[ Bruce, he thinks, with an ache he knows he hasn’t worked hard enough yet to smother. It isn’t Bruce’s fault. He knows it all too well, what Damian must see, both sides tugging at him in equal force. It’ll choke him one day, with both hands, if it lets it.

The nicer thought is Bucky. He can picture it so well, Bucky a little younger, a little softer, helping a little girl with her braids in his effortless, thoughtful way. A smile, fond for the man beside him, tugs at the side of his mouth. ]

...Yeah. I know. [ And he's leaning a little against his side before he thinks to wonder whether he’s offering comfort or seeking it. [

My mom would pin it up when we were working. But as soon as we were finished she’d take it down. Then it was my job to hold the pins.

I’d probably give anything to do it for her again. [ For all that he'd rolled his eyes at every request. ]