Honesty
The night provided ample gruesome images and disturbing sights to last the Dark Knight a week of night terrors. The bloodied bodies with sickening delerious smiles plastered on their faces made even him queasy, and the dead-eyed smile of the man who committed the crime could never be erased from memory.
The emotional scars from his run-ins with the Joker would never leave, and he knew from experience that night terrors never stop, not that he was about to tell his ten year old son that, who he knew had terrors on occasion. Now he found himself thinking of the little acrobat as he sat up in bed, muscles sore from being tense during his latest night terror, combined with the bruises he recieved yesterday.
He was grateful now of the fever that had kept his son benched the night before, and he was even told by Alfred late in the night when he came back that it had already broken. He didn't dare think of what horrible images would have become embedded in his boy's impressionable mind if he had been allowed out.
He began to think of the kind of light in the boy's eyes that had been snuffed out of his own eyes so many years ago, in front of a movie theater. Even Dick's own parent's murder hadn't been able to take that light away, but somehow he thought the smiling corpses from the night before could at least come close to snuffing it out.
What kind of a person am I to risk taking that light away from him? What kind of a father am I?
He shivered as he ran through the mental debate that he'd been through a million times. Taking the boy on patrol was infinatly risky, not only to the child's physical wellbeing, but his emotional health.
The things I would do to Joker if he ever, ever layed so much as a hand on that boy.
Bruce's hands curled up into fists and he gritted his teeth as he was lost in his own hyperactive imagination. Images of a bloody and beaten Joker only made him feel more anger.
His sadistic thoughts were interrupted as he heard a creeking noise that he recognised as the door opening slowly. He craned his neck to attempt to see his visitor, and was rewarded when part of a shy, pointed face could be seen peeking through the crack in the door.
When he knew he had already been spotted, Dick slowly came through the door, cracking it open only wide enough to squeeze through and pulling it shut behind him.
"What's wrong Dick?" Bruce was concerned at his son's unusual behavior.
Bright baby blue eyes peered up at the much taller Billionaire. They watered slightly, and Dick had pulled his bottom lip in-between his teeth. His words came out a breathy whisper.
"I had a bad dream."
Unable to find words, Bruce simply held his arm out in a gesture for Dick to come closer. When the boy complied, he wrapped his arms around the small frame and pulled him onto the bed. After a moment of adjusting the sheets and pillows, Bruce was resting his torso against the ornate headboard and the boy was pulled into his lap.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Bruce was sure he remembered his own parents asking the same question, but only vaugely. The words came more as instinct, and he wondered if it was the universal response parents came up with when their child came to them with nightmares. He was unsure, he was still slightly new at this whole parenting thing. He shoved his wonderings aside, instead fixing attention to the trembling little boy in his arms.
"I don't want to lose anyone else, Bruce! I just want everything to stay like it is now. I don't want to go back. Please, please don't make me," the watery-blue eyes were once again turned up to Bruce's face, and Dick's next plea came out a pitiful whisper, "Please."
"I... I'm sorry, chum, but I don't understand what you mean. But I promise that your not going anywhere."
"Neither are you, right?" Despite the fact that Bruce was slightly taken back by the question, he answered.
"Of course not," he paused before quietly adding,"Why would you think that?"
"Because, what Batman does is dangerous," The boy whispered back. Bruce suddenly realised that the boy was not afraid he was going to leave, but that he would die.
What kind of a ten year old has the irrational fear that his guardian is going to die?
The kind whose parent goes out in a giant bat-suit every night and punches crime in the face. Bruce's answer came in Batman's voice. But think about it Bruce, is it that irrational?
No I guess it's not, but i'm not about to tell him that.
He faced his attention back to the shivering ten year old, who was now looking up at him with a desperate need to be reassured of safety.
"Dick, I'm going to make you a promise, right now," he paused to make sure the boy understood his seriousness,"I will do everything in my power to make sure I stay in this world for a long, long time, just for you."
He was rewarded with a slow, timid smile from the ten year old.
"Thanks, Bruce." Dick leaned his head further into the chest of the Billionaire, and he relaxed visibly. Bruce was slightly surprised how much his words calmed the child.
"Isn't he worried Batman could fail?" Bruce whispered to himself. He was starting to doubt himself, after the close call with the Joker the night before.
"Batman can do anything he wants to," he heard the sleepy whisper, after a short pause he heard,"Batman is the coolest person in the whole world... other than Bruce Wayne."
"You think Bruce Wayne is cooler than Batman?"
"Ya, because Bruce Wayne is my Dad."
Warmth spread through Bruce's chest at the honest mumblings of a ten year old, who believed his dad was the coolest person in the world. Maybe he could ignore the Superman pajamas the boy was currently wearing. And the Superman nightlight. And the Superman cereal he always insisted on buying.
But none of that mattered, because Dick Grayson didn't say Superman was the coolest person in the world. He didn't say Clark Kent was the coolest person in the world. He said Bruce Wayne was the coolest person in the world.
At the statement Bruce Wayne himself could not find words to express his happiness, so he pulled the little acrobat closer to his chest instead.