Chapter Text
"You shouldn't be here," He says, gravely voice almost lost in the loud rushing of the waterfall echoing against the cave walls.
John smiles. A real smile, all teeth and crinkling eyes, walking up to the masked crusader, running a slender hand along the hard plastic of the suit. He circles the older man like a lion watching his prey. It’s a fair comparison, as all John can think about is devouring his guy whole.
“You know you don’t have to do the voice thing, right?” John chuckles. He feels confident, more so than usual, and he’s almost positive it’s because of last night. He blushes just thinking about it. “It’s just the two of us, now.”
The older man says nothing in return and John stops right in front of his elder, hands sliding up the stout neck and up to a chiseled face swathed in black. John gently reaches up and pops the mask off the man's face.
All that’s left is Bruce. And some blackface paint that makes him look like a wannabe racoon. But that is far from the point.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Bruce murmurs. John can feel the heat from his breath on his face. “It’s not safe.”
John cocks his head to the side.
“I’m standing in front of The Batman,” John says, leaning into Bruce’s ear. “I’m the safest I’ll ever be.”
“That’s why you’re not safe.” Bruce replies, pushing John a step back. “This isn’t.. it’s not right. You’re too young, Robin.”
“You know I hate that name,” John says bluntly. “And you didn’t seem too worried about my age last night when you were fucking me.”
Bruce ignores him in favor of removing the rest of his suit. John is still holding the cowl in his hand. It looks so lightweight but in his palm it feels so heavy.
“I’ll be seventeen in less than a month.” John blurts. “That’s, like, twenty in Gotham years.”
Bruce does laugh, then, but it sounds entirely devoid of any humour.
“And I’ll be twenty-five,” he states. “Hold old will that be in Gotham years?”
“Bruce,” John starts. Ready to explain that what they did was natural and fun and not a mistake. That they can make it work. John knows they can make it work. No one has to know, with Bruce by his side they can fix this city and rid it of the evil that inhabits it.
“No, John,” Bruce finally turns around to face him. His body looks rigid without the suit to protect his, all that’s left is a thin longsleeve. Black of course. John searches his face for some sort of emotion but finds none. He can feel it coming, but he prays that he’s wrong. “I can’t do this anymore. We can’t do this anymore.”
John feels like all the air in his lungs is just gone.
“This is all too complicated,” He walks up to John a runs a large palm into his hair. John can’t help but shiver. In the process, Bruce manages to slip the cowl out of John’s hand. “I think things would be better if we just end it here.”
“You’re not serious,” John questions. He can feel himself shaking. “What do you mean ‘end it here’? Bruce, I- I love you.”
“You don’t mean that,” Bruce says quickly. “You’ll realize that soon enough.”
“What am I supposed to do?” John shouts, “Find some pimp that’ll give me a place to sleep?”
“No,” Even in the dim lighting John can see the anger flash in the older man’s brown eyes. “You can obviously still stay here. I’m not kicking you out into the street, John.”
“It damn well feels like it,” John hisses. “Are we just going to live in the same place, tiptoeing around each other?”
“I’ll figue it out,” Bruce says. Behind him, one of the large computers beeps and flashes. Information scrolling onto a monitor, attracting all of Bruce’s attention. “You should get back upstairs. You’ll catch a cold down here.”
He quickly turns and stocks away, clicking away at a nearby keyboard. John doesn’t move, feeling cold and confused, but most of all angry.
He floats up back to the manor and finds Alfred in the kitchen heating up what smells like spahgetti. John’s stomach rumbles loudly, catching Alfred’s attention. The butler turns from the stove, welding a large wooden spoon.
“Master Blake!” Alfred’s smile is warm and inviting. It makes John want to cry. “I’ve made your favorite, added a bit of extra garlic as well.”
“Thank you, Alfred.” John smiles. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
"Ah, bullocks,” Alfred chuckles delightedly. “Will Master Bruce be joining us for dining?”
“No,” John can’t help but frown. “He seemed very busy.”
“That man is going to run himself into an early grave,” Alfred groans so quiet that John almost misses it.
John can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.
In the morning when John goes down for breakfast he finds a worried Alfred. When they had parted ways last night, they were both happily stuffed with food although undeniably worried about Bruce. Keeping light conversation throughout their entire meal, and finally leaving each other with pleasant ‘good nights’.
Now he looks undeniably older, frown lines etched into his forehead.
“What’s wrong, Alfred?” John says, reaching into the fridge for some orange juice.
He’s grabs three glasses from the cabinet, intending to pour a glass for himself and Alfred and then to take one down to Bruce, who is probably still down in the bat cave. Hopefully John can persuade him to at least consider their relationship. He woke up in a rather good mood, mostly because he went to bed burping spaghetti.
Regardless, he feels like today is going to be a good day.
“It would seem that Mater Bruce has gone on vacation,” Alfred says tiredly. “Went island-hopping with Miss Kyle.”
John almost drops one of glasses. This can’t be happening.
“Impossible,” John whispers, then louder. “Let me see.”
Alfred hands over the note, and John gladly snatches it up, eyes quickly scanning the small paper. It’s definitely Bruce’s chicken-scratch.
He’s gone? And with that bitch, Selina? She's probably laughing at his idiocy.
Message received loud and clear, Bruce.
John feels a bit heartbroken and most of all angry as hell. Also, pretty damn heartbroken.
Two days later John is gone from the mansion. Only taking a small backpack stuffed with his most favorite clothes and a few hundred dollars.
He tells Alfred that’s he’s leaving to travel the world. To get away from the mess that is Gotham. He is very understanding but he’s still able to make John shed a few tears. They part ways with promises of writing to each other whenever the chance arises.
“I’ll be back,” John promises. He’s lying. Alfred know’s that he’s lying as well, but he chooses not to call him on it. It makes him leaving a bit more bearable for the both of them.
The hug that Alfred gives him is one of dreadful finality.
John disappears onto a train heading to Queens and doesn't look back.