starsandsea (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
starsandsea) wrote2009-01-06 07:12 pm
starsandsea) wrote2009-01-06 07:12 pm
Fic: Robin
Title: Robin
Rating: PG
Characters: Bruce, Dick
Word Count: 601
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yanyann! The prompts were: Bruce + moment at the slavers from 'The Slave Fic' before Kal buys him, and, Bruce + Dick, father-son moment (hurt/comfort or fluff). I managed to get two of those, sort of... This is set in my 'Slave Fic' universe, the first arc of which can be found here. Bruce is around 17 in this story, so it's about 2 years or so before 'Master and Slave'. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.
Bruce lent back against the wall, breathing heavily, absently noting that his breath was misting in the air. The ground was hard and frozen below him, and the rags that were his clothes were hardly able to keep out the cold.
But it was better than the alternative.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, calm his racing heart. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms about them, trying to keep warm. He shuddered, and his whole body started to ache, old wounds, new wounds, all hurting.
He breathed slowly. Hopefully he could stay hidden here, away from the slave masters, the other slaves, with their dead eyes. They unnerved him, though he was aware that he must look just like them. Dead to the world. And he was, no one would care, no one would notice if he were to die. No one. It would even be kinder, some would say, for him to die. He tightened his hold on his legs.
He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps, someone running towards his hiding place, even out of the way as it was. Bruce caught sight of a flash of color - red and green and yellow - before something crashed into him, and he reflexively tried to catch it. He blinked, and found himself with a armful of boy, his eyes wide and wild.
From his coloring and clothes, Bruce guessed he was a gypsy. There were often Gypsies at the slavers, but this was the first time he had seen one so young. He carefully righted the boy, setting him on his feet again.
"I'm sorry," the child whispered, looking at him fearfully.
Bruce's heart ached for him. For one so young to be here... He guessed the child was twelve, maybe thirteen, at most. "It's fine," he whispered in return.
The boy sniffed and sat next to him. Bruce sat uncomfortably, wondering what to say or do. The child was clearly traumatized, and yet, what could he do? Offer a false ray of hope? Tell him that everything was going to be fine? The look in the boys eyes suggested that he wouldn't believe him anyway. They were the look of one who had suffered much, seen too much than anyone his age should know.
So Bruce didn't say anything, just sat next to the boy, both of them hiding together.
*****
They met up every day after that, though they never arranged the meetings. But when Bruce needed time alone from everyone else, and he would go to his hiding place, he would always find the boy there, or would be shorty joined by him.
They hardly spoke, just gave each other silent support. Robin, Bruce named him in his head, after seeing the delight on his face when he had seen one of the birds. Those times together were the first time Bruce had felt peaceful since... he could remember.
But it had to come to an end, of course.
And, one day, Bruce went to his hiding place and Robin didn't appear, even after several minutes had gone by. Feeling uneasy, though he couldn't explain why, he got up and returned to the main part of the slavers, just in time to see a wagon, laden with slaves, leaving the compound. Robin's face was pressed against the bars of the cage he and the other slaves were in, weeping, waving sadly at him.
Bruce stood alone amongst the crowds of slaves, his only friend in the world gone, and wondered why he so desperately wanted to weep.
Rating: PG
Characters: Bruce, Dick
Word Count: 601
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: For
yanyann! The prompts were: Bruce + moment at the slavers from 'The Slave Fic' before Kal buys him, and, Bruce + Dick, father-son moment (hurt/comfort or fluff). I managed to get two of those, sort of... This is set in my 'Slave Fic' universe, the first arc of which can be found here. Bruce is around 17 in this story, so it's about 2 years or so before 'Master and Slave'. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.Bruce lent back against the wall, breathing heavily, absently noting that his breath was misting in the air. The ground was hard and frozen below him, and the rags that were his clothes were hardly able to keep out the cold.
But it was better than the alternative.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, calm his racing heart. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms about them, trying to keep warm. He shuddered, and his whole body started to ache, old wounds, new wounds, all hurting.
He breathed slowly. Hopefully he could stay hidden here, away from the slave masters, the other slaves, with their dead eyes. They unnerved him, though he was aware that he must look just like them. Dead to the world. And he was, no one would care, no one would notice if he were to die. No one. It would even be kinder, some would say, for him to die. He tightened his hold on his legs.
He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps, someone running towards his hiding place, even out of the way as it was. Bruce caught sight of a flash of color - red and green and yellow - before something crashed into him, and he reflexively tried to catch it. He blinked, and found himself with a armful of boy, his eyes wide and wild.
From his coloring and clothes, Bruce guessed he was a gypsy. There were often Gypsies at the slavers, but this was the first time he had seen one so young. He carefully righted the boy, setting him on his feet again.
"I'm sorry," the child whispered, looking at him fearfully.
Bruce's heart ached for him. For one so young to be here... He guessed the child was twelve, maybe thirteen, at most. "It's fine," he whispered in return.
The boy sniffed and sat next to him. Bruce sat uncomfortably, wondering what to say or do. The child was clearly traumatized, and yet, what could he do? Offer a false ray of hope? Tell him that everything was going to be fine? The look in the boys eyes suggested that he wouldn't believe him anyway. They were the look of one who had suffered much, seen too much than anyone his age should know.
So Bruce didn't say anything, just sat next to the boy, both of them hiding together.
*****
They met up every day after that, though they never arranged the meetings. But when Bruce needed time alone from everyone else, and he would go to his hiding place, he would always find the boy there, or would be shorty joined by him.
They hardly spoke, just gave each other silent support. Robin, Bruce named him in his head, after seeing the delight on his face when he had seen one of the birds. Those times together were the first time Bruce had felt peaceful since... he could remember.
But it had to come to an end, of course.
And, one day, Bruce went to his hiding place and Robin didn't appear, even after several minutes had gone by. Feeling uneasy, though he couldn't explain why, he got up and returned to the main part of the slavers, just in time to see a wagon, laden with slaves, leaving the compound. Robin's face was pressed against the bars of the cage he and the other slaves were in, weeping, waving sadly at him.
Bruce stood alone amongst the crowds of slaves, his only friend in the world gone, and wondered why he so desperately wanted to weep.