trans_9 | I fought the law (and the law won)

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I fought the law (and the law won)

There's not a whole lot to do, when you're marking time in a jail cell. Tim has paced every inch of it, calculated the estimated area of his new living space (small), and counted the ceiling tiles (42 and 1/4).

He hasn't tried to escape, though he thinks he might be able to, if he really tried. But he won't.

Right now, he's lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling, and hoping that no one comes to visit him. He's not sure he can face their disappointment.

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When Kon arrives he's wearing giant, oversized sunglasses, and a little kerchief on his head and a giant oversized scarf.

He plops down in the chair across from Tim's cell and says, "They confiscated the cake with the file in it. Sorry."

Tim sits up, smiling just a little when he sees how ridiculous Kon looks. "Maybe next time you can smuggle it in your scarf."

He did it for the smile, pretty much. He knows his best bud and his best bud feels like crap already. He doesn't even have to talk to him to know that--it's Tim.

"Not with the pat-down they gave me. Now I know it's hard for people to keep their hands off me, but I'm really starting to wonder about that Leon guy now..." he says, looking over his shoulder, back towards where the others are waiting.

And they are waiting there, watching his every move to make sure he doesn't try to spring Tim.

But he won't.

Taking off the joke getup, he says, "Now for serious time, though, okay?"

Srs Kon is srs.

"Must be hard, looking that good," Tim says, raising an eyebrow at Kon's getup.

Then he takes it off, and Tim blows out a sigh. He'd known it was coming, and this is one of the conversations he'd wanted to have the least.

Next to Dick and Bruce, of course, but--honestly, he's not sure which is going to be the worst. "Serious time," he agrees.

He has one simple question.

"What the hell was that, Tim?"

Tim frowns at the floor. "A mistake," he says finally.

Here he'd been all geared up to lecture, and he deflates.

"I'm the one that's supposed to make those! Stop stealing my gig!"

Tim glances up at him with a thin smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Sorry. I'll try to do better next time. Wouldn't want to step on any toes."

It takes Bruce roughly fifty seconds to bypass the security staff currently on duty. It takes another two minutes forty two seconds and a ballpoint pen to get into the cell. He had to admit they'd done a seriously good job rigging the place. Might've given Mister Miracle pause for thought.

Even so, it's only the creak of the cot as he perches on the corner that betrays that he's even there.

Kon just pushes a hand through his hair. It's starting to get long enough to have the hair swoopy.

"Why'd you do that? You're always the one that--"

He's the noble one. Kon might wear the S, but it's Tim who's the noble one, at least in Kon's eyes. He's the one they always looked to when they weren't sure what was right or wrong. He's the one that talked down Secret just as Tim Drake.

"If you were that twisted up over it--"

He's frustrated.

"We went over this. I was hoping if you needed help that you knew--"

That he was there. Just like he was there when Tim needed to talk about Steph. About his dad.

Rather than doing something stupid, that he'd regret, that'd make him into something he didn't want to be, Kon had hoped he'd say something. 'I'm so messed up I want to kill somebody. Help.' Something.

Tim sits up and scoots back a little to make room on the cot. He looks at Batman for a long moment.

"How long have you been here?"

Bruce strokes a hand through his beard. Yes, he's still yet to shave since the Omega Sanction first hit him.

"Four seconds."

Dick had been waiting to go see Tim. Partly to make certain he wouldn't show any injury when he saw his little brother. And partly because he knew Tim well enough to know he wasn't looking forward to the conversation at all.

Still, it isn't long after the end of his shift that he slips into the hallway, making his way to the cell Tim was assigned to. He leans against the wall on the other side of the hall, trying hard to figure out something, anything to say.

Tim winces a little. He knows what Kon's not saying. He'd be saying--or not saying--the same things, if their positions were reversed.

"I knew, Kon. I just--" he shakes his head. He hadn't known how to ask. Not even after their talks about this thing. He hadn't known how to say 'I'm so twisted up inside about this that I want to kill somebody, and I don't know what to do to make that go away, because talking isn't helping.'

"I knew."

That almost gets a smile out of Tim. Part of him had been expecting that answer.

"You're slipping. The cot creaked." He eyes him thoughtfully. "That's an interesting look for you."

"Cave chic is in this year," in truth, he hadn't even thought about it. Alfred usually served to remind him that in the civilised world it was customary to groom oneself.

He pauses a while, "I don't really know what to say."

Tim turns to look when he hears the approach, and he sits watching Dick while he struggles to find words.

"Hey," he says finally, after the silence has stretched for what feels like hours. Dick isn't usually at a loss for words.

Maybe not, but he's never had to try to find words for something like this before. Or, if he has, it's never been quite this close.

"Hey," he says with a dip of his head, then sighs. "Just...damn it, Tim."

Kon just frowns.

"I'm not going to beat you up over it. You're a guilt machine, so I know you're already beating yourself up over it. Besides, I found out Bats is here now, so either he already covered that, or he'll have it covered."

He pauses, thinking.

"I don't want to think that what that creep Jason said, about the future, is true. About you dying, wearing the batsuit, like--"

Like in that future. His hands folded, he stares at the floor, brow furrowed in worry.

"I don't want to think any of that's true, but we know the whole Bat-Tim thing's a possibility." Breathing in deep, and looks up at a Tim, with hopeful blue eyes. "But just like I know you'd never let me turn into--into what I was, I'm not going to let you do the same. I promise. Now I have yet another reason to try not to take a dirt nap--keeping you out of trouble."

His expression squinches thoughtfully, and he smirks slightly, thinking of the future irritation that lies ahead. "Of course this means I'm going to bother you constantly and look over your shoulder every five minutes until I'm sure you're okay, but if that's what I gotta do, it's what I gotta do."

Tim nods. Join the club, he doesn't say. Instead, he watches Bruce, cataloging the changes in him. He's older--unkempt. Maybe from farther along in the timeline than Tim.

Is he from before Jason's time? Jason had said that he was dead (and that Tim was, too, but he doesn't want to think about that). But then, Terry had said that Bruce was alive in his time--and that Tim was, too--and that was farther along than Bruce appears to be...

He shakes his head. He's getting distracted by details.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Tim exhales sharply. "That sums it up pretty well."

"I'd ask why you didn't talk to me about it, but I think we both know the answer to that." As a family, they just didn't talk about this stuff. And while Dick considers himself more open, he knows Tim isn't. "I just wish you'd come to me before it got to this."

"Damn right you are," Bruce replies quietly, "Why, Tim? After--"

He stops himself. He wants to ask why. After what happened to his parents and Stephanie. After Bart. After Kon.

Tim had dealt with more tragedy in five years in the cape than Bruce had in fifteen. But he stops himself as a fellow survivor that knows that those deaths haunt you every waking minute.

And Bruce asks himself that question. Why, after all he'd done for Tim, all he'd tried to teach him. All the mistakes he thought he'd learned from. After Jason.

Why had he done it?

"I thought you were better."

Tim gives him a tiny smile. "Lucky me. Does 'every five minutes' include when I'm in the shower? Because that might get a little awkward."

He's taking a page from Kon's book--trying a little levity in what is definitely a serious situation. But then he sobers again, and looks back at Kon seriously.

"You're right--I won't let you be what you were in that future. I promise. And--thanks. For not giving up on me. Looks like you're going to have to stick around because--" he gestures around him. "Clearly, I need help staying out of trouble."

Tim nods. He should have--he knows that. But like with Kon, he hadn't known what to say, and how to say it. Especially since words hadn't been helping. He feels like he's broken, somehow.

"I should have," he says finally, out loud. "I'm sorry."

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I fought the law (and the law won)

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