well the sun one day will leave us all behind

[pixieboots]

Who: Dick Grayson and various
What: SOME THREADS I PROMISED PEOPLE collected in one log so the comm is lovingly spared
When: October 2-11
Where: MOON BASE
Warnings: batangst, child trauma


[ THINGS GO BELOW ]

Comments

[eyecontact]

[he sits at the edge of that fake rock, twisting a little to follow where Dick has turned. his face is twisted into a mix of worry, confusion, and even a little fear. he's only seen Dick so worked up and twisted up like this once before, and that wasn't a good moment, either.

his mouth opens to protest, but...he can't say what he wants.

somewhere in that deluge of words, Jericho finds some bit of quiet, an opening, reaching out and grabbing at his wrist, as much a stop as he can convey without anything to write on.]

[pixieboots]

[ The hand on his wrist makes him jump, and for a long moment it's all he can do to register what it is he wants him to do. ]

Oh... [ Then his shakes his head and relaxes the tautness in his posture, just a bit. ] I keep forgetting you can't just- [ -that silence doesn't necessarily mean he has nothing to say.

And absurdly that makes him miss the Robin suit all over again, because at least with the belt on he would've had a clean notepad to offer him. ]

Yeah, I- you're right. I guess I'm not being fair. [ He signs the last few words, so Jericho will know for sure what he means. That he's been practicing, that he'll try his hardest to follow if he wants to try the signs. ]

...I'm listening, I promise.

[eyecontact]

[his eyes wince with apology at the startle, but his grip remains firm, relaxing only as Dick himself starts to relent.

he tugs him down a little, his other hand pointing. sit.

and once he's done that, he himself slides off his perch to sit parallel, still hanging onto that wrist, and lets his other hand do the work. he opens Dick's hand, palm up, and starts tracing letters, punctuating the end of each word with a very deliberate stop. he's careful, methodically moving from watching the hands to Dick's expression, slowing down where he's uncertain of understanding.]

n o t
f a i r
t o
y o u r s e l f

[pixieboots]

[ Sitting shouldn't feel any better, sitting means he can't move away from where his thoughts are going, but there's something settling about watching the words come together like magic. He holds his palm open and slack, watching transfixed until he's sure he's done with every letter he has in mind. ]

Yeah, I know. But...

[ His free hand goes to his hair, stressed and restless. ] You have to know what I'm saying. All those people are dead now. I mean, you... [ It's the last thing he wants to bring up. But the thought is there, hovering close to the tip of his tongue.

He'd never asked him why, had he? ] -you had to change your costume, right? Cause...

Because you knew something changed.

[eyecontact]

[his eyes dropped to his sleeves – black, thick material. fire-proof, even! much better than weak bell sleeves and faux-gold cuffs.

but Dick's not wrong. things changed. but...Jericho frowns, thinking, wasn't it mostly because his old outfit was totally trashed? all the additions were just...

well.

well, things he never had to worry about back home. so there is that.

the old stuff couldn't hold up. old Joseph, too, maybe? he hasn't really been the same person he was before he caused that assassination, he's got to admit. and that was well over a year ago...

he nods, conceding, his mouth still puckered dubiously. Yes, but...Isn't that different?]