Alfred stood at the sink, scrubbing dishes with much more force than necessary. Bruce was doing horribly mentally lately. Near constant nightmares, preforming poorly in school, only talking when he was snapping at someone.
"I shouldn't have agreed to take care of him," He couldn't help but think. "I haven't the foggiest clue how to raise a child! He's better off if we never see each other again."
"Uhm, where does this go?" Alfred flinched and looked over his shoulder. Ten-year-old Bruce stood in the kitchen, holding a serving spoon.
Silently, Alfred nodded to the drawer, watching as the boy put it away and then reached to grab more clean dishes.
"What are you doing?" Alfred asked and Bruce paused, looking unsure.
"I, uhm... I figured we could watch the new episode of Gray Ghost together sooner if I helped you clean up... Am I in the way?"
"No," Alfred said softly. "No, I think you're just where you belong, my dear boy."
20 years later, Bruce sits at a desk, organizing physical copies of case files. 12 year old Dick was running circles around the man and he was exhausted.
"Oh who am i kidding?" He thinks to himself. "I can't keep up with Batman, Wayne Industries and Dick. I love the kid but I have no clue what I'm doing. He's better off if he forgot he ever even met me..."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Dick asked and jeez Bruce really was tired because he didn't even realize he was in the cave.
"Since when do you file things?" Bruce joked dryly and Dick rolled his eyes.
"I want to show you a routine I've been working on and I can't do that till you finish up." Dick explained, sounding exasperated.
Bruce blinked a few times.
"You're willing to file if it means I watch your routine?" He asked bluntly. Dick blushed and scowled like the angsty pre teen he was.
"Don't make it sound all mushy..." he grumbled, crossing his arms. That startled a laugh out of Bruce and Dick looked at him in surprise. "That's what gets you to laugh?! Not my hilarious jokes?!"
Snickering, Bruce replied, "What hilarious jokes?"
Dick gasped dramatically and turned around with a flourish. He put a hand to his head and exclaimed, "Well, if me and my jokes are just getting in your way, I guess I'll leave!"
Bruce laughed and stood up. Without a second thought, he grabbed the small boy and pulled him into his arms, planting a kiss on top of his head.
Sometimes You Gotta Burn the Bridge in Order to Rebuild it
This fic is getting to be so much longer than intended. It was supposed to be a quick one shot, and we're at 4k words and I'm not even halfway done.
Summary: After Robin gets shot on patrol, Bruce fires him. Misunderstandings ensue, Dick spirals, and the whole situation gets out of hand.
Excerpt:
If you ask him, Dick wouldn’t know when it started.
When did it go wrong?
At some point when he was fighting to be recognized as an equal?
The first real, noticeable point is when he got shot.
It wasn’t even that bad! Just a graze, really. But it’s the catalyst of this whole sequence of events.
Bruce is just overdramatic.
Sure, it didn’t just ‘graze’ him by the literal definition. But he didn’t die! He didn’t even pass out.
With Alfred taking a rare night off, Bruce stitches him up. They don’t speak the whole time. When Bruce is done, he methodically tapes a bandage over the wound, then cleans up and takes his gloves off. Dick carefully leans against the wall behind him.
“You’re done.”
“With stitches? I kinda figured that out myself, B.” Dick quips.
“WIth Robin. You’re getting reckless, and if you’re not going to listen, I can’t have you with me.” Bruce doesn’t even look him in the eyes. He’s too busy taking his cowl off and stripping down to his undersuit.
“Bu–What?” Dick’s heart drops to his stomach, and an awful constricting feeling settles over his chest.
“You’re done. Indefinitely. That was too close tonight.”
“You can’t fire me! Robin is /my/ name! It’s /my/ parents legacy!” It’s a last ditch effort, everyone knows you can’t change Bruce’s mind once it’s made. But he /can’t/ lose Robin. He’s almost 18, if Bruce doesn’t want him as Robin, and he has no legal tie to Dick, will Dick still be welcome?
“I can and I will. Go change and go to bed. You have work in the morning.” Bruce turns away, heading over to the batcomputer. Dick watches him go, waiting for him to turn back around.
He doesn’t.
Dick eases himself off the cot—minimizing the movement of his injured shoulder—keeping his head down until he’s past Bruce.
He holds it together as he changes out of his gear on autopilot and leaves it in a bin to be cleaned. He makes it to his room before he breaks down, before he allows himself to crumble to his knees, and bury his face in his hands.
How could he lose the one thing he left of his parents?
Why did he tie his parents to something so easily taken?
So Nightwing dramatically poses on the rooftop across from my apartment window every evening and I think its the highlight of my evening after work. #onlyinbludhaven.
If you ask him, Dick wouldn’t know when it started.
When did it go wrong?
At some point when he was fighting to be recognized as an equal?
The first real, noticeable point is when he got shot.
It wasn’t even that bad! Just a graze, really. But it’s the catalyst of this whole sequence of events.
Bruce is just overdramatic.
Sure, it didn’t just ‘graze’ him by the literal definition. But he didn’t die! He didn’t even pass out.
With Alfred taking a rare night off, Bruce stitches him up. They don’t speak the whole time. When Bruce is done, he methodically tapes a bandage over the wound, then cleans up and takes his gloves off. Dick carefully leans against the wall behind him.
“You’re done.”
“With stitches? I kinda figured that out myself, B.” Dick quips.
“WIth Robin. You’re getting reckless, and if you’re not going to listen, I can’t have you with me.” Bruce doesn’t even look him in the eyes. He’s too busy taking his cowl off and stripping down to his undersuit.
“Bu–What?” Dick’s heart drops to his stomach, and an awful constricting feeling settles over his chest.
“You’re done. Indefinitely. That was too close tonight.”
“You can’t fire me! Robin is my name! It’s my parents legacy!” It’s a last ditch effort, everyone knows you can’t change Bruce’s mind once it’s made. But he can’t lose Robin. He’s almost 18, if Bruce doesn’t want him as Robin, and he has no legal tie to Dick, will Dick still be welcome?
“I can and I will. Go change and go to bed. You have work in the morning.” Bruce turns away, heading over to the batcomputer. Dick watches him go, waiting for him to turn back around.
He doesn’t.
Dick eases himself off the cot—minimizing the movement of his injured shoulder—keeping his head down until he’s past Bruce.
He holds it together as he changes out of his gear on autopilot and leaves it in a bin to be cleaned. He makes it to his room before he breaks down, before he allows himself to crumble to his knees, and bury his face in his hands.
How could he lose the one thing he left of his parents?
Why did he tie his parents to something so easily taken?
After several long moments of letting himself sob, Dick takes a few shuddering breaths and scrubs his hands over his face. He pushes himself up, and goes to splash water over his face. He goes through the motions of preparing for bed—showering, brushing his teeth, putting clean clothes on—without being fully present.
He should…
He should pack a bag.
Just in case Bruce decides he no longer wants Dick around the manor at all, it’s best to be prepared.
He packs quickly, including some cash he got from tips, and sets the bag on the top shelf of his closet. He has to be up for work in 5 hours.
He collapses in his bed, not even noticing when he drifts off to sleep, tears still in his eyes.
In the morning, he drags himself out of bed at his first alarm, and heads down to breakfast. His shift doesn’t start until ten, and it’s roughly a 30 minute commute to the small diner, leaving him just over an hour before he needs to leave.
Alfred sets a plate of eggs in front of him, and a mild painkiller next to it. “How are you feeling today, Master Dick?”
“Fine, Alfred, Thank you.” Dick keeps his head down, taking the painkiller before starting on breakfast. Bruce isn’t down yet, if Dick is lucky he can finish and go back upstairs before he has to face the man.
His luck isn’t that good, and he can feel Bruce behind him—reaching to ruffle his hair like he always does—a minute later. Bruce retracts his hand before it reaches Dick, and takes a seat several seats down.
They eat in the kitchen—in the small breakfast nook rather than the large dining room meant for hosting—and the small table has never felt this large.
Dick makes sure to keep his eyes on his plate as Alfred hands Bruce his food.
“How’d you sleep, Dick?” Bruce asks.
“Fine.” he grumbles in response, shoving another forkful of eggs in his mouth.
“Make sure you take it easy at work, don’t pull your stitches.”
Dick nods, “I’ll see if I can host today, and wear a brace or something. If I tell them I sprained my wrist climbing on shit, it’ll be believable.”
“Language.”
Dick almost flinches at Alfred’s sharp reprimand. “Right. Sorry, Alfred.” He stands, taking his plate to the sink before heading to the door. “I’m going to get ready for work.”
He can hear Bruce sigh as he leaves the room.
He grabs a wrist brace on his way out the door, just to pretend that’s the issue and not that he got shot.
Work is pretty slow at first, but eventually it picks up. His managers let him host with no issues, everyone in the diner is trained to fill whatever role is needed, and pay is the same no matter what role you fill. They’re short staffed tonight, so Dick ends up staying until closing to help out. Normally he'd rush home in order to get ready for patrol, but he can't do that anymore. He texts Bruce and Alfred to let him know he’s staying a bit late, and if he was short in his message it’s because he’s busy. No other reason.
He definitely doesn’t stay just because he doesn’t want to go back to the manor yet, of course not. He doesn’t get as many tips hosting as he would waiting tables, but the extra hours supplement that. He may need all the money he can get if he gets kicked out…
He should have enough of his own money to get an apartment and support himself, if he does. Thankfully rent in Gotham is cheap, and service jobs tend to pay well here. He had set up his own bank account as soon as he got this job, and though Bruce had to co-sign, Dick can have him removed as soon as he turns 18. Just a few more weeks.
When he finally drags himself through the Manor doors—at nearly midnight—he’s met with Alfred’s disapproving stare.
“A little more communication would have been nice, Master Richard.”
Dick rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t know exactly how late they were going to keep me.”
Alfred huffs, and ushers Dick to the kitchen. “No matter. I’m sure you’re starving, I saved some leftovers for you. I also need to check your shoulder, who knows what strain you put on it working as you did today.”
Dick pulls the wrist brace off as he sits down, and unbuttons his black dress shirt, slipping it off so Alfred can get to his injury. Alfred sets a plate of food in front of him, then slips gloves on and starts prodding at the stitches.
“Hm. It all seems in order. I’m on comms for Master Bruce tonight, so head on up to bed when you’re finished.”
Dick nearly flinches at the reminder he’s no longer Robin, watching as Alfred turns and heads to the cave.
He sighs heavily, glaring at his food. He wasn’t really hungry to begin with, but now his appetite has completely vanished. He doesn’t like wasting food though, so he forces himself to finish. He washes his dishes and slowly heads up to bed. He pauses at the entrance to the study for several moments, surely he’s not completely unwelcome in the cave, right? All his training equipment is down there, his trapeze. Bruce wouldn’t take all of that, would he?
Dick sighs again, and turns toward the stairs. Maybe he should revisit his vendetta against chandeliers…
If he’s still here when he’s healed, that is.
Tomorrow (today, really) is Sunday, and he has the next two days off work. Normally weekends are spent training, or occasionally hanging out with the Titans, but without Robin, and being injured, he doesn’t know that either of those are options.
Dick falls asleep pretty much as soon as he lays down.
The next morning arrives much too quickly. He didn’t have an alarm set, so he woke to Alfred knocking on his door for breakfast. Bruce is already in the kitchen by the time Dick gets down there, and he pushes something towards Dick as soon as he sits down.
“Here, I picked up some brochures about colleges in the area. I know we’re technically past the application deadline, but I can pull some strings and get you into any one of these.”
Dick startles, not expecting this so early in the morning (it’s barely before 11, but they’re nocturnal, practically). “I…I don’t want to go to college, Bruce.” He mumbles, staring at his plate. If he doesn’t go to college, is he asking to get kicked out that much sooner? He still has to finish high school, right?
“What was that?” Bruce turns his chair to face Dick.
“I don’t want to go to college.” Dick repeats, firmer this time. “College isn’t the end all be all, and I hate school! I don’t want to sit through four more years of it, at least!” He couldn’t help it, his voice raised slightly by the end.
“What would you do instead? College would open so many doors for you, create so many more opportunities.” Bruce leans back in his chair.
“I…I don’t know yet. But the idea of sitting through more school is practically torture.”
“Don’t be dramatic, It’s not that bad.”
“Says the drop out.”
“Richard John Grayson—” Bruce’s voice is stern, but Dick interrupts, despite the Batglare™ on B’s face.
“I’m right!”
Bruce closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Regardless,—”
“See, you know I’m right.”
“Stop interrupting me, Richard.” Bruce leans forward again, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have a plan. If you had one, then maybe we could consider other options aside from college. As it is, you’re going. Pick one or I’m picking for you.” Bruce turns away, clearly the ‘conversation’, if you can call it that, is over.
Dick huffs, shoving his food in his mouth. He pointedly doesn’t look at the brochures Bruce shoved at him.
When he finishes breakfast, he sets his plate in the sink and stalks upstairs.
He speeds through getting ready for the day, grabs his backpack—keeping it on his good shoulder—and heads to the door.
“Where are you going?” Bruce stops him, standing at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed.
“I don’t know yet. Out.” Dick shoves past him, going to the garage.
Bruce grabs his elbow, “Not good enough. Where are you going.”
Dick spins, looking Bruce in the eye for the first time since he was fired. Rage lances through him. “I. Don’t. Know. Let me go.”
“Dick—”
“Oh fuck off! You’re not my dad!” Dick yells and watches Bruce’s eyes widen marginally, not used to Dick cursing at him. “You’re not my dad, alright?” He repeats quieter.
“Richard John.” Bruce states firmly, “You’re grounded, go upstairs.” Bruce tugs Dick’s arms, trying to herd him upstairs.
Dick resists, “Make me. You took Robin from me, you do not get to take my last semblance of freedom.”
Bruce is surprised enough Dick can yank his arm out of his hold. He jogs to the garage before Bruce can grab him again.
“Richard—”
DIck flips him off behind his back and turns into the garage. Is there gonna be hell to pay when he gets back? Absolutely. Possibly before he gets back, if Bruce cares enough to track him down.
He hops in his car and leaves as fast as he can.
He ends up at his favorite coffee shop in downtown Gotham, only 2 blocks from where he works. He makes sure he’s got at least two knives and his lock picks concealed on him before he heads inside—it is Gotham, after all. He sets up at a small booth with an herbal tea, settling in to finish up his work.
Fingers tapping restlessly on the table, he manages to work at a steady pace. He periodically orders a drink or bakery item, not wanting to take up a table for hours and only buying one item. Thankfully the shoulder he got shot in is his non dominant arm, the last two days would have been a lot more annoying if that wasn’t the case.
Is Bruce pushing college so hard because he’s kicking Dick out? Does he want to try and give Dick more opportunities before cutting him off?
It’s nice, he supposes, but college really isn’t for him.
There’s so many other things he could do.
He’s not entirely sure what, but he can figure it out.
He could do something with gymnastics, teaching kids, or maybe even olympic level. Sure, it’ll probably be more difficult since he hasn’t been aiming for the Olympics before now, but he’s sure he could pull it off. He’s the last of the Flying Graysons, Bruce used to field calls all the time about getting him on junior teams. He’s kept his skills up, he competed individually a couple times.
He’s pretty sure he could do it, he’d just need to start registering and preparing for competitions and qualifiers. And find a trainer.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts, focusing on his work again. He’s almost done, just needs to get through a few more math problems. Thankfully, math is one of his best subjects, so even the basic calculus he’s doing doesn’t take too much brain power once he gets going. He runs through the rest of the problems on autopilot, the rest of his brain spinning through how to get a coach. There are plenty in Gotham, but he’s not sure if any train at the professional and olympic levels. Nothing a quick google search won’t fix, but if he breaks his momentum now, it’ll be much harder to get started again.
By the time he leaves, Dick has managed to finish all work due this week, plus get ahead for the next week. He’s also had time to cool off significantly, and he is not looking forward to facing Bruce again. He needs to be on his best behavior for the foreseeable future, he can’t let himself get kicked out before he’s ready.
He keeps his head down as he enters, registering Bruce pacing in front of the door. He’s sure Bruce tracked his phone and found out where he was, and when he left.
“I’m sorry,” Dick starts quietly, “I was out of line.”
Bruce stops, staring contemplatively at Dick. “You were. Hand me your keys and go upstairs. You’re grounded for a month, you’re not allowed to go anywhere other than school or work, and Alfred will pick you up and drop off. I expect full communication of your whereabouts, unlike the last two days. That was unacceptable.”
Dick nods, “Yes, sir.” He hands over his keys, but doesn’t leave just yet. He doesn’t know if Bruce is done yet.
Bruce nods as well, “Good. Don’t leave your room for the rest of the night, Alfred will bring dinner up for you. Tonight only, you’re free to move around the manor as you wish starting tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Goodnight, Dick.” Bruce walks off, heading towards the kitchen, presumably for dinner.
“Goodnight, Bruce.” Dick mutters before turning to go upstairs.
Once in his room, Dick drops his bag next to his desk and falls onto his bed. It’s only six in the afternoon, so he can’t sleep yet, but he doesn’t know what else he can do. He has a TV and gaming console in his room, but he’s not sure if he’s grounded from that too. He has books, but he’s not a huge reader unless it’s an audiobook, and even then only if he can do something else at the same time.
It doesn’t take long before Alfred knocks lightly on his door and brings in a tray of food. Dick forces himself to sit upright and lean against the headboard.
“I’m glad you’re home safe, Master Dick. We were worried about you today.”
Dick looks down at his lap, “M’sorry, Alfred. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Alfred lays a hand on his good shoulder softly. “I know, but it’s the nature of caring for someone. Now, do you mind if I take a look at your shoulder before you eat?”
Dick nods, and carefully pulls his shirt off.
“It still looks good, Has it been bothering you?”
“A little, but no more than expected.”
“Good. Just keep taking it easy. I know it’s difficult, but the less you strain your shoulder, the faster you’ll heal.”
“I know. Thanks, Alfred. Not like I’ll struggle to take it easy being stuck here for a month.” Dick scowls.
Alfred tuts, “Now, you brought that on yourself, Master Dick. Learning to keep your temper under wraps would do you a lot of good.” He pats Dick’s good shoulder and then turns to walk out. “Your father—”
Dick opens his mouth to refute it, but Alfred talks over him.
“Your father will likely be up to talk to you soon.” Alfred leaves, and Dick grabs his tray off the nightstand.
He’s barely finished eating by the time Bruce knocks on his door.
“Come in.” Dick calls. Bruce steps in, and perches on the edge of Dick’s bed.
“What’s going on, chum?”
Dick just shrugs in response, wincing as it pulls on his shoulder weirdly.
Bruce sighs, “I need you to work with me here. Something’s going on, and I can’t help it if you won’t talk to me.”
Dick takes a while to respond, but he finally speaks quietly, “You took the last thing I truly had from my parents. My one opportunity to do something good with their legacy.”
Bruce sighs, “I’m sorry, Dick, but my decision stands. Being out in the field is too dangerous, and I can’t have you getting hurt like you did the other night. I’m sorry that I had to take Robin, but I can’t knowingly put you in danger.”
“What, so when I was 8 it was okay, but now that I’m nearly an adult, 10 fucking years later, you suddenly have an issue with me being in danger?”
“Dickie—”
“Whatever. We’re not going to get anywhere with this. If I promise to do better about following orders, will you give Robin back?”
Please, please say yes. He doesn’t know if he can take not having anything tying him here. Without Robin, there’s nothing to keep Bruce from throwing him out as soon as he turns 18, as soon as all legal ties are cut.
“I can’t, Dick. I can’t stand to see you hurt, and knowing I was the one who put you in that situation? I can’t do it. I’m sorry, there has to be another solution.”
Dick drags his knees up to his chest, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his good arm around them.
“Nothing? Sweetheart, please. There has to be more going on. You’ve been moody for the last couple days, and it can’t just be about Robin, because it’s been going on for longer than that.” Bruce’s voice is pleading.
What’s the point?
What’s the point of telling him what’s going on, why is he trying so damn hard to figure it out if he’s just going to kick Dick to the curb.
Shouldn’t he know what the problem is? Surely he has to realize Dick doesn’t want to leave.
“Oh now you want to talk about feelings? Please.” Dick sneers. He knows it’s not the best way to go about it, he’s not helping his case by being disrespectful and angry, he just can’t help it.
Bruce sighs again, his whole body slumping with the movement. “Alright. We can try again later.” He pushes himself up, but doesn’t leave just yet. He watches Dick for a few seconds before asking, “Do you want a hug, chum?”
Dick shrugs with his good shoulder, tucking his face between his knees.
Bruce sits down again, tugging Dick gently into his arms. Dick uncurls enough to reciprocate with one arm, burying his face in Bruce’s shoulder.
If this is the last time he gets to experience this, he wants to savor it.
He waits until he can sense Bruce getting uncomfortable to let go.
Bruce tugs him in one last time, pressing a kiss to his hair. “You’re a good kid, Dick, but I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Tears well in Dick’s eyes, and he uses all of his Bat Repression Training™ to push them back.
Bruce pulled away again, ruffling Dick’s hair as he goes. “Get some rest, sweetheart, you have to get up early for school.” He walks towards the door.
“Am I grounded from the TV and games too?” Dick speaks up before Bruce leaves.
Bruce turns back around, “No, I figure confinement and taking your car is enough.” Bruce’s lips quirk, “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’d start taking out my chandeliers again if you didn’t have some form of entertainment.”
Dick allows himself to smirk a little, “You’re right, I would.” Hell, he’d considered it before he was grounded.
Bruce shuts the door quietly, and Dick allows himself to flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
He ends up killing a few hours playing a couple different video games, rotating them when he gets bored. He’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t have anything else to do, but he did all his homework.
He wakes up before his alarm the next morning, and gets ready for school before he goes down to breakfast. Bruce wasn’t there when he got to the kitchen, so Dick ate quickly and Alfred took him to school.
School passes slowly, nothing interesting happens. He does his best to keep pressure off his shoulder, but by the end of the day it’s still throbbing.
He slips into the passenger seat after setting his bag in the back of the car.
“Good afternoon, Master Dick. How was school?”
“Fine, I guess. Boring.” Dick picks at his uniform pants.
Alfred hums, “And your shoulder?”
Dick shrugs with his good shoulder, “Hurts more today than the last two days, but it’s not terrible.”
No, the pain isn’t bad. The worst part is knowing he isn’t just benched from Robin until he heals, he’s benched forever.
When they get to the manor, Bruce is waiting in the foyer again.
Alfred keeps walking, heading deeper into the manor, but Dick stops in his tracks, gazing at Bruce nervously.
“Did…is something wrong?”
Did he do something wrong?
“No, no. I just wanted to see if you’ve thought about where you’re going to be attending college.” Bruce tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks, obviously having come from work.
“I’m not.” Dick attempts to pass Bruce, only for the man to step in front of him and stop him. Dick sighs. “If we have to have this conversation, can we at least go somewhere I can put my bag down?”
Bruce nods, and they head to his study. Dick does his best to not stare at the grandfather clock in the corner.
“I just want you to reconsider, Dick, College really isn’t that bad, and Gotham U has some great programs! If you’d just look into it—”
“I don’t want to, Bruce! What do you not get about that?” Dick tries his best to keep his voice level, but it doesn’t work out super well.
“”You’re doing great in school right now, why are you so against continuing?” Bruce slides the stupid brochure closer to him.
“Because I don’t like it? It feels like literal torture!” Dick pauses for a second, “No, you know what? I’ve withstood actual torture that was easier than sitting through school. I can be good at the work, if I try hard enough, but it doesn’t interest me, and even trying to focus daily is an uphill battle!”
“You don’t have a plan, Dick. You could just get a degree that’s applicable to a lot of things! Like…a business degree, for example!” Bruce’s voice is innocent, but Dick sees through him.
Dick narrows his eyes, slumping back in his chairs. “Oh. This is about you. You want an heir for your company.” He almost snorts. As if the board would accept an illegitimate ward as Bruce’s successor. They barely let Bruce run the company, and it’s his damn company! He attempts to cross his arms, but winces and aborts the movement when it pulls on his shoulder.
“That is not what this is about.” Bruce pauses, sighing heavily and leaning forward. “I want what I have always wanted for you, to give you your best chance. I believe college will do that, there’s not many careers you can do without a degree.”
Dick groans, “This again? B, please, I don’t want to. Besides, I could do something with gymnastics! I could become a trainer, or, hell, I could go to the olympics! I looked into it. With my skill level, it wouldn’t be hard, and with my legacy no one would question where I suddenly got the skills!”
“That’s not a career Dick.”
“Tell that to my parents! They loved what they did every night. Who says you can’t turn a passion into a career? Besides, I could throw my name around, like I’m know you’re so used to doing, and I could make a career out of it.”
“Richard…” Bruce’s voice is barely more than a growl now, Dick is proceeding into dangerous territory. Too bad he doesn’t care. What more does he have to lose?
“You said if I had a plan, we could talk about it! Besides Robin and acrobatics are the only times I ever feel truly at peace with myself! I have a plan, just…give me a year to try it? We’re past application deadlines anyway, what’s the harm?”
“I said we might talk about it. I still think college would be better for you.”
“Why do you get to decide what’s best for me?” Dick is near hysterical now, this argument is running in circles. “Why is forcing me through school better than letting me choose the path where I’m happy?”
Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but Dick can’t take it anymore. He pushes out of his chair and stalks off to his room, ignoring Bruce calling his name behind him.
Dinner is tense, and conversation is stilted. Dick shuts down all attempts to talk about what happened earlier by changing the subject or flat out ignoring Bruce.
Afterwards, he returns to his room, while Bruce prepares for patrol. He busies himself getting ready for the next day, and triple checking his homework is done. If he gets bored enough, he can work even farther ahead.
He has work tomorrow after school, so he packs his work uniform and wrist brace in the bottom of his backpack.
With that done, there’s not much to entertain him. The rest of the night passes slowly and uneventfully, and Dick eventually passes out in his bed.
The next morning when Dick heads down to breakfast, Alfred stops him before he can sit down. “Master Bruce never made it up from the cave last night. Perhaps you could persuade him to join us for breakfast?”
Dick narrows his eyes at the older man. He knows Alfred would be much more effective at getting Bruce out of the cave, he’s just sending Dick because he wants them to work out their issues. Not that there are any issues. He acquiesces though, and heads down to the cave.
Bruce is sitting at the computer when he gets down there, still dressed in his suit, and Dick sneaks behind him. Leaning against Bruce’s back, he tugs on one of the ears of the cowl, like he used to when he was younger and perched on Bruce’s shoulders.
“What are you doing down here, Ro– Dick.”
Right, because Bruce is in the suit, Dick is Robin. It’s a simple fact. No names while in the suit, whether or not you’re in the cave.
Only, Dick isn’t Robin. Not anymore.
“Alfred…” Dick clears his throat, pushing off Bruce’s back. “Alfred sent me to retrieve you from breakfast. He thinks you’ve been working too long.”
“Then he can get me himself. You’re not supposed to be down here.”
Dick swallows around the lump in his throat, “So, what, I’m no longer Robin and I’m not even allowed in the cave anymore?”
Bruce doesn’t even bother to turn and face him. “Quite frankly, I don’t trust you down here anymore. Go upstairs.”
Dick is glad Bruce isn’t facing him now. He doesn’t want to know how much that sentence would have hurt if he had to see Bruce’s face when he said it. He suppresses the tears the best he can, turning and quickly walking to the stairs.
Bruce doesn’t trust him anymore
He’s mostly gotten himself back under control by the time he enters the kitchen, suddenly looking forward to being out of the house for the rest of the day.
“Well? Is he going to join us?” Alfred questions as soon as Dick sits.
Dick shakes his head, avoiding the other man’s gaze. “He said you can go and retrieve him yourself.”
Alfred huffs, setting Dick’s plate down. “The nerve on that boy…” He leaves Dick alone, presumably going to drag Bruce away from the computer.
Dick is glad to have the alone time.
By the time Dick has finished his food, washed his dishes, and retrieved his bag, Alfred must have succeeded in getting Bruce back upstairs.
Dick is on his way to meet Alfred in the garage when Bruce calls his name from behind him. Dick doesn’t turn around, only stops and slightly turns his face towards Bruce. No need to let the man see exactly how much his words hurt him.
“That was needlessly harsh of me, chum, it’s been a long night. I—”
Dick nearly scoffs, but stops himself at the last minute. That’s not even a real apology. He doesn’t know why he even expected one. Bruce isn't sorry about what he said, because it's true. Bruce doesn't trust him, not with Robin, not in the cave, not even to be his son.
“It’s fine, Bruce. I have to go.” Dick walks off to the garage, forcing himself to remain at a steady pace. He can hear Bruce sigh behind him.
School, and subsequently work, pass uneventfully. IT's a good distraction from the turmoil in him, and not being able to have his phone on him is a good excuse not to talk to Bruce.
So do the next couple of days. Bruce has been either ignoring him, or keeping conversation to small talk.
As much as Dick wants to avoid talking about college, or the elephant in the room, he hates this.
By the time the weekend rolls around, Dick has barely done anything other than hide in his room, save for when he has to eat or go to school or work.
Saturday evening is the final straw.
Dick stays at work for an extra two hours to help with the dinner rush, letting Alfred know to pick him up at seven instead of five.
When he gets home, Bruce is in the main sitting room, waving Dick over to him.
“Hey, chum, how was work?”
”It was fine, no better or worse than usual.” Dick answers suspiciously.
”Great! I was thinking, you want to play a game or something with me? We haven’t been spending as much time together as we used to.”
Dick narrows his eyes. Bruce has barely acknowledged him outside of meals the last few days. “Why? What’s your angle here, Bruce?” Bruce hadn’t been willingly spending time with Dick lately, and the only reason Dick can think of is Bruce either has bad news for him, or something otherwise unpleasant to tell him.
Bruce doesn’t visibly startle, but he does his equivalent of it. His eyes widen marginally, and he leans back slightly. “What? I don’t have an angle. Why do you think I have an angle?”
Dick snorts, “Please, Bruce, you’ve barely acknowledged me the last couple days, and now you want me to believe you’re willingly offering to spend time with me? You want something, or you have something to say that you don’t think I’ll like. You’re not subtle.”
Bruce sighs. “Fine. Have it your way. I got you into Gotham U’s finance department. You start in August.”
Dick’s heart stutters in his chest. “What the fuck, Bruce?” He takes a step back. “I asked you to give me a year to figure it out! I don’t want to go to Gotham U.”
”Too bad! You’re going, whether you like it or not. You can take the year to figure things out, while attending your classes. You have to at least try.”
”You can’t make me!”
”Yes I can! I’m your guardian. It is my job to do right by you.”
”In two weeks you won’t be! You don’t get to decide what’s right for me!”
That was stupid, why’d he do that? Why’d he remind Bruce just how little time there was before Bruce is no longer legally responsible for Dick.
“You are going to college, Dick, or you’re leaving my house.”
Dick’s mouth clicks shut from when he was about to speak again. Tears well in his eyes without his permission, and a tight band constricts around his chest. He ducks his head, hoping to hide his tears from Bruce. “Fine.” He murmurs, then turns and walks away without another word.
“Wait, Dick!” Bruce calls behind him, but Dick just walks faster and locks the door to his room behind himself.
He keeps walking across the room until he reaches his closet. He shuts and locks that door too, then leans against it, sliding down until he’s sitting with his knees pressed against his chest.
His shoulders shake with every breath, and he presses his hand to his mouth to muffle his gasping sobs.
He knew Bruce couldn’t keep him around forever, especially not without Robin, and with Dick being so difficult for him lately.
But he—
He didn’t expect it to hurt this much.
He thought being prepared for it would make it easier, like knowing it was happening would allow him to repress the hurt, like he always does.
It’s somehow worse.
Like knowing this was happening, feeling it buildup for a week, did the opposite of preparing him.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there sobbing, at one point he heard Bruce calling out to him, asking to talk.
He heard Alfred pass too, asking him to come to dinner.
He doesn’t leave his room for the rest of the night, and he sits in his closet long after he’s calmed down, a plan hatching in his mind.
He doesn’t leave his room the next morning either.
Eventually, around lunch, Alfred forces him to come eat.
Bruce isn’t in the kitchen when he gets there, thankfully.
He eats quickly and heads back to his room, ignoring Alfred’s disappointed sigh.
2 weeks.
He can make it to his 18th birthday, can’t he? His plan would go much smoother if he could.
The next week passes even slower than the last. He goes to school and work, picking up as many hours as he can, and hides his time. Bruce stays away from him, apparently giving him time to come around.
Dick is glad to have the space, but he’s not going to ‘come around’.
He can’t wait another week after this. His plan will work, whether it’s a week early or not.
When Friday night comes around, his plan is ready. He needs his friends for it, but he hasn’t been able to ask them. He doesn’t want to chance them giving something away before he wants to.
He waits in his room for Bruce to knock on his door and let him know he’s going on patrol, like he has every night for the last week.
This time though, it’s slightly different.
“I’m heading out, chum. Can we please talk in the morning?”
Dick snorts quietly, like it would make a difference.
“Sure, Bruce.” He responds audibly, listening for Bruce’s footsteps to leave.
He won’t be here in the morning.
He waits an extra hour, to make sure Bruce gets wrapped up with patrol.
He disables the locks and alarms on his window, then slips out. He can’t take a vehicle, Bruce has trackers on all of them and they’re too loud, but there’s a bus station near here. He can take a bus to Downtown Gotham, then walk the rest of the way to the Gordons’ apartment.
Barbara will be on patrol with Bruce, and the commissioner should be working the night shift tonight. He can stay in Bab’s room until she gets back, explain the situation, and go from there.
The bus stop is close enough to the manor he can still see its lights.
He looks one last time, then steps on the bus and doesn’t look back.
