[It's not you, it's not fair, it's not going to last-
He cuts himself off, chokes on the words, because any of the would apply and none of them are what he wants to say. Not when Bruce catches him up like they've done this a hundred times, even though they haven't, not since he was small and still having night terrors he couldn't shake away on his own. In a too soft, too big bed, in a too big, too quiet house. Pats him on the back, familiar, and awkward- more awkward than he'd been in recent years, but still so much like-
It's not fair. He hadn't been ready to lose Bruce. Had known the man would never truly retire, that the only way out for all of them, was carried out in a box. But Bruce had still seemed so larger than life, so infallible in that capacity- like it would be many more years, if not the forever he made it seem like, that he could go on. That he could carry the weight of that city and that cowl. And yet, he had. He still felt too young and too small in that armor, too young to be anyone's father. Knows he's only a little younger than Bruce, when Bruce adopted him.
It's history repeating in the worst way. And this- he smells the same. Feels the same. Broad, muscles that haven't diminished. Steady, where Dick has his face pressed into his shoulder and arms wound tight around, fingers clenched until his knuckles have gone white and bloodless, and he's distantly concerned he's going to tear the material beneath his hands, shabby as it is.
But he's not the man he lost. Is a man he's going to have to lose all over again, when they leave here. He's missed him, and he's here, and it's all so wrong]
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[It's not you, it's not fair, it's not going to last-
He cuts himself off, chokes on the words, because any of the would apply and none of them are what he wants to say. Not when Bruce catches him up like they've done this a hundred times, even though they haven't, not since he was small and still having night terrors he couldn't shake away on his own. In a too soft, too big bed, in a too big, too quiet house. Pats him on the back, familiar, and awkward- more awkward than he'd been in recent years, but still so much like-
It's not fair. He hadn't been ready to lose Bruce. Had known the man would never truly retire, that the only way out for all of them, was carried out in a box. But Bruce had still seemed so larger than life, so infallible in that capacity- like it would be many more years, if not the forever he made it seem like, that he could go on. That he could carry the weight of that city and that cowl. And yet, he had. He still felt too young and too small in that armor, too young to be anyone's father. Knows he's only a little younger than Bruce, when Bruce adopted him.
It's history repeating in the worst way. And this- he smells the same. Feels the same. Broad, muscles that haven't diminished. Steady, where Dick has his face pressed into his shoulder and arms wound tight around, fingers clenched until his knuckles have gone white and bloodless, and he's distantly concerned he's going to tear the material beneath his hands, shabby as it is.
But he's not the man he lost. Is a man he's going to have to lose all over again, when they leave here. He's missed him, and he's here, and it's all so wrong]