Chapter Text
Tim felt the edge of the rooftop disappear beneath his feet, sending him toppling over the edge to the cruel, unforgiving pavement of the alleyway below. The wind rushes around his ears as he plummets downwards to his likely death, and thinks to himself: Shit, I never responded to Sherry’s question about how to improve her pecan pie recipe!
He twisted his body in the air, flipping so that he was facing the skyline, and reached for the grappling gun on his belt. He yanked it out and desperately aimed it at the edge of the building above, aware every second he spent calculating his shot was a second closer to a broken body on the Gotham streets.
Almost there… a little bit higher…there!
Tim pulled the trigger, watching as the hook shot from the gun and arced through the air towards the rooftop, and caught on the raised lip of the apartment complex’s roof above. With a sigh of relief, he tensed his muscles for the impact. He muffled a grunt of pain in his mouth as the rope grew taught, feeling the pull on his shoulder as his right arm was stretched upwards. He gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on the grappling gun that was holding his body from being flattened by the eight-story drop below.
Suspended in the air, Tim paused to survey the scene. He had fallen about five stories, judging by the windows on the east side of the building. He saw no motion on the roof above, where he had previously been fighting a would-be assassin targeting a company whistleblower who lived in one of the apartments there. The fight had been going well, or at least it had until Tim had felt a swift shove behind and belatedly, to his shame, realized his would-be assassin had come with a partner. He saw no sign of either of them and concentrated on his other senses instead.
He focused instead on the sounds around him: the faint hum of electricity from the complex, the rumble of car engines a few streets away, the whine of a distant ambulance siren moving away from his current location, and the distant creak of metal.
Metal? One sound didn’t fit with the other. Tim furrowed his brows, casting his gaze around until he saw a winding, rickety fire escape cascading down the side of the building about twenty feet away from him. While this staircase was silent, most residential complexes had at least two fire escapes for residents on either side of the building, which meant his targets were likely heading down the stairs on the west side instead.
Perfect.
Tim gently leaned forward, allowing the rope keeping him afloat to swing towards the building. When his momentum got him close enough, he let go of the grappling gun to grasp onto the edge of the nearest windowsill instead, balancing his body on the small ledge. Swiftly, he leapt from the first window to the second, and the second to the third, allowing him to pass by the crumbling brick of the outside of the apartment building and quickly make his way towards the opposite side. When he crossed the north corner, the west side fire escape came into view, and Tim saw two burly figures making their way down the stairs. They were a floor above him, but by the time Tim reached the windows nearest the fire escape, they were approximately at the same level.
As the crooks turned the corner to go down the next flight of stairs, he leapt from the sill to grab the ledge of the fire escape above them. He used the power from his jump to deliver a powerful front kick to Assassin #1’s face, knocking him backwards into Assassin #2, who fell back on the floor of the fire escape. He let go of the ledge and dropped to the railing below, balancing on the balls of his feet on the railing in front of the two men.
He grabbed his staff from behind him and allowed a quick grin to come to his face as he stared them both down. “Time for a rematch.”
As Assassin #1 reached for his gun, Tim swung his staff downwards in a brutal arc to hit the man’s wrist, and he quickly dropped the weapon in a pained cry. Pivoting his weight to his left foot, Tim delivered a swift roundhouse kick to the man’s face, sending his head down to slam against the edge of the metal and knocking him unconscious. He collapsed against the side of the fire escape, revealing the second man behind him, pointing a gun straight at Tim’s chest.
Tim stepped backwards off the railing of the fire escape just as the man pulled the trigger of his weapon, his descent allowing him to dodge the bullet that was sent careening towards his skull. He grabbed the sides of the stair railing on the floor below, clambering onto the platform as the gunman leaned over to see where Tim had landed.
The second assassin turned around, aiming his gun between the slats of the metal on the fire escape to target Tim on the floor below, but first had to throw his body out of the way to avoid the battle staff that had been thrown through the slats at him.
Assassin #2 dodged and leaned forward again to aim at Tim, but the man was surprised to find that the boy was already gone from the floor beneath. In the gunman’s distraction, Tim had raced up the stairs behind him and launched himself in a tackle at the man’s back.
The man fell forward with Tim on his back as he made his way down. When he hit the cool metal of the fire escape floor, Tim brought a vicious punch to the man’s hand, leading him to drop the weapon with a cry, before Tim swept it off the ledge of the platform and out of the way.
Tim clambered off the man’s back to grab his fallen staff on the other end of the platform. Weapon secured, he turned to see the man half-risen from the floor, bleeding from where his head had hit the metal on the platform when he fell. Before the other man could get up further, Tim swung in staff towards the man’s temple. It made contact with the assassin’s temple, knocking him unconscious and sending him slumping down to where his partner remained unconscious on the fire escape floor next to him.
Tim studied the bodies, looking for any further sign of movement. Seeing none, he got to work. He removed the zip ties from his belt and quickly bound the unconscious men before taking his phone from his belt to send a signal to the GCPD. The police were needed to transport the men to jail, but Tim figured they would be much more interested in the flash drive of evidence he had in his belt. It contained evidence that the CEO of Gotham’s newest tech startup had been dumping the toxic waste from his manufacturing plant in the Gotham River and had hired the two men to permanently silence a disgruntled employee who had threatened to leak this fact to the press. Tim had been investigating the company for the past month and would be glad to see the CEO arrested, though the damage to the river couldn’t be undone.
(To be fair, the river had been filled with toxic sludge long before this company had come along. The mayor had received a petition last month requesting that Gotham River no longer be referred to as a body of water in Gotham, as it was an “insult to water” to say that the putrid liquid in the river was somehow comparable to it, but that was beside the point.)
Settling in to lean against the railing, Tim began his wait for the GCPD to arrive, knowing there was a clear answer on how to spend his time. He took his phone back out of his utility belt and quickly swiped over to the correct tab. He frowned at the spot of blood on his glove that had transferred to his phone screen but ignored it as he commented on the post.
Oh no! I’m sorry your latest recipe didn’t turn out too well. :( The crust can be quite a trickster sometimes. My advice is to be very gentle with it, as overworking the dough can make it much less flaky. Let me know if that helps at all with making your next batch of pies!
Satisfied, Tim wiped the blood off his phone and placed it back in his pocket. In the dark of the night, as the men by his feet began to moan in pain, he smiled out into the darkness of the Gotham sky.
. . .
In his defense, Tim had not originally intended to moonlight as a middle-aged housewife named Carol from Kansas.
Unfortunately, circumstances had truly forced his hands.
Everything had started about a month ago, when Tim had finally become fed up with lingering glances and “accidental” touches while on missions. Half-crazed and half-exhausted from the heat of battle, Tim had decided, fuck it, and pushed Kon up against the wall of the Mount Justice headquarters and kissed him.
Tim had figured that if this went badly, he could always disappear for a month and turn back up at the Young Justice headquarters in a slightly different Robin suit, pretending he was a new and completely different version (as if that hadn’t happened enough times before). But to his relief, instead of hands pushing him away, he had felt strong, warm arms wrap around his waist, and had allowed his relief to warm his body as Kon’s lips began to move against his own.
One thing had led to another, and then it was Tim who had found himself pushed onto the kitchen counter, sighing as Kon mouthed kisses up his neck. He had found himself lost in pleasure until he heard Bart's voice behind him say, “You know, I don’t mind if you guys fuck in the kitchen, but could you not block the path to the snacks?”
They had agreed to ditch the headquarters, but with Tim veto-ing Gotham to avoid drawing Bruce’s ire, Smallville it was. Kon has taken him in his arms to fly out against the night sky, alternating between going as fast as Tim could bear to get there quicker, and slowing down to do loop-de-loops amidst the clouds just because it made Tim smile.
They had arrived at the Kansas farmhouse in the middle of the night, with Ma and Pa Kent being off in Metropolis that night to watch Jon for Clark and Lois’ date night. Despite Tim’s protests to set him down outside, Kon had carried him all the way to his bedroom before dumping him on his bed. Tim remembers the feeling of Kon’s hair clutched in his hands, the heat of Kon’s bare skin on his own, and the pleasure-pain feeling of Kon’s blunt nails scratching against his back as he had pushed him further into the mattress.
It had been an eventful night, to say the least. Tim had dozed off in his new boyfriend’s arms just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, and enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep in his warm embrace. He had awoken hours later, glaring at the sun through the window. Feeling a rumble in his stomach, he had squirmed out of bed, shoving a pillow into Kon’s arms in his place when Kon began to grumble in his sleep at Tim’s absence. He had stumbled to Kon’s dresser and blearily thrown on whatever clothes were on top of the pile before making his way downstairs to try to find where the Kents kept their coffee pot. He had rubbed his eyes, fighting off the urge to crawl back upstairs and back into Kon’s bed, when he realized he was not alone in the kitchen.
An older woman with white-gray hair at the counter blinked at him as she took in the appearance of the random boy who had appeared in her kitchen. Tim blinked back at her, very aware that he was sporting her sort-of-son’s worn sweatpants and Ramones t-shirt, as well as a slew of deep purple hickies across his neck after walking out of Kon’s room.
“...”
“...”
Mrs. Kent put down the knife onto the cutting board in front of her and turned to face him. She had age spots dotting her hands and smile lines cut into the corners of her eyes, but as she turned her gaze on him, he felt more nervous than he had while facing down the League of Assassins.
Slowly, she said, “Well, hello there. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. My name’s Martha.”
Tim’s mouth had never felt drier than this moment. He was aware that he was staring at her, and that he should probably blink before his eyes went dry too. But how much blinking was a normal amount of blinking? Was he blinking too much now?
What exactly was the social protocol for meeting one’s hopefully-not-just-one-night-stand-but-haven’t-had-that-conversation-yet’s kind-of-sort-of mother? Was he supposed to escape this conversation as soon as possible and save Kon the embarrassment? Was he supposed to act like he was perfectly at home at Kon’s house and not like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin? Was he supposed to put on his rich-socialite persona and try to charm his way out of this conversation?
Mrs. Kent’s eyebrows scrunched inwards, and Tim realized belatedly that he had been goggling at her for too long to be able to go either the charming route or even the normal route.
She gave him a smile that didn’t quite match the confusion in her eyes. “And do you have a name that I could call you then?”
He swallowed down the lump in his throat and spoke, his raspy voice breaking the silence between them. “Tim. My name’s Tim.” His hands began to fidget by his sides, his thumb rubbing against the pads of each of his fingers to stave off the rising bubble of panic in his throat.
Mrs. Kent frowned and asked, “What was that, dear? I’m sorry, my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”
Tim cleared his throat. “Tim. That’s…uh, me. I’m Tim.”
“Well, hi, Tim. It’s nice to meet you.” She stepped forward, her hand outstretched to shake his own. He wiped his palm on Kon’s sweatpants as she came over to him, but when his hand met hers, it still felt sickly moist and sweaty. He dropped her hand and stepped backwards, wanting to put some distance between them.
As he stepped back, he saw the smile begin to fade from Mrs. Kent’s face, and immediately regretted his actions. But as much as he wished that he had the perfect words to make this situation feel less awkward, he felt like his brain was working on quarter-speed. His mind was still trying to catch up when Mrs. Kent spoke again.
“Alrighty then, Tim,” she said gently, as if she knew he was debating jumping through the open window and fleeing the property. “Did you come down here for something? I’m making some lunch right now, and I’d be happy to whip something up for you as well. We can eat together and get to know each other a bit more. No worries if not, though. I ain’t always in the mood to get chatty with folks so soon after I get up either.”
She smiled at him as if that made her question any less confusing. Did she want him to say downstairs? The confused look in her eyes, and the scrunch in her eyebrows - she had no idea who he was. It would make sense if she wanted to keep him down here for a socially appropriate interrogation session at the dining table with her. However, it was equally possible that she had no idea what to do with this awkward boy in her kitchen, and she was hoping he would take her suggestion to go back upstairs so she could continue with her day. Tim tried to analyze her words for clues, but he wasn’t sure which path she wanted him to take.
He had no idea what to say. He had no idea what to do. He didn’t know what she wanted from him.
Oh God, I should never have come downstairs.
He was saved from having to choose by a loud series of thumping noises from the stairwell, quickly revealing Kon, his hair still tousled from sleep. He looked sheepishly between Tim and his mother, and said, “Morning, Ma. Didn’t think you’d be home until the afternoon.”
“Good morning, Conner. Though, if you hadn’t noticed, it is afternoon at this point.” She gestured towards the window above the kitchen sink, which provided a clear view of the sun blazing high in the sky.
Conner scratched his head absentmindedly. “Huh. The more you know.”
“The more you know, indeed.” Mrs. Kent gave her son a once-over with her eyes, just as she had done with Tim when he came down the stairs. “Though what I’d like to know a little bit more about is your special friend, here.”
Tim felt a rush of heat to his face. Special friend? Just kill me now.
“Geez, Ma, can we uh…do this later? Please.” Kon looked at Tim, who was currently checking if he had developed his own heat vision and could cut a hole in the floor to fall into. He felt Mrs. Kent’s gaze on him, too, but resolutely refused to look upwards.
There was a beat of silence, and a sign. “Of course, dear. I don’t want to make you talk about anything before you’re ready. Enjoy your afternoon and know that I love you very much.” She stepped out of the way and took up her previous spot in the kitchen.
Sighing with relief, Kon marched over and grabbed Tim’s arm. Tim felt like his body was still frozen, and it felt like Kon had to drag him every step of the way over to the stairs. Or at least it felt frozen until he heard Mrs. Kent add, “But regardless of what we’re not talking about, I do hope you used protection, dear. Kryptonians must be immune to STDs, but that doesn’t mean they can’t pass them to their partners….”
Tim didn’t wait to hear the rest of Mrs. Kent’s sentence before booking it up the stairs like the Joker was on his heels.
Back in the safety of Kon’s room, Tim buried his face in his hands. Could that have possibly been any more awkward? He had barely managed a single word in front of her. Mrs. Kent probably thought that he was insane.
He heard the click of the door behind him and the whoosh as Kon threw himself back down on the bed. “Well, that went well,” he said.
Tim rolled his eyes. “Really? You think so?” he asked sarcastically. He took a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart and turned to face Kon, who was staring at him with an unrepentant grin on his face. “What?” he snapped.
“You’re cute when you blush. Is that why they call you Red Robin?”
Kon had the audacity to chuckle at his own shitty joke, showing off the dimples in his cheeks as his broad shoulders began to shake with laughter.
He was the most beautiful man Tim had ever seen. He was also the most annoying. Tim stalked towards him on the bed.
“They call me that because of all the blood on my hands. Speaking of which, I think yours is next.”
Kon scooted backward on the bed, still smiling that annoying-ass smile. “And here I thought Batman was against killing?”
“Never said anything against severely maiming.” Tim launched himself onto the bed, snatching a pillow from behind Kon’s head, which he then proceeded to bring down repeatedly on Kon’s head.
“You-”
Whack
“said-”
Whack
“nobody-”
Whack
“was”
Whack
“home!”
Kon cackled, half-heartedly dodging Tim’s blows as he flailed around on the bed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Tim brought the pillow down to hit him again, but this time, Kon caught it. Pillow in hand, rolled over on the bed, and Tim, not letting go of his weapon, rolled with him.
Tim found himself lying flat on his back on Kon’s bed, a pillow the only thing between him and Kon’s shit-eating grin above him. He felt Kon’s hands gently trying to bring the pillow away from his face, but he brought it back down so Kon couldn’t look at him. “Nope. Absolutely not,” he said. “I’m still too embarrassed to even look at you.”
“Aw, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad.” Tim felt Kon’s weight settle on his waist above him. “Don’t overthink this like you always do.”
“It was, unquestionably, that bad. She’s probably gonna want to run away from me when she sees me next time.”
“So that means there’s gonna be a next time then?”
“...”
Tim saw a hand gently grip the corner of the pillow and slowly peel it back to reveal Kon’s questioning face above him. Tim said nothing for a moment, and then for several more moments. Then, slowly, he nodded his head.
Anything else he was going to say was suddenly muffled, as Kon had fully yanked the pillow out of his grasp and had furiously kissed him instead. Tim allowed himself to get lost in the heat of Kon’s mouth and the steady weight of his body above him for just a moment before he pushed Kon away again.
“Nope.” Kon sat up, frowning, before Tim continued. “You’re not kissing me with that morning breath, no matter what.”
Kon’s face quickly transformed, his scrunched eyebrows and downturned mouth becoming a smirk. “Okay”
He crawled off Tim’s lap. Grabbing Tim’s arm, he pulled him off the bed and back towards the door. Confused, Tim resisted, pulling his arm back. “Where are we going?”
“To go brush our teeth. In the bathroom.”
Oh. Duh.
Kon continued. “It’s just downstairs. Right past the kitchen. We’ll just squeeze by Ma real quick, no problem.” By the end of his sentence, he was smirking down at Tim, well aware of what he was doing.
Tim paused, considering for a moment. Then, he yanked Kon back towards the bed.
Eh. Morning breath isn’t really that bad in comparison.
Later, much, much later, Tim sat against the headboard in Kon’s room, absent-mindedly running his fingers through Kon’s hair as he slept, his body sprawled out across the bed with his head gently resting on Tim’s thigh. In the light of the setting sun, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to think about all the embarrassing memories of the morning that he had spent all afternoon trying to force out of his head.
It had been an embarrassing situation, but he didn’t think that his reaction was exactly proportionate to the situation as a whole.
It was just that, well, parents were just a bit out of his comfort zone. He had his own, of course, but he was aware they weren’t the most traditional parents.
He remembered being a child, the bygone era of chubby cheeks and permanently sticky hands, when his parents were on another one of their archeology digs halfway across the world. One night, he recalled creeping down the stairs on silent feet, on the lookout for his nanny in case she spied him sneaking out. He had theoretically been put to bed an hour ago, but had learned that if he put his blankets in just the right place, his nanny couldn’t see the light in his room if he stayed up late to play. Tim had felt a rumble in his stomach and was in the process of sneaking to the kitchen to grab a late-night snack when he noticed a light coming from the sitting room.
He had snuck closer and realized it was the light from the television, showing an overdramatic medical show that always seemed to feature more adults crying or yelling at each other than it did actual medical content. It illuminated his nanny’s face, who was watching the show with rapt attention.
Tim had been planning on using her distraction to sneak past her and get to the kitchen, but the scene on the television had caught his eye. It showed a woman, sweaty and pale in a medical gown, carefully cradling a newborn in her arms, while slow piano music played in the background. He remembered the woman’s eyes most of all, wide open and filled with gentle tears as she stared down at the baby, as if it were her greatest love in this world and the next, all at once. They gleamed in the light of the hospital room as the music swelled, and she cradled her child in her arms like a precious gift.
It was a light that Tim couldn’t recall if he had ever seen in his mother’s eyes.
When his parents came back later that month, Tim had tried to look for it. Her gaze had warmth, yes, and love, of course. But as much as she’d smile with every drawing he presented her, it didn’t quite reach her eyes, which would stray to the window. Always seeking and searching for something more. That gleam? That sparkle? It was reserved for the artifacts she found on her digs, in the photographs preserved on the mantle of all the places she had traveled across the world.
Tim loved his mother. He thought that if he asked her to stay, she might. But because he loved his mother, he never did.
Tim had enjoyed being on his own. He loved the freedom of the wind on his cheeks as he snuck out through his window, and the thrill that ran through his body like a shot of adrenaline when he was able to get a good shot of his heroes flipping across the night sky. He could chase his dream, and his parents could chase theirs. He saw that special brand of happiness still lingering in their eyes when they came home to see him, words excitedly spilling out of his mother’s mouth as she rushed to share all that she had seen in the months she had been gone, and the wishes in her heart for where she wanted to travel next.
When they were there, they had loved him as much as either of them could. His mother would come home after weeks of absence and embrace him tightly, as if she never wanted to let go. But the days would pass, and he saw the glint in her eyes as she spoke of some distant land, so he smiled for the inevitable dinner conversation where she suggested where they would travel next. His mother would kiss him on the cheek as she walked out the door, and his father would give him a ruffle to his hair and a credit card to get anything he wanted. The door would close behind him, leaving him in the great, big, silent hall until Tim left too, chasing something of his own. He submerged himself in the secret lives of Batman and Robin until the silence of the halls faded from his awareness, and his world was alight with his heroes.
It was a good life. Much better than most had. He gave his parents what they needed, and they gave him what he needed in turn. It was as much as anyone could ask for: to be the second-best dream of their lives.
And then there had been the kidnapping and the funeral and the hospital, and suddenly the silence that permeated his house was no longer a choice that he made, but a fact of his life.
Things had changed a lot since then, but in many ways they stayed the same. That distant gaze, looking past him and towards something else? Now that was Bruce, looking at Tim, but not seeing him. He was always looking for what he had lost and what he couldn’t have, a person who wasn’t far away anymore but was certainly out of Bruce’s reach for all the things he couldn’t change.
It was a look he knew all too well, and Tim had done what he had always done for the people he loved. Tim had given Bruce what he needed. Perhaps not what he wanted, but it was enough. Bruce’s mind calmed, and his heart began to ache a little less, and Tim got the opportunity to feel the wind brush against his cheek as he swung through the air. He got the heavy slam of his body against concrete, too, but he got a hand to help him up afterwards.
He was grateful for every second of it. But he had only gotten it through offering people what they needed, and once they were where they needed to be, he was allowed to take whatever they had left to give him. That was all relationships were: give and take, give and take, give and take.
But what did he have to give Mrs. Kent to be allowed to take something he wanted this badly?
Tim looked down at Kon, whose mouth was slowly leaking drool that stained Tim’s borrowed sweatpants. With his hair mussed, the collar of his t-shirt falling off his shoulder and revealing a ridiculous tan line starting across the back of his neck, he looked like a disaster in every sense of the word.
It made Tim’s heart ache in his chest for all the right reasons. He never wanted to let him go.
And that meant figuring out what he needed to do to be allowed to keep him.
Carefully, he stretched his right arm towards the nightstand next to the bed, where his phone was lying.
A little research couldn’t possibly hurt, right?
Martha Kent’s life, based on his initial search, appeared largely normal. County property records showed the farm had been in Jonathan Kent’s family for generations, and aside from petitioning for a building permit to construct a new barn around three decades ago, there was nothing much of note there.
Of more interest was the local newspaper. The Smallville Ledger didn’t have murder and gang warfare on the daily to fill the front pages with, like Gotham did, and instead filled its pages with reports of the lives of its residents. In the online archives, Tim found countless records of Mrs. Kent dating back decades. Some were basic announcements: her parents’ obituaries, her marriage to Jonathan Kent, the birth announcement for Clark. Others revealed a bit more information: she had served as a judge for the Livestock show in last year’s Future Farmers of America - Smallville Chapter and had helped organize a fundraiser to send donations to repair Metropolis after the most recent alien attack on the city.
Tim added the information to his mental file on Martha Kent. He would make an actual dossier when he got back to Gotham, carefully hidden and encrypted on his computer with the others, but this would be sufficient for now.
He exited the newspaper archive and went to social media instead. Predictably, there wasn’t much there, aside from a Facebook account that had been created a few years ago. Her initial posts mostly featured off-center, poorly lit pictures of cows captioned with heart emojis or posts that didn’t make much sense until Tim realized Martha had mixed up a Facebook post with a Google search (at least he thought that was what had happened. Or perhaps she had just been proud to post about her curiosity for the prices of milk at the local supermarket). After some apparent initial struggles, she had appeared to get the hang of it. More recently, she had posted about community events and pictures of her family that gave the page a more normal appearance.
All good information, but not enough. He needed something better to figure her out. Tim was about to scroll away when he paused, an idea beginning to form in his mind.
He quickly scrolled to the top of the page and selected groups at the top of her profile, which, luckily for him, were all publicly available. Scrolling down, he saw several, from church groups to FFA alumni boards. Her activity on most was minor, all except for one. Tim selected the icon for the Dough-mestic Bliss Baking Group and began to explore.
The group appeared to feature a host of middle-to-older-aged baking enthusiasts from Smallville and the surrounding area. Not super large - around 20 participants, mostly women, though there appeared to be an older gentleman named Gary who had recently discovered a passion for baking in the group, whose posts were met with much support. Posts tended to feature different recipes, people posting about their most recent baking creations, and discussions about setting up a bake sale to raise money. And practically every post he saw featured a comment from Mrs. Kent.
Lovely muffins, Christine! You’ll have to share the recipe. The garden seemed to grow so many this year, and I can’t use them up fast enough!
You always make such original designs for your cakes, Sharon. Any suggestions on designs for my son’s next birthday? I’m having a hard time figuring out a good look for a cake that is “punk.” My boy said it was a cool look, but it still sounds like a bad word to me :(
I can totally relate, Mary Beth. I can bake two dozen cupcakes for the church potluck one day, and by the next morning, I’ll find them all gone! The only thing left is a trail of crumbs leading to Conner’s room!
This, this was what Tim had been looking for. Every interaction, every little anecdote she shared - it was one step closer to understanding Mrs. Kent. One step closer to understanding what he needed to do for her to like him, to accept him, and maybe even…approve of him?
It was a goldmine. But as he scrolled, Tim still felt questions in the back of his head. It wasn’t enough - he needed more. More conversations, more posts, more interactions. He needed to not just read them, but to be a part of them. Only then would it be sufficient.
But how could he do that? Tim paused, biting his lip consideringly, before scrolling up to carefully select the “Create Account” button.
Tim couldn’t be part of the conversation, but perhaps he could make someone who could.
And so Carol Ann Dawson had been born. One fake backstory, 246 back-dated photos, and a single carefully photoshopped profile picture later, Tim was in the group.
This couldn’t possibly go wrong.
Could it?