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Bruce comes home from patrol at two in the morning. He's tired, and he's sore. It was a longer night, more work than he expected. Being The Batman was more work than he expected.
He changes back into his clothes and makes sure everything's okay around the house, before hearing a chirping bird and feeling a cold wind. He walks towards the noise and finds Dick sitting on the windowsill, looking out into the night sky.
It’s been a week since Dick arrived at the manor, Bruce wasn’t surprised to learn he’s a strange kid. He stays alone most of this time, but never in his bedroom. He often finds him wandering around the gardens, but he runs from Bruce before they can have a conversation. That’s okay, he's going through something hard. Bruce can understand that, and god knows he’s busy.
He approaches Dick carefully, his steps are audible on the wooden floors. Dick doesn’t move when Bruce sits next to him.
“You always come back late,” he says, awfully quiet.
“I’m very busy.”
“Hm.”
“You should be asleep too, you know.”
"I guess."
They sit in silence for a while longer, watching the birds fly around and listening to the few cars still out.
“I’ve never slept anywhere for more than three days in a row,” Dick says eventually.
“How is it?”
“I don’t like it.” His voice shakes when he says: “And I miss my parents.”
“I can imagine.”
He looks up at Bruce, his face is empty of any expression. “Does it ever get easier?”
He can lie. He can lie and say yes, and that there will be a day where losing his parents won’t hurt Dick at all anymore. He can say something meaningless and comforting to ease this boy’s mind.
Instead, he stays honest.
“No. You’re always going to miss them.”
“Oh.” And now there’s an expression, it might be the worst thing Bruce’s ever seen. Did he look this sad at this age? It wouldn’t surprise him. Then he remembers something Alfred said after Bruce’s parents died.
“But... This grief won’t always hurt the way it does now. It’ll change with you, you can grow around it. It’s always going to hurt, but this pain, it’ll…”
“Numb out?”
“Yeah, that’s a good way to say it.”
“So basically, it’s always gonna suck but I’m gonna get over it?”
Bruce chuckles. “Something like that. It’s..." He wants to say it’s not as bad as it sounds, but empty sayings don’t help grieving children. He knows firsthand. “It’s awful. But it’s the kind of awful you can learn to live with.”
“Can I still have a good life if I feel so bad?”
“I think so."
“You don’t know?”
“I don't know a lot of things.”
Bruce looks at Dick, who’s back to staring out of the window. He hesitates, then puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder. The boy doesn’t move.
“I think you’ll be okay, chum. You’re a strong kid.”