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It's impossibly easy to fall into a rhythm. Certain tasks become second nature, a mindset solidifies, the facts blur and everything fits into the intricately woven pattern. It's impossibly easy to fall into a rhythm, however, it's just as easy to shatter the illusion.
Dick is used to fighting with Bruce. They clashed more often than not these days but never once has it affected how Dick feels about the man. Bruce took him in during his darkest moment and raised him. He was far from perfect, and he contributed to quite a lot of Dick's issues, but he was always there to catch him when he fell. Bruce, while he would never be Dick's father, had been Dick's dad for so long now he doesn't think he could ever really hate him and that's not for lack of trying.
Bruce is stubborn and would rather take a knife between the ribs than admit to his faults. Dick wasn't quite as bad, though he'd developed a lot of the man's more steadfast nature during his many years under the Bat's wing. They didn't agree on a lot of things, their methods were different, and Bruce couldn't healthily communicate his feelings until long after he already fucked up. That just lead to a lot of screaming matches down in the Cave. That was part of their rhythm, another instinctive reaction. Tonight is a bad night.
"You disobeyed direct orders," Bruce-- not Batman, the cowl pulled back-- snarled up by the Batcomputer.
Dick shrugged, doing his best to play it casual despite the obvious tension coiling through his body as he stretched out a few sore muscles down by the uniform displays just a platform down, "You made the wrong call." He threw back, pulling away the domino mask and meeting Bruce's fiery gaze with his own cold stare.
"That's not your choice to make," Bruce is grinding his teeth, fists clenched impossibly tight at his sides. Even with the cowl down the Batman suit makes an imposing figure. The thing is, Dick grew up beside the Bat and just can't really find it in himself to be intimidated anymore. Instead Dick just scoffs and continues the process of stripping away the Nightwing mantle. Bruce may be content to spend the rest of his night holed up in the cave, half-hero half-billionaire, but Dick would prefer to head back up into the Manor and bask in what it felt like to just be human without the burden of the mask clinging to his every limb. "You could have gotten somebody hurt tonight." Bruce pushes, because he always pushes. Bruce isn't one to let things lie and he certainly isn't one to take a step back and let his temper cool before he reels back a fist.
Dick sighs, a harsh, heaving breath, and he's so tired of this fight already but he never claimed to be any better than his mentor. "I'm not some invalid, B," he snaps, tossing the top of the Nightwing suit onto the floor and lifting a foot to start undoing the clasps on his boots. "Just because I don't follow your every order to a T doesn't mean I suddenly have no idea what I'm doing. You made the wrong call, I saved Red's skin tonight and you can't even admit that."
"This isn't about tonight, Dick," Bruce dismisses with ease. Of course it isn't, Dick thinks bitterly, If it were I'd be right and we can't have that now, can we? "If you don't listen to me I can't trust you and that makes you a liability in the field."
Dick barks a startled laugh, glancing at Bruce over his shoulder incredulously, "That so?" He muses, tone equal parts amused and furious. Who the hell did Bruce think he was? What the hell gave the Batman the right to be such an ass? "God forbid I oppose you, right? Would you prefer I let Tim get overwhelmed tonight? Or would you be yelling at me then, too?" Dick had a sneaking suspicion he knew the answer to that particular question but he didn't have the time to entertain the thought. He should have waited to take off the suit. He should have known this would devolve into something vicious, it was part of their rhythm, and now he feels exposed but he's sore and the goons they'd taken on tonight had gotten in a few good shots and he just wanted to go upstairs and poke fun at Tim over a cup of tea and check-in to see what Damian's been up to. Instead, he's stuck down here getting chewed out because he'll never make the right choice in Bruce's eyes.
"Tim can handle himself." Bruce huffs, stepping up to the edge of the platform and looking down at Dick like he was something beneath him. Dick wanted to scream. "You jeopardized the mission, you could have cost us valuable resources tonight. It has nothing to do with my authority, you're acting like a child."
"If it wasn't for me we wouldn't have finished the damn mission," Dick seethes, and now he feels like a child. Bruce had a way of making him feel inferior in a way that no one else could. Even after all these years, making a name for himself and becoming a reliable staple for the superhero community, Dick can't help but try to meet Bruce's impossible standards but he never measures up. No matter how he tries to distance himself and prove he's more than Batman's ex-protege Bruce is still the man who taught him everything he knows and he wants to be more than a skid mark on his record. He hates that. He wishes Bruce's opinion didn't matter to him. He wishes Bruce couldn't make him feel like a disappointment with nothing more than a look.
Bruce sneers, an expression usually reserved for the enemy, before his faces falls into something tired and resigned and still unbelievably angry. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, "I never should have let you be Robin," He murmurs to himself, deep voice rumbling through the quiet of the cave and sending a spear of ice right through Dick's chest.
That broke the rhythm. They fought, feral and furious and cruel, but the wounds only went so deep. Throughout the many years Dick has known Bruce he'd only strayed from the pattern twice, and both times were still a permanent stain on their relationship, but never had Bruce said he wished he had never let Dick be his partner with such exhausted sincerity. Dick stuttered, stumbled, their pattern unraveling and slipping neatly through his fingers. His chest feels tight and his heart flutters anxiously in his chest and he loathes that it only took one sentence for Bruce to reduce him to this. The anger sparks and roars in his veins, flooding his system in an attempt to drown out everything else, "Fuck you," he snarls after a moment. It's filled with such a raw anger Bruce almost seems startled. Good. "You didn't let me be Robin, Robin had nothing to do with you, Bruce. You had the choice of helping me or getting out of my way but Robin was all mine and you don't get to act like it was your damn side project." Robin was his. His name, his heritage, his legacy. Not Bruce's. Never Bruce's.
"Dick--" Bruce starts. Dick doesn't let him continue, heart still hammering in his chest and hands sweating.
"No. I'm tired of every little slip-up and disobedience being treated like it's going to end the world. You made the wrong call, we completed the mission, and we all walked away with nothing more than some bruises. Tonight was a damn good operation and you don't get to get on my ass because I didn't do what you wanted." Dick sucks in a breath, chest heaving from the force of his fury, but he's not done. The fire is still burning but he still feels the cold grasp of Bruce's words, "I'm not your sidekick anymore. I'm not your child solider, I follow your lead because I know you can setup a good strategy, but you can't bench me anymore. I don't have to follow your lead and I sure as hell know that I am more than capable of making the right call in the field." He's tired. He's so fucking tired. Deciding he won't be stuck down in this cave a second longer Dick makes his way up the stairs to the Batcomputer and makes a B-line for the elevator up to the Manor. He's barefoot, shirtless, and the bottoms of the Nightwing suit are still clinging to his legs and damp with sweat but he's done. This conversation is over, Bruce doesn't get the last say anymore. He didn't want Dick to be Robin, anyway.