Love You to Let You Go, Heal Apart to Come Back Home - Anonymous

September, 2022

Dick Grayson was a romantic at heart, and on his sleeve, and on his face, and everywhere else in his body. He read romance books and watched rom-coms and cried and kicked his feet giggling, and dreamed of having it for himself. Even if he knew life didn't work that way, the dream stayed there.

After all, when someone spends their whole life chasing gold medals on the world stage only for their Achilles tendon to give up completely on landing, sending them collapsing in pain to the mats as a result of negligent medical advice and abusive coaching... Well. Romance where everyone ends up happy and in love at the end, predictable formulas, and no nasty surprises seems like the perfect projection.

"You're lucky I want to f*ck Slade over just as much as he does," Dick muttered, Grant on one side, Joey on the other, and Rose walking their baby brother to the floor. He could feel the cameras trained on him, could hear the hundreds of commentators in dozens of languages talking about his personal career ending injury, dissecting the pieces of his life live on air.

Dick knew that people sat in the stands, people he considered good friends, close friends, people he hadn't talked to in two years... Because in the middle of the pack of friends was Bruce. Bruce with his son, Dante's half brother, the kid Dick had come to see as partially his.

He knew he'd be leading Dante Wilson through the hell of competitive gymnastics, but the personal ring of hell that had emerged ringed with Bruce's sad eyes felt like acid burning the back of Dick's throat.

"He can do this, right?" Grant asked, leaning on his cane unable to sit down for all the excitement, though he probably should have.

"He's hit every skill consistently, he knows not to push, and he's been sleeping nine hours every night." Joey's hands moved off to the side with a lopsided smirk on his face and Dick scoffed. "Yeah, except for last night."

"Pretty sure none of us slept well last night," Rose said, joining their little group.

She'd been the only one to walk away from Slade, the three men standing with her all bore the scars of his mentorship. Grant had more metal in his legs than cartilage and Dick's foot couldn't take nearly enough weight to support himself for more than a couple hours of standing a day, both from Slade's regimen of 'show must go on regardless of how much you have to take to get there'. Joey had bore the brunt of it, competing while sick enough to be hacking up blood. Training didn't stop for anyone, competitions and standings were the most important show of worth.

"He's here," Grant broke the silence, his head turned away from where Dante bounced back and forth, twisting and running and flipping over the blue square. "Right of the judges."

Dick didn't want to look. He didn't want to see the single most critical eye he'd ever met, but the shock of white hair wasn't hard to miss.

"We focus on Dante," Dick stated. "Don't tell him till he's done his events."

"Just rings after this, right?" Almost done, Rose really meant.

"Yeah."

And then the events medals would be awarded, Dante was already comfortably in first on the parallel bars, high bar, and vault, and in second on the pommel horse. Rings were his best event, something that had been reported on extensively given it had also been Dick's own best event.

The cheers and impacts as Dante's feet touched the floor and rebounded milliseconds later throbbed through Dick's head. He peeled off, away from the little quartet, trusting the other three to get Dante calmed down. He ducked down a hall as his head seemed seconds from exploding under pressure, his lungs constricting as though they'd been filled with ash.

He didn't even register the dissonance of time when he felt a familiar presence guide him around a corner to a quieter secluded space. The scent of pine wrapped around him like a blanket and he simply leaned into the person beside him.

"-'re okay, just breathe, chum."

"Slade's here," Dick muttered, his forehead on Bruce's shoulder, eyes closed.

"I saw." Every bit of hatred Bruce held for the man bubbled up through the cracks of his perfectly restrained facade. It would simply sound curt to anyone else.

"I need to sit." He pulled back ever so slightly and slid down the wall, his bad leg extended and the other bending as he went down, pulling it to his chest. Bruce followed him down, sitting in the space next to his extended leg. "Why're you actually here?"

Bruce made a face, a flash of pain across his face, quickly tamped down.

"Don't do that," Dick grumbled.

"Do what?"

"Lie with your face." He let his head thump back against the wall, looking up at the chalky-feeling white tile that formed the ceiling of the hallway. "I know you too well for that."

"You do," Bruce sighed. "Damian and Talia are here for all four of them, figured you could use some people here for you."

Dick hummed. "So you're here for me?"

"Not just me." Bruce had this tone of voice, the tone he used when he knew Dick could figure it out on his own; he just needed to get out of his own way. But every time he used the tone it was to say something that would shake the foundations of the walls Dick built to keep himself safe.

"You and Jason having the same reason for being somewhere? Should I be glad about the lack of bloodshed?"

"Family therapy."

That got Dick to open his eyes, looking at Bruce trying to figure out where the joke was. "You. And Jason. In therapy?"

"And Cass, and Tim. Steph's never had a problem telling me exactly what she thought..." They both smiled a little at that.

"Y'know I get it now. Your whole," Dick made a cyclical motion with his hand, "thing with them."

"Because you're training Dante full time now." Bruce didn't phrase it like a question, he didn't even have the decency to have his tone turn up at the end to make it seem like one.

"Yeah." Dick ran a hand through his hair. "He's gonna win."

"I know."

"And Slade will be furious."

"He can't get to you anymore."

"He can." Dick looked at Bruce with a sad smile. "Because he knows everything."

"There's nothing he could say about me that I wouldn't own up to."

"Screaming match before Tokyo?"

Bruce shrugged. "I knew he was pushing you. It was dangerous. I was right."

"You said some not nice things about Grant and Joey. And Roy. And Kara. And Clark. And Jon-"

"I'd own up to it. Already have, with most of them." Bruce sighed. "You were right. When you told me I held too much back, too much in. When you said I was... Like him. In a lot of ways."

Dick winced. He couldn't say he hadn't meant it. He had.

"I have... A lot of complicated feelings about you. Around you." Dick closed his eyes again. "What I said in Tokyo, I meant it. You're a lot like him, you're a hardass who rarely gives approval or even a sliver of affection and it becomes addictive, something chased and craved. That's not... Healthy."

"Pretending to be an airhead and selling your face is?" Bruce snapped, instantly.

Dick's eyes shot open and he kept them narrow and fixed on Bruce. "I don't exactly have any transferable skills, you said so yourself. I'd get injured and become someone's arm candy to survive. But unfortunately for me, I have too much dignity to be yours."

March, 2023

"You almost had it," Dick said, helping Dante up off the mat. "You've gotta stop flailing whenever we try new things on the bars, it's how you end up ass down on the mats."

Dante grinned and Dick concealed his wince at just how familiar he looked. "I gotta flail and fail!" He said cheerfully.

Dick ruffled his hair. "Yeah yeah. Try again, or I'll sentence you to the pommel horse for the rest of today."

"Nooooo," Dante whined, over-dramatic as he moved into position beneath the high bar, arms up, waiting for Dick to lift him up.

"Keep tight until you're falling to the mat. Engage your core, that's it." Dick talked through as Dante moved, graceful right up until the new skill they'd added when he stuttered in his circle around the bar. This time he managed to keep hold at least, and dismount as planned.

"That felt better," Dante chirped.

"It should. If you do the skill right it shouldn't feel wrong, it should just feel a little awkward until you manage to get the hang of it." He squeezed Dante's shoulder. "Good job."

Dante beamed.

"You already qualified for the meet at the end of June, so we just have to focus on that. Don't wanna burn you out." Dick looked down at his watch. "Okay, just shy of 20 minutes left, what do you wanna do?"

"Rings!" Dante answered, scurrying over to the corner of the gym where the rings hung.

It was less training, the last 20 minutes. It was fun, turning back and forth, and the time flew by. They both stretched out and Dick spotted Bruce, Damian in tow, waiting in the gym's front office.

"Why aren't you and B together anymore?" Dante asked, moving to another stretch.

Dick tensed, and winced, and consciously tried to loosen up again. "Long story, bud."

"What's the short version?"

"He resented that I went to Tokyo and he couldn't. I resented that he was nicer when my ACL was deemed irreparable. Those were the final straws."

"Didn't he go to like, seven Olympics?" Dante pointed out.

"Yeah. He did."

"So why was he jealous about you going to a third?"

"You'd have to ask him."

"And didn't you only have one that you matched up with? Rio, right?"

Dick sighed. "Yeah."

"So why-"

"I don't know, Dante. I don't know why Bruce was a jealous, possessive asshole for all but the first year of our relationship. I don't know why I let him get away with it that long. And I don't know why he would be happy that everything I worked for was destroyed because of-" he cut himself off.

"Because of my father," Dante finished.

"You are way too much like your siblings." Dick pointed at him. "This is why I didn't talk to them for years."

Dante grinned. "Cause we call you on your bullsh*t?"

"Sure. You can call it that." Dick shooed his hand. "Go. Swing by Leslie's to make sure you're good to go."

Dick had been referred to as various birds throughout his career, even before he switched from circus acrobatics to Olympic gymnastics, people said he flew like a bird. If he was a bird, Dante was a squirrel. Scampering to and fro, easily climbing up things, and if someone happened to have a morsel that he wanted (be it food or secrets) he was single mindedly focused on it until something else came to distract him.

Dick watched from a distance, Bruce kept his eyes on the boys who seemed so alike they could be twins, until they disappeared out of view, down the hall to the changing room. Then Bruce looked at Dick.

He stood with a heavy sigh, crossing the blue floor to the office's long windows that looked into the gym and opened the glass door.

"Bruce."

"There's something you should know," Bruce said, solemn and serious, the kind of voice that he used when he delivered news that would crush dreams.

"What?"

Bruce's hand moved a centimetre forward, like he was resisting the urge to touch Dick. He took a deep breath. "Slade's been made the head coach of the Markovian team. Men and women's."

"f*ck." Dick sat in one of the chairs parents usually sat and waited in. "Dante will literally be competing against him."

"You both will," Bruce corrected gently. Where had that gentleness been?

August, 2023

It had taken a few months to hype himself up enough to take Bruce's invitation to join him at therapy. Dick wasn't exactly a stranger to it, he'd had a therapist that he'd seen every other day after his injury, then every week, he'd gotten down to every other month with training and taking the jump to join Bruce's had been... A topic they'd discussed.

But, in the middle of the hottest heat wave Gotham had had in its history, they sat in an office in the middle of a skyscraper, one wall entirely windowed. At least it was air conditioned.

"Let me start with this," Bruce's therapist directed to Dick. "I know what Bruce thinks and feels about you, the breakup, all of it. How do you feel about it?"

Dick took a deep breath, puffing it out quickly. "Oof. Diving right in then." He thought for a moment. "My parents were murdered when I was a kid, too. It's... Rare to find someone who's experienced the same thing. But I think... Throughout our relationship there was me, and Bruce, and two ghosts that he refused to deal with. I moved into the manor and wasn't allowed to touch or change anything, I alternated between being a guest in my own home and a prisoner, a caged bird and that's... That was a sore point. Culturally, and personally, for me. Feeling like a guest where I live, somewhere someone could always make the choice to remove me at a minute's notice. But also not allowed to leave without telling him exactly what I was doing and where and with who. The amount of people, press and guests at parties, who called me 'Bruce Wayne's whor*' with the g word always tucked in there for good measure just hammered that home."

"I thought they'd stopped," Bruce spoke up.

Dick turned to look at him. "I just gave up fighting it. I was constantly exhausted from practice, from injuries that weren't ever allowed to heal until after a meet. It was something I was, I am always aware of, but I didn't have the energy to fight back. I stopped telling you because you'd just sue the publications and uninvite the people but it never actually stopped anything, it just made them angrier." He made a vague gesture. "It's just an example of the problems we had. I can tell what you need, what you want, what you mean, without you having to say it because I pay attention. You needed me to tell you something was wrong before you fixed it, and you needed that when I was trapped for over a decade with an authority figure who was actively silencing the voice that told me something was wrong."

There was a few moments of silence, he could see Bruce digesting, thinking. He wanted to shout for him to just say what he was thinking.

"Bruce?" The therapist prompted. Dick said a quick silent prayer of thanks for them.

"I doubt myself, constantly. You know that." Dick nodded. "I keep... Moving through life noticing things, noticing people's problems, and then being told I'm wrong. That's not what they meant or said or thought. I don't want, I've never wanted to put words in your mouth. I saw what Slade was doing to you and whenever I tried to talk to you about it you told me I was wrong, so I didn’t ask about him and asked about everything else instead to try to protect you. But you brushed me off, you constantly said nothing was wrong and I believed you. Because you know yourself, you know what happens when I'm not there I..." He looked helplessly at his therapist.

"Dick, in our independent sessions Bruce and I have been working on getting over his vocal block when it comes to emotionally fraught conversations. He wants to have them but his mind will, quite literally, shut down the part of his brain that controls speech. It frustrates him and that just leads to a further build up of negative emotions. It's a vicious cycle that takes work for him to break out of." The therapist gestured to Bruce who was fiddling with his phone. "He found an app, similar to the one I believe your friend Joseph uses."

Dick nodded along. "To do the talking?"

"Precisely."

Bruce pressed a button and a voice spoke from the speaker on his phone. "I doubt my own appraisals of situations because I know I don't see everything. That doesn't mean I don't want to, it doesn't mean I don't notice, but it means I don't want to say anything for risk of being wrong and causing more harm."

After another few beats of silence, Bruce looking at Dick and Dick looking back at him, the therapist spoke again. "What do you both want from this relationship, what form do you want it to take?"

"Damian misses you," Bruce typed into the phone. "You know I miss you, I've said that already, and everyone misses you, but Damian misses you most of all. He tries not to hold it against Dante that he gets to be around you every day but he has bad days where he lashes out after practice."

"I miss him too," Dick admitted. "But I didn't want to presume-"

"He's as much your son as he is mine," Bruce managed to say, soft, quiet, barely there.

Dick smiled. He couldn't help it. "We need to be friends, before anything else. I don't want to jump in the deep end like we did last time. We didn't have a foundation, then. We were building the house before we laid the first stones, everything was shaky because of it."

"I'd like that," Bruce managed to be even softer, somehow. Dick wanted to kiss him, but he settled for reaching out and gently squeezing his hand.

December, 2023

The fire in the manor's main fireplace crackled, Dick had one arm thrown around Damian (to Bruce's great offence as Damian had claimed he was too old for "casual physical intimacy") and the other held his mug (that Alfred had kept clean just in case) with it's bi flag sunset illuminating Bludhaven's skyline, filled with thick Italian style hot chocolate.

Bruce had always had a penchant for picking up strays, Dick figured he should probably count himself in that number, but the way he welcomed the elder three Wilson children without hesitation lifted something in his chest. Dick had brought it up as an offhanded thing, and Bruce had been more than happy to oblige. Christmas hadn't been a thing Bruce actively participated in, choosing to ensure Damian had a connection to the religious ceremonies and stories around Hanukkah and the more important of Jewish holidays. Talia had been more focused on celebrating the Islamic holy days, and her disdain for corporatized American holidays was well known. Dick had done small Christmases, when he'd been at the manor. He'd gone to mass with Jason, Tim had come along as well despite his Episcopalian upbringing, something about not wanting to go to his parents' church. They had a typical Christmas dinner, though the foods themselves were in frequent rotation so Alfred broke out the holiday themed butter molds and put pine trees and snowflakes made of the churned dairy on the table.

Jason all but jumped into the space on Dick's other side, his spine pressing against Dick's arm and his neck flopping back so the back of his head rested on Dick's shoulder. "Dickie," he greeted. Jason was a lot like Bruce, so much so that they clashed in their similarities. His tone of voice and the twinkle in his eye betrayed more than he thought it did.

"No."

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask!"

"I know that look." He nudged his elbow into Jason's spine. "I'm chilling, not committing crimes against Bruce."

"But-"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

Jason huffed a sigh and got up, walking over to Tim who flopped into the space Jason had been occupying, stretching across Dick's lap like a cat.

"No," Dick preempted.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Jason's got you wrapped around his finger. You're gonna ask me whatever he was." Dick took a knowing sip of his hot cocoa. "Just because it's been two years doesn't mean I'm a sucker."

Tim pouted and Dick rolled his eyes, looking around the room as he ignored the pout. Duke was on the opposite couch, Steph and Cass similarly draping across him like weighted blankets as they discussed something about K-Pop, exactly what Dick couldn't follow. Dante, Rose, and Grant were working next to Babs trying to put together some sort of 3D board game puzzle thing. Visible from the large archway Alfred and Joey were finishing some gingerbread cookies, dipping them in various flavours of spiced icing. Harper and Helena were trying to gang up on Bruce, who had taken the guns the two highest ranked competitive shooters in the country had arrived with on account of vase casualties.

Dick met Bruce's eye through the warmth, physical and emotional, of the room. Bruce smiled, soft, private, meant only for Dick, and only for a half second before he went back to defending himself from Harper and Helena and Dick turned to Damian, asking about the scene he was sketching away at.

Time ticked on, the ticking of the old clocks throughout the manor the only sign of it in the warm molassesy sludge of Dick's existence. People peeled off to go to bed, and Dick found himself wandering the familiar halls of the manor.

"You let them make changes." Dick stood in Bruce's office, looking out the tall windows at the frost with the dusting of snow covering the land.

He heard Bruce's soft laugh as he closed the door. "I swear you have some sort of tracking device on me."

"The house is a tattletale," Dick stated. "It creaks."

Bruce stood next to him, his warmth seeping into Dick. "I still haven't touched my parents' rooms," he admitted. "Or the nursery."

"You don't need to," Dick insisted, turning to look at him and taking his hand firmly. "You have your room, your office, they've all got theirs. It's not a rush to change those rooms. But you were keeping everything else the same."

"You have complicated feelings about me, I have complicated feelings about the house," Bruce had a touch of dry humour to his more gravelly voice.

Dick furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side. "You don't feel complicated about me?"

"I'm in love with you," Bruce said simply. "What's complicated about that?"

"Our history complicates that."

"Not for me." Bruce slowly began to rub his thumb over Dick's knuckles. "I love you, so I'm there when you call. I love you, so I give you space. I love you, so I let you go. I love you, so I stayed away. I'm not the best at showing it, I know that. I'm working on it."

"I know," Dick spoke the words into Bruce's shoulder, nuzzling it and relishing the feel of the soft fabric of the matching flannel pyjamas Talia had sent for Bruce and her two sons (and Dick, which had him remembering just how welcoming Talia had been when he'd first met her after becoming a part of Damian's life). "For the record," he took his free hand and cupped Bruce's cheek, feeling the stubble beneath his fingers. "I never stopped loving you, either. Just made it harder to walk away."

Bruce tilted his head and buried his face in Dick's hair, where he took a deep breath, his other hand coming to rest on the small of Dick's back.

August, 2024

Dick stood to the side, watching as athletes milled about and chatted as spectators and families filled the seats. They were only allowed coaches and one support person, Dick and Dante had both been unsure which single person to select. Dante insisted Dick should choose, and Dick insisted it was Dante's games, but Dante said he'd be competing while Dick would be watching and available for Slade to grab, and Dick insisted he would be fine.

As it turned out, Dick was not fine.

"You're freaking me out," Dante muttered as Dick helped him stretch.

"I'm freaking out," Dick admitted.

"I was right?"

"Shut up," Dick huffed, giving Dante a little shove.

"Pick someone. It's not gonna be hard. You've got the blank credentials pass."

"I know I know I just..." He sighed. "Head back and start warming up with the rest of the guys, okay?"

"You got it, boss." Dante gave a two finger salute and jogged off, jumping on one of the other members of Team USA's back.

Dick turned and scanned the stands, looking for his family. The panels up to the first row of seats were about six feet. Maybe a little more. He jogged towards the Team USA section, easily able to catch Bruce's eye. He tossed the blank floor pass up to him with a silent, pleading look. Bruce turned to Talia who nodded and shooed him away before returning to attempting to comb Damian's curling hair into some sort of behaviour.

It took Bruce five minutes to get through security, and then he was there, at Dick's side. Unmovable object (Dick) met unstoppable force (Bruce), and they were glued together tighter than molecules.

Dick hated standing on the sidelines, but he leaned on Bruce, physically and emotionally. Bruce's arm around his waist to take the weight off of Dick's bad leg. They both knew he was too keyed up to sit down.

Dante's final event was the pommel horse. Markovia's last athlete went right before him. If Dante scored below 15.200 Markovia would take the gold medal and Slade would be right.

"He's not right, regardless of how Dante places." Bruce's voice was quiet over the roars of the crowd.

"Yeah. Yeah I know." Dick took a deep breath. "Didn't mean to say that out loud, though."

They waited a few seconds longer to ensure Slade had properly cleared off, Dick grabbed Dante's face in his hands.

"No matter what, he's wrong." Dick was firm, maybe overly so. Trying to convince himself just as much as he tried to reassure Dante. "Just do your best. That's what matters."

Dante nodded, but Dick saw the doubt creeping in, taking hold. Every doubt Slade had placed in his son's mind, in both of their minds, echoed in his voice.

"Hey," Bruce stepped to block them from the camera, annoyingly focusing on them. "Your worth isn't tied to medals. You're already one of the youngest to even make it this far." He set a hand on Dante's shoulder. "We're proud of you. Your mother is proud of you, your brothers are proud of you, your sister's proud of you." He squeezed and pulled Dante into a tight hug. "I'm proud of you too, bud." He squeezed a little harder before releasing. "Now go kick ass."

"He has no idea what event specific encouragement to give," Dick translated, through the lump in the back of his throat.

Dante grinned wide and nodded, stepping towards the horse while Dick and Bruce stepped back.

Pommel horse was Dante's worst event, which didn't say much given the kid was a prodigy, but it was still his worst. And at a competition filled with prodigies it wasn't a given.

The hardest part for Dick was keeping quiet. Verbal corrections, anything even taken as a verbal correction, would count for partial deductions. He bit the inside of his cheek, not that hard, but in the 45 seconds of intense focus it was enough to worry away and taste blood. In Dick's incredibly biased opinion, Dante was perfect.

But.

There was one minor change Dante did. It was a lesser skill, not counted towards the difficulty count, but he changed it, made it even simpler. It shouldn't cause any issue, Dick reminded himself. They built in jumping off points like that so Dante could steady himself.

Dante dismounted, turned to the judges, and jumped off the mat and into the celebratory jumping pack of athletes. The cameras would keep focus on them, on the youthful exuberance and support on display.

The judges final calculations came in, the little LED screens illuminating. 15.42.

Dick screamed. He felt it more than heard it. A loud, exuberant, happy scream of 'yes!' at the top of his lungs. He didn't need to see Slade's face to know he was pissed, and he did find it in him to feel bad for the athletes that would face his wrath.

But Dick turned away from the floor, grabbed Bruce's face, and kissed him for the first time in four years. Bruce's lips had remained unchanged, soft and giving, pushing back with a force that matched whatever Dick was giving. Bruce's arms wrapped around Dick, holding him close even after they separated.

"I love you," Dick whispered against Bruce's lips.

"I love you," Bruce whispered back.

The smell of chalk and sweat, the sound of sprung floors and shaking bars when an athlete grabbed hold, it was home. But there, in Bruce's arms, Dick was home.

Love You to Let You Go, Heal Apart to Come Back Home - Anonymous - Batman (2024)

September, 2022

March, 2023

August, 2023

December, 2023

August, 2024