Work Text:
Dick remembered very well the words that Bruce had said to him many years ago.
Dick finally got his voice back, and it was still difficult to speak. But now because the voice seemed like a distant echo, somehow coming from his mouth. Bruce's office smelled of his sweet, yet bitter perfume, something with pine and flowers. The expensive leather sofa also smelled, and standing closer to the bookshelves you could smell the old smell of yellowed books pages and worn covers. Dick loved Bruce's office, although for entertainment there was almost nothing there except for Newton's cradle, which Dick kept touched when he was completely bored, trying to break the perfect rhythm, in which balls were moving.
That day he didn't touch anything and felt like a ghost haunting a huge empty house. Bruce was supposed to be back from work, on a small table stood untouched tea, which Alfred had kindly made for Dick hours ago. It was raining outside, so Dick was waiting to see the headlights. The wait dragged on so much that he fell asleep, curled up in Bruce's chair. He woke up by a gentle touch on his shoulder. Bruce looked at him a little alarmed, knowing what day it was.
“Hey, Dick. You better go to your room, so you don't hurt your back.”
Dick sits down straight, looking at his own legs in plain pants and socks. Bruce squats down, and Dick turns his attention to Bruce's hand with the expensive watch.
“Will it stop... hurting?” Bruce exhales, his hand continues to lie on Dick's shoulder. This touch is the only thing that makes Dick happy after a long-long day, helps to ground himself and feel his own living body, which can move, hurt, or get tired. His parents can no longer feel anything.
"I'm afraid not," Bruce's hand moves to his cheek. The palm is large, warm, and the skin is dry. Dick looks up and looks at Bruce, whose expression looks... vulnerable. Dick blinks faster, trying to chase away the tears, “but it will be easier. Believe me. You are a very strong boy, son.”
Dick tries to breathe, and when he exhales tears start to flow. Nothing remains, except to cling to the soothing, absorbing hug of Bruce. Bruce smells like home.
Dick wakes up in the car when Bruce touches his shoulder. Outside of the window, through the usual gotham’s fog, the thin black gate of the cemetery is visible. Forehead unpleasantly wet from condensation on the window. Bruce gets out of the car to take one of the bouquets that is lying on the back seat. Dick rubs his eyes and takes another.
Asters and forget-me-nots. Eternal memory and love. They walk in silence, bypassing dozens of different tombstones.
The graves of the parents are neat and careful when Dick bends down to lay a bouquet. He runs his eyes over their names again, over their simple signatures, over dates of life. They could live a long and happy life, and that's what hurt the most.
Bruce stands nearby, after placing his own bouquet.
“You were right. When you said it would get easier. But at times, I just... I want to wake up from a long sleep and see them in front of me.”
“I understand.”
Bruce is understanding about everything, and the biggest truth is that he doesn't lie. He knows that deep inside Bruce hurts just as much, even though the wound is distant and changed by years of memories. They stand in silence for another five minutes, and then Dick looks at Bruce's profile. He sees the wrinkles, and then a person with whom they have been through a lot. Annoying mistakes, quarrels, laughter, happiness, love. Dick is afraid to imagine where life could take him without Bruce. Was Bruce an ideal father? Absolutely not. Did he make an effort? Yes. And after all the apologies, Dick knows that he will never forgive the way he behaved and what he said, when Dick was a teenager. But now they are here, taking care of each other during “night shifts” and in everyday life, and Dick loves him.
Dick lightly taps Bruce on the shoulder and the man obediently turns around, and Dick hugs him. Bruce, as always, holds him tightly, strokes his hair. Years may pass, but Dick will love his parents and father just as much strongly, just like when he was a little boy.
Tim has gone through too many losses before his twenties. Mom, Dad, Kon, Bruce and the list can be continued. Some returned. and some remained below the ground. He will never hear their laughter or feel their touch. Sometimes come to terms with it is terrifyingly easy, but more often it's bitterly difficult.
Tim's parents weren't perfect. And the truth was, Tim loved them anyway. His parents carried the burden of their own parents' mistakes, which were more interested in wealth than in the well-being of children. Because well-being can be covered with money right? Toys, food and all that. But Janet and Jack tried to move away from such attitudes, trying in a more adult life to take care of Tim, when they… Had time for it. They asked about time at school, about friends, about hobbies, about how he feels. And moments like this were enough to feel loved. He remembers his parents' stories, how their own parents forgot about holidays, birthdays, anything that they had to remember. However, Jack and Janet joked, then washed down their jokes with wine. Tim had a hard time forcing a smile out of himself, while moving the leftover meat on a plate from one edge to the other.
After his mother died, little changed. Jack was still working, still trying to be close to his son. After his father's death, everything changed.
The best thing Tim remembers: Bruce's presence. After he emerged from his own head, he cared about Tim much more. Much more than his parents did, and for a while Tim just couldn't accept it. He ran away from attention and touch, because it was just too much. Bruce (and Dick) became for him a shield from the world that saw him as Timothy Drake, descendant of the Drake Industries, not Tim, who lost his parents.
At first, it was difficult for him to even think about visiting the cemetery. Too complicated a thing to look at, too much loss. But it is true that time heals. As well as relatives who are nearby.
Tim finds Bruce by the fireplace. The man is reading something on a tablet, lines are visible on a white background in the reflection of glasses. Alfred the cat curled up on a small piece of free space near Bruce. Tim sits down on a chair opposite, clasps his fingers. Bruce seems to finish reading the paragraph before looking at Tim.
“How are you feeling?” Tim stayed at the estate for the weekend because he pulled a muscle in his leg, but it wasn't anything serious. Bruce insisted on staying anyway.
"It's okay, Bruce. I don't have any pain, really."
“You look nervous. Did something happen?”
Tim watches the firewood burning in the fireplace, small pieces falling a little further from the rest, slowly fading away.
“It's almost the anniversary of my father's death, and I was thinking... would you go with me? Just…” Tim didn't know how to continue the sentence, and shrugged awkwardly, “Everything okay if you can’t, if you're busy, I understand.”
"I'll go, Tim. I'll be there," Bruce's voice is gentle and firm, confident.
This makes Tim relax and sink into the chair, relaxing.
Tim only now realizes that they are alone in the estate. Cass, Demian having sleepovers with their friends. Only Bruce, Alfred, and counting Titus and Alfred the cat, because they came looking for company in the rooms.
“Maybe we should watch something? While we still have the chance. Together.”
"Of course," Bruce smiles, "I'll ask Alfred to make something for us."
When Bruce gets up and walks past Tim, he kisses him on the top of his head, and Tim looks after him.
Inviting Bruce was a really good idea. When Tim feels too much emotion, Bruce hugs him and holds him as long as he needs. At night, when they share a secretly ordered pizza (although Alfred is definitely gonna find out in the morning) and investigate the case, he is glad to have such a father like Bruce.
Bruce wakes up in a hospital bed repeatedly. During one of awakening, the nurse with blond hair says something to him, but he hears nothing and falls asleep. Next time, it's Cassandra, who gently whispers something until he loses consciousness again. The third time there is no one in the room, he is surrounded by darkness. Only strips of yellow light peeking through the blinds brings him a certain peace of mind.
Bruce wakes up in the afternoon and the world around him finally becomes clear. A flat ceiling, the softness and simple smell of a blanket, bandages on the body. When he’s looking lower, he sees Damian sleeping with his head on Tim’s knees. There's no one else in the room. He doesn't know how to wake his sons, so presses a button to have the nurse do it for him.
The handle turns and the boys instantly open their eyes, looking around the room, searching for the potential threat that woke them up. They quickly see that Bruce woke up and jumped up.
The nurse quickly examines him, tells the guys not to overdo it, be careful around father and leaves. Tim sits on the edge of the bed on the left, and Demian on the right.
"How are you feeling?" Tim asks quietly, Bruce can see the fatigue in his face.
“Like I got run over by a truck,” Bruce is honest, Tim purses his lips in compassion.
“I think that's not far from the truth. You were shot, Father. And thrown into water. I... I was tied up, I couldn't help you,” Damian tries to speak without any particular tone, as if he does not attach much importance to the words. However, Bruce knows very well that his son feels guilty.
"It's not your fault, Damian. It was an ambush."
"I'm the one who gave you that clue..." Bruce takes his hand in his and Damian falls silent.
"You can't know everything that will happen, son. And I won't blame you for anything. The most important thing is that you are alive and well.”
Bruce is glad that Damian, although he was held hostage, was not injured.
"Jason found you," Tim continues, "you... you were bleeding and then... you started to drown when he came. Jason said... That your heart stopped. He did CPR, we tried to help you in the Cave, but the infection started, and we had to go to Leslie.”
Tim speaks with pauses and Bruce's heart aches.
"You'll be under house arrest for months," Bruce smiles at Damian words. It may be difficult for him to stay at home, but if it is to reassure his family he can at least try.
Bruce thinks about how he really doesn't want to die. He's glad he didn't die.
For many years, he really didn't want to live. Adolescence was full of understanding of his own loneliness. With growing up came other things and tasks in life that had to be solved, and all the pain and emotions went away in the background. When he became Batman the desire to die at someone's hands also was. That would be easier. Died while in a suit, on a mission, being someone who tried to bring changes. No note needed, explanations, just let out your last breath and be done with it.
Many years have passed and he is surprised by the desire to live. The younger Bruce, who looked at the coffins of his parents, would be surprised. Probably offended. But, in the end, happy.
“Come here.” Bruce raises his hands, and the sons carefully lie down, trying not to create unnecessary pressure.
Dick, Cass, Stephanie, maybe even Jason will be arriving in the room soon. And after this, Bruce will live on. For himself. And for his children.