Chapter 1: a robin feathering his nest has very little time to rest
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s been a long, long day.
Jason stares at the screen of the HQ’s computer. His eyes are at that point of use and tiredness where they’ve started to itch under the domino mask.
It’s been a long day.
Bart and Cassie walk in then. Jason can see them through the reflection of his screen, how they trade glances and silently communicate. He sighs inwardly.
“Hey, guys.” It’s an overworking himself sort of olive branch.
Bart and Cassie, apparently safe from him biting their head off, brighten up. Apparently after too much time with a case, he forgets all ways of human interaction. Or so they accuse him of. Obviously incorrectly. “Hey, man! Watchu working on?” Bart shows him a toothy smile.
Jason frowns and rubs at his temples. “So B left me this case. He said the four of us should handle it.” He wrinkles his nose.
Cassie crosses her arms. “And?”
“It involves all sorts of shipments of unknown items of high value. Probably dangerous. Something magical, maybe, weapons, or even kryptonite. The thing is… this is good work. Its security is skin-tight, I’ve literally got nothing.”
“Well, shit.” Kon appears suddenly, on Jason’s side, munching on popcorn. Bart’s eyes light up and he digs into the bowl of it the super’s holding. “Wha’ are we gon’ do?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Jason and Cassie reprimand at the same time. Kon and Bart start cackling when they look at each other with wide eyes.
—
Jason doesn’t know what to do. He has the case stuck in his head. He plays ping-pong with Kon and thinks about it. Over and over and over.
Dick would say he’s just intrigued.
“Oh my fucking god,” Jason mutters, at hour five of researching. His mask is off and his blue light glasses on. He stretches in his office chair like a damn cat. “Fuck this.”
“Now, now,” Kon says condescendingly, appearing at his side. He keeps just doing that. If he weren’t so Kent, Jason would wonder if he was part bat. He’s hovering cross-legged with a Met U casefile in his lap he’s been checking out very illegally, probably stolen from the college’s office or something. Fucking gossip. Nerd. “Whatever troubles you, my dear?”
“I hate you.” Jason crosses his arms.
They’re at the HQ’s common area. It’s pretty empty. Cassie has gone to the bathroom and Bart sent a scout to pick up some pizzas since it was turning dark. He’s now slumped in the sofa, apparently bored, as he gets through the piles of books beside him at lighting speed.
Jason had indeed been in his office. Kon had insisted he come over with them in the common area. Jason had work. This back-and-forth obviously went on for a while, until they kind of met in the middle. So, what that means, is that Jason had Kon bring his desk and chair into the common room, while he followed behind with a smug smile and his laptop in his arms.
(He was very smug. He didn’t know the one that had won was in fact Kon.)
“This the Bats case?” Kon asks. Jason nods. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I’m gonna need Cassie to take a look at it,” Jason admits, “But I’m running out of ideas. We might need to contact one of my… associates.”
“Holy shit,” Kon relishes, smug all the way to Neverland. “The mighty Wonder Boy, lost to no end? How did that happen?”
“Thing is, he’s an IB,” Jason ignores him. “Of sorts.” He frowns. “Freelance. Whatever. Which is why I need Cassie’s permission to execute this plan.”
Kon’s brows knit together, bemused. Bart approaches them with a silly smile and floppy hair.
“So what’s an IB?”
—
“You want to contact a morally ambiguous, freelance information broker for a case?” Cassie asks skeptically, lacing her fingers on top of the table.
“Don’t forget the cat-burglar bit,” Bart adds, very unhelpfully.
Like shown, he did in fact end up needing to tell Cassie. Like shown, she wasn’t that happy. Jason admires her for trying to formalize some aspects of Young Justice (Just Us) since taking charge so valiantly, but. They’ve always done shit a bit differently, haven’t they?
Junior Justice League? Junior Titans? Nah. They’ve pulled stunts weirder than this with weirder allies, no?
So now they sit in the more formal room, with the round table. Kon calls it the Round Office. The seats with their logos. And they wait for a senior hero to authorize their endeavour.
Jason is only disappointed he didn’t think of that name before.
“Hey, kids!” Dick’s voice connects then through the speakers. “Sorry I’m late, kinda in the middle of—” There’s a grunt of effort. He’s probably fighting some villain or other. “Something. What did you need my expertise for?”
Jason could bang his head on the table. Kon mouths the word kids, frowning. He’s leaning back in his chair with his arms tight in front of his chest, doing a very good job of looking sullen and broody.
Cassie turns to his voice with her ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this bullshit’ face. “Jason wants to contact some IB for a case.”
Jason can practically see his brother lighting up. “Oh! Is this about—”
He rolls his eyes. “Stray, yes.”
“—Stray?”
Cassie side eyes him. “You trust this person?” she asks the older man.
Dick hums distractedly. “With my life, tied up, and with a knife in his hand,” he keeps fighting casually. “Well, uh, maybe as long as I don’t have anything valuable on my person.”
“And when you start spilling JL secrets in exchange for his info?”
Jason stares at her coolly.
“Right.”
Sometimes Cassie can have some trust issues.
They all do. It comes with the job. It may be a prerequisite for becoming a vigilante.
“Have a little faith, Wonder Girl. His methods are a bit unorthodox, for sure—” There’s a very loud screeching sound that dampens his words. Is he in Blüd? Or in Gotham, alone? “But the kid’s got a good set of shoulders on him.”
Jason is a little brother first and foremost. “Oh my god, how fucking old are you to say ‘a good set of—’”
“I meant he’s got a heart of gold, okay? Jesus wept, Jay.”
“He does have a good pair of shoulders. Praise the lord. And the sluttiest little waist.” a second voice interjects enthusiastically.
Ah. There’s that question, answered.
Ray, who was half-listening with his legs up on the central table and looking at his nails, makes a sudden noise of interest, but doesn’t look up just yet.
Cassie pauses. “...Steph, have you been listening the whole time?”
“What was I supposed to do, not butt in there? Talking about butts—”
There’s a grumble from Nightwing and she’s started laughing when the line disconnects. Kon stares ahead a bit incredulously.
“Fucking incorrigible,” Dick mutters. “And about a thief, of all—”
“Oh , don’t you start, Dickie boy.”
—
“No. There’s no fucking way. In literally zero universes. Out of the question,” says Jason, voice like shards of glass, pacing down the hall. Cass walks at his side, then even hovers when he pointedly fucking quickens his pace.
“Oh my gods, Jason; if you can contact this Stray person, then I need to be able to speak to him!”
He’s this close to anxiously fiddle with his gloved fingers. But he knows better. “Cassie, no.”
He won’t. He will not. Gotham is his territory, his affair. Their rogues stray close, if at all, and are a special kind of annoyance.
She raises a frustrated eyebrow at him. “You can’t be this closed off anymore! You’re not supposed to have that many secrets. We know you’re Jason Todd, okay?”
But even so. Stray is his. Tim is his.
So he looks at her venomously. A bit too much so. He’ll apologize later. “Oh fuck off, Wonder Girl. I can talk to him myself.”
She frowns angrily and opens her mouth—
And there’s no way she’ll take no for an answer, isn’t there?
“Fuck. Fuck, fine;” he relents, dragging a hand through his hair. “We’ll talk to him over the phone, or something.” Jason stops so abruptly she kind of flies right by him. Jason closes his eyes, half frustrated, half simply trying to think.
It’s too dangerous. And Jason… Jason doesn’t want that kind of blood on his hands, not that one. A whip-smart kid in a stupid suit. He must protect his own.
He thinks he was born to do it.
He attempts to voice this. But ‘Stray’ is an unknown variable, in a way. Known, kind of, but like a specter to a person that believes in ghosts. Like someone who believes in angels. An urban legend. A niche kind of antihero.
“It’s just… I don’t know. I never want to involve the kid in this shit. We’ve known each other for a long time, y’know, and I just get anxious over this shit, okay?”
That's to say, Jason feels different with Stray. He trusts his abilities, of course he does. He's competent, he's strong, he plays it smart—hell, smarter than he ever did at that age. But there's something that feels wrong, sometimes, this strange and twisting feeling in Jason's gut. An urge to care, but care more. An urge to leave the kid with his petty ten-floor robberies and leave the crime fighting to him and the rest of Bruce's bats.
Cassie looks at him with wide eyes. “You care for him. You know him, well.” Ah, shit.
“Hn.”
“Okay. Jason, he’s a pro, from what you’ve told me, and it’s not like this is, like, child labor.” She pauses. “Wait. He’s not like. Under twelve, or something. Right?”
Jason actually snorts, mood suddenly lighter. “He’s your age. Where did you even get that from?”
She punches him on the shoulder and he startles. “What was that for!?”
But she’s smiling a bit, now, even if it goes with a challenging eyebrow. “I’m not a damn kid.”
And Jason raises his own eyebrow. “He’ll always be a damn kid to me.”
And she smiles really wide, really mischievous. Jason’s heart drops. “What did I say?”
“You love him like a little brother.”
He pauses, surprised. Thinks about it. His heart pangs.
He misses him. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
They keep walking down the hall shoulder to shoulder. The silence is now pleasant.
“You gotta remember he’s a criminal, though.”
She flashes that wicked little smile at him that always makes him remember why he loves her so.
—
“Am I forgetting something?” Jason mumbles, to himself, as he slashes through a rogue android’s head. A rogue android from the future.
“Didn’t do your laundry,” Superboy suggests, immediately, through the comms.
“Taxes.” Ray clicks his tongue, deadpan. Bart laughs and Jason sees him actually dart to him to high five him, only to disappear in a blur back into the fight.
“Did you take out the cookies from the oven, mon?” Asks Empress, in an eerily innocent tone. Kon cackles.
“I don’t even know why I put up with all of you,” Jason grumbles darkly.
“I asked you to contact Stray,” offers Wonder Girl, turning after sucker-punching an android in the noise. It goes down with a shrill of ‘help meeeee…’
Jason’s brain cogs, that were whirring unstopped, thank her profusely as they screech to a halt. There are various noises of curiosity through the comms.
Some even speak real words.
“Holy shit,” Kon says, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m really intrigued. He’s known our Rob even before even I or Bart did!” he laughs. “Gotta be crazy. I wonder what he’s like…” Then he’s spacing out in thought. “And to think we never even knew of him…” This is a little teasing.
“Oi,” Jason reprimands, albeit just as playfully. “I’m sure he will cause quite an impression. Uh… I guess we can give him a ring after all this. We’re wrapping up soon, right?”
Right at that moment, there’s a sudden explosion. A whole building goes on fire.
“Aw, man!” Bart complains.
“You fucking jinxed it,” mutters Anita darkly, as she unseathes her sword again.
—
Afterwards, they kind of forget about it.
Jason does not. Not when they hit the showers and Kon starts annoyingly shove him around under the warm spray, making his feet slip on the wet tiles and nearly crack his skull open. Not when they go out for post-work ice cream and sit on the rooftops of San Francisco with cold fingers and bundled in coats (though that’s mostly Jason and Anita).
Jason sits shoulder to shoulder with Kon (the walking furnace) and Cassie (the less overpoweringly warm, yet still warm walking furnace). And they talk and talk and Jason hasn’t felt this relaxed and content in a long while.
Except.
“We should probably make the call now,” he finally sighs, and feels the pressure suddenly leave his body. He isn’t sure why he’s so… unreasonably jittery.
Bart pouts in a way that says ‘what happened to no work all play’.
He glances at Cassie when he says this. “I’ll just take over?” he offers.
“Nah, I’ll just do it,” she answers, squaring her shoulders.
And it makes Jason crack a disbelieving smile. “Okay, sure,” he shrugs, and passes her his communicator. If Cassie’s the one to handle this, well… Jason is going to pull all responsibility.
They all look at him for more than a second. It's a weary kind of look. Jason loves it. “Now, that was too easy. Why.”
He simply leans over and presses call. Cassie startles. “Shit, okay.”
The line rings only twice. “Why hello, my pretty bird!” he has to purr out, of course, flirty as ever. “Can I do something for you?” Jason can hear him clicking away at his keyboard.
Cassie looks at him with a frown. Anita is enjoying this thoroughly.
She clears her throat. “Stray, we’ve been meaning to contact you.” she starts.
The click-clacking has stopped. Then, it resumes. Jason bites his lip, trying not to laugh. “And who am I speaking to?” The tone is frigid and calculating. To him, at least. To Cassie it might seem fairly neutral.
“This is Wonder Girl.”
Tim drops the act. “Oh, shit. Is Robin okay?”
Kon raises his eyebrows. Cassie seems between skeptic and trying not to laugh. “Uh, yes he is, don’t… worry?”
The click-clacking resumes. Jason’s friend hums. “I see. You’re searching for me… for an inquiry of any sorts?” he stops. “Do you have dirt on my Robin?”
“. . . No. We have a job for you.”
Tim laughs, maybe surprised, but it comes off as a rolling of the tongue. Cute, maybe fake. “Pass me over to Jason. I know he’s there.”
Cassie hands over the comm with an annoyed pout.
“Kitten,” Jason sighs.
“Ah, there you are!” He sounds way too pleased. “Now, now, that was a foul little trick. Why didn’t you just talk to me yourself, like always?” Jason is so sure he's pouting. “I've missed you, birdie.”
Ray coughs. Anita seems deep in thought.
“Uh-huh. Wonder Girl here thought it was her responsibility.” He smirks at her. “She was real enthusiastic about wanting to talk to you herself.”
Tim brings out the most outrageous, gossipy, lame parts of him. This last bit he says it like he's about to twirl an invisible cable cord on his index finger while he flips through magazines in his bedroom.
Tim coos lowly, surely smiling wide and teasing. “Aw, baby. You should've said. T'was a pleasure, though.” he purrs. Cassie reddens at the nose a bit, but maybe it’s the cold finally getting to her. “Let's get past the pleasantries. We'll have much more time for that later. You need me to get my claws dirty?”
“We need some info.”
Tim hums. “Not an information broker. Call Oracle.”
Jason grits his teeth. “It's top secret. Classified even to me.” He pauses. “And I don't want to talk to O. I've asked too many favors. I owe her.”
Tim laughs. “Good luck with that. But, birdie, you owe me too.”
“Like hell I do.” Jason frowns. “For what?”
“Un Amant . French edition of 1892 in perfect state, original title translation. Ringing any bells?”
Jason swears under his breath. It was stupid of him to even hope Tim forgot things like favors he'd done to others. He'd told Jason about this wonderful first edition of the book and Jason had “gone all starry-eyed”, apparently. Next time Jason had gone in his own room there was a neatly sealed package with the damn beautiful book inside.
Jason scowls and looks downwards pensively. He glances at Kon next to him, meeting his concerned gaze. He shakes his head.
“It’s impossible to strike a deal with you,” Jason mutters into the phone, peeved. “Fine, I’ll bite. What do you want, Stray?”
His response is immediate. “Free range in Gotham for a month.”
Jason snorts. “Hell naw. B will bust my ass.”
“Had to try. Hm… I’ll think about it. It has to be balanced with whatever… mission you wanna send me on. Is there anything shiny involved?”
Jason laughs lowly. He’s so done with this kid. The gall! He’s talking to practically legal vigilantes!
(He feels a bit of pride.)
“Okay, fine.” He thinks about it. "And, maybe. But it's not for your pretty claws."
“Shall we arrange a meeting, then?”
And oh, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?
—
Least to say, Bruce is at least a bit annoyed when Jason brings up the subject later that week.
“Out of the question,” he’s quick to censor him, wrapping up his hands for a spar.
“B, come on.” Jason is now pleading. What is his life? “You’ve done deals with Selina before. I know she’s… betrayed you, once or twice,” his brow twitches, and oh is Jason in the danger zone, “while–while on assignment, but we kind of. Need Stray.”
“Jason, I said no. I don’t trust that kid, not at all. You know I disapprove of the two of you.”
“Oh my god, old man! If Dick was here he’d be ripping you a new one!” Bruce frowns at the vulgar expression. “This is so beyond hypocritical! You’re just still sour he figured out your secret identity when he was still a kid! Cause let’s face it, he’s fucking grown now. He can easily pull stunts like Selina at any time, has his own MO, his own network, his own motivations. He’s paranoid as fuck, just like you, and smart as a whip; he’s a brilliant fucking detective! And, for the record, he and I were only close because we were kids and didn’t know anybody else in the business !”
Bruce had stopped wrapping up his right hand, and was now looking at him pensively.
Bruce goes to open his mouth. Jason cuts in, fired up.
“And, and—remember No Man’s Land. He was so helpful. I know you secretly thought, at that time, he’s built for the business, born for it. He loves this city. He just protects it in his own way.”
Jason takes a deep breath when his rant is over. There’s a twinkle in his mentor’s eye. Jason feels his face heating up.
“Hm,” Jason has hope now. “I… see your point. You bring up good ones.” Oh my god. “He is quite brilliant. Good ally, I suppose, and not unlike Selina…” What!! “I…” Bruce sighs. “Okay.” And then he keeps on casually wrapping his other hand.
Jason, on the other hand, is stupefied. “Okay?”
“Yes. Just. Be diligent of our protocols, drill your friends. You need to trust each other before you trust Stray, okay?
Jason smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. He doesn’t even understand why he’s so excited, but it makes him surprise-hug his somewhat-Dad, who startles and drops the tape but returns the embrace only a beat later.
“Thank you, B.” Thank you for trusting my judgement. Thank you for trusting me.
His hand comes to his hair in a fatherly stroke. “Of course, chum,” he says softly. “Of course.”
—
At some point during the following week, Jason—or Robin—meets up with Stray, big ol’ Superboy in tow.
“You will not speak,” Jason starts, struggling to attach his cape to his shoulders. “You will not let him get into your head. Watch your pockets. Don’t—”
“Jesus, Rob, I get it, okay,” he grumbles, albeit playfully. So, not taking it fully seriously. “Loosen up. It’ll be fine.”
“No, Kon, you don’t get it. This is the disciple of the best thief in the world. He is excellent at what he does, and he will flirt with you to get whatever he wants.”
Kon huffs. “I won’t fall for that.” Jason stares at him blankly. “Okay, fine. I probably would. Steph said he has a nice waist,” he adds in a distracted murmur.
Jason swats him up the head. “We need to work on your weakness of pretty people.”
Kon grumbles resignedly, rubbing at the back of his head, even if Jason is literally incapable of hurting him. “I’m serious, though. If you don’t want him figuring out your secret identity, don’t let anything slip.” Kon opens his mouth and Jason casts him a warning glance, putting glue on the domino. “I mean it.”
“You talk like this kid’s some kind of genius.”
Jason remains silent, and goes to tighten his boots.
Kon shuffles a bit anxiously now, checking through his thigh-pouch for what he usually carried. Jason looks at him wearily as he checks the mask is well stuck, while Kon moodily puts on his sunglasses. “Yeah, this is going to be a problem.”
He has the audacity of popping his hip out, gloved hand covering the cut-out in his suit that lives there. “Uh, what exactly?” And he peers at him from the top of his glasses.
“You’re…” he hesitates. “You’re exactly his type.”
A beat of silence. His grin starts to grow, unmeasurably giddy.
“My, is that so? There’s no damn way.”
He’s full on cocky now. Or reaching that stage. “I mean, I can’t see why not. I’m everybody’s type.”
He’s flaunting. Like the damn peacock he is, camp and all.
“I don’t know why I even told you. And by the way, maturing is realizing that ‘being everybody's type’ isn’t actually a compliment.”
“Mm, can’t hear you, Rob.”
“You know, forget it. Besides, he actually prefers blondes.”
Now Jason grins at his best friend’s undignified squawking as he purposely leaves out the guy’s first girlfriend was in fact, a brunette.
“Shall we?”
They start for their meeting place, all the way in Old Gotham. It’s gonna be a trip. Superboy holds Robin by the shoulders as he flies, really just holding him up with a bit of TTK, talking about class and friends and everything and nothing alike.
In the name of doing crime, Jason thinks, as the early hours of the morning approach, and Gotham still hasn’t gone to sleep. In the name of working with criminals.
Bound to be fun, no?
Notes:
this is SO self indulgent ngl. more to come! <3
notes: things like steph exisiting as bat adjacent and ariana being mentioned as tim's first girlfriend i understand may seem strange if tim was never robin to begin with, but i trust him to have acted similarly as stray.
"un amant" is the original french title for wuthering heights by brönte.
kisses!
07/06: some editing done as of today.
17/06: chapter title changed to current. it's from "a spoonful of sugar" from mary poppins (from the amazing julie andrews)
Chapter 2: what a waste of a lovely night
Summary:
“Hey, kitty.”
“Birdie-baby,” he sighs, a cat licking his whiskers, like he’s already gotten a good trade.
Tim tilts his head in an innocent gesture, but his smile betrays him. He turns his head fully and smiles at Jason, looking at him straight in the eye. It’s a real smile, now, an honest one. He’s glad to see him, Jason thinks.
(He's glad to see him too.)
-
"How can you let me embarrass myself like that, dude?” grumbles Kon.
“What kind of friends would we be if we didn’t?” Jason grins.
Jason misses his somewhat-brother. They slowly patch up their shit. Kon can be kind of stupid. They all love him nonetheless. Except for maybe Stray.
Notes:
sup guys. yall will be like "jana, bro, why is this so long" and I'll say "idk. i have no spacial awareness and that translates into writing"
anyway, seven days later from ch 1 ive got 6k words. yup. i know it might seem like not a lot happens, but this chapter is essentially me testing the waters, building the vibe i want gotham to have, testing the vibe in dynamics, yada yada yada
anyway, not to be that guy, but i apologize if there's any weird things structure wise, etc. english is in fact not my first language. plus---and i am warning yall---this has not been proofread. im sorry if theres like blatant inconsistencies. i promise ill come back and edit this like in a month or something, im just SO tired of looking at my google doc and so tired in general.
this is deeply timkon.
up, up, and away!
cw for smoking? and a very casual mention of having been tortured in the past
ps. jason has a shit ton of foreshadowing here. enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jason sometimes dreams terrible dreams.
The nightmares become so real, so authentically off-putting, that Jason trembles all the way through them. In some cases, they are just memories—terrible memories. The kind of events that leave a child scarred for life, that make them hide in small rooms or small closets with draped windows and lanterns in their shaking fists, or flashlights, or some bullshit. Flashes appear before him, in front of him, behind his eyelids, in that odd, dreamlike way; blinking in red and black, twisting, unfathomably, psychedelically: numbers that turn smaller each time and broken wrists and horrible, terrible shrieking fit for madmen—
Sometimes, though, these are just visions. Only visions, in the sense that Jason is certain he has never seen these images before. Jason is not an idiot; it’s just interesting. A déjà vu kind of thing, nothing prophetic or messiacal. They, these visions, are strange—brutal in a way Jason simply knows, not because he sees the evil, but because he feels it, unconscious, asleep, far, far away.
Sometimes, they’re eternally painful, like a horrible punishment fit for an immoral crime binding him to the Hades forevermore. Jason lies chained, bleeding out, eagle in the sky. Prometheus, not a god, not a man, but a guilty titan.
Sometimes the nightmares are so painful Jason wakes up with gasping breaths.
“Hey, hey, man. You’re okay. You’re safe,” says a soft voice next to him.
It sounds a bit silly, but Jason is grateful for his friend.
He finds himself lying on the couch, blanket draped over him post-falling asleep, and the room looks dim, curtains drawn. Jason turns his stiff neck slowly to face him.
They’re back at Young Justice headquarters, he recalls.
Kon is looking at him gently from his place on the comfy little wing chair that lives there. They’re alone. His feet are propped up and Jason can see his face purely from the blue light that the screen of his laptop emits. The blue light makes all his edges soft, more rounded, and he himself looks soft. His eyes are hidden behind the reflection of the screen on his glasses.
He likes to wear them when he does Conner Kent stuff. Jason has a theory that it makes him feel more… human, maybe.
He will never tell him this, though. Their relationship is of silent understandment in that way. Jason understands, and Kon knows Jason understands, and Jason knows that. He’ll look at him for a second too long and Kon will avoid his gaze, grateful that he won’t mention anything. Just like he won’t mention the tear stains by the sides of Jason’s eyes he’s aware are there, as he can feel them.
Partly, it’s because he gets it, personally. Heroism can be tough. But partly it’s because he knows he has to talk about them only when Jason goes to him to do so, then and only then. It’s been this way since they first became friends, so long ago now.
“Doing school stuff?” Jason croaks. Kon nods. Ever the mid-western host, he hands him a very convenient glass of water. Then he takes in both hands a cup of steaming tea he’s fixed for himself.
As his eyes clear, blinking dreamland away, Jason observes the scene: watches his friend’s almost-bedhead, and his comfy but not sleeping clothes, and his spread out notes. He takes long sips of water and while he wipes his mouth with his sleeve he raises an eyebrow. “Have you even slept?”
“Not really. Been up worried over assignments,” he shrugs nonchalantly.
Jason… is skeptical. It's like. Three AM.
“Wait…” he smirks, very, very slowly. “This is not by any chance… because of a petty little confidant I know with a whip on his belt and oh so pretty blue eyes?”
Kon’s mouth clacks shut. His jaw works. “I never said that. Fucking hated meeting that guy,” he replies, like a lying liar who lies. He’s looking into his cup. Loser behavior.
Jason raises both brows. “I’m not sure he got that message from you, my guy.” He doesn't actually mean it neither ironically nor seriously. His friend’s nose crinkles charmingly. The tip of it is red, and it is not from the cold. “I think you might be… not telling the truth, kid.”
“You wouldn’t get it,” he basically harrumphs.
Jason sighs to hide a laugh. “It’s early in the morning, Kon.” He’s having so much fun. “Couldn’t sleep thinking about kitties and leather?”
He throws him a pillow. Jason cackles.
This is going to be fun, fun.
–
hours earlier.
–
“Where’re we meeting this guy?” If Kon isn’t a presence behind him, His Super Annoyance exists in his ear.
“Uh, I don’t think you understood me correctly, Konnie-boy. I am meeting Stray, partner and disciple of Catwoman, world renowned cat-burglar, thief, spy, whatever. You are my eyes in the sky, inside houses, under layers of clothing.”
“Dude. Don’t be creepy.”
Jason is standing in Burnley District, of all places. It’s the sort of place in the city you don’t want to be found in, in the sense that the residents work in other neighborhoods and everyone in the street is there in passing, hurrying with their heads down and hats on, dark figures that come and go with the wind.
It whistles in Jason's ear as he sits still, trying not to freeze. “I really didn’t mean it like that. He’s paranoid as fuck, he’ll have knifes strapped in secret places and razor blades sewn into the lining of his coat. What the fuck, Kon.”
He leans against a mangy-ass wall that has that sort of city-made stain that simply becomes part of the building’s questionable paint job. The buildings themselves are made of gray looking materials with patterns of fake slabs of stone, with swirling old metal fences in the balconies, plus the odd gargoyle or two.
(They decided, in the end, it best for Jason to talk to Tim alone while the rest of the team listened by comm, plus Kon being a physical presence, acting as a backup of sorts. Cassie had protested. She wanted, again, to talk herself with Tim, even if she did seem reluctant after their interaction on the phone. Kon had been enormously disappointed. Originally, He and Jason were to meet him in a public space, but literally after leaving HQ the plan had been turned around, ordered from up above, leaving Kon as a mere spectator. After Jason had boosted his ego with the whole being Tim’s type thing, it was probably for the best. Jason’s a good friend and wouldn't want Kon, his bff, his best bro, to make a fool of himself.
“It doesn't actually matter how we go on about this,” Jason had said, while they flew. “He will probably be able to tell that you're an onlooker and that I'm on comms.”
“You bet your ass on it?”
Let it be said, Kon is going to lose a couple of dollars.)
Now it’s windy and it has started to snow feebly—the flakes cling to Jason’s beanie and eyelashes like powdery glue. His outfit is dark, non-assuming: a dark, long trench coat with the collar pulled up, a dark blue scarf, a pair of nondescript dark combat boots, the hair-hiding dark beanie. The picture is easy to understand. Jason stuffs his hands in his pockets to ward off the cold, simply standing there.
He could be anyone. But do you see anyone simply standing in Burnley?
Jason certainly does not.
Kon points it out. “It’s so he can very clearly see it's me,” Jason explains. “Since we originally agreed to meet during the day for your kryptonian ass, he gets to decide the terms of the meeting.” Jason looks at the hustling passerbyers. They don’t really pay him any mind. He looks up and the sky is strangely not Gotham-gray, but white. Clouds carrying snow. It makes the lines of things more blunt but the urban colors harsher. “Too bad we’re not getting too much sun,” he mutters, unsincerely, adjusting his beanie.
The minutes pass. It will probably turn dark quickly, today. Jason suddenly has the strangest thought that he would kill for a cigarette, even if he hasn’t had as much as a puff of one in almost a year. His hand shakes when he puts it back in his pocket. He left his gloves back at home. Where the fuck is Tim? The bottoms of his pants are starting to get wet.
“I spy,” Kon starts, after a while.
“Oh my god, are you three?”
“I’m bored as fuck. Stakeouts ain’t my thing, you know this.”
Jason fakes a cough so he doesn’t look crazy. “You literally asked to be here.”
“Can you blame a man for feeling intrigued?”
Right at that moment, Jason sees a flashing light in the distance, vaguely down the street, and recognizes it as their own code. He glances at his sides and starts walking in the direction of it. “In pursuit.”
And then there’s shuffling in the comm. “Ah, nice you could join us, Cass,” drawls Kon.
“Shit, I’m on time, no?”
Jason says nothing, concentrated. “Robin’s in pursuit,” answers Kon instead.
“Of Stray?”
Jason can’t resist. “If you hadn’t been with your girlfriend you would know.”
Kon snorts.
“She is not my—”
“Me when I lie.”
Jason snorts, then. And fake coughs again.
“I hate you both. Where’s Bart?”
“I guess he’ll be here… in a flash.”
Cassie groans.
“Hey, shitheads. No chit-chat.”
They shut up to the point that when Bart shows, they shush his greetings.
Jason swears he works with children. Oh, wait.
The light stops flashing and Jason frowns. He slows his pace so his stop doesn’t seem abrupt. Is Tim playing him?
Someone passes by him and their sides bump into each other. They apologize quickly and lowly in that awkward stranger way when the impact knocks Jason sideways, and even reaches out to steady him by the shoulder. He doesn't have a habit of letting people bump into him. He's even a little startled, but hey, whatever, sue him for being a tiny bit nervous.
The person keeps walking, maybe not hurriedly, but definitely quickly, and still turns to him to crack this smug little Cheshire grin, eyes hidden behind dark, cat-eyed designer sunglasses.
It’s not even sunny out.
The pieces click, and Jason smiles.
“Oh, my,” he mutters, full of mirth, as he quickens his pace.
“Is that—”
Jason quirks an amused eyebrow, knowing Kon can see it.
“God, okay. We’ve got eyes on Stray. Robin is approaching now.”
He jogs lightly to attempt to catch up with the man, dark trench coats swishing away behind them both. There’s a silver of a smile on his lips, the ghost of a grin on his mouth, like he’s savoring it hedonistically.
Oh, it’s a challenge. Jason suppresses his laughter by tucking his lips in his mouth.
The man takes pity on him. He slows his pace until Jason walks beside him, elbows brushing. He slides his glasses down with an elegant gesture and side-eyes him amusedly, mirth dancing in his eyes. Oh, Jason has missed the kid.
“Hey, kitty.”
Both their shoes are wooden-heeled, or at least appear as such. Jason’s are silent against the pavement and his friend’s click-clack satisfyingly. He knows for a fact that if he wouldn’t want to be heard, he simply wouldn’t. This whole little encounter is planned and staged, and Jason deduces he’d already seen Superboy on the rooftop and Jason’s little comm in his ear and planned for every scenario.
“Birdie-baby,” he sighs, a cat licking his whiskers, like he’s already gotten a good trade.
“Could I get my wallet back?”
Tim tilts his head in an innocent (cat-like) gesture, but his smile betrays him. He turns his head fully and smiles at Jason, looking at him straight in the eye. It’s a real smile, now, an honest one. He’s glad to see him, Jason thinks.
He can’t help it. He feels the corner of his mouth ticking up as a little warmth sprouts in his heart. Tim grabs the stolen wallet from his pocket and slides it easily back into Jason’s, smoothly looping his arm through his elbow afterwards.
Arm in arm, they walk in silence for a few minutes. The snow is silent. It makes them silent, the city silent; childhood’s white blanket. Gotham has both, somehow; the chaotic, greasy, rapid transit and onslaught of people, and the calm, sound-less moments in places like these.
Jason takes the opportunity to regard Tim and take his appearance in. He stands a few inches above him like he always has, big when Tim had always been lithe. As always, his milky skin is a shock against his mop of dark hair, and now even more so with the long dark coat. He wears an expensive looking furry scarf of sorts around his neck for the cold, but Jason doesn’t know if it’s helping as they walk and he watches the red spots on his cheekbones and nose and his breath coming in hot and manifesting into the winter air in big white puffs. His eyes follow the curve of the hollow of his cheekbones and decides he looks like he’s eating enough. He might even be getting more sleep, if his barely-there dark circles have to say anything. He looks well. He looks healthy.
Jason tells him so as they bend a corner and glide into a narrower alley. The walls of the buildings stretch high and dark as the rest of the city, fumes and smoke swirling overhead. “You’re looking well.”
Tim looks at him again. His glasses are semi-translucent, kind of like his suit goggles. “My, I didn’t know you liked me like that, Mr Birdie.” He watches him through his lashes, batting them like fans, the hand on his arm suddenly full of intent and mischief, even as his eyes crinkle.
The silent, mysterious calm dissolves just as naturally as it was there, and Jason dislodges himself from him and shoves him playfully but hard, dropping the annoyed attitude immediately when Tim breaks the nonchalant act as well and laughs an honest cackle, high in tone, tripping over the snow. “Fuck off, man, holy shit,” Jason’s belly-laughing, “You look fucking healthy is what I mean, you decrepid self-sabotaging ass.”
Cassie clears her throat.
And Jason… Jason ignores her. Tim hums again, dangling his gloved fingers at him. His breath comes out in a puff of white steam. “Thanks, J.” They resume walking lightly.
“Did he just—” Kon mutters in his ear.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” Jason cuts in. Tim nods curtly. Fucking Gotham. He watches as Tim stares on the alley analytically and nods again, probably to himself.
“Yeah it is. Cig and talk business?”
Jason takes the temptation for what it is. He looks up to him and groans a bit. “You know me too well, kitty.”
—
“What the fuck is he doing?” Cassie mutters in Kon’s ear.
“This is funny,” Bart sounds almost incredulous. He's joined, but talking through Cassie’s comm. Kon imagines them squished together on the sofa.
Kon doesn’t know what to say. What to think.
He gets a little closer from where he’s crouched above the alley. It’s mostly bare and looks mildly clean, maybe because of the white blanket that covers the whole city. There’s a dumpster next to the backdoor of a place where they serve food, so maybe a bar or a nightclub, even a restaurant.
Jason’s soul is an odd one. He says this with the purest of love in his heart. In Kon’s opinion, Jason… Jason might deserve the whole world. He’s seen him fight and cry and cry out and cry on his shoulder when he called him when it all went bad. His soul might be made of twinkling lights and narrow antique alleys crammed with secret bookshops, if such a thing exists. His soul might be beautiful, and it’s been a long time since Kon decided he’d die for it.
(A trade secret: it’s not actually a decision you make. One day, Kon wouldn't have died for Robin, and the next, he would, and he did. Would over and over again. Simple as that.)
And this soul may have a twin, a twin soul inhabiting the body of a man who can scale buildings in heels and wears faux fur around his neck to keep from the cold.
He hasn't told Jason this, but he had been relieved to know he wouldn't be meeting Stray directly. He got a really bad feeling about the whole idea of him. And by the minute, his voice was starting to grate Kon’s mind.
He frowns and ponders and looks at this elegant figure, leaning against a wall with his breakable porcelain skin and his undecipherable woollen shape, like he belongs there, perched as a wise street cat does.
Whatever. Kon can’t even bring himself to admit that even Gotham looks somewhat beautiful under the snow.
“In all fairness, does anyone ever know what Rob’s thinking?” He asks, and it comes out warm.
—
Jason pats his coat for his cigs. He’s said: he hasn’t smoked in a while, at least not much. His anxieties have been good to him and so his need of fiddling and pondering alone in the cold air has diminished in the past weeks. But this is an old jacket, and maybe…?
Ah-ha!
He fishes from an interior pocket a half-full, half-empty pack and takes one for himself. After glancing at Tim’s face, he shoves it in his direction and his lips quirk as he grabs one and sets it between his lips.
“Since when do you smoke?” Jason asks, as he looks for a lighter in the extensive pockets.
“Y’know how I pick up bad habits,” Tim mutters, as he provides a metallic zippo he produces from his own coat.
“Those are terrible for you,” Kon mutters as Jason huddles closer to where Tim leans against the mangy wall to light their smokes at the same time. “They’ll kill you before the job does.”
Jason almost laughs as the cig lights up. “I think you’d like my friend.” He says, talking to Tim.
Kon quietly protests in his ear.
Tim glances at him sideways, grinning like the cat that got the cream even as he takes a drag. “Oh, yeah? They pretty?”
Cassie snorts. “You’re in for it,” taunts Bart.
“Oh, believe me, he’s exactly your type.” This is vengeance. He blows out smoke, head knocking against the wall, into the waning light. Maybe a storm is about to hit.
Tim makes a noise of acknowledgement. Exhales. “You’re not talking about your super-friend, are you?” he purrs. The glinting in his eyes looks dangerous. Jason snorts and Kon squeaks.
“Now, now.” Jason shakes his head. “You’re gonna make him nervous.”
“Hey now,” Kon starts.
“Mm, wouldn’t want that, would we, big boy?” Tim glances at the rooftops. “Or… would we?” He smiles charmingly.
“Well, fuck.” Kon whispers.
“Uh, Kon?” says Cassie.
“I told you,” Jason sing-songs, lowly, for the comms. “I don't even know why we decided this was a good idea.”
“You’re just a bit silly, sometimes, s’all. Like, since when do you bring out the big guns just for a little exchange of words?” Oh, no, Tim is pulling out the smug smile. “Honestly, Superboy? I’m flattered.”
—
Oh, Kon knows what to think. This guy is obnoxious and annoying. And he’s the one saying this!
“Jesus,” mutters Bart.
“Hera,” is Cassie’s equally disbelieving response.
If Kon’s face is a little red, well, no one’s around to see it.
—
“Don’t be,” is a mutter from Kon, too deadpan to be joking.
Tim pouts at Jason cutely. “I’m guessing you don’t wanna ditch your friends,” he dramatizes with a hand to the forehead like a fainting maiden. “And I haven’t seen you in so long, too…”
“I’m not the one that doesn’t pick up the phone.” The words come out calmly, casually, even, but Jason’s mouth says them without the permission of his brain. His jaw snaps shut. He doesn’t take it back, though.
Tim’s smile turns placid. “Always the damn phone, huh?” It’s humorless. Then he has enough dignity to look away. The fake smile fades. “Look, Jay…”
But he doesn’t say anything else. There’s a furrow between his eyebrows that looks like its been sewn there with something aching, something about the shine of his eyes. Jason will have to prod it out of him later, probably. His body language becomes closed in a way that to an unfamiliar person makes it shockingly obvious that earlier, while his posture looked like it belonged to the most open person in the world, actually let out nothing, and is as closed off as can be.
Jason gets it. It’s a lonely life.
(Where did you get that from? It’s that whispering voice of his dreams, like a dryad's echo. It sounds a bit like Dick, when he talks to him like he's an innocent child and not a kid with bloody scabs on his palms. It doesn’t have to be, echoes another, that is always rational and stays on topic.)
He feels a bit of sympathy for him, so he pushes up from the wall and scratches his cigarette on it. “Look. The snow has already covered our tracks. Let’s go get a drink somewhere warm, or you’ll shake your fur off.”
It’s an olive branch. Jason is a younger brother, too, after all.
Tim looks at him, drops his cigarette, and walks with him to the nearest diner.
“Should we follow, or something?” says Kon, throat a bit raspy.
“Bring your meta’d friends,” suggests Tim, simultaneously, turning. “I bet Bruce will love that.”
And Jason smirks. “Y’know I live for pissing off Bruce.”
But it’s a joke. Just a joke, a brash one. But Tim eyes him diagnostically.
Despite it all, they keep walking, and through the comms, Jason hears his friends suit up.
—
The diner is old school enough that the leather of the booth’s seats is peeling.
It’s a 24/7. Jason comes here as Robin way too often for it to be safe. In that relative Robin way. The woman that sees them to their booth is young and springy, a bit older, a bit younger than them. But the one behind the bar is the one that always serves Jason—albeit in his other getup. His costume—or, like, his uniform. That’s what he’s supposed to call it, anyway.
It’s risky enough that it has Jason feeling a thrill that runs through his spine and makes him uncomfortable, even. It’s risky enough that they sit in the corner, where they have this odd little dance to see which one of them sits facing the door, and then inevitably change to sit one further back, not as private, but that gives all the places the advantage of controlling the room while still sitting across from each other.
“I’m pretty sure she thinks this is a date,” Tim gossips, playfully leaning over the table and cupping one hand to the side of his mouth to be camply discrete.
The bubbly waitress has come and gone and left a little candle between them.
Jason unfortunately thinks he’s right.
“How long ‘til the rest come?” his friend asks, playing with the salt and pepper shakers in a way that doesn’t come off as either hyperactive or anxious. It looks methodical like a magician fingering a deck.
“Not long, now,” Jason answers, simply.
“Thought the superhunk was nearby?”
Jason’s hand goes to the bridge of his nose, but it’s fake exasperation. What he really is doing is hiding his smile. Tim doesn’t look fooled, and has this boyish, lopsided grin of his own. “You did not just call him that.”
The doors burst open and three kind-of-civilians enter.
Bart looks like Bart. He wears big jeans that make him look tiny and a boxy baby-blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up. His hair is floppy and his smile misguidedly innocent. He wears glasses out in public sometimes, now, all golden and thin (somewhat like himself), but they’re crap and often break. He says it’s fashion, darling, but Jason sometimes guiltily thinks he wears them because he might have rubbed off some of his paranoia on him.
Cassie is wearing the black wig. She has this bangless version now, high quality, and has perfected the art of the realistic hairline. She’s got a dark horizontal stripe shirt under a vintage leather jacket in deep brown, the lapels a fuzzy red. She wears dress pants and shiny shoes, but no glasses. Jason thinks he might have seen a decorated carabiner attached to her belt loop.
It’s strange for Jason to see Kon dressed like this out in the open, because this looks like how an off-duty Superboy would dress if he didn’t have the secret identity the general public isn’t even aware exists. He dons no glasses, does nothing to his hair; his jeans are straight-cut and all-american blue. As always, he presents with too many belts and buckles and straps: a studded belt, silver-tipped western boots, a leather jacket with too many zippers. At least it’s, y’know, zipped. It has soft faux-fur running down the front near the middle, and it ends right where his jeans begin.
They enter quietly, unassumingly, but, of course, the patrons’ eyes go to look. Jason would love to say it is because they’re gorgeous—because they are—but it’s how much they stand out for all their other things, mainly, the light clothing for the weather, the inhuman shine of their skin, of their hair, of their powerful swagger.
People in Gotham notice these things. They never know when confident people are going to point a gun, or when a person looks just a tiny bit off in any way.
Some mind their business. Some follow them with their eyes til they sit down.
“Good thing we didn’t need to talk dress code,” Jason sighs, resigned, not even putting effort in sounding sarcastic.
Cassie raises a brow and crosses her arms. “They said they would be too hot.”
At some point, Tim had taken off the sunglasses and put them in a small case he slid into his jacket, and so Jason could see the serene blue of his eyes. He looks ahead at the snow that piles up through the window, the same that melts on their outfits. Smiles.
Jason says nothing. Watches Tim on his peripheral view. “I went ahead and ordered for you guys. Some monstrosity of a sandwich with fries and shit, a coffee.” He points at Bart and Cassie respectively. He looks at Kon. His eye twitches. “Uh, pancakes. For you.”
That makes his brows raise. “Wasn’t aware we were planning on staying so long.”
Jason goes to open his mouth, but then—
“I ordered them for you. They’re the best in town,” speaks up Tim, mouth full, who swallows and fancily takes a sip of orange juice.
They all go silent. Kon narrows his eyes a bit, but it comes in conflict with his Kent-ness. “Thank you.” He says it tersely.
Tim smiles so sharp it could cut glass. Could cut diamond. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Jason looks at Kon, who’s looking at him intently with something Jason does not have the energy to figure out. He turns to Tim, who, on the other hand, has an indecipherable look.
“Just. sit.”
Jason watches the window freeze over as Tim and Cassie stare each other down somewhat homoerotically.
The silence is tense. What is this, high school all over again?
But the silence is broken when they bring the food. “Weird booth to sit in,” Bart comments happily, taking a bunch of fries from a platter.
“We can all watch the door like this,” Jason explains lamely.
The redhead munches slower, like he’s mulling it over. “Ah, freak paranoid thing.” And he nods, eyes unfocused, like he’s talking about the weather.
Tim looks interested. His eyes gleam with cat-like mischievous malice. “I like you. What’s your name, again?”
Bart opens his mouth, but—
“Imp,” Kon says. “Short for Impulse.” His eyes are still narrowed.
Tim’s gaze slides to him, dragging. He smiles a bit wider but sets his eyebrows in a very tense way. Kon’s eyes narrow further, suspicion sliding off of him in almost palpable ways.
“Should we just get this over with?” Offers Cassie.
“Assuming I won’t be getting any of your names,” Tim answers lightly, cutting his pancakes in perfect bite-size squares. Kon hasn’t touched his own.
Jason produces a file from his coat and drops it on the table. He swipes it away when Tim tries to reach it with grubby little fingers. “Ah-ah-ah. Claws off. We’ve got… the retrieval of an object.”
Tim scrunches up his nose in a cat-like manner. He reaches over for Jason’s glass of coke zero and takes a sip. “You called me here for a heist?” He doesn’t sound impressed. Like it’s a distasteful offer.
Jason sighs. He will not be drinking from there again. “Upon inspection, it seems like a bigger operation… but I don’t know, yet. It may be Gothamite organized crime, might be barbarian, might be something else. Haven’t dug deep enough for that.”
“As long as it’s not Sionis.”
Kon crosses his arms. He looks dangerous. “Is that a dealbreaker?”
Jason looks at him sharply. Kon’s eyes are stuck on Tim, fiery. What the fuck is wrong with him?
Tim eyes him up. He raises an eyebrow, meets his stare upfront, and mirrors his posture. “I don’t know. Perhaps. Got a problem, sweetie?”
Kon’s jaw works.
“It’s not supposed to be extremely hard. We just need some dirty work done, and you…”
“Don’t like getting dirty.”
“...are perfect for the job.”
“Look, Stray,” Cassie starts, when he says nothing. “We know your background. Your… retrieval skills might become useful, because your work is refined. You work in the trade of secrets, you’ve got contacts, you can do infiltration and undercover work easily; you’ve got your little stint as a con artist helps. You tend for non-violent, silent approaches. I’ve seen those laser-crossing tapes, skills like that… could come in handy.”
Her words are clear and filled with this bureaucratic honesty that leaves Jason, who unironically calls himself a ‘lover of words’, out of breath. Thank god for amazonian truth. Tim shifts, looking a bit red, thrown off his balance. Ha! He was not expecting that.
“I…” He lets out a stunned laugh. “Was not expecting that.”
Cassie smiles cryptically.
So Tim, naturally, grins. “I think I like you, too.”
—
After he finishes his pancakes, Tim shrugs off his jacket, revealing a boat-collared blouse thing in deep blue that sits well on his shoulders. When he stands up, Kon mirrors him in reflex, from Jason’s side. Tim looks at him funnily.
“You walking me to the restroom, big guy?” He asks, amused. Bart stands up to let him through. “I mean, you’re a free man. If you wanna follow me into the bathroom… be my guest. Might be hot, too.” He winks and then he’s not there.
Kon sits back down with a scowl and his fists tight, staring at the restroom door on the other side of the café like it’s personally wronged him.
Cassie doesn’t manage to contain a laugh, and it spills out from around her fingers. “That looked real dumb, Kon.”
Bart is crouched under the table, wheezing.
His scowl goes deeper and he crosses his arms again. He looks fucking stupid because his biceps are huge, his face bright red, and expression of a petulant child, embarrassed in the way only arrogant assholes are.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”
“What’s even your problem with him?” Asks Bart, wiping a tear from his eye.
“You kidding me?” Kon raises his eyebrows. “I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him. He’s a crook!”
“You literally sound like B,” Jason mutters. “And he actually likes him, even if he won't admit it.”
“I'm reluctant to have him join the mission as well, I'm not gonna lie,” intervenes Cassie. “Even if he's actually like… kinda likeable.” Kon makes an exaggerated gesture towards her like she's supporting his claim, to which she narrows her eyes. “Not that Kon has any say in it.”
Kon pouts, ego slightly bruised. “Fine.” He relents. “I might have a bit of a grudge.”
“You just met him!”
Jason doesn’t know how to put it anymore. “Guys, please.” It hasn't stopped snowing, but the light is waning nonetheless. Jason isn't on patrol duty tonight, but he's bound to get back home soon. “Stray might be Cat's protogé, but she's been part of the… clan before I was even taken in. He actually has a moral compass, Kon,” he says this to the boy in question, “It’s not like he steals at random in the street. The pickpocket thing was just a fun trick. Either way, he's mostly a confidant. He does all his own work, builds his own cases, and has helped B with info good enough to literally take down criminal empires.
“I've seen him work. I've worked with him, once or twice: he fights, too, y'know. I've basically grown up with him, out there, in uniform. He knows what secrets to keep and which to sell, and it’s often dirt on Gotham’s worst corrupt assholes; he knows all our secret identities—B's, D's, Babs’, Cass’, Steph’—and never spilled a single one. Not even under torture.”
Cassie looks at him, stupefied. Bart looks pensive. Kon looks stunned.
Jason is satisfied. He sees then, Tim getting out from the restroom and crossing the room to get to them, looking fresh.
His eyes tread amongst them all the way until he stands next to the table, and only then he smiles. “Had fun talking ‘bout me?”
Jason wants to slap him up the head.
To his surprise, it's Kon that answers him. “We sure did.”
His face is stony. But his eyebrow raises as if challenging Tim, lips slightly pursed. It makes Tim grin, and, well.
Jason is creepily aware how Bruce manages to strangely flirt with his rogues. It’s strange, yes, yet almost accidental. But with Kon, it's blatant, and Jason cringes every single time.
But Kon will probably deny any sort of… coquettishness towards Tim (towards Stray), judging by his moody stare. Maybe this is him seeing what would happen if he were to clear the waters, but Jason thinks this might be his seething face. But then Tim has this thing, half persona half faux ego, where he will assume everyone is referring to him like they're attracted to him, or making an innuendo at him, or wanting to flirt with him, at least in costume; and sometimes, yes, he just wants to mess with them, and Jason will frown, but there is no frowning now—because Kon is in fact blatantly flirting with him.
Jason takes it back. This is not going to be fun, for him.
“Fucking messy,” he mutters, to himself, really, but Kon shifts towards him.
Tim’s smirk twitches. “And the verdict?”
Cassie stands to put on her jacket.
—
Outside of the diner, Jason sees Kon glancing at the star-less sky.
“It looks like any other sky, at night,” he tells Jason, and it’s not the first time; in fact, it's been so many times it's become an inside joke.
Tim, behind them, hums some song. “What a waste of a lovely night, huh?” He says, with a secret sort of smile, looking over their heads. Jason snorts. Kon frowns, obviously not getting the reference, simultaneously being peeved about being left out of the joke, and misunderstanding his rhetorical question as a personal offense.
Tim presses himself close enough to Jason's other side to rest his head on his shoulder, like in old times. Jason smiles fondly, but very small, since it's supposed to be a professional outing.
“We should get you home,” says Kon, to Tim, oddly serious.
“Gentlemanly.” Tim smiles a lopsided grin, half honest but half of that sickly-sweet cynicism of his. “That’s neat.” He glances at his watch, clock face on the inside of his wrist. “But I have to go to get to other endeavors, actually.”
Jason sighs. “And it’s nothing illegal, right?”
Tim smiles a gummy smile. “Of course not. I’m an upstanding citizen.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Kon frowns. “Wait, wait, we can’t just let you, uh…”
Tim frowns, now. “I have a right of free circulation.”
“But…” Kon glances at Jason, unsure.
“Don’t make me threaten you with the whip, now,” the Cat answers placidly. “Or… you’d actually probably like that. I think you wear more leather than I do.” Kon, face red from embarrassment, opens his mouth to retort, but Tim is already pulling out a grapple hidden under his coat. “I’m not one to shame. Have a good night—” he looks at Kon, and winks. “—Especially you.”
There’s a crack, a big leap, and then he’s running over a rooftop, not looking back.
Kon stares after him, and Jason flings an arm over his shoulder.
“What… the fuck…”
Jason shakes his head. “Ah, my young Padawan…”
Cassie and Bart start laughing so hard they end up doubled over, riling each other up to whispered remarks to each other, surely making fun of their super-friend. They’re exhaling white steam into the winter air, cheeks red and eyes shut hard, running away from Kon, who threatens them with violence. Jason smiles too.
Jason is happy.
—
And so Jason shifts against the edge of the sofa, limbs stiff, contemplating his studious friend. “Y’know, I warned ya.”
Kon stops typing. Glances over, eyes narrowed. “About what?”
Jason bites his lip giddily. “To not let him get under your skin.”
Kon pouts. “He made a fool out of me.”
“Buddy, you made a fool out of yourself.”
They quiet, for a bit. “You think he’ll take the job?”
“He’s basically confirmed it. Cassie laid it on thick for him.”
Kon laughs lightly. “He’s so… fucking annoying. And obnoxious. And…” He rubs his face with his hands, groaning all the way. “He does have pretty blue eyes. Fuck. How can you let me embarrass myself like that, dude?”
“What kind of friends would we be if we didn’t?”
“...He didn’t actually have the whip with him, did he?”
Jason bursts out laughing uncontrollably. Kon raises amused eyebrows. “You look delirious.” He keeps on laughing. “Oh, shut up, you.”
Jason raises a knee to protect himself, still giggling, when Kon tackles him into a tickling attack.
“The way… you just…” Jason is laughing too hard to finish the sentence, attempting to swat Kon away. “Just build—grudges—haha! on the most random fucking people for the most random reasons—"
“Shut up!”
Jason forgets all about his strange nightmares.
Notes:
things
1. jason foreshadowing omg
2. jason's and kon's dynamic here is so special to me. im a sucker for canon timkon because of the friends to lovers quality of it, but yk.
3. recently i read those 80s teen titans comics where jason joins the titans for a brief period of time. those vibes but like experienced are also what i wanna transmit
4. i will stuff this baby full of cat-related idioms. i love how catwoman is so beautifully camp
5. tim and jason smoking together like this i think is gonna be imperative for their deep convos here. it kinda reflects on how J grew up into robin and how T decidedly did not.
5. as a half-american, diners are such a fun location to write
6. i believe in cut-out suit superboy (shoutout to clambuoyance)
8. i love cassie sandsmark
9. I BELIEVE IN FILM NERD JASON TODD (tim made the la la land ref so he would laugh. hence the chapters title)
10. "jason is happy" is in fact a reference to that "jason was happy" minicomic btw (my baby...)
anyways this was LONG i enjoyed writing this!! any mistakes please call them out, drop a comment and tell me what you think <3
next: tim and kon shenanigans
Chapter 3: let the stormy clouds chase / everyone from the place
Summary:
“He do something?”
“No, not at all. He was a bit of a gentleman, if you can believe it.” She laughs fondly at Kon’s disbelieving look. She really sounds genuine, like she likes thinking back to her teenage sweetheart. Huh. She really was in love with him, wasn’t she?
-
“It’s kind of a lot. Depends on how much you know about paintings?” there’s an uptick at the end of his sentence, but Kon says nothing. “I guess not. Well, I’ll do all the heavy lifting, don’t worry.”
Kon's about to tick out of his skin.
Kon deals with cool people, strange people, and odd fucking situations.
Notes:
this was SO slow to write, but it's a long one!! im not even gonna lie, i might not even edit this one further, so if you see any inconsistencies hmu. i think it turned out alright, please tell me your thoughts. these seem lowkey a filler, but kon's going to have a bunch of time alone with tim next chapter (you'll see why once you read) and jason lore starts soon as well, probably a couple of chapters away.
anyway, enjoy!!!!!
chapter title from: singing in the rain (gene kelly)
cw: none, i think? there are allusions to steph's (!!!) and kon's deaths, and jason's "incident". mention in form of allusion to use sex to move forward in an investigation (tim "whoring himself out" for a hypothetical mission). please tell me if there are any more i should write in.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's been an ugly afternoon in Smallville, Kansas, so far, Kon thinks, and it’s starting to fade into an uglier evening.
The rain pitter-patters against the window. It’s soothing, really, but what can Kon say? He’s a creature of sunlight. He feeds on it, he bathes in it; he simply revels in it.
He may be all that, but the sun is leaving either way. He’s just feeling a bit… not weak, he supposes. He’s invulnerable. But… tired. Burnout. He’s been at his desk all day, only stepping out once to stretch his legs (and his telekinetic aura).
Rain is good in the evening. But rainy nights bring back all sorts of memories. Some, he treasures. Some he’s bound to forget. Some he wishes he could, forget. But rain is just water and Kon is just a boy, really, so why do climates and times of days need to be bound to pieces of his artificial memory?
Kon sighs and scratches his head. He flicks the pencil in his hand, thinking about all this. It clinks against the wooden table, rickety old. His phone—personal one—buzzes on the desk. It’s Cassie.
sup. stray texted to confirm heist
He’s not gonna lie. His heart beats a little faster. It’s just—unexpected, is all. Somehow. He drops the pencil, taking his phone with two hands, unplugging it. Fuck homework.
He sees she’s texting him in private. Kon frowns. It’s obviously not an uncommon occurrence, but regarding this?
uhh kay. why you telling just me
He thinks about it.
also “texted”??
there we go
and i thought you’d want to know is all ;)
Kon pouts petulantly, cheeks blowing childishly. His face burns nonetheless.
oh and dw. jason was informed right away
jee. way to make a guy feel special.
you’re welcome babe
Kon snorts. That little asshole.
i’m honestly offended jason didn’t think of telling me this right away
not everybody can fly, dipshit
phones exist for a reason and he’s chronically online, Kon is writing, but then the supernova in his brain explodes with an idea.
She’s right, Kon thinks, he can’t fly.
But guess who can.
—
Going to bother Jason is a full-time labour of fun.
Fuck schoolwork. Fuck work, work. Fuck casefiles to-be-processed.
i can pass on your number to him if u want btw, is the next from Cassie that follows while he soars through the sky, after he basically leaves her on read.
Kon frowns. He keeps flying.
He breaches the barriers of Gotham and even if timezone-wise it’s only an hour ahead, the difference is stark for some reason.
The city is moody. She broods in her condensation, her frigidness, her supuring heat. Kon can’t see any snow today, so it probably didn’t fall over the gothic town.
Last time you saw snow you were on the rooftop of a nightclub, his brain supplies. And then in a diner. And snow sits so prettily on the dark eyelashes of beautiful boys, when they look up—
Shut up, brain.
Kon doesn’t actually know Jason’s patrolling routines, but it doesn’t matter; he knows the drumming of his heartbeat like a metronome to the symphony that is Kon’s basic functioning. It’s a bit of a strange way to put it, but it’s exactly like that; the steady ba-dum, ba-dum is a lifeline. Kon, when stressed, listens to it. He listens to Bart’s and Cissie’s and Greta's, and Ma’s and even Clark’s. It’s a bit creepy, perhaps, but his emotionally unstable friends and family would probably find it endearing, so he shuts the fuck up about it.
So. Jason, Jason, the metronome.
He follows it to a rooftop, of course. In this section of the city the buildings are short in stature and dirty in all their length, looking like they were smeared in oil. Certain corners of the street look kind of dark in the way that make Kon frown for young children and teenage girls. There’s a burger joint in one of the corners, lights somehow depressing the whole place even further, like they’re saying: this place is scary, yes, and if anything happens to you, we will not help you here.
“So what’s a smart guy like you doing in a shitty place like this?”
Robin is perched at the very edge of the building, binoculars in hand. For all his effort, he doesn’t even flinch, just sighs and takes away the bat-branded instrument from his face to at the very least acknowledge his existence.
“Now, I know you didn’t ask Batman for permission to enter the city.”
Kon groans. “Not even a hello? And your old man’s rules are wacko-crazy.”
Jason readjustes the binoculars in front of his eyes again, and Kon hears his little smirk when he speaks. “I bet you said that to his face.” a beat. “And, hey, bro.”
“Good old Wonder Boy.”
The nickname does the trick. His friend turns to him, rolls his eyes (Kon can tell, even with the mask), like he knows he’s being manipulated (he is), and pulls out his grapple.
“Help me bust some bad guys up, yeah?”
Kon’s grin is wild and free and it matches his friend's. He’s got them crooked canines, and his suit gleams in the night.
Smiley, flitting Robin.
Kon’s jacket bellows behind him in the wind when he jumps to the street.
This is what he’d been needing all day.
—
After, they grab chilli dogs and keep loitering. Kon always revels in how happy Jason seems when they hang like this and eat these damn things. He smiles wider, laughs longer. His dark circles curve and disappear into happy half-moons. He can see it, too. He's taken off the mask, just to eat, just in the safety of the dark night.
He was always the happy Robin, for all his existential angst. And that’s no easy feat, considering who was the other one. He fixed the attitude and put on a pair of pants, and set.
Smiley, flitting Robin. The past years have been shit.
They sit at the edge of yet another—you guessed it!—rooftop. Kon dangles his legs like a little boy, kicking his feet.
“You’re ridiculous,” Jason laughs, fondly, genuinely. Kon turns. He’s got mustard on his nose. Kon is stupidly fond of this guy.
It’s really been a while. He needs to do this again soon, coming to bother him.
Then, he hears grunts down the street. Grunts of effort. A fight in progress.
“Ah, shit,” he starts, stuffing his last bite in his mouth and sucking his right hand fingers. At Jason’s expectant look. “Combat down the street, maybe next block.”
Jason raises his brows expressively, swallowing his own last bite. “Mmh.” It goes down with a comical gulp. Once upon a time Kon might have giggled. “Okay, let’s go.”
Kon flies above the bobbing bird, fists covering his face from the wind. They get to an alley—because of course it’s an alley—and there’s a giant of a man, limp and face down on the dirty wet floor. There’s blood on his leather jacket. From the part of his head he can see, there’s blood, too.
Kon and Jason make significant eye contact, at the same time, then glance back down. There's a figure crouching down beside the body.
“Ah, shit. I think I’m turning into Robin,” they murmur. They’re dressed darkly. They're reaching behind themselves, like they're tucking something into their belt. A gun? There weren't any shots fired, but the butt of the gun is a perfectly good knocking-out tool.
Their hands come back gloved when they reach to feel the man’s pulse. “Thought so. Good. No body to get rid of,” they mutter.
Kon goes to make meaningful eye contact with his friend again, but he doesn’t return it. Instead, he looks pained, like, exasperated, but in pain. Kon nudges him and he turns.
“It’s Stray,” he says, in a whisper, and in his best imitation of Bart’s speed.
Kon blinks. “Come again?”
“That’s Stray.” At least he’s enunciating. “We should—” He lets out this big sigh. “—we should speak to him.” And then he drops down silently, one with the shadows.
When Kon follows him, Stray is standing up.
He’s closer now. He can see, just by natural human range, that the dark of his suit is, in fact, all leather, black. From the tip of his head—covered by this cat-eared balaclava—to the claws on his gloves, to the tips of his boots.
He dusts off said gloves against each other, straightening. He keeps looking at the body when he says, “I know when I’m being watched, y’know.”
“Wrong,” Jason states immediately, emerging from the darkness. “I’ve caught you by surprise before.”
Stray scoffs, like the idea is ridiculous. Like Robin emerging from the shadows to bicker is a common occurrence. Gothamites. He looks at him impassively, crossing his arms. “Batgirl has caught me by surprise before.” He says it unimpressed.
These fucking people.
Jason changes the subject. Loser. “Who’s this, Catty?”
Stray shoots him an annoyed look. His eyes look so blue in the night.
“Dunno,” he spits. “He was stealing from a homeless guy. A sleeping homeless guy.”
Jason frowns. Looks around. “And where is this man now?”
Stray rolls his eyes, seemingly aggravated, and puts his hands on his hips. The leather stretches across his shoulders tight, and Kon sees it, how it gleams, how it sounds. And, uh, wow. “Gave him cash and gave him a Wayne card.” The tone is impatient, peeved.
Jason sighs. “Cash?”
Stray looks at him blankly. “From where?” Jason clarifies.
“Nonya.”
Jason stares at him neutrally. “Are you for real?”
“Are you for real? Where do you think I got the cash, birdboy?”
The nickname has the inflexion of someone saying idiot, or stupid fucking moron, or are you seriously the brains of the operation, you dumb fucking fuck? Jason sighs again. Then, he asks, “Okay, cut the crap. Why the fuck are you mad at me?”
Stray scowls, crossing his arms. Goddamn, the shoulders. “I so graciously accept your pleas for help for your little case, and you go and compromise one of my informants? Fuck you, Jay.”
Names! Kon thinks. Jason is surely thinking the same. But Kon has this feeling that if the man voices it outloud, his face will end up scratched up.
Jason in that moment seems to realize something. “Shit,” he grimaces, voice grave, “The guy B and I shook was a snitch of yours.”
Stray glares. A hissing cat, angry and dangerous. “Informant, asshole! And yeah, he was mine—”
Kon doesn’t really want to see this, so he chooses that moment to hesitantly emerge from the shadows. Stray’s fiery eyes are on his in an instant.
“Oh, great, you brought your buddy with you.”
“Uh, hi to you too.”
Stray’s eyes flitter from him (and his body, Kon thinks) to Jason. The fiery rage cools into an icy sort of calculated ire.
“Why did you bring him here?” He’s still looking him over, analyzing, and asks the question like he’s not even there. Kon is starting to feel annoyed.
Jason looks stoic, but who knows what his eyes are doing behind the mask. “O-kay.” He elongates the vowel, apparently unimpressed. “Superboy here hasn’t done a single thing to you, S—”
“I brought myself,” he cuts in, squaring his shoulders. “Nothing to do with you.”
Jason’s head snaps to him, lips tightening. His posture screams Disengage Disengage Disengage.
Stray comes in closer. His eyes glance at the symbol on his chest once, then they land on his face. Whatever he finds there, makes him smirk. “Did you, now?”
It’s flirty. It’s undeniably flirty. It’s not the flaming anger anymore, or the blue simmering… It’s something full of undertones, muggy, sizzling slow. And Kon—Kon really hates this guy, by god! He really knows how to get under this skin. He looks like he’s sitting on a throne. Kon kind of wants to push and pull him into a wall, and, and…
And…
He comes closer, and then closer still. Kon can feel his breath on his face. He brings up a claw and rakes it along the edge of the zipper on Kon’s jacket, creating a strangely enthralling metallic noise. He brushes his chest and Kon feels it. He swallows.
And…
Stray follows the movement of his throat with his eyes, lips parted, leaning his fingertips lightly on the crest of El. They tickle. “Cat caught your tongue?”
Kon hasn’t said a word. His face burns in humiliation. Jesus Christ. He goes to open his mouth, and he can see how the man’s blue eyes stray to his lips…
And…
Then a communicator sounds. It’s loud.
“Not now, Papa’s working,” Stray mutters, and then he’s walking away from Kon.
Kon blinks, subtly breathing a lungful of air. Stray’s gone on the other side of the alley’s intersection, finger on his ear. The place where his hand had been feels like a brand.
Kon glances at Jason. He’s closer, cape all around him, looking at him with what Kon just knows is an unimpressed look, but also screaming I told you so.
“Shut up.” Kon says, deeply embarrassed. “Shut the fuck up,” he rushes.
“I didn’t say anything,” is the nearly-laughing answer. He pats his shoulder. Kon shrugs him off. He looks at him, somewhat annoyed, but Jason has his eyebrows raised as he innocently gestures with his finger to the R on his chest.
“Ripped,” he says discreetly. Kon looks down to his own chest. The place where Stray’s nail brushed had left behind a ripped line right next to the zipper of his jacket, right on the edge of the diamond shape. Skin can be seen. Kon blushes over how he hadn’t even noticed. He covers it by pulling his jacket on tighter, feeling a bit like a Victorian maiden covering her bosom.
“Uh,” that’s Stray, who’s come back. Kon tenses involuntarily. “It’s Huntress. I kind of… need to go.”
He hops over the body of the knocked out guy. Kon had almost forgotten about him. Curiously, his movements in costume remind him more of a bird than a cat.
“You needed to talk to me?” he asks Jason, his voice softer now. He seems to be kind of over the snitch situation. Yay Kon?
Jason doesn’t say anything about him guessing accurately, apparently. “I mean, if you need to go it can wait—”
But Stray only shrugs gently, like a purposefully nonchalant gesture to make Jason not worry. “Nah. They’ve been winning fights together without me before for a really long time.” His eyes sparkle. He’s just teasing. “Go on, birdie.”
“We were just in the neighborhood, honestly,” he admits. “Saw you. Also, Wonder Girl told me you did accept the mission, and you just said so too, so…” he rubs the back of his neck, strangely awkward, in a gesture Kon actually thinks he picked up from him, that he horribly picked up from Clark. “Thanks. You’re a great help, kitty. B even said it was brilliant.”
What? Batman disliked Kon, but he thought it was brilliant that Stray joined for the job? He didn’t care for the opinion of the guy, because why the fuck would he, but, seriously?
He watches how the man’s body language turns a bit surprised and his heartbeat picks up a bit. He’s got a cute heartbeat. Ew, what the fuck, Kon? What does that even mean? Anyway, like, Kon knew Batman and Catwoman had an on-and-off kind of thing once upon a time, because like, everyone knew that, but still… Wait, is Stray one of Batman’s orphans? Oh my god, there’s no way he’s like their kid, right? That’s a turn of events, if one of his kids turned to a life of crime in some sick attempt to gain control over his own identity, or some weird shit.
Though that one probably won’t work timeline-wise. But who knows? Kon observes Stray closely, trying to figure it out. “He did not say that,” he’s saying. It’s still embarrassed, slightly shy. No way, right?
Jason raises a challenging eyebrow. “Wanna bet?” He throws in that tilted grin that's half Jason half Robin. Yeah, Kon would have no idea if he’s telling the truth or not.
He thinks one could fry an egg on the cat’s face. It's kind of cute. “Okay,” the blush has simmered, behind the balaclava, like he’s accepted the compliment. Curious and curiouser. “Well, I’ll see you around, pretty bird.” His smile is smaller. It seems one of the few careful, real smiles Kon’s seen on him. It suits him.
“I still need to find a nickname for you, honey,” he tells Kon, playful again, but gentle. Kon says nothing. He wouldn't know what to say, really, so he raises a hand in farewell.
In two swift kicks, blades pull out from the points of Stray’s shoes. He crouches again to the unconscious man’s side, pats his pockets, and procures a beautiful engraved knife, which he pockets, all while smiling at Jason. He grabs a grapple-like hook from his belt, turns, and starts to scale the building’s wall, agile and defiant of gravity like his namesake. Halfway up the short building, he precariously leaves himself hanging off the edge with just the hook in his hand and the blade of his left shoe.
“I’ll call you to talk shop with Wondie, yeah?” he calls to Jason. His eyes glance at Kon for the last time. “See ya, pretty boy.”
And then he’s gone. Kon lets out another breath.
Jason eyes him knowingly. “He’s a handful, isn’t he?”
That’s one way of putting it.
Jason’s belt pings. He pulls out his work phone. A text message blinks on it. Jason lets out an amused huff.
also take care of my bad guy pls and thanks
The guy on the floor, that Kon had nearly forgotten about, makes an odd noise, like a groan, shifting in place.
A handful, huh?
—
Kon isn’t exactly sure how close Jason and Stray are.
Like, they actually seem like friends, no? Kon is embarrassingly afraid to ask.
In HQ’s sofa, the two of them sit side by side, kind of leaning on each other, kind of kicking each other’s knees. It’s all about that balance. For once, Jason’s out of uniform, all strangely stretched out. He’s bent in half, butt resting very close to the edge of the sofa, so his long legs just stretch, but his torso is collapsed into himself, shoulders surely stiff and uncomfortable, neck at an awkward angle. Kon eats sushi and looks at his phone, the plastic container precariously balanced on the armrest Jason is on his phone too, but he isn’t eating, and he’s wrapped himself up in a blanket like some kind of human burrito.
He laughs out loud. Kon glances over.
literally us except i’m the bird and ur the cat this time
Underneath is a pic of Sylvester and Tweety from Looney Tunes. Kon frowns, bemused. Kon doesn’t make a habit of reading his friends’ private conversations over their shoulders, okay? His brain goes, ah, shit, that’s not a sharing joke, Kon, that’s a real text chain. Damn his superspeed reading, sometimes.
Jason’s eyes flicker to him as he types a response. He’s become eerily open over the years; he doesn’t even move away to avoid him seeing his screen.
The phone pings and he laughs again. Kon doesn’t look this time, busy figuring out the day’s New York Time sudoku, but he smiles.
Seeing his friends happy makes him happy.
—
“SB, how would you feel about going undercover for this job?” Is the first thing Jason says as he steps out from the teleporter, apparently thrumming with energy, or so tired he had no the people I’m talking to exist outside of my head filter. It was always 50/50.
“Is this about the ‘retrieval of an object’ thing?” Kon questions, always trying to be to his level.
Jason relaxes, nodding, then frowning. “Yeah. Though I think it’s bigger than that, now. I think it’s an ‘evil-powerful-man’ type deal.”
Kon frowns. “Okay… Tell me more.”
Jason comes sit on the kitchen island’s stools with him, laying out his case in front of him. “So, originally, the concern was with these kryptonite paintings, right? This guy,” he points to the headshot of an unassuming red-haired man with thin glasses and an unflattering pale complexion, “he may not seem like much, but he stole these paintings. I’m thinking with the intention of selling them, or maybe from a higher up’s orders. For now, I think this guy has the solid paper trail of a money launderer, I’ve got no idea how the feds don’t even have a file on him already.
“His name’s Jacob West.” Kon snorts. Jason cracks a grin. “Yeah, I laughed at the irony too. Maybe he’s related to Wally in some way. He has to be, right? Cosmic fucking joke. Anyway, if he does have a boss of some kind, my money’s on…” From a different folder, he pulls out another picture in glossy paper. A blonde guy sits somewhat-regally in a workplace portrait type deal in the way rich assholes in important jobs do.
His friend taps the man’s shark-like grin. “...This guy. Ethan Arteaga.” He’s handsome, Kon could probably say, and he holds himself in an old aristocracy but new-money kind of way. Honestly, he looks like a fucking jackass. Jason meets his gaze, really pulling him in. There’s this twinkle in his eye. “He’s got ties to the spanish nobility.”
Kon’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. “Oh. Oh, shit.” Fuck that new-money thing.
Jason’s grin is so wide and so sharp that it has Kon wondering once again whether or not in another universe he might be like, evil. “Uh-huh. I haven’t looked into why he’s american, yet. He’s 38, married to an Isabela Caudillo, who lives back in Spain with their three kids. He visits them bi-monthly. Based on his credit card purchases, I’m not sure how loyal he actually is to her.”
Kon swears all investigative-type heroes are just big gossips. Batman is a detective, so he’s gotta be more subtle, but Clark has the same penchant for drama as the younger Robin. “Damn, men really are pigs.”
“He’s a stockholder in several american companies, and lives up in New York. Art enthusiast… You know where I’m going.”
Kon laughs, kind of amazed. “Holy shit, Rob, this is a juicy one. So you’re thinking the first guy launders money for this Caudillo fat cat? Shady business?”
He tilts his head like Kon’s hit the jackpot. Aw, cute. Nightwing does that exact same gesture, too. “There’s the issue. He’s squeaky clean. I have no idea what his ‘business’ is. I still kind of have to do some digging, but yeah. That’s basically it.”
They stay in silence for a second. Kon looks through the pages of his research, the names involved, the payments. Fishy, fishy…
“Well, bang-on detective work, Mister Todd,” he tells him, in his most regal terrible english accent.
Jason, that half-grew up with an Englishman, snorts. “Shut up.”
He doesn’t drop the accent. “Naur, seriously. You can tell you were trained by the World’s Greatest—”
Jason starts laughing lowly, slowly picking up in intensity. “Oh my god, shut the fuck up, Boy of Steel.”
They laugh almost silently, heads bowing together. “You’re so fucking stupid,” Jason tells him, nearly in tears, for some reason.
“I know,” Kon snorts through it.
Their laughter dies down.
“Wait, so this is why you brought in Stray? Because he’s stolen paintings in the past?” Jason nods. Kon very slowly realizes something. “Wait… Rob.”
“Yeah?”
“When you say undercover, you don’t mean with him, right?”
Jason looks at him, eyes bright.
“Jason, you’re not placing me undercover with Stray, right ?”
—
That was Friday. Kon sees Stray again on Monday.
This time, he actually did get permission from Batman. He had to. They were hanging out, he and Jason, but in their civvies. Jason wanted to go down to the library for something, and Kon was glad to go with him and skim some books for this class he was starting to really like. Jason, in true sugar daddy fashion (joke), would treat him to Batburger or something. Kon always gets this whim for it when he’s in town. It truly is that good.
The day goes on without accidents. Kon gets to say hi to Barbara, the Oracle, which is always a strange experience for him. They get coffee and Cass (Wayne) and Stephanie drop by, actually looking for Jason for something specific, but being lovely to Kon and marvelously odd and curtly funny as fuck like always. They end up staying for a hot drink of their own, courtesy of Bruce Wayne’s bank account, talking their shit. Teenaged vigilantes only have shitty stories to tell. Trauma bonding and all that jazz.
“Oh my god, Kon,” Stephanie is saying. “I keep forgetting you died too.”
He daps her up.
Cass stares on, amused, maybe. Kon doesn’t actually know her that well. Jason laughs a bit, but it’s short lived and ends with a frown. He always gets this mixed reaction; a laugh, because he’ll laugh at anything, it’s the sunlight sidekick thing, or maybe just a Jason thing. And then the guilt. The swelling pain. After all, there’s no therapist with no self-help book that’s figured out how to grieve a death in the family, alive anew. How does one even react? Kon suddenly feels guilt.
“You shouldn’t joke about that shit,” Jason mutters, probably kicking her under the table. “You weren’t even dead. Scared the shit out of us. Just… shut up, Steph, please.”
He glances at Kon too, like a pointed warning.
Steph, the angel, tries to laugh it off good naturedly. “Jason, this is what we do. We need to joke about the heavy shit. It’s the only way we get through all of this.”
Kon doesn’t have that many non-hero friends anymore. There’s this silent understanding between them, there always is: that intense bond they can all feel, united by their grief. Of their past, their life, their loved ones, their purity, their childhood. Whatever bullshit origin story one has, right?
So they stay silent. They understand. But Kon knows Jason stands his ground with this sort of thing.
“I grieved you, Steph.”
Kon can see her heating up. Again, he’s used to this sort of thing. Though it’s simmered through the years, Jason is a bit of a hothead. He’s brash and brutal and clean and just, but when he gets fired up, he fights. And he’s seen the clash with Cassie, with himself. And now he sees it in Steph.
She laughs cynically. “So, what? The only one allowed to make jokes about trauma is you? You're the only one with warehouses and crowbars and mommy and daddy issues out there?”
The air grows tense. Eerily silent. Cass is frowning hard. Kon thinks she’s put her hand on Steph’s knee under the table, like a discreet warning.
Jason says nothing. She changes the subject. But she’s angry. Progressively through the conversation, she unwinds, and the look on her face is part guilt, now. The hard lines on Jason’s face slowly soften until he’s almost as relaxed as he was before, looking her in the eye again.
And they keep talking, like nothing was ever brought up.
All their therapists would be proud by now.
—
For some reason, they end up talking about a feline-themed sidekick, of all people.
“Does Conner know the story for this?” It’s mostly rhetorical. Steph sips her oat latte. “Kon, the real reason why I hang around these losers is because of Stray.” She nudges Cass with a smile, only slightly tense.
Jason rolls his eyes fondly. It looks a bit mechanical. “Steph and I met back in my earlier years.” He points at her smugly. “She was only starting, as Spoiler. But for some bizarre reason, she and Stray found each other without our intervention and even dated for a long fucking time.”
Kon’s eyebrows fly up. “...You’re fucking with me.”
Stephanie shrugs. She’s loosening up, Kon can tell. “This is like a fundamental piece of my lore, it’s kind of crazy we’ve never talked about this. We should hang out more, man.” Kon nods eagerly. “Either way, with college and all, I don’t even get to go out that much at night. I guess we don't see each other as much?” She pauses. “Okay, who am I kidding, I do. I use patrol to procrastinate.”
Jason snorts. “You and every teen hero ever.” Steph nods. “Neurodivergency,” both of them chorus, at the same time. They grin at each other and nod again.
Cass and Kon burst out laughing. “So fucking true, I swear to god. So, why did you break up back then?” Who is he kidding? “He do something?” He loves gossip.
Steph shakes her head. “No, not at all. He was a bit of a gentleman, if you can believe it.” She laughs fondly at Kon’s disbelieving look. She sounds genuine, like she likes thinking back to her teenage sweetheart. Huh. She really was in love with him, wasn’t she? Kon marvels.
“I’m serious! Sure, he was kind of an asshole, sometimes, but so am I. And the rush of being with him…” Her smile dims, private, and somewhat deeply nostalgic. Kon has too much heartbreak in those young teen romantic affairs to ever smile like that over them. His heart pangs painfully. He tries to rid himself of these thoughts. Not now.
Invasively, his mind conjures up a thought: yeah, no wonder he makes a good lover. You had villain lovers too, didn't you?
He tucks that one aside. Not the fucking same. “Yeah. It was fun. We got on like a house on fire.”
Her smile turns into a grin that actually reminds Kon of Stray’s sharp one, and oh, all that makes sense now. Who knows who learnt it from who. “Yall were more like a fire hazard, I imagine.”
She snorts. “Probably. Hell, I’m talking about him like he moved away or…something.” She was going to say died, Kon guesses. But that would be petty. “We still talk.” She glances at Cass from the corner of her eyes. She’s looking back at her intently, attentively listening. Her eyes snap back onto the table.
Kon glances between them. Huh.
She kind of snaps out of it. "I mean, of course. We were children fighting crime, or like, committing it, in his case, I guess. He helped me with the pregnancy..." She shakes her head. "You don't undo that sort of bond. Now… We’re friends.”
Jason blows air out his nose amusedly. “Understatement. They are good friends, see each other often to have sleepovers and paint their nails and shit.” She cheekily knocks an empty cream container in his direction. He moves out of the way, laughing. She fully relaxes. Good. “Admit it! You even patrol together! You keep bantering in a very sexually charged way!”
She throws her head back laughing, cheeks kind of flushed. Cass is grinning at her like she takes pleasure in her brother laughing at her. But Kon isn’t fooled. It's something else too. Her inky eyes shine mercurial.
“Fuck off, Todd!”
The air between them clears. And it leaves Kon to think of his own things.
—
They say goodbye when it starts to get a bit late.
“See you on patrol today?” Steph asks Jason hopefully, a silent apology in her words from before. An olive branch for the avoided subject.
“Um, I’m not sure. I’ll be with Kon in Park Row.” Oh. So Kon’s staying. Thanks for asking, Jason.
The boy in question fidgets slightly, sighs. “Steph… I… I’m sorry. I was being stupid. I don’t get to monopolize the trauma jokes.”
She laughs a bit. Kon feels like she would put in a you bet your ass you don’t, but Jason’s told him about how all the Gotham vigilantes are trying to… be softer, from the inside. So Steph softens. “Okay. Love you.” Jason smiles and squeezes her shoulder.
“And you,” she points at Kon playfully. “We need to catch up. Let’s hang, have one of those sleepovers and talk about boys,” she winks.
Kon laughs. “I’ll bring the face masks.” He leans in closer. “And I suspect I’ll find we’ll be talking about girls, too,” he says, glancing at the blonde’s dark haired friend. She blushes as he leans back.
“See ya, Konnie-boy.” She blows him a kiss.
He grins, pretending to catch it and swoon. Meanwhile, Cass is squishing Jason in a hug. Kon thinks she could actually pick him up, even if their size difference is hilarious. He sees how the blonde girl softens. There's just something about the girl. Kon catches the ends of her signing, the words on her lips sweet.
“I love you, little brother,” she whispers so lowly only Kon can hear her.
Jason takes his fists to his chest, crossing his arms over each other, like he’s hugging himself. “Love you.”
Cass grins. She sends Kon a two fingered salute and then the two of them are walking away from them, down the street, hand in hand and shoulders brushing.
“What’s up with all that?” Kon grins, talking about their fingers, shyly intertwined.
Jason shakes his head, smile still soft. “I think it's a new development. I'm not sure they have any idea of what they’re doing.”
Kon belly laughs. “Do any of us?”
—
Monday night falls, and the monsters all creep out to play.
Two campily dressed teenagers emerge into the darkness. It’s very stupid, but the sky feels higher up in Gotham to Kon. Like the city is taller and pushes against it, man against nature. But if he were to fly all the way up to the clouds…
Doesn’t really matter, though. Because the sky is a cloudless cesspool tonight.
Gotham's the type of city where horror stories happen. Or fairy tales.
“Okay, kid. Let’s move out.”
It’s fascinating to see Robin in his own territory, really. It’s not like he acts all that differently, but you can tell that his suit was made for this weather, or see that his cape swishes in the same noise as the wind.
They do what they do best. They fight gangs, lightly reprimand kids doing vandalism, walk drunk girls home and chat with them, partake in some slight stalking of minor drug empires, the usual. Jason actually greets one of the girls by name, eagerly listening to her wild club stories, and one of the kids he scolds seems like he's been caught by him more than once.
So, another regular Thursday, except it’s Monday. And Kon—Superboy, visiting Gotham—doesn’t know it yet, but he sees the criminal he’s been kind of obsessed with for weeks again that day.
It’s during a break. Jason’s employing his last efforts to scout the area again, and Kon looks on from a vantage point up, up, up. There’s this big old billboard right in the middle of the quartier, on the edge of barren land, the ones that use dirty scaffolding and have peeling paper on them rather than the screens simply sitting on the side of buildings like Kon’s used to in Metropolis.
He sits on the edge of the scaffolding itself, his back to the big handsome face of one Bruce Wayne, for Dior. Foolish, really. Kon thinks it’s fucking stupid, this big ad in the middle of a neighborhood where most people struggle to eat.
“I’m almost personally offended,” Kon mutters, glaring at the old billboard. Brucie stares flirtily back. The fact those words can sit like that together coherently and cohesively is a literal mind-fuck.
He turns, looking at Jason swinging through in his last sweep before their break, the last one before the first rays of sun break through. What a crazy city, fucking gnarly and ghastly. He repeats the same thing every time he hears a (non-hero) friend talking about coming down into this sinkhole: just get inside before sundown and stay there til the sun comes up.
The dreary dark sets on Kon’s bones too. Being a night vigilante is fucking rough . He can feel his light dim and his telekinetic aura dwindle in strength. And Jason does these 24 hour days five times a week?
“Yeah, don’t mind me, just finishing my catnap,” is what the voice first grumbles to him.
Kon is so lost in thought he fucking startles. His tongue is loose. “How the fuck?”
He turns quickly, and, of course, Stray is there, sitting in a corner, bundled in a black blanket and all. From what Kon can tell, he’s just woken up. He's just been woken up. Ah, shit.
He smiles. Smirks, really, then stretches his arms wide. “Gotta be more vigilant, pretty boy. You are a vigilante.”
He yawns like a damn cat. Kon feels his mood worsen purely from his presence (and the shitty joke, mostly because he didn't think of it first). “The fuck are you doing here?”
The man crawls closer, leaving behind the blanket in that corner like a nest. He’s wearing a different costume than the other day, Kon notices. It’s purple. “No need to be so prissy, Jesus. Whatever in the fuck did I do to you, really?”
He sounds annoyed. Kon doesn’t really want to turn to look at him again, so he doesn’t know if he looks the part.
Truth is, Kon hasn’t taken very well the going-undercover-with-him thing. Ah, fuck it. He turns his head slightly to glance at him from his peripheral. “Did you talk with Jay?”
The guy plops himself down next to him, legs dangling. Kon glances down at them, and sees they’re covered to his knee in black material, shiny looking, mimicking boots. It makes his legs look long. He traces them with his eyes and when he glances at Stray’s face, he’s already looking at him. His gaze is always so intense, Kon actually straightens a little.
His eyebrows are pulled together from underneath a purple cowl. It covers his face like the balaclava, but the cowl itself is part of his suit, with a little gap at the nape of his neck where his dark hair pokes out, curling towards his jaw. He opens his mouth—
“Talk to me about what?”
Jason lands on the scaffolding, the metal noise of his grapple loud and menacing. His boots are loud against the floor. He glances at Stray. “Oh, it's you.”
It's casual as he wraps up the metal string with the hook, attaching it into his belt before sitting down. Stray scowls at him. “You literally know I nap here on Mondays, Jace.”
Kon realizes he acts faux-bothered a lot. It's kind of strange. It makes him sweat. Jason keeps acting casual. Actually, their modus vivendi is kind of similar. “Oh, damn, really? Huh, I hadn't realized.”
This fucking guy…
Stray narrows his eyes at him, from behind his goggles. He's pulled them on in a second, maybe because of the wind, and it makes his eyes look even bluer. “You're planning something.”
Jason smirks. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn't confirm it. “Only thing I'm planning here is your joint mission.”
That makes them both go very still. Call him a coward, but Kon doesn't dare look at Stray.
The man stops all his shuffling and fidgeting, sits as still as a statue. Jason, sitting between them, sends a pointed look to Kon, and when he tosses the same one towards Stray, the man shifts again, folding a leg under himself and avoiding Jason’s gaze.
Wait. Was Stray also not keen on working with Kon? Whatever did he do to him? Stray catches his gaze and folds his arms in front of his chest, gaze flicking elsewhere. What a fucking dick.
He and Jason have a strange kind of staring contest. They just intensely hold each other’s gaze, despite Jason’s eyes being whitened out. It’s crazy how he managed to master the art of conveying emotions despite the mask. It’s a pure form of theater, really. Eventually, Stray sighs.
“Fine,” he says. He looks straight at Kon. “Superboy,” Kon blinks. “You and I will be prepping for the undercover job at my place.” No. Way. Stray glances at Jason. “It’s kind of a lot. Depends on how much you know about paintings?” there’s an uptick at the end of his sentence, but Kon says nothing. “I guess not. Well, I’ll do all the heavy lifting, don’t worry.”
Kon is about to tick out of his skin.
He looks at Jason, who seems to realize he probably owes him explanations. “Okay, so you will need to befriend this man. You’ll have fake IDs, but the point is to strengthen your bond with West—” Kon remembers the frail looking redhead. “—but especially Arteaga.” The rich, suspicious blonde. Jason shoots Stray a pointed look. “Whatever means necessary.” Whatever that means.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah Jason, don’t worry, I’ll make sure to whore myself out for this man, sorry, for the sake of the mission.”
Uh, whoa?
Jason, for one, has the decency to look a bit embarrassed. But then that fades quickly, and instead looks fiercely angry. “You know that is not what I meant.” Stray says nothing, but Jason’s scowl stays on. “...Superboy. You’ll be posing as Stray’s bodyguard.”
“Aw, what the hell?” He can't help it. Being in service of this guy makes his skin crawl in ways he can't even rationalise why. Won't rationalize, rather. “Rob.”
He doesn't whine. He does not whine. But from where Stray sits, eyes transfixed in a single point under them, into the city, there's no movement. Only a muster of, “Told you so.”
Kon’s head snaps towards him, jaw tight, finding Stray’s steely gaze already turned to his. Always anticipated. They lock eyes, and Kon feels kind of like a house dog in a scuffle with an annoying street cat. Before he does something ridiculous like baring his teeth to him, Jason interrupts.
“Play nice, boys,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Seriously, this is a difficult mission. If you don’t think you’ll be able to work together, you need to tell me now.” There’s a pointed silence. Kon and Stray glare at each other. “That’s what I thought.”
“Fine,” huffs Stray, looking like an annoyed cat. To Kon, he says. “Give me your communicator, or whatever the fuck.”
He extends his palm forward. Kon looks at his long silvery claws somewhat anxiously. “Uh, why?”
Stray looks at him like he’s stupid. “So I can put in my number, so I can give you my address, so you can come over and we can figure out everything about this mission.” Kon doesn’t move. Stray blinks and puts on a somewhat impatient smile, like he’s going for charming but is too tired for a successful attempt. “Sweetness. I am not operating outside of Gotham. God’s sake, you can fly!”
He glances at Jason warily as he pulls the phone out with TTK. He shrugs at him, seemingly uncaring, but he can see how he watches their every move like a hawk with hares in sight. It plops down on Stray’s hand, unlocked and with the contacts app on screen. He feels the fabric of Stray’s hands with his aura, brushing just slightly, but it makes Stray pause, looking at the invisible force somewhat interested, and then peers at Kon from behind his lashes. Why does he keep doing that?
He fiddles with the phone for a second and gives it back. This time Kon takes it with his hand, and their fingers brush for real. His skin had looked so pale, out of costume. Now he’s covered head to toe.
Kon huffs when he sees Stray’s texted himself with a hey sexy. He glances at him, and, again, he’s already looking at him, somewhat playfully, his lips contain the ghost of a smirk. “Tasteful,” he offers, after a moment of decision.
“It’s a classic for a reason.” His smile is lopsided, and Kon’s heart might skip a beat. Shut up.
Kon, king of pick-up lines, kind of swoons. Funnily. Comically. Not serious at all. “Yeah. Works every time.”
He flashes his Superman grin. Not the Superboy one. Not to get them confused. Fifteen year old tiny Kon practiced in front of the mirror too much for that.
It kind of works? Stray looks pleased enough. Jason even makes a show of coughing dramatically between them. To be fair, Kon is practically in his lap, and he’s leaning on his hands behind him just to avoid him. Oops. Bats and personal space.
(From the way Stray’s looking at him—and the way he’s acted in the past—Kon doesn’t think he’ll have that much of an issue with him regarding that aspect.)
He glances back down at his phone. Stray labeled his contact as T.
“T?”
Stray—T?—and Jason trade glances. “We’ll talk about it, I guess.”
“So, uh… I’ll be coming round to yours?”
To talk about uncharted territory. Stray laughs.
“Don’t get excited, pretty boy. Just a safehouse.” He gives himself a moment to think. “As I–as I understand it,” he glances at Jason as if for confirmation, “We’re both—we’re all busy with our own cases, and this seems somewhat low priority.” Jason nods. “So, the investigation on our side will span several weeks.” Oh, no. Why??? “If you’re wondering why, ask your charming partner over here.”
His smile is sickly sweet and certainly fake. Jason rolls his eyes, head movement and all. It’s like he never got over seventeen.
“For the last time, kid; no one wants you around YJHQ. Beyond the mouthful, like, no way. We’re connected to JLA and Oracle circuits, no fucking way.” He shakes his head resolutely. Stray is looking at him attentively, somewhat innocently. “…And you didn’t know that. Good job, Jason.” He adds in a bitter mutter.
“Chin up, babybird. ‘S just business. I’ve got some clients that would pay good money for that kind of classified info.”
“Right.” Says Jason, somewhat icily.
They are certainly a strange pair. Jason is so… different. But maybe without Kon there… “You guys are fucking weird,” Kon states.
Stray side-eyes him, one side of his mouth ticked up. Jason just side-eyes him darkly. He can really tell even with the white-out eyes. It’s eerie.
Jason looks at his watch, then at Kon. “We gotta scram, Boy of Steel.” He stands up, starting to pull out his grappling shit.
Kon stands up too. He puts his hands on his hips, covering the cutouts, and makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Will you just let me carry you?”
Stray looks between them neutrally. Just happens to be his neutral face is kind of mischievously plotting. He’s so strange.
Jason doesn’t exactly answer, but he does put back the grapple line in his belt. The way it’s just part of the belt… it feels like an accident waiting to happen.
“Where are you going, then?” asks the preening cat. Kon opens his mouth.
“Nonya,” answers Jason. Stray laughs. “He thinks he’s funny,” he tells Kon. “Your sense of humor is the same it was when you were thirteen, Boy Blunder,” he tells, well, the Wonderous Boy Blunder.
Jason’s got this half-grin on his face, the one Nightwing sports often. “Well, you did laugh, Catboy.”
And he laughs again, eyes creasing, delighted. Kon imagines the boy with an invisible tail, swishing around, truly preening. “Just ‘cause you’re an idiot.” He’s kicking his feet, for fuck’s sake! He touches something on the rim of his goggles, and leans forward, like he’s amplifying his vision. “Would you look at that?” he hums. “It looks like I’m off too.”
He grabs the grapple Kon remembers from the other day, very cartoon-thief-like. Just the line and the thick, sturdy hook. He gets up and dusts off the line that lies curled on his other side. In a mouth-drying moment, Kon realizes that’s the infamous whip.
Jason gets ahead of him with the teasing comment. “What, off to punish someone?”
But Stray—standing at the very edge of the scaffolding, now, silhouette traced out by the moonlight—just looks back and grins, like some kind of cool movie villain. “Well, after you blew off my informant… let’s just say I gotta pull some strings for the new guy in the position that's now available.” With a last little grin, he tosses the hook far. The line tenses and he looks at Kon.
“Don’t forget to text, pretty boy.”
Then he’s off, moonlight on his back, laughing all the way.
Jason and Kon trade glances.
“What the fuck have I gotten into?”
The question gets lost to the silvered night.
Notes:
long notes:
1. kon pov unlocked!!
2. kon's confusion over angry/dislike/attraction/interest in tim has to do with some of his canon lore
3. in canon jasons like. chronically offline. idk if not dying would change anything there, but i don't think he's much on social media and stuff here. chronically online i mean like. connected.
4. catch the gattaca reference
5. jason todd happy robin literally canon
6. there's a shit ton of references to lines in canon. "i think im turning into batman" is in fact a selina kyle quote
7. in this, tim has two suits, alternating depending on context. the black one is inspired off of the first one selina has in "catwoman: when in rome", and the purple one is the classic 90s one + the optional goggles
8. i make kon lose his words a lot. now, i know he's a fucking blabbermouth (i adore him, really), but he'll slowly gain confidence
9. tim helps out with the birds of prey!!! tim and helena siblingism real!!!
10. red hood references lol
11. tim admires bruce like a motherfucker. fucking loser (love him)
12. mission presentation!! disclaimer, im spanish. the names are accurate and stuff, PROMISE
13. i love stephanie brown. i didnt make her justice, i think. GO READ BATGIRL 2025 RN RN RN!!!
14. timsteph canon in every universe
15. this whole thing is literally self indulgent. i'm like even a little sorry
16. ill be touching on similarities in tim and kon next chapter
17. timkon undercover is always hilarious to me. they're so good separately but bros share one braincell together
18. "pretty boy" has become kon's new nickname i think. wasn't even on purpose.
19. just wanted to say that kon usually is more of an unreliable narrator than jason. in a silly sense. in the sense that he may say he looked super cool doing something but he actually looked kind of stupid, etc
10.5. while editing im realizing there's like a shit ton of wordplay? congrats jana? can i get a yahoo?
that's pretty much it rn. hope you enjoyed!!! seriously, please drop a comment. even if it's a bunch of hearts or something!! have a good day!
salty_bicycle on Chapter 1 Mon 12 May 2025 03:39AM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 1 Mon 12 May 2025 12:29PM UTC
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Nibgnahc on Chapter 1 Mon 12 May 2025 09:13AM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 1 Mon 12 May 2025 12:31PM UTC
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Nibgnahc on Chapter 1 Mon 12 May 2025 09:52PM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 1 Thu 15 May 2025 03:20PM UTC
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Nibgnahc on Chapter 1 Thu 15 May 2025 08:43PM UTC
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NightWingIsWhere12 on Chapter 1 Wed 14 May 2025 07:14AM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 1 Thu 15 May 2025 03:19PM UTC
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DespairInTheAir on Chapter 2 Mon 26 May 2025 02:15PM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 2 Tue 27 May 2025 01:20PM UTC
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Nibgnahc on Chapter 2 Wed 28 May 2025 09:17PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 May 2025 09:18PM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 2 Sun 01 Jun 2025 09:45PM UTC
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Nibgnahc on Chapter 2 Sun 01 Jun 2025 10:24PM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 2 Tue 03 Jun 2025 10:48AM UTC
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Nibgnahc on Chapter 2 Tue 03 Jun 2025 11:44AM UTC
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Rilo on Chapter 2 Fri 06 Jun 2025 07:46PM UTC
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Dr0plet on Chapter 2 Sat 07 Jun 2025 11:13AM UTC
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Nibgnahc on Chapter 3 Sun 22 Jun 2025 11:34PM UTC
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