#im like adding little bits to almost all my wips rn for some reason

[wrencatte]

oh hey, that snippet where Bruce tells Dick about Jason's death got a rewrite and a title! looks like it'll be a whumptober/BTHB fill - Blood Covered Hands/I don't want to do this anymore for day 24 and "Please don't leave me." title is: grief doesn't know its own shape

His feet touch Earth’s ground for the first time in three months. He feels the weight of their home’s gravity settle in his bones like he never left. Dick breathes in cool, crisp air, and grins when Wally whoops loudly and speeds off. He ambles behind the rest of his team, digging for his phone he swears he shoved into the bottom of his duffle. Gods, if he left it back in space he’s never going to live it down.

Score! He finds it with a satisfied grin. The battery is still loaded when he turns it on – he’d turned it off once they left, he’s not entirely sure why he brought it to begin with. The lock screen is of him and Jason at Alejandro’s just before he left planet-side. There’s whipped cream on the kid’s nose and he’s staring up at Dick with a light in his eyes that Dick feels like he’s never going to get used to seeing.

Dick’s smile faces when he finds an onslaught of voicemails and text messages.

The oldest messages are from Jason. His stomach sinks while his heart lodges in his throat.

Hey, can I call you? he asks in one. I don’t, is in another like it’d sent by accident.

Hey, Big Bird, his voice shaky, thick with tears. He sniffles. The sound of clothes rustling. I kinda forgot you were in space. Ha. What a stupid thing to forget. Sorry. I just – I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. Bruce he – I don’t know. I’m, I’m sorry. I – and he pauses long enough the voicemail force ends the call.

Another, a couple days later. I didn’t do it. Bruce doesn’t – I wouldn’t do that. I swear I wouldn’t. And…And I wouldn’t do that to you. Not to you. Not to Robin. I’m sorry. I’m – I’m going to find my, my mom. My real one. I need….I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I just wanted…

Dick stares at the screen with wide, stinging eyes. That sounded like goodbye, he thinks and covers his mouth. Bruce’s most recent message just says call me when you get this. He does, shakily bringing the speaker to his ear. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped dead in the middle of the main room. Donna frowns, asks him if he’s alright, and it sounds like she’s coming from underwater. He ignores her as the line rings out without Bruce ever answering.

He calls again. Then again. Hands shaking, eyes burning, a mantra of no no please no in his head.

The third call almost rings out when there’s a click and then a long sigh. “Dick,” he says heavily, his voice hoarse.

Dick remembers the last time he heard Bruce sound like that, and he closes his eyes. Remember waking up to scratchy, stiff blankets and monitors in the distance and cotton in his mouth. Bruce hovering over him, clasping his hand, carding his fingers through Dick’s hair.

Bullet wounds hurt.

He’s pretty sure this is going to hurt worse.

“What happened?” he demands. It grabs the team’s attention fully instead of them just side-eyeing him, and he can’t find it in himself to care that they’re zeroed in on him. “Bruce, what happened?”

A long silence. Batman doesn’t hesitate. Bruce does.

“Jason’s dead,” he says quietly.

Dick doesn’t realize his knees buckled until Roy’s grabbing him by the arm, swearing. Garth takes his elbow and they both lead him to the couch where he collapses in a heap. They’re asking rapid-fire questions, but while Donna sounded like she was underwater, they’re all starting to sound like they’re at the end of a long tunnel. Underwater. Just background noise to the awful, terrible sentence echoing in his head.

Jason’s dead. Jason’s dead. Jason’s dead.

“How?” he croaks out, leaning forward – and leaning and leaning until Donna’s there, bracing him by the shoulders. He ducks his face, pressing the crown of his head to her stomach, shoulders shuddering. She digs her fingers in rhythmically, but that just makes him want to cry even more.

“The Joker.”

Dick laughs brokenly. Because of course. Why not.

“How?” he asks again. Getting answers is like pulling teeth. The anger that would normally appear the longer Bruce gives non-answers doesn’t show up. Instead, he feels – he feels hollow. Like, like an ice cream scoop came in and carved him out. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. His voice is dead. He feels dead. Jason’s actually dead. “I’m coming to the Manor.”

“We had the funeral,” Bruce says softly and there it is, a hint of emotion. Regret. Remorse. Grief. Dick tugs on his hair once, twice, then Garth is taking his hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’m sorry, Dick. I tried to put it off for as long as possible.”

“Liar,” Dicks says uncharitably just to hear Bruce’s carefully controlled exterior hitch. He said sorry. When was the last time he heard Bruce say sorry? He slumps. “Sorry, B,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

There’s tears in his voice and Dick feels like a heel, when Bruce says, “It’s okay, chum. It’s a lot to take in. I…I would really love it if you came to manor.”

Dick thinks of bodies cooling in a cold, lonely alleyway, pearls shimmering in the lights, a little boy wailing for his parents. He thinks of free-falling then not, standing on his toes and looking downdowndown and seeing red and white and pink and people screaming and crying, and a figure curling around him, whispering reassurances in his ear, hiding his parents from sight.

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll – I’ll be there soon.”

He thinks there’s word for children who lost their parents.

“Love you, chum.”

 – but what about a word for parents who lost their children?

“Love you, too.”

 –  word for siblings who lost their little brother?

#my writing #im like adding little bits to almost all my wips rn for some reason #who knows why! #no character tags bc i always feel weird about tagging these when they're jason centric but jason's not in it #it'll flash forward to present day dick and jay with jason of course hurt #a la yeah lets go home and the wip temp titled sacrifice play #also have never written the titans before sooooo yeah #did i get the line up right?