A Bond Tethers Part l
You can’t keep doing this, Tim. It’s unhealthy.” The sound of Bart Allen beside him does nothing to stir him, not even a single twitch of his face. He’s so used to Bart appearing and disappearing before him that his reflexes no longer kick in when the kid speedster turns up. Taking in a silent breath, lips barely parted, Tim turned his head to look at his best friend through a mask that hides nothing. Bart can see through him even if he attempts to lie or twist the truth the way he easily does on a daily basis; it’s almost a relief that he can talk about the painful sensation digging into the pit of his stomach constantly, day in and day out, every waking moment until he can barely stand it. Maybe he needs to talk about why he’s here on this same rooftop again for the fourth night in a row with his shoulders slumped, watching the same condo behind iron-clad gates, the same window with its curtains now drawn.
He’s not a stalker- he’s not a violent stalker. It’s not as if he has any ulterior motives for being here and watching the way that he does; it’s just that he’ll be on his routine patrol through the dank streets of Gotham and find himself here after a long stretch of hours fighting crime. It’s the only uplifting part of his nightly rounds, even if being here hurts more than a punch to the face.
As another fresh wave of pain flashes over the flesh of his left wrist, Tim reconsiders expressing himself so openly. He’s not good at that, it’s one of the reasons Zoanne ended things the way she did because she had been right. He is emotionally distant and could never fully commit to anything but being Robin. Fighting crime, helping Batman, being someone who others can look up to is everything he’s good at. His eyes instantly leave Bart’s, snapping to look back at the covered window. A girl had pushed back the curtain enough to rest her elbows on the window sill, her eyes peering up and past them to look at the full moon. Before Bart can say something annoying, Tim answers his silent question quietly.
“I know, Bart. I know. Logically, I shouldn’t be here, I should be taking care of the rising riots, tracking down the Brotherhood of evil… I haven’t done my math homework,” His voice only grew quieter with each passing syllable until he ultimately falls silent once more; he had fought back the riots earlier in the night, stalling it for now, and Batman was one step closer to uncovering the Brotherhood’s location along with the Justice League. His homework wasn’t that difficult; it’s just that he couldn't concentrate or anything else but wanting to be right here. He watches the way she pushes back her thick curls yet again, the shirt eating her figure looking oddly familiar. Bart scoffs and Tim doesn’t have the heart to tell him to go away because as much of a strong front he wants to present, he’s moments from crashing and burning at Bart’s feet.
“You’re doing that thing again where you talk yourself out of doing something you want to do. You always push something away when you don’t know how to handle it. I’ve seen you do it way too many times to not see the signs; you still care about her, don’t you?” Part statement, part question, but also part accusation. Damn Bart for being more aware of his surroundings than Tim ever gave him credit for. But Bart remained virtually clueless about the severity of Tim’s feelings for her or that under the material of his suit lay a mark that would damn her life eternally.
Why would he keep her close if it would mean her untimely death? In their profession, love was a liability; love meant weakness. He couldn’t give the form of love she required to be happy. He could only give this, a watchful eye in the dead of the night, forlorn sighs and thoughts wishing to be there at her side again. It’s all Tim could spare. Deep down, he’s afraid that he’d already given her too much of himself and that she still held pieces he would never be able to recover.
“It’s not as simple as you’d like to make it, Bart. If it were, I never would’ve ended things with her. But we have enemies who are getting smarter and stronger and I have to have a clear head
if I want to get rid of all of them.” With so many enemies under the cover of darkness throughout the streets of Gotham and internationally, it would be impossible for Tim to keep constant watch over her at all hours of the day. He couldn’t trust that his identity would be safe forever or that she would survive his lifestyle. His parents hadn’t; others he had loved before hadn’t either. He wouldn’t be able to survive losing her to the hands of his enemies when she had so much to live for.
She deserved a world he couldn’t give her, one where he wasn’t forced to keep watch vigilantly, much like this, for fear that his enemies would happen upon her and thrust her into danger.
“Dude, you’re starting to sound like Batman… I don’t think that’s a good thing.” Before Tim could rebut with a self-serving lie, the only thing that remained by his side was a small gush of passing wind created by Bart’s departure. You’re starting to sound like Batman. The truth of one of his best friend’s words struck deep within, Tim’s expression falling as he placed his attention back on her and the way her shoulders slumped in the limited light, how her eyes brimmed with tears that could be for anyone.
He knew better than to assume that they were for him; he’d done nothing but earn her trust and thrust it back into her face coldly. She’s beautiful now too, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the tears brushing against her illuminated cheeks. She had always been so bubbly, so excitable; it hurt to see her at her most vulnerable in an invasive way. He didn’t deserve to see her like this and the weight in his chest only sunk further. Before he can turn away, the mic in his ear gives a small sound of static before Bruce Wayne’s voice resounds in his head.
“Robin, what’s your location? We have work to do.”
. x .
The moon is beautiful tonight, untouched by clouds and left to gleam beyond them like a beacon of hope. Peering up at it, you shed your facade of cool calm and let the tears overwhelm you yet again. You can feel him near you even when he is not; You can feel him no matter how much you try to sever your ties to him. Why won’t his ghost leave you alone? No matter how much you try to will away his name stained along the underside of your left arm, it won’t leave. Even with your heart utterly broken, your Bond is still intact.
Behind you, you hear objects tumble from your vanity yet again and try to calm your nerves. Your abilities tend to lose control when you’re under stress or duress and this was no different. No amount of training could’ve prepared you to face such an excruciating emotion; feelings and emotions always hit you harder than anyone else in your family and your parents soon realized it also happened to be the gateway to your powers' full potential- a complex blend of telekinesis and technology manipulation brought forth by waves of intense, fixated feelings, whether negative or bad; the outcome was always the same.
Maybe your mother knew about the slippery slope your mental health sat on and that’s why she treated you like a shadow to force you into using your powers to earn her love. Maybe your father knew and ignored your existence to make you strive to earn his attention by stealing for him and the family. It always came back to them and the facade of money and fortune and you didn’t want any part of it. In the beginning, you exhausted yourself for them and their smiles of pride for every vault you could open. You hated being alone and the only time they gave you any attention was when your face was covered with that mask. But you soon grew out of needing the validation when you realized it wasn't love. They didn't love you and you didn't want them to anymore. Now, you just wanted- You wanted-
It’s probably better that you don’t say it. Mother always says that if you can’t get your hands on something, take it by any means necessary. But it’s not really applicable when it comes to Tim Drake, a living, breathing human being who no longer wanted anything to do with you. You should feel a sense of relief at finally being able to breathe without the thought of embarrassing yourself in front of him; he was too well known, too popular, and his face too pretty. There had been so much pressure on you whenever you stood by his side, his fingers gently grazing your own but never holding on. He made your stomach ache in ways you couldn’t explain, your face feel too flushed and your overall self highly exposed. It always made you concentrate more to keep your powers at bay, undetected in a city under the protective gaze of Batman and Robin.
If anyone ever found out, you’d be taken away from the only family you knew- but even that had never seemed so bad. Nothing seemed so difficult until you met him, and your fear of him finding out your grotesque nature eclipsed everything else. So wrapped in your worry, it struck you hard when he pulled you aside during the walk home that day and muttered that he no longer wanted to be with you, that-
“It’s not you, it’s me. I’m sorry.”
Tim Drake was always so quiet and distant in more ways than one but you never saw that coming. Staring up at the moon, you recall watching him walk away for the last time, unable to muster up the courage to chase after him. What good would it have done? Hearing him ending your relationship once was one too many times and you didn’t need to hear anything else.
Reaching up, you brush at your tear-stained cheeks, wiping away the pain and plastering a small smile on your quivering lips. Was it pure idiocy that made you grateful for the time you spent by his side, laughing at his awkward jokes and trying to remind him that he’s walking too fast for you and your platforms? Was it normal to still be able to appreciate the time you spent together no matter how brief and insignificant it was to him? You missed those tiny moments spent after class or after school where the rest of the student body faded away when he smiled or you found the quiet nook in the library to press close together before he seemingly caught himself and chose to create distance again.
“At least he doesn’t know.” About the Bond- or the tattoo. You’d never revealed it to anyone once it appeared at the beginning of the school year and you made a point to never wear less than a top or sweater that covered your shoulders and under your arms. Beyond Tim discovering it, you didn’t want your parents to see it. It would be stripped away because True Bonds are just a figment of your imagination, honey. Just do what I tell you and I’ll find someone perfect for you, but more importantly, perfect to be King when you become a little Queen.” The chill that shoots up your back is involuntary as you think of the other tattoo forced upon your body when you came into your abilities and your mother decided it was time for you to join the family business.
The small black ace is placed on the back of your right ring finger and always covered over with a silver band with enough width to hide the ink. Flexing your fingers, you pull the ring off, hating how you can make it out in the light of the moon. This mere blot of ink tied you to something bigger, more sinister, and forced you into a role you wanted to escape. Where the ties of family are weak, the fetters of this family ran deep, deeper than even you knew.
Wallowing in self-pity right now would do nothing to change your circumstances and you finally wipe away the last of your tears before reaching for the black and white clothing. It tore away at you every time, but you had to do it. Donning the mask was the only way they wouldn't toss you out into the night or somewhere much further away. You would do it if it could keep you in this same dark city, under the same moon as Tim Drake.