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Good evening Mr.Wayne,
This is Valerie James, Dick Grayson’s homeroom teacher. Dick is an exceptional student and doesn’t cause any problems in school, but I do have some concerns regarding his tendency to sleep through the homeroom period. He is not missing out on any work, but while other students take the time to socialize or catch up on homework, Dick secludes himself in the back of the class and puts his head down to sleep. I understand that Dick has a busy schedule outside of school, in addition to his extracurriculars, but I believe it would be in his best interest if you might encourage him to go to bed earlier so that he is more prepared for school in the morning. If you’d like to talk about this further, please do not hesitate to email me. Thank you!
Sincerely,
Valerie James
Homeroom, English Teacher
Gotham Private Academy, Middle School
Dick scrubs at his eyes harshly. It was late, past midnight, and though there was no patrol today, that meant that he was supposed to catch up on homework and class projects. None of it was particularly hard, but the volume of work packets and seven-part math problems ate up hours and hours that he could have spent training or helping Bruce.
Right now, as he scrolls through Bruce’s personal email (which Bruce put on school forms and made the password the day he signed Dick’s court appointed ward papers), he frowns at Miss.James’s message. His old homeroom teacher was never bothered by his sleeping– in fact, Mr.Ratch wasn’t bothered by anything the kids did during those first twenty minutes of homeroom before the bell rung. So it was odd, and kind of annoying, that Miss.James would even email Bruce about it. Doesn’t she know not to bother people about something so little?
Still squinting, Dick types back a reply.
Miss. James,
Thank you for your concern, but Dick is fine. Yes, he has a busy schedule, and he takes a few minutes in the morning to nap.
Dick cringes a little at “nap”. It sounded so childish.
If this bothers the rest of the class, I will ask Dick to stop. If there are any other concerns, let me know.
-B.W.
Satisfied, Dick closes the tab and scrolls through his class schedule, highlighting project and test dates. He caught up on pretty much everything he needed to turn in by the end of the week, and when a yawn pops his jaw, Dick closes the laptop and rubs at his eyes again. Glancing at the clock and seeing it was 1:22a.m., he gets up and glances down the hallway. The light was on under Bruce’s door, so it probably meant that Bruce was still in the Cave. Bruce always kept the lights on in his room when he wasn’t in there. He said he liked to see everything as soon as he stepped in.
This always puzzled Dick a little since it only took a second to flip on the light switch, but after a while, Dick started doing it too. It did make a difference when he was coming back from a late patrol and the rest of the Manor was dark. It was like having a beacon, or a lamp light, and he was the moth drawn towards it.
Slowly, Dick makes his way down into the Cave, shivering a little as the cool air hits his skin. Down below, Bruce was for once not in front of his monitors, but instead inspecting a grapple gun. Dick knows he sees him, even when Bruce doesn’t look up from his tinkering, and like a magnet, Dick comes to stand at his side and watch him work. He was oiling the metal wires, dark cloth working into every crevice and groove.
After a minute goes by of silent work, Dick yawns.
A few seconds later, Bruce also yawns, biting off the end of it with his teeth.
Dick yawns again, tired tears gathering in his eyes.
Bruce sighs, clearly fighting off the urge to yawn too, and Dick laughs a little.
“It’s past one,” Dick says.
Bruce sets down the grapple and nods, turning his head to the side as he muffles yet another yawn.
“You should go to bed,” Dick says quickly, pressing his lips together as his jaw threatens to fall open. “Alfred’s gonna be mad if you skip your meeting again.”
Bruce doesn’t acknowledge this, wiping off his hands with a sanitary wipe, and eyes Dick by his hip. “You have school.”
“Yep. So we should both go to bed.”
Bruce turns his neck a little more, staring hard at Dick’s face, and Dick smiles up at him. He’s tired, and he can feel himself struggling to really understand his surroundings as his eyes beg to close, but when Bruce still doesn’t budge from his place, Dick sighs and makes for a grab at Bruce’s free hand. When he misses, Bruce compensates and meets Dick half way, Bruce’s face doing something funny when Dick can only grab at three of his fingers.
“Come onnn,” Dick urges, only having to tug lightly to get Bruce to move. “Alfred’ll kill us if he finds us down here.”
Without any more resistance, Bruce follows Dick out of the Cave and up the stairs, saying goodnight as Dick woozily watches him, finally, go into his room. The light turns off a moment later, and Dick shuts his door.
When Alfred picks him up that afternoon, Dick can immediately tell something is off.
“How was school today?” Alfred asks in the rearview mirror. His eyebrows seemed especially pinched today.
“Fine,” Dick says, throwing his backpack onto the seat next to him. “I got an A on my history test.”
“Well done,” Alfred praises, eyebrows still pinchy. “And… how was homeroom?”
Dick’s stomach drops to his feet. “Please don’t tell Bruce.”
“I didn’t know you were in the habit of forging emails, Master Dick.”
“Please don’t tell Bruce, he’s not gonna let me go on patrol.”
One of Alfred’s bushy eyebrows raises. “If that’s what’s keeping you from getting enough sleep, I should think stopping would be—”
“But it’s not like I’m hurting anyone!” Dick interrupts, anxious to clear his name. “My grades are fine! Everything else is fine, too! I just get a little tired in the morning, that’s all. We don’t even do anything during homeroom, so it’s not like I’m missing anything.”
“Your grades are not the issue here,” Alfred says primly. “Boys need their rest, and you and Master Bruce need to get in the habit of getting more sleep anyway. Master Bruce missed his meeting again this morning because he slept in. If it weren’t for me driving you to school, I imagine it would be much the same in your case.”
Dick’s face heats slightly when he hears about Bruce oversleeping. He thought he had managed to catch Bruce in time so he wouldn’t sleep through his alarm clock again, but apparently not. Though Bruce has told him he could live off of only three hours of sleep, and had proved it more than a few times when missions got tough, it left only enough energy for Batman to properly function and left Bruce Wayne high and dry. And when Bruce Wayne was missed, be it from a public appearance or a W.E. meeting, it meant that Batman had to take a break from the careful schedule they had built and put more time than usual into the Wayne persona– which also meant that Dick Grayson had to make more appearances and that Robin missed out on valuable time to train and learn.
It was something they both hated, and seeing as Bruce so easily lost time when he was in the Cave, Dick had taken it upon himself to track that sort of thing for both of them. It frustrated him that he still couldn’t plan his way around their civilian lives.
“I won’t do it anymore,” Dick promises, trying to stretch up and catch Alfred’s eye in the mirror. “Please, Alfred? It won’t happen again. Please don’t tell Bruce.”
When Alfred sniffs, Dick knows he’s won him over, and he falls back into the leather with relief.
“I want you in bed by 10:30 tonight, Master Dick,” Alfred says, and Dick nods hurriedly.
“Yes, sir.”
After the third attempt at reading a paragraph on some rooster named Chanticleer, Dick feels about ready to throw away the assignment and just look up a quick summary to write his report on. His forehead felt heavy and hot, and the weight of it continually pulled his neck down closer and closer to his desk. It was only 7:30p.m., and yet his eyes crossed incessantly.
He wasn’t allowed to have coffee or energy drinks yet, something about stunted growth and being “grown-up drinks”, and so what little natural energy he had was quickly being depleted on homework assignments. It was like Miss.James was doing this on purpose, handing out so many reading packets after sending that email to Bruce. But Dick knew he had to get it done before patrol, it was one of the few rules Bruce had implemented when it came to it, so in an effort to wake himself up, Dick slaps at his face a few times.
The sting only works for a few seconds, his face now the color of the heat his forehead feels, and before he knows it, he’s drifting towards his desk again. With a bang, his head hits the wood and Dick jerks back up, wide-eyed and startled.
“Man,” Dick whimpers, frustrated tears forming.
Nothing seemed to be going right these days. On the surface he was managing to keep up appearances, but Dick could feel himself slipping. It was always the small things that really got to him, like now with his homework and a deadline of thirty minutes before patrol began. Dick loved patrol, there was no way he was going to forgo it for something as inconsequential as homework, but this was also a report he had to turn in and Miss.James was a harsh grader when it came to their essays. He wasn’t really struggling in her class, but he was neck and neck when it came to grades with another boy that was constantly trying to one up him.
He wanted to prove himself to Bruce, to show that he could be just as a good of a student as Alfred said he was. Top of his class , Alfred had told him. Never missed a day of school, and graduated as valedictorian . So far, Dick was managing to stay on track for exactly that title. Next year, he’d be able to join the math league too, something Bruce hadn’t done while in school, and Dick was willing to do anything to show Bruce that he could keep up, and maybe even improve, in all aspects.
It worried Dick that one day he might fall behind. That one day he’d bring back a report card that was less than excellent, or that he’d lose his standing as top of the class. What would Bruce say? What would Alfred do? They’d probably take away patrol from him, take away Robin, and Dick thinks he might just explode if it all went away.
Because, secretly, when he was alone, and he was sure Bruce was away and Alfred had gone to sleep, Dick would sometimes cry. Not loudly, and not very much, but sometimes even going to bed became overwhelming when he thought about all the other things he had to do. It got worse when a case got bad and people died. Bruce would get this look on his face, something close to anger, but instead simmered for so long that it reduced to something else entirely. It made him more irritable, more liable to snap, and on the worst nights, Robin would have to step in whenever Batman got a little too rough with the criminals they caught.
It wasn’t Bruce’s fault. Dick got angry too, or whatever it was that Bruce felt when the going got tough, and he could understand the sudden urge to take it out on someone.
But Bruce always regretted it after. There was another look that Bruce got, one that Dick especially didn’t like. He wore it whenever Robin got injured, or when he had to write about a child in their mission reports. To Dick, it looked a lot like guilt. Dick hated it.
What did Bruce have to feel guilty about? He was literally saving Gotham, saving the world, and when people were afraid of him or yelled at him or said mean things about Batman on the news, Dick would feel such a righteous rage inside of him that he sometimes felt like yelling too. How dare they be so ungrateful to the man that was giving everything he had to them? They had no idea about the long and endless nights Bruce stayed up for. They had no clue how often Dick had to take care of hard to reach wounds on Bruce’s back. They couldn’t even fathom the enormity of Bruce’s sacrifices, and yet there were still people out there who wanted Batman gone.
It was Dick’s job to prove them all wrong. To show them how good Batman was. That was why Robin was so important. It felt good to be Robin, to help others, but Robin is Batman’s partner first, and partners don’t let each other down. Dick had to be by Batman’s side, no matter what.
With that in mind, Dick refocused and forced himself to look again at the now tear stained page. He had to do this.
For Bruce.
“BATMAN!” Robin screams.
They got ambushed tonight. It was all his fault. He was supposed to be on the lookout and keep track of how many goons there were in one area, where they were coming and going, while Batman rooted around through their computers files. He had one job, but Dick had just been so tired and the night had just been so slow, and there wasn’t any adrenaline to help keep him awake.
He hadn’t even realized he had fallen into a listless trance until the goons were coming down the hallway, one of them having spotted his cape through an open vent. They’d shot at him immediately, and barely missed, but the shock of bullets busting through the metal frame he’d been crouching in served as the scariest wake-up call in the world.
Before Dick had even gotten the chance to reach for his communicator, Batman was bursting out of the computer room and lunging at the men. Dick dropped from the ceiling shortly after to join in the fight, but his limbs were unsteady, the muscles in his legs shaking as he bounced off of the walls and slammed into man after man. He was still learning how to fight in close quarters, and this was far from ideal, fighting against six men in a narrow hallway. His cape kept getting snagged, and even though he would manage to leap away before they could draw him in, he was barely doing any of the work.
Batman swung and kicked and elbowed, taking on three to four of the men at a time. These were big brutes, ones with guns, and though they kept missing their shots, the ricochet and the loudness of the gunfire made Dick’s nerves light on fire. He felt jumpy and uncertain, his hits missing their intended targets and prolonging the battle.
At one point, Dick feels a bullet whiz through his hair, right by his ear, and he lets out a startled cry, eyes wide as he struggles to knock out the man in front of him. As if summoned, Batman suddenly appears behind the man, and with a single chop, the goon is down, the whites of his eyes haunting as he falls at Dick’s feet.
But the price of helping him comes in the previously lifeless form of another goon with his arm raised, gun trained directly at Batman’s side. The click of the revolver is heard even in the chaos, and Dick screams.
“BATMAN!”
Without thinking, Dick jumps forward, throwing himself at Batman and at the same time throwing a batarang at the gun. The momentum crashes both of them into the wall and Dick’s ears are ringing even as he tries to cover as much of Batman as possible with his body, the combined fear and adrenaline making his blood cold.
“Are you—” Dick can’t get the words out before he’s shoved away and Batman is charging at the perpetrator, his leg shooting out to kick at the gun before swiftly slamming down on the man’s head. It’s an ugly sound, boot against skull, and Dick stands on wobbly legs as Batman stares hard at the goon to make sure he stays unconscious.
Around them, the rest of the crooks are sprawled in various positions of hurt and surrender. It’s over.
“Batm—”
“Are you hurt?” Batman half turns and Dick can see that look on his face. When Dick shakes his head no, Batman begins walking towards the exit. “Let’s go. This mission is over.”
Dick follows behind dutifully, disgracefully, and when they get into the Batmobile, he is already concocting apologies for how badly he messed up tonight.
“Bruce, I—”
“Not. Now.” His cowl is down and a terrible, rooted frown marks his white face. His eyes are shaking.
“I’m sorry,” Dick says quietly, looking out the window so he doesn’t have to look at Bruce’s face anymore. “I’m so sorry.”
Bruce doesn’t say anything in reply, and the rest of the drive is in silence.
Miraculously, neither of them are seriously hurt.
Dick has some mild hearing loss, which Alfred expects to fade by tomorrow, and a few bruises on his knuckles and left thigh. Bruce also has a few bruises, but other than that, they’re both fine. Alfred gives them some electrolytes and a sandwich to get their sugars up, and leaves them to their own devices, expecting all food to be gone by the time they clean up.
Which leaves them like this: silent and staring at each other.
Bruce’s eyes have stopped shaking, but the dim lighting without the monitors’ glow makes it hard to tell if he’s still as pale. Dick himself still feels like he’s shaking a little on the inside, trembling nerves not completely calmed, but he’s grateful that the water doesn’t shake in the bottle when he raises it to drink. Glancing at the clock, Dick’s heart drops when he sees it’s past midnight. Again.
He can’t remember if Bruce has anything to do in the morning. Dick still has that report to finish, but he can either stay up to do it or wait until homeroom. He’ll just have to skip his usual nap, which, Miss.James might actually be happy about this time. But— he forgot. He has the mission report to write tonight, too.
A mission report on how he messed up and almost got Batman killed. How he almost got both of them killed.
It makes Dick nauseous, to think about how close they were to death, and he slowly puts down the water bottle, wiping hastily at his lips. He feels terrible, the combination of an empty sleep bank and adrenaline making the nausea worse. But he knows that as long as he makes it up to Bruce, things’ll be okay. Bruce never holds anything against him for very long. Bruce was terrible at holding grudges, and as long as Dick needled him enough, he could get anything he wanted out of the man— not that he wanted very much to begin with. It was just that Dick knew that Bruce did have a soft spot in his heart for Dick, one that was easy to take advantage of.
Then again, Bruce had a soft spot for almost everyone. People just didn’t know about it like Dick did.
With that in mind, Dick opens his mouth to apologize again, but before he can say anything, Bruce speaks first.
“You’re going to take a break,” he says, voice strained but firm. “Two weeks. No patrol.”
Dick’s mouth falls open. “What?”
Bruce’s lips thin as he looks at Dick. His eyes roam over the boy’s face, and something solidifies there. He’s not going to change his mind.
“Wait,” Dick says, getting up from his chair, “wait, wait. Look, I’m really sorry about tonight, Bruce. I–I know I compromised us, the mission, but I promise it won’t happen again. It was a mistake, I—”
“A mistake that almost killed you,” Bruce hisses. “We’re not arguing on this. You’re out for two weeks.”
“I’m sorry!” Dick says again, raising his voice. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I know I messed up, but it won’t happen again! I’ll be better, I swear it, but you can’t take this away from me.”
“Alfred tells me you’re not getting enough sleep.”
The severe switch in topic halts Dick.
“Until you’re back on a normal sleep schedule,” Bruce continues, pressing his lips together briefly as he traces the dark smudges beneath Dick’s eyes, “you’re benched.”
“But–” Dick protests, “But it’s fine! I’m fine! My grades are fine! Nothing’s wrong with my sleep schedule, everything is fine! Nothing’s wrong, so why are you punishing me?!”
“It’s not about punishing,” Bruce says, something like startle flashing over his face. “It’s about prioritizing your needs. You need to sleep.”
“I need Robin!” Dick yells, a sudden, embarrassing tear rolling down his cheek. “ Robin is my priority! Just like Batman is!”
Bruce’s eyes widen in alarm. He leans back in his chair, hands clenching. Minutely, his eyes begin to shake again, like he’s tracking something quick and small.
“I can do it,” Dick frantically insists, wiping harshly at the tear. “I can be Dick Grayson and Robin at the same time, just like you’re Bruce Wayne and Batman. I’m top of my class right now, did you know that? I’m going to join the math league next year, and I was voted MVP in my gym class. And I flipped you last week while we were grappling, and I know I’m getting better with the bō, and-and–”
Having worked himself up, Dick sucks in a quick breath, holding it in as he tries to center himself. “I can do it, Bruce. I swear I can. I don’t need sleep, so please don’t take Robin away from me. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to be doing, aren’t I? I just thought if I was more like you then— Bruce, please. Please .”
The last word is said quite pathetically and Dick can’t help but break eye contact, ashamed and angry and completely unlike how he wants to be. What else was he supposed to be doing? What else could he do to finally prove himself, that he belonged here? He made a mistake, yes, but surely. Surely Bruce understands that making mistakes is natural and that Dick will learn from the experience and come out better. He always comes out better. There’s no other choice.
He has no other choice.
Bruce is quiet for a long time. So long that Dick convinces himself that maybe he’s changed his mind and is going to forgive Dick. That tomorrow night they’ll go out at 8 o’clock, like always, and things will be okay between them. Just like it should be.
“You’re staying home from school tomorrow.”
Dick closes his eyes. No.
“Alfred will call you in sick.”
No!
“You’ll still train during the two weeks, but you’ll go to bed by 9:30. No later.”
Bruce stands to walk over to Dick. When he tries to rest a hand on his shoulder, Dick takes a step back and keeps his head down. There’s blood on Bruce’s boot. Likely from when he kicked that man in the head. It turns Dick’s stomach.
“Please,” Dick tries one more time. This has never happened before. “Please, Bruce.”
After a moment, the boots move away. Something inside of him crumples.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Dick” Bruce says, all stone and guilt. Guilt. This is his fault. “Goodnight.”
Dick doesn’t reply until long after Bruce has left to change. Even as the overhead lights shut off one by one, Dick stays where he is. The Robin costume is heavy with sweat, and it smells terribly, but Dick rubs the fabric of the cape reverently between his fingers. It was made out of the same material as Batman’s cape. It was almost familiar. Almost like his.
The yellow dampens with his tears. It wasn’t fair. Why didn’t Bruce understand? Why couldn’t he see that this was all Dick had? Batman… Batman was his whole world, and Robin was right there beside him. Didn’t he know that?
The worst part is that he believes Bruce. This isn’t a punishment for tonight. They’ve had close calls before, and Bruce has never blamed Dick for them. He’s only ever trained him harder, doubling practice lengths, testing him more frequently. There’s always been something added, never taken away, and Dick feels his jaw begin to tremble as he continues to hold his cape. He was trying so hard, and yet, it was never enough. He wasn’t good enough.
Frowning, Dick grips his cape tightly. No. One day he would be. One day, he would stand beside Bruce, knowing he belonged there. Knowing that Batman could rely on Robin no matter the circumstance, no matter what kind of sleep he had the night before. His eyes begin to shake as he heads towards the training mats, fingers flexing.
Robin would be good enough.
“I have to be.”