Work Text:
A Restoration from a Resilient Heart
Maybe it’s not in shared DNA
Perhaps our genealogy doesn’t matter
If we can find ourselves in each other
then are we not a band of brothers?
Dick tip toed down the hall. His elephant held in a death grip against his chest. The hall seemed to stretch forever. Shadows crept forward from the walls’ edges, as if to eat him. Dick walked deliberately down the center of the space, too afraid of being consumed. He didn’t think it had taken him this long to cross to Bruce’s bedroom earlier, when he was being shown the house by Alfred. Now though it seemed to take an eternity. When he reached the door, he froze. Should he knock?
Dick had never had a door between him and his parents. The trailer they lived in was small. They had always been within sight or even reach. His dad was such a light sleeper that he awoke the moment Dick sat up in bed. Or he had been a light sleeper, Dick supposed.
He tapped the door lightly. The sound seemed to echo in the hall, bouncing off the expensive ornaments and precious metals that cast strange shadows. Dick wondered if the manor would always feel like one of those stuffy museums his mom insisted they visit whenever they were in a new place. Dick wondered if Bruce went to museums. Maybe he didn’t need to since he lived in one.
Bruce gave no reply. Maybe he hadn’t been loud enough? He knocked again this time the button of his sleeve brushed the metal doorknob. It sounded like the when the guards had run their batons on the cell doors. Dick shivered. He hated that place. A new fear bubbled up in his gut. Would Bruce be mad at him for waking him up? Would he be so upset, he would send Dick back?
Bruce had promised him he wouldn’t ever have to go back there. And Bruce didn’t seem like a person who lied, but then the best liars never did. At least that’s what his dad used to say.
Dick waited for the sound of shuffling feet, or a gruff acknowledgement from within the room. There was no reply. He was too scared to knock again. So instead he pushed the door forward. The hinge creaked slightly. Bruce was laying sprawled in the middle of his bed. His chest rose and fell slowly. Dick stared at him, even in his sleep he seemed to frown. Dick had never known someone who frowned so much.
Dick stood in the threshold for a moment and peered into the grand room before him. He had never been in Bruce’s room. Had never even seen it before. Alfred simply pointed out the door. The room was five times bigger than his family's whole trailer. Dick thought the bed alone was massive. There were other doors in there as well. Likely leading to bathrooms and closets, maybe a whole 'nother house, for all Dick knew.
Looking around he could see this room was different from any other he’d seen in the house. There were less things in it. Yes there was plenty of furniture, but it didn’t have the vases or the statues perched around it. There were no elaborate rugs, or paintings. In fact, Dick wondered if this was the only room of the house that was really Bruce’s own space? Bruce didn’t seem like the kind of person who liked people in his space.
Maybe he shouldn’t have opened the door. Maybe Bruce didn’t want him to see the room. Dick stepped back and turned towards his own room. The hall seemed even darker than it had on the trip over. Dick pulled his elephant even closer. Just as he was gathering his courage to dash through the shadows, Bruce let out a snore and Dick jumped. Dick landed on a shadow shaped much like a hand It seemed to reach for him. Dick’s eyes widened in horror. He tried to step away and stumbled in his hurry to escape it. He fell back and smacked the wall behind him. Dick let out a yelp as his head banged against the plaster.
Bruce sat up, eyes searching the room. It took him a moment to understand what he saw. There was a child laying on the floor just outside in the hallway.
It took him another moment to remember that the child was Dick. Bruce blinked. Dick was outside his room, on the floor. Was he crying? Bruce could feel himself moving without telling his body to. He quickly made his way to the boy and joined him on the floor. At that point Bruce realized he didn’t know what to do.
“Err… Dick?” Bruce knelt awkwardly next to the eight year old.
Dick gave no reply, instead he fought desperately to quiet his sobs to a more quiet sniff.
“Dick… Umm…. I’m going to pick you up.” Bruce wasn’t sure what he was doing. He didn’t know if he should hold him under his arms or his legs. Bruce compromised and did both. Dick was now firmly pressed against Bruce’s chest. He stood in the hall for a long moment just awkwardly holding the boy to him. What now? Bruce wondered if he should wake Alfred. Alfred would know what was wrong. Bruce looked down at Dick, he had gone quiet since Bruce picked him up.
Deciding not to wake the already sleep deprived butler, Bruce made his way through his bedroom to the bathroom. He set Dick down on the counter and began rummaging for a wash cloth. Dick sat red faced, wiping snot away with his sleeve.
“Wait, hold on, Chum. I’ll get it.” Bruce ran a soft grey cloth under warm water and set about wiping the child’s eyes and then nose. Dick still hadn’t said a word. Once satisfied that the boy was clean he began inspecting him for injury. That had been an awfully loud sound in the hall. He saw no blood, and no obvious broken bones.
“Where are you hurt?” Bruce wasn’t sure how Dick would react if he started poking and prodding him. The boy was still overly quiet when Bruce was around. He seemed to like Alfred enough, but in the two day’s he had been at the manor, Dick definitely shied away from him.
“My head.” Dick’s voice was small, and high as if he was still holding back tears. He probably was, Bruce reasoned. He was eight. At eight you were meant to cry a lot when you hit your head.
Bruce pulled out a first aid kit that was stored under the sink. He pulled out a small flashlight and checked both of Dick’s eyes. They reacted fine. So he pulled out an aspirin and an ice pack. He broke the inner bag of the pack and shook it, to mix the chemicals quicker and handed it to Dick. He took it silently and balanced it on the top of his head. It was strange looking at the slouching eight year old with a makeshift hat, staring blankly past him. Bruce knew that look all to well. Tearing his gaze away from the boy, he turned back to the aspirin. Could an eight year old take a whole one? Bruce didn’t know and the label was no help, it just said to contact a doctor. It was three in the morning, who could he call that late?
Bruce again wondered if he should get Alfred.
“Mom cuts it in half.”
Bruce almost jumped. Dick’s accent was thicker when he was tired. Bruce walked to his dresser and pulled out a small pocket knife and walked back to the bathroom. He made no mention of Dick’s use of the present tense in reference to his mother. He simply cut the white pill in half and filled a small glass that sat next to the sink with water and handed both to the boy. If half an aspirin had been good enough for Mary Grayson, it was good enough for him.
Dick took the pill without complaint and drank the whole glass. Bruce stood shifting uncomfortably now that he had nothing to do. Bruce was better when he could do things. Actions were easy.
Then it donned on him. Dick should have been asleep, not in the hallway.
“Err.. did you need something, Chum?” Bruce wasn’t sure what to say. Was he supposed to go tuck him in? Or read him a book? Bruce could remember his mom reading to him before bed sometimes. Maybe he was supposed to check under the bed for monsters, or in the closet.
“I can’t sleep. They keep falling.”
Oh . Bruce understood that too well. He still would see his parents collapse when he closed his eyes on the odd night he hadn’t worn himself out enough for dreamless sleep. Bruce thought back to when his parents had first died. What had Alfred done?
That was easy. He had always tucked him back in bed and told him he would see him in the morning. Had that been enough? Bruce remembered wanting more. He could remember wanting Alfred to stay with him, even if it was to just lay on the bed and silently stare at the ceiling together.
“Do you want to sleep in here?”
Dick’s eyes widened slightly. Bruce wondered if he had misread the boy and his mind began to back track, what if he just wanted to be tucked it?
“I won’t bother you?”
Bruce’s mind slowed again. “No. I mean. If you want to? I remember not wanting to be alone.” Bruce ducked his head and shuffled his feet. It was strange, he had never told anyone that before. He waited for the boy to tell him that wasn’t what he wanted. To tell him that he had simply wanted to be tucked in and left alone. He waited for a quiet refusal.
Instead Dick slid off the counter and walked over to the bed. Bruce smiled and followed. Maybe he could figure this whole guardian thing out after all. They were both laying silently eyes fixed on the ceiling, when Dick sat up suddenly. Bruce started and sat up too.
“Zitka! Do you think they got her?” Dick was looking at Bruce, his eyes popping. Bruce didn’t know who this Zitka was, but his mind was spinning. Was there someone else in danger from whoever had killed the Graysons? Had Batman missed an important detail in the case? Dick was moving to get out of the bed.
“Hey, Dick slow down. What’s wrong?” Bruce reached out after him.
“Zitka!” The shadow was-- and I dropped her.”
Bruce blinked. So, not the case then. “Is Zitka your elephant?”
Bruce couldn’t remember hearing Dick call it that before, but he did seem to carry it with him a lot. Not that Bruce could blame him. It was one of the few things Social Services had let him hold on to.
“Yeah! Bruce, do you think the shadows got her?” Dick turned to stare at the now closed door that lead to the hall.
“Nah, the shadows aren’t so bad. I’ll get her.” Bruce once again climbed out of bed and made his way to the hall. Sure enough there was a small elephant laying on the floor. The stuffed animal was hand sewn and patched. He wondered if Dick’s family had made it. Or maybe it had been one of his parent’s old toys. It looked old and worn enough to have been. Some of the stitches were loose. Bruce would have to remember to ask Alfred to fix that. Bruce eyed his father’s watch laying on his bedside table. He would make sure Dick didn’t lose anymore that he already had. Dick accepted the elephant --Zitka-- and held it close. They were both quiet for a long time. Bruce wondered if he should say something. Dick was tightly clinging to his elephant, looking blankly at the ceiling fan. Bruce cleared his throat.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
Dick rolled to face him. “Do you like museums?”
Bruce’s eyebrow rose. Whatever he had expected it wasn’t that. “Sometimes. I like learning new things.”
“My mom was going to take me to one here, I don’t remember what it was called.”
Oh . Bruce frowned and began compiling a list of museums in town. “Do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out now. We can go anytime.”
“Your house is kinda like a museum.” Dick spoke so softly Bruce had to strain to hear him.
“Hmm.” In a way the manor was a sort of museum. A museum of when his parents were still here. Bruce took a moment to think if he had ever really changed anything. The Batcave was the only big change to the place in fourteen years. The pictures were all the same. The vases were never replaced. Sure Bruce bought things, but they were always an addition never a substitute or replacement. “I guess in a way it is. I never really thought about it like that before.”
Dick scooted closer to him and put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay Bruce. I wish I coulda kept things the way they were.”
Bruce felt his eyes burn. Dick patted his arm and then pulled back it around his stuffed elephant once more. Bruce realized for the first time since meeting Dick, that understanding was a two way street. Sure Bruce understood what it was like to have your family murdered before you, which is why he had wanted to help so badly. But that also meant-- for the first time in Bruce’s life-- someone else understood him.
Bruce lay awake until he heard the quiet evening out of breaths that meant sleep. Bruce turned to look at the boy next to him. He lay curled around his elephant. Bruce didn’t want to mess this up. Which was partly why he had only filed to be an emergency placement for the boy. He wasn’t equipped to take him on forever. That’s what children meant, forever.
Bruce was twenty-four, what did he know about kids? He had told Alfred it would just be temporary. But now he had an eight year old in his bed. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was the best placed to take care of this kid. He could-- the Lord knew-- afford it. He could make sure he had the best education and opportunities. He could buy the best everything for the kid. But was that enough?
Bruce had had that too. Alfred had made sure his money had paid for the best everything, and Bruce still felt broken. He still couldn’t buy pearls, or watch that dumb play without wanting to cry. Not that he ever did, but he wanted to. He never could make anyone understand what he wanted to say either. It was like there was a glass wall separating him from the world. He could see and hear everyone, and they could see and hear him. But they could never quite reach out and find each other.
Maybe Bruce was the best placed to take care of Dick not because he could buy him the world, but because he understood how it felt. Bruce knew Alfred did his best, and he was grateful to have him. But the man hadn’t really gotten it. Bruce knew he could give that to Dick. He could offer him an understanding that very few could.
Alfred himself was another hurtle. Alfred had been flat out opposed to Dick moving in when Bruce first suggested it. He had told Bruce he had no business taking in a little boy, when he couldn’t provide a stable home or upbringing. Alfred had a point, was having Dick here permanently going to work with his double life as Batman?
Bruce lay wondering if his desire to keep the boy next to him was selfish. There were so many reasons it wouldn’t work. Was it just his longing to have someone who really understood him? Or was it that he really wanted to help the boy? He couldn’t place the feeling he got when he looked at the child next to him. It was different than anything he had ever felt. He knew he loved Alfred, and he had loved his parents. He thought he liked Selina, and it could maybe be close enough to love. But this. This was something else entirely.
He realized he could have it. Family. It wasn’t what either he or Dick should have had, but it could still be good. Dick had already had a father though. Bruce didn’t want-- didn’t think -- he could be that. Maybe they could be something else, still a family of sorts, just not the way everyone else had one.
He was still staring at the boy when the sun rose. Alfred entered the room and froze seeing the two together. Bruce slid out of bed quietly and motioned for Alfred to follow him into the hallway.
“Nightmare?”
“Yeah. We should let him sleep in a bit. He was up late.”
“Of course. I shall start your breakfast then.” Alfred turned back down the hall toward the steps.
Bruce looked at the man’s back as he went. “Al?”
Alfred turned back at the end of the hall.
“I… I want him to stay.” Bruce wondered if Alfred would fight him on this as much as he had when Bruce first told him he wanted to foster Dick just temporarily. Bruce realized he would fight him for Dick to stay if he had to. That made it seem much scarier.
“I already called the local school and booked you to see them sir.”
Bruce wanted to hug the man, but Alfred simply lifted his eyebrow and turned back to the stairs. Bruce watched his butler go, his heart felt oddly light. They could do this. The three of them-- they could figure out how to be a family again. In the very least Bruce was willing to try.