“How’re you feeling?”

Tim groaned, opening one eye. He struggled to sit up from his prone position on the couch before giving up the fight; he flopped back down into the plush pillow that cushioned his head and smelled faintly of Ma Kent’s perfume.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” he whined, voice tired and muffled. He sniffed, but it barely did anything against the gross congestion he’d been facing since he’d arrived.

“Aw, man, nobody’s gonna think less of you,” Conner reassured him, lifting Tim’s feet and sitting at the other end, setting them down in his lap. “Everybody gets sick, Tim. It’s nothing to, you know, be ashamed of, or anything.”

“I’m not sick,” Tim snapped. “I’d be ok with being sick. This is worse.” He moaned, throwing an arm over his face. “A virus you can fight. It’s organized. It has a heirarchy and a strategy.” He moved his arm up and glared at his companion. Kon’s brows raised.

"Allergies are like mercenaries, Conner. You can’t tell who they’re working for or what they’re after. You just have to assume they’re going to shoot to kill.”

The clone chuckled. His hands fell naturally onto Tim’s feet, rubbing directionlessly. Tim sniffled, but relaxed a little.

“It just sucks,” Tim said unprompted, staring at the pattern in the wood on the ceiling. “Because everything’s been so difficult lately and I was really looking forward to coming out here and not thinking about any of that.”

Conner nodded, quiet, keeping his attention on Tim’s feet.

“It’s bad enough my dad’s all bent out of shape because I’m Robin, but now Batman’s getting on my case because I—” his voice lowered in a stuffy imitation of his mentor’s, “—I know it’s difficult, Robin, but you have to choose where your priorities lie. No one said this job was easy.” Tim gestured, exasperated. “Like I didn’t know that!”

Both boys looked up as Ma Kent filled the entryway that joined the livingroom and kitchen.

“Still feeling poorly?” she asked with a sympathetic frown. “Can I get you anything?”

“Don’t let her near me,” Tim whispered so low only Kon could hear him.

The Kryptonian grinned. “No, Ma, thanks. We’re ok for now.”

“Well, alright, dear. Just let me know if I can help.”

Conner nodded as she left the room; Tim’s eyes were wide.

“I can’t stand another round of her home remedies, Kon. I won’t survive it.”

Conner shifted to better face his friend. One arm draped casually over the back of the couch while the other rested on Tim’s feet.

“You know…I never would have taken you for the prissy city slicker.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed fiercely. Jerking his feet out of Conner’s lap, he sat up, though it was obvious the move took a major toll on his equilibrium.

His mouth opened for what Kon was certain would have been a sharp and witty retort.

Then he sneezed. Not once, not twice, but four times in succession. Conner smiled as his companion groaned, leaning forward until his forehead rested against the clone’s shoulder.

“I was wrong,” he mumbled into the cotton of Kon’s shirt. “They’re not mercenaries. They’re ninjas.”

Tim didn’t protest as Conner pulled him closer, actually went so far as to wrap his arms around the clone’s neck as he was lifted effortlessly.

“Kung-fu movies and hot tea?” the Kryptonian suggested, heading toward the stairs.

Tim sighed and sniffled, rubbing his nose against his friend’s shirt. Eventually he nodded.

And Conner blushed at the wet kiss left on his cheek, though he knew better than to say anything about it. Tim had his pride, after all.