Title: The refuge of art Fandom: DCU Series: The only immortality Pairing: Bruce/Dick Summary: Dick is leaving. He can't leave, and he has to leave, and he's not going anywhere, yet. Notes: Having been told "The original sin is to limit the 'Is'" enough times seems to have warped my expectations for romance. Thanks to Mael and Ny for beta and structure commentary. Rating: Content some readers may find disturbing. Not adult, this time through. Disclaimer: They still belong to DC Comics, who sue people who ask for money for this kind of thing. But I'm not asking for money. Over breakfast, Dick smiles a little into his orange juice and says, "I've got a presentation to give in science today." "Oh?" Bruce says. "On what subject?" "Plate tectonics," Dick says, and butters his toast. "I'm working with Patty Fraser, and it's really interesting." He picks up the toast. "And she's really cute," he adds, and takes a big bite of toast. Daring Bruce to make him talk. It's not surprising, really. They've never exactly talked about this, but the strangeness has always been there. The truth, at base, that this is inappropriate. There's something comforting about this proof that the boy is still -- normal. On some level. "You should take her to the movies, then," Bruce says, ignoring the jealous voices that scream for comparisons and find any and every girl wanting. He pours himself another cup of coffee while Dick coughs on crumbs. There are other things he could say -- but nothing else he should say. If the tension between allowing this and doing anything in his power to prevent it shows in the way his hand shakes as he takes a sip of his coffee, Dick doesn't mention it. "You think I'm old enough to date?" Dick says, and there's so much there it makes Bruce want to -- Everything. Dick is leaving. He can't leave, and he has to leave, and he's not going anywhere, yet. He's only sixteen. The thought of sending Dick to college makes Bruce briefly ill. He sets down the coffee and reaches for a muffin instead. "If this Patty is your age -- you'll have a curfew, of course." "Of course." Dick winks at him. "I know that. But I can take her to the movies?" There's got to be a way to say this and not be Batman. It takes a bite of muffin before he can find the Bruce Wayne voice, the loving, indulgent voice. "If she wants to go with you, and you're home at a reasonable hour, yes." Dick fidgets with his napkin. "She asked me yesterday." "Then you should go." Bruce leaves most of his breakfast on the table, all in a jumble. "I have an early meeting. If Alfred's going to give you a ride --" "I'm coming, I'm coming." Dick hops up from the table, grabbing another muffin on the way. They talk even less than they normally might on the way to Dick's school. A block away from it, Dick says, "I didn't think you'd let me." "You're more than mature enough," Bruce says, and resolutely represses the urge to lock the doors and tell him he's not allowed to go -- not allowed to smile like that at the thought of going. Everything is so fragile. Dick's smile -- not over-bright, just pleased -- is as warm as ever. "Thanks, Bruce." He keeps his distance -- perhaps he knows how impossible Bruce would find it to let him go, given the chance to hug him. They stop, and Dick gets out. "Bye, Alfred." "Master Dick," Alfred says with a nod, as Dick slams the door. The faint hope that this is some kind of a joke, or a test, fades when a girl, her skirt scandalously short, runs up to Dick, all bouncing curls and blushes, and asks him, "Can we?" He gives her the most perfect grin he possesses, and -- kisses her. Bruce tells himself he's only irritated with their adolescent display, but he can't begin to believe it. "I'm going to be late," he says to Alfred. That's not his voice; that's not a voice that's ever been happy. Batman is extremely useful for moments like this. "You have an image to preserve, sir," Alfred says, and glances up to meet his eyes in the rear-view mirror. "Granted," Bruce says, and unclenches his jaw with conscious effort. "You did well," Alfred says. Bruce shakes his head -- not denying the weight of it all, but -- "I did the only thing that was possible." "Not at all, Master Bruce. You did the only thing you could do, and you did that well." "I doubt I deserve credit for making one right choice after so many poor ones." Bruce looks out the window as Gotham blurs past, and feels his jaw clench again. "It was a particularly important one," Alfred says, "and not one I was certain you would make." Bruce glances at him, but Alfred is watching the road, now. "No?" "I hoped, sir." Bruce sighs. "So did I." The day is colorless, meeting after meeting. Dick wolfs his dinner and flees to squire the girl to her film. He comes back in the nick of time from the film, and says very little other than what he needs to while they patrol. He is not entirely Robin, not entirely on the job. If the situation persists, Bruce will speak to him about it. At five in the morning, the Batmobile is parked; the door to the cave is closed; the costumes are all put away. Bruce is going to bed. Dick isn't there. He's not wounded. He finished all his homework. He wasn't sick fifteen minutes ago. He's not with the girl; she's most certainly asleep. Bruce is used to all sorts of silences, but this one makes him more hopeless than most. At least when it's the silence before an explosion, there's something to be done about it, if only to run away. To break this silence, he could, practically speaking, go to Dick's room and -- Ask questions about this girl, and what she could possibly have, or be, more than the simple fact of her youth and femininity, to justify this. Bruce wants to kiss Dick until every thought of her goes out of his head, to press him against the bed and fuck him until he apologizes and promises never to leave. -- except that those are all against the rules. He could easily falsify evidence showing that Dick has been abducted and killed by any number of criminals, ranging from someone in the Zucco family to the Joker himself. Then it wouldn't matter if Dick disappeared, and this girl wept over him for all of a day -- if he never left the Manor, or the cave, again, except as Robin, heavy with armor and tracers. If he never slept alone, because he doesn't belong anywhere except in Bruce's bed. Because he shouldn't want to be anywhere else. But keeping him there would be worse than clipping his wings. There would be no joy in it, only the sick, gluttonous perversion of possessing something as bright as Dick's smile, and destroying it in that possession. Bruce lies alone in his bed and tries to stay sane. It's silent all night. All morning. All month. Dick takes Patty to the movies three times, and to dinner twice, before she gives him a pert little speech -- after he's paid the check, of course -- about how it's all been fun, but she's not ready to get serious with anyone. Dick tells Alfred about it in the kitchen. He doesn't tell Bruce, and at first Bruce suspects this is because he noticed Matches Malone in the restaurant, on the night of that last date. A week later, when he finds Dick in his bed again, he reconsiders this assumption. "It didn't really work out," Dick says. "Kinda like you and Silver." "I'm sorry to hear that," Bruce says. Dick laughs -- painfully -- and hugs him. "You are not." Bruce buries his face in Dick's hair and breathes in the blessedly familar scent of him. "I regret that it makes you upset." "I'll get over it." Dick nuzzles his chest. "She was probably right, and it wasn't gonna work out. Kiss me?" "Dick," Bruce says, pushing him away a little, trying to be gentle -- though the expression on Dick's face is hurt. "You should see people your own age." "So should you," Dick says, "except you're in love with me." It takes too long for him to formulate an answer. "That doesn't make what I said false." "I know. But -- but I love you." Dick touches his cheek. "And I didn't know what you'd say about Patty, and I wanted to know. And I didn't know if you'd let me even come in, tonight, because I kind of dumped you, except you weren't upset about it." Dick bites his lip. "I'm sorry." "You should --" Dick puts his hand over Bruce's mouth. "I know. I know. But nobody's ever going to be you." His only refuge from clinging to the boy and saying everything inadvisable is sarcasm. "Most people would see that as a benefit." Dick frowns at him. "Yeah, but obviously I don't, so it doesn't matter what anybody else thinks." There are a thousand things he could say. He could swear love -- and it would be as true as any vow ever made. He could promise that things will work out -- but Dick has already left once with no word of warning. He could say the harsh, terrible things he's wanted to say about the idiocy of adolescent girls, and the praise he could, if he gave it half a moment's thought, give this boy. He's not -- entirely -- a boy anymore. When Dick is a man, they will have many things to discuss, and it will be safe to say them aloud. It will be safer for them to be true. Until then -- "You need to spend time with your peers." The truth of this statement doesn't make it any easier to say, but he has a lot of practice in saying what needs to be said. Dick's still frowning. "And you won't be mad? We can still work together, and -- and everything?" He touches Bruce's shoulder. "Patty was nice, but -- you're way more important." It's tempting to embrace him -- to crush him. Bruce touches his cheek. "You were only seeing her for a month. The next one may be somewhat more enthralling." Dick raises his eyebrows. "I don't think anybody's going to be more important than you." He blushes and looks away from Bruce. "And I don't mean sex. Just -- it doesn't matter if I'm dating somebody, because I'm always going to be your partner. Right?" The ease with which he throws himself into this declaration makes Bruce's chest feel tight in sympathy. "It doesn't matter who you date, no," he says, with the feeling that he's watching each word to make sure that it doesn't betray him. Dick hugs him tightly and says, "I love you." Bruce strokes his hair, deliberately gentle. "It's all right." "I mean it, though." Dick squeezes him a little and looks up at him. "And I want to kiss you, but that's not the same thing." "It never is." He can't smile, not even a little, but Dick smiles for him. "Thanks for not being mad." Somehow it's easier to feign a shrug than a smile. "You need this." "I guess." Dick rests his cheek against Bruce's chest again. The faint prickles of nascent beard are strangely comforting. He's growing up, and when he is grown -- soon enough -- everything will be safer, or at the very least different. Dick says, "I really missed you," and tips his head up to kiss Bruce's neck. The simplest, truest thing would be to return the sentiment, but it's a truth that will go unspoken. "Dick --" "I know, it's not fair," Dick says, and shifts against him. The way he moves when he's aroused is all too familiar. "I -- do you want me to go?" "You should." It's not a lie, and Dick knows it, and chuckles. "Can I stay?" Bruce squeezes his shoulder briefly. "You ought to go." "Yeah. I know. May I kiss you?" The idea of sleeping alone should not seem as dire as it does; he used to be quite accustomed to it. The alternatives have rarely been as readily available as Dick is, now. "You should spend time with people your own age," Bruce says again. Dick gives him a crooked smile. "Is that how it's going to work?" he asks, and kisses Bruce, putting an arm around his shoulders. He tastes as young and sweet as ever. "You should --" Bruce says, and Dick interrupts him with another kiss. "I'll try. Are you tired of me?" Dick gives him an honestly curious look. "Never," Bruce says, against all his better judgement, and kisses Dick again. And now you know Simple noble-winged seraphs
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