Finally, the end to this fic. I did not mean it to be this involved of a fic, but this always happens to me.

Enjoy!

You can't escape Arkham - end

Kon is roused from the deep sleep of the exhausted by Tim's voice.

"Tam? Can you please cancel my meetings today? ...No, I'm fine, it's— It's Conner. I need to stay with him today… Yeah, I'll let you know. Thanks."

It's far away, faintly hushed, and soothes the knot in Kon's stomach enough to let him go back to sleep.

~0~

This time, Kon dreams of shapeless shadows, shifting and jumping between the corners of his vision. He thinks he remembers a static voice slithering down his throat and ragged laughter scraping the inside of his stomach like a sandpapery tongue.

He wakes with a start, gasping in the face of a nameless darkness that fades as soon as he opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to reconcile himself with the blue-gray hues of their own room and the warmth settled next to him, pressed against his side.

"Conner?" Tim's fingers hover above Kon's cheek and Kon takes a deep breath and scrubs his palm across his face. When he pulls it away, he swears there's Arkham slime and filth dripping from his hand like black saliva. He tears his gaze away and finally looks at Tim, seeing the concern in his eyes. He takes Tim's hand, fingers wrapping over the smooth flesh, and places it back on his cheek. Tim's expression loosens, one delicate finger tracing a path back and forth under Kon's eye.

"Morning, birdboy," Kon murmurs, basking in the fleeting comfort of warmth and quiet. Tim's laptop is sitting at the foot of the bed, powered on, but Tim has apparently been by his side long enough for the screen to shut off. "What time is it?" The blackout curtains throwing the bedroom into perpetual haze make it difficult for him to gauge time, but he feels enough lethargy to know he's due for a sunbathing session above the clouds pretty soon.

"One in the afternoon. We got to bed pretty late this morning."

"Or early, if you wanna look at it that way," Kon says, but the frown that worms its way between Tim's eyebrows says it's not yet time for jokes. Kon's face crumples and he looks away.

Tim lays his hand on Kon's chest, pressing firmly, and Kon tenses, body taut like a tightrope. Above him, the fan turns in lazy circles, completely at odds with the racing of Kon's blood.

"You should eat first," Tim says, like he's picking his way through a minefield. Kon shakes his head, face turned away. Anything he forces down his throat at the moment is likely to not remain there for long.

"Get in with me," Kon says instead, tugging at the covers until Tim complies and lifts them, resuming his position against Kon's side. The cloth whispers against his skin as Kon turns to lie on his side, one hand sneaking up to slide under Tim's neck as Tim mirrors his position. Tim's knees bump into Kon's thighs and Kon's stomach feels like a stretched out rubber band about to pop.

Tim waits. Kon opens his mouth. Closes it. Closes his eyes. Hears the voices.

You'll die alone —Scream, brat— We'll take turns with him— You'll taste like—alone

"Kon?"

His eyes snap open to realize that Tim is gripping his shoulder and that his body has seized up, throat closing up so that it's hard to breathe. The rubber band pops, and the words rise like smoke from his mouth.

"I went to the Batcave," Kon says dazedly as he tries to focus on the heat settled between them and the pressure of Tim's small fingertips pressing into his shoulder instead of the voices. He's afraid of looking at Tim's eyes, choosing instead to stare at his pale and hollowed collarbone. "I saw. The clips. The Arkham clips."

Tim's face freezes like delicate glass. Glass polished into something betrayed by the hoarseness of his voice as he asks, "From my suit?" Kon's muscles are cramping too much for him to nod, but Tim knows. "All of it?"

There's a cemetery of silence between them. Kon feels like he is standing at the tomb of Tim's trust, leaves skittering around the fresh, damp dirt and swirling between his feet.

Tim whispers, "I see."

The covers rustle as Tim sits up and Kon reaches out for him wildly, but Tim doesn't leave. He stays there, knees bent up to his chest, staring at the wall, the muscles in his jaw standing out stiffly. Kon doesn't let go of his hand, and to his relief, Tim squeezes back, rubbing his thumb back and forth mechanically. Kon is desperate for any good sign, and he takes that as such despite the gulf crawling with silence between them. He needs to fix this.

"I— you know," Kon begins, as much out of his own need to pour out his feelings as to try to coax Tim into talking. "I thought I'd seen a lot. But I didn't know… the things you saw. Enough to mess anyone up." Even you.

The response is slow in coming as Tim keeps rubbing Kon's hand. "You realize that a civilian would come out traumatized for life, don't you, Conner?" Tim says with no inflection in his voice.

"I'm not a—"

"You are." He's still staring at the same spot on the wall, fingers moving in the same exact motion, face so brittle the slightest jolt would shatter it. Something coils in Kon's stomach at his expression, something he's trying to avoid, but he doesn't yet know what. "The only difference is that you don't run the risk of physical harm. But mental?"

Kon can't deny it, a surge of shame filling him at his inadequacy. Tim fights this every day and Kon can't handle one instance. As if sensing his thoughts, Tim grips his hand tighter and closes his eyes taking a deep enough breath that it rattles in Kon's ears, shoulders and shin dropping as if he's forcing himself to relax. Then he turns and cups Kon's thick, square-jointed hand in both of his small white ones. Kon is constantly amazed by the things those slim, human hands are capable of— salvaging, enduring, comforting and suffering. Kon presses his forehead to their joint hands and Tim's chin comes to settle on the crown of his head as Tim whispers, "…Are you okay?"

"I… no." The change in Tim's tone, from clipped and monotone to tender and pained, throws him off for a moment. "I don't know how you do it, Tim. How you keep it to yourself like that. I can't, it'd eat me up alive if I didn't get it out." Tim squeezes his hand and Kon lifts his head to look at Tim, put off by the ceramic finish to Tim's face—blank and carefully molded into a mask, incongruent with his voice. Kon's stomach sinks at the sight but he continues anyway, trying to get a reaction out of Tim. "It was horrible. It was one of the most disturbing things I'd ever seen."

He's hoping to spur Tim into admitting the same, into finally opening up. But Tim leans over without a word and wraps his arms around Kon, pulling him close and holding him, running the tips of his fingers through Kon's hair. Kon feels the knot in his chest loosen at the physical contact, the feel of Tim's feathery hair brushing against his face when he buries his nose behind Tim's ear and bunches his fists on the back of Tim's thin, soft t-shirt.

"Did you… did you feel the same?"

Tim's arms twitch, but his fingers continue running through Kon's hair without pause. "It'll be alright, Kon. It'll fade, I promise it does."

Tim's fingers are trembling on his scalp.

Understanding flashes in Kon's mind. He leans away and sits up. Tim's crystallized face stares back at him, and Kon knows now. The minimal anger, the sudden change in mood, the blankness of his face— Tim is shutting down his own feelings and trying to focus on Kon's so that he can comfort him. His heart clenches in anger and admiration, disbelief at Tim's eternal selflessness, and Kon's guilt for not realizing it sooner. It's Kon's job to remind Tim that he's as important as everyone else.

"Tim, stop it. Listen. This is supposed to be about you." He takes Tim's face and pulls it closer, thumbs stroking the tiny rugged scars and pockmarks across Tim's cheeks, accumulated over the years. Kon searches his eyes, trying to get through the glaze of self-control that Tim wears like both armor and a noose that will someday choke him. Sometimes the thing Tim needs the most saving from is himself. "Tim. The things they said… you know they aren't true, right? You know you can't believe anything they said to you, right?"

Tim's face is a study in marble, unmoving and so white the shadows under his eyes painted. But his throat works as he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and Kon hears the way his heart stutters and throbs, a painful, deep thrumming that resonates in Kon's own chest.

"Tell me what you're feeling, Tim. Tell me what you felt, please."

Tim's face finally splinters and cracks, turning away as his mouth twitches downward into a grimace and his eyes squeeze shut. "I… I can't, Conner. I need some time to figure out how I feel about this. I need time to process."

The bed dips and the mattress creaks as Tim slides off the bed, and Kon's stomach takes a plunge into a crevasse that opens up in the middle of this cemetery they've created. The earth is opening up between them, loose, decaying dirt tumbling below, and Kon can't let that happen. If Tim leaves now, Kon feels like a part of him will never come back.

"Don't leave."

It's just hoarse words cracking in the dimness of their bedroom, just Kon's fingers hooked on the waistband of Tim's sweats, just a small tug pulling him backwards.

Tim lowers his head and gets in wordlessly next to Kon.

~0~

Kon hovers between consciousness and lethargy for what feels like hours. Tim left sometime after Kon fell asleep again, and he spends an inordinate amount of time simply missing him and running his hands over the wrinkles of the still-warm sheets. When he finally musters up the energy to snatch the clock on the bedside table and look at it, he finds it's evening already, just after six.

He rolls over and stares at the ceiling for a good half hour after that, replaying their conversation and knowing there were so many other things he needed to say. Sorry, for one.

In the end, he wasn't able to get through to Tim, and that both shames and scares him. He did this for him, but all Tim sees is someone who went behind his back and now needs even more attention to make up for the consequences. He wonders if he will ever be able to get through to him.

When he finally pushes himself to stand, the dizziness makes him stagger sideways. He takes a shaky breath and goes to the bathroom. Washes his face. Stares at himself in the mirror. Notes that he looks like crap, nearly as tired and pale as Tim usually is, eyes red-rimmed. Spends a few seconds leaning against the counter until his stomach rumbles, contorting inside him in shameless pleas.

Krypto meets him at the bedroom door and whines lowly in his throat. Kon spares him a soft pat with his TTK, and Krypto follows him to the kitchen, tail tucked between his legs as if reading Kon's mood. Kon pauses in the kitchen. He dreads the idea of having to prepare food, his body past the point where it can be patient. He feels shaky and weak, a combination of lack of sun as well as food, so that even pulling the refrigerator door open feels like a strain.

So when he sees a bowl of pasta salad, the kind that doesn't even need to be warmed up, with a yellow sticky and his name written in careful, measured letters, Kon almost feels like crying. That's when he knows that despite the things that still need to be said and the things that have been said, everything will be alright. They're in this together for the long run, and at the end of the day what matters is they're alive and they're together, and that's not going to change.

He cradles the bowl as if it holds a pumping heart instead of just pasta.

Of course, even though he feels steadier now about this debacle, both physically and mentally, it doesn't obviate the need for Kon to fix things short-term. Just because he knows that ten years down the road will find them still together doesn't mean that it will find them happily together. When Kon really thinks about it, that's the most frightening part. To be together and yet unhappy is a particular type of agony that Kon would rather not think about.

Krypto butts his leg comfortingly and when Kon finally kneels to give him a good scratch behind the ears, his dark eyes seem sympathetic. Krypto gives his hand a small, tentative lick before retreating to his bundle of blankets, watching him. Kon straightens and goes to look for Tim, past the empty living room— last night's blanket already folded and tucked away by Tim— and down to Tim's office. Other than to coax Tim to come out or to get Tim's attention when he's feeling particularly affectionate, Kon rarely goes in there—it's Tim's sanctuary, built to his specifications and synched to all Wayne Enterprise systems and even the Batcave. The door is closed, making the room nearly soundproof even to Kon's ears. But at this distance, with Kon's fingers brushing the cold doorknob, 'nearly' is just enough to let Kon hear the way Tim's voice breaks on the other side of the door.

"You went behind my back, Dick. You hurt him… you had no right." Something close to a sob breaks out and Kon feels the pasta turn heavy and churn in his gut. Tim's voice drips like slow, thick oil, dark and iridescent. It spreads under the door to coat Kon's bare feet and slide up his legs, cold, toxic slime engulfing him. "You infected him with what we are, Dick. You stole a piece of him from me forever."

Kon shudders, lungs tightening in synch with his fingers around the doorknob, and he pushes the door open. The lacquered wood of the wall panels and the gleaming desk at one end of the room mock him with propriety as Tim starts and turns around. His face is paler than even his wide blue eyes, lines of tension skittering underneath.

"I'll get back to you," Tim murmurs absently into the phone, and hangs up. Tim's shoulders straighten into his rigid neutral pose, a repeat of yesterday morning.

"Tim." Kon steps forward. Tim's eyes are carefully blank. "It wasn't Dick's fault. You know… you know I did it for you, right?" A shudder ripples through Tim at that. "No—it's not your fault. I needed to know, Tim. I needed to know what you were going through, because you never talk about it."

"It wasn't worth it," Tim grips the edge of the desk. "It wasn't a big deal. I was going to get over it."

"The hell it wasn't, Tim!" Not again, not this same argument again, he thinks. But he can't just let things sit there as they do day after day after day. "I saw it affect you. I've been watching all these years as you deal with whatever things Gotham has, and I've always wondered. I've tried to be there for you through it all, but there's only so much I can do when I don't know." Kon clenches and unclenches his hands alternatively, but he's tired, not feeling the same spark of anger as before.

Tim drops his head, sagging into his seat, his posture so defeated that it makes Kon wince. He wants to go to Tim, wrap his arms around him and reassure him the way he always has in the past. But something keeps him anchored to the doorway, with an expanse of bland, beige carpet and a thick haze of conflicting ideologies between them.

"You weren't meant to know, Kon. Someone like you… I see things like that all the time. I can rationalize and compartmentalize the… horrors of the situation until it doesn't affect how I function."

"I see you've been doing a good job of it lately." Kon feels petty for saying so, but sometimes Tim is so blind.

Tim doesn't respond, just stares at his desk, the neat, separated piles of papers, the gold, engraved pen Kon bought for him a few years back. Kon curls his bares toes into the carpet, his telekinesis nervously ruffling the individual, minutes loops of fabric around his feet.

Tim closes his eyes and his throat works, swallowing, Adam's apple quivering as if his next words are being dragged, kicking and screaming, from the depth of the abyss between them. "You'll never be the same. It doesn't… it doesn't go away."

The black layer of filth clinging to Kon's skin shifts, as if to remind him of its presence. "I know." It was a heavy price to pay, but… "I don't regret it, Tim."

Tim raises his head and bewilderment swirls in his eyes, remnant from a child who believed himself worth nothing. Kon knows that child; he lurks in the back of Tim's eyes, waiting for those around him to come to the inevitable realization that Tim is the wrong choice, the fall-back option.

Kon closes the gap between them and goes to that child.

"Do I really have to remind you, Tim?" Kon murmurs softly, kneeling in front of Tim and placing his hands on the sides of his thighs, bracing him. Through the window, beams of weak orange sunlight filter through and bathe Tim's face and Kon's hands in pale golden warmth. "We said forever, right? We're in this for the long run. Anything I can do to help you, to ease your burden even by a little bit – I'll never regret that, you hear?"

Kon squeezes Tim's legs a bit when Tim doesn't respond, fingers digging into the thick cotton fabric. He wishes he could convey the truth of his feelings through touch alone, let it sink into the muscles of Tim's thighs, crackle up along the trail of iron and hemoglobin in his blood and dissolve the incredulity on his face. Tim stares at Kon for what seems like an eternity, and finally reaches down to brush his thumb against the corner of Kon's mouth. A stray bit of pasta comes off on his thumb and Kon leans forward and licks it off.

"You make it sound so easy," Tim whispers. Kon's heart breaks a little bit, because it should be that easy.

"Tim… do you think I'm happy seeing you suffering, while I'm sitting here not able to help you?"

Tim shifts, and the hands that had been inching closer to Kon's suddenly retreat as Tim folds his arms protectively around himself. "You know how you helped me, Conner? Knowing that when I came home there was someone who could show me life without this infection. With you, I could forget about everything else because you didn't know about it." The room falls into darkness as a passing cloud swallows the light, sending dim shadows to curve across Tim's face. "Until now. There was a part of you that was radiant, Kon, and now it's gone."

The air rushes out of Kon's lungs, leaving them feeling tight and vacuumed and he can't force them to open up again. For the first time, he feels the briefest flicker of regret. He doesn't know what to say to that because he never realized that's what he embodied to Tim.

Tim slides his fingers through the short hairs on Kon's forehead, a mournful, slow touch. "This is what I have to accept, isn't it? That just by virtue of being with you, I'm going to ruin you."

"Tim…" There are so many things wrong with that statement. Kon pushes himself closer between Tim's legs, touching Tim's elbows. The sun has sunk past Gotham's skyline, leaving the office in dimness that fuels Kon's desperation. The shadows prompt him to hold on even tighter onto Tim, now that he knows what's out there, and even more, that Tim has to go out there. "How could the most amazing person in the world ruin me? Do you really think..." Kon stops because he knows the answer. Yes. Tim does think that he's some sort of toxic miasma that brings about unhappiness to the people around him. "Don't believe yourself. Ignore every doubt you have about yourself. It doesn't matter what you think, or hell, if it's even true. You know what matters? That I want you, that I think you complete me and I can't live without you and you're everything meaningful in my life." He tilts his head down to catch Tim's eyes. "I don't think you could ever ruin me, Tim. You can only make me a better person."

The doubt doesn't leave Tim's eyes. It never does. Kon's shoulders slump. "Why don't you believe me?" Kon whispers.

Tim's eyes soften. "Sometimes I almost do."

Kon's throat closes up, and he has to choke back an ugly ball of nameless emotion nudging the back of his tongue, too strong to be just sadness, too twisted for mere shame. He lowers his head onto Tim's lap and Tim's hands automatically alight on the top of his head, soothing.

Kon has to remind himself each and every time that it's not a failure on his part. But the longer they're together the harder it becomes to accept that Tim's insecurities have a stronghold that will take many more years to dispel. Sometimes he even wonders if they ever will, but he shakes off the insidious tendril of thought before it overwhelms him. He always has to end with the vow that one day he will convince Tim to see himself as Kon does.

They stay like that until Kon's knees ache, the carpet's pattern surely imprinted on them. Tim's hands never waver in their back and forth motion on Kon's scalp, and his touch is the only thing that makes Kon feel better, even though it is only Tim's attempt to make up for everything he feels he has failed Kon in. Kon wants to refute Tim, to tell him again that it's not his fault, that Kon doesn't regret it. But he knows it'd be futile, and that's the thing Tim's apologizing for the most: not believing Kon.

Finally, Tim stirs, and Kon raises his head. "I need to finish some work tonight," Tim says quietly, running fluttering on the nap of Kon's neck. Kon hesitates, but he knows a hint when he hears one, so he stands, his hand lingering over Tim's for a few moments before he finally leaves the room.

The door shuts, and Kon isn't sure whether he feels better or worse. Something shifted, clicked into a new arrangement between them, but he doesn't know where the change lies or what it means. Or maybe he simply doesn't want to look deeper for fear that the schism between them has only widened.

He tries to go through his usual evening routine, desperate for the feel of normalcy. He takes Krypto for a walk. He makes a phone call to the Watchtower to make sure he didn't miss anything important. He takes a shower. He stares at the TV for half an hour before giving up. He feels like he's wading through molasses or a viscous substance weighing his movements down. . For all that Kon considers himself an optimistic person, nothing can affect him the way Tim can. He wonders if he should be angry at Tim, angry because he makes things so difficult sometimes and pushes Kon away when all Kon wants is to make Tim feel better. But he can't bring himself to feel anything other than sadness at the hand Tim's been dealt, and he can't blame Tim for the way he has tried to cope with it.

Tim's office door is still closed when Kon finally decides that he wants to get back into bed and just start a new day. He's not looking forward to sleeping by himself— he can feel the slithers of slime at the edge of his mind, promising fitful sleep—but when he knocks and asks Tim when he's planning on sleeping, Tim merely gives him that apologetic, plastic smile Kon hadn't seen directed at him in years, and tells him he still has work left to do.

Kon doesn't doubt that's true, but he suspects that Tim is either avoiding talking more about the subject, or hoping that he'll tire himself out enough to fall asleep quickly. Kon knows the pattern. He slips under the covers and stares at the ceiling fan for a while before reaching out and setting the alarm clock for 2 a.m.

~0~

The shrill noise that startles him out of sleep sets his pulse drumming erratically. It takes him a moment to orient himself, his mind frantic as it disentangles itself from snatches of voices and manic laughter scraping the walls of a metallic cell that's quickly dissolving into soft covers and a swatch of yellow light falling across them as a door is opened.

"Conner? Why is the alarm ringing at two in the morning?"

Kon blinks a few times at Tim's silhouetted figure in the doorway and tries to figure that out himself through the haze of sleep and unsettling dreams. He has the brief flash of thought that this will be the way he wakes up every day for the next few weeks. Then he remembers Tim's question and sits up, reaching out to shut off the alarm. "Are you coming to bed soon?"

Tim's silhouette stiffens, and Kon can imagine Tim biting his lip and frowning.

"C'mon, Tim. It's late. You should sleep." With Tim, he's not too proud to beg. He can't handle how much he wants Tim beside him again—needs to touch him and hold him, kiss the scar on his neck and the ones on his hip. He needs to reassure both of them. "I don't… I don't want to sleep alone tonight."

Tim sighs. "I'll be back in a moment. Let me turn everything off."

Kon listens as Tim heads back into his office, hears the quick clatter of the keyboard, and then a trail of clicks leading through the kitchen and living room until the hallway light goes off, dunking them in darkness. Kon shivers and listens to Tim's feet padding across the room, the slide of a drawer opening and closing and the rustling of cloth on skin as Tim changes. Kon spreads a layer of TTK on the bed, and when Tim sinks onto it, he turns a questioning glance towards Kon.

"This way I'll know if you have another nightmare," Kon says, and before they can start another argument, he adds, "I just don't want to be left behind when you're going through something. Especially not after all this. You can't keep me out forever."

Tim shifts onto his back, pulling the covers up and running his fingers experimentally over the thin, vaguely elastic layer underneath him. Kon feels every shift pulling and tugging on his TTK.

When Tim speaks, it's soft and wistful, and Kon slips his hand under the covers and finds Tim's hand to thread their fingers together. "I don't mean to keep you out. I just… didn't want to expose you to this. You're not meant for this…"

"It's okay. We'll both get through it." He pulls Tim closer, until he can bury his face into Tim's neck and feel the glow of heat from his body, listening to the cricket-creak of the mattress under their weight. "I just wish you'd talk to me more."

Tim rearranges himself until his back is pressed in a solid line against Kon's chest, Kon's chin hooked on the curve of his neck. He takes Kon's arm and pulls it over himself while Kon positions the other one for Tim to use as a pillow. His muscles loosen like softening butter, because Tim wouldn't let him spoon him if he really was angry at Kon. It means that Tim is forgiving Kon's trespassing and willfulness

"I never told you what the nightmares were about."

Kon stills, wondering if Tim is really going to…

"There's always one in particular. Where you and Dick and my dad… Steph and everyone else… are lying dead in caskets, and then it's my turn to die alone." Tim's hold on his arm spasms and Kon automatically curls himself tighter around Tim, instinctively trying to make him feel safe. "It's not— I'm used to it. I've had it for a long time. But after Arkham..."

"Their voices, right?" Kon whispers. Tim's head slides up and down, inky black hair brushing against Kon's face, softer than the calligraphy brushes he used on Kon's back a few weeks ago. Kon lets himself sink into the tingles of his body against Tim's—his knee touching the back of Tim's, the occasional cool poke of a toe, and the sheer solid weight in his arms that he can wrap himself around. It helps keep at bay the voices that echoed in his eardrums and deafened his senses not twenty four hours ago. Tim's breath and heartbeat are the only noises he'll ever need to hear.

"I— I shouldn't have been affected," Tim continues. "I hear things like that all the time. But I guess… not all at once. Not from so many people, and not so… hurtful and disturbing." He scoffs at himself and shakes his head, and Kon growls, squeezing Tim briefly.

"Are you kidding me? You think you don't have a right to be upset?" Kon takes a deep breath. "I was so angry when I heard what they said to you, Tim. I wanted to break their jaws, keep them from ever opening their mouths again. You don't deserve any of that." He buries his nose behind Tim's ear and breathes, trying to still the memories because now is not the time for anger. When he finally feels his muscles melt again, he presses a slow kiss to Tim's shoulder and then lays his cheek to the spot. "Don't believe anything they said, Tim. It's not true. You won't die alone, and you won't lose me again." He slides his hand under Tim's chin and pulls it toward him slowly, until he can see Tim's eyes. He places a cotton-soft kiss on Tim's lips, pulling slightly at his lower lip. He feels the swell of something inside him, denser than happiness, making him feel so grateful that he has someone like Tim to hold and protect. More than that, he feels grateful that Tim lets him. Tim's breath stutters as he pushes back and deepens the kiss. A short, broken whimper slips out from his throat, so high and soft that Kon doubts Tim could even hear it himself. Kon leans back, their breaths still mingling as he cups Tim's face. "Do you believe this at least?"

Tim sighs against his lips and says, "Yes."

Thank you for the great comments on this fic. It was emotionally exhausting to write (you can tell I was running out of juice by the last chapter, which ended up being a third of the whole fic itself). I hope I was able to capture something of the complexity and beauty of Tim and Kon's relationship though.