Batman
"My Three Sons: Batman Style"
Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.
Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: Talon. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called Kestrel. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's Batgirl. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.
Warning: This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it.
(AN—This chapter contains spanking of an eighteen year old. Don't like, don't read.)
Chapter 7: Too Old (I)
Bruce made his way up from the Batcave.
He had gathered the evidence he needed, called Commissioner Gordon, and then left. Returning home, he had stripped out of his 'hood' clothing, showered—washing off the confoundedly itchy cosmetic beard—and then dressed in a sweater and blue jeans.
Now it was time to deal with his errant sons. He sighed at the thought of the two boys waiting in his study for him. He wasn't worried so much about the younger of the two, for despite his rebellious nature Jason was all too well aware of the rules and consequences for breaking those rules.
Dick was another story, however.
Of his three sons, Dick was not only the oldest but he was also the one that most like him. Not only had he lost his parents in a disturbingly similar fashion as him, but he also had the same drive to see justice done that he did. Jason and Tim took crime fighting very seriously, but Dick (like him) made it his life.
Bruce sighed again, reaching the hidden door behind the clock in the living room. Yes, Dick was going to be a problem.
Since turning eighteen a few months back, the boy's moods had become somewhat irregular. At times, he was the same boy he'd always been—serious, yet also good natured—but other times there was a defiance and anger in him that threatened to erupt at any moment. Bruce had a feeling it was going to be one of those nights.
Down below, he had used the Bat computer to see what the boys were doing in the study but that had been at least fifteen minutes before so he decided to open the door a crack to see if they were still as they had been. Yep, Dick was still pacing the floor and Jason was still watching him.
"Would you quit it already?" he heard Jason tell his older brother. "You know as well as I do what the old man's gonna do. Pacing isn't going to do you any good."
Dick let out a growl and glared at his younger brother. "We know what he's going to do to you," he told him, "but there's no way in hell I'm gonna let him do it to me! I'm too old!"
Jason snorted at that. "Yeah right," he said, "like Dad is really just gonna let what you did slide. You're crazy!"
Dick just growled again and started pacing again.
Bruce put his head on the door, and sighed. He knew exactly what he was going to have to do, but he hated it. What hurt him more was that he knew Dick would hate him for doing it afterwards, but knowing that it was for the boy's own good never the less. He loved his son, even if it meant causing a wedge between them to prove it.
Steeling himself, he opened the door and walked in. The two boys turned to regard him nervously. Jason's eyes showed he didn't like was going to happen but that he was prepared for it never the less. Dick's eyes only showed defiance and a resolve to stand firm.
"Jason," Bruce said, his face and voice stern, "go on up to your room and get ready for bed. I'll be up to speak to you after I've spoken to your brother."
A moment of relief shown in the younger boy's eyes, at not having to be the first to face his father's wrath he supposed, but it quickly was replaced with resolve once more. "Yes, Sir," he said, and then headed past him to do as he was told.
When the door closed behind him, this left Bruce and Dick alone in the study—one on each end, facing the other.
For several moments, father and son merely stared at each other. Their nearly identical blue eyes held an almost indomitable will that would not yield no matter what—it would come down to who's will was stronger and Bruce knew it would be his. Strong willed his boy may be, but no one could match him for sheer stubbornness (as Alfred liked to remind him every once in a while).
Bruce moved over to his desk, which Dick was standing by, and leaned against it. "I'm very disappointed in you, Richard," he said, letting that disappointment be heard in his voice. "Not only did you shuck your responsibilities tonight, you also lied to me—something you haven't done in quite a while."
Dick winced, remembering the last (and only) time he'd lied to his adopted father. H'd been eight, it was a few months after his parents' deaths, and he'd lied about going to visit his parents' graves. Now that he was older, he could understand why it was silly to lie about that but at the time he wasn't sure how Bruce would feel about him visiting them so he'd told him he'd been playing in the basement. Since the 'basement' was the Bat cave, and he hadn't known Bruce's secret yet, the man had known he was telling him a lie.
He hadn't been happy about it, either.
He wasn't happy now, that was for sure.
"If you'd only told me what you had planned," Bruce told him, ignoring the glare being sent his way or the stubborn set to the boy's jaw, "I'd have informed both you and Jason that I intended to take you with me as Flint and Striker."
Flint and Striker Malone was the teenage 'hood' sons of Matches Malone and every once in a while would 'hook' up with the old man for a 'racket'—in truth they were usually there to bust sad 'racket'.
Bruce crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at the (as of yet) unresponsive eighteen year old. "Tell me, son," he asked, "what are the rules regarding lying in this house?"
Dick sighed. "Not to, of course," he told him, rolling his eyes.
Bruce's eyes hardened at the defiant tone he heard. "Then why did you?" he asked.
"I'm eighteen, Bruce," Dick told him, stubbornly, "I don't have to tell you where I'm going every time I leave!"
"If you truly felt that way, Richard," Bruce told him, knowingly, "you would have simply told me where you were going instead of making up some excuse. Now tell me, son, what is the consequence in this house for lying?"
Dick growled. "I'm not playing this game with you," he practically shouted at him, crossing his arms over his chest.
Bruce growled back. "Answer the question, Richard Grayson," he commanded in a tone that was normally reserved for the hardened scum of the city, "what is the punishment for lying to me?!"
Dick's jaw set stubbornly, but he answered, "A spanking."
Bruce nodded. "Are you ready to accept that punishment?" he asked, knowingly.
Now would come the part he dreaded most.
Dick's blue eyes flashed fire. "No, I'm not," he said between clenched teeth. "I'm eighteen freakin' year old, Bruce! I'm too old for this crap now!"
Bruce steeled himself and said, "As long as you live in this house, Richard Grayson Wayne, you will live by the rules I set for you ten years ago and you will face the consequences for breaking those rules."
"Well maybe I won't live in this house anymore," Dick threw at him, as he knew he would.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked. "Where will you go, then? Back to the circus?" A low blow, he knew, but one that needed to be said none the less.
Dick growled again. "No," he yelled, "I'll rent an apartment or something?"
Bruce again looked at him quizzically. "How do you plan to pay for it?" he asked, curious.
"I have a trust fund," Dick reminded him, smugly.
"That doesn't come into play until you are twenty-one," Bruce reminded him right back, wiping the smug look from his face. He knew now he was going to win this battle.
Dick's eyes took on a desperate look as he searched for a means to win his argument. "I'll get a job," he said, "just like any other guy my age."
"You could," Bruce said, knowing he was about to deliver the final (and hurtful) blow, "but that would mean having to either give up school or crime fighting. The first is absolutely out of the question. Are you truly ready, son, to give up the second?"
Dick swallowed, biting his lip. His brain frantically searched for a solution and unfortunately for him didn't find it. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "No, Sir," he answered his father honestly.
Bruce nodded. "Then I guess you'll just have to stay right here, won't you?" he asked, going around his desk to retrieve something from the top draw.
Dick's eyes followed him, knowing what he was about to get. "Yes, Sir," he answered again, his voice defeated as the defiance he felt most of the night left him rather suddenly.
Bruce retrieved the paddle from his desk drawer and ran a hand over it. For three generations this paddle had been used by the patriarchs of the Wayne family to discipline their sons. His grandfather had used it on his father, his father (and Alfred) had used it on him, and he (more than he would have liked, unfortunately) had used it on is three boys.
"Then since you're staying," he told him, "you obviously agree to follow the rules of this house and therefore face the consequences of breaking those rules, don't you?"
Blinking back tears, Dick nodded. "Yes, Sir," he answered again, feeling more like the eight year old boy he had once been about to face his first punishment than the eighteen year old young man he had proclaimed (loudly) to be moments before.
Bruce nodded, coming around the desk. "Then you know what comes next," he told his oldest child. "Drop your pants, Richard Grayson, and bend over my desk."
Dick flinched, not out of fear for despite the fact he was about to set his backside on fire he knew he was perfectly safe with his dad, but obeyed. Dropping his pants and boxers, he bent forward over Bruce's desk. As his cheek touch the woodened surface, he silently cursed the day he'd grown to tall to be turned across Bruce's knee—as mortifying as that was he at least been on the receiving end of Bruce's hand rather than the paddle.
"Under no circumstances do you EVER lie to me, young man," Bruce told him sternly, as he raised the paddle back. "Is that understood?"
A sob catching his throat, Dick answered, "Yes, Sir." He tensed, waiting for the first pop!
POP!
Despite being prepared for it, the first crack of the paddle on his exposed rear caused him to hiss in surprise at the warming sensation it sent throughout his entire posterior.
POP! POP!
The next two blows, in rapid succession of each other, sent heat flaring over his butt cheeks and turning them a pale shade of pink. He felt tears sting his eyes and bit his lip.
POP! POP! POP!
Now his backside felt roasted and was probably a candy apple red. Tears began to slide down his reddened (face) cheek.
POP! POP! POP!
Dick sniffed, the sob trying to escape but he forced it back down. He was eighteen, too old to left a little thing like a spanking get to him.
"It's almost over, son," Bruce told him gently. "Four more and we'll be done."
POP! POP! POP!
Those were the hardest and they'd been delivered to the sensitive under curve. He wouldn't be sitting well tomorrow, that was for sure.
CRACK!
The final blow was delivered with enough force to cause him to jump up from the desk to grab his backside that felt suddenly numb despite the heat radiating from it. The moment his hands came into contact with his very red globes, he could no longer stop the tears and sobs.
Bruce put the paddle up, but then came back around and placed his hands on his son's shoulders.
"You are never too old to face the consequences of your actions, son," he told him, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks—which were as red as the ones on his rear end at the moment. "You know what you did tonight was wrong, don't you?"
Dick simply nodded, unable to really answer. Tonight had been an act of defiance rather than a true desire to go to the rave. He had wanted to prove he was man now, but instead all he'd proved was that he was—in a lot of ways—still just a kid. A kid who still needed his dad very much.
Bruce knew this, and pulled him into a hug. Each and every time he had to discipline one of his boys, it hurt him. His father had once told him that 'it hurts me a lot more than it hurts you son" and he—at the ripe old age of seven—had asked quite indignantly 'how?" He had, of course, just been on the receiving end of the very same paddle he'd used on Dick and had been rubbing his stinging rear end at the time.
His father had responded by saying, "The hurt you feel, son, goes away after a little while but the hurt I feel never goes away because I know I've had to cause the most precious thing in the world to me pain for his own good and that hurts me more than any sore rear end in the world could."
At seven, he hadn't really understood. At thirty-seven, and the father of three very special sons, he knew all too well what his father had meant. Yes, all too well.
Dick cried on his shoulder a bit more, but then slowly regained control of his emotions—enough to remember he was still bare assed, anyway—and disentangled himself from father. To hide the embarrassment he suddenly felt, he bent down to pull up his dropped jeans and boxers. He couldn't help but hiss as the material came into contact with his—extremely—sore ass.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, unable to meet his father's eyes at that moment.
Bruce grinned, reaching to pull the boy's chin up. "We all make mistakes, son," he told him, "but you know that once punishment as been meted out all's forgiven."
Dick nodded, grinning a bit. Despite his overly stern and extremely over protective nature a times, Bruce really was a fair dad. He set the rules for the boys and the consequences, he never punished them for every little infraction and never held a mistake over their heads past whatever punishment (and they didn't involve the paddle, by the way) he deemed necessary.
"I guess I'm not as ready to move out as I thought I was," Dick admitted, sheepishly.
Bruce nodded. "No, not yet," he agreed, "but when you are—and you'll know, son—we'll sit down together and talk about it. Okay?"
Dick nodded. "I'd like that," he said, blushing. "I know I've been an ass lately…"
"No more so than I was at eighteen," Bruce told him, smirking. "Young men your age, son, are usually always the same. Your considered adults under the law, have your first taste of freedom, and believe that makes you adults. I was the exact same way, in fact I was worse because I thought since my parents were gone I had the right to do as I pleased. Believe me, Alfred disabused me of that notion very quickly!"
Dick chuckled. "Did he ever make you bend over the desk?" he asked, cheekily.
Bruce smiled, glad to see some of his son's former humor returning. It meant things between the were going to be all right, something he was VERY glad about.
"You kidding?" he asked, wincing. "My ass was in the air so much I thought it was going to grow wings."
Dick laughed at that, but then winced. "I know the feeling," he said, reaching back to rub his still stinging posterior.
Bruce nodded. "C'mon," he said, placing a hand. "You need to be in bed and I still have Jason to deal with." He began to steer him toward the study door.
"No paddle?" Dick asked, smirking.
"Nope," Bruce answered, opening the door and they headed up the stairs. "Jason pulled a childish stunt, so he gets a child's punishment."
"Over the knee with a hairbrush," Dick said, wincing. "Ouch." He'd been on the receiving end of one of those as well.
Bruce nodded, but sighed. "I sometimes wonder if you three aren't going to be the death of me," he said, lifting his eyes heavenward.
"Nah," Dick told him. "Joker'll probably get you before us."
Bruce snorted. "Thanks a lot," he said, dryly. "Now, off to bed you." He gave him a little shove toward his bedroom door.
Dick snapped off a crisp salute. "Aye, aye, Sir," he said, smirking.
Bruce shook his head as he watched him retreat into his room. Cheeky brat, he thought heartened despite what he had to do now.
At Jason's door, he sighed.
One down, one to go.
TBC…
(AN—I'm giving you all fair warning. The next chapter will also have a spanking scene in it, but I don't want to get any comments about how spanking is the main focus of this story--because it isn't--I simply think if you're going to discipline one child for breaking the rule you should punish the other child the same way for breaking the same rule. It's only fair, after all. Please review. Thanks.)