Title: True as steel (9200 words) Fandom: DCU (AU) Series: Prequel to So sweet a changeling Summary: A little more Super, a little less boy. Pairing: Tim/Conner [sic], Tim/Barbara Rating: Adult Warning: Content some readers may find disturbing. Notes: The Oracle/Tim is for Katarik. Thanks to her and Te for encouraging me to write this, and to Nokomis for beta reading. Also, happy birthday, Zee. This is not the present you're looking for. Tim misses Dick, and the images Oracle -- not Barbara, now -- has are too real, too sharp and bright and reminiscent of a world that doesn't exist anymore. "Damn," Tim says, and has to laugh at himself while also crying and moving his hand off of his erection to wipe the tears out of his eyes. "You'd think with all this RAM, I wouldn't miscalculate," Oracle says, smiling ruefully at him. "Maybe -- something softer." There's a flash -- it could be his imagination, but it isn't -- of Steph. Then Barbara, as she isn't anymore, and several of her wide array of toys. Tim raises an eyebrow at her. "While you've always been excellent company --" Bruce, showering, leaning against the wall, his features slack with incipient pleasure. "Maybe 'softer' isn't the right word." There are inherent problems in being willing to eroticize one's dead, estranged mentor, but Tim is more than willing to take them in stride, or stroke, whichever is more effective. The aesthetic pleasure of watching him -- the recording must be four years old if it's a day, from those scars -- far outweighs the perfunctory rush of irritation at Bruce for his thousand failures. "Softer has never been -- mm -- to my taste." Oracle grins at him in a way that doesn't interfere with the footage at all. The psychological effects of the implant are complex and need to be better mapped -- but not right now. "Nor to mine. Pinch your nipple." She doesn't say, "for me," and she doesn't need to. It's not for her at all, and it also is. He's given her satellites and servers; a little sex is nothing compared to that. "As you wish, Oracle." She laughs and shows him a parallel image of what he looks like, keeping time with Bruce in that faraway shower while warm in his own bed. Bruce's bed, once. Tim's now, and Oracle says, "A little faster," in his head, and, "Harder," and he shivers. "You'd think it did something for you," he says silently. Aloud, he gasps, and watches his own mouth open with it. Oracle says, "Oh, it does. Come for me." It only takes a little more -- she knows his rhythms well -- and he bites his lip so as not to say her name. Any name. "Thank you," he says, and reflexively, "I love you." Her smile is gentler now, sweet as a lover's embrace. "You said that already. Get some rest, there's a Lexcorp board meeting tomorrow and I need you at the top of your game." Tim yawns and wipes himself off, then tosses her a lazy mental salute. "Don't take over any countries without waking me up." "Maybe just a little one," she says, and blows him a kiss as he drifts off. * "And the programming?" Tim asks. Dr. Isobel, the scientist presently in charge of the lab, gives him a nervous look. His job with Drake Industries is exactly as tenuous as the outcome of this project. The last four failures were escorted off of the premises as soon as their final efforts proved nonviable -- not the preliminary attempts, but the full-focus, full-funding experiments. "We have made some changes," he temporizes, "given the elapsed years since the first effort, and the, ah, cultural shifts, but the personality formation should be equivalent." Tim restrains himself to merely lifting an eyebrow. Dr. Isobel stammers. "It's just that a twenty-five year old wouldn't be as aware of some of the references provided in the files as the files themselves suggested -- television shows, for example, and music --" "Forward your amendments to me, please." Personality formation has always been the second most delicate part of this operation, after the basic biological groundwork. Finer minds than Dr. Isobel's have spent long hours weighing the precise value of an intimate knowledge of the musical episode of 'Wendy the Werewolf Stalker' as opposed to more contemporary references, and the shifting patterns of slang in the years since the project was first implemented would certainly give the scientists pause. The only answer Tim has been able to accept is that a Kon who used the word "shui" instead of "cool," and who did not heavily spice his conversation with "dude," would not be Kon at all. Hence the project's label, CONR. "If the cultural programming is acceptable," Dr. Isobel says, nodding at Tim, "then we should be able to apply it beginning next week." Tim acknowledges this with a nod. "I'll review the material by Monday." Dr. Isobel smiles weakly. "Thank you. It has been an honor working on this --" "Tell me that when you've succeeded," Tim says, and turns away. There is a great deal of work to be done before he will be willing to congratulate anyone in this sector. "You used to be a bit more diplomatic," Oracle says in his metaphorical ear. Tim frowns at her. "I used to have a lot less to lose." "Luthor at three-o'clock," she says, and he turns to check. Lex Luthor is not a healthy man. He walks with a cane and wears the not precisely flesh toned breathing apparatus of someone with acute respiratory problems. His eyes are as bright as they have ever been, though, and when he sees Tim, his smile is as sharp. "Drake, you've arrived." Tim nods. "I trust my scientists, but --" Luthor makes an unpleasant sound in his throat. "You know as well as I do that you're smarter than all of them put together." He winks. "Not unlike me, in that respect." If Tim didn't need Luthor to contribute his technological expertise, this whole process would be different, and he would sleep more soundly when he gets the chance. "Mm. Given that, I asked for a copy of the cultural conditioning they intend to use." Luthor chuckles, coughs, and nods until his breathing comes back to normal. "See if they can do a better job of it this time. A little more Super, a little less boy, yes?" Oracle says, "Smile." Tim does, though if Luthor was any less distracted by his own health, he'd see the falsity in the expression. "Yes." Luthor pats him on the shoulder. "I'd like a copy of those files for reference, myself." "I'll forward them to you," Tim promises, "but I've got a meeting at eleven with --" "Of course you do." Luthor glances at his watch. "A businessman's work is never done, Drake." Tim says, "Never. Good day," and manages to take his leave without further incident. "Not bad," Oracle says, "though you really need to work on that expression of yours. You've always been good at blank, but no one's going to buy the smile." "The world does not need another Brucie Wayne," Tim says, not for the first time. Oracle shows him a brief clip of Bruce kissing some woman, then turning away, his face entirely Batman's. "No, but nobody's going to crown you the prince of Gotham at this rate." Tim smiles to himself as he enters his fingerprints to sign out of the building. "The thought is not going to keep me up at night." * "You need to eat something," Oracle says. "You're not Alfred," Tim tells her, putting on his jacket. She glares at him with all the force she can bring to bear, which is considerable. "I know, but I can lock you in the house until you've eaten something." Tim shakes his head. "I have overrides and an appointment. Stop." Oracle's smile is truly Barbara's, self-satisfied. "You don't have the former, anymore, and as for the latter, if you think I'll let you meet a brand-new Superman on an empty stomach, you've got another think coming." He will need to reestablish his control over the security system, his schedule, and the workings of his digestive system, but he only has time for one of those things before the appointment. "This is why you woke me an hour late." "Bingo." The lights in his room go out and the hallway lights go on. "Get moving. You need some protein. If you fall at his feet, it'll be a terrible first impression." The emergency rations are sufficient calories for a day of hard labor. Tim salutes Oracle with one in the empty kitchen and starts to eat it on his way to the car, resolutely ignoring the taste of greasy cardboard. The car is waiting, and the driver nods to him. "Theban Labs, Mr. Drake?" "Please." "You had plenty of time for real breakfast," Oracle says, shaking her head at him. Tim closes his eyes and thinks about the thousand things that can still go wrong, or have gone wrong, with the experiment reaching its closure in two hours. "I don't have the stomach for it. If something happens, Barbara --" "I know." She has all of the files of failed experiments from the cellular level to the post-fetal, cancerous growths and hydrocephalic mistakes, and the worst, who was the equivalent size of a ten year old by the time the doctor running the project realized that the DNA was unstable, and that the slightest exposure to sun would ruin it. That one had opened its -- his -- eyes when they terminated the project, and screamed underwater. "I still don't know whether this is the right thing to do," Tim admits in the privacy of his own head, where it is not private at all anymore. Barbara's sigh is not entirely Oracle's. "You need him. We all need him." One of Lois Lane's articles on the subject flashes by Tim's inner eye, only the headline visible, and he winces from it. The world needs a Superman, yes, but perhaps not this one. "He won't be Clark." "No. And he won't be Kon." Tim swallows the last of his breakfast and the persistent longing, neither of which improve his comfort levels. "The most that we can hope for is that he'll be Superman." "That would be enough." * He stands, he walks, he flies, each with the jerky grace of a colt and the amazement of new eyes, for all that his face has no puppy fat and his ear is not pierced. Luthor would not stand for such whimsy. He refers to his power as "TTK," blithely and with no apparent need to use the full phrase. When he is released from the quarantine chamber and does not immediately drop dead, Tim introduces himself. "Tim Drake." There is a spark of recognition in the clone's eyes -- he knows, this one, exactly who his daddy is, and who has bankrolled his life. "I've heard so much about you," he says. Kon would have winked if he used such a trite phrase. This is not Kon. His speech is too precise, too polite. All Super and no boy, whatever the programming implied when Tim finished editing it. Luthor had a hand in the final implementation. "I'm sure you have," Tim says, and uses his newly practiced smile. Conner smiles back. * Tim's driver takes them back to the former Wayne Manor. "Shouldn't I just fly?" Conner asks, leaning over and speaking in an undertone. "Trial by fire," Oracle says. "Not yet," Tim says, patting his shoulder. "If something went wrong --" "Right." Conner's smile is not entirely a child's, but it isn't old enough to suit his face, either. Programming can only teach him so much. "This is a pretty cool car." It is nothing of the sort. Tim feels a stab of nostalgia for the Redbird, which would have been more to Kon's taste than any Rolls Royce. "Thanks," he says instead. "But I figure, with your bankroll, you've got plenty of good stuff, huh?" Tim blinks at him. Oracle smiles for the first time since Conner took a breath. "That was more on target." "Some of it's pretty sweet, yeah," Tim says. Conner grins. Tim swallows. "Don't let me get too optimistic," he says to Oracle. "That's not one of your fatal flaws, but I'll keep an eye on it." She brings up a picture of Kon mugging for the camera, dated haircut and all. Conner doesn't have an agent. He won't need one, as the only Superman on the planet, but he also lacks the supreme confidence Kon always had. "Conner will never call you Rob." Tim smiles at her and pats Conner on the shoulder. "Or 'little buddy,'" he says to Oracle. "You could suggest it to him." Tim winces hard enough that Conner reacts. "You okay?" "No," Tim says aloud, and gives him a rueful look. "Not entirely." Conner's demeanor shifts entirely. The programming cannot recreate Kon, and never will, but Superman is extremely well documented and delineated. "I can take you to the hospital in five seconds if you need me to." Five seconds is only a long time relative to very specific measures. The Flash could run the distance in less than a second. Clark could have flown it in an approximately equivalent time. "It's not that," Tim says hastily, and Conner relaxes. "Just -- nostalgia." Conner nods. "You miss Kon, huh?" "Yes." Oracle sighs. "It's a good thing I don't expect you to be the great communicator, Batman." Tim wrinkles his nose at her in his head. "I program you with new information constantly." "Not the same, Tim." "I know." Conner pats Tim's knee -- the first contact he's initiated. "I hope I can do his job." Tim nods. "I'm looking forward to finding out." "I'll do my best," Conner says, and he smiles again, then glances out the window quickly. "I heard screaming." "Precocious, isn't he?" Oracle raises her eyebrows. "It's going to be hard," Tim says, "but you can't go out in the field yet. You're not quite ready." Conner gives him a look full of disparagement and rage. It's the first resemblance to Luthor Tim has seen in his face. "There are people getting hurt and you need me to sit quietly? Why?" Tim takes his hand, though it will do nothing to restrain him if he has a tenth of Clark's power. If he has a hundredth of his compassion, though, it should suffice. "You can't do it fully and competently yet." "You knew Superman," Conner says, narrowing his eyes at Tim. "And you have -- some kind of metal behind your ear." Oracle waves inside of Tim's head. "Tell him I said hi." Tim grits his teeth. "I knew Superman, yes. I will explain everything when we're home." "Except not," Oracle says. "I don't fancy getting erased from all the places Luthor could find me." "Of course not," Tim assures her. Conner frowns, creasing his new brow. "I know what all of my powers do and how to use them. I know who I am, and what I should do. What can you tell me?" Tim says, so softly that only Oracle and Superman should be able to hear him, "I know who Batman is." Conner scans him again, probably using X-ray vision. "Do you." He grins like the sun breaking out from behind a cloud. "That's useful information. All right." Oracle puts away her detailed chart of where Tim has broken and healed bones in the past. "I think he'd call you 'chum' if you asked nicely." "Don't bring it up to him," Tim says firmly. Aloud, he lets out a breath of relief. * Tim isn't sure what phrase he's expecting Conner to use when they walk into the Batcave. "Cool," Luthor's selection as a relatively time-neutral term, is so unweighted that it makes Kon seem farther away than ever. "You must have suspected something," Tim says. Conner shrugs and floats down the last few stairs as if he's not aware of doing it. "You were kind of obvious, yeah." He taps on the glass cases. "Is that one of his t-shirts?" The shield of the house of El is a symbol that Tim can look at without choking up. He has seen it in a rainbow of colors for his whole life. The versions of Kon-El's costume with the more personalized touches are locked away, though Oracle brings up a picture heavy with garters. "Yes," Tim says out loud. To Oracle, he says, "Not now." She replaces the image with a clip of Kon smiling next to one of Conner with almost the same expression. They might be brothers, but they are not the same man. "You got it, boss." Conner glances at the plaques on the other cases. "You're way too young to be the first Batman. I figured that much out before." Tim suppresses the urge to stop Conner from touching the two cases that have Robin suits in them. Better he knows from the beginning what a dangerous business they are engaged in, and what sort of allies they have found. "He was -- my mentor. Among other things." "Yeah?" Conner reads Jason's plaque and Carrie's without a flicker of recognition. Their names were not in his internal briefing. It wouldn't have been safe to put two obvious links in the hands of Luthor's scientists. "You miss him?" He can see Bruce's look of scorn for Kon -- the clone -- without closing his eyes or consulting Oracle. "Often." "Huh." Conner shifts his focus to Tim again. "I guess being Batman doesn't require you to talk a lot." Tim steels himself and smiles faintly. "Not as a rule, no." Conner's laughter echoes in the cave. "You didn't have to ask me in, you know." He tugs down the collar of his shirt an inch and shows off the bright blue that Tim knows he's wearing. "I can hear a lot more people in trouble now that I know what to listen for. I -- I need to do something for them, Tim." The plaintive tone in Conner's voice is nothing like Kon's reaction to being restrained. He would already be gone, heading for the worst trouble he could find with both fists clenched. Clark had enough native authority to do the same without the audacity that made Kon who he was. Conner is looking for Tim's approval before he goes anywhere. Tim puts his hands on Conner's shoulders -- reaching up, thanks to genetics -- and says as silently as humanly possible, "Your strength, though not all of your wit, comes from your Kryptonian progenitor. In his honor, I name you Gaz-El." Conner shivers. "Thank you," he whispers. "What else should I know?" "I will call you if I need you. If I use that name -- or if anyone uses it to you -- the matter is more urgent than anything else." Tim squeezes Conner's shoulders. "If you need me, call me." Conner grins lopsidedly at him in a way that is heartwrenchingly familiar. "What's your secret name?" It isn't Rob anymore, and the nicknames are better left forgotten. "If it's not urgent, Batman will do. If it can't wait --" Tim smiles. "Alvin Draper." Conner laughs. "That's a weird name." "I'll know what you mean, and so will the people listening for me." Tim searches Conner -- Gaz-El's -- face for any resemblance he can find, or any reassurance that the yellow sun will keep him in the sky and his tactile telekinesis will keep him safe. He finds neither, only the knowledge that nothing in the world is safe. Not even Superman. Any minute now, tragedy could strike, and Conner might die. Tim's wasted enough of his chances to find some fleeting happiness. Tim kisses Conner as he never managed to kiss Kon. Conner's mouth is human-soft against his, and his lips part in a gasp. The sensation of being held by TTK is so familiar it makes Tim's eyes prickle as much as the kiss. He's no safer in this invisible embrace than he has ever been with any partner, but it feels as though it should be better. "They didn't tell me," Conner says, and he touches Tim's cheek with his fingertips. His fingerprints are not Kon's or Clark's. "I didn't tell them," Tim says, and shrugs a little. Conner lets him go. "When you're done with whatever you need to do, come back here and walk up the driveway." Oracle clears her throat. "This is going to be more than a little obvious once the press find out there's a new Superman." Tim says to her, "The Gazette is fast, and the Inquisitor is faster, but none of their employees are up to Lane's standards." "Better get him glasses soon," Oracle says. "Aren't you going to be off doing Bat-things?" Conner asks, his eyebrows arched. "I'll be back by four in the morning," Tim says, "and if I'm not here, say out loud that Conner's back. I'll get here as quickly as I can." "Four in the morning." Conner kisses him lightly. "It's not even four in the afternoon, is it?" Tim gives in to the urge to embrace him again. It has been too many years since he held someone nonhuman, but he hasn't forgotten the way the smell of an unearthly species makes his skin feel. "I'll get some sleep at some point before I patrol. You just need some time in the sun." Conner hugs him more tightly. "I'm not the only one who could use some rays," he says, and while Tim is trying to stop his heart from leaping at the familiarity of the phrase, Conner takes off and flies them smoothly through one of the tunnels to the surface. He must have located it by sound or X-ray vision, but whatever it was, they're in the sky before Tim has the breath to protest, looking down at Wayne Manor and its estate. "I will need to be inside within fifteen minutes, or I'll have a sunburn," Tim says, sticking to mundanity to keep his voice from shaking. "Also, there are still people suffering." "I know there are, but you're right, I need to get some energy before I go far." Conner kisses him again. "I won't let you get a sunburn." Oracle whistles softly. "I think he's sweet on you." "I'm afraid the feeling might be mutual," Tim tells her dryly. He says, "It's also not a good idea to stay here, or to fly in your regular clothes." "Okay, I'll take them off." Conner holds him by one hand and TTK, pushing Tim out with gentle force until the only thing keeping him in the air is the pressure from Conner's palm to his and the forcefield of strength that exudes from it. He takes off his unremarkable shirt and pants, baring the uniform underneath. In the sun, with the red cape flapping, he looks more like Clark than Kon ever did. "I'll hang onto those," Tim offers, and hangs both the shirt and pants over his arm when Conner hugs him again. "I really should go, huh?" Conner asks in his ear. "The sun feels amazing, though." Tim swallows and thinks about relative regeneration times. "This is beneficial, too." "You feel amazing," Conner says softly. Tim consciously stops himself from tensing. "Optimism alert," he says to Oracle. "He's not Kon," she says. "That's not helping." Tim shivers in the bright sun. "Conner --" "If I'm not going to see you 'til four in the morning --" The wickedness in Conner's smile is all too familiar, though the pressure of his hand on Tim's ass is a brave new world. Tim shakes his head. There are ways to get Conner to drop him, but none of them would be particularly survivable at this height in this terrain. "I should get to work, too." Conner starts losing altitude, though not attitude. He's leering at Tim outright. "Are you sure?" "Be sure," Oracle says. Tim says, "Yes. Take me back, please." Conner stops leering, kisses him again, then picks up speed and lands him back in the cave a few moments later. With a farewell squeeze to Tim's buttock that somehow manages to be both lustful and rueful in a split second, he is gone again. "Well," Oracle says. "If you have anything to say about my romantic history, remember how well I know yours," Tim says to forestall her. She holds up her hands in surrender. "Nothing like that, nothing. I'm going to cross-check some of that programming information, that's all." Tim closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The faint scent of the laboratory lingers in the air. "I did not design the conditioning to ensure --" "Luthor might have." She holds up a chart that comes from the conditioning files. "Not encouraging him to imprint on you, per se, but as soon as he gets a second alone with that boy -- he's hoping for a super-strong duckling." "That would be counterproductive," Tim says, imagining Superman -- this fresh-faced, untutored boy hanging on every word Luthor says. Oracle raises an eyebrow at him. "A complete waste, potentially, but you got there first." Tim rubs his temples. "I wasn't planning on --" "I know," she says, and there's a wealth of forgiveness there. "You wouldn't do that to Kon." The irony of this makes Tim wince and take a seat to pull up the conditioning files one more time. "Ah," he says, and highlights part of her chart. "There. The emotional weakness from these files -- clearly a design flaw." "Damned snake. That's not a bug, that's a feature." Oracle clears his screen and brings up the subfiles that Luthor designed to create the vulnerability. "A need to belong, clearly. To have an identity." She leans back in his head and steeples her fingers. "I think you've beaten him to the punch." Tim frowns at her flowchart. "We can't be sure." "'Your Kryptonian name is Gaz-El,'" Oracle says, grinning at him like Batgirl. "You gave him his family already, and the best partner a Superman could want." Tim runs his hand through his hair and pushes away from the console. "If he comes back here, then Luthor hasn't entirely won, but he had as much access to the laboratory as I did." Adjusting the files was a job for Batman in the dead of the night, just before they were applied. Luthor could have sent his edits more subtly afterward, or suborned one of the lab technicians. The chances that he did that are much greater than the chances that he did not. "If he doesn't come back, you'll have to incapacitate him." Even Oracle's dry tone doesn't take the sting out of that. "Yes." The Kryptonite is well-shielded, but there is enough of it to do whatever needs to be done. "Entirely." Oracle's smile is rueful. "You're too good at your job." Tim raises an eyebrow at her. "If I were capable of punching you in the shoulder -- but no." She laughs. "And this is why I love you. You'd better get some sleep. Whether he comes back or not, you've got work to do." "And a lab to infiltrate, not that I expect them to have honest or complete records." Tim nods and heads for the stairs. "If he does come back -- and he's trustworthy --" Oracle's smile turns wicked. Tim sniffs. "You know where almost all of my cameras are." "No fair engineering a blackout." He lets himself smile, but only inside his head. "Would I do that to you?" Oracle studies him. "I think you know better than that. You know how dangerous it is to patrol unsupported." It's more than dangerous enough to sit at home without Oracle or Batman on the job, somewhere. If Oracle had been monitoring Wayne Manor the night Bruce died -- but she wasn't, and neither was Tim. "Yes." Tim locks the door to the cave. "I'm not turning anything off." He rubs his long-healed arm. "I don't want to be alone with him until I know what Luthor put in his head." "Good." She blows him a kiss. "I'd miss you." * At two-fifty-seven, Batman is moving steadily through the East End, where some of Selina Kyle's projects are still extant. Oracle says, "Incoming," and he has enough time to land on the next building and look up before Superman arrives. Only someone with intimate knowledge of Kal-El's speed would notice the difference between the first Superman and the second, but it is painfully obvious to Tim. Superman is also hovering right-side-up, which underscores the ways in which he is not Kon. "Superman," Batman says. His smile is as bright as his progenitor's. "Batman. Is there anything I can help you with?" There is no need to be as irrational about this subject as Bruce was, but there are limits, even so. "Not tonight, no." Superman offers him a hand. "You've been out here all night and you haven't seen the stars. Let me --" Oracle says, "He's got a wide knowledge of astronomy. This may not be a setup." "It might be disguised by that knowledge." Batman shakes his head and tells Superman, "I need to be here." Superman frowns slightly and glances around the city. "There's nothing happening that the police can't handle." "The current commissioner of police is no Jim Gordon," Batman says. Oracle snorts. "No kidding." Superman looks blank. Another gap in his knowledge. "When did you last take a break?" "Eleven. I need to finish this circuit." Batman glares at him. "That's far too long." Superman picks him up, pinning his arms, and heads for the sky above the smog. He's smiling. "I alerted reinforcements," Oracle says, frowning. Batman fights a wave of nostalgia. "This reminds me of his -- brother. Sharply." "That doesn't reassure me." Superman kisses his cheek. "The light pollution is just overwhelming," he says, and points up. "You can't even see Ursa Major from down there." Batman looks at the indicated constellation. "I don't need stars to tell me where north is." "Of course not, but --" Superman strokes his cheek in an entirely wasted effort to stop Batman from frowning. "Does it make any sense to say they make me feel homesick?" "No," Batman says. "None whatsoever." He points in the direction of Theban Labs. "You came from fifty-nine miles in that direction." "Still." Superman sighs and looks at the sky again. "Where are you from?" "Gotham. Where I should be right now." "You know," Oracle says, "I think you should run some of the footage of Bruce dealing with Clark." Tim says, "This is a different situation entirely." Superman gives him a little squeeze and bites his lip. "I thought you wanted to see me again." "Maybe a little gentler," Oracle says. "Yes, but I have a job to do first." Batman looks back at the cloud cover. "There are people suffering down there. I don't have time for stargazing." "But you'll make time." Superman studies his face and looks like he can manage to go back to work. "At four, you said." Batman nods. "Yes." "Well." Superman kisses him and starts descending at the same time, lending an entirely literal sensation to the term 'falling in love.' He breaks the kiss and sets Batman back onto the roof where they started. "Until four." Tim will never be as bass as Bruce was, but he can keep his tone as affect-free as Batman has ever been. "Until then." Oracle says, "Pretty nice biofeedback spike, there. Your heartrate's not the only thing up." Superman smiles at him and leaves in a puff of wind that makes Batman's cape billow. "I'm perfectly aware of that," Batman says. "Any news from the scanner?" * Oracle says, "Incoming," at three fifty-nine and forty seconds. At four precisely, Superman lands next to Batman's chair in the cave. "You're still working." Batman saves the file again unnecessarily. It's constantly backed up, and the last manual save was implemented at three fifty-nine and forty-one seconds. "The world isn't safe yet." Superman puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a warm smile. "You're off the job for the night, though. Come look at the stars again." Batman raises an eyebrow at him and watches Superman respond. He's realized there's no lead in that portion of the uniform, then, which indubitably means he knows that there's Kryptonite in Batman's belt. "Have they changed appreciably?" "Every second," Superman says in his ear as he sweeps Batman back into the sky. "I would prefer it if he just flew upside down," he observes to Oracle. "Less risk of any adverse effects if Luthor has planted something," she agrees. "There's so much to see," Superman says, which makes the kiss a non sequitur. Oracle sighs. "He could still drop you." She's right, but it's nothing Tim wants to hear. He sympathizes, against much of his better judgment, with Bruce. "He came back." "To kiss you, or to assassinate you?" The kiss is emphatic enough to do the latter job by asphyxiation if it does not accomplish it by sheer pleasure. "Is that the appropriate term?" Tim asks. Oracle purses her lips. "Not if you're wearing civvies, but right now? Yes." Superman breaks the kiss when Batman shivers. "I forget that you need to breathe so often." "It's occasionally inconvenient. Which stars did you want to look at?" Superman says, "All of them," and kisses him again, fiercely enough to bruise. "You might have to ask him outright to take you down," Oracle says. "It doesn't seem like implanted hostility." "It wouldn't, necessarily." She pulls up the flow charts again. "It could also be youthful enthusiasm." Tim laughs. "I'm not that charming." "Don't be too sure about that." "Maybe we should look at the stars later," Superman says, his breath warm and close. "If they're not there, we'll have more concerns than whether we can see them," Batman agrees. The trip back to the cave is a blur, and when they land, Superman says, "Did you want to -- you don't sleep down here, do you?" The medical facility is as comfortable as any of the beds in the manor. "Not often." Tim pushes the cowl back. "I generally sleep upstairs." Superman -- Conner, perhaps -- grins. "That sounds promising." "Don't," Oracle says, unnecessarily. "You're welcome to stay," Tim says. "There are several extra bedrooms." "I thought --" Conner frowns. "You don't want to have sex, then." "Pure Luthor," Oracle says. "None of Kon's flirtation or Clark's embarrassment." "Not yet." Tim does his best to smile. "I hardly know you, after all." It makes Conner look away, decreasing the possibility of a mistaken heat vision incident if nothing else. "I feel like I've known you forever. I know where my DNA comes from, but you told them what to teach me, and that makes me who I am, too." He bites his lip in a gesture that evokes no one so much as Clark Kent. "I saved three hundred sixty-one people today." "That's a good start," Tim says. "Three hundred seventy," Oracle says. "He's not counting the people who would have been hit by the bus that he diverted." "Humility. Now I know he's not Kon." "Is it good enough?" Conner asks. Tim spreads his hands. "Nothing ever is. Do it again tomorrow, and it won't be. Double it tomorrow, and it still won't be." Conner grimaces. "That's what Batman taught you." "That's what everything has taught me. The only way to save enough people is to save all of them, and no one can do that." Tim holds up his hand to forestall an argument that Kon would have already started. Conner is just listening. "I can't save everyone and neither can you, no matter how fast and strong and brave you are." "I wish I could." "So do I." Conner squeezes Tim's shoulder. "How did your parents die?" "Steady," Oracle says, her voice as bracing as she can make it. Tim takes a deep breath. "The files -- Conner --" "I know they're dead -- should I have said 'they passed away'?" "They were killed." Tim shrugs. "'Passed away' is entirely too peaceful a term." Conner nods, and then gives him a curious look. "You didn't put that in the files?" "I did, but I didn't realize you would want more information so soon." Tim asks Oracle, "Do I give him the truth?" "He knows your identity. You may as well." She is mercifully refraining from showing him pictures of either of his parents. They're on file, all of the albums the Drakes had owned and all of the autopsy shots in horrific detail. Now is not the time. He will not bring Dana up. Two tragedies are enough for any early morning discussion. "My mother was poisoned. My father received a fatal gunshot wound from someone who discovered my identity when I was Robin." Conner hugs him -- warm, earnest, passionless. An embrace from Superman should be just that. "I'm sorry." He frowns again. "But you told me your name without even hesitating." Oracle's flowchart grows another several branches. "He's missing the obvious." "I've had a long time to consider what to tell you, and when." Tim shifts his weight back and Conner lets him go. "Also, I don't have any family or allies who would be hurt if I was exposed as Batman." Conner narrows his eyes for a moment. "You weren't the first Robin, though. Nightwing --" "He's off planet." "And the girl?" Conner is watching his face exceedingly closely. Tim has practiced his lack of expression for Oracle's high-speed digital cameras. Clark could have seen his suppression of emotion; at the height of his powers, Kon could not. The last time he spoke to Steph, he was bleeding and she cared precisely long enough to make him stop. "Her identity wouldn't be compromised by my exposure at this point." "So --" Conner runs his fingers through his own hair. Where he picked up the gesture is anyone's guess. "It's not important to have a -- a civilian name -- unless you have a civilian life to go with it." "It makes things much more complicated." Conner kisses him lightly, too quickly for Tim to stop him or catch him. "So does this." "He has a point," Oracle says. Tim shrugs at her. "Not as strong a point as he thinks it is." "So why do you bother?" Conner asks. "Do tell," Oracle says, resting her chin on her hand. "We can't all get away with uploading ourselves. Someone has to actually kick the muggers in the groin." Tim presses his lips together and looks for a less flippant answer for Conner. "A conflation of habit and hope." He raises his eyebrows. "You don't seem hopeful -- Batman." Tim shakes his head. "If I didn't hope that someday -- against the odds -- everything would come to a point where I could stop doing this, I wouldn't be able to do it." He read from 1 Corinthians at Bruce's wedding, under careful request. If Dick had been on the planet, he would have had the task instead. Tim can fake enthusiasm as well as apathy, but Bruce's entirely human eyes knew him well enough to see the sincerity in the reading. Conner nods. "So there is such a thing as 'enough'?" "Or what's a heaven for?" Tim didn't include many traditional poems in his files -- song lyrics were more to the point -- but Conner smiles in recognition. "Yes." He looks Tim over. "You're very tired." "In more ways than one," Oracle says. "Get to bed before you fall into his arms again." "Browning is not my Achilles' heel." Tim nods to Conner. "It was a long patrol, and as you observed, I didn't take many breaks. Let me show you your room." * "There's a riot starting in Los Angeles," Oracle says, nine days later. Batman pauses in a quiet alley in his patrol to get the full benefit of her video. "Superman is on the job." "It was a protest half an hour ago, before the police came." She shows him signs with slogans -- clearly against the government's restrictions on freedom of assembly. "They're lucky they got a SWAT team instead of an infobomber." Batman frowns at a wall that says "Dragons Unite" without seeing it. "What is Superman doing to affect the situation?" Oracle presses her lips together and finds him choice clips. "Subduing civilians. Forcibly." One of the civilians is foolish enough to bring a gun to a protest and ignorant enough to fire it at Superman. Batman braces himself -- Conner is not invulnerable in the same way as Clark was, and if something goes awry, he could be badly hurt. Conner crushes the gun without touching it and -- throws it at the man's head. "Vital signs -- fading." Oracle brings up a line showing the fallen man's pulse. It goes flat. Superman is dealing with a woman who was screaming at a police officer. He lifts her by her collar and sets her in a tree. "Gaz-El," Batman says, "I need you." He speaks loudly enough that his voice echoes off of the alley wall. Oracle's cameras catch Superman's face going pale and his immediate departure. "He's still getting faster," Oracle says. "ETA two minutes. What are you going to say to him?" "Bruce would stop working with him immediately." "You've never been Bruce. One minute, forty-five." Batman winces, not at the comparison, but at the need to have a good answer immediately. This wasn't a problem that would have arisen with Clark. "I can't afford to lose him as an ally." "A civilian." Oracle plays him the footage again. "A nonmeta civilian with no record that Superman -- if we should call him that -- knew anything about." "An armed civilian who fired --" "-- on Superman. If he deserves to be Superman. One minute." "He didn't know he killed that man." Batman gives her the timestamp at the point where the man died. Superman failed to respond to it. Oracle scowls. "Then he wasn't listening hard enough." Batman clenches his hand into a fist. "He's not Kal-El. He doesn't hear the sparrows fall, just the elephants." "Thirty seconds and you can't let him do this." Batman touches the Kryptonite in his belt pouch. "Do you want me to shoot him? Bring him back and kill him for his crime?" "Twenty-two seconds, yes and no." Oracle shows him the flowchart. "That had to have been Luthor's program. You should kill him, then. You can't afford an ally who could turn on you and who is willing to use that kind of force, but you need him if you can use him." "Whereas manipulating the International Monetary Fund is fair play." Tim glares at her. "Nine seconds, I've never killed anyone --" Tim says, "Not outright," and takes a deep breath. "I can't lose him." "You can't control him if he's Luthor's creature." "I knew that when I told Bruce to go fuck himself and went to Luthor the first time." Batman looks up as Superman lands on the roof. "You killed the man with the gun." "I --" Superman staggers and lands heavily next to a dumpster. "He tried to kill me, but -- did I really?" It would be easier if Superman had an implant that gave him an interface with Oracle, but that would expose her existence to Luthor, and nothing is worth that. "The EMTs aren't on the scene yet, but even if they were, they couldn't revive him. His skull is fractured and his heart has been stopped for two and a half minutes." Superman looks westward, straight into a building, with his lips pressed together. "I didn't know." He bows his head. "I'm sorry." His expression is Superman's, an inhuman mourning for a simple mortal death, until he looks at Batman again and is Conner instead, frightened and contrite. Batman frowns. "Why did you use those tactics?" "They seemed natural." If Conner were lying, he'd look away, but he looks right at Batman, as if the lenses aren't there. Either he's honest or his programming -- whatever it said -- taught him how to believe the lie he tells. "I -- I guess they were from the files, because I've never done that before, and it felt like something I do every day." He closes his eyes. "Did you teach me how to do that?" "Never." Batman watches him and sees no flicker in his expression. Oracle says, "That action isn't in the files." "Not the copy we have," Batman agrees. "Then --" Conner bites his lip. "Why would Lex want me to do that?" "Gently," Oracle says. "I know you're not good at not being the bad cop, but he's younger than he looks." Batman sighs. "You were protecting yourself." He touches Conner's shoulder. "If something had knocked you unconscious, one bullet could have killed you." Conner winces and turns away, avoiding meeting Batman's eyes. He crunches a discarded soft drink can under his feet. "But nothing was going to knock me out. I wasn't in that kind of danger." "He was a danger to the people around him." Batman clears his throat. "You were protecting them from him." "Not consciously." Conner closes his eyes tightly. "I didn't even know what I was doing." Oracle whistles. "Get your weapon ready." "Not yet." Batman says, "You need to learn how to defend yourself from people with guns much more peaceably than that. Come train with me." Conner turns and stares at him. "I killed someone and you want to train me?" "So that it will never happen again." "Optimist," Oracle says, as if it's a curse. "Humans die so easily," Superman says, half an apology and half wistfulness. He is nowhere near as fragile as the man he killed, though he is far more vulnerable than Clark. Batman nods. "Then it's past time for you to learn how to avoid hurting them unnecessarily. Let's go home." The car's autopilot is more than sufficient to get it home safely, and this can't wait. "Are you sure?" "You need to learn." Batman offers Superman his hand. Superman lifts him easily. "Why do you think I can? What if the things you taught me before I could think stop me from learning?" Oracle shivers. "We've seen him learn things." "I can't stop you from learning and neither can Luthor, no matter what. Humans learn -- and Kryptonians, by every measurement, learn faster." Batman squeezes Superman's hand. "You're never going to kill someone that way again." Superman squeezes back. "No. Never." "Then you're learning already." * "Conner sleeps in the nude," Oracle says, and offers Tim a selection of video clips to prove it. Tim bites his lip and focuses on her instead of the pictures. "You were always this cruel, weren't you." "You kissed him." She shakes her head. "He says your name in his sleep -- and when he comes." Putting a pillow over his head would do nothing to drown her out, so he doesn't try. "It's not safe. Luthor would milk any leverage he could." Oracle laughs. "What is safe?" Tim raises an eyebrow at her. "You are. This is." Her smile looks more genuine, but in the shift, it's taken on some tragedy. "Sometimes I miss being able to touch things." "So do I." Tim pushes back the urge to kiss her -- impossible -- and smiles at her instead. "I think your tradeoff was more worthwhile." "I'm quite proud of how the Near Eastern markets are doing, yes." Graphs flash behind her, charting the progress that she has urged them to and the stability that the region has attained. "But sometimes --" "I could kiss him again." Oracle nods. "You could stop being Batman entirely." Tim laughs and tightens his fist in the sheet. "I could build you an android body and download you into it." "I could override his programming and teach him how to kill you," she says, her voice light in a way that doesn't begin to be deceptive. "I could take out all the cameras in the manor and destroy the implant." Tim stretches his arms. "But then nothing would be safe." She nods. "You could stay where you are and get some sleep. I'll wake you if anything happens." "I know." * Despite years of training and the best technology money can buy, there are occasions when metahuman villains get the best of Batman briefly. Chtapodi disables the Batmobile's electronics -- and, most importantly, the link with Oracle -- with an electromagnetic pulse and knocks him unconscious. He wakes up with his hands and feet bound, hanging upside down in a tank of water with a scuba tank strapped to his back. None of that is quite as disturbing as the feeling of Chtapodi's suction cups on his cheek. It is saying something, but the water garbles the words. The meaning becomes clearer when two of its other tentacles move to his waist and pluck at his tights. It gets his tights down around his thighs before he manages to free his hands and thrust it away. It pulls off the scuba tank and there are three minutes of bubble-filled wrestling with slippery, terrible tentacles that threaten to tangle his legs and drown him before Batman reaches the surface, leaving Chtapodi unconscious at the bottom. He resolves not to eat Korean food for at least a year and tries to tell Oracle this before he remembers that she's not there. The only good thing about having been dragged across town to the dock warehouses is that there is a cache nearby. The suit weighs even more when it's wet and it would be a very long walk home. He could call Superman, but the bike stashed in the Happy Kitty Chow storeroom will suffice. No need to waste his time. The bike also has a comm, and while it's odd to go voice-only, he puts it in. "Oracle." "At least you're not dead," she says, her voice taut. "Don't start driving yet." He puts on the helmet. "What happened?" "You wouldn't think some yahoo in the boondocks of the Philippines could get her hands on enough scrap metal to make a robot of doom, but she knocked Superman unconscious with it. After that, it just took one good stomp." Batman tightens his hands on the bike's handlebars and swallows hard. He can't cry and drive the bike at the same time, and the latter is more important. "He was there alone." "Wonder Woman's still on that retreat and you were wherever you were." Oracle -- Barbara softens her voice. "I'm sorry." "He should have known better," Batman says, but he can't keep his voice steady. "He was never --" "Write that into the programming. Luthor left you two voicemails. You'd better get back to him." "Patch them through to me." Batman starts the bike. * "I'm not interested." Tim tightens his folded hands. Luthor raises his eyebrows. "You were so enthusiastic about the project before." Tim shrugs. "It was a clear failure. You couldn't replicate half of Superman's strength or speed, and I don't care to discuss his invincibility." "I intend to try again." Luthor smiles like a snake. "After all, the world needs a Superman." Tim stands. "I hope you succeed." The headlines the next day are eight hours late, all around the globe, but by then everyone who might have read them knows what they will say. "Catastrophic Net Failure!" "Computers Unresponsive For Hours!" "Son of Y2K!" The computers come back online, one by one, but massive amounts of data are missing from many, not least the files in Theban Labs. * "Whoa," he says, and as first words go, there are far worse. Tim hands him a towel and he grins. He is apparently eighteen, his powers half-crippled by immaturity, and he knows that they are not what they will be. He knows, too, the sight and sound of Kon's death, and Clark's, and Gaz-El's. He knows how to avoid them. If Lady Shiva were still alive, he could break her neck. He would do it in a heartbeat if she threatened him or anyone he loves. "Welcome to the world, Sama-El," Tim says. His name is also Conner, and he laughs. "Dude, don't call me that in public." His skin shines with the fluids that kept him safe and made him grow so unnaturally fast. He reaches for Tim's shoulder. "I suspect you've created a monster," Oracle says. "Possibly," Tim says to her. Conner frowns. "Hey, I'm right here. Talk to me, not Oracle." So many things in the programming, so much that had to be there and couldn't, before. Luthor had no influence on this one, though it may be beneficial to allow him some limited, monitored access. Later. Tim raises his eyebrows at Conner, who is still not Kon. "I can talk to both of you perfectly well." Oracle snorts. "Correction: I'm sure you've created a monster." Conner kisses him and holds him with physical and psionic strength. "I've been having fantasies about you for a week," subjective months, perhaps a year. "And you'd really rather talk to her than me? Now?" Tim runs his fingers through Conner's damp hair and watches the curl settle into place on his forehead. "You're much more demanding." "Just you wait," Oracle says. Conner kisses him again. "You feel so real. First thing I've ever really felt." His voice shudders. "I want to feel everything." Tim pulls him closer. "One thing at a time." Oracle sniffs. "He's not Superman." "What's first?" Conner asks. Tim kisses him again and tells Oracle, "I didn't design him to be." Superman doesn't whimper and shiver at a light touch, or come close to crying at the taste of chocolate. He doesn't scream with pleasure when Batman pushes into him or lace their fingers together and laugh in the midst of it. Batman doesn't bury his face in the back of Superman's neck and say, "I love you. I've always loved you," but this isn't Superman. Superboy is a wholly different proposition, even if he does not know that that is his true name. He falls asleep on his back, basking in the few minutes of sunshine the north-facing window provides. The room smells of oregano from the empty pizza box on the floor, lubricant, and sex. Tim strokes his hair lightly enough not to wake him. "Are you sure you don't want him to have an implant?" Oracle pulls up files of the wide-eyed wonder on his face from various intervals in the six hours since he entered the normal environment. "He's a little young." "Barbara, really." Tim touches Conner's shoulders, broader than Tim's will ever be. "The concept of 'Robin' is no more new to you than it is to me." "Mentally." She presses her lips together. "Let him go up against Luthor a few times first, and then I'll let you know." "If he survives, then -- yes. Fair enough." Tim leans back against the pillows. "How am I doing for optimism?" Oracle laughs in his ear with the tone of someone who might otherwise weep. "How many days do you think he'll live?" Tim puts his arm around Conner's waist. "Enough to make the process worthwhile." The back of his neck is faintly sticky from the growth medium. "We've gathered so much data from it. The next iteration may be right." Oracle turns her face away from him. "Have you given up on him already?" "He's not the second coming." "If you ever lose faith in me this thoroughly, we'll both be lost."  She shakes her head and looks back at him. "He does love you." "Yes," Tim says. "That's what makes it better -- and why I don't trust this at all." Oracle blows him a kiss. "Goodnight, then, Batman."
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