Work Text:
A frame, a picture
A bit old, but not much
It's a good one.
If you didn't know who took it you could think it's was a pro.
But if you look closely you could see the little imperfection. But maybe it's this who give all the magic to this little picture.
It's kind of light, something who make you smile.
A kid, but a special one. A kid who give you hope. Just with one looks of this picture and you could feel it. The smile of this kid show you his determination, his joy, it was real. It's l
Magic. And it wasn't just because he was free, or because je was like flying , no, not only because of that but also because of the way the picture was taken. The perfect, angle, the perfect light, the perfect position, the perfect time.
The artist knew what he taken, who was his subject.
The costume helped convey the message. Of course yes, Robin gives hope to people, but this kid, this one on the picture was special. And the artist knew it, and showed it with this frame. The smile, the assurance, the conviction, everything was here. Everything was perfect to show who he was and what he meant to people.
An hero.
Meaning of Hope.
Of magic.
...
The photo trembles, a tear rolls down.
A sob, another. It fall on the ground. The light is off.
The memory of this night goes out.
Blood, pain.
A Scream, One injury, and then another, a broken bone, a slit throat.
Everything goes faster. A nightmare , he can't sleep. He couldn't that night, but he find hope in this the alley, with his hero. Yet now he can no longer sleep, because that face haunts him. The same one he cherished, the same one he had photographed years before. But not exactly, now it's filled with hatred. A green hatred. And red. A lot of red. But not the same as the costume. Blood. Red blood. His own, melanges with the green.
He can't sleep, he can't breath, everything is not ok. He is not. The picture taunting him. He misses it, he misses that time. He just wants his hero to look at him the way he looked at the others. Not with that green gaze. He hates that look, hates the helmet. That red helmet. Blood red.
Pain, blood. A cut. a shock. a broken bone.
He tried to be enough. He wasn't. He never was.
He can't be magic, he never was, will never. He tried and feel.
Maybe he is better in the shadow.
He don't mean hope
Neither the kid on the picture.
Not anymore
He grow up
Never met your hero they said.
Maybe they're right.
He can't sleep.
But he can't escape.