catch me if you can

by falyn

Summary:

Bernard may or may not have stumbled into a tentative friendship with Superboy, now if only Tim would just admit he was Robin so he could stop juggling everyone's secrets.

or the one where Bernard fails upwards into a friendship with Kon

Chapter 1: The one where Bernard miscalculates

Summary:

Bernard makes a mistake, Tim panics, and Kon wants to go back to bed.

Bernard would be the first to admit that he wasn’t exactly new to the concept of parasocial relationships, but then again, he’d argue that the same could be said for the majority of the internet. It would be more accurate to say he was simply par for the course. In fact, he would go so far as to call himself pretty well-adjusted (in the world of theorists). Granted, that was a low bar, but he well exceeded it, and that had to count for something. Everyone had their niche. Bernard’s just happened to be heroes, with— what one might say— an especially invested interest in all things Robin. 

He liked to think he kept it on the down low, or as low as someone with a semi-popular theory blog could be. Which is to say that he didn’t talk about it much offline, and he kept his increasingly growing pile of dedicated notes stowed away in his closet. Not even Tim had been allowed to know the full scope of his fixation; something he admittedly felt guilty about. Tim was aware that he looked up to Gotham’s heroes, Robin included, but that’s where the conversation ended. It wasn’t a calculated move on his part, it just wasn’t something that came up. And if Bernard put in a little more effort to steer the conversation away from that; that was his business. So maybe it was a little calculated, but Tim had his own secrets, even if they weren't exactly as secret as he thought they were. Bernard wasn't dense, there were only so many sudden disappearances and coincidental Robin sightings one could experience without putting the pieces together. If anything, they were even. 

Perhaps Bernard should have been worried that Tim hadn't let him in on such a large part of his life yet, but he just wasn’t. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that jazz. They had been dating a little over a year, and Bernard was aware of how hyperbolic he sounded saying this, but it had been one of the best years of his life. Mostly he was just dazed that someone like Timothy Drake-Wayne would be into someone like Bernard Dowd. Despite the yellow flags Bernard trusted Tim. Tim would tell him when he was ready. 

It was as he said, everyone had their thing. 

Bernard had no intention of revealing his cards yet, but as the likes and comments on his last post started pouring in, he sort of wished he could share this with his boyfriend. 

Bernard stared at his phone, his eyes still bleary from sleep. One-hundred-thousand likes. Several thousand quote reshares. A thousand plus comments. Overnight his post had gone truly viral.

He huffed out a humorless laugh. In true social media fashion, it was something he had shared thoughtlessly, put very little time and effort into, and of course that was the thing that blew up. Bernard clicked back to the original post.

All this fuss over a picture of Superboy. 

Bernard didn't even run a Young Justice account; he focused more on Gotham’s heroes. He'd come across the photo in a forum for Gotham birdwatchers— an unfortunate hobby to have in this city. He often scanned small groups like this one on the off chance they might have snagged a picture of any capes. In Bernard’s humble opinion, it was the pictures taken accidentally that tended to be the most revealing, which is why he was on this particular forum in the first place.

It wasn't the first time Bernard found something of interest amongst the birdwatchers. A while back someone had posted a relatively clear shot of the latest Robin with a pun about “spotting a new type of Robin” that Bernard was embarrassed to admit had made him laugh out loud. From that picture alone he had managed to extrapolate a couple of new potential theories on the newest Robin’s connection to his predecessors, which eventually turned into one of his favorite analyses. It hadn’t done very well, but it mattered little to him. Regardless he found himself checking up on the little forum just in case.

He hadn’t expected to see anything of interest that night, perhaps a rare native bird sighting at best, so stumbling across Superboy had been startling. The original post had read, "Sadly not a bird but hey, better than a plane." The picture attached was grainy and they had caught him mid-flight, so he was mostly a blur, but it was unmistakably Superboy. If you studied it close enough— which Bernard had— you could just make out an easy smile on his face. Beyond that the picture was unremarkable; the media had plenty of clearer shots of the young hero. The far more intriguing aspect of the photo was the location, because just what was Superboy doing hanging around Gotham? 

Of course, there was no way to know for sure, but logic would dictate— at least Bernard’s logic— that it was probably connected to Robin somehow. After all, they were teammates, or used to be, it was a bit unclear. Regardless, the real question wasn’t why he was in Gotham but how it connected to Robin. 

Bernard had mindlessly posted the image alongside the original poster’s comment from the forum (profile picture and username blurred out in good internet safety form). The joke had been mildly funny, at least he thought the small online community he had garnered would find some amusement in it.

And they had, but it seems so had the rest of the internet.

Bernard scrolled through the comments. From the looks of it, their theories were far more scandalous than his had been. 

“Who else thinks Superboy got himself a Gotham gf?”

“Look at that smile, he’s got to be leaving a date.”

“Oh, he def fucking someone.”  

Bernard closed the app. What the hell had he unleashed?

 

---

 

The Kent’s farm got terrible reception, which normally wasn’t a huge issue for Kon, but today it was proving rather annoying. He found himself fantasizing about throwing his phone across the room. Instead, he attempted to reload the page again. The buffering symbol spun mockingly. 

Kon groaned. Whatever, fuck this. He slammed the phone down on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. Beyond his room, he could hear Ma in the kitchen. He tried to ignore the noise and go back to sleep, but he knew it was only a matter of time before she would be marching up the stairs and dragging him out of bed. 

He sighed, removing his arm to glare at the ceiling. This situation was shit and he didn't even know what exactly the situation was, only that Rob was blowing up his phone about a link he couldn't see. He wished he was still blissfully asleep the way he had been fifteen minutes ago before his phone had gone off. It figured that even with his poor signal, Tim still managed to get through. He had ignored the first chime, and the second, and the third, but by the fourth, he had given in. 

A fifth message came in as he was struggling to unlock his phone. 

Wonderboy: maybe if we tell B you were just flying over Gotham he’ll let it go

Kon rubbed his eyes. A sixth message came in.

Wonderboy: no he’ll never believe that ugh god we’re so screwed

Kon blinked at the screen, before scrambling to scroll up on the conversation. 

Wonderboy: tell me you’ve seen this

Attached to the message was a link to a post. A post that was refusing to load. 

Wonderboy: how did they even get this pic? I should’ve seen them 

Wonderboy: so I did a quick check and it seems it’s originally from a bird-watching forum, which side note who even watches birds in Gotham?

At that point, Kon attempted to check the post again but to no avail. He let the phone drop down screen-first on his chest. It had to be bad if it had Rob this riled up. His phone pinged again, and then it was vibrating. Kon let it vibrate for a minute, at war with himself about whether it was worth answering.

Finally, with a loud groan, he picked up, jabbing the answer button with more force than necessary. He held the phone to his ear. 

Tim's voice came out tinny through the speaker. “I know you’re getting my texts.” 

Kon rubbed a hand down his face. “This better be fucking important and not just you being more paranoid than normal.”

“You haven’t seen it? I sent you the—”

“The signal is shit out here, remember. It won’t load.”

“Right. Sorry. Here let me send it over text.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“It’s better you see for yourself.” Tim paused. “Okay, that should go through.”

True to his word, the message came through. Kon clicked on the notification, which was a screenshot of a post. 

“Sadly not a bird but hey, better than a plane,” it read. Below was a picture of him mid-flight, clearly taking off from a building in Gotham. He remembered that night, he had dropped in unannounced simply to bug Rob during his patrol. Sue him, he had been bored out of his mind.

“Fuck,” Kon said rather intelligently. 

“Yeah,” Tim responded. 

Clark was gonna kill him.

 

---

 

Bernard sat in his lecture hall, not really paying attention. To his credit, he wasn’t paying attention to his phone either. It sat heavily in his pocket on silent, but even with it not being in his hands his mind was still fixated on it. 

Since he had discovered the virality of his post that morning, he had gained a couple thousand new followers as well as watched no less than five fights break out; most of them tied to the ethics of objectifying celebrities. Bernard had been rapidly rethinking the morality of posting photos of— what were effectively— strangers. In hindsight, it wasn’t his most sensitive move. The guilt was quietly eating away at him.

Bernard had purposely situated himself in the back of the classroom today. He sat, back straight, pen in hand, a blank notebook page in front of him, more focused on whether he looked like he was paying attention than actually paying attention. He kept track of time via the open laptop of the person in front of him, watching idly as they played Minesweeper. 

Perhaps he should take the post down. Bernard had no attachment to keeping it up. Unfortunately, the damage was already done. Nothing ever really got erased from the internet, but it would at least give him some piece of mind. It was overwhelming having so many eyes on him at once. He preferred the small space he had carved out for him and the several other like-minded individuals.  

Bernard nodded his head to himself. It was decided. As soon as class was over, he was going to delete the post. His hand twitched over his pocket. Or maybe he should get it over with now. He glanced down at his professor. Between his place in the back and the laptop in front of him, he was fairly hidden, he could probably get away with having his phone out. Lord knows a third of the class already did. 

Bernard tentatively slid his phone out of his pocket, gingerly placing it on the desktop. As he unlocked it, he paused briefly to admire his home screen— a picture of Tim mid-laugh that Bernard had managed to capture— praying that it would give him strength, before navigating to the app.

As soon as it was open, he was bombarded by notifications. He ignored them, moving past them to his account. Suddenly something caused him to falter. A singular unread message sat in his inbox. For a moment he just hovered over it. Bernard wasn’t typically one to receive direct messages. Not to say he didn’t have online friends, but if he were to have conversations, he typically had them outside the app. Which meant that whoever this was certainly wasn’t someone he knew. He took a deep breath and clicked on it. 

At first, Bernard thought it might be spam because the account name felt reductive, and the profile picture was a low-quality, faceless, mirror selfie. But one glance at the message itself and the thought was dashed. 

Babe_Luver69: This is super awkward but could you take down that last post? 

Bernard felt his stomach drop. There was no way. His fingers trembled as he moved to type.

RobinFanatic: I’m so sorry. I was actually just about to take it down.  

Bernard bit his lip. He really shouldn’t presume, but he was mortified and the need to clear the air tugged at him. 

RobinFanatic: I didn’t expect it to blow up like this, but I should’ve known better.  

Bernard watched as three little bubbles popped up on his screen. For a second, they disappeared, and he swore his heart stopped beating. Suddenly they were back, and a message was coming through. 

Babe_Luver69: It’s cool just y'know don’t do it again

Bernard rushed to respond but before he could a second message came through. 

Babe_Luver69: Shit

Babe_Luver69: Also maybe don’t go spreading this account around

Babe_Luver69: Probably should’ve made an alternative account 

Bernard muffled a laugh. He stared down at his phone in disbelief. Was this real? 

RobinFanatic: Don’t worry! Wasn’t planning on it. I’ve learned my lesson.

RobinFanatic: I realize I haven’t given you much of a reason to trust me, so I guess my word doesn’t mean much… 

RobinFanatic: Anyway, your secret is safe with me. 

Bernard internally was smacking himself. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’ Who says stuff like that? Apparently him. 

He scrolled away from the conversation and back to his account. Without much ceremony, he deleted the post. There; it was done. Nothing more he could do about it now. The most he could do was lick his wounds, move forward, and pretend like he hadn’t just experienced the most humiliating moment of his life to which Superboy had gotten a front-row seat. Though that could be presumptuous. Technically he had no concrete evidence this was really Superboy. It could be some form of PR person. Did superheroes have PR? 

Bernard was torn from his thoughts by another dm notification. 

Babe_Luver69: Hey so my friend wants to know how you found that picture in the first place

Babe_Luver69: He says it originated on some bird watcher group thing?

Babe_Luver69: Who the hell bird watches in Gotham??

Bernard failed to fully stifle his laugh this time. The girl next to him sent him a look, and he quickly moved to right himself, trying to cover it with a cough. Any doubt that he had been messaging a PR person went out the window unless he was talking to the worst PR representative in the business, but that seemed highly unlikely. Bernard tried hard not to overthink the implications of this. 

RobinFanatic: Oh, well sometimes little forums accidentally manage to get the best pictures of capes. The ones dedicated to heroes want it too bad haha. Anyway, sometimes I check around out of curiosity. 

RobinFanatic: Typing it out makes it sound so much creepier than it is. Again lesson learned about privacy. 

Babe_Luver69: It’s all good I’m used to it

Bernard’s stomach dropped again. Wow, great, now he was functionally just as bad as the paparazzi. Maybe even worse because what he was doing sounded uncomfortably close to stalking. Why had he never considered this before? 

Babe_Luver69: I have a friend who does things like that all the time

Bernard didn’t know what to do with this information. 'At least you weren’t hitting on some deep-seated trauma he had related to privacy,' the unhelpful voice in his head whispered. Then the other half of the sentence hit him. Who was this friend that had normalized stalker-ish tendencies? After a moment of consideration, he supposed the cape community probably did attract a lot of big personalities. Either way, he figured it was best not to ask.

RobinFanatic: That’s good.

RobinFanatic: Well, not the invasive tendencies, that’s umm…

RobinFanatic: Anyway, I deleted the post. Can’t say it won’t come back to haunt us both, but hopefully, this will minimize the damage. 

It took Superboy a moment to respond, the bubbles taunting Bernard all the while. When the message finally came through it was rather anti-climatic.

Babe_Luver69: Cool

And that was that. Bernard liked the message to show he had seen it, but there was nothing more to say. The class had ended. Around him, people had begun to pack up. Over the chaos, their professor was calling out reminders of the upcoming test. Bernard just sat there letting the commotion unfold around him, reeling from the strangest conversation of his life. The lecture hall had practically cleared by the time Bernard stood up to leave, but he barely noticed.

 

---

 

Tim wasn’t sure if he was up for date night tonight. It hadn’t taken the World’s Greatest Detective long to find out about the picture. With Tim’s stalling, Kon had managed to talk the person into deleting the post, before the evitable confrontation had gone down. Small victories. As expected, Bruce was still pissed. All day the line between his eyebrows had been twice as pronounced. 

Tim procrastinated on getting ready, internally waffling between canceling or going. On the one hand, he knew Bernard would acquiesce, but on the other Tim had canceled their last two dates and he was trying to be a better partner. He really liked Bernard. He deserved better than this, especially with all the grace he had given this past year. Besides it was just a quiet night in. 

With an exaggerated sigh, Tim stood from his desk and made his way toward the bathroom to begin getting ready. He did his best to ignore the guilt that trailed behind him. 

Tim showed up to Bernard’s apartment, hair still damp, dressed down, and with the guilt having settled into a low simmer. Bernard swung the door open, his smile almost blinding, and Tim forgot why he ever wanted to not be here.

His boyfriend ushered him in with a 'hey' and a small peck, before disappearing back into the kitchen. From the smell alone Tim could tell dinner was well on its way to being done.

Tim took off his shoes as he spoke, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of water boiling. “How was class?”

“Oh, you know same old thing,” Bernard called back. "Nothing terribly interesting to report." 

Tim padded into the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of Bernard hovering over a pot on the stove. He made his way over to the island, clearing away the scattering of papers, which reminded him—

“Where’s your roommate?” Tim asked. He glanced around the common space of the small apartment as if a third person was about to materialize onto the couch behind him.

Bernard cocked his head to look over his shoulder as he responded “Oh he’s out for the weekend. He’s been spending a lot of time at his girlfriend’s lately.” He frowned slightly. “They seem to be getting pretty serious. I might need to find a new roommate.”

Tim felt something in his chest pull. In another universe, this would be the perfect time to ask Bernard to move in with him. Tim wasn’t sure what a normal dating timeline was supposed to look like, but a year felt like a reasonable amount of time. But Tim wasn’t normal, no matter how hard he played pretend. Bernard couldn’t move in because it was one thing to hide Red Robin from his partner, it was a different matter to hide it from a partner he lived with. The words remained caught in his throat and died on his tongue. 

"They move fast. Didn’t they just start dating a few months ago?" Tim asked, fidgeting with a pen on the counter. 

Bernard laughed. "With the way they act, I keep expecting to hear about a proposal any day now."

“Still, I wouldn't worry. You have time.”

Bernard hummed, “Guess that’s true. At the very least he better stay until the lease is up.”

They both laughed lightly as the moment passed them by just like that. Another inch closer to the end. Tim could feel them drawing closer day by day. Tim ignored the ticking clock in favor of savoring the moment. This time he would be a better partner and just maybe the bliss would last a little bit longer. 

The rest of the night passed peacefully. They had an uneventful night in. Dinner discussion flowed easily. After they moved to the couch to watch a movie that Tim passively dozed through. Bernard had curled up against the armrest, generously letting Tim use his folded legs, cushioned by layers of blanket, as a pillow. Above him, Bernard was on his phone. Tim wasn’t interested in what had him so invested. From the subtle movements of his hand, Tim assumed he was typing. Probably chatting with his little Robin fanboy group chat that Tim was supposed to not know about. 

Tim found it very endearing; the way Bernard downplayed his schoolboy fascination with Gotham’s capes, how Robin had inspired him to learn martial arts, the way he danced around the subject of his theory account, all of it. Tim was proud to say that he hadn’t snooped, despite really wanting to. God, he wanted to, but he had been told by multiple sources that he had a misguided sense of boundaries and that he needed to work on “not stalking people unless absolutely necessary.” As a part of the “being a better partner” thing he had resolved not to check until Bernard showed him first. He was starting to think he was never going to see that account. 

Tim yawned, stretching his legs out to get the blood circulating again and partly to let Bernard know he was still with him. 

Bernard’s voice came from above him. “One of these days we’ll make it to the end of a movie.”

“I made it to the end of Memento," Tim argued. 

He couldn’t see Bernard from where was lying but he could tell he was rolling his eyes. 

“Make it to the end of a movie you didn’t suggest,” Bernard amended.

“Sorry, something came up this morning that I had to iron out,” Tim spoke into the blanket. 

Bernard began to run a hand through his hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tim sighed. “No, not really. It’s been dealt with as much as it can be. Bruce is still pissed, but he’ll get over it.”

Bernard hummed in agreement. “He’ll come around. He always does.” 

It was easy to trust Bernard’s words when he said them so calmly, with a hand combing through his hair. Tim wasn’t sure what he did to deserve this. For a moment he let the guilt melt away and allowed himself to float in the moment. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he probably had to leave soon. Bruce would be texting him soon to remind him that the time for patrol was creeping up, but for now, everything was quiet. 

Everything was quiet and the world stood perfectly still.

 

---

 

Bernard had walked Tim to the door, kissed him goodnight, then a second time for prosperity, before breaking the stalemate and sending him off with a true good night, even if Bernard knew better that Tim wouldn’t be going to bed for at least five more hours. Everything had played out like usual.

As soon as the door had closed Bernard crumbled. 

The date had been lovely, they always were, even if Bernard’s head had been elsewhere the entire time. He dragged himself back to the couch. It was still warm from Tim’s lingering body heat. Bernard curled up under the blankets once more, ignoring the TV that had long since been left to cycle through screen saver images. He retrieved his phone from where it had fallen in between the cushions. 

From the end of class until now Bernard had opened, closed, and re-opened his conversation with Superboy at least a dozen times, just to confirm that it was real. The humiliation curled in his chest, but with a bit of distance, he could be honest enough with himself that beneath the shame and awkwardness, there was this jittery sort of excitement. He stamped it down. This was the end of the interaction. It happened. It had been embarrassing. End of story. 

Bernard half-heartedly dropped his phone onto the couch next to him, throwing his head back. This was ridiculous. He had let something so trivial ruin a perfectly good night with Tim. 

His phone pinged from beside him. He ignored it. It was likely Tim telling him he was on his way home. The phone pinged once more as if to challenge his thoughts. 

With an indigent huff, he reached for the device groping for it, refusing to right his position. He held it above his face scanning the notifications on the home screen expecting to see a text, but there was no text instead he saw a dm notification from an increasingly familiar username.

Bernard scrambled to sit upright, fumbling as he raced to unlock his phone. Two unread messages sat in his inbox.

Babe_Luver69: Dude you didn’t tell me how funny your account was??!!

Babe_Luver69: The thing about Rob being able to reincarnate omfg

Bernard felt the heat rise to his face. That was a really old post. How far had Superboy dug?

RobinFinatic: Thanks? I guess??

Babe_Luver69: You can’t make this shit up

Babe_Luver69: Well you can bc you did but you’re like some sort of writing genius 

Bernard scoffed at his screen. 

RobinFinatic: Well I’m glad you’re finding some enjoyment in it.

Babe_Luver69: I gotta ask

Babe_Luver69: How much of this do you actually believe?

RobinFinatic: I can’t speak for other theorists, some of us are pretty die-hard, but me specifically… 

RobinFinatic: Ehhh about 50% 

Babe_Luver69: Called it 

RobinFinatic: Again, that’s just me. I know people who are dead serious.

Babe_Luver69: Sure but there are crazies in every batch and you don’t seem that crazy 

Bernard raised an eyebrow at that. Clearly, someone didn’t have much experience in online spaces, but that wasn’t Bernard’s place to point out. 

RobinFinatic: Wow high praise

Babe_Luver69: I’m serious though you could totally be a real writer you almost had me believing and I mean I know the truth 

It took everything in Bernard not to make a joke about letting him in on that truth, but he didn’t trust his tone to carry. He was hyper-aware of how fragile the thing they were building was. 

RobinFinatic: I’ll take that into consideration, pencil that into my list of aspirations between curing cancer and becoming a millionaire

Babe_Luver69: I mean you never know ;)

Bernard didn’t know how to answer, so he liked the message and left it at that. It didn’t stop him from checking the messages right before he went to bed to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. 

 

---

 

It was past four by the time Tim arrived back home. As far as patrol went, that was fairly early. He stood in the center of his living room still half dressed in his uniform.

Tim hated his apartment. It was too big and cold and lonely. Despite this, he was grateful to Bruce for gifting it to him. He appreciated the space away from his family, even if it reminded him a bit of the Drake Manor. Still, the apartment proved to be very useful, at the very least for hosting people. It was an open secret amongst friends and family that his couch was free real estate to crash on, even if Tim pretended to put up a fight. Tim liked having his own space, but he preferred sitting quietly in a room with someone else. He missed the clatter in the morning at the Wayne Manor. All the little noises that used to be grievances— the scraping of chairs and the clinking of plates— he realized in their absence how much they exemplified life.

The quiet of his top-floor apartment felt dead, removed from the toils of the streets below. From this height, people looked no larger than ants, moving in streams of silent chaos. Beyond his balcony, the city splayed out in all her Gothic beauty, distant and frigid. Tim didn’t have to look out his massive windows to know that the view was objectively scenic. From up here it was easy to overlook Gotham's underbelly.

Bruce was never to know any of this, otherwise, he didn’t think he’d ever get further than Bristol. 

Tim trudged into his bedroom, shedding layers as he went. His room was the only one in the house that had any form of life in it. Without Alfred, laundry had piled up on the chair in the corner, which he counted as a victory that it was at least contained to the corner. Papers crowded the desk that sat opposite the bed, and the monitor atop it was swarmed with post-its attached haphazardly. Pictures littered the wall, tacked on with putty, forgoing frames altogether. Most of them were of Tim and his friends, out of costume, though interspersed were a handful of candid shots of his family. Tim had always loved photography. These days he rarely had time to keep up the hobby, but sneaking shots still came naturally to him. 

Tim had precisely manicured his photo wall the first time Bernard had come over. It may have been a bit presumptuous to decorate his bedroom, but he was anything if not prepared. He had taken great care to remove anything remotely questionable. Bruce never allowed pictures in costume under any circumstance, but Tim took it a step further to ensure that everything down to the location in the backdrop couldn’t be called into question.

Most notably Tim had removed any pictures of Kon. 

The group photos got to stay; the ones with Kon a safe and respectable distance from him, Tim deemed harmless enough. However, gone were the photos of Kon sitting serenely in the afternoon light. Kon smiling at the camera, nose wrinkled and dimples showing. Kon standing sheepishly with flour covering him and half the kitchen. All of it had been safely removed and stored in a box in his closet.

Tim knew it was dramatic. There was no reason for Bernard to be suspicious, especially when he had equally stupid pictures of Steph still fastened to the wall. There was nothing to hide about his relationship with Kon. Tim and Kon had always defied labels. They were simply Tim and Kon. Tim and Kon, who were sometimes a little weird about each other, but that tended to happen when you toyed with the veil between life and death the way they did. Still, it felt wrong, different somehow in a way Tim was not keen on examining. So instead, he tucked the feeling away alongside the box in his closet. 

Bernard wasn’t Kon and Tim was okay with that. More than okay. He liked Bernard exactly the way he was, but it didn’t quell the ache in his chest after a mission when the adrenaline cleared, and the relief tinged all his senses, lapping his judgment. In those moments Kon always seemed to glow. 

The feelings had to dissipate, meaning the pictures had to go. 

Tonight, Tim ignored the wall, and the all too familiar sinking feeling seeping in through his pores and filling his chest. He heaved a sigh, before settling into his desk chair. The guilt could wait. He had work to do.

Notes:

In true dc fic fashion, this is going to be a mix of multiple different canons, though the main ones will be Young Justice ‘98, Urban Legends: Sum of Our Parts, and Tim Drake: Robin (2022). That being said I will amend where I want bc the canon tl is a mess.

For this story, my characterization of Bernard will be informed by the newer ver of the character rather than the ver that was introduced in Robin #121, although it won’t be completely ignoring it either. While I want him to remain based in canon I will be going off-script a bit because I really wanted to explore him as a character outside of Tim. I have mixed feelings about the current Tim Drake run and Bernard in general. I think he has a lot of potential that they’re refusing to give him.

Also I ditched the Marina plotline for Tim's home. I don't know how other people feel about that, but I was never super keen on it.

Anyway thanks for reading :)

Chapter 2: The one where Kon makes great choices

Summary:

Kon makes questionable decisions regarding internet safety, Bernard starts to connect the dots, and Tim burns pasta.

“You’d think this was a loveseat with how much space you guys take up,” Cassie said as she loomed over Kon and Bart, who were, at the moment, collectively taking up Tim’s whole couch. Bart was consumed with some game, fingers moving at break-neck speed across the controller. It was a small miracle it hadn’t broken yet. Kon sat beside him, only half paying attention. 

“If you stopped manspreading we might all be able to fit on the couch,” Cassie nudged Kon’s knee as she lectured.

"There’s nowhere for me to go,” Kon protested, patting the armrest he was leaning against. “Ask Bart to move.” 

“Kinda in the middle of something,” Bart piped up, eyes still glued to the screen. 

Cassie glared at Kon. “You pick the stupidest hills to die on.”

“Please don’t destroy my living room, there are enough seats to go around,” Tim called over the sound of popcorn popping in the kitchen.  

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Cassie called back, “Besides it's not like you can’t afford to replace it.” 

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Tim parroted, “I happen to like my furniture.” The microwave interrupted him. “Also, it was a nightmare getting it all up here.”

She frowned. “You could’ve asked us.” 

Tim's voice was replaced by the sounds of cabinets being opened and shut. The smell of popcorn began to waft across the apartment. With a clink of metal against granite, Tim could once again be heard. 

“It was fine. Dick managed to wrangle Jason into helping.”

This soothed the line between Cassie’s brows. “Good, because we were about to have issues if you weren’t asking for help again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim said, pouring popcorn into the bowl. Then came the soft sound of padded footsteps against hardwood. 

Cassie’s scrutiny was back on Kon. “You’re seriously not going to move, are you?”

Kon looked up at her with that smug expression he knew pissed her off the most. “Nope,” he said, popping the p for added effect.

She groaned, turning away from him. “What did I ever see in you?” 

“My hot bod and awesome personality?” 

Cassie huffed out a laugh. “Sure, something like that,” she said, dropping into the chair diagonal to the couch.   

“Ouch. You cut deep.” Kon threw her another smirk, only she wasn’t looking at him. Instead she was twisting in her seat, a look of dawning confusion replacing her previous irritation. She reached blindly between the seat cushions, digging around until she must’ve found whatever she was searching for. With a final tug she pulled, what looked to be, a rumpled gray lump from beneath the cushions. 

Tim’s footsteps stopped. 

Cassie held out the lump, until a gray sweatshirt unfolded in front of her.

“Gotham U?” she read, turning to look past Kon, up at Tim.

Kon followed her gaze, tilting his head back to look at their friend. Tim was now right behind the couch, popcorn bowl in hand, with a sort of neutral look on his face that Kon— with years of experience reading Tim— knew to be panic.  

“Who do you know that goes to Gotham U?” Cassie asked. 

“It’s just Dick’s old sweatshirt, he must’ve left it.” A lie. 

Cassie must clock it as well because she shook her head. “He was only there for a semester before he dropped out.” She held up the sweatshirt again. “Not to mention, this is way too small for him.”

Tim didn’t answer. 

Suddenly Cassie’s eyes went wide. She relinquished the sweatshirt, letting it fall into a heap on her lap. “Oh my god.”

This got Bart’s attention, game paused mid-track. He echoed Kon’s thoughts. “What? What is it?”

She ignored him, all her focus on Tim. “You’re seeing someone.” It wasn’t a question. 

This made Kon sit up straighter, a strange feeling settling in his gut. Both Bart and Kon twisted to look at Tim. It was immediately obvious that Cassie was right judging by the blotchy redness that had begun to creep across Tim’s face. Tim may be a master at concealing his emotions, but his complexion always gave him away.

“Oh my god, who is she? Is it someone we know? Wait, if she’s going to university— is she a civilian?” Cassie’s questions flew at him rapid fire, before she abruptly cut herself off.

For a moment all three of them stared at him expectantly. Tim stared back, the urge to flee radiating off of him.

Cassie’s voice came softer now. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Tim looked away, chewing on his bottom lip. The room was silent. After a long stagnant pause, Tim let out a deep exhale.

“Yes, I am seeing someone.” 

Cassie made a soft little sound of glee, and Bart nodded eagerly. Kon stayed still.

“We’ve been going out for about a year.”

The room erupted, all three of them talking over each other at once. 

“A year!?”

“What do you mean a year?”

“What the hell, man!”

Tim raised a hand and they all fell silent. “We were friends briefly in junior high, but it’s only been recently that we’ve reconnected. I wanted to take things slowly and he agreed so I haven’t—”

“Wait, wait, go back. He?” Cassie interrupted.

The strange feeling in Kon’s gut overtook his chest.

Tim looked sheepish, his eyes falling to the floor. “Uh, yeah, so that’s the other reason.” 

Bart's head bounced between the pair as if he were watching a tennis match.

“It’s not that I thought it would be an issue. There was just never a good time, and I didn’t know how to broach the subject.” His voice got smaller. “It’s all new to me, to both of us.”

Cassie hummed. “Well thank you for telling us, but I’ve gotta ask,” she paused. “Are we the last to know?”

Tim flinched. “I’d like to see you try to keep a secret from my family, but Steph is the only one who I’ve allowed to meet him.”

Kon felt numb. He wanted out of here, but he couldn’t just leave. That would look bad, so he remained firmly in his seat.

Cassie groaned, slumping deep into the chair. “Ugh, so we truly are the last.”

“When are we allowed to meet him?” Bart chimed in. 

“Soon, maybe. I don’t know.” Tim fidgeted with the bowl in his hand.

“Can we at least get a name?” Cassie whined.

Tim fixed her with an unamused look. “Definitely not.” 

“Why?” Cassie dragged out the word for emphasis. 

“You know why.”

Cassie sighed. “Whatever, but I’m gonna bug you for details later, don't think you’re off the hook.”

Without warning, Bart snatched the bowl out of Tim’s hands. “I’m starving, let's start the movie.”

And just like that, the moment was effectively broken. 

Tim grumbled something about sharing as he maneuvered around the couch to sit on the floor in front of them. They moved on, bickering over what to watch but Kon remained trapped in that moment, his mind simultaneously racing and blank. Sometime after the movie began, Cassie caught his eye, and she sent him a concerned look. He rolled his eyes and cocked his head back to the screen, silently trying to tell her not to worry. She gave him one last concerned side glance before she turned back to the television. He had a feeling he had only postponed that conversation with her, but it would do for now. 

Kon turned his attention back to the movie, but it was as if the world had been muffled. He couldn’t focus on anything else other than the hyper-awareness of Tim’s body heat radiating against his leg. He did his best to concentrate on the plot, but his mind kept drifting.

A year. How had he not seen it? They had been the last to know. He had been the last to know. Weren’t they supposed to be best friends? When had they gotten so distant and how had he not noticed? It felt like the rug had been ripped out from under him and he was expected to not stumble. That was bad enough on its own but there was something beneath that hurt, something that felt akin to loss. He wasn't keen on examining that anytime soon, so instead he pulled out his phone.

He hadn’t had a specific intention in mind, but he noticed a small notification sitting innocuously on his lock screen.

It was RobinFanatic. 

The two of them had been idly communicating for the past week and Kon had to admit it was a little exciting. 

Clark had indeed flown in just to scold him for his carelessness, but other than that the conversation had been less severe than he expected. Perhaps he had seen the guilty way Kon held himself or maybe he had already seen the hundreds of comments online and decided to take pity. Whatever the reason Clark had let him go was with a warning and a promise to take him and Jon out next weekend for sundaes. 

He had been doing that more and more lately; taking Kon out for little things like lunch or ice cream. On one hand, Kon wanted to protest that he wasn’t a little kid, had never been one. He didn’t need to be placated with sugar and fries, but on the other hand, he sort of liked the attention. He liked it more when Jon came, something Clark had evidently noticed. Jon gave them a buffer to fall back on, but the solo attention was nice too, if a bit awkward. 

Kon had not told Clark about his ongoing conversations with RobinFanatic, because he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t approve. And as much as Kon pretended otherwise he craved Clark’s approval, but not enough to stop. 

Talking to this random civilian made Kon feel normal in a way not many things in his life could. RobinFanatic was relatively mellow, moreover, he didn’t seem all that awestruck by Kon. He was shocked to find that he talked to him like he was any other person. Maybe if he were Robin, it would be a different story, but he was Robin adjacent so that counted for something. Still, it was rare to meet a civilian—or anyone really— who treated him like any other guy.

So yeah, it was a little exciting. 

RobinFanatic had sent a message over an hour ago. Kon frowned at this. Somehow, he had missed it. He could have sworn he had set his notifications to vibrate. Stupid direct messages, a pain in his ass. It would all be so much easier over text. He paused. Now that was an idea. Why were they fumbling around with this stupid app? 

He scrolled past the previous message in the chat— a reaction to something Kon had said hours ago. Without giving it a second thought he shot RobinFanatic a message. 

Babe_Luver69: I hate this stupid chat feature it keeps fucking with my notifications 

Babe_Luver69: Here

And then he sent his phone number, before closing the chat. RobinFanatic wasn’t online so it likely would be a while before he saw his message. He turned off his phone feeling better, not enough to focus on the movie, but enough to shake the numbness.

And Tim thought he wasn’t a problem solver. 

 

---

 

Distantly Bernard was aware that the stove was on. The sound of sizzling emanated through the kitchen like a live wire, but at the moment it might as well have been white noise to him. His phone was laid on the counter, direct messages open. Bernard stared at the latest text that had just came through. It was a phone number. 

Superboy’s phone number. 

That was about when the smell of smoke started to overtake his senses.

“Shit,” Bernard cursed under his breath, as he swiveled away from his phone and towards the pan on the stove. In one swift movement, the burner had been turned off and the pan removed. Bernard sighed half in relief and half in defeat. His food was unsalvageable, charred beyond recognition. 

He resigned himself to a frozen meal for the night. 

While waiting for the microwave he returned to his phone. The cursor blinked at him in the text bar, as if frantically reminding him that he was supposed to have messaged back minutes ago. His finger hovered over the keyboard. He began to type, before erasing it and retyping a nearly identical response. Finally, he settled.

RobinFanatic: Yeah the dming service on here is notoriously awful. I usually avoid it as much as possible. 

Babe_Luver69: I forget to check my messages here anyway this'll be easier 

Bernard liked the message, before navigating to the messenger app. He took a deep breath before entering the number he had been given. In an effort to seem confident he presumptively saved the contact under ‘Superboy.’

Bernard: Hey, this is Bernard!

Bernard: Or umm 'RobinFanatic.'

Superboy: Sweet it came through

Superboy: Didn’t peg you for a Bernard

Bernard: Right… pot meet kettle.

Superboy: Hey! What’s wrong with Kon??

Bernard raised an eyebrow at his phone. Not for the first time he thinks Superboy might do well with some PR training, at least if his goal was to keep his identity a secret. 

Bernard: I was referring to ‘Superboy.’

Superboy: Oh

Superboy: Wait what’s wrong with Superboy!?

Bernard: No comment. 

Superboy: Whatever I prefer Kon anyways

Superboy: But just for that your new name will be Bernie because I ain’t calling you Bernard 

Superboy: Besides you deserve a lame ass nickname after all that big talk 

Bernard is interrupted mid-sentence by the beeping of the microwave. He one-handedly wrenched the door open, if only to stop it from protesting at him. He had lost all interest in his food. 

Bernard: I see how it’s going to be.

He paused, biting his lip, before adding. 

Bernard: For the record I prefer ‘Kon’ too.

 For a moment the chat went silent, and Bernard panicked. Reading his text back it sounded far more flirtatious than he meant it. He was fretting over how to walk back the energy he had created when a message finally came through.

Superboy: I don’t know if you’re qualified to be making name judgment calls Bernie but thanks

The relief that swept over Bernard might have been palpable. 

Bernard: Whatever you say Superboy.

Superboy laughed at the message but didn’t say anything more. 

And then Bernard was back to being alone in his kitchen once more. He finally reached into the microwave to pull out his now lukewarm dinner. He made his way back to his room food in hand, settled onto his bed, and pulled up a YouTube video on his laptop, like a person who didn’t have Superboy’s phone number in his contacts. 

That night as he did his increasingly familiar reality check-in, he noticed that Kon’s contact still read Superboy. Kon may not be overly concerned with staying hidden but this whole mess had started from an invasion of privacy, and Bernard was sure as hell going to do everything in his power to prevent a repeat of that.

The last thing he remembered as he drifted off was the sight of the open chat with the freshly changed contact name labeled “Kon.” 

 

---

 

Jon was right, homework sucked ass. He hadn’t used those words specifically, but the sentiment had been there.

Kon had read and re-read the paragraph probably a dozen times, but the information refused to stick. Who said getting your GED would be easier than normal classes? Clearly, they hadn’t actually tried it.

Still, this was better than the alternative; attending high school at the age of twenty— or whatever Kon’s approximation of twenty was. He tried not to think too hard about the technicalities of his age. Regardless it was far better to be humiliated in the privacy of his room than in front of hundreds of teenagers. 

Kon personally didn’t see the point in all this. He was never one to be concerned about secret identities and the like. Besides Cadmus had poured everything he needed to know directly into his brain, shouldn’t that be enough? Apparently, it wasn’t because Clark had come down like a hammer on the topic and Ma and Pa had backed him up. Together they were a unified front that Kon had not been able to scale. At the very least they had promised him a graduation celebration of sorts. 

He glared at the practice test on the computer fantasizing about burning a hole through it. That celebratory cake better be fucking worth it. 

The clock on his right blinked at him, informing him that it was past midnight. Kon sighed deeply. He was going to feel this in the morning. He wondered if he could talk Pa out of his morning chores just for the day. 

He shook his head. Yeah, right. With what excuse?

With a final glance at the screen, he gave up, closing the laptop. He made for his bed, grabbing his phone from where it had been charging on the nightstand. He laid down, adjusting the unmade blanket with one hand and swiping up on his phone with the other. 

He scrolled past the fifty-one new messages— probably from Bart— in the group chat, to click on the singular notification from his newly renamed contact. 

Bernie: Ha, sure…

A response to a purposely bad joke Kon had sent earlier. 

For a moment Kon hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to chat, but he was failing to find something to talk about. Finally, he settled on something that seemed safe. 

Kon: If I have to read one more article that refuses to talk normally, I’m gonna lose my mind

Bernie: I feel you. It’s like they make it their life’s mission to sound as complicated as possible. 

Kon blinked at his screen. He hadn’t expected a response so fast. 

Kon: You’re up late 

Bernie: Mid-term season. No rest for the wicked.

Bernie: Aka procrastinators. 

Bernie: It sounds like I might be preaching to the choir though lol

Kon: Something like that

Kon: No midterms for me tho

Bernie: Is your school on a different schedule?

Kon suddenly felt embarrassed. 

Kon: Ah, no I’m studying for my GED

Bernie: Oh! That makes way more sense. 

Bernie: I almost wish my parents would’ve let me do that. 

Kon: You want this?

Bernie: High school was not exactly a high point for me.

Bernie: This may be hard to believe, but I wasn’t very popular. 

Kon: Wow I never would’ve guessed the nerd blog about capes would’ve been uncool

Bernie: Ha Ha but bold of you to assume that anyone offline knows about that.

Kon: Wait really??

Bernie: Why would I advertise that?

Kon: Uh duh because we’re mega cool

Kon: Well Rob’s coolness is debatable 

Kon: That reminds me I noticed you stopped posting what’s up with that?

Bernie: Have you been stalking my blog?

Kon: It’s only fair

Bernie: Touché 

Bernie: But yeah, I umm… 

Bernie: In light of recent events, I have decided I don’t think it’s my place to publicly discuss the private lives of individuals I don’t know, or anyone for that matter.

Kon: It really got to you that badly

Kon: I’m fine you can keep gushing on the internet 

Bernie: I don’t gush.

Kon: Sure whatever you say 

Kon: But for real no harm no foul

Kon: Well a little harm but Big Blue didn’t lay into me that bad 

Bernie’s bubbles pulsed for a minute before disappearing altogether. Kon bit down the disappointment. After a minute a message finally came through.

Bernie: I can’t /not/ comment on this…

Bernie: It is so hard to imagine Superman scolding you like a parent. 

Kon laughed out loud, probably louder than he should at this time of night.

Kon: Hate to break it to you but his lectures almost rival Batman

Bernie: Lord, I can’t even imagine how terrifying a lecture from Batman would be. I’m sweating just thinking about it. 

Kon: Yah would not recommend

Kon: He scares the shit out of me

Bernie: Adding to my list of potential Superboy weaknesses.

Kon: Hey now don’t get cocky 

Bernie laughed at the post and the conversation ended for the night. Kon went to bed with a light feeling in his chest.

 

---

 

The morning rush at the cafe was finally starting to die down. Bernard had managed to snag himself a corner window seat. His half-finished Americano sat ignored next to his equally ignored open laptop. He was fully engulfed in his phone.

Bernard: Wait, so is Superman your dad?

Bernard watched on bated breath as the text bubbles pulsed. He prayed this wasn’t overstepping. It had been several days since his late-night conversation with Kon. He had let it go at the time, but the curiosity had been eating him alive. Apparently, it had eaten away his decorum as well, because he had told himself he wouldn’t pry, but then the opening had presented itself and he wasn’t strong enough.

When the message came through Bernard nearly jumped. 

Kon: Ehh, not exactly

Kon: He’s family, but it’s hard to explain 

Kon: His parents are kinda like my parents

Bernard: Makes sense. Sorry if that was a weird question. 

Kon: You're good, just don’t go running to your blog with all this hot gossip

Bernard: Wouldn’t dream of it. 

Bernard stared blankly at the chat for a minute.

Bernard: Wait hold on, I just processed this. Superman has parents?

 Kon: Yah? Why wouldn’t he?

Bernard: I don’t know?! A) He’s an alien, and B) Aren’t his parents dead? I just kind of assumed he lived in his fortress. 

Kon: Trust me no one would willingly live in that place

It never failed to startle Bernard how casually Kon revealed world-altering information. He supposed to Superboy this was all old news and that was a weird thought within itself. 

Bernard: Good to know, I guess.

The chat informed Bernard that his message had been read but Kon didn't respond. He set his phone down before a thought occurred to him. 

Bernard: You're on the Superman Wiki right now, aren’t you? 

This got an immediate response. 

Kon: Wtf??

Kon: Are you sure you don’t have powers?

Bernard: Sorry no powers, only keen insight. 

Kon: But seriously how did you know?

Bernard: Has anyone ever told you you’re not great at this whole secret identity thing?

Kon: …

Kon: Keen insight my ass 

A screenshot of Superman’s Wiki page came through. The line addressing Superman’s real name, Kal-El, had been highlighted sloppily. 

Kon: Wait so his name is common knowledge? Why did no one bother to tell me?? 

Kon: He fucking lectured me last week about telling people my name

Bernard snickered to himself, muffling it with his sleeve. 

Bernard: You never clarified the thing about his parents.

Kon: Sorry that’s not on the wiki very confidential

Bernard: Worth a shot.

The conversation moved on from there, but Bernard’s mind remained fixed on the idea that somewhere out there, Superman was going about his day as a normal citizen. 

 

---

 

“Who are you texting?” Jon draped himself across the back of the couch attempting to catch a glance of Kon’s phone. 

Kon shifted so that his screen wasn’t in view. Jon was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something, but Kon had done this dance many times before. 

“Bart.” The lie slipped out easily. 

Jon went quiet for a minute.

“Can’t be Bart.” Jon swung over the back of the couch to land seated next to Kon. “The messages are coming in way too slow.”

Kon looked up from his phone. “What are you, some sort of detective?” He looked back down, mumbling to himself, “Been spending too much time with Mini-Batman.”

“So, if it’s not Bart then who is it?” Kon could feel Jon’s eyes on him, no doubt flashing him his best imitation of a curious puppy, but Kon was wise to his tricks. 

Without looking up Kon responded, “Nobody you know."

Kon expected that to be the end of the conversation, for Jon to grow bored and give up, but he should’ve known better. 

Jon went quiet again, only this time he stayed quiet long enough for it to become disconcerting. Jon rarely sat still, and certainly never silently, but Kon refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him. As soon as he did, it would be all over. 

The silence hung heavily. Kon’s gaze was firmly locked on the open chat. It had been two minutes since Bernie’s last response, but it was starting to feel closer to two hours. 

Jon finally broke the silence. “It’s someone you don’t want me knowing about, so it’s either got to be someone you’re not supposed to be talking to or someone embarrassing,” he said partially to himself. “But it can’t be too embarrassing if I don’t know them. Can’t be a girl you’d never pass on the opportunity to brag—” 

“Aye!” Kon protested, shooting his head up and then immediately back down when he realized his mistake. Luckily, Jon was no longer scrutinizing him. Instead, he was gazing off into the living room, a look of deep contemplation on his face. 

“Okay, definitely someone you’re not supposed to be talking to then,” he continued, unperturbed by Kon’s outburst. “Who are you not supposed to talk to?” he asked Ma and Pa’s empty living room. 

Kon watched him from his peripheral. 

With a jolt, Jon turns back to Kon with a wicked smile spread across his face. Shit. 

“It’s the guy, isn’t it?" Jon said.

Kon rolled his eyes. “Great detective work, Boy Genius. That’s real specific.”

Jon pouted. ”Y’know, the guy? The one with the blog you had to message to get that post taken down.”

“How could you possibly have known that?” Kon spoke in a hissed whisper.

“That means I was right?” The puppy dog eyes were back.

“Answer my question first.”

Jon shot him a scathing look, that he could've only inherited from Lois. “He’s the only new person you’ve spoken to in the last month. Also, I know all of your other friends.”

“You make it sound like I don’t have friends.”

“That’s not what I said,” Jon looked slightly hurt by the insinuation. “It’s a small community.” 

Kon waved him off. “And if it is that same guy, so what?”

Jon perked up. “Aha, so I was right!” He made a fist pump that had Kon rolling his eyes again. The kid scooted closer to Kon; eager eyes fixed on him in a way that was making him nervous. “Does he know about the whole superhero thing or are we undercover?”

Kon threw him an incredulous look. “Kind of hard to get him to take down the post without giving up the gig.”

Jon leaned back and made an “ehhh” sound. 

Kon’s phone came to his rescue, chiming to notify him of an incoming message.

Jon’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s him, isn’t it? Can I say something?” He lunged for Kon’s phone at the same time Kon narrowly dodged, holding it just out of reach. He fixed Jon with his worst glare, but it rolled off Jon like water off a duck’s back. “You’re no fun.”

Kon cocked an eyebrow. “What would you even say?”

“Dunno, I didn’t get that far,” Jon laughed. “But your reaction was worth it.”

Kon looked his pseudo-brother, sort-of-nephew, up and down, before sighing. “Come here.”

This threw Jon off. “What—”

Kon grabbed him by the shoulder tugging him in. “Just come here.”

It took him raising the phone with the camera in selfie mode for Jon to understand. Kon watched the grin grow across his face through the camera, the dimples he had inherited from Clark making themselves known— a matching set adorning Kon's face. Kon snapped a quick photo. Jon’s smile and his own smirk were reflected back. From this picture alone no one would guess that they weren’t brothers. 

With one last check, he sent it off and tried not to overthink it.

Kon: Excuse my brother, he wanted to be included  

He didn’t have to wait long for Bernie’s response.

Bernie: Omg you guys are so cute!

Bernie: I didn’t know you had a brother.

Bernie: Wait, let me guess. It’s complicated.

Jon tugged on his arm before he could respond. “What’s he saying?”

“He said you look annoying.”

“Liar.” Jon shot him an unimpressed look. “What did he actually say?” 

“He said we look cute,” Kon said, trying to keep his tone neutral. 

Jon snorted and mumbled something that sounded remarkably close to dork.

“Okay, enough of that.” Kon pushed him away, half-heartedly. “You had your fun. Don’t you have homework to do or something?”

“Don’t you have homework to do?” Jon mimicked his voice but got up from the couch anyway. He made for the kitchen.

Just as Jon was about to exit, Kon called over his shoulder. “Maybe don’t tell your dad about this.”

“Whatever, I won’t tell him about your secret civilian boyfriend.”

Kon spun around in his seat. “Who said anything about a boyfriend?” but Jon had already left the room. 

 

---

 

Bernard stared at the photo wall in Tim’s room. It wasn’t the first time he had seen it, but it was the first time he had taken the time to examine it. From beyond the bedroom, Bernard could hear Tim banging around in the kitchen as he attempted to do something that resembled cooking. Tim was a truly awful chef, but the gesture still made Bernard swoon.

More importantly it gave him some uninterrupted time to pick apart the web that was Tim Drake’s life.

In his hand, he held his phone, open to the chat with Kon from yesterday. The picture of him and his brother shone like a beacon in the dimly lit room. 

He had been pretty shocked when the photo had first come through. Superboy— Kon had looked quite different dressed down in a hoodie and curly hair sticking up in places. He hadn't been lying when he said they looked cute. If anything, he had been underselling it. The boy in the picture, Kon’s alleged brother, was adorable. Kon had agreed their relationship was complicated but from the untrained eyes, they looked like siblings. The resemblance alone was uncanny. 

But more importantly, he now had a picture of Superboy out of uniform. 

See the thing was, Bernard had been about seventy-five percent sure Tim was Robin— eighty percent on a good day— but never fully sure. Armed with picture in hand he had his potentially damning evidence.

He glanced back at the door. It had only been gone a few minutes. He had told Tim he was using the restroom, which meant he had maybe fifteen minutes tops before Tim noticed his absence. He refocused himself, attention snapping back to the photo wall. 

Tim didn’t speak of his friends very often. It had been a running joke between them both in school and the first few months of their relationship, that Stephanie was made up. He thought that maybe after he had met her, he’d get to hear more about the rest of his friends but no dice. Tim remained tight-lipped. Still, if the wall was anything to go off of Tim was very close with these strangers. 

Bernard scanned the wall. Most of the pictures were of him and his family, faces he only recognized from television and magazine covers, another oddity within itself. Tucked in the corner he caught a glimpse of a face he hadn’t seen in years. Tim sat next to Dana, trying to keep a respectable distance, but losing the battle. He smiled at the picture; despite the way her face made him squirm. He prayed Tim forgot the comments he had made about her in their youth, though knowing Tim, he hadn't. 

There were also plenty of faces that he didn’t recognize; a man with a stark white streak, several blonde girls that were distinctly not Stephanie, and a redhead. 

And then there he was. 

Bernard raised his phone to the picture to compare, but it was unnecessary. This was undoubtedly Kon. 

Bernard dropped his phone, cursing under his breath at the muffled thud it made as it hit the carpeted floor. He scrambled to collect it and then stood completely still, waiting for Tim to call out, but no call came. Timidly he turned back to the wall. 

He reached out to trace the photo. This was concrete evidence. This could only be Young Justice. 

Using the light from his phone he took a closer look. If Tim was Robin and Kon Superboy, then through the process of elimination the redhead must be Impulse. Bernard wasn’t well quainted with Speedsters, but it seemed to line up with what little he knew of them. The two mysterious blonde girls had him stumped. He knew one must be Green Arrow’s protege and the other connected to Wonder Woman, but dressed down, they were anybody’s guess. 

He drew back from the photo to scan the rest of the wall. Without the photo Kon had provided, the wall would have been totally innocuous. It was honestly impressive how well it managed to hide in plain sight. 

His eyes caught on a picture Tim had assumedly taken— seeing as he was not featured in it— of a laughing Richard Grayson alongside a smiling Bruce Wayne, as a young Damian Wayne sat between them crossed-armed. To Bruce’s right perched a young dark-haired woman that he didn’t recognize but assumed from context must be Tim’s sister, Cassandra. To Richard’s left sat the commissioner’s daughter laughing alongside him; Bernard did vaguely remember Tim mentioning that the Gordons were family friends. All of them were dressed in horrendous sweaters, each designed to match or perhaps clash with the wearer. Only Damian seemed to be perturbed by this. All in all, it was a cute candid shot. 

Bernard wondered if they knew about Tim’s little “hobby.” Jack and Dana hadn’t, that Bernard was sure of. Unless—

Bernard shook his head. That would be ridiculous. He looked at the picture again. No, that would be almost too obvious. He squinted. Richard Grayson did have the body type, but he could also just be into fitness, that was normal. Maybe they were all really into fitness. 

Bernard flopped down on Tim’s bed. This was absurd. He was being crazy. It’s not like the Bats of Gotham were all related, but once the thought had nestled into his brain, he couldn’t shake it. He ran (his understanding of) the timeline back in his mind.

Richard, the famous orphan of the renowned trapeze artists. His hands shook as he unlocked his phone. He felt gross as he searched for the year of the Flying Graysons’ accident. The sick feeling only grew when he noted that the year they died was a mere year before the first Robin appeared. The first Robin, now commonly theorized to be the current vigilante Nightwing of Blüdhaven, the city Tim mentioned Richard currently lived in.

He did another quick search.

“Billionaire Bruce Wayne’s Second Son Jason Todd Dead at 15” read the top article published the year the second Robin disappeared. 

Tim being the third Robin fit seamlessly into this timeline. 

He did a third search, saving a picture of the youngest Wayne. He scrolled back to his camera roll, pulling up the picture he had found on the birdwatcher's forum of the newest Robin. It was hard to tell based on stature alone, but it was alarming how plausible it all was. 

Little was known of the current Batgirl. She was an enigma to the community, much like Cassandra Cain herself.

The theory was certainly sound, but it fell apart with one very key component; the Batman himself.

He stared across the room at the family photo fastened innocently to the wall. Bruce Wayne’s face smiled back.

There was no way Bruce Wayne could be Batman. The man was far too lovable, too clumsy, too public, too human to ever be Gotham’s knight. Bernard felt a twinge of pity for him. Was he aware of any of this? No that’s impossible he couldn’t. He didn’t even run his own company. 

Still, the thought nagged at him. It was the only missing piece, the only thing that made any sense. Bruce Wayne had to at least be connected to it somehow, the correlation between his intervention and the appearance of brightly clad superheroes was just too strong. Maybe he financed Batman. Someone had to pay for all the fancy toys. Bernard was somewhat aware that Mr. Wayne wasn’t nearly as dumb as the press presented him, not if the stories Tim told him about his adoptive father held any truth. 

Could Bruce Wayne really be Batman?

No sooner had the thought settled in Bernard’s mind had its course been halted. 

“Bern?” Tim’s voice came from the kitchen. “You alright back there?”

“Shit,” Bernard said quietly into the darkness of Tim’s bedroom. He popped his head out of the door, raising his voice so as to be heard over the sounds of cooking. “Don’t worry, I’m alright.”

Bernard padded his way to the kitchen, putting on his game face, that even Tim had yet to see through. It was times like these that Bernard felt grateful for his lifetime of lying to his parents. 

“Sorry, I was admiring your photo wall,” Bernard admitted. All great liars knew that half-truths were the most convincing lies. 

Tim tensed just slightly. Bernard pretended not to notice. “Oh? See anything interesting?”

Bernard came up behind Tim, wrapping his arms around his waist loosely. He hoped the gesture read as comforting. Tim was finicky with physical touch. Tonight he must have calculated correctly because Tim instantly relaxed into his grasp. 

“I forget how good of a photographer you are,” Bernard spoke into the space between his partner’s neck and shoulder.

“Keep kissing ass and I might be persuaded to ignore the faces you make during dinner.”

Bernard pulled back to let out a snort. "Is that what you thought I was doing?”

“The timing is awfully convenient,” Tim bit back without any real venom. 

Bernard placed a light kiss behind Tim’s ear, steeling himself to take a chance. “I was just thinking about how intimidating it’ll be when I eventually meet your family.”

Tim hummed as he stirred the— likely overcooked— pasta. “They can be a lot, but no worse than me meeting your parents.” A shiver ran up Tim’s spine. “They hate me.”

“They hate everyone,” Bernard chuckled. “They barely tolerate me.”

Tim didn’t laugh. He turned around in Bernard’s grasp, a small crease between his brows. “Your parents love you.”

Bernard let go of Tim, with a sigh. They had been over this. “Like and love aren’t the same thing.”

Tim looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he leaned forward, pulling Bernard in for a kiss. It started chaste, but then someone opened up and suddenly it was far less chaste. Tim’s lips were chapped, a factor that shouldn’t be appealing at all, but to Bernard it was grounding. It was a reminder that this was real, and he was allowed to have this. So what if his boyfriend was holding onto a massive secret? He had his reasons and for now, this was enough. 

Bernard had spent most of his life unseen. He had made peace with this a long time ago. He had learned to use it to his advantage, but Tim saw through it all. Tim saw him and maybe one day Bernard could let Tim know just how much he saw him too. 

The smell of something burning drew them out of their daze. 

“Shit, the pasta!” Tim spun around, forcing Bernard to let go in the process.

Bernard laughed out loud, trying to muffle it behind his hand unsuccessfully. “You’ll get it one day.” 

“Fuck off and get me the list of take-out numbers.”

 

---

 

Tim was embarrassed to admit that it took him a whole two weeks since their last group hangout to realize he hadn’t heard from Kon. 

His initial reaction was annoyance. Kon had been acting weird ever since he had announced his relationship. He wanted to stay mad at his best friend, to write it off as Kon’s weird hangups with masculinity, but even through the fog of irritation, he knew that was unfair to Kon. It was far more likely that he was upset that his alleged best friend had kept something from him. Tim was painfully aware of how much Kon hated being left in the dark. 

Things changed when Kon came back. They had changed. Things were no longer so intuitive. The space between them didn’t click together as smoothly, like shards of a broken vase glued back together, never as seamless as they had once been, the cracks forever present. Still, the fact remained; Kon knew Tim and Tim knew Kon. 

Kon was probably processing his hurt, and the odd quietness was his silent mercy. He hadn’t blown up. It was recognition of the significance of that moment for Tim. He had shelved his hurt because he knew how much Tim hated it when things spiraled out of his control. These were good things. It meant the counseling was working. It meant their relationship was more than just salvageable. 

Tim huffed. All of this was true, but it didn’t stop the simmering annoyance. He was reluctant to admit that a petty part of him had wanted Kon to react, to have some tangible proof that this weird tension between them wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. How selfish was he to crave jealousy? 

Tim picked at a hangnail on the side of his thumb, his stared, unseeing at the dark phone screen. He was being ridiculous with this one-sided feud. He should just call Kon. He glanced at the time. It was late, past dinner— which Tim hadn’t eaten yet— Kon would likely be in his room working on his homework. Maybe Tim could even offer to help, pretend as if he had somehow planned this, instead of admitting the embarrassing truth that he just wanted to talk to his friend. 

Shards meant tacky excuses as glue. 

Tim’s gaze came back into focus landing on his phone. He picked it up and easily maneuvered to Kon’s contact. Forcing himself not to think about it too hard he pressed the call button. Friends called each other without word ending motives. This was normal. They could be normal. The phone rang out into the still room as if everything was waiting on bated breath. 

The phone rang for so long that when the dialing sound cut off, he almost mistook Kon’s answering “hey” to be the beginning of his voicemail.

Kon’s voice came a second time before Tim reacted. 

“Rob?” Kon sounded vaguely concerned.

Tim raced to snatch up the phone. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You need something?” 

Tim’s heart was racing in his chest. He hadn’t thought this through at all. Why was this so difficult? 

“Do I always have to need something?” Tim attempted to feign casualness.

Kon’s incredulous tone came through clear. “Well, it’s nine-thirty on a Wednesday and you don’t usually call unless you really need something.”

“Not true, we’ve talked on the phone for fun before.”

“Sure, when I call.” Kon had him there. Tim must have taken too long to respond because Kon continued. “So, what do you need?”

“I— uh, I called to ask how the studying was going? I know you hate this, and I got my GED not too long ago— Bruce made me,” he was rambling this was bad. “I just thought since I have mine maybe I could help.”

The line was dead silent.

“Only if you want, of course,” Tim tacked on.

The line remained quiet. 

Tim was about to check if Kon was still there when he finally broke the silence.

“Are you okay? This isn’t like a secret code or something?” Kon's tone was suspicious. 

“What? Why would it be a code—”

“'Cause if so I’m gonna need a bigger hint. Blink twice if you’re in danger. Wait, wrong thing. I don’t know Morse Code, but beep once for yes, do a Batman impression for no.”

“Conner, I’m not in danger.”

“I don’t know. I’m not hearing any impressions.”

“I’m not doing any of that.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Is it so hard to believe I just called to… call?”

The line went quiet again. Tim could hear the sound of Kon shifting.

“You usually text,” Kon finally said. 

Tim sighed. It looked like he might have to be honest. “I just realized we haven’t talked in a while.”

“You’re busy. I’m busy. It’s fine, Rob. Besides we just saw each other a couple weekends ago.”

“Yes, but I mean,” Tim paused, unsure of his phrasing. “We used to talk more,” he finished lamely. 

Kon shifted again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

A thought occurred to Tim and before he could think it through it slipped out. “Are you free sometime this week?”

“Like to hang out?”

Tim nodded even though Kon couldn’t see it. 

“Pa has me helping with harvest all this week.” Tim tried not to wilt. “But I should be free Friday afternoon.” 

Tim tried not to sound too eager. “Cool, that works—” Tim cut himself off, his stomach sinking. “Shit, I forgot Friday is date night, are you by any chance free Saturday?”

Kon didn’t answer right away, but when he did his tone sounded slightly off. “I can probably finagle something.”

Tim arched an eyebrow. “Finagle?”

“Shut up.” Kon’s tone was back to normal.

“I take it Clark’s been hanging around more.”

“Yeah, he’s been very persistent lately,” Kon sounded exasperated, but Tim knew better. 

“Glad he’s finally making an actual effort.” Tim glanced at the time. It was quickly approaching ten o'clock. He needed to eat before patrol. “Look, I don’t want to keep you. Sounds like you have an early morning tomorrow.”

“Calling randomly then leaving abruptly. Smooth Rob. Real smooth.”

“Goodnight, Kon.”

“Night.” 

As soon as the call was ended Tim allowed himself to slump forward, forehead hitting his desk slightly harder than he intended. He groaned. That had been rough. Why now was it suddenly so hard to be a good friend? A thought pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. 

Had he ever been a good friend? 

 

---

 

Bernard wanted to go back in time and strangle the version of himself that thought that double majoring in Physics and Biology was a good idea. It wasn’t worth the singular month his parents had been remotely tolerable. He was two years deep, too far gone to pull out. He’d never hear the end of it from his parents. 

He glared at the sprawled notes spread across his open textbook. God, the things he would give to be doing anything else right now. 

As if summoned, his phone began vibrating. Bernard jumped, head whipping around to face the offending device that he had set to charge on his nightstand, across the room purposely out of reach. He glanced at the digital clock situated next to the phone. Ten-fifteen it blinked at him. 

Who was calling him at ten-fifteen on a Wednesday?

Bernard stood, making his way across the room in two strides. His hand stalled mid-air as he reached for the device. The screen was lit up, though there was no picture attached. At the top, in bright white text read “Kon.” 

The phone let out another wave of vibrations, startling Bernard out of his stupor. He was answering before he could even register that it was set to Facetime.

A man’s voice came through, rich and warm, but still undeniably young. “Cassie, you’ll never believe the shit Rob just pulled.” 

Bernard scrambled to adjust the phone to point it towards himself. His first attempt to tilt it upright failed, as it was still connected to the charger. Luckily it seemed that Kon hadn’t noticed, too consumed in his rant. Bernard tugged the charger out of the port with a little too much force in his haste. He leaned the phone against the lamp, awkwardly kneeling in front of his nightstand. 

Kon was dressed down in a worn t-shirt with a faded logo that was mostly covered by his crossed arms. His gaze was fixed on something beyond the phone in his room. He looked almost identical to the boy in Tim’s photo, the scruff on his jawline being the only real differential feature.

“Honestly, he refuses to talk to me then—” 

Bernard nervously cut him off. “I think you might have dialed the wrong number.”

This got Kon’s attention. His gaze snapped to the camera. For a second Bernard was frozen in place, pierced by the intensity of his eyes. 

Kon uncrossed his arms, sitting up to squint at the screen, confusion evident. “Bernie?”

Hey,” Bernard said with a little wave. 

“Shit, my bad. I meant to call—” He cut himself off, eyes falling away from Bernard, thinking over his words. His exact emotions were shockingly easy to discern. After a moment he looked back to the camera. “Y’know what fuck it. It’s not like this is classified information.” The young hero settled back into his chair. “You seem like you give good advice, maybe you can actually help me.”

Bernard blinked. “Uh, sure I guess.”

As if a switch had been flipped Kon resumed his rant. “So, I have this friend, right?”

Bernard nodded, unsure if Kon was aware of his earlier slip-up. There was no need to refer to Robin as “his friend,” the cat was already out of the bag, though Bernard was not eager to correct him. Instead, he simply let him continue. If Kon wanted him to be oblivious then he would be oblivious. He was great at pretending. And really what was one more thing to add to the list of things he wasn’t supposed to know about? Besides if this was about Tim— as he suspected it was— he was way more equipped for this conversation than Kon knew.

“He hasn’t been talking to me,” he paused. “Well, not like he used to at least.”

“What do mean?” Bernard tried to keep his tone measured to cover how much his curiosity was well and truly peaked.

Kon rocked back in his chair. “Okay, like he’ll talk to me but it’s as if he’s saying nothing. Y’know?”

Bernard knew all too well. 

“Sounds frustrating,” Bernard said instead. 

“Damn right, it is!” Kon flailed in his seat, before settling back down into a slump. “I don’t know how to get him to knock it off.”

“I assume something specific must have happened tonight.”

“You could say that,” Kon snorted, flipping a stray curl out of his face. "He randomly called me tonight. And it’s already weird that he’s calling, ‘cause he never calls.”

Bernard nodded but Kon didn’t seem to be paying attention. “So he’s being all weird, weirder than normal I mean— he’s sorta a strange guy.” Bernard bit down on his lip to stifle a laugh. “And he’s being all cagey, even though he was the one who called me. Whatever. Basically, he was looking for an excuse to hang out, which fine, no problem. He picked the most inconvenient time of the year, but I’ve always made time for him before, dunno why he thinks I won’t now?”

As Kon went off on a tangent, Bernard’s mind began to wander. This whole moment was surreal. Superboy was talking to him, actually talking to him. He wasn’t just a faceless text bubble. He was on Bernard’s phone, seemingly in a normal bedroom, in mundane clothing, talking about petty friend drama. And Bernard was still kneeling on his floor. He shifted slightly to alleviate the discomfort in his knees but didn't dare move any further out of fear of ruining the moment. Something about it still felt fragile, regardless of how many weeks they had been chatting back and forth. So Bernard remained on the floor, hyper-conscious that he was in his faded Nightwing hoodie and boxers. 

It struck him in that odd little moment how average this exchange was, how average Superboy was. Well, maybe average wasn’t quite the word for it. Kon’s build was broad, the fabric of his shirt spread snugly over wide shoulders. His skin was naturally tanned; the type of way people spent hundreds trying to achieve. His hair consisted of unruly curls that repeatedly fell into his face, and patchy— Bernard hesitated to call it a beard— facial hair that lined his jaw, becoming denser at the chin. The outlier were his eyes; a stark, vibrant blue that almost leaned green in the low lighting, so unlike Tim’s pale blue. They were unearthly, or maybe Bernard was just biased because he knew that Kon wasn’t altogether human, no matter how much he looked the part. 

Logically Bernard had known that Superboy was probably just another person, but as he sat on his floor watching Kon rant about a shared friend (even if he didn’t realize it) that the reality of Kon’s normalcy hit him. The realization made them feel small in the grand scheme. It came as a comfort to think of this kid he had (conjunctionally) idolized, shared in this smallness. That despite the vastness of their differences they still had this, whatever this was.

Because Superboy was just a person. 

“You’re blonder than I expected.” Kon’s voice ripped Bernard from his thoughts. He tried not to flinch when he found those stark blue eyes fixed on him. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re hair. Do you like bleach it or something?”

Instinctually Bernard raised a hand to his hair, increasingly self-conscious of the fact that he had yet to shower. “Uh, no bleach. Were you expecting something else?”

Kon shrugged. “Not really. Didn’t really have a picture in mind. I just realized this is the first time—” He shook his head. “I guess I was picturing someone nerdier.”

“Wow, I’ll have you know that I’m plenty nerdy, in both senses of the term.”

“Is that right?” Kon smirked. “You’re pretty fit for a nerd.”

“Nerds can be concerned about fitness,” Bernard sniffed, fighting a smile. 

“I didn’t go to high school, but I’m pretty sure that goes against the nerd code or something.” 

“Well, you can take it up with the nerd police then. But be sure to bring up my double major and two hundred hours logged in Elden Ring.” Bernard purposely left out the fact that the origin of his interest in fitness was tied to Robin. It wasn’t worth winning a pointless argument. 

“Right and can’t forget ‘bout your nerd blog.”

“Naturally. Glad you understand.”

The pair laughed together and with it the last of the tension evaporated. Bernard’s knees gave a twinge to remind him he was still very much on the floor. 

“Hold on,” Bernard spoke as he stood grabbing his phone and situating himself back at his desk. He closed his textbook to prop his phone against. “There we go. Sorry, what were you saying about your friend?”

Something like recognition flashed across Kon’s face. “Right, yeah, it’s just— does he not trust us anymore? He’s been fully dating this guy for a while now and if our friend hadn’t weaseled it out of him, would he have even told us?”

Bernard tensed. So maybe he had missed more of this story than he thought.

Kon looked away. “Would he have told me?”

Bernard steadied himself. “He probably had his own reasons, but I’m sure he would’ve told all of you soon.”

Kon sighed rather dramatically. “Sure, but we used to tell each other practically everything and now it’s like he can’t even tell me when he’s seeing someone. Was he afraid I was gonna judge him over the whole “it being a man thing?” He began to curl in on himself. “He knows I wouldn’t care. He better know because we’re gonna have other issues if he thinks I’m some sort of fucking bigoted shithead. I mean I do care, just not like that.” Kon let out a loud groan, burying his head in his hands. No sooner had his head disappeared behind his hands did it pop back up. “Wait, you're not a bigoted shithead, are you?”

Bernard snorted. “I'd like to think I'm not.” 

Kon’s head returned to his hands. The melodrama on this guy. 

Bernard mustered up his best impression of an impartial party. “Well, sexuality can be a hard thing to face. If you’re really as close as you say, he was probably just working his way up to it. It might not have even been about you specifically.” He hadn’t planned to tack on that last part, but it was out there now, for better or for worse.

“Fuck, I’m making this about myself, aren’t I?” Kon’s voice came out muffled through his hands. 

Bernard made an indecisive noise. “Not exactly. A friend not telling you something big can feel deceitful. You’re not wrong for feeling hurt. I think it would be best if you just told him this yourself though.”

Kon dropped his hands. “I can’t do that. Trust me.”

Bernard frowned. “Why not?”

“You don’t know our weird history with dating,” Kon said as he began to fiddle with a pencil on his desk.

Bernard’s heart rate spiked. “Did you two date at some point?”

Kon practically jumped. “No, not like— Fuck I see how that sounds. We just— He kissed my ex-girlfriend, while I was— shit. This is hard to explain. It’s complicated. He’s not a bad guy.”

Another complication. Bernard was hanging onto every word, an internal eyebrow raised at Kon’s reaction. Were they talking about Tim right now? He did say Rob. That could be any of the Robins. Maybe Rob really was someone’s civilian name? Or maybe this was ten times messier than Bernard knew? God, he and Tim were going to have a long conversation about this when he finally got over himself. 

“Sounds like it,” Bernard said neutrally. 

Kon waved off the comment. “Whatever, point is dating isn’t the kind of thing we talk about anymore.”

“And you wonder why he didn’t tell you,” Bernard mumbled under his breath.

“Aye, I heard that.” Kon’s arms were back across his chest, in a way that reminded Bernard of a petulant child. “Words hurt, Bernie.”

“Wasn’t trying to hide it,” Bernard said shooting Kon his best customer service smile. 

It had the intended effect because Kon laughed. “You’re bold, Blondie. I like that ‘bout you.” 

Bernard faltered, the quip dying on his tongue instantly. “Thanks?”

“Most fans don’t have the balls to say jack shit to my face,” Kon said, leaning back in his chair.

“Technically, I’m more of a Robin fan.” 

Kon jerked forward, gesturing toward the screen. “See that’s what I mean. I lowkey expected some starstruck creep, but you’re only a lil’ creepy, which is par for the course in my circle. Plus, you’re witty.”

Bernard could feel the heat radiating off his face, but he fought past it. “Thanks, I've been thinking about doing stand-up.” Sarcasm oozed from his words.

Kon barked out a laugh. “Don’t quit your day job.” 

“You wound me. What happened to my alleged wit?”

“I take it back. Stick to your nerd guns.” Kon chuckled lightly as his own joke, resuming his pencil fiddling. “So, what’s Elden Ring? That like a game?”

Bernard blinked at the abrupt subject change. “Yeah, it’s a fantasy RPG. Why? You into gaming?”

“Just curious. Ma says video games are a waste of time, so I don’t get to play much, except when I go over to Bart’s. He has a massive collection.” 

Bernard filed that name away next to Cassie. “What do you play with him?”

“Mario Kart mostly, but it’s not really fun ‘cause he’s too fucking good,” Kon pouted. Superboy was honest to God pouting. Bernard had to fight the urge to take a screenshot.

“I take it you’re interested?” Bernard said conversationally. 

Kon shrugged, but his interest was thinly veiled. “Sure.”

“Not every game needs a console. Do you want recommendations? I’d be happy to give you a list.”

Kon’s eyes lit up. “Really?” 

“What else are nerds for?” Bernard flashed Kon a real smile this time. 

They spent the rest of the call discussing games. By the time they went their separate ways, it was well past eleven. Even after the phone had gone to sleep, Bernard remained seated at his desk staring into the black screen. His reflection stared back. Not for the first time this month the thought occurred to him: What the hell had he gotten himself into? But tonight, a new thought had arisen along side it. 

How was he going to get out of this with his dignity in tack?

Notes:

Edit: I was rereading the Tim Drake Robin run and I forgot Bernard has met Kate and Babs bc they took them out to celebrate their coming out but for the sake of Tim’s arc in this fic I have (unintentionally) retconned that. I mostly just wanted to emphasize the significance of Steph in Tim’s life and his aversion to letting people in.

I should also note that in canon when Bernard meets Batman he’s sorta startled that he looks human and so I did go back to subtly edit his detective scene to try and reflect that detail. But I do think that if he knows Robin is human then he wouldn’t be /as/ shocked to find out Batman is too.

I also noticed from Bernard’s original introduction that he hates being called Bernie. I’m not really using the og characterization in this because it doesn’t at all fit with his current characterization but I do like to think he still hates being called Bernie and is only allowing it bc Kon is a celebrity. On that same page he also calls Tim “Timmy” to which Tim corrects him and I absolutely think Bernard still calls him Timmy when he’s teasing him.

I like to think that when it comes to pop culture Kon is actually kind of limited. Like the Cadmus scientist filled his mind with all this trivia that they thought was significant but it's all dated, so now he’s out here bringing up 80's references to a millennial/gen z audience, while simultaneously not knowing anything Jon references. Kon is sadly laughing at outdated memes.

As for the Elden Ring Cameo, I don't actually play ("I don't play World of Warcraft." "Butter's you said you're on your computer all the time." "Yeah but I'm playing Hello Kitty Island Adventure") ((pls someone understand this reference so I don't look stupid)) I just think Bernard would really like it. I know he's canonly into games, but I specifically think he's super into RPG's.

Anyways, as always thanks for reading!

Chapter 3: The one where Tim makes a bet

Summary:

Tim takes a risk, Bernard reflects on his life choices, and Kon makes a list.

Notes:

There is some implied sexual content just in case anyone is sensitive to that. Happy (early) Valentine's day!

“You look like shit,” was the first thing out of Steph’s mouth when Tim let himself into his apartment. She sat perched at his kitchen counter, an open take-out container in front of her. 

“Gee, thanks. You look great too,” Tim bit back. 

Steph ignored his tone. “I always do,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. He noted passively that it was getting long. 

Tim walked past her to unload his laptop case onto— what once had been— the dining table, that now served as a makeshift desk. He trekked into the kitchen from the table, once again sweeping past her, doing his best to ignore her gaze boring into his side. Tim opened his fridge, less out of a desire for food, but more out of an urge to do something with his hands. The shelves were fairly bare, but he continued to scan for anything that struck his fancy. Inevitably when nothing did, he sighed, closing it with a snap. Finally, he turned. 

“What do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Cass was busy,” Steph shrugged.

Tim let out a snort against his will. “Downgraded to second choice I see.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You were never first.” She jabbed her fork in his direction. “You’re closer to third, but your apartment is closer, and I've been temporarily banned from the Clocktower while Babs wraps up this case.” Steph used her free hand to make air quotes. “Apparently, I’m a ‘distraction.’”

“Maybe she just doesn’t want to read posts every ten seconds.” Tim shot her a look over his shoulder. 

“Rude,” Steph sniffed. “My sense of humor is impeccable. I hand-pick those posts.”

Tim turned to address her formally. “Are those my leftovers?”

Steph took a comically large bite of pad thai. “And if they are, what’s it to you?”

Tim tried to bite back his smile. Even broken up, he found himself endeared to her antics. Her presence persisted in its comfort, like a well-loved blanket. For a long time, he feared that he had lost Steph, that any semblance of their relationship had died alongside their romance. In some ways he had, but never in her entirety. 

At first Steph had needed space (or at least as much space as he could give her while still maintaining a working relationship), then it had been him who had avoided her. It had been a rough couple of months. During that time, he had felt her absence acutely, like a missing limb. Ironically, in the end, it took introducing Bernard and Steph to each other for their friendship to begin to resemble a fraction of what it once was. Another way in which Bernard had so easily rerouted Tim’s life for the better with his simple existence. 

“I was planning on having that for dinner,” Tim said, aiming for Alfred’s casual condescension. Based on the unimpressed look his ex-girlfriend shot him, he had fallen short. 

“I’ll replace it,” Steph spoke around the food in her mouth. 

Tim rolled his eyes, recognizing an empty gesture when he saw one. “Don’t bother, you’ll just owe me next time we're out.”

“You drive a high bargain.” Steph grinned at him. It was infectious. Tim could feel the tension from the day leaving his shoulders. Today had been mundane all things considered, other than the fact that Kon had yet to reach out to him since their awkward phone call. That had been three days ago. 

“You never answered my question.”

Tim arched an eyebrow. “You haven’t asked any questions.”

Steph made a flippant hand gesture. “Semantics. The question was implied. You’re overthinking something—” She put her hand up to silence him before he could interject. “I know that look. I know you. Also, you’re shit at applying concealer,” she tacked on. 

Tim raised a hand to his face subconsciously, before retching it away, settling his arms across his chest. The tension was back.

“Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Right,” she said, putting her fork down. Suddenly the full force of her attention was on him. “Can we skip this part?”

Tim blinked. “What—”

“The part where you mope and isolate yourself.” She closed the lid to the container. “You look like shit, " She repeated. "Why?” 

Tim glanced away. She had him pinned.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” 

Steph’s brow creased. “Sure, but in what way?”

Tim let out a long sigh, leaning on the island. “Like you’re only ever half of yourself at any given time and therefore you’re always lying?”

Steph hummed. “I used to. Not so much anymore.” She paused, looking like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. “I don’t know. I’ve lost most of my connections outside of this.” She gestured to the empty apartment, to herself, then Tim.

“But do you miss it?”

“What? Not jumping across roofs in spandex?”

“Not spandex,” Tim muttered under his breath.

Steph ignored him. “Sometimes, but this is my life. You guys are my family. I don’t regret it.”

Tim nodded to himself, refusing eye contact, keenly aware of Steph’s gaze fixed on him. 

Steph leaned forward, chin resting on her hands. “I take it this is about Bernard then?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, running a hand through his hair. “Mostly,” he said quieter. 

Steph shifted on her barstool; eyes still trained on him. She waited patiently for him to continue, letting the silence hang. When it was clear that he wasn't going to, Steph broke the stalemate, her sigh echoing throughout the apartment.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do here. I hate to side with Bruce, but he does have a point with this one. But I empathize and I wouldn’t say you’re wrong no matter what you choose.” She reached across the counter, lightly tugging on his arm. The contact forced him to meet her gaze. “There is more than one way to let him in.” 

She held him there for a moment before pulling back, effectively breaking the atmosphere. “Besides, he’s not stupid. I’d bet money he’s already got a sneaking suspicion.”

Tim snorted. “How much are you willing to put on that?”

“At least a few more of these,” she said, raising the take-out container. 

Tim scoffed. 

Steph reeled back in mock offence. “Hey, not all of us have double nepotism on our side.”

He rolled his eyes. “You act as if Bruce wouldn’t love to fund our every whim.”

She waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, how about the winner has to pay for take-out for a month?”

“Are you even over here enough for that to be worth it?” 

“Fine,” Steph huffed. “Then loser has to dress up as Discowing with photo evidence.”

“Not fair, that’s barely a punishment for you.”

Steph smirks. “Don’t hate me because I can pull off Camp.”

“Does it count as Camp if it was made with full sincerity?” 

“The fact that you have to ask is proving my point,” Steph said, only Tim wasn’t listening. Instead, he was glancing around the kitchen for inspiration. His eye caught on a crumbled Zesti can resting at the top of the recycling bin. 

“How’s this? If you win, I wear the stupid uniform, but if I win you have to take the fall for spilling Zesti all over Babs’ computer last month.” 

“Now who’s not playing fair?” Steph groaned. "It was your soda."

“And you’re the one who knocked it over.”

Steph leaned back, hand underneath her chin, face tight with contemplation. 

“Do we have a deal or not?” Tim asked, sticking out his hand.

Steph eyed it warily, before sighing dramatically. “Fuck it, yeah I’ll take that bet.” She took his hand and shook it firmly.

“Wait, we didn’t spit on it,” Steph exclaimed. “We have to redo it.” 

Tim quickly relinquished her hand. “I’m not going anywhere near your spitty hand.”

Steph laughed, seemingly letting the threat drop. She paused to take a bite, before speaking around the food in her mouth. 

“You said mostly about Bernard, so I take it the other half has to do with a certain Kryptonian.” Tim froze, but Steph continued, either oblivious or uncaring. “Kryptonian? Or pseudo-Kryptonian? Is it like an ethnicity thing or does it count as more of a nationality? He’s half-human right— wait if a human was born on Krypton, pre-planet blow up would they be considered Kryptonian or does it strictly refer to them as a species?” 

Tim stared at her dazed. 

Steph shook her head. “Sorry, off-topic.” She set down her fork, shoving the now empty takeout container away. “I know this is about Conner.” She raised a hand to silence his interjection for the second time in the last five minutes. “And don’t try to deflect. You’re far less mysterious than you think. There are only three people that get you in your head like this; Bruce, Dick, and Conner.” She counts them off on her hand. “If this were about Bruce, you would have been bitching to me the second you walked through the door and if it were about Dick, Cass would’ve already filled me in, which leaves Conner. So, spill.”

For a moment Tim continued to stare at her, jaw clenching and unclenching in silent speech. When he finally managed to find his words, his voice was meek. “Kryptonian refers to a species, meaning place of birth isn’t a factor in determining whether or not an individual is Kryptonian.”

Steph groaned again, louder this time. “I really shouldn’t have opened—” Steph waved her hands vaguely, “Whatever the Kryptonian equivalent of Pandora’s Box is?” 

“Kryptonians have a Pandora’s Box equivalent?” a familiar voice called from the entryway. 

Tim frowned. “Bernard?” He hadn’t heard the door open. He was starting to slip.

At the sound of his name, a mop of blonde beach waves popped through the kitchen door. 

“Hey, sorry didn’t mean to interrupt,” Bernard smiled sheepishly, giving a little wave in Steph’s direction. “Hello, Stephanie.” Steph waved back far more animatedly. 

Bernard made his way over to his partner, wrapping Tim in a loose embrace, kissing him lightly on the temple. Despite his surprise, Tim leaned in.

Tim wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth— especially not such a well-timed one— but the feeling that he was missing something important tugged at the corners of his mind. 

“Did we have plans for tonight?” His frown was rapidly deepening.

“No, no I was just in the neighborhood, thought I’d swing by. I brought a peace offering.” Bernard stepped away to hold up a plastic bag. 

“He’s a keeper, Timbo.” Steph cocked her head to grin at Tim, before addressing Bernard. “You have impeccable timing; we were just discussing dinner.”

“You literally just ate,” Tim snipped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, pushing the takeout container even further away. “Besides, it’s rude to decline free food.” 

Bernard laughed awkwardly. “Ah, well I hadn’t anticipated three people, but there should be enough.” 

“Come, get settled,” Steph said, patting the counter in front of the other empty barstools. “Oh wait first, would you be a dear and grab us some silverware?” 

With a small “no problem,” Bernard went to fetch their utensils. 

“Now we care about manners,” Tim grumbled.

As soon as Bernard's back was turned, Steph’s attention was locked on Tim, her expression stern. Silently she mouthed, “We’re not done here,” complete with a crude hand gesture. 

“So, what was this about a Kryptonian version of Pandora’s Box?" Bernard asked as he returned, forks and knives in hand. “Because I’ve been up and down the Krypton Wiki, and I have never heard of anything like that.”

Steph righted herself, demeanor shifting impressively fast, an innocent smile plastered across her face. “Sorry to disappoint Bernie, just a bad joke. I made the mistake of presenting Tim with a hypothetical.” 

“You asked! I was just answering your question,” Tim shot back, before addressing Bernard. “She asked if a human was born on Krypton, if that would make them Kryptonian, which, for the record, would not because it’s a species not a nationality.” 

“You make me sound stupid, and that still didn’t answer my original question,” Steph rolled her eyes. “If a Kryptonian and a human have a baby on Earth, what would they be considered?”

That was most certainly not her original question, but for the sake of discretion, Tim let it slide.

Before Tim could respond, Bernard piped up. “They’d be a hybrid, so I guess both? Neither? Something entirely new? And wouldn’t that be even more fascinating." His tone was thoughtful, excitement breaching for a moment before he caught himself. He coughed awkwardly, tampering it back down. The brief glimpse was enough to have Tim enraptured. “They wouldn’t be not Kryptonian, right?”

“See that’s how you answer someone,” Steph said, but Tim wasn’t listening. 

The rest of the night settled into a lively sort of peace. Conversation passed easily between the three of them. The first meeting between Steph and Bernard had been stiff as most first meetings tend to be, though remarkably pleasant considering the circumstances. These days they all got on fairly well. Between Steph’s loud spunk and Bernard’s quiet wit, their energy filled his apartment with the sounds of home. And if they had a tendency to gang up on him, he was happy to play the victim. 

But then the evening would end, and he would bid them both goodnight. It didn’t matter that he would see Steph mere hours later on patrol or that he had plans with Bernard in a few days. Neither quelled the emptiness.

He ignored both the feeling and Steph’s words. 

 

---

 

“Imp’s usually the only one I can talk to ‘bout these sorts of things. Pretty sure Rob plays, but he won’t tell me what, which is annoying as shit because it really can’t be that deep,” Kon was complaining.

Today Kon looked to be in some sort of barn, seated with something— Bernard couldn’t identify further than “machinery”— in between his thighs. He was greasing it or at least he had grease all over him. Between his faded band t-shirt, work jeans, and the smeared grease, he looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. Which would make Bernard the girl from the big city. Only Bernard wasn’t in the market for a romantic lead— he already had his, thank you very much. Still, Kon was undeniably easy on the eyes. That felt safe enough to admit. 

“Have you tried asking him directly?” Bernard inquired from the safety of his desk. His homework had been pushed to the side in favor of centering his propped-up phone. 

“No shit. Course I tried asking,” Kon said, momentarily halting his work to send Bernard a glare through the screen before continuing. “You try asking Rob a direct question and tell me how that goes.”

Preachin’ to the choir. Bernard laughed lightly.

“My bad, I forgot. Complications,” Bernard said, biting back a smirk. 

“Anyone ever told you that you’re a smart ass?” 

Bernard pretended to ponder. “Perhaps, I can’t seem to recall.”

“Aye, you’re doing it again!” Kon barked. 

Suddenly the sound of wood scraping against concrete emanated throughout the barn. Kon spun to address the noise. 

“Conner, Pa says to hurry up,” an unfamiliar voice called from out of frame. They sounded young. “He says it shouldn’t take all day to clean an engine.”

Internally Bernard raised an eyebrow at the name, cataloging it next to the others. 

“Tell him it’s only been an hour,” Kon snipped back. 

“Tell him yourself,” the voice said. The sound came again— the barn door Bernard realized, this time likely closing— and the voice got closer. “Wait, are you on the phone? No wonder you’re taking so long. Who is it? Is it Bart? Tell him he still owes me that Mario Kart rematch.” 

A young boy in a plain hoodie, ripped jeans and familiar curls came into frame. At the sight of Bernard— decidedly not this ‘Bart’ he kept hearing about— the boy stalled, blinking at the screen. 

“Oh hi, umm Not-Bart.” The boy gave a little wave, to which Bernard returned. Leaning into Kon’s space he spoke in a stage whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me it was your boyfriend?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Kon groaned loudly, throwing his head into his hands. The boy at least had the decency to look sheepish. 

“Well, he is a boy, who is also your friend,” the boy chirped, rearranging his face into a look of faux innocence. 

Kon chose to ignore that comment. He looked up from his hands, grease now smeared across his cheek. “Bernard, this is Jon. Jon, Bernard.” He gestured half-heartedly between the phone and the boy. The boy— Jon opened his mouth to speak but was swiftly cut off. “Cool, now we’re all acquainted. You can leave.” He glared at his brother, its effects greatly minimized by the grease.

Jon pointedly turned to the phone. “Nice to meet you. Conner’s been talking about you non-stop lately.”

“Jon—” Kon flailed, attention snapping between the phone and his brother, a wild look in his eye. “He’s lying.”

Bernard tried not to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek to hold it in. 

Jon continued unfazed. “Well, usually he just refers to you as ‘my friend,’ but still.”

“Okay, that's enough of that.” Kon gave his brother a hardy shove that looked like it should've knocked him flat on his ass, but the boy barely moved. “Don’t you have homework or other people to bother?” 

Jon pouted. “I finished already and everyone’s busy.” 

“Do I look like I'm not busy?” 

Jon shot his brother an unimpressed look. “If this was actually important Pa would’ve made you get off the phone fifteen minutes ago and besides, I really did think you were talking to Bart.” 

“Well, it’s not Bart, so you can leave. Bye—”

“Kon it’s fine, he can stay,” Bernard interrupted. Both siblings turned to him in equal levels of surprise, though their shared reaction quickly severed; the grin that spread across Jon’s face seemed to directly correlate to the horror creeping across Kon's. 

“I like him,” Jon chirped unperturbed. In response Kon groaned again, this time throwing his head back. Bernard snorted out a small laugh before he could smother it. 

He had spoken without thinking, controlled in the moment by the strong pull to meet anyone in Kon's life. His opportunity had presented itself on a silver platter, but now that he had it, he wasn't sure how to proceed. Bernard reached for any sort of question that wouldn’t seem too prying. Should he ask about school? What grade was he in? How old even was this kid? Was it polite to ask a kid’s age if they were older than ten?

Luckily for him, Jon took the initiative. 

“Conner says you like video games too. He was showing me some the other day, but Mom said they were too violent.” Jon rolled his eyes. Bernard thought back to the games he’d recommended to Kon and silently agreed with her, even if it was hypocritical. He had been up to worse at Jon's age. “So, I have to wait a few years before she said she’d consider it.”

“I wouldn’t want to go against your mom,” Bernard said. 

“Smart,” Kon interrupted. “His mom is not someone you want to go up against.”

Bernard had no idea what implication he was supposed to take from that. Considering Kon's connections, this woman could very well be extremely dangerous. How scared should he be? Bernard decided to not comment and silently heed the warning. Best not to make enemies of those closest to Superman.

He also noted Kon’s differentiation of Jon’s mother. Interesting. 

“What games do you like?” Bernard redirected. 

Jon’s eyes lit up as he launched into a very animated answer, Kon occasionally interjecting. The three of them continued like that for a while discussing safe subjects. The longer the conversation continued the less Kon looked put out, the tension in his shoulders dissipating with each tangent. The brothers still bickered, but Kon no longer fought to keep Jon out. By the end he was actively engaging him in the conversation. 

He found himself wondering if Kon was always this good with children or if this was isolated to his brother. Either way, he certainly wasn’t beating the Hallmark love interest allegations. He had always known Kon was attractive, noted it as a passive truth. But Kon was quickly encroaching into new territory. And as Bernard watched the back and forth between him and his brother, all lopsided grins and dimples, a new truth occurred to him.

Kon was endearing. And that was far more lethal.  

Bernard internally wrenched himself back, guilt sinking in his stomach. Sure, he felt secure enough in his relationship to admit when he found another man attractive. Maybe in another lifetime, he would’ve allowed, whatever this was, to blossom into something. In this lifetime he chalked the low fluttering in his gut up to residual idolization. Besides admitting Kon was good-looking was like admitting a Victoria’s Secret model was hot. (It was practically a requirement for capes.) The hiding, however, didn’t matter that it was tied to Tim’s own secrets, it all suddenly made Bernard feel… off. 

Kon’s voice tore him from his thoughts though he wasn’t addressing Bernard. 

“Ma’s calling you,” he said, poking Jon. 

“Yeah, I heard her,” Jon grumbled. Bernard hadn’t heard anything.

“Better go see what she wants,” Kon said smugly. 

Jon threw him a middle finger but moved out of frame towards the door. “Shut up and finish your own work before Pa realizes you haven’t been working for the past hour.”

“Damian’s been a bad influence on you,” Kon shot back. 

Something in Bernard caught on the name. He recognized it, had heard it recently but couldn't place where. The answer eluded him, just out of reach.

With a final shove of the door, they were alone again. Kon’s lazy smile turned back to Bernard, forcing him to rearrange his thoughts. 

“Sorry ‘bout Jon, he’s like a dog with a bone when he wants something,” Kon said. "He can get pretty hyper but he’s harmless.” He paused, before tacking on, “mostly.”

“It’s no problem. It was fun. Your bickering was entertaining," Bernard waved off Kon's concern.

"Good to know you enjoy my suffering,” Kon playfully sulked.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you ten-year-old me would’ve been very jealous to know you have a sibling?” Bernard offered.

“That checks out. You seem like an only child.” Bernard cocked his head, but didn't comment. “Although there’s not much to be jealous of, he and I didn't exactly grow up together."

“Cause of the age difference?” Bernard asked.

Kon didn't falter. “Nah, he just lives with his parents, but they decided it was best for me to stay with the grandparents,” he said as if that didn’t raise new questions. “Jon flies in a lot though.”

Well, that explained some things. Not exactly surprising given what he had already seen, but confirmation was always appreciated. 

“Guess that’s another practical benefit to superpowers,” Bernard mused. 

Kon flinched. “Shit, pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Little late for that.”

“Still,” Kon said. “I’m not supposed to be saying shit like that in civvies.” 

“Civvies?” Bernard snorted. “Is that what they’re calling non-skintight clothing these days?”

Kon’s eyes went wide. “Fuck. I’m so bad at this.”

“A bit, but it’s amusing.” Bernard smiled sheepishly. 

“You’re starting to sound like Rob,” Kon grumbled. Suddenly as if a light had gone off in his head, his tone changed. “Speaking of Rob.”

Bernard stilled.

Kon continued, “Remember how I told you about how he called asking to hang out?” 

Bernard nodded.

“So we got together last Saturday.” Bernard traced the timeline back in his head. He hadn’t been with Tim that day, although that wasn’t abnormal. 

“Oh, and how did that go?” Bernard asked cautiously. 

“Fine,” Kon said, but he was no longer making eye contact. “I don’t know.”

“What did you guys end up doing?” Bernard asked, trying to sound like someone with no stakes in this conversation beyond helping out a friend. 

Kon bristled and Bernard almost walked everything back, but then he began to speak. “We just watched this old show. He has it all on DVD and well I never—” He trailed off looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I never got to see the end.”

Bernard saw an opening to move away from this conversation. He too was vaguely uncomfortable. 

“What was the show?”

Kon visibly relaxed but still looked a bit timid. It was a strange look on him. “Wendy the Werewolf Stalker. It’s probably old news now, but it’s great. Rob used to tape all the new episodes as they came out so we could watch them as a group.”

“I totally forgot about that show,” Bernard mused. “It was really popular back in high school. I only caught a few episodes.” Bernard looked away. He was really outting himself here. “I was more into Paranormal, but there was a lot of crossover between the fans.”

Kon squinted. “That’s the one about the brothers, right?”

Bernard rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the one.” 

“Didn’t that one just end recently?” Kon asked, answering himself before Bernard could. “Yeah, I remember hearing ‘bout it online, 'cuz people hated the ending, or wait was that Game of Tomes?”

“Both,” Bernard deadpanned. “They were both bad.”

“Not Wendy though. Wendy was great all the way through.”

“To Paranormal’s credit it was decent until then,” Bernard said before amending, “Okay, well the quality varied but it was fun.” 

“Glowing review, Bernie.” Kon was back to being smug. “Maybe you should watch Wendy and see what real television looks like.”

“You say that like I haven’t seen any of it,” Bernard said. 

Kon shook his head. “Not just a few random episodes, I mean the full Wendy experience.”

"Right, just a small commitment,” Bernard teased.

“Exactly, you get it,” Kon shot back with a wide grin. Somehow the essence of his smirk still remained. They both devolved into giggles at the stupidity. The laughter faded into something quieter, the conversation coming to its natural conclusion.

Kon broke eye contact. “It’s getting late, and I really should finish this before Pa comes in here to yell at me.”  

Bernard hummed in agreement. “I have a lot of work to do as well.” He gestured to the neglected textbook in front of him. 

Bernard gave a small awkward wave— they hadn’t quite learned how to be comfortable around goodbyes. And then he hung up. 

Bernard sighed as he turned off his phone. He felt stir crazy but he had nothing to do beyond the homework he was supposed to have been working on. He closed the textbook with a snap, before stalking off to the kitchen. Upon entry he found his roommate hunched over the small island— sans girlfriend for once— working on his laptop. Neither bothered to offer a greeting. Bernard's parents would be appalled but frankly, he didn’t care at the moment. He made his way around him into the kitchen, only to glare at the unopened fridge.

Not for the first time Bernard felt irritation towards his boyfriend. Kon didn’t deserve to be ghosted. Bernard wasn’t trying to make assumptions but after a month of a continuous back and forth with Kon, it was clear he was isolated. He just seemed so earnest in his outreach for friendship. And maybe Bernard could empathize. Maybe he was lonely too, maybe he’d been lonely his whole life, maybe he cared more than he let on that the one person he was supposedly closest to was lying to him, and maybe he felt worse that he was lying right back.

He wanted to just be annoyed. It would make everything so much easier. This was Tim’s mess... that Bernard was actively aiding and abetting in. 

So, no Bernard wasn’t going to cut Kon off, but he needed to start considering the possibility that he’d have to force Tim’s hand a little here. He just needed to figure out how to do that. 

Bernard leaned forward, knocking his head against the cool plastic coating. The noise caused his roommate to jump but beyond that, he didn’t comment. 

He had no idea where to begin.

 

---

 

“So, who've you been texting?” Cassie asked. Kon had her on speaker phone. He lay sprawled across his bed, phone propped up precariously by his pillow, supporting the delicate balance that was the charger’s connection between the outlet and the charging port. 

Kon tried to sound nonchalant as he answered, “just a friend," but Cassie was harder to lie to than Jon. Although Jon had gotten it out of him fairly easily, so maybe he was just a bad liar. Not that he’d ever admit that. 

“I know all your friends.” He could tell Cassie was sending him one of her signature looks. From her cadence, it was probably the one she used when she thought she had to tread lightly. 

Kon rolled his eyes. He had been gearing up for this conversation but that didn’t make him any more prepared for it. “He’s a new friend.”

Cassie didn’t immediately respond, giving Kon false hope that she was feeling merciful today. He was not that lucky. 

“Where did you meet them?”

“The zoo,” Kon said, sarcasm thick on his tongue. He held his phone still as he adjusted. “Where does anyone our age meet anyone? Online.” He settled onto his back, phone placed beside his head.

“Was this mysterious friend the same person you were texting last movie night?” Kon could tell Cassie was choosing her words carefully and it was starting to piss him off. 

The pressure was building behind his temples. “What point are you tryin’ to make here?” 

Cassie hestitated. “It’s just I haven’t seen you this invested in someone since Tim.”

Kon frowned. He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say but it wasn’t that. “I’m not following.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re moving on and making new friends—”

Kon cut her off. “Hold on, now I know I’m missing something here. Moving on from what? Rob’s a friend, Bernie’s a friend. I don’t see how this is connected.”

Kon could picture the mildly constipated look she was probably making.

Finally, she spoke. “I don’t know how to put this delicately,” she trailed off.

Kon was properly annoyed at this point. “Then don’t. Say what you mean.”

“You and Tim aren’t exactly,” she paused searching for the word, “normal about each other.” 

Kon raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He wanted to be offended but honestly, it felt a bit validating hearing it out of someone else’s mouth. 

“I thought you were gonna blow a gasket when Tim told us he had been dating some guy for the past year,” she said, words rushed to give him no chance for a rebuttal. “But I’m proud that you didn’t and to be honest I would’ve understood. I was kinda hurt too. I guess I just always assumed that if Tim were ever to get his head out of his ass the first man he would ask out would be you.” She cringed as she finished her sentence. 

Kon’s head was spinning, and he felt vaguely hot. He was sure that if it were possible for him to be sweating at this moment his shirt would be soaked. 

“I like women,” Kon answered lamely.

Cassie’s tone was incredulous. “Yes, I think we’ve well established that. Yet you’ve also been texting— what was his name? Bernie— for the better half of three months. You do a shit job of muffling your laughter by the way.” 

“What are you implying here?” 

“I’m not implying, I’m stating.”

“Rob and I are friends.”

“Sure, and so were we before we dated,” Cassie sighed. “I’m not going to tell you what you are Conner, but I can tell you what I see and what I see is someone who is a little too unhappy that his best friend is dating someone else while simultaneously giggling over some mystery guy in his phone. I really thought you had met a girl based on how you were acting. Except it was throwing me because if that were the case, we would've all heard about it by now.” 

“I don’t giggle,” Kon huffed.

“Unbelievable,” Cassie said under her breath. “That’s what you take away from all that.”

“So, Bernie huh?” Her volume had returned to normal. “Side tangent: What kind of old man name is that? You sure you aren’t being catfished?” 

Kon threw his hands up. “I know right!” He sank back into the bed. “But nah, I’ve seen him, he's our age,” Kon said before correcting himself. “Well, he’s Tim’s age.” 

“Where’d you even find this guy?”

“Ah, so you remember that post that I had to get taken down?” Kon asked sheepishly.

“The creepy invasive photo that got Tim benched for a week?” Kon didn't care for her tone.

“Yeah, that’s the one. I had to message the guy about taking it down—”

“Conner,” Cassie said, her judgment evident.

Kon ignored her. “He ended up being cool about the whole thing. Plus,” he added, “It's not like he was the one who took the picture.”

“No, he just found and posted it,” Cassie said dryly. “Conner, you’ve got to see how that’s worse.”

“First of all, he apologized like a million times, and he hasn’t done anything like it since. I think I sorta rearranged his worldview or something. And two, Rob does way creepier things on the daily.”  

“No wonder you like this guy so much,” Cassie said under her breath again. 

“Y’know it doesn’t take super-hearing to hear you,” Kon grumbled.

“Tim is not a good gauge for what is and isn’t creepy,” she retorted, before inhaling, then exhaling deeply. “So, besides stalking, what does this guy do?”

“He’s in college,” Kon started slowly. “Double major, not sure what in, but he’s real smart. He likes gaming. That’s mostly what we talk about. He’s been giving me some recommendations.” Kon purposely left out the part about the Robin fan page. It probably wouldn’t help his case. 

Kon went quiet not knowing what else to add, but clearly, he was missing something because Cassie also remained quiet, awaiting something expectantly. After a stagnant pause she gave him a “go on” noise. 

“He’s blonde?” Kon offered weakly.

“And? What else?” Cassie urged. “You’ve been talking to him non-stop lately. That can’t be it.”

“What else is there to say? Jon likes him.”

“You let Jon meet him?” Cassie sounded offended. 

“I didn’t really “let” him. He barged in while I was on the phone—”

“Never mind,” Cassie cut him off. “I meant like is he dating anyone?”

“Oh.” Kon blinked. “I don’t know. It didn't come up.”

“Flirting for months and you don’t even know,” Cassie groaned. “What do you know?” 

Kon blinked again. “We haven’t been flirting and I just told you.”

“No, but like stuff about his life. You said he’s in college. What college does he go to? Does he have any pets? That sort of stuff.” 

“He’s private ‘bout those things, so I don’t ask.”

Cassie sighed. “On one hand, I want to respect the guy for keeping the mystery alive, but something tells me you just need to get better at inquiring about other people.”

“I’m not gonna grill the guy for his life story,” Kon huffed, but the seed had been planted. Cassie may have a point. Without even being privy to all their late-night calls about Kon’s various failings, she had somehow managed to hit the nail on the head. Kon racked his brain, trying to remember a time in which Bernard had shared the way he had. It drew attention to an insecurity he hadn’t known he had, but once he noticed, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Bernard seemed like a private person to Kon, but maybe he just hadn’t been asking the right questions.

Instead of admitting this, Kon covered his face with his arm. “Whatever. Can we change the subject?” 

The line went quiet for a moment, quiet enough that Kon was about to reach for his phone to check if the call was still going when Cassie piped up again. 

“What do you think Tim’s new boyfriend is like?” She asked. “Has he told you his name yet? He’s still refusing to tell me.” She sounded rather miffed by this.

“Anything other than that,” Kon gritted out. 

“You said anything.”

Kon opened his mouth to argue when an idea struck. 

He cleared his throat. “How are things with you and Cissie?” The words felt clunky in his mouth, as if he had just aged ten years and found himself trapped at a break room water cooler, but Cassie was successfully derailed.

“We’re doing great, thanks for asking but don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, already taking my advice,” she said. “Good. I’m very wise.”

Kon wasn’t sure about “wise,” but she might have a point here.

 

---

 

“What’s your favorite color?” Kon asked. He was perched in the loft of the barn away from prying eyes and ears— though he supposed Clark, Kara, and Jon could hear if they knew to listen, which they didn’t. His phone was steadied on a stray crate, a confused-looking Bernard on display.

“Green?” Bernard answered though he sounded unsure. 

What was there to be unsure about? It was a simple question. 

“Blue’s nice too, I guess,” he said, but Kon was already moving on to the next question. He had prepared a list; a list that was exceedingly normal and non-romantic because Cassie had only been half-right. He had entered today’s call with a mission, and he was determined to see it through. 

“Any hobbies?” Kon asked, before adding, “Outside of gaming and kissin’ Rob’s ass?” 

Bernard's ears went red, as he fidgeted in his seat. It was amusing and maybe a bit cute. The thought surprised Kon. He reeled himself back. 

Damn Cassie, getting in his head. He needed to focus!

Bernard’s voice brought him back. “I like cooking.” He sounded unsure about that too. 

Kon nodded. “And what about pets?” 

Bernard looked puzzled. “In general?”

“No, like do you have any?” Kon retorted. 

“My landlord doesn’t allow pets,” Bernard said awkwardly. 

This threw Kon slightly. Animals had been a somewhat permanent fixture in his life since he had found a stable home. “What about growing up? No family dog?” 

Bernard shook his head. “My parents aren’t keen on animals.”

“Your folks are weird. Everyone likes animals, even the demon brat.” Bernard looked like he had a comment, but Kon was already onto his next question. “You’re in college, right? What are you studying?” 

“Physics and Biology,” Bernard said this time with more conviction. 

Kon looked up from his list. “Didn’t peg you as a science guy.” 

“Science is fine,” Bernard shrugged.

“You don’t seem all that jazzed about it,” Kon remarked.

Bernard gave another shrug but didn’t elaborate.

“Right, uh,” Kon returned to his list. “Got any siblings? Wait no scratch that. You already said you didn’t. Ok, then next. Do you have a favorite movie?” 

The line went quiet long enough for Kon to look up. 

Bernard was fixing him with a weird look. “Is this some long con to figure out the answers to my security questions?” 

“What? No,” Kon blanched. “Why would you think that?”

Bernard looked unimpressed. “Let me guess the next question: my mother’s maiden name?" His tone was flat. "Kon, I can see the paper you're reading off of.” 

Kon lowered his list. So, maybe this wasn’t the best strategy. 

“I just sort of had the realization that you know all this stuff about me, and I don’t know anything about you." Kon avoided eye contact, trying his best to sound casual. "Thought I'd even the playing field."

Bernard’s expression softened. “And you thought an interrogation would go over well?”

“It was more of an informal interview,” Kon bit back. 

Bernard rolled his eyes, but he looked far more relaxed now. “Well, go on then. What else do you want to know, but I’m allowed to veto,” he tacked on.

Kon cautiously perked up. “Cool.” 

He returned to his list, scanning for where he had left off. He read the next question to himself. Favorite food?  He stared at it blankly. Suddenly his list felt trite and unsubstantial. Kon had always considered himself a sociable guy, but presently he found himself wondering when socializing had gotten so hard. 

Kon crumpled up the list, Bernard letting out an amused huff. Cassie may have had a point, but his typical strategy of barreling headfirst wasn't the move. What he wanted was for Bernard to open up to him. 

It shocked him how much he wanted that. He shoved the thought away. Best not to overthink it. 

Kon was used to all his dirty laundry being aired out alongside everyone else’s in the hero community. In contrast, this slow-paced thing had its benefits. 

"Forget it, lists are lame anyway." 

 

---

 

Bernard sat at the breakfast nook table of his childhood house, watching his mother as she puttered around the kitchen. The nook had been recently installed— a window seat added— something his mother had been very eager to show off in her own stoic way. It looked like something off the set of a cooking show, but Bernard was finding the seat to be surprisingly comfortable. 

“I assume school is going well.” His mother wasn’t looking at him, far too engrossed with the apple she was chopping. Her form was incorrect, not that he would ever dare to correct her.  

“It’s going alright,” Bernard said over the loud thuds of her knife. It wasn’t a lie per se, he was doing alright, sans the three missing assignments, pending finals, and all the time he spent procrastinating by talking to a guy he probably should’ve shut down after the first conversation. His mother would disagree adamantly with his definition of alright, but separation was the beauty of college. So, Bernard would say he was doing alright. Relatively.

“Just alright?” Her eyebrow was raised. “I hope the Drake's boy isn’t distracting you from your studies.”

Bernard pushed back the urge to bang his head on the table. “No, Mom. Tim and I are fine,” he said politely instead. 

She pushed the now chopped apples to the side, a pinched expression on her face. “I never cared for him.”

“You’ve mentioned it,” Bernard muttered. 

His mother either didn’t hear him or didn’t care because she carried on. “He's always lacked reliability. Takes after his father. Never trust a man that remarries that quickly.”

Bernard continued to hum in appeasement of his mother though he had long since checked out of the conversation. He didn’t come home often, not since he had moved out for college. But with the encroaching holidays, he felt himself pulled back, tethered by ill-placed nostalgia. He liked to think that he was no longer endowed to them, but there was a part of him that would forever crave that closeness. Still, Bernard upheld that he had some dignity left. He had not spoken to his father since the scene at the restaurant. 

Today the kitchen smelled of cinnamon and he allowed himself the small comfort of enjoying that. His mother continued to prattle on as she cooked, Bernard watching idly, holding his tongue. The sound of her voice melded into the noise of the kitchen. 

It was then that a light vibration against his leg interrupted his thoughts. He shifted in his seat, tugging his phone from his pocket. The lock screen lit up with a notification from Tim. He swiped up to read the message. 

Tim: i’m sorry to have to ask

Bernard’s heart sank. He was canceling their date tomorrow. Again.

Before he could respond a second text came through. 

Tim: dick can’t get off work in time to pick damian up, but he promised that he’d spend the weekend with him 

Tim: technically alfred could do it but it’s a huge pain to drive from bristol, to central gotham, then to blud, then back in friday traffic 

Tim: but apparently inconveniencing me is fine... whatever   

Tim: i know it sucks but would it be ok if we picked damian up and dropped him off at dick’s first?

The sinking feeling was quickly replaced by a much softer, warmer one. 

Bernard: Of course, it’s no problem. What’s a date without a third wheel? ;)

Tim: i'd actually rather my siblings didn't crash our dates 

Tim: but seriously you’re the best, have i ever told you that?

The warm feeling in his chest exploded like it was the first time all over again. 

Bernard: Hmmm, maybe, but you could stand to say it more. 

Tim: well, you’re the best, you have no idea

Bernard: I have some idea. 

Tim: you haven’t met him yet

Tim: he’s not my first choice for your first sibling meet and greet

Tim: he’s not even my second choice

Bernard could feel his partner’s nerves radiating through the screen. It was sweet how worked up he could get over something so ordinary. It was honestly a relief to have normal relationship milestone problems for once. 

Bernard: I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’d love to meet your brother.

Tim: brothers, plural

Tim: dick will be home by the time we drop him off and he will probably show his face

Tim: i’m almost certain that he orchestrated this whole thing just so that he could force me to introduce you… i don’t have the evidence yet but we’re at 86% on the suspect metre

Bernard shook his head as if Tim could see him. 

Bernard: If he wanted to meet me so badly, he could’ve just asked? I’d love to meet your family.

Tim: you say that now 

Bernard: Right, I forgot you guys are allergic to communication. 

Tim: low blow

Tim: i was thinking we could get dinner in blud instead, make a night of it while we’re there

Bernard: Sure, sounds good to me.

Tim: i’ll ask dick for restaurant recs 

Bernard liked the message, setting his phone down face-first on the table. His mother was still talking— the conversation had long since shifted to the neighbor’s new unsightly boat. It didn’t take long for Bernard to grow weary of this topic too, lasting all of thirty seconds before his phone was back in hand. 

Nothing had changed in the brief time he had been away. Reflexively he opened their conversation back up, if only to confirm Tim’s endearments were still there. He scrolled aimlessly, no particular goal in mind. Suddenly his eye caught on something. Like a swift punch to the gut, the sinking feeling was back tenfold.

Kon’s voice rang in his ears. “Damian’s been a bad influence on you.”

That’s where he had heard that name. Tim’s youngest brother. Damian. 

Bernard closed the conversation, before opening it immediately after. 

He consciously controlled his breathing, in a vain attempt to calm his racing thoughts. Realistically, Damian was a popular name. It could be a coincidence; the likelihood was still high. Superboy’s little brother having a friend who shared a name with his boyfriend’s brother wasn’t crazy odds. Only he had proven that Kon and Tim were at least friends, and if his conversations with Kon were anything to go by, the superhero community was a close-knit one; one in which it would make sense for superhero protege’s to know one another. 

Bernard reeled himself back in. Even if Tim was in fact Robin, that didn’t automatically implicate the rest of the family. If he were to entertain the idea that they were the same Damian, it wouldn't be crazy to assume they only knew each other through Tim’s connection to Superboy. That made sense. They could be family friends. There were plenty of reasons. All of that was plausible. 

A voice in the back of his mind whispered that the other option was also equally plausible. 

The evidence was circumstantial at best, flimsy really. Despite this Bernard failed to shake the feeling that Tim had handed him the final damning piece of evidence for Gotham’s best-kept secret. 

With a sigh, Bernard shut off his phone, placing it back on the table. 

It didn’t matter. Tomorrow he would be meeting Damian, his boyfriend’s kid brother, and that’s all it had to be. The thought did little to ease the weighing guilt. This had truly spiraled further than he could control. He thought he had a handle on this revelation, had already decided he was going to force Tim's hand, but the reality of it paralyzed him.

There was an absurdity to it. 

When Tim asked him out on the doorstep of this very house, he had an inkling of a suspicion. He wasn’t blind. He had seen the signs, read the writing on the wall, and he hadn’t cared, because it had been Tim in front of him. Tim, the skater kid who was more interested in finding cheats in his games than beating them. The boy dealing with the loss of his family's funds, and the loss of both his parents in more ways than one. The first person who had looked at Bernard, not just past him, and seen him for who he was. And sure, it was exciting to date his hero. He was far from immune to the thrill of it all. At the start, it had felt like something intangible, distant and dream-like. Bearing the weight of one secret was an easy toll. He wanted nothing more than to give Tim that agency, to hand him that control, but this was so much more than one secret. This was bigger than him or Tim, far deeper than a measly relationship.

The longer he held on, the more he felt its weight; agency dripping away to reveal omission. Because at its core stood another lie. 

It made sense it would end up this way, regardless of his intention, because Bernard was a liar, not in his words, but in what he left unsaid. He had long since known this about himself, a faction to his personality that he viewed with ambivalence. A trait born out of necessity.

Usually, he'd consider his lies thoughtful or at the very least consciously crafted. But this— this was staggeringly sloppy, and the consequences held the potential to be critical. He shuddered to think how Batman would react if he knew and tried even harder not to think about the massive target he had unknowingly placed on his back.

Sometimes it felt as if their relationship was linked to a timer. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but rather something intrinsic, more akin to an understanding that resonated through the marrow of his bones instead of his cerebrum. Most days he dismissed the notion, determined to live in blissful ignorance, because to know there was an end wasn’t sufficient grounds to cut things off. He didn't know when or where their expiry date would hit so he hadn’t allowed himself to doomsday prep. But now that the end was in sight, he allowed himself to acknowledge it.

Bernard didn’t slot into the world in which Robin resided. He barely slotted into Tim Drake’s world. 

It wasn’t about being enough or any other form of self-worth. It was just a different type of glass ceiling; a path in the woods diverging at birth, out of his control. He had always recognized that otherness in Tim, that spark that pushed him up to heights Bernard would never see, even before he knew what he was looking at. Tim had a destiny whereas Bernard had dreams. He told himself that he was fulfilled with Tim’s simple acknowledgment, content with the glimpses behind the curtain. It was more than he could have hoped for. Not that it would make the loss sting any less. His emotions were at war; anger, excitement, grief, and resolution all churning in his chest, each vying for his full attention. 

He glanced out the window. The last light of day was peaking over the tops of Gotham suburbia. The streetlamps would be kicking in soon, which meant his father was likely out there somewhere, trapped in grid-lock traffic. From where he sat, he could see the stairs leading to the front door. It made a certain cruel sense in Bernard’s mind that the first time he came home in almost a year would mark the beginning of the end. The bookends of his first love. 

Bernard could see so plainly how the beats would play out. The moment hadn't presented itself yet, but when it did, he knew he'd have to do the right thing. He had stalled long enough. 

 

---

 

Tim was growing increasingly aware of the way his shirt was sticking to his back, the sun pouring in through the windshield doing little to lessen the tackiness of his skin. Tim tried his best to ignore the condensing sweat, remaining hyper-focused on the car in front of him. The beginning of a headache was building behind his temples. Next to him in the passenger seat, Bernard was babbling on about something he had long since lost the plot of. A part of him felt guilty for not listening, but Bernard would probably forgive him. 

Currently they found themselves inching through the mind-numbing experience that was the Gotham Academy pick-up line. The curb was finally within reach. Tim’s grip on the wheel tightened as his brother came into view. Damian had yet to spot them from his position leaning against the railing, engrossed in a book. 

The moment Dick had reached out to him, Tim had known this was a bad idea, had told him as much, but it was futile. Dick would get his way. Up until this point he'd made a valiant effort not to stew over it, but he was sure stewing now. Regardless of Tim's feelings, they were here, and Damian had just spotted his car. 

Bernard must’ve picked up on the sudden shift because his tone got softer. “Look, Tim, it’s alright. It’s just—” 

Whatever comfort Bernard had was lost to the sound of the back door being wrenched open. 

“You’re late, Drake,” Damian said climbing into the backseat. 

Perfect. Off to a great start.

Tim bit back a retort, as he pulled away from the curb and out onto the main street. He promised himself to be on his best behavior today, for Bernard's sake and maybe a little for his own. It wasn't the most flattering look to stoop to the level of a high schooler, no matter how easy Damian made it.

So instead, Tim said, “Good to see you too, Damian.” And if some sarcasm crept through, sue him. 

Damian ignored his greeting. “Pennyworth would’ve been here fifteen minutes ago.”

Tim shot him a stern look through his rearview mirror. “I’m just doing Dick a favor, so you can take it up with him.”

“I already have, but he was annoyingly resolute,” Damian said tersely. From the mirror, Tim could see that he was glaring out the window. 

Tim sighed. “Look, it’s not exactly convenient for me— for us,” he quickly amended. Tim cast Bernard a side glance, hoping that his body language was enough to convey his apology. His partner sat patiently awaiting his cue. They hadn’t had time to practice, but Tim had, at the very least, warned him.

“He’s not so bad once you get past all the moody teenager-ness,” he had sworn on the way over. (Damian’s attitude was admittedly not well-encapsulated by 'moody teenager' but it was the best substitute for ‘bred and raised by assassins' that he could think of. And to his credit Damian was also going through his equivalent of a moody teen phase.)

“Speaking of which,” Tim started. “This is Bernard. And Bernard, this is my brother Damian.” 

Bernard opened his mouth to speak, but Damian cut him off. “The introductions are unnecessary. I know who you are. Drake writes about you incessantly in his diary.”

Tim choked on air. “Not incessantly—” He caught a glance of Damian’s smirk through the mirror. Fuck, he was already playing right into his hand. He cleared his throat, schooling his expression into something neutral. “I don’t have a diary.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Bernard said, doing a remarkably good job of muffling his laughter. The signs were there, if you knew where to look— which Tim did— and he was definitely being laughed at.

“For the record,” Bernard added, “I wish he’d ‘write’ a little bit more about you guys.”

“Well, if we’re clarifying for the record, my diary is still non-existent,” Tim huffed. He was going to kill Dick. This was such an awful idea. “I think I liked you better before Jon taught you how to make jokes," Tim said lowly, gaze boring a hole in the side of his brother's head. Damian didn't react.

From his peripheral he saw Bernard fidget. Internally Tim panicked. Their bickering was probably making him uncomfortable. He swiftly shifted gears. 

“So, how was school today?” Tim asked, trying to sound as if this were an every-day conversation for them. 

Damian fixed him with a scathing side glance— something he could’ve only inherited from Talia— before simply answering, “Fine.”

Tim let the answer hang, trying in vain to give him a chance to elaborate, but it was clear no elaboration was coming. He could feel the annoyance rising in him again. Alfred had taught Damian better than this. The drive from central Gotham to Blüdhaven without traffic was about forty minutes, but there was always traffic, especially around this time of day, and it seemed Damian was hellbent on making their already long drive even longer. They hadn’t even hit the freeway, and Tim was out of talking points. He had been banking on Damian’s love of complaining about "Gotham’s inferior education system." Tim racked his brain for conversation starters, icebreakers, anything, but he was repeatedly coming up blank. They'd never had much in common, and what they did share was the one subject that was off-limits. The silence in the car was building into something palpable, making it even harder to concentrate. He was about to reach for the radio, if only to have something to cut the tension, when Bernard came to his rescue. 

“I noticed you reading earlier. Out of curiosity, it wouldn’t happen to be Artist’s Love would it?” Bernard asked. His tone was light. 

Damian tensed minutely; his surprise evident to Tim. Bernard had caught him off guard. Tim had to admit he was caught off guard too. He hadn’t even noticed the cover of the book. The backseat had gone eerily still.

“You read manga,” Damian finally said, his tone matter of fact, but Bernard took it as the question it truly was. 

“Not as much anymore. I used to follow Shounen Jump, so I still see some stuff floating around online.” 

“I find shounen repetitive,” Damian said but didn’t offer anything more. 

"Agreed," Bernard nodded, though he was mostly obscured from Damian’s perspective. “I take it you're more of a shoujo fan. Y'know I’ve heard good things about Artist’s Love. How are you liking it so far? Is it worth a read?” 

The backseat went quiet again. When Damian responded, he did so slowly. “I enjoy the artistic premise.” 

“Yeah, I heard a lot of artists really resonated with it. I’m not much of an artist myself but I can definitely feel the mangaka’s passion from the panels I’ve seen,” Bernard said, then paused. “Do you make art?”

“Occasionally.” Damian’s voice remained clipped, but his shoulders had begun to relax. 

“Do you have a medium of choice?” Bernard asked. 

“Oils. Sometimes charcoal.” 

Tim watched from the sidelines enraptured. He had no idea what was happening, but surely it must be a miracle.

Bernard hummed in gentle acknowledgment. “Seems art runs in the family.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tim interjected.

“Painter, photographer,” Bernard counted off on his fingers. “And Steph said the other day that Cass has been getting into dance.” 

Tim waved him off. “Yeah, well none of us got it from Bruce.”

“Father has his book collection,” Damian piped up from the backseat. “And technically I would be the only one to inherit anything from him.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Fine, you didn’t inherit that from Bruce, because I’ve seen him attempt to draw and frankly, it's dismal.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bernard fighting another laugh. It was a good look on him.

“Y’know I’m still waiting for the theater kid reveal. Statistically there's bound to be one,” Bernard teased.

“Todd fills that quota,” Damian murmured. Tim went rigid. 

Damian must have realized his mistake because his eyes went wide, flicking up to meet Tim’s through the mirror. 

“Todd?” Bernard asked lightly, humor still lacing his voice. 

“Family friend,” Tim rushed to explain. 

“You seem to have a lot of those.” Bernard sounded casual. Nothing about his demeanor had changed, but there was an underlying something that Tim couldn’t quite place, something he’d never heard from his boyfriend before. His stomach churned. He wanted to ask him what he meant, but the statement was so innocuous, he’d be risking a fight, which was something he'd like to avoid, especially in front of Damian. But wasn’t that an odd thought; a fight with Bernard. He couldn’t remember a time in their year of being together, in which they had fought in sincerity. Steph and he had fought all the time; the sky was blue, the grass green, and Tim and Steph argued, but Bernard had always been so agreeable, so passive. He had only seen him angry a handful of times, usually directed towards his parents, never at him. Bernard was probably the only constant person in his life who he didn’t regularly pick fights with. Tim found that he didn’t want to start now. 

As swift as its onset, whatever it was, passed. Bernard moved the conversation back to Damian. They continued to get on shockingly well. The interaction was undeniably stilted, but the sheer fact that Damian was answering was an indication of its success. 

The rest of the car ride ended up being rather smooth. They hit some traffic on the way into Blüdhaven, but for a Friday it could’ve been significantly worse. Tim kept quiet, only interjecting when he was addressed. It had an oddly peaceful quality to it, almost mesmerizing in the way Bernard led them through the ebb and flow of something that should’ve been painfully awkward. Tim hesitated to call it natural— it wasn’t— but it was masterfully controlled. 

It was also strange. 

Bernard had always had this magnetism surrounding him. The Bernard he had known in youth had been far more brash, not exactly popular, yet held a reputation for being well-liked. The secret to his charm lay in the open, so obvious it circled back around to being overlooked, but it was simple. Bernard was easy to talk to. When they reunited as adults, that boldness had been tampered down, something Tim had chalked up to maturity and the overbearing nature of his parents. He was quieter, with a newfound polarity that hid just beneath the surface. It allowed him to come across as unassuming and maybe that’s what Tim had initially found so intriguing— what he was currently finding intriguing. He doubted Bernard could see it in himself, but that magnetism had never been quelled. 

In the passenger seat of Tim’s car, fighting against the glare streaming in through the windshield, making small talk with his brother, Bernard had never been more radiant. 

They pulled up to Dick’s apartment complex around four. Tim had wanted to drop Damian off at the front, but Dick had made up some flimsy excuse as to why they had to come up. Tim had relented only because he knew Dick’s next plan to meet Bernard would be worse. They had to circle the building twice before they could snag a spot, but they managed. 

Dick’s building wasn’t particularly nice, exceedingly modest for the son of a billionaire. Not that Dick relied on Bruce's money, but that wasn't information the public was privy to. The lobby was shabby, and its units weren't much better. Bernard politely didn’t comment on the mess when they were led into Dick's apartment. Tim took note of the fact that it was slightly cleaner than usual, as if he had made an effort to make the place look moderately presentable— slightly being the keyword. 

Damian had leaned into the mandatory hug Dick required of him, but the second the opportunity presented itself, he made a beeline for the spare room.

“Thanks for picking Damian up, I owe you one.” Dick called over his shoulder, from where he had entered the kitchen. “Do you guys want anything? Admittedly I'm running low. I had some friends over last night—”

“And Wally ate you out of house and home,” Tim drawled. 

“He had some help this time, but yes,” Dick laughed, in that showy way he did when he was trying to seem particularly charming. His hair was now long enough that it could be tied back. Today he had it loosely pinned out of his face, a few strands left hanging, effortlessly framing his jawline. If Tim had to guess, he had probably been in the bathroom all morning arranging everything just so. It was probably the reason his apartment was only half cleaned. Tim was starting to suspect that he had been worried about the wrong brother. 

Dick turned his attention to Bernard, reaching out a hand. “And you must be Bernard. So nice to finally meet you." He flashed Bernard the smile he typically reserved for publicity. Tim fought the urge to roll his eyes. This was definitely his punishment. 

Tim may be immune to Dick’s antics, but Bernard was ill-prepared. He stumbled slightly as he went to meet his handshake. “And you must be Richard?” 

Tim snorted, but Dick looked unfazed, the only sign of humor being the little glint in his eye. 

“Only when I'm in trouble,” Dick said. “Most people call me Dick.”

For a split-second, Tim could see the horror on Bernard’s face as he realized that ‘Dick’ was not just a family-exclusive nickname and that he too would have to refer to him as such. To Bernard’s credit, he only floundered for a moment before regaining himself.

“Right, of course. Sorry, I'm so used to seeing your name written as Richard in the press,” Bernard said, before catching his implication. “Not that I read tabloids! I just live in Gotham.” He trailed off, laughing nervously. 

Dick let out an authentic laugh this time, the kind that ruined his perfect smile and crinkled his nose unattractively. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said wiping the mirth from his eyes. 

Bernard's ears had gone red.

Dick took mercy, turning back to Tim. “What did you do to get Damian in such a good mood? He’s never like this when I pick him up. I half-expected to be breaking up a fight when you got here.”

“You act like we can't be civil,” Tim protested, before grumbling, “But actually, it was Bernard.” 

Dick’s eyebrows raised, looking past Tim to Bernard. Tim could tell he was genuinely impressed and even though it wasn’t his victory, warmth swam in his chest. 

“That so?” Dick had fixed Bernard with a look of curiosity and— what Tim knew to be— a healthy level of scrutiny. “You didn’t secretly sneak him a kitten, did you, because I swear, he has enough animals as it is.”

“You caught me,” Bernard said in mock sorrow. “I slipped him a tabby; sorry you had to find out this way.” The smile tugging at the corners of his lips gave up the gig. 

Dick let out another snort, but the talk of animals reminded Tim— 

“Where’s Haley?” he asked looking around the living room. 

“She was in the guestroom last time I checked.” Dick looked back towards the hallway to the room Damian had disappeared into. “Gimme a second. I’ll go get her.” 

Dick sauntered back into the bedroom, emerging shortly with a young, three-legged pitbull and a rather put-out Damian in tow. Tim watched as Bernard’s eyes lit up. 

At the sight of a new person, Haley stopped. She remained happy— tail still moving like a mini whip— but apprehensive. Bernard crouched down, doing his best to make himself look small, reaching out a hand, fingers relaxed, for her to smell. She hesitated, but when Dick moved closer, she did too, cautiously bridging the gap. She sniffed his hand once, twice, before licking his knuckles. Bernard allowed her space, everyone in the room watching intently. She jumped slightly when Dick moved back towards the kitchen, growing eager as she saw which cabinet he was reaching to open. 

“You want a treat, girl?” Dick cooed. He grabbed the container and made his way back to where Bernard was. “Here, give her one of these and she’ll love you forever,” he said, handing Bernard a small, dried meat rind. Bernard took it, offering it up to Haley, who descended upon it like a ravenous vulture. 

Bernard laughed in surprise. “I don’t know if she likes it.” Afterward, she looked up to Bernard, sniffing his hand rapidly in search of another. Bernard took the chance to pet her, which she gladly accepted as penance. 

Dick watched on in fondness. “Haley tends to be a little food motivated.”

“Just a little,” Bernard echoed teasingly. “She’s still pretty small. How long have you had her?” Bernard asked, neck craned upwards as he spoke. Damian had joined him on the floor, eyes glued to the dog. 

“Not long.” Dick turned to Tim. “What like three, four months?”

“Somewhere around that,” Tim agreed. 

“Vet said she was about two months when we first brought her in.”

“Oh, wow, so you really are a baby,” Bernard said as he raised a second hand to scratch behind both ears. “Look at you, you just know you’re cute, don’t you?” Haley continued to wag her tail, panting up at him. 

“She sure knows it alright,” Dick said. “Uses it to her advantage all the time.” 

“But look at those eyes,” Bernard cupped her face. “She would never.”

“She's got Dick's blue-eyed stare alright,” Tim murmured. 

Bernard poked Tim's leg. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“You can’t argue either.”

Bernard felt the dog struggle slightly and relinquished her to Damian. “Sure, but I wasn’t the one who made the comment. Besides my eyes are more of a greenish blue.”

“He’s got a point, Tim,” Dick nodded sagely. 

Tim turned on his brother. “Your eyes are bluer than mine!” 

“Sure, but yours are paler,” Dick said as if that were an obvious counterpoint. 

“Wouldn’t saturation trump opacity?”

Dick shook his head. “Not if you're considering the intensity of a stare.”

“My eyes are green,” Damian suddenly interjected, “Does that mean I win this stupid argument?” 

Bernard let out a sharp laugh, before covering his mouth. All brothers turned to him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, explaining through his hand. The redness of his ears had returned. “It’s just that when I met Tim, he was an only child, and I’ve always had a hard time reconciling with the image of him now with all these siblings. But this,” he gestured to the space between the three brothers, “Puts so much into perspective.” 

Dick’s surprise melted into a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, he’s still terrible at sharing.”

Damian nodded solemnly. “Timothy is shit at sharing.” 

“Oh, now I’m Timothy when you’re insulting me,” Tim said at the same time as Dick said, “Language.”

The conversation devolved from there. 

They left Dick’s apartment later than Tim had originally intended. At the last minute, Tim had asked Dick about restaurant recommendations, which naturally tacked on another thirty minutes. By the time they finally made it back down to the car, the sun had almost set. 

Tim put the key into the ignition but didn’t make any move to turn on the car. The quiet felt so deafening after an afternoon spent around his brothers. Bernard was on his phone looking up directions. The light from his screen harshly illuminating the plains of his face. It wasn’t flattering, but the thought of his radiance struck Tim once more. As if it had been stewing on a low boil, Tim's affection surged inside of him, spawning an overwhelming urge to show Bernard the depth of his gratitude. 

Bernard looked up, oblivious to his internal war. “The place on seventh is open until— ” He stopped when he caught Tim’s gaze. “What?”

Something snapped in Tim’s chest. He gave in. 

He leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to Bernard’s. For a second Bernard didn’t move, taken aback by the abruptness, but once it set in, he responded in full. The kiss was chaste, almost virginal in nature, just the press of skin on skin. Tim raised a hand to Bernard’s cheek, cupping it, as he pulled away. He didn't go far, resting their foreheads together. 

Tim whispered into the space between them. “Fuck the restaurant. Let’s go home.” 

Bernard huffed a laugh, breath hot on Tim’s cheek. “You just want me to cook for you.”

“Maybe I do,” Tim said, pulling away to start the car. 

Bernard let him go, but the atmosphere remained charged. Bernard settled back into his seat, his phone forgotten in his lap. “Not that I mind, but what brought all that on?”

“You,” Tim said simply. 

Bernard laughed airily. “Sure, but what specifically?” 

Tim took a moment to pull his thoughts together. He had never been good at articulating these things, but he promised himself he would try to be better. This was his chance. He exhaled, putting the car into reverse, and pulling out.

“I don’t know how you do it. I sprung, not one, but two family members on you, while we were supposed to be on a date.” Tim forced himself to look at the road, trying to keep his grip on the wheel relaxed. “My family is complicated, and they can be a lot. Yet you just took it in stride, not a single complaint. Not only that but, you embraced them. I still don’t even know how you got Damian to open up like that. And Dick, you just—” A hand came to rest on his shoulder. He hadn’t registered the glassiness of his eyes until they began to hinder his vision. He blinked them away. “You’re so wholehearted. Time and time again I think I’ve reached the limit to your patience, that you couldn’t possibly extend any more grace, that any day now the well will run dry." The hand on his shoulder squeezed. “But it never does.” Tim paused, letting the ambient noise of the road fill the car. Neither spoke, the hand on his shoulder unwavering. After a moment he continued, quieter than before. “I don’t know what you see in me, and all day I couldn’t help but think 'what did I ever do to deserve this much tolerance.'” 

As Tim’s words petered out, he became increasingly conscious of his heart rate. Outside rain had begun to lightly dust the window. 

“Tim.” Bernard’s voice was so soft. The hand on his shoulder moved gradually upwards landing on the base of his neck. “You overestimate how hard it is to love you.” He squeezed gently, before letting go. Tim immediately missed its pressure.

“Sure, your brothers can be a bit intense, but it's obvious how much they care for you,” Bernard shrugged. “Family will always be complicated. Hell, it would be weirder if they weren’t.”

Bernard’s tone shifted to something lighter. “Although you spent all that time warning me about Damian when you should’ve been preparing me for Richard.”

“I see we’re still hung up on the ‘Dick’ thing.” Tim could feel a smile forming. Bernard was working his magic again. 

He ignored Tim’s comment. “Damian is sweet, maybe a little stiff but I swear Richard can smell blood before it even hits the water.”

Tim bit his lip. “Sorry, today was all retribution for not bringing you around sooner. You don’t need to worry though, you won him over the second you made that shitty joke.”

“Apparently, not that shitty.”

“It worked because it was shitty.” 

“I wouldn’t be insulting my jokes right now; you’re still not off the hook. At the very least you could've given me a 'Heads up, no it's not photoshop, my brother really looks like that.'”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “How would that conversation even go? ‘Hey, by the way my brother is notoriously hot,’” He deadpanned. “Yeah, that sounds very normal, completely platonic. Not at all weird.”

“No need to be jealous.” Tim couldn’t see Bernard’s face, but he could tell he was grinning dangerously. “It was unnerving. Besides, I already landed the handsomest Wayne.” 

“That was a horrible line.” 

“I don’t know, I think it worked." Bernard sounded smug.

“I’m not jealous," Tim sniffed. "Because I have nothing to worry about.”

“Because you trust me so emphatically,” Bernard said at the same time Tim said, “You’re not his type.”

Bernard choked on a laugh. “What—”

“He’s got a thing for redheads,” Tim said as if he were reciting the weather. “We’re pretty sure it’s a Dick Grayson dating requirement at this point.” 

“Noted, but I have no idea what to do with this information.”

“Neither do we,” Tim said soberly. 

Bernard threw his head back in a full body laugh, his joy infectious. 

The synergy in the car only increased as they neared Tim’s apartment. Neither mentioned it; not as they parked, not in the elevator up, not even when Tim had the key in the lock of his front door. All it took was the click of the door sealing shut for it all to come crashing down. 

One second, they were shuffling through the entrance, the next Tim had Bernard crowded against the door, kissing him like he needed the air out of Bernard’s lungs to live. Even with the build-up, the voracity caught Tim off guard, but he couldn’t care less, not with Bernard invading all his senses. He barely registered the way his hands dragged over Bernard, brushing over his arms, skirting down his sides, pressing against his chest, indecisive in their destination. In contrast, Bernard’s hands came to rest on his hips, a steady grounding pressure, present but undemanding. 

The space between them radiated heat. Everything was hot, his hands, his mouth, Bernard himself. Tim pulled away briefly to catch his breath, and the sight the greeted him stole it anew. Bernard stared back at him, pupils blown wide, lips kissed red, and hair mussed up. God, he was so hot. 

“Should probably move this elsewhere.” Bernard's voice came out rough.  

The effect it had on Tim was immediate. His head fell to Bernard’s shoulder.

“Fuck, okay, yeah, bedroom now,” Tim groaned the words into his neck.

Tim directed Bernard to his bed with a single-minded focus, unbothered by the disastrous state of his room. All it took was a light push for Tim's request to register. Bernard allowed himself to fall onto the mattress, watching Tim climb over him, straddling his lap, steady hands coming back to rest on his hips. When he looked down, Tim was struck with the full magnitude of adoration in Bernard’s eyes. For a second he faltered. 

Bernard immediately detected the shift, brows furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

It wasn’t the first time they had been intimate, nor the second or even the third, though this was the fastest they had moved. In the beginning, they had agreed it would be best to take things slow. Between Tim’s intimacy hang-ups and the overall newness of everything, it had seemed daunting. They had since overcome this hurdle but even then, sex was still something that was initiated slowly. 

But this was new. Not just the pace but in the casualness and ease in which Tim allowed himself to touch and be touched. He found that trust was hard to hand out freely, heart and mind not always linked. But tonight, the stars were aligned, and passion seeped from every precipice of his body. He felt giddy with the domesticity of it all. 

“Nothing,” Tim said. He leaned in, speaking his next words into Bernard's pulse as if he could insert them directly into his bloodstream. “I'm just so in love with you, it overwhelms me sometimes.” 

Tim could physically feel the effect of his words on Bernard. Could feel it in the uptick of his breath, the thundering of his heart, the involuntary tightening of his grip. 

Bernard went so silent that Tim tried to pull away to gauge his reaction. But suddenly there was a hand on his head, just resting there, keeping it in place. “Stay,” Bernard breathed into his hair. “It’s not nothing. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Tim’s speech came out muffled against his skin. “Oh yeah? And what do I look like?” 

Bernard went silent again, this time allowing Tim to fully pull away. When he finally saw his face, he was surprised to find that Bernard’s eyes were glassy. Fear overtook him abruptly. He was unsure if he should put distance between them or if it would be better to stay put. 

“What do I look like?” Tim repeated with more conviction. 

Bernard smiled up at him, his radiance more visible than ever before. 

“Like you want me.”

And Tim was lost, so fucking lost in every sense of the word. 

Tim meant to ask him what he meant in the moment, but he had gotten distracted when Bernard rose to recapture him in a searing kiss. Then he meant to circle back to it after, but his satiated mind moved like molasses, washing away the notion. It was only hours later, after he had lost to the onslaught of drowsiness and awoken that he remembered. But it wasn't worth waking Bernard up. Not when he was sleeping so peacefully against his side. So Tim resolved to discuss it with him in the morning. It was then, as sleep began to retake him, that a thought occurred to him. 

He hadn’t thought of Kon once today. 

Notes:

If it's not obvious yet I have a lot of mixed feeling as to Dc's present canon and in honor of that here's a list of things I've elected to ignore:
- Jon being suddenly aged up
- Alfred's death
- Bruce losing all his money
- Most of Tom Taylor's Nightwing run
- Tim's boat arc
- The fact that Damian goes to private school in Metropolis (it's just so impractical)
- The pain cult (idk if this is an unpopular opinion but it’s so under developed and tbh a weird side tangent in the story I just don’t like it)

Editing this chapter really took it out of me, so if you notice typos or me going back and editing things.... mind your business/ lh

As always thanks for reading

(Edit: 3/13/25 I noticed I've been inconsistent with Kon's use of Rob vs Tim and I have since gone back to make it consistent. So now the narration will always refer to Tim as 'Tim' for ease of reading, though verbally Kon refers to him as 'Rob,' and I have decided for the sake of the identity shenanigans Kon only refers to him as 'Tim' when he's serious. Wanted to make it just a little impactful. I like to think that Cassie refers to him as 'Tim' because their teammate's deaths forced them to reconcile with each other as the people behind the masks vs Kon who missed that shift and in a way is still trapped in the past.)