PART 2
They were all there. Bruce, Alfred, the Titans, members the JLA, Jim and Barbara Gordon… They surrounded him, pressing in on him, effectively trapping him, ensuring there was no escape. Almost every one of them were leering at him in disgust and disappointment. Others pointed and whispered unintelligibly to each other as they looked at him, shaking their heads in resignation…
Save for those who whispered to each other, no one said a word. They didn't have to; their eyes spoke volumes. They ridiculed him…told him what a pathetic disappointment he was…a worthless little nobody who, thinking he could play with "the big boys," had entered the superhero arena only to fail, had stood up to take his place only to fall. Even when he shut his eyes, trying to block out those looks, those denouncing judgments, they still managed to invade his mind's eye. Another possible escape route cut off from him, and the torment continued unabated.
There flashed through his mind that fleeting thought that if he wasn't claustrophobic before, he was well on his way now. He could barely breathe with the way they all closed in on him, the sheer magnitude of their disgust and disappointment making him feel like was about to be crushed…forcing him to drop to his knees in an effort to gain more room. It was so hard to breathe…so hard to just *think.*
But that wasn't the worst part. That was yet to come. The worse part was when the crowd parted and *they* came through.
It was always the same. Feeling the crowd move away, he would look up and hope would seize his aching heart, tears filling his eyes. His parents! He would allow himself to relax, then, knowing that they would help him, that they would chase his tormentors away, just like they used to before they were so cruelly taken from him. A shaky smile would form on trembling lips at the knowledge that, now that his parents were there, they would wrap him in their arms and hold him and make him feel warm, safe, and loved. But then he would look at them, really *look* at them, and all his hope died a terrible death.
Tears were running down his mother's cheeks, her head turned away, unable to look at him. His father held her close to him, staring at Dick with eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and contempt. Bone-chilling ice filled Dick's heart at that look. It was a millions times worse than the looks from the others, and the tears that had been pooling in his eyes began to fall. He reached out a shaking hand to his father and started to rise, only to freeze in place when his father's voice broke the dead silence that had descended.
"How *could* you, Dick?" The tone matched what was in his father's eyes and it was loud, derisive, and harsh. It caused Dick to cringe back in both physical and emotional pain, his hands pressing against his head in an effort to block out the painful echoes that resounded in his ears. "Look at what you've done to your mother. You've destroyed her."
"No!" Dick cried out pleadingly, one hand leaving his head to reach out to them. "Mom…Dad, please! I…I had no choice! The Titans…"
"There is *always* a choice, Dick," his father interjected. "But you didn't have enough faith and, because of that, you made the wrong choice." John Grayson paused, his expression changing to one of loving concern as he turned away from Dick and looked down at his beloved wife, consolingly tightening his embrace as another sob escaped her while she turned even further away from Dick. Looking back at the boy he'd sired, John's expression filled with contempt once more as he added, "And that choice revealed just how weak and pathetic you really are. You've brought shame to our name…to *my* name." He paused a moment and the oppressive weight of his stare only increased. "You are certainly no son of *mine.*"
With those horrible words echoing in Dick's mind, John turned and, with a gentle hand on Mary Grayson's back to guide her, the pair melted back into the crowd.
Dick didn't move; he couldn't move. He could only kneel where he had fallen to escape the crowd, for his heart and soul had shattered into billions of pieces at his father's words, the pain and disbelief so intense he couldn't move even if he tried. That wasn't what was supposed to happen! His parents were supposed to understand him, help him… He was only a kid! *Their* kid! They were supposed to make things okay again! Not tell him that they…that they didn't want him…
"No!" Dick shouted pleadingly, his denial of those final words, together with the sudden realization that they were leaving him all alone again, spurring him into movement. "Mom! Dad!" He surged to his feet and tried to run after them, but was blocked by a smirking Cyborg. Not having enough time to fight his once and former friend, he tried to dart around the larger teen, only to encounter one of Raven's force fields. "Mom! Dad!" he screamed, desperation driving him as he pounded uselessly on the barrier, and all the while the taunting laughter from those present was ringing in his ears. "Please! Come back! I'm sorry! I'm not weak, I…"
With a gasp, Dick sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, his haunted blue eyes darting about his darkened room, almost as if expecting to see the mocking specters of his parents walking away from him. Nothing. There was no one there. He was alone. Always alone…
A dream. It was only a dream. A dream, yes, but it was the same, awful dream that had been tormenting him every night for the past week, that initial two day sleep having been the last dreamless one he'd been granted since his return from Slade's base of operations. He ran a shaky hand through his sweat-dampened hair, trying desperately to calm his pounding heart and banish from his memory the images of the way his parents…of the way his *father* had looked at him. He shuddered despite himself as those terrible words from the end of the nightmare echoed in his mind: you are certainly no son of *mine…*
Those words…those horrible, awful, soul-shattering words were a new addition to the dream. Before, his father had been content to simply tell him how weak and pathetic he was before disappearing back into the crowd. He couldn't help but wonder, with that latest dramatic addition, if his parents were trying to tell him something. Maybe it was a message from the great beyond confirming what a failure he was…
With a defeated, accepting sigh, Dick ran a hand through his hair, his heart rate finally slowing down to a more manageable level. Bad enough that the voices were driving him crazy during the waking hours, now his dreams were joining the fun too. Well, just as he had figured out how to silence the voices when he was awake, he had also found an answer for the dreams. He looked over at his clock to make sure. 1:58AM. Bruce was probably still out on patrol and Alfred was probably in bed. He'd have the cave all to himself.
Dick slipped out of bed and, almost without thinking, retrieved half of a pill and swallowed it down. He would need the focus for what he had in mind. Silently, he crept out of his room and headed down to the cave, careful not to wake Alfred along the way. Just because *he* couldn't sleep, didn't mean Alfred had to suffer too.
Confirming through the absence of the Batmobile from the cave that Batman was still out, Dick automatically went through a quick warm up, then took to the equipment that had been set up in a jungle gym style. He launched into a routine that steadily grew in intensity and got so involved in it that he never noticed when the Batmobile cruised in, gliding to a smooth stop in its designated parking place.
END SCENE
Batman stepped out of the car and silently approached the training area, watching Dick's every move, fully aware of what the teen was trying to do. It was something he, himself, had done too many time to count in an attempt to conquer the demons of his own sleep. He was also aware that Dick didn't think he knew about the dreams. But it was pretty hard to miss the cries in the night…the heartbreaking whimpers that Bruce could only soothe with gentle touches and whispered reassurances while Dick slept. He cursed Poison Ivy and her latest goddamn breed of man-eating plants that had delayed him from getting back in time tonight to prevent this very scene from playing out in his cave. Batman promised himself that he'd be more vigilant of the time tomorrow night.
Sighing, Bruce pulled back the cowl to reveal features that, while naturally handsome, were also more worn than they'd been in a long time. If I ever manage to get my hands on Slade again, I'll make sure that man finishes his days *drinking* his food through a straw…
Once again, he found himself wishing that Dick would open up and talk to him and/or Alfred and stop keeping everything bottled up. Hell, he'd even take a tantrum as long as Dick was doing *something* to release his emotions instead of simply trying to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't feel anything, as the troubled youth was doing even now. Bruce feared that the wall that Dick had thrown up, to keep the storm raging inside him at bay, was going to come crashing down on the boy and that he may not survive the resulting flood…that they might *all* be swept away by the force of what the teen was holding back.
Heh, an internal voice chuckled darkly, this coming from the *master* of keeping things bottled up…
Bruce scowled. That's different.
Oh really? the voice mocked him, amused at his expense. How so?
Bruce's scowl deepened. Because I'm beyond saving. Dick isn't.
Right, the voice answered with another low chuckle. You just keep on believing that.
While Bruce stood there, scowling and staring off into space, Dick, finally picking up on Bruce's presence, stopped his routine to watch the older man curiously. It looked like he was having a debate with himself or something. "How was patrol?" he asked quietly, and barely managed to conceal the instinctive flinch when Bruce's focus instantly snapped to him.
"Quiet," the older man answered, turning towards the uniform vault. "It's nearly three in the morning," he called over his shoulder. "What are you doing up?" He vanished into the vault, but left the door to the vault open so he could hear Dick's reply.
Nearly three? That revelation startled Dick. He'd apparently been down here a good hour, but it felt to him like it had been only ten or fifteen minutes. That was probably the drug's influence… Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Dick focused instead on what sounded like a subtle challenge in his mentor's voice. It was the only thing that stopped him from shrugging the question off as nothing, and it forced him to consider the thought that Bruce already knew exactly why he was up and in the cave at such a late hour… which meant that Bruce was looking to see if he would lie to him.
Even though it wouldn't have been the first time he'd kept the truth to himself this last week, a touch of panic gripped his heart just the same. If Bruce was testing him with *this,* then was it also possible that he knew of all the *other* lies?
Turning his face to the side, Dick closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. No, if Bruce knew anything, he reminded himself, then he'd have come out and said so. At this point, he was just suspicious… Too suspicious. Oh boy…
Oh, stop it! an annoyed voice snapped at him. They're just stupid dreams! Nothing you need to keep from him! Tell him!
"Dick?"
Dick looked up, startled, and found Bruce standing a few feet in front of him, dressed in shorts and an undershirt, looking at him expectantly. When did Bruce come out of the vault? he wondered with a quick glance in that direction, finding the vault's door securely closed for the night. Disgrace and a touch of fear flooded him. Slade would not have been happy that he had missed that. It would have earned him a few good blows…at the very *least*…
"*Dick,*" Bruce repeated with a touch of impatience, stressing Dick's name in an effort not to raise his voice.
Dick started again, suddenly realizing that he must've been silent too long, his jittery instincts telling him he'd better answer quickly before that impatience he'd heard became something else. "I…I…c-couldn't sleep," he finally managed to stammer out, struggling to repress a shiver. "B-Bad dreams."
Bruce's critical gaze softened at the admission, confirming Dick's theory that Bruce had, indeed, been testing him. "Would you like to talk about it?" his mentor asked, closing the short distance between them and sitting on the lower balance beam, which brought them just about eye level. It was a move designed to make himself less intimidating, hopefully putting Dick more at ease and thus more likely to open up.
Dick lowered his gaze and shook his head. "Not really, no," he answered softly. He wanted to forget those awful dreams, not remember them. Wanted to forget the look in his father's eyes and the sobs of his mother…to forget those horrible words his father had said to him…
There was a moment of silence and then a whisper of sound reached Dick's ears just a second before a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, causing the youth to flinch. Only with effort did Bruce conceal his reaction to the lingering fear in his son from appearing in his voice. "Dick, look at me."
Dick obediently raised his eyes to meet Bruce's searching ones. He kept his eyes as neutral as possible, not wanting to reveal his pain and fear less he set off Bruce's hair trigger temper… Wait a minute, one of the voices whispered and Dick's focus wavered as he frowned internally. You're confused again. Bruce has a temper, yes, but he would never harm you for showing your emotions. It was Slade who liked to kick you around, remember? Now pay attention, you fool, Bruce is talking to you.
"…Dick," Bruce was saying gently, giving his shoulder a light squeeze, "you can't go on like this, son. I know you've been having nightmares every night this past week. I know you're scared, and I want you to know that that's okay. What have I always taught you about fear, Dick?" He had always hated the look that was in Dick's eyes right then and had grown to hate it more over the past week…that closed, guarded look as though the boy was afraid to let anyone see what he was feeling. Bruce had come to the conclusion that he would do anything to remove that look, and indeed would change that soon enough…tonight, if he could.
Dick wondered about the surprise that filled him at that statement. Of course Bruce knew he'd been having dreams. That really shouldn't have surprised him, especially considering the test he'd just been given…and the test he now faced as to whether he remembered anything of what Batman had taught him. To be honest, he wasn't sure himself of the answer to that. Slade had been rather…brutally thorough in passing on his own teachings, and the drugs had only enhanced what was already so powerful. Wading through everything Slade had instilled in him to find something of Batman's was a lot harder than he had ever expected. Dick sighed inwardly before slowly, and carefully, answering the question, "That a little fear is a good thing to have. It keeps you sharp and helps you survive."
Bruce nodded, making sure Dick saw his pride in the relatively prompt answer, being well aware that the boy desperately needed reassurance and glad that at least *some* of his teachings were still alive in there…somewhere. "The key word here is a *little* fear, Dick. You can't let that little fear escalate and control you. *You* need to control *it,* and sometimes, the way to do that is by talking about it. Your current method certainly isn't the way to go. You're just going to make yourself sick." Or insane…
For some reason, perhaps due to the influence of the drug still in his system, or perhaps because of something else entirely, amusement flooded Dick and a smirk crossed his lips.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"
Dick snorted in an attempt to smother a laugh. "It's not often that you say so much at once." Weird. Why was he suddenly feeling like such a smartass? His smirk, already dying, disappeared completely at Bruce's disapproving look. He lowered his gaze and sighed, wondering what *else* he was going to do wrong tonight. "Sorry sir."
Another long moment of silence passed while Bruce waited to see if Dick would elaborate on his thoughts. When he didn't, Bruce sighed inwardly and ordered, "Join me on the mats, Dick," before moving toward said practice mats.
Dick blinked in surprise, having thought Bruce would have either persisted more in getting the details out of him or would have told him to go to bed. Instead, it looked like his mentor simply wanted a sparring match. All that talking just to end up *sparring?* I'm gonna end up getting a beating, I know it. Shrugging in mute resignation, he joined Bruce on the mats and, when each had take up a ready position, the match began.
Only when the match was flowing smoothly, and Dick was quite into it, did the Bat spring the trap. "So, are the dreams about *him?*" he asked as he went for a blow to Dick's shoulder.
Dick swiftly evaded the blow, rolling his body under it. "No," he answered shortly, aiming a kick at Bruce's midsection.
Bruce blocked it easily and instantly followed up with another kick of his own as he asked off-handedly, "Then what is it that disturbs you at night? That brings you down here to exhaust yourself?" This was a tactic that both Bruce and Batman had used when Dick was younger, during the rare times when the boy had been reluctant to talk about whatever had been bothering him. Distract the boy with a physical activity, ask him questions without appearing to be paying attention, and he tended to reveal what was on his mind. Usually.
Dick flipped back and off the mats, giving Bruce a pleading look that made it clear that not only was he aware of what the older man was doing, or attempting to do, but that it wasn't going to work this time. "Bruce, please… just don't, okay? Please?" Dick carefully swallowed down his disgusted anger when he realized Bruce was using *that* tactic on him. No…not Bruce, Batman. It was alarmingly clear to him that the eyes that were so carefully tracking his every move belonged to the Bat. Damn him, I don't want to talk! Why can't he just leave me be? Why does he have to pursue me like I'm some two-bit hood who needs to be interrogated?
The closed, guarded look that Bruce had so hated was gone now, replaced by something much worse. While Dick's plea had been spoken quietly, his eyes were practically screaming it and, as he looked into them, he saw the damage that had unintentionally been inflicted. Recognizing the grave mistake, he quickly pushed the Bat away to stop the pursuit he knew was coming. "All right, Dick," he murmured softly with a nod, stepping back to give the boy more space. "You'll talk when you're ready. Think you can sleep now?"
Dick nodded without looking back at his mentor, already heading for the shower area as quickly as possible. Bruce followed silently and took his own shower to wash off the sweat from their spar as well as from his patrol, regretful but not surprised to find that Dick was already gone when he got out.
Since there was nothing he needed to log into the computer, he headed upstairs, pausing outside of Dick's room and listening for movement. Hearing none, he opened the door a crack and peered inside, spotting his ward lying still in his bed. He could hear deep, even breathing, signaling that he was, indeed, asleep again. Closing the door softly as he let out a relieved sigh, Bruce turned and went down the hall, entering his own room. At least *one* of them would be getting some sleep tonight. He was fairly certain it wouldn't be him.
You shouldn't have given in so easily, the Bat grumbled as he went to the window, staring absently into the darkness beyond. Should have pushed the boy more.
Bruce sighed. He's only been home just over a week. Give him time.
Time for what? Time to allow him to sink further away from us? Time to allow his depression to push him over the edge? We can't *afford* more time!
Bruce ran a hand through his hair in weary agitation. We can afford a bit more time, he countered. Not a lot, but we can certainly give him *some* time.
The Bat's only reply was a low growl before he went silent. Bruce let out a tired sight and, unable to contemplate his own thoughts anymore, lay down in his bed and slowly drifted off to sleep.
END SCENE
Dick listened to his door open and kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow and even, hoping Bruce would just go to bed and leave him be. He wanted to avoid talking anymore tonight. It would be even better if he could also avoid *thinking.* He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door closed without incident and he opened his eyes, staring into the darkness of his room. He knew that the Bat was only trying to help him and it confused him as to why it had hurt so bad when the Bat had pushed him to talk, let alone why he couldn't seem to open up to the man. Or to Alfred either, for that matter. He had always been able to talk to them when he was younger, so why couldn't he do it now?
You know why, one of those hated voices whispered, eliciting a soft whimper of protest past his lips as he clenched his eyes shut and reached for a pillow to shove over his ears . Not again. You're afraid. Afraid that if you open up even a little bit, that you won't be able to stop. That you'll reveal what's in your dresser.
Not true, yet another voice spoke up. You can tell him about the dreams without revealing anything about the pills. And maybe Bruce is right. Maybe talking about the dreams *will* help. Maybe it will even make them go away. Go on, talk to him…right now. You want to get better don't you? Take this one little step at least…
As if spurred on by an invisible force, Dick shoved his pillow and covers aside as he jumped out of his bed and hurried out of his room, moving silently down the hall to Bruce's room. He paused outside the door, taking a few seconds to gather his courage together before quietly opening the door and slipping inside.
He moved confidently towards Bruce's bed, knowing just what he wanted to say…but then stopped, that strange hesitation washing over him again. With it came the thought that maybe he *shouldn't* do this. Dick groaned inwardly and braced himself, feeling yet *another* internal debate coming on… Any second now… Instead, he jumped a little at movement on the bed and, instinctively taking a step back to give himself room to breathe, watched as Bruce propped himself up on one elbow to look at him.
"Dick?" the older man questioned gently, all traces of sleep melting from him instantly as his gaze fixed on his troubled ward. "You okay?"
Dick opened his mouth to reply, his throat working silently for a long moment, then closed his mouth when nothing came out. He hugged himself around his torso and looked away, unable to meet Bruce's gaze as he wondered where that invisible force had gone that had lured him all the way here from his own bed. What am I *doing?* His thoughts raced around his mind, doing an impressive impression of the Flash, refusing to stay still long enough to make coherent sense.
Bruce watched Dick, not saying a word, instead simply waiting. He sensed that if he said anything, it might spook the boy and run him off…or make him shatter completely. So he waited, watching a complicated series of emotions play across Dick's face. Nearly ten minutes of careful surveillance went by before it paid off.
"It's the exact same dream every night," Dick finally murmured, still without looking at Bruce, his gaze instead focused on the bed covers, as if not looking make it easier. And maybe it did. "Nothing really changes. I'm in a dark place, surrounded by people. You, Alfred, the Titans…even members of the JLA. They're all just…staring at me and whispering…pointing. No one actually speaks to me and I can't really hear the whispers, but the looks are loud and clear. They're disgusted with me. Disappointed in what I've done…a-and what I was unable to do." Dick closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his words once again dying in his throat.
Bruce refrained from comment. He could tell that Dick had not yet gotten to what had truly disturbed him about the dream. He sat up, moving slowly so as not to startle Dick, and waited for the boy to continue.
For his part, Dick didn't want to keep talking…and most definitely didn't want to remember more of that which still haunted him. But the *very* appealing prospect of the dreams going away forced him to stay instead of fleeing like he so *desperately* wished he could. In fact, he probably *would* have fled if his feet didn't feel stuck to the carpet. For once, at least, there was only one voice present in his mind, whispering encouragement to him…giving him the strength needed to find his voice again. He swallowed hard. "I…I think I could have dealt with it better if that…if that was all the dream was. But…but *they're* in it too."
"They?" Bruce questioned quietly, deciding it was safe to speak now, if only in simple, single words. Besides, he already had his own suspicions about who his ward was referring to. There was a rather short list of people who's reactions could affect Dick this badly...
Dick hugged himself tighter and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that had already started to gather. "My…m-my parents," he whispered hoarsely, doing everything he could to ignore the droplet he could feel trickling down his cheek. His breathing sped up a little and he struggled to control it as his father's words once more echoed in his mind. No son of *mine*…
A tremor entered Dick's voice as he struggled to get the words out. "My…my mother is crying and refusing to look at me. My f-father says that I've destroyed my mother and…and b-brought shame to his name." He paused long enough to take a gulping breath, a hiccup slipping out in the process. "That I…That I m-made the wr-wrong choice and p-proved just how w-weak and unworthy I…I am. And-And I…I…" Dick came to a screeching, cashing halt as his voice finally failed him completely. Just like everything else. He bowed his head, then, surrendering at last to the storm inside, unsure how he was managing to remaining standing on his violently shaking legs. Despite his eyes being tightly shut, the tears were still finding a way to leak out.
Bruce's heart was breaking as he watched the boy, reminded of his own parents and his fears that they, too, were disappointed in him. His attention snapped back to Dick as the boy visibly gathered himself enough to continue.
When he finally started speaking again, Dick couldn't bring himself to care that his voice was shaking so badly that it sounded like he had developed a speech impediment. He just had to get the words *out.* That's all that mattered. "A-After he… tells me…" You are certainly no son of *mine.* The words echoed cruelly through his mind again and his breath hitched. He tried to repeat them, tried to force his mouth around the syllables, but each time, the words caught and died in throat. He just couldn't repeat them and, for some reason, his inability to do so just twisted and hurt his heart even more… Perhaps because being unable to repeat them allowed the words to fester and spread more poison of self-hatred rushing through his system.
Defeated, Dick gave up trying to reveal that part of his dream and stuttered, "A-After he t-tells me that…I'm unworthy they…they leave. I-I try to follow but Cyborg and Raven s-stop me an-and all I can do is…is scream for them to come back. Th-That's w-when I wake up."
For a moment, for one deliriously glorious moment, despite being unable to reveal all of what his father had said, Dick felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. A weight as if he'd been carrying the world on his shoulders and hadn't realized how heavy it was until the burden was gone. But it was only a moment before it was immediately replaced by the weight of intense sorrow that mercilessly crushed his soul even further. Sorrow of a strength that he hadn't felt since he was nine. Oh God, how he missed them…
Bruce slid out of bed and moved silently to Dick's side. He knelt so he would be eye level with him, then put a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. He squeezed lightly and Dick trembled violently under his hand even as the youth opened his eyes, releasing the tears in a flood down his cheeks. The way Dick responded to touch was not lost on Bruce. The kid seemed to desperately crave *any* kind of soothing, gentle reassurance that he was safe despite his contradicting wariness and aversion to most touches and almost all physical proximity if the boy wasn't fighting. It made his heart ache to think of what Dick must have been through to make him this way. Right then, Bruce could see that Dick didn't know whether or not to accept the touch or shrug out of it and get some distance between them. It filled his heart with pain and anger to have his child so utterly and easily confused by simple human emotions and gestures.
Dick, indeed, didn't know *what* to do with himself. Whenever Slade had touched him, it was either a touch that harmed him or a touch that made him feel…dirty. It's just Bruce, that one voice whispered soothingly. Bruce would never harm you or make you feel…unclean. It's okay. True, but even so, it was difficult to *not* want to move away despite how much his heart cried out for the contact. A battle of instincts began within him, one side desperate for his father's touch, the other wanting to get as far away from *any* contact as possible as fast as possible. He felt himself trembling under the strain as he tried to decide which side to favor, if at all. It was a short lived battle, however, for when Dick fully met Bruce's eyes, which contained nothing but love and understanding, the barriers holding him back dissolved and, as the sob escaped him, he threw himself into Bruce's arms, holding on tight, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did.
They stayed that way for only a few minutes, Dick shaking so badly that Bruce was almost afraid the boy was having a seizure, before Bruce picked him up and laid him down on the bed where he just held Dick, letting him cry on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, not with his understanding that these were not the tears of a boy who was afraid he had disappointed his parents. He was intimately familiar with *those* tears, knowing them well enough through his own bitter experiences to know that it wasn't what was happening here. *These* were the tears of a boy who missed his parents so much, so deeply, that it felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.
There were no words of comfort Bruce could offer for that. Nothing that could ease this kind of suffering when he hadn't even been able to find that for himself yet. The only thing he could offer tonight was his presence and his complete understanding of what his son was going through, along with the hope that it would be enough... for both of them, for tonight. Tomorrow, they would talk. Tomorrow, he would lay Dick's fears to rest and help the boy move on. Tomorrow…
When Dick had finally cried himself into an exhausted sleep, Bruce carefully moved him to a more comfortable position, then settled down himself. He was determined to spend the rest of the night watching the boy sleep and curled his body around his son, an unconscious expression of his wish to protect this boy, this son, from the demons that haunted him still.
Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky before Bruce slipped into his own restless sleep.
END SCENE
Alfred silently slipped into the darkened room and moved gracefully toward the large window. He pulled the drapes aside to allow the morning sun to brighten the room, then turned around and paused, taking in the scene that greeted him. There on the bed lay the two people he cared for most in the world, sleeping peacefully. Bruce had a protective arm wrapped securely, if loosely, around Dick, who was curled up with one hand gripping the arm that was holding him. It was, to quote an old saying, 'a Kodak moment.'
A smile crossed Alfred's lips and his hear warmed as he looked at Dick's face. A small amount of the peaceful innocence that had been absent when Dick slept was back. Not a lot, but it was enough to fill the elderly man's heart with joy and a profound sense of relief.
Moving over to the bed, Alfred reached out to touch Bruce to wake him, freezing when a hand darted out and snatched his wrist in an iron grip, halting his progress. He looked down just in time to see the recognition slowly filling Dick's glazed eyes as the boy looked up at him. Alfred held back a frown at seeing, among the recognition, the remnants of fear slowly dissolving away as the teen determined, in his half-asleep state, that he was in no danger. Slade's handiwork, no doubt…
Releasing Alfred, Dick put a finger to his lips and shifted carefully to look at Bruce, who hadn't even stirred. Looking back at Alfred, Dick motioned the older man closer and whispered softly, "Let him sleep, Alfred. He needs it."
Alfred smiled gently and nodded. "Would you like breakfast now, young sir?" he whispered back just as softly.
Dick's eyes shifted to the clock. It was just after eight in the morning. He usually didn't sleep that late, especially these days, and he was about to nod when a large yawn overrode it.
Another fond smile crossed Alfred's lips. "Go back to sleep," he whispered, lightly brushing Dick's shoulder with his fingers before silently leaving the room, not noticing the slight, unconscious tremor that passed through Dick's body at the touch.
Dick sighed and cautiously snuggled deeper into the warmth that the covers and Bruce were providing. He couldn't remember the last time when he felt so warm and safe…so protected. Right then, he felt as though nothing could touch him…nothing could hurt him. Not the dreams, not the voices, not even the siren call of what his dresser harbored could reach him. It was the kind of protection that only a parent could generate and Dick eagerly soaked it up while he could still allow himself to.
Bruce shifted and tightened his grip slightly but didn't wake, and Dick sighed again, closing his eyes, finally relaxing as he answered his body's call to return to sleep.
TBC