Sorry about the long wait, people, I'm a terrible person, I know! But to sum it all up, I was supposed to go on an amazing trip to Europe this week that promised to be the best time I'd ever have in my life. Due to a bunch of lengthy circumstances, however, I did not. So, yeah, it's pretty depressing..

To help cope, I'm going to try and bury myself in my writing, and hopefully get back into the groove of things. So I hope you enjoy this chapter, lovely readers, and review! Your reviews make my day(:

"Bart, this is Conner," Tim introduced, as his two friends stood opposite of the older boy in question. "Conner, this is Bart Allen, Wally's cousin. And that's Billy Batson."

"Wow," said Bart, awed as he had to crane his neck just to stare at the famed 'Superboy'. "Where'd you get him?"

"Dick picked him up and took him home," explained Tim unashamedly.

"I picked up a slug once and tried to take it home with me, but my uncle wouldn't let me keep it," Billy mumbled.

"Yeah, well, Conner is way cooler than a slug," Tim reasoned. Conner grunted in agreement.

Bart grinned eagerly."Hey, Timmy, can he come over my house for a day? I promise I'll take real good care of him, and he can reach the shelf where I know Mom hides all the sugar!"

"No way, I can't share!" Tim refused. "He's not a pet, guys! He's my new older brother!"

"Oh," the two boys chorused.

Some few feet away, the group of teenagers watched this meeting unfold in amusement.

"His new big brother?" Megan shot Dick a mirthful look.

The four of them—Artemis, Wally, Megan, and Dick—had agreed to have lunch in the park, since both Wally and Dick were saddled with babysitting duty and needed to entertain the kids. This gave Tim the prime opportunity to flaunt his newest friend.

"Yep, Tim already treats him like family. Conner's big and fun and the little squirt pesters him like there's no tomorrow. Actually gives me more room to breathe."

"Jealous?" she wondered.

"Hardly," snorted Dick.

"Well, if Dick marries Superboy someday, then he would be Tim's big brother," Wally pointed out.

Milk spurted out of Dick's mouth.

"Funny," Artemis said sarcastically.

"Yeah, I'm dying," Dick choked.

Quick to switch the subject, Megan remarked, after eyeing the boys, "He doesn't seem adverse to the attention."

Shaking his head, Dick said, "Nah, the tough guy definitely has a soft spot for kids. Enjoys the company, too, I think."

"Like one of Megan's cookies," Artemis said philosophically. "Hard and crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy in the center."

Megan's face flared up embarrassedly, failing to conceal her pout.

"Don't listen to him, Megs. Your snacks are fantastic!" Wally comforted.

"For the man with an iron stomach, that doesn't mean much." The archer rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, I figured we might as well get some air before tonight. There's that party at the museum." He tried to contain his annoyance and failed miserably. "On the bright side, I convinced Bruce to let us take Conner."

Frowning, Megan asked, "Sure that's a good idea?"

Dick, actually, did have his doubts about the arrangement. But to voice them aloud felt like a betrayal.

"Well, I didn't want to leave him home alone, and Alfred has the night off. Care to suggest an alternative?" he retorted instead.

"You could send him over to my place so he and Bart can have a play date," Wally joked.

Smirking, Dick adopted an air of perplexity. "But if Bart's busy playing with Conner, who's going to babysit you?"

That earned him cookie to the face, but considering it was store-bought, it didn't hurt quite as bad as Megan's 'Oatmeal Raisin Surprise'.

Later...

"I feel like a douche bag," Conner muttered, yanking at his collar like he couldn't get quite enough air. Dick smacked his hand away and went back to straightening the suit.

"High Society Rule Number 1: Never depreciate your own appearance."

"Okay," Conner acquiesced, stiffening in deep thought. "I feel like a fancy douche bag."

Dick chuckled, "Better, I suppose."

Leading Conner over to the full-length mirror, he had to admit, the pair of them looked pretty snazzy. Barring Conner's perpetual scowl, of course.

"Perk up, dude. Scowling at parties isn't very aster." Conner's expression diminished into a dull glower. Taking a different approach, Dick leered at their reflections. "Alright, I prefer my favorite hoodie to a monkey suit any day, but you have to admit, we look like a pretty damn fine couples of guys."

"You look fine," Conner said, and Dick pretended not to be as flattered as he felt. "I, however, look like I... Like I don't belong," he finished lamely.

Is that what he's worried about? The acrobat inwardly smiled. He's got a lot to learn.

"Lemme let you in on a secret," said Dick confidentially. "You don't want to belong with these high-society snobs. Trust me. And if you don't fit in there, just we what we Waynes do."

Conner glanced at him in question.

Dick winked. "Fake it."

Even later...

Totally not feeling the aster tonight, was all Dick could think, dressed in his monkey suit, surrounded by a flock of clucking hens in their glamorous attire, using every ounce of willpower he possessed to resist yawning.

Bruce was playing the part of the extremely enthralled bachelor flawlessly, and beside him, Dick was doing a remarkable impression of an attentive son. Even Tim, as devious as he was at home, was being a perfect little gentlemen. Their dynamic was down pact.

He wondered where Conner had migrated off to, but mused that it was probably a blessing in disguise, as Conner seemed to dislike large groups of people. Especially the kind who expected him to listen to their dribble. If anything, the lucky bastard was probably stationed near a wall somewhere, avoiding social interaction and playing it cool.

"Dick," Tim whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

"What?"

"I have to pee," his little brother informed, legs dancing with a sense of urgency.

Dick released an infamous 'I'm-a-big-brother-and-I-unfortunately-have-to-deal-with-this' sigh.

"Emergency bathroom break?" Tim nodded frantically.

Giving the other guests a charming smile, Dick excused himself, saying he had to escort his little brother to facilities. He heard the hens mutter about him being 'such a cute, responsible brother' as he walked away and shook his head.

Hopefully, Conner was having a better time than him.

Standing near the wall and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Conner resisted the latent urge to stomp outside and tear off his tie. Sure, doing so would make him feel better, but that would mean causing a spectacle. And the last thing Conner wanted was to be noticed by these people.

As it were, things were going as they normally did in his case. He was being left alone, quietly lost amongst the crowd, and that was fine. There were worse scenarios to be in. He'd spotted Dick somewhere before, and though none of the snobs seemed to see it, Conner could tell that he was painfully bored.

Wonder if he's still trapped. Curious, and with nothing better to do, Conner scoured the crowd.

He found Mr. Wayne immersed in conversation with a group of snobby, stuffy attendants. Mentally, Conner scoffed, pondering if any of them knew how insincerely the billionaire was feigning interest in their petty conversation.

Then he saw a man, who if anybody was paying as close enough attention as Conner, would have noticed him subtly edging towards Wayne and his crowd.

Frowning, Conner inspected the man's attire. The coat was new—obviously never worn—the shirt fancy, but the shoes—They were all wrong. They were worn, comfortable, and good for running. But why would anyone need the means for a quick escape at this kind of scene?

Radars were going off inside his mind, screaming danger, and feral instinct made Conner remove himself from the wall. Because if Dick's teaching was anything to go by, no self-respecting guest would ever show up to one of these parties without the proper clothes. Which meant that the man wasn't here to impress.

He had an agenda.

A cold feeling shuddered down Conner's spine, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

The last time he'd seen Dick and Tim, they had been at Bruce's side.

Right as the thought entered his head, he began walking towards Mr. Wayne, and was but a few feet away when a flash of metal caught his eye, and Conner couldn't remember anything beyond that except the speed of his legs carrying him across the room.

Shouts and shrill shrieks assaulted every ear in the vicinity, as the attempted assassin was seen wielding a knife, but when his target was tackled to safety, the man found himself attacked by quick-acting security, shouting "Restrain him!" Between the burst of noise and adrenaline, Conner barely had time to be embarrassed about sending the city's most prominent billionaire falling to the floor.

For his part, Mr. Bruce Wayne looked unharmed, if not a bit ruffled. More than anything, he seemed shocked at Conner's daring rescue.

"Mr. Wayne, are you okay?" somebody asked worriedly.

"...Fine," answered Bruce, looking at Conner in surprise. "You saved my life."

Unsure of what to say, Conner simply nodded.

"How did you even get over here so fast?" he asked as he stood, shaking off the hands that tried to help him up. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm fine. I've been dealing with assassination attempts since I could walk properly. Occupational hazard."

The crowd chuckled lightly, still on their toes, and the mob surrounding them disbanded as people hurried about to call the police. Leaving Bruce and Conner alone, where the billionaire raised the question he'd asked before.

"I didn't want anybody to get hurt," the teenager replied honestly. A bit self-consciously, he added, "And after everything you've done for me, it only seemed fair."

Bruce stared straight ahead, lips pursed thinly. "Richard's the one you should really thank. He convinced me to let you stay. If it had been up to me alone..."

"I figured."

"You know, Conner," Bruce began, sighing. "Maybe we haven't see eye-to-eye in the short span of time we've known each other. But my sons are really intent on keeping you around. I suppose I should...be less reluctant to the idea. And try more often to adjust."

"Likewise, sir," the boy agreed.

"It's Mr. Wayne or Bruce," said Bruce firmly, extending a hand for Conner to shake, to compensate for the greeting he never gave before. "We're even now. That's enough to be on a name basis, isn't it?"

The peace treaty forged, Conner shook it with a smile.

Amongst the chaos and frantic party guests, two boys emerged from the throng of spectators. Tim immediately ran off in search of their father, and Dick intended to follow, when a familiar figure stepped in front of his path.

"Are you alright?" he asked Conner concernedly. "What happened?"

"Man with a knife," the older boy responded curtly, roaming over Dick with a critical eye. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, sure!" Dick assured, with more important matters on his mind, "How's Bruce?"

"Holding up. Attempted stabbing barely fazed him." Conner's expression was an indecipherable mask of despondency. "I couldn't find you."

Frowning at his friend, Dick replied, "Yeah, I went off to find the bathroom and was just about to head back when I heard all the commotion. So I quick took Tim back inside and waited until it sounded safe. I would've have rushed out to find you, but I had my little brother with, and I couldn't risk—"

Before he could even finish, his explanation was muffled by a thick set of arms enveloping him in an embrace. The contact was unexpected but comforting, and Dick returned it unsurely.

Death threats were usually a good excuse for chick flick moments.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Conner said into the top of his head. He sounded utterly relieved. "Both of you."

Smiling fondly, Dick gently ended the hug and glanced at his friend surreally. "Geez, what's got into you?"

Those shadows cast across Conner's face again. "When I saw that guy lunging for Mr. Wayne, I thought you were nearby. So I...reacted."

"Reacted? Taking a chance and nearly getting yourself stabbing is a reaction?"

Conner shrugged.

"Hell of a reflex you have," Dick laughed. "Good thing, too."

Realizing how closed he'd actually come to possibly losing his father(again), Dick felt his throat tighten.

"Thanks, Conner. For saving my dad." His face got stern, "But no more risky stunts for you either, capiche?"

Genuinely confused, Conner blinked. "Huh?"

"I mean, no squaring off against dangerous, knife-wielding psychopaths! What do you think you are—made of steel?"

"...sorry?"

Dick sighed. "Just, how about we agree not to do things that worry each other anymore? Or at least try to the best of our abilities. Deal?"

Conner firmly grasped it. Dick pretended to ignore the tingles his touch sent down his arm. "Deal."

So, was that any good? To be honest, I've been kind of out-of-touch with my YJ muses, due to a huge Supernatural binge, but they've returned and given me ideas!

Shameless plugging here, but I shall be posting a new story soon (after I finish it, so you won't have to worry about delayed updates), and if you enjoy my work you might enjoy this! It's called Sins of the Father. Keep a look out!