boy wonder. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
staystraught) wrote2010-07-09 03:53 am
staystraught) wrote2010-07-09 03:53 am
dream draft
Dream Effects: A steady background hum of worry, up until the end.
Warnings: Vague metaphorical happenings.
A stately manor. No sound. Even the wind billowing Robin’s cape is silent. He’s out on the front lawn, looking up at the fourth floor balcony, the one right out of the biggest guest room. Maybe in the 1800s, the room was for important guests, friends of the family, city and state officials, but now, it just collects dust. Except for the balcony being the best place to watch the driveway from, a good place for spectacles, and spectacles belong to both of his families.
Batman stands on the balcony, in broad daylight and full costume, inky black cape rippling in the same eerie-silent breeze. Robin isn’t close enough to see (not four stories down) but he thinks Batman is giving one of his rare smiles. Not the businessman one, not even the “You did a good job” one—those are reactionary, expected niceties. Batman’s not smiling because something outside’s making him. He’s smiling because he’s actually happy, happy with and within himself.
His gauntlet is out, and firmly grasped by a tall, dark man in bright red satin, bright, deepest red, like a robin’s red breast, banded in gilded, gold braid up the ribcage. The golden design is almost like wings, and all of it sits atop plain black tights and slippers. Robin looks down at his own red-breasted suit, with its black armor in the legs and yellow accents, and he’s a little bit smug because Bats tried so hard to convince him that decking out in red and yellow was a terrible idea, but he’d refused to fly in anything else. The reversible cape had been their compromise, and it was worth every stupid minute of tripping and flapping and vision-blocking to look up at Dad and Batman, at Dad shaking Batman’s hand with a silent, full-body laugh and a friendly hand on his shoulder. Batman wasn’t putting him off or radiating his usual “stay ten feet away from me” vibes. In fact, someone else was approaching them, dressed in the same costume as Dad, but with a black skirt instead of tights, her hair pulled back, each step graceful and elegant, like the balcony was her own stage, just like she’d taught him.
Mom? he shouted, only no sound disrupted the scene, only his mouth and throat moved. Mom placed her own hand over Dad’s and Batman’s, and then they were joined by Talia al-Ghul, before smiling down at Robin.
The rest of the two groups on the stage seemed to take that as their cue, everyone -- Batman, Talia, Mom, Dad, John, Alfred, Barbara, The Commissioner, Jack Haly, his aunt and uncle -- converging in the center.
The family he’d lost and the family he’d gained; his mouth soundlessly traced the word How? but Mom simply shook her head. She turned around, no longer facing him, and Robin felt his stomach drop. The Manor loomed, and he could see each of the red-breasted costumes following her inside, to the dusty, unused room.
It was imperative he get to her, to all of them. He broke into a run, the fastest, the strongest sprint he'd ever managed, tearing his way across the yard towards the balcony.
Mom! he tried to yell again. Dad!
He dashed forward, unthinking; the doors opened and they were beginning to disappear into the room, one by one. He ran forward, jumped, straight at the wall, gripping what he could of the door frame to propel himself up, up to the second-story's windowsill. He didn't pause, climbing the Manor's flagstones like a ladder. Being too late to-- was not an option, he just had to exert more effort, try harder.
Failure was not an option, he was not going to let this happen, he wasn't powerless, he wasn't a child anymore. If he couldn't get to them in time, he'd have to stop them, and if they couldn't hear him yell, if they couldn't, his options were limited, the only chance was if--
"Batman!" he yelled again, the sound breaking free this time, as the wide, fathoms-dark cape flared out in the noiseless breeze, the cowl and its unmistakable silhouette turned and reached for him.
The second chance, he leapt for it, every ounce of power he'd ever trained towards springing for this chance--and his hand closed around Batman's forearm, Batman gripping his, using Batman's strength to swing himself around to land on the balcony railing, feet curled around it to steady himself.
He didn't have to say a word as each of them turned to look at him, everyone in costume and everyone not.
[The pitiful screaming of Ace the Shiba inu puppy startled Robin out of bed, and had him fumbling in the impenetrable darkness of his room for his sunglasses in case any of the team decided to investigate the racket-- or the Dreamberry was recording. It took him a couple tries to get them on without sticking in his eye, and more because of the incessant wailing of his pet startling him than any lingering fatigue.]
What is wrong with--
[The dog turned to growl, hair on end, nose pointing at the wall above Robin's bed. He craned his neck around to see a poster of six trapeze artists in silhouette hanging above his bed, forced his jaw not to drop, and killed the feed.]
Warnings: Vague metaphorical happenings.
A stately manor. No sound. Even the wind billowing Robin’s cape is silent. He’s out on the front lawn, looking up at the fourth floor balcony, the one right out of the biggest guest room. Maybe in the 1800s, the room was for important guests, friends of the family, city and state officials, but now, it just collects dust. Except for the balcony being the best place to watch the driveway from, a good place for spectacles, and spectacles belong to both of his families.
Batman stands on the balcony, in broad daylight and full costume, inky black cape rippling in the same eerie-silent breeze. Robin isn’t close enough to see (not four stories down) but he thinks Batman is giving one of his rare smiles. Not the businessman one, not even the “You did a good job” one—those are reactionary, expected niceties. Batman’s not smiling because something outside’s making him. He’s smiling because he’s actually happy, happy with and within himself.
His gauntlet is out, and firmly grasped by a tall, dark man in bright red satin, bright, deepest red, like a robin’s red breast, banded in gilded, gold braid up the ribcage. The golden design is almost like wings, and all of it sits atop plain black tights and slippers. Robin looks down at his own red-breasted suit, with its black armor in the legs and yellow accents, and he’s a little bit smug because Bats tried so hard to convince him that decking out in red and yellow was a terrible idea, but he’d refused to fly in anything else. The reversible cape had been their compromise, and it was worth every stupid minute of tripping and flapping and vision-blocking to look up at Dad and Batman, at Dad shaking Batman’s hand with a silent, full-body laugh and a friendly hand on his shoulder. Batman wasn’t putting him off or radiating his usual “stay ten feet away from me” vibes. In fact, someone else was approaching them, dressed in the same costume as Dad, but with a black skirt instead of tights, her hair pulled back, each step graceful and elegant, like the balcony was her own stage, just like she’d taught him.
Mom? he shouted, only no sound disrupted the scene, only his mouth and throat moved. Mom placed her own hand over Dad’s and Batman’s, and then they were joined by Talia al-Ghul, before smiling down at Robin.
The rest of the two groups on the stage seemed to take that as their cue, everyone -- Batman, Talia, Mom, Dad, John, Alfred, Barbara, The Commissioner, Jack Haly, his aunt and uncle -- converging in the center.
The family he’d lost and the family he’d gained; his mouth soundlessly traced the word How? but Mom simply shook her head. She turned around, no longer facing him, and Robin felt his stomach drop. The Manor loomed, and he could see each of the red-breasted costumes following her inside, to the dusty, unused room.
It was imperative he get to her, to all of them. He broke into a run, the fastest, the strongest sprint he'd ever managed, tearing his way across the yard towards the balcony.
Mom! he tried to yell again. Dad!
He dashed forward, unthinking; the doors opened and they were beginning to disappear into the room, one by one. He ran forward, jumped, straight at the wall, gripping what he could of the door frame to propel himself up, up to the second-story's windowsill. He didn't pause, climbing the Manor's flagstones like a ladder. Being too late to-- was not an option, he just had to exert more effort, try harder.
Failure was not an option, he was not going to let this happen, he wasn't powerless, he wasn't a child anymore. If he couldn't get to them in time, he'd have to stop them, and if they couldn't hear him yell, if they couldn't, his options were limited, the only chance was if--
"Batman!" he yelled again, the sound breaking free this time, as the wide, fathoms-dark cape flared out in the noiseless breeze, the cowl and its unmistakable silhouette turned and reached for him.
The second chance, he leapt for it, every ounce of power he'd ever trained towards springing for this chance--and his hand closed around Batman's forearm, Batman gripping his, using Batman's strength to swing himself around to land on the balcony railing, feet curled around it to steady himself.
He didn't have to say a word as each of them turned to look at him, everyone in costume and everyone not.
[The pitiful screaming of Ace the Shiba inu puppy startled Robin out of bed, and had him fumbling in the impenetrable darkness of his room for his sunglasses in case any of the team decided to investigate the racket-- or the Dreamberry was recording. It took him a couple tries to get them on without sticking in his eye, and more because of the incessant wailing of his pet startling him than any lingering fatigue.]
What is wrong with--
[The dog turned to growl, hair on end, nose pointing at the wall above Robin's bed. He craned his neck around to see a poster of six trapeze artists in silhouette hanging above his bed, forced his jaw not to drop, and killed the feed.]