A Resignation (Closed - Bruce)

Participants: Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): The Batcave
Time of Day: Early Morning
Weather: Clear sky for miles around
Summary: Dick informs Bruce that he's stepping down as Batman and returning to Nightwing full-time

He was never a fan of goodbyes. 

There was something about the "finality" of it that rubbed him the wrong way. He was more of a "see you later", "have fun", "catch you around" guy. Maybe it was just his upbringing in the circus? You show up, you have a good time, and then you leave while the mood is still good. No awkward goodbyes, no insincere words, and no tears. He was a master of the "Irish goodbye" and he had more than a few ex-girlfriends who hated him for it. It was just that closure is over-rated. Everyone says they want it but when they have those long, intense conversations do they feel any better for it? He certainly never did. He'd rather just leave on a good note with the door open in case something happens. That style never really worked for Bruce. Nope. Their goodbyes were typically more volatile with one person saying something they didn't really mean and months passing by with silence. He was younger then, though.

Dick walked through the mansion, staring at the massive murals on the wall of Bruce's parents and the long, polished railings of the grand staircase he was standing at the bottom of. Weird to think how every time he moved out of the Manor he swore it was the last time and yet here he was again moving out. The smell of hot coffee and waffles wafted into the hallway from the kitchen as Dick smiled. Of course, if the Irish goodbye didn't work on Bruce it was impossible to pull off with Alfred. If Bruce was his father figure then Alfred was his grandfather and cool uncle all mixed in together. Dick buried his hands and walked towards the kitchen, admiring the polished floors as he made his way through. Alfred Pennyworth was a man of many talents and it astounded him. He could hack computer systems, analyze data and form strategies from the interpretations, fix up a state of the art automobile complete with the most up to date hi-tech weapons systems, repair body armor, and make an amazing tart all at the same time. Dick was always blow away by the fact that he spent so much time making sure the Manor was in pristine condition. He had a hard time remembering to do laundry until he was down to a pair of mismatched socks. 

The aroma hung in the air as he turned the corner into the white tiled room: warm maple syrup, fresh cut strawberries, some whipped cream, and strong, black coffee. He hadn't anticipated having breakfast this morning and now it was all he could think of. Despite the smell, the room was empty aside from a neatly folded piece of paper sitting on a clean plate. Dick smirked as he unfolded it, already knowing what it was going to say: 

Master Richard,

I would hate to think you would dare leave this home on an empty stomach. 

Breakfast is served downstairs. 

- Alfred

In a rare moment, Alfred Pennyworth was wrong about him. He had no intention of ducking out without saying goodbye. He knew better than not to. He took the latter and placed it in his back pocket. It would be nice to have proof that the great Alfred was finally wrong about something... even though he was close to being right. 

One of Dick's favorite things about Wayne Manor was how much it reminded him of a haunted house from an old, cheesy horror movie from back in the day. Each room had secret compartments, passageways, and hidden messages. Dick smiled and walked over to the refrigerator. After opening the door and twisting the lightbulb two-quarters to the left, the back of the refrigerator swung open and he stepped inside. The secret door shut back and Dick began a long descent down stone stairs towards the Batcave. With each step, another light above him illuminated and guided him towards the vast opening that was filled with the blue hue of computer monitors. Dick took a deep breath of the musty air. Alfred was setting a table for him as he approached. 

"Did you really think that I was going to walk out and not say goodbye, Alfred?"

Alfred didn't look up, instead continued to lay out plates on top of a work table. Alfred was the kind of man you never wanted to play poker with because you'd never win. The guy's facial expressions never cracked or shifted. 

"May I place a call with one of your former girlfriends and get their opinion on the matter, Master Richard?"

"Ouch. You're cold as ice, Alfred." 

Dick saw a small smirk crack through the professional and proper veneer of the butler. He'd take that as a victory. 

A bat's screech echoed throughout the large cavern. The cave always had a strange order, it was always a little chilly, and he was going to miss it. It was hard to go from state of the art crime busting equipment to figuring stuff out on your own. He looked over the vast trophies that were displayed throughout the cave, making it appear like a museum more than anything else, and noticed his Batsuit that was in a display case. Unlike Bruce's, his costume had been designed to be lightweight, flexible, and easy to move with his fluid style of movements. Despite it being fitted to his specifications, it still just didn't feel like his suit. He wasn't Batman even if he was the one with the symbol on his chest. It was part of his reasoning for leaving. 

It just felt like time to go


Tag: Bruce Wayne

The batmobile rolled into the cave quickly, but at a more leisurely pace than usual. He had been out all night: an occurrence that had become more and more rare as the amount of support in Gotham grew. Tonight, he’d finally caught a break in the case of a serial killer that had been stalking Gotham’s streets this last week and he’d been unable to let go of the sudden lead. It had taken all night and the great temptation to actually have some of the coffee Jim had offered a few times. Finally, he had caught the killer and handed him off to GCPD. Now, as he exited the batmobile, all he wanted was to drag himself into the shower then get a few solid hours of sleep. He had a report to write first, though.

And, apparently, something else. He caught sight of one of the tables in the cave and instead of holding piles of paperwork and evidence, it was set with a sweet looking breakfast spread. Bruce could smell it from where he stood, even through the unique blend of bat excrement and disinfectant that usually filled the air of the cave. Alfred stood by the table, putting the finishing touches on the spread, and Dick sat at the table. The sight did not set Bruce entirely off guard: while Alfred insisted on most proper meals being enjoyed upstairs, he would make an exception on occasion.

Bruce pulled his cowl down as he approached and he might’ve simply offered a passing greeting as he moved past, but he was tipped off by two things precisely. The first of which being that the table was set for two. He might’ve suspected Alfred was joining Dick in breakfast, but the older man’s aged etiquette typically forbade him from doing so despite the family’s insistence on multiple occasions. Holidays and other special events were typically the only exceptions. The second of which being that Alfred, upon laying eyes on Bruce, did not immediately demand the man bring himself to bed.

Where before he might’ve protested, insisted on putting whatever this was off until he at least finished his report, now he simply pulled his chair out and settled himself into it, preparing for whatever the two had in store for him.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked simply, gaze darting between Dick and Alfred as the butler placed a dollop of whip cream atop Bruce’s waffles.

---

Dick Grayson

The motifs on the batmobile always made sense to Dick because it sounded like a bat out of hell when it rumbled in and out of the cave. 

Bats squeaked and chirped as they flew deeper into the massive cavern in patterns - seeking somewhere quieter and darker to sleep. Despite all the noise there was no danger of a cave-in. With all the time, effort, and money that went into fortifying the cave it was probably the safest place on earth aside from the Fortress of Solitude. It was still a little disorienting though. A small amount of dust and dirt fell from the ceiling as the batmobile came to a halt. The silverware and plates rattled against one another from the power of the batmobile's engine. Alfred had grown so accustomed to it that he simply made a few course corrections with how he held his serving tray to keep the stacks of waffles from falling to the stone floor. The tray, much like the man, remained undeterred. He wasn't sure what he'd miss more: Alfred's cooking or his nonchalance? 

Bruce Wayne was one of the most physically intimidating men Dick had ever seen. His broad shoulders, thick neck, and stiff posture gave him the appearance of a coiled spring ready to release yet never did. That was the thing about Bruce he had always admired - he was always 100% in control of his body and his mind at all times. There was no wasted movements even in things like exiting the batmobile and taking a seat at the table with him. The man was a well-oiled machine which made small acts like him eating anything remotely sugary humorous to the Robins. Dick spread a mass of whipped cream over the waffles, allowing it to fill as many divots in the grid-like surface as possible. Today would be a cheat day. He only got so many of those a year if he was going to stay fitting in those skin-tight costumes but you still have to live a little. 

"That's not important right now. How's the case with the suspected serial killer going?"

There were always these comparisons that Bruce was like a father to Dick but really he was more like an older brother. It was probably why they fought like brothers whenever they disagreed. He ignored Bruce's question and Alfred raised his eyebrow at him. A small, subtle "he's not going to let you off the hook" response. Dick wasn't attempting to, though. There were simply more important things to discuss... like this case. He'd heard snippets of the killings Bruce had been working on and wanted to help, but would have just ended up stepping all over each other if he did - two many cooks in the kitchen. It was another reason why he felt like leaving: two Batmen in Gotham City was too many.

Bruce Wayne

Dick’s evasion of the question did not go unnoticed by Bruce. Instead, it only served to further his want for the answer. He shot a quick glance to Alfred, but the butler had already shifted so that his face was not within Bruce’s view. Ah. Bruce began to mentally prepare himself for bad news. He didn’t know what to expect. He compiled a list of possibilities, ordered from most likely to least, but still nothing jumped immediately to mind.

The corners of his lips tilted down briefly in a small frown. He thought, briefly, of pressing the issue. He had learned over the years, though, that forcing Dick to do anything tended to be a pointless effort that simply resulted in heated arguments and days of silence. He’d never enjoyed fighting with his eldest and always ended up regretting it. They’d a peace, a balance, over recent years and Bruce was not keen on disrupting it.

So, he smoothed out his expression and turned his gaze upon his meal as he began cutting the waffles into even slices. “Hm, he’s sitting in GCPD processing as we speak.” He’d discovered a connection between the first three victims: they’d all stepped into the same coffee shop two years ago. That had then led to tracking down the rest of the patrons that had been in the coffee shop. All but two had moved out of the city and so he and GCPD had split the watch. It was just before dawn and after a particularly heavy onset of rain when the killer had finally showed and made his move against the citizen Bruce had assigned himself. Thankfully, the killer had been a lanky, malnourished man who relied primarily on the advantage of surprise, so he had not put up much of a fight.

“And your cases?” His gaze turned to Dick. The question was amiable, his tone completely neutral, and of course he was always interested in discussing cases, but it was searching. He was looking for clues as to what it was Dick was keeping from conversation. “Any you wish to discuss?”

---

Dick Grayson

There were some things in life that would always be constant: death, taxes, and watching Bruce Wayne eat something. 

He used to joke with Alfred that the Bruce could sustain himself by force of will alone and would possibly never be hungry. Dick watched the exact, meticulous cuts Bruce made with his fork. There wasn't a single thing about the man that wasn't calculated and executed with perfection. 

The mood stayed tense in the cave as the two men ate their breakfast. Each sound of clinging silverware or scraping plates echoed around them. While he was relieved to hear that the case was closed, he also knew it was child's play for Bruce. After solving death traps designed by the Riddler and facing down Gods, a serial killer with a grudge against a coffee shop was nothing. Bruce probably could have solved that one with just a pencil and paper if he had to. 

Dick swept his hair out of his face with a free hand and looked back at Bruce. They'd known each other for a long time now. Far too long for him not to be able to read when Bruce knows something is up. It wasn't like Dick wanted to hide the truth from him. Far from it really, it was just about trying to find the right way to tell Bruce that he was resigning as Batman and moving on with his life as Nightwing again. Which, of course, meant out of Wayne Manor and potentially out of Gotham entirely. They'd come to an agreement once Bruce returned from the past that he'd stay on as part of the Batman Inc. initiative but that had run it's course and, truth be told, Dick was beginning to be reminded of why he left home in the first place. The longer you stay, the more under Bruce's thumb you become. It wasn't Bruce's fault: it was just the way the man was wired. The problem was the two fought and fought violently in the past when their tempers flared.

"Me? Tying up some loose ends but Damian will likely want to run some things by you. Or... he better run some things by you."

Damian Wayne was an arrogant, self-centered child with a superiority complex and Dick loved the hell out of the little guy. Over the past year the  The problem was, of course, that Dick isn't his father: Bruce is. He couldn't help but feel that by being there and by being so close to Damian that he was standing in Bruce's way of being a good parent. Dick shook his head. It kept feeling like the longer this went on the more reasons he found to leave and, honestly, the more he'd start to resent everyone. 

Alfred shot him a look that said "if you don't say anything now it'll only be worse when you do." He hated it when Alfred was right. Dick put his fork down on the plate and looked across the table at the man who'd been a father figure, a big brother, a mentor, and a teacher to him. 

"So... yeah. I think it's time for me to go, Bruce."

There it was. The genie is out of the bottle. Alfred gave him a reassuring but also smug look. 


Bruce Wayne

The topic of Damian had the corners of Bruce’s mouth turning down for the briefest of moments. Somehow, his eleven-year-old son had jumped near the top of Bruce’s most complicated relationships since the moment he’d met the boy. Not only had the boy been raised as an assassin, and taught beliefs antithetical to many of Bruce’s, but Bruce had “died” very shortly after meeting him. Thus, he had been absent for what was probably the most formative time of Damian’s life so far. Perhaps it had been for the best, though, a part of him thought in the back of his mind, taking note of the contrast between the young boy he’d first met who had attempted to kill Tim without a second thought and the one now who held the Robin mantle with pride and edges still sharp, but softened just the slightest. Dick had really done a remarkable job with Damian and Bruce, honestly, doubted he would’ve been capable of the same. Still, Bruce often found himself floundering when it came to his youngest son.

Damian and case work were not what Dick had been holding back, evidently. Instead, the admission was made in his next statement: his intention to leave. Bruce wasn’t dense enough to think that Dick meant simply for the day, or just the manor in general. There was a weight to his words that betrayed their meaning. Dick was referring to both the manor and Batman, probably even Gotham. Truthfully, Bruce had known it was only a matter of time since he returned from his work abroad that this would happen. That didn’t stop a complicated swirl of feelings from flitting through Bruce. A selfish part of him admitted some disappointment. Having another Batman around had certainly lightened the load on Bruce’s shoulders and he certainly didn’t dislike having Dick around in the manor, even if he occasionally found himself tip-toeing in a deliberate, conscious effort to not repeat the same behaviors that had made the environment so unbearable for Dick in the past, though he suspected he was only partly successful. Dick was also a good buffer between Bruce and Damian, which was cowardly, but as mentioned, Bruce was floundering.

Mostly, Bruce found himself feeling pride, an emotion Bruce most commonly associated with Dick. He knew Dick had never wanted to don the cowl in the first place, but he had stepped up like he always did and had even been gracious enough to agree to continue to wear the cowl while Bruce focused on setting up Batman Incorporated. It was yet another item added to the long list of things Bruce owed Dick for and honestly, he wasn’t sure he could ever repay him at this point.

All of these thoughts were had in the same amount of time it took Bruce to take a bite of waffle, chew it, and swallow it. He cleared his throat, blaming the sugar. “Where will you go?” Bludhaven was, of course, the first possibility that came to Bruce’s mind, but he knew that Jason had taken up a sort of residence in the rebuilt city during Dick’s absence. That, like most things involving Jason, made things complicated. New York was another option; Dick having made a home there for a while as well. Or, perhaps, Dick had his eyes set somewhere entirely new. It was also completely possible that the young man himself actually had no idea. Dick was not as tactless as some seemed to think, but he was more prone to flying by the seat of his pants than Bruce.

Then, with a somewhat knowing look, he asked: “Does Damian know?” Because he suspected his son would not be a fan of this sudden change.

---

Dick Grayson

The problem with working with the world's greatest detective and, arguably, one of the smartest men in the world is that one second of silence could mean any number of things. Bruce Wayne could process any number of clues picked up from body language, dissect any words that were spoken in search for hidden meaning, or have devised the next point and counterpoint of the conversation. It was remarkable how his mind worked. He had trained Dick how to do that as well but it was hard to learn and he'd made a lot of bad judgement calls in the past. Only Tim seemed to be as good as Bruce but there was only one true Batman out there. He couldn't do it, Jean-Paul Valley couldn't do it, and no one else who had slipped the cowl could come close. When Bruce did speak, his questions were direct and didn't leave room for misinterpretation. You'd rarely ever get a "yes" or "no" question from him. 

So when he asked where he'd go once leaving the Manor... Dick wasn't too sure. There was no sense hiding that from Bruce. He could probably tell from the way he held his fork or how long a sip of coffee he'd take. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. He considered New York and San Francisco. He thought about going back to Bludhaven now that she seemed to be alive and well again. Heck, he even considered heading to Central City and just hanging out with Wally for awhile. Nothing seemed like the "right" place though. Maybe there wasn't a "right" place? He'd have to figure it out on his own. 

"Honestly? I've not really gotten that far. You and the others have Gotham pretty locked down. Then there is Jason in Bludhaven which is... a thing. I figure I'd swing by Babs' and chat with her. Maybe she could point me in the right direction or, hey, maybe I'll go back to my circus roots and not really base myself out of anywhere. Didn't Ollie and Hal do something like that back in the day? Could be fun to see the world outside of Gotham for a while." 

The second question that Bruce asked wasn't as difficult to answer even though he didn't like it. The truth of the matter was that Damian had grown to be a pretty important part of his life these last few months. He never imagined being Batman and having a Robin and, even if he had, he always assumed it would be Tim. Damian was a handful but, for a while, he was HIS handful. He'd never thought about being a father but when everyone thought Bruce had died he'd stepped into that role right along with being Batman. Dick sighed and swept his hair back. 

"No. Not yet. I figured it was only fair I talk to you first.He's a good kid, Bruce. He's changed a lot since... well... before Darkseid. Hell, he and Tim only bicker instead of trying to kill each other now. I just think he's at that point where he doesn't need his big brother as much as he needs his dad, you know?"

He could just imagine how that would go. Damian would call him a turncoat and a traitor. He'd tell him that he was never truly worthy of wearing his father's emblem and that he only agreed to work with him as a matter of duty until he decided he'd take the cowl for himself. Yet Dick would still see the hurt in the kid's eyes. It was like a breaking up with a girl after you crossed that line from casual relationship to serious girlfriend and those conversations always ended with something be thrown at his head. In Damian's case he hoped it would at least not be sharp... though he also knew better. 

Bruce Wayne

“I wouldn’t model yourself after Oliver and Hal” he said, but his dry tone combined with the small uplift to his brow gave away the fact that he was, mostly, joking. It wasn’t necessarily what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Dick not to go far, to stay within arm’s reach. That, however, would certainly start an argument. Dick did not want to be controlled and Bruce could not admit how terrible he was at letting go. It had gotten easier over the years, trusting that Dick could handle himself and accepting the fact that he could not and sometimes should not attempt to solve every problem in the young man’s life. He would still always have that worry, though. It was just another problem of his he needed to stop thrusting upon those in his life.

He also wanted to ask Dick about Barbara, but that topic was gone as soon as it had been brought up. Besides, that was another thing Dick had never seemed to enjoy: Bruce poking his nose into his relationships.

He exhaled through his nose, stirring ripples into his coffee as he brought the mug to his lips. He was trying and it was frustrating how difficult that was at times.

All of this was, of course, set aside as they discussed Damian. Dick was right, he had to be, because what boy didn’t need his father? Bruce still ached for his and it went against his every instinct and ethic to deprive his own son of that relationship. Still, his brow furrowed and he found himself uncomfortable. “I…” He hesitated, gazing past Dick as he searched for the right words. “You’ve done a good job with him.” It was what he settled on, eyes returning to Dick’s. It was roundabout, but it was his way of admitting what had him so on edge: he did not know if he could measure up to Dick for Damian. He feared, truly, that he would be a cause of regression for the boy. How could he, someone who struggled with his own emotions and the need to guard them from everyone, convince his child not to do the same? He was attempting to improve upon himself, it was true, but he also knew it was a long process and there were certain ways of his that were beyond changing.

He was just… tired of failing his children.

---

Dick Grayson

"Well thankfully I didn't model myself after Hal and Ollie when it came to looking after a kid. That being said, you'll do a great job."

Dick cracked a smile and he saw Alfred out of the corner of his eye do the same. Making fun of Ollie and Hal was always a quick way to dissolve any tension in the room and he was happy to see Bruce took the lead on that one. He was always so hard to read though. After all the years they spent together, Dick could read his movements like a book. If they were going to burst through a skylight together to get the jump on a room full of guards, he could tell by a nod which direction Bruce would face when they landed. These quiet moments together though? Bruce was next to impossible to interpret. Dick could see that something was on Bruce's mind but when wasn't? The man was probably already miles away on his next case.

"So yeah, I figure I'll tie up some loose ends and be on my way. You know how to get in touch with me... and you know I'll be here before you know it." 

Bruce Wayne was one of the most capable men that ever walked the Earth. He faced Gods, monsters, and alien overlords with the same grit and determination that he did chasing after purse snatchers and drug dealers. He still had Alfred, Tim, the Birds, and Damian to rely on in addition to every past and present member of the Justice League. He didn't need him anymore just like Damian didn't. Batman and Robin were a team and Nightwing? He'd just get in the way. 


Bruce Wayne

Bruce gave a hum as Dick continued the jest against Oliver and Hal. Yes, Dick did certainly have better parental figures to model himself after. Alfred was, of course, the first that came to Bruce’s mind, but he’d be remiss to not think of John and Mary Grayson. He’d never known them, but had certainly heard enough to know they were good people in every aspect. Bruce sometimes would wonder what Dick’s life would’ve been like had his parents never died. Easier, no doubt. Of course, Bruce never once regretted taking Dick in, but it was difficult not to blame himself and his influence for many of the hardships Dick has faced.

Bruce halted the train of thought and stowed it away where it was usually kept. He only brought it out during dark times and this conversation, this moment, was not that. He needed to not let his shadows eclipse this interaction, as they do so many others.

He gave a short nod at Dick’s words because he did of course know how to contact him. He doubted Dick was looking for such a fresh start that he needed a new phone number, after all. Either way, he recognized Dick’s words as a segue into the end of the conversation. Bruce took his final bite of waffle, then wiped at his mouth with his napkin before setting that aside.

“Make sure to visit when you can” he said finally, and it took conscious effort to make that sound more like a request than a demand. “And I would advise telling Damian sooner rather than later.” He stood and with another nod, went to walk away and let Dick have whatever more time he wished to spend in the cave to himself. He stopped, however, as he was passing the young man. There was something left unsaid and, perhaps, Bruce had spent too long believing it could remain that way.

He placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I’m proud of you.” Bruce, ever observant, took note of the approving look Alfred shot his way.

---

Dick Grayson