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Bruce doesn’t actually know if he’s safe to be driving, so he’s focusing on the road and praying he’ll be able to make it up to Richard later. He’s driving, still reeling in shock, and it’s taking every cell in his body that’s not locked in flight or fight after seeing Talia Talia in the last place he expected her, her blood red nails curved possessively around Richard’s arm. Talia, sneering, her hands in his hair, her lips at his ear…Talia, tossing Richard at Bruce like he was garbage , the boy stumbling and curled in on himself, “you didn’t think I would pine after you forever, did you?” , Talia, smiling, Talia, Talia–a nd then, Damian. His son . Talia talks about him and Richard the same way, callous and iron-fisted. He’s mine until I’m done with him. He is mine. I have raised him , but Bruce was hers once and he’ll be damned if he lets Talia walk away with either of these boys.
There’s a numbness tingling in his fingers, and it takes a moment for Bruce to realize it’s from how tight he’s clenching them around the steering wheel. He loosens them deliberately. Takes a breath. Looks at Richard, so still in the seat next to him, eyes blank, shoulders slumped. Bruce can’t read anything but pure exhaustion in the lines on his face, and he wishes, a little, that he had punched Talia in her perfect, sadistic face, back at the police station when he had the chance. He wishes he could give Richard a hug. He wishes he could talk to Damian right this second and tell him everything, but–it’s–he has to hold it together. For Richard, because Richard is very plainly just done. For Damian, who is traumatized and has had the only secure person he’s ever known torn away from him. For Jason and Tim and Barbara and Steph, for all their fury and scorn and the fact that they’re terrified and confused, and when they get back and Steph lets loose with a red hot, “He is never setting foot in this house again,” she looks at Bruce.
And Bruce nods firmly, reassuring, and says, “He is not.” And then he looks straight into Richard’s blue eyes that look so much like his own. “And neither is she,” he says in a low voice.
Richard swallows, tears his gaze away, and Bruce knows, he knows Richard doesn’t believe that, not yet. Not now. But he says it anyway, because he wishes someone had said it to him.
It wasn’t–Bruce got away, and that had always been enough, it had always had to be enough. The thought of testimonies and trials and money passing hands, the headache of trying to prosecute over state lines, of Talia staring him down in court, seeing her address the jury with her suave smile while she recounts every shame that has ever haunted him, made him feel like throwing his guts up. It wasn’t worth it. He wanted to think that she wasn’t worth it, worth his time, worth his money, worth his thought. But it was probably much simpler than that.
And now, Richard and Damian…this is his fault. If he had gone after Talia, if he had won, she wouldn’t have been able to do this to them. He wouldn’t be here, with Alfred next to him, telling him they’ll make this right, and watching Richard break into a million pieces.
Bruce doesn’t wait for her lawyers to contact him. He calls his own lawyers, later that morning.
Talia is used to Bruce telling her no. This time, he’s going to make her actually listen.
Bruce realizes that Richard flinches whenever he says his name. He thinks it might just be him, until he hears Damian call the other boy Dick.
He doesn’t want to set Richard off by asking, so when Damian comes into the kitchen for a cup of water and Bruce is there getting coffee, he says carefully, “You don’t call him Richard?”
Damian glances at him, frowns. “I’ve always called him Dick.”
“Why is that?”
“Richard was for Mother.”
Ah. Of course.
Bruce calls him Dick next time he addresses him, and watches his reaction. Dick responds to the name immediately with a smile, relaxing just that little bit more. It fits him better somehow, anyway.
When Bruce switches over exclusively to calling him Dick, the children take their cue from him. Bruce is glad that Dick doesn’t have to hear the name Richard any more.
Bruce tells Dick that neither he nor Damian have to be more involved than they wish to be, and he means it. This is something he can take the brunt of, that he can shelter them from, this is him doing something he should have done seven years ago. This is his burden, not theirs. They’ll never have to see Talia Al-Ghul again.
Bruce is there every day, pre-trial leading up to the trial. He clenches his fists until the bones in his fingers ache. He clenches his jaw until it physically hurts when he tries to move it again. He clenches his toes, sweaty and straining in their polished shoes. He fights a war, and it’s not just for him anymore; it’s justice for Dick. It’s safety for Damian.
The prosecutor asks a question, and Talia laughs.
When he brings the lawyers home to take the boys’ statements, he handpicks the one who is going to be questioning them. Male. Quiet. Careful. Soft voice. Straight to the point. Non-threatening but not going to dilly-dally about making small talk, either. When Dick comes back from his interview, he holds Damian a tight hug for a few seconds longer than Damian is comfortable with, and when they walk down to the lake, he surreptitiously slips his hand over Damian’s small one. Bruce lets Damian talk about the ducks.
Halfway through the trial, Bruce starts having nightmares again. Sometimes they’re full of Talia, the wisps of her poisonous presence clinging to him from the courtroom like a vicious phantom. Bruce wishes a ghost were all she is, but–she’s flesh and blood, and he is spending three days a week in the same damn room with her. For Dick. For Damian.
Sometimes they’re in his dreams, too.
Damian says, “Father,” in that stiff, shuddering tone.
He needs time; Bruce has to go slow. He understands that. He feels stranded, lost about how to navigate this new relationship, not to mention trying to strike a delicate balance with being present and forming that relationship while not replacing Dick in Damian’s life. He remembers Damian wetting his lips, putting his chin up, requesting that Bruce not “hurt Richard” , and he remembers an overwhelming wave of grief and horror pushing at the wall he’s built behind his eyes. He remembers falling to his knees in front of Damian and gathering the boy’s hands in his own, clasping them with a desperation he was sure Damian didn’t understand. “Oh, Damian.”
He told Damian that he and Dick are both safe here. That their safety is not contingent on anything. He knows Damian didn’t believe him. Not yet.
And then, at some point…he does. It’s the only bright spot as the trial draws to a close (well, that and the fact that they’re winning but Bruce knew they would, and he’s glad, but also he just wants it to be over) , watching Damian relax and blossom in an environment of safety. Dick does too, although Bruce thinks he’s still largely in shock over everything. Dick doesn’t engage very often, but he watches everything. There’s a fondness toward Tim and Jason, a genuine warmth for Alfred, and Bruce sees him laugh– actually laugh –one day when they’re all out at the lake. When Dick does smile, he lights up the room. When he smirks, his eyes sparkle. Bruce hadn’t realized, before, how tense Dick had been, how guarded, but this , this is the real Dick Grayson.
Bruce comes back from a legal reading of the boy’s testimonies one day, barely able to think. He doesn’t think he could stand to have anyone touch him, not even Alfred, so he shuts himself in his office and he goes over to the big window and sets his forehead against the cold glass and he breathes. Tries to let the static on his skin calm.
When he opens his eyes, he sees Dick and Damian out on the side lawn, playing with a ball. Tim is sitting off to the side, laughing, with sunglasses on. Dick wiggles his eyebrows and spins the ball on the tip of his finger. For one minute, Bruce steadies.
And then he hears, I was 18, and I had to earn food , and he starts heaving.
It’s been the longest six weeks of Bruce’s life, but it’s finally over. He doesn’t waste a minute telling Alfred to have Dick meet him in his office, because Dick deserves to know it, too. He’s free. He’s safe . Bruce has made good on his promise.
It’s time to go forward, to help Dick think about a future, maybe for the first time in his life, something beyond survival. Even if that future doesn’t include Bruce. Bruce hopes it does. Bruce doesn’t want Damian to lose Dick, doesn’t think Dick wants to lose Damian, Bruce doesn’t– he doesn’t want to lose Dick.
But he knows that’s a decision for Dick to make. Who is Bruce to him, after all? The one who got him into all this trouble in the first place. The reason Talia was free. The reason Talia even wanted a replacement (Dick looks just like him). The reason Dick was ripped away from his child (because as much as Bruce sees Damian as his , he can acknowledge that he is Dick’s, as well–that he was Dick’s first) and thrown into a prison cell. The one who could, ostensibly, even now, be looked at as taking Damian away from him.
Dick looks nervous when he steps into the room, so Bruce doesn’t waste any words.
“The trial is over,” he says, the words tasting like bitter freedom on his tongue. He’ll want to know that Damian is safe, first. “I have been granted full custody of Damian. You have been granted a restraining order against Talia. Talia has also agreed to a settlement of five million dollars, three million will go into a trust for Damian; the remaining two million are yours.”
Bruce thought it would be best to be direct, but he’s second guessing when Dick’s entire body goes unnaturally still. He blinks at Bruce for what feels like an eternity, saying nothing. When he does say something–
“What?”
And, well. Bruce doesn’t mind saying it as many times as Dick needs to hear it.
Maybe, a little, Bruce needs to hear it, too.
Dicks says, quietly, “I don’t know how to thank you,” his fingers twisting around each other nervously, his eyes lost. Bruce is already trying to formulate his next question, and this stops him dead, because Dick doesn’t–before Bruce ever asks him to stay, Dick needs to know he doesn’t owe Bruce anything. And he doesn’t, he doesn’t owe Bruce. He doesn’t have to thank him. Bruce should thank Dick. He tries to explain, “He is my son… you kept him safe for all those years that I–” Did not. Should have. “--that I could not.”
Bruce sees Dick sit back, accepting, and it’s this moment Bruce has been building toward. “I owe you my thanks,” he admits. “I–I wanted to ask–”
And then, Dick pushes his chair backward. It screeches, interrupting Bruce, who halts the stilted question immediately. Dick stammers and gasps out an excuse about needing to see something from one of the boys, and Bruce can tell he needs some space. Maybe Dick needs to process what he’s already been told, after all, it’s a big change, not only things with Damian, but from being on the run to being…well, a millionaire. Dick is inches away from a panic attack, and that is not how Bruce wants to end the meeting, so he leans back and says gently, knowingly, “Best not to keep the boys waiting.”
And he lets him go.
It feels like the right thing, at the time. Not to push him. Not to force a decision on him right there just because Bruce is aching to tell him. Not to overwhelm him with so much at a time that it pushes his emotional boundaries, when he’s just warmed up to Bruce. Dick spends the next twenty-four hours avoiding Bruce as much as possible, and it still feels like the right decision.
And then, four nights later, it does not.
Bruce leaves Damian’s room on a high. Damian’s already opening up so much more than Bruce expected him to, balancing his nights of reading between Dick and Bruce, and Bruce will take what he can get. Dick seems to be fine with it, always shooting Bruce a smile and a nod and slipping off, probably knowing Damian will end up in his bedroom to cuddle later. Bruce is not unaware that Dick is still Damian’s top comfort person, and Dick can be there for Damian in a way Bruce cannot. He’s thankful for that. Dick knows what Damian has been through, he always knows what to say and how to react.
But Bruce can’t help the way his heart flips when Damian looks at him shyly and says, “I will have you read to me tonight, Father.”
Damian’s favorite stories are animal centered, of course. He’s seemed to take quite a shine to James Herriot, but he has a vindicating love of stories about justice and military strategy and a love of knowledge that makes him curious about so many different things. Damian tells him, at some point, that Dick taught him to read. When they’re done, Bruce ruffles Damian’s hair and pulls the blanket up. “Goodnight, Damian,” he says warmly.
“G’night, Br’c,” Damian yawns, and Bruce leaves the room feeling like something inside him is taking flight and soaring.
But he’s still been having nightmares, and he’s dead tired, so he heads straight to his bedroom. It’s probably indecent how much he’s fantasizing about getting under those silky covers and closing his eyes, but he doesn’t really have time to scold himself about it because as he heaves a sigh and opens the door, there’s–there’s–it’s Dick. It’s Dick, naked except for underwear, posed on the sheets, tension in every line of his body.
“What,” the word stumbles out before Bruce can process what’s happening, and then he thinks, panicked, that any one of the boys could come down this hallway and with Bruce’s door open - Dick wouldn’t want them to see him like this. He pulls the door shut. It clunks into place, louder than Bruce meant it to be, and Dick smiles at him.
It’s the most unnatural, unnerving smile Bruce has ever seen on Dick, and it makes him cold. He doesn’t understand. What–what’s happening? Talia’s laughter echoes in his head.
“I can’t wait any longer,” Dick says. His eyes are traveling up and down Bruce, everywhere but his eyes. Something churns violently in Bruce’s stomach. Bruce is–he is–he is–
He takes a step back, and can feel the door against him, as far away from the apparition on the bed as he can get. The hinges dig into his back, grounding him for just long enough to find his words. “Dick,” he rasps. “Dick, what are you doing?”
“You’ve done so much for me,” Dick’s tone is soft, soothing and suggestive. He sounds–he sounds like her, and Bruce wants to scream. And then Dick rises slowly from the bed and advances on Bruce. “Let me do something for you.”
Bruce can feel himself trying to edge away. He just has to–he can’t freeze , he needs to do something, he has to–Dick just won’t stop coming , he’s closer and closer and Bruce can’t even hear what Dick is saying above the sound of his own heartbeat pumping and thumping. His head is full of static and terror that Dick definitely doesn’t deserve because this is Dick, Dick, not Talia, his maybe-son , a boy . This situation isn’t Dick’s fault, and Bruce needs to get ahold of himself.
“Several somethings?” Dick says, liltingly. His tongue dips out, and he still won’t meet Bruce’s eyes.
Bruce’s vocal chords feel frozen with the rest of him, but he fights against it, managing to choke out a final, “No,” but Dick doesn’t listen.
“Don’t be shy,” and then he’s pressing himself up against Bruce, hip against hip, stomach against stomach. For one lightning moment, there is nothing, nothing but his burning eyes and a blank mind, nothing but the feeling of a memory, drummed into him so deep it becomes a thrumming beat running through his veins, so solidly melted into his very bones, and something aching in his chest, fear fear fear, not even knowing what he was afraid of, stealing his breath like it was never his to have in the first place. Oh, beloved. You were always mine . There’s honey in her voice, he’s gagging on it. And then–Dick jerks his hips forward, and Bruce is in his bedroom, and Dick, Dick– Dick is grinding on him.
“No. Dick. No. I don’t–” Bruce knows his voice is sharp, is cutting, is coming out like broken glass, and he can’t help it. “I don’t want that from you.”
Why what did Bruce do to make him think why would he do this why is Dick doing this to him why
“But I’m so good, Bruce,” Dick murmurs forcefully. He tilts his head, and while Bruce is distracted trying to catch his eye, Bruce feels hands on his belt.
No! I said no. I said no. You’re not supposed to– I said– I said –
“No!” Bruce gasps. He just–the hands–he doesn’t want –Dick isn’t listening– he flings his hands out blindly and pushes , heaving the other person away from him. There’s a thud and Bruce blinks, trying to clear his vision. Dick is on the floor. He looks miserable and confused, and much smaller than he was a minute ago. There’s goosebumps along his arms and is that–why is there a newly healed scar on his stomach?
Bruce’s door crashes open, and a minute later a small body hurls into Bruce, knocking him back against the wall. Damian is screaming. Tiny fists are hitting Bruce over and over, clawing at his chest and upper arms.
“You promised! I hate you I hate you–”
Dick is up, stumbling forward, and for a moment Bruce is afraid he’s coming back, but then Dick grabs at Damian. “Damian, stop–”
But Damian isn’t stopping. Bruce’s head hurts.
And Jason’s voice is at the door. “What the hell?”
Dick spins around, his face turning bright red under Jason’s gaze, and Bruce realizes Jason is seeing Bruce in his bedroom with a young, previously abused and manipulated Dick, who is only wearing his underwear. And in Bruce’s bedroom . What is Jason going to think–
And then Jason is reaching for Damian, snapping “like fuck I don’t,” and in two seconds Dick has Jason up against the wall, pinned by his throat.
“Don’t touch him,” Dick growls.
Jason’s eyes are wide. “I wasn’t gonna!” He pleads. “I was just trying to get him off–B–why–why are you naked– ”
Jason’s voice breaks, and Bruce just–
He closes his eyes.
“Everyone, stop!” He booms.
And everyone does.