comics quarantine zone

im thinking about kon encountering knockout on the battlefield again. and he's Not happy but he's gonna compartmentalize, he's not backing down, he knows he's far stronger than he was as a kid now, even if he knows he's gonna be Real upset about it later, right now he's gonna do his job and play his part as a hero and a protector of others—

except he doesn't have to. because clark steps in. and it takes a lot to get superman really, truly angry, and kon knows that, and right now clark is fucking pissed. he is frigid and furious and he is putting himself between them both, he's protecting kon, and he tells knockout she will never lay a finger on kon again, and kon is just. shocked.

he is not used to being protected. he is the protector. he is not used to clark protecting him - he remembers mae blaming him for trusting knockout, for being manipulated and groomed even if he didn't have the words for that at the time. he doesn't hold the past against clark but he still has this sort of implicit, internalized assumption that he will always have to fend for himself.

except he doesn't. because he is worth protecting and he is worth every ounce of that anger and it just hits him like a sack of bricks that his family (particularly clark) loves him. and he doesn't know how to even begin to process those feelings bc its a Lot.

also prompted by @pteropodidaes!! thank you ♥

Bart's arrival is heralded by two things. First, a gust of wind that rattles the pans hanging above the cooktop, nearly sends Ma's cookbook flying off the counter, and whips the curtains all over the window.

And second—

Smack!

"Heeeyyy! It smells so good in here, wow. What's cookin', good lookin'?"

Kon pinches the bridge of his nose. "For the love of god, Bart, have some manners! You can't just go smacking people's asses in their grandma's kitchens. I have dignity—"

"No, you don't," Bart interrupts, grinning. He grabs Kon's shoulders and hops up, slings his arms around his hips, and hangs on like a human backpack as Kon keeps whisking the glaze in the bowl in front of him.

Kon can't quite hide the fond smile that tugs at his mouth, no matter how exasperated he's trying to be, and wraps a band of TTK around Bart to hold him more securely. "Okay, I don't have dignity, you got me. But I have standards."

"Mmm, maybe." Bart hooks his chin over Kon's shoulder and peers at the bowl. "Honestly, the real reason I gotta stop smacking your ass when I run in here is your stupid invulnerability! That hurts at high speeds, you know. Anyway, what're you making, huh? I thought you said you were gonna cook something with all that zucchini from Max's garden, but it smells really good in here, so there's no way you actually used it—"

"I so did," Kon says smugly. "There's zucchini bread in the oven, and this is the glaze to go on it when it dries—vanilla with a pinch of cinnamon, y'see." He scoops a dollop out of the bowl on his finger and holds it up for Bart to taste. "It's good, try some?"

Bart obediently licks it off his finger. Kon turns his head just in time to watch his entire face light up, and laughs as he walks to the sink to wash his hand.

"Okay, that is really good, but—you're putting cinnamon vanilla glaze on zucchini? What the fuck?" Bart makes an incredulous noise. "Gross!"

Kon snickers. "You haven't ever had zucchini bread before, have you."

"Uh, no, but it sounds gross. I'm sooo sick of zucchini. Max keeps harvesting like a bajillion of them! Helen's taking them to work by the bagful and forcing her coworkers to take them!" Bart rests his chin on Kon's shoulder again. "If you actually made it not taste like zucchini, maybe it'll be okay, though. Maybe."

"It's a Martha Kent tried-and-true, family-approved recipe, if that makes you feel any better." Kon dries his hands on his apron and reaches up to ruffle Bart's hair. "But I bet you're gonna love it."

"We'll see," Bart says dourly. He butts his head into Kon's hand like a cat.

"You yourself said it smells good," Kon points out. He effortlessly plucks Bart from his back with a twist of TTK and plops him onto the counter instead, leans in, and pecks his forehead. "Trust me, Imp. You're in for a treat."

Bart hums, hooks both legs around Kon's waist again, and lightning-fast, snatches the whisk out of the bowl of glaze to lick it clean. "Okay, okay. I guess you haven't let me down yet, chef."

"Yet?" Kon repeats indignantly. He bops Bart on the nose and snatches the whisk away; Bart lunges for it, and Kon catches him around the waist and plops him right back down on the counter.

"Yeah, yet! I dunno if you're gonna make something super gross tomorrow!" Bart grabs for the whisk again. "Oh, come on, you were done with that anyway!"

"Mostly done," Kon corrects, and Bart playfully kicks him.

When the timer finally beeps and he turns to take the zucchini bread out of the oven, they're both still laughing.

Sickly green light paints the room in stark relief. Aside from the kryptonite embedded in the far wall, there's no light source; Tim's shadow is long and harsh against the metal floor. Kon stares at its outline until his vision grows blurry, swallows hard against the nausea, and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Rob?"

His voice is raspy and weak and he hates it, but there's no helping it now. Nothing better to make a guy feel pathetic than collapsing from kryptonite exposure because he stupidly walked into a trap set for Superman, right?

His head falls back against Tim's shoulder. Pain radiates through his entire body, and he wraps his arms around himself and groans. It's fucking frigid in here, and his head is killing him, his body is weak, he can't see straight, and he's completely useless right now, and this sucks.

Tim's hand comes to rest on his knee. Even through the glove, it's warm, or maybe that's just Kon's desperate imagination. "Just hang in there. Cassie is on her way."

Kon tries valiantly to keep the whine out of his voice. "It's so fucking cold in here," he mumbles. "Can't even say I feel like death warmed over 'cuz I'm still in the freezer."

Great. Using all his run-down faculties and he didn't even manage to make Tim laugh. No, he just furrows his brow in concern. "You're cold?"

Kon opens his eyes to pin him with his best incredulous stare. "You're not?"

"Here, sit up for a second." Tim helps him lean against the wall, then reaches up to the clasp of his cape. He takes it off, shakes it out, then reaches for Kon again. "C'mere," he says, and leans back against the wall himself, pulling Kon to sit between his legs and lay against his chest. "I'll keep you warm."

A wave of dizziness assails Kon as punishment for trying to move. He groans, vision swimming, and presses his face into Tim's neck. He's warm, and when he drapes his cape over them both like a blanket, Kon actually whimpers with relief.

Tim's arms settle around his shoulders, firm and protective and safe. When Kon opens his eyes, he can see both the determined set of his jaw, and the frustration at his helplessness in his eyes. He curls his fingers around Tim's arm, trying to reassure him that he is helping; just his presence here means this is so much less horrific than if Kon had to face it alone.

"Hang in there, clone boy," Tim murmurs. "Help is on the way. We'll get you out of here. You're gonna be okay. Just hang on a little longer."

"Yeah," Kon mumbles. But the room is spinning around him, and he finally succumbs to the exhaustion dragging him down into the darkness; it's easier to rest knowing that Tim is here to keep him safe.

alternatively, "i'm not going anywhere", whether that's angst or fluff is up to you

Unlatching Tim's skylight locks with a flick of TTK is as easy as breathing. Kon slips into his apartment like he's done a thousand times before, hovering near the ceiling for a moment to take in the glorious sight below him.

Tim's holding a PlayStation controller and glaring at the TV. He has his bad leg propped up on the coffee table, an ice pack on his swollen ankle; he's wearing one of Kon's old, faded Smallville Daylily Enthusiast Club T-shirts and a pair of atrociously purple gym shorts that can only have been a gift from Steph, and his bangs are pinned back to the top of his head with a big, sparkly Wonder Woman barrette. His grumpy scowl and puffed out cheeks only add to the spectacle.

What a fucking mess. Kon is so in love with this man it hurts.

Grinning like the besotted fool he is, he swoops down from above, sets the tote bag full of homemade baked goods on the table, and plops down next to Tim. "Hi, sunshine. How's my poor flightless bird doing?"

Tim flops into his side. Kon wraps an arm around him and coos sympathetically, and Tim sighs. "Better now that you're here. ...As long as you did bring Ma's apple pie like you promised."

"I did bring you Ma's apple pie," Kon assures him. "And chocolate croissants, and blueberry muffins, and almond twists. We went all out on the baking to support you in recovery from your horrible injury, and now I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, so you have both good food and good company."

Tim's lips twitch, and he gives Kon a long, contemplative look, one that Kon can easily read as him not knowing whether to be pleased about the sweets or grumpy about the teasing.

Well, Kon can help him make up his mind real easy-like. He gives Tim a fond squeeze, smushes a kiss to his temple, and grins.

"I still can't believe that despite being a superhero every single night, you managed to fuck up your ankle doing skateboard tricks. You're a fuckin' riot, man!"

Yup. Tim's face goes flat, and he huffs (although in both entertaining and endearing news, he doesn't stop snuggling into Kon's side). "Shut up, asshole. Dick and Cass have been making fun of me in the group chat all day. I don't need this from you, too."

"Awww." Kon kisses his hair. Tim leans more heavily into him, and he has to fight not to melt completely into a puddle of fond laughter. "Okay, okay. Sorry, Tony Hawk. I know this must be hard on you."

"One more skateboard joke and I'm divorcing you," Tim warns.

"We aren't even married yet." Kon squeezes him affectionately. "You'll have to marry me first."

Tim heaves a very put-upon sigh, glancing up at Kon through his eyelashes. Then he casts a meaningful look at the tote bag and hums. "Hm... keep that up, and I might just."

Grinning harder, Kon lays his cheek against Tim's hair. "Well, sunshine," he says, "if you ask me, I think we've got a deal."

justice for himbo tim drake

skrimblos from gotham adventures :)

core four 😁