Tim Wayne(Robin) (red_bird) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2010-01-25 19:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | andrew wells, tim wayne/robin |
Who: Tim and Andrew.
What: The gym, getting out some frustration.
When: late night, 2 or 3am.
Where: said gym
Warnings: Angst.
Tim was haunted. But these ghosts couldn't be touched by rocksalt rifles or holywater. They weren't the kinds that could be exorcised with Latin, or even seen outside the darkness of his own mind. Everyone he loved had died. It wasn't like he was all alone in the world, but nights like these he missed them. He had a new home, but he was scared to trust any of them not to die. Scared to believe in them. Even Clark worried him with all his Kryptonian DNA. He couldn't be injured but that didn't make him invulnerable. What if it happened all over again? What if he put his trust in him, and Clark died, or Oliver, or Bart. He was still furious at Bart. He couldn't even entirely explain why. He was alive in this world, Tim should have been happy..right?
It was late when he slipped out of Oliver's room and left the trio to sleep. Staying in that apartment with Bart was only putting him on edge rather than soothing his frayed nerves. He'd just started to accept Bart's death. Now the story was a complete 180. He was alive but didn't know him. It hurt. Tim knew he shouldn't blame Bart, but it felt like he was stabbed in the back by his best friend. It wasn't in Bart's control where he came from. It wasn't fair to him. But Tim was so livid he could feel it in his veins as he wrapped his wrists with bandages for support and looked around the empty training room. Familiar territory was what he needed. Things he knew and understood. Weights and sparring gear. A C.D. player in the corner of the room caught his attention.
Trailing over to it Tim knelt beside it and tugged his backpack off his shoulders. Unzipping it he took out one of his favorite CD's. he'd recently burned. London Calling by the Clash and slipped it inside the player. Watching and waiting for it to set he picked up the weights. Starting small, and gradually adding more. That was just the warm up. After four sets of twenty different movements on each arm Tim moved on. Sliding to the middle of the room, he began pushing things out of the way to make some space in the center of the gym. He was kind of glad for the late night hours, the gym was empty and he wasn't really expecting anyone to come along. It was the perfect time for really getting into the routine he'd been working on with Bruce.
Get his mind off his demons. So many of them threatened. Tim was always able to put up a good front, but lately he felt the mask cracking. Information getting through that he would have previously taken to the grave. Tim used the advantage of the not so quiet room to practice meditation to clear his mind. Thinking only of the beats and tempos of the music that helped drown his thoughts and focus him. For the longest time he stood doing nothing but breathing and staring ahead into space. Finally in his mind he could see the movements of the kata Bruce had been teaching, every sharp snap and flick of the wrist, Tim mimicked in the real world. His body shifting fluidly but with an intensity and strength. The kata included complex hand movements, flips, and jumping kicks. Each combination deadly if used properly. Everyone of his attacks kept sharp as if against a real opponent.
The door was kept shut to make sure the music wouldn't wake anyone who'd been sleeping, but honestly Tim wasn't expecting it. He was off in his own little world. Not paying attention to the pain, refusing to look back anymore than he had. Batman had always taught him never look back. And he would try. He would try his damnedest to make it work.