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When Dick was fourteen, he decided he wanted to start competitive gymnastics. Sure all his training and so on was great and he was good at it but no one else really got to see it. Just Bruce and occasionally Alfred if he happened to wander into the Bat Cave whilst Dick was doing a standing backflip. And when he was out as Robin, the criminals definitely weren't appreciative of his skills. Dick had grown up in the circus so he was a performer at heart, and if he was being honest, a bit of a show off. So he decided to ask Bruce if he could start entering gymnastics competitions, just for fun.
**
'Absolutely not.' Bruce said, the first time Dick asked over dinner.
'Why not?' Dick demanded huffily.
'Because you have an unfair advantage.' Bruce replied calmly as he sliced through his chicken.
Dick looked at Batman incredulously.
'That's the point .' he said, having to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 'That's why I want to do it.'
'I said no.' Bruce said in a tone that suggested the conversation was definitely over. 'And that's final.'
Dick gritted his teeth but didn't argue the point further. Not that he'd given up on trying to convince Bruce. Not in the slightest.
***
Dick was standing in the middle of the training room a few days later with his arms crossed.
'But why can't I do gym?' he asked Bruce testily. 'Because I'm too good? What kind of a reason is that?'
'You'd draw too much attention to yourself.' Bruce said evenly. 'You'd be far too good for someone who hasn't had any training as far as anyone else is aware.'
Dick sighed loudly and flipped himself over into a handspring and then back to his feet.
'Please Bruce.' he wheedled. 'I really want to do it.'
Bruce pressed his fingers to his temples like he was getting a headache.
'Answer's still no.' he said, sounding slightly irritated. 'Now can you please run those drills with your staff again? That last set was sloppy.'
Dick ignored his instruction, and dropped down into box splits instead, staring up at Bruce with huge wide eyes.
'Dick…' Bruce said, a warning growl in his voice. 'If I have to ask you again, you'll be running laps every day for the next week.'
Dick scowled at him, and got to his feet. If there was one thing he hated doing, it was running laps.
**
'I don't know what you're hoping to achieve here.' Bruce said the next day after Dick came home from school. 'I do have work to do, you know, and this is not helping.'
Dick peered down at him from where he was standing on Bruce's desk.
'Absolutely nothing.' Dick replied, feigning innocence.
Then with a broad grin, he backflipped off the desk sticking the landing perfectly in the middle of the antique Persian rug.
His plan was to irritate Bruce so much with his acrobatics that he caved in and let Dick compete in gymnastics just to get him to stop bothering him.
Dick had thought the plan was foolproof but so far, Bruce hadn't budged an inch.
'You're still not doing gymnastics competitions.' Bruce said as though he'd read Dick's mind. 'You are wasting your time. Besides, don't you have homework to do?'
Dick scowled and did another flip on the spot, this time from standing. Bruce's expression didn't even flicker.
'Fine.' he muttered, and cartwheeled his way out of the open study door.
**
'It's not fair. ' Dick complained to Alfred as he sat at the dining room table with him whilst he finished the aforementioned homework. 'He knows I'd be good at it and he won't even let me try.'
Alfred raised his eyebrows and passed Dick the plate of cookies he'd just taken out of the oven.
'He's just trying to protect you Master Dick.' he said gently. 'You're a talented athlete but people would notice if Robin started using the exact same gymnastics move as one Dick Grayson. You must understand that.'
Dick huffed out an annoyed breath, he knew that. He knew Bruce and Alfred were just trying to protect him, and he got the logic but the performer in him was insistent. He craved the showmanship of it, the adoration of the crowds, that adrenaline rush of flying. He missed the circus, the only thing he'd ever known before his parents died. He just wanted a slice of that life back.
He didn't say all this to Alfred though, just took a bite of a cookie and pretended to focus on his algebra equations. But instead his mind was formulating the next stage of his plan, and he was sure this one wouldn't fail.
**
On Saturday, Dick stood at the top of the wide staircase that led down in the Manor's hallway. Bruce was due back any minute now, he'd had a league meeting but Alfred was making dinner and Bruce wouldn't miss it. He flexed his fingers nervously, listening for the sound of the clock moving in the sitting room, meaning Bruce had left the Batcave.
Dick was good at handstands, he had been since he was a little kid. Back at the circus he used to walk around on his hands constantly, it felt as natural to him as walking normally. But apparently this wasn't a skill Batman deemed particularly useful so Dick only really did it when he wasn't training. He could still do it but he had to admit to himself he was feeling a touch nervous about this particular trick.
A couple of minutes later, Dick heard the telltale clicking of the clock moving and footsteps on the wooden floor. Taking a deep breath, he swung himself up into a handstand and held it there, listening intently as the footsteps drew closer. Strangely it sounded like two people were walking into the hallway but Dick didn't think anything of it, it was probably just Alfred.
Once he was sure he was securely balanced on his hands, he carefully lifted one up and placed it on the next stair down, followed by the other one. Luckily the stairs were deep enough that Dick had enough room to manoeuvre, and there was less risk of him running out of purchase and tumbling down into the hallway below. He was pretty sure that falling down the stairs and breaking both his legs wouldn't convince Bruce he should be doing even more acrobatic tricks.
Dick had got about three steps down when he heard a voice from the hallway, just out of his line of sight. He didn't risk turning his head to look, in case he lost his balance. That would have ruined everything.
'Dick Grayson, what do you think you're doing?'' came Bruce's panicked voice as he rounded the corner and Dick could actually see him properly. But what surprised him was he wasn't accompanied by Alfred as Dick had assumed but by Clark. Huh. That was a development.
'Hi Supes.' Dick said cheerfully, taking one hand from the stairs to wave, leaving him balanced on one hand for a split second.
'Dick!!' Bruce said, his face twisted with concern, 'Will you get down?'
'Hello Dick.' Clark said good naturedly. 'I think you're causing Bruce to have a nervous breakdown.'
Dick fixed them both with his most charming smile and walked the rest of the way down the stairs on his hands, flipping to his feet when he reached the bottom.
'This is about gymnastics again isn't it?' Bruce said, 'You're trying to drive me crazy enough that I'll give in and let you go.'
Dick shrugged, putting on his most innocent of expressions even though he knew Bruce probably saw right through it.
Clark was looking between the two of them, arching one eyebrow questioningly.
'Dick thinks that going out for gymnastics competitions is a good idea.' Bruce explained wearily. 'And he apparently also thinks trying to give me a heart attack is the best way to convince me to let him.'
'And why shouldn't he?' Clark asked, sounding puzzled. 'He's talented, he'd be good at it.
'He's too good, that's the problem.' Bruce groaned. 'If he entered competitions and did the skills he's capable of, then someone would make the connection between him and Robin and that would be it for his secret identity.'
'Well the solution's simple isn't it?' Clark said, as though Bruce was missing something obvious. 'He tones it down, doesn't show off too much.'
Dick's heart leapt hopefully, sure the idea of not showing off was basically alien to him but he could probably manage it if it would convince Bruce.
Bruce spluttered.
'I don't think that kid is capable of not showing off.' Bruce said, shaking his head. 'He can't come down to breakfast in the morning without doing ten cartwheels.'
'I'll do it.' Dick interjected quickly. 'I won't do any of my Robin tricks and I'll make sure I don't do stuff too much better than the others.'
'And if I still say no?' Bruce asked, but there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 'Then what?'
Dick didn't reply but simply looked upwards towards the crystal chandelier at the top of the stairs. Bruce followed his gaze and his face seemed to drain of colour.
'Fine, fine, fine !' he said, throwing his hands up. 'You can do it. Go and ask Alfred to speak to the Gotham City Gymnastics Club, see if they've got space on their team.'
Dick beamed, and sprinted off to find Alfred, feeling lighter than he had done in months.