Chapter Text
“But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.”
― Madeline Miller, Circe
The air in Dinah’s office was always calm. It was a calm that felt both like a sanctuary and a trap.
She sat in her usual armchair, curled slightly into herself. Dinah sat opposite, a notebook resting casually on her knee, her expression one of open, patient attention.
“The debriefs are done,” Dinah began. “The Team is processing. But I wanted to check in with you separately, Tim. The mission was designed to test limits, but what you all experienced… it crossed a line. I’m hearing it hit everyone differently.”
Tim nodded, her gaze fixed on a loose thread on the cuff of her sweatshirt. She’d been picking at it. “It was realistic.”
“Too realistic,” Dinah affirmed. “The mind, even a trained one, can have trouble compartmentalizing after such a vivid simulation of loss.”
“The simulation… it was designed to break us. To make us face our worst fears, our limits. And it did. I saw The League die. Batman die. Wolf die. I saw Artemis die. It was horrific. Unbearable.” She took a shaky breath. “But I accepted it.”
Dinah’s pen hovered over her notepad. “You accepted their deaths?”
“As realities within the scenario. As tragedies I had to move past to complete the objective. I grieved, I raged, but my logic… my strategic mind, it processed the loss. It said ‘this is a catastrophic variable, adapt and continue.’” Tim’s fingers tightened around the arm of the chair. “But with Superboy…it didn’t.”
She could see it again, the smoke, the blue light of the Zeta tube, the desperate resolve on his face as Kaldur pushed him toward safety. The memory was as crisp and visceral as the real thing.
“I couldn’t process it. The thought of him dying, of seeing him die… it wasn’t a variable. It was a system crash.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I let him go first. I made him go first. I told him to take care of Robin, and I said… I said I couldn’t watch him die too. In the middle of a total tactical collapse, that’s what I prioritized. His safety over protocol. Over my own.”
There it was. The thoughts that had been haunting her for days.
I can’t watch him die
Dinah leaned forward slightly. “What do you think that signifies, Tim? He’s your teammate. A friend. Wanting to protect a friend is understandable.”
The fight left Tim’s shoulders in a rush. She uncurled a little, her eyes lifting to meet Dinah’s.
“Okay. I do know. In that moment, with the shoots and the heat… and him just standing there…” She could see it again: Conner, facing a threat he couldn’t brute-force his way through. The visceral lurch in her gut had been older and deeper than the fear of losing a teammate. It was a dread that tasted like old grief.
“It felt like a memory,” Dinah prompted gently.
“It felt like a promise,” Tim corrected, her voice tightening. “One I made to myself a long time ago. But I can’t… I can’t find the memory of making it. It’s just there. A hole in my head, shaped like him.” She gestured vaguely, frustration bleeding into her words. “I know my name. I know Bruce is Batman. I know formulas, tactics, how to rebuild a motorcycle engine. I have flashes of faces, places… a manor, a tower. But it’s all… disordered. Like a library after an earthquake. And he’s… Conner is the key. I know he is.”
Dinah’s pen hovered over her notebook. “Why do you believe that?”
“Because everything else is settling!” Tim’s voice rose, edged with the frustration she’d been bottling. “The pieces are finding their shelves. The timeline is making a sick kind of sense. But him? My reactions to him don’t fit. The comfort, the instinct to watch his six, the… the sheer terror I felt in that simulation. It’s disproportionate. It’s from another equation entirely.” she paused. “I need to know what I’ve forgotten about him. Because right now, every time I look at him, I feel like I’m looking at a ghost.”
Tim stood and began to pace the room. "It's not just the bad stuff, either. It's... the easy things. The way I know exactly how to throw my weight to spar with him effectively. How I can tell if he's actually angry or just grumpy from a single grunt. How I knew, before he even said it, that he'd prefer a simple, honest 'that sucks' over empty platitudes when something happens."
She stopped by the cascade, her back to Dinah. "That's not just teammate familiarity. That's... intimacy. A history. And it doesn't belong to this me. It belongs to the ghost in my head. And I'm living in her shadow, reacting with her instincts, feeling her grief... for a boy who is alive and sitting in the next room playing video games."
Tim turned around, her expression one of raw vulnerability. "I'm building a life here, Dinah. With Bruce, and Dick, and the baby... with the Team. It's real. I want it to be real. But how can it be completely real when a fundamental piece of my brain is a locked box labeled 'Conner,' and I've lost the key? How is that fair to this Conner? To be looked at with... with whatever this is? A ghost's affection?"
Dinah waited a beat, letting the anguish settle in the quiet room. "Have you considered," she said carefully, "that perhaps the key isn't a memory at all? Not yet. Perhaps the key is the feeling itself."
Tim shook her head, not understanding.
"You describe a ghost's affection. But the affection you feel now, in this moment, the protectiveness, the understanding, the comfort, that is very much alive. It is yours. It exists in the present tense. The origin of its intensity may be lost, but the feeling itself is a current, living part of this Timothea. You don't have to justify it to us, or even to him, with a past you can't yet recall. You only have to accept that it is true."
"That feels like a lie," Tim whispered hoarsely.
"Does it? When you spar with him, and you move in sync, is that a lie? When you make him laugh with a dry remark, is that a ghost doing that? Or is it you?"
"It's me, but... it's on borrowed time. On borrowed emotion."
Dinah set her notebook aside entirely, her full focus on Tim. "Emotions aren't books you can return to a library, Tim. They are experiences. They integrate. This connection you have with him now it may be rooted in a past you've lost, but it is being watered by the present you are living. You are not a haunted house. You are a person, and a part of your foundation was laid elsewhere. That doesn't make the new rooms you're building any less solid. It just means some of the blueprints are faded."
Tim wrapped her arms around herself, slowly walking back to her chair. She didn't sit, just leaned against its high back. "So what do I do? Just... live with the static? With the fear that one day it'll all come back and it'll... change everything? Or worse, that it never will, and I'll just have this... this permanent echo?"
"You acknowledge the echo," Dinah said softly. "You stop fighting it as an intruder and start listening to it as a guide. It's pointing you toward something vital. When you feel that surge of protectiveness, instead of panicking about where it came from, you could simply think: 'This matters to me. He matters to me.' Full stop. No past tense required."
A single, traitorous tear escaped Tim's control, tracing a hot path down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily. "It hurts."
"I know it does. Grieving a loss you can't remember is one of the hardest things a person can do. You're mourning a shadow. But the love that creates that shadow? That isn't gone. It's here. It's just looking for a new shape."
Tim was silent for a long moment, the weight of Dinah's words settling over her. The frantic, caged energy began to seep away, leaving a profound and weary sorrow in its place.
"So I just... sit with it."
"You sit with it. You feel it. You stop treating your own heart like a puzzle to be solved, and start treating it like a... like a wounded friend who needs patience." Dinah offered a gentle, empathetic smile. "The memories may return. They may not. But the person you are becoming, the one who loves her brother, who fights beside her friends, who would sacrifice a mission to save one of them, she is real. And she is allowed to care for Conner, fiercely and without apology, for no other reason than because she does."
Tim finally sank into the chair, the fight gone out of her.
"I care for him," she repeated, testing the words. They didn't bring back a flood of images. They didn't unlock the box. But they felt true. They felt like her truth, in this room, in this universe.
"And that," Dinah said, her voice warm with conviction, "is more than enough to start with."
***
Tim pushed open the grand front door of Wayne Manor. She had decided to take the long way home to give herself time to think, so she had gone to the phone booth in an alley and taken a bus back home.
She found him where she knew he would be. The door to his study was ajar. Bruce sat behind the massive desk, his reading glasses perched low on his nose as he scrutinized a thick sheaf of documents.
He didn’t look up immediately, but she knew he’d registered her footsteps the moment she’d open the main door. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“Long session?” he asked, finally setting the papers aside and removing his glasses. His gaze was a physical thing, scanning her posture, the set of her shoulders, the slight tightness around her eyes.
“Long enough,” she said, pushing off the frame and wandering into the room. She trailed her fingers along the spine of a heavy, leather-bound book on his shelf. “Dinah’s good at what she does.”
“She is.” He waited. Bruce had a particular talent for patient silence, one that invited confessions without pressure.
Tim sighed, the frustration she’d been metabolizing since leaving the office bubbling back up. She turned to face him. “It’s just… frustrating. Talking in circles. Knowing there’s a block, knowing what’s behind it is probably the key to everything making sense, and just… being stuck. Not being able to do anything to break through.” She was careful, her words a deliberate generality. A block. The key. Not ‘Conner-shaped’. Not ‘a grief so specific it terrifies me’.
Bruce watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable in that way that was uniquely his. He didn’t probe. He simply nodded, a slow, acknowledging dip of his chin.
“Tim,” he said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Who you were before you came here… it matters. It shaped you. But it does not define you. Not here. Not now.”
He rose from his chair, with the deliberate, solid movement of a father. He came around the desk, leaning back against its edge, closer to her level.
“What defines you,” he continued, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that was purely Bruce, not the Bat, “is the person who walked into this house. The person who earned Robin’s trust, who protects this city, who argues with me about protocol, and who,” a ghost of something almost soft touched his eyes, “can make Damian laugh until he hiccups. That is who you are. That is real.”
Tim felt her throat tighten. She looked down, focusing on the intricate pattern of the Persian rug. “It doesn’t feel complete.”
“Identity isn’t a puzzle to be finished,” he said, his voice softening a degree. “It’s a foundation that’s constantly being built upon. You have a foundation. A strong one. The rest… we have time, Tim. All the time in the world to figure it out. There is no clock on this. No mission parameter.”
He took a half-step forward, closing the distance. “And you won’t be figuring it out alone. Whatever you remember, whenever you remember it… Dick, Alfred, Damian… me. We’re here. This is your home. That doesn’t change with a memory.”
The simple, unwavering certainty in his words was a balm she hadn’t known she needed.
She looked up, meeting his eyes again, and gave a small, genuine nod. “I know.”
“Good.” He reached out and gave her shoulder a firm, brief squeeze. “Alfred is preparing dinner before going on patrol. And Dick is waiting for you for a rematch in Mario Kart.”
A faint smile finally broke through on Tim’s face. “I'm going to kick his ass.”
“Language” Bruce said, a hint of dry amusement in his tone as he moved back toward his chair, the moment of vulnerability seamlessly transitioning back into the rhythm of their normalcy. “Now go play with your brother before dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, the weight in her chest a little lighter.
***
A few days later the phone rang four times before Roy picked up. Tim had counted. She always counted with Roy, because he always let it ring exactly four times before answering, like he needed to prove he wasn't waiting by the phone even though they both knew he absolutely was.
"You've reached the Roy Harper hotline," his voice drawled through the speaker. "Rates are two hundred an hour, I don't do therapy, and if you're calling about a warrant, I wasn't there."
He's in a good mood, Tim thought.
"That's specific," Tim said, settling deeper into the corner of her bed. "How many warrants are you dodging this week?"
"Zero. That's the problem. It's been a slow Tuesday." She heard him set down whatever tool he'd been holding. "What do you want, Nightcrawler?"
"School thing."
A pause. Then, heavy with suspicion: "Define 'school thing.'"
Tim smiled at the ceiling. "Halloween party. Costumes. Tomorrow night."
"Hard no."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"Didn't need to. I've done the high school circuit. Pass." There was a shift of weight on his end, the creak of what she recognized as his work stool. "Also, I'm pretty sure I'm not enrolled in your school. Minor logistical hurdle."
"You could be my plus-one."
"I could be doing literally anything else. Alphabetizing my arrow collection. Watching paint dry. Counting the grains of rice in the pantry."
"And yet here you are, on the phone with me, not doing any of those things."
Another pause. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke. "Distracting. That's what you are."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't."
"Yes it was."
A beat. Then, grudgingly: "Yeah, okay, it kind of was."
Tim tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, reaching for the costume hanging on her closet door. Dick had mentioned it at dinner a few days ago, and Alfred had gotten her a vampire costume. A classic vampire cape, red lining, black dress. Elegant. Functional. Easy to fight in if something went sideways, because something always went sideways.
"It's just one night," she tried "Free food. Terrible music. The team is coming without Dick.”
"Sounds riveting. Still no."
"Roy."
"Tim."
She exhaled through her nose, not quite a sigh. This was how it always went with him. Push, resist, push again, resist harder. She'd learned to read the spaces between his refusals. He never hung up. He never stopped engaging. His no's were negotiations disguised as walls.
This was the thing about Roy Harper, she thought. He never made anything easy. But he also never left.
“Our relationship” she'd told Dinah once, carefully vague, “is a lot of me trying and him pretending not to care until I stop trying, and then he gets weird about it”.
“And when you stop trying?” Dinah had asked.
“I don't.”
She didn't. That was the trick of it.
"Okay," she said. "No to the party. I get it. But I have a different favor."
Roy's tone shifted, still casual but more alert now. "I'm listening."
Tim hesitated.
"There's this... thing," she said slowly. “I need something from you,” she said before explaining exactly what she needed him to get for her.
Roy was quiet.
"You want me to find it," he said.
"I know you must have it stored away somewhere.”
The line hummed with static. She imagined him in his workshop, running a hand through that red hair, jaw working the way it did when he was pretending to be annoyed but was actually already committed.
"Gonna have to dig through some old boxes," he said finally. "Might take a while."
"That's fine."
"Can't promise I'll find anything."
"I know."
"And if I do find it, I'm not handing it over in some dark alley like we're dealing contraband. You come to my place."
Tim smiled, small and genuine. "Deal."
"Great. I'll start looking." A beat.
She laughed, soft and surprised out of her. "Thank you. For doing this."
"Yeah, well." His voice dropped, losing some of its sharpness. "Don't thank me yet. Could be nothing."
"Could be. But I'll come by tomorrow anyway. Before the party."
"I'll be here."
The words landed somewhere in her chest, warm and steady. She tucked them away for later.
"Three o'clock?" she asked.
"Three o'clock in the afternoon. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"You were late last week."
"Last week was an anomaly."
"That's what you always say. Every week. It's a pattern."
"Alfred knows I'm meeting you and finds ways to delay me."
"Uh huh. Three o'clock. I'll have coffee. The good kind, not the Mount sludge."
"I'll bring pizza."
"Now you're speaking my language."
She hung up first this time, just to see if he'd call back immediately to reclaim the last word. He did, exactly four seconds later.
"You hung up on me."
"You hung up on me first last week. I'm reclaiming my honor."
"This is war, then."
"This has always been war, Harper."
"Fair. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
***
Tim stepped through the Zeta tube, the red and yellow of Roy's old Speedy costume catching the Cave's fluorescent lighting. The quiver sat comfortably against her spine even though she'd never trained extensively with a bow in her universe.
She'd picked it up from Roy's place that afternoon, along with terrible coffee and mediocre pizza.
"Haven't worn this since I was fourteen," he'd said. "It's the smallest one I have, but I still don't think it's your size.”
“I'll figure it out” Tim shrugged with a smile as she took Roy's old suit in her hands.
Tim got dressed right there, already accustomed to changing in front of Roy after spending a few days together. The suit was a little big on her, so she and Roy tightened the belt to try to give Tim a bit of a waistline.
“How do I look?” she asked, turning around.
“You're missing something,” Roy stood up and put his old cap on her head.
“Now I just need red hair,” she replied.
“You wish you were that lucky.”
Now, standing in the Cave's main chamber, Tim could hear voices from the training area. Wally's howl cut through the air theatrical and over-the-top in a way that was so distinctly him it made her smile despite herself.
She rounded the corner just as M'gann was wrapping white bandages around Conner's head, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Wolf lay nearby, determinedly ignoring Wally's werewolf antics.
"Wally, stop torturing him," Conner grouched, his face set in that particular expression of long-suffering patience he reserved for everything.
Tim walks up to them and stops a few steps away, arms crossed, observing the scene in front of her.
"Tim! Oh wow, that costume is…"
"Amazing!" Wally interrupted, spinning around. The fake beard attached to his face shifted slightly with the movement. "Dude, is that an actual Speedy uniform? Like, the Speedy?"
"Roy lent it to me," Tim said walking closer. "Figured if I was going to crash a high school party, I should commit to the bit."
”It’s really cool, I’m so jealous— M'gann, stop torturing him!" Wally mimicked Conner's earlier tone, stepping between M'gann and Conner. "Awkward for him, anyway, being a third wheel on our date." He slung his arm over M'gann's shoulder with exaggerated casualness. “Well, with Tim here, we can have a double date.”
"Wally, M’gann invited the entire Team to the dance," Tim reminded him, arching an eyebrow. "Zatanna too."
"Good," Wally drawled. "Keeps us on the down-low."
M'gann gave him an awkward smile.
"So... you going as my favorite Martian?" Wally asked M'gann.
"Not exactly." M'gann smiled before stepping onto the training platform.
Her clothes shifted. The transformation was seamless: torn greyish-white dress, matching accessories, pale skin, black lips, heavy eyeshadow. The zombie bride pose she struck was perfectly executed.
"Whoa, babe. Eat my brains anytime," Wally mumbled, bringing his hand behind his head.
"Great minds think alike."
They all turned. Captain Marvel stood there, zombie makeup considerably less sophisticated than M'gann's shapeshifting, but enthusiastic nonetheless.
M'gann smiled. "Captain, you look terrific. Are you going to a Halloween celebration too?"
There was a flicker across Captain Marvel's face, something Tim catalogued automatically. Sadness, quickly buried. "Well, sure, I'm going with... Uh, I mean, you did invite the whole Team, right?"
"Yeah, we'll all be at the dance," M'gann said brightly. "So don't worry about us. Go. Have a good time at your party."
Tim watched the exchange with the detached analysis that was second nature.
No party. He's going trick-or-treating. Alone. Because he's… The thought connected to something, some half-remembered fragment about Billy Batson, but it dissolved before she could grasp it.
A seconds later Artemis emerged from the Tube Zeta in a high-collared coat and dark colors, her ponytail intact. Zatanna followed in full witch regalia pointy hat, chopped dress, the works.
"Oh, hey, Zatanna. You look great," Artemis greeted.
"Oh, thanks. You too. Oh, look, zombie Captain Marvel. That's hilarious." Zatanna laughed. "Is the Justice League having a party? Because my dad didn't mention it."
"No. No, no, no." Captain Marvel scratched the back of his head, his face flashing with that same buried sadness. "See, I... Fine. I'm going trick-or-treating." He flew over them toward the Zeta tubes. "And I'm not sharing my candy."
Tim just shook her head amusedly and approached Conner. The bandages on his head seemed too loose, and Tim knew that if she didn't do something, it would cover his eyes during the party.
“Let me help you,” she said, standing in front of him and standing on tiptoe to try to fix what she could. Conner bent down to her height to make things easier.
“And... do you know how to use a bow and arrow?”
“Of course I do. Batman is somewhat obsessive about his training,” Tim replied, finishing the last knot on the bandage before stepping back and admiring her work of art.
She had to admit that Conner looked good in his improvised costume. Even if there were still parts of his body left to bandage.
“Why didn't you come dressed as Robin?” Conner asked. Neither of them took a step back.
Tim shrugged, looking him straight in the eye.
“I could ask why you didn't come dressed as Superman. But I know that's a sensitive subject, same with Robin.”
“Touche,” he replied.
Tim couldn't help but laugh.
“Where did you learn that word?”
“I know things.”
“Sure, Superboy,” she said and playfully punched him on the arm.
Tim was so focused on Conner that she didn't notice Artemis and Zatanna walking away until they had both activated the Zeta Tubes.
Which left Tim, M'gann, Wally, and Conner in the Cave.
"Okay," M'gann said, turning back to Conner with renewed determination. "Now, if you'll just hold still—"
"Here." Tim stepped forward, plucking the roll of bandages from M'gann's hands with a small smile. "Let me. I've wrapped enough injuries to know how to make this look convincing."
M'gann blinked, then smiled gratefully. "Oh, thank you! I need to finish getting ready anyway." She glanced at Wally. "And you need to fix your beard. It's crooked."
"What? No it's not—"
"It's definitely crooked," Tim confirmed without looking up.
Wally huffed but followed M'gann toward the changing area, his protests fading with distance.
Tim turned back to Conner, bandage roll in hand. This close, she could see the faint irritation in his expression (not at her, never at her) but at the situation. At being fussed over, at being volunteered for social events, at the general chaos that was Team dynamics.
"You don't have to go, you know," she said quietly, now that they were alone "To the party."
"M'gann invited everyone."
"That's not the same as wanting to go." Tim began re-wrapping, her movements efficient. "You could stay here. Monitor duty. No one would blame you."
Conner was quiet for a moment. Then: "Would you go? If it wasn't mandatory? What if M'gann hadn't insisted so much?"
The question caught her off guard. She paused, considering it.
"Honestly? I don't know. Batman says I need more 'normal teenage experiences.' Robin’s been on me about socialization. Agent A threatened to personally escort me if I tried to skip."
"Sounds mandatory."
"Different flavor of mandatory." She tilted his head slightly, adjusting the angle of the bandage across his nose. "Yours is team obligation. Mine is Bat-family psychological wellness monitoring."
A hint of a smile touched his mouth. "Which one's worse?"
"Jury's out." She stepped back, examining her work. The bandages now had a deliberate, almost cinematic quality, wrapped securely but artfully, leaving his eyes visible, trailing down to tuck under his ear. "There. Tragic mummy with mysterious past. Very respectable."
Conner reached up, fingers brushing the edge of the bandage near his temple. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Tim turned away, ostensibly to put the remaining bandages back, but really to give herself a moment. That brief touch had sent something electrical through her nervous system.
I know how to do this because I've done it before. For him.
"Tim?"
She turned back. Conner was watching her with that particular intensity he had. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She forced her shoulders to relax. "Just thinking about a case. "Come on. We should get to the school before Wally does something that requires actual superhero intervention."
***
The gym had been transformed. Three disco balls, an enormous pumpkin-shaped light centerpiece, balloon arches everywhere. The theme was less "tasteful Halloween" and more "every decoration the planning committee could find."
Tim stood near the entrance with Conner, M'gann, and Wally, taking in the crowd. Justice League costumes everywhere. Multiple Batmans, at least four Supermans, two Wonder Womans, a Green Lantern, and—
Her head twinged. Sharp and sudden.
There. A guy in a Superman costume, but wrong. Leather jacket. Black circle glasses. The configuration was so specific it felt like a code she should be able to crack.
Leather jacket Superman. Why does that…
The pain spiked behind her left eye, and she pressed her palm there reflexively.
"Tim?" Conner's hand was on her elbow, steadying. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She dropped her hand, blinking away the white spots in her vision. "Just a headache. Probably the disco balls."
He didn't look convinced, but before he could push, Wendy's group descended.
"You look amazing!" Wendy, dressed as Black Canary, gushed at M'gann.
"Who did your makeup, girl?" Karen, Bumblebee costume, added.
M'gann looked embarrassed in that pleased way people did when genuinely complimented.
Mal stepped up beside Conner, dropping his glasses. "Burn victim?"
"Mummy," Conner corrected flatly. "You?"
"Superman. Done right." Mal gestured to his leather jacket and belts with unmistakable pride.
Tim's head pulsed again.
Done right. Done right. What does that mean, why does that matter…
"Yeah, good luck with that," Conner said sarcastically, lifting his chin in that way that absolutely did not help Tim's theory that he had zero interest in Superman as a concept.
"Wally, this is Wendy, Karen, Mal and…" M'gann started gesturing, but the fourth member of their group was absorbed in his handheld device.
Marvin had dressed up as Batman, and it was a very authentic costume if Tim had to say so. She would have liked to take a picture of him and show it to Dick, so they could have laughed about it together.
"Ignore Marvin," Wendy huffed. "He thinks we're being invaded by Martians."
"I never said that." Marvin barely looked up. "It's just reports are all over the inter-webs. And I'm not the only one getting them."
As if on cue, every phone in the gym started beeping.
"I mean, Martians aren't invading," Marvin continued, grinning at Wendy. "It's just a prank gone viral, right?"
A guy with an eyepatch at the punch bowl chimed in. "Of course it's a prank. Ever hear of Martian Manhunter? Martians aren't hostile."
"Of course not," M'gann agreed, but her eyes flickered up almost guiltily.
Tim caught Wally's expression, the small scheming smile as he looked at M'gann's turned back. She'd seen that look before. Usually right before Dick did something spectacularly stupid in the name of fun.
Oh no.
Before she could say anything, the lights cut out.
"Hey!" someone yelled.
"Everybody calm down," an adult voice called. "It's probably just a blown fuse."
Emergency lights kicked on. Everyone pulled out their phones, the glow casting strange shadows.
"It says here Martians have taken New Haven and Providence," Mal announced.
"Spotted in Happy Harbor too," Wendy added.
"Guys, guys, it's a Halloween cliché," a teacher tried. "Meaning it happens a lot?"
"I knew it! I knew it!" Karen was already moving through the crowd. "I told you. I told you."
Then the loudspeaker crackled: "Attention: Homeland Security advises everyone to stay inside the gymnasium. This is not meant as confirmation of any alien invasion."
Tim looked at Conner. His expression had shifted, that particular focus that meant he was using his enhanced senses. She followed his gaze toward the exterior wall.
"We should call the Cave," M'gann whispered to Wally.
Conner raised a hand. "Wait." He stepped forward slightly, heat vision apparently tracking something outside. Then his expression cleared, and a smirk, an actual, genuine smirk, crossed his face.
Tim felt something in her chest do a complicated flip. She'd seen Conner smile before. She'd seen him amused. But this was different. This was mischief, and it transformed his entire face.
"Marvin," she murmured, putting it together.
Conner glanced back at her, and the conspiracy in that look was almost enough to make her forget the headache still pulsing behind her eyes.
***
"The Martians are coming! The Martians are coming!" Wally took off running toward the exit.
"Look out," Conner called, suddenly behind Marvin. "They have disintegration rays!"
Tim hung back, watching. She'd been on enough missions to know when to be part of the plan and when to be the contingency. This was definitely a 'let Conner and Wally commit to the bit' situation.
The tornado appeared and disappeared. M'gann, shifted into stereotypical Martian form, raised Conner with telekinesis and proceeded to throw him around with theatrical violence.
Marvin's scream was genuine terror.
Conner "collapsed" in front of him, playing dead with commitment that suggested he'd actually thought about the staging. Marvin ran back into the gym like his life depended on it.
Tim smiled despite herself. It was ridiculous. It was juvenile. It was exactly the kind of harmless chaos that made her understand why Bruce insisted on "normal teenage experiences."
Conner sat up, chuckling as he watched Marvin's retreat. M'gann shifted back to zombie-bride form, turning off the bright flashlight they'd been using for the "disintegration ray" effect.
"Come on," Conner said, standing and brushing himself off. "We do not wanna miss this."
Tim followed them back inside just as Marvin burst through the doors.
"Martians are invading! Martians!"
"Marvin, chill," Wendy sighed. "We got the memo."
"No! Before it was all a prank I pulled. Now it's definitely real. The Martians just killed two guys!" He held up two fingers for emphasis.
M'gann stepped up to his side with perfect innocent concern. "Which two guys?"
"Those two guys!" Marvin pointed behind her.
Wally and Conner walked calmly up behind M'gann, sharing a confused look. They all turned to Marvin with raised eyebrows.
"Wait, I..." Marvin's finger dropped. "Uh." He looked at the stopped party, the staring crowd. "Oh."
"Marvin." Wendy's hands found her hips.
"Trick or treat?" he offered weakly.
The gym erupted in laughter. Even the teachers were grinning. Marvin's face cycled through embarrassment, indignation, and finally reluctant amusement.
Tim found herself laughing too, the kind of laugh that came from watching something unfold perfectly. Conner caught her eye across the crowd, and his expression was lighter than she'd ever seen it. Happy. Unguarded.
The moment stretched between them, warm and uncomplicated, until the DJ took pity on everyone and started the music back up.
***
The party resumed. Tim spent most of it on the periphery, which was her natural habitat anyway. She watched Wally teach M'gann increasingly absurd dance moves. Watched Mal try to out-Superman anyone who would pay attention. Watched the general beautiful chaos of teenagers being teenagers.
Conner had claimed a spot near the snack table, and she found herself gravitating there too. They stood in comfortable silence, watching their classmates with the particular detachment of people who didn't quite belong but didn't mind the view.
"You know," Tim said after a while, "you're actually good at this."
He glanced at her. "At what?"
"Being a teenager." She gestured vaguely at the gym. "The prank. The party. Actually smiling."
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Observation." She snagged a cup of suspiciously red punch. "But leaning compliment."
Conner's mouth twitched. "You're not bad at it either. For someone who claims Batman has to mandate normal experiences."
"I contain multitudes," she repeated. Then, before she could overthink it: "Want to dance?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Dance." She set down the punch cup. "Batman says I need more normal teenage activities. Dancing is one of them. And you are the person here whom I feel most comfortable with, so." She offered her hand, trying to make it casual even though her heart was doing something complicated in her chest. "What do you say?"
Conner looked at her hand like it might explode. Then at her face. Then back at her hand.
"I don't really dance," he said finally.
"Neither do I. We'll be terrible together. It'll be a bonding experience."
For a moment, she thought he'd refuse. Then he took her hand, and the touch sent that same recognition-electricity through her nervous system. His palm was warm, grip careful in that way he had with anything potentially breakable.
The DJ, with impeccable timing, switched to something slower. Of course.
They made their way to the floor. Tim placed her free hand on his shoulder; his found her waist with the kind of precision that suggested he'd calculated the exact appropriate placement. They moved in something that was technically dancing, though neither of them had any particular rhythm.
"This is awful," Conner said after a few steps.
"Completely terrible," Tim agreed. "We're nailing the teenage experience."
That surprised a laugh out of him, quiet, but a laugh after all. She felt it more than heard it, this close.
"Why did you really ask?" he said after a moment.
Tim could have deflected. Could have stuck with the Batman mandate excuse. But something about the way he was looking at her (direct, honest, seeing) made her tell the truth.
"Because you looked happy during the prank," she said quietly. "Really happy. And I wanted..." She trailed off, not quite sure how to finish. I wanted to be part of that happiness. I wanted to see if it felt as familiar as everything else about you feels.
"Wanted what?"
"To see if I could remember how to be happy too," she finished. It wasn't quite what she'd meant to say, but it was true enough.
Conner's expression shifted, something complicated moving behind his eyes. His hand tightened fractionally at her waist, and for a heartbeat, Tim thought he might say something that would change the careful balance they'd built.
Instead, he said, "You're doing okay."
"At dancing?"
"At being happy."
The words settled somewhere in her chest. She looked up at him and saw him looking back with an intensity that made her breath catch.
I know you, something in her said. I know you, I know you, I know you—
Her head pulsed again, sharp enough to make her stumble.
Conner caught her immediately, both arms coming around to steady her. "Tim?"
"I'm fine," she managed. "Just the headache again. I should..."
"Sit down." He was already guiding her toward the chairs, his hand firm on her elbow. "When did it start?"
"Earlier. When I saw..." She gestured vaguely at the crowd, trying to find Mal's Superman-with-leather-jacket costume. "It's nothing. Just stress."
"That's not nothing." He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. "Do you need me to call Batman?"
"God, no." The thought of Bruce getting a ‘Tim had a headache at a school dance’ call was mortifying enough to cut through the pain. "I'm fine, Conner. Really. It's probably just the lights and noise and…"
"And pushing yourself too hard because you think you have to prove you're okay?"
She turned to stare at him. "Okay, wow. Targeting my psychological weak points. That's new."
"I'm learning from the best." He gestured at her. "You and Robin. You all do it. Act fine until you're not."
"I'm genuinely fine."
"Then why did seeing Mal give you a migraine?"
Tim opened her mouth. Closed it. "How did you—"
"I pay attention." His voice was quieter now, almost gentle. "Especially to you."
The confession hung between them.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I saw it and my head hurt and I felt like I should remember something, but I can't, and it's…" She pressed her palms against her eyes. "It's frustrating. Feeling like everyone around me knows the punchline to a joke I'm not allowed to hear."
Conner was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You want to leave?"
"The dance?"
"Yeah. We showed up. We participated. M’gann will be happy. Want to get out of here?"
Tim lowered her hands, looking at him. His expression was open, genuine. Not pity, just an offer. A way out.
"Where would we go?"
"Anywhere. The Cave. The beach. We could just walk around." He shrugged. "I'm not really a dance person anyway."
She shouldn't. She should stay, should push through, should prove to Bruce and Dick and herself that she could handle normal teenage social events without incident.
"Yeah," she said instead. "Let's get out of here."
Conner's smile was small but real. "Meet you outside in five?"
"Make it three."
He stood, offering his hand to help her up. She took it, and this time, the familiar-electric feeling didn't come with a headache. Just a warmth that settled somewhere behind her ribs.
They split up, Conner heading for the exit, Tim making for the bathroom hallway where she could slip out without attracting attention. On her way, she passed M'gann and Wally, now attempting some kind of coordinated zombie-werewolf dance move that defied several laws of physics.
M'gann caught her eye and smiled. "Leaving?"
"Headache," Tim said, which wasn't entirely a lie. "Tell the others I'll catch up with them later?"
"Of course. Feel better!"
Tim nodded and continued toward the exit. The cool night air hit her face as she pushed through the side door, and she breathed it in gratefully.
Conner was already there, leaning against the building with his arms crossed. He'd removed most of the mummy wrappings, though a few strips still clung to his shirt.
"Three minutes," he said. "Impressive."
"I'm very motivated by the concept of not being in there." She gestured back at the gym.
"Fair." He pushed off the wall. "So. What now?"
Tim considered. The Cave felt too much like retreat. The beach felt too much like sand. What she wanted, she realized, was something entirely different.
"Shall we go for Sphere and go for a ride?"
Conner raised an eyebrow. "Can I drive?"
“Sure. Go ahead, I'll go buy some burgers for the road.”
Conner smiled and nod and Tim felt the warmth in her chest expand.This was what Dinah meant. Not understanding the origin of the feeling, but accepting that it existed. That it was real. That it was hers.
"See you in twenty," Conner said.
"Don't be late."
"I'm never late."