|Richard Greyson is (agentacrobat) wrote in repose,|
@ 2017-05-07 12:16:00
|Entry tags:||*log, bruce wainright, dick greyson|
Log: Dickie and Bruce
Who: Bruce and Dickie
Chilling out maxing, relaxing all cool Picking up from the antique store and chit chatting
Where: Antique store then police SUV then who knows maybe the moon
Dick was having one of his better days, he'd left through the front door that day, he'd almost slept through the night, and he'd done all of his paperwork at his desk. Of course now he had to go and talk to Bruce about, well, everything. He'd made the decision to wear his crazy on his sleeve, and part of that was doing what he'd been avoiding. Showing all of his crazy cards to Bruce. He hadn't been avoiding it for any reason other than being stubborn and hard headed. As per usual. Talking to Bruce about it meant that he was at the end of his rope, he had no solutions, he had no hope. Growing up he'd gone to Bruce to get him out of plenty of situations, Bruce always had a solution. But as he'd gotten older he wanted to rely less and less on that - he wanted to get himself out of his situations. And going to Bruce was when all other options had been exhausted. Which was always terrifying, because it meant that if Bruce couldn't help there was no help.
So he'd been stalling. And dealing. Or not dealing depending on how one looked at it. He'd seen the therapist in the capital, she wasn't awful. He wasn't sure he could trust her yet. But he had another appointment scheduled. That had to count for something.
He sat outside the antique store in the police SUV, his shift over for the day but still in uniform. Deputy Dick waited for Bruce to emerge and thought about how he was going to approach any of this. The beginning? The end? The last thing he remembered when his memories came back? He didn't have a clue.
He didn't like laying all this on Bruce, the discussions amongst his brothers and sister lately regarding how he'd been feeling didn't make him keen to lay more on him. But he was taking Damian at his words, that maybe they could help each other. He didn't have a lot of time to mull it over, he was pulled out of his steering wheel staring contest when he saw the front door of the antique shop open out of the corner of his eye.