I’m So Sorry
A/N - THREE IN ONE NIGHT. @tickletober2017 I’ve got another fic for ya, thank you for this lovely event! It’s a Batman fic and I hope you all enjoy it. Sorry for all the swearing. Have a great day!
Word Count: 961
“I’m Batman,” The young man said into the mirror, the cowl unfit for his body, though it didn’t matter. He was about a foot too short, not as muscular, and his face was still a bit rounded from youth. His jet-black hair was just long enough to be seen poking out through one of the openings for the eyes. His arms were outstretched, fingers entwined in the fabric of the cape, letting it flow around him, loving the feeling of it.
“What are you doing?” The boy nearly fell back when a voice sounded, another figure standing in the mirror.
“Aw, shit,” Dick Grayson stumbled back, the suit providing him no help. “Bruce, I’m so sorry. Shit, um, let me take this off and oh, shit.”
Bruce Wayne watched as his young sidekick tore off the suit, a slight raise of the brow as he slinked it off him, letting it fall to the floor. Dick had to kick it away, the cape trying to remain attached somehow. The young man stared at the ground, his face glowing red, a deep embarrassment setting in. If only it had been Alfred to walk in on him, not Bruce.
“I’m so sorry, Bruce,” He mumbled, trying to find something else to say. He knew no apologies could right what he did, he just wanted Bruce to understand he meant no harm, but how could he compose his thoughts into words? How could he let Bruce know how he felt, how embarrassed he was about the whole thing and how it would never happen again. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say, shit. Um, I’ll never do it again and oh, shit. Damn, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Bruce said after a moment of agonizing silence. The reply made Dick flinch, a puzzlement crossing through his mind, a moment of pure confusion the young man had not the slightest idea what to say or do. What could he day, after that? Was Bruce telling the truth or just telling Dick what he wanted to hear.
“It’s not, is it?” Dick asked, glancing rapidly around the room, frantically looking for some kind of diversion, a way to get out of this situation. Bruce couldn’t actually be fine with this, could he? “Shit, you’re probably so pissed at me. You’re going to say I can’t be Robin anymore and kick me out and oh, shit, what did I do?”
“Dick,” Bruce’s shadow shifted, lowering as the man crouched down in front of the young man. Dick looked up to make direct eye contact, seeing the pure sincerity in Bruce’s eyes. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Is it though?” Dick asked, biting down on his lower lip, his eyes glassy. Bruce let out a low sigh before pulling the young man into a hug, surprising both of them. Dick froze, his muscles tensing against Bruce’s. Bruce wasn’t used to physical affection either, though for some reason, the characteristics of his father came out at that moment. They both remained like this until Bruce finally let go, drifting back into his typical persona.
“It’s completely okay, Dick,” Bruce repeated, not knowing how to console this kid. They were both in the same boat, both of them losing their parents at a young age and neither of them used to physical affection, or any touch not meant to be harmful for that matter.
“How do I make it up to you?” Dick tilted his head to the side like a lost puppy, eyes still large and sad. Various thoughts raced through Bruce’s head, needing to find a way to console the young man, to make him feel better, to know that he is safe, and nothing is wrong. What did his own mother do when he was upset, all those years ago?
“I just want you to calm down and know that you’re fine,” Bruce said, the words not articulating the way he had hoped. He could hear the thoughts jumbling, intermixing, buzzing like a hoard of bees. It wasn’t until his mother popped into his mind, Marth Wayne and her peaceful eyes and warm smile. She always knew what to do, how to make her son smile even when the rain poured down over Gotham.
“How though? Aren’t you mad at me?” Dick tore through Bruce’s thoughts, his lower lip jutting ever so slightly. The kid looked so pitiful, so upset, so torn. He was just a kid, after all.
“I’m not mad,” Bruce replied, becoming overly conscious of his own hands. He quickly shot them forward, allowing them to pinch Dick’s sides. The boy let out a short stream of laughter before taking a few steps back, even more surprised. His head titled to the side again, Bruce standing up straight. “I just want you to be, uh, better. I’m not the best person at this. I don’t know what I’m doing, I just remember my own mother doing that and…”
“It’s fine, Bruce,” Dick said, cutting him off. “Thank you for not being mad and understanding.”
“Anytime,” Bruce responded, neither of them really knowing what to do. Dick dropped his head for a little nod before running off. Bruce let out a sigh, collapsing into his chair, swiping his suit from the floor. He set it on the desk and stared up at the black screen, letting his muscles relax as a faint memory crossed his mind, one of him and his mother, just as he had told Dick. A tiny smile appeared on Bruce’s lips, taking in the moment of pure, uninterrupted, much needed, bliss.
“Hey Alfred,” Bruce heard Dick call from the top of the stairs, the light of the doorway shining down just a bit. “Where is Bruce ticklish?”