Dick Grayson One-Shots { requests open }

i mean, if anyone would do it, it'd be bruce

—— • ꧁꧂ • ——

𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗽 (𝗶𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘆): n/a

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 988

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Bruce has a nightmare that he murders his sons.

𝗧𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: i feel like they're fairly obvious-
just some next level angst lmao

——  •  ꧁꧂  •  ——

Tim Drake: dead.

Jason Todd: dead.

Damian Wayne, Bruce's own blood son: dead.

Dick Grayson, Bruce's first child and closest confidant: dead.

And they were all brutally murdered by the hands of their own father— a father who simply could not fathom what he had just done. He looked down at his gloveless hands, stained with his childrens' blood. The evil, red substance buried itself within the man's fingernails, never to be fully washed away. And, yet, Bruce didn't want it to be. He wanted it there— he wanted the blood as a reminder of what he'd just done.

They were dead. The four people that meant the most to Bruce on this cursed Earth were gone and it was all his fault. Bruce's sons were dead... and it was his fault...

"You killed me, Bruce," a young voice rang out across the Manor's bloody hall.

"This is all your fault," another said.

"You murdered us, Father," a child's— Bruce's child's— voice echoed for what seemed like miles.

And, finally, a last voice yelled out.

"Why would you do this to us?!"

Bruce shot up with a gasp, panic spreading through his body at an alarming rate. He began to hyperventilate, taking a moment to realize that it had only been a dream and he hadn't really murdered his sons. But, still, there was a voice in the back of his head that said his children were dead... and he did it.

Throwing the silk sheets back, Bruce pulled on his robe and started hurriedly down the hall.

Knowing his sons better than he would ever admit, Bruce was sure he'd find at least two boys in Dick's room. And, alas, he was correct.

Not really bothering to be quiet, Bruce barged into his oldest's bedroom, finding both Dick and Damian fast asleep in the king-sized bed. Each of their chests' rose and fell rhythmically, giving Bruce a renewed sense of hope.
Letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Bruce rushed over to the bed and pulled each boy into his arms, giving both an immense scare.

Damian pulled a knife from his pocket and stopped just short of stabbing Bruce upon seeing that he was, in fact, in no danger.

"Bruce-" Dick breathed loudly, blinking the surprised look off of his face. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"Has something happened, Father?" Damian furrowed his brow as both he and Dick stifled yawns.

Bruce shook his head, exhaling softly. "No... no, everything's fine. I was just... checking on you guys."

The boys exchanged a suspicious look before turning back to their father.

"You haven't 'checked' on any of us in years, B. Are you sure everything's okay?" Dick asked worriedly.

Bruce gave a light scoff, "What? I can't come see my sons without the apocalypse going on outside?"

"No, you can't," Damian narrowed his eyes. "Or, at least, you don't. But, please, keep your secrets. I'm much too tired to care."

Dick exhaled sharply and gently elbowed Damian, "Lil' D, that wasn't very nice..."

Damian scoffed, "Do I look like I care?"

Dick sighed and massaged his temples, much to Bruce's amusement. He loved how close his sons were. He always felt guilty that Dick was so lonely growing up just as Bruce had been when he was a child. But, now, Dick and Damian were practically attached at the hip. Bruce was sure it got annoying for the older boy at times but, still, he found it endearing.

"If something's wrong, Bruce," Dick started, giving his father those big, puppy eyes he always liked to use, "you can talk to us. We'll try to help in any way we can."

"Suck up," Damian muttered, earning another elbow from his big brother.

Bruce chuckled and shook his head, "No... everything's fine— I promise. But, hey, how 'bout tomorrow I take you and your brothers out for the day? No patrol, no school, no work. Just us having fun."

Damian looked suspicious— very suspicious. "What's the catch, old man?"

Bruce messed with his youngest son's raven hair, "There's no catch, Damian. I just wanna spend time with my kids while I can."

Dick's eyes widened, "Oh, God, is it cancer?! Is that why you're being weird?! Oh, my God! How long do you-"

"I'm not dying, Dick!" Bruce laughed, shaking his head in amusement at his eldest's antics. "I just wanna spend the day with my boys. Is that really so weird?"

"Yes," Dick and Damian deadpanned in unison.

Bruce sighed, a small smile finding it's way onto his face, "Well, maybe it's time that changed. Tomorrow— we're going out."

Dick was the first to let the suspicion fall from his face. It was replaced with a boyish smile as he let out a laugh and gently shoved Damian. "Hear that, Lil' D? Bruce is finally going through his middle-aged crisis and we actually get something cool out of it!"

"Middle-aged cr-" Bruce started to argue, but stopped upon noticing the childishly excited look on Dick's face. What the hell? If the boys thinking Bruce was going through a middle-aged crisis is what it took to get them out of the house with him, then so be it.

"Tt-" Damian tried to looked annoyed but Bruce could see a smile twitching at his lips. "Well, I suppose this is better than five AM training..."

"See?!" Dick giggled, pulling a very disgruntled little brother into his arms. "This is gonna be great!"

Bruce, knowing very well what happens when Dick gives Damian a hug he does not want, got up and slowly began to back away. The last thing he heard before reaching the hallway was a loud, hissing, "Grayson!"