Chapter Text
Tim’s econometrics professor entered the room. She wore glasses, thin rectangular frames that sat atop her nosebridge. She wasn’t a very tall woman, probably coming up to Tim’s shoulder and that alone was a pretty generous metric. Tim hoped his growth spurt didn’t actually happen during the time he whisked himself away into Bludhaven, when he started getting too lanky for his liking, making him go through at least three iterations of his suit, but as luck would have it, Tim stood at an average height, thank you very much.
His professor, Ma’am Duncan as she introduced herself, wore a small smile, not too wide as to be too inviting, but not too hidden so as not to emulate Bruce’s own. Huh, Tim should probably call him back. The man got a bit antsy when Tim wouldn’t return his calls at least every week. Well, antsy was one way to describe it. Tim chickened out of messaging Dick about it, and instead, just sent a quick thumbs up to Bruce. It should tide him over until he could muster up the energy to either call him back or haul his ass over to Gotham.
The projector was on now with a plain PowerPoint on the screen. Tim groaned internally as his eyes scanned over the current slide. Tell me about yourself. He was in his third year in university, and every time, every single time he had to tell the class about himself, another part of himself died. He didn’t think there’d be any parts of him left to offer up to the gods of icebreakers and introductions.
“Let’s start with the first row,” Ma’am Duncan said, voice clipped, but not in a way that showed irritation—just in the way of someone who didn’t need to add filler words to get her point across.
In Tim’s mind, he counted how many of his classmates were before him. The first row had five people. Okay, five people, probably three minutes, maybe five, per person. Tim had like twenty minutes, give or take. The portion of his soul so eager to die could wait twenty minutes.
Tim didn’t particularly pay attention to his classmates’ answers. Sure, out of the five people who spoke, only a couple details stood out to him, but he didn’t think any of them were secretly a Rogue or supervillain. Well, he hoped so. His own introduction was bland, boring, and vague enough to keep a mundane impression on everyone in the room. The rest of the introductions left the same impression on him—interesting details here and there but altogether, rather uninteresting.
Ma’am Duncan scanned what Tim assumed to be the attendance sheet. She looked up then back at the piece of paper, brows furrowing for a bit. Her eyes lingered on the class as she murmured something under her breath.
“You’re supposed to be seventeen,” she said to no one in particular, shrugging. “Eh, I’m not going to take attendance today since it’s the first meeting.”
The next slide flashes on screen, and there is an odd feeling of relief that washed over Tim as he read the words, “What is econometrics?” instead of some gimmicky icebreaker. He pulled out his tablet and scribbled away with his stylus. He probably won’t carry this habit throughout the semester, but it’s nice to have a healthy amount of delusion with regards to his study habits.
⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹
The manor always loomed, no matter how far Tim was in proximity to it. Even when he lived next door, Wayne Manor had this imposing feeling to it, even with the pretty significant distance between his old home and the manor. Maybe, it was the dark stone and brick used to build the place or just the fact that any old building’s creep factor was tripled when put against Gotham’s gloomy grey skies, or maybe, it was because Batman lived there.
As Tim slowly rolled in on his bike to the wrought iron gates that soon parted with a low rumble, he let out a breath he didn’t even know he held in. He rode up into the driveway and into the garage that was open. He took his time getting off his bike, prying the helmet off his head, and meticulously tucking it into the compartment at the back of his bike. He needed every bit of silence, of patience, he could muster before heading up into the wooden halls of the manor.
“Master Timothy, you’re early,” Alfred greeted from the foyer, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Would you fancy a small snack?”
Tim considered it for a moment before nodding, “Sure, Alf.”
“Any preferences?”
“Cheese and crackers sounds good,” Tim smiled.
“Very well,” Alfred nodded and bowed out to disappear into the kitchen.
Tim wandered through the halls of the manor, familiar in a way that he knew every bend, every twist, and every turn, but it was also foreign in a way that a distant memory might be. Some memories were vivid like when Dick would knock on his door to sneak out and go train surfing, and some were too vivid. He could hear, feel the tension bubbling up inside him as he walked into the family wing. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Bruce’s study was further down the hall. The Batcave’s entrance was less than five hundred meters away, and he could hear his voice, so close to shouting, so desperate to convince Dick that Bruce was alive. He could feel the pain shooting up his back as the glass case shattered beneath him. He could even feel some sort of phantom pain where his spleen should be.
His room at the manor was rather bare with only a few stray posters left behind. He moved everything into his Nest or into his dorm in Ivy Town, leaving behind only a few things that no longer resonated with him. Tim preferred to pack light anyways. The duffle bag landed on his bed with a dull thud, and the curtains were drawn to let the morning sun shine into his room. The sheets were changed, most likely in anticipation of his arrival, but he wondered if Alfred changed them regularly, regardless if Tim was visiting.
A knock came from the door, too soft to be Alfred and too rhythmic to be Damian. Tim turned around, prying his attention from the perfectly manicured lawn to Bruce who stood in the doorway. He still loomed; of course, Batman would loom over wherever he went, but it was dialed down without the cowl and cape shielding him. There was a softness to his expression, in the way his steel blue eyes still carried their usual sharpness, but there was something, vulnerability, maybe? Or maybe, it was something Tim would rather not dwell upon, something that if he acknowledged it, if he so much as paid that…that flicker of hope, of longing in Bruce’s eyes, he’d go insane.
“You’re here early,” Bruce said, eyes crinkling in a way so similar to Alfred.
Tim shrugged, “Woke up early.”
Bruce shuffled in, not closing the door behind him, “No projects to work on?”
Tim huffed, “It’s the start of the sem, B. I doubt any of our profs will give a deadline so soon.”
Bruce chuckled, still lingering near the door. They stared at each other for a while, words going unsaid as the silence stretched on. Tim fiddled with his phone in his pocket then the little robin chain that dangled from it. It was a gift from Dick, given during the few times they saw each other recently. His gaze flickered to Bruce, whose lips were pursed into a thin line as if opening them would break the walls he kept around him. Perhaps, it was where Tim got his own walls, the ones he hid behind in recent days, afraid to let even a bit of sunlight in because it was safer to remain in the dark, to remain distant these days.
“Tim—”
Alfred materialized in the doorway, “Master Timothy, your snack is ready. Master Bruce, you are allowed to join us for tea if you wish.”
Tim practically dove for the door the moment Alfred disappeared back into the manor. He gave Bruce a tight smile before shuffling past him and gunning for the sitting room where Alfred usually set up afternoon tea.
Damian appeared after a while, scowl seemingly permanent on his face. He regarded Tim with a slight nod, choosing to sit on the couch opposite him. Well, at least, the two could now tolerate each other’s presence in the same room. A couple of years ago, a knife would’ve been wedged into the walls or a projectile fired by now.
“How’s school, Tim?” Bruce asked as he sipped on his tea.
Tim shrugged, “Fine. I’m still passing.”
Damian scoffed, “Tt. Just passing.”
“Hey, I’d like to see you try and learn from a professor who teaches absolutely nothing and get a good grade,” Tim retorted.
Bruce sighed, “That’s good to hear.”
A beat of silence.
“Have you made any new friends?” Bruce asked.
“Oh my god, B,” Tim groaned, taking a bite of his cracker. “I’m not dying of loneliness! I have friends!”
“I was just check—”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Damian murmured, side-eyeing Tim.
Tim scowled, “Oh, you’re one to talk! I heard you got sent to the principal’s office because you threatened a classmate!”
“It was self-defense!”
“That’s not what I heard!”
“Boys!” Bruce warned.
Tim huffed, rolling his eyes as he shoved another cracker into his mouth. Damian sat there, arms crossed, glaring right into Tim’s soul. Tim, quite frankly, didn’t care. The little shit could bore a hole right through his heart, and Tim wouldn’t bat an eye. He wouldn’t even look concerned just to spite him.
After a couple of moments, Bruce spoke up again, “Will you be joining us later?”
Tim stilled. He took a bite of the cracker in his hands, dusting off his hand on his jeans. He stared at the floor momentarily before meeting Bruce’s gaze. There it was again, that look of hope, that undeniable softness in his eyes that made Tim want to somersault out of the manor and disappear into his dorm, never to be seen again.
“Sure, uh, yeah, I’ll join you guys later,” Tim said, voice soft, almost like a murmur.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹
“Have you heard from Superboy recently?” Batman’s voice jolted Tim out of his daydream.
Tim tried to ignore the way he felt his heart sink at the question. His mind raced, going through all the possibilities at the same time, each one worse than the last. He felt his own hands tremble at his sides, his grip around his retracted bo staff tightening. He let out a shaky breath and turned to Batman, trying his best to hide his nerves.
“No, why?” Tim replied. He couldn’t quite hide the way his voice wavered even if just slightly.
Bruce’s shoulders dropped every so slightly, a hand emerging from the black void around his shoulders. He hesitated for a moment, hand lingering in the air before finding its way to Tim’s shoulder. The weight of it was grounding at the same time terrifying.
“Nothing’s happened to him,” Bruce said. “Just wondering if you two are still talking.”
A wave of relief crashed into Tim, but a bit of anxiety still lingered. Of course, it would. What was Tim supposed to think when Batman of all people asked him if he heard from Kon? The Dark Knight wasn’t known for sunshines and rainbows after all. Now that Tim wasn’t losing his head over whether or not Kon still walked the face of the Earth, he pondered on Bruce’s question. They talked recently, exchanging a couple of texts, but that was about it. He knew Tim was busy with university, and well, Tim assumed Kon to be busy with, well, whatever it is Supers are busy with.
Tim shrugged, “We’ve chatted.”
Bruce hummed, “Nothing else?”
“Why?” Tim’s eyes narrowed.
Bruce brought out his grapple, already preparing to fire it, “Robbery five blocks from here.”
Tim groaned as he brought out his own. As Batman prepared to leap off the roof, Tim swore he saw a flicker of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Tim’s bafflement resulted in a misfire of his grapple, the hook missing the edge of the building he aimed for. He shifted his body, aiming for the nearest one, only for a black void to scoop him up mid-air. Bruce looked down at him momentarily, the softness returning to his face even if half of it was concealed by the cowl, and for a moment, Tim allowed himself to be buried in the void of the cape that hung around Bruce’s shoulders.
There was no mention of Kon after that as if Bruce simply forgot about his own question once he landed a good couple punches on a bunch of unsuspecting robbers. It was kinda funny how a lot of robbers still thought that on a regular night in Gotham that they’d be the one exception as if it were a myth or a trial of courage to see if the Batman would show up with his brightly colored bird. Tim didn’t complain though; it kept his nights occupied.
Bruce tapped into his comms, calling it a night not soon after. Damian, much to everyone’s surprise, acquiesced and appeared soon after by the Batmobile where Bruce waited. He turned to Tim, who stood a couple of meters away, leaning on his staff. There was an unsaid question there, and Tim already had his answer ready. He didn’t need Bruce to articulate his thoughts to know what he wanted to ask, but could you fault him for wanting to actually hear it from the man? To actually want to hear that he’s wanted around the manor?
“Come on,” Batman grumbled. “We need to check your grapple.”
Tim huffed. Well, that was the best he was gonna get around these parts of town, “I’ll hang around for a few. Got some pent up energy I need to use up. Don’t wait up.”
“I’ll need the details on that mugging you stopped,” Bruce replied and disappeared into the Batmobile with Damian in tow.
Tim stared off into the distance, allowing Gotham’s sounds to turn into white noise. He probably dozed off a couple of times as if the city soundscape was a lullaby. Well, in his early Robin days, it kinda was. It was nothing short of a miracle that Tim was still standing, fairly alive and well (physically speaking that is) with the amount of naps he took in haphazard places. Well, there was little difference now; Tim still took naps as if his life depended on it (it did), but this time, he actually had some fairly safe spaces to take these naps in.
“Back in town?”
Tim turned to be greeted by the crimson helmet of Red Hood. He rolled his eyes, “How’s those extra hours of internship going for you?”
“Fuck you, too,” Jason scoffed though it lacked the heat he usually reserved for Bruce. “Surprised you’re even within fifty meters of Gotham.”
“I’m surprised you even showed up for patrol,” Tim shot back.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jason said. “You heading back to the manor?”
Tim shrugged, “Eventually.”
Silence settled around them, blanketing them with a sense of comfort, not awkwardness. Jason leaned on the ledge, same as Tim, and stared off into the skyline, into the abyss of stars above them. Tim chuckled to himself, remembering how his past interactions with Jason somehow always involved a fight. Well, Jason always started the fight whether it was breaking into Titans’ Tower in his old (and perfectly tailored) Robin costume and whacking the shit out of Tim or shooting at him unprompted because Tim didn’t want to rob Penguin. Now, however, they stood in a comfortable silence, the weight of losing Bruce and closely knit familial ties pressing on their shoulders as if trauma-bonding were a brotherly activity.
“You’re in your third year, aren’t you?” Jason asked.
Tim nodded.
“Huh,” Jason smirked. “I didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”
Tim raised a brow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Jason’s grin only grew wider, “you did drop out of high school to become CEO of WE and not to mention your whole sabbatical abroad. I thought you’d end up like those pretentious nepo babies who swear that they worked so hard for their position.”
“Asshole,” Tim threw a Batarang at Jason, scowling as the fucker caught it.
Jason threw the Batarang back, “Hey, no hard feelings. I’m—I’m actually really glad you pursued economics.”
Tim rolled his eyes, tucking the Batarang into his belt, “You don’t need to patronize me.”
“I’m not,” Jason raised both his hands. “I’m just saying, okay. This fa—bunch is fucked up enough, and it’s nice to see at least one more of us trying to build something akin to a normal life.”
Tim huffed, “Uhuh, like you’re the picture of a mentally stable individual.”
Jason shoved Tim, only slightly, “I’m trying to be nice.”
Tim straightened himself out, dusting his pants as he brought out his grapple. He probably shouldn’t keep Bruce waiting. Jason stayed there, watching as Tim organized himself and his things, the blank white eyes of the helmets never leaving him.
“That was probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Tim smiled, standing on the ledge. “Thanks, Hood.”
Jason gave him a two-fingered salute, “No problem, Red. Hope you fail your math econ.”
⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹
Saturday rolled around again, and Tim forced himself out of bed at a bright and early 7:30 AM for his 8 AM econometrics class. He trudged into the communal bathroom in the dorm, reveling in the facility’s silence. Everyone who was sane enough to not pick a Saturday class probably went home to enjoy their weekend. That could’ve been Tim. He could’ve been on his way to Gotham or something, but as he squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush, he asked himself if there was anything even worth going back to.
Breakfast consisted of rushing by the cafeteria to snag a piece of bread. Tim didn’t know what bread he managed to grab as he darted out into campus. He never knew what he’d get that day until he bit into the carb. Sometimes, he was pleasantly surprised, the sweetness of a custard filling and a coffee cookie crust coating his tastebuds. Other times, he was…less pleased with the taste of a waxy red filling already ruining his day.
The classroom was empty. Tim paused outside the door, peering in through the small glass window. The lights were off, chairs empty, and computer screens black. Something settled in his stomach, ruining his appetite for the second coffee bun that sat in the brown paper bag. He pulled out his phone, opening Canvas, and going to the tab for his econometrics class. There it was, one unread announcement from Ma’am Duncan.
Good day, class!
Our classes will begin at 9 AM. See you this Saturday.
Sincerely,
Ma’am Duncan
Tim could’ve had an extra hour of sleep. He could’ve been wrapped in his covers, sleeping soundly into the morning before he inevitably would have to roll out of bed and drag himself across campus. Hell, he could’ve actually sat down in the cafeteria for waffles or something. Did they have waffles today? Or was it pancakes?
Tim let out a long suffering sigh. He looked at the lone coffee bun in the paper bag and steeled himself as he pushed the door, hinges creaking loudly in the empty building, echoing through the walls that judged Tim for showing up an hour early for his Saturday class. He stood by the door, his will to live slowly seeping out the longer he stared at the vacant chairs before him. He chose a seat on random—third row, closest to the door.
A couple minutes passed or maybe the entire day slipped from Tim’s fingers, and he actually didn’t have an econometrics class today. He wasted the six hours of (broken) sleep he got the night before. He should’ve just wasted away in the comfort of his bed, burying his face into his pillow, allowing a dreamless sleep to overcome him. Tim bit into his last coffee bun. The coffee cookie crust brought him little joy, but he supposed it was something in his bleak college life. The door swung open, hinges creaking in the same way when he unwillingly pushed it open. Tim didn’t look up. He knew almost everyone in his class, and he barely had any relationship with any of them anyway.
“Hey, is this for ECON 317?”
Tim paused midbite, coffee bun hanging in the air. He knew that voice. In a chorus of voices, he would be able to pick out the timber, the tone, the intonation of that voice. His eyes darted up to meet bright, impossibly bright, blue eyes; ones that glowed even in the darkest of alleys, in the darkest of times. Warm, sunkissed skin, subtle stubble that lined his jaw, curly, almost unruly hair, but somehow, it always managed to look intentional, and that sterling silver earring that Tim got for him a couple of birthdays ago.
“Kon?” The syllable escaped Tim’s lips, but it felt like it always belonged there.
Kon practically beamed—blue eyes glowing impossibly brighter and lips curving into a wide grin. He dove for the third row, speed almost too fast for a normal human. Tim found himself enveloped in a tight hug, secure, warm, comforting, familiar. Kon always smelled of the sun. He smelled of sunny days in the field, the warmth of golden rays, and so achingly familiar that sometimes, Tim couldn’t believe he ever got him back.
“Tim!” The singular syllable rolled off Kon’s tongue, sending Tim’s stomach to do somersaults that even Dick would be jealous of. “What’re you doing here?”
Tim raised a brow, “What am I doing here? Why are you here?”
Kon’s grin grew impossibly wider, “I go here.”
“Ivy University?”
“What? Like it’s hard?” Kon laughed.
Tim rolled his eyes, “I didn’t doubt you for a second, but—”
“Didn’t think I’d end up in college?” Kon finished.
Tim shrugged, “You said it, not me.”
Kon pulled out the chair beside him, “I’ve been going to college for three years, y’know?”
Tim’s eyes widened, “Three—You’ve been going to Ivy Uni for three years?”
Kon shook his head, “No, no, I was at Met U for two years then I transferred here this year.”
“Why?”
Kon rubbed the back of his neck. A couple of incoherent syllables escaped him. The corner of Tim’s mouth tilted up as Kon tried organizing his thoughts, a familiar warmth blooming in his chest. Tim sat there, listening to Kon ramble on about how Metropolis University was this and that, how he seemed to prefer the community in Ivy University, or something about the commute.
“Commute? You don’t even commute,” Tim chuckled.
“Hey! Air traffic is practically the same as regular traffic!” Kon cried.
Tim hummed, “It’s about Clark, isn’t it?”
Kon’s shoulder slumped, a serious downtrodden expression taking over his face. Something wrenched inside Tim, in his chest as it tightened, crushing his heart. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Kon shook his head, a small smile creeping up on his lips.
“Yeah,” Kon’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “Everyone knew who Clark Kent was, and I just…It felt like I had to live up to him again.”
Tim bumped Kon’s shoulder, “You took journalism?”
Kon shook his head, “No, I’ve always been in economics.”
“Oh.”
There was something in Kon’s answer—something that made Tim’s stomach do flips and cartwheels that even Dick couldn’t do. It was silly. Really. It was so stupid that Tim was getting flustered over Kon choosing the same course as him from the start. Tim didn’t even believe in things like fate. Fate was stupid. Kon choosing economics meant nothing.
“How ‘bout you?” Kon’s smile was captivating, warm like the sun, and Tim was always told he needed more sun.
Tim blinked, “Oh. Um, yeah, I’ve always been in econ.”
Kon tilted his head, “Why?”
“Uh,” Tim shrugged. This was new territory. Well, it wasn’t. Nothing was new territory when you were paranoid enough to prepare for every eventuality. This wasn’t new. Talking to Kon wasn’t new. Answering Kon’s question wasn’t new.
Come on, Tim. Answer him.
Tim stammered, “Jason roped me in.”
Kon blinked, “Jason? Like, Jason Todd? Red—”
“Ah!” Tim yelped. “Yes, yes, that Jason, Kon!”
He raised a brow.
Tim chuckled and shook his head, “We’re on okay terms now, Kon. He’s not trying to kill me every other second.”
“You chose economics because of the guy who beat you up?” Kon deadpanned. “This has to count as some sort of dependency.”
Tim rolled his eyes, “It’s a versatile course.”
Kon hummed, but the furrow in his brows never quite left. Tim sighed and just allowed the subject to fade into the background. The door to the classroom opened, and a couple of their classmates shuffled in. Tim checked his watch, eyes widening slightly. Thirty minutes had already passed, and they only had ten more minutes until their professor would come in. Kon settled more in the seat beside him, dropping his backpack to the floor and fishing out his notebook and pen. Something warm settled in Tim’s chest that bloomed even more as Kon flashed another boyish grin at him. Tim turned away but not without giving Kon a small smile in return.
“The majority of the course will be done in pairs,” Ma’am Duncan said. “Please send your pairs in Canvas by the end of the week.”
The class passed by quickly after that. The first lessons were always filled with recaps and reviews of their previous lessons. Tim took down the occasional notes, scribbling away on his tablet rather mindlessly as Ma’am Duncan discussed statistics, regressions, and matrices. Tim glanced at Kon who paled at the mention of matrices. It earned him a lean in from his friend who whispered something about never encountering matrices in his entire life.
Tim smiled, a small but incredibly sincere one, “Don’t worry. B had me learning this stuff six months into my tenure. I can teach you.”
There it was. The way Kon’s impossibly bright blue eyes got brighter as he beamed, rivaling the sun itself. The sight of it always made Tim’s heart swell with…with something. Tim could never quite name the feeling that surged within him, stirring his guts, and dizzying his usually crystal clear and sharp mind. He never complained about it. To have Kon beam at him like that, to have Kon grin at him, to have Kon here, right now, alive was worth the couple of moments of dizziness and fuzziness in his brain.
As the two walked out of class to get lunch (it was Kon who begged to come with), conversation flowed easily. Of course, it would. Tim and Kon were inseparable, always; every universe, every timeline, they found each other and stuck to each other. As they sat down in some fast food restaurant that Kon no doubt picked, laughter filled the air along with a few close calls regarding their extracurriculars.
“Hey, Tim,” Kon picked up his bag as Tim stood. “Can I ask you something?”
Tim raised a brow, “Yeah, sure.”
Kon fiddled with his bag strap, “Uh, do you wanna, maybe, be partners for ECON 317?”
Tim blinked, stopping himself from gaping at Kon.
“It’s totally cool if you already had someone in mind to be partners with!” Kon rushed to add. “It’s just I’m new to all this stuff with matrices, and well, we know each other—”
“Kon—”
“I just thought it’d be easier if you and I were together—Well, not like that! Just—”
“We can be partners for ECON 317,” Tim smiled, maybe brighter, bigger than he mostly did these days.
“Oh,” Kon stared at him, wide-eyed, as if Tim said something so outlandish like he wanted to be his partner for ECON 317.
He continued to stare, eyes still wide like saucers, and something heavy settled at the bottom of Tim’s stomach. He clenched his fists, ready to retract his statement. Was that too forward? Did he mishear Kon? Tim was just about to open his mouth to take back his offer when Kon pumped his fist in the air. It wasn’t as dramatic or bombastic as he usually did it, but the triumph was written clear across his face.
“Hell yeah!” Kon smiled, brighter than the sun could ever manage. “I promise you I’m not going to slack off!”
Tim laughed, “Yeah, yeah, make your promises after the first lesson. C’mon, we’ll be late for lab.”