Archive of Our Own ^beta

Batman and Robin were in Metropolis tracking a shipment of aluminum radome joints and steel rocketry parts. Tim had been left to search the downtown warehouse district by himself, most certainly because Batman thought nothing was there–which, to his credit, there was not. Nothing of interest but a bit of slow-going construction abandoned by its workers, which left Tim bored and curious, basically kicking dirt in full Robin regalia waiting for Bruce to finish and come pick him up.

He'd wanted to drive Redbird here, but Bruce said it was too recognizable for a trip up the interstate, and would give them away. Instead, Tim had to ride shotgun in an honest-to-god beige minivan, like Bruce was his PTA mom, except instead of cookies in the trunk they had several million dollars worth of stealth gear. Another boring mission for him, because Bruce never let him do the fun stuff, not even drive. Boo.

As a light breeze stirred up swirling clouds of dust, Tim made himself busy hopping in and out of the various heavy machinery scattered around the site, poking around and generally being nosy. The longer he spent there, the more quickly it became clear that certain areas of the plot hadn't been touched in months. He stumbled upon a thoroughly abandoned mobile crane on the far edge of the site, whose arm wouldn't budge no matter how he wrenched the joysticks.

Sighed. He had time to kill, at least.

He popped open the pocket of his belt that held his portable screwdriver kit and got underneath the seat to pry open the main wiring panel. It was oiled and gritty from age, so Tim scratched away some of the scum with his fingernails until he could see better. He fumbled around and tightened a few screws on parts that were already working fine, huffing to himself when he couldn't find the problem.

Tim soon found himself clambering precariously up the long arm of the crane, checking the creaking, groaning joints intermittently and scuffing his kneepads against the weathered yellow metal. Tim made his way all the way up the boom, perching himself next to the pulley at the top, where he finally found his fix; the hoist line had been pulled out of place.

The wind picked up as an evening storm rolled into the city, and Tim hooked his legs between some steel slats to keep himself steady as he leaned down to wiggle at the cable. Something tickled his cheek and he moved to brush it away distractedly, his hand smacking into something very warm and hard. Alive.

Robin startled and dropped the cable. It clanged against the machinery below loudly as it fell. He whipped his head around, finding a familiar face hovering inches from his own. Superboy gazed at him, perplexed.

"What are you doing?" Superboy asked, brow scrunched. His hands found their way to Tim's armpits, forcing Tim to unlatch his legs as he was gently lifted off the boom.

They'd only spoken the one time, dealing with Metallo and Poison Ivy together, and Tim didn't know how to answer him without sounding completely idiotic. He was pretty sure he'd gotten grease and dirt in his hair when he'd ducked under the seat in the control module. Did Superboy even remember him? Probably not. Superboy seemed to team up with a lot of people, and Tim wouldn't kid himself into thinking Robin was something so memorable.

"Not your concern," Was what Tim's mouth decided on as he toed around for a foothold below. He never ended up finding one.

He squeaked as they shot up into the air, the pair of them hurtling away from the construction site, zipping into the sky almost faster than Tim could register. The city streets turned into a blur of grid lines beneath his dangling feet, so fast it was almost nauseating.

He twisted out of Superboy's arms instinctively as they tightened around him–a terrible idea, truly, he felt his life flash before his eyes when Superboy actually did let go of him in surprise. Genuinely, genuinely, dropped him. It was definitely Tim's fault, too. He screamed himself hoarse as he tumbled out into the open air, wind whipping ferociously in his ears, sans a parachute or even a glider.

In the brief moment he truly believed he was hurtling towards imminent death, he thought of his mom, then Bruce, then Jack. In that order. Probably something worth reflecting on if he cared to do things like self reflect.

Superboy swooped down a moment later, yelling unintelligibly and panicked as he gathered Robin's plummeting form back into his arms. As soon as Tim was back in his hold Superboy did the closest thing to skidding to a stop as someone could do in open air, his grip so tight it felt as though Tim's bones creaked beneath it. Metropolis' tallest skyscrapers were nothing but a freckled smattering of window lights beneath them.

Superboy was panicking. "Oh, my god. That scared the shit outta me. Don't do that." His breath was sticky warm in Tim's hair, sweet like he'd been sucking on a mint. Tim hooked his knees over Superboy's hipbones, because the only other option was to let them dangle freely in the open air. He laughed with just a hint of mania.

"Me? I scared you? You dropped me! You can't do that!"

Superboy scrubbed a hand anxiously over his face like he was trying to reset it's expression, before frowning. He pushed his sunglasses into his nest of curly hair, and without the lenses, his eyes were bright and clear. "I'm so sorry, but that part was definitely your fault."

Tim decided not to argue that point, and pivoted. He scoffed, affronted, "And you can't just grab people! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"You–! You…well, I'm…" Superboy deflated a bit in the chest, which Tim felt more than saw. "Shit, well. It's Superboy." Which…yes. Tim knew that already. He didn't mean the question literally.

Superboy gave Tim a singular, pathetic jazz hand. "We hung out that one time, um. You don't remember me? I thought…"

Tim held back a small frown. They didn't hang out, Robin needed backup that Superboy was able to provide; it was a mission. Silly that Superboy would think he would forget him, though. He was really quite memorable. "I know who you are, SB. I meant rhetorically."

"Oh! Phew, that's good to hear, otherwise this would be so weird. I just got surprised seeing you, because it's been a while, you know? I was thinking we should hang out since you're not busy." Superboy smiled, which was very presumptuous of him.

"Actually, I was a little busy…" Tim grumbled. He hadn't managed to fix the crane yet, at least, which miffed him ever so slightly.

Superboy raised one of his thick brows dubiously at the oil streaking across Tim's cheek. "You didn't seem that busy to me."

"Looks can be deceiving," Tim muttered, scrubbing his face self-consciously with the back of his glove.

"Alright, well. You're here now," Superboy poked his tongue into the hollow of his cheek, bulging out the skin. "And I missed you."

Tim flushed, because they'd really only met the one time.

"Uh, me too," Tim replied a little awkwardly, because Superboy was sort of sweet. Not even on purpose, it seemed, but like maybe he just couldn't help being that way. Charming is the word Alfred would use. Tim would personally go with pushy. "Do you think we could go back to the ground, maybe?"

Superboy pulled a face. "Oh, can we not? I just don't want you to get away while I'm talking to you. This way is better, since you can't leave."

"Oh." Tim's stomach dropped, just a little bit. Like a creeping winter chill, it sunk in that all that stood between him and his death splattered across the asphalt below were Superboy's good graces.

"Mmhm," Superboy hummed and tugged a little on his earring. "Why are you in Metropolis anyway? I thought you and Batman stayed in that one city. What's it called…Gothville?" He snapped his fingers. "Oh wait, no, Gotham."

Tim smiled nervously. "That's the one."

"Ah, knew it. You gotta show me around sometime."

"Maybe." Tim's hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his grip on Superboy's jacket. Every breath of oxygen he sucked in felt too thin. "Sounds like fun, but I can't stay."

"Aw, but," Superboy reclined back lazily in midair. Tim floundered as his balance was thrown off. Superboy brought his hands up to steady him like an afterthought. His palms were warm through the suit and gloves. "Can't you stay for just a little while?"

Tim made a little so-so gesture with his hand. "Not really. Batman will be worried about me." Superman certainly should check up on Superboy too, if this was the kind of thing he was getting up to in his spare time, kidnapping people away to air jail and dropping them.

Did Superboy have anyone looking out for him, too? Tim sure hoped so, especially since the whole issue with Poison Ivy. Superboy was too easily manipulated by her. She was a lot older than him, too.

Superboy sighed and tilted his head back, carefree, exposing the strong line of his neck, his Adam's apple. "C'mon, it'll be fun! We're Superboy and Robin. Sounds good together, no?"

Tim was saved from responding because Superboy decided to sit up abruptly, uncaring of how it dislodged his companion. Tim let out a noise of surprise and tried not to seem like he was clinging to his shoulders, even though he absolutely was. He wished Superboy would be a little more careful. He was too flippant, and anyone without Robin's level of balance training would have fallen off by now.

"Ah, sorry, but." He let Tim readjust before continuing, apropos of nothing, "Actually–my name is Kon. Kon-El. Superman named me."

"Oh!" Tim hadn't known that. Maybe he shouldn't know that, actually. Superboy certainly seemed to give away information a little too freely for his tastes.

Kon twirled them in the air excitedly, just once. It made Tim feel like throwing up, a little. God, were they high up. "I know! It's so cool. I didn't have a name before."

Tim tried not to let his face betray just how sad that sounded. He just couldn't imagine only having a superhero name and not a regular one. Everyone needed a break from the cape every now and then to stay sane, even Bruce. Still, he managed to say, "That's nice."

"Yeah!" Kon beamed, so pleased with himself. "So, what's your name?"

Tim inclined his head. "Robin."

Kon snorted. "No, duh. Like your actual name."

"I'm not telling you that," Tim replied, flabbergasted.

Kon's smile faded, and his eyes turned into those of a kicked puppy. "Why not? I told you mine…"

Tim traced the spikes on Kon's shoulder pads with his fingers, maybe to distract himself. "Yes, and it's a nice name. But you aren't getting mine."

"Hm." Kon huffed, displeased. Then he flipped them upside down, keeping Tim from falling with his hands, coming up just a beat too late for comfort, the swooping sensation of free-fall already tight in Tim's stomach. The feather-light sensation of something settled over him like a blanket, maybe fear or dread. They were too high for it to be even close to funny, so Tim screamed.

Superboy just grinned playfully, curls flying up with gravity.

"I could drop you again," he teased. "Then would you tell me?"

Tim's mind went static for a moment. "Don't–" He choked out. "Don't do that, ohmygod, don't–" He clutched his arms around Kon's neck like a vice, squeezing hard enough to choke any normal person, and Kon froze beneath the touch. It was a joke, probably, but god. What if it wasn't? Superboy could kill him. It would be so easy. They'd only met once, and Superboy had seemed so annoyed with him at the time. Now he'd gotten him mad, been uncooperative, and Superboy had all the power. Batman would have to puzzle out the mystery of his death with the splatter marks he left behind on the sidewalk. 

Lost in the brief throes of panic, he yelled for, "CLARK!"

They flipped back over, right side up.

"Woah, hey hey hey," Kon backtracked, sounding genuinely shocked. Like he hadn't realized just how terrifying that was for Tim, who barely knew him, who couldn't fly. "I'm sorry, I-I wasn't actually gonna drop you. I have that thing, remember? TT–"

Tim hushed him, and hissed, "Stop–just. Stop. You're freaking me the fuck out." Kon fell silent.

Superman appeared in the beat between sentences, a halo of blue and red safety, because Robin had yelled for him, which he almost never did. The clouds were turning into a dark and tumultuous swirl in the distance.

He floated for a moment to take in the scene. "Superboy." His tone was carefully neutral. He seemed to work several statements around his jaw before deciding on: "Can I see Robin for a second?"

Superboy made no move to give him up. Panic, embarrassment, and regret were plain on his face. He'd never learned how to hide expressions, it seemed. But then again, who did he have to teach him how to do that?

"But I didn't mean to–" Kon urged.

"I know, I know," Superman placated, extending his arms towards them. Kon shied away, bringing a hand up to the back of Tim's neck nervously. Tim tensed involuntarily as fingers settled against his cartoid, and he pretended not to notice Clark noticing him do that. Thunder rattled through the sky, impossibly loud. The air felt damp yet electric.

Tim started pulling away from Superboy's embrace, and felt soothed when Superboy let him up.

"Nobody's hurt, sorry," Tim told Clark, who exhaled. "We were–I just got…" He hesitated. "…nervous. Sorry."

Clark pinched his brows, concerned. Tim focused back on Kon and swallowed. "Can I go with Clark, now? I really gotta go." He didn't want Kon to feel bad about this, he probably didn't know any better. Bruce probably really was waiting for him, too. Maybe even freaking out that he was missing by now. It was Tim's fault for bringing Clark into this, which he was already regretting. They were having fun, maybe, before he got here.

Kon nodded, silent. Obeying easily and without question. It made something coiled tight inside of Tim loosen a bit, sad. He was passed to Clark, who took the weight easily.

Tim carefully didn't wrap his arms around Clark, instead resting them in his lap. He didn't want to upset Superboy because he was sweet, really, he just seemed like he didn't talk to people their age very often.

"Kon," Clark addressed him sternly and a little harsher than Tim would have preferred. "You need to learn how to be careful. I shouldn't need to tell you that."

Kon crossed his arms uncomfortably and averted his eyes. There was a patch on the side of his jacket arm flapping in the quickening wind, nearly falling off. It looked crudely hand-stitched, like it was threaded on by someone who'd never sewn before. Kon looked smaller than before, under their combined scrutiny.

"Kon, hey," Tim addressed softly, ignoring Clark, like it was just the two of them again. "It's alright. I'm sorry, I overreacted. Come see me Gotham, okay? Next time you get a second. We'll hang out then."

Superboy caught his lower lip between his teeth.

"…Whatever," he mumbled, and flew away.

Superman and Robin watched him go with mixed expressions. Tim hoped he hadn't just messed that up irreparably.

Two days later, Kon tracked Robin down under a bridge. He hadn't been hard to find, even though all the news articles Kon read said he would be. Kon simply had an ingenious method, it seemed.

Robins belt pockets jingled almost imperceptibly when he moved, which Kon had taken note of when they'd first met, if only because he'd found it distracting at the time. The sound was irritatingly specific: several tiny, complex electronics shoved into the small space of his belt pockets which rattled and clacked against each other, scratching uncomfortably against the leather interiors, providing Kon with a guide wire straight to the boy.

Gotham was loud in a different way than Metropolis and Hawaii were. Hissing gas and the groan of bending metal underscored its grumbling chorus of city life. His head cocked towards that leathery scritching noise, though. He swayed towards it, hovering above a thick stratus cloud, before zipping downwards.

When Kon finally touched down, it was not in a lively part of the city. The sidewalks were jagged and overgrown with weeds before they disappeared altogether into a cluster buildings that were just dull blocks of concrete, sinister dark pipes snaking down their walls. Water ran sluggishly though a wide canal situated beneath an old rickety bridge, weighed down by its slimy quality.

Robin was a spot of color against the dull background, trudging beneath the bridge and kicking up murky, slow-moving water as he went. He used his forearm to scrub at a patch of dried dirt on his chin, gloves soiled with something dark and sticky-looking.

When he caught sight of Kon, he didn't startle. He did pause, however–just stood there for a moment to fix him with an expression of mild alarm. Kon waved with his fingers low by his hip, nervous. Robin seemingly winced at the sight of him and glanced behind himself once before sloshing over. Gosh, Robin was probably still mad at him. Kon must be stupid. He definitely hadn't meant it when he told Kon to come see him.

Robin came to a quick stop in front of him, grabbing Kon by the lapels of his jacket and dragging him underneath the bridge. Kon stumbled after him; he was definitely about to get punched.

That didn't happen, though, which Kon was happy about because the guy would probably break his hand if he tried. Instead, Robin just whispered on an exhale, "Sorry, hi. Didn't expect you. Keep quiet if you can." Kon fixed him with wide eyes, hands coming up to grasp at Robin's wrists instinctively. His fingers squished in whatever substance was coating his gloves though, and he pulled back, making a face. "Yuck."

"Oh, cripes. I'm so sorry, I forgot about that," Robin rushed out, quickly pulling away. He and Kon realized at the same time that he'd smeared his mystery sludge all over Kon's Superboy jacket, too. "It's tar," he said hopelessly, moving to fiddle with the clasps connecting the gloves to his sleeves.

"Oh." Kon wasn't sure what to say to that, wiping his hands uncomfortably on his pants, marring the blue fabric. He didn't have the money for a new jacket. He decided not to think about that right now, though. "It's okay."

Robin peeled his gloves off in an instant, almost clinically, the way doctors did. It was a practiced motion, smooth despite the bulk of the gloves. When he was finished, he stuffed them into a back pocket, leaving his hands bare and pale. The nail cuticles were carefully pushed back, like Tana's usually were. They weren't painted or anything like hers, though. Kon reached out to grab one of them, to pull it close so he could see better.

Robin caught his hand halfway out and stared at it, confused for a moment before just continuing to hold onto it a bit awkwardly. Which was nice, even though Kon had just wanted to look at his nails.

"Something up, SB?" he asked.

"Not really. I just came to see you, like you asked." He sure hoped he was doing it right too, and that Robin hadn't already forgotten about the open invitation. It had seemed a little tacked on in the moment.

A car alarm sounded off somewhere in the distance. Robin half-turned towards the sound and hummed, squeezing his fingers a little. "Yeah? Well it's good to see you."

Kon nodded vigorously. "I mostly wanted to apologize about what happened the other day–I was using my TTK the whole time, and I never would've let you fall. I was just messing around, but I forgot that you probably wouldn't have remembered about the whole telekinesis thing. I feel really sorry for it. A lot." A dumpster lid clanged ominously in the distance, ruining the earnestness somewhat.

Robin's mouth quirked up in a little half-smile. "…Aw. You're okay, SB. It's not a big deal, so don't worry about it too much, alright?" He distractedly scraped some of the mud off his knee-high boots onto the stone of a bridge support pillar, eyes flickering between Kon and the river mouth behind him. A fire hydrant exploded about two streets down. "But you're sweet. I appreciate it."

"'Course, man." Robin had really called him sweet, the way the old lady who worked at the convenience store downtown did when he helped with the carts. It made Kon feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Robin gave him a thumbs up and threw a glance over Kon's shoulder, squinting. Kon made to turn around as well, but Robin caught his bicep to keep him still. He let go of Kon's hand too, and that was fine because his fingers were getting sort of clammy.

Robin tapped once on the side of his ear and leaned up towards Kon, tiptoes sliding in the mud. His lips were slightly parted and pink, if chapped. Kon started leaning down to meet him without really thinking.

There was no beautiful kiss, though, to Kon's confusion. Just the whoosh of air displacing beside his head as Robin flipped up and over his shoulder in a graceful sweep. He barely touched down at Kon's back before he was already shoving him, with urgency, behind a blocky bridge support beam.

Robin fixed him with a calm expression and said sternly to, "Stay here," as Kon stumbled, nearly tripping into the water. Then Robin darted away from Kon's side, splashing towards the opening of the canal. Kon was glad he had his TTK barrier to stop the water from hitting him.

When Kon turned back around, he was surprised to find that at the river's mouth, a true Goliath of a man had been waiting, silent. Kon hadn't been paying attention to notice his approach, and felt his jaw drop at the sight of him. The curled spikes scraping down his back were the size of hammers, and his skin was mottled, gray, and flaky, all the way down his torso and arms. A meta, probably, because he was just so large.

The man roared, impossibly loud, the yell of a regular man but with incredible bass, so intense Kon felt like he wasn't imagining it shaking buildings and flickering street lamps. There was some garbled version of Robin's name, too, spat through a cage of massive mismatched teeth. Robin trudged forward reluctantly to meet him.

He flipped open an extendable staff, twirling it between his fingers expertly. "Hey, Waylon," he greeted. "Are we feeling alright? Pretty bad hit you took earlier." And oh, Kon hadn't realized he'd interrupted Robin in the middle of his night. It made a lot more sense in hindsight.

Robin earned himself a mean snarl, and he pursed his lips in response, bouncing from foot to foot for a moment before sprinting forward. Just before Waylon's massive fist could connect with his head, he dropped into a slide, shucking up a wave of ugly brown water. He ended up behind the man, lept onto his back, and hooked his bo staff under his chin.

Waylon bucked violently, swiping with large motions to claw him off. Robin held on like a vice, swinging dangerously with every movement. Waylon couldn't grab him, no matter how he tried. Kon would have found it funny, had he not been so fascinated. He just stayed quiet and watched.

Their struggle continued on for some moment, and then Robin and Waylon toppled backwards into the water, the resulting colossal splash sending water crashing up the banks.

The fight quickly turned into a messy brawl, both parties rolling around in an effort to remain on top. Robin was outclassed sheerly due to size and weight. Kon had been fine to wait patiently, until Waylon grabbed Robin by the back of the neck and slammed him down under the water, holding him down while Robin kicked and thrashed.

Kon didn't think before he was up and out from under the bridge, his fist smashing into Waylon's face with a sickening crunch. Several cracked teeth splattered into the water, leaving the man's mouth a mess of bloody, gummy mush. Kon threw him bodily away with his TTK, and the man flew across to the opposite bank, landing in the mud with a wet smack.

A wet, hacking cough came from behind him. Kon pulled Robin from the water, running over him with his TTK. He found a little bit of water in his lungs, and gently wrapped it in TTK to pull it up Robin's esophagus, making him gag.

Kon patted Robin's back like he was burping a child, and was shoved for his efforts. Robin stumbled away from him woozily, eyes flickering until they found the limp form of his assailant across the water.

"Kon!" He gasped, wide-eyed. He stumbled and tripped forward through the water, towards Waylon's slumped form. "Is he alright?"

Kon drifted behind him and caught him by the waist when he almost fell into the mud again. Waylon's lungs were still rattling along inside his chest, perfectly fine.

"No, he's okay."

"Oh, jeez. You hit him really hard," Robin breathed out, staring at the guy's missing teeth and deflating like a balloon.

Kon wasn't always sure what levels of force were appropriate sometimes, but he'd been so worried that Robin was going to drown, and moved without thinking. But now Robin was probably scared of him again. He wanted Robin to like him, though, so bad, so he tried to explain himself.

"I don't hurt people just to hurt them, I promise. I'm sorry. I wasn't really thinking about it," He paused, realizing that didn't sound too great either. He couldn't get his words right. He tried tacking on, "And I know I'm a clone but–my brain works, I swear. I'm not bad. I'm really–I'm nice." He hoped, at least.

Robin floundered a little as he listened, pausing his frantic tapping at his wristwatch. He looked at him with his eyes wide, mouth open like a goldfish. "What? Of course you're not bad! You're very nice, Superboy."

Kon's eyebrows creased in the middle as he frowned. He wished Robin would call him Kon.

The sound of cicadas and crickets buzzed from the underbrush dotted along the edge of the water. Robin reached up a thumb to smooth out the wrinkle on Kon's forehead.

"It was just sudden, it surprised me," Robin said, then murmured, "Next time maybe try to be a little more gentle. You can do that, can't you?" He pushed gently in the center of Kon's forehead with the pad of his finger before pulling away. Kon's stomach buzzed. Yes, he could.

Robin let go of Kon and turned, pulling a pair of large handcuffs from a belt pocket. Kon followed him across the shallow water and watched as he clicked them around Waylon's unmoving wrists.

"And I appreciate it, but I would've been okay," Robin said as he probed around the man's mouth, scrutinizing the damage, checking his vitals, and seemingly not finding anything too awful. Kon was glad for that, before realizing what Robin said and making a face.

"Um, no you wouldn't? You were drowning." CADMUS had downloaded lots of footage of people drowning into his brain while he was developing, so he knew what it was supposed to looked like.

"Croc would've let me up eventually. It was just to scare me a little, I think," Robin replied, putting away his first aid kit so he could begin wringing out of his cape.

Kon touched the dark fabric with his finger and used TTK to slough off the majority of the water from it into the grass. "I thought his name was Waylon?"

Robin looked at him like he was silly. "It is. Waylon Jones. Killer Croc?" Kon shook his head, not recognizing the name. "Oh, well. I guess it's a Gotham thing. But yeah, Huntress said it's nicer to call him by his name to his face, so we do. And he tries less hard to kill me–sorry, hold on." He tapped against his earpiece once, annoyed as it crackled harshly to life in his ear, waterlogged.

"–bin, what's your ten?" The woman's voice was clear, sputtered out through the wet speaker.

Robin dropped his voiced like it mattered. Kon could hear everything being said. "10-8, all clear. Did B fix the pipe? Croc's out, so he has plenty of time."

"Nice job. Pipe is all good. I revoked the flood alert too."

A small cut on Robin's cheekbone caught Kon's attention. Supers didn't really bleed, so he found himself slightly fascinated by it. Not that he'd never seen blood before, but still. He reached out and thumbed gently over the wound, leaving a red smear behind. Robin glanced up at him curiously but largely ignored him, continuing on his conversation.

"That's good. Do you want me to rendezvous back….to. Um," Robin trailed off as Kon stuck his bloodied finger between his lips, then grimaced, disgusted. He'd expected blood to taste a lot sweeter than it actually did, because they said so in Wendy the Werewolf Stalker. They were wrong; it actually just tasted sort of bad. Robin matched his thoughtful expression with one of thinly veiled alarm. Whoever was on the other end of the comm line continued chattering away instructions undeterred.

Robin stood and listened quietly for a moment before finally chiming back in, "… yeah, can you send the PD here for a pickup? That'd be great. Yes, he's really heavy. Uh-huh. I know. I'll call you back, buh-bye." He flicked the comm off distractedly.

Kon smiled at him. "Need help with anything else?"

Robin stared at him. "No…that's alright. You can head home if you want."

Kon currently lived alone in one of the movie star trailers behind a Metropolis news station he'd been invited on once. It had shiny linoleum ceilings and a tacky black and white checker patterned floor on the tiny area meant to be a kitchen. It also came with three identical scratchy brown blankets that Kon bunched into a ball at night so he had something to hold when he fell asleep. The news station hadn't ever noticed that he never moved out. He didn't like it very much, it wasn't anything like Hawaii.

"I don't want to," Kon told him, because he didn't. They were supposed to hang out.

"Oh." Robin stood awkwardly. He clearly hadn't been expecting that answer. "Are you staying here then?"

Kon nodded. Robin scrutinized him for a moment before shrugging, slumping down next to Killer Croc's massive shoulder with his legs crossed. He patted the dirt next to him, so Kon sat down too.

"We have to wait for the GCPD to pick up Waylon. But after that we're getting food. I'm starving."

"Okay," Kon said happily, tapping his boots into Robin's. Kon's were a bit bigger, and had nice, brassy buckles stamped up the fronts. Robin's boots were tapered at the toes; they could probably hook into the gaps between Kon's boot buckles. They would probably be near the same height if he did that. Cute.

Robin interrupted Kon's daydream about their noses brushing to ask, "What are you thinking about?"

Kon answered, "Dinner."

Robin sighed. "Me too."

Kon hovered around awkwardly when the police came to take Killer Croc away. He never really stuck around for the whole legal side of things when he did hero stuff. They needed six Gotham officers just to lift the guy up, and then another four to arrange him neatly into the back of a police truck, which he didn't know was a thing. Robin seemed to emmenate a general aura of distaste for the officers despite remaining perfectly cordial with them. And although several stared pointedly at Kon while talking to Robin, none of them mentioned his presence outright. A costume-clad punk rock teenager hovering nervously three feet above the ground nearby was evidently not their problem.

When they finally had Waylon loaded up, Kon turned to Robin expectantly, holding out his arms. But Robin only shook his head.

"We're not flying," Robin said pointedly as he started stalking back towards the street. Kon followed behind curiously.

They kept walking until they arrived in a low alleyway stuck between the back of dingy gas station and a rundown nail salon. There, Robin ducked around a broken drainage pipe until he found what he was looking for: a black tarp. He grasped it and pulled, revealing underneath the most beautiful motorcycle Kon had ever seen in his life.

Kon let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Oh, wow, baby…" The steel frame, painted red and scuffed from use, the black leather saddle seat, and– "It has eight cylinders? I didn't know that was even possible."

Robin grinned at him. "It's possible, yeah. Do you want to ride with?"

Kon never agreed to something so fast in his life.

Robin swung his leg over the bike in front of Kon. It was a tight fit on the seat, but they made it work. Robin dragged his foot along the alley floor to spin them in the tight circle before pulling out into the night. The streets were relatively empty, but there was a surprising amount of foot traffic along the buildings. Kon never would have thought of Gotham as a walkable city, but supposed there had to be at least some perks to living there.

The city blurred by to the rev of the bike's engine, and it was similar yet so different from flying. Kon could feel the steady purr of the engine beneath them, and every flex of Robin's legs as he leaned into the turns. Robin was still slightly damp from the water, and shivered as the wind whipped through them. TTK couldn't do anything about that, so Kon tried to be a line of warmth against his back.

When Robin found his dinner spot, he didn't pull over the bike. Instead, he rode right up onto the sidewalk, jolting them over the curb. Several people sidestepped out of the way, barely looking up from their phones.

They finally rumbled to a stop in front of some hole in the wall restaurant, barely large enough to hold three tables. They dismounted from the motorcycle, and Robin wheeled it right through the dingy glass doors into the restaurant, leaning it up against an empty booth.

There was little Asian boy squatted on a stool behind the register who watched them come in, looking bored. The menu was mostly filled out with large numbered pictures, and there was blocky Vietnamese lettering labeled under each dish. The whole place smelled like cooking meat and sticky incense, stuffy but pleasant.

"Bà hates when you do that," the boy said with a heavy lisp, pointing a pudgy little finger right at Robin's bike. He had a little plate of dried mangoes covered in sticky granular sugar sitting next to the till, the little sugar sprinkles decorating his lips.

"I'm not getting my bike stolen again," Robin argued, approaching the counter. The kid huffed, not impressed. Robin rolled his eyes and relented, drumming his fingers against the table lip, "I'll give you $20 if you don't tell her."

"$50."

Robin groaned, leaning back. "Fine."

The boy's eyes lit up, and he shoved another mango into his mouth, speaking around the fruit. "Okay!" His eyes slipped towards Kon, who waved awkwardly. The boy didn't wave back, to Kon's disappointment, instead leaning bodily over the counter towards Robin, who bent down to let him whisper in his ear. Robin's lips quirked, he knew Kon could still hear the conversation regardless.

"Who's that?" The boy hissed.

Robin matched his volume without whispering, somehow. "That's just Superboy."

"I don't know a Superboy." The lisp made it sound like he was saying thuper-boy.

Robin's voice stayed low and soft. "That's because he doesn't work around here. He's just here because we're friends." And wasn't that sweet to hear. Kon already hoped they were friends too, so he was glad Robin felt the same way.

"Yeah-huh." Seemingly satisfied, the kid waved back at Kon. Kon took that as his cue to move closer, surveying the large wall of dishes. He didn't know what he was looking at on the menu, so he let Robin order for him.

They were the only customers in the place, so the food came out pretty quick. An elderly man with a resting scowl rang the bell when the order was done, and the kid carefully handed it over, accepting the extra fifty in cash with a giddy smile and folding it into his small shorts pocket.

Robin handed the bag to Kon so he could grab his bike, calling out over his shoulder as they left, "Cảm ơn–!" dragging down the second syllable cheerfully. They found an empty bench to sit on in the what was most likely the only patch of grass in all of Gotham. Robin unwrapped the food and handed Kon what looked like a regular sandwich.

"It's bahn mi. I got you pork belly. Try it, it's good," he said, pointing.

The sandwich gave a satisfying crunch when Kon bit into it, and he found himself chewing slowly, thoughtful. Crunchy veggies and savory, salty meat. Way better than the microwavable mac n' cheese cups Kon ate almost three nights a week. Robin must go to that little Vietnamese place often, if he was so familiar with its workers. It made Kon a little jealous.

Robin pulled one of his feet up onto the bench, tucking a crinkly napkin from the restaurant into the bent crook of his knee. He brushed crumbs from the corner of his mouth and asked, "Do you still live in Hawaii?"

Kon swallowed a bite of bread too early and had to concentrate hard on swallowing, trying not to choke. He cleared his throat and croaked, "Not really."

"Oh, how come?"

Kon shrugged. "Things fell through with Rex, and my place was in his name so. I had to move back to the city." Turned out, his contracts had all been bad, too. Rex had taken nearly all the profits but Kon's Superboy World Tour with him when they'd split. Kon still had some decent pocket change, though. Enough to get by.

Robin let a wrinkle form on his brow, and his mask contorted around it. Kon never thought about wearing a mask before, but it seemed sort of inconvenient, uncomfortable. He supposed a mask wouldn't be very helpful for him, though, because he got his civilian name after his hero one. It wasn't like Kon had anything precious in his civilian life to hide anyway.

"That sucks."

Kon scuffed his feet in the grass and took another bite, nodding. God, he was so hungry. He was almost done eating the bahn mi Robin had bought him but his stomach was protesting for more. He couldn't ask for even more food from him, though, that was downright greedy. He couldn't be a leech to the guy.

"I've got a new place, though. It's real nice," Kon added. And recently, he'd gotten a free mug from an antique shop he'd saved from getting covered in space-bug slime, so he had three cups in his tiny trailer cupboards instead of two. He spread them out between the cabinets so the kitchen looked more full, which was sort of fun. Three cups were more than Kon needed anyway, and the new mug had little bees painted on its outside.

Robin smiled at him, warm. "Yeah?"

"Mm. Checkered kitchen and everything. No roommates." It really was pretty nice. Kon liked it well enough.

"Just livin' the dream, aren't you?" Robin teased.

Kon thought about that for a moment, tilting his head, before deciding, "Yeah, I'd say so."

"Lucky. I basically always have someone breathing down my neck, y'know? It's annoying. Speaking of, ugh, Oracle said I was supposed to check back in half an hour ago…" Robin huffed, checking his fancy watch. It lit up angrily, beeping shrilly as if on cue.

Kon didn't know who 'Oracle' was, but he could take a guess. Bummer. "You have to go?" He tried not to sound as disappointed as he felt.

Robin winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry. You're technically not supposed to be here, either, but I won't tell anyone."

Kon crushed his empty sandwich wrapper into a ball. Oh.

"–don't worry about that though! That's my fault, not yours. I told you to come." Robin stood from the bench and grabbed the trash from Kon's hand, throwing it away in a nearby bin for him. Kon could've used TTK to do that. "I wanted you to come. So don't be scared to drop by again, okay?"

"…alright," Kon curled his fingers. He wanted Robin to hold his hand again. He wasn't sure why. He was leaving too soon, maybe, and his fingers were cold. Kon was still hungry.

"If you need anything, I'll be there, alright? Since you helped today," Robin told him. Kon hadn't gotten the impression that Robin appreciated the help in the slightest, but nodded anyway. Kon couldn't think of anything he needed from him. He was doing alright.

"No, I'm good. I like helping," Kon replied.

Robin smiled at him, maybe fondly. "I can tell. You're good at that thing–the TTK?"

Kon tapped his toes together happily. He loved using TTK. "Yeah, I am."

Robin's watch beeped angrily again, and he visibly bristled in annoyance. "Ugh, sorry. I really have to go–" he started stepping backwards, still talking to Kon. "–but seriously, come by again. We're friends, so don't be shy. And let me know if you need something. I'll be around!" He kept backing up until he hit his bike, nearly knocking it over. He grinned sheepishly before turning around to swing a leg over the saddle and calling out a final goodbye, driving off with a wave.

Kon waved back and watched him disappear down the street, before sighing.

God, he was hungry. Why was he still hungry? He just ate. CADMUS always said he ate too much, but he couldn't help it. Maybe he could make a mac n' cheese cup when he got back home, even though they weren't that filling.

The thought made him feel a little better, and he adjusted his jacket lapels to get ready for take off. He felt something squish weirdly, and pulled his fingers back. They were covered in black smear. Kon had forgotten all about the tar from earlier. He bit his lip. He didn't have the money to buy a new one, and Robin probably didn't either. He wouldn't bother him about it, anyway, that was such a petty think to ask about.

Kon kicked off the ground into the air, mentally steeling himself to a long night a jacket scrubbing as he began the flight back to Metropolis. He wasn't sure how to fix tar stains, but the library probably had an instruction book for that. And if he went to the library, he could check out an audio book, which would be nice. He hadn't done that in a while. And then he could eat a mac n' cheese cup, and drink water out of his new mug. That didn't sound too bad: a nice night, all in all.

Kon wasn't anything Robin needed to worry about, but he was sweet for offering.