Chapter Text
As they reached the entrance to the store, the ice seemed to have broken, but just a few tiny cracks. The more crumbs Kon dropped about himself, Tim was certain he could almost be in love with the guy. Which was very concerning, considering how cautious and careful Tim usually is (except about his mind and body. Wait who said that?).
Just everything about Kon was perfect. The way he talked so freely, but so expressively, and how he didn't make Tim feel like someone inferior. And it definitely helped how he looked so gorgeous.
“So. Here we are.”
“Oh..yeah..”
Tim blinked, thinking quickly.
“Hey, so would you-”
“Will you like-”
They both paused. Tim blinked then let out a little chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.
“You can go-”
“You can-”
They stopped again, staring at each other now. Kon laughs softly this time.
“You can go first Timothy.”
“Oh you can call me Tim.” Tim smiled, “Timothy feels like something a grandmother would call me.”
“Yeah, I did think that when I first heard.” Kon tilted his head, crookedly smiling. “You can go first Tim.”
“I just wanted to….”
A clipped version of Punkrocker, burst out through the air, breaking the fragile moment of trepidation. Tim was startled, and so was Kon, it seemed. The latter dug through his pocket, bringing out his phone.
Tim noted it had a blue case, with a picture of a white furry dog messily taped onto it. A beaded trinket hung from it, as Kon looked over the screen, cursing lightly, then turned back to Tim.
“I’m sorry, dude. I’ll have to go. My old man’s calling me.”
He smiled awkwardly, but so prettily, Tim was entranced. Like a moth drawn to the light, knowing it will never be worthy enough, but still hoping to get burned.
Blinking, Tim felt disappointed. But it doesn’t matter. He’d find Kon again. Even if it wasn’t written in their fate, he’d force its hand.
“It’s fine. But could I have-“
Kon cursed again as the phone rang again, and waving a hasty goodbye, he vanished. Tim’s hand stayed reaching out. Like it had always done. Like it would always do. Because he always hoped, maybe one day, he’d grab what he was reaching for.
He would.
…………..………………………………………………x………………………………………………………………
Tim heaved, stumbling and carrying the box into his apartment. Almost spinning around fully, and tripping once again, he finally managed to drop the machine down onto the table. Normally, when he was on patrol, things like this were easy for him. But now was not one of those times. He had a headache, he was sunburned and he didn’t have any caffeine . Why hadn’t he remembered his sunscreen and umbrella?
Groaning again, he stepped back, only to stub his toe with the chair. Cursing loudly, he hopped around on one toe, squeezing it. Enough. He turned towards his machine, opening the box, and getting to work assembling it. Which was easy enough.
Finally, he had a good cup of coffee in his hands, and he dug out his laptop. He needed some information, before he went out for his mission. Accessing his data files, he brought out ones he didn’t pay much attention to before.
“METROPOLIS HEROES:”
First off, and most obvious, are the superfamily. Namely, superman and whoever else with his krypton DNA. Including but not limited to, Supergirl, occasional superhero. Superman, full time. Anytime there's a threat, expect him. And the two sons. Superboy…and superboy.
Tim blinked, a bit confused. Wasn't the mantle handed down? Why did it say Superboy No. 1 is Presently active, when Superboy No. 2 is also presently active?
Humming, he skimmed over their files. The younger Superboy seemed to presently be doing small cases, mentored by the older Superboy. They team up quite a bit, but the older Superboy seemed to be more of a solo hero. Busting warehouses, stopping huge robberies, aiding superman and exposing a bit of the villains. His work was impressive, but reckless.
It seemed everything he’d done was done extravagantly, and he seemed to love dramatics.
He won’t be much of a problem if Tim just laid low like he planned to.
Still. To think there was a vigilante his age out there. He wondered when the boy started this thing and why?
Still thinking, he unconsciously flicked off, and moved on to the next tier heroes, who would appear in big crisis situations.
“The Justice Gang”
It was a good name. Something that seemed like Tim would have named it. He briefly skimmed over the files, already knowing their secret identities, and abilities.
Unable to resist, he clicked back onto Superboy (the older one)’s file. Scrolling through it again, as if he’d get more information. He didn’t know his secret identity. Only Batman, and Dick knew the super's identity. It’s likely Tim could find it out quite easily, but he simply had no interest to. What's the use, when he has such a big case to solve already?
Pressing his fingers into his eye, he felt the migraine coming back. Strange.
He didn’t feel so aching, and tired when he had been with Kon.
He smiled, thinking of the boy, and his soft, curly hair, which looked like melted dark chocolate. (Tim’s favourite).
Enough. He had to work. He already knew what he wanted to do tonight.
Getting up, he opened the box with his gear and gadgets, and got them on. Clasping on his black scalloped gauntlets, he connected it to his computers.
Groaning suddenly, he remembered he had to get them set up.
Just a half hour later, he was all done, and prepared. Checking over his utility belt, he tucked his Bo staff behind him, and got to his balcony, only taking a moment to take in the sight, before grappling to the nearest high rooftop.
He loved feeling so free, so light. Like he could almost fly. He prolonged this feeling as much as he could, before landing gracefully. Clinking on his holographic map, he noted the nearest routes and grappled forward.
Metropolis was quiet but busy at night. With a few lights, and many cars. Yet, from what he can tell, there was almost little to no crime. So different from Gotham. So freeing.
But it was unfamiliar. Tim didn't know every possible route to get from one place to another here, and he didn’t have the reassurance that Red Hood, or Batman would back him up. Despite his extensive research, he also didn’t know every criminal and villain here intimately, with their habits and routine. It was all new. And dangerous.
Landing on a rooftop, he felt a bit homesick.
Metropolis was for the metahumans. The ones who could fight and win with no assistance.
Not for the nighttime vigilantes, with nothing to lose.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he found he had arrived.
Looking over the ledge, he turned on his detective visions and looked closer, finding a body, covered with tarp.
Bingo.