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Dick watched the snow fall gently outside the window, curling as far as he could into the armchair. The snow might be prettier if he wasn’t so sad. Maybe he would be able to appreciate the way it glimmered in the light emitting from Wayne Manor, the way it covered the grounds in a thick, fluffy blanket. It just feels suffocating now, like the cold from outside is filling up the hole he can feel in his chest.
It aches when he breathes, he misses his parents so much. It’s a real, tangible and physical pain, one that feels so solid that he’s convinced he could cup it in his hands if he could. It’s like all the love he had for his parents has turned heavy, weighing his heart down so much he can feel it in the pit of his stomach, in his lungs and in the tips of his fingers. Dick never realized how much of his physical being was made up of his parents, how wholly they made him who he is, until it was taken from him, like a limb was ripped off of his body when his parents fell, like a piece of him was scooped out and filled with the sickening thud of them hitting the floor.
He wonders if they were scared. It’s all he can think about sometimes. His mom screamed when the wire snapped. He can’t remember if his dad did, too.
He used to crawl into their bed when he couldn’t sleep, when he was too wound up to settle for the night. Their bed would be warm and his Tati would chuckle when Dick would duck under their blankets and wiggle in between them. Mami would scratch his hair with her long nails and then he wouldn’t even be able to remember why he couldn’t sleep in the first place. He would be warm in between them, his Mami’s perfume making it that much easier to close his eyes and drift off.
When he saw them laying there on the ground, laying together one last time, all broken and dead on the ground, all he wanted to do then was join them, even if it wasn’t as warm and nice as it usually was.
Sometimes it’s easier to run around the manor, to scream at Bruce and Alfred and to destroy his room. Easier to flip and tumble around the huge house, throwing all of his energy into moving his body so the ache doesn’t get the chance to settle. It doesn’t ease the pain, but he doesn’t have to sit with it, either.
He’s sitting with it now, though. The ache weighs him down, anchoring him to the chair he’s found solace in. He’s in the library, a room he hardly goes into. He’s not a very good reader. Tati liked to read to him, though.
There are some days where Dick gets quiet. He doesn’t really know why. It’s just…easier. Not to talk. It’s like the hole in his heart swallows all his words. Sometimes he worries that the hole will swallow everything he is, like he’ll collapse into himself and it’ll be like he was never there in the first place. The snow that’s falling is quiet too, absorbing any sound the way the hole in his chest steals his words. Mami liked the snow.
Dick sniffles, burying his head further into the armrest of the chair. He wraps the blanket tighter around himself, imagining it was his parents tucking him in for bed, able to remember the soothing cadence of their voices, lulling him to sleep. His parents, gone, in the blink of an eye, in the snap of a wire their soothing touches and voices and everything about them was just gone. He wants his parents, he wants the circus, he wants it like he’s never wanted anything before. He snuggles further into the blanket, arms wrapped around his stomach like he could cradle the ache, like it could hold him back.
“Dick? Are you in here?”
Bruce’s voice calls out softly. Dick can hear him moving around the library, closer to the little corner that Dick has hidden away in. He doesn’t call back for him, knowing that Bruce will find him anyway.
Things with Bruce have been… better. He’s been around more. He told Dick about his own parents. How he saw them die. He holds Dick when he cries, sometimes, when Dick lets him. Dick yells at him all the time, but Bruce hasn’t yelled back yet. He talks to him even when he knows that Dick isn’t going to talk back. He isn’t Tati or Mami, but he’s…there.
“Hey, chum.”
Dick looks up. Bruce found him, just like Dick knew he would. He smiles softly down at him, his eyes kind. Dick looks away.
“I’ve been looking for you. Dinner is almost ready. Want to come down and eat?”
Dick shakes his head no. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself. He doesn’t feel like eating. The hole in his chest takes away his appetite, too.
Bruce comes closer to the armchair. He squats down so that he’s eyelevel with Dick’s face where it’s smooshed into the armrest. He lifts his hand up, slow enough that Dick could protest in time if he wanted to. He doesn’t. Bruce’s hand comes down gently on his head before he gently starts running his fingers through Dick’s dark hair. It’s not the way Mami would do it but it makes the ache sharpen all the same. He bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t cry.
“Are we having a quiet day, chum?” Bruce asks quietly and not unkindly. He continues to run his fingers through Dick’s hair, twirling the ends of it before he goes back to the roots. Something about his voice, about the gentle way he asks makes tears spring to his eyes, the pain from biting his cheek is not enough to force them away. He turns away, pushing his face fully into the chair so that he doesn’t have to look at Bruce any longer. Bruce just keeps petting his hair, scratching a little bit at the hair on his neck where it’s the shortest.
The longer he continues the tighter Dick’s throat becomes, and he feels a sob bubble up out of his chest before he can stop it, eased out of his body with the hand in his hair. Bruce doesn’t say anything, but his hand doesn’t leave and he’s there. Still sobbing, Dick turns his body towards Bruce, trusting Bruce to know what he wants. And he does, Bruce scoops him into his arms, taking the blanket along with him. Dick is settled back into the armchair, this time held securely in Bruce’s arms. Bruce’s hands are gentle as he maneuvers Dick in his lap, tucking the blanket around his shoulders and it isn’t fair. It’s not fair that Bruce is here and his parents aren’t, that they’re dead and gone and Dick just has to live with it. It hurts so bad, it hurts to think about them and Dick just wants to be done. He buries his face in Bruce’s shoulder, feeling his large hand at the back of his neck, keeping him there. He sobs and sobs and Bruce doesn’t leave. Dick can feel him rocking gently back and forth, his large arms wrapped around him, keeping him steady as his cries wrack his body.
Dick isn’t sure how long he cries for but he knows that he is absolutely exhausted by the time he’s done. He sighs heavily against Bruce’s shoulder, leaning all of his weight against him. Bruce’s hand is still there, holding the back of his head steady, his other his rubbing soothing circles into his back. He can feel Bruce adjust the blanket around him every so often, tucking it tighter around his legs and arms.
They sit like that for a while longer before Bruce says anything.
“Were you watching the snow?”
Dick nods against him. He feels Bruce hum more than he hears it.
“My father loved the snow.”
Sniffling, Dick leans back to look at Bruce. He’s looking over Dick’s head, out the window, like Dick had been earlier. Bruce looks down at him and his mouth twitches, almost a smile, a small, sad thing.
“I know it hurts, chum.”
Dick sighs heavily and Bruce matches him. Dick leans his head back into Bruce’s chest, fully worn out. Bruce’s arms tighten around him, rubbing his hands up and down Dick’s shoulders like he’s trying to warm him up. The ache in Dick’s chest feels settled, still there, deep and nestled into his ribs, but rounder, softer than it had been before. He knows it will sharpen again, knows it will break free of his ribcage in due time. But for now, it’s enough. He can sit with it for now if it means that Bruce will hold him through it.