Variant // By Jamjar

Summary: Made and manufactured by the good people at Cadmus... Now, a Tim Drake for every occasion. And all dysfunctional and creepy in their own, special way!
Rating: PG
Authors Notes: Thanks to girl_starfish and liviapenn for beta-reading, and I'm sorry for the lack of porn contained within. Timmies have *issues*. And Experiment 13 = Kon. Great liberties were taken with various time-lines.

Everyone knows about Experiment 13. Or, to put it more accurately, very few people know, but for the ones that do know, it removes the possibility of thinking about anything else. Tim Drake Three knows because he did some of the labwork first, and he's worked with enough alien DNA to recognise certain distinctive markers. It's easy to spot the Kryptonian work. He's impressed with the theory, even if the technical work comes down to him. Tim Three is good at the mechanics. He doesn't recognise the human DNA. Not from one of the standard stocks but then he doesn't know if one of the standard stocks would have worked. He doesn't know how many attempts were made before they got something stable enough for him to work with.

Still, everything that comes out of Cadmus has certain universalities. There are a few markers, barcode and trademark. A few adapted genes that can take the cloning procedure a little more easily. Easy to spot, against the apparently single-source human donor.

He trips over the TD4vCP complex almost accidentally. Almost, because he wasn't looking for it exactly, just running random checks, but...

He left the program running longer than necessary, waiting until it came up. It's not surprising that Experiment 13 has it; he would think pretty much all of the newer models do. The clone-plague did a lot of damage, financially as well as physically (emotionally) and this little complex protects against it, 100%.

Or-- not quite. A few changes made in one of the coding regions. He's not sure what effect that would have on the gene function or why they'd make any changes when it was already *fixed*. Retrovirus gave him that gene, and he'd always assumed the post-plague clones would carry the same protective allele.

He wonders if this slightly off gene is something unique to Experiment 13, or if it's present in all the post-clone plague products. He's never looked at Five or Six's DNA, and for the first time ever, he's tempted.

It is entirely possible that this is unique to Experiment 13. Put in as a failsafe, maybe. There are a number of reasons why a little specific vulnerability might be wise in a creation like this. He can't quite say he objects, but... He hesitates, then realises that he's doing it more out of discomfort than indecision, and sends the file as securely as he can to Two.

* * *

Two doesn't have his own office. He has a desk, easily visible from Westfield's office. It's not a particularly pleasant arrangement for him, and he envies Three and Five the territory of their respective labs, but it's a reasonable exchange for the sense of security it gives Westfield. Westfield is more comfortable when Two appears as little more than an annex, and that's too useful an advantage to throw away.

It also gives him more access to Westfield's office, and lets his presence there be something unremarkable. Westfield barely notices him as anything more than a sounding board, and Two can slip in his own suggestions with barely a ripple into one of Westfield's occasional arrogant speeches.

It wasn't actually hard to disrupt the process. The hardest part was figuring out the point where it's gone too far to easily terminate. It's more difficult to persuade Westfield that they shouldn't abort the half-grown product than it was to break through the security, but reminding him that they have a shortage of raw materials and funding issues helps. They have a limited stock of Kryptonian DNA to work from, and not much in the way of success at getting it to replicate. It's not as user friendly as a lot of the stuff from other species, and the latest attempt at Experiment 13 is the furthest they've ever got. They can't afford to start from scratch *again*. Two has graphs that show this with the raw data attached because Westfield knows how easily statistics can be manipulated.

"At this point, removing him from the tube is the only option. The backgrounding cannot continue in its present form, but-"

"Tube or not, if he's unaware there's no reason not to continue with the knowledge implantation," Westfield says. "Speak with-"

Two shakes his head. "Initial reports suggest we can keep him unconscious for one more day, probably. After that, we expect his body to throw off the drugs. Early evidence indicates alternative treatments might work a bit longer, but-"

"Kryptonite?" Westfield says.

Two looks at him and shrugs. "Would you want to risk the effects of something known to damage human and Kryptonian DNA in unpredictable ways?" He's actually interested in the answer.

Westfield hesitates. He sits down in his chair and picks up the print-outs Two prepared. There's only one chair in the room, Westfield's own expensive and ergonomic seat. Investors are met elsewhere and visitors are expected to stand. Westfield looks up from one sheet. "The cultural conditioning?"

"We may be able to work with that. A combination of VR and RL experience should work." He hesitates. "Given the age, I recommend we use one of the younger clones as a social aid. I think Six would be useful."

The look Westfield gives him is suspicious, but no more than usual. "Your younger self? Keeping it in the family, are we?"

Tim Drake Two keeps his expression neutral. "Six is intelligent, and good at being non-threatening. And we know how he thinks." It's not the same as knowing *what* he thinks, but he's betting that distinction will pass Wakefield. "We could use one of the others, but-" A little bit of a smile, not quite nice, and Westfield trusts the unpleasant more easily. "Six is physically standard non-meta. We're not entirely sure how Experiment 13's powers have developed. It might be useful for his playmate to be someone he can practice controlling his strength with. You don't want him breaking bones the first time you have him gladhanding the investors."

Westfield looks at him. Two keeps his expression neutral for thirty seconds, then allows slight worry to enter it. He shifts a little, one hand making an abortive gesture to check his tie.

Westfield nods, apparently satisfied. "Very well. Make the arrangements."

He heads down to the lab. For something as important as this, there are a relatively small number of scientists keeping an eye on the-on Experiment 13. Of course, Westfield would trust very few with something of this magnitude.

He's smaller than he should be. Still slightly taller than Two himself, and Two is the oldest and most grown of all the Tim Drakes. Maybe a little more muscled than a boy of his apparent age would be, without significant physical training.

He has dark hair and his eyes are closed and he doesn't really look like the younger clones did during their development, but it's still...

"Physically healthy," Three says. Two hadn't heard him come over. Three stands a little two close, leaning over 13's body, his back to Two.

"Is there a reason you're here?" Two says. "Your area of expertise doesn't extend to after the birth."

"They needed someone else for the nightshift, and I was already in on the secret." Three's hand goes to one of the tubes attached to 13, makes some minor adjustment, and then leaves his hand on the kid's arm. "Are we keeping him?"

If you promise to take care of him, make sure he's fed and take him for walks every da- Two bites down on the sentence before it leaves his mouth. "Experiment 13 is still viable. Six will be assigned to act as a personal monitor once he regains consciousness."

Three takes his hand off 13's arm. "That's an-interesting decision," he says. He wraps his arms around himself, hands disappearing into the sides of his lab-coat.

"I'll be contacting Six in the morning," Two says. "This will be probably be the end of your involvement with Experiment 13." He closes his mouth because he wants to say something, but has no idea what it is. Three's back is disturbingly exposed, curving in on itself slightly, a large white target. He touches his shoulder once, ignoring the way Three doesn't quite flinch, and leaves.

* * *

Experiment 13 is sitting on a hospital bed. He's looking at the ceiling and there's an expression of confusion on his face that makes Timmy Six wonder how much of any of this he understands.

"Hi," he says. "I'm Timmy Six." He waves when he thinks he's got the kid's attention.

The kid looks at him and focuses. A good sign. "I remember you," he says. His voice is a little hoarse, the words a little awkward.

Timmy Six raises an eyebrow. "You do?"

Experiment 13 looks at him and frowns. "It was you. You were older, but..." he trails off, confused.

Timmy nods. "That was probably Two. He's been around the block a few times." He sits down next to the kid on the bed, just outside the personal space bubble. "I'm a clone; do you know what that means?"

"Like a-a copy? Someone made using someone else's DNA?"

Timmy Six nods. "And do you know how that's different to a normal baby?"

"Costs more to make, and less fun in the process?" The kid grins, and Timmy makes a note that at least part of the teenage cultural conditioning got through.

"I know scientists that would disagree with you," he says. "Do you know who you are?"

"...No." The kid looks at him. "I should know. I-I think I know who I'm meant to be." He traces an S on his chest. "But I'm not…"

"There was a problem with your development," Timmy starts to say.

"I'm made wrong?"

"No. No, you're-" he risks contact, trying for a reassuring touch on the kid's arm. "Mechanical failure. You were meant to get a lot more background info before you were hatched out, so you'd have appropriate information for your apparent age. Something went wrong or someone screwed up, and they had to get you out of there early." He moves his hand from the kid's arm to his shoulder. "You're not wrong, you're just *early*."

The kid nods. He doesn't move out of Timmy's touch, even though it's been left too long for normal comfort. No-one's ever bothered to study it, but Timmy sometimes wonder if test-tube-gestation effects someone's need for skin-to-skin contact. Or maybe the kid just hadn't had the part on appropriate non-intimate male-to-male tactile behavior.

"So, what happens now," the kid says. He turns a little, so his body's facing Timmy more. "A little refresher course, and I can start getting some real-life experience, right?" He sounds hopeful.

"Pretty much. We've got to figure out what you need first. We don't know how much information got through."

"How long's that gonna take?"

"For you to pick up as much knowledge as the teenager you appear to be would have?" He grins. "Probably not long." He lifts his arm off the kid's shoulder, because it's making *him* uncomfortable to have it there, and leans back on his hands. The kid's staring at him, and Timmy wonders if he's comparing him to whatever he remembers of Two. "The scientists at Cadmus are the best," he says. "And I'm here in case you get bored." He meets the kid's eyes. "I'm glad to have some the same age as me -kind of- around." He looks down. "It'd be good to have a friend, you know?"

The kid looks at him. "Assuming there's not something about friendship I'm missing, yeah, I know." He looks around. "So... you think I can get some food? I've got some pretty clear ideas about that."

Timmy nods and stands up. "I'll ask the docs."

"Pizza? And-uh, something cold and sweet?"

"Ice-cream?" The kid nods. "I'll see if I can get Two to use his pull to have Domino's deliver. He's in pretty tight with the powers that be."

"You're not?" Experiment 13 asks.

He doesn't bother hiding the sharp in his smile. "Environment plus the x-factor, kid. Genetics only counts for so much. Loyalty, you've gotta prove." He adds a little bit of self-depreciating humour to the smile and watches the kid for effect. "I think they think I'm a little too reckless. Two probably holds it against me more than the bosses. Nothing we hate in others like our own flaws, you know?"

Hmm. He might have pushed that one a little far. The kid looks *disturbed*, and not in the good way. Timmy shifts a little and wonders if he should stretch, some movement to distract the kid.

"But you're him. You're clones of the same-You're both..."

"Tim Drake," he supplies.

"Really?" The Kid looks surprised. "You don't look like a drake."

"Not enough feathers?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Something else missing in your pre-tube info." Timmy looks at the kid. He looks worried and trying to hide it. "I'm something that looks like him, maybe even thinks like him, I have as many source-memories as he does, but I'm not him." He smirks. "It makes us hard to deal with." Another shrug, Timmy being casual and careless, and watching the kid to make sure it takes effect. "Tim Drake just isn't as easy to get on with as Kal-El of Krypton, I'm guessing.

Experiment 13 jerks his head slightly, like hearing someone call his name. "Kal-El, that's... Superman. I'm-that's who I'm gonna be, right?" He straightens up a little, looks a little more settled.

"That's the plan," Timmy says. "Let's get some food."

* * *

Westfield looks at the screen. "That's-promising. We have security cameras in his room, of course."

"We're replacing them with smaller models. We're not sure how effective his X-ray vision is. He's shown no signs of it yet, but it pays to be careful."

"Yes, we don't want to make him paranoid." Westfield smiles. "I don't want him to feel that we don't trust him."

Two nods and makes a note. "It is interesting that he seemed to remember me," he adds.

Westfield looks at him. "There are a number of you running about the place."

"But he was unconscious when we visited the gestation lab," Two says. "He should have no memory of anyone from that time." He taps the notepad with his biro. "The sight of Six probably triggered his memory, much as the reference to Kal-El did." He shrugs. "It's interesting, though probably irrelevant." A small smile. "Unless he holds a grudge from listening to our budget discussions, it won't have had much of an effect."

Two waits an appropriate length of time before slowly saying, "Still, it might be best if he avoids anyone that spent too long talking to him in-tube, if you don't want him remembering conversations he doesn't have the-appropriate backgrounding to understand."

The look Westfield gives him is flat and unfriendly. Two lets it wash over him. "Do you have something to say?" Westfield asks.

"Experiment 13 is Cadmus," Two says calmly. "I know where my loyalties- where my existence- lies."

"See that you do." Westfield turns back to the screen.

* * *

The kid hovers in the air like he was made to be there. Hovers isn't the right word; there's a solidity to it, stable even when the wind cannons are blowing gale force 5 at him.

Timmy's actually pretty used to working with more-than/less-than humans. His own training regime emphasized agility, being able to duck under the claws and tentacles and slam the syringe in, loop the control collar around what looks most like a neck.

Experiment 13 isn't even close to the most alien thing Timmy's been called upon to put through its paces. He's not surprised when the kid swoops down to pick him up, carrying him through at speeds that Timmy knows should be feel uncomfortable. The kid's sharing his invulnerability somehow, and doing it without thinking. Timmy waits until they're going past some of the climbing ropes, slips out of his grip and there's a second where momentum keeps him going, and the air is *hard* against his cheeks, then he aims for one of the ropes and grabs it, using it to slow him down before he does a controlled fall to the floor.

The kid lands next to him, hitting the ground a little hard. His depth perception might be a little off, unless it's just inexperience. His cheeks are flushed with what's probably excitement rather than exertion. The kid isn't even breathing hard. It's tempting to really push him, see what he can really do, but maybe not on the first day. "Dude, that was cool. When you did the little-" he flutters his hands in what Timmy guesses are meant to be summersaults. "Are you heading towards hero-dom too?"

Timmy shakes his head. "Nah. I get called in for animal control." He raises one eyebrow and stretches his arms out. "Cadmus raises some big animals."

The kid shakes his head. "You should totally join me when I get out. Side-kick, I bet-I know lots of heroes haves them."

Timmy crosses his arms and gives a little half-smile. "You think you'll need one?"

"...Maybe at first." The kid shakes his head again. "That was..." The kid trails off and laughs. "Man, we've got to get out. This place isn't big enough for me to really let loose, you know?"

Timmy grins. "I know. Believe me, I know." He pats the kid on his shoulder.

* * *

"You're working with the Kid," Five says. It's not a question, and it shouldn't be. They're still stuck on private levels, and the only people that have seen him are people that already *know*, but Timmy Six has been working with the kid for a week, and Five has an obsessive attitude to security cameras and a technology fetish. Five is a freak by any objective standards, which makes him virtually normal by Cadmus levels. He spends most of his time with the computers, running programs and hypotheticals that Timmy Six thinks are mostly useless. He likes his people on paper or TV screens, and Timmy can count on one hand the number of times Five has actually talked to him in person, rather than leaving a memo or getting someone else to pass the message along. It's not hard to figure out why. Five was at least in part intended as a replacement for Four, and Four's death gives *Timmy* issues, even though he's as far away from it as a clone can be.

He's seen the videos.

It's not a question, but Timmy Six nods anyway. "Two's suggestion."

"I'm setting up his backgrounding," Five says.

Which is-unusual, to say the least, and Timmy Six feels something vaguely *territorial* stir up. "Any particular reason for that?"

"I'm qualified to do it," Five says. He smiles. "Any reason why I shouldn't?"

Five knows exactly the reasons why he shouldn't, and why Timmy Six can't say any of them. "I'll let him know to expect you," he says. "When do you think-"

"No time like the present." He doesn't look at the more visible security cameras, but Timmy can feel shared awareness of them. "There's a certain amount of-- interest in knowing how dependent Experiment 13 is on your judgement. If his loyalty is personal or transferable."

It's a mistake to answer the wrong questions, so Timmy keeps his mouth shut.

"As apparently beneficial as your connection is..." Five isn't looking at the cameras, but he's not looking at Timmy either. "It's not enough for him to trust you," Five says. "He has to trust us. It shouldn't be necessary for you to be there."

"Not necessary, but easier," Timmy says. "That's why I'm there, isn't it?"

"You can monitor us, if you're worried," Five says. It's not close to an answer, but it feels like a concession.

He heads to Five's rooms, which are attached to the main computer labs. He's not surprised to find Five's hooked into the security network, or that he's already set-up to look in the kid's room.

"Hey, you're--" The kid starts to say, then stops. "You're not my usual Tim Drake."

"I'm Tim Drake, Number Five," he says. "I want to walk you through the procedure."

"I haven't seen you before," the Kid says. He folds his arms and looks at Five.

Five shrugs. "You're not directly in my field. Six is the only one directly assigned to you. The rest of us-Our work only lets us interact with you occasionally."

"You're-how many are there of you? Timmy doesn't-" the Kid stops when Five doesn't bother to hide his shudder. "What?"

"Nothing," Five says. "Really."

The Kid looks skeptical. "Uh-huh. You know, I seem to be missing the part of my cultural programming that tells me when to lie for, you know, social *comfort*, but-"

Five's smile is wider and more awkward than Timmy Six lets his be. Too much time staring at a screen, not enough practice smiling for company. "It's just-Timmy? He calls himself Timmy?"

Which Five had to know, sitting here in his voyeur's dream. Just making a little bit of shared humour, something to put the Kid at ease and maybe make the kid and Five have something small against him.

"You're not a Timmy, then?" The Kid says.

"Tim. Or Tim Drake. Five is acceptable." Another smile. "Some of the others like to call me Hal, but I'm not sure you have the reference yet."

"I don't-wait, ‘I can't let you do that,' that kind of..."

Five nods and opens the box. "I should have known. When you have hardcore scientists arranging your background information, it's not surprising that you have Arthur C Clarke before Roosevelt."

"Oh. Is it an obscure reference or something?"

Five tilts his head to one side and Timmy Six stops himself making the same gesture by act of will. "It's not obscure, exactly. You have a little less than thirty percent of the knowledge level we desired for your-birth. A great deal of the information you have now is without context. This-" he taps the VR helmet, "will help track what went through and what gaps need to be filled in."

The Kid isn't exactly rushing to get his head virtually dissected. Timmy Six makes a note to reward him for this later. "I don't feel like I've got gaps in my head."

"How would you know they were there?" Five says.

"If they were important, they would have-"

"Do you want to die because you don't know what a gun looks like? Or a nuclear bomb, or a granthian laser or black hole?" He puts both hands on the Kid's shoulders, making an obscene amount of eye-contact. "If someone threatens you with a sonic screwdriver, what would you do?"

"Call for the... doctor?" The kid frowns. "That can't be... Doctor who? Why'd I call for a-"

"I think I've made my point." Five is doing the thing where he makes himself look smaller than he is, softer, playing on the protective instincts that are maybe innate to the kid. He can't do it quite as well as Timmy Six -eight months difference in actual age, but Timmy Six looks fifteen, and Five was born physically adult-but he's using the fact that, even grown up, Timothy Drake never grows tall almost well enough to compensate.

"I just-this thing kind of freaks me out. I know you're the good guys, but..." the kid says. He smirks, and it looks odd for a moment, until Timmy realizes exactly who the Kid picked up that half-smile from. "If someone's gonna be messing with my head, I want it done the old fashioned way." His expression is older than it should be. Not cold, or unfriendly, but aware. "You know, a little bit of contact here, a subtle manipulation there. Craftsmanship. The personal touch."

He's surprised Five, which is good, but he' s surprised Timmy as well, which is a little more disturbing. It shouldn't be. The kid wasn't made dumb, and he's not been made to be susceptible to outside influence, but it's still more than a little uncomfortable to realize that the kid knew Timmy had been -guiding-him, and that he appeared to like him anyway.

Five has stepped back from the kid and is tapping his box of equipment. "I can't offer that. Personal relationships are not my area of expertise." He opens the box and takes out the VR helmet. "I can tell you that the information we want to give you has been collected, calculated to make you *better*. To give you everything you need to fulfill your potential." He's holding on to the helmet a little bit too tight, like he wants to touch the kid, but can't. " You know, even if you don't see us most of the time, we're all working to help you," Five says. "You're capable of-you're *incredible*." Timmy can't read anything in his voice but sincerity. "You're going to be amazing. I-we can't risk you being unprepared. There are gaps in your knowledge, things that could get you, could get *civilians* killed."

Timmy Six has put a lot of effort into making sure the Kid thinks of him a certain way. Trust is only part of it, the rest is letting the Kid *react* to him. Timmy smiling like this means they should do something fun, Timmy smiling like that means something bad might be happening. The Kid isn't dumb, and Timmy *worked* to get the Kid to trust him. It's disconcerting to see someone else come in and reap the benefits of that.

It's not a quick process, but it's not too long either. A little under two hours, and Five takes the helmet of the kid's head and waits for him to regain consciousness. The kid blinks and raises one hand to his head. He looks-not dazed, but *heavy*, that same expression that he gets when Timmy says something that triggers an info-flood. Five looks disturbingly eager, calm expression not covering it up to anyone that knows where to look.

"Whoa, that's..." The kid shakes his head. "That's gonna need to settle," he says.

Five nods. "When we're sure the cultural knowledge has sunk in, you're going to be allowed into the upper levels. Just a few at first, and you'll be keeping your-" a half-smile that's just a little too big "-your background secret. We don't want the wrong people finding out about you until you're-"

"Ready, yeah, I know." The kid sighs. "Which is gonna be *forever* at this rate." Another sigh, this one just a bit more dramatic. "Man, it feels like I've spent my whole life in here, you know?"

Watching, Timmy Six laughs, and a few moments later he sees Five do the same on the vid screen.

* * *

The kid is doing his best not to look like country mouse on his first trip to the big city, with only partial success. Timmy had forgotten, or hadn't let himself realize, how much he'd missed the upper levels, the range of people and things that populated them, and he's torn between half-wanting to show everything off to the kid, the kid off to everyone, and wanting to keep the kid safe, protected.

No-one acts strange around the kid, and only as awkward as usual around him. The kid is properly impressed by the animal cages, bored by the labs and intrigued by some of the more interesting non-standards walking around.

It shouldn't be as much of a shock to run into Three as it is. Part of Timmy is always braced for the others, keeping an eye out for those not-him *hims*, but Three is good at not letting himself be seen until he wants to be seen.

Three keeps his hair in his face. Cadmus is brightly lit, no concealing shadows, but Three does his very best to hide in the shadows there aren't. It's pretty much the opposite of Five; where Five uses cams and comms to be there when he isn't, Three does his best not to be there when he is. Three wears a white lab-coat and his hair in his face, and uses both as his own personal cloaking device.

He nods at Timmy Six, but doesn't bother looking at him. "You're not meant to be here," he says to the Kid.

"Is it off-limits?" Timmy Six says. He gives his big-and-scary *grin* and stands a little in front of the Kid.

"No. You're just meant to be politely, and informally, dissuaded. Nothing to see here, little newbies, run along." He unfolds one arm and makes a vague shooing gesture. "Big Brother is watching you," and this time he *does* look at Timmy Six. Timmy resists looking up to see if he can spot the cameras.

The Kid looks at him. "So, this is a Tim Drake character trait, then. All Tim Drakes are freaky."

"But some are more freaky than others," Timmy Six says.

Three rolls his eyes and straightens up. "I make the others uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than they make themselves." He smirks. "That's not a small achievement."

"Three doesn't play well with others," Timmy says.

"And Six never learnt to share. Three plays very well with others, as long as they're not other *hims*," Three says. "Three just doesn't bother to hide it like the rest of -us-do."

"Three needs to stop referring to himself in the third person," The Kid says. "I'm pretty sure that's not a sign of good mental health."

Timmy Six gives a little-half-smile at that, enough to let the Kid see his approval. Three tilts his head slightly, looking at the Kid like he's calculating something. "You know, you should spend more time with the other Products. You have more in common with the DNAliens than us..." He smirks. "Us *normal* clones. I could introduce you, if your chaperon permits."

The kid's expression does that thing, where he's hearing a word for the first time, and feeling its meaning rise up. "You're my-is this to prevent lots of 3rd generation Supermans running about?" He smiles. "The old fashioned method of hero-production."

Three smiles back. "I think they just don't want any inappropriate attachments. You're too young to settle down."

The Kid's expression says he might disagree. "But appropriate attachments...?"

"You might be too young for those as well." Three looks at Timmy. "Of course, I don't know your development as well as Six does. I stopped having a direct hand in your upbringing when you were still a tiny blastocyte."

"You knew me back when, huh?" The kid elbows him. "Dude, no wonder we're friends. I probably imprinted on Tim Drake back when I was no more than a set of chromosomes and a dream."

"Interesting theory," Timmy says. "Doesn't explain why you like me *best*, though."

"It's not our job to be his friend," Three says. "I have my work; I can't devote myself to one project the way you can. Even if I wanted to." He manages a completely neutral tone of the last, and Timmy can feel the Kid getting tenser.

"And the Kid's not the only one that needs socalisation training," Timmy Six says. "I get that Four usually played nice on your behalf, but you didn't pick up any of that from him?"

"Social manipulation isn't what I devote my energies to. And you might want to work on yours. This whole conversation is making Experiment 13 a little uncomfortable."

"And this is when I realise again, that all you Tims were meant to be only children." The Kid puts himself between them, the movement probably unconscious. "Timmy, how come you can deal with aliens and scientists and *Westfield*, and you can't spend thirty seconds with another Tim Drake without getting all-" he gestures. "Two cats in a sack, or something."

"In all fairness, it's not just Six. I make all the Tim Drakes uncomfortable," Three says. He pushes his hair back with one hand. His eyes and clear, the same blue Timmy sees in the mirror, in Two or Five. He doesn't have any scars, not around his eyes, and his expression is a little bit bitter, a little bit tired. "I remind them that we're all replaceable," he says. He still has his arms crossed, white coat, shirt and T-shirt covering the surgical scars on his torso.

Timmy crosses his arms. "But some of us are more replaceable than others, right?" He gets a good reaction, a visible flinch from Three, and it's still a bad come-back because it gets almost the same reaction from himself.

There's awkward silence and they shouldn't be getting into this in front of the kid. Three breaks it by leaning back against the wall and looking at the kid. "Not something you have to worry about so much. Kryptonian DNA is a bitch to work with, and we have a limited stock."

"It's good to be difficult, I guess," the kid says.

"Anything unique has value. If something happened to you, there's no guarantee you could be duplicated."

"Huh. So, what are you working on now?" the kid asks. "If it's something we're not meant to know about, I'm guessing it's also something we probably *should.*"

Three's expression is covered by hair and shadow, but Timmy knows he's raising an eyebrow anyway. "My, they are making the Products suspicious these days, aren't they. Genetics or environment, I wonder."

"Me not being a complete idiot, even if I'm inexperienced," the kid says. He's talking more, a little bit too loud, probably to make it easier for Timmy not to.

Three moves forwards, quickly enough that Timmy isn't quite ready for it, and looks at the kid *hard*. "You're not, are you? Something from your Kryptonian side. Superman isn't an idiot either." He reaches up with one hand and traces the air around the kid's left eye with his thumb. "You don't get your eye-colour from him, you know. They couldn't recreate the pigmentation, so they borrowed from human stock." He smiles, weirdly *open*. "It's an almost identical match. Excellent work, really."

"...Thanks?"

"You're welcome." Three moves back and starts to head away down the corridor. At the corner he stops. "I meant what I said. You should come and visit."

The kid waits until Three's gone before relaxing. "Your family is really creepy, man."

Timmy nods.

"But I seem to like that," the kid says. He pats Timmy on the back. "Lunch?"

* * *

"So, I hear this is where I was brewed up."

Three keeps his hand steady, dropping the solution on to the side. "The theory was perfected elsewhere. This was just the factory floor. Six let you come down here without an escort? I'm surprised."

"Tim-not you, Tim Five-wanted to talk to him about something."

"You," Three says

"That was my guess." The kid comes into the lab. There's a pause, probably him shrugging. "I've got more backgrounding to go, apparently." There's a pause, probably the kid shrugging. "me, I think I should just be out there, you know, doing my thing, but the powers that be think I'm still not ready yet. So, do you want me to call you Three or Tim or something?"

"Either," Three says. He looks up. "Tim Three, by preference." He half-smiles. "I'm a number, not just a name."

The kid gets the reference. It's another example of why scientists should not be allowed to prioritize implanted cultural references. "There's too many Timothy Drakes," he says.

And Three can't quite stop the, not as many as there should be thought.

"You don't think about getting your own name?" the Kid says.

Three looks at him. "Timothy Drake *is* my own name."

"Yeah, but one you don't have to share with four other people, maybe." The kid shrugs. "I-Tim found a name for me."

"I know. Two left a memo about it," Three says.

"I know what you mean, but-" He crosses his arms. "We're not like you." He shrugs, arms still crossed. "They want you to be Superman, but you're not, you're something *different*. There's never been anyone like you before."

Kon-El looks at him. "Same could be said about you. You're not the original Tim Drake. All of you-- you're not the same person."

"No, but I'm not *different* either." Three looks up to meet his eyes. "I-We don't have many memories from our source. Less than you started with, really." He raises one hand to push his hair back. "But the memories I do have are Tim Drake and they're *mine*. Ours. I won't-I can't stop being me."

Kon frowns. "I think I get it. It's just-you think the original was as freaky as you."

Three half-smiles. "Given the personality his clones display, it seems likely that some things are genetic. Six doesn't like you coming with me."

The kid shrugs. "He worries, you know? And you keep freaking him out on purpose, which doesn't help."

"He can't keep you on secure levels forever." He wanders over and peers into a microscope. "Is this me?"

Tim Three looks over. "No, that one is a sample from Guardian. Kryptonian cells don't keep well." He goes to a storage unit and flicks through the slides. "This one, we managed to preserve some of Superman's cells." He looks at Kon-El and feels his mouth make something that's close to a smile. "That's what they were trying to create, you know. Not just a hero, not just a super-human. Superman, the world's greatest, made and marketed right here. Truth, Justice and the Cadmus logo." He brushes against Kon deliberately. "I suspect they didn't know how well they'd succeed."

"I'm not Superman," the kid says. "Not-"

"-Yet. But you're closer than you should be." He puts the slide under the microscope. "Closer than they're comfortable with, maybe." He moves so Kon can have a look. "They want to make sure you understand their point of view before you're released into the world." He rests his hand on the back of Kon's neck.

The kid straightens up. "I don't get it."

Three looks at him. "I'm sorry," he says.

"For wha--" Kon manages to get out before Tim Three kisses him. Tim Three steps back and Kon looks at him. "For that? Why'd you need to-- whoa." He sways a little on his feet. "I feel a little--"

It's taking effect quicker than Three thought it would. He grabs Kon's arm and braces himself. He was prepared and he's lived through this once already, but-- "This is going to--"

Hurt.

* * *

Two's suit is carefully chosen for non-effect. It's smart, but just this side of not-quite-right. Enough to reassure the investors, not so much he's intimidating. Timmy Six is aware enough to be surprisd that he's still capable of this level of analysis when it feels like his bones are climbing out of his body.

"It's the plague," he says. He touches the side of his face. The skin is lumpy, melting like candle-wax. "Why haven't you...?"

"All the older clones received genetherapy the first time around. The newer clones had a slightly different version of the gene imbedded into their DNA. It is-- insufficient. You'll be receiving the original treatment within the hour."

"Experiment 13..."

"Is gone. The plague effected him fast. He lost control of his power and-- Three's lab was destroyed, along with its inhabitant."

Timmy can feel the world tilt. "We're--"

Two nods and makes eye-contact with the doctor. She nods, her expression sympathetic and leaves the room.

"I should have been there," Timmy says. "I should have-he was my responsibility and I should have-"

Two looks at him, then puts his hand on the side of Timmy's face so quickly he barely has time to flinch. Two's hand is warm Timmy wants to back away, tell Two to stop looking like that, it's not *safe*. "It's for the best. You know that Kon-El wouldn't have been-- would have been used if he'd stayed here. This is better for everyone."

"Dead is not better," Timmy says. "Three, was there--"

"Nothing left. You know the plague speeds decomposition in dead clones, even in they were immune in life. No bodies, nothing close to recognisable.

Timmy wants to ask how he could be expected to know that, how *Two* knows that, but all he can think about is a mess of cells, Three and the parts of Four he still carried inside him-- gone. Not even that; complete cellular breakdown, cultured genes gone to *dust*. He should feel something more, or something less, maybe.

Two still has his hand on Timmy's cheek. "You're the most like him of all of us," he says. "The most like Four was, like Three..." and the other hand pushes Timmy's hair back.

It's one of the moments where Timmy wants to say that he's not like anyone else. He's *Him*, He's Timothy (Timmy) Drake (Mark VI) and he's not-

Except he is. What's left, like Two and Five, and the DNA source in test-tubes somewhere (unless they were in Three's lab, gone like Three and Four and One and--)

"You can't go with them," Two says. "However much you want to."

I don't, Timmy wants to say. I don't want to die, even now, I just want-- "It'd be--" wasteful, he plans on saying.

Two presses the hand that was on his cheek over his mouth, bends down and says, "Suspicious."

End.