[ Something's wrong. But he'd known it from the first shaky syllable, known that their separation was... worse somehow. It's an effect of being attuned to Dick for years — up close, all the details stand out. He should be hearing some ridiculous quip, some hideous reference to a movie he doesn't recognise, it should be anything but Dick reaching for him like Bruce is the last solid thing left in the world. ]
[ Their years apart close in an instant. Bruce catches him, letting him cling, before his own arms seem to understand they should be reciprocating. He pats Dick awkwardly on the back. (he wonders if he smells the same, if that's some comfort). He's younger, but his build is similar, his grip, all else reads as familiar. ]
It's me.
[ Not the one they know, the faceless Bruce Waynes that cast their shadow over them. But still, unequivocally, inviolably himself. Bruce had enforced the separation of his selves more harshly then, but it was from Dick that he'd stepped into the role. It became his favourite without him realising; it costs nothing to do it now. ]
no subject
[ Their years apart close in an instant. Bruce catches him, letting him cling, before his own arms seem to understand they should be reciprocating. He pats Dick awkwardly on the back. (he wonders if he smells the same, if that's some comfort). He's younger, but his build is similar, his grip, all else reads as familiar. ]
It's me.
[ Not the one they know, the faceless Bruce Waynes that cast their shadow over them. But still, unequivocally, inviolably himself. Bruce had enforced the separation of his selves more harshly then, but it was from Dick that he'd stepped into the role. It became his favourite without him realising; it costs nothing to do it now. ]
I'm here.