Chapter Text
Dinner was over, Jason had given them privacy by taking Tim downstairs to show him something in the cave, and Alfred was in the kitchen clearing up after the meal. "Chum?" Bruce asked quietly.
Dick's throat worked.
Bruce tipped his head, silently inviting his son out of the dining room. Bruce picked the living room, and not his study, because he didn't want anything between them.
Bruce sat carefully on one side of the sofa, leaving the span of the room for Dick to choose from.
Something eased in his chest when Dick picked the sofa, and sat halfway between the two other cushions, sideways to face him, knees pulled up to his chest. "B," he started, and then stopped again.
Bruce silently put his hand on Dick's socked foot, the closest bit of him, and perhaps the least threatening. "What happened, Chum?" he asked quietly.
"Desmond worked out my id," Dick said quietly, and Bruce's heart stopped for a whole beat, horror sweeping through him. He'd thought- the bombing, the fire at Haly's, it all pointed that way, but he'd hoped-
"He-" Dick choked.
"I know, Chum," Bruce said, and carefully reached past Dick's defensive curl to pull his boy into his arms.
Dick went willingly, slumping into his chest like he was a little boy again.
Something else eased in Bruce's broken heart, that Dick still wanted hugs.
"I killed him," Dick whispered.
Bruce startled. Everything he'd seen pointed at Catalina Flores. Her gun, her confession, her frankly volatile history. How could Dick-
"I didn't stop her," Dick whispered.
Bruce stopped spiraling immediately. "Oh, darling, no."
Dick nodded miserably against his shoulder. It was so achingly like the way he cried as a traumatized nine-year-old, wet and sniffly and heartbreaking. "I should've. I wanted," he choked off again.
"No," Bruce said again. "You don't control other people, Chum. You didn't make her do it."
"I let her," Dick answered. "I got out of the way."
Bruce could see it. Desmond, threatening Dick, his boy exhausted and broken, and Catalina offering a way out. Dick, giving in, and then carrying his guilt for months. "Oh Chum," Bruce murmured, kissing his forehead. "You can't let her do anything. She made her choice, she killed him, and you were in no shape to stop her."
"I should've-" Dick tried.
"No," Bruce said again, quiet and implacable. "You did everything you could."
"You don't know-"
"I know you, Dickie," Bruce murmured, kissing his forehead again. "I know the boy you came from and the man you grew into. The one who taught me how to love again, and built this family from the ground up. The man who reminds me every day what light is, and brings it to everything you do." He squeezed Dick as tight as he could for a moment, and then relaxed. "And I know you did everything you could do, and then some, gave till you had nothing left, and if she failed the lessons you were trying to teach her, that has nothing to do with you."
Dick whined softly, pressing his face into Bruce's shoulder. "I-" he choked out, almost pleadingly.
"I love you, Chum," Bruce promised him. "No matter what she did, I love you." He had a lot of red marks in his ledger. Even just in his relationship with his oldest son, Bruce had a lot of failures he would never be able to reckon with. But this—that Dick hadn't known he could come home no matter what, that his boy had gone to ground alone instead of coming home to the people who loved him—this he would carry like he carried few things: Jason's death; failing Harvey; the loss of his parents.
The Batman's no-kill rule was never more important than his boys. Never. He would have to tell Jason that again.
Dick's cheek turned, resting on his shoulder, face pointed away. He'd stilled from his sobbing, but his face was still wet against Bruce's shirt. "She raped me," he said quietly, and his voice was hoarse and cracked.
Bruce couldn't help his reflexive spasm, the clutch he couldn't repress, and then he didn't make himself let go. He clutched Dick to his chest like he could protect him from the past. And all his words deserted him; he knew the speeches, had delivered them, and taught them to three successive Robins, and there was not a single word in his head. He clutched Dick, and hoped Dick knew.
"That's- that's why," Dick whispered. "That's why I couldn't come home."
Bruce made a soft noise of denial. Dick could always come home.
Dick shook his head slightly. "I needed- I needed to not be Dick Grayson."
Bruce pressed his tears into Dick's hair.
"Dick was," Dick stuttered a moment, and then said, "Dick was a mess. His apartment was gone, his history had gone up in flames, he'd lost everything. He couldn't- he couldn't stop her," he broke off again with a harsh noise.
"He was hurt," Bruce said quietly, finding his words. "And he needed time to heal."
Dick nodded weakly against his shoulder. "So I was someone else," he said. "And TJ didn't have to be," he shrugged. "Anything. Everything. Perfect."
Bruce kissed his head again, unable to find the words to apologize to his son for making him feel like he had to be perfect. That was something he'd have to find the words for. That was something he'd have to tell Dick later, when he knew how. For now, "I understand," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry I worried you," Dick whispered.
Bruce rested his cheek on Dick's head. "I worried because I love you," he said. "And if you're all right, if you got what you needed, I'm all right too. I forgive you, if you need me to."
"I love you too," Dick whispered.
"I know, Chum," Bruce promised. "I never doubted. I'm sorry you doubted me."
Dick started to shake his head, but he knew as well as Bruce did that he had been afraid that Bruce wouldn't be able to forgive Desmond's death. The Joker loomed large between them.
"Chum," Bruce said quietly, leaning back slightly.
Dick, obligingly, tipped his face back to let Bruce look at him.
Bruce swallowed once, trying to find the words. "I have never wanted you—any of you, you or your brothers—to know what it feels like to take someone's life, intentionally. Each one changes something inside you, maybe a lot, maybe a little, but it changes you." He stroked Dick's messy bangs back from his tear-streaked face. "I'm not talking about Desmond," he added. "That wasn't on you."
"The Joker," Dick said.
Bruce nodded. "Dick, I didn't resuscitate him because Nightwing can't kill, or because I was disappointed in you for killing him. I was momentarily so proud of you I couldn't see straight."
Dick blinked in surprise.
"And I was jealous as hell, because all I've wanted since he killed Jason was to put him in the ground permanently."
Dick's mouth lifted on one side, some of the spark coming back into his eyes. He loved being right about Bruce. But he stayed silent, let Bruce finish.
"I brought him back because I didn't want that for you," Bruce said, leaning forward to kiss Dick's forehead like a benediction. "And I was there, and I could do that." He took Dick's chin. "If I hadn't been there? Or if it had failed, and he had died anyway? It wouldn't have changed a single thing about my love for you, or Nightwing's place at Batman's side."
"The rule-" Dick said.
"Is for me, because I don't trust myself," Bruce admitted. "Batman can't kill," he said. "Because if he did he would never stop."
Dick nodded solemnly.
"In our argument when he revealed himself to me, Jason said something about harm reduction that I've been thinking a lot about," Bruce said. "Dick, Chum, you weigh life more thoughtfully and honorably than anyone I know. You knew you had to stop."
"You trust my temper more than I do," Dick said, wet and wry, trying to lighten the mood but also entirely serious.
Bruce raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze. "Name one person, except for the Joker, you've seriously injured in a temper."
Dick frowned.
Bruce waited.
Dick opened his mouth.
"Since you became Nightwing," Bruce added. The actions of a fifteen-year-old could hardly be counted.
Dick closed his mouth again.
Bruce cocked an eyebrow. "Only the Joker," he said. "And there is no one in the world that would argue that his death wouldn't make everyone safer."
Dick scowled, knowing he was outmaneuvered but not ready to admit it yet.
"I trust you to make the right choice," Bruce said quietly. "I can't kill, I can't," he repeated. "But if you had come to me today and told me you'd fired the gun yourself, I would know you had done it because it was the only option left to keep Bludhaven safe." Bruce took Dick's chin. "And Chum?" he waited.
Dick said hoarsely, "Yeah?"
"Even if it had just been because it was the only way to keep yourself safe, I would be grateful, and proud. Because you are worth more to me than every person in Bludhaven, and certainly more than Roland Desmond." He hugged Dick close again. "I will be that selfish," he said quietly. "I will pick you over him every time."
"B," Dick pleaded.
"I love you," Bruce repeated. "And there is nothing you can do to make that not true." Oh, there were the words. "I am so sorry I made you think Dick Grayson had to be perfect. I am sorry you had to be someone else to break, because you didn't think I would pick up the pieces."
Dick was crying again, curling into his shoulder. Bruce let himself cry again too, into Dick's hair, as he clutched his precious boy close again. "It wasn't that," Dick muttered. "It wasn't that," he insisted, face still tucked close into Bruce's shoulder. "I was so close to breaking," Dick whispered. "And if I had to be Dick for just one minute longer, if you or Tim or Alfred had smiled at me, or god forbid tried to hug me, I would've shattered, and I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you with the shards." He released a shuddering sigh. "Being TJ, being away from everything gave me time to heal enough that I could be Dick again without breaking."
Bruce squeezed him tightly. "Then I am very glad you did."
"I'm still sorry I worried you," Dick grumbled.
"You can repay me in hugs," Bruce answered, pressing yet another kiss to Dick's head. "I missed your hugs." His ridiculous, tactile son. It was Jason who'd first accused him of being an octopus, but no one could deny the truth of it once it had been said.
"I did miss you," Dick admitted. "When I could let myself. More, as time went on and I felt more like myself."
"We all missed you," Bruce said. "Babs, Tim, maybe Alfred most of all."
"I'll talk with him, too," Dick promised.
"He'll want to know," Bruce said. "Anything you're willing to tell him."
Dick nodded, shifting in Bruce's lap to rest his cheek on Bruce's collar, curled small in his lap like he was young again. Bruce cradled him close, still wishing he could reach back through time and protect his son from everything. He felt, familiarly contorted and already fidgeting his fingers and toes like usual, like he might be about to say something, but the words never came.
Finally Bruce said, "Do you want to tell me more?"
Dick sighed, uncurling so he was draped over Bruce's lap and the arm of the sofa, socked feet extended in a familiar acrobatic point. "Yes, no, maybe, I don't know?" he offered easily. His smile was small, but true, and his eyes were bright and warm, if red-rimmed.
"Anything you want, Chum," Bruce promised. "If you want to say it, I want to hear."
Dick's mouth twisted in malcontent. "I don't want to talk about it," he said. "But I also kind of feel like we glossed over the bit where I told you I was sexually assaulted."
Bruce nodded. He had been afraid that was it. "The killing thing did sort of swallow the conversation," he agreed.
Dick's mouth turned at one corner, an almost-smile that eased the tightness in Bruce's chest. "But you heard me," Dick checked.
Bruce nodded. "You know the victim speech as well as I do," he said. "You know it wasn't your fault, and you know it makes no difference to your value, and you know it says things about her and not you."
Dick nodded, avoiding his eyes.
"I'll tell you," he said gently. "If you need me to."
Dick shook his head, eyes still turned down and away. "I know," he whispered.
Bruce tipped his chin gently until their eyes met. "I love you," Bruce reminded him. "And I am infuriated on your behalf that she would take advantage of you in an altered state of mind, and I'm really struggling not to be both profoundly grateful that she's dead and deeply regret that I can't kill her myself for hurting you."
"She's dead?" Dick said, startled.
Bruce paused. "You- didn't know?" he checked carefully.
Dick shook his head. Then he arched back over the arm of the chair, kicked his feet over Bruce, and turned over into a handstand. He'd insisted as a child that he thought better upside down, and he still sometimes flipped into a handstand when a case was bothering him. Bruce was honestly a little relieved to find that this little bit of his Dickie was still intact after his trauma.
"She died in prison," Bruce said. "Three weeks after her arrest."
Dick, still upside down, said, "Cause of death?"
"Unknown," Bruce said. "I admit I didn't look into it." After a moment, Bruce asked carefully, "Do you actually care?"
Dick flipped upright. He stood tall and strong, healthy and pink-cheeked from being upside down. He looked nothing like the last security still from Desmond's hideout, the last concrete evidence of Nightwing anyone had seen until he'd dismounted Jason's bike three hours ago. "No," he said, and then he smiled. Then he was laughing.
Bruce stood up and pulled him into his arms. "Good," he said. "Fuck her."
Dick leaned into his arms. "Thank you," he said.
Bruce shook his head. "Thank you for coming home."
Selina left her cab behind a few blocks away from the coffee shop in Newtown, outside her usual stomping grounds. She approached on foot, slowly, making her wary way from shadow to shadow, just like a nervous cat.
But she wasn't sure exactly what she would find, and she wasn't sure she could handle finding that the light in her Bluebird might have dimmed.
He hadn't mattered to her, not at first, not till her Tiger had brought her back into the bat-orbit, but in the days Tiger had crashed on her couch when he was fighting with Bruce and Bruce had vented to her on rooftops when he had no idea how to handle a skittish thirteen year old, she had just as often had a bluebird in her nest. She was his Mama Cat just as surely as she was Tiger's, now, and he was, like he had become to everyone who loved him, a shining light in her life she was terrified to lose.
He was in line at the cafe, tousled dark hair sticking messily out from under his cap, and his usual easy, generic smile on his face.
Selina watched him as he ordered both their drinks—he'd known her order for years, by now—and he seemed easy in his skin. But their Bluebird was a consummate performer, and you'd never know he was hurting till he went down. He chatted with the barista a bit, but the cafe was busy and he moved out of the way pretty quickly.
Selina watched him check his phone, smile softly, and return a text, and then their drinks were ready. He tucked his phone away, retrieved their drinks, and moved towards the door. He saw her standing by the door the same time she decided to move to meet him, and his face split into his real smile, the one with a hint of teeth and a little crinkle beside each of his eyes.
"Cat!" he cried. It wasn't what he usually called her, but they were in public.
"Hey Blue," she said, equally mindful of his secrets, and not willing to say his name in case he was undercover.
He handed her her drink and offered his arm with a gallant bow.
Laughing, Selina let him lead her out of the cafe and onto the street. "We headed somewhere, or walking?" she asked.
"Walking?" he offered. "There's a park a few blocks out, we could head that way and sit when we get there if we need to?"
"Perfect," she agreed.
"How've you been?" he asked easily.
Selina tucked herself into his side, pressing their arms together and holding his arm close to her chest. "Been keeping busy," she said. "Some traveling," she added. "Gotham was quiet without you."
"Well," he said cheerfully, "I'm back on a semi-permanent basis."
Selina peered up at him, slantwise. "Really?" she checked.
He inclined his head. "I'm not entirely ready to give up on the Haven," he said. "But I'm living in the Bowery right now, and not looking to move. I may see if B, T, and I can work out, I don't know, something like shifts. Or if O's girls would be interested in helping out."
Selina knew the Birds of Prey had their own cases, but she also suspected they would be glad to help him—they'd dubbed him an 'honorary bird' and often joked he was the only boy allowed in their clubhouse. "Glad you're asking for help," she said slowly. "Sorry it took a catastrophe to get you there."
His huffed, likely about the potential pun. "I wish catastrophe weren't an accurate description," he said ruefully.
"But you're all right?" she pressed. "Tiger's looking after you?"
Dick's smile softened. "He is," he promised. "Making me eat vegetables and everything."
Selina bumped her head against his shoulder fondly. "You want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.
Dick sighed. "Bits of it are really ugly," he said quietly.
"I'm not afraid of a little ugly," Selina said firmly. "But you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
Dick smiled down at her, soft and warm and real. She could almost believe he was all right now, except that she knew how good he was at deflecting his own problems in the face of everyone else's. "I had a bad run," he said finally, guiding her into the park he'd mentioned.
Selina sat beside him on a park bench, leaning into the warmth of his body against the cool breeze. "Yeah," she prompted carefully.
"There was a guy," he said finally. "Blockbuster."
Selina had heard of him, and not just tracking the Nightwing tag on Batwatch. He was bad news. She hummed.
"He figured my id," Dick said. "And started taking my life apart piece by piece."
Selina growled softly, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. He had to hunch into to let her, but he did hunch into it, so Selina contented herself that her kitten still would let her coddle him.
"And there was a girl," Dick said, sort of roughly. "I was trying to teach her to do good, but I guess the lessons didn't. Stick well in the end," he said.
Selina considered the many, many ways that could be interpreted, considered that her own history might make her more likely to jump to a conclusion from a statement like that, considered what she knew of her Bluebird, and the things he would elide and the things he wouldn't. "Is she dead?" Selina asked.
Dick startled a little, a bare twitch no one would notice except that Selina was pressed entirely against him, hip to shoulder to wrist. "Yes," he said hoarsely.
Selina tucked her feet under her on the bench to give her the height to fold him into her chest. Her sweet, tactile Bluebird curled willingly into the embrace. "Damn," she said, not at all ironically.
Dick huffed a little laugh against her neck. "Mama Cat," he said quietly.
"Mm-hmm," she affirmed. "And you're mine, kitten," she promised. "And if she weren't dead, I'd claw her eyes out for touching you."
"It wasn't-" Dick started, and then he stopped.
Selina hummed again. "Don't you make excuses for her, not once. None of the things you were about to say matter a whit."
"I know," Dick said quietly, resting his head on her shoulder.
"Is Blockbuster dead?" Selina asked. She thought he was, thought she'd heard that, but wanted to make sure.
He sighed. "Yeah," he said softly. That better not be guilt Selina could hear in his voice. "Catalina did that."
Ah, yeah, he would be guilty about that, if he'd been trying to teach the girl to be a bat-sanctioned vigilante, and she'd murdered his villain instead. And asaulted him. Good they were both dead, but also a great shame Selina wouldn't get to sharpen her claws on either of them. She petted the edges of his hair where it was escaping his cap. "Bluebird," she said quietly.
"Yeah?" he asked quietly.
"You deserve better," she told him.
Dick made a startled noise.
Selina nodded. "You do."
"I don't- I mean," he broke off. He lifted his head briefly to meet her eyes, steady and warm and shadowed. "Please believe I am not trying to argue with you about deserving what Cat did to me," he said wryly, and tucked his head back into her shoulder. "But. I- it's not." He made a grumbly annoyed noise that he couldn't find the words.
"You deserve people in your corner who actually rise to the expectations you set them," Selina said. "If she came to you for training, you deserve a trainee that wants what you are going to give them, not just." Selina waved vaguely. "Using you for whatever end."
"I- I mean, I don't think it works like that, Mama Cat," Dick whispered.
"It doesn't," Selina agreed sadly, rubbing his back briefly. "I wish it did, though."
Dick hummed. It notably wasn't agreement.
Selina leaned back to see his face again. Her eyes narrowed. "Richard," she said sternly.
He winced playfully. "Not the full name," he said wryly. But he met her gaze.
"You are so important," she told him. He squirmed, visibly uncomfortable. "No," she said, refusing to let him look away. "Every person who knows you, who cares about you and you care about back is better for having you in their lives."
Bluebird, her wonderful idiot, opened his stupid mouth to argue with her.
"No," Selina said. "I am not taking notes."
Dick smiled, rueful and exasperated, and so, so embarrassed. "Mama Cat," he whined.
Selina kissed his forehead. "Nope, no notes. I am one hundred percent correct, and we can ask anyone you want for confirmation."
Dick moaned in mortification. "No, no," he pleaded, both playing along with her teasing, but also entirely serious. He would actually expire of mortification if Selina asked anyone else to tell him they valued him.
"Yes," Selina replied. "I'm putting it in the group chat. Everyone has to tell Nightwing how important he is to them."
"Oh god," Dick groaned.
Selina was not, in fact, texting anyone. Dick, still curled into her, could obviously feel this. The threat seemed to have worked, though. She took his cap off so she could ruffle his hair.
Dick grumbled wordlessly, but subsided. "I am doing okay," he promised. "I talked with B and Alfred, over the last couple of days. I've talked with Babs. Jason knows. Now you. I'm." He shrugged. "I'm okay," he said agian.
Selina petted him fondly. "You look well," she agreed. "Jason's been feeding you up," she added, pinching the padding over his abs.
He squeaked in outrage. "Excuse, I'm my ideal weight!"
"Then you were too damn skinny before," Selina answered. "I'm telling you that you look good, kitten."
"Okay, that's maybe true," Dick said, smiling up at her. "Funny, apparently Alfred was right about nutrition and vegetables after all."
"You're a menace, Bluebird," Selina said fondly.
"So they tell me," Dick agreed.
Selina sighed, finally letting herself believe he was all right. "I'm glad you're back, kitten," she whispered.
"I'm glad to be home," he answered. "I don't think I realized how lonely I was, in the Haven, till I moved in with Jay and suddenly I wasn't lonely anymore."
Selina made a wounded noise, thinking of her Bluebird, alone and struggling in his empty city. "You have us all now," she said. "You'll call us, won't you?"
"Of course," he said.
"Not of course," Selina said. "But you've trained enough young heroes to know. You've had Tiger, and Tim, and you know what it means to desperately want a loved one to call you when they need you, and know they won't."
Dick winced.
"So you wouldn't possibly do that to me, would you, Bluebird?" Selina asked sweetly.
"Oh man," Dick said. "Right for the throat."
"Would you?" Selina hissed.
"No," Dick promised, and he actually sounded like he meant it now, instead of the flippancy of his previous answer. "I'll call," he said.
Selina nodded. "Good," she said. Then she released him. He'd already sat still for longer than she'd ever seen him do before. She stood up to rearrange herself from the odd way she'd been kneeling on the bench to hold him. Stupid, tall boys. Tiger was too big too.
Predictably, he bounced straight to his feet with her.
Selina took his arm again and let him pick the direction. "So tell me about you and Tiger," she ordered, and laughed when he groaned.