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August 24th. Robin has been my companion for two weeks now, and is restless. He refuses to act as only my spotter any longer, and I fear soon he’ll attempt to jump into the fray. I admire him for his dedication, it reminds me of how I felt when I was twelve, too. But then again, that’s how I was when I was twelve. I can’t let him become what I am…
Bruce hadn’t gone to bed yet. He wouldn’t for another two hours, until Dick had left for school. Then, he’d get some rest. After training.
Bruce checked the clock in the kitchen. 5:48 AM. Dick would likely be getting up soon; he’d probably want breakfast. Bruce started up the stove, pulled a non-stick frying pan out from the lower cabinet, and took the eggs out of the fridge. He carefully cracked a few open onto the pan.
Ever since Bruce took Dick in, Alfred insisted that he have a normal, proper, eating schedule. “No more spare berries from the fridge for the big bad Batman,” Alfred had said, which had made Bruce’s eyes roll. He had been afraid his butler would’ve made a fruitbat joke, but thankfully none came.
Speaking of Alfred, making breakfast was typically his job. But it was just early enough to where the butler would just be getting out of bed. So, Bruce took the responsibility. Even if he wasn’t a very good cook. Which reminded him… he looked at the eggs, burning in the pan. These would have to be his.
***
Dick hadn’t gotten any sleep from the night before. Ever since they had arrived back at home near midnight, Dick was more full of energy than he had truly wanted. He just couldn’t make himself go to sleep. What twelve year old would? He was a damn superhero! Sure, he wasn’t actively kicking butt, but he was working on that.
Dick had spent the next few hours just sitting in bed, trying to find ways to pass the time. He tried reading, practicing some moves, he even considered sneaking out until deciding that Bruce would somehow find out and take away his Robin costume. Again.
So, at the moment, Dick was just sitting in bed, drawing in his notebook. Alfred requested he have one, to process his feelings each night, but Dick mainly doodled in it. He was currently sketching a new Robin costume for himself, one that was just like Bruce’s; all-black, but with blue in the Bat-symbol, and maybe some gold to outline it. As he put the finishing touches on his domino mask, Dick smelt something in the air.
“Eggs?” he asked to no one in particular, hopping out of bed to check outside. Dick snuck out to the kitchen area, and that’s when he saw Bruce, in grey and blue pajamas, quietly cursing at a frying pan. “Bruce, are you okay?”
Bruce turned to Dick, a glare on his face that the boy knew wasn’t for him. “Hello Dick,” he said, “I was… making breakfast.” He put the pan down, and placed a browned egg onto a plate full of them.
“I can tell.” Dick sat at the kitchen’s island, looking at the other two plates, both empty. “Do you want me to make them?”
“No,” Bruce replied, dejectedly. “You must’ve made yourself breakfast all the time on the road, huh?” He cracked open the final eggs in the carton, double checking that the burner was set to Low.
“Most days, yeah. Honestly, my dad kinda hated it. He didn’t like that I was more ready for the day than him.” He chuckled. “Mom loved it, since it meant I also had to do the dishes.”
Smirking, Bruce said “Then I’m glad we have an actual dishwasher here.”
“Don’t be,” chimed Alfred as he walked in, “I’m making sure you wash each of those. You’re stinking up this place, at least pay the consequences.” His cane, which he had to use after Riddler’s bombing, and he had only recently gotten used to, began making more noise than either Dick or Bruce noticed before. Like he was deliberately exaggerating the sound.
“You do that, Alfred, and you’re fired.” Bruce, smirking, had finally finished a single good egg, and slid it onto Dick’s plate.
“You do that, and this whole “Batman” gimmick comes crashing down.” Alfred stood beside Dick, getting him a fork. “And I’m not talking about the secret identity. Gotham’s Dark Knight, and he can barely cook his ward breakfast.” He gave a lighthearted wink to Dick.
“Well,” Dick responded, “maybe you’ll have to just eat this with us then.” Bruce laughed again, as he placed a few burnt eggs onto Alfred’s plate.
***
“You need to go to bed,” Bruce said, as he hand-washed the frying pan.
“How do you know I didn’t?” Dick took the pan and rinsed it in the hot running water, placing it on a drying rack. They both were wearing rubber washing gloves. Bruce’s were blue, Dick’s were green.
“You and I are the exact same way, restless. Besides, you seemed pretty spry for someone who supposedly had just woken up.” He finished a plate and handed it to Dick.
“I’m sorry,” Dick said, “I just couldn’t go to sleep. I don’t want to! I wanna go back out there and kick ass!”
“You start school at Gotham Academy in two weeks. I have to get you back on a proper sleeping schedule.”
“I guess that means no more Robin?”
Bruce knew how much going out at night meant for Dick, that it was like a form of therapy. Well that, and the sessions with Dr. Thompkins. “I’m afraid so. At least, no more being Robin on school nights.”
“Lame.”
“Look, I’d rather be out there alone than have you miss school.” Bruce finished up the last fork.
“And I’d rather miss school and sleep in than not be there for you. What if something happens?”
Bruce was silent for a moment. He drained the sink.
“How about this,” he said, “we’ll go out on weekend nights together, and I’ll go solo less often. Unless Gordon lights the Batsignal, which I’ll always go to.” Bruce stuck out his hand. “Deal?”
Smiling, Dick took Bruce’s hand with his. “Deal.”