kon & 16 for the hand holding thing? 👀
thank you britta you are my hero
A lot has changed, but at least one thing's still the same and Kon is as desperate for Tim's attention as always. He wishes there could be easier ways to get it, maybe ones that don't include getting stupidly shot by a kryptonite bullet during what was supposed to be a pretty chill mission.
The death grip Tim has on his arm would probably crush a normal person's bones but luckily Kon has nothing to worry about. Well, mostly.
He wasn't going to say anything, because it's kind of nice having Tim so close and touchy for a change, but eventually he caves in. “You're crushing my arm,” he admits.
Tim doesn't let up. If anything, his fingers tighten around Kon's forearm. He thinks he can feel fingernails digging in. It hurts, though it's less like being purposely hurt by a person and more like being scratched by an anxious cat. “You can't even feel it.”
On a good day, no, Kon wouldn't be able to feel much of it, not the bad part of it at least—on a good day he'd be over the moon from joy of Tim holding onto him this way—but today has not been so kind to him.
“There's some uh,” he fumbles, never the one to admit a fault easily. Despite how intense his presence and grip are, Tim hasn't even looked at him since they've boarded Bart's ship. Kon has been wondering if it's out of worry, disappointment or anger, and he knows it's mostly out of worry because he knows his friend, but the fear of Tim being upset with him for having this mission blow up in their faces gnaws at him. “There's some leftover kryptonite effect I think. Feels that way, at least.”
Tim drops his arm immediately. Which is not exactlywhat Kon was going for.
“You're a fucking idiot.”
Also not what he was going for, but he can't say he's surprised. Leave it to Tim to be holding onto his arm as if he's about to disappear into the ether if he turns around one moment and be a jerk the next. “Alright then—”
Tim cuts him off immediately. “Why didn't you say anything?”
He just did, didn't he? He sighs. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that, but absence also makes him forget how mind-numbingly difficult Tim can be when he digs his heels in.
“Ok, you weren't holding me that tight. No offense.” Powers or no powers, Kon still packs a good amount of muscle mass. He could still beat Tim in an arm wrestling match. Probably. Unless he pulled some sneaky shit on him.
Like this: Tim shaking his head and Kon looking away for the brief moment that it takes him to roll his eyes and very nearly missing Tim trying to disappear from the scene. Kon grabs his arm—not as tight, just enough to keep him in place for a moment longer. Weak enough that Tim could pull away if he wanted.
He doesn't, apparently, because when Kon starts to let go, assured that Tim won't try to peace out on him again, Tim grabs his hand. It's not the steel grip he had him in earlier, or rather it starts as one, but it loosens until it's just the two of them standing there, fingers intertwined.
Kon is about to ask about it when Tim speaks up again, quieter. Less angry. “Not that much kryptonite effect if your senses work that well.”
“Nah. I don't need super senses for you,” he says, and grins when Tim shoots him an offended look. “It's all Rob language up here.”
“Piss off,” Tim gives him another glare but his heart's not in it.
He looks stressed, fidgety; Kon can tell even with the dumb cowl on. He just doesn't know how much of it is pure leftover adrenaline from the mission and how much is a result of Bart's driving and how much is a result of… him, it seems.
“Why didn't you tell me you were still hurt,” Tim demands, again, and Kon is about to assure him that he didn't hurt him, again, when Tim cuts him off. “On the way back to the ship. We weren't in the clear, Conner.”
Oh. That. Frankly, Kon didn't even think of that. The whole thing is kind of a blur. “I was fine.”
“You just said—”
“Look, a lot was going on. It's fine now, we're long gone,” Bart has been speeding them through the nebula, even though he promised he wouldn't, “and I'll be brand new in like, an hour max.”
Tim doesn't seem happier. It's damn hard to please him sometimes. Other times, it's startlingly easy. It always takes Kon by surprise.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he asks again, and Kon genuinely can't think of a good answer to save his life. He also can't tell where Tim is, emotionally, at this point, because he sounds angry but Tim often sounds angry when he's scared, or sad, or anything in between.
He doesn't miss how Tim says me and not us. Not talking about the team, but Tim, only Tim. He figures it shouldn't, for more than one reason, but it makes him feel warm all over. He's not sure if he could blush but if he can, he might be.
He's not complaining—he shouldn't complain. This is the most of Tim's attention he's gotten since he's come back and since Bart's come back and since… well everything. A lot has changed. Both them as people, as a duo and the four of them as a team, but at least one thing's still the same and Kon is as desperate for Tim's attention as always.
He wishes there could be easier ways to get it. Maybe ones that don't include getting stupidly shot by a kryptonite bullet during what was supposed to be a pretty chill mission. In space, sure, which automatically makes it fucky, but chill nevertheless. Should have been.
Sometimes, Kon wonders how much of a favor he's reallydone to the lot of them by coming back, but just one look at Tim staring up at him with more worry than he lets himself show to anyone but the three of them shushes that thought. Puts it away for a moment. It's not a helpful train of thought to follow. For one, Tim would kick his ass for it.
He lifts a hand Tim isn't holding and goes to pull the Red Robin cowl down, and Tim lets him. Seeing his face is a breath of fresh air each time, all over again, like a silent but firm confirmation that beneath all the newfound world-weariness, the person he knows as his best friend still prevails. The fight seems to have drained out of him and he looks more resigned than anything else. Kon doesn't like that look on him. He'll take anger over it any day.
“I wasn't thinking,” he says, which is true. He was panicking as much as they were all panicking, and it's easier to say than to admit how terrified he is of the possibility of dying again standing right around the corner, lingering. No one ever asks—except Ma, she had asked, and she listened, and Kon could tell she hated the answer but she didn't shush him—but he remembers dying pretty well. It's not his favorite memory. His brain loves to recycle it though.
The searing pain that'd gone through his flesh was too familiar; he doesn't feel that way often, there are only a number of associations he can draw on and the big 'hey, remember when you died?' one stands out pretty heavily. The bullet had gone right through his thigh, so really it could have been worse, the problem practically solved itself almost as soon as it appeared and there was no reason to panic, but Kon isn't new to the knowledge of just how little control over his own mind he has.
At the moment he'd been too absorbed in his own shit to pay attention to what the others were doing, but looking at the state of their group now he can tell that him getting hurt so unexpectedly had affected them all. Not well. Really, if Cassie hadn't gotten a hold of them and if it had taken Bart a minute longer to get the ship running, they very well could have been toast. And Kon didn't do much to help, what with getting shot and then having a private little freak out about it that prompted Tim to have to practically drag him out of the line of fire.
He gives Tim his best Superboy smile instead of elaborating, because there's not much else to say, really, besides that he wasn't thinking. “You know how I am, here to look pretty.”
“Don't say that,” Tim says, frowning.
“You don't think I'm pretty?”
It doesn't work; Tim doesn't buy it. “That's not what I meant.”
“I don't know what you want me to say, Rob.” Though he feels like he should. He feels like there's a glaring issue here that Tim is aware of and that he's missing. There's a palpable disconnect between them nowadays and Kon can't tell if it's because of him, or Tim, or both of them. Too many variables have been thrown off their balance for them to remain the same. But Tim is still holding his hand.
And he doesn't let go of his hand when Cassie comes to get them from the ship hallway they've been holed up in, letting them know they're back on Earth. Tim is the first one to get up, pull the cowl back on and start walking towards the entrance but his fingers don't untangle from Kon's and he just goes with it. Trails behind Tim and lets him lead him out of the ship, out to the fresh air and the sounds of people living all around them. A stark difference to space that, while noisy, doesn't have the same charm. Someone's mowing their lawn yards away, somewhere closer a kid is yelling for a cat, and there's birds everywhere. Loud pop music, somewhere in the east. They've only been away for a day and a bit, but Kon has missed it.
They land in YJ's—Bart's, really—secret garage and Bart makes quick work of cleaning up the mess of the interior before they abandon it for an indefinite amount of time again. Kon wonders how many times he comes here alone to mess with the ship. He's more familiar with it than someone who's only drove it three times would be.
“Not a word to the Justice League,” Bart says as they all convene by the garage door and Kon closes it shut.
“Obviously,” Tim says and Cassie nods.
“Great. I'm hungry, I'll set up everything by the time you get there, race you.”
“Absolutely not.”
And he's gone, and the three of them are standing there and Tim is still holding his hand. Cassie turns to leave toward Tim's car, because he drove them here, and Tim walks behind her and just—keeps holding Kon's hand.
It's ridiculous, it's childish and it makes him giddy like he's a dumbass teen again straight from the lab. It makes him almost forget how he very nearly died today, again. Something he'll have to recon with later, but for now, this is enough.
They get in the car and Kon ends up in the back seat by a failed round of rock-paper-scissors and he lets go of Tim's hand. They say nothing about it. Cassie says nothing about it, even though Kon is sure she's noticed.
“Honestly, I'm just glad there's no one asking a report from me on this,” she says around a yawn as Tim starts the car. “Not that I'm saying we should do more off the book missions. I'm not saying that.”
She gives a very pointed look to Kon in the rear view mirror and Tim snorts. Kon smiles back at her. “Okay.”
“I'm not saying that.”
By the time they arrive at the recently refurnished clubhouse, Bart has ordered and brought them dinner and watched almost all of the first episode of Dark. And by the time Kon has taken a warm shower and gotten out of the bloody suit he's not thinking about and put on fresh clothes, they're way past the first episode and he can hear them arguing about plot in the living room.
On the couch, Kon settles comfortably between Cassie, who has Bart's legs in her lap, and Tim, who waits for barely a second to take his hand again. Well, kind of. It's not really a hand hold as much as it's a hand touch. He's put his hand over Kon's and kind of… grabbed his fingers with his, intertwining them in a way that is as gentle as it is rigid.
Kon doesn't say anything about it. He's very cool about the whole thing.
“Can we watch it from the start?” he asks, because they're at the midpoint of the second episode now and nothing is connecting in his head. It has everything to do with how incomprehensible the plot on the screen is and nothing with how he can feel the warmth of Tim's fingers against his, can feel his heartbeat as well as he can hear it.
“No, it's fine, I can explain it to you,” Bart waves him off and starts talking, immediately, not giving a chance for Kon to say that it's fine, really, he'll figure it out. Cassie groans like this isn't the first time Bart haw tried to summarize this for them, which he probably did. “No, shut up, listen to me. You won't understand it any better if you watch it. So I might as well tell it my way.”
“Fair enough,” he says. He doesn't think he'll be able to focus on anything other than blood and Tim's fingers tonight either way. Sometime by the end of the second episode he stretches to grab popcorn from Bart and his hand slips away, and Tim hooks his little finger around his and Kon's whole body goes stiff. He's definitely blushing now. He only hopes the show and the low light of the room are enough to keep everyone's attention off it.
They last an episode before Cassie starts dozing off and Bart has a long streak of guessed plotlines that both Cassie and Tim have an issue with, snapping at him to stop spoiling the show for them—and Kon hasn't followed a single thing that's happened but the atmosphere is fittingly dark and gloomy so he can vibe. God, he's starting to sound like Tim too.
Tim who, despite the standoffish, broody attitude, hasn't stopped clinging to Kon's fingers. He hasn't directly said a word to him since he sat down but Kon hasn't tried talking to him either, so. Fifty-fifty chance that he's still upset or just being a gloomy Bay.
It's only when Cassie is fully asleep on Kon's shoulder and Bart looks too engrossed in the show to care what's happening a few feet away from him that Kon decides to test the waters. Tim looks like he's watching the show but by the tired, unfocused look in his eyes Kon can tell that he's spacing out and probably has been for a while now.
“You're gonna have to let go of me eventually, you know,” he teases, lifting their hands by where they're joined by their pinkies.
He means it as a joke and he says it as such, even exaggerated because he knows jokes fly over Tim's head sometimes, but Tim's voice still sounds too somber when he says, “I know. Just let me have this.”
Kon has no idea what to say to that, so he doesn't, just turns his eyes back to the TV and tries to pay attention to the movie.
He doesn't want to think about how it's Tim who has been ghosting him and not the other way around, despite what the way he speaks might make you think. He's been meaning to accuse Tim of it for some time now but right now, he doesn't want to ruin the moment. He'd rather savor the little moments while he can.
Some other time, he'll be the one to pick a fight and they'll hash it out like they always do. For now, he's content enough with Tim touching him, barely as it is.
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