There was a weight on Bruce's chest when he opened his eyes next. What…? he wondered groggily. …Ohh, kiddo, he sighed a moment later when he realized what it was. At some point during their sleep Dick had crawled on top of him and sprawled out as if he was trying to keep him from going anywhere. I wasn't planning on leaving you, chum, he pouted. I hope you weren't trying to get me to comfort you after a bad dream without waking me up. You don't need nightmares, you live enough of them with your eyes open. He squeezed him for a long minute, then rolled onto his side and deposited the boy on the mattress. When he knew he hadn't woken him with the movement, he slipped away into the bathroom, glancing back as he went.

As he performed his standard morning rituals, his brain hummed with the child in the next room, swinging from pure joy at the thought of spending an entire day together to dank guilt as he continued to blame himself for the run-in with the Joker. I should have hit him harder, he cursed. Then he would have stayed down longer, and this wouldn't have happened. If I had had the spine to tell Schulte on Friday that I had to go home, he wouldn't have had to guard his speech for two days and try to wrestle with this on his own. Well, with only Clark's help, he amended. Which isn't the same. Damn it, I know I can't be there for him every second of every day, but…I should have been there for that. He stared at the floor of the tub for a long moment, contemplating what he considered to be a massive failure on his part regardless of what Alfred or even Dick argued to the contrary. His posture forced shampoo to succumb to gravity, and it ran into his eye along the way. The burning it caused, however, was not the true source of the tears that mingled with the shower's flow.

Finishing his ablutions, he returned to the bed. Ugh, those bruises… he winced. It took only a moment of rifling through the backpack the boy had brought from Gotham to find a yellow substance that he recognized as one of J'onn's topical creams. Good, he mixed you up the strong version. I don't know how we're going to be able to send you to school this week, though…facial marks take so long to vanish, and it's just the kind of thing CPS would love. There's not even a good explanation we can give as to how you got almost perfectly symmetrical bruises while you were home sick, he fretted as he swiped the medicine across his cheeks, blowing on it first so that the cold didn't startle him from his slumber. We sure as hell can't tell them the truth. They'd want to know how you got away, who took the Joker down, why you didn't wait around for the police, and a million other things that we can't tell them.

Finished, he spun the lid back on the container and set it aside. …Caffeine, he decided, knowing that if he didn't get some soon he would be putting himself at risk of falling back down next to his boy and sleeping the entire day away. And I don't want to do that. Getting up late is one thing, but I want to actually spend time with him. Making his way into the living area, he quickly placed an order for both coffee and more hot chocolate. I'll let him sleep until it gets here, he thought as he returned to his side. …Or not, came immediately afterwards as he noticed sleepy but bright eyes watching him approach.

"Hi," Dick mumbled with a smile. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did," he answered as he stretched out alongside him and brushed a few stray locks off of his forehead. "Did you?" That's the much more important question.

"Uh-huh," he nodded slightly.

"No bad dreams?" he verified.

"Just one."

Goddamn it. You weren't supposed to have any… "What was it about?"

"It was weird," he wrinkled his nose. "It was almost the same dream I had about the plane-"

"Wait, you had a dream about it before you came here?" he interrupted, brow creasing. "…Is this related to what you said when you first got here? About not letting me get on the plane?"

"Yeah. It's why I came here, actually. I…I had a dream that you were flying home this morning, and then your plane crashed and…" He met his guardian's gaze, biting his lower lip as it trembled. And you died. And I was alone again. And I just couldn't, Bruce…

Oh, Dicky. He pulled him in closer and squeezed. "I'm right here," he murmured. "You're not alone, chum. It's okay."

"I know," he sniffled. "But I had to stop you. I mean, even if Uncle Clark follows the plane the whole way back to Gotham and nothing goes wrong with it, what if it had crashed?"

"Hey, it's all right," he reassured him. "You did just fine, chum. Clark will take care of any problem that comes up with it, so you don't have to worry about that. And you're right here with me, which means we're both safe. Okay?"

"…Yeah," he dried his eyes. "So…anyway, this time it was almost the same dream, right? Except that for some reason the Joker was flying the plane. And…well…it ended like the first one, there was just a lot more creepy stuff said over the intercom before he flew into the ocean. On purpose," he added.

"…You know, I've never even thought about what we'd do if he managed to get into the cockpit of a passenger jet," Bruce realized with a trace of horror. Of all the contingency plans I've made, how did I miss that one? I'm not sure how he'd even begin to manage getting on board an aircraft, he's much too recognizable, but still. Prior planning prevents poor performance, hypothetically. "I've thought about other people pulling off a skyjacking, but not him."

"He'd be the most difficult because he's so unpredictable," Dick opined. "If he didn't have a parachute, though, I'll bet he wouldn't just crash the plane. Everything in his file suggests that the only real risk he takes with his life is goading Batman."

"…You're right," he smirked proudly. "We'll have to work on that plan." There was a knock at the door. "…But not right now. I ordered you some more hot chocolate," he answered the boy's cautious look at the unexpected interruption.

"Yay!" his slight frown turned instantly into a beaming grin. "I'll go hide." With that, he rolled over, flipped off the high bed, and walked soundlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.

Now I know you're feeling better. There was almost a bounce there, the billionaire observed happily as he headed for the entrance. "Good morning," he greeted the server. "Don't they ever let you go home?" he asked jokingly, noting that it was the same young man who had served him every other time he'd ordered room service.

"Only on Tuesdays," the uniformed Belgian replied. His tone was good-natured, although he looked a little surprised that this previously distant-seeming guest was jesting with him.

Once he was gone, Bruce stood staring at the closed door for a moment. I just joked with a hotel server, he sighed. Dick, the things you make me do without even knowing it…

"…Do you want me to pour it, or…?"

"I hope you were careful, coming out of the bathroom before you knew he was gone," he raised an eyebrow.

"I heard the door close," he shrugged. "If you turn off the light in the bathroom the fan goes off, too, so I could hear you talking." He grinned. "You told a joke to a complete stranger."

"I did not," he rebutted. "…Well, okay. Maybe a little one."

"Does that mean you're in a good mood today?"

Bruce watched him carefully wipe a small drip of chocolate off of one of the silver urns that had been left. After he stuck his finger in his mouth to lick the liquid off, he gazed up at his guardian expectantly. Stay almost ten forever, he begged suddenly. Please. "…We have the whole day to spend together, just us," he answered finally. "That's enough to put even Batman in a pretty fine frame of mind."

"Good," the boy grinned back. "So what should we do today?"

"Well, I think first we should order breakfast, don't you?"

"…But that poor guy was just here!"

"Yeah, I feel a little bad about that. I guess I should have waited to order our drinks," he said as he poured out a cup for each of them. "But I really needed coffee."

"Mmph…" Dick made a noise of agreement from behind the mug plastered to his face. "This is the best hot chocolate I've ever had that wasn't Alfred's…"

"You've got a chocolate mustache," Bruce chuckled.

"Do I?" He stuck his tongue out and cleaned it off. "…Did I get it all?"

He opened his mouth to tell him that he still had a spot right in the middle. No, something stopped him. It's adorable. Leave it. "…Yup. You did."

"Really?" he looked suspicious. "You paused."

"If you don't believe me, go look in the mirror," he countered. Don't go look in the mirror. Just leave it.

"No, I believe you," he ruled after another second.

"Good. Let's see what's for breakfast, huh?"

"…More cinnamon rolls?"

He laughed. "Sure. But Alfred will kill me if I feed you nothing but sugar, so let's order something at least remotely healthy, too."

As they pored over the room service menu, Dick's appetite sparked, and they ended up ordering a veritable feast. "There's no way anyone will believe I'm eating this all by myself," Bruce pointed out after he'd hung up the phone. "We need a story in case anyone asks."

"Well that's easy," the child rolled his eyes as he leapt onto the couch. "You had a girl up for the night. Just say she stayed for breakfast before she left. Everyone will believe that."

The billionaire boggled. "…Ah, yes, they will, but I'm a little disturbed that you're so…aware of that fact."

"Why? I can read, and you're out with a different girl every month according to the papers. Besides, people say things," he shrugged unconcernedly.

"Does it bother you?"

"No. Why would it?"

"…You do know what's implied in 'spending the night,' right?" Did we have the sex talk? We can't have had, I'd remember that. He's had plenty of anatomy lessons, but we've never really discussed how things…fit together.

"Well, duh. I'm not five, Bruce. Although I already kinda knew about sex then, too, I think." Seeing the man's slightly disapproving look, he sighed. "It's hard to hide much in a sixteen-foot trailer, you know. It's not like my parents stopped sleeping together after I was born."

"…Good point," he allowed, coming over to sit down beside him. He draped his arm across the carved wood that crowned the back of the settee, then let it drop to encircle the boy's shoulders when he scooted in against his side. "…Tell me things, kiddo," he requested as he tilted his head back against the wall.

"What things do you want to hear?" Moments like this, when Bruce was relaxed and zeroed in on him, were his favorite. There was a quiet synergy between them at such times, an openness that left neither of them surprised that they could all but read each other's minds in more stressful situations. He snuggled closer with a happy little exhalation, and for a moment the pair looked remarkably like a nestling sitting contently beneath a protective parental wing.

"I don't know. Anything."

"Hmm…I think I finally know what I want to do for my birthday," he disclosed.

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" He was in a state of mixed emotions about the coming Thursday. Part of him was looking forward to it, since his son's ninth birthday had been overshadowed partially by the fact of his parents' recent deaths and partially by his newness to the manor. This year, Bruce had sworn, would be a much more cheerful occasion. On the other hand, he was keenly aware that he had been present for barely a tenth of the boy's life, and here he was already passing into the double digits. I wish I could have seen more of it, he lamented. I wish I had been able to watch you grow up, before. It's all going too fast…I want to make it stop. I want more time.

"Well…I already invited Leslie, so I hope that's okay, but…could we just have some people over for, like, a big lunch and some cake? Like Barry, and Wally, and Leslie, and Uncle Clark?"

"…Aren't there any other kids you want to invite?" he frowned slightly.

"Not really."

"…Dick, school isn't as bad as it was before, was it?" he asked, a note of dread in his voice.

"Huh? Oh, no way! It's much better, Bruce, honest. I just haven't been there very long, that's all. But no one teases me like Ricky did. People mostly just leave me alone unless they're assigned to work with me or they want help with homework or something."

…Yeah, that sounds familiar, he recalled his own school days. "I used to have a name for that, you know," he said distantly.

"…Did you call it 'dead parents syndrome,' too? Because that's what I call it in my head."

"Well, mine was 'rich dead parents syndrome,' but…yeah, that's what I called it." They didn't speak for a minute. "So those are all the people you want to invite, huh?"

"I'd say Lucius, but…that's probably not a very good idea, since everyone else is either masked or knows about masks. You…you aren't going to be mean to Uncle Clark at my birthday, are you?" he queried.

"No," the billionaire replied quickly. "I'm…I can't find anything to blame him for, Dicky. I know he did his best, and that there were circumstances that he couldn't have foreseen. The fact that you and he obviously got pretty close this weekend is a little upsetting, I'll admit, but…"

"But 'uncle' isn't 'daddy,'" Dick stated quietly.

Exactly. "…Yeah, chum," he managed past a sudden tightness in his throat.

"So who helped you figure all that out?"

"Who says anyone helped?" he answered, a little perturbed at the assumption that he couldn't sort his own emotions without assistance.

"I do, because I know how you are."

"…You're good, kid. I have to give you that," he squeezed him briefly. "It was Alfred."

"I should have known that," he shook his head.

"I'll let it slide this time," Bruce winked down at him. "But seriously, there are no other kids you want to invite?"

"I don't really need any other kids around but Wally," came back matter-of-factly.

"You don't want anything more than a lunch? I mean, I'll bring in ponies and everything if you want. No clowns, though."

"Uck," he shuddered. "No. No clowns. Ever. And I don't need ponies and stuff. I just want to see some people that I like and have some good food."

A thought occurred to him. "…Is that how your birthdays used to be, chum? Food and friends?" he asked gently.

"I…yeah." He ducked his head. "And an elephant ride, but I don't expect you to get an elephant. It…it wouldn't be the right elephant, anyway."

"Well, if that's what you want, kiddo, that's fine with me," he promised, his face slightly pinched with shared pain.

"Thanks." Another pensive moment passed before Dick exclaimed "Oh! We should invite J'onn and Diana, too. I almost forgot. They were both super nice – haha, 'super' nice, get it? - when I was at the mountain on Friday getting rehydrated. I mean, they're always nice to me, but…"

"Anyone you want to come, kiddo. Just say the word." 'Super nice.' Punny child, he chuckled to himself."Out of pure curiosity, though, is there a particular reason you're cutting out two members of the JLA from the celebration?" It was more a passing observation than anything, but he couldn't keep from wondering at the boy's reasoning. There might not even be any. Aquaman and Green Arrow have been around him far less than the others, he may not even have thought to invite them.

"Well, Aquaman's never around anyway," he pointed out. "And Green Arrow…I don't know. I kind of get the feeling that he's avoiding me on purpose."

Strange, his lips curved downwards slightly. "Well, those are both good reasons," he said. Why would he be avoiding you? Everyone adores you. They'd better adore you, at least.

"…I'm not being mean by not inviting them, am I?"

"Dick, it's your birthday. Who cares what they want?"

"Well, I don't want them to be mad about it."

"They won't be."

"…Okay. Besides, we've already got lots of people, so…yeah. I wonder what I should ask Alfred to make for lunch?"

"Anything you want to eat, chum," he encouraged.

"…Think I could get away with asking for two cakes, since now there will be two digits in my age?" the boy asked slyly.

"It's worth a try. Wish I'd thought to try that when I turned ten." Considering what I had to tell him last night, you could probably get him to make you three cakes if you passed one off as a reward for creative battle tactics. Reminded, he switched topics. "I told him the basics on the phone last night," he revealed, "but I thought you might like to explain exactly how you got away."

"Do you think he's going to be mad? I mean, that was pretty gross. Effective, but…gross."

"It saved your life, Dick. Neither he nor I will ever be mad at you for coming home alive. I can swear that to you with no qualms whatsoever." And you'd better always come home alive, he added to himself.

Their food came shortly thereafter, and they spoke little as they ate. Once the platters were picked over, Dick lounged against his guardian and flicked on the TV, settling finally on American cartoons dubbed over in French. Turning on the subtitles, he mouthed the words along with the characters, frowning from time to time when something he didn't recognize appeared. "…What?" he asked, catching the odd look Bruce was giving him. "My teacher said stuff like this will help develop my ear. If it's boring for you, we can find something else," he offered the remote.

The billionaire took it, but only to mute the show. "…Why are you taking French?" he inquired.

"…I wanted to learn it," he answered, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Why do you ask?"

"You already speak more languages than most adults in the US; I'm surprised that you decided to work on adding another one to the list."

"It's good, though, isn't it? I mean, this way I can talk to more people, and eavesdrop better in other countries, like if we ever have to go overseas for a mission. I thought you'd be happy I'm learning a language that a lot of people speak." His posture slumped disappointedly.

"Don't get me wrong, it is good." Ah, shit, now he looks upset. "And I'm glad you're finding ways to work Robin training into your regular life. I just thought maybe there was another reason, that's all."

"…Oh. Well…there is another reason," he said slowly. "It's…mom spoke it. Really well, actually. She loved it, everything about it. She…she used to sing to me in French when I was sick, and…learning it seemed like a way to be closer to her, you know? And I know you speak it, too…" he trailed off.

"…Dick," he whispered, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't," he countered. "It isn't, because…I only speak French because of my mother. She forced me to study it, at first, but…" But then Alfred said afterwards that if I kept learning it might help me stay connected to her memory. So I did, and…and now you're doing the same thing, almost. Jesus… "She loved it, too."

"…Did she sing to you, too?"

"Yeah, chum. She did."

"That's so cool, Bruce," he smiled sadly up at him. "It's one more thing we have in common."

"It is," he agreed. "…And kiddo?"

"Hmm?"

"We can practice any time you want, okay?"

His eyes widened joyfully. "Really?!"

"You bet."

"…Does Alfred speak French?" he inquired.

The billionaire laughed. "Only when absolutely necessary, he always says."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense," he joined in. "Bruce? Do-" A cell phone rang, cutting him off. "…Uh-oh," he breathed, leaping off of the couch.

"What?"

"…I forgot to give Uncle Clark his phone back," he called back as he sprinted for where Bruce had piled all of his dried clothes before taking a shower. Crap, it's an unknown number. Umm… "Hello?" he ventured.

"I think you may have forgotten to give me my phone back, pal," the Kryptonian's amused voice reached his ear.

"I'm so sorry, I just realized when you called. I almost didn't answer because it said it didn't know the number, and I was afraid it was somebody looking for you," he apologized in a rush.

"It's all right, don't worry about it. I've been a little busy, in any case. Before you say anything, are the phones downstairs secured lines?"

"…Uncle Clark, that's a really silly question."

"I thought it was, but I wanted to make sure. The plane is safe."

"So my dream was totally wrong?" he asked.

"Weeeell…no. Not totally. They, ah…they did have engine trouble. Twice. But I maintained altitude for them until they got them restarted."

"Oh, good," he sighed, relieved. "…The plane's okay," he told Bruce, who had followed him into the room and was leaning against the doorway, listening. "Thanks a ton, Uncle Clark."

"No problem. Hey, ah…any idea how much trouble I'm in? I understand if you can't say anything."

"Here. Ask him yourself." He shoved the phone at the billionaire. "He wants to know if you're going to kill him or not."

"…Clark."

"…Hi, Bruce."

He let him stew until Dick sent him a look. "The combined efforts of Alfred and a certain soon-to-be-ten-year-old have convinced me that you weren't to blame for the events of the past few days," he said finally. "…The kryptonite stays in its hiding place."

"Are you ever going to let me near him again?"

"You sound more concerned about that than you did about whether or not I was planning to make an attempt on your life," he noted. Seeing his son's increasingly concerned expression, he tipped him a wink to let him know he was just leading the other man on.

"…Would you be angry at me if I told you I almost am?"

"No. I'd invite you to his birthday party next Saturday."

"…Really? Because to be honest, Bruce, I can't tell if you're being serious or sarcastic right now." His words indicated uncertainty, but the happy smile he was wearing came out in his tone.

"I don't have time to play games with you right now, Clark. I've got someone else here I'd much rather be talking to. So, it's up to you. Either be at the house next Saturday at eleven, or don't be. If you aren't, we'll be rediscussing the kryptonite." He smirked through the entire monologue, letting it carry through to his voice. "Also, be here at four thirty tomorrow morning to pick up your would-be nephew." He tossed the phone back to a pleasantly surprised-looking Dick. "Well, come on, hurry up and say goodbye. We have cartoons to watch."

"…Hello?"

"I don't know what you did, pal," he heard an almost-teary voice say, "but thank you."

"…Sure, Uncle Clark," he beamed. "Any time."

Author's Note: There should be just two chapters left now. Happy reading!