I forgot to post this here whoops.

timdrakeothy asked: mental image of the day: a very concussed bruce seeing one of the younger boys and thinking its dick and calling him champ or sport or chum. tbh... this is how they know dick grayson got spoiled the most out of the batkids.

"Dick?" Bruce groans, and Tim lifts his head to look at him.

"No," Tim says, his voice soft. "No, it's Tim, remember?"

Bruce stares up at him blankly from the cot. "Where's Dick?"

Tim swallows. This is not what he'd been expecting when Clark had called for someone to pick Bruce up from the watchtower. "He's not here."

"Where is he?"

It's a hard thing to not start crying then and there, but Tim closes his eyes and breathes through the burning tightness in his chest. When he speaks again, his voice holds none of the softness from before. It's rough and hoarse from grief and loss. "Not here."

"Can't be right," Bruce murmurs to himself, and there's a haze over his eyes. He closes them, and for a moment Tim thinks that Bruce is going back to sleep.

Which is fine with Tim. He doesn't think he can handle another question like 'Where is Dick?' again. He knows exactly where Dick is, but he doesn't think that Bruce—as concussed and confused as he is right now—can handle that information. Can handle knowing that Dick isn't just a press of the comms away anymore.

But a few moments later, Bruce opens his eyes again, looks over at Tim, and he reaches out a hand in a rare show of need for touch. Tim grabs hold of his father's hand and grips it tight, hoping he can ground Bruce in this reality. In this time.

"Don't scare me like that, chum," Bruce murmurs, and Tim closes his own eyes and grips Bruce's hand even tighter. Bruce has no grasp on this reality. He's back in a completely different time. A time that only Alfred, Jason, and—well. Just Alfred and Jason know. One that Tim hasn't been privy to. Where Bruce will show affection and crack jokes and even laugh, or so he's told.

"I'm not Dick," Tim whispers, because there's no one that can ever replace Dick. He speaks again, and his voice cracks, and he feels like he's going to shake apart with the force of his own grief. He's lost too much in too little time. "It's me. It's Tim. Your son."

But Bruce isn't understanding. He's too concussed. Too hazy. Too caught up in the mental labyrinth of his own mind. And Tim can't lead Bruce out. It seems like it's only Dick that can lead Bruce out of that darkness.

"Love you, Dick," Bruce breathes, and his eyes flutter closed. "Please don't leave again."

Tim bites back a sob and his breathing hitches. Bruce thinks he's Dick, but Dick is six feet under, and Tim doesn't know how to tell Bruce that his son is dead. Not like this. So Tim shoves back his grief, shoves it under that special rug where all the feelings he can't quite deal with yet stay, and he says what he thinks Dick would say if he were able to. If he were alive.

"Love you, too, Bruce," Tim says. "And I'm not going anywhere."