Archive of Our Own ^beta

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For once, life at Wayne Manor was not a chaotic jumble of broken furniture and loud arguments. (At least, not if you didn’t count the three shattered chandeliers.) At the dinner table, Jason was actually acting calm, Damian wasn't a raging inferno of sass, and Tim had willingly taken a nap—which, while not a full eight hours, was better than his usual cycle of coffee, more coffee, and then forced slumber. Even Bruce wasn’t being as much of a paranoid ass-hat as usual. For Dick, it was a peaceful evening.

But of course, that peace was shattered the moment Jason found the tapes.

Let’s start from the beginning. It all began on a regular Saturday, which was the day everyone who could, came over to the Manor for the magic of Alfred's home-cooked meals. Dinner had just finished, and everyone was relaxing in the living room. Damian had his sketchbook, Tim had his gadgets (meaning a laptop, a phone, and a tablet, all at once), Jason was armed with sarcasm, Bruce was reading a book, and even Alfred had his cup of tea.

Everything was going well until Damian spoke up.

"Richard," he said, not looking up from his sketchbook. "Why is there a box in the attic labeled with your name?"

Dick frowned, flummoxed by the sudden question. "I'm not sure, Dami. It might be some of my old stuff from when I moved out."

Damian shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing. "No, it is not personal items. It is tapes."

It couldn't be. He hadn't left them at the Manor, had he? The thought of his younger brothers watching them made the blood drain from Dick’s face.

Damian, being the observant child he was, noticed his older brother's sudden pallor and became suspicious. And because the entire family were nosy brats, Tim, of course, had to chime in.

"Then why don't we bring them down to look at them?" Tim said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"NO!" Dick immediately stood up, his voice cracking. "I mean, no! It's okay, I don't think any of us need to see what's on those tapes."

Jason must have seen the way Dick's palms were slick with sweat, and he recognized the perfect opportunity to cause some trouble. "You know what? Now I really think we should see those tapes."

As all three of them moved toward the stairs, Dick, in total desperation, turned to Bruce and Alfred. "Bruce! Alfred! Help me here!"

Alfred smiled faintly into his teacup. "I must admit, Master Dick, that even I am quite interested in seeing what those tapes contain."

Seeing that even Alfred was on their side and that Bruce had made no move to object, Jason let out a loud whoop. Dick sank back down onto the sofa, burying his head in his hands. He shook his head in utter defeat. How he hated this family.

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Dick could only watch in silent regret as Jason and Tim worked together to bring the box of his despair down to the living room. Damian, having declared himself far too superior for manual labor, had opted to carry the tape player instead. The moment the dusty box hit the hardwood floors, the rest of his siblings suddenly flooded into the room. Dick shot a look of betrayal at Tim, who had a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Alright," Jason said, rubbing his hands together in childish excitement. "Time to see what's in these tapes."

The unspoken thought of "hopefully blackmail material" hung in the air, judging by the varying degrees of anticipation on the faces of what were supposed to be his trustworthy family members. Dick would have been proud of the way Jason, Tim, and even Damian worked together to connect the tape player, if not for his impending doom. Any pride he felt instantly evaporated as the TV turned on and the first tape began to play.

It was as if all the air was sucked out of the room. Breaths halted, hands stopped fidgeting, and bodies leaned forward. The screen flickered for a moment, and then it appeared—the most regrettable decision Richard "Dick" Grayson had ever made.

Smiling brightly at the camera was a tanned, freckled, curly-haired, dimpled, and utterly adorable monstrosity that was young Dick.

A moment of silence washed over the room before Stephanie let out a soft "aww" and zeroed in on the shame-filled adult Dick. "Oh my god, is that you? You're so adorable! Look at those squishy cheeks! And your dimples—"

Her highly embarrassing fawning was interrupted by the voice of tiny Dick from the TV. "Hiya! It's Dick Grayson at," he glanced off-screen for a moment before his bright eyes returned to the camera, "11:20 a.m., and this is my diary log for my summer project. It's not gonna be my official one, of course. I'll probably just make a fake one and hand that in. Anyway, let's go steal some of Alfred's cookies that I'm totally wink wink supposed to have."

The camera jiggled as Tiny Dick placed it on the kitchen counter, angled to show him quickly gobbling down the cookies. Just as he finished the last one, the kitchen door opened. Dick froze, a cookie half-raised to his mouth. He quickly ate the rest, then looked off-camera and smiled sheepishly.

A surprisingly familiar voice chuckled as a younger Bruce's tall frame came into view. "How many times has Alfred told you not to eat junk before lunch?"

"Tons of times," Tiny Dick replied cheekily. "Buuut how many times has he also told me to stop swingin' on the chandeliers and to stop slidin' down the bannister?"

Bruce laughed quietly, ignoring his mispronunciation. "Alright, I get it. You do a lot of things you're not supposed to." The smile was evident in his voice as he ruffled the boy's unruly hair.

Young Dick grinned up at him. "That's what makes me more charming, doesn't it?"

Bruce hummed in response, one of his signature noises that no one ever really knew the meaning of. He combed his hands through what both Dicks called his "artfully tussled" hair before looking at the camera. "What are you doing with your camera?"

The little ball of unending energy bounced up again. "My summer homework! We gotta write or record about what we did during the summer holiday, so smile!"

Suddenly, the camera was refocused on Bruce. The Bruce on the tape looked younger, as if the weight that had settled on the current Bruce's shoulders was nonexistent. "Nope, I don't think so," he said, turning the camera back to face Tiny Dick, and another set of 'aww' resonated through the room once more.

Tiny Dick stood in an angle where the sun shone down on his face, highlighting all of his features. His dimples were more pronounced as he smiled easily, showing both sets of his perfectly white teeth. His eyes shined in the sunlight, and shadows caught on the high of his cheekbones and the tip of his cute little pixie nose. As a strand of his perfect, angel curls fell just above his eye and it suddenly became so much clearer why Dick's puppies always worked.

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Link for the recommended song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdKfuwy6LUM

or

https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=135ff54927411e33&rlz=1CAQTNX_enGB1175&sxsrf=AE3TifPxGT7vZD53r4hN2TSo8HR2PJf-kw:1760287123272&udm=7&fbs=AIIjpHxU7SXXniUZfeShr2fp4giZ1Y6MJ25_tmWITc7uy4KIeoJTKjrFjVxydQWqI2NcOhZVmrJB8DQUK5IzxA2fZbQF4YL5sNSRJGgx0e9Z9AxEx1bmPbSY3ROQyoKhw9UuuwNOze1rMTfR8LJZdQ9FI96CmdBJWTydVJVILJpUCMhUJaivtxJ0ArVSPoESF5gtgDTwfAIvL61r650S64avOx1wd9u3Yw&q=slipping+through+my+fingers&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjnw73FjJ-QAxWySEEAHZGvPJMQtKgLegQIHxAB&biw=910&bih=422&dpr=1.5#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:36347a61,vid:kMWJM6maQZQ,st:0

The tape finally ended, and Tim removed it from the player. The room was silent for only a second before Barbara, Cass, and Stephanie all rushed toward Dick. "Oh my god, he's so cute!" Barbara shrieked, pinching his cheeks. "Why haven't you shown us these before?" Stephanie demanded, as Cass simply cooed and hugged him tightly.

Jason, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. He was roaring with laughter every time Barbara made another comment about "chubby cheeks," which Dick insisted were not squishy or chubby at all. Dick's face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet as he was relentlessly teased. After several minutes of this good-natured torment, Dick was finally spared by Tim, who put in the next tape, instantly silencing the girls.

This time, the tape started with the camera facing a younger Dick, sitting on the very same sofa the adult Dick was currently on. Tiny Dick had one leg crossed over the other, a clipboard in hand, and a pair of fake glasses on, as if trying to look professional.

"Hello," the young boy said in an overly polite tone, "today we have a special guest. Drumroll, please... it is," he paused for a dramatic effect—Dick always knew how to put on a show—"our very own Wally West!"

The camera rotated to reveal a freckled ginger boy sitting in the chair opposite Dick, posed like a contestant on a TV show. Wally waved and smiled just as brightly as Dick did, before his smile melted into a groan. "I'm hungry!"

Young Dick giggled and stood up, taking the camera with him as Wally sped into the kitchen. The two boys stood in front of a locked pantry. Wally looked at Dick. Dick looked at Wally. They both smiled. Dick immediately dropped to his knees, pulled a small lockpick out of his pocket, and got to work. In no more than a few seconds, the door was open, and the two "feral rats" were digging through the contents.

From his seat, Alfred shot a disapproving look at the adult Dick, who could only offer a weak, apologetic smile for his younger self's antics.

A voice from the tape called out, "Master Dick?" Young Dick quickly dropped the eight bags of chips he was holding back into the pantry, shut the door, and accidentally trapped Wally inside (who didn't seem to mind). He had just managed to look innocent as Alfred came into the kitchen with a young Roy Harper in tow.

"Roy!" Dick screamed happily, rushing to hug his best friend.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Alfred's lips as he saw the boys. "Where is Master Wallace?"

Young Dick smiled sweetly and shrugged. "Dunno, I think he's in the toilet."

Alfred narrowed his eyes, clearly knowing how manipulative the young master could be. "I have some urgent errands to run. I am trusting you to behave, which means no sliding, climbing, or flipping on things you shouldn't be flipping on. Is that clear?"

Young Dick nodded with fake earnestness. "Crystal, Alfie. You don't need to worry about us. We'll be on our very best behavior." Alfred smiled slightly before leaving.

"So where is Wally, really?" Roy asked, immediately seeing through Dick's lie.

Young Dick giggled as he opened the pantry door to the sight of Wally on the floor, munching on five packets of Doritos at once. Roy snorted as he helped Wally up.

"We wer' just' bout t' raid the p'ntry b'fr Alfr'd came in," Wally said between mouthfuls.

Dick dove in again, pulling out a big bag of popcorn, the restricted bits of his Halloween candy, and finally, the ultimate sugar-high: cotton candy. He took a big bite of the sugary treat before hitting the camera to fast-forward, playing one of those stupid, energetic pop songs that made you want to dance while they devoured the sweets.

Even in fast-forward, it was clear that the trio of children who really should not have been left alone in a food-stocked manor were having the time of their lives. That was, of course, until the dreaded sugar crash.

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It was common knowledge to everyone who knew him that Dick Grayson was an incredibly talented show-off, which made it all the harder not to be jealous when he demonstrated his amazing abilities.

As the evening glow of a tired sun flickered through the communal room windows, painting streaks of burnt orange and deep violet across the expensive rugs, the Batfamily retreated to the enveloping softness of the luxury couches Bruce bought. They were there to watch yet another old tape, though this time Dick, Stephanie, Barbra and Duke (Cass was in Beijing) were out on a mission in Bludhaven and would not be joining them.

Alfred had placed a silver tray with warm scones and steaming tea on the coffee table—an anchor of domesticity in their extraordinary lives. Bruce sat in his favourite, slightly overstuffed armchair, a silent, imposing presence. Damian, cross-legged and initially dismissive, sat stiffly on one end of the largest sofa, trying to project indifference. Tim, ever the analyst, had his laptop half-open on a cushion beside him, ready to take mental notes, while Jason, leaning back with his boots propped on a discreet footstool, wore a familiar, cynical smirk.

The tape was placed in the player, and the family sat back and relaxed.

This time, Tiny Dick did not start by smiling at the camera; instead, his back was facing it. They watched as he completed the same warm-up they had seen him do thousands of times before—a series of impossible stretches and rotations, each movement so fluid it seemed effortless. Then, he took off, running with a certain flourish only he could possess, a lightness and joy in his step that seemed to defy gravity even before he left the ground.

He grabbed the trapeze bar and twisted his body like a contortionist, spinning one, twice, three times before tucking his arms in and spinning mid-air like an ice-skater would do. The camera caught the briefest flash of genuine, childish focus, his lips parted slightly. He used the impossible momentum from his spins to latch onto the bar across the void.

"Show off." Jason muttered, but the word lacked its usual venom; it was more of an affectionate acknowledgement.

Dick slowly eased into the splits while hanging, a pose that made Damian wince internally despite his attempts to remain stoic. Then, with sudden, terrifying speed, he moved his legs close to his chest in a tuck and dived off the bar and through a hoop once more in a free fall.

Teeth gritted together. Eyes squinted, nearly closing, yet open enough to capture the breathtaking performance. The entire family held their breath, an involuntary, shared muscle memory from a thousand similar moments. Bruce, always the most outwardly stoic, clenched his hands on the armrests, his jaw tight.

His face could be seen breaking into an exhilarated grin as he closed his eyes, an act of sheer, terrifying trust in his own body. He let his instincts see instead.

Just as they all thought he was going to drop and suffer some sort of injury, he caught a bar behind him, flipping his body into an elegant arch, and landed perfectly in the center of the sawdust ring, directly in front of the camera. He took a single, deep bow, his tiny chest puffed out with pride.

A faint, almost inaudible sigh escaped Bruce's lips, a tiny measure of relief the others were too focused to notice. Tim merely shook his head, a ghost of a smile touching his face. "He truly is different," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

The screen flickered. The second part of the tape was even more terrifying because this time Dick was dressed in the iconic costume of Robin, the Boy Wonder. Bright colours dazzled, a warm blur against the iconic Gotham night.

He flew through the darkness with a complex, rhythmic dance only he knew, his grapple line humming. He was a flash of yellow, green, and red, a streak of audacious colour against the perpetual black. Batman moved swiftly just behind him, a looming, dark shadow providing the perfect counterpoint and protective cover. They moved as one, a singular, powerful entity across the grotesque gargoyles and precipitous ledges of the city.

As they perched on a familiar, windswept rooftop, silhouetted against a full, indifferent moon, the room had to acknowledge that this was what the dynamic duo should always be. The seamless trust, the instinctive coordination—it was the purest expression of their partnership. Damian watched the older Robin in action, respect,a respect he could only have for Grayson and Grayson alone, warring with his usual arrogance.

"His technique is flawed to most, yet incredibly effective to himself." he thought, mentally cataloguing the speed of the older boy's takedowns.

Unknown to few, there was also a snap of light taken by a smaller and stalkerish young Tim, perched on a fire escape across the alley. A small, perfect photograph of his heroes, the boy with the irrepressible smile and the man who was finally learning to fly again-but that's a completely different story for a completely different time.