Before the Robin Flew the Night

This is a fan-fiction story of a certain caped crusader and his lovable sidekick, but before they were said dynamic duo. Enjoy!

Thunder cracked, rattling the ancient house and shuddering the gaudy light fixture overhead.

“N-nope! Nope soap on a r-rope!” Dick stuttered. He launched himself from the massive bed, heart racing, the smell of popcorn and the echo of screams still heavy in his nightmare fogged brain.

Two steps and he stopped, spinning back and grabbing the ragged elephant tangled in the sheets. He didn’t care that he was nine now and probably too old for stuffies. It didn’t count when you were sick.

He rushed down the hallway, nimble feet silent on the cushy rug as he flew by portraits that watched him with stiff smiles and critical eyes. Everyone watched him these days. Waiting with baited breath for each misstep, each stumble, each fall. A prodigy of the trapeze in his old life; a socially clumsy orphan in this one.  

Even in the dark, his bare feet found each step without trouble, his fingers skimming the polished banister as he flew down them two at a time, skipping the one in the middle that would give him away. Lightening flashed, brilliant and blinding. He bit back the childish squeak that tried to jump out of him, swallowing it back down, pretending the heat in his face was just fever. He snagged the newel post, swinging left.

“It’s too much! You’re going to get yourself killed,” a harsh British voice snapped.

Dick came to a dead stop. He twisted his bare toes against the cool hardwood. Maybe… maybe he should go back to bed.

The heavy pocket door was barely ajar, a stripe of yellow light running from top to bottom. The smell of coffee drifted out, weird for one in the morning, but not nearly the weirdest thing about this place. A tv was on, volume turned down to a low drone. Papers shuffled. A couch creaked.

“Dick?” a deep voice said softly.

Dick crushed his eyes shut, scrubbing away the salt from dry tears. He nudged the door wider, blinking a dozen times as his eyes adjusted, keeping the elephant out of sight.

“Everything okay?” Bruce asked. Paperwork covered the coffee table, more in his hands. He was still dressed, though he’d ditched the suit jacket and tie. Dark half-moons sat below the man’s piercing blue eyes. He always looked tired lately. Dick wasn’t sure the man ever slept.

Dick glanced to the other man in the room, fighting not to cringe under the butler’s stern glare, a silver brow arching high.

Thunder cracked. Dick used it to steel his spine.

He walked into the room, shoulders back, an elephant ear scrunched tight inside his fist, and stopped directly in front of his foster dad, digging franticly for courage.

Bruce’s head barely tipped, concerned.

“I know you don’t like… you don’t like hugs, and stuff like that. But-”

This was silly. Bruce had been so generous since he took Dick in. Yes, the man was different when they were home, going from bright and bubbly to quiet and contemplative. Not unkind, just busy and preoccupied. But, they had found a good rhythm the past few months, and even Alfred had been less crotchety as of late.

Well, until Dick had gotten sick. Now, everything was out of whack again. They had barely even talked the last several days. And Dick could feel a hole inside him yawning wider, eating him up.

A fat tear slid down his cheek, and he shoved it away. Holy night and Nyquil, he was being ridiculous. And yet, he couldn’t walk away. He needed this.

Dick snatched one of the fancy couch pillows, stuffing it into Bruce’s lap. He slammed his head down onto it, curling tightly into the man’s side and holding his breath as he felt Bruce go rigid.

Four heartbeats passed.

“I’m sorry if it’s weird,” Dick mumbled into his elephant.

A hand carefully rested against his shoulder, stiff, but gentle. “It’s not weird.”

It was totally weird, but Dick chose to ignore it.

He needed to be touched. Didn’t realize how badly until right now. How much he missed the playful wrestling with his dad, and the way his hand fit inside his mom’s. The hugs and kisses and snuggles. The simple passing pats on the back and nudging elbows. Touch was a part of who they were, their common and everyday way of showing love. And they had made it a part of him.

More fat tears slipped free, but he was too exhausted to do anything about them. Bruce’s body heat slowly soaked into him, filling in that yawning hole just a little, sleep sneaking closer with the passing ticks of the grandfather clock in the corner.

“I know I’ve taken on too much lately,” Bruce said quietly. “The extra hours at work, the fundraisers, the whole mess with Ivy…”

His hand softened against Dick’s shoulder. “But, I’m not letting go of this, Alfred. I think… I think I need him as much as he needs me.”