Summary:
I wrote Bruce's POV *I scream*
Bruce clears his throat and stands, slipping both hands into his pockets. He looked arrogant sitting down, as though he didn't need to greet Dick, "Hello Dick," and he doesn't want to look arrogant, like he isn't seeing Dick for the first time in a year. But now he's standing, shuffling his feet and flexing his fingers in the rigid space of his trouser pockets, he looks unsure instead. He isn't unsure, it's just been a while since they've been together in a room, and though he saw Dick arrive outside the manor, he realizes, he wasn't expecting to, not for a long time, even though he requested it.
After their less than amicable split, Dick went from not responding well to requests, suggested or otherwise, to not responding at all. "I thought you were never going to set foot in Gotham again," he manages, after a long silence regarding each other.
Dick huffs, "good to see you, too," he says, and Bruce teases a smile when Dick stuffs his hands into his pockets. A defense mechanism, perhaps one he'd passed onto the boy early on, that he now uses to steady himself in uncomfortable situations, to stay grounded. "Yeah, well," he sighs, "I said a lot of things I thought I meant at the time."
"And now?" Bruce folds his arms behind his back.
Dick swallows, considering the older man, eye to eye. "And now I'm here,"
Towards the end of their partnership, things were tense. Dick was no longer being indirect about their handling of criminals, and cases that were handed to them by the police. He was no longer stressing alternatives, he was outright refusing, deciding instead to find another way on his own.
A rock had sunk to the pit of Bruce's stomach, and it's still there now, in the background. He remembers feeling that first violent tug that told him Dick was pulling away, and he knew then he was losing him. In hindsight, losing him slowly rather than all at once was a deep pain, he'd arrogantly never prepared for or even considered.
He prepared for the future, but he never tried to predict it, so a future without Dick was something that blindsided him, and missing all the signs leading up to it was a ghost that haunted him still. "You need my help?"
"I'm sure Jason filled you in already," Dick says, and Bruce catches the tiny snarl, and the bite in his voice.
Now stood in front of the man whom was once a boy, alone, grieving and vengeful. Bruce is filled with his own anger, his own grief – and shame that he should feel any of it when he was the only one to blame for losing Dick in the first place.
"Only the broad strokes," Bruce assures. "He trusts you, Dick, and contrary to what you may believe, I respect your privacy."
"Said the man who put a tracker in me," Dick says, with a clinch in his jaw.
Bruce breathes hard through his nose and drops his gaze. "Admittedly, not my finest moment," he looks up and finds Dick's eyes. "But when a 13-year old in your charge keeps running away, knowing where they are, and that they're safe makes things a little -," he sighs. "there's no excuse."
Dick puffs out a breath, and his shoulders drop. "I didn't come here to fight," he says, rubbing his forehead. "I'm done fighting," he pauses, then gestures to Bruce, "with you anyway,"
Bruce's chest tightens. He's made so many mistakes, and it took Dick leaving him to highlight them. Now he sees all the ways he went wrong, and with Jason under his tutelage, he is wondering if maybe Dick was right to escape. But he can at least take solace in the fact Alfred was there for the boy growing up, in all the ways he wishes he'd allowed himself to be.
"But I do need your help," Dick says, with his nose flared, and his eyes square on him.
Yet, Bruce can't help but smile at Dick, a man in his own right, and of his own making. He's overcome with pride that he can't take any of the credit. "What do you need?" he asks, immediately flushed with relief, to visibly see the tension leave Dick's body.
"Your satellite, the explorer," Dick's smile is small, but it's enough.
Of all the possible futures Dick Grayson could've had, the one without him is what haunts Bruce the most. The possibilities of him having the life he was meant to have. Even so, he can't bring himself to regret having been given the chance to watch the boy growing into his own hero.
"Then it's all yours." Bruce opens his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. Finally, something Dick needs from him. Maybe he isn't as obsolete in his world, as he'd first thought.
Kory ties her hair back. She's sweaty, and tired, but she can go another round before calling it quits. Besides, she needs this workout to keep her mind off how worried she is about Rachel and how long she's been with her manipulative father already. Or how worried she is about Gar's emotional state, and how he may be falling apart from the inside out. And Dick – well, he's another story entirely. Not to mention her memories – what a shit show.
"I'm going to be your target this time," Kory says. "Pick a weapon. Any weapon."
Dawn raises a brow at that. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," Kory winks. "I had some training back home," she stretches her arms over her head, and then behind her back. "and by some, I mean, a lot." And then she rolls her shoulders back, adding, "I'm not afraid of sharp objects."
"Your memories coming back?" Donna asks, pulling her lasso free from its hook on the wall.
"In parts," Kory answers.
"And the barefoot thing?" Hank glances across the floor at their bare feet, and then wriggles his toes.
"A foot up the ass is better than a heeled boot, no?" Kory rolls her ankles until they click, and then she clenches her fists and runs at him.
They've been going at it for hours, pairing first against each other, then sparring one-on-one, and then all on one, and now it's her turn. She's observing their every move, has been since the start, watching their recovery time, skill distinction, synchronicity and power. For the most part, they're impressive, but she wants to shock them out of practice mode into fight mode.
The lasso wraps around Kory's waist and launches her backwards, fisting Hank's shirt, she pulls him with her, and turns as they fly, landing on his chest when he splats on the mat. She yanks the lasso, bringing Donna towards her and punches her in the stomach, sending her back, crashing into the wall.
Dawn throws a punch. Kory catches her fist in her left hand and presses her right into the mat, cartwheeling her legs up and around her neck, before bringing her down to the floor on her back. Then she runs at Donna as she lashes the lasso out, slipping under it and between Donna's legs, she grabs her arm and pulls her, forcing the Amazonian to her knees. Moving quickly, as Dawn advances again, she piggybacks off Donna's back, kicking Dawn in the chest with both feet.
Hank moves towards her fast, and she blocks his blows, powerful and heavy. He's big and heavy, and his blows hurt when they land, but he's slower than the girls, too, and that works in her favor. She can almost predict his moves, and blocks each one, before slipping between his block and punching him in the chest, followed swiftly with a kick in the side of his head.
"Ouch," Donna enunciates. "Are we practicing or fighting?"
She rolls away, out of Dawn's grasp, and moves backwards, to watch them. Hank knows how to use his body, he doesn't throw it about, relying on his heft to do the work, and she likes that. Dawn's quick and powerful, but she also calculates her moves, and Donna is strong, impulsive, and able to make use of anything in her grasp to get results.
"They're the same thing," Kory says, tightening her fists, watching Hank inch towards her and runs up his leg, kicking him in the chest with her left, then right foot, before spinning to face Dawn who now has a staff in her hands. "Took me up on my offer," she teases, and jumps back as the Dawn swings it in her face.
She jerks her shoulder back, then ducks, and rolls around Dawn, pulling the staff with her and swinging under it, spiraling Dawn to the floor. Kory stumbles back and light flashes behind her eyelids when Hank's fist connects. She barely catches his next fist, hooking his arm with her left, and drives her knee into his elbow, going down with him and pinning him to the mat.
Kory is scraped backward, when Dawn drags her with the staff pressed to her collarbone. She slams her head back into her face, then throws her elbow back into her ribs, before lifting her body up and using it as she comes back down, to flip Dawn over her.
The lasso whooshes and she looks down at it snaking around her ankle as it pulls her off her feet and into the wall above Donna's head. She falls hard, landing on her knee, panting as she finds her breath. Mustering up a smile, Kory stands. Finally, they're awake, even though she can see they're just as tired as she is, she can feel the adrenaline racking up. "Did I upset you, Donna?"
Donna smirks. "Not at all, I was just getting a little tired of climbing to my feet." She says. "It's been a while since I've trained this hard. Knees aren't what they used to be."
"Fair enough," Kory dusts her knee. "I'm not your friend," she says. "and none of you are my friends, not when we're in this room." Smiling, she adds, "with that said, should we go again? Unless you're all too tired?"
"Actually," Hank laughs. "We've been at his for hours," and then groans, nursing a stitch in his side. "Mr. Chubby needs an interval."
"Not now, Hank," Dawn says, picking up her staff. She drops into a squatted position and spins it above and around her head, and then runs forward. The lasso whooshes again, but this time, Kory feels it rippling in the air, and turns, catching it around her wrist. She rolls, yanking Donna into her, and spin around her back, wrapping her in the rope. As Dawn comes, she braces against Donna's shoulder and kicks her back, racing forward to pull her in and wrap her, too.
Hank steps off the mat, crossing his arms, and watches.
Kory's heart is thumping in her ears and against her chest. The fire rages beneath her skin, power surging from her core and through her veins, pushing her to move faster. They free themselves and rush forward, and as Dawn slams the staff, trying to catch Kory's feet, Donna is throwing punches. Kory blocks the staff, then a punch, then the staff, and two punches, before gripping Donna by her collar and catapulting her into the wall she'd fallen from moments before.
She falls in line with Dawn, dancing around the mat, using her knee and elbows to block the stick, and catches it, spinning it under Dawn's arm and snatching it when she lets go. Kory swings it around her head, before bringing it down on Donna's shoulder when she comes, and swings it back into Dawn's knee, then Kory spins on her knee, ramming it into Donna's belly, flipping it under her arm to slide back against Dawn's foot as she comes behind her.
Donna stands, and runs at her, knee first, slamming it into her chest, then drops low, sweeping a leg under her as she stumbles back and splats on the mat. Kory lifts her leg around Donna's shoulder as she comes down, and wraps her other arm under hers, trapping her there. They roll to their side, and after a moment of heavy breathing, they fall apart, fighting to catch their breaths.
Hank claps slowly. "Brave," he says, deadpan. "You ladies feel better?"
"Great actually," Donna says, and bursts out laughing, as she rubs her sore elbow. "Ow," she cries, and then Kory and Dawn join in, laughing hysterically, and Hank raises his brow at them, watching suspiciously.
"You do know, you all got your asses kicked, right, by each other?" he teases.
"That was-," Dawn pants, leaning against the beam, holding her foot up against her thigh to rub it. "fun."
"Yeah, it was," Kory giggles, slowly forcing herself to sit up. Her stomach, shoulders and quads hurting.
Hank sighs. "Can we eat now? I'm starving."
Dawn puts her hand up. "I could rustle us up-,"
"No," Hank and Donna speak simultaneously.
"I ordered pizza," Donna adds, pulling her phone from her back pocket, and holding it up in the air for them to see. "Dash."
"Come on, Donna," Hank groans, as he holds his waist, leaning back into a stretch and hissing. "You have beautiful counter tops, state of the art cookware and you order a pizza," he grinds out, narrowing his eyes on her with a smirk. "Did you get extra pepperoni and sausage?"
"You know it," Donna shoots back with a smile, and then stands, dragging Kory with her. "Let's go. We've earned the right to pig out. Dick would be proud."
"I'll be right there," Kory sniffles. "Someone should tidy up a bit,"
"I'll help," Dawn quickly volunteers as Donna starts to offer.
"OK," Donna sings, shrugging, before she follows Hank out of the training room, leaving the two of them alone.
Kory collects the towels they soaked through, and slumps on the weapons table, eyeing Dawn as she picks up the staff and Donna's lasso, sliding them back into their places. She doesn't need help, and she can feel Dawn hovering, feel her restless energy jumping around the room. "Just say it, whatever it is,"
Dawn clears her throat and joins Kory where she stands. "Did you tell Dick before he left about the video on your ship?" and her silence says it all. "Kory, you have to tell him, all of them."
"We have a mission already, remember," Kory argues. "Rachel. We get her back and send her asshole father back to hell." She sighs, after a moment of heavy silence. "It's probably not even connected."
"But what if it is?" Dawn asks, and her voice is soft and concerned. "And even if it isn't, something tells me they would want to know," she swallows, before adding. "Dick especially."
Kory's heart stutters at the mention of his name, and she looks up at Dawn. "Dick and I are – complicated, so I don't know what you think you know-,"
"It's not about what I think." Dawn smiles knowingly, tilting her head to call Kory's eyes back to hers. "It's about what I saw. Dick, back at that motel, worried about you," she shakes her head. "even before that, I noticed a thing between the two of you, a bond, at the house." Taking a tiny step closer, Dawn licks her lip. "It's different for him this time. You're different."
"We've been through a lot," Kory offers because she doesn't want to talk about something when she has no idea what it is, or where it's going, if anywhere. "Trying to protect Rachel."
Dawn laces her fingers together. "You can stop me if you want to, but I've never seen Dick look at anyone the way he looks at you. It's more than what you guys have been through." She looks into Kory's eyes, and Kory almost squirms, her dark eyes are so big, and warm, and comforting, simultaneously drawing out all her secrets. "The way you look at him when he's not looking, and the way he gravitates to wherever you are when you're in the same room, it's," she swallows. "I don't know if you know, but you're very important him, Kory."
"I care about him, too." Kory clears her throat, but it does nothing to drown out the sound of her heart thumping a thousand times louder than usual. "I care about all of them, that's why we need to deal with one problem at a time. We get Rachel back first, okay?"
"Kory," Dawn cries.
"Dawn, you thanked me for trusting you, now I'm asking you to trust me back,"
Dawn sighs, and nods. "OK," she agrees. "OK, but if you get any inkling, a memory, anything that may be related to what we saw on that ship, you have to tell."
"Fine," Kory huffs, and watches Dawn leave before letting go of a breath. She feels guilty for lying to Dawn's face, even though she hasn't known her that long, she senses a genuine concern, and a growing loyalty. But she isn't ready for anyone to know her memories aren't returning to her in parts like she said. That her memories have returned in their full glory, every painful, wonderful, mundane and exquisite part of it, especially the part where she accepted a mission to Earth to escape her life on Tamaran.
How can she tell them, Dick and Rachel especially, that she arranged to have her own memories wiped, once she'd stopped the Raven, so she could live out a normal and anonymous life on Earth? That she planned on taking a tonic, brewed from Tamaran by a deeply close and trusted friend, once it was over. And that, somehow, all her memories got muddled up, and she lost the Raven in the mix. Did the person she trusted most on Tamaran sabotage her or did she make the mistake?
The malfunction of her ship and Raven aren't connected, as far as she knows. It's all to do with her, and one pissed off sister back home, rather than an unfortunate teenager with powerful abilities, desperate to be normal and not so destined, just like her.
"She's a good kid," Dick watches Bruce activate his satellite code in the supercomputer, leaning over his chair. The other screens flash fast and furious with an overwhelming load of information, ranging from old articles about the Raven in folklore, religious and mythological texts, mortality rates, and strange animal occurrences around the time of Rachel's birthday.
"If you say she is, then I know she is," Bruce says, searching each of his screens with a watchful eye.
Traffic, ATM and street security cams run quietly in the background, along with mugshots. Dick scoffs, all he has is his computer and instinct, and somehow, he'd forgotten how much technology and money was at Bruce's disposals. A few weeks in motel rooms, eating pizza and fighting off a super powered suburban family of four made it easy.
Dick wonders as he glances through all the information, all the computers are collecting on Rachel, how much Bruce knows about Kory, because he knows having Jason around hasn't afford him any favors in privacy. He swallows, watching the back of Bruce's head, and a part of him wants to ask, and gauge a reaction, but he doesn't want to find out anything Kory's not ready for him to know.
Besides, he doesn't want her on his radar, or anyone's radar for that matter. Call it instinct or paranoia after spending god knows how many hours with Trigon, but what Bruce did to her, still lingers in the back of his mind. He knows how tactful Bruce is, how mistrustful, and pessimistic, and the part that knows that, doesn't want to him anywhere near Kory, even in conversation. He purses his lips instead.
"Back at the tower, we're running scans on extreme weather fluctuations, sudden crop failures, mass accidents – who knows what he's doing," Dick swallows. "or planning, but we need something a little further out."
"It's going to take a day at most to get any results from the satellite," Bruce huffs out, turning in his chair to face Dick. "So, who's your new friend?"
"Gar," Dick smiles fondly. "special kid, good kid."
Bruce hums. "Special, or special?" when Dick glances away, he nods, and doesn't push. "How's Jason getting along with everyone?"
Dick scoffs. "Doing his best to be annoying," he shrugs, "one of his favorite hobbies, that and punching faces."
"Ah yes," Bruce smiles. "He does like a good brawl. Reminds me of someone."
Dick chuckles. "Yeah, well, he's still young. All he needs is a little sandpaper around the edges, but he's got potential," he swallows. "he wouldn't be here if he didn't, right?"
Bruce mirrors the swallow. "Your friends at the tower-,"
Dick clears his throat, "Can we talk," he asks, scratching the edge of his ear.
"We are talking," Bruce's face twists.
"Not about stuff," Dick says. "the tower, or Jason, I mean talk," he looks up, meeting Bruce's eyes.
Bruce gives a fraction of a nod, and Dick can see he's apprehensive, though he's impressively apt at hiding such tells. He had the pleasure of watching Bruce as he grew up and learning each one. He gestures to the chair Dick stands beside, and he sighs before pulling it out.
Dick takes a breath, considering his words before he lets them all out at once. "I uh," he chuckles, cupping his chin, and dragging his fingers across his jaw. "I guess I want to say - thank you."
Bruce's eyes widen a fraction and he's quick to recover from the shock, but under Dick's watchful eyes, not fast enough. "For what?"
Dick chuckles, because it's always been so much easier to list all the things, he was mad about, but he quickly sobers at the thought of Trigon, and how Batman had killed Kory, and he in turn had killed Batman. He'd spent so much time being angry at Bruce, thinking about how he'd turned him into a weapon, and wanting him to suffer for taking his childhood away, that it had taken him a while (the plane, and long ride up to the manor) to find all the things he'd dismissed that he should've been grateful for.
He sees it clearly now; he sees everything a little better. "When I was in that dream," he takes a beat, and huffs out a laugh. "nightmare, actually. There was so much rage inside, it was intoxicating, overwhelming. Then I woke up, and it felt smaller somehow, and I realized, that all this time I thought I hated you, but," he looks up at Bruce. "I don't."
Bruce shifts in his chair, leans into his elbow. "Dick, I don't want-,"
"Let me finish, please," Dick says, and Bruce nods. "Trigon showed me things in that place, things I don't want to be my future. Our future. I was angry a long time, about what I'd lost, what was taken from me, and I blamed you, but it wasn't all your fault – it's not," he swallows. "Being Robin. Not being Robin. It messed me up for a while, because I didn't know who I was without it, all I knew was, I couldn't put any of it down. Everything that had happened here in this house." Dick meets Bruce's eyes for a moment. "What you taught me. What you showed me." He leans forward, clasping his hands. "I felt stuck, even hundreds of miles away. You were the model I followed, and I left because I thought if I didn't, I would have to keep it, your ideas of justice, relationships, of leadership," he sighs with relief, "but I don't - have to."
Bruce smiles then.
"I'm realizing now that for all the terrible things I went through as a kid, it all led me here." Dick smiles at Bruce, and the burden that weighed in his chest shakes loose. He's breathing fully, for the first time. "I'm grateful for everything you did for me, everything you taught me, but I'm doing it my way now. I'm making a new model, and I don't need Robin, or Batman. Bruce might be a different story."
"I appreciate your candor, Dick," Bruce says quietly, "I'm glad we're talking,"
Dick huffs out a laugh. "I wish I'd said it sooner."
"Me too, but I'm relieved you're out the other side, and - I'm here if you ever, need anything."
Dick nods. He thought Bruce had robbed him of his childhood, forgetting it had already been stolen that night at the circus. And yet, without losing his innocence, maybe he wouldn't be the one now, fighting to protect the childhood innocence of the kids in his charge. Suffice it to say, all this happened to him for a reason, and that reason was finally making sense.
Maybe everything had to happen the way it did to make him who he is, and who he wants to be. Maybe his destiny was not to be a weapon of destruction, but a tool for healing. And all his pain was preparing him, so he'd understand how to take it away from others. Learning to fight was a necessary process, so he could one day teach others how to defend themselves.
Maybe being raised in the darkness made him the one to lead others out of it and into the light. And his parents not being around to share his life, didn't mean the world was what he first believed it to be, a banality of evil and despair. Now he knows that's not all that exists, that love and forgiveness, and redemption can and does exist alongside it. The world is not as black and white as he and Bruce once thought.
"And do you know who you are now?" Bruce asks.
Dick laughs softly. "For now," he says. "I'm just the son of Mary and John Grayson. The rest, I'm still figuring out."
"Fair enough," Bruce nods, clearing his throat. "You should know, Dick, that I saw greatness in you from the beginning, even as a boy with a broken heart. I saw everything you could be beneath all the despair and pain; you always had a tenderness about you, and empathy for others. You thrived, not only because you're the most brilliantly skilled acrobat I've ever seen, but because you had a quintessential skill I admired even then, and still admire now," he breathes out, with a smile. "A supernatural amount of tenacity."
Dick chuckles, leaning back into his chair with a bounce. "You mean stubborn."
"Basically," Bruce laughs.
Seeing Bruce now, as a man, rather than his guardian who should have been all the things he wanted. He sees a truth he never allowed himself to see before, a truth that always existed somewhere deep down. That Bruce is an orphaned boy, too, struggling to find his way in the world with a mask on, playing in the darkness so that he can one day face his own. He owes Bruce more than his wrath, more than this blame, but thanks too, and acknowledgment, because half of what he is now, is because of the man sat in front of him. Laughing.
He may have passed down his lack of social skills, a conduit through which to exercise his temper and mistrustful nature. But he also passed down his eye for detail and an obsession with puzzles, in games and life. He taught him how master his mind as well as his body and prepare for the future but never try to predict it, he had lessons to last him a lifetime.
Bruce leans forward, with a weary sigh. "I still wonder sometimes, if I did the right thing taking you in. If I was helping you by letting you join me in the shadows or - helping myself."
Dick swallows, and glances down.
"Was it ego? My need to pass everything I knew down to someone else, or to make us a symbol to be feared," he says, "spreading that fear in Gotham among those who conspired to destroy it." Bruce shrugs. "I sheltered you, it's true, but did I give you a home," he asks rhetorically. "Should I have left you with the big guy, Clay, with all the heart, put some money in his bank and walked away? I don't know," he looks up and Dick meets his eyes. "I never truly will, neither of us will." Smirking, he adds, "you know I'm not one for loose ends,"
Dick scoffs. He knows alright.
"But that's an end we'll never get to tie."
Dick struggled most of his life wondering the same thing, if growing up with Clay could've given him a better life, but in truth he knows the answer, he always has, he also knows the answer wouldn't change the one he had. He may not have had an obvious father in Bruce, but he had a damn good teacher and mentor, and that was practically the same thing. Despite the growing pains, he had a decent childhood, better than most.
Realizing that, and watching Jason be Robin, made him realize the mask had stopped fulfilling him long before he ever left Batman behind. It no longer hid the pain or served the unquenchable rage inside of him, only letting go of it did. Being Robin didn't work anymore, not the way it used to, and seeing Jason embrace it the way he did, he knew then he couldn't go back there, and that he didn't want to.
So, what Trigon really did, when he showed him all those possibilities, was help him realize, even if he had a chance at a do over, he wouldn't want one.
Dick smiles coyly. "I guess some things are better as mysteries,"
"I suppose that true," Bruce says, reminiscently.
"You did the best you could, we both did," Dick breathes out long and hard. "And now I want to do better for Rachel and Gar."
"And you will." Bruce adds.
Dick huffs out through his nose, a smile lingering, and glances out at the running screens as a picture clicks by. "Who was that?" he stands, and winds the photos back, until he finds her, with the same blue eyes as Rachel, a young pudgy face and dark hair. "She looks exactly like Rachel,"
"Angela Azarath," Bruce says with a sigh, and then taps in a code, unlocking a file where multiple sub-files load. "Rachel's birth mother,"
"So, you know about her too?" Dick looks at the old pictures and articles on the screen. He was working his way up to telling Bruce everything that happened at the house, but he hadn't yet filled him in on how Rachel's mother was involved.
"She's a Gotham native," Bruce says. "She disappeared a little over two decades ago. A cult. She was last seen getting off a bus in Detroit. I tracked her there, but shortly after, the trail went cold."
"Gotham." Dick scrubs a hand over his face. "We found her in an asylum, we think she was planted there to lure Rachel to her, so-,"
"Asylum?" Bruce asks, turning in his chair. "No," he says. "That couldn't have been the girl's mother,"
"What do you mean?" Dick asks, as his stomach wrings tight.
"Rachel's birth mother, Angela Azarath is dead." Bruce says, clicking on a photo of her, postmortem. "She died fourteen years ago."
Dick swallows, and clenches his fists tight. "Then who the fuck's at the tower?"