Guys... I was reading one of the Nightwing comics and I realized that Babs is wearing a shirt with the Batman slapping Robin meme on it... my life is complete
Also I've missed the past few days update wise because I was on a trip, but I'm back now and I plan to make up for the days I missed.
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Dick's ears rang as he slowly came to. He could hear voices, but he couldn't quite bring himself to move or even to open his eyes.
"I hate it when he does this," Tim said, his voice coming from somewhere to Dick's left. "I swear he does it just to get attention."
Dick stayed still on the soft bed he was lying on. Was Tim talking about him?
"Tim," Bruce said, his voice low.
"What? He doesn't take care of himself until he crashes and then promises to never do it again, but then we find him back in the same position 5 or 6 weeks later," Tim said.
"Tim," Bruce growled. "Stop. I don't want to hear you talking about Dick like that."
A gross feeling rose in Dick's chest. So Tim was talking about him...
"It's true," Tim insisted. "Ever since Jason—
"Tim!" Bruce shouted, his chair screeching as he stood. "Go to your room."
Grumbles followed Tim as he stomped away.
Bruce sat down heavily in his chair that had been placed next to Dick's bed.
It was then that Dick tried to open his eyes, but he found that his energy was fading far too fast for that. As he drifted back into unconsciousness he felt Bruce take his hand.
"Please Dick... son.... If you can hear me... My heart can't take much more of this... seeing you in so much pain. I know what Jason meant to you... but you can't keep doing this. Jason wouldn't want you to hurt yourself over his loss," Bruce said, gently rubbing his thumb over Dick's hand.
Dick wished in that moment he could sit up and give Bruce a hug. Tell him he'd try to be better, but his eyes seemed to be glued shut, and his body felt like a sack of bricks. He vaguely registered Bruce talking again, but before he could make out any of the words his mind slipped into blissful unconsciousness.
—
Jason sat in his bunker allowing his thoughts to drift as he polished his guns. He mind settled on the same thing it usually did. Richard Grayson.
Even after his death and subsequent revival Jason still couldn't get the thoughts of the lovable acrobat out of his head.
The two of them had been tight before Jason's death.
Jason wondered what Dick had done when he'd died. Whether he'd mourned him or simply moved on. Whether he still missed him.
An alert on his phone startled Jason from his thought. Someone was at his grave.
—
Dick knelt on the snow covered ground, his head hung. Tears slowly dripped down his cheeks and his shoulders shook from his silent sobs. "Jay," he whispered, leaning forward until his forehead rested against the cold stone of Jason's headstone.
A soft snow was falling, the flakes drifting down slowly to join those that already blanketed the ground.
Dick shivered slightly, realizing he'd forgotten to bring a coat, not that he cared about that.
