Chapter Text
Robin meant Dick could fly again.
Wearing his family’s colours and soaring across the murky Gotham skyline with Batman made him feel free. He’d spent so long practicing and training to be Robin. Every single moment had been worth it Dick thought as he stood beside Batman looking out over the city. It’s murky streets worming through buildings that had long since fallen into disrepair. The street lamps flickering- light dampened by years of grime crusted over them.
Bruce hated Robin.
Dick shouldn't be near the nightlife. He shouldn’t know about Batman or the cave, the rogues, the late nights that leave you empty and aching all over. He wasn't even in double digits and yet he was filled with so much hate that being Robin would only worsen.
No matter how much reasoning and pleading Bruce and Alfred did Dick’s mind was set. The adults realised not soon after Dick came to Bruce with his costume drawn on the back of an English class worksheet that Robin was going to happen with or without Batman.
The Bat was not letting a child onto the crime ridden streets of Gotham without rules in place.
Dick didn’t make eye contact. Instead he looked down at the cold French toast sitting in front of him as Bruce listed off all the conditions to being Robin.
“After patrolling:” Bruce started- “debrief, pyjamas, bed. In the morning he had to be up and on time for school. You got that?” Bruce asked him. Looking over the table at Dick.
The nearly empty jug of orange juice acting as an obstacle between the two was removed from the table to be refilled.
Dick didn’t reply to Bruce. The thought of Robin excited him, but Batman? even with the knowledge that the bat was Bruce, his looming shadowed figure still scares him (as the Batman is intended to do. scare people.) He took a small nibbled out of the crust of his stodgy toast. Yuck.
He had to be safe as Robin: no really hurting bad guys, no running off, no taking off your mask, no doing anything without asking. Don’t rush in, don’t talk to police, don't do this, don't do that blah blah blah.
He understood why the rules were there; that didn’t stop him from protesting them at the manor, challenging them when patrolling and outright defying them when Bruce benched him. He didn't want to be treated like a child, no matter how many times Bruce told him that is what he is, they both know that Dick, like Bruce, stopped being children with the abrupt stop of their parents hearts. It hurts Bruce, because the knows the feeling, he knows how much Dick hates being treated like a child (Bruce hated it too.) He also knows that acting grown up destroys you.
Bruce remembers hitting sixteen (not even sixteen; he remembers being twelve, eleven and ten,) and being agonizingly lonely, he doesn't relax, never relaxes, didn't trust anyone, didn't sleep. He didn't have his parents. Bruce knows that children who grew up too fast end up feeling drawn to people who need rescuing.
(But Dick need need to be saved he reasoned with himself. he would have been torn apart from the inside in Gotham's care system. They put him into a detention center for fucks sake. He had needed to save him. Bruce had needed to save him for himself just as much as Dick had needed saving.)
Looking over at his ward, his wavy hair and olive skin, cheeks dotted with moles- he once again realised how small he was. He was nine. He shouldn't be here. None of this should have happened, he didn't deserve this. Bruce didn't deserve this. Nothing should have happened. they should both still have their families, they never shouldhavemet.
Bruce didn't want Robin to be vengeance, Dick deserved more than a cowl, bloody fists and cuts that never get the chance to heal, held together by butterfly strips. Bruce decided that Robin was going to light, comfort. What Gotham needs.
. · *
Robin was always excited.
He was fast and small and quiet and sneaky. Robin could squeeze through vents and do back flips off buildings. He was able to soar across the city, the light to Gotham’s shadow.
He had heard people in the GCPD shouting at Bruce before, (the commissioner was angry. The commissioner thought he was just a regular child. Robin was different.) (Dick was different too.) But this time Gordon seemed adamant about talking to Robin.
“Batman. Let me talk to the kid.” Gordon pressed.
Batman grunted.
The commissioner sighed. He looked over to where Dick was sitting, perched on the ledge of the building and swinging his legs, watching the exchange between the commissioner and his partner.
The commissioner stepped closer to the Bat-
“So god help me Batman if that child dies for your cause-“
Batman interrupted, “He won’t. Robin has been-“
“I don’t care if he’s been trained Batman, he is a child.” Gordon hissed. “How old is he? Can I ask him how old he is or would that be forcing him to give up sensitive information?” He snapped.
Bruce looked at Dick. He’d not hopped off the ledge and was now sitting on the floor leaning on it with his cape wrapped around his knees. It was cold. He’d be cold.
Dick never sat still, even wrapped in his cape he was wringing the fabric in his hands and tapping his feet on the ground beneath him.
Batman looked back at Jim, “You can talk to him. He will not talk back.” The Batman’s gravelly voice answered. “Well?” Batman prompted.
The commissioner looked at Robin. “I got a daughter. She might be a bit older than him. I’m guessing he’s what... 10? My girl is nearly 13. They might- if he needs a friend Batman.”
Batman grunted in reply and signaled Robin over. He nodded to the commissioner, he nodded back. Dick waved at Gordon before he and Batman grappled to the next building.