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Having visited the real, actual, super-secret Justice League Watchtower, the Hall of Justice was underwhelming. Being familiar with the bona fide headquarters made the imitation, the facade, seem…cheap. Shiny linoleum, velvet partitions, and tall windows, all designed to wow the public and distract them from the fact that it didn’t make much sense at all for a group of intergalactic superheroes to operate out of Washington, D.C.
It was nicer though, Tim thought, so early in the morning. Before the building was open to visitors. It was for the best. The guy who had been grown and experimented on in a tube didn’t need more prying eyes.
The super- boy? He’d called himself Superman, but Tim couldn’t think of him as that; Superlad, maybe - he was taking the whole situation remarkably well, all things considered. The batwing had made the interstate trip in less than half an hour, and their guest had spent the entirety of it plastered to the window, soaking up sunlight. He appeared almost ordinary in the plain, black clothes pulled from the jet’s storage trunk; compression leggings, long-sleeved t-shirt, and ‘shoes’ that were more like socks with super thick, rubber soles.
He’d held on to the cape, wrapped around him like a blanket, and Tim hadn’t asked for it back. The poor guy didn’t even own underwear - they could spare a cape.
Tim had taken the opportunity to swap out his still-damp gauntlets for an old pair of spare gloves. The thinner material of them became saturated with heat so quickly when his hand was grabbed two steps off the batwing. So. That was still happening.
Tim hadn’t held hands so much since he was a little kid who couldn’t cross the street alone. Maybe when Dick was teaching him gymnastics. That had involved a lot of physical contact. But it wasn’t the same. Super-whatsit held his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it would be weird not to. And Tim…didn’t mind. It kept him from pacing, anyway. The fingers threaded through his own kept him planted on the wildly uncomfortable wooden bench outside the secure, planet-side meeting room deep in the bowels of the Hall.
Their only chaperon was Red Tornado, looking for all the world like a lifeless statue at the end of the hallway, but Tim knew they were being closely monitored in every way - audio, video, fucking radiation output. Or, Superdude was, anyway.
Robin was a known quantity. His opinion didn’t go far, but Batman’s did, and that was probably the only reason his new friend wasn’t in a holding tank already. Bruce, for all his flaws, believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt.
“What do you think they’re talking about in there right now?”
The sudden conversation caught Tim off guard. “Uh…trying to figure out what to do with you, I guess. Going over the data they got from the lab. Deciding how dangerous you are.”
“They could just ask,” he pointed out.
“Oh, they will. Martian Manhunter will probably read your mind a little bit to make sure you aren’t, like, secretly plotting to kill all of us.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, yeah, but no one else knows anything about you yet and they’re preparing for the worst.” Tim knew the kind of contingencies Batman had for his own teammates, let alone a potential time bomb from a Cadmus facility.
“Do…does the mind reading thing…hurt?”
“No,” Tim rushed to reassure him. “You don’t even know it’s happening, really. And they might not even do it, they might use Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth instead.” Then it occurred to Tim that the lasso actually was reported to hurt a bit, or feel uncomfortable at least. Instead of saying that, he added, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?”
It was surprising just how much he meant it. Protective instincts rose like a tidal wave in his chest. He wouldn’t win in a fight against just about any member of the Justice League, but he would fight anyway to protect his- …friend.
“I believe you,” his friend said, but something about his voice was off.
“I promise,” Tim insisted, despite his common sense. “I know we literally just met, so I don’t expect you to just take my word for it, but you aren’t alone anymore and we-”
“Robin,” the boy cut him off. “I know. It’s okay. I trust you. You don’t have to convince me.”
Tim turned and looked at him then, at his down-turned profile illumined in fluorescence. Both his hands were wrapped around one of Tim’s, all twisted in a bundle on the boy’s thigh. He wondered if the boy had ever trusted anyone before, if it was an experience he could point to or just a word with a definition that fit better than anything else.
The so called Superman Weapon was, by all means, a victim, but Tim was his only lifeline, his only advocate as a room full of strangers decided the course of his life.
“Would you still trust me if I wasn’t the only person on your side right now?” Tim asked, not really expecting a genuine response. He thought maybe the boy would respond with awkward silence at the ugly truth of it, or point out the fact that Tim had saved his life as justification, or maybe just agree with the half-hidden point he was making.
Instead, beyond Tim’s best guesses, he said, “I would still trust you if you held a gun to my head.”
Tim blinked. For a reason he couldn’t name, blood rushed to his face. “What?”
The boy shrugged a shoulder, unconcerned. “I can’t help it.” Then he turned his head enough to shoot Tim a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “I couldn’t stop trusting you if I tried.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not human,” he said, which, yeah, Tim figured. “I wasn’t socialized like humans usually are. When you saved me, you were the first person I ever touched, ever smelled, the first voice I heard that wasn’t through glass or a speaker. So I imprinted on you.”
“Imprinted?” Tim echoed, flabbergasted. “Like- like a baby duck?”
The boy’s smile grew to show off a perfect grid of sparkling white teeth. “Something like that.”
Then the rest of his words sunk into Tim’s consciousness. “Wait, no one’s ever touched you before? At all?” He stared down at their clasped hands with new understanding.
That pearly smile shriveled. “Nope. They would transfer me to a different containment unit sometimes for tests, but always from the control room. Plus, I was pretty drugged out on testing days.”
And because he didn’t know what else to do, Tim blurted out, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry that happened to you, I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, I’m sorry I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
The boy shrugged one shoulder again, and that time Tim could feel it, because he’d leaned in to press their sides together without realizing it. “It is what it is. No point looking back when there’s so much to look forward to.”
“You’re remarkably well-adjusted for someone born two hours ago.”
The boy turned his head to look Tim in the eye- well, mask, for the first time since they’d sat down. His eyes were blueblueblue and there was a twinkle in them that made Tim want to follow him around like he was the baby duck. “Well, the past two hours have been pretty freaking awesome. I met the sun. Got an outfit. Traveled cross-country.” He gave Tim’s hand a squeeze and it made him wish he wasn’t wearing gloves. “Made a friend. All in all, this ‘being alive’ thing is pretty great.”
An almost soundless laugh puffed out of Tim’s lungs. “You know, I think you have this ‘being alive’ thing figured out better than most people.” Better than Tim, for sure. “For someone who came out of a tube, I didn’t expect you to be so…”
“Charming?” the boy offered with an impish grin.
Once again, Tim’s cheeks went hot. “I was gonna say ‘normal.’” Circumstances considered, Tim was expecting a personality more like a robot. Or a homeschooled kid. It was disarming how the lab-grown specimen next to him could just as easily be a guy he met in the school cafeteria.
“Well, I’ve got all the usual stuff in my head for someone my age,” he mused, absentmindedly dragging a fingertip up and down the side of Tim’s hand like that wasn’t shredding his focus into ribbons. “Pop culture, history, natural and formal sciences - I just got it all from data uploads instead of, you know, actually living.”
Tim couldn’t help but question the validity of that conclusion. Computers could do a lot, but human social behavior couldn’t be perfectly coded. After all, Tim had yet to meet a convincing artificial intelligence, so he doubted a series of data uploads alone could form a fully functional – and yes, charming – human being. His new friend was something all his own.
Tim opened his mouth to say something like that, but he was interrupted by the door across from them suddenly swinging open.
Red spandex smudged the expanse of crisp white walling. The Flash had been sent to retrieve them. He looked curious, but not tense, so Tim allowed himself to relax. “You guys can come on in now,” he said, waving them forward.
The boy stood without a moments hesitation. Tim, being attached to him at the wrist, was tugged up and into the meeting room quicker than he could say They can smell fear. Or any of the other helpful guidelines he’d meant to impart to his friend before falling under scrutiny by the most powerful assemblage of heroes in the solar system.
Oh well. They would just have to improvise.
Standing before a collection of such awe-inspiring individuals, Tim became extremely aware of how his hand was still being held by a cute guy. He fought not to squirm. He kept his fingers locked, because the only thing worse than keeping it up would be to let go after everyone had already seen them.
Nobody cares, Tim told himself. These people have faced down world-ending catastrophes. They don’t care about your grade-school romance.
Romance? Tim’s brain bounced back at him. Is that what we’re calling it?
Please, for the love of god, shut up, Tim begged.
They really don’t care about that though, his brain agreed. Except for Bruce. You’re gonna have to deal with Bruce.
Fuck, Tim thought.
Remember how Martian Manhunter can read minds? his own mind helpfully added. Do you think he’s doing that right now?
Fortunately, his mental spiral was scattered when the boy suddenly asked, “Where’s Superman?”
Sure enough, a glance around the table showed suits in green and black and gold, but not the iconic S-shield. There were a couple empty chairs, actually. Captain Marvel was unavailable. Aquaman hadn’t been tapped for this mission either.
But Superman was absent for a very specific reason. He had likely been phoned for the debrief, but if the so-called Superman Weapon was, in fact, designed to kill Kal-El of Krypton, it was sensible to keep the spark well away from the bomb’s fuse. The mere inquiry of him by the boy had every eye in the room sharpening.
“He’s not available at the moment,” Wonder Woman answered in a kind, casual tone.
“Oh.”
Black Canary leaned forward with her hands on the table. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. We know this situation must be difficult for you.”
The boy shrugged one shoulder. “I’m okay.” Tim had to applaud his easy-going attitude.
“Well,” Canary continued, “We all want to help you adapt to your new circumstances as best as possible. That starts by gathering information about where you came from and what plans you might have. We’ve compiled a list of questions to go over before we can organize housing for you.”
The implication that housing was contingent on cooperation grated at Tim. He almost said, he’ll be exercising his right to have an attorney present, but the Justice League wasn’t subject to U.S. law, and their hastily arranged processing was formulated on the possibility that the subject would attempt to murder one of their most esteemed colleagues at the first chance. No one was going to suggest that they just let the guy loose, no matter how intrinsic the right to freedom was.
Thus it fell to a teenage, tights-wearing vigilante to act as legal representation.
“How many questions are there?” Tim asked.
Canary seemed surprised by his interjection. “There isn’t a specific number, it’s more like a series of discussion topics.”
Every member of the table held a tablet. Tim leaned over and plucked the one from Green Arrow’s hands, having explicit permission from Bruce to piss off Oliver at any time, for any reason. Oliver threw up his hands in a Are you kidding me? gesture, but otherwise didn’t bother to protest, especially since Batman made zero comment on his sidekick’s audacity. Because of Batman’s aforementioned permission to piss him off.
He dragged his hand from the boy’s warm grip to scroll through the assembled files and meeting notes.
And scroll.
And scroll.
Tim had skimmed the major files they’d pilfered from Cadmus on the flight south. There were a lot. Most of it was the raw files of the boy’s mental data uploads, along with a significant collection of testing data. All of the interesting stuff was at the end – the programming they hadn’t installed yet. Those were the plans for control codes and practical application and world domination.
Nonetheless, all the major talking points had been highlighted in the never-ending digital list, followed by extraneous citations and queries. It was a messy investigation plan, mainly selected by Batman, and only covered the immediate responses to each file, the bullet points slapped down during a rushed debrief.
“This will take all day to get through,” Tim criticized. “Or several days.” They couldn’t keep the boy locked in the Hall of Justice for a week of nonstop interrogation. If he wasn’t already planning to kill them, that might change his mind.
“It’s all important,” Oliver said, sounding irritated Tim noted with some satisfaction.
“It doesn’t need to be gathered immediately. You can break up the dossier into individual briefs and spread them out over a longer period of time.”
“We can’t take risks with this,” Oliver said, sounding more irritated.
“You can’t punish someone for a crime they might commit,” Tim pointed out, crossing his arms. “Your plan is sloppy and unethical.”
“God, he sounds just like you,” Green Lantern murmured to Batman. Batman gave no outward indication of having heard him.
“Does Robin need to be here for this?” Green Arrow asked the table. “We don’t have to let him stay here.”
Dissatisfied rustles and loaded glances shot across the table told Tim that he wasn’t the first one to make such points, but the group had probably been unable to reach a unanimous course of action before someone had pointed out that they couldn’t leave the Superman Weapon sitting in the hallway forever. Perhaps Flash had grown impatient and told them to enter against group wishes just to make it end.
Gather more information was a sound plan when you just didn’t know what to do next, but doing that through a half-baked interrogation wasn’t the way to go about it. Most of the group had to know that if they were just letting a pint-sized vigilante argue uninterrupted. Hell, half of them probably didn’t care much what happened to the guy so long as he didn’t make any murder attempts. Green Lantern was texting under the table.
“Look,” Tim started, “Anyone who was paying attention to the late-stage development files knows that Cadmus didn’t get the chance to enact the more dangerous part of their plan. There’s very little evidence to suggest that this guy-” he nodded his head in the boy’s direction, “-is an active threat to himself or anyone else. So let’s cut to the chase and stop wasting everyone’s time.”
Tim turned his full attention to his friend. “Unless you have any objections, you’ll stay at Titans Tower for the foreseeable future. It’s where other metahumans-” and Bats, “-our age go to train and coordinate missions and stuff. A couple hours a day, someone will go over some of the Cadmus files to see what you know, but mostly you can take time to figure out what you want to do next. We can establish a civilian identity for you, get you enrolled in school, whatever you need.”
His friend seemed a bit alarmed, but he nodded. “Sounds good.”
He looked to the League once more. “And to handle any issues that arise and report back to you, a rotation of senior Titans can be assigned mentor duty. Does that work for everyone?”
Green Lantern stood immediately. “Sounds good to me. Can I go now?”
“We need to cover some of the matters before he leaves,” Oliver insisted through gritted teeth.
“It’s his birthday,” Tim shot out in the most accusing tone he could manage. “You want to keep the guy locked up in here on his birthday?” The most beautiful guilty silence followed his proclamation. “Great. Anything else?”
Then Batman spoke up for the first time since Tim had entered the room. “There won’t be a rotation of senior Titans. Red Tornado will monitor the Tower full-time until we decide otherwise. He’ll accompany you there through the zeta. The rest of your arrangement is acceptable.”
Batman’s single and final word on the subject seemed to be all anyone needed to move on. Several League members congregated in pairs to have hushed conversations or vacate the room. Tim dropped the tablet he’d taken back into Oliver’s lap and ignored the indignant sound he got for it.
Tim faced the boy and soon found one of his hands grabbed again. “Ready to go see your new home?”
The boy smiled, first small, then wider. He laced his fingers through Tim’s. “Yeah. I can’t wait.”