Chapter Text
Dick stared at his phone.
The caller ID read ’Bruce’.
His hands shook, but he forced himself to accept the call halfway through the second ring.
“Hi Bruce, what can I help you with?” he asked, keeping his voice light.
Silence.
Dick held his breath.
“Do you have anything to report?”
“Not that I know of,” he said without thinking.
Bruce grunted, displeased.
“Well—I mean, I did a drug bust the other night, and I almost died apprehending some criminals during my day job, but, uh—” he broke off, laughing nervously. “I know you don’t really care about that stuff.”
There was another grunt, this one he couldn’t decipher.
His heart sank. Sometimes Bruce liked to do this when he was brooding and nothing would satisfy him; not the training dummies, not the thugs on the streets, or even a Gotham rogue. Dick knew what would work, at least temporarily. Normally, he would just wait him out, hoping that this time wouldn’t end with aches and bruises, hoping that if it did there wouldn’t be any broken bones. But now—he wasn’t alone in this, Jason was here now, and Dick was determined to do what he could for the boy. Plus, Bruce really did sound more upset than usual, and if he had to take it out on someone, Dick would rather it be him than Jason.
“Is something the matter…sir?” he asked carefully.
The next grunt sounded a little harsher.
Dick took that as a resounding yes.
The dark tendrils of magic—normally dormant— reared to life on his body. Slithering over his face and concentrating on his mouth, slipping down to wrap around his neck. Dick sat down heavily on his couch, suddenly glad it was so close. He tried not to make a sound when he choked. There was a time to be loud and a time to be quiet. Bruce did not want to focus on him at the moment, his pain was not what he sought after this time. No, the man simply willed Dick to be silent, and the magic obliged.
After what felt like an eternity later, the pressure slowly began to let up just as black spots had begun dancing in his vision.
“Robin killed a man today. Felipe Garzonas. The son of a diplomat, and a rapist that the law couldn’t convict. Jason lied to me. Said he slipped.”
Dick froze, gasping shallowly, mind racing with worry and alarm. This was really bad. Jason breaking the rule and then lying about it? If Dick had done something like that while he was Robin, he wouldn’t have made it out of Gotham.
“Jason himself is in one piece, I haven’t punished him yet.”
Bruce’s voice had taken a tone he had heard many times before. And it always meant pain.
Dick swallowed around the anxiety in his throat.
“Please don’t hurt him,” he whispered, “I can be there in an hour, and I’ll take his punishment. Sir.”
A pause, then—
“Don’t be late.”
Bruce hung up, and Dick’s shoulders slumped briefly in relief. This, this he could handle.
He didn’t bother grabbing anything more than his keys. The clothes he was wearing weren’t any he was terribly fond of, and he had spares in his car for…later. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to take them out. Dick supposed he’d always known this would happen, deep down. There was no escape, he was deluding himself every time he hoped there was.
Out the door, rushing down the stairs, Bruce’s words ringing in his ears. He started his car and pulled out, driving like Jason’s life depended on it.
Several times during the drive he’d felt Bruce’s magic forcing his foot down on the accelerator, felt it pushing his arms to steer his car into another lane and then back into his own, ahead of the vehicle he’d once been behind. He wove through traffic at the Magic’s insistence, and tried to mentally prepare himself for the beating ahead.
At least the magic wasn’t doing all the driving, he told himself, for there had been times where it took him over from head to toe, and drove him there. He’d even been made to run, once, when he’d been in the process of escaping to New York and didn’t make it to his car in time. Running all the way to Gotham from Blüdhaven only to have his aching body thrown around and broken was surely worse than this.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe Bruce would be lenient this time. Dick was naïve enough to hope.
Bruce cared for Jason, on some level, even if the man himself didn’t realize it. So perhaps if Dick was taking his punishment, it would be alright.
Then a thought occurred to him—what if the reason why Bruce‘s magic wasn’t as focused on him was because he was currently taking it out on Jason? Bruce would kill the boy without hesitation, without even meaning to, the magic would fuel him and he would fuel the magic.
Dick pressed down hard on the gas pedal.
The door opened before he even got close enough to knock. Bruce’s imposing figure stood in the doorway.
He grunted.
Dick nodded, hurrying to follow him as he turned and headed for the cave.
“Is Jason—”
“He’s fine.” The man said gruffly, and Dick shut his mouth. He’d have to take his word for it.
There was a secret room in the cave, empty but for the blood caked in the cracks of the hard stone floor and splattered over the walls. Bruce didn’t need restraints to keep Dick in place, and if he wanted to use any…well, that’s what the secret compartments were for. The room was soundproofed and only Bruce could open it. Dick had spent many terrible nights there, scrabbling at the stone and crying into the darkness while Bruce’s magic flung him around. Sometimes it simply held him there, forcing him to remain motionless for hours on end. Those days were the worst.
Bruce was impatient today. He shoved him into the room, stomping through after him as the door slid into place behind them, blending in seamlessly with the wall.
Dick landed on his hands and knees, and quickly turned around to stare up at his…at the man who controlled him.
Since Bruce didn’t usually like him to talk at times like these, it was always a guessing game of how to react. Should he be completely silent? Make more noise when he’s hurt? Is this one of those rare times when Bruce prefers him to beg? Does he want him to fight back? Or lay there obediently? Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Dick was well versed in reading Bruce’s body language, in figuring out how he should react so he’d be in less pain, so it’d end sooner.
Bruce was looking at him strangely, almost as if…Dick had seen that look before, it was the same kind of look he gave Jason. Does he want me to act like Jason? he wondered.
Dick injected a note of fear into his voice, “D—Dad?”
Bruce’s gaze hardened. “Jason. You failed.”
“Wh—What?” Dick made his voice tremble, scrambling back. “You—”
Bruce took a menacing step forward, and Dick’s flinch was not entirely ingenuine.
“You.” A kick to the side. “Lied.” Dodge the next kick. “To.” A punch to the gut. “Me.” Picking him up, throwing him at the wall.
Dick gasped, forcing himself to roll away. He made himself get to his feet, back against the wall. Jason was surly and defensive, but he was also an abuse victim. At what point might that trauma interfere? Dick wasn’t sure, but he figured the boy might try fighting back at least a little, at first.
“Leave me the f**k alone!” He yelled, aiming a sloppy punch at the man.
Bruce caught his arm easily, and twisted it painfully behind his back.
Dick knew a thousand ways to break this hold, but he also knew he wouldn’t. Bruce had been lenient so far, maybe he would continue to be if they kept this role play up.
So he craned his neck to look up at the man, and forced his eyes to tear, “ Dad .”
“Jay.” Bruce said patiently, putting his hand on Dick’s back, right below his neck, and pushing him down. He shifted his grip on his arm so it wasn’t quite so painful, and held him there, forcing Dick’s face to smoosh against the stone. “You have to understand, I’m doing this for your own good. You need to learn that actions have consequences.”
There was some shuffling, and the pressure let up just a bit. Dick squirmed, but otherwise stayed where he was. Another upside to this was that Bruce had yet to use any magic, since he’d never show it to Jason. It put many different painful methods off the table. But, as Dick was reminded as the sound of a whip cracking echoed in the silence, there were still plenty more on there.
There was a loud grating noise, and then Dick was being manhandled up, his hands brought in front of him and chained together. Dick was lifted up, and the chain was looped around a large metal hook that had descended from the ceiling. Even on his tiptoes Dick would not be able to get it off on his own. At the moment though, he could stand somewhat comfortably on his feet. Though his body ached, it was definitely not the worst thing he’d ever experienced. Bruce cut his shirt to pieces, and Dick shivered, feeling exposed.
“How many lashes do you think a human life is worth? How many till you regret killing Filipe?”
He snarled, remembering what Bruce had told him earlier about the incident, “I didn’t kill him, he slipped!”
The whip whistled through the air as it came down. Dick clenched his teeth; stoic, the way he imagined Jason might be.
Down and down again came the whip. Dick didn’t count, and Bruce certainly wasn’t counting aloud.
When it first broke skin, Dick cried out, gasping, reaction not entirely fake. Warm liquid snaked its way down his back, soon joined by several other little streams. He would not be sleeping on his back any time soon.
At some point, he started screaming.
“B—Bruce,” he rasped, “ please, stop.”
He didn’t stop.
But it was as if the floodgates had opened, because now incoherent pleas were falling from his lips, and Dick couldn’t tell if he was saying them on purpose or not. He was openly sobbing, and he just wanted everything to end. It didn’t, of course, things never went his way where Bruce was concerned.
He decided that, f**k it, whether it was something Jason would do or not, he was going to dissociate, slip into that special, dark place in his mind where nothing and no one could touch him. He wasn’t here, he was there.
Some time later, he found himself hanging by his wrists, body limp, legs unmoving, unsupporting. His back felt like death had decided to eat it for dinner and he was wondering if his shoulders would slip out of their sockets.
Someone was saying things like “please” and “ sorry” and “stop” but he wasn’t sure who they were. The voice sounded familiar, was it…Jason? Was he in trouble? Dick agonizingly climbed his way back to the surface of his mind.
He was being lifted off the hook, and held in the warm embrace of a giant figure. It sent his back roaring in pain, but he managed not to pass out.
“You did good, Jay,” said a voice. Good? Dick smiled hazily. He was good.
Bruce continued to say nice things about Jason, about how he’d learned his lesson and took the punishment so well, how he was proud of his little boy. His hand carded through Dick’s hair, and Dick leaned into it, sighing contentedly. All he could think was Bruce is happy, the pain is over.
He ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that said Bruce Wayne had never been gentle with Dick Grayson after hurting him in his entire life.