Dick Grayson one shots

Golden boy

This one's not written super well, but it is what it is. Enjoy :)

For someone who always encouraged people to share their thoughts, feelings, and struggles, Dick didn't do much sharing himself.

He supposed that in itself was probably something a therapist would love to sink their claws into... but he didn't feel like he needed to talk about it. He already knew how it had happened after all.

—

Dick had learned rather quickly that he shouldn't approach Bruce with his problems.

A month or so after Dick had become Robin, Bruce had surprised the boy by having a trapeze commissioned for the cave.

Dick was ecstatic to say the least, and spent the next 6 hours straight on the thing perfecting his flips.

The next day Dick had been sore beyond belief, especially his wrists and hands from gripping the trapeze bar for so long.

"Bruce?" He'd called an hour or so before patrol.

A grunt was the only response he got from the man.

"My hands hurt," he said, showing his red and raw hands to his mentor.

Bruce glanced at the acrobat's hands and dismissed him with a wave. "No patrol for you tonight. Let your hands get better," he'd said.

Dick tried to protest, but he was waved away.

He trudged up the stairs, biting his lip to keep himself from crying. At least until he got to his room.

Rifling through one of his bathroom's many cabinets proved fruitful when he found a lotion he recognized as the one his parents would always massage into his hands when they were sore or dry.

Though rubbing the lotion into his own hands didn't have exactly the same effect, Dick was soothed minutely by the act and proceeded to curl up on his bed and cry himself to sleep.

It seems he was to be punished for any weakness.

—

Dick was a bright child, naturally gifted at school so it seemed. He aced almost any test that came his way, easily leaving most all of his classmates in the dust... that was until his third grade teacher put him in the advanced spelling group.

When Dick got the results from his first spelling test he thought he might cry. He didn't want to tell Bruce about the less than perfect 56% he'd received. He really had studied, working hard to memorize the various words in spite of the fact that their order and spelling often left him stumped, English confusing itself with the various other languages he'd learned growing up in the circus.

Getting into the car at the end of the day to see Bruce in the driver's seat was like the final nail in his coffin.

"Hey Chum. How was school?" Bruce greeted cheerily.

"It was good," Dick replied automatically.

"Good," Bruce replied. "Did you get your scores back for your spelling test?"

"Yeah," Dick replied, mentally reassuring himself that a bad grade wasn't the end of the world. Bruce would be understanding like he usually was. "I got 56%."

The car swerved slightly. "Sorry... I must've heard you wrong," Bruce said.

A sense of doubt wormed its way into Dick's mind. Maybe this was a big deal... "I... I got a 56%..."

Bruce was silent for the rest of the drive, something admittedly more scary than if he'd been yelling. "You told me you could balance school and Robin," he said once they'd parked.

"I... I can," Dick insisted.

"It would seem not," Bruce countered, giving Dick a look that made him shrink away.

"It... it's only because I... I got put in the advanced spelling... a-and the words are so much longer," Dick tried to reason.

"That's no excuse," Bruce snapped. "Now. You're benched from being Robin until you retake that test and get 100%."

"But," Dick tried to reason. His score had, in fact, been the highest of the advanced spelling group, most everyone else scoring in the 30% range.

Bruce shut down what his ward had been trying to say with a firm glare. "You will be practicing those words until you know each of them by heart. Failing grades are not acceptable."

Dick made his way to his room with his head hung, spelling list gripped tightly in his hand.

It seemed he was to be punished for not knowing everything.

—

Dick felt betrayed, his trust in his father figure decimated as he huddled in the falling rain, his arm hanging in a sling.

Bruce had taken the Robin mantel from him, stripping him of the thing he cherished the most and all but kicking him out on the streets.

Sure, he understood the why Bruce had done it. He'd gotten scared... he'd thought he might lose his son to one of Gotham's lowlifes.

But that didn't justify taking Robin from him.

Didn't Bruce understand that it was just as painful for Dick to watch him get hurt night after night? Couldn't he just take a minute to see that Dick had taken the bullet to save him?

Apparently not... and it seemed Dick was to be punished for getting hurt.

—

Dick sat in his apartment, head in his hands. His hands shook as he threaded them into his hair.

Cancer.

He hadn't told anyone the diagnosis yet... not even Alfred, and especially not Bruce. He knew what would happen... what happened every time. He'd be punished for his weakness, stripped of his hero mantle and left to deal with the problem on his own. Just like always.

He didn't know what to do. The doctors had given him an optimistic window of about 6 months before he'd have to say goodbye to everyone for good...

He wasn't ready for that...

So instead he pushed those thoughts away and put on another mask. And if his smiles and jokes seemed just a bit more strained nobody would notice...

He was the golden boy after all... He was always fine.