Three hours later:

Bruce sat in the cushioned armchair on the right side of Dick's bed, his mind swirling with different thoughts. His son was deep in the depths of a healing sleep, thanks to Alfred's medical knowledge and ability to patch up a hero. After cleaning, stitching, and wrapping the three holes in the young body, the butler had wisely suggested that Bruce move the nineteen-year-old to the bed in his old room.

Old.

Bruce didn't like the word. The room shouldn't be Dick's 'old' room, it should be his current room. Dick had fled the Manor after their simultaneous explosions, and this was the first time Bruce had seen him in almost a month. Three weeks and two days if one was counting, which of course Bruce was not.

He didn't even know where the boy was living. Bruce's heart constricted when he thought of Dick living on the streets. But the nineteen-year-old was resourceful, he would have found someplace to stay. Was he eating enough? The man searched his son's face and let his gaze travel down to the well-muscled torso. Was it skinnier than it had been before? Was his face a little thinner? Bruce couldn't tell, and that frustrated him. He was Batman, he should know his partner well enough to see even the tiniest of differences.

Dick stirred, and Bruce sat up a little straighter. He wanted to move to the edge of the bed, but restrained himself. The last thing Dick had said was that he didn't have a home. Bruce didn't want to be looming over him as soon as he opened his eyes.

The nineteen-year-old slowly lifted his eyelids, and the first thing he saw was the face of his da…guard…Bruce. His first thought was that he needed to leave, because he was obviously in Wayne Manor, a place he no longer belonged.

"Welcome back, chum," Bruce said softly.

Was he still Bruce's "chum"? Dick didn't think so; it was probably an automatic response ingrained in the man's head from years of using the nickname.

Dick tried to sit up, but the movement of his arms built a fire in both shoulders.

"You were shot," Bruce explained. "Both shoulders and your leg."

Images flitted through his mind, and Dick remembered everything. But Bruce wasn't supposed to care, Bruce had practically declared that when he had fired Robin. So, why was Dick lying in his bed – his old bed – in Wayne Manor?

Different emotions were sliding through Dick's eyes, and Bruce recognized every single one. Confusion followed by knowledge. So, his son was remembering what had happened. Sadness, then confusion again. Bruce didn't know why the latter emotion had been manifested again, but he didn't have to ponder it for long.

"I'll leave as soon as I can get up," Dick stated. "Sorry you – uh, Batman – had to rescue me."

"Dick, you don't have to leave. You need time to heal…"

"Why?" the nineteen-year-old interrupted, both anger and sorrow in his voice.

"Why what?" Bruce asked.

"Why did Batman come?"

"Because…"

"I'm a citizen who needed rescuing, and Batman always rescues citizens," the younger man finished, forcing away the tears that were gathering on his lower lids.

Dick realized that it had been a stupid question, and Batman didn't like stupid questions. No wonder he had fired Robin. Batman's sidekick had continuously disappointed him, and the fight had been the last straw. Batman didn't need Robin anymore, probably never had, and Dick Grayson was just Bruce Wayne's ward. He had nothing to lose, so Dick pushed on, already regretting his next question.

"Did you ever really want me or was I just good for your image?"

Bruce's mouth dropped open in shock, his eyes widened in disbelief, and Dick quickly backtracked.

"Never mind, I'll leave, I don't belong here. Sorry."

Ignoring the fire in his shoulders, Dick pushed himself up and forced his legs to slide over the edge of the bed. His wounded leg didn't want to support his weight, but the nineteen-year-old shoved that pain aside, also. Dick had limped all the way to the door before Bruce was able to shake himself out of the shock caused by the boy's unexpected, and soul-crushing, question.

"Dick, I…why would you even think that?!" Bruce exclaimed as he jumped to his feet.

The younger man paused, supporting himself with his left hand on the frame of the bedroom door. He stared at the floor, wondering why he was being stupid enough to continue this conversation.

"Batman never needed Robin," he stated.

Lifting his head, Dick turned his gaze to Bruce, who was standing stock still. Devastation was written all over the usually-emotionless man's face. It was an emotion that Dick didn't believe, because Bruce was very good at putting on an act.

"All I ever was to you was a disappointment. Never good enough, or strong enough, or smart enough…"

"Stop," Bruce commanded.

"You fired Robin because he was a disappointment…"

"That's an idiotic thought," Bruce responded shortly. "You have never disappointed…"

"Except when I jump in without thinking, or do something without your permission, or get hurt, or talk too much," Dick mumbled, the tremble in his voice betraying his attempt to be strong.

"Richard. John. Grayson. You are not an idiot, so stop acting like one."

"That's all I ever was," Dick said bitterly. "Someone to build you up in the public eye, a sidekick to lighten your dark image for the people of Gotham City. And you don't need that anymore. I'm useless now, just like I was useless in the circus after my parents died."

"You are not useless!" Bruce exclaimed again. "Do you even know how many times you've saved a life?! How many people are alive, or unharmed, or not left without a family because of Robin?! Do you…"

"Robin's gone, Bruce!"

"You nearly died!" the older man shouted. "You could have died, and there was nothing I could do about it. You…"

"I am not worth the trouble," Dick interrupted quietly.

Turning around, the nineteen-year-old limped out the door and toward the stairs. Bruce was frozen to his spot, his muscles waiting for his shocked brain to give him some kind of direction.

By the time Bruce was able to release himself from his stupor, Dick was at the top of the stairs and attempting to force his wounded leg to hold his weight on the first step. Bruce raced out the door and grabbed his son around the waist, just in time to keep Dick from tumbling down the long staircase. They fell backwards onto the soft carpet of the hallway, and Dick immediately pushed himself off the strong chest of his…

Dick didn't even know what to call him anymore.

"Why do you think Batman came?" Bruce asked roughly as he sat up.

Interpreting the harsh tone to be that of anger, Dick shrugged and mumbled something about a 'helpless citizen'.

"You are not just another victim, or a random person who needs rescuing, Dick. You are so much more…"

Dick opened his mouth to interrupt, but Bruce held up his hand.

"Let me finish," he demanded. "You think you're useless? You're lying to yourself, because you have never been useless. In the dang video I received, that man said you thought I wouldn't pay. I assumed you said it because you knew I would send Batman, but now I'm not sure. Did you really think I wouldn't come for you? Or that I wouldn't pay a measly five million to get you back in one piece?"

Dick remained silent, his eyes on the floor. Bruce waited until he couldn't anymore.

"I need an answer, Dick."

Still there was no response, because the nineteen-year-old didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to say it out loud, because that would make it real.

"Dick."

The word was a command. Both Dick Grayson and Robin had heard that tone before, the one that demanded instant obedience. Dick tried to resist, but he was too used to giving in to that tone.

"We fought, you fired part of what made me…me, I threw myself out, it didn't matter. You didn't care enough to find me, why should you care enough to get me back?"

"I didn't care…dang it, Dick, I searched for you with every spare minute I had!" Bruce shouted.

The younger man glanced up, surprised at the revelation, then dropped his eyes to the floor again.

"Batman is the World's Greatest Detective," he stated simply.

"Well, apparently, Dick Grayson is the World's Greatest Hide and Seek Player!" Bruce responded heatedly. "I searched everywhere, Dick! I spent two hours diving around in Gotham Harbor, I searched every hospital and left your description with every reception desk, I went to every freaking shelter and warehouse and any other dang place I thought you could hide in! Nobody ever gave me a positive answer to either a picture or a description. How were you even surviving?!"

"Day jobs," Dick answered with another shrug.

Bruce took a deep breath, attempting to calm down. It didn't work, so he just forged ahead.

"Where were you sleeping?"

Dick avoided the question by asking one of his own.

"Why did you watch the video?"

Bruce, however, was having none of it.

"Where. Were. You. Sleeping?"

"Here and there," Dick whispered, attempting to give himself time to make up an answer by stalling.

"Describe 'here and there'," Bruce demanded.

When there was no response, the man declared, "Out in the open. You deliberately put yourself at risk by making yourself easy to kidnap. Dick Grayson is too well-known, too big of a catch for some random criminal who wanted easy money. If you had been sleeping somewhere safe, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged.

Dick couldn't, because Bruce wasn't wrong.

"You know better than to make yourself vulnerable like that!" Bruce practically growled. "You learned that when you were nine years old!"

"Why do you even care," the nineteen-year-old muttered.

"BECAUSE YOU'RE MY SON!" Bruce thundered, the sound of his voice echoing down the staircase and into the rooms on the ground floor.

Dick lifted his head and stared at Bruce, shock filling his eyes. Bruce stared right back, daring the boy to refute the words.

"I'm…"

There was a long pause. Bruce wanted Dick to figure it out, so he silently – albeit impatiently – waited. They sat there, staring at each other, for almost five minutes.

"But…you don't need me anymore."

Bruce wanted to yell at the boy, to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him, but he remained quiet. Several more minutes passed before Dick had the courage to voice his next question.

"Would you have paid?" he asked quietly. "If Batman couldn't…"

"That's a ridiculous question," Bruce snapped. "Batman will always come for you but if for some implausible reason I couldn't find you, of course I would have paid. You don't know, you have never known, your own worth."

"I'm not…"

"Don't even think about saying that you're not 'worth the trouble' or something stupid like that," Bruce commanded sharply. "You are worth more than the entirety of Gotham City and the surrounding area. You are priceless, Dick Grayson, and I love you."

Two sets of blue eyes widened. Bruce Wayne had just admitted what Dick, deep down, had known all along. But actually hearing the words was like Alfred taking a needle and stitching up a hole in Dick's heart. The gaping hole that had appeared when he thought he had lost his second family.

Bruce couldn't breathe through the thickness of all the emotions swirling between them, so he shifted the direction of the conversation.

"Back at the warehouse you said you didn't have a home," he said calmly, although his voice was shaking slightly. "A fight, even a big one, does not mean you are no longer welcome at Wayne Manor. Even if you don't want to live here, you will always have a home here."

Dick couldn't get any words out, because if he said something he knew he would break down. Bruce would not like to see that sort of weakness.

"Dang it, Dick," Bruce muttered as he closed the space between the two of them.

He wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him into his chest. That broke the dam, but Bruce ignored the muffled sound of crying, because he knew Dick would be berating himself for being weak.

Resting his chin on top of Dick's head, Bruce whispered, "I love you, son."

THE END