Robin grabbed his old knife belt from its secret hiding place in an old cranny of the cave, and slung it over his shoulders. It felt… natural, as if the blades were a part of him. Normal.
It felt perverse, because of all of the things he had done with those blades before he had come into Batman's care. It had been a few years since then, but, then again some old habits died hard. Even if he didn't exactly want them to.
It had been a while since he had played with knives. And despite the circumstances of when he had last truly played with them, he missed it.
"Master Richard, are you absolutely sure you wish to do this?"
Robin turned towards the wall, and nodded, staring at the targets studded on it. He had been here many times, sometimes to practice non-lethal throws with Bat-a-Rangs, and sometimes to secretly practice lethal throws on his own. But he could never tell Batman that.
"I'm sure, Alfred. Even with what they did to me… because of what they did. I can't stop doing this, even if Bruce wants me to give this up. And despite what he says, I have to face this part of me sometimes, right?" he said.
He smiled disparagingly.
"I can't avoid who I really am forever, Alfred. You know that."
Alfred nodded, prim and proper as ever, but Robin could see the weariness coming off of him in waves.
"As you wish, sir."
Robin pulled out a knife from its sheath and held it in a ready position. It came as naturally to the small teen as breathing, or doing flips and aerial tricks. It was something that had been drilled into him over years and years of training, however unwanted it was. But it was a part of him, even if he didn't want to be.
And damn, did it feel relieving, doing this in front of someone. Being his real self, without being judged.
"I'm ready, Alfred."
Alfred started the tennis ball machine, and Robin sprung into action.
Robin was definitely going to be grounded.
He knew he should have paid more attention to Bruce's erratic schedule - he wouldn't have guessed that his meeting would have adjourned early that day, and that he would have been caught in the act of throwing knives at tennis balls.
He was under direct orders from Batman never to touch his knives. But those orders had been countermanded long ago, when he had first touched them. The court needed their weapon to have full access to them, after all, or he'd be basically useless. Batman couldn't do anything about it.
Oh god. I'm screwed...
He heard the soft footsteps before they had even approached his door.
Robin jumped up, fists ready. Just because he didn't need to sleep anymore didn't mean he couldn't sulk in his bed like any other normal teenager. Or, let him be unprepared when springing up from his prone position on it. It helped that Bruce hadn't yet found his secret stash of sharp objects.
Yet.
That didn't mean Robin wasn't going to not have a knife at the ready when he might need one.
"Dick?"
Oh, it's just Bruce.
Robin sighed and sat down on his bed, putting the old, currently unused switchblade he had nabbed from a thug on patrol a while ago in its proper hiding place. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Bruce's patronizing comments about his stunt earlier that day.
I thought Alfred said it was good to rebel sometimes, because it could make me more normal. Even if direct orders are hard to ignore. Gotta thank the court for that, too
B's attitude is seriously saying the opposite of what Alfred said right now...
He stood up, and opened the door.
"What do you want, B?"
"We need to talk. About what happened earlier today."
Dick nodded absently.
"Okay," he said softly. Better get this over with. "Okay. Come on in."
"Dick, I know what you did today."
Dick rolled his eyes and sat back down on his bed.
"I know you know, B, I didn't exactly do the best job hiding it."
Bruce leaned against the doorframe.
"You know that you've been forbidden to touch your knives ever since the incident with Alfred."
Dick shuddered. He had been so small back then, just having been removed from the court's direct influence and barely remembering his own name. But that didn't stop him from lashing out at Alfred accidentally.
"Alfred said it was okay. He even helped me set up the tennis ball machine!"
Bruce grunted in acknowledgment.
Dick sighed. He loved Bruce, but the man could be as obstinate as a rock sometimes!
"Bruce… this is a part of me. Whether me or you like it or not. I know I follow your orders now, since you've given me the choice to, but I'm still what they made me. I can't just shut that out."
"I know."
"Sure you do."
"I do. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try to be more... normal sometimes. Or that lethal action is alright in our line of work-"
"Don't you see, Bruce? I'm not normal. And I'll never be. Can't you just live with that?"
"I try to."
"No you don't!"
Bruce was silent.
"You're too busy trying to make me another you to see that I'm my own person, aren't you? Huh?"
Bruce took a deep breath.
"No, chum. I'm trying to make sure you don't end up like me."
Robin had always enjoyed sitting on the roof.
It had always been a place of refuge for the young man, as this was the first place he had felt truly safe in after everything with the court - the place where he had remembered how to truly fly, how to stare at the stars with childish wonder. The place where he could hide silently and just think, without interruptions and distractions.
His little place of solace.
And that was where Bruce found him, once again.
"Looking at the stars?"
Dick whirled around, fists ready by his face, somehow startled at his appearance.
Bruce stilled. As long as he had known the boy, Dick had never gotten startled at the sound of his near-silent footsteps.
He must be seriously distracted to not hear me approach...
"Sorry for disturbing you. Should I go?"
Dick shook his head vigorously, and scooted a little bit to the side to make room for him.
Bruce walked up to edge of the roof, and sat by his surrogate son, legs dangling over the edge. He could see why Dick liked this spot so much, as it was weirdly relaxing, in its own little way.
They sat there like that for a while, not saying anything to each other, until Dick spoke up.
"Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"Do you ever feel like…"
"Like what?"
"Like you're small."
Bruce paused to look up at the stars, reveling in their brightness.
"All the time, chum. All the time. Why?"
"Just… I guess what happened with the Court and everything… sometimes, I look up at the stars and realize just how small I am..."
How small my problems are.
"I understand."
Dick looked up at him and raised his eyebrows.
"Do you?"
"Dick, I understand. I really do. You know, some days, when I was younger, I'd just look at all of the people around me at school, or the sky, and I'd think, 'why does what happen to me matter, in the grand scheme of things?' But then, I'd realize, that what happens to me - what happens to you - is important to me. It's important to Alfred. It's important to the people close to us. And that's what truly matters - not what everyone else thinks, but what the people closest to you are willing to do about it."
They sat in silence few moments. The chilly air seemed to still around them, as if it could sense the mood.
Once again, it was Dick who broke the tense silence.
"That was a lot of talking from you, B."
Bruce shrugged.
"Really was, you know. Usually, I'm the one talking that much! What happened to you?"
Bruce smirked.
"Well, I can't always be the silent one."
Dick cackled, carefree and child-like like he should have been, and Bruce smiled at his son's antics. The young man leaned on his surrogate father, and smiled up at the stars, seemingly content for now.
His father joined him.
This is sort of a tester one-shot, once again, because I had no idea how to write Talon!Dick before this. Still don't. But I'm using a slightly different version of him for a different fic, and I really hope I'm on the right track!
Hope you enjoyed!