I hung my head in shame. The blood trickled down my chin, my eyes weary. They weren't dead, but neither was I. I guess we were both lucky then. Bruce would be furious. Then again, I couldn't remember anytime different. I was loosing my touch. I needed to train; stretch my skin, break my bones, tear my heart out. Beat my body, then do it again. I wasn't good enough anymore, and he would notice.
I stumbled out of the alley, shock force beating at my skull. I was lost in my thrusting force subconscious, a black hole tugging me in, and Gotham at night. I could barely hold my bō up. I dragged it beside me, it scrapping along on the street.
I wiped my mouth absently. My boots were more than scuffed; they almost matched my face in weathering. I wouldn't be able to drive the RedBird home, unless I wanted to take someone else out.
No comm.
No car.
No hope.
If I'm to have pity for myself, it was overdue...it's my own fault I'm in this mess with no back up.
I was using my bō as a walking stick. Correction, I was using my bō as a desperate support to walk with, pulling myself along the asphalt like a Florentine boatman.
Kevlar doesn't rip. Like hell it doesn't. I spit. Like shit...it doesn't...
It was a moment or two before I heard the matching footsteps behind me. My head was buzzing. This really couldn't be happening. I just couldn't die tonight.
His hand was on my shoulder, arm around my waist, taking the bō from my hand, being my crutch.
"Connor...stop it..."
"Tim, you're thanking me in your head right now, despite how goddamn stubborn you want to present yourself. So save your breath, and I'll get you home."
I really couldn't protest. Well, I hadn't the energy. And he was right, I was thanking him, not that I'd ever let him know. We were walking slowly down the street, the street lamps swimming in a dream like state.
"Why don't...you just..."
"Fly?" He finished my sentence with a chuckle. "You think you can handle it in your condition bird boy?"
I scowled. The super boy gripped me tighter, and the city was below us, far behind.
Gotham was sleeping. The silent blackness with speckles of iridescent stars. I felt like felt like gravity was pulling me the wrong way. The air blasted against my face. Jerk. He couldn't feel a thing. We remained quiet for the flight; I with little strength and he with lack of conversation. He was less talk, more action anyways. I wouldn't hold this against him.
The window creaked open, and the soft waft of indoor heating caressed my worn out frame. He set me down gently in my room. I leaned against the pane.
"Thanks Connor." Okay, so maybe this one time I will humor him with gratitude.
"No problem Tim. Gotta watch out for my bro." He rocketed into the sky, gone. The shadow of a memory was all that remained.
"We should...hang out sometime..." It was pretty much like this. Meet on missions, complete, part ways. We don't hang out anymore. It's like we weren't even friends. And yet, he still looks out for me like nothing ever happened. It was too much for me right now. I was face down in my bed before I would recognize my legs moving in that direction.
How did he always know when I needed him. How did he know when to come in and save the day. I...needed to sleep. I needed meds, and a half dozen bandaids. I groaned as I pulled the rest of myself onto the bed, not caring enough to get under the covers.
He shouldn't keep coming back. Things aren't the same anymore.
Gotham was sleeping, the night was still.
I am the night.
And it was laid to rest.