Work Text:
Dick was hiding something from him.
Dick was a prodigious performer and a dangerously deceptive liar when he chose to be.
But Bruce was the World’s Greatest Detective, and he could tell when his teenager was keeping something from him.
And Dick knew it too—which in and of itself was his tell.
If there was something he had to hide, Dick could confidently keep up appearances with everyone but Bruce—and instead of attempting to deceive Bruce, Dick would avoid him.
Since coming back from his latest weekend sleepover with his ‘Teen Titan’ friends Dick has been as upbeat and sociable with Alfred and his schoolmates as usual, but strategically avoided any extended interaction with Bruce—including opting out of patrol to finish his homework.
And that was the most damning evidence of all. The only reason Dick would willingly suggest staying home to complete homework would be to hide from Bruce. Most likely, some physical injury that Bruce would be able to pick out if Dick spent too much time in his physical presence or saw him engaging in a fully active range of motion on the rooftops.
So, when Dick coolly strolled into the cave and towards the zeta tube, dressed in some casual jeans and a comfy turtleneck with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and declared: “I’m heading over to the tower for the night,” with practiced nonchalance, Bruce remotely set the cave into lockdown before turning away from the Batcomputer to observe the teen.
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what injury you’re hiding,” Bruce stated, carefully looking for any conspicuous twitch that might indicate where this injury might be. But instead, he was faced with a minuscule widening of Dick’s eyes, a flicker of eye movement as he momentarily froze—and Bruce’s assumption was shattered.
If there were an injury, Dick would have had a perfect story lined up to smoothly divert the conversation and fabricate some means of minimizing the issue. But instead of being prepared, Dick was clearly surprised by Bruce’s accusation. So, Bruce’s conclusion was incorrect. He wasn’t hiding an injury.
If it wasn’t a field injury—
Bruce’s eyes fell to his teenager’s turtleneck.
Turtlenecks were a regular part of their public persona’s wardrobe, in fact, Bruce had a matching sweater with the one Dick was currently wearing. But today Dick had also worn his school uniform with the high-collared shirt properly buttoned all the way to the top. And the day before had been another turtleneck, and the day before that he’d worn a hand-knit scarf Alfred made for him years ago, even inside the house.
Dick’s face paled as he saw Bruce connect the dots.
Bruce rose from his chair.
And Dick dashed.
“RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!”
“ALFRED!”
Dick flew to the stairs, leaping two at a time for the hope of salvation by the butler. But Bruce barreled up three at a time and managed to catch him by the incriminating turtleneck before he could escape the office, tugging it aside and finding the evidence the teenager had been trying to hide.
“Richard. John. Grayson. Who. Did. This?”
“What in heavens is going on?” Alfred demanded, flying into the office in a flurry after all the screaming.
By now the incriminating bruising was nearly invisible as Dick’s whole face and neck flushed red and he buried his face in his hands. “Alfie. Please just put me out of my misery. You can bury me out back.”
Bruce’s voice was in a full Batman growl. “Richard, don’t make me repeat myself—”
“Enough!” Alfred cut between them, physically, batting away Bruce’s grip on the turtleneck and catching a glimpse of the mark himself. “Now Master Bruce, this appears to be perfectly normal behavior for a young man his age—"
“Alfred—!"
“What I think this situation warrants is a civil conversation about responsible and safe relationships and decisions.”
Both Bruce and Dick cringed.
Dick’s hands had flown from covering his face to covering his ears. “Nope. No thanks. I already know everything I need.”
Bruce whirled around at Dick, alarmed. “What do you mean you ‘know everything’!”
“I mean you already gave me that very helpful anatomy textbook,” Dick replied, sweetly blinking wide faux guileless eyes, “and I don’t have any questions.”
“That is not at all sufficient for actual...practice!” Bruce may have been actively going grey in real time as he struggled to choke out a sentence.
“No, it is not,” Alfred affirmed still glaring at Bruce. “Which is why a proper conversation is warranted.”
“There doesn’t need to be a ‘conversation,’ because it simply shouldn’t be happening.” Bruce insisted, cutting around his butler to loom over Dick. "You are going to tell me who did this to you, and you're never going to- you're-" He stumbled, clearly searching for how to handle the situation beyond his initial panicked reaction. "You're grounded. Until adulthood."
"B!" Dick cried in horror before turning to Alfred for backup.
To both Dick and Bruce's surprise, Alfred's expression smoothed over into a cold neutrality. “Perhaps you’re right, Master Bruce.” Alfred’s tone likewise slipped into something icy cold. “After all, I never had the opportunity to have such a conversation with you, considering at the young master’s age you had already run off to tour the world.”
Bruce’s mouth snapped shut as the tables turned on him and he suddenly had no response.
Alfred’s scowl only grew colder as he primly continued. “And even without having any sort of formative conversation about these matters, you managed well enough during your travels, is that right?”
“I was solely focused on my training.” Bruce lied weakly, to which Dick merely snorted and Alfred’s scowl deepened into a glare.
“Well, since things worked out so well in your experience, Master Bruce, I suppose we should leave the young master to run off and figure things out on his own, with no guidance or help from you since you have none to offer.” The butler crisply rearranged Dick’s collar neatly, and taking the boy by the shoulders, turned him back towards the stairs down into the cave. “Off you go, Master Dick. Good luck.”
Dick froze for a moment, clearly considering taking the opportunity to bolt for the zeta tube.
“Wait!” Bruce interjected, grabbing Dick once again, while also laying a hand at Alfred’s elbow. With his teen secured, he sighed. “You’re right, Alfred. Dick. We should... talk.”
Dick wilted, before turning his best puppy eyes towards the butler in another plea for help. "Alfred. Do we have to?"
Alfred smiled. “I’ll make tea.”