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chase_acow
Fandom: Young Justice
Pairing: Tim/Kon
Rating: pg
Warnings: angsty, and death
Summery: sense of sight reminds Tim of a previous life
To this day, a fleeting flash of red or blue through his peripheral vision gets his attention as little else does. Most often, it’s merely an advertisement, a bird, or car, speeding by on his bus ride home, from his job as janitor at a grade school. Sometimes he can’t be sure. Turning his head to look and seeing nothing. Not even a passing ghost.
Tim sees many things that no one else does these days, but he still can’t see Him. It’s times like these when he feels utterly alone, he goes home to his apartment, and then to the back closet where he stores keepsakes too painful to look at everyday. In a small ratty box, held together by rubber bands, were his most treasured possessions
He takes it back downstairs cradling it to his chest, and sits on the floor in a puddle of light as if the sun could once more bring life to them. He spreads the pictures out on the floor in a seemingly random pattern perfected by years of study and practice, casting his mind back in through the years.
Perky blonde girls grinned up at him from his far left. Always posing, making faces, it was impossible to catch them in a natural state of being. They never bothered to see the need to drop their superficial façade in front of the camera. Cassie, Cissie, Anita, and even Greta, thinking about them had ceased to be painful. He could look back now and choose which days he wished to remember.
They swam through his mind now, had archery competitions or flying exhibitions. Now a quiet afternoon spent in front of the TV watching everything from horror to the latest chick-flick. Even as the motley group they were, they spent time together not just training or having fun, but as a family, fighting as often as they laughed.
Next came the mixed pictures, the five boys mixed in. Beach shots- Slobo being attack by a flock of seagulls, Bart trying to pants Ray only to find he’d come prepared with no less then five pairs of trunks on. He himself was in several, laughing with the girls, leap-frogging Bart to get the last slice of pizza. There were none; however, with Them together. Somehow it’d never seemed convenient, and now he mourned for lost chances.
He made up the last section by himself, as much of a camera hog as the girls, there were plenty of his patented smiles and over-the-top poses. Tim passed these over quickly to the pictures closest to him. Pictures not taken overtly, or in exciting times, but a snap here, a snap there.
Sometimes there was only body parts, strong hands playing with the playstation controller or gesturing for emphasis, a shot from behind- patented “S” emblazoned on the customary leather jacket, ear complete with earring, or eyes clear and shining blue. Others full head shots while he was quiet or thinking; eyebrows knitted together in concentration. Smiling, or laughing at some lame joke.
In a single picture, he was crying. His face twisted up allowing tears to fall freely, secure in his solitude and not trying to cover them. It was taken not long after Tana died and he’d lost his powers, Tim could see her picture twisted up inside Kon’s fists.
These pictures were culled from security cameras located all over their various headquarters. Maybe in the old days, he would have balked at the invasion of privacy. But he was a new Tim Drake. One who didn’t have that luxury. It was taken away from him in one single instant, when a friend turned foe changed their lives forever.
Tim worked at a grade school now cleaning up after two hundred pre-teens, who still couldn’t hold a candle to the level of destruction Impulse had been capable up. He’d lost track of Cassie, just did bother to care. As for the others, they had passed through his ability to care.
He visited them sometimes, catching a train on Sundays. At twilight when the late evening sun sent streams of light to illuminate stones emblazoned with their names, he felt close to them again. Tim always saved Kon’s for last, and placed a tiny bud atop the gravestone. A symbol of eternal hope.
Pairing: Tim/Kon
Rating: pg
Warnings: angsty, and death
Summery: sense of sight reminds Tim of a previous life
To this day, a fleeting flash of red or blue through his peripheral vision gets his attention as little else does. Most often, it’s merely an advertisement, a bird, or car, speeding by on his bus ride home, from his job as janitor at a grade school. Sometimes he can’t be sure. Turning his head to look and seeing nothing. Not even a passing ghost.
Tim sees many things that no one else does these days, but he still can’t see Him. It’s times like these when he feels utterly alone, he goes home to his apartment, and then to the back closet where he stores keepsakes too painful to look at everyday. In a small ratty box, held together by rubber bands, were his most treasured possessions
He takes it back downstairs cradling it to his chest, and sits on the floor in a puddle of light as if the sun could once more bring life to them. He spreads the pictures out on the floor in a seemingly random pattern perfected by years of study and practice, casting his mind back in through the years.
Perky blonde girls grinned up at him from his far left. Always posing, making faces, it was impossible to catch them in a natural state of being. They never bothered to see the need to drop their superficial façade in front of the camera. Cassie, Cissie, Anita, and even Greta, thinking about them had ceased to be painful. He could look back now and choose which days he wished to remember.
They swam through his mind now, had archery competitions or flying exhibitions. Now a quiet afternoon spent in front of the TV watching everything from horror to the latest chick-flick. Even as the motley group they were, they spent time together not just training or having fun, but as a family, fighting as often as they laughed.
Next came the mixed pictures, the five boys mixed in. Beach shots- Slobo being attack by a flock of seagulls, Bart trying to pants Ray only to find he’d come prepared with no less then five pairs of trunks on. He himself was in several, laughing with the girls, leap-frogging Bart to get the last slice of pizza. There were none; however, with Them together. Somehow it’d never seemed convenient, and now he mourned for lost chances.
He made up the last section by himself, as much of a camera hog as the girls, there were plenty of his patented smiles and over-the-top poses. Tim passed these over quickly to the pictures closest to him. Pictures not taken overtly, or in exciting times, but a snap here, a snap there.
Sometimes there was only body parts, strong hands playing with the playstation controller or gesturing for emphasis, a shot from behind- patented “S” emblazoned on the customary leather jacket, ear complete with earring, or eyes clear and shining blue. Others full head shots while he was quiet or thinking; eyebrows knitted together in concentration. Smiling, or laughing at some lame joke.
In a single picture, he was crying. His face twisted up allowing tears to fall freely, secure in his solitude and not trying to cover them. It was taken not long after Tana died and he’d lost his powers, Tim could see her picture twisted up inside Kon’s fists.
These pictures were culled from security cameras located all over their various headquarters. Maybe in the old days, he would have balked at the invasion of privacy. But he was a new Tim Drake. One who didn’t have that luxury. It was taken away from him in one single instant, when a friend turned foe changed their lives forever.
Tim worked at a grade school now cleaning up after two hundred pre-teens, who still couldn’t hold a candle to the level of destruction Impulse had been capable up. He’d lost track of Cassie, just did bother to care. As for the others, they had passed through his ability to care.
He visited them sometimes, catching a train on Sundays. At twilight when the late evening sun sent streams of light to illuminate stones emblazoned with their names, he felt close to them again. Tim always saved Kon’s for last, and placed a tiny bud atop the gravestone. A symbol of eternal hope.
