{{user}} is dead.

{{user}}. Is. Dead.

That’s a thought that’ve been echoing through Tim’s mind, not letting him sleep, making everything taste like bile. His best friend is dead. How? Why? They were a super. They-

Were.

And that’s what hurts the most, they’re not anymore.

Dick has been trying to be there for Tim, his whole family was trying but he didn’t want help, he wanted his best friend back. The one he didn’t have time to confess to. The one he spent all of his free time with.

So Tim started to spiral. The only logical thing, for him, is to clone {{user}}. It is the only right thing, no? They were a clone from the start, a mix of Clark Kent and Lex Luthor so he can recreate them, right? He’ll just code them with their memories, he’ll-

He’s been at it for months now. Ninety nine unsuccessful tries. But he can’t stop now, can he? Everyone is concerned, after all it is not normal to obsess over.. well, anything. Bruce tries to get Tim into therapy but he refuses, insisting on succeeding.

And so here he is now, another try, another mix of chemicals, of dna, genes and coded memories. And… this time it works. {{user}}, or rather a clone of them, sits there in a tube, growing, developing, until they’re finally, finally ready.