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Till Human Voices Wake Us (Comics fanfic, rated PG-13)
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dc_flashfiction. The title is, of course, from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot.
Title: Till Human Voices Wake Us
Pairings: Tim/Steph, Tim/Kon
Rating: PG-13 at most, for language and discussion mostly
Summary: Tim dreams and wakes.
Spoilers: Vague ones for Teen Titans 20, concrete ones for War Games.
Steph was glowing, a little.
She was pregnant (no, not anymore) and smiling, his bare hand on her warm stomach, just a thin nightgown between. The baby kicked his fingertips, and she winced and laughed (she's had the baby); she was faintly luminous, her hair, her face, her hand against the dark blanket on the bed. She'd told him not to tell her she was beautiful like this, but she really was (she's dead).
She was so warm, thrumming with life, about to have her baby.
(She's not, it's not, real.)
He looked up into eyes of a warmer blue than his own. You're---
Don't say it. She smirked, laying her hand on his on her belly (she's not here, she's dead). Her lips were so pink, not Robin-lipstick Robin-suit red; his own pressed tight on the words crowding behind them. He shouldn't say it. He had to. You're beautiful, he said, but what he heard in his voice, what softened her pink smile, was You're dead.
Yes, she said, hand warm and calloused and soft (cold, so cold) on his. I know.
"Tim?"
Tim lurched up out of sleep, wet-faced and gasping, shivering in the draft; he must have left the window open. No, he hadn't; he'd left the alarms off the door, which now stood open, letting in a stream of cool air. Kon sat on the side of the bed, hand paused halfway. "Tim?" he whispered again, eyes wide in the low light. Behind Tim's eyes, the light was just as low in his dream, except around Steph.
Absently, Tim wished he was wearing his mask. "Shut the door, Kon." Tim reached for Kon's hand, tangling their fingers as Kon crawled up the bed; Kon absently closed the door with his TK, a little loudly, but Tim figured no one would complain. "Hey," Kon whispered, settling beneath the sheets, on his back beside Tim. Floodlights and shadows streaked the ceiling.
When Tim shut his eyes again, all he saw was Steph's smile.
"Your heart's pounding," Kon said softly, laying other his hand over it, fingers splayed, only a thin T-shirt between. "Bad dream?"
"No, no, not really." Tim looked up at the ceiling again. The light wavered as if they were underwater. "I just dreamed of Steph, is all."
"Oh, man." Kon's hand tightened on Tim's; he took a deep breath, then another, then slid his hand on Tim's chest across to his side and pulled him close with just his arm, no TK. Body still heavy with sleep, Tim went with Kon's pull and slumped against him; Kon draped a large bare leg across Tim's and tucked Tim's head beneath his chin. "Man," Kon repeated, breath brushing warm through Tim's hair. "I wish... I would tell you it'll get better," he murmured, "but you'd just kick my ass for lying to you. I still dream about Tana sometimes."
"Thanks for not lying, then." Tim turned his head a little, pressing his cheek to Kon's chest. It felt like a banked fire glowed beneath Kon's skin, or strong sunlight, and now the air he breathed was warm and tinged with Kon's scent. "Thanks for checking on me."
"I couldn't sleep with your heartbeat banging in my ear." Kon tugged Tim a little closer, and Tim rolled to face him, threading his arm over Kon's ribs. He could hear Kon's heartbeat, a low steady thump. He had to admit it was comforting.
They lay like that, Tim listening to Kon's heartbeat, feeling the steady swell of his breathing, long enough for Tim's dream of Steph to fade to darkness behind his eyelids. Part of him almost didn't want it to go (warm blue eyes, knowing pink smile). Tim thought he'd disentangle himself when Kon fell asleep, but Kon lay awake, fingers occasionally twitching on his back, TK flickering over his skin. Eventually, long past when he should have, Tim steeled himself to pull away, to thank Kon and send him back to his bed. They both needed their sleep, after all.
What came out of his mouth was, "he didn't tell me till afterwards."
Kon's whole hand moved on Tim's back, a stroke, then another. "Batman?"
"She was dying, and I know he knew." Why was he saying this? Now? But the words kept falling out of Tim's mouth as Kon's hand stroked diagonally across his spine. "He saw me, and he didn't say anything, just sent me home to my dad. I knew it, but I didn't know it, so I went. But I should have known, I should have gone to see her right away. He only told me after she was dead."
"Fucker," Kon agreed, with a little squeeze, Tim realized his breath was hitching, and tried to shut his mouth, but found himself saying, "I was there when she had her baby. I---" And then he could stop the words, because his throat was closing up, because tears would come if he said anything else.
Kon sucked in a breath, exhaled slowly, then slid his hand up across Tim's back, his shoulder, his throat, the skin warmed even in its wake. Kon's hand slid up over Tim's cheek, and Tim's head pressed into its touch almost against his will; warm broad fingers sank into Tim's hair, stroked his head, slid down his neck to his back again. "I kinda wish I'd gotten to talk to her properly," Kon said, soft, like an offering. "We got off on the wrong foot, but when I wasn't so mad I could see why you thought she'd work out as Robin."
That hurt. Tim went rigid with a harsh laugh; Kon's petting stopped as he stilled in surprise. "Yeah, well, she didn't quite work out as Robin. But she tried. She tried, and if I hadn't quit she wouldn't've been Robin, she wouldn't have gotten..." The painful lump was back in Tim's throat. Kon's heart was thumping faster beneath his ear.
Then it was slowing again, and Kon's arm draped over him, and he resumed stroking Tim's back. "Yeah, well, you couldn't keep lying to your dad either, so. You tried, too, as hard as you could. And she tried. Doesn't any of that count for something?"
"A headstone," Tim said bitterly. Kon replied by squeezing him till his ribs almost cracked. Compared to the painful thud of his heart, it felt wonderful.
Tim took a deep breath, filling his lungs again, swallowed hard, and managed to say, "You're right, and I am glad to not be lying to my dad anymore. I just. I." He could speak around the lump in his throat, he could. "I thought I'd paid for it all by quitting being Robin. I didn't think I'd have to lose Steph, too. I---"
The sobs caught up with him, then, tearing their way out of him, but he muffled them against Kon's chest. Four, he counted absently, and a hitching breath, and another, and he had enough control back to stop. "Sorry," he muttered, pulling away to grab the sheet and wipe Kon's chest, but Kon caught his cheek to stop him, thumb smudging through the tears. "Tim?" Kon asked, and Tim looked up into blue eyes, warm and wide in the dimness. "Tim, can I, what would help?"
Tim could see it, having sex with Kon, feeling better that way. He could see letting Kon think he'd made Tim feel better that way. They had before, enough to settle out what it was between them a little. But every time they had, it was something happy; he wouldn't drag it into this. It was bad enough to cry on Kon, crying on him while having sex would be that many times worse.
So Tim squeezed Kon's hand, and shook his head no, and tried to push something like a smile onto his face. Kon looked at him, raised one eyebrow, and kissed him anyway, warm and soft and not even demanding. "Then we won't," he murmured over Tim's mouth, "but I'll stay as long as you need me."
Gratitude and need nearly choked Tim before he could shove them down. "You need to sleep."
"I'll sleep here," Kon replied, loosening his hold. "Do you want me to let go, or---?"
"No. Just--- thanks, Kon." Tim tucked his head beneath Kon's chin again, and Kon laughed quietly. "Bart will be mad we had a sleepover without him."
"If he gets pouty tell him he can have one with the girls, and paint his toenails." The snicker caught and tore on the lump in Tim's throat, but it also helped shrink it. Kon stroked down across Tim's shoulder to his back, and said hopefully, "have a good time camping with your dad next weekend, Tim. You have that, huh?"
"I have that." Tim nodded, cheek rubbing against Kon's smooth warm skin, and draped his hand over Kon's ribs, and closed his eyes.
dc_flashfiction. The title is, of course, from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot. Title: Till Human Voices Wake Us
Pairings: Tim/Steph, Tim/Kon
Rating: PG-13 at most, for language and discussion mostly
Summary: Tim dreams and wakes.
Spoilers: Vague ones for Teen Titans 20, concrete ones for War Games.
Steph was glowing, a little.
She was pregnant (no, not anymore) and smiling, his bare hand on her warm stomach, just a thin nightgown between. The baby kicked his fingertips, and she winced and laughed (she's had the baby); she was faintly luminous, her hair, her face, her hand against the dark blanket on the bed. She'd told him not to tell her she was beautiful like this, but she really was (she's dead).
She was so warm, thrumming with life, about to have her baby.
(She's not, it's not, real.)
He looked up into eyes of a warmer blue than his own. You're---
Don't say it. She smirked, laying her hand on his on her belly (she's not here, she's dead). Her lips were so pink, not Robin-lipstick Robin-suit red; his own pressed tight on the words crowding behind them. He shouldn't say it. He had to. You're beautiful, he said, but what he heard in his voice, what softened her pink smile, was You're dead.
Yes, she said, hand warm and calloused and soft (cold, so cold) on his. I know.
"Tim?"
Tim lurched up out of sleep, wet-faced and gasping, shivering in the draft; he must have left the window open. No, he hadn't; he'd left the alarms off the door, which now stood open, letting in a stream of cool air. Kon sat on the side of the bed, hand paused halfway. "Tim?" he whispered again, eyes wide in the low light. Behind Tim's eyes, the light was just as low in his dream, except around Steph.
Absently, Tim wished he was wearing his mask. "Shut the door, Kon." Tim reached for Kon's hand, tangling their fingers as Kon crawled up the bed; Kon absently closed the door with his TK, a little loudly, but Tim figured no one would complain. "Hey," Kon whispered, settling beneath the sheets, on his back beside Tim. Floodlights and shadows streaked the ceiling.
When Tim shut his eyes again, all he saw was Steph's smile.
"Your heart's pounding," Kon said softly, laying other his hand over it, fingers splayed, only a thin T-shirt between. "Bad dream?"
"No, no, not really." Tim looked up at the ceiling again. The light wavered as if they were underwater. "I just dreamed of Steph, is all."
"Oh, man." Kon's hand tightened on Tim's; he took a deep breath, then another, then slid his hand on Tim's chest across to his side and pulled him close with just his arm, no TK. Body still heavy with sleep, Tim went with Kon's pull and slumped against him; Kon draped a large bare leg across Tim's and tucked Tim's head beneath his chin. "Man," Kon repeated, breath brushing warm through Tim's hair. "I wish... I would tell you it'll get better," he murmured, "but you'd just kick my ass for lying to you. I still dream about Tana sometimes."
"Thanks for not lying, then." Tim turned his head a little, pressing his cheek to Kon's chest. It felt like a banked fire glowed beneath Kon's skin, or strong sunlight, and now the air he breathed was warm and tinged with Kon's scent. "Thanks for checking on me."
"I couldn't sleep with your heartbeat banging in my ear." Kon tugged Tim a little closer, and Tim rolled to face him, threading his arm over Kon's ribs. He could hear Kon's heartbeat, a low steady thump. He had to admit it was comforting.
They lay like that, Tim listening to Kon's heartbeat, feeling the steady swell of his breathing, long enough for Tim's dream of Steph to fade to darkness behind his eyelids. Part of him almost didn't want it to go (warm blue eyes, knowing pink smile). Tim thought he'd disentangle himself when Kon fell asleep, but Kon lay awake, fingers occasionally twitching on his back, TK flickering over his skin. Eventually, long past when he should have, Tim steeled himself to pull away, to thank Kon and send him back to his bed. They both needed their sleep, after all.
What came out of his mouth was, "he didn't tell me till afterwards."
Kon's whole hand moved on Tim's back, a stroke, then another. "Batman?"
"She was dying, and I know he knew." Why was he saying this? Now? But the words kept falling out of Tim's mouth as Kon's hand stroked diagonally across his spine. "He saw me, and he didn't say anything, just sent me home to my dad. I knew it, but I didn't know it, so I went. But I should have known, I should have gone to see her right away. He only told me after she was dead."
"Fucker," Kon agreed, with a little squeeze, Tim realized his breath was hitching, and tried to shut his mouth, but found himself saying, "I was there when she had her baby. I---" And then he could stop the words, because his throat was closing up, because tears would come if he said anything else.
Kon sucked in a breath, exhaled slowly, then slid his hand up across Tim's back, his shoulder, his throat, the skin warmed even in its wake. Kon's hand slid up over Tim's cheek, and Tim's head pressed into its touch almost against his will; warm broad fingers sank into Tim's hair, stroked his head, slid down his neck to his back again. "I kinda wish I'd gotten to talk to her properly," Kon said, soft, like an offering. "We got off on the wrong foot, but when I wasn't so mad I could see why you thought she'd work out as Robin."
That hurt. Tim went rigid with a harsh laugh; Kon's petting stopped as he stilled in surprise. "Yeah, well, she didn't quite work out as Robin. But she tried. She tried, and if I hadn't quit she wouldn't've been Robin, she wouldn't have gotten..." The painful lump was back in Tim's throat. Kon's heart was thumping faster beneath his ear.
Then it was slowing again, and Kon's arm draped over him, and he resumed stroking Tim's back. "Yeah, well, you couldn't keep lying to your dad either, so. You tried, too, as hard as you could. And she tried. Doesn't any of that count for something?"
"A headstone," Tim said bitterly. Kon replied by squeezing him till his ribs almost cracked. Compared to the painful thud of his heart, it felt wonderful.
Tim took a deep breath, filling his lungs again, swallowed hard, and managed to say, "You're right, and I am glad to not be lying to my dad anymore. I just. I." He could speak around the lump in his throat, he could. "I thought I'd paid for it all by quitting being Robin. I didn't think I'd have to lose Steph, too. I---"
The sobs caught up with him, then, tearing their way out of him, but he muffled them against Kon's chest. Four, he counted absently, and a hitching breath, and another, and he had enough control back to stop. "Sorry," he muttered, pulling away to grab the sheet and wipe Kon's chest, but Kon caught his cheek to stop him, thumb smudging through the tears. "Tim?" Kon asked, and Tim looked up into blue eyes, warm and wide in the dimness. "Tim, can I, what would help?"
Tim could see it, having sex with Kon, feeling better that way. He could see letting Kon think he'd made Tim feel better that way. They had before, enough to settle out what it was between them a little. But every time they had, it was something happy; he wouldn't drag it into this. It was bad enough to cry on Kon, crying on him while having sex would be that many times worse.
So Tim squeezed Kon's hand, and shook his head no, and tried to push something like a smile onto his face. Kon looked at him, raised one eyebrow, and kissed him anyway, warm and soft and not even demanding. "Then we won't," he murmured over Tim's mouth, "but I'll stay as long as you need me."
Gratitude and need nearly choked Tim before he could shove them down. "You need to sleep."
"I'll sleep here," Kon replied, loosening his hold. "Do you want me to let go, or---?"
"No. Just--- thanks, Kon." Tim tucked his head beneath Kon's chin again, and Kon laughed quietly. "Bart will be mad we had a sleepover without him."
"If he gets pouty tell him he can have one with the girls, and paint his toenails." The snicker caught and tore on the lump in Tim's throat, but it also helped shrink it. Kon stroked down across Tim's shoulder to his back, and said hopefully, "have a good time camping with your dad next weekend, Tim. You have that, huh?"
"I have that." Tim nodded, cheek rubbing against Kon's smooth warm skin, and draped his hand over Kon's ribs, and closed his eyes.