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It had been exactly one week, 16 hours, and four minutes since Bruce had kicked Dick out of the Batcave. Exactly one week, 16 hours, and four minutes since Bruce had heard had heard anything from him, and exactly one week, 16 hours, and three minutes since he'd been able to go about his day without the twisting feeling of guilt and worry that had taken over his stomach.
He didn't feel guilty about telling him to hang up Robin. That needed to be done. He'd been out of his mind to take a nine year old on the streets of Gotham with him, coping mechanisms be damned, and he'd been even crazier to let him continue with it after they'd caught Zucco.
But he did feel guilty about they way he'd done it. Alfred hadn't looked him in the eye since their screaming match to end all screaming matches, so Bruce continued to brood by himself. It's not like he didn't have experience with it.
Of course, the day after Dick…left Bruce started running programs to keep tabs on him. But he found it to be more…difficult than he thought it would be. He shouldn't have been surprised, considering he was the one who had taught Dick how to disappear. He'd just never thought that Dick would feel the need to hide from him.
Bruce was so damn tired. Tired of feeling guilty, or worrying, of being torn between wanting Dick to keep safe as far away from him as possible and dragging him back to the manor where Bruce could make sure he was safe.
He'd talked to Barry and Oliver though, and had gotten just enough information to attest that Dick was alive. Evidently, he wasn't staying with the Titans, Wally, or Roy--if he was being honest, Bruce had no idea where he was staying. All he knew was that he was alive. And in all honesty, that had lightened a little bit of the weight on his chest.
So when his personal cell rang with a number he didn't recognize, he thought maybe it was Dick apologizing for the way he reacted. But when an automated voice came on, saying "This is a collect call from Hub City Police Department, holding cell inmate," the monotone speech cut out at this point, a slurred, tired voice taking over to mumble out "Dick--er, wait no, Richard…Richard Grayson," Bruce could have sworn his heart dropped to his feet. His mind immediately jumped to every possible scenario--Dick was hurt. He'd gotten involved in something he shouldn't have. He got caught as Robin.
Bruce barely managed to reign in his thoughts long enough to hear "underaged," "minor," and "immediate pick up" before responding to the call and saying "of course, I'll be right there." He sat in the cave staring into space for a moment, the overwhelming silence sounding louder than it ever had before. It made him…uneasy. The cave had never been silent. Not in the nine years that Dick had been with him.
Bruce shook his head, shaking himself out of his weary stupor and forced himself to his feet. He changed out of the batsuit and into a shirt and dress pants as fast as he could, his mind running in a blur trying to fill in the blanks about why Dick had been arrested and what the hell was he doing in Hub City?
The drive to the police station was arguably one of the longest and most painful ones Bruce had ever endured. He parked the car hurriedly in one of the corner spots and practically leapt out before it came to a full stop.
Bruce straightened his shirt as he strode up to the front desk, a forced smile pushing past his fatigue far too easily. "Hi," he said tossing a grin at the pretty blonde receptionist. "I'm here to pick up Dick Grayson?"
The woman didn't look up from the computer. "Name?"
Bruce forced his smile a little wider and leaned his forearms on the counter. "Bruce," he said, trying his best to be charming while he would really rather go into Batman-mode and interrogate everyone until he figured out what the hell was going on. "Bruce Wayne."
The receptionist blinked, finally looking up and gaping a bit. "Oh. Oh. Of course. Right this way," she said, standing up and gesturing for him to follow
Bruce walked behind her, taking in far less of the world around him than he probably should have. God, what was he even supposed to say? How are you even supposed to your respond to your ward-turned-partner when the last thing you'd said to him was "you're fired, now get the hell out!"?
The receptionist approached a small holding cell in the back of the department, the exclamation of "Heyyyy Kacey!" making Bruce's heart stop dead in his chest.
She let out a light laugh. "It's Kayla, Mr. Grayson."
"Mr. Grayson," the voice mocked, carefree and lighter than Bruce had heard it in months. "You make me sound old as shit. Bruce looked up at him as he tossed a flirtatious smile at the woman in front of him. "You know it's Dick. "
That smile dropped the second Dick's eyes found Bruce's. "Noooo, c'mon Kace--Kayla. I s-said to call Wally."
Bruce felt a twinge of panic when he heard the slurring in Dick's voice. Was he injured? In pain?
"Unfortunately, Dick, you and Mr. West are both minors. And I can't call a minor when his friend gets arrested for underage drinking." Kayla turned back towards Bruce and handed him the keys to the cell. Underaged drinking? Dick would never-- "Drop these off at the front desk whenever you're done, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce blinked at the keys in his hand, his brain taking far longer to catch up with Kayla's casually tossed words than he would have liked. When he looked back up, Dick had slid to the ground on the far end of his cell, his back pressed against the wall with his hands over his face.
"Dick--"
"Open the cell, Bruce," Dick cut him off, his voice cold and shaky and forced, like he was making an extra effort to keep his words clear. "Open the cell and let me out, and I'll get out of your hair as fast as I can."
"Dick, it's four in the morning. Let me take you--" Bruce began.
"Nope!" Dick snapped, loudly cutting him off as his hands fell away from his face and he finally looked up to meet Bruce's eyes. "You don't need to do anything or take me anywhere. You made it very clear what you thought of me, and I don't need you’re your pity or your help or your anything. 'm sorry you put up with me for so long anyways."
Bruce had to resist the urge to stagger back, the words striking him in the chest harder than he thought they'd have the ability to. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself before opening his eyes and unlocking the door with barely steady hands.
"Dick," He began again, "Calm down. Let's just go--"
Dick let out a harsh laugh, his eyes disbelieving and rolled up towards the celling. His voice came out low and angry, a tone Bruce never thought he'd hear from Dick. "Go where, Bruce." Dick said, his voice a whisper but all too loud at the same time. "The manor? The place you told me to, and I quote, 'get the hell out' of?" He pushed himself to his feet as he spoke, stumbling slightly, and Bruce had to shove down another pang of hurt when Dick slapped away the hand he reached out to steady him.
Bruce fell silent, his brain scrambling to come up with a response, any response. Dick looked into Bruce's face, blue eyes only made brighter by the red rimming them. "I didn't think so."
Dick shoved past Bruce and stalked out of the station, hand already reaching out to the cab dropping someone of on the side of the street. He didn't look back.
Bruce returned the keys to the front desk in a daze and walked back to sit in the car he had driven over in a panic less than an hour ago. A terrible sort of cold filled his body, one that had nothing to do with the chilled night air. Something burned behind his eyes and he pushed the heels of his hands into them as the shuddering, wet breaths took over his body.
God, he was exhausted.