"What!? No! Why?" Dick jumped out of his chair, knocking it over in his shock.
"Dick, you're a great kid. As such, you deserve someone who is around more." It pained Bruce to see the boy like this but this was best for him. It really was ...
"I don't care! I want you! You were the first one, the only one, to care about me!" The boy blinked back hot tears before they could roll down his face. One fist came up to rub at his chest over his heart. He was feeling hurt, even betrayed.
"I personally looked into a family. I think you will like them," Bruce said, attempting to remain cheerful despite the distress Dick was in. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, only to have Dick shrug it off and pull away.
Unable to speak without for fear he would cry in front of his guardian, Dick had only one option left to him. He couldn't look at the man right now. He needed to be alone, so he ran. He would have preferred the private comfort of the bedroom he had been provided, but the tears refused to be held back any longer. Dick bolted into one of the bathrooms and slammed the door behind him, taking only enough time to throw the lock before collapsing onto the cold, hard tile. He tugged the towel from the rack and used it to muffle the sounds he made.
'I knew it! I'm too much trouble! Why did he even ask me to stay here if he didn't want a kid around? Dick thought back over everything that happened since he came to the manor. He had tried to run away once. And the fight . . . but that was not even his fault!
When the knock came, Dick yelled at the person on the other side.
"GO AWAY!"
He didn't want to speak with Bruce. Not right now, he thought, maybe not ever! He hated him! The thought crossed his mind that it could be Alfred on the other side of the door but he shoved away the guilt. He didn't want to talk to Alfred either. He just wanted to be left alone . . . to cry, to think, to wonder what would become of him now that he was alone in the world again.
Just when he thought he had found his place . . .
Bruce leaned heavily against the wall next to the bathroom Dick had disappeared into, sighing. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He felt terrible about this. Hurting Dick was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had tossed and turned all night before coming to this decision. This wasn't about him this time; this was about the boy and what was best for him . . . What would give him the best chance of growing up happy.
Listening to the sounds of Dick's weeping broke his heart. Bruce knew he needed to make a decision and stick with it. It wasn't fair of him, toying with the child's emotions like he was but being the Batman meant that he could not be there for him the way he deserved. Dick needed someone fully committed to being the father figure a young boy required, not someone who was gone more than he was here.
Shaking his head, Bruce headed down the hallway. Maybe if he gave Dick the chance to think it over, think things through, the boy would come to realize Bruce only had his best interests at heart. He would come to understand that this was the way things had to be. Bruce pushed open the swinging door that led into the kitchen. The warmth and smells of baking bread and cooking meat soothed him. The women he dated would tease him about the way to his heart was through his stomach, although none of them could ever make a better French Onion soup than Alfred. But, then again, none of them ever actually tried.
"Why do I feel like I'm making a terrible mistake, Alfred?" he asked a little desperately.
"Sir?" Alfred paused in his chopping to look at him.
"I told Dick that I wanted him to live with another family." Bruce admitted. He leaned against the kitchen island and absentmindedly stole a slice of red pepper.
The struggle on the younger man's face was clear. This situation must be tearing the Master up inside for it to slip out from under his control and show up on the exterior so visibly.
Alfred set his knife down and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel he had thrown over his shoulder earlier. He turned around, pulling two cups from the cupboard. He poured his tea and set it to steep, and then poured the young master a cup of the bitter, black brew that Bruce preferred. Alfred found there were seldom problems that a good, strong cup of tea couldn't cure, if only he could convince the younger man to give up his coffee.
"Nasty stuff," he murmured, handing it over.
"It grows on you," Bruce smiled, taking the drink gratefully.
"Hmph," the older man grunted. "If you say so, sir."
Bruce took a careful sip so as to avoid burning his mouth. "Mm, thank you, Alfred. For never drinking the stuff, you make the meanest cup o' joe I've ever had."
"I'll be sure to add that to my resume," Alfred said dryly.
"Am I wrong, Alfred?" Bruce asked, setting the coffee down. "Is sending him away the mistake it feels like in here?" He tapped his chest a couple of times. "My head says no, but my heart . . ."
"You must understand, Master Bruce, that the boy struggling not only with his grief and anger at his present situation but also with his sense of self-worth. Being shuttled around from one place to another, he is bound to feel alone and lost. You, yourself, are familiar with this feeling, sir. For, despite being able to return to the familiar environs of your home after your parents' murder, you felt the same way." Alfred took a sip of his Earl Gray, closing his eyes in appreciation. The, setting his cup down, he picked up his knife and returned to chopping his vegetables.
Bruce was silent as he considered the wisdom of his butler's words. Alfred had never steered him wrong once over the course of these long years. At least, he thought with amusement, whenever I've been willing to take the man's sage advice. He finished his coffee and rinsed his cup, setting it in the sink to be washed.
Alfred swept up the peppers and added it to the pan already filled with sweet onions and dill before he added another thought. "You realize, do you not, that he only wants to be wanted. I ask you, sir, who is there, in all of Gotham, that would want this particular boy?"
Bruce stared at the older man. "Me!" he declared firmly. "I do, Alfred. I want him!"
"Then, my suggestion would be that you go and tell him that," Alfred said with a small smile.
The boy had been in the bathroom for long enough. It was time to end his suffering and work this out. Bruce knocked softly on the door.
When he got no response, Bruce called out. "Dick?" Silence met him. "Dick, please, let me in. We need to talk." He listened but couldn't hear anything, no movement so, he rattled the doorknob. "Richard John, you will open this door right now," he said, this time, forcefully.
Certainly, the boy hadn't run away during the time he had been speaking with Alfred . . . but no, there were sounds coming now from within. After a few seconds, Bruce could hear the lock being turned and then the door opened. His heart broke to see Dick's reddened eyes and tear-stained face.
"Please, don't make me go away," Dick begged him quietly. His lip trembled when he spoke. "I like it here with you . . . I feel safe when I'm with you."
"Do you, now?" Bruce responded with surprise.
He had never really thought about Bruce Wayne being someone's hero before. As Batman, he had heard similar words spoken, but as himself, never. This was a first for him. He found he liked it, liked being this boy's place of safety, his refuge in a cold, unfeeling world. He could do this, he thought. He, Bruce Wayne, could save this one person and perhaps be a better man for it.
Tears hovered on those dark lashes. "Please. Please, let me stay here with you." Then in a burst of motion, Dick threw his arms around Bruce's waist. "I'm sorry! I'll be good, I promise! I won't cause any more trouble. I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you not like me anymore."
Bruce carefully peeled the boy from around him. He wanted to look in Dick's eyes when he told him, wanted Dick to see the truth in his.
"Dick, Please. Calm down. You don't understand . . . I need you to listen to me now."
Dick sniffled and pulled back, out of Bruce's hands. Although his expression became neutral, the tears kept streaming. The boy scrubbed at them with his wrist, angrily.
"That's okay," he began. "I do understand. I'm just a circus brat. I get that. Nobody wants a circus brat. But, for some reason, I thought you were different. You're not, though, are you? You're just like everyone else. You don't really care about me," Dick told him in a monotone voice, as if all the emotion had been drained from him. Only his tears told a different story. "The playboy billionaire takes in the poor circus boy . . . but the circus boy proves to too much trouble and he must be sent away."
Dick wiped at his eyes once more. He took a deep breath. It came out, shaky. "I'll go get my stuff."
Bruce caught Dick's shoulder as the child turned to walk away from him. "Dick. I want you to stay," he said.
The boy stiffened but didn't turn around. "What?" he asked in a disbelieving tone. His head turned to the side. "What did you say?"
Bruce smiled. "You heard me."
Spinning around, Dick stared up at him. The hope Bruce saw in his face was blinding.
"Say it again! Please?"
Bruce knelt down so that he was at eye level with the boy. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word that came out of his mouth carefully so that there would be no misunderstanding him.
"Dick. I want you to stay . . . here. With me." Bruce reached out and brushed the too-long hair off of his forehead. His hand hovered for a moment before Bruce let his thumb brush the tears from the boy's cheek. "I don't want you to go. I never did," he confessed. "I only wanted what was best for you and, if you believe that what is best for you is to stay with me, then you're staying."
The smile was a little slow in coming but Bruce thought he understood that. Dick looked a little afraid to believe him after Bruce had so foolishly wavered. Some rock he turned out to be.
"For real this time?"
Bruce's smile widened. "For real," he promised.
This time, when Dick threw his arms around Bruce's neck, Bruce returned the gesture, pulling the boy into a hug. He never thought he would be a father, had believed that he would never have a family of his own. Bruce had thought those dreams had shattered with his mother's pearl necklace in a darkened alley long ago. It was as if all those intervening years, Bruce had been living in those same shadows until one bright, sunny, little boy had blown the darkness around him away.
He hugged the child to him fiercely, all the while marveling that he had just become a father.
When Bruce came home, Dick was already back from school. The boy was sitting at the kitchen table on his laptop working on an assignment for school, while eating a ham and cheese sandwich Alfred made for him. The boy's ears twitched a little as he heard foot steps approaching, Bruce's to be exact.
"Hey Bruce," Dick didn't turn around and spoke with a mouth full of sandwich.
"Hello Dick, and don't speak with you mouth of food," Bruce lectured the boy ah he entered the kitchen.
"Sorry," Dick swallowed and looked up at Bruce, he noticed a box in his arms. "What's in the box?"
"It's for you, open it." The man had a playful grin on his face as he simply handed over the plain brown box.
Dick pulled open the flaps on the box and looked inside to reveal it's contents. It was all Gotham Knights merchandise. A hat, that was navy blue in color with a old English style G embroidered in yellow on the front. There was a white home jersey that read Knights with yellow lettering with a navy blue outline, in the Knights signature old English style. The shirt was navy blue with basic yellow lettering that read Gotham about the logo of a knight and Knights under the image. Finally he pulled out the navy blue jack that had the same lettering as the jersey. There was even a glove with a ball tucked inside it's closed fingers. When the boy lifted his head up to question Bruce he saw the man smiling and holding two tickets.
"Are thoseā¦"
"Tickets to tomorrow's home opener?" Bruce finished.
"But how? And all this stuff it's mine?" Dick pulled out the jersey and slipped it on over the basic red shirt he was wearing.
"Wayne Enterprise is a corporate sponsor, I pulled some strings and got you gear to wear tomorrow. It also helps when your great-grandfather built the stadium."
"You own a baseball stadium?" Hearing what Bruce owned kept amazing the young boy who grew up with almost nothing.
"Not me personally, but my company does."
"Isn't the game at two? With the ceremony starting at one? I don't get out of school until three!"
"You've never missed a day since you started. I already spoke with your teachers and you will get all the assignments you missed on Thursday. So tomorrow it's me and you all day. I have big day planned."
"What are we doing? Well, beside the game."
"Oh that's a surprise," Bruce gave Dick a broad smile.
"So do I've to do my homework?"
Bruce chuckled, "Well I don't think you will want to do it tomorrow."
Dick thought about it for a moment, the his guardian did have a point. The boy turned back to his computer and school work.
The next day Dick was excited to go to his first baseball game. The boy spend many times on the train listening to various baseball games while on the road to the next city on the tour of Haly's Circus. He would always beg his dad to take him game, but their life style made it difficult to make it to a game. It was one of the few drawbacks to being itinerate aerial acrobats.
Dick eagerly dressed in all his Knight's attire even before heading down for breakfast, he was excited to spend the entire day with Bruce. The boy ran out of his room and slid down the banister to get to the lower level. Once on the main floor the acrobat could smell the sweet scent of hot buttermilk pancakes cooking on the a hot buttered griddle mixed with the savory smell of bacon and eggs. When he got to the kitchen breakfast Bruce was waiting for him at the kitchen table sporting his own Gotham Knights jersey.
"Good morning Master Richard," Alfred smiled as he piled blueberry pancakes onto the boy's plate.
"Good morning Dick," Bruce had already started on breakfast, it appeared he has been up for quite some time since he was almost done with his breakfast.
"Mornin' Alfred, Mornin' Bruce," Dick smiled sitting down across from his guardian. The boy poured Vermont maple syrup over the pancakes before cutting into them. Dick took a big bite of pancakes, swallowed, and looked up at Bruce, "so when we going?"
A/N: Aw Bruce came to his senses, what do you think? Now Bruce and Dick are going to have some fun at a baseball game!
Shout to my friends over at the Batman Writers Unite! group on Facebook for their feed back and help with this fic.
