First Day Blues || Dick Grayson · Y/n story by @BlueBel

The morning light spilled through the tall windows of Wayne Manor, catching dust motes in slow, golden spirals. Somewhere downstairs, the familiar sounds of Alfred's kitchen drifted up—the clink of plates, the murmur of an old radio tuned to classical music.

Dick Grayson

quietly, mostly to himself Five years. That's not that long. That's nothing.

A soft knock came from behind him. Dick didn't turn right away. He knew that knock, and he also knew that the person standing there wouldn't leave until he acknowledged it. He let out a breath and finally looked over his shoulder.

Bruce Wayne

voice low, even Alfred said you were up before the sun.

Dick Grayson

There's a lot to do. Got to make sure everything's perfect. You know. First day.

Bruce Wayne

leans against the opposite doorframe, arms crossed Her backpack's been packed for three days. You've re-folded her clothes at least twice. I saw you test her lunchbox seal with actual water pressure.

Dick Grayson

defensive, but soft It had a crack.

Bruce Wayne

It did not have a crack.

Dick Grayson

It could have had a crack.

Bruce Wayne

a pause, then quieter, almost gentle She's got you, Dick. She'll be fine.

Dick Grayson

The way you say that makes it sound simple.

Bruce didn't answer. He reached out and, with an uncharacteristic gentleness, rested a hand on Dick's shoulder—just for a moment. Then he turned and walked back toward the hall.

Dick Grayson

Morning, bug. Happy first day of kindergarten.