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The first time Bruce found Dick on the chandelier, he almost had a panic attack thinking about how he would get down. (He’d come down quickly and easily when he noticed the panic on Bruce’s face. He looked like he’d been crying.)
The second time, his heart still raced, and his anxiety spiked, but he kept his wits enough to remember he was a skilled acrobat and wouldn’t get up if he couldn’t get down. (The relief he felt when he saw Dick safely on the ground again later, coaxing biscuits from Alfred, had still been insurmountable. Again, his eyes had been rimmed red.)
The third time, he noticed the beginning signs of a pattern. (He heard the tell-tale sniffling.)
The fourth, he knew it was a pattern.
The fifth time Bruce found Dick on the chandelier, he coaxed him down with Alfred’s special hot cocoa and ushered him into the living room to watch old TV shows that Alfred would say would rot his brain. They didn’t talk.
After that, for a while, it stopped.
The chandelier hung childless for months, and Bruce began to think maybe he had finally started to get the hang of this whole…guardianship, thing.
Things had been good, calm, and Bruce had even started working on making the adoption of his ward official.
Then, Bruce found him for the sixth time. Late at night, when he should have been sleeping, after Bruce came up from working late on a case, he’d not let Dick help him with. He hung on the chandelier like it was the only thing solid in his life, and Bruce stared with slumped shoulders, tired eyes, and a pained heart.
Then, Bruce stepped closer, though—close enough to see his face, and blinked. His pattern was shattered.
Dick was grinning.
He had light bags under his eyes (had he not been sleeping well, why didn’t he tell Bruce?) but he had a grin on his face brighter than the moon shining outside that night.
Confused, tired, and unsure how to handle the new development, Bruce had muttered a strained ‘go to bed, please’ and walked off to his room.
After that, Bruce lost count of how many times he found Dick hanging on the chandelier. It had become his new favourite spot. Not just when he was sad and missing his real parents, or angry, or depressed. It became a spot for anytime.
One particular time, Bruce had found him starting to doze off. (The panic from the first time seized him again in that moment, as he thought of Dick falling as he slept, and he’d found himself shouting to wake him up because in the moment he’d blanked on what to do. Dick wouldn’t let him forget or live it down, Bruce would rather like to forget it. Alfred found it too amusing.)
All this to say, it was normal by now to find the young boy on the chandelier—most often when he was bored or pouting because Alfred told him no and Bruce didn’t back him up fast enough or at all. So normal, in fact, that Bruce often forgot it wasn’t normal for most people.
And Bruce supposed that was how he got where he was now, shoulders trembling with laughter he refused to let out (he’d been laughing a lot more since adopting Dick, it made Alfred happy) as he watched a panicking Clark Kent—who still hadn’t noticed him by some miracle—quietly try to coax Dick down from his favourite place.
Maybe it shouldn’t have been funny. Maybe Bruce should have felt bad for him because he was panicking almost as bad as Bruce did when he found Dick there the first time. The difference, however, was that Bruce knew Dick could get down just fine, and Clark was Superman. He could fly up and bring Dick down at any time, and well, it was pretty amusing seeing him forget he had such special abilities in his panic.
Dick really was something else.
It wasn’t until Bruce heard Clark start to flounder and weakly offer sneaking treats from the kitchen for him (Bruce knew he shouldn’t have told him about their midnight snack runs) that Bruce finally composed himself best he could and stepped into view.
“Dick,” he quietly interrupted Clark’s desperate pleading, “this is who I was telling you about. He is…joining us tonight.”
Clark’s eyes snapped to Bruce, wide and startled, and Bruce admittedly felt a small burst of pride at the confirmation he’d successfully snuck up on Superman. Dick dismounted with ease (albeit a bit dramatically for show) the moment Clark’s eyes were off of him and ran over to Bruce.
“Where did you—”
“That’s really him!?” Dick exclaimed, cutting off Clark, as he stared up at Bruce with wide, excited eyes. When Bruce nodded, a small jerky movement, a gleeful grin spread over Dick’s face, and he bolted to Clark.
Bruce could only grimace when Dick, practically vibrating with excitement, stood toe-to-toe with Clark, and loudly announced, “You’re Superman!”
Clark went still as stone, his eyes widening further, and stared down at Dick. “I—”
“Oh!” Dick interrupted with a horrified gasp, “that’s a secret.” He spun around to face Bruce again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I just got excited, and I didn’t—”
“It’s alright,” Bruce said quietly when Dick abruptly cut himself off.
A moment passed in tense quiet before he slowly closed the short distance between the three of them and knelt down in front of Dick. He could feel Clark staring at him, probably waiting for explanation.
Dick looked so guilty, though… Bruce let his lips quirk up slightly in an awkward half-smile to try and reassure him. “Alfred’s in the Kitchen, think you can go ask him to make us some hot cocoa and popcorn for the movie?”
A pause.
Bruce’s heart pounded in his chest; the silence was nerve-wracking. Even now, however long it’d been since he found Dick, he still felt clueless sometimes. Still wondered if he was doing this right. When Dick’s lips pulled into a tentative smile matching his own and he nodded, though, Bruce let out a soft breath of relief.
He was doing just fine. He was doing his best.
“Tell him I said you can have an extra big mug tonight,” Bruce murmured, raising a hand to ruffle his hair gently.
Alfred would have his head for that later, but the way Dick’s eyes lit up with joy was absolutely worth the scolding he’d get after the kid was in bed. Dick threw his arms around Bruce’s neck, just for a moment—it was only a quick hug—before he turned and ran off to find Alfred.
Bruce slowly pulled himself to his feet and finally looked at Clark, not quite meeting his gaze.
“I—”
A faint, excited shout of, “Alfred! B is dating Superman!” cut off Bruce before he could get another word out. He grimaced. He loved Dick, really, but…well—no. There was no but. He loved that kid. Loved his son. Apparent inability to keep secrets in the face of extreme excitement and all.
“It’s okay, Bruce,” Clark said when Bruce didn’t speak again. His voice was gentle but sincere, honest. Bruce relaxed a little. His hands still fidgeted at his sides, though. “Really, I wouldn’t expect you to keep my secret from your kid and Alfred, not when I know yours.”
Finally, he met his eyes. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here—with an adopted son more opposite to him in disposition than should be possible, with a boyfriend (how strange that word felt, even in his own thoughts) from another planet he’d admittedly not had the best first opinion of but now found himself trusting with his secret and his life, and with Alfred still at his side through it all and closer to him than ever despite the hell they’d been through.
He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, but he’d be damned if he ever let himself lose it all.
Bruce moved to Clark’s side and leaned against him, just slightly—just enough to feel Clark’s shoulder brush against his own—and felt his heart stutter in his chest when Clark carefully grabbed his hand and laced their fingers. He froze for a moment, tense, holding his breath. He was still getting used to it, the open affection that was different from the paternal kind he shared with Dick.
Clark didn’t speak on it, though. He waited for Bruce to relax and brushed his thumb slowly over his knuckles.
“I didn’t tell him,” Bruce finally said, beginning to lead Clark to the room he’d had Alfred set up with pillows and blankets and a big TV for this week’s movie night.
A small, curious hum was his answer.
“He, uh…” he paused, glanced at Clark then back ahead, “he figured it out himself.”
“Ah,” Clark sighed, “I should’ve known. Of course, your kid would figure me out in a blink. Fitting…”
Bruce hummed quietly in response. Was it? Dick was a smart kid… Bruce felt a swell of pride every time he figured something out on his own. He was getting better and better every passing day.
It shouldn’t have been surprising, but Bruce still stopped in the doorway and blinked when they stepped into the room and Dick was already there, nestling into the nest of blankets and pillows. (It had been his idea to make a blanket-nest when they first started movie night, Bruce loved it—it was warm and safe—and though he wouldn’t say it out loud, he knew both Alfred and Dick knew.) In his hands was a large mug Bruce hadn’t even known they owned, filled to the brim with hot cocoa.
He let go of Clark’s hand and walked over, carefully stepping into the nest and making himself comfortable. He saw Clark copy him after pushing off his shoes out of the corner of his eyes.
“Alf’s gonna bring yours in a minute, told me to come pick a movie,” Dick told him, sipping his drink.
Bruce hummed his understanding and looked ahead to the TV. It was off still. He frowned. Dick normally already had the movie up and ready to play when he was picking (which was almost every time).
“I don’t want to pick.” Sometimes, Bruce genuinely wondered if Dick could read his mind. He looked back at Dick with a frown. He always wanted to pick… “I want Su—Clark to pick. He’s a guest.”
Distantly, Bruce was a little offended that he was so willing to let Clark pick a movie when he rarely let Bruce pick one. It was only a little, though, really. He was happier than anything. He could read between the lines this time. He knew it was Dick’s way of giving approval.
Not that he thought Dick wouldn’t approve of Superman, but still. It was relieving to see him accept Clark so readily into their lives.
Dick tossed the remote over Bruce to Clark, grinning.
“Thank you, Dick,” Clark said sincerely, catching the remote. “Promise I’ll pick something good.”
Alfred walked in then, as Clark turned on the TV and went about going to take his pick. The cocoa was warm as Alfred passed him his mug, and the popcorn he carried smelled perfect as always. Bruce thanked him softly, warmth spreading over his chest and all through him.
“Oh!” Clark caught his attention, a grin spreading over his face once more. “I think I found something.”
Bruce just quietly sipped his drink as Dick leaned over him with wide eyes to grill Clark on what he was picking, almost spilling his own drink. He used his mug to hide the smile the scene drew from him.
He found something, too, he thought, and he’d never let it go.