Work Text:
“They think I’m stupid, Alfred.”
Bruce tries not to sound petulant as he complains to his adoptive father about his two wards. The two of them have oh so slowly grown closer over the last several months. And by slow… Glacially slow. He had damn well nearly convinced himself that they would never warm up to each other.
Then Dick had done something so monumentally wreckless on patrol, and instead of mocking him in his usual way, Jason had turned around and tried to gaslight Bruce into thinking the whole debacle was his own fault. He’d been so taken aback by the oddly protective display that he’d actually backed off. And that moment, right there, as Alfred so loves to remind him, is why the two boys continuously play him like a fiddle.
“Hmm." Alfred's noncommittal hum as he pours Bruce a singular tumbler of whiskey makes the man scowl.
"I'm serious. They really don't think I'm too bright. The papers call me the world's greatest detective, you know." The pride in his words is drowned by the thick petulance in his voice.
"Of course, Master Bruce."
Something in his tone is knowing. A little too knowing. Bruce whips around from where he's standing at the window overlooking the garden and glares at Alfred. "What aren't you telling me?"
Alfred's expression is nothing shy of amused when he meets Bruce's gaze. "There are many things I do not tell you, my boy."
Bruce mutters darkly under his breath as he turns back to the window. It's a nice night. The sun has set and he can already hear the cicadas sing the song of their annoying little species.
The thing is- It's wrong of him. He knows it's wrong. But, Bruce has never claimed to be perfect. So, when he sets his glass down, shamelessly clicks the safety locks on the windows free before heaving it open, he pointedly refuses to acknowledge Alfred's tongue clicking with disapproval.
Bruce is the adult here. He is perfectly entitled to do as he wishes. And if he wishes to open the window in the unused study directly below Jason's own room… Well.
This is Jason's first full summer with Bruce and after not as much prodding as he had expected, Jason has joined Gotham Academy's summer theater program. Bruce wasn't sure what to expect, but Jason landing one of the lead roles in this year's musical production of Guys and Dolls had not been it. The boy is brilliant. He oozes talent. Not that Jason is aware of his feelings towards the subject… The boy (annoyingly) refuses to practice around him. It’s all “Not yet!” and “I haven’t memorized all of the lines!” and “It’s not even an important role!”. Bruce scoffed at that one. Sky Masterson is the epitome of an important role.
Jason is so wrong. That lad is frolicking in a field of lies. Bruce knows it's a lie because he's a bad father guardian. And he's a bad guardian because this particular room, right below Jason's floor, is in prime position to hear all of Jason's dramatics as he rehearses his lines (absolutely, without a doubt, off book) with his own window open. How can Bruce be faulted for wanting to indulge? Jason is such a bright, talented, and kind-hearted child.
Jason is also a pain in the ass troublemaker when he wants to be. And it's as Bruce is about to go full interrogation mode on his own father figure that the smell wafts in through the window.
Nicotine.
Bruce sighs. They've been over this time and time again. No smoking. It's been one of Jason's harder habits to break. They'd worked through many of his other unhealthy behaviors and were making progress slowly but surely. The smoking though… Bruce really thought they were on the up and up. Jason hasn't smoked in months, or so Bruce had thought.
His eyes darken and he turns to Alfred. "One of the many things you don't tell me?"
"Yes, indeed. I prefer keeping your son's addiction habits from you."
Bruce's eyes narrow, if only to swallow the guilt of insinuating that Alfred wouldn't have told him if the boy were smoking again. Yes, his eyes narrow… but his chest swells at Alfred's particular choice of words. The adoption papers have been tucked away on Bruce's desk for a week, unsigned and unacknowledged. He’s not sure how he’ll cope if Jason rejects his offer. What if Jason is horrified at the notion of being his kid, of legally being a Wayne. What if he’s just holding out until he’s eighteen and free to be on his own? What if next summer he decides he hates living here and runs away?
And so Bruce does what he never does. He procrastinates.
However, what he will not procrastinate on right now is marching upstairs to bust Jason in the act. He’s rehearsing lectures in his head - it’s not like he’d had to give these particular ones to Dick, who hasn’t smoked a day in his life - the entire time.
Except, there are two voices filtering from the room as Bruce approaches the door. One of them is clearly Jason, and the other is only somewhat surprisingly Dick. Surprising only because Dick isn't supposed to be home for another three days. It's possible this may be what Alfred had been getting at with his vague "I know everything" remark. Alfred does know everything, but that is beside the point.
"I thought you weren't smoking anymore," Dick seems to hiss quietly. Bruce silently presses his back to the wall just outside of the door. He’s fairly certain this is a big no-no in all of the parenting books he’s consumed over the years. First with Dick and now with Jason. Something about trust and boundaries.
"And I thought you weren't supposed to be here. Does Bruce know you're trespassing?"
Dick scoffs. "Please, you little interloper-" Jason snorts. "-If Alfred catches you smoking, you're done for."
Alfred? If Alfred catches him smoking? What about Bruce? What if Bruce catches him smoking? The man in question crosses his arms over his chest with a quiet indignant noise.
"What are you gonna do about it, Dickface? Snitch?"
All Hell must break loose on the other side of the doors because there’s a grunt followed immediately by the sound of something shattering. Bruce closes his eyes and suppresses an exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as chaos reigns. There’s a scuffle, the groan of furniture scraping against the floor, something bumping into the wall, grunts of pain and annoyance and then finally a loud noise of triumph. A muffled “geddoff me” coming from somewhere on the other side of the wall, and Bruce doesn’t bother hiding his grin from an empty hallway.
Jason is clever. And while he has a certain degree of streetwise and speed under his belt, he is woefully underprepared to take on Robin. It doesn’t help that, well, Jason doesn’t know he’s fighting Robin… or that Batman makes it a point to drive him to and from school every day without fail. Another reason he’s put off having The Adoption Talk. The Batman Talk should probably happen first…
Another grunt followed by smug laughter pulls him back to the present and yeah, Jason’s speed and wit doesn’t account for Dick’s agility and experience. Which is why Bruce can confidently and accurately call the situation - Predict that Dick is without a doubt sitting on top of a very perturbed Jason.
“You can’t smoke these, Jase. They’re bad for you. And it’ll make Bruce cry big man tears if he finds out you’re smoking again. He’s sensitive.”
Bruce huffs indignantly. He wouldn’t cry, but… But he would be disappointed. Very disappointed. He’s about to step into the room when Jason’s surprisingly soft tone cuts through him. A barely made out - “You don’t understand, Dick.”
There’s a degree of pain in Jason’s voice that doesn’t at all sound related to Dick’s weight crushing him into the floor. It makes Bruce pause.
“Then make me understand, Jason.” Dick’s voice is almost pleading in a way that hints they’ve had similar discussions before. “What’s going on?”
Jason’s voice drops impossibly lower and Bruce scowls. Which, yes, isn’t fair because he shouldn’t be listening in at all… And the universe must have something to say about that because when Bruce takes a step in, leans just a wee but closer, he uncharacteristically loses his balance just enough that his shoulder connects with the cracked open door. It only moves a fraction of an inch and if it were just Jason he could probably get away with it. But with Dick’s presence…
Bruce waltzes right in.
Right in as if he hadn’t been hovering so blatantly like one of those parents.
Bruce had been correct, though. Jason’s sprawled facedown on the floor where the foot of the bed would have been about three minutes ago… He looks utterly defeated whereas Dick is entirely too smug where he sits on Jason’s back, knees bent like the kid is a step to be sat upon. He’s got both arms resting over his knees and in one hand… the illicit cigarette. Bruce’s gaze homes in on it and Dick’s eyes widen comically before darting down to Jason who merely groans before dropping his forehead to the floor.
“I, uh,” Dick splutters helplessly, eyes bouncing between Bruce and Jason. Bruce can’t help it. He knows his eldest, and so he tries not to let his expression crack as he adjusts his footing and crosses his arms, shooting Dick his best expectant expression. “I”m sorry. I know better than to smoke around Jason.”
It almost pulls a laugh from Bruce. Almost. It’s sweet, really, that Dick would take the fall for Jason. Except, he’s not very clever about it. They both know it.
All three of them know it. Because Jason groans loudly and says, face still pressed into the carpet, “Just shut up, Dick. You’re making it worse.”
Rather than acknowledge the admission, Bruce merely schools his expression into something rather bored and unamused when he says, “Dick, you don’t smoke.”
"Actually, B," Dick sighs, mournfully. Bruce narrows his eyes. He knows this farce. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Again, Jason groans. He struggles beneath Dick, who leverages his weight to keep Jason in place. Bruce tries to keep his expression neutral, even as Dick fails to keep the mischievous smirk off his face as Jason fights to gain the upperhand.
"No there isn't," Bruce says sharply, much more adept at masking his expression than his ward is. Dick has never been able to successfully lie to him. And Bruce hopes that never changes.
Dick's eyes turn up to Bruce, brows raised just a smidge. "You don't know everything about me. I'm an adult. I've moved out. I have a life, you know."
Oh. Oh it's like that?
Bruce's eyebrows crinkle together as he nods sagely while taking another few steps into the room. He drops down into Jason's desk chair and rolls it forward with his feet until he's only a few feet away from the entanglement that are his children. "You're right, Dick. I've been a terrible guardian. Very overbearing. Seeing as how you're an adult now, don't let me stop you."
Dick's eyes widen. "I- What?"
"He's goading you into smoking the cigarette, idiot." Jason spreads his arms out, away from his sides, and presses his cheek against the carpet so that he can watch Bruce. He looks utterly defeated. Which isn't much like him and it makes Bruce wonder exactly what Jason had meant when he'd effectively told Dick that something was upsetting him.
"I'm not goading," Bruce defends, tone deceptively light. "You're an adult and I need to respect that. Go on, chum, you're going to let it burn out."
Bruce doesn't miss the way Dick eyes the cigarette apprehensively, or the way his throat bobs as he swallows thickly. Maybe he should stop this. Maybe he shouldn't, as Jason had said it, goad the lad into smoking by calling his bluff. It's bad parenting, right?
But when Dick narrows his eyes, staring down still at the cigarette like an enemy to be conquered, Bruce thinks, 'nah, the boy needs humbling'.
Dick inhales slowly and Bruce watches his left eye twitch. He's trying so hard to hold it in. To not cough. But when he slowly breathes out, smoke filling the air between them, Dick breaks down into a fit of coughing.
"Yeah," Bruce says loudly, voice cutting through Dick's coughing fit. He pulls himself to his feet, walks over to Dick, and takes the smoke from his hands. "That's what I thought."
Instead of addressing him, Dick looks down at Jason, "You really smoke that shit?"
Now Jason really fights back. An easier job now that Dick has effectively rendered himself incapacitated. AKA still trying to breathe again. Jason shoves Dick's shoulder as he stands up. He's raising his arms over his head and bending backward to crack his back when he says, "Shut up, Dickface. You just can't handle it."
Dick, now standing at his full height, scoffs. "Nobody can stand that stuff, trust me. I've smoked before and that shit isn't normal." He turns to Bruce and reiterates, "Trust me. Not even you."
Bruce narrows his eyes, trying to suss out the lie and finding, unfortunately, nothing but truth. Dick has smoked before. But likely not often. He hopes... He'll address that later.
Because first... Bruce eyes the cigarette. Not unlike his eldest had earlier.
"You're going to let him goad you?" Jason huffs, disbelief coloring his voice. "Cut from the same cloth much?"
Dick shoves Jason hard enough that he stumbles to the side a few steps before balancing out. "I'm not goading, gremlin. I'm stating a fact."
Bruce is still eyeing the cigarette. He’s smoked before. A social smoker, once upon a time. He knows he can handle it. He can handle anything. But Dick... Yes, Dick is goading him. And not as subtle as he thinks. But, Bruce can't let it slide. Because he can handle it. Of course he can handle it.
What he cannot handle is inhaling at the same time Alfred knocks on the open door and clears his throat. "You do not smoke in the manor, Master Bruce. We've been over this many, many times before."
Bruce has the decency to look ashamed. Dick and Jason do not have the decency to not laugh in his face.