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For a split-second after he woke up, all Kon could see was darkness.
By the time his eyes adjusted, whatever nightmare that’d woken him up this time was forgotten, leaving behind a heavy, overwhelming pool of dread in his stomach. It felt like nausea. It felt like choking on air. Everything was off balance and wrong and he couldn’t make sense of it all.
Kon’s blankets were thrown aside, far enough that he must’ve launched them off with his TTK in his sleep, and his phone was on the carpet nearby. His bed was drenched in sweat.
He had to force himself to get up and float clumsily to his bathroom. He wasn’t sure he trusted his legs considering how badly his numb hands were trembling, like his entire body was about to fall apart at the seams. When he set down, leaning against the counter, he hesitated before glancing up at his own reflection.
When he’d gone to bed, he looked normal. Shirtless with baggy sweatpants, his hair especially fluffy curly from being washed after the Titans’ mission that afternoon.
Now, he looked like a total mess. His face was pale and splotchy, tears he hadn’t even felt staining his cheeks. His hair was smushed on one side and fluffy on the other. His pants were damp with sweat and had dragged down lower on his hips, revealing one of Kon’s few scars. He was shaking so badly that he could see it.
Superpowers or no, he felt like his legs were about to give out.
Kon choked down a sob, rubbed his eyes, and sank down until his back was pressed to the cool bathroom wall and the tile dug into his thighs.
His brain felt overloaded with random flashes of emotions. Images of Cadmus and tubes, of Lex and not being able to control his own limbs, of blood and bodies flashed through his mind like lightning. They were as quick as Bart, so fast that Kon couldn’t even grab hold of one and focus on it. It was just one big swirling mess that he couldn’t begin to sort through.
It felt like someone had hit him with kryptonite, then dropped a lead weight on his chest. It actually hurt to breathe.
Drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face, Kon tried to coax his heartbeat into slowing down. He could hear it going nuts, felt it hammering through every limb, and it was making his super senses go haywire.
And then there was the sweat. It clung to his skin, making everything sticky and gross, like he was being boiled from the inside.
He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to try and stop his burning eyes from letting out anymore tears. All it accomplished was drawing out another strangled sob.
It didn’t normally take this long to calm down after a nightmare. He got enough of them, and usually, he was fine after a few minutes. He’d never had one that left him feeling like a tin can being crushed under a tire before.
With a sharp, shuddery inhale, Kon thought about going to get someone.
But just the idea of standing made him curl tighter around himself with a light-headed croak.
Maybe—maybe he’d been exposed to kryptonite during the mission earlier. Maybe it was just now kicking in, or maybe it was some new experiment of Lex’s that stuck to his skin and was activated by sweat or something totally out there. Something the shower wouldn't have gotten off.
Or, maybe he was sick? It felt like how people normally talked about colds and stuff. Like he was gonna puke up his guts and his lungs and his liver. Like he was shivering even though he felt so hot he wanted to rip off his skin.
Either way, it was probably, almost definitely a good idea to go get help. Nightwing, Starfire, and Cyborg were all in the tower. They were responsible adult types who would be able to get him hooked up in the medbay to run some tests and see what was happening.
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Kon tried desperately to convince himself to move, but it felt like trying to use his TTK without actually touching anything. The tactile part was kind of important.
But this was his body. He should be able to move it.
Unless he’d been poisoned. Or mind-controlled, again.
Or, he was dying.
Holy shit, he was dying.
With a desperate sob, his body slipped further to the left, and his shoulder hit the bathtub with a loud thud. He didn’t feel it, but he couldn’t tell if that was because of his invulnerability or because his nerves had all shut down.
Who would find his body? One of the team members, probably. Hopefully it was one of the older ones. He really didn’t want any kids seeing him keeled over on the bathroom floor, all pale and limp and glassy-eyed. They saw enough of that in the field, they didn’t need to see it with their own teammate somewhere they thought was safe.
But knowing Young Justice’s luck, it’d probably be Cassie, Bart, or Tim.
As if his first death hadn’t traumatized them enough.
He couldn’t do that to them again. Cassie had joined a cult last time, Bart had tried to fight Superboy-Prime, and Tim had tried to clone Kon.
And at least last time, he’d gone down in a fight against someone nobody could’ve saved him from. This time, it was some weird sickness or something. They’d blame themselves for not checking on him.
Cassie would probably quit the Titans. Or she’d go full throttle into being a leader and get herself hurt.
Bart would shut down, hide his emotions until someone pissed him off bad enough that he fought them over it.
Tim…
Shuddering, Kon tried to drag his brain away from that line of thought, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Not when he felt so weak.
If he tried to pick up a feather, he was pretty sure he'd fumble it, he was shaking so badly.
Tim would be fine, he told himself. The only reason it was so bad last time was because he’d just lost so many people. Kon had been one of the final straws. That was all. And Tim wouldn’t be alone this time, his family would be there, his friends too.
Young Justice would be fine without him, right?
Half the time, Kon was pretty sure he was only there to be the good looking muscle, anyway. The Titans had plenty of heavy hitters. They didn’t need him. They’d be fine.
A sob bubbled up in his lungs, catching him off guard.
He let it out, too exhausted and out of it to do anything as his body curled forwards, dragging along the edge of the tub.
Whatever was killing him was probably shutting down his brain. Tim talked about that, sometimes. About how the brain was rumored to be active for longer when dying than most of the other organs.
Or something like that, anyway. Kon had never really listened, never thought he had to. It was one of those things Tim said more to himself than to others.
Now, Kon was regretting not listening to more of those nerd rants. And spending more time with Bart, doing more races. Cassie, he should’ve taken her to that one ice cream place they used to go to, they weren’t dating anymore, but there were no rules saying they couldn’t just go as friends—
Kon sucked in a breath, chest tightening, and shuddered so hard it hurt.
He was so mush-brained with fear that he didn’t hear the knock.
Didn’t hear footsteps.
Not the bedroom door sliding open or the bathroom door being pushed further inwards.
But he heard the low voice beside him, rough with sleep, asking, “Kon? You okay?”
The only response he could manage was a stuttered sob.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t hurt, what happened? Kon?”
Someone was crouching beside him, but Kon was still leaning over himself, too far to see anything but black pajama pants. He tried to sit up again, managing to get halfway up before crumpling.
Two warm hands caught him. An arm pressed from his shoulder to his hip like a seatbelt and gently pulled him upright.
His next inhale was painful, catching in his throat and forcing his eyes to flutter closed. His head lolled to press against something firm—their shoulder, he realized belatedly.
“Breathe with me.” The voice murmured, rubbing his arm. It felt like a burn, but he managed to lean into it anyway, desperate for anything that didn’t feel numb.
A second later, his brain caught up with his body, and he managed to clumsily say, “can’t.”
“Yes, you can. C’mon, Kon.”
“Hurts.”
“I know, but you’re gonna hyperventilate, and I really don’t know how Kryptonians handle that. Especially not half-Kryptonians. You gotta try, Clone boy.”
Out of all of it, the voice and the touch and the firm encouragement, it was Clone Boy that finally made Kon feel like he was strong enough to lift his eyes.
Tim was in pajamas, an oversized black Gotham Knights t-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair was messy and falling into his eyes and there was a thin tan marking where he’d worn his mask for too long in direct sunlight while on their mission earlier. Ma always reminded Tim about sunscreen when he visited the farm.
Just seeing Tim made Kon’s chest feel infinitesimally lighter.
But when he tried to breathe again, he went right back to where he started. His chest felt full of bricks and cement.
Clutching Tim’s shirt, he shook his head and blinked back more tears.
“Tim,” Kon said, voice trembling. “Rob, I don’t know what’s happening. I’m—”
He faltered, grasping for a way to describe it.
Terrified? Lost? Vulnerable?
“It’s alright. Looks like a panic attack, I get them sometimes, and they pass. They just feel scary for a while,” Tim said. “I’ll walk you through it, okay?”
“Scary? Tim, I feel like I’m about to die.”
“Yeah, they do that. Just focus on me, on my voice, tell me what you can hear.”
It didn’t make any sense to Kon. He could hear plenty of things, but none of it was helping him breathe.
But if Tim was saying it—
Kon forced himself to take a deep breath around the lump in his throat and licked his lips. “Your heartbeat? The boats in the water outside. Traffic in the city. A lady getting mugged. Um—she’s—she’s screaming, there’s a knife—”
“Stop.” Tim said sharply.
Kon’s jaw snapped shut.
Immediately, Tim’s face pinched with guilt. “No, no, It’s okay. You did great, I just didn’t think about how overwhelming super senses would make that. I’m sorry.”
A shudder tore through Kon, practically shredding him inside, and Tim tightened his grip. Kon leaned into it desperately.
“Focus on my heartbeat instead,” Tim said.
That, Kon at least knew how to do. He let his head fall so his ear was close to Tim’s heart and he was practically surrounded by Tim’s loose t-shirt, then closed his eyes to concentrate.
But focusing his senses was even harder than it normally was.
He’d gotten good at controlling them since he was fresh out of Cadmus, but it felt like he was right back there, having trouble keeping his hearing trained on a specific thing.
Tim’s heartbeat was drowned out by Kon’s own panic and the loud noises of the city outside the tower.
He could hear Bart playing video games downstairs, Raven reading quietly in her room, and a few of the other team members sitting in the kitchen chatting. It made Kon’s heart race all over again.
All of those people, all of the noises, he could never get away from it all. It was drilling into his brain and tossing him around like a ragdoll.
“Kon,” Tim said quietly.
“I can’t.” Kon swallowed hard. “Can’t focus. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. S’ not your fault. Some tricks just don’t work, okay? We’ll find something else, something that does, and you’ll get through this soon.”
Instead of saying something snarky, Kon buried his face in Tim’s neck.
His tongue felt thick, way too puffy in his dry mouth. He tore it up with more effort than it should've taken and a sound that reminded him of velcro.
When he looked for something to say, anything at all to make sure he could still talk, his brain vomited up the first fear it could grasp.
"I don't wanna die again." He choked out.
Beneath him, Tim stiffened.
Kon heard his heartbeat stutter and his breath catch.
It was loud in the small bathroom, but before Kon could work up the energy for an apology, Tim's strained voice said, "you're not going to. Okay? I've got you."
And that was another thing that Kon had to doubt, but if it was Tim saying it...
"Okay."
"I've got you." Tim promised. "You're okay."
"Okay."
Tim leaned forwards and scratched blunt nails at Kon’s neck, humming gently. It vibrated through his neck and into Kon’s ears.
Even though it carried that edge of tension, something like fear, it soothed a few of the jagged edges of Kon's panic.
“Tim—?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you—” Kon took a shaky breath. “Can you hum? I think—um.”
Without waiting for him to finish, without forcing him to get his full thought out, Tim splayed his palm over Kon’s bare back and rubbed a gentle line up and down his spine. He hummed again, some tune Kon didn’t know.
Kon sagged against him.
It was an even sound close enough to his ear that he could fight through the distractions to reach it, like the railing on a boat during a storm. Louder than Tim’s heartbeat. More personal, something just for Kon.
“Follow my hand, Kon. Breathe in and out.” Tim murmured.
He went back to humming while Kon tried to follow his orders, breathing in when the hand was between his shoulder blades and breathing out as it slid towards the small of his back. Tim paused at the end of each slide, which Kon took to mean he was supposed to hold his breath.
The rhythm was easy enough. After a few broken tries, he even managed to get through one full loop without faltering.
It helped to have his hands clenched in Tim’s t-shirt and Tim’s warm skin pressed against his own, like he was being grounded from several different angles all at once.
“You’re doing great,” Tim said, moving his other hand to scratch at Kon’s hair.
Long fingers gently massaged his ear, where he’d taken out his piercing to sleep. The callouses from Tim’s bo staff felt nice against his skin.
Kon silently acknowledged the fact that he was acting like a particularly needy cat, then nudged his head upwards to meet Tim’s chin.
The hand on his ear slipped around to his neck again.
With a small, shuddered sigh, Kon went limp in Tim’s arms. He was practically laying in Tim’s lap, which couldn’t have been comfortable, but Tim didn’t complain.
“You okay now?” He asked instead, voice quiet. “I can get you some water.”
Kon shrugged nonchalantly.
Or, he thought it was nonchalant. The way Tim went back to rubbing his back made him think he might not’ve pulled it off.
Now that Kon’s head was a little clearer—tired, absolutely exhausted, but less all over the place—he nibbled a little sluggishly at his upper lip. He couldn’t bite through it, which made it a good way to fidget and think over exactly how embarrassing the last few minutes had been.
Crying in Tim’s lap? Thinking he was dying because he panicked a little too hard? Collapsing on the bathroom floor?
He felt pathetic.
But voicing that to Tim would just get him a mini-lecture on being kinder to himself. He didn’t need that.
He was plenty kind to himself: he cried when he needed to, he asked for help, he’d even talked to Cassie about some of the shitty things that’d happened to him over the years.
Just…not in Tim’s lap.
Instead of apologizing or trying to send Tim away, Kon racked his brain for something else to say.
“Why—” He stopped, thinking it over a little more and licking his salty, tear-stained lips. “You’d think this would be the sorta thing they would’ve programmed me to deal with. Can’t have Superman breaking down after every mission, huh?”
Based on the way Tim frowned, his joke had fallen short.
They just sat like that for a minute, Tim watching him with a disapproving look and Kon sheepishly smiling, ignoring the way his hands were still trembling where he was clutching Tim’s shirt.
Then, Tim sighed, asking, “why didn’t you call me? I was right down the hall.”
Kon ducked his head.
There were very few people in the world who could scold him and make him feel guilty with a handful of words. Tim was definitely on the list.
He forced himself to let go of Tim with one hand, wiping his eyes.
“Didn’t know what was happening.” He mumbled.
“But you knew something was wrong.”
“It happened fast, okay? One second I was asleep, the next—I was scared. Couldn’t even move, Rob. I thought I was dying.”
Tim’s jaw tightened, but this time it looked more like guilt. “Yeah…sorry. I know.”
He pulled Kon closer, even though they were already practically one person, and sighed again.
It rattled through Kon’s shoulder where they were touching. Before he even knew what he was doing, he dropped his head back down to Tim’s neck and inhaled deeply.
“I’m tired,” he said quietly, like he was admitting something bad.
Tim’s hand rubbed a firm line over Kon’s arm and he hummed, tilting his nose into Kon’s hair.
“C’mon, clone boy.” Tim murmured. “You can stay with me. Nothing’ll get to you if I’m there.”
“Cocky,” Kon said hoarsely.
“Learned it from you.”
“I’m Superboy. I’m ‘sposed to be.”
Tim snorted, adjusting so his feet were under him, and then stood with Kon still wrapped tight against him. Kon managed to stay upright for all of two seconds before sagging into Tim’s arms.
He just barely found the energy to make himself float and toss an arm around Tim’s shoulders.
Thankfully, Tim caught the message. He guided Kon out of the bathroom and through his bedroom, kicking aside the blanket Kon had tossed in his sleep.
They made it to Tim’s room without running into anybody else and Kon felt a strange sort of relief at that.
If they’d met anyone, even Cassie or Bart, Kon wasn’t sure he wouldn’t spiral right back into the panic from earlier. He felt hollowed out and fragile in a way only kryptonite had managed before.
But he was led to Tim’s bed without incident. Tim tugged the comforter aside and had Kon flop down before crawling in himself, not bothering to plug in his phone or check the room’s perimeter alarm that all the Bats apparently had. Kon blearily used his TTK to lay the comforter back down over the both of them.
“Thanks,” Tim said, voice twisting into a yawn.
“Mhm. Pretty sure I’m supposed to be saying that.”
“Anytime."
Kon made a small, hesitant noise that Tim immediately zeroed in on.
"Honest, Kon. If you need someone, for a panic attack or a nightmare or anything, you know you can come get me.”
“I know.”
He couldn't say for sure he was going to, but he knew he could.
Tim smiled, hair falling in his tired eyes. He reached for Kon’s hand and squeezed.
After a second of thought, Kon squeezed back.
“If you ever…you said you get panic attacks too, sometimes.” Kon said quietly. “If you ever need someone to sit with you or anything…”
“I’ll call.” Tim promised.
“Okay.”
Kon shifted a little closer, wrapping an arm around Tim’s waist and pressing his nose into Tim’s neck.
A second later, Tim kissed the top of his head.
“G’night,” Tim said softly.
“Night, Rob.”