Just Robin Oneshots Part 2

Youth

My sleep-deprived brain was inspired to make this less than mediocre story inspired by this song 

In the words of Peter Parker, I don't feel so good

Edited 07/02/2024: format change and I added quite a few things

John never thought he'd have to see his son suffer. What father did? He would've never stepped out onto that platform with the thought that this would be his final performance and if he knew his ending, he would never step foot on a platform again. Falling to his death wasn't planned. How could it have been? As the wire snapped, he could only hold onto his wife. He heard his son's heart-wrenching shriek and he couldn't do anything to comfort him. He was helpless. He didn't intend for that feeling to be the only one he felt for the next few months. 

When John opened his eyes, he thought that he somehow survived the fall. His limbs moved sluggishly as he stood but he was able to get to his feet nevertheless. For a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief until his reassurances failed to ease the fear of the audience. He looked below him and found his own tangled body on the floor. His breath caught in his chest and he quickly tried to find Mary in some horrible hope that she had also joined him but she was gone. It was just him. He looked up to the platform, praying that his son was still up there even if he was now alone. Dick was. His eyes were transfixed on their corpses.

John was a ghost. He had to reckon with that fact. He was forced to follow his son to the police car, unable to ascend for a reason he didn't yet know but he was determined to make sure his son was in the right hands. Dick was sobbing as a social services representative bundled him into the car, doing little to soothe his cries. It looked like she was too tired, too used to seeing children lose those close to them and she'd lost what sympathy she had. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to scream at her for not treating his son like the traumatised child he was but there was no use. The harsher he yelled the more he upset himself and no noise left his mouth anyway. For now, all he could do was watch.

John watched his funeral. He overheard the vicar say a Mr Wayne provided the funds to give him and his wife a proper burial when Dick asked how this was going to be paid for. Interesting. A billionaire paid for a circus performer's funeral? That wasn't something you heard every day but he couldn't focus on that part of the situation as much as he would like to. 

Dick sat at the front of the church, trying his best to keep his cries quiet so as to not disturb the service. Nobody was there to comfort him. Why wasn't there someone to comfort him? His social worker should be there for him to tell him everything was going to be okay even if it wasn't or someone from the circus should've made the time to visit him so he had at least one familiar face. God knew that Dick needed someone to hold him and protect him from the harsh realities he was now forced to face alone. He grew up in a place where comfort came in the form of hugs and sitting down together. There was a sense of community that he was used to, the circus always took 'it takes a village to raise a child' to heart, and he wasn't receiving it at the hands of the government. John wished he could stay with the circus and cursed himself for not making one of them his guardian. In his defence, he never foresaw leaving the world so early.

As John sat in a cell with his son, he watched him periodically wake up in terror only to cry himself back to sleep when he realised that the nightmares were real. He hated this endless purgatory of watching his child suffer.