Work Text:
His mother taught him many things during his stay with the League. Sword fighting. Acrobatics. Hand to hand. But above all else she liked to preach patience.
He would move soon. He would meet his father soon. He would be robin soon.
Now though he uses his natural gifts less and less due to Grayson's "guidance".
He is an artist by nature. Be it by the sword or pencil, he is creator and destroyer. Born and bred to paint blood on the walls and the canvas.
Such metaphors are beneath him however, and so he paints.
Watercolour, acrylic, charcoal and pastels are strewn over his bedroom. He sits at the small studio set up in the corner and rolls up his sleeves.
He paints what his father would have wanted and what Grayson still wants. Family. He may detest Timothy Drake, but one would have to be blind to the way Grayson seems to care for the boy.
In the centre, of course, is father, he places himself by his father's right hand side, Bruce's hand on his shoulder, Grayson standing on father's other side. Drake beside Grayson, Brown beside Drake and Gordon, in her chair, beside her. Todd stands beside himself, perhaps a momentous from their breif stint training together in the league, and Cassandra beside him. Pennyworth stands holding Alfred, the cat, beside Cassandra. Thomas is beside Pennyworth, looking awkward as always.
Family.
He paints his mother. Separately. Grieving a life she could never leave and sons she could never love. In Al Ghul green and Wayne grey, she looks serene. Sad.
He misses his mother. Misses her lessons.
He gives both paintings to Pennyworth and finds them hanging in the hallway several days later.
Grayson hugs him when he sees it.
Father cries when he returns home