"It's a B...for Batman?"
Bruce does not look amused, despite the fact that Dick thought that was a pretty good way of opening the conversation. Puns are always a good idea, which is general advice he got from a very reliable clown back when he was 6, and which has only really failed him a handful of times. The smile on his face is wobbly at best, and he's glad that Bruce is glaring at the paper in his hand, instead of at him.
That firm set of Bruce's jaw is harder than usual, and his brow looks even more sloped and imposing than it does normally. In this very instant, Bruce looks way scarier than the Batman, because Waynes don't get Bs, even if it's a B+ and Jason drew a smiley face on it to try and make him feel better.
Bruce keeps looking at the paper for a very, very long time, before those hard blue eyes are focused in on Dick, and he tries his best not to fidget. Instead, he spreads his smile so wide that his cheeks hurt, and hopes for the best.
"This is unacceptable, Dick. I want better scores than this. Correct all your mistakes, write a report explaining what went wrong, and how to do better. We're cutting your training time in half." Bruce foists the paper back at him, as if it's got cooties, and then he's walking away, just like that, and Dick wants to cry.
He isn't a genius with a perfect 4.0, like Damian and Tim, he isn't as passionate about school as Jason is, and he doesn't have the grace and ease that gets Cass through life without even a hint of academic necessity. He's just Dick, who grew up in a circus, can't sit still for 10 minutes, and likes picture books and cartoons more than the chapter books he needs to be reading.
He wants to scream from (literally) the rafters that he's trying, that reading is hard when you haven't done it everyday of your life, when you've got 5 languages in your head and English grammar makes so little sense, when he's still used to mom reading the books to him, not the other way around, and when English spelling makes no sense at all.
He also wants to cry that he studied for this test, actually sat down for two hours to try and get a good grade cause he's done nothing but worry since he got here. He's not like Jason, who diligently works on his school work, earnestly wanting to learn everything under the sun. He's not like Tim who just seems to breeze through everything with some god like ease, and he certainly isn't Damian, who casually shows up to only his collage exams, and aces them without ever having set a food in the classroom. It's not fair, they're all so smart, and he just, isn't. Never had to be, and now Bruce is taking the one thing that still matters away from him. Robin is really the only reason he's here, the only place where he adds anything to this family, and Bruce just made his wait longer.
He holds in his temper long enough for Bruce to have probably gotten into his soundproof office, and then screams at the top of his lungs. He considers it a victory that nothing but the chandelier ends up being a casualty.
By the time Jason finds him, Dick has already fallen off the horizontal bar in the gym a handful of times, and instead has given up, and moved to work on his vaults. When he sticks the landing after a really low triple flip that didn't quite make it to quadruple, Jason whistles as if he's impressed, and Dick gives him a look that could probably piece flesh. He then remembers that Jason tried to cheer him up, and looks away with a pout.
"Try again, Pretty Bird." Dick doesn't usually frown like this, all angry edges on his rounded face, remembers his mother telling him that it'd stay that way if he did it too much, but he doesn't feel like smiling. Jason knows better anyway, he can tell when Dick fakes it, and they both hate it. Dick nods once, and walks back to the runway. "Now, take a deep breath in, and out. Slowly count to ten, and try again."
Dick listens, cause Jason is smart in ways that no one else in the house is not Cass or Damian or Tim or Bruce. So he takes his deep inhale and exhale, and counts to ten as he looks at the vault board, imagines what he wants to do, and how it would look in his head. Thinks about what the crowd would do when he accomplished it, how they'd roar and cheer in excitement. It's pathetic, he's been here for three months and spent two in between foster homes, and he still wants to go home. The romantic views of a stable school life and a house without wheels is long gone.
He finishes his count of ten, and sprints down the runway. This time, the vault springs him up higher than before, and he has plenty of time to get all four rotations in before he's slamming back down onto the mat, sticking the landing. It wasn't exactly perfect, but it was the best he'd done that day. He looks over at Jason with a smile on his face, and Jason claps a few times, and stage whispers "and the crowd goes wild, just look at that kid fly!"
Dick beams, and then Jason is walking over to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder, trying to act like it's really natural for him to do so. Actually, it's all calculated, Dick can see it, and feel it, because Jason doesn't like to touch people, not really. He'll stomach some hair ruffles if he's feeling affectionate, and he like to flick Dick when he's being annoying, and throwing things definitely doesn't count, but a full arm over the shoulder isn't normal. Dick would probably be suspicious, if he wasn't already so distracted."Now that you've got your therapeutic flying all done-" Jason waggles his eyebrows in a way that Dick has never liked. "you have a test to fix, and a report to write."
The scowl that takes over Dick's face isn't one he's proud of, but flying always makes him forget his worries, even if only for a few seconds. It's rude of Jason to just bring them right back. Dick lets out a huffed growl, and throws up his arms, dislodging Jason from his shoulders in the process. "Whats the point? I'm not some genius Wayne like the rest of you." Dick spits the words out indignantly.
All you have to do is look in Tim's room to know that a genius lives there. He's got cases strewn all over the boards on his walls, and his posters are these philosophical things that don't really make sense to Dick, and there's a periodic table on one wall with handwritten notations on it, and he has molecular models lined up on his shelves. It just looks like a lab, with it's various lists of compounds and thick books on psychology and law and medicine and ugh. And pictures, pictures of just about anything, posted to walls, used as book markers, and framing experiments.
Damian's isn't much better. His walls are lined with books and books, science and literature and history and religion, and everything under the sun. Around the book cases are weapons that Dick just knows Damian could use at the drop of a hat, sharp and expensive and breathtaking. On display in a few areas are trophies of particularly difficult battles he's fought, and won. What wall space isn't covered in bookshelves, are strewed about with paintings, neat and well cared for. His room is more of a library than a science lab, but just stepping into either one makes Dick realize just how amazing his new older brothers are, and what huge shoes he has to fill.
Cass's room is full of pictures, bright smiles and little figurines of dancing girls and animals. Moments of happiness and joy and signs of comfort litter the place in something of an organized clutter. It's such a soft, warm place that it makes him want to cry just walking into it. It feels safe like hugs, and kisses and mom and he can't stand it even more than the other rooms. Cass never went to school, Dick knows that, but with the way she moves, he figures she didn't have to. No one compares to Cass, not ever.
Jason's room has a little bit of everything, part library, part lab, part garage, with all sorts of projects being worked on, and drawings of new tech thats probably going to be assembled soon. Around that are stacks of books, lovingly dog eared versions of Shakespeare, and technical books with dutifully scrawled notes in the margins, full of ideas and corrections, questions and answers and ugh.
Then there's Dick, his room new and mostly bare. The few posters on the walls still make him want to cry and rage, and only the plush of Zitka sits on his massive, empty bed.
Dick isn't sure what crazy idea made him think this would ever be okay, that living in Gotham, with Bruce Wayne and his large family would ever be good, cause it isn't. He's used to being the big fish, of his parents praise and the adulation of the crowds. He's used to being important and loved, and Wayne manor is just not impressed with him, and never will be.
"Come on Dickie," Jason leads him out of the gym, wrapping his arm around Dick's slim shoulders again. Dick sniffles, and then angrily wipes his face with the back of his hand. He's so tired of crying, of feeling like he's never going to belong anywhere ever again. "It's only one B. We'll make sure you do better next time."
Jason doesn't really like touching. He doesn't hug people, and he gets all prickly when Dick forces it most of the time, so the arm around his shoulder is probably tighter than it should be, warmer and sort of clammy. But Jason knows that Dick likes to be touched, likes to snag every last big of affection he can in this place with more bathrooms than people, so Dick takes advantage and burrows his face into Jason's side, and wraps his arms around Jason's middle.
Jason freezes, and Dick pretends not to notice, because if he notices, then he knows he should stop, and Jason is going to have to physically pull him off if he wants free. Instead, Jason awkwardly wraps his other arm around Dick's back, and pats him a few times. Jason is still all tense muscle and it's definitely not good, but he's trying, and he's been trying, and it'll do.
Jason almost pushes him back to arm's length a few times, but Dick doesn't let him, just keeps holding on. Jason doesn't really stop being tense, but after a few moments, he does relax a little. He's still uncomfortable, Dick can tell, but he doesn't Dick stop, and that means a lot coming from Jason.
God he misses Cass. When she's here, she'll hug him and they can have whole conversations between their hips and fingers, and smiles. She makes him feel like maybe he can really stay here. Everyone else just fits, hard asses and emotionally constipated and the minute he starts crying or reaching out for affection they all look like they don't know what to do with him, like he's going to explode if someone doesn't do something about it, but no one knows what that something is.
He has to remind himself, that they try, just like Jason is trying right now, and he's sure that if Tim or Damian were around, maybe they'd be trying too. Just cause they don't know what to do with him, just because he's the strange new kid now, doesn't mean that they aren't trying. He has to remember that, has to give this new family the benefit of his doubts.
Dick sniffles a few more times, before he lets Jason go, and nods. "You'll help me?" Cause Jason is a wiz at studying, and memorizing, and if Jason helps, then yeah, Dick can probably get a good grade on his next test. Maybe.
"Yeah, Sunshine. We'll get you back on the top of your class in no time."