Chapter Text
Bruce Wayne is an extremely intelligent man. You can even call him the World’s Greatest Detective. Except right now, he felt so… unequipped.
He stared at the back of the 9-year-old Dick Grayson and wondered to himself if this was the best idea. Dick has been living with him and Alfred for about a week now, after the hard legal battle of proving himself a capable guardian. Dick was barely leaving his room, barely eating. He was just always in bed, holding back tears, moving around Wayne manor like a lost ghost.
And God, is it breaking Bruce’s heart.
He was at a similar age when he, too, lost his parents. Except that he hated calling their deaths a ‘loss’. Because he did not ‘lose’ his parents, they were stolen from him, just as had happened to young Dick Grayson.
Murder, apparently, is something they both couldn’t escape from. Especially not here in Gotham. It had been nearly a month since the tragic event. Bruce saw it all, their amazing show, the beauty and grace in a loving family act… and he also saw the fall, saw Dick’s face as he watched his parents fall to their deaths, helpless and stuck. The look on Dick's face is what drove bruce to offer himself as a guardian. Dick had no one else, and everyone agreed that a circus is no place for an orphan to grow up. Dick disagreed, he had wanted to stay in the circus, and Bruce was willing to fund for the kid's life, for his entire upbringing. But the system is broken, it is unjust and unfair, and did not regard children as anything but property... so Dick could not stay with the circus, in the place he called home. But Bruce hoped he can give him one in Wayne Manor.
He had just called Dick from his room, hard to call it his, really, as it was the guest room he had picked from the many that Alfred had shown him to pick from, to come eat dinner with him. Bruce had given him a week to adjust, or that was the intention, but the boy was not adjusting, he was just… existing. And sure, it was to be expected, he had just lost his parents, after all, but Bruce saw the signs. He had firsthand intimate knowledge of them.
From sleeping all day, eating one or two bites for dinner, skipping breakfast to sleep in and push his lunch around the plate wordlessly… to staying up all night, using the computer in his room to research, crying in the moments he thought no one could hear. Bruce noticed it all, because when he was Dick’s age, that was him.
Bruce noticed the tell-tale signs of not just grief… but the distinct thirst for revenge. He saw the anger simmering behind the child’s sad eyes, he saw the way he would watch the windows and the cameras set up around and in the manor, he knew what the plan Dick was storming up in his head was.
And he could not allow it.
He knew where that path lead, that the anger would never go away, he knew it wouldn’t, but… maybe he can do something about it. Batman.
Bruce went ahead to the dining room, giving Dick time and space to come down in his own time, but as he watch Dick come down the stairs, small hands gripping the polished wood bannister, something ached in his chest, knocking the breath out of him. He couldn't tear his gaze away from how small Dick was, how vulnerable. He could not help but wonder whether that way also how everyone had seen him when his parents were murdered. He remembered being stalked by reporters, by the many investors and business bloodhounds, thirsting for a shred of his wealth.
He could not have been that small if they had treated him that way, tearing him apart after losing his entire life in a moment. There was no way anyone could look at a hurt child... and see an opportunity, right?
He sighed as he acknowledged the answer to himself. People are cruel, and he had no one with real power to look after him, God knows Alfred tried his best, but he could not protect him from the vultures and bloodhounds of Gotham's social elite.
The thought bought him back to what he originally called Dick down for. He saw as the kid pulled back the chair, and with a small hop, plant himself on the seat, eyes never looking up.
Bruce hesitated for a moment, "Hi Dick, how are you?" He said, heart clenching at the sight of Dick flinching when he realized he was being addressed. He could smell the aroma of Alfred's cooking as it wafted in to the dining room, surrounding them.
"I'm okay, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for asking." A small, boyish voice sounded, barely above a whisper, dripping in politeness.
"Bruce. Call me Bruce, Dick. Mr. Wayne was my father." He offered a smile that he hoped came off as disarming. He saw as Dick looked up at him, eyes meeting for the first time in days now.
"My mom always says it's rude to call adults by their first name." Dick responded, a bit angry, which Bruce tried hard to understand, but just couldn't. He also didn't miss the usage of present tense when referring to his mother, and that caused a sharp pain to sting his heart yet again.
Before he could come up with a better response, Alfred's voice sounded around them. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but dinner is ready." He saw the pointed stare Alfred directed at him briefly as he began to set the plates.
"Mr. Pennyworth, why aren't you eating with us?" Dick said, looking accusingly at Bruce. The look baffled him, and he did not understand the boy, not at all.
"It's because I'm the butler, Master Dick. Butlers do not eat at the dining table with the Masters of the house. It's not proper." At that, Dick's gaze towards bruce softened.
"Oh... why isn't it proper?"
"Because this is my job, and I take it very seriously. It gives me purpose." Alfred smiled down at Dick, placing a beautifully crafted plate of spaghetti in front of him.
Bruce took the chance to say something, feeling slightly hurt at the look Dick had given him. "Ever since it became just me and Alfred in this big house, I've been asking him to sit down to eat with me, and he always responds just like that." He throws a fond look towards Alfred, lips curling into the ghost of a smile. At that, Dick tries and fails to hide the guilt on his face, whatever he had been thinking obviously had not been kind, and Bruce only wished he had the ability to ask, to not feel as though anything could push this child further away.
Bruce surprised himself with how much he wanted to form a connection with Dick. He knew he wasn't his father, but he did want to be something to him. It didn't stem from the fact that he wished for someone to protect and shield him more than Alfred was capable of. He isn't projecting his personal childhood insecurities onto Dick, but he wanted to be there for a kid like Dick, who is obviously too bright for his own good, and in Bruce's opinion, with more talent in his pinky than the whole city combined. He saw Dick's potential, his innocence. and his kindness... and wanted to make sure it didn't fade from the grief and anger.
They began to eat, and bruce threw the occasional simple question, questions like 'How was your day?' and 'Do you like your room?', but barely received a hum in reply. However, the kid ate more than three bites, which is a feat, given the past week. Dick stopped eating and began pushing food around the plate, making noise but not actually eating. Bruce could not be fooled, but he did not press. He knew Dick was only staying at the table to be polite, not because he was hungry. This was his chance now.
He sighed once more as he knew that it was time to say what he had been dreading, and wiped his mouth clean before speaking. "Dick, I wanted to ask you something. It's important. Please know that if you have any questions, just ask and I will do my best to answer, okay?" He began, a tightness in his chest forming.
Dick didn't respond, but he saw the brief flash of panic in his eyes and the way his body tensed up.
"I know that you're still adjusting to being here. I know that you miss your parents, buddy. But there is this gala tonight, and while I know its too soon... I think it's best for you to come with tonight. I know you don't want t—"
"I'm not going."
Bruce knew this was going to happen. He knew Dick didn't want to go, but he also knew his name. He knew what being Bruce Wayne meant, to him and everyone attached to his name. He knew that the longer he kept Dick hidden from the press and the media, the more they will hound, the more they will stalk, the more they will go out of their way to bother Dick, and this seemed like the best way to avoid that fate, to avoid even putting Dick through that at all.
He could file lawsuits and sue people blind. But that would only be after someone had done something big enough to sue... and Bruce did not want Dick to go through that.
And now the problem was explaining that to Dick. But first, he wanted to understand the boy, to know how he thinks.
"May I ask why, dick? I have my reasons for asking this of you, and I know it's difficult but I promise it is only to protect you. So... how about this, you tell me why you don't want to go, and I'll tell you why I think you should, maybe we can come up with a middle ground?" Bruce did not miss Alfred's proud glance in his direction, making him feel a sense of relief, that for the first time since Dick has joined the household, Bruce had done something right.
"I...I don't want to be rude, Mr. Wayne. I don't know if I should say." Dick whispered, eyes glancing down at his not-even-half eaten plate.
Bruce was not happy that Dick insisted on calling him Mr. Wayne, but he didn't want to pressure the kid into doing anything he doesn't want to. "Dick, I promise nothing you say will upset me, you speaking your mind is not rude."
"You're not my dad. I don't want anyone to think you are. I have a dad, and just because he was killed doesn't mean I don't have one!" Dick's voice wobbled with unshed tears and his hand clenched tightly around the fork. His breathing was uneven and ragged, not with sadness... with anger. Bruce did not comment on the wording of 'killed' rather than 'dead', even though he knew the implications. He knew the pain so intimately. This shared pain... this he understands.
A mix of emotions that Bruce struggled to name swam around his chest, pulling his thoughts in a million directions.
"You're right. I am not your dad, and I know you don't want me to be," Bruce swallowed around the hurt and the pain of rejection, and cursed himself for even feeling like that. "But I am your guardian, and you are my ward, and I have a responsibility to protect you—"
"Protect me from what? Zucco?! He came for my parents and left me behind! I doubt he'll come back to finish the job, no matter how much I wish he would!" Dick yelled, pushing himself away from the table, chair crashing down to the floor in the chaos. Without another word, Dick runs up the stairs and bruce wishes he didn't hear the sobbing as he fled.
The revelation that not only did Dick want to avenge his parents, but wishes that he had died with them... Bruce couldn't take it anymore.
He looked towards where he knew Alfred would be standing upon hearing all the commotion, and saw Alfred's sad gaze already looking at him.
"Alfred... I don't know how to help him, I don't know how to keep him protected and safe while also not pushing him. Did I... did I make a mistake in taking him in? I want to give him the best, I really do, but..." He couldn't say the next part out loud, he couldn't burden Alfred with his insecurities too.
Alfred said nothing, but he placed a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder, squeezing lightly before moving to clear the table. Bruce stayed seated as he placed his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table as Alfred moved about.
Am I the best for him? Am I even good enough for him?
The thought implanted itself in his head like a hole in the wall, painful and permanent. He knew that he didn't take Dick in impulsively, he knew he could provide for him for the next 100 lifetimes with his wealth... but he never had a conventional parent after his parents passed, and he... he hadn't let go of the pain and anger, and he used that fire to fuel his journey and all he had done to himself. The training, the mentors, the journey to become Batman.
It used to be the hardest thing he had gone through after losing his parents, but now? Learning how to open his heart to a child, how to let himself be gentle after the grueling years of learning to hide those soft parts away... those 'Bruce' parts... it seemed like an impossible task and it might be the hardest thing he has yet to go through.
He can scale buildings without breaking a sweat and endure unbearable amounts of pain and damage without even a grunt of pain, he can look at the most gory crime scenes with a straight face and be levelheaded and analytical. But learning to deal with Dick's grief... after he couldn't deal with his own, that truly, truly, genuinely, seemed impossible.
But he would try, he would definitely try.
For Dick.
Clark sighs a deep-chested sigh before sitting back down in his chair. The Daily Planet, as usual, was a bustling environment. The sounds of people talking (yelling) over phones, keyboards clacking, and the squeaks of old desk chairs resounded like an orchestra. The newsroom sounds and feels like it should, yet there was one odd variable.
Clark Kent.
He usually was all smiles and awkward shuffles, his Kansas upbringing— more like his ma's parenting, instilled in him such polite and sweet mannerisms... but now, he had his face propped up on clenched fists, eyes almost staring holes through his computer screen.
He couldn't help himself, really. This has been bothering him for weeks now. He scrolls some more after refreshing his feed, hoping for an update on Bruce Wayne.
He's been out of the spotlight ever since the court ruled in favor of him being the young Richard Grayson's legal guardian, which is very much unlike the infamous Brucie.
While Clarke knew that the 'Brucie' that is known to the public isn't really who he is... he couldn't really tell anyone about it. He had been there the day the Graysons passed. He had been tasked to write a piece on the traveling circus that was coming to the sister cities, Gotham and Metropolis, but he was also just excited to go to the circus. So he had decided to go twice. First day to Gotham, to just enjoy the show as himself, and the second day, when Haley's Circus would come to Metropolis, he would go with a professional gaze, to write about it.
So he had been there, and it's been weighing him down. He couldn't do anything, it happened so fast. But... he was Superman, he could have been faster, he should have been faster. But that's the thing about coincidences... he heard a little girl crying outside the giant tent right as the Grayson's show had been announced. So he excused himself under the guise of needing the toilet, and helped the young girl find her parents, who had been frantically looking for her too.
He'd been so focused on the parent's heartbeat, had honed in his superhearing to the sound of their hearts, using the sound as a compass to bring their daughter back to them, only to have missed the sound of horrified gasps inside the tent, and realizing seconds too late that he could have helped, but he had failed.
It was eating away at him, and this guilt had forced him to investigate Dick Grayson, to find anyway he can help him now... because no matter how badly he wished he could, with all of Clark's powers, he still couldn't revive the dead. And what he found had broken his heart.
Dick's parents, while loving, were somewhat... neglectful. A moving circus meant no stability, no friends, no family relationships for Dick outside his parents. He was homeschooled, and while homeschooling is a great option for many families, there were old interviews and articles about the 'Flying Graysons' in which Dick had stated that he wished he had friends his age.
Upon hearing that Bruce Wayne, of all people, wanted to take Dick in, Clark was enraged. How could a man with a reputation for being an airhead and living an... avidly sexual and carefree lifestyle be a good guardian for a young boy with such pain and trauma was something he simply could not understand.
But if Clarke was anything, he was a curious person, and so he dug. And dug some more, and then some. What he'd found has shocked him. Rather than solidifying his belief that Bruce Wayne was a manwhore who could not be trusted to parent a hurt child, he had found buried articles and videos of how good Bruce Wayne is.
Billions to charities, never-ending amounts of legitimate shelters, foundations, donations, relief efforts... The list was never-ending. But... they were all buried, as if someone didn't want this image of Bruce Wayne to be seen or acknowledged. Bruce Wayne, being Bruce Wayne, was never not followed by paparazzi, even as a young child. This made Clark cringe and a deep rooted anger form in his chest.
To hound a child like that... was inconceivable to him.
But this had benefitted him, as he had footage of Bruce Wayne up until the age of 18, before he had mysteriously disappeared to 'study', yea... sure. In this sea of footage, which Clark would not admit that he had found through rather unorthodox methods unfitting of a honest journalist like he prided himself to be, he found that Bruce Wayne had always been a good kid, a good and kind person, and did not understand how this shy and timid and hurt kid in the videos is the same person as the one that tabloids never seem to get sick of.
Clark is ashamed to admit that he had gone to all the court hearings, wanting to see if any shred of the Bruce Wayne he had found was present... and shockingly, he saw that Bruce had genuinely wanted the best for this child, he had listened in on his heartbeat to make sure he wasn't lying, and he wasn't. So he ceased his secret investigation that was founded by the guilt of not saving the Graysons.
But.
But he couldn't let go of Bruce Wayne... he was a mystery. All blinding smiles and charming words at women and men alike, a klutz, a ditzy airhead in front of cameras, but Clark saw through it, he saw the calculating gaze, the eyes that seemed to always focus and hone in on every detail, the body language that seemed to look lazy and drunk most of the time, but just beneath the surface, was tightly coiled.
Clark wanted to know who Bruce Wayne really was... and also wow is he gorgeous.
He hadn't noticed the man at first, too caught up in his worry about Dick, but when that had settled... he found that even 'Brucie' could make his heart race. The man, a 6'1 hunk of pure muscle and sex appeal, with the darkest hair Clark had ever seen and striking steel grey eyes... he was captivating. And lord knows Clark was captivated.
Clark's thoughts began to drift off, to daydream of things that were definitely not safe for work, before he caught himself and sat upright in his chair, a faint blush over his freckled tan skin. He refreshed his screen once more, hoping to find an update on both Bruce and Dick, and was disappointed to find nothing. He pushed his glasses back into position and got up to stretch, only to find Lois staring at him with her arms crossed.
"You've been sighing like a widowed war wife for the past 3 hours, Clark." She said, a twinkle of amusement sneaking past the fake annoyed glance.
"Wha? No! I'm just.. I'm tired." He quickly began trying to close his tabs upon seeing Lois get up to look at his screen, but even though he was Superman... Lois Lane was faster. Goddamn force to be reckoned with.
"Bruce Wayne? You're researching him? Why?" She said, pushing him back down the chair to lean further and see the screen more clearly.
"Uh... no real reason."
"Don't lie to me, Smallville, you suck at it."
"I'm not lying, Lois, it's just that I was curious about him and the kid he adopted, that's all." He began, eyes averted. It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.
"Clark, you have like, 400 tabs open and it's just the guy's face! Oh my god... You like him!" she all but yelled. It felt like almost everyone in the newsroom turned to look, and Clark... Clark wanted to bury his red face into the ground and wait to decompose.
So what if he found Bruce Wayne attractive? It's not like he's the only one with this opinion. Everyone and their mothers, maybe even fathers, found Bruce Wayne attractive, he's not special for it.
"Okay, yes, he is a good looking man, and I am only human, so what?"
"During work hours? Tsk Tsk Clark... where's the golden Boy Scout we thought you were... what would your mother say?" She sighed dramatically. Apparently, Lois's favorite pastime is humiliating Clark, and Clark was just so easy to rile up. Forgive a girl for having a hobby.
Clark decidedly ignored her and moved on to his other tasks, and for the first time, he guiltily hoped for some monster to start wrecking things so he had an excuse to leave. But, Clark was never known for his luck, and so he stayed in his seat, flushed and embarrassed.