Rating: T for mild cursing
Word Count: 2,141
Summary: Bruce thought everything would fall into place after Dick came back from Spyral, but it seems everything is falling apart before him. Everyone seems angry at him and Dick, and Bruce has no idea to put all the pieces back together. And for that, the guilt is drowning him alive.
Bruce Wayne isn't Bruce Wayne if there wasn't guilt in the mess of emotions that always seemed to accompany him. But he couldn't but painfully feel the guilt. It was part of his skin now, a thing he had to deal with daily. Currently, though, it drummed in his bones and drowned in his lungs.
Barbara had punched Dick. Bruce breathed as he stared at his son collapsed on the floor massaging his cheek. Barbara clenches her fists tighter and her angry, hard breathing echoed through the silence of the cave.
"To think I cried for you," Barbara scoffs out. She turns her heel and storms out of the batcave. Damian screams a myriad of curses at her disappearing figure even as his voice goes raw.
Dick calms him down with a hushed order and a calm reassurance. All Bruce could do was stare at Dick rub calming circles as Damian mumbled curses under his breath. Bruce didn't have the heart to stop his youngest son. All he could do was pathetically stare at the scene before him.
Dick had a fresh bruise on his cheek the next day. Damian didn't speak a word to him either.
The guilt scratches at Bruce's throat.
Tim had been avoiding Dick. Of course, Bruce had been noticing it. So, he called Red Robin for an impromptu mission. Batman said it was an emergency. It really wasn't, but any of the rogues in Gotham can be considered an emergency. The mission was wrapped up quickly but awkwardly. Red Robin kept a distance from Nightwing while Nightwing kept fidgeting staring hopelessly at Tim.
Alfred forces Tim Drake to stay for the weekend, for old times sake. No one can refuse Alfred, not with his hard stare and a promise of good, warm food.
The dinner was awkward and silent and heavy. Bruce, surprisingly unsurprisingly, hated the silence. It seemed to hang in the air, suffocating everyone in the room. So, he talks about the only thing he knows how to talk about- the rogues in Gotham. Tim's shoulders noticeably sag in relief. Tim adds comments here and there but he still refuses to look at Dick. Towards the end of dinner their plates are half full and Dick pulls Damian away before he could say a word to Tim. Damian groans in protest but with a look he follows Dick to the second floor. Bruce watches the two boys climb the stairs in silence.
Bruce doesn't mean to. He honestly doesn't. He couldn't sleep; there were too many thoughts swimming in his head, slamming into every corner in his mind giving him an annoying headache. So, after some tossing and turning in bed in the darkness of his bedroom, Bruce decided to head down to the cave to work on some cases. It was a quick way for a distraction, to avoid the thoughts he really shouldn't be avoiding. A whispered conversation in Dick's room stops him in midstep. Eavesdropping is a childish thing to do when it's a conversation between two people he trusts dearly clearly having a very private conversation. But his feet refuse to move and he presses closer to the darkness in the hallway.
"I'm sorry." It was Dick speaking. Bruce noted that his voice sounded tired and heavy.
"I know." Tim. "But Dick I thought you died. I lost so many friends and then I thought I lost you. I was so angry and bitter. I thought about using the Pit again." Bruce chokes down a shocked gasp. He didn't know that Tim had been feeling that desperate. Bruce hears shuffling in the room. "Stop, I don't want your comfort Dick. Listen to me." Tim sounds angry now. His voice still comes out in a whisper but it's harsher now.
"Okay," Dick agrees. He sounds farther away now. Bruce has to strain in order to hear what he's saying.
Bruce hears Tim suck in a steely breath and let a shaky breath out. "The only thing that stopped me was that I knew you wouldn't want that. I knew how you felt about the Pit so I didn't use it on you or anyone else. But then you weren't dead. You lied to me, to everyone. Your death made me remember feelings that I thought I had moved passed."
"Tim…I'm so sorry," Dick apologized almost desperately. Bruce's heart hammered painfully as he heard the plea in Dick's voice.
"I need time, Dick, to work everything out. Just give me some space, alright?" Tim asked.
There was a brief silence between them and Bruce shifted slightly sore from standing in one position for so long.
"Okay," Dick answered back softly.
Tim pushed the door open and the light in Dick's room blinded Bruce for a brief moment. After his eyes got used to with new found light he found Tim with his mouth slightly open in shocked surprise staring at Bruce pressed against the wall. An angry blush rose onto Tim's cheeks and with a firm glare he brushed past Bruce to his own room.
After a beat, Bruce decided to glance into Dick's room. He was standing at the far end of the room with his arms crossed in sad defeat. His eyebrows were furrowed and the frown on Dick's face made Bruce's chest ache. Dick let his head rest against his window and let out a deep sigh.
"Damn," Dick whispered out his voice shaky. He slid down on the wall and wrapped his arms around his legs. "Damn."
Bruce wanted nothing more than to comfort Dick, but something made him hesitate. He didn't know what words to form or how to tell him to stop blaming himself without making it sound like an order. Human emotions were complicated and every time he went one way the emotions went the other way, or he headbutted the emotions and everything tumbled into a mess affecting everyone him. So, he remained in the hallway while his fingers twitched and his throat feeling incredibly dry. All too suddenly, Bruce felt incredibly tired, the kind of tired where he never wanted to wake up again, just to remain in the comfort of the eternal nothingness that only deep sleep offered him. So, with a final look at Dick burrowed in the corner in the brightness of his room staring blankly at nothing with the same furrowed brow and frown Bruce walked back to his bedroom. The guilt following him like a shadow.
Tim was gone the next day. He left an apologetic note for Alfred and a promise that he would make it up to him. Bruce noticed the disappointed look that the butler made before his face contorted into a fake placidness.
Dick was either holed up in his room or in the cave for the entire day and night.
The guilt clawed at his heart and wore heavily on his mind.
It took a whole week for Damian to come barging into Bruce's office and angrily throw a small cushion towards his face. Bruce rubs his nose and picks up the small pillow off the floor.
"Is there something wrong, Damian?" Bruce asks the small child.
Damian is huffing in angry and his fists are tightly clenched.
"Talk to him," the thirteen-year-old hisses out. When Bruce just owlishly stares at his youngest son. Damian scoffs and stomps out of the office and slams the door behind him. Bruce fluffs the dented cushion and places it back onto the small couch. Bruce lets out a small choked laugh and runs his hand through his hair.
"Shit," Bruce whispers out in the empty office. "Shit...fuck." Even his youngest son knows that the great big bad Batman is being a coward. Bruce heaves out a heavy sigh and stares at the grandfather clock hesitating.
He always seemed to hesitate at the most wrong moments. Bruce steels himself with a breath and walks over to the grandfather clock and turns the hands until he hears a click. The grandfather clock softly moans and slowly opens to reveal an elevator.
It's now or never.
Bruce steps inside.
Now or never.
Bruce finds Dick sparring with a dummy. His punches and kicks echoes through the cave in a steady rhythm.
A punch.
Punch.
Punch.
A kick.
Kick.
Punch.
Sweat sticks to Dick's forehead as he's panting in exhaustion.
"Dick," Bruce calls out interrupting Dick's beat. Dick swiftly turns around and throws a punch and it's only hard-earned instinct that Bruce catches the fist before it meets his jaw. Dick eyes turn steely and he kicks at Bruce's ankle. Bruce stumbles and Dick takes the opportunity to grab his wrist and flip him over. The older man lets out a startled gasp when his face meets the gym mat.
"You're getting rusty," Dick calls out. Bruce has to hold back a smile as he's standing up. If Dick's joking then that means-. Bruce's smile falls as he notices Dick's stoic expression.
Bruce clears his throat and repeats, "Dick."
"Bruce," Dick replies back. Bruce takes this time to really study Dick; they had been both thoroughly avoiding each other ever since Dick came back from Spyral. Dark circles are pooling under his eyes. His arms are crossed and his shoulders are stiff. His lips are pressed together tightly, preventing an angry frown to appear. Bruce mouths opens and closes trying to think of anything of what to say to his eldest son. Dick rolls his blue eyes at Bruce's hesitance and sits on the bench.
"What do you want Bruce?" Dick asks after a long gulp of water. Bruce shoves his hands inside his pockets.
"I..I'm sorry, Dick," Bruce finally says. Dick's cold expression doesn't morph into something more caring. It remains guarded and tired.
"For what Bruce?"
Bruce blinks and he slowly takes his hands out of his pants pockets. His fingers fidgets and twirls against each other. "For sending you out to Spyral. I should've-." He's interrupted by a bitter scoff from Dick.
"You're not sorry about that. Would you have really done something differently if you could go back time, Bruce?" Dick asks vehemently.
"I…" Bruce trails off because he knew the truth would be the wrong thing to say and lying seemed to be a worse thing to do. No matter what angle Bruce looks it from Dick was the perfect person to send in. He worked well under pressure, Bruce could trust him, and working out his death was the easiest one to do. Dick stands up and walks over to Bruce.
"No, you're sorry for everything exploding in our faces. You're sorry for people being angry at me for a decision you cornered me into. You're sorry for not knowing how to fix the mess that's beneath our feet. That's what you're sorry for Bruce."
Hell, Bruce wants to cry because for a multitude of reasons. For one, Dick was correct on all accounts and Bruce was angry that it had to be spelt out for him. Two, Bruce had a sinking feeling that this time no matter how many days, years pass nothing will ever be the same.
"Please, Dick-" Bruce started wincing at the desperation in his voice.
"Bruce, I told you things wouldn't be the same between us after Spyral. After everything I've been through with Owlman and the Crime Syndicate all I wanted was to be with everyone again- Tim, Barbara, Alfred, and you. But all I got was Batman telling me I had to pretend to be dead in order to protect the people who I desperately wanted to see and hug and talk to," Dick pauses to let out a shaky breath. Dick is trembling in the cave that had always seemed too big because now all the anger and exhaustion is all seeping through.
"Bruce, I can't, not anymore. As Nightwing? I will always have your back. Whenever Batman needs Nightwing I will be there. But as Dick Grayson. That's done. I'm too tired for that. I'll stop by the manor for Alfred and Damian, but not for you...not for Bruce Wayne. Not anymore." Dick stares at Bruce to say something but only an empty stare is his reply. Dick shakes his head in a sad disappointment and walks away. Dick stops in front of the elevator and says, "You've got one more kid. Don't even think about messing Damian up." With that said, Dick steps inside the elevator staring at the broad back of Bruce Wayne until the doors close.
.
.
.
It is until when Bruce hears the doors of the elevator close he starts to weep like a child. The man cries and cries alone in the impossibly big cave only to have his weeps echoed back to him. For now, Bruce Wayne is drowning in the guilt of the mess he made.