"…Batman?" Robin asked groggily as he felt himself being lifted from the couch.

"Yes?" Don't ask, not now, not while you're all warm and cuddly…

He shifted around in his arms. "…Are you cured?" he whispered against his throat.

Damn it. "Yes," he answered, keeping his voice as level as he could.

"…You don't sound very happy about it."

"I am, chum," he told him. "Go back to sleep. We'll be home soon."

"Mmkay…"

Kid Flash stirred as he felt the weight on his leg vanish. "…Rob?" he cracked his eyes. "Oh," he found Batman looking down at him. "I thought he'd gotten up or something."

"Flash will be here in a moment." After their brief conversation in the hallway, the speedster had let him pull ahead, lost in thought, Batman imagined, about the night's events. He turned to leave, but the redhead's voice stopped him exactly the way his mentor's had a short while before.

"…Batman?"

"Yeah?"

"Um…thanks. You know, for letting Robin tell me his real name. It…it means a lot to me."

He looked back over his shoulder at the boy on the couch. Well. That was unexpected. "Don't make me regret it, Kid Flash." I'm trusting you with his life.

"I won't," he shook his head. "I promise."

"…Good. Flash," he nodded as the other man came in.

"Batman," he answered. "Ah…Saturday, right?"

"If you still want to." I wouldn't really blame you for not wanting to, after I asked you to lie for me.

"Sure." I'm not happy about this, but I'm not going to punish the boys. They're innocent about it, and I'm not going to be the one to ruin an opportunity for them to feel like semi-regular kids for a day. He moved past him to where his partner was wiping sleep from his eyes. "You ready, Kid?"

Batman left them like that, Robin not stirring in his arms as he made his way to the transport room. Stepping into it, he scowled. "Superman."

The Kryptonian had to be sure, so he'd come here to wait and to try one last time. "Do you really believe this will work?" he queried, glancing at the seemingly sleeping child. "Because I don't. Not for long, at least."

I have to try. I have to at least attempt to protect him. What good am I if I can't even save him from myself? "…I don't know what you're talking about," he nearly snarled, stepping into a tube. Idiot, mentioning it when he's in earshot. So much for your help. Why can't you understand that this is in his best interest?

Back in the cave, he relaxed slightly. Get the boy in bed, then talk to Alfred. Setting his load on one of the exam tables, he stripped off his cowl and gloves. "Hey, kiddo?" he roused him. "You've got to change so you can go to bed. Come on."

"Mmph…okay." He opened his eyes slowly, then caught sight of Bruce and sat up. "It worked, right? I didn't dream that?"

"Yes, it worked." He didn't look at him as he answered, seemingly absorbed with his boots. "Flash, too."

"…You're not going out tonight?"

"Not right now. Maybe later." Or maybe I'll just wait around and see if you need me. I want to know if telling you I'm cured makes a difference in your nightmares. "Get changed."

For several minutes there was nothing but the rustle of clothing. Then, close at the billionaire's side, came his name. "…Bruce?"

"Hmm?" He glanced down to find curious blue eyes staring up at him. Uh-oh.

"Bruce, you wouldn't…" He scuffed his foot, bare under the hem of his pajama pants, against the cold floor. "…You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

Fuck me, that was fast. "Why would you think I would, chum?" he played it off, concentrating on his shirt buttons.

"…I don't want to think that you would."

"Dick," he said firmly, kneeling suddenly and gripping his good shoulder. "I wouldn't lie to you unless I believed it was necessary for your safety." That, at least, was a true statement, and that was the only reason it managed to leave his mouth smoothly.

"…What does that mean, though?"

"It means I'm…not lying to you now," he ground out. Why is this so much harder than lying to anyone else? Christ, and I asked Flash to do the exact same thing. Is it going to be this miserable for him, too? He paused. Wow, I'm a real asshole sometimes, aren't I? "Dick…" I'm lying, sat at the end of his tongue. Maybe if he told him, right now, and then called Flash to stop him before he lied, too, he could undo it, reverse the mistake. I can't keep this up. You'll see it. That was a lie. I'm sorry. Forgive me.

"…Okay," he said before Bruce could finish. "I believe you." There was still a seed of discord in the back of his mind, something that didn't seem quite right, but… It's Bruce, he argued with himself. Bruce wouldn't lie to me. He just said he wouldn't, not unless it was 'necessary for my safety.' If Sawbones could still get to him, then it would be super important that he tell me, so I could help be on the lookout. Right? He wavered for a second as something odd flashed in the billionaire's eyes. Right. That wasn't guilt, surely. No. It had to be something else. Relief, maybe. But his eyes get lighter when he's relieved, not darker… He shook the thought off. No. He wouldn't lie. Not to me. We're partners, I would need to know. He would tell me. He trusts me. Those last three words bolstered his confidence. He's telling the truth. He's cured. A brilliant smile spread across his face. "I'm so glad," he beamed, reaching up for him.

A sickening war between joy and despair raged in his stomach. "…Me, too, kiddo," he managed to smile back. As he bent and lifted him, holding his head tight against his shoulder so that there was no opportunity for that knowing gaze to read him even further, he saw Alfred step down from the last riser between the cave and the house. Help, he shot him a pleading look. I just went off the deep end.

"…Master Wayne?" the butler inquired, drawing near. "Is everything all right?"

"It worked, Alfred!" Dick announced, his words muffled by his guardian's shirt. Ow, Bruce, let my head go, he frowned, squirming when the fingers against his scalp kept their pressure up. Finally released and lowered back to the ground, he bounded up to the Englishman. "Since everything's all better now, can I have a cookie before I go to bed?"

"…Of course you may, young sir," he answered a bit distractedly. "Go on upstairs to the kitchen, I've already set the container out. No more than two," he instructed. "And you may pour yourself a glass of milk, if you'd like."

"Okay!" A moment later, he was gone, leaving the two adults facing each other.

"Alfred," Bruce sighed, preparing to unload his worries.

"What have you done, sir?" The butler's voice was low, those five words carrying an accusation and far too much knowledge.

"…How did you know?"

"I all but raised you, you may recall. After nearly twenty years of that, I daresay that I know you well enough to sense when you've done something you know is wrong."

He hadn't felt so small since he'd been Dick's age. "I'm not cured," he confessed, whispering in case the boy had snuck back down to listen from the shadows.

"Then why on earth does he think that you are?"

"He's still dreaming about it, Alfred," he explained, his voice taut. "You weren't there when his fever broke. He had this god-awful nightmare right before… It's been haunting him, do you understand? He dreamt of me running around Gotham and killing people. I thought he was over it after we talked – he said he was okay – but he told me again, tonight, that he still worries about it, that he's still having those dreams. And he hasn't been coming to me, probably because I told him that when he's afraid he should try and channel Robin, and…" And so he hasn't wanted to seem weak, he choked on the thought. He stopped coming to me because I told him to channel Robin when he was afraid of the dark. If he heard that and read being scared of the dark in me as the same thing…oh, god, no wonder I didn't know. I all but told him to deal with it on his own. "…I just wanted to protect him from his nightmares, Alfred. I told him I was cured because I want him to stop having such ugly visions. He's already exposed to so much terror fodder, I just wanted him to have some relief."

"…Have you lost your mind, Master Wayne?" the butler queried frankly.

"That's kind of the whole problem, isn't it?" came back snarkily.

"No, sir. The problem is that you've now assured him that you're perfectly fine. Which means two things, as I see it; one, when he does learn that you've lied to him – which he will, you and I both know that it will be a matter of days at the most before he caves to the logic that is no doubt already troubling him – he's going to be extremely hurt by your lack of trust. Two-"

"I trust him!" he objected.

"Two," he continued, "what are you going to do if Sawyer somehow reappears before he admit to himself that, no matter how much he wants to believe you, you are lying to him? He'll have no warning, no reason to even think that you might suddenly be forced to turn on him, or on anyone else. I hope such a thing never occurs, of course, but god forbid it were to happen while you had him out on patrol with you, or whilst you two were alone in the house. He's completely off his guard around you now."

"Good!" Bruce exclaimed suddenly. There was a stunned silence. "Good," he repeated slowly. "I don't…I don't want him to be on his guard around me. I…" he shook his head, eyes wet and hot. "He trusts me. And I know…I know that trust will be damaged when he figures it out, but…until he does, at least he won't be watching me from the corner of his eye, waiting for me to spring on him. Do you think he'll still run up to me every day when I get home from work, wanting a hug, if he knows Sawyer could be in control? Or curl up on the couch with me and fall asleep after dinner? Do you know how much I count on those things some days?" He fell back, breathing hard. I didn't even realize, he moaned silently. I knew I…I needed him, but…oh, god.

"Tell me, Master Wayne," Alfred said quietly, his face lined with weary understanding following his elder charge's outburst. "Has he stopped doing those things since the night of the mission?"

"No. You know he hasn't. But Sawyer's been under arrest since that night."

"And he is still under arrest, is he not?" the butler pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

Oh. "…Yes." Bruce Wayne, you colossal idiot.

"And yet the young master still comes to you before anyone else for comfort, does he not?"

"…Yes." He buried his face in his hands.

"So what, pray tell, did you imagine would change in his attitude, given that nothing has changed in regards to the facts?" He was aware that the man before him had seen the light, but there was no harm in driving the point home once more. "And even if his attitude did change, I would hope that you realize that keeping him in the dark could cost him his life. Potentially at your hands."

No. No, don't think about that. "…I'm so bad at this," he groaned.

"On the contrary, sir. You may be too good at it."

"Huh?" He looked up.

"For you to become so flustered with concern that you overlooked logic in your pursuit of his wellbeing is one thing. For Batman to do the same…" he shook his head. "Well, that is saying something, is it not?"

He had no response for that; the philosophical implications were too complex for him to tackle with a pounding head and damp cheeks. "Alfred, what the hell do I do now?" he supplicated after a moment.

"I would advise that you correct your error as expediently as possible. Tell him the truth," he said forcefully. "The longer you wait, the harder he's going to take it. And for heaven's sake, Bruce, stop trying to protect him from the facts. You knew when you brought him into your moonlighting that everything would have to be laid bare; you cannot renege on that now, no matter how much it might hurt him or," he said pointedly, "how much it might hurt you to see him deal with it. You made your choice, and I warned you then that you didn't know what you were getting into." He stepped closer, reached up, and let his hand rest on the younger man's shoulder for a moment, a guiding touch, a rare but powerful gesture in their history. "It's the most painful thing in the world to watch one's child tackle the ugliness that lurks in so many hearts," he shared softly. "But when you see them triumph, it is also the most rewarding." He pulled away, once again the utterly proper advisor. "I advise you to keep that in mind in the future, sir."

"Right…" He scrubbed at his eyes. "Look, would you call Flash and…tell him I appreciate it, but that I changed my mind? And verify Saturday, too? I…I invited them over. The boys have earned some time together in the civilian world. I'd do it myself, but…" his eyes looked towards the ceiling.

"You have other matters to attend to, Master Wayne," the butler nodded. "I'll phone Mister Allen immediately and relay your message."

"…Alfred?"

"Sir?"

"Thank you," he whispered, then moved swiftly towards the stairs.

"Not at all," the Englishman murmured, watching his retreating back. "You'll find that forgiveness is part of the job description." Along with patience, understanding, a fair dollop of exasperation, and unending love. A tiny smile lit across his face as he crossed to the cave phone. But I believe you're already well on your way to mastering those aspects of the position.