Chapter Text
Dick had been on patrol when Bruce called him and ordered him to the Batcave. Bruce’s voice had sounded hoarse with repressed emotion, so Dick had agreed, instead of arguing like he usually would. These days, Bruce usually had Alfred or Jason reach out to him, which only had concerned Dick more.
Dick parked his bike in its designated spot and walked down the short corridor to the Batcave’s main enclave. Bruce was standing in front of the Batcomputer, still in the Kevlar suit with the cowl off, his back to Dick. He was tenser than usual, and there was no sign of Jason or Alfred.
“What’s wrong?” Dick said.
Bruce turned. His face was dirty from ash and blood. His hands were balled up into fists at his side. Dick had never seen so much blatant, raw emotion on his former mentor’s face. It scared him. “Bruce?” Dick said cautiously.
“The Joker killed Jason,” Bruce said, the words clear and furious.
Dick stared at him, wide-eyed. “What? No – no, that can’t be right. What are talking about?”
“He’s gone, Dick.” Bruce slammed a fist onto the controller table. The keyboards rattled. He took a moment and composed himself before continuing, voice hard, “Jason and I had a fight, and then Jason ran right into the Joker’s trap. When I reached the warehouse where he was, Joker blew it up.”
“Did you – did you find a body?” Dick asked. He and Bruce had found themselves in impossible situations before and survived. “Maybe he escaped.”
But Bruce was shaking his head. “No. I couldn’t find a body, but the Joker-” Bruce breathed in and out, fists unclenching and clenching. “He left behind a goddamn video of him beating Jason to death. He died before I even knew about the warehouse.”
“Fuck,” Dick said. “Fuck.”
Dick braced a hand against the wall and tried to process this information. It didn’t seem possible. He’d always been ready for Bruce’s death. Batman played a dangerous game. But Robin? Jason? He hadn’t even considered the possibility.
He was having a hard time breathing. Hyperventilating, Dick thought distantly. He was hyperventilating, probably going into shock. So he was breathing. Too much, though. He’d be embarrassed later – he was supposed to be stronger than this – but his mind kept circulating made-up images of the Joker towering over a terrified and bloody Jason. They’d just celebrated his fifteenth birthday – he’d been so young – he would’ve been scared but hiding it behind the typical cocky bravado he’d perfected as Robin – until Joker broke him – had he known he was going to die? – had he died scared? – Robin was never scared – but Jason was only human and –
“Dick.” A hand on his shoulder. Bruce’s voice. Calmer now. Dick hadn’t noticed Bruce moving. Because Dick couldn’t breathe. Except he was hyperventilating, so he was breathing too much. “You’re going to be okay. You need to take deeper breaths.”
Dick didn’t want to take deeper breaths, because if he stopped hyperventilating, the floaty feeling would go away, and it’d be so much worse. Because Jason was dead. The Joker had killed Jason, had killed Robin. Even though Robin couldn’t die, wasn’t supposed die.
“Dick, focus on my voice. Breathe in…and out…and in.”
Despite himself, Dick listened to Bruce, and he began breathing with him. In…and out.
After what felt like hours, but probably was just a few minutes, he slowly became aware that he was sitting on the cold floor of the Batcave. Bruce was crouched next to him, rubbing comforting circles on his back, Dick’s head resting on his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Dick said, his throat dry and painful.
“It’s alright, chum,” Bruce said. And Bruce hadn’t called him that in years.
Dick hummed and shifted more of his weight against Bruce. He felt small, like he’d been the first few years as Robin. Batman had always been there to talk him through the anxiety and trauma after close calls. But this wasn’t a close call, and Dick wasn’t a kid anymore. Jason was Robin. Had been Robin. Had been a kid.
Batman adjusted them so that Dick was encircled in his arms and half in his lap. Dick dimly realized he was silently crying. The rage would come later, and the shock had already faded. All he could feel was pure grief.
“You’ll stay at the manor, and I am taking you off patrol until further notice,” Bruce said firmly.
Dick hummed in acknowledgement. Normally, he’d bristle at the orders, at Bruce making decisions for him. It was why he left, after all. Bruce didn’t have the authority to dictate his patrol schedule or where he’d be sleeping anymore. He wasn’t a child. (Like Jason.) But Dick just felt numb and tired and small. The orders were soothing. They took away the pressure of choice.
He honestly couldn’t imagine going back to patrol like nothing had happened. Jason had joined him in Bludhaven a few times, when he’d needed a break from Bruce and Gotham. Dick had steered them clear of the worst parts of his city, but they’d had fun stopping the general muggings and robberies. He couldn’t comprehend that Jason wouldn’t slip away from Batman to join him on patrol anymore. A world where Jason was gone forever didn’t even make sense. Another piece of family, torn away.
Dick began to sob as his numbness ebbed away, his whole body shaking. Bruce tucked Dick’s head under his chin and rocked him, back and forth. Despite the emotional agony, Dick tried to stay awake. His dreams might be worse, and he should be there for Bruce, before Bruce did something stupid. But it was soothing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Dick could feel the fatigue of grief settle in his bones. Back…and forth. He shouldn’t sleep but…Back…and…forth…and…
+++
Bruce stared down at his sleeping son – his only living son. He could feel his body quivering from rage. Dick’s tear-stained face only amplified the overpowering emotion. He hadn’t felt reprieve from the pure fury, since he’d watched the video. The Joker would pay for what he’d done to Jason and their family.
But for now, Bruce had to focus on keeping Dick safe. Dick’s grief would make him more reckless, and the Joker would be riding on a high after killing one Robin. Bruce refused to allow the monster to touch his other son.
He used his focus on Dick to reign back the anger and the sorrow, as much as he could. If he allowed emotion to control him, he might push Dick away into danger, like he’d pushed Jason away to his death.
Bruce cradled Dick’s face gently with a hand and used his thumb to wipe away a few stray tears. Bruce had been prepared to forcibly confine his remaining son to the manor, but Dick had surprised him by agreeing so easily. Bruce had expected a fight. Everything between them was a fight now. No matter Bruce’s intentions, Dick seemed to enjoy defying him. Bruce had understood, to some extent, and had given him space. But he’d given Jason space after their fight, expecting the child to take refuge with Dick, like he usually did after such an explosive argument. And Jason had died. Bruce wasn’t allowing Dick anymore space.
Bruce carefully lifted Dick into his arms and started towards the changing room. Even with the dire circumstances, Bruce wouldn’t break his no capes in the manor rule. It’d be unnecessary risk, and he wouldn’t survive losing another son.
In the early days, on nights when Dick hadn’t been on patrol, Bruce would sometimes find him asleep on a pile of homework, wearing his Robin costume, ready to go just in case Bruce would unexpectantly need him in the field. Dick hated being left behind. A blanket, courtesy of Alfred, often had been draped over his shoulders, making him look even tinier. Bruce would have to gently wrestle his sleeping robin out of his suit and into pajamas before caring him to bed. It had been years, and Dick was much bigger now. Still, Bruce managed it without waking him. Grief and shock were heavy sedatives. After they wore off, Bruce would need to use a more medicinal substitute.
The nostalgia from the walk up to the manor and to Dick’s old room helped distract from the anger that rattled in the back of his mind. He’d rarely had to carry Jason to bed. His youngest always was – had been more on edge than Dick. Dick could fall asleep just about anywhere, but Jason had had to feel safe or collapse from exhaustion to sleep.
Bruce paused by the door to Jason’s suite. The door was shut, thankfully, likely Alfred’s doing, but even without seeing the shelves of well-loved books, the desk full of papers and textbooks, and the familiar four poster bed, Bruce’s heart hurt, and his fury momentarily burned through him again. He quickly moved away.
The door to Dick’s old suite was ajar. Bruce stepped through the sitting room to the bedroom. From the telescope to the Robin Hood poster, everything was just as Dick had left it, almost two years ago. Jason had sarcastically called it Dick’s ‘shrine’. Since leaving for Bludhaven, Dick rarely stayed overnight at the manor, and when he did, he would sleep in one of the guest rooms, far from Bruce’s own suite. But Bruce couldn’t leave Dick in an empty, impersonal guest room.
Not for the first time, Bruce wished Dick could have stayed young forever, tugging at Bruce’s sleeve when he wanted to show Bruce his latest report card or acrobatics trick. Jason never even had the chance to grow up too fast.
Bruce walked over to the bed, prepared to tuck his son in and leave. But as he stared at the professionally creased sheets, he couldn’t make his arms let go of his only living son. He knew intellectually that the manor was safe, of course. The security was top notch. No one could get in without Bruce’s knowing.
The irrational part of his mind didn’t want to leave his son alone and vulnerable. What if Dick decided to leave? Or what if the Joker had found out Jason’s identity and would be coming to the manor next? Bruce knew it was unlikely. The Joker didn’t want to know their identities; it wasn’t his way. And removing Jason’s mask would have taken some doing. Bruce installed safety measures in all their masks so that they were near impossible to remove without inside knowledge.
Still – Bruce didn’t want Dick to leave his sight. Not yet.
He left the room and climbed the steps to the master suites. He strode into his bedroom and, after hesitating for the barest moment, laid Dick down on his bed. Carefully, as not to wake him, he stripped back the covers and tucked Dick in. Dick hummed in his sleep and curled onto his side, cheek against the pillow.
His son looked peaceful in sleep, but the tear tracks still on his cheeks gave away his pain. Bruce leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Dick’s forehead. He studied him for another moment, before moving to the other side of the bed and slipping under the covers.
Sensing the dip in the bed and the warm body, Dick’s hand weakly reached for Bruce, resting lightly on Bruce’s wrist. Bruce shifted over and pulled Dick back into his arms. Dick snuggled in closer and rested his head on Bruce’s chest, just like he used to do as a child. Bruce closed his eyes and focused on Dick’s quiet breathing. It was awhile before he was able to fall asleep.