Batman pulled off his cowl as he walked through the Batcave. It had been one of those rare, remarkable nights where his city was quiet and he was tired. He sank into the chair in front of the computers, rubbing his shoulder which was stiff from a hard punch he'd landed. There seemed to be at least three hundred things he needed to research but before he started his fingers drifted over the cameras around the manor. He didn't see Alfred anywhere, so Bruce assumed that he was sleeping. That was unusual, but he certainly deserved a night of unbroken rest. As he flipped through them movement in the gym caught his eye.
It was Dick. He was pounding on one of the punching bags. Bruce frowned. When he told Dick that Robin wouldn't be accompanying Batman on patrol tonight Dick hadn't seemed particularly upset. But the boy was up at three thirty in the morning hitting that punching bag like he'd die it he stopped. Bruce noticed blood on his hands as well as the punching bag. His knuckles were split.
He stood up and started taking off his gauntlets.
By the time he'd finished putting his suit away and headed up to the gym it was almost four and Dick was still hitting the damn bag, despite his hands which were now both spraying blood everywhere.
"Dick," he said quietly.
The boy spun around but Bruce anticipated that and caught his wrist easily before Dick's bloody fist could collide with his face. "Whoa," he said. "You all right?"
"Sorry," he said, looking down and pulling his hand out of Bruce's grip. "You startled me."
"What've you done?" Bruce asked him, tightening his fingers around the boy's wrist and pulling it down so he could see it better. He grabbed the other one too and held it up so he could see it better.
"Nothing," Dick muttered trying to take them back.
"Let me see," Bruce said patiently. He turned them over and ran his fingers over the bones in the back of Dick's hand. He was not Alfred but he'd broken his hands enough times to know the difference between fractured and bruised. "We need to clean these up," he told the boy. "Come on."
Dick's silence was more disconcerting than his self inflicted injuries as he followed Bruce back to the Batcave and sat down on in the infirmary. Bruce took his hands and washed the blood off them gently. He knew it hurt but Dick didn't flinch, he didn't move at all. Once they were clean he bandaged them and asked, a little gruffly, "do you want anything for the pain?"
He shook his head. Bruce nodded. "What's going on Dick?" he asked. "Is this about me benching you for patrol tonight?"
"No," he said, shrugging it off. "It's nothing. I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep." Bruce cocked his head and raised an eyebrow curiously.
"Dick," he said in his no nonsense tone that usually got him whatever he wanted. "I need to know."
"It's nothing," he muttered. "I just keep thinking about that simulation thing we did in Meghan's mind. Every time I try to go to sleep I see it. I can't," he stopped talking, he looked down at his hands and set his teeth. Bruce put his hand over Dick's. He had grown so much but Bruce could still cover his both his hands with one of his own. Dick started talking again, speaking to his hand, not his face. "You died," he said. "At first I guess I knew that wasn't real, but then we went to the Hall of Justice saw the statues all broken. You were dead. I needed to talk to you and you dead. I was scared. I killed all my friends, I died and you weren't even there Bruce."
"I'm sorry," he said very softly, putting his hand on Dick shoulder. "We should never have put you through that. We wouldn't have, if we had known what would happen."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked miserably. "I shouldn't have been put in a situation where I'd have to kill my best friends? But I'm going to someday, aren't I?"
"I won't let that happen," Bruce said. He rarely regretted training Dick to be Robin, he knew it was the right thing to do, but sometimes it didn't feel like the right thing at all. "And you," he was about to say "did the right thing" when he realized that Dick knew that, but he didn't feel like it either. "You won't have to face that alone Dick."
"You can't promise that," he said bitterly.
Dick was passed age when Bruce could just lie to him, make a promise, teach him a new break fall and send him to bed. Suddenly it seemed remarkable that the boy had ever been that young. He looked so much like a kid, sitting there in front of him, cradling his bandaged hands and looking so exhausted it almost hurt Bruce.
"You're right," he agreed. "I can't. But I can promise you this. I will always do my best to come back for you, do you understand? Always." It seemed the kind of thing that needed a gesture, so he put his big hand on Dick's little shoulders. "You tired?" he asked.
"Not tired enough," he muttered.
"Come on, I've got an idea," he said with a grin. Dick smiled back, a little tentatively but it felt right.
"I don't want to spar," Dick said. "You slamming me into the mats for a few hours is pretty exhausting but I'm not sure I'm feeling it tonight."
"It's okay," Bruce said, grinning even wider. "I've got another idea."