#this has not been edited and I wrote it at 2am lmaoooo

[lookforanewangle]

i thought of another one for you >:3c prompt 48, bruce & dick, you choose the context😌

ha... hahaha...this is just titled as “i’m sorry” in my google docs lmaoooo time to kick off the bad things happen bingo!! :’D i really am sorry

i’ll stick with you || dick & bruce || 1.1k

angst prompt 48: sometimes I wonder why you stay with me || ao3

WARNINGS: blood, fatal injuries, major character death...x2, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, angst, no happy ending, (this is very much not a happy story so take care of yourselves)

happy nano! :)

The end of the world starts and goes as it always does, with threats and explosions and battles raging across continents.

But the tide doesn't turn in their favor this time, doesn't allow them a moment of respite as the universe throws everything it has at them, and even the greatest heroes have crumbled. Too many have fallen, too many of their own have fallen— countless names, with family among them (Jay, Tim, Stephanie, Damian, Cassandra, Kate, Duke, Alfred holding down the fort, their cave, their safe refuge, their home until the end)—

And all that's left are Bruce and Dick against the world. It's like it was at the beginning, just the two of them back to back, watching each other's six, and doing what they could to stay alive. Batman and Robin, the great Dynamic Duo.

But it wasn't enough.

It never came close.

There's too much left unsaid between them as they lay buried in rubble, shrapnel and rebar littered across the ground and strewn through their bodies. Bruce can't let their issues, their messiness, lie, can't let the words sit and fester like infected wounds, ruining the last vestiges of their strained relationship. He's missed his son, his boy, his first baby, all of these years, and as they both lay dying with no one coming for them, he lets the words free from his ribcage where he's held them hostage all these years.

"Sometimes I wonder why you stayed with me," Bruce wonders aloud, “Why you stay.” His voice is so quiet Dick isn't entirely sure if Bruce even spoke, or if he was imagining it through the pain induced haze clouding his thoughts.

But he's been around long enough to know differently, has trained his hearing well enough to know otherwise.

"After everything I've put you through...Dick, I— Every time. Every time you came back. I wouldn't have ever blamed you if you stayed away. You'd grown up and gotten out, and yet...you're still here. You're here."

Dick shifts, wincing as pain ignites his nerves on fire. "Of course ‘m here," he rasps, heel scraping weakly across the ground as he shifts to try and relieve any bit of agony. "And if...if you think f'r a single secon'... that I didn't know exactly what I was doin', tha’ I didn't want to be out there— out there with you...doin' the things we do, then you don' know me at all, B."

Bruce huffs in amusement, a sound that borders on a sob. Dick peeks at him through a squinted gaze, the light above them like dull ice picks to the brain, but he keeps them open, taking in the sights. There are tears at the corners of Bruce's eyes; there are burns up the sides of Bruce's face and Dick knows he's bleeding out somewhere he can't see while help is— while help isn't speeding towards them, because there's no one left to come, but he doesn't think that's why Bruce is so close to breaking.

Dick's chest hurts, and from more than the rebar poking through his ribs.

"B…" he wheezes, fingers twitching against gravel. Strong, trembling fingers respond, squeezing in whatever small bit of comfort his adopted father can provide as they careen towards the end of them both. Help is impossible at this point, doesn't exist anymore and they both know it. Tears sting Dick's eyes too, in fear and sadness and anger and love and pain and everything in between. "B—"

"I'm here," Bruce whispers back. "I'm here, chum. And I-- I'm sorry I wasn't there for you before."

"You were, you were there in some of the most important moments," Dick whispers, "'specially at the beginning. You were always there. I'm sorry I pushed you away so much."

"I am too," he answers, squeezing Dick's fingers again. A tear slips down Dick's cheek. They're silent for a moment as the end of the world rages on in the distance, beyond what they can hear. A curtain flutters in the wind somewhere above them through a shattered window. Dick swallows past a lump in his throat and continues.

"I stayed," he breathes, so quiet he's not sure Bruce will hear. But Bruce will hear every word, just as he trained Dick to. With that certainty: "I stayed because you understood me, because you did try, in your own ways. Because I believe in your mission, but knew you'd dig yourself into your own grave on your own.

"We had our moments, and… we’ve both fucked up in— in a lot of ways," he says. It's getting harder to pull in air and he pants, his chest tight. The tears make it harder; he pushes through anyway, as they always have. "But B…" he sucks in what air he can, breath hitching on the words. "You're the best dad I could have asked for," he sobs weakly, "and I love you, for better or worse.

"You gave me a home, a purpose. You helped me so much, Dad, and I like to think I helped you too."

"You did," Bruce reassures him immediately. He rolls onto his side with a heave, teeth creaking as he grits them against his own pain. Dick's fingers are still clutched tightly in his own and pulled close to his chest, his other hand burying his fingers in Dick's tangled hair and combing through the blood-soaked strands. He leans as best as he can over his son, and presses a kiss to Dick's temple, squeezing his eyes shut as tears stream down his cheeks. "You did help, sweetheart, and I wouldn't have made it this far without you. Thank you, son."

Dick's face crumples, and Bruce shushes him quietly, gently pressing his forehead to Dick's. Blood is still pooling rapidly beneath them both, and Bruce knows they're both almost out of time. He wants to tug Dick into his arms and hold him close, comfort him in Dick's preferred tactile way, but moving him is out of the question. So he clutches his fingers, presses their foreheads together, and hums, sings the songs he used to sing when Dick was a boy to comfort him after nightmares, sings the songs his mother used to sing to Bruce as a child when the dark got to be too much, even then.

Sometime later, Dick chokes on his air, squeezes Bruce's fingers in a deathtrap and heaves out with all the strength he has left: "I—I love you, B," and Bruce breaks.

"I love you, too."

Neither of them survive the night.