Author's Note: This little piece fell out onto my keyboard last night. It's set right after Bruce's return from 'death,' and while I initially intended it to be a flash fic it came in just a bit too long to qualify. I've tried cutting it down, but for some reason with this one it feels like chopping off limbs, so I'm leaving it as is. Happy reading!

Bruce dropped onto his bed with a sigh. He was sweaty, his muscles ached, and a goon had bruised his calf, but he smiled anyway. His old Batsuit had fit like a glove, and despite a year having passed since he'd stalked the streets of Gotham his moves had come back to him effortlessly. He was home.

It was almost as if nothing had changed. The master suite had been left untouched, frozen in time. Glancing around, he could have sworn that no time had passed since he'd headed out to the conflict that had been the 'death' of him. He was almost surprised that neither the boys nor Alfred had claimed some of the smaller family heirlooms. To be fair, though, he granted as his eyes fell upon the small lacquered container that graced the dresser's top, he hadn't checked everywhere yet...

Remembering that the miniature trunk was always a Pandora's Box of memories, he lifted the lid slowly. Jewelry accumulated over seven generations lay within, and he was never entirely sure how the sight of his father's watch and his mother's pearls would hit him. Taking a deep breath, he glanced inside, and then froze.

So that was where his cell phone had gone.

It made sense for it to have been put away with the personal accessories of his forebears, he supposed as he lifted it out. He'd never been without it in his old civilian life, after all, and when he plugged it in and turned it on now the start-up tinkle delighted him. So many of his day-to-day interactions had once taken place through this small device that the months he'd just spent living without it seemed impossible. So many missed moments... His faint smile faded at the thought.

The screen blinked as the start-up finished. "...That's impossible," he muttered aloud as the device indicated that it had service. Surely the contract had been terminated, or his number at least deactivated; everyone had thought he was dead, for god's sake, so why did he have 3,297 new texts?

"That's...impossible," he repeated, sinking back onto the mattress. Shaking his head, he selected the messaging icon. The oldest few dozen had been received from various people before the news had broken that he was no longer around to send a reply. What came after those, however, made his heart twist in his chest.

Every single one of them had been sent from Dick's number.

"Oh, Dicky-bird," he murmured as he realized who had been paying for his phone service. Gulping nervously, he opened the first digital envelope. 'I know you'll never answer this, Bruce,' he read, 'but I just can't help but hope you might somehow get to read it. It's dumb, I know, but...I think it helps.'

Apparently it had helped, judging from the flood that followed. The texts varied drastically in content and mood, but as Bruce read through them he found he didn't mind. It was almost like getting to watch the last year of his son's life in stop-motion; sad, sad, happy, sad, funny, sad, sad, angry, happy, sad, sad... So many sads, he protested as he swiped at his cheeks again. Far too many.

'I love you.'

'I miss you.'

'I visited you today with a funny story, but you didn't laugh. Do you think Lucius would have me committed if I suggested developing headstones that people could pre-record their laugh on so that no one else has to feel like a jackass for giggling in a cemetery all by themselves?'

'I love you. I didn't know how much, Bruce. I had no idea.'

'I miss you. It hurts so bad without you here...'

'I've decided that losing your second parents hurts worse than losing your first ones. At least when they died I had you to comfort me...'

'Come back, goddamn it!'

'There are nights when I hope to die, Bruce, just on the off-chance that there's an afterlife I might find you in.'

'I need your advice.'

'Remember that old myth about how if you wish for something every day for a year and one day, it will come true? It's wrong. I know because it's day 366 and you still haven't walked through the front door.'

'I love you.'

'I miss you.'

'Come back. Please...'

It was a train wreck, and he couldn't look away. Hours passed before he reached the very last message. His raw, bloodshot eyes narrowed as he read the date and saw that it was three days old.

'You came back today, Bruce. I've never been so happy in my entire life.'

"...Oh, baby..."

A minute later he stepped through the door opposite his own. "...Dick?" he addressed the figure silhouetted in the window.

"You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

"Something like that."

The younger male turned, his expression suggesting that he'd picked up on the tremble in the elder's voice. "Bruce, what...?" He halted a few feet away when the phone was raised to eye level. "Oh...um..."

"Don't," the billionaire ordered. "Just...thank you. And...I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," was whispered back.

"That doesn't make me any less sorry."

"I know. Me, either." A silence drew out as they stared at each other in the semi-dark. Then both exhaled heavily, their sighs syncing, and they laughed.

"...Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering...why haven't you sent me anything since I got home? You were sending seven, eight texts a day before that."

"I haven't needed to send any. You've been right here, Bruce," he smiled. "All I've had to do if I wanted to contact you was open my mouth or stretch out my arm. It's been...awesome."

The billionaire smiled back. "It has been that, chum. I agree." He beckoned him closer. "C'mere."

They stood together for a long time, Dick's chin on Bruce's shoulder, Bruce's atop Dick's head, their arms around each other. Eventually Dick chuckled. "We're going to have to get you an updated phone."

"Why? There's nothing wrong with this one." It had been sitting unused in a box for the last thirteen months, he bit back.

"It's a dinosaur, Bruce. It still has buttons, for crying out loud."

"When did buttons go out of style?"

"When touch screens came in. Jeez, the way you're talking makes you sound like a dinosaur..."

Bruce snorted. "Okay, kiddo," he allowed, stepping back. "Tomorrow you can drag me out to buy the latest and greatest hunk of communications plastic that there is. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"They have to be able to transfer my messages to the new phone. Otherwise, I'm keeping the dinosaur." He watched as his son's lower lip trembled, then disappeared back behind his teeth. "Deal?"

"...Yeah, dad," Dick nodded tearfully before he was pulled into another embrace. "It's a deal."