Project W.I.N.G.

Epilogue

Bruce felt it deep in his heart, a crippling pain, ripping and tearing and shattering, yanking something from his chest, a tortuous, empty hole gaping inside his very being. He knew, from the moment he dropped to the ground, that he would not see his oldest son again. 

Someone screamed. 

He tore down hallways, feet slapping the ground, panic; blinding, crippling, raging inside his head, empty of thoughts, coherence, plans, only the agony of loss. 

He saw Damian sink to the floor, another wordless scream forced from the child's lips as he crouched over the body of his older brother. Bruce dropped next to his children, cradling Dick's body- blood, there was so much blood- in shaking arms. Damian was still screaming, tearing at Bruce's clothes, mindless denials falling from his lips. 

Bruce couldn't focus, the same denials spinning and spinning inside his own head. He carefully brushed a blood-matted strand of dark hair from a cold forehead. Dick's eyes were open, staring unseeing at nothing, the beautiful blue dulled, lifeless, dead. 

Someone hit the floor next to him, choking, gasping, as they reached with shaking fingers. Cass. It was Cass, who was clutching Damian tightly, crying and shaking her head, not believing- 

Bruce wanted to scream, too, wanted to rage and have his child back- why wouldn't Dick look at him, he was right here, Dick just had to turn his head, just a little, why wouldn't he just move?

Hands were on his shoulders, bodies- warm, alive, breathing- were pressed against him, how had he not noticed his other children being there? 

He clutched Dick tighter, burying his head in his chest and screaming, breathless sobs tearing from his chest. Other voices joined him, hoarse in their agony, shaking, loud, quiet, agonizing. 

"Father," Damian whispered, lost desperation colouring his words, clutching Cass' shoulder with white knuckles. "Tell me this isn't real. Please, please, I can't- I... this, this isn't fair, why is this happening, why isn't he saying anything?"

Bruce slowly raised his head, catching the broken look in his youngest's eyes. "I'm sorry," he breathed, tears choking the words as they left his mouth. "I am so sorry." 

Damian wailed, small fists pounding against his sister's chest, sobs filling the air. 

Bruce looked around, his heart breaking. Stephanie was still, motionless, staring at Dick's unseeing eyes, her chest moving with uneven breaths. Her expression was shattered. 

Tim was slumped against Jason with squeezed-shut eyes as if trying to block out what was happening, trembling fists wound tight in the other's shirt. Jason had tears running down his face, arms wrapped around Tim with desperate force, a broken sound leaving his lips. 

Bruce's gaze was drawn back to the boy in his arms. He never would look at bodies the same again, would see blood as his son's, leaking from his cooling body in rivulets. 

Bruce failed. He had failed again, lost another child. There was no coming back from this, no penance, no relief. 

Dick was dead, and with it, he had taken this family's light.