Archive of Our Own

“Well, I'm not the moon, I'm not even a star
But awake at night, I'll be singing to the birds
Don't wait for me, I can't come
Your mother wouldn't approve
Of how my mother raised me
But I do, I think I do”

Bruce remembered the first time he officially met Dick Grayson.

He’d been waiting for almost half an hour in a terribly uncomfortable metal chair. He hadn’t known what to expect from Gotham Juvenile Detention Center, but making him wait so long despite having an appointment certainly wasn’t it.  

He sighed and checked his watch for what felt like the millionth time. It was becoming a bit ridiculous, and Bruce was about to stand up and go find someone who looked even remotely in charge when the door to the visitation room opened, a stern looking woman appearing, her heels clicking against the tiled floor as she all but dragged a small boy behind her. Her long, thin fingers dug into the boy’s skin just a bit too deeply and Bruce couldn’t help but narrow his eyes as the woman roughly dumped the boy in the chair across from Bruce, his eyes not quite rising to meet Bruce’s.

“I apologize for the delay. Richard was being… difficult.”

Bruce looked at the bandages and bruises covering the boy’s body and highly doubted he even knew how to be difficult.

“What happened?”

The woman didn’t seem to be very concerned about the boy’s appearance. “Some of the older boys. Richard should have known not to pick a fight with bigger kids. They don’t usually take to… those different than them.”

Bruce looked back at Richard, who was shifting uneasily in his seat, his eyes still staring at his scuffed shoes. Bruce could see his toe peeking out of the canvas and he forced himself to remain calm.

“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding,” Bruce forced himself to smile. “Hello, Richard. My name’s Bruce. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Richard looked up for a split second at the mention of his name, but he quickly went back to studying his shoes instead. The woman made an annoyed sound, clearly unimpressed with his shyness.

“Like I said, he’s difficult. Won’t speak to anyone, no matter what we do, won’t participate or do what’s expected of him without being firmly reminded. Honestly, it may have something to do with his… upbringing…”

Bruce wasn’t sure he fully believed the woman. He couldn’t imagine the small eight year old boy being difficult for anyone, let alone in a place as terrifying as this one. His blue eyes were watery and he forced himself to not look at anyone, the clothes the juvie had given him hanging off his small frame and terribly worn considering he’d been at the center for less than a month. Hishands sat in his lap, his fingers clasped together to keep them from trembling. 

Bruce had wanted to take him in much sooner after witnessing what had happened at the circus, but he’d been stopped by numerous amounts of red tape and bureaucratic nonsense. He’d never realized how long something like this would take, how much paperwork he’d have to sign. Bruce had been outraged at the fact that the orphanage was at capacity and that Richard would be placed in the juvenile detention center. He’d tried petitioning to have Richard released into his care faster, but the court had ruled that there wasn’t enough evidence to support that Bruce was ready to take in a child yet. Bruce had spent many sleepless nights making sure everything was perfect so the city would have no choice but to allow Richard to be released into his care.

It had been a challenging month, but today it was all worth it, because today he was finally able to bring Richard Grayson home.

“Richard, are you… how have you liked staying here?”

The boy finally looked up and maintained his gaze on Bruce, though he still wasn’t making eye contact. He was looking a bit past Bruce, at the wall behind him. He looked nervous, but there was something else, something Bruce hadn’t really considered up until this point. He didn’t know about Richard’s background besides the fact his family was part of a traveling circus. Haly’s traveled all around the world, Bruce thought to himself. There was a chance that Dick had spent most of his time in places that spoke languages other than English. 

“Richard?” Bruce asked, his voice soft as he tried his best not to sound too intimidating. “Do you speak English?”

Richard finally looked right at Bruce, his head shaking softly as he quickly swiped a tear off of his cheek.

“Sorry.”

Bruce remembered overhearing the boy and his family as they passed through the crowd on their way to the big top before the show. Bruce hadn’t understood the language they were speaking, but Bruce had also remembered the first responders on the scene attempting to speak to Richard shortly after his parents had fallen. At first, Bruce had assumed Richard was simply in shock and that’s why he wasn’t speaking to the police officers. He hadn’t wanted to assume Richard didn’t speak English just because he wasn’t white, but throughout the current conversation, he had been noticing that Richard only seemed to pick up a handful of words spoken, his face blank for the most part, save for when the woman used a stern tone of voice that seemed to frighten him a bit. It was all starting to make sense. 

He supposed they didn’t call him the world’s greatest detective for nothing.

Bruce turned his attention back towards the woman. “And none of you thought that perhaps that was the problem? That Richard wasn’t intentionally being… difficult?”

His eyes were icy as they stared daggers into the woman. She at least had the decency to look a bit guilty at Bruce’s words, though it wasn’t nearly enough for him.

“We don’t have the resources to individually cater to every child-”

“None of you even tried to get a translator in?”

“I… Like I said, our resources-”

Bruce ignored the woman, turning back to Dick. Though Bruce didn’t know the language Richard spoke with his family, perhaps he spoke other languages. “Parles-tu français?”

Richard’s face lit up. It was such a small thing, in the grand scheme of it all, yet it completely melted Bruce’s heart.

“Oui, monsieur! Je m'appelle Dick.”

Bruce was glad he’d taken Alfred’s French lessons seriously all those years ago. 

“It’s great to meet you Dick,” Bruce said, in French. “Are you ready to go home?”

Bruce had been a bit naive, in retrospect, to believe that everything would be easier once Dick came home with him. He supposed he had to deal with the legal side of things far less now that Dick was officially his ward, but Bruce never really stopped to consider what raising a child would be like. 

Dick was a unique child and no amount of parenting books seemed to prepare Bruce for that. He was remarkably bright despite what every report from the juvie seemed to claim. He wasn’t anything like the rude, difficult, violent child they described him as. He was learning English remarkably fast and Bruce assumed that may have been due to the fact that it was his fifth language. Bruce and Alfred had switched to using English with Dick more and more now that he was getting through more and more of his studies. 

It was the middle of the school year and Bruce hadn’t thought Dick was quite ready to attend school in-person yet anyway, so Alfred tutored him, which seemed to be working out. The two had taken a moment to warm up to each other, but nowadays it was rare not to find Dick in the kitchen with Alfred, his eyes wide as he watched him expertly chop vegetables for dinner.

Bruce had been a bit nervous about announcing Dick to the press. He knew eventually he’d have to, or else the tabloids would just make up their own story, but the last thing Bruce wanted was to put any pressure on Dick. 

While Bruce had only had Dick as his ward for a few months, he could tell Dick was still trying to acclimate himself to his new life. Bruce was sure it must have been quite the jarring experience, going from life in the circus to juvie and then to living in a massive manor, all in the span of less than a year. Bruce couldn’t understand himself but he tried his best to make Dick’s transition more comfortable whenever he could.

Dick was coming out of his shell much more as the days went on. He was more energetic and Bruce often found him climbing the trees in the garden after asking him as nicely as possible to not climb the chandeliers anymore, lest he give Alfred a heart attack. Dick had been rather quiet when he first arrived, but Bruce was glad that the boy had begun to talk his ears off the minute he stepped through the door after work.

“How was work?”

Bruce smiled as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Dick sitting on the staircase, the comic he’d been reading discarded on the edge of the step once Bruce had entered.

“Not too bad. A lot of meetings. How was your day?”

Dick stood quickly and raced down the steps so that he could follow Bruce into the sitting room, where Alfred already had tea waiting to hold Bruce over until dinner was ready.

“Good! Mr. Pennyworth taught me about birds!”

Bruce chuckled as he picked up his cup of tea, handing Dick the glass of milk Alfred had left for him. Dick had tried tea recently and he hadn’t quite found a love for it, but Alfred was nothing if not determined.

“Oh, really? What kind of birds?”

“All kinds. Like big ones, too! Did you know some of them can’t even fly?”

“You know, there’s some cool birds at the Gotham City Zoo. Maybe we could go this weekend?”

Dick’s bright blue eyes lit up at the offer.

“Really? I’ve never been to a zoo! What’s it like?”

Bruce stirred his tea for a moment. “Well, there’s lots of different animals and sometimes you can pet some of them and even feed them, like the farm animals. There’s also animals from all over the world.”

“Are there elephants?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes, the Gotham Zoo does have elephants. Two, I believe.”

“Oh, wow! Those are my favorite!”

Bruce smiled. “Well, we’ll be sure to spend lots of time with the elephants, then.”

“I had an elephant friend,” Dick said, taking a small sip of his milk. “Her name was Zitka. I named my stuffed elephant after her. The mean people at the jail tried to take her so I had to hide her.”

Bruce’s smile faded slightly at Dick’s words but he forced himself not to react. The last thing Dick needed was to feel unsafe about talking to Bruce about things like this.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Bruce said carefully. “I promise no one will ever take Zitka from you.”

Dick looked up and smiled softly at Bruce, his small hands wrapped tightly around his glass of milk.

“Okay, Mr. Wayne. Thank you.”

“You can call me, Bruce, Dick. It’s okay.”

“Sure,” Dick said absentmindedly as he drank more of his milk. 

Bruce was just beginning to think about what he should say next, but luckily Alfred saved him by appearing to alert them that dinner was ready in the dining room. 

Dick carefully carried his milk to the dining room, his eyes watching the liquid intently so that it didn’t spill over. He only seemed to become less tense once he’d deposited it on the table before climbing into his usual chair at Bruce’s right.

“What’s on the menu, Alfred?” Bruce asked as he tucked his napkin into his lap. He pretended to not notice Dick perfectly mimicking him with his own napkin.

“Seared scallops and baby spinach with spiced pomegranate glaze, sir.”

“Excellent. You’ve outdone yourself, as usual.”

Alfred simply smiled as he placed the plates in front of them. Bruce dug in immediately, starving from a long day at Wayne Enterprises. Dick, however, was a bit more hesitant. He used his fork to poke a bit at the food and took small, careful bites. It took Bruce a minute to notice at all and he really only did because Dick wasn’t as talkative as he usually was at dinner.

“Is everything okay, Dick?”

The boy startled slightly at the sound of his name, his fork scraping against the plate.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Do you not like it?”

Dick’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“No! It’s great!”

To prove his point, Dick took a large bite of scallop, his face twisting slightly as he forced himself to chew. Bruce had to hand it to him: he was a pretty decent actor, but Bruce saw right through it.

“Dick, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it. Alfred won’t be mad.”

“It’s just…” Dick looked down at his plate as he took a deep breath. “The smell gives me a face ache.”

“‘Face ache?’” Bruce questioned.

“Yeah, like right here,” Dick pointed to his forehead. “It’s okay, though, I’m still hungry.”

Bruce had a feeling he understood.

“It gives you a headache?”

Dick nodded, his face flushing a bit once he realized he’d gotten the word wrong.

“It’s okay. Some foods give me headaches too. And you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to. We’ll get you something else.”

Dick looked uncertain. “But if I don’t eat what’s given to me, then I’ll get in trouble, right?”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who made you believe that?”

“The lady at the jail. They had tomato soup one day for dinner but tomatoes make my tummy hurt and I didn’t want that but I couldn’t tell her that cause she didn’t understand me and she got mad and made me eat it and then sent me to bed early and I threw up and she got even more mad and they put me in the dark cold room and I just… I’ll eat it, you don’t have to do all that.”

Bruce looked over to see Alfred watching them from the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Getting angry would only make Dick more uneasy.

“Dick, we’re not going to lock you in a room or anything like that. If you don’t like something or feel like you can’t eat it, just let us know and Alfred will make you something else. You’re not going to get into trouble, okay? I promise.”

Dick’s eyes were a bit teary as he finally looked at Bruce, his face so full of hope from Bruce’s words.

“Promise?”

Bruce wasn’t sure if Alfred’s heart broke into a million pieces at just how vulnerable Dick sounded, but he knew his did.

“I promise, chum.”

Bruce fully intended on keeping his promise no matter what.

“You’re on snack duty, I’ll get the drinks.”

Dick pushed the door to the bodega open, holding it open wide enough so that Jason could enter before him. Jason bee-lined for the chip aisle, knowing exactly what he needed.

It was one of Dick’s rare weekends in Gotham and he’d promised Jason a movie day, but they’d needed to do a snack run before they began their movie marathon. So Dick had driven them to the closest corner store and told Jason he could get whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t tell Alfred.

Jason fully intended on making sure the older teen kept his promise.

Dick and Jason were finally starting to bond with each other a bit more, which Jason was glad about. At first, Dick had been a bit apprehensive at the idea of Jason and Jason couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. After all, he’d replaced him as Robin and it wasn’t like Dick had gotten much of a choice on the matter. Jason had wanted a brother more than anything, but he also knew how to recognize when he wasn’t wanted and he had no intention of opening himself up to Dick if it just meant he would get hurt. 

But, as time went on, Dick came to visit him and take him to baseball games or the bookstore and after a while, he was even training him down in the Batcave, though their workouts often took place when Bruce wasn’t home. Jason knew that Dick and Bruce’s relationship was complicated, but it did seem at least that they were coming together a bit more nowadays. At least they could stand to be in the same room for a few minutes before a fight broke out.

Jason was glad to have Dick, though he wasn’t sure he’d ever admit it to the older man. He had a reputation to maintain after all. 

As Dick made his way towards the back of the store, where the beverage coolers were installed, Jason couldn’t help but feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up a bit, a feeling he usually got when he was being watched. Turning his head slightly so that he wasn’t too obvious, Jason looked over towards the counter, where the worker was watching Dick carefully, the older man’s eyes narrowed as he studied Dick’s every move.

Jason wasn’t sure what was so interesting about the sodas Dick was picking out, but he simply shrugged and turned his attention back to the snacks, grabbing a bag of chips before moving towards the candy. He was just beginning to decide between regular Skittles and sour ones when he overheard the store owner start a conversation with Dick, who had made his way to the front of the store now that he had the soda he wanted.

“Nothing in those pockets, right?”

Jason side-eyed the register where Dick stood. He’d placed the beverages on the counter, his hands buried in his coat pockets. Dick’s back was to Jason so he wasn’t sure what his facial expression was like, but his body language was a bit tense. If it was anyone else, they probably would have thought Dick to be rather at ease, but Jason knew better.

“No.”

“Hmm,” the store owner didn’t sound very convinced. “Turn ‘em out.”

Dick hesitated for a moment before pulling the fabric of his coat pockets out, showing the man that the only thing that had been in them were his hands.

“Who’s kid is that?”

Jason quickly turned his attention back towards the candy display so that Dick didn’t catch him watching when he turned to look at Jason.

“My brother.”

The store owner laughed loudly. It was grating on Jason’s ears and made his shoulders tense slightly, reminding him vaguely of his own father’s laugh.

“No way, that kid’s white as a damn ghost.”

Jason could feel an all-too familiar rage begin to take over. The packet of Skittles he’d been holding onto crinkled in his clenched fist.

“We’re adopted.”

Jason realized that the sooner he finished gathering the snacks they needed the sooner they could get the hell out of this store. He grabbed another bag of candy, seemingly as random, and made his way to the register, allowing his hoard to fall none-too-gently onto the counter. If the man or Dick was annoyed by this neither showed it.

“Figures. Your type ain’t known to make the best parents.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jason asked, his eyes narrowed at the man as he began to scan and bag their items.

“Jay, don’t,” Dick said quietly, placing a firm yet reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“You even have the money for all this?”

Dick’s grip on Jason’s shoulder tightened slightly as he used his other hand to reach into his pocket, only removing the hand from Jason’s shoulder so that he could pull out a few bills to pay for the food.

The man took the money and studied it for an agonizingly long time, as if trying to discern if it was real or not. Jason wasn’t sure why he’d need to do that. How many people made counterfeit fives and tens?

“Where you get all this?”

“I’m not sure that’s really your business,” Dick said calmly. 

Jason had to hand it to him, if it were him being spoken to like this, he would have said things that would make a sailor blush.

“You steal it?”

Jason watched as Dick took a careful breath, his face still remaining expertly expressionless.

“No, of course not. Can we just-”

“Because I have the right to refuse service, you know.”

Jason had had enough of this. In a blink of an eye, he’d snatched the cash out of the man’s meaty grip and had begun to pull on the edge of Dick’s coat, leading him towards the exit.

“Well, we have the right to refuse to shop at a store run by a damn racist! So go fuck yourself, you piece of shit!”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in rage at Jason’s words.

“How dare you speak to me like that, ya brat! Keep your damn street rat in line, gypsy!”

Jason had a few more things to say to the man but suddenly Dick was the one leading him outside, the bell above the door clanging loudly as they found themselves outside finally. Jason was still huffing slightly, the cash in his hands crumpled and creased as he tried to calm himself down to no avail. It took Dick placing his hands on his shoulders and leaning down slightly to make eye contact with him to finally ground Jason.

“Hey, it’s okay, Jay-”

“No, it’s not okay!” Jason declared, pushing Dick’s hands off of him. “That guy was a complete asshole and you just let him talk to you like that. What the hell?”

Dick sighed and looked away for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. Jason could tell he was being careful about what he was going to say next and it slightly annoyed Jason. It made him think that Dick was treating him like a child, which he hated.

“Jason, people have been talking to me like that my entire life. If I reacted every time they did I’d be no better than them.”

That did little to reassure Jason. If anything it pissed him off even more.

“Dick, that isn’t an excuse.”

“I didn’t say it was one.”

Jason didn’t say anything as they made their way back to the car. Dick didn’t start it right away, he took a moment to look up the next closest store so that they could still get their snacks. Jason had to admit, he wasn’t so sure he still had an appetite anymore. He watched Dick closely and for a brief moment he didn’t see the invincible Nightwing he looked up to day in and day out.

He saw an eighteen year old kid who was trying desperately to hold everything together.

“People shouldn’t talk to you like that,” Jason said once Dick had finally started the car, music softly playing from the stereo. “They have no right.”

“I know, Little Wing.”

“You should sock ‘em in the face if they ever pull that shit again.”

Dick chuckled lightly as he put the car into drive. “Sometimes you can’t just punch your problems, Jace.”

Jason sometimes thought about that, even years later. Sometimes you can’t just punch your problems. 

What a load of bull.

If there was one thing Jason Todd prided himself on, it was punching his problems (or sometimes even shooting them). He’d yet to run into a situation where a quick right hook wouldn’t have been beneficial.

He supposed this was finally the situation Dick had been talking about back in the day. Live television wasn’t often the best place to throw hands. Well, it depended on the program.

Jason hated having to do interviews again. It was one of the worst parts of being back from the dead officially. If anything, it made more news stations and gossip rags want a piece of him since they were all dying to know what had happened to him.

They’d made up some story that sounded more like the plotline to a bad action film, but it had worked on the public and that was all that mattered. But now Jason was sweating under studio lights as a blonde talk show host sat in between him and Dick, her smile too wide for her face and her blazer too tight in her shoulders.

“We’re so glad to have the two eldest Wayne boys with us tonight,” she said, her perfectly manicured nails resting on Dick’s knee despite the pinched look in his eyes at the contact.

“Jason, I hear you’ve recently come back from the dead. How exciting.”

The audience chuckled and Jason forced himself not to roll his eyes. “I wasn’t really dead, Melissa.”

“It’s Melinda,” the woman said, her smile still plastered on her face as she corrected him. “And I suppose not, but to Gotham’s citizens you were! So, what’s it like being back?”

Jason looked over at Dick, who was offering him a small smile as if to apologize for the situation they were in. Like it was his fault or something.

“A lot better than being kidnapped,” Jason said, his voice lacking emotion.

The woman seemed disappointed by the reactions she was getting from Jason, which had been his goal. He hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place but Tim just had to catch the flu. He was probably faking it, if Jason was being honest.

“Richard,” the woman turned to the elder man, her eyes gazing over his body in a way that made Jason uncomfortable, so he couldn’t begin to imagine how it made Dick feel. “How’ve you been since we last talked, love? Any new gals in your life?”

The audience practically leaned in, eager to hear about Dick’s love life. Jason felt like he was going to be sick. The last thing he wanted to hear about was his brother’s love life. 

“Oh, no,” Dick smiled lightly, his Richie Wayne personality on full display. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“What a shame,” Melinda tisked. “I bet there’s lots of girls who’d love an exotic man such as yourself.”

Jason was beginning to feel his blood pressure start to boil over. Dick gave him a quick warning glance before turning his attention back to the interview.

“What can I say, I’m just waiting for the right one.”

The woman chuckled lightly in a condescending tone that made Jason want to strangle her. 

“Well, your people aren’t well known for sticking with one partner for long,” she smiled as she spoke, like she wasn’t saying some of the most offensive shit to ever grace daytime television. 

“Excuse me?” Jason asked.

Dick gave him another look. He was really getting sick of Dick’s looks.

“It’s no wonder you haven’t settled down yet,” Melinda continued, ignoring Jason completely.

“Well,” Dick said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck in the way he did when he was in an anxious situation. “I-”

“Were your birth parents married when they had you?”

“That’s kinda personal, I don’t-”

“Is that why they gave you up?”

“I- they didn’t, they passed-”

“It’s true that you weren’t born in America, isn’t it?”

“This seems off-topic, I-”

“Hey!”

Melinda and Dick both looked over at Jason, who had a furious expression on his face. It starkly contrasted the surprised look on Melinda’s and the overwhelmed one on Dick’s.

“This interview is over, get up Dick.”

Dick blinked at Jason as if he hadn’t been expecting the man to make that ultimatum. Jason supposed he couldn’t blame him, he’d been a bit busy dodging increasingly inappropriate questions being thrown at him rapid-fire.

“We still have ten minutes-”

“No, we don’t,” Jason said, standing from his seat. “Dick, we’re leaving.”

Dick still looked a bit dazed but allowed Jason to grab his hand and pull him to his feet.

“You can’t just leave-”

“Watch us.”

Jason didn’t stick around long enough to relish in the shocked look on Melinda’s face as she frantically requested to go to commercial. Jason’s main focus was getting Dick the hell off the soundstage.

“That racist bitch had no right to ask you those questions.”

“Jace-”

“I cannot believe the nerve on that woman, saying that shit on television.”

“Jason-”

“I’m sick of this fucking city-”

“Jason, for the love of God, stop.”

Jason stopped moving, looking behind him to see that Dick had practically dug his heels into the floor to prevent Jason from moving forward.

“What?”

Dick pulled his wrist out of Jason’s grip. “Look, I appreciate you, I really do, but I can fight my own battles.”

“Can you? Cause from where I was sitting, you were just taking it, Dick. There was no fighting involved.”

“That’s not the point,” Dick crossed his arms over his chest. “She was out of line, yes, and I was uncomfortable, but I… I was handling it-”

“You weren’t-”

“Jay, just… just let me say this. Please.”

Jason shut his mouth, suddenly feeling like Melinda who couldn’t wait for Dick to answer before asking another terrible question.

“I was trying to deescalate the situation. I didn’t want to make a scene cause that’s what they want. They want to be able to say ‘I told you so’ when I eventually come to a breaking point and yell and scream at them. They want any opportunity to point a finger and declare that I’m uncivilized or rude or too sensitive, that I can’t handle a simple question. And I… I don’t want to give them that, you know?”

Jason exhaled sharply. He should have thought before he acted, he knew that. It was something that often got him into trouble, after all. He should have known that Dick could handle some nosy, racist interviewer. He should have known that Dick was being meticulous in his decisions and words. 

But then he remembered the look on Dick’s face as the woman asked question after question. How tense and humiliated he looked, how overwhelmed by the entire situation he appeared. 

And Jason hadn’t thought past that. He hadn’t given Dick a chance to act in his own defense, had immediately assumed he wouldn’t or that he was unable to.

“I appreciate you, Jason. I always will. But sometimes… sometimes I just need to handle things like this on my own.”

“Dick, I’m sorry,” Jason said softly. “I shouldn’t have made that decision for you. But… man, sometimes just letting them say shit doesn’t work. Sometimes you have to be more assertive. I appreciate the route you want to take, I really do, but you can’t just let people like this get away with this shit. You have to hold them accountable because if you don’t, I will.”

There was something unreadable in Dick’s eyes as he studied Jason. He couldn’t tell exactly what the older man was thinking and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to anyway. Dick didn’t respond for a moment and Jason feared he’d overstepped yet again.

“I have to do this my own way, Jay. Please trust me to handle it.”

Jason knew he shouldn’t have expected some huge revelation from Dick at that moment but he couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed. While he knew Dick could handle himself and that he was more than capable of defending himself, Jason also couldn’t help but feel like Dick was simply avoiding the issue at hand.

It was his prerogative, though, in the end. Jason couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to, so if he wanted to let assholes talk like that to him it was his business.

He just hoped Dick didn’t expect him to back down all the time. 

Cause there was no way in hell that was happening.

Tim checked his watch for what felt like the fifteenth time in half as many minutes.

Dick had a habit of being late, but he always texted beforehand that he was running behind, followed shortly by some lame excuse and far too many emojis. But Tim had checked his phone, had been checking it constantly, and there was no message from Dick to be seen.

They were supposed to meet at Wayne Enterprises for lunch that day. Dick didn’t come in often so when he did, Tim always made sure to make time for them to catch up over at the very least coffee. Tim wasn’t sure why Dick didn’t come to Wayne Enterprises more often, but he also couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

He knew Dick had no interest in running the company, which was why Tim had the job, but he wasn’t sure why that would stop Dick from visiting more often. He really only came in when he had to attend mandatory in-person meetings for his various volunteer projects he headed, which were rare since he could attend most of them from home.

“Whatever,” Tim mumbled to himself as he stood from his desk chair and grabbed his phone.

Dick had probably misplaced his phone again, or maybe Haley chewed through another one. Tim decided he would just wait in the lobby for him as he was already caught up on his paperwork for the day. After sending Dick a quick text to let him know where he’d be waiting, just in case his phone was still operational, Tim made his way to the elevator.

When he got to the lobby, it was in a state of pandemonium.

There were two security guards huddled around the front desk and a number of voices all shouting over each other so Tim couldn’t quite discern what exactly was going on. As he got a bit closer, he was able to see the guards trying to pull someone away from the desk, but whoever it was was holding onto the edge tight.

“-just look up my name, I’m in there-”

“Sir, please just cooperate.”

“Look, you’re new and I forgot my badge, it happens, but like I said, I’m in the system-”

“What’s going on?”

The woman at the front desk (Tim hadn’t formally met her yet but the name tag read ‘Rebecca’) stared at him with wide eyes.

“Mr. Drake, we’re having a slight security concern-”

“I’m not a security concern.”

Tim looked over to see Dick, an annoyed look on his face as the two guards kept a firm hold on his arms. His clothes were a bit wrinkled, presumably from the struggle, and he looked exasperated, his cheeks flushed red.

“What… let him go.”

“Sir, he doesn’t have an appointment or a pass-”

“I told you I forgot it, if you’d just look my name up-”

“Let him go. Now.”

The guards exchanged a look but finally relented, though Tim noticed they weren’t very gentle. Dick took a step towards Tim, his hands trembling slightly though he quickly put them to work smoothing out his clothes.

“Dick, what happened?”

“It’s just a misunderstanding,” Dick said far too casually. “I forgot my badge and I was already running late so I couldn’t go back for it but when I got here the new receptionist refused to look me up and she called security instead of just looking me up in the system. Of course the security guards that came were also new. Just my luck.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Tim asked, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to.

“Apologies, sir, I didn’t want to waste your time-”

“All three of you are in serious trouble,” Tim said, his blue eyes narrowed as he studied the security guards and then the receptionist. “All you had to do was your job. Why didn’t you just look him up like he asked?”

“I…” Rebecca at least had the decency to look a bit ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry, sir, but honestly? I didn’t believe him. He…”

Dick adjusted his weight awkwardly, his eyes not quite meeting anyone else's. Next to Tim, in his tailored suit and perfectly groomed hair, Dick looked terribly informal in his Blüdhaven Brawlers hoodie and unruly hair. He usually only dressed up to go to Wayne Enterprises when he had a meeting but since he was just coming to meet Tim before going to a restaurant for lunch he must have not put too much effort into what he was wearing. 

“Why would you not believe him?”

“I was… I was just being vigilant. Just doing my job. He didn’t… look like he belonged.”

Tim didn’t miss the way Dick flinched.

He’d never forget it.

“I will be bringing this up with human resources and will be pushing for at the very least suspension with no pay. As of right now, I suggest you three get out of my sight.”

They didn’t need to be told twice it seemed. Tim was glad, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with them at the moment anyway.

Once they were gone and Tim had gotten someone to cover the front desk, he took a closer look at Dick, as if he could read his thoughts that way. As if he could know for sure everything Dick was feeling if he just looked hard enough.

“Are you okay?”

Tim knew it was a dumb question to ask. Of course Dick wasn’t okay. Why would he be?

“Let’s just go eat,” Dick said quietly, his fingers picking slightly at a loose thread on his sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said as they walked outside, the cool afternoon air forcing Tim to wrap his suit jacket around him a bit tighter. “That should have never happened.”

“It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s fine. Please. It’s not fine. They were completely out of line and they’ll be dealt with.”

“If it wasn’t me… if it was another employee, one who didn’t have the privilege of being Bruce Wayne’s ward… would they still be dealt with?”

Tim wasn’t sure he understood the question fully.

“Are you asking me if I’d only write up an employee for workplace harassment if you were the one being harassed?”

“No,” Dick said, his voice strangely even. “I know you would do it no matter who it was, no matter what their job description was, no matter what. I just wonder if maybe sometimes people only face the consequences of their actions when I’m involved because of my position.”

“I don’t-”

“Because if I wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s ward,” Dick continued. “If I was just another guy on the street with brown skin? A lot of the things people say to me wouldn’t be dealt with, at least not like that.”

Tim exhaled. “Is that why you…”

Dick looked over as Tim trailed off, silently prompting him to continue.

“Is that why sometimes you seem so indifferent to it all? Why sometimes you just seem to roll with the punches, like their words don’t mean anything?”

Dick seemed to think about Tim’s words for a moment. Tim was a bit worried he’d overstepped. It wouldn’t be the first time his big mouth got him into trouble after all.

“I’m not indifferent, just… calculative. I choose my battles because if I tried to fight them all I’d get exhausted. Jason never seems to get that. No one does, really, I guess. I’m not any different just because of who raised me and I shouldn’t be treated as such. It’s… hard to come to terms with sometimes. That the world is unfair and there’s not a ton I can do to change that. That I may have to deal with shit like that but others have to deal with worse just because they don’t have the Wayne family name protecting them. So maybe sometimes… I don’t think I deserve special treatment.”

Tim felt terribly naive for even bringing the topic up. Of course Dick wasn’t just a pushover, of course he wasn’t just letting these people do and say whatever they wanted. Tim had no idea what Dick went through and he never would. It was wrong of him to even begin to speculate.

“My mother wouldn’t have gotten special treatment. Why should I?”

Tim took a deep breath, though it was a bit unsteady.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Timmy?”

Tim hated how nonchalant Dick sounded. How kind his eyes shined as he looked at Tim expectantly. At how relaxed he was now that he was just with Tim.

“For not understanding. I’m sorry.”

Dick gave Tim a small smile as he wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulder, drawing him in closer. 

“I was never mad at you. I hope you know that.”

“You should’ve been.”

Dick shook his head. 

“Never.”

Tim wasn’t sure he deserved it. He wasn’t sure what he deserved. He was usually so sure of things, but it seemed today he had met his match.

“You’re buying, right?”

Tim elbowed his brother in the side lightly as they entered the restaurant.

No, Tim would probably never understand. Not fully at least.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

“Richard, how much longer does this CD go on for? The music is giving me a headache.”

Dick chuckled lightly at Damian’s grumblings, which did little to diffuse the situation as the younger boy simply crossed his arms tighter against his chest.

“Dami, you can’t possibly be complaining about Billy Joel to me right now. That’s like… a cardinal sin or something, I think.”

“I find his inability to stick to one musical style insufferable and his experiences unrelatable.”

“I think the last one’s a you problem, kid. Maybe we can try Cold Spring Harbor.”

Damian turned his nose up at the suggestion.

“Maybe we can try silence.”

“Uh-uh, driver picks the music, Little D.”

“Then tomorrow I will drive myself.”

“Nice try.”

Dick smirked at the irritated look on Damian’s face before turning his attention back towards the road in front of him. Usually Alfred was the one who dropped Damian off at school and picked him up, but the butler was preparing for a gala that evening so Dick had volunteered to pick Damian up after his art club meeting. Damian had to admit, even if he found the man’s music taste to be questionable, he enjoyed spending time with him, even if it was just for a short car ride.

They were almost home, about five minutes out, when Damian saw the flashing red and blue lights in the rear-view mirror of the car.

“Richard…” Damian said, his eyes glued to the mirror as Dick pulled the car over and parked it.

“It’s okay,” Dick said with a soft smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

Damian found it a bit childish for Dick to be worried about him. Of course he wasn’t frightened of being pulled over. Dick hadn’t been driving recklessly or too fast, so it was most likely a brake light or some other issue with the vehicle. Damian did have a fleeting thought that his father was usually quite attentive to his vehicles and made sure everything was road ready before allowing anyone to drive them, but perhaps something had escaped his attention. 

Damian watched as Dick rolled his window down and kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel, the police officer seeming to take his time getting out of his cruiser and making his way to Dick’s side of the car.

“Good afternoon, officer,” Dick said politely.

The officer looked at Dick and then at Damian, his eyes shielded behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. “License and registration.”

“The registration is in the glove box. May I remove my hands from the wheel to get it?”

Damian said nothing on the matter but couldn’t help but think it odd how Dick described what he was going to do to the police officer. As if it wasn’t already common sense.

“Go ahead.”

Dick obeyed and reached over where Damian was seated in the passenger seat to grab his registration from the glove box. He then slowly, with very deliberate movements, removed his wallet and took his license out before handing both to the officer.

“You know why I pulled you over?”

Dick replaced his hands on the wheel so that the officer could see them clearly.

“No, sir.”

The police officer didn’t look amused at that admission.

“License plate light is out.”

Damian couldn’t help but think that was a ridiculous reason to pull someone over for, especially at four o’clock in the afternoon.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get it fixed right away.”

“This says this car is registered under the name Bruce Wayne.”

“Yes, sir.”

The cop looked Dick up and down. Damian didn’t miss the slight discomfort on Dick’s face.

“And you’re not Bruce Wayne.”

Damian suppressed the impulse to roll his eyes at the man’s stupidity.

“No, sir, that’s my adoptive father. I’m borrowing the car to pick my brother up from school.”

The officer didn’t look like he was content with Dick’s story.

“Step out of the vehicle.”

Damian was beginning to feel more nervous about the situation as time went on.

“Richard…”

“It’s okay, Dami,” Dick said calmly. “Just stay in the car and text your dad, please.”

Dick opened his door but instead of allowing Dick to get out of the car himself the police officer roughly grabbed him by his upper arm and pulled him out, eliciting a slight yelp from the man.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

“Damian, don’t.”

Damian knew when to shut up, especially when it came to Dick. He recognized the tone he used. It was the same one he’d used when he was Batman. So he remained quiet and quickly began to type a text to his father, hoping he wasn’t stuck in a meeting.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damian watched the police officer slam Dick against the side of the car so that he could begin to pat him down. He couldn’t help but think this was all a gross overreaction for a broken license plate light.

As the officer patted down Dick’s back pocket he removed the leather wallet that held his Blüdhaven Police Department badge and shield. The officer studied it for a moment, his face slightly red as he finally flipped Dick around to face him, handing him his belongings back.

“Apologies, detective. You just can’t be too sure sometimes.”

Dick said nothing, his blue eyes careful and calculating. Damian realized Dick was in the process of memorizing the man’s badge number and name from his uniform.

“Have a good night. Drive safe.”

Dick nodded curtly before watching the man walk back to his cruiser, only getting back in the car once the officer had himself.

“Text Bruce and tell him we’re fine, please.”

“Richard, why did he do that?”

Dick sighed as he tossed the registration back into the glove box and tucked his identifications back into his jeans pockets.

“Because he could, Dami.”

“That is hardly a reason.”

“People like him don’t often need one. He was probably just low on his quota for tickets written.”

“But why did he treat you like you did something wrong? You weren’t rude to him.”

Dick buckled his seat belt and watched from his side mirror as the cop pulled out and drove away. Some tension seemed to leave his shoulders once the police cruiser was gone.

“Because…”

Dick trailed off, which only made Damian more curious.

“Richard, you can tell me, I’m not a child.”

Dick chuckled. “Yeah, okay.”

“Richard.”

Dick tapped his fingers against the steering wheel for a moment before continuing.

“He thought we might have stolen the car.”

Damian furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would we have stolen Father’s car?”

“I… he probably didn’t think we were related to Bruce, Dami. He probably didn’t recognize us.”

“Why? Many have told me I share physical similarities with him.”

“Because we aren’t white, Damian.”

There it was. The thing Dick had been tip-toeing around. 

Damian was not unaware of the fact that Dick and he were two of the only non-white members of their family. It wasn’t lost on Damian and it never had been, but Damian had never felt as if he were different or less than his siblings just because of the color of his skin and his heritage. It never seemed to him that Dick felt that way either.

When he had first come to live with his father, there had been an adjustment period, especially when it came to enrolling him in school. Sure, he had had his fair share of incidents with fellow students or people attending his father’s galas, but he had never concerned himself with their words simply because he knew, deep down, he was better than them, not because of his skin tone but because of his actions and upbringing. He had no interest in spending precious time worrying what others thought about him due to preconceived notions about his race or religion. 

It seemed the world, however, had made it a point to go out of its way to remind Damian that petty things such as this did indeed matter.

“He still had no right to treat you that way.”

“You’re right, he didn’t. But he did, and other cops will in the future, which is why it’s important to be the bigger man in a situation like that.”

“Why should we have to be the ‘bigger man’ if they are the ones instigating an altercation?”

Dick ran a hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly in his seat.

“It’s just… how things work, is all. It’s unfortunate that the only reason he stopped was because I had my badge on me, but-”

“You should report him to his superiors.”

Dick chuckled humorlessly at Damian’s interruption as he turned the key in the ignition.

“I plan to, though I doubt it’ll do much good, even if I do mention that I work for the BPD. He probably only backed off because he didn’t want to deal with the fact that I’m technically a superior officer.”

Damian hated the fact that Dick was right, that the cop had probably only left them alone because of Dick’s job. That that was the only thing that made the officer view them as worthy of being treated with respect.

It wasn’t fair and Damian wanted to say as much but he couldn’t bring himself to, less he sounded childish.

Of course it wasn’t fair. When was it ever?

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I don’t need to be shielded from occurrences such as these,” Damian reminded him, watching as the front gates to Wayne Manor appeared off in the distance. “I can handle complex issues.”

“I know you can, but you still shouldn’t have had to see it. You shouldn’t have to live it.”

“Neither should you.”

Dick made a sort of humming sound as he drove through the wrought iron gate. Damian didn’t need Dick to answer verbally to know what he was trying to say. 

That he agreed but he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit it.

“I understand the world is not kind to those that don’t fit into the majority,” Damian continued. “But I will not allow myself to be held back by those barriers.”

Dick spared a glance at Damian, a proud look on his face.

“Have I ever told you what an amazing kid you are?”

“Nearly every day. It’s becoming quite exhausting.”

As they pulled the car into the garage Dick reached over and ruffled Damian’s hair. Usually this annoyed the younger boy to no end, but in that moment he felt himself lean into the touch slightly.

“I love you, Dami.”

“I love you too, Richard.”

Dick Grayson was, first and foremost, his mother’s son.

Nothing would ever change that and Dick wouldn’t even if he could. He was proud of his heritage, proud of where he came from, though sometimes he felt as though he were stuck between two worlds, not quite fitting into either one.

Sometimes Dick forgot the stories his Dya would tell him at night to help him sleep. Sometimes he would forget what the taste of her pelogo was like as it mixed together with the taste of the kugel Alfred made around the holidays. Sometimes he forgot a word in Romani and it made his heart ache each and every time until his brain finally supplied it after the fact.

Dick was forever an outsider it seemed, no matter which side he was on. His sudden Gotham City upbringing made him feel disconnected at times from his circus family, yet he was too brown, too foreign, too different to quite fit in with the high society he’d been placed into when Bruce took him in. They were impossible standards and Dick seemingly was held up to every single one of them. 

Galas and events where he was forced into the limelight were the worst, in Dick’s opinion. It was when he truly saw the stark differences between himself and the rest of the wealthy citizens of Gotham City.

Dick had never been one to shy away from the spotlight, but he also wasn’t one to often seek it out on his own accord. There was usually a reason he forced it upon himself, whether it was in the field as a distraction so that Batman could do what he needed to do or to distract reporters and unsavory individuals from his younger siblings.

The latter seemed to be the case that night as he took a small sip from his champagne, trying his best not to drink more than he had to.

The woman he’d been speaking with for about twenty minutes now was about three times his senior and couldn’t seem to keep her hands to herself. She was also donating nearly five million dollars to the Martha Wayne Foundation, though, so Dick had to play nice for the time being.

“I always love seeing you at these events,” she said, her diamond earrings shining under the lights of the banquet hall. “You always clean up so nice!”

Dick suppressed the desire to roll his eyes and instead chuckled lightly in response, wishing there was a way he could look at his watch without appearing rude. 

Luckily for Dick, the woman’s attention turned to focus on another guest, who had come to comment about how generous her contribution was this year, which gave Dick an out that he immediately took.

Abandoning his half-full flute of champagne on a nearby table, Dick beelined for the bathrooms, hoping to take a few minutes to allow himself a break from all the face-aching smiling. 

He was glad the men’s bathroom was empty. It was a small victory, in his eyes. Dick removed his tuxedo jacket and hung it on the corner of a stall door so that he could roll his sleeves up a bit so as to not get them wet. Twisting the faucet, Dick cupped his hands under the water and splashed his face, rubbing the back of his neck with water as well for good measure.

The galas were always insufferably hot, what with so many people packed into one room, and it being the middle of August only made the heat worse. The air conditioning was working overtime, but the building was quite old so the machine was already overcompensating.

Dick heard the bathroom door open and silently cursed the fact that his solitude had been cut short. Turning the sink off, he stood up straight and looked over to see a man around Bruce’s age with salt and pepper hair and sharp eyes that lingered on Dick just a second too long.

“Richard,” the man greeted, his words slightly tinged with what Dick pegged as an Irish accent. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. I’ve been meaning to talk to you all night.”

Dick couldn’t quite remember the man’s name, but he knew he was one of the bigger overseas donors and one Dick probably should have gone out of his way to speak to that night. In his defense, Tim was usually the one who talked to the Wayne Enterprise’s associates at events such as these. Dick was usually stuck with their wives.

“Sorry,” Dick smiled sheepishly as he began to roll his shirt sleeves down. “It’s been quite the night.”

The man only hummed in response, walking closer to Dick, which was beginning to make the younger man feel a bit claustrophobic. 

“My, that tie matches your eyes perfectly.”

Dick’s face flushed slightly but he forced himself to keep a steady, polite smile on his lips.

“Thank you, it’s one of my favorites. I should get back to the party now-”

“How old are you, Richard?”

Dick could feel his heart begin to beat in his chest a bit faster, his body trying to tell him that he should be cautious, that he should leave while he still could.

“I’m twenty-three,” Dick said stiffly, his usual aura of Richie Wayne quickly dissipating as he became more and more nervous with the situation he had found himself in.

“My, you look younger. Good genes, I reckon.”

“Sure,” Dick made a grab for his coat from the stall door. “If you’ll excuse me, I really should-”

The man’s hand was on Dick’s wrist in an instant, preventing him from retrieving his jacket or leaving the bathroom. There was a split second where Dick was too shocked to do anything, which the man used to his advantage as he pulled Dick closer to him, maneuvering his body so that he could slam Dick’s back against the tiled bathroom wall.

“Goodness, you’ve always been a looker,” the man smirked, his other hand gripping Dick’s chin tightly. “So much more exotic than the usual rich kids, hmm?”

“Get off of me!” Dick commanded, trying to use his strength to push the man away. 

“Stop it,” the man commanded, the hand on his wrist releasing so the man could use his arm to keep Dick in place. “You wouldn’t want me to pull my very charitable donation now, would ya? What would your daddy say?”

Dick knew exactly what Bruce would say. He would tell him that all the money in the world couldn’t make Dick do something he didn’t want to do. Dick knew that for a fact.

The man leaned in closer to Dick, his breath hot against his neck.

“Damn, I’ve never been with a gypsy before. I hear your kind is great at this sort of thing.”

Everything happened so fast after that. One minute Dick was trying desperately to push his head away from the man, the next the creep was on the floor, his hands covering his crotch after Dick had sent a swift knee to his groin.

“You fucking bitch! I should have known Wayne didn’t train the circus freak out of you, slut!”

“Touch me again and I’ll do worse, gadjo . Keep your damn money.”

“You filthy little pikey, get back here!”

Dick ran out of the bathroom and didn’t stop until he crashed right into Alfred.

“Master Richard, what happened?”

It took Dick a moment to calm his breathing down enough to speak, his adoptive grandfather’s worried eyes not leaving him for a minute. There was a hand on his shoulder and it seemed to be enough to ground Dick.

“I just kneed one of Bruce’s donors in the crotch. I’m sorry.”

Dick wasn’t sure what he expected, but Alfred laughing lightly certainly wasn’t it.

“Well,” the man wrapped his arm around Dick’s shoulders and brought him in close. “I’m sure the gentleman deserved it.”

Dick felt himself leaning into Alfred’s body, his shoulders finally feeling less tense due to the welcomed physical contact.

“He did, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“What’s done is done,” Alfred said knowingly. “And I am sure Master Bruce will not be angry, once he hears your side of the story.”

Dick knew Alfred was right, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he should have acted differently. Alfred, ever the mind reader, seemed to know exactly what Dick was thinking.

“If it was the gentleman who entered the restroom shortly after you, I am sure Master Bruce would have no issue in severing his ties with Wayne Enterprises entirely. He has a history of saying unsavory things.”

“He was a racist asshole,” Dick said, glad Alfred didn’t reprimand him for swearing. “And he probably deserved it, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“Sometimes, my dear boy, there is a need for violence. It is not always the preferred solution, mind you, but there are times where words are simply not enough.”

Dick supposed he had a point. Dick so often tried to diffuse situations such as these with words, after all, and it never got him very far. He suddenly couldn’t help but think about his sibling’s worried words as they tried to convince him to react more physically when he was put into these situations.

“It isn’t fair,” Alfred continued, removing a pastry from a tray to hand to Dick. “And it never will be. Just know that whatever way you choose to handle these less than fortunate scenarios, I will always support you in any way I can.”

Dick took the offered pastry and smiled at Alfred, his eyes watering slightly at the older man’s kind words.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

“Of course, Master Richard. My pleasure.”