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None of Bruce’s other kids had been into stuffed animals. Damian had come to him too jaded for such a thing, though he had sneaked a kitten into the house that eventually became Alfred (the cat). Duke had a couple stuffed animals when he moved in, but he never seemed to want any more.
It should not have surprised Bruce, though, when he came downstairs one morning and Dickie was staring intently at one of his old teddy bears.
“Where did he get that?” Bruce asks.
“I’m assuming the attic, Master Bruce,” Alfred says. He’s looking at Bruce in a way that clearly says I know the stuffed animal is yours but don’t you dare take it away from that child.
“Oh,” Bruce says. It makes sense that Dickie would find it — the boy has found most of the manor’s hidden spaces (except for the Cave, thankfully). Bruce hasn’t seen the toy in years, hidden away like most of the reminders of his too-short childhood. He had loved that bear.
He crouches down next to Dickie. “Hey chum,” he says. “Nice bear. Does he have a name?”
The bear does, in fact, have a name — Bruce had called it Teddy, which he now realizes was not the most creative choice.
Dickie studies the bear intently. “Zitka,” he declares.
When Bruce comes home with a stuffed rabbit, Dickie abandons Duke and the blocks they were playing with immediately. He clutches the plush almost reverently. “Zitka!” he declares.
“Zitka Jr.?” Bruce asks. He was under the impression that the bear formerly named Teddy was now Zitka.
Dickie scowls, hugging the rabbit to his chest. “No!” He stomps his foot. “No Jr.! Zitka!”
“Yeah dad,” Duke says, rolling his eyes. He and Dickie had been building a block replica of the manor. For being made by a twelve year old and a six year old, it looked pretty good. “Zitka. Obviously.”
Dickie plops back to the floor, rabbit-Zitka held firmly in his grip, and leans into Duke’s side.
“Zitka,” he whispers into the rabbit’s fur.
By the third Zitka, Bruce is thoroughly confused. The name has no significance he can find and does not translate to anything.
By the fourth, fifth, and sixth, Bruce accepts it as one of the boy’s many idiosyncrasies.
Eventually, Dickie has a menagerie of Zitkas. Some might claim that Bruce spoils him, but Bruce can’t help himself. The kid was kidnapped, experimented on, and forced to be an assassin for two years. Bruce figures he deserves as many stuffed animals as he wants.
He’s leaving the airport when he sees the perfect addition to Dickie’s collection. The elephant plush has soft, velvety fur and big floppy ears.
He seeks out Dickie as soon as he gets home. His youngest gets antsy when anyone is away for too long. Duke had sent him a text yesterday with a picture of Dickie sitting in the hallway staring at Bruce’s door, methodically setting up a line of Zitkas on the ground.
When he knocks on Dickie’s door, the boy comes out and immediately jumps for Bruce to pick him up. Bruce does so with one arm, keeping the other hand with the elephant behind his back.
Dickie buries his head in Bruce’s chest.
“Miss you,” Dickie mumbles. “Scared.”
“You were scared?” Bruce asks, concerned. “Why?”
“Far away,” Dickie says. “Can’t protect.”
Bruce is not sure whether Dickie is upset that he can’t protect Bruce or that Bruce can’t protect him. He’s not sure which he’d prefer.
“I’m sorry you were scared,” Bruce says. “But I can protect myself. And your brothers and Alfred will make sure nothing happens to you.”
Dickie just pouts.
“Here,” Bruce says. He pulls the stuffed elephant out from behind him and presents it to Dickie. “I brought you a present.”
The boy’s golden eyes go wide and round. He snatches the elephant from Bruce’s hands and holds it to his chest.
“Zitka!” he says. Then, to Bruce’s horror, he starts sobbing.
Bruce puts Dickie down and sinks to his knees in front of his littlest boy. “I’m sorry,” he says, unsure whether or not to reach out. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. You don’t need to keep the elephant if you don’t want it.”
Dickie’s eyes go wide. He shakes his head fiercely and scrambles away from Bruce. Before the man can do anything, Dickie climbs up the nearest shelf one-handed, the elephant dangling in his grip.
“Don’t take!” He sobs. “Zitka good.”
Shit.
“I’m not going to take Zitka away,” Bruce promises, neck craning to keep the boy in view. “Please come back down.”
Dickie cradles the elephant to his chest, glaring down at Bruce. “You said.”
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “You’re right, Zitka’s good. I won’t take it away.”
Dickie stares at him from the shelf. Slowly, he inches back towards the ground.
He stares at Bruce distrustfully, the elephant clutched in his hands. When Bruce doesn’t move towards him to take the toy away, Dickie loosens his grip and cradles the stuffed animal in the crook of his arm like a baby doll.
“Zitka Zitka Zitka,” he chants. “Good elephant.”
Dickie looks up at him again, brows knitted together. The boy rushes forward, hugs Bruce’s leg, and darts off with the elephant still in his grip.
"Huh," Bruce says. Maybe he should buy an elephant. Is that something he can do?
He resolves to look into it later.