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Maybe Bruce should have realized he was a bit of a pushover back when Dick, all of eight-years-old and pitifully small, asked him to teach him how to fight.
Teaching him basic self-defense was one thing, but it wasn’t long before that had morphed into more strenuous training regimens and an approval of the concept of Robin. Bruce could blame his training a child vigilante on his initial expectation that “Robin” would take years to come to fruition – the effect of underestimating Dick’s capabilities, determination, and the speed at which he’d start to excel at every lesson Bruce had to offer – but, when looked at objectively, it was obvious that Bruce fallen down a rabbit-hole of acquiescence that was sparked by having given in to Dick’s initial demands in the first place.
Unfortunately, that initial, flashing neon sign of an indicator went right over Bruce’s head, as did the second one. Because, if not with his agreeing to Dick’s training, Bruce really should have picked up on the fact that he was a bit of a pushover around the time of the Bedazzler incidents.
Plural.
The actual purchase of the thing was innocuous enough, what with Bruce having more than enough money to spare for just about anything that happened to catch Dick’s attention. But, also because Dick tended to favor outings and family time and Bruce always felt bad about how often he got called away, whether it be for ‘Bruce Wayne, business-owner and socialite’ related business or ‘Batman’ related business.
If buying Dick whatever he wanted helped to ease some of that guilt, well…
Bruce was pretty sure that just meant that they were both winners, in the end.
So, no, it wasn’t the purchase that should have set off alarm bells in Bruce’s head so much as it was the time, two days later, when he went into one of his tie drawers and found them all hopelessly Bedazzled. They were still neatly rolled up, exactly as he, or, rather, Alfred, had left them. At least, they would have been if not for the newly added rhinestones glittering at him.
Bruce had stared for a moment, closed the drawer, opened the one below it and—
Huh. More Bedazzled ties.
In the end, all three drawers had been defiled and he’d walked out of his room with one in hand, feeling some complex mix of annoyance, bafflement, and amusement as he’d called out, “Dick? Dick, is there something you need to tell me?”
He’d found Dick on the first floor, sprawled out on a couch in the main living area, a notepad in front of him, his legs swinging behind him, and a pencil at the mercy of his teeth. Dick had pulled the pencil from his mouth at Bruce’s approach and waved.
“Hey, Bruce!” His eyes had then caught on the tie in Bruce’s hand and a large smile had spread across his face. “Oh!” he’d exclaimed. “You saw them!”
He’d pushed himself up, sitting back on his heels, pencil clattering to the ground and notebook practically going with it as the cushions were jostled. And then, with his blue eyes glittering, he’d gone and asked Bruce the question that’d pulled any intention Bruce had had for giving him a scolding up short: “Do you like it?”
Did he…
Did he like it…?
Bruce had glanced at the tie in his hand, blue satin, now covered in clusters of cheap, sparkling, white and purple rhinestones that, now that he was really looking, he thought sort of resembled the crayon drawings of beta fish Dick had made for him a few days ago; a demonstration, done on the spot as he’d chattered away, of the ones he’d seen at the store with Alfred.
And Bruce, caught between Dick’s hopeful expression and the obvious effort he’d put into ruining Bruce’s ties, found himself, not gently letting Dick down, but instead saying, “Yes, I… I like it very much.”
“Awesome! I knew you would.” Dick had snatched up the notebook, holding it out for Bruce to see, roughly sketched designs littering the page. “I was thinking about what I’d do for my clothes next, see?”
Bruce had entertained him, taking the notebook and flipping through it, then handing it back when he’d finished with a, “Very nice.” He’d refrained from asking why Dick hadn’t started with his own clothes in the first place or why he hadn’t asked permission before experimenting with Bruce’s.
“So, like, is that the tie you’re going to wear to work, then?” Dick asked, fiddling with the notebook.
Bruce, again, glanced down at the tie, clutched in his hand. “…Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”
“You gotta tell me what everyone says! They’re going to love it!”
And Bruce, for the life of him, hadn’t been able to tell how serious Dick had been. The kid had a bit of a sarcastic streak, but he’d certainly seemed earnest. Left floundering, Bruce had chosen to err on the side of caution, and had nodded, saying, “Of course.” He’d then put the tie on, right there in front of Dick, if for nothing else then to see the kid’s happy smile, figuring that he’d be able to take it off in the car on the way to Wayne Enterprises.
What he hadn’t counted on was Alfred’s judgmental, faux scandalized voice, calling back to him from the driver’s seat, “Why, Master Bruce, is that the tie young Master Dick poured so much time and effort into making for you that you’re removing?”
Bruce, having frozen, had redirected his efforts from removing the tie to adjusting it. “Now, Alfred,” he’s said, “why would I ever do a thing like that?”
Throughout the day, Bruce had been met with confused comments on his tie from the businesspeople and secretaries who didn’t have children and amused comments from the ones who did.
The same thing happened again when Dick got it into his head to Bedazzle along the hemlines of some of Bruce’s “boring” shirts that had apparently needed to be “spiced up” a little bit and again with the swirling designs put on to ass pockets of his suit pants.
It had taken the Batsuit’s cape falling victim to Dick’s Bedazzling rampage for Bruce to finally pull him aside and say, “Dickie, my boy, this can’t go on.”
Dick had deflated instantly, his smile slipping, glancing between Bruce and the cape. “You don’t like it.”
Bruce, though pained, had forced himself not to backtrack, because, really, the cape was going too far and he did need Dick to stop and by damn he was adult, he could have this conversation.
Well, it turned out he couldn’t have the conversation, not… not exactly. Because, instead of telling Dick that he really didn’t want his clothes Bedazzled anymore, what came out of his mouth had been, “It’s… it’s not that I, uh,” he’d glanced at the garishly glittering cape, “don’t like it. I just…” and, with a strike of inspiration, or perhaps stupidity, he’d turned to Dick with a sorrowful expression, pouring his all into acting horribly disappointed as he’d continued with, “I just know your hard work is bound to get ruined if I go out on a job wearing that cape and I can’t bear to let that happen.” He’d placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder, the kid’s expression now more thoughtful than despondent. “So, what do you say to us considering my work clothes off-limits?”
Dick had nodded, slowly, his smile picking back up. “Okay, okay, yeah. Won’t happen again, Bruce!”
With a soft sigh, Bruce had patted Dick on the head, tousling his slicked back hair before Dick could duck out of reach, waves coming loose from the hold of his hair gel. Dick had groaned, grumbling about how Alfred was going to think his hair getting messed up was his fault, but otherwise had readily accepted the affection.
Bruce had hummed and moved to walk past him, letting his hand fall from Dick’s hair. Dick’s having spoken of Alfred had reminded him that he should probably inform Alfred of his need for a new cape as soon as possible.
The new cape hadn’t been ready by the night’s patrol and with nothing else to wear Bruce had found himself donning, for the first and last time, Dick’s sparkling creation to Dick’s delight and despite his own reservations.
Following the outing the cape was placed in a display case and with a few days’ separation from the ordeal, Bruce actually began to look upon the thing with fondness, like a parent who’d hung up their kid’s very special glitter glue project.
Secretly, Bruce had felt certain that Alfred could have completed the new cape within the evening if he’d wanted to and that his failing to do so had been nothing more than an attempt to teach Bruce a lesson about the necessity of putting his foot down on the Bedazzling situation.
Unfortunately for both of them, if that had been Alfred’s intention, it hadn’t worked.
Even now, months later, Bruce still found the occasional newly Bedazzled article of clothing. The only saving grace in the matter was that Dick had clearly gotten over the novelty of Bedazzling and was doing it less and less as time passed. Bruce estimated only another couple of months before the damn device was finally stowed away on the top shelf of a closet, never to be seen again.
That all being said, Bruce didn’t actually realize he had the whole ‘pushover’ problem until a couple weeks ago when Dick really began pushing the idea that he was ready to start going out as Robin.
Dick had only just turned 10 the month prior – still only a little over 4 feet tall, barely up to Bruce’s waist really, and with baby fat still evident in his chubby brown cheeks – and Bruce, not expecting this conversation for another 6 years at least, had initially met him with nothing more than a startled response of, “What? No. No, absolutely not.”
Unsurprisingly, Dick had retaliated with intense resistance and, to Bruce’s dismay, Bruce had realized that enforcing his ‘no’ was going to be a lot harder than he wanted it to be if Dick was going to keep fighting back. So…
Bruce was currently, ah, keeping a ‘tactful distance’ from the situation. To put it in a way that allowed him to maintain even the slightest bit of dignity.
In reality, it felt a lot more like he was hiding. Or avoiding the problem in the hopes that it would go away.
He was most at ease when he was away from home, at Wayne Enterprises or at social functions or out on the town as Batman; places Dick couldn’t ambush him with his fiery eyes and his determination and his questions of “Why not?” and “Haven’t I proved myself already?” Bruce was currently countering those lines of questioning by bailing on the situation entirely, in one memorable instance actually climbing out of the nearest window as he said, “Oh, would you look at the time, I have places to be. See you around Dick!”
The fact of the matter was, though, that both he and Dick were well aware of the fact that he was avoiding Dick and neither of them were happy about it. Bruce swore he’d seen Dick less in the past few weeks than he typically saw him in a single day and any time he did see the kid he was glaring at Bruce like Bruce had become his #1 Enemy.
This was to say nothing of the disapproving looks Alfred had been giving him each time he caught him creeping into the manor at odd hours of the night and all of his comments on how bored and lonely Dick had been seeming lately.
All in all, with avoidance as his key priority, Bruce had been entirely unprepared for the situation to come to a head in his study. He’d just walked in, setting his briefcase down on his desk when Dick’s tiny figure darted in behind him, slamming the door shut and locking it, then plastering his back to it, as if Bruce couldn’t easily lift him up with one hand – well, if he could manage to get a hand on him in the first place.
Clutched beneath one of Dick’s arms was a presentation board.
The two of them stared at each other for a moment – one angry kid and one very tired man.
Dick was the one to break the silence with a, “Try the windows if you want. I super-glued them shut.”
Bruce spared a glance for the windows, debated making a run for it, he could probably pry them open if he tried hard enough, but… No, no, he’d surly already lost too much dignity in Dick’s eyes as it was, he couldn’t just risk it and frankly didn’t want to anymore. He was sick of staying away from home, sick of barely seeing his kid anymore.
Sighing, Bruce leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said, “you’ve got my attention. What’d you want to talk about?”
Dick’s tensed muscles seemed to relax as he realized that Bruce was actually going to stick around for once. He nodded, unfolding his presentation board, revealing a tastefully organized series of graphs and charts. He then dug into one of his pockets to pull out a pile of note cards. Clearing his throat, he began what was obviously a very well-rehearsed speech.
Bruce wondered if he’d practiced in front of his stuffed animals and action figures, a small smile tugging at his lips at the thought.
Less amusing, he wondered if Alfred had helped Dick and, if so, why he hadn’t been warned about the plan beforehand.
The speech itself was about the benefits of adding Robin to his team sooner rather than later. Comparisons of his skills and abilities to those of an average 10-year-old and then then to those of an average adult, emphasizing the fact that Bruce should not consider himself to norm and any other grown person could be taken down by a third of what Dick was capable of, increased efficiency, increased safety, increased morale…
Well, Dick certainly knew how to make a point when he really wanted to.
Bruce wondered if his schoolwork had taken a hit with all the time and effort he must have put into this presentation.
When Dick finally wrapped up, Bruce still intended to tell him no, refusing to be swayed, reminding himself firmly that it was a matter of Dick’s safety.
He really did plan on telling Dick no.
But then Dick looked up at him with those big, determined, hopeful eyes and he just…
He couldn’t.
Bruce couldn’t tell him no. Not when he was looking at him like that, not after all the effort he’d gone to, not after the points he’d made.
“Alright,” Bruce agreed.
Dick’s eyes widened, the notecards falling from his slackened grip. “Alright!?” he asked.
Bruce nodded. “Yes. Alright. However,” he continued, stemming Dick’s excitement before it could get too far, “you’re starting on an observation-only basis. You are not allowed to throw yourself into the fray until I say you can. Training scenarios and real-life situations are very different.”
Dick just grinned, nodding along. “Yeah, sure, alright! That’s totally fine.”
Sensing that Dick wasn’t quite taking him seriously enough, Bruce added, “I mean it, Dick.”
“I know, I know! Observation,” Dick threw in a teasing, conspiratorial wink, “only. No,” air quotes, “fighting bad guys for me.”
“Dick!”
Dick laughed, throwing his head back, the smile and buoyancy of a kid who knows he’s won before he’s even really started. Then, shaking his head said, “I’m just playing around, Bruce. I know you mean it. Don’t be such a worrywart.”
And Bruce… Bruce smiled along with him, but he felt, however slight, a cold wash of fear in his stomach, an itch, a disquietude.
The snap of a single thread in a rope, spelling the beginnings of a sense of loss of control.
And as Dick gathered up his presentation board and ran off, disappearing through the now open doorway and calling for Alfred, no doubt to tell him the news, Bruce, his fingers tightening on the lip of the desk, felt a few more threads snap along with it.