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Bruce couldn't say for sure when he had started looking forward to the afternoon. While two years ago he might have felt drained at the idea of his ward bouncing around him, never ending supply of conversation, he now felt differently. Well, still drained, but unable to squash the anticipation. Bonus points if it was a Friday, like the current day.
Dick was still in his school uniform, having upon arrival at the manor, immediately seated himself on Bruce's desk and begun chattering. Bruce continued to rifle through paperwork. He spared the occasional fond glance, only vaguely following the 6th grader's scattered train of thought. This was Dick's favorite after-school ritual, which he had picked up again after the summer break. Bruce had given up on asking him not to bring his snacks into the study, resigning himself to the occasional splotch of peanut butter on his schedule.
"There's even more clubs and activities than last year!" Dick was saying, a list of school organizations in his hand, "Like poetry. And sculpture. STEM, I think that was there before." He scrutinized the paper more, before exclaiming, "Did you know they have a jump rope club?"
"Mm, interesting."
Dick finished his snack, setting the bowl down on the desk. "It's kinda cool, but I'd rather join the cheerleading team," He said conversationally.
Bruce snapped to attention, as if a gunshot had sounded. He looked up sharply. "Cheerleading?"
"Yeah, the tryouts are next week! Tuesday." Dick frowned. "Wednesday."
The idea of the young acrobat flipping high in the air without him nearby made Bruce shudder. Because naturally, Dick wouldn't settle for anything but a flying position. His child, attempting tricks with only a so-called 'coach' supervising? The day that happened was the day Batman added rainbow glitter to his armor.
For years, Bruce's nightmares were plagued with images of of a man and a woman bleeding out in an alleyway. Now he was more likely to encounter a different man and woman, lying broken on a circus floor. In this scene, a little boy joined them on the ground, cold and lifeless body resting beside those of his parents.
"I thought you were interested in rejoining the math team." Bruce said weakly. He was running the risk of sounding like a strict academic, but math was Dick's favorite subject. The boy seemed to enjoy competing last year, albeit in a different field then he was used to performing in.
Dick rolled off the desk, briefly sprawling on the floor before leaping neatly to his feet, putting the surface between them. "I was. I am. But this would be like the circus again!" He stuffed the potential activities into his pocket, looking up at Bruce with a brilliant smile. Waiting patiently for his guardian's approval, like he was clearly expecting.
Bruce winced. Like the circus again was not a selling point. It was his exact fear. He tried to come up with a tactful dissuasion, growing more and more frantic when nothing came to mind. Not unusually, he ended up unsuccessful, and forced to watch as Dick's face fell from eager to apprehensive. The boy's voice was quiet when he said,
"Is that, um, a bad idea?"
Some number of seconds ticked by, but it must have been too many, because Dick's shoulders slumped noticeably and he left the room before Bruce could give suitable answer. Something that was still honest, but not as harsh as a straight yes. The young acrobat would no doubt be a perfect fit for the school cheer team, a star flyer already made. But how could he allow Dick to practice potentially dangerous stunts under lackluster supervision?
Bruce stood up, intending to follow.
And say what? He sat down again with a heavy sigh. Dick would understand why he was against auditioning. He was more than welcome to practice gymnastics at home, where an eye could be kept on him. It wasn't like he was banning his ward from performing. He reluctantly turned his attention back to the work and tried to put Dick's obvious disappointment out of his mind.
"Master Bruce."
Bruce sat up straighter, automatically guilty despite committing no misdeed. "Alfred."
None he knew of, anyway. It was Saturday, and while Dick hadn't seemed upset at breakfast, he wasn't quite as chipper as normal. Bruce feigned obliviousness, not entirely sure how to address the situation. Of course, Alfred only needed a few minutes to catch on.
A mug of coffee was set down, placed in front of Bruce with precision. He finished the newspaper and flipped back to the first page to read through it again.
"Master Dick seems subdued this morning."
"Mm. Does he?" Bruce felt, more than saw, the look sent his way.
"You wouldn't happen to know what has him quiet, would you? It's a most unusual occurrence."
Finally admitting defeat, Bruce let the newspaper fall. "He wants to join the cheerleading team. The tryouts are this week."
"An apt activity for the lad." Alfred raised an eyebrow, seemingly daring his employer to disagree.
"No," Bruce said, frustrated. He tried to phrase his discomfort, but the sentences still weren't forming like he wanted them to. It was another one of those days.
"And why would that be?"
"He could get injured." Bruce managed.
Alfred looked amused. "On a middle-school cheerleading team?"
"They do stunts!"
"Master Dick's peers can't possibly toss him to a dangerous height. And an instructor will be present." The butler reasoned.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "I don't trust that coach as far as I can throw them."
"In that case, I don't see why you're worried." A long pause followed, but Alfred made no move to leave, continuing, "Your nighttime activities allow ample opportunity for danger. Compared to those athletics, what makes you think he will be less safe at school?"
"Because I won't be there to catch him." Bruce confessed miserably. Part of him loathed to admit this out loud, but Alfred never seemed scornful when Bruce shared his inner feelings. Instead, the older man offered insightful words and advice. Bruce wondered what he would say to this.
Alfred didn't seem surprised by the admission. "Master Dick performs far more difficult stunts on a daily basis, often alone. I say he will be in less danger with his attention occupied for a few extra hours. Surely the lad's suggested this already."
Bruce was dumbfounded. Alfred's argument was making good sense. Not shocking in and of itself, but Bruce had been certain his own viewpoint was flawless. "No, Dick didn't say anything."
Alfred frowned. "Nothing? That boy is a quick one to argue his cases. Why, just last Monday he was advocating to practice on the chandelier again."
Bruce recalled the conversation with no small sense of alarm. What had the Graysons done to give their son such a deficit in self preservation? He immediately banished the thought, knowing Dick wouldn't appreciate the disrespect directed at his late parents, however half-hearted.
"He didn't elaborate on anything."
At this, Alfred's expression grew patiently resigned. "And I imagine you didn't offer any explanation?"
The silence was answer enough. Was Bruce supposed to have explained something? He racked his brain for something he should have informed Dick of.
"It's his favorite for dinner," Bruce eventually settled on.
"No." Alfred took a deep breath, taking full pity on his employer. "You made it clear that you disapproved of his interest."
"I suppose so." Close enough. Bruce might not have any opinion on the sport itself, only the safety concern. The safety concern that, according to Alfred, was both situational and nonsensical. Dick cartwheeled more than he walked - Bruce hadn't considered the fact that his ward got up to much worse than the occasional flip, every day.
"But you have yet to make clear your concerns regarding it." Alfred adopted the tone he had often taken with child Bruce Wayne, breaking down a complex concept into bite-sized words. "Master Dick may or may not know why you think cheer is a unsuitable activity. That opens the door to confusion, which can lead to false assumptions."
"Dick wouldn't jump to any negative conclusions." Bruce said with absolutely zero confidence. Robin's detective skills were rapidly improving, but still a work in progress. But then again, he had always been excellent at reading Bruce. Despite Bruce's chronic struggle to reciprocate that understanding. First he had overreacted to a trivial situation, then failed to identify his shortcomings without his butler's help. Shocking. The orphan billionaire playboy vigilante isn't good at being a father, Bruce thought morosely. But Dick had no one else.
"I'm just not cut out for parenthood." He realized aloud.
"For heaven's sake, that is not what I meant." Alfred said, exasperated. "Your relationship isn't beyond repair. My point is as follows: it is extremely unlikely that Master Dick will get injured on a cheerleading team, of all things. And the fear that he might try a ridiculous stunt is one you must sadly get accustomed to, or else relinquish your guardianship."
As if. Bruce couldn't imagine a life without Richard Grayson in it. But if Alfred was right, and there wasn't a valid reason to keep his ward out of the sport, then Dick was upset for nothing.
"I should talk to him." Bruce stood up, determined to share his new perspective.
"An admirable idea, sir."
Bruce combed through the countless rooms, going first to the places Dick liked to spend time. Eventually he made it to a remote sitting room, too informal for business guests, yet stiffer than anywhere they spent time. It was not the first place Bruce checked, but apparently he should have.
Someone else would have seen Dick curled up with a book and thought nothing of it, but Bruce knew his child. If Dick cooped himself up inside instead of exploring a bright Saturday morning, then there was a problem.
Dick looked up when he saw his guardian enter the sitting room, closing his book without marking the page. He was reading Harry Potter. "Hi."
"Hi." Bruce paused in the doorway. Dick scooted to one side of the wool sofa to make room, and Bruce took the invitation, settling down near his ward. "What have you been up to?"
Dick shrugged. "Reading."
Peering at the cover, Bruce recognized the third book in the series, first edition and signed. When the manor gained a new occupant, Bruce had ordered the top books for kids Dick's age. Prime copies, of course. They had cost a small fortune. Dick wasn't an avid reader, but he still enjoyed them, and the books were housed in his room rather than in the library. Upon discovering that the main character was an orphan stuck with abusive guardians, Bruce had been horrified, even more so that Harry's parents' killer was involved. Dick had found Bruce's reaction hilarious, not at all distressed by the parallels.
"Is there anything you'd like to do today? The weather looks good." Bruce recalled promising that this weekend could be theirs, whatever they chose to do. He had only needed to arrange a few things at Wayne Enterprises to ensure the free time would be uninterrupted. So far it wasn't turning out as fun as Bruce had sworn it would be.
Dick pulled at a loose string in his blanket, unraveling the edge slightly. Bruce made a mental note to mention the blanket's state to Alfred later.
Shrugging again, Dick stopped playing with the blanket, briefly meeting Bruce's gaze. "Whatever you want to do."
Recalling parenting advice from a stack of mostly unhelpful guides he'd scoured, Bruce loosened his posture. Being physically open was supposed to make him appear emotionally open, but Dick just blinked at him.
"Do you have any homework for the weekend?" Bruce hoped that Dick would miraculously take over the conversational burden. He had gotten comfortably used to that arrangement. Unfortunately, it was looking like Bruce would have to broach the topic himself. He steeled himself.
"There's some math worksheets I have to do if I want to rejoin the math team. They're supposed to be done by Monday."
Or maybe Bruce didn't have to find a segue. He aimed for casual. "I thought you weren't as interested in that. You mentioned cheerleading."
Dick's reaction was immediate. He looked more intently at the floor, pulling the blanket higher under his chin. "Oh. I'm not gonna audition."
"Why not?" Bruce prodded. His interrogating skills were itching to be used, on his ten-year-old ward. Batman was embarrassing sometimes.
Dick looked up, speaking with a sudden vehemence, "You don't have to pretend to be excited. I know it's a fake sport! And it's for girls." His voice dropped to a mumble. "I'll just do the math stuff instead, forget I mentioned it."
Bruce was dumbfounded. He leaned forward, putting only a few inches between them on the sofa. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. Dick needed the truth, and now wasn't the time to blank. "Chum, listen to me. There's nothing wrong with cheerleading." He forged on, despite Dick's attempt to interrupt. "I was only concerned about your safety, which I now realize wasn't a necessary caution for this situation. I don't mind if you join the team, in fact, you should if it interests you."
Dick's blue eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"
"Of course. I only mentioned the math because I thought you liked it. If you'd prefer something else, that's perfectly fine." Bruce had missed the happy smile on Dick's face, as his ward surged across the gap and pressed them together. Bruce's arms fell naturally around the boy, giving him a light squeeze and settling him in his lap.
A thought occurred to him. "Who told you it wasn't a real sport? And only for girls?" When no answer came, he added, "You can tell me."
"Um... Daniel Sanders?"
Bruce filed the name away for later, namely the pointed email he would be sending. He rubbed the heel of his hand into Dick's back, a reward for being truthful. "I'll take care of it."
Far from being reassured, Dick grew alarmed. "Like, at night?"
"No!" Bruce shook his head. Although not a bad idea. "I was going to call the school."
Now, Dick's expression shifted to incredulous. "As Bruce Wayne?"
"Yes. I'm a very important man." Bruce said primly. He tried not to get too offended at Dick's cackle.
They sat together in silence for a little while, before Dick spoke up again.
"Some of them really don't like me, and I don't know what I'm doing wrong." He said, worried expression making a reappearance.
Bruce would much rather have his cheerful ward back, pun fully intended. "Nothing. You're not doing anything wrong. Some people just need things to complain about, even if they hurt others' feelings in the process." The words were flowing now, and he kept going. "You can change everything about yourself, and those people will still find something. The best thing you can do is ignore their comments."
"Easy for you to say." Dick whined. "No one bothers you."
Bruce laughed. "All the time. You should see what they write about me in the papers."
"That can't be true."
"I don't know what to tell you, chum." Bruce pressed a thoughtful kiss to the top of Dick's head. "Of course, you don't have to live with it, if the other kids are picking on you. Tell me who else has been giving you a hard time, and I can help."
"I can handle it." Dick insisted.
Bruce didn't approve of that answer.
"I'll give you a list." Dick relented, recognizing the uncompromising glint in his guardian's eye. "You know, I thought maybe you agreed with them."
"That I don't like you?" Bruce couldn't help the wounded tone. He didn't demonstrate effusive affection, but surely he got his point across?
"No! I know you like me. At least, I'm pretty sure. Like, 95%. 96? 94." Dick guessed. "About cheer. They all seemed so sure... That I just assumed you..."
Bruce noticed his ward was growing more distressed. He tightened his hold, trying not to interrupt.
"...Felt the same way." Dick finished.
"First of all, you can change that number to a hundred percent." Bruce huffed. "And it's not your fault you jumped to conclusions. I should have made myself more clear."
"It's okay." Dick said, snuggling closer. He forgave so easily. Too easily, at times. Bruce couldn't help but hope that the school bullies would not be receiving the same treatment. They deserved a little animosity for purposefully hurting Dick's feelings, he thought with hostility of his own.
"Wait, you were worried about the safety aspect?" Dick teased after a moment. "You do realize I'm not going to be doing quintuple somersaults, right?"
Bruce grunted. "Just be careful. I don't want any injuries, especially one that could be avoided with a healthy dose of common sense."
"Ouch." The acrobat wisely didn't deny it. "And that's if I make the team."
Knowing full well Dick just wanted the extra compliments, Bruce replied, "They'll be begging you to join. If you aren't promoted to captain within the first month, I'll eat this couch."
Dick giggled, readjusting to be able to look into the man's face. "I actually might pick math, though. It was fun last year." He said more seriously, still glowing from the praise.
"Whatever you decide, I'll come cheer at your competitions." Bruce promised, smoothing a rebellious piece of hair out of Dick's eyes.
"You can't cheer for the cheerleaders. That's just not how it works." Dick informed him.
Bruce nodded, feigning remorse. "Ah, my apologies."
The talk had actually gone well! They had each gotten their feelings across, and were both happier for it. There might be hope for himself yet, Bruce thought triumphantly.
"Now, can you think of something to do? Otherwise, I do have a lot of company paperwork to sort..."
Dick made a face. "This is why I make the plans. Or I should, anyway."
"Are you sure?" Bruce pretended. "I find it to be quite therapeutic at times."
"We should play twister, go to the the park, and do cartwheels, not necessarily in that order." Dick decided. Relatively easy demands.
"Sounds like a plan. I suppose I can save the work for later. We've got a full day already." Bruce checked his watch: 11:27. There would be enough time to fit it into the afternoon.
"Then we have to hurry to do it all." Dick squirmed in his guardian's hold.
Chuckling, Bruce released his ward, steeling himself for an exhausting but rewarding day. Before fostering, he had thought nothing could be more physically demanding than his borderline unhealthy training regimen. Now he knew better. An energetic eight-year-old, or in this case ten-year-old, was much tougher. But he couldn't veto anything on the list, he had promised to spend the day doing whatever. And besides, Bruce looking forward to spending a day with his child. The past month had been busy with Wayne Enterprises, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a night off.
"All right, make sure to grab a coat."
Dick wrinkled his nose at the reminder. "It's September, Bruce. At least 75 degrees."
"Colder with windchill." Bruce hunted for his wallet and keys, before rendezvousing with Dick for a quick lunch. Soon they were out the door, and off to the park, just in case the weather decided to ignore the forecast and spoil their plans.
Bruce watched his ward perform death-defying stunts on the local playground equipment, hovering spectating nearby. He wondered if Dick would be satisfied with the basic school choreography. He'd probably launch a campaign to increase the difficulty. Ideally, Dick would avoid any acrobatic parallels with Robin, but that was virtually impossible. At least his background served as a decent cover.
"Hey, you're not looking!"
"I'm looking." Bruce assured, observing Dick's flawless execution of Olympic level feats. Entrusting strangers with Dick's safety was difficult. He would allow them the privilege of catching and spotting his child, but if they failed. Well. It would be better for everyone if Dick's team got it right the first time. It wouldn't be hard for Batman to find out where they lived, or if he was feeling generous, for Bruce Wayne to call his lawyers. Obviously, none of the kids Dick had labeled bullies would be on the team. Bruce would make sure of that. For now, he watched the boy pull himself on the roof of the structure where he wasn't supposed to be, beaming down on his guardian.
Shielding the sun out of his eyes with one hand, Bruce smiled back. Nothing bad was going to happen, on his watch or otherwise.