The doctor recommends doubling his dosage once the anthuriums start blooming in earnest. Long stemmed and waxy, they block his throat and hurt to produce. Bernard almost misses the pikake blossoms. His voice whistles as he tries to breathe past the flowers, and swallowing is almost impossible.
“You should consider surgical removal before they get much worse,” the man tells him, not a trace of sympathy or sorrow in his face. He’s seen this a thousand times before no doubt. “The longer you wait the deeper the roots will spread and the worse your recovery will be.”
Bernard knows that. He knows that removal would be the sensible option given the disease's recurrence. He knows that many people live long, happy lives without the ability to feel love. He also knows that it would lead to death for him just as surely as suffocation. He accepts the information packet and list of clinics and leaves them on a chair in the waiting room. Someone else will find use for them he’s sure.
He doesn’t see or hear from Kon for a few weeks. There have been less sightings of him lately, which Bernard has studiously tried not to notice. He remembers when Supernova had been on the news every day, almost as well known as Superman himself and treasured by younger generations of Metropolisians for being their voice. His absence now seems strange.
He’s considered calling Kon to confess, or begging him to come and meet him so he can do it face to face, but every time he picks up the phone he’s struck by the fear that he won’t answer, will remember his loyalty to Tim and turn away Bernard for upsetting him. After all, none of Young Justice have said a word to him in over a year. Well. Apart from Kon visiting when he had that nightmare. He shudders, feeling the leaves in his throat shift and shove against each other. He stifles the urge to cough and tries to relax. Fighting it will only make it worse.
Bernard turns on the tv, flicking idly to a trashy reality show. It’s less out of interest and more a defence against the quiet of his apartment. Hearing other voices is a comfort; if he closes his eyes he can almost imagine he isn’t alone. He doesn’t speak to anyone at work, and no one approaches him. They’ve seen the flowers, heard him coughing. They know they’re working with a dying man. No doubt they’re all just waiting for the day he stops attending his shifts so they can hire someone new.
His phone chimes with a breaking news announcement and Bernard opens it idly. It’s not like he can run from anything that might be coming so there’s really no rush. The situation isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before: San Francisco is being invaded by weird bug aliens. He rolls his eyes. In other breaking news, he thinks sardonically, water is wet. He almost clicks away until one of the videos he scrolls past starts to auto play.
The footage is impressively clear considering that it’s being filmed from someone's car window. Impulse is speeding through the background ferrying away anyone without somewhere to hunker down. Wondergirl is doing an impressive job of containing any that try to escape out into the city. Robin throws batarangs and strikes out with his bo with perfectly coordinated attacks which send his opponents sprawling.
Supernova is magnificent, but then he always is. Heat vision, frost breath and super strength are all on display as Kon wades through the scuttling, clicking masses. One of the brightly coloured centipede things throws itself at him, mouth engulfing his arm, and is shoved off with the flick of a wrist. Bernard would love to know how Kon makes even splattering bugs look beautiful. He ignores the sensation of twigs scraping up his throat and settles in to watch the rest. Something niggles at the back of his mind though. Kon doesn’t look right. He looks almost… pale. Maybe it’s the lighting. It must be.
The fight wraps up in minutes and the team converges, grins on their faces as they congratulate each other but then–
Supernova falls. His knees hit the ground with a thud and he begins to heave, shuddering with the force. Bernard grips his phone so hard that he’s almost worried it will snap. He can’t tear his eyes away. What the hell is happening? Kryptonian’s are supposed to be invulnerable and the creature's bite didn’t even leave a scratch. What could be–
There’s something emerging between Kon’s lips, green and curling. Kon fumbles, grasping at it with both hands and pulling while he retches. It almost looks like– no. It’s not. It can’t be! Kryptonian’s aren’t vulnerable to human diseases like hanahaki but… but it looks like a vine. A long, green cord dotted with clusters of tiny white flowers. Kon convulses as his teammates flock around him, Wondergirl rubbing soothing circles over his back, Impulse keeping the arriving police crews away, and Robin supporting him with a hand on his shoulder, the other helping to draw out the plant until it finally slides free, impossible lengths of familiar green leaves spiralling across the street.
Supernova gasps for breath and the bystanders filming explode into theories about who his secret love could be, whipping up a scandal in real time. Bernard can barely hear them.
Grapes. Kon has hanahaki, and he’s growing grapes.
It’s impossible. It’s true. Grapes could mean anyone, logically he knows that. Flower meanings are often ascribed to blossoms to make sense of the infection, but they aren’t always right. For all modern science knows, there is no meaning behind the shapes hanahaki takes.
But grapes. It doesn’t have to mean him. Maybe Kon’s just in love with someone who loves wine. But. But he met Kon while he was recovering from the cult. Kon knows all about the chaos monsters and Dionysus and everything he went through trying to get his life back together. He hopes so much that it hurts. He needs more information. He needs to know if Kon needs him the same way he needs Kon.
Wait. Kon was holding a flower on the cover of the magazine, wasn’t he?
Bernard abandons the couch and dashes for his bedroom. He leaves chaos in his wake, tossing aside anything that blocks his path and he can’t bring himself to care because if he’s right–
He was. It’s barely visible behind the text of the magazine, but held oh-so delicately between Kon’s forefinger and thumb is a white flower he knows well. He can’t believe he didn’t notice it before.
Bindweed and grapes, both sacred to Dionysus. Grapes are the cycle of rebirth, of dying and returning to build something new. Bindweed means perseverance and hope. Bernard is full of hope now, and just as much fear, breath ratting in his chest. He hopes he’s right. He needs to be right. If he’s wrong, there’s every chance this will kill him. His head swims from lack of oxygen as he tries to force himself upright. Shit. Running was a really bad idea. He needs help. He needs to get to Kon.
The flowers in his chest shift and Bernard panics. He knows this feeling. He hasn’t had a surge since that first round of pikake, but that’s definitely what this is. There’s no air in his lungs anymore, just the proliferating greenery that is desperate to get out.
It hurts. It hurts so much. The smaller flowers had been nothing, mere irritants compared to what he’s fighting now. Every cough brings the mass further up his esophagus, smaller curled petals forcing their way into his sinuses to escape. Tears stream down his face, mucus running from his nose to join the mess of detritus which litters the floor. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe!
Hands grip his shoulders, and he jerks at the unexpected touch, thrashing away. He’s caught again and set upright with dizzying speed before the hands begin prod along his throat. His eyes are too blurred to see who his mystery assailant is but dimly he thinks he can hear them speaking.
Black spots dance across his vision. The unknown hands grasp his chin and force it back and something plastic is pressed tight to his face. Bernard gasps and coughs again, and feels an immense rush of relief as air trickles past the vegetation. An oxygen mask. He owes whoever this is his life.
The hands grab his chin again, straightening his throat to make an easier exit for the smothering plantlife. He vomits a mess of tangled blossoms onto the floor and his rescuer pats his back reassuringly. Bernard presses his eyes shut, focusing only on breathing. This feels different from what he’s experienced before, so much different. Whatever flower this is, it’s bigger than the hibiscus, worse even than the anthuriums. He’s not even sure how whatever this is managed to fit in his lungs to begin with. Finally it pushes up into his mouth and his helper removes the oxygen mask, reaching in to help wrestle the object free. It’s a blessed relief. Bernard isn’t sure which God he should be thanking for his survival, but once he works it out he’s going to become their most devout follower.
He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but what he sees is confusing. One moment the mess of vegetation is there, and then it isn’t. His helper is by his side and then gone. He’s on the floor, then on the bed. At first he thinks he’s losing time, but then he sees his helper blur across the room in a streak of white and gold that he understands.
The bright yellow flower wasn’t a surprise. The moment it landed in his hand, Bernard knew it had bloomed from Kon’s smile. He tossed it into the wastebasket negligently and continued typing, despite the pang in his heart. The good thing about working in data entry was that he could do it without thinking. The bad thing was that his thoughts were free to roam and the flower had brought up feelings he was trying very hard not to feel.
Hibiscus: Happiness, sunshine and good luck. It suited Kon well. He’d been studiously trying to ignore any news about Supernova, clicking out of videos if he appeared and steering conversations away from heroes whenever he could, but the magazine had been sitting right next to the register at the grocery store and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from looking.
Kon’s smile was bright. His eyes were the blue of a cloudless day, his skin golden and glowing in the sun, a tiny white flower held in his hand as he grinned at the camera. He’d always been like that, right from the day they met. With biting humor, a contagious laugh, and a smile that made Bernard’s heart flutter in his chest, he’d become a firm friend quickly. Bernard had still been completely in love with Tim of course, but he hadn’t been able to deny how fun it was to hang out with Kon. He was nice. They’d flirted back and forth a few times but never in earnest. He’d had his sights set elsewhere and Kon wasn’t the sort to be impressed by a scrawny civilian. It would never have worked.
The medication was working, to a point. The flowers were smaller and fewer in number, rustling stalks emerging from his throat only rarely. He could breathe. He could work. He didn’t really feel happiness, or anything but tired, but he could do his job, so, good enough.
He bought the magazine. It was probably the worst thing he could do, but he didn’t regret it. The hibiscus arriving three days later was a great sign, proof that the progression had been slowed significantly. A few more months and he’d probably even be able to go back to the gym again. Running on a treadmill was difficult when your lungs were full of leaves.
He made it through the work day with only a few instances of coughing, soft pikake flowers joining the hibiscus in his bin. It was probably weird that he enjoyed their scent when they sprouted from his pain, but the alternative was smelling dust and the stale, cold air of the office. They perfumed his apartment too, no matter how often he emptied his bins. It was a constant reminder of something he’d rather forget.
He fell asleep that night with a yellow flower clasped in his hand and tears on his face.
***
The sky was wrong. Flashes of colour burst from clouds that shouldn’t be there, and thunder boomed in time with the endless chanting that echoed around him. There were voices in his mind that never touched his ears, promises of freedom and renewal and power. They left streaks of fire in his brain, excruciating wild joy flooding through his veins.
Pain ripped through his limbs, each pulled so tight across the altar that his joints screamed and the metal manacles bit into his skin. Copper tingled on his tongue, the taste of his own blood mingling with ceremonial wine. The bronze knife plunged down, scraping the stone below as it impaled him.
He screams, sitting bolt upright and instantly falling into a coughing fit. The flowers were tightly coiled rather than blooming, closed in the dark of night, and formed long bundles that made him gag as they forced their way out. He panted, fighting for air, and tried to slow the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat. Fuck. He hopes he didn’t wake his neighbours; the very last thing he needs right now is a noise complaint.
A tapping noise sounded at his window and he almost yelped with surprise. His hand dropped to the baseball bat beside his bed. He was 28 stories up in the air with no balcony, there shouldn’t be anything that could get to his window except maybe a very determined bird.
“Hello?” called a voice, and Bernard felt his stomach drop through the floor. No. No way. Why was he here?
Kon could see through walls. There was no way he could pretend he hadn’t heard. Bernard grasped the curtain and pulled it aside.
Supernova hungs in the open air, gold and white suit glinting in the moonlight. His eyes were hidden by a domino that Bernard approved of in theory –it’s easier to hide your secret identity if you make any effort whatsoever, Superman– but hated in practice.
“Supernova,” he says, forcing a smile. Please go away, please go away. “What can I help you with?”
He can’t quite read Kon’s expression, but he knows how he must look. Fresh-from-a-nightmare isn’t a great fashion statement at the best of times and this really isn’t the best of times. His medication makes him tired, he hasn’t been able to work out, and the whole not being able to breathe thing hasn’t been great for his overall health. He’s sweaty, he’s pale, he’s dishevelled, and he really wishes Kon hadn’t picked right now to turn up.
“Are you alright?” Kon asks, and Bernard forces his grin wider. It doesn’t seem to work.
“Yeah. Fine. Why are you here?” he asks, wincing inwardly at his own bluntness. Way to treat the superhero, he thinks despairingly, and coughs into his fist. Kon wavers in the air, a frown crossing his face.
“I thought I heard someone in distress,” he explains, and Bernard almost combusts from embarrassment. Kon heard him cry out in his sleep and came to help like a mother tending their child. Maybe he should stop taking the pills and let the flowers smother him in his sleep; it’d save a lot of trouble.
“It was just a dream, don’t worry about it,” he says and Kon drifts closer, resting a hand against the glass.
“Are you sure? I could–”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be in Gotham,” he says, interrupting before Kon can be any more sweet and send him into a coughing fit. “You’d better go before one of the Bats spot you.”
Kon nods, looking away as if disappointed. “I just wanted to check that you were alright.”
“Why do you care?” Bernard asks. Why does he ask questions he doesn’t want the answer to? Why is it that hope always outweighs logic in his heart?
“It’s my job.”
Of course. In the early hours of the morning as he fights to expel the long stem of a blood-red anthurium, he will feel guilty about slamming the window in Kon’s face and walking away. For now, he just cries, and pretends he doesn’t know why his chest hurts so much.
For Superblond Bingo card 2, hanahaki! Also posted on AO3
They didn’t go away. The familiar tickle built in his throat as the week went on, and four days later Bernard coughed up the first full flower of this bout of illness. A white gardenia, the internet told him, symbolizing love, affection, trust and admiration. A very non-specific flower, nothing like the bold bouquets he’d produced for Tim, as if his illness was determined to point out how different his feelings were this time. Not that there was a ‘this time’. He wasn’t in love. It was just admiration, just appreciation of someone doing a great job. He was fine. Everything was fine.
It was supposed to be over, Bernard thought, staring numbly at the petals that dotted his palm. They were small, soft and white, a delicate fragrance wafting from them into the cold night air. He hadn’t even been thinking about Tim, just watching the news, so there was no reason his hanahaki should have returned. None! He’d done everything right; taken the medications, recorded his symptoms and progression for his doctor, and –once the flowers started crowding his chest in earnest– confessed, standing on the stairs of Wayne Manor holding a bouquet of bloody lotus and gladiola. He hadn’t intended to show Tim the flowers, but they had made themselves known as he staggered up the driveway, and he couldn’t just leave them in the dirt.
Tim had apologised, as if it was his fault Bernard was unlovable. Bernard had thanked him for listening, waving away his invitations to come inside, and driven home breathing better than he had in months, despite the sobs that wracked his body. He’d taken a few more strong doses of medication that left him unable to feel and the last of the flowers withered away.
So they shouldn’t be back. He didn’t love Tim anymore! He’d done the therapy, found ways to distract himself and eventually managed to see the boy he had once loved smiling on TV without a single cough or fluttering petal. It didn’t make sense.
He resisted the urge to look up the flowers to see if he could find out their meaning. The petals were tiny and tattered - there wasn’t half enough information to identify them yet. He swept them into a tissue and threw it into the bin, deliberately turning his mind onto other things. He wasn’t pining. They’d go away soon.
***
They didn’t go away. The familiar tickle built in his throat as the week went on, and four days later Bernard coughed up the first full flower of this bout of illness. A white gardenia, the internet told him, symbolizing love, affection, trust and admiration. A very non-specific flower, nothing like the bold bouquets he’d produced for Tim, as if his illness was determined to point out how different his feelings were this time. Not that there was a ‘this time’. He wasn’t in love. It was just admiration, just appreciation of someone doing a great job.
... Hanahaki didn't bloom for admiration, but Bernard couldn't think about that. He was fine. Everything was fine.
***
It wasn’t fine. Two weeks after the first handful of petals emerged, Bernard was sent home from work for vomiting up a stream of tiny cream buds, the smell of jasmine flooding the bathroom as he heaved. Pikake, he read, dread building in his heart as he read the article. This couldn't be happening. He pushed down the knowledge of the flower's origins, pretended he didn’t know exactly why a flower meaning beauty and romance would have erupted in his lungs, and rifled through his medicine drawer until he found the box of tablets stashed there.
He’d been lucky with Tim. He’d given such a firm rejection –though kind– and left no spark of hope behind for the disease to feed on. The worst of Bernard’s infection had cleared within a week and after two months he’d been well enough to ease off the medication entirely. He still had two boxes left, tucked away with the vague idea of finding a way to responsibly dispose of them, but never quite getting there.
The tablet sat heavy in his hand, an impossible weight for a tiny thing. The responsible thing to do would be to take it and let nothingness wash over him, to shake the roots of these new flowers free and pretend the relapse had never happened. It would be so easy. He could even have the flowers surgically removed so there could never be more, and the only cost would never be to never love again. It would be easy.
A tiny, hopeful thought lingered at the back of his mind though, a spark of longing that he knew was exactly why he’d developed hanahaki in the first place. What if it went right this time? What if he confessed and the affection was returned?
The tablet dropped to the floor and skittered away to some hidden corner as he heaved for breath, a cascade of blossoms forcing themselves out of his lungs and rolling across the kitchen table until they carpeted the wood in white. Bernard clung to the back of a chair, gasping as the choking mass poured from his throat and scrabbled for a tissue, coughing into it helplessly as his nose streamed and eyes watered. Gods, why did he do this to himself? Why didn’t he ever choose the easy path? He cracked another tablet free and swallowed it down dry. He could do this. He’d just disconnect from social media for a while, stop watching the news, and forget all about his little crush. There was no need to bother Kon, he could take care of himself. After all, he hadn’t spoken to the man in months and they’d been acquaintances at best, just friends of a mutual friend. Tim had gone radio silent after his confession, and the other members of Young Justice (not that he was supposed to know that they were heroes) had petered off not long after, respecting Bernard’s request to let him heal alone. No, he doesn’t need to confess to Kon and hurt him. He could take care of himself.
For Card #2, "Please tell me no one saw you come in here"
Rating: Teen
Length: 3,532
Started: June 6
Completed: June 9
Someone help me come up with a title so I can post this on AO3. In retrospect, just using the prompt names as my doc titles may not have been the life-hack I thought it would be 😅 Full fic below the cut.
Bernard still contends that when Tim had rushed out of their video game marathon with a hurried, "Back in five!" before disappearing for over half an hour, he can't be blamed for going exploring in an old manor house.
And if he sees an obvious false door in the back of an antique grandfather clock in said old manor house, he's obviously going to investigate it.
And it's hardly his fault that, instead of there being a floor, he'd stepped into an open elevator shaft and come crashing through the ceiling of a secret entrance to the Batcave, of all places.
Having unexpectedly confirmed his admittedly far-fetched theory that Bruce Wayne was Batman, all it took was being a pest with Tim long enough for him to get assigned his own domino, vigilante codename, and place on the Batfam training roster.
"Please tell me no one saw you come in here."
He can hear how tired his own voice sounds, how clearly his tone projects I am so over this shit.
If he were less tired or less over this shit, Bernard would probably put on some kind of social mask, and not just the domino mask currently hiding the top half of his face from Superboy.
"If they had, would they have let me get here?"
"Probably not," he admits, not quite ready to turn his back on a demi-Kryptonian stranger, no matter how readily Tim insists he's trustworthy. Too many of his other lessons are seared into Bernard's head for him to easily turn off the sense of vigilence.
"Then I guess no one saw me."
"Good, because Robin is already annoying enough about my safety without trying to Kryptonian-proof my work area."
The recently-resurrected Super throws his leg over the back of a nearby office chair, rotating it back and forth with a casual allure, like he's expecting to be looked at.
Sure, make yourself at home, he thinks with less irritation than he'd like — sue him, it gets lonely down here sometimes, with just his computer monitors and the voices in his ear for company.
Besides, there's something intriguing about Superboy, something unspoken that Bernard has been trying to name.
"Yeah, I've noticed that he's weird about you," Superboy agrees, nodding his chin into arms folded across the back of the chair. "I mean, weird even by his standards."
Bernard doesn't say anything, just holds the neutral, almost-curious/almost-bored expression he learned from Tim, and waits. As much of a yapper as he can be, it's easy to spot people who can't stand an unfilled silence, and he has a theory about how Superboy will fill this one.
It takes the Super less than five seconds to break.
"I halfway expected to find out that the elusive Relay was some super-advanced AI program Rob didn't want anyone to know he'd created," he says in a teasing voice that Bernard isn't sure if it's meant for him or for Tim. "Or maybe a toddler genius or something."
"How disappointed you must be," Bernard drawls, facing his screens and pulling up a feed of the security camera in the corner so he can still keep an eye on Superboy while pretending not to, "to discover nothing but a blond."
"I don't mind a blond," Superboy says, smoothly moving into flirtation even faster than he'd expected. "Besides, I like to have a face to go with the name. Or a domino to go with the name, anyway."
Superboy moves with the same swagger and smile he's seen on recordings many times.
The performance is even more effective in person. More…disarming. More attractive.
Christ, at what point is he going to learn that crushing on superheroes is a net negative?
Working out his high school crush's secret viglante double-life had only made his life more complicated and more exhausting. And he hadn't even gotten laid for his trouble.
Okay, that was slightly unfair, Bernard could acknowledge. He's just tired and so over this shit, so he isn't feeling quite as charitable as he normally would.
He reminds himself that there have been undeniably good things about the changes to his life, since poking his nose in where it didn't belong and waking some sleeping bats.
Knowing nearly all of Gotham's secrets, access to insanely cool tech and an almost unlimited budget for it, getting emancipated from his parents, being in better shape than he ever thought he'd be — he has Bruce and his way of doing things to thank for all of it.
Tim had been really mad about it at first, although Bernard still contends that when Tim had rushed out of their video game marathon with a hurried, "Back in five!" before disappearing for over half an hour, he can't be blamed for going exploring in an old manor house.
And if he sees an obvious false door in the back of an antique grandfather clock in said old manor house, he's obviously going to investigate it.
And it's hardly his fault that, instead of there being a floor, he'd stepped into an open elevator shaft and come crashing through the ceiling of a secret entrance to the Batcave, of all places.
Having unexpectedly confirmed his admittedly far-fetched theory that Bruce Wayne was Batman, all it took was being a pest with Tim long enough for him to get assigned his own domino, vigilante codename, and place on the Batfam training roster.
Granted, he'd expected it to come with a proper costume and a chance to kick ass with Tim, but Tim had steadfastly refused. If Bernard was going to be part of the circle, he'd said, he would do so out of the line of fire.
Bruce had been more diplomatic and explained that he uses each person's strengths to the collective advantage, so Bernard would begin working research and information exchange.
"So I'm your switchboard relay?" he'd said flatly, able already at fifteen to spot real meaning through polite bullshit.
Bruce had just smiled and nodded, as if to say, yep, I was right about you.
Tim had smirked and added, "Our tech is a little more advanced than a switchboard. But… Relay has a nice ring to it."
So, he'd begun training under Batman's mentorship – learning acrobatics from Nightwing, social engineering and undercover tactics from Tim, and cooking from Alfred – although that was more a side effect of hanging around the kitchen until he was put to work than it was part of standard Bat-training.
Between brutal trainings, he'd worked patrol alongside the rest of them via an increasingly complex comms system, slowly becoming more and more a part of the Batfam. Tim seemed pleased with the situation, as Relay was quicky established as more effective off the streets, and rarely saw dangerous action.
Bernard suspects that having a hero his own age who'd been his friend first had been a significant positive in Tim's life too, even if it's a touch too vulnerable for him to recognize on his own. Seriously, if Bernard hadn't been willing to join the objectively insane Batman is still alive crusade during The Year That Totally Sucked, he's pretty sure Tim would've gone totally off the deep end and done something reckless when Superboy died.
As it turns out, Bruce had been right about where Bernard would be the most effective, and two years later, Relay is something Bernard had always hoped he'd find a place to be – invaluable to the people he loves, an irreplaceable piece of one of the world's many secrets.
He can do ninety through twilight traffic on a motorcycle mostly without freaking out about it, and he can dismantle a handgun in under five seconds, and has the upper body strength to pull himself onto a ledge by his fingertips — a skill that more Gothamites should have, considering. He speaks fluent Russian, passable Mandarin, and enough of a half-dozen other languages to work a global contact network.
He even has a set of fitted body armor in black and dark green – which he dutifully dons to check for fit and damage on a monthly schedule – but for the most part his Relay "costume" involves nondescript civilian clothes. He performs passably with escrima sticks, a bo staff, and Batarangs, but his hand-to-hand and grappling are only acceptable for self-defense.
Would he like to be able to kick ass on the streets with the rest of them? Sure.
But Relay really is more effective from a satellite view of Gotham, overlaid with tracking dots for everything from Batman himself to the entire GCPD patrol car fleet. He flies between comms channels the way the Robins fly between buildings, and more than once, he's gotten them out of a sticky spot during a mission or followed his instincts to find the information that cracked a case.
Just this month, Batman had briefed him on a joint mission with the Justice League and the Teen Titans. With four Bats between the two teams that Relay would already be providing support to, Batman thought is made sense for Relay to take the role of comms and intel expert for the whole mission. That had been his first time "meeting" any other hero teams, even if he'd just been a voice on the other end of their comms.
All of which is why he's sitting in a sub-level of the Batcave at seventeen years old, wearing green skinny jeans and a black hoodie with his hunter-green domino, sorting through post-mission intel on a custom-built system that would put the US intelligence network to shame, and pretending not to notice how attractive Superboy looks lounging backwards on a swivel chair.
Okay, so maybe working out his high school crush's secret vigilante double-life had been a net positive in his life.
Still, that doesn't mean it's a good idea to reawaken his childhood crush on Superboy, especially now that they're sort-of colleagues.
Technically, he didn't have a crush on this Superboy, since he apparently only recently appeared in this version of reality. That's what Tim says, anyway, but Bernard has extremely clear memories of Superboy both existing and being his oh shit I might be gay celebrity crush.
Bernard had watched through security camera feeds as Superboy casually left the conference room in the manor upstairs, undiscreetly checked his surroundings, and snuck down into the Batcave and then deeper still into his work area full of servers and screens, apparently just to seek him out.
As far as Bernard is aware — which is extremely fucking far, considering — Superboy isn't currently being mind-controlled or impersonated, so it's doubtful his intention here is malicious, which mostly just makes it mysterious.
And, per the previously-noted incident with the false door in an antique grandfather clock, there is very little that Bernard Dowd is less equipped to resist than a mystery.
"So you're the newest Bat-kid?"
Bernard hums, well aware that he isn't supposed to talk too much about this. He isn't technically one of Bruce's kids, but Bruce has made it clear that he's part of the family in all but legal status. He also isn't the newest, having gotten involved more than a year before Damian showed up.
"More or less," is all he says.
"I see you're as talkative as the rest of them," Superboy quips.
Bernard smirks to himself. If only you knew, he thinks.
"Just a bit busy at the moment," he says. "I need to process the mission data, and this team is larger than my usual crew."
Now it's Superboy's turn to hum. He rises and comes to stand behind Bernard's chair, pretending he needs to lean in to peer at the farthest monitor, even though he could've counted the pixels from where he'd been sitting.
Which means the nearness is intentional.
For… some reason.
Later, he'll tell himself he was observing Superboy, trying to determine which pieces of data draw his attention. He'll pretend that he doesn't enjoy the fact that Superboy smells like the vanilla-lavender products that Dick stocks in the manor's guest bathrooms as a joke, or lose a few seconds realizing that Superboy was, at some point very recently, naked in the manor upstairs.
"Your heart's beating real fast, Relay." Superboy's voice is very, very quiet, and very, very close to his ear.
He's impressed with himself when he manages to say, "You're standing real close to me, Superboy," without his voice audibly shaking.
"That affected by my presence?"
"You could kill me faster than I can blink, so." He starts to shrug, then aborts the motion before he accidentally touches the teen idol standing so close that he could touch him with a motion as small as a shrug.
Superboy makes an imitation of a wounded sound, and adds a pout to his voice, which Bernard is pretty sure is a war crime. "You don't really think I'd hurt you, do you?"
"I don't think you'd do it here," he says flatly, because— well, because it's true. Then, because he's always had limited self-preservation skills in the presence of blue eyes, he adds, "You aren't stupid. Despite the himbo front."
"You think it's a front?"
It's telling that Superboy's response wasn't to object to the description, but to question the accusation. Those are the kinds of little things that Relay is known for picking up on – the tiny choices of words, what someone does or doesn't react to – that create unmistakable patterns no one else sees.
"Don't feel bad," Relay says with a smirk of his own. He dares to minutely turn his head to the side – not enough to touch, but enough to smell the vanilla-lavender stronger than ever. "It's literally my job to look past what everyone else sees."
Superboy's face is so close that Bernard can feel his thoughtful hum vibrate the fine hairs on his cheek. He pretends that the wash of goosebumps down that side of his body are unrelated.
Superboy gamely pretends along with him, since Bernard is pretty confident there's no way he hadn't actually noticed.
"If it helps, it's a good front," he offers, both an olive branch and a distraction.
It's just a slight exhale of amusement that escapes Superboy, but Bernard hears it clearly from half an inch away. Worse yet, he can feel it against his jaw.
"If you like the front, you should check out the back when I leave."
Now it's Relay's turn to huff out a breath, though his is closer to a scoff. "You do play the vain, pretty-boy idiot well, I'll give you that."
"I'll have you know, it's hard work to be naturally this hot and still find things to be vain about."
"I'll take your word for it."
"You don't have to," he shoots back, his voice darker and more intense. More honest. "Look at me all you want, Relay. In person, through your cameras. However you want to see me."
"Why are you flirting with me?"
"I'm a vain, pretty-boy himbo. It's what I do."
Superboy finally stands and steps back, granting a reasonable amount of distance. Then he
"The real question is, why aren't you flirting back?"
"Maybe I'm just not into guys."
"You are. I could tell from the way Rob told me to stay away from you."
That sounds about right, and kind of makes him want to flirt back just to get even.
"Then maybe I'm just not into you."
"You are. I can tell from how hard you're working to keep looking at my face."
There's a tense silence that Bernard is suppsed to be an invitation to– to look at Superboy.
Look at me all you want, Relay.
"Are you and Rob a thing? Is that why he got so protective?"
"He's my brother," Bernard says pointedly.
It's more true and less painful a fact than it used to be. He and Tim aren't legally siblings, but there were only so many times he could see the guy strung out on caffeine and case notes before the attraction started to wear off.
Besides, he can admit to himself now that at least half of what intrigued him about Tim was his air of mystery. Once that had dissipated, what was left was his best friend and brother in arms.
Superboy, on the other hand…
No. No. No.
He's not going there.
It's just…
The thing is…
Superboy presents himself as a shallow, transparent charicature of himself, yet Bernard is pretty sure no one else sees through him or has any concept of the depths he holds. No one else sees Superboy like Bernard does.
"Maybe on paper, but—"
"No, emotionally," Bernard cuts him off. The fact that he and Tim see each other as brothers stings less than it used to, but it doesn't not sting at all. It's been too long of a week and he has too much work to do before he can sleep to be willing to entertain this topic of conversation with fucking Superboy, of all people.
"Then why would he warn me off you?"
"He probably thinks you'd be a bad influence on me," Bernard replies, staring up at Superboy sweetly. "And I'm inclined to agree with him."
"Or maybe he thinks you'll be a bad influence on me," he counters with another sly grin. "Am I gonna get into trouble, hanging out with you?"
The switch from third conditional to first conditional tense isn't lost on Bernard – Superboy's shift in their language from hypothetical unknowns to a future determination. He doesn't mean to swallow, but it happens involuntarily, as does the desperate blush that follows it when Superboy's eyes snap to his throat.
One hand in a fingerless glove reaches toward Bernard's face, pausing for a second when he starts to pull back. After a moment of stillness, Superboy finished the movement.
The first thing Bernard notices is that the fingers are warm and smooth against the slight stubble on his cheek. Relay immediately clocks that there are no calluses whatsoever on the fingers pressing gently against the hinge of his jaw.
"Should unclench your jaw," Superboy murmurs, thumb dusting across his cheekbone. "You'll give yourself a headache."
For just a moment, Bernard is certain that Superboy is about to kiss him. His eyes flick down and then back up, clearly looking at his mouth, and Bernard can't help mimicking the motion. It's a huge mistake, because Superboy's lips are the most delicious-looking shade of pink — seriously, is the guy wearing lip stain? — and so plush, Bernard is pretty sure he's going to be thinking about them for the rest of the night.
Instead, Superboy just says, "G'night, Relay," in a gentle voice that sounds like someone else entirely.
Relay turns to watch Superboy leave the server room — and yeah, the back is good, too.
In the video feeds, he watches Superboy cross the main room of the Cave and climb the stairs back to the manor. He watches Superboy slip back into the foyer and lean casually against the wall, scrolling on his phone just as the conference room empties out.
There isn't 100% video coverage in the manor, so there should be some gaps in his view of Superboy's route. But Superboy passes through the widest possible path of each lens, a path of awkward angles that a person would only choose intentionally, and only if they knew the exact locations an angles of every camera they passed.
Look at me all you want, Relay. In person, through your cameras.
He watches Superboy interact briefly with Robin — "Where'd you sneak off to?" "Nowhere, just got bored of the debrief." — and say goodbye to his team with smirks and finger guns.
He watches Superboy leave the manor and the manor grounds with complete disregard for subtlety, only to change tactics as he approaches the security perimeter around Bristol, moving to an appropriate height for stealth.
"Superboy, you are something else," Relay mutters to himself.
He almost isn't surprised when Superboy pauses in midair at his words — he half-expects a smirk flashed at the nearest camera, actually.
To his very slight disappointment, Superboy turns the wrong way. Bernard thinks he's looking for a camera, but then realizes — Superboy is facing him, where he actually, physically is.
Lifting his gaze from the monitors, Bernard directs his eyes in the approximate direction of Superboy, high in the air above the property line. He wonders if the x-ray vision can actually see this deep, or if he's just estimating Relay's last location.
As a test – of Superboy's powers or his own self-control, he isn't sure which – Relay touches his fingers to his mouth and blows a little kiss toward the ceiling of the sub-level of the Batcave.
Superboy, of course, catches it, inspects it in the palm of his hand, and tucks it into the pocket of his jacket with an oddly soft smile.
It's an impressively good front. Bernard wonders how long Superboy was stranded outside reality, and how many times he'd had to grow up before being dropped back here as his teenaged self.
The arrogant pretty-boy, the rash loudmouth who acts without thinking – it really is a good front. One built up across realities and lifetimes. One so solid that no one questions it, because in every reality he's been folded back into, most people have only ever seen this one, consistent iteration of Superboy.
Most people aren't Relay, though, and Relay? He sees it for what it is.
Superboy is the hero, just the face he shows the world. The mask that he dons, like Robin's or Batman's, or even Relay's.
But there's someone more behind that mask.
It's as obvious as a false door in an antique grandfather clock, and as inescapable as the fact that Bernard is going to find out where it goes.
The only real question, he supposes as Superboy zips out of Gotham and the range of his observational systems, is whether he'll find that there's a floor.
“Wanna get out of here?”
Bernard's heart was thumping in his chest as he looked up at the man,or fae,above him. He then looked around to the beat up cult members all across the clearing floor before back up to the fae.
“What?”
Bernard makes a deal with a fae. Not so bad, considering.
Ao3 Link
“Wanna get out of here?”
Bernard's heart was thumping in his chest as he looked up at the man,or fae,above him. He then looked around to the beat up cult members all across the clearing floor before back up to the fae.
“What?” He breathed, still trying to process what happened.
The fae laughed,one that sent tingles down Bernard's spine.
“You wanna get out of here?” The fae asked again,running a hand up his arm to the ropes around his wrist. Bernard shivered,he didn't have much room to pull away, being tied up and all.
“What's the catch for helping here?” Bernard asked, looking at the fae. “I'd love the help, but knowing what it be in exchange for be nice.”
The fae pouted,Bernard could feel a thin hair tipped tail brush against his side.
“Why can't I just want to help you to be nice?” He tilted his head.
“I wouldn't still be restrained to this altar,would I? You could have already freed me if you wanted. Not to mention you're staring me down like some prize.” Bernard pointed out,his own tail flicked back and forth. “So? What's the catch?”
The fae's face flushed for a moment at Bernard calling out his staring,before he grinned, “Observant little kitty,I like it.” He hummed, running a finger over Bernard's wrist just beside the ropes. Bernard couldn't help but shudder again,the fae had to be doing this on purpose.
“Like I said,get you out of here.” The fae hummed, “Be a waste to leave such a cute cat to fend for himself out here.”
“So, you want to kidnap me?” Bernard snorted.
“Is it kidnapping if I'm giving you the choice?” The fae hummed, tilting his head.
Bernard frowned,he wasn't sure if it really be considered a choice if it was between that and having to get himself untied and off the altar before the others woke without help. Even then,where would he go? Not home,especially after being turned,his parents hardly accepted him before the ears and tail. Maybe his friends? Even then he was unsure how close they really were,did he trust them not to freak out?
Even worse,something he hated to admit,but Bernard was liking the attention the fae was giving him at the moment. The only contact he's really had in recent times has been from the cult. Rough and painful touches disguised as loving.
But the fae's touch didn't hurt, he hardly really touched him. It was gentle and warm. So warm.
Would it be so bad to cave in and let the fae take him, if it meant he'd keep giving Bernard that same affectionate touch?
Gods,he was sounding pathetic.
“What do you even want me for?” Bernard asked, pushing all those pathetic thoughts to the side for now. “What use would some were-leopard have for you?”
“For company,of course.” The fae said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Gets lonely out here without my family, you know?”
Bernard blinked, he had a family that wasn't around at the moment. From the way he spoke it didn't sound like they were dead. He bit back the personal questions spinning in his mind.
“So. Like a pet.” Bernard huffed.
“Like a friend.” The fae corrected.
Oh.
Friend. It was a simple statement but…the fact a fae wanted to be friends with him.
Sure,he was through swooping him away from all he knows, but it wasn't like he'd be that missed anyway.
It really sounded nice.
“Okay. Fine.”
The fae perked up, “A deal?”
“If- you at least tell me your name first.” Bernard added quickly.
At first Bernard thought the fae would immediately brush off the idea completely, but the fae just grinned.
“Clever. You do have to call me something.” The fae hummed as he gently tugged on Bernard's restraints.
“It's Kon.” Kon smiled,tilting his head, “So? That a deal?”
Bernard really was a bit too far at this point to just say no, the fae literally told him his name and seemed pretty honest about it,as much as he shouldn't immediately trust it. No turning back now.
“Deal.”
Kon made a happy trill sound before Bernard suddenly found his restraints were off in an instant. He heard the flutter of wings as he sat up a bit dazed,he turned to his right to see Kon there, offering a hand to Bernard to help him off the altar like some gentleman.
It also gave Bernard a better look at Kon. Dark curly hair, vibrant blue almost violet eyes,beautiful black and red iridescent wings,he's seen fae in photos but none compared to the real thing. Even the sharp fangs peaking through Kon's smile didn't deter Bernard from his absolute fascination with the fae.
“Earth to kitty.” Kon hummed out, “We going or not? Cause these idiots might not stay out forever.” he said with a kick in the head of one the cult's higher ups on the floor.
Bernard blushed, “Right. You gotta stop calling me kitty.” He hissed.
“Well,I don't have your name,do I?” Kon tilted his head,fluttering his eye lashes at him. “I'm happy to call you something else, even if kitty is fitting.
Bernard narrowed his eyes, “This one those trying steal my name moments.”
Kon gave an offended sound, “We do not steal names!” He hissed, “That's just rumors. They don't want you lot telling us your names ‘cause it establishes connections with us! Which we already have through a Deal. So that fear is void, thank you very much.” Kon crossed his arms and stomped his for a bit like a child.
“Okay,jeez,sore subject.” Bernard grumbled, though Kon did look kinda cute when he got huffy he really didn't want to offend him. “Well, in that case. My name's Bernard,no Bernie or I swear I will bop you on that pretty face of yours.”
Kon made a happy flustered trill, “You think I'm pretty?”
“I will bite you.” Bernard said, trying to seem more imitating than he felt.
“Tempting.” Kon sighed before holding out his hand again. “Well Bernard. Shall we get going?”
Bernard felt tingling down his spine when Kon said his name, now not 100% positive he didn't just give it away or something. Still, he took Kon's hand and let him help him off the altar. He tried to ignore the butterflies in his chest when Kon pressed a kiss to the top of his hand before picking Bernard up like it was nothing.
“Hey!” Bernard made an embarrassing yowl in surprise as he was suddenly picked up, instinctively holding onto Kon who seemed pretty happy with the arrangement.
“Hold on.” Kon grinned, “air travel rough with two.”
“Perfect.” Bernard growled.
He held on even tighter when Kon got off the ground, nuzzling his face into Kon's shoulder as he tried not to throw up from the sudden rise in altitude.
Kon laughed with the annoyingly cute laugh of his, Bernard was being way too pathetic about all this that's for sure.
“What? Not a fan of heights?” Kon playfully teased, though Bernard could feel him hold him more securely as if to make Bernard me comfortable.
“I've never flown before.” Bernard grumbled, “i’m a climber, not used to going this high and so fast.” he let out a mrro of complaint.
Kon hummed, “Won't be going for long, don't worry. My place ain't far.” He said, “You get use to it though, just try not to throw up on me if you do so.”
“No promises.” Bernard snorted as he tried to settle into Kon's arms.
This is really happening. He thought as they flew,it felt like a dream.
Maybe im just slowly bleeding out and this just my mind making something up as I die from blood loss. a morbid side of him thought. Not the worst way for my brain to handle dying i guess.
Bernard just sighed,letting himself melt into Kon's warmth. Rather this was real or his mind's version of the reaper he really didn't care. He,despite the circumstances, felt safer than he had in months, probably years. He didn't know Kon well, sure,but at this moment he didn't care.
Bernard felt warm, safe, and was exhausted between the deal and going through the process leading to finding himself on the altar.
So, he let himself relax,falling asleep to the wind around them, the rising sun shining over them, and the sound of Kon's pulse as he nuzzled into his shoulders more. It wasn't long before he completely drifted off.
decided to redraw this piece for funzies as i will never get over how the old drawing still gets notes despite being one of the worst things i have drawn recently
