Chapter Text
Dick was more than aware that Bruce was emotionally stunted. It frustrated him, occasionally, that all he would get out of him would be a hum of acknowledgement, paired with a sideways glance.
Damian, at first sight, didn’t seem to mind it so much. Dick guessed it was a step up from his mother.
He still didn’t seem to mind, Dick thought, even as the air went tight, like a string that couldn’t stretch any longer, straining helplessly in its holder.
It’s not like they were on patrol, or that it was any serious sort of situation. They were late for a dinner, and Dick had misread the meet up point, assuming it was the same place as usual.
Bruce was in a hurry, swinging the umbrella back and forth in tempo with his pace. It bordered on being violent. The light from the passing cars lit up the underside of B’s eye - it made him look upset, like he was crying even. Damian rushed to catch up with his little legs, face set in a concentrated frown.
“How was the meeting?” Dick had asked when they met up. Bruce didn’t give him the usual sideways glance.
“Good.”
“Want me to carry that for you?” he asked, pointing to the umbrella.
“Mn mn.”
“‘Kay,” he said with a smile, trying not to think about what the lack of glance meant.
Damian had informed him that ‘school was so atrocious that I am in no mood to chatter.’ The tone was frosty, but his face was turned away, as if in shame. Dick didn’t push.
They kept walking, one foot after another on the autumn leaves. It was dark - too dark for the leaves to be their usual vibrant oranges and reds. The umbrella swung back. Forth. Dick watched it out of the corner of his eye.
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‘Never again, chum.’
He kept his eyes on the umbrella. The metal tip could cause serious pain. One time he’d watched Batman being beaten with it. Bruce had held his head afterwards, telling him not to worry, that he could still drive them home. Robin closed his eyes tight in the car, hoping that if he tried hard enough, it just wouldn’t be real.
They had stopped suddenly, and Robin was sent lurching forward in his seat, the seatbelt contracting into his stomach so much he wheezed. They made it home eventually.
‘Never again.’
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Bitterly, Dick wished Bruce had told him something like that when he was younger, maybe Damian or Tims age - when he could still believe it.
___________
‘Again.’
Many people had told Dick that they would never hurt him. Especially as Robin - it was kind of natural to kidnap the kid who hung around Batman, but unnatural to kill or harm him. Robin would know, based on the air in the room, the implicit boundaries set when his kidnapper talked, that no harm would come to him. He’d panic, sure, but less.
So Dick knew. He knew when the implicit threat was there - the one that didn’t even need to be uttered for him to go quiet.
Damian looked at him. Dick smiled, hoping he didn’t look too jittery.
“No radio today, Grayson?” Damian asked. Dick gave him a sheepish smile, at the same time noting the tension in B’s shoulders. Usually when Dick walked quickly, he liked to hum. Gave travelling more vibrancy, he thought.
Careful not to look at Bruce, Dick answered;
“Time and a place Dami, time and a place.”
He watched Damian’s steps, synchronised with his fathers. One, two, one, two. Dick had always thought that his life was less rigid than that, more out of sync with the brooding man to his left. But he didn’t need to look down to confirm that he was matching them.
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‘Again.’
Bruce had Dick pinned to the floor in a brief moment of contact when he said it. Dick slowly got up, leaning more on his unbruised right side.
“Stand properly. Focus.”
He hissed as he adjusted his stance, pain shooting up his left side, reaching his stiff shoulder which burned, demanding a rest.
Each time he lost, he didn’t consider it. The loss or the victory. The outcome would be the same.
‘Again.’
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Dick smiled at the other guests, taking a seat next to B. Dami had gone to greet Duke, who was staring up at the chandelier.
“Ah, we made it!” Dick said happily as he took off his mask. He hoped the tension would whittle away at itself.
Bruce hummed at Dick’s statement, a false ‘Brucie’ smile on his face. He swallowed. Of course, he couldn’t expect this to be father-son bonding time at all.
“Oh don’t worry Brucie, we thought you’d be late!” the man opposite him responded. “You’re lucky you’ve got Richard to keep you on time here!”
Dick grimaced. He never understood why Bruce picked a persona he hated so much. One that questioned his intelligence and fidelity, making the man's fists clench. Dick looked away, trying to ignore the movement. B hated being talked down to.
“Actually, you’ll never believe this,” Brucie said, leaning forward like he was enjoying the conversation. “Richard was actually the reason we were late this time!”
The man laughed. “You’re right, I don’t believe it! I guess it’s genetic, huh?”
Dick swallowed. Bruce hummed and finally glanced at Dick. It was a quick, guilty glance. The worst kind.
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‘Again!’
Dick heaved. His shoulder was so hot, his side so sore he couldn’t stand straight. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He knew this training was crucial - to make sure he didn’t get majorly hurt again. Of course he knew that.
He couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. Shame kept it down. His shoulders shook as he realised he couldn’t look at Bruce and say it. The simple fact: I’m too weak to keep going.
If he did say that, what would that say as his position as Robin? As Dick himself?
‘Chum, look at me.’
Dick looked up. Strands of hair stuck to B’s wet forehead, his hands clammy as he grasped Dick’s arms. Guilt stuck to his features just the same. The look he gave Dick was loaded with it, so much that Dick had to turn away.
‘You did good. Go get a shower and I’ll have Alfred patch up your injuries.’
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Dick gripped his fork. He tried to focus on what the man was saying, nodding along to his story. How was he supposed to repair this relationship if he couldn’t stop thinking about this kind of thing?
God, he needed a therapist. Or someone to talk to. But so many people were ruled out. His siblings, the ones that were old enough to lean on, were angry whenever they learned Dick was feeling bad about something. His friends were the same - his exes more so.
Nausea gripped him in the same way Bruce did. Tentative, as if regretful, sneaking its way up his throat.
He swallowed the acidic taste, and headed for the bathroom.
He didn’t realise someone was in the hallway with him until a shadow moved too suddenly.