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The first time Dick trusts someone to catch him, after leaving Haley's, is naturally Bruce.
The man who took him in was prickly, emotionally constipated and just generally hard for Dick to understand. What he could understand, though, was when words couldn't be said, when Bruce was the massive bat form he'd been graced with where the only sounds were chirps and shrieks, even if instances Dick got to see the shifted form were few are far between. Bruce didn't like shifting inside the manor. His form was destructive in small spaces.
And when Dick became Robin? The amount of times the man was a bat grew substantially, Bruce could so fluidly go from Batman to Bat and back, his darkened shadow in the Gotham sky was indistinguishable sometimes, most of the time it was hard to tell if he was man or bat.
Dick liked it, liked having someone else that could fly around, he didn't have to worry, would never have to truly fear Bruce falling like his parents had, because the man had wings, he could fly and Dick wouldn't have to lose anymore parents to gravity.
After a while, Dick felt confident enough to soar alongside the man, something that took months and months, utter terror thrumming in his bones at the thought of shifting because the last time he had, he'd been falling, his parents beside him and only he'd survived.
But with Bruce it was different, Bruce soared, large powerful wings that carried him through the skies and Dick followed, launching off of rooftops and gliding after him with little noises of excitement.
One such time though, Dick had been caught unaware, a couple of goons got the drop on him and he'd been injected before he could escape. The shift flushed through him against his will, a drug that temporarily trapped a shifter in their form, common amongst traffickers and harmless to standard humans. Dick, suddenly trapped as a tiny Shifter, tried to scramble away from the men on the roof without any luck, one of them roughly closing a hand around his torso. Dick squealed at the pressure as the first man, a bald individual squeezed tightly to halt Dick’s wriggles, the second, a brunette, grinned wickedly and typed away in a little hand held device. Another sharp pinch to Dick had his vision blur and fade to nothing. They’d sedated him.
When he came to, he was groggy and somehow in a glass carry case, only just big enough to fit him, being carried along by a man, and on a rooftop? The skyline was still Gotham and quelled some of his panic but he was still in a box with people who clearly didn’t have good intentions and where was Bruce? They’d gotten separated in the chaos, was he okay?
Dick got his answer though, as the Helicopter touched down on his roof and the man attempted to climb aboard with him, the box shattered, Batarang smashing the glass with precision. Dick instantly was up and away from the men, getting as much space as possible between them, the itch under his skin that indicated he had worked through the drug and could shift back was a blessing. He could fight better as Robin, and fluidly was back as a human in seconds. Bruce as a roof over, a much lower roof and yet had somehow gotten the Batarang up and to him- why hadn’t he flown over though-
“Robin, fall back!” B yelled, the noise carrying across the rooftops.
“But B-”
“Fall back.”
Dick frowned, threw a couple of smoke bombs at the men who were almost upon him and then turned. Bruce was holding one arm to his chest.
“You’ve gotta jump, Robin, I’ll catch you.” Because Bruce had a grapple but Robin had foregone one, he was a Sugar Glider, a grapple was an insult. Bruce clearly had a broken arm, restricting his ability to shift lest he make the injury worse and unable to grapple across to him and help him fight the men to escape… and if they had more of the drugs on them, to force him back into a Sugar Glider?
Dick shook his head wildly. He couldn’t jump. He looked down, the fall too high to survive if he didn’t make it and… he didn’t want to fall, not again.
“Trust me, Robin.” Bruce, because that voice was all Bruce, not Batman and Dick softened. Even in his panic, he’d trust Bruce. He had to.
He ran.
He jumped.
He soared.
And then Bruce caught him with both arms, hissing through his teeth at the pain but instantly wrapping his good arm around the boy, in a hug, despite their pursuers.
“You caught me.” Dick whispered, in awe and Bruce nodded.
“I’ll always catch you Chum.”
And the two fled into the night.
A few days later the trafficking ring was shut down even while Bruce was still sporting a broken arm. Nobody hurt his son. And Dick? Well Bruce promised to always catch him… and if that didn’t suddenly overwhelm him with feelings of trust and love and awe?
He worked up the courage to call Bruce ‘Dad’ less than a week later.
When Alfred caught him, he’d been playing on a chandelier, swinging back and forth and stretching his arms as far as he could. It felt nice, to be high up and weightless and carefree but not in a scary situation that made him think of the circus. This was a situation he was in control of. Bruce was out for the day, doing W.E things that meant Dick was alone, except Alfred of course. Dick wasn’t enrolled in classes yet, sure he’d been here a couple of months now but apparently his English wasn’t yet good enough for the posh people at Gotham Academy, so a few times a week a tutor came over to teach him.
Today wasn’t one of those days though.
Today was his time and his only, to do as he pleased, and swinging from the grand light was his form of entertainment. At least until Alfred caught him, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up with furrowed brows.
“Master Dick, that doesn’t look safe.” Alfred commented, the sound carrying upwards to where Dick hung.
“But Alfie, it’s fun!” Dick whined, grin so wide his cheeks hurt.
“Those chandeliers haven’t been maintained properly over the years, it could be dangerous.” He answered, carefully putting down the basket he’d had in his hands. “I’d feel a lot safer knowing you weren’t playing at such heights.”
“Ah.. Okay.” Dick pouted, wiggling a little to try and get his hands back onto the light instead of just his legs, but the movement jostled the chandelier violently and a creak and a snap later and the chandelier snapped from the wall, falling fast, dragged down by its enormous weight. Alfred let out a noise and Dick on instinct, as he did when he fell anytime now, shifted, his parents voices urging him to shift still echoing in his mind. The chandelier hit the ground first, smashing into pieces, thankfully avoiding Alfred who then carelessly stepped out into the shards of broken glass and bent metal to grab Dick as he glided, direction wobbly and little chittering panicked noises coming from him as he did. Alfred caught him in two hands, instantly pulling him to his chest when he did, to hold him tight.
“Heavens, Master Dick, are you quite alright?” Alfred asked, absolutely no concern to the cuts and scrapes his feet were sustaining that had sliced up the soles of his shoes. Dick let out a whimpering chitter and burrowed his face into Alfred’s palms in shame and fear.
“Come along, lets get you some hot chocolate, I think after that shock I can be lenient enough to let you have some cake too.” Alfred sighed, carrying Dick to the kitchen, careful to slip off his shoes and assess the damage once Dick was safely placed on the countertop.
His feet weren’t bad, thankfully, and so he prioritised Dick over himself, the poor lad shaking and quivering where he stood.
“Do you feel up to shifting back for me, my dear boy?” Alfred asked, Dick gave a shaky nod and then the countertop was replaced with the nine year old boy.
“I’m so sorry Alfie, I didn’t mean to hurt you or break the light and- and- Bruce won’t get rid of me right? I didn’t mean to- but it was expensive and I broke it and-” Dick was a mess of words, fumbling out of his mouth through teary eyes and an uneven voice that had Alfred give a small smile in response, a chuffed laugh that had Dick frown further.
“Master Dick, Bruce would never get rid of you, you’re his son, he loves you, and he loves you a lot more than any chandelier in this place, no matter its value. And you didn’t hurt me.” Alfred attempted to reassure Dick as he warmed the milk for the hot chocolate and then leant across to wrap the boy into a hug which Dick instantly burrowed into.
“But your feet-”
“Will heal. I do think making sure you're okay is what's most important here. That was quite a scary drop was it not?”
“Yeah...” Dick sniffled, one hand rubbing the tears from his eyes. Alfred nodded.
The hug, Dick wished would last forever, ended shortly after, Alfred making him a big mug of hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows and cake- Dick felt spoilt and ashamed to be given such treats when he’d broken things and essentially hurt Alfred. But when Bruce came home, found the smashed evidence in the hall and then found Dick curled up against Alfred on the sofa, bundled in blankets and nursing another hot chocolate, he too had agreed with the man. Dick was more important than any old chandelier.
Jason was Dick’s brother, a brother he’d always wanted, someone to play with, to share secrets with, to look out for and after and- well the list was a big one. The main point was, Dick had a brother.
“You gotta promise to catch me!” Dick yelped from top of the stairs. Jason watched on from the bottom, eagerly nodding.
“Of course I will, dumbass!” Jason snipped. Since he’d had a long talk with Dick and Bruce, he’d come out of his shell a lot, realising that no, Bruce wasn’t trying to traffic him or turn him into a hat, but take him in as a son. Jason was instantly a lively and cheerful boy despite his time in Gotham's hellscape. Dick loved it, loved having a brother who indulged his antics.
“Don’t call me mean names, I’ll tell Timmy!”
“I won’t catch you if you do!” Jason hissed back, because Dick also had another brother, Timmy, the new addition that Bruce refused to let go after it came to light how terrible Tim’s parents were.
“Please!” Dick whined and Jason rolled his eyes.
“Get going then, I don’t have all day.” Jason teased and Dick nodded, taking a few steps back before running, full pace, leaping from the top of the grand staircase, shifting in the air and then gliding with great speed right towards Jason’s outstretched arm.
He missed the arm.
Jason let out a noise of shock as instead, Dick slammed into his face, little paws slapping onto his forehead as Jason huffed out a breath and Dick let out a noise that was an imitation of a laugh.
“Dick! That’s not how you land. Faces bad!” Jason scrunched up his nose as Dick crawled his way up to sit upon Jason's head.
Dick let out a happy chirp and snuggled into the mop of hair.
“Fine. But only because I’m feeling nice.” Jason sighed and let Dick nest in his hair as he headed to the kitchen. Dick didn’t move, stayed curled up, little paws clasping onto strands like little handlebars, internally giggling about how he felt like Remy the Rat. Jason said nothing, not even when Dick refused to leave for hours, letting his eldest brother stay on his head, accompanying Jason when he moved to the library after a quick kitchen snack, and remaining there even when Jason spent hours tucked into a corner, reading page after page of classics. The two fell asleep eventually and when Bruce found them, he carried them both up to bed. Jason sleepily stirring, a light sleeper after his time on the street, but relaxing when blurry eyes met Bruce’s form. Dick never once woke, snuggling into Jason’s side as the two were tucked into Jason’s bed.
The first time someone who wasn't his parents caught Dick he was 8.
His mother, father and he were performing in Gotham. The city was dark and dreary and the entire place felt like a shadow wrapping around Dick. He didn’t like it.
They’d done most of their routine when it happened, when the ominous creak was the only warning any of them got before a jolt and a shriek and then gravity was taking them. They were falling. All three of them. A whole part of their act was the lack of nets, the fearlessness of his parents and the danger and thrill for the audience. And now they were falling, only cold, hard ground awaiting them. Dick could only let out a shrieked scream, his father beside him letting out his own yelp and yell, twisting and turning even though the drop surely wasn’t that far. It felt like an eternity though, to Dick, who could only panic, eyes blown wide and fear in his veins and the weightless feeling, the dread in his stomach. He didn’t want to die and-
“Shift!” The was his mothers yell over the screams of the crown and his own yells and his fathers and-
“SHIFT!” Louder, more urgent, he caught her eyes and blinked, subconsciously following her command on instinct. Communication was key in their performance and he had to do as she said lest he have an accident. So he shifted, suddenly feeling the halt to his descent, arms and legs splayed wide as his Sugar Glider form fought against gravity and wind and- he was soaring, flying, a true Flying Grayson. He let out a chirp, the stress and fear and panic waning from his bones. He wasn’t going to die, he would live and his Mother-
His Mother was a Degus. Degus' couldn’t fly, they were closer to a chinchilla or a gerbil albeit the same size as Dick’s Sugar Glider form. His Father wasn’t a shifter, a standard human being.
Dick looked down.
Dick couldn’t stop looking down.
The shriek that cut through him was animalistic, rightly so due to his form, a high squeal of loss and horror because at the bottom of the drop were his parents. His parents who couldn't fly. His parents who were clearly dead.
The world blurred and Dick wasn’t sure how he’d gone from playfully gliding, elated to survive to crashing into someone's broad chest, held tight, one palm covering his eyes as he trembled and struggled, he had to get over to them, his parents and- and-
“Shh, don’t look.” The voice rumbled, low and deep and full of understanding. Dick was tense, couldn’t relax, his every nerve alight with pure devastation and denial and guilt-
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” The voice was calming, the hands holding him were gentle, the slight rocking motions, his eyes still covered helped little but not much. Dick couldn’t breathe, he had to get over to his parents, what if they were still alive and needed him and-
Everything faded as Dick’s tiny hysterical breathing had him pass out, the last memory of that day being the rough, calloused hands that held him so gently and the man he couldn’t remember the face of who’d dived over the stands to catch him.
It took years to realise that man was Bruce Wayne.
His Dad.