i really don’t have any explanation for this comic other than there’s no way you can convince me damian wouldn’t try to fight an amusement park mascot at least once in his life
so, I tend to HC Bruce as being 24/25 and having been Batman for literally a year when he adopts his first kid, because. you know. Dick was literally introduced to comics the year after Bruce. that’s just meta canon.
so we have this emotionally stunted 20-something who’s currently navigating how best to fight crime while dressed up as a bat meeting another orphan and deciding “oh, shit, I should do the noble thing and adopt him. what’s the worst that could happen?”
so much
once all the excitement of catching the peeps who killed Dick’s parents wore off it gradually dawned on Bruce that he was now responsible for a whole ass human child living in his fancy house
there’s this, like, grieving but shockingly well adjusted and sociable pre-pubescent boy doing cartwheels up and down the halls, breaking the antiques, and gradually it hits Bruce that this kid is going to need, like. outlets for all that energy. and kids his own age. school? probably school.
(Alfred home schooled Bruce from the age of 8 until college – and yes, I have a LOT of feelings about Bruce Wayne’s college years – so he’s a little out of his depth here)
emotionally stunted manchild with no real friends Bruce Wayne listening with an increasingly furrowed brow as young Dick Grayson cheerfully chats about his favorite classes and which of his classmates he gets along with and the birthday party he got invited to and which teacher was mean. Bruce realizing that this child is going to be so, so much healthier than he is and almost choking because he is absolutely terrified of fucking that up.
picture: 25 year old Bruce Wayne, still perfecting his idiot billionaire act, sitting in a parent teacher conference with an increasingly flustered teacher. (flustered because Bruce is hot? because he’s weird? you decide!)
honestly what would feed that harmless idiot playboy image better than spontaneously adopting a little circus boy and bringing him along to inappropriate places like Wayne Industries board meetings or fancy formal dinners?
they absolutely have system worked out where Bruce makes a certain very small gesture and Dick immediately causes a disruption, such as:
[mid-board meeting] “oh I’m so sorry, gentlemen, I’d love to keep talking about these numbers for another hours but as you can see, I’m sure, my young ward is doing a handstand on a rolling chair and we really need to have a word about that”
[at a fancy dinner] “goodness gracious I wish that I could keep talking about this very interesting socialite gossip but it seems that my young ward has just knocked over quite a large number of champagne glasses and I must go tend to him”
once they’ve ducked out of this latest obligation Dick asks which bad guy they’re rushing off to fight. sometimes there isn’t one and Bruce was just shamelessly using the child as an excuse to leave something extremely tedious.
what do kids eat? Bruce has no idea, having spent a quarter of a century mostly eating whatever Alfred put in front of him. conversely, little Dick has never been allowed to go ham and get whatever he wants in a grocery store before. suddenly Wayne Manor’s cupboards are overflowing with frozen pizza and poptarts and sugary cereals.
food is basically an afterthought to Bruce, who is actually delighted that calories and sugars are now so readily available in quick and easily consumed packages.
I implore you to imagine Bruce and Dick in full costume sitting on the kitchen counter eating cold slices of pizza and handfuls of dry cap’n crunch for breakfast after a particularly hellacious night
actually if you can draw I implore you to do that too
I keep thinking of the Stranger Things directors talking about how working with kids is weird because sometimes they just show up covered in glitter or red in the face because they’ve been slapping each other? sometimes Robin goes radio silent on stakeouts and Bruce panics and goes looking for him, only to discover Dick found a stray dog or he’s perched outside someone’s window watching their TV because a movie he likes is on or he’s staring in the windows of a candy store.
the first time Bruce Wayne realized Dick had fallen asleep in the passenger seat of the Batmobile and he had to awkwardly lift him out and carry him to bed was an Experience
Bruce and Alfred methodically “babyproofing” the manor before Dick’s first birthday with them so that he can invite friends over without having to worry about them finding the cave
Dick realized pretty fast that Bruce doesn’t have any concept of how money works and that he’ll hand over 200 dollars for a night at the movies without even questioning it. Alfred had to step in and tactfully course correct on this one
for the record, Bruce never actually stops doing it. to this day, any one of his kids could ask for his credit card (the Batcredit card, Steph insists on calling it) and be given it without argument. does Bruce trust his kids? does he just not give a single solitary shit about money? you decide!
Dick is easy to travel with, even internationally – he got plenty of that in the circus, and he knows when to just sit down and take a nap. but he’s not accustomed at all to the kinds of places where Bruce stays. you know the opening of Spider-Man: Homecoming where Peter is losing his mind and jumping all over his hotel bed? it’s a little like that, with a side of Dick trying to drag Bruce off to look at everything that looks even remotely interesting.
at some point Bruce and Dick inevitably got into an argument and as it was getting heated Bruce said “don’t make me ground you!” and Dick shot back “you can’t ground me!” and their fight came to a SCREECHING stop as they both stared at each other and tried to do the mental math to figure out if Bruce actually could effectively ground Dick or not. like, he can say it all he wants, but will Dick respect his authority and listen?
neither of them knows the answer
they don’t want to know the answer
“well, don’t make me then,” Bruce grumps, before twirling his cape dramatically and storming off to cover his parental panic.
as the weeks and months and years go by Bruce starts getting better at remembering all the little nuances of Dick’s social life outside their vigilantism. there’s a tiny segment of his methodical brain dedicated to it, tucked away behind all the knowledge of combat and crime solving techniques, a mental map complete with figurative yearn connecting the different pictures and snippets of information. when Dick talks about the Titans, his school friends, teachers, Bruce knows exactly who he means. he just wishes he had better advice to offer. he wishes he was better at showing Dick that he cares about all of his life, not just what they do as Batman and Robin. he wishes that Dick wasn’t so perceptive, because after a while Dick realizes that Bruce is out of his league with personal stuff and stops sharing so much.
when he looks back at all the bumps of figuring out his first kid, what Bruce remembers most is how much Dick wanted to talk to him about ordinary things. none of the others do that; they’re old enough to know – or think they know – that Bruce isn’t a guy you talk to about college applications or crushes. he never gets to hear about their day-to-day. he misses it.
‘I implore you to imagine Bruce and Dick in full costume sitting on the kitchen counter eating cold slices of pizza and handfuls of dry cap’n crunch for breakfast after a particularly hellacious night
actually if you can draw I implore you to do that too’
it’s an ideal height distribution tbh because then whenever bruce, as an adult, is talking about how larger-than-life his father was everyone just feels bittersweet about it because the last time he saw his father he was a tiny boy and it just seems like, “oh, bruce’s memory of his father is always trapped in this time when his dad seemed like a giant”
but no, that has nothing to do with it, bruce is being completely factually correct and thomas wayne was enormous
“I assume your dad’s going to be the one that looks like you,” Clark said, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the crowd beneath the mezzanine.
“Just look for the biggest guy here,” Bruce said flatly.
Clark fought a smile.
“What.”
“Nothing! Nothing.”
Bruce waited.
“It’s just—you know.”
Bruce said nothing.
“You haven’t seen him since you were twelve.”
“Correct.”
“You maybe weren’t the tallest kid.”
Bruce said nothing.
“I’m just going to look for the guy who looks like you, rather than going by relative size.”
“And you must be the fellows who were chit-chatting with my wife!” came a voice, booming and boisterous as arms were thrown around each of their shoulders. Clark jumped; Bruce flinched.
Thomas Wayne was a good two inches taller than Clark, who was himself an inch taller than Bruce. Thomas had a glass of champagne in his right hand, which he had not spilled on Clark. There was a ping-pong ball floating in it. He had a half-empty bottle of wine in his left hand, which he had not spilled on Bruce. Between the fingers of his left hand dangled a bag of red plastic cups, unopened.
No one in the ballroom was using a red plastic cup.
Thomas’ coat and the top buttons of his shirt were undone; his bowtie had not been a bow in quite some time.
“Martha wouldn’t tell me what exactly it is you were up to,” he said cheerfully, “which I can only assume means I’d hate it!” He paused, squinting at Clark. “Oh, she must have loved you.” He gave Clark a proper once-over, down to his shoes and back up again. “Were you raised on a farm or what?”
“Why does everyone keep asking—”
“Anyway,” Thomas continued, somehow managing to pound them both on the back as he disengaged despite still having his hands full. “You two go on ahead and keep not telling me what you’re doing, if you need me I’m heading downstairs to set up a game of wine pong. It’s like beer pong, but if you’re doing it right it costs several thousand dollars! And it’s good for your heart! I’d know. I’m a doctor.”
He downed his glass of champagne and caught the ball in his teeth. He then somehow managed to arrange the items in his hands such that he could shoot them both fingerguns, clicking around the ball and waggling his eyebrows.
They watched as he slid sideways down the banister.
“I apologize for doubting your memory,” Clark said finally.
“Hm.”
“I feel like this explains a lot about your sense of humor.”
“I’m not convinced that it does.”
“… does he look how you remember?” Clark ventured.
“Usually I remember the way he looked one specific summer when I was a kid,” Bruce said thoughtfully.
Clark softened, almost reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Then he narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“Hm?”
“I know what you’re doing, and we’re not doing it.”
“You asked.”
“I recognize that look.”
“This is just what my face looks like.”
“You’re going to make me think we’re having a moment so I let my guard down for the punchline,” Clark said, “and you’re not going to say it like it’s a punchline, so when I laugh, I look like an asshole.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not allowed to laugh about this. You know I’m not.”
They were silent, the sounds of the party surrounding them from below.
“He had a horrible moustache,” Bruce said.
Clark pressed his knuckles to his mouth.
“I think my subconscious is trying to make death seem like a mercy.”
Clark made a muffled and hideous noise.
“Clark,” Diana scolded, and they turned to see her frowning as she approached. “This is a very difficult mission for Bruce, you mustn’t laugh.”
Clark threw up his hands in disgust.
“Or—wait.” Diana looked between them. “Was he doing it again?”
Clark nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
“I think I remember this party,” Bruce said suddenly, looking out at the ballroom.
“What?” Clark and Diana asked simultaneously.
“It’s the one where that senator got thrown out of a window.” He pointed toward a commotion downstairs.
“What is your father doing?” Diana asked, leaning over a railing.
There was a crash of shattering glass, a series of screams, and scattered applause.
And he’ll insist he’ll be fine, “cause he’s a doctor” ?
Thomas raised an eyebrow with a level of disdain achievable only by those born to great wealth, and not at all befitting a man in the middle of using a meat cleaver to cut the nozzle off a garden hose. “Oh, I think I can handle it,” he scoffed. “I went to Yale.”
DarkestElemental616 