[ Five years and it feels like Bruce is feeling every hurt between the last time they were together and this one. Five years of loneliness and worry and pain because he missed this man, but was too prideful to ever say it. He just let it drag him deeper into the mire. Let it turn him into something he barely recognized. A true monster lurking in the shadows.
And then Dick looks at him and Bruce feels like life is returning to him in drips and drops. Slow, like a faucet barely turned on. But it was on and heโd be full soon if they could stay like this for just a little while longer.
Heโs relieved when Dick quiets and he can feel his warm breath on his palm. And so, so grateful they were together again. That he could be there this time to catch him when he fell. ]
You fainted.
[ He wipes another errant tear off Dickโs cheek. ]
I told you, you had a concussion.
[ Itโs not scolding, surprisingly enough. Itโs a gentle kind of tease. The sort of banter they enjoyed in those early years. ]
Right. It all comes rushing back, the last few sleepless days had been a blur, spent chasing after Bruce's leads, dedicated to severing every tie that tethered back to Batman. Is this how it felt to be one of the rogues? To obsess over Gotham's hero and destroying all that he had built? He hadn't wanted to, he had no choice, it had been the only way he was able to get Bruce's attention. Except... ]
Yeah. You told me. [ Except he's right here, right now, and that big palm holding Dick's face is real, wiping away his tears. It's that tone that settles so achingly sweet in his chest while simultaneously filling the void that had throbbed every single day for the past five years. Bruce's tone is reminiscent of those early years when he was all Dick had and one affirmation would prove that everything would be okay.
Everything would be okay.
He's looking at the face he'd missed so much, finally out of the cowl that had acted like barrier between them, and it all came flooding in like a tide. His breath stuck in his throat and he shakily reached up to put his hand on Bruce's, unable to stop himself from turning into that palm with a hitch in his throat. Fuck. Why can't he stop fucking crying. Why can't he pull himself together? Why does this have to be so hard? ]
I'm... [ His voice breaks as tears blurred his vision. Even then, he didn't look away from the man who had caught him every. Single. Time. Who had been there when he had nothing. ] Bruce, I'm sorry.
He had heard those words the night his mother and father died. Alfred whispered them into his hair while he soaked his mother's pillow with his tears. Heard them at his first heartbreak and when he left to travel the world and when he came back on that very first night as Batman. And when he brought Dick home in his arms, bleeding and broken. So much blood he didn't think it would ever stop.
This is the first time he's said them to himself and actually believed them. Dick is alive and so is he and it feels okay. Not perfect. But getting there. The hand on Dick's cheek slides down to his neck where fingers press against the steady thump of his heart. So Bruce could feel it and be grounded by the rhythm.
Bruce should be the one apologizing. For caging him. For suffocating him. Leaving Dick to grow up in this world without him. It had all been his doing and when it comes time to recognize it, he chokes on the words. They don't come out the way he wants them to. ]
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And then Dick looks at him and Bruce feels like life is returning to him in drips and drops. Slow, like a faucet barely turned on. But it was on and heโd be full soon if they could stay like this for just a little while longer.
Heโs relieved when Dick quiets and he can feel his warm breath on his palm. And so, so grateful they were together again. That he could be there this time to catch him when he fell. ]
You fainted.
[ He wipes another errant tear off Dickโs cheek. ]
I told you, you had a concussion.
[ Itโs not scolding, surprisingly enough. Itโs a gentle kind of tease. The sort of banter they enjoyed in those early years. ]
no subject
Right. It all comes rushing back, the last few sleepless days had been a blur, spent chasing after Bruce's leads, dedicated to severing every tie that tethered back to Batman. Is this how it felt to be one of the rogues? To obsess over Gotham's hero and destroying all that he had built? He hadn't wanted to, he had no choice, it had been the only way he was able to get Bruce's attention. Except... ]
Yeah. You told me. [ Except he's right here, right now, and that big palm holding Dick's face is real, wiping away his tears. It's that tone that settles so achingly sweet in his chest while simultaneously filling the void that had throbbed every single day for the past five years. Bruce's tone is reminiscent of those early years when he was all Dick had and one affirmation would prove that everything would be okay.
Everything would be okay.
He's looking at the face he'd missed so much, finally out of the cowl that had acted like barrier between them, and it all came flooding in like a tide. His breath stuck in his throat and he shakily reached up to put his hand on Bruce's, unable to stop himself from turning into that palm with a hitch in his throat. Fuck. Why can't he stop fucking crying. Why can't he pull himself together? Why does this have to be so hard? ]
I'm... [ His voice breaks as tears blurred his vision. Even then, he didn't look away from the man who had caught him every. Single. Time. Who had been there when he had nothing. ] Bruce, I'm sorry.
no subject
He had heard those words the night his mother and father died. Alfred whispered them into his hair while he soaked his mother's pillow with his tears. Heard them at his first heartbreak and when he left to travel the world and when he came back on that very first night as Batman. And when he brought Dick home in his arms, bleeding and broken. So much blood he didn't think it would ever stop.
This is the first time he's said them to himself and actually believed them. Dick is alive and so is he and it feels okay. Not perfect. But getting there. The hand on Dick's cheek slides down to his neck where fingers press against the steady thump of his heart. So Bruce could feel it and be grounded by the rhythm.
Bruce should be the one apologizing. For caging him. For suffocating him. Leaving Dick to grow up in this world without him. It had all been his doing and when it comes time to recognize it, he chokes on the words. They don't come out the way he wants them to. ]
It's okay.
[ No it isn't. He leans in and tries again. ]
I'm sorry.