Title: To wake and be free (Reference) Series: To be awakened) Pairing: Clark/Tim Summary: There is a long list of people Tim expects he'll never be able to see again. Rating: All ages Notes: For Te, who else? Set post-Unmasked, pre-Identity Crisis. Disclaimer: These characters belong to DC Comics, not to me, and no one pays me to play with them. There is a long list of people Tim expects he'll never be able to see again, starting with Dick and working its way through to Cissie and also incidentally Blue Beetle, and eventually meandering its way through to people like Black Lightning. One of those people touches his shoulder in the subway station on his way home from school, and he turns and stares. The first thing that registers is glasses. The second is the suit. The third is his shoulders. It's been maybe three weeks since he saw Superman, and then it was Superman, not Clark Kent. "Um," Tim says, and Clark gives him a hopeful smile. "Hi." "Hello," Clark says, and then a train comes -- bringing up all kinds of weird and probably not Freudian associations in Tim's head. When the rush off is over, they fight their way on -- or Clark does, and Tim follows him. They end up in the same doorway. "How've you been?" Clark asks Tim, and it's not reporter mode, probably, just -- Clark. Whoever Clark is to someone who isn't Robin anymore. Tim makes himself smile. "Catching up on my sleep. You know they say teenagers actually need about ten hours a day?" "Do they," Clark says. "Well -- good thing you're getting it, then." "I guess," Tim says, and it's hard to look at Clark. He seems so damped-down in a suit, like what he really wants is for the train to get derailed so he can fly. Or maybe Tim's projecting. That's plausible too. "Have you spoken to --" "No," Tim says, quickly, because there's one level of pain that comes with having to think about everything he's lost, and then there's another that comes with being reminded of it all. "Ah," Clark says, and he touches Tim's shoulder again. "Are you sure you did the right thing?" Tim can feel the way Clark is looking at him -- like X-ray vision, except not really; it's just that Clark pays attention to people, all the time, because he has to learn how to act like them. It makes Tim want his mask. Clark can probably tell that he's being blank on purpose. "Mostly." "Tim --" The way Clark says his name is like the way Kon probably wanted to when he randomly broke in: wistful and useless, from someone who's really not useless very often. There are some things superpowers just can't fix. "Why are you here?" Tim asks. Clark's smile is quick and genuine. It makes Tim hurt a little -- how long has it been since anyone smiled at him and meant it? "I heard there was some interesting news in the local, ah, subterranean community." Tim raises an eyebrow. "Who?" Clark touches his shoulder again, and even through Tim's jacket his hands feel warm. "You." "I'm not a scoop," Tim says, but he doesn't pull away. "I'm yesterday's news." "Hardly." Clark smiles at him again, his expression as warm as his hands. "Where are you going next?" "Home," Tim says. "I'm grounded. All kinds of grounded, and I can't --" He shakes his head. "I really miss them. All of them." "Even Bruce?" Clark asks softly. Tim lets his breath out slowly, but it's not quite a sigh. "Especially Bruce, sometimes." "Really?" "Clark --" Tim sighs and tries again. "What are you really doing here?" "Nobody's forgotten you," Clark says. "I --" Tim bites his lip and wonders what his little plaque says. "A Good Detective"? "Highly Motivated"? He says, "It's Bruce." "True, but -- not just him." The train stops. "Come on," Clark says, and he pulls Tim toward the door. "I have another five stops to go," Tim protests. Clark looks back at him and laughs, then gets off the train. Tim follows. He can already hear himself lying to his dad in his head. "I can't be late," he says when he catches up to Clark again. "You'll be early," Clark promises, and they start up the stairs. Tim is watching carefully, and he still can't see the transition point between walking down the street next to Clark and being picked up by Superman. The thrill of flight is something he almost took for granted. He promises himself he'll never forget how special it is again, whether or not he gets the chance. This might be the last time he gets to fly, ever. Superman's arm is around his waist, Gotham is sparkly and huge beneath them, and it's scary and wonderful and perfect. Tim can hear his heart pounding as much as feel it, as much from the thought of losing the chance to do this as the actual doing it. Superman would never drop him. Superman gives him a little squeeze. "Are you all right -- Tim?" There was a "Robin" in that sentence. There was a Robin in Gotham, too. Tim clears his throat. "Yes." "You left quite the gap, you know," Superman says. "The Titans, Gotham --" "It wasn't something I meant to do." "No," Superman says, and his voice is so warm. There's no warmth in Tim's life anymore. "And I'm not saying you ought to go back on your decision." Tim shivers. "I want to. I -- I wish I could." "You're uniquely qualified," Superman says, "even if it's not in the same ways as --" "I put in my time, didn't I?" Tim shakes his head. "Do you even know what Bruce gave me for my birthday? I -- I can't -- he may need someone, but I don't know if it's me, anymore, or -- maybe he doesn't need me like that, anymore, or --" Superman says, "Tim --" He's smiling a little, looking rueful -- maybe he's heard this kind of dithering before, and he's about to give Tim a suggestion for what to do as a Robin past the Batman phase of his life -- but instead, Superman kisses his cheek, which starts a whole new line of thinking, speculation, and comparing data in Tim's head. Uniquely qualified. "I'm not entirely concerned with Bruce at the moment," Superman says. "I see," Tim says, even though he's not a hundred percent sure he does, yet. It's going to take a little time to process. Superman is still smiling at him. Processing is something that's going to have to wait. "I -- Clark --" This isn't something he's consciously considered before, but there are memories falling into place about Superman offering to take him flying, about long looks and alien-warm hands and -- "Oh," Tim says. He's wondered, sometimes, what kissing Kon would be like, because Kon would be easy to kiss. Superman never seemed reachable, but he's right there. He's always been right there. It would take longer to theorize about what it would feel like to kiss him than it does to kiss him. He tastes like sunshine and feels like a full-body embrace -- logically enough -- way, way above a city that may or may not know they're there. There's a world in this kiss Tim thought he wouldn't be able to touch anymore, and it's not just about capes. It's Clark and how he knows everyone on Tim's list of people he's not supposed to know. It's like being Robin again, and like really being all of himself, not just the Tim parts. He's someone who's bright enough and strong enough to convince Superman he's worth kissing -- even though he hasn't been able to be the person Superman knows for too long. Maybe, and maybe this is all right, even if he should be on his way home more conventionally than he is. Nobody's supposed to see them up here, either, even though Batman and Oracle must know they're there. If anyone else even bothers to look up -- When Superman breaks the kiss, Tim whispers, "It's a bird." Superman looks like a confused Hellenic statue. Tim kisses him again, looking for that feeling of being himself. Not lying to his dad isn't really making him feel better, but this is -- because it's Superman, and maybe this can happen again. Maybe they can go flying more often. It's not all about the flying, even if flying is Freudian for sex. Everything is Freudian for sex on some level, anyway. It's about the way Superman is holding him, and how he feels more grounded a quarter mile off the pavement than he has since he gave up the mask. Talking to Kon was nothing like this. This is everything he missed, everything he needed, and the invulnerable, perfect promise that it's still available. Maybe he's a little in love. He can tell they're losing altitude -- not falling, just headed for the ground smoothly -- well before they get to building height. That means they have to stop kissing -- or should, anyway. Especially because when Tim looks up, he recognizes the silhouette of his own building. "Superman?" Superman winks. "I told you you'd be early." His window is locked, but that's not a real barrier for Robin -- For a guy who used to be Robin. Superman is even more out of place in his room than Kon was, though maybe less so than Clark Kent would be. He hasn't quite stopped smiling yet, even though he's turned it down. Tim runs a hand through his hair and says, "I should let my dad know I'm home." "Absolutely," Superman says, and he opens Tim's bedroom door. "I --" Tim hesitates, because he really doesn't want to start lying again, but Superman gives him a little push. "Go on," he says softly. "Hey, Dad," Tim calls, "I'm home." "Tim?" His dad comes into the hallway. "How did you --" He stops, absolutely and completely, staring over Tim's shoulder. Tim clears his throat. "Um, Dad, this is Superman." His dad says, "..." and then, faintly, "Hello, Superman." Superman is standing right behind Tim, feeling warm and huge and strong. He strides up to Tim's dad, who has never quite managed to look so short, and takes his hand. "You've raised a fine young man here, Mr. Drake." "Um," Tim's dad says, and then, "Thank you. Sir." "I've been very impressed by his expertise," Superman says. Tim can see his dad squirm. "That's -- that's good." Superman pats Tim's shoulder. "He's very responsible. Always does the right thing." Tim's dad gives him a deer in the headlights look. "I hope so, um, Superman." Superman is beaming. Tim can't see it, but he can hear it. "Oh, always, Mr. Drake. Ah --" he looks at the ceiling. "Speaking of responsibilities --" Tim tries not to laugh, because it's entirely possible that Superman isn't telling a white lie, but -- it's hard to know. "'Bye, Superman. Thanks for the lift." Superman squeezes Tim's shoulder. "My pleasure, Tim. Take care, Mr. Drake." There's a whoosh of air and he's gone. Tim's dad stands there for a good forty-three seconds. "Superman," he says eventually. Tim nods. "We worked together -- every now and then." "Superman," he says again, and then, "Huh." He blinks and shakes his head like somebody waking up. "Do you have homework to do?" "Some," Tim says, thinking of the problem sets for physics he saved just to be able to answer yes to that question. Tim's dad gets a vindicated "I'm doing well at parenting" look and nods. "You'd better go do it, then." "Sure, Dad," Tim says, and he goes back to his room and closes the door. There's a note on his desk that says, "Keep in touch," signed with an S. "Don't worry, Clark," Tim says quietly. "I won't forget to write."
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