Chapter Text
13.08.20XX
Talking to people was hard. Eye contact was obnoxious, the tone of Bruces voice would stay „dead and flat“ no matter how hard he tried and all social norms were practically made just to spite him.
One might assume talking over the phone was easier, considering that one of those issues would already be solved, but then that too would be dead wrong. Somehow talking over the phone was even worse than having someone stare right into your soul because that way you at least had double the chance trying to get your point across in a socially acceptable way. Over the phone, all that was left was the auditory basis. One that Bruce sucked at just as much since people usually just assumed he was rude and broody by default (which might actually not be too far from the truth but still) and there was no way to convince them otherwise without worsening the situation.
So this time he came prepared.
He was Batman, of course he ´d be able to handle something as simple as a call. Still, he smoothed out the list he had begged Alfred to make and checked if the phone number he typed in was truly, definitely, doubtlessly correct (because one call to a random phone number and he might just have to end himself).
Dory had offered to just do it for him at some point (because apparently this was one of those problems you could just throw money at) but this was his kid. He was the one that had decided to take in the young acrobat, and he'll make that child proud even if that meant selling his dignity.
Dick Grayson was an attentive young man and very quick to pick up on the young adults problems, whether he liked that or not. But that was just another reason why Bruce did not want to mess this up. His first birthday in the manor was going to be about him, not about Batman and his struggles nor about the survivors guilt living in that tiny head. And a birthday party needed a cake. After he ´d made the revelation that he had never had one, it was the most obvious thing to do. And in order to get that cake, all he had to do was press call…
... Right after he checked his premade script again, yes, obviously it was never a bad thing to be prepared. Why else would he have spent hours writing and crossing words if he wasn ´t going to use it, right?
„You can do this Bruce… It´s just a phone cal,“ he told himself internally after taking yet another breath in order to finally gather enough strength within his right thumb to press that damned button.
„You ´ve reached Bludhavens bakery corner, how can I help you?“
„Blüdhaven.“
And there goes the script…
„Excuse me?“
„It´s pronounced Blüdhaven,“ he cleared his throat in an attempt to recompose himself. Dick had always disliked when he pronounced it wrong.
„Okay… Is there any way I can help you?“ The familiar voice on the other line asked, and if he were to seriously believe in his sleep deprived ears, he might just imagine he was talking to Selina. Any way to calm himself for this call will do.
„I need a cake.“ Yeah, no Shit Sherlock is probably something she would have countered, a snarky remark paired with a sharp smile...
„Yeah, no Shit Sherlock,“ huh... guess that made it a whole lot easier, „but what kinda cake? Is it for your wife, your husband or…?“
„No. No, he ´s my…“ As weird as it may sound to others, Alfred had adviced him not to lie too much. But how does one explain their situation without sounding weird? He could very well accept some did not even know what to do with the word „Ward“, nor did it seem safe in case he did end up getting something wrong. Perhaps Dick would not even like the cake and suddenly Bruce was a bad… ward-care-taker? Oh, this was entirely too confusing.
Just say it how it is, Bruce. No need to complicate it.
„He ´s my Di-“ NOPE, that did not work either. Absolutely not.
„Is he like your son or…?“
„I am his caretaker, yes.“
Fast typing revved up in the background, „That´s nice. What´s the occasion for the little guy?“
He had not expected this conversation to last this long. Or at least he had hoped it wouldn ´t.
„Um… It´s his first birthday- First birthday he spends with me.“
One could almost hear the ladys content smile from over the phone, „That´s cute. What´s his name?“
Well. Shit.
„Dick.“
The typing came to a dramatic halt.
„Excuse me?“
„His name. It´s Dick. Well, it´s Richard on paper but he prefers Dick.“
„Thank god, almost thought you were drunk while naming him,“ the clicking resumed, „How old is the guy gonna be?“
„Nine years old.“
„Uh-huh, okay and can you think of any theme for the cake?“
Well… Shit.
He knew Dick liked sports. Loved Flying especially. But with the news of his parents death still so fresh… Alfred had specifically said that gifts of that kind would not be considered proper. „Let the child mourn.“ Although neither of them had seen said child do that for more than a splitsecond.
„Umm…“ Perhaps calling the earliest he could to get this over with had not been the best idea.
One could not tell whether it had only been second or minutes before the Lady finally snapped, „Well, what does he like? Does he like Cars, horses, TV Shows, Dinosaurs…?“
„I… I ´m not sure.“
„Fuck- Fairies, Ballets, dolls, Pain and suffering?“
„I… don ´t know.“
„Okay… Guess we ´ll save that for later… Does he have any allergies?“
„I don ´t know.“ Bruce wished he did.
„Quite a special kid you got yourself then, huh?“
„Yes, he has ADHD but I do not see how this matters for the cake design.“
A rather frustrated sigh on the other end of the line, „Damn, okay, when ´s the kids birthday anyway?“
„November 11th.“
There was some rustling in the background which turned out to be the lady double checking the current date, „Sir, you do know that we currently have August?“
„Yes, but we will have September soon.“ At least that was a question he could answer.
Sadly, this did not seem to satisfy the young woman either. Bruce had already started frantically texting his Butler in order to calm himself („Alfred, I thought you said to call in advance Alfred. Alfred. Answer me Alfred. Please. ALFRED.“)
She took a deep breath to steady herself, „Listen…“, Bruce already felt like he was being scolded, „the fact that you aren ´t getting this cake last minute gives me some hope that you aren ´t a total utter fucking asshole who hates his children. I ´m guessing you ain ´t the biological dad?“
There. That word in that context... „Dad“. Bruce audibly choked. „No, he is my ward. I took him in.“
„Uh-huh, real honorable.“ It sounded a little too sarcastic for the man to stay calm about it, „You new to this whole thing? I sure hope you are.“
He gulped, „One could definitely say so.“ The Batman in him was shouting not to share too many close information. That he ´d already said too much. But at the same time, he absolutely sucked at baking and Alfred wanted to help celebrate the day with the birthday boy himself and not stay hidden away in a kitchen. Dick, not being used to having a butler around him, did not see Alfred as such anyway.
And he had promised to get over Batman to prioritize his ward. Just for that one day... It was the very least he could do.
„Well, let me give you one hell of advice. My dad was an utter asshole. Don ´t make the same mistake, alright? Talk to him, find out what he likes, take him to the doctor for his allergies and call back tomorrow. Just… I don’t know, get to know him! You take a girl out to dinner first too, don’t you? Sound good?“
With another gulp, he nodded. His tongue felt useless and heavy as he bit on his gum, until finally realizing the other was unable to see him. „Yes, I will.“
And, without a goodbye and a tip way too high as he was later told, Bruce hung up.