#redrobiiin

kon: hey. is everything okay on your end?

    it’s not a smile, exactly, but it’s a lighter expression than most get from kon.  he leans with his shoulder against the door’s frame, one foot already out the door.  a smug look flits across his face and he holds his hand up.  in between his pointer and middle finger is a slip of white paper.  if you look carefully, you can see a press of lipstick on it.  “ you remember that pretty blonde you saved earlier ?? ” 

“ get down -- ” 

     when the command comes, it’s without any of superboy’s characteristic snark.  it’s not that -- playful is a mask he has to slip on.  more days than not, it’s natural.  but it wasn’t always that way.  it’s not that it’s specifically tim ( except, it is ), kon’s protective of their team, of the handful of people he calls his friends.  and a stray bullet can actually kill some of them.  

kon reacts quicker than he realizes he even can, reaching an arm out and taking the bullet -- just barely intercepts it with his forearm.  it’s going to leave a nasty fucking bruise, but it doesn’t pierce the skin.  

free hand grabs tim by the shoulder, pushes him down out of the line of fire.  it doesn’t matter that kon knows tim is highly trained, can probably fucking handle this better than even kon can, bulletproof skin notwithstanding.  the beating of kon’s heart is too hard, too loud.  the blood is rushing in his fucking ears, and he’s so goddamn furious he could bring this entire fucking city down around their ears.  there aren’t any uniforms; it’s just some nameless thug with a gun who got spooked.  their interference meant a drug deal gone south, and he fired.  

all in all, kon should be more gracious dealing with him, but --

      but he’s not.  he’s a blur of black and glowing red as he crosses the few feet, plants one hand on the man’s chest.  keen ears pick up the sound of back up coming, and kon hears those guns cock, too.  with one hand, he holds the first man down with enough force that it must make breathing difficult.  the other flies out to cast a red sort of haze around the two quickly approaching.  it would be easy as breathing to let tim take them out, because tim knows how to, and they work as a team, for christ’s sake.  

kon’s lip curls in a snarl, and with more exertion than it should take, kon disassembles the guns.  ( disassembles is a kind word.  explodes is more accurate. )  when they turn to run, kon lets the strange power wrap around them in ephemeral tendrils, anchoring them.  between the flare of rage and the bullet and the unnecessary burst of ttk, kon is breathing in heavy, angry pants while he tries to work through what he’s supposed to do with the three men.  

     kon hits tim’s side like a fucking truck, glad to be rid of the false pretense of impartial.  he’s far from impartial in this moment, grinning from ear to ear as he wraps tim in a tight hug.  jubilant attitude is even more evident as he peppers a couple light kisses to the side of tim’s face.  yeah, kon could get used to this.