FIC: Dynamic Dynamics
Table 07 Prompt 22
Title: Dynamic Dynamics
Author: Huffy
Rating: G
Characters: Batman/Nightwing
Summary: A New Ritual is Born
He followed behind, just at the edge of where he knew his perimeters were. It could be a tricky dance but he knew the moves by heart. He had been horribly wrong. No, by anyone’s thoughts he had done the unforgivable. He had struck him son. He had driven him away. He did not want him to die like Jay did. He did not want to bury another son. It was in reality a flimsy excuse. Dick was never Jay in the same way that he could never force Jay to become Dick. They had similarities but they were completely different. Dick was his own person but unless pushed by him, and he conceded pushed very hard, he would not run off and defy him.
Finally thanks to Tim they were beginning to approach each other, but Dick was still angry which Batman could deal with. What bothered him was Dick had become skittish like a wounded animal with him. He could see in his eyes that Dick was fighting an internal war between his love and loyalty, and his fear. Batman hated the fear. He had never wanted Dick of all people, deep down, to be scared of him. Respect him yes but he found it made him chill and hurt to know the fear was not of just Batman. Right now the fear was of his total self. That was a picture that was hard for him to accept, but little by little, stroke-by-stroke, he had painted the picture for his son.
He knew it was not a painting he wanted his son to keep. He wanted to tear it to pieces and watch it burn in the fireplace. He had always thought himself a good father, at least as far as he knew. He took care of his son’s needs, provided for him, pointed him on the path that he must go, and kicked him out of the nest when it was time for him to fly. Oh hell whom was he kidding? He could guarantee that no child psychiatrist would advocate physical assault, emotional torment, terminating coldly a whole facet of their relationship together, and giving a precious part of his identity to another. No, he did not think anyone would view that and nominate him for father of the year. He did far worse with Dick then Alfred had done with him. He had always been at Bruce’s side and Bruce had come to love the quirky butler. He knew in countless little ways that Alfred loved him, even though he was grown. He still supported him in his decisions even if he did not agree with them.
He’d been selfish and petty. He watched with pride as the figure in black and blue sailed ahead. The figure could calculate distances in his head faster then most could make pocket change. Maybe it was the training of the trapeze or a photographic mind, but Dick seemed to have an innate ability to judge just how much t-line to use and the precise right moments to release. Tim was progressing very fast but even he did not have an easy time with the lines. Batman had to learn much from trial and error, and he also admitted now, from watching his son. He still was in awe watching him soar. He really was the epitome of poetry in motion. He would bet if Shakespeare had seen Nightwing in action, he would have never have begun writing those boring, depressing plays. He would have stayed with the light, romantic Sonnets. Of course then Batman would probably have been forced to arrest him as a stalker and that would not be good. He figured it was best for all concerned that centuries separated them.
He watched his son stop. He could tell by the body posture that the night was hitting him now. Dick always would try to work on this night, regardless of how difficult it was. If the relationship were as it should be, as he wanted, he would step up and call it a night. He would hold him and take him home. He would walk over with him and stand by the oak while Dick did his ritual. Many times though he would sneak over and do his own ritual with his parents. He would update them on their grandson and how proud they would be. He’d asked his parents to help him figure out all he needed to know to get his son through another year. He would silently vow that he would make each year just a little better.
He had quit doing his ritual years ago. He had gotten cocky and felt he knew all there was to know about parenthood and about his son. He realized it was something he never should have stopped. He needed to revive the vow now more than ever. Jay’s death should have made him appreciate how little time any of them had left. It should have served to remind him how fast it could all be taken from him. He closed his eyes and suddenly had a chilling, horrific vision of standing by his son lying cold, still, and dead in a coffin. He heard whispers in back of confused mourners wondering who the man in the fancy suit was at the young officer’s funeral. He looked like money, certainly no Bludhaven local. Some whispered that this was Bruce Wayne but no one believed it. What would Bruce Wayne have to do with a dead officer in this hellhole of the Haven? “I’m his father.” He said softly and then suddenly something came alive again. Something he had taken so for granted he never knew it had left. His heart wanted to scream it from the rooftops. He was embarrassed at the prospect. Many would take it as proof that Batman had finally turned certifiable.
For once in his life he did not care. He did not care if some villain saw and figured out who Nightwing was to Batman. He reasoned it was silly anyway since any of his long term villains with an ounce of smarts would be able to deduce easily that Nightwing was in fact Robin I grown up. Joker was not even sane but he had connected the dots. He knew it was time to reclaim what he’d nearly thrown to waste. He looked up at the stars and breathed a “Thank you” to the parents and grandparents who still watched over the fallen mortals like him. It suddenly seemed fitting that it was happening on this night. This night was where it had all begun so somehow it was fitting that this night it would begin again. He launched himself to the building.
He landed on the building and could see the trembling from here. He knew the old and newer memories were overwhelming him and he was finally acknowledging the pain. Dick would always push himself physically until exhaustion began to overtake him and he was forced to ride the feelings. He knew he had to approach slowly tonight especially. He did not want Dick to turn skittish and run. He wanted to burn the picture tonight. He started to whistle; it was an old lullaby Alfred used to sing to both of them. He could not sing and could barely remember the words but he never forgot the melody. He used to whistle it in the Batmobile to bring Robin down after an emotional patrol so he would calm and sleep. Funny every night that Dick was missing at the hands of Brother Blood, while he worked alone in the Cave he would whistle it. It made him feel close to his missing son. Of course he said nothing. His pride would not let it but Dick made no moves without him knowing. He smirked remembering the unusual costume that looked like something that would make Elvis Presley enraptured. As huge a fan as Bruce was, he had to admit Elvis never would have been able to do the suit justice.
He could see that it was reworking its magic. The anger and the skittishness were fading away in the faint breeze. The breeze was blowing the hair free from the ponytail and it fluttered after him. He could detect a faint shiver. Bruce really wished he could convince Dick to add back a cape to the ensemble. It was not merely for effect but on chilly nights like this it could be wrapped around one for warmth. Though maybe the coldness had nothing to do with the physical cold. He remembered the countless nights he would stand behind him, his boy, his son, and wrap his cape around them both. It would wrap around the boy like a protective shield. Proof he would never be alone.
Still whistling, he walked up behind him, pleased Dick was making no sign to bolt or to stop him. He wrapped an arm around Dick’s shoulders. He felt him tense for a moment. Bruce was afraid he was going to bolt. Suddenly though, just like always, Dick relaxed and leaned back into the warmth and protection of Batman. Batman drew his cape around them both again.
“I’m sorry Son, I am so very sorry, for everything.” Batman impulsively rested his chin on Nightwing’s hair. He suddenly was struck remembering how young his son truly was.
“S’okay, my fault too. You remembering shows me you love me more than hearing you say it.”
Together they stood like this in silence. This was how it should be. This was when their worlds were right.
“What do you say, Son, we call it a night. We go home, do our things, and then have Alfred make a pot of cocoa. The Classic Movie channel is doing Errol Flynn tonight.”
“Mmm, sounds good.” Bruce heard Dick’s voice hitch suddenly and tense a bit. “Can I still be your Son, your boy, in the morning? Can I be home in the morning?”
Bruce winced and held his son tighter. He had never dreamed he had sent that message. It was as far from how he really felt as could be. He had driven Dick away out of love, pure love that could not survive it if Dick died. Now he could tell Dick had seen it as rejection. “Shh, Chum. Yes, you will be my son in the morning, the afternoon, the next year, anytime. You are my son forever and always and no matter where I live, even if the earth is destroyed and it’s a satellite in space or the Watchtower, my home is your home too. I want to try again but always know that sentence I just said is the truth, even when I go off like a jerk. I will always be your jerk and you will always be my brat.”
He was pleased to hear the contented sigh and feel Dick melt into him again. Soon they would leave but right now they were making a new ritual.