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it happens, as many of the shittiest days in the world do, on a monday.
it's raining. it always rains in gotham, the city of no sun, but dick's grown used to that. he only registers it because it's fitting weather for a trip to the graveyard, and then because he stands out in it for a good ten minutes, drenched to the skin and buffeted by winds, before the manor door opens.
alfred is haggard and apologetic, and dick forgives him immediately. he steps inside, declines a cup of tea and cookies, and heads immediately for the cave.
the thousand ugly words burning the tip of his tongue die there when he sees the baby.
bruce looks exactly as he'd expected: cowl on, jaw clenched, seated at the computer with a cold cup of coffee to the side and a dozen case files out. he's stoic, the thin lines of his lips merely narrowing as he turns to dick, his eyes giving away nothing.
the whole-ass baby in a basket next to him, however, was not expected.
"the fuck, b?" dick asks, and really, it's not fair. he's supposed to be asking about the funeral; why bruce didn't tell him sooner, why he didn't hold it, how the fuck any of this is acceptable. his goddamn brother died and he wasn't even told, and that's more than enough bullshit to deal with for a year, much less a few hours. but there's a baby in the batcave, hiccuping sobs in a basket placed carelessly on a rolling desk drawn close to the computer's keyboard. dick chokes back a hysteric laugh at the kid's tuft of black hair and aquamarine eyes. fucking hell does bruce have issues. this had damned well not be what it looks like.
bruce's lips narrow further, wrinkling the skin around them. he's got his chin on his folded hands in a pensive expression, and the whites of his eye slits nearly disappear as they squint. "talia sent him," he says curtly at last, with a jerk of his head towards the baby. "he's no longer wanted or safe at the league, so he needed somewhere to go. she said he's mine."
dick does laugh then. it's a short, incredulous thing, and he stamps down on his hysterics before they spiral into a crazed burst. he can't take insane laughter right now. none of them can. but, fuck — this is exactly what it looks like, isn't it?
"yours," he breaths. "your kid? is this some kind of joke?
bruce tips a hand at the computer, to the many-colored tabs scattered over the screen. "i tested him. she... didn't lie."
"so, what? is that it? you couldn't tell me shit because your old assassin flame shows up, drops off your secret love child, and leaves you to raise him as the new robin without giving two shits to make sure the old one at least has his brother at his funeral?"
"you were on a mission," bruce grits out. "i couldn't jeopardize—"
"oh, no," dick cuts in. "god, no. you couldn't put the mission second ever, even when your fucking kid dies, no, the mission comes first, but that's okay because you've already got robin 3.0 all lined up for you, so it doesn't matter what happens to the other ones—"
bruce slams his fist down on the computer table, rattling coffee over his papers. the baby is immediately silent. "don't make light of this," bruce barks. "none of this is about you, or this petty war you're trying to force between us. i've done what i had to do, what was best for the world and for jason. it's not your place to question me when you couldn't possibly understand."
"my brother is dead." dick digs his nails into his palms, head spinning with fury and grief. his voice is low, but rises as the anger takes hold. "my brother is dead, and you think this is petty rebellion? that it's 'not my place' that he didn't get the fucking courtesy of his family at his funeral? no, i don't understand, bruce, because it's bullshit."
"i did what i had to do," bruce repeats. his jaw twitches as dick scoffs. "jason had family at his funeral. you never came around before. forgive me if you weren't immediately invited this time."
that... that knocks dick back like a physical blow. he stumbles a step back, and his nails cut skin as his fists tighten. "you have no right to try to throw that in my face. you know why i didn't — couldn't — come over. he deserved better than to see us tearing at each other's throats, to get involved in our shit. i was keeping him out of that, even if it meant i missed out on time with him."
"so it was an act of selflessness, then," bruce says with cold sarcasm. "of course he needed you to hole away on your own and ignore him more than to have his back. you left a prime example to follow."
"are you serious? are you seriously trying to blame this on me? who put him out there, huh? who threw him into crime-fighting before he was ready? who gave him the suit in the first place, bruce? because it wasn't me."
this time the blow is physical. pain explodes against dick's cheek, bowls him over and into the floor. he can feel the swell start to rise as he brushes a hand over it. bruce stands over him, panting, almost feral.
"don't you dare," bruce growls. "don't you dare blame me for his death. you have no idea— i did what i could for him. i tried. i wanted to support him, avoid the same mistakes i made with you, to guide and channel his energy to the right causes the right way, and i—i tried. i tried to be there for him. he was headstrong, and stubborn, and determined to follow your example whether i helped him or not. i should have made him stop. i should have done more. but i'm not the only one who let him have the suit, dick. i'm not the only reason he wanted it, and you and i both know it."
the words hang heavily between them. the silence condemns them both. dick sits up, pulls his knees up, and drops his head against them. his cheek still stings, but the pain is muted as his rage simmers out, and the dark, twisting emptiness it held back floods through with numbing sorrow.
it's true. they're both to blame for killing jason. he should have been there, should have done a million things he never did; but he doesn't, and he didn't, and jason is gone.
and in many ways, it is his own fault that he never got to say goodbye.
"so what now?"
the hoarse question, little more than a broken croak, breaks bruce from a haze, and his coiled stance at last rests. the emotion bristling in the lines of his body smooths out to the cold, clinical calm typical of the bat. he turns back to the computer, shutting down the colored windows, dna matches and reports on the league of shadows and the al ghuls replaced by case files. his voice is distant and clipped as he answers. "go home, dick."
"what about the kid?"
the baby has been quiet throughout the fight. one might think he'd get louder—terrified by the shouts and the anger poisoning the air—but he didn't, and a vague concern nags at dick over that. maybe it's instincts, quiet around a predator, but he wouldn't put it past talia to have ingrained the lesson of silence into him already.
"he's none of your concern." bruce doesn't turn to face dick, nothing more than a monotone injected into his voice. "i'm turning him over to gotham children's services, and they can find him a home away from all of this."
"gotham children's services?" dick repeats. "you can't be serious. bruce, he's yours. the league knows he's yours. you can't hand him over to just anyone."
"i'm not keeping him. i won't make that mistake again."
"no, you'll make entirely new ones. fuck, bruce, do you want another dead son?"
it's the wrong thing to say. dick knows it the moment it's past his lips, wants to take it back, but it's out. bruce tenses again. his voice is frigid. "get out."
"b—"
"get out. if you care so much, take him with you, but i don't want to see you again."
"i'm sorry."
"get out!"
in a move that is pure rage—uncoordinated, but without true ill intent—bruce flings the discarded mug of coffee. it flies past dick, hardly an inch from his face, and shatters against the cave floor. dick flinches, and then ducks his head with a nod. "i'll be in blud," he says simply. it is both an invitation and not; if bruce needs him, he'll know where to find him, but dick will not come back to gotham, not if he can help it. not for a long time.
he steps towards the kid. the baby is awake—wide awake, with wide, red-shot blue eyes staring up at him. he's too tiny, too young, too delicate in dick's arms. he feels surreal.
dick holds him close and turns, leaving the cave without a glance back. he doubts bruce looks either.