Roundhouse. Jab. Dodge. Tumble. Thank you dad. Thank you Bruce. Foot to jaw. Fist to chest. The sickening crunch of bone on flesh. The suddenly chirp of humanity in my ear.
"Hello?" My mind goes through the list of who it could be. Barbara. Tim. Bruce. Lovers, friends, colleagues.
"Hello." I hear the cold in the voice, young as it is. Tim. I process: Tim, which voice do i need for Tim? Be cheerful, he needs to be cheered up. He needs you to rescue him. No, he doesn't. Tim was never like that. Tim never needed anybody. I was the only one. The coward. The black sheep of the family. When Kory flew away, i wanted her to need me again. His voice sounds different. I can detect the slight tremor. I raise my vocal chords to emulate concern and happiness.
"Robin, I'm glad it's you. You rang?" Big brother. Good. That's what he needs.
"Dick, I know you're busy. Chirp when you're off patrol." He was insulted. I change my voice to mask the hurt. He doesn't need you. He doesn't need anybody.
"Wait--" I hear myself say it, small and unusual. "You don't have to go. What's going on?" It takes him ages to respond, it seems.
"Nightwing, it's never wise to sacrifice patrol time for civilian issues. It clouds the mind." Shot to the heart. Always so clear-headed. But there's something underneath that voice. I find myself wondering if Tim ever had an eating disorder. No, of course not, I tell myself. I chuckle a bit.
"It's okay, kid. I'm here." Simple. That's all it takes.
"It's just one of those nights." Simple response back, but I know what it means. He's all alone in front of the computer, FBI database open, eyes blank and elsewhere. I wish he could see me nod.
"I'm here." I repeat the words while they're still fresh in my mind. It's delicate, our dance. Dealing with Tim. It has to be just right, like a chemical formula. I can't let him combust. He's quietly contemplating me.
"I miss them," I find myself saying. "My parents, I mean. I'd like to tell you I think about them everyday but i don't. I'm ashamed that I forget sometimes." Why am I talking so much?
"I burned all of their pictures a long time ago, but I still remember their faces. You never stop missing them." God, why did I say all of that. I want to slap myself.
"They would be proud," He says it and i believe him. His voice relieves something inside me. There's a noise behind me. I'd almost forgotten myself. A man with a pipe. No, two men. I tell Tim to hold on. My fist connects with his jaw and it's so easy. Effortless. I almost feel sorry for him.
"Okay, i'm back." I catch my breath quickly and resume previous, more important activities. "Sorry about that." There is a pause as I don't know what to say. "So would your parents." Forbidden territory. .
"Listen, I should try and get some sleep." I'm such an idiot.
"Wai--" I bite my tongue. "Okay. Sleep well." I sigh and hang my head. He's disconnected. He'd never stay, I knew that. I don't know why I thought otherwise. I head home as the sun is about to rise to wash the blood off my knuckles. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. I consider taking a detour to his apartment but he'd know. He has a lot of Batman in him, not that I'd ever tell him. He'd get too cocky. I go straight home instead. The air in my apartment is cold and stale. I suppose I should sleep. I strip off my clothes and feel a sudden fever. She doesn't pick up the phone and I didn't expect her too. Barbara... I miss you. I want to say to her, but she's just laugh like the other time. I am pulled out of my thoughts by the sudden phone call. Barbara? No, just the illusions of a lonely man. I pull the sheets over my body and they are cool and relaxing. The fibers prick my skin as I lay awake, knowing none of my bat cohorts can sleep either.
I wake out of a fruitless sleep, a sheen of sweat coats my body. I decide to risk it, to go check on him. I'll wear the mask and maybe in his stupor he won't recognize me. I worry too much. Pulling on the costume, I tell myself I can always say I was sleep walking; no, he's not that gullible. I pull out my grappling hook anyway. I am a phantom lingering outside his window, motionless, invisible. Batman would be proud. I see him laying on his blankets as though paralyzed and for a frightening moment my mind flashes to images of Barbara. I wish to scratch the window but think better of it. I catch my breath and do not move. The tangle of flesh and blankets is moving. Can he see me? No, even he's not that good.
Once at home again, I replay the conversation in my mind as though it was the fight from earlier that night. What could I have done better? Should I call Alfred? No, Tim just found himself without needing anybody's help, like I did. I needed Bruce, Barbara, Alfred. Old men and immobile women. All helped shape this good guy, good boy. I soak up their compliments until I radiate with gold that is not my own. I used to believe I was a vampire because Bruce'd never let me see the light of day. I thought he was worried that i'd burn up, and the training would help me stay alive. Nowadays, I still don't know the truth. I realize the stupidity of it but sometimes I still wonder if i'm undead and that's the reason everybody leaves. Did I come from my mother's womb or my father's bite? No Dick, of course not. Don't be an idiot. But i /am/ a vampire. I am greedy and disgusting. I feed off others and that is why i need them. My face is blue with pulsating veins when I think, though that is only in my mind. I hunger for something. Acceptance. Love. Touch. Touch has always been a problem for me. Garth used to make fun of me for "making it with an alien chick," but he's long since stopped doing that. We don't even talk anymore, really. What do i need from him? From Tim? From Anybody. Certainly not their touch. Nobody can touch me. They'd shudder at the coldness of my skin, the disease plastered along my spine and arms and legs. One touch is all it took. One touch and i'm yours forever. God, I still haven't grown up.