Chapter Text
The tear stains that left his skin imperfect were dry, the sting of the outside wind faded and dulled. Beside him, the oversized figure dared not look at him. He wondered momentarily if maybe this man, this Batman, was just as crooked as the man the took his moma and papa away from him. He certainly seemed violent enough. Dark enough for sure. But there was something different. It wasnt the words, the oddly comforting promise of protection, that Dick found solice in. It was the silence. He couldn't quite understand why, but the deafening lack of conversation was something Dick had wanted. He didn't want to talk. Didn't want to answer a thousand more questions. Didn't want to explain that the man he saw threatening Mr. Haley was definitely the man who pulled the trigger. And somehow, Dick got the feeling that The Batman knew this. Understood this. Allowed the boy this bit of comfort while the engine to this... car? Whatever it was, it's engine was loud. The cabin glowed with a deep red, a soft beeping began to sound and Dick craned his neck to see where it was coming from. This vehicle had tons of buttons and the child couldn't helpo but wonder what each one did. Surely, they all served a purpose. The Batman didn't seem like the kind of man that had gizmos just for kicks.
A voice sounded, though Dick didn't quite catch what it had said. He was too focused on the words that fell from The Dark Knights lips. "...Prepare the guest room, we have some company." His voice wasnt harsh, unlike before; Dick could have sworn that either The Batman had suffered from a sore throat, or had been smoking a pack a day. But now? Now his voice was deep and warm. Dick realized that his theory of Batman's corruption was stupid. He couldn't be sure why, but it was this deep feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him he truly was safe. Just like Batman promised.
"Am I to assume that we've become hosts to a certain acrobat, Master Bruce?" The voice that sounded through the radio was soft and heavily accented. Not soft like Batman's... or Bruce? Bruce must be Batman's real name. Dick's jaw went slack... He knew who Batman was.
As though he had come to the same conclusion, Batman turned to face Dick. A soft smile tugged on one side of his mouth. "Guess the cat's out of the bag."
"You mean the bat is out of the bag." Dick piped without hesitation. It was the sort of remark that would earn a frown from his moma and a giggle from his papa... his chest ached again, his stomach churning.
A snort escaped past Batman's cowl and Bruce found he couldn't hide his amusement. Clever. And gifted. And small. So small. Bruce felt his head reel. He snuck a glance towards the child that shoved his hands under his legs before biting his lip furiously, his chin quivering. Bruce knew that young Dick was struggling to hold back tears. He knew that feeling all too well. His stomach flipped, his breath deepening as he felt his anger rising. How dare they. Who had any right to take this child's future away like that. It wasn't fair, damnit.
Bruce didn't know what to say. He had to say something, right? They still had plenty of time together alone in the batmobile. And he'd be damned if he'd spend it letting the child torture himself with his private thoughts. "You must be hungry. Alfred can have something ready by the time we get back..." Back where? Home? The Manor wasn't Dick Grayson's home. His home was back, at the circus, with his family. The sudden reality hit Bruce and he felt horrible. Maybe he should have left the child with them. Maybe he was what he was sure the media would smear him as... a kidnapper. No, don't think about that. This is best. "What's your favorite food?"
"Huh?" The kid, who barely had acknowledged Batman before, now seemed slightly interested.
"What do you like to eat?"
"I dont know... food?" What a little smart ass. What a cute little smart ass.
"You must have a favorite?"
"Do you?"
"Sure." Bruce smiled. He thought for a moment. All he could come up with was the one food that he begged Alfred for for weeks on end. The ultimate comfort food. "I have a weakness for mashed potatoes."
Dick scrunched his nose with a smile. Bruce's heart lit up. Stupid kid tugging on his heart strings. "Mashed potatoes?"
"Al makes the meanest mashed potatoes. I think I ate that for a week straight after I hadn't been home in a while." After he hadn't been home in years.
"Moma always made me pasta when i had a bad day." Dick mused. Without hesitation, Bruce reached across the car and hit another button.
"Alfred, might I trouble you for some pasta. For two." Bruce could hear the silent amusement on the other end. Alfred knew it was at the child's request.
"Certainly."
And just like that, the call ended, and the two were left in silence. Bruce promised himself he'd find another light hearted topic to cover before the boy had another moment to think about all that had happened tonight. But just as he was struggling to make more small talk, the boy spoke up again.
"What will happen to me now?"
Bruce wanted nothing more than to answer that question. To give hope and promise to the young six year old that sat directly next to him. Wanted to comfort those big blue eyes and promise him everything would be okay. But he had no idea. There were a few options. Only, not really. Truth is, Batman had kidnapped one Dick Grayson, the child of two acrobats who had been murdered in cold blood. There would be hell to pay for that. Some sort of media statement would be needed. The boy would soon have to get in front of cameras and admit that Batman had saved his life. A favor that Bruce would hate to ask of the kid. But what after that? Would Bruce take Dick in perminantly? Not long ago did Bruce entertain the idea of a partner. Someone that could help him on his crusade. But Dick Grayson was not what Bruce had in mind. At least, not right now. Maybe one day, Bruce would have recruited the youngster. He had hoped the kid would be at least old enough to shave first for crying out loud.
Perhaps a partner wasn't the future that Bruce held for Dick. Perhaps it was something more intimate. Something that Bruce had longed for, only he didn't know any better.
"Well, that's to be decided. For now, you'll stay with me. But perhaps we should talk about this another time? I can't imagine thinking about that is doing anything good for your nerves..."
"I'm not nervous." The boy bit his lip. "Just..."
"Scared." The word lingered in the air and Bruce wished he hadn't said it.
---
They pulled into the batcave and Bruce decided to try and lighten the mood again. "You ever see a giant T-Rex?"
The boy pushed his nose up against the glass on the window, his breath fogging up the area a little as he let out a small "Whoa".
The top of the car lifted and Dick attempted to crawl out. Bruce inwardly giggled. The boy's tiny legs weren't quite long enough to give him the levergae he needed to easily get out of the car. Bruce walked around, ready to lift the boy out himself, but froze in his tracks as the kid climbed up on the center console, crouching momentarily before springing forward and up, landind his hands on the frame of the car to propel himself over with perfect technique.
"Well done, Master Grayson!"Alfred, who had now appeared with a warm blanket over his arm, stood, waiting. The boy walked... more like waddled... over to the butler, who quickly lowered himself to the child's level.
"You're the voice from the car."
"My name is Alfred Pennyworth." Alfred smiled, wrapping the blanket around Dick's shoulder.
"I'm Richard. But you can call me Dick."
Bruce took long and slow strides towards the two of them, following in suit after Alfred. Bruce couldn't help himself, he wanted to desperately to be near the child. He reached a hand out and ruffled the kids hair, but not before Dick had his hand on the side of Bruce's still cloaked face. Without much hesitation, Bruce reached up, pulling the cowl back and down as he gave a lopsided grin.
"You're hair is all messy." Dick giggled as Bruce gave a funny face, sticking his tongue out, earning more laughter. That's what the boy needed. Laughter. Light.
A small grumble sounded though, and suddenly, Dick blushed, his hands moving towards his belly. "I think someone is hungry." Alfred pitched before standing up straight.
He looked at the site before him. His boy, his own child as far as he was concerned, had spent so many years shrouded in darkness. His own childhood traumas, similar to what the little blue eyed boy in front of him had experienced tonight, had nearly completely ruined the man that Bruce had become. And yet, when Alfred had thought that the possibility of love and light was impossible for the young Wayne, here stood this child. Small, still round in the face, with tiny feet and oversized eyes, Dick Grayson brought a sense of wonderment to Bruce's own piercing cold blue eyes; a warmth that Alfred had grown to miss. He wondered briefly if this is what it felt like to be a grandfather, but laughed at the idea; it was too much to assume that this little boy would fill the role of grandson, just as it was too much to assume that an eight year old Bruce Wayne would be the son that Alfred never had.
Still, as the pair of them followed after Alfred, the promise of warm pasta ahead, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe history was repeating itself.
---
He had never seen such a room before. Sure, the batcave (that's what it was called, wasn't, it?) was enormous. And the computer that sat in the front was equal in size. And he'd be lying if he didn't think the enormous T-Rex was the coolest thing he had ever laid eyes on. But nothing compared to the sheer size of the chandelier that hung from the cieling. Or the deep warmth of the wooden antique furniture. The way the footsteps echoed. The way the light bathed the art covered walls. Dick was sure that Kings lived here.
Not to mention the china that his pasta was served on. Confusion washed over him. Were they doing all this for him? Trying to impress him? It certainly felt like that. Why else would anyone eat in a room this beautiful, with silver and porcelain this fine? "Why are we eating like this?"
It was clear that Dick's question confused the hell out of Bruce. Only Alfred snorted, a full smile spread across his lips. "If you are wondering why such extravagence, be asured Master Grayson, this is the norm for us."
"Hardly." Bruce let out under his breath, a comment that was meant for Alfred's ears only. It earned the man a glare.
"What does that mean?"
"What?" Bruce questioned.
"Extrava..." Dick furrowed his brow to remember the rest of the word. The last thing he wanted to do was sound stupid in front his new friends.
"Extravagence. It means lavish." Alfred defined. Dick didn't respond, even more confused than before.
"Fancy." Bruce chimed in and Dick's understanding was as obvious as a neon sign. "It's sort of hard to explain, but, well, we don't get to eat here often. I'm not usually around at night for dinner-"
"Because you're out kicking bad guys' butts?" This kid was too much.
"That is exactly why, Master Grayson."
Dick spun his head quickly, scrunching his nose. "I don't think he likes being called Grayson." Bruce chuckled. He knew the feeling. Too often did people call him Mr. Wayne; a name, he thought, reserved strictly for his father. A name he had to take for his own.
"Well then, perhaps Master Dick will suffice?" A slight nod was enough to tell Alfrted he was on the right track.
Dick picked up his fork, thankful that there was only one, unlike one of those fancy restaurants his partens took him to one time for their anniversary; too many forks and spoons. Scooping up a bite of the penne coated in alfredo sauce, he reveled in how good it smelled. and it tasted even better. "This is really good!" Dick cried as he all but scarfed the whole plate down fast enough to impress both Bruce and Alfred. The kid must be growing.
Not long after, and the boy was nearly falling asleep at the table. It had been expected after all he had been through. What hadn't been expected was how easily taking the boy into his arms came to Bruce. No, it was as though he had been doing it for years now, scooping Dick up into his arms, curling him inwards so that his head may rest in the crook of Bruce's bicep against his shoulder. It felt so natural, cooing softly as the little one fell asleep quickly while Bruce carried him upstairs, tucking him into the comforter of the oversized bed that was intended for adults. For that singular moment, the way little Dick Grayson had fluttered his thick dark lashes before telling him goodnight, Bruce felt it; the light. The way his darkness, his anger and trauma induced misery, it just melted away as he momentarily watched Dick sleep.
Bruce slipped through the bedroom door, closing it behind him as quietly as he could to the smug humming from Alfred who leaned against a wall nearby. "Isn't he the cutest..." Alfred was smiling outright, not bothering to hide a thing from Bruce.
"Don't say it."
"Don't say what."
"Come on, Al, I know you're thinking it." Bruce began walking towards his own bedroom, knowing Alfred would follow.
"Of course, I'm thinking it. I'm thinking it because you're thinking it. You and I both very well know that it's the only logical option. Ado-"
"You are out of you're mind if you think I'm suited for fatherhood." Bruce's voice grew low. Alfred had no intention of backing down.
"No one is asking you to play daddy to an orphaned child, Bruce." The growl in Alfred's throat signaled that Bruce was not going to win this one. The words still hurt. "But you know just as well as I that little boy needs you. He needs someone who understands just what he's going through. Someone to help him deal with that pain. And so help me god, you need him too. You know I'm right."
Bruce paused at his door, glancing over his shoulder. "I hate it when you do that." Without another word, Bruce stepped into his own room, closing the door.
Alfred was right. And Bruce couldn't ignore it.
---
Morning light brought nothing but a headache and the dread of decisions yet to be made. Bruce groaned. His small fight with Alfred last night would prove some aftermath today. Breakfast would be interesting. Walking through the hallway, Bruce expected to be the kid's wake up call for the day. However, seeing the door to his bedroom wide open and the bed empty, Bruce figured Alfred beat him to it. He began to wonder when Dick had woken up before stumbling on the realization that he had no idea when kids his age even wake up in the morning. Did they sleep in? Did he sleep in when he was that age?
"Master Bruce, I see you're ready to wake up Master Dick." Alfred's refreshed voice sounded and Bruce froze. It was too early and he didn't know where to start; does he begin with an apology for last night? Or does he bring up that Dick isn't in his room...
Wait.
"I thought you already woke him!"
"No, I thought it best for him to get as much sleep as his little body could take..."
"Al, he's not in his room!" Bruce took off at a run, the sudden fear of losing Dick taking hold.
Shouting his name, Bruce searched all across the upper levels, checking all the rooms, mentally cursing his his great great great... however many greats... grandfather for building a ridiculously enormous mansion. The boy was nowhere to be found. And Bruce feared the worst. Could someone have discovered Dick was here? Did Zucko figure out where Batman lived? Kidnap the boy to cover his tracks?
Bruce shook his head of the idea. A lowlife idiot like Zucko wasn't capable of figuring out Gotham's greatest secret. Still, Bruce's blood ran cold with worry.
finally reaching the ground level of the manor (and dropping a few choice words when he faceplanted after missing a couple steps in his socks), Bruce figured that the boy must either be here or in the cave.
"Check the cave, I'll look here." Alfred was on the same page.
The cave was empty. As was the kitchen. The dining room. Living room, common room... nothing. Bruce was at wit's end. Pushing his hands through his hair, he stood in one of the many empty foyers. How could this happen. How could he lose a child?!
He heard a small sneeze just when all hope seemed lost, just as he began to prepare a poorly constructed story for the police to report the little one missing (it involved Batman playing Stork with the kid and leaving him on the Wayne front porch... not his best idea, Bruce could admit). That twinkle of hope quickened his heartbeat and he followed the short lived sound to the study... the abandoned study.
Bruce pushed the doors open, letting out an exagerated "Thank God!" when he saw a pair of tiny feet stick out from the other side of a large reading chair. He ran, pivoting around the chair to see a very sleepy Dick Grayson wiggle in his spot. "Is everything okay, Batman?"
The boy called him Batman. Not Bruce. Batman. That's what he gets for stealing the boy away from the scene of the crime while wearing the cowl. Bruce still smiled, leaning down to inspect. He pressed the backside of his hand to the boy's cheek, doing his best to not laugh as how huge his hands were compared to the tiny face. His forehead felt normal and Bruce thanked every diety he knew that Dick wasn't sick. "You scared the hell out of me. Why aren't you in bed?"
"I couldn't sleep." Dick admitted sheepishly, fumbling with his hands. "I..." He stopped, not wanting to confess that the reason he couldn't sleep was because of the nightmares. Because he was afraid of the dark and of the monsters that lurked within it. Because those monsters had a new face now, and he could still smell the gunpowder and stale cigars of the man who ripped his life away from him. Because he wanted... no, needed to be brave. Be brave, like Batman.
But he wasn't Batman. And while on most any other occasion, Dick would claim that he was the bravest of them all, right now, he felt nothing but fear shake inside his bones. He sunk his head low, knowing he failed.
Bruce grabbed the boy's chin, lifting his face up so that he could look directly into Dick's eyes. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Dick Grayson. You are strong and brave. Bravest six year old I know. But even the bravest of men deal with fear."
Dick saw hope in Bruce's words. He let out a weak smile. "Even you get scared, huh."
Bruce chuckled low in his chest, nodding. "yeah, you scared me to bits this morning. I thought I had lost you..." Bruce realized that suddenly, he was begining to sound like a father. If only Alfred heard him now. "Lets get you some breakfast." Bruce stood up, watching as Dick lept from the chair with an odd amount of energy towards the kitchen.
He didn't get it. When he had lost his own parents, Bruce didnt leave his room for weeks. Lost about twenty pounds in the process and most of his mind too. But Dick... Dick was so peppy. So... happy? No, surely the boy wasn't happy. How can any child be happy when they've witnessed their parent's bloody murder? No, Dick was just... different. He was good and innocent. Pure even. Pure enough that the darkness that crept up on him at night wasn't strong enough to take hold of him during the day. Dick mourned in his own way. Where Bruce found solice in his loneliness, Dick clearly prefers the company of others to help him through his grieving. Granted, Dick was also a bit younger than Bruce was when he lost his parents. Two years didn't sound like much, but it made all the difference in a child's imagination. Where Bruce was old enough to summon his own demons to terrorize his sleep, Dick was only just now understanding the difference between good and evil. True evil. Dick had probably thought that his parents were invincable too. That no matter what happened, Moma and Papa would always save him. Always catch him. And now they were gone, and Bruce had taken the responsibility upon himself to pick up the pieces of this little boy's life and put him back together.
Bruce watched as Dick made his way through a stack of pancakes spiked with chocolate chips. He sipped on his coffee, tempting his temper as he read today's headlines. Bat Kidnaps Son Of Murdered Acrobats. Joy.
Dick must have sensed Bruce's dismay, the kid glanced up, mouth full of pancake and syrup. "But you didn't kidnap me." Dick stated blatantly. Bruce sighed.
"They don't know that. They don't know that I am Batman. Nor can they find out."
"So just telling them that you took me to save me won't work." Dick was smarter than he seemed at his young age.
"You'd be correct, Master Dick." Alfred pushed his way into the kitchen, rushing his hand through the boy's hair as he set down another glass of apple juice. "Heavens, you're hungry."
"Well, maybe we can tell them that Batman saved me and left me with you!" Dick exclaimed before happily wrapping his hands around his new glass of juice, gulping it down like it was his only vice.
Bruce smiled. "He'll make a fine detective yet, won't he, Master Bruce?"
"But... why would Batman leave you with me? Why not with the Police?" Bruce was testing Dick. Seeing if the boy could put it all together.
"Because Gotham Police are yucky. At least that's what Moma says." Dick paused. "Said." he correcting mournfully.
"Well, we can't very well go out into the public and draw a scandal like calling all of Gotham's Finest crooked, can we little one?" Alfred piped up. He saw what Bruce was doing. He quite liked the idea. Perhaps, if Dick impressed Bruce enough, Bruce would not only cave in on the idea of adopting Dick, perhaps Dick himself one day would make a fine partner for Batman. If Bruce grew attached to the idea of grooming the boy for the part, perhaps he'd continue to grow attached to the boy in general.
Dick furrowed his brow, stuffing his cheeks into the palms of his hands. "No. I guess." It was a moment longer before Dick cheered up again, bright with another idea. "I know! Batman gave me to you because you live so far away from any of the guys who... you know..." Dick slowed in his thought process, not wanting to say it out loud. No, saying it would mean it was true. And Dick wasn't ready for that yet.
"An excellent idea." Alfred was beaming. But not as much as Bruce was. Bruce saw how the kid thought. Saw that this little one understood the value of a secret. Understood the importance of his secret. And was willing to lie to the whole world for it too.
"But after I tell them about Batman, what happens?" The question of the hour. What would Bruce do? Dick stared at him, and so did Alfred with that all-knowing smirk on his face. Could he do it? Could he take in this kid, this... baby? More importantly, should he? God knows that Batman was no father. And neither was playboy Billionaire Bruce Wayne. But what about the actual Bruce Wayne? Could he handle raising a child? Sure he played out the pros and cons all night last night. Pros? Too many to list. Dick was nothing short of sweet, bright... perhaps even a little mischeivious, but Bruce liked that. There was also the effect the boy would have on Bruce's reputation. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Favorite Socialite, Adopts Young Orphan; Saint? Or Publicity Stunt. Well, perhaps that could fall under cons too. Truth be told, Bruce couldn't quite imagine any serious disadvantages to taking in Dick. The only problem was that Bruce was sure he'd screw up this whole parenting thing. One night in, and he already managed to lose the kid.
Just one other problem.
"Dick, what would you say if you were given the choice to be adopted?"
Dick thought hard about it for a moment. But then he spoke and spoke very clearly. "I'd say that I would be happy as long as they were nice."
"No mean parents?" Bruce regretted his choice in the word 'parents'. But Dick didn't seem to mind.
"No, I want a nice mom and dad."
Alfred was waiting, frozen where he stood with a coffee pot in his hand, ready to give Bruce another cup, but too emotionally casught up in Dick's words.
"What if it's not a mom and dad. What if it's just one or the other?" Bruce was treading carefully. One mis-step and the kid would reject the whole idea.
"Oh!" Dick squirmed in his spot for a moment, swinging his legs from the chair. "I don't mind as long as they love me." Kids say the damnedest things. His words were simple, but they meant the world to Bruce. It was all suddenly clear. Bruce didn't have to be father of the year. Didn't have to be anything but himself. Just love him. That was all Bruce had to do.
"What if I said that maybe I wanted to adopt you?" The words left Bruce's lips. There was no taking them back. Alfred was a moment away from squealing.
Dick's mouth hung open. "Really?"
"Really."
When Dick Grayson threw his arms around Bruce Waynes neck, hugging with all the strength the little boy could muster, Alfred felt his heart jump into his throat, his breath catching as his lip trembled with joy. When Bruce Wayne wrapped his arms around the small of Dick Grayson's back just before placing a soft kiss into the boy's hair, Alfred dropped the coffee pot onto the floor.