dunno_know requested a part three to this two-parter from my second book 

here is a link for pt 1 https://www.wattpad.com/792230446-just-robin-oneshots-part-2-cry-time

and for pt 2 https://www.wattpad.com/797041233-just-robin-oneshots-part-2-cry-time-pt-2

funeral time bois

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

When Dick died, Bruce was quick to make sure that everything he wanted to happen following his death was what he got no matter about the cost was. He got a hold of the will that Dick made and gulped thickly as he went through what was being given to others. Most of what was on there were trinkets he'd kept and wanted to give back to his fellow heroes. Things like a printed photo of himself and Artemis on her first day at his school and a keychain from the first time he'd ever gone to an arcade. His heart twisted when he saw that Wally's name had been redacted. It made him ask how recently this will was made. Did he make it before the mission where he died? Did he know that he'd die that day before there was even a scratch on him? Then there were two discs. One was labelled Dick Grayson and the other was labelled Nightwing. Presumably, one was for his civilian friends who never knew his identity and the other was for his hero friends who didn't know his real name. Bruce handed them to the right groups. He didn't cry when he went through it until it got to his name. The giant penny he'd gifted Dick when he moved out. He asked for it to be handed down and made a joke about how funny it would be on a moving day to explain why there was a giant penny. That was Dick. Playing games even when he was gone.  

The funeral was carefully planned. Every detail was right and there was no room for mistakes. Everything was exactly as Dick had wanted it. It broke Bruce's heart not to have something big and grand to match the energy of his eldest but that's not what the man wanted. Dick wanted a small get-together of those close to him. He also requested there be colours everywhere because he "wasn't an emo like Bruce" as he put it. The flowers had pops of reds and blues, the dress code required a blue element in keeping with the Nightwing suit and the service pamphlets were printed in a smart-looking blue. The service itself was short and sweet. Well, bitter to be more accurate. They tried to maintain the spirit of this funeral as a celebration of Dick's life rather than the mourning of his death but that was impossible. Especially when the coffin was being laid in the ground. It felt finalised. They couldn't be in denial at the loss any longer. He was in that coffin. He was buried. There wasn't going to be a syke moment nor would there be any rising from the dead. He was gone. Bruce made sure he was buried beside his parents whose graves had been well-kept and would continue to be well-kept. It had previously been Dick who cleaned and repaired the gravestones but now that responsibility fell into Bruce's lap. 

Tears glossed over everyone's eyes, some allowing them to spill over whilst others were determined to stay strong. Some tried to keep the mood light. Well as light as a funeral could be. Clark was the main pusher for this mood and focused on keeping the younger heroes from delving too deep into their developing guilt. He'd regale them with stories of Dick being a mischievous child and how he loved causing just the right amount of trouble. He loved telling them all the specific rules they had to put in place because of him. Most humoured him by listening but Tim wasn't one for stories. Another Robin was dead and this time, he couldn't help but feel that it was his fault. If he'd just forgiven him sooner, talked to him sooner, made him know that he didn't have to be on his deathbed for them to talk. Maybe if he had done that, Dick would be alive now. As the crowd around the grave plot dissolved, two figures remained. Tim and Bruce. 

"I'm sorry," Tim whispered.

"Hm?" Bruce replied absently.

"For this. I killed your son." The billionaire put his hand on the younger's shoulder and pulled him close. He thought the action would be enough to dispel the thought but the silence was deafening to his protege. The silence stood as confirmation and the action was one of forgiveness. He was reminded of one of Dick's pieces of advice. 

"People die, sometimes it's your fault but there's no point lingering on it if you're concentrating on how it's all your fault rather than what you can do better next time," Dick told him. He sounded off, not like how he usually did when he gave advice. The advice had come after Tim told him about the bomb he missed. Luckily, Bruce had caught it and deactivated it but the thought had been plaguing him ever since.

"So what do I do if I can't look past it being my fault?" Tim asked curiously. Dick smiled at him but it had a hint of sadness to it. 

"You will in time. I won't lie, the first few months are sucky but then you get a few wins in and you'll be alright."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Yeah. Hey, if you ever do find yourself in that situation you can always talk to me. I'll get it more than the old man."

Dick would've been there for him if he'd gotten his best friend killed. He would've been there had he come up with the idea of double agents. He would've been there. That's the simple fact of the matter. Tim wasn't there and now he had to live with that.

That night, Bruce benched Tim. Said he needed some time to process what happened. The younger rolled his eyes at the wording. He decided to just go to bed but he couldn't sleep. Maybe it was his caffeine addiction finally catching up to him or the swirling thoughts of despair running through his mind. Whichever one it was, he was pissed at it. He just wanted some escape from the horrible truth of it all yet he knew that when he closed his eyes, the image of his dead brother would be flashed in front of him. It would play again and again with no stopping it. He'd try to think about other things but it would pop up out of nowhere. He lay on his side, staring holes into the wall with his arms wrapped tight around a pillow for comfort. He rested his head on it and sniffled. His eyes were burning again. They burned at the funeral too. He didn't want to let the tears fall even if it would ease the sensation. He didn't deserve to be upset about something he caused. He killed Dick Grayson, the beloved acrobat whose iconic laugh could light up a room on the worst of days. They could've done with his laugh today. He'd miss that laugh. He'd miss the late-night coffee runs too. He'd miss the escape and safety Dick offered him simply because he cared not because he had to. Dick was a figure of acceptance and understanding. If that's what he was remembered as what would Tim be remembered as? He was the one to snuff out the light, wasn't he? Exhausted from the very thought of that, he tried once again to close his eyes and drift off to sleep. He was met with that familiar darkness but the rest didn't come half as easy. He huffed and opened his eyes again. He flicked his gaze over to the alarm clock. He'd been trying to sleep for three hours but it felt like less. Tim gave up on his idea of sleep escapism and sat up, putting his pillow in his lap and fiddling with the cover. What would Dick say if he could see him now? "Cheer up Timbo. At this rate, B will adopt someone in a week so you won't be lonely for long." But it wouldn't be you, he'd reply. No one could be Dick Grayson. 

There was a knock on the door and before he could stop himself he answered, 

"Come in." His mind was on autopilot right now and it had just royally screwed him because as soon as he saw Bruce's concerned expression, the tears he'd been holding back all day finally broke loose. He let out a soft whimper as a stream of tears fell down his cheeks. Bruce let out a soft sigh and went over to him. He sat on the bed and pulled the teen into a tight hug, rubbing circles on his back. Tim's mind warred over the act of kindness. He didn't deserve it but he really needed it. Was that okay? 

"It's not your fault."

"Of course it is!" he cried into the older's chest. He gripped Bruce for dear life as sobs wracked his slim frame. It hurt so much to feel so guilty. There was no way of making up for it, there was no way of solving the issue. A man was dead. You can't bring the dead back to life no matter how bad you feel about it. 

"It's not. He got caught out. That's the risk of the job and he knew that," Bruce assured him.

"No, he would've called sooner. We could've- I should've- I'm sorry!" The older shushed him and began gently rocking back and forth. It was comforting. He moved the teen into his lap to hold him closer and Tim made no objections to it. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated over and over. He could never say it enough. He had to keep saying it over and over throughout his lifetime and maybe after that if there was such a thing. No amount of sorry's could cover this mistake but he had to at least try. 

"Tim, that's enough," Bruce said in a stern yet comforting tone. "It's not your fault."

"But-"

"No buts. Do you think he would want you to think like that?" Tim shook his head with a sniffle, rubbing at his eyes. "He is-was my kid and I know for a fact he wouldn't want his little brother blaming himself." He cried harder at the mention of being Dick's little brother. That's what he was and he'd always thought of himself like that but it was different hearing it. Confirming almost. Making sure he wasn't in his head and they really had been that close. It was both nice and horrible. Nice to know he'd been cared for like family but horrible to know he'd just lost said family. 

"I miss him already," Tim admitted. 

"I do too. I wish I said I love you more."

"Me too." He snuggled closer to the billionaire as he let the last wave of sobs hit him. "Can you stay here?"

"I'm not going anywhere." Tim hoped he stayed true to that.