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[FIC] In Dreams by kleine-asbar (Part 4 of 4)

Title: In Dreams (Part 4 of 4)

Author: kleine-asbar Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Abuse, angst, creepiness, idiot plot, purple prose, underage sex, violence. Summary: I finally went through with my plans to write that thing where Regular!Bruce & Dick (I’m using a mix of Grant Morrison/New 52, only Damian isn’t dead because that’d suck donkey balls) meet Bruce & Dick from Frank Miller’s notorious (and glorious XD) All-Star Batman and Robin. Sparks fly, yo. Fists, too. Note: Accompanying art by lokiet, which can also be found under the cut below! Mod note: Due to its length, this story has been posted in four parts over the last week. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

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VIII.

"… I can't walk."

"Sure you can walk. We've walked all the way here. Don't be a brat."

"But …"

The teen in the dark hoodie and sunglasses clutches the brown package he's holding, and peeks out of the dark alley, at the hobo lurching around right in front of the Gotham Gazette's building. He licks his lips. Doesn't seem too long ago that both his lips and tongue have been on Batman's balls (feels like he can still taste them, despite the popsicle he's received for compensation), but the large man in the trench coat behind him apparently has already moved on from it.

"Almost done," he growls, in what resembles an encouraging tone.

Dick takes a deep breath and asks the same dangling question he's been asking over and over since they've wrapped up shooting.

"What'll become of me once it's done?"

He hears a dismissive snort. "You've been singing me that song for an hour. It's getting stale," Batman huffs, in lieu of an actual answer. But then: "… we'll talk later."

Dick's heart skips. Batman's been dodging the question from the get go, and he's sorta still doing it, but that's … that's a start. He'll take it. Dick'll take what he can get. He cranes his neck to gaze up at him with a cheeky grin.

This seems to fluster the big man. He shifts in his disguise. "You remember what you're supposed to do?"

It's Dick's turn to snort. "Walk over to that homeless guy, hand him fifty bucks, tell him to drop this off at the front desk? Think I can handle it. I'm not dense."

"You're not," Batman agrees to his pleasant surprise. "But you sure like to be asked twice." Except for in the bedroom. "Now move."

Turns out, getting his rocks off makes Batman a little less of a hardass, but not that much. Dick gives up grinning at him, and steps out into the open. He keeps his head down, though he isn't quite sure for whom. The plaza looks freaking deserted, apart from the man in rags shoveling through a trashcan. The early morning hours are traditionally Gotham's deadest hour. The criminal syndicates have already wrapped up their bloody business, and the good citizens aren't up yet. The only people awake are the first responders, the nurses and doctors and cops and firemen, 'cause those poor devils are always up. The Gotham Gazette's front desk is manned, though, and that's the important thing. In a few minutes, the woman hanging over the counter will receive a package that'll wipe that sleepy look off her face.

In a few minutes, Dick knows, he'll also have crossed over into irredeemable villainy. He'll kill this world's Batman and Robin (… right, Nightwing), who have done nothing to him, and he's not gonna look back. He figures, after all he's pulled in the past few months, it's not that big of a step.

His little walk over seems endless, though. And it's not only 'cause he feels as sore as if he'd been riding a horse for the last hour. (Turns out, his Bruce is way more selfish in bed than the other one was; but he's also even fierier, and Dick has to admit he digs that a little.) It's as if his feet are resisting him. His heart feels heavy. A part of his brain is screaming at him to throw the tape to the ground, then jump up and down on it until it's unusable. Batman would be so pissed, but when is he not. Dick doesn't fear his wrath that much anymore. It's his indifference that terrifies him now. But really, so what if Batman ditches him here; he's ditched him before, and Robin has always found his way back. He'll always find his way back to him.

He wants to be strong enough to do that now. He wants to be strong enough to defy his mentor, then turn around and demand he be taken home, anyway. Batman has always respected strength, perhaps he'd respect him, then.

He's so caught up in it that he doesn't even notice that the man he's doing all this for, the man who's waiting for him in the dark alleyway, suddenly gets yanked back with a startled grunt and a wire around his neck.

"Gramps, huh," the older Batman hisses in his ear as he drags him away.

But Dick doesn't see it, he doesn't hear it. He's got his eyes on the man in rags. The hobo interrupts his trash dive with a quizzical hum as the teen approaches. Dick understands why he's alarmed. He sure wouldn't be the first homeless man to get beaten up by a juvenile delinquent in this town. He looks out of it, too, barely able to stay on his plastic-wrapped feet. Dick steps closer, clammy hands clutching the brown package to his chest.

"Hey –"

Aaand he chokes.

He can't do it. It's wrong and he knows it. But he can't bring himself to turn around and face Batman's disappointment, either. He freezes, breaking out into a sweat, until someone else makes his choice for him.

When the homeless man moves, it's at a startling pace. Dick sees a flash of silver appear out from under his rags, and his brain kicks into gear a moment too late to tell him –

Run

And then, a strong hand reaches for his wrist, the cuffs snap shut around it, and a familiar voice mutters, "All right, lad, let's have a sit-down."

-----

"A word," Bruce says calmly, after slamming Batman into the wall a third time for good measure.

He hears something rattle in Batman's throat, and then a fleck of spit flies at his face. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't avoid it, either. He almost wants to thank him. It's deserved. It seems only appropriate that it's coming from himself.

It hits his puffy cheek, and he remains stoic while it slowly dribbles down his chin. Batman abandons his fruitless rage to take a good look at his bruised face for the first time. It makes him snicker. "Nightwing got you good," he assesses, not without satisfaction. But he starts glaring again when it gets no reaction from Bruce.

"Coward," he snarls. "Fight me."

"No."

Bruce looks at his own sneering, arrogant face. Young, proud, somewhat insane, seething with righteous anger. No fear, no shame. He hates him, and he envies him. But that's not important now.

"You don't want to fight me," he declares in a tired voice. "You don't think I'm worth it."

Batman snorts in agreement. "You look like a dead man," he points out.

Bruce doesn't doubt it. He doesn't feel as if he wants to live. He doesn't want to die either, he never does (too much unfinished business still), but he's not sure how to live, now. He's lost himself, he's lost whatever love Dick might have left for him. He's wearing the cowl, but he's disgusted with himself for doing it. He can't imagine getting up tomorrow, he can't imagine looking at his face in a mirror without wanting to break both. He so badly wants to lie down and play dead. The only thing he wants more than that is to end this, without bloodshed, and without more suffering. He owes it to Dick. He owes it to Robin. And that's why his hand stays locked around Batman's throat like a vice.

Batman had been right. He'd started it, he has to end it. After that, he can still fall down that steep, ragged dark hole that's opened up inside him.

"How," Batman growls at him, his curiosity overriding his desire to treat him like trash for a second, which makes sense. In his place, Bruce would want to know too.

He'd known that putting Damian on portal watch would have never been enough to truly stop them; it had been a diversion more than anything else, a sad attempt at saving face in front of his son. After his talk with Dick (the results of which he's trying to bury deep in the back of his mind for now, lest he'd start clawing the skin off his face), he'd been prepared to scour the entire city for them. But then, Batman had unexpectedly come to his aid.

"You went on a burglary rampage through some old Wayne Tech facilities," he reminds him, "Stealing some very specific things. And once I saw –" He hesitates, shudders, presses on. "I knew what you'd do."

Of course he did. They're not identical, obviously, but they share the same, catastrophic brain chemistry. How could he not know. "And I knew you wouldn't mail it."

Batman flashes him a cold, unimpressed smile, but it's masking something else, something buried deep, and shameful. "I only finished what you started."

Bruce resists the urge to slam him into the wall again. "I'd let you ruin me. But I won't let you ruin him."

"How nurturing." Batman tilts his head as well as he can with his throat in a deadlock. "It's not gonna make him crawl back to you," he says, soberly and without cruelty. "Not that one. Tell me you're not that pathetic."

Bruce doesn't even try to mask the pain pouring across his face. It's fine, he might as well see it. It's not as if he has any dignity left that's worth defending. He nearly says I know, but it's not as if either of them needs it.

Batman's red-rimmed eyes narrow. "What'd you do with the boy?" He now asks, attempting to crane his neck in the direction Robin has disappeared into. The note of real, possessive concern in his voice makes Bruce cringe with familiarity. "Where is he?"

"He's safe. I wouldn't harm him. But the tape is mine. And you'd have to cripple or kill me to get it back."

Batman's hands curl into fists in their heavy gauntlets. "Why does everyone here insist I won't kill? You are one man. You're old. I can take you."

"You'd have to try both of us, though. How 'bout that?"

Hearing his chipper, mellow voice from above sends a shock through Bruce's system. They both react to it, looking up at Nightwing peering down at them from the fire escape, wiggling his finger at Batman.

"I kicked your butt once," he says, "Don't make me do it again."

He's wearing that daredevil grin, but Bruce can tell that he's acting. Beneath it, he looks pale and miserable, and it makes his heart clench with guilt.

"Nightwing." It's hard to speak to him, but he's not ready to give up on it yet. "You should rest."

"You think I'd miss this?" Nightwing quips, but there's no warmth, no affection to it. It's not lost on Bruce, and not on Batman.

"Look at you," he barks up at him. "You're even worse off than the old perv who made you. A girl scout could take you."

"You know? You're right." Dick shoots him a sardonic smile. "I lost a lot of blood thanks to you. Actually, if you tipped me right now, I'd fall over. But I came anyway, to offer my moral support," he says, not once looking at Bruce. He points at the alley's entrance. "To him."

Batman's gaze follows his pointing finger, and then Bruce feels his body slump under his hands. His expression goes from sneering to startled little boy, and Bruce knows that, for once, he's made the right call.

"You didn't –" Batman croaks, and it sounds as petulant as it does defeated.

In the alleyway stands Alfred Pennyworth, with a handcuffed, pouting Robin flung over his shoulder and a stern look on his face. He's still in his homeless man's costume, which somehow doesn't make him seem less dignified in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, boss," Robin squawks. "He – he got the drop on me …"

"Whatever," Batman mumbles, mortified. He's barely able to look at the butler, who must be a perfect doppelganger of the man who'd raised him.

Bruce almost cracks a weak smile. The inspiration for this had come from Dick, like it had so many times over the years. Bruce came up with it after Dick mentioned in his grudging report that the only kind word Batman had spared had been for Alfred. Which wasn't much, on its face, but combined with what Bruce knows about himself, what he had gleaned from Robin's behavior …

Alfred Pennyworth is the one person that all four of them love, care for, and respect. He's the constant. He's the secret weapon.

But in order to get him to do this, of course Bruce had had to do something first. He'd had to disappoint the man whose respect, next to Dick's, had meant the most to him.

It seems as if his face is still ringing from the massive punch Alfred had delivered to him when he'd told him the truth about himself and Robin. (He hadn't slapped him; he'd outright punched him.) It corresponds with the swelling of his busted lip and cheek from where Dick has hit him earlier. It hurts, but nowhere near enough.

"Alfred." Bruce lowers his gaze, mirroring his other self. It's almost as difficult to look at his oldest friend as it is to look at Dick. "Excellent work, as usual."

The butler doesn’t answer him. "Master Dick," he says to the young man dangling from the fire escape. "I told you to stay in bed. You're in no condition to be scaling walls!"

"Apologies, Alfred." Dick sounds genuinely guilty. He slides down the stairs, hitting the ground a little more heavily than usual. "But I had to at least check on mini-me." He limps over and ruffles Robin's hair. The gesture isn't unfriendly, though harsh enough to make the boy wince. "Even if he's a brat."

"You're … not mad?" Robin squeaks, twisting his neck to look up at his counterpart. It'd be easy for him to wrestle out of the butler's grip, but he doesn't, which is another point for Bruce's theory.

"Eh," Dick says noncommittally, still with that biting smile on his face.

"Enough." Alfred uses one hand to balance Robin on his shoulder, and puts the other on his hip. "This has gone on long enough. We will resolve this once and for all, and we will do it in a civil manner, in a civilized environment. If I'm not mistaken, we have a safe house right around the corner. We'll resume this conversation there."

Dick gestures at Robin. "Want me to take him?" He offers.

"I appreciate it, Master Dick," Alfred says, shifting the boy on his shoulder with a soft groan, "But please, not in your current state."

"I could –" Batman grumbles.

"Or me, if you –" Bruce starts.

Dick gives both a consternated look while Alfred pierces them with stern, hard eyes. "Not you two," he snaps, extending a warning finger.

"Hey, I can walk," Robin protests weakly. "Let me down? I'm not gonna run, I swear."

Alfred seems skeptical for a moment, but ultimately relieved. "Very well, young Sir. I'll take you at your word."

He puts him down with a small huff, and Robin doesn't run. "Thank you, Mr Pennyworth," he says meekly, dusting himself off.

"The package is secured," Alfred informs Bruce, without seeming like he actually wants to talk to him, patting the bag he wears around his shoulder. "Now gentlemen, if you please."

He turns, and they all fall in line behind him, of course they do. Robin is in handcuffs, and Batman is flanked by Bruce and Dick, but Bruce isn't fooling himself; they could probably take all three of them in combat, if it came to it, and there's no telling who'd be left standing at the end. But the point is that they aren't going to try, not now, not after Alfred has gotten involved. Bruce knows Batman well enough to be sure. He might get into fights with him, might yell at him, and this version is probably even young and crude enough to shove him or even grab him by his impeccable collar. But even he wouldn't dream of harming him. And they both know it.

"Tattling to Alfred," Batman growls next to him, "What a bitch move."

"Worked well enough, didn't it," Bruce mutters back between clenched teeth, but his attention is on Dick, who quietly keeps in step with them, but seems less than thrilled to be in their presence.

"Stop it, Master Bruce," Alfred says, without turning around. "I'm not above putting you across my knees if you try my patience."

"Which one," they both ask in unison, before exchanging a nasty look.

Alfred makes a merciless noise in his throat. "Both."

And Dick doesn't even laugh at it.

IX.

Eventually, it's 8 in the morning, and up in one of Bruce Wayne's many anonymous penthouse apartments, things have reached a stalemate.

A storm is raging outside, but the luxurious suite with the thick, sound-proofed walls is perfectly quiet. A foul odor hangs in the air from the fragrance that Alfred has put on to get into character. It seems oddly fitting; there's something rotten going on here, after all.

Bruce and Dick are sharing a couch, but they couldn't be sitting further apart on it. Dick is slumping in the cushions, and it pains Bruce to see how exhausted he looks. Sometimes, it seems as if he's about to doze off, but then he snaps out of it again, obviously too tense and uncomfortable to actually pass out. After a while, Bruce stops sneaking solemn looks in his direction. His former protégé and once-upon-a-time best friend seems determined to ignore him, and Bruce doesn't blame him.

Batman is sulking in the armchair across from them. Whenever he's not glaring at Bruce with hate-filled, bloodshot eyes, he's slyly examining the room. Bruce knows that every household implement, every piece of furniture is a potential weapon to him, but he leaves him to it, anyway. He doesn't blame him, either. He's free to dream about putting his older counterpart's head through the flat screen TV, as long as he doesn't make an actual move. And he won't. Alfred still has the tape, and he's already re-iterated that Batman would have to pry it out of his cold dead hands if he wanted it.

Alfred has retreated to the next room. He's excused himself to have a private talk with Robin. Or rather, he'd announced that this talk would happen, and that Dick and the Batmen should stay here and behave.

So they wait, and every minute feels like an hour.

Bruce thinks that he's never experienced Dick being this quiet. The desire to reach out to him is strong, but every last thread of sanity he possesses tells him it's a horrible idea. On the other end of the spectrum, even hearing the way Batman is breathing through his nose makes him want to pummel him

I only finished what you started

but it seems pointless now.

"Hey."

Bruce unwillingly raises his head. "What."

"So," Batman gazes back and forth between him and Dick. "Are you two –"

"No," they blurt out at the same time, looking in different directions.

"I see." Batman smirks with lazy amusement, but his eyes seem pitying when he fixes them on Bruce. "You're a sad man," he concedes.

Bruce doesn't even blink. It doesn't seem as if it needs pointing out.

Nobody raises their voice again after that. They wait, and Bruce nervously hopes that Robin isn't going to try sleeping with Alfred now. The teen has been in a strange frame of mind from the very start, and Bruce has done nothing but escalate him further –

The door opens after what seems like eternity, and the butler and the boy come walking out. It takes Bruce some restraint not to leap to his feet in nervous anticipation at the sight of them. He sees Batman stir in his chair, and knows he's fighting the same impulse. Robin, who's not wearing handcuffs anymore, is gazing stubbornly at his feet. Alfred looks earnest, but at least he doesn't look upset, which is a small comfort.

After a short pause, he squeezes Robin's shoulder, and kindly says, "Go on."

The boy huffs through his nose, but then he marches over to where his older self is sitting, and awkwardly stands in front of him as if he's about to recite something. Dick looks up at him with deep shadows on his worn, handsome face; it's probably somehow to his benefit that he experiences all this through a thick layer of heavy exhaustion.

"I'm sorry for everything," Robin says, and Bruce can tell from the faint blush creeping into his cheeks that he means it, "I wanted to say that the whole time. I feel really bad for the stuff I did. You were really cool to me, and I was …" He trails off, as if he doesn't even want to say out loud what he thinks he is. "And I'm not saying that 'cause Mr Pennyworth said I should, or something," he adds with a petulant shrug, "He just told me I should go ahead and do it, 'cause you're a nice guy and you wouldn't be a jerk about it."

"I can confirm that," Alfred says with a faint smile.

"Anyway, I think you're great." Robin mumbles, too shy to even look at Dick properly. "And I wish that …" He hangs his head, shuffling his feet. "I wish we coulda been friends."

"Kid. I …" The corners of Dick's mouth tremble and turn downward, and for a moment he looks like he did as a little boy on the rare occasions where he'd burst into tears, and it makes Bruce want to fall on a sword. But Dick's eyes stay dry; maybe he doesn't want to cry in front of his teenage self and two Bruce Waynes, or maybe he's too tired for it.

He licks is cracked lips. "Thanks," he says hoarsely. "It's okay - well, not really, no, it's not okay, but I just … Robin. Dick. Can you promise me something?"

"Uh. Sure?"

Dick casts a quick, not exactly friendly glance at the two Bruces, then gently tugs on Robin's arm to pull him close, and whispers something in his ear. Bruce resists the pathological urge to lean forward to hear what's being said. Robin listens intently. His features don't give away what he's thinking.

At the end, he softly says, "All right." He doesn't smile, but he looks a little more hopeful when he stands up straight again. "So … we cool?"

Dick lets out a small sigh. But he looks genuine when he squeezes Robin's hand and says, "Yeah. We're cool."

Their handshake lasts for a good while, until Robin lets go, and faces Bruce. Their eyes meet, and Bruce's heart turns sore when he remembers how, for a strange, bizarre, magical moment, they had been lovers.

"You don't nee –" he starts desperately, but Robin raises his hand with unexpected confidence.

"No. Let me," he insists. And then: "I'm really sorry … that I lied."

It's all he says. Bruce stares up at him and sees a quick, mischievous smile ghost across the boy's familiar features, one that's solely meant for him to see, and he instantly understands what it means.

I'm not sorry about what we did.

At this moment, it seems like much more than he deserves. Bruce blinks at him and feels a lump in his throat.

"I app –" He catches the look in Robin's eyes and needs to clear his throat. "Appreciate it."

Robin extends his hand to him, and for a confusing moment, it looks as he's supposed to kiss it, and he's tempted to. But then he collects himself, takes it, and gives it a firm, lasting squeeze. He feels Robin's fingers squeeze him back, and then the moment is interrupted when he hears Batman make a noise that sounds like he's throwing up in his mouth.

It causes Alfred to turn to him. "Right," he says sternly, "You."

Batman delivers him a steely glare, but it's obvious how it wounds him that Alfred, any Alfred, would turn on him. "Sure. I'm the villain. After all he's pulled, I'm the asshole."

"Not quite, no." Alfred shows no sign of wariness as he walks over to him, arms crossed. "At least you're not the only one. After learning about the situation – and, I must add, learning much more than I ever wanted to know –"

Batman briefly examines his boots. Bruce shields his eyes with his hand.

Alfred shoots glares at both of them. "I came to the conclusion that neither of you should be trusted with this boy."

He pauses to let the words sink in. Dick has risen from his tired slump to look at him curiously. Robin is staring down at his boots, but Bruce can see the faint, gleeful smile on his face. Batman silently glowers at him, then at Alfred, waiting. Bruce, who is the only one who knew it was coming, gives Alfred a firm nod, which the butler ignores.

When nobody really speaks up to vehemently disagree, Alfred continues. "Anyway, Bruce has asked me to make the boy an offer, and it seemed reasonably enough to me that I did."

"Did he propose," Batman grumbles. Bruce bites the inside of his mouth and silently counts to ten.

Alfred's lips grow thin. "We're offering him to remain in our world to resume his education, and even his crime-fighting activities, with the financial support he has grown accustomed to," he says. "However, he would not be living at Wayne Manor, and Master Bruce has assured me that he will not be in contact with him. I happen to have a good friend back home who is headmaster of a prestigious boarding school who I'm sure would be glad to take him, and I am certain that Knight and Squire wouldn't mind looking out for our young friend here. Or -"

The butler sighs. "If he doesn't wish to part with Gotham – why, I couldn't even begin to fathom – we're sure Dr Leslie Tompkins would be able to find a good place for him. And there's a certain, ambitious vigilante who we know would love to have a partner. He's been scouting for one for years, yet has never been able to make it stick, somehow. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to take on a talented youth who has experience as a Boy Wonder. And I have a feeling they'd get along splendidly. His name is Red Hood."

Batman looks completely lost.

"Jason Todd," Robin says excitedly, bouncing on his heels. "The second Robin."

It's silent until Dick makes, "…huh."

Bruce observes him. The idea seems to have stirred him out of his apathy for a moment. He looks intrigued. "That's … kinda brilliant, actually," he admits. "Jason has been desperate for a partner. And uh, not to pat myself on the back, but he'd probably go nuts if you told him he'd get his own Dick Grayson to work with." He turns to Robin. "And, you know, after seeing you in action … you two could actually be a good match."

"Is he good to work with?" Robin asks, with a meaningful sideways glance at Batman that the older man scowls at.

It's obvious Dick isn't sure how to answer that. "He … uh, can be," he eventually settles on.

Bruce has given this a lot of thought. Jason could be a troublesome foe, but he could also be a loyal ally if he got the chance. And ... with the experiences he's had, he's extremely unlikely to try sleeping with a teenage boy. Dick doesn't say it out loud, but Bruce knows both he and Alfred are thinking it, and they'd be right. Actually, Jason is more likely to come after his former mentor guns blazing if he learned what had happened, and he would have good reason to. He surely wouldn't be the worst company for Robin; besides, he couldn't possibly be worsethan either of the Bruce Waynes in this room.

"It's entirely your choice," he says to Robin, once the boy sets his curious eyes on him. His voice is flat and exhausted, but he can't keep the softness from creeping in. "I won't interfere. But I want to take care –"

"All right, I've had it!" A dark voice cuts him off.

Batman has emerged from his chair. Even in his current de-fanged state, he cuts an imposing figure as he strides across the room to tower over the butler and, by extension, Bruce.

"Who do you two think you fucking are?" He bares his white, sharp teeth. "It's not for you to decide!"

Bruce gets to his feet in case he has to interfere. Even Dick straightens, though he looks like he wouldn't even be able to stand up.

Robin follows the scene with wide, interested eyes.

Alfred seems completely unfazed by the large man looming over him. "You're correct, Sir. We are not the ones to decide." He gestures at Batman's former teenage partner. His voice is cutting. "He is. It's about time the lad gets to make a choice for himself. Wouldn't you agree?"

The Bat and the butler stare each other down, until Alfred lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Preserve your energy, Sir," he says curtly, before he retreats. He gives Robin a sad, gentle nod. "Tell him."

All attentions turn to Robin, and Bruce realizes that the teen has been grinning through the entire exchange. Now he walks over and puts himself between Batman and Alfred, looking up at his former partner. Bruce watches them. They look unsavory, Batman in a sloppy trench coat, Robin in a worn-out hoodie, and yet somehow, as they exchange a look, something about them fits.

"I told him thanks, but no," Robin explains with another shrug. "I told him I wanna be with you." He turns around when he feels Bruce's eyes on him. There's a hint of regret on his sharp, pretty face, but there's even more resolve. Bruce sees that fever simmering in his eyes, that beautiful madness, and knows he'll never forget it. "It's where I'm meant to be."

Bruce swallows, then nods at his decision.

Batman's massive body is stirring. Bruce watches his face closely, and it almost seems as if an emotion is about to take place on it, but then it doesn't. Instead, the vigilante blusters, and pokes his finger at his former partner, who's grinning up at him again.

"Okay, let me get one thing straight, you're not with me," he barks. "I may take you with me, if I'm generous, though hell knows you don't deserve i – "

"SHUT UP."

Everyone's heads turn in Dick's direction, startled by the unexpected harshness in his voice. He hasn't gotten up, but the look he's giving Batman could cut through steel. There's even faint color in his cheeks. He doesn't sound tired anymore, and the words leave him in a staccato, as if he'd been sitting on them for hours, no, for years. "Shut up, just shut up, for once, just shut your mouth."

Bruce internally readies himself to deck Batman if he tries something. Truth be told, he'd like nothing more than to beat himself up for Dick's benefit, even though, judging by Dick's tone, it's unlikely to score him any points now. But as he gazes at his counterpart, he finds him looking more impressed than angry. Eventually, Batman snorts out a laugh.

"Know what, Nightwing," he mutters. "Fair enough."

Dick growls at him.

Batman scoffs, looks at Dick, Bruce, and Alfred in turn, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm so ready to get out of here."

Bruce crosses his arms. "Now that we have the tape, and Robin made his choice, you're free to." He turns to the teen again. "Do you think you can perform the ritual from here?"

"I can do it anywhere." Robin looks smug. "I once performed in the restroom of a donut shop when he kicked me out and I became homeless."

"Save it," Batman snarls, when three pairs of eyes glare at him. "I know."

With that, a truce is reached, all necessary words have been spoken, and they decide to leave the pair to it. Bruce is surprised when Batman comes over to him as Dick and Robin exchange farewells.

"I give you this. Your city looks clean. As good as I've ever seen it." He gives his older self a morose look. "Maybe you don't suck."

Bruce isn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Neither seems a good option. "Thanks for noticing," he deadpans, because he does take pride in his work, even though he doesn't feel a shred of it now.

"I like the Batmobile," Young Batman confesses grumpily. He sounds impressed, and beefed about it. "It's pretty sweet."

"You totaled it."

The hardness on Batman's face dissipates for a moment. "I regret that," he says, and his wistful tone makes it clear that his regret is with the car, not with Bruce.

Bruce's face is twitching. "I know you do." He also knows that Batman will immediately build one for himself once he gets home. Which is fine; he would have come up with the design on his own one day, anyway.

Bruce casts a look at Dick and Robin by the couch, then treats his other self to his best threatening stare. "If you ever hurt him, I know where you live."

"Same." Batman holds Bruce's stare until Robin returns to his side. "What's that," he asks him.

"Oh, this?" Robin twirls the escrima stick in his hand, then nods at Dick. "He gave it to me. As a souvenir. A reminder that I can do whatever I want with my life. And," he smirks. "He says to zap you with it if you're mean to me."

Batman looks as if he has a biting retort to that, but then he catches another death glare from Nightwing, and decides to bite his tongue. He turns to Alfred, instead. "Really sorry about the mess in the Batcave, Alfred. You know it wasn't personal." He looks genuinely guilty. Even Robin stops playing with his stick for a moment to bite his lip. "Yeah, sorry Mr Pennyworth," he pipes.

"Not to worry," the butler shoots Bruce a frosty look. "I'll have plenty of assistance cleaning it all up."

They get ready to finally part, but as soon as Dick gets up from the couch, he goes as white as a sheet, and starts shaking on his legs. The sight shocks Bruce back to reality. They've invested so much time debating Robin's fate, when Dick should've been on a stretcher yesterday. He rushes over to aid him, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees the wary look on Dick's pale face and realizes with a pang of immeasurable sadness that he'd rather stagger on by himself than take his hand.

"Right here, Master Dick." Alfred swoops in instead, wrapping Dick's arm around his neck and helping him up. "Hold on to me. There."

Bruce lets Dick limp out with Alfred's help, then leaves the suite behind them. He sees Robin sheepishly wave at them before the door falls shut.

They take a long, silent walk down the endless hallway, looking very much defeated, a wounded soldier, a disappointed guardian, and a fallen hero who doesn't dare to speak a word to either. When they finally reach the elevators, Bruce more feels than hears the faint ringing of an old phone from the other end of the hall.

The storm seems to have receded, but the streets still seem conveniently deserted once they reach the back exit. Alfred leaves to bring the car around, which briefly leaves Dick stranded with Bruce.

The young man refuses to even look at his old mentor, stubbornly clinging to the door's handle, so he won't have to touch him. Bruce feels his throat closing up at the sight. He wants nothing more than for him to accept his hand. He wants to carry him in his arms, like he used to whenever he got hurt on patrol, he wants to put him to bed, and … nothing and, really, he wants to put him to bed and tuck him in and watch over him to make sure he'll be all right. But Bruce is a helpless idiot, as always in these moments. Seeing Dick hurt has always shaken him to his core; being the cause of his hurt is something he doesn't know how to deal with, never has.

"Dick," he finally chokes out. "I –"

"You know," Dick interrupts, his voice flat as he stares straight ahead at the brick wall across from them. "I swore to myself I wasn't gonna say it. Or think it. 'cause it's childish, and it makes me feel stupid. But," he smiles mirthlessly. "I couldn't help but notice. There were two of me, and there were two of you. And you both went crazy for him."

Bruce had thought he couldn't feel more devastated. He was wrong. "No," he whispers. "No. No, don't think -"

"Don't tell me what to think. And don't insult me by denying it." Dick talks right over him again, unimpressed by the growing anxiety in his voice. "I'm not jealous. It's creepy. But I get it. He's like a time capsule to you. A freeze frame. Back from the time when I did whatever you wanted me to. The minute I stopped doing that was the minute you stopped –"

"Dick, don't –"

Dick presses his bloodless lips together. "- stopped loving me. I used to wonder what I did wrong, what drove you away from me, but it's simple, really. You loved the boy, you don't care for the man, you couldn't have made it clearer."

"I never stopped loving you!"

It's startling how easy it is to say now that he's in a panic, now that it all comes crashing down. He takes a step toward him. "I'm proud of everything you've become. I look to you every day, and it makes me happy, and it makes me proud. Dick, please. Please." The words come pouring out of him, and it seems crazy he hasn't said all of this earlier, much earlier. But hope fades when Dick looks at him as if he's never going to believe him again. It's too late. Bruce extends an arm for a touch that never happens. "You're … you're the only thing I ever – "

"Yeah?" Dick doesn't let him finish, doesn't let him come closer. At this moment, Alfred returns, and he pushes away from the door to drag himself over to the car. "Coulda fooled me."

----

One screwy, mind-bending ritual later, and he's home again, home being the Batmobile. He's grinning as his gloved hands stroke the wheel, and it makes his scorched face hurt like hell, but he doesn't even care. Ah. She's not the beauty that the other one was, but she's a beast, she's his beast, hot and loud and smelling of gasoline, and he puts her through the paces as he speeds down the highway toward the Batcave's entrance, while the sky slowly turns blue. He fucking loves it.

The nymph is next to him in the passenger's seat, eyelids on half-mast. Bruce leaves him alone. He usually doesn't tolerate dozing in the Batmobile, but it's not as if the little punk is still on duty anyway, and he really looks like he needs some rest. Hell knows that old bastard didn't let him have any.

Bruce watches him blink at the road, caught somewhere between awake and asleep. "Take a nap," he growls, first thing he's said in a while.

"Nah," says the boy.

Now that he's back in his uniform (why he'd let him put that on again, Bruce isn't exactly clear on), the bruises on his skinny legs are very visible. Imprints of Bruce's large paws on his tender skin. His imprints, not the other one's.

"You all right," he gets it in his head to inquire, eyes fixed on the road.

"Mmm," Dick stirs, wincing as he shifts around in his seat. "Better. It hurt in the beginning," he informs him, as if he hadn't helpfully pointed that out a couple times already. But when Bruce casts a fleeting glance at him, he sees a lazy smile spread across his face. "But it also felt hella good."

Bruce grunts. "I know. You've said. Multiple times." Squealed it, more like, but same difference.

… it's not as if he hadn't liked hearing it

Dick chuckles, reaches over to pat his big thigh. Bruce clenches his jaw, then lets it slide. Ahead of them, the ragged outline of Wayne Manor grows larger.

"You never said …" Dick's head is lulling from side to side. "If I can come back or not."

"Hrm."

True. He hasn't answered. Doesn't mean he hasn't thought a thing or two about it. He stares straight ahead, mulls it over one more time, chooses his words.

"If I cut you loose," he finally says, "Will you go completely insane and do something dumb and dangerous like turning supervillain and returning years later all grown-up and crazy to seek revenge on me?"

Dick turns his head to gaze out the window. When Bruce briefly looks over, he sees his sharp, pale face reflected in the glass, and is reminded of that lost little boy he'd picked up all those years ago, and how impressed he'd been with him. And whatever the kid's become, he's had a hand in it, he's very much his beast, too, there's no two ways around it.

Then Dick starts grinning, all wicked and hard, and Bruce has to admit that he's still impressed with him now, even though he's nuts.

"Probably, yeah," he freely admits.

Bruce tears his gaze away from his pixie face, looks at the road again, and says the final word. "Fine. Then stay."

There's nothing for a while. Then, he hears Robin breathe out what seems like a whole lungful of air. His body settles deeper in his seat, as if it's finally ready to shut down for a while. Bruce feels warmth in his cheeks. "Maybe you'll be more useful this time," he mumbles. "Now that you're a damn wizard."

"Occultist," Robin sweetly corrects him. And then his hand comes up to softly rest on his. Bruce lets it last for ten seconds, then pulls away to switch gears.

"Whatever it is you are," he says, making the Batmobile's engine howl for their entertainment, "I like it."

Epilogue

Nightwing and Batman don't talk for a long time. And word on the street is that Batman's in one of his downward spirals. These two things often correspond.

Word is, the Dark Knight is in a reckless, semi-suicidal mood. He's out there fighting, and he's winning, and he's filling Gotham's holding cells, but he doesn't care how many blows he receives, doesn't care how many bullets penetrate his suit, bruising the human body that surely must be under there somewhere. Sometimes, they say, it's like he wants to get hurt, like he gets some sort of sick satisfaction out of getting kicked to shit before he closes the deal. Like he doesn't care at all what happens to him.

Those in the know are noticing that Bruce is in one of those phases where he barely sleeps or eats. He withdraws from the social scene completely (feeding the press a story about falling off his jet ski in the Bahamas), and even his intimate friends have a hard time contacting him unless it's mission-related. When they talk to him, he seems mentally sound, but introverted, melancholic, and even curter than usual. He won't talk about what's bothering him. But then, he never does.

Alfred Pennyworth has gone on an extended vacation, which is barely ever a good sign.

Damian knows that something's up, he's known ever since he had been strictly prohibited from going to that meeting with the other Batman and the other Robin. But neither Bruce nor Dick will talk to him about it. It puzzles and annoys him. He knew he should've followed them that morning. His father doesn't take his mood out on him, he makes an effort to be good to him, but it doesn't help much that he looks as if he wants to walk headfirst into a wall pretty much all the time.

The other heroes are aware that Nightwing and Batman are one the outs, and there's the usual gossip, and there's the usual attempts to persuade Dick to go and make nice with the Bat, like he always does. "Whatever it was," say Babs and Tim and other reasonable people, "I'm sure you two can work it out, you always do, you know how he is -"

Dick says he wants to talk about something else.

He has to move to a new apartment, because his old one has been destroyed. His landlord throws a fit. Bruce sends Dick a very carefully worded letter with a cheque to cover the reparations, as well as a list of luxurious apartments owned by the Wayne family that he could move into at no additional cost. Dick sends it all back to him without comment.

He finds a new place. It's much humbler than what the Wayne money would've bought him, but it's all his. Around the same time, he re-connects with an old flame he runs into. They date, and they sleep together for a few beautiful weeks. It doesn't last, when does it ever, but it's nice to feel love again.

During the time where they don't talk, Bruce and Dick save each other from grievous harm about a dozen times. Because they'd always do that, no matter how things are between them. One night, Nightwing saves Batman from getting hit by a burning truck that's gone out of control. The big man had simply stood in its way, unmoving, as if contemplating to let it run over him. It disturbs Dick so much he simply creeps away afterward, without a single word being spoken.

A few nights later, Nightwing badly miscalculates his leap off a building as a bomb explodes behind him. The detonation propels him much further into the air than he'd anticipated, and he falls, and a chill creeps up his spine as he realizes that it's gonna be one of those really, really bad falls. He'll break his shoulder if he's lucky, shatter both of his legs if he's unlucky –

There's a strange, nostalgic wave of calm and comfort washing over him as a dark, winged shadow appears right above him in the fiery sky. A strong arm wraps itself around his middle, carries him through the night air, and gently puts him down on the nearest safe rooftop.

After it's done, Batman immediately, wordlessly turns around to leave him alone. Dick notices that he walks with a limp; without Alfred at home, he tends to his wounds himself, which is by all accounts a horrible idea.

Dick almost lets him go, once more. But right when the older man climbs the ledge to take off, he decides to say it.

"I'm not gonna do it, you know."

Batman doesn't reply. He doesn't turn around, either. But Dick knows that he's listening.

"I'm not gonna tell you that you're going too far, that you should slow down, that you shouldn't be so hard on yourself, that I worry," he tells him, plugging a piece of melted plastic out of his burnt skin. "I'm not gonna absolve you, this time, I'm not gonna extend my hand to you and tell you to stop punishing yourself and get better. So if that's something you're expecting, you can stop."

"I expect nothing." Bruce's voice is cracking. His big shoulders are drooping so pathetically in his suit that it'd look funny, if any of this was funny. He's looming on the roof's ledge as if he wants to throw himself down there without deploying his grapple hook first. Dick turns away from the masochistic display, getting ready to leave too. But not before he finishes telling him the other half of what he'd been meaning to say.

"But whenever you decide to be a functional human being again," he says quietly, "I'm there."

As he walks away, he hears something behind him, so soft only the wind can hear it.

"What?"

Behind him, Bruce is still hanging his head. "You're incredible," he repeats, louder this time. He sounds wistful, and it strikes a chord in Dick that hurts.

"No. I'm pretty real, actually," he replies, before he grapples himself out of there, "Maybe you'll figure that out one day."

A few more weeks pass by, and Dick makes no effort to speak to him again. But word on the street is, Batman seems to be getting his shit together.

Alfred Pennyworth returns from his travels to Europe, where he'd stayed to unwind, and toss a certain VHS tape into a volcano. He visits Dick at his new home to stack his fridge with ice cream and soup, and when Dick talks to him, it doesn't seem as if he's planning to quit, or turn his back on his master entirely.

Things at Wayne Manor seem to improve, since sometime later, Bruce Wayne's birthday is coming up, and Alfred decides to throw him a party. A small one, at least, for close friends. He maintains that it's important for Master Bruce to come out of his shell and connect with people again. He's neglected those who care for him for far too long.

Dick gets an invitation, of course he does. The text on it is formal, since everyone is getting the same one, but it's hand-written by Bruce.

He doesn't decide whether or not to attend until the last minute. And then, he does.

He even has a present. It's a large, gorgeous framed print of a hand-painted Gray Ghost movie poster from 1940. He'd bought it in an internet auction before he even decided if he'd go. He has a card, too. He puts down Dear Bruce, then can't think of what to write, and leaves it on his desk before he goes to the party.

For the first time since Dick attended his birthdays, Bruce actually looks his age. Possibly older. His hair hadn't had that much grey before that portal to another world had opened up all those months ago. He makes an effort to be sociable, Dick can tell. He chats with Gordon, Babs, Clark, and the other guests, he gives out little quips and compliments while he unwraps his gifts. But he looks worn-out and pale, and whenever he smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes grow very deep. And at one point later, when the guests start mingling with each other and the sun starts to set, he steps out onto the terrace to stand there on his own.

That's when Dick decides to join him.

Bruce says nothing, but Dick hears him sigh deeply, heavily, when he comes to lean on the balustrade next to him. They look out on the estate in silence. The air is warm and filled with fragrances.

"Always loved the garden this time of year," Dick eventually says.

Bruce merely hums in response, but Dick can sense how thrilled he is to be standing here with him, hearing him say something, anything. Dick smiles despite himself; he can't remember the last time Bruce got excited to trade small talk with him.

"I'm glad you came." The words come out sounding pressed, as if Bruce has been waiting to say them all evening. "It means a lot. Thank you."

To anybody who doesn't know him, he'd look like a serene gentleman enjoying a sunset. To Dick's eyes, it's obvious that he's barely holding it together, especially now that he's in his presence.

He hesitates for a moment. Then he tentatively puts a hand on him. "Told you," he says. "I'd be there."

He sees Bruce briefly close his eyes at the touch, and then his entire body seems to slowly relax. They look out over the estate together. Despite the setting sun, the view is bright and colorful.

"Do you still think about it?" Dick asks him softly. A light shiver comes over him as he addresses it for the first time since it's happened. He still has a deep scar from where Batman has cut him. It's white and faded now, but whenever he looks at it, he feels it stands out among all the other scars he has. "About them, I mean."

"Often."

"Me too."

The admission is easy, and it's oddly relieving. Dick gazes down at his hand still on Bruce's arm. "How d'you think they're doing…?"

Bruce ponders it for a moment. Then, a weary smile flits across his face. "If I had to wager a guess … I actually believe they might be fine."

Dick breathes out a sigh. "I hope so."

"Yes." Bruce sounds melancholic. "I do too."

They exchange the shadow of a look. How are we doing?

There's another moment of silence, until the older man clears his throat. "Tim told me your new apartment is great," he says, sounding hoarse. "River view?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe … maybe I could come by, have a look. I wouldn't keep you long," Bruce nervously glances at Dick's face. "I'd only be five minutes."

While Bruce waits for his reply, Dick thinks about how weird it is. How their roles have become reversed. Never in his life would he have expected to one day have Bruce, Batman, meekly asking for five minutes of his time. Now that he thinks about it, Bruce had always been seeking his company, in his own tight-lipped way, but never like this. And only a year or so ago, it would have made Dick's heart stupidly leap out of his chest. But seeing him with Robin, witnessing the extent of his deceptiveness and neediness and obsession, had somehow broken the spell he'd always held over him. For a while, Dick had thought it catastrophic. Irreparable. But now that he sees him, humble, and hurting, and somehow smaller, even if he's as tall as ever – he thinks it might've just made him more human. He's not a god, he's not the all-father, and he's not a giant human-shaped Bat. He's a man, a foolish, lonely man. It's a little sobering, and … freeing, too. He can probably grow accustomed to it.

Dick nods. "I'd like that. Next week?" He leans over to whisper at him. "After patrol? Bring Kung Pao Chicken from that place we like."

Bruce's solemn face breaks, and Dick sees him smile, really smile, for the first time in months. "Thank you," he says, and it sounds so heartfelt that it makes Dick a little embarrassed. He feels color creep into his cheeks.

"You gotta go easy on the Thank Yous, Bruce. If you keep it up, you're gonna get stuck that way," he mumbles, then gives him a mild punch to the arm because he, too, is foolish sometimes.

Bruce doesn't laugh. Instead, he turns to him in full, looking awfully serious. "Dick. May – may I –"

It happened so rarely over the years that Dick stares at his inquiring, unsure expression and outstretched arms for a moment, wondering what he wants. Then he gets it, and it does make his heart bounce a little. It's another thing he'd never thought he'd see Bruce asking for.

He gives him a crooked smile. "Yes."

And Bruce pulls him into a hug.

For some reason, he thought it'd be a short one. As it turns out, it's not. And he doesn't really mind. Bruce holds on to him as if he thought he'd never see him again (which he, possibly, had been thinking for a while), but there's a delicacy to it, too, as if he's scared he might break him. It grows firmer when Dick returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around the big man in turn. When he does, Bruce's broad shoulders start twitching, and then Dick hears him try, and fail, to hold in a sob.

"All right," Dick mumbles, face heating up, clumsily patting his back. Smiling, still. "It's- it's all right –"

I never stopped loving you, either.

It takes him a while to notice that the other guests have congregated at the window, staring at the unusual scene unfolding outside. There's Bruce Wayne, in his best tux, hugging his former ward, ex-partner and good friend Dick Grayson as if he'll never let him go, face sunken against his shoulder while his own shoulders are heaving suspiciously. Dick somehow manages to send them an awkward smile from a red, squished face to signal that it's okay, they're having a moment, and it's gonna be fine.

Ultimately, they're gonna be fine.

Damian, who's scratching a happy Alfred the cat's head, is the first to start grinning. Alfred, the butler, follows. And then, one after the other, all of them do.

"We're being watched," Dick whispers to Bruce, because he seems too caught up in him to even notice. He'd never liked these kinds of scenes, after all. He's surprised when Bruce merely holds him closer, sniffling, and replies in a voice that's muffled and thick with tears, "Don't care."

"Mm," Dick allows his head to sink against him, too, taking in the odd sensation of Bruce being very strong and very weak at the same time. "Me neither."

They stay like that for what seems like a long time. Partly because it feels really, really good, and partly because neither is sure what's going to happen once they let go. The path ahead seems unclear and unknowable. But, Dick figures, they always have been at their best together when there's a mystery to unravel.

#brucedick #brudick #brucexdeick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #kleine asbar #lokiet

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

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[FIC] In Dreams by kleine-asbar (Part 3 of 4)

Title: In Dreams (Part 3 of 4)

Author: kleine-asbar

Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Abuse, angst, creepiness, idiot plot, purple prose, underage sex, violence.

Summary: I finally went through with my plans to write that thing where Regular!Bruce & Dick (I’m using a mix of Grant Morrison/New 52, only Damian isn’t dead because that’d suck donkey balls) meet Bruce & Dick from Frank Miller’s notorious (and glorious XD) All-Star Batman and Robin. Sparks fly, yo. Fists, too.

Note: Accompanying art by lokiet, which can also be found under the cut below!

Mod note: Due to its length, this story will be posted in four parts over the next week. [Part 1] [Part 2]

--------------------

IV. Bruce gets back to the Manor in time to shed the cape, step into his evening robes and then into his study before Robin returns. He chooses a book about the theory of parallel universes from his library – not to cover his tracks, but because he hopes he'll actually have the mind to review, that he might find something. But as soon as he sits down, he knows he's been fooling himself. The lines are blurring in front of his eyes and his brain is misfiring in so many directions he might as well be staring at a blank page. He's glad he'd sent Damian home before Nightwing and Robin had started to talk; there'd been so much the boy hadn't needed to witness. So much Bruce isn't sure he'd wanted to witness. Too much. Tonight. It's been too much. Robin is as light-footed as a cat, but Bruce senses him in the hallway before he even turns the doorknob. He braces himself when he hears it softly close, and looks up, forcing his face to take on a neutral appearance. "How was it?" He asks. Robin is leaning against the door. "Don't act like you don't know." He's still in uniform, but he's taken off the domino so Bruce can see the look in his eyes. He's smiling. He has expectations. Bruce feels sweat forming underneath his hairline. "Alfred prepared a room for you. He's already gone to bed, but I'll show you." The boy lets his head sink against the door. "You've sent Alfred to bed," he purrs. "You never do that. The old man goes to sleep whenever he wants to, and you never tell him otherwise. Unless you really need him not to see or hear." He pauses, then flashes him a grin, examining him. "I like what you're wearin'. It's cute." "Robin." The boy's eyes narrow. "You can call me Dick. We're alone, Bruce." Bruce wishes he would've found time to meditate before Dick came home, to soothe his blood. There's something bluntly possessive in the way the boy calls him by his name, something that makes his cock hard and his senses catch fire. But he won't heed it, he won't become a slave to it. However, it seems prudent to not get up from his chair right now. "Robin- Dick, we've discussed this," he says earnestly when he sees him coming closer. "I told you, that's not why I brought you here. It won't happen again." Young Dick seems a little wary of approaching his desk – they're in Bruce's world now, his territory – but then he skips the rest of the way when he realizes he's allowed to. The older man's words seem to barely register with him. His cheeks turn an eager red. "Did you see?" He asks breathlessly, standing in front of his desk like an excited honor student, bouncing on his heels. "Did you see us? You were there, weren't you, I knew you'd come. Did you see what I did?" Bruce presses his fingertips together, and gives him that hard look he's reserved for out-of-line Robins. "I saw," he says disapprovingly. In fact, he still sees it whenever he closes his eyes. And Nightwing's voice making all these confessions is still ringing in his ears, coursing through his bloodstream. He would take so much medication tonight to make it go away. Dick's smile is slipping a little, but Bruce can see him shiver at his stern voice. "Didya like it?" He inquires nervously. "I did it 'cause I knew you'd see it. Thought you might like it." Bruce feels a sad, solemn sting of protectiveness toward Nightwing, who doesn't need it, doesn't want his protection anymore. Still, seeing Robin wrap him around his finger – "It was stupid," he growls at him. "And it was disrespectful." Dick weighs his head. "Yah, he didn't like it at all," he recounts, curling his upper lip. "I do feel bad about that. I would've done more if he'd let me." Bruce tries not to massage his temples. He's exhausted, and his half-hard cock is pressing up against the soft material of his sleepwear, and feels better than it should. "Get some sleep, Robin," is all he says, a weak offering. "Not tired." That's a lie. He's beyond tired, he's manic and sleep-deprived, his eyes are large and rimmed red and his olive skin is pallid, and yet there's this excess energy humming through him that keeps him going. Earlier, Bruce has given him something he'd craved, and now he's gone crazy with greed. Bruce knows that, because deep down, he feels the same way. "Did you hear him say he loooved you?" Dick teases him, blushing even harder. "Bet you liked that part, huh." "That's." Bruce clears his throat. "That's not what he said." Which is a stupid thing to point out. Bruce isn't sure why he's even arguing this with him, when he could simply tell him to be quiet, and Robin would obey. Though admittedly, He doesn't look too obedient as he slowly walks around the desk, towards him. "Do you like him better than me…?" There's something in his voice that Bruce doesn't like, something downright venomous, "'course you do, 'cause he's your big boy. And he's so great, right? Such a success." "Robin," Bruce snaps again, but he sounds like he's begging. Dick is standing between his legs, pressing one knee forward against the bulge in his pants, and he flinches because it feels so welcome. "Do you love him," the boy demands to know, glaring down at him. The way he says that word sounds hollow, as if he himself doesn't know what it means, but it's clear that he violently hates the idea of Bruce loving someone, even his own grown-up self. Bruce stares up at him. The answer is so clear. Yes, he loves him. He desperately loves him, always has. He loves him so much he pushes him away constantly, because he's frightened to death to set whatever is left of their fragile, peculiar friendship on fire. At first, it had been Dick's youth that had made him recoil from the idea, and later, as they got older, it had been the dawning realization that Batman, Bruce, was incapable of maintaining a long-term relationship. He'd failed at it often enough to know; and failing Dick isn't something he's willing to do. Except, of course, he's doing exactly that right now, by making a travesty of their friendship, by - His fingers squeeze the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turn white. He can't bring himself to say it out loud, not even to Robin, who's already seen the worst of him. He can't admit it to anybody except himself, especially not now, when it's all slowly withering away. So he says the only thing he can imagine to say about it. "It doesn't matter." "Mhm." Robin still glares at him, not satisfied. Bruce sees him try to figure out what that means. He's not good at reading emotions, probably because his own have gone neglected for so long. Which is another of a million reasons not to – "Well, he's not here, I am," he finally says, petulantly, and crawls into his lap to sit on his cock as if he owns it. Bruce bites back a moan so hard he feels blood run down his throat. He's squirming, but not even the most naïve person on earth could mistake it for discomfort. Dick throws his arms around him, and Bruce feels him shiver as he squeezes himself to his chest. All he'd have to do is put him down. Gently, but firmly. He's light; it's easy. Dick pulls himself up and kisses him on the nose, and it's sweet, it's comforting. Bruce closes his eyes and groans. It's not easy. He tries to keep his hips still, but it's getting more unbearable with every moment. His cock is pounding with blood and his nipples ache under the boy's inquiring fingers. He's made a promise to himself not to do this, and these are the promises he usually keeps, but his mind is already running away in the other direction. Their first time has been crude, rushed. He hasn't even experienced being inside him, which is something he still yearns for. Dick's body is hungering for it, trembling against him like a high-strung instrument, waiting for him to take his pleasure. Bruce can't stop thinking about all the amazing sexual techniques he has learned over the years; because he's studied this subject ferociously, like so many others. He thinks of the edging, the hours-long arousal, the artful bondage techniques he's picked up in Tokyo, the tantric sex, the kama sutra, the incredible, acrobatic positions that only the high-ranking courtesans of Bialya knew how to do … the pleasures he could make him experience, the climaxes he could give him, the things he could teach his body, if only he could, he could, this one time, this one last time … "You can't even pretend you don't wanna, can you," Dick triumphs, but even he sounds a little nervous now, a little intimidated by the heat that Bruce's body exudes, the size and rigidness of the cock between his legs. It's that little, vulnerable hitch in his voice that Bruce responds to. He refrains from kissing him – even though he starts to realize, with sobering clarity, that it's going to happen – but he cups his face. Dick stirs, presses his forehead against Bruce's, and there's that scary symmetry, that mutual want again. Bruce knows that he wants to hear it again, hear him again, Yes Sir, Please Sir, like music to his ears. And he knows that, if he'd tell him to beg him to Please fuck me, Sir, he would say it, and he would enjoy it. "Bruce," Dick whines, rubbing his face on him, "Do it with me. I still want it. So what if it's bad. So what if it hurts. I want it. Please?", like he can read his mind, and Bruce seizes him, seizes his mouth, and lets darkness pull him in.

----- Dick is panting hard, back pressed against his apartment's wall, his shirt torn open down to his waist. He'd changed into his civilian clothes before he'd gone home. It had been sheer luck that he'd still had his breathing mask on hand when Batman made his move, and that he'd managed to stick it on his face in a split second. But if there was one maneuver that Bruce had drilled into him to perfection, it had been this one. Batman – the other Batman, the strange Batman – is equally out of breath, lurking at the opposite wall, wearing a much cruder, more spartanic version of a breathing mask on his face. Dick can see him grinning underneath it, blood covering his teeth and chin. There's milk still dripping from the pointy ears of his cowl where Dick has hit him with the carton. It seems as if every piece of furniture in Dick's place lies in ruin, half of them having been utilized as a weapon. Brutally. Brutally. It's brutal. They're both pretty badly banged up at this point. But it's clear that this won't be over until one of them has hammered the other one into the ground. Dick has fought Batman before; but never, ever, has he fought a Batman that wasn't older than him … or one that fought this cruelly. Bruce was ruthlessly efficient, he was precise and merciless, he'd snap bones and break teeth and tear tendons in an effort to bring it all to a swift end. But this one … this one, he really loves it, and he goes after the points that hurt with a ferocious appetite that Dick has never known from Bruce. He's young, at his physical peak, fast and lethal, and he has a bottomless arsenal of knives, batarangs, throwing darts and smoke-bombs that seems flat-out ridiculous. Dick's walls are riddled with holes; he's not gonna get that deposit back. He hears a raspy chuckle, and then Batman opens his mean mouth for the second time since he got here. "I gotta hand it to you, Dickster," he says, "You really went and made something of yourself." Dick snorts, sending more blood gushing from his nose. He wags a finger in his direction. "It's … 's too late for flattery, pal." Batman snickers at that. Dick sees his gloved hand move, and throws himself to the side. A second later, the grapple hook penetrates the wall right where his sternum had been. Batman snarls in disappointment. Dick eyes the hefty metal claw trembling in his wall. "You don't … don't have a no-killing rule, do you," he mumbles. "Ever heard of a great General who's got a no-killing rule," Batman sneers, as if that was absurd, then reels his death device back in. Dick can tell that he's surprised by him, has been from the start. It's obvious that he's arrogant, that he thought it'd be easier. He hasn't been prepared for Dick to be as good as he is, for him to put up such a fight. It throws him. Confuses him. Probably because the version of him that he knows is only sixteen years old and completely at his mercy. That thought riles Dick up again, and he dives for him, ready to plant both his feet in his face. But Batman sees it coming, he slinks away at the last minute, and then Dick feels something hook-like slice through his back and smells the stench of his own blood. It's not enough to finish him, but enough to make him howl in pain. "Look, it's nothing personal, all right," Batman tells him, as Dick rolls away before he can stomp on his face, "But you lot took something that belongs to me. I want it back." Dick bares his teeth, partly from pain, partly from annoyance. How he wishes that every Batman everywhere would stop talking about Robin like he's an item that's been displaced. He really hates that. He leaps to his feet. "You want the boy, you'll have to deal with me," he announces. "Sure thing, junior, knock yourself out," Batman says generously, and Dick realizes that he's never stopped having fun, or stopped grinning, since they started. "You're bleeding from all the right places. All Ihave to do is not get hit when you keel over in a couple minutes." He tilts his pointy-eared head. "I'm thinking in three." Dick knows he's right. He's already starting to feel woozy. Batman hasn't managed to land an actual blow on him, but he'd treated him to a multitude of little cuts that are draining him of blood; that had been pretty sly. Batman is bleeding too, but not nearly as badly. Dick needs a plan. "…junior?" he repeats, seeking refuge in smartassery. "Dude. I think I'm older than you." Batman finally stops smirking, and scowls instead. "Bullshit," he declares, which would almost make Dick cackle if he wasn't bleeding out. And then he can see him actually trying to do the math in his head. Losing his seniority over Dick Grayson seems to really bother him something fierce. Makes him seem kinda lame and insecure. However, Dick is still gonna pass out in a few, so he'll have to focus on that now. "Maybe I should call you junior, you scamp," he teases him, dancing out of his reach, "But aw, don't let it get you down, kiddo. You'll be really good at this someday." "You little – You –" It clearly harshes Batman's buzz that he can't really call him "little" anymore. But then, Dick gets a stumble in his step for the first time, and that picks his mood right up again. He watches Dick struggling to stay afloat like entertainment, like he's a sedate animal scrambling around in its cage, and Dick suddenly realizes that Batman had no reason to come after him tonight. He knows that Bruce has Robin. He knows where the Manor is. He knows where the Batcave is, and presumably knows how to access it. He doesn't need Dick for that. He only assaulted him because he could. Because he wanted to. Because it's fun for him. "Wha-," he mumbles. "What d'you want with me…?" "Your boss took something of mine," Batman tells him casually, and Dick sees him double for a moment, which is due to the blood loss but seems fitting, "So I'm taking something of his. Makes sense, huh?" Dick lets out a faint laugh, grabbing a side table for support. "You should … should really stop talking about people like they're things, really, it's really rude," he mutters, slurring his words. Batman seems to snap in and out of focus as Dick watches him move in for the kill. "Don't fight it," Dick hears him growl, almost softly, and then he spots something in his hand, something sharp and steely and painful. "Be a good boy and give in, and I won't hurt you anymore." "That's nice," Dick whispers, then he flinches when he feels a gloved hand grab him by the neck. Batman smells like leather and blood and gasoline. His touch is measured, not harsh, not hurtful. Dick sags in his arms, and Batman keeps holding him, as if he doesn't actually want him to fall to the floor. He's close now, really close, Dick can see how very young he looks beneath the cowl, and he, and he – He fell for it. Dick can't believe he fell for it. "By the way," he says, while he grabs the broken, sparking lamp from underneath the side table and smashes it into his head, giving him a face full of electricity, "This is personal."

V. What Dick does next is probably the worst move of his entire career. He strings Batman up nice and tight (and with some glee, admittedly), which, so far so good. He uses a special Tibetan knot that Bruce has taught him, one that he himself hadn't picked up until he was older. This Batman doesn't seem like he'd been to Tibet. Dick wonders if he'd ever go to Tibet. He seems like the type to get kicked out of every monastery. He patches himself up next. He's played up his injuries to fool Batman – a trick that Bruce would have never fallen for – but he's clearly still in a pretty bad way. If Batman had been an inch more experienced, and a little less of an arrogant windbag, he would've ended Dick, and Dick knows it. Anyway, he still does the chivalrous thing and slathers Batman's face in burn ointment because, unlike him, Dick is not a total jerk. And that's when the really bad decisions start. Batman's out cold for the moment, but he's clearly still dangerous. Dick knows he should signal the Manor, tell Bruce to come immediately, and rest until he gets there. Or he should at least call for some backup –Tim, Steph or Helena would undoubtedly get a real kick out of Mean Batman. These are all smart things he could do. But in his current state, he doesn't do either of them. Perhaps it's the levels of adrenaline he's operating on. Perhaps it's the wicked triumph he feels over having bested the man who'd tormented Robin. Perhaps it's a desire to show Bruce the dangerous catch he's made, and show him right away. Whatever it is, it makes him step back into his Nightwing suit (wincing in pain), drag the passed-out Bat to his car (making sure to bump him into every obstacle along the way), toss him into the trunk, and race down to the Manor. Coming through the front door with a tied-up, pissed off Dark Knight seems like a bad idea, so he takes the secret passageway to the Batcave. Despite him and Bruce being on the rocks, he still has his clearance, so it works out. He pulls in the car. When he gets out, he finds the cave dark and deserted, which isn't what he'd expected. Looks like he'll have to wake Bruce up, after all. But he wagers it'll be worth it. Batman tries to head-butt him right out of the trunk, but he'd definitely expected that. "You took my stuff," He mopes at him when it doesn't work. "You're all a pack of thieves." True, Dick has removed his utility belt and at least a dozen more gadgets, weapons, and blades from him while he'd been passed out. That Chinese finger trap he carried around for whatever reason had nearly snapped his pinky off. Dick doesn't even want to know what he's been doing with that. "You'll be lucky to leave with a few of your teeth when Batman gets a hold of you," he tells him cooly, dragging him to his bound feet. His captive spits, some blood still mixed in with the saliva. "I'm the goddamn Batman," he declares. Dick kinda wants to zap him with his escrima stick just for that. But his mentor has taught him not to abuse culprits when they're already detained, so he merely rolls his eyes. Meanwhile, Young Bruce examines the dormant Batcave. "He's in bed?" He complains. "Man, what is he, 80?!" "Why do I feel like you'll eat those words," Dick quips, prodding him forward. "Enough talk. Let's boogie." Batman eyes the stairs leading up to the living quarters, and grunts. "You don't expect me to hobble all the way up there, do you, Ancient Wonder?" He growls. "When d'you plan on arriving, next week?" "Aw, don't sell yourself short, I'm sure you'll do great," Dick says merrily, dragging him along by his bulky shoulder. Batman makes a sound at that like a discontented third-grader, which would be amusing if the whole situation wasn't so grim. "So eager to deliver me to your Lord and Master, huh," Batman says after a while, licking his busted lips. His cowl is torn and he has some nasty electrical burns on one side of his face, but he's grinning, anyway. "You should tuck your tail away, I think it's wagging in my face." Dick feels an unwelcome rush of blood in his cheeks. He tries to tell himself that Batman is messing with him. What he's doing is, he's turning in a dangerous fugitive, and that's a good thing. And perhaps Robin would be relieved to see him detained, too. It could make up for the awkward way they'd parted earlier. It's not all about Bruce. Really, it's not. He pulls out an escrima stick. "Oh, one more thing. You try anything funny, and I'll zap you again. Actually, please try something funny, 'cause I really wanna zap you again." "I'll feed you your own balls for this," Batman announces, but then he starts hopping along. Even under the circumstances, it's one of the greatest things Dick has ever seen; he'll carry that sight in his heart forever. Batman is a surprisingly compliant captive, but Dick knows why. It's because despite his attitude, he's not entirely stupid. He knows he has lost, for now. But he's undoubtedly preserving his energy, waiting for the right moment to strike. Batman never quits, and this one is definitely no exception. But, well, Dick would make sure that moment never arrives. "At least Alfred doesn't slack off," Batman mutters under his breath, as he sees the Manor's impeccable condition when they reach the upstairs. Wayne Manor is riddled with motion alerts, but Dick knows how to avoid them; the last thing they need is Damian leaping out at them with a huge katana. Though it'd almost be worth it for the look on Batman's face, Dick's priority is to get Bruce informed. He'd actually love to prop Mean Batman up against the wall like a surfboard while he goes to knock on his former mentor's bedroom door, but he doesn't dare leave him out of his sights even for a second. Not him. So, more steps it is – Batman clicks his tongue at him. "Hey, skippy. Over there." He tilts his head in the direction of the study, and then Dick sees it. There's light flooding out from underneath the door. Batman seems less worried about meeting his older counterpart than offended that Dick has missed that obvious clue. "Pay attention," he scolds him quietly. Oh; that makes it easier, then. "Come," Dick mutters, as if Batman is his pet, then drags him with him, anyway. They close in on the study, and the closer they get, the more it becomes obvious that something's going on in there, and it's not quiet reading. The sounds coming from behind the heavy door are muffled, incomprehensible. Dick hears something that sounds like … rattling, and then a high, faint humming noise that gives him a strange sensation in his belly, but that he can't place. It sounds almost like a haunting. Next to him, Batman is tensing, too. Dick frowns. He knows that Bruce plans to try world-breaching again, but … but he's not already experimenting, is he? On the other hand, it'd be quite like him to – The door isn't even locked. In hindsight, it is insane that the door isn't even locked. Dick opens it, and steps right into the deep end, into pandemonium. What he sees very nearly makes his mind explode. He sees Robin, bent over Bruce's desk, legs spread so wide that he's standing on his toes, vest torn halfway down his shoulders. He's the one producing that high-pitched, keeling wail. Bruce has his eyes closed like he's in a trance, clutching the boy's face with a vice-like, bruising hand, sucking on the flushed skin between his neck and shoulder while he thrusts into him, deep, hungry thrusts that shake the entire table to the point that its contents are mostly on the floor. And then, Dick stumbles inside, not feeling the ground beneath his feet, and it stops, it all stops dead. He doesn't even know what the look on Bruce's face is like when he notices him, because something inside him snaps, and all he sees when he looks at him is red. It's probably seconds. It feels like hours. He's not sure anymore. The next thing he sees his how Robin's eyes widen when he sets them on Batman, who's standing tied-up next to Dick. The knuckle he's been biting plops out of his mouth. "Oh," he breathes, "Oh shit," and he sounds thrilled, and he's leering, and Dick dizzily realizes that he loves that this is happening. And when he looks over at Batman, he sees him smiling, too. His smile is one of triumph and smug satisfaction, and Dick doesn't even understand it, until Batman opens his mouth to speak. "Trash," is all he says, and it's clear that he means Bruce. Bruce looks like he's being gutted. No, he looks like he's already dead. His eyes are blank, his face is ashen. He looks incredibly old all of a sudden. Dick stares at him, and it's as if he watches a part of his soul actually curl up and die. Dick feels physically ill. The room is spinning, his world is spinning, but he doesn't move, nobody moves for what seems like forever, until a big, gloved hand closes around his throat, and another wave of horror washes over him. He's freed his hands "Sorry, Nightwing," Dick hears Batman growl, "You seem all right," and then two big arms twist his neck to hard that tears shoot into his eyes. In his current state, it doesn't actually hurt that much, comparably. "You move," Batman now tells Bruce, who's still standing there like a frozen corpse with his shirt hanging out of his pants, "You raise your voice, even a little, and the pretty one gets it." Dick almost wants to laugh. He's figured out the knot. Of course he's figured out the knot. He's been working his way through it while distracting Dick with his snide remarks and crappy attitude, because of course he has. He's the goddamn Batman. Batman now deigns to address his partner, but his voice is anything but friendly, and his eyes remain fixed on his target. "Thanks for the diversion." "Yeah, I wasn't doing that for you," Robin points out, tugging on his vest and leotard to make himself more presentable, "Honestly, I hoped I'd never have to see you again." He cocks an eyebrow, but it's almost as if his features are softening when he asks, "What's up with your face?" Batman's lips distort with anger, and then Dick lets out a soft cry when he receives another angry yank to the neck. Hearing him seems to shock Bruce out of his stasis, at least. Dick can see the genuine terror in his eyes, but truth be told, he perceives anything the man does through a thick, sickly fog of disgust right now. "You won't kill him," Bruce says to Batman. He's so convinced of this that he sounds almost calm. "Don't test me, old man." Batman's face is so close he's almost nibbling on Dick's ear as he talks. "There's more I can do than kill him. You know damn well that if I snap it here, he'll be paralyzed for life. This one's an acrobat too, isn't he? Sure he is, I've fought him. Think he'll adjust well to being a quadriplegic? You decide." Dick groans. Bruce looks as if he's throwing up in his mouth. Even Robin seems a little disturbed. "Don't make that face, Wayne," Batman barks when Bruce gives him a deep look of hatred and disgust, "You started it!" That makes Robin perk up, despite the fact that his older self is very nearly getting his head twisted off. In fact, it seems as if Bruce and Dick have dropped off the face of the earth as far as he's concerned, and now there's only Batman. "Aw," he chirps, and Dick realizes a little too late how nuts he is, "You came for me?!" "Shut up," Batman snaps at him, irritated, and Robin stops talking, but he doesn't stop grinning.

Dick can see Bruce's eyes desperately flit in his direction again. He's clearly trying to hide how upset he is, but of course that's fairly pointless if he has to hide it from himself. "Let him go," he says with curt nod at Dick, "And we'll talk."

His voice is grave, but he doesn't look too impressive in his post-sex rumpled state, distraught, discolored and shaken, and Batman's dismissive snort attests to that. Dick is too fed up with Bruce to appreciate that he's obviously scared for his life.

Batman grunts. "You got no room to talk and you know it," he drawls, "And by the way, don't even think about pushing one of those buttons I know you've got under that desk. I know all about 'em. I installed them. If I see your fingers twitch even once -"

"You won't," Bruce says quickly, raising his hands in a show of compliance. He turns to Robin. "He leaves me no choice – for now – "

Robin shoots him a look like he's just now remembering he's there.

Batman sounds almost like he's pitying his counterpart. "You don't know what you're messing with, Wayne. You don't even know what you're dealing with, here. You're in over your head. And you," he snaps, turning to his young apprentice again, "My feet. Cut 'em loose. Hurry up. We'll discuss this episode later."

Robin's mouth hangs agape as he looks from one Bruce Wayne to the other. It's obvious that he's getting off on the attention, but it's not immediately clear what he's going to do. Dick suddenly realizes that, for all his craziness, for all his obsession, Robin is still a wild card. It's difficult to squeeze the words out of his mangled throat, but Dick does it, anyway. "Look at him. He doesn't care about you," he mumbles, speaking to the kid, though he's not even sure who he's saying this to. "He never will. Go with him, and he'll hurt you again. He'll abuse you again. Over and over." The words taste like poison in his mouth. He closes his eyes. "Trust me." After he's finished, a cold chill seems to waft through the room, somehow. It's deadly quiet, until Batman suddenly utters a flat "…what." When Dick opens his eyes again, he sees Robin staring at him with an almost comically startled look on his face. He looks like a little boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Um. Shut up?" He mumbles at his doppelganger, but it's too late. Dick can feel how confused Batman is. Sadly, he's not confused enough to loosen his vice-like grip on him when he hollers, "What did you tell them I did?!" "Nothing!" Robin grows even paler than Bruce is. "I told them nothin', Sir, really, I – I swear. He – " He points an accusing finger at Bruce, "He – I think he thinks you've been touching me or somethin', and I just, I just, I went with it, I'm sorry!" His voice turns whiny. "He was so nice to me!" "You…" Bruce's voice sounds so small. The crestfallen look on his face as he turns to the boy would almost hurt if Dick was in any state to give a crap about what he felt. "You said he'd … done something to you…" Robin is fidgeting with his hands, still looking like a kid who's getting detention. "You psychotic little shit," Batman murmurs. "Why don't you tell them the truth. Go on. Tell 'em. Tell 'em what I did, what I actually did to you." Robin's sharp little face goes from white to red. His face twists into a furious grimace. He looks at Batman as if he hates and loves him more than anything. Dick sees tears shoot into his eyes. And then it bursts out of him. "He fired me!" His lip starts wibbling. He stomps his foot like the petulant child he is. "He fired me, after all the work I did, after all I did for him, he goes and throws me out like garbage!" "That's right." Dick feels Batman's sardonic smile against his cheek. "And, honey, that I would do over and over again." Robin pokes a finger at Dick next, still whining at his former boss. "He got shot, you know?! He got himself shot, I would never do that, and you fired me, anyway!" "For incompetence. For cowardice." Batman hesitates. "And for acting like a fucking brat when I wouldn't return your advances." The boy's face grows an even deeper shade of red. "Oh, you wanted to," he spits, lower lip trembling with hate, "Don't gimme that, you wanted me, you always wanted me, from the minute you took me, but you didn't have the guts." He abruptly turns to Bruce again, and his mask of anger turns into tenderness and pride for a few insane seconds. "He's not the man you are," he gushes at him. Bruce doesn't look as if he could possibly feel any worse about himself than he already does. "Yeah, sorry, gramps," Batman taunts him, anyway. "But the only one in this room who's fucked a teenage boy is you." "Leave us," Bruce says in that broken, hollow voice, eyes closed. "Release Nightwing. He's done nothing to you. He's had no part in this. Please." Batman is visibly disgusted at hearing his older self plead with someone, even if it's him. It barely makes a difference, however, since he seems disgusted with Bruce, anyway. "Not yet," he says mercilessly. He's holding Dick so tightly even the smallest movement would result in him snapping his neck, not giving him or Bruce any chance to act. "There's more." He nods at Robin, who's still pouting at him. "Own up," he prompts him. "Tell 'em the rest. You owe him that. He was so nice to you." The teenager turns very meek all of a sudden. "P-please don't?" He whimpers. "You'll ruin it, please don't make me tell him, I'll cut you free, I'll go with you, but don't make me say it –" "Do it." "Aw man..." Robin shoots Bruce a timid look, lip quivering, eyes fluttering. He talks very softly, in a way that suggests an intimacy between them that would turn Dick's stomach, if he wasn't already busy with having his neck twisted. "Y'know, that room? Where we met?" Robin pipes, almost shyly. "I … I made that." "You made it," Bruce repeats. He sounds too drained to inflect his voice with any type of emotion. But the look he gives him is gentle and sad. Whatever happened with them in that room, it has affected him. Batman picks up the story when Robin simply hangs his head, tears streaking down his face, and doesn't go on. "After I kicked his sorry ass out, I realized he'd do anything to get back at me," he sneers. "Or get back to me, I don't know. He seemed obsessed. He tried to get in with some scientist who could modify his body, make it faster and stronger, and when those guys wouldn't play along, he shacked up with some pretty unsavory, uh, wizard types." Batman scrunches up his nose at that last part. "Occultists, they were occultists, okay," Robin corrects him. It seems like he still doesn't want to talk about it, but he doesn't want Batman to get it all wrong, either. "And they were really good, like. They taught me that I could create places with my mind, if I focused hard enough, and said the right incantations. Like real ones, not that sideshow crap at all. I was lonely, and I had no place to be, so I. I created home. Our home." He looks at Batman with those large, pleading eyes. If that inspires any emotions in the man, he doesn't let it show. Robin swallows some tears, and continues. "And then, I … I thought, well, if I could use my willpower to create places, maybe I could also use it to … to make people do what I want. So every night, I concentrated really, really hard on …" He blushes, very sweetly this time. "On calling him to me. And then one night, it seemed to work." He shoots Bruce another covert look. "But it was you, you came instead. That was an accident, I'm sorry!" Bruce nods. His voice is a whisper, his tone wistful. "We both wanted –" He starts, then casts a fleeting look at Dick, and says no more. "I-I tried to act all normal when you came in, because I wasn't sure what was happening and I didn't wanna rock the boat, but then you started, you started to, um …" He looks at his boots again. "You were so nice to me," he repeats. For a moment that seems somehow equal parts sickening and sweet, it looks as if Bruce and Robin are going to touch hands, but then Batman's voice cuts the air like a cracking whip. "Enough. I'm ending this. Get over here, mumbles." The teenager casts one last look at Bruce, mouths, "I'm sorry," then scurries over to Batman, his Batman. Of course he does, Dick thinks, because when it comes down to it, it'll always be Batman and Robin, every time. He sees him grab the letter opener that's dropped to the floor, and then he's kneeling in front of Batman, cutting the lines around his boots in a show of obedience. Batman grunts in approval. "Good for something, for once," he grumbles. Then he takes one last look at Bruce, as well. "You make me sick, old man," he informs him. "You're not fit to wear our cowl. I'd say I'll ruin your life for this, but it seems you already did that. Bye." And with that, he tosses Dick aside like a used napkin, grabbing Robin instead. "I'm so sorry, for real," Robin chirps at him, before a strong arm drags him away. As they scram, Bruce's first thought, weirdly enough, isn't pursuit. His first thought is his former partner. Still stumbling from the force of Batman's push, Dick sees him hurry towards him, arms stretched out for support. "Dick." He sounds anxious, voice trembling. "Dick, are y-" A surge of angry energy explodes in Dick's body. He shoots up, and sucker punches Bruce so hard that he drops to his knees. Normally, it wouldn't be possible to fell Bruce with a blow like that; or at all. But he doesn't try to dodge, doesn't try to stop him, doesn't fight back, probably because he knows somewhere in his heart that he deserves it. Dick wipes his mouth, bile rising in his throat. "Don't touch me." Bruce stays on his knees, a slumped figure at Dick's feet. He's still as white as a sheet, but now bright red blood is pooling out of his nose, slowly trailing over his mouth, which is also bleeding. But he doesn't seem to feel the pain. He looks as broken and shell-shocked as Dick has ever seen him, but perhaps for the first time in his life, he feels not a kernel of sympathy for him. "Dick. I'm s-" "No." Dick barely recognizes his own voice. His legs are shaking, and all he wants to do is curl up somewhere and cry like a child, he feels so betrayed. But there's no way in hell he's going to cry in front of him, so he starts screaming, instead. He doesn't care anymore who'll hear it. "How could you?! That kid is what, sixteen?!" He shouts at him, and he can actually see Bruce flinch at that, "Of course he's devoted to you, of course he'd do whatever you want him to. He looks up to you, idolizes you, he loves you. He'd do anything for you. And that is what you choose to do. That." Bruce lets the tirade wash over him, staring up at Dick with dead, sunken eyes. But right at the end, something flashes in them, something sly and hideous. He licks his blood-stained lips. "Are we still talking about him," he mutters, and suddenly, Dick knows, he knows that Bruce has followed them like the creep he is, and he'd heard him say how he once loved him, and now he's throwing it back in his face. Even at his lowest, his instinct to cruelly deflect is still intact, like a shield. Dick lets out a roar, grabs the letter opener that Robin has dropped after freeing Batman, and fires it right between Bruce's legs. It gets stuck in the floorboard between his knees, vibrating. If he'd wanted to impale his balls, he could've. He feels poison collect on his lips. He's never said something like this to him before. He never thought he would. "You piece of shit." When Bruce's eyes fall shut, it's like the lid of a coffin closing. He says nothing in his defense. Dick's vision is blurring. He can't breathe. It slowly occurs to him that he's still wounded, too, cut to bits by the other Batman. It seems hard to even stay on his feet – That's when the alarm starts sounding, saving them from having to look at each other. And somehow, they both immediately know what the other two did. "Ah." Bruce still sounds affectless, dead. "They – " "- set the Batcave on fire. I know," Dick finishes, rubbing his face. Hell is not over. He wants to be miles away from Bruce, but he's not gonna let down Damian and Alfred. "Let's go."

VI. The day is breaking over Gotham, but you'd barely know it. A thick, dark front of clouds is forming over the city. The air in their cheap motel room is hot and damp. Robin is curled up on the bed, nibbling on his fingernails as he watches Batman set up the video camera. "Why's it have to be video," he wonders, mainly because he wants to say something to him. "There's digital now." He doesn't even expect the tall man to answer, but he does. "'cause it has to be authentic, you floozy," growls Bruce. "Back when that other runt was your age, everything was on video. Keep up." Dick's fingers drift from his mouth. "I knew that," he says brattily, satisfied that they're talking, and that he's calling him names again. No place like home. Even if they're not home. Bruce catches him smiling, and Dick feels his stern, cruel eyes on him even through the blanked-out lenses. He's covered up the burns on his face with theatrical make-up for their little shoot, bad burns that he'd acquired fighting for Dick, or at least that's how Dick chooses to imagine it. "For the record," the Dark Knight grunts. "You're still fired." "Even after this?" Dick inquires, shifting on the bed in anticipation of what they're about to do. Bruce doesn't reply this time. Dick chuckles to cover for how nervous he is, and tugs at the collar of his vest because he's also hot. He's been thrilled out of his mind ever since they set up shop here; now he starts to feel frightened, too. Only a little, though. Most of his body is winding itself up with excitement. After they'd torched the Batcave (Dick feels sorry about that, he really does) and confiscated the best and fastest Batmobile for their ride, Batman had gotten really really mad. Not at him, though, for a change. But at the other Bruce. Probably because he hadn't expected any better from him, Dick, but a hell of a lot better from, well, from himself. He'd called him horrible names, Dick's ears were still ringing from it, and then he'd gone on a rant about how he couldn't have that creep run around in the cape and cowl, how it was an insult to him, and how they had to make sure they destroyed him before they returned to their world. (Batman had traced Dick's steps and recreated his little mind experiment with no trouble; he knew how to get in and out.) At the same time, Batman didn't deem Bruce worthy of an honest fight; what he wanted was to humiliate him, expose him for what he was. And that was when The Idea happened. Dick is rocking back and forth on the bed, forcing himself to take deep, steady breaths and not hug his knees because he's not sure how to act. It's a typical Batman idea. An instant classic. It's this year's yellow-painted room. Batman always comes up with stuff like this, stuff that's completely bonkers, yet bizarrely effective. A sex tape. They're gonna make a sex tape. They might not be exactly the same as their counterparts, but they look the same. They have the same faces, same voices, same body types, even the same sets of finger prints. And Batman is going to take full advantage of this fact, and Dick, formerly Robin, is going to assist him, because this is all his fault. The Idea is, they're going to shoot a once-in-a-lifetime, hot scoop video of Batman and Robin fucking, make it seem dated so it looks like it's this world's Batman taking advantage of his Boy Wonder, and send it to the press before they take off. At the end of the video, they'll even remove their masks (Batman has given him a spare one), torching Batman's and Bruce Wayne's reputation in one blow, like they'd torched his lair. So even if the Batman-and-Robin portion of this fails (which they don't think it will), it'd still be a video of Bruce Wayne and his ward Dick Grayson engaging in some illicit costumed hanky-panky. And they … they weren't gonna fake it or anything. They'd actually gonna do it, like, right here, on camera. Because Batman insists that it has to be 'authentic'. That's what he's doing it for, of course, for the authenticity. For no other reason. Sure. Dick can go with that. In his heart, he knows it's wrong. He doesn't really wanna destroy the other two. Bruce has been so good to him, and he's given him the happiest hours of his miserable teenage life. And Nightwing has shown him kindness, even though Dick resents him a little bit, because he's bigger and better and so cool, and because Bruce loooves him, no matter what he says. But … when it comes down to it, he still wants to be with this one. He's the one, he's the one who'd been there the night he'd lost his parents, who'd pulled him out of his nightmare and into a fever dream filled with thrill and excitement. The one whose approval he'd always strived for, the one he'd think of when he'd bite his pillow late at night. He's the prize. His eyes glaze over with greed as he watches the older man. He's never been this close to it. Who woulda known that all it would take was a proper mission statement for him to finally pop his cherry. Dick could've spared himself a lot of timid, humiliating seduction attempts and cruel rejections if he'd known that. And besides, what would the other Bruce even have done with him. All he'd wanted to do was 'fix' him, he'd said so, and then what? He probably would've tossed him out too, like a discarded toy. He already has a Dick Grayson, he has a Robin, too, he doesn't need him for that. But this one. This one only has him, even if he doesn't wanna admit it, and Dick wants so, so badly for him to take him back, and this might be his only shot at it. He wants to belong. And he wants him, too. He's cruel and he's mean, but Dick still wants him so much his body is practically screaming for it. Even if he won't be as sweet and gentle as the older Bruce has been, Dick still wants his large hands on him, he wants to feel his weight and taste his mouth and smell his scent, and he wants to make him lose it and see what it's like. He's hugged him, a couple times, before he'd hated him, and it had felt really good. Dick swallows. His body is running hot. There's also the small fact that the other Bruce had been this close to making him come when they'd gotten interrupted, and even if that had been hours ago, that little bit of sexual frustration still gnaws at him, driving him nuts. Batman's not gonna have a difficult time with him, at all. "You'll ruin his life, too," he points out, but his voice is already hoarse with anticipation, "Nightwing's." "Eh. That kid's done well for himself. He'll live. Besides, everyone's gonna feel sorry for him – which he'll hate, but he's not the one who'll get the blame," Batman assesses, still fucking around with the settings on the dated camera. He either wants their sex tape to look really pretty, or really grody, depending on what the hell he's doing. (They'd broken into three Wayne Industries warehouses until they'd found a box of vintage VHS ones. Since it's from Wayne's, it's not theft, in Batman's mind.) Dick frowns a little at the casual, but genuine respect in his voice. "D'you like him too now," he pouts. "He was no match for me – saw what I did to him?!" Batman gloats, but then goes on, "But he's not bad. Brave. Fierce. Good soldier." Dick feels new tears sting in his eyes. Yea well, maybe he had a better teacher than me, asshole. He sits up, glaring. His heart is rapping against his ribcage. He wants the big man to come over already so he can show him good. Even though he doesn't really feel so confident in that, either. "Oh, right." Batman snaps his gloved fingers at him, still bent over the camera. "Once we're rolling, I'd appreciate it if you dropped in there that you're only fourteen years old. That'd be good." Dick huffs, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn't put it past him to have forgotten. "I'm turning seventeen," he complains. "You know that, right." Batman hisses in annoyance, but he finally lets go of the camera and swaggers over to where Robin is sitting. Dick's heart does a startled leap when a big, strong hand grabs his chin, forcing him to look up. Batman's codpiece looks gigantic from this angle. Dick's adam's apple bobs in his throat. "I know that, sweetcheeks," Batman explains impatienly, "But the public won't. They'll lick their fingers for this. I'm assuming Vicki Vale's a thing here. She's been on my ass for years. Never could resist a good filthy scandal, that one." He seems so caught up in his plan. He seems downright pumped for it. It seems to make perfect sense to Batman that it's disgusting and wrong for Bruce to sleep with his teen ex-partner out of lust, but it's appropriate and perfectly right for him to do it for revenge; or so the story goes. Dick wonders how much of him really wants this. The Batmobile they'd stolen had been a new model, one that was much better than the one he had at home; Batman had been envious, but Dick had also seen him get all worked up driving it, like, it had almost given him a boner. He's always been like this with fast cars. He'd looked pretty heartbroken when they had to drive it straight into the Gotham River to throw off the tracker. The idea of him being horny, even if it's not for him, makes Dick feel all antsy. In a hot-cold, good-bad way. "Listen." He gives him a deer-in-headlights-look, mercifully hidden by his domino. Telling him this makes him wanna die, but he still thinks he should. "Me and … him. The other one. We never did it for real," he confesses. "We were just grinding. He didn't wanna do more. He was scared he'd hurt me –" His voice wavers on that last part. He pulls himself together, tries not to stammer. Batman doesn't like it when he stammers, like a stupid child. Batman's hand is still squeezing him. His mouth has curled up in distaste as soon as his other self came up. Dick's fingers sweatily dig themselves into the mattress. "You'll still be the first," he manages, not stumbling once. If that info has any value to Batman, he doesn't reveal it. "And?" He gazes down at him, stone-faced, and Dick knows he doesn't even need to see his eyes to know that he's freaking, because now he's shaking in his tiny boots. His skinny knees are trembling. "You're not gonna make it hurt on purpose, right?" "Hrm." Batman frowns at him, pondering. "It would make an even bigger splash if you look like you're in pain the whole time … I'm kidding," he says in his gruff voice when he sees the look on Dick's face. Dick growls and punts him in his bulky thigh; only he would think that kind of thing was funny. Batman doesn't hit him back. He lets go of his chin, and pats him on the cheek with his stiff, industrial-smelling gloved hand. It's a clumsy gesture, but it's not unfriendly. "I've done this kind of thing before," he assures him. Dick shoots him a dirty, possessive look. "What, like, with boys?" "No." He sounds like he's rolling his eyes under the cowl. "With women, Dick. Back there, it's pretty much all the same, don't worry about it." He nods, squirming under the touch. It's the first nice touch he's given him since … he doesn't even know. He hungers for it. "You hate me, though," he points out, voice already turning breezy. "I don't hate you," Batman says, and it's so throwaway that it's probably not a lie. Then, he does something surprising. He bends down to him, and their heads kinda awkwardly bump into each other at first, but then he's, he's nuzzling him. The smell of leather and testosterone fills his eager nose, combined with sharp traces of napalm. It takes his breath away and makes his eyes water in more ways than one. He feels stubble brush across his smooth skin when Batman finds his ear. "I'm not gonna give someone pain when I'm supposed to give them pleasure, only dirtbags and amateurs do that. I know what I'm doing," he whispers. And then, as if to prove it, he breathes a kiss on his ear, nabs at it, sucks his earlobe into his mouth and starts nibbling, and it sends Dick into spasms almost at once. His eyes roll into the back of his head. He squirms and shudders on the bed, thinking that his former boss must surely be repulsed by his weakness or something, but then he feels him squeeze his hand, and it's gentle. "If it hurts, say something," Batman purrs into his ear. His hard mouth twists into a smile. "And I mean, loudly, into the camera." Dick roars and punches his shoulder, and Batman laughs and leans into him, and he's breathing faster now, and for a moment it's as if they're tousling on the bed or something. But the older man winds himself away from him again, and walks over to the tripod across from the bed. He probably doesn't want to waste all the good stuff in rehearsal. Dick watches him from half-lidded eyes, heart hammering in his throat. He almost thinks he can see something bulging in his trunks, but he can't be sure, with the codpiece and all. He says one last thing before he turns on the camera. His tone makes Dick shudder again. "I'll do it better than he did. You wait." He pushes the button, the red light starts flashing, and they're off, and they're rolling.

Dick, who's been performing ever since he could think, feels a rush of stage fright come over him. He doesn't know where to look, he doesn't know how to look. When he nervously pinches his legs together, he feels an arousal so sweet it nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs. He can't help himself; he's been sitting on this desire for too long, it's festered, and now he's sick, sick everywhere. By the time Batman returns to the bed, he's greeting him with a full-on erection. The older man makes a small noise when he sees the state he's in, but it's neither friendly nor unfriendly. Dick finds himself staring right at his trunks, and remembers how often he'd sat on the bench in their locker room, watching him and dreaming about hugging his waist and burying his face in his crotch; he wonders if his former boss would hold it against him if he did that now. But he can't even move. With some effort, he tears his eyes away from his codpiece, and looks up at his face instead.

Batman reaches down and brushes a dark lock of hair from his forehead in an almost apropos gesture. But then he rests his heavy, steady hand on Dick's shoulder, and for some reason, it makes him want to believe that they're going to be all right.

"You look nice today," Batman says generously. "Now bend over."

VII.

The fire has been out for twenty minutes, and Damian still hasn't stopped apologizing.

"Forgive me, Father, Grayson," he titters for the twelfth time, bouncing back and forth between the two grown men who are barely looking at each other. "I can't believe I didn't hear the intrusion. I should've been there. I could've done something. I can't believe myself!"

Bruce doesn't answer. His gaze is fixed on his screens, many of them cracked and barely functional, while he tries to get the systems back online. His lips form a thin, tense line. He's in full crisis mode, but he hasn't put on the suit and cowl. Maybe because he wants to save time … or maybe because he can't bring himself to wear it right now.

Damian, on the other hand, looks as if he's put on the Robin uniform half-asleep, in the dark, and it's a sight for sore eyes. Dick cracks him a weary smile. "Eh, this isn't on you, Damian," he says truthfully. "You were at the other end of the Manor. Not even Titus heard a thing."

And I'm really hella glad you weren't there. That's the part me and your father can probably agree on.

"Arf," the large dog responds to his name. He's still visibly upset, running through the destruction in the smoldering Batcave with his ears and tail drooping. The damage looks bad, right now, but it's only surface-level. Of course Bruce has all his important files in fireproof storage, and of course his base has smoke detectors programmed to rain down extinguishing foam at the first sign of a fire.

However; the dinosaur's ruined.

Dick feels oddly depressed looking at its smoking remains. Nothing like seeing one of the happiest, goofiest reminders of his childhood go up in flames tonight, in particular.

"Titus, heel!" Damian calls his pet over and kneels down to rub his big head. He shoots Dick a sly, curious look. "So. There's another Batman now, too."

"Mm. Yeah."

Dick closes his eyes as every inch of his body starts hurting, like an echo of their encounter. Sitting down on this rock has been a mistake. Now that the first rush of rage and adrenaline is seeping out of his body, he feels more than ever like a drooping structure ready to collapse. At least he doesn't have to hide from Damian how he feels; his run-in with Mean Batman and the fire are explanation enough for Dick to look half-dead; the kid doesn't have to know the rest.

"I see. Was he –" Damian pauses, and Dick sees his mind racing as he wonders what to ask first. The idea of having two of his father running around is probably really exciting. Especially, Dick thinks with a bitter flavor in his mouth, for a boy who admires his father as much as Damian does.

"Was he competent?" Damian finally settles on, which is a very Damian-like thing to ask.

Dick can't help snorting out a laugh. "Well. He got me good, that's for sure."

Damian's face falls. He'd never liked seeing Dick hurt, and Dick knows it. "Yes. That's regrettable."

Dick shakes his head. Damian is the last person he wants to feel bad about this mess. "You know," he says, stretching out his sore legs and wincing, "I frisked him twice after I knocked him out. I can't fathom where on earth he produced all that napalm from."

"Well, I'm sure you gave it your best, Grayson, even if you ultimately failed," Damian says solemnly, which is actually a really sweet thing to say if you're Damian.

Dick blinks at him. There's something comforting about looking at his serious, soot-covered face and seeing the concern on it. It's an honest and uncomplicated response, and in Dick's current state, it nearly makes him cry.

"You're getting really good at dealing with large fires, though," he says, trying to mask the crack in his voice. "That's two in 24 hours. Not bad."

Damian's 'R'-adorned chest swells at that, and Dick watches him try, and predictably fail, at seeming humble. "Well, it's no big deal, obviously, but I suppose you could say that," he says extra casually, tugging on his earlobe.

"I'm just glad nothing happened to you," Dick mumbles. He feels woozy and weak-kneed, his chin is trembling and his eyes are burning. He reaches out and pulls Damian into a hug, partly because he's glad to know that at least this Robin will be okay, and partly because he really, really needs a hug.

He hears Damian grumble a puzzled "Grayson …?" against his shoulder, like pretty much always when this happens, but then he feels his arms close around him and squeeze him tight.

Of course Bruce chooses that moment to come over with heavy footsteps. Dick senses him standing there, hesitating, as if he isn't sure if how to interrupt the moment. But then he starts talking over it, anyway, his voice somber but businesslike.

"We shouldn't be down here while the smoke clears. We can clean this mess up in a few hours. Let's reconvene upstairs. The kitchen, where the blinds are down."

"Oh thank heavens," Alfred mutters from the far end of the cave, dropping the crispy burnt dinosaur's tail he's been lifting, and dusting off his hands. "Right this instant, Sir. I'll prepare refreshments. I think we could all use some."

Damian perks up with curiosity at his father's words, but somehow, he seems to sense that his former partner is still in need of hugging, since he doesn't let go of him. Which Dick appreciates. "What's the course of action?" The boy demands to know, excitedly. "Did that other Batman really kidnap Robin? We're getting him back, right?"

He sounds very determined. Damian hasn't quite warmed up to Robin, but that doesn't mean he's down with people getting snatched from his home.

When Bruce doesn't offer a response, Dick licks his cracked lips. "It's complicated," he tells Damian. The kid frowns, arms still wrapped neatly around him. "But –"

"Upstairs," Bruce says briskly, then he starts marching toward the exit, hunched shoulders, lost in thought. He looks like a broken man. When Dick and Damian follow him, he doesn't attempt to hold Dick back to have words with him, probably because he doesn't want to give Dick another chance to snap "Don't," at him like the first couple times he'd tried that.

Alfred's the first in the kitchen, and he whips up a huge pitcher of ice water with lemons in record time. He also puts a tray with comfort cookies next to it, which is adorable, but Damian is the only person who takes one. Dick's stomach is still coiling, and Bruce doesn't look as if he's going to eat, or feel things, in the near future either. His face is sallow, and he looks sicklier and more pallid to Dick than the few times he has actually seen him sick. He looks so much like crap that even Damian has commented on it, wondering out loud if he'd been poisoned. Bruce has told him and Alfred that seeing a doppelganger of himself had been like seeing a ghost, which seems to hold up for now, despite the fact that Bruce has seen multiple ghosts in his time as Batman and he'd never looked like this before. Much like Dick himself, he seems ready to keel over, but he doesn't even sit down in the kitchen. Dick doesn't, either, because if he did, sadness and exhaustion would grab him again. He opts to lean against the counter instead. Bruce looks in his direction and opens his mouth, then thinks better of it, blinks with heavy-lidded eyes, and turns to his son instead.

"Damian, I have a very important task for you," he says in that flat voice.

"Mm-mmm. Sure." Damian, who loves his name and the phrase 'important task' together even more than he loves his own birthday and cake together, straightens in his chair, still nibbling on his cookie. "What is it, Father?"

"You know that the … the computer has a radar function that can determine occultist and supernatural activity." Bruce doesn't say 'Bat-computer', as if he doesn't even want the word in his mouth now.

Damian nods. That program really is something; Dick would never understand how Babs put it together, crossing wires and magic with a little supervision from Zatanna – but then, Dick doesn't even really understand how Pong was put together, so.

"I have a truncated version of it on my laptop, it should suffice for what we need," Bruce continues, thousand-mile-stare far into the distance, "I want you to run it, and mark all signs of someone trying to create a mystical portal. We … they came that way, and they have to leave that way, too." He pauses. "Oh. If it's on the corner of 72nd and 5th, feel free to ignore it, that's a … that's an amateur coven trying to summon the god Baal, I already looked into them, that's not important right now."

"Understood." Damian grabs another cookie and hops off his chair. Information gathering is not his favorite aspect of the job, as Dick knows, but he seems glad to be a part of what he thinks will be the Robin rescue party. It's not a bad move by Bruce, keeping him occupied with something that's actually important, while at the same time keeping him away from … from the meat of this particular case. "If you give me your password –"

"There was a red phone," Bruce suddenly says, with that distant look in his eyes, more to himself than to anyone else. His voice cracks when he recalls something that's obviously about his first meeting with Robin. "It was significant. I'd never seen it before, but I knew it. We both did. It functioned like a key, or a … a totem. He was scared of it –"

He trails off when he notices Dick, Damian, and Alfred all staring at him.

"Want … want me to look for a red phone?" Damian offers reluctantly, clearly a little stirred by seeing his father out of it like that. "Because I don't think the program can do that …"

Bruce finally gives him a look from red-rimmed eyes. "Ah. No. Please just do what I asked you to. Thank you, son. My laptop is in the dining room. Alfred can give you the password."

"You give Pennyworth all your passwords? That sounds risky," Damian assesses, scrunching up his nose. "No offense," he says quickly, when he sees the trusted butler stiffening at that.

"None taken," Alfred says dangerously. "Though, let it be said that I would never dream of snooping through your Father's files unless there's an emergency. And," he concludes, snatching the cookie out of Damian's hands, "I would never dream of touching his keyboard while I'm eating a cookie. After you, Master Damian."

It really is pretty clever, Dick thinks, while Alfred leads a humbled Damian away. Bruce has gotten rid of both in one move, leaving only the two of them. A chilling silence takes hold while Bruce obviously tries to figure out how to get Dick to say a word to him, and Dick thinks about how badly he wants to be someplace else.

"Nightwing," he eventually says. It's a neat little trick to address him with his vigilante name, reminding him that this is still casework, and that Dick needs to be a professional, which means he has to talk to Bruce no matter how little he wants to. But he sounds reluctant, cautious, prepared for rejection.

"Yeah," Dick replies flatly. He doesn't even want to be in the same room with him, but he wants to solve this mess as badly as anyone. This hot, sticky mess he's found himself in.

Bruce's sunken face softens a little, as if even this one-word-response is a relief to him. But then, he tries to put up a neutral front. It's not too convincing. "I know this is difficult –"

"Ya think?" Dick interjects, to which Bruce briefly shuts his eyes before he continues.

" … I know this is difficult, but I need you to recount to me, in detail, what happened between you and … you and Batman. Everything he said. Everything he did. Don't leave anything out, please. Even the smallest detail could be important."

Dick shoots him a sharp look from narrowed eyes. Bruce can't see it, because Dick hasn't removed his mask since he got here, but he probably knows. He always knows these things.

I wonder, he thinks. Are you going to tell me what happened between you and Robin? Everything you said? Everything you did? And not leave anything out? Will you be open with me, like you ask me to be with you? I highly doubt it.

Something about that line of questioning makes his chest hurt, so he swallows that pill, and finally slumps down on one of the chairs. It's odd to think that, a few hours ago, he'd pondered how Bruce's presence was so comforting to him when he felt tired and beaten. He can't even imagine being anything but uncomfortable around him ever again. But here goes.

"Sure," he agrees.

Bruce lets out a deep sigh, and his face does a strange thing for a moment, almost as if he's going to weep, but of course he doesn't, Dick can't remember the last time he saw him shed tears; it happened, but it seems like very long ago. He seems to become minimally more comfortable, though, taking a chair and sitting down across from Dick to listen to him. It's such an achingly normal gesture. They'd had so many cozy late-night snacks at this table back when Dick had lived here, returning from patrol together tired, sore, and happy. It had always been so much fun. Of course, now when Dick thinks back on it, all he sees is Bruce going to town on a half-naked sixteen year old version of himself, and it turns into ashes like that damn T-Rex downstairs.

He raises his hand without looking at Bruce. "One thing first. I need you to answer me one question."

"Of course. Anything," Bruce says, which Dick knows is not true. Even when he's cornered, even when he's desperate to get back into someone's good graces, Bruce never lays all his cards open, he never has, and he never will. He'll give exactly as much of the truth as his self-preservation allows him. But Dick has to ask, anyway.

"Why?" He looks down at the finger stripes adorning his gloves, unable to look anywhere else. He hates how tiny and wounded his voice sounds, all of a sudden. "W-why did you do it?"

Bruce sounds nervous. No, he sounds scared. "Look, they might be getting away as we speak. We should –"

"No."

Before he knows it, Dick finds himself looking up to glare at him. "No. We'll do this now, Bruce. I'm not some stupid child, you know. I'm not gonna keep important information from you because my feelings are hurt. I'll tell you what happened, whether you answer me now or not. But if you give a shit, if you want me to even start comprehending whatever the hell it was I saw back there, at least try to make me understand. Why. Why did you do it."

Bruce hacks out a breath, as if he's choking on the question before he can even formulate an answer. The look he gives Dick is almost pleading, but Dick doesn't back down. He waits for his answer, face clenched and hardened. If Bruce has looked broken and old before, he looks oddly young now. Young, because he seems lost and helpless and frightened. Dick sees him brace himself, and instinctively realizes that he's not about to lie.

"Because he said he wanted me," Bruce says flatly. "And I've waited all my life to hear you say you wanted me."

His words are met by stunned, grave silence. Dick stares at him. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, fruitlessly. Somewhere in the background, a grandfather clock is ticking; it's the only sound that can be heard.

Now Dick definitely feels tears stinging in his eyes.

Why.

Why now.

He doesn't –

He doesn't even know what to do with that now.

All he knows is that he's drained, and empty, and sad. The Manor's kitchen is well-heated, but he feels cold. They way they're sitting there, they're both not alone, but there's no comfort between them anyway. Dick faintly thinks that it'd make him feel better if he reached out and touched Bruce's weary, tired face now. But he can't. So he takes a deep breath, and does the only thing he can think to do.

"I –"

"Dick…" His voice is soft and pleading, in a way he's never heard before.

But it's not enough. After all that ugliness tonight, after the deceit (again), the manipulating, the violating, it's not enough.

"S-so …"

He clears his aching throat, looks at his hands again, and lets his cracked voice fill the void between them. "I … I came into my apartment at around four fifteen …"

#brucedick #brudick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #brucexdick #kleine asbar #lokiet

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

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[FIC] In Dreams by kleine-asbar (Part 2 of 4)

Title: In Dreams (Part 2 of 4)

Author: kleine-asbar

Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Abuse, angst, creepiness, idiot plot, purple prose, underage sex, violence.

Note: Accompanying art by lokiet, which can also be found under the cut below!

Mod note: Due to its length, this story will be posted in four parts over the next week. Part 1 is here.

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I. It's a warm, breezy night out in Gotham. And all in all, Dick Grayson, Nightwing, can think of worse ways to spend his time than a little game of catch down by the docks. It's just his luck, however, that the two players happen to be ten-feet-tall, venom-enhanced manbeasts, and he's the ball; because of course he is. "Throw him to me, Herbert, I'm wide open!" One of the behemoths booms, and then, to Dick, "We're gonna break your pretty little face, elf-man!" "Gee, thanks for notici – oop!" Dick shoots through the warm air like a projectile as Herbert tosses him with brute force. Well; that's actually the best thing that could've happened. He flips mid-air, before the other giant's welcoming fists can receive him, lands safely on his feet, and then the two lumbering thugs groan in quick succession when they're both hit in the brow with a wingding. Nightwing laughs, but deep down inside, he fears death. He always does. It's one of the first things Batman has taught him, to never forget the presence of death. It's always with them, looming, one false movement, one hairline away, and he needs to remember it even when he's laughing and quipping, and flipping through the air, even when the adrenaline is shooting through his veins, when he's having fun. He has his issues with the man, but that's a good lesson, one that has saved his life more than once. The hairs on his neck stand up as he hears a blood-curdling scream, a noise that signifies that the two monster-men are now done toying with him, and are going into killing mode. Fine. He's good for it. One of them – the one that had let out the battle cry – is now stumbling towards him, blindly slamming his fists in his direction while blood runs into his eyes. He's not exactly precise, but Dick knows he has to stay sharp – one kiss of that fist, and he's pancake batter. "Why can't you guys be jolly like the say in the movies?" He complains, diving through his opponent's massive legs to throw him off balance … only to find the other brute's shadow fall over him as he emerges. Whoops. These guys are definitely faster than they look. He sees the big thug grin with his tumor-infested mouth, and then a humongous fist swings at him – "HEY!" -missing him by and inch when a bag of sand suddenly flies at the giant's head and explodes on impact, robbing him of the rest of his vision. Dick's enormous foe howls, covering his hideous face with his big paws. Nightwing breathes a life-affirming sigh of relief. Pretty crude maneuver, but it's always nice to get some help in this city. He briefly gazes into the direction that the sandbag has come from – What he sees almost gets him killed. It's been years since he's seen someone in that costume outside of Halloween, and it's definitely not Halloween. The boy is standing on a nearby pile of shipping containers, hands on hips in a familiar pose, grinning as he watches Dick battle it out with the two brutes. His mind thinks for a split-second, Damian!?, but that can't be. The stature and complexion are all wrong, and Damian wouldn't get caught dead in that leotard, he's said that multiple times, even though no-one was asking. Still, Dick thinks he knows this kid. There's something about him, his smile, that gives him a sense of spooky déjà-vu… He stares until the boy's smile suddenly slips, and he screams, "Watch it!" And that's when Dick very nearly dies. He notices the growing shadow around himself in the nick of time, and rolls away a second before a large foot can ground him into mush. His heart is racing. That was a close one. He spins around on the ground, kicking his attacker's heels out from underneath him. "Seriously," he shouts, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, "Never heard the term 'gentle giant'? Anyone?" He's as loud and animated as he can; anything to distract the Demolition Brothers from that boy up there. His help had been very welcome, and Dick is totally going to buy him a giant cheeseburger meal for that later, but the kid doesn't know what he's getting himself into. These are some mean, next-level bruisers. If he thinks putting on a vintage Robin suit will make him invincible … Dick knows from his own experience how that can end badly really quick. He's not gonna let another kid go down in that suit. "Come and get me!" He chirps at his attackers, which is probably pretty unsubtle, but those two don't seem like the types for subtlety, anyway. Good thing that they have all the strength of a pair of freighters, but are about as graceful, too. Dick is busily zig-zagging between them, getting them to punch each other instead of him, but they're not getting as tired as he'd like them to. He's not exhausted, but he can already feel the strain. They're two, and he's one; he can't stop moving for even a second, or else they'll – He hears hollering, and his heart stops when a flurry of red, green and yellow drops from the sky. No please no - That's when he sees the boy do a triple somersault in the air, and suddenly becomes very calm. Oh; he's got this. Robin lands firmly on Herbert's shoulders, making him roar and flail his arms around in an attempt to be rid of him. But to no avail. Now the boy is riding him like a pony, steering him into the containers he's been standing on, and he laughs while he does it, and Dick almost shivers with the recognition. No time to ponder, now. Now he only has one big bad bruiser to look out for, which means his work is getting indefinitely easier. And the dude is obviously off his game, startled out of his wits by the Teen Wonder's sudden appearance, which is exactly what Teen Wonders have always been good at. It gives Nightwing enough time to loosen the wire he always carries with him, and fashion a few nice, tight restraints for the thug and his buddy while he dodges his sluggish attacks. Slinging it around his feet and legs is a cakewalk. "Timber!" He calls out when his opponent drops into the dust, and it sounds as if Robin is totally finding that funny. They work together to tie the hulking, unconscious bodies into a neat package, both using the same type of knot. With a few injections of the antidote, the two monster-men will be shrinking back into decently-sized (and probably very frightened) bodybuilders in no time. Yep, these two will be going straight into the rehab program. When they're done, Robin hops on top of the thug pile and cockily, proudly sits on it, kicking his legs, which elicits a few soft grunts. Dick looks at him, and his adrenaline levels go off the charts, and it's not just the pleasure of a job well done. He can't make sense of it, but he knows. He knows where he knows him from. It's eerie. And super cool. And eerie. "So," he finally says, casually leaning on their defeated opponents. "Thanks … me?" The boy blushes at that, then he giggles, which only causes Dick's smile to widen. "Um." Robin (Dick needs to label him 'Robin' in his head, or else his skull will explode) looks down at his pixie boots for a moment, then scratches the back of his head, then looks at Dick again, still blushing. "So, I know this is weird, and it's hard to explain," he starts sheepishly, putting his hands up in a helpless gesture, "But … if I told you that the Batman from your world was dragged into my world because of some inter… inter-dimensional whatsit, and then he, uh, took me back with him, would you just. Would you just go with that?" Dick has to chuckle at his flusteredness. He gets it. He wouldn't know where to start explaining Zebra Batman or Zur-En-Arrh-Batman to someone, either. He smiles wryly. "Sure." "Oh, good." Robin looks almost shy when he smiles back at him. Dick can't stop grinning. Turns out, his last therapist had been right. He doesn't hate himself deep down inside. He looks at his mini-me, and all he wants to do is cuddle him and ruffle his hair and take him out for ice-cream, their favorite flavor, and then go kettcar racing with him, maybe. "You're adorable," he titters, before he can help it. Robin scrunches up his nose, which is exactly what he would have done if someone had said that to him at that age. Dick covers his mouth, chuckling. "I'm … I'm sorry." Robin slides down the pile of goon, puts his hands on his hips again, and gives Dick a very, very close examination. It'd almost be a little weird, if Dick wasn't as curious about the kid as he is about him. "Hm," he finally makes, after he's done looking Nightwing up and down. "So. This is what I grow up to be?" It's Dick's turn to feel sheepish. His cheeks grow warm. "Yeah, I guess?" He can't resist showing off a little, pulls out an escrima stick and twirls it through the air. "Unless you come up with something better?" He squints at him, and then his heart almost bursts when he sees Robin look at his boots with a pleased little smile on his face, and hears him mumble, "Cool." It's a sweet, awkward moment, until Robin clears his throat and becomes all business, which is almost too cute for Dick to take. "Batman wanted to make sure you're, er, you're still in one piece," he reports. "'cause, you know, he brought me here and we're not sure what it did and whatnot. But there was this thing, and there was also the huge fire on Amusement Mile, and he didn't know which site you were at, so we split up." Finished, Robin grins, crossing his arms. He looks pleased with himself. "He was so sure you'd be at Amusement Mile," he scoffs. "His face'll be so red." There's something about the pure, direct affection in Robin's voice when he mentions Batman that makes Dick uncomfortable. But, hey, where this kid's from, him and the Bat are probably still bestest of friends, or something. Dick is not gonna ruin that for him, until it ruins itself. If Robin notices the slight shift in his mood, he doesn't mention it. "He's asked me to take you home," he says. "Batman. You coming?" "Home?" Dick furrows his brow. "Is that what he said?" They boy shoots him an odd look, but then he quickly corrects himself. "Uh, no. He said to bring you to base. He wants to talk. About. You know." He gestures at his person. Dick cocks a brow. "I sure hope so," he says dryly. He's still ailing from the last time Bruce had neglected sharing vital information with him, and at this point, he wouldn't even put it past him to acquire himself a Mini-Dick, and then not talk about it. The kid's cheeks flush with excitement at that. "Can we go? Please? I wanna see the look on his face when he sees I found you first!" Dick stays silent. The idea of talking to his mentor fills him with the exact opposite of excitement. He hasn't quite forgiven him for what he and the others had went through these past months, culminating with that night in Arkham; a harsh, cruel reminder of the level of hubris that Bruce is operating on, how quick he is to dismiss them, even if they'd all die for him. It had become hard to face him after that. Dick is still responding to his distress calls, whenever Bruce isn't too stubborn to send one out. He still watches his back. He cares. But putting some distance between himself and Batman had been … refreshing. Especially since Bruce's meandering attempts at seeking forgiveness tend to be short-lived, and then he pulls the rug out again, like he … like he kinda does now. With this. Seeing Robin, seeing himself so eager to do Bruce's bidding, tail practically wagging, it drags up memories that hurt. And you can't even say that Dick is making things all about himself when they aren't, since this time, it's literally about himself. The more he thinks about the whole situation, the more uncomfortable he gets. However; it's hardly the boy's fault. He shrugs. "All right. I'm really kinda curious to hear the long version of this story," he says. He almost thinks he sees Robin shoot him a sly look at that. Maybe he's put off by the obvious sarcasm in Dick's voice. But he seems far too eager to deliver him to Batman to get into it. They're already on the way to Nightwing's bike when Dick notices something else. "Boy, your costume looks pretty rough," he observes good-naturedly. It really does. All rumpled, and with weird stains on it. It's hard to believe that Batman had even let him go out like that. He really must've been in a hurry to find him. "Ran into trouble along the way?" Robin blushes at that. He starts fidgeting with his vest. "Eh," he says, a little too casually, "We were kind of in a rush." Something about the way he says it sticks out to Dick. He presses his lips together. And then it hits him like a sack of bricks, why this is so weird, why it bothers him so much, even though his mini-me is the most adorable thing ever; and he wants to smack himself for not realizing it earlier. Bruce took him from somewhere. He'd been world-hopping again – which might not have been his fault, to be fair – and then he somehow ended up with a teenaged Dick Grayson, and he saw him, and he simply took him. Dick – the grown-up one – doesn't talk to him for a few months, and he finds himself a younger, more eager, more devoted version, and takes him home with him. Like he's his to take. It's messed up. And he kinda wants to see Bruce's face when he tries to explain to him how it's not messed up. "Fine," he mutters through his teeth, when he and the little one take a seat on his bike, and kicks the ignition. "Let's hear it."

II. They're down in the tunnels leading to the Batcave when they hear footsteps and agitated voices. Or, more precisely, one very bossy, agitated voice. "They're here! I have to see!" "Damian. Slow down." Dick sees Robin stiffen when he hears Bruce's voice ring out to them. It's a little weird. But he's quickly distracted by the other voice coming towards them. "Tt, no way. You cannot tell me you have a tiny version of Grayson, Father, and then ask me to slow down." "He's not tiny –" Bruce grumbles, dark voice echoing from the walls. "Oh boy, here we go," Dick mutters, corners of his mouth twitching. A shadow creeps towards them on the wall, and then Damian bursts around the corner, wearing his own Robin suit, face dark and taut with excitement. Bruce is right on his heels, dark cape swooping behind him, face unreadable. Damian stops dead when he sets his eyes on the other Robin; and Robin, next to Dick, does the same. "Oh," they both say at once, and the instant dislike is downright chilling. Dick looks from one to the other. Right. Robin is older than Damian is, but they're both close enough in age to compete with each other. It's bad enough with Tim. And now Bruce has dragged another dark-haired, blue-eyed kid into it, and they're both Robins, on top of it. There can only be one at a time; Bruce of all people should've known better. Who would've thought that seeing his mentor again wouldn't be the most uncomfortable part of this. "Relax, Damian." Dick tries a smile, even though the situation weirds him out on oh-so-many levels. "He's me." Well, Damian likes him at least, right? Batman And Robin Will Never Die? "I can see that," the son of the Bat intones, lips pursed, but the look he gives Robin doesn't get friendlier, at all. "Nice suit," he drawls. "If you can call it that." "Hey –" Dick raises his voice in protest, but the two teens ignore him. "Yeah? Right back at you," Robin sneers at the younger kid, "Is that a hood? D'you know what any thug with half a brain will do with a hood?" "Tch, perhaps if you're slow, and bad at your job -" Robin is shockingly quick to curl his fists up at that. Damian does the same. Dick's gaze flickers over to Bruce, who watches the scene unfold with a remarkably helpless look on his face, and can't suppress a grin. Yeah. Good luck with that. Bruce catches Dick grinning at him, and it prompts him to finally take charge of the situation. Or try to, at least. "Damian!" He barks, and then, "Dick!" "Yeah?" Both Graysons respond at the same time. Bruce looks flat-out exasperated. Dick can't fight the Schadenfreude tunneling through his system. Batman's in over his head. He's so in over his head. The older man is visibly fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Can we. Please. All head into the situation room so we can talk about this." "What's there to talk about?" Damian snaps. "I insist that tiny Grayson get out of those rags immediately, he's making a mockery out of my position –" "Hey, I did some excellent work in those rags –" Dick pipes up. "I'm taller than you - " Robin hisses at Damian, a nasty threat in his voice. "Everyone - " Batman growls. "Gentlemen." They all turn around when the fifth voice joins the fray, and tempers cool down immediately. It's Alfred, master of defusion, carrying a tray with tea and sandwiches. He's as poised at ever, but then he spots Robin, and his face lights up. "My word," he says warmly. But he doesn't seem surprised. Bruce must have prepped him in advance. Alfred looks from Nightwing to Robin with a twinkle in his gentle eyes. "This is the most beautiful photo opportunity I was ever not allowed to take," he remarks, shooting Bruce a quick glance. Dick can see Robin relax under the butler's friendly gaze; he obviously trusts him, and Dick is pleased to know that some things are the same no matter which universe. Damian pouts when he sees them exchange a brief smile. "Pennyworth is our butler," He mumbles, lest Robin get any ideas. "I am the butler of this house, Master Damian," Alfred points out politely, "And if you all don't mind me intervening, I think the situation room is an excellent idea. I will be serving there. Feel free to follow me." He's speaking softly, but with authority; no Bat or Bird would ever think of disobeying the man. They walk the rest of the way in a small procession. Damian and Robin seem to be competing over who gets to walk closer to Batman, bumping into each other in a progressively hostile way in the narrow tunnel. Dick isn't sure if he should laugh, or step in before one of them starts slamming the other one's face into the wall. Damian is a fierce kid, and Robin … Robin seems a little more aggressive than Dick remembers himself being. But that might be rose-tinted glasses, who knows. He has to chuckle despite himself when Batman eventually gets fed up with both of them, and gently grabs them by the capes to drag them along. Ah. Not-so-sweet nostalgia. They reach the situation room without further incident. When they step in, Bruce holds Dick back at the door. He leans in confidentially, while at the same time keeping a respectful distance. He seems a little awkward with him, but that makes sense. They haven't spoken in a while, and now Dick finds out that Bruce has been hanging out with a teenage version of him, which is both sad and creepy as all get-out. "Thank you for coming," Bruce says quietly. "Really, I appreciate it." Dick can tell that he means it; he can also tell that he's genuinely sorry about the radio silence between them. But he doesn't smile, doesn't acknowledge the thanks. He's still mad at him, and besides, whatever the hell is going on here, he's brought it on himself. "It'll make sense in a minute," Bruce promises him through clenched teeth. It's easy to tell that he really wants Dick to believe it. "Doesn't it always," Dick replies dryly. That's what Bruce never seems to get. It's not about making sense. Batman always has reasons, and they always make sense on some level, but that doesn't make the things he does less off-putting or hurtful. Bruce frowns and makes an odd gesture, as if he wants to touch Dick's arm but can't quite bring himself to do it. Instead of wondering about it, Dick looks over Batman's shoulder at Robin and Damian, who are morosely claiming a mounted car skeleton and an examining table to sit on, respectively, because no Robin can just sit down in a chair normally, ever. Then, he gives the older man a comforting, but sarcastic pat. "Well, pal, looks like you need all the help you can get," he quips, then walks past Bruce to hop onto the desk. As soon as he sits down, Damian scrambles over to squat next to him, still pouting. Obviously, his father is not the only adult in the room he feels territorial about. Dick isn't sure if he should feel flattered, or drop his face in his hands at the madness of it all. He leans over to his little former partner. "Give him a chance?" He whispers. Across from them, Robin has received some tea and a sandwich from a doting Alfred and is tucking in with great appetite, while Damian stares at him with a look of cold disdain on his face. In his ragged, stained tunic, with his bruised shins and arms, his face and ruffled hair still covered in dirt from their little riverside adventure, he really looks more like a street ruffian than a squeaky clean Teen Wonder. Dick thinks it's endearing. Robin sees him looking, stops chewing and shoots him a grin with his mouth full. "Ugh," Damian mutters next to him. "Grayson, please tell me you were never like that." "I'm still like that, especially when I'm hungry, and you know it," he replies cheerfully, mirroring Robin's grin. Damian scoffs. "If I fought him, you'd still root for me though, ri – oh come on," he ends with a frown when he sees Dick cast him a warning look. "I can hear you, ya know," Robin comments, chowing down on his sandwich, "Havin' my legs out doesn't make me deaf." He swallows, flashing Damian a cocky, remarkably cruel smile. "And, I'd kick your a – " He stops mid-profanity when his eyes meet Batman's. As soon as he sees Bruce take his place in the center of the room, he hops off the car's hood and busily flits over to be by his side. He climbs a metal bar behind him so he can loom over his shoulder, like a pet bird. Dick bites his lip. Had he really been this clingy? That's a little - Bruce clears his throat, and the entire room looks at him. Now both Bruce and Dick have a Robin peeking over their shoulders. Dick isn't sure anymore if this is a real situation, or a bizarre, semi-therapeutic waking dream about their combined issues or something. The only person looking remotely not ridiculous is Alfred in the corner, who does not have an eager teenager attached to his hip. Meanwhile, Bruce starts the talks with a quickfire round of "well done"s, which is another clear sign that he feels he needs to make up for something. He compliments Damian for his quick intervention at the burn site downtown, then thanks Robin for aiding Nightwing down at the docks. Dick watches Robin's cheeks glow at that. "He would've died if it wasn't for me!" The teenager blurts out excitedly, before Bruce can turn to Dick to deploy some praise in his direction. Dick feels a strange knot in his stomach when he realizes that his mini-me is not above competing with himself, either. He kinda wants to point out that Robin's appearance had been what had almost gotten him killed, in the first place, but it seems childish. Damian and Robin are already vying for approval hard enough. Dick doesn't … he shouldn't need it. "I sincerely doubt that, Robin," Bruce tells him firmly, and then his voice thaws a little when he adds, "Nightwing is one of the best. He's in a class of his own." "Yeah, he's really good," Damian barks next to him, which sounds very much like Suck it, tiny Grayson! Dick crosses his arms, frowning. He'd usually be moved to hear both Damian and Bruce acknowledge his abilities, but it feels as if this whole exchange isn't about him, at all. Robin hangs his head, humbled. But the pout on his face looks grim. "You did good, kid," Dick tells him quietly, because it feels like he needs to hear it; and because it's true. "Nice work." Robin's mouth twitches, but his head stays low, and overall it seems as if it would've meant more coming from Batman. There's something gentle in Bruce's expression when he looks at the kid. "That I don't doubt." "Eh. You weren't there," Robin mumbles, but now he's smiling to himself. Dick watches them both, unsure what to think or feel. Bruce turns to him next. "Di – Nightwing. Would it be all right if I gave Robin one of your old suits to wear? His is. Not fit to be worn." Dick narrows his eyes. That's a weird, weird question for Bruce to ask. Sure, Dick is somewhat attached to that uniform, but … well, Bruce hadn't asked before he'd put Jason Todd in it. And then later, Tim had put it on when Dick had refused to wear it again. It doesn't seem like his to give away. He understands that Bruce is attempting to show him some sort of courtesy by asking that, but … it's coming a little late in the game, really. "Uh," he shrugs. "Sure." He looks over at his smaller counterpart. "You do look like you've been through the wringer," he smiles. Robin looks weirdly proud at that. Bruce looks uncomfortable. He clears his throat. "Alfred. Would you please show Robin the wardrobe and help him pick something that suits him? Thank you. Robin, go with Alfred. Go ahead, it's fine." The teen looks a little miffed to give up his plum spot next to Batman, but the prospect of mulling through Dick's old stuff seems to be incentive enough. "Yes, Sir," he says, almost achingly obedient, "Right away, Sir!" Dick can tell it takes Damian every little bit of restraint not to imitate him. Alfred, on the other hand, seems completely thrilled to show the boy around. He puts a paternal arm around him as Robin bounces away with him. Damian waits until they're barely out of earshot. "Why even give him a suit?!" He hisses at his father. "He's not going to be Robin. I am. You're not thinking about going on patrol with him instead, are you – no offense, Grayson –" "None taken," Dick responds dryly. In a way, he's relieved that Damian has started ranting, so he doesn't have to be the one addressing all this weirdness. "I'm – I'm putting my foot down," Damian pouts, and Dick can see that he's as nervous about losing the cape as every boy has been before him. He probably remembers how he got the suit, himself – because Dick had taken it from Tim, and given it to him. And now the first, the very first to wear it had somehow returned. "It's not about taking him on patrol, Damian." Bruce comes closer, lowering his deep voice. "I want him to feel safe. That's important. I need to work with him. That's why I took him. That's why I … I had to take him." Now that Dick sees him up close again, and now that Robin and Alfred are gone, he notices something. Bruce looks tired and tense, yes, that isn't new, but he also looks … distraught, almost. As if something is eating away at him. And before he knows it, that dumb part of him that can't bear to see him like this rears its head. "Bruce, what's wrong," he asks quietly. Even Damian grows quiet, now that he's starting to understand that his father has sent Robin to fetch a suit partly so he could talk to them, in private. Bruce's jaw seems to almost tremble a little. He seems distressed. "It may not be immediately obvious, but. He's … he's not well." It gives Dick a sinking feeling in his stomach. But somehow, he's not surprised. As adorable as the kid is, there is something … off about him. "What - what do you mean?" He asks anxiously. "Is he … sick? Is he …" Bruce's voice is hollow. "I think he's being mistreated. I think he's being abused." Dick's eyes widen. He feels a sudden hot, searing pain in his chest. He and Robin aren't related by blood, of course, and they may not even technically be the same person, but the idea of someone hurting him, it cuts deep. But before he can say anything, he hears Damian scoff. "Tt, and he took it? Not much of a Robin, is he? He doesn't seem to have a lot going for him –" For a moment, it looks as if Bruce will slap his son in the face. Dick hasn't seen him that cold and furious in a long time. And Damian sees it, too, which is obvious from the way all color leaves his face as his father sets his eyes on him. "No-one chooses to be abused," Bruce hisses at him, cold rage in his voice. "It's never the victim's fault. It's not about weakness. This is the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say, Damian. I'm disappointed in you." Damian looks startled and hurt. Dick can't help but flinch at Bruce's words along with him. He's entirely right, but it still seems harsh. "You're right." Damian lowers his gaze, turning into a timid little boy again under his father's scrutinizing stare. His lip is trembling "I'm … I'm sorry, Father." "All right," Bruce huffs, visibly still angry, but trying to calm down. "Don't forget it." There's a pause until Dick speaks up. "So … what happened," he asks reluctantly. "Who would – " He says no more when Bruce doesn't answer, and averts his gaze instead. A cold chill runs down his spine when he understands. Oh Part of Dick's brain won't even hear it. The thought alone makes him nauseous. But … he's no stranger to alternate versions of people he knows. He's seen worlds in which Superman was an evil dictator, he's seen versions of Bruce himself turn monstrous under some harmful influence. If there's one thing he knows, it's that this is not impossible, even if every fiber of his being refuses it. He has to hold on to the edge of the desk for support; he feels dizzy. He hears Bruce softly say, "Dick …" It's quiet until Damian mumbles, "That's so creepy," summing up what they're all probably thinking. Dick looks up again as soon as he feels ready. "Anything I can do to help," he tells Bruce. "Seriously, anything." For some reason, Bruce seems abashed by that. "You've already done enough," he mumbles. That's … another strange thing to say. Dick hasn't done anything yet, except for coming here. "It's going to be temporary," Bruce continues, still looking away. "I know it's wrong to keep him here. And I've discussed it with him, too. But I want him to get better. In the meantime, I will find a way to breach into his world again, so I can find … the other one. And then, him and me will have words." It's clear from his tone that those words will include all of his knuckles. It gives Dick a sort of dark satisfaction. Bruce exhales deeply. "All I ask for is your patience," he says to Damian, a little friendlier again. He looks reluctant when he turns to Dick. "And you … I can only hope you understand …" Dick nods. He understands. He also understands, however, that there's more to this that Bruce isn't telling him. He seems honest about the part he is telling them, but … Dick's known him for too long; it's impossible for him not to notice that he's holding out. But maybe this is not the right time to ask all these questions – "You have a bunch of stuff back there!" All three of them flinch a little, but Robin seems too excited to notice. Or perhaps he doesn't care. Now that Dick knows what he thinks he knows, Robin's big grin seems a little more strained than before. But he doesn't miss a step as he strides toward their little group along with Alfred, in a fresh suit and busily chatting away. "What's up with all those fedoras and mustaches and wigs? We … he doesn't have that many costumes. Do you dress up all the time? Is that a thing? We never – " He stops abruptly when something on the other side of the room catches his eye. Dick follows his gaze, and swallows. Oh boy; he's found the memorial case. Dick and Damian both watch, somewhat mortified, as he approaches the bright Robin uniform behind the glass and examines it with interest, curiously plugging on his lower lip. "What's this for?" He wonders. Dick casts a nervous glance in Bruce's direction, but the older man seems at a loss for words. He'd always been especially vulnerable when it came to this case. It's Damian who speaks up. "That's for Jason Todd, the second Robin," he explains, not unkindly. He's obviously pitching in an effort to be less of a jackass towards Robin now, because deep down Damian isn't a bad kid. "He died. It's okay though, he came back to life. There was also a girl Robin, the fourth one, and she almost died as well, but she's Batgirl now. I'm the fifth. And actually," he adds, probably in a bid to impress the other boy, "I nearly died, too, a few months ago when my Mother made me fight that clone of mine, but I prevailed." Robin has a strong reaction to that. Which isn't surprising, considering how insane a lot of it sounds. What's weird, though, is that he doesn't focus on "he died and came back to life", or "my mother sent my clone to kill me", but – His smooth cheeks grow flaming red. His hands are turning into fists in their green gloves, and his laser-guided glare goes directly to Bruce when he roars, "There's been five?!" He sounds like a scorned girlfriend. Dick … Dick really wants to go lie down somewhere. "I never," the corners of Bruce's mouth are drooping. "I never planned for it to turn out that way." He sounds solemn, almost defeated. There's something about this kid that seriously throws him off his game, it seems. Robin's fierce mouth flies open in protest. "So hey!" Dick leaps off the desk, clapping his hands and getting back in on the action, even though he feels more and more weirded out with every freaky minute. He turns to the enraged teen, smiling. "The night isn't over yet. How 'bout I give you the tour? We could scale some rooftops together. You can show me all your tricks, and I can show you our Gotham. And I promise I'll tell you anything you wanna know. C'mon," he adds, when Robin keeps pouting, "You can't meet your doppelganger, and then don't hang out with them, right? It'll be fun." He does it partly to adjourn this ultra-strange meeting, but most of it is genuine. Now that he knows what the kid has apparently been through, he wants to do something nice for him more than ever. Besides … Dick knows how hard it is to open up about matters like that, and perhaps it would be easier for the boy to talk about it with, well, with himself. Perhaps he could get something out of him. Help him somehow. If not, they could at least still have fun. Robin looks intrigued. But then, he immediately looks at Batman for comment or permission. He cocks his head to the side like a curious bird. "Can I go? I'll be good. Promise." A small smile plays around his lips as his gaze darts back and forth between Bruce and Dick. "I'll use discretion." That seems like an odd choice of words. "Uh. Don't worry," Dick mumbles, a little thrown off. "I wasn't gonna take you to Park Row and start lighting Bentleys on fire." Bruce seems to ponder the suggestion for a moment. "That's an excellent idea," he then concludes, though he looks like he's passing a gall stone as he says it, "Thank you, Dick." "Yes!" Robin pumps his fist into the air, which looks very cute, though the quick mood shift seems a little disquieting; however, Dick himself had hardly been normal at that age, as far as he comprehended what that was. Before they leave, Bruce comes over to him once more. "Nightwing. We'll talk later," he says quietly. "I promise." "All right. Get in touch," Dick tells him, and it feels so awkward, as if they're not former partners, best friends, blood brothers, but strange, stilted acquaintances. But he decides not to make this his number one problem right now. And really, the number of times he's heard Bruce make that promise … It's when Robin goes to say goodbye to Batman before they leave that one last strange thing happens. Only it's not that strange, actually. It's pretty familiar. Dick sees him sweetly bite his lip before he smiles. Then he breathes, "Okay, seeya later," in that tone, tugging a strand of black hair back behind his ear like a flustered schoolgirl. He looks like he has to try hard not to flirtily run his gloved finger down the older man's armored chest. And it tells Dick everything he needs to know. He cringes. "Hey, you coming?" He calls out, trying to sound chipper. "The city's waiting," and I really really need to get out of this cave. Damian strolls over to stand next to his father as they watch the two Graysons take off together. "I really want to know what these two are going to talk about," he confesses, as soon as they're gone. He's still a little shaken by the verbal lashing he's received – even though he understands why it had happened – but the fact that Father is still talking to him has rekindled his confidence. Besides, all of this is too interesting to keep quiet about it. His heart does a happy little leap when his father puts a hand on his shoulder. "You will," Batman announces. "We are trailing them."

III. It's almost 3 am when they find themselves on a rooftop with a cool view of the cathedral, and lie down to look at the sky. The city's lights seem muted, but they haven't died down completely. In Gotham, they never do. Since the fire and the mutant attack this evening, there hasn't even been a Bat signal to distract them. It's been fun. If there's one thing Dick knows, it's that no matter how weird you are or how much trouble you find yourself in, a nightly dive always makes life seem bright and easy. They hitch rides atop the subway cars speeding through the city, then challenge each other to a chase across multiple roofs. They have this cool thing where sometimes, they can anticipate each other's movements like they're telepathic, and sometimes they completely surprise each other. Dick is at the top of his game, he can go faster and higher than ever before in his life, having internalized the skill-sets of Robin, Nightwing and Batman. But Robin is quick and nimble and utterly carefree, and his lithe body allows him access to corners that Dick can't reach anymore. Seeing it makes Dick laugh and gasp and holler, while also making his heart hurt with nostalgia. They interrupt their game to stop a stick-up at a Seven Eleven. Small Potatoes, but Dick still has to stop Robin from kicking a scrawny punk's face into the ATM machine. "It's how we do things," the kid says, shrugging, as he lets off the whimpering crook. The vendor is really grateful however, and loads them up with free hot dogs and slushies and candy bars despite Dick's polite insistence that vigilantes don't do bartering. But Robin looks kinda hungry, and Dick could eat something, so they end up on that roof, splitting the loot between them. Dick isn't sure anymore if he should ask him stuff, at all. Maybe it'll only make him uncomfortable. If what Bruce says is true, he'll be around for a while anyway, and there'll be another chance. They've barely spoken since they'd left the cave, save for shouting quips and taunts at each other, and it seems to make Robin so happy. Dick had always been happy doing that, too. They're very similar that way. If the choice was to talk about your problems, or crack wise and hop off a ledge, it was always wise-cracking and ledge-hopping; he has a very deep understanding of that. "I kicked the Penguin off this roof once, I think," he remarks after some silence, looking around for confirmation. "Yep, I remember that crack over there; this is the one. He had that gigantic death ray canon with him, super impractical. Penguins should never go this high." He raises his head to lazily point at another roof, three buildings across. "And over there … Deathstroke, I think. And that one over there – I wanna say alien invasion, but don't quote me on that –" "So." The crushed ice rattles in its cup when Robin abruptly puts his drink down. Dick isn't sure if he's been listening at all. "How'd you screw it up?" Dick blinks up at him. "Screw what up?" "You know." The boy sits up, parking his chin on his bruised knees. He sounds impatient, and Dick realizes he's been waiting to ask this for a while. "Why'd he kick you out?" "He didn't –" Dick pauses. Well, uh. Well, technically speaking, yeah, Bruce had kicked him out back then. There's no way around it. "I didn't screw up," he says, barely pulling his teeth apart. It still hurts to hear it put like that, and he hates that a little. He props himself up on his elbow to watch Robin. "Do you think that's the only way not to be Robin anymore?" He asks gently. "To screw up?" The kid snorts. "How else?" "Maybe because you decide you want to do something new? Make a name for yourself, try new challenges," Dick suggests. He's unsure who he wants to convince here. "Y'know, change ain't bad." That much is true. And if Dick is honest, he loves how his life has turned out, for the most part. He's proud of who he is. It doesn't change the fact that he'd been an aimless, depressed sack of sad for a while when Bruce had split with him. It's almost like the kid knows. How could he not; he's him. "What really happened," he pries on, unimpressed. Dick sighs. He closes his eyes. "I was shot." "Ah," Robin says quietly. If he's compassionate, or worried for himself, he doesn't show it. "It was pretty severe. Bruce thought I might die. And when I didn't, he … he decided it'd be best for me if I …" He stops again, bites his lip. The fact that Bruce had thought he could decide that for him still makes him mad. He realizes that Bruce had been as terrified of him getting killed as he had been when he'd thought Bruce had died, but … but still … It's not as if he has to say any more, though, since Robin is clearly getting the gist of it. "Hrm," he makes, after letting it sink in, and drops down on his back again. And then: "You shouldn't have gotten shot, then." Dick spins around to him, anger flaring for a moment. He doesn't need to hear that, the least of all from this … from himself. "Dude -" Robin turns his head to him. "What." Dick's anger collapses in on itself and is replaced by a melancholy feeling when he looks at the kid in the red and green suit. And realizes that, at this point in his life, Robin would always, always take Batman's side, against everyone, even if that someone was Dick Grayson. Whatever Batman – his Batman – had done to him, it hadn't been enough to make him hate him, and sadly Dick isn't surprised by that, at all. He thinks back on that scene down in the cave, and can't resist. "You know," he says after a fashion, tentatively, delicately, "When I was your age, I … I had a crush on him, too." He'd somehow expected Robin to blush, or fidget, or loudly deny everything (which is what he would have done), but the boy stays weirdly calm. He turns toward him with newly rekindled interest. His voice is hoarse. But a little meek, too, as if he's humbled to share this with someone. "Yeah…?" Dick sputters out an embarrassed laugh when he realizes he's never admitted this to anybody before, not to Babs, not to Roy or Kory, not to Tim, obviously. But … well, saying it to Robin – to Dick – now, it's like saying it into a mirror. Except for how it isn't, at all. "Yeah – um," he runs his fingers through his hair. He's said it to get Robin's reaction, but now he's the one who's flailing, as those queasy, awkward memories flood his brain. His voice gets a little more high-pitched even, with the result that him and the kid don't sound that different, now. "I know how it is. It's … it's rough," he squeaks. "Spending almost every waking moment with someone you look up to so much, trying so hard to be the best you can, and suddenly you have to deal with those, those butterflies in your stomach, and … your pants …" Oh boy, why is he still talking. He should've stopped talking a full minute ago. Dick feels hot, grabs his drink and downs it in a few thirsty gulps. That was such a long time ago, though. Sure, sometimes, he still feels that, that draw when he's standing close Bruce, but that's okay, he's made his peace with it. He's not gonna fall down that rabbit hole. He knows that Bruce Wayne, Batman, remains forever unattainable; easy to fall for (to him, at least), impossible to have a relationship with. Dick winces. He feels like a tool; this kid, this Robin, he probably has a boatload of complicated, messed-up feelings for whatever Bruce he knows, and now here's his adult self, babbling about his dumb crush. The conversation doesn't seem to hurt or frighten Robin, however. He looks at Dick through the whited-out lenses of his domino, absorbing every word he says. It almost seems like his nostrils are flaring, but it's hard to tell in the dark. "And?" He asks after a while, when he realizes Dick isn't continuing. His tone is sharp. "Then what? Did you do stuff with him?" Before he can help it, Dick barks out another startled laugh. He feels terrible about it, because the look Robin is giving him is not funny at all, and this topic is not funny at all, either. "Heavens, no!" He blurts out. "No. No no. I mean, that … that would have been …" There's something almost accusing in Robin's voice when he asks, "That woulda been what." Dick falls silent. The last thing he wants is for Robin to feel like a freak, for something he has no control over. He kinda wants to put a comforting arm around him, but he doesn't want to touch him without permission, either. He shoots him a concerned look, letting the nightly breeze cool his very hot face. "You know," he says quietly, leaning over to him. "It's just that … sometimes, when you really admire someone, and when you love them, you think they're perfect. And that they can do no wrong. But they can, and they do. They'll do things that hurt you, that are dangerous, that are wrong. And it's okay to question that, and it's okay to get- get out of- " He isn't sure if Robin understands what he's struggling to express, and he'd never find out. Because right then, a plucky little grin flits across the boy's face, and he grabs Dick's head with both hands, digging his fingers into his soft hair as he pulls him down, and kisses him, kisses himself on the mouth. It's a coy, teenage kiss at first, then it turns into something almost unbearably needy and tender. Dick shudders when he feels Robin's tongue slide into his mouth. Robin – Dick – lets out a little sigh, and then slings a bare leg around his waist, squeezing his stiff, frozen body. He's stroking his older self's face with his gloved hands, nibbling and sucking on his mouth with raw, curious affection, and then Dick feels him press his cup against him with no reservations. All in all, it doesn't last longer than perhaps four seconds before Dick gets it together and pries the kid off, but it feels like soul-tainting, sanity-destroying eternity. He's shaking, heat and cold washing over his body in relentless alternation. He feels nauseous. He sure hadn't anticipated that. "Wh-what the –" He gargles. Robin's smile is not cute or adorable at all. "Oh c'mon," he purrs, still kneeling spread-legged above him, "Like you didn't wanna know what it's like." "I- I didn't –" Dick shivers, presses the back of his hand to his mouth, cold sweat dribbling from his brow. He feels violated. Robin snickers and reaches down to touch his cheek. "Don't be a –" He yelps when Dick shoves him off to get to his feet. His knees are shaking. He doubles over, pressing one hand on his thigh for support, and uses the other to point a warning finger in Robin's direction. "Young man," he gasps, 'cause he doesn't know what else to say, "Do not. Do that again. Not to me. Not to anyone. Understood?" "Aw, what's the big deal?" The kid protests, pouting at him from the floor. "It's like doing it with myself, ain't it? Don't tell me you don't do that." "You're sixteen," Dick groans. Robin chuckles. "Really? That's your problem? So if I was you but older, that'd be cool?" Dick thinks about that perhaps a moment longer than necessary. "No," he then mumbles, rubbing his burning cheeks with his hands, "That'd still be like doing … doing it with a relative –" "Psh, how would I know?" Robin shrugs. "I'm an orphan." Dick tears his hands off his face, and stares at him. Bruce is right. Something has happened to this kid, something that's really messed with his head. It turns his stomach, yet he still wants to take him into his arms and squeeze him and keep him safe. But then he'd probably try to make out again. "You hate me now," Robin says, gloved hands on his thighs. "You think I'm gross." It breaks Dick's heart. "No," he says softly. "No, that's not at all what -" "Eh, I should probably head back, anyway. It's really late." The boy gets up, straightening his collar and cape. He sounds dismissive, but he seems faintly crushed as he avoids looking at his grown-up self. Dick's heart clenches up when he realizes how badly this kid wants someone, someone older, to tell him he's not bad. "Robin," he whispers. "Dick. Really, it's okay. It's gonna be okay." "Sure." Robin is already stepping up to the ledge, grappling hook in hand. "It's been real, Nightwing. I'll be seeing you. 'night." "R –" But he's already gone, swept up by Gotham's breezy night air.

----- It would've been easy to chase after him; but Dick chooses not to. It'd only mean opening up another freaky chapter in this bizarre saga he's been tossed into, and he isn't sure if that would benefit anybody right now, not without a good night's sleep in between for all of them. Who would've thought that battling two killer mutants in a shipyard would be the easiest part of his day. He heads home, deciding he'd give Batman a quick call to make sure that Robin got there back okay. He has no doubts that Bruce is still up, probably busily tinkering with solutions for this latest problem, and nervously awaiting the return of his new protégé. So he's a little surprised when he comes into his apartment, and finds Bruce there, towering dark and silent in his living room, waiting for him. He's not surprised that he'd found his way in; Bruce had never had any trouble with that. But he's surprised to see him actually make true on his promise. That's … nice, even though he's not sure he's really keen on having another talk tonight. Dick yawns, too exhausted to even feel weird about having Bruce there for the first time in what feels like ages. It's odd - despite all the problems they have, whenever Dick is feels really beat … he finds Bruce's presence very comforting. "Hey, thanks for letting all my blinds down for me," he quips lazily, tossing his keys into the bowl next to the door. "That's very thoughtful of you." Bruce doesn't respond, he just stands there with the narrow, icy cold slits in his mask glowing in Dick's direction. But he's not too bothered by it. It's not as if they hadn't had tons of conversations that had started out this way. Dick casts another look at him before he starts rummaging for the milk in his mini-fridge. "New suit? I like it. But you didn't have to dress up all fancy to come here. I'm not … I'm not even that mad anymore." He peels open the milk carton, takes a sip. "Look. I think you're right, okay? The kid could use our help. But. I was thinking …" He lowers his head, bites his lip. He's not quite ready to disclose to Bruce what had happened between him and Robin tonight, but he has to at least voice his concern. "Y'know, I was thinking, maybe it's not for the best if he hangs around us all the time. You or me. Maybe we should bring in someone more … neutral. You should ask Leslie, she's really good with this stuff …" Still no word from the man. He's standing there like molded out of the shadows. Dick can barely make out his firm, pronounced chin and the stern hard mouth. It doesn't occur to him to turn the light switch. He's – they're both too used to moving in the dark, it seems natural. And Dick is used to Bruce acting like a malfunctioning robot in conversational situations, too - but it's getting a little weird now. Perhaps Bruce is still mortified from that awkward spectacle back at the cave, perhaps he's still working through his guilt over taking Robin, or he's attempting to reassert himself by being extra-broody, who knows, but Dick doesn't want to play. He gives him that sourly smile again, like earlier in the Batcave. "Hey, as much as I like the sound of my own voice, you clearly swooped in here to say something. Feel free to jump in anytime – " That's when Batman opens his mouth, and all the hairs on Dick's neck and arms stand up. An ice-cold chill runs down his spine when realizes I should've known I should've KNOWN for the second time tonight, that just because people look the same, they're sometimes not the same. Batman only says two words. His voice is rough and cruel and gentle. "Sleep now." A small capsule rolls across the floor, bumps into Dick's feet, and opens with a hiss.

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(to be continued in part 3, which will be posted next week)

#brucedick #brudick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #kleine asbar #lokiet

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

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[FIC] In Dreams by kleine-asbar (Part 1 of 4)

Title: In Dreams (Part 1 of 4)

Author: kleine-asbar

Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Abuse, angst, creepiness, idiot plot, purple prose, underage sex, violence.

Summary: I finally went through with my plans to write that thing where Regular!Bruce & Dick (I’m using a mix of Grant Morrison/New 52, only Damian isn’t dead because that’d suck donkey balls) meet Bruce & Dick from Frank Miller's notorious (and glorious XD) All-Star Batman and Robin. Sparks fly, yo. Fists, too.

Note: Accompanying art by lokiet, which can also be found under the cut below!

Mod note: Due to its length, this story will be posted in four parts over the next week.

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Prologue He doesn't know how he got here. He knows he's not sleeping, and he knows he's not awake. He mastered full control over his dreamscapes – even his nightmares – a long time ago. He always knows dream from reality, and this is neither. He's someplace else, someplace in-between. Again. It's not threatening; something tells him it's not threatening. He feels … mellow, at peace almost. But of course, that in itself might be a deception. He tries to fight it, tries to fan that little flame in the back of his mind that tells him something's not right. You're Batman, he tells himself, You can never be at ease. If you are, you will lose. He takes a look around. The night is pitch-dark and gentle. He's in Dick's old room. A good place that gives him good memories (for the most part), mixed in with a painful, but dulled sense of loss and regret. It looks exactly like it's supposed to look, and yet it feels alien to him. His instinct tells him he's never been in here before, and that can't be right. He feels his pulse in his fingertips. The boy in the wine-red pajamas sleeping on the bed is Dick, and yet he's not Dick. Bruce knows it's not him, because Dick Grayson is in his twenties, he's not Robin, he's gone on to become Nightwing, then Batman, then Nightwing again. He's leading his own life, and he's moved out a long time ago. He doesn't live here anymore. And still, this is him; it's unmistakably him. This is Dick as the bright young boy he used to be, not the remarkable man he would become. He's not Nightwing, he's – Robin, Bruce thinks, and he feels a small leap in his chest and an uncomfortable stirring in his loins. That's when Dick suddenly stirs too, comes alive on the bed, and shoots up from his slumber with a soft grunt, as if someone had startled him from it. "I'm awake!" His face is drowsy when he looks up at Bruce, but his voice is present and alert at once, from 0 to 100 in a split second. "What's wrong?" Bruce blinks at him. He doesn't even remember when he's moved to the foot of the bed to watch him. Dick rubs his bleary eyes, but when he talks again, there's a hard edge in his voice that Bruce doesn't remember from back then. Dick had always been filled with faith and exuberance, always. "Talk to me, boss. This isn't a drill, is it? Want me to get ready? I can be ready." He sounds almost brassy, but his smooth face goes from sleepy to very tense. Bruce's first instinct is to soothe him, which is something he still wishes he'd done more. "No," he says softly, "Nothing's wrong." Dick cocks a brow at him. Something – the tone of Bruce's voice, his words, he's not sure – seems to fill him with doubt. Bruce realizes too late that what he said was a lie, too. Something is obviously very wrong. He's talking to a teenage Dick in his bedroom in the middle of the night, and none of this could, or should, be happening. The boy rolls off his belly, and sits up cross-legged on the bed. Now that he's fully awake, his blue eyes are as sharp and hard as his voice is; a challenge. He asks, "So. Then what?" Bruce lowers his head. Good question. He should explain himself. He should tell Dick about his doubts, about not knowing where he is or when he is. But something about how the boy simply accepts him as him and quietly waits for his orders is intriguing and deeply distracting. Still, he's about to open his mouth, when he notices the way Dick looks at him. He's in his civilian clothes, which in Bruce Wayne's case is an exquisite tuxedo. He smells like after shave and perfume, as if he's returning from some gala, some great opening. It makes sense; he faintly remembers getting ready for a benefit performance of The Magic Flute, but not much after that. He realizes that he's undone the fly and the top few buttons of his shirt, like he always does as soon as he comes home; but that must've been before his consciousness kicked in. He doesn't recall doing it. Dick takes all of that in, the exquisite suit, the crisp white open shirt with the dark hair peeking out. There's a sly, almost indecent glint in his smart eyes. Then, he lowers his gaze under thick, long lashes, and exhales deeply. Something tightens in Bruce's throat. If this was a dream, which it is not, he'd have to admit that he's had this one before. That look in his ward's eyes, that's how it starts, and then - He needs to get out of this now. He Needs To Get Younger Dick gets on his knees and crawls to the edge of his bed, where Bruce is standing. He uses the front of Bruce's tux to pull himself up, which isn't coincidental. Dick never needs help getting up, ever. Next, his fingers are climbing Bruce's chest like a timid spider, en route to his face, his mouth. He knows it'll be his mouth. Dick looks as mischievous as he looks scared. He's breathing fast. Bruce finds himself fixating on his soft lips. They're pursed, forming a small, tense "o", as if he's working on something volatile and unstable. As if he's expecting Bruce to swat him away like a fly every second. Which he should. Not … swat him, but he should, he, he should – He closes his eyes when those fingers reach his lips, tries to breathe steadily, shudders, gives the game away. Dick's fingers taste like salt and sweat. Dick smells like salt and sweat, like lingering heat and brewing testosterone. Bruce knows that smell, from his training mats and his locker room and from the empty chair next to him at the pool, he knows it, and when he thinks about how many times he's wanted to l i c k it… You must resist, he thinks. This is a test. You must resist, or you will lose. You will lose it. And while he's thinking that, his mouth is opening, and he's grazing the shivering fingers with his tongue, taking in the taste. He feels heat pooling between his legs and sweat breaking out of his pores, rare and treacherous. He hears a sharp intake of breath. When he opens his eyes, he sees Dick staring at him; watching his mentor toy with his fingers. He doesn't smile, his usually expressive face tense and unmoving, but his eyes are wide and his pupils are blown. When their eyes meet, he sees something – Recognition? Epiphany? – flash across Dick's smooth young face. And in a heartbeat, they both know what's going to happen. What they're going to do. Oddly, there's no sense of surprise to it. As if they both always knew it would eventually be this way. Maybe it's because this isn't real; not a dream, but not really real, either. Bruce repeats that to himself like a mantra. It's not real, so maybe, this once, he can indulge it, maybe that's what it's for. Commit this transgression. Exorcise this demon. This one, this one time. Deep down, he's salivating for it like a boy standing outside a candy store. Dick lets out another nervous grunt when Bruce softly puts two fingers on his cheek. His eye twitches, as if he's still expecting violence. But when Bruce pulls him in and kisses his lips, he kisses him back greedily, sucking desperate air through his nostrils. He opens his mouth for Bruce's tongue before the older man even thinks about giving it to him, then moans in satisfaction when he receives it. His lean body twitches in his silk sleepwear (it's one of Bruce's old ones, it has the family crest on it), then rocks against him, as if he's been waiting for a chance to pounce on him all along. His mouth feels as good as Bruce always knew it would. It makes him want to scream for a number of reasons. The youth wastes no time, slides a hand down the front of his slacks, feeling around, groping him crudely, impatiently. Bruce wishes his obvious lack of experience wouldn't prompt him to grow stiffer under his fingers, but it's too late for that. The boy starts shaking like a leaf when he feels it. "Boss," he squawks, and then he flinches in surprise when Bruce hugs him to his chest, cradles him, runs his fingers through his hair. He buries his head in the crook of his neck, driven by an almost frenzied need. He whispers his name, once, twice. Gross. Possessive. It's fear gas, you idiot, something nags in the back of his mind. Crane's latest. Has to be. Think about it. This is the worst - "You came around quick, huh?" Dick whispers with a breathless laugh, drowning out the voice in Bruce's head. He tries to sound jovial, but Bruce can tell how very anxious he is, still expecting this to take a bad turn (insofar as it hasn't already). His lips are leaving a hot, wet trail on Bruce's skin. His voice is so high. "I thought you said you're no – ungh." Dick gasps in surprise when Bruce pushes him back on the mattress. His eyes light up fierily, he bares his teeth and hisses, like a feral cat, but then he grows quiet and attentive when he sees Bruce follow him into bed. The mattress dips under his weight. He's so much bigger. So much heavier. Dick drops on his back with a shiver, and when Bruce puts his hands on his knees, his legs part to receive him. "I –", Dick crows. "Ah." His previous words have made no sense to Bruce; in reality, they've never spoken of this, never even brought up the possibility. It's all cautious distance and measured words and painfully suppressed erections, at least as far as he is concerned. That's the reason, the true reason why he doesn't hug him anymore, why he doesn't get too close, because he needs all of that under control, and he's not going to approach the flame while he's holding the matches. But this. This one. He wants him. And it fills him with greed, and it makes him forget the words and focus on his desire to feel what it's like to be on top of him, because he's always wanted to find out. Bruce hears him mutter "What," under his breath as he pulls him under his heavy body. But it's not fearful, it's … Dick, he's frenzied, too, in a frayed, desperate way that Bruce doesn't associate with Dick Grayson. His heart is hammering against Bruce's palm when he puts a hand on his chest. His adam's apple is bobbing restlessly, and he mewls softly when Bruce draws his rough tongue across the delicate, ticklish skin of his throat. "Don't be mean," he shudders, hips rotating, pinned beneath Bruce's weight. "I'm not …" Bruce's voice is hoarse and quiet. His fingers ghost along the insides of Dick's clothed thighs, heat under silk. The boy's erection is so hard and fevered and dry, it literally feels like touching bone. His buttocks are as firm and round and perfect as they look when he squeezes them. "…being mean …" "Please." Dick is making fists, eyes screwed shut. "Pleaseplease." "…stop?" Bruce loosens his grip again. The boy's eyes fly open. He gives him that long, hard stare again, and hisses, "No." Bruce nods, mouth and throat all dried up, and leans down to press his forehead against Dick's. This time, the boy doesn't flinch when he touches his face to brush the stray hair out of his eyes. His breathing grows even faster when Bruce kisses him again. Around them, Dick's room seems to dissolve. Darkness swallows everything, until there's only the bed, floating through nothing almost. As if nothing in this world was material apart from them, lost in time and space. It's only them. Only them. "Baby," he hears himself whisper, in what is probably the lowest point of his life (if this is his life), to which Dick responds with, "…ha." He doesn't resist when Bruce takes both his arms and pins them down over his head, drawing him like a bow. He's not sure if it's trust, or submission; he wants it to be the former, but Dick's sharp, gleaming eyes don't look particularly trusting. They're large and disbelieving, skeptical, but there's lust, too. A sliver of bright pink tongue escapes his mouth, flits across his lips in nervous excitement. His flanks are wriggling, rolling up against the bigger set of hips weighing on him, rutting, jutting. A moment later, his legs snap shut around his middle, and Bruce moans when he's reminded how wiry and strong Dick's thighs are, were, always. The single drop of sweat running down his throat is deliriously pretty. It takes a lot to make him sweat. He feels obscene when he starts moving, using Dick's lean body as a surface to grind on. It's an approximation, an imitation of what he actually wants with him, but it's all he can bring himself to do. His erection responds to the friction, throbbing against his hot, sticky skin, trapped in his luxurious underwear. The boy's arousal is so hard, it's almost as if he can feel the blood pounding in it through two layers of clothing. Dick gasps every time he brushes against him, and then he starts doing his part, humping him from below, and when Bruce looks down at him, he sees gratitude. It makes him sick to his stomach, and it's enough to make him leak into his pants. It's dreary and sophomoric, it's every bit as frantic as Bruce has always hoped it wouldn't be, but always knew it would. He dry-humps his ward into the mattress like the desperate man he is, and the boy's writhing and husky noises of pleasure almost make it worse, like this is actually good, presumably because he's never had any better. And he's staring up at Bruce with that wide-eyed, fixed look, as if he still expects it all to end in a cruel punchline. "Please, Sir," he begs through his teeth. "Please. Don't stop, Sir." It fills him with shame how hard it makes his cock twitch, so he lets go of Dick's wrists to crudely rub his fingers over his lips. When his thumb trails past them, the boy opens his mouth and begins sucking on it. No. Fellating it. He gets so into it that he actually closes his eyes, for once, as if it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. The sight of it makes Bruce want to cry. Again, for a number of reasons. He's panting like a dog. He's going to ruin those slacks any minute now. Something like this usually wouldn't serve to drive him over the edge, but then, he's never experienced doing something like this to … with him. His thumb slips out of Dick's wet mouth when he groans loudly. Bruce feels him raise his legs, then plant his naked feet firmly on his ass, prompting him to come down harder. He's moaning steadily now, and Bruce knows he's getting close. He's always, always wanted to give Dick an orgasm; he's given him planes, cars, motorbikes, buildings, and many many lessons, but the thing he's always really wanted to give him is a good, screaming orgasm, and now, and now – Dick roars in frustration when Bruce abruptly stops rutting on him, and clumsily dismounts him. He doesn't have the supreme control over himself that he usually has. But seeing Dick doing that to his thumb has given him an idea. It's almost madness that he hasn't thought of it earlier; the mental image has been festering in him for so long. Gently peeling his precome-smeared, twitching cock out of his pajama pants feels so sinful it makes Bruce almost delirious. His loins contract violently when he lays his eyes on it. Having his pants pulled down seems to make Dick feel antsy again. Bruce can see him peek at him with an almost startled look on his face. "What … " He mumbles, voice dazed with lust but alarmed, as well, "What're you doing." "Sssh," Bruce croons, which makes him feel even creepier. Dick shivers when his breath grazes the wet, tender tip of his cock, and then his tongue follows. "That?! Bu – uhn," Dick whines, but then falls quiet, as if he remembers that Bruce has hushed him. Bruce, he has no words for him, he uses his tongue, his lips to communicate in a different way. He hasn't planned on doing it, but now he stuffs his hand down the waistband of his pants, stroking himself off while he laps at the pulsing heat in front of him. It seems like he hasn't beaten off this fervently since he's been a teenager himself. He doesn't even get to take him in his mouth proper. Dick lasts until Bruce starts tenderly nibbling on his stretched, heated skin with his teeth, then he cringes, cries out, and a spurt of warm discharge hits Bruce square in the face. Dick falls flat on his back, panting, while Bruce finishes himself off over his outstretched body. The boy's pajama top has slid up, revealing the tender, olive skin of his belly, and even if Bruce doesn't even consciously want to aim there, he does. Dick doesn't protest, watching him lazily with misty, half-lidded eyes as he spills his seed onto his naked skin. Once arousal leaves his mind and body, Bruce feels the abyss opening up, tugging at him. He doubles over, panting, eyes shut, something sharp burning in them, sweat, or tears. It happened. I don't know what to do. It happened. Yes, a voice calmly debates him, But it's not rea – He looks up when he hears a small huff. Dick has sat up, and now he's … he's stripping. The top goes, then the bottoms, too. And then Bruce is hit in the eye by the beauty of his naked, bendy form. The scars and fading bruises on his skin make his stomach tie itself in a knot for a moment, but then he remembers that, back then, the boy had always looked like that, they both had. Dick flops down again, satisfied, and Bruce realizes that he's taken his clothes off to let the night air cool his skin. Though it's probably no coincidence that he's presenting him with his naked body now. He rolls on his stomach, his pose accentuating the smooth, perfect hump of his ass, and props his head up on his arms to watch the older man wipe his semen from his chin. "You don't say much," he points out, legs dangling in the air. Bruce grunts at him. He isn't sure how to talk to him. Or look straight at him. Ever again. Dick lowers his gaze at his silence. He nibbles at his full bottom lip for a while, then looks up again. "You're not," he begins. Bruce sees him scrunch up his face, debating whether or not to share that last remaining secret with him. "You're not my Batman," he finally says. Something loosens in Bruce's chest. He exhales deeply, and forces himself look at Dick directly when he quietly replies, "You're not my Robin." His current Robin is his own son; which makes the scene playing out on this bed even more disturbing. Bruce is too ashamed to even mention it. Dick doesn't seem surprised by his admission. But he seems a little anxious when he asks, "'s not a dream though, is it." Bruce shakes his head. "No. I don't think it is." His pulse starts rushing again. Talking to him, it feels … good, but it also makes it absolutely clear that, while something about this seems surreal, this Dick Grayson is indeed very real, not some fantasy, some sultry vision that's simply going to fade. He's flesh, flesh that's been tainted by him now. He feels anxiety creep up his throat. "Dick?" This is going to be a weird question, but he's just more or less admitted to being Robin, so it's a legitimate one. "Have you taken part in inter-dimensional travel or time travel before …?" "Have I what?!" The teen's eyes light up with curiosity. "Get out. That's real? That's a thing? Tell me more about it!" He freezes. "I mean, if you want to," he then says, as if he's worried he's being too demanding. "Sir." "Call me Bruce," Bruce says, very awkwardly. And then, when the youth looks conflicted, "Does he not … do you not call him that?" The boy opts not to reply, and quickly gets back to the topic at hand. "I suppose if Superman's powers can be real, and Wonder Woman's, and whatever the Green Lantern's deal is … " He weighs his head and narrows his brows. The sight makes Bruce's heart – and his loins – ache with nostalgia. Dick has never been prettier than when he's mulling over a question in his head. "Then there's no reason why traveling through space and time can't be!" The possibility makes him almost bounce on the bed. Bruce observes him. Dick – the Dick Grayson he knows, that is – has always been bursting with energy, but in this kid, it seems weirdly amplified. He seems manic, almost. Now that Bruce interacts with him, it's nearly impossible to mistake them for each other, despite them looking exactly alike. It's something in his manner and in his eyes, something – "Batman – uh, my Batman I mean, he's once told me about some lady in the League who can perform real magic and stuff," Dick says, interrupting his train of thought. "D'you think she did this?" Zatanna. That's a possibility he hadn't considered yet. And before he can help it, it's out of his mouth. "Good thinking, Robin." Dick smiles. For the first time since they've met here, he smiles, and it goes from ear to ear. Blood is rushing into his cheeks. There's something profoundly sad about how thrilled he is. Is this how mine felt, too, he wonders, and it stings, because he knows the answer. It had been so easy to make him happy, back then. Almost instinctively, he drapes his arm around the boy. He hears Dick suck in the air at the touch. His skin is warm; comforting. He hesitates for a heartbeat, and then, he slowly, tentatively lets his head sink against Bruce's shoulder. This is perfect, a deranged, amoral part of his brain whispers. This is how it was always supposed to be. Bruce tries to ignore it. This Dick Grayson might not be from his world, but he feels responsibility for him, a deep-seated, archaic feeling. He needs to make sure he's going to be … alright, as far as he can be alright after this. "Zatanna, she's a friend. I can try to reach her," he says soothingly. "Even if this isn't her doing, she can probably assist in – " He stops. He can't bring himself to say, getting us home. His stomach drops. Getting them home, meaning that they'd have to part, meaning they probably would never see each other again, never do this again. Meaning this would be over. Bruce feels nauseated. He hadn't thought he could ever be so selfish – "Uh," the teenager mumbles, idly playing with the buttons on Bruce's shirt. "You mean. Now?" His face looks sullen, and Bruce knows he's thinking the same thing. The symmetry is unnerving, and very very … stimulating. Bruce tenses when the tugging on his shirt intensifies. Dick seems a little less scared of him than he did in the beginning, bold enough to be petulant. "I mean," he mutters with a soft, but deliberate pout, "You drop into my bedroom, from who-knows-where, and … and now you wanna leave again, just like that?" He looks up. The intent on his face is unmistakable, and it makes all of Bruce's blood run cold, then run South. He shudders, and remembers how his dumb, selfish heart had bottomed out when Dick called him his "father" for the first time. This one, this boy. He would never call him father, never. And his eyes, his eyes – "Can't we," Dick bats his eyes at him, blushing. "Can't we have fun …?" He still looks timid, but he's fully aware of the effect he has on Bruce now, and he's playing to it. He's always been such a fast learner. Bruce's cock twitches desperately in his dress pants, straining in his direction. Dick presses himself up to him, making no attempt to hide that he's gotten aroused again, too. Not that he could, as naked as he is. Bruce leans down to kiss his mouth. A wild, distorted laugh comes from Dick's throat when Bruce plunges his tongue in him again, unable to resist. He pulls back, licking his lips. He feels filthy, and his intent is unmistakable, too, when he growls, "Go … go find your suit. Put it on." He's had Dick, now he wants Robin, too. This Robin, from a time in his life where their nights had been filled with levity and joy and potential. It's too late to turn back, he wants it all now, he wants, he wants. This night, this place, this moment, it's – This is my only shot at this A smile of recognition spreads across the boy's face. His eyes light up like Dick's eyes always did when he was up to something mischievous, though never something this mischievous. "Really?!" He sounds breathless when he stumbles to his feet. "Okay. I'll get it. I'll get it. You wait here. Don't go," he urges Bruce, as if he had any say in that matter. Dick hops out of bed, diving back into his pants while he flits to the door. His rooms seems … back, somehow, it's more real than it was when Bruce first got into bed. Though it still looks oddly stilted, faded. Like a reminder that Bruce doesn't belong here. Dick moves through it with a certainty that makes Bruce think that maybe this is his world; or maybe it's taking shape around him because he knows where he wants to go. "Hey," he turns around before he leaves, hand on the doorknob. He looks almost impossibly excited. "Boss, er, Bruce, want me … want me to bring yours, too?" Bruce's tenses in intense discomfort. He doesn't really want it. He doesn't really want to face the cowl, much less wear it. One of two points of pride in his life … well, the only one, now that this happened. Drag it into this … this … "You're blushing," Dick observes from the door, shuffling his feet, giggling. He looks so pleased. He's agreed to fulfill Bruce's request. It wouldn't be right to deny him his. Bruce lets his face sink into his hands. "Do it," he groans. "Bring it." Dick very nearly whoops at that, he can tell, but controls himself at the last minute. "Yes, Sir!" He enthuses, "Be right back. Don't go away. Don't go." Bruce hears the door, and then his eager, naked footsteps bouncing down the hall. He stays like that, kneeling on the bed in his rumpled tux, face in hands. Maybe he won't return. Maybe this somehow broke the spell. Maybe this is it. It's not. He hears the doorknob turn again in what seems to be a flash. It's taken Dick much less time than it should to rush to the Batcave and back, but Bruce figures that time works differently for him than it usually would, since the only thing that truly feels real to him is the boy. It's Robin who enters now, ears red with excitement, holding his cape and cowl like a sacred robe. The grin on his face is wicked and wide, but he looks a little bashful too, now that he's wearing his costume, and seeing that does things to Bruce's erection. He looks so slender in it, and his legs are bare, and his hard-on is bulging in the bright green leotard. The thought of him wriggling himself into his tight suit with a boner like that is almost too much. He stops grinning when he sees Bruce kneel on the bed in his prayer position. "Why are you still dressed?!" He complains, but bites his lip when he thinks he's overstepped again. His blush deepens. "Sorry. I mean …" "It's fine, Robin." He pinches the bridge of his nose, and readies himself. "Come here." He could swear that he briefly feels his soul leave his body when he puts on the Batsuit. But then, Robin somersaults into his arms (he actually does that) and smushes their faces together, and there's no stopping them. He shuts off his respect, his self-respect, and he cuts loose. He fulfills every disgusting fantasy he's ever had. He makes him moan when he runs his hot, wet mouth over his clothed erection. He pinches his sensible nipples over the vest, then under the vest. He licks his fingers when he takes off the gloves, and the soles of his feet when he takes off the pixie boots. He bends him over and spanks his perky round ass until it turns pink (which prompts the boy to come a second time, whimpering, squirming under his big hands). And Robin, he's so cooperative, he does whatever he's told, and he's so enthusiastic about it. And Bruce … Batman, he does what he's asked, too. He lets him climb all over him, he lets him carpet-bomb his throat and cowled face with wet, lapping kisses, he shows him where to slide his hand into his jock to jerk him off under the suit. Eventually, Robin ends up on top of him, riding him like he's riding a warhorse into battle, biting his lip in concentration. Bruce looks up at Dick grinding on him, still in his costume, cape flapping behind him, and it looks so perverse, and how did he ever let him go out like that – He snaps out of it when the boy suddenly slams his hand against his bicep. It doesn't hurt him through his armor, but he can tell he was doing it hard. "You," Dick snaps, and now he looks more than mischievous, he looks … he looks twisted. His eyes are shielded by his visors, but Bruce can feel them on him, burning. "Tell me I'm good," he pants. "Tell me how good I am." Bruce's eyes flutter shut. "So good," he whispers, drawing breaths from deep inside his rumbling chest, "You're my good boy, you're my perfect boy - " He hears him laugh. In the next moment, Dick's hands are around his throat. He knows it should probably alarm him, but it only makes his arousal spike, and he bucks his hips with a moan. A little oxygen deprivation has never hurt him during sex, even though he has a feeling that's not why Dick is doing it. "Yeah," the boy hisses, and Bruce feels his breath on his face as he's leaning down, "Now tell me what a good soldier I am. The best. Do it. Do it." He's choking him, but not hard enough to prevent him from speaking. Bruce says that for him, too, and he does it while squeezing his ass through his suit, which makes it even more obscene. But Robin, Dick, he sighs, deeply, and his fingers around Bruce's throat relax briefly before they shut tight again. "Look at me. Look. At. Me." Bruce does. "Robin," he says mildly, but the boy doesn't respond to mildness. "You need me," he says triumphantly, and the look on his face is indescribable as he slams himself down on him again and again, driving himself to climax. "You need me, doesn't matter what you said, or what you did, you need me, you do - !" His steely legs clench shut around Bruce's middle, and he throws his head back, and he comes, and it gets Bruce off so hard that he roars despite the thumb digging into his throat. Dick's anger, the furious impulse that made him choke Bruce and bark orders at him, seems to dissolve at once. As soon as they're done, he cuddles up to him again, rubbing his face on his broad chest like an affectionate cat. Bruce doesn't process a lot of thought at this moment, but enough to sense that the change is jarring. He lets him rest on his chest for a while, lets him catch his breath. Then, he quietly asks, "What did he do." Robin doesn't reply at first, his silence almost defiant. Then, he evades the question. He lifts his head to smile at Bruce, but his domino is conveniently covering his eyes. "Hey, are you hungry? D'you wanna go downstairs, get some sandwiches? I'll make you one. I know what you like." Bruce is on guard. The choke marks on his skin are still throbbing. This boy is not that chipper. This boy is not that harmless. And this insistence to treat him like he's his, even though he's not – He licks his lips. "Dick…" Something is wrong here, so wrong. "C'mon, it'll be fun!" The boy is chattering on, eager, no, desperate to distract him, hands clutching the front of his cape. "I can show you our … his Batcave, if you wanna. Aren't you curious if it's like yours? Do you have a dinosaur? 'cause we … he's got a dinosaur." "Dick." "And maybe we can spar together, I'm not tired -" He's interrupted by a sharp, eerie ring. A strange mix of sadness and relief washes over Bruce when he hears it, before he even knows what it is. The sound doesn't belong here, either, they both know it. Startled, they look around. The ringing repeats itself, over and over, warbling and distorted. There's a bright red, old-fashioned phone on a podium, emerging from a dark corner of the room. It hadn't been there before. It shouldn't be there, either. Bruce stares at it. He feels like he remembers it, though he knows he's never owned a phone like that. More importantly, he knows, he simply knows, that if he answers it, it'll take him home. And it's clear, from the terrified look on Dick Grayson's face, that he knows it, too. "No." His hands close tighter around his cape. "No. Don't. Don't answer it." Bruce gives him a tormented look. "I have to," he says, almost mechanically, because it's truth. It's home. Home is calling. "Bruce," Younger Dick whines. He sounds meek, but he's now clutching his cape as if he's holding his reins. His legs are snapping tight around his waist again. He's very strong; trained by the best. "Bruce. No." Bruce winces in pain at hearing his pleas. The idea of leaving him here, to an unknown world, an unknown version of himself and an unknown fate, it kills him. He looks up at him – to talk him down, perhaps, to assure him he'll be all right, even though he doesn't know that – and when he does, Dick tears his domino off his face to show him his eyes again. They're large and desperate, and there's something in his stare that has captivated Bruce from the start. And now that he looks at him, free of the base desire that had distracted him before, the other shoe drops, and he realizes what it is – Oh. A chill rolls down his spine. He's crazy. It's clearly visible now. He looks unhinged as he clings to Bruce, unwilling to let go. Never in his life has Bruce seen Dick – the Dick from his world – look this manic. The boy's eyes narrow in anger when he sees the change in the way Bruce looks at him. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me here, don't you dare leave me here. Bruce." He's still pleading, but now, there's a clear threat of violence under his breath. It must be something he'd grown up with, Bruce thinks, and it's not hard to guess where it comes from. It all makes so much sense. Bruce Wayne has always been attracted to Dick Grayson, but another thing he's always been attracted to is madness, he's courted it all his life, Selina, Talia, Jezebel Jet. It's what broke the barrier. It's why this version of Dick was like aphrodisiac to him. He's beautiful and he's mad, and he wants him. He wants him so badly he went insane over it, and there's a repulsive part of Bruce that's always craved that, always craved Dick looking at him with those red-rimmed, crazed, possessive eyes. It makes his cock itch even now. Talk to me. Look at me. Don't leave me. All those things he's always wanted to hear him whisper. Now he got his wish, only it's a distorted, amplified, funhouse mirror version of it – And beneath that, beneath all the shock and the shame, the Batman-and-Robin and the Dick-and-Bruce of it, he realizes that what he's done is sleeping with an obsessed, unstable teenager, and now he has to take responsibility for it. How idiotic of him to think he could claim this prize, then not pay a toll for it. The phone keeps ringing and ringing. Bruce is terrified to answer, and terrified that it will fall silent before he can. From above, Dick is babbling at him, as if he could drown it out, his crazed words mirroring all of Bruce's most deranged convictions. "You think it's a coincidence that we met?! Huh? You wanted to do it with me, old man, and I was delivered to you, and you know why? Bruce? You know WHY? 'cause it's meant to be. We're meant to b-SHUT UP." His head shoots up and his face turns red as he snaps at the phone that's still incessantly ringing. He lets go of Bruce to put his hands over his ears, looking madder than ever. "SHUT UP. SHUT UP. MAKE ITSTOP." "Dick. Robin. Here. Sssh." With some effort, he manages to pry his hands off of his ears. His heart is hammering. He's never dealt with Dick being like this before. Or rather, he's never dealt with this Dick before. "You have a life," he tells him, as calmly as he can. "You have a home. You have a Batman, and …" Batman needs his Robin - Dick's face goes from flushed to pale. His pretty mouth twists into a thin, harsh line. The glare he gives Bruce is almost one of hate, though Bruce isn't sure if that hate is directed at him. "He's not like you," Dick spits out, words bitter and poisonous. And filled with dread. Well; that much is obvious. "What's he done to you," Bruce asks again, whispering. Robin doesn't answer. He hangs his head, a dark expression on his face the likes of which Bruce has never seen on Dick before. He remembers how the boy had been flinching, as if he's expecting to get beaten at every turn, and a dreary image is forming in his head. He stares at him. The phone keeps ringing. Every sensible part of his brain is screaming at him to leave him behind, to not intervene. People weren't things; you couldn't simply take them. What was he even going to do with him? Lock him up in the Manor, never show him to anyone while he tried to fix this insanity that he felt partly responsible for? Or worse, let him warm his bed every night, feeding off the boy's obsession like a vampire? How was he ever to explain this boy to Damian? What was he going to tell Alfred? That Dick was so nice, he nabbed him twice? (Which was what the Joker would say, if he knew about this, which hopefully he didn't.) And Dick – Nightwing – How was he ever going to look him in the eyes again, as rarely as he did lately … - He has to – "No!" Robin tries to pin him to the bed with all his force, but of course, it's nothing to Batman once he makes up his mind. Removing Dick is like removing a small, delicate bird. Bruce rolls out of bed, and gets to his feet. "You can't – umph!" He hears a thump behind him as he heads towards the phone, and knows that it's Robin, who's gotten pulled out of bed while clinging to his cape. When he turns around, he sees him on all fours, glowering up at him, vest hanging open, costume torn by Bruce's greedy fingers and stained with his fluids. God, he's gorgeous. Bruce licks his lips. "Do you …" Heat creeps into his cheeks. "Do you have a clean costume somewhere?" A mad flicker of hope dashes across Dick's face. His natural grace surfaces again as he leaps to his feet. "Sure," he says slyly. "Why?" Bruce lets out a sigh. The shame won't let up, but his decision is made. "Go put it on. We're … we're both going." Dick's big, mad eyes widen, and for a second he looks so ecstatic that Bruce's heart starts to ache. But then, his face hardens again as he crosses his arms over his chest and declares, "Fuck no." Bruce stirs. He's never heard Dick use that word before. He's not sure the one he knows ever did. It's … it's a little hot. "You think I'm stupid, Bruce?" Dick hisses, stepping closer, "You send me back down there like a good little lackey, and when I come back, you're gone? That make it a little easier for you?" Bruce blinks at him. "You really think I'd do that to you," he mutters, actually a little wounded by that. Dick laughs. It's a harsh, mocking sound. Not the bold, carefree laugh Dick Grayson's known for, at all, but at this point Bruce is not surprised by that anymore. "I know someone who would," the boy says quietly. "I wouldn't." Bruce pulls down his cowl, so Dick can see his face. "I'm not abandoning you here, Robin. It's not in my nature," he says earnestly, and Dick laughs at that, too. But he grows quiet and tense again when he sees the older man reach for the red phone. Bruce offers him his gloved hand, the other hovering over the handle. "Come." It's dangerous. It's not smart. And he isn't sure what he's doing. But he needs to try and fix him, he needs to try. That is in his nature. Dick looks like he's about to cry, and Bruce is reminded that, even if he's crazy, he's still only a boy. And the boy doesn't only take his hand. He leaps forward, throwing himself at him, and Bruce feels his arms wrap themselves around his middle like vines when he pulls him into his cape, closes his eyes, and takes the call.

#brucedick #brudick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #kleine asbar #lokiet

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

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[FIC] Losing It by ashie-mashie

Title: Losing It

Author: Ashie-Mashie (Ash Leigh)

Word Count: ~10,889

Rating/warnings: NSFW, Rape, Self-Loathing

Summary: Bruce and Dick must overcome something that threatens to tear them apart

Note: Accompanying art kindly provided by solusn, which can be found under the cut below!

[full-res]

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The distant dripping from some far away spot in the cave was all that could be heard. Bruce scowled through the lenses of his cowl at the large computer screen. Patrol had not gone well. Dick had done, what in his eyes were, some very reckless tricks to take down a perp.

“Father.” The sound of tiny stomping footsteps came from the showers of the cave. “Grayson performed poorly tonight. You should inform him of such.”

Bruce turned from the screen to find his son standing with his arms crossed over his chest, hair wet and tousled about his head, wearing a pair of red pajama pants and a black hoodie. He looked every bit of the mini-Bruce that he was.

“Damian, I'll take care of Dick. Get to bed.” He growled and pointed to the staircase leading up to the upper study. Damian let out a long, irritated sigh, but turned towards the stairs nonetheless, placing one ear bud in each ear and directing his attention to the iPod in his hand.

Bruce turned back to the console, angrily typing away at the keys until he heard the distant hum of Nightwing's motorcycle entering the cave. He watched as the cycle sped around the curves of the narrow road that lead to the cave's car port.

The sleek black and blue motorcycle came to a stop beside the batmobile and Dick swung one leg around it to met the other on the metallic ground. He tour the helmet off his head and left it to dangle off one of the handles of the expensive cycle.

The medal stairs creaked lightly as he began to make his way to the main part of the cave. He pulled the domino mask from his face and continued his walk across the floor toward the showers, without so much as a glance towards Bruce.

“Dick, we need to talk.”

He stopped after a few beats, the hand not holding the mask clutched in a tight fist. “We?” Dick questioned as he turned to finally look at Bruce, “or do you mean you're going to talk and I'm going to listen, like the good little boy I am?” He pointed at Bruce then to himself as he spoke, the dark blue mask dangling in his hand, swaying as it moved.

“You were reckless out there, you could have been hurt. Or worse, killed.” Bruce choose to ignore Dick's statement.

“I did what I had to to take that guy down.” Dick threw his hand out in front of himself in a gesture, “Now he's in Blackgate and can't kill any more innocent people.”

Before he knew it, Bruce took the few strides between them and grabbed the bit of loose suit on Dick's chest. “You. Could. Have. Been. Killed.” He stressed each word, their faces inches apart. Dick could feel the heat coming off Bruce from wearing the armor all night, he could smell the Kevlar and a subtle hint of Bruce's cologne. It drove him wild.

“But I wasn't! See me? Here? Not dead?”

Bruce shoved him against a nearby case, knocking stray items within it to the ground. He used his free hand to tear his cowl from his face, the deep ocean blue in his eyes meeting Dick's bright ones. He pressed their foreheads together, "Not so needlessly reckless next time." His fingers loosened their hold on the fabric and he brought his other hand to the small of Dick's back, pulling him against himself.

"I'll see what I can do." Dick replied, a grin pulling across his face. Bruce sighed, the heat from his breath spreading across Dick's neck, making him yearn for more. "So, you sent Dami to bed?" Dick questioned as he threw his arms around Bruce, balling the heavy cape in his fists.

"Why? What did you have in mind?" Bruce flashed him a quick, sly grin before running his hand down the back of Dick to cup his firm bottom.

"I dunno, maybe a shower and then catching up on some sleep." He returned the sly grin.

"Hmm..." came Bruce's reply before pressing his lips sweetly to his lover's, "then lets get cleaned up."

Early morning light flooded through the room, spilling over their bed as a light breeze blew the silk curtains away from the window. Dick awoke to the feeling of his flesh pressed against another's and was instantly drawn to it. He slung his arm across the other man's broad chest and proceeded to use him as a pillow.

"Mmm..." The chest below him rumbled and an arm wrapped itself around him, pulling him as close as humanly possible.

He lifted his head to peek at the older man's face, still sleeping peacefully. Dick started nuzzling Bruce's neck with butterfly light kisses for several moments before his lips were captured by the other man's. He brought his bare leg across his mid section, straddling the other man and deepening their kiss. He could feel the hardness of Bruce pressed against his stomach and his own pressing against Bruce's thigh. Bruce ran each of his hands down the sides of his lover, stopping just above his ass and gripping it tightly. Dick's hips pushed forward in response, his erection sliding easily across the inside of Bruce's thigh, slick from pre-cum. He moaned into the mouth below him, one hand one either side of the man, gripping the sheets that pooled there.

“Morning,” Dick managed through their kisses, a small grin pulling at his lips.

“Hmm...” came the response as Bruce settled back against the plush pillows and silky sheets.

Dick smiled down at his lover, enjoying the sight of his messy hair as the morning sunlight cast itself across them. “Someone's gotta get Dami up,” he placed a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling himself from the bed. “If that kid sleeps at all.” He surmised after collecting a pair of sweatpants from the floor. With Alfred overseas visiting with family, Dick had voluntarily taken up the basic day to day chores, such as making sure everyone got to where they needed and were fed.

The room was several doors down; he took his time getting there. Today was Damian's first day of school, something Bruce insisted would help the boy. Dick disagreed and hadn't kept his mouth shut about it. Yet, here he was, about to get the kid ready for his first, and what Dick was sure would be his last, day of school. His hand hovered over the slightly ajar door, prepared for a light knock when he heard Damian's voice coming from within.

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS!” Something was thrown across the room, something heavy.

“Damian...” Dick announced his presence, so it didn't seem like he was spying on him.

“Grayson.” Damian turned to address him, holding a dresser drawer in his hands, another across the room. “Tell Father I am NOT wearing this ridiculous uniform or attending this school!” He gestured wildly at the uniform he wore, navy blue pants, a short sleeve button white shirt and a navy blue sweater vest with the Gotham Academy emblem on the left side of his chest.

Dick sighed, tension releasing from his shoulders as they slumped forward. He walked over to Damian and pulled the drawer from his grasp before bending to his level, “Nobody likes going to school, Dami.”

The ten year old stood before him with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, “Yes, but I will be far beyond the intellect of these children,” he emphasized the word children as though he didn't think of himself as one.

Dick placed his hands on either of Damian's shoulders, the boy flinched away slightly from the touch but didn't remove himself from it, “Don't you want to met some kids your own age? Make some friends?”

“-Tt- I do not need friends. I have you and Father, I require nothing more.”

Dick smiled slightly at that, taking it as a comment, “Just try it? Today? For me? If it's as awful as you say we'll talk to Bruce.” There was something about Dick's charm that Waynes just couldn't say no to.

“Fine.” Damian replied after it became obvious Dick wasn't leaving without his agreeing to attend the school.

That afternoon, after having done some work in the cave, Dick took note of the time and was pleased that he hadn't received a call from the school regarding Damian having killed any of the children. He smiled and shut down the several programs he had running before climbing the long, stone staircase that lead to the main floor of the Manor.

It was quiet, not even the floor boards creaked below his step as he made his way towards the kitchen. Bruce and Damian would be returning within the hour so he decided to begin preparing dinner for everyone. He opened the refrigerator, revealing the labeled containers prepared by Alfred before his leaving. He scanned the labels, finding nothing of particular interest and opted instead to grab several of the loose ingredients to make something of his own concoction.

Almost an hour into his cooking the distant sound of a heavy door opening and then quickly closing filled the silence in the Manor followed by Damian's voice, “The food they served, Father, was deplorable. I am actually thrilled to have Grayson's cooking tonight rather than be forced to digest anything that place has to offer.” His voice carried through the manor.

Dick stood before the stove stirring the contents of a medium sized pot, “I can hear you, you know!” He called back, turning to find the pair making their way through the dinning room and into the kitchen. Damian slumped into a chair at the table in the kitchen, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. “How was the first day?”

“Awful. Horrid.” He paused and then whispered, “I made a friend.”

Dick threw the ladle in to his concoction boiling on the stove and ran over to the table, practically climbing onto it in his excitement to hear every detail of Damian's first day of school. “Is it a girl or a boy? Are they nice? What did you talk about? How did you met them? Do they want to visit? They can stay over! I want to met them!” His words fell out of his mouth almost in the same heartbeat, his eyes wide and wild with excitement.

“-Tt-” Damian's eyes followed Dick as he bounced up and down on his tip toes and gripping the life out of the table, “it is not that big of a deal.”

“Yes it is!”

Damian turned away from his brother, “It is not, and that is that. I am going to change out of these horrid clothes.” He pushed himself away from the table and stalked from the kitchen.

Dick instantly turned to address Bruce, who stood in one of the doorways leading out of the kitchen. “Did he tell you anything?”

“A girl, one year older than him. She's a bit of a loner herself and they had lunch together.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Dick clasped his hands together and returned to stirring dinner.

“What are we having?” Bruce questioned as he peered over Dick into the pot, one handing resting easily onto the small of his back.

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese,” he gestured to the plate piled with the sandwiches, “it's almost done. Is Tim on his way?”

Bruce nodded and planted a small kiss on Dick's temple, “I'm going to change.”

Nightwing stood atop the tallest building on the east side of Gotham. He stood with one foot up on the edge of the building leaning slightly over the side to watch as the citizens of Gotham scurry about below. Smiling to himself, he remembered back to one of his first nights on patrol. Standing proudly with his hands on either of his hips, peering down at the streets below with his bright yellow cape flipping in the wind behind him. He'd taken out several henchmen on his own that night and had felt very proud of himself.

"It's been pretty quiet tonight." Nightwing commented into the silence. He felt more than heard Batman come from the shadows and stand behind him.

The silence continued until their radios fired up with Tim and Damian's voices, "We've nothing over here," Tim's voice came first, then Damian's, "Drake is far too slow, Father. We might have found several criminals by now had you and I been working together this patrol." Sounds of them arguing filled the radio feed.

Nightwing turned to find Batman all but smiling as Tim yelled about how much ground they had already covered that night.

"B," Nightwing started as he silenced his mic, the sounds of arguing still flowing through his ear piece. "Seems pretty quiet on the other side of the city too." He turned himself away from the edge of the building and took the few steps between himself and Batman to stand before the larger man.

"And what do you suggest," Batman's voice come out in a rough tone, yet a smile crossed his lips, if only for a second. One reserved only for Dick and moments like this.

"I dunno. Maybe a little break?" Nightwing returned the smile with his own snarky smirk and reached his hand up to palm the bat symbol across Batman's chest, pulling it down his stomach just above where the base of his penis would be under the armor. Neither could feel the other's touch, but both knew it well.

Batman pulled him into the shadows of the rooftop, silencing his own mic as Nightwing did before him. Nightwing felt his back slam against the cement of a nearby wall, a moan escaping his lips. The jock strap he wore to protect himself was becoming tight as he felt himself begin to grow. Batman's fingers flew expertly across his body, instantly locating the hidden zippers on his suit. His pants were removed, the cool air of the night hitting him instantly, but was quickly replaced with the warmth of another's body.

"B..." Nightwing moaned into the Kevlar covering Batman's chest, "I can't take it..." His voice came out in a ragged breath as he referred to the increasing pain below his belt.

Batman placed his hand on the skin there, just above where the jock strap met the base of Nightwing's stomach.

"Keep it on." Batman growled in response, desire heavy in his voice.

Sex with Batman is far different than sex with Bruce Wayne. Bruce is more caring and careful with his lover, while Batman is more quick and rough. Dick loves having it both ways.

He felt himself being flipped to his stomach and shoved to the cement ground. His pants of his costume around his ankles and the jock strap still tightly attached, he was at the mercy of The Bat. A moan escaped his throat as two gloved fingers were quickly shoved into him. Nightwing was seeing stars as the two fingers began spreading him open. He screamed and moaned so loud he was sure the residents of the building below would awake. Hell. He was sure Tim and Damian could hear him on the other side of Gotham. Just as quickly as the fingers invaded him they disappeared, replaced quickly with something much larger. Batman began to sink down upon Nightwing, positioning himself so he wouldn't quite hit the prostate within. The first was slow as to not seriously damage Nightwing. A few seconds to allow him to adjust and Batman began thrusting himself within Nightwing to a rhythm that has become their own. The edges of Nightwing's vision began to become white out as he neared his climax. His penis crammed against the walls of his jock, he wasn't sure if he would be able to find release in such a situation. Behind him, Batman's voice came through his throat, moaning Nightwing's name.

"B..." Nightwing felt the heat of his own breath bounce off the ground back and into his face as he gasped. "I need too..." His breath coming in quick bursts, "I have to cum..."

He felt Batman's fingers fumbling with the latch on the jock, releasing its hold on Nightwing. He moaned loudly as his penis bounced out from behind its constraints. But his relief was quickly destroyed as Batman wrapped his large hand around the base of his cock, squeezing it in such a way that he was yet again restrained from releasing himself.

"Batman," he moaned the name. He felt a growl rumble through the chest above him and knew Batman was nearing his end.

The pace quickened as Batman's cock swept past Nightwing's prostate. He gasped instantly and clenched himself around the intrusion. He reached behind himself, needing to grasp something, anything, between his fingers.

"Bat..." The name turned into a gasping moan as Batman continued his assault on the prostrate.

Knowing exactly how to drive Nightwing over the edge, Batman ran himself across his prostrate with each, sharp thrust he made into his lover. Nightwing bucked against the restraint around him, trying anything he could think of to release himself from Barman's grasp.

“I'm not done with you yet,” Batman growled into his ear, placing his free hand onto Nightwing's hip to still his movements. He slowed his own hips and angled himself in such away that with each slow trust he was barely brushing against his prostate. He moved his hand along Nightwing's shaft, squeezing at the base and releasing a bit of that grasp as he neared the tip, as though he was milking his lover.

The sounds Nightwing released from his throat became ragged and barely audible. He pushed the side of his face against the ground of the roof and arched his back up, urging Batman to slam into his prostate again. He felt his world blur and then the ground and Batman's hand being covered in his warm secretion.

“Ahh...F-Fuuck...” Nightwing's breath puffed the dirt into the air as Batman picked their pace back up, his own orgasm moments away.

“Di...” Batman halted the word, names being forbidden in the field, settling instead on a gravely moan and clutching the dark hair below him. The sounds Bruce made during his orgasms were always Dick's favorite part of their love making. Whether in the suit or not, it was always the one constant thing. Batman slowly pulled himself out, Nightwing's hole clenching wildly as the feeling of fullness left it. He pulled some wipes from his partner's boot compartment, using it to clean them off. Flipping Nightwing back onto his back, he found his lover with his eyes lightly shut and his breath coming out in soft, pleasure filled puffs. He lowered himself to lay chest to chest against Nightwing, using his arms to support most of his weight. Beginning to plant soft kisses in the corner of his lover's lips, he received a small smile before the kiss was returned.

As they both returned to reality, the sounds from the radio feed they had subconsciously blocked out returned in full force, “FATHER!” Damian's voice screamed through the feed.

Batman flipped his microphone back on, a growl escaping in his response, “What?”

“Robin's been screaming for the two of you for about ten minutes,” Tim's response came quick, covering up whatever obscenity Damian had on the tip of his tongue. “Did you guys find something?”

“No. It's getting late. I want the two of you to head back, we'll finish up and be there within the hour.” Batman didn't take his eyes from his lover.

“You got it,” came Tim's response followed by the soft click of his microphone being silenced.

Damian however, was not as quick to obey the order. “You have got to be kidding me?!”

“You have school in the morning, Robin.” Batman reminded him.

“I am NOT returning to that horrid place!”

“This is not the time for this discussion, we'll talk about this later.” Batman's voice held the command he had used with all his Robins when being disobeyed.

“I'm leaving you,” Tim's voice was distant, obviously coming through Damian's microphone.

“-Tt-” And with that, his microphone went silent.

Nightwing sighed lightly, his sexual high fading, “He's going to be a pain every morning, isn't he?”

“Probably.” Batman stood and extended an arm to assist Nightwing to his own feet. Knowing full well he didn't need the assistance, but placed his hand in the older man's nonetheless and rose to his feet. “One more sweep and we'll call it a night.” Nightwing nodded and readjusted his suit.

The remained of their patrol continued with nothing eventful. The streets of Gotham began to thin out as the day became the next. The Gotham Docks was the last place they decided and stood in the shadows atop one of the warehouse buildings closest to the water. This was the one place Batman kept a very close eye on, boats carrying illegal drugs and weapons coming and going was always a constant threat for Gotham. They stood in silence for ten minutes, watching the distant water slosh about against the dock. There was no other movement and no buzz on any of the frequencies to indicate anyone using a warehouses below.

“Well,” Nightwing started, grasping a bit of Batman's cape in his fist and swung it back and forth, making the opposite side flutter about around Batman's legs. Something he had started as a child, the large black cape having always been a sort of security blanket to him, “Guess that's a wrap.”

Batman wrapped his arm around Nightwing's shoulder's and pulled him close, that very security blanket pooling around his shoulders and engulfing him, “You think Robin went to bed?”

“Doubtful.”

“What the fuck is this?” The pair spun around to find a several henchmen, each holding a gun pointed at either of their heads. They had been found in an intimate situation, completely off guard. This was not good. The cowl could take the shot of a bullet, however Nightwing was completely exposed. It had been a topic of heated discussion between them. Bruce wanting him to be safe, Dick responding with how he hated the restriction and called it a hindrance. Really, he loved feeling the wind rushing through his hair every night.

These henchmen appeared to be pretty run-of-the-mill types. Not showing any affiliation to any of the super villains housed by Gotham. Several rooftops away, two silencers went off, shooting two darts filled with enough tranquilizer to take down several elephants. Nightwing went down instantly, his smaller frame filling faster with the serum, his head bouncing off the cement with a dull thud next to Batman. Batman reached for him as he fell, but couldn't grasp him in time, his own body beginning to become numb as the toxin filled his system.

Batman was the first to awake, finding himself in what appeared to be one of the empty warehouses, likely the one they had been standing on. He searched the room frantically, settling his eyes on the figure about fifty yards away. They were both tied up, a very well constructed knot used to bind his hands behind his back and surely the same knot used on Nightwing. He noted that his cowl was still intact, but his cape, top, belt, gloves, and boots had been removed, along with any device he may have had hidden. He cursed under his breath and pulled his eyes back to his partner, who was completely nude, yet the mask still attached across his eyes. Whoever these men were, whatever they wanted, they had no concern or care for who was behind the masks.

A soft groan escaped Nightwing's lips as he began to stir, “Br...” the name never full leaving his lips. Batman wanted nothing more than to go to his boy, his lover. But the blasted knot was proving more difficult than he could imagine, the effects of whatever was laced into the tranquilizer still having a hold on his senses.

In the distance, past the door he was facing, sounds of heavy footsteps and muffled voices began to each his ears. Moments pass and the heavy door is forced open with a loud, dull thud. Three large men enter the room, carrying on about their capture. The three took note of Batman's starring and simultaneously threw him evil, deranged smirks.

“Look who's finally awake,” the largest of the three commented as he and another man began towards Batman, the third standing at Nightwing's back. He nudged the tip of the steel toe boots that he wore into the bare back before him, a distant groan emitting from Nightwing's throat.

“Don't touch him,” Batman snarled, his voice gritty and raw. His head still fuzzy and spinning; the numbness in his arms and legs not dissipating any.

“Oh, ya don't like that do ya?” Came the voice of one of the two men standing of either side of where he knelt on the ground.

“Let's show him how much he's not going to like it then,” Came the response from Batman's other side. The two men lifted him to his feet, his bare feet touching the cold, wet cement floor of the warehouse. He struggled against the two men and the restraints on his wrist, but to no success. The world spun in quick circles and his vision blurred slightly. He noted one of the men pulling a syringe from his skin. Whatever toxin was laced into the tranquilizer, they just gave his blood stream a full dose. They drag his feet along the dirty ground several yards closer to Nightwing and the third man.

From their new position he could see Nightwing better, unable to focus his vision past a certain distance. With this new perspective he could see his lover was curled up in a fetal position, trembling slightly and a small groan escaping his lips with every shallow breath he took.

“Nightwing...” He cooed softly, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the three men standing around him. The name left his lips with more intimacy than he had intended, but he didn't seem to care as he watched his partner suffer silently, unable to erase his pain.

The four arms holding him on his feet tightened their grip and the third man flipped Nightwing from his side onto his black, not taking care to stop his head from bouncing lightly off the cement ground. His face was covered in the dirt and grim that littered the ground below. With the lenses in his mask powered down, Batman could make out just the outline of his eyes, they fluttered open and his head turned slightly towards his lover.

“B...” Nightwing's voice was barely audible, his world spinning quicker than Batman's and his eyes lulled shut for a moment, “No worries...” he smiled slightly before being violently slapped across the face by the third man. He gasped and shut his eyes tightly. Whatever these men had in store for them, they would power through it and come out fighting on the other side.

He heard Batman growl in anger, yelling something that didn't make sense in his head and then the sounds of a struggle. But it didn't sound like Batman, it sounded sloppy. He had been drugged with a higher dose of whatever this was, he had to have been for those sounds to be coming from him as he struggled to release himself from his two captors.

Nightwing felt two hands press against his chest with enough pressure to push the air out of his lungs. The air came out in one puff and his eyes shot open, finding Batman being punched repeatedly in his mid section.

“Now if you would just cooperate the show could begin!” The third man announced as he stroked his palms down Nightwing's bare chest.

“What do you want with us?” Batman's voice came out different. A subtle hint of worry and concern deep under the gravel of his normal tone. Nightwing felt it there and slowly slid his eyes shut, becoming aware of what was inevitably going to happen and that there was nothing either of them could do to stop it. He just wished that Bruce wasn't standing right there, forced to watch.

The hands sliding across his chest came to rest just above the base of his flaccid penis. “Come on, you know you like this.” The man directed his words towards Nightwing, running his hand with a feather light touch along the top of him, causing it to twitch against the touch. Nightwing screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away from where Batman stood just steps away. He didn't want Bruce to see this, deciding to take away as much visual as he could and keep himself quiet throughout.

Two hands grasped either side of his hips, hoisting his lower half into the air. He could still hear Batman yelling and struggling against the other two men. 'Get away from him.' and 'Don't touch him.' were the only two things his mind could make out. He was dragged against the ground slightly into position, his back scraping against the cement. He wanted nothing more than to push the man off him and beat him into the ground, but his arms and legs remained useless against the cold ground. He bit his bottom lip as he felt something nearing his hole.

'This is it,' he thought to himself, 'just grit and bare it until the toxin wears off.'

He was spread and the man slipped himself in, his moans bouncing around the room, “God, you're so fucking tight,” the man began to clumsily thrust himself in and out of Nightwing, taking his eyes from the figure below him to settle them on the man weakly struggling beside them.

Their eyes meet, “I will fucking kill you.” Batman snarled, pulling towards him against the two men holding him down.

Nightwing heard none of it, his ears ringing and his brain doing flip flops inside his head. The pain from the intrusion of his lower half intense and not like anything he'd ever experienced with Bruce. The two of them were always so careful with preparations during their love making. He felt the man shudder as he pushed himself in up to the base of his penis and then the feeling of hot cum being sprayed into his ass. Tears began to welt up in his eyes under his mask, desperate not to let Bruce see he quickly composed himself. But, as the man pulled himself out, he felt a thick string of cum connecting the penis to his ass, his mouth fell open and a pained, desperate sounding whine escaped.

“Mmm, you know how to show a man a good time. No wonder Bat-breath here likes to fuck you too.” The man noted Nightwing's half erect penis, “Looks like I wasn't the only one who had a good time,” he reached for it, falling short as he was shoved from the naked body and slammed against the ground. Batman pulled him up, grasping the collar of his shirt and his fist raised, poised for attack. The two men behind him laid in a pile, unconscious and surely with several broken bones.

His fist slammed into the man's face several times before he registered Nightwing's cries, “Stop! You'll kill him!” Batman lowered his fist slightly, his face shrouded in darkness and he contemplated, for just a moment, killing the man in his grasp. Instead he threw the limp body to rest with the other two, deciding to leave them for the cops.

Batman knelt beside his lover, pulling him from the ground and into a tight embrace, “Nightwing,” he cooed, “I'm so sorry.” He slipped one arm around Nightwing's back and the other hand curling into his dark hair, holding their faces inches apart.

“S'Okay.” The tiredness in his mind and body becoming evident as he lulled his head against Batman's. “Knew you'd be there.”

“Can you stand?”

Nightwing shook his head against the side of Batman's, “Legs still numb. Arms too.”

“Alright,” Batman set him back on the ground, against a near by pillar and searched the room for their clothes. He returned in seconds, assisting Nightwing with the pieces of his suit before putting his own on. He wrapped his cape around him before hoisting him back into his arms bridal style.

“Let's get home.”

Nightwing moaned in agreement, only half present as his world began to spin again from the sudden motion.

Nightwing watched the Gotham Docks recede behind them as they speed off in the batmobile. The city flew past his window and he screwed his eyes shut, the motion causing him more nausea.

“Batman?” Tim's voice carried through the car, worry laced heavily in it. “What happened? Are you alright? It's nearly four a.m.”

“We were ambushed.”

“Is Nightwing...”

“Hey, Timbo,” Dick tried his hardest to sound like his normal self, but his voice was shaky.

Tim was a great detective, the best out of the Robins for sure. He knew something was wrong, “Dick, what happened?”

“We'll talk about it when we get there, Batman out,” and the radio feed was shut off, the city turning into the wooded area that lead their way towards the cave.

The feeling in his arms began to return, however his legs remained useless. He lifted his palm to his face and rested it against his eyes, lulling his head back to rest against the seat. He felt his other hand being taken in a grasp and squeezed lightly.

"We won't tell them. Not if you don't want to. Not yet." Bruce ran his thumb in circles on the top of his hand, attempting to ease as much pain as he could, if any, from his lover.

"Tim's a smart kid, he's probably figuring it out already," Dick's voice came out in a whisper. He removed his hand from his face and fisted the heavy black cape covering him. Bruce gave his hand another light, reassuring squeeze before removing it and turning off the main road toward the secret entrance leading into the cave.

Bruce threw the car into park after coming to a stop in the car port of the cave. Swiftly, he left the car and took to the opposite side, just as Dick was opening the door and attempting to exit the vehicle on his own.

"Can you stand?" Bruce questioned again, taking one of his arms in his hand as the younger man attempted to pull his legs out of the car.

"I..." Dick's head started spinning again and his legs felt like noodles, "I...don't know."

"Do you want to try?"

Dick nodded, his eyes focused on his legs dangling over the side of the batmobile's door frame.

"I'm here if you need me," Bruce responded softly, releasing his grip on Dick's arm, but ready to catch his partner if need be.

Dick placed his palm against the black exterior of the vehicle, using that as his leverage to hoist himself to his feet. He leaned heavily against the door frame and placed one foot out in front of himself. Putting some of his weight into that leg to test it's strength. He shook his head just before both legs buckled under that bit of weight. He fell forward, grasping at the smooth exterior and finding nothing to hold himself up.

Bruce caught him with ease, "I've got you," he whispered softly and ran his gloved fingers through the thick black locks resting against his chest. He gathered him up, pulling the cape back around Dick's body. Turning from the vehicle they found Tim watching intently, his brows etched with worry.

"What happened?" Tim questioned as the pair past him. He followed behind Bruce as he placed Dick on a nearby medical table

"Some kind of toxin," Bruce commented coolly, placing a pillow behind Dick's head. He moved from where Dick laid back against the fluffy pillows to retrieve the medical supplies he would require. Bruce removed the mask from Dick's face and pulled his own off to hang down his backside. He set out the medical supplies on the metallic table beside the bed, a syringe to draw blood and cleaning supplies for both of their various cuts and bruises. After preparing a section of Dick's skin he slid the needle into his arm, eliciting a flinch from Dick as the needle broke his skin.

Tim stood on the opposite side of the table, resting his palms against the mattress below Dick. "This looks like more than just some kind of toxin," he commented, watching Dick's body language closely, "it's like you can't look at either of us, what happened out there, Dick?"

Dick shook his head and lowered his chin to his chest, "I..."

"Now's not the time, Tim." Bruce cuts Dick off, his voice darkening with the words, as he drew a second vial of blood from Dick's arm.

Tim just nodded and placed a hand across his brother's arm, "Well, when you want to, I'm here to listen."

Dick lifted his head slightly, watching his brother's hand resting on his arm, "Thanks, Timbo." And the hand was gone. Tim turning away from the pair and ascending the stone staircase that leads to the main floor of the manor.

Bruce took the two vials in his hand, "We'll use one for the toxin and the other to make sure you're clean." The words came out harsher than he had intended them to.

Dick released a pained whine, as through that thought hadn't crossed his mind before this moment. "What if I'm not?" His tiny whisper seemed to bounce off every inch of the cave.

"We'll figure it out," Bruce whispered and wrapped his free arm around him, pulling the smaller man against his side and planted a comforting kiss in his hair. "We'll get these started and head for bed."

Dick nodded as Bruce pulled his arm from him to take the few steps across the cave to reach the lab area. He brought his knees up to met his chest, the feeling in them returning. The cape still covering him, pooling around his small frame and draping over the side of the medical bed.

Bruce swiftly returned after placing either vial in a their places to begin the tests. He extended his arm to help Dick from the bed to his feet.

"I think I can walk now," Dick leaned heavily against Bruce, his body supported by either of Bruce's arms. Bruce removed one of his arms as Dick balanced his weight from leaning on Bruce to standing on his feet. "I'm alright, just don't go far," Dick chuckled lightly as he felt his legs shake a bit under his weight.

"I'll always be right here," Bruce replied soothingly, watching as Dick tried to take his first steps, his balance obviously off. Bruce's hand hovered behind Dick's back, prepared to capture him should the need come.

"Heh, s'not so bad," came Dick's voice after a few steps. He stumbled slightly but regained his balance before toppling to the ground.

He sighed to himself as he felt Bruce's hand rest on his back, "Let's try tackling the stairs next."

Dick nodded as they took their time covering the ground to the first step. He lifted his leg to start on the first step, Bruce's ever steady hand resting lightly on his back.

"Take it slow," Bruce commanded lightly, Dick's knees beginning to weaken slightly with every passing moment.

"I dunno if I'll make the whole trip," Dick sighed, bringing his leg up on the step to met the other.

"Don't worry about that, just do what you can." Bruce remained on the main floor of the cave as Dick attempted the next step.

Halfway up the stairs, after several stumbles, Dick slumped against one of the sides of the wall running up beside the stairs, "I...I can't go anymore." Dick sighed defeatedly, irritated with himself that he couldn't even make it up the stairs to the manor.

Bruce took the several steps he'd kept between himself and Dick and placed his arm around Dick's middle, pulling him from the wall so he could lean against Bruce instead.

"I'm sorry..." Dick breathed against Bruce's neck where his head rested.

"You have no reason to be." He ran his hand across the back of Dick in a soothing motion.

Bruce awoke about an hour into their slumber, Dick snuggled close to his side and trembling slightly. He ran his fingers through the younger man's hair, watching as he slept. Dick snuggled himself closer as Bruce's hand paused at the back of Dick's head. And he felt it against his chest, tears covering Dick's face. He was crying in his sleep. Bruce closed his eyes in thought. This had to be fixed, Dick needed to talk to someone and he wasn't sure if he was the right person. He wrapped his arms around his lover tightly and buried his head in the shaggy dark locks resting against his chest. Dick began to stir, the shift in position beginning to awaken him.

He moaned lightly and crumbled the sheets that cover them in his fist, “Bru..” the name turned into a pained cry and his warm breath swept across Bruce's bare chest.

“Dick,” Bruce flattened his bangs away from his face and one eye popped open, red and puffy.

“Heh...” Dick breathed and closed his eyes again. “You don't want me in here, you couldn't. I could just...”

Bruce cut off his sentence, pressing their lips together. “Don't,” he breathed, “Don't ever think like that, I love you.” It came out in a whisper, Bruce had never been great at putting his feelings into words, he'd always shown how he felt to those he cared about.

Dick shook his head, “After tonight, I don't even love me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sure Bruce was about to ask him to go back to his old room. The room he had occupied as a child.

“I will always love you.” Bruce nuzzled himself against the crook of Dick's neck.

“How? I'm broken, tainted. You don't want to be with someone who can't pleasure you. There's a pretty good chance that guy fucked me in more ways then one.” He chuckled painfully at his own pun before his eyes welt back up again with a fresh set of tears.

“We'll deal with that if it comes to it.” Bruce's dark, ocean blue eyes starring intently into Dick's lighter ones. He placed a light kiss on his lover's forehead where his bangs parted and the pair just laid there and held each other.

Bruce couldn't fall back to sleep, every time he closed his eyes he was back in that warehouse watching that man tear his lover apart. So he just watched Dick lay there, falling in and out of sleep, obviously having nightmares of his own but too tired to stop himself from falling back to sleep.

Finally the sun broke through the far window and spread through the room. A light knock at the door drew Bruce's attention and he pulled himself away from Dick, who had fallen back into another light sleep just thirty minutes before. He reached the door and pulled it open, finding Tim standing in the hallway in a suit with his red tie hanging around his neck in a loose knot. He stepped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him, not wanting to disturb what little sleep Dick could get with their voices.

“How is he?” Tim questioned as he peered past Bruce, settling his eyes on Dick's sleeping form before the door was shut.

“He's surviving.” His brow pulling together as his mind fluttered to the night before.

Tim opened his mouth, wanting to ask about the night before again, but Bruce cut him off, already sensing the question on his lips, “It's up to him, when he's ready he'll talk.”

“Father,” Damian's voice came from several doors down the hall, “I have prepared myself for the day.” He stood in his school uniform and a school bag slung over his shoulder.

Bruce smiled slightly, watching his boy stand in the middle of the hall, arms crossed tightly across his chest and one foot bouncing on the floor, the red chucks he wore tapping lightly against the hard wood flooring of the hallway. “Tim will take you this morning, I have some business to finish up from last night.”

The door behind him creaked lightly and they turned to find Dick standing in the doorway. Bruce reached for him instantly, unsure if Dick had enough strength to stand on his own.

“I'm alright,” Dick responded, but leaned into Bruce's embrace nonetheless. Their relationship wasn't a secrete in the manor, but it wasn't something displayed publicly very often. Damian rolled his eyes as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“Hi, guys,” Dick addressed his brothers. His eyes still red and puffy from crying off and on all night and morning, his face laced with some of the sorrow and self-loathing he'd been feeling.

“Did I miss something last night?” Damian questioned as he watched Dick's face.

“We'll fill you in this evening. You're going to be late for school and Tim has a board meeting this morning.” Bruce addressed both of his boys, ending their conversation.

Tim and Damian started down the hall, their arguing already beginning. “Try not to kill each other on the ride in.” Dick called after them, a sorrow filled smile pulling at his lips. In moments, the main door of the manor slammed shut and their voices disappeared.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce brought his attention back to Dick now that they were alone.

“Fair.” Dick sighed lightly, “My legs don't feel like jello anymore.” He looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes against the wooden floor.

“Are you ready to go down to the cave?”

Dick closed his eyes for a moment, his mind taking him back to the night before and the horror he had to face down in the cave that morning. “We have to go eventually,” his voice was soft, expecting the worse possible scenario, which included Bruce pushing him aside as a lover.

Bruce pulled him in close and they stood chest to chest in the hall, his chin resting easily atop Dick's head, “Whatever is down there, it doesn't change us.”

Dick choked on his sob, wanting nothing more than to believe him, but unable to force Bruce into a relationship as unequal as one like that would be. The pair started down the hall hand in hand, Dick's grace returned to him as he all but glided down the hall next to Bruce.

They stood before the grandfather clock which covered the entrance to the cave, the long stone staircase leading to the computer just inches before them. “You're sure you're ready?” Bruce asked again, holding his lovers hand tightly in his grasp, as through that alone could save him.

Dick stood with his head low, his face shrouded in shadows, he nodded and reached up to the face of the clock, turning the time so it would pop open. They descended the stairs as one, the computer beeping in the distance that it had finished the tests. They approach the computer as it flashed it's bright light into the dully lit cave around it. Dick sighed heavily and sunk into the medical bed he had occupied very early that morning, unable to peer at the computer for fear of what the tests read.

“The toxin is unknown in this world,” Bruce commented lightly as he read through the readouts, “And it says...” he re-read through the papers again, fluttering between one and the other as he scanned them, “It says you're clean.” He breathed for what felt like the first time since early that morning and removed his eyes from the papers in his hands to settle them on Dick across the cave.

He sat on the medical table there, his knees pulled up to his chest and his check resting lightly on them. His head shifted slightly to meet eyes with Bruce across the room, “What?” His eyes were wide and his voice a whisper.

The papers fluttered to the floor, a genuine smile pulling across Bruce's face, “Clean.”

A new set of tears began to welt up in Dick's eyes, "Really?" he questioned into his knee caps, his watery eyes peering over them as he watched Bruce walk toward him.

"Yes," Bruce wrapped his arms around his lover, knees and all.

Small silent sobs escaped his lips. It didn't make a difference, he still felt dirty and broken. Tainted in such a way that he didn't deserve Bruce's love. How was he supposed to tell Bruce this? That he felt this way. The embrace around him tightened and it just made him cry harder.

"Can we go back up?" Dick breaths through his sobs. Bruce just nodded.

The pair sat in the main study, a small fire roaring lightly in the fireplace. Bruce reading through some paperwork at the large cherry wood desk and Dick laying across the love seat couch, a laptop opened on his lap. He mindlessly browsed his various favorite websites, his mind elsewhere. He could feel Bruce watching out of the corner of his eye, as through he could crumple at any moment, and he honestly felt that he might. Dick tapped lightly across the keys for a few moments before sighing lightly and snapping the computer closed, gaining Bruce's full attention.

He watched Dick run his hands across the smooth surface of the laptop and sigh again, his head held low. Bruce wanted to say something, anything. He blamed himself, how could he have allowed those men to touch HIS lover that way. He shouldn't have allowed those men to get so close, to have dropped his guard as they stood on that roof. He pulled his eyes back to the spread of paperwork on his desk as Dick sunk deeper into the love seat and turned his head to stare at the intricate designs of the expensive fabric.

The day continued like this, Bruce unsure of what to say or how to say what he felt and Dick's usual chatty self silent through the day. The grandfather clock covering the cave's entrance dinged four times, indicating the time and that Tim and Damian would be returning soon. Dick sat up from his spot, placing the laptop to the side, "I'll start something for dinner," he announced into the stale silence. Bruce nodded and watched the younger man leave the room.

Dick randomly picked one of the labeled containers from the fridge, paying little mind to what that labeled read and placed it in the microwave. He stood in front of the microwave, leaning most of his weight on his hands against the counter. He held his head low and his shoulders shook. The sobs he held through the day came full force. He laid his face against the smooth tile of the counter, when it became to much for him to handle and he crumbled against the the counter. He knew his cries could be heard down the hall and in the study where Bruce sat behind his desk, but he didn't care. It was too much for him anymore. How was he supposed to tell Bruce that it was alright for him to move on? That he didn't have to feel like he had to love him anymore? As these thoughts passed through his head he knew they sounded ridiculous, but it was how he felt. How could Bruce still love him so much when he could barely look at himself in the mirror.

He felt himself being pulled to his feet and held against a familiar warmth. A set of fingers ran through his thick black hair while the opposite hand rubbed his back and held him close. He instinctively put his arms around him and cried into the chest before him. Bruce held his lover close, whispering soothing words to him.

He felt worthless, his body weight being supported by the larger arms around him. Bruce shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have to see him destroyed like this.

"Why are you here?" Dick questioned once he regained enough of himself. The question wasn't so much 'Why did you come in here', rather 'Why are you still by my side'.

Bruce just tightened his arms around him, pulling him closer to his chest. He didn't know what else to do or what he should say. Every time he tried, it didn't seem to help.

"I just..." He choked on his sobs, "I just don't understand." He pressed his face against the chest, the expensive fabric covered in his tears.

Bruce ran his fingers through the dark locks below his chin and pulled Dick's face from his chest. Their eyes met, Dick's blood shot and puffy, and Bruce pressed his lips to his lover's.

Dick returned that kiss, slowly and cautiously, moaning light into it. Those moans quickly turned back into sobs when Bruce tried to deepen their kiss. Dick shook his head against Bruce's, their foreheads and noses touching. "I'm sorry," Dick breathed, squeezing his eyes shut as tears ran across his face and down his neck.

"Don't be," Bruce wiped one of his tears with the pad of his thumb and placed a soft kiss there beneath his eye. "You should go rest, I'll finish dinner."

Dick nodded, "Alright, but I'll stay and watch. I don't think Alfie wants to come home to a burnt down kitchen." He gave Bruce a smile, his eyes still filled with tears.

He took a seat at the smaller booth style breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen, watching Bruce as he moved about the kitchen, searching for the items that went with the labeled container in the microwave.

"You drive like an old woman, Drake." The main doors slammed shut and Damian's voice carried from the lobby into the kitchen.

"I do not!" The pair entered the kitchen, both with their bags slung over their shoulders and their ties loosened around their necks.

"Welcome home, boys," Bruce announced as he turned from the boiling pot of noodles he'd been stirring to greet them.

"Uhh.." Damian took a step back into the door way of the kitchen, "you are cooking? Where is Grayson?" He scanned the room, finding Dick sitting at the table, hugging his legs against his chest and leaning with his side against the back of the booth's seats.

“Don't worry,” Dick gave his brothers a small smile, “I'm keeping my eye on him.”

Damian rolled his eyes, “Whatever,” and turned to leave the kitchen. Tim returned Dick's smile before following Damian.

The radio feed buzzed through the computer's speakers as Dick sat in the large chair before it, watching the three separate camera feeds from Bruce, Damian and Tim's masks. The three having gone radio silent as they waited for an expected bank robbery, so Dick just sat in the chair, hugging one leg against his chest and allowing the other to dangle over the arm, watching the three monitors of the dark bank.

He needed to talk to someone, someone he felt completely comfortable around. He twirled his phone in his palm, contemplating dialing the number. Ultimately he dialed it.

It rang several times before a familiar voice carried through from the other side, “Hello.”

“Hey Clark, its Dick,” he sighed into the phone, his voice trembling, “I...I uhh...”

There was a rush of air and Clark stood between Dick and the computer, “What's going on?” A look of pure worry and concern etched in his face.

Dick smiled, Bruce and Clark had so many similarities, but just as many differences. Clark wore his heart on his sleeve while Bruce hide his under layers of kevlar.

“I needed to talk to someone,” Dick stood from the chair, “but not here,” he quickly added, watching the screens just past Clark's head as Bruce and the boys swooped down on the expected criminals.

Clark nodded and in seconds they stood in Clark's apartment, “What's going on?” Clark questioned again.

Dick sighed, sitting indian style on the couch in the center of the room and folded his arms across his lap, “Its...I...” he sighed again and tried to force the words out.

Clark took the seat next to him and waited, allowing Dick all the time he would need to talk.

“Clark, I... I was raped.” It was the first time the words passed his lips and it felt like the air in his lungs left his chest with it.

Clark bolted from his seat, leaving the ground for a second before touching his feet back on to the carpet, “WHAT? WHO? WHEN?”

Dick felt tears building up again, “It was just Bruce and I. We were drugged during patrol last night.”

Clark pulled him into tight embrace, “You need to talk to someone,” he said after releasing Dick from his grasp.

Dick just nodded and returned to his seat.

“Well, tell me how you're feeling.” Clark returned to his seat as well, watching Dick shift around.

“I'm clean,” he said, “we tested my blood and everything, but it doesn't seem to matter, I still feel horrible. I feel like...” he stopped, unsure how to put what he is feeling into words. “I don't understand how Bruce could still...could still want to be with me after that.” He looked up from his hands in his lap, wanting to see Clark's reaction to his words.

“Dick,” he took the smaller hands in his own, “Bruce loves you, more than I think he even realizes. You're all he talks about at the watchtower, even when you were younger.”

“But, I don't know if I can be with someone in that way again. We kissed and I practically fell to pieces. I can't force Bruce into something like that.” He took his eyes from Clark's to where their hands sat between them.

“You're not forcing him to do anything, you're his world. Bruce will understand and you will heal in time.”

Dick wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, “Do you mind if I stay?”

“You're always welcome to stay,” Clark gave his hand a light squeeze before rising from the couch and leaving for his room.

“Clark,” Dick called, his eyes peering over the back of the couch, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Bruce finally makes it to his room, after arguing with Damian about going to sleep. He expected to find Dick already sound asleep there, but was met with an empty bed. He returned to the hall and went down the few doors, stopping at the one that lead to Dick's old room. Pushing the door open, he found it just as empty as their current room. He turned and returned to the cave, unsure of where his lover could have gone. The current camera feed for the cave popped up on the screen, showing him sitting alone at it. He rewound the feed several hours, until he saw Dick sitting in that very chair. He watched for several moments as Dick sat there, resting his head in his hand and watching the screen, the camera feed before him showing Bruce and the boys standing on the roof of the bank earlier that night. He watched Dick reach for his phone, twirl it a few times in his fingers and then make a call. There was then a flash of red and blue and Dick was gone. He'd called Clark. Bruce's eye darkened, his mind jumping to conclusions quicker than he could stop them. That very same flash of red and blue flew into his vision and Clark stood between him and the computer just as he had earlier with Dick.

“Where is he?” Bruce stood from the chair so they stood only inches apart.

“He's safe. Bruce, he's hurting. A lot.”

“Why did he call you?”

“He needed to talk, he told me what happened last night.” Clark's eyes softened.

“You didn't just talk. He's been pushing me away. I couldn't protect him last night.”

“Bruce...” Clark reached out and placed his palm over Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce pulled away from his touch, “He can talk to me. Why did he call you? What happened?” Bruce's voice turned into a snarl, his worst fears coming true.

“We talked about what happened and how he felt, then he fell asleep on my couch.”

Bruce shook his head, “I allowed to happen what happened, I couldn't do anything to protect him, I shouldn't have allowed those men so close to us. He knows that as well as I do. If he's leaving me, fine. It would destroy me, but I want whatever makes him happy.”

Clark sighed and took his eyes from Bruce to stare into the shadows of the cave where Dick's figure began to emerge.

His eyes bloodshot and his body trembling through his sobs, “Bruce, I would never. How could you think... after everything.” He turned from the pair, mounting one of the motorcycles in the car port of the cave and speeding away.

“Bruce,” Clark's voice carried through the cave after the motorcycle had left, “he's not just hurting. He's horrified that you'll stop loving him, that he'll never be able to be with you again.” And in a blink of an eye he was gone, leaving Bruce alone to his thoughts.

The following two days were the slowest of his life, Dick having gone under the radar and untraceable. He'd ditched the motorcycle at Barbara's, staying there just long enough to eat some of her pizza. He called, but she had no idea where Dick was and also informed him that he had 'royally fucked things up'. He'd sat in the cave the past 48 hours, watching the map of Gotham on the screen, hoping that something would pop up indicating Dick's whereabouts.

The familiar sounds of a motorcycle speeding around the curves of the cave flooded the area. He stood from the chair and found Dick stepping from the bike, holding the blue helmet against his chest. Bruce still wore the same pajamas he'd put on two nights earlier, the white of the shirt becoming more of a gray from the dust in the cave.

“Bruce, I..” Before he knew it, he was hoisted into the air in those strong arms, the helmet rolling across the floor.

“I'm sorry.” Bruce's breath passed across Dick's neck. “I should've protected you, I shouldn't have doubted you. I will always love you, Dick.”

Dick wrapped his arms around his lover as he was lowered back to the ground, “I'll always love you too, Bruce.” They kissed, Dick slipping his tongue pass the barriers of lips and teeth, taking the first step to deepen their passion. “I want you,” Dick whispered between them, his voice trembling slightly.

Bruce paused and pulled back just enough to focus on Dick's face, “Are you sure?”

Dick rested his forehead against Bruce's and nodded, “I really am, but not down here,” He glances around, the cold dirty ground, not very welcoming.

“Upstairs then.” They left for the staircase, their hands clasped together and the misplaced helmet forgotten.

Dick sprawled out across their bed, Bruce laying over him, supporting his weight on his hands against the mattress. Their lips met again and Dick's fingers ran through the silky texture of Bruce's hair.

Bruce pulled himself from the other man's lips, eliciting a small groan of displeasure from him, and focused his eyes on the bright blue ones below him, “You're sure?” He questioned again, his eyes searching Dick's face for any signs of discomfort.

A smile spreads across that face, “One hundred percent,” Dick whispered softly as he ran his hands across the pair large biceps surrounding him. Their lips met again, all thoughts of the last couple days far behind them.

#brucedick #brudick #dick grayson #bruce wayne #ashie mashie #solusn

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

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Thanks to all our writers & artists, and everyone else who has supported this event! I know it's not a popular combination of characters, thus the whole point of organising this... and I'm glad we have a few more long stories focusing on the original Dynamic Duo to enjoy. :D

And as promised, the prints! They've been mailed out, and I took the opportunity to use these stationary cards I got ages ago from Nick Robles' Society6 store, based on this Nightwing pin-up. :D (Though he's since taken his fanart products down, so I guess they're a rare item now :O)

Just two more stories to be posted next week, the last of which is a long one. Hope you enjoy, and do be sure to let the writers & artists know if you do! Even the briefest of comments is appreciated. :)

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

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[FIC] Found by kuonji

Title: Found

Author: kuonji

Rating/warnings: PG-13, death of animals, off-screen death of an original character

Summary: Dicky the Wonderdog is the happiest dog on the planet until one day when his world falls apart. He is left alone and confused, with no one to care for him -- until he meets a young human who is equally lost but is willing to open his grieving heart to a little dog.

Word count: ~7000

Note: inspired by Robin Annual #4

[Mod note: This was submitted during te final drafts deadline, so it did not have the chance to go through the art claim process -- but if anyone wants to submit some impromptu accompanying art, please feel free! :D]

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Dick -- though he wasn't known by that name at the time -- was born in the wee hours of the first day of spring. He was the only pup of his mother's first litter. If it weren't for his unselfish nature, he might have grown up very spoiled indeed. This was especially true because both of his parents were prized performers, and thus from his earliest days high hopes were set for him as well -- high hopes which he turned out to be more than happy to live up to.

His mother always told him that he was born to fly, and indeed, he was never more alive than when he was bounding over towers of obstacles or leaping through rings of fire or tumbling and rolling over their trainer's back. He took special delight in making the younger humans laugh. He enjoyed being petted and fed and made much of. He loved being a star.

The flashy, glittery red cape edged in red and green that he flaunted while performing soon earned him the nickname of Diklo from the young humans who loved to watch him -- 'neckerchief' in the language of their human family.

It wasn't long before little Diklo's fame became known to the people in their particular circle. His and his parents' act was especially admired by the proprietor of a certain traveling circus.

When he was nine months old, his trainer moved them to a new place and gave Diklo a new name, and Dicky the Wonderdog was born.

***

Dicky's new home was a fantastic place. There were constantly new people, new scents, new sounds to explore. There were other creatures aside from the humans and dogs and cats that Dicky was used to, and even though he was not allowed close to them, they fascinated him like everything else in this wild, exciting place. There was noise all the time, whether the noise of music and strangers, or the noise of travel with their new family, and everything always smelled of good things to eat.

Once, sometimes twice a day, Dicky strutted and pranced and leaped and tumbled with his parents under the bright lights, to the gasps and cheers of an adoring crowd that varied in size but was always many times bigger than those of Dicky's puppyhood. The people's delighted shouts filled the corners of the tent they performed under and Dicky's heart soared as high as his paws.

Afterward, his trainer would bathe them and cuddle them and give them a fine dinner as a reward. His parents would bark and tumble with him like they were young pups themselves. And when his parents had settled down to their own pursuits, Dicky would be free to gambol about and visit the other denizens of their extended family as he chose. As long as Dicky was present for performances and practice, he was allowed to wander the vast camp like his personal playground during the rest of his day.

For a young dog with love and curiosity for all the world, there was no better place to grow up.

Until one day... something happened. He had lately learned a new trick -- a four-ring jump from a ramp, ending in a dive into a tub of water -- and both he and his trainer were eager to get it perfect for his next performance. After an especially hard practice session, Dicky had wandered the camp, begging treats of popcorn and pretzels and hot dogs from young humans as he often did.

As a result, by the time he got back for dinner, he was only able to finish half of his. More quickly than usual, he fell into a deep stupor.

When he woke, he was trembling with confused fear and a pain that wracked his body in waves. He whimpered, signaling his distress. His parents were near, having finished their meals and begun slumbering earlier than he, but neither of them came to him. Again, he whimpered, then squealed as a seizure of pain hit him. He crawled slowly on his belly towards where his nose told him his parents were, his watery eyes making his vision useless.

It seemed to take a day to reach his sire's side. Again, he called out, seeking comfort. But his sire lay still. Still and cold. And when he reached his dam, she was the same.

Instinctively, he knew that his sire and dam would not rise again.

Even amid his own pain, he tried to make a sound that he had never attempted before, an announcement of grief and sorrow and loss -- yet that relief was not granted to him. His body would not cooperate. He was too weak. Merely whimpering, he struggled closer until he lay against his dam's side, and then he fell back into oblivion.

When he woke again, his body and legs had been bound by a voluminous cloth -- a towel, he recognized. He twitched feebly but was unable to dislodge it. He whined. Immediately, his trainer was there, loosening the towel and rubbing down Dicky's body while making soothing noises.

"How is he?" Dicky recognized the voice of the big boss.

"His heart is strong. I think he will be all right."

Dicky shook himself. He still felt somewhat disoriented, and it was harder to breathe than usual, but he felt otherwise normal.

"We're lucky Dicky survived, at least. What do you think happened?"

"I think you know best." Dick whimpered, anxious at his trainer's tone. The humans ignored him.

"What do you mean?" The big boss sounded nervous.

"We hear things. You were arguing with a man the other day, yes?"

When the big boss spoke next, it was in a whisper. "Do you mean Zucco's guys? No, that's ridiculous. This was a coincidence, that's all. You've said the heat is bad for them. Maybe they caught something from the city dogs."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We should never have come to this place. It's dirty."

"You used to live in a village where the wash water came from the river."

"Not that kind of dirty," his master spat. "These gaje cities. Nobody knows how to wash bad luck away, and it just grows and grows, and evil things feed on it."

"I thought you didn't believe in all that Gypsy stuff."

Dicky looked up at his trainer as he made an irritated sound. He couldn't understand the humans' speech, but the tension in the room was obvious.

"It's all right, Diklo. We'll have to find some more dogs to perform with you. For now, a short show will have to do."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," a new voice put in. Dicky growled, angry at having been startled. If he weren't feeling this strange lethargy, he would have noticed the female human approach. "Mr. Haly and Mr. Graeves, I presume? I'm from the Gotham Animal Control Agency. The vet who took your other two dogs alerted me to the situation."

"What situation?" the big boss said.

"Your animals aren't licensed for work here. We have strict laws about performing animals. They're a threat to public health."

"What?" his trainer jumped in. "He is only a dog. And such a little one! He does tricks to make people laugh. How can you tell me he is a threat?"

"Nevertheless, household pets carry diseases and can get in fights with local strays or other pets."

"Dicky is not a pet! He is a working acrobat."

"All the more reason to worry. He's in constant contact with crowds of people, especially children. I expect he hasn't had his shots?"

"He is perfectly healthy. Very strong."

"Then what killed his parents?"

"It was murder! It must have been! Why aren't you out looking for the murderer instead of here?"

"The police are looking into it, but they notoriously have a backlog of cases. This one's going to be low priority."

"Two of my dogs -- the best dogs I've ever owned -- are dead!"

"I'm very sorry about that, sir. But the truth is, none of these dogs should have been allowed into City limits in the first place. Mr. Haly, as the general manager of this circus, you must have known this."

"I thought they were covered under my general license. This is all a misunderstanding! Look, I'll apply for a license today, and I'll take Dicky out of the show until we get it. He needs to recover, anyway."

"You don't understand. You're not taking him anywhere. As a stray animal, he's the City's responsibility now. We'll take charge of him. Furthermore, you're to be fined for even having him and the other two dogs here."

"What! How dare you. My Diklo is a very valuable performer."

"He's an unregistered animal."

The human voices continued for a very long time, with even the big boss starting to shout as well. Dicky lay very quietly, too scared to do anything except listen to the snarling tones and watch. At the end of it all, the female took Dicky by the collar and dragged him into a box much like his traveling crate, except much smaller. And it smelled of chemicals and other animals.

He scrabbled at the sides of the box and yelped for his trainer. His trainer said his name and shouted more at the female, who ignored him. Dicky's box was picked up, and then he was moving -- away from his home and away from his trainer and where his parents had used to live. Finally, fueled by panic, he found enough energy to howl his fear and grief and confusion.

But it didn't help.

***

Dicky was brought to a place that was filled with other dogs. The flat walls echoed with deafening barks and cries. There were rows of tall cells with dogs snarling and barking in alarm, curiosity, fear, and aggression. The whole place was pungent with anxiety. Dicky's cage was set down and opened against one such cell. When he froze in confusion, the human who had carried him here shoved a stick in through the bars and prodded him until he stumbled out onto the concrete floor.

There were two other dogs in the cell, about Dicky's size. For unknown reasons, they hated Dicky immediately.

Unlike the other dogs Dicky had met in his life, these neither ignored him or tried to befriend him. Worse, they tried their best to provoke fights. Dicky had play-fought with his parents all his life, and he'd also had his share of more serious run-ins with other dogs before. These, however, were not the probing challenges that Dicky was used to -- the normal tussles for determining rank when a new animal was in the territory. No, these were vicious attempts to hurt and ultimately to kill.

These dogs were driven mad by a life of meanness and then forced confinement. Dicky -- despite his natural and trained agility -- had little defense against them. Luckily, the humans interfered once the fight became too much. Unluckily, they treated both Dicky and the other dogs the same -- a drenching with high-pressured water from a hose, a loud scolding, and then being shut into a small cage for the night.

The next morning, Dicky was placed in a different cell with three new dogs who didn't seem to like him any better than the previous ones had. He soon acquired a number of bites and scratches. He dealt out more than a few of his own, but that never made him feel any better.

Close to evening of his third day in this strange, cold place, he felt something else that made him shiver. It was an emptiness. A hollowness. Suddenly, he knew without a doubt that he would never see his trainer again. As he had before, he howled. He cried. He yipped his sorrow and his loneliness.

The humans came and shouted at him and beat him until he finally subsided, too exhausted to resist. He didn't understand what was happening to him. In the space of a few days, his entire world had fallen apart.

One thing Dicky did understand was, he did not belong here. When faced with a situation, he solved it by moving, whether it was performing a trick to make a sad human laugh, or finding a ledge as a jump-off point to reach that tantalizing scent on the counter, or -- as in this case -- running away.

The next time a human opened the mesh door and leaned in to give them food, Dicky leaped over the person's shoulder, sprang off his back, and hit the floor running. He remembered the double doors he had been brought through when he had first arrived. They were closed, but Dicky had learned long ago the trick to get them open.

Timing it carefully, he ran full speed, then leapt up to hit the metal bar right at the edge closest to the center where daylight showed through. As he had expected, the door was bumped open a bit. Quick as a wink, he wriggled through. The door closed painfully on his hindquarters before he could quite make it, but other than letting out a yelp, he paid it no mind.

Dicky ran as fast as he could, and he never looked back.

He was free.

***

Surviving was not too difficult, all in all. A small, nimble, intelligent dog could find (or steal) scraps to eat and find out-of-the-way niches to rest (usually). Out here where there was room to maneuver (and to run), he didn't need to fear the larger dogs or the sneering humans who threatened him (too often). Dicky was self-sufficient -- and utterly miserable.

Dicky had never been on his own before. Always, there had been his parents, and humans who fed him and praised him and asked him to perform and fly and make them smile. Out here, the other dogs wanted only to fight and the humans wanted only to hurt.

His life had not given him the temperament to kill or hurt for purposes other than defense, and without that, he wasn't able to join one of the ferocious roving packs, much less advance his place in one. He had no allies or companionship. For a dog like Dicky, that was akin to torture. For the first time in his life, he had no one who cared whether he even existed. At least at the cold place, the humans had fed him and reacted to him.

One day, he was nosing through the trash piled in an alleyway when he noticed movement behind him. Once, he might have run, but today, he only turned to look desultorily at the possible enemy. He'd always known he would lose a fight one day that he couldn't recover from. It might as well be today.

It was a young male human that stared back at him. Dicky did not sense aggression from him but rather a pall of... sadness. Apathy gave way to curiosity, and he took a step forward and scented the air. The young human seemed out of place -- his scents were both richer and flatter than what Dicky was used to.

Another human, this time an older male, ran up to the mouth of the alley and took hold of the young human's shoulders.

"Master Bruce! My dear boy, come away from there. Reporters will be here next."

"They don't scare me."

"No, I dare say they don't. But you hardly want them running amok here, do you?"

Dicky hunched as he sensed anger and hopelessness. But the sadness suddenly overwhelmed both, and the young human sagged. He pointed at Dicky. "There's a dog," he said, voice toneless, but his body posture exuded faint curiosity.

"Pardon? Ah, so there is."

"It's looking at me. Alfred it looks... sad."

"Well, dogs are expressive creatures and surprisingly empathetic." The older human paused and looked closely at Dicky. It was not an unkind look, so Dicky did not run, despite what his newly learned instincts told him to do. "Master Bruce, forgive me, it's just a thought, but... would you like to keep him?"

The younger human sounded surprised when he replied, "Keep him?"

"He doesn't have a collar, and he's clearly been on the streets for a time. I doubt he belongs to anyone."

"I-- I don't have time for a pet, Alfred. I can't afford the distractions. That's why we sold the horses, remember?"

Now the young human was staring at him concentratedly as well.

And then, perhaps he was simply tired of running and hiding, or perhaps there was something different about these two humans in particular, because something changed.

The last month of hard living and ignominy had worn him down, yet Dicky's first instinct upon being watched by humans -- ingrained in him since birth -- had always been to perform. He shook himself, as if to wake himself up. Then, taking a skipping run at the nearest wall, he bounded up, kicked off the rough brick, and turned a flip. He heard the young human gasp, and something lifted in Dicky's heart.

"What was that?"

"Oh, my."

An audience of two was nothing compared to the hundreds Dicky had once entertained, but the sounds of awe and excitement were familiar and satisfying. Wagging his tail, Dicky reared up to stand on his hind paws and hopped forward a few feet. He heard the young human make a brief sound of amusement. "Look, Alfred!" Encouraged, he then pitched himself forward to walk on his front paws, a harder trick that Dicky's small frame made possible -- with practice.

Unable to watch where he was going, he lost his balance and misstepped. He twisted as he fell so that he landed on his side. Still, it was embarrassing. He jumped to his feet and sneezed once. To make up for his mistake, he raced toward some boxes on the other side of the alley, leaped up onto them, then bounded into the air. He imagined passing through four sparkling rings before tucking himself expertly to land in a puddle at the end of the alley. Muddy water sprayed everywhere.

Dicky barked in accomplishment and trotted back to where the two humans stood watching him with wonder on their faces. Once he reached them, he sat up in a begging position. When he was still a puppy, his family had performed for smaller audiences. Then, he'd used to have a small bucket that he could carry with his teeth. Humans would drop coins and bills into it after a performance. He had memories of later, too, when humans sometimes gave him pretzels and hot dogs when he did this.

That wasn't what he was after, now. Ever since his parents had died, Dicky had been starving -- but not for food.

The young human squatted down. "You are one strange mutt," he said in an affectionate tone. Dicky wagged his tail tentatively. He wanted this human to show his nature on his own. Recent experiences had taught him wariness. Dicky dropped to his feet and cocked his head to one side, and twitched his ears back.

The human held out one small hand. Dicky shifted forward to nudge it. He smelled... all right. Not aggressive. Not fearful. Dicky sat down and waited.

The hand moved hesitantly to pet Dicky's shoulder, then began stroking down his back. When Dicky moved forward to butt his head into the human's chest, the human gasped again. It was a small, light sound, unlike the screeches and shouts that Dicky was used to from smaller humans. He seemed, strangely, not entirely human at all, but rather more like those wild and fascinating creatures Dicky had used to try to get close to in the circus.

"You're going to need a bath if you want to walk on Alfred's carpets."

Dicky yapped.

"I take it we are inviting a guest to the Manor after all?"

The older human looked down on them, also smiling. The younger human became solemn once more.

"We should make a stop at the closest shelter anyway. Make sure he's not listed as missing."

"Very good, sir. I'll go get the car."

***

The humans' car was roomy, much larger than the trucks and carts he had traveled in before. Almost, it reminded Dicky of his trailer, though the scent was entirely different -- clean new carpet with old leather and everything overlaid with chemicals that tickled his nose. He sneezed and immediately, the young human, who was carrying him, squeezed him a little tighter.

Alarmed, Dicky struggled to break the hold. Had it been a mistake to trust him?

"Easy, easy." The door slammed shut, and the human let Dicky go. Dicky jumped onto a seat and looked anxiously around the vehicle, then out the windows. He relaxed when no further threat presented itself.

"It's okay, fella." The rumbling and sharp scent that meant they were about to move started up. The young human came to sit next to him. "Wait, he doesn't have a seat belt. We can't drive yet. It's too dangerous."

"He's a dog, Master Bruce," said the older human from the front.

"That doesn't mean physics won't apply to him. He could get hurt."

The older human didn't speak for a moment, and Dicky whined at the tension. He shook himself, and that prompted the young human to clutch his fur, not to the point of being painful, but it was slightly uncomfortable. Dicky yipped, and the younger human let go. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding apologetic. Dicky sniffed the human's damp palms. What was making him so anxious?

"I will drive slowly, Master Bruce. Don't worry. We'll find a way to secure him after we get him home. Until then, why don't you hold on to him?"

"Okay."

Dicky watched out the window as they moved. The young human held onto Dicky around his shoulder and neck. It felt... nice. He used the other hand to scratch Dicky's head and neck. Dicky wagged his tail until he felt his entire body swaying.

In a short while, however, he began to get nervous. Something was wrong. The farther they went, the more sure Dicky became.

They were headed back towards the cold place.

Dicky began to whimper. He'd thought... These two humans seemed so kind. But he would have to run after all. He was so tired of running. It seemed like such a long time ago since he'd been content every day and thought every day after would be just the same.

The car stopped eventually, and Dicky was ready. From outside, he could sense the sounds and scents of unhappy animals. No sooner had the door opened then Dicky had leaped out and was flying away as fast as his paws could take him. Behind him, the young human cried out in dismay. He faltered for a moment -- but, remembering the hopelessness and jealous ferocity of the other dogs in that place, he did not turn back.

***

Instinctively avoiding his former haunts, Dicky found himself a new corner to sleep in and a new group of alleys to nose around in for food, a new pack of other dogs to give him trouble. He remained lonely and unhappy -- doubly so because for a brief moment he had remembered what it was like not to be hiding and defensive all the time. Those two humans had felt good. For the first time since he had been taken from his trainer, he had felt safe and important. Compared to that, eking out his existence here was woefully inadequate.

It was a few days after his meeting with the humans that he suddenly caught a familiar scent around the edge of a dumpster that he had been frequenting.

Cautiously, Dicky followed this trail around the block. He stopped at the edge of the territory of a vicious pack that he had tangled with the first time he'd hit these streets. He gazed across that uncrossable line, filled with an odd longing.

***

Two days later, Dicky was enjoying a rare bit of luck in the form of a bite of hamburger. The packs had either missed or dismissed it as too much trouble because it was wrapped tightly and was more bread and lettuce than meat. Dicky licked the wrapper assiduously, cleaning it of the last dredges of meat flavor.

Suddenly, he stopped. Over the odor of old meat and cheese and rotting vegetables, he had smelled...

Quickly, he ducked behind a pile of broken crates. He crouched at attention, ears pricked and nose twitching. He heard the high-pitched voice before he saw the humans approach.

"...hadn't gotten confused yesterday by that chihuahua-spaniel mix. It was a stupid mistake."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Master Bruce. Tracking in an urban environment is hardly an easy task."

"But it was obvious those tracks were part of the pack we saw. I should have realized when-- Look, Alfred!"

Dicky flattened his ears uncomfortably. The two humans had stopped where he had paused to scratch himself earlier. The young one crouched down and picked something up with a set of bright metal tweezers. It was a bit of Dicky's discarded fur.

"Stiff brown hairs, short-haired breed. It's on a likely path from that fence where we found the scat that was covered over. It's got to be from Dicky. He must have been here!" Dicky wriggled upon hearing his name. What were they saying?

"It's possible, I suppose."

"I'm sure of it! I'm very observant. You know that."

"Yes, of course, sir."

"Alfred, don't patronize me."

"Of course not, sir."

"I can fire you, you know."

"Not until you're eighteen, as I understand it."

The young human sighed loudly. He sounded fond and amused. Dick pricked his ears again. These two humans were a family, and they were kind people, he was sure of it. He edged a bit outwards so he could see better-- but shrank back abruptly when the young human let out a loud shout.

"Look!" He pounced on the wrapper Dick had been licking earlier, picking it up with his hands this time. Dick watched in bewilderment. He'd already cleaned it thoroughly. There wasn't a trace of edible substance left. He didn't understand why the young human was so excited.

"Put that down this instant, Master Bruce! Who knows where it's been!"

"Saliva, and it's still warm! He must be here!" Anticipation poured off of the young human. He stood stiffly and alertly and turned in a circle, like a dog scenting the air. "Dicky," he called. "Here, boy. We won't hurt you. I promise." Confused by the human's behavior, Dicky stayed hidden, trembling nervously. It didn't matter if they were nice people, he realized. They had brought him back to the bad place.

His trainer and the big boss had been nice, too. Yet they had let him be taken away. He couldn't trust anyone.

"There! Alfred, he's right there." Dicky jumped to his feet when the young human looked right at him and spoke softly to his companion.

"My word. You've actually found him."

"Don't sound so surprised. Dicky. Come here. We'll take you home, okay? Don't you want to come home with us? We'll take good care of you, I promise."

Growling slightly, Dicky backed himself further into his shelter. The young human came closer, and Dicky flattened his ears back and growled louder. Hesitating, the young human finally backed off.

"He hates me, Alfred."

Sitting up, Dicky whined. He felt... guilty. The young human was beyond sad now. He was crushed. Dicky had never been able to resist trying to cheer a sad human, and now he was pretty certain this young one was sad because of him.

"Don't give up, sir. I'm sure he'll come around. He's only frightened. Look, he's already looking better. Come here, boy. You're quite safe." Pricking his ears at the soothing voice of the older human, Dicky inched his way out. "That's a good little Dicky-bird."

Still staying a safe distance away, Dick stood up on his hind legs and pawed the air. He was rewarded when the young human's despair seemed to lessen. "Do you think he's forgiven me?"

"Only one way to find out." The older human handed something to the younger human. Sniffing, Dicky could tell it was food. His ears pricked forward in interest.

The young human crouched down and held the food out tentatively. "Here, boy."

Equally tentative, Dicky crawled forward. The human made no moves, only his slightly unsteady breathing indicating his anxiety. Finally, he was close enough to take the food from the human's hand. It was a crunchy treat that tasted of smoked meat. He gobbled it down.

"He took it, Alfred. He took it! What should I do now?"

"Well, I suppose we could try..." The older human whistled -- and Dicky straightened in shock. Then he turned a few quick circles, chasing his own tail around. Once he straightened out again, he saw the younger human staring, open-mouthed.

"What was that? What did you do? Why's he acting that way?"

"While you were interviewing Mr. Haly, I struck up a conversation with a few of the other performers. They remembered some of the commands his trainer used to use. Honestly, I didn't think it would work. They made it a point to tell me that the dogs only listened to Mr. Graeves."

"Why didn't you tell me about that?"

"Ah, now, even your Watson must have a few surprises now and then."

"Tell him to come home with us!"

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way."

Dicky followed this back-and-forth with interest. The young human's sadness had virtually disappeared, replaced by excitement. He could tell that the older human -- and himself, to a certain extent -- had been the cause. Giving in to his old urge to perform, he turned a few more circles, then he took a running start and leaped right over the young human's crouched form. Both humans shouted in surprise. He turned and did it again the other way.

Next, kicked up into walking on his front legs with his back legs high in the air. This time, he managed it flawlessly. Coming down, he cavorted in a circle, rolled on the ground, then, jumped up onto the young human's shoulders and off again. Finally, throwing caution to the winds, he ended by jumping right into the startled human's arms.

Right up against the young human's heart, even panting with exertion himself, he could feel the other trembling. He could sense wonder and happiness.

"Please. Come home with us?" the young human whispered.

Dicky looked up at him. He yearned for a life that he'd had once. Something told him that these two humans might be able to give it to him. He barked.

"I think perhaps that is a yes. Careful now, Master Bruce. Perhaps we should put him on a lead?"

"No. I don't want to scare him. I can carry him. He's not heavy at all."

Once again, Dicky was taken to the car. He was released as soon as they were inside. He scrambled around, re-exploring the space. He could still smell his old scent here.

There was something new in the car, on one of the seats -- a padded cushion with high, soft walls. Sniffing at it, Dicky jumped up through the opening at the front and turned a few circles inside. There was a strap inside that attached to the back of the car seat.

"That's right. It's for you, to keep you safe. I had it specially made."

Dicky tensed as the young human reached up and pulled a net across the opening. Dicky could easily jump out, however, and he could see out of the netting, so he decided he could accept this addition. In fact, he laid down on the soft bedding. This was the most comfortable he had been since he had been with his parents.

Again, the car rumbled. Dick stayed alert, but they moved in a different direction this time, away from the cold place. The scents he could catch changed after a while, becoming more wood and water rather than concrete and metal. The young human petted him comfortingly. Finally, they stopped in front of a large building.

"I'll just go get things ready, then," said the older human. "Come inside in a few minutes. We don't want to alarm him."

"All right."

Dicky drowsed under the young human's touch for a while longer. "We'll take good care of you," he murmured. "You're alone, just like I am. I won't let anyone hurt you again." He didn't protest at all when he was picked up and carried to the large building.

Once they were inside, however, he faced a fresh horror -- but at least one that was familiar from his former home.

Dicky yipped in dread as he was deposited in a large tub of frothy water and scrubbed within an inch of his life.

***

"It was really nice of Pop Haly to let us keep him, huh?"

"Indeed. But I suppose without a proper trainer that Dicky could trust, he wouldn't have been much use as a performer. We should be glad he was not sold to someone unscrupulous."

Dicky, freshly cleaned and dried and placated with a lavish soup bone all his own, lay beside the young human on the thick rug that still smelled strongly of sheep. He gnawed at his bone and reveled in the quiet, relaxed atmosphere. It felt as if he had always belonged here.

"Yeah. Weird, that. They could probably have sold him for quite a bit of money, and instead, he wound up as a stray."

Dicky looked up and barked when the young human got down on his elbows in front of him. "I guess that's what happens when nobody's paying attention, huh? You could have been killed out there and no one the wiser."

"That would indeed have been a tragedy, young sir."

Relinquishing the bone for a moment, Dicky sniffed the young human's face. He still had that faint sense of sadness to him, but for the moment, it did not seem overwhelming. Satisfied, Dicky went back to his snack.

He jerked a moment later when the human put an arm around him and laid his face against Dicky's neck. He could tell that the young human was a little nervous, so he held still and tried hard not to seem threatening, like he did with the young humans he'd used to entertain. Once it seemed the young human had gotten comfortable again, Dicky relaxed as well.

"Dicky the Wonderdog. That's kind of a mouthful, don't you think?"

"Would you like to rename him?"

"Maybe not completely. He already knows his name. How about just 'Dick' instead of Dicky?"

Dicky barked at the sound of his name. He didn't quite understand what was happening, but he liked how the young human looked at him and held him not too tight but just tight enough. He thought that he and this young one and the older one could be a family after all.

He licked the human's face, and the human laughed. It was a sound Dicky had never heard before, and he determined that he would like to hear it again, as often as possible. Wriggling in the young human's arms, he rolled to his back and grinned up at him, a dog grin with his tongue hanging loose and nose quivering with excitement.

Laughing again, the young human said, "Dick it is."

***

"Yes!"

Dicky raised his head from where he was wrestling his ball. Bruce was staring avidly at the large newspaper pages on the dining room table.

"Something interesting in the evening paper, sir?" Alfred asked, as he entered with a tray. Dick scampered close, careful not to trip the human. (He had been admonished enough times to get the message.) He didn't think he would get in trouble for jumping into Bruce's lap, however. Eagerly, he watched the approach of the piece of jerky beside the fragrantly scented cup of hot cocoa on the tray.

Bruce wrapped his arms around Dick, squeezing once. "They finally nabbed Zucco today, at an apartment in Uptown. He's been charged with a whole list of things, including extortion, murder, even animal cruelty."

"Even in Gotham, folks have a soft spot for animals. Not to mention, the clues you helped turn up were extremely useful for building the case against the miscreant."

"Say, maybe that's what I should do, be a detective. Or an FBI agent. What do you think?"

"How about we discuss your future career once you've reached high school? As for now, enjoy your cocoa."

"This isn't for me, I hope?" Bruce asked, picking up the jerky.

Dick wriggled excitedly until Bruce let him go. Immediately Dick jumped onto the table-- only to tumble backwards onto the floor at an outraged shout of, "Master Dick, if you please!"

Picking himself up, Dick shook himself, then gazed up and up at Alfred, who had his hands on his hips and a deep scowl on his face. Quickly, Dick rolled over and showed his belly. Getting a second whiff of the jerky, he whined, too, beseechingly.

"Stop behaving so shamelessly."

Bruce covered a laugh, which only encouraged Dick to wriggle and whine in a more exaggerated fashion.

Alfred sighed. "Very well. I forgive you."

Barking, Dick scrambled to his feet, then up to his hind feet, and hopped, turning in a circle until Alfred held up a hand for 'stop'.

"Sit, please. Gentlemen do not make a scene at the table."

Dick didn't always understand what the humans meant when they spoke to him, but he knew what to do when Alfred had food. He plopped his hindquarters to the floor and sat up straight and tall, his front paws placed precisely next to each other in front of him.

"All right, Alfred. Give it to him. He's being good, see?"

"Hm, yes. Quite the accomplished little actor we have here."

Dick waited for the jerky to be placed in front of him and then for Alfred's nod before he attacked it with gusto. He ignored Alfred's sigh, since Bruce was chortling in glee. When he was done, he hopped back up onto Bruce's lap and put his front paws on Bruce's chest so he could lick his face.

"You'll be going up to bed soon, I trust?" Alfred said in that tone that was a question but not.

Dick barked at the word, 'bed'. After a determined nocturnal campaign and Bruce's blatant cooperation, they had at last convinced Alfred it was all right for Dick to sleep curled up next to Bruce rather than in his dog bed. Dick enjoyed bouncing on the vast, fluffy surface, turning backflips and tumbling and making Bruce laugh, and afterwards, snuggling close enough to feel each other's warmth like he had used to with his parents.

"It's not that late yet."

"Crime fighters need to get a good night's sleep to keep their senses sharp. Isn't that right, Master Dick?"

Dick barked again.

"That's not fair! You can't get Dick to argue your point. He doesn't understand what's going on."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that's true at all." Alfred squatted down and stroked Dick's back, something he did only rarely. He look Dick right in the eye. "I think he understands the important things. Don't you, Master Dick?"

Dick turned to snuffle at Alfred's hand, then barked again.

He was warm and full and his two humans loved him. Dick was content.

END.

#brucedick #brudick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #genfic #kuonji

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

Text

[FIC] Strange Dreams by piratequeengin

Author: piratequeengin

Ratings/warnings: R or NC-17, I'm not quite sure. Warnings for non-consensual voyeurism and drug-use. (And wow. This summary now sounds way darker than I had intended it to.)

Summary: Nightwing is captured by Hugo Strange and is administered a hallucinogen that makes him reveal some very intriguing secrets to the good Doctor.

Word Count: ~7000

Note: Accompanying art by hill-hill-hill, which can also be found under the cut below!

[higher res here]

--------------------

It didn’t matter how many times Dick told himself that he wouldn’t be at Bruce’s beck and call. The fact of the matter was that however many years had passed, he had been first and foremost a Robin and he couldn’t ignore Bruce’s call. It was like it was in his blood or something. If Bruce needed him the he would be there, and damn anything else.

This was one of those times. Bruce was out of town on a JLA mission but had heard rumours from various sources that Hugo Strange was back in Gotham and working up towards something big, something called Operation Trojan. That’s how Dick ended up back in Gotham, trawling some god forsaken industrial estate by the docks, scoping out the area and looking for clues as to what Strange might be up to.

So far he’d found fuck all.

“Batman – the compound is all clear. We both know Strange is capable of meticulously covering his tracks and hiding his base, but this feels off. It’s too quiet.”

“Could be a trap. Stay vigilant, Nightwing.”

“Roger that.”

Of course, there was also the possibility that the intel they had received had simply been wrong. But being in this particular line of work meant that you came to rely on your instincts a lot and Dick’s instincts were telling him that there was something not quite right about this whole thing.

Just as he was about to leave a cargo truck drove onto the industrial estate.

Dick hesitated, but only for a moment. This was more like it. Some sign of life, a lead that Dick could investigate. Just knowing that there was some sort of activity taking place on this industrial estate made Dick feel a lot more relaxed about the whole mission.

“A shipment’s just arrived – I’m going in to take a closer look.”

“Fine. Keep me posted on any developments.”

Cutting swiftly through the shadows, Dick tracked the cargo truck straight to a large warehouse at the very edge of the estate, closest to the docks. There were three security guards waiting, no more but Dick didn’t want to push his luck. He couldn’t be sure of what other security measures were in place, and although he could only see three security personnel, he had no doubt there were more crawling all over the estate, ready to appear at the first sign of trouble.

He’d have to make do with the distance – good thing Bruce’s gear was always made from the latest tech that Wayne Enterprises had to offer. From his perch, Dick started taking photos of the crates that were being unloaded from the truck. Cadmus Labs. Was that who Strange was working with? It was a bad sign if it was. Dick was about to make a note to further investigate any contact Hugo Strange might have had with Lex Luthor when he heard the tiniest of clicks.

Suddenly Dick found himself surrounded by smoke. Too late – he’d inhaled a lungful before he could’ve held his breath or reached for his breathalyzer. Apparently that was more than enough. Within seconds Dick found his vision blurring as his head and limbs began to feel heavy.

The last thing he could remember before he went under was the sound of someone saying, “It looks we caught a little bat with our trap.”

***

Dick flittered in and out of dreams and nightmares for what felt like days – so long he couldn’t always quite tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. Some of them felt very real. Dreams of nights spent patrolling with Damian, of days spent as a beat-cop in Blüdhaven and of brief afternoons spent pottering about with Alfred in the kitchen. Dreams of petty fights and eventual make-ups with Bruce. All of them so like his real life that he sometimes believed he was there. With them. His family.

Other dreams were more insidious. Almost-truths. Almost-truths reflecting his deepest desires; his darkest fears. In some, he could hear Bruce snarl words that cut him open and laid him bare. You’re a failure Dick. I should’ve never taken you in. Their lives are on your head. Turn in your cape and get out of my sight. In his very worst nightmares, his new family was dead. His fault. Always all his fault.

In others, Bruce said things Dick had always longed to hear. I’m so proud of you Dick, I couldn’t have wished for a better partner. Not that he’d never said such things before; but such admissions were so rare Dick sometimes wondered if he’d imagined them. And there were more. Dreams in which Bruce confided in him, trusted him with his plans and his fears and his thoughts rather than relying on Dick’s self-taught Bruce-reading skills. Dreams in which he said I love you, I’m sorry and please forgive me. Sometimes those ‘I love yous’ took on a distinctively non-paternal tone, whispered harshly between heated kisses, their bodies pressed close as they grappled with one another – in Dick’s dreams they made love like they fought and Dick couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was something wrong with him for not wanting it any other way. All of his dreams tormented him, but these were the ones he was most ashamed of, the ones Bruce could never ever know about. Waking up from one of these dreams was the worst, because these were the dreams that gave Hugo Strange another weapon in his arsenal. Another useful little tid-bit of information through which Strange could attack Bruce, could attack his family. Dick wasn’t exactly sure how, but he had no doubt Strange would use all of these dark fears and closely-held wishes to bring down the Batman. And Dick couldn’t allow that.

He had to escape. But wandering as he did between dreams, memory and reality, he found it hard to focus on the problem at hand. Of course the drugs didn’t help. Not only did they seem to induce a feverish state of dreaming and hallucination, they also seemed to bring out the worst of his anxieties and insecurities. Whenever he was sober enough to recall where he was and what he needed to do, only one thought seemed to come.

Batman would have figured it out by now.

Strange wasn’t always there, observing him. Sometimes he was left alone to his own devices. These were the times when he tried his hardest to concentrate and find a way out. He’d deduced that the padded cell he was being held in was underground. An orderly came to feed him twice a day (administering the drug in the process). Showers took place once a day and were supervised by two orderlies. One time he’d knocked out both orderlies – not in the hopes of escaping so much as in the hopes of having a few minutes to map out the compound and count the number of guards in Strange’s employ. From there it would be easier to plan a proper escape – or it would have been, if they hadn’t doubled Dick’s drug intake.

As a result Dick never got very far before the hallucinations came, and the few times he was able to maintain some semblance of sobriety was when Strange was there watching him. It seemed that unless there was someone real to anchor him in the real world, he was completely lost-- cast adrift in a sea of memories and fantasies with no compass to lead him back.

There was something important he had to do. Something to do with Bruce. He had to…

Memories of Bruce half undressed after patrol came completely unbidden. God, he’d forgotten how completely awkward the whole thing had become after he turned fifteen or so. Holy embarrassing boners, Batman. The tiny shorts hadn’t helped much either. Dick remembered way too many nights spent rushing to the showers after patrol before Bruce could notice something was up. Of course, those half-glimpses at Bruce’s scarred torso had been provided for some pretty intense wank fodder for years to come. In those fantasies Bruce always caught up with him in the showers before he could finish getting off. Dick would be nervous, shivering with anticipation and Bruce would push him back against the wall and he’d be naked and larger than life and Dick would barely be able to breathe but Bruce would be there, murmuring things warmly and wetly against his ear, reassuring him and calming him down before ordering him to get on his knees. And Dick would do it because hearing Bruce give orders sent a jolt of arousal straight through his spine, spoke to something completely primal in him and he couldn’t submit fast enough and he wanted to taste him and take him in his mouth and he’d say…

“Pleasant dreams?”

That wasn’t what he would say. That wasn’t –

“Bruce…?”

The voice that answered him killed his erection faster than a cold shower.

“I’m afraid not,” said Hugo Strange.

Dick sat up with a jolt as he realised he’d been palming the erection in his trousers that entire time. And Strange had seen him. Masturbating.

Dick thought he might throw up.

“Like watching, do you?” he said, but the snide tone fell flat and he was too sickened by the situation to truly carry off an unbothered appearance. Though he had his back towards Strange he could feel the man’s eyes on him, making his flesh creep. He thought of all the dreams of Bruce he’d had and wondered how many Strange had been present for. He knew knowing the answer wouldn’t help, but couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“How…how often have you seen me do that?”

If Strange had noted Dick’s discomfort he made no sign of it.

“You’re a man in his mid-twenties. I’d say you masturbate an entirely average amount of times per day. It’s all rather tedious really, I must say I am far more interested by the things you say than what you do. It’s all incredibly telling. Fascinating stuff.”

“Fuck you.”

“So it is true, what I deduced about you,” continued Strange as if Dick hadn’t said anything at all, “not that I had any doubt on the matter – I am after all an expert in my field if I may so humbly say so, and you’re an open book. Child’s play compared to your mentor. Still, it is gratifying to have ones theories confirmed. What do you suspect his dreams look like, Mr. Grayson?”

That was the other thing. Another failure upon his head. By allowing himself to be captured and imprisoned by Hugo Strange, he’d revealed his identity – and by proxy, everyone else’s – to a very dangerous man. True, Hugo Strange had had his suspicions about Bruce Wayne for the longest time, but now he had concrete proof.

Dick stayed silent for a moment, his face flushing at the memories of his latest dreams. He wasn’t sure what was worse, being forced to re-hash his own fantasies with Strange or being psychologically poked and prodded with the phantom of Bruce Wayne.

“He doesn’t have dreams, just nightmares,” Dick answered finally. It wasn’t quite the truth, but if Bruce had any dreams at all he didn’t share them with Dick. Dick knew about the nightmares though. After all, they had nightmares in common.

“Oh no, I’m certain the Bat has dreams too. I’d be quite curious to have him in my chamber – you’re a poor substitute, but unfortunately you’re also all I have to work with. I find, though, that I’m still learning lots of marvellous new things regardless. Isn’t that grand? Now tell me, what do you think your mentor desires? What are his deepest hopes and dreams?”

Unable to look the man in the eye, Dick compromised by looking directly past Strange’s left shoulder. He felt like if he could only just block out Strange’s voice he’d be able to concentrate on escape, but he couldn’t. Even as he was trying to observe the room and see if Strange had let something slip, his eyes kept returning to Strange’s fingers steadily drumming against his clipboard. He knew there were cameras recording his every move, but seeing Strange taking down notes made the feeling of being under observation more real somehow, more unnerving. The thought of his torment being recorded with clinical detachment made him feel ill.

“As you know my colleague Dr. Crane is particularly fascinated by fears and phobias – in fact, he helped me concoct that delightful drug you’ve been administered, but I fear his focus is somewhat limited. Destroying an enemy through his fears is intuitive of course, but what about exploiting an enemy’s desires? Destroying them through what they yearn for the most?”

“Fears, desires…what’s the difference? People fear losing what they love most.”

Dick hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He wasn’t sure why he did it. Maybe the days of isolation were finally getting to him and talking to Strange was probably better for his mental health than talking to the phantoms in his head. Besides, he meant what he’d said. For Dick at least his fears and desires were merely two sides of the same coin. To speak about them as if they were two completely different things confused him, but then, Dick had hardly what you would call a normal childhood.

Hugo Strange smiled at that. Despite his constant protestations that he’d much rather be picking at Bruce’s brains it was quite clear that he was enjoying this just as well. Dick thought maybe the lady doth protest too much.

“You’re quite right of course. Certainly your fears and desires are very closely linked, aren’t they? Now tell me, what do you think your mentor would say if he knew the true nature of your feelings for him?”

Dick snorted.

“If you think he’d say anything at all then you don’t know him as well as you think.”

“Mmm, not a man of many words, is he? Quite the opposite of you in fact, you’re positively gregarious. How difficult was it, growing up with the Batman? He’s quite a domineering personality, isn’t he? Is that why you dream of submitting to him? It’s quite understandable really, such formative years…all spent taking orders from him. Were you afraid of him?”

Dick frowned at the question. No, not afraid. Never afraid. He had been just twelve years old then, back when he had first met Bruce and he hadn’t been afraid of him at all. Bruce hadn��t scared him, Bruce had been…kind. He’d understood.

The memories of those early days brought a warm rush of feeling that threatened to engulf him and Dick found to his astonishment that there were tears running down his face. Some distant part of him knew that the drugs were messing with his head, but he couldn’t fight it. Suddenly he was twelve-years old again and he was watching his parents fly towards their death and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“S-someone help. Tony Zucco was here – I saw him. He did something to the ropes, please I know he did please somebody help…”

He was vaguely aware that Strange was trying to bring his attention back to him, but Dick was too far gone into his memories to be brought back. He was breathing too fast and all he could see were his parent’s mangled bodies on the sand.

Where was Batman? Why wasn't he here? Why didn’t he save them? He was always there, saving people all the time everywhere from out of nowhere like a ghost why wasn’t he there the one time Dick needed him, oh god why wasn’t he there what was he going to do now he had nobody left…

Dick heard a crash. Somewhere out there someone was getting the thrashing of their life, but Dick couldn't focus. He could still see the way his parents laid spread-eagled on the floor, strange and small like broken dolls.

Suddenly someone grabbed him by the shoulders. The ringing in his ears was too loud and he didn't even realise that someone was shouting in his face, had been for awhile.

“Dick! Dick, snap out of it!”

It was Batman. Batman was talking to him and shaking his shoulders and all Dick felt was impotent rage rise up from out of his anguish.

“You! Why weren’t you there? Why didn’t you save them? You could have saved them!”

The arms were around him now, drawing him in closer until Dick found himself burying his face in Batman’s chest, still sobbing but there was something familiar about this. Something soothing and reassuring and Dick felt instantly calmed.

“You’re ok, I’ve got you now.” The voice was deep and kind of gravelly. Dick thought maybe he should be scared but he wasn’t. He didn’t know how, but he knew the Batman wouldn’t hurt him. He was here to help, regardless of what the cops said. Batman would help him, he was sure of it.

“I’m sorry Dick.”

Sorry. For some reason that clicked something in Dick’s mind and he was once again set off into panic mode. Sorry. He was desperately sorry about something; something terrible was all his fault and he had to warn Bruce…

Bruce. Strange. It was all rushing back now.

“Bruce – Bruce I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Shh, stop I’ve got you now.”

“Strange knows. Hugo Strange knows who we all are and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’ll be ok”

Dick knew he was lying, but for some reason Bruce’s voice always managed to convey such certainty and confidence that Dick found himself half-believing it was true. It would all be ok, somehow.

***

When Dick woke up, he found himself in his old bedroom at Wayne Manor. It was a bit jarring – Dick knew Bruce had left it in case Dick ever needed to come back home; but seeing everything exactly as it was when he had left it at seventeen was a strange and disorientating experience.

Christ, it even smelled like the cologne Dick used to use. He winced as he sat up. Oh god, his head. There was a dull, low-level throbbing in his temples, but other than that he was surprisingly not in as bad a state as he had expected to find himself in.

Bruce was there, sitting by his bedside. Dick didn’t know why that should surprise him as much as he did. He wondered how long he had been sitting there, and the thought that Bruce had held vigil over his bed while he was out cold gave him a warm feeling low in his belly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad all things considered…how long was I out for?”

“Ten hours. But you should probably stay and rest some more considering your ordeal.”

Something was wrong. There clearly wasn’t anything physically the matter with him but Bruce was as grim as ever.

“So what’s wrong?”

Bruce seemed to watch Dick for a moment. “It’s the drug. It’s not one I’m familiar with, though I’ve been running tests on it all night in the hopes of producing an antidote. You were hallucinating, and I’m not sure what secondary effects the drug might be having. You don’t seem to be displaying any symptoms currently, but I think we should keep you under observation for a couple of days to be sure.”

So that was it. Dick still potentially had traces of the drug in his system, he was probably compromised. Swallowing nervously, Dick gradually worked up the nerve to ask, “Did I say anything? While I was hallucinating?”

Bruce frowned.

“Nothing unusual. Why?”

Dick hesitated.

“Strange kept recordings of me. I don’t know what I might have said, but he seemed to find me hallucinating interesting enough to keep video recordings and notes.”

“I know. I’ve transferred them all onto the computer downstairs.”

Dick froze.

“Oh?”

“I need to know what you might’ve revealed to Strange in your intoxicated state. He now knows Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Which means he knows who the rest of us are. I have to know anything else he might now be aware of.”

The knot in the pit of Dick’s stomach tightened as bits and pieces of his days in captivity floated back into his memory. Hugo Strange had unmasked him. He knew who they were.

All his fault.

“I’m sorry Bruce.” There was nothing else he could say, and yet it was completely inadequate. Sorry. As if ‘sorry’ could keep them safe now that one of their most dangerous enemies knew who they were.

Bruce didn’t attempt to comfort him with empty platitudes. He merely gave Dick’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before saying, “Get some rest.”

Then he left.

***

There were times when Dick thanked god that Bruce kept to a schedule like clock-work. This was one of those times. Despite the guilt he felt at what he was about to do, Dick still found himself making his way towards the cave in the early hours of morning. Objectively, he knew it was wrong – Bruce was right to keep them, but somehow he couldn’t bear it. There was too much there, none of which Bruce should ever have to see. It made Dick’s skin crawl just to think about it. And Hugo Strange had seen it all. Had seen him at his most vulnerable; naked and wanting. Had seen him completely out of his mind and delusional and desperately yearning for something that could never ever happen.

Bruce couldn’t see any of it.

Dick sat at the computer desk, taking in a few deep breaths. It wasn’t exactly like destroying evidence. He could watch them. He could see for himself what he might have revealed during his imprisonment and then report it to Batman. No one else would have to see this footage. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Hugo Strange had witnessed it all, there was no need for Bruce or Tim or anyone to see it too.

It was as he was starting the computer that Dick heard a voice that made him jump out of his skin.

“I thought you might try to erase the files.”

Bruce. Here. He knew. The tension in Dick’s body ratcheted up several notches as he realised what that meant.

“So you’ve watched them.” Dick said, almost casually. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack. Too many thoughts were going through his head, snippets of conversations with Strange that Bruce must’ve seen, flashes of things he’d said and done and he found that his heart was beating way too fast considering he was still sitting down.

“I had to know what you might’ve revealed to Hugo Strange in your drugged state.”

“So you said.” Dick couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice this time. Of course Bruce had already watched the videos. He’d probably already watched them before Dick had even woken up. Never mind asking him whether that would be ok or not, it wasn’t like those tapes were a huge violation of his privacy or something.

“I’m sorry.”

That startled Dick. Bruce never apologised for doing something that served their mission, no matter how invasive or fucked up it was. Despite the bitterness he still felt, Dick found himself relenting as he always did where Bruce was involved. Sighing, he said “I know why you did it – I’m still allowed to feel resentful that you saw something that should’ve been private.”

For a moment everything was silent and Dick thought maybe the conversation would end there. Maybe he wouldn’t bring up... the rest of it.

That had been too much to hope for.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of Dick.”

Dick froze. Oh god, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t have this conversation. Everything was fine before when everyone had been happily ignorant; he didn’t think he could bear to have Bruce actually spell out his disinterest in cold hard words…

Only the words that Dick heard weren’t words of disinterest.

“For what it’s worth, you should know that your feelings are…reciprocated.”

Wait – what? The blood in his ears was pounding like a drum, and Dick almost thought he’d heard wrong for a moment. He shuddered and everything felt hot and cold all over. His feelings were reciprocated? What the fuck did that even mean?

Standing up Dick strode right up to where Bruce was standing dressed in full Bat-regalia, his eyes completely inscrutable. No way was Dick going to let go of that one easily – he could barely keep his heart still and the thought that it might mean what he thought it did.

“What feelings Bruce? My feelings of inadequacy? My concern for your well-being?”

Bruce’s lips thinned into a grim line.

“You know.”

They were entering dangerous territory now, but Dick couldn’t stop. Bruce had watched the footage and seen him laid bare and now it was his turn to say what he goddamn felt without hiding behind cryptic words.

“Say it.”

Bruce hesitated, and for one heart-stopping moment Dick thought he’d pushed it too far and had lost him, but then he spoke.

“You’re… a very handsome man, Dick.”

That was as much of an admission as Dick was going to get. Suddenly it seemed very difficult to breathe.

For a moment everything in the bat-cave was still as Dick took the time to process what he’d just heard. Bruce wanted him. That’s what he’d meant, wasn’t it? Bruce wanted him.

Dick didn’t know what to say, he only knew that he had to hear those words again – that the words might as well not mean anything if Bruce was hiding behind the cowl, and in an impulsive gesture that took them both by surprise, Dick pushed the cowl back revealing Bruce’s face.

“Say it again.”

“No,” said Bruce, a bit too fast and slightly distressed. “I should never have said it at all but…I thought you ought to know. It seemed only…fair.”

“Fair?” he laughed bitterly, “I’d hardly call that fair. You’ve seen footage of me jerking off and –” here Dick choked slightly, “calling out your name. Bruce, you’ve barely admitted to anything at all. It’s hardly fair.”

Before Dick could continue, Bruce stopped him.

“In any case, it doesn’t matter,” he said as he started to turn away, “nothing can happen.”

Dick felt a lead ball drop to the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t quite keep the anguish out of his voice when he asked, “Why not?”

“I’m your mentor Dick. I raised you. It’d just be…” Dick watched as Bruce struggled to find the right word, one that wouldn’t hurt so much.

He failed. “It’d just be wrong.”

Though he’d known it was coming, Dick still felt winded by the answer – like he’d been hit with it. Truth was he couldn’t argue with that. It’d be fucked up as all hell, but then what about their life wasn’t at this point? Didn’t they deserve all the snatches of happiness they could get?

“What happened to being partners? Equals?”

“I hate it when you’re like this.”

“What?”

“Deliberately obtuse,” Bruce said, “of course you’re my partner and my equal. You’ve proved yourself a long time ago, I don’t need to tell you that. It doesn’t change the fact that for me to approach you in that way would be… a gross abuse of trust.”

“It’s not if I want you to. Bruce, I’m not Robin anymore. I haven’t been Robin for a long time.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” And there it was again, that strain of torment and self-loathing in Bruce’s voice that made Dick’s heart ache to hear it.

He approached Bruce cautiously until they were so close they were almost touching and placed a hand gently against Bruce’s chest. Bruce stiffened beneath his fingers instantly.

“But I can.”

“What?”

“Bruce…”

“Dick, don’t.”

And for the first time Dick realised that Bruce was scared. That this was just as terrifying for him as it was for Dick.

“Bruce…” Dick hesitated, “if you don’t want me to I won’t. Just…say the word and I’ll go.”

The silence stretched on for several agonizing seconds and just as Dick was about to withdraw his hand he felt Bruce gently grab him by the wrist, forcing him to keep it there.

“You can.”

Dick exhaled a slow sigh of relief, barely able to believe that this was happening and instantly buried his face in Bruce’s expansive chest as he’d done so many times in his dreams. He smelled like Gotham, like sweat and exhaust smoke and Kevlar and Dick thought he’d never smelled anything so good and so familiar and so right in his life.

His arms reached up around Bruce’s neck so that he could tangle his fingers in Bruce’s cowl-matted hair. Bruce looked like he was having trouble breathing himself. Licking his lips, Dick went in for the kill. It started with just the barest brush of lips, Dick could barely believe that he’d ever be allowed this close, that he’d ever be allowed to do this and he gave the smallest moan when he leaned forward to deepen the kiss. Bruce gasped slightly in surprise then hesitantly kissed back, but Dick could feel that he was still retraining himself, that he was still afraid.

So Dick did what he knew best. He’d been Robin after all, a former boy-wonder and if he couldn’t make Bruce crack a smile no one could.

“Come on old man,” he murmured against Bruce’s lips, “at this rate I’m going to die of old age before you ever even touch me.”

Bruce made a snort of disbelief.

“You’re…making fun of me at a time like this?”

“I’d say there’s no better time,” Dick teased. Leaning in closer he said in a more serious tone, “Relax Bruce, it’s just me. I’ve got you, ok? We’re a team. Everything will be ok.”

Dick was lying through his teeth but he so desperately needed this and so desperately needed to believe that it was true and that everything would be ok. This was going to change everything but Dick still had to believe that as far as their bond and their trust went, nothing would ever change.

Sensing that it was going to take a bit more work to get Bruce to loosen up, he hooked his foot behind Bruce’s ankles and pushed him over, tumbling down right alongside him.

“Dick! What –?”

“What happened to constant vigilance?” Dick playfully pinned Bruce’s hands above his head, “A kitty-cat could best you right about now.”

“Is that so?” there a hint of a smirk on Bruce’s lips, the first one all evening, “good thing you’re not a cat.” He moved so fast that in the next instant it was Dick who found himself pinned beneath Bruce’s impressive mass. Instantly Dick retaliated by wrapping his long acrobat legs around Bruce’s waist; then shoved Bruce onto his back. This was familiar territory – something they both knew and both loved. Sparring, training, wrestling – this was something they’d both done a million times before. Play-fighting was always the best and this – this right here right now was the best thing ever. Dick could feel Bruce smiling against his skin as he struggled not to laugh. Very quickly the wrestling took on a distinctly more sensual air, and Dick luxuriated in the feeling of having Bruce’s warm body rubbing against his own. He took playful nips at exposed areas of Bruce’s skin before finally crushing his mouth against Bruce’s.

This time there was nothing holding them back. Bruce groaned into the kiss, pinning Dick down onto the floor as Dick’s hands ran up and down the Bruce’s sides. Oh god this was…better than anything Dick could have ever dreamt up. In his dreams Bruce was always passionate but this was completely different because this was completely real and dream-Bruce was never this eager or desperate, never this hungry for Dick and Dick thought even if this all went to hell it’d be worth it just to have been with Bruce like this and to have seen Bruce like this.

He couldn’t get Bruce out of his uniform fast enough. There was so much of Bruce’s body that Dick had longed to touch and explore, with his hands and his mouth and his tongue. He began by mouthing at Bruce’s neck and gradually made his way down towards Bruce’s chest, nipping gently at his collar bone.

Dick was about to move lower when Bruce stopped him with a gentle push on his shoulder.

“Let me…” he said and before Dick could ask what it was Bruce wanted he had Dick pushed flat-out on his back and began working off Dick’s clothes in earnest. The first touch of Bruce’s lips on his skin sent a jolt of heat through Dick’s body and each successive kiss and touch made warmth pool low in his belly and spread. This was really happening. Bruce was touching him. Dick fought to control himself but try as he might he couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. He was on the floor of the Bat-cave being undressed and thoroughly felt up by Bruce Wayne. Holy crap.

Suddenly Bruce stopped. “You have to tell me if I do anything…just – you must tell me if I’m hurting you in anyway, ok? Or if you’re uncomfortable. Don’t let me hurt you.”

Dick could feel his chest tighten as he brushed the hair out of Bruce’s eyes. “You won’t. I trust you.”

That made Bruce smile; a little sadly perhaps, like he wasn’t entirely sure he deserved Dick’s unswerving loyalty or unquestioning trust. Before Dick could reassure him that it was all ok, Bruce dove down and mouthed at Dick’s chest with renewed vigour, his large hands running over Dick’s body as if he was trying to memorise his form.

To have sex with Bruce Wayne was to be simultaneously worshipped and tormented all at once and Dick wasn’t sure how long he was going to last. There were times when Bruce got lost in the exploration of Dick’s body, like he didn’t believe he’d ever get the chance to feel him like this, to make him moan and feel good like this and that now that he could he was going to explore every inch of skin and extract every helpless murmur of pleasure from Dick that he could – in that very intense way Bruce had about doing things.

And then there were other times when Bruce seemed to take pleasure in playfully teasing Dick, nipping at his thighs or hip-bones and blatantly ignoring Dick’s straining erection even though Dick had his hands fisted desperately through Bruce’s hair, desperately murmuring half-whispered pleas and supplications for Bruce to get on with it already. Bruce smirked, enjoying Dick’s display too well to want to put an end to it.

When Bruce finally got around to taking Dick in his mouth it was pretty much all over pretty quickly. Embarrassingly quickly actually, but considering they’d just lived out a fantasy Dick had been having since he was fifteen he figured he was allowed to be a bit gauche. Besides, it was kind of worth it to see Bruce smile like he was really kind of proud of himself but wasn’t going to say anything. Dick kissed Bruce hard, too happy about the fact that they were here together and that this was really happening to be embarrassed for too long.

Besides, there were other fantasies that Dick had been dying to live out.

Pushing Bruce up onto his knees, Dick leaned down and made quick work of Bruce’s belt and fly.

“You don’t have to…” Bruce started, but Dick only smiled and shook his head.

“I want to.” Dick had to laugh slightly at the absurdity of the situation. He’d only been wanting to suck Bruce off for years and now he was down on all fours having to explain it to him.

“You have no idea how often I’ve thought about doing this. How much I’ve wanted to.”

That shut Bruce up pretty quickly. Dick was too considerate to make fun of the super-endearing flush on Bruce’s face. Instead he took Bruce into his mouth with both hands, wetly kissing the tip before running his tongue along the sensitive underside.

Bruce groaned, his hands tightening in Dick’s hair. Immediately he tried to get a grip on himself and almost apologetically cupped the side of Dick’s face with his large hand, thumb softly stroking over his cheekbone. It made Dick give a small hum of pleasure and he began sucking with renewed enthusiasm.

Though Bruce held out slightly better than Dick did, it was all over pretty quickly. Dick couldn’t blame him. They’d both wanted this for so long and now it was finally happening and it was all just too much – later, thought Dick, later they’d take their time and take it slow. He tried not to dwell too much on the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure whether there would be a later or not.

Dick wiped his lips with the back of his hand, but before he could say anything he was pushed back on the floor and being kissed very hard by Bruce.

“You’re amazing,” Bruce murmured into Dick’s skin. Dick had always wanted to hear Bruce say those words – though he couldn’t say he imagined he’d ever hear them in this context. He couldn’t stop smiling like a fool. That was…amazing. Amazing was definitely the right word for it.

Shifting slightly, Bruce said “I’m sorry…about earlier.”

Dick felt his spirits drop. Oh. That. The tapes.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said, but Bruce had other plans.

“I didn’t know what I would find. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

That made Dick smile somewhat cynically.

“World’s greatest detective, huh?” he joked. Bruce was silent for a moment and Dick sense he was going to say something more, but that he was hesitant – that he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be saying anything at all.

“You were sixteen…I’d noticed that you’d taken a bit of a shine to me. As more than just a mentor, I mean. I thought it was just a phase.”

Oh. He’d known. All this time. Of course he’d known; he was the world’s greatest detective.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew.”

Bruce smiled a little.

“You didn’t really get much chance to spend time with people your own age and what with me being your mentor…I could see how it could’ve developed. I thought it was a phase. Then you met Kory and you were with Babs – I thought you were over it.”

Dick sighed, uncertain of how to phrase this. Bruce wasn’t wrong – as Robin he’d had the biggest hero-worship-y crush on the man imaginable. How could he not? He was strong, he was handsome, he was the smartest person Dick had ever met and he was Dick’s actual real-life hero. But it became more than that. As Nightwing – and as an adult – he saw Bruce for what he was: a very flawed, but very brave and incredibly compassionate man who couldn’t communicate affection to save his life. A man with whom he’d been through hell with, and back. A man that knew Dick better than sometimes Dick even knew himself. His mentor. His partner.

Dick didn’t even know what to say.

“Bruce, you’re the best person I know…I trust you with my life. It was never just a phase.”

Bruce smiled a little ruefully as he ran his hands down Dick’s sides.

“You really could do better, you know.”

“Bruce – that’s ridiculous, I – I don’t want anyone better, I love you so much.”

Oh crap, he hadn’t meant to say it quite like that. That had been way too intense. In an attempt to save the situation Dick tried to make a joke of it, but as he turned to look at Bruce he was stunned into silence by just how moved he looked. Like he didn’t quite believe Dick was real and that Dick was there with him.

Before Dick could say anything else Bruce whispered, “I love you too.”

It made Dick swallow a little thickly and kiss Bruce’s forehead as he stroked Bruce’s sweat-matted hair. He liked the weight of Bruce’s head on his chest and he thought it was probably a good thing that Bruce couldn’t see his face right then. He’d always been an open-book emotionally but he wasn’t sure he was ready for Bruce to know the depth and intensity of his feelings for him, of just how much he’d give up to be able to be like this with him all the time and to hear him say those words again.

They stayed like that for a while, content to lie in each other’s arms and quietly explore each other’s scars with the tips of their fingers, occasionally also with their lips.

It was Dick who finally brought their comfortable silence to an end.

“We should probably move before Tim or Damian finds us.”

Bruce grunted in agreement but didn’t move.

After awhile he said, “They won’t be down here for another couple of hours. We can stay here a little bit longer.”

Dick smiled a little at that. He could hear the unspoken request for what it was, and after all, Dick had never been one to refuse Bruce anything. This was going to be an absolute train-wreck of a disaster, Dick could tell. Dick had always been in too deep where Bruce was concerned anyway – in that respect nothing had changed, but now Dick had somehow managed to drag Bruce down with him and he could only hope they didn’t both end up drowning in the tidal wave of emotions and complications that was headed their way.

“What are we going to do about Strange?” Dick asked.

Bruce brooded for a moment before answering.

“He’s in solitary confinement at Arkham right now. I’ll get in touch with J’onn and see if we can’t pay him a visit.”

Dick nodded and contented himself with spending the next few hours in Bruce’s arms. There was no guarantee on this lasting, he knew that. Bruce would have a crisis at some point and probably push him away the way he always did when he got too close, but right there right then? That was all Dick had for sure and he wasn’t planning on letting it go for the world.

#brucedick #brudick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #giniethepiratequeen #hill hill hill

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

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[FIC] Bat-Social-Worker Troubles by Lillybe-Forest

Title: Bat-Social-Worker Troubles

Author: Lillybe-Forest

Word Count: 15,900

Rating/warnings: Teens

Summary: It was only a matter of time before Bruce got a call from Damian's new principal expressing concern. What he hadn't expected was for a visit from a social worker.

Note: Accompanying art by st00pz, which can also be found under the cut below!

[full res here]

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The halls always seemed very long in any school that Bruce Wayne entered, especially the one towards the principal’s office. It may be from his own time in Gotham private schools that he felt they were never-ending. They had never gotten smaller no matter how tall or important he became. Now it felt interminable. It wasn’t the first time he had been called to this office; he had rarely been able to turn up though, sending Alfred in his stead. The schools never liked that. This time he had been called up and practically threatened to attend the meeting himself, the woman on the other end of the phone wouldn’t let him go until he promised to come in person. It was rare that Bruce was afraid of someone but the secretary actually frightened him a little. He would never hear the end of it if any of the boys found out about that.

Finally he reached a door proclaiming itself the principal’s office, knocking he entered when bid. Inside was the secretary, a very harassed looking woman with a tight ponytail, sitting behind a desk glaring at something. Turning, Bruce was shocked to see both Dick and Damian sitting in the chairs before the door to where the principal actually was. Dick was hunched over Damian whispering to him, the boy was ignoring Dick, staring at his MP3 player instead. No, he wasn’t being ignored, every so often Damian would nod or make his ‘tt’ sound that he was so fond of.

“Mr Wayne,” the secretary said, Bruce went over to the desk, “please take a seat.”

Bruce frowned. “Why was I called here?” he asked. “Is Damian in trouble? Why is Dick here?”

The secretary raised an eyebrow at him, her lips going tight. “Please take a seat,” she repeated.

Bruce was about to protest when he heard someone get up from behind him. He was unsurprised to find Dick pulling on his arm a second later. “Come sit down,” the acrobat prompted. Bruce scowled at the woman before allowing himself to be taken over to the chairs, sitting on the other side of his son.

“What is going on?” he asked Dick.

His young lover smiled at him with a shrug. “I don’t know, I was called up and told to come here.”

“Weren’t you going to spend the day with Barbara?”

Dick nodded. “Yeah. She was glad to see the back of me; apparently she was fed up with the waiter only paying attention to me.” Damian grunted something but Bruce didn’t care to catch it.

“Damian,” Bruce said, drawing his son’s attention from his device, “did you start a fight again?”

Why he allowed Dick to convince him to send Damian to school he would never know. The moment he agreed that Damian needed more social interaction with people his own age he was caught into giving Dick whatever he wanted no matter how much he knew it wouldn’t work out. Still, he had hoped that Damian would be able to get on at school. So far there had been two complaints of fighting and six about his general attitude towards everyone in the building. It was only through using his name and generous donations to the school that Damian hadn’t been expelled yet. One more fight would send it over the edge, as per the warnings he had gotten. That didn’t explain why they had called Dick in but who knew how schools worked really.

Damian scowled. “No, Father, I have not been fighting. I have decided that they are below my notice.” He looked over at Dick for a split-second. “It is not worth my time and I will not satisfy the plebeians here by reacting to them.”

Dick smiled at that. Bruce got the feeling that he had been the one to get Damian to think that way. Unsurprising.

“Then why are we here?”

“Upon my request,” a deep voice said.

Just beyond them was a large woman in a tight black skirt-suit standing in the doorway. Bruce hadn’t heard the door open. Impressive. Bruce stood up extending his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a charming smile, “I’m Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.”

The woman sniffed at him but accepted his hand. “Principal Stern.”

A description or a name? Perhaps both.

Dick rose from his seat also extending his hand. “Dick Grayson,” he introduced with his own handsome grin, “Damian’s big brother.” His hand was taken as well.

“I have heard that you may be more than that,” the woman’s eyes narrowed at him.

Dick looked taken aback for a moment, eyes darting to Bruce for a second before looking over at Damian who was watching them intensely.

“Shall we?” Principal Stern opened her door and swept her arm inside. “Damian Wayne, you can stay out here until you are called for.”

Damian was ready to protest before Dick rubbed his hair, smiling at him. “See you soon, Little D,” he said warmly. Bruce was still amazed how his son reacted to Dick, yes he grumbled and was far from calm but it all lessened.

Upon entering the office Bruce surveyed the area. It was very neat and tidy, perfectly proper. Nothing out of place. There was one plant that was kept well away from the desk and any paperwork on it, all of which was stacked to one side, not a piece out of place.

“Take a seat.”

Bruce was already getting tired of hearing that. Though this time it was said without any politeness. He sat down, elbows on the armrest, hands interlacing in front of him as he watched her. Comparatively Dick basically flopped into the chair, being very graceful and handsome whilst doing so.

Principal Stern walked around her desk, picking up a file before sitting primly in her chair. “Mr Wayne,” she started, “I have allowed a lot of things to slide because of your contribution to the school but I believe that this has gotten out of hand.”

That was not a good start.

“The previous principals may have overlooked your other children’s behaviour because of who you are. I am here to stop this. Your son has done nothing but display anti-social behaviour since he came here. We have been trying to fix this, as per your request. From what I have been led to believe the majority of his problems have been caused by neglect from his mother and how he has been moved around. At first I wanted to think that was the main cause but now I am less inclined to think so. Ample time has passed and still this behaviour persists. If that were all I would be welcome to continue trying for another month but new information has come to light.”

She pulled out a few sheets of paper stapled together; placing it on the desk she slid it to towards Bruce who picked it up. The paper was entitled. ‘My Family.’

“Your son’s class was asked to fill this out.”

Bruce flicked through the sheets, there were headers for different family members with space to fill in the sections, Damian’s neat writing was underneath. At first he didn’t read what was written, just the typed sections.

“There are a lot of empty spaces,” Bruce commented.

The principal nodded. “We are aware of the shift in family bonds so we make sure to include everything. You will find areas for step-parents, half-siblings and even adoptive family members.”

Dick smiled at that, leaning over to see the sheets, Bruce tilted them towards his partner.

“If you would read what your son has written I am sure you will see where some issues in his home life lie.”

That did not inspire confidence. Bruce read the front page over. Damian had written about him, how he was the head of a company and about his various achievements. That was fine. Even the Mother section was reasonable, nothing in depth and relatively small. The area under siblings was empty. Turning to the next page he saw that Damian had actually written something under Adopted Siblings, talking about Dick and insulting Tim, Cassandra was mentioned briefly and deemed ‘acceptable’, then there were the words ‘Jason Todd – dead’ which made Bruce’s heart clench painfully.

“I don’t see a problem,” Bruce said, looking up at the woman. Dick reached over and took the papers, looking over the rest. “He didn’t put a lot of emotion into it but that should not be an issue. Nothing seems amiss with his home life from this.”

“I can see something that may be a problem,” Dick said softly.

Bruce turned to him and was presented with a sheet he hadn’t read. One box was filled in, ‘Step-Mother.’ Frowning, Bruce read it through.

Richard Grayson is Father’s sexual companion and has a tendency to act as a parent towards me as well as proclaiming himself my older brother. They are not wed but I have been informed that it is an unimportant detail as Grayson is adopted into the family. I have also been informed that he is the mother figure of the family. Therefore he is similar to a step-mother, especially as he fulfils Father’s sexual urges as a wife tends to.

Dick was staring at Bruce intently.

Taking a deep breath Bruce looked through the rest of the pages. Alfred was mentioned as a Grandfather along with Ra’s al Ghul. Through the whole paper there was only one thing that could be seen as a problem and unfortunately, from the way the principal’s eyebrow was raised, Bruce felt it very important.

“Damian is only eleven years old,” Principal Stern said, voice tight, “yet he is aware of your sexual behaviour. That alone shows a unique way of parenting which I do not agree with. However, more distressing than that is the fact that it is a involving one of his brother figures. It is glorifying a borderline incestuous relationship.”

“We are not blood related,” Bruce had to stop himself from scowling darkly at the woman. There was nothing wrong with his relationship with Dick and he did not like it being taken as something his son should not be around. “Frankly I do not see how this is any of your business.”

Principal Stern sat up straight. “A child’s mental wellbeing is my business.”

“He’s fine mentally,” Dick protested, “a little anti-social but he is getting better.”

A disgusted look was sent Dick’s way making Bruce tense, he did not appreciate how the woman was treating them.

“How is it that Damian is aware your relationship is sexual in nature?”

He was also getting tired of her talking about his sex life. “He is an intelligent boy, I am sure he figured it out somehow.”

The woman was not convinced. “Has he seen you two together in that way?”

Bruce’s face went red as did Dick’s.

“So,” Principal Stern hummed, “that would be a yes. Are you aware that a child should not be exposed to that kind of imagery?”

“It was an accident,” Dick said, trying to protest her ideas about them, “everyone was meant to be out for the day. He came back early.”

That apparently did not excuse them.

“Miss,” the Principal raised an eyebrow at that, “Mrs,” higher, “Ms Stern.” She was not impressed still. “You are correct that a child should not see their parents in that position, either parent, and I am not happy that he saw it but what he saw was not very explicit and we explained it him afterwards. Seeing one glimpse of my private life has not harmed him. You can ask him if you wish and he would agree.”

“I do not wish to find out how much you have brainwashed him into thinking that what he saw is acceptable,” Principal Stern said.

Dick stood up. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to your passive aggressive comments,” he said firmly. “Damian’s a good kid and he accepts us. You may believe that he isn’t able to handle us together but you arewrong. He understands more than you give him credit for and I do not have to sit here whilst you put him down. You don’t even know him.” He started for the door.

“I know enough, and I am also aware of your own anti-social behaviours at school.” The woman tapped a different folder. “In your folder it was recorded that you attacked eight upper year boys because they were insulting gypsies.”

“You have my folder?” Dick did not look impressed about that turn of events. “That was ages ago. Nothing in there is relevant now.” The principal raised an eyebrow at him.

“Principal Stern,” Bruce said, cutting off any further conversation between his lover and the woman, “what is it you wish to do about the matter at hand?”

Stern folded her hands together. “I am going to have Damian see the school psychologist,” she said, “and I am going to speak to Social Services in regards to your care of him. They will visit your house and decide if it is the right environment for Damian to be living in. This will, of course, also affect your other adoptions. I believe Timothy is now seventeen so I am unsure what will be done with him, though I expect if it is not a suitable home he will be removed from your care.”

Bruce’s hand fisted.

“Every member of your household will undergo a psychological examination. I expect it to be very enlightening, Mr Wayne.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Bruce said through gritted teeth.

Principal Stern nodded. “Mr Grayson, as you are already standing, why don’t you call Damian in.” It was not a question.

Dick went over to the door, opening it. “Dami,” he said softly, “can you come in, please?”

Bruce watched as Damian walked in, looking thoroughly unimpressed with having been left outside. After taking a few steps in he crossed his arms, frowning at them all. “What is it?”

The principal gave a sickeningly sweet smile, it did nothing but make Damian scowl. “Damian,” she said softly, “how are you at home? Do you feel cared for enough?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “How is anything I feel any of your business?”

That did not sit well with the principal. “Because it is my job to make sure that you are happy and well-adjusted. If you are not happy at home then something needs to be done about that.”

Damian raised one eyebrow at her. “I am fine.” He turned to Dick. “Can we go now?” Dick shook his head, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

Bruce stood, walking over to his lover and son. “Is that all, Ms Stern?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Principal Stern stood, taking the folder and going over to the filing cabinet. “Damian will have to attend the psychological evaluation today after school. Sometime in the next few days you will get a visit from a social worker. Be warned, Mr Wayne, if I am not pleased with the results I will make life very difficult for you.”

Bruce nodded. “Understood.”

“Damian,” the principal used an overly friendly tone, “please go back to class, then go to conference room C after your last lesson.”

Damian pulled away from Dick and stormed out of the room. Dick nodded to the woman then followed his brother. For a moment Bruce lingered before turning to the woman. “If you try to take my sons away from me I will do everything I can to get them back and have you excommunicated from this school.”

“You may have a lot of pull, Mr Wayne,” Principal Stern said, a small smile on her face, “but you have no authority when it comes to schools.”

“You’d be surprised,” Bruce said darkly. He nodded to the woman. “Until we meet again, Ms Stern.”

Striding out of the room he found Damian and Dick in the hallway. His lover was kneeling in front of Damian, hands on the boy’s shoulders as he whispered to him. Bruce came up to them just as Dick pulled Damian in for a hug.

“It’ll all be okay,” Dick said softly, “be good.”

Damian let himself be held, when Dick moved back the boy eyed him. “I know,” Damian said confidently, looking up at Bruce as well, “I am sure they will not go against Father.”

Bruce wished he was so sure. “We’ll fix this,” he spoke in a deep calming voice, more for Dick than anything else, “just be on your best behaviour from now on. Now go to class before they find one more thing to complain about.” With a parting nod Damian walked off.

This was going to be a trial, they didn’t have much to go on but if they really wanted they could find something. He wondered if he had done something to the principal to make her hate him. There were a lot of women who had a vendetta against him for various reasons; it would not be a leap to think she did as well. Maybe this was a sign for him to set things right with all of the people he had dated before.

Dick stood up and leant against his side, Bruce curled an arm around the acrobat’s slim waist. Then again, he didn’t want to open a can of worms which may backfire and hurt his family. Better to leave the women alone so he doesn’t harm his family any more. People can forget their problems when left to themselves. Hopefully there would be less revenge that way.

“It will be okay,” Bruce said, pressing his lips to the top of Dick’s head. How did Dick get his hair to smell so nice? It was amazing.

“Yeah,” Dick mumbled. He held onto the hand around his waist. “I know.”

They had to make sure things went well with the social worker. So long as everything appeared to be fine then there was nothing a spiteful principal could do.

“What do you think they’ll find when they psychoanalyse Damian?” Dick asked, his voice strained. Probably trying to lighten the mood.

“They’ll find an uncooperative eleven year old.”

Dick laughed.

Waiting for Damian to come home was excruciating. Not only because Bruce needed to find out how the examination went but he had an extremely wound up acrobat to deal with. Dick was being the most annoying he had ever had to deal with, at least in current memory; the boy had been very frustrating at times when younger. But that was beside the point. Bruce had to forcefully make Dick calm down. He pulled him onto the sofa, laying him against his chest, arms wrapped firmly around Dick’s chest and talking to him soothingly. Dick was lucky that Bruce loved him so much otherwise he would have been kicked out of the house when he began kicking his legs as he fidgeted on him.

“Calm down,” Bruce said for the hundredth time, “he’ll be okay.”

Dick pouted. “I’m more worried about the psychologist. What if Damian kills them and they figure out it is him? He’ll be taken away.”

Personally Bruce would be more concerned about the fact that Damian would do that to start off with than them finding out who it was who did it, but he could see Dick’s point. “He doesn’t kill anymore.” Dick frowned and opened his mouth. “You were the one who trained the violence out of him, Dick. He won’t hurt the psychologist.” With any luck.

More shifting on top of him, this was getting ridiculous. Dick isn’t even this active during sex. Then again, he doesn’t keep kneeing Bruce in the groin during sex either, so he prefers not to compare the two.

“If they take Damian from us then he won’t care about violence or excessive force or killing,” Dick said, looking up at him. “He’ll go crazy, I just know it. Then the League will find him. We can’t let them get to him, Bruce.”

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his lover’s hair. “Dick,” he said softly, “I told you. He will be okay. No matter what he will come back to us. You know that. I’m glad you love him so much but you need to stop worrying. Damian knows what to do. Trust in him.”

Dick buried his face in Bruce’s top. “It’ll be my fault. I told you to send him to school.”

“And I agreed. He didn’t even complain that much.” Bruce kissed the top of Dick’s head. “It was the right choice. He has been getting better.” Not enough to please the teachers but it was a lot better. He had even stopped trying to use excessive force on all but the worst criminals. An improvement if ever there was one. Only one criminal that Robin had taken down that month was in the hospital for more than three days. That was better than near the end of Jason’s time as Robin. Maybe Damian would eventually match up to Dick’s brilliance in the role. He looked down at Dick. Maybe, though it was unlikely. No one could be as magnificent as his first.

“What are you thinking about?”

Bruce forced his face into a blank expression and kissed Dick’s forehead. “Nothing.”

“You were smiling,” Dick pointed out.

“I was looking at you.”

Dick snorted and went back to fidgeting. “You’re ridiculous.”

Bruce shook his head and wrapped his arms tightly around Dick, trying to hold him in place. “Maybe,” he said, “but you need to stop moving before I throw you off the couch.”

With a pout Dick rested against Bruce.

“What if-”

Bruce cut off whatever Dick was going to say by pulling his lover’s face upwards and placing a firm kiss over his mouth. It would be so much better if Dick stopped thinking and talking right then. His agitation was not helping Bruce’s own inner turmoil and as much as he loved Dick he really wished he would be quiet for once in his life.

There was a cough at the door. Dick pulled away and looked over at Tim who stood there awkwardly.

“Timmy!” Dick pulled out of Bruce’s arms and went over to his little brother, wrapping him in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.” The younger boy looked confused but brought his own arms up to hold Dick back.

“What’s going on?”

Standing up Bruce watched as Dick began talking quickly; he would be on stand-by in case Tim didn’t understand Dick’s yammering. On occasion everyone had to have an interpreter for Dick. He was a clear and concise leader but with people he was close to he could get a bit overexcited. Luckily Tim appeared to understand the majority of what Dick said, at least enough to nod and hold onto his big brother steadily.

“It’ll be okay, Dick,” Tim said slowly, “we’ve dealt with worse.”

Dick shook his head. “No, no, social workers are evil!”

Tim sighed. “No they’re not,” he explained, “they are looking out for what is best for the children. They’re not evil.”

“Yes, they are!”

Bruce went over and pulled Dick towards him, pressing his back against his chest. “The last time you had proper interaction with one was over fifteen years ago,” Bruce said softly to his lover, “they might be different now.”

Dick pouted, looking up at Bruce. “They were mean,” he whined.

Sometimes Dick could be ridiculous, especially when wound up. “They weren’t that kind, yes, but as I said that was a long time ago. There are most likely different people working there now.”

With a frustrated look Dick nodded. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll reserve judgement.”

It was completely understandable why Dick didn’t like social workers but it was still not a grudge he should have. Apparently so long as they weren’t in the house he was fine with them but invading his home was another matter entirely. Bruce pressed his lips to the top of Dick’s head. Tim looked away, blushing a little.

“So,” Tim coughed, “Damian will be back soon, won’t he?”

“We aren’t sure when,” Bruce said, loosening his arms around Dick, “he is having a psychological evaluation after school.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He crossed his arms, taking on a contemplative look. “Then we might have a problem.”

Bruce almost wanted to groan. Why did Tim have to say that? Dick tensed in his arms. The last thing that was needed was Dick getting even more stressed out about this. It was sometimes hard to believe that Bruce was Damian’s father when Dick acted so much more parental than him.

“He’s fine,” Dick argued, “they won’t find anything wrong with him!” Even Dick didn’t sound one hundred per cent convinced.

They both looked at the acrobat sadly. Dick ripped himself from Bruce’s arms and stormed out of the room. No banging of doors, or any being closed at all, Bruce would be willing to bet that Dick was now waiting in the hall for Damian’s return.

“So,” Tim said softly, “he doesn’t like social workers?”

Bruce nodded. “He had a few bad experiences with them after his parents died.”

“Did they not like him coming to live with you?”

Turning, Bruce walked over to a chair, sitting in it. He felt very old all of a sudden. “Quite the opposite,” he explained, “they wanted him to come with me, they didn’t want him to go back to the circus. They were not seen as fit guardians, they kept Dick in Gotham because of the murder case. His parents didn’t have any clear guardianship set out for him; I believe they thought he would automatically stay with the circus, but the system took it upon themselves to decide what would be best for him. According to them an orphanage would be safer for a child than the circus he had lived in his whole life.” It was no wonder Dick disliked them. No matter how large his heart, he couldn’t forgive anyone who pulled him away from his first family. “It is selfish of me to believe that they were right.”

Tim frowned, walking over to Bruce and sitting on the couch near him. “You think it was right that they kept him here?”

Bruce eyed Tim for a moment. “I am thankful every day that Dick came into my life. If it weren’t for him there would be no Robin.” Most likely none of the boys would be with him, even Damian as Bruce may not have lasted long enough to conceive him. There would be no light in the darkness that surrounded him. A lot of lives had been changed by Dick Grayson’s existence; he had made the world a better place. “As I said, it is selfish of me but I am glad that he stayed in Gotham.”

A hand touched his wrist, a mere flutter before it was gone again. “I’m glad too,” Tim said softly. “We are all lucky that he came into our lives.”

The sound of a door slamming and cursing.

Damian was home.

Bruce stood up immediately and made his way towards the sounds of his youngest. When he found Damian he was wrapped up in Dick’s embrace. That was becoming a habit. Bruce watched as Dick pulled back and whispered into Damian’s ear, something so low that Bruce couldn’t hear it. Going over to them he placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder, watching Damian closely.

“How did it go?” he said in way of greeting.

Damian straightened. He reached into the pocket of his school uniform, pulling out a screwed up piece of paper and handed it to Bruce. It was unclear whether Damian had screwed it up or it happened when Dick crushed the boy. Still, Bruce flattened it and read carefully. There were notes on it, overly complex language which Bruce guessed was to make the reader feel inferior as there were far simpler terms to use which would have been just as good. Either way he hadn’t expected anything less. No matter how good Damian was at deceit and lying for the sake of their identities a professional would still be able to tell that there was something wrong with the boy’s psyche. Even an amateur could guess at it.

“Do you understand what this means?” Bruce asked.

Dick looked between them both. “Bruce?” he asked, offering his hand for the paper to be shown to him.

With a shake of his head Bruce folded up the paper and handed it to Damian. It was private and Damian could share it with whoever he wanted. Apparently he didn’t want Dick to know as he shoved the paper into his pocket again.

“I understand, Father,” Damian said, “I tried my best.”

Bruce squeezed Damian’s shoulder reassuringly. “It is not your fault. These sort of things are meant to help you. If you wish to stay here we will do everything we can to keep you.”

Damian looked up at him; Bruce could see the small spark of desperation in those usually distant eyes. That scared him slightly.

“Don’t make me leave, Father,” he said, sounding so much like the child he still was, “I’ll try harder.”

“I would never make you leave. You are my son, Damian. This is your home.”

Damian continued staring at him. After a brief moment’s hesitation Damian nodded and walked away.

“Dami!” Dick reached out; Damian paused, before raising his hand and knocking away Dick’s. Instead of being hurt Dick laughed fondly. He really was a strange one.

With Damian gone Bruce extended his hand, pulling Dick up then against his chest.

“He’s okay,” Bruce said softly, holding Dick close, “nothing we don’t expect.”

Arms wrapped around his neck, warm breath ghosted over his collar.

“I worry,” Dick whispered, “I need to know he’s well and here.” He held on tight. “He’s a part of you. He was all I had. I love him.”

Bruce smiled. He knew that Dick didn’t mean that he only loved Damian because he was Bruce’s son and all he had left. They were partners and learned to work past all their pain together. In a way Bruce was jealous of their connection. It was something he would never have with son. He knew that Damian cared for Dick in a way that he didn’t for any other person. If he didn’t know Damian he would actually be worried about an ex-assassin's interest in his lover but as it was he thought it strangely sweet.

Dick squeezed Bruce’s neck.

“I know,” Bruce finally said, “and we’ll do everything possible to keep him.”

With the psychologists report it would be harder, they could be found as aggravating Damian’s problems if they didn’t do this right. But Dick didn’t need to know that.

Everything had to be looked over. There could be absolutely no sign of anything that had the potential to be seen as non-child-friendly. Damian nearly threw a fit when Dick took the swords from his room, Bruce would have allowed him to keep them up if they looked in any way decorative but they didn’t. So instead Dick hung some of Damian’s drawings up in frames; the happier ones, not the ones that would demonstrate how unstable Damian could be. They locked Jason’s room after checking it over briefly; he frowned when he found what could not have been old cigarettes in the drawers. He would need to talk to Jason about that when he saw him next. Tim and Dick could be trusted to sort out their own rooms, though the latter was rarely used. Every single hint of a second life was swept away more meticulously than ever.

Alfred was on high-alert, he had even yelled at Bruce for trailing in dirt. That had made Dick and Tim laugh before they were banished to examine their film collection to weed out anything inappropriate.

They didn’t know when the social worker would turn up and that aggravated the whole manor. Including their friends as they passed on their agitation. It was not a happy time to be around any Wayne.

Bruce groaned as he collapsed next to Dick in bed. Sweaty and exhausted, he felt as though his brain could finally clam down. As the post-orgasmic bliss entered his whole body he began to let go of consciousness, he hadn’t slept in two days and desperately needed it.

“Bruce?” Dick turned in bed, curling up next to him. Good. He wrapped an arm around his naked bed-mate. “Bruce?”

Frowning, Bruce tapped Dick’s side to let him know he was listening.

“Do you think we should put more family photos in the hallway?”

A different kind of groan escaped Bruce. He really wanted to sleep. “Dick,” he huffed out, “now is not the time.”

“When would be the time?”

“When I’m not about to sleep?”

Dick huffed. Not a good sign. “I’m trying to make this place seem less like a museum and more like a home. Does the time really matter?”

“It isn’t a museum.” Bruce opened one eye to see Dick staring up at him, displeasure clear in his bright blue eyes. “Do what you like.” Alfred would change it later if he didn’t like it.

Apparently that wasn’t the right answer as Dick sat up to stare at him. “Do you not care that this place isn’t lived in?” Dick asked. “Before we started clearing up it wasn’t too obvious but the whole Manor had a dead feeling about it.”

Now that ruined any hope Bruce had of going to sleep blissfully. “It has never felt dead to me whilst you were inside it,” he said.

Instead of making Dick smile and blush, as Bruce thought it would, he scowled. “Well it feels dead to me.”

“If you don’t like it then you don’t have to be here,” Bruce said in annoyance, “no one is forcing you.”

Now that made Dick flush. “You’re a pig, Bruce.” He got out of bed still covered in the remains of their previous lovemaking. He wrapped a robe around himself before storming out of the room, slamming the door so hard it probably woke up the rest of the family.

Bruce sighed. He hadn’t even done anything wrong. Obviously the stress was getting to Dick as well, his dislike of social workers not helping matters. Apparently having sex didn’t get rid of his stress as it did for Bruce. That was something to take note of.

It was some time before Bruce could fall asleep.

Dick didn’t leave the Manor. The next morning he acted normal, even kissing Bruce when he first saw him. As unlikely as it was Bruce preferred to think that everything was fixed between them. A surprisingly optimistic view for him but better than the one where he would have to talk it over with Dick, he always messed things up when he tried to talk about feelings.

That was the day the social worker came. At two o’clock in the afternoon on a Friday of all times.

Alfred opened the door and the social worker was led into Bruce’s study where he had been going over papers for Wayne Enterprise’s new venture. Looking up Bruce smiled, standing to walk around the table. First impressions mattered. Alfred left them after bowing out, probably leaving to inform Dick that she was here.

“Good afternoon,” he said, “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

The woman in front of him, late forties with a kind face framed with bleach blonde hair, took his offered hand. “Good afternoon, Mr Wayne,” she said, “my name is Samantha Rune, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, I just wish it was under different circumstances.” Bruce indicated for her to take a seat as he went back around his desk. “I am not sure how this is meant to go, Ms Rune but I am afraid that Damian and Timothy are at school at the moment. I assume you need to see the whole family.”

Ms Rune nodded. “Eventually, yes, I will speak to every member but I purposely came here to assess the house whilst the youngest is not present. I have reviewed Damian’s case and I feel it would be unwise to go through the house with him here, he may feel threatened which is the last thing a troubled child needs.”

Bruce smiled. “Perfectly understandable.”

The woman was carrying a briefcase which she lifted up and opened on her lap, pulling out a clipboard full of sheets of paper, along with a pen. “Shall we get straight to it then?”

“Of course.”

Bruce stood up, showing Ms Rune out when she stood up without waiting for him to help her. Not that she needed it, but he would play the gentleman.

“How many people are currently living in the house?” Ms Rune asked as he began showing her around the Manor.

“At present there are five. Myself and Alfred, along with Richard, Damian and Timothy.”

Ms Rune took note. “You have another son, correct?”

Bruce tensed. “I did, yes, Jason, he has unfortunately passed on.”

The woman studied him. “And what were the circumstances surrounding that?”

“I would rather not say,” Bruce looked away from her, leading her onward, “it is a painful matter and I am afraid that if I talk about it I would not be fit to continue the tour.”

“Does this often incapacitate you?”

Now Bruce had decided he did not like this woman. “No. Only when it is brought up.”

He could feel someone watching them as they went through the main entryway. Looking up he saw Dick leaning on the railing staring down at them. It was strange that he had not come to introduce himself as he was usually very chipper. He must be very on edge.

Ms Rune came up beside him. “Is that Richard?”

“Yes,” Bruce nodded.

“Is he shy?”

“No,” Bruce laughed, “never.”

“What is your relationship with him?”

“He is my lover.” Bruce grimaced as Dick turned away from staring, retreating instead of coming down to them.

“Is he not also your son?”

That was more complicated. “He became my ward when he was eight, I have since adopted him but he is not my son.”

“Then why did you adopt him?” The woman was making notes furiously. No doubt this is going to work against him.

“At the time I felt a need to ensure that he knew I cared for him and wanted him to be a part of the family officially.”

“So you feel that it was merely convenient for you to use the laws and adoption for your own needs.” It was not said as a question. “Very enlightening, Mr Wayne.” She nodded. “Shall we continue the tour?”

The woman asked some more questions which Bruce answered. There was a lot of humming. He couldn’t be sure if this was going well or not, he highly expected that it wasn’t. That was just how life went for him at the moment. She looked the house over stopping in front of the closed bedroom doors.

“Do you want to see inside?” Bruce asked.

Ms Rune raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you often go into your son’s rooms without their permission?”

Bruce shook his head. “No,” he said, “but they knew you would be coming and have informed me that they do not mind.”

Another hum. “I will wait for them to be here. Until then, I would like to see your room and if possible, Richard Grayson’s.”

Reasonable. Bruce nodded and led her to his room. He opened the door, checking inside quickly to make sure Dick wasn’t asleep in his room before opening it for the woman, stepping inside before sweeping his arm out in invitation.

“There is no need for the flourish, Mr Wayne.” Ms Rune walked in to the room and looking around. She began writing things down as she examined every inch of the room, frowning at the photos on the nightstand. Straightening, she made a few last marks before turning around. “We must find Richard Grayson before going into his room.”

Bruce nodded and led her out, closing the door after her. She was being polite about this to a degree. He didn’t exactly know if she was upset with his room or not. There was nothing special in it she couldn’t like so he was baffled about her behaviour and what notes she could be taking.

Unfortunately Bruce couldn’t find Dick easily; another note was made on Ms Rune’s papers.

“Have you considered a smaller house, Mr Wayne? One which allows you to find your children, perhaps?”

After ten minutes of walking around the giant house he finally heard voices in the main entertainment room that he swore they went passed three minutes ago. Bruce opened the door and found Dick doing a one-handed hand-stand on the back of the sofa, the television was on The Real Housewives of Gotham playing obnoxiously. Bruce would never understand what his lover got out of watching that show. When they entered Dick switched hands and tipped his body to look over at them.

“Richard Grayson?” Ms Rune asked.

Dick bent his legs then swung himself down to stand behind the sofa. When he landed he smiled over at them. “Yes,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss..?”

“Samantha Rune,” Ms Rune said, her voice had tightened when she looked Dick over. “Do you do that often?” She nodded towards the sofa.

Bruce tensed when Dick frowned slightly.

“You mean do handstands? I do them all the time. I thought Bruce gave you a tour, we have a gym where we can do all kinds of exercises. Including handstands.”

Ms Rune did not look happy. “I meant perform dangerous actions on pieces of furniture. Do you do such things were Damian can see you? Are you teaching him to endanger himself with your foolish antics?”

Dick laughed lightly. “I’m sorry,” he said when he had control of himself again, “Damian doesn’t care about anything I do. I could be performing backflips off the roof and he wouldn’t take it as anything other than my being stupid.”

The woman huffed. “You may not think so, Mr Grayson but children do, in fact, take in what they see around them and learn from adult’s actions. Now, tell me, do you do such things were he can see you?”

Dick shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Bruce groaned. Why did Dick have to say that? It was the truth but it was not something the woman should know.

“When you talk to Damian you’ll realise that he doesn’t care that I do it,” Dick continued. “He is very aware of his own sense of self and does not follow anyone’s actions. That should be evident from his school records.”

Ms Rune looked through her files. “And what about, Timothy Drake?”

“What about him?” Dick asked.

“Do you exhibit these tendencies around him?”

“Yes,” he said, “I’ve even taught him some of my old routines.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. Dick was not helping at all.

“Routines?”

“From when I used to live at the circus.”

The woman’s nose turned up. “Ah, yes, that is on file. A messy business really.”

“In what way?” Dick asked, voice lowering slightly.

Instead of answer Ms Rune waved her hand. “No matter, I suppose. Now, Mr Grayson, I would like to inspect your room.”

Dick nodded and led the way to his room. Bruce followed after his lover and the social worker, he could see how tense Dick’s back was. Apparently he knew the answers he had given didn’t please the woman but had told the truth anyway. Usually Bruce would be glad that his charges didn’t lie to people unless they had to, but this was different. Lives were at stake here. As much as he loved his son he knew that if Damian was taken away and they wouldn’t let him come back there was a chance that he would leave Gotham, either taken by the his mother’s ninjas or he would leave by his own will. It was a thin line Damian walked and he needed to stay on their side in it all.

A lot of notes were written when Ms Rune entered Dicks’s room, she didn’t look impressed as she saw the circus paraphernalia or the poster of the Flying Grayson’s. Bruce did not appreciate how she glared over at Dick. Ms Rune picked up an object from on top Dick’s dresser, holding it up with the end of her pen. It was a length of coloured stones with a pendant at the bottom, a metal palm of a hand.

“What exactly is this?” she asked, lip turned up in disgust.

Dick went over and took it back. “Khamsa. It’s a protection and good luck charm,” he stated, placing it back where it belonged.

“Why do you have that?”

Dick looked over at her, an expression of blatant confusion. “To give me luck and protection,” he said slowly.

Ms Rune wrote on her papers again.

Bruce leant against the wall watching as Dick glared after the woman who once again looked over his belongings.

“That will be all in here,” she said finally, walking out of the room. Bruce followed her, Dick closed his door firmly when he came out as well. “Your other two sons should be home soon, correct?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, “Alfred has most likely already left to pick them up.”

“Tim won’t be here,” Dick cut-in. Both Ms Rune and Bruce turned to him. “He was going to Conner’s after school today.”

“Who is Conner? Does he have a last name?”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said stiffly, “Conner Kent, he is Tim’s best friend.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Dick. It was unlike him to say that Conner and Tim were just best friends, he knew they had been dating for at least four months now. Usually Dick would always call them boyfriends as he found it ‘cute.’ Apparently Dick didn’t want the woman to know about them. Or his lover was just that ill at ease with the whole situation that he was not comfortable saying so.

“Should I text him and ask him to rearrange so he can be here?”

“Do you often take your brother’s time away from his friends?” Ms Rune asked.

Dick closed his eyes for a second. “No,” he said, opening them again, “I’m sorry. I thought you might want to talk to him. I don’t mean to interfere in his life.”

Ms Rune tapped her clipboard. “I do indeed wish to speak with him but I can wait until he returns home.”

“He wasn’t going to come home tonight.”

That was the first Bruce had heard about it. Not surprising given the tension in the air at the Manor, Tim did tend to get more stressed than anyone else so he was probably very on edge. It would have been a good thing to have him away from home for the night, or maybe the whole weekend as it was a Friday.

Ms Rune sighed. “Then I suppose you should ask Timothy to be present after school.”

Dick nodded and left them, pulling out his phone as he walked down the hallway. There was no need for him to leave them if he was just going to send a text but Bruce could tell that it was an excuse to extract himself from the social worker’s presence.

“Shall we wait somewhere more comfortable?” Bruce asked.

They retired to the main room, both sitting on armchairs on the opposite side of the sofa. Ms Rune continued asking questions. Nothing too major, just about day-to-day life and how he felt Damian and Tim were doing. It began to give him hope that it would be okay.

Eventually there was the sound of the front door closing. Bruce stood up and held his hand out for Ms Rune to take to help her get up. She did not look impressed and stood up by herself. Still, Bruce sent her a charming smile and led the way to go see whoever had returned. They found both Tim and Damian in the hallway, Dick was crouched between them an arm around Damian’s shoulder. He was talking to them in hushed tones.

Ms Rune did not like that one bit.

“I would advise against talking to them right now, Mr Grayson,” she said sternly, “it could be taken as you telling them what to say to me.”

Dick turned around, pulling Damian closer to himself making the boy huff angrily but he didn’t try to escape the hold.

“I’ll take that under advisement Ms,” Dick said.

“Now,” Ms Rune said, looking the two new boys over, “I think we should let the boys put away their school things before I speak to them privately.”

Dick slowly pulled back from his brother’s before getting up and facing the woman. Damian scowled behind him, crossing his arms, he watched Ms Rune closely for a moment then stormed away up the stairs. His door slammed shut.

“Nice to meet you Miss,” Tim said softly before nodding his head at her and following Damian.

“Where would you like to talk to the boys?” Bruce asked after a strained moment of silence.

“I believe in the room we were just talking in, it is the one that feels most homely,” Ms Rune said, “it should comfort the boys.”

Nodding Bruce once again led her to the main room.

“Mr Grayson,” Ms Rune said, “I believe you should come as well.”

Dick followed them, sitting on the arm of Bruce’s armchair.

There was silence once more. It was five minutes before Tim came in, he was changed out of his uniform and sat down on the sofa after greeting Ms Rune properly. He looked surprisingly at ease, he was getting better at acting but Bruce could see how rigid he was still. Another ten minutes passed before Damian came in, he had on Tim’s old black jacket with the yellow stripes.

“Are you cold, Damian?” Ms Rune asked, her tone turning to soft and mothering.

Damian huffed. “No.”

“Then why are you wearing a jacket?”

“Because I want to,” he snapped.

Bruce closed his eyes asking for patience.

Ms Rune tapped her clipboard. “Now that the family is together I would like to state the reason for my visit.” She smiled over at Tim and Damian. “I have been informed that there are some problems in this family, I am here to see what can be done about them. Does anyone have any concerns about this?”

“I am not leaving,” Damian said firmly.

That drew all of the attention to the youngest.

The social worker raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think you would be taken away?”

“The Principal said I may be,” he rolled his eyes, “there is no reason I legally should be but apparently when dealing with a successful family an example should be made. I have no doubt that some reason will be found to make a mockery of the Wayne name causing the extraction of Drake and I from Father’s home. I will not leave.”

Ms Rune sighed. “Apparently I will need to speak privately with you first, Damian.” She turned a few pages on her clipboard. “If you would excuse us,” she said to the rest of the family.

Bruce stood up, taking Dick’s hand and pulling him away as he looked as though he didn’t want to leave Damian alone. Tim followed them out of the room. They walked down the hallway.

“What are we going to do?” Tim asked when they were far enough away so as to not be heard. “Damian is right, this is set up too perfectly. There is no other reason to bring this up suddenly. Damian’s attitude and his paper can’t be the sole cause of this. They are trying to get at us.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “Dick and I are going downstairs; you need to stay here for when she asks for you. We’ll figure something out, Tim.” He placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

Tim nodded, breathing out heavily.

Dick pulled his hand away from Bruce’s hold and he embraced his brother. “We’ll be okay, you won’t lose us.” Tim had lost enough family for one lifetime, as had Dick.

Although Bruce said he would figure it out he was at a loss as to how to do it. He would be able to though. He needed to. When Dick let Tim go they went down to the cave, leaving Tim to his own devices for the time being.

In the cave they found another problem. There at the consoles sat Jason Todd.

“How did you get in here?” Bruce growled. He had a security system for a reason.

Jason turned in the chair, legs crossed casually. “Dickie-bird let me in earlier, did he not tell you?” he laughed.

Bruce looked down at his lover. Dick shrugged. With another growl he went over to his computers. “What have you been doing, Jason?” He looked over the screens, it was the security feed in the main room. “You’ve been spying on us.”

“Nope,” Jason said, “I have been doing what your boy-toy asked me to do.”

“Which is what?” Bruce turned on Dick, glaring at him darkly.

Dick walked over, pulling Jason’s chair back to keep him away from Bruce. “I asked him to watch her,” he pointed at the screen, “I don’t trust her.”

“Dick,” Bruce sighed, “I know you don’t like social workers but they are just doing their job.”

“You admitted to thinking she was playing us!” Dick protested. “I’m not going to be separated from my family again, Bruce!”

Bruce moved and grabbed Dick’s shoulders, shaking him once to snap him out of a growing panic attack. He could tell the signs and he wouldn’t let it become full-grown. “Dick,” he said reasonably, “we don’t know what she is doing and until we do we should not assume anything. We should not spy on her yet.”

“You are just full of contradictions, Brucie,” Jason laughed. “Besides, don’t you want to know what your son is saying?”

Dick pulled away from Bruce and leant over the console turning on the volume for the camera in the main room.

“-anything at all,” Ms Rune finished saying.

Damian was sitting with his arms crossed as he stared at the woman. “If there were any problems, do you think I would be saying that I wish to stay here?”

“A lot of children are afraid of what their family will do to them if they speak up. I am here to help them. To help you. Please, you can trust me, tell me anything that is bothering you.”

That made Damian pause for a few seconds. “What is bothering me is that someone is interfering with my life. I do not need help, I wish to stay with Father.”

The sound of Ms Rune tapping her board with her pen came through the speakers. With every second Bruce wished more that he could take her pen and snap it. It was driving him insane. He would not be surprised if that was what drove The Joker over the edge.

“In your psychological examination it has been discovered that you have mild paranoia and violent tendencies as well as a complex towards both of your parents. Do you wish to be your Father?”

“No,” Damian said decisively, “I wish to be like him but I do not wish to be him. That would be foolish. You cannot become the same person as someone else.”

Bruce was proud of that. Damian was learning and thinking for himself.

“How do you feel about Richard Grayson? Does he feed into your problems?”

Damian went very tense. “Grayson is a good person and has helped me in many ways. It is because of him that I am even bothering to sit here.”

Dick let out a strange little noise, probably a cut off coo. Bruce wrapped an arm around his waist. His lover smiled over at him.

“So he has a profound influence over you?” Ms Rune asked.

“I would not say that.” Damian made his tt noise and looked away.

“But he does influence you?” Damian huffed at her question. “How did you become aware of your father’s relationship with Richard Grayson?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “It would have been hard not to see. They are not ashamed of it and do not hide it from anyone. Nor should they, so long as Father and Grayson are satisfied with the arrangement there is nothing wrong with it.”

“Arrangement? That doesn’t sound as though they are in a lasting relationship.”

There was another huff. “I do not know the specifics of their relationship but I assume it would go on for a while, Grayson is like that.”

“I see.” Scribbling on the papers. “You didn’t state how you found out. Did they tell you or did you see something, perhaps your butler or brother told you?”

“I saw them and they told me.”

“What did you see?”

Damian shifted, he was uncomfortable. “More than enough. I have seen far worse than Father engaging in a heated moment with Grayson.”

“You have been subjected to sexual material?”

A harsh laugh escaped Damian. “If that is what you would call it.”

A lot of writing now.

“Have you ever seen Richard Grayson or your father touch or look at Timothy Drake in the same way they do each other?”

Damian snorted. “No.”

The woman now spoke slowly and softly as she leant on her knees watching Damian. “Has your father or Richard Grayson ever touched or looked at you in that manner? Have they touched you in a way you don’t like?”

Eyes widening Damian stood up. “Are you suggesting that they have partaken in paedophilia? They would never do that!” He stormed towards the woman, bending over her. “Take that back at once or I will make you.”

That wasn’t good. Bruce sighed. Damian talking to the woman was strange but this was completely expected. The woman suggesting this was not a shock, not when he was engaging in a sexual relationship with a boy he had adopted. Damian should have known this would happen and be asked of him. Dick held onto his arm, squeezing it.

“Very hostile.”

“You are an outside force and trying to find ways to take me away from my family,” Damian growled, “I will not tolerate this.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You are making it harder for me to see why you should be here still.”

Damian glared at her then turned around. “I will not stay in your presence a moment longer. You will not be able to enact whatever plan it is you have. I will see to that.” He stormed out of the room, slamming the door.

“This is bad,” Dick whispered. He pulled away from Bruce and left, going up the stairs, no doubt to find Damian.

“Dickie-bird’s right,” Jason said. “I’m amazed the demon spawn actually talked to her.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. “Dick asked him to.”

“A true demon tamer.”

Bruce kept watch as Ms Rune went to find Tim and began talking to him. Tim took it better, he answered easily and made sure she knew he was happy here. He was less emotional than Damian and didn’t get overly annoyed when she suggested that either of them had been touched inappropriately. Then she left Tim and came across Dick and Damian. They were in the library; Dick was holding Damian and talking to him too softly for the microphone to pick up.

“You appear to touch him a lot, Mr Grayson,” Ms Rune said as she came over to them.

Dick held Damian closer, surprisingly Damian allowed it without argument. “He is my baby brother, I am trying to comfort him.” From the looks of it Damian muttered something but Bruce couldn’t tell what.

“I would like to talk to you alone, Mr Grayson.”

Ever so slowly Dick unwound his arms from around Damian. He nodded to the younger boy who left with a glare at Ms Rune. When the door closed Dick frowned. “Yes?”

“How old were you when you first engaged in a sexual relationship with Mr Wayne?”

“I was legal,” Dick said with a roll of his eyes. “Aside from that it is none of your business.”

Ms Rune tapped her clipboard. “How were you treated in this building when you were younger?”

“Well.” Dick said. He was being awkward then. “I grew up, I became a police officer and I am well liked in the community. I would think that was a job well done by Bruce.”

A hum. “Do you think you are a positive influence towards Timothy Drake and Damian Wayne?”

Dick crossed his arms. “I like to think so.”

“I think otherwise,” Ms Rune stated, “I have read your file, Mr Grayson, I know why you were taken away. The worker in charge of your case thought it best that any undesirable elements were taken from your life in the hopes that you would grow up to forget your ill-breeding. Apparently that did not work. I’m afraid that it would be for the best to remove children from that kind of negative influence again.”

Dick had paled. “What?”

Ms Rune walked right up to Dick. “Timothy and Damian are intelligent young men who would do well to stay away from people who are below them. They are high-class and you are still a mere gypsy. It would be best if you remember your place.” She turned and walked away.

Dick stared after her.

Bruce slammed his hand against the console.

No one talked to his lover this way. No, to his family this way.

Checking he made sure that the whole conversation was recorded and stored away. “Keep watch,” he told Jason who snorted but didn’t argue. He went upstairs quickly. This was not going to continue. Locating the woman was not a problem as she had moved on to harass Alfred.

“You are no longer welcome here,” Bruce said sternly as he entered.

Ms Rune turned. “Excuse me?”

“Get out of my house this instant before I call the police. I am aware of my rights, you did not have to be allowed access to my house to perform your investigation. I went along with this in the hopes that matters would run smoother but the moment you start talking down and threatening my family you are not allowed in my home. Leave.”

Ms Rune tapped her clipboard. “You are not putting yourself in a good position here, Mr Wayne.”

“You do not have a case against me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I will finish my investigation without access to your house. I have a lot to write up anyway. You will know of what I have decided. Soon.” She nodded to Alfred. “I can let myself out.” Then she walked out, Bruce followed her making sure that she was out of his door. He watched as she got into her car and drove away.

“Father?”

Turning Bruce saw his son standing on the stairs. “Yes, Damian?”

“She is going to attempt to send me away, isn’t she?”

Bruce couldn’t answer that. He knew that she would try, that much was obvious. “I won’t let her.”

Damian watched him. “Mother won’t allow it. She will come get me.”

“I know.”

“So what do we do now?” Tim asked.

Bruce rubbed his head. They were in the cave getting ready for patrol and talking, Jason was still there watching them whilst eating a sandwich Alfred had brought down for him. Dick kept hovering close to Damian, getting pushed away every so often, apparently that didn’t deter him as he moved back not too soon afterwards.

“We think of any problem she had against us and find a counter-argument,” Bruce said firmly.

“I know her main problem,” Dick said softly, “it was me.” He played with his mask before putting it on. “She was a bigot.”

“We can use that against her.” Bruce didn’t want Dick to feel as though he was less in some way. He went over to his lover, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Dick didn’t raise his head. With the mask on Bruce couldn’t see Dick’s eyes but he knew that they would show helplessness, he had seen it earlier on the monitor. It shouldn’t be there but it was.

“The headmistress,” Dick said after a moment, “she said about those boys I beat up because of their slurs against Romani. Maybe she found a social worker with something against them to take the case.”

That was a possibility.

“So what?” Damian asked. “It’s not important.”

Bruce nodded. “It isn’t. We’ll beat this.”

The alarm went off. “Robbery,” Jason said as he pressed a few buttons on the screen. “Gotham Diamond Deposit.”

“I’m on it!” Dick said as he ran to his bike, hopping on.

“I’m coming!” Damian called as he ran after Dick; he climbed onto the back holding onto Dick’s waist as they sped out of the cave.

Bruce pulled his cowl up. Time to leave. He didn’t mind flying solo as apparently Robin wanted to have time with his favourite partner tonight. Bruce didn’t know who to be jealous of there. It was probably best not to think on it too much. When he turned around to the computer Jason and Tim were staring at him.

“What?” he growled.

Jason grinned and spun around on the chair. “You really do pamper them,” he teased. “If anyone else suddenly left without orders you would be yelling at them over the coms as I speak.”

Bruce scowled. “I do no such thing.”

“Please, everyone knows you’d do anything to please your boy-toy. Now go beat up that social worker and headmistress for him, I know you want to.”

“No such thing will be happening,” Bruce said. He went over to Jason, stopping the chair from spinning. “We will beat this with the law not by harming people who believe they are doing their jobs correctly.”

Jason laughed. “They are doing it completely right,” he said. “I know that it is best for the demon spawn to stay here because Dick’s the demon whisperer or something but Bats, what you put kids through is actually counted as abuse.” He jumped out of the chair and moved away. “Child endangerment and emotional neglect, at least. Not to mention that half of the training you made us do ends up with you basically beating us up. I’ve been through worse but fuck, Bruce, you have to see that kids aren’t meant to do it.”

Bruce scowled darkly. “You didn’t complain at the time.”

“Oh course I didn’t,” Jason shook his head, “I got to beat up bad guys and do good. But to anyone else it is cruel and just wrong. Well, actually, I think you should have stopped putting kids in danger after I died, but hey, you thought otherwise.”

“He needed a Robin!” Tim protested.

Jason waved his hand. “Whatever, Replacement. Point is, if they knew what you were really doing then you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on for not having the kids taken away.”

Bruce turned away from Jason. “You may leave.” He made his way to the Batmobile.

“Bruce!” Tim ran after him. “We’re better off for what you have done for us.”

“Speak for yourself!” Jason scoffed.

Tim scowled. “I mean it, Bruce, thank you for everything. We’ll find a way to sort this out and it will all be a distant memory.”

Bruce turned his head. “You have spent too much time around Dick.” He got into the car speeding off.

“Was that a compliment or not?” Tim asked over the coms. He didn’t get an answer.

Nothing happened the next day; it was the one after that turned into chaos. Sunday morning there was a knock at the door; Jim Gordon was there with the social worker. Alfred had called for Bruce right away. He stood there in shock when he heard the woman talking. They were going to take the boys away and she had asked for police assistance, when Jim had heard he had wanted to come to make sure nothing bad happened.

“No!”

Turning Bruce saw Damian and Dick behind them.

“I’m not leaving!” Damian had a hand in Dick’s top, twisting it. “There is no reason to.”

“I’m sorry, Damian,” Ms Rune said, “the environment in this house is not the right one to raise a child.”

“He’s raised three others in the same one,” Damian answered, eyes narrowed. “You cannot make me leave Father.”

Ms Rune frowned. “You will find that I can.” She nodded to Jim. She handed over some papers to Bruce. “I will be taking Damian Wayne and Timothy Drake with me.”

“You can’t take them,” Bruce said defiantly, “I will not let them get absorbed into the system.”

“Me Wayne,” Ms Rune said, “we have reason to believe child abuse so you are lucky that you have not been taken to court yet.”

“What?”

“There are scars on both Timothy and Damian’s body, the only reason you are not being handcuffed right now is because Mr Gordon assures me that it isn’t the case. We will be talking to the children before any further measures are taken. But they are coming with us.”

Bruce couldn’t believe this was happening. He had wanted to save these children, he had provided for them, trained them, taught them right from wrong and in return he is being punished. His children were getting taken from him. Jason was right; they had been abused by him.

“Damian, please go pack your bag.”

“I’ll kill you before I leave!” Damian ran to the woman. He made it passed Bruce before Dick caught him.

“Stop it!” Dick said, holding him up by his top. He swung Damian around, kneeling down in front of him. “It’ll be alright, we’ll get you and Tim back. Just be patient.”

“We’ll be coming in and talking to Timothy next then.”

Bruce didn’t even twitch. He stood in shock for the hour as Tim and Damian packed. Tim and Damian hugged him goodbye, the latter not wanting to let go. Bruce didn’t move. There was talking, a lot of it but nothing went in.

The door closed.

There was more noise. Dick was talking on a phone.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he was hit, falling to the floor.

Blinking Bruce looked up seeing an infuriated Dick for the first time.

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” he huffed, there was the beginning of tears in his lover’s eyes. “Your sons left and you didn’t even notice them.”

What?

“How do you expect to prove that you are a good father if you don’t even show sadness when your children are taken away?” Dick threw a phone at him. “I called your lawyer for you. You have a meeting tomorrow at eleven o’clock to figure out your legal options. He told me you have a case against them, especially if you show any footage with Ms Rune being discriminating and proof that you didn’t cause their scars.”

Bruce stared at his lover. “Dick?”

“Yes!”

“I’m a bad father.”

A sharp pain echoed through his body as he was kicked firmly in the stomach.

“Shut up or I’ll go for your ribs next time.” Dick’s face was flushed. “You aren’t a bad father, you’re in shock so snap out of it and figure out a way to stop Talia finding out that her son was taken away.”

Bruce nodded, still lying on the floor.

“Bruce,” Dick said sternly, “I love you but if you do not get up this second I am going to shove that phone somewhere very unpleasant.”

There was a second pause before Bruce stood up.

“Good.” Dick nodded. “Now, your lawyer has faxed you some papers you need to read through before your meeting. Go see to that.”

As if in a trance Bruce did as he was bid.

It took three hours and a tearful Alfred later before he completely came back to himself. Then he went about business properly. He read the papers and headed down to the cave to arrange for the security camera footage. When he entered the cave he was shocked to hear Dick laughing. That was strange; he had been close to tears when he last saw him. Keeping to the shadows he crept towards the sound.

There was Dick, sat on a worktable. In front of him was Jason who was being far too intimate for Bruce’s liking. Hands were running up and down Dick’s legs, he was leant right in whispering into Dick’s ear and standing between open legs. Not something Bruce wanted to see anyone else doing to his lover.

Moving closer Bruce scowled when he saw Dick’s smile and him placing his hands on Jason’s shoulders.

“… You’re right,” Dick said, he shook his head, black hair falling into his eyes, “but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

Jason scoffed, one hand reaching up to brush away the stray strands of hair, tucking them behind Dick’s ear. “Of course it’s a good idea. It’s mine.”

Another laugh.

“That does not follow, Jaybird.”

When Jason aligned his head with Dick’s, so very close to it, Bruce had to make himself known. He would not watch any more of this.

“What are you two doing?” Bruce growled as he stalked forward. He glared at the hand which remained on Dick’s thigh. It twitched but Jason didn’t retract it.

“Talking,” Dick said, all humour gone from his voice, “why? What do you think we’re doing?”

Bruce didn’t answer, walking passed them to the computer screens. He wasn’t going to get himself in trouble by saying something, not when he knew that Dick was angry at him. It was better to just let it be right now, whilst still keeping an eye on Jason’s hands of course, which were still they should not be. His eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Remove that hand,” he growled at Jason.

Dick reached out and took hold of Jason’s wrist, keeping the hand where it was. “You don’t have the right to tell people whether or not they can touch me,” he told Bruce. “So long as I want it Jason can touch me as much as he likes.”

That had Bruce stalking over. Maybe a fight was exactly what Dick wanted. If so then he would get it. If not then it would be one less distraction for them both.

“You want him to touch you?” Bruce glared at Dick.

“Yes.”

Bruce had to restrain himself. He grabbed both of their wrists and pulled them apart. One sneer at Jason had the boy backing up. Good, he didn’t want to get in the middle of this. Bruce stood right in front of Dick. “I understand that you are upset,” he hissed, “but I will not stand for this attitude from you. You are better than that, Richard.”

Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “So it’s Richard now?” He twisted his wrist trying to get free but Bruce held it tightly not giving him an opportunity to break them apart. “You know something, Bruce, I am just as annoyed at you.”

“You’re annoyed at yourself,” Bruce commented.

With a frustrated noise Dick kicked Bruce in the stomach for the second time that day. His wrist was not let go of.

“Let me go!” Dick twisted his arm, it must be hurting to do that now.

Bruce finally released him so he wouldn’t strain anything. Dick brought his wrist up, rubbing at it.

“Why were you flirting with Jason?” Bruce asked.

There was silence. No denying it. Dick was looking down at his wrist. No movement behind him from Jason.

They had things to do to get the boys back and that did not include whatever problem Dick had with him. There was the risk of people being hurt or killed, Talia’s men wouldn’t care about being found out if she didn’t tell them to.

“Now isn’t the time for this,” he eventually broke the awkward silence. It was unusual to be the one to talk first when he was with Dick. “Leave.” Without looking at them he went over to the computers, sitting down in his chair.

A few shuffles behind him. Jason.

“Bruce?”

“Not now, Dick, I am busy.”

A pause. “Okay.”

Light footsteps away from him.

Bruce closed his eyes.

“Dick.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t blame yourself. You are not related to Damian, they should not have brought you into this. It may be for the best if the two of you are separated, you have been acting as his parent and you are not.”

A little shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce nodded. “After patrol tonight, go to your own room.”

No response to that but those light steps walking away from him.

Bruce ignored the ache in his heart as he went back to finding the footage. It was easy enough to do. He was so focused that he hadn’t noticed Jason had not left until he spoke.

“He was trying to punish himself.”

With an annoyed release of air Bruce turned to face Jason. “And what were you doing?”

Jason smirked, leaning against a table. “I was trying to piss you off by playing with your toy.”

“I have more important things to deal with at the moment than you two being childish.”

Better to talk to Dick later so he could apply himself into delaying Talia and getting the boys back. Besides, he had meant it. Dick was too concerned with Damian; they were far too reliant on each other. It was understandable but not healthy.

“That’s your choice but after you get them back do you really think Dick is going to hang around when you told him to stay away from your son?” Jason shrugged. “Not that I really care about your domestics.” One corner of his mouth raised cockily. “Now if you’ll excuse me I think that a certain bird will be having a break-down right now, I am going to go comfort him.”

A batarang imbedded itself in the table, right next to Jason. The boy didn’t even blink. He had been trained by the best.

“Stay away from Dick.” Bruce sounded more like a rabid animal than he would have liked. “Make yourself useful, find out which orphanage they were taken to and stake it out.”

“You can’t order me around.”

Bruce stood up, and stalked over to Jason. “Go find out the orphanage and stake it out.” He glared down at Jason. There was a small nod and Jason backed away from him, right into the table. He swore once before sliding passed Bruce, taking off out of the cave.

Going back to the console Bruce put everything out of his mind. There was no time for distractions, not when he had a lot to do.

That night Dick didn’t come into his room. The next day Bruce didn’t see his lover at all. Alfred informed him later that Dick had decided to leave for the time being. It was very silent in the Manor. No arguing or sulking teenagers to be found. No energetic lover swinging off the chandelier or doting on them all. There was nothing. Dick was right, without the people it felt dead, like a museum.

Jason had contacted him, they were at Gotham’s First Orphanage. Damian would not be happy about that, if he were to be at an orphanage then he would have been better off with his friend, Colin, than somewhere strange. Bruce hacked into their system and found an email sent to someone high up, it was a report; apparently Damian had already broken someone’s arm. It was amusing if slightly concerning. Complaints about him would lead to bad things.

On patrol that night Bruce swung by the orphanage. He stood on the roof watching the building, no lights were on. Somewhere in there were Tim and Damian. Two very lonely boys he had come to love.

“I’m not staying there.”

Turning around Bruce shouldn’t have been surprised to see Damian standing next to him. Then he remembered, this was the same orphanage that Dick had managed to escape from before, of course Damian and Tim would be able to.

“That isn’t up to you.”

Damian crossed his arms. “I waited for you today, Father,” he said stiffly, “you didn’t come for me.”

“I can’t make them reverse their decision in one day.”

“Grayson came to see me,” Damian continued, “he told me that he was going to remove himself from the Manor so that I would be allowed back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Stupid boy. Why he put up with Dick’s drama he would never know.

“That is private.” He frowned. “Why was he allowed to see you?”

“Who said he was allowed to?”

So he either snuck in or Damian snuck out.

“How is Tim?”

Damian shrugged. “I don’t know. Drake is probably fine. He appeared to be when I saw him in the food hall. The children are separated by ages so I am not around him.”

Understandable.

Bruce was about to say something else when he saw a shadow move. Closing his mouth he grabbed Damian’s arm and pulled him back into the dark. Keeping an eye on the orphanage he noticed more shadows.

“Ninja,” Damian breathed out. “Mother has sent ninja to collect me.”

Bruce wished his son didn’t sound so proud about that. It was an achievement he supposed, it showed that Talia cared on some level but it was not a good thing. Those ninja would hurt people. He needed to stop them.

“Stay here,” Bruce ordered, “keep in the shadows and away from any ninja.” The last thing he needed was to lose his son to Talia.

Shooting a line towards the orphanage Batman swung down, leaving his son to hide, though he doubted that would actually happen.

Landing quietly he looked around himself. There was a partly open window. How the ninja’s entered. Checking around to make sure no one was nearby he opened the window and slipped inside. He entered into a corridor, no lights were on and the whole place was silent.

Keeping to the wall Batman went down the corridor, activating the cowl he turned to see the heat signals in the building. There were some moving to the right so he followed. It could be children awake but if they were that way then he would most likely find the ninjas as well.

Turning a corner he found a ninja picking a locked door. What would they want in there? Whatever it was Bruce would have to put a stop to it. He came up behind the ninja and struck a pressure point in his neck before he could be noticed. Talia’s men really had gone downhill.

He moved the limp body, leaning it back against the door. It creaked open. So, he had finished just before he struck. Leaving the body against the doorframe instead Batman crept in, what would be needed in here?

It was an office. Checking it over he noted that it was the main office. Walking around the room he found files on both Tim and Damian. Flicking them open he saw something he did not like. There were photographs of both boys, their scars clearly visible. He frowned as he closed them. He had a way to explain them but he didn’t know how successful it would be.

Leaving the room he needed to get back to the ninjas at hand.

He found two more entering a dormitory. Knocking them out he tied them up and left them outside of the room. Checking the building there were three more already in a large room. There were other still figures, another dormitory. When he reached it they were already unconscious. Stood in the middle of the room was Tim. Batman nodded to him and went over, zip-tying them.

“Any trouble?” he asked.

Tim shook his head. “No one woke up when they came in. They weren’t expecting me here so I surprised them.”

Batman and Tim dragged them out of the dorm. There didn’t appear to be any other’s in the building.

“Damian’s outside, I’ll send him back in.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Tim said.

“I know. I expect there are more around the building waiting for a report.”

“Talia wants to see if you will take him back?” Tim asked.

That was most likely.

Batman scowled at the ninjas. “Go back to bed,” he told Tim, “I’ll sort it out. I have a plan.”

Very slowly Tim went back to the dorm, at the door he looked over at Bruce. “I understand by the way,” he said, “I know why you didn’t say goodbye to us.” Then Tim had disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Batman grabbed the unconscious ninja, collecting the others he took them out of the orphanage and strung them up on a lamppost. It wouldn’t hold them for long.

Going back to the roof he had left Damian on, Batman wasn’t surprised to see more unconscious ninja. He was, however, shocked to see Nightwing sat on the edge of the roof talking to Damian. Both turned to him when he landed nearby. Nightwing stood up; he shifted awkwardly for a few seconds.

“I’ll go,” he said softly.

Batman nodded.

“Wait,” Damian said, rising to his feet, “I’m going with you.”

“No,” Batman stepped forward and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder, “you’re not allowed to leave the orphanage.”

Damian glared up at his Father. “I am aware that you have forbidden Grayson from seeing me and if that is how you want to behave then I would rather be with him than you. Tomorrow Mother will send her men and you will do nothing about it besides knock them out when they are already here. If I am not there then they will not come to the orphanage again, and if I am with Grayson then I will be safe.”

“He’ll be accused of kidnapping when they find you.”

“They won’t,” Damian said confidently.

Nightwing shook his head. “Damian, you have to stay here. Your father has a way to get you back. Just wait and see.”

“I can’t wait!” Damian yelled. “Mother has informed me that she will come to collect me personally in two more days.”

Batman hissed. “And you didn’t mention this before, because?”

“I thought that the threat of her men would be enough to get you to remove me from that dreadful place. They are trying to get you to take me back but you are failing at that Father. I would rather be with Grayson than either of you at this rate. So I am leaving with him.”

This was getting far too out of hand. “You will stay at the orphanage for tonight. I will come by with my lawyers tomorrow and find a way to take you back to Manor.”

Damian glared at him. “You had better. I will escape from there before returning to Mother.” He glared at them both before taking a line out of his jacket and swinging down.

“He has your determination and anger issues,” Nightwing said lightly.

Batman looked over at him. “You went to see him yesterday.”

“I did.” Nightwing watched as Damian crept back into the orphanage using the same window the ninjas had gone through. “If I hadn’t you would have found him back at the Manor this morning.”

That wasn’t too hard to believe. “You told him that you aren’t staying at the Manor anymore.”

“I’m not,” Nightwing said, “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

Taking a step forward Bruce raised his arm and placed a gloved hand on Dick’s arm. “You are always wanted.”

Nightwing took a step back. “That’s not what it sounded like when you kicked me out of your bed and told me not to see your son.”

There wasn’t anything Bruce could say about that. So he simply watched as Nightwing flipped over the edge of the building and disappeared.

The next day Bruce did go to the orphanage with three lawyers. They presented evidence of the social worker being corrupt; taking a bribe from the headmistress of the school and discriminating against Dick. All of this was also shown to the other necessary parties, including her boss and the school council. But what Bruce was interested in was getting his sons back. There he found another road block. The accusation of abuse, shown by the scars both boys had.

“Kidnapping,” a voice said behind Bruce as he talked to the head of the orphanage. Turning around Bruce saw Dick in the doorway. “I have the same scars. Both Timothy and Damian have been kidnapped since being in Bruce Wayne’s care. Though Damian had scars before he even came to Wayne Manor.”

“I’m afraid that does not inspire great confidence in Mr Wayne,” the head of the orphanage said, “I assume you are Richard Grayson.”

Dick nodded with a charming smile. “I am at that. We have set up precautions against either boy being kidnapped but when they are not in our immediate care it is hard to look after them, which can be said for any child. But both Tim and Damian have been taking self-defence lessons so they can protect themselves.”

The head frowned at him. “I’m sorry Mr Grayson but I need proof that you did not abuse them.”

“How can you have proof of something that didn’t happen?” Dick asked. He pulled up his top showing his scared stomach and chest. “These are not from abuse. Some are from when I was a cop but these are not from Bruce. I have the same scars Tim and Damian do. They are nothing but from freaks and crooks thinking they can exploit a successful man. Just ask Tim and Damian if they were abused whilst living in the Manor.”

“I am afraid I cannot go by the word of two children.”

“Then who can you believe in these instances. There is no proof against Bruce.”

At that point Bruce had to intervene. “Dick is correct. You have no proof and only allegations which will be struck down if you ask the boys how they got their scars. I have shown you enough evidence to discount Ms Rune’s decision, now I would like my sons back.”

“That is not up to me.”

“I have put in the complaint and my lawyers are working on sorting this mess out. I have been told that so long as you are willing to allow them back into my care I can retrieve them on a temporary basis until it is all sorted out. So long as you agree and have no fear of them being hurt I can have my sons returned to me.”

The head sighed but nodded. “You may collect them, Mr Wayne.”

Really, with Bruce and his lawyers there it would have been enough to scare even the strictest person. But with Dick there to prove that there was no mistreatment it was easier. He smiled at his lover as they went to collect Tim and Damian.

Being back at the Manor with the boys felt very good, Alfred greeted them all with hugs proclaiming that he will cook them a Welcome Home feast. Tim ran with his bag of things up the stairs and immediately went to have a shower. Damian grumbled and nodded to his Father before going into his room, five minutes later he went to have a shower as well. It had only been a few days but it was enough for all of them.

Dick was standing next to Bruce in the entryway. There was an eerie silence between them.

“So,” Dick broke the quiet, “I guess I’ll go.”

“Dick.” Bruce placed his hand on Dick’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You were very helpful today and… I’m sorry I pushed you away. I do not want you gone from the Manor. You can spend as much time as you want around Damian. Just, please do not flirt with Jason again.”

A light laugh escaped Dick. Then a sweet smile bloomed over his face. “Okay,” he said chuckling, “I won’t flirt with Jason.”

Bruce was pleased by that, he trusted Dick to keep to his word. “Good.” He studied Dick. His lover looked so happy, relaxed and smiling at him. It was strange, he thought they had more problems than a simple apology could fix but apparently Dick was just happy.

Dick moved in and leant up, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s lips. “Do you want to use a shower as well?”

This was very odd.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Bruce said slowly.

Dick frowned for a second. “You apologised.”

“That’s it?”

The younger man rolled his eyes. “Bruce, you don’t apologise often so when you say it I know you mean it. And you thanked me. So I’m perfectly happy. If you want me to hold a grudge I can but right now I’m pleased that Tim and Damian are home so just let me enjoy this.”

Fair enough. He could deal with any other problems later.

“Is it a joint shower?” Bruce asked, his hands moving down to hold Dick’s hips.

“It can be,” Dick said slowly, a wicked smile on his lips, “so, you up for it?”

How could Bruce say no to that?

#brucedick #brudick #dick grayson #bruce wayne #lillybe forest #st00pz

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

Text

[FIC] The Family Business by BradyGirl_12

Title: The Family Business

Author: BradyGirl_12

Rating/warnings: NC-17

Summary: Dick is uncertain about his future.

Word count: ~5100

Note: Accompanying art by giallodih, also found below, under the cut!

[ full res ]

--------------------------------

NAKED GREEKS BEARING GIFTS

The shattering of glass

And terror’s bones

Are just another night’s work

In Gotham.

- Sandra Springer, “Gotham’s Bones” 2013 C.E.

--------------------

“How about one more, Dick?”

“Look this way!”

“Flash those pearly whites!”

Dick smiled for the cameras as the paparazzi shot their pictures outside the entrance of the Gotham Art Museum. He continued smiling as he waved and walked the red carpet toward the iron doors inlaid with stained glass. Clad in a simple-yet-expensive tuxedo, his smile bedazzled as he asked, “Hey, Don, how’s Judy?”

“Just great,” the photographer replied.

“Ellie, did your son win the football game?”

“And the championship!” Ellie beamed as she snapped a photo of Dick.

He smiled back. He enjoyed the spotlight and felt very comfortable as the cameras clicked.

“Where’s your mentor?” called out a photographer.

“Relaxing this evening.”

“Hard at work?” Don asked teasingly.

“Of course!” Dick gave a final wave and disappeared inside.

The foyer was quiet as the guests had moved on to the exhibit area. Dick was familiar with the layout of the museum, having visited many times before in his civilian and superhero identities. It was a prime drawing card for Gotham’s Rogues. He walked over the mosaic floor and under the banners advertising the Greek exhibit. Dick ran a comb through his thick, dark hair and straightened his tie.

Time to play the Heir Apparent.

Dick walked down the corridor as he left the foyer. Chamber music drifted down the hall as he followed the signs directing him to the Mallory Room, which housed the latest exhibit. He entered the room and was immediately drawn to a statue of marble perfection. Not only did the Greeks admire the male body, their love of sculpture was just as strong. They disliked anything but idealized beauty in their art.

Dick appreciated beauty in all its forms. He saw enough ugliness in his night job. He gazed passionately at the work of art, admiring the curve of the statue’s hip and the sweet pout of its lips. The statue’s body was contorted in the pose of a discus thrower. In the grand tradition of the Greek Olympics, the athlete was nude.

“Appreciating fine art?”

Dick smiled at Barbara’s voice. He turned to see his friend dressed in a dark-green, low-cut gown with a diamond necklace, bracelet and earrings.

“You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Dickie.”

Dick grinned at her. “Care to view the rest of the exhibit?” He offered his arm.

Barbara took it and made a little curtsey. “Lead on, Mr. Grayson.”

Dick grinned and led Barbara to the next area of the exhibit. The beauty of the sculptures was breathtaking. There were female statues, too, though the women were draped with marble togas. Each curve of a breast or hip was sublime.

“Beautiful,” murmured Barbara.

Dick agreed. He paused at a tableau that featured two male statues entwined in a passionate embrace. The taller of the pair was slightly older, his large hands gripping the biceps of the younger man. Dick was strongly reminded of him and Bruce.

“Remind you of anyone?”

Dick looked at an amused Barbara. “Not really,” he smirked.

They viewed the rest of the exhibit and declared it one of the best they had ever seen.

“It’s well put-together,” Barbara said.

“The Director hires talented people.”

They emerged into a solarium that was a profusion of colors: red, orange, yellow, pink, blue and green. Marble fountains sparkled with clear water and floating flowers of all colors. A Green Man wall fountain gushed an impressive stream of water from its mouth as the stars glittered through the skylights. The guest mingled as waiters circulated with glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

“Lovely,” Barbara murmured.

Dick agreed. He liked the pageantry of the museum surroundings.

Always a circus boy at heart, he thought amusedly.

“Daddy, how nice to see you,” Barbara said with a smile as she and Dick walked up to Jim Gordon.

“And you, darling.” He smiled approvingly at Dick. “Try the champagne. It’s quite good.”

Barbara picked up a glass from a passing waiter and handed a second glass to Dick.

“Where’s Bruce tonight?” Jim asked.

“Oh, just sitting at home. He begged off because he just went to the Strathams’ ball last night.”

“Well, I can see that. A little time at home would suit me.”

Barbara grinned knowingly. “Daddy likes nothing better than to sit in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace with a good book.”

"’Fraid that’s not too exciting,” Jim said with a laugh.

“Sounds just right to me,” Dick said with a smile. “Mmm, you’re right, this champagne is good.”

As father and daughter talked, Dick thought about getting Bruce in front of a fire.

Maybe on a fur rug.

He hid his smirk by taking a sip of champagne.

“So, ol’ Brucie is taking the night off?”

The speaker was Harlan Endicott, a distinguished, gray-haired man with piercing brown eyes and a hawk-like nose. He was Old Money and a shrew businessman as well. Rivals with Bruce for years, Harlan never stopped looking for an opportunity to one-up him.

Or the Heir Apparent.

Dick never minded the appellation. He understood the press’ need to play thing up.

“Yes, too much partying last night,” Dick said with a quick smile.

“Oh, ho, got sloshed again, eh?” Harlan winked as he jabbed his elbow into Dick’s ribs.

“Pretty much.” Dick was careful not to let his dislike for this man show. He had been around businessmen enough to know revealing too much of himself was a mistake. “Occupational hazard.”

Harlan laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “With Brucie, situation normal.” He finished his glass of champagne. “So he’s got you standing in for him?”

Dick bristled. “I’m here as a junior executive of Wayne Enterprises.”

“Well, of course. Junior it is.”

Dick could feel his teeth set on edge at the sneer in the older man’s voice. “Yes, since I’m attending college.”

“I heard that you’d considered Hudson University.”

“I did, but I guess I’ve become a Gotham boy.” Dick chose an hors d’oeuvres from a passing waiter’s plate. It was light puff pastry filled with cream.

“Really?” Harlan plucked a fresh glass from another tray, nearly guzzling it down.

Dick sipped his champagne slowly. Bruce had cautioned him about alcohol and the loss of control. Humans in the superhero business without superpowers had to be especially in charge of their faculties.

“Does it bother you to be his errand boy?”

“What?” Dick’s surprise was quickly followed by irritation.

“You heard me.” Harlan grabbed another glass of champagne Dick realized that he could hear slightly-slurred speech. “You’re just the errand boy sent to carry out Brucie’s whims.”

Dick kept a rein on his temper. There was no use fighting with a drunken man.

“Mr. Endicott, how nice to see you.”

Thank heavens for Barbara, Dick thought gratefully as she swept into the conversation, completely distracting Harlan. Dick slipped away.

He drifted around the room, using the skills that Bruce had taught him to stick to the shadows and remain unnoticed. It was perfect for observing other people, and Gotham’s High Society were no secret to him. He had practically grown up in the social milieu of these people, hearing the whispers about his ‘Gypsy background’, a scandal to be sure if was true. Bruce had never confirmed or denied it, not wanting to create more pressure for his orphaned boy. The prejudice against the Roma was pervasive and insidious.

When Dick had been old enough, Bruce had given him the choice of acknowledging his heritage. Dick had chosen not to confirm or deny simply because he liked to keep the self-appointed snobs guessing.

He was well aware that the only reason that the ugly whispers remained unspoken to his face was Bruce and his family’s power and prestige in Gotham. People resented him poised to inherit such a vast fortune and the royal title.

Because it is royal, even if Bruce won’t admit it.

Dick finished his champagne, a small smile on his lips. He had something special with Bruce that none of them would understand.

Suddenly the crash of glass brought everyone’s attention up to the skylight. People screamed as glittering shards rained down in a deadly waterfall, crashing to the hard stone floor in a riot of color.

Dick’s muscles were ready to spring as he saw the portly figure float down clutching an umbrella, surrounded by other men using umbrellas to drift down.

“Well, now, a fancy shindig and no one invited a Cobblepot? Tsk, tsk.” The Penguin closed his umbrella and pointed it at the crowd.

Dick shot a look at Barbara. Neither one had brought their costumes, simply because where would you carry them?

Though my costume could probably fit in my wallet, he smirked.

For now they had to play the part of innocent bystanders. Dick longed to spring into action, but his secret identity had to be protected.

So he waited for an opportunity and hoped that the Penguin wouldn’t do more than rob a few wealthy citizens and be on his way. A glance at Barbara showed that she was probably thinking the same thing. He gave her a slight smile and she returned it.

“C’mon, now, pony up. My fellow socialites always carry a bauble or two or a bit o’ cash.”

The Penguin squawked his distinctive laugh as his men moved throughout the crowd, snatching jewelry and wallets. One came toward Dick and Barbara and they reluctantly surrendered their valuables. Barbara looked like she wanted to kick the man in the groin as her mother’s jewelry disappeared into the sack.

One white-haired man objected strenuously to his watch being taken and his wife screamed as he was hit on the head with the butt of a robber’s gun. Dick flexed his fingers as Barbara tossed her red hair with a flick of her head, her hands opening and closing.

Suddenly a distinctly-shaped shadow appeared on the floor as with a whisper of silk, the Dark Knight leaped down from the broken skylight. Tossing Barbara a grin, Dick managed to kick the leg of the robber who had stolen his wallet. The thief buckled and ended up on his rear end.

The crowd of socialites tried to get away as Batman fought the Penguin’s minions. Dick and Barbara managed to appear lucky, tripping thugs and getting in the way to prevent them from getting a clear shot at Batman.

At some point during the fight Dick wound up close to Batman. “Great entrance,” he murmured.

“Glad you approve.”

Dick grinned as he managed to trip another minion. The Penguin was squawking at the top of his lungs as his carefully-planned robbery fell apart. He waddled and jumped and threatened mayhem with his umbrella. If the situation wasn’t so dangerous, it would have been comical.

Batman collared the Penguin. “Time to be set on ice, Penguin.”

“You…you…!”

“Very eloquent, Oswald.” Batman tugged. “Let’s go.”

The crowd buzzed as the police arrived and assured everyone that once everything was logged as evidence, they would get their valuables back. Dick took Barbara’s hand and led her to a small fountain.

“Good job, Ms. Gordon.”

“Not bad yourself, Mr. Grayson.”

“Well, looks like the Bat is still on the prowl,” slurred Harlan Endicott as he swayed on his feet.

“Yes, he’s doing his duty,” Dick said, hoping to avoid further conversation.

“Looks like you did your duty as Brucie’s stand-in.”

“I try.” Dick escorted Barbara away.

“Slick move, Boy Wonder,” she whispered.

He laughed as they left the solarium.

& & & & & & & & & & & & & & & &

Later that night as Dick lay in the bed he shared with Bruce, he heard his lover come in and join him under the sheets. Smelling faintly of the soap that they used in the Batcave showers, Bruce nuzzled Dick’s neck. Neither man spoke, not needing words as they snuggled close and fell asleep as the moonlight shone in the master bedroom.

---------------------

THE JEWEL IN THE PRINCE’S CROWN

He glittered

Like the greatest jewel

In the Prince’s crown

And was treasured

Even more.

- Sir Alan Embree, “Days Of The Raj And Other Poems”, 1922 C.E.

--------------------

The Wayne Enterprises building was a mixture of sleek and antiquated located in the business district of Gotham City. The branch-off of the Wayne Foundation headquarters was located in a 19th-century brownstone in the arts district, but business required modernity, even in gargoyle-infested Gotham, so the old-fashioned façade of the business side of the company was Art Deco at its finest. When Bruce’s grandfather Arthur Wayne had moved his business from the brownstone to the newly-completed building in 1933, it had heralded hope in Great Depression Gotham. The clean lines and spire at the top of the building had been the latest fashion back then, and still was admired in the 21st century.

Dick walked through the lobby with featured pink, polished marble floors and columns and colorful artwork on the walls. When he had first seen the lobby, it had been all gray stone and bland, off-white walls. Even as a youngster he had complained about it looking like a cross between a hospital and a prison. Alfred had stifled a laugh as Bruce had merely lifted an eyebrow, but within a week a major overhaul of the lobby had begun.

Dick rode the elevator up to Bruce’s floor, nodding pleasantly at the receptionist. She smiled as he walked down the corridor, brightened occasionally by paintings from the finest artists.

The office at the end of the hall bore the legend, Bruce Wayne, President & Chief Executive Officer. Bruce’s Secretary, Alice Milkowski, was a pleasant, middle-aged woman with perfectly-coiffed brown hair and a sharp green business suit with a gold starburst pin on the lapel.

“Good morning, Dick.”

“Good morning, Alice.” Dick indicated the office door with his head. “Is he in?”

“Yes, and in a good mood, too.”

“Wow, it’s my lucky day.”

“How was class this morning?” Alice shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk.

“Pretty good. American History is a nice change from Accounting or Business Management.”

“Ah, but the future CEO has to learn these things.”

Dick sighed theatrically. “I suppose so.”

Alice smiled. “Good. Go right on in.”

Dick opened the door and walked in as Bruce spoke on the telephone. Bruce waved him in and Dick closed the door. He set his backpack down and drifted over to the tall glass windows and gazed out over the city. It was a bright day and Gotham looked as bright and cheerful as Metropolis in the sunlight, an oddity to be sure.

Dick half-listened to Bruce’s conversation. He watched a robin fly by, his lips curving into a smile. He wished that he was out flying right now. There was nothing like the freedom of flying. It was the purest form of joy.

Bruce hung up and said, “Nice view.”

“It is.”

“I don’t mean the city.”

Dick smirked as he spread his legs apart. His jeans were tight and he knew that Bruce had noticed, because Bruce noticed everything.

Dick could hear the creak of the leather chair behind the desk. There was no sound of expensive leather shoes on the plush, cobalt-blue carpet. Strong hands clamped down on his shoulders as Dick could smell Bruce’s distinctive cologne. He leaned back into Bruce’s embrace.

“Cut that out,” Bruce grumbled good-naturedly as Dick brushed his ass against Bruce’s groin.

Dick laughed. “You started it.”

Bruce chuckled in his ear. “I did, didn’t I?” He pushed his hips forward. “Should I chase you around the desk?”

“How about bending me over the desk?”

“That can be arranged.” Bruce nipped at the nape of the younger man’s neck. He started to drag Dick toward his desk.

Dick’s heart rate speeded up as he allowed Bruce to drag him toward the desk. Bruce pushed him facedown, scattering a few papers. The desk was not the massive oak as in the study at Wayne Manor, but it was solid cherrywood. The walls were painted pale blue and featured the avantgarde artwork that intrigued them both.

Dick laughed silently. Here he was ready to be fucked by Bruce and he was ruminating about decorating schemes! But the desk was close to his face so it wasn’t all that weird.

Or maybe it is but who cares? I’m gonna get me some!

He heard the click of the lock and Bruce took care of the door. Bruce strode back across the carpet and rested his hand on the small of Dick’s back.

“Relax,” Bruce murmured. He walked around to the other side of the desk and opened the bottom drawer.

“Always prepared, huh?” Dick teased.

“Smart mouth. We should put it to better use later. First things first.”

Bruce came around behind Dick and gently pulled his jeans down, caressing his buttocks. Dick shivered as Bruce slowly pulled down his briefs next.

“Perfect,” Bruce said in quiet awe.

Dick closed his eyes as Bruce prepared him using one finger, then two. Dick was always prepared for Bruce.

Bruce stroked his lover’s hips and unzipped his pants, nudging his cock against Dick’s ass. Dick relaxed as Bruce massaged his back, slowly entering him with practiced ease. Dick clenched his buttocks around Bruce’s cock, grabbing onto the edge of the desk to brace himself. Bruce began to rock as he thrust in deeper, sending waves of pleasure through Dick’s body.

“You feel so good,” Bruce moaned, strong hands gripping slim hips. He rubbed his thumbs over silken skin and thrust in a little harder.

Dick moaned as he was stretched and filled by the man he loved. He matched Bruce’s rhythm by pushing back and glorying in the sensation of being claimed. Being taken by Bruce was always exhilarating.

He closed his eyes and let his sensations take over. He could smell the combined cologne and sweat and feel Bruce’s fingers digging into his flesh as he filled him. Gasps and grunts echoed in the office as Bruce rode his young lover.

Dick reached down and cupped himself as he balanced himself on one hand. It was handy having perfect balance. He could feel himself close to coming. One last thrust from Bruce sent him over the edge and the spilled into his own hand. Bruce hit his climax seconds later and Dick could feel the full force of his orgasm. Bruce kissed his left shoulder blade before pulling out.

Bruce cleaned them up, one of his perks as CEO of the company being a private bathroom. Dick welcomed his ministrations and flopped into the comfortable chair in front of the desk once his pants were zipped up.

“Wow, I hope you don’t greet all your visitors this way.”

Bruce chuckled as he went around to his side of the desk. “Not a chance.” He sat down and asked, “Are you visitor or worker today?”

Dick sighed. “I’m not sure.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Dick leaned forward. “I’m just not sure about all this.”

“All what?”

Dick waved his hand to indicate the office. “All this. The company and my place in it.”

Bruce re-stacked the papers they had scattered. “Do you want your own office?”

“I haven’t graduated college yet. I don’t think it’d look good to have my own office.”

“You’re going to take over someday.” Bruce cocked his head. “Or does that bother you?”

Dick slumped in his chair. Alfred would frown in disapproval. Gentlemen did not slump. “I’m not sure. I’m not the business type. I’m a guy who likes sequined jackets, not Brooks Brothers suits with conservative ties.” He laughed as Bruce adjusted his baby-blue silk tie. “I wear tuxes and suits for the formal balls and museum exhibits but you know I prefer jeans and those sequins.”

“Corporate types wear jeans nowadays.”

“Yeah, for Facebook and Google, but this is Wayne Enterprises.”

Bruce set aside the papers. “Do you mean you’d rather not take over someday?”

Dick sighed. “I know it’s expected but do I fit? I’m a circus brat, Bruce, and I punch bad guys at night. Crimefighting is where my heart really is. I’m not a corporate type.” Dick sat up straighter with a wry smile. “Heaven knows you and Alfred have despaired of my fashion sense. I’m sequins and sparkles at heart, not that Brooks Brothers or Savile Row jazz. I could never be you.”

Bruce smiled gently. “I don’t expect you to be.”

Dick wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. “Maybe I’m not good at this business thing.”

“Maybe not. How are you doing in your business courses?”

“Fine. They’re awfully dry as dust.”

Bruce smiled. “They are. But high finance can be exciting in ways the textbooks don’t explain.”

Dick swept the unruly bangs back from his eyes. “I prefer the Wayne Foundation side of the business.”

“Admirable. The Foundation was set up and administered by my mother. She’d approve of you taking that over.” Bruce picked up a gold Cross pen and lightly tapped the blotter.

“Isn’t that part of the Wayne Enterprises deal?”

“It is, though it’s separate in a lot of ways.” Bruce set down the pen and rose from his chair. He came around the desk to sit on the edge in front of Dick. “If you’re concerned, don’t forget that Lucius is here to help you. He’s invaluable to me, you know.”

“I know.”

Bruce reached out and touched his finger to Dick’s cheek. “Though you’re even more invaluable.”

Dick grinned and reached his leg out to touch his foot against Bruce’s thigh. “I’m the jewel in the Prince’s crown.”

“Most definitely.”

Bruce leaned forward and kissed Dick as his lover wrapped his legs around Bruce’s.

-----------------------------

III

THE HEIR APPARENT

The Heir asked

One day,

“What shall

I be?”

The answer was,

“Yourself”

As the mantle

Fell

About his shoulders.

Edna Sinclair, “The Mystery Of Maynard Manor”, 1906 C.E.

-----------------------------

Dick stretched as he did a series of exercises to warm up for patrol tonight. He rested pixie-boot-clad feet on the mat, and watched his movements in the set of mirrors attached to the Cave wall. He liked his green shorts giving him freedom of movement as his leg muscles rippled. They were strong legs, an acrobat’s legs, a dancer’s legs.

He smiled at the thought of being a dancer. He had taken ballet lessons when he was younger but had given them up as practice was too time-consuming. He kept the knowledge of the exercises to limber up. As much as the life of a famous ballet dancer might be appealing, crimefighting was his greatest passion.

He continued his exercises, limbering up for the night’s work. When he looked up, he could see Bruce’s reflection in the mirrors. His lover’s dark-blue eyes glittered.

Dick felt a familiar thrill course through him. He deliberately stretched out, performing a slow series of exercises that showed off all his assets to their best advantage. He knew that Bruce was watching every move and smiled to himself.

He bent down to do his final stretch and strong hand gripped his hips. Bruce growled, “Enough teasing, brat.”

Dick laughed as Bruce pushed against his ass, rubbing up against his younger lover. Dick wiggled his ass and his buttocks were promptly slapped. He moaned as Bruce pulled down his panties and quickly prepared him.

Only Bruce would have lube ready in a situation like this.

Bruce dispensed with foreplay though he did caress Dick’s smooth buttocks. He thrust his cock in and Dick felt waves of pleasure shoot through him. He pushed back, trying to impale himself even further on Bruce’s cock. Bruce’s grip tightened on Dick’s hips as he thrust harder.

Dick urged him to go faster and harder. Bruce readily obliged, Dick glancing up and seeing their reflections in the mirrors. Their eyes met and Bruce thrust in again, the waves of pleasure washing over him as he tried to grab the edges of the mat for purchase. His own cock was bobbing painfully, eager for release, but he had to use both hands for balance this time. He screamed as Bruce’s cock kept hitting his prostate. The bats high above fluttered and squeaked.

Bruce’s fingers found his cock and worked him to the brink, his climax hard and hot as he literally saw stars. Sweat trickled down his face as Bruce grunted and with one final thrust, spilled his seed into Dick’s body.

Dick’s heart and respiration were racing as he collapsed onto the mat. Bruce pulled out and sank to the mat beside Dick, gathering his lover into his arms.

They lay quietly for a moment, letting their heart rates and breathing settle back to normal. Bruce brushed the hair out of Dick’s eyes and his lips quirked into a smile.

“I guess we’ll have to clean up before we go out.”

“Oh, man,” Dick groaned as he moved his hips, “I think all my energy’s gone.”

“Never.” Bruce kissed the tip of Dick’s nose. “I’ve never seen a ball of energy more brilliant than you.”

Dick kissed Bruce on the lips, beaming at the compliment. “Let’s go punch out some bad guys!” He tried to get up, hindered by his panties twisted around his ankles.

Bruce laughed and helped him get put together again.

& & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & &

They were off to Gotham in the Batmobile a short time later. Robin’s lassitude of afterglow had morphed into a burst of energy. He could barely sit still, much to Batman’s amusement.

Patrol started with a burst of energy for them both, and the muggers they caught half an hour into the night reaped a whirlwind of fists and feet as they were swiftly defeated and tied up, ready for Jim Gordon’s men to come and pick them up.

The Dynamic Duo were in perfect sync, knowing and anticipating each other’s moves without fail. They were equals though conversely Robin often deferred to Batman, the man who had trained him. He trusted Batman and was immensely pleased that trust was reciprocated.

They watched as a gang of jewel thieves cleaned out one of Gotham’s most prestigious stores. Batman would give the signal and they would strike.

Robin watched Batman in the light of the moon. They were a team, utilizing all manners of skills and equipment to carry out their Mission. Their amazing support staff of Alfred and Lucius ran as smoothly as Wayne Enterprises.

A sudden thought struck Robin just as Batman said, “Now.”

They exploded down and the thieves yelled in surprises. The battle was fierce but Robin’s blood sang as he used his skills to take down each thug one-by-one.

Robin saw one of the thugs produce a gun and draw a bead on Batman. Robin threw a batarang and knocked the weapon out of the robber’s hand. Batman barely acknowledged the save but Robin knew that he had seen it. He concentrated on his own battles and they finally had an alley full of knocked-out jewel thieves to preside over. They tied them up and Robin made his second call of the night to Jim Gordon.

“You and your partner are keeping me in business, Teen Wonder,” said Jim in a cheerful voice.

“You’re entirely welcome, Commissioner.”

“Okay, tell Batman that if he wants to stop by later, I’ve got hot coffee.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“Let’s go,” Batman said after Robin had ended the call.

“Right.”

The rest of the evening was uneventful and they did stop by the rooftop of the Gotham City Police Headquarters. Jim Gordon was waiting with the promised coffee and they drank it in comfortable silence as they watched twinkle in downtown Gotham, finally speaking of the night’s work and when Robin yawned, Jim laughed and said, “Better get this one to bed, Batman.”

Robin nearly blushed. It was a sure bet that the commissioner didn’t realize just what taking him to bed meant. Batman answered smoothly, “I think you’re right.”

On their way back home in the Batmobile, Robin grinned. “You know, I had a thought.”

“A thought, huh? Could be dangerous,” Batman remarked dryly as he gripped the wheel, easily palming it as he drove them along the country road.

“Ha, ha.” Robin unwrapped a stick of peppermint gum and popped it into his mouth. “I was thinking how someday I was going to inherit the mantle of the Bat.” Though there’s only one Batman, Bruce, and that’s you.

“You will. Someday the old bones won’t hack it anymore.”

Better than the alternative.

“It made me realize that this little enterprise...” He indicated the car and their costumes. “…is the family business, too.”

“Family business?” Batman’s smile was amused as it often was when his young partner chattered.

“That’s right. You’re in charge of Wayne Enterprises and of Batman, Incorporated.”

The car glided along the road, moonlight shining on the sea.

This time Batman laughed. “Good observation, Teen Wonder. So do you feel a little more comfortable with your place in the scheme of things?” He drove them through the secret entrance to the Batcave.

Robin considered and a happy smile spread across his face. “Well, at least I’ll feel comfortable in one of the family businesses.”

Batman shook his head fondly as he parked and they exited the Batmobile. He took hold of Robin’s shoulders and said, “You’ll always be my family, business or not.”

Robin removed his domino mask and his blue eyes sparkled. “Same here.”

They kissed as the bats overhead squeaked approvingly.

#brucedick #brudick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #giallodih #bradygirl 12

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brucedickficathon · 11 years

Text

[FIC] On Alien Manipulation, and the Positive Results Thereof by Quiet Tiger

Title: On Alien Manipulation, and the Positive Results Thereof

Author: Quiet Tiger

Rating/warnings: NC-17/adult, slight dub-con that gets cleared up

Summary: The Justice League gets kidnapped while investigating an alien planet, with Dick along on the mission. He and Bruce...have a challenging day. [aliens-made-them-do-it, a teensy amount of normal Bat-angst]

Word count: ~12,300

Note: Accompanying art by Little Zion! See under the cut.

--------------------

The passageway was carved from solid rock, the surface rough from the use of primitive tools. The air was dank and bore the unpleasant smell of sulfur. The narrow passage was lit with some sort of glowing rock spaced evenly along its sides. Dick couldn't tell how far underground they were, but no doubt Bruce could guess and probably tell what direction they were headed.

If alien planets used the standard compass directions, anyway. He tried to turn to get Bruce's attention and maybe try to ask around the gag in his mouth, but the alien creature on his right--seemingly stocky for their race--jabbed him again with his spear. Dick turned back around, resigned to being led through an alien tunnel by a chubby gray alien on an alien planet. With his hands tied behind his back with something that just would not cut no matter how hard he tried with the blade slipped from his gauntlet. Eventually the blade had been taken from him by the little gray buggers. He was never going on an off-world mission with the Justice League ever again. He was, however, grateful that he and Bruce still had their costumes, because between the two of them they should be able to figure out a way to break their bonds and get the hell back to the ship. Where he would be able to take the time to bless the electric current that shocked strangers when they tried to remove his or Bruce's belt. Being prodded by aliens and led around by them while nude would be even worse, not to mention losing all their tools. And the sight of Bruce bound and gagged and naked might short-circuit Dick's brain in all the wrong ways; his fantasies of naked Bruce did not involve aliens, at least not ones that looked like these. Of course, Nightwing and Batman being led by a small gaggle of short aliens with six fingers and digitigrade lower limbs provided quite a sight for anyone who might be watching. Each alien had a spear either pointed at Dick or Bruce or hefted over one shoulder. Their clothing was primitive, like the spears and the tunnel, but in brighter reds and greens and blues than one might guess. The hues blended in perfectly with the flora on the planet's surface, which is how the League members had been ambushed in the first place. Little buggers were damn hard to see. The surprise attack combined with the swiftness of the aliens' movements made it impossible to defend against them, especially when trying to get used to the air on the planet. The League should have ignored the anonymous tip to investigate the new planet. What aliens try to be anonymous anyway? They should have just invited them to their home planet or landed on Earth. The two aliens in front of him abruptly turned around, looked at him and Bruce, and then back at each other. Then they... giggled? He needed aliens in his life that didn't mock him. Heck, he'd like if anyone who'd kidnapped and gagged him over the years hadn't mocked him. It wasn't easy being the Boy Hostage. The passageway finally ended at a T, with both right and left hallways off of it identical. The aliens split into two groups, half of them leading Bruce to the right, and the other half leading Dick to the left. He tried to get Bruce's attention, signal him, something, but Bruce was yanked by his ropes when he moved too slowly for the aliens' liking. That was fine. Dick could make it on his own. He'd been around aliens before. Almost married one. She spoke to him, though. These ones just chittered in a language he couldn't understand. He was led down the passageway, and gradually realized he could hear noise. It sounded strange at first, unrecognizable, but then he realized it was the sound of hundreds of aliens all talking at once, like they were waiting for some sort of public event to start. Led through a curtained opening on his right, Dick couldn't help but groan and wish he were wrong. He was being led into some sort of arena, about forty meters by twenty meters. The high walls were capped with spearheads, and over them he could see scores of aliens sitting impatiently, fidgeting and yammering. As different groups saw him, they cheered. Apparently he was the main attraction. Other than the spearheads on the tops of the arena walls, the place was blank; the four-meter-high walls were white and bare. Or they were once white, it looked like; now they were flecked with a smudgy brown, and Dick didn't want to spend too much time thinking about what made those smudges. The ground was hard-packed dirt that looked clean enough, but Dick didn't want to know what was underneath the surface. The walls and ceiling were made of the same glowing rock from the passageway, and it wasn't quite as bright as the daylight of a yellow sun, but was plenty enough for him to see by. He relaxed slightly when Bruce was led through a doorway on the opposite side of the arena. At least he wouldn't be alone in whatever was going on. But were the cheers for Bruce louder than the cheers for him? They were forced to stop walking towards each other with about ten feet in between them. Their audience cheered and stood and applauded, the place a sea of bright colors and gray skin. Finally everyone calmed down and sat, though Dick couldn't help but be anxious about what might be next. He didn't wait long before percussive music was played and a door towards the top of the arena opened. A procession led down the stairs; aliens with drums led the way, while next a tall alien in a floral-patterned robe and surrounded by four guards made his way down. More drummers were at the rear. The procession made its way to front row center, the equivalent of field level on the 50 yard line, right at the top of the wall. So Dick and Bruce were going to be entertaining royalty. Lovely. The robed alien raised his hands and the others immediately fell silent. He chittered loudly and gave a no doubt rousing speech, if the thunderous cheering and applause at its conclusion were any indication. Then Dick and Bruce's gags were removed and their bonds cut, but their captors moved too quickly for them to take action after being tied up for so long. Besides, Dick kind of wanted to see what was going to happen. Their captors took up sentry positions next to the entryways after pulling shut gates Dick hadn't noticed on his way into the arena. He guessed he and Bruce were stuck there. Turning to Bruce and happy to be able to speak at last, he unhelpfully asked, "So what happens now?" "I'm assuming we fight." "Fight?" "Look around." Bruce turned and gestured to the crowd, which now seemed to be booing them. "They're here to see us fight. Classic gladiator stadium and competition. And the walls are smeared with blood." "A fight to the death?" Bruce didn't answer him, just narrowed his gorgeous blue eyes underneath the cowl. "Right. I need to learn to stop asking stupid questions." "What we need to learn is a way out of here." Dick glanced back to the royal guy, who did not look pleased, assuming facial expressions here were similar to those on Earth. "Should we pretend to fight? Buy some time?" "Are you suggesting we spar?" "We can make it look good. Like a real fight." "It'll give us a chance to learn more about our environment. Maybe there's a time limit and we can leave after a while." "I'm not counting on it." "Let's do something simple so we can strategize at the same time." Dick nodded and shifted his weight back into a ready position. Bruce did the same, and after nodding at each other to indicate they were ready, they began. Dick struck out with his right hand, jabbing lightly just to see what Bruce would use in counter. Bruce deflected and immediately came at him with his left hand, pulling the punch so Dick barely even felt it through his armor, despite the solidity of Bruce's gauntlet. They didn't often spar in full costume, so this might prove to be a valuable training tool. At the very least it had to be better than sitting in a cell-- God forbid separate cells-- and wondering what was going on. Granted they might be able to escape the cell, which didn't seem to be a possibility here in the arena. Yet. Feinting with his left hand, Dick spun towards his right to strike with his right foot, but Bruce had him figured out and swept his legs out from under him. He crashed onto his back and the aliens cheered. He rolled to the left and up into a kneeling position. From there he launched himself at Bruce, spinning to the right abruptly, which knocked Bruce off balance for his counter strike. Somehow he still managed to land a blow to Dick's shoulder, but Dick was able to twist and use Bruce's momentum against him to get him to pitch forward and fall onto his knees. The aliens cheered again, and Dick wondered who they were cheering for. He didn't think it really mattered. Their sparring match continued for a little while with no clear line of escape presenting itself, and Dick worked up a decent sweat. However, he knew the aliens couldn't be entertained by them for long, no matter how graceful a show he and Bruce were able to concoct as they went along. Fights weren't generally watched for the artful choreography; someone was supposed to win, and someone was supposed to lose, and as it was Dick and Bruce weren't aiming towards such an outcome. Surely something would be done to up the ante or get them to truly fight. And he did hate himself for being right when two double-headed axes were thrown into the ring, the clanging sound startling even with all the cheering. Dick eyed the axes while preparing for the combination move he knew Bruce was planning. "I think they're on to us." "We'll just have to step up a notch on the performance." "You do know how I like an audience." "Ever since I first watched you. You'll have them eating out of the palm of your hand in no time." They'd often joked about Dick liking being the center of attention and putting on a show--an important quality in being the first Robin--but never before had it really been so important on a mission. And as usual the offhand comment about Bruce watching him caused a little thrill inside of Dick. If only Bruce knew how much Dick wanted that, his focus on him alone, perhaps arousal coursing through them... Bruce attacked him with the expected punch-uppercut-knee-punch combo, and Dick blocked the assault while trying to figure out the best way to slip away to grab his ax. Dick was agile but Bruce was like a wall when he wanted to be. Thinking quickly, he allowed Bruce to grab him and he launched himself off of Bruce's thigh into a backflip, far enough away that he could land and get a grip on one of the axes before Bruce. He hefted the weapon and swung it once; it was balanced a little awkwardly, but Dick could work with that. The craftsmanship on the blade itself was beautiful, with a sort of vine design engraved into the metal of each head. The grip almost looked like leather. The wooden shaft was carved, too, and Dick wanted to look more closely but if he did Bruce would have to attack him lethally, lest the aliens catch on to their ruse. So instead he raised the ax and pretended like he was going to land his own lethal blow. Bruce, of course, barely reacted and still Dick barely grazed him, the edge of the blade sliding harmlessly across the suit's chest plate. Clearly Bruce had a lot more experience fighting ax-wielding maniacs. Not that Dick was a maniac. He wasn't sure how Bruce managed it, but he was able to do his own roll-and-grab move for his own ax, and came up swinging. "You've really got to sell it, Dick. You want to hit me. You want to slice me open." At certain points in their relationship that might have been true, but right now was certainly not one of them. "Same for you." There was a fleeting expression of dismay that flashed underneath Bruce's cowl before he was able to smooth out his features. "Of course." It was harder to feint with the axes, and besides that Dick was getting tired. The ax wasn't heavy but it was heavier than nothing. And Bruce truly was more experienced with axes; he was coming at Dick in enough different ways to keep him almost entirely on the defensive. There were only so many ways Dick could come up with to sell the fight, be entertaining with his flips and spins, and appear evenly matched. "Bruce, relax a little. I hate to admit this but I'm having trouble keeping up." "Then you attack me. Put your weight on your other foot, and don't choke up so much on the shaft. You'll get better leverage with a longer shaft." Dick would have made a "That's what she said" joke but he was too focused on forcing Bruce to block an attack. "That's better, Dick. Keep coming but don't forget that swinging from your non-dominant side is a good way to take advantage of your opponent. They'll expect blows from one side, so you can take them off guard by using both hands equally." And so the lesson continued, different from their usual training sessions because they weren't able to pause for a break, or for Bruce to actually show Dick what he meant by his directions. Dick could only listen to the words and try to implement them, and not get hurt too badly by a lucky shot of Bruce's. It was definitely one of the stranger training sessions Dick had ever had, and he'd trained with Kid Flash and Aqualad on a regular basis. He got better, though, as he got more familiar with the weapon. He figured out how to use its weight and his own acrobatic ability to really work together and make his attacks difficult and different enough that Bruce had to actually work to dodge and counter attack. It was actually a lot of fun, and Dick was able to almost forget that he and Bruce were fighting against their will in an arena full of cheering aliens. They didn't have a lot of sparring sessions anymore, and it was something Dick sometimes missed, being in close sweaty quarters with Bruce even though it was sometimes hard to hide his attraction to him. He was going to do his best to enjoy the moment while they tried to come up with a way to escape. Until, of course, there was a noise similar to that of a small cannon being fired, and the air around Dick and Bruce became thick with some sort of greenish powder. "What the hell--" "Try not to breathe! We don't know what it is!" Of course it was too late, and Dick could feel the powder coating his throat. It didn't taste like anything but it was chalky, and he gagged a little as he tried to work up some saliva. He heard Bruce cough, too, and hoped whatever this stuff was that it wasn't poisonous. But having them battle only to poison them seemed a little anticlimactic. Then he realized their audience was cheering even more wildly, and he was afraid about what that meant. Just what the hell was this stuff? It was fine enough that there was still some of it floating in the air around them, looking like pollen and making Dick wonder just what the hell he and Bruce were in for. Damn aliens and their damn alien home world. "Bruce, do you feel anything?" "No. But we better get back to our fight." Bruce gestured around them, the aliens appearing to be losing their patience after the expectation of something grander. Striking a more visually menacing pose, Dick mock-snarled, "Give it to me." "Your trash talk needs work. Go practice with Tim and the Titans." "Gar alone could write a dictionary..." Bruce swung his ax towards Dick's head, though still not at full strength, and the fight--such as it was--was back on. Adrenaline flowing and muscles relaxed, as Dick grew more confident in himself with the ax, he got more aggressive and tried to practice using the ax as a counterweight to flips and spins. Bruce relied on his size and muscle, and neither one of them seemed to gain any sort of advantage. And for some reason, that made Dick angry. The more they were locked in stalemate, the more he wanted to win. Needed to win. It was asinine and ridiculous, but he wanted blood from this fight. The need to work through his years of frustration with Bruce--sexual and otherwise--became overwhelming, and he needed blood, needed pain. He just had to break through a few barriers first. Dick feinted and ducked, and was able to come up between Bruce and his ax. His experienced fingers found one of the clasps on the Batsuit and popped it loose. Bruce's eyes widened then narrowed. "So be it, Dick." Before Dick could flip away, Bruce had his fingers underneath Dick's utility belt and was able to disengage the locks. As Dick shoved himself away, his belt came off in Bruce's hand. "Take it, I don't need it," Dick sneered. Something... something had changed. The sparring session abruptly turned into a real fight. Dick snarled as he actually tried to hit Bruce with the ax, wanting skin and blood as he fought. Bruce fought back just as hard, blows with the ax stinging Dick's hands as he blocked them with his own ax handle. The clangs and thuds of the weapons crashing together were loud, and were the only sounds Dick focused on as their audience faded from his attention. He just knew he had to get Bruce, make him bleed and let Dick win, victory the only thing on his mind as he blocked and dodged, twisted away from Bruce's larger form. Bruce's eyes were green-tinged, and gleamed with an unfamiliar, angry--murderous?--light. The problem with wanting blood while fighting in their costumes was that it generally took a lot of effort to get through the costumes to the vulnerable parts of their bodies. That was the entire point of the costumes, obviously, aside from that whole "fear and dramatics" thing Bruce had going with his. Even once the belts were off, there were clasps and zippers for all the different pieces of their armor. But a few buttons weren't going to stand in Dick's way. He would spill Bruce's blood. Bruce's ax came down at just the right angle to tear into the seam of Dick's right sleeve, and he knew he had to get Bruce stripped out of his armor first. He'd already gotten one clasp, but the belt needed to go next. Close to the wall, Dick vaulted off of it and grabbed Bruce's shoulder to pull him to the ground. He only had a few seconds before Bruce pushed him off--stripping off one of Dick's boots as he did it--but he was able to pop the locks and remove Bruce's belt. "Got yours." "Don't need it." Bruce rolled them and yanked off Dick's other boot. "Son of a bitch--" Dick flipped them up and backwards so he was back on top. Taking advantage of the leverage, he punched Bruce in the jaw a few times, enough to disorient him and grab the ax out of his hand. He tossed it to the side and ripped off Bruce's right gauntlet. As he grabbed the left one Bruce rolled and slid away, kicking Dick in the side of the head to do so. Dick sprang to his feet to ready another blow with his ax, but Bruce had been able to grab his again to block. Breathing heavily, sweat dripping into the dirt, Dick remembered the one clasp he'd been able to undo. There were only a few more... A bit more nimble without his boots, Dick was able to leap and flip as Bruce ducked for a shoulder charge, and as he landed he clocked Bruce in the back of the head with the end of the shaft. Dropping the ax, he was able to get his fingers under the cape, and wrenched it off, the cowl with it. He threw it to the side, but that gave Bruce enough leverage to grab Dick's thigh and fling him to the ground. Bruce pulled him up by the front of his costume and head-butted him. Dick saw stars as Bruce yanked off both of his gauntlets one at a time. But with Bruce's hands occupied Dick was able to snake his fingers against the Batsuit's remaining clasps and undo them. Bruce's movement inhibited by the loose equipment, Dick was able to flip them over again and grab Bruce's boots. By the time Bruce crawled away for his ax and got to his feet, he stood there sweaty and filthy in only his jockstrap, and if Dick weren't near blind with the inane urge for blood he'd let his mind wander into a specific corner with silk sheets and plenty of oils and lube. Bruce looked like an ancient soldier...or a wrestler... scars crisscrossing his strong body as his muscles twitched in anticipation of continuing the fight. He panted, then rasped out, "Keep it coming. We aren't done here." Conceding the competition had changed, Dick stripped out of the rest of his costume, including his mask. Having armor when Bruce did not meant the fight wouldn't be fair. Besides, he wasn't shy about his current near-nudity. He knew he looked pretty much the same as Bruce, just leaner and shorter and with scars in different places. He pushed a hand back through his damp hair. Bruce allowed him to stoop and pick up his ax. Dick set himself back in a ready position, and bared his teeth as Bruce nodded. Let's continue. Bruce lunged then dodged Dick's counter, and swung the end of the handle up into Dick's jaw. Stunned for a second, Bruce was almost able to swing the blade around in time to cut into Dick's arm, but Dick was able to jerk his arm back out of the way in time to only get a small cut. It stung anyway, and a stream of red poured down his arm. The aliens roared with delight. Bruce looked too damn smug for Dick's liking. "That all you got, Bruce?" "Far from it. But I don't want to take you down without more of a fight. ...Except that I do." He lunged again with the ax, a broad motion that Dick blocked. He kicked out with his right foot, catching Bruce in the solar plexus. Wheezing, Bruce backed away, and Dick knocked him off his feet onto his back. His ax dropped into the dirt. Energy surged through Dick, the need for blood almost unbearable. He used the blade to streak Bruce's chest with cuts, watching the red well up. "Got you, Bruce. See who's the bigger man now?" "Never." Bruce yanked the ax out of Dick's hands, turned it, and slammed the top edge into Dick's stomach. The top corners of the blades cut into him, stinging like a bitch, but Dick was able to take Bruce's weight as he rocked up towards him and flipped him back over top of him. Bruce landed with a grunt. Dick was overtaken with an overwhelming fury and pitched the ax away. "We do this like men." "Gladly." Dick pulled Bruce to his feet then punched him in the face. Bruce retaliated with an uppercut and a left hook. The fight mirrored their earlier sparring, except for the lack of armor and the presence of the new desire to actually hurt each other. Every time Dick landed a blow that bruised Bruce or opened a cut, Dick felt stronger, more in control, more ready to--not kill. What was the end goal here? He was getting a little fuzzy from the constant movement and hits to the head. No matter how he felt, though, it was clear Bruce felt the same, or stronger. Eyes still greenish, face flushed, torso smeared with blood that mixed with his sweat, angry expression on his face, he looked like a warrior in the middle of battle. Strong and powerful, clever and angry. He was, truly, but it wasn't something Dick had ever seen before. Not like this. That look was never directed at Dick and he wasn't usually almost nude. But now the look was focused squarely on Dick, as Bruce hit and kicked and ducked and dodged, using his bigger size to his advantage. Finally Bruce landed a solid hit that knocked Dick down, and Dick wasn't able to spring back up. Bruce stepped on Dick's chest, his foot pressing him into the dirt. "Looks like I win." He gestured to the ecstatic aliens, and Dick could see some of them exchanging small metallic discs like they were poker chips. "With what final means shall I appease my fans? They're looking for a glorious victory with a final dramatic flourish. Though I'll admit that's more your area of expertise." He stooped to pick up his ax, fingers curling lovingly around the handle. Was he really going to kill Dick? Was Richard John Grayson really going to meet his demise at the hands of his mentor on an alien planet? While putting on a show for said aliens? After everything he'd ever been through in Gotham and Bludhaven, the Titans and Outsiders? Bruce was going to kill him? Just what in the hell was happening here, and just what in the hell was Dick's life? Bruce raised the ax, the action seemingly happening in slow motion. Before Dick could formulate a new plan to squirm away and get to his feet, another cannon fired. This time the air was filled with a reddish powder, like the arena floor was dusted with paprika. The dust burned Dick's eyes and made him feel grimy as it stuck to his sweat, but it also meant Bruce would be distracted enough to let him go. Hopefully. He grabbed Bruce's ankle and shoved, and rolled at the same time, and was able to force Bruce off balance. Of course Bruce didn't fall, the bastard, but he did look stunned for a moment. But whether that was due to anything Dick did or simply just the shock of the powder, he wasn't sure. Dick got to his feet, albeit not too steadily, and braced himself for another attack from Bruce. But the other attack never came. Bruce just stood there panting, ax loosely clasped in one hand. "Bruce?" Bruce shook his head slightly, meaning 'give me a minute.' Dick realized that the urge to fight Bruce to the death had faded, and he quickly felt horrified by what he'd done. He'd cut Bruce, hit him, made him bleed, and why? Obviously it was that green powder, but what the hell was it? What kind of aliens had powder that made people fight? Of course, if the aliens didn't really view them as people, which was why they had them both fighting like animals... Dick's brain hurt. He was also embarrassed. The urge to fight and kill had been so strong, and had faded so quickly once the new powder was in the air. Why? Did the red powder somehow negate the effects of the green? Were the aliens finished with them? Could they go back to Earth, never to speak of this experience again? Could Dick take a shower sometime soon? Was Bruce looking kind of... confused? "Bruce?" "I don't want to kill you anymore." "Um...thanks?" "But why not?" "Just wondering the same thing. But maybe we should get the hell out of here before something else happens." "Are you okay? Let me look at the cut on your arm." "I should be asking you the same thing. I got you pretty badly a few times." Bruce shrugged and looked bored, an expression that generally meant he was trying to think six steps ahead of what was happening at the current moment. "Barely feel it anymore. Just cuts. And some bruises that will heal. Won't be able to show my face at the office for a few days." "Didn't you tell them you'd be on vacation for a month?" "True. So I don't have to worry about looking like I picked a bar fight." "What about me? The precinct is going to wonder who I pissed off and why I wasn't able to collar them." "Just say they were bigger than you." "'Cause that'll work..." Dick rolled his eyes, but turned his shoulder to Bruce so he could examine the cut from the ax. The second Bruce's rough thumbs touched him as they pressed around the wound, Dick felt a bolt of pleasure shoot through him. Bruce dropped his arm like he was burned. "Dick, what was that?" "I don't--" Bruce pressed his fingertips to Dick's arm again, and the bolt shot through him once more. He watched Bruce shudder and knew he felt the same thing. "Jesus Christ." This time Dick reached out, fingertips lightly trailing down Bruce's chest, the teasing touch causing fluttery and delicious tingles to radiate from the points of contact down to his groin. "What the hell?" "The dust, it's got to be..." "What, sex dust? Sex pollen? Why do so many alien races want humans to have sex?" Bruce didn't answer, just pressed his hand over Dick's, the harder contact making him shut his eyes and groan. Dick groaned too, both at theamazing feeling coursing through his body, and the chafing of his jockstrap against his erection. He was so hard and turned on, just from Bruce's hand over his. Fingertips to groin, and the feeling amplified by the contact with Bruce's hand. They were in so much trouble. Dick had been harboring his crush on Bruce for years, shamefully fighting it even as much as it was a part of him, and there was no way he was going to be able to fight this, if sex dust was what it was. Eyes flying open, Bruce jerked his hand away while stepping back. The feelings of arousal instantly dissipated, but there were still tiny tendrils of pleasure that Dick could feel underneath his skin. "Bruce, we need to stop touching. That's causing it, right?" He tried not to glance down, but Bruce's jock was clearly chafing him, too. "Yes. Stay away from me." But he didn't quite look like he really wanted that to happen. Dick stepped backwards, knowing he had to get away from Bruce. But he felt... not burning, per se, but a need to get closer to Bruce. He started to step back another step but found himself stepping forward again. His hand reached out and he forced it back, only for it to reach out faster and actually touch Bruce. His hand wrapped around Bruce's wrist, and the resulting bolt was strong enough to make Dick's hips jerk forwards. Reaching from his palm to his groin, Dick's skin tingled, and as he held on, the tingling got stronger. Like a vibrator pressed carefully under the head of his cock, the contact felt like a pulse, and he knew he wouldn't be able to pull away before he came. Why would he even want to, the need to come so strong within him, fingers and arm and stomach and cock lit up with it. He was already so close, and-- Bruce yanked away from his grasp, and Dick mourned the touch, the fantastic feeling of his skin hot and tightening as he worked towards orgasm fading. "No. We're not doing this. We're not letting them win." Dick shook his head, trying to get his brain in gear with all of his blood elsewhere. He opened his mouth to protest, and Bruce cut him off. "No." "You didn't like it?" "Like it?" Bruce looked appalled and kind of sick, but there was some level of guilt there, too. "Are you not interested?" Just what the hell was coming out of Dick's mouth? He'd fought for years to hide his reaction to Bruce, the thoughts ofwanting him. But knowing that even under the effect of alien powder, Bruce still rejected him... Yeah, that hurt. It wasn't like he wrote his and Bruce's names linked together in a heart in the margins of his notebooks, but Bruce had been a focus of Dick's sexual energy for a long time. But the feeling of want when they touched... Not even want, but need... Bruce was damn sexy even before the dust brought his attention to the forefront, and Dick needed to feel and taste all of him more than he ever had in his life. He stalked back towards Bruce, who looked wary and... conflicted? "Come on, Bruce. Like you don't need to get off once in a while." "Once in a while, under circumstances vastly different than these." He gestured around him, and Dick glanced up at the aliens. Their royalty looked bored, but he could be pleased or sick for all Dick could tell. Even if the audience were larger and more engaged, Dick didn't think that would be enough of a deterrent for him. Not when he wanted to bang Bruce as much as he did right now. The thought of all of that muscle and scarred skin under him, or wrapped around him... maybe even especially with an audience... "You really don't want me?" He hated that it hurt to say, and hoped it didn't come out as needy as it sounded. "No. Do not come closer. You know I can best you in combat." Steeling himself, knowing that confidence was sexy, Dick argued, "What, this little display here? That was just fighting. I am much more determined when it comes to getting laid." Bruce closed his eyes in a please save me now sort of gesture. When he opened them, they bore straight through Dick. "We're not doing this. You are stronger than alien dust, no matter how much of an aphrodisiac it is. I trained you better than this." "Your mouth says no, but your cock says yes. I thought you were an expert at keeping control of your body. ...its needs and reactions..." Dick slunk a little closer, shifting his hips at an angle to Bruce so he could see him better. "I'm spending an exorbitant amount of energy fighting my reaction to your hand around my wrist. Apparently it's not enough to fight both the mental reaction to the dust and the visible physical reactions it's causing." "What's mental? I want to touch you, let you touch me, all over, if your wrist felt that good, think about that feeling around your cock, or inside of you..." Dick watched as Bruce's eyes widened and his nostrils flared. "I knew it. Thought I heard you and Clark that night. I'm not as strong as he is, but I know I can do things to you that you can't imagine." Remembering that night, Bruce's strained chanting of what sounded like fuck me fuck me fuck me, Dick felt a pang of jealousy, but he wasn't going to let that ruin this moment they were having, forced or not. Turning his charm and desirableness up to eleven, Dick slid out of his jockstrap. He stroked himself slowly, wishing he got the same jolt of pleasure from his own hand as he had from touching Bruce. "No. Do not come closer to me." "But Bruce--" Dick stepped forward and reached out to touch once more, then found himself on the ground, the left side of his face both hurting from being punched and tingling from the skin contact. Bruce stood over him, looking so torn, between arousal and responsibility, horror over knocking Dick down but knowing he had to, and trying to figure out if he should help him up or run away. Before either of them could move, another cannon fired, and a dose of the red powder hit Bruce smack in the face. He gasped in surprise, inhaling a good portion of it. He coughed and spat, but Dick knew it was hopeless. Bruce would be his. Inhaling more of the dust as it settled around him, Dick sat up and twisted around to reach out to Bruce. He wrapped his hand around his calf, the muscle strong under his palm. He gasped as he got another bolt, his fingers, arm, shoulder, stomach, and groin tingling with need. He felt Bruce give a half-hearted struggle to pull away, but Dick knew he had him. Knew Bruce wouldn't be able to biofeedback his way out of a second dose. The muscle twitched under his hand, and Dick massaged it. Bruce groaned above him, and Dick tipped his head back to drink in the sight of him. Jock pushed to the side, straining erection rubbing against it slightly when Bruce moved his hips, long legs and long torso streaked with dirt, sweat, and drying blood, Bruce was sexy as hell and Dick couldn't take it anymore. He raised himself up enough to spin into a leg sweep, swept Bruce's legs out from under him, and caught Bruce before he landed. Spread on his back, Bruce looked up, somewhat dazed as Dick climbed on top of him, knees spread over Bruce's muscular thighs. So much more skin contact now, thigh-to-thigh and cock-to-cock, and Dick groaned as he pulsed pre-come and rocked against Bruce, seeking more of that feeling and needing it. "God, Bruce, I just need to--" He wrapped his hand around both of them, and loved the way Bruce thrust up against him and made a sound deep in his throat. "Do that again, want to feel you against me--" Bruce complied, pushing up against him as he ground down into him, his hand amazing around both of their cocks but his brain already thinking ahead to getting inside of Bruce. "God, I'm gonna--so close--" A strong, calloused hand groped at his thigh, and the accompanying extra pleasure tipped Dick over the edge of orgasm, and his body jerked as he came, streaking his come through the mess on Bruce's chest. He leaned over and panted, trying to catch his breath, and opened his eyes to enjoy the sight of Bruce needy. Bruce kept thrusting up into Dick's fist, trying to get off, and after catching his breath a little Dick pressed his other hand against Bruce's sternum. The pleasure made his own cock jerk back to attention, and Bruce's other hand squeezed Dick's other thigh. Both hands grabbing him almost tight enough to bruise, Bruce worked against him, rocking up with so much purpose. Dick gasped again at the sensation, and almost missed the way Bruce's face tightened as he came, eyes screwing shut. He scowled slightly but then was slack jawed as he shot all over his own chest and stomach. As he breathed heavily, chest heaving, he opened his eyes again, and Dick smiled at him. "That was damn hot. I cannot wait to make you do that with my cock inside you." Hands flexing against his thighs, like he didn't know if he wanted to let go or try for a second orgasm in that position, Bruce stared at him. He eventually asked, "Are you sure that's what you want?" There was a level of hope in his voice that Dick knew he wasn't imagining. Chuckling, Dick answered, "I think I can honestly say I've never wanted anything more in my life." It was absolutely the dust talking, even drowning in lust Dick knew that, but right now it was true. If he didn't claim Bruce right now he would... Well, he was pretty sure he wouldn't actually explode or go crazy, but who knew? Maybe if the dust wasn't worked out of one's system or neutralized by more dust, the person affected by it died. Clearly the only responsible thing to do was do what the powder wanted. And right now, it wanted Dick to plow into Bruce. Feel him under him, straining against his cock, choking back moans and whispers, clenching around him as he fought off succumbing to his own orgasm as Dick worked towards his. All of a sudden Dick was hard as a rock again, and could see that Bruce was too. The biggest problem Dick faced right now was what position he wanted to be in. He was quite happy to stay where he was, looking down through the fringe of his hair into Bruce's red-rimmed eyes, Bruce's powerful thighs tightened around his waist, his sweat dripping onto Bruce's chest. But the rational part of him--dwindling though it was as the need to get off slowly coiled tighter and tighter within him--wanted to let Bruce choose, as the bottom. Dick could get off in any position--had come hanging upside down a few times, even--but Bruce may not be able to do that. A red haze crept along Dick's vision as he thought through a number of positions, but he was brought to the present by Bruce stroking his hands up Dick's thighs. Dick couldn't help the shudder it caused, that pleasure bolt zapping to his groin from two different directions and making him leak again. "Dick... I want--need--you in me. Please." They hadn't even gotten close to that yet and Bruce was already almost begging. The odds of Dick lasting to the point of actually penetrating Bruce were decreasing rapidly. He wondered what odds he was getting now among the aliens. Just the thought of being inside tight, hot--God help him, Bat--heat made him rock against Bruce again, raising his hips for more leverage and snaking his hand around their cocks again. Bruce bucked up against him again, growl deep in his throat. And now Dick couldn't get the thought of fucking that throat out of his mind, Bruce's deft tongue twisting around his cock every time he pulled back and thrust forward. Fortunately Bruce was, as was to be expected, more compos mentis than Dick was, and he had the presence of mind to grab underneath Dick's knees and flip them over. On his back, looking up at Bruce, Dick had a fleeting thought of bottoming for Bruce, of getting fucked hard and fast by his mentor, living out fantasies from his adolescence that had long been shelved in the don't let it fester part of his brain. But then Bruce wrapped his hand around his cock, fingers curling into place one at a time, sending separate tiny pulses of pleasure through his body, and Dick just had to be inside, feel that all around his cock. "Just stay here." And with that Bruce was gone, the weight off Dick's thighs and his body cold and wanting. But Bruce was back soon enough, his weight settling on top of him pleasantly once more, condoms in one hand and packets of lube in the other. Dick raised his eyebrow and Bruce shrugged. "You never know who you'll meet on patrol." Dick opened his mouth to protest as Bruce continued, "...Okay, so sometimes Selina or Clark needs me." "That's fine." As if Dick, even in his wildest imagination, didn't think Bruce got it on with those two. He'd caught Bruce and Selina enough, and it would explain a lot about Clark's popping into the Manor at all hours of the day and night. And he had heard them that one night. Never doubt Bat-senses. Staring down at him hungrily, Bruce wrapped his fingers around Dick's cock again. He stroked lazily, making Dick rock with the motion of his hand, at least as much as Bruce's weight on top of him allowed. It was Dick's turn to close his hands around Bruce's thighs, fine hair bristling against his palms as a wave of desire flowed through him. Bruce tore open a wet-wipe with his teeth--and just when did he grab that?--and cleaned off his hands. If Dick were the one getting ready to take a cock, he'd want to prep himself with clean fingers, too. Then Bruce handed him a wipe. "I'll start. But I want to feel whatever that alien sensation is inside me." Bruce ripped open a lube packet and Dick couldn't help but stare as Bruce reared up enough to reach underneath himself. Seeing those strong fingers teasing, combined with the expression on Bruce's face, eyes slipping shut in concentration, made Dick's cock twitch again. Dick found himself rubbing his hands up and down Bruce's thighs, the friction driving him crazy with the need to fuck sometime soon as his cock leaked steadily. Bruce didn't seem to be doing much better, if the utter lack of finesse at prepping himself was any indication. "Lemme, Bruce." Bruce tore open another lube packet and drizzled its slippery contents onto Dick's fingers. The intense gaze Bruce leveled at him while submitting to the penetration made Dick groan along with him. Obviously he'd expected Bruce to be hot and tight, but maybe it was the red dust talking because he'd never felt anything like he'd felt inside Bruce. Like sliding his cock in would literally be heaven. The full body shudder his stretching caused in Bruce was just as hot as the moan that went along with it. "Dick, I think I'm--" "You are not close to ready--" "But I need you inside so damn badly..." Bruce spasmed again as Dick teased around his prostate and this time Dick followed along, and when Bruce brushed his fingers over the head of his cock he bucked up hard into him. "Not sure how long I'll last even when I get inside you..." "Think we'll be good for a couple rounds..." Dick hoped to hell they would be, considering the way Bruce came like a shot the second Dick pressed his prostate straight on. Bruce panted and twitched, and sweat poured off of him. Dick closed his eyes, because the sight of Bruce being torn apart from so little--even enhanced by so much--would make him come again too. The aliens cheered around them, reminding Dick exactly where they were and what they were doing. They needed to escape, they needed to get pants on, they needed to get off this Godforsaken planet, but then Bruce rolled a condom onto him, causing another wave to radiate through him, and Dick's eyes snapped open. The concept of getting off the planet receded again as Dick looked ahead more immediately to getting himself off. The head of his cock slipped inside as Bruce sank down on him, and Bruce's eyes fell shut as he and Dick groaned in tandem. Inch after inch Bruce took inside, adjusting slightly as necessary to accommodate Dick's girth. Dick had imagined what it would feel like over the past little while, being connected with the effects of the red dust, but it wasn't even close. He felt more alive than he ever had before, even when flying on grapple lines or riding an adrenaline high after a successful fight. Every nerve ending felt electrified, and his whole body felt aroused and sensitive. Dick panted out--and when had he stopped breathing normally? --"I don't think this is going to last long..." "Cock ring...is in my other pair of boots..." Bruce either had a crazy sense of humor after two orgasms, or he was serious, and just how the hell did he have time for his impromptu sessions with the cat and the alien that he wanted to prolong them? Leaning forward, Bruce rested his hands on the ground on either side of Dick's head. The position gave him an incredible amount of leverage, especially with his strength. He rocked back and forth, a slow slide up with a harder slide back down onto Dick. There was a shuddery halt to the down stroke every time his prostate was grazed, or at least Dick supposed that's what it was based on Bruce's little mewl of pleasure every time it happened. That sound was what was ratcheting Dick tighter and tighter, knowing that it was him that was causing it to escape from Bruce's throat. Okay, so really it was all of it, the sound of Bruce losing himself to the sex, the scent of salt in the air from their arousal, the sight of Bruce's flushed face as he let himself feel, the prickling sensation as drops of Bruce's sweat landed on his chest, and of course just how tight and hot he was around him, Dick wanting to push himself up further inside no matter how impossible that was. The only way to push himself further inside would be to be in another position, but Bruce looked so damn content to ride him like this. Maybe he could help Bruce along... Dick stopped massaging Bruce's thighs and instead trailed his fingers up along Bruce's flanks, running his fingertips over scars. Bruce hitched again and dropped his head. Dick slowly made his way up until his thumbs reached Bruce's nipples. Bruce surged into the touch, almost coming off of Dick's cock. "Oh, Dick, right there, just like that..." Dick pressed circles around the edges, then flicked his thumbs back and forth across the tips as they peaked. Bruce stopped moving entirely and appeared to just be focusing on the new sensation. When he started rocking again Dick knew it was almost the end. He could feel Bruce's orgasm starting, the small tremors that would soon lead to full shudders. Bruce propped himself up on his left hand, his right snaking to his cock and stroking. The growl started deep in Bruce's chest, finally becoming a shout as his body jerked as he came, his grimace of intense pleasure gorgeousas he painted Dick's chest. The aliens roared along with him. As he came down and relaxed, Bruce leaned to the side, then let gravity take over, collapsing on his stomach next to Dick, his cock sliding out slowly, the air cold around it compared to being inside Bruce. Dick gave Bruce a minute to recover before rolling over on top of him. "Need you, Bruce." He laved his tongue across Bruce's salty shoulders. "Need. Inside. You." Slowly, Bruce raised his hips in invitation. Not wanting Bruce to change his mind, Dick pulled his hips up and back and braced Bruce's knees. He almost jerked his hands away as he slid in and held Bruce in place; the bolt almost burned it was so good. Like this was the position they were supposed to be in from the beginning. This was definitely better for Dick as he balanced himself and thrust in hard enough to feel it in his toes but not hard enough to hurt Bruce. Bruce's back muscles bunched as he moved with Dick's thrusts, sweat pooling at certain points as it ran down his spine. Bruce grunted quietly on every other thrust in, and Dick tried very hard not to just grind himself against Bruce until he came. The performer inside of Dick wondered what they looked like, two sexy guys going at it, the bottom braced on his forearms with his knees spread, the top slamming into him like he was going to die if he didn't get off soon. Part of Dick couldn't help but feel that that was actually the case, the dust making him more turned on than he'd ever been in his life and so fuckingexcited that he was doing this with Bruce, had made Bruce come three times already as Dick pounded into him and touched him. Eventually, and how the hell had Dick lasted this long, he felt the little twinges that meant his orgasm was nigh. As much as he wanted to extend the sex--and boy did he not want the electrified feeling of arousal and perfection to end--he needed to come, so he didn't fight it, didn't drag it out any longer. He positioned himself just so and gave Bruce all he had, focusing on nothing else but where they were connected and how damnamazing he felt, like every separate touch was attached to a crank that ratcheted his arousal, need, and the sensation higher. It was like nothing else he'd ever experienced before as he came, feeling it not only along his whole body, fingers and toes and everything normal in between, but in his eyebrows and heels, along his back as well. His vision whited out and the roar in his ears was only his blood, until he relaxed enough that it became the cheering of the aliens, and his own breathy grunts vibrating through his throat. Reluctantly and oh-so-slowly Dick pulled out of Bruce, rubbing his back at his little moan of disappointment before pulling off the condom and tossing it to the side. Wanting to lie down but not along Bruce's back Dick tipped him to the side with him, settling Bruce on his back as he lay on his own side, head propped up on one hand while his other hand rested on Bruce's stomach. "Jesus, Bruce. That was..." "Fantastical." "...That's one word, yes." Dick had been focused on Bruce's face, his eyes still red-rimmed and face still flushed, but then he realized Bruce's cock was poking his wrist. "You're hard again?" "You aren't?" There was challenge there, a comment about a young guy versus an older guy and the older guy having more stamina and prowess--or maybe that was all in Dick's head and Bruce was genuinely asking a question, perhaps concerned about his current predicament. And now that Dick thought about it, and especially after Bruce stroked him, he was definitely hard again. Not aching for sex like he had been, not so painfully aroused it was like if he didn't get off he would die, but hard with a pleasant-feeling erection, like a drowsy morning in bed with his lover. Jeez, did the dust make him a romantic too? He also realized that hadn't gotten to taste Bruce at all, like they'd both just skipped over foreplay for the main attraction. Then again, the pure animal need caused by the dust explained that. Well. He could certainly rectify that oversight now. Dick spun himself around so he and Bruce were head-to-toe, and casually reached out and stroked Bruce's cock. Gone was the aching need, but Dick wasn't going to look an erection in the face--literally--and ignore it, especially as he felt Bruce wrap his hand around his. The waves of pleasure were still there, but not as intense, and Dick set about enjoying blowing Bruce. He felt Bruce shift up until they were both on one elbow. Dick traced his thumb along the thick vein that ran along the bottom of Bruce's cock, then thumbed right underneath the head. He followed that same path with his tongue, the dirt from the day's activities only a deterrent at first as he worked up some spit. The thought of the antibacterial wipes was even more disgusting. Bruce thought a little differently, though understandably considering where his cock had been, and the wet-wipe was cold against his heated flesh before Bruce washed him with his spit. Finally Dick felt Bruce's warm tongue flick against his cock, which jerked towards the heat and attention. Dick wondered what it would have felt like had the dust been working at full power, but didn't get far in that direction before Bruce swallowed him down. He imagined he really would have exploded at that wickedly skillful tongue and mouth on him. Bruce was a magician at sucking him, taking him almost all the way down and twisting his tongue around him like he was part serpent. Which didn't make sense at all but Dick was being blown while trying to pleasure that other person and was still hopped up on alien dust, and no one would blame him for not thinking clearly. He sucked harder when Bruce's cock pulsed some pre-cum, the salty flavor only turning him on more because it meant he was doing a good job of pleasing his partner. He swallowed down as much of his cock as he could, until his lips met his hand and he could move both in one motion. Bruce bucked into him and redoubled his efforts, making Dick moan around Bruce's cock, which made him work even harder... It was one of those amazing feedback loops, and it was driving Dick crazy. He wanted Bruce to come already, wanted to taste him, wanted to know he could push Bruce over the edge with his cock, his hands, and his mouth. But then he realized that either Bruce was really that much more skilled, or Dick was in greater need because he'd only come twice to Bruce's three times, and that he was almost ready to come. He had to stop, just had to focus on himself, because the tremors were coming faster and faster as Bruce sucked and stroked, and he just couldn't give Bruce's cock the attention it deserved. So he pulled off and dropped his head, hand still idly holding onto Bruce. Without worrying about Bruce he was able to enjoy Bruce's attention even more, enjoy the finesse of his tongue, the warmth of his mouth, and the slight occasional scrape of teeth. Dick couldn't help the moans that escaped his lips as he felt his orgasm build, the pleasure spiraling through his body until it peaked and he came,hard, into Bruce's mouth, as Bruce kept working until Dick had to push him away, the sensations too much for his spent cock. After catching his breath and letting his body recuperate a little, Dick reapplied himself to Bruce's cock, wanting to make Bruce feel as good as he did. Finally he found a stroke/twist/swallow combination that made Bruce shake, and he kept doing that harder and harder until Bruce came in his mouth with a groan. Dick swallowed what he could as he stayed on, loving Bruce shuddering around him as he came, until he gently pushed Dick away. Dick spun around again until they were side by side, head lolling in the dirt as he took in their alien audience. Was that... were the aliens giving them a standing ovation? He rolled to face Bruce, who looked deliciously spent and debauched, and his eyes no longer rimmed with red. "We're stars, Bruce." "Oh wonderful." But there was some fear under the sarcasm. "Gimme a minute to catch my breath, and then let's get the hell out of here." Dick wanted the pillow talk, the goofy things shared between lovers after fantastic sex, but knew he couldn't have it, least of all because Bruce wasn't his, and he didn't want to pretend by extending the shared cool-down. Bruce grunted, "You feeling better?" Dick thought about it for a moment, and realized he did. "I don't want to kill you or screw you anymore, so I guess yeah." Something flashed across Bruce's face but was gone before he could read it. "Me either. What I do want is to get the hell out of here, get to the ship, and shower. This is worse than fighting Clayface in the sewer." "Yeah, that was pretty gross." And the start of so much bad between them... Just as they started making motions to get up and get dressed, there was another sound of a cannon firing. Blue dust filled the air, and just as Dick was wondering what the hell that would do to them, there was a huge gust of wind that blew it all back onto the aliens. Startled, Dick turned as he asked, "What the hell?" And almost dropped to his knees in relief, they buckled so hard at the sight of J'onn standing behind him, using his vortex breath. "I have never been happier to see anyone in my life." "While grateful for the sentiment, I am doubtful of the truthfulness of your words." Somehow already in the bottom half of his costume, Bruce said, "Thank you. Let's get the hell out of here." With J'onn's help and the aliens distracted by the blue powder, they were able to escape the gates blocking them in. J'onn had been able to phase through them, and a few solid kicks from Bruce and Dick broke them down. From there J'onn led them through a series of passages and eventually back to the surface. Dick hadn't thought a pink sun would ever be a welcome sight, but he'd had a very strange day thus far. Once they made it back to the blessed ship, they found Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, and Green Lantern already back. Flash looked at them, unimpressed, and commented, "'Bout time." "Sorry we were kidnapped, forced to fight, and... uh... had to be rescued." "You guys got the green dust too, huh? I mean, you look like you've been to hell and back..." "You too?" Flash nodded. "Tried my damndest to beat the crap out of Supes here, but he got more of the dust than I did. Made him more aggressive, and he wasn't able to metabolize it as fast as I did. Fortunately we were both able to work it through our systems before we did any lasting damage, and got the heck out of there." Bruce turned to Diana and looked her up and down, and Dick did not feel a ridiculous pang of jealousy. "You and Stewart make it out unscathed?" "The energy from his ring is impenetrable even with my strength augmented by the dust. We put on a rather lackluster show for the aliens. I was able to metabolize the dust quickly and John wasn't affected at all because he was able to create a force field around himself before the cannon fired. But not me." Diana shot John a glare that Dick was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of. "What about you, J'onn? Were you forced to perform by yourself?" "Fortunately because I look the most like them--though tall and handsome--they spared me the show and merely locked me up. I was unable to phase through the bindings they put me in, but I managed to shift into one of their form. When they came back for me they thought I had escaped and tied up one of their own, and once they released me I was able to escape. I found Diana and John first, because I could read John's unaltered state of mind. Once Flash had worked their powder out of his system I was able to read him and find him and Superman as they were escaping. I made the others wait here while I hunted for you; I don't seem to be affected by their dust though they did coat me with some, and I didn't want everyone else becoming affected and aggressive again. The two of you were the hardest to find, because you evidently had to act out the full effects of the powder and I could not recognize your presences. " Bruce blanched ever so slightly, and Dick could feel J'onn pushing at his mind and likely Bruce's as well. Your secret is safe with me. I've known your feelings for each other for a long time, and will not expose you and what happened between you while under the influence of the aliens. Bruce, you may want to have a conversation with Kal. Bruce nodded once in agreement, and Dick mirrored the action. "Thanks for the save, J'onn. Without you who knows what would have happened." "Indeed." J'onn gave them both a very knowing look, and Diana started up the ship to fly them the hell away from the planet. Dick called for the shower first, much to Bruce's obvious dismay. ~*~ Hours later, cleaned up, fed, and rested, Dick knocked on the door to the small quarters Bruce was using on this mission. He almost expected Bruce to not answer, but the door opened quickly. Once inside they stared at each other, not quite sure what to do. Dick noticed the cuts along Bruce's arms and thought about the ones that must be on his chest, and hated the way Bruce's jaw was bruised. "I'm sorry." "For what?" "For the cuts. For hitting you. For violating you while under the influence." Bruce didn't roll his eyes, but Dick could tell it was a near thing. "Under the influence of alien dust, Dick. You were hardly in your proper state of mind. And neither was I. And besides, it was hardly a violation. I remember enjoying it very much. Begging for you, in fact." Flushing, Dick rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I never would have figured you for, ah, liking it that way." Sighing, Bruce crossed his arms defensively. "I spend all my time under such intense control both physical and mental that I've had countless ulcers and I grind my teeth. Every once in a while it's invigorating to just let someone be in control of me for a while, just make me feel. Besides, the bottom is the one who's supposed to call the shots. Clark is... a damn generous lover, by the way. And I apologize that you heard us that one night." "So, uh, are you two like a thing?" "Convenience, mostly. He and Selina fulfill different needs, and I fulfill needs for them. Not everyone can handle a Kryptonian in bed, nor a firecracker like Selina." He cocked his head a little. "Not everyone is excitable by the thought of having sex on rooftops or against gargoyles, either." "That's... okay, that's hot." Bruce almost smiled slightly. Knowing he'd have to be the one to forge ahead, Dick continued, "So, what about us?" "What about us?" Rolling his eyes, Dick answered, "How about the way I've wanted you for a long time, and you seem to want me if what J'onn said is any indication, and we just had hot fucking sex that should be repeated against a gargoyle?" "You want me to go back to the planet and steal that red dust?" Exasperated, Dick gritted out, "Fine, deny it, blame the dust, but you want me. Think about it, Bruce, the way we've been dancing around it for years, waiting for what I don't know, the right time, the right catalyst, whatever, and here it is." "I..." Bruce shook his head, and Dick took his cue to leave. He was stupid to think he and Bruce could be anything more than highly dysfunctional partners, even if living out his fantasy was one of the best things to ever happen to him, and even if Bruce seemed to have enjoyed it too. "Wait, Dick. I'm just... It'll mean a lot of changes." "It doesn't have to. We can go slow. I won't even... I won't even make you give up Clark and Selina." Frankly the thought of a ménage à trois with either of them was damned hot. "That wouldn't be fair to anyone. With you, it would be... emotional. With them it's just sex." "Emotional?" "You're more than just quick lay in an alley, Dick. You're so much more than that. You've always been more than anyone. You're most important to me." There was an earnest look to Bruce's eyes that Dick couldn't quite handle at the moment. Overwhelmed, Dick stammered, "Thanks, I guess." "Yeah, 'thanks.'" Now Bruce looked hurt and wary. "I didn't mean--" Bruce turned away. "Just... let me think about it. There's so much to think about, worry about." Angry, Dick marched up to him and spun him around. "Nothing to think about. Either you want me or you don't." Bruce just looked so...oddly helpless for Bruce, for the man Dick had seen fight and live and love and be over the years. Knowing this was his chance, he leaned into Bruce, one hand cradling his bruised face, and pressed their lips together, their first kiss and hopefully not their last. Bruce tasted like toothpaste and not like dust, and Dick had to force himself to not lean harder for more. This was up to Bruce. Just as he was thinking of giving up, Bruce kissed back. Tentatively, sweetly, but still, he returned it. Then he pulled away and didn't quite look Dick in the eyes as he softly said, "I do. But we need to take it slow." "I'm good with slow. It's not like I'm not scared, too, you know." Bruce's lips cocked into a wry grin. "I didn't think you were scared of anything." "Bad guys, super villains, heights, no. Pursuing anything with you... I know it can go sideways, but I'm willing to try if you are. Even for a short while. And if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out, but after today I think this is something we should try. Okay?" The words were hard to say, almost impossible, saying what he'd wanted to after all these years, and it was also terrifying to admit it could all result in the collapse of their entire relationship. Cupping the side of Dick's face with one calloused hand, Bruce answered, "Okay." The second kiss was still sweet, but slightly harder. Dick wanted more, but pulled away enough to murmur against Bruce's lips, "I should get back to my quarters. Before things get more complicated too quickly." "That would... probably be for the best." Dick walked backwards to the door, looking at the longing in Bruce's eyes. Opening and shutting the door behind him, he leaned back on it. What was he thinking, getting involved with Bruce? It was going to be a disaster. But Dick wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Especially not one that he initiated, and not one that could be the single greatest thing in their lives. And maybe there was good that could come from this horrendous day. ~*~ One level and three rooms away, J'onn J'onzz smiled. He hated to intrude upon his friends' thoughts, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. "Oh no, Dick, it won't be a disaster. It will be difficult, but it will be worth it. You can't see the way he feels about you." Glad something positive had come from the disastrous alien planet, J'onn went back to his Oreos.

~*~

#brucedick #brudick #bruce wayne #dick grayson #brucexdick #quiet tiger #little zion

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