Big Damn Item Post
Christmas morning was one of the few days they really couldn't afford to sleep in. No training, but for some reason, any day the rest of the world was celebrated tended to make the psychos come out in force. He tried not to think about it too much, because if he did, he'd end up brooding about who wasn't around to share the holiday smackdown with. He wouldn't be patrolling this year, because his bruises were still causing him some trouble, and fighting would be an issue if he wasn't careful.
He would be spending it with family. He had done something personal for all of them. A charcoal sketch of something he thought would be meaningful to each of them. They weren't framed yet, because it was up to the recipient what they would choose to do with the art and how. A portrait of Lian on Roy's lap with Dick next to them for Roy, a pastoral scene of animals at peace for Jill, and others, each just as personal. He would give them today, with the offer to help on framing if wanted. Later, he fully expected there would be some kind of snowball fight, and maybe curling up with tea and a movie. It wouldn't be perfect, there were too many people missing for that, but it would be a good day.
Standing, he walked to the bedroom window, parting heavy curtains that had come with the seasonal makeover to look out on the pristine snowfall that had begun last night. The island was clean and white and quiet, most of the animals not up during the dawn hours because of the chill. He saw the prints of a snowshoe hare heading off in one direction, but that was it. Absently, he picked up the single book that stood on the nightstand next to his bed. Jay's gift to him, that the island had returned last Christmas. It wasn't Dickens, which would probably more appropriate, but it was a book that he loved.
Then he saw something that didn't fit in that snowbound landscape. A gleaming bronze form, still fresh and new, shining in the snow, seeming almost to glow. That didn't belong here, it couldn't be here. The Mark Twain dropped from numbed fingers, and he spun, rushing to pull on pants and boots and sweater and jacket and gloves, not enough layers against the arctic chill, but enough for the few minutes it would take to make sure...to know.
His steps were heavy and fast as he ran though the common room, and down the stairs into the deep snow outside, racing to the spot he'd seen. He wasn't imagining it, but he wanted to be. It shouldn't be here, and it hurt just seeing it. Bart had only visited this particular memorial twice, once when it was erected, and a year later, on that horrific anniversary. Then, the statue hadn't been alone, like it was now. It seemed bigger without Superman beside him. It seemed wrong to be seeing Kon like this when all he wanted was him to be here, alive and well.
Bart didn't remember falling to his knees, but he was, numb from inside and out, crying. His best friend was dead. His other best friend was here, but their relationship was tenuous because of how much he'd screwed things up, needing more than Tim could give him. But Kon...Kon was gone. Forever.
He would be spending it with family. He had done something personal for all of them. A charcoal sketch of something he thought would be meaningful to each of them. They weren't framed yet, because it was up to the recipient what they would choose to do with the art and how. A portrait of Lian on Roy's lap with Dick next to them for Roy, a pastoral scene of animals at peace for Jill, and others, each just as personal. He would give them today, with the offer to help on framing if wanted. Later, he fully expected there would be some kind of snowball fight, and maybe curling up with tea and a movie. It wouldn't be perfect, there were too many people missing for that, but it would be a good day.
Standing, he walked to the bedroom window, parting heavy curtains that had come with the seasonal makeover to look out on the pristine snowfall that had begun last night. The island was clean and white and quiet, most of the animals not up during the dawn hours because of the chill. He saw the prints of a snowshoe hare heading off in one direction, but that was it. Absently, he picked up the single book that stood on the nightstand next to his bed. Jay's gift to him, that the island had returned last Christmas. It wasn't Dickens, which would probably more appropriate, but it was a book that he loved.
Then he saw something that didn't fit in that snowbound landscape. A gleaming bronze form, still fresh and new, shining in the snow, seeming almost to glow. That didn't belong here, it couldn't be here. The Mark Twain dropped from numbed fingers, and he spun, rushing to pull on pants and boots and sweater and jacket and gloves, not enough layers against the arctic chill, but enough for the few minutes it would take to make sure...to know.
His steps were heavy and fast as he ran though the common room, and down the stairs into the deep snow outside, racing to the spot he'd seen. He wasn't imagining it, but he wanted to be. It shouldn't be here, and it hurt just seeing it. Bart had only visited this particular memorial twice, once when it was erected, and a year later, on that horrific anniversary. Then, the statue hadn't been alone, like it was now. It seemed bigger without Superman beside him. It seemed wrong to be seeing Kon like this when all he wanted was him to be here, alive and well.
Bart didn't remember falling to his knees, but he was, numb from inside and out, crying. His best friend was dead. His other best friend was here, but their relationship was tenuous because of how much he'd screwed things up, needing more than Tim could give him. But Kon...Kon was gone. Forever.