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Oliver did not want to do this.
He’d rather be anywhere else, rather than in front of Wayne Manor. He feels almost sick. It’s already been 5 minutes of him just standing there, unwilling to ring the bell. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, whether that be some sort of sign or for someone to open the door.
Oliver takes in a deep breath, and raises a shaking hand to knock on the door. He doesn’t ring the doorbell. Maybe he’s hoping that no one will hear it; that they’ll be too deep into the manor, or even not home.
His heart sinks when the door is opened and Dick sticks his head out. One of his arms is stuck in a jacket sleeve, as though he were putting it on right before the knock. A flash of surprise crosses the man’s face, then a bright smile. Oliver already feels worse.
“Ollie! So nice to see you. Please, come on in!” Dick moves to the side, opening the door wider for him to come in.
Once the door is closed, Dick turns. His smile is still there, but it’s more serious. “I didn’t think we’d be meeting until later tonight; did something come up with the case?”
Oliver can feel his face twist, can feel the heat behind his eyes and the sting in his throat. It’s here, right now, that it really hits him; he’s going to have to tell a son that his father is dead. He’s done this before with others, had even volunteered to do it instead of Clark, but it never gets easier. The fact that this is Bruce, one of his close childhood friends, makes it even harder.
Dick notices the change in the air right away, growing somber and concerned. He steps forward and puts a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. There’s a glint of fear in his eyes, quickly hidden behind a mask of sympathy.
“Ollie, what happened?” The mask cracks, for just a moment, “Is it Roy?”
“No.” Oliver chokes on his next words, can’t get them out past the lump in his throat.
Come on Queen, pull yourself together, he chastises, and takes a deep breath before trying again.
“There was an incident in Gotham. Joker broke out.” Dick’s eyes widen, that fear returning at the mention of the clown. “We didn’t realize until after the Justice League was sent a video. Until I…until a civilian gave me a tablet with a livestream right to what Joker was doing.”
Dick barely seems to be hearing the words. His breathing has picked up, eyes staring vacantly. He fumbles for his phone, ripping it from his pocket and scrolling through to dial a number. Oliver falls silent, letting him do what he needs to do.
When Oliver hears the voice on the other line, though, he wishes he’d said something.
“What do you want, Dickhead?” Jason’s voice comes through crisply on the Wayne Tech phone. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Where are you?” Dick’s voice is high and tight, strained with fear.
“At home, making food.” The response is instant, clipped and serious. It’s such a stark change from the mock annoyance from before. “Dick, what’s wrong?”
At that, Dick looks back at Oliver. He doesn’t look any less afraid after hearing his brother’s voice, and likely won’t be until he’s confirmed the safety of every one of his family members. Oliver wishes he could give that to him, wishes with all his heart, but he needs to say something before things spiral even further.
“Dick, can you put Jason on speaker? You both need to hear this.” Oliver tries to keep his tone calm and even. He’s not sure he succeeded.
With a click, the white noise from Jason’s end can be heard in the foyer. He’s so quiet on his end that he must be holding his breath. Dick is doing the same, just staring at Ollie with wide eyes. God, Oliver does not want to do this. He takes a deep breath and does it anyway.
“Joker broke out about 18 hours ago.” He ignores the sharp inhale from Jason. “No one knew because he’d bribed some of the guards. The Justice League is already conducting an investigation into who exactly it was, and they will be dealt with accordingly.”
He pauses for a moment, takes in another breath, and prepares himself for what he has to say next. Dick shifts, shoulders squaring, as though he’s preparing himself, too.
“Joker took only one hostage. He took Batman.” Oliver pauses again, desperately trying to separate himself from this situation, to blink away the heat behind his eyes. “He set up a livestream and had a civilian deliver it to the nearest hero, which happened to be me. When I brought it to the League, Superman took it and they found out where Batman–where Bruce–was.”
Olive has to stop again, has to clear his throat to keep it from cracking and betraying him. When he tries to keep going, a sob breaks out instead. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, head hanging low to cover up the tears now falling without his permission. Maybe he looks down to avoid looking at Dick, too. He can’t look at the man or he won’t be able to get the next part out.
“I didn’t find out what happened until after. They found where Bruce was and rushed to him, but it was too late.”
“No…” Oliver desperately ignores the watery word from Dick and the broken noise coming from Jason.
“Bruce didn’t make it, he…I’m so sorry” He can’t do it, can’t say that one word, can’t put it out there.
There’s a thump and a gasp, and Oliver looks up to see that Dick has fallen to his knees. Behind him, Alfred stands at the corner of the foyer. The older man has a hand to his mouth and tears in his eyes, body turned as though to hide himself from what he just heard. Oliver hadn’t even noticed him before now, hadn’t realized he’d be breaking the news to Bruce’s butler–to his father figure–as well as two of his sons.
Seeing the usually put together man breaking down, head bowing, is the last straw. Oliver can’t stop the sob from ripping from his throat again, and can’t stop the subsequent ones either. He sinks to his knees and grips onto the carpet, gasping and desperately trying to suck air into his lungs. He doesn’t notice that they have even more of an audience until he hears a sharp inhale and a confused hum.
When he looks up, he sees Tim and Damian. Tim is looking at everyone, eyes sharp as he takes in everything around him and tries to piece it together. Damian is only looking at Dick, eyes slowly widening as he takes in how the man has completely broken down. When Dick looks up, too, and sees Damian, he lets out a terrible keen. Something crashes on the other end of the phone, and then the line hangs up.
Dick tries to drag himself to his feet, and half crawls to Damian. He takes the boy’s face in his hands, then wraps him in a tight hug. Oliver can see Damian’s face from over Dick’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes are so wide, brimming with tears.
“Richard?” Damian’s voice is quiet, small, and he sounds so young. Too young to have lost a father.
Tim looks right at Oliver, eyes still calculating. It only takes a moment for them to widen, for him to realize that something terrible must have happened, and to add it to Oliver’s presence. Then, as he watches, Tim’s eyes narrow and his features harden. He turns and stalks from the room before Dick ever speaks the words aloud.
“Damian, god, Damian I’m so sorry.” Dick holds on tighter, wraps his entire body around the boy as though he can shield him from his words.
“What happened?” Damian’s eyes dart to Oliver, as if only just noticing his presence. “Where is father?”
Oliver opens his mouth to speak, to say something so Dick doesn’t have to, but he can’t. He’s already said it once, already torn this family apart. He can’t do it again.
Before he can do anything else, there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder. Oliver looks up to see Alfred there, tears still trailing down his cheeks, with such a hollow expression it makes Oliver feel a sharp pang in his chest. The butler gestures for him to follow, and so he does. He ventures into this home that will never be the same again, leaving Dick and Damian to have a moment alone.
He’s brought into the kitchen, and Alfred makes himself busy with making tea. The man’s hands shake, the teacups rattling against the countertop as they’re put down. After a moment of watching, Oliver can’t stand it anymore. He gets up and goes over to help, gently taking the teacups from Alfred and putting them on a tray. Alfred says nothing, just offers him a watery smile.
They work like that, in silence, for a minute. Then, the somber calm is broken by a shout coming from down the hall.
“No! You’re wrong!” Damian’s voice is shrill, panicked.
Oliver presses his hands against the countertop. Alfred places a hand over his eyes. Neither of them can stop their hearts from breaking when cries echo through the manor.