Archive of Our Own

Now, nothing extraordinary happened earlier that day. There was the usual attempt of alien invasion, the Justice League came and ended it, and there were some hits taken and bruises formed—at least, for Bruce and Oliver. As stated, nothing extraordinary. Just the normal lives of superheroes and vigilantes.

Dick also expected the regular arguments he would always hear after every mission, all the way from the hallway to the dining table where he was waiting for the other members of the family—well, it was just his dad and usually, his Uncle Clark (yes, he still called him Uncle Clark and he didn't care that his siblings teased him about it), who always joined them when there was a mission earlier in the day or it was the weekend. That was how Dick had gotten used to all the bickering before eating. Ever since he was wearing green shorts and pixie boots to when his siblings came into their lives one by one and he became Nightwing, Clark had been a constant part of their family, and so was Bruce's lectures—for Clark and the children, including him. Honestly, it almost felt like those were their appetizers, served just before the main course. Sometimes, even dessert.

“That was extremely reckless!”

Bruce's usually low voice always got a pitch higher whenever his plan was not followed.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Follow the damn plan! That's what.”

Yep. Dick was right. He knew Bruce's problem just by the tone of his voice, alright. It was one of the skills he learned after living with him for so long.

“You know I can't just stand there and do nothing!” Clark argued, his voice getting louder.

Dick pursed his lips and exchanged looks with Alfred. They were merely waiting for the two adult men to arrive so they could hopefully eat their dinner in peace, but of course, even that would be too much to ask in their household.

Bruce was the first to enter the dining room, dressed in white shirt and slacks—his own definition of casual—followed by Clark who was wearing his signature flannel shirt and jeans. Even their styles were clashing.

“You endangered Diana's life,” Bruce continued as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Clark snorted. “As if she can't handle anything by herself.”

Dick watched as Bruce abruptly stopped and faced Clark with a sharp look on his face. He knew the steps from the door to the dining table weren't long, yet it felt like that as he watched the two argue about every damn thing every damn time before and after they eat or do anything, really.

There were times Dick looked at the two and mulled over their friendship. From an outside perspective or someone who didn't really know them, it would look like Bruce and Clark were frenemies rather than best friends. But that was the thing. They knew each other utterly well, from the smallest things like their favorite color—obviously, blue for Clark, but believe it or not, Bruce's favorite was red—to the biggest ones like simply knowing they had each other's back anywhere they go.

“You endangered yourself,” Bruce said through his gritted teeth. “You could have died.”

“But you were there to make sure I didn't. I knew you'd be there. That's why I wasn't worried,” Clark said.

If Dick didn't know any better, he expected Bruce to reply, but I was.

It was the same argument over and over. Of course Dick also hated that Clark always jumped into danger without thinking twice. He was his favorite uncle! But he also knew Clark did it to save people. That was just how Clark was—inherently kind and selfless. How could Dick complain about that?

Bruce, on the other hand, seemed not to get it, but Dick doubted that though. It was more likely that his dad was repressed as fuck and arguing with people about their own safeties was his way of showing concern. That was why he made contingency plans. That was why he was the tactician of the league. And it may seemed like he was always mad and saw his teammates as incompetent whenever he criticized their actions during missions, but that was not the case at all. The thing was, he blamed himself. Thoughts like he should've seen it coming and he should've made a plan for this or that always plagued his mind after every mission, even when everything went right and especially when something went wrong.

Just thinking about it made Dick's head hurt and lose his patience. He sighed loudly enough to get the attention of the two who seemed to realize there were other people in the dining room aside from them.

“Please, by all means, continue fighting while Alfred and I suffer from hunger,” Dick deadpanned.

Drama queen, Jason would have said if he was there. Too bad he wasn't, so Dick could be as dramatic as he wanted to be. He had every right anyway as he was usually the one witnessing the epic friendship of their dad and uncle.

Unfortunately, Bruce and Clark knew him too well—knew how dramatic he could be—and therefore, didn't rise to the bait. Instead of arguing again, they claimed their seats around the table and finally—finally, they ate in peace—as peaceful as it could be, considering their family—with a few small talks (read: arguments and lectures) here and there.

After dinner though, Bruce and Clark went back to bickering. Dick let them. He was exhausted after being one of the people the league called for backup.

He made his way to the lounge where they usually spent their time after eating. He almost regretted it when the two followed him, also used at staying there after their meal. He didn't realize he slightly dozed off, the argument becoming a background noise.

Dick wasn't sure how long he was out. His eyes felt heavy and his brain was having a hard time catching up, but when it did, he realized it was quiet other than the hushed voices he could hear. At first, he thought it was the television, but he remembered that no one bothered opening it. Then he recognized Bruce and Clark's voices.

“Don't do that ever again. You hear me?” Bruce said in a gruffy voice, yet Dick felt the softness—daresay, the fondness—in the tone.

He heard some rustling and then he heard Clark spoke.

“You know I'll try to follow through your plans as much as I can, but you also know there will be times like today when I have to deviate from it. We can't predict everything that could happen, B.”

There was a grunt, definitely Bruce when he begrudgingly acknowledged someone or something, then there were more shuffling.

Dick sort of wanted to open his eyes to see what was happening, but more than that, he wanted to leave the room. He felt like he was hearing something he shouldn't be—like he was intruding a private moment.

“Just don't die on me, Boy Scout,” Bruce said after a few minutes of silence.

A hum from Clark followed. “Don't die on me either, B.”

Another moment of silence came. Dick wondered if they were staring at each other. He assumed from the hushed voices that they were extremely close, perhaps even hugging if the labored breaths were something to consider. But that would be odd. There was no reason for them to be affectionate, unless he missed something when he started living in Blüdhaven.

In retrospect, there were some moments that Dick brushed off as eccentricities of their friendship but thinking about it now, may have been too sweet for two people who only see each other as friends. He remembered that time when—

“Bruce!”

Dick's eyes snapped open, his reflexes taking over. He almost fell from his seat in surprise. And when he realized there was no threat, he glared at the two who were seating on the same couch but were, at least, 12 inches away from each other. His eyes narrowed. He swore they were closer than that. Although, it was not odd to see Clark blushing while Bruce had a smug expression on his face. Dick usually saw them with the same expressions whenever he or anyone entered the room—holy shit.

If Dick was lesser of a man, he would have gaped at them like a fish out of water.

“You woke Dick up,” Bruce casually pointed out as if they weren't having a heart-to-heart conversation a minute ago.

“Sorry, Dick.” Clark pushed his glasses. “Are you okay?”

They were looking at Dick and the latter knew they were wondering how long he was awake or if he was awake during the conversation that happened earlier.

“Uhh... Yeah. I should– uhm. I'm going. Night!” Dick stuttered and almost sprinted out of the room.

What the fuck?

“You think he heard us?” He heard Bruce asked.

“I'm not sure. I think he was really asleep,” Clark said and then his tone changed. “You shouldn't surprise me like that!”

“You have heightened senses, Clark. You should never be surprised,” Bruce said in an 'as-a-matter-of-fact' tone. “Besides, you act like that was the first time I kiss you.”

Dick's eyes widened. He knew the truth already, but hearing some sort of confirmation was different. Damn.

Clark huffed. “You rarely initiate a kiss, B. No heightened senses will stop me from being surprised.”

“Then I guess I have to make it up to you.” Bruce's voice was so low, Dick almost didn't hear it. God knew he didn't want to hear it. Ew!

Dick left the hallway before he could hear anything that would scar him for life. Only when he reached his room and dropped on his bed did he let out a loud groan.

How could he miss that? It was right in front of his face! Did his siblings know? He bet Tim, at least, did. Was he the last one to learn about it? He hoped not. That would be embarrassing as hell, being the first Robin and all.

Dick slapped his hands on his face and groaned again. He was raised by the World's Finest! And so much for being taught by the World's Greatest Detective. 

Bruce and Clark, huh. The thought made Dick smiled. He was glad to know that their dad was happy with someone. He wondered though, if he could start calling Clark dad too.