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Bruce should focus on the bright side: Dick seemed unharmed. However, the same could not be said for yet another chandelier. This one a poor French birdcage that had provided light for many generations of Waynes.
Dick wore a nervous smile that was only half apologetic. The other half was glaringly unrepentant, the sort of mischievous that old ladies would fawn all over with the way it made his dimples show. Alfred did not seem to find it that charming. Behind them, an ocean of crystals flooded the library’s hardwood floor.
Bruce turned to Alfred.
“Did he get hurt?”
“Miraculously, no.”
He sighed in relief.
Dick’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. Bruce could practically see the gears turning in his head. Long words were difficult for him, Alfred had informed him, as if suggesting he ought to converse with the boy more often to help him with his English.
“How did he even get up there?”
“I believe he climbed to the top of the tallest bookcase and then-”
“Flying,” Dick put it plainly.
Admittedly, Bruce has not been spending too much time at the manor lately. Gotham is a demanding mistress and Wayne Enterprises does not fall too far behind. He was dividing his time between playing the part of the wealthy businessman and Batman, working his way through the grimiest alleys of Gotham looking for the murderer of the boy’s aprents.
On the rare occasion that he took a moment to breathe and check on his ward, he had found out that it was hard to keep an eye on him, for the boy moved swiftly and quietly.
Dick had trouble sitting still and with the way he moved around the manor, running and climbing and jumping- Bruce began to feel like he was the keeper of an anxious tiger cub, which paced in its cage until it ran out of energy.
Or, in this case, until something broke.
It was the strepitous noise of the landing that had brought Bruce to the library and the more he looked at the ocean of crystals, the more he realized the magnitude of what could have happened.
“You could have hurt yourself very badly,” he told Dick slowly, voice stern.
“It’s fine- I’m a professional," he pouted, only managing to look more like the child he was. “I know how to land.”
He ignored the deliberate look that Alfred threw his way as the words echoed a number of past exchanges. There was no comparison to be made, for Bruce was an adult who knew what he was doing.
“I’m sorry about the lustre,” Dick looked away. “I thought it would hold.”
Bruce softened. “That’s not-”
“I’ll clean it up,” he declared, and took a step in the direction of the shattered crystals, barefoot and vulnerable, with the carelessness of a child that was unaware of how fragile they actually were.
He was quick, but Bruce was Batman. In a smooth move, he caught Dick by the waist and scooped him up in his arms, making him let out a surprised squeak.
“You’re strong!” His eyes widened with delight, as if he had not realized that until then.
“Alfred will take care of the mess.”
As he held him in the air, Bruce noted how light Dick was. There were rats in Crime Alley that were bigger than the boy.
…was he eating properly? Surely, despite Dick’s stubbornness, Alfred would never allow him to skip meals.
Dick did not seem to hear him. “You could be my spotter.”
Already he was thinking about climbing somewhere and jumping again. Did he have no concern for his own safety? Did he ever run out of energy and creativity to pour into getting in trouble?
Bruce only had himself to compare, but after his parents’ murder, he had stuck to a strict routine that kept him moving, but not truly living. All the trivialities that had once brought him joy or amusement had taken the backseat. Alfred was meticulous when it came to cleaning, but even he could not fight against the dust that gathered on his toys and books, as if his room was frozen in time and Bruce was naught but a ghost haunting its corners, leaving no imprint save for a shadow.
By the time he got out of his head, Dick was looking bashful.
“You don’t have to,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I know you’re busy.”
Bruce spared another glance at the mess behind them. Better an ocean of crystals than a mountain of dust, he supposed. Alfred probably had his own opinions on the matter, but Bruce would just have to move forward without them.
“No, it’s alright. I’ll make time,” he placed Dick on top of a chair. Even like that they were not eye to eye, the boy still had to crane his neck to meet Bruce’s gaze. “I’ll be your spotter and in exchange, I don’t want you flying anywhere by yourself.”
Dick pressed his lips together. “I won’t swing from any more lustres,” he offered, like a businessman.
That meant that the stairs, railings, statues and other unfortunate elements of the manor - lord, perhaps even the roof - would still be fair game.
But it was something, and considering this was the longest exchange of words they had had since the boy arrived at the manor, Bruce would take it.
“Deal.”
Bruce extended his hand. Dick barely hesitated before he took it and shook it firmly. The smile he gave him was the most sincere yet.
It was a wonder how such tiny hands managed to hold the boy’s entire weight on the trapeze. It was never for long, he reminded himself. Dick only held himself briefly before he was flying and then being caught in the air by stronger hands. Hands that would sooner break than letting him fall.
Bruce could try to do that much. He- They needed to start somewhere.
He wanted Dick to remain a bird and never become a shadow. It would take more than justice to keep that from happening. So Bruce would just have to make the effort. The boy was worth it.