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Dick groans, putting the book down on his stomach. He’d claim to be reading it, but he’s looked over the exact same page like eight times now and absorbed none of it.
“How does Jason like this stuff?” He wonders aloud, looking over at Conner, who’s playing with soft blocks on the floor. “You know how he does it, Conner?”
Conner looks up at him, then grins a big, gummy smile before picking up a block and waving it around.
“Yeah, me neither.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, then glares down at John Steinbeck’s name. “This sucks. Why do we have to read this and not something cool?”
Conner babbles a bit, then picks up another block and smacks it into the first.
“... I guess you don’t really care. You can’t read.”
Conner buzzes his lips, then drops his blocks, watching as they each bounce once. He giggles, clapping his hands. Dick huffs in amusement, then pauses when he hears his ringtone. He pulls the flip phone Bruce got him out of his pocket, his heart skipping a beat when he sees Barbara’s name on the caller ID.
Not because it’s her, obviously. That would be weird, and dumb. He just… has a heart murmur, or something. Yeah.
He sits up, then answers the phone.
“H-Hey, Barbara!” He says, wincing at how his voice cracks.
“Hey, Dick! Sorry I didn’t call you last night.”
“That’s okay. What was your dad on your case about, anyway?”
He hears Barbara let out a loud, exasperated groan, then an oomph— probably her landing on her bed.
“Mom called last night,” she says after a long minute.
Dick’s eyebrows rise.
“Oh. Uh… how… how is she?” He asks.
“Dunno. Didn’t talk to her.” A pause. “I… talked to James, though.”
Dick clears his throat.
“How’s he doing? He’s… ten now, right?”
“Yeah. Fifth grade. He’s… he’s good, I think. Not… he’s doing better.”
“That’s good. Being out of Gotham seems like it’s good for him.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Barbara’s quiet for a second, then clears her throat. “Anyway, what did you wanna talk about last night?”
“Oh, yeah, I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to the movies on Saturday.”
“Ah… I’m… actually going to the movies with Sam that day.”
Dick’s heart drops into his stomach.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “I see.”
“Sorry. We could do something else another day?”
Dick forces himself to cheer up a little.
“Yeah! There’s this cool retro arcade thing at the mall we could go to on Sunday.”
“... Dick, Sunday is Father’s Day.”
Dick’s stomach turns.
“Oh. Right. I…” He swallows. “I forgot. Um. I guess… you’re spending it with your dad, right?”
“Yeah, uh, we’re going to see a baseball game.” She clears her throat. “I… guess you and Mr. Wayne aren’t doing anything this year either, huh?”
Dick tries not to wince.
“It’s not… B and I aren’t like that. He’s not my… he’s my guardian. It’s different.”
“Okay,” Barbara says in her rare “I don’t agree, but I don’t wanna argue with you on this” voice. “But you really aren’t doing anything different this year? I mean, now that Jason, Tim, and Conner are around…”
Dick rolls his eyes.
“He’s not Jason or Tim’s dad either. And Conner is a baby, he can’t do anything—”
One of Conner’s soft blocks lands on his stomach. He blinks, then glances over at Conner, who has apparently crawled about three feet away from him and is giggling like he’s just been told a fantastic joke.
“... huh. Didn’t know he could do that,” he mutters to himself.
“What?”
“Nothin’, just baby stuff. Anyway, I doubt we’re gonna do anything special. We never have before.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Babs, I’m sure,” Dick says, rolling his eyes. He then clears his throat. “Anyway, what days do you have coding camp next week?”
“I’m free on Thursday,” she replies.
“Great, we can go to the mall then.”
“Sounds— wait, it’s not the lame mall where we have to take my dad with us, is it?”
“Nah, it’s the cool one. No offense, Barbara, but I don’t really want to hang out with your—”
One of Conner’s soft blocks smacks him in the face.
“Ow!” He exclaims, although it barely hurts. He glares at Conner, who just giggles.
“What was that?”
“Conner’s being a menace,” Dick tells her.
“Aw, c’mon, he’s so cute! How could he ever be a menace?”
“You don’t know what he’s like when he’s hungry,” Dick mutters. As if on cue, he hears Conner’s stomach growl. Conner whines, his lower lip jutting out. “Speaking of which, I should get Alfred to give us lunch.”
“Okay. Text me later?”
Dick’s heart does a stupid little flip in his chest. Indigestion, he decides.
“Y-Yeah, I’ll… I’ll do that,” he promises. “Bye.”
They hang up, and Dick sighs, leaning back against the couch.
It’s nothing. He doesn’t… he’s not…
It would be too weird, he reminds himself. So it’s not happening.
Conner whines again, and Dick looks down at him with a smile.
“Alright, let’s get something to eat, huh?”
Conner responds by reaching out his arms and making grabby hands. Dick gets up from the couch, walking over and crouching down to pick him up.
“Oof. You’re getting heavy, man, what’s Alfred feeding you?”
Conner babbles as if in response, then sticks some of his fingers in his mouth and starts drooling.
“You’re so weird,” Dick says affectionately before adjusting him on his hip. “C’mon, time for lunch.”
Conner hums around his fingers, laying his head on Dick’s shoulder as he carries him over to the kitchen. Just as he’s about to enter, though, he hears voices coming from inside.
“... you think it’s not… too much? Or— or weird?”
“I think that both Bruce and Mr. Kent would be honored, Master Jason. They both care for you very much.”
Dick frowns, walking into the kitchen.
“What’s going on in here?” He asks.
“Ah, Dick,” Alfred greets him, “Master Jason was just telling me—”
“Nothing!” Jason interrupts. His face is red in the way it gets when he gets all embarrassed about being vulnerable, which is weird. “I’m gonna go, bye!”
Jason practically runs out of the kitchen. Dick furrows his brow, looking over at Alfred.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing, apparently,” Alfred replies. “Now, I assume you and Master Conner would like some lunch?”
“Yeah, that would be great. Plus I gotta text Clark later.”
“May I ask why?”
“Conner threw a couple of his blocks at me.”
“Well, that’s not ideal, but he is a baby.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think he could do that until just now.”
Alfred hums.
“Fair enough, he’d probably like to know. But for now, you both should eat. Ham and cheese as usual, I assume.”
“You know it, Alfred.”
Conner gurgles.
“And something with mangoes on the side for Conner, probably.”
“Of course,” Alfred says, sounding amused.
The energy for most of the day is… kinda weird. Jason seems strangely nervous all day— he keeps glancing at Bruce and Clark, then looking away before they can look at him.
It’s probably nothing. Jason is like, super anxious a lot of the time— he reminds him of a lot of the kids he was with in the foster program before Bruce got him out. He’s probably worried about starting a new school or something.
So Dick doesn’t think too much about it. Bruce and Clark don’t seem perturbed so it’s probably fine. And they’re happy, what with it being Conner’s first Father’s Day and all. Sure, he can’t really do much, but it’s nice to see them happy.
It’s all good. Nothing abnormal.
At least, that’s what he thinks before he hears Jason talking to Clark and Bruce in the living room when it’s almost time for dinner.
“... did you want to talk about, Jason?” He hears Clark asks.
“Um, I…” Jason takes a breath. “I know it’s kinda… weird, and maybe you won’t want to, but I-I talked to Leila about it and she said if I wanted to ask then I should just ask—”
“Jason,” Bruce interrupts, “it’s alright. What do you want to ask us?”
Jason is quiet for a few minutes. Dick is about to poke his head around the corner to look at him when he finally speaks up.
“I was… thinking maybe I could start calling you guys dad and pa?”
Dick’s stomach drops. He doesn’t dare move from his spot, not even to look at Clark and Bruce’s faces.
“Oh,” Clark says, sounding surprised. “I… well, that’s— that’s very sweet, Jason, but…”
“... but?” Jason prompts, sounding sad.
“No, no, I’m not saying no, I just—”
“What Clark means to ask is if you’re sure,” Bruce interrupts. “You don’t have to call us anything you don’t want to.”
“But I do want to,” Jason insists. “I… even before he left, my old dad was… he wasn’t really the greatest guy, I don’t think.”
“Jason…”
“Dads are… supposed to make you feel safe, and— and cared for, and… that’s how you guys make me feel, so…” He hears Jason’s feet shuffle against the floorboards. “Is… that okay?”
There’s silence for a second, then the sound of two people getting off the couch and footsteps on the floorboards. Dick hears a soft collision a second later.
“Of course it is,” Bruce says quietly.
“We’d be honored, kiddo.”
Dick swallows, then peers around the corner to see Bruce and Clark hugging Jason.
Suddenly, he’s not hungry anymore. As quietly as possible, he rushes off to the elevator, making his way back to his room and slipping inside.
His heart is racing in his chest, his breath a little too fast.
It’s not— Bruce and Clark aren’t—
They’re not supposed to be their—
He already had—
There’s a knock at the door.
“Dick?” He hears Clark call on the other side. “It’s— it’s time for dinner. You gonna come down?”
Dick clears his throat.
“I’m… not really hungry.”
“Oh. Are you alright? You’re not feeling sick, are you?”
“No, just— not hungry. I’ll eat later, okay?”
“... well alright,” he hears Clark murmur. He thinks he might sound a little disappointed, and his stomach turns. “I’ll… tell Alfred to keep yours warm, then. We’re watching a movie later if you want to come down.”
“Uh, y-yeah, maybe,” Dick says.
He thinks he hears Clark exhale on the other end, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything. Dick hears him walk away, his stomach churning with guilt.
But Clark isn’t— Bruce isn’t—
They’re not supposed to be his—
And they’re not supposed to look at him like he’s their—
He doesn’t want them to be his—
Dick groans, leaning up against the wall and sliding down before burying his face in his knees.
“Crap,” he mutters to himself.
Eventually, he gets hungry enough that he slips down to the kitchen. Alfred left his meal in the oven, so he’s able to eat by himself while the others watch a movie. Clark at least probably hears him, but he guesses he’s doing that whole “don’t push too much” thing again.
Whatever. It’s fine, Clark’s not his—
Dick stuffs more of Alfred’s baked chicken in his mouth so he doesn’t finish that thought.
When he finishes eating, he peers out into the living room, noting that Bruce isn’t there.
Which usually means he’s in the cave, doing Batman stuff.
That… would be good, he thinks. Normal. Not weird and different and confusing.
So, he slips past everyone, then heads down to the cave, where Bruce is working on something on the Batcomputer— files, he thinks. He’s already in the suit, though his cowl is down.
“... hey,” he says after a minute.
Bruce glances at him over his shoulder,
“You didn’t come down for dinner,” he says.
“I wasn’t hungry right then. Had some leftovers before I came down,” Dick replies.
Bruce hums.
“... was that the only reason?” He asks.
Dick thins his lips, then glances away.
“It’s fine, Bruce. I’m fine.”
Bruce doesn’t speak for a minute. Dick’s stomach churns a little.
“... if you say so,” he finally says. Dick holds back a sigh of relief; Bruce would probably start questioning him again, and that would be weird and dumb.
Instead, neither of them speak for a long minute.
“... did you find anything on the mystery vigilante?” Dick asks.
“Not much,” Bruce replies. “Mostly the same as before: they usually intervene in crimes involving children, then disappear before anyone can get a good look at them. Anyone they attack has either been unable to provide a description… or unwilling to.”
“Why would they be unwilling to do that?”
“Not sure. Normally if a low level criminal refuses to talk about who subdued them, it’s out of fear: their attacker is higher up in a rival organization, or in their own. However, the vigilante hasn’t been picky about their targets.” Bruce brings up a map of the Narrows with little orange pins on it, showing the divide between Cobb and Bertinelli territory. “They’ve been striking all over the Narrows, without regard for who owns what.”
“You think they’re on their own?”
“Almost certain of it.” Bruce leans forward a bit. “But that doesn’t explain why the people they’ve subdued are refusing to give a description.”
Dick hums.
“... maybe it’s embarrassing?” He suggests. “Like, a lot of people claim you’re the one that got them, even though it was actually me who took them out. Nobody wants to admit they got beat up by a kid.”
Bruce frowns.
“It’s… possible,” he muses. “The scan I did showed the figure wasn’t very tall. Still, they’d be very young for the training they did.”
“You trained me.”
“I didn’t train you exactly the way I was trained. This vigilante… I recognize some of their techniques. The way they strike, the way they hide— I was taught the same things in the League of Assassins.”
Dick swallows the sudden lump in his throat.
“Does… does the League train kids?”
“Not while I was there. Assassins were forbidden from having relationships or children, and everyone who sought out the temple was an adult.” Bruce thins his lips. “Still, that was a while ago. It’s possible things have changed, or that Ra’s made… allowances, in order to find new ways of making better assassins.”
“... what are you gonna do?” Dick asks. “If they do turn out to be a kid.”
“... I don’t know,” Bruce admits. “They haven’t done anything wrong— nothing you and I haven’t done, at least.”
“I mean, they have kinda been putting more people in the hospital than we do.”
“I’m not sure I can judge,” Bruce deadpans. He leans forward a bit. “Still, I’m not entirely convinced they’re a child. It could simply be someone rather small, but fully grown.”
“That doesn’t seem super—”
An alert goes off on the computer, cutting Dick off. Bruce clicks on it, and a red dot appears over the docks.
“Penguin trying to take territory from the Bertinellis again?” Dick asks.
“No, it looks like an upstart gang this time.” Bruce rises out of his seat, pulling his cowl over his head and walking toward his bike.
“Whoa, hey, give me a minute to get changed first!”
“You’re not coming.”
“What?! Why not?”
“You know the deal, Dick. You were supposed to finish three chapters last week, and you only marked off two.”
“B, c’mon, I’m not even getting graded on this!”
“There’s a quiz at the beginning of the school year.”
“How do you— ugh, they send you that kind of thing?”
“Keeps you accountable,” Bruce answers.
Dick rolls his eyes.
“Whatever. I can just ask Jason for a summary, he actually likes all that old literature stuff!”
“We’ve already discussed this. You can’t use Jason to do your homework for you.”
“But I’m giving him an opportunity to read a book for a good cause! It’s practically charity!”
“It is absolutely not charity, and I’m tempted to sign you up for volunteer work so you’ll realize that.” Bruce glances at him over his shoulder. “No buts, and no alternative solutions, Dick. The only way you’re getting out is if you read two more chapters by tomorrow.”
Dick groans.
“This is so unfair!”
“You agreed to my terms. There’s nothing unfair about this.” Bruce gets onto his bike. “Now head back upstairs.”
“Seriously? I can’t even hang out in here?”
“No. Not after last time.”
Dick groans again.
“Come on, it was one grappling hook.”
“A very expensive grappling hook, one that took a lot of time and effort to make while fudging documentation.” Bruce turns away and gets on his bike. “I’d suggest getting started on those chapters while I’m gone.”
Before Dick can even argue, he starts up the bike, then races off into the tunnel. Dick grumbles, kicking at the ground.
“Jerk,” he mutters before letting out a long, aggrieved sigh.
He supposes that he should get upstairs. If he hangs out here, Bruce will know; Dick isn’t sure whether he’s bugged the place or is just crazy observant, but it’s gotten him in trouble before. He turns toward the elevator, only to stop when another alert goes off on the Batcomputer.
“What the…” He walks over to the computer, leaning over and clicking on the alert. A red dot appears over a warehouse in the Penguin’s territory, where someone called in about a possible drug deal. Small gangs, but one of them is Penguin-affiliated, which means possible Bliss-pushing.
Dick swallows, glancing away.
He shouldn’t. It’s one of the big rules— maybe the biggest rule for Dick personally.
Bruce will be so mad if he does this, even if he’s successful.
But… if he is successful, he would have kept drugs off the streets. Maybe Bruce wouldn’t be so mad then?
Dick thinks about it, then makes a face.
… no, he’ll be pissed. But it might be worth him being pissed if it means helping people.
And if it means that Bruce will think of him more as his partner in crime-fighting than—
Dick swallows again, then, with a deep breath, walks over to the Robin Cycle. He kneels down, feeling around underneath it until he finds the tracking device he knows Bruce put on there when he first got it. He pulls it out, then gently places it on the ground a little under a foot in front of it— close enough that if Bruce bothers to check remotely, it won’t show up as having moved. Then, he walks over to the lockers, opening his and getting the Robin suit down. This one is a little harder to get out, since it’s sewn into the “R,” but he manages to pull it out without damaging it or the suit.
His heart races in his chest, his brain shouting over and over about how much trouble he’s going to be in.
But it’ll be worth it. He just knows it.
So, he puts the tracker back into the locker, then takes out the suit.
He’s got a job to do, and Bruce’s stupid rules about stupid books aren’t gonna stop him.
The warehouse is quiet, at least from where Dick’s perched. It was easy to get in— barely any security from either side. Total amateur hour from guys who are supposed to have the Penguin’s backing.
Doesn’t really matter, though. It makes it all the easier for Dick to take them down.
He peers down from his place on the catwalk, watching as the two groups approach each other. He knows the drill by now: they’ll do a whole subtle-ish fight for dominance cause they’re all super insecure, and then when one group has the upper hand they’ll get down to the exchange. That’s when Robin strikes. He’ll take them all out, and then alert the police.
Then Bruce, even though he’s going to be pissed, will have to admit that Dick did a good job, and then maybe he’ll see him as an equal in crimefighting, instead of— of—
One of the guys opens his coat. Probably showing off some overpriced, over-modified gun in his holster. The other guy shows off what’s probably an equally-overpriced and over-modified gun.
They’re distracted. Time to move.
Dick’s not as good as Bruce at stealthily taking people out, but he’s good enough to get these guys incapacitated. He taught him exactly how to knock people out in the most effective, quietest way, and one by one they go down as if they’d just fallen asleep.
The two head honchos don’t notice, of course. Not until he’s nearly got the last one out. Just a little too close and the guy yelled just a little too loud.
“Hey!” One of the two yells, thrusting his hand into his coat. Dick propels himself off the henchman’s shoulders, his knee colliding with the head honcho’s nose. He goes down in a heap, and Dick kicks his gun away before moving to take out the other guy’s legs from under him. He groans on the ground, and Dick wipes his hands against each other, unable to stop himself from grinning at the thought of—
He hears a yell, ducking just in time to not get whacked by the henchman he didn’t manage to knock out.
“Aw, shit,” he mutters to himself before glancing at the exit. With the rest of these bozos out, he could probably just knock this last guy out and run for it, alert the cops from a distance—
“Whoa!” He ducks again, just barely managing not to get brained. He backs up, hitting a wall and raising his hands as if trying to ward the guy off.
Obviously, he’s not scared. Bruce taught him how to get out of situations like this a long time ago.
The henchman smacks the wrench against his palm as he approaches him. Dick pretends to swallow the lump in his throat, waiting for just the right moment, watching as the guy raises the wrench to swing—
Now.
Dick bursts forward, punching the guy right in the gut. He doubles over, the wrench falling out of his hands and clattering to the ground as Dick kicks him in the face. Once he’s sure he’s out cold, he makes a break for it. Before he can get out of the warehouse, though, another one grabs him and tries to pull him back, though a kick to his arm takes care of that. He’s almost to the exit when—
BANG!
A bullet whizzes by his head, so close that it probably hit the very ends of his hair. He freezes, his heart rabbiting in his chest as he slowly turns around.
“That’s enough of that,” the head honcho that he apparently didn’t manage to knock out says. Dick swallows hard, slowly raising his hands.
“Easy,” he tries. “I… let’s not be too hasty—”
The guy points his gun right at Dick’s head.
“No, I don’t think so,” he says. “You know what kinda boost I’d get if the boss knew I clipped your wings? Or even better, used you to get to the Bat?”
Dick bites back a whimper, trying to figure out if he can somehow activate the panic button without this guy flipping out. It’s on his belt, so he’d have to reach down, which might make him antsy—
A shadow descends from the sky and kicks the guy right in the head. Dick blinks, watching as his gun skitters across the floor. He groans, glaring up at the figure.
“You little—”
The shadow kicks him in the face. Then, as if for good measure, stomps on his outstretched hand. Even Dick winces at the way he howls in pain, but he doesn’t start rushing over until the shadow does it a second, then a third time.
“Hey, hey, he’s done!” Dick tells them, grabbing their shoulder, only having a brief moment to recognize how small they are. He knows within seconds it’s a bad move, and not just because he immediately has to duck a backfist. “Whoa, hey, easy!”
He bends backward to avoid getting kicked in the face, then twists to avoid it again. The third time, they manage to get him off balance and flop onto his stomach. He groans, then opens his eyes to see them running out of the warehouse.
“Hey, wait!” Dick yells, scrambling to his feet and running after the figure. Either they don’t hear him, or are purposely ignoring him, since they don’t stop or even acknowledge that he’s said anything. They jump up onto a box, using it to hop onto a wire fence and climb over it. Dick follows as closely behind as he can, but they’re fast; he can’t falter for a second without risking losing them altogether. “I just wanna talk!”
They still seem to be ignoring him, and Dick grits his teeth. He figures that he’s either going to be chasing them all night, or he can do something that’ll slow them down.
So, he grabs one of the net rope capsules out of his belt, winds up, and throws. It hits them right on the back, expanding and capturing them, and they go down in a heap. Dick slows to a stop, exhaling with relief.
“Okay,” he says to himself, “now we can get somewhere.”
He walks over to them, noting again just how tiny they are— not much bigger than Jason, he thinks. His stomach turns as his suspicions flare up again, but he squashes them down as he turns the figure over. The figure struggles, trying to pull their arms away from their body.
“Easy,” Dick tells them as he crouches down. “I just wanna talk.”
The figure keeps on trying to get out, as if they hadn’t heard him at all. Now that he’s looking, he notices that the hoodie they’re wearing is kinda ratty and maybe a size too big.
“Can’t we talk?” He asks again. The sound of his voice finally gets their attention, and they look up; Dick notes that they have dark, almond-shaped eyes and messy black hair. It kinda looks like Jason’s did when Bruce first brought him home, except straight instead of wavy. The lower half of their face is covered by a black mask, like ones people wear when they’re sick.
They’re also bleeding from the forehead.
“Oh, shoot!” Dick says. He reaches out to get them up. “Here, let me—”
The figure squirms away, eyes sharp with anger.
“I’m trying to help!” Dick says. The figure keeps glaring at him. Dick sighs, then fishes a Robin-rang out of his belt. This apparently was the wrong thing to do, because the figure’s eyes go wide and they start trying to squirm again. “I’m not going to hurt you!”
The figure seems unconvinced, still glaring at him and trying to get out of the ropes. Dick sighs, then holds up his hands.
“I promise, I won’t do anything to hurt you. I just wanna help.”
The figure eyes him for a long minute. More blood flows down their face.
Then, they relax just a little. Dick exhales, then pulls on one of the ropes and cuts them loose. They sit up, still looking suspicious but not trying to fight him.
Dick stands and offers them a hand.
“C’mon, there’s a vending machine around here.”
The figure stares at him, but follows along when he starts walking. It only takes a minute to get to the vending machine, which Dick is really happy is still working because he hasn’t actually been here in a while.
Or he is until he sees the prices.
“Three bucks for a bottle of water?!” He exclaims. “That’s like, extortion or something!”
He looks over at the figure, gesturing at the machine.
“Can you believe this?”
The figure blinks at him.
“... right,” he mutters, digging out a few dollar bills from the emergency cash Bruce makes him carry around. He’s getting low, he’ll have to ask for more soon. He puts the money in the machine, makes the selection, then gets the bottle once it’s out. He turns and points to a nearby bench.
“Sit down, it’ll make this easier.”
The figure eyes him suspiciously again, but goes to the bench and sits. He follows her over, putting the water bottle down, then sits down next to them. Dick pushes back the hoodie, and—
His stomach twists.
“Oh,” he murmurs faintly, “I was right.”
The figure— the girl with the hood is a kid. Probably not that much older than Jason.
“How did this happen to you?” He asks quietly.
The girl just stares at him. The wound’s stopped bleeding, but it still looks pretty bad.
“Right, okay, should clean that up first.” He turns to his belt, opening the pocket with the mini first aid kit and getting out a pair of clean, nitrite gloves. He switches his regular gloves out for them, then reaches for the figure’s face. “You might want to close your eyes.”
She doesn’t. Dick sighs, then moves to look at the cut. It’s not deep, and as far as he can tell there’s nothing in it, so he gets out the tiny bottle of soap and tilts the girl’s head back. He gently washes the cut, then rinses it out.
The girl doesn’t react at all. Honestly, it’s kinda unnerving how calm she is.
Once he’s sure she’s good, and he inspects the cut for stuff in it again, he gets the antibiotic cream out.
“This might sting a little,” he warns.
She just blinks at him.
“... okay,” he says after a second, opening up the tube. He thinks she might wince a little when it goes on, but he can’t really tell. Once that’s done, he gets out a bandaid. “I hope you don’t hate Hello Kitty or anything. I ran out of the race car ones and I didn’t put new ones in.”
The girl blinks at him again, like he’s speaking gibberish or something.
“... do you… not know what Hello Kitty is?” He asks.
Again she stares blankly.
“Okay, uh… guess I’ll keep the references to a minimum, then,” he murmurs before pulling off the little paper tabs on the bandage. “Hold still.”
He carefully applies the bandage, then pulls his hands back.
“There, all done. Oh!” He fishes a few more bandages out of the pocket on his utility belt. “Here, take these. You should change the bandage at least once a day.”
The girl stares at him.
“... I don’t have any other ones,” he reminds her.
She still stares at him, like she’s… oh.
“Do you… know what I’m saying?”
She keeps staring at him blankly.
“Okay, uh… shoot, I should really have paid more attention when Bruce tried to teach me common phrases in other languages—”
The girl suddenly stands up, eyes wild and afraid. Before Dick can say anything, she runs off into the dark.
“Hey, wait!” He calls, getting to his feet. “Where are you—”
A shadow falls over Dick. His shoulders tense, a sickening knot forming in his stomach. Slowly, he turns around, swallowing hard when he sees Bruce looming over him.
“Heeeey,” he tries, forcing a smile. It’s kind of hard to see Bruce’s face with all the shadows, but he does not smile back.
“Cave. Now.”
That’s all he says before turning around. Dick swallows hard, then, without a single word of his own, follows.
The cave is quiet when they get back. Bruce parks and gets off the Batcycle, pulling his cowl off.
He doesn’t look at Dick. Probably a bad sign.
Dick swallows, then gets off his bike, trudging forward until he’s standing a few feet away from Bruce. After a minute, he clears his throat.
“So, uh, how did you find me?”
“There are backup tracking devices on both the Robin Cycle and your suit.”
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because if you knew, that would defeat the point of them being there.”
Dick frowns.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I did, which is why until tonight I’d never used them.”
Dick suddenly feels cowed again.
“Oh.” Dick shuffles a bit, his eyes going to the floor. “... you’re really mad at me.”
He hears Bruce take a deep breath.
“Dick,” he starts, “what is the number one rule we agreed on when I started training you?”
“... that… I never go out without you,” he mumbles.
“Exactly. Gotham is a dangerous place for a child, especially one who’s closely associated with Batman.”
“I’m not a little kid—”
“That doesn’t matter. To people like the Penguin, it’s all the same: you’re an easy target. And if I’m not there with you, they will go after you, and I won’t be able to save you.” He hears Bruce takes a step towards him. “When I agreed to let you go out, it was with the expectation that you would always, always follow the rules I set out for you. It was the only way I could keep you safe.”
Dick swallows, gripping at his wrist.
“I trusted you, Dick. And you’ve broken that trust.” Bruce takes a breath. “So, I can’t let you go back out there again.”
Dick’s head pops up, his eyes going wide.
“You’re— you’re firing me as Robin?”
“Not yet. But you are benched until I’ve decided you’re responsible enough.”
“That’s not fair!” Dick protests.
“It is. You broke the rules— you broke the most important rule I gave you.”
“I was trying to help! You wouldn’t have been able to get to that deal in time!”
“I can’t stop every single deal, Dick. And if I hadn’t had to abandon my mission to come get you, I could have taken out the infrastructure that made that deal happen in the first place by getting information from some of Penguin’s men.”
“W-Well, I— I found out info about the vigilante! You saw her!”
“Yes, and I will be following up on it, but that’s something I could have found out myself, without you having to endanger your own life.”
“I’ve been doing this almost as long as Clark has, you can’t just treat me like some rookie!”
“Clark is an adult, and he has superpowers. Neither of those things is true for you.” Bruce crosses his arms. “Rules are rules, Dick. You broke them, and this is the consequence. If you don’t follow the rules, I can’t protect you—”
“I don’t want you to protect me!” Dick snaps. “You’re not my dad, so stop acting like you are!”
Bruce looks stricken, then a little sad for a few seconds before his expression turns stern again.
“I may not be your father, Dick, but it is still my job to protect you. And that means, until further notice, you’re benched.”
Dick grits his teeth, pure rage bubbling in his stomach.
“Fine.” He pulls his mask off, then lobs it at Bruce’s chest. It bounces off uselessly, but it makes Dick feel better for a second. Bruce doesn’t really react, instead turning away and sitting down at the Batcomputer. Dick stomps over to the lockers, grabbing his clothes and changing back into them. He leaves the Robin suit in a heap on the floor; if he’s not gonna wear it, then it doesn’t matter, right?
He doesn’t bother looking at Bruce again before he gets in the elevator.
Dick doesn’t get a lot of sleep that night. At first, he’s just too pissed off to sleep, but slowly his anger drains away to guilt.
He screwed up. Really bad. Bruce told him the rules when he started training him, made it super clear that if Dick didn’t follow them he’d be done. The fact that he’s just benched and not completely fired from being Robin is Bruce being lenient.
But it still sucks! He was trying to help, and he has to start being able to go on his own sometime, right? Bruce can’t just keep acting like he’s a little kid forever.
Can’t keep acting like he’s his—
Dick buries his face in his pillow, letting out a frustrated groan.
“This sucks,” he mutters to himself.
The sun comes up. He gets out of bed to go to the bathroom, then comes right back. His stomach growls a little while later, demanding breakfast, but he ignores it; no way is he going out there to risk running into Bruce.
Maybe an hour later, there’s a knock at the door.
“Dick?” He hears Alfred call. “I’ve brought up some breakfast. I’ll leave it here, but do remember to bring the plate back down to the kitchen.”
He hears something be placed in front of his door, then footsteps. After a few minutes, Dick slithers out of bed, trudging over and opening the door to get what turns out to be scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.
He eats it at his desk. It’s good, of course, and normally he’d thank Alfred, but right now he can’t be bothered to leave his room.
He doesn’t go back to bed after he’s finished eating, though. Instead, he plays a game on the PS4 he bought with his allowance a while ago, whiling away the hours.
At least, he does until he hears another knock on the door.
“I’ll bring the plate down later, Alfred!”
“No, I Tim!” Tim calls from the other side of the door. Dick almost forgot that he figured out the elevator last week. “Dickie come play?”
Dick sighs.
“Not right now, Tim.”
“Oh. Otay.” Tim is quiet for a couple of minutes. “Now?”
“No, Tim. Not for a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, Tim. Didn’t Clark talk to you about this already?”
“But no see all day! I miss you!”
Dick’s heart twinges even as a little bit of irritation rises in his throat.
“I’m busy. Go bother someone else.”
Tim is silent for a long time. Dick would think he walked away without a word if he didn’t hear him speak a second later.
“... otay…” he hears Tim mumble. He sounds so sad that Dick kind of wants to get up, apologize, and do whatever he wants for the rest of the day.
He doesn’t, though. Just lets him go and feels like crap about it for a while.
Another couple hours pass. He’s starting to get hungry again around lunch, but he ignores it. He’s not going back out again.
There’s another knock on his door.
“Dick?” He hears Jason call. “You in there?”
“Where else would I be?” Dick calls. “What do you want?”
“I just… I haven’t seen you today, and I was kinda worried, I guess.” Jason is quiet for a minute. “Tim told me you got mad at him.”
Dick presses his lips together, pressing down on the guilt.
“He was being annoying.”
“Well, yeah, but like… he’s still learning, and Pa says we gotta be understanding. He’s still just a little kid, right?”
Dick’s stomach twists.
“Clark’s not my dad,” he starts bitterly, “and I don’t have to listen to him.”
“But he’s—”
“He’s not my dad!” Dick yells. “He’s not any of our dads, and neither is Bruce!”
Jason doesn’t say anything. Dick hears him walk away after a minute, his stomach turning. After a minute, he turns off his game and crawls back into bed, curling up on himself and feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet as he closes his eyes.
The next time Dick opens his eyes, the sun is setting, and someone is knocking at his door again. He scowls, remaining silent in the hopes that they’ll just go away.
Unfortunately, the person on the other side doesn’t get the hint.
“Hey, champ.”
Dick groans, pulling the blanket over his head.
“Not really in the mood for a lecture, Clark.”
“Okay,” Clark agrees. “No lectures.”
He feels Clark sit down on his bed.
“But if you want to talk about why you did what you did, I’m here.”
Dick groans.
“You don’t really think I’m gonna fall for that, do you? You’re gonna get me to talk, and then you’re gonna give me some reasonable-sounding speech and get me to apologize to Bruce.”
“No speeches. I just want to talk, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t,” Dick says bitterly, “I just want Bruce to stop being a jerk.”
“You know he’s just worried about you.”
“Well he shouldn’t. I’m not a little kid.”
“No, but you’re still—”
“I’m not his kid!” He snaps. “I’m not his son, and he’s not my dad, and neither are—”
Dick cuts himself off, biting his lip hard. His heart beats hard as Clark remains absolutely silent.
“... we both know we’re not your father, Dick,” Clark finally says in a quiet voice, “but that doesn’t mean we don’t care about you. That we don’t love you, and that we wouldn’t do anything to keep you safe.”
Dick grips his pillow.
“... m’not a baby,” he mutters. “I can handle myself in the field.”
“You almost didn’t,” Clark reminds him. “Bruce found the footage from the warehouse, if the other vigilante wasn’t there you could have gotten really hurt, or worse.”
“So that means I have to be babysat every moment I’m out there?”
“You’re not ready to be out on your own, Dick. The rules are there to protect you, to make it so that Bruce can protect you.” He doesn’t speak for a minute. “You really scared him, you know.”
Dick grimaces, but doesn’t say anything. Clark sighs.
“Dick, what’s this really all about? Does it have anything to do with why you were mean to Tim and Jason earlier?”
“Ugh, they snitched?” He mutters. “It’s nothing. They were being annoying.”
“You made them both really upset. I’d like to think you wouldn’t do that without a better reason than them annoying you. That’s not the kind of person I know you to be.”
Dick makes a face again, then, after a minute, exhales.
“I heard Jason ask you guys if he could call you dad and pa,” he says quietly.
“... ah. I see.” Clark clears his throat. “What bothered you about that, specifically?”
Dick shifts a bit.
“I don’t… I don’t want…” Dick sighs. “I had a dad already. He died. I don’t want another one. And I don’t… I don’t want you guys to start expecting me to act like you’re my parents just cause Jason does.”
He thinks he hears Clark swallow.
“I don’t expect that of you, Dick. I’m sure Bruce doesn’t either.”
Dick grips his pillow again.
“... but I feel bad,” he admits. “That I… I don’t want to call you that. I mean, I’ve known you guys for years, and— and you do take care of me and help me and all that stuff, and I know it would be… fine, but I just…”
He takes a breath.
“I can’t. I can’t… I don’t want to— to replace my…”
“Oh, Dick,” he hears Clark say quietly. “Look, I understand how you feel.”
Dick scoffs.
“How?”
“I mean, my biological father is also dead. And yeah, I didn’t know the specifics until I was older, but I always knew I was adopted. It’s… a complicated feeling.”
“But you still call Ma and Pa your parents.”
“It’s not exactly the same, yeah,” Clark admits, “but I also struggled with calling Ma and Pa my parents for a little while. It didn’t… feel right, sometimes. I mean, we weren’t even the same species, so how could I call them my parents?”
“... when did you stop feeling weird about it?”
“Mm… not for a long time, actually. Not til I was older and figured out that them being my parents didn’t make my biological parents any less important.” He feels Clark shift a little. “Of course, then last year happened, and… you know what, let’s just say it’s complicated.”
Dick huffs.
“So, what, I’m supposed to just accept that you guys are my parents?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. If you end up never wanting to call us your parents, then that’s okay. We understand. And if you change your mind, that’s okay too. Either way, we’ll be there for you, in whatever way you want us to be.”
Dick doesn’t say anything. After a minute, he feels Clark get up from the bed.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Dick— although, for the record, I think you owe a few apologies. But come down to dinner, okay? Don’t spend all day all alone.”
Dick still doesn’t say anything. He thinks he hears Clark sigh before he starts walking toward the door. A few seconds later, he hears him stop.
“I love you,” he hears him say.
“... love you too,” he mumbles. If it was anyone but Clark, he doesn’t think he’d hear it.
The door closes a minute later, and Dick turns his face to groan into his pillow.
Maybe twenty minutes later, his stomach growls, a lot louder now since he skipped lunch. With another groan, he gets out of bed, not bothering to change out of his pajamas as he trudges toward the door. Maybe he can convince Alfred to just give him dinner without making him spend time with—
When he opens the door, Bruce is on the other side, his hand raised as if to knock. Dick’s eyebrows rise, then fall when he scowls.
“Seriously, why is everyone trying to get into my room today?” He complains.
“We’re worried about you,” Bruce answers.
“That was rhetorical, B.”
“I’m aware, but it’s the truth.” Bruce clears his throat. “Can I come in?”
Dick presses his lips together, but nods, letting Bruce into his room.
Neither of them speak for a minute.
“... Clark told me that he talked to you.”
Dick makes a face.
“What did he say?”
“Just that you overheard Jason ask to call us his fathers. And that it bothered you.”
Dick shuffles his feet.
“I don’t wanna call you my dad,” he says after a minute. “Either of you.”
“I know, Dick. And I don’t expect you to."
“Don’t you?” Dick asks, looking up at him. “Jason’s doing it. Tim probably will too, someday, and Conner definitely will.”
“True, but you’re not Jason, or Tim, or Conner. You didn’t have the kind of relationship Jason or Tim had with their fathers."
Dick furrows his brow.
“What do you mean?”
Bruce seems to consider his words carefully for a moment.
“... your father loved you,” he finally says. “More than anything. He never would have chosen to leave you. That’s the difference. But what the other boys think of us, what they call you, that has no affect on what you call us. They don't get to choose that for you, and you don't get to choose that for them."
Guilt hits Dick like a truck. He looks away.
“... do you think of me as your son?” He asks, not looking at Bruce.
Bruce doesn’t answer for a long minute.
“... you’re like a son to me,” he says. Dick’s stomach twists, and he aims his gaze at his feet.
“So you’re not really okay with me not calling you ‘dad.’”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant,” Dick insists.
“It’s not—”
“Do you want me to? Call you dad?”
Bruce… hesitates, looking away.
“Not unless you want to,” he says after a minute. “I told you before, when I took you in. I don’t expect to replace your father. Whatever you do, whatever you call me, it’s your choice.”
Dick crumples a little.
“I just don’t want another dad,” he says quietly. “I don’t… I already had one. He died.”
He sniffs.
“But I don’t— I don’t want to hurt you, either,” he admits.
There’s silence, and then a minute later he feels Bruce pull him into a hug.
“Don’t make this decision based on what you think would hurt me,” he says. “I’m an adult, I can handle my own emotions. I only want you to call me your father if that’s what you want. Anything short of that, and I don’t want it.”
Dick sniffs again, then hugs him back. Neither of them speak for a long moment.
“... m’sorry,” Dick says after a little while. “Trying to take down a bunch of guys on my own was dumb.”
“Why did you try that?”
“I… wanted you to think of me as a partner in crimefighting and not just a kid.” He winces. “Not… your kid.”
Bruce sighs softly.
“You are a kid, Dick. And my responsibility. I can’t treat you the same way I treat Clark or Diana or Barry in the field. They can take care of themselves.”
“I can take care of myself!” Dick protests.
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“... mostly,” he admits.
“Debatable. In any case, you’re still a long ways away from being my equal in the field. You’re not ready yet.” Bruce pulls away and puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean you never will be. Just not right now.”
Dick sighs.
“I… guess I understand that.” He glances up at Bruce. “Does this mean I’m not benched anymore?”
“No, you’re still benched.”
“Aw…”
“And you’re not allowed out without Clark or I for the next week.”
“What?! Come on, that’s not fair!”
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“I could ground you completely.”
Dick winces.
“No, no, I’m good.”
“Good. And you need to apologize to Jason and Tim.”
“Yeah, Clark told me that.” He glances up at Bruce. “... are they mad at me?”
“I think they’re more hurt than anything. Tim especially, he adores you.”
Dick winces again.
“Think they’ll hold a grudge?”
“I’m sure Tim will forgive you quickly. Jason might need more time.”
Dick sighs.
“That’s fair, I guess.” His stomach rumbles, and he feels his ears redden.
“Alfred made pizza,” Bruce offers.
Dick’s eyes widen as he looks up.
“Wait, really?”
“Mm. He was very determined to get you to come out of your room.”
Dick laughs sheepishly, and Bruce gives him a sort of half-smile.
“... you know I love you, right?” He says after a minute.
“Yeah, I know. I love you too.”
Bruce smiles a little bigger this time.
“Good. Now, come on, I told Clark to make Jason and Tim wait for you to come down before eating and he’s probably about to cave.”
Dick’s eyes widen, and he all but runs out of his room.
He thinks he hears Bruce chuckle behind him.