āI just want to be alone right now, please get outā
There was a long moment of quiet followed by a sad sigh. The floorboards creaking as Bruce walked out.
Regret burned in his gut. Please donāt leave me alone.
Dick waited with bated breath for the click of the closing door. A signal that he could let out the brewing sob.
But it never came. Bruceās sturdy presence could be felt through the cracked door. Refusing to give up and let him grieve alone.
āI know youāre still out there,ā the bravado Dick tried projecting was cancelled out by nasally sniffles.
āItās just- you shouldnāt have to deal with me. My anger and hurt, I know itās not healthy, but. . . But itās all I have left of them.ā
The admission hung in the air. A vulnerable, unifying truth.
āI wonāt tell you to let those feelings go, lord knows I still havenāt.ā
A quiet voice wafted in. Full of sincerity.
Dick was fully crying now, curled up in a Superman blanket and hugging his pillow.
There was a sharp inhale from outside the door. Was Bruce. . . crying too?
There was some more creaking floors as Bruce stood up and hovered in the doorway. Not hiding his tears.
āBut sharing it can make it easier to carryā
Silence. Not inviting, but not pushing away. A start.
Tentatively, Bruce sat on the edge of the bed. Testing the waters.
Slipping off his shoes, Bruce sat on the bed fully. His broad shoulder nearly touching Dickās smaller one.
There was no pressure, no prying. A patient understanding.
And just like that, a wall collapsed..
Dick closed the gap, burying his head in Bruceās chest as he began to sob.
āOh Chum, Iāll always be here for you. Youāre not alone.ā
He hugged the small sobbing frame. A warm embrace of shared pain and love for the child who allowed him the privilege of letting him into his life.
ā ā - ā ā - ā ā - ā ā - ā ā
Nightwing was still, listening intently from where he was perched outside the open window.
He couldnāt get into a position to view the people inside without giving himself away.
Though he had no need to. Hearing was enough.
There was gentle and deep tone, an older voice . There was small, young voice. Someone whoād seen too much.
Another soul forced to grow up too soon.
His stomach churned at the familiarity.
He told himself it was disgust, anger at Bruce.
Deep down he knew that wasnāt true.
āYou should have just let me be, I was doing fine on my own-ā
Defensive and fiercely independent. The sound of angry tears hiding deep gratitude and desperation.
There was a rustling, a shifting of position as Bruce sat next to the new kid.
So thatās my replacements name.
āYou amaze me, you are so brave and capable.ā
A tissue box being opened and handed to the child, Jason.
āI know youāre hurting Jaylad. . .but sharing it can make it easier to carryā
Dickās heart stuttered, nearly falling off the ledge he was perched on.
He did not just say that.
Those words, full of love and sincerity. Spoken to him. That brought comfort to him. By a father that belonged to him.
Stealth be damned, Nightwing risked a glance through the window.
Bruce was hugging the child. The blue-eyed, black-haired child that looked too much like him for comfort.
Their estrangement had been taking a toll on Bruce. In passing moments when heād spotted him the man had looked tired, older.
But in that moment, he looked. . . Content. Saddened at whatever tragedy this child had endured, but more whole.
A fire burned within him.
Hurt morphing into the ugly creature that was jealousy.
Fantasies of their reconciliation fixing everything, of having Bruce hug him like that again-
Somebody, that kid, had taken that from him.
It was a shameful ugly feeling. It wasnāt Jasonās fault, not really.
But the burning put inside him didnāt care for logic.
ā ā - ā ā - ā ā - ā ā - ā ā
āHey Dad I was in the neighborhood and thought Iād stop by. . .?ā
The kitchen and living room were empty. The sound of Bruceās voice vaguely reached Dickās ears from wherever he was upstairs.
It stopped him dead in his tracks. Nearly dropping the bag of Chinese takeout he was going to surprise him with.
That tone, gentle and sincere, was very familiar to him.
He couldnāt quite make out the words, but their soft cadence could be heard despite the painful sobs coming from the same room.
Without making a sound, he crept to the door. A childhood of practice at avoiding the manorās creaky floorboards coming in handy.
āOh god. I- I still canāt believe it, I-ā
Dick had heard Tim cry before. But this was different. Something had changed, something terrible had happened.
His heart ached for Tim. He had an idea of what kind of tragedy may had befallen.
The kind of loss that killed the child you used to be.
The kind of loss that brought you into Bruceās arms.
The kind of loss that brought out that gentle, kind tone. A patient understanding and a needed reminder that you werenāt alone.
A familiar fire flickered to life inside Dick, despite his best efforts.
āIt hurts so much- oh god oh godā
The sounds of movements and a knowing embrace.
āI canāt take your pain away Timā¦ā
A voice crack. Bruce was crying now too.
āBut sharing it can make it easier to carryā
Those words. Those goddamned words.
Jealousy burned in his gut. Angry at the words that were once special to him. Angry at yet another hurt child taking his place.
Angry at himself for feeling this way.
[Got some jealous Dick here for ya @ilovemybruciewayne >:) - but make it angst because Iām evil lol]
