[ f i c ] You can't escape Arkham | Pt. 3 | Tim/Kon
Title: You can't escape Arkham
Fandom: DC Universe
Pairing: Tim/Kon
Rating: PG13
Notes: Written for the Tim/Kon meme. Set in the future, post-Arkham City. "Kon reacts when he finds out the vile threats the inmates threw at Robin."
Summary: Kon only wanted to help Tim. He didn't realize the price was so high.
Part I
Part II
“Is… is Tim back from patrol yet?”
Dick frowns at Kon’s words, eyes still glued to the computer screen as he swivels around in his chair. “Superboy…?” He stops when he sees Kon, and something -everything- must be seeping through Kon’s voice and face, because Dick’s suddenly on his feet and making his way towards him. Kon even sees Batman, off towards the side of the Batcave and with his cowl down, stop and turn to look at him.
“Oh- oh, shit, if Batman’s here,” Kon stutters, feely shaky and just… not thinking right. He knows he’s not. The overhead lights and the computer screens are too bright after spending who knows how long sitting in the dark in that room, shaking and trying to grasp what he’d just seen. What Tim had seen. Batman shifts and throws Dick a questioning look, though Kon doesn’t register anything more than Batman. And-and if Batman’s here, then Tim’s here too, and if Kon meets Tim here… Tim will be so angry that Kon found out about-about Arkham and the voices and Kon can’t handle that right now. He’s nowhere near enough in control of his emotions to deal with Tim properly, and they will fight, and it will be bad and Tim will probably leave to Steph or Cass’s place until things cool down. It’s not the first time it has happened, but Kon can’t get past bad, bad, bad.
“Are you alright, kid?” Dick asks, and Kon feels infinitely grateful for the hands on his shoulders, because right now he needs grounding, he needs something stable. He feels disconnected, disembodied, and part of it is the fact that it’s four in the morning and Kon’s brain is short-circuiting from sheer exhaustion. The other part is the fact that he feels like he descended into the lowest rings of hell and clawed his way back out. Dying and coming back to life was, surprisingly, less painful. “You look awful.”
“Tim,” Kon mutters again, because that’s all he can think of. Tim and the awful voices and the things they said to him. “I-I don’t want us to fight. Don’t want him to leave. Where is he?”
Dick’s rubbing his arms, saying something, and it takes Kon a moment to break out of his daze to focus on his words. “Conner, Tim’s not here. He got back a while ago, and I thought it for the best not to mention that you were here until you were done, so he went back to your apartment. He went home, Conner.”
Home. Kon wants to go home too. He wants it so desperately, so immediately, that even the knowledge that he could be there in five minutes is not enough. He can’t think in terms of five minutes, five minutes of this pain, this gnawing in his chest. He wants to be home with Tim now, so much that he thinks he’s going to cry.
Dick’s looking at him with a heartbroken expression, and says, so softly, “Oh, Conner,” before wrapping him in a hug. And maybe it should be weird, maybe Kon should feel awkward about Nightwing, Tim’s brother, hugging him, but Kon doesn’t care. He feels lost and so empty, as if he’d been taken apart and rebuilt, but they’d forgotten certain pieces inside him. He hugs Dick back, digging his fingers into the other man’s shoulders. It probably hurts, but Dick doesn’t comment.
All it takes is one hug and Dick shushing him and rocking him gently for Kon’s composure to crumble. The first sob is ragged and he tries to smother it, ashamed, against Dick’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Dick is saying, rubbing Kon’s back as Kon gasps against his shoulder. “I… I thought you needed to know what Tim goes through but I didn’t think… I didn’t realize…”
“Tim,” Kon chokes out, feeling so stupid and weak with tears running down his face, and God, Batman’s just there staring, and Damian’s probably judging him from some corner of the ceiling, but Kon can’t hold it back, he just can’t. “They… Tim heard all that. They said all that to him.”
How can he explain? How does he explain that he feels so disappointed and disgusted by humanity? That he feels revolted by the darkest corners of the human mind? That he’s terrified of what that must be doing to Tim? He doesn’t care that Tim’s used to it- that might be worse, in Kon’s opinion. Now he has a shred of an idea of the kind of nightmares Tim must have. Arkham City was… the collection of the sludge of humanity, and Kon can’t shake the images, the atmosphere, the oppression, the sickness. It has sunk into his bones, over his skin like a fine, soothy layer of grime, clinging to his face, his eyelashes, clogging his mouth and making it hard to breathe. This layer of grime covers his very vision of the world.
“I know,” Dick says slowly, pulling away and kneading Kon’s shoulders. “I know.”
His eyes say it all. He really does know. This is the world the Bats live in, and Kon should have stayed out.
~0~
At some point he manages to rub his eyes dry and excuse himself. Dick offers him something or the other, but Kon thinks he tells Dick that he needs to get home to Tim. He’s assuming that’s what he ended up saying, at least, because now he’s flying towards their apartment. He’s marginally calmer now, still dazed and sort of-in shock is probably the best way to describe it. The air is still cold, but from this height he can see a hint of violet towards the horizon, heralding the rise of the sun in an hour or two.
Kon hovers just outside the windowsill of their apartment and has to take a steadying breath to be able to open to window - Tim has an alarm set that can only be deactivated by applying some eerily precise number of newtons to the latch. Kon doesn’t know the exact number. He only knows it by feel, knows he has to push ten times as much as a normal human being, but the exact number escapes him. Either way, he’s the only one who knows how to open it, and that’s good enough for Tim’s paranoia.
Right now he’s afraid he’s going to push too hard- he’s nervous, and he still feels disjointed, like his body’s not responding properly. He wants to see Tim so badly, he needs, he wants… he fumbles for the latch, breathes and pushes, hoping that his body’s used enough to the motion to not mess up at this moment.
It clicks open and he mutters a quick ‘thank God’ before slipping inside, heading towards the bed immediately. He’s not sure how to face Tim at the moment, but he does know that he needs to hear his heart, his breath, wrap himself around Tim’s body-
The bed is empty.
Kon’s heart stops for a moment, clatters to the ground like a cold bullet while he stares at the rumpled covers in disbelief. Tim knows. Tim found out about Kon digging up information about Arkham and got angry enough to leave. That’s the only reason Kon can think of for why Tim isn’t in their bed when Dick said he’d gone home.
“Please, no,” he mutters, pressing his heels to his eyes. He has to be wrong; maybe Tim is in the bathroom (no, the door is open and the lights are off), or the kitchen (lights off, no noise). Focus, he tells himself, concentrate. The voices rattle in his brain. You will die alone, little bird. Where is Tim? Wait ‘til I get my hands on ya, I’ll skin ya and make ya beg for people who’ll never come. He hones in on the sound of Tim’s heart, a rhythm he has ingrained in his bones, though it will do him no good if Tim isn’t somewhere within Gotham-beyond that, the muddle of humanity’s breaths and beats becomes gray noise.
Tim’s heartbeat thrums, slow and steady just beyond their bedroom. Kon’s relief is like a convulsion that floods him, making him throw his head back and sigh. He flies into the living room, and yes, Tim is there, curled up on the couch under the blanket they use for their movie night with the remote lying on the carpet under his slack fingers. The television is on mute, its light shifting and creating unsteady shadows on Tim’s sleeping face. He kneels in front of Tim, and his chest clenches when the white glow catches on the line of dried tears down Tim’s cheeks.
You’ll wish you said goodbye before coming here, boy. Kon chokes and the need to touch Tim, to hold him and soothe him overwhelms him and he isn’t even done brushing his thumb against the tear-tracks before he has to wrap his whole body around Tim’s head and shoulders. Tim jolts awake at the contact, pulse spiking abruptly before his shoulders drop and he fists his hands in Kon’s shirt. “…Kon.”
“Tim.” He says it like a prayer. Squeezes tighter. Buries his face in Tim’s hair.
“…Where were you?” Tim breathes out in a whisper. “I thought… I thought you were still angry and you’d left to Kansas.”
“Never,” Kon says hoarsely, ignoring the irony of Tim’s statement. He might be shaking again; it’s hard to tell with all the tension vibrating through him, making him feel jittery and short of breath. You’ll die alone, brat, and we’ll gorge on your blood. “I’ll never leave you, Tim, I promise.”
“Kon…” Tim’s fingers reach up, slide slowly and carefully up Kon’s neck and along the side of Kon’s face to cradle his cheek, and there’s still too much space between them, too few areas of contact, so Kon climbs on top of Tim, kicking the remote aside and getting his feet caught in the blanket. He’s still unable to pull back and look Tim in the eye. Still breathing Tim’s scent with his nose buried in his hair. “What’s wrong? Kon?”
He shakes his head and all he knows is that he can keep Tim safe like this, curled over him, his large body covering Tim’s frame completely and blocking the rest of the world from him. Don’tcha know, kid? We’re the stuff of nightmares. But even with his invulnerability, even with his super-strength, Kon can’t keep him safe from… from this sludge of humanity, this aspect that chills him to his very core, this grimness that permeates his every pore.
“Kon,” Tim says, his voice now tinged with alarm, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Tim’s hands are already snaking around Kon, skimming down his back to check for damage, but Kon grabs Tim’s arms and holds them still, pulls his face up to kiss Tim and cover his lips hungrily. It’s only brief reassurance, and though Tim kisses back, the noises he makes are more confused than pleasured.
“Kon,” Tim says sternly, pulling back and searching Kon’s face with worry knitting his eyebrows. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it now. Please,” Kon begs, and he doesn’t care that Tim’s face morphs into shock and concern. “Tomorrow. Please, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Right now I just want to be with you.”
Were Tim someone more vindictive, he’d point out the irony of their situation and the hypocrisy of Kon wanting to save the talking for tomorrow. But Tim indulges him, and Kon suspects it is as much out of trust as it is because it’s such an unusual request from Kon.
“Yeah… okay.” Tim runs the tip of his index finger down the bridge of Kon’s nose, and it’s frightening how that simple touch can make Kon shudder and how it can convey so clearly It’s okay, I’m here. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” He rubs Kon’s cheek gently with his thumb, back and forth, and Kon leans into the touch and bites his lip because Tim is here, Tim who has gone through so much, who has these voices in his head and despite it, despite night after night with these nightmares, he’s here attempting to comfort Kon. And Kon feels guilty that he’s the one needing comfort, when the whole point of asking Dick about Arkham was to help Tim, but… he can’t comfort Tim until he’s more himself, until he can stop shivering and feeling ill with images of deformed shapes lunging at him and the flash of a rictus grin, gaping open and cackling and shouting obscenities and threats all at Tim.
This is what Tim goes through on a regular basis… He’s always known that the least he can do for Tim is be there for him and help him through it, but that required understanding what Tim goes through. It turned out to be more than Kon was expecting, but he will never regret it.
“Tim,” Kon murmurs, pushing himself down so that he can place his head right above Tim’s heart, letting Tim nestle his chin on the top of Kon’s head. Tim’s arms are wrapped loosely around Kon’s back, stroking feather-soft, back and forth across his shoulders while Kon still has a death grip on him - reminding himself constantly to hold back, lest he hurt Tim. He closes his eyes and hears Tim’s comforting hum, listens to the sound fade and mingle with his steady heartbeat. He wants his world right now to consist of Tim’s ribs underneath him, ground for him to walk on. His sea will be the velvet of the blanket tangled between their legs and brushing against his abdomen where his shirt is riding up. He wants Tim’s breaths to be the wind and his skin to provide all the warmth of sunlight he’ll ever need, and his heartbeat to be the only language he’ll ever need to know.
But there’s darkness seeping into the edges of his world and the air at the nape of his neck is cold and biting.
“You know I’ll always be here for you, right? You know there’s no one more important to me?”
You know you mean the world to me? You know I couldn’t live without you? You know I can’t bear the thought of you in pain or hurting?
Tim’s fingers still, catching on a fold of Kon’s shirt, and he shifts his leg to a more comfortable position underneath Kon’s. Kon knows that he hears everything that Kon is too distraught to say, everything that his ragged voice screamed in baritones. He takes a shaky breath and whispers, “I… yes. I know.” He pauses as if measuring his next words and then scrubs Kon’s shoulder reassuringly as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Let’s get in bed. Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”
He waits patiently for Kon to gather his wits about him and struggle into a standing position before taking his hand and pulling himself up. They hold hands for a long moment, Tim rubbing little circles on Kon’s knuckles as he stares at their hands with a pensive look. Then he leans over to shut off the television and begins pulling Kon to bed, fingers intertwined so tightly that Kon can imagine their hands permanently molded to each other. He stumbles after Tim, and at any other moment he would be ashamed at the way his stomach curdles and his feet don’t seem to align with each other, almost causing him to bump into the door frame. Right now he can only focus on Tim’s head and his dark tufts of hair. The image of Tim leading him to bed, steps slow in consideration of Kon’s stumbles, his pale arm stretched back towards him, his face turning to look back reassuringly at Kon even though his eyes are dark with worry, the gentle squeeze of his small fingers- Kon stops in the middle of their bedroom, his head swimming with exhaustion because it must be past dawn now, and he just wants tonight to be over and that filthy layer Arkham soot and grime to let go of him.
“Tim-”
“Shh, Conner.” Tim reaches up to cup Kon’s face and rub his cheekbones firmly. He’s keeping his promise and not prying, though Kon can tell that he wants to by the tight set of his jaw. “You need to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”
Tim’s thumbs run along the ridge of Kon’s eyebrows, the pressure firm but soothing. How does he do it? How can he stand here when out there… when just a few days ago… It frightens him how Tim goes through his days with this… this darkness, this brutality and sickness swimming in his head, sneaking through his entrails, poisoning his mind.
“How do you deal with… with bad things, Tim?”
He hears Tim swallow and feels the ripple of goosebumps that breaks out across his pale skin, but Tim wraps his arms around Kon’s neck and pushes up on his tiptoes to press his lips against the corner of Kon’s mouth. When he leans back, he smiles sadly and sits down on the bed, pulling Kon down with him.
It’s only once he has settled Kon in his arms and arranged himself so that he can scratch gently at the short hair on the back of Kon’s head that he finally responds.
“I come home to you.”
Part IV
Fandom: DC Universe
Pairing: Tim/Kon
Rating: PG13
Notes: Written for the Tim/Kon meme. Set in the future, post-Arkham City. "Kon reacts when he finds out the vile threats the inmates threw at Robin."
Summary: Kon only wanted to help Tim. He didn't realize the price was so high.
Part I
Part II
“Is… is Tim back from patrol yet?”
Dick frowns at Kon’s words, eyes still glued to the computer screen as he swivels around in his chair. “Superboy…?” He stops when he sees Kon, and something -everything- must be seeping through Kon’s voice and face, because Dick’s suddenly on his feet and making his way towards him. Kon even sees Batman, off towards the side of the Batcave and with his cowl down, stop and turn to look at him.
“Oh- oh, shit, if Batman’s here,” Kon stutters, feely shaky and just… not thinking right. He knows he’s not. The overhead lights and the computer screens are too bright after spending who knows how long sitting in the dark in that room, shaking and trying to grasp what he’d just seen. What Tim had seen. Batman shifts and throws Dick a questioning look, though Kon doesn’t register anything more than Batman. And-and if Batman’s here, then Tim’s here too, and if Kon meets Tim here… Tim will be so angry that Kon found out about-about Arkham and the voices and Kon can’t handle that right now. He’s nowhere near enough in control of his emotions to deal with Tim properly, and they will fight, and it will be bad and Tim will probably leave to Steph or Cass’s place until things cool down. It’s not the first time it has happened, but Kon can’t get past bad, bad, bad.
“Are you alright, kid?” Dick asks, and Kon feels infinitely grateful for the hands on his shoulders, because right now he needs grounding, he needs something stable. He feels disconnected, disembodied, and part of it is the fact that it’s four in the morning and Kon’s brain is short-circuiting from sheer exhaustion. The other part is the fact that he feels like he descended into the lowest rings of hell and clawed his way back out. Dying and coming back to life was, surprisingly, less painful. “You look awful.”
“Tim,” Kon mutters again, because that’s all he can think of. Tim and the awful voices and the things they said to him. “I-I don’t want us to fight. Don’t want him to leave. Where is he?”
Dick’s rubbing his arms, saying something, and it takes Kon a moment to break out of his daze to focus on his words. “Conner, Tim’s not here. He got back a while ago, and I thought it for the best not to mention that you were here until you were done, so he went back to your apartment. He went home, Conner.”
Home. Kon wants to go home too. He wants it so desperately, so immediately, that even the knowledge that he could be there in five minutes is not enough. He can’t think in terms of five minutes, five minutes of this pain, this gnawing in his chest. He wants to be home with Tim now, so much that he thinks he’s going to cry.
Dick’s looking at him with a heartbroken expression, and says, so softly, “Oh, Conner,” before wrapping him in a hug. And maybe it should be weird, maybe Kon should feel awkward about Nightwing, Tim’s brother, hugging him, but Kon doesn’t care. He feels lost and so empty, as if he’d been taken apart and rebuilt, but they’d forgotten certain pieces inside him. He hugs Dick back, digging his fingers into the other man’s shoulders. It probably hurts, but Dick doesn’t comment.
All it takes is one hug and Dick shushing him and rocking him gently for Kon’s composure to crumble. The first sob is ragged and he tries to smother it, ashamed, against Dick’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Dick is saying, rubbing Kon’s back as Kon gasps against his shoulder. “I… I thought you needed to know what Tim goes through but I didn’t think… I didn’t realize…”
“Tim,” Kon chokes out, feeling so stupid and weak with tears running down his face, and God, Batman’s just there staring, and Damian’s probably judging him from some corner of the ceiling, but Kon can’t hold it back, he just can’t. “They… Tim heard all that. They said all that to him.”
How can he explain? How does he explain that he feels so disappointed and disgusted by humanity? That he feels revolted by the darkest corners of the human mind? That he’s terrified of what that must be doing to Tim? He doesn’t care that Tim’s used to it- that might be worse, in Kon’s opinion. Now he has a shred of an idea of the kind of nightmares Tim must have. Arkham City was… the collection of the sludge of humanity, and Kon can’t shake the images, the atmosphere, the oppression, the sickness. It has sunk into his bones, over his skin like a fine, soothy layer of grime, clinging to his face, his eyelashes, clogging his mouth and making it hard to breathe. This layer of grime covers his very vision of the world.
“I know,” Dick says slowly, pulling away and kneading Kon’s shoulders. “I know.”
His eyes say it all. He really does know. This is the world the Bats live in, and Kon should have stayed out.
~0~
At some point he manages to rub his eyes dry and excuse himself. Dick offers him something or the other, but Kon thinks he tells Dick that he needs to get home to Tim. He’s assuming that’s what he ended up saying, at least, because now he’s flying towards their apartment. He’s marginally calmer now, still dazed and sort of-in shock is probably the best way to describe it. The air is still cold, but from this height he can see a hint of violet towards the horizon, heralding the rise of the sun in an hour or two.
Kon hovers just outside the windowsill of their apartment and has to take a steadying breath to be able to open to window - Tim has an alarm set that can only be deactivated by applying some eerily precise number of newtons to the latch. Kon doesn’t know the exact number. He only knows it by feel, knows he has to push ten times as much as a normal human being, but the exact number escapes him. Either way, he’s the only one who knows how to open it, and that’s good enough for Tim’s paranoia.
Right now he’s afraid he’s going to push too hard- he’s nervous, and he still feels disjointed, like his body’s not responding properly. He wants to see Tim so badly, he needs, he wants… he fumbles for the latch, breathes and pushes, hoping that his body’s used enough to the motion to not mess up at this moment.
It clicks open and he mutters a quick ‘thank God’ before slipping inside, heading towards the bed immediately. He’s not sure how to face Tim at the moment, but he does know that he needs to hear his heart, his breath, wrap himself around Tim’s body-
The bed is empty.
Kon’s heart stops for a moment, clatters to the ground like a cold bullet while he stares at the rumpled covers in disbelief. Tim knows. Tim found out about Kon digging up information about Arkham and got angry enough to leave. That’s the only reason Kon can think of for why Tim isn’t in their bed when Dick said he’d gone home.
“Please, no,” he mutters, pressing his heels to his eyes. He has to be wrong; maybe Tim is in the bathroom (no, the door is open and the lights are off), or the kitchen (lights off, no noise). Focus, he tells himself, concentrate. The voices rattle in his brain. You will die alone, little bird. Where is Tim? Wait ‘til I get my hands on ya, I’ll skin ya and make ya beg for people who’ll never come. He hones in on the sound of Tim’s heart, a rhythm he has ingrained in his bones, though it will do him no good if Tim isn’t somewhere within Gotham-beyond that, the muddle of humanity’s breaths and beats becomes gray noise.
Tim’s heartbeat thrums, slow and steady just beyond their bedroom. Kon’s relief is like a convulsion that floods him, making him throw his head back and sigh. He flies into the living room, and yes, Tim is there, curled up on the couch under the blanket they use for their movie night with the remote lying on the carpet under his slack fingers. The television is on mute, its light shifting and creating unsteady shadows on Tim’s sleeping face. He kneels in front of Tim, and his chest clenches when the white glow catches on the line of dried tears down Tim’s cheeks.
You’ll wish you said goodbye before coming here, boy. Kon chokes and the need to touch Tim, to hold him and soothe him overwhelms him and he isn’t even done brushing his thumb against the tear-tracks before he has to wrap his whole body around Tim’s head and shoulders. Tim jolts awake at the contact, pulse spiking abruptly before his shoulders drop and he fists his hands in Kon’s shirt. “…Kon.”
“Tim.” He says it like a prayer. Squeezes tighter. Buries his face in Tim’s hair.
“…Where were you?” Tim breathes out in a whisper. “I thought… I thought you were still angry and you’d left to Kansas.”
“Never,” Kon says hoarsely, ignoring the irony of Tim’s statement. He might be shaking again; it’s hard to tell with all the tension vibrating through him, making him feel jittery and short of breath. You’ll die alone, brat, and we’ll gorge on your blood. “I’ll never leave you, Tim, I promise.”
“Kon…” Tim’s fingers reach up, slide slowly and carefully up Kon’s neck and along the side of Kon’s face to cradle his cheek, and there’s still too much space between them, too few areas of contact, so Kon climbs on top of Tim, kicking the remote aside and getting his feet caught in the blanket. He’s still unable to pull back and look Tim in the eye. Still breathing Tim’s scent with his nose buried in his hair. “What’s wrong? Kon?”
He shakes his head and all he knows is that he can keep Tim safe like this, curled over him, his large body covering Tim’s frame completely and blocking the rest of the world from him. Don’tcha know, kid? We’re the stuff of nightmares. But even with his invulnerability, even with his super-strength, Kon can’t keep him safe from… from this sludge of humanity, this aspect that chills him to his very core, this grimness that permeates his every pore.
“Kon,” Tim says, his voice now tinged with alarm, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Tim’s hands are already snaking around Kon, skimming down his back to check for damage, but Kon grabs Tim’s arms and holds them still, pulls his face up to kiss Tim and cover his lips hungrily. It’s only brief reassurance, and though Tim kisses back, the noises he makes are more confused than pleasured.
“Kon,” Tim says sternly, pulling back and searching Kon’s face with worry knitting his eyebrows. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it now. Please,” Kon begs, and he doesn’t care that Tim’s face morphs into shock and concern. “Tomorrow. Please, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Right now I just want to be with you.”
Were Tim someone more vindictive, he’d point out the irony of their situation and the hypocrisy of Kon wanting to save the talking for tomorrow. But Tim indulges him, and Kon suspects it is as much out of trust as it is because it’s such an unusual request from Kon.
“Yeah… okay.” Tim runs the tip of his index finger down the bridge of Kon’s nose, and it’s frightening how that simple touch can make Kon shudder and how it can convey so clearly It’s okay, I’m here. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” He rubs Kon’s cheek gently with his thumb, back and forth, and Kon leans into the touch and bites his lip because Tim is here, Tim who has gone through so much, who has these voices in his head and despite it, despite night after night with these nightmares, he’s here attempting to comfort Kon. And Kon feels guilty that he’s the one needing comfort, when the whole point of asking Dick about Arkham was to help Tim, but… he can’t comfort Tim until he’s more himself, until he can stop shivering and feeling ill with images of deformed shapes lunging at him and the flash of a rictus grin, gaping open and cackling and shouting obscenities and threats all at Tim.
This is what Tim goes through on a regular basis… He’s always known that the least he can do for Tim is be there for him and help him through it, but that required understanding what Tim goes through. It turned out to be more than Kon was expecting, but he will never regret it.
“Tim,” Kon murmurs, pushing himself down so that he can place his head right above Tim’s heart, letting Tim nestle his chin on the top of Kon’s head. Tim’s arms are wrapped loosely around Kon’s back, stroking feather-soft, back and forth across his shoulders while Kon still has a death grip on him - reminding himself constantly to hold back, lest he hurt Tim. He closes his eyes and hears Tim’s comforting hum, listens to the sound fade and mingle with his steady heartbeat. He wants his world right now to consist of Tim’s ribs underneath him, ground for him to walk on. His sea will be the velvet of the blanket tangled between their legs and brushing against his abdomen where his shirt is riding up. He wants Tim’s breaths to be the wind and his skin to provide all the warmth of sunlight he’ll ever need, and his heartbeat to be the only language he’ll ever need to know.
But there’s darkness seeping into the edges of his world and the air at the nape of his neck is cold and biting.
“You know I’ll always be here for you, right? You know there’s no one more important to me?”
You know you mean the world to me? You know I couldn’t live without you? You know I can’t bear the thought of you in pain or hurting?
Tim’s fingers still, catching on a fold of Kon’s shirt, and he shifts his leg to a more comfortable position underneath Kon’s. Kon knows that he hears everything that Kon is too distraught to say, everything that his ragged voice screamed in baritones. He takes a shaky breath and whispers, “I… yes. I know.” He pauses as if measuring his next words and then scrubs Kon’s shoulder reassuringly as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Let’s get in bed. Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”
He waits patiently for Kon to gather his wits about him and struggle into a standing position before taking his hand and pulling himself up. They hold hands for a long moment, Tim rubbing little circles on Kon’s knuckles as he stares at their hands with a pensive look. Then he leans over to shut off the television and begins pulling Kon to bed, fingers intertwined so tightly that Kon can imagine their hands permanently molded to each other. He stumbles after Tim, and at any other moment he would be ashamed at the way his stomach curdles and his feet don’t seem to align with each other, almost causing him to bump into the door frame. Right now he can only focus on Tim’s head and his dark tufts of hair. The image of Tim leading him to bed, steps slow in consideration of Kon’s stumbles, his pale arm stretched back towards him, his face turning to look back reassuringly at Kon even though his eyes are dark with worry, the gentle squeeze of his small fingers- Kon stops in the middle of their bedroom, his head swimming with exhaustion because it must be past dawn now, and he just wants tonight to be over and that filthy layer Arkham soot and grime to let go of him.
“Tim-”
“Shh, Conner.” Tim reaches up to cup Kon’s face and rub his cheekbones firmly. He’s keeping his promise and not prying, though Kon can tell that he wants to by the tight set of his jaw. “You need to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”
Tim’s thumbs run along the ridge of Kon’s eyebrows, the pressure firm but soothing. How does he do it? How can he stand here when out there… when just a few days ago… It frightens him how Tim goes through his days with this… this darkness, this brutality and sickness swimming in his head, sneaking through his entrails, poisoning his mind.
“How do you deal with… with bad things, Tim?”
He hears Tim swallow and feels the ripple of goosebumps that breaks out across his pale skin, but Tim wraps his arms around Kon’s neck and pushes up on his tiptoes to press his lips against the corner of Kon’s mouth. When he leans back, he smiles sadly and sits down on the bed, pulling Kon down with him.
It’s only once he has settled Kon in his arms and arranged himself so that he can scratch gently at the short hair on the back of Kon’s head that he finally responds.
“I come home to you.”
Part IV