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“Batman, 01.”
That meant training.
“Robin, B-20.”
That didn’t mean training.
If anything, that meant that the computer needed to be checked out and reprogrammed, probably.
The last “Robin” had been B-13, and Nightwing was and had always been B-01. Still, the immediate assumption was that the computer had a bug in the system. Never mind that there were only nineteen designations, including the retired designations, like the Second Robin’s B-13. Tula’s B-11.
Eyes turned to the Zetas to find the Batman, which was… actually not expected, due to the man’s propensity for disappearing. For a long beat, there didn’t seem to be a second visitor, at all, and Conner wondered if the reason Batman was still beside the Zeta Tubes was because of the erroneous second announcement.
Then Batman turned away from the Zetas and began to walk away, leaving what looked to be Nightwing, in his first year on the Team, in his wake. The young Robin looked around quietly, then walked after Batman. He kept his head down.
Conner heard Batman say something about Nightwing over his shoulder, and saw the young Robin nod.
That was it. The first sighting of the new Robin.
--
No one had expected another Robin, least of all so soon after the last one’s Ethiopian death at the hands of the Joker. Nightwing couldn’t even look right at the new Robin.
Then again, most of them couldn’t seem to look right at him.
It was as if a force repelled the Team's collective eyes, usually right to the floor, or the far corner of the room. The new Robin had to have noticed, and had to be actively ignoring it. Unless he didn't mind. The latter option was doubtful, though. Who in their right mind was actually okay with being ignored?
Conner, for all his lack of social graces, wasn’t part of the majority that couldn't seem to look anywhere near the latest Robin. In fact, he took to “birdwatching” out of curiousity. Why did the Batman take on another protégé? Why that timing?
Why?
Looking away gave the new kid an opening. He only needed a split second to disappear, much like any of the Bats. But he took after the Big Bat and didn’t always reappear. Didn’t tend to announce when he was nearby or about to leave. He just… disappeared. Or reappeared. Always silently, and without the wisecracks familiar to his legacy. Legacies.
What Conner found somewhat funny was that half the kid’s disappearances were just him wandering off. The Team kept talking like he was doing it on purpose, but Conner could plainly see that he just walked lightly, all the time. He didn’t mean to disappear. He just happened to disappear.
If he wanted to disappear, he could probably do it between blinks.
--
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t socialize.
He was like an invisible presence on the edge of the room, as much a part of the room itself as the couch or the television, but less noticeable than either, by far. It was day one and he’d startled Nightwing three times, thus far, by simply standing there, making no noise and failing completely to integrate into the Team.
He wasn’t liked very much.
That was why, when the mission came in, Conner took initiative when they were being assigned and partnered up. “Nightwing,” he said in the middle of the brief. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms tightly across his chest, “Put the new Robin with me.” He crossed his arms a bit tighter and refused to look around the room, particularly at said Robin.
Nightwing looked more than a little shocked, under his domino mask, but it could have been at a number of things. Conner still wasn’t the most talkative, even after five years with the Team, and he didn’t generally interrupt the brief, whether it was Batman or Nightwing giving the brief. He also didn’t give much thought or interest to new Team members.
It was just that the others usually gave newbies their interest, and it almost seemed like the core Team was avoiding this newest member. Except Conner. Usually it was the opposite and Conner was the only Team member who avoided socializing with the member of the week.
“Yeah?” Nightwing raised an eyebrow. How the mask reflected that was beyond Conner. But okay.
“Yeah.”
Nightwing gave a slow nod, glanced at the new Robin, and then looked over the rest of the Team. The briefing continued, as usual. The only change seemed to be that Conner now had eyes that sought him out. Team members glanced at him, quick little glances that flitted over his skin and down his spine before they left. Except the new Robin’s. That gaze wandered over to Conner and stayed, even when Conner looked back and met his eyes.
Even behind the domino mask, Conner couldn’t help but feel that the gaze was artificially vacant. Controlled to a fault.
The newest Robin met Conner's gaze and kept it. Conner turned away first. The Robin continued to stare.
At some point, in the midst of the briefing that Conner wasn’t paying attention to, the new Robin had disappeared from his place across the room, then reappeared beside Conner, on his left. Conner didn’t startle, in part because he heard the heartbeat at his side, but he felt a handful of nearby flinches as other Team members startled at Robin’s sudden disappearance and equally sudden reappearance. It was a little funny, actually, and Conner allowed himself the smallest smirk.
“Sorry,” the Robin mumbled.
Conner wasn’t entirely sure that his lips had moved, at all, but he nodded in acknowledgement. “Don’t see why,” he said, “but okay.”
Robin shrugged impassively. Conner assumed it was impassive.
“It’s not often I feel as if I’m being too quiet,” the Robin said.
Conner hummed and shrugged, arms still crossed. “Not often that I feel like my hearing needs to be honed.” He glanced sideways at the Robin and they shared a tiny smile that Nightwing definitely caught. “Add it to the list of things to work on, I guess.”
Robin nodded.
Conner could feel the switch changing positions in his head, between title and name. Between “the Robin” and “Robin.” That smile and nod gave Robin just enough personality, in Conner’s mind, that he had gone from thing to person. “’M Conner.”
“I know,” Robin said.
A tiny chill ran up Conner’s spine. He got the feeling that Robin knew a lot.
“Uh, I’m Robin.”
Conner snorted. “I know,” he returned. He glanced at the kid in time to see a silent laugh run through his shoulders. Then they had straightened back out and the professionalism was back in place. On Robin’s other side, Conner could see M’gann looking over at them with a look that turned Conner’s nerves a little steely. A searching, wondering look. He didn’t trust her not to rifle through his thoughts.
Robin caught Conner’s eye with a tiny movement and M’gann was returned to his peripheral as he looked back to the small sidekick. He was fidgeting. Self-stimulating, Conner’s genomorph education supplied. Stimming.
The movements were tiny. Robin rolled his shoulders, which was the movement Conner initially caught, then he started the tapping, against his thigh. It looked like it was against his thigh, anyway. Conner’s enhanced hearing could tell that it never met the kid’s thigh, though. He was tapping at the air, silent and unobtrusive as everything else he’d done, outside of his disappearances and reappearances.
Conner and Robin met gazes again, briefly.
ADHD, anxiety, autism. Conner wondered if it would be rude to ask if those, or similar, were the cause for the repetitive movements. He wondered if it would be rude to ask if they’d been going on the whole time, or if they’d just started.
“—Robin III with Superboy,” Nightwing said.
Conner turned to him with a frown. No one had been calling the previous Robin “Robin II.” As far as he knew.
Nightwing wrapped up the assignments, Conner none the wiser about what he was expected to do for the mission, or where he was supposed to be. He’d have to ask.
A hand on Conner’s arm drew his attention back to Robin, again. “I’ve got it,” he said.
Conner tilted his head.
“Assignments. Instructions. I have it.”
Conner gave a slow, appreciative nod.
--
Conner was walking through Mount Justice, aimless, when he heard Robin’s voice. As always, it was quiet, kept low and inoffensive.
“I know I’m not him.”
Conner frowned and followed the voice. He’d witnessed that selfsame voice gain the elation of success, the tightness of anxiety and fear, and any number of micro-emotions during the mission. Conner was actually thrilled with the partner-up. They worked well together.
Granted, this Robin could probably adapt to anyone, and to any playstyle offered up. But it still felt good, to be able to work off of his own strengths and someone else's. To know someone had your back. Conner was probably most surprised with how this Robin, much unlike his predecessors, didn't up and disappear, mid-mission, without some form of warning. Superboy was privy to Robin's gambits, even if those gambits weren't drawn out and explained. Conner loved it.
He heard heartbeats, not as steady as they probably wanted to be. Two. He'd closed in on where the voice had come from. Robin's voice.
“You’re not him.” That was Nightwing’s voice, carefully flat but strained with what Conner was recognizing as grief.
“And I’m sorry. If my being here is too much, I can ask B to return me to our previous arrangement,” Robin said.
Nightwing gave half a chuckle, strangled pathetically into what amounted to little more than a brief exhaling. It was nothing like the chuckles and laughter he used to give. Before the previous Robin’s death. Before Wally left. “No. Uh, no,” Nightwing said, “That’s not necessary.”
Conner rounded the corner into the common room area. Nightwing had just reached out to put a hand on Robin’s shoulder. Conner noticed the way Robin stiffened for a moment, then relaxed under Nightwing’s palm. He also noticed the glance Robin tossed his way, quick and calculating.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Robin said. It sounded like truth, but super-hearing was remarkable, in terms of lie detection. Robin was lying. “There’s nothing to keep me here, right? I’ve only been here a few days and I haven’t clicked with anyone.” The lies were getting worse, step by step. “I’ve only been on one mission, too. If it’s too much, I don’t mind, at all, going back to Gotham and staying there, you know?”
Conner wanted to disagree. Instead, he leaned against the wall and watched, plainly eavesdropping. But Robin knew, so it couldn’t be that bad, right?
“No, it’s fine,” Nightwing said, shaking his head. “Look, I’ve been a terrible brother.”
That was news. Conner raised an eyebrow, Robin stiffened.
“We’re not actually related,” Robin said carefully.
“Not by blood,” Nightwing said. Robin glanced away and Nightwing withdrew his hand from Robin’s shoulder. “Stay,” he said. “You could use a few friends in the community.”
“Oh, yeah,” Robin’s sarcasm was almost jarring after all his carefully impassive expressions. But not entirely unwelcome. He scoffed, glanced up – past Nightwing, at Conner – then looked at his feet, once more. “Because everyone was thrilled to meet me. Because they’re practically beating down my door for my friendship.” He lowered his voice, as if he thought it might make it harder for Conner to hear it. It didn’t. “I don’t need friends.”
“Everyone needs friends,” Nightwing said.
Robin schooled his expression until even the sarcasm wasn’t visible. His heartbeat still gave tells that Conner could almost read. The nuances escaped him, but Robin seemed almost sad. “Not everyone,” he said.
“Everyone,” Nightwing disagreed. “Even us.”
Robin scoffed. Impassivity was implied, even with the sarcastic scoff. Robin’s eyes remained on his feet.
“Besides, I thought you were getting around to friendship with at least one member of the Team,” Nightwing said.
“Sure.” Sarcasm. Flesh-tearing sarcasm bitten through loosely clenched teeth. Bitter, almost.
Nightwing thumbed over his shoulder, right at Conner. And it didn’t feel like coincidence. Much less so when Nightwing turned to grin at Conner with a fraction of the mischief he used to impart into his every action. Conner didn’t outwardly startle. Eyes in the back of his head? Seemed as likely as anything, with a Bat. “Conner,” he said, turning back to Robin.
Robin rolled his eyes, under the domino mask. Probably.
--
To Conner’s knowledge, Robin never asked to be taken off the Team. He kept coming around, disappearing and reappearing unpredictably, getting little looks from the Team, being unobtrusive as the upholstery on the couch, tapping the air next to his thigh, and partnering up with Conner on missions. Most importantly, he kept coming around.
The Team was getting used to him, to some extent.
But the hologram of the previous Robin was a reminder of what this Robin was not. Or what he was. He wasn’t as much a legacy as he was a replacement. Or so he’d told the hologram, once.
Conner probably wasn’t meant to hear that. He never asked about it, either, and Robin never brought it up. There was wondering, sure. Replacement? That sounded so hollow and sad, especially when Robin said it. But there was only wondering and no discussing.
Conner put the words out of mind, as best he could.
Though... he rather wished he could assure Robin that he wasn't just a replacement. He was important.
--
He smiled tiny, small smiles that felt like private matters.
He laughed quiet, breathy laughs that felt like secrets.
He still didn’t socialize, though.
Off-time for the Team was individual training time for Robin. The mantra seemed to be “not good enough, not fast enough, not perfect enough.” Every mistake was a negative motivator that drew him deeper and deeper into… something. Something Conner didn’t think was very healthy.
Robin trained until his body was practically screaming, then trained more, until he dropped. The mantra was louder after training himself into the ground.
Robin had fire in him, a dark fire that threatened to consume him. Conner didn’t like watching the anger escaping him, as if escaping through his pores like steam. It burned at Robin, eating away his confidence, even though he was constantly improving, constantly striving to improve. Constantly trying to be better, best, perfect.
Why didn’t anyone ever tell him no one was perfect? Why did he think he had to be?
Robin was in a cycle of self-destruction, as far as Conner could tell, and no one seemed to be doing anything about it. People were careful not to notice anything about him, as if it would make having him around easier. All it seemed to be doing was giving Robin permission to train himself until he couldn’t even pick himself up off the mats of the training room.
--
A movie was in, the Team was settling in to watch it.
As per usual, Robin slunk off as soon as it was apparent that debrief was over and “free time” was in affect.
It wasn’t the first time Conner had followed Robin to the training room. He’d taken to waiting until Robin tuckered himself out, then carrying him to his room. The first time, he’d had to have Nightwing unlock Robin’s door for him, but someone started sliding the monthly passcodes for Robin’s door under Conner’s door.
Nightwing had been more than a little baffled and amused at Conner's request, and had even offered a few barbs and jokes about Conner and Robin, Robin and Conner. Alone. In Robin's room. Conner hadn't liked it much and had just barely restrained the raising of his hackles. He was relieved to receive the next month's passcode. It meant no more enduring Nightwing and the awkward, thin air that seemed to pull at Conner when he held Robin in Nightwing's presence.
And then, of course, the passcodes kept coming and Conner kept gratefully receiving them.
Conner’s passcode hadn’t changed in a year. He’d only changed it, then, because he’d broken up with M’gann… which, well, beside the point.
Conner, armed with the monthly passcodes, suspiciously provided by someone who knew Conner’s ridiculous habit (probably the eternally observant Robin, himself), continued to bring a worn out Robin to Robin’s room and place him on the bed, fully outfitted in his gear. The fact that he never dressed in civvies, unless they were on reconnoiter, was another oddity, when Conner thought about it. But, one problem at a time.
Anyway.
This wasn’t the first time Conner had followed Robin to the training room. But, it was the first time he intended to do more than lean up against the wall, just inside the door, and watch Robin flying through the air, tumbling over the mats, and going through the motions of the various martial arts he’d been trained with.
“Hey,” Conner said.
Robin turned to look at him, silent as. Well. Not more silent than usual, actually.
Conner walked over to Robin and nodded past him, into the gym. “Mind if I join you?” The stood about three feet apart, which seemed awfully close, compared to the usual distance at which Robin kept himself from the Team, Conner occasionally excluded. But only occasionally.
“No,” Robin said. He shifted and tilted his head. “I don’t mind.”
Robin turned to continue on his merry way, but Conner took another step forward and put a hand on Robin’s shoulder, which turned the three feet into something closer to two feet, when Robin turned back around on the prompting of the hand on his shoulder. He had an eyebrow raised and, once again, Conner had to wonder at the domino. If not for the lenses, he might have started to think that the masks the Bat protégés wore were painted on.
“Yes?” Robin asked.
“We could train together?” Conner suggested. He had meant it to sound less like a question, but the intense gaze of this particular Robin tended to catch him off guard, on occasion, and make him feel unsure of himself. This was one of those times. Maybe it was because Conner hadn’t interrupted Robin’s time practicing, before. Well, not intentionally. So, it came out a question, unsure of itself and of its premise.
There was a very long beat of silence, Robin’s head still tilted to one side until it started to look like he was a doll with a broken ball joint in its neck. Then Robin straightened and gave the world’s absolute slowest nod. Conner almost wasn’t sure that it was a nod. “Sure,” he said, almost as slow in his enunciation as he had been in his nod.
Conner released Robin’s shoulder and nodded in return.
They faced off for a long moment, then Robin headed toward the mats, again. This time, Conner followed instead of stopping Robin or hanging back, by the door.
For the first time since Conner had seen Robin’s training habits, Robin didn’t train himself into the ground. And there was no need to carry Robin to his room, after the fact. He didn’t want to look into why he felt disappointed about that. He tried, instead, to focus on the bright plume of pride he felt, that Robin hadn’t quite self-destructed into the practice mat, for once.
And then twice.
And then thrice.
--
Each time Conner joined him for practice, it seemed that Robin ended on a note of elation, body pushed to the limit, but not brought down by railing, hard, against that selfsame limit. So Conner made a habit of it, until the Team began to notice that Robin wasn’t the only one disappearing, when they began socializing amongst themselves.
Around the middle of the third week of training together, Conner drained a water bottle and watched, absently, out his peripheral as Robin lay himself down on the training mats, stretched in a feline manner, and yawned. “Tired?” he asked.
Robin turned onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “Good workout,” he excused himself.
Conner nodded and went back to draining his bottle of water. He sat near Robin, who dropped his head from the palm of his hand and curled up a bit. His breathing evened out, as if he were sleeping, though Conner could hear his heartbeat, which wasn’t asleep. It was nervous.
Conner tilted his head and watched Robin for awhile, then gave in and accepted the charade.
That was the first time Conner took Robin to his room, post-training, since they started training together. He was tempted to note, aloud, that he could tell Robin was awake, but his selfishness won out. He’d begun to miss the old tradition, even knowing how much healthier Robin’s training habits had gotten for the need to have disappeared.
So, he didn’t vocalize his knowledge. Even so, he had a feeling that Robin knew that he knew.
Robin probably knew that Conner missed the old tradition, too, as short-lived as it might have been. Bats seemed to know everything, though Conner rather wished that Nightwing – for once – didn’t know that Conner…
What.
Conner what?
Whatever. He hoped Nightwing was in the dark. The why didn’t matter. The "of what" didn’t matter, either.
--
The fake naps had begun to turn into real naps, which unnerved Conner. Robin’s guard was down, of a sudden. He never had his guard down. Bats didn’t let their guard down.
But, Robin’s guard was down. Always after training, when it was just Conner nearby.
That was trust, and Conner wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what the trust of a Bat was worth, or what it might cost. He didn’t know if he deserved that kind of trust, either.
--
Robin let Conner pin him, in the middle of training.
Conner had never pinned this Robin, before. He was too wily and planned too far ahead. That was why Conner was sure that Robin had let him pin him. Why?
There was a challenge in Robin’s eyes. Well. His mask.
Maybe it was a dare?
Maybe he was just disgruntled about being crowded into the mat by one hundred and fifty pounds of cloned Kryptonian/human teenager.
Conner held his breath for a long, confused moment, then let Robin up. His heart was pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear any of the ambient sounds that usually crowded his subconscious. He couldn’t hear Robin’s heart, or the voices in the common room, or Sphere rolling to and fro while Wolf chases, or anything he had come to accept as omnipresent to a kid with superhearing. Just his own heart.
“Again?” Robin was still on the mat, looking up at Conner. He had propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his head.
Conner immediately agreed, then offered Robin a hand.
Another long moment ensued, in which Conner was about ninety percent sure that Robin could hear his heartbeat, too. Had it gotten louder?
Then Robin accepted the hand offered to him and sprang to his feet.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Sure,” Conner responded.
And they went at their mutual training, again, this time without Conner landing anything more than a single point’s worth of blows, according to the computer. He hoped these training exercises weren’t being recorded the way all their Black Canary matches were. It wasn’t like they needed to be reviewed, after the fact, right?
Robin, on the other hand, pulled every trick in the book, and probably wrote in a few new ones.
If Conner didn’t know better, he probably would have thought Robin was frustrated and taking it out on him. But that didn’t make sense, probably.
--
Conner began to realize, albeit slowly, that the naps were just… Robin.
Nightwing had been boundless energy, this Robin was always teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Conner started finding Robin in odd places. Napping.
Top of the fridge? Yeah, apparently that was prime napping realty. Next to the industrial dryer in the laundry room? Conner wasn’t entirely sure how one fell asleep next to an industrial dryer, but Robin managed. Under Conner’s bed? Well why not. On the landing platform M’gann parked her Bio Ship? Conner wasn’t sure how he found Robin there. In a tiny corner under the peninsular counter? Sure. In the pantry next to a bulk box of chips? Made sense.
It turned out that Robin was some kind of cat and could sleep anywhere. Conner started to think of it as some kind of hide and seek game, where the goal was to find Robin and tuck him into bed. He knew the game had started when he looked around briefly and couldn’t find his training partner.
The fridge one hadn’t been the weirdest, but it was one of the times where other people were around when Conner found and proceeded to pick up Robin, including Nightwing.
Nightwing had his poker face on, which was more and more usual, those days. Conner just took the napping Robin off the fridge to carry him off and set him into bed, though. He ignored the looks, and Nightwing’s very careful lack of a look.
--
Robin let himself be pinned, over and over, training session after training session, but only with Conner and never with other people around. Conner thought he must be missing something, but was a little afraid to ask. Instead, he went on as they were.
He continued to take a long moment – probably longer than strictly necessary – to comprehend that he had Robin pinned again (and again and again), usually with Robin’s spine to the mat and usually face-to-face, or face-to-mask. Then, he’d get up and offer Robin a hand.
There was a lot of quiet, usually.
There was a lot of loud heartbeats, too.
Neither of them said anything, even though Conner was pretty sure that people usually talked about lingering glances and awkward situations. Or rather, they didn’t and the miscommunication that transpired was usually completely avoidable.
--
“You’ve been skipping movie night,” Superman said. Clark. Whatever.
“What?” Conner looked at him.
“Movie night. Batman tells me that Nightwing has noticed you skipping movie night. And socializing after missions.”
Conner felt anger welling up in him. For a second, he thought the offense was entirely unnecessary, and that he was just annoyed to be called out. But then he realized he wasn’t angry for himself, at all. He clenched his fist and gave Clark what was probably an entirely undeserved glare.
“Kon?” Clark’s brow knit.
Conner realized, quite suddenly, that he was fucking pissed because a Bat had noticed Conner wandering off, and was concerned enough to narc. To narc to Conner’s father. What about Robin, though? Robin used to completely wear himself out in the training room, literally working himself until he dropped.
“Did Bats say anything else?” Conner spoke through a stiff, angry jaw and half-clenched teeth.
“Uh.”
“Like maybe that I’m not the only one missing from movie nights? No?” Conner looked away. He was angry at Nightwing. He was angry at Batman. “Don’t worry, Clark,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m not holing up in my room. I’ve been spending time with Robin.”
Clark was silent for a long minute. Then, again: “What?”
“We head off to the training room, that’s all. He used to wander off alone, and I thought maybe he didn’t necessarily want to be alone. Or maybe the Team made him a bit uncomfortable. So I followed him. Then we started training, because why not? He’d train with or without me, anyway.” Conner shrugged.
“So…”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to worry.” It occurred to him, a bit belatedly, that maybe Clark had thought the lack of socialization was because he was avoiding M’gann. It was almost funny that he hadn’t even thought about avoiding M’gann, though. He’d thought, instead, about Robin.
“Okay, son,” Clark said. He laid a hand on Conner’s shoulder.
Son. That would have probably choked Conner up a bit, only a little while back, colloquial use or no. Funny how some things just became normal, over time, in spite of their meaningfulness. Funny how other things just faded into oblivion, even after the scars were left behind to stay.
“Is it okay if I ask about Megan?” Clark hazarded. Which meant that Clark had thought the movie night avoidances were to avoid M’gann.
“Eh,” Conner shrugged. It meant less to him, of a sudden. The whole mess with M’gann meant less. “We don’t talk. But missions have been easier, I guess. I don’t really care anymore, either. What she did was horrible. But past is past and I think I’m going to leave it there, unless someone decides to dredge it up. Which would suck. But I think I’d get over that, too.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?” Conner glanced over at Clark.
Clark looked earnest. It was kind of ridiculous, just like Clark’s civilian glasses were ridiculous. “Are you over it? Her? What she did?”
“Uh,” Conner tilted his head. “I dunno. I guess so? I haven’t thought about it in awhile. That’s a sign of… healing, I think.”
Clark gave a relieved smile. “I’m glad.”
“Well, I don’t care. I’m not glad one way or the other. I’m just tired of letting something so stupid have so much control over me. I’d rather focus on something else.”
“Like Robin?”
Something that sounded suspiciously like warning bells went off in Conner’s head. An honest answer would be “yes,” but it was as honest as it was misleading. Conner found himself shaking his head, which was practically a lie, but he was so in wonder of the reaction that he couldn’t hear much of a difference in his own heartbeat. “Like training,” he said.
“I see,” Clark said.
“Training with Robin,” Conner conceded. “I usually don’t… look to Bats for help. Robin’s techniques are something else, and I think it’s beneficial to try and learn from him. Long as he’ll let me, anyway.”
“I see,” Clark repeated.
Conner felt like the statement was more akin to “I see right through you,” but he couldn’t imagine what there was to be seen through him for. Sometimes, he felt like he was giving away things that weren’t even there for him to give away. Like… secrets he didn’t know he knew.
Clark punctuated the conversation by setting his hand on Conner's shoulder for a long moment. There was solidarity in the motion. For what, Conner had no idea.
--
The next time he and Robin trained, Robin was more stiff. More on guard.
Conner didn’t pin him, Robin didn’t nap. Robin didn’t even pretend to nap. He also didn’t stay on the mat for long, or stick around to rest. He pulled a disappearing act as soon as Conner’s back was turned, in his quest for bottled electrolyte water.
It wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t.
But he was a bit bothered, anyway, when he turned around and Robin wasn’t anywhere to be found.
Conner shrugged it off. Bats. What could you do? He felt miffed and a bit disappointed. But… Bats. Seriously. Nightwing had been insufferable about the disappearing thing, for ages. He still was, sometimes. Conner didn’t think it would be fair to be upset with Robin about the disappearing act, knowing what the whole family of nocturnal critters were like.
--
Training with Robin followed the same new pattern twice more.
Conner was getting frustrated, but he had a feeling that the grapevine had struck again. Telling Clark about Robin, about training with Robin over socializing with the Team, was probably not a great idea. Not least because Conner was pretty sure that Clark was the League’s resident gossip-monger.
So, after the third distinct Bat disappearing act Robin pulled, Conner took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Even Bats couldn’t silence their heartbeats. Not that it was Robin he as looking for. There was only so many times he could feel watched and judged before he started to think that it was a bit more than paranoia driving the feeling home. And, yeah, there it was. A quiet, calm heartbeat, close enough to be spectating.
Conner would have put his money on black (and blue) if he was the betting type.
He turned to glare in the direction of the heartbeat. There it was, a tiny skip in the steady heartbeat. Not fear. Just a bit of surprise.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
For all intents and purposes, the room was silent and empty, except for a Superboy and a bunch of superhero-grade training equipment. He was just shy of feeling foolish about his outburst, but there was a sense of righteous indignation that pushed him forward.
“If you want to know what’s up with him, try talking to him,” he told the far wall of the gym. “Probably more effective than… whatever it is you think you’re doing. Pisses me off that I can’t have a decent training session,” which wasn’t entirely a lie, but the guard-lowered Robin wasn’t going to come out to play with a secret spectator pulling surveillance in the bleachers. “Pisses me off he won’t even talk,” he continued. “And I’m pretty sure it’s the… the…” Conner threw his hands up and let his empty water bottle fly up in the air. It hit the ceiling, far above. “This,” he deadpanned.
Then he walked out of the training room, in part to feel a little less like he was turning into the latest of the Team’s growing number of members. The… blue, buggy one that Conner hadn’t gotten around to introducing himself to.
Conner went right to his room after yelling at, essentially, the training room’s wall.
His room was dark, as it often was, lately. He didn’t use it quite as much after moving into Clark’s old room in Ma and Pa’s house in Smallville. But that didn’t make his room the newest guest room or office. It was his. And it was about as much “home” as the quaint Smallville farmhouse was.
Conner flicked on the lights.
And proceeded to have the most ridiculous almost-panic-attack of his life.
“Jesus, Robin,” Conner huffed, then ran a hand down his face.
Robin tilted his head to the side. “Jewish,” he said.
“Wh—oh, uh, cool,” Conner shrugged. “What’s up?”
“I was just. You told off Nightwing,” Robin said. He lifted his hand and made to adjust his… face. Superboy had seen Nightwing make that exact motion a million or so times, each time to adjust his sunglasses. Robin settled with running the pads of his fingers, still gloved, over the edge of his mask. He’d been made, and he knew it, but neither of them thought it worth pointing out that he’d probably just slipped into his civilian self for a second.
(And Robin wore glasses. Conner found that… endearing?)
“I, uh, told off the gym wall,” Conner shrugged. He was more than a little uncomfortable with the more emotional observation he’d just made. Of course he was. It was weird and he didn’t want to think about it, least of all with one of the Big Bad Bat’s protégés perched on the edge of his bed, knees against his chest.
Robin started tapping at his thigh. This time his finger really did land against his thigh with every motion. Conner could just make out the sound of it. Did it mean he was more or less at ease? Usually his tapping landed midair, just shy of touching anything. The silence stretched a few seconds. Robin shifted.
“How come?”
“How come?” Conner echoed back.
“Yeah.” Robin tilted his head.
There it was, again. The feeling of endearment. Or something else that was warm and squishy in the pit of Conner’s stomach. Maybe it was a bad lunch. Never mind that bad lunches never really affected Conner, in the past. “Uh. It pissed me off,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’m easy to piss off?”
Robin scoffed. No, wait. It was one of those private little giggles that Conner was so fond of. It was more breath than sound. “I mean, why did it piss you off?”
“Uh,” Conner blinked at Robin a few times, then approached the bed, albeit with uncharacteristic caution. Christ (Ma and Pa forgive him for taking that man’s name in vain), it was Conner’s room. Why should he be cautious in approaching his own bed? “I guess… I dunno. It sucks that you’re all business with ‘Wing in the… wings.” He could feel the “lame” even as he said it. “You wind yourself up tighter’n I’ve seen since you first got here. And you stopped talking, like, almost entirely. And—”
Conner cut himself off and shrugged.
And.
And he missed pinning Robin and being pinned by Robin, ending up face to face with Robin, carrying Robin to his room. And so on. And so forth. It had been only three days, which made Conner think that there was something very like withdrawal going on. And how weird was that?
Robin ran his hand through his hair. Usually, his hair was gelled in place with what Conner occasionally thought was cement or something. But his fingers ran right through the dark mass easily, and it fluffed back up behind his intruding fingers. In the air, Conner could smell a bit of clean damp, and he wanted to bury his nose in it. Except that the clean damp was Robin and that would have been weird.
Robin must have showered before heading to Conner’s room. And it was probably the quickest, most spartan shower in this history of showers, too, given how little time had passed between Robin disappearing from the training room and Conner entering his own room.
And how did Robin know Conner’s passcode, anyway?
Conner really wanted to bury his nose into that clean scent. And it was still really weird.
“And,” Robin commented.
Conner nodded slowly. “And.” He couldn’t quite remember getting that close to the foot of the bed. He didn’t quite realize how close he was until Robin stretched his legs out, putting his feet on the floor and leaning back languidly, propped up on his hands. He was leaning back and looking up at Conner, rather than over at Conner.
Robin raised an eyebrow.
“Uh,” Conner leaned back and fully intended to take a step back, but he spied disappointment already creeping into Robin’s face and he swayed indecisively in place, instead. “How’d you get in?” he asked. Before the silence could get too awkward.
“Oh, uh. Sorry,” Robin blushed. It was easier to tell he was blushing than Conner would have thought. But then, this Robin was the palest in the Bat family, including the red-haired Batgirl. “Six digits. I took a guess.”
“Just one guess?”
“It was a very good guess,” Robin defended.
Conner supposed he was right, and even cracked a smile. 070410. 07-04-10. July Fourth, 2010. When Nightwing (then Robin), Kid Flash, and Aqualad had pulled Conner out of Cadmus and onto the team. Admittedly, it was a pretty easy code to crack. Probably easier than his previous code, which had been his and M’gann’s anniversary.
The one before that was easier still, though. Not much thought went into the six consecutive zeroes that made up his first code.
“I guess it was,” Conner conceded.
The atmosphere between Conner and Robin was thick and electrified in a terrifying and exhilarating manner. Terrifying, exhilarating, and too much. Conner glanced away and ran a hand through his hair as he stepped back. He only looked away to avoid the disappointment that might have crossed Robin’s face. “Uh, you smell nice,” he said. He was looking for a subject change that might make things less awkward. Suffice it to say that that wasn’t it.
Robin snorted, though. So it was worth the embarrassment. Probably. “Um. Thanks.”
Conner took a seat next to Robin, on the foot of his bed, and let companionable silence fall over them
--
The new routine was training, Robin disappearing, then meeting up in Conner’s room where they chatted, or ate a whole pizza alone, or just sat around in companionable silence.
If Nightwing wasn’t in the training room – and Conner had taken to checking – Conner would say so, and the training went a bit more like it did, before. Except that Conner felt as if the very air had been pulled from his lungs, whenever Robin pinned him and straddled his chest with that grin that did weird things to Conner’s already messed up tangle of emotions. Except that Conner couldn’t quite catch his breath even when he had Robin on his back.
--
It was about half a year into Robin’s tenure as Team member when Conner had the Dream.
He woke up feeling dirty.
He woke up feeling like he suddenly had to beware of Batman’s wrath. Hah. No. As if he had to beware of every Bat’s wrath, Robin’s included.
He woke up hard and wanting.
The worst part had to be that Conner wasn’t even convinced that it was that bad of a dream. It was just… Robin on his back. Conner had him pinned. They kissed. Hands wandered. It was overly simplistic and Conner had seen PG13 movies with “worse” in them.
But he woke up hard and wanting.
Granted, he was a teenager. The genomorphs had made sure he understood biology, among dozens (hundreds, thousands) of other things, and he knew that a sixteen-year-old was going to get aroused and that, sometimes, it was going to be awkward. Physically, Conner was sixteen. He could pass for early twenties, probably, but he was bodily sixteen and chronologically six.
Conner took a cold shower, rather than rewarding his subconscious for… whatever that had been.
The cold water didn’t do much for the images seared into Conner’s mind, though. And, again he reminded himself, they weren’t even that “bad.” Bad being graphic. Graphic being sexual. Sexual being… not something Conner wanted to think about.
Okay, so, Conner took a really long cold shower and tried very hard to convince himself to stop thinking along the lines he was thinking.
He needed to stop thinking of how pale and doll-like Robin was, or how pale his lips were, or how sharp his cupid’s bow was, or how slender his waist and hips were, or how delicate but strong he was, or about how flexible that boy could be.
And then he was thinking about the small noises Robin sometimes made while training, and the way he used to pant after over-training himself.
The audio memories weren’t helping him to stop thinking about the visual memories and Conner was suddenly glad that, one, he was home in Kansas and not at Mount Justice, and two, he’d never seen more of Robin’s skin than the parts of his face that the domino mask didn’t cover. His imagination whispered horribly enticing fantasies about the hidden skin, but Conner was blissful in his ability to ignore that particular path.
Thank god, apparently, that this Robin was obsessed with being in uniform.
But also, damn, was Conner secretly from the 1800s? Since when did he go nuts over bare ankles? Would he go nuts if he saw Robin’s bare ankles? God, what time was it… three? Four? Conner couldn’t believe the idiocy he was going through.
Three sounded right. Ish.
Conner really hoped that the reason he was having trouble thinking about anything but Robin was because it was probably a little past three and he was tired in a way he wasn’t sure was entirely related to the physical need for sleep. Not that he had a terribly prevalent physical need for sleep, the way ordinary, full-blooded humans did.
Conner ended his freezing shower and went resolutely back to bed.
Perhaps the worst part about the whole situation was that the weekend was about to start and Conner would be headed back to Mount Justice, where he’d have to face the subject of his dream.
--
At first, it didn’t seem like the stupid dream had done anything but make Conner feel a bit awkward.
But. Well.
The cold shower didn’t stop Conner from thinking about things.
Pinning Robin became more and more of an issue, for example.
Robin pinning Conner, on the other hand, was the stuff of very good dreams. Which was another thing Conner didn’t want to think about, but thought about a bit, anyway. No, okay. He thought about it more than a bit.
Stuff of very good dreams not least because the situation invaded one or two of those. Much to Conner’s embarrassment.
Lying next to Robin, in Conner’s room and on Conner’s bed, was getting more and more difficult, too. He could say it was “harder,” but that would be too ironically sincere for him to deal with, at that point in time. Whenever he lay next to Robin, sure they were just talking or quietly enjoying one another’s company, but Conner found his mind dwelling on less innocent topics. Privately. And not the least of which being those stupid dreams.
Either Robin hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. Or a third option was in play, which Conner was not privy to.
--
Conner had thought he was getting better about the whole… whatever it was. But then, any time he thought he’d gotten over himself, he’d think of something else, and it was a struggle to keep a straight face and an even complexion.
He’d managed, sort of, but it was… difficult.
And straight had nothing to do with it.
--
Conner had been around when Wonder Girl had been introduced to the Team by Wonder Woman. She was no Troia, but Conner figured it would be a bit hypocritical if he begrudged one legacy and accepted another, so he gave her the benefit of the doubt.
The reason Conner had been there for Wonder Girl’s introduction was partly because he’d been waiting on Robin’s arrival from Gotham when Wonder Woman showed up. There would be official introductions, later, when Wonder Girl was brought onto the Team and introduced to the mission or monster of the week, but until such point, Wonder Woman seemed to think that it was best to let Wonder Girl mingle and greet people on her own terms.
Robin arrived and Conner decided, pretty quickly, that – nope – he didn’t like Wonder Girl. At all. Not even a little bit.
First and foremost, she immediately flew over to Robin and invaded his personal space. Before Robin could even step away from the Zetas and look around. Conner headed over as she set herself on the ground in front of Robin and stuck her hand out with a huge grin on her face.
“Hi, I’m Cassie!”
Robin looked her up and down and narrowed his eyes behind the mask. “I know,” he mumbled. He dropped his eyes to he floor after a moment, and left his gaze between his feet.
“Heard of me, huh?” Cassie leaned a bit more into his space.
“He knows everyone,” Conner broke in. He moved to stand at Robin’s shoulder. But not as close and stifling as Wonder Girl stood. He crossed his arms tightly over the S-shield on his shirt and glowered. Cassie took a tiny step back, which Conner counted as a win.
“Everyone, huh?” Cassie asked.
Robin shrugged.
Conner shrugged, too, but in less of a minimizing way and more as confirmation. “Pretty sure he memorizes meta sightings for fun,” he offered.
Cassie snickered. “Cool.”
Robin shrugged again, eyes on the floor still.
Gar came up, playing the furry green blessing, and put a hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “Don’t mind Conner, his face is stuck like that,” he joked. He tried to steer her away, which failed spectacularly against Wonder Girl’s Amazonian strength.
“You never said your name,” Cassie said.
Robin didn’t look up. He just tilted his head, away, then turned to go. Conner nodded and turned to follow, but staid his exit for a moment. “Robin,” he told her. “Bats don’t tell who’s under the mask.”
“That’s a shame,” Cassie sighed.
Conner felt himself bristle, a bit.
--
Conner dreamed of Robin cuddling up to him the way Garfield cuddled up to M’gann. Or something like it. Not as sibling-y as Garfield and M’gann, and maybe a bit cozier.
It was a very mundane dream.
Conner’s dream-self was on the couch in Mount Justice’s common room. The television was on static, the way that had once been Conner’s norm. The white noise soothed him and he let himself become one with the upholstery.
There was no bustling in the common room or kitchen, no distant voices, no interruptions. It was like a vacation from all the background noise he usually lived with. Or like meditation.
Slowly, Conner’s dream-self had become aware of his heartbeat, thrumming deep within his chest, and a softer heartbeat, nearby. The common room and kitchen were still blissfully quiet and deserted, except for the presence that settled in next to Conner on the couch. He knew the cadence of that heartbeat, both in and out of his dreams, and didn’t even turn to look. He hadn’t felt the need to.
At first, there was a lot of distance between Conner and Robin. The couch spread out between them blankly.
Slowly, though, Robin inched closer, quiet as ever behind the television static.
Conner felt very warm and fuzzy, knowing that Robin was getting closer, too. Usually, Robin curled up in corners In general, Robin would be most likely to take the furthest chair in the common room, the best vantage point he could find and the place with the fewest blind spots. That he was on the couch at all was enough to please some small, private part of Conner, a small, private part of him usually kept in the dark.
And Robin continued to get closer, until they were side by side.
Conner took a moment to glance over at Robin, then, and to give him a brief smile. But then he returned his gaze to the television static and just let himself drown, a little, in the white noise and the twin heartbeats. It pleased him, all the more, when his own heartbeat synchronised with Robin’s after a time.
He almost jumped out of his skin when Robin leaned into him, though. Almost. Instead of jumping out of his skin, Conner’s dream-self showed remarkable resourcefulness and turned the half flinch into movement. He put his arm around Robin, which invited Robin closer. Or drew him closer.
Then Conner woke up.
That was it, that was the dream
Conner felt odder than ever, after it, because it was so mundane and… it made him happy to recall it. It was a happy dream that Conner would have gladly traded a dozen other dreams for, had there been a need to trade one dream, or more than one, for another.
Conner, thanks to that dream, became aware of his desire to cuddle up with Robin. Though, not necessarily in a brightly lit common room, no one around, to television static.
--
“He’s still doing it,” Robin said, in the middle of a dual maneuver he’d wanted to try out with Conner. Instead of flipping off Conner’s shoulder, which had been the intent, Robin crouched down so that he was almost sitting on his heels, perched on Conner’s shoulder.
“Who’s doing what?” Conner glanced up at Robin. He felt like moving too much would make Robin fall, but experience had shown that Robin was pretty good about keeping his place, and recovering if he did manage to fall.
“Nightwing. He’s still just listening and watching. Like he has nothing better to do.”
“He hasn’t talked to you?”
“Guess a bit too much Br—B rubbed off on him.” A slip.
Conner was around for most of Robin’s slips. He usually just put them out of his mind, out of respect for Robin. Well. For all the Bats, really. It was enough that he’d accidentally overheard things, over the years, and had picked up some names he knew he shouldn’t know. “Maybe.”
“It just… it prickles against my skin,” Robin mumbled. He tugged absently at a lock of Conner’s hair. Conner didn’t care. “I feel it like little pins and needles and I can’t relax. It’s almost worse than what I did before you were training with me. Uncomfortable? I don’t know.”
A chatty Robin was a bit of a disturbing Robin, even months after getting to know him. Conner didn’t know what to think about so many words put one in front of the other. “Maybe you should talk to him, then. If he won’t go to you, you could go to him.” He could feel the shake before Robin gave it. A definite no that almost preceded the suggestion. It looked like B hadn’t just rubbed off on Nightwing. “You hungry?”
Robin tilted his head. A motion Conner only really saw via his peripheral. “Hungry?”
“Yeah, I mean. If you’re not comfortable here…”
“The kitchen isn’t any better,” Robin interrupted.
“Happy Harbor has this pizza place,” Conner shrugged. Robin made a brief grab for the back of Conner’s head, then resettled into his perch. Conner didn’t laugh, really, but he smiled a bit. “You could come down,” he teased.
“I’m comfy,” Robin said. “I, uh, haven’t been to Happy Harbor? Yet.”
“I know,” Conner said.
“How could you know?”
“You don’t exactly have a bunch of civvies laying around that you could change into. And mission related clothing is, like, never seen again.”
“Okay, point. And also the problem.”
"Well, I mean." Conner quieted into thought.
Robin stood on his perch and flung himself forward, arcing through the air like a manic baton before landing a bit too hard, he rolled off his feet and into a crouch a split second after landing. He stayed in that crouch for a beat, then stood and turned to Conner. "It's okay. I'm okay."
"No, I got this," Conner said. He looked up from the padded floor to give an assured smile. "I bet I could round up some civvies for you. I mean. If you wanted to check the pizza place out. And shades. Like. Bats, right? I know the deal."
Robin gave a slow nod. "I mean... sure."
Conner nodded again, then was out of the gym between heartbeats. Energy buzzed through him. Energy and excitement. He could be the first of the Team to get some insight into a properly off-duty Robin. Third Robin, anyway. Nightwing's iteration as Robin hadn't been shy about off-time. Movies, Happy Harbor, fairs, whatever. He was into it. This Robin was into... none of it. He was into training, more training, and reviewing mission footage to inform his, you guessed it, ...training.
Eidetic memory. Conner hadn't put much stock into his own until it served such a mundane purpose.
Once, Nightwing hit an overnight growth spurt that made half his tee shirts the barest smidge too small, and he'd been the smallest member of the Team, at the time. The shirts, and a couple other odds and ends that didn't fit great, went into a box because "don't need em, back home" and were forgotten about in the depths of the industrial laundry room. Conner dug the box out of the forgotten corner, under old equipment, a science project they might or might not have stolen from a local school for mission-related purposes, no less than three stolen Arrow-Family artifacts, and a dented door from one of Conner's less proud moments.
Granted, Conner wasn't entirely sure how Robin would feel about Nightwing hand-me-downs. Or how Nightwing would feel. Or if any of the clothing would fit Robin's very compact frame. But it was definitely worth a shot, right?
Conner brought the box back to his own room, where he was unsurprised to find Robin already perched on the bed.
Was it weird that Robin had a "side" of the bed? It was the right side, when you stood at the footboard and faced the headboard, and it was the side furthest from the door. Robin occasionally napped there. If not under the bed. Whatever, though. He had a side of the bed. Big deal.
"What's—" Robin motioned toward the box.
Conner shrugged and set it on the bed. "Civvies."
Robin was quiet for a long moment, then he turned to the box and opened it up. The topmost article of clothing in the box was a familiar green hoodie. Well, familiar to Conner. Robin picked it up and turned it around. "Whose?"
"Uh, Nightwing's old stuff." Conner shrugged. "From, like, four years ago or something." He felt the sudden need to completely explain himself, from eidetic memory to retrieval of the box, and just barely stopped himself from doing so. He shrugged again, instead.
Robin hummed and continued through the box.
--
There was this pair of straight-leg skinny jeans in the box of hand-me-downs. Conner could remember everything, of course, and he remembered that those particular jeans, with the hole in the left leg from an incident involving Wally, a pine tree, and a Kid Flash doll from the local carnival. Conner could remember how snug those jeans were, on Nightwing (then Robin), in part because Artemis wasn't shy about commentating on how those stonewash jeans complimented Nightwing's famous rear.
Supposedly famous rear.
So yeah. Stonewash skinnies, hole in the left knee, snug as hell on their previous wearer.
Thing was, though, that this Robin was somehow all the more compact than thirteen- to fourteen-year-old Nightwing, even though Conner was pretty sure that Robin was around sixteen. He almost wanted to ask. But age was irrelevant. What was relevant was that Robin had a compact frame that Conner didn't fully expect to fit into those jeans.
Okay, but. Well. More than that, he hadn't expected Robin to just hop off the foot of the bed and start undoing clasps and closures and undressing right there, ready to change from uniform to civvies.
Conner told himself to look away.
Conner didn't look away.
Robin got down to undershirt and boxer briefs, about as shy as... he wasn't shy at all, to that point. And he smelled fresh and clean, like he'd showered in Conner's thirty-second absence, when Conner had absconded to grab the box of clothes.
It turned out that Conner wasn't really from the 1800s. But that didn't make the new planes of bare skin less interesting or alluring. Which Conner definitely didn't dwell on. Or get flustered about. Or act any differently over. Mostly, he just held his breath and hoped Robin wouldn't notice his wide-eyed interest in Robin's state of undress.
"Usually wear more layers," Robin offered casually. He pulled on the jeans and, yeah, they were a bit big on him. On Nightwing, they'd been snug... everywhere, and just the right length on the leg. On Robin, the pants were slouchy and dipped a bit. There were wrinkles everywhere, in part from their box storage, but mostly because of the slouchy fit. They were too long on Robin, too, and almost covered his feet, even after he'd tugged them up and let the wrinkles pool a bit, around his ankles.
"Uh-huh," Conner offered. He was still watching Robin, and Robin didn't seem to mind. Maybe Robin didn't mind with anyone. Somehow, Conner had expected him to be a bit more of a prude.
"Another layer of kevlar-grade fabristeel weave, at least. And something a bit more... sporty in terms of undermost layers. Protective and sporty," Robin snorted a little, then picked up a shirt from the mess of a stack he'd made on Conner's bed. He pushed a pair of plain white tennis shoes off to one side, for later.
"So, like. A jockstrap," Conner said.
Robin turned a bit red around the ears and snorted. "Hey, I wasn't going to say it. Feels weird!"
"Wouldn't know."
"Oh my god," Robin snorted again. "I mean, I'm not exactly an athlete, back home. I don't-- It's not normal, to me, the way it would be to a-a football player. Jerk."
Conner shrugged, grinning a little. He'd made Robin laugh.
"Was this..." Robin turned to show Conner the shirt he held up. Some nerdy science joke Wally would have made.
"I think that's a hand-me-down from Wally," Conner offered. "Or a gift?"
"Huh," Robin folded it neatly and put it aside. He put on a Superman shirt, instead. It was a shirt in the classic colours that almost – almost – had Conner rolling his eyes. Nightwing had probably shoved it in the box in part because Conner was still touchy about Superman, back when that shirt debuted in Nightwing's wardrobe. "Is this okay?" Robin indicated the shirt and leaned against the footboard.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Robin shrugged and turned back to the box, this time to put stuff away. He left the green hoodie out, though. Next to the tennis shoes. It would be weird to see that hoodie around, again. Maybe it would be a good weird, though. "No shades," Robin said. He frowned at the box.
"No problem," Conner flopped over, onto his side, and poked around his side-table. "You can get a different pair in Happy Harbor, if you want, but I've got..." He rummaged for a few beats of silence while Robin continued to repack the box, "I've got these. You can have 'em." He turned back to Robin and tossed the sunglasses his way, trusting Robin's refined reflexes.
A solid decision. Robin caught them and turned them over in his hands, first confused, then amused. He looked over at Conner with a grin. "Seriously?"
Conner dropped his back against the mattress. "Hey, I think they're great," he said.
Robin shook his head and left Conner's room. He was back, domino in hand instead of on his face, a few moments later.
"See? They're great."
"Sure," Robin said. He rolled his eyes behind the ridiculous red lenses. They were very round-lensed, very red, and had the sharp contrast of black metal frames. "I think the nineties called."
"They can't have 'em back," Conner wave him off. "I regifted them."
"To me."
"Don't sound so disappointed."
"No, I love them," Robin shook his head, chuckling. "They're ridiculous." He strode over to his uniform, meticulously folded and set on the foot of Conner's bed, and lay his domino on top, as well as the small bottle of what had to be solvent, to de-glue the domino from his skin. Then, he hopped onto the foot of the bed and started putting on the tennis shoes. "So. Happy Harbor?"
"And pizza," Conner agreed.
--
Getting out of the Mountain without Nightwing knowing about the whole plan was the real trick. The last thing Robin wanted was to have his older brother playing chaperone from the shadows, out of worry or no.
The last thing Conner wanted was for Robin to play up the Bat part of himself, the way he did whenever Nightwing was playing the spectator to their training matches.
The trick itself was for Conner to leave without indicating his plans to anyone, especially Nightwing. It was easier than he would have liked to admit. No one seemed to want to engage him, much. Maybe it was his preference for the newest Robin's company. Maybe it was how he had been skipping all the movie nights for the past few months. Whatever it was, Conner got out of the Mountain with only Wolf seeming at all curious about his plans. Maybe Sphere.
The other part of the trick was Robin's usual trick of disappearing/appearing as if by magic. Very silent, very confusing magic.
--
Seeing Robin in the sunlight was something else.
First impression was that Conner had persuaded a legitimate vampire into the sunlight. Robin was porcelain pale and just about colourless. Second impression had Conner noticing how Robin turned his face to the sky, smiling and closing his eyes, taking in the sun’s warmth. “This was a good idea,” Robin said.
“I have those, sometimes.”
Robin snorted and looked over at Conner. “Sure. Sometimes,” he said. It sounded like disagreement, though. Once, Conner might have bristled, thinking that the meaning behind the disagreement was that he never had good ideas. He was just socialized enough to realize that Robin was implying he wasn’t giving himself enough credit.
Robin took off the hoodie before they even really got to Happy Harbor and tied it around his waist, instead. Conner snorted, a little, because it put Robin’s Superman shirt on display. That made it two Superman insignias walking into town, because Conner had no perception of secret identities, still.
That’s what the others said, sometimes. To be a bit more honest, Conner just didn’t care about secret identities the way the others did. It wasn’t like some kid who looked like Superboy and wore a Superboy shirt could be traced back to the actual Superboy, not when there were seven billion people in the world, and any number of dark-haired, light-skinned, well-built guys with a similar style of dress to Conner’s own.
He tried caring about the Secret ID. It didn’t go awesome.
Robin turned his smile to Conner again. “Thanks, by the way.”
What? Conner blinked back at him. He felt each blink, each brush of eyelashes against his own cheek. The silence was only a few seconds, but he felt it. “For what?”
“This.”
This. Conner frowned a bit.
“Inviting me out like this,” Robin shoved his hands pocket-wards, which didn’t do much when his sweatshirt (Nightwing’s old sweatshirt) was tied around his waist. So he hooked his thumbs in his jeans’ waistband, instead. “I needed to get out. N’s been driving me crazy. I’ve… been driving me crazy. A break was a good idea. Thanks.”
“Uh. Okay, no problem.”
--
One large pepperoni pizza -- extra pepperoni -- later found Conner, Robin, and two large sodas wandering around Happy Harbor, taking in the quaint sights and acting like stupid teenage tourists. Robin even laughed at some of Conner's jokes.
Robin even cracked some jokes.
The first time he cracked a joke, Conner had been too awestruck to laugh or appreciate it properly. This was what Robin was like when he loosened up. It was so refreshing. Something warm and happy curled up in Conner's chest, getting warmer and fuzzier with every laugh and joke that came out of Robin's mouth.
They stayed out and about in Happy Harbor all day. It seemed probable that no one actually noticed that they were gone. Conner was simultaneously okay with that and absolutely Not Okay with that.
People not noticing Robin was only getting more frustrating for Conner. How in denial did people have to be? There was a new Robin. They needed to deal with it and get over themselves.
--
They didn’t try to circumnavigate the Team, or Nightwing, when they returned. They just walked into the Mountain. Like normal people.
Robin still had half of his soda. Conner had finished off his ages back, somewhere between the pier and the ice cream truck. Robin also had his melting cone, still. Conner had scarfed his down almost immediately.
It was almost charming, how slowly Robin took the drink and ice cream consumption. But Conner knew this wasn’t the norm. The norm saw Robin scarfing his food down and disappearing a minute after sitting down to eat.
Nightwing met them near the entrance to the Cave, expression indecipherable.
Conner almost took a step in front of Robin, seeing the frown pulling lightly at Nightwing’s lips. He couldn’t tell what Nightwing was thinking, but he felt a surge of protectiveness he had to throttle viciously. Robin could more than handle the big brother drama Nightwing carried around with him.
Conner and Nightwing, both, watched in surprise as Robin, still smiling and having a Good Day, ignored Nightwing and kept walking.
“Where did you go?” Nightwing asked. He turned to Conner.
Conner raised his eyebrows. “Oh, like you don’t know,” he said. “I mean, you’re a Bat.”
Nightwing frowned a bit deeper. “Where’d you find…”
“Where you put them,” Conner interrupted. “Eidetic memory. I just went off and grabbed the box of your old stuff from the laundry room. He couldn’t Robin around Happy Harbor, could he? That wouldn’t have been very ‘crete’ of him.”
Nightwing put a hand up to cover his pleased little smile.
Conner raised his eyebrows again. “Do we have a problem or can I go?” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Nightwing sighed and glanced over his shoulder, in the general direction Robin had gone. “He hasn’t smiled in awhile.”
“And?”
“Uh. Thanks,” Nightwing turned back to Conner. “Thanks for looking out for my little brother, Conner.”
Conner was too startled to really respond to that. Nightwing pulled a vanishing act shortly after the thanks, which left Conner standing there, looking the part of the fool. Expecting the third degree and receiving a thanks instead would do that to anyone, though.
Conner was still shorted out when he started moving again, toward the common room.