So I'm following this person on Instagram who uses R Patts Batman and gives him a Robin and I find that this is probably the cutest combo of emo dad and clowncore son so imagine that whilst reading this 

also the person on Instagram is called @allineedisonedream and this idea is aided by @femalepeterparker on tik tok

Bruce decidedly didn't like this. Dick, his ward and usual livewire personified, hadn't left his room in a good while. He didn't come down for breakfast. He didn't come down for his morning training. At first, Bruce assumed that he'd gone too hard on patrol and was feeling sore so he'd been sleeping in. The darker part of his mind said that he was hiding an injury that was currently brewing an infection of the century. Instead of checking on him properly, Bruce decided to just keep an ear out whenever he passed Dick's room. He heard music which at first he'd seen as a good sign until he realised it wasn't the regular music Dick played. It was from his sad playlist, although it was named something much sillier in typical Dick Grayson fashion. That almost made him knock on the door and ask if things were okay but that thought alone was all too intimidating so he decided to simply give some space. So he was listening to Kate Bush? Everyone listened to Kate Bush! At least, that's what Gordon said when he mentioned the behaviour offhandedly. The only time he really needed to worry was if he heard a Mitski song or any of the following: lights are on, softcore and/or freaks. Those were cries for help according to Gordon who had been educated by his daughter but Kate Bush was appreciating classic eighties music so he didn't find the need to go in and check. 

When it got to around midday and there was still no sign of his ward, Bruce realised that he couldn't keep giving the kid space. Dick hardly slept in, instead deciding naps were somehow better than a full night's sleep and dropping out of nowhere to sleep in the most unsafe of places. The most notable of those places was somehow on top of the giant penny which Bruce was still trying to figure out the logistics of.  If the kid wasn't sleeping then what was he doing? Crying probably given that by the time Bruce had worked up the courage, the sad songs were still playing just as loudly as before. The older thought to himself as he rested his hand on the door. Maybe he should've brought some food up as well considering he hadn't been down for breakfast nor left his room. He wished Alfred could give him a hand but he was pushing for the billionaire to take on parenting challenges rather than handing them over once it wasn't all fun and games. He let out a breath, chewing his bottom lip with anxiety. What would he have wanted when he was Dick's age and so upset he couldn't leave his room? His first instinct was to say to leave him alone but that wasn't what he wanted. It was part of how he was feeling. What did he want? What did he wish would happen as he sat there unable to move? For someone to come in and help him, talk to him for a little bit even if he didn't do enough talking to uphold a conversation. Dick was such a sociable bubbly kid who craved hugs and affection so it wouldn't be silly to assume he'd also want that. That intimidated him. He wasn't a conversationalist and physical affection was terrifying. Part of him didn't even want to go inside if he made a mess. "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered to himself. Dick needed him right now and he was Batman! Batman! He could do anything including finding out what had caused his ray of sunshine ward to draw in on himself and figure out a way to fix it. He pushed down on the handle and opened the door.

Inside the room, Dick was on his bed staring up at the ceiling. It was clear he had prepared to leave his room at some point that day because his pyjamas were folded at the bottom of the bed and from what wasn't underneath the sheets, Bruce could tell he was wearing his clothes today. It was a bright colourful graphic t-shirt that always clashed with the billionaire's own minimal dark style. So there had been an intention to leave the room but from the time it took to wake up and then get dressed, something had happened that made him go back to bed. His phone lay on the bedside cabinet, playing music. There wasn't anything around the boy to signal that he'd been doing anything other than sitting there staring at the ceiling. When the door opened, Dick's eyes slowly moved from where they bore a hole in the paint to where Bruce was standing awkwardly. He watched silently, not greeting him in any way. "Hi," Bruce greeted as the room remained quiet aside from the music. Dick didn't return his greeting. Thinking maybe he'd sort of zoned out from listening to the music, the billionaire walked over to his phone and put the music on pause. When that didn't elicit a reaction, he sat on the bed and faced him. He wasn't sitting too close to Dick but he was close enough that if the kid needed a hug he could make the first move. So they sat there. In silence. Turning off the music was decidedly not the right move to gain a reaction because he was still being stared at. "C'mon, you know I'm bad at conversations," Bruce prompted. He was feeling how painfully important it was for someone else to do the communicating when he spoke with others as he once again wasn't met with a reaction. "Dick?" he called. The boy blinked, confirming he hadn't just died after rolling his head towards the door. "Would you like something to eat? You missed breakfast." Dick continued to stare. He thought for a moment, wracking his brain for something that always made the younger happy.  "We could go out for ice cream?"

"I don't want ice cream." He always wanted ice cream. Oh no. 

The refusal of ice cream had him stumped for a good few minutes. In that time, Dick had just stared at him. When he saw Bruce struggling with his parental problems, usually he'd give a little hint as to where to go yet today he'd remained silent which made everything take much longer for the older to figure it out. "You always want ice cream," was all Bruce could say. He almost sounded like he was pouting about it not working. It was the surefire way to fix a child so why wasn't it working on this occasion? He thought about what could be happening to cause Dick's behaviour and once again, he thought back to what had caused him to be so upset when he was a kid. He hadn't been made to go to a gala so it wasn't that. "Did someone hurt you? Did they say something online? Even if it's a media outlet, I can fix it." He didn't like that Dick was so closely mirroring himself in his childhood. The whole reason he took the boy in was to avoid making another Bruce Wayne and he thought he was doing a good job. 

"Not that," Dick mumbled. 

"Then what is it?" The acrobat considered the question before sitting up and nervously twirling the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. 

"I feel sad," he said quietly. It's now Bruce's turn to stare without uttering a word because he doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't know how to fix sadness because he hadn't even worked it out for himself and he knows this isn't just sadness. That's just how Dick knows to put it into words but he knows better because he knows this behaviour. The signs all point to the makings of depression. Perhaps it's lingering grief rearing its ugly head but he believes he's witnessing depression and with that something tugs on his heartstrings. He doesn't know how to fix depression because it's not something you fix. Ice cream doesn't fix it. Encouraging words won't fix it either. It's more so knowing how to deal with it and he thought Dick had some idea of how to deal with it since becoming Robin. A sense of purpose had always helped him, even if there were nights where what he'd seen only amounted to more trauma as the years went by. "Do you remember their voices?" Dick asked. Bruce doesn't need to ask him who he's talking about.

"Mostly."

"When did it stop being yes?" he inquired.

"Five years later." It's as if he stabbed the acrobat because he deflates at the words and sinks down into the bed, pulling the covers closer to himself and holding them tightly. "What? What did I say? Why are you hiding now?" The questions were genuine and he wondered if Dick pitied him a bit as he poked his head back out. 

"Am I a bad kid because I've already forgotten?" Oh. His silence was taken as a yes and once again, the boy retreated beneath the covers. "It's only been a year and I forgot already."

"You can't control how your mind responds to trauma."

"I remember the screams fine enough," came the bitter reply. He winced at the comment and he wished he could say it would get easier but it hadn't. Maybe for others but not for him and maybe not for Dick either. 

Another drawn-out silence hung over them before Dick started sniffling and rubbing his eyes furiously as tears escaped them. He sat up and glared at his mentor who was caught off guard by the sudden anger. Dick had been angry before, and rightly so, which made him aware he could have an awful temper when he wasn't being the living embodiment of a rainbow. "Why even come in to talk to me?" he asked. The billionaire shrugged lamely. He knew that he should come in but he didn't really have a plan on how to deal with whatever situation revealed itself to him. "You're not helping! You just made me feel worse."

"I didn't mean to."

"You never mean to," he tutted. His frustration grew by the minute as he balled his hands up, now roughly scrubbing at his skin where the tears fell. "Have you ever looked up how to raise a kid?"

"I've done some research."

"Clearly not enough because when a kid cries and tells you he can't remember his parents' voices you're supposed to hug them and tell them things will be okay! You're not supposed to sit there and wait for them to tell you what to do!" he cried. Bruce winced at his volume and suddenly felt like he was being scolded by Alfred in his youth. He knew he wasn't doing the best job in the world but he'd let himself be comforted by the thought that he was doing at least one thing right by providing for him. "My parents would know when to give me a hug, I wouldn't have to ask. My parents would know raising a kid isn't just material things. My parents would know ice cream didn't fix this and they'd let me know that I'm not a bad kid not just tell me this is how trauma works. I don't wanna know how trauma works! I want to feel better!"

"Well, I don't know how to make you feel better!" Bruce shouted back. He wasn't frustrated with the kid himself but he was frustrated at the truth. He truly didn't know how to bring him comfort and it was annoying to be once again faced with this blocked path. He could do so much but he couldn't do this. 

"Yes you do, I just explained how to but you don't listen! You just sit there and make me do all the work." He had explained it, hadn't he? "I can't feel like this and guide you through what to do. I want to be looked after but you can't do that so just go away before you make me feel even worse."

"But I want to help."

"Do you?" The question cut through him, slicing through his soul like a hot knife through butter. 

"I do," Bruce stated firmly. 

"You're a detective," the boy said slowly. "I gave you clues. Five minutes to figure it out and if you don't, you leave me alone. I'm not in the mood to baby an adult."

This was his chance and he was determined not to waste it. Although it took at least two minutes before he figured out that Dick had only just told him a step-by-step on how to comfort him, he managed to get to the conclusion without any further clues. He moved so he was sitting with his back leaning on the headboard before he hooked an arm around his ward and pulled him to his chest, pressing a kiss against his forehead. Dick was tense in his hold at first but soon became pliant and let his head rest on the man's chest. "You're not a bad kid, Richard. I'm sorry I didn't say that right away." He ran his fingers through the wild curls and made a mental note to properly brush them later as he worked through the knots. It felt unreal how easy this answer was to help his ward and yet he'd never thought of it. He should've known really. Dick was always a sensory person and affectionate. Of course, hugs and words of affirmation would be what helped. 

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," the younger sniffled, the anger leaving as quickly as it appeared. 

"I know," he replied softly. "I'm sorry I'm not very good at this. I really am trying."

"Maybe I could write you a cheat sheet? For when I feel too upset to tell you what I want," Dick suggested. "That way I don't get mad."

"I'm sorry you have to." The acrobat glanced up at him and gave him a watery smile. One that silently told him it was okay that he was struggling because he was new to this but Bruce couldn't help but feel like it wasn't meant to be on his ward's face. It was supposed to be on someone else's face. That assurance should've come from Alfred or maybe Selina. Gordon definitely. Not Dick. It wasn't Dick's responsibility to guide him through parenting especially if he was upset. It wasn't his job yet here he was. Comforting Bruce when what he'd asked for was someone to look after him. It wasn't his fault that the billionaire was clueless about social interactions including those between father and son.

"I'm sorry I have to as well but you're lucky I speak Bruce. I know you're trying. I'm just tired. Been intense today." He paused before leaning into his mentor further. "Could you stay with me today?" It was a simple request yet they both secretly knew it couldn't be met with full confidence because something would happen that would pull them apart. Even as Batman and Robin something would happen. "Yeah, guess I can't really ask that," Dick said after a prolonged silence. 

"You can." He shook his head.

"I can't. This is nice though." It was nice.