Billionaire. Playboy. Businessman. Batman. Of all the things Bruce Wayne considered himself to be or imagined he would be, a parent had never been anywhere near his radar. At least not until he saw the Graysons fall to their death in what most people assumed was a freak accident and he saw their young son's absolute despair, heartache, and hopelessness.
He knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter. The boy needed someone who understood what it was like, someone who could prevent him from going to the same dark places Bruce found himself going to, even years after his parents' murder.
And so Bruce had fostered and later adopted the boy.
There were things he had been prepared for, and there were things he never imagined he would have had to deal with.
He vividly remembered the first time he had to attend a parent-teacher conference at Gotham Academy. Dick had brought his report card home and given it to Alfred, as Bruce had been stuck at the office. Alfred had been smiling when he handed the paper to Bruce upon his entry. The boy's grades were excellent, but…
He had sat across from Dick's teacher, a mild-mannered woman who had to have been in hear mid to late thirties. "Richard is an absolute joy to have in class," she had smiled kindly. "However, the rest of the class and I would appreciate it if he would spend more time focusing and less time talking."
Right, Bruce had tried not to laugh. Fighting Deathstroke hand-to-hand was easier than trying to get the ten-year-old to be quiet.
The first crush had been awkward for everyone involved. "She's so pretty," the then twelve-year old had said dreamily.
"Who is?" Bruce had frowned. It seemed only a few days before that the boy was still convinced girls were devil-spawns and wanted nothing to do with them. Damn hormones.
"Barbara," Dick had answered, as if the answer should have been obvious. "And nice too."
"Sounds like you have a crush."
"A what?" Dick had blinked and turned to face him.
Bruce had sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was so not qualified for this.
The first heartbreak may as well have ripped Bruce's heart out along with his adoptive son's. He had returned early from a patrol and frowned when he saw the then fifteen-year-old Dick still wide-awake and sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. "It's a school night," he crossed his arms.
"I know," Dick replied, not making eye contact with him.
Bruce made a mental note to ask what was bugging the kid later. It was late, and they both needed to get some sleep. "How was your date?" he asked, not bothering with names. First girlfriends never lasted, and he hadn't really paid too much attention to the love-struck teen.
Dick sighed and set his phone down. "She broke up with me," he said. "Turns out she was just using me to get to someone else." He was trying to hide the hurt in his voice, but Bruce had still heard it.
God, what was he supposed to do in this situation? There weren't any books on that.
He had tensed when Dick leaned into his side. Of all the personalities, why did he have to get a touchy-feely one? No, that wasn't fair. That was what made Dick Dick, and Bruce wouldn't have traded him for the world. "She didn't deserve you."
Dick just shrugged and shut his eyes. Bruce had sighed and held him until morning.
Bruce remembered the first time he thought he was going to kill Dick. It had been three in the morning. He had been on patrol, and his phone wouldn't stop going off. He had given Robin the night off so Dick could do whatever the hell it was sixteen-year-olds did those days. He had a pretty good idea, but he didn't want to think about it.
After the fifth missed call he finally picked up. "Dick, you had better be dead or dying. What's going on?"
"Hey Bruce," the boy had slurred. Great, Bruce thought. Fantastic. He's drunker than drunk. "Drank too much at a party. Didn't want to wake Alfred up. Can you pick me up?"
"Where are you?" he had growled, waited for a response, and ended the call. He headed home, changed his clothes and car, and drove to Dick's friend's house. Half of his class, if not more, had to be there.
"Oh shit!" one of the teens had shouted. "Dick's guardian's here!"
He heard several more shouts as he made his way through the trashed living room toward his son, who was nearly passed out in an armchair. "I'm going to give you all until the count of ten to get out before I call the police. Got it?"
He hadn't even had to start counting before the room had cleared out.
He had dragged the half-asleep Dick to the car, promising to lecture him in the morning. Drunk him wouldn't remember it, and yelling while he was hungover would definitely give more impact.
Still, the boy had done the right thing by calling, and he had to respect that.
But that didn't mean his ass wouldn't be grounded for the rest of his life.
Bruce had only gotten a handful of calls that had terrified him. The year Dick had turned seventeen, he had gotten one of them. He had been stuck late at the office, and had agreed to let Dick drive himself and Jason to a movie. The older boy had gotten his license a few months prior, and had only driven on his own a handful of times. He'd never had to.
He groaned when he saw Dick's name pop up on his caller ID. "Dick, you'd better not be driving." He frowned when he heard what sounded like frantic breathing coming through the receiver.
"I'm not," Dick assured, his voice shaking slightly. What the hell happened? Bruce had thought, trying to remain calm. "I, um, I kind of wrecked the car."
"You what?!" Bruce had wanted to shout, but he knew shouting wasn't going to do any good. "What happened?" he asked, his voice deadly calm. "Are you okay? Is Jason okay? Is the other driver okay?"
"I'm fine," Dick assured. "Jason's fine. Shaken up, but fine. Other driver was drunk, swerved into us. Car's totaled."
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to make damn sure the other driver went down hard. "Where are you?"
"Near the mall," Dick answered.
"Don't move," Bruce sighed. "I'm on my way."
He had gotten there in record time, had insisted the boys get looked over by professionals despite both claiming that they had been fine, and though he wanted to never let either of them drive again, he knew that wasn't a viable response, not when both were so damn stubborn.
Still, he'd worry every time.
Because in the few short years he'd had Dick, he had learned one thing for sure: he'd never stop worrying about him. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't a bad thing.