fic: Colors run prime (4/?)
Title: Colors run prime (4/?)
Author:ayzilia
Fandom: DCU
Paring: Tim/Kon
Rating: R, for language
Word Count: 1,643
Summary: In the wake of the Wayne-Kryptonian Treaty, Tim and Kon struggle to adjust their dreams, prejudices, and expectations to fit into the scope of their new life together. A/N: This follows My kind is not your kind. Read that first for clarity’s sake. For sanity’s sake? Also, title from the song “Whirring” by The Joy Formidable. Disclaimer: Not mine. All belongs to DC Comics.
Part 1
Previous Part
For all the early dramatics, Kon-El managed to maintain a relatively unobtrusive presence. He set up a target off the one side and seemed to work on refining his control of his heat-vision. He’d scrunch up his face and mutter and huff and sneak glances at Tim; he was easy enough to tune out, after the first dozen or so heart attacks. Flashes of red and a charred target apparently caused a spike of adrenaline. Who knew, right? But after about an hour and a half, Kon wandered out making some noises about food and lunch and Kryptonian stamina which Tim ignored in favor of concentrating on his current kata. It still didn’t feel as smooth as Tim’d like-as Bruce would expect.
So Tim worked.
And didn’t take note of the passage of time.
When he finally half stumbled out of the gym, intent on heading back to his room for one of Alfred’s delicious protein bars, late afternoon golden light chased him out the doorway, his shadow cast ahead. Lost in the replay of his final kata set in his head-making mental notes on where he could improve, eyes cast down-he practically walked directly into Superman’s chest not three steps into the hallway.
“Whoa, there!” Superman-Clark-smiled, his hands coming up to catch Tim’s shoulders, to steady. Tim could feel the Kryptonian heat through his lightly armored shirt and tensed tight as a whip snap. Clark hesitated before he actually touched, pulled away, and Tim took a conscious breath in to relax. All these shots of adrenaline-he’d crash hard as hell tonight. Favorable to his normal insomnia at least. But then, sleep sometimes felt like a waste of time when he reviewed what he had accomplished when he could have simply slept. He frowned. Annoying paradox. Not to be confused with the fascinating kind.
Clark kept talking, big broad smile on his face, just as the rest of him, and Tim figured he should at least act the good diplomat and tune back in.
“…be here. Have you really been here all day? Conner said this morning… have you taken a break or eaten? Tim, I’m not sure that’s the healthiest…”
Tim pressed his lips together against his reflexive, “I’m fine. I can handle it.”
Superman seemed to hear him anyway. Which was unfair. Kryptonian hearing had no advantage if he doesn’t say anything aloud.
“Ok, it’s alright,” Superman held his hands up and nudged forward with his foot a large, brown-apparently cardboard-box. The type standard for shipping. “I have something for you actually. No it’s alright, it’s from Jason really. Just tell him next time to let Alfred pack any gifts. The security guards did not appreciate the lead or the taser booby trap. Alfred doesn’t seem to have trouble with his care packages.”
Tim felt a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he swooped to pick up the package. Heavy. Must be solidly packed for its size. What had Jason sent him? Tim blinked and frowned and started back towards his room before he remembered the basic rules of social interaction probably mandated he say something to Superman.
Tim paused. Half-turned back.
“Thank you,” Tim whispered courteously.
Tim blushed and hurriedly resumed his trek to his one small sanctuary, embarrassed he couldn’t manage to speak any louder. But whispering would suffice, right? It wasn’t as if Superman couldn’t hear it.
~*~
The door shut definitively behind him, the locks settling into place just a breath later. Solid. But not impenetrable. Not against what he might (inevitably) face; A determined Kryptonian wouldn’t be stopped by an electrified door. Tim knew that. And that knowledge made him uneasy in his bones, anxiety tickling out from his core across his fingertips. His stomach turned at the thought of even grabbing on of Alfred’s protein bars. No, he couldn’t eat now. Not with the worry overcastting everything else.
Tim set Jason’s package, suddenly too heavy to bear, next to his laptop on the desk. He turned and slid down the wall to the floor, knees to his chest, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Deep breaths that became hitched breaths, until Tim willed his breathing back under control. He couldn’t afford to lose control. One solid breath and Tim raised his head to let it thunk back against the wall. He closed his eyes.
~*~
He woke to pounding on his door; Kon’s excuse for knocking politely Tim guessed.
With an inaudible sigh, Tim rose gracefully to his feet and took the six or so steps to the door. He paused a beat before he disabled the locks and cracked the door open. The brightness of Kon’s smile almost prompted him to slam it shut again. Dick was the only one allowed to be that cheery without also being obnoxious.
“Hey!” Kon actually bounced happily, “Dinner’s ready! You should join us! Karen is back from Central City! Negotiations with Flash and all that… they went well by the way. I think-”
“I don’t think I can,” Tim cut across the rambling. “Not tonight Kon-El.”
“Oh.” Kon’s face fell like a kicked puppy, “I thought… why?”
Tim frowned, “I just can’t.”
And he went to shut the door, but he blinked and Kon’s hand was up, bracing the door open. Tim’s breathing halted as dread clenched his heart and lungs in a vice. Opening the door had been an awful, stupid, rookie error. Of course he wasn’t Robin anymore. That mantel belonged to someone less naïve.
But Kon had respected his boundaries this morning. He’d thought they had made some headway in understanding each other, but it just goes to show: you can’t trust beings so powerful. They have no real restrictions, no reason to respect other physically weaker beings. Tim snarled internally. Then collected himself.
“Remove your hand from the door or I’ll set off the taser manually,” he stated in his calmest, ice-cold voice. The one he usually reserved for the worst scum of Gotham.
Kon didn’t move his hand, actually pushed inwards a little.
“Really?” he demanded, “I thought we’d made some headway this morning?”
Tim blinked at the echo of his own thoughts. Then shook his head.
“Obviously in the wrong direction,” Tim stated flatly.
Kon shook his head as if to clear it, “What? How’s that?”
Tim breathed to find his center, to push the now ever-present anxiety away. Then he explained, “It seems, for you, increased familiarity breeds camaraderie. For me an increase in familiarity corresponds to an increase in understanding.”
Kon gaped at him, “Understanding? Like understanding you’re a dangerous freak?”
Tim felt his jaw clench, but he’d been called as much before. Many times. His whole life. Sometimes he wondered how accurate the accusation might be. Sometimes he recognized such a description hit right on target. He was freak.
“Understanding means knowing when to give me space,” Tim bit out.
Kon face twisted with frustration. His broad chest expanding with heavy breaths. He shook his head again, almost as if he could shake the world into making sense. Tim noted his clenched hands, swallowed around the thought of Kon losing his control and clenching those hands around his bicep or his neck and trying to shake some sense into him. Adrenaline, fueled by fear, felt like ice down his spine to settle uneasily in his gut.
“If all I ever give you is space, how are we supposed to make this work? How are we supposed to learn each other? To know each other? To… To be married!” Kon ranted.
Tim flushed with anger, confusion, and that drowning sense of anxiety. He didn’t want to be married. He didn’t want to live in fear of Kon’s heated looks, in fear of all that power and how it might be abused. He wanted to be home in Gotham with Dick and Jason… with all his family. As that thought rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind Tim nearly choked on the loss and abandonment that came with it. He couldn’t do this.
“Please,” he whispered, trying desperately not to beg with his eyes, not to show panic or weakness, “Leave me alone now. Maybe your earnestness, your intentions, are true, but I don’t need anything from you.”
Kon looked stupefied, tilted head, mouth slightly ajar, hands dropping to his side. Tim shut the door in his Super, Kyptonian, unappealing face and quickly threw the locks.
~*~
He faced Jason’s box, weary, but curious as well, looking for some kind of hope. Jason was practical where Dick got sentimental. With any luck, Jason sent Tim something he could use to protect himself; He’d settle for something to keep him in control of his fears, of his mind. But just the box itself, knowing that not everyone has just left him here isolated and alone, helped.
Tim flicked a knife out of a compartment in his desk and set to opening the side of the package where the Kryptonians had obviously resealed it. Tim went slow, checked for wires, charges, anything that might be set off. He found remnants, but the Kryptonians seemed to have disabled everything.
Tim flipped the side open and out tumbled… a suit…
His breathing went shallow, his heart rate increased, fluttered, flew. He could hardly believe it. Red and black and gold. Kevlar and metal. Bandoliers and batarangs and a new bo staff. Everything he needed. Everything he was.
He ran his thumb over the new symbol. Not an R. Something else.
Tim searched the box thoroughly to see if he’d missed anything. He laid out every piece of the new uniform, every bit of equipment, on his dark red comforter to catalogue, to familiarize.
He found the note tucked into the new mask.
For Red Robin.
Red Robin.
For him.
Next Part
Author:ayzilia
Fandom: DCU
Paring: Tim/Kon
Rating: R, for language
Word Count: 1,643
Summary: In the wake of the Wayne-Kryptonian Treaty, Tim and Kon struggle to adjust their dreams, prejudices, and expectations to fit into the scope of their new life together. A/N: This follows My kind is not your kind. Read that first for clarity’s sake. For sanity’s sake? Also, title from the song “Whirring” by The Joy Formidable. Disclaimer: Not mine. All belongs to DC Comics.
Part 1
Previous Part
For all the early dramatics, Kon-El managed to maintain a relatively unobtrusive presence. He set up a target off the one side and seemed to work on refining his control of his heat-vision. He’d scrunch up his face and mutter and huff and sneak glances at Tim; he was easy enough to tune out, after the first dozen or so heart attacks. Flashes of red and a charred target apparently caused a spike of adrenaline. Who knew, right? But after about an hour and a half, Kon wandered out making some noises about food and lunch and Kryptonian stamina which Tim ignored in favor of concentrating on his current kata. It still didn’t feel as smooth as Tim’d like-as Bruce would expect.
So Tim worked.
And didn’t take note of the passage of time.
When he finally half stumbled out of the gym, intent on heading back to his room for one of Alfred’s delicious protein bars, late afternoon golden light chased him out the doorway, his shadow cast ahead. Lost in the replay of his final kata set in his head-making mental notes on where he could improve, eyes cast down-he practically walked directly into Superman’s chest not three steps into the hallway.
“Whoa, there!” Superman-Clark-smiled, his hands coming up to catch Tim’s shoulders, to steady. Tim could feel the Kryptonian heat through his lightly armored shirt and tensed tight as a whip snap. Clark hesitated before he actually touched, pulled away, and Tim took a conscious breath in to relax. All these shots of adrenaline-he’d crash hard as hell tonight. Favorable to his normal insomnia at least. But then, sleep sometimes felt like a waste of time when he reviewed what he had accomplished when he could have simply slept. He frowned. Annoying paradox. Not to be confused with the fascinating kind.
Clark kept talking, big broad smile on his face, just as the rest of him, and Tim figured he should at least act the good diplomat and tune back in.
“…be here. Have you really been here all day? Conner said this morning… have you taken a break or eaten? Tim, I’m not sure that’s the healthiest…”
Tim pressed his lips together against his reflexive, “I’m fine. I can handle it.”
Superman seemed to hear him anyway. Which was unfair. Kryptonian hearing had no advantage if he doesn’t say anything aloud.
“Ok, it’s alright,” Superman held his hands up and nudged forward with his foot a large, brown-apparently cardboard-box. The type standard for shipping. “I have something for you actually. No it’s alright, it’s from Jason really. Just tell him next time to let Alfred pack any gifts. The security guards did not appreciate the lead or the taser booby trap. Alfred doesn’t seem to have trouble with his care packages.”
Tim felt a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he swooped to pick up the package. Heavy. Must be solidly packed for its size. What had Jason sent him? Tim blinked and frowned and started back towards his room before he remembered the basic rules of social interaction probably mandated he say something to Superman.
Tim paused. Half-turned back.
“Thank you,” Tim whispered courteously.
Tim blushed and hurriedly resumed his trek to his one small sanctuary, embarrassed he couldn’t manage to speak any louder. But whispering would suffice, right? It wasn’t as if Superman couldn’t hear it.
~*~
The door shut definitively behind him, the locks settling into place just a breath later. Solid. But not impenetrable. Not against what he might (inevitably) face; A determined Kryptonian wouldn’t be stopped by an electrified door. Tim knew that. And that knowledge made him uneasy in his bones, anxiety tickling out from his core across his fingertips. His stomach turned at the thought of even grabbing on of Alfred’s protein bars. No, he couldn’t eat now. Not with the worry overcastting everything else.
Tim set Jason’s package, suddenly too heavy to bear, next to his laptop on the desk. He turned and slid down the wall to the floor, knees to his chest, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Deep breaths that became hitched breaths, until Tim willed his breathing back under control. He couldn’t afford to lose control. One solid breath and Tim raised his head to let it thunk back against the wall. He closed his eyes.
~*~
He woke to pounding on his door; Kon’s excuse for knocking politely Tim guessed.
With an inaudible sigh, Tim rose gracefully to his feet and took the six or so steps to the door. He paused a beat before he disabled the locks and cracked the door open. The brightness of Kon’s smile almost prompted him to slam it shut again. Dick was the only one allowed to be that cheery without also being obnoxious.
“Hey!” Kon actually bounced happily, “Dinner’s ready! You should join us! Karen is back from Central City! Negotiations with Flash and all that… they went well by the way. I think-”
“I don’t think I can,” Tim cut across the rambling. “Not tonight Kon-El.”
“Oh.” Kon’s face fell like a kicked puppy, “I thought… why?”
Tim frowned, “I just can’t.”
And he went to shut the door, but he blinked and Kon’s hand was up, bracing the door open. Tim’s breathing halted as dread clenched his heart and lungs in a vice. Opening the door had been an awful, stupid, rookie error. Of course he wasn’t Robin anymore. That mantel belonged to someone less naïve.
But Kon had respected his boundaries this morning. He’d thought they had made some headway in understanding each other, but it just goes to show: you can’t trust beings so powerful. They have no real restrictions, no reason to respect other physically weaker beings. Tim snarled internally. Then collected himself.
“Remove your hand from the door or I’ll set off the taser manually,” he stated in his calmest, ice-cold voice. The one he usually reserved for the worst scum of Gotham.
Kon didn’t move his hand, actually pushed inwards a little.
“Really?” he demanded, “I thought we’d made some headway this morning?”
Tim blinked at the echo of his own thoughts. Then shook his head.
“Obviously in the wrong direction,” Tim stated flatly.
Kon shook his head as if to clear it, “What? How’s that?”
Tim breathed to find his center, to push the now ever-present anxiety away. Then he explained, “It seems, for you, increased familiarity breeds camaraderie. For me an increase in familiarity corresponds to an increase in understanding.”
Kon gaped at him, “Understanding? Like understanding you’re a dangerous freak?”
Tim felt his jaw clench, but he’d been called as much before. Many times. His whole life. Sometimes he wondered how accurate the accusation might be. Sometimes he recognized such a description hit right on target. He was freak.
“Understanding means knowing when to give me space,” Tim bit out.
Kon face twisted with frustration. His broad chest expanding with heavy breaths. He shook his head again, almost as if he could shake the world into making sense. Tim noted his clenched hands, swallowed around the thought of Kon losing his control and clenching those hands around his bicep or his neck and trying to shake some sense into him. Adrenaline, fueled by fear, felt like ice down his spine to settle uneasily in his gut.
“If all I ever give you is space, how are we supposed to make this work? How are we supposed to learn each other? To know each other? To… To be married!” Kon ranted.
Tim flushed with anger, confusion, and that drowning sense of anxiety. He didn’t want to be married. He didn’t want to live in fear of Kon’s heated looks, in fear of all that power and how it might be abused. He wanted to be home in Gotham with Dick and Jason… with all his family. As that thought rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind Tim nearly choked on the loss and abandonment that came with it. He couldn’t do this.
“Please,” he whispered, trying desperately not to beg with his eyes, not to show panic or weakness, “Leave me alone now. Maybe your earnestness, your intentions, are true, but I don’t need anything from you.”
Kon looked stupefied, tilted head, mouth slightly ajar, hands dropping to his side. Tim shut the door in his Super, Kyptonian, unappealing face and quickly threw the locks.
~*~
He faced Jason’s box, weary, but curious as well, looking for some kind of hope. Jason was practical where Dick got sentimental. With any luck, Jason sent Tim something he could use to protect himself; He’d settle for something to keep him in control of his fears, of his mind. But just the box itself, knowing that not everyone has just left him here isolated and alone, helped.
Tim flicked a knife out of a compartment in his desk and set to opening the side of the package where the Kryptonians had obviously resealed it. Tim went slow, checked for wires, charges, anything that might be set off. He found remnants, but the Kryptonians seemed to have disabled everything.
Tim flipped the side open and out tumbled… a suit…
His breathing went shallow, his heart rate increased, fluttered, flew. He could hardly believe it. Red and black and gold. Kevlar and metal. Bandoliers and batarangs and a new bo staff. Everything he needed. Everything he was.
He ran his thumb over the new symbol. Not an R. Something else.
Tim searched the box thoroughly to see if he’d missed anything. He laid out every piece of the new uniform, every bit of equipment, on his dark red comforter to catalogue, to familiarize.
He found the note tucked into the new mask.
For Red Robin.
Red Robin.
For him.
Next Part