Chapter Text
Dick was right, the conversation with Bruce was exceedingly boring. It was more or less the same shit they've been talking about, honestly, they both are starting to sound like broken records. Bruce tried to reassure Dick that he loved him, that he's always seen Dick as his son, and that Dick is always welcome, and Dick tried to believe him.
Bruce had invited him back to the cave, and Dick went. After all the anxiety Dick had felt about the cave, and Bruce saying he didn't trust him there anymore, it was a surprisingly small moment. They sparred, Dick got to use his trapeze set again and show off for the kids, and then Dick went home. It was…nice, peaceful, in a way he didn't expect.
The thing is, no matter how many times Bruce tries to say he loves Dick, that he's always been his son, it's not showing in his actions. At least not that Dick can see, and receive. Logically, he knows Bruce loves him, or at the very least, Bruce cares for him. That doesn't change the fact that he doesn't feel it. Besides, as the weeks passed, Dick had seen how he treats the younger kids, watched as he gives out affection freely, puts his work aside whenever they ask for his attention, and something inside Dick burns with jealousy. He doesn't want to, gods, he wants to be happy for his siblings. And he is, he's ecstatic that Tim and Jason get to experience a more stable home life, with a parent who openly cares about them. But why couldn't Dick have had that? Why did he have to deal with the parent who was physically there, but not emotionally, when his younger siblings got both?
Why? What was so wrong about him?
And why can't he accept that at least Bruce is trying now? Will he ever be able to fully trust Bruce again? Will Bruce ever be able to do enough?
It's one thing to know, logically, that someone cares about you. It's another to be able to feel it. Love languages may not be real psychology, but there has to be at least some truth to them. Maybe that's why Dick and Bruce don't mesh well, emotionally. Maybe Bruce just isn't loving him in a way he can receive.
If that's not it, then something is just wrong with Dick, something keeping him from actually feeling loved.
Now, he's in the cave listening as Bruce walks Jason through a few drills with the Kali sticks. They're working on the Heaven 6 drills, one of the first double stick drills Dick learned. It's simple, but effective. Dick himself is just around the corner from them, running through his own warm-up drills.
Bruce is patiently explaining how the drill works, walking Jason through the ready position, the basic strike count, and footwork. He pauses intermittently as he demonstrates, and then Dick can hear him correcting Jason's form. The kid is eager to learn, Dick's always known that. Once you break through his "tough guy" exterior, underneath is a kid eager to learn whatever he can. He's always trying as hard as he can to learn everything—in school, in the cave, following Alfred around. It's cute, really. Tim is the opposite. He likes learning, but only what he's interested in.
Dick's pulled from his thoughts when Bruce calls his name. He grabs his water bottle, then hangs the resistance bands back on the wall. As soon as he rounds the corner, Bruce tosses a set of Kali sticks at him. Dick raises a brow at him, and Bruce answers before he can speak.
"Jason wanted to see a demo of the drill."
Dick shrugs, "Sure." He steps onto the mat after setting his water bottle down. "May want to step back, Jayce."
He settles into his ready position, knees bent, slightly on his toes, one stick crossed behind his ribs, the other over his shoulder on the same side. He bounces slightly, "Gonna be able to keep up, old man? Y'know, I fight with these things every night."
Bruce smirks right back, shaking his head slightly, "Don't forget who trained you. Ready?"
Dick answers his question by tapping Bruce's stick with his own. The rhythmic sound of the bamboo shafts colliding echoes off the walls as they build up speed. Dick has a tendency to jump in fast, while Bruce likes to start slow and build speed. There's not much footwork involved in this drill; it's pretty stationary.
Until Bruce breaks the pattern and aims at his legs, that is. Dick jumps the strike easily, landing lightly on his feet, slightly out of reach.
"That's not the drill." He remarks, jumping right back in.
Bruce tilts his head, "No, but you shouldn't rely on—"
"—On an opponent falling into a pattern. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before."
Jason watches them, eyes widening. Dick starts ramping the speed down slowly, then, when Bruce follows suit, speeds up again and finally lands a strike across the man's ribs, following quickly with the second Kali and stopping millimeters from the man's collarbone. Had the strike landed, it would have shattered the bone and ended the fight.
He is surprised when Bruce actually winces, one hand going to clutch his ribs, the other aiming a retaliatory strike at Dick's shoulder. He dodges, jumping out of range.
"I'd say I win, B!" Dick grins sharply, "What do you think, Jay?"
Jason barks out a laugh, "I think he needs to work on his reflexes if he's stopping to check each hit he gets immediately."
Bruce shoots them both a glare, "Really, Dick?"
"Whaattt, the kid's not wrong. If you get distracted by every injury you receive in a fight, you're gonna lose."
"That was unnecessary force. You could've cracked my ribs."
Dick scowls, "I knew exactly how hard I hit you. I was in control."
"Why are you hitting that hard in a drill?"
"My bad, I thought we were sparring, how we normally do. Why is it all of a sudden a problem?" He scoffs, taking a few steps off the mats. Jason eyes them both nervously. He's been around for a few of their spats now, and Dick hates it every time.
"We were just demonstrating for Jason. He doesn't need to go that hard yet," Bruce comments, tone forcibly light.
"So he won't. Jason wasn't in the demo, B, we were. We normally spar at almost 100% force. I don't get why you're giving me a hard time."
Bruce glances around, mouth opening.
Dick cuts him off, "Whatever. Have fun with training." He turns on his heel and stalks over to the locker rooms.
He hears Bruce call his name, hears more murmured conversation, and then the kali sticks colliding again, much slower than when he and Bruce were sparring.
It's still a little early, and he knows he's going to get hell from Alfred for missing the mandatory pre-patrol snack, but he doesn't care. He needs to get out of the cave, and being in the manor won't help.
He rushes through getting his gear on, then heads over to his bike. He doesn't put his comm in. He knows he should, especially since the whole reason he came over was that they're working on a joint case. Even Barbara's in on this one.
The wind whips through his hair as he weaves through traffic. He doesn't get Bruce. They can be perfectly civil, joking around and having fun moments, then he finds something to criticize Dick about the next. It's ridiculous! He barely hit the man, and it was high enough on his torso that he wasn't in danger of breaking the floating rib. Bruce has enough muscle around his ribs to protect him from a hit like that anyway. It was such a non-issue. Regardless, the man takes much worse hits repeatedly without flinching. There had to have been something going on.
Eventually, he parks the bike a few blocks away from the warehouse they've been watching and grapples up to the rooftops. The world feels lighter, like this. Nothing but the wind in his hair and gravity bending to his will.
He has time before he needs to be at the stakeout; no respectable Gotham criminal starts work at the early hour of six in the evening. It gives him enough time to run a quick patrol in Crime Alley, and he drops in on the street kids hanging out by their usual meeting place. He drops off food and supplies, pausing to check in with the older ones and make sure everyone's gonna be alright until next week, then returns to his normal patrol. The Alley will never be considered peaceful, but it's easy to see the effect of Dick patrolling more regularly. He's keeping an eye on the more dangerous gangs, making sure kids are kept safe as much as possible. There's not much he can do about petty crime, other than stop it if he sees it and let the police know, but they rarely come to this part of Gotham.
Eventually, enough time has passed that he needs to meet everyone at the stakeout. Barbara and Jason are patrolling Gotham tonight, which leaves him and Bruce to keep an eye on the trafficking group they're tracking.
Joy.
He's not stupid enough to screw up the operation over a petty spat with Bruce; they've been working this case for weeks, and they've finally found the main den. They just need to figure out when the boss is going to make an appearance, and when they'll start moving whatever it is they're trafficking. They're so close.
The route to the warehouse is short from where Dick was. Before long, he's dropping on the roof next to Bruce and wordlessly taking the comm he's handed.
"Did you have to run off like a child?" Bruce murmurs, never turning from where he's watching the warehouse.
Dick glares at the side of his face, then huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. "You're impossible. Let's just get this over with."
"Nightwing—" Bruce starts.
Dick sighs, "Save it, Bats. We can talk later. We have a job to do."
The rest of the night passes in silence. At some point, Bruce hands Dick a small sandwich, but neither of them says anything. Dick used to hate stakeouts, having to be quiet and still for hours on end, bored the hell out of him. They still do, honestly, but they're a necessary part of the job. By now, Dick's learned how to stay alert, how to stay so still he blends into this environment. His uniform isn't optimized for that, but he could. The human eye is attracted to movement. Oftentimes, you can learn to be so still that they just pass right over you.
Eventually, they call it a night and head back to the cave. It's late when they get back, even more so than usual. Tim and Jason have long since been put to bed. Bruce stops him before he can follow suit, having agreed to stay the night and have breakfast.
"Look, I am…sorry about before. I shouldn't have snapped at you about sparring," Bruce says, lightly holding onto Dick's elbow.
Dick eyes him. Bruce has been better about communicating, sure, but he's not normally this quick about apologizing—though, to be fair, neither is Dick. Bruce is still in his suit, but Dick can still see the way he slouches slightly to one side. He narrows his eyes, "You're injured. When?"
Bruce opens his mouth, then closes it, then speaks, "A few nights ago. It's not a big deal."
"Does Alfred know?"
"It's not a big deal, Dick," Bruce sighs. Dick switches their grip so he's holding onto Bruce and tugs him over to the med-bay. He follows along, albeit reluctantly, and Dick pushes him lightly onto a cot.
Dick crosses his arms, "What's wrong?"
Bruce doesn't answer for a long moment, and Dick contemplates just calling Alfred and leaving him to deal with Bruce. Eventually, though, the man answers. "It really isn't a big deal. I just bruised my ribs and pulled a muscle. It's nothing ice won't help."
Dick hums, analyzing him for a while. "Fine. I guess that explains why you snapped when I hit your ribs."
Bruce nods. "Can I get up now?"
"One sec." Dick takes a seat on the cot across from Bruce. " You shouldn't have snapped, but I get why you did. You were hurt, I made it worse, I get it." He waves a hand as he talks, legs swinging slightly. "But the comment you made when I showed up at the stakeout was uncalled for."
Bruce nods, lips pursed in a line.
"You gonna say anything?"
"I have already apologized. I don't know what else you want me to say."
Dick nods, hopping off the cot. "Fine. Goodnight, Bruce."
He hears Bruce scramble off the cot after him, "Wait, Dick!"
Dick turns, "Yeah?"
"Are we good?" There's an uncertainty to Bruce's tone, uncharacteristically for him.
Dick studies him, quiet for a long moment before he speaks. "Yeah. Yeah, we're good."
He turns to leave, lost in thought. Will he and Bruce ever be able to get back their easy companionship and communication? Sure, things were hard, and Bruce has always struggled to say what he's speaking, but he and Dick used to understand each other, in a way they just…don't now.
This is progress, talking about it, apologizing like this, but it's still awkward. Push and pull, both of them too scared of losing each other to really say what's on their minds.
Maybe they'll work it out one day, or maybe it'll always be this awkward. He hopes they'll work it out.