does, sharing a bed?
The thought breaks his heart. He can never risk it.
He takes a deep breath to steady himself, under the guise of digging the first aid kit out from the cabinet behind the door. The upstairs bathroom isn’t very roomy, and he’s all too aware of just how close he is to Tim as he pulls the box out, sets it on the counter, and opens it. If Tim is similarly hyperaware, he shows no sign—he just turns his back and carefully brushes his hair out of the way over his shoulder, waiting.
Kon takes another breath. All the new scars on Tim’s back stare at him, each one another jarring reminder that Tim has lived a whole year without him, that Tim has lost people and suffered.
Okay. Okay. He’s just changing out the dressing. He’s helped out with first aid so many times he could suture up a friend in his sleep—well, okay, no, that’s a huge exaggeration. But the point is, this is simple. He can do this without freaking out.
He brushes Tim’s wet hair over his shoulder, gently peels away the medical tape, then pulls the gauze pad away from Tim’s pale back. Tim doesn’t stiffen, but he does suck in a silent breath as the tape pulls at his skin. Uncovering his wound feels even more intimate than undressing him might.
Not that Kon’s going to be thinking about that anytime soon. Guilt needles at his stomach for having thought it even once, just now.
He focuses on the burgundy laceration underneath, harsh against Tim’s skin. It already looks better than it did three nights ago, the ends fully scabbed over, but the center still seems delicate.
Kon makes quick work of gently patting it dry. Tim lets out a soft exhalation; in the mirror, Kon can see his closed eyes, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Rob,” he murmurs. He hesitates for a second, his thumb brushing over one of the ridges in Tim’s spine. Tim’s skin is still warm from the shower. “I… I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m not mad—I was never mad at you.”
Tim’s eyes open, pinning him with an intent, searching look in the mirror. Kon can only hold his gaze for a second before he drops his eyes back to Tim’s wound.
“You weren’t?” His voice is calm, but Kon can hear the disbelief, the tentative hope. “I mean… I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I was… I mean, I was being pretty pushy, I know.”
Kon smiles a little despite himself. “You’re always pushy, Rob,” he says fondly.
A wan smile flickers across Tim’s face. “Maybe. But…” He heaves a sigh. “I’m still sorry I upset you. I was just… so caught up in trying to—I’ve just been worried about you. Which—I know that’s not an excuse! I’m not trying to—ugh, shit, this isn’t how I meant to say this. I wrote it all out, I…”
Kon snorts as he starts to apply the fresh dressing, gently holding it in place against the wound as his TTK pulls the medical tape over. “Hey.” He gently raps two knuckles against the back of Tim’s head. “Get out of your head, man. It’s just me.”
Which is incredibly hypocritical of him to say, but hey. Who’s counting?
It seems to do the trick, though. Tim lets out a soft breath and relaxes a little, catching Kon’s eye in the mirror for another heatbeat. His face is full of that same soft, open wonder that takes Kon’s breath away—like he’s still in awe that he can reach out and touch Kon. That Kon’s here, alive, breathing. Like he’s witnessing some kind of holy miracle, and he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the angels have allowed him to stay.
“True,” Tim agrees softly, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “It is you.”
If Kon’s heart skips a beat, he doesn’t have to acknowledge it—no, it didn’t, okay? And the extra guilt festering in his stomach doesn’t mean anything. He swallows down the discomfort in his throat and tapes down the nextside of the dressing.
“But I did write out a whole proper apology speech,” Tim continues. His smile grows wry, his eyes dancing when Kon glances up at the mirror again. “In the notes app on my phone. You know, like those makeup YouTubers that Cissie made you watch with her, that one time—”
Unexpected laughter bubbles up in Kon’s chest, and the guilt melts away. “Oh my god, dude, that was one time!”
“—when you had a gigglefit and started flailing and broke the coffee table?”
“That wasn’t my fault!” Kon protests. Laughter or not, his hands feel steadier. “Anita was doing the voices, and it was really funny! C’mon, dude! Why do you still gotta bring it up?”
“Because.” Tim’s smile softens again, and Kon’s heart flip-flops in his chest. “It was really funny.”
Kon finishes taping down the last side of the dressing so he doesn’t have to meet Tim’s gaze while Tim’s looking at him like that. “Yeah, whatever. There,” he says, and lightly thumps Tim’s good shoulder. “Done.”
“Thanks.” Tim gives him a warm smile in the mirror, then grabs the folded shirt from the counter and pulls it over his head. It’s comfortably oversized even on Kon; Tim’s all but swimming in it. It hangs loose on his lithe, wiry frame, the seams hanging down past his shoulders, the hem all the way down to his thighs.
Kon’s heart skips a beat again. That’s stupidly endearing. He…
Oh, god, he’s being weird about this, isn’t he? He needs to stop. He needs to get ahold of himself. He’s Tim’s best friend. He’s going to continue being Tim’s best friend, like normal, and he’s not going to let himself panic and fuck it up like he did a few days ago. That’s how he made this entire mess to begin with.
Tim is his best friend. Whatever else might be going on in Kon’s weird, fucked up head, Tim’s his best friend. And he wants to do right by him.
“Anytime,” Kon says honestly. “Anything, for you.”
Tim turns, looks up at him, and pauses.
It feels almost too intimate, standing here chest-to-chest in the cramped bathroom, wisps of steam and yellow light spilling out into the darkened hallway. They’re not touching, but Tim is close enough that Kon can feel the heat of his body, the lingering warmth of the shower emanating from his skin. His shaggy hair flops across his forehead and one of his eyes as he looks up at him, and Kon has to tamp down the urge to stroke it back for him.
He shouldn’t have said that. That was too much, wasn’t it?
“Kon,” Tim starts, his voice soft. “Look. All jokes aside, I am sorry for making you feel… like you had to run away from me. I know I can be pushy, and I know you already know it’s coming from a place of, like, wanting to help, but… still, it wasn’t cool of me. I never want to make you have to run away, from me, ever again. So—I guess I’m just trying to say, um… I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, and, uh, thank you. For letting me in.”
Oh, for crying out loud—
Chest tight again, Kon wraps his arms around him and hugs him close. The ache beneath his ribs is back, muted but poignant, and he just—he just needs to hold him for a minute. Tim started driving at, what, six this morning? Sooner? And he thought Kon might be so mad at him he’d just tell him to turn around and drive right back, and he still came.
Tim sinks into him, wraps his arms around Kon and holds on snugly. His chin comes to rest on Kon’s shoulder, and he lets out a weary, contented sigh. He must be exhausted, Kon thinks, and holds him a little tighter.
“Stop apologizing,” Kon murmurs, and leans his cheek against Tim’s hair. “I already forgave you that night itself.”
Tim lets out a soft breath. “…But you still ignored my messages.” It’s not an accusation, but Kon still winces. “Why, if you weren’t mad?”
Okay. This is probably gonna be a Conversation, with a capital C. Kon gives Tim a little squeeze.
“Let’s go sit down, yeah?” he suggests, reluctantly drawing back. He risks linking his fingers with Tim’s, reluctant to completely let go. Tim squeezes his hand back, and Kon smiles.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Although, fair warning, I might pass out on you mid-talk if we do.”
“That’s a risk I run every time I talk to you,” Kon teases, leading the way back to his room. Tim scoffs, but still doesn’t let go of his hand.
They settle onto Kon’s bed like they have a thousand times before. Krypto doesn’t even bother to lift his head; he just flicks an ear at them both, the very tip of his tail twitching against the blanket once. Tim heaves a weary sigh, leaning against the headboard, and Kon settles down at his side, careful to keep enough distance so that their legs don’t brush. It’s an awkward dance, making sure he doesn’t get too close without making Tim think he doesn’t want to touch him, but Kon thinks he’s managing alright.
Tim, however, doesn’t seem to care about any of that, because he just drops his head onto Kon’s shoulder and sighs again. “…So.” He gently rubs his thumb over Kon’s knuckles. “You were saying?”
Kon sucks in a breath. He’s extremely conscious of the weight of Tim’s head on his shoulder, the press of his body at his side. Tim’s hair smells of Kon’s shampoo; Tim’s dwarfed in Kon’s shirt. He’s never been more aware of every square inch of his right hand, his fingers intertwined with Tim’s.
He’s not going to make this weird.
“Kon?” Tim gently prompts.
Kon blows out his breath and squeezes Tim’s hand again, grounding himself with the familiar touch of Tim’s calluses. It’s Tim. It’s just Tim.
“So… I still, um. I can’t tell you what I was, uh… running away from. But I, uh, can admit you were right and I was running from something major.” He glances at Tim uncertainly, trying to vet his reaction.
Tim just keeps looking up at him through his eyelashes, head on his shoulder. He hums once, a soft and encouraging sound. Lightning flashes outside the window; a loud clap of thunder booms a second later.
“Sooo.” Kon chews at his lower lip for a second. “I didn’t answer you ‘cuz I… Okay. Don’t freak out, I’m fine. But I maybe did something kinda stupid, after I ran off. And then I was kind of just freaking out about it all weekend and, uh… you know. Honest to god, Rob, I just, like… didn’t realize how long I’d been putting off talking to you about it.” He bites his lip again and looks down at Tim. “I’m really sorry for scaring you like that.”
“If you can tell me to stop apologizing to you, I think I can tell you the same,” Tim says softly. There’s a crease of worry between his brows, though, and he runs his thumb over the base of Kon’s. “What happened? Are you—like, not to pry, but are you, uh… okay?”
Kon opens his mouth, pauses, and closes it again. “Uh… kind of,” he says, more honestly than he means to. “I mean—yeah. Mostly. Sorta? Um.” He winces. Why is he so bad at lying to Tim? “Don’t worry about it, though.”
Tim frowns. “Kon.”
Oof. Kon puffs out his cheeks petulantly for a second. “Okay, fine. No, but you for real don’t gotta worry about it, ‘cuz I—I really don’t know how to talk about it, okay? But—but Kal and Lois and Ma all know now. So. I’m in good hands.”
Tim studies him for several seconds. He doesn’t lift his head from Kon’s shoulder, but his scrutiny is no less intense; if he were anyone else, Kon would squirm under its full force. Since it’s Tim, though, he stays relaxed, or as relaxed as he can while still hyper-aware of how little space there is between their bodies, anyhow.
“Okay,” Tim finally says. He sinks into Kon’s side a little more, his cheek squishing against Kon’s shoulder. Kon knows him—he’s not fully satisfied; he wants to know what happened—but this time, he restrains himself.
Warmth floods through Kon’s chest. He really is trying to keep ahold of himself, huh? He’s really, really trying.
“Okay,” Tim says again, more softly. “I’d—I mean, I hope you can tell me someday, but… that’s good enough for me, just… knowing you’re letting someone look after you.” He hesitates for a second. “So… are we good?”
“Yeah,” Kon says. The farmhouse roof creaks again in the wind. It’s easier to ignore with Tim’s weight comfortably pressed into his side. “We’re good, Robbie.”
Tim smiles. “Good.” His smile fades, just a little. “I was… a little worried.”
Kon squeezes his hand. “It’ll take more than this for you to get rid of me,” he promises, and immediately regrets it. His own ghost, dancing in the corner like Peter Pan’s shadow, laughs at him.
Tim winces. His heartbeat skips, speeds up. “Right,” he says, like a wounded animal doing everything it can to pretend it’s hale and hearty and whole, so it won’t get culled from the pack. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kon says quietly, guilt climbing up his throat again. If he closes his eyes, he knows he’ll feel the metal rod grinding against his ribs with every breath. “I just meant…”
“I know what you meant,” Tim reassures him. It rings a little hollow.
Kon drops his head back against the headboard, queasy. “Sorry. I didn’t… god, I have gotta stop putting my foot in my mouth. I thought that was more your thing.”
That makes Tim snort, at least. Small victories. He looks up at Kon for several seconds, drinking him in like a desert faced with the first rains of spring. Kon wonders how much of him it’ll take to make Tim bloom like he deserves.
“You know I’m gonna worry about it anyway, right?” Tim asks quietly. “Even if I know you’re in good hands? It’s just—I can’t not worry about you.”
Kon softens. Squeezes his hand again. “Yeah, Robbie, I know. The feeling’s mutual.” He turns his head to the side, inhales the scent of coconut and plumeria from Tim’s hair. Risks even brushing his lips against Tim’s temple; it’s not a kiss, but it’s the idea of one.
Tim smiles, then lets out a soft sigh. “Okay.” He drops his gaze down to the duvet, shoulders slumping a little. “Okay. So we’re all good.”
“Yeah,” Kon agrees. “We’re good. Now c’mon. Get under the covers ‘n’ lie down properly. You need sleep. Your eyebags have eyebags, dude.”
“They’re Chanel,” Tim says dryly. “Really fashionable this year, you know.”
Kon snorts and shakes his head. In the warm, yellow lamplight, Tim’s face is soft and open; his wet hair falls across his forehead, and Kon’s sleeve is a little damp. He really wants to wrap himself around Tim and never let go; the ache in his chest is strong enough he’s afraid to let himself even acknowledge it.
“Sure,” he answers. “Walk, walk, fashion baby. All the way under the covers and into sleep.”
Tim huffs out a soft, breathy laugh. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, and peels himself away from Kon’s side to wriggle down properly into bed. For a fleeting heartbeat, Kon almost thinks he’s reluctant to pull back, but he knows he’s imagining it.
He flicks the lamp off with a brush of TTK. The darkness makes the storm outside feel louder; under the blankets, though, it feels safe.
Kon slips under the covers and settles in, curls up with his back to Tim, as the wind howls around the corners and the rain lashes at his window. He’s careful not to slide too far into the bed, careful to keep his body from brushing Tim’s; on the other pillow, Tim just sighs, yawns, and snuggles into the blankets.
“Hey, Kon,” he murmurs, sounding already halfway to drifting off. “…Can we do pancakes for breakfast?”
Kon’s heart does something funny in his chest. “Yeah,” he agrees, warm inside. “I think we can swing that.”
“Swag,” Tim mumbles, and heaves a sleepy sigh. “G’night.”
“Night, Wonder,” Kon answers, and closes his eyes.
He knows the storm will be gone by morning.