Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*Konner Kent (Superboy), Age 18 – First Person POV*

I’ve taken punches from Metallo, stared down Doomsday, and even got heat visioned in the face by a rogue Kryptonian once. But nothing—*nothing*—prepared me for this.

For *him*.

Timothy Jackson Drake. My Robin.

He’s standing there in the soft light of the Titans Tower rooftop, just after sunset, like some kind of dream I’m almost afraid to touch. The skyline behind him glows orange and gold, brushing highlights into his dark hair, and the breeze plays with the edge of his Red Robin cape. My heart does this stupid lurch in my chest every time I look at him—every time I remember that he’s not just some fantasy I’ve carried around for years.

He’s *real*.
He’s *here*.
And he’s *mine*.

Finally.

“I was starting to think you’d hover up there all night,” Tim says, not looking at me yet. He’s watching the horizon like it’s got answers I don’t. Like he didn’t just kiss me two nights ago on a Gotham rooftop and change *everything*.

“Just needed a second,” I say, landing softly behind him. “Didn’t want to ruin the view.”

He glances over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “The skyline, or me?”

I grin. “Both.”

That earns me a soft huff of laughter, and something flickers in his expression—something warm and unguarded that only I get to see. He turns fully to face me now, and I feel it again—that gravity he has, the way he pulls me in like there’s no one else in the world.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” I murmur, stepping closer. “That this is real.”

Tim doesn’t back away. His gloved fingers lift to brush my jaw, light as a whisper. “It is real. You and me, Kon.”

God. *God*, I’ve waited for this.

I lean into his touch, letting myself close the gap until our foreheads touch. There’s something electric in the air between us—buzzing under my skin, burning low in my stomach. I’ve felt it every time he smiled at me, every time we fought back to back, every time he called me *his* Clone Boy with that fond, infuriating smirk.

But now, it’s different.

Now, I get to touch him like this.
Now, he’s mine.

“I loved you before I even understood what love was,” I whisper. “Before I knew what it meant to want someone so much it kind of hurts.”

Tim’s breath catches. His hand slides around the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.

“You think I don’t know that?” he says, voice low and rough. “You think I haven’t loved you since the day you crashed into my life like an idiot rocket-powered dumbass and smiled like you had no clue how dangerous you were?”

I chuckle against his mouth. “Dangerous, huh?”

“You’re *lethal*, Clone Boy.”

And then he kisses me.

And the world just—stops.

His mouth is warm and sure, tasting like mint and heat and years of unsaid things. I wrap my arms around his waist, pull him flush against me, and *God*, he fits. Like he was always meant to. Like I was built for this—for *him*. His fingers tighten in my hair as he deepens the kiss, and I can feel the tension between us rising, slow and heady and inevitable.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His cheeks are flushed, and there’s this stunned, beautiful look in his eyes that makes my knees weak.

“Still think this isn’t real?” he murmurs.

I brush my thumb across his lower lip, swollen from kissing. “If it’s a dream, don’t wake me up.”

Tim presses his forehead to mine again. “You’ve got me, Kon. All of me. No more hiding.”

My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I lift him off his feet with a grin, just because I can, and he laughs into my shoulder—*laughs*, like he’s free, like we both are.

“I love you, Robin,” I whisper. “Always have.”

He kisses my neck, slow and deliberate. “Love you too, Clone Boy. Now shut up and kiss me again.”

Don’t have to tell me twice.

Chapter Text

I never imagined quiet could feel this *loud*—not until now.

The movie flickers softly across the screen, casting muted light across the room. Some old black-and-white detective film Tim picked. Something about moody lighting and "structured character beats," he said.

I’d pretended to care. I even asked questions about the plot, which made him smile at me like I was trying to impress him.

Truth is, I just wanted to hear that laugh.

Now, two hours later, I don’t even know the main character’s name. But I remember the way Tim leaned into my side at the thirty-minute mark. I remember how his hand slid over mine, fingers lacing so naturally it felt like we’d been doing this forever.

We haven’t.

But I want to.

And right now, that means everything.

He’s sprawled half across my lap, long legs tangled with mine, head tucked into the curve of my shoulder. His t-shirt’s rumpled from where my fingers keep brushing up underneath it—just because I can. I can feel the rise and fall of his breathing, slow and steady. He’s relaxed.

*No masks.*

And for someone like Tim—someone always calculating, always watching—that kind of peace is sacred.

So I stay still. My arm is around his waist, fingers brushing soft circles into his side. He hums when I do it, like a cat that only purrs for you. A private sound. Meant just for me.

"You’re not even pretending to watch anymore," he says, voice low, soft against my collarbone.

I grin. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

He lifts his head, just enough to look at me. His hair’s messy now—my fault—and his eyes catch the screen’s glow, turning them stormy and blue in the dim light.

"I notice *everything*, Kon," he says, brushing his knuckles down my jaw. "Especially you."

I don’t think my heart’s ever beaten this hard from just a look.

“You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” I whisper, voice rough with everything I’m feeling.

He smiles—small, real, the kind I used to dream about. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It’s not. It’s... us." I thread my fingers through his hair, watching him lean into the touch. "No missions. No secrets. No one watching. Just me and you."

He shifts in my lap, straddling me now, hands resting on my shoulders like he *belongs* there. "Just me and you," he echoes.

My hands settle on his hips, grounding myself in the warmth of his body against mine. We sit like that for a moment, the sound of the movie barely registering—just a heartbeat under the hum of our breathing.

“I used to imagine this,” I admit. “Back when we were pretending. Back when I didn’t know if I’d ever have the guts to say it.”

He blinks slowly. “You mean the part where we make out during noir movies, or the part where you let me use your chest as a pillow?”

“*All* of it,” I say. “Every quiet moment. Every look that lasted too long. Every time you smiled at me when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

He’s quiet, fingers lightly brushing down my collarbone. “I noticed those, too. Every single one.”

We kiss like gravity has stopped working.

It starts soft—his lips pressing against mine with gentle certainty—but it deepens fast, like we’ve been waiting our whole lives to fall into this. His hands slide up into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan softly against his mouth. My grip tightens at his waist, and he gasps—just a little—and I feel it, feel *him*, melt into me.

When we break apart, our foreheads press together. His breath is warm and fast, brushing my lips as we breathe in sync.

“You still run too hot,” he whispers, voice raspy and amused.

“Solar-powered, remember?” I say, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“You always were my sun,” he replies quietly.

My heart *stops*.

He pulls back enough to look me in the eye. “You think I didn’t feel it too, Kon? All those years? All the looks we didn’t talk about. The way I only ever really felt safe when *you* were around?”

I swallow hard, emotion thick in my throat. “Then why didn’t we say something sooner?”

His hand slides to the side of my face, thumb brushing just beneath my eye. “Because we were scared. Because we were stupid. But not anymore.”

I kiss him again—slower this time. Deep and steady. My hands slide beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, palms skimming his back, memorizing the shape of him. He sighs into my mouth, and I swear I could float.

“I love you,” I whisper between kisses. “I don’t care if it sounds cliché. I *love* you.”

Tim’s hands come to rest over my heart. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His lips find my jaw, then my neck. “Again.”

“*I love you,* Tim.”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “I never thought anyone would say that to me and mean it. Not really.”

“Well, get used to it,” I murmur, kissing his temple. “Because I plan on saying it every damn day.”

We stay like that for a long time. Kissing. Touching. Breathing in the closeness we’ve both been starving for.

No masks.

No walls.

His shirt ends up on the couch cushion behind him, and my hands explore the newly bare skin with reverence. Not because I want more—though God, I do—but because he’s letting me see him. The real him.

And he’s perfect.

His head rests against my shoulder again, his breath warm against my neck.

“I feel safe with you,” he says suddenly, almost like he’s admitting a secret.

“You *are* safe with me,” I promise, arms wrapped tightly around him. “Always.”

“Even when I’m difficult?”

“Especially when you’re difficult.”

He laughs softly, and I feel it echo in my chest. “Possessive *and* loyal. I really hit the jackpot.”

“You have *no idea,* Robin.”

His lips press lightly to my collarbone, then to my throat, then back to my lips.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, one last time.

I brush the hair from his eyes, hand cupping his jaw.

“I love you,” I say. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Chapter Text

It had been a week since I last saw him.

Seven days.

Since we were tangled together on my couch, kissing until the world blurred. Since he fell asleep with his fingers curled against my chest, whispering *“no masks.”*

God, his voice still echoed in my head. I kept replaying everything—every touch, every look, every word—as if I could stitch it together and bring him back.

But now the silence was louder than anything else.

He was just *gone*.

No texts. No intel. No reports. Just a gaping hole where he used to be.

And no one would tell me what the hell was going on.

I’d tried reaching out to Bruce. No answer. Oracle had gone radio silent. Cass didn’t respond. Damian gave me a blank stare and said, “He’s off-grid. That’s all I know.” But I could tell. He *knew* more.

They all knew something.

And I wasn’t part of it.

Even though I *should* be. I should’ve been his first call. I should’ve *felt it*, the moment something happened to him. We were connected. Right?

Right?

---

I ended up on the same rooftop where it all started—our rooftop.

The one where Tim kissed me for the first time.

Where I called him *my Robin*, and he called me *his Clone Boy*, and everything made sense for one goddamn minute in this broken universe.

The wind was sharp tonight, colder than I remembered. Or maybe it was just me.

I stood on the ledge, hands clenched tight, staring down at the city like it owed me answers. Like it could give them.

Behind me, I heard the soft sound of boots.

Only one person moved like that.

“Kon,” came the voice I didn’t want to hear.

I didn’t turn around.

“Go away, Nightwing.”

“I can’t.”

The way he said it…
Something in his voice.

I turned. And I knew.

He was still in uniform, but there was no light behind his eyes. His mouth was tight. His shoulders slumped just enough to say what his words hadn’t yet.

“No,” I said immediately. My voice cracked. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

“Kon—”

“*Don’t say it!*”

But he did.

Tim’s older brother. His protector.

And tonight—his bearer of death.

“Tim’s gone.”

The words landed like a fist to my chest.

“No.”

“Ra’s.”

I stumbled back, breath caught in my throat like glass. My legs nearly gave out.

“He—he was on a mission. He didn’t tell anyone. We didn’t know he went alone until it was too late.”

Nightwing looked like he’d aged ten years in a day.

“We found him two nights ago,” he said, his voice barely audible over the wind. “It was fast. Clean. He fought ‘til the end.”

“No.”

“You know how he is. Always ten steps ahead. Always taking the hit so someone else didn’t have to.”

*No.*

I shook my head, stepping back. “You’re wrong. This is a trick. It’s a test. One of those League mind games, or some Lazarus pit plan. He’s fine. He has to be fine.”

Nightwing’s voice broke. “Kon… we buried him.”

The world went *silent*.

I stared at him. Waiting for the punchline. For the twist.

But all I saw was grief.

And that’s when it shattered.

My knees hit the rooftop.

A raw sound tore out of me, something between a sob and a scream, and I didn’t even feel the tears until they were freezing on my cheeks.

He was gone.

*Gone.*

My Robin.

My home.

Gone.

I curled forward, hands fisted in my hair, breathing like the air was poisoned. Like my lungs didn’t know how to work without him beside me.

Nightwing knelt beside me but didn’t touch me. He just stayed.

Quiet.

Still.

Letting me break.

And God—I *broke*.

“I was supposed to protect him,” I choked.

“I know.”

“I—I should’ve been there. I *should’ve known*.”

“You couldn’t have stopped him,” Dick said, voice thick. “He did what he always does. Put the mission first.”

“But I was *his*. He was *mine*.”

“I know,” he whispered again.

And that was what destroyed me most.

Because it was true.

Because everyone *knew*.

And it didn’t save him.

---

We sat there on the rooftop until the stars began to disappear into the morning haze.

The city kept moving below us, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t.

He was gone.

And all I had left were the pieces.

The memory of a kiss.

The ghost of a laugh.

And a voice, still echoing in my head.

*"Say it again."*

I would.

Forever.

"I love you, Tim."

Chapter Text

Five months.

That’s how long it’s been since Tim—my Robin—was ripped away from me.

Five months of pretending.

Of smiling when everyone else was watching.

Of saying, *“I’m fine,”* like it was the truth, not a lie I told myself every morning when I woke up and he wasn’t there.

I walk the streets of Gotham like I’m invisible.

Not because I want to be—because the spotlight is too bright when they look at me, expecting the fearless clone boy, the hero who always bounces back.

Expecting *me*.

But I’m not.

Not anymore.

Inside, I’m hollow.

Empty.

I keep my apartment spotless — a shrine of neatness that hides the chaos in my head.

I’ve stopped wearing the black and red. No mask, no cape, no symbol. Just jeans and hoodies — the closest I can get to blending in and forgetting.

Forget the nightmares.

Forget the way his smile used to catch me off guard.

Forget how his voice still whispers in my dreams.

*"Say it again, Kon."*

Sometimes, when I’m alone, I whisper it too.

But it’s not the same.

The city still feels wrong without him.

Without *my Robin*.

People ask me if I’m okay. If I’m moving on.

I smile.

“I’m fine,” I say.

And it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

---

Today was no different.

I sat at the diner where Tim and I used to meet after patrols.

The waitress smiled, asked if I wanted my usual.

“Yeah,” I said.

Coffee black, two sugars.

I sipped, staring out the window, watching people pass.

Couples holding hands. Laughing.

Two halves that made a whole.

I looked down at my hands.

Empty.

---

Later, I trained on the rooftops.

Punched bags until my knuckles bled.

Sweat poured down my face, but it didn’t wash away the ache inside.

I’m strong — stronger than most.

But even steel breaks under pressure.

---

I met Dick briefly last week.

He asked how I was doing.

I told him I was managing.

We both knew it wasn’t true.

But sometimes, just having someone *know* is enough.

---

Tonight, as I lie in bed, I wonder if he’s out there somewhere.

If Tim’s ghost is watching me, waiting for me to say the words again.

I close my eyes.

And whisper.

“I love you, Tim.”

---

Maybe one day, I’ll believe it again.

But for now, the mask stays on.

The brave clone boy.

The hero who’s still holding on.

Even if inside, I’m breaking.

Chapter Text

The night was colder than usual as I slipped through the alley behind the old warehouse. Gotham never felt welcoming, but this place… this place held a strange weight.

Tim’s weight.

One of his old safehouses. Hidden, forgotten by most—except him, and now me.

I hadn’t been here in months. Not since the funeral, not since I’d convinced myself to stop chasing ghosts.

But tonight something pulled me back.

Maybe it was the way his name echoed in my head. Or maybe it was the faint hope that I wasn’t alone.

I pushed open the rusted door, the familiar creak echoing in the empty space.

The air was cold but… different.

Lived in.

Not recently, but not abandoned either.

My eyes scanned the room. Everything was just where Tim left it—training gear folded neatly, maps pinned on the wall, half a dozen laptops sleeping in standby.

Except one thing.

One of his old training suits was missing.

The black and red one he used for solo missions—the one he told me was his favorite.

That shouldn’t have been possible.

He wouldn’t leave it behind.

Someone else wouldn’t have dared touch it.

My heart picked up.

I traced my fingers over the desk where his gloves still lay. The surface was dusty, but I could see faint fingerprints in the dust—recent prints.

Someone had been here.

But who?

And why?

My mind raced, trying to find answers in the shadows.

Could it be a trap? An enemy watching me, toying with my grief?

Or was it… something else?

A sign that Tim wasn’t really gone?

I swallowed hard, heart pounding in my chest.

The air seemed to thicken, charged with tension.

I wasn’t sure what scared me more—the idea that Tim might still be out there… or that someone was trying to make me believe it.

I slipped deeper into the safehouse, senses on high alert.

Every creak, every shadow, felt like a whisper.

Like the past reaching out.

Like a promise… or a warning.

I had to know.

Because even if the truth tore me apart, I needed it.

I needed *him*.