I'm not really happy with this fic. It doesn't have that hushed feel I wanted. But I'm not sure how to *get* that, and I'm tired of tinkering with it. :P

Anyway.

Rated PG for some minor swearing.


Takes place post Teen Titans 23. Many thanks to Stacy for beta'ing. :)

Talking About Sex 1/1
JBMcDragon

It's like an extra superpower. The ability to stagger around at night or in the morning without ever waking up. There are only a few things that can interfere. Light's one of them.

Tim was on the couch in the den, the flickering from the television turning him blue. Now there's something I'll never get. Why does TV always turn you blue? I mean, it's not like whatever you're watching is blue. Tim probably knows why that is.

I almost left him alone. Normally, I would. I mean, Tim's always up late. Keeps that freaky schedule and stuff, so… but it was late, even for him. And there was that whole thing with his dad recently.

I wandered into the den and settled in on the couch. Tim was huddled opposite. He didn't even look up.

I had no idea what he was watching. A movie, with the sound turned low. Some kid was standing on top of a van and turning into a dog. No--wait--it was supposed to be a werewolf. Awful special effects.

Tim was curled up on himself, knees resting on the arm of the couch, one arm wrapped around his folded legs. We sat.

The movie was actually pretty good. A commercial hit, and I shifted. "Is this old?" I asked.

Tim didn’t look at me. "Yeah. That's Michael J. Fox. He was in "Spin City"?"

I nodded slowly. I was pretty sure I'd seen that.

"And he was the voice of the mouse in "Stuart Little"?"

"Oh! Right," I said, putting one leg on the coffee table. "I thought he was older."

"He is. This is from the eighties."

"Huh." I really like that about Tim. That he never acts like I should know this stuff, or treats me like a social moron if I don't. He just explains it.

The television flickered. Blue light danced across the carpet and us, making the coffee table glow.

"So," I asked finally, "why are you awake?"

He sighed. He's really small without the armor. I forget that, sometimes. I'm the biggest guy on the team--aside from Cyborg, who has a few years on me--but I think Tim might be the smallest. You don't notice it when he's standing. It's just when he's all curled up. I think even Bart is getting bigger than Tim. Well, taller anyway.

He scratched at his ankle absently. "Couldn't sleep. Too much caffeine."

I glanced at him. "Caffeine?"

"Chocolate cake. It's loaded with caffeine. And sugar."

I snorted. "Yeah, and you did eat it for dinner."

"And lunch. I'm not feeling so good. Next time Bart offers, remind me of this."

I just laughed. I mean, really, what else are you supposed to do in a situation like that? "You know, now that you mention it, you do look like you're vibrating."

He gave me a half-hearted glare.

Actually, I’m not sure I've ever seen Tim drink anything caffeinated except the occasional Zesti.

I sprawled further onto the couch. Tim put a foot up on the table and sank down, too.

The couch creaked when I shifted. A commercial came on about breath mints, and Tim snorted at it. The movie ended, after a while. Another one came on. The credits announced "An American Werewolf in London."

"Werewolf night?" I asked.

Tim nodded. "You don't have to stay up with me, if you don't want," he said without looking.

I shrugged. "I know. But I'm not doing anything else."

Tim smiled.

I could hear Bart sleeping, muttering about lasers and tutus. Cassie rolled over on something that crinkled. Outside, a dog in the city was barking.

We were silent until the commercials hit again. "So… how's Bludhaven?" It wasn't really what I wanted to know, but there's not a very tactful way to ask 'How are you dealing with the death of your father?' Or maybe there is, and I just don't know it. I worry about Tim.

He shrugged. "I'll be glad when Nightwing gets back."

"And… your uncle?"

Tim rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Okay. So much for that topic. The movie was really boring. I waited another ten minutes. "So… when Nightwing was by earlier… and you said you hadn't, y'know, with a girl--"

"Oh, geez," Tim moaned. At least I was getting a reaction. "I don't really want to talk about this."

I could *hear* his heartbeat rising. Weird. Then it occurred to me that he was uncomfortable. Embarrassed? That he'd never been laid? I didn't mean to embarrass him. "No--I mean--" How do you deal with this stuff? I'm not good at emotional garbage. I've only had a few years to learn. "I was just--. It's probably hard to date anyone, patrolling all the time."

Tim slanted me an unreadable look. "Well, yeah."

"See, at least I don't have to do that. I don't know how you even have a social life--" I stopped. Tim was picking at a hole in his sweatpants. "…You just don't have a social life, do you?"

Tim shrugged. "I come here."

Seems like a crappy social life, to me. "Huh." I chewed on the inside of my lip. "So… have you had *any* girlfriends?"

He looked vaguely annoyed. "Yeah. A few."

"Who?"

He looked even more annoyed. "A girl at school, a year ago. Then Darla. Steph--the Spoiler--for a while."

Three. *Three.* Man. I couldn't help it. Curiosity was eating me alive. "So… how far *have* you gotten?"

Tim sighed. "Kon…"

"No, really. First base?"

He glared at me. "Yeah."

"Second base?"

"Second base being…?"

I had to think about that. I mean, it's not something that really gets defined. "Touching from the waist up."

He hesitated. On anyone else, it wouldn’t have been a hesitation at all. On Tim, it's no more than a funny shift of his eyes--which he's not very good at hiding. Doesn't practice, I guess, because of the eyeshields--and half a breath. "Yeah."

I thought about asking if he'd gotten farther than that, but I was pretty certain of the answer and my aim here wasn't to embarrass him. I mean, at sixteen, most guys haven't done a whole lot more--okay, they have, but half haven't even been laid yet--and it's not like he's terribly behind in his own age group…

I couldn't help but feel good, though, in a bad sort of way. I'm not used to being better than Tim at anything. And from our relative experience alone, I'd bet I was better than him at making out.

I eyed Tim.

"And not with any guys?" I asked.

He shot me a really dirty look. "Despite what Nightwing wishes, I'm not gay."

"Hey, whoa, down boy," I said, smiling and holding my hands up. "I don't care. Well, I do, but only because--" I stopped. I'm pretty sure Tim's cool with homosexuality and stuff, but being pretty sure and totally sure are two different things.

From the television, a wolf howled.

"Because you're omni-sexual. I know."

I stared at him. I've said that before, but always jokingly. I was never sure if people realized that it was true. I mean, not that I'd do a dog, but an *alien*…? Kory's hot. Heck, I'd even do some of the androids I've seen. "Yeah," I said slowly.

Tim looked at me. He relaxed and smiled. "I know. I'm cool with that. I'm just…not, personally."

I relaxed. Cool. "Fair enough." We sat for a while longer, each with our own thoughts. I wondered if he was going to act weird about it. I mean, we do shower in a fairly open area. "You're sure?"

Tim nodded, still watching TV. He seemed okay about it.

I considered it a while longer. I really hadn't met anyone yet who made a big deal out of me checking out the occasional guy. But then, I don't do it a lot. And it's never come up in conversation before. 'What sexuality are you?' isn't a question most people ask. "I haven't told the Kents," I blurted. I know I'm supposed to keep the family a secret, but it's *Tim.* I mean, if he wanted to know, he would. Besides, I gave him shit when he kept his name secret. And the Kents are my biggest concern.

Outside, I could hear an owl hoot.

"Do you think it'd bother them?" he asked softly.

I thought about it. They're really nice people. Loving and open. But, we'd only known each other for a relatively short time. They did live in Smalltown, USA. Small towns weren't known for their open mindedness, and it hadn't come up. "I don't know."

"Superman probably knows."

"If they'd mind?" But if they minded, then he probably would. Apples not falling far from trees, and all.

"No. That you're bi. Or omni. Whatever." Tim was still watching TV.

"Oh." And if he knows, he apparently doesn't mind. And if he doesn’t mind, they probably don't either. Man. Being a superhero full-time is so much easier than this life crap. "You think that's like, a cloning flaw?"

Tim looked at me, obviously confused.

"That I'm not strictly het. I mean, I'm pretty sure Superman is. And probably--the other." I can't bring myself to say it here. "So, where--?"

Tim shrugs. "Got me. Maybe it's just a permutation. I mean, you're not a carbon copy."

Point. I started watching TV again. Darkness settled through the Tower comfortingly. Whispers of people sleeping. Safety and peace.

Nightwing had implied that he might be not-straight. He was hot. "Dude. Is Nightwing--?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Oh, God yeah." There was something in Tim's tone that suggested there were lots of stories there. I managed to keep from asking.

"You think he'd be interested in me?" I tried to make it as casual as possible. I doubt I fooled Tim.

Tim looked at me. "No."

Damn. "Why not?"

"You're underage. He's pretty careful about that stuff."

Double damn. "Would *you* consider doing it with a guy?" I asked. I couldn't help it. I mean, Tim is hot. I think I like little guys. Maybe I just like guys who can twist like Tim can. I mean, I dare anyone to watch him work out and not swallow their tongue. Nightwing, too. I'm *not* going to think about Batman.

Tim paused. "I don't know," he said finally. He fidgeted. Actually *fidgeted.* He looked at me sidelong. Then, in a flurry of motion, he twisted and plopped himself down facing me, legs folded. "Can I ask you something?"

Dude. *Tim* was asking *me.* I tried not to puff up. "Sure."

"How do you know if you're doing something right?"

I looked at him blankly.

"You know. With a girl?"

*Oh.* "Noise is always a good sign," I said cautiously. Damn. If these were the kinds of answers he needed, he *really* hadn't gotten far.

Tim's face darkened. "Not if you're trying to be quiet so you don't alert Oracle."

Whoa. "Oh. Well." I frowned and thought. "If they're making faces that look like they're in pain? That's good. And if their fingers tense. That seems to be good." Actually, once I started thinking about it, there were lots of little signs.

Tim looked like he was memorizing things. Filing them away in that freaky little brain of his. "How do you know if something's too hard?"

"Usually 'ouch' gives that away," I laughed.

"No, but--" He stopped suddenly and slouched. I hadn't realized he was sitting up until then. He ruffled a hand through the back of his hair. "See--what if one time it's okay, and the other it's not?"

I watched him. "I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about."

He turned slowly red and fastened his eyes on the couch. "Okay. So, there was this girl and we were, y'know, and she bit me, so I bit her back, and it was good and she liked it." He stopped suddenly and looked at me. "Biting's normal, right?"

I nodded. Damn. The boy had *no* experience.

"How much biting?"

Oh, god. This was never a conversation I thought I'd be having with Tim. In fact, any conversation where he didn't seem totally sure of himself was a conversation I never thought I'd be having with Tim. "I'm not sure. I mean, if you're gonna bite really sensitive areas, be really, *really* careful. Like, even wrap your lips around your teeth."

Tim snorted. "That sounds disturbing, Kon."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Okay." There he went again, filing away information.

"You were asking?" I prompted.

"Okay, so, anyway, she bit my neck, I bit hers, but then later we were messing around again and I bit her neck and she practically slapped my head off."

I cringed. "Well, yeah. You've gotta be careful. And--" I was pretty sure I wasn't blushing, but not totally positive. "And you kinda have to be more aroused than not. The hotter you are, the less stuff like that tends to hurt. I don't know why."

Tim nodded. Then, slowly, he shifted around and back again until he was facing the television. I thought he was wrapped up in the movie--or his thoughts--until he said, "How far have you gone?"

I considered bragging. It was tempting. But he was so studiously casual that I wasn't sure it'd be nice--I thought the answer might actually matter to him. Like it might be one of those questions you ask to find out if you're a freak, or if other people are like you. "Pretty far," I said instead. He seemed happy with that answer.

We settled back into the movie, into the comforting flicker of light. I wondered if this was how cave men felt, sitting around a fire.

"Wouldn’t sex with Nightwing be cheating on Cassie anyway?" Tim asked after a while.

I frowned. "I'm not sure. I guess I should ask her."

Tim nodded. He looked vaguely uncomfortable. Or maybe just too intently casual.

This couldn't be easy for him--admitting he wasn't knowledgeable about something. I don't think he likes not knowing things.

I watched the movie. If he didn't have a whole lot of other friends, he probably didn't talk about this stuff to anyone. I read once that teenagers figure out a lot of what they need to know by talking with their peer group; figuring out together what's normal and what's not. It's not a conversation you really want to have with your parents.

Not that Tim could.

"How are you doing?" I blurted the words out before I thought. I wasn't really even aware I was going to say them.

Tim just looked at me and waited.

"With--your dad?" No tactful way to say it, I guess.

Tim's gaze fell. He shrugged with one shoulder. "Okay."

I stretched my leg across the couch and poked him with my toes. "Really?"

He smiled slightly. "No."

That's the answer I expected. Once I had it, I wasn't sure what to do with it. "Oh."

We watched TV. I listened to sleep-sounds. The Tower settled, little creaks and sighs of the building.

"Do you ever wonder what sort of people do what we do?" Tim asked, still staring at the television.

I looked at him. "Huh?"

Tim turned to look at me. "I mean, there are the people who were made for it. You. Bart. Cassie. Raven. Bred, or at least raised, to think it's normal to put on a costume and fight crime. Or commit crimes."

I shifted, sitting sideways with my arm over the back of the couch.

"Then there's everyone else. What possesses a perfectly normal person to don tights and head out, putting their lives in danger and adopting a life that they can't ever let anyone into? It can't be healthy. What kind of mind would do that?"

He'd obviously thought about this. "The kind that wants to protect?" I asked slowly.

Tim shook his head. "You'd become a cop for that."

I was out of ideas. "I don't know. Why does it matter?"

Tim shrugged and stared at the television. "Maybe it doesn't."

But it obviously did. You could see it in the set of his shoulders and the way he glared at the screen. "Why does it bother you?" I asked.

He didn't answer for a long time. When he did, it was quietly. "We grow up learning that only weirdoes do this. Then we do it. Somewhere in our minds, there's got to be a break with reality. With everything we've learned. Then we alienate ourselves from the world. We give ourselves a lot more power than we should have. We risk life and limb and at the end of the day, go home to an empty house and loved ones that are dead. We're all a breath away from being totally freaking nuts."

I really had never thought about it that much. I wasn't sure I could help. Obviously, Tim needed some major proof that we--well, I guess I was excluded, what with the 'bred for it' thing--weren't crazy, and I didn't have that kind of proof. But he was upset. Tim hides it well, but I'm learning.

I picked at a toenail. What do you say to something like that? "I don't think you're nuts," I said finally.

"'Course not. You weren't raised. You see nothing wrong with putting on a suit. You were told from the time you were aware that your job in life was to be a superhero."

I frowned. "No. That's not why I think you're sane. I mean, okay, maybe that's partly it, but… Maybe people who do it, do it because they want to help and they don't think conventional ways are working?" Then something occurred to me. "Why'd you put on the suit?"

It startled him. He looked at me, then away again. "I didn't mean to, at first. I just wanted to convince Nightwing to be Robin again. Batman needs a Robin to keep him connected."

I nodded slowly. "So, what you're saying is, you were trying to help someone. The most efficient way of doing that was to put on a costume."

Tim looked at me again. This time, he held my gaze. I wondered, suddenly, how often he looked away from people behind the safety of his mask. How much of the self-assurance was limited to things Robin. How much self-assurance Tim actually had in life stuff.

My world tipped. Robin was supposed to be this rock. This solid *thing* we could all count on. But, really, he was just like me. A kid, trying to figure out how to live. Not like me, even, because I was figuring out how to live, while he was--he was doing things that kept him from having a normal life.

And I thought *I* was messed up.

"Yeah," he said finally. "I was trying to help Batman."

I just looked at him. Eventually, he broke the gaze and went back to watching TV. He'd relaxed. He wasn't totally relaxed, but he wasn't as stiff as he'd been. Odd, how I hadn't realized he was stiff until some of the tension was gone.

He seemed better. I worried, though. Suddenly, he seemed *human* and *fallible.* Maybe he was great at the hero stuff, but he needed help with the life stuff.

I re-settled myself on the couch, a little closer. I could help. I mean, I'm not great at emotions and stuff, but the kids at school like me. I can relate a little bit with normal people. I can help Tim do that, too.

At that moment, though, I really just wanted to see him lighten up. He looked so serious and melancholy.

"You really don't think Nightwing would be interested?" I asked after a while.

Tim smiled slightly. "No. I don't."

"He's seriously hot."

"I can't believe you're crushing on him," Tim laughed softly. Laughter. Laughter was good.

"Dude. Have you seen his ass? You could bounce pennies off--"

"Kon! It's *Nightwing*! I really don't want to hear this!"

I grinned. I so rarely got a reaction like this out of Tim, I couldn't help but milk it. "And those abs--"

"Okay, grossing me out here."

"I bet he'd be great at--"

"He's like a big brother!"

"That doesn’t mean *I* can't have him."

Tim threw a pillow at me. I pulled it away, laughing, and dropped it on the ground. "I don't want to hear this," Tim muttered.

Grinning, I subsided.

A blur whipped by. The wind tossed our hair. Then the blur came back. Bart flopped down on the floor, then up on the couch. I barely had time to move my leg before he sat on it.

"Whatarewewatching?"

"An American Werewolf in London," Tim said.

"Oh."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" I asked.

Bart shrugged.

"He has to eat at night. Fast metabolism," Tim murmured from Bart's other side.

Sure enough, the microwave beeped, and when I blinked again Bart was holding three Hot Pockets.

I kept waiting for the vibrating to start or something. Apparently, though, he's calmer at night. He just flopped down on the couch, his plate on his stomach, and watched TV while he waited for his food to cool.

"What were you talking about?" Bart asked, slowly this time.

"Nothing," Tim said.

I said, "Sex."

Bart looked at me. "You ever wake up with--um--*it* all--" He gestured toward his groin.

"Chubby?" I asked. I expected a reaction from Bart. He just nodded. It was weird, what he did and didn't react to. "Yeah. I think most guys do."

"Oh."

I forget he's young. He's been trying hard to be older, lately. It's kinda cool to see him grow up. Kinda scary, too.

We all settled in to watch television. Bart gave Tim a Hot Pocket. He gave me the other one. We ate to the whispering of breath over steamy cheese and the occasional hiss when someone burned their mouth.

"You know what I don't get?" Bart asked.

"Hm?" Tim said.

"Girls."

"No one gets girls, Bart," I said. "They're too complicated."

"Oh. Well, that's good. I thought it was just me."

"You could date boys." Tim grinned at me over Bart's head. I made a face at him.

Bart seemed to think about it. "Would you?" he asked.

Tim shook his head.

Bart looked at me. I just shrugged. It wasn't really a question I wanted to answer. I mean, Wally was pretty conservative, if any of the reports were true. But Bart had grown up in the future… Heck, I had no idea how he felt about sexuality. "Maybe," I answered.

Bart thought about that. "Huh. Do you ever check us out?"

The kid catches on to more than you think, even when you think you've been ambiguous enough to dodge the question. I mean, he'd gotten 'yes' from 'maybe.' He's fast.

So to speak.

I didn't really want to say 'As a matter of fact, Bart, I *do* check you out!' though it was the truth. Well, not Bart so much. Occasionally, but not on purpose. He's still in that all-arms-and-legs awkward phase. "You do tend to run around in spandex," I said finally. And that one time, naked. I still don't know the full story behind that one.

Bart thought about it. "That's true."

We settled back into silence. Tim licked cheese off his fingers and set the plate on the floor. Bart shifted, his head on my shoulder and his feet on Tim's lap. He sighed and settled in, rubbing his face against my T-shirt and making funny little sleepy-animal noises. Then I blinked, and he had milk and cookies. Tim waved the cookies away with a slightly queasy look, but I had some. Everything stayed quiet, sleeping. Even Bart seemed muffled, somehow. Funny, how nighttime can do that.

The movie ended. A new one came on. Bart got us more food.

The door opened and closed again. I heard footsteps; light. Gar, probably. He came in a minute later.

"What are you kids doing up?"

"What are you doing out until--" I checked the clock, "--four AM?"

He grinned. "Cast party."

He smiled kinda like alcohol. Like, maybe he wasn't drunk, but he might be on his way. It was probably good for him. Or really bad for him. I wasn't sure which. Gar seriously needed a life outside the Titans. At least, that wass my opinion.

"Want popcorn?" Bart asked.

"Sure." Gar dropped his backpack and sank slowly onto the floor in front of Tim, shifting a small pile of plates out of the way. "Oh, man. Don't get old, guys."

I laughed. Tim just smiled.

Bart reappeared with popcorn in tow.

"So, what are you doing up?" Gar asked again.

"Talking about sex," Bart said.

Gar turned and looked at us. "Sex? Really? Have any of you actually had sex?"

Bart just snorted and ate popcorn. Tim pretended like he was watching television really intently. Gar looked at me. I looked back. Gar grinned and looked away. "Should I talk to you guys about safe sex?" he asked.

"Oh, *please,*" Bart groaned. "I've had that discussion like, four times already! Use condoms, wait until you're ready, don't get pressured…"

Gar was laughing. "Would you buy condoms?"

Now that was an interesting question. I looked at Tim. Tim grinned. "I could just ask Nightwing for them. He'd probably cheer."

Gar laughed again. He laid down on his side and wiggled into the carpet. Yeah, he was at least tipsy. "Well, that's good. You guys can ask me, if you're bound and determined to have sex but don't want to buy them. But, really, if you're old enough to do it…"

"We know the drill," I said.

Gar sighed. "Good. 'Cause I'm not so good at playing Dad."

Tim flinched. I wanted to do something, but Bart was between us. I settled for projecting sympathy vibes. Too bad that's not a superpower.

On the television, some kid in a wheelchair was motoring through a fair. The movie had changed again. "He's a werewolf?" I asked.

"Haven't you seen this?" Gar asked, twisting to look up at me.

I shook my head.

"Man. This is a classic. "Silver Bullet" was my favorite movie as a kid. You haven't even seen it. You guys make me feel old."

Bart laughed. "Gar, you *are* old!"

I cringed. Sometimes, Bart has even less tact than me.

Gar grabbed Bart's ankle and started tickling the bottom of his foot. Bart squealed and thrashed, and Tim jumped up and over the couch to escape flailing limbs, going around back and perching on the arm next to me. I shuffled over, and he slid down.

Bart had vibrated free, and was trying to tickle Gar. At least they'd moved to the floor.

Tim was smiling softly. "This is my social life," he murmured.

I looked down, and grinned. "This works."

It was hours later before I realized everyone else was asleep. I'd gotten involved in the movie, and at some point Bart and Gar had passed out. Gar was a dog. Bart was hugging him like his own personal teddy bear. I couldn't help but wonder who was comforting who. I know people think I'm oblivious, but even I can see the need Gar has for affection. Or maybe Tim said something to me. I'm not sure. Then what Tim had said about people who wore costumes popped into my head, and I stared at them.

Bart had grown up in a video game. This was probably normal to him. But Gar? Maybe there was something different about him. I couldn't tell, but it was a strange thought. Something had to break, Tim had said. At some point, something in their minds had to break with reality.

I wondered if Gar had always been green. I wondered, if he couldn't put on a costume, what else could he do? He wasn't like us. He couldn't blend in. He couldn't pass for normal.

Tim was sleeping, his head pillowed on the arm of the couch and his feet in my lap, where I'd put them when he kept kicking me. He'd woken enough to make some sort of indiscernible noise and rubbed his face, then fallen right back into oblivion. He's a light sleeper, and I knew that if I moved he'd wake up. I didn't want that.

Very carefully, I reached out with my TTK and lifted him. He shifted, but didn't wake. My hand on his ankle, I stood and floated him out of the room. I think he'd be proud, if he knew what I did. My control's getting a lot better.

His door is always closed, but he doesn't booby trap it. I can unlock anything, as long as it's not Bat-trapped. I got him on his bed without waking him, and headed out.

Bart and Gar were another problem altogether. I mean, separate them, which would wake them? Or put them in the same bed? A twenty-something and a teenager. That just wouldn't seem right. Eventually, I got a blanket from Bart's room and just covered them still on the floor. Gar yipped, his little doggy legs peddling. I wondered if he dreamt dog dreams or person dreams. Then I headed off toward my own room.

Cyborg was up. I met him coming down the hall; a glance through my bedroom door and to my clock told me it was six.

"Bart and Gar are sleeping in the den," I whispered. "It's been a long night."

Cyborg nodded slowly. "Everything okay?"

I shrugged. "Pretty much. Just--" how to term the last few hours? "--unusual."

He looked at me really closely. "Are you okay?"

I jumped. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

He was still staring. That red eye can get freaky. "The team leader and the person people talk to aren't always the same thing," he said finally. "Sometimes, it can be hard to listen."

I thought about that. Things had been…unsettling. My little world had changed a bit, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. "What do you do when it gets to be too much?" I asked finally.

Cyborg smiled slightly. "Find someone to listen to you."

I scratched my jaw, feeling stubble under the skin. I thought about Tim, curled up on his bed, small and suddenly very normal. I thought about people who put on costumes, and Gar's need for affection. I thought about breaking, both minds and fragile human bodies. Too much had happened. Too many thoughts. I went with the one that seemed the most important. "What do you do when you realize the person you lean on isn't as strong as you thought? That they're just… normal?"

Cyborg took a deep breath. "Come on," he said, gesturing with his head back down the hall. "Let's go into the basement and get some coffee."

I nodded. I could always go back to sleep later.

--End


Older DC stories at my webpage, McDragon's Lair