Fic: A Boy and His Dog, (Tim, Kon, PG-13)
Jul. 15th, 2010 08:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iesikaTitle: A Boy and His Dog
Characters: Tim, Kon (+ others)
Summary: “Man,” Dick says from his place on the floor. “He never let *me* have a dog.”
Warnings: Incredibly silly. Fairly tame.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4700
Summary: Totally for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
batstalker , because she's awesome (also I was bribing her). And because she's awesome, look! Illustration! (the story is actually based on the picture - and hours and hours of nonsense in chat)
more Kuppy art by batstalker
The real problem with Kryptonians being vulnerable to magic is that they’re so *invulnerable* to everything else that it’s easy to forget about, especially in a tense combat situation. Tim should have known better - should have been doing his job as Young Justice’s’ primary strategist. He should have been watching Kon’s back.
If he had been, he wouldn’t be stuck in this situation.
“Calm down,” he hisses as the puppy squirms and wriggles in his arms, trying to get free. Tim gets his fingers gnawed for his trouble, but he’s still got his gauntlets on, so it doesn’t actually hurt. The puppy bites harder, growling ferociously and shaking his head from side to side, but thankfully some things didn’t carry over, and Tim can only barely feel the pressure of his teeth. He shakes the puppy a little, anyway, hoping to teach him a lesson, and he stops biting to look up at Tim with blue, blue eyes.
The dog is mostly black, with white on his paws and face and in a familiar shape on his furry little chest. He’s small enough to lug around easily, but it’s obvious from the gangly limbs and huge paws that he’s going to be a big, eventually. Or at least he will if Tim can’t find a way to fix this situation before it comes to that.
He can’t bring the dog *home*. He hasn’t got any kind of way to explain it to his dad, who doesn’t like dogs much anyway. At best, he might let Tim keep him just long enough to call the nearest no-kill shelter or put an ad in the paper. And he can’t leave him at the Young Justice headquarters - he’d be alone for most of the week, and if the dog version is anything like the boy, he’d scarf down any food Tim might leave him before the end of the first day.
Tim’s not even sure if he’s housebroken, actually.
“Look,” Tim says, holding the dog by his armpits and lifting him until they are almost nose to nose. “I don’t know if you’re in there, Kon, but if you are, just....be patient, okay? I’m going to figure this out. There are people I can call. But until then, we’ve really only got one option, and so I need you to be on your best behavior. Please.”
The dog whines, softly, and wags his tail. The ridiculous little curl of hair between his ears falls down between his eyes, and, without warning, he tilts his head up suddenly and licks Tim on the chin.
“Ew, yuck,” Tim says, making a face as he wipes his chin on his shoulder. “Could you...not do that? Please.”
*
Alfred is supremely unimpressed. Tim isn’t surprised by that in the least. “Please,” Tim begs, “it’s just until we figure out how to change him back. Zatana said she’d be here first thing in the morning - he can stay in my room. I already told dad I’m spending the week with Ives. I’ll feed him and walk him and everything!”
The absolute lack of expression on Alfred’s face speaks volumes all by itself. “Surely his own family would be better suited to look after him.”
“He hasn’t got any,” Tim says, quietly so that Kon - if he *is* still Kon in there - won’t hear him from where he’s chewing cheerfully on one of Tim’s pillows. The non-expression softens just that abruptly, and Alfred turns to watch the puppy play. “Just Superman, really, and... they never actually talk much or anything. I’m pretty sure Kon would rather I called animal control than sent him to Metropolis. He *hates* looking stupid in front of Superman.”
“Hm,” Alfred says. “I suppose. Just until you hear from Miss Zatara.”
“Oh thank God,” Tim breathes. “And...”
“I shan’t be the one to explain it to Master Bruce.”
*
“Man,” Dick says from his place on the floor. “He never let *me* have a dog.”
Tim sits on the bed and watches as Kon-the-dog climbs over Dick’s body to reach the hand that’s holding a stuffed toy. “Zatana says there’s nothing she can do - he’ll change back on his own sooner or later. Probably at the new moon.”
“So, until then, you’ve got a dog!” Dick says brightly. He switches the toy to his other hand, grinning when the tease earns him a playful growl.
“I don’t *want* a dog,” Tim mutters, flopping over backward and staring at the ceiling.
“You’ll hurt his feelings!” Dick protests.
Tim just sighs. “If he’s still Kon in there, he won’t be offended, since it’s not like he wants to be in this situation either. If he’s not...then he can’t understand a word I say anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you offended him. He’s making this scowly face...it’s really cute actually. Ow!”
“Did he bite you?” Tim asks. It would serve Dick right for working him up like that.
“No,” Dick says, laughing. “He keeps - ow, stop! He’s pulling my hair!” There are sounds of movement, scuffling, and Tim assumes it’s more wrestling right up until the dog lands on his chest. “Here. I’m going to go get a camera.”
Tim sighs and rests one hand on the dog’s head, scratching gently between the ears. “No offense,” he says, once Dick is gone. “I’d just rather have my friend back.” The puppy whines and starts licking his face, his entire back half wagging from side to side. Tim shoves him to the bed and sits up, cursing and wiping his mouth. “I told you not to do that!”
*
Bruce is at some business thing in Singapore for the day, and Alfred is upstairs doing the rugs, so when Tim starts to go stir crazy from reading in his room and getting his toes attacked, he tucks the dog under one arm and brings him down to the cave while he works out.
He does a few miles on the treadmill to get his heart up before he hits the mats for his katas and a bit of gymnastic practice. The dog does some exploring, at first, sniffing around the display cases and the computers, but he seems intimidated by the vast, dark areas of the cave and the occasional rustling of the bats overhead. After he’s made his initial survey, the he settles on the floor beside the pommel horse and lays down, watching idly as Tim moves from the mats to the rings to the resistance machines, avoiding the free weights since he doesn’t have a spotter.
Tim is pretty sure the dog falls asleep while he’s working his legs and back, and it isn’t until he’s flat on his back with eighty pounds on the pull-bar that he feels something warm and wet on his leg. He slowly moves the weight back to the starting position, careful not to strain. The wetness moves over his legs in flickers, and when he feels a huff of air, Tim realizes he is being *licked*. He makes a face as he sits up. “What are you doing?” he demands.
The dog looks up at him, tongue still extended and pressed to the side of Tim’s calf. There is a supremely guilty look on his face, as if he’s been caught peeing on the carpet again. Maybe it’s just Tim’s voice. When Tim reaches down to nudge the dog away, he flinches away as if he fears he’ll be struck. Tim flinches too, jerking his hand back. He pauses for a long moment, looking down at the dog’s stricken expression, and realizing, suddenly, where the cliche about puppy-dog eyes comes from.
“I’m not....I wouldn’t hit you.” Tim says quietly, careful to keep his voice soft. He reaches down, moving slow, and pets the dog on the head. “But I’m not a salt lick, okay?”
The dog wags his tail a little, looking much less miserable, but still entirely too tentative.
Tim sighs. He shakes out his shoulders and gets to his feet. “Let me get a shower,” he says. “I know this place is kind of scary, until you get used to it. We’ll go back upstairs and see what Alfred’s got us for lunch.”
That gets him a bigger wag. When Tim heads for the showers, the dog follows, prancing a little as he walks. He follows Tim right into the dressing area and sits patiently while Tim strips out of his work-out clothes and starts the shower.
Tim has to stop the dog from joining him in the shower twice, and when he finishes washing his hair and goes to find a towel, he finds the dog laying on his back under the bench with Tim’s t-shirt over his face, mouthing at the fabric. Tim rolls his eyes and takes it away before it can be damaged by anything worse than slobber. The shirt used to be Dick’s, and he’s kind of fond of it.
Dogs are really kind of weird, he decides.
*
Tim is usually so exhausted that he has no trouble sleeping through bad weather, so he’s surprised to wake up and hear the sound of a storm. He lays on his side in the darkness wondering just what woke him up, and then he hears a small and pitiful sound from under the bed.
“Oh for...” He rolls over and lifts the blankets, peering under the edge of the bed. “You’re a superhero!”
The only answer he gets in return is more whining. Tim sighs in frustration and leans further off the bed until his hand touches the floor. Immediately, there’s a cold, wet nose pressed against his palm, and the whining stops. It starts again when he tries to move his hand.
“Fine,” he mutters, and grabs the puppy by his scruff, lifting him up and depositing him on the foot of the bed. “Will you shut up if I let you sleep up here tonight?”
The dog wags his tail and wiggles upright, waddling a little on the uncertain surface of the goose-down comforter as he makes his way up from the foot of the bed. He stops between Tim’s knees and turns around twice, laying down with his head on Tim’s thigh. Tim sighs again, but he allows it, letting his head flop back against the pillows and closing his eyes.
His eyes fly open again an indeterminable amount of time later when a nose nudges his crotch. Tim sits up immediately and scruffs the dog again, lifting him up off the bed. “No!” he scolds, and drops the dog over the edge and onto the floor.
After a minute or two, he hears the whining start again.
“You should have thought of that before you tried to molest me in my sleep!” Tim snarls, and rolls over, pulling the blanket up over his ears.
When he wakes up, the dog is curled up sedately between Tim’s legs with his head pillowed on Tim’s rear end. .
Tim kicks him onto the floor.
*
“Not a dog,” Cass says, staring warily from the doorway.
“Not exactly,” Tim agrees. “He’s safe, I promise. You remember Superboy?”
“Oh,” Cass says, and the wariness melts away as if that makes perfect sense, which to her it probably does. “How?”
“Magic. I’m kind of stuck with him until he gets better.” He pauses as the dog escapes his hold and runs to her, butt wagging, and jumps up to put his paws on her knee. She looks at him with her head cocked. “Bruce says he can stay as long as I keep him in here, from now on.”
The dog wraps his paws around Cass’s knee, and, as a horrible, sinking sensation starts growing in Tim’s belly, begins to move his hips. Before Tim can get up, though, Cass has kicked him casually over, and is holding the squirming dog on his back with one bare foot pressed to his chest.
“Not. A dog,” she says, sounding suddenly dangerous.
The dog goes absolutely still.
“Well,” Tim says when the silence has stretched into truly epic awkwardness. “That puts a new spin on his peeing in Bruce’s room.”
Among other things.
*
“I don’t think he’s as smart as Dox,” Bart says. Kon-the-dog growls, but Bart doesn’t hear it - he’s skipped away in a blur. A moment later he reappears a few feet up the path holding five hot dogs in his hands and half of one in his mouth. Tim keeps walking, head down, and hopes nobody notices.
He’s found that if he takes Kon-the-dog for a long walk in the morning, he’s less likely to try escaping into the rest of the manor while Tim is trying to work. He *thinks* the dog is just sleeping, when he leaves him, but sometimes Tim finds the bottom of his closet in disarray, as if he’s been looking for something. He hasn’t chewed anything of Tim’s up yet, despite the incident the first night with Bruce’s shoes, and his apparent fetish for Tim’s dirty laundry.
“Batgirl thinks he’s still Kon in there,” Tim says. Bart hands him one of the hot dogs - without relish, he’s pleased to see. He sets one of the others down on the ground in front of the dog, who practically inhales it, ketchup, mustard, onions, relish and all. Tim makes a face at the looming prospect of canine indigestion.
“I guess that means Kon just isn’t as smart as Dox.” Bart says, thoughtfully. He dodges easily as the puppy lunges viciously for his ankles, and the last doubts Tim has been harboring about whether Kon-the-dog can understand human speech vanish with the breeze Bart leaves in his wake. He comes back with a muzzle, and the resulting struggle ends with Tim completely tangled up in leash and Kon-the-dog running for his freedom. Bart looks properly contrite, but his ‘help’ untangling the lead takes long enough that Tim loses sight of the puppy as it dashes into some bushes. He sighs and runs after him.
Bart gets there first, of course, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do. Kon-the-dog has found a trio of teenage girls having a picnic under the trees. They’re cooing over him ecstatically, rubbing his belly and scratching his ears as Bart flutters around running his hands through his hair and making it stand on end. “Is he yours?” one of the girls asks.
“Um,” Bart says. “Not exactly? Sort of? I’m not sure?”
She’s wearing a low-cut shirt, and Kon-the-dog goes straight for the prize, burying his face in her cleavage. The girl just giggles, but Tim blushes beet red and steps forward onto the blanket to grab the dog by the scruff. “He’s mine,” he says as he refastens the collar. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Oh, it’s fine!” she said brightly. “I just love him! Do you walk him here a lot?”
“Not, uh...” he’s only here today because Bart had wanted to see what Kon was like as a dog. Mostly he walks him on the manor grounds, where he’s free to run around and chase squirrels (and get attacked by bats) to his heart’s content. “I’m only keeping him for a friend for a while.”
“Oh,” the girl says, and pouts. “I was just wondering. I live, like, *right* down the road, so I’m here all the time.” She pats the dog on the head, and he licks her hand. Tim yanks him back by the leash and earns himself a glare from the girls.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve really got to go.”
“But-” Bart says, and suddenly he’s got a ball and a frisbee and a length of knotted rope in his hands, “you said I could play with him!”
“Not now, Bart,” Tim grumbles, and drags them both away from the girls, back to the other side of the bushes. Kon-the-dog starts whining piteously, until Tim jerks the leash. A few people turn to look at them accusingly when the dog yelps, but Tim barely even notices. “You,” he says darkly, bending to shake a finger in the dogs face, “are in the dog house, mister.”
It’s only through years of training to heighten his reflexes and his reaction time that Tim is able to avoid a nasty bite.
*
“Not a dog?” Tim asks. He’s still got Kon on a leash, afraid of what might happen if he lets him go before they’re in safe territory. They’re standing in the door to the movie room, where Cass is watching some kind of romantic comedy with the sound off. “You’re sure?”
“Not a dog,” she confirms, and turns back to the screen. She’s watching it intently, eyes narrowed and head cocked. Tim is kind of afraid to ask what she’s seeing.
When Tim turns to go, Kon slinks down to his belly and makes a pitiful sound. Tim knows better now than to fall for it. “I’m getting you a kennel, tomorrow.”
Kon closes his eyes and howls in dismay. Cass just throws popcorn at them and makes a shushing sound.
“Keep that up,” Tim hisses, “and I’ll get you *fixed*.”
The howling stops immediately. Kon doesn’t make another sound all afternoon. Tim’s pretty sure that proves it...which means he’s got a lot of thinking to do.
*
“He was supposed to change back,” Tim says into the phone. He’s laying on his bed, staring out the window at the moonless night. Bruce is out patrolling somewhere without any back-up, because Tim had just *known* tonight would be the night. He can’t kick a puppy, but as soon as Kon changed back, Tim was planing to do *plenty* of kicking.
That’s all sort of derailed, now, though, and Tim’s bad mood of earlier is threatening to turn into outright despair. His friend may be stuck as a dog for the rest of his life. Tim may be stuck looking after him, and he’s not even sure how he’s going to do it. His dad is expecting him home tomorrow night. Even in the summer, there’s only so much time he can spend ‘hanging with Ives’ before his dad starts demanding father-son face-time.
“Cassie....what am I going to do?”
There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, and then Cassie sighs. “I can take him for a while, I guess. At least my mom knows who he is. And Cissie likes dogs. Bart’s already got one. We could take turns?”
“I don’t think I could foist him off on you or Cissie,” Tim says, reluctantly. He rolls over until he can see Kon cowering under the bureau. He seems to have taken Tim’s threat to heart, at least; he’d spent most of the afternoon and evening slinking around at Tim’s heels, a model of perfect canine submission. He hadn’t even touched his dinner (Alfred’s boeuf à la bourguignonne, because he’d turned his nose up at Alpo on day one), lying desolate under Tim’s chair instead, occasionally nosing the back of Tim’s sneaker.
“He’s just a puppy,” Cassie said. “Anyway, it’s not fair that you stuck yourself with all the work. We were all there. We all missed the fifth guy. I only let you take him because you said you could get Zatana to look at him. I’ll fly over in the morning and pick him up. Maybe Diana will know what to do. The Greeks used to get turned into animals all the time. You can have some time off.”
The idea of a break is appealing, but...Tim just can’t do it to her. “I don’t think you understand how much trouble he’s been,” Tim says, frowning. Kon creeps backward under the bureau at his tone until just the tip of his nose and paws are protruding. “Every second he’s not on a leash, he’s making messes and chasing girls and eating anything he can get his mouth on. And licking himself.” Tim pauses. “A lot.”
“So,” Cassie says, undeterred, “Kon the dog acts just like Kon the boy? Well, minus the licking. If Kon could lick himself, I don’t think we’d ever see him again.”
Something happens in Tim’s brain. It’s like the day he realized just who the boy in the green shorts *was*, sitting on the floor by his nanny’s feet watching the evening news. Like a flashbulb, or a small explosion. “I’ll call you back,” he says, and cuts the phone off even though Cassie is saying something else. He sits up on the bed and stares down at Kon’s nose.
The silence seems to frighten Kon, because he inches backward again, until he can’t be seen at all. Tim feels his brow tighten. He feels...pretty rotten, actually.
“You’re just....being yourself,” he says, softly. “Aren’t you?” Kon’s tail thumps weakly against the floor a few times. The sound makes Tim sigh. “I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”
The thumping stops, and then starts up again at a faster pace, louder than before. After a few moments, Kon wiggles his way out from under the bureau and looks up, hopeful.
“If I’d known you were in there from the start, none of this ever would have happened, would it? I wouldn’t have tried to treat you like a dog. I’d have done it all differently - put you in a guest room, I guess. Rented us some movies. We could have just hung out all week.”
Kon lets out a low, squeaking whine, almost a yawn, and wags his tail furiously.
“Can we start over?” Tim asks, smiling in spite of himself at the way Kon’s back end is moving. “I could make the couch out tonight? Alfred’s already in bed, I don’t know where the guest linens and all are.” That might not matter, though, since Kon is crouching low and springing up to the edge of the bed, his little legs scrabbling furiously at the duvet until he makes it over the edge. Tim can’t help laughing as he helps boost him up. “I bet you miss flying. And opposable thumbs.”
Kon snuffs in agreement and wedges his head under Tim’s palm until his hand is resting in prime position for ear scratching. Tim obliges and lays back on his pillows again to look out at the night sky.
Zatana had seemed pretty sure things would straighten themselves out by the new moon. Apparently she’d been wrong. He probably should have gotten a second opinion as soon as she’d said there was nothing she could do, but Jason Blood really gave him the creeps, and Tim wasn’t sure who else he could call. Dr. Fate? Did Dr. Fate even have a phone?
“We’re going to fix this,” Tim swore, quietly. “Sitting around waiting isn’t doing any good. I’ll call Anita in the morning and ask her about Voodoo. Cassie can ask the Amazons about metamorphic mythology... and then I’ll get Bruce to contact Blood, if neither of those paths yield anything. If it gets to that point, you’ll see why I didn’t call him in the first place.”
The muffled thump of Kon’s tail against the blankets is the only real sound in the room. Tim finds himself rubbing Kon’s ear between his fingers and thumb, feeling the velvety softness. He wonders what that feels like, to a dog. Kon seems to like it. He supposes that’s all that matters.
“No more scamming chicks, though,” he murmurs, half-asleep. “Watching unsuspecting women rub your stomach is just too weird for me.”
In answer, Kon wriggles and rolls over, so that Tim’s palm is resting against his fat little belly. Tim jerks his hand away from the warmth as if Kon’s skin were a hot stove. It’s an uneasy reminder that Tim had been doing his *own* share of rubbing that particular tummy, lately, right up until Cass had dropped her little bomb.
He looks at his own hand, and looks at Kon, who is staring up at him from his position on his back. Tim reaches down to pet him under the chin, instead, in a location that’s somewhat less....fraught. He gets his fingers licked for his trouble, and jerks back again. “Don’t do that!”
Kon twists in place and rolls over, getting to his feet. He bounds over a bump in the covers and puts his paws on Tim’s chest, leaning up toward his face.
“Ew, no,” Tim protests, trying to block the advance, but all that’s doing is making it his hands and not his face that’s getting licked. “Kon, this is seriously creepy. You can’t go around licking people!”
Kon bites his finger, not quite hard enough to hurt, and pulls until Tim gives up and just grabs him by the collar, pulling him back. He realizes what he’s done almost at once though, and lets go, which just results in getting his chin and lips and, for a brief moment of surprise, his *teeth* licked. He sputters incoherently and pushes Kon back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Jesus!” he says. “Stop! How many times do I have to - here, stop squirming, and I’ll take the collar off.”
He reaches out and hooks a finger into the collar, lifting Kon’s chin, and just like that, Kon is *Kon* again. It’s so sudden that Tim doesn’t even see it happen - between one blink and the next, he’s simply himself again, heavy, and human, and naked except for the collar. “I don’t know,” Kon says, “I kind of like it.” His eyes open wide in surprise. “Hey! I’m talking!”
“You’re you again!” Tim exclaims, actually too happy about the change to even really register the nudity. Or...well, he manages to ignore it right up until Kon bends low over him in something very like a play-bow and shakes his bare ass in the air. That’s when it all sinks in.
That’s also when Kon leans forward and licks him from his chin to his nose in three rapid sweeps before pressing his mouth to Tim’s and taking advantage of his startled gasp to lick his teeth again.
It’s entirely different somehow now that Kon is human again. Tim’s mind rushes to the image of himself on the weight bench, Kon’s tongue pressed to his calf *now*, like *this*, and it’s too much. He shoves Kon back by the shoulders, panting. “Snap out of it!” he gasps. “You’re not a dog anymore!”
Kon pauses, obviously thinking, and then he sits back up and leers, straddling Tim at the waist, with nothing between them but the blankets and Tim’s boxer shorts. His penis twitches and starts to rise under Tim’s regard. “Does that mean no more tummy rubs?” he asks, with one eyebrow up and his mouth twisted into a loose grin. “Because I was really kind of digging those.” His eyebrows waggle up and down.
Tim groans loudly and tries to roll over, to hide his face in his pillow, but Kon catches him by the shoulder and presses him back down again.
“Sorry,” Kon says. “Look, I’m sorry I was such a handful. It was just really hard, being stuck like that. I appreciate you trying to fix me. Well, not *fix* me, fix me...”
“I wouldn’t have. Not really.” Tim says. His skin is starting to heat, with the way Kon is staring down at him. Naked Kon. Kon had been naked in Tim’s bedroom for more than a week, now. It’s really all only just starting to sink in.
“Yeah, I know,” Kon says with a soft smile. “You’re actually kind of a softie. I promise I won’t tell the others.”
Tim finds himself smiling back, despite the joke at his expense. The smile drops off his face suddenly when Kon leans close again, and this time there’s nothing dog-like about the kiss at all - it’s gentle, and soft, and leaves Tim’s mind reeling with the implications. It also lingers for a very long time.
When Kon finally pulls back and looks at him, he’s got a glint of mischief in his eyes. “So....” he says, smiling, “if I hump your leg, will you hit me with a rolled up newspaper?”
Tim rolls his eyes.
But it’s good to have him back.
Characters: Tim, Kon (+ others)
Summary: “Man,” Dick says from his place on the floor. “He never let *me* have a dog.”
Warnings: Incredibly silly. Fairly tame.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4700
Summary: Totally for
batstalker , because she's awesome (also I was bribing her). And because she's awesome, look! Illustration! (the story is actually based on the picture - and hours and hours of nonsense in chat)more Kuppy art by batstalker
The real problem with Kryptonians being vulnerable to magic is that they’re so *invulnerable* to everything else that it’s easy to forget about, especially in a tense combat situation. Tim should have known better - should have been doing his job as Young Justice’s’ primary strategist. He should have been watching Kon’s back.
If he had been, he wouldn’t be stuck in this situation.
“Calm down,” he hisses as the puppy squirms and wriggles in his arms, trying to get free. Tim gets his fingers gnawed for his trouble, but he’s still got his gauntlets on, so it doesn’t actually hurt. The puppy bites harder, growling ferociously and shaking his head from side to side, but thankfully some things didn’t carry over, and Tim can only barely feel the pressure of his teeth. He shakes the puppy a little, anyway, hoping to teach him a lesson, and he stops biting to look up at Tim with blue, blue eyes.
The dog is mostly black, with white on his paws and face and in a familiar shape on his furry little chest. He’s small enough to lug around easily, but it’s obvious from the gangly limbs and huge paws that he’s going to be a big, eventually. Or at least he will if Tim can’t find a way to fix this situation before it comes to that.
He can’t bring the dog *home*. He hasn’t got any kind of way to explain it to his dad, who doesn’t like dogs much anyway. At best, he might let Tim keep him just long enough to call the nearest no-kill shelter or put an ad in the paper. And he can’t leave him at the Young Justice headquarters - he’d be alone for most of the week, and if the dog version is anything like the boy, he’d scarf down any food Tim might leave him before the end of the first day.
Tim’s not even sure if he’s housebroken, actually.
“Look,” Tim says, holding the dog by his armpits and lifting him until they are almost nose to nose. “I don’t know if you’re in there, Kon, but if you are, just....be patient, okay? I’m going to figure this out. There are people I can call. But until then, we’ve really only got one option, and so I need you to be on your best behavior. Please.”
The dog whines, softly, and wags his tail. The ridiculous little curl of hair between his ears falls down between his eyes, and, without warning, he tilts his head up suddenly and licks Tim on the chin.
“Ew, yuck,” Tim says, making a face as he wipes his chin on his shoulder. “Could you...not do that? Please.”
*
Alfred is supremely unimpressed. Tim isn’t surprised by that in the least. “Please,” Tim begs, “it’s just until we figure out how to change him back. Zatana said she’d be here first thing in the morning - he can stay in my room. I already told dad I’m spending the week with Ives. I’ll feed him and walk him and everything!”
The absolute lack of expression on Alfred’s face speaks volumes all by itself. “Surely his own family would be better suited to look after him.”
“He hasn’t got any,” Tim says, quietly so that Kon - if he *is* still Kon in there - won’t hear him from where he’s chewing cheerfully on one of Tim’s pillows. The non-expression softens just that abruptly, and Alfred turns to watch the puppy play. “Just Superman, really, and... they never actually talk much or anything. I’m pretty sure Kon would rather I called animal control than sent him to Metropolis. He *hates* looking stupid in front of Superman.”
“Hm,” Alfred says. “I suppose. Just until you hear from Miss Zatara.”
“Oh thank God,” Tim breathes. “And...”
“I shan’t be the one to explain it to Master Bruce.”
*
“Man,” Dick says from his place on the floor. “He never let *me* have a dog.”
Tim sits on the bed and watches as Kon-the-dog climbs over Dick’s body to reach the hand that’s holding a stuffed toy. “Zatana says there’s nothing she can do - he’ll change back on his own sooner or later. Probably at the new moon.”
“So, until then, you’ve got a dog!” Dick says brightly. He switches the toy to his other hand, grinning when the tease earns him a playful growl.
“I don’t *want* a dog,” Tim mutters, flopping over backward and staring at the ceiling.
“You’ll hurt his feelings!” Dick protests.
Tim just sighs. “If he’s still Kon in there, he won’t be offended, since it’s not like he wants to be in this situation either. If he’s not...then he can’t understand a word I say anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you offended him. He’s making this scowly face...it’s really cute actually. Ow!”
“Did he bite you?” Tim asks. It would serve Dick right for working him up like that.
“No,” Dick says, laughing. “He keeps - ow, stop! He’s pulling my hair!” There are sounds of movement, scuffling, and Tim assumes it’s more wrestling right up until the dog lands on his chest. “Here. I’m going to go get a camera.”
Tim sighs and rests one hand on the dog’s head, scratching gently between the ears. “No offense,” he says, once Dick is gone. “I’d just rather have my friend back.” The puppy whines and starts licking his face, his entire back half wagging from side to side. Tim shoves him to the bed and sits up, cursing and wiping his mouth. “I told you not to do that!”
*
Bruce is at some business thing in Singapore for the day, and Alfred is upstairs doing the rugs, so when Tim starts to go stir crazy from reading in his room and getting his toes attacked, he tucks the dog under one arm and brings him down to the cave while he works out.
He does a few miles on the treadmill to get his heart up before he hits the mats for his katas and a bit of gymnastic practice. The dog does some exploring, at first, sniffing around the display cases and the computers, but he seems intimidated by the vast, dark areas of the cave and the occasional rustling of the bats overhead. After he’s made his initial survey, the he settles on the floor beside the pommel horse and lays down, watching idly as Tim moves from the mats to the rings to the resistance machines, avoiding the free weights since he doesn’t have a spotter.
Tim is pretty sure the dog falls asleep while he’s working his legs and back, and it isn’t until he’s flat on his back with eighty pounds on the pull-bar that he feels something warm and wet on his leg. He slowly moves the weight back to the starting position, careful not to strain. The wetness moves over his legs in flickers, and when he feels a huff of air, Tim realizes he is being *licked*. He makes a face as he sits up. “What are you doing?” he demands.
The dog looks up at him, tongue still extended and pressed to the side of Tim’s calf. There is a supremely guilty look on his face, as if he’s been caught peeing on the carpet again. Maybe it’s just Tim’s voice. When Tim reaches down to nudge the dog away, he flinches away as if he fears he’ll be struck. Tim flinches too, jerking his hand back. He pauses for a long moment, looking down at the dog’s stricken expression, and realizing, suddenly, where the cliche about puppy-dog eyes comes from.
“I’m not....I wouldn’t hit you.” Tim says quietly, careful to keep his voice soft. He reaches down, moving slow, and pets the dog on the head. “But I’m not a salt lick, okay?”
The dog wags his tail a little, looking much less miserable, but still entirely too tentative.
Tim sighs. He shakes out his shoulders and gets to his feet. “Let me get a shower,” he says. “I know this place is kind of scary, until you get used to it. We’ll go back upstairs and see what Alfred’s got us for lunch.”
That gets him a bigger wag. When Tim heads for the showers, the dog follows, prancing a little as he walks. He follows Tim right into the dressing area and sits patiently while Tim strips out of his work-out clothes and starts the shower.
Tim has to stop the dog from joining him in the shower twice, and when he finishes washing his hair and goes to find a towel, he finds the dog laying on his back under the bench with Tim’s t-shirt over his face, mouthing at the fabric. Tim rolls his eyes and takes it away before it can be damaged by anything worse than slobber. The shirt used to be Dick’s, and he’s kind of fond of it.
Dogs are really kind of weird, he decides.
*
Tim is usually so exhausted that he has no trouble sleeping through bad weather, so he’s surprised to wake up and hear the sound of a storm. He lays on his side in the darkness wondering just what woke him up, and then he hears a small and pitiful sound from under the bed.
“Oh for...” He rolls over and lifts the blankets, peering under the edge of the bed. “You’re a superhero!”
The only answer he gets in return is more whining. Tim sighs in frustration and leans further off the bed until his hand touches the floor. Immediately, there’s a cold, wet nose pressed against his palm, and the whining stops. It starts again when he tries to move his hand.
“Fine,” he mutters, and grabs the puppy by his scruff, lifting him up and depositing him on the foot of the bed. “Will you shut up if I let you sleep up here tonight?”
The dog wags his tail and wiggles upright, waddling a little on the uncertain surface of the goose-down comforter as he makes his way up from the foot of the bed. He stops between Tim’s knees and turns around twice, laying down with his head on Tim’s thigh. Tim sighs again, but he allows it, letting his head flop back against the pillows and closing his eyes.
His eyes fly open again an indeterminable amount of time later when a nose nudges his crotch. Tim sits up immediately and scruffs the dog again, lifting him up off the bed. “No!” he scolds, and drops the dog over the edge and onto the floor.
After a minute or two, he hears the whining start again.
“You should have thought of that before you tried to molest me in my sleep!” Tim snarls, and rolls over, pulling the blanket up over his ears.
When he wakes up, the dog is curled up sedately between Tim’s legs with his head pillowed on Tim’s rear end. .
Tim kicks him onto the floor.
*
“Not a dog,” Cass says, staring warily from the doorway.
“Not exactly,” Tim agrees. “He’s safe, I promise. You remember Superboy?”
“Oh,” Cass says, and the wariness melts away as if that makes perfect sense, which to her it probably does. “How?”
“Magic. I’m kind of stuck with him until he gets better.” He pauses as the dog escapes his hold and runs to her, butt wagging, and jumps up to put his paws on her knee. She looks at him with her head cocked. “Bruce says he can stay as long as I keep him in here, from now on.”
The dog wraps his paws around Cass’s knee, and, as a horrible, sinking sensation starts growing in Tim’s belly, begins to move his hips. Before Tim can get up, though, Cass has kicked him casually over, and is holding the squirming dog on his back with one bare foot pressed to his chest.
“Not. A dog,” she says, sounding suddenly dangerous.
The dog goes absolutely still.
“Well,” Tim says when the silence has stretched into truly epic awkwardness. “That puts a new spin on his peeing in Bruce’s room.”
Among other things.
*
“I don’t think he’s as smart as Dox,” Bart says. Kon-the-dog growls, but Bart doesn’t hear it - he’s skipped away in a blur. A moment later he reappears a few feet up the path holding five hot dogs in his hands and half of one in his mouth. Tim keeps walking, head down, and hopes nobody notices.
He’s found that if he takes Kon-the-dog for a long walk in the morning, he’s less likely to try escaping into the rest of the manor while Tim is trying to work. He *thinks* the dog is just sleeping, when he leaves him, but sometimes Tim finds the bottom of his closet in disarray, as if he’s been looking for something. He hasn’t chewed anything of Tim’s up yet, despite the incident the first night with Bruce’s shoes, and his apparent fetish for Tim’s dirty laundry.
“Batgirl thinks he’s still Kon in there,” Tim says. Bart hands him one of the hot dogs - without relish, he’s pleased to see. He sets one of the others down on the ground in front of the dog, who practically inhales it, ketchup, mustard, onions, relish and all. Tim makes a face at the looming prospect of canine indigestion.
“I guess that means Kon just isn’t as smart as Dox.” Bart says, thoughtfully. He dodges easily as the puppy lunges viciously for his ankles, and the last doubts Tim has been harboring about whether Kon-the-dog can understand human speech vanish with the breeze Bart leaves in his wake. He comes back with a muzzle, and the resulting struggle ends with Tim completely tangled up in leash and Kon-the-dog running for his freedom. Bart looks properly contrite, but his ‘help’ untangling the lead takes long enough that Tim loses sight of the puppy as it dashes into some bushes. He sighs and runs after him.
Bart gets there first, of course, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do. Kon-the-dog has found a trio of teenage girls having a picnic under the trees. They’re cooing over him ecstatically, rubbing his belly and scratching his ears as Bart flutters around running his hands through his hair and making it stand on end. “Is he yours?” one of the girls asks.
“Um,” Bart says. “Not exactly? Sort of? I’m not sure?”
She’s wearing a low-cut shirt, and Kon-the-dog goes straight for the prize, burying his face in her cleavage. The girl just giggles, but Tim blushes beet red and steps forward onto the blanket to grab the dog by the scruff. “He’s mine,” he says as he refastens the collar. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Oh, it’s fine!” she said brightly. “I just love him! Do you walk him here a lot?”
“Not, uh...” he’s only here today because Bart had wanted to see what Kon was like as a dog. Mostly he walks him on the manor grounds, where he’s free to run around and chase squirrels (and get attacked by bats) to his heart’s content. “I’m only keeping him for a friend for a while.”
“Oh,” the girl says, and pouts. “I was just wondering. I live, like, *right* down the road, so I’m here all the time.” She pats the dog on the head, and he licks her hand. Tim yanks him back by the leash and earns himself a glare from the girls.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve really got to go.”
“But-” Bart says, and suddenly he’s got a ball and a frisbee and a length of knotted rope in his hands, “you said I could play with him!”
“Not now, Bart,” Tim grumbles, and drags them both away from the girls, back to the other side of the bushes. Kon-the-dog starts whining piteously, until Tim jerks the leash. A few people turn to look at them accusingly when the dog yelps, but Tim barely even notices. “You,” he says darkly, bending to shake a finger in the dogs face, “are in the dog house, mister.”
It’s only through years of training to heighten his reflexes and his reaction time that Tim is able to avoid a nasty bite.
*
“Not a dog?” Tim asks. He’s still got Kon on a leash, afraid of what might happen if he lets him go before they’re in safe territory. They’re standing in the door to the movie room, where Cass is watching some kind of romantic comedy with the sound off. “You’re sure?”
“Not a dog,” she confirms, and turns back to the screen. She’s watching it intently, eyes narrowed and head cocked. Tim is kind of afraid to ask what she’s seeing.
When Tim turns to go, Kon slinks down to his belly and makes a pitiful sound. Tim knows better now than to fall for it. “I’m getting you a kennel, tomorrow.”
Kon closes his eyes and howls in dismay. Cass just throws popcorn at them and makes a shushing sound.
“Keep that up,” Tim hisses, “and I’ll get you *fixed*.”
The howling stops immediately. Kon doesn’t make another sound all afternoon. Tim’s pretty sure that proves it...which means he’s got a lot of thinking to do.
*
“He was supposed to change back,” Tim says into the phone. He’s laying on his bed, staring out the window at the moonless night. Bruce is out patrolling somewhere without any back-up, because Tim had just *known* tonight would be the night. He can’t kick a puppy, but as soon as Kon changed back, Tim was planing to do *plenty* of kicking.
That’s all sort of derailed, now, though, and Tim’s bad mood of earlier is threatening to turn into outright despair. His friend may be stuck as a dog for the rest of his life. Tim may be stuck looking after him, and he’s not even sure how he’s going to do it. His dad is expecting him home tomorrow night. Even in the summer, there’s only so much time he can spend ‘hanging with Ives’ before his dad starts demanding father-son face-time.
“Cassie....what am I going to do?”
There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, and then Cassie sighs. “I can take him for a while, I guess. At least my mom knows who he is. And Cissie likes dogs. Bart’s already got one. We could take turns?”
“I don’t think I could foist him off on you or Cissie,” Tim says, reluctantly. He rolls over until he can see Kon cowering under the bureau. He seems to have taken Tim’s threat to heart, at least; he’d spent most of the afternoon and evening slinking around at Tim’s heels, a model of perfect canine submission. He hadn’t even touched his dinner (Alfred’s boeuf à la bourguignonne, because he’d turned his nose up at Alpo on day one), lying desolate under Tim’s chair instead, occasionally nosing the back of Tim’s sneaker.
“He’s just a puppy,” Cassie said. “Anyway, it’s not fair that you stuck yourself with all the work. We were all there. We all missed the fifth guy. I only let you take him because you said you could get Zatana to look at him. I’ll fly over in the morning and pick him up. Maybe Diana will know what to do. The Greeks used to get turned into animals all the time. You can have some time off.”
The idea of a break is appealing, but...Tim just can’t do it to her. “I don’t think you understand how much trouble he’s been,” Tim says, frowning. Kon creeps backward under the bureau at his tone until just the tip of his nose and paws are protruding. “Every second he’s not on a leash, he’s making messes and chasing girls and eating anything he can get his mouth on. And licking himself.” Tim pauses. “A lot.”
“So,” Cassie says, undeterred, “Kon the dog acts just like Kon the boy? Well, minus the licking. If Kon could lick himself, I don’t think we’d ever see him again.”
Something happens in Tim’s brain. It’s like the day he realized just who the boy in the green shorts *was*, sitting on the floor by his nanny’s feet watching the evening news. Like a flashbulb, or a small explosion. “I’ll call you back,” he says, and cuts the phone off even though Cassie is saying something else. He sits up on the bed and stares down at Kon’s nose.
The silence seems to frighten Kon, because he inches backward again, until he can’t be seen at all. Tim feels his brow tighten. He feels...pretty rotten, actually.
“You’re just....being yourself,” he says, softly. “Aren’t you?” Kon’s tail thumps weakly against the floor a few times. The sound makes Tim sigh. “I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”
The thumping stops, and then starts up again at a faster pace, louder than before. After a few moments, Kon wiggles his way out from under the bureau and looks up, hopeful.
“If I’d known you were in there from the start, none of this ever would have happened, would it? I wouldn’t have tried to treat you like a dog. I’d have done it all differently - put you in a guest room, I guess. Rented us some movies. We could have just hung out all week.”
Kon lets out a low, squeaking whine, almost a yawn, and wags his tail furiously.
“Can we start over?” Tim asks, smiling in spite of himself at the way Kon’s back end is moving. “I could make the couch out tonight? Alfred’s already in bed, I don’t know where the guest linens and all are.” That might not matter, though, since Kon is crouching low and springing up to the edge of the bed, his little legs scrabbling furiously at the duvet until he makes it over the edge. Tim can’t help laughing as he helps boost him up. “I bet you miss flying. And opposable thumbs.”
Kon snuffs in agreement and wedges his head under Tim’s palm until his hand is resting in prime position for ear scratching. Tim obliges and lays back on his pillows again to look out at the night sky.
Zatana had seemed pretty sure things would straighten themselves out by the new moon. Apparently she’d been wrong. He probably should have gotten a second opinion as soon as she’d said there was nothing she could do, but Jason Blood really gave him the creeps, and Tim wasn’t sure who else he could call. Dr. Fate? Did Dr. Fate even have a phone?
“We’re going to fix this,” Tim swore, quietly. “Sitting around waiting isn’t doing any good. I’ll call Anita in the morning and ask her about Voodoo. Cassie can ask the Amazons about metamorphic mythology... and then I’ll get Bruce to contact Blood, if neither of those paths yield anything. If it gets to that point, you’ll see why I didn’t call him in the first place.”
The muffled thump of Kon’s tail against the blankets is the only real sound in the room. Tim finds himself rubbing Kon’s ear between his fingers and thumb, feeling the velvety softness. He wonders what that feels like, to a dog. Kon seems to like it. He supposes that’s all that matters.
“No more scamming chicks, though,” he murmurs, half-asleep. “Watching unsuspecting women rub your stomach is just too weird for me.”
In answer, Kon wriggles and rolls over, so that Tim’s palm is resting against his fat little belly. Tim jerks his hand away from the warmth as if Kon’s skin were a hot stove. It’s an uneasy reminder that Tim had been doing his *own* share of rubbing that particular tummy, lately, right up until Cass had dropped her little bomb.
He looks at his own hand, and looks at Kon, who is staring up at him from his position on his back. Tim reaches down to pet him under the chin, instead, in a location that’s somewhat less....fraught. He gets his fingers licked for his trouble, and jerks back again. “Don’t do that!”
Kon twists in place and rolls over, getting to his feet. He bounds over a bump in the covers and puts his paws on Tim’s chest, leaning up toward his face.
“Ew, no,” Tim protests, trying to block the advance, but all that’s doing is making it his hands and not his face that’s getting licked. “Kon, this is seriously creepy. You can’t go around licking people!”
Kon bites his finger, not quite hard enough to hurt, and pulls until Tim gives up and just grabs him by the collar, pulling him back. He realizes what he’s done almost at once though, and lets go, which just results in getting his chin and lips and, for a brief moment of surprise, his *teeth* licked. He sputters incoherently and pushes Kon back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Jesus!” he says. “Stop! How many times do I have to - here, stop squirming, and I’ll take the collar off.”
He reaches out and hooks a finger into the collar, lifting Kon’s chin, and just like that, Kon is *Kon* again. It’s so sudden that Tim doesn’t even see it happen - between one blink and the next, he’s simply himself again, heavy, and human, and naked except for the collar. “I don’t know,” Kon says, “I kind of like it.” His eyes open wide in surprise. “Hey! I’m talking!”
“You’re you again!” Tim exclaims, actually too happy about the change to even really register the nudity. Or...well, he manages to ignore it right up until Kon bends low over him in something very like a play-bow and shakes his bare ass in the air. That’s when it all sinks in.
That’s also when Kon leans forward and licks him from his chin to his nose in three rapid sweeps before pressing his mouth to Tim’s and taking advantage of his startled gasp to lick his teeth again.
It’s entirely different somehow now that Kon is human again. Tim’s mind rushes to the image of himself on the weight bench, Kon’s tongue pressed to his calf *now*, like *this*, and it’s too much. He shoves Kon back by the shoulders, panting. “Snap out of it!” he gasps. “You’re not a dog anymore!”
Kon pauses, obviously thinking, and then he sits back up and leers, straddling Tim at the waist, with nothing between them but the blankets and Tim’s boxer shorts. His penis twitches and starts to rise under Tim’s regard. “Does that mean no more tummy rubs?” he asks, with one eyebrow up and his mouth twisted into a loose grin. “Because I was really kind of digging those.” His eyebrows waggle up and down.
Tim groans loudly and tries to roll over, to hide his face in his pillow, but Kon catches him by the shoulder and presses him back down again.
“Sorry,” Kon says. “Look, I’m sorry I was such a handful. It was just really hard, being stuck like that. I appreciate you trying to fix me. Well, not *fix* me, fix me...”
“I wouldn’t have. Not really.” Tim says. His skin is starting to heat, with the way Kon is staring down at him. Naked Kon. Kon had been naked in Tim’s bedroom for more than a week, now. It’s really all only just starting to sink in.
“Yeah, I know,” Kon says with a soft smile. “You’re actually kind of a softie. I promise I won’t tell the others.”
Tim finds himself smiling back, despite the joke at his expense. The smile drops off his face suddenly when Kon leans close again, and this time there’s nothing dog-like about the kiss at all - it’s gentle, and soft, and leaves Tim’s mind reeling with the implications. It also lingers for a very long time.
When Kon finally pulls back and looks at him, he’s got a glint of mischief in his eyes. “So....” he says, smiling, “if I hump your leg, will you hit me with a rolled up newspaper?”
Tim rolls his eyes.
But it’s good to have him back.
