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tanarillI spent most of the day with him. That is all.
Have some fic.
Title: The Grey
Fandom: DCAU
Rating: PG
Warnings: Adult themes, existential angst, creepy little boy
Tim is-
No. Step back a little, before a little, and try again.
Tim was the Boy Wonder. And perhaps it's nobody's fault at all that everyone failed to notice that Barbara was the closest thing he ever had to a mother. That Bruce wasn't his father, nor Alfred his grandfather. Nightwing was, admittedly, his brother, but it was a kind of brotherhood that's held by those who fight together. In the end, though, it wasn't those fragile and indefinable ties of family that made the difference. It was-
It was something he'd learned long before Robin, long before he'd ever found that batarang.
And now he's rebuilding his mind, bit by bit, and Tim is-
Tim isn't the Boy Wonder anymore. Sometimes, he feels older than Bruce; sometimes, he feels as red and raw and screaming as a newborn. He thinks he understands, now, why Dick left-and why he came back. "Watch out for that last one," and he hadn't, he couldn't, so Dick had been there and done it for him.
He lives with Dick, now, and they drive forty minutes to see Leslie ("Don't call me Dr. Thompkins, I always look around for my father") twice a week. He thinks he's doing okay. He can laugh again, he can smile these little smiles that absolutely enrage the people who he has to call his classmates, and . . . He thinks he's doing okay.
Nightwing doesn't much talk about the fact that he goes out at night, or the (incredibly) more-violent-than-absolutely-necessary things he does. Not killing, of course, not even maiming, but. Some of them would rather face Batman in a bad mood than him in a normal one, now. Because Batman gives you warning and lets you stay down, whereas Tim is just this kid until suddenly he isn't. They've learned, in fact, that Tim doesn't take surrenders.
The thing is: he can feel the Joker telling him that killing is so much better than the crunch of bone under his fist, and the bone is too wonderful and sickening enough. Tim isn't listening. There have been people telling him it's easier to do the wrong thing since his father taught him to pick pockets when he was four, and it might be easier but it's not nearly as fun. So he ignores that voice, and every day he does is a day that he doesn't have to hit as hard and as much to remember that Tim is-
Well, he's thinking he needs a new costume.
Nightwing gives him this long stare when he mentions it, and then says, "Ye-es. Give me a design."
He thinks about red and yellow and green and black, and blue, and then purple and green and white. What he asks for, in the end, is grey. Shades and variations of grey, in patterns that are meant to trick the eye, to break the eye, but really only grey for all that. It takes a few weeks for the gangs to realize that it's him under there. He didn't give himself a name; Dick could pull off something like Nightwing, but he felt it would be pretentious. He has a name soon enough anyway, a plethora of names, in fact: Shadow and Ghost and Smoke and, more often than not, Ah-God-please-don't-kill-me.
Terrorizing people who really deserve it turns out to be better than just hurting them. This wasn't a feeling he could ever have had as Robin, but he comes to realize that it's what the Joker lived for, more even than death. He's very careful not to think too hard about the fact that to Batman, that feeling's just a distraction; and what that says, mostly about himself. Nightwing doesn't say anything, but Dick looks at him sometimes and he thinks about whether or not he'd terrify Bruce the same way.
He does, as it turns out. When he goes back to the cave to use the beast that Batman calls his mainframe, he finds he has the ability to scare the Bat just by smiling. No one who wasn't one of them would see the slight stiffness, of course, but that's part of the fun too. And he tells Bruce that he's back, and where his part of the city is going to be for the next few weeks at least, and revels in the power.
Bruce-
Batman, he discovers, always held his own darkness at arm's length, even as he wallowed in other's. Batman fears very little, but he's absolutely (and rightly) horrified at what he might be. Whereas Tim's already been there, already knows exactly what he is and what he can do. He's had to tear out that weakness and drag it, kicking and screaming, far enough that he could wrap himself in it and make it into something that protects him. Batman looms, but he smiles.
And, yeah, he knows that his family is watching him, worried that one day he'll take it too far. That he'll step over the line, and they'll have to stop him. Or at least try, because they know that they can't, that no prison could hold him and nothing short of death would stop him, and he knows that too. It's a non-issue in any case, because that's not going to happen. He's having too much fun. Tim is-
Tim is just fine.
That's they Grey. Imagine waking up to find him wandering around in your head and tapping you on the shoulder, demanding that you write him.
Have some fic.
Title: The Grey
Fandom: DCAU
Rating: PG
Warnings: Adult themes, existential angst, creepy little boy
Tim is-
No. Step back a little, before a little, and try again.
Tim was the Boy Wonder. And perhaps it's nobody's fault at all that everyone failed to notice that Barbara was the closest thing he ever had to a mother. That Bruce wasn't his father, nor Alfred his grandfather. Nightwing was, admittedly, his brother, but it was a kind of brotherhood that's held by those who fight together. In the end, though, it wasn't those fragile and indefinable ties of family that made the difference. It was-
It was something he'd learned long before Robin, long before he'd ever found that batarang.
And now he's rebuilding his mind, bit by bit, and Tim is-
Tim isn't the Boy Wonder anymore. Sometimes, he feels older than Bruce; sometimes, he feels as red and raw and screaming as a newborn. He thinks he understands, now, why Dick left-and why he came back. "Watch out for that last one," and he hadn't, he couldn't, so Dick had been there and done it for him.
He lives with Dick, now, and they drive forty minutes to see Leslie ("Don't call me Dr. Thompkins, I always look around for my father") twice a week. He thinks he's doing okay. He can laugh again, he can smile these little smiles that absolutely enrage the people who he has to call his classmates, and . . . He thinks he's doing okay.
Nightwing doesn't much talk about the fact that he goes out at night, or the (incredibly) more-violent-than-absolutely-necessary things he does. Not killing, of course, not even maiming, but. Some of them would rather face Batman in a bad mood than him in a normal one, now. Because Batman gives you warning and lets you stay down, whereas Tim is just this kid until suddenly he isn't. They've learned, in fact, that Tim doesn't take surrenders.
The thing is: he can feel the Joker telling him that killing is so much better than the crunch of bone under his fist, and the bone is too wonderful and sickening enough. Tim isn't listening. There have been people telling him it's easier to do the wrong thing since his father taught him to pick pockets when he was four, and it might be easier but it's not nearly as fun. So he ignores that voice, and every day he does is a day that he doesn't have to hit as hard and as much to remember that Tim is-
Well, he's thinking he needs a new costume.
Nightwing gives him this long stare when he mentions it, and then says, "Ye-es. Give me a design."
He thinks about red and yellow and green and black, and blue, and then purple and green and white. What he asks for, in the end, is grey. Shades and variations of grey, in patterns that are meant to trick the eye, to break the eye, but really only grey for all that. It takes a few weeks for the gangs to realize that it's him under there. He didn't give himself a name; Dick could pull off something like Nightwing, but he felt it would be pretentious. He has a name soon enough anyway, a plethora of names, in fact: Shadow and Ghost and Smoke and, more often than not, Ah-God-please-don't-kill-me.
Terrorizing people who really deserve it turns out to be better than just hurting them. This wasn't a feeling he could ever have had as Robin, but he comes to realize that it's what the Joker lived for, more even than death. He's very careful not to think too hard about the fact that to Batman, that feeling's just a distraction; and what that says, mostly about himself. Nightwing doesn't say anything, but Dick looks at him sometimes and he thinks about whether or not he'd terrify Bruce the same way.
He does, as it turns out. When he goes back to the cave to use the beast that Batman calls his mainframe, he finds he has the ability to scare the Bat just by smiling. No one who wasn't one of them would see the slight stiffness, of course, but that's part of the fun too. And he tells Bruce that he's back, and where his part of the city is going to be for the next few weeks at least, and revels in the power.
Bruce-
Batman, he discovers, always held his own darkness at arm's length, even as he wallowed in other's. Batman fears very little, but he's absolutely (and rightly) horrified at what he might be. Whereas Tim's already been there, already knows exactly what he is and what he can do. He's had to tear out that weakness and drag it, kicking and screaming, far enough that he could wrap himself in it and make it into something that protects him. Batman looms, but he smiles.
And, yeah, he knows that his family is watching him, worried that one day he'll take it too far. That he'll step over the line, and they'll have to stop him. Or at least try, because they know that they can't, that no prison could hold him and nothing short of death would stop him, and he knows that too. It's a non-issue in any case, because that's not going to happen. He's having too much fun. Tim is-
Tim is just fine.
That's they Grey. Imagine waking up to find him wandering around in your head and tapping you on the shoulder, demanding that you write him.
