Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I don’t need a new dad,” Dick whispers, huge eyes shiny with tears. 

“That’s alright,” Bruce says back, his voice just as soft. “I would never try and replace your parents. I just want to look out for you, if that’s alright with you?”

Dick hesitates, chewing his lower lip and staring at the floor. He’s so small, with a little button nose and lingering baby fat on rosy cheeks. Bruce has obviously seen children before, but it always hits him hard, threatens to barrel him over, when Dick looks up at him. He’s tiny, so small and fragile and breakable—he needs someone to look out for him, to keep him safe. Someone who understands.

Finally, Dick nods, looking up at Bruce and offering him a small, watery smile. 

Bruce’s heart cracks in his chest just a little bit at the sight of it and then immediately begins to sew itself back together because Bruce could never do that when he was in Dick’s shoes, back when he was a tiny new orphan himself.

This is good then, maybe. This could be right. 

“What exactly am I looking at here?”

Bruce doesn’t startle, because he’s Batman and that would be ridiculous, but he is a little… confused as to why Selina Kyle is in his backyard at ten o’clock at night. He glances up to see her standing over him, arms folded across her chest and a smirk on her face.

That smirk doesn’t usually make him feel quite so… ridiculous. 

He is suddenly very aware of the fact that he is wearing Batman-themed pajama pants, whereas Selina looks as suave and stylish as always. 

“Uh…”

“Bruuuuce!” A tiny head pokes out of the tent a few feet away, mussing up his hair up along the way. Dick blows his bangs out of his eyes just to have them fall back down again. He scowls up at them for a split second before turning his attention back on Bruce.  “What’re you—Oh.” He apparently catches sight of Selina, because suddenly he’s scurrying out of the tent and over to her, Superman pajamas now on full display. Dick smiles shyly up at her, shifting back and forth on balls of his feet. “Hi! I’m Dick.”

Selina’s teasing smirk melts into something soft and genuine—further evidence to support Bruce’s hypothesis that Dick Grayson has some sort of superpower that makes him so endearing. Alfred claims that he’s ridiculous, that Dick is just genuinely friendly and naturally charming, but Bruce hasn’t closed his investigation yet. Even if the first three tests for the meta-gene came back negative, there’s still got to be something fishy going on.

“Hello, Dick. My name’s Selina. I’m a… friend… of Brucie’s.” She jerks her thumb at Bruce and Dick giggles at the nickname. “Nice pjs.”

Selina shoots a quick smirk at Bruce as she says it, but Dick answers her in earnest. “Thanks! They’re super soft. B hates them, but that’s just because he’s jealous of Superman. Probably because Superman has better hair, and can probably microwave soup without blowing up the kitchen.”

(That is not why. Superman is too idealistic and frankly naive, and he’s always trying to butt into Batman’s business. Plus, the look on Dick’s face when he flew with him last weekend didn’t exactly help. Nor do the pajamas. They had Batman ones too, for crying out loud! And it’s not like Dick doesn’t know…)

“Bruce Wayne, you can’t even microwave soup? I think it’s high time to give Alfred a raise.”

“This is a dangerous combination,” Bruce grouses as Dick cackles, high and delighted. Normally Bruce loves it when Dick laughs (It’s become one of his favorite sounds, embarrassingly enough. He’s gone way too sappy way too fast.), but not when that laughter is directed at him instead of with him. “You two should not be allowed to meet.”

“Oh yeah?” Selina grins wide and dangerous like a shark. “You any good at teasing the old man, Dick?”

“He just makes it so easy,” Dick says between his giggles. 

Bruce grunts in protest, and for a split second Dick looks almost scared that maybe he’s overstepped. It squeezes Bruce’s heart painfully, but Selina quickly swoops in to fix Bruce’s mistake. 

“He really does. Maybe if he wasn’t such a stick in the mud…”

Dick’s grin returns full force. “Hey, he’s fun. Sometimes.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep. We play legos together and basketball and he gives really good piggyback rides. Plus it’s really cool being able to go camping, even if we are just in the backyard. Oh, and he reads me a story every night.” Dick leans in closer, prompting Selina to follow his lead, cupping a hand around his mouth and whispering conspiratorially. “If I’m having a bad day, he’ll even do the silly voices.”

“Okay!” Bruce interrupts. “That’s enough of that.”

“Aw, c’mon B. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

He absolutely does. Of all people for Dick to ruin his reputation to… At this point he might as well just plop Dick in front of the entire JLA and let him spew all of Batman’s secrets. He’d say throw in the Joker too, but the idea of that psychopath getting within five miles of the kid makes him sick to his stomach.

“Yeah, B…” Selina teases. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

He opens his mouth to retort before Dick interrupts, yawning loudly, and Bruce remembers exactly what he was doing before Selina crashed their backyard camping night. He glances at the storybook he’d been sent to fetch, still sitting next to the remains of their s’mores supplies.

“Bedtime, kiddo,” Bruce says. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

Dick pouts for a second, but any hope he had for arguing against going to bed is abruptly cut off by yet another yawn, this one somehow louder than the first. “Fine. G’night, Selina. It was really nice to meet you.”

“Goodnight, Dick,” Selina says with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you again soon, alright?”

Dick nods excitedly. “Yes please.”

“Alright, Dick,” Bruce says, rolling his eyes. “In your sleeping bag. You and Selina can scheme at a later date.”

“Promise?”

Bruce sighs. “I promise.”

“Awesome,” Dick says, drowsy voice finally starting to match the drooping eyelids and sideways listing that had prompted Bruce to call bedtime in the first place. 

Bruce passes him the storybook before gently taking his shoulders and steering him into the tent. Dick makes his way over to his sleeping bag, stumbling just slightly—a sign that he’s actually much more tired than he’s letting on, and only the prospect of meeting a new person, especially one that Bruce is supposedly friends with, was really keeping him on his feet. It’ll be impressive if he makes it through even one bedtime story. 

“Better hurry up, B,” Dick mumbles around yet another yawn. “Or else I’ll demand the voices.”

“Alright, alright. It’ll be just a minute.”

“Mhm,” Dick hums sleepily. Bruce’s fingers itch to ruffle his hair, but he doesn’t, instead backing out of the tent and stepping out to speak with Selina. He’ll have to keep this brief. 

“So,” Selina says, “what exactly is going on here?”

Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dick really wanted to go camping. He’s been begging for weeks so we compromised.”

“You compromised… by going camping?”

“By going camping in the backyard, ” he corrects, before Selina can get it in her head that Dick has Bruce wrapped around his finger or something. It’s not like that. Not at all. 

Dick had wanted the full camping experience, but Bruce is adamantly against using the bathroom in the woods whenever he can avoid it.

“Awww,” Selina coos.

“What?” he snaps.

“Just, you’re a good dad. It’s cute.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I’m not his dad.”

“No?”

“No. He’s a good kid, and I’m happy to be helping him out, but that’s all it is. I just couldn’t leave him in that horrible place.”

One of Selina’s perfectly-sculpted brows shoots up into her hairline. “What place?”

Bruce scowls, rage curdling in his stomach at the mere thought of the Detention Center. He has the sudden urge to go back out on the streets and punch some goons’ faces in. “A juvenile detention hall." He's careful to lower his voice so Dick can't hear. The last thing he wants is to remind Dick of what was a horrible and traumatic experience. "They threw an innocent eight-year-old who’d just lost his entire world in with sixteen- and seventeen-year-old criminals.”

Her face darkens immediately, reflecting Bruce’s own savage fury. “How could they do that? It doesn’t take more than a brief conversation to see that he’s a total sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well Gotham’s social services are a racist, classist shitshow, so. No big surprise there.”

“You’d better be doing something about it, Bruce.” There’s a fire in her voice that startles him a little, but it matches the feeling in his chest, and it just burns brighter with this new solidarity.

He nods. “I am. But it’s a long process, and I wasn’t about to let Dick suffer during that time. Especially not when I… because I knew what he was going through. Except I didn’t, exactly, because I had a house and Alfred at the very least. He had nothing. I couldn’t just leave him there alone.”

“Good. Whatever this is,” she waves her hand at Bruce and the tent, “it’s good. You’re doing something right, Bruce. I’m… I’m actually impressed.”

“Mm.”

“Well,” she says, sliding up close to him, finger trailing along his shoulder and dipping down toward his collarbone, (and Bruce is glad that she’s keeping things PG for once because Dick is right there ) “I did come to see you, but I can see that you have more important things to attend to, so I’ll leave you be. But don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little promise—I absolutely plan on enlisting that boy in my plan to make your life exceedingly difficult.”

“Please don’t turn him against me.” He says it as a joke, but really he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

She pats his cheek lightly before stepping away, and he has to fight the instinct to follow. “Mm, no promises. I’ll see you later, Brucie.”

(Bruce feels a certain kinship with Commissioner Gordon as Selina slips away into the night, disappearing almost as quickly as she’d first appeared. Batman must be incredibly frustrating to work with.

Meh. He doesn’t feel all that bad about it, at least not enough to stop. It’s fun. )

Shaking thoughts of Selina from his head, Bruce turns back to the tent, stalking over to it in just a few short strides before hunching over to clamber in. Rather than finding him curled up under his blankets, Dick is sitting up on top of Bruce’s sleeping bag, the book in his lap and his chin in his hand. His eyes droop closed before he jolts himself awake again. The moment he catches sight of Bruce, he sits up straight, grinning.

“Hiya, B. Did Selina leave?”

“She did. That is not your sleeping bag.” Dick’s is smaller, and decorated with cartoon elephants, whereas Bruce’s is a more traditional camping bedroll. Dick had made fun of him mercilessly for being a 'boring old party pooper.'

“No, sorry. But I wanted to make sure I didn’t fall asleep before you came back. At least this way you’d have to wake me up to move me and we could say goodnight.” Dick's smile is small and shy and it does something in Bruce's chest to think about the idea that Dick didn't want to fall asleep without seeing Bruce one more time.

“Hm. I suppose I can forgive that.” He settles in next to Dick, who immediately leans over to rest his head on Bruce’s shoulder, maybe without even realizing it. “You still up for a story or are you officially ready for bed?”

“Story please.”

“You got it. Wanna lay down in your sleeping bag?”

Dick shakes his head, still firmly planted against Bruce’s side. “Comfy.”

“C’mon, Dickie…”

“Please? I won’t fall asleep, I swear, and I’ll get in my own bag as soon as the story’s over… Please?”

Clark has kryptonite, but Bruce has big blue puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t stand a chance. 

“Fine. But just one story, and then you’re moving. Deal?”

“Deal,” Dick cheers softly. He hands Bruce the book before snuggling even closer into Bruce’s side. It’s a cool night out, and Dick is small and young, so Bruce reaches over to grab the spare quilt Alfred had left them, draping it over the boy’s shoulders to stave off any potential shivers. Dick sighs contentedly as Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Less than a year ago, this much purely affectionate physical contact would have left Bruce’s nerves fried. But Dick has changed all that, at least as far as the kid himself is concerned. Dick didn’t force it on him, but it was obvious from the start that the boy craved physical affection beyond the occasional shoulder squeeze or hair ruffle, and it didn’t actually take that long for it to become almost natural for Bruce to scoop the kid up and hold him in his arms, to catch him in a flying leap when he greeting Bruce upon coming home from work, to tuck Dick’s head under his chin and rub soothing circles on his back after a particularly nasty nightmare. Dick is teaching him all the different ways to hug, and he’s finding that it isn’t actually a terribly difficult topic to study.

Dick’s breathing turns heavy and slow before they even make it through the forth page. Bruce sets the book aside before slipping an arm under Dick’s knees and shifting him over into his own sleeping bag, zipping it up around him and brushing a few stray hairs out of his eyes.

“Thanks, Bruce,” Dick breathes, caught somewhere between asleep and awake. “This was really fun. I like camping.”

“Of course, chum,” Bruce whispers back, and finds that he means it. There’s not a lot he wouldn’t do to make this kid smile.

Chapter Text

Bruce likes to believe that the Justice League is ready for pretty much anything. After all, he’s put contingency plan after contingency plan in place, drilled scenario after scenario into their thick skulls.

They might not be prepared for this though…

Bruce understands the sentimentality behind Robin’s costume, he really does, and it’s admirable that Dick is carrying his parents’ memory in a much brighter way than Bruce himself does, but could he not have added some pants?

Dick is very adamant though that the pants limit his movement, and after running the math over and over, Bruce had somewhat reluctantly agreed. They could forgo pants. For now. (They will be revisiting the issue at a later date, especially as it gets colder. It’s already on his schedule.)

The JLA is not ready for a little traffic-light-colored pantsless ball of energy, much less said pantsless ball of energy crashing their evil robot battle. 

This is so not how he planned on introducing Robin to the League.

Clark and Diana have already met Dick, and they know about Robin, but that’s it. To the others, Batman’s partner is a rumor at best. 

At least, he was until the world’s smallest vigilante somersaulted over Green Arrow’s head to land on one of the robots. Robin quickly and efficiently plants a small explosive on the robot’s back before flipping away. He lands back in front of Green Arrow a safe distance away as the thing explodes, but Superman still swoops down to shield them both with his cape.

“Robin!” 

“Oh, hey Supes! You didn’t need to do that. We would’a been fine. I am a professional, you know.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Arrow splutters. “Who the hell are you?”

“Language, Arrow,” Bruce growls before he can stop himself. 

Robin whirls around at the sound of Batman’s voice. “B! Did you see my spinning back kick earlier? I totally kicked that robot’s butt! Its ro- butt. ” Robin grins up at him, bouncing from foot to foot and hopping around Bruce, clearly having completely forgotten that he is not supposed to be here.

“I thought you were supposed to go to a friend’s house after school. What are you doing here?” he growls, and Dick finally goes still. He only looks properly contrite for a split second before he pulls an uno reverse on Bruce. 

“And I thought you were supposed to let me know before you went out.” 

Dick is glaring at him behind his mask, hands on his hips as he raises his chin and stares unflinchingly up at Batman. Bruce should have known better than to think this was something Dick would let slide. As smart and capable as his partner is, he’s still a traumatized child, one who now knows that the adult figures in his life can be taken away from him without warning. Especially if said adult figure is a non-metahuman vigilante. 

Oh. He feels suddenly chastised, despite the weight of the cowl on his head that usually helps him beat down unnecessary and distracting emotions. Even in the suit, Dick can get to him like no one else. 

“How’d you even know I was here, Robin?”

Dick shrugs. “My friend’s dad turned on the TV. I saw you guys.”

“And so you thought you’d what? Use emergency codes to get into the Watchtower and then zeta to Metropolis to help the Justice League fight killer robots?”

Without even seeing under his mask, Bruce just knows the kid is rolling his eyes. “Oh please. They weren’t anything. A knockoff of a knockoff of Luthor’s robot from last year.”

“And so you thought the League couldn’t handle that without your help?”

Robin stomps his foot. “That’s not the point! We’re partners, B, you said so.”

“Partners, huh? You gonna introduce us, Batman?” Bruce pauses in his argument, embarrassed at having somehow forgotten that the rest of the League was gathering around. Of course Batman arguing with a child would gather an audience. It was Jordan who asked, but Flash is standing next to him open-mouthed and staring. 

Bruce sighs heavily. So they’re doing this here and now. Not exactly his preferred method of introducing Robin to the rest of the League.

“I’m Robin,” Dick says proudly, stepping to face the League with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. “Hi, Kal! Di!” he calls softly, waving at Superman and Wonder Woman.

“You know the anklebiter?” Jordan asks. Clark just shrugs, while Diana actually waves back.

“I’m Batman’s partner!”

“You’re like six-years-old!”

Dick glares. “I’m ten and three months!”

Green Arrow snorts. “Just a tip, kid, adding the three months part does not make you seem older.”

“Robin, that’s enough,” Bruce cuts in, before it can devolve further. “Time to go.”

Dick tilts his head back to look up at him, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Do you at least think I kicked ro-butt today?”

Bruce sighs and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Robin. You did very well. But if you ever do something like this again, I’ll bench you until you can legally vote.”

Dick perks up with the praise, as he often does. “You got it, B! Reading you loud and clear!”

“What is happening here?!” Jordan interrupts.

Bruce glares, putting the full-force of Batman behind him. Jordan shrinks back slightly, but holds relatively steady, his bewilderment over Robin’s very existence overpowering his fear of Batman’s wrath. 

“None of your concern,” he grunts. “I trust you have the rest of this handled?” He glances at the mess of disabled and destroyed robots scattered around the block. Robin was right about one thing; the League did not need to be called in for this. Rarely was a battle with killer robots as close to a walk in the park as this one. “Robin, we’re leaving. Now. ”

Robin sighs, his pout overdramatic and ridiculous. “Alright, alright. Bye, Justice League! See you later!”

Batman steers him away, although not before catching sight of Flash waving back to Robin despite still looking as if he’s not quite sure whether he’s dreaming or not.

They don’t quite manage to wait for Batman and Robin to get out of earshot before they start talking about them. Really, he shouldn’t be overly surprised. For being a team of some of the world’s best superheroes, the League are awful gossips.

“Wait, so Batman is like… a dad?” he hears Green Arrow ask.

“And not a half bad one, it seems.” Diana says. Bruce can hear the pleased smirk in her voice. He ushers Dick away before he can latch onto the conversation. If Dick really gets involved in a conversation with the League, they’ll never get home. Dick can probably chat even Flash’s ears off.

“I think we might be in an alternate universe,” he hears Jordan say.

“I’ll run some tests,” Flash agrees, sounding numb. “Just to be sure.”

“Good idea.”

Bruce pushes Robin toward the zeta tube.

“You’re grounded,” Bruce says, pulling down his cowl as Robin starts the process of peeling off his mask. The kid has been bouncy and excited ever since the fight, like he’s hopped up on both caffeine and sugar, although it’s more likely adrenaline and enthusiasm. Even for a hyperactive ten-year-old, Dick often seems to be brimming with more energy than he can contain. The words “You’re grounded,” though, are more than enough for him to turn a complete one-eighty.

“But you said I did good.”

“ Good means staying where you’re supposed to be. Which was supposed to be at your friend Caleb’s house. I’m disappointed in you, Robin.”

“Yeah, well I’m disappointed in you! You promised, B.”

“I’m sorry I upset you, but you can’t just chase after me. It’s reckless and dangerous. This was a League mission. You are ten years old!”

“But I’m not a normal kid, B. I can help!” he whines. “Plus the mission wasn’t really even dangerous. It was way below your pay grade.”

“Be that as it may, the next mission might be more dangerous. This was an exception, not the standard.” He sighs. “Dick, you’re a good partner. A great partner. But you can’t just invite yourself on League missions. You could be a distraction, not just for myself, but for the others as well. Half of them had no clue who you were, and you startled Arrow so much he forgot to actually take a shot.”

“Well he didn’t need to take the shot because I had that robot handled!”

“And Clark flew down to cover you, even though he didn’t need to. You being there distracted him.”

Dick wilts, gaze drifting to stare at the floor instead of up at Bruce. “You don’t think I’m good enough.”

Bruce sighs heavily. “That’s not what I said,” he half-growls, frustration coating his words. How is Dick actually managing to make Bruce feel guilty for Robin sneaking out? “Robin. Hey.” When Dick continues his refusal to look at him, he crouches down in front of him, setting his hands on his Robin’s shoulders. “You are an excellent fighter, and you’re a real hero. One day, when you’re older, you’ll join the League. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day you were leading the League.”

Dick starts, wide eyes snapping to Bruce. He looks simultaneously awed and… scared? Intimidated? He can’t quite tell, but either way, Bruce wants to wipe it away.  “B…”

“But that’s still a long way off. When I’m old and you’ve given me gray hair.” That at least earns a small giggle from the kid. “Yes, you’re a hero, Dick, but for now you’re also a child. And you’re my responsibility. I would be a horrible guardian if I let you spend all your time heroing. Keep training, keep fighting, keep being you, and one day you’ll get there.”

“You really think so?”

“I know it for a fact, kiddo.”

Dick smiles. “Thanks, B. I’ll make you proud, I swear.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He stands, keeping one sturdy hand on Dick’s shoulder as he guides him up out of the cave. “You’re still grounded though.”

“Aw, c’mon B! No fair.”

Chapter Text

Apparently something Bruce is supposed to do as a “good role model” for the young child living in his house is like actually have meaningful friendships? He wishes Alfred would get off his back about it, because Dick seems to be doing just fine in that particular department even with Bruce being a self-prescribed loner. If anything, Bruce ought to be taking lessons from Dick—how he wound up with such an extraverted child is completely beyond him.

But being a good guardian for an impressionable child means changing some of his… worse habits to try and do better by Dick. Alfred loves to use Dick as an excuse to make Bruce do things like get more than two hours of sleep at night or not spend all day every day at the office or drink milk. Ew.

Or inviting Clark over for dinner at least once a month.

It still seems frivolous to Bruce—there are other, better ways to show Dick the importance of having trustworthy teammates that can watch your back than having Superman over for meals where they can’t even talk about cape and mask business. (Alfred’s rules: no hero talk at the dinner table.) But he does it, over and over and over, and for some reason it makes Dick really happy. Even happier than the few times Robin has gotten to team up with Superman on the field. 

Dick isn’t overly trustful of adults. It’s not overly surprising, given that immediately following his parents murder, the responsible adults who were supposed to take care of him ripped him away from the circus and stranded him in the detention center where the only grown ups he had contact with were either neglectful or downright cruel. He’s gotten a lot better in the couple years since coming to live with Bruce, but the effects are still lingering.

Other than Bruce, Clark is the only other person that Dick will not hesitate to slam into with his signature running hug-tackle. Dick trusts him, and it’s important for him to have more trustworthy adults in his corner than just Bruce, so Bruce swallows down any jealousy he feels when they’re together. 

It’s hard, though. They get along so well. Makes sense, given they’re the two most sun-shiny people Bruce knows. They chatter on too fast for Bruce to really follow and their conversation is endless. Bruce loves spending time with Dick, but the conversation between them doesn’t ever seem to flow as easy as it does between Dick and Clark. Granted, it’s mostly Dick babbling about all the things he’s done in the past month that Clark missed out on, but still. Clark always knows the right questions to ask, the right times to nod and reactions to give. 

But Clark is Bruce's… friend, and he wants Dick to be happy, so Bruce sits back and lets them do their thing. 

Today he’s decided to  let Clark and Dick do said thing while he finishes up some last-minute work. If he gets this done now, then he and Dick can spend the whole day together tomorrow.

Still, Dick likes when they’re all together, so he follows Bruce into his study, dragging Clark along behind him. The two of them settle in on his carpet, Clark looking slightly ridiculous as he sits criss cross applesauce next to where Dick has flopped down on his stomach. He shoots Bruce an awkward smile, and Bruce rolls his eyes back. It's not exactly easy to say no to Dick, and yeah it's a little weird for Superman to sit on his floor while he works, but 'a little weird' is just a drop in the bucket compared to some of the stuff Bruce has seen in the past few years so.

They’re quiet, speaking only occasionally in hushed whispers so Bruce can easily tune them out. It’s very considerate of them, and Bruce gets to work, leaving them be.

Eventually, Bruce’s curiosity gets the better of him, so he sets down the stack of reports and leans over to try and see around Clark’s broad shoulders. He expects them to be coloring or playing with legos, but instead Clark is frowning down at a pile of colorful string, trying to untangle a clump of strands.

“What are you guys up to?” he asks.

“We’re making friendship bracelets,” Dick says matter-of-factly. 

“Oh,” Bruce says. He hadn't known they even had the supplies for those. “Is it fun?”

“Uh huh.” Dick kicks his feet absently, still focused on weaving and tying the threads. He chose blue and white strings, and Bruce knows instantly that the craft he’s working on is for Clark. “Don’t worry,” Dick says, “I’m not using Superman colors. That would be too obvious. And Clark isn’t using Robin colors, right Clark?”

“Right.” Clark chose green and yellow, which might be a little close to Robin’s colors in Bruce’s opinion, but at least he left out the signature red. He finally manages to separate the threads and gets back to work. “No giving away secret identities here.”

“Well… carry on then.” 

Dick shoots him a quick grin before turning back to his task. It apparently takes the utmost concentration, because Dick making his concentration face, the one where his eyebrows get all scrunched up and his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth.

After several more minutes of working in silence, Bruce glances at his watch. 6:22. Just about time for dinner, and Alfred is a stickler for punctuality. 

“Hey, kiddo, better wrap it up. We need to head on down for dinner.”

Dick nods, gaze still locked on his work as he ties up the finishing know on Clark’s friendship bracelet. “Done!” He passes the bracelet to Clark who takes it gently. 

“Thank you, Dick. It looks great. Much better than mine.” 

Dick waves him off, and the two of them tie the bracelets around each other’s wrists. It’s silly and sweet and suddenly Bruce feels like an outsider in his own office. 

It’s not like they mean anything, really. It’s just Dick’s latest craft phase, one he’ll get tired of quickly. Dick likes to try different craft projects, but they never last long with his attention span.

“Come on, Dickie.” Bruce walks over and scoops Dick up off the floor, letting him get his feet under himself to stand. 

Dick giggles, wiggling free from Bruce’s grasp. “Alright, alright. Wouldn’t want to upset Alfie.”

Dick stops Bruce in the doorway, letting Clark go ahead and turning to look up at Bruce, surprisingly timid. He’s chewing on his lip, a bad habit that Alfred and Bruce have had very little luck in getting him to quit. “I made one for you too, B. A friendship bracelet.”

“You did?” he asks, genuinely surprised. How had he missed Dick working on a second bracelet?

Dick nods, holding it out. It’s much more colorful than anyone would expect from Batman, brighter than anything Bruce has in his closet. “Yours was going to be black,” Dick explains, “but I didn’t have any black string. So I made yours purple and yellow. Is that okay?” Dick blinks up at him owlishly, blue eyes wide and vulnerable and genuine.

“Of course it’s okay. I love it. Thank you, Dick.”

Dick beams and hurries to tie it around Bruce’s wrist. It looks absolutely ridiculous next to his thousand-dollar cufflinks. Bruce is never taking it off.

“Don’t tell Clark or Wally,” Dick says softly, “but you’re my best friend.”

His breath catches in his throat, lodging itself as an uncomfortable lump that he has to fight to swallow down. “Well then, you can’t tell Clark either, but you’re my best friend too.”

Dick laughs and quickly wraps himself around Bruce’s middle. Bruce hugs him back even tighter, unable to let go. At least, until Dick whines and reminds him that Clark and Alfred are surely waiting on them.

“Thanks for having me, Bruce,” Clark says as he tugs on his coat hours later. Bruce walks him to the door because Alfred at least drilled a few basic manners into his head.

Bruce shrugs somewhat awkwardly. “Well, Dick really likes when you visit.”

Clark smiles at him, gentle and irritating because he’s gotten way too comfortable reading between Bruce’s lines. His callousness never seems to work quite right on the Boy Scout anymore. It’s really very annoying.

“You’re good for him. You’re a good dad, Bruce.”

Bruce barely suppresses his flinch as the air suddenly turns cold and stale. Everything about this day had been going so well. That's all it took, just five little words to send Bruce's unusually light mood plummeting.

“I’m not his dad.” It comes out defensive and angry, as close to a Batman-growl as he really gets out of costume and it startles Clark who clearly was not expecting a negative reaction.

Clark stares at him, fond smile melting away into an exasperated glare. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Bruce—”

“Don’t…” he warns.

“You obviously see him as your son. It’s plain as day! Don’t forget, Bruce, I can hear your heartbeat. I know exactly how you feel when that kid is hurt or scared. Hell, I can hear how proud you are. How happy. I have never seen you smile like this, before Dick. I barely saw you smile ever. And you’re different around him—”

“ Stop ,” Bruce snaps. His throat is tight, and it’s only pure vitriol that manages to cut through the lump. Clark goes silent, cowed somewhat by his anger, but still frowning harshly.

"No, Bruce. Listen to me. You—"

“Look, I… I know, ” he chokes out. Why do his eyes feel so hot? He stares down at the friendship bracelet now adorning his wrist. It doesn’t help. Instead, the knots in his stomach twist even tighter. “I know he’s my son." His confession, something he's never said out loud before, comes out as a whisper, so soft that Clark probably wouldn't be able to hear it without his Kryptonian hearing. "I never meant for it to happen, but it did. I—I care about him, I…I love him like he’s my son.”

“Then—”

“He doesn’t want me!” The words burst out and they feel like they tear a gaping hole in his chest as they do. “He doesn’t want me to be his dad. So I can’t. I won’t do that to him.”

It isn’t fair to him. Dick deserves so much better.  

'You're my best  friend,' echoes over and over in his head. At first he'd been so proud, so delighted that Dick would feel so close to him. Now it serves as a reminder that he is not Dick's dad.

“Bruce…” Clark has no right to look heartbroken, he has no idea what it’s like. Bruce has fought this off for seventeen years, refused to let anyone in, because the sharp pain of loss is something he refuses to experience ever again. And now here he is—living it every day. All he can do is try and reverse it, try to not think of Dick as his son anymore. It’s proving to be a Herculean task. 

'I don't need a new dad.'

He grits his teeth hard enough that it hurts. “Just stop.”

“I… I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He just nods, done talking for the night. All his energy and adrenaline from patrol is gone, leaving him exhausted down to his bones. There’s a weird sense of loneliness crushing down on him, so cold and heavy that he barely even notices when Clark leaves with one last muted “Sorry.”

'You're my best friend.'

Bruce worked so hard to build up walls around his heart after his parents. No one was supposed to be able to get in; even Alfred was often held at arm’s length. Somehow, seemingly without even trying, Dick slipped through the cracks Bruce didn’t know existed. 

He loves him. Dick is his son.

'I don't need a new dad.'

But he isn’t Dick’s father. He’s Dick’s mentor, his partner, his guardian. His friend. He’s not his dad, and Dick doesn’t want him to be. And it’s selfish, to feel this way without Dick’s permission, for it to hurt so much that Dick doesn’t think of him that way.

It took him a long time to learn how to care about someone again. How is he supposed to just... stop?

Chapter Text

From Galavanting Partyboy to Great Dad: How Bruce Wayne Turned it All Around!

Bruce stares at the headline, and it takes a good deal of his training to keep his hands from shaking. It’s not like the other headlines, it should be so much better. It is so much better, the flutter of butterflies in his stomach whisper. The swell of happiness makes him feel guilty. Dick doesn’t want this.

There’s a pitter patter of socked feet down the hall and a distant call of “Don’t run indoors, Master Dick!” so Bruce hastily shoves the magazine into the nearest drawer. Why do they even get this stupid tabloid? He’ll have to talk to Alfred about it. There’s no sense in ordering something just to have to hide it away every week. 

At least it’s nicer than some of the headlines, makes Bruce feel a weird mix of hollow sadness and pride that he can’t quite tamp down, rather than boiling rage and the need to sue one or more newspapers. The first time he and Dick wound up on the front page, they were calling Dick his latest charity stunt. Dick hadn’t actually said anything, but Bruce could tell the words bothered him, and he was 99% sure that some of the kids at Dick’s school were saying the exact same thing, not to mention the literal adults with absolutely no tact or brain cells that would hurl snooty, belittling comments at a still-grieving nine-year-old. Bruce had done everything he could to try and prove to Dick that those headlines were unfounded, but there was only so much he could do when everyone else was constantly telling the kid that Bruce would get tired of him one day. 

They’d caught him attending Dick’s school carnival, Dick’s tiny hand in his as Bruce attempted to win him a stuffed giraffe in some ridiculous game that had been clearly rigged by the two PTO moms running it, and claimed that it was all for publicity. He’d taken Dick to the park once, on an unusually warm day in March, and pictures of Dick swinging on the monkey bars and scaling trees circulated the very next day, speculating how tired Bruce must be, how exhausting it must be for him to have to put up with Dick’s “circus freak antics.” It makes Bruce sick, even though he knows it’s partially his own fault. He created this whole ditsy playboy persona, and yeah it’s necessary to keep both his and Dick’s secret identities safe, but he really, really wishes that it didn’t make the environment so toxic for Dick.

The newest picture is of Bruce, in the middle of a conversation with some potential new investors, Dick slumped in his arms with his head resting on his shoulder, out like a light. Even in the slightly grainy picture, Dick looks almost angelic in his sleep, and even younger than his ten years. His cheek is squished against the fabric of Bruce’s suit, a reminder that he still has lingering baby fat, and his hair has flopped out of where it had been carefully styled earlier that evening, mussed by hours of hair ruffling and Bruce’s own fingers carding through his loose curls. 

They’d been up late the night before, Dick going through an unusually bad bout of nightmares and Bruce sitting up with him when he was too scared to try and close his eyes again. The result had been a sleepy and yawning Dick tugging on his sleeve around 9:30 the next evening, before they even rolled out the dessert carts—which Dick always begs to stay for. Bruce had promised that they’d leave soon, even though the gala was nowhere close to wrapping up, and immediately scooped him into his arms when Dick leaned against his side, eyelids drooping. They’d left less than twenty minutes later, Bruce secretly thankful for the excuse to depart early. 

And he can tell that Alfred wants to cut out the photo, stick it on the refrigerator or get it framed for Bruce’s desk. There’s some ridiculous part of Bruce that wants that too. 

Oh yeah. That’s why they still get this particular publication. They’re the same ones who printed that picture of Dick, nine years old at the time, sitting on his shoulders, ice cream sticking to the corner of his mouth, gesturing wildly with his mint chocolate chip monstrosity of a cone and barely avoiding dumping it into Bruce’s hair. (They also speculated in the same article that Dick was actually Bruce’s secret lovechild from his years spent abroad, but at least the photo was cute.)

“B!” a voice calls, Bruce’s favorite voice in the whole world. “I’m home!”

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, shoving the magazine into a random drawer just in time for Dick to come skipping around the corner. If Dick notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead bouncing over to Bruce on the tips of his toes, beaming smile on his face. “Did you have a good day at school? Oof. ”

Seventy pounds of excitable acrobat barrel into his stomach, arms wrapping around his middle, not quite long enough to reach all the way around. He gently cups the back of Dick’s head in response, slipping his fingers through baby-soft curls.

“Uh huh!” Dick pulls his head away, leaning back enough to grip up at Bruce, who can’t help but smile back. He’s ridiculously adorable, and that smile is incredibly infectious. Bruce had no idea he could still be susceptible to tiny children’s adoring smiles until Dick came tumbling into his life. “My teacher said she really liked my short story! You know, the one I told you about? With the elephants?”

“Of course. That’s wonderful, Dick.”

“She told me I should submit it for the short story contest! What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea. I can’t wait to read it.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but Dick’s smile grows even wider at his words, and the boy finally pulls away completely. “It’s in my backpack. Hang on, I’ll go get it. Don’t go anywhere!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Bruce smiles, watching Dick tear off through the Manor halls at speeds that should surely earn him a lecture from Alfred, his socked feet pitter-pattering audibly against the marble floors. 

Three years ago, Bruce didn’t know it was even possible to love a person this much. He’d carefully and methodically locked himself up for years, pouring everything he could into being Batman and trying to save Gotham. Dick had wrecked all of that, had wormed his way into Bruce’s heart before he could even realize what was happening. Having Dick to take care of—soothing nightmares and talking with teachers and learning how to dole out hugs and playing with Legos—healed something in him that he didn’t know could still be fixed.

He’s not Dick’s dad. He’s not. But that’s okay. It’s hard not to still feel lucky when Dick climbs into his lap, proudly and excitedly showing off his schoolwork, the occasional boney elbow jabbing into Bruce's stomach as he gestures wildly. And when he reads Dick’s story in his funniest voice just to hear that bubbling laughter, it’s hard not to feel so happy that he thinks his heart just might burst.

The magazine sits in the drawer, hidden away as Bruce shoves it and its ridiculous headline to the furthest corner of his mind and packages it away. For now, he holds his kid, and does his best to just be happy. It's enough. It has to be.

Chapter Text

Batman wakes up confused and aching all over. His arms are chained above his head, pulling painfully on his shoulders as he focuses on getting his feet back under him and assessing his situation. He’s in some sort of basement, dark and dirty and gray, with rust stains and a single flickering light.

It’s then that he spots Robin, across the room and hanging in similar form. He’s too small for the chains, toes several inches off the ground. It’s got to be hell on his shoulders and wrists, but at the moment that’s much less pressing than the fact that Robin’s head is hanging low and blood is dripping down from his hairline. Something cold and painful twists in Bruce’s stomach.

“Robin,” he calls, hoping to rouse the boy.

Dick groans low in his throat and his head twitches slightly, taking several long moments to finally raise from where his chin rests on his chest.

“Status report,” he orders.

“Ugh. Ow.” Dick shakes his head as if to clear it, then holds still and rigid when it presumably makes his head spin. He almost certainly has a concussion. Bruce grimaces. “Head hurts.” He swings slightly in his chains, wincing when it tugs at his wrists and shoulders. “Other than that, I think I’m okay. You alright, B?”

“I’m fine, Robin. Just bruises.” His ribs ache from the shot that knocked him off his feet, but his armor had protected him from the majority of the blow. Dick searches him for a moment, then nods when he determines that Bruce isn’t lying to him or hiding any major injuries. 

“Where are we?”

“Not sure,” he admits. “More than likely this is one of Boyd’s hideouts.” Marcus Boyd is an illegal arms dealer, specializing in alien technology. Batman and Robin have been tracking him for weeks, but they’d been ambushed on their most recent stakeout. Bruce still doesn’t know the origin of the gun one of Boyd’s men had used to take him down, but it’s looking like they might have to get the League involved. Clearly the operation is bigger than Bruce had anticipated, and if it extends beyond Gotham then he’ll definitely have Superman knocking on his door. Great.

Speak of the devil. The door on the far side of the basement swings open with a thud and in walks Boyd himself, a proud and smug smirk on his face as he takes in his two captives. Batman keeps his face carefully blank and watches Robin do the same out of the corner of his eye. 

“How are we feeling this evening, boys?” Boyd asks, grin widening. “Have a nice nap?”

Bruce glares. Normally he would remain silent, get on Boyd’s nerves, force him to snap first, but he has Robin with him tonight, and it’s far more important that Batman keeps Boyd’s attention on himself and off of Robin. “What’s your game here, Boyd?”

He shrugs. “There’s a few things I’d like to know, and I think you probably have the answers I want.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to try. No one’s ever gotten anywhere.”

“I know. But I get the feeling I can crack you.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow under the cowl, distinctly unimpressed. “Oh?”

Boyd paces the room slowly, circling like a shark. “Word on the street is, you’re a pretty good dad, Batman. That’s why this is going to be so easy for me. I know a good dad like you would do anything for your kid. Anything.” 

To Bruce’s absolute horror, he steps over to Robin, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the cuffs around his wrists. Robin drops the last few inches to the cement floor, but he recovers quickly, much to Bruce’s immense pride, immediately launching himself into action, just the way Batman taught him.

He gets several solid hits in before Boyd’s men rush to his aid. Robin struggles, thrashing and bucking, feet flailing, but as talented and well-trained as he is, he’s no match for four grown men.

Boyd spits blood on the floor, straightening up to face Robin again. His back is to Batman, and Bruce wishes desperately that he would turn his attention away from Robin. His internal pleas are ignored as Boyd steps up to Robin, grabbing his chin tightly. Dick makes a small pained noise and tries to pull his face away, but Boyd just squeezes tighter, his fingers surely bruising now. 

Bruce snarls, low and angry. “Get your hands off of him.”

He’s ignored, not even spared a single glance. “I’m very sorry for what’s about to happen, little Robin,” Boyd croons. “But I have to do this. You understand, right?”

“Go to hell,” Robin snaps at him, trying to jerk free, and Bruce is torn between worrying that it’s a bad sign that his eleven-year-old is using that language and being so incredibly proud of how brave he’s being. 

Boyd laughs. “I see why you like him so much, Batman. You got a good kid here.”

“Take your hands off of him right now,” Bruce growls. He’s met with more laughter and a whine from Robin as the man’s grip tightens even further. 

With a snap of Boyd’s fingers, two other men step into view, carrying a trough between them, water sloshing over the sides. The cold horror in Bruce’s stomach instantly worsens. 

“Don’t,” he says, watching as they set the tub of water down on the floor, way too close to Robin. Dick clearly agrees with sentiment, because he starts to struggle harder. For a second, it looks like he might actually get away, and he gets in a flawless well-placed kick that sends one of the goons to his knees, but then there’s an ear-splitting crack as Boyd backhands him across the face, sending his head snapping to the side. 

“Hey!” Bruce bellows, tugging on his chains. They barely budge.

One of the men takes advantage of his sudden daze to drive a heavy fist into Robin’s gut, sending him doubling over. From there, it’s easy for them to force him to his knees. They crack against the cement as he struggles against Boyd holding him down, hands scrabbling at the edge of the trough to try and stay upright. 

The growl tears its way out of Batman’s throat. “He is a child. Let him be. Your issue is with me.”

“That’s true. However, you got him involved in this. Don’t worry, though.” He glances over at Batman, grin sharp and distinctly shark-like. “All I need is a few little answers and your boy won’t have a problem walking out of here.”

A large hand tightens around the back of Robin’s neck, holding him still once again as he pants and whines. Bruce can’t see his eyes through the Robin mask, but Bruce just knows. He’s making that face, the same one Bruce knows from months of nightmares and screaming. 

Dick is scared. Dick is the bravest kid in the world but right now he is terrified. It’s completely unacceptable.

They shove his head forward under the water, and Bruce sees red.

Dick’s struggles redouble, pushing back against the hands holding him down. His movements are frantic and irrational, made out of pure panic and fear. They wait until Dick’s thrashing slows and grows so weak that he’s barely moving anymore before they finally pull him up—all while ignoring the way Bruce rages, hurling every threat imaginable their way. 

Dick coughs and splutters and gasps, sucking in frantic breaths of precious air. He’s still bent over the tub of water and barely seems to have the energy to lift his head enough to seek out Bruce, mouth moving silently. Water rolls down his face along with the blood that had been matted in his hair. It’s so much scarier than it has any right to be.

“It’s okay, Robin,” Bruce whispers, not believing his own words. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll get you out of here—” 

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before they’re shoving Dick’s head back under the water.

“So, let’s start with the location of the Justice League’s headquarters,” Boyd says, voice so disgustingly casual, as if he’s making small talk rather than holding a struggling child’s head underwater. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Bruce snarls.

Boyd shakes his head, tutting in disappointment. “Guess you don’t really care about the kid as much as they say you do. That’s too bad.”

“Let him up!” Bruce can’t tear his eyes away from where Dick is once again slowing to a stand-still. He’s been tortured several times, but nothing is worse than this. If Boyd miscalculates, if he waits too long… 

“All you have to do is tell me the location, then little Robin can take a break. Just a location. What’s worth more to you, Bats? Your kid or some random building somewhere? Honestly, it shouldn’t be that difficult of a decision for you.”

Bruce redoubles his efforts, pulling on the cuffs and chain with all the strength he possesses, vision tunneling to blur out everything that isn’t his kid. It’s like when those mothers in the news speak of a surge of adrenaline allowing them to lift a car to save their child. Suddenly, the bolts holding the chains in the ceiling come loose and Bruce’s arms are dropping to his sides. 

He doesn’t spare a single moment before leaping into action. It’s incredibly satisfying to drive his fist into Boyd’s stupid face. He drops like a rag doll, and Bruce really wants nothing more than to just lay into him. In his haze of anger, he wants to feel bones breaking, to see Boyd wear that same look of terror that he put on Dick’s face.

But then he hears the sound of someone coughing their lungs out and it’s like the spell is broken. Bruce stumbles over multiple unconscious goons and drops to one knee beside Dick. He’s clutching at the edge of the trough with shaking arms, barely able to keep his face out of the water as he hacks and gasps.

Bruce scoops him up, sitting back and away from the water, rubbing gentle circles on Dick’s back as he strains to catch his breath. 

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, lips pressed to the side of Dick’s sopping hair. “You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

Dick nods. He’s thankfully stopped coughing, but he’s breathing heavy, and he’s slumped against the armor on Bruce’s chest bonelessly. 

“You’re safe now.”

This is all Bruce’s fault. He should have been more careful about letting it slip how much he cares for Robin. He should have predicted that it would eventually be used against him. He had hoped that maybe no one would stoop so low as to hurt a child, but he should have known better. This is Gotham, after all. He should have known.

I’m so sorry, he thinks, pulling Dick closer into his arms before rising to his feet.

“Home?” Dick breathes, voice barely there. Bruce feels more than a little bit sick.

“Yeah, kiddo. Home.” He can call in someone else to take care of this. All he wants to do now is get Dick somewhere safe and warm. 

God, Dickie, I’m so sorry.

Chapter Text

Bruce tucks Dick into bed, settling into the chair beside him and getting ready for a long night. Alfred decreed Dick perfectly healthy and uninjured other than a mild concussion and a few bruises, but Bruce still wants to monitor him. There’s a chance Dick could have breathed in some water, and if that’s the case then they need to be on the lookout for dry drowning. 

Besides, it makes him feel a lot better to see Dick safe and breathing and close by. He probably would have had a hard time sleeping tonight anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, brushing the hair back from Dick’s forehead. It’s still damp, clinging to Dick’s face and Bruce’s fingers, but thankfully from the warm shower Dick had been ushered into rather than the tub of cold, dirty water. He’s safe, Bruce reminds himself. He’s okay now, you can calm down. He’s fine. He’s going to be fine.

“It’s not your fault,” Dick replies. He smiles weakly up at Bruce, looking utterly exhausted. 

It is, Bruce wants to say, but he knows better than to get into this argument with Dick right now. He grunts instead, looking away.

Dick apparently gets the message anyway. “It’s not,” he stresses. “And… and we can train harder, so it doesn’t happen again. So next time I can get away on my own.”

He looks so sad, so desperate; it breaks Bruce’s heart for the second time tonight. “Oh, sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault either. You did everything you could. You fought so hard. You were so brave.”

He means every word. He’s never not proud of his Robin, and tonight was no exception. It was Bruce that failed, even if Dick won’t blame him. He should, but at the end of the day, Dick is just too good for that, too earnest and forgiving, more than Bruce deserves.

Dick blushes. “Thanks, B.”

“Of course, chum,” Bruce says, tucking a stray curl behind Dick’s ear just to see the adorable way he wrinkles his nose when it tickles just slightly. 

“You know,” Dick mumbles sleepily as Bruce pulls his blankets up around his shoulders, “he was right about one thing.”

Bruce frowns, racking his brain to try and remember everything Boyd had said, but he comes up blank. Really the only thing he can remember from tonight is Dick's terrified face, which will likely be seared in his brain for a long while. “What’s that, chum?”

“You really are a pretty good dad. A great one, actually.”

Instantly, Bruce freezes, brain stuttering to a halt. His heart is pounding in his chest—one of these days Dick is definitely going to give him a heart attack.

He realizes that he still hasn’t moved or said a single word when Dick shifts in his bed, sitting up slightly. “Is that—” He bites his lip, gaze avoiding Bruce’s. “Is that okay? That I think of you like that?”

Bruce is on his feet in an instant, tugging Dick into his arms tightly. “ Of course that’s okay. Dick, I’m—I’m honored for you to think of me as your father.” He hesitates, hand stilling from where it had been carding through the damp hair at the back of Dick’s head. “You know that I would never try to replace your parents though.”

“I know,” Dick mumbles. He turns his head so he can peer up at Bruce, cheek still squished adorably against his chest. “I can have two dads though, right? Like how you have Alfred?”

“Of course. It’s just…” I didn’t think you’d want that. I'm not them. I could never be them.  “Of course, chum.”

“Okay.” Dick settles back in and Bruce sits down on the bed beside him, keeping Dick loosely encircled in his arms as they get more comfortable. He listens to the sound of Dick’s slow breathing, relishing in the beat of his son’s— his son! —heart thumping against his chest before dropping a kiss to the top of Dick’s head. This is his kid and Bruce wants him to know without a shadow of a doubt that he is safe and cared for.

Dick’s hands twitch in his lap, fiddling with the edge of the blankets as he chews his lower lip. Before Bruce can open his mouth to ask what’s wrong with him, Dick sucks in a single nervous breath, steels himself for something, and blurts out in a rush, “I love you, B.” 

Bruce’s throat constricts, his chest tight, heart threatening to burst straight out of his skin. He doesn’t remember saying those words. He knows he must have, at some point, back before his parents were killed, but he can’t remember a specific time when he told his parents he loved him. And he’s never said it to Alfred. At least, not in words. He’s always felt it, hoped the man knew it, could see it in his actions.

It’s not the same. He realizes that in this instant. Hearing it said aloud… He needs to make some changes. Alfred deserves to hear those words. He deserves to know for sure.

And so does Dick.

“I love you too, chum. More than anything.”

Dick sighs contentedly, bonelessly snuggled against Bruce’s side. His knees poke slightly against Bruce’s thigh but Bruce doesn’t care. He never wants this moment to end, knobby knees and all. 

“I couldn’t ask for a better son,” he whispers. He’s lucky. He’s so, so lucky, and once again that’s not something he’s ever thought to apply to himself, but right here and right now, despite everything, it’s true. 

Dick beams up at him and it’s everything Bruce didn’t even know he wanted until right now. Despite everything that happened earlier tonight, he doesn’t think he’s ever been as happy as he is in this moment. It’s drowning everything else out, how much he loves his son.

“Thanks for saving me,” Dick mumbles, his smile turning into a yawn halfway through.

“Always. ” Bruce says, leaning over to press a kiss to Dick’s forehead. The kid giggles slightly, cheeks rosy. “There will never be a time that I won’t do everything in my power to keep you safe. Never, ever doubt that.”

Dick nods, settling back against his pillow and turning his head to rest comfortable against Bruce's chest. “Right back at you, B. We can look out for each other. Forever and ever.”

“Forever and ever,” Bruce agrees, warmth in his chest and a smile he can’t stop blooming on his face. "Goodnight, son."