My sleep-deprived brain was inspired to make this less than mediocre story inspired by this song 

In the words of Peter Parker, I don't feel so good

Edited 07/02/2024: format change and I added quite a few things

John never thought he'd have to see his son suffer. What father did? He would've never stepped out onto that platform with the thought that this would be his final performance and if he knew his ending, he would never step foot on a platform again. Falling to his death wasn't planned. How could it have been? As the wire snapped, he could only hold onto his wife. He heard his son's heart-wrenching shriek and he couldn't do anything to comfort him. He was helpless. He didn't intend for that feeling to be the only one he felt for the next few months. 

When John opened his eyes, he thought that he somehow survived the fall. His limbs moved sluggishly as he stood but he was able to get to his feet nevertheless. For a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief until his reassurances failed to ease the fear of the audience. He looked below him and found his own tangled body on the floor. His breath caught in his chest and he quickly tried to find Mary in some horrible hope that she had also joined him but she was gone. It was just him. He looked up to the platform, praying that his son was still up there even if he was now alone. Dick was. His eyes were transfixed on their corpses.

John was a ghost. He had to reckon with that fact. He was forced to follow his son to the police car, unable to ascend for a reason he didn't yet know but he was determined to make sure his son was in the right hands. Dick was sobbing as a social services representative bundled him into the car, doing little to soothe his cries. It looked like she was too tired, too used to seeing children lose those close to them and she'd lost what sympathy she had. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to scream at her for not treating his son like the traumatised child he was but there was no use. The harsher he yelled the more he upset himself and no noise left his mouth anyway. For now, all he could do was watch.

John watched his funeral. He overheard the vicar say a Mr Wayne provided the funds to give him and his wife a proper burial when Dick asked how this was going to be paid for. Interesting. A billionaire paid for a circus performer's funeral? That wasn't something you heard every day but he couldn't focus on that part of the situation as much as he would like to. 

Dick sat at the front of the church, trying his best to keep his cries quiet so as to not disturb the service. Nobody was there to comfort him. Why wasn't there someone to comfort him? His social worker should be there for him to tell him everything was going to be okay even if it wasn't or someone from the circus should've made the time to visit him so he had at least one familiar face. God knew that Dick needed someone to hold him and protect him from the harsh realities he was now forced to face alone. He grew up in a place where comfort came in the form of hugs and sitting down together. There was a sense of community that he was used to, the circus always took 'it takes a village to raise a child' to heart, and he wasn't receiving it at the hands of the government. John wished he could stay with the circus and cursed himself for not making one of them his guardian. In his defence, he never foresaw leaving the world so early.

As John sat in a cell with his son, he watched him periodically wake up in terror only to cry himself back to sleep when he realised that the nightmares were real. He hated this endless purgatory of watching his child suffer. 

All he wanted was to make Dick happy in life. He wanted Dick to be free to run around, knowing he was always being cared for and that someone would pick him up if he ever fell. He wanted him to get dizzy on sugar without fear of the consequences like every other kid out there. John couldn't wait till Dick found funny friends that made him laugh uncontrollably and forgot his worries for even just a moment. He wanted what every father wanted for their son but he wouldn't be able to be there. 

If this awful purgatory kept on, he couldn't see much point in it and could only assume this was some personal hell he'd brought upon himself somehow. He couldn't talk to Dick. He couldn't comfort him if anything went wrong and boy had things gone wrong. He wouldn't be there to pat him on the back as he went out on his first date if Dick ever got out of this place. He didn't want to be stuck in this horrible position anymore as selfish as that may be. Hadn't he lived a good and kind life? What did he do to deserve this punishment? Who up there wanted him to walk the Earth unable to interact with it?

Then the day came.

Dick was woken up by a squeaky voice John recognised as the head guard. She was a nasty piece of work. He couldn't find one nice thing to say about her and he didn't want to try. She was rude to his son and turned a blind eye when it suited her, and it suited her often. She often forgot that he wasn't a prisoner here because he committed a crime but rather because the system was so overrun and neglected that it no longer had the places for people who came through it. It didn't help that everyone was more preoccupied with getting him deported to where he was born rather than how he was feeling. 

"Mr Wayne is here to see you," she announced, opening the door. Dick jumped up, knowing better than to linger in his cell for too long. He'd begun to use the training John gave him to maintain the perfect posture prison guards were looking for, like a twisted uncanny copy of something that would once make a performance all the more astounding. 

"The man who paid for the funeral?" he asked quietly. He was almost fearful to speak up but he was always a curious child.

"It appears so. Looks like you'll be out of my hair until he gets bored of you." John growled at the comment. If she went through half of what Dick had, she would've been more sympathetic. He didn't want to wish that fate on her but it was a tempting thought. 

They were led into a small office, nothing out of the ordinary. John recognised it as the one they'd been told about the orphanage situation. He still didn't believe they were all full. He had a sneaking suspicion that they wanted Dick to stay out of the sight of the public for the time being and a prison environment meant any reporter had to request to speak with him or snap photos. The police wanted this all to blow over quickly before people started asking about the treatment Dick received on the night of their deaths.

Inside the office was Bruce Wayne himself, wearing an expensive-looking suit. He'd just finished a set of papers John found to be fostering papers. Dick was getting fostered? By a billionaire? John smiled slightly. The life he wanted for his son may not be so far out of reach as he once thought. This man could give him a good life, one where he didn't have to worry about his health or shelter or food. He could finally catch up on being a kid.

"Hello Richard, my name's Bruce Wayne. I thought it would be best to give you a home in my manor." John felt something come off the man. Bruce wanted to make Dick happy. He wanted Dick to be free to run around like any other kid. He wanted him to get dizzy on sugar as every child should from time to time. John felt, for the first time since his death, that Dick was in safe hands. "Would you like that?" Bruce asked, holding out his hand. Dick took it with a smile John hadn't seen in months. 

"I would love it, thank you, Mr. Wayne!" The older chuckled to himself before leading him out of the office. 

John went to follow his son like he always had but he suddenly couldn't move. He looked at his body and found that it was slowly fading away. Purgatory was finally over. Dick was safe now. He had another father figure to help him through life and do everything he wanted to do. John smiled sadly. He hoped he'd see Dick again one day after he lived a life worth living and reached a good age. He had to trust Bruce to look after his only son and he was more than willing to do so. 

"Goodbye, Dickie. I love you."

whIP