Title: Better Than You
For: Arashi
Beta: Katarik
Fandom: Teen Titans/Batman
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jason/Tim

Summary: "You shouldn't have left him unprotected."
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by DC comics.

*---*---*---*---*

How do you say 'no' to Superman?

That was one of the many questions Kon-El is still mulling over, after more than a literal year of being consigned to live on a farm in Kansas with Clark's parents.

But now he has an entirely different question crowding his head:

How do you say 'sorry' after willingly breaking your best friend's arm?

He's been thinking about it for the last two weeks, and he still isn't anywhere with an answer. Which of course means he needs to be sitting here on the barn roof, thinking and trying to *find* that answer.

His chores are done, and he can hear Uncle Jonathan in town, talking to the register girl at the hardware store about how in *his* day, there weren't anything like those fancy power tools on the wall over there--

--smell Aunt Martha's peach cobbler pie, and God, dessert is going to be *wonderful* tonight--

--the phone ringing, and Aunt Martha's little huff, which is the *only* way one knows she's irritated at being interrupted--

--he can tell by the way that one buzzing has faltered and stopped after that last smack that the cow just swatted another fly down with her tail--

Yeah. *That* would be why he hasn't figured the answer out yet. All the *distractions*.

"Conner! You have a phone call!"

If it's Bart asking him for the 648th time to come back to the Tower, he's seriously going to have to consider camping out at the Fortress.

But one of the coolest perks of being able to fly and having super-speed? Shouting an "I'm coming!" is entirely unnecessary because you're *there* not a second later, grinning weakly at Clark's mother while taking the phone. "Thanks, Aunt Martha."

The sunny smile he gets in return would look fake on anyone else, but this is Aunt *Martha*. "No problem at all, Conner." The peck on the cheek he gets after she winks at him used to make him uncomfortable, but it's been more then a year and some things just become routine.

When Aunt Martha leaves the room, he brings the receiver up to his ear. "Conner."

"Superboy."

The title as well as the voice makes him blink. He doesn't *know* this voice, and how the heck is it that they know he's Superboy? It could be a prank, God knows Bart's been trying out all sorts of things that he's read about during that subjective year of reading and ventriloquism could very well have been one of those things, but the little suspicious Tim-voice in his head is telling him to be cautious. "Who is this?" He checks the caller ID, one of the very few 'frivolous' electronic devices Uncle Jon bought: it's Titans Tower.

A broken laugh. "Honestly, if you don't know who I am, you can blame it on the Titans for forgetting." A pregnant pause, and the voice -- male, low, and filled with the threat of violence -- continues, "You shouldn't have left him unprotected."

He feels like someone just knocked him out of the sky over an icy-cold lake. "If you've harmed Kid Flash--"

The rich -- still broken, and how the hell does *that* work? -- laughter he gets in return is both eerie and scary. "Don't worry about the speedster; he left *hours* ago."

Oh God, oh God... *Tim*.

He's a blur of motion before he can think about anything else, only two goals in mind: get to Titans Tower. Get to *Tim*.

Even miles away, he can still hear the swing of the receiver and the broken laughter over the line.

It just drives him *faster*.

*---*---*---*---*

"*That's* the Robin I wanted to see."

He has barely hit the Rockies, and he can hear that voice already, filtered through a hacking cough from someone -- *Tim* -- else.

"Still. You *do* realize, the whole idea of training a *teenager* to fight against something he'll never eradicate is a *mistake*." The sound of someone's armor -- Tim, why aren't you *speaking*? -- impacting against something solid.

It's a gift and a curse to be listening in on this. To *know* that Tim isn't dead -- yet -- and that if he could just fly *faster* he could ensure that Tim doesn't end *up* that way.

Another sound of impact, and he can *just* hear the startled exhalation. "It didn't surprise *anyone* when I *died*. When I *failed*."

And what the *hell* is this guy talking about??

The rough scrape he's familiar with, the sound of Kevlar on Kevlar, "I failed... but I'm still beating *you*."

Crack of armor against skin and bone -- damn it, Tim, you're *better* than this -- "Do you think you're that good *now*?! Do you *really*, Tim?"

Another one of those heart-racing pauses, as he strains his speed to its fullest, finally passing the Rockies.

"... yes." Small, but strong, that steady unwavering *conviction* that made Tim the leader of Young Justice--

It's so *Tim* that he wants to whoop and shout, to twist in the air and shake a fist at the world; try your best, you can't *keep* Tim down!

A ripping sound, and another one of those sickening cracks-- "Maybe, but I'm *better*."

That... that wasn't Tim.

There's no answering word, no more sudden impacts, just that vicious voice laughing quietly and so *broken* --

He does what he can; he flies.

*---*---*---*---*

The Tower sounds like nothing and everything; humming electronics, hissing gas, running water--

Heartbeats. Five steady, different beats; four markedly slower than the fifth.

The Tim-voice is back, cautioning again: trap. This guy had called Kon because he'd *wanted* Kon here--

Doesn't matter. He can smell fresh blood -- *Tim's* blood -- under the salt of the sea. *That's* what matters.

Blurs of arching steel walls and wide glass windows, until he's in front of the memorial room.

Splattered blood in a room for the dead; it's not a very welcome sight.

And neither is the still, ragged form tied up against one of the pillars, cape a-tatter, black hair spotted with gray chalky powder--

*Tim*.

"Not bad, Superdork. Only took you one hour and forty-nine minutes to get here. And from Kansas, even."

And of course, that *voice*.

Whirls around, snarling, fists raised to pummel the person that had dared to harm Tim in such a way--

Creak of a hinge, green glow in the darkness, and suddenly he's teetering on his legs, stomach in knots and his hand rising to cover his mouth.

"Ah ah ah, didn't Clark ever teach you to play nice?"

Damn it, he doesn't know who the hell this guy is, but he took out Tim, and he *knows* who Clark is. And now there's Kryptonite, and he's on his knees and ralphing.

"Ooo, that's nasty. But do go on, while I wake up Sleeping Beauty." The soft scuff of rubber against tile, and as his stomach knotted up with nothing left to spill, he curls up on the floor, blinking to see through sweat and the prick of tears--

Two Robins? Did Nightwing go nuts and have an identity crisis or something?

The slap across Tim's face makes a cracking echo in the hall. "Wakey wakey, princess. Your shining knight has come to rescue you."

He can hear the hitch in breath, the way Tim's heartbeat increases. Hear the worry and uncertainty in Tim's voice. "I... Jason?"

"It's so adorable when you're confused. I bet Dick gets a kick out of that," demeaning tap against Tim's hurt cheek and --

Oh. Oh he did *not* --

Jason's mouth over Tim's, and he can *hear* it, the click of teeth on teeth, the way Tim whimpers high and soft, Tim shifting in what Kon *knows* would be a movement to get away--

But for Tim, trapped against the pillar with black strips of cloth, there's nowhere *to* go.

It seems like *hours* before Tim makes another noise, and Jason pulls back with a bloody lip, laughing again.

"Has he ever done this, Timmy? Or did you just *want* him to: tie you up with your own cape and the taste of blood in your mouth."

Tim just spits blood to the side and glares at Jason. It's... he's not sure what that means, after all this time with Tim. Whether it's a silent defiance, or silent agreement.

That broken laugh again. "You're so much like *Bruce* when you do that. A smaller, younger Bruce. Which makes me wonder, *Timothy* -- Why are you *Robin*? From what I've seen so far, you're *nothing* like Dick."

Small shift, and *this* one he knows -- pointed, sharp truth. "I'm nothing like you, either."

The smallest scrunch of the other Robin's face around the mask, and then Jason *growls*.

The crack that echoes after is almost indistinguishable with the muffled *crunch* -- Tim gives the smallest of gasps and stills.

The urge to fly over and throw Tim's assailant through the walls and out of the Tower is overwhelming--

But there's the damn *Kryptonite* keeping him on the floor and for all practicality *useless*.

Green gauntlet in chalky black hair, pulling Tim's head back sharply. "You, me -- we were just *replacements*, Tim. Bruce *wanted* Dick back, but he was too gutless to ask. Too afraid of being rejected a second time."

Hear the grind of teeth, the stuttered heartbeat from Tim. "You're wrong. Bruce -- *Dick* needed to be his own man. Bruce had to let him go."

"You don't *know* Bruce, Tim. Bruce doesn't *have* to do anything he doesn't want to. For example -- I noticed the way you fight. Bruce didn't train you *nearly* as much as he trained me, or Dick."

Small sharp smile -- a *Tim* smile, one that he knows means I'm-going-to-say-something-that-will-*break*-you. "I wanted it that way."

The not-Robin pauses, blinks. "This... being Robin isn't about Bruce for you, is it?"

"No."

Humorous smile. "Hmm. I might've liked you, in different circumstances."

"I... I always liked you, Jason."

Sharp, vicious grin. "Better than Dick?"

Tim just stares, a little sadly.

"Thought not, but that's okay -- " Jason licks at Tim's throat, nipping a bit. "I'll still have something Dick never took, when we're done."

The sound *he* makes -- it was *supposed* to be a scream. To tell this freak to get the hell away from Tim -- is nothing but a feeble groan.

Cutting look in his direction -- blue eyes almost the same as Tim's, just lined in red -- and a very *pointed* long suck on Tim's throat -- making the smaller boy whimper. "Something *Superboy* didn't take, either, and I think he'll remember me after this. I think you will, too. Robin."

"Jason," Tim's voice -- he's *never* heard it like this, strained and... wanting? -- soft yet understandable, "No one's forgotten you."

A long pause, and Kon *thinks* that maybe, hopefully Tim's gotten through to this guy--

"Really, Tim? I beg to differ. Conner, who am I?"

The scary freak that should be locked *up*. "Jason."

Vindicated laughter. "That's what *Timmy* said. Jason *who*?"

"Jason..." Damn it, how the hell should *he* know? It's not some piece of information that was part of his pre-tube-break-out conditioning.

"*Exactly*. I'm wearing an almost perfect replica of the suit, and he doesn't even say *that* name.

"I *was* forgotten, Tim. Used and forgotten, and I'm going to make *everyone* pay for that. *Especially* Bruce."

"Bruce isn't here, Jason."

"But *you* are. Maybe you haven't noticed, Timmy, but the villains have; to get to Batman, you get the boy."

"And what are you going to do now that you have me? Kidnap me? Blackmail me into joining you?"

"Mm. Dick would have been *far* quicker on the uptake." Jason leans in, and Kon growls as the not-Robin kisses Tim again. Bites. Kon can smell more blood, fresher blood, and... arousal.

He never thought he could be more frightened. Especially when *Tim*'s the one moaning.

Slide of Jason's hands down to Tim's shortpants and tights, fingers curling under the hemline, the way Tim makes another little sound, hips moving the tiniest bit forward --

Frightened and -- and *jealous*.

He doesn't want to *see* this, but--he can't stop. And even if he did shut his eyes, his mind would just run rampant, filling in ideas for every little *sound* they make.

Jason laughing against Tim's mouth, moving Tim's pants down, brushing just the *barest* amount of pressure on Tim's freed erection--

"*Ah*."

Watching Tim *tremble* against the bindings, against Jason's frame--

"Come now, Timmy -- " a bite against Tim's neck, " -- one would think you've *never* jerked off before."

Tim hisses and tries to jerk a leg up, obviously to knee or kick Jason, but there just isn't enough slack--

"Or maybe I was right about you and Dick. Wanting your big brother to do exactly *this* to you--" runs his fingers down Tim's erection, *pressing* at Tim's crotch.

The scream Tim makes would have turned Kon's eyes red if it wasn't for the Kryptonite.

"It's actually a bit interesting," Jason whispers into Tim's ear, but the acoustics of the hall just aren't designed for silence. "How is it that you've *never* gotten laid, kid? Too busy with the Mission?"

The not-Robin -- *not* Robin, *Tim* is Robin -- gives a sharp smile and curls his hand around Tim's cock, casting Kon the smuggest glance as Tim's hips push into the warmth. "Or perhaps you were waiting...?"

The implication makes Kon flush more with embarrassment. Tim... waiting for him?

Tim liked him *that* way??

Tim's brows fell into the I-am-going-to-have-revenge-when-you-least-expect-it look. "Jason--" Twitch of Jason's hand, and whatever Tim's reply would have been is lost as the bound boy gives a breathy little gasp.

The not-Robin gives Kon another one of those smug smiles before leaning in and nipping at Tim's bottom lip. "Be glad I'm not making you come in your pants, kid."

And then Jason is kissing Tim, hard and noisy; Kon wants to pound the green-panty-clad pervert's face in.

Even more when Tim makes *that* noise, and Kon is forced to notice the way Tim's body is moving down *there*. Frenzied and hurried, the way Tim seems to have no control at *all* --

And the thought that it could be *him* making Tim give that throaty moan, make Tim tense and shake all over just like that while spilling into his hand --

*He* wouldn't laugh like that, while pulling away and wiping his hand off in Tim's dusty hair.

The not-Robin bites Tim's throat one last time before backing fully away. "It's been fun, Timmy. Tell Daddy I said hi."

*---*---*---*---*

By the time the not-Robin had walked far enough away with the open jewelry box of Kryptonite that Kon isn't feeling like he is about to puke up a lung, Tim has managed to get one of his wrists free.

*How* Tim has managed that, Kon isn't sure, only that it must have involved some type of secret Bat-ninja technique.

By the time he feels good enough to actually stand up, Tim has his other wrist free and has pulled his uniform back into perfect alignment. It gives Kon the most surreal feeling he's ever had, to see Tim like that and to *know* Tim hadn't been anything close to that composed just minutes before.

And then Tim is giving him the *Look*, the one that promises a lifetime of very, very bad things. "That *never* happened."

Kon snorts. Like he wants to talk about it. Well, maybe except for the whole Tim-possibly-liking-him thing.

But he can wait to bring that up later.

--Fin.