Chapter Text
Kon wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been dragged along to this dinner. If it could even be called a dinner—it felt more like some League-mandated summit dressed up with linen tablecloths.
Bruce Wayne had insisted on inviting Clark and a handful of other Supers, which should’ve been enough of a red flag. Bruce Wayne didn’t insist unless there was a strategy behind it. Kon hadn’t wanted to show up, not really, but Clark had fixed him with that half-disappointed, half-hopeful look, the kind that was impossible to refuse without feeling like a complete jerk. So here he was, sitting stiff-backed in Wayne Manor’s cavernous dining room, trying not to gape at the size of the chandelier hanging above the table or the way the fireplace looked big enough to roast a small car in.
The Manor had the kind of quiet that pressed in on you, heavy and watchful. The walls were lined with oil paintings of stern-faced Waynes and polished wood that gleamed under the golden light. The table stretched out ridiculously far, more seats than anyone could possibly need. Kon had the distinct impression the whole house could swallow him whole and he wouldn’t even touch the walls.
“Hey, Kon.”
He turned, and there was Tim, sliding into the seat beside him with his usual precision—like he’d measured the distance beforehand. He wore a suit that was neat without being flashy, jacket already shrugged off, and his eyes carried the same exhausted sharpness Kon had come to recognize. Like he’d been up two nights in a row, living on caffeine and pure stubbornness.
“Surprised you came,” Tim murmured, tone as dry as the Manor’s air.
“Me too.” Kon tugged a little at his tie, already feeling like it was strangling him. “This is the nicest Clark’s ever asked me to dress. Like, he practically begged me to use an iron.”
Tim’s mouth twitched—just barely, but Kon caught it. Then came a short snort of laughter, quick and almost unwilling. “Yeah, when some of the League shows up, the big three like to go all out,” Tim said, leaning back in his chair as if to observe the whole bizarre display.
Kon arched a brow. “Oh, Diana’s coming?”
“She’s already here.” Tim tipped his chin toward the far side of the room. Sure enough, Diana stood near the wall, regal as always, deep in conversation with Wally West. Kon caught the sound of Wally’s laugh carrying over the clink of crystal glasses, followed by Diana’s long-suffering sigh.
“What’s the point of this thing, anyway?” Kon asked, lowering his voice.
“Apparently, the big three decided we all need to ‘bond more.’”
Kon raised his eyebrows so high he thought they might get stuck there. “Batman agreed to ‘bond more’?”
Tim gave another short snort, this one edged with amusement. “Two-to-one vote. His condition was that it’s at the Manor, which… honestly checks out.”
Kon let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Figures. Last place I saw with this many rooms was Project Cadmus.”
That drew Tim’s attention. His brows knit together, faintly. “You’ve never been here? I could’ve sworn you came over once before.”
“Maybe?” Kon shrugged, trying to play it off. “Being resurrected means memory loss, apparently.”
Tim’s expression softened, just slightly. He glanced down for a moment before speaking, voice low enough that Kon almost had to lean in. “Yeah. Jay told us about that.”
A pause stretched between them, filled with the faint hum of conversation from the far end of the table and the clink of Alfred setting down another platter. Then Tim shifted, his knee brushing deliberately against Kon’s under the table. The contact was subtle, but it landed like a live wire. Heat crept up Kon’s neck, uninvited and impossible to ignore.
“Maybe after dinner,” Tim said, almost offhand, though Kon caught the flicker of something careful in his eyes, “I could give you a tour. Clark and Bruce’ll be talking League stuff, and you know they won’t let us listen in.”
Kon felt a grin break across his face before he could stop it. He didn’t move his knee away, and Tim didn’t either. “Yeah,” Kon said, voice quieter, steadier than he expected. “I’d like that.”
Dinner went by quickly—at least in terms of conversation. For Kon, it felt both endless and fleeting. He wasn’t much of a “fancy dinner” person to begin with, and sitting at the long oak table beneath a chandelier that looked older than Smallville itself only reminded him how far out of his depth he was. Diana, Clark, and Barry carried most of the talking, voices weaving easily over the clink of silverware. The rest of the table—the Robins, Batgirls, and whoever else counted as Wayne-adjacent—added comments here and there, but the rhythm of it felt practiced, like a script they’d all learned long before Kon had ever existed.
“Clark, how are Lois and Jon? You know they were invited,” Diana asked, calm and regal even while sipping water.
“Lois is good,” Clark answered, a touch of warmth softening his voice. “She’s following a lead right now. Jon’s with my parents—he wanted to spend the weekend with them.”
Kon caught the way Clark’s face lit up just a fraction when talking about his son. It tugged at something complicated in his chest: pride, maybe, mixed with envy and the faint ache of not knowing where exactly he fit in Clark’s family tree. Clone. Experiment. Project Cadmus. It was hard to reconcile those words with the smell of roasted meat, the polished silver, the easy way Jon got mentioned like he belonged everywhere.
“Maybe next time he can stop by. Master Damian misses him,” Alfred said smoothly as he lifted an empty plate, his voice calm enough to quiet the room for a beat.
“I don’t miss him. I aspire to have his company once again,” Damian corrected, as prim as always.
“That means you miss him,” Tim said dryly, not even looking up from his glass. “’Miss’ is defined as noticing the absence of something or someone.”
“No one asked the dictionary,” Stephanie muttered, stabbing her fork into mashed potatoes.
Tim’s mouth twitched as if he was about to volley back, and Kon leaned against his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with an amused huff. It was weird, sitting here and watching the Bat-family do their thing. They bickered like siblings, sharp-edged but somehow comfortable in it. Cadmus hadn’t exactly given him lessons in family dinners, but even in Smallville, things never sounded like this. Here, the air felt sharp and fast-moving, like being caught in the middle of a storm.
“Regardless—” Bruce’s voice cut through the room like a blade, shutting everyone up in an instant. His presence was impossible to ignore, more suffocating than the shadows pressing in from the corners of the room. “Jon should stop by again when he returns. It will be good for both of them to spend more time together.”
Clark nodded. “Yeah, I’ll drop him by.”
Kon glanced sideways at Tim, who didn’t look fazed by Bruce’s tone at all. Typical.
“May I be excused?” Damian asked, his fork placed with surgical precision onto his plate. “I am missing my evening training, and I feel I will be more productive on my next patrol.”
Barry blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Who raised this kid? Not even the speedster kids are that weird.”
“Aren’t they?” Bruce deadpanned, tilting his head toward Wally. The man was currently inhaling three plates of food like it was nothing, and the expression on his face was blissfully unaware of the chaos his metabolism caused.
Before Wally could defend himself, Bruce answered, “Yes, Damian, you are excused.”
“Can all of us be excused?” Stephanie asked, voice deceptively mild. “I also want to train. Dick promised he would show me how to make my ass look—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Bruce said sharply. Barry muffled a laugh behind his hand, shoulders shaking. “All of the Bats are excused,” Bruce ordered flatly.
The younger contingent shuffled to their feet, Dick smirking as he leaned close to Stehpanie on the way out. “Trust me, the exercises work. You’re gonna be so upset when you have to buy new jeans.”
“Out,” Bruce said again, already rubbing his temple.
Tim stood smoothly, tossing his jacket over his shoulder before giving Kon a little wave that meant come on. Kon hesitated, glancing at Clark. Clark gave him a nod and a reassuring smile. “Go have fun,” he said warmly.
Kon muttered under his breath as he got up, “I’m not doing that training.”
Tim glanced sideways at him, a flicker of humor tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmured, just loud enough for Kon to catch. “You don’t need it.”
Heat pricked at the back of Kon’s neck, sharp and sudden. He wasn’t sure if it was the compliment or the fact that Tim had said it so casually, like it wasn’t even meant to land the way it did.
He followed Tim out into the hallways of the Manor, and it already felt like stepping into a maze. The corridors stretched long and winding, every wall lined with heavy frames and gilded molding that whispered wealth Kon could hardly wrap his head around. Expensive oil paintings glared down at him, colors muted with age. Expressionless portraits stared with eyes that seemed too sharp, too alive, tracking him like security cameras. The quiet was oppressive, thick enough that his boots sounded criminally loud against the polished floors.
It felt less like a house and more like a museum. A cold one, the kind where if you touched the walls, an alarm would blare.
“We have like two living rooms,” Tim began, voice low but steady, almost like he was reading off a map he’d memorized years ago. “You’ve already seen the dining room and the foyer. There’s the movie theater, the training rooms, the library, the main study—I hang out there a lot, but sometimes I sneak into Bruce’s when he’s out. His is so much nicer. I could also show you my room. I’ve got an apartment in the city, but I’m rarely ever there.”
Kon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Tim’s tone was casual, but there was something in the way he listed it all—matter-of-fact, practiced—that made it clear he’d given this tour before, probably to a dozen people who never stayed long.
“You grew up here?” Kon asked, peering into a passing room with furniture so stiff and polished it looked like no one had ever actually sat in it.
Tim shook his head lightly. “Not exactly. We all came here when we needed a home.” He walked a little slower, as though the words cost him more than he’d expected. “Dick, Jay, Steph, me, Babs, Cass, Duke—even Damian, as much as he denies it. Bruce helped us when we needed it most.”
Kon opened his mouth, ready to make a crack about Batman being the last person he’d ever picture as a foster dad, but Tim’s gaze shifted upward, landing at the end of the hall. Something in his expression softened.
Kon followed his eyes.
It was another portrait, but this one didn’t belong with the rest. Instead of stiff postures and painted brushstrokes of ancient Waynes, this frame held a photograph. The colors were a little faded, the lighting uneven, but it radiated life in a way the oil portraits never could.
The family was crammed around the dining table, not posed but caught mid-chaos—laughing with mouths full, jostling each other with elbows, food half-spilled onto plates. Steph looked like she was shouting at someone just off-camera. Jason had his arm halfway around Cass, who was glaring but not moving away. Dick’s grin was too wide for his face. Damian looked unimpressed, yet even he wasn’t hiding the faintest hint of amusement. Tim was in the corner, fork still in hand, caught mid-smile that looked almost shy compared to the others.
It wasn’t pristine like the others, not orderly, not neat. But it was real.
Kon found himself staring at it longer than he meant to, something tightening in his chest. This is what they are when no one’s watching, he thought. Not Bat-symbols—just… family.
“You keep that one here on purpose?” Kon asked, his voice rougher than he wanted.
Tim’s lips twitched, almost a smile but too guarded to make it all the way. “Yeah. Bruce pretends he doesn’t like it, but Alfred put it up. He’s never taken it down.”
Kon hummed, unable to look away. He’d never imagined a picture like that hanging in Wayne Manor.
And for the first time all evening, the place felt less like a museum and more like a home he was being allowed to glimpse through a crack in the door.
“Can I show you my room?” Tim asked suddenly, voice too casual to be casual. “I’ve got some Kryptonian novels you might like to see.” He didn’t wait for an answer, already turning down another hallway.
Kon smirked, amused at how Tim always rushed past his own suggestions, but nodded and followed anyway. The Manor’s corridors twisted in too many directions, filled with more doors than Kon could keep track of. It was like walking through a polite maze—quiet, polished, full of history, and hiding way too many surprises.
They rounded a corner, and Kon’s attention snagged on an open door. Inside, Dick, Stephanie, and Cassandra were lined up in a row, each flat on their backs with heavy barbells balanced across their hips, methodically pushing them upward in unison. Their expressions were serious, like they were executing some kind of secret Bat maneuver, except…
“How many more?” Stephanie groaned, her voice strained, thighs trembling.
“At least thirty,” Dick said cheerfully, his voice annoyingly steady despite the weight. “If you want a great ass, you’ve got to work for it.”
“Takes dedication,” Cassandra signed swiftly with a nod, not even breaking rhythm.
Stephanie huffed, sweat dripping. “You’re buying my new jeans, Dick. I want the expensive Gap ones. Don’t be cheap.”
Dick just laughed, catching sight of Kon lingering in the doorway. “Hey, Superboy, you in? We’ve got space on the mat!”
“No, he’s not,” Tim muttered, swooping in and grabbing Kon by the wrist. He tugged him firmly down the hall, as if physical momentum could erase the entire moment.
Dick’s voice chased after them, too loud, too gleeful: “He’s just jealous! Free yourself, Kon!”
Cassandra added a deadpan, “You’d be good at this,” before Tim yanked Kon fully out of sight.
Tim didn’t let go, his hand warm around Kon’s as he muttered under his breath, “People really need to start closing doors.” His ears were faintly pink, though he kept his eyes fixed ahead as if sheer determination could drown out the echoes of laughter following them down the hall.
Tim didn’t release Kon’s wrist until they’d made two more turns and climbed a short flight of stairs. Even then, he hesitated before finally letting go, fingers loosening like he’d only just realized what he was doing.
Kon smirked, not pointing it out. He was too busy taking in the hallway ahead. It was quieter here, fewer portraits and polished antiques, more shelves lined with books and framed photographs that actually looked lived-in. The air even smelled different—less like polish and old stone, more like coffee grounds and paper.
Tim stopped in front of a door halfway down the hall and pushed it open. “Here.”
Kon stepped inside and blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—maybe some kind of sterile, Bat-approved chamber—but Tim’s room was… well, it was Tim. Neat, yes, but not museum-neat. The desk was covered in orderly stacks of files and notebooks, with Post-its lined up like a system only Tim understood. A laptop hummed quietly, its screen covered in open tabs. The bookshelves along one wall were crammed with everything from strategy manuals to sci-fi novels, with a few conspicuously Kryptonian titles set aside on the second shelf.
There were hints of chaos too: a hoodie draped across the back of a chair, half-empty coffee mugs on the windowsill paired with miscellaneous energy drinks, a scattering of photographs pinned to a corkboard. Kon leaned closer, spotting candid shots—one of Dick grinning with a ridiculous birthday cake, another of Cassandra mid-sparring session, a grainy one of Damian looking furious with a cape twice too big for him. In the corner was a small plant that looked like it hadn’t been watered in months.
Kon turned slowly, taking it in. “Huh. Guess I expected a Bat-room to have fewer signs of life.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, dropping onto his desk chair and spinning it once. “What, did you think I was going to keep a coffin in here?”
“Wouldn’t be shocked,” Kon teased, grinning. “But this… this is nice. Feels like you, y’know?”
Tim ducked his head as if he was suddenly very interested in adjusting the angle of his chair. “The Kryptonian novels are on the second shelf. They’re translations, obviously, but some of them are pretty close to the original language. I thought you might like seeing how much survived.”
Kon stepped over to the shelf, scanning the spines. His grin softened into something smaller, almost reverent. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
Tim’s eyes flicked to him, quick and sharp as always, but softer at the edges. “Good.”
Kon crouched a little to scan the spines of the books. Some were bound in black leather, stamped with intricate symbols he recognized from Kryptonian relics. Others were slimmer, marked with neat labels in Tim’s handwriting, like Translation Notes or Lexicon Reference.
“You’ve been busy,” Kon said, brushing a finger along one of the covers.
Tim swiveled in his chair, then leaned forward on his elbows, like he was trying not to look too eager. “I, uh—I’ve actually been collecting them for you. I was going to give them to you on your birthday, but…” His lips pressed into a line. “I’m terrible at surprises.”
Kon turned, eyebrows shooting up. “You? Mister double-life, sneaks-into-rooms, has-contingency-plans-for-contingency-plans? Bad at surprises?”
Tim’s mouth quirked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t. “It’s different with people I care about,” he admitted, almost too quickly.
That knocked Kon back more than he wanted to admit. His grin softened, and he tapped the edge of one book. “You really did this for me?”
“Of course,” Tim said simply. “I figured… if Cadmus stole so much from you, maybe the least I could do was help you get some of it back. Even in pieces.”
Kon didn’t answer right away. He was too busy staring at Tim, the way his usual sharp edges had dulled into something quieter, almost vulnerable. His chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with kryptonite or super-hearing.
Finally, he huffed a laugh and said, “Man. You’re supposed to be the secret vigilante, not the sentimental one.”
Tim rolled his eyes, but his ears had gone faintly pink. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Kon chuckled, shaking his head. He pulled one of the slimmer books off the shelf and flipped it open, only to find Tim’s neat, cramped handwriting filling the margins. “Wow. You even did footnotes. Tim, this is like—academic level. You’re such a nerd.”
Tim shrugged like it was no big deal, but his eyes flickered with pride. “What can I say? I don’t do half-measures.”
Kon sank onto the edge of the bed, balancing the book in his hands. The mattress dipped under his weight, creaking faintly in the quiet room. “Well… thanks. Seriously. No one’s ever done something like this for me before.”
Tim didn’t look away this time. “Get used to it,” he said softly.
Kon was still staring at the page in his lap, pretending to read but mostly rereading Tim’s handwriting, when Tim leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking to the window. The curtains had been drawn half-shut, but Kon noticed the way Tim’s focus lingered there, like he was considering something.
Then Tim stood abruptly. “C’mon,” he said.
Kon raised a brow. “What, am I being kicked out already?”
Tim gave him a look that was equal parts deadpan and amused. “Not unless you dog-ear one of those pages. No, I mean—” He walked to the window and slid it open with practiced ease, cool night air rushing into the room. “You want to see the best part of the manor?”
Kon tilted his head, closing the book carefully. “And what’s that? The world’s biggest cave system underneath?”
“That’s the second best part,” Tim said, climbing effortlessly onto the ledge. He glanced over his shoulder, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “The roof’s better.”
Kon blinked. “You’re seriously inviting me to go sit on the roof with you? In the middle of the night? I knew the bats were all about jumping off buildings, but this seems excessive.”
Tim snorted. “I’m about plausible deniability. And Alfred doesn’t check the east wing windows after ten and I deactivated the alarms and traps outside my window.”
It was said so matter-of-factly that Kon laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got this down to a science.”
“Of course I do,” Tim said, and then he was out the window, moving with a fluidity Kon envied. He balanced on the narrow ledge like it was nothing, then crouched to haul himself onto the sloped roof just above.
Kon stood, still grinning, and leaned his head out the window. “You do realize not all of us are professional acrobats, right?”
Tim glanced down at him, smirking. “You can fly. You’ll be fine.”
Kon rolled his eyes, but admitted that was fair. He stepped onto the ledge, the old stone cool under his boots, and with a light push of air beneath him, he floated up and landed beside Tim.
The roof stretched out wide and steep, but Tim led him to a flatter section where the shingles were warm from the day’s sun. From here, the manor grounds looked endless—rolling lawns, shadowy gardens, and beyond them the faint glitter of Gotham’s skyline. Overhead, the stars pierced through patches of cloud, brighter than Kon had expected this close to the city.
“Not bad,” he said, dropping down to sit. The shingles creaked faintly under his weight, but held.
Tim lowered himself beside him, pulling his knees up loosely. “It’s quieter up here. Gotham never really sleeps, but… this is the closest it gets to calm.”
Kon tilted his head back, staring at the stars. He wasn’t much of a stargazer—Kansas skies had always been Clark’s thing, not his—but there was something about seeing them from here, perched on a roof that belonged to Batman’s fortress of a home, that made it feel different. Grounded, somehow.
“You come up here a lot?” Kon asked.
“Sometimes. When I need to think. Or when I don’t want to think and just… stop for a while.” Tim’s voice was quieter now, not heavy exactly, but stripped down. “Up here, it feels like everything else can wait.”
Kon let that sit for a moment, then nudged Tim lightly with his shoulder. “So, basically, this is your secret hideout inside your secret hideout.”
Tim huffed a laugh. “Pretty much.”
“Figures.” Kon stretched out on his back, folding his arms behind his head. The night air was cool against his skin, carrying the faint smell of the gardens below. “Not gonna lie, Tim, didn’t think my first tour of Wayne Manor would include breaking and entering onto your own roof.”
“That’s how you know you’re getting the authentic experience.”
They fell into silence for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Kon traced constellations with his eyes, listening to the distant hum of Gotham; the faint chirp of crickets, and the steady rhythm of Tim’s breathing beside him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this—something normal, simple. Just being.
Finally, Tim shifted, lying back too, his shoulder brushing Kon’s. “See? Not a bad spot.”
Kon turned his head, studying Tim in the faint glow of the moon. His profile was sharp, hair falling messily across his forehead, eyes fixed on the stars. He looked… peaceful, in a way Kon didn’t see often. Like the constant weight of being Robin had finally loosened, just a little.
Kon smiled faintly. “Yeah. Not bad at all.”
The stars stretched wide above them, scattered across the Gotham sky like stubborn sparks refusing to be drowned out by the city’s glow. Kon lay back against the shingles, arms folded behind his head, and for a long while he just… stared.
“You know,” he said finally, voice softer than he meant it to be, “this is kind of weird for me.”
Tim turned his head, one brow arched. “Weird how? Roof too high for you?”
Kon huffed a laugh, but it died quickly. “No, I mean… all of this. The manor. The ‘Bat-family’. Sitting here like it’s normal.” He exhaled, watching his breath ghost into the night. “I’ve been in Cadmus labs that felt less intimidating.”
Tim didn’t say anything right away, and Kon almost regretted opening his mouth. But then Tim shifted slightly closer, their shoulders brushing again. “It is intimidating,” he admitted. “Even for us. But it’s also… home.”
“Yeah, see, that’s the thing,” Kon said, tilting his head to meet Tim’s gaze. “I don’t really know what that’s supposed to feel like. I’ve got Clark, and Ma and Pa Kent—they’re amazing, don’t get me wrong—but half the time I feel like I’m just… borrowing space in other people’s lives. Like I wasn’t supposed to be here, but they’re too nice to tell me otherwise.”
The words came out faster now, easier than he expected. “And then I come here, and it’s this giant… fortress of family history. Portraits on the walls, memories in every room. You guys all belong here, even when you say you don’t. And me? I’m just the clone who got lucky enough to be invited to dinner.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not crushing. Kon almost wished Tim would crack a joke, call him melodramatic, something. Instead, Tim’s voice came quiet, measured:
“You’re not borrowing space, Kon. Not with Clark. Not with the Kents. And not here, either.”
Kon blinked at him. “Yeah? Tell that to the giant frowning gargoyle who lives downstairs.”
That got the ghost of a smile from Tim. “Bruce frowns at everyone. It’s his default setting.” Then his expression softened. “But trust me. You’re not an outsider. Not to me.”
Kon’s chest tightened at that, sharper than he expected. He swallowed, trying to play it off with a grin. “Careful, Robin. That almost sounded like feelings.”
Tim smirked, eyes drifting back up to the stars. “Don’t get used to it.” But the way his hand shifted, fingers brushing lightly against Kon’s on the shingles, said more than his words ever would.
Kon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the knot in his chest loosening. For the first time all evening, the manor didn’t feel so suffocating. With Tim beside him, it felt okay. It felt safe.