“He’s my little boy!” Dick roared. The fury was wiped off his face in the silence after, and he stumbled back, unusually graceless, as if the admission had been a physical blow.
For a long time, they stood on the roof without speaking; Dick, panting with wild eyes; Bruce, a creased brow and a startled hurt. They held each other's gaze, a silent challenge, and neither were willing to break it.
“Are you going to take him from me?” Bruce finally asked. Then, Dick dropped his head and took a long, slow breath through his gritted teeth.
“It wasn't a threat, Bruce,” Dick said, so soft and precise. He knew exactly how far his voice carried, and raised it not one degree above that.
“I…” Bruce didn't pace, didn’t run his hands through his hair or raise his arms. His body language was all in his absences, the things he didn't do. He did, though, lick his lips, and swallow, struggling for the words he wanted. He was precise in those, too, when he had time to be. Sometimes, when he didn't. “It wasn't a defense, Dick. It was a question.”
“You can't just give him up,” Dick snapped, raising his chin to glare. “He’s not a bargaining chip, or a concession, or a thing to give away. He’s a little boy and he’s your son.”
“I'm not trying to,” Bruce said evenly. Dick hated his ability to sound calm when he wasn't. “Let me be very, very clear. I'm just asking: what do you want?”
“I don't know,” Dick muttered, rubbing at his brow.
“I didn't try to keep him from you. I didn't send you away, even if he thinks I did.”
“He thinks what?” Dick’s tone neared a hushed shriek.
“What did you think he would think when you ran off?” Bruce demanded, a bit of a razor edge in his calm. “You didn't say.”
“You hypocritical ass!” Dick hissed. “You don't bother to explain things all the fucking time and now, the one time I--” he stopped himself with visible effort. “No. No, that isn't what this is about. I left because...because I knew I would be in the way. He needs time with you. He wants time with you. Why would you tell him you sent me away? All this time, I've been waiting and it's been kill-- it's been hard. That's just going to make it take longer to…”
He trailed off, his lips pressed together. His hands were trembling with the strain of keeping himself from pacing, shouting.
“I didn't tell him, Dick. He’s so sure of his place with-- of your love for him, that it was the only option that made sense, when he realized it wasn't a mission keeping you away.”
Bruce’s soft tone belied the tension in his posture. Dick studied him, carefully.
“You could have explained,” Dick said, the pointed jab clear and shining. The final word broke off, pronged to dig and stick.
“I didn't think it would improve things between us if I told him the truth. He would have seen it as criticism of you. It was an impossible situation and I chose the one I could mend alone, with an apology,” Bruce said.
“You should have told him the truth,” Dick snarled, crossing his arms. The wind, chilled since they climbed onto the roof from the attic window, picked up and caressed with an icy touch. “I worked so damn hard to get him to just trust me, to trust us. He’s not like Tim, B. He won't just keep letting it go.”
“I should have done a lot of things,” Bruce admitted, turning to look out over the darkening lawn. For the first time since he’d come back, he sounded old. Older than he should have, even-- there was something frail in that admission, something that hinted at shaking hands and walking canes and soft foods and lonely days full of regrets. Bruce took a breath, set his shoulders. “I should have lied to Tim less. There isn't an excuse.”
Dick shivered, and it wasn't the wind that made him cold. He wondered how many lifetimes Bruce had lived away from them-- how much did he remember? He hadn't even gotten to ask.
No, he hadn't asked. He hadn't asked on purpose. He’d left.
“I didn't want to get between you, like this.” Dick uncrossed his arms, and jammed his hands in his pockets. He shrugged a shoulder toward the window, though Bruce wasn't looking. “I wanted him to have the time with you that I did. That he had with me. But I don't think I did it right, and now…”
“What do you want?” Bruce asked. His voice was flat, gentle. It was the way he spoke to people waving guns, holding detonators, on ledges. Something about it said, I have no needs, no wants. The only thing that matters is what you say next.
Dick had learned that voice from him. Dick also knew Bruce would rip his own heart out and give it to Dick, if he asked. Dick opened his mouth to argue, to growl, This isn't about what I want, is the point.
Instead, he started crying.
The sob caught in his throat and then escaped with a quiet whine, and he’d done this enough times the past year to know there would be no hug. The arms he wanted around him were gone, dead and buried, and even imagining it made him feel worse.
Then, Bruce pulled him into a hug. Dick’s forehead tucked against Bruce’s shoulder, in the embrace he’d learned was gone forever and now had to learn again, and his knees buckled. Bruce held him up, on the roof, the slate tiles under Dick’s bare feet.
“I didn't want to share you,” Dick mumbled through sniffs. “I didn't want to leave him. I don't want us to be fighting.”
“I know, chum,” Bruce said softly, into his hair.
“He’s my little boy, Bruce,” Dick said, feeling torn in two. “He wants you. He needs you. But I miss him. I was all he had, and he was why I kept going. I thought it was going to be forever.”
“I know,” Bruce said, his hug tightening.
“I don't know how to fix this. I've been terrified of talking about it, about you thinking I wanted you to leave. I don't want you to be gone again.” Dick’s face was hot, and he lifted his head to feel the cold air against his cheeks. He sank to sit cross legged on the roof, and Bruce lowered himself to sit beside him.
They sat for a long time, watching the moon creep up into the sky.
“What would you have done if John had come back?” Dick asked, after the tightness in his chest and throat started to ease. He very carefully avoided looking at Bruce.
Bruce, leaning back and propped on his arms, sighed.
“I had nightmares about it, after Clark came back. I don't know.”
“Bullshit,” Dick said. “You would have handed me right over.”
“It would have killed me,” Bruce said. “But yes. He was your father.”
“There were times,” Dick said slowly, “that I would be glad they were gone, because of what I had with you. Because of what we had. And then I’d feel like a monster. I don't think I've told anyone that before, other than Donna.”
“What did she say?” Bruce sounded curious, but reserved.
“‘Sometimes, Dick, you’re an idiot,’ or something close to that. She was right, anyway.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Bruce said.
“Sometimes,” Dick said. “And sometimes I was just a confused kid, who had my life broken into two parts. There was a before, that I missed, and an after, that was its own kind of good.”
“It was good, wasn't it?”
“It is good,” Dick said. He tugged, two fingers on Bruce’s sleeve, like he used to when he was little, until Bruce looked at him. He knew he looked pleading and he didn't care. “Damian already has his life broken into before and after, Bruce. I don't want to make him go through that again. How do we...how do I...fix that. I can't be here and give it up, it'll confuse and hurt him. I don't want to take him from you, either.”
“When my parents were gone,” Bruce said, gaze flickering out to the dark lawn and treeline. “Leslie and Alfred had joint custody. They decided I should stay here. When I was fourteen, I went to stay with Leslie for the weekend and tried to sneak out to a party. I told her Alfred had given me permission to go with friends.”
“Mm?” Dick prompted, after the pause stretched on.
“She said, ‘You aren't going to that party, Bruce.’”
Dick’s smile, gentle and sudden, curved one side of his mouth. “Alfred had warned her.”
“We have to be on the same page,” Bruce said, looking at him. The look was piercing, and intense. “If we want him to feel secure, he has to know he’s going to get the same answer from either of us. You can't be his brother and his father at the same time, not like that-- if we disagree, it can't be where he can hear. It won't be easy.”
The relief was making Dick lightheaded. He would have agreed to almost anything, in that moment. “Easy peasy, B. We’ll just have to be you-know-who and you-know-who again.”
“I seem to remember a certain man insisting he’d outgrown that role,” Bruce said, a bit wryly.
“Maybe it fits again, for this,” Dick said. “I didn't ever grow out of being your partner, B. I just...got stupid for a while.”
“You weren't the only one,” Bruce said. He stood, and offered a hand to Dick. “Let's get out of this cold.”
“Is it making your old man joints stiff?” Dick teased, clambering up.
Bruce’s hand, heavy and large, cupped the back of his neck and pulled him forward to press a kiss to Dick’s temple. “You did good with him, Dick.”
He rubbed the tears out of the corners of his eyes with a knuckle and inhaled slowly.
“I don't think you know how much I needed to hear you say that.”
“I know,” Bruce said. “I’m someone’s son, too.”
