#halysborn

        When Dick answers it feels too much like Terry was looking for pity, or support, or something and he almost recoils. He’s almost ready to spit out a deflective statement, or to laugh it off; anything to take the heavy weight off his shoulders. The last few days his insomnia has hit him hard. His poor sleep likely contributed to dislocating his shoulder the night before despite the suit.

            It’s easy to hide his emotional issues behind sarcasm and flashes of smirks when his mind is occupied, but he’s not. Not even class work can keep him distracted for long. And he knows his depression is hitting him hard, and the anxiety isn’t helping. But he packs it away in the back of his head because Dick doesn’t need to see him like that. Like this. 

                         “Work on what? My obvious signs o’chronic depression and...all the other shit?” The words are out of his mouth before he consciously makes the decision to say them. He grimaces and picks at the edge of the sling.

           He wants to run in the opposite direction, because Dick is so sincere. He reminds Terry vaguely of Stitches, back when all he had of Batman was scattered stories in an abandoned warehouse. There’s a part of him that’s waiting for the older man to drop dead any second, if only because that’s what happens to the people that really care--and show it. Instead of running, or deflecting, or any of the other evasive tactics he wants to act on, Terry considers the words seriously. He can’t meet Dick’s gaze.

   It probably doesn’t help that while Dick is letting his undercurrent of emotions guide him, Oliver appears to be more or less unaffected — another quality that mirrors Bruce, another parallel for people to draw up and examine. Oliver is both exactly like Bruce... and completely unlike him, a silver lining that lets the two be friends rather than constantly annoyed acquaintances. ( Not that they can really help the latter. )

   People see what they want to see, but the parts of Oliver than don’t mirror Gotham’s cloaked knight are exactly what haven’t ended this conversation yet.

   Hard-headed and stubborn? Oliver’s got that in spades —

   As well as patience and rationale, the knife edge between reasonable and unreasonable.

   “I’ll take him in.”

   He’s got mistakes to own up to that he isn’t ready to admit yet. 

He cannot hide the look of DISSATISFACTION that seeps into his expression, a WOUNDED confusion, tempered by a stern DISPLEASURE at having been lent false hope.

Oh, how he wants to speak out against it. How he wants to tell Ollie to STAY HOME with him. He’s still trying to work himself back onto his feet, but they don’t NEED anything, right now. The bus-boy job that Dick had managed to beg from a local cafe is bringing in just enough money to cover his half of expenses. Things might be a little tight, but they’re okay.

Aren’t they?

   “… You KNOW I’m not comfortable     with this.”

He reminds him, for what feels like the FIFTIETH time. They’ve HAD this conversation before, which is why he HESITATES to have it again.

    “But … if it’s what you want …”

Trailing off, he allows the IMPOTENCY of his situation to SWALLOW him whole. Caught in between NOWHERE and NOTHING, the former Robin feels largely voiceless in the scheme of things.

He cannot tell Oliver NOT to take more work as SCAMP.

He has not the RIGHT.

he knows that he is disappointing dick, it’d be difficult NOT to see it. but he needs the money. joker and black mask were both willing to pay him a GENEROUS amount of money for some security codes, and he would be a fool to turn down such an easy job.

oliver takes two short strides across the room towards dick, looking up at him with genuine sorrow. he wants to apologise, but he is doing this for THEIR benefit. he already has more than enough to see them through, but the thief finds comfort in having insurance. thin fingers lace with those of his boyfriend, emerald eyes looking up into more royal hues.

‘ it’s just one more job… ’

he repeats. oliver doesn’t want to argue with dick, and he knows that his boyfriend isn’t TRYING to create conflict, so he closes his mouth, breathing soft as he loosens his grip on the other’s hands in favour of pulling his costume on the rest of the way.

‘ it’ll be easy. break-in, steal a hard drive, and slip out without anyone noticing me. then all i need to do is make a copy, then deliver them. joker first, then sionis… ’

the thief leans to grab his goggles from the bedside table and props them against his forehead before tiptoeing to brush his lips against dick’s. he knows how difficult it is for dick, and he wishes that he could make it all better, but for now, all he can do is that which he knows. 

It’s not often that Dick appears on Ollie’s doorstep, not often that he CAN. It’s early evening, the sun barely having set and ORDINARILY he would be suiting up for a night on the town.

But not tonight.

Nor any night.

EVER AGAIN.

He HATES the heat that builds behind his eyes, reaches instead for the sentiment that clenches his fist and tightens his jaw. He’s ANGRY, and he is determined to stay that way.

Dumping his bags at his feet, it occurs to him - as he knocks on the door - that he is asking TOO MUCH of Oliver. They may be BOYFRIENDS, but that doesn’t mean that the CAT BURGLAR has the means enough to put him up. Even for a few nights.

He just needs to get some cash together, speak to Alfred about what he’s able to do from here, and then he will be okay.

But right now, he NEEDS somewhere to stay and Ollie is the only person he can think of that may be able to help him.  

The door opens, and - for no discernible reason - the agony WORSENS. He inhales sharply, holding back the FURIOUS tears of shame and humiliation. He HATES this, HATE being driven to this.

       “I don’t … I don’t have anywhere to …”

It feels as though he is pulling teeth in trying to articulate it. The idea that he has been STRIPPEDof everything what was ever HIS, pains him too much. He is ROBIN. He is. It’s his. Bruce can’t TAKE it away from him.

But he has. Worse, Dick LET him.

        “Ollie, I don’t have a ho-me.”

it’s ODD to see dick at his door; normally, they’d both come in through the window. but that isn’t the strangest thing about this. the sun is quickly setting and dick’s robin uniform is nowhere to be seen, and oliver highly DOUBTS that it’s stuffed into one of his bags.

he knows the other well enough by now to be able to tell when he’s hiding something. he wants to reach out, to wrap thin fingers around those balled fists.

but he doesn’t.

instead he stands and watches dick as he struggles to hold back his anger. he’ll tell you in his own time. he assures himself. don’t push him. don’t push him away. so the shorter boy simply looks up at the other, growing concern evident behind emerald hues.

he’d NEVER turn dick away, even if he didn’t look as if he were about to burst into tears.

when the other speaks, oliver INSTANTLY steps forward and wraps his arms around dick’s middle, pulling him close. a hand moves to rest at the base of dick’s neck. oliver’s fingers drag through black strands with a soft rhythm.

‘ oh birdie… ’

his tone is void of his usual CHEEK and teasing, instead it is considerably softer, and his voice nothing more than a low whisper.

dick’s words cut through him in a way that feels UNFAMILIAR to the teenager. he pulls back just enough to look his boyfriend in the face. it’s strange for oliver to feel sympathy, especially in his line of work. it’s quite possible that dick is the first person that oliver has cared for since becoming SCAMP. 

‘ dick… look at me. ’ thin-fingered hands slowly run down the length of the other boy’s arms. when he reaches his hands, oliver gently pries the fists open to lace their fingers together.