Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Yearning

Chapter Six: Eight

It wasn't working.

Tim's cloning attempts weren't working.

He had more than enough of Conner's DNA. That was not the problem. Samples from everywhere. In different mediums too. Hair. Blood. Semen. Saliva. Sweat. A lack of genetic material was not his problem.

The problem was the sequence. Conner's hybrid human-kryptonian DNA. The computer couldn't decipher it. Not all of it. It was the same problem Cadmus had run into when creating their first super-clones. The kryptonian genotype was to complicated for the current technology available to replicate. There were gaping holes i the sequence. That was why they had to mix in human DNA. To fill in the holes and complete the code. That was how they had gotten Conner. If Tim wanted to make a living viable clone, he would also have to mix in human DNA.

But then... if he did that... The clone would not be Conner.

Tim would never get his Conner back.

He punched a console, making a dent in the metal casing and splitting the rough skin of his knuckles. Tim had never handled grief and loss well.

...

His father's death threw a wrench into everything.

Tim suddenly wished he'd told Dad everything. That he was Robin, that he was gay, that he had a giant crush on his best friend who was really secretly Superboy, that he was a creepy little fuck that stalked his friends and put hidden cameras in their bedrooms. Everything. Just to have a conversation with his father again. It was a paralyzing kind of grief.

He stopped working on the Team. He stopped going to school. He even stopped patrolling Gotham.

That was what got Bruce worried.

When his parents were killed, gunned down in an ally behind a movie theater on a busy street, it filled Bruce with purpose and drive. Gave him a reason to live, to continue. Gave him his Mission. When Tim's father died he just... shut down. Stopped doing things. First the Team... then school... finally his work as Robin. Bruce had to step in and do something.

Tim went to live with him at Wayne Manor, just like Dick had after his family's death. Just like Jason had after he vandalized the batmobile. But, unlike either of them, Bruce did something different for Tim. He adopted him, all nice and legal on paper and everything. And so, Timothy Jackson Drake became Timothy Drake-Wayne. The official press release would go out after all the documents were sealed and finalized.

So, he packed up the apartment he lived in with Dad and Dana and moved into the manor.

Tim spent most of his time laying in bed. Starring at the ceiling or the wall.

Dick came in to bother him one day. Tim was laying on his side, back to the door. He heard the door open and close and assumed it was Alfred come to... do something. At any other time in his life, he never would have made an assumption without evidence. He also would have payed enough attention to know that the room was already immaculate and didn't need any attention from Alfred.

The opposite side of the bed dipped with the weight of whoever it was as they sat down. Then they sighed and Tim knew it was Dick. It was a very Dicky sigh. "How you doing, baby-bird?"

Tim wanted to snap back, 'How do you think I'm fucking doing!?' but he just didn't have the energy to. Dick was a smart man and he went through a similar experience at an even younger and more impressionable age. He knew exactly how Tim was feeling. No words were necessary.

"Supey's been asking about you." He continued.

Conner... Tim would like to curl up in the demi-kryptonian's arms. Strong and warm. He could make Tim feel safe, protected, at home. It would be nice.

But Conner was just a child. Only eight. Tim missed his birthday. He didn't get to throw his Superboy a party. An eight year old was not emotionally equipped to comprehend this kind of grief, or shoulder the responsibility of comfort. He couldn't turn to Conner. It wouldn't be fair to him. Just like his feelings weren't fair to him. He was only eight years old. If he couldn't console Tim through a tragedy, he couldn't participate in an adult relationship -especially not the kind of adult relationship Tim wanted.

"What did you tell him?"

"That you were dealing with a family thing." Dick replied in that soft obnoxious voice people always used when speaking to someone who had recently suffered a loss. Tim hated that voice. Like he was cracked glass that had to be handled with care. If they spoke to him like a normal person he would shatter. He hated it.

"Don't tell him." He said, speaking more to his pillow then to Dick. "He'll want to help and it would be unfair to put that much pressure on him."

"Don't you think that's something Supey should decide for himself?" Dick replied, voice changing from that soft comforting 'I'm handling cracked glass' voice to his almost normal cocky drawl and Tim could see his lopsided grin in his mind's eye. "And, ya know, you can't hide it forever. Even if no one tells him, when the press release goes out that you're a Wayne now, I'm sure he'll be able to put two and two together."

Tim couldn't help the ironic smile that stretched across his lips. "I have always said that he's a lot cleverer than you and Bruce give him credit for."

"Well, whatever you choose to do, I think it would be a good idea for you to get out for a little bit. Get some fresh air. You might feel better if you did."

"I haven't got a cold, Dick!" Tim snapped, sitting up to look at the man for the first time since he entered the room. "My Dad just died!"

"I know." And his voice was a low, sober, growling whisper. Yes. Dick knew. He had witnessed, not just his father, but his whole family's death. Mother, father, uncle. The uncle hadn't died, but he was rendered unable to care for little nine year old Richard. Enter Bruce Wayne. "And letting yourself waste away in this room isn't gonna bring him back."

Academically, Tim knew that was true. He just didn't have the energy to get out of bed most of the time.

"At the very least," Dick continued, "if you don't wanna go outside and smell the roses that's fine. Ivy's probably got them laced with sex-pollen anyway. But at the very least, you should pull yourself out of this bed, walk two doors down the hall and take a goddamn shower! Damn boy! You smell like something the cat dragged in and pissed on!"

Tim hit him with a pillow.

Dick ran out of the room laughing.

...

Was it a bit morbid that the first place Tim went after deciding to take Dick's advice and get out of the house was his father's grave? Maybe. It depended on your point of view.

Tim hadn't been there since the funeral. It was nice to be able to say his good-byes without all of Jack's work friends and he and Dana's couple friends patting him on the shoulder all the time, offering their condolences and empty promises that if Tim ever needed any help, he could always come to them. Tim was polite enough not to tell them that the only reason he even remembered their names was because Batman made him fingerprint all of them as a training exercise every time one of them would come to the apartment.

It was nice without all the surplus well-wishers. Graveyards were meant to be empty and silent.

Tim knelt down to place a bouquet of flowers on Jack's fresh grave. His vision swam and Tim was horrified to realize that he was crying. He hadn't cried since his mother died. He thought he had matured past that. Raising his arm, Tim wiped his sleeve across his eyes. That was when he felt someone hug him.

Strong, muscular arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back against an equally muscular chest. It was warm and comforting, like sunlight on a cool spring day, and he knew it was Conner. His Superboy. Tim didn't need to turn to see his face. He recognized those fingerless gloves, the long back form-fitting sleeves, those muscular forearms. He leaned back into the hug and had to wonder why in the world he hadn't wanted Conner to comfort him before.

Oh. Right.

"What are you doing here, Kon?" He muttered into the Superboy's arm.

"I heard about your folks." Conner answered. "I wanted to be here for you."

He wanted to be here for him. Conner wanted to be here. For Tim. Those words were like a soothing balm for his aching heart.

"Tell me what you need. Anything you need, I'll do it for you." Conner whispered in the Robin's ear.

Tim wriggled around, turning in the man's arms to look at him skeptically. They were almost on the same eye-level. Conner had the most beautiful crystal-blue eyes. "Anything...?"

"Anything." The Superboy assured him.

"Conner, what I've always wanted from you..." Tim paused, looked down at his feet. Did he really have the right to ask? Did Conner even like guys? As far as he knew, his Superboy had only ever dated women. And he was just a child. Eight years old. He might look like he was sixteen, same age as Tim, but... He wasn't. The seconds ticked by as he thought. "No... Its not appropriate for me to ask. You're only eight years old. Thank you, but... I don't want anything from you."

He expected the demi-kryptonian to sigh and pull away at that. There wasn't anything Tim wanted from him right now. Not until he was eighteen, that was ten years away. He expected Conner to leave. Instead, he cupped Tim's face with both hands and tipped his head upwards, forcing the Robin to look at him. "Tim..." He said. "That's just a number. As far as the state is concerned, Conner Kent is twenty-four. The way I look, you'd think I was still sixteen. Just forget about my age. What do you want? I promise, nothing you ask for will change the way I think about you."

Should he take the gamble?

Confess now. 'Conner, I love you and I know we're both guys and you're probably not gay, but... I love you.' Or should he stay silent? Bide his time. Wait until the Superboy was really old enough. If he confessed now, and Conner requited his feelings, it would be the single most wonderful thing Tim could possibly hear right now. The biggest comfort. The happiest thing ever since the invention of happiness. But... if Conner rejected him... Now, at this time in his life, right after his father's death... It would just destroy him. Tim couldn't take the rejection.

"Conner..." God! His eyes were so blue! "I... I want... I want to wait until you're eighteen. I'll tell you when you're eighteen. When you're eighteen, I'll be twenty-six. It should be alright then."

They stood in silence. Finally broken when Conner said, "You feather-brained idiot."

And he leaned in to kiss Tim on the lips!

Lips, and tongue, and teeth, and just... fabulous!

All this time... for the past three years, Tim had been holding back because he feared Conner was a child. Only eight years old.

That was no child kissing him.

...

The next few hours were a blur of sensual kisses and conflicting opinions.

Conner wanted to take things slow. Tim had just suffered an emotional trauma and he didn't want to make any demands or put any extra strain on him. Tim, on the other hand, was sick of waiting and taking things slow. After three years of yearning, he wanted to jump right in!

"I'm just saying," Conner explained as they sat on Tim's bed in Wayne manor, "out of the two of us, one of us is a virgin and its not me."

"That's nice." Tim replied, an evil smirk crawling onto his lips. It was really sweet what Conner was doing for him, really it was. But Tim had just lost his father and he didn't want 'nice', he wanted a rush of endorphins and serotonin to make him feel better -in other words, he wanted an orgasm, and he wanted it from Conner. "And I'm just saying, out of the two of us, one of us is about to get his face shoved in the pillows and his pants cut off and its not gonna be me!"

There then ensued a short wrestling match. Like their first spar in the training room back when Mt. Justice had still been standing. Only this time, the sexual tension wasn't tense, the subtext was overtext and Tim had absolutely no reservations about rubbing his hard-on all over Conner's body, while his hands wandered over the demi-kryptonian's abdomen, feeling the Superboy's own desire and grinning a sultry grin at it. "Do you submit?"

"I just think we should wait." Conner insisted. "I mean, your dad just died. Don't your psychology books say now is a terrible time to start a new relationship or something?"

Technically, yes, they did. Something about emotional dependency, or something like that. Truth be told, it was hard to think with all the blood rushing from his head and down between his legs. But he had been in love with Conner long before his father died. For three years he had pinned and yearned for the demi-kryptonian. Now, here he was, in Tim's bedroom after a very grow-up kiss. It was safe to say that while he might be eight years old, he was no child, he could be interested in guys, and he did like Tim. Like hell was he gonna let this opportunity pass him by. Conner was gonna be his. Conner had been his from the first moment they saw each other. The sex was just the final notary stamp on documents that had been drawn up years ago.

But whatever Tim might have said in response, or whatever Conner might have used as a rebuttal, neither got to say them. Because it was at that exact moment, probably drawn by the sounds of their roughhousing, that Dick chose to barge in on them. "What in the world is going on in- Oh!"

The Nightwing froze, seeing the demi-kryptonian pinned to the floor by his newly acquired baby brother. Shirt hiked up, exposing well toned abs. Tim's hands clutching the Superboy's belt buckle, poised to unfasten it.

Nobody made any attempt to move or alter their position. But, Tim did clear his throat. "Dick, this may not be the best way to tell you. But I just think you should know... I'm gay and Conner is my boyfriend. Could you leave us alone?"

The silence between all three of them dragged on for one... two... three beats before Nightwing said, "Hang on, I've got some really good condoms in my room." He disappeared and reappeared a few minuets later with a box in his hand. Not one of the quick night out boxes that only had three rubbers in it. Or even the usual twelve-pack they sold at every Rite Aid and CVS Pharmacy on Earth. No, this was a thirty-six economy pack -and it was half empty. But, then again, Dick was the resident man-slut of the bat-clan. "Always, always use a condom!"

As it happened, they didn't have sex that day. Conner won out and instead they just cuddled until Tim fell asleep in his arms. Warm and protected, enveloped in the demi-kryptonian's strong embrace. That was really what he wanted, and what he needed right then. Conner was more than happy to oblige.

The following morning, if anyone was surprised or confused to see the Superboy at breakfast, no one said anything. And that evening Tim was back in costume.

Bruce was so pleased, he didn't even scold the Superboy about going out on patrol with Robin. He did give them both a short lecture on gratuitous use of meta abilities within Gotham city limits. But that was about it.

...

Tim didn't feel he was quite ready to return to school just yet. To many people. All with living parents and mundane every-day life problems. He didn't feel he could deal with it. But Bruce, as Tim's legal guardian and adopted father, was required by law to make sure Tim got some schooling. He arranged for tutors to come to the manor three times a week.

It would have been nice if Tim didn't, more of then than not, ditch his tutors and zetta to Smallville to make-out with his boyfriend.

Conner had him pinned to the bed. The demi-kryptonian seeming to have a bit of trouble holding himself with one hand and trying to unfasten Tim's jeans with the other. As anyone who's ever buttoned or unbuttoned denim, its very difficult to do one handed. Tim would have helped, except his own hands were rather busy on his Superboy's pants at the moment and couldn't be bothered.

The Robin smiled in appreciation at the stiff tent of boxers that poked out from the open jeans as they slipped off Conner's hips. He pushed the other man's pants down to his knees, purring a deep sultry purr as he ran a hand over the tight cotton, searching for that slit in the fabric that would allow him to slip his hand inside and touch skin to skin.

Unfortunately, at that exact moment, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

"Conner?" Ma's voice drifted through the wood. "I'm sorry to both you boys while you're... having your alone time. But Bruce just called and wanted me to remind Tim that he missed a study appointment today. Also, Dick asked me to make sure you use a condom. I hope I don't actually have to check that!"

The Superboy groaned in exasperation, body going slack in defeat, almost collapsing on top of his boyfriend. "I hate your family."

...

But, to spite distractions and interruptions -and hovering big brothers preaching about condoms- they did finally manage to consummate their feelings for one another.

And they hadn't even been planning to at the time.

Tim had a free day from his tutors and it was still several hours before he had to be back in Gotham for nightly patrol. He had gone to the farm just to hang out, that was it. No sex intended. Conner had work to do anyway. It was a purely innocent visit. Tim offered to help Conner with his chores and actually worked.

Worked so hard that he got all sweaty.

Got so hot that he had to take his shirt off.

Neither of them were quite sure how they ended up all the way up in the barn's hay-loft. It just sort of happened that way. There was a perfectly serviceable bed in Conner's room inside the perfectly comfortable farmhouse. But there was also a phone there. A phone that Bruce, or Dick, or anyone else could call. Evil phone. There was no phone in the barn.

Laying in the hay, basking in the after glow of euphoria, Tim cuddled close. Head resting on Conner's shoulder, hand splayed over his bare chest. He sighed in contentment before commenting, "Next time, we're actually planning the sex. That way the one on bottom will have a chance to get cleaned up first."

"Sorry." Conner muttered, not really caring at that moment. He had Tim and he was happy.

They were both happy.

...

Tim was touring the campus of Gotham U when it happened.

He had been texting Conner earlier that morning, planning their next rendezvous. At the farm, the Tower, or the manor. They were still debating when Tim turned his phone off to pay attention to the tour. He spent almost the entire day touring the school.

Dick came to pick him up, offering to treat the little bird to a late lunch. That was when it happened.

At first Tim didn't understand what he was feeling. It was like the first time he'd met his Superboy, but different. Something significant passing between him and... something else, something far away but important. Like a string wrapped around his heart was pulled so tight that it snapped. Broke. The other end drifting away until it finally vanished completely. When the sensation passed, Tim felt like a piece of himself had been cut out and was now missing.

He leaned against a wall, breathing hard. As if he's just run a mile in full costume carrying a heavy and uncooperative victim with him. But he'd only walked a single step. They weren't even out of the Commons yet.

Dick placed a supporting hand on his underarm, looking concerned. "You okay, baby-bird?"

Tim didn't know. He didn't understand what had just happened. All he knew was that it had something to do with Conner. Something had happened to his boyfriend. Something bad! He whipped out his phone and turned it on, speed-dialing Conner to moment the main-screen popped up. There was no answer. The phone went directly to voicemail. That meant it was either turned off, out of battery... or completely destroyed.

So, Tim pulled out his JLA comm and shoved the tiny bug in his ear. He didn't know who was on Watch duty today, he just hoped they were up-to-date on their statuses and quick with their reports. "This is Robin: B20 requesting status update on Superboy: B04."

"Robin..." Zatanna's voice breathed back over the comm channel, sounding full of pity and a heavy dollop of hesitation. "Robin, I'm so sorry. I... I don't know how to tell you this..."

...

Tim insisted on being one of the casket bearers at Superboy's public funeral.

The body inside the casket wasn't Conner. It wasn't even real. Just a mannequin made of wax and silicon, sculpted and painted to look like the Superboy. His real remains were given to the Kents for burial in their family plot. This ceremony was just for show. Something for the media vultures to pick at.

The casket was light in his hands, the handle he held putting almost no pressure on him. Tim had a feeling Clark was carrying most of the weight. He could carry the whole thing (and then some) by himself anyway. They didn't need a full six casket bearers. But they had anyway. Superman and Robin at the front two handles, Nightwing and the Flash (formerly Kid Flash) in the middle, and Black Canary and Red Tornado as the final two. The press would be guessing at the significance of their places for weeks.

Superman was the only one that seemed to make sense to any of them. They didn't know that Black Canary and Red Tornado were Superboy's guardians and mentors for the first six months of his free life before Superman finally man'd up. Or that Nightwing and Kid Flash (now the Flash) were the ones to liberate him from Cadmus on the first place. Or that Robin and the Superboy were lovers. No. The casket bearers and their positions just seemed arbitrary to them.

After the ceremony, Tim found himself sitting alone in a tree, ignoring requests for TV interviews, photos, or autographs. The other members of the League and a few of the team were giving out comments and quotes. Little blurbs about what Superboy meant to them and how much of a loss his death is to the greater good. PR stuff. Tim didn't feel like dealing with any PR stuff. So, he found a high place he could sit and brood.

Hawkman, of all people, come to perch next to him.

Tim lifted his head, expecting the older man to try and give him an inspirational speech of some sort. Something about loss and perseverance and the cycle of life, or some other such Disney-Hallmark bullshit. But he didn't. The two birds sat in silence for a long time. Maybe Hawkman just wanted to get away from the crowd same as Tim did and hoped the Robin didn't mind sharing his tree.

So long as Carter didn't bother him, Tim didn't mind.

Then the Hawkman just had to speak. "Its worse when they're your soul-mate."

Tim cast him a very unsympathetic glare. As if to ask, 'Do you want me to throw you a parade?'

"You feel it." He continued, undiscouraged by the Robin's silent hostility. Carter tapped the hawk emblem on his chest. "Right here. Like a piece of yourself is being ripped out. Every time Shayera died, I could feel it."

Tim froze. Suddenly he was hanging on the Thanagarian's every word. He and Conner... Could they have been soul-mates too? What were the chances? Seven billion people on planet Earth (give or take a could hundred thousand), not to mention the added population of every inhabited world in the universe, and Tim and Conner happen to be incarnated on the same world, in the same country, and joined the same Team... What ever the chances?

...

The ceremony in Smallville was private. Just family. Clark, Lois, Martha, Jonathan and Tim. Martha said Tim was family. She was a sweet woman.

Tim said nothing at that ceremony either. At least, nothing while the rest of the Kents were there. He waited for them to leave.

Graveyards were supposed to be empty and silent.

He knelt in front of the headstone. 'Conner Kent Beloved Son and Grandson' That was interesting. Tim expected it to read 'Brother and Son'. Had Clark finally sorted out his feelings about the boy? If he did it was to damn late! There were no dates. No date of birth, the truth would not have made sense and the it seemed wrong to put a lie on a gravestone. No date of death either. That was fine. Tim didn't mind trying to forget that awful day.

He was crying again. Damn it.

His father died and then no more than a month later, his boyfriend... his lover... his soul-mate -apparently- also had to die. Life was a motherfucking bitch!

"I'll get you back!" He informed the headstone. "I'm not letting you go. We're soul-mates, Kon. We belong together. Somehow... I'm gonna bring you back!"

...

That was almost a year ago now...

Tim had turned seventeen. He shed the mantle of just plain 'Robin', passing the title onto a rude and snobbish little brat that kept threatening to kill him. Talia's son. Tim didn't feel he was deserving of the Robin mantle. But, then again, Jason hadn't thought he was deserving of it either. Ultimately, it didn't matter.

He exchanged his domino mask for a cowl similar to Bruce's -minus the ears, of course. Black cowl, black cape. Still the red and black body suit, but instead of one belt around his waist, Tim now carried three. One around the waist and two crossed over his chest, a new emblem in the center. He had passed the Robin mantle on to someone else, so the Robin R had to go with it. He now sported the silhouette of a robin's head inside of a circle. It was his symbol. For his new handle.

Red Robin.

And Red Robin was hell-bent on only one Mission.

Like the murder of his parents had done for Bruce, his mate's death had filled Tim with a drive and a purpose. No to clean up the streets and put an end to crime and violence so that no one ever had to suffer his pain,no. Nothing so noble or selfless. In fact, Red Robin's Mission was quite selfish. He endeavored to concur death. To bring his beloved back to life. To reunite himself with his soul-mate and finally get the happy ending he felt he was owed.

All his efforts were bent on seeking this one goal.

From Lex Luthor, his mate's other 'father', Red Robin got the technology he would need to create another super-clone. From his mate's bedroom he collected all the genetic material he would need to duplicate his lover. From the League he 'borrowed' a safe-house to use as hide-out and genetics lab. From Zatanna, or Lawrence Blood, or any of the other magic-users among their allies, he planned to take knowledge of how to take a soul and bind it to a new body.

But before he could do that, he needed the body.

That was where Red Robin hit his road-block.

All his cloning attempts failed. The kryptonian genotype was to complicated to be duplicated by the technology he had available to him. He would need to mix in some more human DNA to fill in the gaps in the code. But if he did that, what came out would not be his Conner. It would not be his mate.

Did he still want to proceed?

Red Robin thought about mixing in his own DNA. But if he did that then the 'clone' he created wouldn't be a clone, but rather an offspring. His and Conner's. Truth be told, Tim did find the idea of having a child with Conner appealing. It was a nice fantasy to indulge in. But in that fantasy, Conner was also alive and well and they raised their child together. But that wasn't possible. Conner was dead. A fantasy was all it would ever be.

He would never get his Conner, his mate, back, and no child would ever fill the gaping empty hole in his heart like Conner would. Sure, raising Conner's baby would make him feel better and it would fill a little of the empty space in his heart. But not all of it. Never all of it. When Conner died, beaten to death by Superduche-Prime, a piece of Tim died with him. He would never get his Conner back.

When Batman and Robin finally found Red Robin's secret lair, Tim was bent over a petri dish -sobbing.

Cowl pushed back, mop of dark hair falling over his face, head in his hands. Batman knelt down next to Red Robin's chair and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey, baby-bird." Dick said. "I think its time to come home."

"Grayson, just give it up." Robin scoffed from the doorway. "If Drake wants to wallow and self-pity and cry like a woman with a run in her stockings let him."

They both ignored the newest Robin.

"Alfred's got some hot chocolate and tiramisu up at the manor." Dick continued, pushing the Batman cowl back away from his face so they meet eye to eye. Blue eyes to blue eyes. Conner's eyes had also been blue. But so much more vibrant and luminous than Dick's -than any human's. "And I'm sure if we asked Clark, he'd be willing to send over so of Martha's pie. They've been asking about you, by the way. Said you haven't been by the house in a while."

"What's the point, Dick?" Tim asked.

"The point is, I know you lost your dad and your boyfriend and Bruce disappeared all in the same year, but there are still people here who care about you and worry after you." Dick informed him. "We don't want to see you give up on life just because of that. Bat-clan looks after our own, let us help you. You don't have to go through this alone."

...

Tim did go with Dick and Damian, but he didn't make it all the way back to the manor.

Somewhere between the Clock Tower and State Street there was a midnight bank robbery and all three bats swung in to intervene. Tim caught one escaping through the roof.

...He didn't see the second one.

It wasn't the shot that killed him. No. That just knocked him off his feet, sent him tumbling off the roof. It was the fall that killed him. Body impacting the hard pavement of the street below with a stomach churning SQUISH-CRUNCH. Spine broken, internal organs ruptured, skull cracked, fluids leaking from everywhere.

Tim wondered why he felt no pain... and why he was still conscious. He looked down at his broken body. Batman and Robin kneeling over him. The robbers getting away. Red and blue lights flashed as the GCPD finally arrived. At first Tim didn't understand how he could be laying down there yet also still standing on the roof looking down on himself. Then he got it.

"Oh."

He heard a snort behind him. "And here I used to think you were the smart one."

Tim turned around.

There, outlined in moonlight, was Conner. His demi-kryptonian. His Superboy. His mate.

They didn't have physical forms anymore. Neither of them. But their minds remembered the shapes they used to have, and so Tim thew himself into Conner's arms. They were together now. Good and permanently together.

That was all either of them ever wanted.

...

END