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His own body weighed him down.
Heavy steps, tired heart. He breathed through his nose before letting the heavy armor fall to the ground.
He allowed himself to hiss in pain as he slid his arms and head inside the oversized shirt. The cotton fabric burned over his wounds.
He felt disgusting.
The sweatpants were sticky against his legs.
He should really install a shower room down here.
The stairs up from the cave felt endless, his feet dragging with each attempt to lift them for the next step.
He lifted his head when he felt had reached the end.
A known silhouette waited for him at the top.
Alfred looked down at him with eyes filled with sadness and disappointment.
The butler didn't ask how he felt. Why would he? He merely reminded him about his schedule for the next day, of his duties to fulfill as the only Wayne. Of his appearance and of dignity and shame.
Bruce wanted to contradict him. To fight. To leave... But he was so tired.
So he nodded and circled around him.
Feet dragging his way around the hallways, avoiding the paintings in the walls. The eyes of those gone. Taken. Stolen from him.
He hated using the main bedroom.
So he didn't. His was in the same floor as theirs, but further away.
Second floor.
He moved by innertia. Steps memorized until the reach of the main stairs.
He looked up from the base of those very same stairs. Tried to remember the amount of steps for them, and sighed, defeated.
One. Step. At atime.
Everything was horribly painful. Meaningless.
Why did this fucking house have so many stairs? Why did he have to keep climbing? Why did he have to keep moving? Why keep trying?
He kept his rhythm, until the last step was reached.
He closed his eyes. Bit down on his tongue. Swallowed the sob stuck in his chest.
And kept moving forward.
He forced himself to drag his pained limbs inside the showers, carelessly pulling away the layers covering bruises and new scars.
He avoided looking again at the now-stained shirt. At the now-blood soaked sweatpants.
He turned the water on, getting inside before it could get warm.
Pressing his forehead against the cold ceramic, he closed his eyes tightly at the stabbing sensation at his back.
Little by little, warmth filled the room.
The warm water made him grunt in displeasure as it hitted his damaged skin.
He let it run over him for a little longer than needed before rubbing the grime off his body. The soap stung. But he expected as much.
He deserved as much.
He only turned the shower off when his skin was red and raw from the aggression.
His body reacted with a flinch at the sight of the meticulously folded clothes and the understanding of what they meant.
He didn’t mean to.
Alfred should be a comforting presence. But—
He still put them on.
A loose shirt. A loose pair of sweatpants.
He cleaned the foggy mirror, and felt nothing but shame at the face staring back.
He moved around the hallways without real thought. Robotically. Emotionless.
The entirety of his walk towards his bedroom was done in a state of dissociation.
The mere sight of his king-sized bed made his body feel like lead.
He was almost crawling his last few steps.
He collapsed over the covers, not even trying to get inside. The thought of his still wet hair slightly crossed his mind. But he was incapable of lifting a single limb.
He wished to sleep.
He wished to dream of them.
He wished to not wake up the next morning.
Sleep, he did.
Remain in that state, though. The gods weren’t so amicable.
The first sounds of birds calling to the morning sun entered through his window.
The light hit him directly over his brow. The cost of keeping his curtains open.
His hands tapped around the bed until he found the tip of the covers, pulling them to cover his face.
His door opened slightly, and the smell of life entered his nose. He was barely capable of turning to his side.
Blue invaded his sight. And the world turned to colour. To light. To happiness.
A pair of crescent blue eyes and deep dimples greeted him, peeking from the corner of his bed.
And he found himself smiling back. Natural. Involuntary.
Suddenly he was awake. Tired, yes. Sad, undoubtedly. But awake.
His chest filled with that feeling he had yet to put a name on. And his eyes stung with the sudden need to cry. He sighed at the bouncy black curls as the head revealed in full.
He scoffed at the wide smile in front of his face.
He had lost another tooth.
A tiny hand pulled athis sleeve, asking him to sit up, and a small but absurdly athletic body jumped to climb his shoulders.
He laughed, honest and joyful, and pushed his pulsating muscles to lift both of their bodies out of the bed.
Dick beamed, filling the room with his giggles and shrieks, while Bruce turned the kid around in the air.
They both stopped at the knocking at the door.
He kissed the curls good morning, and received a peck on his cheek as a response. One “I love you.” A “hurry up, or I'll eat it all.”
And maybe he could just hold on a little longer.