A/N: Thank you very much for the favs and follows it makes me happy to know people enjoys reading this and hopefully the second installment isn't too bad.
Robin, no Tim Drake, is in hysterias. The only emotion his mind can process is agony, a sick and twisted sensation that proves you're human. It's a sentiment he's tempted to throw away if ever given the chance. Well-kept hair falls merciless onto his already exhausted and red brimmed eyes, further emphasizing the futility of life. Dick Grayson, Tim's only remaining brother, lies dead two and a halve feet away from him held by a cationic Batman. Chills enclose his chest, pressuring an already broken organ which awaits the final push of destruction.
Deathstroke arose the same way he left. An untraceable ghost whose sole reason for existence, Tim decided was to rid the world of any brimming hope for humanity. Nightwing, despite his young age, became a role model for all aspiring sidekicks (they were called partners but he's a realistic person.) For Timothy Drake, he was an aspiring acrobat, a mentor, and most importantly the one constant person in his life. Dick pulled him out of his inner shell, forcing him to speak with others. For holidays he'd wake before the warm hues of sunlight penetrated the silky curtains, proclaiming a family outtake and dragging their mishap group out onto whatever fit his whim. Now he's gone. Tim also decided the notorious villain bordered on suicidal, making enemies with vengeance itself. If by some strange turn of fate Bruce proved himself incapable in avenging his former partner, Robin will gladly finish the job.
Reminiscing brought another form of nausea into Tim's stomach, resignation quelled again into his mind. Once more grief took over, emotional healing would be a lifetime therapy and no sooner, his adoptive father only strengthened his deduction.
Leaning his neck by a few degrees from the stone wall holding his battered body, Tim saw Mount Justice in shambles. Before the Justice League appeared everything was carnage, the leftover malfunctioning equipment from the enemy proved it. Members of Young Justice lay openly on the field, attempting to either defend their fallen comrades or hastily retreat until further notice on Nightwing's orders. He remembers seeing Nightwing shouting directions in volumes he believed his beloved brother incapable of, reverberating across shattered planes. Plentiful scenes flash across his mind, finally settling on death's fateful moment. What puzzles him most is Kaldur's face during the moment.
Nightwing suffered a devastating blow courtesy of the alluding Deathstroke, quickly falling en route for bloodied sand merely stopped by the traitorous enemy's own hand. Kaldur's appearance revealed a turmoil of emotions, first astonishment, then alarm, followed by sorrow and settled with acceptance. Tim recollects on barely audible whispers approaching from his fallen adoptive brother and the laughable nodding from a former friend, (he's frustrated with his inability to recall the instant.)
Two minutes and twenty three seconds in counting have passed since Dick died. Each second ticks a lifetime of regrets and resentment, slowly but surely filling the young child with a thirst for justice if not vengeance for his deceased relative. Bruce may have permitted Jason's death to be in vain, submitting Joker to only half a year's time in a full body cast but Tim has had it. He's lost his entire biological family, one older brother, and now another, he's done with sanity. Maybe Tim's selfish, the second protégé of Batman deserves the same treatment with Joker securely floating in freezing seas, withering in torment with his twisted smile, before perishing into the unknown abyss, and Tim's resolved he'll do that once Nightwing's laid to rest. Tim acknowledges the path he's treading reeks of unforgivable redemption, born of desperation to quell the snippet of madness munching people's sanity. He'll have disapproval from his mentor but Batman's not here anymore (Robin knows his new preoccupation with self-guilt and isolated brooding) and Tim, Batman's third protégé has no savior to pull him from the satisfaction of retribution.
"Don't worry Dick you won't be forgotten and neither will Jason."
Kaldur sees the cautious stares directed at him upon his capture.
His hands are tainted with Nightwing's precious lifeline substance and no amount of cleansing will ever remove the accusing voice inside his head blaming him for Nightwing's departure from the world. Despite his better instincts to flee the battleground after their defeat Kaldur painstakingly realizes his muscles won't hold out long enough to reach the ocean even with it laying only several feet away.
Instead he opts to see the mayhem he's caused and its aftermath. Robin leans tiredly a few yards away from where his former king stands and begins trenching for the inevitable capture of a cherished son. Nightwing happily boasted about the newest addition to his family much to the child's dismay. Gazing at him astonishes the rapid change in his demeanor. Gone are self-conscious twitches of thought that beforehand radiated from the young boy, replaced by a swirling aura of wrath and other unidentifiable feelings suppressed by his subject. All it took was one event and Kaldur winces in remorse for his actions brought the end of an innocence Nightwing cherished about his living brother.
Further studying Robin, he sees various cuts gracing his torso, blood steadily flowing outwards while other scrapes begin to clot near his biceps, ripping across the Kevlar suit adorning him and sweat mixes with dirt adds to his lifeless complexion as Robin freely rests on littered slabs of stone. Part of Robin's domino masks is shredded and he sees the accusing irises staring at him longingly. Kaldur breathes a sigh of relief; satisfied that someone blames him because even though Nightwing may not he needs to know someone can, even if it defies all his enclosed beliefs. It's a cowardly escape but he won't mind if Robin has a reason to live for and he a means of twisted atonement. Each thought passes quickly and he's suddenly forced to admit that maybe if he'd died instead of Nightwing things would be better. No more endangering the team. Conner wouldn't stare at him in disbelief and anger; carefully restraining himself from forcefully grabbing whatever shreds of cloth cover his chest and demanding answers, simply to be met with already rehearsed scripts. Megan may be unconscious but he can imagine her attempts to crush his mind and he mustn't relent, he lives for Nightwing's sake now, not his. No one else knows, he has two purposes, a rebirth of sorts, to become the hated enemy of his former teammates, their new source of anger. Once all is finished he will disappear and hope isolation can prove some consilience.
Everything is now a written play, actors who must improvise, and an audience that will participate.
"Tsk, tsk, and here I said no madness."
Hello again nice to see you at the bottom of the screen, leave a comment about what you think since I'm not to sure if it came out as good and it's kinda late over here but anyhow hope you took some pleasure in reading an attempt at angst. =)