Batkids wondering why bruce has so many painting and photos of dick throughout the wayne mannor and confronting bruce about it 😭
There was a new painting framed above the sixth step of the main stairwell in Wayne Manor. Tim Drake stood staring at it, mug of coffee in one hand and the other on his hip. He squinted and tilted his head, as if that was going to magically change the subject of the painting.
When it didn’t, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed someone who’d been dealing with this even longer than he had.
“Jay,” he offered as a weary greeting.
“Sup, baby bird?”
“I think it’s time for us to stage an intervention.”
“What?” Jason managed to sound both concerned and gleeful at the same time, which was par for the course when it came to family matters. “For who? Is the demon brat collecting every mistreated hamster in Gotham again?”
“No, it’s B. It’s- You remember that charity auction last month? The one where the whole thing was themed around heroes?”
“If you mean the one without a single Red Hood work, yes I recall.”
“You remember the guy who did the painting of Nightwing where he put, like, a lot of attention into his shoulders and waist?”
“Hard to forget how many people have a boner for Big Wing, yeah.”
“Yeah, well, B bought it.”
Silence.
“It’s in the front stairway. The one you’ve gotta take to get to the second floor if you don’t wanna go the long way around.”
“No.”
“Yeah.”
“Fucking christ on a cracker,” Jason swore. “Okay. Okay, gather the troops, enough’s enough.”
--- x ---
In retrospect, Dick should have realized something was up when almost every member of the family showed up to Sunday dinner. Not that Sunday dinner itself was unusual, it happened to be a standard part of the week going back as far as his own Robin days. It just wasn’t very often that everyone managed to be there at the same time.
Dick was one of the first to arrive, hoping for a few minutes alone with Bruce before the rest of the brood descended on them. Cassandra and Duke appeared not long after him, having been upstairs. Then, one by one, the assorted Wayne’s and Wayne-adjacents walked through the manor doors.
Bruce put up a good front, but Dick could see how each new person brought a new glimmer of joy to his eye. For all he preached independence, a more selfish man would’ve forced all of them to stay close for his own happiness and peace of mind. It was one of the things he loved about him.
Dinner itself was a raucous affair. They fell into their usual seats, filling out the massive dining table until they were practically crammed elbow to elbow, with Bruce at one end and Alfred at the other. Conversation flowed easily, voices overlapping, dishes and cutlery clinking, until every plate was clean.
Dick used the uncommonly full table as an excuse to press their knees together beneath the table and lean into Bruce’s space when they talked. There was a time he felt guilty for stealing touches from his former mentor like this. When he was younger, it felt wrong to linger over a few moments of physicality to feed a growing affection that would never be recognized.
These days, Dick was mature enough to know that his stolen touches were harmless, even if his feelings weren’t. He’d become very good at burying them deep, hiding behind the city of Bludhaven to keep a good amount of distance for his own sanity.
Generally, Dick was the one to help between courses, but he thought nothing of it when Kate waved him off as he went to stand. She and Damian helped Alfred clear the table, a lull falling over the dining room in their absence.
Now, Dick Grayson was many things and an idiot wasn’t one of them. He’d noticed how people kept exchanging glances and now, as conversation petered out, there was tension building in the air. A quick look at Bruce proved he’d noticed too, brows furrowed in concerned suspicion.
Alfred returned from the kitchen with Kate and Damian in tow, no dessert platters in sight. Alarm bells were going off in Dick’s head.
Jason cleared his throat.
“Alright. So. Bruce,” he fixed their patriarch with a stern look. “This is an intervention.”
Dick’s head snapped around so fast he felt it in his neck. It was a small comfort that Bruce looked thrown by the announcement. He’d never been good at taking care of himself, not even when someone was around looking out for him. And let’s face it, Dick hadn’t been around to watch his back for too long.
“An intervention?” Bruce echoed. “For what, exactly?”
“For all the fucking–”
“We’ve noticed,” Barbara interjected, silencing Jason with a look. “A startling amount of the art decorating the manor is related to… Dick.”
“Huh?” wasn’t the most intelligent thing Dick had ever said, but it felt appropriate.
“Uh, plus all the Nightwing stuff down in the Cave,” Duke added, clearing up approximately nothing.
“The new painting was the final straw, B,” Tim sighed, rubbing his forehead like the memory hurt him. “It’s kind of a lot.”
“It was for charity,” Bruce defended.
“Okay, sure,” Stephanie shrugged. “But what about the ones in the library?”
“Or the Flying Graysons poster on the third floor.”
“That’s been there for over a decade.”
“Okay, but there’s kind of a shrine of newspaper clippings around it,” Duke winced. “The ones all about the stuff Dick’s done for Bludhaven?”
“And the photos,” Tim added. “The ones I took as a kid are one thing, but the one in the second floor hallway is nearly the size of a window.”
“Jesus, and the portrait with the flowers in the conservatory,” Jason groaned.
“Hang on!” Dick blurted, jerking forward in his seat to look wildly around the table.
Heat was beginning to crawl up his cheeks. It felt a little bit like someone grabbed reality by the neck and shook it, leaving him disoriented and dizzy.
“Hang on,” he repeated, when it became evident no one was going to interrupt him. “Bruce has gotten portraits done of all of us! There’s stuff all over the place about everyone here!”
The family exchanged looks.
“You are the only one with a marble bust,” Damian finally said, which was fairly damning on its own.
“And the only one with a dedicated room in the Cave,” Kate added.
“Also,” Cassandra said. “The amount.”
“Can’t go anywhere in this place without seein’ your face, Dickiebird,” Jason grimaced.
Dick thumped back against his seat, feeling shaken.
The thing about being the oldest was that he was simultaneously the most familiar with Wayne Manor, and the least. He’d moved out years ago, which meant his visits were short and usually involved specific rooms. His own, primarily.
If he thought about it, Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d wandered the manor in its entirety. To him, the scattered family photos all seemed fairly proportionate, but there was no way that was true with how everyone was talking.
He could think of a few of them off the top of his head. A photo from his police academy graduation in Bruce’s office, the aforementioned portrait in the conservatory from a brief stint as a life drawing model in college. The marble bust was something he’d commissioned as a joke a few years back, he didn’t know Bruce kept it.
And they were right. There was a room dedicated to memorabilia from his exploits as Nightwing in the Cave. He’d never thought of it as strange before now. He’d been active as his own hero longer than anyone else, so it just kind of made sense.
The same could be said about the portraiture. Bruce first had him sit for a painter over a decade ago, back before words like “son” began to chafe. He’d been around the longest, so obviously he’d be the most omni-present. There was nothing strange about that.
Except.
Except that if there wasn’t, Bruce should be saying so. Should have said anything, at this point.
Dick turned to Bruce, who was staring blank faced at the table top. His jaw was tense, hands flat against the woodgrain. To an outside observer, he must have looked calm. To Dick, he was the picture of discomfort. Not afraid or in pain, just exposed, like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.
Almost a decade of rationalization suddenly looked a lot like willful obliviousness.
Every time Bruce’s hands lingered on him, Dick convinced himself it was a show of trust and nothing more. Whenever his eyes swept the length of his body, that was just him cataloguing any changes, potential injuries, maybe looking for areas he could improve. And his words? Bruce never meant the way his voice sometimes went low and husky, or the things he said which could be taken as double entendres.
Dick Grayson was not a creature of moderation, nor self-denial. If he’d let himself hope, ever even considered that maybe his feelings were returned–
“You know,” Alfred said, speaking for the first time since the intervention started. “Your father used to collect every photograph of your mother he came across.”
“Holy shit.”
Dick regretted it the moment the words tripped off his tongue. Whether it was his voice or the mention of his parents, Bruce decided he was done with the intervention. He shoved back from the table, making to stand.
“No!” Damian barked sharply, stilling his father where he stood. “You are not doing this, father. You are not going to walk away before we are through.”
“You’ve made your point.”
“Oh that was part one,” Barbara pushed her glasses up her nose. “You’re part two.”
“Me?” Dick pointed at himself. “What did I do?! I don’t have a gallery of–”
He clamped his mouth shut abruptly, primarily because Tim produced a tablet from god knew where and held it up menacingly. The threat was very much implied.
Jason snorted.
“No one needs to see your spank bank, Dickwing, you’re not that subtle.”
Offended, Dick tried to splutter out a defense. Cassandra gave him a smile from across the table.
“You really aren’t.”
“We aren’t shaming you two,” Alfred said, his tone gentle. “This comes from a place of concern.”
“For our sanity,” Stephanie added helpfully.
Duke elbowed her. “And yours.”
“We wish for your happiness, father. Richard.”
“And for someone to cut the sexual tension with a knife,” Kate agreed.
With that, the gathered family all seemed to conclude that their work here was done. They rose, almost in unison, chairs scraping across the carpet and clothes rustling as they dusted themselves off. Jason, Stephanie and Damian beelined for the door, Kate sauntering after them, while Cassandra linked her arm with Alfred’s.
“We’re going to give you guys some space,” she told them. “Talk.”
Barbara wheeled herself out with Tim on her heels, leaving Duke to shut the door after the last of them. Then it was just Bruce and Dick, alone in the massive dining room.
Dick didn’t realize he was still staring at the door until Bruce audibly dropped himself back into his chair with a sigh. He blinked and met the man’s gaze properly for the first time since dinner ended.
Bruce smiled wanly.
“World’s greatest detective,” he said dryly.
Dick barked out a short laugh, all tension draining from his body.
“Wow,” he chuckled. “We’ve been kinda stupid, huh?”
“I want to say I didn’t realize what I was doing, but that would be a lie.”
“Would it make you feel better if I admitted I’ve got some old issues of People Magazine you did spreads in?”
“Which ones?”
“I’m not admitting that until I see the painting that set this whole thing off.”
To his surprise and pleasure, Bruce’s cheekbones grew pink at the mention of the offending piece.
“I really did buy it to contribute to the charity.”
“Uh-huh. I remember you were talking to the artist for a while.”
“We may have a similar appreciation for your… form.”
Something warm burst behind Dick’s breastbone. The raw affection bled through him until he was sure it was visible on his face, a painfully besotted smile stretching his lips. Bruce’s mouth twitched in answer, his own smile small, but no less adoring.
“You should show me.”
“I think I should.”