The silence inside the Wayne limousine was irritating, but it came from both sides. Dick had his hand still on his black eye and Bruce was deliberately trying to keep his hands from anywhere but his son's black eye. The only one who did not bother at all was Alfred who sat in the front and drove the long way to the Wayne Manor. Jason sat to Bruce's right and he just stared out of the window as if nothing had happened.
“Dick,” Bruce said quietly. “Don't you want to tell me what happened at your day at kindergarten?” “No.”
Bruce sighed and turned towards his other son. “And you, Jason?”
“And how was your day, Alfred?” Bruce asked, then.
“Perfect, Master Bruce. But I have to concentrate on the road until we reach Master Tim's daycare, Sir..”
Bruce heard how a small button was pressed and he had to sigh again when the small window, that separated him from the usual driver of his car, moved up and left him alone with his two boys. Alfred didn't take the rules concerning personal space to serious when he dealt with the boys, but this action probably meant that it was a father-son thing to do.
“Dick,” Bruce said, after a pause. “What happened with your eye?”
“I fell on the playground,” was all Dick could say. "It hurt."
“That's not what Miss Bertinell told me. You might want to reconsider your answer.”
“Dick!” Bruce said, now with a rather annoyed and less patient undertone. “I've asked something.”
Dick pressed his lips together and stared on the ground. As if he could remove the attention his black eye and the swollen lip Bruce noticed a moment thereafter, Dick lowered his hand and laid both of them in his lap. Now, it was Jason's turn to sigh and he did it rather thoroughly before he said: “He knows nearly everything, Dick. Tell him what Roy said.”
“Shut up, Jason.”
“No, you shut up!”
“Why should I if...if I tell him?”
“You both shut up!” Bruce touched Dick slowly at the shoulder and turned his son's face to his; he tried one of the reassuring smiles Diana was always capable of when she dealt with the boys or her girls and nodded encouragingly. “Why did you hit Roy Harper, Dick?”
“He...he said...” The little boy totally lost his voice and a small tear appeared under his right, swollen eye, but when he tried to turn away, Bruce grabbed him and held him tight, laying his head on his shoulder. He could feel how Jason laid his head against his brother's knee. He cried a little, too, but his sobs weren't as loud as Dick's.
“What happened at your day in kindergarten, Dick?”
At some distant point from the Wayne limousine, Oliver Queen sat at the wheel of his car and drove slowly along the road. His two sons, the adopted Roy and Connor, sat in the back. Connor looked rather fine and joyful out of the window and Roy did so as well, but his view was sullen and still full of anger. He had folded his arms and hadn't moved them since they entered the car. If it weren't for the short t-shirt he wore on this summer day, Oliver probably wouldn't have seen the bruises and marks the fight had left today.
When they reached a traffic light, Oliver tried and gave it a shot.
“Tell me, Roy...how was your day at kindergarten?”
They had to drive for the next traffic light until Oliver considered trying a second move, but instead he said: “And how was your day, Connor?”