17 year old Bruce Wayne becoming a teen dad for 8 year old Dick Grayson and struggling, another mini fic, technically a part 2? PART 1
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"Please stop crying, kid... please... I don't know what you want if you just cry..."
Bruce had assumed that taking care of an 8 year old would be fairly easy. After all, it was after the diaper and fussy toddler years, almost at double digits, and when he was 8, Bruce was already pretty independent. But Dick... Dick was constantly upset. Crying, hiding, not wanting to interact with anyone. It was impossible to get him to leave his room or eat or even just talk to someone.
Standing in the doorway of the room, Bruce felt this horrible guilt feeling pooling in his stomach as he watched the child just cry on the bed. He didn't want to step closer, fearing he might scare Dick, but he also didn't want to leave, feeling responsible for the kid. Leaving felt like he was giving up. Giving up on the boy and his grief, giving up on the hope of getting better. And if he gave up, who else would be there to keep Dick from giving up, too?
"Dick, I really want to help. You have to let someone help you..." Bruce got out, taking a tentative step into the room. It was late morning, and Dick had refused to eat for the past 3 days since... since the accident. "Can Alfred make you something to eat? Anything to make you feel better. Your favorite food?"
He kept trying to offer food, clothes, gifts, anything. He had all the money in the world, but he knew better than anyone else that money doesn't fix grief. Standing at the foot of the bed, Bruce took in the sight of Dick crying into his palms, the boys face red and puffy, rubbed raw around his eyes and nose. When Dick moved to use the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away fresh tear, Bruce reached out and grabbed Dicks wrist, brow furrowing. Instinct told him to stop Dick from doing that again, that the kid was in pain from how raw his skin was. Shifting to kneel against the mattress, Bruce gently pulled a hankerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Dicks tears. It was almost fatherly... Bruce had memories of Alfred doing the same to him when he lost his parents.
"You're hurting yourself."
His voice was quiet, and Dick had stopped sobbing enough to stare at Bruce in disbelief. The quiet hiccups and sniffles echoed in the mostly empty bedroom, the lack of decorations making it feel almost sterile. They would have to decorate it, Bruce decided, make it look like an actual kids room.
"I know how this feels. You aren't alone, Richard. Please, let me help you."
It was a plea, a hushed beg for the boy to let Bruce do what he felt he had to. Alfred had stepped up to be Bruce's father, and Bruce wanted so badly to step up and be Dicks. To pay it forward. To protect someone who needed it.
It took about an hour to get Dick to leave his room, but eventually he was sat with Bruce at the dining room table, slowly eating the eggs and bacon Alfred had made. He had stopped crying for the most part, and let Bruce brush his hair and find him a change of clothes. And yet, Bruce didn't relax. He wasn't sure if he was doing any of this correctly. He wanted to he a good parental figure for Dick, but he also didn't want to overstep. What if the kid didn't want a replacement family? What if Dick always rejected him? What if he was making things worse for him?
"Mr Wayne..."
Dicks scratchy voice pulled Bruce from his thoughts, the man looking up like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be.
"When am I going into foster care?"
Oh. That was the problem. Dick thought his placement here was only temporary. He thought Bruce would eventually get rid of him, and he had been worrying himself to tears thinking he would just get thrown to the foster system. That's why he had been in such a state for the past few days. That's why he had been so avoidant with Bruce. He was preparing himself for the feeling of being abandoned again.
"N-never. You don't have to go into foster care. The... the manor has a place for you always." Bruce spoke, trying to hide his sadness. Did Dick really think Bruce would just get rid of him after what happened?
"Are you certain?"
He sounded so weak. So defeated. He had just lost his mother and father, and he expected the world to tear away everything else too.
Timothy Drake was illegally adopted by Catharine and Willis Todd AU
So I like Jason's parent's original life and deaths.
So like, AU where Jack and Janet Drake tried to sell Tim to Two-Face to settle a debt, and Willis stepped in after they left. Well, after Two-Face went on a rampage and scared them out.
He still considered them in debt, they just kinda bolted and left the terrified kid.
Two-Face wasn't too sure what to do with the kid, but he wasn't gonna fuckin go into human trafficking. He's a killer, not absolute filth.
But Tim couldn't go to an orphanage, because his parents were alive, and super rich. So if they sent him there, he'd just get picked up and sold to someone who would actually traffic him.
Then Willis Todd stepped up.
He and his wife, while she was ill, already had a son. They could take in Tim, if he had nowhere else to go.
Willis himself stepped up because he had a sudden, horrible realization of the only thing they could really do for the kid and claim it was mercy.
And he wasn't about to kill a kid.
So he took Tim home to a sick Catharine and a curious Jason. They make due, having Catharine and Jason teach Tim his schooling in lieu of going to school. They couldn't really afford the fake paperwork on top of Catharine's meds, so Tim couldn't get to go anymore.
But they loved him like one of their own, and Jason took great pleasure in being an older brother.
Then Willis got killed by his own employer, leaving Catharine and their two kids.
Then things got worse, and Catharine died from an illness she couldn't afford treatment for.
Which left Jason and little Timmy, alone on the streets.
Until Jason decided to steal the tires off of the Batmobile to be able to afford actual food for his little brothers birthday.
Desc: Robin is thirteen and sent on a simple mission by his father after begging to do a mission by himself, but it goes completely wrong because of a purposeful lack of instructions from his father and Robin didn't know. This is a snippet from the chapters I'm writing, I hope it's good enough so maybe I can post the full thing one day.
“This is your fault, Robin”
He felt the airborne dirt fill his lungs, chest heaving as he tried to focus. The ringing in his ears settle, only to be met with screams and the crumbling of the fallen building around him. People flee while others lay motionless on the ground.
“Did you hear me, boy? This is your fault.” Slade’s voice sounds so neutral, so unnervingly calm.
His fault? How could it be? He wasn't told that he was responsible for the evacuation. He wasn't told the planted bomb would go off while he was inside, nor was he told the blast would be so powerful that it would wipe out all of the floors above floor two. His target was only one man, how could this have happened.
He looks up, seeing a small drone hover in the dirt filled air, the sun barely piercing through while his vision is hazy. He opens his mouth to try to speak, but only coughs of blood spew out. He falls to his knees, body shaken and exhausted while he clutches his chest.
“Robin?”
He didn't answer - he couldn't answer. He feels as if his limbs are disconnected from his body, he didn't have the strength in him to get up. His head felt heavy first, then his eyelids. Vision blurs before he collapses, joining the scattered pieces of what once used to be a building and what once used to be living, breathing people.
The drone hovers, the hum of its wings barely able to cut through the dusted air. Everything fell silent, no more screaming, no more rumbling.
“Stay there. I will retrieve you.”
The communicator on Robin's now unconscious body cuts off, the drone retreating, leaving him covered in blood, debris and gun powder.
Robin opens his eyes, met with a strong white light hitting his vision. He groans, feeling pain and soreness shoot through his entire body. He sits up quickly, inhaling sharply through his teeth from the pain amplified with each movement. He feels a large hand placing itself on his back, another on his chest, gently making him lay back down. Once his vision focuses, it's Slade, his father. He looks down, seeing him stripped of his suit and wrapped in bandages around his chest, ribs, upper arms and his upper right leg.
Slade doesn't say anything yet, keeping close while examining the bandages, making sure Robin's movements didn't cause them to curl up or undo themselves.
Robin can't seem to put his thoughts together, closing his eyes as he feels like he's still in that destroyed building. He feels nauseous, exhausted, and thirsty.
“You have been unconscious for some time.”
Robin lets out a small murmur to let his father know he acknowledges him, even when he should care less about what Slade has to say right now.
“I suppose these injuries exclude you from any future punishment from your major failure today.”
Robin slowly opens his eyes again, his face riddled with defiance and anger. He tilts his head to get a better look at his father who is only focused on his injuries. He slowly gets up, shooing Slade's hands away and sitting up, letting his feet dangle from what looks like an operating table psychopaths use to torture people in horror movies. He takes a moment to collect himself, his brain recognizing that the pain is mostly coming from his chest and ribs.
“You have three fractured ribs and one broken. It is foolish of you to exert yourself simply because you aren't keen on the way I speak to you.”
He hesitates, looking over his shoulder to stare at his dad as his brows furrow. He makes up his mind, looking forward and pushing himself up and onto his feet. He clutches his chest, using his arms as a shield before taking a few steps forward, eyes squinting from the pain.
Without much effort, Slade moves around the table and blocks Robin from going any further, his demeanor casual yet authoritarian. His hands are crossed behind his back, one visible eye looking down at Robin as if he's a misbehaving child.
“You act as if you have an option. Your autonomy does not have any value here when you're injured and under my protection.”
Robin's eye mask widens. He takes a step back, looking at Slade like he's crazy before they narrow angrily again.
“Take me to an actual hospital!”
His voice is slightly strained and weak, but there's still protest. Slade’s energy shifts noticeably at the sudden bark of demand. He takes a step closer, making Robin take another step back.
“Are you trying to render me incapable of taking care of my beloved son from his own faults?”
He scoffs, even in pain he's still stubborn.
“If you won't take me to one, then the least you could do is leave me alone!”
His voice is now drenched in exhaustion, feeling his body beginning to give out again. He tries his best to compose himself, not wanting to deal with his father's harsh words anymore.
“Do not test me, boy.”
Slade's hand suddenly shoots out, grabbing Robin's jaw aggressively and making him look directly up at him.
“You are out of line. I will give you grace and assume it is because of your injured state, but know this. I am helping you because I am your father. You defy me, you defy yourself. It is not that difficult to understand, my dear child.”
Robin's heart drops, weakly groaning from the pain of his grip on top of the existing pain resonating within his chest. He tries to pull himself away, but fails as Slade tightens his grip with a glint of amusement in his eye. He leaves Robin no choice but to stare him down.
Robin feels his body slowly freeze, subconsciously holding his breath knowing he's in no condition to fight or argue with this man in front of him. His angered gaze falters along with his struggles after a long staring contest between the two. Slade doesn't let go yet, leaning in close enough to where Robin can see his tinted reflection in his father's mask.
“You've become too reckless. too…disobedient. I intend to make this a very, very valuable lesson for you to remember.”
Slade’s hand pulls away from his face as he makes the right amount of distance between him and his son. Robin exhales as if Slade’s presence alone was suffocating him subconsciously.
He lets his gaze drop to the side as he keeps his arms tightening around himself, looking shocked and completely defeated while his chest rises and falls like a startled animal.
Slade noticed his body language, taking it as a sign that he won this little intimidation battle that he made up in his head. He takes this moment as an opportunity to move closer again.
Without warning, he picks up his son into a cradle carry. Robin's eye mask widens in surprise, looking down at the ground he's no longer standing on. He looks back up in confusion, skeptical of his father's intentions.
Not a word is spoken as he carries his son out of the eerie medical room and into the vast, dark hallway. The sound of machinery and Slade’s heavy footsteps from his boots echo through the hall. Robin shivers, the cold air piercing through him from the breeze flowing through.
Slade looks down at him when he finally comes to a stop in front of a door before it automatically slides open. It was Robin's room.
He barely even recognized where he was being taken, maybe his father was right about him overexerting himself. He brings them both inside, the door sealing shut behind them with a hiss. He lowers Robin into his bed, pulling up the blanket to cover him from the waist down while Robin leans his back against the headboard, his face strained from the pain.
Slade crouches down next to the bed, his hands automatically cupping his face, tilting it side to side to check for any injuries before moving down to check the bandages on his upper arms and around his chest one last time, the touch sending small jolts of soreness and pain throughout his body.
He pauses for a moment, seeing Robin's eyes flutter shut slightly, struggling to stay awake.
“You need to recover. Do not let your stubbornness get in the way of what you need…” he takes a small moment to examine his son's reaction. When he finds no defiance, he uses his index finger and thumb to gently tilt his chin up to make Robin face towards him.
“Understand I am doing this for you. I only ask for a little gratitude, yet I am met with hurtful looks and belittling words from you, dear boy.” His voice is poisonous, feeling his words slowly take effect while each seed of self doubt is planted. Robin can't help but ponder on his father's words, the sickly sweetness of his voice striking right through his very soul as if he's a kid again. His pained expression softens when Slade’s hand moves from his chin to the side of his face.
Robin feels conflicted. He knows his father is harsh, and says he's doing this for his own safety and protection, but he's so angry at him. He knows he's too exhausted to fight back anymore, he just wants to rest, and his father is being so open with him for the first time in a while.
He gives in, closing his eyes and taking in the warmth of his father's gloved hand on his cheek. He sits up fully and wraps his arms around his father, hugging him gently.
Slade is slightly confused by the sudden hug, but his single visible eye gives away his sly, unsettling smile, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of Robin’s head while the other wraps around his upper back protectively. He knows what he's doing, and he knows it's working.
“I-...m… sorry…” Robin's words slur, fighting to stay conscious as his eyes are still closed.
Slade shushes him, pulling away to see a small tear forming in Robin's eye as they slowly open. He wobbles slightly, Slade placing his hands on his shoulders to keep him steady.
“Shhh… Listen to me and rest, we will discuss this properly when you are not so disjointed.”
Robin gives a sleepy nod, laying down on his own and resting his head against his pillow, tucking himself in. His eyes almost close immediately, his body missing the coziness and warmth of his bed while his sore and injured muscles slowly relax.
Slade stands up, towering over his bed and making the room seem smaller. He takes a long moment to stare down at Robin, looking at him with slight bitterness, wanting to snuff out any sort of positive feelings towards his own son.
He pauses for a second before turning around, placing his hands behind his back once more and heads towards the door.
“Good. Sleep, child. Pray tomorrow will show you mercy.”
Robin doesn't hear his menacing comment, his mind already drifting off into sleep. Slade exits his son's room, turning off the overhead lights and not looking back.
He goes back into the medical room to clean up the now littered and bloodied operation table, a tray with tools and blood covered glass pieces lays out next to the large table.
The scene of watching his son collapse through the drone camera replays in his head while he picks up and cleans the place, his facial expression unreadable and cold.
Once finished, the last thing to do is repair Robin's suit. It rests on a counter in the far corner, the armor pieces on top of the stretchy leather suit are dented, scratched, and covered in dirt.
He lifts it and hovers it in front of him as if holding a thin, barely dried painting. He sees the rips and holes curled from dried blood. Something in him makes it hard to keep looking at those rips and tears, his jaw tightening slightly as the dried blood is visible on the orange part of his suit.
He makes the decision to scrap the suit entirely, folding it neatly before using an evidence bag to store it, preparing it for the incinerator.
That's it for now! Tell me if you guys want more, I'm not that confident in my writing so I appreciate any sort of support.
Ok, but consider an AU when after Bruce kicks Dick out, Dick immediately takes up the Nightwing mantel and Gotham goes a bit wild.
Joker bragged in Arkham that he shot the Boy Wonder and no one has seen him fir months. He's cackling about finally getting rid of the runt. The other inmates start attacking him for hurting their favorite menace.
Rumors leak about Joker's attack and so when months later a new Robin is seen the citizens of Gotham are distraught at a confirmation that their Robin is gone. It doesn't matter how much Jason looks like Dick or how he tries to act like Robin, everyone knows at the first sight that it's a 'fake' Robin. Their Robin has years more experience and better fighting. Their Robin does flips and jokes. Their Robin has a self confidence this kid doesn't have yet.
So then when Joker breaks out of Arkham to escape the constant abuse of the other inmates and create general mayhem, the citizens smile bloody. Someway, somehow during a terrorist attempt Joker is shot multiple times, killed, has his head cut off and set on fire. The cameras can't pick up what happened because of the crowd and no one says a word. Joker is finally killed because no one messes with Gotham's Robin.
Then Nightwing swoops in when he hears what happened to reassure the city that he is still alive. He is smothered by hugs from civilians. People ask why he left them. It's revealed that Bats fired him and told him to leave. Civilians start pushing Batman into garbage cans when they see him or give him lectures or cold shoulders. Jason decides to take up a new bird moniker like Bluejay and Gotham accepts and protects their new bird. He never dies and his belief in Robin Magic lives on.
