Work Text:
Lasting Impressions
He was burying his father. Beside the freshly-dug grave was the neatly tended mound of his mother, and the other, older half of the headstone that had been put up that morning. Beloved Wife and Mother now joined by Beloved Husband and Father. Jack and Janet Drake were now together in death as they had been in life. And he, as their son, was now left alone. There was still Dana, of course, but she'd been unable to make herself come to the funeral. Tim couldn't pretend he didn't understand why. He should be crying, but he'd already wept, and now felt drained of tears. Drained of emotion. He should be praying, but he didn't believe in a merciful God or gods. He should be mourning, but the funeral was a long, drawn-out, solemn affair, and had nothing to do with who his father had been, even on his worst days. Later, he would be thankful for the haze that clouded his mind, preventing him from remembering everything in vivid detail. At that moment, he was too tired to care. He was left with foggy images impressed upon his mind, bare wisps of memories that would haunt him less than they'd hurt. Clouds scudding across the sky, gray, but not stormy. The monotonous, thankfully wordless, drone of the priest's voice. Placing a rose (white, to symbolize sorrow) on top of the others (red, to symbolize the blood of the fallen) arrayed on the coffin. A hand scattering dirt (ashes to ashes...) on the coffin as it was lowered into its final resting place. A hand on his arm tugged Tim, willingly or not, from his reverie. Tim blinked and forced himself to meet Kon's eyes. Eyes not covered by glasses. The strong, solid presence of Superboy, encased in Conner Kent's hand-me-down suit, and surrounded by Kon-El's concern. Sometimes Tim wondered if he'd ever know anyone who was just what they appeared to be. But Kon was always himself, despite the different personas he wore. And... ...he could trust Kon. "Everyone's gone," Kon said. "Do you want to go?" A soft statement. A question, neither coaxing nor demanding, simply a suggestion. Taking another look at the graves in front of him, Tim let out a shuddering breath and nodded. Kon nodded back, and gestured towards the car waiting for them. A sleek black limousine, presumably sent by Bruce. He couldn't face getting into that car. Big and black, like the coffin his father was buried in, same as his mother's. Like the Cave that Bruce had allowed to swallow him whole after Jason's death. "Not..." Tim croaked, unable to force words through a throat constricted with emotion. "Okay," Kon said softly. "Where do you want to go?" And maybe Tim hadn't been trying to say that he didn't want to go home - where was his home, now? The Cave, like Bruce? Wayne Manor? Had it ever really been the house he'd lived in with his father, his...parents? - but maybe it had been what he'd meant. "Just...away," he finally said. "Alright," Kon agreed, and tugged Tim towards the treeline. Tim allowed himself to be led, despite not being sure of Kon's intentions. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, and above all, emotionally. He's spent the last of his energy making arrangements for - making sure things were taken care of for his father, and now he couldn't trust himself to make sure he himself was taken care of. His contingency plans involving an actor playing his uncle suddenly seemed so...amateurish. Like something out of a movie. He couldn't trust himself to be Tim Drake, which was why he wasn't going to school. And he apparently couldn't trust himself to be Robin, either, which was why he wasn't patrolling. Even in the suit last weekend, he'd only been Tim with the Titans. He could...trust them, when he was hurting. He could trust Kon now. Under cover of knotty pines and old spruce, Kon pulled Tim into his arms. Tim followed willingly enough, still not knowing what was about to happen, though he had a feeling he should. His tiredness prevented him from being able to put his finger on it. And then they were airborne. The ground fell away beneath their feet, and with, the worries of what to do next. Tim closed his eyes as the wind whipped across him, cold held at bay by Kon's aura. Thousands of miles in the air, and Tim felt safe and more secure than he had since everything had spiraled out of control. He could trust Kon. There, amid the clouds, high above the city of Gotham, Tim clung to the only solid point of reference left in his life, and wept.