aesthetic_satanspawn Just because you said something...
Bruce held his son's lifeless body in his arms and cried tears he didn't deserve to cry. This had been his fault after all. He'd been the one holding the knife...
Blood soaked into Bruce's suit, staining the symbol on his chest red. The bomb Dick had been encased in stood by innocently, the countdown stopped with a few seconds to spare.
Lex, the one who'd forced the knife into Bruce's hand to begin with, grinned evilly down at the pair. "How does it feel to have broken your rule?"
—
Bruce shot up in bed, covered in a cold sweat. He shoved his blankets off of him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He cradled his head in his hands, the things he'd seen in his dream flashing through his head.
The ticking of the clock reminded Bruce of that horrid beeping... the one that had matched the terrified beating of his son's heart.
He shook his head, trying to decipher what was the dream and what was the memory... the conflicting stories warred in his head. Had it been him or had it been Luthor? Had Dick lived or died?
There was one way to find out, Bruce's exhausted mind decided. He found himself walking toward Dick's bedroom, gently pushing the door open and peering inside.
Everything was pristinely perfect. The bed was made, no clothes were strewn about, but it was all covered in a layer of dust.
Bruce fell to his knees at the side of his son's bed. It was true then... he was gone...
—
Months later...
—
"Mr. Malone this is Birdwatcher..." Dick called through the alarm clock that doubled as his communication device. "I... I want to come home," he pleaded, his voice breaking...
But there was nobody there to listen to his pleas...