Dick Grayson Trash

What The Hell Did I Do???

-I made Bruce a bit younger in this, for optimum young parent vibes-

Bruce had become absent lately, even more than normal. He could stare dead into the wall for hours, and go days without uttering a single word.

 The therapist Alfred made him see said that seeing two people being murdered, while their eight year old son cried over their bodies 'was horrific' and 'ignited old trauma', or something.

Bruce assumed that was bullshit at the time, I mean, he was Batman, he'd seen plenty of people die; usually it would upset him a bit, but not this much. Now, he was starting to think this might be a trauma thing: he could not stop thinking about the little boy from the circus. 

That kid was in the same situation he was in, except this boy didn't have a miracle worker like Alfred, or money, or a home, or school, or (Bruce suspected) Legal ID.

In hindsight,  abysmal as it was to admit, Bruce had it pretty good, even when mourning his Parents as a child. He began imagining what it must be to be this child right now; having every ounce of his old life torn away from him.

He went on his laptop, vaguely remembering where Dick was being held. Apon further research, it was.... not the best place. Actually, it was downright illegal in some aspects (Mostly human rights violations). 

He went through the website without aim, sent a few emails, thoughtlessly filled out some personal information... He thoughtlessly signed forms, and gazed over contracts. He wasn't planning to anything, he was just toying with the idea...

Finally the webpage informed him that the rest had to be done in person. Luckily, it was still office hours.

He thought the one-on-one character interview went well, Bruce was good at playing someone who had his shit together. He still hadn't even acknowledged what he was doing, just that he was doing something.

So, with paper work signed, and a meeting scheduled, Bruce went home, and went back to staring at the wall in his office. As if nothing had happened.

On auto pilot, he walked to the dining room for dinner. He sat at the head or the table, staring dead ahead. He took one sip of water, and turned casually to the elderly butler beside him.

"I'm getting a child."

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As the legal supervisor and social worker brought him into the room, Bruce got a good look at Richard. The boy looked smaller than he was a couple weeks ago: Not only thinner, but deflated, and devoid of all energy and happiness. he had some scratches and bruises, some which looked days old, or even slightly infected, but had just had band aids put on to cover them during the meeting. It ground the man's heart to see.

"Richard Grayson?" He asked. The kid nodded a little, not looking at him. "My name is Bruce Wayne, I'm here to ask if you a want to come live with me, and let be take care of you." He tried to be direct, unsure of how to address the kid. "Would you like that?"

The kid stared at the table. The social workers clapped his hands right by Dick's face, startling him a lot. "Hey, are you going to answer Mr. Wayne's question?" Dick raised his eyes a little, and shrugged at Bruce's offer, very slightly. "Words, Richard." He ordered.

"Okay." He murmured.

"You want to come live with me?"

"Okay."

"Well, great." Bruce gave a half-hearted thumbs-up at the kid; that was a lot easier than he expected.

Next, Dick was taken out of the room while they discussed the remaining legal matters with adopting the boy. Bruce had to sign a contract saying that he wouldn't sue if it was discovered that Dick had some illness, trauma, or injury that had gone unnoticed by the care home staff. That was EXTREMELY sketchy and illegal, but Bruce didn't argue, he needed to get that poor boy out of here. He'd expose the establishment later, as Batman.