Bruce never ment to hurt Dick as much as he did. He didn't want his adopted son to feel any pain from this. Dick would never understand what he was getting himself into.
Bruce sat at his desk in his study looking through papers for an upcoming charity fundraiser: The Herbert-Fitzpatrick Association. His eyes narrowed as he scaned through the details. If what he feared was right, then he probably just saved Dick from a lifelong emotional rollercoaste of pain and heartache.
"Master Bruce," Alfred called slowly entering the door. "Master Clark is here."
"Yes, send him in."
Alfred nooded and left the room.
"You needed to see me?" the journalist, Clark Kent, asked as he entered the study.
Bruce gave a slight nod. "I need your help with something. I think we've bitten off more than we can chew."
Dick laid in his bed, curled in a tight ball. His body was sore and bruised all over. He could barely lift his head when a he heard a small tap on his window.
"Dick."
His head shot up quicky and he grimaced from the sudden move. "D-Dylan?" He called walking over to the window. "You idiot! What are you doing here?"
Dylan looked down to find his teen-crush holding onto a ladder (for dear life). Dylan took his hand and smiled.
"Come with me," he sad.
"Dyll, I can't. Bruce-"
"Weren't you the one who told me something about...what was it...oh yeah 'Screw Bruce'. C'mon, let's go."
In truth he was afraid to go with him. The warning that Bruce had given him was still locked inside his concious. The image was still branded into his memory.
Dick looked at Dylan.
I've waited so long to have you, he thought. I don't want to be without you...ever.
He blinked back his tears and tried to stay 'whelmed' as he reached his hand out t his friend.
"Okay," he said. "I'll go with you."