based on this scene in arcane | 1863 words | angst/comfort??? hurt/comfort??? something ||| cw - mentions of death
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From the moment he woke, Kon-El had said everything he could think of to get the League off of his back. Despite his constant reassurance that he was fine, absolutely fine, they demanded he stay under their care for at least seventy-two hours before leaving. So they could make sure it had all gone smoothly. Make sure it was actually a success, and not just another particularly optimistic blip like before.
Kon was gone after twenty-seven. Ducking out through the window the second he was left alone to rest, he made his way stiffly and painfully across the city, flying through a familiar window and into a dimly-lit manor.
He didn’t stop then, didn’t even let his feet touch the ground. He gave only a little wave to Alfred as he flew past him and down the stairs. The old man raised an eyebrow but didn’t even bother pretending to look phased.
The door isn’t closed when he makes it down. Tim’s head was kinked uncomfortably against the desk, his brows scrunched tight together even in his sleep. The computer laid untouched beside him- he hadn’t even bothered to sign in. Pages of an old book crumpled under the weight of his cheek.
All at once, life actually came back to him, and he sucked in a breath that felt like oxygen for the first time since he crawled out of the shitty medbay.
Tim was there. He was alive. That’s all that mattered.
With a haste beyond even what he could manage in battle, he padded up behind his chair. His lips curled into a smile big enough to ache the long-dormant muscles.
Tim’s hair was longer now, his face much thinner. The tiny freckles he’d managed to help form across his nose had faded entirely. The sickly green glow coming from a large canister in the corner of the room paired unkindly with the stark light from the login screen to highlight the exhaustion in his closed eyes.
Apparently Tim had been somewhat decaying alongside him.
Kon froze up at the sight. Even so, his smile never budged. It was him. It was him, and…
“You’re wearing my colors.”
Tim jerked awake, squinting at the room before him, rising at the exact moment his eyes adjusted enough to recognize the other’s shape. The boy’s feet didn’t once leave the ground. Impetuous, he shuffled his hunched form, his head tucking into Kon’s collar like clockwork before it billowed a heavy sigh.
“Not exactly the answer I was expecting, but I guess it counts.”
Tim’s only response was a weak exhale from his nose. Silently, his arms wrapped around Kon-El, in turn being swallowed back.
“Not even a welcome home?” Kon teased lightly, the air between them confusingly calm.
He had been expecting some drift between them. It would have been stranger if it was entirely seamless, he’d decided. This, however… This was eerie.
“Welcome home.” His tone was flat, his voice stripped of anything raw or human. His nose buried into the crook of Kon’s neck and again he fell silent, aside from little whimpers as he tugged comfort from sleeves and hems.
And then, he just… Closed his eyes, resting on the familiar chest, a fistful of fabric in his right hand.
“... What are you doing?” Kon-El questioned. His voice was steady, but his left eyebrow was pinched.
“Waiting to wake up.”
“What?” Confusion danced the line of fear, his arms becoming a stronghold around him.
“... It usually happens by now.” His response was breathy, hiding the secret to keep him there longer. “I’m getting so much more time with you than I normally do…”
All Kon-el could do was stare back at the enigma before him, momentarily convincing himself that he’d stepped back into the wrong body. Words went stale on his tongue before they formed.
“... But Tim, you aren’t dreaming?” His voice upturned, not much, but enough to make Tim’s nose twitch.
“... Of course I fucking am.” He barked it like a demand. “I’ve cloned you ninety goddamn times, every time it's the same… Every time, it's the same dream too. Over and over and over and over again. I always wake up, I-I-" his voice cracked. "Fuck, I can never… actually… bring you back. It never works. It never…”
Kon-el peeled his gaze away only long enough to glance at the green canister once more, glowing and puffing chemical-scented smoke from a vent at the very top. His heart plummeted back into the ground below. He could practically see Tim standing there for all those months, fists landing in failure again and again where deep scuff marks now stood. The thought left a starving pit gaping in his stomach.
His arms envelope Tim like the action could protect him from the reality he had already faced.
“Tim, what are you talking about? I’m right here.”
Tim’s hands wrestled harshly with his hair, a desperate attempt to rip the thoughts from his own mind. “Stop it, stop it, stop it, don’t get my hopes up. Not again.”
“Tim, look at me!” Kon shook him, demanding, pleading, a hand cradled to his cheek. “God, I’m right here, I'm right here, I'm here. I'm here, Tim. It’s over now. No more of…. Whatever the fuck that is, okay? I’m real.”
He looked up blankly again, his eye as wide as a nightmared child. He shook his head. “Please, just… Stop it and hold me.”
Without a beat between, Kon-el tugged the boy back against his chest, every part of him now baying for Tim and morbidly desperate. His being swam to him, only to hit a wall.
The silence between them flowed, the familiarity of it like a distant melody heard from an out of tune piano. It crackled with heavy emotion but never truly took flame into them, merely flickering themselves in and back out again.
Running a hand through unrecognizably styled hair, Kon spoke again. “What can I do to make you believe it’s real?”
Tim swallowed, his head not leaving its nest against him. “... Dunno, I… I should’ve woken up by now… It’s always when I get comfortable…”
Kon’s body drew cold thinking about it, his hold on Tim becoming reverent. He’d never seen him so fragile before. A small gust could blow out the few tiny flickers of tranquility that remained in the hollow shell. The room transmuted into something much more intense, like all of both of them hinged on this very second, this frame, the way the light hit their fingers.
“What… did I do to you, Birdie?”
Tim drew in a sharp breath as the nickname hit his ears, his chest fluttering in a way that only hurt him worse. “Don’t-”
But he couldn’t finish the thought.
“-alone, Alfred. Trust me.”
The shuffle of three sets of footsteps, two heavy and one soft, dropped down to only two. The door pushed open so swiftly that it almost swung back on Clark.
“Tim, I need you on cams now. Scan all of Gotham for…”
Bruce’s words trailed off, replaced by an exasperated sigh at the sight of Kon-El safely there beside him.
Clark was quick behind, a dramatic groan coming from his chest. “What the hell, dude? We told you not to run off like that. Not until-”
“I needed to find him.”
“Kon-el! The entire League is-”
“I don’t give a shit about the League, and if they had something better to do, they wouldn’t give a shit about me, either.”
Clark's lips curved and tightened, but he couldn’t quite argue. He shook his head firmly. “... You scared me, Kon. If Luthor-”
“Well, he didn’t, and I’m fine. If you’re done, then?” He turned back over just in time to catch the boy mid-air.
Tim jumped up into Kon’s arms, his legs wrapping around his waist and his head going limp against his chest. He gripped his shirt even tighter now, so tight that Kon thought it would rip under his fingers. “... You’re real.”
“I’ve been saying that,” Kon quipped, lacking the usual arrogance. He couldn’t manage it, not now.
Tim scoffed, his nose scrunching up. His arms went around Kon’s neck. “Shut up, Boy-Man.”
He let himself believe it then, taking in all of the things he’d missed for so long. His eyes were even brighter than Tim remembered. His little moles were all in the right places. The little crook in the base of his nose was still there, and Tim traced it until he felt the invisible indent of a long-healed scar. Nothing was out of place this time. Nothing had failed. It was him, truly him.
As soon as Tim had no more reason to carry the boulder on his back, his body pushed it off. The stillness of it felt so foreign that he jumped a bit, trepidation filling his chest. Then, as if his body suddenly remembered all of the weight it had been holding, he gasped and crumbled forward into Kon’s shoulder before it all rejected. The eruption was cataclysmic, one more choked gasp before a wail that seemed to come from deep within Tim’s very being. A tidal wave crashing against a barren shore. His body shook so violently from the break that Kon had to adjust his grip.
“Come on, Wonder-Boy,” Kon drawled, warm and cooing. He lifted his feet enough to drift them slowly to the couch, pulling Tim down with him as he landed into the cushion. “The League isn't stealing me back. Not from you.”
Tim whimpered softly in response, his knees tucked right up to his chest. One arm kept a firm hold around Kon’s waist while the other wrapped up his side, and he buried his head into his collar.
When Kon-el pulled him closer, the two men in the doorway knew there was no point in trying to argue it further. Quite honestly, neither man wanted to, anyways- Bruce found Tim particularly difficult to get the word no through to, especially when emotions were involved, and though Clark hated the idea of Kon not being monitored, he knew he was happy here, and knew firsthand how well Alfred could patch someone up in a pinch. With a few grumbles, the two turned and took to the stairs.
“No leaving the manor.”
“And Alfred will call if-”
“Affirmative. Alfred, please get rid of that weird tube down there. Freaks me out.”
“Of course, Master Bruce. Will Kon-El be-”
“I’d plan on it.”
“Until when, sir?”
Bruce turned to look at the two at the bottom of the stairs, unmoving besides Kon’s hand rubbing along Tim’s back. He hummed noncommittally and turned again. “Until I feel it’s distracting more than it’s helping him.”
Alfred softened a bit at that, nodding. “Of course, sir.”
“Damn kid…” Bruce muttered to himself, but the relief in his tone at the prospect of Tim breaking past the glass ceiling of his own making was clear.
Alfred took one last peek into the room for good measure, sighing at the sight of Tim finally starting to look himself again, even if only in little bits and pieces, before shutting the door and leaving them to reconcile.
