#nitwng

              ❝ Did Alfred call you? ❞ Well, he certainly hadn’t so unless Dick had contacts that Bruce didn’t know about, he had to have been called by Alfred. Which was completely an Alfred thing to do when he thought Bruce was out of his league with what he was doing. And he was not, just a minor setback that resulted in a few broken ribs. Bones healed. He’d get back up and start all over once the pain meds kicked in. 

@nitwng​ sent: Visits back home were always worth it when he gets to catch up with his younger brother and sometimes he would only come back to Gotham to see him again even if he wasn't needed, Dick was always the sentimental type and he couldn't stand being away from his family for so long, now seeing Tim again brings a smile to him face, even if he wasn't greeted with the same enthusiasm because Tim was always tired ❛❛ Baby bird! ❞he called as he embraced Tim tightly.

INCOMING COMMS: // @nitwng​  ››  He hates having to leave like this,  but the Haven needed him and he had a life of his own to worry about,  that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to worry about his family and  especially Bruce. He knows the moment he walks out the door the man  will keep to himself, bear everything on his own and never talk  about it. Dick hesitated for a moment with a frown before walking back  and embracing Bruce tightly ❛❛ you’re the best, I hope you know that ❞

𝙏𝙊𝙐𝘾𝙃 𝙄𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉 𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙔 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙂𝙄𝙑𝙀𝙉 𝙁𝙍𝙀𝙀𝙇𝙔 ;  perhaps that was where he had gone wrong with dick, dick who had clung to him, needed him there, a physical reassurance that bruce could not provide. it had been easier when he was younger, handstands on his shoulders, piggybacks to bed, throwing himself off chandeliers into arms he knew would catch him  ——  but now contact is a arrangement, handshakes and contracts, a world where everything is WORTH something, and every motion is a weakness, disguising meanings, calculating, hidden behind walls. he should be weak, for his children, show that he is imperfect, FLAWED, but the training is there, rigid, brainwashing, and even now the voice that sounds so very familiar shouts in his head he wants something, it’s a ploy, strategy to lower your defences, slide the blade between your ribs, angle it straight towards your heart

a deep breath. then another. he opens his eyes and it is still just dick. still just his SON. 

his body tenses at the hug, muscles hard as stone           (      it’s been so long since dick hugged him, he was so much smaller back then, barely up to his shoulder, thinner, hopeful      )           and it is a battle to make himself relax, a silent raging WAR between his head and his heart. arms stutter, hover, and then finally raise, closing around bulletproof plating and a broad back. there is the faint smell of dick’s cheap shampoo, and something ugly rears its head in his chest, ancient and painful, that squeezes his throat closed and mists his eyes.           (      you missed this, bruce. you missed him.      )           it is undeserved, he doesn’t deserve dick’s steadfast love, not after what he has put them through, put his son through, but he can not bring himself to let go. greedy. SELFISH. just a moment more, a moment longer pretending what could have been, which he might have had, if the Mission was not so important. just a father and son. 

Something was wrong, he could sense it, but he wasn’t sure what. Easing on his grip, he looked up at the man. “The scientists told me you were dead. That you and Superman died while defending the Earth against the apocalyptic events. Though it seems like things got better or something. It doesn’t look very post-apocalyptic here.”