Wanted, Needed, Loved

By: Cas

Bruce awoke to something uncomfortable scratching into his low percentile fat. He dug a hand and pulled out a starburst wrapper. It was pink. He blinked at it, hesitating before catching sight of the toy elephant to his right. 'Oh, yeah, Dick.' Propping up on his elbows Bruce surveyed the nine-year-old blanket-hog on his left, curled up around both pillows.

Typical.

The billionaire carefully dislodged himself from the mess and prepared for the morning. Shower, teeth, hair, clothes, and yeah, he was pretty much perfect in appearance … he gave his reflection in the mirror a thumbs up before returning to the bed. Twenty-two-years-old and somewhat cocky. "Dick. Picking you up here." He dug his hands under the kid's arms and lifted. Dick began as dead weight, but upon waking, shifted to make the task easier.

"Zitka." The Romani muttered as his head nuzzled against Bruce's shoulder. He relaxed and his weight became all the more heavy. "Don't forget Zitka."

Bruce snatched the elephant with his free hand and wondered at the pink candy wrapper with annoyance. "School in half an hour." He reminded, carrying the child down the hall. "Half an hour means-?"

Dick grumbled, angry eyes opening. "Half an hour means shower." He straightened his back and stared into Bruce's own blue eyes. "You realize how nerdy you are when you say stuff like that?"

"Mhh-hm." He pushed open the bedroom door and deposited the child atop the bed, the elephant followed suit. "Blame the butler, I'm positive he had something to do with bad catchphrases."

"Hello!" Dick suddenly chirped, though as soon as he spoke his face went red and screwed up with confusion.

"Uh, hi?" Bruce ruffled the raven head of hair as he turned away, heading towards the stairs. Upon entrance to the kitchen he was greeted by Alfred. "Hi."

The butler scoffed, apparently in a mood. "Oatmeal."

Bruce stared at the container of Quaker Oats and knew he was in trouble. "You mad?"

"Peaches, strawberries and raspberries are in the refrigerator."

"…This is about last night?"

Alfred turned, anger intertwined with utter and complete hurt. "You allowed a nine year old boy to witness a rape! A traumatized nine year old, might I add!" The butler had been against making Dick Robin since the start. To be honest he'd been against Bruce becoming Batman in general. "You should know better!"

"I know, I didn't realize what he'd walk in on."

"You should have realized, you should have thought ahead!"

Bruce lifted his shoulders. "We talked it through, he's ok."

"A nine year old who sleeps with his parents most nights of the week is not 'ok'!"

The billionaire drew away, surprised by the accusation. He wasn't Dick's parent. "Thanks for the oatmeal."

Alfred snorted, angrily, and left the kitchen. The door thumped ominously behind him. Bruce filled the glass measuring cup with the appropriate amount of water and microwaved it. Grapefruit juice, a bowl, and a spoon were laid out as he waited, tapping his finger absentmindedly against the countertop.

The kitchen door opened and Dick shuffled into the room. His hair was sopping wet, but at least he was dressed. "Where's Alfie?"

"Taking a break. You want some oatmeal?"

"Strawberry, please." The nine year old pulled himself up on the barstool as he waited. Neither spoke for awhile, but Dick interrupted the silent with another unexpected: "hello!"

"Once again, hi." Bruce tilted his head as he studied the child's reaction.

Blushing with another look of bewilderment.

"You ok?"

The microwave rang and Bruce set to mixing water with the oatmeal. He kept looking up to the boy. "Dick?" He removed the strawberries from the fridge.

"I dunno why I keep saying that." Frustration accompanied by a shake of his head. "I like my strawberries cut up, ok?"

"What do you mean you don't know why? You're saying hello."

"I know, but … I don't mean to." He reached for the container of strawberries. He bit into one as Bruce set to cutting up the rest.

Bruce decided not to push it and finished preparing breakfast. The two ate in silence intermingled with two random: "hellos!" Bruce observed in silence and realized he'd fucked up. He'd broken this kid he was supposed to protect. "Dick, what are you thinking about before you say hello?"

There was an obvious shutter as Dick halted, his spoon inches from his mouth. He returned the silver wear to the bowl and lowered his head. "…last night."

Fuck! Alfred had been right, Dick hadn't been mentally prepared. The poor kids brain was protecting itself in any way necessary. "You keep interrupting your thoughts. That's why you're blurting out words." A pause and Bruce momentarily covered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dick. I'm really sorry you saw what you saw."

They shared the silence.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

Dick gave a sad kind of smile. "Hello?"

"Hello." Bruce returned. He'd call Leslie and set an appointment.

END

1. PTSD really sucks. Especially when you randomly say words cause your brain is doing its best to repair. Your thoughts get too bad and your brain resets.