Wayne Manor, Main Library - 11:47 AM
The late morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Wayne Manor's main library, casting warm rectangles of light across the Persian rugs and leather-bound volumes that had watched over the Wayne family for generations. Dick Grayson sat cross-legged on the floor near the fireplace, a half-finished jigsaw puzzle spread before him, a thousand-piece reproduction of a Cirque du Soleil poster that Alfred had thoughtfully selected. His small fingers worked methodically at connecting pieces, occasionally pausing to rub his eyes or stretch muscles that were still recovering from the previous night's ordeal.
Bruce Wayne occupied his father's old reading chair nearby, though the newspaper in his hands remained largely ignored. Every few minutes, his gaze would drift from the business section to Dick, cataloging the subtle signs of healing he could observe in the boy's posture and movements. The rigid tension that had defined Dick's shoulders for the past week was finally beginning to ease, replaced by something approaching the natural grace Bruce remembered from their first meeting at the circus.
"You know," Dick said without looking up from his puzzle, "I'm actually glad school's out for the summer. I need some time to figure out what normal looks like now."
Bruce raised an eyebrow, setting the paper aside entirely. "After everything that's happened, a few months to adjust sounds wise."
"Normal sounds appealing," Dick corrected, fitting a piece of azure sky into place with satisfaction. "Don't get me wrong, the whole 'fighting international assassins' thing was... intense. But I think I need some regular kid stuff for a while. You know, worrying about whether I've read enough books this summer instead of whether someone's trying to kill my new family."
The casual way Dick said 'family' sent a warmth through Bruce's chest that he was still getting used to. A week ago, this boy had been a stranger. Now the thought of Dick leaving Wayne Manor felt impossible to contemplate.
"You seem more relaxed today," Bruce observed carefully. They'd learned to approach Dick's healing process gently, acknowledging progress without forcing discussion of the trauma itself.
"Yeah, well, turns out fighting your demons literally makes everything else seem manageable," Dick replied with a slight grin. "Plus, knowing you're just down the hall helps. And knowing that Deathstroke is locked up in GCPD's temporary holding facility definitely doesn't hurt."
Bruce felt his jaw tighten slightly at the mention of Slade Wilson. The morning news had confirmed that all seven assassins were being held in secure facilities pending trial, but Bruce knew better than most how tenuous such arrangements could be. Still, Dick didn't need to carry that particular burden.
"Ms. Chen should be here soon," Bruce said, checking his watch. "Are you ready for the final evaluation?"
Dick's hands stilled on the puzzle pieces, and Bruce saw some of the old anxiety flicker across his features. Despite their growing bond and Dick's obvious comfort at the manor, the formal adoption process still felt precarious to a boy who'd lost everything once already.
"What if she thinks last night was too much?" Dick asked quietly. "I mean, being at a charity gala less than 24 hours after... everything that happened. What if she thinks you're pushing me too fast?"
"Then we explain that you specifically asked to attend," Bruce replied smoothly. "That maintaining some normalcy and showing the city that the Wayne Foundation continues its work was important to both of us. Which is exactly the truth."
It was true. Dick had insisted on attending the gala, partly to maintain their cover but mostly because he'd wanted to prove to himself that he could function in public again. The evening had gone well until the very end, when the exhaustion of the week had finally caught up with him.
"And if she asks about the training?"
"You mean the gymnastics equipment Alfred had installed to help you maintain your acrobatic skills while you process your grief?" Bruce's tone was carefully neutral. "The equipment that any competent guardian would provide to help a circus performer maintain connection to his parents' legacy?"
Dick nodded, his confidence returning as they reviewed the carefully constructed truth that would satisfy official scrutiny without revealing anything that mattered. "Sometimes I think you missed your calling as a spy novelist. You're really good at this whole 'hide in plain sight' thing."
"Years of practice," Bruce said dryly. "Though I prefer to think of it as strategic storytelling rather than deception."
"Is that what you call it when you pretend to be a vapid playboy at board meetings?"
"That's called professional necessity," Bruce corrected with mock seriousness. "Though I'll admit the vapid part is easier than it should be."
Their easy banter was interrupted by the soft chime of the front doorbell echoing through the manor's halls. Dick's shoulders tensed again, but Bruce placed a reassuring hand on the boy's back.
"Remember," Bruce said quietly, "she's not here to take you away. She's here to make sure you're happy and safe. And you are both of those things, aren't you?"
Dick considered this seriously, his gaze moving around the sunlit library with its comfortable furniture and sense of permanence. "Yeah," he said finally, surprise evident in his voice. "I really am."
Alfred appeared in the doorway with perfect timing, his expression carrying the particular satisfaction he reserved for moments when propriety aligned with genuine pleasure. "Master Bruce, Master Dick, Ms. Chen has arrived for your appointment. I've taken the liberty of preparing tea in the morning room."
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, standing and offering Dick his hand. "Ready?"
Dick took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet, brushing puzzle pieces from his jeans. He was wearing civilian clothes today—a simple button-down shirt and dark slacks that Alfred had selected to strike the right balance between respectful and comfortable. The events of the previous night felt like a distant memory, safely contained in a world separate from this domestic morning.
They made their way through the manor's familiar corridors, past portraits of Wayne ancestors and windows that offered glimpses of the extensive grounds. Dick moved with more confidence now, no longer the uncertain houseguest he'd been a week ago. This was becoming his home in ways that went beyond mere legal arrangement.
Sarah Chen was waiting in the morning room, her professional attire and clipboard unchanged from their previous meetings. But her expression was notably warmer than it had been during their initial encounter at Children's Services. The past week had clearly shifted her assessment of Bruce's suitability as a guardian.
"Richard," she greeted with genuine warmth, "you're looking much better than when I last saw you at the gala last night."
Dick managed a smile that was mostly genuine. "Thank you, Ms. Chen. It's been... a really good week, actually."
"I'm glad to hear that," she replied, settling into the chair Alfred had prepared for her. The butler had arranged everything with his usual impeccable attention to detail—fine china, proper linens, and a selection of biscuits that somehow managed to suggest both hospitality and stability.
Bruce took his seat across from Ms. Chen, automatically falling into the carefully calibrated persona he'd perfected over years of managing his public image. Concerned guardian, financially stable, emotionally available—all technically true, while omitting the nocturnal activities that would complicate any social worker's assessment.
"I have to say, Mr. Wayne," Ms. Chen began, consulting her notes, "the transformation in Richard since our last meeting has been remarkable. At the gala last night, despite everything that's happened this week, he seemed genuinely settled."
"We've been taking things one day at a time," Bruce said honestly. "Richard's shown remarkable resilience, and we've focused on creating stability and routine while he processes everything that's happened."
"And how are you sleeping, Richard?" Ms. Chen asked, turning to Dick directly.
Dick's response was carefully prepared but delivered with natural hesitation. "Better than the first few days. Some nights are harder than others, but Bruce..." He glanced at his guardian with what appeared to be genuine affection. "He's really good at helping me feel safe when things get difficult."
"Can you tell me about that?" Ms. Chen prompted gently.
"Well, sometimes when I can't sleep, we go down to the gym he had Alfred set up for me. He's been teaching me some basic self-defense moves—nothing aggressive, just things that make me feel like I could protect myself if something happened." Dick's explanation was perfectly crafted, describing their actual training while making it sound like therapeutic exercise.
Ms. Chen nodded approvingly. "Physical activity is an excellent way to process trauma and rebuild confidence. And you're maintaining your acrobatic skills as well?"
"Oh yeah," Dick's enthusiasm became more genuine. "Bruce had Alfred set up parallel bars and mats and everything. I can still do most of my old routines, which feels... important, you know? Like I'm still connected to my parents' memory."
Bruce watched Ms. Chen's expression soften at Dick's words. The social worker was clearly moved by what appeared to be a textbook example of healthy grief processing and guardian support.
"Mr. Wayne," Ms. Chen continued, "I understand you've been personally involved in Richard's daily care rather than delegating everything to household staff?"
"Alfred handles the practical aspects he's always managed," Bruce replied honestly. "But Richard and I spend significant time together each day. We have breakfast together, I help with any activities he's interested in, and we often talk in the evenings about how he's adjusting."
"And work hasn't interfered with this availability?"
Bruce smiled, the expression carrying just enough self-deprecation to be disarming. "I've discovered that being responsible for someone else's wellbeing has given me new perspective on work-life balance. Wayne Enterprises is important, but Richard is more important."
It was true, Bruce realized as he said it. The past week had fundamentally shifted his priorities in ways he was still processing. Batman's mission remained crucial, but it was no longer the only thing that mattered to him.
"Richard," Ms. Chen said, turning back to the boy, "how do you feel about the possibility of this becoming a permanent arrangement? Are you comfortable with the idea of Mr. Wayne becoming your permanent legal guardian?"
Dick's answer came without hesitation, but Bruce could see his throat work as the boy swallowed back emotion. When he spoke, his voice was thick with feelings he was still learning to name.
"More than comfortable," Dick said, his words carrying the weight of someone much older than his ten years. "Bruce and Alfred... they're not just taking care of me. They've become..." He paused, his eyes growing bright with unshed tears. "They've become my family. Real family."
He looked directly at Bruce, and the trust and love in his gaze made Bruce's chest tighten with overwhelming protectiveness and affection. "I know my mom and dad can't be replaced, and I don't want them to be. I'll always love them, and I'll always miss them. But Bruce has shown me that losing them doesn't mean I have to be alone forever."
Dick's voice cracked slightly, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand before continuing. "He's helped me remember all the good things about my parents while also... while also helping me build something new. Alfred makes me feel like I have a grandfather who cares about me, and Bruce..." Another pause, this one longer. "Bruce makes me feel like I have a dad again. Not a replacement dad, but... but someone who wants to be there for me the way parents are supposed to be."
The raw honesty in Dick's words hit Bruce like a physical blow. To hear this brave, wounded boy articulate what Bruce had been feeling but hadn't dared to name—that they had become father and son in every way that mattered—sent emotion surging through him that he had to work to contain.
Ms. Chen made several notes, her expression suggesting deep satisfaction with what she was observing. "Mr. Wayne, you should know that this represents one of the most successful emergency placements I've supervised in my career. The bond you've formed with Richard, the stability you've provided, the way you've supported his healing process... it's exactly what we hope to achieve in these situations."
Bruce felt something tight in his chest finally release. "Thank you. That means more than you know."
"Now," Ms. Chen continued, "there are still some formalities to complete for the permanent guardianship, but I'm prepared to recommend approval without reservation. The court date is scheduled for next Tuesday morning. It's largely a procedural hearing at this point, but you'll both need to appear before Judge Morrison to make the arrangement permanent."
Dick looked up at Bruce with barely contained excitement. "Really? Next Tuesday?"
"Really," Bruce confirmed, his own voice rougher with emotion than he'd intended. "Next Tuesday, you become part of this family permanently." He paused, looking directly into Dick's eyes. "You become my ward, legally and officially. But more than that... you become my son, in every way that truly matters."
"Speaking of formalities," Ms. Chen added, "there's one other matter we should discuss. Richard's schooling for the fall semester. I understand you've been in contact with Gotham Academy?"
"We've submitted the application," Bruce confirmed. "Though we're also considering some of the excellent public schools in the area. The decision will ultimately be Richard's, and we have all summer to figure it out."
Dick shifted slightly, clearly having given this considerable thought. "I think I want to try Gotham Academy," he said carefully. "Not because it's fancy or anything, but because they have a really good gymnastics program. And smaller classes might be better while I'm still... adjusting."
Ms. Chen nodded approvingly. "Continuity in your physical activities is important, and a supportive academic environment can make a significant difference. Have you visited the campus?"
"We went a few days ago," Dick replied. "The gymnastics coach, Ms. Rodriguez, was really nice. She said I could join the team even though I don't have formal competitive experience. Apparently circus training translates pretty well."
Bruce remembered that visit, watching Dick light up as he demonstrated some basic routines for the coach. It had been the first time since his parents' death that Dick had performed purely for joy rather than necessity or training.
"Excellent," Ms. Chen said, making final notes on her clipboard. "I think we've covered everything I needed to assess. Richard, would you mind if I spoke with Mr. Wayne privately for just a moment?"
Dick glanced at Bruce, who nodded reassuringly. "Why don't you go see if Alfred needs help with lunch preparation? I'll be along shortly."
After Dick left, Ms. Chen's expression became more serious, though not concerned. "Mr. Wayne, I want to be completely honest with you about something."
Bruce felt his defensive instincts activate, though he kept his expression neutral. "Of course."
"When this placement was first proposed, I had significant reservations. Your public reputation, while not necessarily negative, suggested someone more interested in social obligations than genuine responsibility. I worried that taking in a traumatized child might be more about public relations than authentic care."
Bruce nodded, unsurprised by her initial assessment. "Those concerns were entirely reasonable."
"But watching you with Richard these past weeks, seeing how you've prioritized his needs, how naturally you've adapted to being responsible for someone else's wellbeing..." She paused, searching for the right words. "It's clear that whatever motivated your initial offer, what's developed between you is entirely genuine."
"Richard has brought out parts of myself I'd forgotten existed," Bruce admitted, the honesty surprising him with its completeness. "I think we've healed each other in ways neither of us expected."
Ms. Chen smiled, the expression transforming her professional demeanor into something warmer. "That's exactly what successful placement looks like. You've given him stability and support when he needed it most, and he's given you purpose and connection. It's a beautiful thing to witness."
She gathered her papers, preparing to leave. "The formal recommendation will be filed with the court this afternoon. Barring any unforeseen complications, next Tuesday's hearing will be a formality."
"Thank you," Bruce said, rising to see her out. "For everything. For giving us this chance."
"Thank you for proving my initial concerns wrong," she replied with a smile. "Richard is lucky to have found you. But I think you're equally lucky to have found him."
After Ms. Chen departed, Bruce found Dick in the kitchen helping Alfred arrange sandwiches on a serving tray. The boy looked up eagerly as Bruce entered.
"Well?" Dick asked, trying to maintain casual demeanor while obviously anxious for news.
"She's recommending approval," Bruce said simply, then broke into a genuine smile as Dick's face lit up with relief and joy. "Next Tuesday, it becomes official."
Dick set down the sandwich he'd been holding and moved to Bruce without hesitation, wrapping his arms around his guardian in a fierce hug. Bruce returned the embrace, marveling at how natural it felt to hold this boy who'd become so important to him in such a short time.
"I was scared she might change her mind," Dick admitted quietly. "That she'd decide I was too much trouble, or that you were just being nice out of obligation."
"Never," Bruce said firmly. "You're family, Dick. That's not changing."
Alfred watched from across the kitchen, his expression carrying the particular satisfaction he reserved for moments when the Wayne family grew stronger. "Perhaps this calls for a proper celebration lunch," he suggested. "I believe there may be chocolate cake involved."
"Chocolate cake for lunch?" Dick asked, pulling back from Bruce with obvious delight.
"Special occasions call for flexible rules," Bruce replied solemnly. "And becoming permanent family definitely qualifies as special."
They moved to the informal dining room, where Alfred had prepared a feast that somehow managed to be both celebratory and comfortable. As they settled around the table, Bruce found himself observing the scene with quiet amazement. A week ago, he'd been a solitary man whose only family was his butler. Now he was sitting down to lunch with his son—because that's what Dick was becoming, he realized, regardless of legal definitions—planning a future that included summer activities and school preparation alongside their more unconventional evening responsibilities.
"So," Dick said around a bite of sandwich, "what happens now? I mean, after Tuesday when it's all official?"
"Now we figure out how to be a family," Bruce replied honestly. "We keep working on your training when you want to continue as Robin. We enjoy the summer and get you settled into a routine. We learn how to balance normal life with... our other responsibilities."
"And Alfred teaches me how to make proper tea," Dick added with a grin toward the butler.
"Master Dick has already demonstrated admirable potential in that regard," Alfred replied with dignity. "Though his technique with formal place settings requires considerable refinement."
"Hey, I know which fork goes on the left," Dick protested with mock indignation.
"Knowing and implementing are distinctly different skills," Alfred observed dryly, earning laughter from both Bruce and Dick.
As they finished lunch, Bruce felt a contentment he hadn't experienced in years. The past week had been traumatic and dangerous, but it had also fundamentally changed his life for the better. He had a family again. A son who challenged him, inspired him, and reminded him daily that being Batman was only part of who he could be.
"You know what we should do?" Dick said suddenly, his expression brightening with an idea. "We should watch TV. Like normal people do after lunch on Saturday."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Watch TV?"
"Yeah, you know, that rectangular thing in the living room that shows moving pictures? Most families use them for entertainment and staying informed about current events."
"I'm familiar with the concept," Bruce said dryly. "I just haven't watched television for entertainment in... longer than I care to admit."
"Well, today seems like a good day to start," Dick declared, already heading toward the living room. "Alfred, are you joining us for this momentous occasion?"
"I wouldn't miss Master Bruce's reintroduction to recreational television viewing," Alfred replied with that particular tone that suggested he found the entire situation highly amusing.
They settled in the living room, Dick claiming the center of the large sofa while Bruce and Alfred took seats on either side. Dick grabbed the remote with obvious familiarity, a skill he'd apparently developed during his brief time at the manor.
"Let's see what's on," Dick said, flipping through channels with practiced ease. "Oh look, there's a cooking show. Alfred, want to judge this guy's technique?"
Alfred glanced at the screen where a celebrity chef was demonstrating knife skills with considerable theatrical flair. "His brunoise could use improvement," he observed with professional interest.
"His what now?" Dick asked.
"Brunoise. A specific cutting technique for creating uniform dice," Alfred explained patiently. "Proper knife work is fundamental to quality cuisine."
"See, this is educational television," Dick said to Bruce. "You're learning about... brunoise."
Bruce found himself relaxing into the domestic normalcy of the moment in ways he'd never imagined possible. "Fascinating," he said with mock seriousness. "I can see why people find television so compelling."
Dick continued flipping channels, providing commentary on everything from soap operas to nature documentaries. His observations were sharp and often hilarious, revealing a quick wit that hadn't had many opportunities to emerge during their more serious week together.
Ooh, James Bond!" Dick said excitedly, pausing on a channel showing Goldfinger. On screen, Sean Connery was adjusting his cufflinks with characteristic suave confidence. "Can we watch this? I love these movies."
Alfred's reaction was immediate and unmistakable, a barely suppressed sound of disgust that made both Bruce and Dick turn to look at him. The butler's usually composed expression had shifted to one of profound irritation.
"Absolute rubbish," Alfred muttered under his breath, then seemed to catch himself. "I beg your pardon, Master Dick, but I find those particular films rather... inaccurate."
Dick's eyebrows shot up with curiosity, though his expression carried more understanding than surprise. After seeing that photograph of Alfred with the Justice Society during the war, he'd suspected there was more to the butler's past than met the eye. "Inaccurate how? I mean, they're spy movies. They're supposed to be over the top."
"The portrayal of intelligence work is one thing," Alfred said with careful dignity, though his disapproval was evident. "But the way they've characterized certain... professional methodologies... leaves much to be desired."
Bruce was watching Alfred with growing amusement, recognizing the signs of his butler wrestling with personal indignation. "Alfred, you've mentioned having opinions about spy films before."
"Indeed, sir," Alfred replied stiffly. "Having had some experience in that particular field during my younger years, I find the liberties taken with operational realities rather galling."
Dick leaned forward with obvious fascination. "I know you were in intelligence work before you came to work for the Wayne family, but I didn't realize you had such strong opinions about how it's portrayed in movies."
"Intelligence operative," Alfred corrected with precision. "And yes, I find the liberties taken with operational realities rather... personal."
"Wait," Dick said, his eyes widening as he processed Alfred's tone. "Personal how? I mean, what's wrong with James Bond specifically? Besides the unrealistic gadgets and stuff?"
Alfred's expression grew even more pained. "The constant... romantic entanglements. The way they've made him appear to be some sort of... womanizer." His voice carried the particular disdain he reserved for breaches of proper conduct. "Real intelligence work requires discretion, professionalism, and above all, the ability to maintain cover without drawing unnecessary attention to oneself."
"So you're saying real spies don't seduce beautiful women and drive expensive cars?" Dick asked with a grin.
"Real intelligence operatives," Alfred said firmly, "focus on their mission objectives rather than pursuing personal gratification. The idea that one would compromise operational security for the sake of romantic conquest is... deeply unprofessional."
Bruce couldn't help but smile at Alfred's obvious frustration. "I take it you had different methods."
"Considerably more effective ones," Alfred replied with dignity. "Though I believe that's quite enough reminiscing about my previous career choices."
Dick was still staring at Alfred with obvious admiration. "You know, between you being a spy and Bruce being Batman, I'm starting to think normal families are overrated."
"Former spy," Alfred corrected with emphasis. "And I would prefer we focus on the present rather than dwelling on past professional endeavors."
"But that's amazing, Alfred," Dick insisted. "No wonder you're so good at everything. I always wondered how you knew so much about security systems and first aid and... well, everything."
"A varied background provides useful experience," Alfred acknowledged modestly, though Bruce could see he was pleased by Dick's enthusiasm despite his discomfort with the subject.
"Can you teach me some spy stuff?" Dick asked eagerly. "Like, proper infiltration techniques or how to pick locks or—"
"Master Dick," Alfred interrupted with gentle firmness, "I believe your current curriculum with Master Bruce provides quite sufficient instruction in... alternative skill sets."
Dick grinned at the diplomatic phrasing. "Right, but this is different. This is like, historical education about your career."
"Perhaps another time," Alfred said, reaching for the remote. "Shall we see what else is available? I believe the news might provide more... palatable viewing."
"Oh, wait," Dick said, stopping Alfred's channel surfing. "Is that...?"
The screen showed the steps of Gotham's federal courthouse, where reporters were gathering for what appeared to be a significant proceeding. A caption at the bottom read: "FALCONE TRIAL BEGINS - Defense struggles with damning evidence."