Author's Note: This is just a little one shot that came to me while I was considering the Spanish proverb "A life lived in fear is a life half lived." For those of you following one of my other stories, I apologize for the delay in posting. The job promotion I recently received has me working longer hours, and I'm also having to move as a result of the change, so I haven't had much time for writing. Things should settle down in a few weeks, but I will try and post on 'Turkey Song' before the end of this weekend. Happy reading!

A disparaging scoff drew Dick's attention as he let his heavy leather cape drop to the floor of the cave. "...Dami?" he inquired, turning to look for his younger brother. "What's up?"

"Did you seriously keep that?" the twelve-year-old asked, crossing his arms and jerking his chin towards one of the myriad objects strapped around the man's waist.

What...oh, the black-clad figure realized what 'that' was as his fingers closed around it. Pulling the broken grappling gun free of its holster, he examined it. "Yeah. I did."

"And why exactly did you opt to cart around a useless piece of equipment after it almost...after it failed?"

Dick bit back a sad smile at the way the sentence's direction had changed midstream. You were worried, he thought softly. Not that you'd ever admit to as much – you're just like Bruce in that way, and I both love and hate that fact – but you were. "You mean after it almost got me killed?" he tossed back casually as he moved towards a bench. I'm not saying that to be cruel, he promised himself, setting the swinging apparatus down at his side and pulling up one knee. Just to make sure that everything's...out in the open, I guess. He has to know that I could die one of these nights. It's far from a pleasant thought, but...it's important. He has to be prepared, just in case, and I have to know he'll be able to handle himself if that ever does happen. I have to know he can get home safely, even if I can't.

"...I suppose, yes," the boy's cheek twitched almost invisibly.

"I kept it for a couple of reasons," the older male explained, beginning to work at the thick clasps that held his boots on. "For one thing, 'because it's broken' is no reason to leave it laying around on the street. Best case scenario, that's littering; worst case, someone nasty gets their hands on it and boom, they've suddenly got information about a pretty essential piece of our gear."

"And the other excuse is?"

"Simple. I kept it as a reminder." Knowing that his partner wouldn't push for further details when it might lead them back to his near-demise some three hours earlier, he went on without waiting to be prodded. "It's dangerous to forget that you can't control everything, Dami. No one can; not even Superman. I used to think that he could, what with the whole turning back time thing, but even he has limitations." A socked foot touched the concrete, its still-armored twin rising to take its place on the edge of the bench. "That's okay, though. It's okay because life wouldn't be very interesting if you could control everything. Not knowing what's coming...that's half the fun." And half the pain, he didn't add. But I think you already know that much, because otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation.

...The fun? Damian wondered silently, his gaze alternating between the top of Dick's bowed head and the faulty object that had nearly forced him to witness the shattering of that frighteningly fragile skull against asphalt only a short while before. The fun. You have got to be shitting me with this, Grayson. Yeah, you had a second line, and you got it out in time, but...that was not fun. As seconds ticked by without either of them speaking, he felt an emotion he had never been taught to understand creep into his belly for the second time that night. I was not scared, he lectured himself forcefully, trying to make it go away through sheer force of denial. Just because I didn't enjoy seeing the cord break, seeing him...drop...like that, doesn't mean I was afraid. I was merely...ah...measuring how long it took him to react so that I could ensure that I performed faster if I ever found myself in a similar situation. Right. Then the man's face came up, knowing eyes boring into his despite the fact that Damian had purposefully left his mask on. ...Oh, hell, he thought, and looked away.

"...Something?" a gentle word passed the seated form's lips.

"Are you going to repair it?" the boy asked gruffly.

"The gun? Yeah. The case is still fine, I think, and it's not like it takes more than five minutes to replace the line. I'll check it all over before I use it again, though, so don't worry about it," Dick smiled reassuringly.

"I'm not."

"Good." Liar.

"...Batman?"

He nearly arched an eyebrow at being referred to by that name when he was half unsuited and they were both safely home, but he wrestled the urge down, well aware that even a slight change in expression might be enough to keep the child from asking what he sensed was a burning question. "Yeah?"

"How can you trust it? The line? Or...well, any of them, really. There could be others in that batch, or from that manufacturer as a whole, that are faulty."

Ooh, that's not what you meant, Dami. "I have to," he shrugged. "What happened tonight has never happened to me before, not in almost twenty years. I kind of doubt it will come up again, you know? The odds aren't very likely." Go on, little brother. Ask what you really want to know. It'll be good for you.

"No, I don't know. There may have been a flaw in the machinery the day they made the rolls in the back. We should send them all back as being prone to breaking and request replacements or a refund."

Heaving a sigh, Dick kicked off his second boot and rose to his feet. Crossing to the standing youth, he knelt before him and stared seriously at the blank white eye slits. "You want to know why I didn't stop patrol and come home, or at least go back to the car to get a replacement second grapple, don't you?" he ventured quietly. "You want to know why I'm not afraid, after what happened earlier, to keep swinging around on lines from the same batch as the one that broke?"

"...Yes. That." Behind the mask, he kept his eyes steadily averted. I don't want you to be so fearless sometimes, Grayson. Leave the fearlessness to those of us who were born to die young. Assuming, of course, he griped angrily as his mind replayed that split second in which he had wished he had the power to shut off gravity, that we can manage to figure out how to overcome our own damnable memories.

"I can't let fear paralyze me," the man nearly whispered. "It's not how I was raised."

"Invoking Father is a lame reason, and you know it." Quit trying to pussy out of this. I'm not a child, I can handle a conversation about...emotions.

"...I was talking about before him."

There was a solemn note in Dick's voice that finally caused Damian to focus on his face again. "...What?" he muttered, the syllable coming out more annoyed than he meant it to. But...you never talk about that time. Not with me, at least. I think you do with Drake on occasion, and I know you used to with Father, but...where is this going? What does this have to do with fearlessness?

"I can't be afraid, or at least," the kneeling man corrected himself, "I have to try very, very hard to not be. My dad had a saying," he shared slowly. "Whenever I fell off of a practice bar, or one of the animals spooked me, or the crowd roared too loud, he would repeat it. He said that...that a life lived in fear was a life half-lived. And he never actually told me this, but...I know that a half-life isn't what he and mom wanted for me. And I know it isn't what Bruce wanted for me, either, or for you, or Tim, or Jason. Because of that – because I know that they all three wanted me to live as full a life as possible – I can't let myself be afraid all the time. Cautious, sure, and that's why I'll check the new line extra carefully and why we carry the backup grapples, but not fearful, Dami. Never that."

"...So you're saying you don't fear anything?" the boy asked, skepticism mixing with mild awe in his tone. If any human currently living could truly be fearless...I think it might be you.

"No," Dick chuckled. "I never said I was a master of controlling my fears, just that I try very hard to not let them control me. Mostly I succeed, but like I said earlier, you can't control everything," he grinned sardonically. "So, no matter how hard I try, I can't keep a thumb on all of them. If you put enough effort into it, I've found that you can live a pretty darn full life despite that, but...you have to really work at it sometimes."

"...Grayson."

"Hmm?"

"...You're afraid of falling, aren't you?" Your hands, he recalled, remembering the brief rest they'd taken on a low rooftop once Batman had ripped himself free of his unplanned plummet with his second grapple. Your hands were shaking. You made a joke, of course – you always do – but you were scared. The only time I ever saw you tremble like that before was when Father was...when he died. You were afraid tonight, despite your best attempts to the contrary.

"I am, Dami. I didn't used to be, but...I've feared falling since...since just before I came into this house. You know why. But if I had sat back and let myself be afraid, I never would have been Robin," he pointed out. "I couldn't have been. So many things would be different if I had let that fear conquer me. And it was hard to overcome; that was easily one of the most difficult things I've ever done. But I got lucky; I found a technique that let me conquer it."

"And that was?"

"Having a bigger fear."

Damian's brow wrinkled. "That doesn't make sense."

"Sure it does. If I'm more afraid of something other than falling, then I don't focus on that fear, and I overcome it instead."

"...And tonight?"

"Tonight what?"

"What were you more afraid of than falling tonight?" It must have been death, he judged silently. If I assume that your true fear of falling began when your parents were killed, then it should be so deep-seated that only death could be more frightening to you.

"You being hurt by watching me hit the ground," Dick answered swiftly. I know that pain far too intimately. I don't want you to ever know it. That sound...no. That is not a sound for your ears to ever hear, if I can prevent it.

"...What?" That's a stupid fear, Grayson, he wanted to accuse, but a tiny, grateful little twist in his chest stopped him.

"I couldn't freeze in fear because I was falling," Dick explained. "I had to act, or I'd be dead and you'd be hurt. It's the same concept as my knowing that Batman should have someone watching his back and would eventually get hurt if he didn't. That drove me to overcome my – admittedly new at the time – fear of falling. I had to try and protect him then, the same as I have to try and protect you now."

"...Mm." I don't need protected. I can handle myself, a protest rose in his throat. Studying the man's mien, however, he discovered that that fact was not in question. ...But being able to handle myself doesn't mean that I would have wanted to see you die tonight, he conceded. I'm not afraid of that happening, he insisted as his guts wrenched miserably once more, but...perhaps I can work harder at being Robin. Since it seems that Robin was created with the goal of protecting Batman, working harder at it may result in my not having to see something that was...mildly unpleasant...again in the future. "I'll assist you with your study of the remaining lines tomorrow evening," he stated bluntly.

Aaw, Dami... Dick cooed wordlessly. "Sure," he agreed. "That would be great. Two sets of eyes are better than one." A sudden grin overtook his lips, and he reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "Now c'mon and change, slowpoke, we've got cookies waiting upstairs."

"...Right." As he turned away, however, he paused. "...Grayson?"

"Yeah?"

"An earth-bound Robin who's afraid of falling is an idiotic concept. It would never have worked."

"Agreed. I'm glad I found a way to work around it." A moment passed before a marveling statement came. "...It's probably the most important thing I've ever done."

Yes, well... The youth's thoughts trailed off as the tightness that had rested above his navel ever since Batman's line had snapped unwound itself. I guess maybe it was the most important thing, Dick. And...and I'm glad, too. As he moved to change, he caught a glimpse of his still fully-costumed reflection in a nearby mirror. He swallowed hard, then tore his eyes away and began to undress. ...So very, very glad.