Dick Grayson one shots

Perscription hugs

Whumptober day 15: childhood trauma

Bruce walked down the line of what were essentially cryogenic coffins, pausing briefly by each to open the lid and drop on a pellet of something that would hopefully allow the walking dead soldiers trapped inside to pass on peacefully to the next life.

He tried to avoid looking at the faces that came with the bodies. It was much easier to think of them as already dead.

He relaxed slightly as he neared the last in the line of coffins. He was alone in the abandoned complex... at least he thought he was, but that didn't mean he didn't want to get out of there as quickly as possible.

He typed in his override code and watched as the lid slid open, this one not hissing as the others had. Maybe it was empty, he reasoned, tossing another of the pellets inside just in case before pressing the button to seal it up again.

As the lid closed he thought he heard a quiet whimper... a child's whimper.

His gaze shot up to the glass window near the top of the coffin. A pair of scared golden eyes stared back at him, the tears that filled them starting to freeze as the coffin's cooling system kicked on.

Bruce watched as the child's face scrunched in pain, his body curling in on itself as the toxin in the pellet activated in the cold.

A wailing sob left the child's lips, muffled by the seal of the coffin.

Bruce's heart clenched. This talon wasn't like the rest... this was a child... Suddenly what he was doing seemed much more like murder. The talons were supposed to be adults, walking zombies devoid of emotion... this... this child was quite the opposite of the talons he'd met in the past.

He found himself keying in the code and opening the coffin.

The child's sobs had quieted somewhat as the toxin had begun to take effect.

Bruce cautiously made his way forward, one hand resting on the pouch that held his batarangs. He peered inside the coffin, his heart once again twisting when he saw the little boy curled up inside.

Frost was gathered on the child's curly locks, his cheeks and nose a rosy red from the cold.

The little talon shuddered when he saw Bruce, scooting himself as far away from the man as possible. His golden eyes practically glowed in the room's relative darkness. He couldn't have been more than 8.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know how to deal with children. "Who are you?" He said, regretting the tone he'd chosen when the talon flinched, wrapping his arms around himself as tightly as he could.

The child made a quiet cooing noise, his face scrunching up in pain again.

Bruce cursed himself for not coming up with an antidote to the toxin. But then again he hadn't planned on this happening. "I'm here to help," he said softly, taking another cautious step forward.

Tears formed in the child's eyes again, a pained whimper preceding another more desperate cooing noise.

Bruce reached the edge of the coffin. Not knowing what else to do he held out his arms to the child, trusting that the little talon wouldn't try to hurt him.

The child flinched back, shivers wracking his body. He looked up at Bruce's face, studying him for a moment before uncertainly reaching toward him.

Bruce lifted the little talon into his arms, wrapping him in his cape to help warm him.

The child stiffened at the sudden contact, body tense for a moment before he relaxed in Bruce's arms, resting his head on the man's shoulder.

Of all the things he'd ever do in his life, adopting a child was not one that Bruce would've thought about. Not in a million years... but it seemed fate had taken that decision out of his hands.