A/N I know it's been a year, and I'm terribly sorry. I've been working on so many other things, and updates still are going to be very sporadic. This plot bunny just came to me and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.
I hope you enjoy! And thank you for sticking with me despite the long stretches in between chapters.
Disclaimer As always, I don't own.
~Aiva
Dick's blue eyes shot open, his small frame jerking into a hunched sitting position. He swallowed a cry, not wanting anyone to hear, quiet sobs breaking free instead. He wrapped his arms around his trembling body, biting his lip and shaking his head in a frantic attempt to refute the nightmare that had gripped him so thoroughly. It didn't work, it never did, and the nine-year-old wanted to scream.
One hand darted out, fingers scrabbling desperately across silken sheets and plush blankets for one of the few things that might actually have the power to comfort him right now. Worn fabric, not nearly as expensive but so much more familiar and soothing, met his fingertips and Dick latched on, pulling Peanut tight to his chest. The stuffed elephant smelled like lavender and laundry, but underneath it was just a hint of that old circus smell – popcorn, cotton candy, chalk, and home – and he buried his nose deep in the gray cloth to better hold on to it.
For a minute, it seemed like it would work. His heartbeat slowed and his breaths evened out, exhaustion taking over. His teary eyes drooped shut and he let his head rest against his beloved Peanut, still cradled securely in his arms.
Insane cackles, scarred grins, burnt faces, guns firing, wires snapping, blood pooling on the ground, people screamingscreamingscreaming –
Dick didn't realize he had cried out until the terrified sound had faded into the darkness. He whimpered, a soft noise that could never properly convey the depths of his distress. The shadows were reaching out towards him with evil, grasping fingers and the dark was too oppressive, making the room seem small and the air seem thin. His blankets were trapping him, an awful prison that was far too heavy and hot and Dick ran.
He threw off the blankets, shivering as air-conditioned air ghosted over the cold-sweat that was plastered to his skin. His bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor in his mad dash towards the bathroom connected to his room, Peanut still clutched tightly to his chest. His heart thudded loudly and rapidly and tears were flowing freely from frightened eyes. Dick flicked the bathroom light on with hasty, trembling movements, taking a breath as a warm yellow glow filled the smaller room.
He felt sick, an awful, overwhelming nausea that rested heavily in the pit of his stomach. He fought it, breathing as deeply as he could with a runny nose and trying to focus on anything but the fact that oh no, he was going to throw up.
He made it to the toilet, his dinner making a reappearance with a vengeance. Dick shuddered and moaned unwittingly, feeling beyond miserable. He felt small and afraid and sick and alone and he really just wanted a hug or something but he couldn't ask. That would be like admitting he couldn't handle this Robin thing when he had worked so hard for it, and Dick refused to do that. The desire for a comforting gesture warred with his panicked need for Bruce not to have heard, not making Dick feel any better in the slightest. But then he remembered that Bruce couldn't have heard anyway because he was gone on a business trip until Wednesday.
He moaned again, wiping off his mouth and leaning his head against the cool surface of the cabinet next to him. Jagged sobs continued to escape him in frantic little bursts and he buried his face in Peanut to muffle the sound.
It was apparently too late because he heard footsteps coming towards his room. Dick hurriedly tried to wipe away the tears, but only more fell until his vision was blurry with them. He managed to make out Alfred's figure in the doorway and he let out a quiet sound that was somewhere between a sob and a whimper.
"Sorry," Dick whispered before Alfred could even say anything, hiding his face in Peanut.
"There is nothing to apologize for," the grandfatherly butler assured in his familiar English accent that seemed automatically comforting somehow.
"I woke you up," Dick mumbled woefully. "You should be sleeping, not checking on m-me." His voice broke on the last word and his grip tightened on his stuffed elephant as fresh tears dampened its loved fabric.
"Master Dick." Alfred waited until he was sure he had the attention of the distraught nine-year-old. "I assure you, there is nothing I would rather be doing," he continued, meeting the boy's disbelieving look with a reassuring gaze. He held out his hand, helping Dick back up on to his feet.
Dick acted on impulse, wrapping his arms around Alfred, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. It was only the knowledge that he was probably getting tear-stains all over Alfred's clothes that made him pull away and focus his attention on Peanut instead. "Sorry," he whispered again, fixing his gaze on a worn spot in the elephant's ear.
Alfred raised an eyebrow, but instead let out a small sigh and put a hand on Dick's shoulder. Once he had gotten the boy properly calmed down he could explain why there truly wasn't a need for apologies; he had done nothing wrong, other than thinking that he had. Alfred guided him downstairs and settled him in the kitchen, Dick letting out a small sniffle every now and then.
The nine-year-old watched with burdened cerulean eyes as Alfred bustled around the kitchen, each movement purposeful as he grabbed different ingredients. Dick tried to focus on this instead of the lingering fear and disorientation of his nightmare, cocking his head slightly. "Alfred?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"Yes, Master Dick?"
"…What are you doing?"
"I'm making a bit of hot cocoa," Alfred answered. "I've always found it to be relaxing during a particularly long night."
Dick perked up at the mention of the chocolate-y beverage, some of the tears drying on his face. "Really?" he checked with a shy sort of eagerness that was endearing and adorable.
Alfred nodded, turning on the stove to heat up the milk. "I did the same thing for Master Bruce when he was younger."
"He had nightmares a lot too?" Dick asked, eyes wide and curious. He had known Bruce thought about his parents' deaths a lot, but Dick had never heard him crying or anything from a nightmare before.
"I believe he still does," Alfred replied.
Dick frowned. "Do you still help him?" he questioned, remembering the aching longing for some sort of comfort that had filled him just moments ago.
Alfred let out a small sigh that bespoke a heavy weight on his shoulders not often revealed. "Master Bruce prefers to handle things on his own," he explained after a brief pause.
"Oh," Dick responded, his brow creasing in thought. He was interrupted from any further questions by a warm mug of homemade cocoa being offered to him. He accepted it gladly and followed Alfred to the dining room, sitting next to him at the big wooden table. He set Peanut down before he took a sip, and pure bliss filled his mouth. He glanced up at Alfred with wide, awed eyes. "This is really good!" he exclaimed, a chocolate mustache on his upper lip.
"Thank you, Master Dick," he accepted, his mouth quirking upwards into a smile. He focused his full attention on the boy. "Now, would you like to discuss what woke you up at this hour?" he asked with just a hint of humor.
Dick's cheeks flushed a gentle shade of embarrassed red and he stalled by taking another long sip of the hot chocolate. Alfred waited patiently and Dick finally sighed and gave in. "I had a nightmare," he mumbled.
Alfred merely looked at him until Dick elaborated.
"It-it was just a bunch of flashes," he explained quietly. "About the Joker and Two-Face and my parents and stuff like that." He bit his lip, unconsciously reaching out for Peanut.
"Master Dick, if this bothered you so much why didn't you come to me?" Alfred inquired.
"Because I worked really hard to be Robin and if I'm having nightmares and stuff about it now I was worried that maybe I couldn't be Robin anymore and I really don't want that to happen," Dick explained in a rush, words rapid-fire.
"Having nightmares is nothing to be ashamed of," Alfred assured. "It's quite normal, all things considered. What I am concerned about is the fact that you didn't ask for help despite the state you were in," he continued, fixing the boy with a piercing look.
Dick averted his eyes, seeming to find great interest in the whorls and patterns in the surface of the wooden table. "Sorry," he apologized softly.
"As long as you promise to come to either Master Bruce or me next time, it is quite alright," Alfred responded with a small comforting smile.
Dick relaxed slightly, nodding his agreement. "Can we have hot chocolate when I do?" he asked.
"I don't see why not," Alfred conceded. "We shall make it a late-night tradition."
The tradition lasted years. Bruce became a part of it as well, and there would be many a night where the three of them would sit at the table and drink hot chocolate. They would talk about nothing and everything, or simply sit there in familiar silence until Dick would start to nod off into his drink. It became a ritual, a constant in the often unpredictable life of being a vigilante in crime-infested Gotham City.
Even after Dick left the house and moved to Bludhaven, the tradition managed to linger, albeit in a slightly different way. He would call Alfred, talking while they both made hot chocolate together, despite the distance between them. Bruce would later become a part of this as well, and Dick would sometimes check his mail only to find a dozen packets of an expensive hot chocolate mix there with a note simply stating, "It's tradition". He would smile and set them aside, next to the mug that Alfred had given him one Christmas.
When Jason joined their family and Dick had moved past his initial jealousy, the hot chocolate tradition would turn into a way to bond during the nights that Dick would visit. And after he did, it became a way to mourn and heal.
Tim became a part of the late-night tradition before long, sometimes using the zeta-tubes just to travel to Bludhaven to have hot chocolate with Dick. Or it would be the other way around, Dick visiting Gotham just for an hour or two to drink and talk with his brother or Alfred or sometimes even Bruce.
And years and years later, after Dick had gotten down on one knee and put a ring on Barbara Gordon's finger, after their first beautiful child had been brought into the world, Dick would find himself having to soothe his child's nightmares. He would take her into his arms and bring her into the kitchen, sitting her on the counter and handing her a mug of hot chocolate.
They would talk or watch television until she would fall asleep, head drooping against her father's shoulders. Dick would brush her hair away from her face, a fond smile tugging at his lips when he remembered the many nights he had spent doing the same thing.
It was, after all, a tradition.
A/N I love the idea of Dick and Babs getting married and having a daughter. It's so perfectly adorable and fluffy that it makes my heart melt just a bit.
Anyway, sorry again about the lack of new chapters for a year...I still can't believe it's been that long.
Reviews are greatly appreciated!
