Chapter Text
Dick didn’t remember much of the flight over to Metropolis. He just remembered the familiar rush of humid summer air, the warm, strong arms that held him. Never did the worry of falling seem to occur. It never had in his life, really.
His mental fog seemed to dissipate as the lights of Metropolis blossomed beneath them, and they soon found themselves on Clark’s apartment balcony, high up, away from the bustle and noise of the city. Clark carefully set Dick down and walked over to open the door, ushering him in.
Dick nodded and stood inside the apartment, politely taking off his shoes as Clark waltzed in behind him, closing the balcony sliding door. Suddenly the noise dimmed as even the outside world was blocked away, and Dick could feel that bit of tension gone.
“Lois is out of town for a few days for work– I guess that’s what happens when you win the Pulitzer,” Clark said, walking right over to his kitchen.
“Yeah, I’d imagine that kind of investigative work would keep her busy,” Dick said, smiling absentmindedly. He’d always loved Lois, the woman a lion who could go toe-to-toe with anyone. As much as he missed her, he was glad it was one less person to see his bit of a breakdown.
Clark rustled around the kitchen, setting the kettle on the stove and turning up the heat. “So, listen Dick, I’m not going to force you to talk about what happened, or what’s going on. But,” and at this, Clark looked up and looked at him, “I’ve known you since you were in traffic-colored tights and prancing out the city with baby teeth still in you. You’ve always been a tough cookie with a bright smile, but I’m guessing you’ve been keeping some things bottled in.”
Dick let out a nervous chuckle and walked over to the kitchen counter, where some stools sat, smoothly sitting down on one. “Is there anything that doesn’t get past your eye?”
“Well, considering you called me in a near panic attack, sobbing in my arms, not even ten minutes out from the Manor…”
“Yeah, guess I did make it a bit obvious,” Dick sheepishly said, rubbing his neck.
Clark walked over, taking a seat next to Dick. “I’ve got more experience than you imagine, kiddo. Try me. What happened?”
Dick started on a recap of his week– the pushing himself on his constant patrols (he didn’t miss Clark’s slight frown at that), Tim coming over and not making it back to the Manor, the patrol, the pushing himself, finding Tim mind-controlled, Bruce’s cold words, the nice morning out with Damian, coming home and checking in with everyone, helping Bruce out with his onslaught of work…
“And then while we were eating dinner, I brought up last night’s patrol. What he had said to me. I’m usually good at letting things go, but for whatever reason, that stuck with me. We, um, had a fight. A bad one. Shouting at one another, saying things I’m sure we both regret now. I got up, feigned an excuse to everyone that I had to be called back home, and left, which brings you up to speed really. It’s the same as always it seems– I’m thrown to the wolves when I’m back, there to apply bandages to whatever situation is going on, and then come back to Blüdhaven, where they’ll show up if they need something from me.”
The tea kettle had whistled at some point in his rundown of events, and as he finished his recounting, looked down as Clark set a mug of tea in front of him, the herbal-scented tea bag bobbing. Dick pulled the mug close to him, placing his hands around it, letting the steam hit his face, and its heat warm his palms past the point of comfort.
“You know,” Clark started slowly, back in his seat turned towards Dick, “I’ve seen you in a million different situations. Fighting side by side, gliding through the city, you and the family coming back to the farm with me for Thanksgiving, or seeing you huff about the stuffy suit you have to wear for some gala. Whatever it is, I know you Dick, but I’ve never seen you so distraught. What about it was the tipping point? It must have been an ongoing issue for it to get to this level.”
Dick stayed silent for a moment, unable to refute the statement and gathering his thoughts up.
Clark leaned closer to Dick, brows furrowed, “Why didn’t you ask for help beforehand? Why didn’t you talk about this with Bruce?”
“I mean,” Dick sighed, his hand unconsciously going up to his hair, “I love Bruce– you know that– but um… I’m not always certain what he wants from me. I mean, even in the family it’s an odd set-up– I know he sees me as his eldest, but he officially adopted Jason and Tim, and Damian’s his actual blood son. But he never did that for me, and I guess he didn’t need to, but I’m the one he relies on the most it seems like, and yet the only one no longer technically his. Maybe he just needs me to be a mentor, an extra pair of hands, and I know he doesn’t treat me that way, and that he loves me, but sometimes…”
Dick let his voice trail off, his eyes focused downward as the words stumbled out of his mouth. He knew Bruce loved him. They memorized each other’s fighting styles, oftentimes unnervingly synchronized in their movements out in the field. But back behind closed doors? That synchronicity was gone, replaced with something more fragile, breakable.
“Are you unhappy at the Manor?”
“No, no! I love it, and I love them more than anything else, just that it’s… hard sometimes. I mean, I’ve also got stuff going on outside of the Manor, between being Nightwing, and having an actual job, and maybe they see that as me being the most stable and put-together? But I just wish they understood that I’m not, and I can’t always be that for them, and I can’t always be on-call and hear about all their disputes and their problems all the time.”
“You’ve never told them this,” Clark said, a statement rather than a question. “If you’ve never told them this, how can you expect them to correct what they don’t know is wrong? You place so much effort into the appearance and illusion that you’ve got it all together and can be stretched that thin, but you’ve been too convincing of an actor for them to see past it. They’re not mind-readers Dick.”
Clark reached a hand out, setting it on top of Dick’s, which snapped Dick’s attention from the swelling tea bag in his mug up to Clark’s face. Damn him and his journalism skills, Dick thought with no heat behind it, damn him and his patient listening and wise expertise and that soft look on his face of sympathy and understanding.
“The worst is that I did try,” Dick said, stressing the ‘did’, “That’s what the argument I had with Bruce got to be about when it all hit the fan. I asked him what he thought my role was in the family, and I know I said it harshly, and meant to get him to react more than anything but… He’s been here all week, and I know he’s busy with work and we’re all messy and all over the place, but I knew about the fight between Jason and Tim, and he didn’t. That’s up to him to help resolve, not me. I was the one to take time to be with Damian, and he hasn’t been really doing that kind of stuff. He expects me to be just like him sometimes, but he knows– he f*cking knows– I can’t be that. All I can do is try my best, but even then it’s not good enough half the time.”
Dick felt the tears prickling again in his eyes, a few languid streams of saltiness running down his face, his voice wavering by the end. God, he was going to drain himself dry at this rate, between this and earlier.
He took a sip of the tea, hot but a needed distraction on his tongue. He looked over at Clark, whose face sombered, clearly thinking a thousand thoughts an hour. The apartment fell silent as Dick kept slowly sipping his tea, taking solace in its heady flavor and its warmth.
“That,” Clark stated, swallowing as he slowly continued, “Sounds like Bruce. I’m sure he had his own reasons for what he said, though we both know emotionality has never been his strong suit. But that doesn’t mean he should have treated you that way, or said whatever he said to you.”
Clark hesitated, and Dick watched him as the older man continued, “When I was far younger, I didn’t know how to handle this kind of responsibility either, especially with the range of emotions people would throw my way on the daily. But you have to learn to trust the people around you, Dick. It’s not a weakness to ask for help, or to return to favor and crash in their safe houses sometimes, or to set boundaries with others. It’s not selfish, and I know you take great pride in being that strong pillar of support, but if you want to keep being that, you also have to learn not to burn yourself out on both ends of the candle. Or else what’s going to happen to you? What happens when there’ll be nothing left, when it worsens and worsens and worsens? Where does that leave you?”
Dick set the mug down, swallowing the words, knowing Clark was watching his reaction. Dick nodded slowly, sighing.
“You’re right, Clark. You’re always right. I… yeah, I do need to ask for help. Or learn to, at least. It just feels so weird– everyone comes to me when they need with their problems that to expose that I may also need that kind of help–”
“That’ll knock your image down from your indestructible pedestal? Dick,” Clark said, looking him in the eyes with a small smile, “I’m an alien with super strength, stamina, all of that, known to be a protector of humanity. Diana is the daughter of a god, trained as a princess and valiant fighter by the best of the best. Bruce carries the weight of Gotham’s dense corruption on his shoulders, of living up to the mantle of his own making to avenge his parent’s deaths. Do you think we haven’t all sobbed in each other’s shoulders before? Do you know the amount of times I’ve called for Diana because I didn’t know how to handle a problem, or came home exhausted to Lois and she was the one to give me the advice I needed to hear? Do you know the amount of times I’ve had to save a drunk Bruce from sobbing over how he fears that he’s become the darkness he sought to destroy? How much he worried that he could never live up to be the figure you, and Jason, and Tim, and Damian, needed him to be? Truly, more times than I could ever remember.”
Dick was engrossed, listening, the weight of the words cloaking him like a blanket. He had never imagined Bruce to drunk call Clark crying about being a good father or mentor, but it made sense. He had seen the men so close over the years, always there when they needed each other, though he realized he had never seen it, really. There were the Christmas parties where the Golden Trio would be laughing, swapping stories, but there must be an equal amount of time where they felt defeated, drained, with only each other to really, truly, understand each other’s problems.
“I’ve always known I could fly,” Dick said softly, “I was never afraid of falling. Being a Flying Grayson’s in my blood, you know? I leap, and jump, and know I’m going to make it, that I’m going to land with a flourish. But confronting my fallacies, my weak points? In training that’s easy, but I always am quick to look the other way when it’s not as simple as that. I’d rather close my eyes and pretend that I’m soaring than see that I’m about to hit the pavement.”
“I know it’s not easy son,” Clark said sympathetically, placing a comforting, heavy hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Trust me, I know. It took me too long to realize I couldn’t carry everyone’s burdens, as much I would have loved to, but it’s not realistic. It’s not sustainable.”
“Even for super-meta-aliens who are near invincible?” Dick joked, wiping away the dried tears with his knuckles.
“Yeah, even for the weirdos like that,” Clark said. “But really Dick, you have so many people who care and would be more than happy to help support you when you needed it. You have your family, as difficult as family is, but you know they’ll always have your back, and they are fiercely loyal. You have me, and the rest of the Justice League. You have the Titans. I mean even if we list out some names, anywhere from Alfred to Jason to Wally to Selena to Roy to Dinah– it’d be a long list, Dick.”
Clark reached over and fully enveloped Dick into a hug, and Dick just about melted into the embrace. He clutched onto Clark tightly, wishing to never let go.
“Think about it all, okay? It’s tough, but sometimes swallowing some of your pride is the best first step you can make. People aren’t mind readers, well, they usually aren’t, and an inch of communication can really stretch into miles,” Clark softly reassured him.
“Thank you, Uncle Clark,” Dick whispered, barely audible, but he knew Clark would hear.
“You’ll figure it out, I promise kiddo,” Clark said back, and they stayed like that, Dick’s head tucked beneath Clark’s chin, one of Clark’s hands absent-mindedly rubbing small circles on Dick’s back.
Dick wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, him listening to the consistency of Clark’s heartbeat, slowing his breathing down to match it. Eventually, he pulled away, less because he wanted to, and more because bending over the gap of the stools for the hug was starting to be unbearable on his back.
He stretched out, grimacing as he felt something pop in his stiff spine, and Clark chuckled.
“I’ll get you some spare pajamas, and I should have some spare toothbrushes for you to use. Sit tight, I’ll be right back,” Clark said, getting up and walking away down the hallway where Clark knew the bathrooms and the bedrooms were, including the spare guest bedroom he’d be staying in, he knew.
Dick finished the now cool tea, swallowing what was left down, and got up to clean his mug while Clark got him the items. When he was drying it, he noticed Clark come back from the corner of his eyes, carrying some folded clothes with him.
“You know where the guest room is– the bathroom across the hall has a toothbrush for you. And these are for you– if they don’t fit, just let me know. And um,” Clark set the pajamas on the stool and paused, “You did let someone know you were staying the night with me, right? Especially since we left your car not far from the Manor and you said you were going back to Blüdhaven, and I’ve learned long, long ago that Bruce has more tracking devices and ways to triangulate via satellites a person’s location than I could think of.”
Dick freezed, as his brain short-circuited. “Right, yep, totally didn’t forget, nope, absolutely not.”
Clark sighed, and looked at him, “Well, since you totally didn’t forget to do that very critically important thing, I’ll leave you to it. You know I get up early, but if you somehow are up before me, help yourself to coffee, breakfast. I just ask that you don’t leave without telling me, even if it’s just a text.”
“I promise I’ll let you know Clark, and thank you. For helping me out, for the advice, for letting me stay– everything. It means a lot that you came when I called.”
“Anytime Dick, really. I mean it.” Clark said, walking over and setting a hand on his shoulder. After a second, the hand dropped, and Clark retreated back to his room for the night, as Dick set the mug away.
Dick took out his phone, debating on who to text. Clark had a point– he was sure Bruce, given his overly paranoid self, had no less than three trackers on Dick’s car, and the fact that it hadn’t even gotten onto the highways would cause a panic in the morning. But that was if Bruce checked.
Dick’s fingers flew across the screen, as he typed out a text, just letting Alfred know that there was a change of plans and that he was with Clark for the night, but that he was safe and fine, and not to panic if his car was located not that far away from the Manor. He hesitated, thinking of what he already put Alfred through, but then weighed the other options.
Tim and Jason didn’t see him before he left, so it would be weird to send it to either one. Damian did, but he shouldn’t be put in the position to solely have that knowledge. Alfred would be best suited to know, but he had already put a lot on the man, especially before leaving. All of which left Bruce, but Dick was petty, and especially on the same night where the fight blew up, he didn’t want to send it.
But Bruce still cared, he knew. And would be appreciative of knowing.
However, that left the possibility of him breaking into Clark’s apartment early next morning, demanding to know where he was harboring Dick to confront him. Would Bruce think of him as a child for running off like that? Even if he didn’t, and though the last conversation didn’t exactly end well, Dick thought about what Clark told him. They would need to talk, when they were on less stressed out terms, but for now, maybe solely texting Bruce was a riskier option.
Dick opted to just send it to the family group chat (Tim would probably be the first to notice if something was up with his car, anyways), and added that he was fine, just wanted to let people know since he left in a bit of a hurry. He pressed send, and immediately turned off his phone, grabbed the pajamas, and headed to the bathroom to change and get ready for the night.
Blinking back the heavy sleep from his eyelids, Dick tried to orient himself. The sheets were a pale, robin egg blue, fluffy and enveloped him so warmly. He couldn’t hear the birds chirping, nor could he hear the wild honking of traffic jams.
Dick’s memories came flooding back, the pieces not exactly in linear order, but the snapshots of it slowly filled up the blank puzzle in his mind.
A fight, a (brief) car ride, crying into someone’s shoulder, being slumped over a kitchen island, and…
Were those pancakes Dick was smelling right now?
Dick nearly shot up, suddenly far more away than he was just a moment ago, sniffing the air like an animated cartoon dog. It most certainly smelled like pancakes, or something akin to it. And it was delicious too, a siren song luring him out of his cocoon.
Clark. And Lois? No, Lois was gone, he had said, off doing cool, probably secretive, journalism stuff.
Dick lugged himself out of bed, hissing at the tug of aches and pains scattered across his body that he had done his best to ignore yesterday. He grumbled, and slowly, like an old man, crouched next to his duffel bag to fish out a sweatshirt.
Once he looked himself briefly over in the small circular mirror hanging on the wall– finger-combing his hair to mostly look presentable– he decided he could go out and face the music.
Walking over to the kitchen, he was greeted by a certain Clark listening to what he realized was NPR, busying himself with a skillet, and the strong smell of coffee and pancakes was enough to snap away whatever sleep was left over in Dick’s foggy brain.
“Morning,” Dick called out, though he knew Clark was aware that he was there.
“Ah, figured you would be up soon. How does blueberry pancakes sound?”
“Sounds heavenly right now,” Dick said, walking over.
“Help yourself, I just made a pot. Creamer’s in the fridge, top left,” Clark mentioned, pointing to an empty Green Arrow mug that sat next to his full Wonder Woman one.
“Do you have mugs exclusively for the Justice League members?” Dick asked, helping himself to the coffee that sat by the corner, pouring himself some of the liquid gold.
“Yep, but I figured it might be funnier to give you that one rather than the Batman one,” Clark smiled, flipping over one of the pancakes.
“Please tell me you have more Nightwing gear than Batman.”
“Mm, not sure which I have more of, but if I have a generous patron, the scales could tip in your favor,” Clark hinted at.
“Expect a shipment of my finest totally-not-knock-off merch within the week,” Dick said solemnly, earning a heart laugh from the other man as he poured some creamer into it. It was supposedly caramel flavored– maybe more for Lois than Clark, he imagined. Then again, if Clark wasn’t going to be affected by the caffeine, maybe it was a flavor thing for him.
As he stirred the creamer in, Dick checked the phone he had chucked into his sweatshirt’s pocket when he got up. He had forgotten to charge it, the 19% battery remaining glaring at him, but not with enough intensity to keep his attention as his eyes drifted down to his missed notifications.
A couple had responded to his group text from last night– some giving it a thumbs up reaction, Alfred being the only one to comment, asking to give Clark a hello on their behalf.
But Bruce texted him separately. At 12:07 am.
Can I make reservations for The 52 Pearl Club for brunch tomorrow? Just the two of us, promise. I just want to talk.
And a follow-up text, at 2:42 am:
Please say yes.
Dick stilled, glancing between the two texts. He gathered himself up, and he swiftly typed out a response.
I’ll need Clark to fly me out, but yes. What time?
Almost immediately, three bubbles appeared as Bruce typed out a response. Dick held his breath, until a quick response came:
I’ve got reservations for 12:45.
Dick thumbs-up the message, and then scoffed. Bruce Wayne was, well, Bruce Wayne. He didn’t need a reservation to get in anywhere– perks of being the so-called Prince of Gotham, after all.
But then again, he had made the effort. That, or he was betting that Dick would say yes, and could just have easily taken someone, like Selina, or Damian, to prove that yes, he was active in their lives besides just being Batman, thank you very much Dick.
“What are you staring at so early in the morning?”
“Do you know a restaurant in Gotham called The 52 Pearl Club by chance?”
“Rings a bell… Oh, yes! Bruce took me and Lois there on a double date with him and Selina– they have great oysters. Why do you ask, exactly?”
Dick cringed at the implications of that double date, but shoved the thought aside, “Bruce invited me there. Says he has reservations for brunch at 12:45.”
“I’ll fly you over then– I guess that means more pancakes for me,” Clark thought out loud as he was plating them. “Do you still want some?”
“Absolutely, I would never miss a chance to have your cooking,” Dick responded, taking the plate Clark handed to him with two small blueberry pancakes overlapping.
“Syrup’s out, and so’s the butter. Help yourself,” Clark said, chipper as always, making his way over to the island counter where they had been seated yesterday.
Dick followed suit, watching as Clark reached for the syrup, and he in turn took a generous portion of butter. Fancy restaurant be damned, he would much rather have a good breakfast with Clark than be at a stuck-up restaurant with Bruce.
“So, he reached out first then?” Clark asked, cutting into the pillowy soft pancakes.
“Yeah, not long after I texted letting them know I was here for the night. And thanks again for letting me crash, and, um, cry, last night. Really.”
“Like I said, it’s not a problem. Besides, I do like hearing your updates, even if last night wasn’t the most ideal of circ*mstances.”
Dick’s cheeks burned in shame. sh*t, he really did need to call, or text, more often. He didn’t want Clark to start feeling like he was doing the same thing to him that he was complaining about.
“Your heart rate just ticked up, and so did your cortisol levels,” Clark murmured, right before taking a massive bite out of his pile of pancakes.
“Just thinking,” Dick said, his training momentarily kicking in as he slowed his breathing down. He forgot Clark could do that, honestly, or at least the other man rarely pointed it out when he did pay attention.
“Does any of that have to do with how beaten up you seem?” Clark asked, quirking an eyebrow up.
“It’s that obvious, huh?”
“More like you woke up, and then I near instantly heard a string of swears and how slow and rigid your movement across your room was. Sorry– force of habit, I wasn’t trying to pry.”
“Like I mentioned, patrol was pretty rough this week,” Dick said with a shrug, as Clark reached down to a cabinet at the edge of the counter and tossed Dick a bottle of ibuprofen.
“I’ve got some IcyHot too– God knows Lois swears on that stuff,” Clark said with a slight shake of his head as he continued devouring his breakfast.
“Thanks,” Dick said, meaning it as he took a couple of the pills, and swallowed it down with his caramel-flavored coffee.
The rest of their breakfast continued in a peaceful, non-stressful manner. Clark had been listening to the radio, and was filling Dick on a cool interview they had with some pharmaceutical expert, and Dick was politely listening along and nodding.
Afterwards, the morning went off without a hitch. Clark was more than happy to transport Dick back to Gotham, and Dick did some light research on the restaurant (Two Michelin stars, the executive chef had won four James Beard awards, and the place was featured on the Gotham season of Top Chef. Who knew.), and the two settled in for judging the reruns of House Hunter as they let the morning lazily slip by.
It was honestly the most relaxing morning Dick had had in what felt like ages. Maybe it had been that long.
As it turns out, Clark had a lot of opinions on the newly wed couples that wanted to gut old Victorian houses and make them all shiny and marble and sanitized. Well, so did Dick, but it was far funnier when it was Clark making a fuss about their terrible decisions.
Eventually though, Dick’s eyes kept bouncing back to the clock against the wall, the gaps between his last glances becoming shorter and shorter the closer it got to having to meet with Bruce.
It’s fine, he told himself, you’ve had plenty of outings and brunches with Bruce. He’s the one who initiated, so he’ll take the lead. Right? Just as long as he doesn’t kick me out of the will, I’m totally fine, and set, and have absolutely nothing to worry about.
“Well,” Clark said, slapping his knees before getting up in such a midwestern dad way that it completely took Dick off guard, “Guess it’s time, huh?”
“Yeah, guess so,” Dick said, looking over at the clock though he knew it read 12:29. “Let me get my bags, and I’ll be good to go.”
Clark just nodded as Dick went to fetch his stuff. Nope, Dick thought as he looked down at his hands, his palms were sweating a perfectly normal amount of sweat right now, and not because of anything that may be looming in his near horizons.
Dick straightened his back, held his chin up, and went to meet Clark who was waiting for him in the living room.
“Ready to go?”
“Yep, and thank you again for letting me stay.”
“Seriously, swing by anytime Dick– I’m more than happy to have you around, and Lois loves having you too.”
And just like that, they were off once more, though this time back to Gotham.
Dick found the ride far more pleasant when he wasn’t actively sobbing his heart out, he found. It was beautiful, seeing Gotham in daylight, buzzing beneath its smog surface with its ambitious vigor. Though even during the day, a layer of grim clouds still managed to loom over, but he was sure the day he saw Gotham fully bright out, picture perfect like Metropolis, was the day he retired from his vigilante work there.
True to his word, Clark was careful to not be spotted, and found a good alley not too far away to put their feet down on.
“Do you want me to come inside with you?” Clark asked, and Dick hesitated.
“If you want to say hi, be my guest, but we’re early so I’m not even sure if he’s here yet.”
Clark looked down at his watch, “12:36– yeah, maybe just a tad. Tell you what, just say I said hi on my behalf, and I’m sure I’ll catch up with him at the next JL meeting. And you should come over more again soon, you know!”
Dick smiled, “I promise I’ll call more too, keep you a bit more updated than just when I have mental breakdowns off the side of the road.”
“And I’ll look forward to hearing from you regardless,” Clark said, and after their final hugs and goodbye, the Man of Steel was off again.
Dick rolled his shoulder back, turned off that signature charming smile of his, and knew it was go-time.
“Reservation for Bruce Wayne,” Dick said to the hostess, who nodded and ushered him past most of the other patrons and to a quaint, private booth near the back, with stunning views over downtown Gotham.
Where Bruce Wayne was already sitting, and stood to perfect attention with his charismatic smile just as Dick entered in his view.
Dick’s thoughts raced a thousand thoughts an hour– a formal business handshake, a clap on the shoulder maybe, just a nod and sit down? – but the choice was ripped away from him as Bruce crushed him in a tight bear hug, his lungs thoroughly squeezed.
Dick hugged back, tight, nearly clawing at Bruce’s back.
He felt like he was twelve again, latching onto the one solid figure that was there the night his parents died. That crushing sense of sturdiness, a hug that he never wanted to let go from, had been craving all these years.
Bruce was the first to pull away, and gave Dick a small smile before ushering towards the table.
“I took the liberty of ordering you a peach-mango smoothie they had on the menu– figured you would appreciate having something to drink when you came by,” Bruce said, sitting down across from Dick.
True to that, there was a bright orange drink, the glass still frosty, on his side of the table.
“Thanks,” Dick said, taking a small sip and keenly aware of Bruce staring him down, gauging his reaction. Dick nodded, “It’s pretty damn good, I’ll give them that.”
Bruce smiled, as if he had somehow made the right choice, “Good, I’m glad.”
There’s a tense silence after that, with the background chatter of the restaurant filling in their quiet game of who will fold first.
Dick decides to just say something to break the silence, coinciding with when Bruce also decided he wanted to kick it off.
“Br–”
“Listen, Dick-”
They’re at another standstill, and Bruce cleared his throat and started.
“I just wanted to say, first and foremost, I’m sorry. And I mean it– I truly do. For the fight last night, as well as the night before. WE work has been eating up all my free time and then some this past week, as you saw firsthand, and without my usual sleep, or energy, I’ve been far, far snappier and more irritable than usual. And far more removed.”
Bruce took a second, and kept going, “And I understand that I’ve been putting more pressure on you than I previously thought. But I do it, even if too much, I understand, because I sincerely trust you Dick. Maybe none more so than you, out of all my kids– I mean, you’re my eldest, you’ve been my partner the longest, and we’ve known each other the longest for it. When I asked you to train Tim last night, it’s because I don’t have to worry about you, about how you lead, or what you’ll do. But, in hindsight, just because I don’t have to worry about you, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. In that sense, I realize I’ve maybe treated you less like a son, like I have with the others, and more as an equal. And though I trust you in that sense, the fact remains that I shouldn’t have stripped you of that, shouldn’t have decided for you when you could shoulder the burden without warning.”
Dick was stunned.
Was this… self-awareness? An iota of it? From Bruce Wayne?
Pinch me, he thought, because there’s no way in Hell we’re actually having a civilized, meaningful conversation, especially not in the privacy of the Manor, and it starts off well like this.
Huh.
Just at that gap in the conversation, a perky waitress came over to take their orders. As Bruce ordered the green shakshuka, Dick quickly opened the menu and randomly ordered the smoked salmon and fennel frittata. At least it sounded good, and hey, they must have earned their Michelin stars somehow, right?
As the waitress walked away with their orders, Dick sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously.
“I owe you an apology too– I really got too carried away last night, pushing your buttons not to have a meaningful discussion, but because I wanted a reaction from you at that point.”
At that Bruce chuckled, and Dick dropped his hand.
“Honestly,” Bruce started, “that’s nothing. I mean, you should have seen Jason, and oh God, Tim. And have you seen Damian? Trust me, that’s really nothing new.”
“Still,” Dick started, “I said some pretty hurtful things on my part. Like saying you were being too absent this week, even though, as you said, I firsthand just how much you had on your plate this week. Or for saying that you want me to just be another you. And all the swearing, especially swearing at you. I shouldn’t have said those things– I was angry, and just wanted to push you in a way I knew I could. Downsides of having known each other for so long, right? I know all your buttons, like you do mine, and I went for the jugular just because I wanted to lash out. And that wasn’t right, and I’ve been feeling awful for everything I said all night. I am really, really sorry on my end for what I said as well.”
“I know, and I fully accept it.”
“... What? Wait, hold on, I had a larger speech planned and everything–”
“Dick,” Bruce reached across the table and took one of Dick’s hands in his own, “I mean it. I forgave you long before I walked in here.”
“And I forgave you– I’d forgive you a million times over,” Dick said quickly. As much as he could hate Bruce, and want to sometimes slam some common sense, or emotional vulnerability, WWE-styled into the man’s head, and as many disputes and disagreements they had, they made things work.
But just because he forgave him, doesn’t mean he was going to let bygones be bygones. Not this time.
“I know. And I know I was needlessly cruel and… emotionally obtuse, as Alfred so wondrously pointed out,” Bruce said.
“Alfred did?”
“Dick,” Bruce said with all the seriousness he could muster, looking him in the eyes, “I haven’t gotten such a thorough tongue lashing from Alfred since he found out I tried co*ke in the highschool bathroom with Harvey Dent.”
“... I’m sorry, you did what? With who?” Dick said, shocked out of the conversation they were having.
“That’s irrelevant, and besides the point,” Bruce immediately retracted, waving his hands and trying to play it off, “What I’m trying to say, is that it’s been a very, very long time since Alfred has given me such a stern lesson.”
“Jesus, the fact that he did that on my behalf and it stands on the same pedestal as that is just. Wow. Is there a recording of this other tongue lashing anywhere by chance? Perhaps he recorded it for his own purposes?”
“You’re not getting a hold of the most criminal piece of blackmail against me, no,” Bruce said deadpan. “But yes, Alfred did fight on your behalf, and on his own volition. As a reminder, not only did he help raise you all, but raised me, so you can imagine that he thought I knew better by this point.”
“Huh,” Dick said, leaning back more in his seat.
It’s not that he didn’t believe it, but he knew that Alfred was at least defending him, well, maybe that just meant he wasn’t in the wrong as much as he believed. Or, more likely, Bruce was more in the wrong even when Dick wasn’t home.
“He said something to me too, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it all night,” Bruce confessed, eyes glued to the floor-to-ceiling windows next to their table, giving them a sweeping view of Gotham.
“What was it?” Dick said after a couple seconds of silence, seeing Bruce’s eyes fixate on something in the far distance.
“Do you remember your first night at the Manor?” Bruce asked, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I swore to protect you then, to teach you. But that first night, I’m not sure if you remember, but you were crying yourself to sleep. I came into your room, which seemed so cold and far too large for a kid at that moment, and just rubbed your back, letting you cry in my lap.”
Bruce was still looking away, reminiscing. Dick remembered vividly, a memory he clinged onto desperately in the moments where Bruce seemed above emotion, above that kind of connection. He never was, of course, Dick knew, but sometimes his intensity and penchant for pushing others away made Dick crave to be in that moment again. Even if it was one of pain, it was still one that carried that sweet intimacy of being cared for, of having Bruce be there for him.
He wasn’t a child anymore though. But God, what he would give to relive that moment again, to have that ripe, raw pain of losing his parents, his home, his family, his everything, if it meant having Bruce attempt to sing a lullaby to put him to sleep again, telling him he could cry it out, that he was safe.
When was the last time Bruce ever said those words to him before? Even on a mission, when was the last time Bruce comforted him like that?
But he wasn’t a child, and so Dick violently, internally, shoved the thought aside, as much as it stung him.
“I remember,” Dick said, realizing he never answered Bruce.
“I,” Bruce started, running a hand through his hair, and Dick’s heart dropped at seeing so clearly how exhausted Bruce was. The dark circles under his eyes he expertly hit with makeup, the way his weariness bled through it regardless in his mannerisms.
“I just wonder when I stopped seeing you like that. Like the little kid curled up in my lap, clinging onto Zitka, heartbroken.”
“And when you started seeing me as an adult,” Dick whispered, another pang hitting him from hearing the name of his childhood stuffed animal. And the fact that Bruce remembered it, after all these years.
Bruce stayed silent, contemplating something. Who knew what went on in that man’s head.
At that moment, the waitress came by, expertly setting down their plates in front of them, and soon was on her way as she clocked the tense scene at the table.
Dick looked down at the frittata, and yeah, it did look delicious. When he glanced up, he noticed Bruce was looking at his own plate, but his face was unreadable.
“I still want to talk about where I stand– with you, in the family as a whole,” Dick said, before quickly taking a bite out of his food, a perfect excuse to find his next words.
Bruce finally did look up, expectantly, as Dick chewed his bite. The smoked salmon was heavenly on his tongue, nearly melting as it touched his mouth, and damn, yeah, this was good.
“The comments I made last night, about you wanting me to be another version of you, and that I’m here to be playing babysitter– I regret those words, I truly do Bruce. It was meant to push you, to startle you, and it was needlessly harsh. However,” Dick took a shaky breath, “There’s a nugget of truth in those, a reason I went in that direction. I know I’m really only able to come back on the weekends, but I’m still active in everyone’s life, or as much as I can be. But it feels like I’m mostly there for support, to help out, to fill in the gaps and put out some fires. It would be nice to come back to a home that feels, you know, like a home, rather than a chore. I don’t mind being that, but I just need more balance if I’m going to keep coming back.”
At that last remark, Bruce’s eyes snapped up to meet his. He knew the other had been listening to him the whole time, but the ‘if’ in that last sentence caused Bruce to stumble with his utensils.
“Home feels like a chore to you. It’s another stressor to come back, especially during your only time where you can get away from the stress of Blüdhaven,” Bruce said calmly, saying the words as if they were each a stone he were inspecting, flipping over, in his mind.
Dick could recognize from a hundred miles away when Bruce’s detective mind was acting up. Granted, it typically always was, but Bruce was piecing something together here.
“Yeah,” Dick admitted, feeling ashamed.
“How long have you been feeling this way about coming home? Dreading it?”
“A while,” Dick confessed, “I don’t have a particular turning point or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. But a few months at least, and it’s been building up. I should have said something sooner before I let it boil over, but,” Dick tried to find the next words to string together, but couldn’t.
“But you thought you could bottle it up, thought you could push through it and get used to it,” Bruce answered, nodding. “Yeah, guess I haven’t been the greatest role model in that aspect.”
“It wasn’t necessarily from you,” Dick started, though yeah, a little bit he supposed, “I mean, that all falls on me for not speaking up. I can’t expect you all to be mind readers, or to bend over backwards for me when I come home.”
“It’s not bending over backwards for you for us to say we want your company without the expectation that you help clear up the messes around, without those strings attached,” Bruce said gravely, voice stern and leaving no voice for rebuttal.
“I just was hoping for home to feel more like…,” Dick started, but the sentence split off in his mind like the fibers of a tree branch.
He wanted home to feel like home, but what did that even mean? When he was still coming back for the weekends, but it wasn’t nearly as strenuous as it was now? When it was still lighthearted and easy, when Jason was still Robin, before the incident? When it was just him and Bruce, stumbling their way through navigating how to work together, but learning to trust each other?
“More like a home,” Bruce said, nodding, filling in the blank.
“I know we’ve never been a traditional household though,” Dick said with a slight nervous chuckle, taking another bite of his food.
“Still, if this house feels like it keeps you trapped, if it’s not a place of comfort, for you to feel comfortable returning to no matter the reason, then I’ve failed,” Bruce admitted.
“I’m not trying to say that it’s your fault, it’s purely of my own making–”
“Stop it, Dick. It is. You’re the one who’s lived through nearly everything by my side, with you as my first,” Bruce had to stop himself from saying Robin, realizing they were still in public, “My partner, with Jason, Jason’s death, with Tim, with Damian. If I have pushed you so aside that the house is just simply that, a responsibility, then I’ll spend the rest of my life making up where I went wrong. Because you, Dick Grayson, were the best thing to happen to me.”
Dick didn’t know how to respond.
The best thing to happen to him? Preposterous.
“I see it in your eyes, Dick, and don’t you dare go down that line of thought,” Bruce said, with no intensity behind his voice as he took a bite out of his own food.
“But–”
“No, don’t you dare try. If I didn’t have you, I would have gotten myself needlessly killed years ago. It’s because I have someone who counts on me, depends on me, that I have to come back alive, unscathed, as much as I may give some other reason for it. You brightened my life– you were what was able out the darkness I represent,” Again, tiptoeing around their true business since they were out in public, “And I helped to raise you. You’re my son, through and through, Dick. Just like the others. But you were what was able to get me to that place, of being able to trust others, to know how to help others with your mantle.”
“You never adopted me, not like with them,” Dick found himself saying without thinking.
“What do you mean?”
“I was your ward, and when I turned eighteen legally that fell away. But you adopted the others, made them official. Why not me? What about me made you hesitate to do the same?”
Bruce looked at him, startled, mid-chew. He swallowed his bite, unsure of how to respond, “I… Dick, you know that you’re my son, right? And you always will be, no matter what?”
Dick just looked at him with heavy eyes. “But not legally. Not like you did with Jason, and Tim, and Damian.”
Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then shut it.
“I just don’t think it ever crossed my mind, I’ll be honest,” Bruce said with unflinching honesty, speaking slowly, “When you came with me, you were made my ward because that’s what was the quickest, given your situation, and I needed you with me as soon as possible. And then we got settled, and I never thought more of it. You were my son, still are, emotionally, within the family, that I didn’t care much about the logistics of it. But with the others, it was easier to get that all sorted in a way I couldn’t with you, that I didn’t know how to. It’s unfortunate to say, but it’s true– you were my test run in how to collect children, as Alfred would say. I didn’t think that adoption would be as smooth a process as it was for the others, and especially as you had just lost both of your parents, I didn’t want to push it either, to automatically replace them. It’s a sh*t excuse, but truly, I both didn’t know better, and I never thought more of it, considering you’re all equal to me.”
Dick let the words sink in, and having gotten the answer to a question that had weighed on him for years, he felt oddly lighter.
It wasn’t really a him problem then, it wasn’t because Bruce considered him temporary in the way the others weren’t. It was more a logistics issue, and vital miscommunication.
“Thank you,” Dick said, with a slow nod, looking at Bruce with a soft smile.
Bruce nodded, though was looking down at his lap, where Dick knew he was typing away or looking at something on his phone under the table.
“You like rhubarb, right?” Bruce asked absentmindedly.
“Yeah?” Dick asked, thinking it a wide turn from their conversation, but decided to trust Bruce.
“Rhubarb-strawberry pie sounds alright then for when we go home?”
“What’s the occasion?” Dick asked, knowing better than to take what Bruce said at a ‘just because’ face value.
“Your official adoption– the papers should be finalized within a few minutes from now, once my lawyers send back the paperwork. You’ll have to sign it on the screen, but then it’ll be set.”
“And you said the adoption process would be slower than being a ward?”
“After three successful adoptions, and being the seventh richest man in the world, it’s not like there’ll be any bureaucratic red tape to make this a lengthy process.”
“Huh, guess the money does have its perks aside from spur moment decisions to go to Michelin star restaurants,” Dick said with a small smile.
“And taking the private jet to take a weekend trip to Edinburgh,” Bruce said with a smirk.
“Okay, that was one time, and, love Wally, he needed a weekend to decompress and not be going a thousand miles an hour,” Dick muttered, earning a small snort from Bruce.
“Was it that same weekend that there was a viral video of you drunk singing Kiss Me in a small karaoke bar?”
“Wally was the one who recorded it, in my defense, and sent it as blackmail to… Never mind, yes, that weekend,” Dick said, rolling his eyes.
“Hm,” was all Bruce said, taking another bite out of his shakshuka.
“Hey, I rocked that rendition. It’s truly astounding my career as a singer didn’t take off right after it,” Dick joked.
“Uh huh,” Bruce said, looking at his with that sort of exasperated look he had at times, and Dick recognized it instantly from the endless times Jason said he nearly scratched the Batmobile, or Tim had hacked into the FBI once again, or, well, the list was endless.
“So what was this about an event you have tonight?” Dick said, innocently changing the subject.
“Some dinner that the McLachlan family was having, but I canceled,” Bruce said. It took Dick a second, but he recognized the family name– a wealthy family who owned a pharmaceutical conglomerate, and whose youngest daughter had a crush on Jason in middle school. Oh yes, he remembered the family now.
“And you canceled?”
“I made you a promise yesterday, for your help with the company problem. So, since we haven’t had a proper family dinner, that’s what we’re doing tonight.”
“I hope my notes were useful, though I shouldn’t have stomped out halfway through. I did promise to help, after all,” Dick said, remembering he had been in the middle of going through an endless amount of files, recorded phone call transcripts, and stored text messages.
“Trust me, they were more than useful. It was more than enough to help me piece the last things together, thankfully,” Bruce said with a deep sigh. “I’m just relieved that I can put it past me– truly, it was far more of a headache than it was worth.”
“It looked like it,” Dick confirmed, taking a long sip of the smoothie.
“And I finished up most of my presentation this morning for tomorrow,” Bruce said.
“This morning? When?”
“The exact time is not of importance,” Bruce said, waving it off, but Dick wasn’t that easy to shake.
“So 3am? 4?”
Bruce muttered something that Dick couldn’t quite pick up. “Sorry, what was that?”
“6am,” Bruce grumbled, and Dick gave a large mock gasp.
“Bruce! Truly! You know how vital sleep is– you’ve made all of us read those articles, remember? On the importance of maintaining healthy sleep hygiene?”
“I got two hours of sleep last night, and I’m planning on taking quite the nap later, and conching out tonight,” Bruce said.
Dick didn’t need a translator to know that meant no patrol, and felt only mildly bad that he was probably the reason Bruce couldn’t sleep.
The rest of the brunch passed by with ease– some light banter and conversation as they both finished up their meals, and Bruce wildly overtipping the waitress as he always did.
And, as Bruce had mentioned, he slid his phone to Dick on their way out of the restaurant. “Sign at the bottom, and then we’ll be all confirmed.”
Dick looked down at the phone as if it were the most delicate thing he’s ever held. He messily signed it as best he could given the size of the screen and the fact that he was using his finger, and passed the phone back to Bruce.
“Congrats Dick on being the newest official member of the family. Meaning that if Damian teases you for being the new technically youngest member, there’s only so much I can do to shield you from it.”
Dick smiled, a true, real smile, in what felt like a long while, and surprised Bruce by hugging him tightly.
“Welcome back Master Bruce, Master Dick,” Alfred said with a nod as they entered the Manor. “And Master Dick, Master Jason and Tim found your car this morning not too far away. Master Jason may have had to use some unsavory methods to pry his way in, but it’s sitting in the garage for you.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick said, forgetting he had abandoned his car on the side of the road. And he could imagine that Jason had no less than ten different ways he could be able to get into his car without even trying.
Alfred nodded, and began walking with Bruce towards the kitchen, where Dick hesitated, but decided to follow suit. He still needed to thank the older man for his, uh, talk with Bruce.
Dick could hear the others before he could officially see them– Damian bickering with Tim, from the sounds of it.
The three of them entered the kitchen, and did indeed see Tim and Damian fighting, and Jason leaning against the kitchen island, looking at something on his phone.
Damian whipped around the moment he saw Bruce, “Father, Tim is being idiotic as usual, and will not listen to my advice that would greatly aid his situation.”
“He’s complaining because I’m listening to him when I’m designing MY Pokémon team,” Tim said, rolling his eyes, and Dick spotted the Switch console he was holding.
“Just because you choose blunt force attacks doesn’t mean you’ve optimally designed it– you need other moves to buff your other stats. And you’re choosing your team based on how ‘cool’ you think they are, rather than due to their–”
And just like that, the two were off again, and Dick made eye contact with an exasperated Jason, who must have heard them go off about this for at least a few minutes before they arrived.
“Boys, that’s enough,” Bruce said, which quickly shut the two up.
“Garchomp would still be better than Ampharos for–,” Damian started with a tiny whisper, but a look by Bruce stopped him from going on.
“Well, now that I have all of your attention,” Bruce started, “I just wanted to introduce you all to the newest, officially adopted member of the family.”
“Which child did you find on your way back,” Damian scoffed, looking around.
“Seriously Bruce, we might need to start holding interventions at this rate,” Jason said.
“It’s me, I’m the child,” Dick said, doing a quick wave.
Tim, Jason, and Damian all looked at him with a slightly confused look.
“What do you mean officially adopted?” Damian asked Bruce, though his eyes were still stuck on Dick.
“It means that Dick was officially Bruce’s ward, but not officially his child in the legal sense,” Tim filled in, the only one who seemed to know.
“Timmy’s right,” Dick said, stepping forward, “But that’s been amended as of twenty minutes ago.”
“Which means,” Tim started, “That since I’m restarting the count on Jason’s age after his little dip in the pit, and Damian’s younger than me… Am I officially now the oldest adopted member of this family?”
“No!” Damian shouted.
“f*ck no,” Jason cried out, twisting to face Tim, who was now grinning like a mischievous cat.
“Language,” Alfred and Bruce both said at the same time.
“You are still not the oldest,” Damian started.
“Fine, but I am now the longest adopted,” Tim said with a shrug.
“Boys, this is not a contest, nor should it be made into one,” Alfred said, walking over to the kitchen.
“But hey, congrats Dickie, so glad you’re now officially part of this dysfunctional mess,” Jason said with a crooked smile.
“I’m glad the initiation process only took me over a decade to complete,” Dick joked, earning a small sigh from Bruce.
“None of us would have been able to survive for that long, that’s for sure,” Jason mumbled, and Tim nodded at that statement.
“And for this momentous occasion, I whipped something up as fast as I could. Though given the short notice, it’s nothing fancy,” Alfred said, taking something out of the oven.
“Anything you make is more than enough, and really, we didn’t need to make anything out of it,” Dick said, though he was still more than grateful for it.
“Is this now the equivalent of those ‘gotcha’ days for when you adopt a pet?” Jason quipped.
“Something like that,” Dick said, walking over to join where his brothers were standing around, Bruce at his heels.
And Dick could definitely smell the freshly made rhubarb-strawberry pie now, Christ. The scent was downright sinful, and he had just eaten. All he had really done today was eat, now that he thought about it.
“So, Jason,” Dick started, “Is my car still intact, or do I have to take my car to the mechanic with a shattered window?”
The pie was fantastic, as always, and Dick enjoyed the more relaxed tone the rest of the afternoon took on. Nobody brought up the fact that Dick left in a rush and somehow texted at midnight about being at Clark’s, and he assumed that Alfred either gave them a talking about avoiding the subject matter, or that they were all polite enough to know that that was a sore topic.
Either way, Dick appreciated it.
And it was nice to have a calm afternoon. No training with Bruce’s 80s rock playlist blasting, no major fighting between everyone, and even Tim and Jason seemed to have gotten over their little spat and were on speaking terms again.
Even Tim and Damian were mostly fighting over inconsequential things, and were getting along fairly well in that regard. It was teasing, but more on the playful side, done in such a brotherly way that it made Dick’s heart melt a little, even if he did have to hear their back and forth on which was the best starter Pokémon.
Why they were so hung up about this topic, he didn’t know, but he just framed it as it was nice that they had hobbies outside of beating people up and swinging at lethal heights above a city known for its worrying crime rate.
And of course that meant that Tim was at his capacity it seemed, with no residue remaining from the Mad Hatter fight. Jason seemed less than enthused to have his arm in the slight still, but didn’t complain about it, so that was… progress? A plus?
The afternoon was odd, but in a good way. Dick thought to himself that he could really get used to this again.
When the four of them were lazing around in one of the game rooms, Alfred came by the doorway.
“Master Dick,” he called out, and Dick got up to see him, just as he heard Jason ‘ooh’, as if he were a kid being called to the principal’s office.
“Master Bruce wishes to see you in the Cave,” Alfred said with a small nod, and started to walk away.
“Wait, Alfred,” Dick started, realizing he had, for the first time, the butler alone since he got back.
Alfred turned on his heels and waited for Dick to speak up.
“Bruce didn’t tell me much about last night, just that you had advocated for me when you both spoke. It means a lot to me– I know I was all over the place last night, and fairly disorientated, but I appreciate you having my back. So thank you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for, I was merely voicing my opinions on what I’ve witnessed here. Communication can be more than a hassle at times, but rest assured that I for one cannot stand to see one of mine be made to feel so isolated here, not if I can help it.”
Dick just hugged the older man, who returned the sentiment, before pulling away.
“Now, go see what he wants before he gets crankier than he has been all week,” Alfred said, and with a small nod, disappeared down one of the manor’s endless corridors.
Dick turned, and made his way down to the Cave, mind wandering as to what Bruce could possibly need him for.
“Alfred said you wanted to see me?” Dick asked as he got down to the Cave, seeing the silhouette of Bruce sitting at the wide array of monitors.
“Come here, I need to show you something,” Bruce said, without looking up from where he was sitting.
Dick’s heart stilled for a moment, wondering what Bruce could possibly have, but he bounced his way over regardless, both curious and slightly terrified as to where this could go.
“I’m going to show you something, but you can’t tell the others. I’m trusting you with this, okay?” Bruce said, though it lacked the usual deep, gravely infliction of his Batman voice.
“What’s up, B?” Dick said, taking a seat in the chair next to Bruce’s.
Bruce didn’t answer, instead opting to pull up a mysterious file on the Batcomputer, simply named ‘K’ and entering no less than seven different codes to gain access to it.
That wasn’t ominous at all, even by Bruce’s standards.
Dick just silently watched as the file had four different subfolders. ‘Mint chocolate’, ‘Magic’, ‘Canon,’ and ‘Disney Princess’.
Bruce clicked on the first one labeled ‘Mint chocolate’, and in it was a stash of JPEGs and MP4 files. He clicked on one at random, opening up a picture that Dick didn’t ever remember posing for.
It was him, and Bruce, back when he was still Robin, swinging together side by side, a massive grin on his face, hair wild in the wind. He looked care-free, uninhibited, so much younger. But unmistakably it was of him, and Bruce, looking as gruff as ever. The photo caught them mid-swing, the angle a bit off, but it was still a sweet snapshot.
“When did you take this?” Dick asked quietly, unable to take the eyes off the picture.
“It wasn’t me, it was a lucky shot taken by the Gotham Gazette– they polished it up, got someone with a nice camera to capture it. I just took the file and made a copy of it for here.”
Bruce back-clicked out of it, and clicked on a short video clip, this time taken with a far less professional camera, as the shaky cameraperson caught Dick, once again as Robin, comforting a child smaller than him, unintelligible noises coming from it. The clip lasted no longer than six seconds, and abruptly ended.
“How many of these do you have?” Dick asked, as Bruce lingered on the video a moment longer.
“Anytime a video, or photo, or whatever it may be, comes out, really. I say it’s for purposes of keeping a record, but,” Bruce didn’t need to finish his sentence for Dick to understand. Bruce was never the outwardly sentimental kind of person, but he cared. And this was his way of keeping a time capsule of those memories that he himself couldn’t always capture.
“The folder’s name is ‘Mint Chocolate’,” Dick stated.
“Your favorite ice cream flavor.”
“Magic?”
“Jason– he used to say that being Robin gave him magic.”
“Canon?”
“The company of Tim’s camera that he uses to photograph.”
“And if Damian ever found out you nicknamed him Disney Princess…”
“Not my fault he’s got a soft spot for animals and they seem to flock to him,” Bruce answered gruffly.
Dick just leaned back in his chair, unable to believe that Bruce just had this here. That he had always had this here. A treasure trove of memories, stashed away for his eyes only.
“Why?” Was the only thing Dick could think of saying.
“It helps me after the tough nights,” Bruce quietly admitted, “It’s made by me, for me. And now you’re the only other person to see that this exists. Anytime Blüdhaven reports on Nightwing, with a picture of you doing a flip off a building, or when I got a hold of Tim’s pictures of us before he joined, whatever it may be… It’s all here.”
They just stayed like that, in silence, Dick relishing in the sheer amount of trust it took Bruce for him to show this to Dick.
Dick scolded himself, kicking himself repeatedly for being so tunnel-visioned in his own problems and insecurities that he never saw how tightly Bruce was holding onto him, onto all of them, when they could never see it.
“Have any favorites?” Dick asked, and saw a rare smile grace Bruce’s face.
“There’s this one I have of Jason when he was young, and he got dumped with this yellow glitter that took forever to scrub off of his costume,” Bruce said, clicking open the ‘Magic’ folder and scrolling down. And he kept scrolling down. Jesus, how many files did he have here?
“If Jason ever figures out you have this,” Dick started.
“And he never will, with some hope,” Bruce said, pulling up the image of indeed, a small preteen Jason covered head to toe in glitter, and yet still beaming.
“If he does, you can trust that it wouldn’t be from me,” Dick said, admiring the photo with deep fondness.
“I appreciate it,” Bruce replied, leaving the photo up as they both took in the smiling boy, and Dick drew Bruce’s attention by snickering.
“If I framed this and put it in his safehouse, how quickly do you think it would take for him to burn all of Gotham to the ground?”
“Oh, I give him twenty minutes max.”
“I say fifteen,” Dick replied, crossing his arms. “Are you sure I can’t just get this one printed out?”
“No.”
“What if I told the others that you did co*ke with–”
“Hey! We were having a moment!”
“Never said it was off-limits!”
“It’s off-limits now,” Bruce huffed, and Dick couldn’t help but laugh at the other’s expression.
“Sure old man,” Dick teased.
They continued looking through some of the photos, and Bruce proudly displayed the latest one of Damian’s, of him meticulously watercoloring in the museum from yesterday morning.
“How exactly did you get this?” Dick asked, an eyebrow going up.
“The museum’s security cameras aren’t hard to hack,” Bruce confessed.
“That’s isn’t creepy in the slightest,” Dick mumbled.
“If it helps, I was just reviewing some of the footage last night after you had left. I noticed your car never left Bristol, so sue me for being nervous, especially so soon after Tim and reviewing everything I could.”
“You noticed?”
“Of course I did,” Bruce said as if it were the easiest thing in the world, “But I’ll admit, I wasn’t going to say something about it first, and besides, I had your phone pinged and picked up the signal at Clark’s. Figured you would be as safe there as you could be.”
“You knew I was at Clark’s.”
“I’m not sorry for being paranoid after everything from this weekend,” Bruce said.
“No, no, I’m not insinuating… Just, damn. Had I known that you knew, I wouldn’t have felt so bad about ditching my car and leaving with him.”
“You still should, and should’ve texted me sooner. And if not me, then somebody else at least.”
“I know, but it… Is it dumb of me to say that it genuinely slipped my mind?”
“I’ll let it pass this once.”
“I’m an adult,” Dick said with a half-teasing long sigh.
“And you’re still my son, and my Robin,” Bruce quipped.
Dick couldn’t really argue with that, so he shrugged and gave up the argument. Until he backtracked and realized–
“Oh sh*t, I forgot to give you your postcard!”
“You gave it to me alright,” Bruce said, and Dick winced, remembering that yeah, he did harshly slap it down on Bruce’s desk when he stormed off. “And it’s in my room. Thank you for it, really. It’s sweet that you thought of me.”
“You didn’t immediately rip it to shreds after our fight?”
“I’ll admit, I was tempted on first impulse, but,” Bruce shifted in his seat a bit, leaning forward on the desk, “I picked it up, and it was as fragile to me as an egg just then. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than set it aside. Alfred must have found it, because he placed it in my room at some point.”
Dick hesitated before saying, “I saw it, and it made me think of you. Under other circ*mstances, I would have given it to you in a more, ah, heartfelt manner.”
“I still very much appreciate it,” Bruce said with a nod, looking up at the monitor where the photo of Damian at the museum still was on the screen, “I didn’t even realize they had those.”
“I mean, come on, Batman’s as iconic as it gets in Gotham, and that includes the Bat Signal,” Dick said, nudging him from his seat.
The postcard he had found was one of a photograph, similar to Tim’s, but of a beautifully photographed skyline view of Gotham, with a signal, glowing Bat signal lighting up the sky.
“Hm,” Bruce grunted, back to his more usual methods of communicating.
“Though still creepy that you have this photo of Damian,” Dick said, eyes flicking back up to the screen.
“It’s rare to get a photo of him so at peace,” was all that Bruce said as explanation.
Which was true enough, Dick figured.
They stood there together, the two of them, in the quiet of the Batcave, as Bruce silently perused some more of the photos, including some group photos they took all together last Christmas.
Dick couldn’t help but smile, and didn’t say anything that he noticed Bruce with his typical stone-cold defenses down, looking lost in thought and stricken with something akin to nostalgia in looking at them.
A sudden alarm rang out from the monitor, along with a message from Commissioner Gordon appearing.
“Batman, it looks like Mr. Freeze is back in town and looking for trouble. Sighting spotted at the corner East 14th and Virginia Street, requesting backup immediately.”
Bruce, within a fraction of a second, shot up to his feet, clicking out of the forbidden folder, and answered the call, simultaneously sounding the alarm.
“Sorry Dick, I know I promised a night in–”
“You kidding? This beats sneaking around a musty warehouse like last time,” Dick said with his signature smooth shrug.
He could hear the others sprinting their way down to the Cave, and couldn’t help but really smile.
This time, he was looking forward to all of them out together again. This time, he was looking forward to whatever the night brought them. This time, he was ready.
