Tim shook his head, in small jerks at first, becoming more and more violent. He sat in a grey office chair, alone in his room. Darkness stretched out of thin air, wrapping its arms around the teen. He felt like he was burning, a volcano waiting to burst. Emotions threatening to overtake him, he gritted his teeth, clutching at the chair's armrests. He tried to bring his already painfully chewed nails to his mouth, but found himself unable to move.
"This cannot be true. No, no, no! This wasn't supposed to happen to me, not again!" Tim yelled to the empty room. He ended his exclamation with a yell, so primal, so bestial he found himself unable to believe he made it. He screamed his fury, his grief, his pain to the night, and it listened without rejection.
He wanted to rip his desk to shreds, to overturn it, and set the whole room alight. He wished destruction upon everything that reminded him of Bruce, everything that reminded him of his father, of the lives stolen from him. His inexpressible rage built to a crescendo of whirling emotion, all he could do was hug his knees, and let his head loll back onto his chair.
Tim wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep, but when he awoke, it was still dark, early in the morning. As his memories returned to him, he picked up the phone and dialed slowly, as if unable to grasp such a mundane activity.
"Hello?'
"Hey..." Tim rasped, surprising himself at how tired his voice sounded.
"Tim, is that you?"
"Yeah, Dick, it's me."
"You don't sound so good, are you okay?"
"Jesus Christ, do you think I'm okay?"
"No, I-"
"Bruce is dead, Dick."
"I know, we're all grieving."
"Damnit, what are we gonna do?"
"I don't know."
"Fat lotta help you are."
"Look, I'm sorry, Tim. I know you've been through a lot of loss lately, I really do want to help but-"
"If you want to help, than why don't you?"
"I want to help but, right now I have work to do, and I really don't have time to talk."
"Whatever."
"I'm sorry, Tim"
Click.
Dial tone.
Tim sat motionless, still encased in his dark cocoon. His mouth half open, he stared at the blank wall ahead of him, willing his anger to go away, just go away and leave him alone in the shadows.
The pain and rage didn't abate, he yelled once more, ripping the phone out of the wall, throwing it across the room, where the plastic casing on the phone shattered against the wall, leaving an ugly scar in the paint.
This was it, he couldn't take the anger, he couldn't understand. He couldn't understand how Dick could just ignore what was going on*. He couldn't understand how Bruce could leave him all alone. He couldn't understand how anyone could bear to live like this. He couldn't understand How this could have happened, Batman always had a plan, he was always 3 steps ahead, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't!
"No, no no! Not to me..." Tim sank to his knees, pulling at his hair, angry tears streaking his face, as always the darkness still listened.
*Just as a note, Dick isn't "ignoring" things, this is just how Tim sees things.
Ok, so this isn't a great fanfic, in fact it's rather terrible, I just wanted to write about how Tim's reaction to Bruce's death might be. I'm quite disappointed with the end, but I don't think I'll ever change it, so unless I am divinely inspired, this fic is staying just how it is.