The Way I Was Made

by zahra



When Jason Lane was small his mother used to read him stories from a big scrapbook of articles she'd collected. The stories were about superheroes: the Flash, the Green Arrow, Wonder Woman, the Batman -– the superheroes that Jason sometimes saw on the news when he was supposed to be in bed, but had somehow convinced his dad to let him stay up ten more minutes to watch. Jason’s mother said she’d started collecting them when she was pregnant with Jason, and had never been able to stop, which was why sometimes the newspaper had big holes in it.

Jason's favorite stories were about Superman. His mother didn't read them very often, but sometimes, if he was very good, she would pull out her special red cloth scrapbook and read to him from their yellowing pages.

Superheroes stood for everything that was good and true. They were just and always did the right thing. They never lied about eating all of their lima beans and spitting them into their napkins.

When Jason was six his dad bought him first comic book, Warrior Angel No.147.

When Jason was seven, his mother's friend, Superman, began telling him stories about the Green Lantern and his home planet of Krypton, and how the Justice League worked together to make the world better for children like Jason.

When Jason was eight he learned that everyone had been lying.


*


The first time Jason meets The Robin is in a dark alley that smells of snow overlaid with smog and stale urine. It's the end of January, and judging by the mugger at Jason’s feet who’s wearing four layers of clothing, it's pretty damn cold.

Someone's been watching Jason for a week or two, and at least now, with a glance at the mouth of the alley, Jason knows who it is. With the spandex and the cape and the mask, it couldn’t be anyone else.

"Huh," is Jason’s entire greeting before going back about his business.

One of Jason’s genetic donors is Superman, so even if his mom hadn't gotten him hooked at an early age, Jason would know all about the Batman and his Robins.

The Robin or -- Robin -- doesn't actually introduce himself, but he doesn't interfere with what Jason's doing either, so they're fine.

"Don't you have a real crime to stop?" Jason's only half listening since he's experimenting with a surgeon's knot to tie up the mugger who was trying to rob a senior Tri-Delt.

Jason likes the Tri-Delts: they throw great parties, they have great tits, and they have no problem making out with their sisters for Jason's gratification. They also like having sex in the unisex bathrooms of Royston Hall.

As for the mugger, well, Jason read about the surgeon’s knot on-line when he was looking for random chemistry experiments to try out after hours. Apparently, if you clean up after yourself in the labs when things explode, most people are inclined to look the other way, especially if you’ve had sex with them in the stairwell of Williams Fine Arts Library and their girlfriend doesn’t know about it.

Jason likes to make things explode; Jason also spends a lot of time using his abilities to clean things up.

He has no idea how regular people clean up their messes.

"This isn't a real crime?" Robin asks curiously. His words escape in white puffs as he cocks his head to the side, taking in Jason and the mugger and the alley with imperceptible (to anyone not like Jason) nods. His movements are fluid like a -– well, like a superhero. Obviously. "It sure looks like you're assaulting someone to me."

"He deserved it -- he tried to mug --" There's dirt on Jason's hands, and he brushes it off on the thighs of his jeans. Everyone else wears a costume; Jason depends on people not wanting to look him in the eye.

Body language helps a lot; Clark taught him that.

Robin is playing with something on his belt. Well, maybe "playing" isn't the right word. "The red-head girl that ran off -- I was watching, I know."

Robin has this cape, this really long yellow cape. It drags on the ground as he approaches Jason, but if Jason didn't have superhearing he probably wouldn't be able to hear it. The red spandex is pretty revealing, in a "Hi, I'm really toned and hot, and I know you want to stare" way, but Jason's kind of working right now. The black briefs shouldn't work, but go figure. Jason has no idea why people wear their underwear on the outside of their uniform.

Clark does that and it just looks like he got dressed in a hurry and messed up.

Jason snorts. "All watching and no doing -- wow, I feel safer already."

"I’m sure he feels safer too." Robin gestures at Jason’s feet, and Jason looks down at the trussed up mugger. The mugger's eyes are huge, and it takes Jason a moment to realize that the fear isn't for him, it's for Robin.

"Who doesn’t like being saved by a hot guy in spandex?" Jason mocks. "I know I do."

"Cute," Robin says.

Jason shoots him his brightest, most charming grin. "I know I am." Jason's learned well from his dads. They believe in truth, justice, and being a good man; Jason believes in being charismatic. Apparently he gets that from his other dad.

Robin makes a derisive snort as he shoots something into the dark Gotham sky. "Modest too. You're just the complete package, aren't you?"

Jason can hear the faint 'crack' of a grappling hook entering crumbling brick. He winks. "I don't have all the toys like some people, but I try to get the job done."

"Just be careful," Robin says before taking off.

Jason doesn't want to be impressed, but for someone who doesn't fly, the Robin can certainly make an exit. Jason can’t help it if he’s checking out Robin’s ass.

He’s a college freshman –- it’s what he’s supposed to do.


*


At night Jason tries to do good things, like stopping petty crimes and making sure that his fellow students don't get swallowed up by the Gotham underbelly. He doesn't really care about the soft drug issue since the first person he'd have to arrest is his roommate, Luke.

The vigilante thing isn’t about taking after Clark; Jason's forte is fights and robberies and assault -- beating up women is a big no-no in Jason's book. According to his Psychology class, his sense of fairness is overdeveloped in certain areas.

During the day and partying hours, it's a whole other story.

Gotham is Jason's reward for surviving his childhood; he's earned the right to run away. In fact, he picked Gotham U the moment the college brochure showed up on Riverside Drive, even though he wasn't sure his grades were good enough. Actually, Jason knew his grades weren't good enough, but he wanted this, and so he asked for it. He didn't mention that part to his dad or Clark, but what was the point in having Lex Luthor for an absentee dad if you couldn't e-mail him every now and then and say, "I want this."

Jason's only done this twice.


*


The door to his dorm room is open when Jason gets back to Halston, and Luke's sitting on his bed pretending to read some book the size of his head. Luke grunts at Jason's greeting and goes back to the book in his lap; Jason just raises an eyebrow and pats the top of the TV, which is still warm.

"I know you're not trying to pretend you weren't just watching Sports Center," Jason mocks, kicking his shoes off and dropping into a wooden atrocity that passes for a desk chair.

Jason's never shared a bedroom with anyone, so the first few weeks of living with his roommate were like hell on earth. It had nothing to do with Luke being a bad roommate, and everything to do with Jason thinking that Luke was hot. Being an all-sexual half-alien is sometimes really hard on Jason's hormones, and being stuck in a room the size of a horse stall doesn't help matters.

What does help is that Luke snores like a 300 lb. football player with a deviated septum, is physically incapable of picking up his own clothes, and every time he finishes a can of Zesti he crushes it against his forehead.

Sexual attraction is no match for belching and farting.

Luke actually waits a beat before looking up at Jason, eyes wide with mock surprise. "I have no idea what you're talking about, hermano, can't you see me studying my Japanese?"

The book Luke shows him says Political Science and the New Economy; Jason snickers and points. "Wrong book, man."

"Okay," Luke laughs before dropping the book over the side of the bed. "You got me."

Luke's mom is Guatemalan and his dad is black, and he looks like someone out of a magazine ad. All that translates to is that he likes to curse in Spanish and has a predilection for Shakira and Dead Prez. The first time Jason saw him in his boxers, he set one of his socks on fire. Thankfully, he's gotten over that. Beside, Luke is a genuinely good guy, and Jason doesn't need to mess that up with sex.

"Like that's so tough," Jason says, leaning over to rummage in the top drawer of his dresser/dry good storage for something to eat. Powerbars and ramen, yum. "It's after midnight and you're not stoned or out drinking away brain cells with the rest of your teammates, it must be sports."

Luke flips Jason the bird as he busies himself looking for something in his unmade bed. "Dude, I lost the remote."

Jason laughs. "Because you can't move the four feet to turn on the TV – you're so fucking lazy. Damn."

"Hijo de puta," Luke swears, crawling around and flinging things on the floor. He's wearing blue and green boxers and a red tee shirt, because there are only two temperatures in their room: freezing and sweltering. Luke's outfit clashing is classic superhero. "I'm gonna miss the last five minutes of Sports Center, they were supposed to talk about the German coach resigning."

"What'll you give me if I turn it on?"

"Respect," Luke hollers over his shoulder, his ass directly in Jason's face.

Jason exhales through his nose. "I'm hungry."

"My mom sent some quesadillas," Luke cajoles.

Jason sighs and throws something at the TV to divert from him using his abilities to turn it on. "Happy now?"

Luke whirls around and gives him this grin that's all white teeth. "You're the best slutty food-for-hire roommate a boy could have," he says tossing Jason a Tupperware container.

It's Jason's turn to grin. "Wow, thanks," he says around mouth full of cheese and tortilla.


*


One time Jason died. It was two years ago, but his family don’t like to talk about that. It was something to do with Kryptonian puberty, and Jason being a moody teenage asshole, and not being as strong as he thought he was, even if he’s Superman’s son. Jason doesn't like talking about it, either.

He's alive now, and that's all that matters.


*


Jason hates math.

He thinks it was created just to prove how super he's not. His dad used to quiz him with flash cards when he was little; he said Jason's mom was bad with math too.

Calculus isn't the same as 2 + 2 = 4, though, and Jason's not too sure how he's going to take care of his math requirement without bribery and blackmail.

Remarks like that are his inner Luthor coming out, which is a big joke with his dad, but Clark doesn't really tend to laugh about it very much. When Clark is all uptight, Jason reminds him that he's a genetically created baby, who was implanted in his mom while she was kidnapped on assignment. It took three men and two women just to get him into college.

Jason's bound to be a little warped; Clark should just accept it.

Jason thinks he's pretty sane all things considered. Normal, never, but marginally well-adjusted according to his Freshman Psychology class, which he aced considering he only went five times the entire semester. He's doing pretty awesome –- if he does say so himself -- in his writing class, too, but he would probably be disowned if he couldn't write well.

The class he really likes is Chemistry, and by likes he means he goes because it feeds his desire to make something unique in the world. Every drop of every liquid is a creation of something new, something unknown. Every mixture is fractionally different from the one before it and the one after it, every second is a chance to do something no one has ever done. Or at least make things explode.

Who wouldn’t love a class like that?

Not that the experiments are ever supposed to blow up, but in learning how to do it right, you invariably learn how to make it blow up just so you could show Professor Barnhardt that it wasn’t wrong -- and then after class she blew it up because she could.

If he could just get Calculus to bow down to him then life would be fantastic, but he’s finally found something he can’t bend, charm, or ignore, which is how he ends up at the Tutoring Center.

The girl at the front desk has pink streaks in her hair, bright blue eye shadow, green nails and she types faster than Clark. The entire time Jason's asking her about getting help, she’s staring at the computer screen.

It’s a sad day when Jason loses out to a computer, and he's not even sure she's listening until she scrawls his name on a message pad and rips it off. "Albertson Hall. 2pm. His name is Tim Drake," she says waving him off. "If you're late, he'll make you sorry."

It's only when Jason gets outside that he realizes it's 1:55, and Albertson is on the other side of campus. He breezes through the front doors at 1:56.

Jason assumes that life without "abilities" must suck.


*


Once upon a time Jason’s mom died in a freak accident in Bahrain. After that his dad got involved with Clark Kent, which was fine with Jason, because two dads were better than one dad and no mom. Except it turned out Jason didn’t just have two dads -- he had three.


*


Jason knows who Tim is the moment he sets foot inside the Albertson Hall lounge; he's the only one who doesn't look up when Jason arrives.

Jason wouldn’t say he’s The Big Man on Campus, but he knows how to get attention. He can set things on fire with his eyes -- that always gets people’s attention.

Tim doesn't even twitch when Jason drops his backpack on the table and clears his throat. That’s just wrong. "Hey, are you Tim?" he asks pushing the note from the message pad across the table.

Tim looks up, gives Jason a once over glance, and then goes back to his book. Jason just raises an eyebrow when Tim kicks out the chair across from him. "You must be my two o'clock, have a seat."

Jason sits down noisily, ignoring a glare from the mousy girl in the corner drowning in Camus. She has that yellow tinge of someone who’s been spending too much time under fluorescent lights. She should get out and enjoy the Gotham smog.

Tim’s hair is clean and shiny, and Jason would say that he's seen Tim around but he thinks if he had he would remember having hit on him. Jason can't meet someone that looks like Tim and not flirt with him at least a little bit -- dark messy hair, huge eyes, pink mouth.

Presumably, Jason gets his sex drive from his Luthor genes. His dad has only been on a handful of dates since the Clark thing, and Jason can’t even start to think of Clark having sex, because it gives him a pain in his kidneys and a twitch in his eye.

"So, you're my tutor," Jason begins while staring at the exposed hollow of Tim's throat.

Tim's wearing a tee shirt layered over an Oxford, but Jason can see how slender he is. He’s not girlie, he's just not really manly either. He has these long fingers that are absently twirling a pen, but Jason would bet his last packet of Ramen that Tim's never done anything absently in his life.

Tim makes a noncommittal noise, which Jason takes a good sign. At least it's not an unequivocal glare of 'fuck off and die.'

How Jason manages to get laid as much as he does is something of a mystery to everyone around him, especially Bart and Luke. It's not as though Jason's particularly slick; he just makes it work.

Some people act out by doing drugs; Jason has sex.

"It's good to know that you can make an observation. That's a start," Tim says sticking his pen in the spine of his book before closing it. When he finally looks at Jason, it's with a wry smirk on his face. "So, tell me, Jason Connor Lane, what else can you do?"

Jason blinks once. The only person who calls him by his entire name is his grandma, and that's only when he's really messed up. Jason has to squash this urge to use his heat vision on Tim's chair and show him exactly what Jason can do. Sometimes Jason has temper issues. Instead he pushes a stray lock of his hair behind his left ear and gives Tim a grin. "I can make things blow up."

Tim rolls his eyes. "Does that really matter if you can't do the math behind it?"

Jason balances his chair on two legs and smirks. "That's why I have you, right?"


*


Jason only has nightmares sometimes, which is why he makes a point of not spending the night when he has sex, because it's better to be safe than explain the screaming to someone who wouldn't understand anyway. Sometimes he dreams about his mom. Sometimes he dreams about his dad. Sometimes he dreams that Clark never lied, and his mom never died, but he was still just as screwed up anyway.

Apparently this is called ‘having issues.’


*


Jason is already in the lab when Tim arrives. It’s their first lab lesson, which Jason thinks is totally unnecessary, because he can make things blow up fine -- it’s the math thing that’s killing him.

Tim's pretty insistent that it'll be easier for Jason to understand the math if he's has an interactive lesson. He says he wants to see Jason ‘in his element’, so he can figure out how best to work with him. For his part, Jason has plenty of ways for Tim to get to know how he works -- but they have nothing to do with the kind of chemistry you do in the lab.

As far as Jason can tell, there’s no place for calculus in chemistry -– physics sure, chemistry no -- but whatever.

Jason’s a little distracted with a household experiment he looked up on-line. Apparently if you mix ammonia and bleach together you can make something explode. There’d been warnings, but warnings were for pussies and people who could still be grounded.

The fumes are a bit strong, but he’s got his goggles on and he’s under the fume hood. Except that one minute he’s playing Mad Scientist and the next there’s yelling, the fan going on noisily, and Tim’s yanking Jason away from the workstation with one hand and slamming the hood shut with the other. "What the hell are you doing, Lane?"

"Hey! Do you see me working here?" Tim’s knuckles are white in the fabric of Jason’s green shirt, and Jason didn’t realize Tim could get so angry. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright. It’s kind of hot.

Jason blinks behind his goggles for time.

"How the hell are you not passed out on the floor?" Tim’s shouting in that quiet way that Jason’s dad does sometimes when Jason really fucks up or scares him. "That stuff is toxic, what the hell are you thinking?!"

Jason blinks again, because well, huh. "I, um –- dunno?"

Tim’s eyes are huge, the irises a thin circle of blue. "Jason, do you have a brain in your head? Jesus Christ, didn’t you read the labels? Have you been paying attention in class at all?"

"Is this a surprise quiz?" Jason offers with a half-smile, but Tim looks so pissed off and so disappointed that Jason’s smile dies off. He almost wants to tell Tim he’s Superman’s kid and this couldn’t harm him in a million years just to get rid of the tightness in Tim’s face. Still, it’s a little early in their relationship for Confessions of a Test Tube Kryptonian.

Tim’s close enough that Jason can feel his breath against his face, and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes Tim’s still holding onto his shirt. "You can let go if you want," Jason says, with a smirk to defuse the situation. "You don’t have to, but I feel like I should give you the option, before I get the wrong idea."

"You are a wrong idea," Tim snaps, but some of the tightness is gone. "Get your stuff together, no more playing for you," he says releasing Jason and stepping back into his own space.

Jason’s frown is only slightly sullen. "You never let me have any fun."

"I’m sure there are a lot of people who are thankful for that and don’t even know it."

Jason narrows his eyes. He left hitting on sophomore gymnasts in the Quad for this?


*


Jason's spent some of his formative years living with his Grandma Martha because his Clark and his dad were fighting over, well, everything.

The specifics are a little on the fuzzy side – repression will do that to you -- but he remembers a lot of yelling about Clark being Superman, and Superman sleeping with his mom, and him not telling his dad when his dad was already sleeping with Clark. Over several days that argument became his dad yelling about Clark not being a real dad to Jason, and his name was Jason not Kon-El, and Lex Luthor was a goddamn genetic donor who had no parental rights regardless of what his lawyers said, and it all kind of blew up, because no one in Jason's family does things the easy way.


*


"So, I got myself a tutor," Jason casually mentions to Bart at lunch the next day. "You know, so I can stop failing Calculus."

Jason met Bart first semester in Psychology 101. Bart was the only other person in the class who stayed away for the entire lecture on ‘Martyr Complexes and Modern Day Superheroes.’

"You’re failing Calculus because all you want to do is to blow things up in Chem," Bart points out over his third bowl of something that’s supposed to be spaghetti. Jason knows the real thing; he’s fairly certain that Bart’s eating ketchup with pasta.

"Your point being what?"

Bart makes a noise between shoveling food in his mouth. "I’m not the most intelligent person, but there are plenty of scientific studies that point out that-—"

"But you certainly are the hungriest," Jason interrupts.

"There’s nothing wrong with needing a tutor." Bart continues on as though Jason hasn’t said anything. He's the most in control ADHD person Jason's ever met though, so it’s entirely possible that in Bart’s mind they’re a lot further along in the conversation, especially since Bart’s on his dessert now. His second. Jason didn’t even realize he’d finished his fake spaghetti.

"His name is Tim," Jason’s constantly amazed at how someone as small as Bart can put away so much food. "Tim Drake."

Bart actually pauses for a moment and cocks his head to the side. "Tim?"

"You know him?"

"Maybe. That depends on your intentions. Are you planning on sleeping with him and then pissing him off by running out on him?"

"That only happened one time," Jason protests. Who knew petite blondes named Sally could be so vicious?

He's never dating another cheerleader in his life.

"Twice," corrects Bart.

"Oh, yeah." Jason forgot about the murderous closeted hockey player.

"Right."

Jason never told Bart that he was bisexual, but he thinks that Bart’s not that surprised. "So, do you know him?"

Bart’s grin splits his entire face in half. "Yeah, I know Tim –- just not biblically."

Jason rolls his eyes and throws his balled up napkin at Bart’s head. "I never said anything about knowing him biblically."

Bart coughs and bits of food fly out his mouth. It’s gross. Gross but cool. "This is you, Jay, everything with you is about knowing someone biblically."

"I don’t know you biblically," Jason points out.

Bart crosses his arms. "And we’re going to keep it that way, too."

Jason pouts. "Bart, I’m not your type? I think I’m hurt."

Bart rolls his eyes. "Please, a two-by-four couldn’t slow you down."


*


Jason’s sitting at the piano playing something he’s heard on the radio. Or maybe it’s something from TV. He doesn’t think too hard when he plays, he just likes it. It makes him happy. His tutor told him that he's really good for eleven, and if he practices every day maybe he can go to the conservatory. His dad says that if that’s what he wants then they can make it happen. Jason just wants to play.

There’s a little blood on his shirt from playing soldiers with the kids down the street -- he fell out of a tree while scouting -- but he knows the scratch will be gone by tomorrow.

When his dad sits down next to him, Jason changes from the TV commercial music to something older his dad likes. The heat from his dad’s body warms him like the sun streaming through the bay windows, and Jason plays in time with his dad’s breathing.

"So, you’ve probably heard Clark and I talking—"

"Fighting."

"Talking, Jason."

"Okay." Jason’s playing the piano, because his mom always liked it when he played the piano for her, and he plays when he misses her. He's been playing a lot lately, and sometimes, if he plays loud enough, it’s like she’s not gone. "Talking very loudly," he concedes.

When his dad sighs, Jason presses a little harder on the keys: A sharp, B minor, G, G again. "Jason, I don’t know how to tell you this --" His dad's voice is wrong. Something’s not right.

B, B sharp, F, G, G

"I know Superman is my dad, too." It’s very quiet except for the music. Outside, Jason can see the sun reflecting off the water. He wants to go fishing later today, maybe his dad will take him.

He doesn't know how to say that he's known this for a long time. He didn't mean to keep this from his dad. It just happened. He's sorry.

He's very very sorry.

"You know?" His dad’s words sound like he swallowed something the wrong way.

A sharp, B minor, E flat.

He pushes a little too hard and the key sticks. Or breaks. It won’t move anymore, and there’s this weird tightness in Jason’s chest. He’s not going to cry though, eleven year-old boys don’t cry. "You’re still my dad though, right?"

His dad makes this weird choking noise, and then he’s pulling Jason onto his lap, and eleven and one-half should be too old to sit on your dad’s lap, but Jason doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he wants to play the piano anymore though.


*


College is not quite how Jason thought it would be. The people are cooler, the food worse, and the classes are actual work.

It’s quite possible that if Jason decided to apply himself he could read everything in the library about Entropy, Band Theory and Acid-Base Equilibria, and then go back and read everything on Numerical Analysis, Quantum Mechanics and Calculus to fill in the gaps, but that would take work, or at the least a couple days. So instead Jason sees Tim twice a week and pretends to know less than he does.

At this rate, it takes him four whole weeks to convince Tim to let him back in the lab, which wouldn’t matter if Tim didn’t have the labs on some sort of lockdown. Every time Jason tries to sneak in Tim magically appears, scowling and getting in his way, until he packs up and leaves.

Eventually, Jason does it just to mess with him.

The first day Tim lets him play in the labs again, Jason's so happy that he totally misses his opening when Tim suggests that Jason's chemistry professor might be blinded by Jason's charms.

In fact, Jason shrugs his shoulders and goes back to timing the rate of change of pH of the contents of the conical flask in front of him.

He's either creating a new rust-remover or an acid that could eat through a bank vault -- he won't know until he tests it on some unsuspecting car owner.

"Jason, are you listening to what I'm saying to you?" Tim seems a bit preoccupied tonight, he keeps looking at the clock like he wants to be somewhere other than with Jason. Jason's not feeling that.

"You have a hot date?" Jason says putting the flask down and brushing back his bangs with his forearm. His hair's getting too long again. "Anybody I know? Should I be jealous?"

"I doubt it." When Tim smirks, his mouth does this thing that makes Jason's dick twitch. To be fair though, everything Tim does makes Jason's dick twitch. It's possible that Tim's hardwired Jason while he was asleep, because in the last couple of weeks, every time Tim says 'jump' Jason goes 'how high?'

"You shouldn't doubt me," Jason says pointedly. "I know a lot of people."

"Getting around isn't the same as knowing people," Tim says.

Jason snorts. "Oooh, the shame, it burns."

"With your reputation, if that's all that burns, you're lucky," Tim remarks, leaning against a workstation for a fraction of a second, before realizing what he's doing. Tim's got reflexes like – like the really hot boy he is.

It’s not Jason’s fault he can’t think of a proper simile -- Tim’s sleeves are rolled up and he has nice forearms. Besides, Jason doesn't stare that much. He can't possibly be jealous of someone else. He could have Tim if he really wanted him.

"Don't even think about it." Tim's eying him as though he's reading Jason's mind and that's just creepy.

"You don't even know what I'm thinking about," Jason protests.

"You only ever seem to have two things on your mind -- blowing things up and sex. Also, lab time is over."

"And?" Jason is who he is. He's not going to apologize for that. The idea that it might not be enough isn't even possible.

"And no unsupervised time for you, Mr. Lane."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Don't mention it." Tim's putting books away and tidying up Jason's workstation.

Jason sighs as he pulls off his safety goggles. "Can't I have five more minutes? Please?"

Tim shakes his head, but he's smiling, which is a good thing. "Do you ever think there might be more to life than things that go 'boom' and getting laid?"

"Like what? Romance? Saving babies? Truth, justice, and being an asshole? Spare me."

He doesn't even realize how bitter he sounds until he realizes Tim's staring at him. "You're a real character -- have you seen a shrink about that?"

"I have you," Jason says, smiling toothily when the beaker in his hand begins to fizz purple. "Who needs a shrink?"


*


Every Sunday Jason talks to his grandmother and his father without fail. Every other month he flies home to see them and have Sunday dinner on a prearranged date.

He doesn’t even mind when Clark shows up. Much.

When Jason first got to school this was a big hassle for him. He was hung-over; he was busy; he was sowing his half-alien oats. He just wanted to be free for a little while. He'd finally escaped from Metropolis and Superman and the weirdness, and now they were sucking him back in. Gradually, though, he came to appreciate the phone calls. They never seemed to be too long or too short, just long enough for his dad or grandmother to say hi, and see how he was, if he needed anything, and how'd he do on that Chemistry quiz, and did he get the cookies or the article or the shoes or whatever.

It was the long-distance equivalent of having his hair ruffled, which he doesn't mind so much now. As for the dinners, well, no one can object to his grandma's peanut butter cookies.


*


The thing that Jason likes about being the son of Superman and Lex Luthor and Richard White and Lois Lane is that when he decides to do something he just does it. Except that Tim will not take a hint.

Jason has shown up at Tim's dorm room at random hours for "extra help" wearing his most abused and hole-ridden jeans. He's spilled an entire milkshake all over himself and stripped in the student union during a tutoring session. Jason's even done his homework in advance just to make Tim grin at him and all Tim does is nod his head and move on to the next chapter.

It's driving Jason crazy. In an effort to prove to Tim that he can actually keep it in his pants he's even given up on sex -- it's been three whole weeks and Jason's going to die soon. Either that or he's going to develop carpel tunnel -- he's only half alien after all -- and Tim's not noticing for shit, but someone is.

"I've never seen anyone tie up an assailant with his own shoelaces," a voice says as Jason kicks the listless body below him one more time for good measure.

Jason hates gay bashing. He hates it a lot. He should probably check to see if the guy's still breathing, but right now he doesn't really care.

"I think you broke his jaw," Robin says matter of factly.

Jason just shrugs and brushes his bangs out of eyes. "He had it coming."

"Is that really your call to make?" Robin's right there in all sorts of costumey get up that Jason doesn't want and will never have. He doesn't want to be Clark. He doesn't do this for the attention and the stupid spandex.

"It is when people are being bothered over stupid shit," Jason says bitterly. "Life's hard enough without people fucking you over just because of how you look, or who your parents are, or who you want to take home."

"You shouldn't make it personal." Jason can't see Robin's eyes behind the mask, but Robin can see his.

"It's always personal," Jason spits. "You may not know what that's like, but I do," and then Jason's gone. He tries to keep the flying to a minimum in Gotham, because this isn't his home, and Clark would probably have a coronary if Jason got caught by the Batman doing this, but fuck Clark. Jason wants his dad. Jason wants his mom. He can hear the bricks rattling around him as he propels along.

According to his dad, there's a bit of a draft when you fly the Jason Express.

Every rooftop is like the other in Gotham, and Jason just sits for a while. He feels tired and doesn't know why. He doesn't get tired normally. Bored always, irritated, of course. He tries to keep the sullen and bitter thing under wraps, because really, this is just his life. Sometimes it doesn't work so well.

He doesn't hear Robin land, but he knows he's there. "You know stalking is against the law," Jason says easily.

"Are you going to arrest me?" Robin is right beside him, and Jason glances at him out the corner of his eye. His first assessment was right about the cape too: it's way too long. Robin should totally be tripping on it.

"I would arrest you, but the Batman would probably be pissed off if I did."

"He's just Batman, not The Batman."

Jason snorts. "We're not on a first name basis, so I'll stick with two names."

Robin perches on the ledge beside him. "Neither are we, and yet here I am."

When Jason turns Robin is eying him curiously. The lenses in his mask are up. Robin has blue eyes. "Jason," he says, "but you can call me, um, Kon."

Robin's mouth quirks. "Kon. Is that short for something?"

"No, not really." Kon-El is a bit much.

Robin's mouth twitches; Jason's never really noticed how nice his mouth is before. It's always been strictly business between them – except for the flirting. "No superhero name? No Super Flying Boy or Hot Boy or whatever?"

Jason laughs and feels it. It's not a chuckle or a snort, but a full laugh. It feels good. "Hot Boy, huh? Are you hitting on me?"

Robin just shrugs. "Maybe."

Jason blinks. "Huh."

"Would it bother you if I did?"

Jason snorts. "Would it bother me if Robin hit on me. Let me think about that -- uh no."

Robin opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He's concentrating on something and if Jason focuses he can actually hear the tinny transmission. "I have to go." Robin seems almost apologetic. Huh.

It's Jason's turn to shrug. "See you around," he says dismissively. He’s not getting excited because a superhero is hitting on him -- that would be so lame. He’s the son of the world’s biggest superhero -- everyone else should pale in comparison. Except that Jason’s not expecting it when Robin leans forward and kisses him.

It even takes him .002 seconds to realize there’s a mouth pressing against his own, and then he’s pushing back, parting his lips to graze Robin’s lower lip with his tongue. Someone makes this noise when their tongues brush against each other, it might be Jason, but who cares, because it’s good, and Jesus, Jason’s kissing Robin.

It would be horrible if Jason's skills chose this exact moment to fail him, so instead of flipping out he distracts himself for time. He brings his hand up slowly, letting the tips of his fingers run along Robin's forearm to his bicep, his nails snagging lightly on the material of Robin's costume, and then along his shoulder to the side of his neck.

Robin's hair is soft and the skin at the nape of his neck is slightly damp. Whether this is from the costume or body heat Jason's not sure, but he wouldn't really mind getting Robin out of said costume and finding out.

Robin kisses leisurely, like the Bat Phone didn't just call him away to stop terrorists from blowing up the Narrows or something equally perilous. It's a little confusing for Jason.

They're making out like, well, like teenagers, and Jason releases a really undignified moan when one of Robin's hands goes from his neck to his chest. It's not his fault because Robin's rubbing these soothing circles down Jason's chest, and Jason is making all sorts of noises that he hasn't made in a long time.

Jason never really thought about whether or not Robin would be good in bed, but now he's rapidly mapping out all sorts of filthy, sweaty images with Robin spread out naked on the roof, with Jason kneeling over him, hands by the side of his head and Robin's feet on his shoulders.

Jason can't even imagine how tight Robin would feel around him, but he certainly intends to find out. Jason plans to explore, mark, and lick every inch of pale skin he can get his greedy hands on.

He wants Robin impaled on his cock and gasping into the Gotham night. He can visualize Robin's knees on either side of his head, his hands on Robin's hips as he guides his cock forward and into willing Jason's mouth.

This is a very strong image. Jason hasn't been this hard in days -- he has to get Robin naked now.

They can have sex on Robin's cape; that would be so fantastically wrong.

And then he's falling backward off the ledge and landing on the rooftop on his back, because he really is that big of a dork.

"Are you okay?" Robin's standing over him, not even bothering to look concerned.

Jason waves him off, even though his dick is protesting loudly. "Go, save somebody, I'm fine."

Robin gives him a wry smile. "Whatever you say, Kon."


*


The summer before his ninth birthday, Jason had his first kiss. It wasn't a real kiss. At least he doesn't think it was. He got it from the daughter of Clark's best friend from high school. Her name was Laura Ross. Her father's name was Pete and her mother's name was Lana.

Jason only remembers these details because it was the first summer in Smallville that he spent with his grandmother. It was really hard at first for Jason to be away from his dad, but every weekend his dad and Clark would come visit and take him swimming.

There weren't a lot of kids for Jason play with at the farm, but his grandmother made a point of finding kids for him to hang out with, because she didn't want him spending all his time playing in the loft by himself. She said it was bad to spend too much time by yourself; she said Jason needed something called 'people skills.' So once a week she would take Jason to the Rosses, where Mrs. Ross would make him pink lemonade and cookies and ask him about Clark, and Mr. Ross would play catch with him and the Rosses eldest son, Cory.

Cory was three years older than Jason, a big boy of twelve, and Laura was a year younger than Jason at eight. The Rosses also had a little girl named Nell, who used to drool a lot and try to ride the family dog like a horse.

The kiss came about by accident as most things in Jason's life tended to, and he doesn't really remember much about how they ended up playing Hide and Seek in the forest, just that all three of them were under specific instructions not to leave the backyard and that they probably left to "explore" when Mrs. Ross was looking after Nell.

The details are hazy, but Jason remembers falling in a pile of leaves and sliding down a hill, and the pain which he'd never experienced before. He remembers the crying and the green sparkling dust on his knees and Laura staying with him while Cory ran for help.

She kissed his knees and said that that was what her mom did when she fell.

And eventually Jason stopped crying even though the sniffling took a little longer, and then there were voices calling his name. Laura ran off to get her mother, because Jason could hear Mrs. Ross not that far away, and it was all going to be okay –- and then Superman appeared.

He picked Jason up, even though he looked a little green himself when he did it, and he bit his lip when he dusted Jason's knees off.

Clark set Jason back on his feet and wiped his tears. "Are you okay?"

Jason sniffed and wiped his nose off on the back of his hand and gave Clark a wobbly smile. "'m okay," he said.

Clark nodded his head. "Okay."

And then Mrs. Ross stepped into the clearing and Clark was gone.

Two years later his dad started sending him to camp in Minnesota.

---

Jason's not a teenage girl, so he doesn't run around the university campus telling everyone that Robin just macked on him. But he wants to.

Really badly.

He could go find Bart and tell him, but then that would invariably lead to a questions about how exactly did Jason meet Robin, and how exactly did Jason get up on a roof to get macked on. There's an unspoken understanding between them that they're both "different," but this would be a little weird for anyone.

Truthfully, Jason's not worried about the flying conversation, inasmuch as he doesn't want to seem like a fawning fanboy. This is how he ends up watching Bollywood films with his next door neighbor, Geeta, at two in the morning.

Jason’s lying on Geeta’s roommate’s bed staring at the TV. He’s never met Geeta’s roommate, and according to Geeta, neither has she. "If her clothes weren’t there and the sheets on the bed changed, I’d think she didn’t exist," Geeta told Jason and Luke after the fifth month of not-seeing her roommate.

Geeta’s dancing around her room in her pajamas, doing things with her hips that would normally have Jason a lot more interested, except that he’s already got his attention focused somewhere else. "--on? Jason? Jason! "

"Huh?"

"Okay, Lane, cough it up. You’ve been more out of it than usual tonight, and that’s saying something. You normally drool all over yourself when you see Aishwarya Rai. I at least expect some non-rhythmic white boy dancing if you’re going to eat my samosas."

Jason looks down at the half-eaten veggie samosa in his hand. "Oh, I was just thinking," he answers vaguely.

Geeta laughs. "That’s novel for you," she says, plopping down on her bed and folding her legs underneath her. Geeta has a huge poster of Johnny Cash next to her bed, and her room is so small that if she and Jason both reached out they could grab hands. "So, what – no, this has to be a who – who are you mooning over?"

Jason stuffs the rest of the samosa in his mouth. "Nobody," he spits out, crumbs flying everywhere.

Geeta just snorts. "Riiight," she says extracting a brush from her sheets and beginning to attend to her glossy black hair. "You should work on that delivery if you’re trying to make it believable."


*


The first boy Jason ever kissed was Jamie Forman; they were thirteen and at Alice Hammond's birthday party.

Forty minutes before kissing Jamie, Jason had been kissing Heather Brooks in a game of Spin the Bottle. When the bottle landed on Jamie, Tom Ridgeworthy had protested that boys couldn't kiss boys, because that was queer. Alice disagreed. And so did Heather.

And so did Jason, because he had three dads.

Since Jamie cornered him in the bathroom later on and slobbered all over him, Jason figured he disagreed, too.

Even the school administration was on Jason's side.

A week later when the principal pointed out during an emergency assembly that tolerance must be extended to all sorts of people, he pointedly said that the message wasn't the problem -- the problem was vandalism.

Apparently the school administration frowned upon their students spray painting 'I LOVE QUEERS!' on the side of the gymnasium.

Everyone was really surprised at the six used spray paint cans found in Tom Ridgeworthy's locker during locker check -- especially since his grandfather had given the school the donation for the gym.

Everyone, of course, except Jason.


*


Jason can hear Tim's voice through the door, and it's only good manners for him to knock before he barges in, but this is college and Jason's a long way from his Grandma. "Tim, man, it's Thursday night, and we're in college, put down --"

The door is blocked by something, and Jason only gets halfway in the room to find Tim pulling on a shirt and some guy sprawled on Tim's bed in a black turtleneck and jeans. Tim has guests, well, just one guest.

Jason's a little caught off guard though, because there's a lot of naked Tim being covered up by his shirt. He's got these scars, and Jesus, Tim must play rough. "Jason, have you ever heard of knocking?"

"No, never heard of it; I must've been absent at school that day."

"Big surprise there," Tim snorts.

The guy on the bed sits up. "A man after my own heart." He's got dark hair and huge blue eyes. He's a lot older than Tim. Like a lot older. Of course it would figure that Tim has some hot older boyfriend. Now would be an excellent time for Jason to squash the competition with his superstrength, or possibly his heat-vision, but Tim might frown on that.

Jason eyes the guy curiously; now is not really a good time for jealousy, but Jason's timing has never been good. "Sorry, I didn't know you had company." The sarcasm makes every word crisp; he's not sorry at all.

"Oh, I'm not company," the guy says getting to his feet. "I'm family. Dick." He extends his hand. "You must be Jason."

And just like that, Jason's green-eyed monster is quelled in favor of burgeoning curiosity. "Are you Tim's brother?" he asks, shaking hands a little too long. "Cousins? Because, uh, I can sort of see the resemblance."

"I'm whoever you want me to be," Dick says with a grin, and just like that Jason's sold. He'll take his Dick Drake to go.

There's a massive groan from Jason's right -- Tim's covering his face with hands. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" and Jason's not sure if Tim means Dick or him.

"I just got here," Jason protests.

"He means me," Dick explains. "He never wants to introduce me to his friends, which I'm beginning to understand if they all look like you."

It's Jason's turn to blink, because wow, Dick really is flirting with him. Dick's grin is this huge, blinding thing and Jason might be in lust. Again.

"Jason, did you need something in particular?" It takes Jason a minute to realize that Tim's talking to him, because he's dated older women, but older men are an untapped resource, and if they're all like Dick, Jason's been wasting valuable time.

"Oh, yeah, um --" One glance at Tim, and Jason remembers what he came for. Tim's cheeks are flushed, and Jason blinks. One minute it's famine, the next it's hormonal flood. "There's a midnight screening at the Union, I figured we could see that, and then I could get you drunk on cheap beer and take advantage of you. But if you're busy --"

"I'm kind of busy," Tim hedges.

"No, he's not," Dick counters.

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Huh."

"If he won't go, I will," Dick drawls.

"No, you won't," says Tim.

Jason crosses his arms and leans back against the door. "If you two are going to fight over me, could you take off your shirts? I'm shallow that way."

Tim makes a derisive noise, but Dick laughs. "I can see why he likes you."

Jason's a little slow on the uptake, but uh, "You like me? You do not -- "

"The egotism could stand some work," Dick continues even as he's pushing them out of Tim's room, "but don't worry, Tim'll take care of that for you."

Which is how Jason gets his first non-date with Tim.


*


The first time Jason woke up floating over his bed he freaked out pretty badly. Well, he freaked out badly enough that he came crashing down to earth and broke the bed. He tried to fix it instead of telling his dad, which worked for two whole days until it happened again.

Jason swore he wouldn’t dream about Amy Masters again.

The third time it occurred, his dad happened to walk in. The look on his face when he opened the door and saw Jason floating against the ceiling was priceless, in that sort of "Jesus Christ, what the hell?" way. And then Jason crashed down, and his dad eyed him with amusement. "So, flying, huh?"

Jason couldn’t even find the words to explain that this was becoming a regular occurrence. All his dad said was, "I was thinking about pancakes for breakfast, and maybe some furniture shopping, and then we should probably call Clark."

The last thing Jason wanted to do was call Clark, because seeing Clark always seemed to make the skin around his dad’s eyes tight, but there weren’t exactly a whole lot of options open to him. It wasn’t like he could call up a flight school and say, "Yeah, so I’ve been flying a lot, in my bedroom, can you give me some landing pointers?"

By the time Jason had showered and dressed, the smell of pancakes was practically ordering him downstairs. Clark was standing by the island in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand, and Jason paused in the entranceway, because this was his house, and Clark wasn’t welcome anymore.

"Jason," Clark’s nod of acknowledgement made Jason’s teeth hurt.

"I thought he wasn’t coming until later," Jason spoke directly to his dad.

Richard frowned and handed Jason a plate stacked high with pancakes and bacon on the side. "Jason."

Jason sighed and set the plate down on the island and busied himself slathering on butter and pouring syrup. "Hello," he said grudgingly.

"You could actually sit at the table," his dad mocked. "It won’t bite you."

Both Jason and Clark looked up, but Clark looked away sheepishly when he realized Richard wasn’t necessarily talking to him. There was a long moment of silence, punctuated in strange places by Jason’s knife and fork and the sound of batter sizzling on a griddle. "Your dad tells me you’re having some flying issues," Clark said eventually.

Jason scoffed around a piece of bacon. "Sure, if you call waking up by bumping into the ceiling, and then crashing and breaking your bed a ‘flying issue.’"

Clark took a sip of coffee. "We can have you flying properly by lunch at the latest. Just be happy you haven’t started setting things on fire with your eyes. That one is a bitch to explain."

Jason choked on his bacon, and his dad frowned. "Clark, language."

It was interesting to see Clark blush after being chastised.


*


Jason’s second not-date with Tim is made over breakfast in the dining hall. Tim’s sitting alone, eating something that might've been oatmeal in a previous life, and flipping through a large book, when Jason drops down across from him with today’s excuse for pancakes. Jason’s drowned his in syrup in hopes that the sugar shock will cover for the taste.

"What are we studying?" he says between bites of his bacon. 90% of the food made in the dining hall is inedible, but they make up for it with the bacon, and nobody can screw up cereal.

"Byzantine history."

Jason nods thoughtfully. Well, as thoughtful as anyone who spent most of his sleeping hours stopping five muggings, three assaults and one would-be rapist can be at nine in the morning. "Who are you studying? Constantine? Justinian I? Theodosius II?"

Tim doesn’t look up. "Constantine."

Jason makes a hmming noise. "Not a lot to say about a man who claimed to see a flaming cross in the sky, you know? Christianity, yay, it’s always nice to see people thinking of ways to persecute each other in the name of the same god."

Tim glances up, and Jason feels stupidly pleased at the upturned corners of Tim’s mouth. "So there is something you pay attention to besides blowing things up and sex."

Jason smirks and pokes at his pancakes. "I like history. And sex. Sue me. Anyway, how else are you going to know what’s coming if you don’t know what’s already happened before?"

Tim blinks. "I didn’t realize you had so many opinions."

"I’m trying to impress you with my eloquence."

"You don’t have to try so hard with me, you know. Now if you really wanted to impress me, you could actually apply yourself in Calculus."

"Okay, can we not have the tutoring conversation right now? You’re sort of messing with my game."

"Your game?"

"Yeah, you know where I’ve been hitting on you for fucking ever, and you’re being extremely difficult and playing hard to get.”

Tim looks down at his book, but Jason can see the grin. "Oh, that game."

"Was there another game? I didn’t get the memo."

"Then you should check your e-mail," Tim says matter-of-factly.

Jason pokes at his breakfast again and shakes his head. "How about we go back to your place and I quiz you on history and check my e-mail at the same time?"

"All right, Mr. Lane, you’re on."

It takes Jason a minute to realize Tim’s said ‘yes.’


*


Jason met Lex Luthor for the first time when he was fifteen.

He’d read the articles, seen the news stories and the interviews, and investigated every piece of propaganda possible. He knew there was no love lost between Clark and Luthor, except that Clark wasn’t exactly Jason’s shining beacon of judgment.

If anything, Clark was an inducement to think better of Luthor.

Still, there was no fanfare, no great festivity for the prodigal son, no weeping embraces or apologies, just a chance meeting and perhaps that’s why Jason remembers it so well.

His dad had arrived in Smallville at ten-eighteen Saturday morning to pick up Jason and take him home to Metropolis. He'd been on assignment in Pakistani Kashmir for three weeks, and now it was back to Riverside Drive, with the dock where Jason had learned how to fish, and where Clark sometimes liked to hang out when Jason didn’t want to see him.

When they’d gotten home to Metropolis, his dad had taken him to his favorite Chinese restaurant to celebrate, even though the car was redolent of apple pie and baked chicken which his grandmother had insisted they take.

It was a dingy little place called Won Su’s that had the best hot and sour soup in the state, but the minute they’d walked in the door, Jason’s antennae had gone up in the way it always did when Clark was around -- except that this was different. This was less with the anxiety and more with the curious, it was the way Jason had felt about Superman before Clark had broken his dad’s heart.

Jason paused at the door, completely expecting Clark to push out of the ever-swinging kitchen door holding a plate of beef and broccoli, but instead his eyes had landed on the profile of a bald man in a lilac-colored Oxford shirt and a grim black woman standing beside his booth at attention.

Jason took a step back and ran right into his dad. In fact, he’d stood on his foot, and when his dad protested, Lex Luthor looked up and Jason just blinked.

Jason had always thought that if they ever met he'd know exactly what he wanted to say, but now he was at a loss. He didn’t even realize he’d stalked over to Luthor’s booth until the black woman had obstructed his path, only to snap back to attention at Luthor’s firm, "Leave him alone, Mercy."

Jason’s heart pounded loud enough to deafen everything in his mind, but someone who sounded like him said, "Do you know who I am?"

Luthor raised an eyebrow as though half-alien absentee sons approached him at greasy spoons all the time. "Jason, I know everything about you."

"Oh." Jason’s knees buckled from confirmation of what he’d already known. It was one thing to know he had three dads, but it was another to actually meet the missing piece over Peking duck.

He couldn’t breathe under the weight of all the weirdness, and he wanted to run away, far away from the confirmation that he really was as fucked up as he tried to pretend he wasn’t.

Luthor watched him curiously. Jason could feel himself being studied, and he stared back insolently.

He couldn’t turn away, even when Luthor was looking right past him, and then there was the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder and everything was okay. Or sort of okay, and it didn’t matter who’d given him his DNA, because Richard White had raised him. He could’ve been a Luthor or a Kent, but he wasn’t either one, he was just him.

"Mr. Luthor." Hearing his dad’s voice was like cold water.

"Mr. White."

"We were just –" when his dad paused, Jason caught his eye and he realized his dad was doing it on purpose. They could do whatever Jason wanted: stay, go, never talk about it again.

"We were, uh, going to have dinner," Jason finished gamely.

Luthor’s eyes never left Jason’s face. "I wouldn’t want to intrude, but you’re welcome to join me if you’d like."

Later on Jason realized he never hesitated when he said, "Okay."


*


"So, I was thinking you should go out with me and pick up girls," Jason says to Tim over his derivatives homework. He likes differential equations, because they’re not all about the fundamental theorem.

Jason hates the fundamental theorem.

"You’re back to sleeping with girls now?" Tim’s across the table from Jason, looking just as pale and twee as ever. Jason never thought twee was his type, and then he met Tim. If Jason reaches out he can touch Tim’s hand, but that’s just girlie.

"I was always sleeping with girls – or I was until I met you," Jason clarifies. "Now it’s just me and Miss Rosy Palm."

Tim snickering is progress. Sometimes the best thing you can do is to do nothing at all. Jason doesn’t subscribe to this theory, but he’s heard it works for other people who aren’t pursuing Tim Drake.

"Right," Tim’s face doesn’t show anything, but this is Tim so who really knows what he’s thinking. Jason sighs as Tim goes back to looking over his assignment for next week, which Jason actually spent more than 30 minutes working on. It’s all part of the plan.

"Do you see how celibate I'm being just for you?" Jason’s not wheedling, but it’s close. "But you’re being difficult, and I figure if we go out and pick up girls then I can figure out your type and get rid of the competition."

A muscle twitches in Tim’s temple. "You’re going to dress up in drag for me?"

"I hadn’t quite thought of it that way, but if that’s what you want --" To Tim’s credit he doesn’t even blink when Jason sits back in his chair and pulls his shirt off over his head. Jason’s wearing an undershirt though, since he’s trying the less is more approach – this is part of the plan too.

"You need to change this," Tim points to the variables on problem #12, and pushes the paper back over to Jason, who peers a bit closer.

"Is it hot in here?" he asks, his shirt inside out and hanging from his wrists. Other people probably haven’t resorted to stripping in one of the private studying rooms in the Thomas Wayne Library, but that’s not really his concern.

Tim makes a condescending noise and reaches into his backpack, pulling out a can of Zesti. "You can’t even think up a better pick up line than that?" he asks, pulling open the tab.

Jason sighs and pulls his shirt the rest of the way off. "I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t being so difficult."

"Jason, not everyone is going to fall at your feet just because you’re attractive."

Jason’s grin says it all. "So you do think I’m attractive!"

When Tim rolls his eyes, Jason’s grin broadens. "Stop fishing for compliments, you know you’re attractive, now act like you have a brain."

Picking up his pencil, Jason studies the problem as though he doesn’t know what he’s looking for -– if he deliberately produced the wrong answer there’s nothing wrong with that. "I don’t see it," he says pushing the paper back over to Tim. "Why don’t you show me again?"

Tim narrows his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel like a victim of extortion?"

Jason’s all wide-eyed wonder. "Extortion implies something evil and wrong; I’m just trying to get help from my tutor so that I don’t flunk out of school and have to spend the rest of my life selling my ass in the East End."

Tim raises an eyebrow in amusement. "A little dramatic, don’t you think?"

Jason sighs, leans across the table, flips his pencil around, erases the answer to problem #12, squints at it for a full ten seconds and then writes out the right answer. "Okay?" he asks, looking Tim squarely in the face.

He’s very much not expecting it when Tim closes the gap and kisses him. It’s quick and fleeting, and then Tim’s fingers are curled in the neckband of his tee shirt and it’s not so quick and fleeting. Tim watches Jason until he closes his eyes, and Tim doesn’t kiss the way Jason thought he would at all. Instead of calm, cool proficiency, it’s hot and wet and frantic -- and he bites.

When he lets go of Jason’s shirt, Jason’s eyes are still closed. When he opens them Tim’s fixing him with that blue-eyed gaze. "Huh."

Jason has the best verbal skills ever, and they only get better, because one minute he's half way over the table and the next Tim's shoved him back, and he flails for a moment before crashing into his chair, which miraculously doesn't dump him on his ass.

For a second he forgets how to breathe, because Tim's half way across the table – he's crawling -- and then he's climbing on top of Jason, and he may be lean, but Jesus, is he strong.

"I, uh, yeah, okay," is Jason's witty reply as Tim settles over him, and then they're kissing again, and finally, Jason is getting a return on his investment.

His entire body snaps to attention like a plant getting water after being neglected for weeks on end. Every cell, every muscle tenses, and his cock goes from its normal semi-tumescent state to full mast. At least some part of him knows how this dance goes.

Tim's lips are dry but not cracked. They're boy lips, not soft and full, but not too thin either. And he kisses well. Very well. If Jason could get him to slow down a bit, it would be even better, so Jason cups the sides of Tim's face and pulls him back slightly. Not enough to lose contact, just enough to show Tim what he wants -- although judging by Tim's noise of protest, he knows what he wants too.

It's almost March, and Jason's been working on Tim for weeks, so apparently Tim's been exercising some restraint too.

Jason's learned there's no real difference between kissing a boy or a girl; it all comes down to technique in the end. Tim uses just enough tongue – thankfully without the slobbering -- but his teeth.

Kon is really loving the nips along his bottom lip, his jaw, his neck. It's almost as nice as Tim writhing on his lap. Even with the Famous Making Out with Robin session under his belt, Jason's wound up pretty tightly, and if he ruins another pair of jeans because his cock couldn't be contained, that would really kind of spoil the whole thing.

Tim's breath is hot along Jason's neck, and his hands are tangling in Jason's hair. When Jason grabs his hips to hold on, hold him down, he can feel how hard Tim is. Each thrust he makes is met with another by Tim.

They're rutting and grinding in a feeble plastic chair, and then Jason's scrabbling for the fly of Tim's jeans, sliding his hand between denim and cotton, and fuck, Tim is so hot in his hand.

Jason makes a keening noise against Tim's lips as he strokes, and he can't hold on with Tim attacking him like this. With each stroke, Tim makes these bitten off moans, the chair is scraping across the floor with all the motion, and then Tim's gasping and shuddering in Jason's arms. His face is flushed and his lips red and swollen as he considers Jason through half-lidded eyes.

If Jason had seen this one coming, he would've locked them in the same room months ago. His head is still swimming, but his cock is straining against his pants, and when he looks up at Tim there's this incredibly devious grin on Tim's face.

Jason lets out a very unmanly yelp when Tim squeezes his cock hard through his jeans. And then Tim's on his feet and zipping up his pants. "Imagine what’ll happen if you really apply yourself next time," he says, grabbing his backpack and heading out of the door.

Jason just stares at the closed door for several moments. All the blood in his body has rushed to his groin, and he can't be too sure, but he thinks he liked things better when Tim didn't seem to be interested.


*


Jason had a girlfriend in high school named Tana, except they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend as much as they were friends with "benefits". Tana wanted someone to keep her parents off her back, and Jason just wanted to get laid. It worked out really well for both of them right up until the summer before their senior year when Jason met Charlie Sikes, an intern at the Daily Planet.

Charlie had brown hair that was too long, legs that went up to his neck and he hailed from El Paso, Texas. Jason had never met anyone from Texas before. It didn't help that 'Charlie' liked to say 'y'all' a lot and played the guitar like his life depended on it.

When he wasn't fetching lattes for the sports desk, he was learning about photography from Jimmy Olsen or talking about U.N. peacekeeping missions with Jason's dad.

If Jason's dad liked him, then he was good enough for Jason, which was how Jason ended having sex with Charlie in a Daily Planet broom closet, when Jason was supposed to be at home looking at potential colleges, and Charlie was supposed to be covering a conference at City Hall.

Everything would've turned out fine, except that as Jason was superspeeding out of the Planet he ran into Clark, who was superspeeding in from who only knew what.

Someone reeked of sex; Jason assumed it was him.

The probability of this meeting happening at this particular time had to be about 3.14 trillion to one.

And yet it happened anyway.

Only in Jason's life.

The next day Charlie was gone, and three weeks later school started up. To add insult to injury, Tana had met someone over the summer.

Jason was so pissed off that he didn't talk to Clark until Thanksgiving dinner in Smallville. His Grandma Martha wouldn't pass him the salt, and when he got up and stomped around the table to get it, she sent him back to his chair and made him ask Clark for it.


*


Jason’s not trawling for criminals, even though Tim left him frustrated enough to think he can take on The Joker himself. Instead, he’s trawling for Robins. Or, well, just one Robin in particular, but he’s not having the best luck.

Jason's gone through thirty-three days of almost celibacy for Tim.

The three weeks since Robin kissed him on a filthy Gotham rooftop don't count, because Robin hasn’t been back. Jason's been looking. Every time he ties up a mugger with their own shoelaces or trusses up a thug and deposits him outside the Gotham Police Station, he's on the look out for Robin, but no luck.

A few nights ago he thought he might've seen The Batman, but that freaked him out, so he went back to Halston and played PSP with Luke until he forgot about it altogether.

He's back on the prowl though, and he's got his superhearing in his favor, and --

"Kon, do you spend all your time lurking on rooftops, or is this a recent development?"

Jason smiles into the empty alley below him. Superhearing has nothing on Robin, and he files that away for future reference. "It's a new thing," he says, turning with a smirk.

Robin's standing not more than four feet away on the rooftop, wearing that damned red body suit again with the yellow cape. Not that Jason expected him to show up in jeans and a sweater, but the suit shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is. Gotham's as dark as tar at night, and Robin stands out like a liquor sign.

"I wasn’t planning on it," Jason concedes, "since I do have a life. But I met this guy a couple weeks ago, and then he took off and didn't even give me his phone number, so I thought I should drop out of school and stalk him."

Robin does the head cocking thing again. "A little dramatic, don't you think?"

Jason's dick twitches. He's been jerking off thinking about stripping Robin out of that damn suit for fucking ever at this point. Pavlov could've written about Jason Lane's response to red spandex. "You sound like someone I know."

"Someone you like I hope." Robin takes a step closer to Jason, and it takes Jason a second to realize that Robin's hitting on him. Again. His life rocks.

Jason licks his lips and blinks. He can't really read anything with Robin's mask on, but uh, yeah. "I do, um, like him I mean."

"Does that mean you're spoken for?"

Jason pauses for a moment. "Spoken for? Do people still talk like that outside of 19th Century English novels?"

Robin's mouth twitches at the corners. "And yet, you didn't answer my question."

Jason takes a step forward, and they're now separated by about two feet. "I think he would understand if I told him I was cornered by a superhero and was powerless to resist."

"Cornered by a superhero on a roof?"

"I'd leave out the roof part. What he doesn't know won't keep him up nights."

"That's a pretty flexible way of seeing it."

Jason laughs. "I'm standing on a roof in Gotham with Robin, who kissed me first, because he caught me tying up muggers with their shoelaces. A Robin who is wearing red spandex and black underwear on the outside of his clothes, which should not be nearly as hot as it is –" Jason's still talking when Robin closes the gap between them. "Would you like to explain that to somebody you like?"

There's something about Robin's smile that's extremely familiar, but that's crazy talk. Not everyone is a superhero is disguise. Jason's just predisposed to paranoia because of Clark -- and because Tim left Jason with a hard-on in the library and all that frustration probably cost him about a million brain cells.

"I can see how that might sound a little suspect." Robin's breathing on Jason right now, and Jason knows it's supposed to be cold out because it's March in Gotham, but he's feeling pretty hot himself. "So I suggest a compromise."

"Compromise," Jason parrots. Robin's so close to him that he can see the stubble along his jaw. Somebody didn't shave before making the rounds. Also, the mask thing is driving Jason to distraction because he can't read Robin's face, but you don’t ask a superhero to remove his mask. Jason read that in Warrior Angel No. 214.

"I give you a blow job, and then you don't have to confess anything, because technically, you didn't do anything."

Jason's hears the words. He knows what they mean. He's still processing though when Robin's on his knees, unfastening Jason's jeans, and pulling down his boxers, and holy fuck if there's a crime happening right now, it's totally going to have to wait.

One minute they're talking, and the next Jason has a superhero sucking his cock. If he had known how today was going to go he would've gotten up earlier, and like, kissed babies, or tried to cure AIDS, or gone to Atlantic City.

Robin's mouth is hot and wet, and it's been way way way too long since Jason's had a blow job. Robin's fingers are stroking the thin skin along his oblique, curling around his hip, with a grip that belies his size. Oh god, Jason could die a happy half-alien right now.

He's been pursuing Tim for about two months, and he hasn't seen Robin in three weeks, and – and he's getting his dick sucked, so who fucking cares?

Jason's clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides, because he really wants to touch Robin, but who knows the etiquette for getting sucked off a on a roof by a superhero who's making really loud, wet noises?

"Can I -– can I –-" Jason's waving his hands about like a spazz, and it would be so funny if Robin weren't mouthing the head of his cock. His hands are curled around Jason's thighs, his lips are red and wet, and Jason's left knee almost buckles at the sight.

"I won't break, if that's what you mean," Robin says, and then he's going back down on Jason's cock, sucking over and over. It's wet and hot, and loud. Jason twitches as he pets Robin's hair, and his fingers get tangled of their own accord. He keeps meaning to work on the hair-pulling, but it never happens.

Robin's tugging on Jason's balls, sucking him as Jason pets his hair, and Jason thinks life has to suck for other people who don't have their own superheroes.

He gets a quick flash of his dad and Clark and wobbles dangerously, but Robin's hands are there, and Jason's making these whimpering noises like he's going to die.

And then he sort of does. The only reason he doesn't fall on his ass is because of Robin.

Yay for superheroes.

He helps Robin to his feet, and doesn't quite know what to say, so he busies himself with pulling up his jeans. When he looks up Robin's tongue is licking something from the corner of his mouth, and Jason's cock starts to gear up for round two.

"So, um, yeah, can I return the favor?" Jason motions to Robin's crotch, looking down at the black spandex, and is that spandex or something else, because Jason can't see anything. It would be wrong to X-ray Robin's jock after he blew him.

Jason does it anyway.

"It's booby trapped," Robin says.

"But you could help me," Jason points out.

"What about your friend?"

It takes Jason a moment. "Oh, well, yeah, but he sort of left me today."

Robin's mouth twitches again in that almost-smile. "Maybe try him tomorrow."

"Can I try you tomorrow?" Jason asks.

This time he gets a real smile. "We'll see," Robin says, moving around Jason, and onto the ledge a few feet away.

"When am I going to see-–" but Robin's already gone.


*


The day his superhearing kicked in, Jason freaked out so badly that he hid on top of a glacier in Greenland until Clark found him sitting in his bathrobe with his knees on his elbows and his hands over his ears. The cracking of ice yielding to global warming was deafening, but it was better than the screaming and the shouting, the abuse, the cries, the everything.

Except Clark said he couldn’t hide, and it was on the tip of Jason’s tongue to point out that Clark had a lot of nerve in his blue spandex. Clark just took it, like he took a lot of Jason’s anger and confusion, and he taught him how to tune things out. Everything from the sound of ants marching to 757s taking off at Logan International had to be filtered out, and now Jason has to make an effort if he wants to hear his dad yelling at the TV because the Sharks suck again this season.

Sometimes he listens in for his dad’s typewriter in his home office or the sound of Clark zipping back and forth around the world. He only listens for the Flash when he can't sleep, because tracking him is a mental work out. Jason can hear the birds chirping in Smallville when he talks to his Grandma Martha, but most of the time he only hears what’s directly around him. So it’s not as though he’s eavesdropping when he goes to visit Tim. He’s still at the other end of the hall when his hearing kicks in, and he’s not sure what he was expecting to hear –- probably something salacious like Tim jerking off –- but Tim seems more like a shower masturbator, if only to keep things clean.

Jason doesn’t think about Tim jerking off all the time -– just a lot of the time. Except that today is different, because it's the day after the day before, and Jason's still only seen snippets of Tim’s body so the image is a little convoluted. Scars and pale skin, long thin fingers wrapped around a hard cock and water running in rivulets down Tim’s chest.

Jason really likes the slender, flexible thing Tim has happening. Tana was incredibly lithe like Tim and she sucked cock like a vacuum.

Now he’s really digressing, but sometimes he totally misses how uncomplicated things were with her.

The point is that Jason's not trying to listen to a garbled conversation between Tim and someone who sounds like Dick. Except that there is a lot of interference, like when he tries to eavesdrop on things at N.I.H., and Tim keeps calling Dick ‘N’ and he sounds irritated. He keeps saying he’ll tell when he’s ready.

He doesn’t want him to know. Not yet.

Jason’s not the suspicious type, not really, but he knows cryptic when he hears it.

He knows when people are keeping secrets.


*


The first time Jason realized he wasn't like the other children was at Lizzie Grier's sixth birthday party. She had a piñata; Jason had never seen a piñata before. He was excited, maybe a little too excited. The last thing he saw before Lizzie's mom blindfolded him was his mom's big smile and his dad's wink, and then he was spun around and around and around.

Jason had never really dealt with orientation before, but he thought he knew where he was going. He thought he knew where the piñata was. So he swung.

And someone shrieked.

And then someone screamed.

There was a lot of blood in a broken nose apparently.

Lizzie didn't talk to him for the rest of the year.


*


Jason doesn't know what he's looking for. Doesn't know who he's looking for, but he's fairly certain that it should be a lot harder for Jason to find out that Tim Drake is Bruce Wayne’s ward.

It should certainly be a lot harder for Jason to put the pieces together and realize that Dick isn’t Dick Drake, but Dick Grayson, who also just happens to be a ward of Bruce Wayne.

And it probably would’ve been a lot harder, if Jason hadn’t gone next door to Geeta and asked her to do a little background checking. He could’ve done it himself, but what were friends for, if not to use their considerable computer skills for the greater good?

It takes Geeta fifteen minutes of Jason looking over her shoulder to hack the school’s mainframe and pull up Tim’s records. When she sees Bruce Wayne’s name, she just gives Jason a piercing look. "You know he’s the one who built the library, right?"

Jason cocks an eyebrow. "Thomas Wayne Library?"

"Yeah, that's his dad -– in sociology we studied modern day philanthropy and the ways in which people use it to exorcise their guilt about being so damn rich."

Jason scoffs. "If you know any rich people who are being weighed down by their money guilt, let me know."

"I hear that," Geeta laughs. "Seriously though, Bruce Wayne has a way of going above and beyond."

"You mean apart from giving away his money?"

"Well, yeah, see I knew Wayne had a ward of some kind, but I thought his name was Dick."

"Dick?"

"Dick -– Dick Grayson." Geeta snaps her fingers. "That’s it."

"Huh."

"Huh, what, Lane? Is this Drake boy the reason you’ve been washing regularly for a change?"

Jason just snorts. "Everybody’s a comedian," but it’s about then that things start to happen very rapidly in his brain.

Clark knows Bruce Wayne, or at least he’s interviewed him -- Jason’s read the articles. For all the problems he has with Clark as a person, Jason respects him in a manner of speaking. He’s Superman, he tries for Jason, and he’s won Pulitzer Prizes. Both Jason's mom and his dad have loved Clark fiercely, so he can’t be all bad. Not when Jason has memories of Clark teaching him how to hook a worm, and taking him flying before he could do it on his own.

Before Jason got older and started noticing the grey in his dad’s hair and decided that Clark was the enemy.

Anyway, if Jason asks Clark then Clark will tell his dad, and Jason doesn’t want a snitch; he wants facts. "Geeta, um, I’ve gotta go."

Geeta waves him off. "I’m going to check some stuff out, you know, while I’m snooping around. Did you want a print-out of this stuff, or what?"

Jason’s already got his hand on the doorknob. "No, I’m good, thanks though."

"Whatever. Get me some alcohol and we’ll be even."

"You’ve got it." Except when Jason leaves Geeta, he doesn’t go to procure underage booze, or even to his scheduled tutoring session with Tim. Instead he flies to Metropolis to see his dad.

His other dad.


*


When Jason was sixteen he found his mother's old superhero scrapbooks in a chest in the attic. The chest was an old battered wooden thing, covered with the dust motes of age and neglect, and when Jason toyed with the lock it disintegrated in his hand. Whether that was down to age or strength he couldn't really say, but after he opened the chest and saw the scrapbooks, he knew exactly what they were without even needing to open the cover.

He picked up the blue leather book that held innumerable clips about all the superheroes he'd idolized, and the red cloth book his mother had reserved just for Clark, and took them downstairs, his footsteps light and even, like he was floating.

He stalked through the living room, opened the sliding doors, and walked barefoot through the grass, down the dock to the very end.

He stood there for some time, holding the books at arms length until they burst into flames.

That was the day Jason's heat vision kicked in.


*


Jason’s never been inside LexCorp towers. He’s seen them before from his dad’s office at the Planet, and he’s walked past them on field trips to City Hall. He’s even used them as a landmark when he’s gotten lost, because if you can’t find the 80 story building in the middle of town, you have problems. Still, it’s slightly imposing to walk inside the cavernous marble foyer in his holey Chuck Taylors as though he has a right to be there, and then it occurs to him that he does. He has more right than almost anybody else, which is probably why he thinks the sixteen security cameras are tracking his movements as he approaches the receptionist.

She’s young, not much older than Jason, and she’s speaking rapidly into her headset. It takes him a minute to realize she’s speaking Hindi, and he only recognizes it because Geeta loves to listen to her Bollywood soundtracks at 4am.

He pauses at the behemoth glass desk, and picks up the pen to sign in, but the receptionist stops him. "Welcome to LexCorp, Mr. Lane, if you just follow Hope she’ll take you to see Mr. Luthor."

Jason thinks he should be surprised, and then he thinks about who Lex Luthor is and just gives her his most winning smile, following her head nod to a tall blonde woman who looks as though she hasn’t smiled since Jason was a baby.

The ride up in the elevator is quiet, like to the point that Jason starts feeling a little paranoid, because the blonde woman has three guns strapped in various places, and Jason doesn't know if he's bulletproof, but he's not really interested in finding out.

The elevator doesn’t chime, it just stops and the doors open, and there’s Lex Luthor standing in the middle of a glass wonderland, pristine in a crisp navy suit and white Oxford.

Now’s not really the time for Jason to have an ‘Oh shit, what the fuck am I doing moment?’ That should’ve happened about five minutes ago, so he steps out of the elevator and into who knows what, because when Lex said he knew everything about him, Jason had sort of thought he was joking. Now he’s thinking not so much so.

It’s been three years since Jason’s seen him, but it doesn’t seem as though his other dad has aged a day, and it occurs to Jason that one of the reasons that he tries not to think too hard about Lex is that he doesn’t know how to think of him. He’s not Dad, or Clark, or Luthor, despite whatever Superman calls him, he’s just – he’s Jason’s other genetic donor.

"Hi, Mr. Luthor." Jason doesn’t know whether to shake hands or hug or whatever so he just stands there surrounded by the sort of wealth that he only sees on TV. Floor to ceiling windows, plush leather chairs, marble, all the trappings that he could’ve had if he’d ever run away like he’d planned.

"Jason, this is a pleasant surprise, and please, Lex –- I told you to call me Lex." Lex gestures towards a grey leather sofa with light purple trim and it shouldn’t work at all, but it does. The smell of so much leather is a bit overwhelming. When Jason sits down he feels like he’s stepped into a leather bar in the East End.

"Lex," Jason tries it on just for size. It doesn’t sound as strange as he thinks it should.

"Better -- can I get you something to drink?"

Jason shakes his head. He can just imagine spilling it everywhere already. Lex sits across from him in an armchair, legs crossed. Waiting. He’s studying Jason, and then it hits Jason that he’s wearing ratty jeans and a red sweater with blue stains on it.

After the Tim thing and the Robin thing, he was little wired, so he spent most of the night in the Chem lab trying to make fire turn purple with Kool-Aid.

He brushes at the stains just to show that he knows how he looks. "I was messing around in the Chem lab," he says by way of explanation, and at this Lex smiles.

"You’re studying Chemistry?"

Jason gives him a wry grin. "For some reason I feel like you already know this."

Lex’s answering grin says it all. "I’d rather hear it from you."

"Stretching your parental muscles?"

At this Lex raises a slender eyebrow, and Jason realizes that this is where he picked up this habit. He's spent so long trying to fight against becoming like Clark – which seems to be more of a losing battle every day – he's never thought very hard about what sort of genetic memory he might have inherited from Lex. "Does that bother you?"

Jason shrugs. "Would you stop if it did?"

"Probably not," Lex concedes.

"Good, then let’s talk parental advice."

Lex doesn’t even look fazed, but there’s a hint of something that might be intrigue. "Parental advice that can’t come from your other two fathers?"

"We can analyze your parenting skills later; what will you tell me about Bruce Wayne?"

Lex cocks his head to the side; it reminds Jason of Tim in an odd sort of way. "I notice you said 'will' instead of 'can', which makes me ask what you want to know about Bruce that you can’t find out on the Internet or by asking your parents."

"I want to know about his ward, Tim Drake."

Lex sits up a little straighter at the second part. Jason continues onward, in for a penny, in for the proverbial pound. "And Dick Grayson."

"Jason, I don’t know what you think I know, but --."

"I’m sleeping with Tim."

It’s a lie, but it could be the truth, and when Lex actually blinks Jason can see that there’s something he should know. It feels good to surprise Lex. Jason will keep the victory dance for later.

Lex’s eyes narrow. "You’re what?"

Jason narrows his eyes in response. "If you’re going to give me a lecture about unprotected sex, you can save it; I’ve read all your press from when you were young. There’s nothing I’m doing that you didn’t do, too. Hell, by your standards I’m ready for sainthood."

Lex gets to his feet and stalks over to a glass liquor cabinet. His back’s to Jason, but over the clinking of ice cubes Jason can hear soft muttering about "not going to happen to him too" and "keeping secrets" and "that fucking idiot" – Jason doesn’t think he’s the idiot, but Lex is clearly concerned that something’s going to happen to somebody.

Probably him.

When Lex turns back around he has a wry smile on his face and glass of something brown in his hand. "There’s something you should know about Tim Drake, but it’s not my place to tell you what it is."

Jason’s scowl is reflected in Lex’s smirk, but before he can protest, Lex carries on. "You’re pissed off that I won’t tell you, I can see that. I’d be angry too, so remember how you feel at this exact moment."

Jason’s on his feet. "I didn’t come here to be babied."

Lex takes a sip of his drink. "If I thought for two seconds this was something you had to know immediately I’d tell you myself, but I’ve been where you are, and believe me you want to hear this from Mr. Drake yourself."

"So, this was all for nothing." Jason doesn’t know what he thought Lex would tell him, but at least now he knows for certain that there’s something he’s missing.

"It’s never for nothing, Jason," Lex says, setting his glass on the counter behind him and walking across to his desk. He taps something on a hidden console and one of the east-most windows slides down and a concrete slab slides up to fill in half its place. It’s like a makeshift balcony. Jason can feel the breeze as the air currents shift around him.

"Stand over there, behind the curtains," Lex points to the dark drapes in the corner, "and I’ll show you something."

Jason’s doubt must be pretty obvious, but Lex arches an eyebrow again, and Jason goes and stands in the corner. He feels a bit like he’s suffering from a latent grounding for something or other, and he’s still turning around when he hears Lex holler "CLARK!"

It’s a testament to something that it takes Clark less than 30 seconds to show up, Jason’s just not sure what it’s a testament to. For as long as he can remember Clark’s been firmly anti-Luthor anything and everything, never mind how he acts as Superman. And yet, it’s only when Jason narrows his eyes that he realizes that Lex called Clark and not Superman.

"Luthor, unless you’re ready for me to take you to jail—-"

"Knock off the John Q Law thing, Clark." Lex’s tone is all easy ambivalence. "It’s boring and I’m tired."

"Tired of running from the law probably."

"You hurt me deeply with your condescension. As an upstanding citizen, who always pays his taxes, I think I may have to complain to my congressman."

"Knock it off, Luthor. We both know your idea of an upstanding citizen is one who can be bought and put on your payroll."

"I'll have you know that I pay taxes on all my employees – the legal and the illegal ones. And while we could do this all day, I'm getting off track. I had a visitor today."

"From who, the Ghost of Christmas Past? Did he tell you to change your evil ways?" Jason’s never heard this side of Clark before, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

"No, but he told me you’re getting nothing but coal and Kryptonite in your stocking this year."

"Doing good is the gift that keeps on giving." Ah, there’s the sanctimonious Superman that Jason knows, and he wonders for a moment how Clark isn’t seeing him, and then it occurs to him that the curtains must have lead in them somewhere, because he can’t see much besides Lex’s profile either.

"You’re mistaken, Clark," Lex snarks, "Herpes is the gift that keeps on giving."

"Oh, and you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?"

"It’s not like I could’ve given it to you if I had it, which I don’t. No, the real gift that keeps on giving is a mutated immune system."

"Lex, we’ve been over this fifty times. I was three years old when I got here, it’s not something I did on purpose."

"Today makes fifty-one, and I wasn’t blaming you, I was thanking you, but of course you won’t let me, because I'm a paragon of evil."

"Please, the last time you tried to thank me I almost ended up on a slab in the morgue."

"You're difficult, I had to try a different tack. I used to buy you presents, but you kept returning them. I’m still bitter about those Radiohead tickets, you know."

Jason can hardly keep up with them. This isn't an argument between two people who hate each other, it’s not even heated -- it’s bantering. Sarcastic, friendly bantering. Listening to this conversation tells him more about Lex and Clark than he's ever imagined. Not that he ever imagined this.

The bantering reminds him a little of Tim and him – except it’s got an edge, and that’s when he realizes that they’re not bantering, they’re flirting.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ in a cornfield.

"Lex, I was fifteen and setting things on fire with my eyes, excuse me for being a little confused about knowing you were after my ass."

"Everyone was after your ass, Clark, and they still are, you just couldn’t see them for Lana."

There’s a pause in the dialogue, and when Clark answers there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. "Do you really want to have the Lana conversation?"

Jason can see Lex actually tap his foot, which is weird, because it’s an almost excessive movement for someone who seems so still. There’s a long silence, wherein Jason prays Lex and Clark aren’t making out, because the weirdness of that would send him straight back to Gotham and right to the front door of Student Counseling.

"So, who is this visitor that you had today that you just had to tell me about? There are these things called phones -- I’ve heard they work real well, especially for billionaires who can replace them after they've run farm boys off bridges."

"So, you finally admit that I ran you over. Well, that only took twenty-five years."

"Lex, c’mon, I have to get back to work. What’s so important that you had to see me right now?" For a horrible second Jason thinks that Lex is going to tell Clark about he and Tim, and oh god, that’s one conversation he does not want to have. Ever.

"I had a talk with our son’s Chemistry professor today. She says he’s doing much better since he’s gotten a tutor." Jason blinks, because Lex knows Professor Bernhardt?

Of course he does.

Lex is still talking. "She said he didn’t need the tutor as much as he needed to focus. She thinks he could be brilliant but he just doesn’t apply himself."

Jason can sense the wry amusement in Lex's tone, and at the moment he’s not sure if Lex is talking to Clark or to him. He kind of feels like an eight year-old kid who’s hearing about a parent-teacher conference, except that his dad’s not there. But the other two are. His life is so fucking weird.

"Lex," there’s something in Clark’s tone that Jason can’t quite identify.

"Clark, I may have let someone else raise him, but he is still my son. I let him stay with Richard White because you asked me to, but don’t push me on this."

"I know you did—-" Clark’s voice dies off.

"I did it for you. We both know that."

"Lex—-"

Jason’s ears start ringing, and he’s not sure how long he stands there, but it doesn’t actually occur to him for five whole minutes that Clark has slept with both of his dads and his mom. Actually it’s more like four minutes and forty-two seconds. Wow, is he fucked up.

When Jason looks up again, Lex is watching him from the window, and when Jason peeks around the curtain, Clark is gone.

"You wanted to raise me?" Jason’s voice is high-pitched and the words are slightly stuttered. They fall from his mouth as though he’s forgotten how to use his tongue.

Lex considers him carefully for long minutes, and Jason stands tall. "I want what’s best for you -- so I let you stay with your dad."

Jason swallows. He could’ve had all this, but he wouldn’t have had his dad. "Do you regret it?" He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear, he just wants to know.

"When I see you?" A pause. "No."

If Lex is lying to him, Jason can’t tell. "And when you don’t?"

Lex slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. "All the time."

Jason doesn't know what to say.

Lex carries on blithely. "That doesn't mean that I'm going to tell you that Bruce Wayne is Batman though – that wouldn't fall under the heading of good parental discretion."

Jason can feel how big his eyes are. "Huh."

Jason knows Lex's smile. He gives it all the time when he's about to go in for the proverbial kill. "I'm sure you can figure out the rest on your own," Lex says blandly. "After all, you are my son."

-----

Clark moved out of Riverside Drive eight days before Jason's twelfth birthday as a birthday present to Jason. At least that's what Jason told himself it was at the time; he'd asked for it specifically.

He'd sent the e-mail to Lex and everything. Well, he'd thought about sending it, but the draft remained in his e-mail until it vanished one day. Jason assumed it'd just deleted itself.

Regardless, he had embraced the boxes and the tattered suitcase, ignoring the way his father looked as though he'd forgotten how to sleep or eat. He told himself that once Clark was gone his dad would be happier, better, less depressed, that he would stop looking so sad and betrayed.

He was wrong. That took a lot longer.


*


He's somewhere over Ohio when all the pieces finally come together.

Jason's not really big on explanations or justifications, because they just give people room to lie or mislead or point out that, hey, Jason has three dads, one dead mom, and a grandmother who makes the best cookies ever. Those are details, but they're not who Jason is. Of course, Jason doesn't quite know who he is either, but after seven months at Gotham University he's starting to find out. He’d thought it was heartburn from the lamb vindaloo he’d gotten from Geeta, but it makes sense now.

Supervillians and heroes apparently stick together because the difference between them is all a matter of perception. Everyone's going a different way to see the same thing. It’s in all the Warrior Angel comics Jason’s ever read. It certainly explains why no one's ever pinged him for all the flying and the do-gooding. Huh.

How did Jason not see this before? Robin works for Batman, Nightwing works with Batman too. If Bruce Wayne is Batman then Dick and Tim, well -- and Clark must know Batman, which means –- oh.

So, Tim doesn't like him at all.

And neither does Robin.

It's just a way to keep an eye on him.

Well –- well, shit.

Most people would knock before entering someone else's dorm room, but since Jason's coming through the window and not the front door, he doesn't really think it matters at this point.

Deceptive façades are for parents, and if Tim doesn't want visitors then he should keep his windows closed.

Jason had wondered how Tim had gotten the single room -- boy, does this explain a lot.

He perches on the windowsill, not really on it as much as hovering over it. Tim's at his desk, his head is bent over what Jason assumes is homework, but who knows with him. The nape of his neck is long and pale, and Jason wants to touch it, except he doesn't even know anything about this person, he just knows what he's been presented with.

It takes Tim eight whole seconds to realize he's there. Well, seven seconds and thirty-two microseconds, and when he whirls around he's holding something that Jason very much assumes is a stun gun.

In the time it takes Jason to blink, the device disappears and Tim's up, his chair clattering to the floor. "Jason, what the –- why are you -– Jesus Christ, we're on the fourth floor!"

Tim's across the room, presumably to yank Jason inside, but Jason holds out a hand and hops into the room on his own. Tim brushes past him, glancing out the window. "Did you climb up here?" he asks, blue eyes wide. "How did you-–"

Jason can smell his shampoo and soap and something else. Leather. Spandex? Can you smell spandex? He finds himself nuzzling the side of Tim's neck curiously. It's not a sexual thing, it's all science.

Jason is not stupid. He just acts like it sometimes.

Tim's expression is all puzzlement and something that might be distraction. He makes this muted sigh when Jason breathes against the soft skin behind his ear. "Jason, seriously," he says, breaking away to close the window. "Did you climb up? Are you crazy? You could've killed yourself! What the hell are you doing? I thought after making out you were going to stop with the stunts."

Jason's grin is less amusement and more predatory. "Well, you see what happens when you leave someone with blue balls. That's not nice, but I suppose bats don't play nice. Hey, at least now you can stop pretending that you don't know about my abilities, right?"

Tim's still for a fraction of a second that no one else except Clark would catch. When he turns around his face is calm –- entirely too calm. "Where were you? We had a tutoring session, the least you could've done was call—-"

"Yeah, I would've, but I had to go see a man about a bat."

Jason displays his teeth; Tim watches. Clearly this is all that Jason's going to get. "Did you hit your head?"

Jason moves away from the window and sprawls out on Tim's bed. Tim's the only college student he knows who makes his bed every day. "Well, it’s like this, I have a crush on this guy. Really hot. Likes to wear leather fingerless gloves. Goes around with his underwear on outside his clothing, it’s a little kinky, but I can hang in there. Or I could've hung in there, but then I found out he was lying to me, and I'm not really big on liars."

Tim leans against the wall next to the window in a passable facsimile of amusement. It's only the tightness around his eyes that gives him away. Tim never grew up with Richard White -- Jason knows this look. "So, you're into spandex now? I guess I didn't get that memo."

"That's okay," Jason smirks, "I had my dad make copies. I'm sure I can get you one."

Jason's hearing is fine tuning itself, and he can actually hear Tim's heart beat increase fractionally. "Your dad?"

"I told you I had to go see a man about a bat," Jason explains slowly. "Which part of that isn't in English?"

Tim pushes away from the wall and rubs his face with his hands. "Okay, you've lost me. We're clearly not on the same page since you keep talking about bats and memos."

Jason stands up, directly blocking Tim's path back to his desk and the stun gun Jason's not supposed to have seen. "How about we discuss the memo that we both got –- you know the one where you're Robin, and you've been watching me for the last few months for Batman -- or god forbid, Superman. And all the while I've been banging my head against the wall thinking you might actually like me for me."

The entire time Jason's talking his voice is detached and flat; it's the voice he always yearns for when he's talking to Clark while he's wearing his Superman outfit. Except with Clark he tends to come out sarcastic and sullen.

"Jason, what the hell are you talking about?" Tim looks fairly distressed at Jason's words, "Are you on something?"

Jason's had enough. "You and I both know that Kryptonians, or half-Kryptonians as the case may be, can't get drunk, or stoned, or anything worthwhile. Feel free to stop bullshitting me any day now. Clark's always telling me how smart "The Bats" are after all."

Tim blinks.

Jason doesn't even realize he's levitating until his head hits the ceiling. The rooms in Powell Hall are a little claustrophobic.

"Jason-–"

"Just fucking save it, Tim," Jason spits. "Or do you prefer Robin?"

Tim sighs and rubs his temples. "I don’t prefer -– I mean -–"

For the first time Jason can remember, Tim's at a loss for words.

"You could've just told me," Jason snaps. "You can't possibly think I wouldn't understand. I'm a fucking experiment! I have three dads! You could've just said you were supposed to keep an eye on me, you didn't have to –- to --" Jason doesn't even know what to say. He's tired and he's disappointed. He hurts.

Everything hurts.

He wonders if this is how his dad felt after he found out about Clark being Superman.

"You know -- I really liked you," he says quietly.

"Jason, it's not-–" Tim's at his feet, craning his neck to meet Jason's eyes, but Jason doesn't want to hear it.

"Whatever," and just like that he's gone, crashing through Tim's window, bits of glass tickling his facing as he escapes into the Gotham night.

He can hear Tim calling for him. For Kon. For both of them who are just the same messed up college freshman.


*


When Jason was fourteen Clark gave him a tiny lead box that was apparently made from the armor of St George. He said it was a family heirloom. Jason put the box away and forgot about it until a few months after his sixteenth birthday.


*


Jason hasn't flown home to see his dad in weeks. He wasn't planning on doing it tonight, either, but he's drained. He just wants to feel safe and loved for a little while. Gotham is like a parasite, and he just wants to be with someone who won't lie to him.

The lights are on on the dock, and Jason's pretty surprised to see his dad standing outside on the porch holding a mug. He's wearing his favorite Sharks sweatshirt and jeans, and if Jason didn't know better he'd say his father was expecting someone, but that's just crazy talk.

Jason doesn't land as much as he crashes right into him. "Whoa –- hey –- what are you doing here?" his dad says, spilling coffee everywhere as Jason hugs him.

Richard White has aged over the years. Where Clark and Lex don't seem to change, Jason's dad is definitely getting older. His brown hair is shot through with grey and he wears glasses regularly now. Jason hugs him again and then steps back. "A guy can't come and visit his old man every now and then without expecting the Spanish Inquisition?"

His dad's smile helps a lot of the tightness in Jason's chest. "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," his dad says solemnly.

Jason's smile only hurts a little bit.

His dad eyes him curiously. "You okay, son?"

Jason shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm okay."

His dad doesn't look like he believes him, but he doesn't pry, and Jason thinks of that Robert Frost quote his English teacher likes about home being the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.

Jason's shoulders droop as his dad slings an arm across his shoulders and turns him towards the house. "I feel compelled to tell you that I'm here if you want to talk about it, but since we're men you probably won't, and then we can just eat the pie your Grandma Martha sent me instead."

Jason looks up at the man who raised him, who loves him regardless of biology, and he feels better. So much better. It doesn't matter how he was made, what matters is who he is. "Is there ice cream to go with this pie?"

"That depends -– are you spending the weekend so I can actually see you, or is this just a pit stop?"

Jason didn’t even realize it was Friday night. "I'm staying. On Monday you may not even be able to get rid of me."

His dad ruffles Jason's hair. "I'm never getting rid of you if I can help it."


*


Jason had friends in high school. Not close friends, not really good friends, but people that he liked hanging out with. People who liked hanging around him, and who would cover for him with his dad if he was clubbing in the city, because he was good-looking and semi-popular, and because he used his abilities without actually making them obvious.

Jason always tried to appear to be like everyone else.

Except he wasn't. And he was never going to be. And every time he saw a photo of Superman in someone's locker, he was reminded of that.


*


On Monday morning, Jason arrives back on campus ten minutes before his Chem lab. He expected to get back to Gotham sooner, but his dad loaded him up with so much food over the weekend that he was a little heavier on the way back. Thankfully, Luke's already left for his Japanese class, so Jason can just zoom through his shower and getting dressed.

There are papers on Jason's bed with Luke's scrawl and his name is all over their message board along with notes and a reminder that he's supposed to have lunch with Luke and Geeta at one.

He's got three minutes to get across campus, because they're playing with polypeptides today, but when he pauses at his desk he sees all the post-its Luke's left.

Tim called. Tim stopped by. Tim called again. Tim called. Tim stopped by.

Tim is a STALKER!!!! OMG, CALL HIM!!1!!11

Whatever.

Jason resolutely spent the entire weekend not thinking about Tim. Except for when he was thinking about Tim. Or when he was reading the newspaper and saw mentions of Wayne Enterprises buying itself another subsidiary. Or when they watched Office Space and there was all that talk of memos.

Jason couldn't even jerk off in peace in the shower without images of Tim in the library, writhing on his lap, or images of Robin on his knees and smirking up at him ruining everything.

The most disturbing bit was telling his dad about Geeta and Luke during a game of chess and suffering from blow job flashbacks. Jason got so distracted he snapped the head right off the bishop.

That's all over and done with though.

Monday's a new day, and Jason doesn't think of Tim at all during his lab, but he does start thinking of his dad. Which leads to thinking of his other dads, and their fucked up relationships, and whether or not Clark asked Batman to ask Robin to watch him, which is how Jason finds himself back in Metropolis.

In twenty minutes Jason is supposed to meet Geeta and Luke for lunch. If he makes this conversation fast, he can be back in nineteen.

Only an idiot would show up unannounced in the Daily Planet newsroom and give his dad a heart attack, so Jason does what any smart person would do –- he lands on the roof and announces he’s arrived.

Jason’s never done this before, but he thinks hollering, "DAD!" at the top of his lungs should get the desired effect.

He’s still getting out the second ‘d’ when the door to the roof flies open and slams against the wall hard enough to send a small tremor through the bricks underneath Jason’s feet.

Clark’s eyes are huge, and he looks as though his heart is going to jump out of his chest. There’s ink all over his hand from the remnants of a pen, and Jason’s mouth falls open slightly when Clark stops right in front of him. Jason can actually hear Clark’s heart beat speed up two whole beats. "What’s wrong?" Clark looks frenetic. "Is it your dad, I just left him downstairs –" he speeds away and is back before Jason can even say anything

Jason holds up his hands to stop Clark from barreling into him. "Whoa, wait, slow down, dad’s okay. I wanted to speak to you."

"Yeah, but you said-–" Clark’s four feet away and a little slow on the uptake.

"You're my dad too, right?" Jason mocks. "If I wanted one of the others I’d go to them."

Clark blinks behind his specs. "Oh. Okay, it’s just that you’ve never-–"

"Never forgiven you for being who you are."

Clark looks extremely startled and Jason can’t blame him. He doesn't think that’s what he was going to say either. "Jason."

"Why did you lie to my dad?"

"Jason, it wasn’t –- I didn’t –- that was a long time ago."

Jason crosses his arms over his chest. "Tell me anyway."

"It’s complicated."

"I have three fathers and a dead mother, tell me." Jason knows by the crestfallen look on Clark’s face that that's a low blow, but he doesn’t care. "I deserve to know."

"I loved your mother," Clark says. "I want you to know that. I needed to leave her, I had to know who I was, who we are, and where we come from -- but I never would’ve done that if I’d known she was pregnant with you."

"I know that," and Jason does. Somewhere deep down. After all, only someone with a seriously fucked up set of priorities would do all the things that Clark’s done. You would have to believe you were right to justify all the craziness. "But my dad -– he loved you, and you just, you lied to him. And okay, it’s my fault too because I knew who you were and I didn’t tell him, but -–" Jason's arms fall at his sides.

"That’s not your fault," Clark’s tone is fierce, and then Clark’s right there in Jason’s face, gripping Jason's biceps, and he looks like he’s in pain even though Jason knows there’s really only one thing that can hurt Clark. "I never should’ve –- I never meant to lie to your father. I cared for Richard -– I still do; it's not something I did to hurt him. You have to understand that."

Clark lets go of Jason and steps back again. He looks really distressed. "I should’ve told him from the start, but I was afraid that if he knew he wouldn’t let me see you, and then, as time passed, I was afraid he'd be upset because I hadn't told him before."

Jason doesn't want to act like he understands any of it, but it makes sense. Really fucked up sense, but sense nevertheless. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me," Clark ends softly.

"I treat you like crap!" Jason protests.

"That doesn’t mean you’re not my son," Clark’s tone is calm and even. "Besides, everyone knows that teenagers suck."

Jason scowls. "We don’t suck, we’re just hormonally unbalanced and psychologically disturbed."

Clark gives him a small smile. "It’s good to know you’re learning something in Gotham."

Jason raises an eyebrow and something flashes across Clark’s face. It’s a lot like recognition. "I’m learning a lot in Gotham, you can ask my dad."

"I have," Clark confesses. "I do, all the time."

"I meant my other dad." Jason’s grin is all teeth; he can feel it. It's just like Lex's smile.

Jason didn’t know it was possible for Clark to go that pale. "You’ve -– Lex?" It’s Clark’s turn to cross his arms, and Jason feels like he’s having déjà vu. "Luthor is a bad influence, stay away from him."

"He’s saved my life," Jason says pointedly, "and you used to love him, so he can’t be all bad."

"Yes, well, wait -- love? Did he tell you that?!" Clark sputters. "It’s not true! Okay, it may be true, but it was a long time ago. Way before you were born and –"

Jason’s laugh rings out into the blue Metropolis sky, and he slides his hands in the pockets of his jeans. It’s not as though he wants Clark to be with his dad, he’s just not sure how he feels about Clark being with Lex either, still. "You’re really difficult, you know," he says thoughtfully. "Remind me not to be Superman when I grow up."

Clark sighs and uncrosses his arms to rub the back of his neck. "I didn’t want to be Superman when I grew up either. The hours suck."

"Yeah, and then there's the whole asking your friends to watch over your kid thing," Jason baits.

Clark just looks confused. "Um, what?"

"Didn't you ask Batman to have Robin spy on me?"

"Did I ask who to do what?!" Clark's eyes are huge and Jason just dodges a spray of heat vision.

"Clark, I don't think setting me on fire is the answer," Jason says dryly.

"Is Bruce, err, Batman bothering you? I'll kill him!" Clark's already floating about a foot in the air, and it's weird to see Superman levitating in a business suit.

Jason waves his hands as though trying to signal a wayward plane. "What? No! No, I was just, you know, checking. I met Robin the other night is all."

And just like that Clark's back on the roof. "Oh, okay, that's fine then. Robin's a good kid. I like him."

Jason nods his head. "Okay. Cool. Great. Um, I'd love to stay and chat but I'm kind of late for lunch."

Clark nods his head and waves him off. "Go, spend time with your friends, be good to them. You never know when you'll need them or when you could've made a difference in their lives."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Yes, Superman."

"That's Superdad to you," Clark calls after him.


*


Jason died on a Monday afternoon in the spring. He's pretty sure it was his own fault. He'd been testing himself, his hearing, his flying, trying to see how far he could push himself before everything gave out. He wanted to see how long he could expose himself to the refined Kryptonite that he'd spent eight weekends in Smallville looking for. He was just so tired of not knowing who he was, or who he would be, or why he had all these people who claimed to love him, but he still felt alone and different.

He didn't want his dad telling him to be patient, and Clark telling him to just let it happen. He didn't want platitudes. He didn't want to wait anymore. He was tired of being the outsider.

He wanted to be able to turn back time like Superman. He wanted his mom. He wanted to walk through the doors of Greater Riverside High and not feel like sleeping with half the cheerleading team was the greatest thing he would ever do.

And so he left, and he flew, and then he flew some more, because if he flew hard enough and fast enough he could get away.

And if that didn't work then maybe a little green powder would.

Somewhere over Nauru, a tiny island in the South Pacific, everything gave out.

Jason doesn't remember much about being dead, just that he was flying and getting more and more tired, more jittery. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think.

For the first time he could understand what exhaustion felt like, what it was like to just give up, give in. If peace hurt, then this was it. He was finally burning himself out, and then he wasn't flying anymore and everything went black.


Black.


Black.


Black.


When he woke up, his back hurt, and his eyes hurt – everything hurt everywhere. There were these horrible fluorescent lights that made him squint, and then his dad was standing over him blocking out the light. Actually all of his dads were there. Lex and Clark, and his dad dad, the one who'd raised him, and flown him around his bedroom in his pajamas, even though Jason's mom was gone and genetics hadn't compelled him to.

They all looked tired, and they all looked relieved, and all three had Jason's blue eyes, and Jason felt something akin to thankfulness to be alive. Again.

Maybe it would be better this time around.


*


All weekend long Jason's built up his Tim immunity. It lasts until he gets back to his dorm after lunch and finds Tim sitting on his bed looking a little bit less than pleased to see him. At least he is if the eye narrowing is anything to go by.

Jason raises an eyebrow and tests the knob on the door. "Breaking and entering, huh?"

Tim doesn't even blink. "You broke the top pane of my window; I think we're pretty much even."

Jason snorts. "Let me think for a minute, you ignore me for weeks, hit on me when you're in costume, leave me in the library with blue balls, suck me off on a roof, and never bother to tell me that you knew everything about me before we even met!" Jason's voice is escalating, and out the corner of his eye he sees Stephanie from down the hall stop at the entrance of the girl's bathroom and look over at him.

"It's all a misunderstanding," he calls.

"You're a misunderstanding, Jason," she calls back.

"Everyone has to be something," he replies, winking, and then stepping inside his room and closing the door behind him.

The minute the knob clicks, Jason's façade falls away. "The door is here, the window is behind you, you can leave either way. I don't really care," he says, pointedly moving around Tim to get his Calculus book.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me. Did you even listen to yourself on Friday?"

Jason starts humming to drown Tim out. He'll just pretend the song he's humming isn't Shakira's 'Hips Don't Lie.'

"I wasn't spying on you," Tim's words are sharp and clear. "We'd never even met until two months ago when you came to me for help! I'm sorry if you're upset I didn't tell you my whole life history upfront, but that's not how I operate."

"Whatever. For all I know, you planned the tutoring thing too." Jason's tone is all condescension as he picks up Luke's post-its about Tim and sets them on fire in the sink. If Luke were around he would pretend to use a lighter, but there aren't any secrets between he and Tim anymore, so he uses his heat vision.

He knows he's being irrational, unless the girl at the Tutoring Center was in it with Tim, and wow, way to have a conspiracy theory.

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Tim's incredulous tone grates. "What are you talking about? We'd never even met until you came for Calculus help. How could I make you fail Calc?! I practically went out of my way not to meet you, because I didn't want people bothering me about you."

Jason whirls around and eyeballs Tim. "So you do admit that you were spying for The Batman!" The thought pisses Jason off so badly he has to shut his eyes for a moment to keep from setting Tim on fire.

When he opens them, Tim's staring at him as though he's started levitating again, and Jason takes a quick glance downward just to make sure that's not the case. When he looks up, Tim has his hand in his pocket and then Jason's knocking him on his back and pinning his hands above him in the unmade sheets. "Jason, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm making sure you don't zap me with your stun gun."

"You are a freak." Tim's voice is almost affectionate. "A big, stupid, paranoid freak. I don't know why I like you so much."

"I'm not a freak," Jason lessens his hold on Tim slightly. "And I'm not paranoid. You're Robin, and you have toys, and I notice you didn't deny the whole thing about having a stun gun."

Tim sighs deeply. "It's a note from Dick asking for forgiveness on my behalf because I'm an idiot. Do you want it or not?"

"Yeah, right, I know Dick's probably in this with you."

"Wow, the paranoia runs deep with you." Tim's tone is all dry amusement. "Do you want me to introduce you to Bruce, is that it? Do you have a crush on him – should I be jealous? You seem pretty convinced he's got it in for you."

Jason can't cross his arms and scowl when he's pinning Tim to the bed, so he lets go for one teeny second, and then he's on his back and Tim's got him pinned firmly. Jason groans. "You totally could've escaped before, right?"

Tim shrugs but doesn't lessen his hold. "I thought if I let you think you were on top you'd calm down a bit, but you're just as crazy as you were on Friday."

Jason glares. "Be happy my dad's cooking is a sedative or I'd be dropping you from the top of LexCorp right now."

Tim shakes his head and sits back on his heels. "Okay, once and for all, Batman didn't send Robin to spy on you, and Bruce didn't send me to spy on you either."

"Right."

"Why do you think I resisted you for so long?"

"Because you're difficult."

"Try again."

"Because you like seeing me suffer."

"Yeah, tempting, but no. It's because I knew who you were, and I didn't want things to get complicated."

Jason pushes himself up on his elbows. "So instead you decided to hit on me when you were wearing a mask. Real smart there, killer."

Tim scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Look, Jason, Kon -– whatever you want me to call you -- I like you, regardless of who you are or what I'm wearing. I was trying to be professional before – you should try that."

"I am professional!"

"Yeah, the whole breaking my bedroom window was real professional."

"You gave me a blow job on the roof and then bailed!"

At this Tim's cheeks color slightly, and Kon feels better. Tim sighs. "I know who you are, Jason Connor Lane. I know all about your powers and your three dads. I know you can fly, and go around the campus at night protecting the students. I also know you've been pretending you have no idea what you're doing in Calculus just to be with me-—"

"I didn't know what I was doing in Calculus!" Jason interrupts. "At least not for the first couple weeks."

The corner of Tim's mouth twitches and Jason narrows his eyes. "This isn't about me, this is about you, you lied to me!"

"How did I lie to you?" Tim counters. "I let you see more of me than anyone else, except for my family."

"But you didn't tell me who you are. You let me think—"

"That you were getting action from me and Robin. Wow, I mislead you into thinking you were hitting on me -- and me."

Jason makes a noise of displeasure, but doesn't actually say anything.

Tim rubs the back of his neck. "My name is Tim Drake. Dick Grayson is as close to a brother as I have. My father got involved with the wrong people and they killed him in front of me, and yes, Bruce Wayne is my guardian. Or he was until I turned 18. And I like cheese and Zesti. Any other questions?"

Jason relaxes noticeably. "No."

"I'm sorry your ego got a bit bruised, but I'm not your enemy." An image of Lex and Clark flashes through Jason's conscious and something aches in his chest. He doesn't want to end up fighting and being angry with Tim. He doesn't want to feel hurt and betrayed every time they see each other.

He wants – Tim seems seriously shocked when Jason sits straight up and kisses him. Jason wasn't quite expecting that himself, but he really doesn't want to end up like his fathers.

There's a moment of hesitation where Jason's not sure if Tim's going to kiss him back, and then Tim's hands are on his face and in his hair, and he's biting Jason again, his hands sliding under Jason's shirt and mapping his chest and ribs, learning Jason as Jason pulls their bodies together, slotting hips and legs and arms in the right place because Tim fits him.

When Jason pulls Tim down on the bed and touches him, he can feel Tim's heart beating and the heat from his body. Tim yanks on his shirt until Jason gets the hint to take it off, and then there are hands everywhere. Under Tim's shirt, under the waistband of Jason's jeans, and mixed in with all the touches are the kisses, which are hot and good and honest.

Later on, after they've taken their clothes off, and Jason's put the chair under the doorknob so Luke doesn't come home at the wrong time, things get better.

Who is he kidding, the fact that he finally has Tim Drake naked is one of Jason's best accomplishments all year, and Jason shows his appreciation with every trick in his book. Every caress, every stroke is about Jason's appreciation. He smiles as he sucks Tim off and revels in how tight Tim is around his fingers, even as Tim's moaning into his own hand.

Jason stops long enough to bat Tim's hand away, because he wants to hear this, and when Tim comes, choking off something that sounds a lot like his name, Jason knows they're going to be okay.

Probably not great, probably not super, but definitely okay.




-end-

This story would never have seen the light of posting without the support and harassment of ethrosdemon, who told me it didn't suck. Repeatedly. I would like to thank issaro for beta duty and for fixing the things I couldn't figure out, and oxoniensis for a) being so smart and b) being so enthusiastic and c) just being that cool.


Basic Factoids
* The role of Jason has been played by Kevin Zegers of Transamerica fame.
* Tim has been played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. If you question this, I point you towards Brick. Watch this movie. He is Tim Drake, twee, brilliant, sarcastic, Dark Knight-in-training You can thank me afterwards.
* Lex is being played by Michael Rosenbaum, because while this is mostly Superman Returns verse, I cannot think of sexy and think of Kevin Spacey.
* The Spanish Inquisition line is from Monty Python. For the three people who've never heard it before.
* Nauru: http://geography.about.com/library/cia/blcnauru.htm
* Aishwarya Rai: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0706787/


TWIWM Soundtrack:
Udit Narayan, Alga Yagnik, Sukwinder Singh 'Mitwa'; Kaiser Chiefs 'Saturday Night'; Joe Purdy 'Some Things Don’t Work Out'; Sia 'Rewrite'; Johnny Cash 'A Boy Named Sue'; David Mead 'Fighting For Your Life'; Gnarls Barkley 'Smiley Faces'; Kubb 'Remain'; Michael Frante & Spearhead 'I Know I'm Not Alone'; John Lennon 'Instant Karma'; Keane 'Is it Any Wonder?'; Tracy Bonham 'Mother Mother'; and the title track: Griffin House 'The Way I Was Made'