Their intended sledding trip was postponed on Thursday due to the continuing heavy snow and exhaustion. Dick had nearly fallen asleep in his dinner, and that had been enough impetus for Bruce to push the expedition off to the next day. By late Friday afternoon the skies had partly cleared, the snow tapering off to light flurries that ceased shortly after dark. The moon was bright and full as they loaded up the car. Seeing it as he stepped onto the porch, the boy pulled off his glove, pressed his lips to the backs of his first two fingers, and then raised them towards the orbiting body.
"Um…Dick?" Bruce asked, coming outside behind him and frowning at the strange action.
"Yes?" the child replied, turning to face him as his hand dropped back to his side.
"What…what was that?"
"What was what?"
"…Whatever it was you just did. What was that?"
"Oh." His eyes dropped. "Just…just something my mom always did. She always told me that you should kiss your hand to the moon, especially when it's full. The full moon represents life, she said. New life," he explained quietly. "Kissing your hand to it…it's a sign of respect."
"…Of thanks," Bruce nodded, understanding.
"Yeah. That, too. I…Is it weird? I know sometimes I do weird things…"
"It's not weird. Who told you that you do weird things?"
"Some kids at school," he shrugged.
"Do they tease you?" he queried, feeling anger rise at the thought of someone making fun of his sweet, loving child.
"…I dunno, Bruce. I think they just don't understand. But that's okay, because I don't always understand why they do certain things, either. We're just…different. I'm working on it, though."
"Don't. Don't stop being who you are just to be more like them." He put his hands on the boy's shoulders, bending to look him in the eye. "There are millions of kids in this city, but none of them are just like you. And that's worth a lot. Don't let them force you to be something you're not."
"…I don't want to make you ashamed of me. If I do strange things, it might not look so good for you. I know how important it is that people think well of you."
"Dick, I would never be ashamed of you for staying true to yourself, or to your past. It's not weird, it's part of who you are, and that's special. As for my reputation, I do enough damage to that on my own. I don't think you being in the habit of throwing a kiss to the moon is going to be the final straw that brings down the house of cards."
"…Okay," he said with a tiny smile.
"Ready to go?" Getting an eager nod, he grinned. "Race you to the car."
Alfred dropped them at the top of the hill, then left to wait at the bottom. Looking out over the silent acreage that made up this end of the estate, Bruce sighed. It looks so different as an adult, he thought. He tilted his head back. Even the stars look different now.
"Is all of this yours?" Dick asked beside him, voice heavy with awe as he surveyed the landscape spread before them.
The billionaire looked down at him. "Yeah, chum. It's all ours. Everything you can see from here."
Cautious blue eyes met his. "…Ours?" he repeated softly.
"Ours," came back with a nod. "Mine…and yours. Is that okay with you?"
"…Yeah," he answered. "It is." He leaned against the man for just a moment. "…Can we sled now?"
"Of course," he laughed slightly. You make it so easy sometimes to forget that you're only nine. "You go first."
"We should go down together," he insisted. "It's better that way."
He hesitated. Everyone I've ridden down this hill with, I've lost, he thought. An excited, pleading little face was straining up at him, though, and he was reminded of all the thing this child had already survived. It won't be the same with him. Everything's different now. I'm different now. I can protect him, and he's learning to protect himself. "…Okay," he agreed. "But you're in front." Where I used to sit, he didn't add. The safe spot.
"Deal!"
They quickly lost track of how many times they threw themselves down the hill, fresh snow whizzing by underneath of them once they'd gotten a good trail packed down. Dick went down by himself only once before declaring that it was no fun that way and cajoling his guardian into continuing to ride with him. Bruce didn't need much encouragement to hop back on the sled after the first go; sledding was almost like flying, especially on the really good runs when they managed to catch a little air off of the bumps. They had several spectacular crashes towards the end, when they began to get bored with the known path they'd slicked down to ice and tried out a couple of more exotic trails. After he had to grab the boy and tumble off to the side to keep them from going headfirst into a tree, Bruce called it quits for the evening. "C'mon, kiddo. It's way past your bedtime."
"But it's Friday. Aren't we going out on patrol?"
"…Aren't you tired?"
"Well, yeah, but I could still patrol."
He shook his head. "No patrol tonight. Batman may even stay in."
"Whoa. Really?"
"Mm-hmm. Sledding is hard work. Besides, I happen to know for a fact that Alfred made cookies before you got up this morning. You wouldn't want to miss out on those, would you?"
"…We could have cookies after patrol."
He laughed delightedly. "I'm glad you like being Robin so much," he said, "but we're not going out tonight. That's final."
"…Okay," the boy sighed back. Well, at least there are cookies.
Back in the car, he curled up in the middle seat and laid his head on Bruce's leg, dropping off to sleep as soon as they began to move. That's what I thought, the man observed silently. He glanced out of the window just as the hill, its surface marked with the evidence of their play, slipped out of sight. I wish they could have been here tonight, he mourned. They would completely adore you, Richard Grayson. The same as I do, he admitted, stroking his hair and watching him in the moonlight. Thank you for giving me new life.
Clouds were massing overhead again as they pulled up to the manor. Stirring, Dick yawned with a tiny mewl and sat up. "Hi," he whispered sleepily.
"Hey, kiddo. Ready to go in?"
He almost asked to be carried, knowing Bruce would oblige him, but he bit his tongue. I don't want to look like a baby. Maybe if I don't act tired he'll change his mind about patrol. "Sure," he nodded, climbing out of the car.
The billionaire exited as well, a little surprised that the boy hadn't asked for a lift. Probably hoping I'll change my mind about patrol, he realized. Bringing the child in as his partner had been risky, he knew, and would continue to be so, but even after just the few patrols they had done together as Batman and Robin he knew it had been a good decision. He learned fast, he had a talent for acrobatics and contortion that already outstripped his mentor, and he was eager as hell. Tonight's little debate about going out was just one moment among many recent ones that demonstrated the depth of his desire to serve, and it made his guardian beam with pride.
As they trooped up the steps, a plaintive bird call stopped Dick in his tracks. "What is it?" Bruce asked.
"…Gobblehead sounds lonely."
"He's a turkey. He doesn't know what lonely is."
"Animals can get lonely!" he insisted. "Once, Pop Haly loaned Macy, one of our elephants, to another circus for a few weeks because their star elephant was sick. Eleanor – she was Macy's mom – was really sad. She didn't eat for three days, and she cried."
"She cried?"
"Elephants can cry. Eleanor did, at least. There were other elephants around, but she missed Macy. When we got Macy back, she got all better, and stopped being sad. The person whose circus borrowed her said that Macy was sad, too, and wouldn't stop crying, even when she was doing shows. She'd perform, but she was depressed. Animals can get lonely, too," he repeated, staring up at Bruce with his arms crossed.
"Okay," he conceded. "I believe you. But turkeys aren't elephants."
"…That's true." He chewed his lip for a moment. "But he still sounds lonely."
"Well, don't worry about it tonight."
"Can I go see him real quick?"
"No. You can have cookies, and then it's bedtime. You'll see him tomorrow, maybe."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he merely nodded before going inside, shedding his winter gear, and heading for the kitchen. They ate their late dessert in a silence that Bruce chalked up to three parts exhaustion and one part perturbation on the part of his son. When he was done, Dick wished them both good night quietly and took himself upstairs.
In bed, he thought he could still hear the turkey calling out. Sitting up, he listened for several minutes, but there was no sound from the hallway to indicate that Bruce or Alfred might be monitoring his movements. Slipping out from beneath the covers, he used every tactic he could remember to make his way quietly to the window.
A breeze made him shiver and wrap his arms around himself as he opened the window. It's snowing again, he noticed. Oh, brrr, that's really cold. Retreating, he grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself before returning to his post. As he took up his position again, he heard it, the same plaintive, warbling song that had caught his ear on the steps earlier. "Poor Gobblehead," he sighed. I don't want to eat you. You're a nice turkey. You even seem kind of smart. I'll bet you miss your friends and your family.
He whipped around as the door cracked open. "…Dick?" Bruce entered the room, his face creasing for a moment as he saw the empty bed and missing blanket. Looking over, he found him trying to shut the window, and sighed. "What are you doing?" he asked, coming over and helping him push the sash down.
"I…I could hear Gobblehead talking. I was just listening," he swore. "That's all. I just wanted to hear him."
"Dick, you cannot get attached to that turkey. It's dinner. It's like getting attached to a sandwich." He sighed when the child stared at the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes. "You promised me," he reminded him.
"I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He pulled him into a hug. "C'mon. You need to go to sleep. Be glad Alfred didn't find you standing there in a cold breeze with bare feet, he'd keep you in bed all day tomorrow."
"Uck. Saturday in bed."
"Yeah, they're not much fun."
"…What're we gonna do tomorrow, Bruce?" he yawned as the man settled him back onto the mattress and tucked him in.
"I've got some paperwork I need to work on," the billionaire confessed guiltily. I need to stop bringing paperwork home. Damn, I'm getting quite the list of New Year's resolutions started.
"…Oh. Okay." He couldn't quite cover his disappointment.
Wincing at the sound of it, Bruce crawled into the bed, too. "We'll do something together tomorrow, and Sunday, too," he told him.
"…Promise?"
"I promise, chum. Anything you want to do. Within reason," he added quickly.
"Okay," he sighed, snuggling in close. "G'night, Bruce."
"Goodnight, Dick." He was going to leave once the boy was asleep, he really was, but when he went to pull away a few minutes later he found that a set of long, thin little fingers had entangled themselves in his hand and wouldn't let go despite their owner's unconscious state. Oh, to hell with it, he thought, lying back down. My bed might be bigger, but that just makes it more noticeable when there's no one in it beside me. This, he decided as he encased the nest's other occupant in his arms, is far preferable.