FIC: Clarity (Batman, Tim Drake, PG, 1/1)
Summary: Things are different now.
Warnings: Death. Psychosis.
Author’s notes: Um.
Word count: 432
Challenge/prompt: dcu_freeforall, table 12, 47. traitor
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Put down the gun, and walk away.
Tim slides his hands through his hair one last time, glancing at himself in the mirror. His immaculate suit looks glaringly dark against his pale skin. Too dark. Reminds him of back alleys and caves. He props his head against the mirror, fogging up the glass until he can’t see himself in it. That’s better.
It’s easy, kid. Just point and click..
He shoulders his way through the crowd of guests, all dressed in clothes that made him feel like a child again. Suits, all suits. Suits in grey, suits in black, suits of cards - no. Get a grip, and hold on tight.
The gun weighs heavy over his heart and under his jacket. Hearts. Clubs. Spades, diamonds. That woman over there has diamonds, around her neck. Such large diamonds. The glitter when she moves.
Come on, kid, focus. Point and click.
Put down the gun, little bird.
Tim’s hair is stuck to the back of his neck. He reaches back to feel - sweaty. Sticky. Like honey, almost, except less sweet. Saltier, he imagines. Salty like oceans, like seas, like waves that could just pull him under and end everything...
Do it, kid. After everything he did? Everything he took from you? Everything he promised? He deserves it. It’s so easy. Just point and click. All it takes.
Put down the gun little bird.
Tim hand falters when he sees them. Dick looks so happy, his hand on Oracle’s (Barbara’s) shoulder. Happy like he hasn’t been in a long time. Jason is behind him, sullen to be in a suit (Hearts and clubs and spades and diamonds), like he’d rather be in a mask. At least he’s there. Damian is in his element, and Tim kind of wants to snap his neck, only bats don’t kill. Even Alfred is there, standing attentively behind, all stiff upper lip and ‘Yes, Master Bruce’.
Moment of truth, kid. Point and click.
Put the gun down, little bird. Bats don’t kill.
“It’s not killing if he’s not even human anymore.” Tim mutters to the room at large. Dick spots him - looks surprised, like he didn’t know Tim was coming. Nudges Jason. Damian looks took. Bruce is distracted. Tim feels the gun’s weight in his hand, warm and sweet. Things go soft for a moment, before snapping back into focus. Tim’s head aches.
Moment of truth. Point and click.
Point.
Click.
Tim dies on a Saturday.
Warnings: Death. Psychosis.
Author’s notes: Um.
Word count: 432
Challenge/prompt: dcu_freeforall, table 12, 47. traitor
---
Put down the gun, and walk away.
Tim slides his hands through his hair one last time, glancing at himself in the mirror. His immaculate suit looks glaringly dark against his pale skin. Too dark. Reminds him of back alleys and caves. He props his head against the mirror, fogging up the glass until he can’t see himself in it. That’s better.
It’s easy, kid. Just point and click..
He shoulders his way through the crowd of guests, all dressed in clothes that made him feel like a child again. Suits, all suits. Suits in grey, suits in black, suits of cards - no. Get a grip, and hold on tight.
The gun weighs heavy over his heart and under his jacket. Hearts. Clubs. Spades, diamonds. That woman over there has diamonds, around her neck. Such large diamonds. The glitter when she moves.
Come on, kid, focus. Point and click.
Put down the gun, little bird.
Tim’s hair is stuck to the back of his neck. He reaches back to feel - sweaty. Sticky. Like honey, almost, except less sweet. Saltier, he imagines. Salty like oceans, like seas, like waves that could just pull him under and end everything...
Do it, kid. After everything he did? Everything he took from you? Everything he promised? He deserves it. It’s so easy. Just point and click. All it takes.
Put down the gun little bird.
Tim hand falters when he sees them. Dick looks so happy, his hand on Oracle’s (Barbara’s) shoulder. Happy like he hasn’t been in a long time. Jason is behind him, sullen to be in a suit (Hearts and clubs and spades and diamonds), like he’d rather be in a mask. At least he’s there. Damian is in his element, and Tim kind of wants to snap his neck, only bats don’t kill. Even Alfred is there, standing attentively behind, all stiff upper lip and ‘Yes, Master Bruce’.
Moment of truth, kid. Point and click.
Put the gun down, little bird. Bats don’t kill.
“It’s not killing if he’s not even human anymore.” Tim mutters to the room at large. Dick spots him - looks surprised, like he didn’t know Tim was coming. Nudges Jason. Damian looks took. Bruce is distracted. Tim feels the gun’s weight in his hand, warm and sweet. Things go soft for a moment, before snapping back into focus. Tim’s head aches.
Moment of truth. Point and click.
Point.
Click.
Tim dies on a Saturday.