Tim Drake (gotham_redbird) wrote in strangergamesrp, @ 2012-07-15 04:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | closed, gin charlie, log, tim drake |
Wishes by Moonlight
Who: Tim Drake, Gin Charlie
When: July 4
Where: The grounds, the dorms
What: Tim goes wishing - and gets an unexpected answer.
Warnings: Swearing
Open or Closed: Closed
Observable: No
*
The moon was full, high and huge overhead, and brilliant enough to cast shadows like pale silver sunshine. Back home, Tim recalled, this would be called a Strawberry Moon. He wondered what it was called here, if it was called anything at all. Closing his eyes, Tim tilted his face up to the lavender moon and just savored the night around him. From the lonely, silent nights of wandering an empty home and wishing for constantly absent parents to the nights of climbing over Gotham’s cityscape in pursuit of Batman and Robin, right through to the night of flying over Gotham as Robin himself, Tim’s whole life was largely defined by nights.
Rain-fresh air heavily perfumed by the surrounding greenery - particularly the magnolia grandiflora over on the island - and overlayed by the smell of moist earth, the sound of gently moving water, the rustle of the woods and raindrops still dripping from the nearby leaves, the night wind sweet and fresh on his face... None of it was at all what he was accustomed to. Gotham and Bludhaven nights were both gritty and dark, loud with sirens and gunfire, smelling like smoke and granite and sometimes dead fish out in the warehouse district. In San Francisco things were cleaner and brighter, the nightlife kinder but no less rowdy.
Kansas nights were as close to this as Tim had ever come, but even that didn’t compare: Kansas was an endless sky and creaky barn lofts, the scent of hay and stargazing in the middle of the golden seas wheat and corn and empty fields, the sun-warm bulk of his best friend at his side and the occasional cheerful chatter of the other in his ear. Knowing the Kansas nights were gone for good was still hard to bear - the Kents wouldn’t mind him visiting, but it would never be the same without Kon to keep him from getting too cold.
Tim swallowed thickly and opened his eyes again, pulling his sweatshirt closer around himself and ignoring the slight dampness the recent rain shower had left in the fabric. For once, it wasn’t Dick’s hoodie that he wore. Tim hadn’t wanted to risk what little was left of his brother’s scent being washed away. It was still too big for him, though; he’d stopped wearing things that might give away how much weight he was starting to lose as soon as he’d realized it was beginning to show and using his cape to disguise the weight loss while he was Robin. There was no one here to care, except for maybe Dave, but the misdirection to divert concern was too ingrained to ignore.
If it kept Dave safe from worrying at least, Tim considered it worth it.
Tim’s sneakers sank a little into the wet dirt as he travelled the last few feet to the lake’s edge. He would’ve felt a little ridiculous doing this if he hadn’t seen so many unbelievable things in his own world already... And if he weren’t feeling so hopeless. He desperately needed something to help him keep going. Crouching, Tim dragged his fingers briefly through the pond’s water and took a slow breath.
“...I’d like a wish,” he murmured quietly, almost - almost - pleading. “Please.”
The night was quiet for a full minute, no noise beyond the soft calls of the nightbirds, the shimmering chorus of the summer insects. The moonlight drifted through the leaves to pattern the forest floor, dappling the leaves and the pond’s still water, rippling only where Tim had touched it. The ripples spread, and lapped against the island’s shore.
An owl called, a shrill hoarse whinny that startled the surrounding night into silence.
A little girl giggled.
“Make a wish on the summer’s full moon, and it’ll come true!”
The owl screamed again, and dove past Tim in a pale flash, winging from the magnolia and deeper into the forest.
Tim lifted his face from his contemplation of the water to look around - he was pretty positive he’d fail in finding the source of the girl’s voice, but he had to try. Maybe he’d see something.
“I don’t suppose you can grant wishes for people?” he asked desolately. He already knew the answer, but again, he had to try. If he crushed the hope, he’d never wonder ‘what-if’.
“Ask and see!” was the answer, the child’s voice merry and sweet, echoing faintly in the damp forest.
Mist was rising from the pond, low and curling in wisps and eddies across the surface. A frog called, a deep throaty croak. A nightbird trilled, and the insects began to sing again.
Tim closed his eyes, pained. The possibility of having someone from home was just - but who to ask for? Bruce? Dick?
“Kon. I wish for Kon,” he whispered hoarsely. If he could only have one... Kon had been his rock, solid and faithful and just always there, just a murmur away. Bruce and Dick would be there when Tim got home. Kon wouldn’t.
“A friend.”
A soft little giggle echoed out and faded away into the night. The mist crept higher from the pond, curling tendrils through the waterplants to climb up onto the bank. A frog belled out, was answered by another, and the night settled, as if someone had left a room and shut the door. A nightingale broke out into glorious song overhead.
“No, not just ‘a friend’,” Tim said softly. “My best friend. Kon.”
He sighed and stood, tilting his head back to look at the moon. It was still brilliant. Still huge. And Tim was completely alone again. His shoulders slumping, Tim turned and started back towards the dorms to not-sleep again. Maybe he’d read Molly’s history book again to pass the time, and to distract himself - Kon, he knew, wasn’t going to come back to him. It just didn’t work that way.
* * *
Gin Charlie was not often up this early. He did like his sleep. But he had an important errand to run: so here he was, at the very brush of dawn, knocking on one Tim Drake’s door. The sky outside was a faint grey, touched with pink, and the world dim and misty. Gin Charlie was wearing a grey sleeveless shirt, and his usual wide-legged dark pants and moccasins. He had a small package wrapped in brown paper under his arm, and a bottle of gin in his hand.
He stood at his ease, and stifled a yawn by clenching his jaw. He’d been woken early, but now his errand was almost complete.
He knocked again, not impatiently but insistently.
Tim was already answering the door by the time Gin Charlie knocked again, and had to shift back quickly in order to avoid getting hit. Tense, guard automatically up, the teenager eyed the much older man warily. He’d tried to stay out of Gin Charlie’s way, and had no idea what could have brought the man to visit him.
“Good morning,” he greeted slowly, tugging on his t-shirt uncomfortably. It didn’t do as good a job as Tim’d like at hiding his recent weight-loss; he normally wore layers. “Can I do something for you?”
Gin Charlie eyed Tim carefully, took a swig of his whiskey, and with a little shrug shifted the flat package into his hand. “Eat breakfast and get out of your room more,” he said, conversationally, “But I’m not the one who goes around making wishes. Here. She did the best she could.”
Tim colored, ducking his face bashfully as he reached out to accept the package.
“I haven’t been hungry,” he murmured softly. It was fine; his weight was on the low end, but it hadn’t reached unhealthy levels yet. Tim turned the small brown parcel in his hands, inspecting it. It was thin, and relatively light, but he didn’t see anything suspicious about it. He stepped briefly back into his room for a shuriken to cut the twine with. “Um - by ‘she’, do you mean the little girl I heard?”
“That be her.” Gin Charlie leaned on the doorframe and sipped his gin again. “I think she feels sorry for you.”
Well, he was pretty damn sure, actually, but she thought it was fun to be cryptic.
Tim’s head jerked up, the brown paper crunching loudly in his hands. His blue eyes were wide, the mix of emotion in them - fear, concern, horror, the ever-present sadness - almost unreadable.
“I - I don’t. She doesn’t need to...”
Tim swallowed and looked back down at the thing in his hands.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” he muttered to himself, and then looked back up at Gin Charlie. “Please tell her I’m sorry, if you hear from her again? Or see her? I didn’t mean to worry anyone, I just... I’ve been having a tough time lately. She doesn’t need to concern herself.”
“It’s my goddamn job to worry and it keeps her from being lonely. Now open your present.” Gin Charlie sloshed his gin bottle absently. He didn’t like that look or how this one had dropped weight. Keeping them all healthy was such a chore. He should sic that Sophie woman on this one, he thought.
Tim bit the inside of his cheek and did as he was told. His brow furrowed as the paper came away. A... frame? He turned it over, and his breath caught. It was the picture - the one of him and Kon. They stood side by side in it, Kon’s arm slung over Robin’s shoulders and hugging him close, beaming at the camera like sunshine personified. Robin was smiling, too, the expression small, but happy and honest, leaning into the bigger teen’s solid frame in feigned reluctance. Behind them, San Francisco Bay spread out in a stunning daytime panorama, light sparkling off the water and the Golden Gate Bridge stretching across the distance in a far corner. The view from the top of Titans Tower was one of the best the city had to offer.
Tim traced the strong line of Kon’s jaw with a fingertip, hovering just over the glass so it wouldn’t smudge and feeling a little like his heart was shattering all over again. It was written all over his face, he knew; he was too tired and out-of sorts at the moment to hide it with any real success. He remembered the day this had been taken perfectly - the warmth of the summer sun, the smell and taste of the barbeque, Cassie grinning as she held up the camera, insisting Tim and Kon pose together while Gar and Bart joked and laughed off to the side.
Smiling brokenly, awkward with only a faint remembrance of how it was actually done anymore, he returned his slightly watery gaze to Gin Charlie.
“Thank you,” he rasped, his voice was almost as crippled as his smile. “This is - This means a lot to me. Tell her that for me, at least? If you won’t tell her not to worry? I was going to ask for this anyway, sort of, if she’d told me I couldn’t have my first wish. She got it just right.”
Gin Charlie frowned a little, and nodded. Well. He was still worried about this one, because losing weight like that. Well, pining was not uncommon but anyone could kill themselves pining for what they’d lost.
“I’ll tell her. She’ll like that. Did you like her other present?”
Tim nodded, his eyes drifting back down to the photo in his hands. It was hard to believe he had it back.
“It’s nice having a book I don’t have to borrow again,” he answered distractedly, and abruptly realized just how awful he sounded. Tim swallowed once, then cleared his throat in hopes of sounding a little more normal and hiding his emotional state again. He more or less succeeded, but he needed to go meditate for a while to really put himself back together again. “And I like learning. All my books got left behind when I got pulled here.”
“The Scientists won’t like that you have that, even if it is several hundred years out of date.” Gin Charlie snorted a little. Nearly a thousand years out of date, give or take a few centuries, but let the brat figure that out for himself. It was not Gin Charlie’s place to provide every answer, after all, just the pertinent ones to keep people out of trouble.
Tim shrugged a little carelessly without moving his gaze from the photograph, trying to remember the warmth of Kon beside him and what it had felt like to be that happy.
“I’m good at keeping secrets,” he said. “A book is just a drop in the ocean, really.”
“So long as you remember that.” Gin Charlie nodded. “Is there anything else I can get you? I can get things you can’t get from the QD.” The Quirky Device carried things that the Scientists approved of. Gin Charlie could get things they didn’t think were needful or necessary.
“No, I’m fine,” Tim replied, tearing his eyes away from his picture again. It was rude not to look at the person you were speaking to, after all, and Alfred was always got very disapprovingly British at them whenever he, Dick, or Bruce did it in his presence. “Most of the things I still want are at home anyway; I’m just glad to have at least this.”
“As long as it isn’t a person and smaller than a refrigerator, I can probably get it,” Gin Charlie returned, dryly. “Keep in mind computers don’t connect to the internet, because there ain’t any.” He shrugged. It would cost Tim, too, but Gin Charlie didn’t see the need to mention that. Tim was smart, he would remember that.
Tim’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known Gin Charlie could do that: target specific things in a specific world to bring over. There were certain implications to that, too, where people being brought over were concerned - things were smaller and and harder to find than people - but he’d wait after Gin Charlie left to consider them more fully.
“My luggage,” he told Gin Charlie hopefully, voice lifting a little the end like it was a question. “Before I was brought here, I was travelling with my... My family. Could you get my luggage?”
Everything he really needed was in those two bags - some of his training gear, his scrapbook albums of his friends and family, clothes he’d stolen from Dick and Bruce and Kon, before he’d died, his laptop, and even a few less pressing items like his camera and a few books. It didn’t particularly matter that his laptop wouldn’t connect to the internet; most of his notes and regular programs didn’t require any connection, though it would’ve been nice. Maybe he’d be give the hacking attempt he’d discussed with Dave a try, and enlist the younger boy for help. Dave would probably enjoy it.
“I can take extra shifts in the infirmary if I need to, or play some extra Games if I don’t have enough. Whatever I need to do.”
“I’ll see what I can do. One suitcase? Or what? I can’t make absolute promises - sometimes things go wrong.” This was not an exact science, after all, but Gin Charlie had his ways, and as Tim was here, anything he’d touched or associated closely with would be easy to find... Things were easier to locate than people. Things did not move and were not alive, and could withstand considerably more abuse.
“A big mountaineering backpack and a large duffel,” Tim reported. “The last time I saw them, they were sitting in the corner of a Tibetan martial temple somewhere in the vicinity of Kanchenjunga - though ‘somewhere in the vicinity of’ really means ‘within a few thousand miles.’”
He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “It’s not really the kind of place that lands on a map.”
“It’s a hell of a lot more specific than I usually get.” Gin Charlie shrugged. “Now do I gotta fuckin’ frog-march you out and feed you breakfast, or will you get it on your own?”
Tim blinked, a little taken aback by the question.
“What? Oh. I.” Tim curled his arms around himself, hugging his photo to his torso as he wished he was wearing something heavier. Baggier. Gin Charlie wouldn’t have asked if Tim’s weight loss weren’t so evident. He shook his head. “I’m not hungry at the moment. I’ll get something later.”
Maybe.
Gin Charlie said nothing, merely fixed Tim with a steady and solid look.
Tim resisted the urge to duck his head - Gin Charlie was doing that thing where he reminded Tim of Bruce again; that was a Bruce Look - and fought back a light blush.
“I’m still within a healthy weight range for a guy of my age and size,” he protested. “I checked; I’m fine.”
Gin Charlie did not relent. He’d stared down many a teenager before. He’d lost quite a few brats, as well, and he hoped as he always hoped that Tim would not be another. Suicide was a nasty thing, and even nastier when you were resurrected from it again...and again...and again. Gin Charlie would know. He sloshed his gin bottle quietly.
Tim squared his shoulders stubbornly, his eyes narrowing as Gin Charlie’s steady stare sparked the beginnings of annoyance. Gin Charlie didn’t know him - didn’t even really care about him - and had no right to lecture him about how much he did or did not eat, no matter how silently he did it.
“Is there anything else you need?” he asked, tone polite but backed with steel.
“You to take an interest in living, but goddamn, do we ever get what we want in life?” Gin Charlie smiled, and the expression - and the sentiments behind it - was not pretty. He shook his head, then took a long pull from his gin. He coughed a little, and offered the bottle to Tim.
Tim frowned and shook his head at the bottle. He wasn’t... He’d thought about dying before, admittedly, but more in a ‘what if I hadn’t managed to dodge that bullet?’ sort of way. Suicide was something he knew he’d never actually do: he had too many responsibilities, things he needed and wanted to do, and for all those he’d lost lately, he still had people who cared about him - people like Alfred, Bruce, Dick and the remaining Titans. Tim had seen the aftermath of suicide before, and if nothing else, he’d never put them all through that.
Missing someone, no matter how important they’d been to him or how much it hurt, was nowhere near a good enough reason to kill himself.
“Well, I’m certainly not interested in dying,” he informed the much bigger, older man. “That’s never solved anything. It’s not exactly the same thing as wanting to live, maybe, but it’s the best I can do right now. I hope it’s at least close enough to satisfy you.”
“Eating and making more friends instead of pining away would satisfy, but I’ll take what I can get.” Gin Charlie shrugged. “Now come have breakfast. Scrambled brains and eggs would put some of that weight back on ye.”
Tim eyed Gin Charlie narrowly for a moment, then asked guardedly, “What are the chances you’ll just leave me be about this if I say no?”
“Until about tomorrow morning,” Gin Charlie answered, calmly. “It’s not often I offer to eat breakfast with anyone, you know.”
He eyed Tim, then added, “She gave you her books. She wouldn’t do that for just anyone. So I’d better watch out for you. More than the usual, anyway.”
Tim sighed. Yeah, he’d had a feeling the answer would be something like that.
“Fine. Just let me get dressed properly,” he agreed tiredly. He didn’t need anyone else commenting on his weight today. “But you don’t need to do anything ‘more than usual’ for me, okay? I’m alright.”
“You let me decide how I waste my time, and I’ll only take you to breakfast once,” Gin Charlie retorted, with a snort. He took a long pull of his gin, and turned away. “Ten minutes and I’ll come looking for you,” he called, over his shoulder, as he sauntered out the door.
He hoped this kid would be alright. He seemed to be, so far, but a bad end was just a thought away sometimes. Gin Charlie went to get another bottle of gin to go with his breakfast.