Robin punctuates every word with a punch. " I. Hate. Mondays."
He sends the last thug in a Port Adams alleyway flying. It always has to be a Monday. Why a Monday? If you are going to attempt to blow up a hospital why not do it on a Tuesday? Mondays already suck. The slog of day-to-day life should be enough. It's universal, don't make Mondays tougher than they have to be. Usually, it's this way. Criminals of Gotham should be doing the robotic motions of daily life. Selling drugs, racketeering, and monitoring their areas. No more ruckus than necessary. C'mon, it's a Monday.
Timothy ' Tim' Drake hasn't even been a Robin for a whole year yet. He's already lamenting the plight of vigilantism.
He went to school today. It sucked. His teacher announced a surprise quiz day. Even then he lamented, " why on a Monday?" Every one of his classmates shared the same sediment. They groaned, wept, and pleaded. It's early April, a few months till school is over. Just why would you need to suddenly test our knowledge? Yet the sadistic mastermind carried on handing out papers on the inane topic of biology. Today's quiz was all about blood types. As the second best detective in the world ( in training ) he passed it easily. Forensics is his bread and butter. Why wouldn't he know it?
He sat looking out the window from class to class. He would fall asleep but Bruce insisted on keeping up appearances. Even if that means having patrol duty the night before.
For Tim, School was a lot of waiting. He is smart. He knows it. He even figured out who Nightwing and Batman were before donning the cape. He just sometimes wished he was a little daft. It'd make it easier to pass time in his last year of school.
But of course, it's Monday. Alfred drove home from Gotham Highl for some rest. Thank god he did. Tonight was turning out to be a mess. Sleep was not going to be a priority after this night was over.
All in one night. Bruce's associate, Jonathan, went missing. Joker attempted to gas Bane with Joker toxin. That went as well as you imagine from someone who constantly wears a mask. He was unarmed but pissed off. Destroyed the streets badly until Batman and Robin showed up. Bruce was beaten up badly by Bane but then Joker hinted that Poison Ivy would try to flood the city. When confronted she said something along the lines of promoting growth for the new by culling the old. That was wrapped up but he's still soaking wet and cold. Then Jonathan's house blew up. No conclusion to that yet. Every gang at Port Adams went up and arms at each other. Also no conclusion for that yet. Then Bruce said to finish up the ensuing war at Port Adams. He double-checked the records of his rogue's gallery and Victor Zsasz broke out of Arkham Asylum. Again. He said that Jonathan would be a perfect target and ran off before they could discuss the course of action they'd take.
Bruce will get a talking to after this. He needs it. He's reverting himself to when Jason died. He's getting sloppy. And sloppiness in this line of work will get you hurt, exposed, or dead.
" Batman come in, I'm finished up here."
No answer.
Screw Mondays.
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RevenantImagine your favorite scent. Grandma's cookies. Maybe a citrus, like an orange. The pleasant acridness of gasoline or sharpies. Now take a white crayon and draw it with all its features. That's what it's like trying to explain death.
Words are enough. The English vernacular is far too small in comparison to the depth of what it felt to be interconnected.
Vic was right in a way, it was euphoria without emotion. All of the wisdom in the world without the impediment of morals or intelligence.
I was feeling very little in my physical body. The gurgling of my own blood wasn't my problem. The pain I went through wasn't my problem because my eyes were open.
I forgot a lot of things over the years. Other things I've tried to ignore. Grief does that. It makes you blind. You may stay aware but the bigger picture of your life is gone. All the strokes that make the picture of you become smooth. Like a river stone. The currents flow over you until all that's left is a rock among others.
That didn't mean I was unimportant though. We all are. Bruce loved that stone. He saw a lot more in it that stone than others. He saw a reflection. A broken mirror, one that he could fix.
Now he sits there dying. He was far too tired to save me. The patrol was awful today. For a good reason, Victor knew Batman was keeping an eye on me. He does it often for orphans. So he hired Joker promising a good joke and set aflame old rivalries on the docks to keep him busy. Bane did a number on him. More than he'd ever admit. Posing ivy nearly broke a good portion of his equipment leaving him with the bare minimum with little protection. Bruce did his best to stomp out the fires that others lit on the docks. After all of that, the greatest detective in the world still figured out it was a distraction.
Broken and tried he still didn't want his mirror to break.
He fought Victor viciously, breaking everything he could get his hands on. Victor got the upper hand. Opened up his side with his knife. Bruce kept fighting until too much blood was lost and his body had enough. To my horror, Victor unmasked him and giggled. He was excited to torture a savior.
Bruce is much like a metaphorical sheepdog. He has a bleeding heart like none other and will continue to give out pieces of himself to save the boy that was once him. Even when his son was killed. Every call text and dollar sent was him trying to fill a void. And I was the asshole who took but didn't give.
Vic was right in a way, a zombie has to die. But it didn't have to be in death. Vic is a broken man and a fraud, he always was. A faux liberator who only works off his sick pleasures. The sick fuck offered fools gold to a suicidal teenager and I ate it up. I drank the Kool-Aid like an idiot. Now I'm dead.
It's hard to accept the emotions I've denied myself. It's even harder trying to heal what you hide. I lied to Victor, not consciously, but because I just didn't know at the time. I was always here.
I was just living for tomorrow. The mythological place where magically I became the Jonathan I once was and all of my trauma disappeared. I was never a zombie or a drone or an automation of flesh and bone. No one is, I was just a lost kid fighting to keep my shit together. Out of everyone Bruce tried his damn hardest. He hired an amazing therapist but I never shared my pain. I've just shared memories. The vulnerability of showing the ugly prevented me from trying to make that connection I needed.
It seems so easy now to look back at some things I've missed and ignored. The tomorrow I envisioned never existed. There's only one more today to make better. It'd be arduous to expose myself, but Bruce needed it. He needs a friend. He almost has it with Tim. But everyone's better off with a village. We're human, social creatures blessed and cursed with sentience.
Victor was right in a way, it was time to start living. Some pruning needs to be done and a mirror needs to be repaired. There's no tomorrow and I need to move today.
So I do what my mom told me to and I asked for help. Whatever responded only told me to not become a zombie. So with the breath of my corpse spoke my defiance, "…not today Satan"