Dick Grayson One-Shots { requests open }

bruce loses his fucking mind

——  •  ꧁꧂  •  ——

𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗽 (𝗶𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘆): n/a

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1925

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: When Bruce suddenly goes MIA, Dick goes mad with worry. He slips into unhealthy habits that only Bruce can save him from.

𝗧𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: neglect, borderline s*lf h*rm? it's complicated-

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"Hey, Alfred," sixteen-year-old Dick Grayson walked into the kitchen, hopping up on the counter with a grin. "Where's Bruce? We were supposed to train but he never showed."

Alfred hummed in response, glancing down at his watch, "On a mission. He should be back any moment now."

"Mission?" Dick repeated, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "He never told me about a mission...
Do I- do I need to go help him?"

Alfred sighed, looking away from the dinner he was preparing, "He didn't want you to know, Master Grayson. He's become... concerned... that the missions are getting too intense for you."

Dick exhaled sharply, "Intense? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Alfred rubbed his forehead, stress seeming to radiate off of him. A soft breath escaped his lips, "Well, sir... you've been increasingly more... violent... with every mission. Master Bruce is worried you'll take it too far and do something you can't take back..."

Dick scoffed, anger coursing through his veins. He jumped off the counter so he was eye level with his father figure. "Everything I do is what I learned from him! If he didn't want me to be a killing machine, he shouldn't have trained me that way!"

Alfred closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. Dick thought the old man looked... sad and concerned. "Dick..." Alfred reopened his blue orbs and met Dick's gaze, "you aren't a killing machine— you're a child. The way Bruce raised you... it was wrong. And he's beginning to see that. Every time he takes you out and sees what you're capable of, he's overcome with guilt. It hurts him to see you that way..."

"Well, then he needs to get his ass back here and talk to me about it!" Dick yelled, voice cracking with hurt. "He can't just ignore me like he does the rest of his problems!"

Alfred looked at the ground, sighing softly. "Don't you think I told him that? I'm not the enemy here, sir. I'm on your side...
You'll have to wait for Master Bruce to get more answers. I simply don't have them."

Alfred was right— Dick knew he was. It wasn't the older man's fault that Bruce was incapable of properly expressing human emotion. The teenager would just have to wait for Bruce to get home...

Sighing, the raven-haired boy gave Alfred an apologetic smile and began to trudge up the stairs. When he reached his obnoxiously large room, he fell back on the bed, having no clue how to occupy himself while he awaited his guardian's return. Needless to say, he normally didn't have much free time...

He paced, he chewed on his nails, he watched the sun set. Hours passed and, still, no Bruce. A strange feeling began to rise in Dick— worry. Which was, of course, ridiculous because Bruce sometimes went missing for days at a time with no warning. That was just Bruce. He probably found some girl to run off to Hawaii with— that's all. Dick had nothing to worry about. And, yet, his heart didn't get that memo...

"Master Richard?" came Alfred's voice at the door, accompanied by a quick knock.

"Yeah?" Dick called, sitting in the windowsill just as he used to as a child whenever he missed his parents. He remembered how Bruce— never good with words— would just sit there with him for hours, neither speaking the whole time. However, he also remembered how Bruce would leave him unsupervised for days, or force him to train until dawn, or tell him that crying was for babies. With every good memory, there were five bad ones to accompany it.