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Dick's calloused fingers tap against his knees as a rough, yet diligent hand scrubs the veins out of his back. His teeth, having transformed from the stuff of billboards to the stuff of Halloween costumes, chitters nervously.
He has found himself in the basin, gently rocking back and forth against its blue rims while the hand above him made his back a punching bag. Bruce is trying his best; he knows that it's just he shouldn't have right now.
The basin, the act of bathing, is something of Dick's. He was the lycanthrope-washer, the one strong enough to manhandle all his siblings into cleanliness, aka, washing blood and pests off of their precious fur. It was a thing between the man and his mother and, just like Robin, it became the communal ugly sweater of a large family.
The tradition started with Jason, bright eyed and gap-toothed Jason. It was back when Jason had spent a little over 10 months being Robin. His fur stunk like bitch, triggering a gag session the second the young passed by in that form. At some point, in some manner, Dick wrestled Jason into the sky-blue basin. It was big enough for leg room but small enough for no escape.
"Why are you doing this?" Grumbled Jason, begrudgingly staying put as Dick masterfully washed the living daylights out of him. Dick just smiled between mountains of fur and soap suds, a little huff out of him. "Well, A, you both smell like and look like the plague." A splash of soapy water heads Dick's way and a 5th helping of shampoo squirts on Jason's head. "And B... Us werewolves have to be extra careful with our hair or rather fur. Parasites are easier to get when you fight crime, and we both know how bad things get when we are sick with them." After each weekly wash, Jason's tense shoulders would drop. So would the young man's eyes and the barriers of his mind. Washing the man's hair connected them spiritually, until it hadn't. Death, like a gladiator, killed the tradition with it's taking of Jason. The blue, just bought, basin sat somewhere in the garage. Dick could never bring himself to touch the thing, not until his little brother is back. Not until Jason came back and wanted to see him. Only then had the smell of mint filter the air and Jason's bruised, bloodied back got that wash. It was only then could Dick pour his heart with Jason's back turned. The gentle rumble of Jason's purr rumble against Dick's hand.
The revival of Robin came with the revival of the basin wash. Dick was visiting Gotham and had freshly argued with Bruce. He was pissed, furious and was just about ready for a quick walk until he was snapped with the sight of a corpse-like being. The ghoulish creature's pale blue eyes were glassy, downturned and had the look of a shark. Its skin was translucent, just enough to know the colour of his bones, muscles and veins. It limped about, groaning and moaning into its lonesome monster energy can. Tim was freshly out of training with Lady Shiva, or so Dick had heard. One look from Dick and Tim already knew he was going to get the Jason treatment.
"Dick. I will bite you. I swear to God, if you go anywhere close to me, I'll bite you. I'll bite your hands." Tim got wrestled into the basin, swishing and dragging around in the thing. "I don't need this! I can handle....handle..ha...zzzz"
*His face nearly fell flat on the water, snoozing the second Dick's magic fingers wooed the man to sleep.
Damian himself was a battle between wills and patience. It was a bloodied, high-staked happening. Damian loves baths, he just prefers baths that don't contain every pathogen known to mankind. "LET GO OF ME THIS ONCE! I REFUSE TO SUCCUMB TO A PREVENTABLE DISEASE YOU TWAT. "
The souls of the tortured echoes against the walls of the bathroom. Bathing is meat to keep a person clean, and now, Damian was being forced to become well acquainted with the 90 000 pathogens his brothers had been plagued with. Dick could only wrestle the boy into the water, obtaining bites and scratches and the shrieks of the undead. It was in that same blue basin that Damian fought to get into as of late. He'd embark on competition for the prize of getting head scratches in that familiar blue basin with Tim and, at times, Jason. Sometimes, he'd purposefully get dirty or just flat out ask for ever-laxing scrub down.
The basin gently rocks with the movements of the one in it and the one washing him. It was Dick's turn to be in that basin with its little cracks and decisive shape. He tries to find some semblance of the closeness he gave his brothers, and once, sister. He tried to find it within himself to appreciate the rougher than needed scratches behind his ear and the sterile smell of the disinfectant on his coat. He can't, it's impossible with Bruce. He tells himself that it should be there since Bruce is his dad, had always been his dad and shall always be but how is that remotely possible when this is the only time he cared? When was this behaviour when he was younger? Where was the tenderness he needed back then when he lost his brother? Dick tells himself that Bruce was young and it is his first time living but it was also his first time living when it had all happened. The man's rough hands grow close to his muzzle, scrubbing the living daylights out of the top of his nose. There was no gentleness with Bruce. It did not reside in his words, nor does it rest with his hands. His loving is aggressive, his anger a more harrowing thing. Dick had wasted 15 years of his life waiting for Bruce to change, to be what he needed but was only met with disappointment when it had only arrived 19 years after the two met. Dick could barely control the anger bubbling in his throat, could barely control the rocking of the basin and the man he needed to change but had never changed for him.
The basin tipped over. It broke in half. Dick had only been able to see Bruce right then: the wrinkles starting to carve into his wooden face, the grey shirt over the body of a brick house and the fashion crime of socks and sandals. Bruce had changed, become tender and warm, but not for him. Never for him.
"Dick, are you okay?"
His eyes jot down to the broken basin. Nearly everyone took a trip to the basin, and he was just about planning to scrub down Duke for all tradition's sake. It's impossible now, at least, impossible with the current basin situation. He wants to get angry with Bruce, to lash out and growl and kick him out of the apartment but it's impossible for him now.
"I'm fine, just go, I'll buy a new one."
Dick had never seen Bruce looked panicked, look worried for him. It had always been between silence, fighting or some other action. Now, the two just stood between the suds that flowed between them. It was just them and the filtered light from a window.
"I'm sorry."
He said it too late.
"No need. I'll handle everything."
"Dick, I know we've never had the best relations, but I am trying."
"I know."
It was Dick who turned first, morphing into his normal human shape and wrapping a towel over himself. He feels older than he is at that moment, cutting the ties between him and his father.
"I just wish you tried for me just once."
"Dick..."
"Just go Bruce, I'll call you later."