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In the weeks following the deaths of Martha and Thomas Wayne, Bruce had barely spoken a word.
Sure, he gave his statement to the police and the reporters and the CPS workers, but the words felt empty, like he was describing the events of a tv show he once saw.
Aside from when he had to speak, he was quiet.
The mansion felt cavernous and empty without the sounds of Martha and Thomas filling it.
Alfred wasn’t new to loss or grief, his time in the military had shown him plenty, but those were men. Men who had agreed to fight and accepted the risks that came with it.
Bruce was only a boy, and Alfred wished he could do more to help him, but he felt almost paralyzed by indecision.
What could he really do? It’s not like he could bring them back.
So, he did the best with what he had. He kept Bruce fed and clean and he’d talk to him for hours, even when Bruce wouldn’t respond back.
All Alfred felt he could do was to give him space and be patient. Eventually, Bruce would open up to him and maybe then they could really begin to help him cope with everything.
The night it happened began like any other.
Alfred picked up Bruce from school and asked him how his day was. He was met, unsurprisingly with silence and a vague shrug.
When they got back home, Alfred offered to help him with his homework, but Bruce just shook his head and hid inside of his bedroom.
He was never disobedient, though. When Alfred called him down for dinner time, Bruce came, ate everything on his plate, and even mumbled a small ‘thank you’ before locking himself away again.
Alfred considered pushing more. Maybe Bruce needed someone to force him to let it all out? Or maybe that would only work to scare the boy and ruin whatever trust they had between them.
Children are complicated creatures. On one hand, they’re far more resilient and capable than people assume- Bruce is proof that. On the other, they’re also incredibly delicate and malleable. The words you say to them will affect them far past their childhood.
Well, it was late. Alfred could continue his anxious pondering in the morning.
At least, that’s what he thought.
It was well past midnight, though, when he heard the rustling.
Alfred had always been a light sleeper, a trait that was only exacerbated by the paranoia of something happening to Bruce.
He got up immediately and began going through his mental list of locks.
Doors? Yes.
Windows? Yes.
Upstairs and downstairs? Yes.
He sighed. Perhaps he was just hearing things.
Before he could relax, however, he heard a voice.
That propelled him out of his room and down the hallway.
He walked carefully to Bruce’s bedroom door, keeping an ear out for any more sounds of movement.
“Mm- no. I’m sorry.” The noise was coming from behind the door.
Bruce.
Alfred rushed in, ready to face whatever imbecile decided breaking into Wayne Manor was a good idea.
But, Bruce was the only one in the room.
He was still laying in his bed, with his eyes tightly shut. His face was wound in a grimace and his forehead had a layer of sweat shining on it. He looked like he was in pain.
“Mom, please.” Bruce shook his head, twisting against the sheets.
Oh, my dear boy.
Alfred leaned down and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Master Bruce, please wake up.”
Bruce’s eyes shot open and he heaved in a few breaths as his eyes adjusted to the darkness around them.
“Wh- Alfred?”
“You were having a nightmare, sir. And from the sounds of it- quite a terrible one. You were talking in your sleep. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, yes. I’m fine. I’m sorry to wake you.”
“Never apologize for that. I am here day and night, whenever you need me.”
Bruce sniffled. “Thanks.”
It did not skip Alfred’s notice that that was the most Bruce had spoken directly to him in some time.
“Is- do you need anything? I could perhaps make you some tea to soothe you.”
“No, I’m okay.”
“Would you like to discuss it? I know for many it helps to process it if you say it out loud.”
Bruce shrugged. “Was just my parents. Thinking about it all. Again.”
“Master Bruce, I am-”
“Please don’t say you’re sorry, I’m sick of people saying that.” Bruce pulled his knees toward his chest and laid his head on them.
Alfred felt completely out of his depth.
“Mom doesn’t even like movies, but she knew I wanted to go. I-If I had never been born then they would still be here.” Bruce’s voice cracked at the end.
Alfred sat on the bed next to Bruce, who was now hiding his face in his arms. “Have I ever told you about the time your mother found out she was pregnant with you?”
“Mmmno.” His voice was small.
“Your father was out on a business meeting so it was only me and her at the house. I was washing the dishes when I saw her come running out of the upstairs bathroom holding something in her hand. My first thought was that something had broken and I’d have to call a plumber, but then she shouted: ‘Alfred, tell me if I’m crazy. What do you see?’ And I saw she was holding a pregnancy test and on it were two little lines. I told her as such, and Bruce the way she lit up - I had never seen her that happy before in my life.”
Bruce had peeked his eyes back out and was staring at Alfred intently.
“When she told your father, he nearly tackled her to the floor in the huge, sweeping hug he gave her. Would you like to know the only other time I saw your mother so joyful?”
Bruce nodded.
“That was the day that you were born.” Alfred put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You were everything to them. I can say, with absolute certainty, that even if your parents knew exactly how their lives would end up, with you in it, they would not have changed a thing.”
Bruce rubbed his hand against his face and took a few shaky breaths.
Alfred smiled softly. “Do you think you can get back to sleep? Or would you like me to stay?”
“No, I’ll be fine." His big blue eyes were tinted red but he was looking right at Alfred. "Thanks Alfred.”
“Anytime, Master Bruce.”
________________________________________
Bruce was far too young to be taking care of a child, especially given his nighttime activities.
But what was he supposed to do? Leave the kid to be taken into the foster system?
He was so scared and alone, and Bruce knew exactly what that felt like, but at least he had had Alfred. Dick had nobody.
So, going against all of his training, he threw himself headfirst into a situation that he knew nothing about.
He felt like the blind leading the blind.
The first few days were rough. Dick seemed to swing randomly between depressed and volatile.
Under the grief and the anger, though, Bruce could see the bright young boy still inside of Dick, and he didn’t want him to lose that spark forever.
He wanted to spend more time with the kid too, but Bruce’s free time was almost always occupied by some disaster or another.
Most nights, Bruce didn't see Dick at all from the moment he left as Batman, to the next morning.
That night, though, was different.
After a run-in with Poison Ivy, there was nothing that Bruce wanted more than to get out of his costume, take a long shower, and sleep.
Dick was already long asleep by the time he got home, so when he walked past his bedroom door, he made sure to be extra quiet.
Soon afterwards, Bruce laid down on his wonderfully soft bed and prepared to squeeze in as many hours of sleep as possible before his Wayne Tech meeting in the morning.
It didn’t take long for him to wind down and he could feel himself drifting away- when the door to his bedroom suddenly creaked open.
He sat up with a start- expecting to see Ivy there (did she somehow follow him back? How? He’s always so careful).
Instead, he saw the silhouette of a young boy, holding a small elephant plush.
“I- Dick? What are you doing up?” Dick was standing there, still in his pajamas and his dark hair was mussed (probably) from his pillow.
Dick shuffled awkwardly in place, his shoulders were tense and practically up to his ears as he stared down at the hardwood floor.
“I umm… I had a nightmare.”
“Oh. Okay?” Bruce probably should have responded better, but he was still half asleep.
“Umm… is it-” Dick took a breath to steady himself. “CouldIsleepwithyoutonight? ”
He blurted it out fast, like he was ripping a band aid off.
Right. Kids want comfort after their nightmares, that’s normal.
Bruce sighed. “Yeah, you can sleep here.”
Dick perked up. “Really?”
Bruce nodded and he pulled the blanket to the side.
The bed was plenty big to fit the two of them and Bruce scooted over to the side so Dick could climb on.
Dick got comfortable under the covers and hugged his plushie against his chest.
Bruce wasn't thrilled when he felt his first instinct was to pull away and not mention anything. It was like every bone in his body wanted Dick to suddenly feel better so he didn't have to deal with his big, messy emotions.
But that wasn't fair to Dick. It wasn't his fault that he got stuck with Bruce as a guardian.
So, Bruce pushed against his instincts. He turned to his side so he was facing Dick and gestured to his elephant. “What’s his name?”
Dick pet the elephant. “Zitka. And she’s a girl.”
“Ah. My mistake.”
“Just like the real Zitka.”
“There was a real one?”
“Yeah, at the circus, you saw her, remember?”
Now that he thought about it, the performance did have an elephant act in it.
Most of Bruce’s memories of that night were overpowered by its horrifying end.
“Yes, I remember.”
“My mom and dad would let me ride her allllll the time. She was big and kinda smelly, but I still miss her.”
Bruce opened his mouth to say- something? He wasn’t sure what. Soothing people was never something he was particularly skilled at.
If Dick wanted someone to disarm a bomb or defeat a dozen henchmen without breaking a sweat- well that Bruce could do.
Unfortunately, those skills seemed wildly unhelpful in the moment.
“Do you think they’ll come back?” Dick was pressing his face into the plushie, so his words came out slightly muffled.
“Who?”
“The bad men. Do you think they’ll come back to get me? Or you?”
Shit.
Bruce tried to pour as much confidence as possible into his words. “Absolutely not. They would have no reason to come after you. And while I appreciate your concern, Dick, I can look after myself. I promise.”
“You don’t know that for sure though.”
“You’re safe here. This place has the best security system in all of Gotham- maybe even the country. It would be easier to break into the White House than it would this building.”
Dick softly laughed at that.
“What I mean is- nothing is going to happen. To you, or me.”
“You pinky promise?” Dick held out his right pinky.
Bruce smiled. “Promise.” They locked pinkies and that seemed enough for Dick.
“Thanks, Bruce.”
“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Dick.”
“G’night.”
________________________________________
Dick tossed and turned in his bed, but it was impossible to find an angle that didn’t make his arm ache.
He’d broken it the week before, during a particularly rowdy run-in with Bane and now he was firmly on bed rest duty.
Funny enough, he was getting very little actual rest during said ‘bed rest’.
After god-knows how long of laying around, too miserable to properly fall asleep, Dick conceded defeat and got up.
He always had a tendency to go for late-night snacks and that night he just needed some kind of distraction from his arm. So, he headed downstairs to the kitchen.
He opened the pantry and found… nothing. He was really hoping for some Doritos. Or ramen? Spicy ramen sounded great . Unfortunately, Dick’s love of junk food was not shared by the rest of the Wayne family so what he was left with was plain cereal or… sunflower seeds.
You’d think a billionaire could afford some Poptarts.
He sighed, but still poured himself a bowl of cereal with milk from the fridge and sat on one of the stools by the kitchen island to eat in silence.
“Does father know you're raiding his home for snacks?”
“Jesus- ” Dick turned to see Damian standing right behind him, arms crossed and looking just as mildly uninterested as always. “B has gotta put a bell on you. And for your information- this is just as much my house as yours so I can take what I want.” Dick pointedly swallowed another spoonful of cereal.
“Hmph.”
Dick frowned in confusion. “Wait, what are you doing out here? Don’t kids have a bedtime of like 8 o’clock?”
Damian scowled. “Do not patronize me, Grayson, I do not have a bedtime. I rest myself whenever I see fit.”
“Okay, cool, didn’t answer my question.”
“I am thirsty is all, I came down here for a glass of water.” There was something under his voice, though. He sounded unsure and his body language felt anxious. He was fidgeting more than usual and shifting his weight between his legs.
“Right…”
Damian cleared his throat and went ahead and grabbed a cup from one of the drawers and poured himself some water.
He took a drink, but he didn’t leave.
He looked like he was stalling. But for what?
“So… you got your water.”
“Yes.”
“Should probably be going back to sleep, no?”
“I will go to sleep when I so choose.”
Dick could put two and two together.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
“That’s- no. Warriors do not have nightmares, those are reserved for small children and those with weak minds.”
Damian could insist that he was a warrior or an assassin or a weapon molded into perfection- but Dick would always see him for what he really was: a ten year old child.
“Sure. Do you wanna talk about it?”
Damian looked offended at even the suggestion. “There is nothing to discuss.”
He's embarrassed.
Dick wasn't surprised, though. It seemed like any displays of emotion that weren't 'vengeful fury' were illegal in Damian's world.
Dick shrugged. “Okay. Cus, I used to get nightmares all the time when I was younger. Still do, but not as often.”
That got his attention. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. There were some classics, of course, like reliving my parents death over and over again in slow motion. Sometimes I’d have a nightmare that Bruce and this place was actually all in my head and that I’d wake up one day alone on the streets of Gotham. I had quite a few revolving around Bruce dying too. Sometimes he’d be on the tightrope, with my parents, sometimes we’d be out as Batman and Robin and I’d make a mistake that got him killed. That’s trauma for you.”
A few long moments passed as Damian wrestled with something in his head.
Finally, he spoke. “I thought I was back with the League. I am not sure why, but in my dream I knew that father had left me there. I knew that I had pushed his patience too far, and he no longer wanted me.”
Dick felt like his heart was being strangled. “Dames you know he would never do that, right?”
Damian didn’t respond. He glared down at the floor.
Dick wasn’t going to let it go. “I’m serious. Listen, I was a menace when I was a kid. Do you have any idea how many chandeliers I broke? I was even worse when I got older. I remember one time, we got into some stupid argument and I said quote, “I hope the Joker feeds you to piranhas, you selfish, egotistical bastard.”
Damian’s jaw dropped. “Father would never allow anyone to speak to him like that.”
“Well I'm not just 'anyone', am I?" That got the slightest smirk out of Damian. "What I’m saying is that Bruce has put up with a lot. I mean, you’ve met Jason. If none of us have managed to piss him off enough to get kicked out, I doubt you’ll be the first.”
“Do you really think that?”
“Yes! Even if you do disobey and make him mad, he would never give you back to the League, not after all they’ve done.”
Damian didn’t respond, but he had stopped fidgeting.
These conversations are far better had in real daylight hours.
They were both wide awake at that point, and Dick knew the answer to his question, but he thought he’d still ask. “You don’t wanna try going back to sleep?”
Damian shook his head.
“Alright, come on.” Dick hopped off of his stool and headed to the living room, with Damian following close behind.
Dick gestured to the large couch. “Sit.”
“Why?”
“Because if we’re gonna be awake, might as well not spend our night wallowing in misery.” Dick opened one of the ottomans off to the side and pulled out a large, soft blanket.
Dick plopped down onto the couch and grabbed the tv remote to start looking for something to watch.
Damian eyed him suspiciously at first, like this was somehow a trick, before sitting down next to Dick.
Dick gasped. “Oh my god they’ve got Ratatouille on here.”
“What? ”
“The movie? Have you never seen it?” Damian shook his head. “We are changing that right now.” Dick hit play but made sure to lower the volume so they didn’t disturb anyone else.
Dick got comfortable as the Disney intro played and first scenes of the animated movie began to play out on their tv.
Damian huffed. “This movie is about a rat who likes to cook…”
Dick rolled his eyes. “This masterpiece is about how with enough determination and passion, anyone can reach their dreams, regardless of how others might doubt them.”
“But he’s also a rat.”
“Yes, now hush.”
The movie was a little more than halfway over when Dick felt a weight on his shoulder. He turned to the left to see Damian, now asleep, with his head on his shoulder.
He winced when he realized that Damian was laying against his bad arm, but the kid needed his rest. He considered readjusting, but he knew that Damian was a light sleeper and he certainly wouldn’t fall back asleep a second time.
Dick accepted his fate. He could put up with the aching, as long as Damian could sleep peacefully.