I started another chapter story... I'm sorry. But I need to write a Damian chapter for Broken Bonds and I was filled with dramatic ideas instead. So I had to get them out SOMEWAY.
Anyway, this is just a draft to see if anyone would want to read more. Let me know!
Reviews are always loved and always appreciated buddies!
I do not own any of these characters.
Everyone has their triggers.
For someone like Timothy Jack Drake, these triggers were hard to reach.
They were buried and locked in the back of his mind, thoughts, soul, and emotions. No one can reach his trigger point, no one will see his face change with his feelings, for there are few things he have found worthy.
Triggers.
A term he uses for when people act irrationally because of their emotions. The teen has seen people due this multiple times in his life.
For example, the way Jason came back to life and wanted to kill Joker.
He was upset. He thought that no one loved him- namely Bruce- didn't love him because he didn't kill the clown when he found out his trusted partner and son had been murdered.
Tim could understand this. He never did anything like this, but he could understand why Jason did it.
He always considered himself to be smarter than that. Not smarter than Jason, but to be smart enough to know that things are constantly changing. One day, you could want to curl up and die and then the next day you could be on the top of the world. And the same thing the other way around.
He was familiar with the latter of the two.
He had spent many hours, days, weeks, months, even years learning ways to cope with this feeling. That crushing feeling like everything was burning around him and he was powerless to stop it.
Tim thought he had found the solution.
But now, standing in front of the mirror in his room at Wayne Manor, he didn't know anymore. The 17-year old stared with an expressionless look, his eyes a blank and crystal blue.
He was searching. The teen that stared back wasn't him. It was someone who had been worn down, broken down, and beat down. Someone who had been put through Hell, brought back, and then put through more Hell right when he thought things were going to get better.
No, the person staring back was not him.
Tim took in a bigger breath, watching his chest rise and fall. Breath by breath, second by second.
Nothing could compare to a death of a loved one. That breaking feeling when you realize that you are that standing more and more by yourself with each day.
Tim was not a stranger to losing someone close to him. It never got easier. Every memory that you once had with them comes flooding back. Every fight, every laugh, every smile, tear, hug, talk… It comes back so fast and so hard it threatens to take every breath in your body.
Then you have to struggle back to the top.
And that's what the ebony does. Over and over and over and over.
But now, it's different.
Before, he was fighting. He would fight because there were people here who needed him to survive themselves.
It changed.
He used to fight for his friends. Kon, Bart, Steph.
They were all dead now.
He used to fight for his family. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason… even Damian. So the kid could grow up with a semi-normal life.
Bruce was dead.
Or, at least that's what everyone has been telling him. The ebony knows he isn't. Somehow… he knows.
Dick doesn't care.
After taking the role of Batman, his older brother changed. He replaced him.
Dick replaced him with Damian as Robin.
It still hurts to think about it, Tim noted to himself in a monotone voice.
Dick cares more for some asshole, arrogant, stuck up demon child than someone he's known for years- who's helped him and fought alongside Bruce.
Tim's hand clenched a little.
Jason… God knows where he is. The guy doesn't show much. Not that it's his fault, Jason's been screwed over like this before. He would at least understand.
Damian.
Anger surged through the 17-year old's chest.
He hated Damian. He hated that kid with every fiber of his being.
Hated him.
He used to tell himself that the kid wasn't so bad. Maybe he was just misguided and needed some help to get along. Or maybe he was like Jason who had it rough.
But no.
"Sure, the demon spawn had to deal with some shitty parents, but who doesn't in this family?" Tim openly mocked the younger to the mirror.
A knock on the door.
"Tim? You in there?"
Dick."Yeah, be out in a second," The younger replied, glancing at the door.
"Alright, hurry up though. We're supposed to meet Babs at her place for the new evidence that was brought into the station this morning."
There were the sounds of footsteps going back down the hall. They disappeared after a minute.
Tim looked back at the mirror and narrowed his eyes, the life coming back to his eyes.
In his left hand, he held a silver pistol. It was something he had gotten on one of his private missions.
It was easy to get really.
The ebony held it out, glancing at the weapon. His fingers of his right hand traveled down the barrel, the cool metal against his skin.
"Drake!" A shout cut through the house.
His left hand gripped the handle of the gun tight as he cringed.
Damian.
He felt anger through his chest, pumping into his blood.
Tim took in a breath then, his grip loosening and he dropped his arms by his side. The ebony pulled open the top drawer of his dresser, slipping the pistol back into the assortment of socks. He tucked it into the back.
Alfred never went into the back of the drawers. He always put the new clean clothes in the front.
He glanced up at the mirror one last time, his own reflection looking back at him.
This person looked like him. It was expressionless, but not vacant. There was a heart and soul behind this person.
It didn't matter if it was all faked for the others around him. It looked like he used to look like.
Tim liked it like that.
The 17-year old then closed the drawer. He crossed the room, picking up his jacket before heading out.
So tell me if I should continue or not guys, I'll just be headed off to work now. C:
*goes to write a chapter for Broken Bonds*