Terry drove back to the cave yawning, having had one of the longest and most tiring nights of his life as Batman and wanting desperately to crash in one of Bruce's extra bedrooms. He had just gotten out of the Batmobile, ripped off his mask, and was getting ready to call out for Bruce, when he heard laughter.

Laughter.

From Bruce.

He stood back and listened.

"She told me if I didn't come and check on you she was going to have all my old records brought up and put me in prison for a few months to straighten me out."

Bruce was laughing and he had to catch his breath. "Well, I see that you still take threats seriously. As always."

"Of course, old man. Your strays all learn their lessons sooner or later."

Bruce made a noise of agreement. "Some faster than others."

Terry peeked around the corner and nearly yelped when he saw a man about ten years younger than Bruce with his hand on the back of Bruce's chair and staring right at him.

"Speaking of strays," the stranger said, smiling.

Bruce turned his chair. "Terry. We heard you the minute you came in."

The stranger grinned. "They sure don't make Batmen like they use to, eh?"

Terry glared. "I wasn't sure if I should..."

The stranger held out his hand. "Always assume you should. Someone taught me that a long time ago. Name's Grayson."

Terry took his hand, the name clicking instantly. "Nightwing."

Dick started, surprised. "Most people call me Dick. But that's good enough, I s'pose. Bruce has been telling me all about you."

Terry watched him warily, still on offensive. This was the man who didn't even call Bruce when he was sick, didn't even acknowledge the coming of the Joker, or Tim Drake's ordeal as the Joker until now, eight months later.

And here was Bruce, laughing like they were old friends.

He watched Dick's hand on the back of Bruce's chair, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his skin.

More than friends, maybe.

"That's funny. He never told me anything about you."

Bruce's eyes were stern but Terry ignored them while Dick laughed. "Bruce hasn't held me in high regard for some time. But thanks to all that's happened, things are different now."

"I can see that. Well I'm slagged. I'm gonna go crash. 'Night."

Both men called out, "Goodnight," and Terry dragged himself up the stairs, desperately trying not to look back. Ace followed him, whining.

"I know exactly how you feel, boy."

The morning was the same. Except he found himself wanting to push them apart, wishing for stories to share that he could leave Dick out of.

But there were no stories worth sharing. Most of them were depressing as hell.

After about an hour of "The Adventures of Batman and Robin" he got up from the table, ignoring the calls after him and going back to bed.

Bruce was there when he woke, sitting on the edge of the bed quietly waiting for an explanation.

Terry decided not to give one, throwing back the sheet that covered him and heading for the door. Bruce's arm shot out and blocked his path. "Tell me."

"Nothing's wrong. I just..."

"Dick and I...if we were alienating you, I apologize. We haven't spoken in years and we had a lot to discuss."

Terry scoffed.

"We didn't mean to..."

"Can I get by?"

Bruce let him by and sighed at his retreating form, closing his eyes as he watched the younger man run down the stairs.

"Reminds me of someone I used to know."

Bruce coughed. "Dick..."

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "He's me, Bruce. Well, not exactly me but he...he's very similar. I used to pout over the women and he's...well at least he has a legitimate reason."

Bruce turned. "Terry is seventeen."

Dick smiled. "When did I leave, old man? I was eighteen when I walked out of here because you couldn't give me what I wanted."

Bruce swallowed. "Terry doesn't...I'm seventy-four years old, Dick. Not thirty."

Dick patted his shoulder. "Sure, Batman. Sure."

()()()()()()()()

He didn't show up to Bruce's the next day.

Or the day after.

He stopped going out at night, even after rampant reports of robbery, rape, and murder.

But Bruce didn't call.

It was two weeks before he got any response whatsoever and it wasn't Bruce. It was him.

Robin. Nightwing. Dick.

Terry opened the door with an icy smile on his face. "Nightwing."

Dick smiled warmly. "Hey kid. Mind if we talk?"

Terry stepped aside and let him through, closing the door, glad that his mother wasn't home. "So..."

Dick walked past him and made his way to the kitchen, leaving Terry to tag along.

He sat down at the table, leaning back on his hands and smiling. "I know what you're doin' kid, and it ain't gonna work."

"What're you..."

"Believe me, I've been there. Late nights watching him come out of limousines with blonde bimbos on his arm, wanting more than I was getting, waiting, wishing...I've been there."

Terry glared. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dick smiled. "I'm sure you don't. But you have an advantage over me, Terry. He sees you as an equal, he trusted you enough to let you take up the cape and cowl."

Terry turned away, walking to the counter and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Tell me I'm crazy, kid, and I'll drop all of it."

Terry sighed. "He's...he doesn't see me like that."

"No? Do you want to know what it's been like living in that house the last two weeks, being barked and glared at, seeing him scowl over the costume that hangs waiting for your return? The endless hours of pacing the halls, the constant tip, tip, of his cane keeping me up all night?"

Terry looked over his shoulder. "Is he ok? Has he been taking his pills and his," he hung his head and stared at the dark liquid in his mug, "...I don't know what to do. I can't...he won't."

A hand came to his shoulder and he looked up, surprised to see Dick grinning. "I know."