The Hipsters are Appropriating Pop Culture

For Bluethursday, who requested a continuation of My Bird, specifically Kon fleeing with Tim.

***

Now

Superboy tucked Tim’s head beneath his chin, holding him as tightly as he dared. “Bear with me please, Tim.”

“Always, Conner,” Tim promised, gripping Superboy’s bicep before lapsing into a fit of awful coughing.

“Easy,” Superboy told him, shifting his grip on Tim so he could breath easier. “Just a while longer.” Tim nodded, pupils still blown from whatever N.O.W.H.E.R.E. had dosed him with when they realized Superboy had grown more attached than ‘desirable’.

“How far to the hospital, Red?” Superboy asked into the microphone attached to Tim’s earpiece.

“Thirteen miles,” She said, voice tinny from the pick-up. “Don’t go faster than twenty miles per hour, or you’ll be risking Tim’s health.”

“Got it.” Superboy jinked leftwards to avoid the spat of gunfire at him. “Need a detour, Red. Got anything for me?”

“Wheat field quarter of a mile westwards,” Red told him, disgust coming through the link clearly. “Beyond that, nothing.”

“It’ll do.” Superboy altered his course, ducking around a lone tree and sprinting full out to the field.

***

Three Months Before

“He’s getting worse, isn’t he,” Superboy said to Red, ears tuned to the ragged edge of Tim’s breath. He stroked his thumb over the knotted keloids at the base of Tim’s wrist, automatically humming in response to an anxious flutter of Tim’s pulse.

“Yes,” Red nodded, laying a sympathetic hand on Superboy’s forearm. He’d noticed that she was more relaxed around him when he demonstrated open concern for his partner. It helped assuage her worry he was a sociopath. “Laying down all day isn’t helping him.”

Superboy frowned, laying a careful hand against Tim’s forehead. “Will it kill him?”

“Not immediately. Give it a year or two,” Red said, worry and a little anger filling her voice. She might yet be an ally, if he played this right. If he had Tim beside him to help rig the odds.

“He’ll die if he stays in the VR program.” Superboy traced his fingers over the edges of Tim’s oxygen mask, mind stuttering over the thought of his breath stopped, his pulse silenced.

“He’ll die,” Red echoed. She’d never lied to him about Tim. Had told him about the experiments with artificial meta-genes that Tim had been used for, why Tim had volunteered, how he had become sick. Why he tried to kill himself, as best she knew. If she said Tim would die in the VR, Tim would die. Not acceptable.

“Wake him up,” Superboy told Red. She raised an eyebrow. “Please.”

***

Two Months Before

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty” Superboy said quietly, sitting on the bed besides the other. “Time to wake up.”

“That wasn’t funny the first time, Conner,” Tim grumbled, voice raspy. His hand shot up to his throat in startlement, freezing halfway up as he saw the thick scarring on the undersides of his forearms.

“Conner?” Tim looked up at Superboy, confusion and fear looming in his eyes. Conner squeezed Tim’s hand as lightly as he could.

“Do you trust me?” Superboy asked.

Tim gave him a grave look, and nodded. “With my life.”

“Listen carefully. Here’s what I know…”

***

One Month Before

Tim breathed cautiously, knuckles white from his grip on Superboy’s arm. With Superboy’s help, he made his way across the dorm room to the relay console, forcing himself not to give in to the looming fit. Tim collapsed wearily into the chair and was overcome by hacking cough, breathless, body shaking from the force of the fit. Superboy hovered at his side, helpless, useless in the face of Tim’s illness. If Tim could barely manage mission control after a month of careful strength building, how would he ever be strong enough for the escape?

“Ready,” Tim forced out, drawing his legs up under him in the chair and starting up the text-to-speech program on the console’s computer. He chafed at the scarring on his arms.

“Be safe, Conner,” Tim told him in a thin whisper. Superboy nodded, and took Tim’s hand. He kissed the scarring at the base of Tim’s palm, and pressed it against his chest where (he thinks) his heart is.

“I will.” Because those scars are Superboy’s constant reminder, Tim’s life is in his hands. The killing despair that led to the suicide attempt isn’t gone. Just in remission, held back by medication and Superboy’s companionship.

Superboy’s track record with delicate equipment is somewhat spotty. So he can’t really blame Tim for his amused smile as he hung a two-way microphone around Superboy’s neck.

“Don’t break this one, okay?” Tim cocks his head up at Superboy, tone teasing.

Superboy faked a scowl. “It only happened twice.”

“Not counting the three you just lost.” Tim’s pulse dropped and steadied, relaxing in the light of Superboy’s own ease. “Shoo. Sooner began, sooner done.”

Superboy huffed and exited the room. He raised an eyebrow in silent question to Red.

“I’ll keep watch. Don’t do anything suspicious,” She admonished. “No more rescuing puppies.” Superboy stifled a laugh at the irony. Just three months ago, Red had been pushing to make him more empathetic. Now that they had an exit strategy in place, it was just the opposite.

“Yes, Red,” Superboy said in long suffering tones. “I’ll go after the Titans and not get distracted helping little old ladies across the street.”

***

Thirty Minutes Before

“Change of plans,” Red announced briskly, as sirens blared in the background. “You two are leaving now.” She pulled Tim’s IV out with barely controlled panic.

“What’s going on?” Tim asked, coughs rattling his frame. Red scooped him up, blanket and all, and shoved him in Superboy’s arms.

“Board decided to terminate you,” Red told him bluntly. She fit Tim with an ear piece, tucked the blanket around him more securely, and pointed Superboy towards the door. “IV was tainted with something. I don’t know what. Guards were tipped off to my interference, but they shouldn’t be a problem as long as you stay out of shooting range.”

Superboy panicked. “Where are we supposed to go?” Red had been arranging a safe house, but that was for months from now.

“Metropolis general hospital. Twenty two miles westward.” Red booted up Tim’s console. “I’ll direct from here. Go!”

Superboy ran.

***

Now

Tim’s breath was ragged and uneven, his face tinting blue. But the hospital was three miles away. Just three miles.

“Don’t die,” Superboy told Tim desperately. “Please, just don’t die.”

Tim smiled crookedly and patted Superboy’s arm. “Do…best. No promises.”