request from Morally_Gray :) set in The Batman (2004) series after the Count Vertigo episode

"My clothes are fine," Dick stated as they walked into the shop. "I've got enough." Although he had taken rather easily to the fact he was now in the position to get a game as soon as it came out instead of rooting through bargain bins for knockoffs, there were still things he wasn't prepared for. Namely how often Bruce insisted on buying new clothes. He was used to wearing things until they became too small (which was a problem he hardly ran into) or when they became riddled with holes. He felt like it was wasteful to just get new clothes whenever he felt like it but he couldn't tell Bruce anything to dissuade him.

"You haven't got any summer clothes," Bruce argued, throwing a glance at the long sleeve he was currently wearing despite it being one of the warmest days of the year so far. The acrobat rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

"I've got a few T-shirts."

"You've slept in them so now they're pyjamas."

"It's semantics," he grumbled.

"You need to look the part of a billionaire's ward. You can pick out whatever you want, we just have to leave with something."

"Whatever I want?" Dick repeated. He knew his sense of style wasn't exactly in fashion right now. Maybe because he'd grown up wearing hand-me-downs from the decades prior and enjoyed wearing every colour he could get his hands on. His current set of clothes was rather dull for his taste, only having a few pieces that weren't black or grey.

"As long as you can wear it to school," the billionaire quickly added. 

"I can work with that."

"Just make sure it's not eye bleeding."

"You can't keep adding rules. It's either school-appropriate or eye bleeding."

"I'm hoping if it's appropriate for school, it won't be eye bleeding," he muttered. "Oh and one more rule."

"Is this clothes shopping or training?" Dick teased.

"I don't want you to look at the price tag."

"Oh God, is this a fancy store?"

"Richard."

"Fine, fine. I won't look at the tags. Even though we could find just as nice clothes at Goodwill," he responded. He understood why he had to wear the more expensive stuff. He was the ward of a billionaire and people expected things from that position. That didn't mean he had to like it though. 

"I know," Bruce said with some sympathy. 

Not many clothes stuck out to Dick but eventually, he put together four outfits and only peaked at two of the price tags. Both times he nearly had a heart attack. He returned to Bruce with the clothes in hand ready to get the hell out of there. 

"Right let's get these tried out."

"Dude, they're my size. I can't have changed sizes after looking for twenty minutes," Dick complained. 

"Sometimes you see things you think will look good and then you see them on and rethink it."

"I feel like I've done something wrong and this is my punishment."

"Maybe next time you drink the last of the coffee, you'll remember to refill it," he hinted before gently herding his ward to the changing rooms. 

After showing off his first two looks, Dick noticed that there was something a little off about the reactions he was getting.

"What's up? Too eyebleeding?"

"Did you pick out any t-shirts?" Bruce asked, a little concerned. 

"I think I got one," he replied. "Why? Do you not like the long sleeves?"

"They're fine, it's just that it does get hot in Gotham. I know it's hard to believe but our summers can be brutal and I don't want you to overheat."

"I just thought with the whole vigilante thing, it would be good to have stuff that covered up scrapes and bruises."

"That's a good idea but I'd rather you be comfortable," Bruce insisted. He nodded, rolling his eyes fondly and went back behind the curtain.

The air in the changing room shifted suddenly when he came out but Dick couldn't understand why. He wore a plain blue shirt and jean shorts cut off at the knee. This was by far his most normal outfit. He thought this was what Bruce had in mind when they went looking for clothes. He glanced down at the outfit, wondering if he'd missed some obscene graphic or if the shorts made his legs look weird. It was as he traced his eyes over the sleeve of the T-shirt that he realised his mistake. 

A week ago, he got into trouble with some gun smugglers. He'd been captured and tied to a wooden chair but that didn't stop him from chattering. He never knew when to keep his mouth shut so they decided that if they couldn't keep him quiet, they'd keep him from making smart comments. One of them had been nursing a cigarette and when Robin made one more joke about their leader's scars, he glanced around and nodded. He walked over to the acrobat, took one last drag and then pushed up Robin's sleeve to press the lit end against his skin. A scream ripped through him, followed by laughs from the men who seemed particularly pleased with themselves. 

Moments later, Batman broke down the doors. His sleeve had dropped down by the time his ropes were untied and Batman had been more worried about the pressure of the ropes causing bruises. Robin knew it was a stupid move. He knew he should've said something then and there but right then, all he could think about was how he'd be benched until they were sure it wasn't infected. He decided to not mention it and he'd been silently nursing it himself. 

It didn't look good. He could admit that the burn had turned rather sickly and it definitely wasn't healing properly. The skin was terribly blistered and he hadn't done a good job of picking out all the ash because he couldn't stand to sit through it. 

Bruce's face was pale as he took it all in. The cigarette burn that he'd almost forgotten about was now on proud display and Bruce's eyes were now transfixed by it. There was an odd sense of shame that settled in Dick's gut which he couldn't decide on the cause of. Was it because he'd hidden it? Was it because he failed to continue to hide it? Was it because of the broken look on his mentor's face?

Finally, the billionaire broke his silent staring match with the offending burn and looked him in the eye.

"We're going to discuss this when we get home. Grab the clothes you want and meet me at the till," Bruce told him. His tone was hard to decipher so naturally, Dick assumed it was disappointment. 

"I don't want any," he said almost petulantly. He didn't know why he came across as bratty. He also didn't know why his shame had now invited anger to the party. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I think I know what I want," he huffed before retreating behind the curtain and roughly pulling off the clothes. He tugged on his long sleeve and sweatpants then stepped out with his arms crossed over his chest as though he were trying to make himself smaller in the hope that he could disappear. Bruce gave him a worried look.

"Why don't you wait in the car? I need to pick something up."

"Fine by me," Dick muttered as he made a quick exit.

The car ride was silent which Alfred seemed a little bewildered by. Dick always filled the silence of any room he was in, as Robin or as himself. He was never quiet even if he wasn't talking he would make noises. The butler glanced at Bruce at one point, mentally asking what happened, but the billionaire just shook his head.

When they got home, Dick all but ran to his room and slammed the door before he could even think about the sound reverberating through the manor. He didn't understand why he was so angry or why hot tears were bubbling up behind his eyes. Before his parents died, nobody would've described him as quick to anger or hot-headed yet now they were gone, he found his patience for life dwindling. Some psychologist out there would probably point out that it came from a lack of control but he'd lost all trust in the profession after fighting so many villains with doctorates.

He furiously wiped at his eye and stomped over to his bed, throwing himself on it and stuffing his face into his pillow. The burn throbbed annoyingly and maliciously making itself known like it was laughing at him for forgetting it was there before. Mocking him for letting the fact slip his mind. He rubbed at it harshly which only went to make it worse and caused his tears to turn from frustration to pain. Dick knew that he needed an adult to look at it but the thought of going up to either Alfred or Bruce now made him feel sick. How could he go ask for help when he'd just made a scene? His rubs turned to scratches and then to regret as he nicked the sorest spot of the burn and let out a sharp high whimper. He was so going to get benched if not for the burn but for his behaviour.

A knock on the door broke him from his self-induced tantrum. He had half the mind to yell "go away" to whoever the knock belonged to yet instead, he dried his eyes and sniffled until he felt at least a little more put together. 

"Yeah?" he answered, hoping his voice wasn't as rough as he felt. The door opened and Bruce slipped inside with a bag in hand. He dumped the bag at the door and found a seat on the bed. He silently opened his arms and Dick quickly slotted himself into the middle of them. Bruce's hugs were hard to deny even when he wanted the world to swallow him up.

"I'm not mad," his mentor began, comforting and calm. "I'm concerned." The acrobat nodded against his chest, not trusting his voice enough to speak his understanding. "That burn looks old. As old as the bruises I treated on your wrists. So tell me why you let me treat the bruises and not the burn when one is more serious than the other?" He shrugged. "I know you have a reason. I may not know what it is but I know something would prevent you from telling me. Whatever it is, I want to know even if it might hurt my feelings."

"'s not you."

"That's a relief," Bruce admitted. He began running his fingers through his ward's hair and coaxing the knots out without pulling on the strands. "What's the problem then?"

"'member Vertigo?"

"I do."

"Got benched." It seemed like enough explanation from the young vigilante but he guessed by the silence that he would have to expand on his point. "Didn't wanna get benched again."

"There's nothing wrong with being benched."

"Didn't wanna be," he insisted. 

"I know it's tough to feel left out of the action but it's my job to make sure you're okay. That means benching you so I know you're safe and resting. You were really sick after the fight, Alfred said you could've had water in your lungs with the way you were. You wouldn't have been able to help even though you wanted to." Bruce leaned back and tilted Dick's head up for a moment. "Benching isn't a punishment. Being hurt isn't something to be punished for and I'm sorry if I've done something to make you feel that way."

"You haven't," the younger assured him. "Just felt that way."

"I'm the same, you know? I get annoyed when I miss a fight but it's for my own good." He nodded. "Now that's out the way, I want a better look at that burn. It doesn't look like you've been handling it well." 

"I know first aid," Dick snapped and again, he couldn't explain why it touched a nerve. 

"Which is why you're not septic," he replied. "You wanna roll your sleeve up or take the shirt off?" 

"Off," he stated before tugging it off himself. Bruce looked over the injury carefully with a slight grimace and sighed.

"Well, it's infected but it's nothing antibiotics can't fix. I'd feel better if Alfred had a look at it. Is that okay?" He nodded shyly. The butler was going to both kill him and coddle him. His eyes drifted to the bag and he decided that would be his best bet at changing the subject even for a brief moment of levity.

"What's in there?"

"The clothes you picked out." Dick smiled a little. Bruce struggled to show his care with words and sometimes his actions fell short but in times like these, he showed his care clear as day. "You know, I get how you feel right now. I would snap at anything and everything. Grief changes you in ways you only know when you go through it yourself and I can help with that but you have to let me in. It's no good reacting and not telling me why."

"I don't know why," he mumbled. "I just get mad."

"Then we'll work on managing it. For now, though, let's get you to the Batcave and have this looked at properly. Sound good?"

"Sounds good, B."