I’ve been thinking a lot about Dick’s and Bruce’s relationship. Especially about Dick’s possessiveness over Bruce.
Feel free to ignore this though if you don’t feel like answering this.
What about a Dick that gets de-aged or even better a Dick that gets switched with his past self. No matter how it happens just-started-out-as-Nightwing Dick is now in the present. He is currently on his rough patch with Bruce and is suddenly dropped into a future where he has to share his Dad’s Bruce’s attention with others.
A 17yo Dick who thinks of Bruce as to overbearing is suddenly with a Bruce that barely has any time for him. At least in comparison to what Dick is used to.
After getting past the initial shock he thinks it’s great and that he now has his peace from Bruce. Only to notice how Bruce is laughing with the other kids and how their friends come over and also hang out with Bruce.
Because none of them were only told bad things about Bruce by him. God Dick is so stupid he could have had this. Why is he so goddam selfish
And suddenly Dick is seething with jealousy. It practically drips from his body. That is HIS Bruce.
But when he tries to start doing an activity with Bruce the man brushes. Him. Off.
“Sorry chum, but It’s the first Thursday of the month and I always have book club with Jayson then”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the time, Tim asked me to a True Crime Show Marathon”
“I apologize but today is my weekly practice in physical combat with Kidflash. He asked for a depleted training plan”
And while 17yo Dick is struggling with all of this older Dick in the past is just enjoying having all of his Dad’s attention for the first time in YEARS while the TeenTitans and his Dad are heavily confused by his antics
Aha! Found it! I didn't mean to ignore you, I swear 😶🌫️
"Dick? Hold out your arm for me?" Dick blinks, tuning back into the real world, and finally forces him out of the haze he'd happily settled into in Bruce's arm. On autopilot, he obeys, offering his arm, but frowns when Bruce wraps a tourniquet around it. "Thank you, chum," he mutters, filling two vials with blood. Dick watches it happen, confusion penetrating the calm that had settled over him.
Bruce lifts a hand, signalling his location, and Dick frowns harder when J'onn and Zatanna round the corner, approaching with masked caution.
"I know, chum." He slings an arm around Dick to keep him up as he moves over to the lab, and preps a slide of his blood. "There's just some peculiarities we want to figure out."
"He is," J'onn confirms, suddenly closer.
"No spells," Zatanna adds, making to poke him. Dick knocks her hand away with a scowl.
"His consciousness is not his." Dick blanches, sending mental claxons towards J'onn. Don't tell him, let him keep pretending— "The mind currently in this form is Richard Grayson from nearly ten years in the future."
Bruce's brow dips. "Dick." Oh great. A tone. "Why not tell me?"
"Because that doesn't matter," he insists. "I'm me. And you're you. And I want to spend time with my dad."
Bruce's breath hitches. Zatanna and J'onn head out just as quickly as they came, even if snickers linger after their departure, and Dick shifts uncomfortably.
"Dick, I— Please tell me I'm not..." Bruce falters, looking crushed, and Dick shakes his head.
"No! No, B, I just. You're busy, a lot of the time, in my time. I just want to make the most of right now. Please."
Bruce watches him for a moment, then melts, and it kicks Dick in the chest the same way it did when Bruce treated him like a dream when he snuck into his room this morning (with the intention of telling him what happened, only to see him lying there, the perfect spot to lie under his arm, and realise he could do that) and cuddled him like they always used to do. Before Dick grew up. Before Bruce grew up too.
"Okay. We'll go to the den."
Hesitantly, oh so carefully, Bruce leans in, and presses his lips to Dick's head. Dick leans into the touch, pretends not to see Bruce hold back tears, and stifles his own.
He'll enjoy this, for however long it lasts. However long he gets to live in a time where he was an only child, and Bruce had no pulls to his attention except maybe the dog. When Bruce was his, and Dick was his, and even when Bruce thinks Dick is filled with hormonal rage and teen angst, still carries him around all morning for cuddles. When it was just them.
And maybe...maybe he'll pull on his old suit. Maybe the dynamic duo can fly one last time.
He'll make the most of this time in a way he didn't last time, even if he loves his siblings.
Dick hates his siblings. He's hated this entire day. And now it's dinner, and he's walked into the dining room, and watched the little one and the girl one slide into the seats on either side of the head of the table, keeping Bruce for themselves.
"Move." The girl rolls her eyes, and the little one scoffs. "Move!" He yells, and the room goes silent.
Bruce frowns at him. He shouldn't be frowning at Dick, he should be frowning at these parasites on his attention. "Dick," he admonishes.
"Make them move. I'm not doing this— I'm not putting up with this anymore. Make. Them. Move. Bruce."
The little one frowns. "Grayson—"
"Wayne," he snaps. He's lying. His name isn't Wayne, that's the name of his future self, he'd had a panic attack seeing the adoption certificate framed on the wall this morning, but now there is a monster in his chest, writhing and possessive and demanding he gets rid of the intruders, and when it supplies the name he grasps it with both hands.
"My name. Is. Wayne. You brat."
"Dick!" Bruce shouts, a hand held out to the little one, who's fallen silent, like he deserves any comfort. He stole Dick's dad Bruce. "What has gotten into you?"
"Do you love them more than me?" He gasps, and feels the mortifying heat of tears as they slide down his cheeks. Bruce startles, mouth slightly open, the rest of the room is staring, but the dam is broken and he can't stop the barrage of words. "I-I know I was rude, and contrary, and we fought, but I didn't want you to replace me! And— and you've been busy all day and you don't have time for me and all you ever do is spend time with them!"
He crying properly now, Bruce's striken face is blurry through his tears, and he's never felt more childish than when he wraps his arms around himself like a facsimile of a hug and sobs.
"You said good morning, but you didn't kiss my head, and you didn't try to hug me, and you don't cut my bacon for me anymore, and you didn't ask me if I wanted to do my homework with you while you worked on W.E. and you took him to get milkshakes after lunch not me and you didn't try to sneak cookies from Alfred with me!"
The room is deadly silent, so his wet, shuddering inhale is the loudest thing in the room.
"Is it because they call you 'Dad'?" He asks, and Bruce makes a noise like he got punched. "'Cause he calls you Father and she says Dad and he calls you Pops even if it sounds sarcastic but you spend time with them and not me so is that it? Do— Do I need to? I'll do it, B, please, just— Just be my Bruce again, please!"
He's sobbing now, and his chest aches, and it hurts to breathe, but then Bruce's chair is screeching back and he's being tackled and yanked into a hug and he wraps all his limbs around him and bawls into his chest like he hasn't since he was ten, but Bruce just clutches him close, hushing him gently, painfully gentle hands carding through his hair.
"Hey, hey, Dickie-baby, you don't need to call me Dad."
"You promise?" He moans, and lips press firmly into his hair.
"I promise, chum. I'm sorry." Dick burrows close, and Bruce starts walking and Dick has no idea where they're going but Bruce is mumbling apologies into his hair like he'll never stop but his arms are firm around him and that kind of makes it feel like it will all be okay.
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