He Would Never, Ch. 1
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake
Genre: Humor, Slash
Warnings: It is Bruce/Dick, so - a lot of uncomfortable sexual tension and general inappropriateness. Dick is 17. Ridiculous villain names.
A/N: Tim has an uneasy realization about Bruce's and Dick’s relationship and confronts Dick with his newfound knowledge, leading to the most uncomfortable brother talk ever. Dick reminisces about the night where he and Bruce made a series of escalating rash decisions.
I love this pairing to pieces but I’m also very conflicted about it, so I guess I needed to work it out of my system somehow. It turned out really meta. Also, I don’t usually do this but one of the first lines is a variation of a line from Community. It just worked so well there.
"It was him, wasn't it?" Tim Drake blurted out as soon as Dick Grayson opened the door.
Dick had seen the face of life-altering trauma before; multiple times, actually. Right now, looking at Tim, he saw it again. And without another word, he knew what this was about.
He sighed to himself. There went his fairly uncomplicated evening.
"I knew this day would come," he said solemnly, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Come in."
He didn't have to say it twice. The younger boy bolted right past him into the living room, where he started pacing. Dick closed the door and followed him, only to stand there with his arms crossed, watching him uncomfortably.
Oh boy. How did you even start a conversation like this?
"So," he said, after a while. "You want a glass of wa - "
That was all the effort he had to make, because Tim cut him off at once. "I knew it!" He whispered, in that fervent tone that only master detectives were capable of, "Somehow, I always knew. You and him... You and Bruce...there was something...different. And I didn't know what it was, but I always knew it was there. You were too close, it was entirely too close, and it was - "
"Don't say weird," Dick suddenly snapped. He was surprised by how nakedly emotional his own voice was.
"Don't call it weird," He repeated, trying his best to sound more composed, more big brotherly. "It wasn't weird. If you say weird, this conversation's over."
At this, Tim's movement stopped, and he became very quiet. Perhaps it was hearing Dick say something like that, acknowledging that this...situation was more than just a huge joke. The weight of the revelation seemed to crush him, so much so that he sank right onto Dick's exquisite couch, covering his face with his hands.
"I just...I can't believe I didn't see it before," he muttered.
"Well - " Dick flung himself on to the couch across Tim, resting his feet on the coffee table. "It makes sense, Tim. It's a deliberate blind spot. Obviously, this realization about me and Bruce was so scarring to you that you chose not to see it."
Tim took his hands off his face long enough to shoot him a wild look, though not long enough to make actual eye contact. It was obviously hard for him to look at Dick now, as the older boy realized with a twinge of pain. His relationships with his successors as Robin were kind of hit-and-miss, but he and Tim had always liked and trusted each other. Right now, that trust seemed to be in shambles. As were, probably, some of Tim's better childhood memories, and his attitude towards sex in general. He'd been looking up to Batman and Robin ever since he was a little kid, had dreamt of becoming like them. The idea of Batman and the first Robin going at it was probably more traumatizing to him than unwillingly making out with Poison Ivy, which was kind of a rite of passage around their parts.
Dick needed to tread really lightly in this; which was tricky, because he was a crime-fighting acrobat, not a counselor. He tried for a light-hearted tone; he was good at that, at least.
"I understand how you feel," he said, even though he truly, really didn't, "I mean, everyone's always saying how terrible it is to see their parents doing it, right? And this is a little bit like that, only ... ten times worse?"
His attempt to lighten up the mood wasn't worth the long, steely look of bewilderment and disgust that Tim Drake gave him after that. Well, at least he was making eye contact now.
"What are you trying to insinuate, Dick?" He eventually uttered, mortified, "That Bruce being my dad makes you my...mom? What? Where are you going with this?"
Yeah, now that he really thought about it, that analogy was kinda unfortunate.
"I don't actually know," he confessed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This was already more exhausting than a tumble with Killer Croc on a burning ferris wheel.
The awkward silence that ensued seemed to soften Tim up a little. "But you're like a son to him," he offered after a while, looking positively heartbroken. "Like...like me. How...?" He went pale as another horrible thought hit him. "The more important question is, when? Oh Dick. That one time, when we were goofing off, you and me, and we got talking about first times, and I asked you how your first time was, and you smiled wistfully and said 'violent'? That was... " He shuddered, and his face met his palms again. "Oh no."
The memory of losing his virginity in the Batcave of all places almost brought a smile to Dick's face. But he figured that it would only freak Tim out more, so he stomped hard on that impulse.
He wanted to pat the boy on the head, he really did. Tim had always been strong, level-headed, hard to vex, but right now he looked so miserable that Dick could barely take it. Apart from that, there was also the small fact that Tim had basically just taken a pickaxe and gone to town on a blackened, scarred part of Dick's heart that he'd worked hard to shut off. But he chose not to focus on that now; it was always easier to tend to someone else's pain.
"D'you wanna eat?" He offered helplessly, trying to make out Tim's face behind his fingers. "I got some delicious...salad."
That was all there was, really. Right now, he would've liked to say "Do you want pizza?", "Do you want a beer?", "Do you want to get hammered?". Maybe even make like Jason and light up a cigarette. This was the kind of talk that called for booze and comfort food. But that wasn't an option in their line of work.
Tim didn't look as if he'd ever eat again, but he took a peek at the box of takeout on the table anyway. "You got dressing on that?" He asked, indignant.
"Yeah. I'm indulging."
"Bruce wouldn't - " Tim realized what he was about to say, and fell deadly silent again.
"If it helps," Dick started again, softly, "It's over." He paused, surprised how terrible it still was to say it. "We don't...it's over. We don't do that anymore. We're friends now." The word turned to ashes in his mouth. He did his best to look chipper. "And hey, friendship's the best, right?"
Tim raised a dark eyebrow. "Don't Robin me, Dick," he snapped. "What are you saying? That you were his boy…toy, and then he got tired of you and dumped you, like those girlfriends he has? I've collected all your pictures. You were tiny when you started working for him. Really tiny. Lithe. Scrawny - "
"Okay, are you talking about my past, or are you insulting me. I can't tell."
"...I mean, did you even have a say in any of it? How it ended? How it...started?"
Dick rolled his eyes. "He didn't touch me when I was a kid, Tim, geez. Batman doesn't touch children. Unless he has to catch them when they are falling from great heights, or when their stupid pixie boot gets caught in the chains of a tank again. It wasn't like that. I swear."
For the first time during their talk, there was a flicker of hope in Tim's eyes. "So you were...eighteen when it happened, right?"
Dick blushed deeply. "Um - "
Tim's face fell.
"Um. I was nearly...you know, a lot of guys have sex when they're seventeen - "
"Not with Batman - !"
Tim closed his mouth at once, stunned and wide-eyed, apparently shocked by his own audacity; the fact that he'd even say that. He looked around, as if he was suspecting a lightnting bolt to strike him down, or Batman himself to swoop in from the shadows and destroy him with a single silent, condemning look. He was so smart, yet he looked up to Bruce with that sort of blindingly passionate admiration that brought him right back around to naive again. This was very familiar to Dick, and also, for some reason, very aggravating.
Truth be told, he'd rather let the Riddler tie him to a rocket again than discuss these things with Tim. But something was on the edge of breaking, here, he knew it, and he had to.
"Why do you care so much?" He asked gently, even though he knew what the answer would be.
"Because I need to know I wasn't wrong." That was a very Tim thing to say, but he sounded especially haunted when he said it. "I need to know that Batm- that Bruce is the man I always thought he was. I need to know that he isn't a creep. I mean...he is a creep. We're all creeps. The only reason nobody calls us creeps is because Gotham has worse creeps. But I need to know that he didn't - I need to know you're fine."
Dick gave him a queasy smile. That his de facto little brother worried about him - worried, about him - was strangely endearing...and very, very humiliating at the same time.
He could've answered honestly, but instead, he opened his arms and presented himself, putting on that carefree smirk he usually did so well with. "I turned out great, didn't I? Look at me!"
And Tim did. Way more thoroughly and critically than Dick would have liked, even. He could feel his smile falter under the scrutiny. Tim Drake had an uncanny talent to pick the wrong moments for being extraordinarily perceptive. And also a very Bruce Wayne-like refusal to let things go.
"I hate to say this, Dick," he eventually declared, a grave frown on his smooth face, "But right now, you look like you're dead inside."
Nightwing let his arms collapse into his lap again. His smile deflated. "Fine." He wanted to spit the word at Tim's feet in defiance, but he wasn't Damian. He couldn't pull it off. It came out as a defeated whisper. "You sure you want to hear about it?"
Tim shook his head emphatically, while his wide, sharp eyes remained fixed on Dick.
"No. I don't want to hear anything about it. But I need to hear everything about it." He hesitated. "Do you...understand that?"
Dick’s lips twitched into a lopsided grin. "I do. Completely."
Tim seemed to internally brace himself for what was coming. Then, he let out a sharp sigh and pointed toward the kitchen.
"Before we start...I think I'll take that water now."
*****
It had been a few weeks before Dick Grayson's 18th birthday, and following one of the tensest, most uncomfortable rides that had ever occured in the Batmobile.
It was about half past midnight, and they had been driving in complete silence. Neither of them had uttered a single word ever since they'd left the crime scene. Batman's teeth seemed even more clenched than usual as he glared at the road ahead, gripping the wheel as if he wanted to throttle it. His steely blue eyes were almost impossible to make out inside his cowl; over time, he had perfected the art of disappearing completely behind it at will. It had been like being driven home by an inanimate statue, or an unnervingly well-toned robot.
The only other thing Dick later remembered from that ride was the sight of his own gloved hands resting on his bare thighs. Because he'd stared at them as if his life depended on it, whenever he wasn't sneaking a look up at Batman.
Somehow, this night had been more jarring than accidentally bringing up Bruce's parents in light-hearted conversation.
Dick had been relieved when they'd eventually reached the Batcave. But when he skipped out of the car, the usual spring in his step was missing; that swagger that normally came with successfully bringing a culprit to justice. Something hung in the air between them, heavy and impenetrable, and it had followed them all the way into their inner sanctum, the Batcave.
He flinched as Bruce slammed the car door shut with unusual force; or perhaps, it just seemed extra loud because they were extra quiet. It was hard to tell.
Bruce went around the car to approach him, his cape flowing majestically behind him even though there was no breeze. It was the first time he even looked at Dick since he'd thrown himself into the Batmobile and hissed at him to put on his seat belt through gritted teeth.
They looked at each other. Somewhere in the cave, something wet was dripping from the ceiling, like it always did. For a while, it seemed like that was the only sound in the universe.
And then, they started talking at the same time.
"So uh, the raid went well - " Dick started.
"Robin, I have to apologize - " Bruce said.
Dick didn't like Bruce's formal voice much. He knew it was meant to convey respect, but there was something lacking from it. He missed the times when Bruce would do things like put him in a friendly headlock and tell him he did well, or pat him on the head, back when he'd been a smaller, bouncier version of himself. He'd liked that.
"Don't." He cracked a little smile. At least there was talk. He shrugged. "I mean, we had to storm The Kinkster's hideout tonight! You couldn't have possibly known there would be an ..."
He trailed off. He couldn't even bring himself to say "orgy" in front of Batman. Even though that had clearly been what it was, it seemed wrong somehow to say that.
Dick bit his lip. He was no novice. Of course there'd been situations like that before. Busting an arms dealer while he was taking a bubble bath with half a dozen models. Crashing a mobster's party while an exotic dancer was gyrating on his lap, that sort of thing.
But tonight had been a little different. For one, there had been no ladies present at that party at all. And everyone had been extremely naked with each other when they'd arrived.
The Kinkster, the city-wide reknowned drug lord himself, had probably been the worst part. The arrest had taken Gordon twice as long as usual, since it had taken them a while to get him out of that...device he'd been in.
He wasn't quite sure why Gordon, red in the face and seeming flustered, had felt obliged to tell him, "It's called a swing, Robin."
Anyway.
Bruce looked as if he was ready to slam The Kinkster's face into a bowl full of edible finger paint all over again. "I could have known," he scowled, "I focused all my attention on the coke shipment, I never looked into what he meant by 'gathering'.”
“His name could’ve tipped us off, I suppose,” Dick admitted, tilting his head.
Batman didn’t even have a low chuckle for that. It seemed to really bother him. He turned his head away, looking disgruntled and immaculate at the same time in his cowl. “You shouldn’t have seen that, that’s all. And I'm sorry you were attacked by a seven foot tall naked man in a steam bath tonight, Robin. That sort of thing shouldn't happen."
That memory made Dick giggle. He remembered that Batman had punched that guy especially hard after he'd dragged him off his struggling partner.
Bruce waited for him to finish his giggle fit, looking almost offended. Then, he turned away abrupty, walking towards the cave's exit in long, swooping, angry strides.
"Wait - " Dick hurried to catch up to him. He didn't want it to be like this. The night had been a success! They'd gotten to The Kinkster in time, and those drugs would never reach the streets of Gotham. He wanted Batman to be content and proud (since 'happy' was too much to ask for), not miserable just because he felt bad for him!
"I accept your apology, but don't worry about it!" he told Bruce, scurrying along next to him. "I mean, it's nothing I haven't seen before - "
He stumbled over that last sentence, and very nearly over his feet, as he felt his face grow warm, then warmer, and then hot.
Bruce seemed to freeze for the tiniest of moments, but he was graceful enough not to ask where in the world Dick might have seen such a thing before.
Being a student of the human body as well as the mind, he probably at least suspected that his younger companion had glimpsed into the world of pornography by now. Dick wasn't sure why he should care, however. It wasn't as if he owned any. He would never bring that filth into Wayne Manor. Not into a household that was overseen by Bruce and run by Alfred. It would have been sacrilegious.
What he did own, however, was a shirtless photo of Bruce that they'd taken on the beach. He kept it under his pillow, and sometimes, at night, when he could be really sure that everyone else was fast asleep, he would take it out and ... look at it.
Dick was very paranoid about that picture. So much so that whenever he left his room for a longer period of time, he'd lock it in a box that contained only his most prized possessions, then hide the box under a floorboard inside his closet, and put a pair of shoes on top of it.
He'd been fascinated with that type of male bonding for a while. He'd never really had an opportunity to apply himself to studying it, but he had...theories.
He wasn't quite sure why he was even thinking about that now. It was probably The Kinkster's fault.
"It's not that bad, right?" He tried again. Bruce was still walking, seemingly away from him for some reason. "We see each other naked all the time!"
That had been the wrong thing to say. Why would he say that. He didn't know why he'd said that.
Bruce stopped in his tracks and turned around.
"No we don't," he insisted, sounding scandalized.
Dick blushed. It was true; back when he'd started out as Robin, they had done things like taking cold showers together in the mornings and change into their costumes in front of each other. But once he'd reached a certain age, Bruce has suggested that perhaps maybe they shouldn't do that anymore. Dick had accepted that, because he usually accepted Batman's suggestions, unless it was "sit this one out, it's too dangerous".
Some time before that happened, Bruce had told Dick that he couldn't sneak into his bed and snuggle up to him anymore. That had hurt a little; but once he'd gotten familiar to the feeling of waking up with a throbbing erection pressing into his mattress, it had seemed like a very sensible thing to say.
"Forget it." He shuffled his feet. "That was stupid. Don't worry about tonight. I can barely remember what those men looked like." That was a bald-faced lie. He remembered every detail very vividly, and was also fairly sure he'd recognized some guys from Gotham City's varsity Hockey team. But none of that mattered. Making Bruce feel better was what mattered. "Let's go upstairs, have some ice cream and catch the late movie! Okay?"
Bruce raised his hand, and for a moment, it looked as if he was about to cup Dick's cheek or something, but then he dropped it again, heavy as a rock.
"You go up ahead and change. I'll be right behind you. There's some files I still need to look over."
That was disappointing, but Dick didn't want to press the issue. At least the conversation had turned halfway back to normal at the end. He made for the stairs, tugging at the buttons of his costume while he was at it.
"One last thing - "
"Yes?" He spun around, hopeful. Perhaps they could both look through those files. Stick their heads together.
Bruce was already at his desk, his back turned. "I won't be requiring you tomorrow. You should take the night off. Didn't you mention those school pals of yours going to a rock concert? You should go with them. Alfred could drive you. You could take them all for pizza after."
That was baffling. Batman very rarely encouraged leisurly activities. He could barely stand them when he was Bruce. And he never, ever mentioned anything about getting pizza.
Dick smacked his lips. "Yeah, I don't really wanna go," he confessed. "Remember, that one time we went to a rock concert, those satanists tried to eat us."
That got a little scoff out of Bruce. "I know. But that was because we were Batman and Robin. And we were trying to arrest them. You should go for...fun. As Dick."
Now Batman had said "fun". This was getting strange.
"And if they do try to eat you, you could still give me a call," he offered, as an afterthought.
Dick pouted. "We were going to bust that midget knife-fighting ring tomorrow! I wasn't gonna say anything, but I think we could try that strategy where I swing from the ceiling and disrupt the fight, and then you - "
"I think you should spend some more time with people your age," Bruce snapped at him. The sudden hardness in his voice let the hairs on Dick's neck stand up. It also tickled a little bit in his stomach area.
Bruce immediately seemed to regret being so harsh with him. He cleared his throat. "It's important to mingle with your peers," he explained, in a milder tone now. "I noticed that you haven't been on a date in a while. Perhaps you'll meet someone. An appropriate ... person. Your age."
Dick stood there, puzzled, his vest half-open, and stared at his friend. Was Batman, of all people, criticizing him for being too distracted by the awesome pursuit of justice to date? That stung a little.
His partner seemed to think the conversation over. At least he was very pointedly shuffling files around on his desk. Dick knew that Bruce was an expert at speed reading, but it looked as if he was barely processing them at all.
Those files didn't really look that important, either. One of them was a sailing magazine.
"Why," he eventually asked flatly.
When Bruce looked at him, his eyes were in clear sight for a change, blue and unblinkingly questioning. "Don't you want to? I know we do important work, but outside of that, I'm hardly the best company."
"But you are!"
He jumped down the steps again. How could Bruce ever doubt that? Dick liked the kids at his school just fine, but who would prefer hanging out at the same burger place every night to driving in the Batmobile and dangling a dangerous arsonist from a ten story building by his feet?
"How can you doubt that?"
He wished he could run up to him and throw his arms around his waist, and tell him he was his favorite person in the world, like he'd done many times when he was little. But something kept him from doing that. Still, Bruce had to know it was still true, right? Right?
The shuffling of papers finally stopped, and Bruce let out a sigh. It was that type of grave, deep sigh that was usually reserved for the words "Batman, the Joker has escaped. Again".
Dick looked at him, arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. What had he done now?
"Robin," Batman said, gesturing at the chair next to him. "Sit."
"I - "
"Sit."
He did. Though, instead of taking the chair, he hopped onto the desk, dangling his legs as he looked at Bruce intently. He tried to ignore the cold sweat he was about to break out into. He didn't know what was happening exactly. But it was serious. He could sense it.
"Robin." There was that clenching of teeth again. "Dick. Are you ..." Dick shifted uncomfortably. This was very unlike Bruce. He never struggled to find the right words.
However, he found them, and asked the thing that delivered sweet, swift death to the life they had previously known.
"Are you infatuated with me?"
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake
Genre: Humor, Slash
Warnings: It is Bruce/Dick, so - a lot of uncomfortable sexual tension and general inappropriateness. Dick is 17. Ridiculous villain names.
A/N: Tim has an uneasy realization about Bruce's and Dick’s relationship and confronts Dick with his newfound knowledge, leading to the most uncomfortable brother talk ever. Dick reminisces about the night where he and Bruce made a series of escalating rash decisions.
I love this pairing to pieces but I’m also very conflicted about it, so I guess I needed to work it out of my system somehow. It turned out really meta. Also, I don’t usually do this but one of the first lines is a variation of a line from Community. It just worked so well there.
"It was him, wasn't it?" Tim Drake blurted out as soon as Dick Grayson opened the door.
Dick had seen the face of life-altering trauma before; multiple times, actually. Right now, looking at Tim, he saw it again. And without another word, he knew what this was about.
He sighed to himself. There went his fairly uncomplicated evening.
"I knew this day would come," he said solemnly, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Come in."
He didn't have to say it twice. The younger boy bolted right past him into the living room, where he started pacing. Dick closed the door and followed him, only to stand there with his arms crossed, watching him uncomfortably.
Oh boy. How did you even start a conversation like this?
"So," he said, after a while. "You want a glass of wa - "
That was all the effort he had to make, because Tim cut him off at once. "I knew it!" He whispered, in that fervent tone that only master detectives were capable of, "Somehow, I always knew. You and him... You and Bruce...there was something...different. And I didn't know what it was, but I always knew it was there. You were too close, it was entirely too close, and it was - "
"Don't say weird," Dick suddenly snapped. He was surprised by how nakedly emotional his own voice was.
"Don't call it weird," He repeated, trying his best to sound more composed, more big brotherly. "It wasn't weird. If you say weird, this conversation's over."
At this, Tim's movement stopped, and he became very quiet. Perhaps it was hearing Dick say something like that, acknowledging that this...situation was more than just a huge joke. The weight of the revelation seemed to crush him, so much so that he sank right onto Dick's exquisite couch, covering his face with his hands.
"I just...I can't believe I didn't see it before," he muttered.
"Well - " Dick flung himself on to the couch across Tim, resting his feet on the coffee table. "It makes sense, Tim. It's a deliberate blind spot. Obviously, this realization about me and Bruce was so scarring to you that you chose not to see it."
Tim took his hands off his face long enough to shoot him a wild look, though not long enough to make actual eye contact. It was obviously hard for him to look at Dick now, as the older boy realized with a twinge of pain. His relationships with his successors as Robin were kind of hit-and-miss, but he and Tim had always liked and trusted each other. Right now, that trust seemed to be in shambles. As were, probably, some of Tim's better childhood memories, and his attitude towards sex in general. He'd been looking up to Batman and Robin ever since he was a little kid, had dreamt of becoming like them. The idea of Batman and the first Robin going at it was probably more traumatizing to him than unwillingly making out with Poison Ivy, which was kind of a rite of passage around their parts.
Dick needed to tread really lightly in this; which was tricky, because he was a crime-fighting acrobat, not a counselor. He tried for a light-hearted tone; he was good at that, at least.
"I understand how you feel," he said, even though he truly, really didn't, "I mean, everyone's always saying how terrible it is to see their parents doing it, right? And this is a little bit like that, only ... ten times worse?"
His attempt to lighten up the mood wasn't worth the long, steely look of bewilderment and disgust that Tim Drake gave him after that. Well, at least he was making eye contact now.
"What are you trying to insinuate, Dick?" He eventually uttered, mortified, "That Bruce being my dad makes you my...mom? What? Where are you going with this?"
Yeah, now that he really thought about it, that analogy was kinda unfortunate.
"I don't actually know," he confessed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This was already more exhausting than a tumble with Killer Croc on a burning ferris wheel.
The awkward silence that ensued seemed to soften Tim up a little. "But you're like a son to him," he offered after a while, looking positively heartbroken. "Like...like me. How...?" He went pale as another horrible thought hit him. "The more important question is, when? Oh Dick. That one time, when we were goofing off, you and me, and we got talking about first times, and I asked you how your first time was, and you smiled wistfully and said 'violent'? That was... " He shuddered, and his face met his palms again. "Oh no."
The memory of losing his virginity in the Batcave of all places almost brought a smile to Dick's face. But he figured that it would only freak Tim out more, so he stomped hard on that impulse.
He wanted to pat the boy on the head, he really did. Tim had always been strong, level-headed, hard to vex, but right now he looked so miserable that Dick could barely take it. Apart from that, there was also the small fact that Tim had basically just taken a pickaxe and gone to town on a blackened, scarred part of Dick's heart that he'd worked hard to shut off. But he chose not to focus on that now; it was always easier to tend to someone else's pain.
"D'you wanna eat?" He offered helplessly, trying to make out Tim's face behind his fingers. "I got some delicious...salad."
That was all there was, really. Right now, he would've liked to say "Do you want pizza?", "Do you want a beer?", "Do you want to get hammered?". Maybe even make like Jason and light up a cigarette. This was the kind of talk that called for booze and comfort food. But that wasn't an option in their line of work.
Tim didn't look as if he'd ever eat again, but he took a peek at the box of takeout on the table anyway. "You got dressing on that?" He asked, indignant.
"Yeah. I'm indulging."
"Bruce wouldn't - " Tim realized what he was about to say, and fell deadly silent again.
"If it helps," Dick started again, softly, "It's over." He paused, surprised how terrible it still was to say it. "We don't...it's over. We don't do that anymore. We're friends now." The word turned to ashes in his mouth. He did his best to look chipper. "And hey, friendship's the best, right?"
Tim raised a dark eyebrow. "Don't Robin me, Dick," he snapped. "What are you saying? That you were his boy…toy, and then he got tired of you and dumped you, like those girlfriends he has? I've collected all your pictures. You were tiny when you started working for him. Really tiny. Lithe. Scrawny - "
"Okay, are you talking about my past, or are you insulting me. I can't tell."
"...I mean, did you even have a say in any of it? How it ended? How it...started?"
Dick rolled his eyes. "He didn't touch me when I was a kid, Tim, geez. Batman doesn't touch children. Unless he has to catch them when they are falling from great heights, or when their stupid pixie boot gets caught in the chains of a tank again. It wasn't like that. I swear."
For the first time during their talk, there was a flicker of hope in Tim's eyes. "So you were...eighteen when it happened, right?"
Dick blushed deeply. "Um - "
Tim's face fell.
"Um. I was nearly...you know, a lot of guys have sex when they're seventeen - "
"Not with Batman - !"
Tim closed his mouth at once, stunned and wide-eyed, apparently shocked by his own audacity; the fact that he'd even say that. He looked around, as if he was suspecting a lightnting bolt to strike him down, or Batman himself to swoop in from the shadows and destroy him with a single silent, condemning look. He was so smart, yet he looked up to Bruce with that sort of blindingly passionate admiration that brought him right back around to naive again. This was very familiar to Dick, and also, for some reason, very aggravating.
Truth be told, he'd rather let the Riddler tie him to a rocket again than discuss these things with Tim. But something was on the edge of breaking, here, he knew it, and he had to.
"Why do you care so much?" He asked gently, even though he knew what the answer would be.
"Because I need to know I wasn't wrong." That was a very Tim thing to say, but he sounded especially haunted when he said it. "I need to know that Batm- that Bruce is the man I always thought he was. I need to know that he isn't a creep. I mean...he is a creep. We're all creeps. The only reason nobody calls us creeps is because Gotham has worse creeps. But I need to know that he didn't - I need to know you're fine."
Dick gave him a queasy smile. That his de facto little brother worried about him - worried, about him - was strangely endearing...and very, very humiliating at the same time.
He could've answered honestly, but instead, he opened his arms and presented himself, putting on that carefree smirk he usually did so well with. "I turned out great, didn't I? Look at me!"
And Tim did. Way more thoroughly and critically than Dick would have liked, even. He could feel his smile falter under the scrutiny. Tim Drake had an uncanny talent to pick the wrong moments for being extraordinarily perceptive. And also a very Bruce Wayne-like refusal to let things go.
"I hate to say this, Dick," he eventually declared, a grave frown on his smooth face, "But right now, you look like you're dead inside."
Nightwing let his arms collapse into his lap again. His smile deflated. "Fine." He wanted to spit the word at Tim's feet in defiance, but he wasn't Damian. He couldn't pull it off. It came out as a defeated whisper. "You sure you want to hear about it?"
Tim shook his head emphatically, while his wide, sharp eyes remained fixed on Dick.
"No. I don't want to hear anything about it. But I need to hear everything about it." He hesitated. "Do you...understand that?"
Dick’s lips twitched into a lopsided grin. "I do. Completely."
Tim seemed to internally brace himself for what was coming. Then, he let out a sharp sigh and pointed toward the kitchen.
"Before we start...I think I'll take that water now."
*****
It had been a few weeks before Dick Grayson's 18th birthday, and following one of the tensest, most uncomfortable rides that had ever occured in the Batmobile.
It was about half past midnight, and they had been driving in complete silence. Neither of them had uttered a single word ever since they'd left the crime scene. Batman's teeth seemed even more clenched than usual as he glared at the road ahead, gripping the wheel as if he wanted to throttle it. His steely blue eyes were almost impossible to make out inside his cowl; over time, he had perfected the art of disappearing completely behind it at will. It had been like being driven home by an inanimate statue, or an unnervingly well-toned robot.
The only other thing Dick later remembered from that ride was the sight of his own gloved hands resting on his bare thighs. Because he'd stared at them as if his life depended on it, whenever he wasn't sneaking a look up at Batman.
Somehow, this night had been more jarring than accidentally bringing up Bruce's parents in light-hearted conversation.
Dick had been relieved when they'd eventually reached the Batcave. But when he skipped out of the car, the usual spring in his step was missing; that swagger that normally came with successfully bringing a culprit to justice. Something hung in the air between them, heavy and impenetrable, and it had followed them all the way into their inner sanctum, the Batcave.
He flinched as Bruce slammed the car door shut with unusual force; or perhaps, it just seemed extra loud because they were extra quiet. It was hard to tell.
Bruce went around the car to approach him, his cape flowing majestically behind him even though there was no breeze. It was the first time he even looked at Dick since he'd thrown himself into the Batmobile and hissed at him to put on his seat belt through gritted teeth.
They looked at each other. Somewhere in the cave, something wet was dripping from the ceiling, like it always did. For a while, it seemed like that was the only sound in the universe.
And then, they started talking at the same time.
"So uh, the raid went well - " Dick started.
"Robin, I have to apologize - " Bruce said.
Dick didn't like Bruce's formal voice much. He knew it was meant to convey respect, but there was something lacking from it. He missed the times when Bruce would do things like put him in a friendly headlock and tell him he did well, or pat him on the head, back when he'd been a smaller, bouncier version of himself. He'd liked that.
"Don't." He cracked a little smile. At least there was talk. He shrugged. "I mean, we had to storm The Kinkster's hideout tonight! You couldn't have possibly known there would be an ..."
He trailed off. He couldn't even bring himself to say "orgy" in front of Batman. Even though that had clearly been what it was, it seemed wrong somehow to say that.
Dick bit his lip. He was no novice. Of course there'd been situations like that before. Busting an arms dealer while he was taking a bubble bath with half a dozen models. Crashing a mobster's party while an exotic dancer was gyrating on his lap, that sort of thing.
But tonight had been a little different. For one, there had been no ladies present at that party at all. And everyone had been extremely naked with each other when they'd arrived.
The Kinkster, the city-wide reknowned drug lord himself, had probably been the worst part. The arrest had taken Gordon twice as long as usual, since it had taken them a while to get him out of that...device he'd been in.
He wasn't quite sure why Gordon, red in the face and seeming flustered, had felt obliged to tell him, "It's called a swing, Robin."
Anyway.
Bruce looked as if he was ready to slam The Kinkster's face into a bowl full of edible finger paint all over again. "I could have known," he scowled, "I focused all my attention on the coke shipment, I never looked into what he meant by 'gathering'.”
“His name could’ve tipped us off, I suppose,” Dick admitted, tilting his head.
Batman didn’t even have a low chuckle for that. It seemed to really bother him. He turned his head away, looking disgruntled and immaculate at the same time in his cowl. “You shouldn’t have seen that, that’s all. And I'm sorry you were attacked by a seven foot tall naked man in a steam bath tonight, Robin. That sort of thing shouldn't happen."
That memory made Dick giggle. He remembered that Batman had punched that guy especially hard after he'd dragged him off his struggling partner.
Bruce waited for him to finish his giggle fit, looking almost offended. Then, he turned away abrupty, walking towards the cave's exit in long, swooping, angry strides.
"Wait - " Dick hurried to catch up to him. He didn't want it to be like this. The night had been a success! They'd gotten to The Kinkster in time, and those drugs would never reach the streets of Gotham. He wanted Batman to be content and proud (since 'happy' was too much to ask for), not miserable just because he felt bad for him!
"I accept your apology, but don't worry about it!" he told Bruce, scurrying along next to him. "I mean, it's nothing I haven't seen before - "
He stumbled over that last sentence, and very nearly over his feet, as he felt his face grow warm, then warmer, and then hot.
Bruce seemed to freeze for the tiniest of moments, but he was graceful enough not to ask where in the world Dick might have seen such a thing before.
Being a student of the human body as well as the mind, he probably at least suspected that his younger companion had glimpsed into the world of pornography by now. Dick wasn't sure why he should care, however. It wasn't as if he owned any. He would never bring that filth into Wayne Manor. Not into a household that was overseen by Bruce and run by Alfred. It would have been sacrilegious.
What he did own, however, was a shirtless photo of Bruce that they'd taken on the beach. He kept it under his pillow, and sometimes, at night, when he could be really sure that everyone else was fast asleep, he would take it out and ... look at it.
Dick was very paranoid about that picture. So much so that whenever he left his room for a longer period of time, he'd lock it in a box that contained only his most prized possessions, then hide the box under a floorboard inside his closet, and put a pair of shoes on top of it.
He'd been fascinated with that type of male bonding for a while. He'd never really had an opportunity to apply himself to studying it, but he had...theories.
He wasn't quite sure why he was even thinking about that now. It was probably The Kinkster's fault.
"It's not that bad, right?" He tried again. Bruce was still walking, seemingly away from him for some reason. "We see each other naked all the time!"
That had been the wrong thing to say. Why would he say that. He didn't know why he'd said that.
Bruce stopped in his tracks and turned around.
"No we don't," he insisted, sounding scandalized.
Dick blushed. It was true; back when he'd started out as Robin, they had done things like taking cold showers together in the mornings and change into their costumes in front of each other. But once he'd reached a certain age, Bruce has suggested that perhaps maybe they shouldn't do that anymore. Dick had accepted that, because he usually accepted Batman's suggestions, unless it was "sit this one out, it's too dangerous".
Some time before that happened, Bruce had told Dick that he couldn't sneak into his bed and snuggle up to him anymore. That had hurt a little; but once he'd gotten familiar to the feeling of waking up with a throbbing erection pressing into his mattress, it had seemed like a very sensible thing to say.
"Forget it." He shuffled his feet. "That was stupid. Don't worry about tonight. I can barely remember what those men looked like." That was a bald-faced lie. He remembered every detail very vividly, and was also fairly sure he'd recognized some guys from Gotham City's varsity Hockey team. But none of that mattered. Making Bruce feel better was what mattered. "Let's go upstairs, have some ice cream and catch the late movie! Okay?"
Bruce raised his hand, and for a moment, it looked as if he was about to cup Dick's cheek or something, but then he dropped it again, heavy as a rock.
"You go up ahead and change. I'll be right behind you. There's some files I still need to look over."
That was disappointing, but Dick didn't want to press the issue. At least the conversation had turned halfway back to normal at the end. He made for the stairs, tugging at the buttons of his costume while he was at it.
"One last thing - "
"Yes?" He spun around, hopeful. Perhaps they could both look through those files. Stick their heads together.
Bruce was already at his desk, his back turned. "I won't be requiring you tomorrow. You should take the night off. Didn't you mention those school pals of yours going to a rock concert? You should go with them. Alfred could drive you. You could take them all for pizza after."
That was baffling. Batman very rarely encouraged leisurly activities. He could barely stand them when he was Bruce. And he never, ever mentioned anything about getting pizza.
Dick smacked his lips. "Yeah, I don't really wanna go," he confessed. "Remember, that one time we went to a rock concert, those satanists tried to eat us."
That got a little scoff out of Bruce. "I know. But that was because we were Batman and Robin. And we were trying to arrest them. You should go for...fun. As Dick."
Now Batman had said "fun". This was getting strange.
"And if they do try to eat you, you could still give me a call," he offered, as an afterthought.
Dick pouted. "We were going to bust that midget knife-fighting ring tomorrow! I wasn't gonna say anything, but I think we could try that strategy where I swing from the ceiling and disrupt the fight, and then you - "
"I think you should spend some more time with people your age," Bruce snapped at him. The sudden hardness in his voice let the hairs on Dick's neck stand up. It also tickled a little bit in his stomach area.
Bruce immediately seemed to regret being so harsh with him. He cleared his throat. "It's important to mingle with your peers," he explained, in a milder tone now. "I noticed that you haven't been on a date in a while. Perhaps you'll meet someone. An appropriate ... person. Your age."
Dick stood there, puzzled, his vest half-open, and stared at his friend. Was Batman, of all people, criticizing him for being too distracted by the awesome pursuit of justice to date? That stung a little.
His partner seemed to think the conversation over. At least he was very pointedly shuffling files around on his desk. Dick knew that Bruce was an expert at speed reading, but it looked as if he was barely processing them at all.
Those files didn't really look that important, either. One of them was a sailing magazine.
"Why," he eventually asked flatly.
When Bruce looked at him, his eyes were in clear sight for a change, blue and unblinkingly questioning. "Don't you want to? I know we do important work, but outside of that, I'm hardly the best company."
"But you are!"
He jumped down the steps again. How could Bruce ever doubt that? Dick liked the kids at his school just fine, but who would prefer hanging out at the same burger place every night to driving in the Batmobile and dangling a dangerous arsonist from a ten story building by his feet?
"How can you doubt that?"
He wished he could run up to him and throw his arms around his waist, and tell him he was his favorite person in the world, like he'd done many times when he was little. But something kept him from doing that. Still, Bruce had to know it was still true, right? Right?
The shuffling of papers finally stopped, and Bruce let out a sigh. It was that type of grave, deep sigh that was usually reserved for the words "Batman, the Joker has escaped. Again".
Dick looked at him, arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. What had he done now?
"Robin," Batman said, gesturing at the chair next to him. "Sit."
"I - "
"Sit."
He did. Though, instead of taking the chair, he hopped onto the desk, dangling his legs as he looked at Bruce intently. He tried to ignore the cold sweat he was about to break out into. He didn't know what was happening exactly. But it was serious. He could sense it.
"Robin." There was that clenching of teeth again. "Dick. Are you ..." Dick shifted uncomfortably. This was very unlike Bruce. He never struggled to find the right words.
However, he found them, and asked the thing that delivered sweet, swift death to the life they had previously known.
"Are you infatuated with me?"