starsandsea (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
starsandsea) wrote2009-05-16 07:00 pm
starsandsea) wrote2009-05-16 07:00 pm
Fic: Razor Sharp Lines
Title: Razor Sharp Lines
Rating: PG:13
Characters: Bruce, Tim (very tiny hints of Bruce/Clark)
Word Count: 1684
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Continuity: Sometime during Young Justice, however Tim's parents died at the same time, and Bruce adopted him shortly after.
Author's Note: For the incredible![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arch_schatten on her birthday!! *glomps* I hope you have a wonderful day that's full of awesomeness, Mina! :D This fic may have more parts later. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.
Bruce yawned. He opened his eyes wearily, blinking at the gloomy light. He closed his eyes and pulled the blankets closer, hearing the wind howling through a cracked open window, and further away the sea, slapping against the cliffs.
He sighed deeply, settling down further, feeling sleep tugging at him. It was Saturday, a day off, completely off, no meetings of the business or cowled kind, no monitor duty, no parties to go to, no nothing. He was free to spend his day as he wanted, no one had any demands on him. And he was the only one here; Babs was in France with Dinah, Dick was in Bludhaven, Cass was with Selina, Alfred was in England, visiting old friends, Tim was at Young Justice HQ...
Bruce shifted slightly, hearing the wind howl, the curtains rustling. He was just about to drift off to sleep again when there was a gentle knocking at his door. He groaned and opened his eyes, running a hand through his hair. He blinked at the door, wondering who it could be, but too tired to really care. He made a vague sound that sort of resembled a word, and the door opened slowly.
Tim peaked his head around the door, then the rest of his body appeared. Bruce blinked owlishly at him. "Tim?" He just managed to croak out his name. Tim looked at the floor, slightly uncomfortable, and Bruce sat up, slightly concerned. "What's wrong?" His voice was thick with sleep, sounding strangely Batman like.
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I was just wondering..." Tim hesitated. Bruce drew the blankets closer, missing their warmth. "Can you drive me into Gotham, please?" Tim's words came out in a rush, and Bruce smiled, running a hand over his face.
"Just let me get dressed," he moved to get out of bed, then remembered that Tim was supposed to be with Young Justice. "What happened about Young Justice?"
Tim rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed. "The girls have gone on a shopping expedition, Bart's... well, Bart, and Kon's... Kon."
Bruce blinked a little at that, but it somehow made sense. "Well then. I'll have a shower, and we can go." He got out of bed, glancing at the clock to find it was quarter to nine. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he walked into the adjoining bathroom. He showered, sighing as the warm water water caressed his cold body. He soaped up his body, then watched the suds go down the drain. He washed his hair, wincing as he touched the spot a thug had hit last night - no, it was this morning, technically.
Sighing again, he reluctantly left the shower, shivering in the cool air, and quickly wrapped a towel around himself. He dragged another towel through his hair, drying it as best as he could, leaving his locks sticking up wildly, before they fell down to slap his face. He tucked the longish strands behind his ears, then shaved. He brushed his teeth next, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, seeing some of his more recent and deeper scars purple from the cold.
Bruce sighed again, and put the toothbrush away, placing his hands on either side of the sink, and looking at his body, the scars a map of a life of mistakes. He shook his head, and smiled wryly to himself in the mirror. He was managing to depress himself already today. He shook his head again, watching some water droplets fall from his hair to the sink, mimicking the rain outside. Or tears.
He shook his head one final time, grabbed the towel, rubbing at his hair again, and walked back into his bedroom. Tim, bless his heart, had made his bed for him. He gave his hair one last, final through rubbing, before dropping the towel on the floor for now. He walked over to his closet, and pulled some jeans, a black t-shirt and jumper out, along with a pair of fresh boxers and socks.
He dressed, feeling his muscles complaining, some protesting the movements. He should do some yoga, but he was exhausted, and besides, Tim was waiting. He put on his shoes, then picked up the discarded towels, placing them back on the towel rail. He fished out his comb, and brushed his hair, wincing slightly as the hairs tugged against the lump at the back of his head.
Presentable, he left the bathroom for the final time, turning off the light. It was still dark outside, a combination of the time of year and the heavy rainclouds. He picked up his sunglasses anyway, knowing that he would probably need them before the day was over. Another mask. He sighed. He really hated being famous, sometimes, unable to even drive his son into Gotham without pictures being taken, and then the rags speculating on what he was doing.
But every time he thought that, he remembered that without his fame, no one would care about his charities, about all of the good they did. And they did do good, they did a hell of a lot of good, helped so many, people who had no where else to turn, but that wasn't because of him. That was because of the selfless men and women who devoted their lives to helping others. He just presented cheques, and publicized them.
Bruce pushed the sunglasses into a pocket in his jeans and switched off the light in his room, then shut the door behind him. He slowly walked downstairs, muscles aching a bit still, seeing a light on in the kitchen. He walked in to find Tim sitting on a counter, next to the toaster that went off just a second after he walked into the room.
"Ah ha! Right on time!" Tim pulled the toast out, and placed the slices on a plate on the table, gesturing for Bruce to sit.
"Thanks, Tim." It was scary how well his family knew him sometimes, able to time exactly how long he would take to get up and walk down to the kitchen. He spread butter over the hot toast, Tim sipping milk from a glass.
"You don't want any?" Bruce asked as he bit into his first piece of toast.
Tim shook his head, hair flying in all directions. "Nope. Already ate."
Bruce nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "You have much homework this weekend?"
Tim winced slightly. "Eh. Most of it's easy. A essay to write, that sort of stuff."
Bruce nodded, onto his second piece of toast now. "Why are we going into Gotham?"
Tim grinned. "This is my first free weekend in a while. I've got a whole load of comics I have to pick up."
"Ah," Bruce nodded, taking a sip of water. He finished his toast, and put his plate, knife and glass into the dishwasher, Tim doing the same. "Well then, lets get going."
They left the kitchen, then paused in the hallway to out on coats, Bruce a long, dark blue cashmere, Tim a short leather jacket. Bruce briefly detoured upstairs as he discovered that he'd forgotten to pick up his wallet. He came back down stairs to Tim's gentle teasing about how memory went with age.
Bruce smiled, but found his thoughts overcome with age and memory as they made their way to the garage. Tim was right. He was getting old. He could feel it in his bones. How long was it since he had had a decent nights sleep? Since he hadn't had to worry about a member of his family? That they would get hurt because of him? Sometimes he thought he hadn't slept at all since that night, since he had seen his parents die. And memories... why did the bad seem to outweigh the good?
Bruce knew what they said about him, about Batman, even other heroes. That he was a horrible monster. And maybe he was. It was so difficult to try and resist from putting a permanent end to his rogues, so that they would never hurt another. But he knew that if he did, he would fall completely into the pit, never to return. He'd probably end up in Arkham, where so many thought he belonged.
Maybe he really did belong there already. The line between sanity and insanity was razor sharp, and just as unforgiving as a blade. Maybe he was insane. But maybe he would have been insane anyway, even without becoming Batman... maybe.
But what hurt most of all, psychically hurt, a blow to the chest, was when people said he hated his family. That he willingly hurt Dick and Tim and Alfred and Cass and Babs and Clark. He didn't. Oh, he would argue with them, sure, but those other people, could they really claim that they had never once fought with their families? Never made mistakes? Could they really? What grounds did they have to criticize him on?
Or maybe he was just an easy target. Maybe - Bruce snorted quietly - it was the 'in' thing to do in the meta-human community. Bashing the Bat. Each one trying to out do the other. Oh, they might claim they were above gossiping, but they weren't. Even the highest lifeforms weren't immune to it. He was hardly stupid, Batman saw how conversation stilled when he entered a room, and... sometimes, being able to hide in the shadows of the even the brightest room was a disadvantage.
But, he grit his teeth, and never let on that he knew, always wondering to himself if maybe they were right, and he was in the wrong. Bruce sighed, and was a little surprised to find himself next to one of his cars, keys in his hands. Tim was standing by the passenger door. He unlocked the car, and opened the door, sliding in, closing the door with a bang, that was quickly followed by Tim's, the sound echoing in the garage.
Bruce put his seat belt on, Tim echoing him, and started the engine.
Rating: PG:13
Characters: Bruce, Tim (very tiny hints of Bruce/Clark)
Word Count: 1684
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Continuity: Sometime during Young Justice, however Tim's parents died at the same time, and Bruce adopted him shortly after.
Author's Note: For the incredible
arch_schatten on her birthday!! *glomps* I hope you have a wonderful day that's full of awesomeness, Mina! :D This fic may have more parts later. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.Bruce yawned. He opened his eyes wearily, blinking at the gloomy light. He closed his eyes and pulled the blankets closer, hearing the wind howling through a cracked open window, and further away the sea, slapping against the cliffs.
He sighed deeply, settling down further, feeling sleep tugging at him. It was Saturday, a day off, completely off, no meetings of the business or cowled kind, no monitor duty, no parties to go to, no nothing. He was free to spend his day as he wanted, no one had any demands on him. And he was the only one here; Babs was in France with Dinah, Dick was in Bludhaven, Cass was with Selina, Alfred was in England, visiting old friends, Tim was at Young Justice HQ...
Bruce shifted slightly, hearing the wind howl, the curtains rustling. He was just about to drift off to sleep again when there was a gentle knocking at his door. He groaned and opened his eyes, running a hand through his hair. He blinked at the door, wondering who it could be, but too tired to really care. He made a vague sound that sort of resembled a word, and the door opened slowly.
Tim peaked his head around the door, then the rest of his body appeared. Bruce blinked owlishly at him. "Tim?" He just managed to croak out his name. Tim looked at the floor, slightly uncomfortable, and Bruce sat up, slightly concerned. "What's wrong?" His voice was thick with sleep, sounding strangely Batman like.
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I was just wondering..." Tim hesitated. Bruce drew the blankets closer, missing their warmth. "Can you drive me into Gotham, please?" Tim's words came out in a rush, and Bruce smiled, running a hand over his face.
"Just let me get dressed," he moved to get out of bed, then remembered that Tim was supposed to be with Young Justice. "What happened about Young Justice?"
Tim rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed. "The girls have gone on a shopping expedition, Bart's... well, Bart, and Kon's... Kon."
Bruce blinked a little at that, but it somehow made sense. "Well then. I'll have a shower, and we can go." He got out of bed, glancing at the clock to find it was quarter to nine. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he walked into the adjoining bathroom. He showered, sighing as the warm water water caressed his cold body. He soaped up his body, then watched the suds go down the drain. He washed his hair, wincing as he touched the spot a thug had hit last night - no, it was this morning, technically.
Sighing again, he reluctantly left the shower, shivering in the cool air, and quickly wrapped a towel around himself. He dragged another towel through his hair, drying it as best as he could, leaving his locks sticking up wildly, before they fell down to slap his face. He tucked the longish strands behind his ears, then shaved. He brushed his teeth next, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, seeing some of his more recent and deeper scars purple from the cold.
Bruce sighed again, and put the toothbrush away, placing his hands on either side of the sink, and looking at his body, the scars a map of a life of mistakes. He shook his head, and smiled wryly to himself in the mirror. He was managing to depress himself already today. He shook his head again, watching some water droplets fall from his hair to the sink, mimicking the rain outside. Or tears.
He shook his head one final time, grabbed the towel, rubbing at his hair again, and walked back into his bedroom. Tim, bless his heart, had made his bed for him. He gave his hair one last, final through rubbing, before dropping the towel on the floor for now. He walked over to his closet, and pulled some jeans, a black t-shirt and jumper out, along with a pair of fresh boxers and socks.
He dressed, feeling his muscles complaining, some protesting the movements. He should do some yoga, but he was exhausted, and besides, Tim was waiting. He put on his shoes, then picked up the discarded towels, placing them back on the towel rail. He fished out his comb, and brushed his hair, wincing slightly as the hairs tugged against the lump at the back of his head.
Presentable, he left the bathroom for the final time, turning off the light. It was still dark outside, a combination of the time of year and the heavy rainclouds. He picked up his sunglasses anyway, knowing that he would probably need them before the day was over. Another mask. He sighed. He really hated being famous, sometimes, unable to even drive his son into Gotham without pictures being taken, and then the rags speculating on what he was doing.
But every time he thought that, he remembered that without his fame, no one would care about his charities, about all of the good they did. And they did do good, they did a hell of a lot of good, helped so many, people who had no where else to turn, but that wasn't because of him. That was because of the selfless men and women who devoted their lives to helping others. He just presented cheques, and publicized them.
Bruce pushed the sunglasses into a pocket in his jeans and switched off the light in his room, then shut the door behind him. He slowly walked downstairs, muscles aching a bit still, seeing a light on in the kitchen. He walked in to find Tim sitting on a counter, next to the toaster that went off just a second after he walked into the room.
"Ah ha! Right on time!" Tim pulled the toast out, and placed the slices on a plate on the table, gesturing for Bruce to sit.
"Thanks, Tim." It was scary how well his family knew him sometimes, able to time exactly how long he would take to get up and walk down to the kitchen. He spread butter over the hot toast, Tim sipping milk from a glass.
"You don't want any?" Bruce asked as he bit into his first piece of toast.
Tim shook his head, hair flying in all directions. "Nope. Already ate."
Bruce nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "You have much homework this weekend?"
Tim winced slightly. "Eh. Most of it's easy. A essay to write, that sort of stuff."
Bruce nodded, onto his second piece of toast now. "Why are we going into Gotham?"
Tim grinned. "This is my first free weekend in a while. I've got a whole load of comics I have to pick up."
"Ah," Bruce nodded, taking a sip of water. He finished his toast, and put his plate, knife and glass into the dishwasher, Tim doing the same. "Well then, lets get going."
They left the kitchen, then paused in the hallway to out on coats, Bruce a long, dark blue cashmere, Tim a short leather jacket. Bruce briefly detoured upstairs as he discovered that he'd forgotten to pick up his wallet. He came back down stairs to Tim's gentle teasing about how memory went with age.
Bruce smiled, but found his thoughts overcome with age and memory as they made their way to the garage. Tim was right. He was getting old. He could feel it in his bones. How long was it since he had had a decent nights sleep? Since he hadn't had to worry about a member of his family? That they would get hurt because of him? Sometimes he thought he hadn't slept at all since that night, since he had seen his parents die. And memories... why did the bad seem to outweigh the good?
Bruce knew what they said about him, about Batman, even other heroes. That he was a horrible monster. And maybe he was. It was so difficult to try and resist from putting a permanent end to his rogues, so that they would never hurt another. But he knew that if he did, he would fall completely into the pit, never to return. He'd probably end up in Arkham, where so many thought he belonged.
Maybe he really did belong there already. The line between sanity and insanity was razor sharp, and just as unforgiving as a blade. Maybe he was insane. But maybe he would have been insane anyway, even without becoming Batman... maybe.
But what hurt most of all, psychically hurt, a blow to the chest, was when people said he hated his family. That he willingly hurt Dick and Tim and Alfred and Cass and Babs and Clark. He didn't. Oh, he would argue with them, sure, but those other people, could they really claim that they had never once fought with their families? Never made mistakes? Could they really? What grounds did they have to criticize him on?
Or maybe he was just an easy target. Maybe - Bruce snorted quietly - it was the 'in' thing to do in the meta-human community. Bashing the Bat. Each one trying to out do the other. Oh, they might claim they were above gossiping, but they weren't. Even the highest lifeforms weren't immune to it. He was hardly stupid, Batman saw how conversation stilled when he entered a room, and... sometimes, being able to hide in the shadows of the even the brightest room was a disadvantage.
But, he grit his teeth, and never let on that he knew, always wondering to himself if maybe they were right, and he was in the wrong. Bruce sighed, and was a little surprised to find himself next to one of his cars, keys in his hands. Tim was standing by the passenger door. He unlocked the car, and opened the door, sliding in, closing the door with a bang, that was quickly followed by Tim's, the sound echoing in the garage.
Bruce put his seat belt on, Tim echoing him, and started the engine.
no subject
Wonderful character study here. I love the irony that while everyone else thinks he hates his family, here he is getting up to take Tim into the city, when he could be sleeping off the previous night's activities.
no subject
*huggles Bruce* He's a really good dad! *hugs him again*
Thank you for commenting! I'm so glad you liked it! :D
no subject
If that´s not being a good parent then I don´t know what is.
I loved the description of Bruce getting ready to face the day. :)
no subject
Thank you for commenting, Eve! I'm so glad you liked it! *hugs*
no subject
Hee, I somehow love that little touch, that he sounds like Batman when he's half-asleep. It makes sense! And the image of the two of them heading out in their jackets (dark blue cashmere, yummy!), and all the little details of the day...I really liked the way the conversation flowed, how comfortable they were with each other. So nice!
no subject
I loved writing all the little details, and well... just writing Bruce and Tim interacting! :)
Thank you for commenting, Jen! *glomps*
no subject
I love how you wrote the interaction between Bruce and Tim, it was...I dunno, comforting, in a way? I'm not sure how to explain my thought properly. Like they're not saying it in so many words, but they're there for each other. It's something you'd expect when they're in costume, that they would have one another's back, but it's really nice to see it in their "real life" too. :)
And I really, really liked the introspection, too. :) Just wonderful!
no subject
I'm so glad you liked this, yay! :D *pets Bruce and Tim* I really like the thought that they would carry on the... being there for each other? Having one another's backs? into their civilian lives. I see the whole BatClan doing that, actually! :)
Thank you for commenting! :D I'm really happy you liked it!
no subject
I love all the little details of the routine, how they pain such a vivid picture. I love cold, rainy Gotham (such a nice contrast to the heat of summer here, aughhh!) and their clothes! lol, I kept imagining their clothes and how they would look in Gotham, hanging out in the comic shops and doing the rounds X) too cute!
My favorite bit, though has to be this:
But, he grit his teeth, and never let on that he knew, always wondering to himself if maybe they were right, and he was in the wrong. Bruce sighed, and was a little surprised to find himself next to one of his cars, keys in his hands. Tim was standing by the passenger door. He unlocked the car, and opened the door, sliding in, closing the door with a bang, that was quickly followed by Tim's, the sound echoing in the garage.
Bruce put his seat belt on, Tim echoing him, and started the engine.
(long quote, sorry!) And the reason I love it is because despite his doubts, and the tiredness, and the pain, and all the things the Bats live through together, they always do that, that last thing, they put their seat belt on and start their engines, so to speak. They always keep going, they don't give up, they never become careless or uncaring. I love that about them, and your story is such a beautiful example of that. Thank you so very much for it!! I loved it!
no subject
Whee, I'm so glad you liked this fic! I have to confess I wrote it a really long time ago - like 2 years, maybe? - so it's really weird seeing it posted at last! :) There should be more fic of Bruce and Tim just hanging out, doing civilian stuff! I'm so glad you liked their interaction here! :)
I love all the little details of the routine, how they pain such a vivid picture. I love cold, rainy Gotham (such a nice contrast to the heat of summer here, aughhh!) and their clothes! lol, I kept imagining their clothes and how they would look in Gotham, hanging out in the comic shops and doing the rounds X) too cute!
I had so much fun adding all the details in! Cold rainy Gotham - yes please! It's too hot! :p I can imagine how much worse it is for you! *hugs* They would be wearing really pretty clothes, yes. The boys going shopping together, whee! :D
Yeah, putting on the seat belt and starting the engine... They always do that. To some extent everyone is doing that, aren't they? Just... getting on with life, not giving up, just... going along, doing the best they can. *hearts the Bats*
Thank you so much for your lovely comment, Mina! I'm so happy you liked it! :D *glomps*
no subject
What? He didn't shave? Bats with a beard?...NICEEEE! XD
What do meta-humans do in their free time(except a handful (we all know who those are...))? Bash the Bats of course. Is it just me or does the whole DCU keep picking on them?
Great work!
no subject
They do! It is very unfair, and frankly, stupid of them. *huggles the BatClan* Thank goodness not everyone, as you say, are like that!
Thank you for commenting! I'm really glad you liked it! :D