Author’s Note: I wrote a corresponding story in almost the same format with the same title not too long ago. The difference? It was cartoon universe based. This is comic based, during a certain time period PRE-NML. Some things may be in-acur-rate, but it was fun to WRITE!
Legalities: Characters are owned by DC Comics!
Rating: PG, probably…
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Dear Bruce,
Forgive the bad handwriting, but I think you’ll understand… Gut wrenching on me, making me shake…
I had a dream earlier this morning, about my mother. Her hair was pinned up on top, a few stray strands left to hang. A dress was wrapped around her, white and to her ankles—a dress I saw her wearing in a photograph my father has from their honey moon… and… well, she was just plain beautiful, Bruce. Just like I remember her being. Gorgeous. My mother.
“Come here, Timmy, I want to show you something,” she said in that smooth voice… so gentle and calm.
In my dream, I could walk well, so, I went for her. She turned and began to walk. Each step she planted to the ground caused a wave of green grass to appear, spreading along the ground. I followed her still, until we ended in a clearing—a meadow of amazing greens and silver dews.
“Mom, what do you want?” I asked.
Back turned to me, she bowed her head.
“You’ve been a bad… bad boy, Timmy. Not telling your father about being a vigilante. Tsk. Tsk.”
“What?!” I asked, alarmed.
“What happens when he discovers you weren’t just CAUGHT in quarantine, but that you wouldn’t come home? Ever? And as he goes through your room, mourning, he discovers the AWFUL TRUTH… What then?”
“I…I CAN’T tell him the truth, Mom! He wouldn’t—“
A crack of lightning and the skies turned from vibrant blue to deathly black. The lush grounds withered in an instant, and no longer standing there was my mother—but a horrid creature to which I shall not elaborate…
“Then may your final thoughts be of the worry of THIS!” it shrieked, lunging.
………
I woke up and realized something. I’ve just turned 15…
And I’m dying.
I’ll be joining my mother in days… maybe hours…
Unless Azrael makes it past quarantine in time. If he doesn’t get it through and to you on time… Please, I’m begging you, take care of my father! If I know I’m dead, you’ll get this letter. If I live, I’m burning it.
The only thing keeping me from rolling into a heap and bawling my eyes out is that it hurts to move, even to write. But I’m not complaining! You and Alfred have done everything to make me comfortable… I appreciate that.
I tried to get dressed and go out today—people NEED help because of OTHER people. Alfred stopped me, though, before I could even stagger 10 feet from my bed.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Master Timothy!” he said. I *tried* to convince him I was fine, but… “Your fever has sky-rocketed, you’re sweating from it! And dear Heavens, have you looked in a mirror?”
“B-but… unnngh… people looting… stealing… killing… PLEASE… Alfred…!”
Talking’s not easy, but Alfred got the point. He let out a long sigh.
“Master Bruce is doing things just fine on his own…” He pulled me back for my bed and prepared to put my IV back in that I had ripped out of myself. “AND Master Richard is on this, as well as Jean-Paul Valley. And you know how close HE is to finding the cure to this wretched thing.”
“No!” I cried, not wanting to hear I’m still benched. I tried to get off the bed again, but Alfred held a lazy hand on my shoulder, which is enough to stop my movement right now. But I continued to struggle. “Must… MUST get out there… hundreds of thousands dying--!”
I grabbed Alfred’s hand, trying to pull free.
His solution was to sedate me.
Thanks Alfred.
Bruce… What happens if this claims my life? How are you gonna tell my dad? He won’t mourn long, I’m sure. After the death of my mother, this’ll be nothing… I’m nothing to him, not without my mom, and besides… I barely know either of them.
Most of my life I’ve either been yelled at, or thrown into private school while they went parading around the world. I can forgive that, don’t get me wrong. What hurts the most, I guess, is the fact that you’ll both replace me. I give it a year.
Same with the guys. They’ll get a new leader, if they don’t replace me with one of themselves. Hell, I know I’ll never compare to any of you. You, Dick… or even Kon, Bart and Jason. Jason had attitude I could never muster around you. Bart is so free and innocent, everything I’ve dreamt of. Kon is just… incredibly cool and speaks his mind and doesn’t care. Dick’s just the best there is in the world of younger superheroes.… And you’re… perfect.
I wish I was any of you guys, just for a day.
At least I’d know what love and greatness is in the least.
Arm hurts, blood coming through the bandage that Alfred put on. When I ripped out the IV, I guess I ripped my skin and gashed the vein open.
Okay, ENOUGH WHINING!
Dick says I whine too much.
Maybe he’s right.
He always is.
…
Funny. I just remembered dad was FORCING me to have a “night home” with him and Dana tonight. He’s going to want to whup me. Instead, I’m lying in the Batcave, dying from the Contagion.
Ironic. General name, irregular form of Ebola virus. Thousands dead. Most never stood a chance, dying painfully in their homes or on the streets. And I have the richest man in Gotham babying me, making me comfortable…
………
It’s madness in this city. Once the cure is brought past quarantine, it’s over. People are going to break into a horrible frenzy, striving to get it before every one else, and people will even try to profit from it. But that’s what I love about Gothamites. Always willing to give themselves a helping hand.
Sad thing is… I won’t have to worry about that. Being part of the “club house” you’re immediately allowed the first rights of any cure, knowledge, etc. I feel so damn guilty that no one else is as lucky as I am…
The only thing keeping me from giving up my share of the cure and just dying now is because I want to make a difference, and I don’t want my dad finding out what I’ve become, why I take midnight runs. Why I’m always hurt, why I’m always tired. Why I’m always at your house, or never available when he wants me home. I don’t want him to know why I hurt him. If he knew… I’d never live with myself. He’d be in danger then, and if he was hurt or… or worse because of me… I’d… die for revenge. Or kill myself. One of the two…
Alfred’s saying I need to try to get some sleep now. The point of this rambling is… Thank you for everything you’ve shown me, taught me… I’ll always be appreciative of this. No matter what happens, you’re still my idol. Thank you for letting me become and exist as Robin, thank you for the chance to fight, and to learn to survive without any dangers aide, namely guns. And thank you for showing me… what a father is supposed to be…
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Please watch over my dad, Dana, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Kon, Bart, Suzie, Cassie, Cissie, Ariana, and all the people less fortunate than I.
Amen.
Timothy Drake